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FELICITY IN 
 FRANCE 
 
UNIFORM fVITH THIS VOLUME, 
 
 THE GREAT BOER WAR. Arikur Conan Doyle. 
 
 COLLECTIONS AND RECOLLECTIONS. G. W. E. Russell. 
 REM I N I SCENCES. Sir Henry Hawkins. 
 
 LIFE OF LORD RUSSELL OF KILL0WEN./?.^arry<9\ffr»V«. 
 FROM THE CAPE TO CAIRO. E. S. Gro^an. 
 
 A BOOK ABOUT THE GARDEN. Dean Hole. 
 
 WITH KITCHENER TO KHARTUM. G. W. Steevens. 
 
 THE UNVEILING OF LHASA. Edmund Candler. 
 
 LIFE OF LORD DUFFERIN. Sir A. Lyall. 
 
 SPURGEON'S SERMONS. Sir W. Robertson Nicoll, LL.D. 
 SIR FRANK LOCKWOOD. Augustine Birrell, K.C., M.P. 
 THE MAKING OF A FRONTIER. Colonel Durand. 
 
 POT-POURRI FROM A SURREY GARDEN. Mrs. EarU. 
 LIFE OF RICHARD COBDEN. Lord Morley. 
 
 LIFE OF PARNELL. R. Barry O'Brien. 
 
 HAVELOCK'S MARCH. /. W. Sherer. 
 
 MEMORIES GRAVE AND GAY. Dr. John Kerr. 
 
 LIFE OF DANTON. Hilaire Belloc. 
 
 A BOOK ABOUT ROSES. S. Reynolds Hole. 
 
 RANDOM REMINISCENCES. Charles Brookfield. 
 
 THE LONDON POLICE COURTS. Thomas Holmes. 
 
 THE AMATEUR POACHER. Richard J efftries. 
 
 AT THE WORKS. Lady Bell. 
 
 MEXICO AS I SAW IT. Mrs. Alec Tweedu. 
 
 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA. 
 
 H. Hesketh Prichard. 
 PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND. Harry de Windt. 
 
 LIFE OF LEWIS CARROLL. Stuart Dodgson Collingwood. 
 A NATURALIST IN THE GUIANAS. Eugene A ndr^. 
 
 THE MANTLE OF THE EAST. Edmund Candler. 
 
 LETTERS OF DR. JOHN BROWN. 
 
 JUBILEE BOOK OF CRICKET. Prince Ranjitsinkji. 
 
 BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD. Louisa Jebb. 
 
 SOME OLD LOVE STORIES. T. P. O'Connor. 
 
 FIELDS, FACTORIES, & WORKSHOPS. Prince Kropotkin. 
 LIFE OF LORD LAWRENCE. R. Bosworth Smith. 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY. Dr. Chalmers. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF THE BALKANS. M. E. Durham. 
 LIFE AND LETTERS OF LORD MACAULAY.-I. & II. 
 Sir George O. Trevelyan^ Bart. 
 WHAT I SAW IN RUSSIA. Hon. Maurice Baring. 
 
 WILD ENGLAND OF TO-DAY. C. J. Cornish. 
 
 LEAVES FROM AN INSPECTOR'S LOGBOOK. 
 
 Dr. John Kerr. 
 THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS. Mrs. Alec Tweedu. 
 THE VOYAGE OF THE " DISCOVERY."— L & II. 
 
 CaHain Scott. 
 Etc., etc. 
 
 Others to follow. 
 

 ) 
 
FELICITY IN 
 FRANCE 
 
 BY 
 
 CONSTANCE ELIZABETH 
 
 MAUD 
 1^ 
 
 T 
 
 THOMAS NELSON & SONS 
 
 LONDON, EDINBURGH, DUBLIN 
 AND NEW YORK 
 

■3 
 
 £)Et)ICATED 
 
 (with his permission) 
 
 TO 
 
 FREDERIC MISTRAL 
 
 il Capoulie " of all who belong to the kingdom of poet-patriots, 
 whether Felibres of the east or the west, of the north or the 
 south ; he whose spirit of patriotic enthusiasm and poetic 
 insight, rising like a star in his own beloved land of 
 Provence, has shed a light throughout the length 
 and breadth of France, embodying in his vital 
 personality and in his poetic creations 
 all that is noblest and most stimu- 
 lating in patriotism. 
 
 309258 
 
CHAP. 
 I. 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 rAcs 
 
 9 
 
 Fair France 
 
 II. 
 
 The Children's Paradise. 
 
 27 
 
 III. 
 
 A Breton Wedding . 
 
 49 
 
 IV. 
 
 A Benediction of the Sea 
 
 6S 
 
 V. 
 
 A Sardine Girl 
 
 91 
 
 VI. 
 
 From Is to Blois 
 
 123 
 
 VII. 
 
 A City of the Renaissance . 
 
 134 
 
 VIII. 
 
 A Municipal Fete . 
 
 147 
 
 IX. 
 
 A Rock-house, Farm-house, anl 
 Queen's House 
 
 163 
 
 X. 
 
 Dungeons and Dark Deeds 
 
 187 
 
 XL 
 
 Life in a Convent . 
 
 195 
 
 XII. 
 
 A Father of his People . 
 
 255 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Children's Purgatory 
 
 • 274 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Among the Fi^libres. 
 
 . 296 
 
 XV. 
 
 Life in the Forest . 
 
 335 
 
FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 FAIR FRANCE. 
 
 FROM Newhaven to Dieppe. From England to 
 France. From the sordid ugliness and unspeak- 
 able dreariness of the English sea-coast town, to the 
 bright, picturesque liveliness of the old French 
 seaport Between the two a gulf is fixed, a gulf that 
 must be crossed on a narrow inconvenient little 
 screw steamer which in bad weather — and no day in 
 the year is secure against bad weather — ^pitches, 
 rolls and tosses, till soul and body are nearly wrenched 
 asunder. This is the price you must pay if you 
 would cross to Normandy or Brittany. 
 
 On a calm summer's night, however, one may for- 
 get the hard unyielding deck chair or narrow wooden 
 seat, and the absence of cushion or pillow, not to be 
 had on deck for love or money, to soften the rigours 
 of the journey. There is at least fresh air to breathe, 
 the star-lit sky overhead, the deep, still waters around 
 flecked with a white track of foam as the boat cuts 
 her way through. The starry worlds overhead come so 
 
 94 
 
lo FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 near their very atmosphere may be felt. The noisy 
 work-a-day world recedes far away. 
 
 Most people on board had curled themselves up 
 and gone to sleep, but Aunt Anne and I agreed that 
 such a night must not be wasted. 
 
 We were bound for Trouville via Newhaven and 
 Dieppe, having settled that ten days of real hot sun 
 and ozone-laden sea breezes would be the best stirrup 
 cup on starting for our tour in Fair France. As to 
 the next step we had no fixed plans, except to go 
 south. " The vine country for the vendange'* was 
 our programme, and Aunt Anne suggested that this, 
 united with life in a convent perched on a vine-clad 
 hill, would ideally fulfil her need for perfect rest. 
 
 For Aunt Anne said she needed " a complete rest " ! 
 Her family, namely, only son and his wife, had de- 
 clared for that form of dissipation a chaperon would 
 be absolutely necessary. I wanted to see a real 
 harvest, not a half-hearted, resigned, " might-'a- 
 been-worse " sort of affair, but the real thing, which 
 can only be got in a land loved of the sun. I sug- 
 gested that if France would supply the quality of rest 
 for which Aunt Anne's soul thirsted, who better 
 than I could fulfil the delicate office of chaperon — I, 
 who, to complete my outfit, needed an Aunt ! 
 
 I must mention that Aunt Anne is a grandmother, 
 though as yet of only one Person. A Person, however, 
 of considerable importance, a sun round whom 
 revolve many satellites, whose will is law, at whose 
 lightest frown a robust member of Parliament 
 trembles and grovels even as one of her ministers 
 
FAIR FRANCE. ii 
 
 before the Empress of China. Aunt Anne's devotion 
 and adoration for this autocratic young Person are 
 a b3rword, and she quotes the sayings and opinions 
 of this three-year-old Victoria Beatrice, rightly 
 shortened into " Trix " or " Vix/' as though she 
 were an honoured ancestor. Greatly as I also feel 
 her fascination, had Victoria-Beatrice elected to 
 join our party I dared not have attempted the office 
 of chaperon. 
 
 In spite of being a grandmother, Aunt Anne is not 
 an old lady with white hair, lace cap and spectacles, 
 as some might suppose. She is slight and active 
 even to the point of athletic, her hair is dark, with 
 a gun-metal shade, and curls crisply all over her 
 head. Her eyes dance with mischief, on occasions, 
 notably on solemn occasions, Hke a school boy's. 
 Aunt Anne is, in fact, a curious compound of an 
 abnormally intelligent and active boy of sixteen and 
 an exceedingly dignified, stately and somewhat sar- 
 castic little lady of sixty. Never did anyone more im- 
 scnipulously trade on her " old age," as it pleases her 
 to designate the three score years which sit so Hghtly 
 on her. They do not really sit on her at all, nothing 
 and no one ever could sit on Aunt Anne, rather does 
 she carry her years as a clever fencer his foil, now to 
 assail, now to protect. She uses them as a cloak, a 
 subterfuge, a reason, an excuse, a trump card in- 
 variably. 
 
 Her dress is always just right. She has mastered 
 that art by the observance of the golden rule of wear- 
 ing what is suitable for the occasion. Without being 
 
12 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 marked or peculiar her clothes bear a strong stamp of 
 her own individuahty. Well-cut plain tailor-made 
 skirts and straight coats for travelling and coimtry 
 wear ; a hat with no nonsense about it, designed to 
 cover the head and shade the face, a dignified hat ; 
 carefully gl o ved'and shod, an air well-groomed and trim 
 — " toujours aquatres ^pingles " — that is Aunt Anne. 
 
 ♦ 4e « 9|c * 
 
 Accompanied by her little German maid Gertruda, 
 Aunt Anne had met me at Victoria Station on a grey, 
 chilly day in the middle of August. Before getting 
 into the train we glanced at the telegrams of the 
 Channel crossings. To my dismay I read : 
 
 " Dover — Sea choppy, crossing moderate." 
 
 ** Folkestone — Ground swell, wind rising, crossing 
 indifferent." 
 
 ** Newhaven — Rising wind, sea agitated, crossing 
 rough." 
 
 Aunt 'Anne has no objection to choppy seas and 
 contrary winds, but I object to them very much, and 
 as a chaperon am not only utterly useless at the time 
 being, but also for some while after. On arriving at 
 Newhaven we had consulted two guards, a ship's 
 steward, and three " blue jerseys " who suggested 
 familiarity with the waves. They one and all united 
 in the opinion that we would " have it a bit roughish " 
 if we crossed at midday, but the three blue jerseys 
 staked their reputations that the wind was veering 
 round and the sea would be mild as a mill-pond for 
 the midnight crossing. 
 
 Aunt Anne magnanimously agreed to wait and cross 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 13 
 
 by the night boat. We killed time with difficulty. 
 Was ever such a God-forsaken place as Newhaven ! 
 Its depressing dreariness queHed for the time the 
 usual buoyant patriotism of Aunt Anne, and gave me 
 a chance for illustrating some of my theories as to 
 the kill- joy spirit animating English country towns 
 and villages. No smiling yellow sands, no gay plage 
 greet you at Newhaven. The waters break grimly 
 against the grey sea wall of the harbour. The town 
 itself, sordid and dreary, is some distance inland. 
 For nearly a mile we walked past rows of dingy grey 
 cottages, down an inky, stony, asphalt road. Dirty, 
 ill-kept, ill-fed children swarmed on the doorsteps ; 
 not a blade of grass, not a flower to be seen. In the 
 town same spirit of grey dulness, relieved only by 
 squalid little shops and frequent pubHc-houses. In 
 vain we enquired for a tea-shop of any sort. The 
 poor belated foreigner who finds himself with three 
 or four hours on his hands at Newhaven must feel he 
 has landed in a sad and sorry country indeed. " A 
 people who neither dance nor sing, nor even pray 
 save once a week. Of course the church locked ! 
 No market-place, no sign of human fellowship and 
 intercourse, except in the evil glittering pubHc-house.'* 
 So I grumbled on to Aunt Anne. She turned and 
 fixed me with her long lorgnettes. 
 
 " You want your five o'clock tea. Felicity — that is 
 what is the matter with you, my dear. You see all 
 en noir. We will take a carriage and drive over to 
 Seaford. At least there is a fine beach where we can 
 watch the waves and get some tea." 
 
14 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 But the only two conveyances in Newhaven were 
 "out," and Newhaven could do nothing more to help 
 us than suggest our waiting till one of them returned, 
 which " might be any time." 
 
 * * * ♦ * 
 
 Happily our three " blue jerseys " had prophesied 
 truly. The wind dropped as the tide turned, the sea 
 was *' like a mill-pond " as we went on board at 
 midnight. 
 
 Silently and swiftly we moved across the deep, still 
 waters. All the world slept save the moon, which 
 sailed across the sky chasing little fleecy clouds before 
 her, white as the foam of the tiny waves we left in 
 our track. 
 
 At 3 a.m. we entered the narrow waterway of 
 Dieppe, and glided noiselessly into the harbour. A 
 faint rose streak shot across the east. Not a sound 
 arose from the quay and town. Not a sign of life 
 on the fishing-boats and steamers anchored in the 
 motionless waters. 
 
 Nearly all the passengers on landing vanished like 
 the morning mist, hurried away by the waiting trains 
 with a thin scream of farewell, borne off to Paris, 
 Rouen, Le Havre. 
 
 A sleepy cocher drove us to our hotel on the plage. 
 
 And every moment the rose streak in the east 
 spread wider, and the unseen Artist-hand mixed new 
 colours, shades now subtle and delicate as those of 
 the dragon-fly's wing, now vivid as the maple leaf in 
 autumn, till all the sky and sea were flooded with 
 the dawn. If a sunrise over the sea were only on view 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 15 
 
 once in seven years, who would be found sleeping that 
 night ! 
 
 «««>!« * 
 
 The strong morning sun permitted no more rest to 
 the drowsiest traveller after eight o'clock. He simply 
 insisted on the green persiennes being flung wide, 
 and in he rushed, filUng the room with midsummer 
 gladness. 
 
 A Httle note on my dressing-table informed me that 
 Aunt Anne had already escaped the vigilance of her 
 chaperon, and, with Gertruda, gone out to look round 
 the place. I would find her probably on the beach. 
 
 An hour later, fortified by a cup of excellent cafe 
 au lait and crisp " petits pains," I went in search of 
 my charge. All the world was out by now. It was 
 a gay scene on the plage. " Messieurs et mesdames 
 les baigneurs," and the neat white-aproned bonnes 
 with their small charges, either taking a morning 
 bath or watching others doing so, for the tide was 
 at its height and the sparkling sea looked full as a 
 brimming cup. I thought of Newhaven ! Was it 
 three hours or three weeks we had travelled ? 
 
 Rows of umbrella tents of red and white striped 
 canvas suppUed shade from the dazzling sun, and here 
 nurses and parents sat with an eye on the children 
 building their castles and dykes and paddling in and 
 out of the water. 
 
 Among these tents I wandered, seeking everywhere 
 for Aimt Anne, but in vain. Suddenly a little voice 
 accosted me from under a big white mushroom hat at 
 the entrance of a tent. 
 
l6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 *' Bitte sehr, Fraulein " — the mushroom rose — it 
 was Gertnida. Her mistress had left her in charge 
 of the bathing tent and had gone into the water. 
 
 " Far, very far is she gone, I see her not more," 
 sighed Gertnida mournfully. ** To follow the gracious 
 lady dare I not, to go with she has forbidden me. 
 Seek her, I pray you, Fraulein." 
 
 I inquired whether her mistress could swim. 
 
 " Ach ja, the gracious lady was even as a fischlein 
 in the water ; but her sortie-de-hain she had it not, 
 and how to do when Gertnida must not leave the 
 tent ! " 
 
 I undertook to find the gracious lady, and take her 
 the long white cloak. I felt reassured on the score of 
 Aunt Anne's safety at all events while in the water, 
 by the numerous evidences of precaution to be seen 
 on all sides. Belts floated on the glistening smooth 
 v/aters, a rope railing divided each partition for les 
 messieurs, les dames, and les enfants, while two stout 
 hfeboats with ladders attached reassured the 
 venturesome swimmer, who, having taken a dozen 
 strokes, found himself out of his depth and liable to 
 be overtaken by faint-heartedness. 
 
 Up and down that plage I wandered, seeking both 
 in and out of the water for the missing Aunt Anne, 
 but, like the despondent Gertrude, I found her not. 
 
 All sorts and sizes of bathers disported themselves 
 in the dancing sun-warmed waves. Large phres de 
 famille, Hke portly zebras, comfortable smiling mh'es 
 de famille, waddled in, a baby on one arm and a two- 
 year-old clinging to the other. Long skinny boys 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 17 
 
 and girls made their first struggling essay at swim- 
 ming under the auspices of appointed professors of 
 the art, amphibious beings in oilskin jackets and 
 straw hats shading their wrinkled tanned faces. 
 
 No elegants of either sex were on view. Their 
 chalets and villas are further west, no doubt at 
 fitretat and Trouville. 
 
 More English than French greeted my ears as I 
 strolled along, and good strong cockney more fre- 
 quently than EngHsh. 
 
 Serious qualms assailed me about Aunt Anne. 
 She intended I knew to go to the market after her 
 bathe ; but though she is no slave to conventionality, 
 I felt that without at least her sortie-de-hain she was 
 unlikely to be there. Knowing her magnetic power 
 of attraction for children, and above all for those 
 difficult and usually unapproachable beings termed 
 " infants in arms," I carefully inspected every group 
 of children, and peered into any half-open tent con- 
 taining a nourrice, I passed a circle of eager shrieking 
 boys and girls piling up a huge mound of sand, which 
 suggested beneath it a human form. " Work, work 
 — faster, faster — or the giant will not be buried before 
 the sea arrives," they shouted. My heart stood still 
 as I drew near, and saw a head sticking out of one 
 side of the mountain. " Aunt Anne, is it you ? " 
 I gasped ; but at that moment a violent earthquake 
 revealed a tall, dark-haired French boy, who rose and 
 shook off the sand, crying, " I live yet, and now I 
 revenge myse/f." 
 
 With a deep sigh of relief I walked on. Perhaps 
 
i8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 she had taken a boat and gone fishing ! I sat down 
 and gazed out to sea. Presently I became interested 
 in three sUght figures taking headers from one of the 
 hfeboats. They were too far off for me to see their 
 faces, but their gestures were highly entertaining. 
 The shortest of the three was in black, the other 
 two were tightly encased in blue and white stripes. 
 The black one kept time as one by one they raised 
 high their arms and plunged in head foremost. 
 If either of the zebras hesitated after the signal had 
 been given, the inexorable black one pushed the 
 falterer overboard. Splashing, spluttering, and 
 disgraced, he then cHmbed into the boat, and the 
 performance recommenced. 
 
 I forgot all about Aimt Anne so absorbed ~did I 
 become in this pantomime. At last they stood up 
 together, and, " one two three and away," dived 
 simultaneously beneath the water. One by one the 
 black heads reappeared and the three struck out for 
 the shore. " I back the httle black fellow," I said to 
 myself, and in my excitement walked forward to have 
 a look at the race. Suddenly I fell back in a helpless 
 heap on the sand. Aunt Anne stood dripping and 
 laughing before me. 
 
 " Pas mal, mes enfants — Pas mal du tout. C'est 
 Jules qui gagne — non, c'est Alphonse ! Courage — 
 Bravo," she cried. " Au re voir chers enfants — 
 n'oubhez pas — comme disait Dan ton, * II faut de 
 I'audace — encore de I'audace — toujours de I'audace.* " 
 
 The boys grinned shyly and murmured many 
 thanks and " Au revoir, Madame." 
 
FAIR FRANCE. ' 19 
 
 " You have found some friends } " 1 asked. 
 
 " Never saw *em before in my life, but as you know 
 I always find friends, my dear. I have had a most 
 interesting time and seen so much this morning. I 
 found these boys dinging to the steps of the lifeboat, 
 the boatman urging them to plunge in, their native 
 prudence getting the better of their desire to follow 
 his advice. I took them in hand. Did you see the 
 result ? We are as proud of ourselves as if we had 
 swum the channel, and to-morrow papa and maman 
 and grand* maman from the villa up there, will witness 
 the performance, and our cup of pride will be full." 
 
 We returned to Gertruda and the tent, and Aunt 
 Anne's toilette accomplished, went off to the market. 
 In the Place Nationale another gay and busy scene 
 was going on, for it was Saturday morning and aU the 
 country-side had come in early with their fresh golden 
 butter, new-laid eggs, and produce of garden and 
 orchard. Many a good dame had also by her side 
 the latest fatted chicken or duck peering enquiringly 
 and anxiously over the lid of his basket. 
 
 Flowers of every hue, carnation lily, rose, gladiola 
 and the lovely blue hydrangea, made gorgeous patches 
 of colour between the stalls of green vegetables and 
 fruit. Peaches, luscious and sun-warmed, were to be 
 had for two sous. Delicious little green grapes at 50 
 centimes a pound, and greengages, not the insipid 
 plum that in England assumes the name, }?ut real 
 greengages with the russet patch on one cheek which 
 betokens the ardent kiss of the sun, that same sun who 
 looks so coldly on our poor England that he refuses 
 
20 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 even to ripen her grapes or sweeten her peaches, 
 though she is but an hour's journey across the water. 
 But then he is the lover of "la belle France," and 
 alas but a bowing acquaintance of "la Grande 
 Bret ague." 
 
 We filled the capacious string bag which Gertruda 
 carried with fruit and flowers, and, our choice directed 
 by an old lady with a face like a roasted apple, 
 we partook of peaches and nectarines fit for the gods. 
 Aunt Anne and the old lady were soon deep in agri- 
 cultural questions, for the former has a farm of her 
 own at home and knows what she is talking about, 
 as the old Frenchwoman soon recognised. 
 
 From the raising of chickens and ducks they 
 passed by a natural sequence to children, and the 
 discovery that each was the proud possessor of a 
 single grandchild cemented a friendship on the 
 spot. The Frenchwoman declared hers to be " bien 
 assez pour le moment," being the joy and the torment 
 of about six grown persons. Aunt Anne said, " Get 
 another, my good friend — get seven more as quickly 
 as possible. One child alone receives too much care. 
 For me I trust my daughter will give me ten grand- 
 children." I wished Victoria-Beatrice could have 
 heard her thus lightly talking of hated rivals. 
 
 " Ah, but ten, mon Dieu ! Madame has no doubt 
 wherewith to nourish them, but for we others, we 
 have enough with one to feed, to educate and to 
 doter her well see you," said the old lady. " One must 
 be prudent and think of the future." 
 
 Leaving the two to deal with this intricate question, 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 2i 
 
 which Gertruda was endeavouring to follow, not 
 only with the idea of improving her French, but also 
 gaining light on a problem with which the future 
 might confront her, I strolled across the Place into 
 the ancient church of St. Jacques. It stands always 
 open, a cool haven of refuge from the busy noise and 
 glare outside. At all hours of the day the white- 
 capped peasant women enter for a few minutes, basket 
 on arm, and kneel in one or other of the small side 
 chapels. 
 
 Just inside the entrance there hangs an old gilded 
 statue of the Madonna and Child. Beneath it runs 
 the inscription " Notre Dame de bon port," and below 
 is a sadly suggestive little alms box, " Tronc pour 
 la sepulture des noyes." How many a Norman 
 fisherwoman must have wept and prayed at this 
 spot ! 
 
 From a stained glass window behind the altar the 
 light streamed mellow and soft. It was not a very 
 fine work of art if viewed near, but the golden light 
 suited the subject which Giotto's fresco in Santa 
 Maria Novella has immortalised, and one recalled 
 the fresco while looking at the window. St. Joachim 
 and Ste. Anne meeting at the Golden Gate — an aged 
 couple greeting each other at the Gate of Paradise ; 
 behind them the dark valley, the clouds and night. 
 
 To how many has this hon port been the only one 
 they were ever destined to reach ! 
 
 But the steadfast faith of the poor fisherwoman 
 leads her step by step to this good harbour. When 
 her man departs for the dangers of the gran' peche 
 
22 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 she prays to " Notre Dame de bon port " to intercede 
 for his safe return. When his boat comes no more 
 home, she drops her hard-earned sous into the tronc 
 and prays for the sweet repose of his soul, and through 
 her tear-dimmed eyes she sees afar the Golden Gate 
 where all faithful lovers surely meet again. 
 
 ** * Sleep after toyle, port after stormie seas, 
 
 Ease after warre, death after life, does greatly please,* " 
 
 spoke a low voice at my side. 
 
 I turned. Aunt Anne's eyes, raised to the window, 
 were full of tears. 
 
 « ♦ ♦ * * 
 
 The fish market, a large covered hall, is on the 
 quay. From five to seven every morning the sailing 
 boats come back like laden bees to the hive, and a 
 crowd of expectant, eager women help to carry the 
 fish into the market. 
 
 By eight o'clock a brisk trade is doing, every wom^i 
 crying her wares at the pitch of her voice as she sits 
 perched up behind her stall ; above her head a 
 board, on which is painted her name, and sometimes 
 a picture of the family boat. 
 
 A stream of purchasers walked up and down, en- 
 quiring prices and weighing critically the still kicking 
 lobsters and crabs, poking invidiously at the long 
 slimy eels, enormous flat skate, the turbot, sea- 
 wolf, red mullet, etc. The arts both of buying and 
 selling are brought to a fine point, often a regular 
 three-act comedy is enacted before the bargain is 
 concluded. 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 1S3 
 
 Aunt Anne and I drew up opposite the stall of 
 Madame Aimable Poncelot as her board announced 
 her. We had sent Gertruda and the string bag back 
 to the hotel. A stout, busthng femme de menage, 
 basket on arm, halted opposite some fine crabs. 
 Instantly Madame Poncelot made ready for the fray. 
 
 " You desire some crabs, my little lady ? Ah 1 
 but you have luck to-day, see you ! Nowhere in the 
 market can you find the crabs to equal these. See, 
 there, this one ! A pound and a half he weighs. I 
 leave him to you for a little nothing of thirty-five 
 sous.'* 
 
 " How then I But you mock yourself of me. 
 Dame ! You take me for a Httle girl from the coun- 
 try ! This miserable one who has the air besides 
 of being dead as the whale of Jonah ! " 
 
 *' Dead ? " shrieked the indignant Madame Pon- 
 celot. " Judge then all the world who passes. Here 
 is a fine crab, active as the devil, yet this lady swears 
 to me he is dead as the whale of Jonah ! Hold him 
 you, Madame, I pray you." 
 
 She handed the crab to Aunt Anne, pinching the 
 unfortunate sharply, which he resented by kicking 
 out endless legs and claws. Aunt Anne fearlessly 
 took hold of the beast. " One must be just, Madame," 
 she said severely to the customer, " the hour of death 
 has not yet arrived for that crab." 
 
 " Haha, my brave boy, thou art finely dead 
 indeed ! Give him your finger, my little lady, and 
 see how dead are his pincers." 
 
 The stout lady felt herself worsted. She looked as 
 
24 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 if it would be a real pleasure to boil down Aunt 
 Anne together with the crab. 
 
 " Madame will do well to buy him herself," she said. 
 ** In England no doubt one eats gladly dead crabs — • 
 I leave him to Madame." She turned to the lobsters 
 and began examining them, reassured by the laugh 
 that greeted her last sally. We had a large audience 
 round us by this time. Each one contributed a 
 remark, while Aunt Anne, feeling her patriotism 
 roused, gave them such a picture of the fish caught on 
 the Enghsh coast as must have prompted a lively 
 desire to poach in British waters. 
 
 Meanwhile, Madame Poncelot, wrapping up the 
 crab, resignedly handed him over, merely observing 
 with a shrug, " Dame ! one is ruined at this cursed 
 trade." With renewed energy she then turned to 
 fresh customers. 
 
 At another stall a black-robed Sister was buying 
 skate. A skate always suggests to me the victim of 
 cold murder. He is terrible enough as he hes there 
 on his face, with the horribly suggestive dark red 
 spots on his broad fiat back and long rat's tail ; but 
 it is nothing to the shock he gives you when, on being 
 turned over, he confronts you with that almost 
 himian countenance of ghastly pallor and hideous 
 misery. 
 
 The nun, however, seemed to experience no emotion 
 of any kind. With stony indifference she took up 
 one corpse after the other. " He is large it is true, 
 but see you the body is thin," she remarked in dis- 
 paraging tones of an enormous specimen, whose 
 
FAIR FRANCE. 25 
 
 destiny was probably to feed a convent full. " I give 
 three francs, no more." 
 
 And in spite of the Holy Virgin and all the saints 
 being called upon to witness that Madame Cotelette 
 had paid for that superb fish four francs fifty but an 
 hour before at the auction outside, the Sister walked 
 off with the skate in her net bag at her own figure. 
 
 " A miserable affair — a price for rotten fish. But 
 there, what would you," observed Madame Cotelette 
 to her neighbours. " The old Combes he robs them, 
 the unhappy ones, of all their goods, and chases 
 them from their houses — one must not be hard on 
 them ! " 
 
 " Make to pay well instead the next fat little 
 hourgeoise! Hein, amie Cotelette?" laughed a 
 neighbour. 
 
 " Monsieur Combes* policy does not seem to meet 
 with the sympathy of these honest fisher folk. I like 
 that woman — I think I will buy some of her fish/' said 
 Aunt Anne. 
 
 Here, however, the chaperon put her foot down 
 firmly and hurried her charge away. 
 
 But though she was steered safely out of the 
 market hall, she'^came to a determined stand outside, 
 where exciting business was doing in the sale of fish 
 by auction. Fishermen and market-women stood in 
 rings round the various auctioneers, the fish spread 
 in lots on the ground in their midst. The auction- 
 eers yelled out the prices in descending scale though 
 ever ascending tones. " Quatre-vingf-quinze sous — 
 Quatre-vingt'dix/' etc. An imperceptible movement. 
 
26 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the twitch of an eyeHd or a finger, and the lot was 
 yours. 
 
 Aunt Anne was soon in the inner circle, and before 
 the chaperon could interfere she had three dozen red 
 mullet knocked down to her. A copper-coloured 
 seaman politely assisted her to gather up the haul, 
 and another presented us with a copy of La Pairie 
 in which to carry them. The paper of La Patrie was 
 very thin and the red mullet very damp. I said 
 nothing, but silently wondered where Gertruda 
 would pack them, and thanked heaven they were not 
 live lobsters or crabs. Presently Aimt Anne ob- 
 served, with sparkling eyes : 
 
 " I knew perfectly well what I was about, Felicity, 
 my dear. You need not look at me in that tone of 
 voice. I am going to give them to those dear babies 
 plajdng at a dinner party over there with empty 
 oyster shells. One of them has eyes that remind me of 
 Victoria Beatrice when she is up to mischief." 
 
 The babies shrieked as if it were raining sovereigns 
 when we dropped the shower of red fish in their midst. 
 Two large, bony, bare-armed ladies standing by, 
 regarded the scene grimly, and I heard one mutter : 
 " En voild deux joliement folks I " * 
 
 We got back to the hotel just in time to take a 
 hurried dejeuner and catch the train for Le Havre, 
 and on reaching TrouviUe that evening, both felt 
 we had not done badly for our first day of perfect 
 rest. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 
 
 TROUVILLE is the children's Paradise. In Eng- 
 land we hear of it as a fashionable watering 
 place. Trouville races, Trouville costumes of " latest 
 cry," the Casino and its entertainments. But go to 
 Trouville and you will soon find, as Aunt Anne and I 
 did, that the chief feature of the place, the one which 
 puts all others in the background, is the children. 
 
 Life at Trouville is planned out for their conveni- 
 ence and enjoyment ; this is their plage, and on the 
 wide golden sands they are encamped under their 
 red and white striped tents and big scarlet um- 
 brellas like a Lilliputian army. From the chalets, 
 villas and hotels all along the coast they emerge the 
 first thing in the morning accompanied by their neat 
 white-aproned bonnes and gaily-ribboned nou-nous, 
 armed with spades, buckets and fishing nets for the 
 day's work. 
 
 Aunt Anne and I had the good fortune to see life 
 from the chalet of some Anglo-French friends instead 
 of the big dulness of an hotel. The centre round 
 which we all revolved in that household, the main- 
 spring regulating our every action, was a small person 
 of three spring-times, usually designated " le petit 
 
28 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Yoiy and nobly carrying out the regal idea from the 
 time he opened his big brown eyes in the early, usu- 
 ally very early, morning, to the time he was persuaded 
 to close them at night. 
 
 His parents, like those of all the other Lilliputians, 
 found themselves at Trouville primarily in order to 
 watch the pale slender little Parisian growing browner 
 and sturdier day by day. 
 
 Incidentally they themselves took the baths of the 
 sea, promenaded on the planks stretching the length 
 of the 'plage (the fashionable walk), and interchanged 
 a friendly unceremonious hospitality among each 
 other at their several villas and chalets. Most of these, 
 like the one in which we stayed, with high sloping 
 roofs, pointed gables, balconies and verandahs, 
 fringing the plage and facing seawards. Ideal summer 
 houses, spotlessly clean and fresh, the rooms en suite 
 giving a feeUng of space and airiness on the hottest 
 day. 
 
 The healthy outdoor life showed quite as beneficial 
 an effect on Madame, our charming little hostess, 
 tired out with the ceaseless whirl of the Paris season, 
 as on her small son. In her cool dainty costumes of 
 white linens and embroidered muslins she looked 
 ten years younger than a few weeks before at the 
 " Grand Prix." 
 
 As to Monsieur le Comte he found himself extend- 
 ing the week he had intended as the limit of his stay, 
 and filling up his time without any difficulty for a 
 month, with a swim in the morning, motoring in the 
 afternoon, and a pariie carree of bridge in the evening. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 29 
 
 The Casino rarely saw our host and hostess or 
 their set, except at the hour of the band in the 
 afternoon, and on rare occasions when a good' opera 
 was given in the evening. 
 
 For those who Hked it there was la peche, but 
 few, except Aunt Anne, who did the thing in pro- 
 fessional style with a fishing smack and an ancient 
 mariner, seemed to have any taste for that branch 
 of *' le sport/* Catching crabs on the " Roches 
 Noires " when the tide went down was the only 
 really popular form of fishing at Trouville. It 
 suited equally well both le petit roi and his father, and 
 I also found much entertainment in it without the 
 painful drawbacks which accompanied fishing with 
 Aunt Anne. The word of le petit roi was law on these 
 occasions. Monsieur le Comte saw his new Panama 
 converted into a fish basket, and I my handkerchief 
 commandeered for the even baser purpose of a sieve, 
 without either of us venturing a remonstrance. 
 
 But the plage at I'heure du bain was the time for 
 seeing le petit roi and his fellow Lilliputians in their 
 glory. Groups of busy builders and architects were 
 dotted all over the sands, working away as if their 
 dejeuner depended upon it. Castles, fortresses, dun- 
 geons, dykes rose up every morning as if by magic. 
 From the umbrella-tents bathers of every size, giant, 
 and pigmy, turned out in every variety of costume. 
 Tiny creatures paddled in and out of the waters with 
 as keen delight in the little warm waves as Kingsley's 
 Water-babies. Their costumes were ideal, being 
 equally suitable for land or water, laddie or lassie. 
 
30 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 One little trio, special friends of mine, all far less in 
 height than my parasol, were clad entirely in scarlet — 
 jerseys, knickerbockers and caps of the same bright 
 poppy colour. Their small bare legs and feet showed 
 brown as coffee berries, and their short curls became 
 crisper and curher the more they were sprayed with 
 the salt sea. 
 
 They owned the names Simone, Georges, and 
 Lizette, but which was which no one save their 
 mother could possibly teU. They chattered inces- 
 santly in most fluent and finished French, talked all 
 together and gave directions to which none attended, 
 but they never quarrelled and never cried. They 
 were the embodiment of the joy of Uving and 
 working. 
 
 The babies in the water were just as happy. Here 
 a small boy rode astride on his father's back Hke an 
 infant Triton on a dolphin. The mother dolphin 
 following with encouraging applause, and the small 
 boy shrieking with delight as they rose over the 
 gently swelling waves. 
 
 Further on, a lady gave careful injunctions to her 
 two tall boys as they took off their long white cloaks 
 and left them at her feet. With her lorgnettes she 
 watched to see they followed well her counsels to be 
 prudent. They swim out to a floating raft, and then 
 comes the supreme moment, as one after another, 
 they stand arms raised and take the desperate plunge. 
 
 " Ah, mon Dieu ! " cries the mother involun- 
 tarily, and gives a sigh of profound relief as the 
 black heads reappear. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 31 
 
 Presently one of the sons returns to his mother with 
 the reassuring news that all goes well, and the water 
 is not cold. She begs he will not remain in more than 
 a little quarter of an hour, and he returns to the 
 perils of the sea ; for this one is a daring spirit, and 
 has twice to be recalled to the boundary by the watch- 
 man in the lifeboat. As at Dieppe, the precautions 
 taken were so numerous that no one could drown if 
 he tried. 
 
 Aunt Anne was leading a set of lancers, water- 
 lancers, a gay party, presently joined by two elegant 
 ladies who walked down from a villa, accompanied 
 by their maid. Their costumes represented the " last 
 cry " of sea fashion, fine black nuns' veiling (what 
 an irony in the name !), a long tunic with short sleeves 
 and V shaped neck, black silk stockings and sandals, 
 and, as a finishing touch, round their heads were 
 wound bright scarlet handkerchiefs, tied in a coquet- 
 tish knot. Shrieks of welcome greeted them from 
 Aunt Anne's lively little party of bathers, men and 
 women, and, the lancers over, all devoted themselves 
 to the task of assisting a very portly lady of their 
 number to float. No one had ventured further in 
 the water than their waists, and, in spite of Aunt 
 Anne's encouraging cries of " Courage, courage, ma 
 chere madame," the fat lady insisted on keeping one 
 foot on terra firma, which perhaps accounted for the 
 difficulty the waves seemed to have in floating her. 
 Everyone appeared, however, to get a good deal of 
 amusement, if not exercise, out of the entertainment. 
 
 My sea and sun bath had been brought to an un- 
 
32 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 timely end earlier in the day by an evil beast who 
 lurks in the sand all along the northern French 
 coast — the ** toque " by name. He stabs the unwary 
 who venture to bathe without sandals, in the sole 
 of the foot. Suddenly and swiftly does he smite, 
 conveying to his victim the impression of having all 
 at once a badly sprained ankle. With difficulty I 
 limped to shore. Gertruda enlightened me after 
 examining my foot. 
 
 " Liher Himmel, Fraulein, but it is the evil 'toque* " 
 A donkey boy standing near offered his services and 
 much wise counsel. 
 
 " Mademoiselle must not swear," he said, earnestly. 
 (I was groaning only !) " She must, on the con^ 
 trary, quickly rfepeat an Ave to the Blessed Virgin 
 and a Paternoster. With that the poison will com- 
 mence to pass — ^but, above all, mademoiselle must 
 not swear or it is finished for her." 
 
 " Fraulein must bathe the wound with ammonia 
 without delay, I run to the pharmacie directly/* said 
 the practical Gertruda. Whether it was the am- 
 monia, speedily fetched by Gertruda, or the Ave 
 devoutly repeated for me by the donkey boy, I do 
 not pretend to say, but the pain soon began to lessen. 
 
 Seated imder a big umbrella planted in the sand I 
 watched le petit toi holding his court in the neigh- 
 boming tent. 
 
 He was full of importance, for he had three slaves 
 all to himself that morning — abject, devoted slaves, 
 his nurse Marie, his mother's maid Hortense, and 
 Gertruda, annexed from Aimt Anne's ten I:. In an 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 33 
 
 intermittent way they each attempted a little needle- 
 work, but laid it aside instantly to do the king's 
 bidding, whether commanded to dig, fill a bucket, 
 lay down and be buried, or sit up and be climbed upon. 
 
 The habit of command has grown with le petit 
 roi since his cradle days. At three years old it is as 
 thoroughly engrained as in Louis XL or Napoleon at 
 their prime. He possesses all the caprice and 
 fertile imagination of the former, combined with the 
 personal magnetism and indomitable will of the latter. 
 Everyone with whom he comes in contact falls 
 (metaphorically) flat on their faces. Among all his 
 acquaintance and companions, the winds and the 
 waves alone refuse to obey him. Their rebellion 
 daily fills the soul of the king with surprise and in- 
 dignation. The blundering obtuseness of the bois- 
 terous ill-mannered wind, unable even to take in his 
 displeasure, specially excites his wrath. Again and 
 again would the fellow repeat his clumsy joke of 
 blowing off the king's big sailor hat and carrying 
 away his picture book. The waves, impudent little 
 fellows, he could put up with better, for at least he 
 could see and touch them, though rarely would they 
 pay the least attention to the royal edict either in 
 hastening or delaying their tide. Still, when they 
 chose, they could be amusing enough, and the king 
 would shriek with dehght as they raced after his Httle 
 pink toes. 
 
 The sun blazed down on the camp, the yellow 
 sands glistened as if flecked with diamond dust, but 
 the king spared not his slaves because of noonday 
 
34 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 heat. He commanded a hole to be dug " deep, 
 but deep," so that he could sail all his royal ships in 
 the waters when the waves, running up the dyke 
 which led to the sea, had filled it. 
 
 The three slaves set to work with energy. They 
 were big, strong, and inteUigent, though not as 
 quick in the up-take as his majesty desired. By fits 
 and starts he lent a hand himself, working hke a Httle 
 steam engine. 
 
 All at once, with Louis-like caprice, his idea 
 changed. He commanded the work to cease, and the 
 broadest backed of the three slaves to turn herself 
 on hands and knees into a horse. Moimting this 
 charger he stood upright and took flying leaps into 
 the hole. This performance he repeated till it began 
 to pall. " Ha, this shall be my tomb ! I will be 
 buried alive here with 'Truda I She shall be my wife," 
 cried the king, as a new idea struck him. " Jump 
 thou, as me I jumped," he commanded. 
 
 The favourite of that morning obeyed and jumped 
 in, without, however, first mounting the patient 
 charger. This excited the king's wrath, and he 
 administered a vigorous thumping with both Httle 
 brown fists, while the gentle good-natured slave 
 laughed and kissed the hands that beat her. "Pardon, 
 pardon, my Httle king. Ah, but thou art not kind for 
 thy poor Gertruda," she remonstrated. 
 
 " Naughty, I love thee no more," repHed his 
 majesty sternly. " Take thyself out of my tomb, 
 I will be buried alone. I will not have thee — I will 
 have no wife. Are stupid aJl the wives." 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 35 
 
 " Eh, but I should like to hear that again," said a 
 voice which caused the king to pause and look up. 
 As his eyes met those of Aunt Anne he seemed some- 
 what discomfited. 
 
 " Va-t'en, Grani, va-t'en," he observed curtly, 
 addressing her by the name he had once learnt from 
 his friend Trixie. 
 
 " Comment ? Is it so one addresses * la bonne fee 
 Grani ' ? Forget not, petit roi, that he who chases 
 the good fairies is left to the naughty ones," said 
 Aunt Anne wamingly. 
 
 With an air of assumed indifference the king 
 turned to his slaves. ** I will that one fills the hole 
 quick — quick. I will be buried alive — but not the 
 head," he said, imperiously. 
 
 " Does one not say ' if you please ' when one 
 would be buried alive ? " enquired Aunt Anne in her 
 most insinuating tones. ** The beautiful little Vic- 
 toria-Trixie of whom I so often remind thee, says 
 always * if you please.' " 
 
 The king shot a suspicious glance at her. This 
 Grani was more difficult to deal with than the dis- 
 obedient winds and waves. The three slaves waited 
 slave-Hke to see what cue they should follow. 
 
 "Don't like the beautiful little Victoria-Trixie. 
 Don't wish to say please," observed the king at last, 
 shortly. 
 
 " Thou dost not wish to say please ? Eh, well, 
 then my poor little king, I, the good fairy Grani, 
 wiU cause these three demoiselles and their three 
 spades to be incapable of moving till thou shalt say. 
 
36 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 * If you please my kind friends Julie, Mathilde, and 
 Gertruda, assist me to be buried in this fine tomb ! ' " 
 
 " Ha-ha ! It is not JuHe and Mathilde, it is 
 Marie and Hortense. Thou art not true fairy ! — ^the 
 fairies they know all things," cried the king triumph- 
 antly. 
 
 For a moment I thought Aunt Anne's ascendency 
 topphng, but she righted herself. The grandmother 
 of a Victoria-Beatrice was not to be so easily worsted. 
 "It is possible that these poor creatures, bruised 
 with fatigue and scarlet with heat, are indeed those 
 fine girls, Marie, thy good nurse, and the gentle Hor- 
 tense ? So changed, so disfigured ! Alas, what hast 
 thou caused them to suffer ! Come here, my poor 
 girls, sit in the shade. Not another stroke of work 
 shall you do. We will make you armchairs of the 
 sand, the little king and I. The poor Truda also — 
 her condition is pitiable. Repose yourselves/' 
 
 " Mais non, mats non," began the outraged 
 majesty, his brows contracting and eyes lowering. 
 
 " Mais oui, mais oui. Since it is I, the Grani, who 
 say it." Aunt Anne's tones were strangely quiet as 
 compared with those which generally fell on the 
 king's ears. Whether it was this impressive quiet, 
 or some other subtle quality, I cannot say, but before 
 he or any of us knew how it came to pass, the tyrant 
 was working away even as the meanest of his slaves, 
 scooping out three fine seats with Aunt Anne, who 
 not only directed, but laboured vigorously herself, 
 signing to the maids to remain inactive and allow 
 themselves to be waited upon. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 37 
 
 When the work was finished and all three were 
 installed in comfort, the king flung down his spade, 
 and, looking at Aunt Anne, enquired, in a subdued 
 voice : 
 
 " The Granis, are they all more great then the 
 kings ? — yes ? " 
 
 " One Grannie is more great than all the kings, big 
 and httle, on the earth. She knows more, seest thou." 
 The voice carried conviction. And from that time if 
 anything had to be done with le petit roi, his parents 
 always appealed to Aunt Anne. 
 
 « « :(c 4e ♦ ♦ 
 
 Once a week there was a bal d' en f ants at the 
 Trouville Casino, an occasion on which the villas and 
 chalets lent their patronage, and the LilHputians, in 
 the daintiest and finest white garments, appeared in 
 full strength. 
 
 It was a broiling day, but this in no way affected 
 the spirit of the ball. The company began to arrive 
 about half -past two o'clock, taking their places all 
 round the big salon. Two cavaliers, about eleven 
 and twelve years old, in white sailor suits with blue 
 collars, sat in the front row, an empty place between 
 them, and an expression of eager expectancy on their 
 faces. Presently they sprang to their feet with a 
 glad " Ah ! la voila I " Both rushed forward and 
 seized the hands of a dainty Httle person with very 
 short, much befrilled white skirts, and the prettiest 
 of little brown legs appearing above her white socks 
 and shoes. Her hair, curly and brown, was tied on 
 one side just above her ear, with a tiny Velasquez 
 
38 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 bow of white ribbon. But it was her nose which 
 explained and justified the attitude of the two sailors. 
 A tip-tilted distracting little nose, with something 
 between a dimple and a dent perched just on the 
 tip. In her wake followed another swain, some two 
 inches less than herself. To him she handed her hat 
 as she went off between her two cavaliers. With a 
 look of extreme dejection he turned away to do her 
 bidding, regarding the hat half resentfully. Then 
 suddenly, seeming to remember it was after all her hat, 
 he furtively kissed one of the long white ribbons as he 
 placed it in safety, and flew back with all speed hke 
 a moth to the light. 
 
 Her fan she used for herself and her three adorers 
 with much tact and equity : he of the white ribbon 
 standing boldly in front of her and braving the 
 undisguised looks of discouragement offered to his 
 close proximity by the naval men. 
 
 " Thou wilt give me the first dance — ^yes ? " be- 
 sought the yoimger of the two, Pierre by name. 
 
 " To Georges the first, because seest thou he is the 
 oldest," replied the lady with admirable impartiality. 
 
 " But it was I prayed thee first," pleaded Pierre. 
 
 " Thou ! How then ? " struck in Georges indig- 
 nantly. " Why, already, at the last ball, she pro- 
 mised me — Va-t'en ! " 
 
 " It is with me thou wilt dance the number two, is 
 it not so, Genevieve ? " entreated the small boy in 
 front of her. 
 
 " Ah, but this is too strong — this little one who 
 does not even know how to valse. Assuredly I am 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 39 
 
 before him. See, his head comes not so high as my 
 shoulder ! '* Pierre sprang up and placed himself by 
 the side of his rival, who, feehng the disadvantage, 
 instinctively raised himself on tiptoe, an action 
 promptly shown up by both the others. 
 
 The dispute waxed hot. " Pierre, thou art not 
 gentil to reproach Lucien that he is Httle," said 
 Genevieve. " Thou also wert little last summer. One 
 saw this morning by thy bathing costume how much 
 thou hadst gained." 
 
 *' It is the sun has drawn in my bathing costume," 
 remonstrated Pierre, but in humbled tones, while the 
 others, including the fair Circe herself, laughed gaily. 
 Pierre drew close to her and seized her hand. " Par- 
 don me, Genevieve chrie, but give me the second 
 dance," he whispered ; " say yes, my little Gene- 
 vieve." 
 
 Genevieve half closed her eyes and looked at 
 him sideways. Her nose dimpled provokingly. 
 
 " I will dance with you all three, but me I will 
 choose the dance for each one. I will make no more 
 promises. All this it bores me." 
 
 The band struck up a polka, there was a general 
 rushing to smd fro, sorting of partners and shuffling 
 of feet. 
 
 " At least thou art mine for this dance," cried 
 Greorges triumphantly. Taking possession of her 
 firmly he whirled her away into the dance. 
 
 Pierre sighed and looked round for another partner. 
 Placing himself before a tall girl with fair hair, the 
 greatest contrast he could find to his adored, he drew 
 
40 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 his heels together and bowed. He spoke no word, 
 
 nor did the lady. She bowed her consent, stood up, 
 
 and off they went in utmost solemnity. 
 
 . Lucien sought for no other partner. Sitting down 
 
 his eyes followed his Circe through the mazes of the 
 
 dance. 
 
 The baU went gaily. By this time the hall was full. 
 The mistress of the ceremonies had collected all the 
 babies, namely those dancers who appeared to be 
 under four years old, in the middle of the room. These 
 she formed into a big ring holding each other's hands 
 and moving round, each to his own step and his own 
 time, the only requirement being to keep moving — 
 to " circulate." 
 
 Among this company le petit roi took his stand, and 
 circulated energetically, with a lordly disregard of 
 time and measure. His mother seated by my side 
 watched his every movement with a glowing pride, 
 which his appearance, in blue velvet and point lace 
 collar, amply justified. Any dancer among the older 
 ones finding partner or dance beyond them, were in- 
 stantly transferred to this circle of peace and safety. 
 I could not help thinking what an excellent institu- 
 tion it would be in every ball-room. A haven of 
 refuge for the feeble and incompetent, a blessing not 
 only for themselves but for their victims. 
 
 The chaperons, whether parents, governesses or 
 nurses, were ranged in the second row, an arrange- 
 ment which enabled them to keep a watchful eye on 
 their charges in front. The mother of Lucien, who had 
 been absorbed in conversation with the aunt of 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 4% 
 
 Genevieve, and had entirely missed the opening scene, 
 now woke up to the fact that her boy was not 
 dancing. 
 
 " But how then, mon chert, thou art not dancing 
 this pretty polka ? " 
 
 " I do not hke very much the polka. I prefer to 
 rest tranquil," said Lucien. 
 
 " But to rest tranquil when one assists at a ball — 
 that is not the custom," laughed his mother. " See, a 
 little girl arrives over there — she has no cavalier — 
 go ask her to dance." 
 
 " Maman, I pray thee do not ask this of me. The 
 next dance I shall dance it with Genevieve. It annoys 
 me to dance with other young girls, seest thou ? " 
 
 " But thou canst not dance only with Genevieve, 
 my son. Be reasonable." 
 
 " Alas, I know it well," sighed Lucien. His mother 
 leant over and placed her head on his Httle thin 
 shoulder, her cheek brushed his. " Mon petit cheri 
 soi doncraisonable," she laughed, with a little break 
 in her voice. Did something warn her how often 
 years hence this scene might be rehearsed ? A 
 French mother is always the confidante of her son, at 
 every age. 
 
 " Ah, comme je V adore ! " sighed Lucien. 
 
 The aunt of Genevieve overhearing this remark 
 shrugged her shoulders. " That one (looking towards 
 her niece) commences early, hein ? A pretty record 
 for nine years old ! I must send her to a convent 
 next year." The aunt's real interest was centred, 
 however, in the baby-ring, where her own infant 
 
42 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 daughter clutched firmly the hand of le petit roi. 
 " What an adorable couple is it not ? ** she asked of 
 all her neighbours. 
 
 The polka over, Genevieve returned to her place, 
 cool and dainty as ever, while everyone else looked 
 hot and rumpled. Her eyes were a Httle brighter, 
 her nose more mischievous and dementing, that was 
 all. Pierre had already got rid of his tall yellow- 
 haired girl, and, to his brother's obvious annoyance, 
 installed himself on the other side of Genevieve. 
 Lucien darted forward to meet them. Others, boys 
 and girls, joined the group. 
 
 The valse was changed. " La Fischerine " was 
 substituted for the second dance. A hot discussion 
 took place between Pierre and Lucien. Pierre 
 claimed the dance as his, since Lucien *s pretensions 
 rested only on a " first valse." He should have it, the 
 valse, when it arrived, not before. Lucien protested 
 that for the valse he must wait till No. 5. To wait 
 so long, ah, misery, it was not possible for himian 
 endurance ! 
 
 Genevieve looked from one to the other, her pretty 
 forehead wrinkled in perplexity. 
 
 " Ah, seest thou,'* she cried, suddenly brighten- 
 ing. *' I will give the first half of ' La Fischerine ' 
 to Pierre, and the second half to thee, Lucien, so we 
 shall all be content ^yes." 
 
 Neither of her swains appeared content, but they 
 made the best of it perforce. " I at least have the 
 first half," said Pierre, with an ominous look at 
 poor Lucien. 
 
THE CHILDIiEN'S PARADISE. 43 
 
 At this moment a dark handsome boy, head and 
 shoulders taller than even Georges, crossed the room, 
 and marching up to Genevieve, bowed his head, threw 
 it back proudly and requested the honour of the next 
 dance. The three already on the field regarded the 
 new arrival darkly. His height made him formidable. 
 
 Genevieve answered sweetly. '* I can give you a 
 part of the dance if you will, but already I have 
 promised the first half and the last.*' 
 
 " Thousand thanks. Mademoiselle ; but me, I am 
 exacting, I require the whole dance for myself alone 
 — even as I shall require my wife for myself alone. 
 I will return later, and hope to be more fortunate." 
 
 He bowed again, swept his glance scornfully over 
 his small rivals, and stalked haughtily away. Gene- 
 vieve called after him, mischievously, '' Must not 
 delay too long your return. Monsieur, or I may have 
 but a quarter to offer." 
 
 " La Fischerine " is a great favourite. There is 
 so much variety in it. You march in couples 
 proudly round the hall k la Polonaise^ You stop to 
 perform figures with other people's partners, and go 
 through an amusing pantomime with your own, the 
 latter figure giving scope for a great deal of individual 
 sentiment. You dance the valse, schottische and pas 
 de quatre in turn. Genevieve remarked she could 
 dance " La Fischerine " all day and all night — she 
 trusted le bon Dieu would have it in Paradise. 
 
 Pierre laughed. I did not hear his answer, but the 
 partners of Genevieve always laughed, and the effect 
 on those not in that happy position seemed to be very 
 
44 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 depressing. I noticed Georges dancing just behind 
 her. Silent and gloomy, he performed his duties 
 mechanically, though his partner was one of the 
 prettiest little girls in the room. The tall dark boy, 
 too, appeared almost oblivious of his partner ; his 
 eyes sought constantly the small curly head with the 
 knot of white ribbon as it danced in and out of the 
 crowd. 
 
 As to Lucien, he counted the minutes and the 
 steps till half the dance should be done. Every time 
 she passed him he looked towards her eagerly. His 
 eyes said : ** Now ? Is it now — ^yes ? *' And as she 
 went by with a little smile and nod which held a 
 promise, he sank back Hfelessly. 
 
 " La Fischerine " is an interminable dance. Hope 
 deferred maketh the heart sick. As time after time 
 she passed him, Lucien felt the heart not only sick 
 but breaking. Slowly the tears rose, no longer could 
 he choke them down, his chest heaved, his throat 
 beat, finally his eyes overflowed. 
 
 His mother whispered comfort and hope. Lucien 
 made no reply. As Genevieve passed again, his 
 mother called to her, ** And the second half ? — ^Thou 
 art forgetting Lucien. But it is not geniil, my little 
 Genevieve.'* 
 
 " Mais non, Madame ! Indeed I forget not. I try 
 in verity to content all of them, but Pierre, he says 
 the first half is not yet over." Then seeing Lucien 's 
 woe, she left her partner swiftly. " Soon I come to 
 thee, Lucien, do not weep," she whispered. Bending 
 her little head, she kissed him hghtly, yet tenderly. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 45 
 
 on the forehead. Her curls fell over him. The boy's 
 face flushed, his eyes shone. He seemed as if he had 
 drunk from Isolda's magic cup. 
 
 She was gone again in a flash, but Lucien's tears 
 were gone too. And though he got only a bare 
 three minutes of the Fischerine, owing to the evil 
 machinations of the unscrupulous Pierre, he walked 
 on air for the rest of that afternoon. Only one thing 
 he firmly declined — to be provided with other 
 partners. 
 
 Genevieve herself brought up a most attractive 
 little damsel with pink cheeks and a pink sash to 
 match, who looked at Lucien with adoring blue eyes, 
 but he regarded her stonily and shook his head. Even 
 the sight of the blue eyes filling with tears of dis- 
 appointment was unable to move him. 
 
 The tall dark boy stepped in and took his first 
 valse, but he waited doggedly and got a polka all to 
 himself before the end in spite of them all. And when 
 the final procession came, and the curtseys of farewell 
 before the mistress of the ceremonies, Genevieve, 
 instead of the usual one partner, marched up with 
 three, Georges on one side, Lucien on the other and 
 Pierre beyond, for as Genevieve flatteringly pointed 
 out to Pierre, he being so much bigger she could see 
 and speak to him over Lucien *s head, whereas Lucien 
 would be hidden on his other side. 
 
 The mistress of the ceremonies stood at the end 
 of the hall, two magnificent flunkeys just behind her 
 holding silver trays of cakes and sugar-sticks, which 
 were handed to each dancer as they passed out. 
 
46 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 The last I saw of Genevieve was surrounded by her 
 three cavaUers all pressing their sugar-sticks upon 
 her. Laughing and shaking her head she rejected 
 all, till, for a quiet hfe, she settled the matter with 
 her usual spirit of equity, by taking a little bite off 
 the end of each. That her small pearl-Uke teeth had 
 crunched their sugar-sticks, clearly transformed them 
 into magic wands for her three adorers, each care- 
 fully placed his away in his pocket, doubtless to 
 transfer it to his pillow at night ! 
 
 ♦ ♦ * * « 
 
 I found Aunt Anne standing at the roulette tables, 
 deep in conversation with two men, one an elderly- 
 looking bourgeois, the other a young man — EngHsh 
 by the collar and tie of him. 
 
 She had slipped away from the ball at an early 
 stage, declaring she must have fresh air. A children's 
 ball without Victoria-Beatrice was hke a Christmas 
 tree without candles. I half suspected the Petits- 
 Chevaux would prove too much for her as she passed 
 through the room where le jeu was going on. 
 
 A crowd surrounded the tables, most of them 
 merely looking on at those playing. Round and 
 round raced the nine Httle horses unwearyingly, 
 but the stakes were not high, a gold piece was rare. 
 The sensible bourgeois has a better use for his 
 money, with the loss of his second five-franc piece he 
 usually rises and ** saves himself/' It was a gambler 
 of this judicious type with whom Aunt Anne had 
 entered into conversation just as he wavered between 
 the rash idea, a remnant of his bachelor doys he con- 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PARADISE. 47 
 
 fessed, of trying his luck yet once again, and the pru- 
 dent one of joining his wife and their Uttle Xavier 
 drinking sirop de Grenadine and listening to the band 
 on the terrace outside. 
 
 " I lack courage to make the game well since I 
 am married," he was saying to Aunt Anne as I came 
 up. *' And you have reason, Madame, the timid 
 should never play." 
 
 " That is certain," Aunt Anne assured him. " But 
 your lack of courage is justified, Monsieur. Le jeu 
 is not a suitable recreation for a good pere de famille 
 of a wealth not precisely colossal. He who involves 
 others in the discomfort of his loss should not 
 play." 
 
 " Ha, Madame does not approve of le jeu — no ? " 
 
 " Quite to the contrary. Monsieur, given the special 
 conditions needful. The first one being character. 
 To make a good gambler it is necessary to have 
 strength, judgment, equilibrium, coolness, calm, 
 intuition, patience, in fact all the finest qualities 
 of the most highly developed human being. Do you 
 not see this ? " 
 
 By this time Aunt Anne had, as usual, an audience 
 Hstening with absorbed attention. 
 
 " Rien ne va plus,' shouted the croupier. She 
 paused. 
 
 The young man in front of her had lost again. He 
 looked round. " There would not be much business 
 doing here if we had to pass your tests, Madame," 
 he laughed. " Now I beg you give me your advice, 
 please. I have just lost eleven times on that con- 
 
48 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 founded horse number nine — ^the devil possesses him 
 to-day. Shall I go on him again ? '* 
 
 " No, my young friend. The devil probably does 
 possess both him and you ! When your luck's against 
 you, go home. It's a golden rule. But if you must 
 try again, stake on Nimiber One. Put on enough — 
 don't be timid," as the young man hesitated be- 
 tween one louis and two. 
 
 As the horses whirled round, Aunt Anne's hand 
 rested in motherly fashion on the yoimg man's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Number One gains ! " shouted the croupier. 
 
 *' You are my Mascotte," cried the young man. 
 " I felt I should win this time." 
 
 " Make place for me," said the elderly pere de 
 famille, seating himself once more at the table and 
 taking out five francs : " If Madame will give me a 
 number I too shall gain." 
 
 " Aunt Anne," interrupted the chaperon, " I can- 
 not countenance this proceeding any longer. Come 
 away. Tea is ready on the terrace — the others are 
 waiting for you."' 
 
 *' A number, I pray you, Madame, before you quit 
 us," implored the family father. 
 
 " Zero ! " laughed Aunt Anne as I dragged her 
 away. "Oh, my dear, I have had such an interesting 
 time — well worth the twenty francs I lost." 
 
 " Twenty francs ! Five o'clock tea for a week ! 
 You had better give your purse in my charge," said 
 the practical chaperon. 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 
 
 ONE of the many pleasant things about travelHng 
 with Aunt Anne is, that you need never make 
 plans beforehand more definite than those of the 
 butterfly or bee. You just go where the sweets of 
 hfe call you, and flit from one flower to the other 
 as fancy beckons. 
 
 One day at Trouville three wild-looking motorists 
 swooped down upon the cool fresh chalet just as the 
 shadows lengthened. The dust of Brittany lay thick 
 on them, even to their very eyelids, in spite of masks 
 and goggles. The wild beauty and charm of Brittany, 
 far-away southern Brittany, lay revealed in a 
 portfolio of sketches beneath the dust. 
 
 Our travellers had come from the jagged sea coast 
 of Finistere across the Montagues Noires. Camac, 
 Concameau, Douamenez, Quimper, Le Faouet were 
 but names to us who knew not the land ; but those 
 sketches, vivid with colour and alive with movement, 
 pictures of wild rocky coasts, of sunny bays and 
 creeks, fishing boats setting out before the dawn, 
 brown and red sails filled with morning breeze, white 
 coifed fisher girls greeting their return in the evening 
 fight and unlading the fish on the pier, the dancing 
 
50 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 of the ridee on a fete day, and a dozen other scenes 
 from the picturesque life of remote Finistere, deter- 
 mined us. 
 
 " We will take Concameau on our way to Tou- 
 raine." Aunt Anne announced after a prolonged study 
 of the chauffeur's maps : " the South Brittany line 
 from Quimper takes you on the direct route to 
 Orleans and Blois." 
 
 With characteristic optimism Aunt Anne dwelt on 
 the sunny side of the journey. How to get from 
 Trouville to Concameau was a problem we left our 
 friends to wrestle with. Nothing could have been 
 kinder than the way in which each one came forward 
 with a fresh suggestion, but after many animated 
 debates in which every one talked at once, our host 
 pronounced, as the conclusion of the matter, " It 
 cannot do itself that journey — absolutely impracti- 
 cable imless by means of the automobile or the 
 balloon." 
 
 Both these conveyances appealed strongly to 
 Aunt Anne, but for sordid practical reasons had to be 
 rejected in spite of the assurance of the motorists 
 that when you had once invested in a car it was a 
 real economy to travel by that means. No railway 
 tickets, you see ! And then the saving of nervous 
 wear and tear in having no trains to hurry for, no 
 changing and waiting in draughty stations. The 
 gain on all sides was incalculable ! A boy guest sug- 
 gested bicycles. He had made a splendid trip from 
 St. Malo to Quimper in three days. But Aunt Anne, 
 though she could, I am convinced, ride a bicycle 
 
A BRETON WEDDING, 51 
 
 with any expert, heroically withstands the tempta- 
 tion, out of consideration for the parents of her 
 grandchild, whose standard for the conduct of the 
 grandmother of Victoria-Beatrice is of an altitude 
 somewhat glacial. 
 
 In the end we delivered ourselves over to the 
 tender mercies of the railway company, to be con- 
 veyed like dumb driven cattle, and often with as 
 little ceremony, through the length and breadth 
 of the land. 
 
 How often we changed trains, how many hours 
 we waited with sinking hearts at desolate railway 
 stations, I will not even try to remember — as pro- 
 fitable to recall a nightmare. Little had we dreamt 
 of the endless possibilities of the French trains if 
 permitted free scope in a cross-country journey. 
 Gertruda, usually our guide and mainstay, gave her- 
 self up to blind chance and showed no more activity 
 than our bundle of rugs. She quitted Trouville 
 with regret. The chef and the chauffeur had both 
 proposed to her, and though, owing to a previous 
 engagement, she was unable to accept either, she 
 confessed she found them both " seJir Uehensii^urdig." 
 Gertruda' s path is strewn with broken hearts, over 
 which she sighs soft regrets, but not, I fear, mingled 
 with the repentance that worketh amendment ; 
 rather, like the insatiable walrus and carpenter 
 among the oysters, ^vith sighs and groans she con- 
 tinues to " sort out those of the largest size.'* 
 
 One peaceful evening we spent at the beginning 
 of our pilgrimage at Mont Saint Michel, which we 
 
52 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 reached with comparative ease, renewing our recol- 
 lection of that wonderful incoming tide as it slides 
 up swiftly and silently across the plains of treacher- 
 ous sand, and of the gorgeously painted sky and 
 sea as the sun goes down ; renewing also our ac- 
 quaintance with the still handsome Madame Cambert 
 and her still incomparable omelettes. 
 
 " We must not be beguiled into staying here," 
 said Aunt Anne in the tone of one who fully realises 
 the temptations held out by that fascinating old 
 town piled at the foot of the great sentinel rock, 
 crowned by the huge buttresses of the grim old mon- 
 astery and dominating cathedral, and surrounded 
 by the wide wind-swept sea. 
 
 " We have a Pardon, a Benediction of the sea, 
 and a Fete of the Filets-hleus to see during the next 
 week, remember." 
 
 So we hardened our hearts against the gentle 
 protests of Madame Ccimbert. No man could have 
 resisted those soft brown eyes of hers as she said, 
 " But, Mesdames, you depart not ? Alas ! and I 
 who had arranged for you a dejeuner of all the fav- 
 ourite dishes of Madame of which I remind myself 
 perfectly — the chicken in his chemise, the blanket of 
 veal, the potatoes jumped. Ah, but I am desolated 
 that these ladies must leave without even eating my 
 breakfast." 
 
 " We will return, dear Madame Cambert, very 
 surely we will return," Aunt Anne assured her, 
 " but we must first visit Concarneau and the sar- 
 dines." 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 53 
 
 ** Concarneau ! '* with eyebrows and hands up- 
 lifted as though it were Kamschatka. " I hope 
 indeed these ladies may arrive in safety ; but it is far, 
 very far, and a journey full of annoj^ances/' 
 
 In spite of every ill-omened prophecy being ful- 
 filled unsparingly, the compensations for the draw- 
 backs of that journey were many, above all in the 
 endless interest of new human beings speaking a 
 new tongue, wearing a new garb, and dwelling in a 
 country so unlike other parts of France. Much of it 
 seemed curiously familiar to English eyes. Thickly 
 wooded hills and dales, country lanes and green 
 meadows, divided by real English hedges and ditches, 
 so conspicuously absent elsewhere in France. 
 
 Towards the south, in the Morbihan, the country 
 became more like Scotland, with wide stretches of 
 moorland covered with short golden gorse and bright 
 purple heather, a gorgeous carpet, big grey rocks 
 peering up betv/een on the more hilly ground. Even 
 the hedges here were of gorse and heather. Grass 
 fields became rare, evidently the land refused to do 
 more than provide a feast for the eye, leaving it to 
 the sea to satisfy the hungry. 
 
 Let no one ask of our route ; as I mentioned be- 
 fore, it was not the crow but the butterfly whose 
 methods we followed. 
 
 Rennes and Vannes are names that faintly recur 
 to me, but there is a curious similarity about stations 
 of every kind, and these were neither of them places 
 where we lingered ; though Vannes I know we would 
 never have resisted had we seen by daylight its 
 
54 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 picturesque beauty and the quaint coifs of the 
 Vannetais women. But so it fell out we found our- 
 selves late one evening at Auray, and were trundled 
 off in a shaky omnibus to the little old inn on the 
 market place. 
 
 Next morning we began our day early. Wakened 
 by a glorious sun, and finding we had a spare three 
 or four hours we drove out across the plains of gorse 
 and heather to Camac. On the outskirts of the 
 little sea-coast village we came upon the famous 
 Druid monuments, the Lines of Carnac as they are 
 called. The road runs straight through the middle 
 of them, for these long rows of great stone pillars 
 cover acres, and formerly extended about two miles 
 square, they say. One could imagine it some vast 
 prehistoric cemetery, the huge stones marking the 
 graves of thousands of slaughtered giants, the result 
 of some great battle in which archangels and demons 
 took part. 
 
 When I suggested this very rational idea both 
 Aunt Anne and our cocker told me I was entirely on 
 a wrong track. According to Aunt Anne, backed by 
 the learned archaeologists, no bones or signs of a 
 tomb have ever been found here. It is supposed 
 that the monuments were connected with some 
 religious ceremony and formed part of a processional 
 dance. Our driver, however, dismissed this theory 
 with contempt, and affirmed unhesitatingly that 
 these stones were no other than the enemies of St. 
 Comply and needless to add of le bon Dieu, who, 
 coming to the rescue of the good saint, visited these 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 55 
 
 sinners with a judgment in the manner of Lot's 
 wife. 
 
 Leaving our carriage to meet us further on, we 
 walked across the plain to Mont St. Michel, a great 
 tumulus of stones and earth on the top of which has 
 been erected a small chapel, where the wives of 
 fishermen from all that country round are wont to 
 go and pray for a safe and prosperous voyage for 
 their men. In a subterranean chamber, bones and 
 flints were found, bones of Druids, perhaps, and of 
 Druids' human sacrifices, but it is St. Michel who 
 rules there now ; his chapel dominates the ancient 
 tumulus as his foot once crushed down the dragon. 
 
 The view from the mount is grand on a fine day. 
 Away towards the Bay of Quiberon you can see 
 Belle-Ile, where Sarah Bernhardt has built her sea- 
 palace, and the islands of Houat and Hoedic. East- 
 ward lies the great archipelago of the Morbihan, 
 and spread out at our feet the wide plain of Carnac 
 with its Lines of menhirs and dolmens, etc. Here 
 and there the long Lines are broken by rude semi 
 circles and a space where an altar may have stood. 
 In other places two and three huge blocks of stone 
 support another laid horizontally, forming a gigantic 
 table or shelter, whichever use bests suits your own 
 dimensions. On some of these stones were curious 
 attempts at figures and signs, but for the most part 
 there was no carving or decoration of any sort to 
 be seen. 
 
 Our cocker was by no means content that we did 
 not devote more time and study to these " monu- 
 
56 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 ments " of his country. He assured us " one came 
 from America expressly to see them." But Aunt 
 Anne refused to waste more of her morning on 
 these " Lot's wives," as she called them, her interest 
 lying more in humans than in stones, a sentiment 
 she tried to explain to our driver by translating 
 into French, " A live dog is better than a dead lion." 
 He missed her point, but took the remark in his own 
 practical way. " My faith, not a doubt," said he ; 
 " and a dead lion he is far preferable to a live lion, 
 above all if that last one he has hunger." 
 
 We rattled into Camac at 10.30, firmly declining 
 to descend at the museum even to see a room full of 
 " dead lions," and chose rather to be taken to the 
 parish church and the house of St. Comely on the 
 " Place," " Always go straight to the centre of life," 
 being Aunt Anne's precept. Had it been market-day 
 we should have made a bee line for that hive the 
 market. 
 
 St. Cornely was one who attained a very great 
 sainthood ; he was and still is a prophet in his own 
 country of Camac. His statue and the pictures 
 of his miracles decorate the fine old granite church. 
 This we gathered from the ancient dame who acted 
 as custodian to the saint's tiny house. Much more 
 she told us concerning Comely and his wonder-works, 
 showing us a shrined statue of the saint covered 
 with jewels, and various relics ; but alas ! it was 
 all spoken in the tongue of the ancient Briton, 
 with only here and there a word of French thrown 
 like a flash-light across our darkness. We tried to 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 57 
 
 get at the date of Comply. Aunt Anne suggested 
 the sixth century and I the thirteenth — our ancient 
 dame nodded assent to both of us. 
 
 One valuable piece of information we did how- 
 ever obtain by means of signs and gesticulations, 
 namely, that a marriage was taking place in the 
 parish church just outside on the " Place.** 
 
 " Here's a piece of luck," cried Aunt Anne, " a real 
 Breton wedding. Good-bye, saints, I'm off to the 
 sinners." And with a " Bon jour, chere madame," 
 and a silver coin dropped in the ready old palm, 
 she was down the rickety stairs in a twinkling. 
 
 The service was just ending in the picturesque 
 old church where for hundreds of years succeeding 
 generations had come to be baptized, married and 
 buried. We joined the gathering crowd outside 
 the porch, and waited for the bridal procession. 
 
 Everyone around us was talking in the Breton 
 tongue, a speech quite baffling to one who hopes, 
 with the aid of fomr or five modem languages, to be 
 able to pick up a stray word or two. There is no 
 clue, and the expressive gestures which go so far 
 towards helping speech with the Latin people, are 
 absent in these reserved, quiet, and somewhat 
 impenetrable descendants of the ancient Britons. 
 
 Even Aunt Anne pronounced herself nonplussed 
 until she suddenly espied the cheery face and form 
 of a sailor among the onlookers. With true intuition 
 she made her way towards the travelled seafarer. 
 She found that besides speaking good French he 
 was willing to be most communicative, the natural 
 
58 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 reticence of his race being modified, no doubt, not 
 only by his genial and gallant profession, but by the 
 prospective rejoicings of this festive occasion. For 
 he was a guest, though arrived too late for the wed- 
 ding cerenaony. 
 
 From him we learnt that the bridegroom was " a 
 solid boy," owning a pretty httle farm and many 
 good sheep and cows. The bride held a good posi- 
 tion in a fabric of hats, and was of prudent parents. 
 She had a nice little dot, though perhaps not one 
 that could have entitled her to expect a marriage 
 so handsome, for it was a marriage " trhs chic** and 
 a great event in the place. 
 
 I enquired if the bride were pretty, an absurdly 
 unpractical aspect of the affair, as I felt on our 
 sailor's ready reply, " My faith, yes I It is a fine girl 
 — big and strong. She will make a superb mother." 
 
 A woman standing near, and catching the im- 
 wonted sound of French, chimed in at this point 
 with the information that the bride was indeed 
 Men belle, " Her apron of brocade, pale blue, her 
 fichu of fine lace, and her dress embroidered with 
 gold and silver thread. Soon should we see how 
 beautiful she was 1 " 
 
 A pretty face evidently did not come into the 
 question at all, the sailor's ideal being health and 
 strength — the woman's fine feathers ; both, after 
 all, items which go a long way towards making up 
 that elusive, indefinable abstraction we call beauty. 
 
 Presently the crowd bent forward eagerly, and 
 through the already open doors the wedded pair 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 59 
 
 came arm in arm followed by the bridal processioni 
 demoiselles and gargons d'honneur, relations and 
 friends in due order. 
 
 The bride, as our sailor had said, was a fine, strong, 
 healthy-looking woman, with big hips and square 
 shoulders, and a kindly reliable face. Both she and 
 her bridegroom looked of an age to be celebrating 
 their silver, at or least tin, wedding. A nice sensible, 
 comely, middle-aged pair ; but the Bretons, they 
 say, men and women, early lose the bloom of youth. 
 The beauty of the bridal garments had not been 
 overrated. She was very smart in her blue brocade 
 apron, fichu of fine lace, full short skirt of black 
 cashmere bordered with black velvet, her head 
 crowned by the dainty coif with its embroidered 
 wings, and encircled by a wreath of orange blossoms, 
 garlands of orange blossom also decorating her 
 bodice. The bridegroom too wore the real old 
 costume of the country. A short jacket, trimmed 
 with bands of black velvet and rows of little buttons 
 closely sewn together. Full knee-breeches of white 
 accordion-pleated canvas, and brown leather gaiters. 
 This, our sailor told us, is the correct ancient cos- 
 tume, worn since three hundred years at least. 
 The ugly modern trousers patronised by some of the 
 young gargons d'honneur being an innovation de- 
 spised by the true old-fashioned patriotic Breton. 
 
 Aunt Anne, still deep in converse with her sailor, 
 brought up the rear of the bridal procession, which 
 marched in triumph down the main street halting at 
 last at the courtyard of a small inn. Here the com- 
 
66 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 pany passed in, our sailor among them, and all 
 clustered round the bride like bees, kissing, con- 
 gratulating and apparently chaffing her, if one may 
 judge from the peals of laughter and the bride's 
 rosy cheeks. We stood at the open door of Paradise 
 among the rest who wore not the wedding garment. 
 Presently a group of girls, led by the principal 
 bridesmaid, broke out into an old French song, 
 which, thanks to the honne of my childhood, came 
 back to me with the familiarity of a nursery rhyme, 
 bringing in its train echoes of those other familiar 
 favourites, " II etait une bergere," " Ratapataplan," 
 *' Malbruck s'en va-t-en guerre," etc. I had for- 
 gotten how very nice the words were. The fact is 
 that to appreciate the full beauty of the sentiment 
 it is necessary to hear the song sung at a bride, for it 
 was literally discharged full at her, hke balls from a 
 cannon's mouth. 
 
 /'CHANSON DE LA MARINE," 
 I. 
 
 Nous somm's venus vous voir 
 Du fond de not' village 
 Pour souhaiter ce soir 
 Un heureux manage 
 A monsieur votre 6poux 
 Aussl bien comme k vous. 
 
 Vous n'irez plus au bal, 
 Madame la marine 
 
 (Here the ring closed in on their victim and pointed 
 a threatening finger.) 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 6i 
 
 Danser sous le fanal 
 Dans les jeux d'assemblee ; 
 Vous gard'rez la maison 
 Taadis que nous irons. 
 
 Aunt Anne's head had nodded approval during 
 this verse. Here she broke out into cheers and ap- 
 plause. ** Excellent ! I shall sing this song in future 
 wherever I am asked to a wedding! Felicity, my 
 dear, mind you remember those words." 
 
 3- 
 Avez-vous 4cout6 
 Ce que vous dit le prStre ? 
 A dit la verite 
 Et comma il vous faut etre 
 Fidele a voire 6poux 
 Et r aimer comme vous. 
 
 4- 
 Quand on dit son epoux 
 On dit souvent son maitre; 
 lis ne sont pas si doux 
 Comme ils ont promis d'etre ; 
 
 Here the singers turned their attention towards 
 the bridegroom, who looked mighty uncomfortable, 
 poor fellow. 
 
 II faut leur conseiller 
 De mieux se rappeler. 
 
 5- 
 Recevez ce bouquet 
 Que nous venons vous tendre ; 
 II est fait de genet 
 Pour vous faire comprendre 
 Que tons les vains honneurs 
 Passent_^comme les fleurs. 
 
 The song is typically Breton in spirit and expres- 
 
62 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 sion. In no other part of France could be found 
 this deUghtful, unvarnished directness of speech and 
 thought, this primitive attitude of the sexes towards 
 each other, and the impHed high value set on the 
 holy estate of matrimony, since, in spite of all the 
 drawbacks, set forth so unsparingly, it is still con- 
 sidered desirable. And then the tune, how suitable ! 
 Elementary as the Druid monuments, plainly hewn out 
 of three or four notes, obvious and monotonous, yet 
 enduring and full of purpose. 
 
 Aunt Anne was dehghted, and encored with en- 
 thusiasm. " It is good, old-fashioned English,'* 
 she cried ; " these Bretons are my own kith and 
 kin — ^none of your Latin race here — ^your gallantry 
 and false sentiment. We are right down on the bed 
 rock of Dame Nature." 
 
 Gertruda had listened attentively. The words 
 had been pronounced with the same distinctness and 
 delicious Uttle nasal drawl which Yvette Gilbert 
 used so well to render in the folk song. Gertruda's 
 expression signified she was not in sympathy with 
 the sentiments of her gracious lady. 
 
 " Your Kaiser would approve of that song," I 
 remarked. 
 
 " Ach ja, Fraulein, he would command it to be 
 simg to every bride in his kingdom if there were but 
 a German translation. All the German men would 
 like that song, except perhaps the line which says the 
 wife shall counsel them to remember their vows. 
 That line the Kaiser would surely change. Counsel 
 from the woman does the German man not love." 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 63 
 
 Which remark showed how closely Gertruda has 
 studied her king and countrymen. 
 
 More chaff greeted the bride at the close of the 
 song. The bridegroom, too, writhed under a volley 
 directed again at him ; but his bride came to the 
 rescue, taking him by the hand with a delightfully 
 motherly, protecting air, and though what she said 
 we could only guess, turned the laugh against the 
 mocking girls. 
 
 Meanwhile, after a little temporary refreshment in 
 the form of cider and galettes, both specialities of 
 Brittany, the wedding party formed into hne again 
 and, accompanied by two musicians armed with the 
 national instruments, a hiniou and a fife, made their 
 way to a little open place in the street and proceeded 
 to dance, tmtil the wedding breakfast at the inn 
 should be ready. 
 
 Dance is a light word to describe the sober, pre- 
 meditated movements of the ridee and the gavotte. 
 The ridee especially suggests nothing less than the 
 archaic and monumental. A large circle join hands 
 and slowly jog round, with arms swaying rhyth- 
 mically to a dirge-Hke measure, which must surely 
 date from the days of the ancient Druids, whose 
 weird monuments we had just seen. Those solemn, 
 upstanding pillars of stone, unhewn, unfinished as 
 many of the honest faces around us, seemed to take 
 on a new significance, and one could fancy how on a 
 moonlight night, at the magic hour when the ghosts 
 walk, the Druid monuments slowly awaken, and 
 forming into circles jog, sway, and dance to and fro to 
 
64 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the monotonous refrain of the ridee, just in the 
 fashion of this wedding party. 
 
 The gavotte is rather more modem and animated. 
 It is essentially a dance lor sabots and heavy ground. 
 The music of the hiniou — the bagpipes of Brittany — 
 suggest a cheerful, indefatigable jog-trot. Up and 
 down the village street, over the stones through the 
 mud, up hill or down hill, in wind or shine, it is all 
 one to the gavotters. They require no ball-room 
 accessories of parquet floor, satin shoe, or ceihng over- 
 head. The main essentials are those of the good 
 mountaineer — endurance and soundness of wind and 
 Hmb. 
 
 Even at eleven o'clock there was something in- 
 spiriting and infectious about that insistent reiter- 
 ated tune kept up so manfully by the hiniou and fife. 
 Aunt Anne was unable to resist it. The lynx-eye of 
 her chaperon being turned for a moment, off she 
 went hand in hand with her middle-aged mariner, 
 in no way deterred by the scandaUsed expression on 
 Gertruda's virtuous little face. 
 
 " Ach lieber Himmel! See then, Fraulein, the 
 gracious lady ! " She touched me on the arm ; then, 
 the sense of humour overpowering that of propriety, 
 laughed hysterically as her eyes followed the active 
 little figure ot her mistress vanishing down the village 
 street hand in hand with the sailor, twisting and 
 twirling in and out of the chain of dancers, footing it 
 with the best of them. 
 
 " Give me that kodak," I answered Gertruda, and 
 the sun, which had been playing hide-and-seek with 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 65 
 
 the clouds, came to my aid and gave me a glorious 
 chance. 
 
 Shortly after, the bride pausing near me to take 
 breath, I made so bold as to ask permission to photo- 
 graph her. In a few words of careful French she 
 gave a gracious consent on condition only that she 
 was not put upon a postcard ! I have known ladies 
 who would have reversed the request, but notoriety 
 is not considered chic in Finistere. Yet she would 
 have made a charming postcard, this Breton bride 
 in her bravery. 
 
 The bridegroom lit up quite eagerly at the notion 
 of being photographed ; his only condition, that a 
 picture be sent to him. The pair faced me arm in arm, 
 straight, stiff, and immovable as Druid pillars. The 
 biniou ceased, and all the wedding guests crowded 
 round to see the operation, and, if possible, squeeze 
 into the picture. Aunt Anne came to my rescue and 
 eliminated all but the centre couple,promising the rest 
 they should be immortalised in their turn when they 
 had paired off, either as past or prospective married 
 couples. 
 
 This announcement, made by our friend the sailor, 
 who acted as interpreter, created an immense sensa- 
 tion, specially among the gargons and demoiselles 
 d'honneur. It was, I have reason to believe, the 
 cause of several engagements being precipitated on 
 the spot, a most irregular proceeding ; but Aunt 
 Anne's presence is generally productive of irregular 
 proceedings. 
 
 After the bridal pair had been taken from all points 
 3 
 
66 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 of view, the kodak moving round them as though 
 they were monuments, a dear old couple presented 
 themselves, thoroughly eligible, being midway be- 
 tween the silver and golden wedding. Their faces 
 were like sweet old Ribston pippins, all in browns, 
 yellows, and reds, framed in silver, and coifed, she 
 with her stiff, spotless white cap, he with the round 
 Breton hat trimmed with black velvet and steel 
 buckle. With the assistance of our interpreter, 
 Aunt Anne entered into an animated conversation 
 with them. They told of their own wedding thirty- 
 five years ago in this same distinguished-looking old 
 church, and how they had ridden home in the evening 
 on the same horse, pillion, in the true mode de 
 Brefagne. Alas, for the degeneracy of modem days, 
 this good old custom was now nearly obsolete — ^the 
 bridal pair to-day were actually going to drive 
 away in a carriage 1 
 
 " Which would you prefer. Gertruda ? " enquired 
 her gracious lady, speaking to her as usual in Ger- 
 man. 
 
 Gertruda blushed as though the bridegroom were 
 awaiting her round the comer, but answered firmly : 
 
 " A carriage is, perhaps, too magnificent for me, 
 gracious lady, but never would I consent to ride on 
 a horse behind a man. Too much submission to the 
 man does it signify — in Germany, already, we have 
 of that enough." 
 
 " Silly child art thou," her mistress pulled her up 
 sharply " It signifies rather that the wife is going 
 to steady down and regulate the pace both of the 
 
A BRETON WEDDING. 67 
 
 man and his beast in future. She will be there — ^her 
 arm clinging about him, her hand on his heart — 
 wherever he goes." 
 
 Aunt Anne has a deep vein of sentiment which does 
 not often appear. After the " Chanson de la Mariee," 
 I wondered how the generaUty of Breton bridegrooms 
 would concur with this view. 
 
 Aunt Anne expressed her desire to dance with 
 the old gentleman ; but the time for departure hav- 
 ing come, as our driver signified by vehement cracks 
 of his whip, the chaperon ruthlessly tore her from 
 her gallant old partner, to their mutual regret. 
 
 Before driving off, the bride's mother insisted on 
 our taking a look at the wedding breakfast-table 
 and above all at the bridal cake, a masterpiece of 
 confectioner's art set in the central place of honour, 
 and crowned with a miniature reproduction of the 
 bride — a doll dressed in Breton costume, her feet 
 firmly planted on the topmost pinnacle of pink 
 sugar tiers. 
 
 " Inside the cake is of orange colour, altogether 
 delicious. If only these ladies could remain and 
 partake it would give us much pleasure," said the 
 bride's courteous mother. 
 
 We waved a cordial farewell to the happy couple 
 and drove off, feeling that we had at least contributed 
 a thrilling subject of conversation to the wedding 
 breakfast. 
 
 That same night we slept to the sound of the 
 waves breaking along the shore of the little bay of 
 Concameau. 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 
 
 IT is worth even being wakened out of a sweet 
 sound sleep to see the fair bay of Concameau 
 at two o'clock on a moonlight night in August, the 
 still smooth waters outspread like a vast shimmering 
 prairie with a straight broad highway of light leading 
 right across the sea from the belt of yellow sand 
 where the ripples break with a fringe of foam, away 
 and away to the gate of the starlit sky. 
 
 On such a night, surely, if one walked along the 
 coast to the rocky point of Beg Meil jutting out into 
 the sea, one might hear the faint echo of the bells of 
 Is — ^that city engulphed by the angry waves, and 
 buried fathoms deep off this very coast of Finistere. 
 
 Voices from the harbour came through the open 
 window. The fishermen were unwinding their long 
 blue sardine nets, and unfurling the brown sails 
 ready for flight. By twos and threes in a long line 
 out came the flock of little sardine boats, wide wings 
 outspread, with here and there a larger bird of bigger 
 wings for the heavier catch of the *' thon." * A 
 goodly fleet, they sailed slowly and noiselessly as 
 clouds across the bay, and vanished soon, merged in 
 sea and sky. 
 
 * White salmon or tunny. 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 69 
 
 The little chambermaid Pauline told us next morn- 
 ing that the peche had been bad, very bad, this year. 
 Sardines refuse to be caught except in smooth waters, 
 and the sea had been wicked for the poor fishermen. 
 She knew all about it, for was not her father one of 
 them, and her big brother also ? Alas, it was a 
 triste metier, Pauline declared, and to be a fisher- 
 man's wife a sadder trade still — better far to marry 
 a cultivator ! 
 
 Pauline had evidently reflected well in coming to 
 this conclusion, for when I asked why she felt more 
 attracted towards the owner of the plough than the 
 boat, she replied promptly : 
 
 " With the sea all is uncertain — one season, it is 
 true, you may gain a thousand francs, but then the 
 next perhaps not a himdred sous in the week. When 
 the man does not work he drinks (or, to translate 
 PauHne quite Hterally, * that drinks '). With the 
 cultivator the work goes on always, and though he 
 gains but little, for the wife it is better, since he has 
 less chance to drink. God be thanked, the sea is 
 good to-day," she added ; " she has done much 
 better since the Benediction three weeks ago." 
 
 We inquired anxiously about coming Benedictions, 
 and learnt there was to be one at a distant fishing 
 village the next day — a Pardon and a Benediction 
 which would be attended by all the villagers of that 
 district. There were Pardons or fetes in plenty 
 coming on everywhere, but most of the Benedictions 
 had already taken place, so we were lucky. 
 
 The sardine fleet came home with a good haul 
 
70 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 that afternoon. The blue nets had had luck. The 
 women and girls seated on the low sea wall knitting 
 looked out across the bay as the brown specks in the 
 distance came nearer ; knitting needles and tongues 
 worked apace. Then, as the boats approached, 
 they trooped down to the pier, calHng to their special 
 " Marie " or " Marguerite " to know what luck. 
 As the boats slowed down and gently glided into port, 
 the brown and red sails drooped and fell like tired 
 wings, and then a wonderful thing happened. Sud- 
 denly a cloud of gossamer blue wings fluttered in the 
 breeze in place of the heavy dark sails. The filets- 
 Ueus had been hung up to dry. And now as each 
 boat came alongside the pier the women eagerly 
 joined in helping imload and haul up the fish, their 
 nimble fingers counting the sHppery shining sar- 
 dines as though they were silver coins, while a 
 crowd of eager buyers, agents, and owners of 
 factories pressed round shouting and bidding 
 prices. 
 
 Aunt Anne found an old fisherman, like ourselves, 
 watching the landing of a load of thon. A ladder of 
 hands passed the great stiff heavy fish from the 
 boat up to the pier, where they were at once closely 
 packed, standing straight up on end, into a wooden 
 cart, looking like big tin toys, so very stiff and shiny 
 and artificial is the thon once on dry land. The old 
 fisherman regarded the tightly packed chareite with 
 great satisfaction, explained by the fact, we learnt 
 presently, of his being part owner. 
 
 " Ah, he is a good fish, the thon, he weighs heavy 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 71 
 
 — five to six pounds each one of those fine fellows," 
 he remarked. 
 
 We asked what they were worth. He told us 
 about five francs each on the pier, and, of course, 
 a great deal more further off. " Oh my, yes," he 
 added in English, and winked as though he had 
 found us out — no deceiving him ! 
 
 " Ah, you speak English, then?" said Aunt Anne. 
 
 " Guess dat*s so. I go San Francisco two time," 
 he explained with pride. But the English had lain 
 rusty thirty years and refused to carry him any 
 further. He lapsed into French and told us of his 
 travels in many lands, for he had served in the army 
 in '71, then in the navy, and finally followed the 
 calling of fisherman. Once he had been to Iceland 
 with the herring-fleet from Paimpol. Did he know 
 Pierre Loti's books ? My faith, but yes, he knew the 
 " Pecheur d'Islande." He gave a true account that 
 one — Iceland was a dur pays ; you had to take your 
 provisions with you or not much would you find to 
 fill your poor stomach in that land. And thirty 
 days to arrive there I Dame, but America was a 
 country far preferable. If one had youth that was 
 the country, but Iceland — le bon Dieu smiled not on 
 that coast. He permitted them not even an apple 
 tree for cider ! And the sea — ah, but she could be 
 wicked up there 1 " 
 
 He confirmed Corentine's indictment that the sea, 
 most capricious lady, needed a good deal of benedic- 
 tion to keep her in benign mood. What the lordly 
 sun is to the people of the com, wine, and oil coun- 
 
72 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 tries, such is the sea to the coast people of Finistere. 
 The wild rugged land gives little save a wealth of 
 colour in gorse and heather, beautiful to look upon, 
 a joy to the artist, scarcely satisfying to the hungry. 
 But the sea holds in her vast bosom stores of food, 
 precious food turned quickly into golden louis — 
 thon and sardines in summer, sole, skate, herring, 
 etc., in winter. 
 
 Sometimes a beneficent divinity, the sea 57ields 
 generously of her treasures to her children, rocking 
 them gently, tenderly, as a mother on her breast, 
 smiling serenely, with never the suspicion of a frown 
 or wrinkle on her calm face, through the long summer 
 day and short summer night. But the Breton fisher- 
 man knows well that there is little of the maternal 
 element in his mistress the sea. Any day, any hour, 
 her mood may change, and, like a remorseless, furious 
 goddess, she may rise, wreck his boat, take his life 
 if he prove too daring, and in any case withhold all 
 reward to the toiling nets and lines. 
 
 Like all people Hving in close touch with the great 
 forces of nature, and depending for their very ex- 
 istence on sea, river or land, the Bretons invest 
 their sea with a very human personahty. It was 
 no poetic exaggeration which made Loti depict 
 Yann as fearing the vengeance of the sea on his 
 marriage with Gaud. 
 
 " One day she will claim me — my life will pay 
 forfeit for this disloyalty to her," was his inmost 
 conviction. Gaud knew it also, even before that 
 dreaded day when he tore himself from her, his 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. ^z 
 
 newly-wed bride, and trusted himself to the wrath- 
 ful and neglected sea for the grande peche of Ice- 
 land. 
 
 " And one night," Loti tells us, " off that sombre 
 coast of Iceland, mid the furious roar of the storm, 
 his nuptials with the sea were celebrated. She 
 who had once been his nurse, who had rocked and 
 reared him from childhood to a strong vigorous 
 youth, claimed him again in his superb virility for 
 herself alone. He remembering Gaud, his wife 
 of earth, resisted with giant's strength this bride 
 of the tomb, these monstrous nuptials," but in vain. 
 
 No wonder then that these people of the coast 
 call on Him whom they trust to be mightier than 
 the sea, to lend His aid in softening the heart of 
 their mistress, and implore also the gentle Lady of 
 Succoiu: to bless their hard nights of toil and bring 
 them safe home into port. It is curious to note 
 how many godchildren she has among the boats, 
 this eternal S3mibol of Motherhood. In the port of 
 Concameau that afternoon one counted them by the 
 dozen — ** Notre Dame de Lorette," " Notre Dame 
 de la Mer," "La Sainte Vierge," "Notre Dame de 
 secours," " de Consolation," " de bonne Esperance," 
 etc., etc. The Virgin's boats far outnumbered 
 those of the loyal Frenchman or the faithful lover, 
 such as '* Fleur de Lys " or " Belle Marguerite." 
 
 But in spite of aU influences which could be 
 brought to bear on the sea, according to our old 
 fisherman, the blue sardine nets had again and 
 again this summer dragged from early dawn through 
 
74 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the waters in vain, the colour faded, the nets torn, 
 all for nothing. Again and again the patient Breton 
 fisherwomen re-dyed and mended the long filets- 
 hletis, hoping and praying for a better peche on the 
 morrow — the weather continued stormy and the 
 sardine wise. 
 
 For the little sardine is a wary fish, requiring 
 most dehcate handling. Only when the sea is 
 calm and clear will he venture near the surface, 
 where alone the fine nets can be cast, for lower 
 down the big fish would soon rend them to bits. 
 Even then the net must be rendered invisible to his 
 sharp little eyes and logical little brain, for a sar- 
 dine is a reasoning being, as any Concameau fisher 
 will tell you ; and no bait, not the choicest morsel 
 of cod, will induce him to go within range of a net 
 he can see, either white or black. Fortunately for 
 the fisherman, it remains as yet an unsolved prob- 
 lem to the sardine mind, only to be attributed to 
 the general contrariness of this puzzling universe, 
 why, wholly without warning and wholly without 
 visible cause, large companies of his friends and 
 relations are apt to suddenly huddle together and 
 be drawn upwards, upwards, till they mysteriously 
 disappear from sight. 
 
 The sardine is the chief industry of Concameau, 
 enabling as it does the women and girls to earn also. 
 There are some tliirty usines or factories, for pre- 
 paring and packing sardines in which nearly all 
 those employed are women. 
 
 It is no light work in the usines. The hours are 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 75 
 
 long, and perforce mostly night hours, since the 
 sardine must be cooked, decapitated, packed and 
 sealed up in his tin coffin all within a few hours of 
 landing. The pay is poor ; for there is no lack of 
 women's fingers, girls' nimble fingers, which all the 
 world over are priced at just the lowest possible 
 figure which himger forces them to accept. 
 
 Still, not to work in a stifling usine reeking of 
 hot oil and cooked fish, sometimes till four o'clock, 
 through the long, summer night, is counted so great 
 a misfortune, that the " Blessing of the Sea " is as 
 fervently patronised by the " sardine girl " as by 
 any of her brothers. 
 
 * * * itt * 
 
 We started early next morning for the Benedic- 
 tion, as it was a long drive up and down many hills 
 which our horse and man must take with caution. 
 We were to pass through Pontaven, and there, said 
 our cocher, he and his horse would require dejeuner 
 and repose ; he recommended the same programme 
 to these ladies, and informed us that he patronised 
 Madlle. Josephine's Hotel, and we could do no better. 
 All the visitors went there — at Gouilet Riec there 
 was no means of eating. 
 
 " We do not care in the least about dejeuner at 
 Pontaven, but we desire to see the Pardon and the 
 Benediction at Riec," I said, firmly ; " for that 
 we must be in good time." 
 
 " Ah, these ladies will see all that is necessary if 
 they arrive at three o'clock — Me, I will see to it. 
 The procession, that is the only thing necessary." 
 
76 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " It is no use resisting a will like that," remarked 
 Aunt Anne looking at the thickset shoulders, short 
 neck and bullet head of our driver. '* He is going 
 to have his own way and go his own pace." 
 
 " Well the pourboire is in our hands, and I shall 
 tell him he won't get any unless he does as we wish," 
 I said, for this spirit of philosophy in Aunt Anne 
 savoured too much of abject submission to un- 
 warrantable tyranny to please me. Airnt Anne 
 turned her whimsical glance upon me and remarked 
 indulgently, and I grieve to say with an utter disre- 
 gard to fact, " Fehcity, my dear child, how young 
 you are ! That man will get his pourboire and he 
 will get his own way." 
 
 Pontaven is some nine miles from Concameau 
 through a pretty wooded country all up and down 
 hill like a switchback. Farms and meadows were 
 scarce as compared with plains of gorse and 
 heather, though wherever the soil would hold a tree 
 the industrious Breton had planted an orchard ; for 
 apples do well here, and the soul of the Breton, 
 like that of his Cornish brother, dearly loves cider. 
 
 Aunt Anne's practical soul was not content with 
 the empty beauty of the golden gorse and purple 
 heather. She enquired anxiously of our driver 
 whether there was any use to which they were able 
 to put this fair-showing crop. 
 
 He replied cheerfully, *' Ah yes, but one grows all 
 that to nourish the sheep." 
 
 We drove for miles through many acres of gorse, 
 without, however, so much as a glimpse of a sheep. 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 77 
 
 and concluded therefore that our Breton was either 
 not in the agricultural line or had lied to us out 
 of a stem sense of patriotic loyalty to his barren 
 land. 
 
 Pontaven nestles down in a nook where several 
 valleys meet and the hills close round protectingly. 
 The river Aven turns its many picturesque mill- 
 wheels and connects it with the sea, a little steamer 
 running down every day to the coast. At the en- 
 trance of the httle town our driver informed us — 
 
 " Here one descends from the carriage and I take 
 my horse to repose himself. By that road one 
 ascends to the Bois d'Amour — these ladies will 
 obtain from there a magnificent view of the town 
 and the surrounding country." 
 
 I expressed great doubts as to whether I wanted 
 to climb up that stony road to any Bois d'Amour 
 in creation. But Aunt Anne was so impressed by 
 the decisive tone of our cocher that she was already 
 out of the carriage. " Quickest to do as he says, 
 my dear — ^That man won't budge from Pontaven 
 till we have seen the Bois d'Amour. Come along." 
 
 " One would think that stiff-necked old rascal 
 was a reincarnation of Napoleon," I remarked bit- 
 terly. " We are giving him two good hours in which 
 to drink cider." 
 
 The " Bois d'Amour " is the pride of Pontaven, 
 partly, no doubt, because it is so very young and 
 new — that is, for a wood or forest. The slender 
 beeches are not yet thick enough to hide one pair of 
 lovers from another. But for those still young as the 
 
78 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 trees, it is emphatically a lovers' wood, with its 
 little, narrow paths, and grassy knolls, and rustic 
 benches, where two can wander arm-in-arm or hand- 
 in-hand on Sunday afternoons and fete days — a very 
 human little wood for himian young lovers, but hardly 
 a wood for solitude or communing with Nature. 
 We soon exhausted its possibilities, and descended 
 again into the town. 
 
 It is not surprising that Pontaven attracts the artist 
 — specially, perhaps, the amateur artist. At every 
 comer a ready-made picture greets you. The old, 
 narrow streets and waterways, the quaint little 
 bridges and picturesque mill-wheels all seem to be 
 posing self-consciously for messieurs les peintres, the 
 woods and hills lending themselves as a background 
 and making things so easy it must be quite demoralis- 
 ing. 
 
 In obedience to our dictatorial driver we made our 
 way to the Hotel Josephine. Being the principal 
 building, and consisting of two big houses in the 
 central Place of Pontaven, it was not difficult to find. 
 That the proprietress should manage to fill these two 
 large houses during the whole season with no attrac- 
 tion to offer in the way of " baths of the sea," casino 
 or fishing, is in itself significant of her powers, and 
 testifies to the universally admitted fact that Mamzelle 
 Josdphine is a very remarkable woman. Simple 
 peasant as she was and still is, Josephine has a business 
 capacity which would have made her fortime on the 
 Bourse, added to the special genius of the hostess. 
 She organises daily picnics either into the woods or 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 79 
 
 by river down to the sea, where on the breezy head- 
 land of Porte Manec she runs another hotel. In the 
 evenings there is dancing and music. Josephine's 
 clients are not only well fed, but well amused. As a 
 girl she left her work in the fields to seek her fortune 
 in Pontaven, even as Dick Whittington came up to 
 London, with no capital but a good pair of hands, a 
 clear, capable brain and a generous, courageous 
 spirit, worth in itself a gold mine. She started as a 
 bonne d tout faire, that position so admirably filled by 
 the many-sided French woman, so lamentably paro- 
 died by her sister across the Channel. The English 
 servant's watchword of " not my work " truly de- 
 scribes her real Hmitations. She is a success only as 
 a specialist — as a specialist I must do her the justice 
 to say she is sometimes unequalled, but it is rare 
 indeed to find an Englishwoman who unites the 
 talents of making omelette, a blouse, and a bed. 
 In France this is regarded only as evidence of ordinary 
 intelligence. 
 
 Josephine entered the service of a lady who received 
 as pensionnaires messieurs les artistes. In those days 
 the artists frequented Pontaven more than now, 
 and many remained there all the year round. She 
 soon became the mainstay of the house,- and when, 
 some years later, her mistress died, on the artists 
 refusing to part from their Josephine, she found ready 
 to hand the nucleus from which has sprung her 
 enormous clientele, her big Villa and Annexe shelter- 
 ing over a hundred well-fed clients. But her success 
 has never tempted Josephine to relax for a moment 
 
So FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 her personal supervision and active work in her 
 menage. It is still "Mamzelle Josephine" who not 
 only reigns in the kitchen, but superintends the wait- 
 ing at the table d'hote, an all-pervading presence, large, 
 capable, and good-humoured, in a practical blue 
 cotton apron. An army of little Breton waitresses 
 obey her slightest signal, and woe betide the stupid 
 or careless. One of these aides de camp had the bad 
 luck to upset a dish of curry. With the strange malice 
 of inanimate objects, it spread not only over table and 
 floor, but included the white dress of a smart American 
 lady and the leg of an unfortunate old gentleman. 
 Like a flash Josephine was on the scene of the 
 disaster. With the short, prompt orders of a capable 
 Field Marshal, she set all in order for the cleansing of 
 the table, the floor and the old gentleman, and two 
 minutes after it was as if the catastrophe had never 
 been. The American lady had vanished like smoke, 
 to reappear presently in a new creation of white 
 embroidery, even more exquisite than the first — 
 a distinct gain to her appreciative friends. 
 
 Our driver was with difficulty persuaded to leave 
 the hospitable kitchen of Josephine. He ignored 
 completely our directions as to when we desired to 
 start. 
 
 " Ah, you have time enough to see the procession, 
 that is all that can be interesting for strangers at a 
 Pardon," he repeated with the easy good nature pro- 
 duced by having fed well. He had deliberately kept 
 us waiting three-quarters of an hour in spite of 
 repeated and urgent messages. Alas I Aunt Anne 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 8i 
 
 had weakly advanced him the money for his and the 
 horses' dejeuner. It was Hke dehvering our only 
 weapon to a brigand. 
 
 Gouilet Riec is a tiny scattered village on a creek 
 of the coast. The green hills dip straight into the 
 waters, the overhanging trees cast their shadows as 
 in a lake. We found a large gathering of all the 
 countryside. People were still arriving, but the 
 majority had been there since early morning, the 
 Pardon having begun — as all fetes and Pardons 
 begin in Brittany — with the Grand' Messe at 8.30, and 
 a grand procession to the little church on the hill, 
 led by priests, fishermen, sailors and white-robed 
 maidens ; but this we should see again later, when, 
 after Vespers, they would march down to the sea for 
 the Benediction. 
 
 Everyone was arrayed in costume de feie. The 
 women in full short skirt bordered with black velvet, 
 wide-frilled hnen collar, and charming white coif like 
 a dainty butterfly with its fine embroidered wings ; 
 the men in their short Breton jackets with the rows 
 of little buttons and round felt hats, both trimmed 
 with the broad black velvet so characteristic of the 
 Breton costume. The children, boys and girls, were 
 miniature reproductions of their parents ; the effect 
 on small creatures about three foot high was most 
 comical, specially on the girls, who carried off their 
 weighty full-hipped skirts with extraordinary dignity. 
 
 At the sight of the refreshment booths our driver 
 informed us his horse could march no further, the 
 road down to the ferry became too steep, it would be 
 
82 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 dangerous. He would await us here. We must 
 cross the ferry and ascend the hill on the opposite 
 side of the creek if we desired to attend the vespers 
 and see the procession start — the Benediction would 
 take place on the shore. 
 
 '* And you/' enquired Aunt Anne, " do you not 
 desire to attend the Benediction ? " 
 
 " Oh, for me," he laughed grimly, " the sea makes 
 nothing ; it is rather a benediction of the hotels, see 
 you, Madame, that would interest me." 
 
 *' Well, if you want a benediction to rest on you 
 and your family you will not patronise too many of 
 these debitants de boissons to-day," rejoined Aunt 
 Anne, and with this parting shaft we marched off 
 down the steep incline to the ferry. 
 
 We found the heavy barge-like boat just starting, 
 and apparently full to overflowing, but the ferryman, 
 seeing a prospect of more sous, urged us to enter, 
 saying there was plenty of place. Since there was no 
 fear of sinking, we got in, the ferry being constructed 
 on the lines of safety if not speed. A small boy 
 propelled the whole thing by means of an oar worked 
 from one end, while his father collected the sous from 
 the passengers. On the opposite bank a great crowd 
 had assembled from all the district round, many 
 bringing their provisions with them for the day, 
 though this did not prevent the little cabarets of 
 the straggling village doing a brisk trade. 
 
 Men and women everywhere formed into separate 
 groups, neither young nor old showing any desire to 
 consort with each other : they might have been 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 83 
 
 members of conventual establishments, except for 
 the miniatures trotting at their mothers' sides, and 
 for an occasional painful acknowledgment of relation- 
 ship later on in the day, when some round hat remain- 
 ing overlong within the alluring precincts of the 
 village pubhc-house, a white coif sternly went to 
 the door and summoned the culprit to come forth. 
 Curiously British all this, and very un-French, as much 
 so as their speech, the names of their towns and 
 villages (more often than not Welsh or Cornish), 
 their physiognomy, and their whole attitude of 
 serious reserve and fervent, sometimes bigoted, 
 religious faith. For nearly two thousand years this 
 race have kept distinct, in spite of being the most 
 loyal of French subjects, and though French is now 
 enforced in the schools and churches of the towns, 
 here one was in the heart of Brittany, the real 
 " Bretagne Bretonnante," where scarcely a word of 
 the alien tongue was spoken or understood. 
 
 Save ourselves, there were no outsiders except 
 three American ladies, who whizzed over in a red 
 motor car from Pontaven, the lady of the curried 
 dress being one of them, and addressed by her two 
 companions, a pink and a mauve beauty, as "Auntie." 
 Emerging from their chrysalis dust-cloaks, they 
 shook out their gay toilettes, and, each armed with a 
 kodak, plunged into the crowd, their smart Httle 
 Parisian hats mingling with the white coifs, giving 
 them the air of birds of paradise in a poultry farm. 
 
 We followed a stream of the more devout among 
 the assembly making their way up to the winding 
 
84 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 road to the church. The service of the Rosary was 
 going on. The Httle church was filled to overflowing, 
 all kneeling on the bare stones, the seats having 
 been removed to make more room, the congregation 
 stretching far into the churchyard. 
 
 Aunt Anne and I scrambled up a high bank of 
 blackberry bushes and thorns, and sat down among a 
 group of white coifs waiting to see the procession 
 start. 
 
 Aunt Anne's agility called forth the admiration of 
 a cheery old lady who offered her a hand. 
 
 " Madame has courage ! Me I was forced to walk 
 half a kilometre round by the field to arrive up here," 
 she laughed. 
 
 " Ha, you speak French, Madame ! What good 
 fortune," cried Aunt Anne, and joyfully fell to with 
 her new friend, who turned out genial and communi- 
 cative, not common traits in Brittany where a 
 dignified and rather suspicious attitude of reserve is 
 the usual thing. They at once compared ages and 
 grandchildren. Aunt Anne had the advantage by 
 three years in age, but in grandchildren the Breton 
 dame exceeded her by fifteen. 
 
 " I trust to arrive there in time," said Aunt Anne, 
 hopefully. 
 
 " Easy for Madame to say when she is not the one 
 to bear them," answered the white coif dryly. 
 
 She herself was not of the coast, but several of her 
 relations being pecheurs, she never failed to attend 
 a yearly Benediction of the sea. It was necessary for 
 le bon Dieu to bless much the sea, or she gave trouble 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 85 
 
 and caused miseries all round, did the sea — wrecks, 
 storms, no fish, no work ! It was a triste metier that 
 of a fisher ! This seemed a universal verdict on the 
 part of the women. 
 
 We noticed that among the crowd of^kneelers there 
 were few men. The congregation consisted almost 
 entirely of closely packed white caps. 
 
 " Ah, it is the women who pray see you," sighed our 
 neighbour. " The men ga boit, ga hoit tout le 
 temps." 
 
 " For men must drink and women must pray," 
 seemed to be the rule of life among these fishers of 
 Finistere. Not that this would indicate lack of 
 belief in the efficacy of prayer on the part of the men, 
 but merely a dividing of duties both of which are 
 necessary, and man takes first choice. He rarely 
 neglects Grand' messe on Sundays, however, and never 
 puts out to sea on that day, however good the promise 
 of fish. Surely a very practical test of behef in his 
 rehgion ! And the Breton woman it appears does not 
 sit down meekly and content herself with prayers as 
 regards her lord and master. Her remonstrance not 
 only takes the active form of dragging him, often by 
 main force, from the too alluring haunts of cider and 
 eau de vie, but her sabots if necessary are brought 
 to play upon his muddled head. The young girls 
 early learn this second use for their stout wooden 
 shoes, and, as our friend assured us, ** a strong girl 
 who is sober, and sees straight, can effect much with 
 her father who is drunk and sees crooked." 
 
 The road from the church down to the little creek 
 
86 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 was lined with people awaiting the procession, many, 
 like ourselves, perched in the trees and hedges and 
 on the high grassy banks. Brittany is one of the few 
 parts of France in which one sees real EngHsh hedges 
 and ditches. It signifies, no doubt, that the land is 
 not, as elsewhere, too valuable to permit of these 
 delightful borders to roads and fields. 
 
 The Rosary and Vespers over, a brass trumpet and 
 big drum announced that the procession would now 
 be formed and march down in solemn state to the sea. 
 
 First came the priests, cures from neighbomring 
 parishes, carrying their messe and chaunt books, a 
 gorgeous banner waving over their heads, all white 
 and gold and silver, with a picture of Our Lady 
 seated in the clouds above a ship at sea. After the 
 priests followed a long line of sailors and fishermen 
 bearing on their shoulders models of ships, and statues 
 of the Virgin, Sto Joseph, St. Anne, and various 
 saints reputed to make it their special business to 
 protect the fishermen and their boats. After these 
 came a flock of white-robed maidens decked with 
 blue ribbons, " the colour of Mary/' and bearing aloft 
 more gaily coloured banners. The people formed in 
 a long line bringing up the rear, and down the 
 winding road all went to the white fringe of the sea. 
 
 Passing a group of small low houses, our friend 
 pointed to one as the home of her brother. The door 
 stood open, and we saw the three Americans inside 
 eagerly talking and gesticulating. 
 
 " Those ladies desire greatly to buy some of the old 
 beds of Brittany. My brother, see you, possesses 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 87 
 
 one very fine, but those ladies will not give the price, 
 I think." 
 
 At her request we looked in. There was no sign of 
 any bed that we could see, but what appeared to be 
 ft very fine old carved cupboard, with a double row 
 of sliding doors, was being critically examined by the 
 three birds of paradise. 
 
 " What a fine * armoire,' but where is the bed? " 
 asked Aunt Anne. Our friend pulled aside one of 
 the sliding doors and showed four deep shelves fitted 
 up hke the berths on a ship. " There is place in 
 each bed for two, if the family is large you see, my 
 ladies, and in Brittany all the families are large. It is 
 for that reason one is forced to sell the fine old carved 
 fronts and place here instead a curtain." 
 
 *' My, ain't these doors cunning 1 And see this 
 Httle niche at the top with the Virgin's statue," cried 
 the mauve bird. ** Say, Auntie, I'm going to buy 
 this bed for a buffet, right away, if you don't." 
 
 " I'm going to bargain, so you hold on. Guess one 
 mustn't give what they ask," said Auntie. 
 
 But the bargaining was being carried on under 
 difficulties, for the owner, a stolid-looking Bretonne, 
 stuck manfully to her price, and shook her head to 
 all other propositions, her knowledge of French 
 being limited to figures told out on her fingers. She 
 said something in Breton to her sister-in-law, who 
 laughed, and turned to the ladies. 
 
 " The merchant of antiquities at Quimper will 
 give one hundred and thirty francs, my ladies. My 
 sister-in-law she requires one hundred and fifty." 
 
88 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 *' Beaucoup trop,'* said the lady. " Tell her I have 
 got to pay the freight over to Noo York. That will 
 cost a gold mine " 
 
 We left the fair Americans still hard at it, and as 
 fax as I know they remained there during all the 
 time of the Benediction, we saw no sign of them. 
 Besides buying their bed, they were acquiring the 
 vaJuable lesson that a Breton rarely budges from the 
 price he or she names. Bargaining, as carried on so 
 cheerily throughout other parts of France, is sternly 
 in disuse in Brittany. 
 
 " Those ladies will not obtain the bed unless they 
 give the price," remarked our friend with conviction 
 as we walked down the hill. 
 
 " Splendid ! I admire that," said Aunt Anne, who 
 is one of the keenest bargainers I know when she is in 
 the vein for it. But she takes it as a game, and 
 whatever she is doing, does with her might. In this 
 case, too, her sympathy was with the owner of the 
 ancient bed " It seems cruel to tear those fine old 
 beds from their proper setting, and turn them into 
 buffets for American millionaires," she declared with 
 a touch of bitterness. " I would hate to take away 
 the one beautiful thing from that bare Httle home ; 
 and those American women too, who I'll wager have 
 got so much already they don't know what to do 
 with it." 
 
 " Aunt Anne," said the chaperon, *' you know you 
 are just longing to go back and outbid them, but I 
 am going to see this Benediction and so are you." 
 
 The little creek was gay with fishing boats also 
 
A BENEDICTION OF THE SEA. 89 
 
 come to be blest, while a crowd watched the ceremony 
 from the opposite shore. 
 
 The priests stood in line on the bank, behind them 
 the sailors and fishers of the procession, together with 
 those of the trmnpets, pipes and drums. Then facing 
 seaward they chaunted the short service of the Bene- 
 diction, the people crossing themselves and respond- 
 ing in the familiar phrases, " Ora pro nobis," " Ave 
 Maria grazia plena," etc. 
 
 So the sea was blessed by the Church and the 
 people, and she smiled sweetly and glistened with 
 pleasure in the bright afternoon sunshine, looking as 
 harmless and innocent as one of the white-robed blue- 
 ribboned maidens, as little capable of rising in her 
 wrath to slay and destroy as the fair-haired girl who, 
 perhaps, to-night will seize her big wood sabots and 
 fling them at the heads of her drunken father and the 
 man he is fighting outside the cabaret. 
 
 The trumpets and horns sent out strident clanging 
 notes and the voices of men and women joined in a 
 quaint dirge-like Druidical chaunt as the procession 
 wound slowly up the hillside again. 
 
 The shadows lengthened and a fresh little breeze 
 from over the sea stirred the wings of the white 
 butterfly coifs as they and the round black hats 
 dispersed to their various homes along the coast and 
 over the hills and vales of Finistere. 
 
 Our cocher greeted us with alacrity. 
 
 ** It pleased these ladies, the beautiful procession ? 
 
90 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 he enquired pleasantly, but his walk was distinctly 
 unsteady. 
 
 Aunt Anne raised her lorgnettes and regarded him 
 fixedly. 
 
 " I fear you have disregarded my advice/' she 
 answered, sternly. 
 
 He muttered something about waiting many hours 
 and requiring a good pourboire. 
 
 The red motor of the Americans overtook us on 
 the road back to Pontaven. They waved to us, and 
 " Auntie " shouted triumphantly, " WeVe gotten the 
 bed ! " 
 
 Aunt Anne shouted back, " We've seen the 
 Benediction." 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 
 
 IT was at the Fete des Filets-hleus we first met 
 Corentine. Concameau kept high holiday, and 
 all the townspeople, headed by the local magnate 
 monsieur le Comte and the popular monsieur le maire^ 
 combined to make this fete a success for the benefit 
 of the " Blue Nets,'* namely the sardine fishers, who 
 had had a bad season. There was a concert and a 
 theatrical performance in which local talent was 
 assisted by a real Hve member of the Com^die Fran- 
 9aise, and a " Concours de Costumes Bretons " 
 ancient and modem, a *' Concours de danses," and 
 one of song, for all of which prizes were offered. The 
 artists, of whom there are always a numerous con- 
 tingent at Concarneau, also contributed a very chic 
 httle collection of sketches, to be sold for the same 
 worthy object. 
 
 A temporary theatre and an open-air platform 
 were erected in the market place, and it was here in 
 the densely packed crowd watching the Concours de 
 Costumes that Aunt Anne and I found ourselves next 
 to Corentine and her two friends. The three girls 
 in their dainty white caps and wide-frilled collars 
 stood just in front of us laughing and chattering 
 away in their native Breton, a language full of h's 
 
92 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and queer illusive sounds. Occasionally they broke 
 out into French, and we gathered they were on 
 intimate terms with many of the distinguished 
 competitors mounted on the red baize platform — 
 the girls in front, the men behind, representing every 
 variety of ancient costume of Brittany. 
 
 The judges were performing their perplexing office 
 under superhmnan difficulties, for instead of being 
 on the platform where they could get a fair view of 
 the candidates and of each other, they were down 
 among the audience struggling in the midst of a 
 seething crowd which threatened to submerge some 
 of the shorter ones, and altogether unable to pro- 
 nounce a unanimous verdict, or even hear each other 
 speak, till, happily for all parties, monsieur le maire 
 came to the rescue. Thanks to his imposing bulk, 
 height, depth and breadth, he made his way to the 
 front, dividing the crowd like a big thon among 
 the sardines. In festal white waistcoat and glorious 
 green tie, his ruddy animated visage towered majestic- 
 ally above the crowd, and with the free use of his 
 gold-knobbed walking stick he at last succeeded in 
 drawing his fellow judges near enough within his 
 charmed radius to take the votes. 
 
 The first thing was to choose a Queen. A royal 
 chariot awaited her, decorated with garlands of 
 flowers, a panoply overhead, and drawn by a dignified 
 and venerable white steed evidently accustomed to 
 take part in these functions, and incapable of sur- 
 prise, however eccentric the behaviour of the human 
 beings around him. 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 93 
 
 The essential qualifications for a Queen was that 
 her costume should be the most ancient and the 
 most faultlessly correct of all present. Beauty was 
 not an essential either in the lady or her dress, any 
 more than piety, wit or wealth. The same test was 
 applied in the awarding of all the prizes. The idea 
 at the back of this was no doubt to foster a spirit 
 of patriotism, to preserve, in these degenerate days 
 of levelling uniformity and centralisation, something 
 at least of the individuality of Brittany, in her 
 costumes, dances and songs. 
 
 One by one the costumed maidens were bidden 
 advance a little, and turn round as on a pivot ; for 
 the back view was just as important as the front, 
 show their shoes, and even a discreet amount of 
 stocking. The variety of costumes was curious, 
 ranging from gorgeous embroideries in gold and 
 silver thread, covering skirts, bodices and aprons 
 which suggested the wealth of the frugal farmer 
 and proprietor, to the severest simplicity of fisher 
 wives' plain petticoat and shawl, devoid of decora- 
 tion and ornament as the rocks of the seacoast of 
 Finistere. Some of these ancient costumes were 
 not specially becoming to the wearer, but all were 
 picturesque and strongly characteristic. " Rospor- 
 den " wore a corsage of violet, red and greens with 
 a very smart apron of another colour, and a skirt 
 which formed a regular shelf of pleats around her 
 waist. She was awarded a prize for absolute correct- 
 ness. The costume of the finally selected Queen of the 
 fete, a nice, modest- looking little round-faced damsel, 
 
94 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 consisted in a plain drab skirt, grey crossover shawl 
 and wooden sabots. Since the days of Cophetua's 
 beggar-maid never did Queen in less regal habit 
 mount a throne. For headdress she wore a cover- 
 ing like a nun's veil woven of fine wool, falling over 
 her shoulders, sadly inconvenient whatever her 
 occupation, imless, as it suggested, when saying her 
 prayers. There was no dainty white collar or coif, 
 no ornaments, except the one characteristic touch of 
 a pair of gold earrings showing the heirloom which 
 often descends to the wearer from a long line of 
 grandmothers, yet I must own a subtle charm per- 
 vaded this little figure which made one think of a 
 Whistler nocturne. 
 
 Great was the excitement and astonishment of 
 our three little neighbours at the election of this 
 Queen. 
 
 " And thou didst swear it would be Queen -Foiir- 
 nier." 
 
 " And thou Mathilde Berr, hein ? Well we are all 
 deceived finely. Think of it, a queen who lacks 
 even a gold chain round the neck/' 
 
 "It is certainly because of messieurs les artistes, 
 two of them are judging and they like always what 
 is out of the ordinary," said the third girl, " and 
 Fran9oise has been painted by them see you. 
 For messieurs les artistes it makes nothing to them if 
 you are ugly, they desire not what is pretty but 
 what is bizarre." 
 
 As they were talking now in French for the benefit 
 of their neighbours, Aunt Anne at this point joined 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 95 
 
 in the conversation. We soon learnt that Coren- 
 tine, the last speaker, knew aU about the artists 
 and their ideas, for in spite of a decidedly pretty 
 little face she also sometimes posed for these eccentric 
 individuals. 
 
 " But only in costume ! Augustine, thou should'st 
 always add that," corrected Corentine demurely. 
 " Never would my parents consent to my posing 
 otherwise." 
 
 ** Messieurs les artistes they are very droll," said 
 Augustine. " There was one he painted me with- 
 out a face — the back of the head only — he declared 
 it was a marvellous likeness, yet not my mother 
 even could know it was me." Augustine was dis- 
 tinctly plain, a rough hewn honest face wliich would 
 look just as well taken from the back of her head. 
 
 " Ah, that one he was American, very droll he 
 was, very droll. Madame his wife also she was droll. 
 She desired to buy my collar," said Corentine. 
 " She offered me the price of two new collars if I 
 would take it off and leave it there with her." 
 
 " Little fool wert thou to refuse," chimed in both 
 her friends. 
 
 '* So said my mother — she angered herself when 
 I told her. It was a foohsh idea no doubt," said 
 Corentine, half wistfully, '' but I felt as if it were 
 like selling a piece of myself. Ah see," she cried, 
 suddenly, " there is Mademoiselle Marguerite who is 
 chosen as Maid of Honour and gets the second prize." 
 
 And all three girls set up a loud cheering in which 
 many others joined. 
 
96 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Mademoiselle Marguerite's dress was as decorative 
 as that of Frangoise was plain. The full black skirt 
 had a deep border of gold-thread embroidery which 
 also nearly covered the short bodice and wide sleeves. 
 The white chemisette and cap were of finest work, 
 and the collar and apron of lace — long gold earrings 
 and a gold Breton necklace set on black velvet com- 
 pleted the effect of butterfly and moth as the Queen 
 and her Maid of Honour took their seats in the 
 chariot of flowers. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Marguerite is the niece of our 
 master, he who owns the usine where we work," 
 said Corentine. " Her father is farmer and pro- 
 prietor, she is rich, and has a pretty little dot. That 
 costume alone one says is worth two thousand francs. 
 See her gold earrings and chain and the buckles on 
 her shoes. From her ancestors she inherits them ! " 
 
 When the girl competitors were disposed of, the 
 men came forward, and then the real fun began. 
 Each one in turn had a volley of chaff directed on 
 him from the audience, our three friends taking 
 prominent part. There were men in white flannel 
 coats bordered with black velvet from Guem6ni, 
 and men of Carhaix with hats bound in red and blue 
 chenille, but most of those who obtained prizes wore 
 the full white canvas knee breeches like those of the 
 bridegroom whose wedding we had attended. One 
 young man, who remonstrated loudly at being re- 
 jected, was informed by monsieur le maire that the 
 smart striped trousers, of which he was evidently so 
 proud, were the cause of his undoing. " And thou 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 97 
 
 a Breton to wear such things ! Have shame of thy- 
 self ! " cried the mayor. The owner of the offensive 
 garments appealed to the ladies of the audience, 
 being something of a wag, whereupon monsieur le 
 maire bade him descend and claim his prize among 
 the pretty girls ; advice which he promptly took, 
 leaping headlong from the platform mid shrieks of 
 applause. 
 
 Chevaliers d'honneur were chosen to accompany 
 on foot the Queen and her four Maids of Honour, 
 and the royal chariot then proceeded on a triumphal 
 procession roimd the market place and through the 
 town. Then suddenly up went a forest of umbrellas, 
 for this being a pecuHarly unpropitious moment for 
 rain, down it came in a steady vindictive downpour, 
 making a large lake just on the spot reserved for the 
 dancers. This is a regular habit of the clouds in 
 Brittany, the climate showing another of the many 
 strong resemblances between England and this 
 corner of France. 
 
 " Ah the accursed rain," remarked Corentine 
 heartily, " now one will be obliged to dance in the 
 market hall, and there will be such a crowd no one 
 will see." 
 
 " Ah bah ! what is two centimetres of water," 
 said Augustine. " Me, I danced the gavotte in 
 four centimetres of mud last week at the Pardon of 
 Tregurie and gained the third prize too." 
 
 " Thou hadst luck in thy partner," remarked 
 Fran9oise slyly. " A sailor who can dance like a 
 cork on a wave, mon Dieu, so thin and light he 
 
 4 
 
98 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 was ; while, my partner, he resembled a hedge- 
 hog." 
 
 " Seems to me you girls have nothing to do but 
 dance and sing and go to Pardons," said Aunt 
 Anne, a remark which produced what she wanted, a 
 graphic account of how their Hves were really spent. 
 All three spoke together, but as they were saying the 
 same thing it did not much matter. It appeared that 
 they all worked in the usines where the sardines and 
 thon are prepared. This meant very frequently 
 sitting up nearly all night. 
 
 " Presently, at the ' Concours de chants modemes,' 
 these ladies will hear the song of the ' Filets-bleus,* 
 also the song of the ' Fille du pecheur.' We three 
 are in the chorus," announced Corentine, proudly ; 
 " Madame must remark well the words — ^they are 
 the verity pure — those songs were composed ex- 
 pressly for we other sardine girls, for in the tcsine 
 at nights we must sing or impossible to keep oneself 
 awake, and with the old songs one becomes so 
 familiar one sings them even while sleeping. For 
 example, 'II etait trois mat lots de Groix — ^Tra la 
 derira la la la, Tra la d6rira la laire.' It is a veritable 
 lullaby ! Same thing with ' II 6tait une barque k 
 trente matelots ' — Our grandmothers sang those 
 songs as young girls. Madame may judge if one 
 becomes tired when often one finishes not till three, 
 four o'clock even, in the morning." 
 
 " My poor children ! But then you must sleep in 
 the day," cried Aunt Anne. 
 
 They laughed. "Ah the fine idea Madame has 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 99 
 
 there ! How would thy mother regard thee, Fran goise 
 hein, if thou didst propose to sleep in the morning." 
 
 " Why here is Augustine with six children in the 
 house, and by me we have five," said Corentine. 
 " The poor Fran9oise she is placed still worse, for 
 she has seven of them and more who are arriving." 
 
 ** Probably twins, says my mother," Fran9oise 
 added resignedly. " Where they will sleep le bon 
 Dieu alone knows." 
 
 " Well, the population does not seem to be failing 
 here," remarked Aunt Anne. 
 
 " My faith ! But the children they grow like the 
 gorse here in Brittany," answered the experienced 
 Fran9oise. *' In our street we have one family which 
 numbers twenty-two. It is, I fear, in the air." 
 
 " Oh, large families are an excellent thing," said 
 Aunt Anne encouragingly. But I think twenty- 
 two, unless in the attenuated form of grandchildren, 
 would have staggered even her. 
 
 " Then, beside the children," went on Corentine, 
 *' we have the washing down there by the river, 
 three, four days a week, and the nets to dye and to 
 mend, and a mass of things to do which arrive daily 
 — ^not much time for sleep, ' ' she laughed gaily. "And 
 for the Pardons they fall so often on a Sunday, which 
 in all the cases is fete, that one gains not much, see 
 you." 
 
 Augustine, it appeared, had also another trade, 
 that of couturiere, her own and Corentine's skirt 
 being examples of her handiwork. The thickly pleated 
 skirt of Brittany is as marvellous a work as the wide 
 
loo FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 gauffred collar. The pleats stand out like a shelf 
 all round the waist, held out by a roll of stuff inside. 
 The girls explained this to us, much to Aunt Anne's 
 relief, for she had thought their funny squat little 
 figures quite abnormal, specially the girl from 
 Rosporden whose shelf was extra wide. 
 
 As the rain still pelted down steadily, we moved 
 under the trees and made our way to a stall laid 
 out with piles of cakes and rainbow-coloured sweets, 
 where we proceeded to select a supply for some of 
 those children at home. Our friends determinedly 
 chose the most poisonous-looking. I began by try- 
 ing to guide their choice, but gave it up, reflecting 
 that if the worst did come to the worst, apparently 
 two or three members could well be spared out of 
 each family. It would certainly facilitate the sleep- 
 ing arrangements in the home of Fran9oise. 
 
 The purchase of sweets is a slow operation in 
 Concarneau. You may order them by the pound 
 or the kilo as we did, but let no one imagine that 
 will make the slightest difference to the gentleman 
 selling you these dainties. His method is to count 
 with his fingers each separate bon-bon and give you 
 eight to the sou, and this he patiently proceeds to 
 do in spite of any objections you may offer. For- 
 tunately time was no object, and it was a system 
 which commended itself to our sardine girls. 
 
 " Yes, that is the right fashion," they assured us, 
 '* So it is done always here in Concarneau. One is 
 sure in this manner to receive the right quantity. 
 With weighing there are so many tricks see you.'* 
 
A SARDINE GIRI. loi 
 
 " But with the good Sisters we learilt well all the 
 weights and measures — it is not that we cannot 
 reckon/* explained Augustine eagerly. 
 
 *' My faith, yes. With the good Sisters one learnt 
 all things. It was an education altogether admir- 
 able," chimed in Corentine. " We three we all 
 attended the convent school as children. It was there 
 we learnt to speak the French so well." 
 
 On Aunt Anne asking if they had been happy at 
 the convent and whether the " good Sisters " were 
 kind, the three girls burst into a chorus of un- 
 feigned praise of their nuns. 
 
 *' Ah, but all the world wept when the govern- 
 ment sent the soldiers to chase them," said little 
 Fran9oise. 
 
 " Dame ! We did more than to weep, we other 
 sardine girls," laughed Corentine, and her two 
 friends assented with wide grins, evidently recalling 
 a pleasant memory. 
 
 ** What did you, my children ? " asked Aunt Anne. 
 
 " It was all written in the newspapers," answered 
 Augustine proudly. " These ladies, without doubt, 
 read the account in Paris, it is now about two years 
 ago." 
 
 We feared we had missed those newspapers, and 
 begged for another chance of hearing. 
 
 " My faith ! We beat the soldiers — six times we 
 drove them back," Augustine's eyes flashed like those 
 of an old soldier recalling Austerlitz. 
 
 Then Corentine took up the tale and recounted 
 how the women and girls of Concameau, hearing 
 
102 FEIJCITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 that a regiment was to arrive from Quimper on a 
 certain day at early dawn/ an hour when the men 
 would be at sea, to turn the nuns out of their con- 
 vent, resolved to make a desperate resistance, and 
 show all the world what they felt about it. They 
 assembled en masse and lined every street leading 
 from the station on the hill, down to the convent. 
 Whichever way the soldiers turned the road was 
 blocked by women and girls closely packed as sar- 
 dines in the tins. 
 
 " It surprised those soldiers very much, for they 
 thought to arrive while all the world still slept/* 
 said Corentine. " On seeing the men, with one voice 
 we cried shame on them, and cursed them with a 
 good heart." 
 
 But she allowed the soldiers were, after all, not 
 to blame, they disliked the job as much as did 
 their officers. 
 
 " But they lacked moral courage, Uke all men, 
 the miserable ones! They feared to disobey — 
 Dame ! Not a woman in Concarneau but would have 
 gone to prison sooner than assist to chase the good 
 Sisters. Monsieur le capitaine he commanded his 
 lieutenant to ride through the women if they re- 
 fused to circulate, the soldiers following after in 
 line. Think you we moved for that ? Quite to the 
 contrary I Down on the knees we put ourselves 
 there in the street, and prayed with a loud voice 
 that le bon Dieu would send a judgment upon the 
 enemies of the good Sisters. The soldiers they liked 
 not this praying. ^It annoyed them also to be 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 103 
 
 cursed, for many among them were the sons, the 
 brothers, and the fiances of the women and girls. 
 But they were forced to advance as the officers 
 commanded. Then the horse he refused to march 
 on the kneehng women, and he jumped and gave 
 such good kicks that monsieur le lieutenant he fell to 
 the earth. Then the women laughed and took away 
 his hat, and the officer he enraged himself and swore 
 with fury to the men that he would have them shot 
 if they did not force a way through. Ah, then we 
 rose up, we sardine girls who were holding ourselves 
 ready for this moment, and we fought those soldiers, 
 we beat them with our imibrellas, with our sabots, 
 with our good fists, with all we possessed. We 
 scratched them the face, we tore them the uniform, 
 six times we chased them from that street. Many 
 commenced by saving themselves and trying to pass 
 by the roads at the side, but in every street they 
 encountered the women. Finally, by the main road, 
 they finished by forcing a way, but much pain they 
 had and much time it took them to come through/' 
 
 " Mon Dieu, but we gave them something as 
 souvenir, hein," added Augustine, with a ruminating 
 glance at her muscular arms which enabled one to 
 vividly picture the scene. 
 
 " Oh, my girls, how I wish I had been there to 
 help you," cried Aunt Anne. " But I suppose they 
 chased the poor Sisters in spite of you ? " 
 
 " Helas, oui, Madame ; they broke open the con- 
 vent door, the wicked devils — ^but happily those there 
 received on the head some good buckets of black 
 
104 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 mud from the harbour, so thick it was that mud, so 
 foul the odour, God be thanked for it, scarcely they 
 thought to accomplish their bad work. The reverend 
 Mother she made her excuses to the officer for this 
 treatment, which was not by her order, but others 
 were in the convent, see you, assisting at the barri- 
 cading. With great dignity at last came forth the 
 good Sisters, marching even as a funeral cortege, the 
 reverend Mother at the head, arm in arm with 
 monsieur le maire, who bore in his hand the flag of 
 France. He had the tears in the eyes as he sup- 
 ported the good Mother, and all the people of Con- 
 cameau they cheered monsieur le maire, and loved 
 him as their father from that moment. The wicked 
 government they deposed him from being mayor 
 because of his loyalty to the good Sisters, but with 
 one voice the people they elected him again, so we 
 have him always see you in spite of the government 
 in Paris/' 
 
 " How ? He of the beautiful white waistcoat 
 and green tie ? " enquired Aunt Anne with breathless 
 interest. 
 
 " And a face of lively red — ^yes, that is the same," 
 assented Corentine : " a beautiful man, full of heart. 
 Does Madame perhaps know him ? " 
 
 " Alas, no," replied Aunt Anne, " not yet, but I 
 intend to know him," she added under her breath. 
 
 And now the rain having ceased, our three friends 
 bade us au revoir and hurried off to assist in the 
 chorus of the " Filets-bleus," not, however, before 
 we had arranged to meet again at the Pardon of 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 105 
 
 Lanriec in a few days' time, if not before. There we 
 should see real country dancing, besides races with 
 horses, games and many other diversions. 
 
 From the group of girls on the platform our three 
 friends sent us a wide-stretched grin of recognition. 
 Aunt Anne and I felt ourselves shining with reflected 
 glory when the chorus was rapturously encored, and 
 on the audience being invited to take part we lifted 
 up our voices and sang as if we were sardine fisher- 
 wives. Aunt Anne could not catch the tune, a flimsy 
 thing if the truth be told, and we neither of us knew 
 any words save filefs-bleus, but we put the right 
 spirit into it, and those two little words seemed to 
 touch a chord of as deep a significance here on this 
 coast of Finistere as does " Home, sweet home," in 
 England. 
 
 In accordance with Coren tine's prophecy the rain, 
 though now over, had spoilt all chance of dancing 
 out of doors, so the " Concours de danses " was re- 
 moved to the covered market, and everyone swept 
 over there in a body directly the singing finished. 
 
 I got divided from Aunt Anne by the crowd, but 
 caught sight of her mushroom hat mounting the 
 market steps among the advance guard and felt sure 
 she would miss nothing worth seeing. For myself I 
 dishke crowds in a confined space, and specially crowds 
 with dripping umbrellas, so I decided to leave my 
 charge unchaperoned for once. 
 
 Gertruda and a friend she had found in the hotel 
 passed me shortly after. 
 
 *' It was impossible to enter, the crowd was so 
 
io6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 great ; and all were pushing one over the other at 
 the door," reported Gertruda. 
 
 " Your gracious lady is in the middle of that," 
 I told her. 
 
 " Lieber Himmel I '* cried the shocked Gertruda, 
 '* assuredly the gracious lady will be crushed to 
 death, a such terrible squash of people never have I 
 seen. I will go and stand near the door in case she is 
 brought out fainting," said the faithful girl. 
 
 I left her to do so, but a knowledge of Aunt Anne's 
 character convinced me she would not be among the 
 fainting. 
 
 And I was right ! How she managed it she never 
 quite explained, but this interesting fact Aunt Anne 
 did admit, that, arm-in-arm with monsieur le niaire, 
 she had made her way to a place of honour in that 
 market hall, the crowd giving way before her and her 
 magnificent escort as though they were royalty. 
 
 " Oh, my dear, I had such an interesting time ! 
 A delightful man that mayor ! " Her eyes twinkled 
 mischievously. " The dances were charming, so 
 quaint and wooden ; and I helped to decide the prizes 
 — those poor dear men badly needed a woman to 
 assist them." 
 
 *' But how on earth did you get to know the 
 mayor ? " I asked in bewilderment. 
 
 "Oh it does not take long to know people when 
 you are really sympathetic," she answered evasively ; 
 " we had a deeply interesting talk about the expul- 
 sion of the nuns. It appears the Sisters are all still in 
 Concameau, received into the homes of the towns- 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 107 
 
 people, whose children they teach and take care of. 
 I sent a little present to the dear old Mother. The 
 mayor confirmed entirely our girls' story. I told 
 him I considered his conduct magnificent. He replied 
 he was enchanted to have met a lady of such superior 
 intelligence." 
 
 ''It is not one chaperon that you need, Aunt 
 Anne. It is a bodyguard," I replied, dryly. 
 
 In the market next morning Twas buying fruit, 
 when I heard a little voice at my elbow, and, turning, 
 saw our friend Corentine. She wore a dark-red 
 knitted shawl and no collar, " because of the accursed 
 rain," she explained, which takes out all the fine 
 gauffres and reduces it to the state of pulp. I no 
 longer wondered that the wearers of those collars 
 regard the rain with enmity, when the mysteries 
 of the art of gauffring were revealed to me. Each 
 fold is separately treated with a fine long straw — 
 truly a Herculean labour of patience, for they are 
 as numerous as the rays of the sun. 
 
 This market was a dull affair compared to those 
 of Dieppe and Trouville. No one bargained, no one 
 joked and chaffed, no one clamoured for your custom. 
 The flowers and fruit made a poor show also as com- 
 pared with the Normandy markets. Grapes, peaches, 
 roses, there were none. Aunt Anne, finding it dull 
 work, had gone home, leaving me to buy the fruit 
 which was to us a necessity of life. Corentine made 
 her purchases of salt butter and potatoes without 
 
io8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 a superfluous word, paid down the sum named, and 
 took off her goods. 
 
 " The first price that is also the last price," said 
 one old body with dignity, when Aunt Anne, in all 
 innocence of Brittany customs, had enquired the last 
 price of a basket of greengages. It certainly resulted 
 in a very dull market, did this high standard. 
 
 " We Bretons we say a thing and we move not 
 from it," said Corentine ; " le hon Dieu made us like 
 that, see you. If my mother says she will not speak 
 to my father for three days, then she speaks not 
 even if the house is burning. If my father swears 
 to break the nose of a man who has angered him, he 
 breaks it even if he must wait for the good moment 
 seven years. So in the market one says three sous 
 for two apples, and never will one move from that 
 price." I said I hoped they were equally steadfast 
 in love and loyalty these Bretons, but Corentine 
 shrugged her shoulders. ** Oh, for love — that is 
 another affair. It is rare to find a man who is 
 constant — the men, they make the court to all the 
 pretty girls — they resemble the bees among the gorse 
 blooms." I remarked that she seemed to have had 
 some experience. " Oh, me, I know men," repHed 
 Corentine. " I am eighteen years old, but I shall 
 not marry at that age, as did my poor mother. Oh, 
 no I I shall wait till I am old — twenty-five perhaps. 
 I will first see life." She then confided to me that 
 the wish of her life was to go as bonne to Paris or 
 London. Would not I take her ? Gladly she would 
 serve me for nothing. Poor httle sardine girl ! 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 109 
 
 I dared not be encouraging. I suggested her mother 
 could ill spare her, but she assured me, on the contrary, 
 her room was more needed than her company when 
 winter came and she had no means of earning. 
 Finally we settled to discuss the matter further when 
 we met at Lanriec. 
 
 * ♦ ♦ ♦ * 
 
 Lanriec is a petit pays about three kilometres 
 from Concameau. Just before reaching the village 
 we came to cross roads, where crowds of country 
 people were grouped in hedges and trees. A police- 
 man advanced and requested us to draw up till the 
 race was over, the high road having been adopted as 
 the course for the time. A trotting race was on, and 
 presently the first and second men came clattering 
 along close at each other's heels. 
 
 " You may now advance," said the policeman to 
 our driver. " It is improbable that the third horse 
 will overtake you — he is far behind." 
 
 But he did, and we found ourselves joining in the 
 race and going neck to neck with number three, 
 roused to desperate energy at the prospect of being 
 defeated by our fiacre. We came in fourth out of 
 seven — not bad, considering our lack of training. 
 We were loudly cheered, and bowed graciously to 
 right and left of us. 
 
 In the village street the crowd was so great we 
 doubted ever finding our sardine girls. But, perched 
 on a hedge, they had watched with the pride of 
 ownership our triumphal entry as " Number four," 
 and now descended to claim us. They took us first 
 
no FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 to the church, very ancient and picturesque, a 
 favourite subject for the picture postcard. Our 
 three friends said their prayers at a small side altar 
 much patronised by girls. Many women came in 
 just for a few minutes, knelt in silence, and then 
 joined the gay crowd outside. 
 
 Country people and fisher people were about 
 equally represented, and there were tugs of war 
 and games of aU sorts, in which the competition be- 
 tween the two was keen. 
 
 Every half-hour down came the rain and up went 
 the women's umbrellas to protect cap and collar. The 
 rain was the signal for the men to disappear with one 
 accord for an interval of refreshment within the many 
 little cabarets or drink shops. The women rarely 
 followed. They contented themselves with the more 
 harmless and inexpensive fare provided by the stalls 
 in the street. 
 
 The hihiou and pipes were in full force. They 
 played through the sack races, the tug of war, the 
 gavotte and even through the rain. I think it was 
 all the same tune, but the hiniou is an instrument 
 which always appears to be playing the same tune, 
 with slight variations in the time. 
 
 During the first pause in the proceedings, Corentine 
 renewed her petition that I would engage her as 
 bonne, or, in fact, in any capacity from stable boy 
 to cook. Meanwhile, Augustine and Fran9oise with 
 equal fervour pressed their services upon Aimt 
 Anne. Presently, to my dismay, I heard her seriously 
 arranging for this addition to her household. 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. Ill 
 
 " Very well, Fran9oise then shall do the washing 
 and feed the cliickens and help the butler to serve at 
 table." 
 
 " Also I can make the beds and fry the fish and 
 knit the stockings for Madame," added Frangoise 
 eagerly. 
 
 " But no, thou shalt not knit the stockings — 
 Madame she promised me that should I do, and also 
 make her the dresses, is it not so, Madame ? " inter- 
 posed Augustine indignantly. " Thy work it is the 
 washing." 
 
 " Silence ! " said Aunt Anne. ** You render me 
 deaf, my girls. I permit no quarrelling. You shall 
 knit, both of you. I need many stockings. Stockings 
 for all the house and for all the children of my 
 village." 
 
 " Madame engages me for next week, yes ? " cried 
 Augustine. " Or we can start even sooner if Madame 
 desires it — and Corentine also." 
 
 Tears were in poor Corentine's eyes. " Is it then 
 true that Madame engages you others ? Oh, dear 
 Mademoiselle, take me also," she implored me. 
 
 " Aunt Anne, what have you done ? " I asked 
 aghast. " Have you really engaged these two 
 girls?" 
 
 " Yes," she answered complacently, " I have. I 
 am going to put my household on an entirely new 
 basis. Efficiency and economy will be my watch- 
 words. I have arranged the whole thing in my mind. 
 Instead of eight servants I shall keep four. Wilson 
 must do without a footman. Fran9oise can help 
 
112 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 him. Mrs. Bowles must also come into line, or go. 
 I am going to be very firm. Perhaps I can fit Coren- 
 tine into my new menage if she can do plain cooking." 
 
 But, alas, Corentine's cooking was entirely 
 restricted to frying fish and making galettes — the 
 sight of a joint would have bewildered her ! — ^not 
 even an omelette could she manage, for the good 
 reason that in her home eggs were luxuries never 
 seen. 
 
 " But I can learn," cried Corentine, hopefully. 
 " I know a woman who cooks to a marvel, she will 
 teach me all." 
 
 Even Aunt Anne, however, saw difficulties ahead 
 here, so I consoled our little friend by promising to 
 try and place her in Paris. 
 
 Aunt Anne warned her two girls to expect no bed 
 of roses. " Hard work, plain food, a mistress with 
 the devil of a temper ! Oh yes, no laughing matter," 
 she assured them. " Everything in the house to be 
 done by clockwork, and to be kept clean and bright 
 as a new pin. Low wages to begin with (she men- 
 tioned a sum beyond their wildest dreams and 
 prayers), to be increased if they proved satisfactory 
 and remained a year." 
 
 ** We will remain ten years — twenty, perhaps," 
 Augustine declared. " Till we die," added Fran- 
 9oise fervently. 
 
 " And how about Pierre and Jacques and the rest, 
 hein ? " enquired this prospective mistress. 
 
 " Oh, for those there we wish them adieu with the 
 heart light and the eye dry," laughed Augustine. 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 113 
 
 " The young men they are very well when one would 
 dance the gavotte, but to take for husbands — no 
 thanks. The men, as these ladies know very well, 
 they make only miseries for the women — above all 
 the fishermen. If he is good and weU ranged, a thing 
 rare enough, God knows, he is assuredly drowned by 
 the cruel sea so soon as he has planted you with a 
 large family which require to be nourished. If he is 
 bad, he drinks more than the half of what he gains, 
 and he beats the woman who has had the folly to 
 espouse him.'* 
 
 " She speaks there the truth," said the two friends, 
 solemnly. 
 
 Aimt Anne laughed. ' * You have, I^see, my children, 
 very sensible ideas upon the subject of marriage and 
 an astonishing amount of experience. At your ages 
 I imagined every man to be a hero. I wonder which 
 is best," she added to herself. 
 
 And now the hiniou and pipes struck up a gavotte, 
 and the young men who had been pronounced such 
 doubtful blessings as partners for life were more 
 indulgently treated for the dance. Corentine it is true 
 was more hard to please than her two friends, for 
 though three swains hurried up to her, petitioning 
 the honour of her hand, she shook her head to all. 
 I asked her ** Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, those there they dance like young calves. I 
 take only one who knows really to dance." She 
 laughed contemptuously at her less critical friends 
 as they swung past her with two of the " young 
 calves." 
 
114 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Presently a tall, lithe young fisherman, with daring 
 blue eyes and tawny hair, pushed his way through the 
 crowd, and without a word took Corentine firmly by 
 the hand. She held back, saying something in Breton 
 of a protesting nature, but he held her hand as in a 
 vice and drew her off to the dancers. Passing me a 
 little later, he remarked, with triumph, " Me, I made 
 her dance, see you I " 
 
 He was light and active as though on springs, a 
 curious contrast to the " young calves," with their 
 sabots and heavy agricultural tread. He had, besides, 
 a look in his impudent, laughing eyes, which seemed 
 to promise he would get his own way, not by asking, 
 but by taking it. A dangerous type of young man ! 
 Just such eyes no doubt had Yann, the tormenting 
 lover of poor Gaud. It surprised me that Corentine 
 should have the strength of mind to be so determined 
 on going away to Paris or London. Did she realise, 
 I wondered, how different the life would be ? " You 
 know, Corentine," I warned her, " if you go as a 
 bonne to England you will have no f^tes, no dances, 
 no Pardons, and no handsome picheurs." 
 
 " My faith, but I shall be a demoiselle who sleeps 
 in a white bed all alone, and not on a shelf in the wall 
 with a yoimg brother who kicks all the night. And I 
 shall dwell in a great house four stories high perhaps, 
 and be well nourished with good soup in which to 
 soak my bread every day. And no longer shall I be 
 forced to work in the suffocating usine four nights a 
 week till with fatigue the eyes see two sardines where 
 there is one. Oh, I have well coimted all that I " 
 
 1 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. I15 
 
 I asked what her father and mother felt about her 
 going. 
 
 " Dame I My father, that concerns him not. And 
 for my mother, she desires greatly that I go before 
 the winter. For in the winter, see you, my father, 
 the unhappy one, he can gain but little, so he drinks 
 much. When he is very drunk it arrives often that 
 he beats my mother, and for this cause it is not agree- 
 able, says my mother, for me to live in the house." 
 
 This bare statement of facts was made in a wholly 
 impersonal way. Just as she had previously said, 
 " When the sea is rough one catches no sardines. 
 When the sardines fail we have no work in the usine, 
 and so lack bread." 
 
 Our girls made a great point of our staying for 
 the gavotte d'honneur, when the bunch of gay coloured 
 ribbons suspended from a hook on the wall were 
 awarded as prizes to the best dancers. Endurance, 
 though not the sole, was a necessary qualification — 
 you must be in at the death and go till the last blast 
 of the biniou and pipes. The dancing floor was 
 stony, rugged and steep, it was but right endurance 
 should count for something. 
 
 Corentine and her partner acquitted themselves 
 with distinction, in spite of the fact that the latter was 
 equipped with the sabots of the agriculturist. With 
 truly Breton undemonstrativeness he handed to her 
 the second prize, a blue ribbon she had announced as 
 her heart's desire, but he permitted himself a smile of 
 satisfaction as she wound the ribbon round her white 
 coif. It is the one touch of colour in the Concameau 
 
ii6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 girl's costume, and passes between the over and 
 under cap, holding up the hair at the back of the head. 
 
 The only drop of bitterness in Corentine's cup was 
 the fact that the blue-eyed fisherman and his partner 
 came off with the first prize, a rose-coloured ribbon. 
 He had deUberately sought out a big, bold-eyed girl 
 for this gavotte, not even giving Corentine the chance 
 of snubbing him ; but he came up to her as she was 
 showing me her prize, and for my benefit remarked, 
 " Ha, with me, seest thou, one gains the first prize. 
 Poor Httle friend ! so sorry I could not take thee this 
 time, but la belle Margot, she was breaking her heart 
 for me," he laughed. 
 
 Corentine tossed her head and answered loftily that 
 she preferred the blue ribbon to the rose. 
 
 " Ha, without doubt," he retorted ; " that is be- 
 cause the blue recalls to you my eyes — eh. Made- 
 moiselle Corentine ? " and off he skipped, pretending 
 not to hear the uncomplimentary remarks hurled 
 after him in vehement Breton both by Corentine and 
 her partner. 
 
 Having unearthed our cocker from the usual haven, 
 we suggested to our three friends that we should 
 drive them home, an invitation that needed no 
 pressing. 
 
 Often, declared Corentine, had she desired to be 
 conducted by a real carriage of the town, " but never 
 before had the good chance arrived." 
 
 The experience of Augustine and Fran9oise had 
 also been limited to a two-wheel fish charette, 
 
 Augustine mounted the box-seat by the driver. 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. I17 
 
 her square and solid person lending itself less than the 
 rest of the party to compression. We were a goodly 
 carriage load, and it was a proud moment when the 
 driver ostentatiously cracked his whip and everyone 
 turned round to look at us swinging and jolting down 
 the village street. A prouder moment still when, on 
 the homeward route, we passed our various relations 
 and friends tramping back on foot. With mock 
 condescension we waved to them, and then, as the 
 gleam of surprised recognition lit up their faces, we 
 broke into peals of dehghted laughter. We had the 
 good fortune to pass both the father of Corentine and 
 that of Fran9oise, besides the grandmother and small 
 sisters of the latter, and the married brother and 
 brother-in-law of Augustine. 
 
 The worthy parent of Corentine, like many of his 
 companions, walked somewhat erratically, and we had 
 no little difficulty in clearing him with our wheels in 
 the narrow lane, but a small son held him firmly by 
 the hand, and his eye was still sufficiently clear to 
 enable him to discern the proud position of his 
 daughter — being driven at her ease, by a live coach- 
 man on the box, for all the world Hke the daughter of 
 monsieur le Comte. 
 
 Our drive back to Concameau was a triumphal 
 progress, and though we passed the street in which 
 Augustine dwelt, she entirely declined to leave us, 
 saying she would go on ** to the end '* and gladly 
 walk home. Fran9oise also announced her intention 
 of only quitting us at the hotel. She lived in one of 
 the narrow alleys of the old town or Ville Close as it 
 
Ii8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 is called, that quaint old island fortress which, like a 
 veteran soldier, stands guard at the harbour mouth. 
 The most emaciated wheelbarrow could hardly have 
 passed down Fran9oise* alley, but we undertook a 
 task quite difficult enough in promising to call at the 
 home of Corentine and see her mother. To reach this 
 row of houses, situated on the edge of the basin, it 
 was necessary to precipitate yourself down some steep 
 and rocky paths unused to carriage or cart wheels, 
 but Corentine 's highest ambition was to be seen 
 on this red-letter day, and by as many of her friends 
 as possible, actually driving up to the door. For- 
 tunately the driver, after one grim warning that 
 we must take the responsibility of the horse's knees, 
 thoroughly entered into the spirit of the situation, 
 and performed a truty marvellous feat in conveying 
 us down a sort of rocky watershoot to the little 
 row of low-roofed houses. An admiring audience 
 peered at us from doors and windows ; our three girls 
 greeted them with shrieks of laughter. 
 
 To our disappointment two small brothers were the 
 only members of Corentine 's family at home, her 
 mother being, a neighbour told us, still down at the 
 river, washing. 
 
 We were invited to enter. The house consisted of 
 one room with a loft overhead in which the wood for 
 the winter was stored. In this one room the father 
 and mother and five children lived, slept and kept 
 all their worldly goods. It was very clean and tidy. 
 Only one big bed was to be seen imtil Corentine drew 
 aside some curtains which revealed two beds in the 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 119 
 
 wall a la mode de Bretagne. In the better houses these 
 are closed in by carved sliding doors, hke the bed at 
 Riec, but in Corentine's Httle home a curtain served 
 instead. " Two of us sleep in each of these beds in 
 the wall — three in the big bed. With a numerous 
 family one must arrange as one can," she observed 
 philosophically. 
 
 The only furniture was the substantial armoire or 
 linen press, to be seen in the poorest dwelling, a small 
 dresser with a few odd plates and bowls, two or three 
 chairs and a little cupboard. 
 
 In one corner of the room lay a pile of blue fishing 
 nets which Corentine had just finished re-dyeing 
 and mending. The colour soon washes out, and the 
 nets are so fine they require constant mending. 
 She showed us the mesh, very small and fine, also 
 the straws with which she gauffres her big white 
 collar. 
 
 The two small brothers watched her with wide 
 awestruck eyes. The familiar sister was passing 
 into regions beyond their ken, driving in carriages 
 and talking French with strange ladies who laughed 
 and joked with her as though she were a friend. 
 What next, they wondered. 
 
 A small silver coin in the palm of each child 
 turned their speculations into a personal and more 
 satisfactory direction. 
 
 We packed into our carriage again and drove 
 off to the river, where all the laundresses assemble 
 to wash and gossip. 
 
 The river runs through a meadow just beyond 
 
I20 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the port. The women kneel in rows along the banks. 
 Our arrival created a most edifying sensation, as we 
 intended it should, for were not our three mothers 
 among the spectators ! 
 
 Corentine's mother was standing at a tub apart. 
 I was conducted to her and introduced, while Aunt 
 Anne went off to see the respective parents of Augus- 
 tine and Fran9oise. She continued steadily pound- 
 ing her clothes in the tub and looked at me fixedly 
 without speaking. As she spoke only the Breton, 
 conversation was difficult in any case, but she did 
 not seem desirous of wasting words even in that 
 tongue, merely nodding her head and emitting an 
 occasional grunt in reply to her daughter, who acted 
 as interpreter. She indicated by a slight relaxation 
 of her rigid features that she approved Corentine's 
 desire to go to Paris — she was willing, in fact, to 
 let her go with me there and then to the North 
 Pole if I liked to take her. *' Anything to make 
 one less in the house when the winter arrives," 
 said poor Corentine, " for then there is no work 
 in the usines and I gain little — so little, and the 
 hunger increases rather than diminishes with the 
 cold." 
 
 I assured this Druidical-looking dame I would 
 do my utmost to help her child, shook hands, and 
 we exchanged adieux, the only word she addressed 
 to me. 
 
 Aunt Anne's interviews had been much of the same 
 character, chiefly, no doubt, owing to the difficulty of 
 tongues, but all was arranged, to everyone's apparent 
 
A SARDINE GIRL. 121 
 
 satisfaction. The two girls were to enter her service 
 on her return to England if they had found nothing 
 they preferred, in the meantime. They were to be 
 free, and Aunt Anne also, till that time. If both 
 parties were then still of the same mind, a binding 
 engagement would be entered upon. 
 
 The girls were somewhat disheartened at this 
 postponement. They were ready to start to-mor- 
 row. But knowing how often Aunt Anne's house- 
 hold is liable to be projected on a new basis, I felt 
 relieved that she had left herself a loophole. 
 
 An admiring group assisted us to pack into our 
 carriage again, all three girls insisting they must 
 accompany us to our hotel. There at last we 
 parted, for we were off to Quimper next day. Tears 
 were in Corentine's pretty brown eyes as she begged 
 me not to forget her. 
 
 " Never, never shall I forget Mademoiselle," she 
 assured me ; "I shall pray the blessed Virgin that 
 some day I may be her bonite.'* 
 
 " Take her,'* said Augustine. *' Mademoiselle 
 will not regret it — Corentine is more clever than 
 both we other two. So quickly she packs the 
 sardines she gains every time two sous more than 
 I can in the day. Her collar she gauffres like new, 
 she mends the blue nets so that no one can find 
 where the hole has been. As for the children, she 
 adores them and they her. Oh, Corentine is a good 
 girl and very useful," declared her friend. 
 
 I promised to do my utmost to find her a happy 
 place among my friends in Paris. Alas that for 
 
122 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 myself I had no collars to gauffre, nets to mend, or 
 even babies to tend I 
 
 * * * 4e « 
 
 I did not forget Corentine, and some months 
 later, when in Paris, succeeded in finding her a 
 place which I had good reason to hope she would 
 fill to everyone's satisfaction, including her own. 
 Alas, the end of a month's service saw my httle 
 sardine friend back among the filets-hleus, for which 
 she had suffered so severely the mal du pays, there 
 was no remedy otherwise. 
 
 The moral of this little postscript is obvious. 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 
 
 WE left Finistere without hearing the " bells of 
 Is." Aunt Anne refused to believe in them, 
 a fact in itself enough to spoil the conditions for 
 hearing. It was a point on which we came near 
 quarrelling. 
 
 " Oh bells of Is, oh bells of Is, 
 Deaf were the heart and ears 
 That never heard you ringing 
 Your psalm of vanished years." * 
 
 I quoted with perhaps a certain note of reproach in 
 my tone. To my surprise, Aunt Anne, who has 
 an excellent memory, though not much given to 
 modern poetry, replied promptly with another quo- 
 tation from the same delightful poem. 
 
 " Cease ! Let be 1 — 
 Let me hear the rush of the billow. 
 The plash of the wind-rippled sea, 
 The noise of the wind in the cordage. 
 The shriek, if you will, of the blast, — 
 But not that ghostly ringing 
 From the bells of a buried past 1 " * 
 
 Yet why, if the city of Is still stands beneath the 
 sea in the grim Baie des Trepasses, swallowed whole 
 
 * Clifford Harrison. 
 
124 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 as Finistere history records, and the bells and their 
 strong tower still endure, should they not ring, 
 swung by the stormy waters on dark nights, and 
 who knows, on grey, still, mysterious afternoons, 
 such as we had that day, by the hands, perhaps, of 
 Dahut herself ? 
 
 We were standing on the torn ragged rocks of the 
 Point du Raz, looking right out to sea over the bay 
 that holds so many dark secrets, and far away, to 
 the endless ocean beyond — ominously still that day, 
 for at all seasons of the year this is the headquarters 
 of storms and gales. 
 
 The Bale des Trepasses is beautiful and cruel even 
 as the famous Dahut. Many victims yearly are 
 swept on to those wild rocks. The sea whirls, 
 rushes and eddies, devouring and tearing the very 
 rocks themselves, making an arch of the long sharp 
 Point du Raz by piercing right through it. For miles 
 around the wild winds and gales permit nothing to 
 grow, no tree or human habitation to lift its head. 
 Even the lighthouse must crouch to the stature 
 of a dwarf. Driving from Douamenez to the Point 
 du Raz, one felt on the edge of the world, just cling- 
 ing to the torn brown fringe of Mother Earth's 
 raiment. 
 
 Aunt Anne could not avoid believing in the buried 
 city. Every fisherman at Douamenez confirms the 
 story, and anyone can see for themselves the re- 
 mains of an old Roman wall in the Baie des Tr6- 
 pass6s, with its strong cement and great stones 
 resisting to the last the devouring sea. Still it is 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 125 
 
 called in the Breton tongue, " Wall of Is," and a 
 small creek in the bay holds its secret also in the 
 name by which it is known, " Poul-Dahut," for it 
 was there the wicked and beautiful daughter of 
 King GraUon gave herself at last to the avenging 
 sea. 
 
 Is was a great and prosperous city in the days of 
 Grallon, the sixth century, and the capital of Cor- 
 nouailles. The mighty sluice-gates kept the ocean' 
 in check, and the king himself, with a big silver 
 key, opened the gates once a month, admitting just 
 the amoimt of water needed for the use of the city. 
 
 Grallon had one daughter, Dahut, a bewildering 
 combination of beauty and wickedness, both in a 
 supreme degree. She ruled at Court. Her lovers 
 were numerous as the pebbles on the sea shore, in 
 spite of the fact that every night the favoured one 
 for that brief hour of rapture and madness, met a 
 sudden and tragic death. It was said a black man, 
 riding at furious speed, might be seen bearing the 
 lifeless body of the victim towards the mountains. 
 In proof of this story, also doubted by Aunt Anne, I 
 would mention that from a deep abyss in the rocks 
 of Huel-Goat may be often heard strange sighs and 
 groans, which the shepherds of TArree, surely in a 
 better position to know than Aunt Anne, declare 
 come from these poor misguided young men, the 
 lovers of Dahut, begging the passers-by to pray for 
 the peace of their souls. 
 
 But to return to Dahut. She became ever more 
 and more arrogant, usmping entirely at last her 
 
126 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 father's rule, together with the great silver key, 
 symbol of his kingship — ^herself undertaking the open- 
 ing of the sluice-gates. This last act roused the 
 wrath and vengeance of the Sea, who had always 
 viewed with resentment the pride and independ- 
 ence which dared to dictate limits to her own sway. 
 Mindful of this, the king had performed the cere- 
 mony with respect and even reverence, praying the 
 Sea for her favour and bounty, thus salving over 
 the obnoxious fact of the sluice-gates. But Dahut 
 prayed no prayers and showed no reverence, she 
 treated the mighty Sea as one of her vassals, or as 
 a huge mastiff, whom she held by a strong chain. 
 
 One day the Abbe of Landevennec rushed into the 
 presence of the king crying to him to flee for his 
 life, as the Sea had arisen in her might, roaring and 
 foaming she had broken through the sluice-gates 
 and was caUing down vengeance on the evil doings 
 of Dahut. The king sprang to his horse, and seizing 
 his daughter, attempted to save her with himself. 
 But it was too late. The ocean had already covered 
 the whole city of Is, and as horse and rider raced 
 wildly inland, the angry waves rushed after, and a 
 voice cried from out the dark stormy waters, " I 
 claim the wicked Dahut, she shall not escape." Then 
 Dahut knew that her hour had in tnithcome, and 
 bidding her father farewell, she flung herself into the 
 sea and instantly disappeared. In the same mo- 
 ment the waters, which almost covered the horse, 
 retreated, and Grallon continued his way in sore 
 grief to Quimper. From that time he made the 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 127 
 
 latter town the capital of Comouailles in place of 
 the lost city ; for the Sea claimed Is, together with 
 its wicked princess, and never more retreated. 
 So there, between the jagged teeth of that cruel 
 bay, lies the buried city, and what more likely, 
 after all, than that Dahut, on still, calm nights, 
 should ring the old bells, calHng good people to 
 pray for the pardon and peace of her stormy soul ! 
 
 « ic ♦ « >|i 
 
 We had but a flying glimpse of Douamenez and 
 its blue nets. It was the life of Concameau on a 
 rather bigger scale — the same rows of women knit- 
 ting and chatting on the low sea-wall — only more 
 of them, the same brown red-sailed boats, only 
 more of them. At every turn subjects for a painter's 
 brush, and colour to delight his heart, in sea and 
 sky, in sails and nets, blue gossamer nets, yellow 
 oilskin jackets and dark-blue or red jerseys of the 
 fishermen, the many-coloured shawls and aprons of 
 the women, their blue-black hair (one saw few tawny 
 heads here) shining'beneath the close-fitting lace cap 
 of Douamenez. 
 
 Everywhere one was conscious of sardines. The 
 precious little fish arrive here rather later in the 
 year than at Concameau, but in even greater 
 shoals. The harbour was full of boats, the town 
 full of factories and kitchens — ^blue nets and yellow 
 oilskins himg drying from windows, doors, and 
 walls. Everyone talked and smelt, too, of sardines, 
 in spite of a stiff sea breeze, which seemed to come 
 right across the ocean from the other side of the world. 
 
1^ FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Through rocks and woods, gorse and heather, 
 back to Quimper. How safe Grallon must have felt 
 when he reached Quimper ! Instead of being perched 
 on the very jumping-off place of France, a rocky 
 promontory, stretching with hardy daring far out 
 into the ocean, here was a quiet sheltered valley, 
 connected with the dangerous sea by a long wind- 
 ing river, peaceful and serene, protected by a steep 
 hillside, covered with dark pines and chestnuts, 
 watching over their city like trusty sentinels. 
 
 Quimper suggests dehghtful possibilities of old- 
 fashioned French life, of the Cranford type. The 
 Odet runs through the town, and all along the left 
 bank are dignified little town houses standing in 
 small secluded gardens, each with its own private 
 bridge and wrought-iron gate across the river. 
 From the pine woods on the hillside you look all 
 over the old city, with its grand twin-towers of 
 St. Corentin as the centre of interest, while far away 
 one can follow the winding Odet down to the wide 
 mouth of the sea. Soldiers and nuns have their 
 headquarters at Quimper, but the former have 
 " chased " a considerable number of the latter in 
 these last years. 
 
 Market day at Quimper revealed to us some in- 
 teresting new varieties of coifs, though the floating 
 ends of those of Quimper itself are not half so at- 
 tractive as when caught up in a loop like those of 
 Concameau. The tight-fitting lace cap of Douar- 
 nenez is delightful with the blue-black hair as a 
 background, but types of beauty were rare even 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 129 
 
 among young girls. The market was busy but not 
 lively — we found ourselves buying only what we 
 wanted, instead of being lured into three dozen 
 red mullet or a huge pumpkin. Gertruda bought 
 an image of St. Corentin and I a minute St. Antoine 
 de Padua, without whom no one apt to lose their 
 property should dream of travelling, this kind-hearted 
 saint making it his special business to find all lost 
 or strayed goods. We paid for these saints their 
 fixed price without any bargaining, and in this in- 
 stance felt the fitness of the Breton custom in a 
 manner not perhaps brought home when buying 
 red mullet and ptmipkins. 
 
 * ♦ * ♦ * 
 
 From Quimper we worked eastward again, mak- 
 ing a little detour from Grouet up to Le Faouet in 
 the Montagues Noirs. 
 
 These Montagnes Noirs, which sound so grim and 
 severe, turned out to be pleasant genial green hills 
 and slopes. We experienced the same relief as 
 when having been warned to beware of the dog at 
 the inn a pleasant little toy spaniel ran out wagging 
 a friendly tail in welcome. 
 
 It is worth going to Brittany to see Le Faouet, 
 though it means a long drive uphill in the craziest 
 vehicle ever drawn by a fourfooted beast. And it 
 is worth going to Le Faouet if only to see Ste 
 Barbe, though that means a pilgrimage, perforce 
 made on foot, up the steepest of rocky mountain 
 paths to where the old church, like an eagle's nest 
 imbedded in the side of the rock, overhangs a preci- 
 
 5 
 
130 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 pice at the foot of which sings and dances the light- 
 hearted httle river Elle. 
 
 The story is that the Sieur de Toulbodoii, out 
 hunting in a storm, was about to be crushed bj' a 
 falUng block of the rock, when he called on Ste 
 Barbe, promising her a nice chapel on the spot if 
 she would save him. She arrested the block en route 
 to his head, for there was not a moment to lose, and 
 the following day, the Sieur, equally prompt, set his 
 masons to work where the miracle had been wrought. 
 
 You reach the church by a steep stone stair and 
 balustrade. On a bridge of stone overhead stands a 
 tiny chapel dedicated to St. Michel, a saint who 
 crops up at every turn of the road in Brittany, 
 Near the custodian's httle house rises a tall belfry, 
 and once a year, when the " Pardon " of Ste Barbe 
 is held, every pilgrim makes a point of pulling that 
 bell, just to notify to the saint the praiseworthy 
 effort his presence indicates. 
 
 It was hard work to tear ourselves away from Le 
 Faouet. The wild lovely country — quite out of the 
 tourist beat — the splendid air of the hills, the old 
 market hall, with its wonderful roof absolutely 
 unique — they say there is not another liJce it in 
 France — and, above all, our landlady and her kitchen, 
 — all fascinated us. The landlady and her kitchen 
 are as imique as the roof of the market, and are 
 inseparable. You enter the kitchen in entering the 
 inn, and Madame greets you with her beneficent 
 smile, surrounded by polished pans and cauldrons, 
 the ruddy glow of her huge range reflected on her 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 131 
 
 strong handsome face, her hands invariably busy 
 with some excellent item of the coming repast. 
 Old oak beams arch over her head, she looks like 
 a genial sorceress at work, as indeed she is. Her 
 maidens fly hither and thither at her word, the re- 
 sults at our dejeuner and dinner are such as to make 
 Madame's cuisine highly popular. She has two 
 tables, one for her internes^ and another in the 
 kitchen itself for the exfernes who drop in without 
 ceremony. This table is a curiosity in itself, many 
 hundred years old, says Madame, of thick solid 
 oak, with slits here and there through which the 
 money passes into the drawer below. A safe and 
 sensible plan in the good old days when cider flowed 
 freely and quarrels rose high. 
 
 We jolted down to Quimperle next day in the 
 weird conveyance which takes the letters and goes 
 by the name of the " Poste." Being the only pas- 
 sengers besides the letters, the driver kindly allowed 
 us to descend for a few minutes on the way to look 
 at Saint Fiacre, another marvel in churches. We 
 waded through a farmyard, the dirtiest ever seen, 
 ankle deep in mire, over pigs, geese and ducks, turned 
 a comer, and lo, the most dainty and exquisite vision 
 of fifteenth century art at its best. Saint Fiacre 
 has a Pardon once a year, otherwise it stands de- 
 serted behind the farmyard and outhouses, a jewel 
 in the swine's snout, not even to be seen from the 
 road, where it would rejoice the eyes of every 
 traveller. 
 
 * * * >K « 
 
132 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 As we dropped down upon Quimperle it looked 
 like a town of trees and gardens. Even the walls 
 were green with trailing creepers, and moss and fern 
 grew between the stones and in the niches of the 
 old church of St. Michel. A Sleepy Hollow little 
 town, and so determined not to be disturbed that 
 it has placed its station well out of sight and ear- 
 shot, a good two kilometres from the town. Old 
 coats of arms and armorial bearings are to be seen 
 over many an ancient doorway, reminding one that 
 in the good old days here were the town houses 
 of many great families of Brittany, nearly all gone 
 now, or at least so overgrown with time's moss and 
 lichen as to be, hke their coats of arms, no longer 
 recognisable. 
 
 Aimt Anne went out for a solitary ramble, and 
 returned, as usual, having had an adventure and 
 " such an interesting time, my dear ! " 
 
 Coming out of the church she had fallen into con- 
 versation with an old lady in deep mourning. " The 
 sort of raiment,*' said Aunt Anne, " that one felt 
 had become a part of herself, the expression of her 
 thought and spirit ; a shabby though unspeakably 
 dignified garb, which will only be laid aside when 
 the owner herself lays aside the poor tired body." 
 
 In spite of the evident poverty and care written 
 plainly in the thin pinched old face, Aunt Anne 
 had recognised the unmistakable stamp of the grande 
 dame, and as they walked together towards the bat- 
 tered old palace in the rue du Chateau the old lady 
 spoke of the past of Quimperl6 and of her own 
 
FROM IS TO BLOIS. 133 
 
 family, of whom she was the last survivor. Once 
 they had been great princes in Brittany, but the 
 Revolution had ruined them. Her one consolation 
 was the old church of St. Michel. Still she knelt 
 on the same spot where her ancestors had knelt. 
 Still she prayed in the very words hallowed by 
 their lips, and soon the same holy Church would 
 console her also with the last rites, and her spirit 
 would rejoin those dear and honoured ones who 
 had passed on before. 
 
 '* The poor old dear attends every service of the 
 Church," said Aunt Anne, " and spends hours there 
 before the altar of Marie when the church is empty. 
 That is how I first saw her, looking like a veritable 
 Mater Dolorosa. She lives alone with her two faith- 
 ful old servants, a man and his wife, in the big grey 
 house with all the green shutters closed." 
 
 Interesting as this encounter had been Aunt Anne 
 was distinctly depressed by it. She pictured sad 
 broken lives behind all the closed shutters and grey 
 walls, and it was with no regret she sent a last look 
 at Quimperle next day, though loud in its praises as 
 one of the most picturesque of garden cities. 
 
 " And now for Blois," she said, in remarkably 
 cheerful tones, as the train whirled us rapidly away. 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 
 
 BLOIS is truly a marvellous old city. Fine 
 sculptured archways, Louis Xl.turreted towers, 
 Fran9ois I^^ salamanders and ornate carvings, greet 
 you in dilapidated old side streets and alleys and at 
 all sorts of unexpected comers. 
 
 Old books, engravings, brocades, and antiquities 
 of every description beckon you from ancient shop 
 windows. It is a place of deadly temptation for 
 anyone with Aunt Anne's tastes, and the chaperon 
 had hard work to get her to move along at all. The 
 grand old chateau is one of the finest perhaps in 
 France, and, as the old custodian proudly claimed, a 
 standing record of the most thrilling pages in French 
 history. But I must return to that custodian later. 
 
 If you desire to market, as we did directly we had 
 swallowed our morning coffee, five market places 
 await you, in tiers one above the other all the way up 
 the hill on which the town is piled. It is not possible 
 to drive about Blois if one would see it properly. It 
 is necessary to walk or climb up flights of steps which 
 lead from one place to another, or by little winding 
 side streets of steep steps cut in the rock. 
 
 Here was a market that rejoiced Aunt Anne's 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 135 
 
 heart. The fruits of a land, not of gorse and heather 
 like our beautiful though barren Finistere, but of 
 milk and honey, wine and oil, peaches and plums, 
 fat turkeys and capons, monster pumpkins and 
 cheeses and everything else you can think of, from 
 pearl chains to prize pigs. Here you could bargain 
 to your heart's content, everyone was chattering and 
 shrieking like the inhabitants of the parrot house at 
 the Zoo. Grapes were two sous a pound, it seemed 
 hardly worth while paying for them, but they were 
 well worth eating. Peaches, any of which were 
 worthy of a horticultural prize, three sous and even 
 two sous apiece. 
 
 We returned laden to our hotel and made our 
 dejeuner off fruit instead of joining the table d'hote, 
 which greatly distressed madame la patronne, especi- 
 ally since, as she pointed out, we were paying for our 
 meals in any case. We promised to make up for all 
 deficiencies at dinner. 
 
 Our hotel was an ancient old-fashioned inn, rightly 
 recommended for its pleasant landlady and excellent 
 cooking ; but there were drawbacks, one being the 
 fearsome odours which mounted to our open windows 
 from heaven knew where ; another, that though a 
 notice signified that on ringing twice a housemaid 
 would appear, no amount of bell ringing ever produced 
 a glimpse of such a person. The summons was 
 invariably answered by a wild-looking waiter. Ger- 
 truda found him making the beds the morning after 
 our arrival, and sent him flying. On hearing this I 
 determined to have it out with him. In answer to 
 
136 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 my double ring he appeared, breathless, distracted, 
 a knife and wine glass in one hand, a pillow in the 
 other. 
 
 '* I rang for the femme-de-chambre. What is the 
 reason that you always appear in her place ? " I 
 demanded sternly. 
 
 The miserable man squirmed and gulped — then in 
 desperation : 
 
 " It is I, see you, Madame, who am the femme-dc' 
 chambre. There exists no other ! " 
 
 The cuisine was deservedly renowned and made 
 our hotel a favourite place with the townspeople for 
 wedding breakfasts, as we found next day to our cost, 
 the whole place being turned upside down by a smart 
 noce. The big salon was appropriated for dancing, 
 the little salon as a cloak-room, the courtyard in- 
 vaded by the children of the party, who occupied 
 their spare hours marching up and down playing the 
 Marseillaise on penny whistles and trumpets, pene- 
 trating instnmients, both. 
 
 Aunt Anne was richly compensated, however, for 
 all discomfort by the intense interest she found in the 
 bridal party. 
 
 It was a very chic marriage, the bride being one of 
 the best partis in her set, with a pretty little dot of 
 80,000 francs, while the lucky man was a prosperous 
 epicier in Paris. The family of the bride had become 
 unexpectedly enriched about three years before by 
 the death of an uncle whose wealth no one had sus- 
 pected, his life having been severely laborious, and 
 simple to a degree that would have satisfied Pastor 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 137 
 
 Wagner. The wedding party, about fifty in all, 
 consisted almost entirely of relations, chief among 
 whom was the peasant proprietor grand' mere in her 
 white cap. The old bonne of the deceased uncle 
 and the two nurses of the juvenile members also 
 took their places at dejeuner among the guests. The 
 ladies were simply dressed, in demi-toilette, the bride 
 in white, her " maids " each garbed according to her 
 own fancy regardless of uniformity. The men were 
 weird-looking beings, a cross between magpie and 
 jackdaw. Their costume suggested the uncle's 
 funeral three years ago, rather than a wedding. 
 Black swallowtail coats, white cravats, black tall 
 hats, and white gloves. The wedding breakfast 
 lasted till four o'clock ; then the party drove round 
 the outskirts of the town and through those fine 
 modern streets that permit of a carriage, and went 
 in state to be photographed. 
 
 I forgot to mention that the two marriages, religi- 
 ous and civil, had both been performed in the morn- 
 ing before the party took possession of our hotel. 
 
 At seven o'clock, incredible as it may seem, the 
 fifty sat down at their long table again, and, with 
 undiminished vigour, attacked a nearly three hours' 
 dinner. The baby of eight months was the only one 
 who fell out of the running and dropped asleep at the 
 table after holding up valiantly till eight o'clock. He 
 was removed to a crib in the cloak-room, where 
 Aunt Anne discovered him an hour later, just opening 
 dismayed eyes on a row of unresponsive cloaks. She 
 soon had him in her arms, quite content if he never 
 
138 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 saw nurse or mother again in this life. At ten o'clock 
 the heroic fifty began to dance, not lazy, drowsy, 
 dreamy waltzes, but good stirring polkas and galops, 
 and this, with intervals of song, they kept up till 
 one in the morning. But that was not the end. 
 Next day the whole party, including bride and bride- 
 groom, turned up again smiling, the children cheerful 
 as ever, even if a shade paler, and at twelve o'clock 
 behold them again hard at work on a serious dejeuner y 
 devoid of ornate decoration, but soUd and plentiful. 
 The whole company wore their everyday clothes — 
 the bride in black with a lace collar, the men in frock 
 coats, coloured ties and gloves, the latter a relief after 
 the depressing festal garb of the day before. 
 
 A temporary chambermaid was called in to replace 
 the wild waiter, whose services were in constant 
 demand downstairs. She was a neat brisk body, 
 overflowing with conversation. I enquired from her 
 whether it was customary for the bride to reappear 
 at the " after dejeuner," and if so when the voyage de 
 noce was supposed to take place. 
 
 " Ma foi,'* she replied, " some do one way, some 
 another. For me I find that the marriage, it is a 
 bizarre affair whichever fashion you take it. To go 
 en voyage alone with a strange man, that is an ex- 
 perience to some girls little attractive — on the other 
 hand, to remain after the marriage has consummated 
 itself, and meet all your relations, who are regarding 
 you with curiosity, the next day at breakfast, that 
 would not sing to every young girl either. It is an 
 embarrassing situation, in my opinion." 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 139 
 
 I asked if she herself had found the courage to face 
 it. In reply, she poured out not only her own exl^eri- 
 ences, but those of an unhappy Comtesse with whom 
 she had Hved as maid. No details shirked, and 
 most interesting, but somewhat discouraging had it 
 been addressed to a bride. My sympathetic manner 
 led her to suppose I had been through the mill 
 myself. When I told her I had not, she apologised 
 for her franchisse, and hoped what she had said 
 would in no way act as a deterrent. A curious 
 feature to be noticed in most married women whose 
 experiences have been imen viable, is that they would 
 not for worlds hinder another woman from taking the 
 same fatal step. 
 
 My friend the chambermaid assured me that had it 
 not been for the Dames Blanches of Tours never 
 could she have supported her hfe. It was they 
 who took her, when a little forsaken orphan of seven 
 years old, and brought her up in their orphanage. 
 They gave her good food, clothes and teaching, and 
 patient loving care, which replaced to her the lost 
 father and mother. When she left them to go out into 
 service they provided her with fifty francs, and on 
 her marriage, some years later, with her trousseau. 
 When she was ill and deserted by her husband, who, 
 alas, " turned badly," they got her into the hospital 
 which the Dames Blanches supply with nurses, and 
 arranged that she should not have even the usual 
 two francs a week to pay, nor the chemist's bill after. 
 " And these are the women one would chase from our 
 poor France 1 " she sighed. 
 
140 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Not long ago a commissioner of police came to 
 her door. ** You were brought up by the Dames 
 Blanches ? " he asked — and then followed minute 
 questions, trying to get evidence of ill-treatment of 
 some sort. On her sa5dng that she had only good to 
 recount he left her in disgust, declaring she was the 
 first he had questioned who had not complaints of 
 some sort to make. *' The reason ? " ** Oh, those 
 miserable ones, they hope by that means to gain some 
 money from the Government." 
 
 * * * :ti ♦ 
 
 The chateau of Blois is a wonderful place. It is 
 not in a commanding position like Langeais, Am- 
 boise, Luynes, and Loches, for the walls start down on 
 the level of the Loire. But stand at the foot of the 
 great fortress and look up from the ancient moat, 
 and you get an idea of the immensity of it all. 
 
 To enter the chateau one must mount — one is 
 always mounting in Blois. The custodian appointed 
 to show us over was a great character. He made 
 a regular oration in each apartment and hall, and 
 gave us at least three volumes of French history in 
 language worthy of the College de France. It was 
 really an admirable history lesson, and his method 
 of delivery inimitable ! 
 
 " Advance a little, you, Madame, and mark well 
 what I am about to observe to you. Make place, if 
 you please. Monsieur, so that all may profit." 
 
 To two boys among the number he gave special 
 attention, telling them they must have something 
 to answer when their friends asked what they had 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 141 
 
 seen at the chateau of Blois. Having got us all well 
 into line he pointed out some architectural beauty or 
 peculiarity, compared it with the period preceding 
 and succeeding, and then rehearsed the lesson. 
 
 Standing in the grand entrance and facing the ugly 
 wing wrought by the would-be reformer Mansard, he 
 execrated this mischievous gentleman and the ill- 
 inspired master Gaston d'Orleans, for whom he 
 worked. " They did enough mischief between them, 
 as you can perceive/' said our guide ; *' but happily 
 le hon Dieu removed the Duke before he had time to 
 touch the rest of the palace, otherwise they had the 
 evil intention of rebuilding even the wing of Fran9ois 
 and that incomparable work of art, the ' escalier a 
 jour J " 
 
 He directed our attention to that wonderful piece 
 of architecture, and having examined it from the 
 outside, pointed out the marvellous beauty of the 
 interior. Our enthusiasm he viewed with restrained 
 approval ; it was right to admire the staircase, " but 
 one must not interrupt the flow of the discourse, 
 see you ? " 
 
 Who made this wonderful creation in stone ? 
 Alive and alert as some rare tall-stemmed flower 
 revealing so vividly the personaHty of a creator, that 
 even, as with a beautiful picture or exquisite melody, 
 one longs to know, who made it ! Our guide could 
 not say, but told us the spiral staircase was generally 
 attributed, though without his (our guide's) own 
 particular sanction, to Jean Goujon who did so much 
 work for Fran9ois I^r. 
 
142 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 In the chamber where the Due de Guise was 
 assassinated, our instructor marshalled us round the 
 spot where the victim fell, and painted in really 
 dramatic language the whole grim tragedy, giving 
 every detail of that December morning. Henri III. 
 crouching behind the arras in his little cabinet, 
 watching imseen the murder of his enemy by nine 
 hired assassins. The plucky desperate resistance of 
 the Guise — Catherine de Medicis in her gorgeously 
 painted apartment on the floor above, impatiently 
 awaiting her cowardly son, and her historic reply 
 when he burst in with the news that the Guise was 
 finished : *^ C'est bien coupes — mats il faut d present 
 coudre,** The cardinal brother of the Guise in his 
 dark cell but a few mysterious steps from the scene 
 of the murder, himself to be dealt with in the same 
 style on the morrow. In the royal apartments of 
 Henri II. and Catherine de Medicis, our conductor 
 relaxed his grand classic manner and unbent to a 
 humorous touch I The walls were covered with the 
 royal fleur-de-lis, and the initials entwined of H. 
 and C. He pointed out how by introducing two 
 C's, an apparent compliment to his Queen, the 
 cunning Henri had in reahty made a D out of the 
 second and reversed C — thus admitting even into the 
 royal nuptial chamber the syren Diane de Poitiers. 
 
 ** In this manner he endeavoured to please both, 
 the poor man," said our guide, with evident sympathy 
 for the situation. But when Aunt Anne made a 
 joking remark by way of reply, he pulled her up 
 sternly : 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 143 
 
 " Enough of joking ; we proceed now to the serious 
 affairs of history contained in this fine monument 
 of France." 
 
 The hedgehog of Louis XII. and the salamander 
 of the gorgeous Fran9ois I^^^ ran each other hard on 
 walls, ceilings, doorways, fireplaces, and chapels, 
 mixed generally in the case of Louis XII. with the 
 initial and device, the ermine and festooned cord, of 
 his respected Queen, Anne de Bretagne ; a lady very 
 fully conscious of her own value, never would she 
 have permitted a second reading of any rival name 
 in her device. Catherine's despotic rule, curiously 
 enough, does not seem to have included her husband. 
 She bided her time, and had it out with Diane, how- 
 ever, as soon as widowhood gave her a free hand, 
 packing her out of her beloved Chenonceau and taking 
 possession of it herself. 
 
 The chateau at Blois has a story connected with 
 every room ; and every staircase, almost each window, 
 could tell a separate tale, notably one from which 
 Queen Marie de Medicis, prisoner of her sombre son 
 Louis XIII, and his all-powerful adviser Richelieu, 
 escaped by a ladder of ropes. She must have been 
 an agile lady, even with fear to strengthen her 
 muscles, for the height makes one dizzy looking down 
 on the moat from that window. 
 
 The chateau has served aU purposes in its day, 
 which dates from the sixth century ; a prison, a fort- 
 ress, a royal residence, and has been the centre of all 
 the lurid and varied scenes which Blois has wit- 
 nessed. Our professor gave us nearly two hours' 
 
144 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 discourse, and we felt we ought to pay a professor's 
 fee for so much instruction. To make up for this, 
 however, we joined to our hopelessly inadequate 
 payment the expressions of our warmest admiration 
 and gratitude, which pleased him vastly, and was 
 more than did any of his own compatriots. 
 
 In accordance with the urgent advice of our 
 custodian, before leaving Blois we drove over to 
 Chambord, well posted by him with the things we 
 must not fail to observe. He was as good as Mr. 
 Henry James, Mr. Augustus Hare, and Mr. T. A. 
 Cook rolled into one superb combination. I only 
 wished the soil in which he planted had been better 
 prepared. 
 
 On our way to Chambord we passed through quiet 
 little villages where everyone seemed to be away 
 for the day, no children or dogs ran out to greet us 
 either with joy or wrath, but the acres and acres of 
 vineyards siurounding these petits pays as our driver 
 called the villages, gave a look of assured prosperity 
 and plenty, each vine laden as it was with heavy 
 purple bunches fast ripening for harvest in the 
 gorgeous sunshine which blessed us every day. 
 
 Chambord is gigantic, magnificent, fantastic, full of 
 surprises such as the grand royal double staircase, up 
 which two people can walk at the same time without 
 seeing each other, and the carved stone balcony run- 
 ning along the top of the fa9ade and the marvellous 
 sculptured domes and pinnacles, and the groups of 
 delightful cherubs perched on the stone copings of the 
 windows — an endless variety, looking as if they had 
 
A CITY OF THE RENAISSANCE. 145 
 
 flown straight out of Boucher's and Watteau's 
 " Fetes Champetres," and been turned to stone by 
 the sorcerer inside the magic palace. 
 
 Aunt Anne's large spirit took special delight in 
 it — she longed to act hostess in such a place. But for 
 me my heart quailed before those fifteen staircases 
 and five hundred rooms and halls and endless corri- 
 dors. It would take me ten years to learn my way 
 about this vast pile of stone. Also I was conscious of 
 keen disappointment in the appearance of Cham- 
 bord. It was not the chateau I had pictured from 
 certain fascinating old prints and engravings, notably 
 one in the museum at Oxford, surrounded by a moat 
 well filled with water, across which was a bridge 
 guarded by lions. Another picture depicted a meet — 
 gay cavaliers on prancing horses, lovely ladies in 
 gilded coaches ; but the real Chambord gave me none 
 of these good things, neither water, bridge, lion or 
 himter. Its glory has departed. The stage back- 
 ground is there, but the players are gone. Ah ! to 
 have been at Chambord the night that Moliere pro- 
 duced '* Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme " before the king 
 and all his court — a " first night " not to be easily 
 forgotten. 
 
 It was in the fosses of this chateau that the 
 Marechal de Saxe, from whom George Sand claimed 
 descent, fought the famous duel with the Prince 
 de Conti, from which he died. Passing in natural 
 sequence from the slaying of Field Marshals to stags 
 and wild boar, our guide informed us there was 
 plenty of good shooting in the woods, but the present 
 
146 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 owner, the Due de Parme, comes to Chambord rarely, 
 and when he does so, goes in more for the tir a pied 
 (i.e. pheasant and partridges) than the chasse a cheval. 
 
 Aunt Anne and I had a discussion as to whether 
 it was in this forest or that of Fontainebleau where 
 Louis the Magnificent chased the famous stag which 
 moved the gentle heart of Louise de la Valliere to 
 pity, and her pity the heart of the ever susceptible 
 king. It was referred to Gertruda, who with German 
 thoroughness not only read up all the guide books but 
 remembered them. Her verdict was against Cham- 
 bord, in spite of the fact that the king first saw the 
 fair Louise at Blois. 
 
 These are degenerate days for Chambord ; not only 
 has the glory departed, but the ugly and very inglori- 
 ous spirit of the tourist reigns in its place, and the 
 lodge of the concierge is a shop, where at twice the 
 usual price you can buy picture postcards, pin- 
 cushions, pottery and other souvenirs of the chateau. 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 
 
 TOURS was en fete the day we arrived. The quiet 
 old-worid streets and squares swarmed with 
 people. Flags were flying, garlands waving, Chinese 
 lanterns hanging from triumphal arches across all 
 the main streets and avenues. 
 
 A new Hotel de Ville was to be opened the follow- 
 ing day, Sunday, and people from all the country- 
 side were coming in to stay with their town relations 
 and see the fete. 
 
 Dreading the inevitable motor-plague at all the 
 big hotels, we sought out a quiet retiring Httle inn, 
 with an old-fashioned green courtyard, as yet un- 
 molested by the aggressive sounds and smells of the 
 great dragon. Here we could open our windows to 
 the sweet night air without fear of the odour of petrol 
 and the angry snorts and explosions which are apt to 
 startle you out of your first sleep with the conviction 
 that a revolution is upon you. 
 
 The chimes from many towers and convents 
 announced the fete at early dawn. The streets were 
 soon alive with people hurrying to mass. 
 
 Trains, trams, carts and carriages brought in 
 relays from all the surrounding districts. Marmoutier, 
 
148 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Lu5mes, Montlouis, Amboise, etc. Every village 
 sent a deputation. Every deputation brought a band 
 and a gorgeous banner. Every family and every 
 member of every family came to see the great show 
 and enjoy the fete. The women in white embroidered 
 cap, quaint little pointed cape, and dress, dark grey 
 or black, looked charming. They are very handsome, 
 the women of Touraine, with a fine proud bearing as 
 of good race. One notices it also in the men. No 
 doubt it is a look that comes from dwelling on their 
 own land, and feehng their feet planted firmly on the 
 soil of their " belle Touraine," for no farmer or 
 landlord is able to give the peasant proprietor of 
 Touraine a week's notice to quit. 
 
 The townspeople quite lack this distinguished air. 
 But the crude fashions of Tours are regarded with 
 envy by the younger country women, and many a 
 one is casting aside her charming white coif, with its 
 dainty fine embroidery so cunningly framing her dark 
 hair and oval face, for the aggressively vulgar erec- 
 tions which women place on their unhappy heads in 
 the name of Fashion. 
 
 The French have the art of enjojdng themselves, 
 and they do it en famille, too. Hand in hand, 
 parents and children, husbands and wives, generally 
 a grand' mere and often a grandpere also, formed long 
 strings across the street. Music was a great feature 
 of the fete, and the Marseillaise a great feature of the 
 music. We had it banged out on drums, roared out 
 on brass tnmipets, squeaked out on fifes and flutes 
 and penny whistles. Even Aunt Anne, who declares 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 149 
 
 she has no ear for music, knew that tune by four 
 o'clock in the afternoon. 
 
 After the grand' messe was over we strolled into 
 the fine old cathedral — ^both exterior and interior a 
 splendid witness to those grand old architects and 
 builders whose race has become extinct, together 
 with the people that demanded their creations and 
 scorned to count the cost. Could anyone now, even 
 with unlimited time and money, either design or 
 copy such a facade as that of the cathedral of Tours 
 or those wonderful outspread wings, the flying 
 buttresses. 
 
 On one side stand the ancient cloisters, on the 
 other rises the " archeveche," with its fine old 
 Renaissance gateway, the small side door always ajar, 
 for here dwells the archbishop, known as " le Pere 
 du peuple," and his door, like his heart, is open at all 
 hours of the day to his people. In the cathedral 
 many were coming and going at a small side chapel, 
 " Our Lady of Perpetual Succour," the altar of which 
 was decorated to represent the Grotto of Lourdes, the 
 Virgin appearing among the green branches and ferns 
 clothed in white and blue as described by Bema- 
 dette in her vision, a " mystic rose " on each foot. 
 
 A pilgrimage was announced as starting that week 
 under the auspices of the Archbishop, and special 
 services were being held daily, praying for a blessing 
 on the pilgrims. 
 
 But others beside the faithful entered the beautiful 
 old church. An aggressive tourist, his hat firmly 
 planted on his head, accompanied by two young 
 
150 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 women in the bicycle costume of France, marched in 
 and out of the chapels, pursued by the old sacristan. 
 A furious altercation took place in tones which 
 echoed jarringly through the ancient aisles. 
 
 " Many freethinkers enter here," said the indignant 
 old man, *' but never have I seen one who had not 
 courtesy and respect enough for this sacred place to 
 uncover his head." 
 
 ** Each one has the liberty in France to follow his 
 own principles, and is answerable only to his own 
 conscience," retorted the tourist. 
 
 This was too much for Aunt Anne. She advanced, 
 the light of battle in her eye. 
 
 " Monsieur is French ? " she enquired, freezingly, 
 but without waiting for an answer. " I thank God 
 that at least I am spared the shame of your being of 
 my nation. There was a moment in which I feared, 
 seeing that you were a stranger and carried a guide- 
 book " 
 
 ** I am a Frenchman and a freethinker. No man 
 shall interfere with the liberty of my thought," said 
 the man in grandiose tones, while the girls looked at 
 him as though he had heroically imperilled his life 
 for his principles. 
 
 " Liberty is a fine thing. Monsieur, but you appear 
 to think you should possess the sole monopoly. The 
 courageous old sacristan did but his duty, for you 
 would deprive those who have the right to pray here 
 of the peace and quiet necessary. You respect 
 neither this sacred building nor your fellow country- 
 men nor yourselves. Strange indeed must be the 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 151 
 
 principles which make you remove your hat in a 
 confectioner's shop, but oblige you to refuse to do so 
 here ! " 
 
 The man bit his lip, looked down, and snatched off 
 his hat, angrily muttering as he turned away. The 
 two bicyclists followed, urging him to replace his 
 hat and make no attention to the impertinences 
 of " old eccentrics " and " sacristans." But the 
 " confectioner " touch in Aunt Anne's argument had 
 proved too much for the tourist, reducing as it did the 
 fine, independent attitude of the freethinker to a 
 merely commonplace question of manners. He left 
 the cathedral by the shortest cut without even having 
 a laugh at the poor little Grotto of Lourdes. 
 
 The Cathedral and the Hotel de Ville, the Arch- 
 eveque and the Prefet shared the honours of the 
 day, all the people flocking to the former in the 
 morning, the latter in the afternoon. The balance of 
 religious and secular power appears still to be very 
 even at Tours, the Cathedral standing for just as much 
 in the popular mind as the Hotel de ViUe. No doubt 
 this is owing to the immense personal influence of 
 *' le Pere du peuple." 
 
 Monsieur le Prefet made a speech, other messieurs 
 followed, and there was a great deal of patriotic 
 applause and patriotic music, which made every one 
 very hot and thirsty. The cafes and restaurants with 
 their little tables in the street were always crowded. 
 
 The theatres and circuses and cafe-chantants gave 
 free performances in honour of the occasion on both 
 Simday and Monday night, for the fete continued for 
 
152 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 forty-eight hours with hardly any pause except a few 
 hours for sleep somewhere between i and 5 a.m. 
 
 Gertruda found a compatriot in our hotel, a dis- 
 creet and comely maiden, and with a gallant chauffeur 
 as escort (Gertruda as usual annexed a chauffeur 
 within twenty-four hours) they went out in the even- 
 ing to see the illuminations and fireworks. Aunt Anne 
 and I watched " life '* from our balcony windows and 
 studied the illuminations and fireworks of the emo- 
 tional French temperconent — a constant interest to 
 those who love the drama. 
 
 Gertruda reported a *' himm'lische Abend." The 
 town like fairy land, though rather overcrowded 
 with fairies ! Everyone, however, was so polite, and 
 Monsieur Fabre, the chauffeur, had taken care of 
 them like a — ^weU, like a brother, only more so. 
 
 " Has this more-than-brother invited you to drive 
 out with him in his master's automobile to-day ? " 
 enquired her mistress with deadly intuition. 
 
 Poor little Gertruda, blushing like a red, red rose, 
 confessed he had done so. How extraordinary the 
 gracious lady should divine it ! But she had told 
 him she did not think her mistress would consider it 
 " convenable." 
 
 " You may go, child," said her Graciousness, " but 
 remember I will never allow you to marry a French- 
 man, or a chauffeur, so keep your susceptible little 
 heart well locked." 
 
 " Oh, gracious lady, indeed Monsieur Fabre has 
 in the head no idea of that sort," protested Gertruda, 
 laughing. 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 153 
 
 " Hum ! " replied Aunt Anne. " Bring me my 
 shoes, and don't forget what I say." 
 
 We were early at the market Monday morning. 
 The garden of France excelled that summer. Dieppe 
 had shown a rich harvest in Normandy, but it was 
 nothing as compared with what the sun had accom- 
 pUshed for " la belle Touraine." Flowers and 
 fruit were piled up in glorious array, and at prices 
 which made the poor Northerner marvel. Peaches 
 big as cricket balls two sous apiece. Grapes thirty 
 centimes a pound. Pears, melons, plums all worthy 
 of a horticultural prize. And the flowers ! Oh, the 
 flowers, they made one glad to be alive ! We came 
 away with two big cottage bouquets, gay and varied 
 as Joseph's coat, for twenty-five centimes each ! 
 
 We made great friends with one old lady whose 
 peaches and pears, as she herself did not fail to point 
 out, excelled all others both in size and texture. 
 
 She told us she lived up on the hill at Marmoutier, 
 and invited us to come and see her garden and pick 
 peaches for ourselves all hot with the sun. Her 
 niece, a widow, who assisted her both with the 
 garden and the stall in the market, would show us 
 the way. 
 
 We enquired if it were her own property. 
 
 " I should well think so," laughed the old lady. 
 " One does not plant and toil to make grow the 
 gardens of others, my dear ladies. For my children I 
 work that I may leave them a good property worth 
 the double of that which my parents left to me. 
 Voild." 
 
154 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " But soon your children will no doubt work for 
 you and you will repose yourself, is it not so ? '* asked 
 Aunt Anne. 
 
 " My children work for me ? Dame ! The droll 
 idea Madame has there in the head 1 In France we 
 others work always, always for the children — even 
 when the limbs are bent and stiff with the age, the 
 eyes are blind and the ears cease to hear. One 
 reposes oneself only in the tomb, see you. Till then 
 one must gain money for the children. I have two 
 daughters and one son. I have married all and 
 given to each a pretty dot. They in their turn will 
 do the same for their children, see you." 
 
 " But do you not desire to rest sometimes ? '* 
 Aunt Anne is energetic enough herself, but this 
 picture of ceaseless toil staggered even her. 
 
 ** Ma foi ! " The old Frenchwoman shrugged her 
 shoulders. " One takes the habit of work, my httle 
 lady. The idleness would not suit me, and all the 
 year there is something to be done, see you. In the 
 winter one sleeps more, to avoid spending too much 
 on the fire and candles. But in the summer when the 
 good God supplies the lighting and heating one must 
 use well all the hours of the day, is it not so ? " She 
 laughed, and her old eyes twinkled shrewdly. 
 * * * $t * 
 
 The great amusement of the day was the fair. It 
 supplied every variety of entertainment. For those of 
 athletic tastes there were the " merry-go-roimds." 
 One had a varied choice in the matter of steeds, there 
 being both pigs and geese on which to ride, an 
 
A MUNICIPAL FfiTE. 155 
 
 embarras de richesse settled by most people taking 
 a turn on both. Then there was the iir for those 
 who desired to follow le sport. On payment of two 
 sous you might handle a big gun, and emit an ear- 
 splitting crack, even if you failed to hit the target. 
 Noise being a great feature in all fetes, the tir was 
 specially populai", even with ladies. " My faith, but 
 one never knows," I heard one stout body laugh to 
 her neighbour. " A day may arrive when one has 
 the necessity to use such an instrument. It is well to 
 practice beforehand. Hein ? " 
 
 Each child carried a sugar stick in one hand and a 
 musical instrument in the other, and applied them 
 alternately to its mouth. They looked very happy, 
 specially when towards four o'clock they were 
 permitted to disencumber themselves of the hat which 
 found so ill a resting place on their unaccustomed 
 heads, and which with joy and relief was handed over 
 to the safe keeping of the grand'mere. 
 
 The favourite beverage was strop, and the numerous 
 little booths for refreshments did a brisk trade in 
 strop de grenadine, de citron, de groseilles. 
 
 The wheels of fortune, performing cats, talking 
 seals, fat ladies, three-legged twins, attracted a 
 constant stream, while for the play of the " Belle au 
 Bois Dormant," given at regular intervals during the 
 day, it was necessary to book places in advance. 
 
 We found an old lady in the white cap which 
 proclaimed her from the country, gazing wistfully 
 at the gorgeous painting outside the little temporary 
 theatre, descriptive of the wondrous scene inside. 
 
156 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 She held a small, eager boy by the hand, while he, 
 evidently a scholar at the ecole primaire of his village, 
 slowly spelt out the magic words which at some time 
 of our lives have thrilled most of us, " La Belle au 
 Bois Dormant.'* 
 
 " Let us enter — ^we must enter," insisted the 
 small boy. " It should be a magnificent spectacle, 
 I tell thee." 
 
 " Without doubt it should be a magnificent 
 spectacle, mon petit cheriy but it costs too much 
 money, I tell thee. One must be prudent and not 
 eat all the fortune in one day. See how much thou 
 hast expended already." 
 
 " But this is worth more than all, I tell thee. Oh, 
 I pray thee, Grand* mere, refuse not." 
 
 Aunt Anne was listening attentively. A look in 
 her eyes told me she was thinking of a certain small 
 person clothed in purple (or blue, strictly speaking) and 
 fine linen, faring sumptuously every day, whose plead- 
 ing with her grandparent had never yet been in vain. 
 
 •' I can see you are going to take the boy, so I shall 
 take the old lady," I said. 
 
 " I do wish you would not be continually snapping 
 the ideas out of my very mouth, my dear Felicity," 
 said Aunt Anne irritably. Then sweetly to the old 
 one of the white cap — 
 
 " Madame, if it would interest you and your little 
 boy here to see the spectacle I should be greatly 
 honoured if you would accept two seats which I have 
 to spare. My young friend and I also desire to see 
 this interesting play." 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 157 
 
 " Ah, but no, but no ! Madame is too amiable. 
 Never could I accept such a bounty — impossible. 
 But thousand thanks all the same to Madame. For 
 the rest we must be going in a few moments, for the 
 httle one becomes fatigued." 
 
 But here the ** little one " interposed. He had been 
 pulling vigorously at his grandmother's sleeve during 
 her speech, with which it was clear he was quite out 
 of sympathy. At the last remark he could hold his 
 peace no longer. 
 
 " Grand* mere y it is an error to suppose I am 
 fatigued — altogether an error," he remarked in 
 excellent French, and with a manner both polite and 
 dignified. It was curious to note the really educated 
 language of all the peasant children, even when 
 speaking to one another, and their pretty, courteous 
 manners if we addressed them. Two tiny boys 
 to whom I gave sous to buy sweets returned and 
 offered me their purchases to " taste." 
 
 Leaving Aunt Anne to settle with the old lady and 
 persuade her, as I knew she soon would, that the 
 favour was on her side in granting us the pleasure of 
 her society, I went off to secure four front seats. 
 
 It turned out to be simple truth that two more 
 enthusiastic, delightful companions we could not 
 have found. As the plot thickened and villainy 
 prospered, the boy was unable to keep silence. 
 ** Dieu, quel malheur / " in tones of despair. " Ha, 
 V animal ! tete de veau'* in fierce contempt, or " dla 
 bonne heure " when things took a better turn. Our 
 actors threw themselves with fiery earnestness into 
 
158 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 their parts, the wicked Queen and her accompHce 
 exciting yells of execration from the sympathetic 
 audience. The play gained little help from its 
 setting, the costumes being of the crudest and appar- 
 ently made for the company in days when they were 
 young and slim — days long past. But we never lost 
 a word, and the gestures and by-play would have 
 told the story even without speech. 
 
 Our old lady showed herself shrewdly critical both 
 of the actors and the play, in spite of the emotion 
 and exhilaration consequent on such a novel ex- 
 perience, for she confessed to us it was forty years 
 since she had been to the real theatre such as this ! 
 The comedy one played on that occasion had been 
 very moving — ^several assassinations had taken 
 place, and there had been a burial of a yoimg girl 
 on the stage. I suggested Ophelia, but my old 
 friend looked blank till I said " Hamlet," when her 
 face lit up with sudden remembrance. " But yes, 
 but yes — ^behold the name * Amelet,' ' Amdet ' 
 it was." 
 
 She found the " Belle " played well and showed 
 talent, but lacked distinction, was in fact not 
 comme il faut. It was plain that her cheeks were 
 rouged and her eyes blackened — such young girls 
 finished badly and rarely found a husband. Real 
 princesses were not Hke that — she had seen two of 
 them once at the Chateau at Amboise which belongs 
 to the Due d*0rl6ans — nothing could be more unlike 
 the beautiful Duchesse d'Aoste, for instance, than 
 this theatre princess 1 The " Belle " was certainly 
 
A MUNICIPAL F£TE. 159 
 
 fifty, and not only wife of the manager but mother 
 of the hero prince and most of his suite. 
 
 The scene in the wood appealed strongly to our 
 old lady. 
 
 " In the forest I am chez moi," she said. *' It 
 does not astonish me that one represents things 
 marvellous in the forest. In the great solitude of the 
 woods strange impressions come. Sometimes it is 
 so silent one may hear the moss growing. And then 
 another time there are voices ever5rwhere around, 
 though no one is there but you alone — no one you 
 can see/' she added in a low, mysterious tone. 
 
 Between the acts we learnt that she lived at 
 Montlouis, in one of the quaint rock-houses on the 
 side of the hill overhanging the banks of the Loire. 
 Being on the high road to Amboise and Chenonceau 
 we should be sure to pass it one day, ajid must 
 come and see her. It was her married daughter 
 Cehne, the mother of Jean Baptiste, who had sent 
 the money for the fete, insisting on this use for it 
 in spite of all remonstrance. Celine was cook with 
 Monsieur le Colonel here in Tours. Ah, but she was 
 a cordon bleu that one, so said Madame la Colonelle, 
 and she gained with them her sixty francs a month. 
 The father of Jean Baptiste, he also gained money 
 as valet to Monsieur le Marquis, elder brother of 
 Monsieur le Colonel. He was a good boy, well 
 ranged and prudent, the husband of Celine. God be 
 thanked for that ! Husbands were chancy things ; 
 it was easy to fall badly, and get one who eat up all 
 your gainings besides his own, above all in a bad 
 
i6o FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 city like Paris. Oh, Paris was gay and seductive, 
 but one had recounted to her how wicked it was 
 over there ! Madame la Colonelle had given Celine 
 half the day out and had invited Jean Baptiste and 
 his grandmother to dejeuner at her house. Later 
 they were to return there and eat again before taking 
 the train back to Montlouis. 
 
 A never-to-be-forgotten day, this fete ! With a 
 visit to the Hotel de Ville, the Cathedral and the 
 Fair, above all now that the " Belle au Bois Dor- 
 mant '* had been also added in a manner Uttle short 
 of providential to the day's programme. 
 
 We exchanged names and addresses while drinking 
 " le five o'clock/' as the confiserie window announced 
 it, in the Rue Nationale. At the theatre door we had 
 found ourselves reluctant to part, and had, therefore, 
 insisted on the friendship being cemented in a cup of 
 good English tea. So we mounted a fiacre, and with 
 Jean Baptiste to his joy perched up on the box, 
 drove to what our cocher assured us to be the 
 confectioner " the most chic in all Tours," patronised 
 not only by the beau monde of the town, but also 
 the haute noblesse of the country round. 
 
 From our tea-table in the window of Madame 
 Bignon's we watched the stream of people pass, our 
 two guests of the rocks conversing with the pleasant 
 ease and dignity which well-bred people of the world 
 are apt to think their sole monopoly. The grand- 
 mother was a typical Tourangelle, with her finely 
 cut features, dark expressive eyes, and erect, dignified 
 old figure. One sees such types in the ItaHan 
 
A MUNICIPAL FfiTE. i6i 
 
 cinque-cento pictures. There is a " St. Anne " at 
 Florence for which our old friend might well have 
 sat. 
 
 Madame Bignon paid us marked attention in spite 
 of her numerous customers, and we did full justice to 
 her excellent " five-o'clock," with galeites, eclairs, 
 and madeleines. 
 
 There were white coifs at several tables, near us 
 two handsome country girls, with a fashionable town 
 cousin, whose terrible green plush hat was the 
 subject of their open admiration and envy. The town 
 cousin offered no word of praise in return to the 
 exquisite fine muslin caps — she complacently ac- 
 cepted the homage due to the " last cry " of fashion. 
 
 Madame Bignon, seeing we were interested, 
 pointed out her distinguished clients as they alighted 
 in motors and carriages to order plats doux for the 
 coming parties of " the hunt," wedding, and other 
 receptions. She gave us a httle sketch of each one's 
 private history ; we knew all about them — ^marriages, 
 divorces, incomes, toilettes — by our second cup of 
 tea. 
 
 " In Tours," laughed Madame Bignon, " all the 
 world knows the affairs of his neighbour better than 
 himself or even le hon Dieu." 
 
 " Ah yes," agreed Madame Charbonneau, "it is 
 so also with us at Montlouis. They know the inside 
 of your pocket and the contents of your pot au feu 
 even when it is empty," 
 
 " Well, there is one thing none of them know," 
 said Aunt Anne, " and that is how to embroider their 
 
 6 
 
i62 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 caps as finely as yours. When I go home I shall 
 wear a cap like'Jhat. It is dignified, it is beautiful, 
 it is practical.*' 
 
 " It pleases Madame, my old cap of a peasant ? " 
 laughed Madame Charbonneau. " It is true the work 
 is fine," she added with a touch of pride ; "I made 
 it for my marriage day — ^the eyes were young and the 
 heart also, then ! " 
 
 " The heart and the eyes and the cap have worn 
 equally well," Aunt Anne assured her. " You and I 
 are both younger than most of the young people at 
 five-and-t wenty . " 
 
 " Ah, Madame, never shall I forget this Jour 
 de Fete," said our old friend as we bade each other 
 adieu and au tevoir. " ' The Belle au Bois Dormant,* 
 the English tea and the ladies who have been for 
 Jean Baptiste and for me as the good fairies in the 
 play ; for ever this will remain with me a Golden 
 Day." 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE AND 
 QUEEN'S HOUSE. 
 
 FROM many-towered Tours to the royal Chateau 
 of Chenonceau is one of the loveliest drives in 
 Touraine, one road leading along the banks of the 
 Loire and the other of the Cher. There were chateaux 
 perched on every hill and nestling in every green 
 copse. Touraine is the country of chateaux. The term 
 covers a wide field — from the royal palaces of Blois, 
 Amboise, or Chambord to the small provincial 
 country house, all are chateaux. But whether applied 
 to the royal palace or the little turreted white house 
 to be seen on every hiUside, with its green shutters 
 and green background of trees, the name conveys 
 a dainty charm and a distinction all its own. The 
 chateau is seldom situated in the wide green park 
 and spacious setting of the English castle or manor. 
 Two-thirds of the land in France belong to the people 
 now, and few men devote miles of precious mother 
 earth piuely to decorative and ornate purposes, 
 while thousands of their fellow countrymen, those 
 too who live by tilling the soil, possess not a rood. 
 The majority of French peasants are proprietors, 
 and the chateau is often only set in its own lovely 
 
i64 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 garden of grass parterres, terraces and borders of 
 bright flowers. Sometimes a few acres of woodland 
 are reserved for the chasse a tir or a little stag hmiting, 
 but nearly all forests belong now to the Government, 
 and the himting of deer, wild boar, etc., is rented by 
 the year. Even historical chateaux such as Amboise, 
 Azay le Rideau, Chenonceau and Langeais have no 
 large parks or ground around them, only their Httle 
 woods, lawns and water. Yet the idea of real country 
 hfe is generally well carried out in the French 
 chateau, great or smaU. 
 
 I may have had an exceptional experience in both 
 coimtries, but I confess I found country life in France 
 less formal and less dull than in England. We lived 
 more out of doors, though we took, perhaps, less exer- 
 cise. Instead of fuU evening dress every night, and 
 dining in an artificially lighted room at eight o*clock 
 or half-past on fine summer evenings, when we were 
 a small party we often dined in the garden or on the 
 terrace. No doubt the cHmate has something to do 
 with it, but apart from that the tastes of the two 
 nations differ fundamentally, and this informal al 
 fresco dinner, hke the open-air caf^s on the Paris 
 boulevards, would be condemned as uncomfortable 
 ** foreign fashion " by most right-thinking Britons. 
 
 The sitting rooms of the chateau are generally en 
 suite, and the hfe is one of constant friendly inter- 
 course. Men and women leave the dining room to- 
 gether, smoke and chat together, instead of passing 
 half the evening in separate rooms. As the doors are 
 generally open, everyone passes to and fro at will. 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 165 
 
 Each room in England, even where built en suite, 
 carefully closes the door on its neighbour. The host 
 in his sanctum ; the hostess in her sitting-room ; the 
 men guests in the smoking or billiard room ; the 
 women in the drawing-room (or supposed to be) — 
 each as in a fortress. 
 
 "The King was in his counting-house counting out his money, 
 The Queen was in her parlour eating bread and honey." 
 
 It is not to be denied that the English mode of 
 living has advantages, when one's spirit is inclined for 
 solitude or a tete-a-tete, but the French life is far more 
 sociable, and it is difficult to get off alone in a French 
 country house, either to " count out your money " 
 or " eat bread and honey," when once the social day 
 and life of the community has commenced, which it 
 does when all assemble for the mid-day dejeuner. 
 Thank heaven, one is spared the trying test to nerves, 
 digestion and temper of the English early breakfast. 
 How few of us, especially among the men, are able 
 to show " a glorious morning face " at 9.30 or even 
 10 a.m., but at 12 or 12.30 it is comparatively easy. 
 You have had a quiet and light repast in the comfort 
 of your own room, read your letters and paper in 
 peace, been for a stroll round the garden, met perhaps 
 a congenial companion, but had no severe call upon 
 your conversational powers. The consequence is 
 you are in tolerant, perhaps even social mood, by 
 mid-day. 
 
 In face of the English breakfast even Aunt Anne's 
 patriotism breaks down. 
 
 All along the Loire were pretty country houses. 
 
i66 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 surrounded by thickly wooded lands, and covers 
 where game of all sorts abounds. The stag and 
 the wild boar are hunted with hounds, while for 
 the chasse d tit there are roebucks, and pheasants, 
 and on the " plain ** partridges. Notices were con- 
 tinual to the effect that traps were laid in these pre- 
 served lands. One there was to *' Beware of the 
 wolf," which brought our hearts to a standstill. But 
 our driver explained it was only " to cause fear to the 
 poacher," wolves being really exceedingly rare, not 
 one seen in three years. The French poacher is 
 clearly taken to be a simple-minded person, and the 
 wolf a friend to the game preserver. 
 
 Montlouis is perched on the rocky hillside over- 
 looking the Loire. In spite of its railway station and 
 post-office and ecole primaire, it has retained an old- 
 world picturesqueness, clustering, as it does, round 
 the Uttle high-steepled church and climbing up the 
 steep chff. Many of the dwellings on the outskirts 
 are formed out of the caves in the hillside. 
 
 Leaving the carriage in the road, we moimted a 
 little zig-zag pathway. As we ascended, doors, win- 
 dows and chimneys peeped out of the rocks between 
 the growth of overhanging trees and shrubs, the 
 quaint cave-houses sometimes built one above the 
 other. 
 
 We soon discovered the home of our friend Madame 
 Charbonneau, for she was sitting in the simny door- 
 way of her rock-house knitting, a big grey cat curled 
 up at her feet. At the sight of us her old face shone 
 with welcome, and she bade us " Enter, enter, enter." 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 167 
 
 It was a'dark, mysterious abode till our eyes grew 
 accustomed to the twilight ; then gradually ghostly 
 shapes took on the famiHar forms of a big bed, a tall 
 linen press, while a row of shining monster eyes be- 
 came well-polished copper pans, a giant's head turned 
 into a huge pumpkin on a shelf, and weird bats and 
 birds resolved themselves into strings of vegetables 
 suspended from the ceiling. 
 
 A second room made itself visible beyond, a darker 
 room, deeper in the mountain side, lighted only by 
 the window and door from the front. This was the 
 sleeping room, though there was a bed also in the 
 kitchen. Above an ancient prie-dieu by the bedside 
 hung a crucifix and two photographs, one of a tomb, 
 and one of a bridal party. 
 
 Jean Baptiste was at his ecole primaire receiving 
 a fine modem education, very different from that 
 given to his parents a few years ago by the good 
 simple-minded nuns in the same building. 
 
 The " old one " also was absent, alas, for he counted 
 greatly to have seen and thanked the EngUsh ladies 
 who had made so much happiness for his old wife 
 and the boy. But there, what would you ; the trees 
 had to be cut down in the forest, and one must not 
 refuse work even at thirty sous a day, with the winter 
 advancing, and the rent to be paid. 
 
 Mme. Charbonneau was not in the happy position 
 of a proprietor. She and her husband had known a 
 hard life and bad days. They paid rent for their 
 rock-house, sixty francs a year, a high rent consider- 
 ing their income, and the limitations of the rock. 
 
i68 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 One advantage, however, they had be^de that of 
 picturesqueness, bemg situated, as our old friend 
 pointed out, high enough to escape the great floods ; 
 those terrible, but fortunately rare, occasions when 
 the beneficent Loire, who is usually as a loving 
 mother to her children of Touraine, suddenly becomes 
 an angry, implacable goddess, sweeping her destroy- 
 ing waters in a mighty torrent over all the land, 
 carrjring away whole villages and farms in her course, 
 only those lifted well above the plain having any 
 chance of escape. " When she enrages herself she is 
 very cruel, our Loire." Madame Charbonneau, like 
 all the country people, attributed the same person- 
 ality to the Loire as an Alaskan gives to the Yukon, 
 or our Breton friends to their sea. Ah, but the 
 last flood had been terrible ! It was many years 
 before the land could smile again. Standing up here, 
 one appeared to look out over a seething ocean, an 
 ocean covered with floating wrecks, not only houses, 
 farm buildings and cattle, but bodies of men, women 
 and Uttle children, being swept past on the flood. 
 Below, in the road to Amboise, was to be seen a tall 
 cross, bearing the name of a brave young soldier 
 who had given his Ufe in the work of rescue. Before 
 he was himself swept away by the strong current he 
 saved many, among others the two yoimg brothers 
 of Madame Charbonneau herself. 
 
 Our hostess took from the shelf a large basket filled 
 with peaches. '* They are but the phches de vigne," 
 she said, *' but well ripened and sweet. I beg these 
 ladies will make me the pleasure to accept them." 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 169 
 
 We remonstrated at the idea of taking such a 
 quantity. 
 
 " Ah, they please you not," she said, her face fall- 
 ing. 
 
 " But on the contrary they please us so much we 
 would not make the gourmandes and take all," we 
 assured her. 
 
 But Mme. Charbonneau insisted that this year there 
 was abundance for all — grapes, peaches, pears, plums 
 weighed down the branches till they touched the 
 ground. 
 
 " Last autumn many crosses were placed in the 
 vineyards and orchards. The Holy Virgin has 
 blessed the fruit," said the old woman simply. 
 " These peaches are from the vineyard of my cousin, 
 adjoining the farm down there. I made her washing 
 yesterday, and as payment received some red wine 
 and these peaches in the hope that my ladies would 
 visit me one of these days ! " 
 
 She then produced a bottle and two tiny glasses. 
 The wine was so sour it brought tears to our eyes, 
 but we drunk it with heroism, thanking heaven 
 the glasses were no bigger. 
 
 The large bed in the kitchen, Madame Charbonneau 
 explained to us, was for guests. Sometimes the father 
 and sometimes the mother of the little Jean Baptiste 
 made them a visit. " The little one himself," she said, 
 " sleeps on the coffer here — ^with a mattress of dried 
 leaves fresh and sweet each year from the forest, and 
 a quilt of the goosedown, he is very well I promise 
 you. It is so we other poor must arrange, see you. 
 
170 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 mesdames ? But my daughter at the colonel's has a 
 magnificent sleeping room for herself alone, with a 
 toilet table and a mirror and a washing table fitt^ 
 with porcelain, and a carpet on the floor — even as if 
 she were Madame la Colonelle. One had no such 
 luxuries when I was a girl and served at the chateau 
 of Monsieur le Marquis near Amboise. 
 
 It appeared, however, Celine was in no way spoilt 
 by her luxurious Hving, for she spent all her holidaj^ 
 in the rock house, her whole heart being wrapped up 
 in the boy. 
 
 We were keenly interested in the leaf mattress and 
 covers of goosedown. We had a minute account of 
 how they were made ; on the sunny days of autumn 
 the leaves being gathered in the forest and spread out 
 to dry till they were crisp and sweet as hay. Every 
 year there is a thorough washing and renewing of all 
 the bedding. Aunt Anne determined then and there 
 to start leaf mattresses in every country village in 
 England. She was so keen about it I had not the 
 heart to remind her of damp autvimn leaves decay- 
 ing imder dripping branches with a leaden sky over- 
 head, autumn mists enfolding the land as with a 
 mantle. 
 
 Before we left, Aimt Anne, much to our old 
 friend's diversion, insisted on trying-on the white 
 cap she had so admired the day of the fete. There 
 were several equally beautiful caps carefully wrapped 
 in paper and stowed away in the big linen press. Our 
 laughter at her transformation drew other white 
 bonnets out of neighbouring doors, and when I posed 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 171 
 
 the new Tourangelle in Madame Charbonneau's door- 
 way and took snap-shots at her with my kodak, I 
 found a rapidly increasing audience behind me. Aunt 
 Anne declared that never in her life had she felt a 
 more reposeful head-dress, whether it was becoming 
 she had no means of judging for the rock-house 
 boasted no such superfluous vanity as a looking- 
 glass, but the sober dignity, spotless cleanliness and 
 delightful absence of all weight convinced her she had 
 found the ideal covering for what she described as 
 her " poor old attic." 
 
 Leaving Madame Charbonneau still rocking with 
 laughter and protesting against the golden louis left 
 in exchange, Aunt Anne descended the narrow path 
 to the carriage triumphantly coifed en paysanne there 
 to be greeted with bewildered acclaims by Ger- 
 truda demurely seated on the box with the driver. 
 " Dear heaven, but what would say the gracious 
 lady's honoured Mr. Colonel son and Her Trans- 
 parency Mrs. Colonel daughter-in-law could they see 
 her so driving in the fresh air ! " Gertruda always 
 gave the German rendering for English rank, a pro- 
 cess by which the rank became gloriously magni- 
 fied. 
 
 ** Thou wilt make me three more caps exactly like 
 this one, child, so note well the pattern," answered 
 her mistress as we drove off waving a last farewell to 
 the rock-house above. 
 
 Passing a very attractive looking farm-house we 
 determined to enquire whether pensionnaires were 
 taken in, or rooms to be had for the summer. 
 
172 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 It was somewhat difficult to find the entrance, for 
 the stately front door was evidently not accustomed 
 to be opened, and no sign of life showed from the 
 front windows, the green shutters of which were all 
 closed. We began to doubt the house being inhabited 
 except by an angry dog, but walked round boldly 
 following the direction of the bark. A door at the 
 back, giving on to a very dirty basse cour, opened 
 straight into a still dirtier and more disorderly kitchen. 
 Here we found an aged crone who invited us to enter. 
 Stepping over the cocks and hens, ducks, geese, and 
 feathered fowl in the doorway, and giving a wide 
 berth to the ferocious dog straining at his chain, we 
 entered, holding high our skirts. 
 
 Viewed from the outside, this farm-house had the 
 air of a small well-kept chateau ; inside, it only 
 needed a pig to have been of the party, to complete 
 the resemblance to an Irish cabin. Instead of the 
 pig, however, was a tall lazy-looking young man, 
 introduced as the grandson. 
 
 We made known our business. 
 
 " Yes, there were rooms to be let," said the old 
 lady, who reigned supreme as madame la proprietaire, 
 but the tenants must make their own cuisine and their 
 own service. She had a malady of the heart and could 
 no longer make any service, she had enough to do 
 feeding the beasts and her grandson there I Clearly 
 a servant was imknown in the establishment. 
 
 " Other time she made well the cuisine," sti-uck in 
 the grandson with evident admiration for the old lady. 
 
 He took us upstairs at his grandmother's desire to 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 173 
 
 see a suite of four rooms which would be at our dis- 
 posal. Half the house he told us was occupied by his 
 mother, a widow, who with two step-children made a 
 separate menage. He himself Hved with the grand- 
 mother, taking life easy and basking in her, I should 
 judge, somewhat intermittent favour. 
 
 The rooms he showed us were large, bare and 
 comfortless, A lack of cleanliness and fresh air was 
 conspicuous everywhere. In other rooms through 
 which we passed not a window was open nor a bed 
 made, though it was midday. 
 
 We began to feel doubtful about the joys of a 
 French farm-house. In the kitchen one pot on an 
 oil stove contained the dejeuner of which the two were 
 partaking standing ; no table was laid, they used as 
 Httle ceremony as the chickens pecking up their meal 
 in the doorway. Yet the old lady is a wealthy pro- 
 prietor, her grandson told us, owning, besides a large 
 farm, all the vineyards for acres round. He pointed 
 out also three great presses upstairs well-stocked with 
 fine linen of which his grandmother was justly proud, 
 though they, like the front door, were apparently 
 rarely opened ; for she demurred about supplying 
 us, as tenants, with sheets and towels, saying the 
 last people brought their own. 
 
 By the time we had finished our tour of inspection 
 all desire to become this old lady's tenants had van- 
 ished. No doubt further search would have dis- 
 covered a farm-house more in harmony with one's 
 ideal of sweet cleanly country life, but this house 
 with its white walls and green shutters had looked so 
 
174 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 spotless from the outside one felt doubtful of trying 
 others whose exterior was less promising. 
 
 We returned to the kitchen and talked some time 
 with the old lady, disserting upon the up-bringing of 
 calves, one having arrived the day before. From 
 a hole in the kitchen waU one could see into the 
 cow-shed, and though, as the owner pointed out, this 
 was most convenient for watching over the new 
 arrival, it contributed towards the complex odours of 
 that kitchen. 
 
 For several generations her family had lived on this 
 land, said the old lady, but no one had left it as pros- 
 perous as she would. Not only had she added many 
 acres to those her father bequeathed her, but she 
 had renewed the orchard and planted better vines. 
 The wine now brought in twice as much as in his 
 time. Her son was dead, she was thankful he had 
 left but one son and that she herself had no other 
 children, for to divide the property would have torn 
 her heart. " In France the law," she said, " obhges 
 you to leave all equally divided among sons and 
 daughters. You cannot even will to one your vine- 
 yards and to another your house and farm. Each 
 must share in everything — very tiresome that ! *' 
 
 Oh, there was much room for improvement in 
 French law ! Two things of special annoyance were 
 the taxes on windows and on wheels. " I have 
 blocked up four windows on this side of the house, 
 but those rooms which I let in the summer, to them 
 I am obliged to leave the windows," she remarked 
 regretfully. " As for the wheels, my grandson he 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 175 
 
 keeps the charrette with two, for that is needed in the 
 vineyards and for the market, but the carriage with 
 iour wheels which my husband had the extravagance 
 to purchase, that I use no more." And true enough 
 when she showed us round her basse cour there in an 
 out-house lay the old carriage with its four taxable 
 wheels piled up in the corner. 
 
 " For seventeen years it has paid no tax that 
 one," chuckled the old lady with satisfaction. 
 *' Money saved is money earned," was the principle 
 on which she had grown rich. 
 
 It was evident she spent little on her clothes, 
 which were exactly Hke those of the poorest peasant, 
 with many a careful patch in the well-worn dark 
 stuff gown, her white bonnet even plainer than the 
 workaday one of Madame Charbonneau. 
 
 The new coif excited her curiosity. " It is for an 
 eccentricity Madame wears that ? " she enquired. 
 
 Aunt Anne repudiated the idea, pointing out not 
 only the exceeding beauty of her new acquisition but 
 the manifest advantages of such a head-dress. 
 
 " Pfui ! " said the economical old body disdain- 
 fully. " For one such you might buy two dozen of 
 those I have on the head, and mine will wash more 
 easily and endure besides ten years longer, though 
 worn every day in the week. Embroidery ! Bah, 
 give me what is practical ! " 
 
 I could not help wondering how she would have 
 viewed some of the Englishwomen 's headpieces. The 
 battered jaimty sailor hat of the charwoman, the 
 wondrous befeathered erection of the factory girl. 
 
176 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and worse still in her eyes, the fashionable creation 
 of the prosperous farmer's wife. 
 
 Autres pays autres mceurs. The wife or daughter 
 of an English proprietor of a large farm such as 
 this, would have had at least three servants, emu- 
 lated in her dress, fiuniture and equipage the lady 
 of the manor, played the piano and read Mudie's 
 latest novel, and ignored all knowledge of the farm 
 as completely as if she lived in Park Lane. Whereas 
 the Frenchwoman not only kept the accounts, but 
 milked the cows, fed the ducks, and superintended 
 the birth of the calf, her ambition being to improve 
 the property for her children, and leave them more 
 than she received. " Work for the children." 
 " Save for the children," is her motto, and the 
 satisfaction she gets out of that achievement, more 
 than compensates her for toiling and moiling with- 
 out ceasing all her days. It seems a pity that a 
 juste milieu cannot be struck between the two. 
 
 On returning to our carriage I exchanged seats 
 with Gertruda, and, mounting the box, talked to 
 our driver, a charming old fellow with the air and 
 manners of a marquis of the ancien regime. 
 
 The box-seat is the right place for viewing the 
 country. All the lovely smiling land lay spread out 
 before me, glowing with autumn wealth of fruit 
 and glory of colour. 
 
 Autumn in England, however beautiful, always 
 strikes a note of sadness. It is a season of melan- 
 choly, of farewell and dying. The birds forsake us, 
 the sun forsakes us, the autmnn flowers are strewn 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 177 
 
 with falling leaves, and wet with tearful rain. Even 
 the harvest is a time far more often of anxiety and 
 disappointment than of rejoicing. The barn-dances 
 and harvest-home suppers of the olden days exist 
 no more. Who has any heart for gaiety in an Eng- 
 lish village ? What social life does the villager enjoy? 
 Gertruda tells me that even in her cold north German 
 village they have sing-vereins, kaffe-klatsches, and 
 weekly dances in the winter time, and they keep 
 Christmas and the feasts, weddings, and christenings 
 by dancing and song. *' Ach, in England it is very 
 tedious the hfe of the villages,** pronounces Gertruda. 
 
 In Touraine one felt the real meaning of autumn, 
 the full significance of the story of Proserpine. 
 
 There was no suggestion of dymg but rather the 
 rich fulfilment of the promise of spring, of the bloom 
 of summer. Ever5rwhere a joyous gathering in and 
 garnering up of the ripe fruits of the earth, while 
 new seeds were laid in the freshly up-turned soil, there 
 to grow in secret till ready for birth in the spring. 
 
 In every orchard we saw groups of laughing girls 
 filling great baskets with the falling apples, walnuts 
 and plums which the men shook from the trees. 
 Such fruit trees ! A golden apple or purple plum 
 to every leaf, like the glorious impossible fruit trees 
 of the Primitives. 
 
 In the vineyards too the first ripe grapes were 
 being picked ; and in one village, instead of the 
 usual wooden crusher with which the grapes are 
 generally pressed down as the barrels are filled and 
 carried away in the waiting carts, they were treading 
 
178 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the wine-press in Biblical fashion, dancing on the 
 grapes with bare feet, while a piper piped a gay 
 measure. 
 
 The bams were already full of golden grain, and 
 fine fortresses of hay, showing a thousand rainbow 
 tints enwoven with the grass, stood solidly by the 
 barns in the pasture lands. 
 
 We drove through one prosperous village after 
 another. There were no poor in Touraine, said our 
 cocker, it was not permitted. " The vagrant, the 
 beggar, the Bohemian (gipsy), one chases him at 
 once. Each village looks after its own poor, for, of 
 course, it happens sometimes through sickness or old 
 age that nothing remains. Well, for such cases the 
 community provides, and there is a depot in every 
 village where bread, wine and fuel are given to 
 those who apply." 
 
 Nearly everyone owns land and house. They work 
 for themselves, their feet stand firm on their own 
 soil, and the position of proprietor, when the peasant 
 does hire himself out for work to a richer neigh- 
 bour, or to the government, places the service on a 
 totally different basis to that of the man who can 
 be turned out of his home at a week's notice by his 
 employer. 
 
 As we drove on through the vineyards which 
 make the riches of Touraine, some lovely purple 
 grapes tempted me to descend from my box-seat 
 and pick a bunch warm with the sun, and my 
 conscience prompted me to leave a little pile of sous 
 imder the leaves, the market price for three times 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 179 
 
 what I stole, our driver assured me. That grapes can 
 grow for miles by the open roadside and no one ever 
 dream of stealing them is an extraordinary proof 
 of the fact not that the standard of morality is vm- 
 usually high, but that the desperately poor are 
 unknown in this favoured land. 
 
 There are two sides to every shield however, and 
 one glance we had at the reverse side of this fair 
 showing shield. We noticed everywhere a curious 
 dearth of children. It seemed as though a Pied 
 Piper had passed through the land. In one village 
 where we stopped to buy grapes (they were not half 
 so sweet as those I stole) from a woman walking 
 in her vineyard, we saw at last a child, the first child 
 for miles around ; but even this solitary infant we 
 learnt was not a native of Touraine but a nourrisson 
 from Paris, sent to gain health in the country. The 
 woman agreed, though without regret, that children 
 were a rare commodity. Her married son had one, 
 her daughter had Hmited her family to two, and so it 
 was everjrwhere, at the most you found two children 
 in a family. Why ? " Dame I see you," one says, 
 " we must live a Httle for ourselves as well as the 
 children. With the large famihes they eat all, and 
 then arrives poverty and annoyance and nothing to 
 leave when you die.*' 
 
 Here again one regrets that a juste milieu could 
 not be foimd between the baker's dozen of the 
 English working class, too often ill-fed and ill-clothed 
 by a worn-out sickly mother, and the solitary little 
 heir of the prosperous peasant proprietor of Touraine. 
 
i8o FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 One missed the voices of the children in the villages 
 as in the forests the notes of the birds ; for though 
 there does exist a law to protect the wild birds 
 between January and September, it is more honoured 
 in the breach than the observance, and they are 
 taken au lacet and au filet, and are shot at with 
 impunity by chasseurs big and Uttle, who may blaze 
 away all over the place, except where chasse garde 
 is written up. 
 
 Chenonceau at last ! A sweet little old-fashioned 
 village, surrounded by the great forest of Amboise. 
 We lunched at the little inn on an omelette and filet 
 fit for a king, and then walked down the long, 
 straight avenue to the chateau where Diane de 
 Poitiers reigned as Queen of Venus' Court in un- 
 disputed, unblushing trimnph, till that dark day 
 which brought the news of the death of her lord 
 Henri II. Then swiftly descended retribution in the 
 form of the Queen. Like all her family Catherine 
 knew the secret of waiting. Cat-like she sprang as 
 soon as the *' good moment " had arrived. Alight- 
 ing promptly on stately Chenonceau she chased the 
 fair Diane and took possession of the attractive spot 
 herself. No one can wonder that Catherine thought 
 the place much too good for such as Diane. It was 
 always a princely residence, and Catherine added to 
 its beauty and grandeur by building on till the 
 castle formed a complete bridge spanning the river 
 Cher from one bank to the other. 
 
 Time, and all the destructive foes he brings in his 
 train — revolutions. Huguenot insurrections and family 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. i8i 
 
 feuds — have spared Chenonceaux, even to the ancient 
 tower of its first owner, Catherine Briconnet. Fair 
 and stately it stands as in the days of the second 
 Catherine, in a setting of green woods and bright 
 parterres of flowers laid out in the wide terraces of 
 Diana's Italian garden. The arches and turrets 
 reflected in the clear waters reveal a second chateau, 
 and here no doubt the spirits of the former owners 
 disport themselves in freedom, unmolested by the 
 modem upstarts who have dared usurp the more 
 sohd walls. For the old times have passed over, 
 and if the shades of the kingly Louis XII., or the 
 magnificent decorative Frangois I^r, and their royal 
 successors, ever happen to glide through the ancient 
 doorway they must shiver as they perceive in that 
 stately entrance hall the bourgeois hat-rack of the 
 American millionaire ; while twice a week they would 
 come in painful contact with a troup of tourists stand- 
 ing closely packed on a narrow strip of drugget, lest 
 their boots should damage the newly renovated 
 floor. 
 
 Alas that we should have belonged to this un- 
 distinguished compsmy ! The mind of the guide was 
 so absorbed in the endeavour to keep us all within 
 the almost impossible hmits of the drugget, that 
 her historical information reached us in somewhat 
 chaotic form. The Louis XII. mantel-piece with its 
 hedgehogs and Anne's festooned cord, Francois I^r's 
 bed and rampant salamanders, and the American's 
 renovations, were wedged in between frantic direc- 
 tions not to step on the parquet floor, to keep in 
 
i82 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 line, and to follow closely on the heels of each other, 
 which we did like sheep. 
 
 Aunt Anne exchanged views in an undertone with 
 a stout gentleman to whom these directions were 
 particularly trying. ** For how to do when you do 
 not see your boots," said he ; " it is not reasonable." 
 
 ** You must be a second Blondin to succeed as 
 you do, my dear Monsieur," said Aunt Anne with her 
 usual ready sympathy. His thirst for information 
 was quenched by the irascible custodian, and Aunt 
 Anne endeavoured to straighten out for him the 
 salamanders, hedgehogs, ermine, etc, which he had 
 sadly mixed. Gradually they managed to lag behind, 
 and evading the lynx eye of the guide, to drop out 
 of the queue altogether. It was not till we were in 
 the middle of the long gallery built by Catherine 
 over the arches which form the bridge across the 
 river, that I missed them. My duty as chaperon 
 demanded that I should see what my charge was 
 doing. Watching my opportimity I also gave the 
 argus-eyed one the slip, not difficult, as I was entirely 
 hidden behind the ample folds of a large German 
 Frau. I found Airnt Anne and her Blondin gazing 
 out on the river, far too absorbed in conversation 
 to take any notice of me. 
 
 ** What memories of romance these waters reflect," 
 the Frenchman was saying in emotional tones ; 
 " think, Madame, of those seductive ladies in their 
 toilettes of gauze and brocade, so elegant, so daz- 
 zling ! Like nymphs they floated on this river by 
 the light of the moon, the King and his Diane, those 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 183 
 
 gallant cavaliers and fair ladies of the Court. One 
 feels oneself intoxicated even to think of it ! " 
 
 Aunt Anne put up her long tortoiseshell lorgnettes 
 and looked at him quizzically. 
 
 " But it is well to be pnident on moonlight nights 
 when one is wedded to a Catherine, who awaits one 
 in Paris. Eh, Monsieur ? " 
 
 " Ah, Madame has reason — one would try without 
 doubt to remember her ; but figure to yourself how 
 soft, how tender the melodious music would be in 
 that gilded hall. One would dance the sarabande, 
 the minuet. On this river one would glide in a little 
 boat for two alone. You would sing to the belle 
 dame sweet songs with the guitar as the boat glided 
 beneath the trees. Ah, Madame, but you, I feel it, 
 know well how the emotion would gain one. My 
 faith, but they amused themselves well those kings 
 and courtiers, they knew how to hve ! " The stout 
 gentleman cast a sentimental eye on Aunt Anne 
 and sighed profoundly, doubtless remembering his 
 " Catherine " at home. 
 
 " You have a poet's imagination, Monsieur, and 
 evidently much heart. Pardon me if I say that in 
 a censorious world both these gifts are apt to be a 
 great danger to their owner." 
 
 Nothing could have been more discouraging to 
 romance than Aunt Anne's tone, yet he replied : 
 
 " It is true, Madame. You have truly divined my 
 temperament — that which few persons have been 
 able to do. You possess not only the sympathy but 
 the insight." 
 
i84 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 What more he would have added must remain for 
 ever unknown. He had evidently quite forgotten 
 " Catherine " in Paris, but at this point the chaperon 
 considered things had gone far enough. 
 
 " Steady, my Aunt," said a stern voice at her side. 
 " You seem to have made considerable way at this 
 window — a dangerous vicinity." Taking her arm I 
 drew her away, while Blondin, as we moved on, 
 related to us other interesting historical chateaux 
 connected with the great and terrible Catherine. 
 
 Aunt Anne capped all his stories by telling him of 
 the monogram in the royal bedchamber at Blois. 
 
 Blondin was enchanted, though he had visited the 
 Chateau of Blois he had failed to notice this in- 
 teresting witness to the very hiunan side sometimes 
 revealed by the Kings of the earth. " Ah, the 
 cunning one that he was, Henri Deux ! Imagine 
 that he should introduce the fair Diane in the same 
 moment that he makes a compliment to his wife. 
 Epatant ! Draw, I beg you, the little design for me 
 on your carte de visite, dear Madame," he begged. 
 
 And as Aunt Anne amiably compUed, he pointed 
 out with eager enthusiasm how the D depended for 
 its very being on the left side of the H, namely the 
 heart, while the independent C stood alone. " How 
 poetical, how s5mibolic," cried Blondin. " What a 
 poem might be composed on the subject I " 
 
 " Tout passe, tout casse, tout lasse," remarked Aunt 
 Anne, dryly, checking with a sudden cold douche 
 the emotional ardour of Blondin : " Henri, Diane, 
 Catherine, all are gone, and the American millionaire 
 
A ROCK-HOUSE, FARM-HOUSE, ETC. 185 
 
 reigns in their stead. How long will his good mo- 
 ment last — who shall say ! " 
 
 " Ah, Madame, prolong I pray you the good 
 moment for me," said Blondin, as, having now com- 
 pleted the tour, we were going into the grounds. 
 *' Permit that I accompany you, ladies, for a little 
 promenade in the gardens." 
 
 Oblivious of my significant and dissenting cough. 
 Aunt Anne graciously assented. 
 
 As we proceeded through the Italian garden of the 
 Diane to the shady Httle wood beyond, the stout 
 gentleman confided to us that his career as a notary 
 had been so successful, he hoped before long to be 
 the owner of an ancient chateau, equal perhaps to 
 Chenonceau. He had his eye on one, in fact — mort- 
 gaged past hope for the owner. ** Why not ? " as 
 Aunt Anne instinctively gave an exclamation of 
 dissent ; " it was the notaries now who were stepping 
 into all the finest chateaux, and an excellent invest- 
 ment too. Look at Azay le Rideau, the notary there 
 sold the books and pictures for more than he paid 
 for the place ! " 
 
 " The wretch ! " gasped Aunt Anne, but in Eng- 
 lish, so it escaped the notary, whose perceptions were 
 not alive to anything but the very obvious. 
 
 Beautiful Azay ! It was too true. We had rushed 
 to the picture gallery to see the famous portraits, 
 the Marie Stuart, the Fran9ois I", the Catherine, 
 which for years had looked down from those walls, 
 shedding over this stately home the light of their 
 gracious time-honoured presence, and found all gone. 
 
i86 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 as also the rare old books and engravings, once the 
 pride of Azay. We had come across some of the 
 latter since in an old book shop at Tours. Poor, 
 beautiful, despoiled Azay, Uke Niobe she stands 
 bathed in tearful waters, mourning for the children 
 torn from her embrace. 
 
 In vain did Blondin endeavour to ingratiate him- 
 self after the announcement of these sentiments. 
 Aunt Anne's S5mipathy was effectually frozen. She 
 became frigid, and I myself was forced to contribute 
 a few remarks in order to cover the chill of her 
 monosyllables. 
 
 The notary, however, was singularly obtuse, as I 
 have said, and it was with unruffled complacency 
 that he insisted on seeing us into our carriage and 
 thanked us for our so charming society and con- 
 versation. 
 
 " Never shall I forget this visit to Chenonceau," 
 he said to Aunt Anne ; ** and the initials at Blois, 
 are they not symboHc of life, the * C ' and the ' D ' 
 which hold a man always ? " 
 
 But Aunt Anne made no response save a distant 
 bow as we drove off. 
 
 " Imagine that individual strutting about as 
 owner in the home of a King of France," she shud- 
 dered. " This is the last historic chateau I desire 
 to visit — it makes me quite ill 1 " 
 
DUNGEONS AND DARK DEEDS. 
 
 10CHES is a place to visit but not to dwell in. 
 _^ We saw it bathed in sunlight, the glowing, 
 mellow sunshine of an autumn day in Touraine, yet 
 the impression left is all grey and grim, with an 
 odour of dead men's bones, murder and sin. 
 
 The old town with its narrow twisting streets 
 chmbs to the foot of the dominating chateau with 
 old-fashioned subservience, showing forth still the 
 feudal spirit of the middle ages. The great wooden 
 gates still swing on the same massive iron hinges 
 as when they opened to admit Louis XI. with his 
 victim, Cardinal Jean Balue, glaring out from be- 
 tween the bars of his big cage like some imprisoned 
 eagle. Cardinal Balue, unearthed from his cellar at 
 Plessis le Tour, where. Heaven knows, life had not 
 been gay, to be CEtrried to Loches and there sus- 
 pended in a cage from the church tower, a salutary 
 warning to those who crossed the will of the vicious 
 tyrant. Not for weeks or months did he so hang, 
 but for long years, in which time ceased to exist, 
 yet not the man, for his unconquerable spirit endured 
 and came through even this ordeal. The victims of 
 Louis XL were not generally fashioned of such 
 stern stuff. The very air seems full of their death 
 
i88 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 groans and curses ; and who knows but in truth 
 it is, if, as some hold, the atmosphere retains the 
 impressions thrown on it by vivid human emotions, 
 Loches having been for many years the head- 
 quarters of Louis and his abettor and instigator, that 
 choice spirit, Tristan L'Hermite, whose house still 
 stands at Tours. 
 
 The gruesomest spot in Loches — and there is a 
 fine variety in dungeons, cells and towers — is the 
 small private oratory of Louis XL Needless to say 
 it is built underground, shut away from the air and 
 Ught of heaven, and reached by a narrow, tortuous 
 flight of steps striking at once the note of their 
 designer's character and methods. It is curious 
 to stand before the Httle altar and think of what 
 strange stuff his prayers must have been made. 
 
 Close to the altar is a small alcove in the wall, 
 about the size of a fireplace, in which for four years 
 he screwed up a priest to whom he came with pious 
 regularity and confessed his sins. At the end of 
 this time, according to our guide, who took a grim 
 deUght in rehearsing his hero's atrocities, the king 
 considered the priest had absorbed about as much 
 as he could hold, so this most Christian monarch 
 and CathoHc Majesty bricked up his father-confessor 
 alive in his hole, together with the heavy load of 
 secrets he held. - 
 
 In another comer of this sacred edifice was found 
 a small secret passage, also walled up, and beneath 
 the floor sixteen skulls and skeleton bones to match. 
 Each skull showed a hatchet stroke, sufficient to 
 
DUNGEONS AND DARK DEEDS. 189 
 
 stun though not to kill, our guide assured us. He 
 took the skulls from a basket where they lay heaped 
 up in a corner of the chapel. One by one he handled 
 them with the callous familiarity of Hamlet's grave- 
 digger. Aunt Anne decided then and there to be 
 cremated in order to avoid all possible risk of ever 
 finding her skull in such an ignominious position. 
 
 Though Louis XI. is far ahead of both his pre- 
 decessors and successors in the devices of cruelty, 
 other kings and their victims have also left a record 
 in this gruesome fortress. Down, down into the 
 darkness we went with a flickering candle to see the 
 cell where Ludovico Sforza, the great Duke of Milan, 
 suffered for nine long years as prisoner of Louis 
 Xn. Through a small sht high up in the wall the 
 daylight trickled, and a little square scratched on 
 the wall opposite marked where the solitary patch 
 of light was wont to fall. This cell was decorated 
 with odd frescoes in dull red paint, pathetic inscrip- 
 tions and designs which gave one an overpowering 
 feeling of coming suddenly into close contact with 
 the stormy, covirageous spirit of that great fighter, 
 chastened perhaps, but neither subdued nor despair- 
 ing. " He was permitted a ladder besides his brush 
 and paints," remarked our guide, pointing to the 
 frescoes which reached high on the wall. " One 
 treated him with leniency after all, in comparison 
 with others. Unhappily he died just as his release 
 was about to arrive." 
 
 Here was an inscription one could read as though 
 traced only yesterday by that strong hand : — 
 
190 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " Je porte en prison pour ma devise 
 Que je m'arme de patience 
 Par force de peine Ton me fait pouster.'* 
 
 The poor Sforza, his tempestuous, impatient soul 
 must have done a good deal of growing in this dark 
 dungeon before he could \vrite so philosophically. 
 Let us hope he accomplished all his purgatory in this 
 world, and that on death's release his patience-armed 
 spirit went straight into light and freedom. 
 
 Fran9ois 1" also kept his prisoners in this dark 
 fortress, one of whom was Saint VaUier, the father 
 of the gay Diane de Poitier. She exerted all her in- 
 fluence to obtain his freedom, and one day arrived 
 herself bringing the poor prisoner's release. Like an 
 angel of light this " Frau Venus " shone suddenly 
 on his darkness. His hair had become snow-white 
 during his short residence, and Diane shuddered with 
 pity and horror as she stepped down into the damp 
 and darkness of her father's cell. Quickly as pos- 
 sible she settled the business and returned to her 
 life in the sunshine. 
 
 We felt every sympathy with her, and with pro- 
 found reUef mounted once more to the dayhght and 
 breathed again the fresh, warm air of heaven. 
 
 Aunt Anne would not even look into the old 
 church lest she should be shown more traces of 
 blood and murder. The grand old twin steeples, 
 outlined so finely against the blue sky, were a good 
 and pleasant memory to carry away, and she would 
 run no risks, she declared, of spoiling it, though our 
 guide assured her there was nothing to cause 
 
DUNGEONS AND DARK DEEDS. 191 
 
 Madame les frissons in the ancient collegiate 
 church. 
 
 We made our way straight to the chateau and 
 paid our respects to the " gentille Agnes." For 
 here in a tiny chapel in her own tower is the beauti- 
 ful tomb of Agnes Sorel. A strange contrast to 
 that other chapel imderground ! With her small, 
 fine hands crossed on her breast, and two lambs at 
 her feet, she Hes in her dainty robes as though sleep- 
 ing, an expression of perfect peace on her exquisite 
 face. " Angels all glorious watch at her head " 
 — ^small, tender angels, but glorious all the same, 
 and looking down on her as though they claimed 
 her for their own. She suggests some virgin saint 
 rather than the mistress of a king. The epitaph on 
 her tomb bears out this idea — " Une douce et simple 
 Colombe plus blanche que les cygnes, plus vermeille 
 que la flamme," it describes her, and goes on to 
 extol her gentleness, charity and loving-kindness, 
 which won the love of all. 
 
 The spot where she now rests is not where they 
 first buried her, but the ungrateful old monks whose 
 church and convent owed everything to her muni- 
 ficence, never ceased worrying for two hundred 
 years till they got her poor little bones and ex- 
 quisite tomb removed from their church, wherein 
 the odour of sanctity must be preserved at all costs, 
 they maintained. 
 
 Agnes Sorel was bom in the same year as Jeanne 
 d'Arc, and though her influence over the king only 
 began some ten years after he death of Jeanne, and 
 
192 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 there is no record of the two ever having met, the 
 character of the inspired young saviour of France 
 must have greatly affected such an one as the 
 *' gentille Agnes." 
 
 Aunt Anne was seized with a great enthusiasm for 
 her. *' If she can look Hke that in marble, imagine 
 what the living girl must have been ! This sweet 
 Agnes was a true saint, that is clear from the epitaph.*' 
 She turned to the guide. " For the first time in my 
 life I regret that I am not Pope of Rome. I would 
 canonise this sweet lamb at once." 
 
 The guide shook his head dubiously. " Madame 
 has, without doubt, reason. But never would one 
 permit it. There would be the same history as with 
 the old monks." 
 
 "The old monki have had to bow he knee to 
 Saint Mary Magdalen," retorted Aunt Anne ; " and 
 the ' gentille Agnes,' gentle as the dove, white as 
 the swan, had never been through that saint's dark 
 experiences. The love of Agnes was noble and 
 ennobling, and was for one man only." She 
 turned to me. " I should Uke to add to the epi- 
 taph, * More faithful than the virtuous wife, more 
 pure in heart than the cloistered nun,' and send a 
 copy of it to my sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, 
 and other of my most respectable female relations." 
 With this end in view Aunt Anne set to work 
 promptly and made a copy of the epitaph. 
 
 The other point of interest in the chateau of 
 Loches is the tower of Anne de Bretagne, another 
 of those highly respectable ladies who inspire Aunt 
 
DUNGEONS AND DARK DEEDS. 193 
 
 Anne - with a keen desire to say shocking things. 
 The little private oratory and bedroom roused her 
 ire. '- -A self-righteous, self-advertising little place," 
 said sltfe ; *' no more built for the glory of God, this 
 chapel," covered with her own device of ermine tails 
 and fesfooned cord, than the bathroom of Marie 
 Antoinette at Fontainebleau, covered with cupids 
 and roses." 
 
 CertaiMy one did feel that honour and glory were 
 claimed here, first and oremost, for Anne, twice 
 Queen of France ! 
 
 Outside the chateau there is a gigantic chestnut 
 tree, planted by the ever-present hand of Frangois 
 I^^, " the biggest in France," as our guide assured 
 us ; " the biggest in the world, for that matter ; 
 why even the ladies and gentlemen from America 
 had declared they could show nothing in the way of 
 chestnut trees to compare with it." 
 
 The chateau, which was once the home of that 
 most gorgeous and decorative king, is now inhab- 
 ited by the very unromantic and commonplace 
 figure of a sous-prefet whose porter sells souvenirs 
 of Loches at the lodge. Oh, shades of Frangois 
 and Louis, Agnes and Anne ! 
 
 Descending the hill our driver pointed out a villa 
 where, he said, dwelt une dame Anglaise, Aunt Anne 
 was just observing that Loches was a place where 
 no one would ever think of remaining more than 
 three hours. She resented this information, there- 
 fore, as a reflection on her judgment ; but I consoled 
 her by pointing out that no rule can be made for 
 
 7 
 
194 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 that strange combination of eccentricity and conven- 
 tionality, the British woman. She is a bird that 
 will perch on any spot — she will even build her a 
 nest, a nest, too, without a mate. 
 
 ** Well," said Aimt Anne, " it beats me how any- 
 one can get acclimatised to inhaling this atmosphere 
 of dead men's bones. I have had enough Loches 
 to last me to the end of my days.'* 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 
 
 WE had not lost sight of our purpose of going 
 into a convent — a. convent on a vine-clad 
 hill. With this idea in mind we knocked at the 
 door of an old house in an old street in Tours, just 
 off the Place de la Cath^drale. 
 
 There was nothing to mark it as a convent ex- 
 cept the small grille which enabled a cautious inspec- 
 tion before opening the door to Heaven alone knew 
 what possible menace to the poor nuns' safety. 
 
 We enquired from the placid porteress if pension- 
 naires or dames en retraite were admitted to their 
 convent. 
 
 She bade us enter a salon, congested with fur- 
 niture, and hermetically closed, and went to fetch 
 the Soeur liconome, who would give us full infor- 
 mation on the subject. 
 
 Everything in the room was made of plush or velvet 
 except a life-size statue of a saint in plaster. Even 
 the pictures were of wool-work ; one of them repre- 
 senting a stately white chateau on a vine-clad hill, 
 with a broad river cimningly winding at the foot, 
 specially interested me. Something in the treat- 
 ment suggested the subject as allegorical, and I had 
 just made out the river as the Old Serpent, the 
 
196 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 chateau with its head in the clouds as the Church, 
 and the vines the Eucharistic Sacrament, when the 
 door opened, and a small, black-robed mm stood a 
 moment regarding us searchingly, then advanced and 
 responded cordially to our Bon jour, niadame. We 
 explained our errand. 
 
 " Oh, yes," they admitted les pensionnaires — it 
 was their principal raison d'etre, for theirs was a con- 
 vent hospitaller founded on those lines three hun- 
 dred years ago. For a very small payment they took 
 in poor ladies, and gentlemen also, of the upper 
 classes, and tended them in old age and sickness. 
 In former times wealthy women of the world had 
 not infrequently so ended their days, thankful for 
 the repose and peace of the convent, and some in 
 gratitude had left their fortunes to sustain the 
 good work for the benefit of their poorer sisters. 
 Now, alas ! evil days had fallen on the poor nuns 
 and their unhappy country, the work of MM. Combes, 
 Pelletan and Co. being the climax. In their case, 
 out of all the many convents of this Order, only 
 fifteen houses remained, all the rest having been 
 appropriated, lands and houses, without compensa- 
 tion of any sort, by the Government ; the nuns, 
 old and young, turned adrift into the world to beg 
 or die. That they retained even fifteen houses 
 was owing to the fact that their services were given 
 to the hospitals in the neighbouring towns at an 
 almost nominal fee, which no doubt the Govern- 
 ment found for the moment more convenient than 
 paying regular trained nurses. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 197 
 
 The Sister spoke without bitterness, in the same 
 level distinct tones she would have used in recount- 
 ing the martyrdom of St. Laurence, or any other 
 bygone historical fact. How long the remaining 
 houses of the Order would be spared no one knew 
 — they were prepared for expulsion and wholesale 
 confiscation of property at any moment. The 
 parent house was a few kilometres from Chinon, up 
 on the hills, overlooking the valley of the Vienne, 
 a chosen spot of "la belle Touraine.'* The Sister 
 pointed to the wool-work on the wall — la voila ! 
 
 " Here is our convent/* said Aunt Anne, and 
 then and there arranged with the Soeur ficonome to 
 write to the Mere Generale about our visit. It was 
 not customary to receive les dames pensionnaires 
 for so short a time as we proposed, but doubtless 
 it could be arranged, and perhaps we might return 
 there, suggested the Sister, if the life pleased us. 
 
 "It is more than possible that I shall desire to 
 live and die there," Aunt Anne assured her earnestly. 
 " A quiet, beautiful spot away from the world is 
 what I am seeking for my last years,'* 
 
 " Ah, Madame, you have there a very good and 
 wise thought^ to retire from this world and give the 
 heart to le hon Dieu — ^behold the only means of 
 obtaining peace." 
 
 So said the good Sister, little knowing her visitor. 
 Peace and quiet are not synonymous, though so 
 often misleadingly identified. As well imagine a 
 caged wild bird to be enjoying " peace,*' as Aunt 
 Anne, if circumstances obliged her to experience a 
 
198 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 prolonged spell of quiet and rest. But she has many 
 moods, and undoubtedly was just then disposed for 
 peaceful convents. 
 
 Before taking our leave, the Sister showed us 
 the garden and cour where several groups of old 
 ladies, like soft, comfortable tabby cats, were seated 
 under the trees, purring gently as they knitted or 
 dozed. It was difficult to picture Aunt Anne as 
 one of them, at any age. 
 
 Our nun had a face which bespoke singular en- 
 ergy and vigour, well under control, and dealt out 
 with discretion, but ever within call. Yet the ap- 
 parent monotony of her existence would have dead- 
 ened most people's vitality. For twenty-five years 
 her world had been restricted to those walls — only 
 twice had she made a short visit to the mother- 
 convent near Chinon, never once been out into the 
 street, or entered the beautiful old cathedral in the 
 Place just outside. She spoke of being so occupied 
 she scarcely ever had time to read. 
 
 « 4e 4c * 4c 
 
 At the Httle station of Chinon the convent con- 
 veyance met us, a very small and ancient 'bus, the 
 inside already amply filled by two very fat old 
 ladies in black apparel. The driver cordially in- 
 vited us all three to enter. Aunt Anne slid in side- 
 ways and disappeared among the black folds of 
 the inmates. I tried to follow, and to the dismay 
 of the black ladies opened a window with the hope 
 of thereby stowing away an arm and shoulder, and 
 at the same time letting in a breath of the warm 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 199 
 
 summer air. But the difficulty of finding room for 
 my head even minus a hat proved too great ; to 
 the relief of the old ladies I wriggled out, and mak- 
 ing way for the more accommodating little person 
 of Gertruda, mounted the box with the driver, who 
 by this time had piled our luggage in a precarious 
 heap on the roof. Fortunately the convent horse, 
 C6sar by name, was large and bony, and in his ca- 
 pacity for pulling through hard jobs not unworthy 
 of his prototype. 
 
 For some distance our road lay along the banks 
 of the Vienne, a lovely, fertile valley, vineyards 
 and orchards on either hand. Then came a steep 
 climb up the side of the hill. Here we dismounted 
 in order to relieve Cesar of at least some of his 
 burden. Finally on the simimit rose the white con- 
 vent. 
 
 Great wooden gates shut out the curious eyes of 
 the world. We walked in at a small side door and 
 found omrselves in the spacious cour d'honneur, green 
 and peaceful. A statue of the patron saint faced 
 us on entering, while from the door of her parloir 
 next to the chapel, the Mere Generale herself came 
 forwai'd to greet us, followed by three or four black- 
 robed nuns. A very imposing old lady, this rever- 
 end Mother, about four feet nothing in height and the 
 same in breadth, but with dignity enough to equip 
 a couple of Empresses and much shrewd intelligence 
 in her kindly old face. We made each other deep 
 courtesies and exchanged polite but not exaggerated 
 speeches. Aunt Anne, suiting her manners to her 
 
200 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 company, might have been a Mere G6nerale her- 
 self from the austere courtesy of her demeanour. 
 The reverend Mother presented to us the Mere Sous- 
 Prieure, a lady of thin, long, straight lines of the 
 stained-glass mediaeval type of saint, whose soul 
 wears away the body as an active sword its scabbard. 
 Talking with her one felt time roll back at least 
 three hundred years. The Mere Generale enquired 
 after the Tours Sisters and of our visit to their 
 convent. It was evident Tours presented no other 
 serious interest to her, for when we spoke of the 
 opening of the new Hotel de Ville she shook her 
 head and said " those things were of the secular 
 world, which existed not for her." 
 
 As we walked towards the convent door another 
 nun joined us, of very cheerful and healthy appear- 
 ance ; she was introduced as the Soeur £conome, 
 and to her we were confided that we might be taken 
 to our rooms and at once made ready for the dinner 
 at six o'clock. 
 
 We were asked if we would prefer to dine apart, 
 but chose rather the company of the other dames 
 pensionnaires. I had noped we should feed with 
 the nuns in their own austere refectory, but since we 
 were not prepared for training as mediaeval saints, 
 perhaps it was as well that no such thing was sug- 
 gested. The Soeur liconome explained as we went 
 upstairs and down one long passage after another 
 that our rooms were in the corridor of les messieurs, 
 all those in the ladies' wing being occupied, and I 
 was further told not to be alarmed if in the night 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 20I 
 
 I heard groans — it was the monsieur next door who 
 had acquired that habit, and being of a ripe age, 
 eighty-six, was unable to break it. 
 
 Our bedrooms were large and comfortable, with 
 heavy, old-fashioned pieces of furniture. Having 
 pictured to myself a little white-washed cell bare 
 as the " Prophet's chamber," with perhaps a fresco 
 after " Angelico " on the walls, and a crucifix over 
 the bed, I was disappointed at the luxury of my apart- 
 ment, which possessed a cabinet de toilette, a passage 
 and double entrance. As there were also communi- 
 cating doors on both sides I had a good deal of 
 locking up to do before feeling the groaning monsieur 
 safely shut out. But I made Aunt Anne, who with 
 Gertruda was at the furthest end of the corridor, 
 promise to come at my first piercing scream, and 
 on no account wait for the second, according to 
 ghost story custom. 
 
 There were some ten other dames pensionnaires 
 assembled for dinner in the refectory. All dressed in 
 black, most of them with heavy funereal erections 
 on their heads, a lugubrious-looking company at the 
 first glance. Messieurs les pensionnaires, to our dis- 
 appointment we learnt, dined in a separate room. 
 
 The average age — ^though, thanks to the adnrir- 
 ably healthy and regular life of the convent, the 
 ladies did not look it — ^was between seventy and 
 eighty. Youth was represented by a young per- 
 son of about thirty-five, of an air very discreet and 
 comme il faut, and a pale lady some ten years older. 
 Both these were birds of passage like ourselves, sent 
 
203 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 by their doctor for a quiet summer up in the hills. 
 All the other pensionnaires were stationary, some be- 
 ing of twenty years* standing and more. Besides 
 those present, about half a dozen dined in their 
 own rooms. 
 
 The old ladies sat down to table with an air of 
 absorbed attention to the business on hand, no one 
 wasted time in talk till the first three courses were 
 over. Their appetites filled one with amazement, 
 and spoke well for the air of Touraine. Their " table 
 manners " left something to be desired. Not only 
 did they help themselves in the frank spirit of " apres 
 moi le deluge/* but having piled up all their plates 
 would hold they proceeded to gobble as if the devil 
 would take the hindermost. A liberal portion of 
 soup, two enormous slices of melon, a ragmit of mut- 
 ton, followed by roast beef, a plateful of French 
 beans and a compote of stewed plums, disappeared 
 in no time. But the sweet-faced little sister who 
 served us heard nothing but grumbles. " How 
 then I one cuts these slices of melon very small, 
 ma soeurr' "Again the compote of plums, ma 
 sceur! But they finish never, then, these plums I ** 
 and so on. 
 
 We escaped from the dining-room as soon as pos- 
 sible, the windows being tightly closed, into the 
 garden which runs the whole length of a wide ter- 
 race on the side of the hill — a charming garden with 
 bosquets of trees and many little paths and shady 
 nooks. We had passed unconcernedly through a 
 small iron gate when suddenly we were confronted 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 203 
 
 with a stout, good-natured looking old Sister tell- 
 ing her beads. She advanced with a broad smile. 
 
 '* Ah, but pardon, mesdames, you know not per- 
 haps where you are I Tliis is the garden of the 
 Sisters, ' le jardin de Marie.* " And she laughed 
 and chuckled as if we had been caught doing some- 
 thing of unthinkable impropriety but awfully funny. 
 
 We apologised profusely, and she explained, as she 
 conducted us back to the Uttle gate, that usually it 
 was locked, for no one was permitted to enter with- 
 out the leave of the M^re G^nerale. 
 
 Continuing our walk, we were joined presently by 
 our first friend, the Sceur Econome, of a wonderful 
 ugliness but adorable good-nature and kindliness. 
 She hurriedly took us in charge ; it was about time, 
 for we had gone from Scylla to Charybdis, our err- 
 ing feet having strayed into the garden specially 
 allotted to Tuessieurs les pensionnaires. To pass 
 quickly through, however, was permitted, being in- 
 evitable, if one would enter the large garden beyond, 
 common ground for all. 
 
 " But in the garden of the messieurs one remains 
 not," said the Soeur Econome ; " and if one sees 
 approaching a monsieur one turns quickly into an- 
 other alley, is it not so ? " 
 
 I fear Aunt Anne*s agreement with this last pro- 
 position had rather an artificial ring — she had just 
 announced her intention to me of cultivating some 
 of these gentlemen. 
 
 4c * 4c ♦ * 
 
 Sunday morning ! At five o'clock the convent 
 
204 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 chapel bell sounded. I got up and threw open the 
 green shutters. The broad waters of the Vienne lay 
 below glistening in the morning sun, the wooded and 
 vine-clad hills rose opposite and beyond the forest 
 of Fontevrault, all the valley with its vineyards and 
 orchards ready for a rich harvest. 
 
 We were evidently the subject of keen interest 
 to the entire convent. Everyone knew of our inno- 
 cent trespass in the jardin de Marie, During the 
 morning we had visits from four Sisters on different 
 pretexts — all full of soHcitude for our comfort. 
 One came to know how we had passed the night, 
 were our beds and covers as we liked, had I been 
 disturbed by the old gentleman who groaned ? 
 I assured her I had heard no sound worse than that 
 of a mouse, than which, though I would not confess 
 it, there was to me none more alarming. Another 
 gentle Sister appeared to tell us the hour of dejeuner, 
 in case we did not recognise the bell at eleven o'clock. 
 Most necessary, since bells either for services or meals 
 were going continually. The grand* messe was at 
 8.30, but frequent messes preceded it, beginning with 
 the one at six. The Soeur Econome desired to know 
 what she could give us in the place of the dishes we 
 had refused at dinner. She had evidently received 
 a faithful account of every morsel swallowed, and 
 was upset at Aunt Anne's diet of no meat. " Had 
 it been Friday and Madame a Catholic, oh, yes, 
 but Madame was Protestant, was it not so ? and 
 the day a Saturday." 
 
 Aunt Anne refused to be classified as a Protestant, 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 205 
 
 or defined in any way, much to the perplexity of the 
 good Sister. " Eating no meat is a question of 
 health, not religion, my dear Sister. Everyone after 
 sixty is better without it. Yes, and your old dames 
 pensionnaires, you should not give them two big 
 dishes of meat in the evening, not more on Saturday 
 than Friday. They eat too much, those there ! " 
 
 The Sister laughed. " Ah, but there would be a 
 fine disturbance if we followed Madame *s counsel ; 
 les dames pensionnaires they say they become old 
 and need the meat to give force. Those dames," 
 sighed the Sister, " are very difficult for their 
 food." 
 
 " I wish the Mere Generale would make me 
 Soeur ficonome for a month," remarked Aunt Anne 
 drily. The good Sister burst into peals of delighted 
 laughter at the idea. And this, like ever3^hing else 
 we did or said, was known in a few minutes to the 
 Mere Generale and everyone else. We came to the 
 conclusion there must be a perfect system of wire- 
 less telegraphy in that convent. 
 
 At dejeuner we improved the acquaintance of 
 our fellow dames pensionnaires. There were ten of 
 them. The two who drove up with us from the 
 station held a position of importance, being among 
 the oldest residents. They sat at the head of the 
 table, and generally started the subject of conversa- 
 tion. Next them sat a lady beside whom they ap- 
 peared as very sylphs, a demoiselle with the large, 
 handsome features of a ship's figurehead, and the 
 same durability and imperviousness to time and 
 
2o6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 weather, for we learnt with amazement that her age 
 was seventy-eight. The fact that the last thirty 
 years had been spent in the peace and comfort of this 
 hospitable convent no doubt went for something. 
 Opposite to her was the eldest of the dames pen- 
 sionnaires, Mme. Mallines, aged eighty-four, but no 
 wise disquahfied on this account from keen and close 
 competition as each succeeding dish appeared. Never 
 did she pass a dish, but on the contrary, supple- 
 mented the ordinary fare, as did several of the others, 
 with a raw egg in her soup, and a custard or milk 
 pudding with the stewed fruit. She talked shrewdly 
 and rather amusingly, but had evidently small behef 
 in any motive save self-interest, in spite of her Hfe in 
 a convent where she received devoted care and 
 attention, and a most comfortable, dignified home for 
 a mere nominal payment. She considered, doubtless, 
 she amply repaid the good nuns by giving them such 
 an opportunity for self-sacrifice, and so laying up 
 their treasure in heaven. 
 
 Then came a mother and daughter, as Hke each 
 other as the double doors of the convent. Whatever 
 one said the other supplemented with a modified 
 correction. '* It rained for two hours during the 
 night," says Madame. " One might more truly 
 say that the rain fell for two hours and a half," says 
 Mademoiselle, without once raising eyes from plate. 
 They continually urged one another to eat more, as 
 though they were laying up stores within for a pro- 
 longed siege. 
 
 Next to me was a lady from Tours, spending the 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 207^ 
 
 summer en retraiie for her health, a prescription 
 which had succeeded admirably. Her doctor had 
 ordered bracing air, freedom from all care, and 
 pleasant, though not exciting society ; all this she 
 had found at the convent, and for six francs a day. 
 The youngest of the pensionnaires was from Loches. 
 I hoped to find her steeped in the lurid lore of 
 Louis XL, but I found her no more interested in that 
 royal torturer than an average Londoner would be 
 in Richard III. Her retreat was also for the sake 
 of her body rather than her soul. Both these last 
 ladies wound up their repast with cups of " tizane," 
 " camomille," or *' menthe/' As to the two remain- 
 ing pensionnaires they were silent as tomb-stones 
 and less communicative, for we did not even learn 
 their names. They devoted themselves steadily and 
 soHdly to the business in hand, Hke the rest, but 
 expended no breath in idle conversation. We dis- 
 cussed the politics and fimeral of a noted statesman 
 just dead. He met with general disapproval, and 
 was classed to my surprise in the same category as 
 those destroyers of the welfare of France, Combes 
 and Pelletan, though known to have disagreed with 
 them. Even his wife was not spared, but was de- 
 scribed as " mechanic comme le diable " — poor lady ! 
 Why, I failed to find out ; dames pensionnaires 
 do not condescend to give reasons — they assert em- 
 phatically, and go on eating. They gave us a good 
 deal of information about England in this same 
 spirit, and told us some interesting facts about 
 Scotland, the semi-barbaric condition of its kilted 
 
2o8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 inhabitants, and the dense fog which forbade the sun 
 ever to pierce the thick atmosphere, which deUghted 
 Aunt Anne — not quite the efEect they intended to 
 produce, I fancy. 
 
 We were waited on by the sweetest, freshest Httle 
 nun. The fads and gourmandise of the old dames 
 she treated with a gentle, kindly indulgence, and 
 never-failing patience. Her face suggested she had 
 found what Matthew Arnold calls the " Secret of 
 Jesus.** The sweet grey eyes were lit with a quiet, 
 innocent joy, without a hint of the sadness and 
 resignation painters are wont to give to the typical 
 nun*s face. She was young, and pretty as a spring 
 flower, but capable and clear-headed, and no one 
 seeing her with her charges could doubt her Uvely 
 sense of humour. " Soeur Prime vere ** I called 
 her. " She is perhaps a Protestant Saint, that one ? ** 
 she enquired. But she shook her head suspiciously 
 when I said Primevere was the fair daughter of 
 Job, one of the second batch, canonised for her 
 patience with trying old ladies and gentlemen. 
 Sweet little " Soeur Prime vere.** I hope the suc- 
 cessors of MM. Combes and Pelletan will leave her 
 to bloom in peace in her native soil ! 
 
 Gertruda and I attended vespers in the convent 
 chapel. The Sisters sat behind the altar separated 
 by a grille. One of them played the harmonium and 
 all the dear things sang. I am sure to the angels the 
 music was sweet, but to mortal ears, untrained for 
 the subtler spiritual sounds, it was a little painful, 
 Monsieur rA\im6nier*s rasping voice not only con- 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 209 
 
 tinuaUy in advance of the harmonium and the nmis' 
 thin pipes, but half a tone off the key besides. Soeur 
 Celestine, who acted as organist, improvised the har- 
 monies to the chants as she went on, with disastrous 
 results, poor dear, as far as harmony was concerned. 
 
 The interest of the convent in our doings and 
 sayings reached a cHmax on hearing that Aunt Anne 
 was going to take a bath ! She despises such com- 
 promises as travelling rubber baths, and nothing 
 satisfying her but a salle des bains we were con- 
 ducted by a Sister on a visit of inspection to the 
 cour d'honneur. Here between the parloir of the 
 Mere Generale and the chapel, a door announced 
 the boasted salle des bains, ** rarely used except in 
 cases of severe illness,*' said the Sister. 
 
 The preparations requisite being exceedingly com- 
 plicated, five o'clock in the afternoon was fixed as 
 the most convenient hour. A Sister was in attend- 
 ance for an hour before the important ceremony, 
 initiating Gertruda into the needful precautions, one 
 of which was to place a sheet inside the bath before 
 pouring in the water. The shape of the bath was 
 curious, more resembling a well than anything else, 
 about four feet in length, with a hood at one end 
 like a child's perambulator. Two windows high in 
 the wall communicated with the nuns' wing of the 
 convent, in a position to conmiand a fine view of the 
 salle des bains. 
 
 The ceremony over, the bather became an object of 
 thrilling interest to the entire community. The 
 porteress standing in the doorway of her lodge. 
 
210 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Monsieur TAbbe just outside the chapel, ths lay 
 Sisters at the entrance to the basse cour and the 
 dames pensionnaires at the refectory window, all 
 waited to see Aunt Anne emerge from the bath- 
 room and cross the courtyard. 
 
 " Ah, but Madame your Aunt, she has taken a 
 bath ? She is then suffering ? " enquired one of the 
 dames. 
 
 She regarded me with perplexity, not unmixed with 
 increduhty, when I answered that it was a daily 
 custom of my friend and not on account of illness. 
 
 " Ila ! but it is the doctor who orders this treat- 
 ment without doubt/' said the stoutest of the old 
 ladies. " I myself was obliged at one time to take 
 baths of mud for three weeks, to diminish the fat." 
 
 My repudiation of this motive for Aunt Anne's 
 bath caused the old lady great irritation. 
 
 " My good Demoiselle," struck in a third dame, 
 " you are not aware of the maladies for which the 
 doctors ordain baths. If it is not for one cause such 
 as suggests Madame de Nozieres, well, it is for 
 another equally serious — ^it may be to calm the 
 brain. I observed last night the lady ate no meat, 
 no doubt for the same cause." 
 
 This was clearly a barbed shaft at Aunt Anne's 
 lively conversation and irrepressible vitality. 
 
 " But I assure you, Madame," I insisted, *' it is not 
 by order of a doctor at all, but just a habit we others 
 have in England to take a bath daily." 
 
 ** If it is true what you say there, Mademoiselle," 
 said the first old lady, " that your Aunt at her a^e 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 211 
 
 takes a bath without the order of her doctor, she 
 commits a grave imprudence — ^there is nothing else 
 to be said." 
 
 Aunt Anne entered at this point, and a lively dis- 
 cussion commenced on hygienic questions — fresh 
 air, open windows by night, not to mention day — 
 diet and exercise. The conclusion of the whole 
 matter was that Aunt Anne was written down a 
 " freak " according to the dames pensionnaires' 
 standard, and solemnly warned that if she continued 
 in her mad career a coup or a crise would infallibly 
 carry her off before long. 
 
 " Well, never mind," said Aunt Anne, " while I 
 do live here below I shall at all events rejoice in the 
 fresh air of heaven by day and night, and thank 
 the good God for my daily hot bath." 
 
 " One always recounted to me that the EngHsh 
 were a people of an exaggerated eccentricity," 
 murmured the stout dame to her neighbour ; "I 
 see well one lied not I " 
 
 * * ♦ * * 
 
 Sunday evening in the convent garden. No one can 
 picture a more ideal atmosphere of peace and rest, 
 as, sitting on the low stone wall, the silver grey of the 
 olives overhead, we looked down on the green valley 
 of the Vienne. The setting sun painted the river all 
 red and gold as it wound towards the west, while 
 at our feet the newly-risen moon turned it to shining 
 silver. ** Certainly I shall come here to die," said 
 Aunt Anne fervently ; but I suggested we should 
 live here a few weeks first. 
 
212 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 We rejoiced that these gentle nuns, who deny 
 themselves all individual possessions and all beauty 
 save that of the soul, do not feel it their duty to 
 bandage their eyes. For here at least they have a 
 rich possession, a constant, ever-varying picture 
 gallery from their garden terrace, rejoicing the eyes 
 and making glad the heart. Whether they con- 
 sciously appreciate it matters as little as whether 
 the birds and flowers know why they sing and bloom. 
 One thing is sure, those poor nuns who are banished 
 from their iand to the cold, dark north are conscious 
 enough of loss. 
 
 Presently a group of black-robed Sisters came 
 noiselessly towards us through the trees, and we felt 
 ourselves signally honoured when the Mere Generale, 
 leaning on the strong arm of the Soeur £conome and 
 followed by the Mere Sous-Prieure and the Soeur 
 Angelique, herself drew up and wished us a " good 
 evening." 
 
 The reverend Mother was in conversational mood, 
 and spoke to us of our country and the gracious 
 hospitality of England towards the expulsed Orders. 
 Aunt Anne, who has little sympathy with the Church 
 of Rome when rearing her head proudly and repre- 
 sented by autocratic and overbearing prelates, on 
 hearing of the ruined and banished Orders, whose 
 members had been devoted to works of charity and 
 self-denial, in the name of England opened arms 
 and heart to all. 
 
 "Come, continue to come to us, you poor dears,*' she 
 urged. "We will do all we can for you in old England." 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 213 
 
 While the details for the carrying out of the 
 hospitable invitation were being arranged, the other 
 nuns formed a circle round me, all most anxious to 
 talk. Their relation to the Mere Generale appeared 
 full of affection and, though respectful, without any 
 restraint. They constantly appealed to her to 
 corroborate what they said with " n'est-ce pas, ma 
 mere ? " 
 
 After the meres wished us good night, and walked 
 on to the shrine of the Madonna to say an evening 
 prayer, other Sisters joined us. I asked one of these, 
 an intelligent, good-looking woman, to take a little 
 stroll. This required a serious consultation, being, 
 they told us, a most unusual proceeding, but two of 
 the niunber consented at last to take a little walk 
 with us in the big garden. Only on Sunday were 
 they permitted to go outside their own enclosure, 
 and then but for a little quarter of an hour after 
 dejeuner and dinner. My good-looking nun, Soeur 
 Marie-Marthe, told me a great deal of her story. 
 She was full of life and eager energy, " of a most 
 ardent nature,'' as the Soeur ficonome described 
 her, a Frenchwoman of the temperament of the Midi, 
 bom at Marseilles. It seemed strange that she had 
 chosen the nun's restricted life — she explained it, 
 saying she had a passion for nursing the sick and 
 no vocation for marriage. In England she would 
 no doubt have been a hospital nurse. Her relations 
 had bitterly opposed her wish to enter a convent. 
 Her father, whose favourite child she was, declared 
 he would rather see her buried alive in her coffin. 
 
214 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 for that would be but a few hours' suffering, whereas 
 the conventusd Hfe was long years of martyrdom. 
 How little he knew ! She waited till she was of age, 
 and the day after left home for ever, without any 
 farewell save a letter to her father, and entered the 
 convent here. She had both brothers and sisters 
 at home, and no special duty claimed her. AU her 
 relations except her father had come to her ordina- 
 tion, when she received the black veil and took the 
 final vows, but the poor father never consented to 
 see her again, though he sent his full pardon and 
 blessing before he died. She had never regretted 
 the step, oh, never, though during the year of 
 novitiate her heart had cried out yearning for her 
 own people, and only the conviction that the voice 
 of God called her to walk in that narrow path had 
 upheld her resolution. She had been a nun for 
 fifteen years. Time had tested without cooling her 
 enthusiasm. The rule of this Order is liberal as 
 compared with others, and permits the relations of 
 the sisters to come and see them at any time, and to 
 speak with them face to face, but the nuns may never 
 again visit their homes. They may receive letters 
 at any time, though they themselves may only write 
 once in three months, and all letters received and 
 sent must first be read and sealed by the M^re 
 G6nerale. 
 
 We discussed the life of St. Catherine Emerich, 
 that extraordinary German peasant girl who, in the 
 beginning of the nineteenth century, revived all the 
 most weird phenomena of the ssdnts of the middle 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 215 
 
 ages — stigmata, trances, visions, miracles of healing, 
 and prolonged fasts. Soeur Marie-Marthe was sur- 
 prised that I, a heretic, had read this book, and her 
 interest in me redoubled when I told her it had been 
 given me by the niece of the author of this strange 
 biography, that friend of Goethe, who came in idle 
 mood as the brilliant sceptical man of the world to 
 see the curious latter day miracle-worker and seer, 
 and remained four years by the bedside of the saint, 
 writing down, in her own striking and poetic language, 
 her visions till she died. A stranger miracle that 
 than any other reputed to her 1 
 
 We both agreed that this saint was by no means one 
 to be taken as an example for ordinary mortals, and 
 the Soeur Econome showed her wisdom in approving 
 the rule that these exotic lives are not permitted to 
 be much studied by the nuns. The convent boasts 
 a library, but it is a rare thing for the Sisters ever 
 to open a book of any sort, and as to a newspaper, 
 no such invention of the devil dare show itself in the 
 place, unless in the rare case of some pensionnaire 
 receiving one by post. 
 
 " We have no time for those things of the world," 
 explained the Soeur Econome, when I asked her if 
 they read about the wars and affairs of Europe. 
 " They do not concern us or our work — the affairs 
 of the world change and pass continually. They are 
 but the shadows of the real," she said, unconsciously 
 quoting Plato. Showing us the beehives she ob- 
 served how like to humans were the busy, pre- 
 occupied little inhabitants. ** We look on the himian 
 
2i6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 wars and disputes even as we regard the affairs of 
 this hive," she said. 
 
 I suggested that the acts of the French Parliament 
 must have touched the Order rather closely. She 
 allowed of course this was so. " The devil had been 
 terribly active lately in that chamber," said Soeur 
 Marie-Marthe, and the Mere Sous-Prieure had found 
 it needful to keep au courant of his doings, she being 
 the one appointed for this unpleasant but necessary 
 duty. 
 
 Soeur Marie-Marthe and I parted with mutual 
 regret and the hope — though a very uncertain one, 
 for the nun can never call any hour her own — of 
 meeting again. The Soeur ficonome we see often, 
 it being her special business to look after the material 
 welfare of the pensionnaires. This she could not do 
 more thoroughly if she held that we poor heretics, 
 possessing only bodies, must therefore concentrate 
 attention entirely upon them. 
 
 « ♦ « « * 
 
 It was some days before Aunt Anne's bold desire 
 to improve the acquaintance of messieurs les pension- 
 naires got beyond a passing and very distant bow 
 from a couple of old Abbes in the garden, and an 
 occasional glimpse from her windows of other vener- 
 able gentlemen. One aged eighty-four had a suite of 
 rooms with his old wife aged eighty-two. They were 
 known in the convent as " le jeune manage/* and 
 iooked an ideal Darby and Joan as arm in arm they 
 toddled off to the chapel whenever the bell announced 
 mass or vespers. Fourteen years they have dwelt 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 217 
 
 in the convent on the hill, waiting in serenity and 
 peace till the summons shall come to go up higher. 
 They had once money and children, and a fine 
 position in the world, the Soeur ficonome told us ; 
 now all were gone, and they thanked the good God 
 for the shelter and peace of this happy home, praying 
 daily that the ruthless hand of the Government might 
 be stayed before it '* chased " these loving daughters. 
 For what would become of " le jeune menage," turned 
 adrift on the world with but ten francs a day to 
 live on ! 
 
 " Monsieur I'Abbe Lagrange has returned from 
 the pilgrimage to Lourdes,'* announced the Soeur 
 Econome one day. That afternoon I came upon Aunt 
 Anne walking in our favourite bosquet, deep in 
 converse with a tall, thin, black-garbed priest, and 
 this in spite of the fact that the Soeur £conome had 
 declared him to be a man both silent and reserved, 
 and had held out little encouragement when we 
 expressed a wish to hear about his journey. 
 
 " Monsieur I'Abbe and I have had such an interest- 
 ing talk," said Aunt Anne. ** In the first place we 
 have discovered we are twins, both of us sixty-two 
 in the month of May — ^spring flowers gifted with 
 eternal youth, is it not so. Monsieur I'Abbe ? " 
 
 " Madame is too amiable thus to designate an old 
 leaf of autumn," answered the Abbe, his serious face 
 relaxing. " For Madame herself, she surely makes 
 an error in her age 1 " 
 
 " Autumn leaves ! " cried Aunt Anne indignantly. 
 " When you can walk your twenty miles, and me, I 
 
2i8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 can jump the height of my head ! My dear Monsieur 
 I'Abbe, if you were a married man you would know 
 that no woman ever adds to her age — do not imagine 
 they tell you the truth even in the confessional. 
 Felicity," she turned to me, " we must go to Lourdes 
 next year ; Monsieur TAbbe and I have arranged it 
 all, and he is coming too. We must go by night, 
 third class, in the pilgrims' train. That is the only 
 proper way — en penitence, you know. I only wish 
 it were not too late this year." 
 
 The Abbe and I exchanged a solemn vow. He 
 made as though he would now retire, but Aunt 
 Anne laid her hand on his arm. " No, no. Monsieur 
 I'Abbe, I want to ask you many more questions ; 
 you must not go. Remember you are not wasting 
 your time, for you are converting a free-thinker." 
 
 " But Madame is Enghsh, and therefore Protestant, 
 is it not so ? " enquired Monsieur I'Abbe, with, it 
 struck me, a slight shiver. 
 
 ** I am cosmopolitan and a free-thinker," an- 
 nounced Aunt Anne, refusing as usual to go into any 
 cage. '* But since listening to your description, so 
 dramatic, of that magnificent gathering at Lourdes, 
 twenty-four thousand people all united in one 
 glorious movement of faith towards God, of love 
 and charity towards their suffering fellow creatures, 
 I have felt myself becoming a Catholic — a true, 
 devout Catholic." 
 
 The Abbe then explained to us that the miracles 
 of healing, though often remarkable, were the least 
 impressive side of Lourdes. It was the atmosphere 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 219 
 
 of faith and enthusiasm, and spiritual elevation, 
 that healed and raised the soul as well as body. He 
 himself went every year with a company of pilgrims, 
 some thirty or forty men, themselves in excellent 
 health, their object being to help by their prayers 
 and penance the sick and suffering. 
 
 '* For ten years I have never failed to make this 
 pilgrimage," said the Abbe. " It is a great refresh- 
 ment to the soul, even as a green oasis in the desert 
 of the Sahara." 
 
 *' You hear that, Felicity ? " said Aunt Anne. 
 " It is just what I want, what we all want. I can't 
 imagine why we have not all been to Lourdes. We 
 are so ignorant, we others, my dear Monsieur 
 I'Abbe," and Aunt Anne placing her hand in his arm 
 she walked him down the terrace in full view of all 
 the convent windows. " We know nothing about 
 it. You must come to England and give some 
 lectures on Lourdes, just as Monsieur Sabatier did 
 on that dear Saint Francois d' Assise." 
 
 Fortunately for the reputation of both Aunt Anne 
 and the Abbe, the convent bell began to ring, for in 
 spite of the close attendance of the chaperon, there 
 was no disguising the fact that they were arm in 
 arm, Aunt Anne, it is true, entirely unconscious of 
 anything unusual, but the Abbe — ^well, I think he 
 was relieved when that bell sounded ; he drew up, 
 bowed, and departed so hurriedly. 
 
 '* To me he has the air of St. Anthony fleeing from 
 temptation," I observed, as he disappeared. But 
 Aunt Anne declared that far from fleeing, he had 
 
220 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 promised to visit her in England after superintend- 
 ing her pilgrimage to Lourdes. 
 
 ♦ * ♦ * « 
 
 We walked to Chinon by the upper road, starting 
 early, for we wanted to see the market, besides 
 visiting the chateau. Gertruda, with a beautiful 
 new market basket of green and red wicker, '* came 
 with," as she calls it. 
 
 Chinon is unique — ^so untouched by any modem 
 hand. There stand the same narrow, tortuous 
 streets, with, in some cases, the very same quaint 
 old houses, through which Jeanne rode up to the 
 chateau crowning the hill, to meet Charles VII. and 
 receive permission to march her armies to the relief 
 of Orleans. Jeanne the shepherd girl, aged seven- 
 teen, led by the same voice which had spoken to 
 her in the fields and woods of Domremy. 
 
 Chinon speaks of Jeanne at every turn — no doubt 
 herein lies its special charm. Her name confronts 
 you on the Quai, in the streets, her statue on the 
 Place and in the Church of St. Etienne, while her 
 tower stands overlooking the town, strong and solid 
 as when she dwelt there for six weeks in 1429. 
 
 We found nothing much doing as yet in the old 
 market place. The stalls were being set out and 
 the turkeys, chickens and ducks giving feeble 
 cries of remonstrance as, with legs tied, they were 
 unceremoniously bundled about. So we struggled 
 up the steep stony road to the chateau, a long toil- 
 ing grind, and I envied Jeanne her fine war-horse. 
 
 The small son of the gate-keeper was on duty and 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 221 
 
 very important with his big bundle of keys, for 
 Jeanne's tower and that of Henri II. are kept locked. 
 
 The ruins cover an enormous area, where clumps 
 of trees and grassy knolls now grow between the 
 towers, halls and dungeons. At each historic spot we 
 drew up, and our small guide delivered a discourse 
 with an accent and manner worthy of the Theatre 
 Fran9ais, but if you asked him a question in the 
 middle he had to recommence from the beginning. 
 
 Here again we meet with Henry II. of England, 
 for here, at the home of his race, he died broken- 
 hearted at the failure of his dearest hopes and the 
 discovery of the treacherous plot of John. John, 
 that coward-hearted son, for whom he had desired 
 to sacrifice the Coeur de Lion, surely a worthier object 
 for his affection, and who had at least some excuse 
 for plotting against his partial parent. 
 
 These three English kings are all buried at Fonte- 
 vrault ; away in the distance one could see where 
 the forest of Fontevrauit lay across the Vienne 
 valley. Only a few days before we had visited the • 
 old monasterj^, now used as a prison, and there in a 
 small side chapel of the convent church, in most 
 unregal state, had found the two sons of Henry, 
 those dire foes, resting side by side. The stone 
 effigies had once been coloured, but the paint was 
 almost worn away, giving a most dismal effect, 
 enhanced still more by the sordid surroundings, for 
 to reach the neglected-looking little chapel one was 
 obliged to climb over the closely-packed prisoners' 
 benches. 
 
222 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 That the cowardly and treacherous John should 
 meet with this fate seemed right enough, but the 
 soul of Aunt Anne was fiUed with righteous in- 
 dignation that the lion-hearted king should be kept 
 in this durance vile in spite of all efforts to induce 
 the French Government to permit his tomb to be 
 removed to England. Then and there she was for 
 organising a crusade to transport the remains of 
 Richard to Westminster, or better still to Camelot. 
 It must annoy him terribly that his bones lie in such 
 company and such surroundings. 
 
 Our small guide took special delight in conduct- 
 ing us to the dark and dismal spots, where again 
 we foimd ourselves confronted with that unwearying 
 torturer, Louis XL More crimes, more victims ! 
 His ghost must have a busy time if doomed to 
 revisit the scenes of his atrocities in Touraine alone. 
 
 We were leaving the famous hall, nothing of which 
 now remains but a ruined wall and great fireplace, 
 where Jeanne knelt before the Dauphin, recognising 
 • him in spite of the disguise by which he tried to 
 trick her, when we heard a loud calling from one of 
 the towers. Our young guide declared it was not 
 for him, and we walked on, the call, though fading 
 with the distance, still continuing persistently, and 
 with a note of distress if not despair, it struck me, 
 in the tone. At last we insisted the boy should 
 return and see if he were not wanted. He ran off, 
 leaving us to admire the view, one worth admiring 
 from that rocky height which commands the whole 
 valley of the Vienne and country for miles around. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 223 
 
 while looking sheer down one gazes on the roofs and 
 streets of the old town below. 
 
 Presently the boy returned and informed us that 
 the cries had proceeded from a monsieur who had by 
 mistake been locked up in the tower of Henri II. an 
 hour or so ago. " The gentleman had mounted to 
 the simimit to admire the panorama," said the boy ; 
 " he put himself to read and a profound sleep over- 
 came him, without doubt, or he would have heard 
 our voices," he remarked, knowingly. " The mon- 
 sieur only perceived himself to be shut in when, on 
 descending, he discovered the door could not be 
 opened. The miserable one, he might well have re- 
 mained there all day, perhaps even all the night, 
 for visitors become rare now." The boy laughed 
 as if it were a very good joke. " It was my pa-pa 
 who locked the door," he said, by way of explana- 
 tion. 
 
 Just then the unfortunate monsieur came in sight. 
 He was shaking his fists and addressing the boy in 
 forcible language. Seeing us he stopped, then with 
 a joyhii exclamation hurried forward, both hands 
 outstretched in greeting. It was the notary of 
 Chenonceau, Aunt Anne's friend " Blondin " 1 
 
 " Ah, my dear ladies, what surprise ! what joy ! 
 It is then to you I owe my life — ^you who have 
 saved me from perhaps a lingering death. When I 
 think of slowly starving alive in that frightful tower., 
 which at night must be filled with ghosts of mur- 
 dered men, I fall on my knees in gratitude before 
 you." He shook hands with effusion. 
 
1^ FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " Enchanted to have rendered you a service my 
 dear Monsieur," replied Aunt Anne, cordially. " It 
 is certainly owing to us that the little rascal there 
 went back for you. He says you fell asleep up 
 there." 
 
 " The little good-for-nothing — he lies, my dear 
 Madame. I was, as you may see here, plunged in 
 the study of this work of Rabelais — I lived in the 
 past with Pantagruel. Here looking down upon the 
 birthplace of Rabelais I forgot the prosaic present, 
 the miserable custodian and his keys." 
 
 With an imploring aside that she would get rid of 
 him soon, I left Aunt Anne to the tete-a-tete I was 
 sm*e Blondin was longing for, and walked on with 
 our still laughing guide. 
 
 " It was a friend of Madame who was shut up ? 
 It was then serious ? " the boy enquired, with evi- 
 dent satisfaction. 
 
 Having completed the tour, to my dismay the 
 notary showed no sign of leaving us. On the con- 
 trary the bonds of gratitude now riveted him to our 
 side, and Aunt Anne had not the heart to refuse, as 
 I should have done, his request that he might escort 
 us to the Hotel de France, where we intended taking 
 a light repast before beginning our marketing. He 
 also purposed lunching there — ^what a good chance ! 
 
 Our little guide was departing without any pay- 
 ment, quite satisfied at our having bought some of 
 his picture postcards. Never were a people less 
 mercenary than those of Touraine, with manners 
 delightfully polite and of a most kindly hospitality. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 225 
 
 They are never in a hurry, in fact time is of no 
 consequence. Clocks are rarely wound up, and when 
 they are set going, differ so widely as to be no sort 
 of guide to the time. The local trains have a sensible 
 way of waiting for the people for whom they run. 
 On market days, for instance, the train works on 
 this thoroughly sound principle and waits for the 
 people with baskets. The sun is really the only 
 clock accepted throughout the country. At sun- 
 rise you get up, for there is work to be done, and 
 no one in their senses thinks of knocking off work 
 because a clock happens to point to five or six 
 p.m. when the hours till sunset are the sweetest 
 and coolest in the day and you are working in your 
 own vineyard. 
 
 After dejeuner at the H6tel de France we at last 
 managed to shake off Blondin. 
 
 We plunged into the market, which was now in 
 full swing. Every variety of Touraine cap was to 
 be seen on heads of women old and yoimg, many of 
 them strikingly good-looking. All clamoured for 
 our custom as we passed on a tour of inspection, 
 looking very business-like, our first purchase having 
 been two large market baskets. 
 
 Besides the country people who had each brought 
 their own wares from garden, orchard and farm, there 
 were rivals of the town — drapers, shoemakers and 
 china shops being represented by booths and stalls. 
 
 Our baskets were soon full to overflowing with 
 butter, eggs, cream cheeses and fruit of all kinds, 
 besides an enormous Cinderella-looking pumpkin too 
 
 S 
 
226 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 big for any basket, and which was handed to Ger- 
 truda. We had also made purchases for several of 
 our village friends. A woolly lamb for Charlemagne, 
 a shawl for his grandmother, a pair of red shoes for 
 Berenice, and a baptism cloak for a yoimg Touran- 
 geau destined to be called Marc Aurele. 
 
 While I was beguiled into bu5ang earthenware pots 
 of delightful greens and browns for holding flowers, 
 taking no thought for the morrow how I could ever 
 pack them. Aunt Anne went off to inspect turke37S. 
 
 When I joined her again, having arranged for the 
 conveyance of my pots and jars to the convent, I 
 found her the proud possessor of four large white 
 ducks and two enormous black turkeys, the latter 
 fierce-looking fellows, whose lives she was begging 
 might be taken by their late mistress before they 
 changed hands. 
 
 "Ah no, Madame," that lady was protesting. 
 *' Kill these unhappy ones here whom I have raised 
 with my own children, who are even as my children 
 — Napoleon and Josephine they are named — ^that 
 I will not — Madame must slay them herself — ^for me, 
 see you, it would be a veritable assassination." 
 
 " Well, then, there is no help for it," said Grannie, 
 turning to me ; " you must carry the ducks ; they 
 are, their late 'mother' says, 'quiet as sausages.' 
 Gertruda has the melon and the basket of butter 
 and eggs. I must tackle Napol6on and Jos6phine. 
 I only hope they won't take me back to their farm 
 instead of coming with me to the convent." 
 
 This appeared by no means imlikely, and as Aunt 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 227 
 
 Anne had other purchases to make we left all the 
 birds in charge of an old lady selling teacups and 
 plates spread out on the ground, while we proceeded 
 to join the audience collecting round an eloquent 
 salesman holding forth under a gigantic red umbrella. 
 
 He was selling what I believe is called dry goods, 
 namely cotton and flannel garments. Over his own 
 clothes he wore a chemist with a pink ribbon roimd 
 the neck, a cotton jacket, and a frilled nightcap 
 on his head. 
 
 He was young and good-looking, with crisp, 
 curly hair and impudent, laughing eyes. He at- 
 tracted a large audience if not many purchasers. 
 
 " See now, my ladies," he was shouting as we 
 came up. " See this handsome petticoat of flannel." 
 He held aloft the garment. " Behold the excellent 
 material. You are aged thirty years when you buy 
 it — you are wearing it still at sixty. And the cut, 
 how chic, yet at the same time how generous ! You 
 have enough material here for yourself and four of 
 your children I And again, my ladies, remark well 
 what an economy you make, for with this fine colour 
 and this pretty design, which finds itself equally on 
 each side of the material, you wear this petticoat 
 all the week on the one* side, and on the Sunday you 
 reverse it and wear the other ! Yet thirty-nine sous 
 is the bagatelle for which you can obtain this verit- 
 able bargain. Thirty-nine sous ! Thirty-nine sous ! 
 Ha ! You desire the pantaloons, my good lady ? " 
 He fixed his twinkling eyes on Aunt Anne, and began 
 promptly folding up the garments. " Hold — they 
 
228 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 are yours. No one else shall have them now even 
 for forty sous. And see, I include at the same price 
 the packing and also a portrait of the patron, to- 
 gether with this address, for those who buy these 
 petticoats desire always another. Voila ! '* 
 
 In spite of herself Aunt Anne took the parcel. 
 " It will do for the mother of Charlemagne,*' she 
 said. " Tiens, mon enfant, you have talent, much 
 talent," she assured the youth. *' Why do you not 
 go to Paris — ^you will make your fortune." 
 
 ** Ha, but Chinon is more chic than Paris ! My 
 fortune is already half made here — behold how all 
 the world assembles to buy from me. My goods are 
 nearly all gone — ^you ladies will buy quickly what 
 remain. Then I shall sell kisses and locks of my 
 hair to console the pretty girls who can obtain no 
 more petticoats." 
 
 He turned again to his stock, and held up two 
 frilled night-caps. 
 
 ** Who desires to sleep weU ? To enjoy a good 
 repose ? Behold the pretty bonnets of night for two 
 honest spouses ! " 
 
 " How much for the two ? " enquired a wrinkled 
 old dame, cautiously. 
 
 " Ha, you, Madame, have the eye for a perfect 
 article. Remark well how admirably contrived is 
 this bonnet." He placed it on his own head. " See 
 how closely it covers the ears, so that never will the 
 husband who wears this admirable bonnet deceive 
 his wife, for he is rendered deaf to the voice of the 
 temptress. Think of it, my ladies, a faithful hus- 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 229 
 
 band to be had for fifteen sous. And in buying the 
 two bonnets of night you obtain them as it were for 
 nothing, twenty-four sous only — I lose by it." 
 
 " I will give thee eighteen, my brave boy, and a 
 kiss for thy impudence," laughed the old wife. " My 
 old one has been deaf as a pumpkin for thirty years, 
 but he needs no spectacles to see a pretty face, the 
 old rascal." 
 
 " For him one needs, then, a thick bandage for 
 
 the eyes. Behold the affair " But Aunt Anne 
 
 at this point dragged me away. 
 
 " I have an uneasy feeling about Napoleon and 
 Josephine," she declared, so we made our way back 
 to the china stall. 
 
 Aunt Anne's presentiment of impending disaster 
 was more than justified by the scene that met our 
 eyes, and the distracting sounds which greeted our 
 ears. Turkeys and teacups appeared to be strug- 
 gling on the ground in one terrible medley. The 
 gobbles and shrieks of the birds mingled with the 
 smashing of cups and saucers. Napoleon had escaped 
 his Elba, and was, as the owner of the china described 
 it, " making carnival." Having furiously assaulted 
 the unhappy Josephine, he was trampling ruthlessly 
 into the choicest tea-sets, while a noisy crowd chased 
 him from one side to the other, in a vain endeavour 
 to catch him. 
 
 Aunt Anne sprang into the midst, flung out the 
 flapping Josephine, whose legs still remained tied, 
 but whose wings were working destruction all around, 
 and then catching the loose end of string dragged 
 
230 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Napoleon into a clear space, and with a courage and 
 dexterity which drew forth the admiration even of 
 experts, secured his two vigorous, struggling legs. 
 
 Then came the hour of reckoning. The debris was 
 collected into a great heap, and the partially damaged 
 into another — even as slain and wounded after 
 Waterloo. 
 
 The proceeding was characterised by a desire on 
 both sides for even-handed justice, and so refreshing 
 was this absence of any attempt to overcharge or 
 take advantage of the situation, that when all was 
 duly settled we bought a complete new tea-set of the 
 finest quality to present to the convent. This I un- 
 dertook to carry, and we hired a small boy for the four 
 white ducks, which kept up their character for sausage- 
 like stillness, but they might have been drugged, and 
 drugged with lead, they weighed so heavily. 
 
 The hill we had to climb was long and steep. I 
 suggested a carriage, but was scornfully upbraided. 
 " Whoever heard of driving home from market in a 
 victoria ! Get a two-wheel charrettCy if you must 
 drive," said Aunt Anne, knowing full well the 
 difficulty, " for my part I infinitely prefer the walk. 
 It will be delicious now the sun is not so hot." 
 
 I don't think we will ever attempt to repeat 
 that delicious walk, at least not in the company of a 
 Napoleon and a Josephine. I found it quite bad 
 enough with a basket of china and a packet of 
 galettes, which, though they did not weigh like 
 ducks and turkeys, required abnormal care to pre- 
 vent their breaking, and if there is one thing to 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 231 
 
 which I have a rooted antipathy it is carrying any- 
 tliing, even myself, up a hill I My mind, however, 
 was effectually diverted from my own sufferings by 
 the excitement and entertainment I found in those 
 of Aunt Anne. My heart was closed to pity, for 
 had she not deliberately brought it on herself, and 
 I knew her so fashioned she would infinitely prefer 
 death in that hot, dusty road by the beak of Napoleon 
 to asking for a helping hand or admitting for one 
 instant that the job she had undertaken was too 
 much for her. Gertruda made some ineffectual 
 attempts which were speedily stamped out like 
 smoking flax. 
 
 " Will the gracious lady not permit that I bear for 
 a while the turkeys ? '* 
 
 "Certainly not. Napoleon would take you 
 straight back to his farmyard, my poor child, and 
 peck you like one of his squaws ! You have no 
 muscles to hold him ! " answered her mistress. 
 
 " If the gracious lady would but sit herself down 
 and rest a few minutes," suggested Gertruda tenta- 
 tively, as we toiled upwards and ever upwards. 
 
 " Bosh ! " said Aunt Anne, striding ahead, and 
 giving an extra swing to prove the lightness of her 
 burden. " Come along, and don't talk to m6 as if 
 I was a fat, broken-winded German Grafin ! " 
 
 Good times, bad times, and all times pass over I 
 The convent gates came in sight at last. The por- 
 teress opened the door, and then shrieked as we 
 stumbled in. Napoleon and Josephine suddenly 
 showing new signs of animation. Her cries of amaze- 
 
232 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 ment brought other Sisters, hke a flight of black 
 and wliite magpies, fluttering across the cour. 
 
 The Mere Generale opened her parloir door, the 
 Soeur Econome emerged from her quarters, the 
 Sisters of the basses cour and the Sisters of the 
 kitchen peered out from various windows, the jeune 
 menage appeared arm-in-arm from the garden, while 
 the old Abbe who spends all day in the chapel and is 
 persuaded with difiiculty to exchange his stall for 
 his bed at night, came out to see what unwonted 
 emotion stirred the peaceful air of the convent. 
 " I experienced a mortal fear,'* he told the Soeur 
 ficonome, " that the emissaries of Combes had 
 arrived to chase us all." 
 
 Our offerings were all brought to the parloir of the 
 reverend Mother. Napoleon and Josephine, spread- 
 ing wide their black wings and declining to enter, 
 were dismissed to the basse cour, where their fate was 
 speedily settled. 
 
 Great were the rejoicings over our gifts. The tea- 
 cups were pronounced ravishing, adorable, and alto- 
 gether too costly for the simple austerity of the 
 convent. The galettes, fruit, butter and eggs each 
 elicited fresh cries of delight and enthusiasm, and 
 a new set of superlative adjectives, with which the 
 French language is far more richly supplied than 
 our cold and unemotional tongue. 
 
 We retired at last to prepare for dinner. But the 
 old ladies treated us with marked coldness that 
 evening. They did not approve of returning prodi- 
 gals and noisy welcomes in the cour d'honneur. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 233 
 
 A comfortable little victoria comes up for us 
 about three times a week from Chinon, and better 
 than all the royal chateaux and quaint old towns 
 of Touraine, we love the forests, these wonderful 
 forests of France, where you can drive for miles 
 and miles through endless lovely green glades, or 
 down the long, smooth roads which cut clean and 
 straight through the heart of the greenwood. Other 
 narrower paths, where the branches twine and arch 
 overhead, tempt you to leave the carriage and 
 wander on foot through a perfect fairyland of delicate 
 silver beech and birch, young oak and fir, with an 
 undergrowth of moss, fern, and bracken. These 
 woods and forests are so admirably kept that though 
 nature has no air of having been tamed or re- 
 stricted, one might be in some vast wooded garden, 
 a Paradise before the Fall. 
 
 On this occasion, with Gertnida mounted on the 
 box by the driver and all equipped with large baskets, 
 we went in search of blackberries. Never were such 
 blackberries on any English hedge ! But the people 
 of Touraine have such an abundance of other fruit 
 that not even the children trouble to pick them. 
 Everyone was busy gathering the grapes, apples, 
 pears, peaches, plums, and nuts, for in many orchards 
 and vineyards the recoUe had begun, and the trees 
 were often so weighed down with fruit, the branches 
 had to be raised from the ground by supports. It 
 was a grey day, and the forest seemed to take on 
 an air of gentle mystery, making it more fascinating 
 
234 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 than ever. Only one hideous, whizzing, exceedingly 
 malodorous, motor disturbed our sylvan peace. It 
 passed us like the Sud express, rejoicing in the long, 
 straight run up and down hill without a bend for 
 miles ahead. 
 
 "And the heart in your breast 
 Sings, as the World 
 Slips past In a dream 
 Of speed- 
 Speed on the knees of the Lord,** 
 
 sang Mr. Henley. So no doubt the bogies inside 
 with their masks and goggles and dust-cloaks were 
 enjoying themselves in their own peculiar way (I 
 must confess to having done the same on occasions), 
 but one thing is certain, they saw no white heather 
 among the clumps of purple which bordered the 
 forest path, nor did they fill three huge baskets 
 with the finest blackberries that ever shone on a 
 tangled hedge. 
 
 The keen-eared creatures of the forest fied long 
 before the fierce onrushing monster came in sight. 
 Of forest birds at least you cannot say " You can 
 catch them like flies as, poor wretches, they race 
 from you." 
 
 But for us, as we noiselessly rolled over the smooth 
 grass-edged road, the birds more than once on this 
 grey, silver day waited and sang. It was a sweet, 
 solitary call, for singing birds are rare in these 
 French forests. In the distance too we caught sight 
 of a stag moving swiftly among the trees, while 
 squirrels and hares peered out at us from between 
 the bracken and beech trees. Our driver told us 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 235 
 
 this forest of Chinon was a famous one for la chasse, 
 specially of the stag ; the wild boar was found also 
 occasionally, but more in the forest of Fontevrault, 
 where the cover was thicker. Our stalwart horse 
 stood still as if cast in bronze, while we all gathered 
 blackberries, the cocker devoting his energies to 
 Gertruda and her basket with marked attention. 
 
 On the way home we stopped at the Uttle village 
 of St. Brique and bought sugar, an enormous packet 
 of six kilos, rather more sugar than blackberries, 
 but Aunt Anne does things en grand, and would 
 have no less. Early that same morning we had 
 been to the laiterie at the foot of the hill, and filled 
 a big jug with thick yellow cream, a stream of which 
 was pouring slowly from a mighty reservoir of milk 
 into a row of descending cans — a wonderful sight ! 
 The three men who worked this huge dairy were im- 
 mensely amused at our interest. From Aunt Anne's 
 display of teclonical knowledge they concluded her 
 to be in the butter and cream line herself, and treated 
 her with a sort of professional camaraderie. All the 
 country-side sell their milk to this dairy. Carts 
 go round collecting twice a day, blowing a horn 
 to annoimce their arrival, and returning the skim 
 milk in the evening. The fine golden butter is sent 
 to Paris, and even London — how far off London 
 seemed from the forest of Chinon ! 
 
 We were greeted on our return by a group of 
 Sisters at the convent gate, anxious to see what 
 new surprise we had prepared for them. After the 
 turkeys they were prepared for anything. 
 
236 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 The French nun is a curious combination, for 
 while fully recognising, with her native practical 
 common sense, the limitations of the probable, she 
 also admits, with all the fervour of her religious faith, 
 the limitless bounds of the possible. Aunt Anne 
 was beginning to rank in their minds as a womcin 
 capable of any remarkable deed, not yet qualified 
 for the halo perhaps, but still on the heroic lines of 
 Ste. Genevieve and Ste. Catherine of Siena. Had 
 she, instead of blackberries, brought home the body 
 of their enemy Monsieur Combes, bound and gagged, 
 it would have been quite a deed in harmony with 
 their exalted estimate of her character. Since, how- 
 ever, our offerings were but the fruits of the earth, 
 we met with joyful acclaims and childhke glee. 
 
 Bearing our gifts of blackberries, sugar, and cream, 
 we were accompanied by an escort of Sisters to the 
 parloir of the Mere Generale. Everything goes first 
 through her hands — letters, parcels, and presents — 
 but her rule is a gentle one. The parloir is a simple, 
 austere little room, one end of which is divided off 
 by a grille, and a dark green curtain can be drawn 
 across the grille when a penitent would remain 
 unseen. A few books lay on the table, a Church 
 history and Lives of the Saints, a picture of Pius 
 IX. A big crucifix hung on the walls, there were two 
 wooden armchairs sternly discouraging to luxurious 
 ease, a footstool, and nothing more. 
 
 The reverend mothe; entered, and we lay our 
 offerings at her feet, there being nowhere else to 
 put them. She smiled benevolently and thanked 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 237 
 
 us. Aunt Anne begged that the dames pensionnaires 
 might not be allowed to devour all, since it was for 
 the Sisters we had gathered these blackberries. 
 
 The old lady laughed at the earnestness of her 
 request, and promised that everyone should share 
 fairly in the feast. 
 
 " It is fifty years ago since I roamed in the forest 
 of Chinon and gathered these berries ! " she said. 
 "How strangely the sight of them brings back my 
 days of youth." The old eyes were gazing on the 
 blackberries as on the face of a long-lost friend. 
 It was infinitely pathetic to think that here were 
 her native woods, but a short walk from the con- 
 vent gate, yet closed to her for fifty years as com- 
 pletely as though divided by the ocean. 
 
 ***** 
 
 The blackberries and cream had a distinctly 
 mellowing effect upon our fellow pensionnaires. 
 For some time past we had been growing unpopular 
 with the old dames, and becoming quite unwillingly 
 the objects of jealousy and envy. The large demoi- 
 selle in special regarded us with strong disfavour in 
 the comer of her eye. Birds of passage, interlopers, 
 and heretics to boot, that we were ! Yet we walked 
 and talked not only with the Sisters, but, scandalous 
 to say, with Monsieur I'Abbe Lagrange. For that 
 first talk had led to others, though the Abbe, I had 
 noticed, cleverly avoided the arm-in-arm walk by 
 sitting down all the time. He chose, too, the shadi- 
 est spots, but the l5mx-eyed dames had detected 
 him. 
 
238 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Another special cause of aggravation was the dish 
 of potatoes and a jug of milk supplied to Aunt 
 Anne at each meal in place of meat and wine. Ig- 
 noring any rights on her part, the two old ladies 
 who sat as presiding chiefs at the table, would order 
 the Sister to hand them the dish directly she had 
 helped herself, and savagely snap up all that re- 
 mained. It was high time we propitiated them in 
 some way, and the jug of cream seemed to find its 
 way straight to their hearts. 
 
 After dinner Madame de Nozieres declared to 
 me that she had always preferred the English to 
 the Germans. Those were in truth detestable, but 
 the English, if you took the patience to know them, 
 had good qualities. Oh yes, one could not deny it, 
 in spite of possessing an uns57mpathetic exterior and 
 eccentric manners, they were sincere and generous 
 au fond. 
 
 " We must keep up that character," said Aunt 
 Anne ; *' next time we will order a bigger jug of 
 cream. Under that cover, so to speak, I believe 
 I might walk again arm-in-arm with Monsieur 
 I'Abbe." She has the lovable inconsistency of liking 
 an atmosphere of approval, and much prefers the 
 smiles to the scowls even of dames pensionnaires, 
 though not for one moment permitting their dis- 
 approval to affect her actions. 
 
 That same evening we received a state visit from 
 the Mere Sous-Prieure. Like some pale ghost of 
 bygone days she ghded in, bringing us each a souve- 
 nir from the Mere Gen^rale, two large pictures of the 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 239 
 
 convent, prints evidently from the same original as 
 the wool-work picture at Tours, and with the same 
 little saint presiding over the house from his seat 
 in the clouds. 
 
 We did not mention this gift to the dames pen- 
 sionnaires lest it should turn the cream sour. 
 
 * * * ♦ He 
 
 The hfe of a nun even on the top of a hill in 
 Touraine may be as strenuous and full of occupation 
 as that of a municipal councillor. Certainly it was 
 so in the case of our good Sisters. 
 
 With the Angelus bell at five o'clock in the morn- 
 ing their day began, and they rose from their small, 
 hard, white-curtained beds. The Angelus rings 
 three times a day, at five a.m., mid-day, and at 
 five p.m. At the sound every nun bows her head, 
 as the peasants in Millet's pictm-e, and repeats to 
 herself the Angelus prayer. By half past five all 
 were assembled in the convent chapel for the morn- 
 ing oraison, a service of meditation, held in absolute 
 silence, the subject having been announced the 
 evening before at the eight o'clock office. 
 
 These two services, at the opening and close of 
 each day, are very typical and suggestive of the 
 nuns' hfe. In silence and in darkness the black- 
 robed figures meet behind the iron grille while all the 
 world sleeps. The faint lamplight in the choir 
 makes the shadows and the silence deeper. One 
 office is said in low, subdued tones, which echo mys- 
 teriously through the empty church, the other is 
 a meditation held in an absolute stillness which 
 
240 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 may be felt. The Sisters conduct both these services 
 themselves, Monsiem- I'Aimionier finding it quite 
 sufficient disciphne for his soul to commence the 
 day with the six o'clock mass. 
 
 The Sisters break their fast about seven o'clock 
 with a little soup and piece of bread, and then each 
 goes off to her own work. There are many kinds of 
 service, and the Mere Generale ordains the one she 
 considers best for each of her daughters — ^best from 
 the spiritual point of view, that is. This often re- 
 sults in the poor nuns doing the thing they most 
 dishke and being made to renounce by way of self- 
 discipUne the work for which they are obviously 
 most fitted. 
 
 The little primrose-faced Sister who performed the 
 " table service," for instance, confessed to me that 
 she loved waiting on the sick ; but, little though 
 one could have guessed it, she had no heart for the 
 work appointed to her and at which she had now 
 been kept four years. Any day, of course, it might 
 be changed, but on the other hand it might con- 
 tinue another ten years, one never knew. And there 
 was the Soeur Angelique, whose whole soul sickened 
 at the sight of blood and wounds, sent to the hospital 
 at Chinon, when she would have thankfully done 
 ** table service " or even dug in the garden. The 
 lay Sisters are told off for work in the garden, the 
 basse cour, the laundry and the kitchen, superin- 
 tended always by a cloistered Sister. The novices 
 and white-veiled postulants, those arrived within 
 six months, help in every kind of work, and their 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 241 
 
 service is characterised by an enthusiastic keen- 
 ness. 
 
 The pensionnaires, messieurs et dames, employ 
 many hands and supply an excellent discipline for 
 the soul. Several have been in the convent over 
 thirty years and are of a fabulous age. Three of the 
 old gentlemen are over ninety, yet owing to the 
 nuns' good care are hale and hearty still. Two of 
 the old ladies are now very frail and have a Sister 
 to wait on them day and night, but none pay more 
 than a merely nominal sum, the average being from 
 £40 to £50 a year. Eighty is considered merely an 
 ordinary ripe age for a pensionnaire, but many of the 
 nuns die between thirty and forty, even younger. 
 
 Besides the work inside the convent, including 
 the pensionnaires, the house-work, kitchen-work, 
 needle-work, farm-work and garden, the constant 
 services of the chapel, and nursing in the hospitals, 
 the nuns have pensioners over the whole country side. 
 These come to be assisted in all times of sickness 
 and distress both of soul and body. One Sister 
 undertakes the making and distribution of clothes, 
 another of food and medicine, while their advice 
 and sympathy are called upon from the cradle to 
 the grave. No wonder the country people groan 
 over the expulsion of their best friends, often their 
 only friends. 
 
 Aunt Anne became very intimate with several fami- 
 lies in the little village, and wherever she went heard 
 only praise of les bonnes soeurs. She loved to go out 
 Cilone on foraging expeditions to buy grapes, pears 
 
242 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and plums, and would invariably return having 
 made delightful new friends and having had " Oh, my 
 dear, such an interesting time ! " Then as a special 
 favour I was introduced, and as the niece of Ma- 
 dame found myself welcomed at once with open arms 
 and given a free entree to vineyard and orchard. 
 The children were generally the first link — ^Ber6- 
 nice, the two-year-old sovereign who reigned supreme 
 at the dairy, and the " unique " son of our laundress, 
 adored of three generations, not unfitly named 
 Charlemagne, also Gabrielle, the cherub at the 
 farm. The grandmother of the latter grew peaches 
 and pears of ambrosial quality. She and her hus- 
 band worked large vineyards on the half profit 
 system for a patron. They shewed us invariably 
 most kindly hospitahty, insisting on our accepting 
 large baskets of their fruit. It was only by the 
 most astute diplomacy one was able to repay these 
 generous people. We had to accept their gifts and 
 be careful to let a sufficient time elapse before we 
 in our turn made a httle present. One hears the 
 French described as a nation of so«s-lovers, this 
 certainly does not apply to the people of Touraine, 
 they always seemed to find it more blessed to give 
 than to receive. 
 
 But to return to the convent. One peaceful, 
 radiant Simday the Soeur £conome, finding me alone 
 in the garden, approached, and in a mysterious 
 whisper, dreading no doubt to be overheard by a 
 dame pensionnaire, asked if I would like to visit with 
 her the " jardin de Marie," the nuns' private garden. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 243 
 
 She had obtained permission from the Reverend 
 Mother, but it was deemed expedient that my 
 aunt and I should go separately so as to attract 
 the least attention possible, the proceeding being a 
 most unusual one, such grace having so far been 
 granted to no other pensionnaires. 
 
 We passed stealthily through the little gate, which 
 we found locked this time, and entered the nuns* 
 enclosure. A large, mild figure of the Virgin 
 greeted us under the trees. The Soeur ficonome 
 paused and crossed herself, with a few low words. 
 She raised her eyes to the face of the statue with 
 a look of rapt devotion and adoration, then turned 
 to me. 
 
 " Ah, how the thought of her ever-present love 
 and care beautifies for us each hour of the day and 
 sanctifies"! the humblest work. Here in her garden 
 I seem to feel her presence closer even than in the 
 chapel — ^but this, perhaps, I should not say." 
 
 " God made gardens, and man made chapels," I 
 said, trying to reassure her. " I have always felt 
 the woods and gardens easier to pray in than the 
 churches." 
 
 " Oh, la, la, but this is very bad what you say 
 there," laughed the Sister, " and not at all what I 
 meant. I would make you a good CathoHc, and 
 behold you are making me a bad Protestant heretic. 
 We must both do penance ; come, follow me under- 
 ground." 
 
 Let no one think that a French nun gives up her 
 light heart and ceases to be a Frenchwoman on tak- 
 
244 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 ing the veil. Her gay, cheery spirit continues, always 
 ready to bubble up through the blackest, dreariest 
 draperies, and her shrewd, practical sense often 
 stands her in good stead in outwitting her foes, as 
 the anti-clerical authorities have found on more 
 than one occasion. As when, for instance, they 
 suddenly swooped down and confiscated a certain 
 pretty little property belonging to the Sacre Coeur 
 and found to their disappointment that all the nice 
 furniture had vanished, only a few old sticks re- 
 maining, and the vineyards they hoped to find full 
 were bare of all but leaves, though it was three 
 weeks before the usual vendange. 
 
 I followed the Sceur £conome down some little 
 steps into a small underground chapel. Here 
 beneath the altar were found four ancient sarcophagi, 
 containing the sacred bones of the saints — Louans, 
 Salique, Lachie, and Coremar, now reposing in the 
 crypt of the convent chapel. Great was the joy of 
 the nuns when the sacred bodies of these renowned 
 saints were discovered in their own garden of Mcirie, 
 the holy bones being to them as a Monte-Cristo 
 treasure to a miser. This convent is built on the site 
 of the former ahhaye of St. Florent, and in the car- 
 tulatre rouge of that ahhaye, about fifty years ago, an 
 old record was discovered to the effect that in the 
 sixteenth century, to save them from desecration 
 during the wars of religion, the bodies of the saints 
 had been removed from the crypt, where they had 
 rested over six hundred years, and been hidden be- 
 neath the altar. Under the direction of the Sisters 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 245 
 
 researches were made, therefore, for the site of the 
 ancient chapel, and to their unspeakable edification 
 behold the success of their labours. 
 
 From the Sisters* garden, with its discreet little 
 paths among shady trees and borders of homely, old- 
 fashioned flowers, I was conducted to the crypt to be 
 introduced to the ancient saints in person. There 
 they lay, the four enormous stone sarcophagi, defy- 
 ing time and all the destroying elements it brings in 
 its train. Inscribed inside the lids had been dis- 
 covered the names and dates of the saints. How long 
 will they remain in this dim odour of sanctity, and 
 what wiU be their next experience, I wonder ? 
 
 From the crypt we came up into the sunshine of 
 the busy basse cour. In their various sheds and cor- 
 ners dwelt the two old horses, the cows, the pigs, 
 and the chickens. In one outhouse the wood was 
 kept, in another the fodder for the animals. Here 
 were also the laundry, the dairy, and the kitchen, 
 while on the floor above one caught a glimpse of the 
 nuns' small whitewashed cells, a white curtained 
 bed, and a cmcifix on the wall. 
 
 Another door there was opening on this many-sided 
 basse cour. We paused before it, and the Soeur 
 ficonome lowered her voice. 
 
 " Would you like to enter here, or would it cause 
 you too much emotion ? " she asked. " This is our 
 cemetery, where our bodies repose when we have 
 accomplished the life on this earth." 
 
 I assured her the emotion I should feel would not 
 certainly be fear, or one to do me any harm, and we 
 
246 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 descended three or four steps into a large cave, well- 
 aired and lighted by the sunshine, which came in 
 readily from the always open door. The cave was 
 filled with mounds of earth, at the head of each a plain 
 black wooden cross, bearing the name and date of 
 the Mother or Sister whose worn-out body had been 
 laid to rest. Many crosses bore two or even three 
 names, for the little cemetery is becoming crowded. 
 
 The dates showed sometimes very short lives — 
 aged " twenty-six " and " twenty-eight " and 
 *' thirty-one " for instance. Many among these, said 
 the Sceur Econome, had died of pneumonia and 
 bronchitis, which looks as though the austere little 
 white cells, possessing no means of heating in winter, 
 were answerable for something. A few wreaths 
 of immortelles and evergreen hung on the walls of 
 the cave, but no flowers, no blade of grass broke the 
 uniformity of these bare graves of brown earth, or 
 marked with more favour one than another. Even 
 in death the Sisters retain nothing as individuals, 
 even in death they sternly renounce all beauty save 
 that of the soul. 
 
 It is impossible to keep beauty out of God's world, 
 however ; like love es kommt dock, in spite of the 
 sincere but mistaken efforts of poor groping humanity 
 who think in renouncing His best gifts to draw closer 
 to the Giver. So long as the birds sing and the 
 flowers bloom in the convent garden, and the sim of 
 Touraine rises and sets in the valley of the Vienna, 
 so long will the gentle Sisters have their lives flooded 
 with beauty, whether they will or no. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 247 
 
 I did my utmost also to introduce a little of this 
 forbidden fruit into the convent chapel by giving some 
 music to the Soeur Celestine, who officiates as organist 
 and sacristan. 
 
 One day, in the refectory, I discovered an ancient 
 spinet-like piano, used generally as a sideboard. The 
 quaint old tinkling sounds drew the Soeur Celestine 
 to me like a magnet. It was the first time she had 
 emerged from the distant group of those Sisters we 
 saw only behind the grille in the chapel. Music was 
 to her as a loved mother's tongue in' which she was 
 perforce dumb. Once as a child she had heard an 
 opera, she told me. It was secular music of course, 
 with " the stain of earth's passions upon it," but if 
 this had seemed to open to her the gates of Paradise, 
 what must the heavenly music be like ? She had 
 never heard of the great classical masters, the sacred 
 composers, whose works would have been permitted 
 even to a nun. Since entering the convent at seven- 
 teen no note of music save that of the chapel had 
 met her ear. And the convent chapel possessed no- 
 thing save a few books of Plain Song, and canticles 
 giving only one voice bare of all harmonies. For 
 these latter one had to trust to the inspiration of the 
 organist, with exactly the disastrous result that may 
 be imagined. The spinet's feeble echo of some of the 
 great oratorio solos, " Oh rest in the Lord," " He 
 shaU feed His flock," jetc, caused her a rapture 
 that was pathetic. Presently other Sisters looked 
 in, and someone, as in duty bound, informing 
 the Mere Generale of what was going on, she her- 
 
248 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 self appeared on the scene. I stopped with an 
 apology. 
 
 " Continue, continue, my daughter," she begged. 
 " The music makes me much joy and you have the 
 fingers which sing." 
 
 Under her a"-Spices I launched out boldly into the 
 music of earth — ancient folk lore suited the old piano 
 best, cradle songs, battle songs and Irish laments, 
 and, above all, love songs, but I discreetly harmonised 
 these, giving a stained-glass-window effect which 
 made even the '* Snowy-breasted Pearl " and " Annie 
 Laurie " sound as if written for an " offertoire." 
 
 Anyone -attending the convent service now on 
 Sunday morning is equally liable to hear the sweet, 
 sad strains of " Shule Agra " or the severely Protest- 
 ant " Old Hundredth." The Mere Generale preferred 
 the former and begged me to include it in the little 
 MS. collection I wrote out for Soeur Celestine's use — 
 " it spoke to the heart for it came straight from the 
 heart," in all innocence she affirmed. 
 
 Never was a more delightfully human old lady than 
 the Mere Generale. One Sunday I brought my kodak 
 into the garden and obtained her permission to take 
 her photograph. Assisted by an eager crowd of Sis- 
 ters I posed her in different positions — at the head of a 
 procession of nuns, placing flowers before her favourite 
 shrine in the garden, and finally, much to her amuse- 
 ment, arm-in-arm with Aunt Anne. But this the latter 
 found lacking in respect, and to counteract the effect 
 insisted on a more becoming pose in which she knelt 
 before the reverend Mother receiving her blessing. 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 249 
 
 The Sunday quart d'keure in the large garden 
 was prolonged by special dispensation, and we met 
 again our friends Soeurs Radegonde, Ermintrude, 
 Marie-Marthe and Angelique. 
 
 Aunt Anne discussed with the Mere Generale the 
 advisabiUty of reforms in the convent system and the 
 treatment of dames pensionnaires, whose souls she 
 found neglected for their bodies. Her sugges- 
 tions called forth such admiration that the reverend 
 Mother begged she would remain and join their 
 Order. " You have character and force of intellect, 
 Madame — a strong spirit like yours would raise our 
 Order to power and life once more. Corae to us and 
 I will, at the end of a year, cede you my place," pro- 
 mised the mother, laughing and yet half in earnest. 
 
 " To criticise is not to execute, dear Mother," said 
 Aunt Anne. " Remember your own wise proverb : 
 Le mauvais vin fait de tres hon vinaigre,"* 
 
 But the Mere Generale emphatically repudiated all 
 idea of Aunt Anne being vinegar. She was " the best 
 of wine, a healthy tonic, an invigorating breeze, 
 perhaps even might she develop into a two-edged 
 sword in the hands of the Church 1 " A chorus of 
 Sisters echoed approval, and crowded round begging 
 Aunt Anne to become one of them — she had the true 
 vocation, they were sure she had ! 
 
 Aunt Anne agreed with the Sisters that the life 
 conventual would suit her exactly, but declined 
 resolutely the offer of the reverend Mother to take her 
 office. She promised, however, to return before long 
 
 * Bad wine makes very good vinegar. 
 
250 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 to this sweet spot, for never had she found a place in 
 which it would be so sweet to end her days. 
 
 Just then Soeur Marie-Marthe and the Soeur 
 ficonome came towards us with a white-veiled postu- 
 lant. Seeing the Mere G^nerale still talking with us 
 they hesitated, but the Mother called to the girl, 
 " Advance, my daughter ; you desire, I know, to be 
 presented to our dear friends, these English ladies, 
 if they will permit it." 
 
 The little novice seemed very shy, but her reserve 
 broke down before Aunt Anne's easy friendliness. 
 " So you have chosen this beautiful and devoted life 
 before even tasting of the world's pleasures, my 
 child, for you are surely very young," she said. 
 
 The girl assured her she was already four-and- 
 twenty, however. It struck me the group of Sisters 
 appeared imusually interested in the conversation, 
 hanging on every word that passed between Aunt 
 Anne and the novice, and when, taking the girl's arm 
 and walking on ahead, the latter said, *' Tell me all 
 about it, my dear. If you so greatly desire to choose 
 this life, where is the difficulty ? " I distinctly saw 
 the reverend Mother wink at the Soeur ficonome. 
 
 Like a flash of light that winlf revealed to me the 
 truth. Gertruda ! Gertruda it was whose pious, but 
 alas ! deceptive little face, the postulant's white cap 
 and veil enshrined. No wonder she spoke so care- 
 fully and low, carrying out well the part of modest, 
 retiring convent flower. Her accent was sufficiently 
 good not to betray her to any but a French person. 
 
 " You have snatched a brand from the burning," 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 251 
 
 I observed solemnly to the reverend Mother. " Ger- 
 truda makes an admirable little religieuse." 
 
 " It made such pleasure to these children to play 
 this little comedy, I could not withhold my consent/' 
 answered the old lady, smiling benignly ; '* Le hon 
 Dieu loves to see the young people happy and amus- 
 ing themselves in innocence. You understand the 
 habit of the postulant has not as yet been con- 
 secrated ; it is therefore quite different from that of 
 the Sister ; and who knows," she added, '* but what 
 that dear child may acquire the taste for wearing 
 always the religious robe, having once put it on." 
 
 " Will you, Madame, give me your consent and 
 blessing when I take the final vows," said Gertruda 
 to her mistress, with downcast eyes. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear child, if you desire it, though 
 why you should be speaking to me as though I were 
 the Mere G^nerale instead of a perfect stranger and a 
 heretic, I cannot conceive. However, I feel sure you 
 have chosen well — may you be a comfort and blessing 
 to the dear reverend Mother, and having made up 
 your mind, do not listen to anyone who would draw 
 you back to the world. Evidently you have a real 
 vocation, so God bless you, my child." 
 
 (I gasped as I thought of Gertruda's path strewn 
 with the hearts of chauffeurs, chefs and couriers.) 
 
 This speech was greeted by the Sisters with a 
 burst of rippling, delighted laughter, which caused 
 Aunt Anne to look round uneasily. In the same 
 moment the Soeur Econome advanced, and quickly 
 removing the white cap and veil revealed to her 
 
252 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 astonished gaze the neat, fair Httle head of Ger- 
 truda. 
 
 No one enjoyed the joke more than Aunt Anne. 
 Gertruda, overtaken with sudden shame, vanished 
 among the trees, and when we next met her looked 
 as innocent as if she had never heard of a postulant, 
 though she confessed to me in private that were it 
 not for her gracious lady and her invalid mother 
 and someone to whom she had given " a sort of pro- 
 mise," there was no life she would so gladly lead as 
 that of a nun in this convent. 
 
 * * * :ti m 
 
 Too soon came a day of sad good-byes which we 
 tried to mitigate by au revoirs. 
 
 We began early in the morning with farewell visits 
 to our village friends. There was our laundress and 
 her baby Charlemagne, whose portrait I took in his 
 best sabots with the family pig by his side, and 
 another with his old grand' mere in her charming 
 Touraine cap, and Berenice at the dairy, so content 
 with her red shoes, she was ready to bid a most 
 cheerful adieu to the giver. From there we went on to 
 our friend of the vineyards and peach trees, where 
 queens it another baby, the fascinating, chenab- 
 faced two-year-old Gabrielle, about whom the whole 
 family revolve like planets around their sun. We 
 found all at home, the old lady, the chef de famille, 
 busy in her basse cour as usual, for she prides herself 
 on never sitting down even to a meal, her husband and 
 son, the latter just returned from his twenty-eight 
 days' military service, taking a stand-up dejeuner in 
 
LIFE IN A CONVENT. 253 
 
 the kitchen, in most uncomfortable fashion according 
 to Enghsh ideas. The old man was hacking up a 
 gigantic loaf about four feet long. I remarked that it 
 looked excellent bread, but he shook his head. 
 
 " The meal we give to the baker is good enough," 
 he said, " but the bakers they rob us, they mix un 
 tas de choses and put it in place of our flour — the 
 brigands ! In my youth it was better ; each one 
 baked his own bread — ah, that was the real good 
 stuff ! " 
 
 In the vineyard we found Gabrielle and her 
 mother. Before her marriage the latter was a lady's 
 maid in Paris, and sighs sometimes for the boule- 
 vards. " I figure to myself the gay shops while I 
 walk between the vines," she laughed with a little 
 break in her voice, " but one accustoms oneself," she 
 added philosophically. 
 
 Laden with parting gifts of grapes, peaches, and 
 pears, we returned to the convent and commenced 
 our long series of adieux, which continued more or 
 less for three hours — a harrowing time, for they had 
 to be repeated in most cases twice and even three 
 times, until it was time for us to go. 
 
 The Mere Generale, accompanied by the Mere 
 Sous-Prieure, joined us in the garden. We sat and 
 talked in our favourite bosquet overlooking the valley. 
 The dear old Mother seemed very sad ; she said no 
 novices were joining the religious Orders, the risk of 
 all property being seized was now too great, and the 
 parents feared to give dots. She had just opened a 
 house in Italy, a place of refuge to which to flee in 
 
254 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 case of necessity. At her invitation we went into the 
 nuns' garden. Here some fifteen of the Sisters joined 
 us, and all standing round the statue of the mild, 
 benignant " Sainte Vierge," the Mere G6n6rale offered 
 up a prayer, very simple and earnest, the nuns re- 
 sponding in chorus, " Priez pour nous " — '' Ayez 
 pitie de notis," and ending with the " Ave Maria / '* 
 
 In spite of myself the tears filled my eyes. They 
 were instantly detected by the sharp little brown 
 eyes of Soeur Marie-Marthe, even in the midst of her 
 devotions. 
 
 " Ha, mats voila une qui nous est gagnee ! '' she 
 cried, pointing me out with remorseless triumph to 
 the rest. 
 
 I protested laughing that I was not difficult to gain 
 if my tears and sympathy were what they desired. 
 But she clearly thought the next step in sequence 
 was to take the veil after such an unquestionable 
 demonstration of conversion I 
 
 The old black 'bus, with the old white horse, drove 
 up to the convent* door. Our baggage was piled on 
 the top. The Mothers and Sisters assembled in the 
 cour d'honneur and the final adieux were spoken. 
 We parted with real sorrow, embracing all, beginning 
 and ending with the Mere G^n^rale. In the distance 
 a group of dames pensionnaires waved an almost cor- 
 dial au revoir, and near the chapel door the two Abb6s 
 and Monsieur I'Aumonier assembled to wish us a 
 friendly bori voyage. 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 
 
 THE crowning beauty of that ancient city of 
 towers, churches, and palaces, once a favourite 
 residence of the Kings of France, is the cathedral. 
 The flying buttresses stretch out like wings in pro- 
 tection and blessing to the old buildings clustering 
 round, and the two noble Renaissance towers rise 
 high and straight into the clear blue sky like strong 
 arms uplifted in prayer by this Mother-Church of 
 the people for her children. 
 
 Many archbishops have filled the great carved 
 throne of the cathedral, but only on one has the 
 loving name been bestowed of Pere du peuple. His 
 is the presence that gives a living personality to 
 the grand old cathedral. The two seem made for 
 each other and typify one another, and both are 
 accessible at all hours to the poorest and meanest, 
 the sorrowfulest and the sinfulest of their children. 
 
 Standing at the high altar in his gorgeous purple 
 robes or kneeling with joined hands, and eyes up- 
 raised in earnest intercession, this bishop looked 
 indeed " a high priest unto the Lord," one set apart 
 and consecrated to be, in so far as it is possible for 
 one human being so to serve his fellows, a guide and 
 torchbearer, a spiritual father. As in the case of 
 
256 * FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Browning's Cardinal, " through such souls, God 
 stooping, shows sufficient of His Hght for us in the 
 dark to rise by." 
 
 It was so, in the mellow golden light of his cathe- 
 dral, I saw him first, and the old legend of a halo 
 surrounding the heads of the saints seemed no un- 
 likely tale, such beneficent goodness and strength 
 seemed to radiate from the noble though sad face. 
 
 When the preacher mounted the pulpit, the arch- 
 bishop, together with all the other officiating priests, 
 came down and took their seats at the top of the 
 chancel steps facing the congregation. ** The father 
 of his people " sat in the centre. The rows of faces 
 on either side of him, chanoines and cures, were in 
 curious contrast to his own. Hard, ambitious, easy- 
 going and jovial, careworn and anxious, every variety 
 of type, but none with the halo. The Archeveque, 
 wrapt in thought, seemed quite unconscious of his 
 surroundings, and of being the centre figure ; he had 
 about him no suggestion of the " proud prelate." 
 Gertruda, who was with me, remarked afterwards, 
 " Ach, Fraulein, how like the Archangel Michael 
 appeared the good archbishop surrounded by the 
 spirits of the world, the flesh and the devil." Ger- 
 truda is an excellent judge of character. 
 
 In town, country, chateau, chaumiere and market 
 place, wherever we went we heard of the Pere du 
 peuple, and everyone had some personal experience 
 to relate of the goodness of Monseigneur. His heart 
 and his door, like that of the old cathedral close by, 
 stand ever open to admit those who come. And 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. ; 257 
 
 though he puts aside a day twice a week to receive 
 his people, they come at all hours and on all days, 
 and all desire to be baptized, married and buried by 
 him. One faithful watchdog he has who fain would 
 protect him from this constant call on heart,' brain and 
 purse, the old Celestine, gouvernante or housekeeper, 
 who has been with him for twenty-five years and 
 more. She remonstrates, scolds and threatens the old 
 menace which brings but a wistful smile to the face 
 of her monseigneur, " Je m'en vais, puisque je ne puis 
 rietiy et monseigneur veut ahsolument se tuer.'* And 
 he, excusing himself, answers always — 
 
 ** My good Celestine, the world is so full of sorrow, 
 if I can give a little joy, a little aid, to my poor 
 children, must I not do it ? " So Celestine has re- 
 course to guile and protects her master where she 
 can without his knowing it. We heard of Mademoi- 
 selle Celestine almost as often as of her master. 
 
 The " Father of his people " has lived always in 
 France, and belongs to his country heart and soul ; 
 all his life he has served her, even following her 
 stricken armies through the Franco-German war as 
 military chaplain. Since the time of Fra Ugo Bassi 
 no priest was ever so adored by the soldiers. They 
 would have followed him to the cannon's mouth. 
 He was their friend, the confidant of their griefs and 
 joys. Many a letter he wrote to mother, wife, and 
 sweetheart. Once, years after, when having become 
 bishop of a maritine diocese, he was passing through 
 the villages on a round of confirmation, a fisherman's 
 wife accosted him and begged he would come and see 
 
 9 
 
258 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 her husband who was ill, for years ago he had known 
 Monseigneur. He entered the little cottage, and there 
 on the wall in a roughly carved frame, the only orna- 
 ment in the place beside the fishing nets and copper 
 saucepans, himg an old yellow letter. *' Ma hien 
 aimee," it began. Something in the handwriting 
 attracted the bishop's eye. " Ha, Monseigneur, he 
 recognises the letter — ^yes ? " said the fisherman's 
 wife, her face radiant with pride and pleasure. 
 
 The bishop examined it more closely. His face 
 grew more and more puzzled as he studied the writing 
 of this sweet old love-letter, full of a simple, tender 
 devotion, written by a soldier on the eve of a great 
 battle to the girl he had left behind him, whom he 
 might never see again in this world, but for whom he 
 would wait till she joined him in the Paradise of God. 
 
 " Tell me why I should recognise it, my daugh- 
 ter ? " he asked. 
 
 " Because it was Monseigneur himself who wrote it. 
 Ah, but Monseigneur it was who wrote the letters for 
 all the brave boys at the war who knew not to write. 
 It was he also who gave to them the courage to fight, 
 and fortified them in the love to their country. My 
 husband he made himself that frame for the letter, 
 and we call it always ' The letter of Monseigneur.' 
 For in truth my husband, the unhappy one, never 
 has he written another letter in all his Hfe save that 
 one there which he wrote not. It made me great 
 joy to receive it. I carried it always on my heart 
 till he came back from the war — then we hung it on 
 the wall there, and each child as he arrived, and 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 259 
 
 there are ten of them well grown to-day, we taught 
 to repeat a prayer for Monseigneur." 
 
 The bishop's eyes were dim as he looked again at 
 the old letter he had penned a quarter of a century 
 ago. He who was never to write any love-letter of 
 his own, whose great, tender heart was to feel joy 
 only in the joy of others, but to bear the weight of 
 sorrows all his own, besides the burden of grief and 
 care laid on him daily by his great family of " children 
 in Christ.'* 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 " If all the priests had resembled our Archbishop 
 never would those messieurs, Combes and Pelletan, 
 have obtained any success against the Church, never 
 would the people of France have suffered it," said 
 Madame Bignon, as we sat taking our daily *' five 
 o'clock " in her lively tea-shop. *' He is saint, our 
 Monseigneur, yet he is, see you, much better than all 
 the saints, for they make one to feel a sinner 
 those there, while they remain in their sanctity far 
 above you, hke the stone figures in the niches outside 
 the cathedral. But with Monseigneur it is not so ; 
 he approaches you, he takes you by the hand, and he 
 understands so well, it is as though he possessed the 
 heart of a mother. Wliat I have dared to tell to 
 Monseigneur it is really astonishing ! One time I 
 went to him in great trouble by cause of my husband 
 whom I would divorce — I had the heart like marble. 
 I returned home the heart all melted, as when the 
 sun has shone upon ice. My faith, but he kills himself 
 for us, does our good archeveque — never does he repose 
 
26o FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 himself ! He gives all he possesses. Mademoiselle 
 Celestine, she commands always here the sweet 
 dishes when Monseigneur receives company at the 
 archeveche. I send the most fine I can produce in the 
 hope that Monseigneur will himself partake. But to 
 what good — the old Celestine she tells me he eats Uke 
 a hermit in the wilderness, so Httle and so plainly." 
 
 From our driver we heard also of the " Father of 
 his people." 
 
 *' Ah, but there is one who merits the Paradise 
 without one hour of purgatory ! Imagine to your- 
 selves, my ladies, what did Monseigneur the other 
 day only. My son he desired greatly to obtain a 
 position at the railway station, but many applied, 
 and he had no one to speak for him, his late master 
 being defunct, his poor mother also, she who arranged 
 for aU our children their affairs. * Hold,' I say to 
 him, ' we go to Monseigneur, thou and I. He will 
 perhaps write a little word for thee. I knew it was 
 Monseigneur who had obtained permission for the 
 old one who has a stall of fruit and cakes to seU 
 inside the station, and so to gain her life. Had she 
 herself not told me, the tears in the eyes I Good — 
 so together we ring at the gate of the archeveche, 
 my son and me. ' Enter,* cried the concierge. * We 
 would speak with Monseigneur,' I say. ' Mount 
 by the grand staircase, the big door is open, and 
 enter the salon on the first floor,' says that one. 
 * Monseigneur will come to you in your turn.' We 
 enter — ^we mount, and there in the great salon are 
 others who wait. In turn Monseigneur bids them 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 261 
 
 approach, as he opens to them the door of his 
 cabifiet de travail. On seeing me and my son he 
 gives us that good smile of his. ' Good day, my 
 children,' he says. ' We regret to derange Mon- 
 seigneur,' I begin, ' but it is an affair for us of 
 much importance, and we pray your aid.' ' The 
 good God has placed me here just for that purpose, 
 my son,' he says, ' to give you my aid — recount to 
 me your affair.' Think you Monseigneur he contents 
 himself with writing a little word as I pray ? But 
 no, nothing less than this. He takes us both, my 
 boy and me, there at once in his own carriage, which 
 awaits him, to visit the ' chef de gare.* ' A word 
 spoken has more power than a word written,' says 
 Monseigneur. That the archeveque himself should 
 come and ask, made to the station chief so much 
 pleasure, he gave to my son the vacant position. And 
 now you will understand why one calls Monseigneur 
 ' le Pere de peuple ' I " 
 
 " It was Monseigneur who edited and launched my 
 book of the ' Letters and Life of Pere Didon,' " said 
 a charming lady to whom we owed many pleasant 
 hours in the old cathedral city. She had been telling us 
 other good deeds of the Father of his people — done by 
 the left hand and unknown to the right. " You must 
 not leave without knowing our archeveque," she said. 
 
 " Well, it is the first time I have ever wished to 
 know a prince of the Church," said Aunt Anne. 
 " They are not in my line. But I acknowledge I 
 should like to see this one." 
 
262 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 We were taking a cup of tea with our friend. 
 Bishops, cardinals and even popes happen to be very 
 much indeed in her line. She knows them all, past 
 and present ; their portraits signed by their own 
 hands cover the walls of her Httle study exhaling an 
 odour of sanctity, but in quite a friendly way. 
 
 " I will present you with pleasure," she said. " I 
 think you will not be out of his line. Monseigneur 
 finds common ground on which he can meet everyone 
 — oh yes, heretics of all the varieties," she laughed — 
 " the ground on which all human feet must tread." 
 
 " Your description recalls to me vividly Victor 
 Hugo's bishop in ' Les Miserables,' " remarked Aunt 
 Anne. " I always feared he was only to be found in 
 fiction." 
 
 Our friend said the original of that portrait was 
 supposed to be Monseigneur Dupanloup, the well- 
 known Bishop of Orleans. " He also was a father of 
 his people," she said. *' And the story of the candle- 
 sticks, oh, that is true equally of both ! Many a 
 parallel to that incident I could tell you." 
 
 It was decided we would not go to the archeveche 
 on a reception day, a private visit being of so much 
 greater interest. 
 
 " He is always occupied. Every hour is claimed 
 by someone — councils, services, functions, funerals. 
 Never was a life so full, but he has time, nevertheless, 
 for everyone who needs him. He will give us an hour. 
 I shall see him write it down in his little book, and 
 then it will be kept for us." 
 
 It seemed wicked to add to the weight of a life so 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 263 
 
 burdened. Even though we were but straws, might 
 we not be just those fatal last straws ? 
 
 But on my reluctantly suggesting this our friend 
 declared I need have no such scruple, since we should 
 bring an element of change from the usual visitor 
 who came to beg either for material or spiritual help. 
 ** But always it is that he may give — give — give. 
 And that is what fatigues so greatly," she said. 
 
 A few days later we stood at the beautiful sculp- 
 tured gateway of the archeveche to claim our promised 
 hour. A little side door stood ajar. ** Enter," cried 
 a concierge, without going through the ceremony of 
 leaving his lodge. " Monseigneur has just come in." 
 
 We entered the wide cour d'honneur. In the centre 
 a gigantic cedar spread its stately branches to the 
 edge of the grass parterre. At one of the windows 
 sat a cheery-looking old dame in fresh white bonnet 
 knitting busily. 
 
 She greeted us with a beaming smile. *' Enter, 
 enter, enter, my ladies." We enquired if there were 
 " du monde " with Monseigneur. No, she said, he 
 had but just returned from the funeral of an old 
 servant at Marmoutin and was expecting us. Gab- 
 rielle would come round and show us in if we would 
 mount the steps. 
 
 Another white-capped bonne met us at the big 
 front doors, which stood already open. She also 
 greeted us in friendly fashion, and seeing with us an 
 hahituee of the place, told us to mount to the salon 
 on the first floor, where we should surely find Mon- 
 seigneur. 
 
264 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 x\t the top of the stairs was a bell inscribed valet de 
 pied, but as yet no sign of such a being had appeared 
 in the palace. 
 
 Monseigneur came forward to meet us : a tall, 
 beneficent presence in a robe of kingly purple with 
 broad sash and cuffs of scarlet, a costume admirably 
 in keeping with the dignified, old-world atmosphere 
 of the stately archeveche. His smile was a benediction 
 before he uttered the words of blessing with which 
 he greeted our friend as she kissed his hand. She 
 presented us. He shook hands in most cordial 
 welcome, and I felt at once as though he were a 
 friend refound, one who had suddenly emerged out 
 of some dim, long-forgotten past. 
 
 ** Alas that I know not Enghsh," he said. " Your 
 Shakespeare, I admire him so much, yet my ignorance 
 obliges me to read only a translation. This poor old 
 head is too tired and too stupid to learn ! " 
 
 Aimt Anne told him he must come to London — her 
 patriotism makes her think this indispensable to the 
 welfare of all those unfortunate millions not bom in 
 our favoured islands. 
 
 " There is one thing I greatly desire to see in your 
 London — can you guess what it is, Mademoiselle ? *' 
 he turned to me. 
 
 " Westminster Abbey," I suggested, thinking that 
 the most suitable resort for an Archbishop. 
 
 " No," he shook his head. " You must try again." 
 
 But I failed again with the new Catholic Cathe- 
 dral. 
 
 " She insists on keeping me in a church," he 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 265 
 
 laughed, " while I desire to go to a museum of 
 antiquities. Is that not quite as suitable for an old 
 antiquity as I am ? Ah, but I should like much to 
 visit your Museum of London and see those Greek 
 sculptures of the Parthenon — the treasures of Egypt 
 and Nineveh. How wonderful is that great past of 
 art and of religion ! *' 
 
 " No fear of not finding plenty of common ground 
 with him," said Aunt Anne, aside, and as we walked 
 on together through the long suite of public rooms she 
 announced that she had herself " always greatly 
 preferred museums to churches." 
 
 On the Archbishop explaining, with a distinct 
 twinkle in his eye, that this was not precisely his- 
 position. Aunt Anne confessed herself boldly to be 
 a Freethinker, saying " she must not walk and talk 
 with an Archbishop under false colours." 
 
 But he did not seem shocked as she feared. 
 Truth to tell, I do not think he saw much difference 
 between a Freethinker and a Protestant — Pro- 
 testants, as they insist in designating members of the 
 Anglican Church in France, being identified in the 
 French Catholic mind with Lutherans, Jews and all 
 heretics outside the fold. He only looked at her 
 rather sadly and said, " My daughter, we are all 
 children of the great Father, by whatever name we 
 call ourselves. When you hear His voice you wiU 
 listen and, follow, is it not so ? You will not refuse 
 to listen, of that I am sure. To walk by the light the 
 good God gives us, that is all He asks of any one. 
 The voice of duty seems sometimes the only one 
 
266 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 we can hear, but a day comes when we hear in it 
 also the voice of the Father." 
 
 A beautiful little statue of Jeanne d'Arc stood on a 
 table in one of the salons. It was modem, but had 
 a touch of real inspiration which arrested one. This 
 favourite heroine of France, of all figures in history 
 perhaps the most remarkable and attractive, pre- 
 sented as it is to us, so clearly, so vividly alive, owing 
 to the minute records of the " process of rehabilita- 
 tion," which took place only twenty years after her 
 death, that in spite of nearly six hundred years, we 
 can almost hear her clear, fresh young voice, almost 
 look into the pure, far-seeing eyes. 
 
 " I am glad you love her," said the arckeveque : 
 " To me this little figure represents the true Jeanne, 
 which so few of the countless pictures and statues 
 succeed in doing — a young girl, very simple and 
 imleamed, yet full of a wisdom which astounded 
 the most wise, a dauntless courage, and a soul so 
 white, it dazzled as the sun at noon-day. In this 
 little figure we see her advancing at the head of her 
 troops, hstening to the Voice, and following where it 
 leads, heedless of all else." 
 
 I asked whether he thought Jeanne heard an actual 
 voice. 
 
 " Without doubt," he answered. " One must 
 remember the soul has ears and eyes as well as the 
 body, and of a finer quality and power. How else 
 can the marvel be accounted for, that a peasant girl 
 of seventeen years was, according to the testimony 
 of the generals who fought under her command, the 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 267 
 
 greatest military genius of her day, showing a perfect 
 knowledge of tactics and strategy. Only when they 
 refused to follow her counsel did the French troops 
 experience failure." 
 
 *' But alas, the Voice failed her in the hour of her 
 greatest need, ' ' remarked my friend, sadly. " How to 
 explain that ? " 
 
 " It was not the hour of her nation's greatest 
 need, remember. The mission was accomphshed," 
 said the archeveque. " Like her divine Master, she 
 had to pass through the same hour of darkness as 
 when he cried, * My God, my God, why hast Thou 
 forsaken me ? ' but the sun was behind the cloud 
 all the time, and the dark hour passed." 
 
 Aunt Anne agreed that that evidence of the 
 Generals was certainly very strong. '* I have known 
 a good many Generals — dear, delightful, gallant 
 gentlemen too," she said, " but never observed in 
 any a weak tendency to underrate their own judg- 
 ment, and doubtless Generals are pretty much the 
 same all the world over." 
 
 The Archbishop pointed out two big volumes on 
 the table, a Life of ** La Pucelle d' Orleans," by 
 VaUon. 
 
 I opened it just at the trial scene, where the 
 infamous Bishop Cauchon of Beauvais (I always feel 
 inclined to spell his name Cochon !), the judges, 
 lawyers, and priests are all uniting in trying to 
 make this shepherd girl of eighteen conmiit herself 
 to some heresy or contradiction. Each question 
 and reply of this trial is recorded word for word. 
 
a68 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and it is marvellous to read the answers of Jeanne, 
 so direct and straightforward, yet showing such 
 penetrating insight into the character and motives 
 of her accusers that she both baffled and exasperated 
 them. 
 
 I closed the book reluctantly, and we continued 
 our progress through the long suite of reception 
 rooms, where Monseigneur pointed out everything 
 of interest. The bedroom of Napoleon with his 
 dominating ** N " and swarm of bees on tapestries 
 and curtains, the great hall of conference, which seats 
 five hundred people, with the throne at the end, 
 where the Archbishop sits and presides over the 
 coimcils, and the gallery of portraits of past arch- 
 eveques, on the whole a pompous, dull-looking set, 
 but of course this may have been the fault of the 
 artists, not the sitters. 
 
 One specially hard-featured old gentleman attracted 
 Aunt Anne's attention. She remarked that his eyes 
 followed her with an expression so disapproving and 
 vindictive, he looked as if he would like to have her 
 burnt. 
 
 *' Not perhaps you alone, dear Madame — ^me 
 also," laughed the Archbishop. " and for conscience 
 sake, very surely for conscience sake, let us not 
 forget." 
 
 There were some fine old missals and illuminated 
 books, but nothing, except the little Jeanne d'Arc 
 and a copy of Tissot's ** Life of Christ," belonging 
 to the Archbishop himself. It was not till he invited 
 us to enter his private sanctum, his cabinet de travail^ 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 269 
 
 that we saw any sign of his personal tastes or posses- 
 sions, and these were of the simplest and fewest, 
 chiefly books, old and new. '* These are my friends, 
 some of my best friends," he said, looking at them 
 lovingly. His keen artistic sense showed itself, how- 
 ever, in a beautiful little replica of the Ange pleurant 
 of Amiens Cathedral, some quaint old paintings on 
 glass, and a fine old carved wooden Madonna, special 
 favourites he had himself collected. 
 
 A secretary entered with a roll of papers, and asked 
 for instructions. " He is my hands, and often my 
 memory as well," said Monseigneur, smiling on him. 
 
 No one treats the Archbishop with awe — that smile 
 of his precludes the possibility, and places him at 
 once in the category of God's good gifts. 
 
 We had just a glimpse, however, of one person who 
 fully realised what was due to a prince of the Church, 
 and represented in himself all the dignity and state of 
 the Roman hierarchy — this was no other than Mon- 
 seigneur's valet. Monsieur Felix, the keeper of his 
 gorgeous apparel, and the careful guardian of his 
 person. A few dignified, respectful words about a 
 train to Bourges, whither Monseigneur was going to 
 visit his brother Archbishop, and the necessity of the 
 carriage conveyiilg Monseigneur to the station in good 
 time, and he was gone, but leaving behind him a sense 
 of there being one in that palace determined to 
 uphold somewhat of its ancient state and splendour. 
 
 Everything interests the " Father of his people/' 
 everything amuses him. ' There was a little battle at 
 the door of the garden as to whether he would put on 
 
270 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 his hat. My friend msisted the wind had turned cold, 
 there had been a shower of rain ; to go without a 
 hat would be folly. It ended in victory for the lady, 
 who settled the matter by starting off to find the 
 hat herself. How Monsieur Felix would have viewed 
 such a proceeding I tremble to think. Fortunately 
 a hat was found close at hand. 
 
 Monseigneur took us to his favourite haunts. There 
 is a high raised terrace shaded by a double avenue 
 of planes where he loves to walk in the evening as 
 he recites his breviary. From here you look down on 
 the palace gardens on one side and over the red roofs 
 of the town on the other. At the end is a corner in 
 the wall, formerly the'watchman's post, commanding 
 the whole city. 
 
 We descended to the gardens, and Monseigneur 
 took us to the pond where he feeds his pet ducks, 
 Madagascans. They crowded round him, loudly 
 demanding food. 
 
 ** Just now they are not in beauty — they can make 
 no proud display, poor fellows ; all their feathers are 
 falling. Go, my poor friends, hide yourselves in the 
 pond," he advised them in a gentle, bantering tone 
 such as St. Francis must have used with his feathered 
 friends. The birds evidently understood, and 
 turned huffily away. 
 
 *' This is my concert room," he said, showing us a 
 clump of trees which shut in a little green arbour. 
 " Here the birds sing always ! Winter and summer 
 someone keeps up the song of joy and praise like the 
 lights which burn always before the altar." 
 
A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 271 
 
 And just then, to confirm the words of their master, 
 as we entered quietly, a lovely solo from a thrush was 
 going on. 
 
 I declared I could not imagine a happier existence 
 than that of a bird in the palace garden. 
 
 " Ah, even here, my daughter," he warned me, 
 laughing, " La Felicite would encounter the devil 
 in the shape of Celestine's big cat. For no one, 
 not even the birds of my garden, is this world the 
 Paradise." 
 
 He has a special love for the big cedar in the cour 
 d'honneur, and made us stand near the trunk to realise 
 the size, the branches being over eighteen metres 
 long, and six thousand five hundred people able to be 
 sheltered beneath it. A second cathedral this cedar 
 tree, a second archbishop 1 
 
 Before leaving, we descended to the kitchen to pay 
 our respects to Madame Celestine, whom we had 
 seen at the window. She has been twenty-five 
 years with Monseigneur, and rules him with auto- 
 cratic hand, holding over him continually the awful 
 threat " Je m'en vais." A keen sense of humour and 
 considerable shrewdness characterise her comely old 
 face, the latter quality, no doubt, developed by the 
 necessity of protecting Monseigneur from the " worth- 
 naughts " who would despoil him. 
 
 " He beUeves in all — ^he hstens to all they recount, 
 and he gives everything he possesses. Monseigneur 
 has the heart too good — it is his weakness," pro- 
 nounced Madame Celestine with a sigh. ** Me, I 
 scold him strongly, but what will you ? He repeats 
 
272 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the same thing again to-morrow — ^lie kills himself 
 for his poor." 
 
 The kitchen was a vast hall with arched roof. 
 Rows of bright copper pots and pans shone on the 
 walls. We were introduced to Mathilde the cook. 
 I wish we could have seen a good meal preparing for 
 Monseigneur, but Aunt Anne declared afterwards 
 that the only sign of anything cooking was a little 
 milk on a charcoal stove, the big range being silent. 
 Mathilde must have an easy time. 
 
 Before making our adieux to the Archbishop he 
 insisted we must come and see him again, and visit 
 the garden whenever we wished. I must not wait 
 to become a thrush ! " You and I, my daughter," 
 he said, " we must talk again of Jeanne d'Arc, 
 whom we both love, yes ? " I agreed gladly, and 
 begged to be allowed some day to take his photo- 
 graph on the terrace with the great towers of the 
 cathedral rising up behind him. He took out the 
 little book and arranged day and hour. " Others 
 will be there perhaps, but we will manage to find a 
 little quiet quarter of an hour alone/' he promised. 
 
 As for Aunt Anne — she who had begun the after- 
 noon by affirming archbishops to be out of her line, 
 and her convictions those of a Freethinker — kissing 
 the hand of our host like the devoutest of his chil- 
 dren, she besought his blessing and announced that 
 she felt very like becoming a good Catholic on the 
 spot. 
 
 This was the first of several visits we paid to 
 our archeveqiie, as we called him from this time. 
 
f 
 
 A FATHER OF HIS PEOPLE. 273 
 
 Aunt Anne's conversion was a somewhat inter- 
 mittent process, her moods are so many and her 
 sympathies so wide. She has quite decided on a 
 pilgrimage to Lourdes for next year, but I think the 
 Archbishop leels it is by no means certain that she 
 may not go to Mecca the year following. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 
 
 A UNT ANNE is keenly interested in every phil- 
 jt\. anthropic and educational scheme. Not that 
 this covers the area of her interest, which extends 
 over everything touching human life, from the bak- 
 ing of bread to the last uses of radium. But the 
 young of all species are her speciality, and to see a 
 home for children or a cliicken farm she would cross 
 a continent. 
 
 This was why we drove over one day to see the 
 colonic, or reformatory for boys. The day before, 
 whilst buying photographs and picture postcards 
 with which to slake the insatiable thirst of a certain 
 young person in England who requires every step 
 taken by her Aimt Anne to be paved with picture post- 
 cards, our friend Monsieur Blanchard, the stationer, 
 showed us a picturesque building which he explained 
 belonged to the colonic or home for boys who had 
 " turned badly " or been deserted by their parents. 
 The two offences appeared to be synonymous. There 
 was a large farm and vineyard on which the boys 
 worked, their time being thus divided between 
 healthy outdoor exercise and school. 
 
 " Admirable I " cried Aunt Anne. " Just my idea 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 275 
 
 for children of all classes, whether they have turned 
 badly or well, poor httle things. They love work, 
 though they hate study, and work makes them healthy 
 and happy. You remember," she turned to me, 
 " how William Morris carried out this idea in his 
 delightful Httle story, * News from Nowhere,' mak- 
 ing the children help the builders, coachmen, gar- 
 deners and everyone. We will go and see over this 
 colonic to-morrow," she decided promptly. 
 
 " Forget not also to visit the ' Maison Patemelle,' " 
 said M. Blanchard. " Madame will find it very 
 interesting. It is an admirable institution on the 
 estate of the colonic for boys of rich parents who fail 
 to learn at school." 
 
 " Excellent idea," said Aunt Ann6 ; " there are 
 so many poor little fellows who get left behind at 
 school. Yes, I am sure it will prove most interesting. 
 I Hke the name Paternal House — ^just what it should 
 be!" 
 
 I did not understand at the time why Monsieur 
 Blanchard gave such a funny, whimsical little smile. 
 
 " One can see well that Madame has much heart," 
 was all he said, however, in his most complimentary 
 tones as he bowed us out of the shop. 
 
 We drove off to the colonic accordingly the follow- 
 ing day, thinking no evil. 
 
 It was the first ugly drive we had taken in Touraine 
 — flat, treeless country, ugly, dusty roads — no sign 
 of river or forest far as eye could reach — the vines 
 growing by the hedgeless roadsides covered with 
 dust. It was a fitting preparation for what lay 
 
276 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 before us, in spite of the fact that the village of the 
 colonic, as they call it, was bright and picturesque. 
 
 As we passed the group of cottages with their gay 
 little flower gardens we enquired if it was not there 
 the children were boarded out in families, but our 
 driver said no, the colonie was half a mile further on. 
 We drove up to a large group of buildings — the 
 employes' homes, we afterwards heard — quite attrac- 
 tive from the outside, and got out at the porter's 
 lodge, where a gardien came forward to show us 
 over, it being visiting day. 
 
 Our companions were a smart lady who drove up 
 in her carriage and pair, a motherly-looking body 
 wearing the Touraine country-woman's cap, a man 
 and his wife of the petit bourgeois class, with their 
 small boy — the latter evidently taken for a moral 
 lesson rather than a pleasure party — and a young 
 man armed with a notebook. 
 
 Built round a large, square enclosure were a num- 
 ber of houses of stem, forbidding aspect, each bear- 
 ing the inscription over the door, " Famille A.," B., 
 or C. Our guide invited us to enter one of these, 
 explaining it was his house and family, and con- 
 tained some thirty to forty of the youngest boys. 
 The colonie is entirely for boys. They are admitted 
 from the age of eight years, and usually remain tiU 
 they enter the army, unless they manage to run 
 away or to die, or (a rare contingency) till they are 
 freed before the end of the term by a parent or 
 guardian so anxious for the absent one's society 
 that he is ready to pay for it. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 2.77 
 
 " This is the refectory," our guide announced, 
 showing us with evident pride a dismal bare room 
 closely packed with narrow benches and tables, the 
 bare walls decorated with two or three large maps, 
 like a very dreary class-room. 
 
 The motherly body in the Touraine cap shook 
 her head sadly and remarked, " It is not too gay — 
 the poor little ones." But the father of the small 
 boy pointed out the maps to his wife as an. excellent 
 idea for improving the shining hour. " In this 
 manner no time is lost, if the boy has only a right 
 spirit and desires to improve himself." said he. His 
 wife vouchsafed no reply. 'Being herself of the easy- 
 going type, she regarded him, I think, as rather a 
 bore. 
 
 We next mounted by an outside staircase to the 
 dormitory. If the refectory was dismal it became 
 lively as compared with this sinister-looking apart- 
 ment. A double avenue of posts ran down the 
 centre of the room, and from the walls were sus- 
 pended rows of white canvas bags. No sign of a bed, 
 or of any article of furniture whatever. 
 
 " Where do they sleep ? " I asked, looking with 
 dismay at the double row of posts down the centre 
 of the room. 
 
 *' Ah, but they sleep in the hammocks, of course," 
 said our guide, taking one of the white canvas bags 
 hanging from the walls and slinging it across to a 
 post. " No pillows are necessary, you see, but in 
 winter they have a small mattress and a cover of 
 wool ; in summer a sheet suffices." 
 
278 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 ** Admirably well-arranged," observed the lady of 
 the victoria. 
 
 " Very bad for growing children," remarked Aunt 
 Anne. *' They cannot stretch their limbs. We have 
 beds now at the new Naval College in England." 
 
 " We are not in England but in France, Madame," 
 answered the father of Family G. in superior tones. 
 The lady of the victoria gave him an approving 
 grunt. 
 
 Each Httle fellow had a shelf in the wall near his 
 hammock, marked with his name. On this were 
 kept his second pair of boots and his few poor little 
 possessions — sometimes a mother's photograph, 
 sometimes a crucifix or small picture of a saint — 
 unspeakably pathetic. The boots were enormous 
 wooden sabots bound with iron and weighing like 
 lead. I asked why they were made with so much 
 iron. " They are boots of penitence," I was told, 
 and no others are worn at Mettray. From eight to 
 eighteen boots of penitence, because when starving 
 you stole a herring or a loaf of bread ! How curi- 
 ously are punishments made to fit crimes. 
 
 At one end of the room in large black letters on 
 the white-washed waU was inscribed the text : 
 
 "Chaque arbre qui ne produit pas le fruit 
 on le d6coupe et on le brdle." 
 
 The motherly body in the Touraine cap wiped her 
 eyes and murmured softly, *' Let the little ones come 
 to me." 
 
 Aunt Anne overheard her, and whispering, " Yes, 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 279 
 
 yes," slipped her arm inside that of the motherly 
 one, but the father of the small boy pointed to the 
 text exultingly, and complimented the family chief 
 on his admirable device, clearly thinking the words 
 were his own, written for the occasion. 
 
 Save for the posts, the bags and the small shelves 
 the room was bare. " Home, sweet home." What 
 a memory of childhood's happy days for these little 
 boys ! 
 
 " Is there any woman in the house ? ^ asked Aunt 
 Anne, determined not to be snubbed. She was told 
 that in these families there are no mothers. " It is 
 I who care for them, make them to rise, make them 
 to eat, and make them to unclothe and go to bed 
 at night," said the chef de famille with conscious 
 satisfaction in his own suitability. He was not a 
 brutal or ill-natured looking man, but one could see 
 he loved rule and rules to the exclusion of everything 
 else in life. 
 
 There was no play room, no kitchen in this home. 
 Why should there be ; " one is not here to amuse 
 oneself," as the family chief observed when we ex- 
 claimed at the way the day was parcelled out, for 
 these little boys the same as for the elder ones ! 
 
 The young man with a note-book asked for details, 
 and the following were supplied by our guide. 
 
 Rise at twenty minutes to five in summer, in winter 
 half-past five. After a bowl of soup and bread, 
 work till eleven o'clock on the farm in the fields. 
 From eleven till one o'clock lessons in the big class- 
 room which we were presently shown. At one 
 
28o FELICITY IN FRANXE. 
 
 o'clock dinner, consisting of soup and bread and 
 vegetables, twice a week meat. Till two o'clock 
 recreation. After this solitary hour's respite, the 
 only one in the day, work, divided between lessons 
 in the schoolhouse and labour on the farm, till seven 
 o'clock, when soup for the third time and to sleep 
 in the cramped canvas hammock. But at all events 
 one felt glad to think the poor child was at last freed 
 from his iron-bound boots of penitence. Oh, those 
 awful boots ! 
 
 The class-room was a separate building, large and 
 airy, with the names of good boys inscribed on certifi- 
 cates roimd the walls, a comparatively cheerful place 
 in spite of its atmosphere of unflagging discipline ; 
 but the chapel with its narrow wooden benches main- 
 tained the same principle as the refectory and dor- 
 mitory, that one was not at the colonic to amuse 
 oneself ! 
 
 It was in the chapel that our guide pointed out 
 the ingenious arrangements by which the occupants 
 of the " Maison Patemelle " could hear the messe 
 without themselves being present, the same wall 
 serving for both buildings. " I will show you pres- 
 ently how admirably all that is arranged/* said our 
 guide. 
 
 Walking round the farm and dairies we saw many 
 of the small boys at their various works, feeding the 
 cows, filling the milk cans, cutting and binding the 
 long stalks and evil smelling flax. Some were out 
 in the vineyard gathering in the grapes — happy ones 
 those — others, less fortunate, laboured hard in the 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 281 
 
 big washhouse under the supervision of two severe- 
 looking nuns. For ten of the Dames Blanches are 
 employed in the colonic to direct the work of the 
 kitchen, the laundry, and the infirmary, but under 
 strict injunction not for an instant to relax discipline 
 or show too human a side to the " badly turned." 
 
 The nuns in the laundry appeared to be specially 
 picked to fulfil these conditions, and looked about 
 as likely to be overtaken by an access of injudicious 
 sympathy as an Egyptian Sphinx. The boys were 
 working with a dogged, savage intentness of pur- 
 pose, twisting and scrubbing and beating the clothes 
 as though they represented effigies of their dearest 
 foes, which no doubt some of them did. Sister 
 Helen must have looked just so as she held the wax 
 effigy of her false lover over the fire. 
 
 A great number of cows are kept, and a large 
 trade is done in milk and butter, but the ox that 
 treads out the com is closely muzzled — no milk or 
 butter is he allowed. 
 
 " What will you ? " said the family chief, in 
 answer to Aunt Anne's remark that surely they 
 gave the boys the skim milk. " One gives them soup 
 three times a day ; they are well nourished. This 
 is not a hospital for the little Rothschilds." 
 
 " The soup is of course the most suitable. I find 
 all this very well arranged," observed the lady of 
 the victoria, pointedly. 
 
 While the rest of the party were being conducted 
 through the cow-houses, I spoke to one little fellow 
 washing out milk cans. He was small and frail. 
 
282 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 with a set white face full of dogged determination. 
 His ankles were so thin they looked as if they would 
 snap in two any moment from the weight of his 
 '* boots of penitence " ! He looked twelve years 
 old at the most, but told me he was seventeen next 
 month. The under-sized were numerous, no doubt 
 owing to the cramped hammocks for one thing. 
 
 '* Then you will soon leave school and go to be a 
 soldier ? " I said hopefully, and smiled. 
 
 He gave an expressive shrug to his little thin 
 shoulders, indicating small hope in that prospect. 
 
 Poor little fellow, after all will it be much better ? 
 Georges Darien's account of the life of a " piou-pioii " 
 or private soldier is not encouraging, and to have 
 been at the colonie is to be branded a " mauvaise tete, 
 un enfant mat iourne," even though the offence 
 which sent you there was of the slightest, and your 
 years of the tenderest. 
 
 I dared not say more to my little friend, for the 
 family chief was in sight, followed by the inspecting 
 party, and I feared to get him into trouble. As I 
 joined the rest I noticed darts of animosity passing 
 between Aunt Anne and the victoria lady ; the party 
 looked gloomy. Perhaps the sight of so many well- 
 cared-for cows had depressed them ; even the small 
 boy, though busily eating sweets, seemed in low 
 spirits. Only the guide appeared thoroughly pleased 
 with Hfe. 
 
 " And now, messieurs et mesdames," said he, with 
 the air of one who has kept his good wine till the 
 last, '* we will visit the ' Maison Patemelle.' " 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 283 
 
 As we followed our guide he explained to us the 
 idea of this admirable institution, about which I 
 could see Aunt Anne was beginning to have mis- 
 givings. 
 
 " Here one receives the young people, sons of rich 
 parents, from the age of twelve years to twenty-one, 
 whose relations cannot force them to be obedient 
 and to conduct themselves well. The majority are 
 those who refuse to work and follow their classes — 
 the lazy, idle boy who obstinates himself against 
 study. There are, of course, also the cases of im- 
 moral conduct, but the most part are the idle ones.'' 
 
 The prevailing impression of the paternal house 
 was strong iron bars and locks. We were greeted 
 at the entrance with a frontage of iron bars enclos- 
 ing the portico, over which in large letters we read 
 the alluring name of the building. No bell was rung 
 — our guide noiselessly inserted a gigantic key, and 
 we entered a large hall. A long row of locked 
 doors greeted us on each side, and a gallery running 
 round the top of the hall repeated the same thing. 
 " These are their rooms," said our guide in an awful 
 whisper. " They are shut up in there now — ^they 
 must not hear us." 
 
 Aunt Anne clutched me by the arm. " Do they 
 never come out ? " she gasped. This gruesome hall 
 oppressed one with a sense of doom and despair 
 quite indescribable. No windows, no air from the 
 skylight overhead ; no hope for those who enter 
 that *' father's house " was the feeling that over- 
 powered one. 
 
284 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " They axe permitted to go out only in charge of 
 a keeper for one hour in the day, but I will show 
 you how one has arranged well for them/' he added. 
 " There is, I believe, one room vacant at the mo- 
 ment, so we can enter." 
 
 Two figures flitted rapidly and noiselessly across 
 the end of the gallery. A door opened and shut 
 on one of them. Our guide signed to the keeper and 
 he dropped a big key into his hand, pointing to one 
 of the locked doors near us, which our guide pro- 
 ceeded to open. 
 
 A small, bare cell, just big enough to contain the 
 narrow bed, small writing table, two chairs, and a 
 minute chest of drawers and washstand. Iron bars 
 enclosed the window, a padlock and chain enabled 
 the door to be opened about four inches when re- 
 quired. 
 
 " You see,'' our guide showed us, " by this means 
 they hear the messe in the chapel without quitting 
 their rooms — the wall of the Paternal House is that 
 also of the chapel. An excellent idea, hein ?" 
 
 In these cells, he told us, the boys lived day and 
 night for two, three, sometimes for six or seven 
 years. Professors come from Tours and give their 
 instruction at the small writing table. Their food is 
 brought there, and they even hear the mass without 
 leaving their rooms. 
 
 Once a month they take a bath, more often if the 
 relations are willing to pay extra for it. They are 
 escorted to the bath by a guardian. Never for a 
 moment does he lose sight of liis charge. These 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 285 
 
 attendants are constantly changed in order to run no 
 risk of an intimacy springing up or bribes and cor- 
 ruption becoming possible. The isolation of each 
 boy is so complete that two brothers were once there 
 together for over two years without either of them 
 knowing it. 
 
 The silence is as complete as the solitude, no one 
 speaking above a whisper, but there have been 
 occasions, we were given to understand, when the 
 stillness has been broken by voices of despair and 
 indignation echoing loudly round the grim hall on 
 the arrival of some new-comer. 
 
 Aunt Anne murmured in my ear, " Felicity, my 
 dear, I can't bear it. Don't be surprised if I shout 
 aloud presently. I want all those poor darlings 
 behind the locked doors to know they have got a 
 friend." 
 
 I was wondering whether any of the unfortunate 
 prisoners had mothers, and what they looked like, 
 and why they had not razed this paternal estabhsh- 
 ment to the ground, when the victoria lady pushed 
 past me into the empty cell. She looked round 
 approvingly. " Ah, but they have here all they 
 need," she observed to the guide. 
 
 *' They have even more than they need, it appears 
 to me, Madame," said Aunt Anne, a dangerous light 
 in her eye. 
 
 " Ha! you would say there is too much furniturd? " 
 enquired the lady pleasantly. 
 
 ** Too much, yes, Madame, in the matter of bars 
 and bolts." 
 
5886 FELICITY IN FRANXE. 
 
 " Ah, but all that is very necessary or they would 
 surely escape. They have no scruples, no grati- 
 tude, those bad boys there. Me, I know them — ^you, 
 Madame, evidently lack experience." 
 
 " Sch — Silence, I beg you, Mesdames, until we go 
 out," said the guardian ; and I dragged Aunt Anne 
 from the explosive vicinity of this lady, but she kept 
 up a subterranean murmur, reminding me of the 
 soimds I heard on Vesuvius one evening just before 
 a terrible volcanic eruption. 
 
 I knew now what the mothers of the boys here 
 looked like. The old body in a Touraine cap was 
 weeping freely and sighing, " Ah, my God, the poor 
 children ! " We had both types of French mother. 
 
 The price for the privilege of placing your son 
 under this paternal roof is £12 a month, all instruction 
 being extra. Any infringement of the intricate net- 
 work of rules and regulations meets with prompt 
 punishment of such a nature as to offer Httle en- 
 couragement to a repetition of the offence. 
 
 The priest is permitted to visit the cells and try 
 his hand on the stony ground, imder direction of 
 the committee, but neither he nor the professors 
 nor attendants are told the names of the boys. 
 They are known only by the nimiber on their cell 
 door. The reason for this is that their sojourn at 
 the Paternal House may not tell against them in 
 after life. " Their acquaintances suppose them to 
 be en voyage, or in an Enghsh or German family 
 learning the language. One invents a little romance, 
 see you," said our guide. 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 287 
 
 He imparted all this information in a hoarse 
 whisper, looking round cautiously at the closed 
 doors on every side. 
 
 We breathed more freely when we got outside 
 again. The small boy shot out like a stone from a 
 sling directly the doors were opened. 
 
 " Ha, he is much impressed, the little one," 
 laughed his father. "It is well to show them such 
 an institution ; it gives to think/* 
 
 " It does indeed, sir," said Aunt Anne, and en- 
 quired in a compressed voice of the guide whether 
 it was difficult to enter a candidate for this place. 
 
 He assured her by no means, all that was neces- 
 sary being for two relations, a parent or guardian 
 being one, to send a signed request to a magistrate. 
 The permission granted six months only, but this 
 could be renewed half-yearly up tiU the time the 
 boy was of age or had at least passed all his ex- 
 aminations and taken his haccalaureat at eighteen. 
 
 Like all gentlemen of the tribe of Bumble, his 
 powers of perception were limited and elementary. 
 Thinking the question implied personal interest he 
 hastened guilelessly to assure her, " It is rare that 
 this system succeeds not. Madame will be satisfied 
 with the result, I can promise. Even if her son has 
 the head of a calf one finds the means to make some 
 instruction to enter." 
 
 " I thank you, Monsieur. I would sooner far 
 place a son of mine in his coffin than in this house," 
 replied Aunt Anne with fervour. 
 
 Bumble gasped as if he had received a blow on 
 
288 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 the chest. The victoria lady laughed scornfully 
 and said something aside to the young man with 
 a note-book. That laugh was just the last straw 
 to Aunt Anne's overcharged soul. She did not 
 drop down under the weight of it, she rose hke a 
 flame and burnt that last straw to a cinder. Link- 
 ing her arm within that of her friend of the Tou- 
 raine cap, she addressed the company, sure at least 
 of the support and sympathy of one among them. 
 
 " I am an Englishwoman and a mother. You, 
 Monsieur, of course, are neither," she turned to the 
 family chief, whose Bumbledom was beginning to 
 reassert itself in swelling chest and inflated cheeks. 
 *' You are an official, you do but your duty ; it is 
 with you no question of heart more than with an 
 automobile, who obeys the hand of the chauffeur." 
 
 Bumble looked a trifle uncertain of this compli- 
 ment. 
 
 " But I see before me three ladies who are, I pre- 
 sume, probably mothers, to them I make my pro- 
 test, to them I cry in the name of the little children 
 we have seen to-day — ^the children of the poor and 
 also the children of the rich, the unhappy inmates 
 of that sombre prison. I speak from a full experience 
 — I have brought up forty boys and girls." 
 
 *' My faith, what families these English have I " 
 ejaculated the father of the small boy, while the 
 young man with the note-book wrote busily. 
 
 Without condescending to explain they were the 
 children of her Orphan Home, Aunt Anne con- 
 tinued ; 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 289 
 
 " Do not imagine that by crushing a rebelUous 
 nature you make it good ; it is love alone and in- 
 finite patience which changes the bad nature of a 
 boy if he has a bad nature, which is, I think, seldom. 
 But imagine, Oh, you fathers and mothers, the de- 
 spair, the torture, of these poor young souls as they 
 realise what they must endure on entering this 
 * Maison Patemelle/ Paternal ! What a mockery 
 is that name. * Infernal ' I should rather caU it. 
 Does any sin merit such a punishment ? To be 
 taken from the life of joy ancil freedom and happy 
 companionship, locked in a prison cell in silence 
 and utter solitude, never a moment's freedom, 
 never the sight of a young face ! And this perhaps 
 for years and years and years ! You, Madame, 
 pronounced that they have all they need ! " She 
 turned on the lady of the victoria, who instinctively 
 took a step backwards as though to ward off danger. 
 " You are doubtless a Catholic and believe in pur- 
 gatory. I trust when you are there, and God is 
 meting out to you what you have meted out to 
 others, you will find in that place of residence all 
 you need, boots of penitence into the bargain. 
 Oh yes, the good God will not forget the boots of 
 penitence for all of you. Imagine it to yourselves ! 
 A httle child of eight taught by his parents to steal 
 unless he would be beaten and starved, condemned 
 by a rich, well-fed ofiicial to wear boots of penitence 
 and lead a Hfe of incessant toil in a reformatory 
 until . he is grown up and his country claims his 
 body and brain for her military service. In verity 
 
 10 
 
290 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 I make you my compliments, French fathers and 
 mothers, and I thank God that I am EngUsh ! 
 Come, FeHcity, my dear, I feel really ill with wrath, 
 and speaking so much French." 
 
 Dropping an appeasing five-franc piece into the 
 hand of Bumble, and shaking hands warmly with 
 the motherly one, Aunt Anne hurried off quickly to 
 the carriage, and sitting down promptly burst into 
 tears. 
 
 * ♦ * * * 
 
 The following day we went to see our Archbishop, 
 and Aunt Anne poured out her heart to him. 
 
 He listened attentively, now and then making a 
 note of something she said, but letting her talk it 
 all out without interruption. At the end he sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 ** Alas, my daughter, Ufe is very difficult," he 
 said. ** With regard to the ' Maison Patemelle ' it 
 is a terrible problem which confronts those unhappy 
 parents who place their sons there. You are right 
 in calling it a purgatory, if by that you mean a place 
 of remedial punishment. Let me tell you of one 
 instance among many which have come under my 
 own eyes. Some years ago a man in a high position 
 in the army called to see me with his son, a boy of 
 seventeen years old. They came together to con- 
 sult me, the father in despair as to his son's future, 
 the boy indignant and rebellious, yet of a good 
 heart, as the sequel proved. It appeared this boy 
 had been sent away from every college and school 
 where his father had placed him. Always the same 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 291 
 
 story, plenty of brains but of an incorrigible idleness. 
 Making good resolves only to break them directly 
 he found himself with other idle and foolish com- 
 panions. Spending money he did not possess with 
 recklessness, the father impoverishing himself to 
 pay the boy's bad debts and save him from dis- 
 honour. What to do ? One year's steady, quiet 
 work and he might yet pass his examinations and 
 save his future career. The boy had fortunately 
 brains enough to reahse this and also his own in- 
 vincible weakness if placed again where tempta- 
 tion could assail him. Happily my reasoning pre- 
 vailed with him, and of his own free will he con- 
 sented before leaving me to agree to his father's 
 wish that he should try for six months at least the 
 * Maison Paternelle.' At the end of that time he 
 voluntarily returned there till the end of the year, 
 when he passed all his examinations with the great- 
 est success. He is now a distinguished officer at 
 St. Cyr, and only last year he came to thank me 
 for my counsels in sending him to the ' Maison 
 Patemelle * ; it was, he assured me, the only sys- 
 tem which could have arrested his downward 
 career at the time. Another case, on which I will 
 not dwell, was to my knowledge equally successful. 
 A boy of fourteen years, the son of a rich widow 
 lady who had spoilt him till he had passed beyond 
 all control and was, alas ! being fast ruined in body 
 and soul by vicious" and depraved companions. 
 Two years at Mettray saved that lad. But I could 
 wish with you, my dear Madame, that the treat- 
 
292 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 ment was less severe — much less severe/' he added 
 sadly. 
 
 " English boys would never stand it," said Aunt 
 Anne. " If they could not invent a way of escape 
 they woidd go mad." 
 
 Monseigneur smiled. ** I don't think such a 
 case has ever been known. The boys' health is 
 carefully watched by the doctor, I am told, and one 
 must bear in mind that those who founded this sad 
 house are good men and have the welfare of the 
 boys at heart, even if their methods are in some 
 ways mistaken. You see, the young people are 
 kept constantly occupied, and are rarely left alone 
 except at night. Each hour of the day is mapped out 
 for various studies with different professors, also 
 for exercise and for walking. This method, they 
 tell me, is what restores the mental and bodily equi- 
 librium of the poor boy who has become absolutely 
 disorganised. You are happy, indeed, if your Eng- 
 lish homes are free from those sad cases — generally, 
 without doubt, the fault of foolish bringing up on 
 the part of the parents." 
 
 Aunt Anne was beginning to waver. I saw it in 
 her whole attitude, which was becoming limp. 
 
 " Alas, Monseigneur, I fear we have some such 
 cases," she confessed. 
 
 " And how do you reform them, my daughter ? 
 It will interest me greatly to learn." 
 
 A long pause on the part of Aunt Anne. At last 
 she spoke slowly : 
 
 ** There are, I fear, some cases we have no means 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 293 
 
 of reforming. I think they generally go to America 
 or the colonies/' she added, more hopefully. 
 
 Monseigneur looked doubtful. " America or the 
 colonies ! Well, I have never journeyed far, but I 
 should have thought that only a character of great 
 strength and steadfastness would succeed under 
 conditions of trial and temptation united with abso- 
 lute hberty." 
 
 It struck me Aunt Anne herself was conscious of 
 a certain flaw in this solution of the problem, for 
 she hurried back to the colonic and the boots of 
 penitence. Here Monseigneur was at one with her. 
 As for the boots, he had never examined them, he 
 owned, having taken for granted they were merely 
 the ordinary necessary sabots for country wear. 
 The treatment of the boys, he thought, was too 
 severe, but much depended on the manager, who had 
 considerable power to soften their lives in many 
 ways and relax the stem rules. The present man 
 did so whenever and wherever he could, for he loved 
 the boys, gave hoHdays on all fete days, and recog- 
 nised good conduct with prizes and rewards, studying 
 individual character and tastes. He, the Arch- 
 bishop, went to the colonic yearly to confirm the 
 boys, and at other times also, to patronize their 
 sports and give away prizes. He always treated 
 them to coffee and distributed sous. Small wonder 
 that he saw singularly cheerful little faces whenever 
 he visited there ! 
 
 Our views about the " Maison PatemeUe " were 
 still more modified by a conversation after this 
 
294 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 with another friend whose husband was one of the 
 committee and a supporter of all philanthropic in- 
 stitutions in the neighbourhood. One was forced 
 to acknowledge there were, perhaps, two sides to 
 the shield, though neither of them what could be 
 called bright. 
 
 This lady acknowledged that the cure was a ter- 
 rible one, but the cases were also terrible, she main- 
 tained. " It appears to you a slight fault to be 
 idle and to be disobedient, but the consequences 
 are not slight when a hfe is thereby ruined. It is 
 only, remember, when all other means fail that I 
 would recommend this, but there are cases which 
 I fear are only to be reached by this drastic system." 
 She agreed, however, that two years should be the 
 limit of any boy's sojourn there. 
 
 The idea of the paternal abode is, she told us, 
 that the boy is driven to look upon study as his 
 greatest privilege. On first arriving he is kept in 
 complete idleness and solitude, and is allowed no 
 book or writing material. At last, from sheer 
 boredom, he begs for a book, faute de mieux, even 
 a dictionary or a grammar. The next day he is 
 ready to welcome the sight of a professor as of boon 
 companion, and his good conduct is made a con- 
 dition of being allowed to take up his various studies. 
 So he comes to study and to be thankful for it. He 
 gets the habit of steady work and sets his mind to 
 it, feeling that the sooner he passes his examinations 
 the sooner comes his liberty. He is well fed and cared 
 for, but his identity is kept secret from everyone, 
 
THE CHILDREN'S PURGATORY. 295 
 
 and for this he is grateful, specially in after life, 
 when it might seriously tell against him to have 
 been through this curative process of Purgatory. 
 Even the professors know only the boy's number, 
 not his name. It is a private administration, ac- 
 knowledged by the State, and supported by the 
 Church, founded for purely philanthropic motives 
 and ideas. The applications are so numerous they 
 could fill the building twice over, and are going to 
 enlarge it considerably. 
 
 That evening Aunt Anne called to me from her 
 room. " I have been thinking, Felicity, what an 
 excellent thing it would be to start a * Maison Pater- 
 nelle ' in England — with modifications, of course. 
 What do you think ? " 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES IN PROVENCE. 
 
 " A^I^^ON • " shouted the porter as the train 
 jCJl drew up. And for the first time, instead 
 of gazing regretfully from the windows and then 
 being whirled on, either to Paris or Marseilles, I 
 jumped from the dizzy heights of the P.L.M. train 
 on to the platform below, feeling I had a right at 
 last to stop here, luggage and ticket being stamped 
 with the name which in itself conveys a magic 
 charm. 
 
 Aunt Anne's voice of -farewell mingled with the 
 departing shriek of the engine as her face, shaded 
 by the mushroom hat, quickly vanished into the 
 dim distance en route for Marseilles, where she was 
 to meet one of her numerous adopted family. So 
 feeling no chaperon would be needed for this occa- 
 sion, I had snatched at this golden chance of stop- 
 ping at Avignon and seeing something of the real 
 land of Provence ; for the invasion of the Anglo- 
 Saxon race throughout the length and breadth of 
 the beautiful coast has completely obliterated all 
 trace of Provence from the Hyeres, Cannes and 
 Nice of to-day. FeV people wintering on the 
 Riviera realise they are in Provence at all. How 
 should they ? They stay in a big German hotel, 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 297 
 
 axe waited on by German waiters and chamber- 
 maids, and rarely hear around them any tongue 
 save English, American, and German. 
 
 Though we were only to be parted a few days, 
 Aunt Anne gave me warnings and counsels suffi- 
 cient to guide me through the perils and intricacies 
 of a long life. I was particularly commended to the 
 care of her special friend Madame la proprietaire of 
 the comfortable little inn at which I had engaged 
 rooms, and I had also my own special friend await- 
 ing me close by in the Rue St. Agricole. So my 
 opportunities for going astray did not threaten to be 
 many. It seemed absurd to dream of seeing any- 
 thing of a land which is such a perfect store-house 
 of interest, of historic memories and monuments, 
 in a few short days, but the country of Mireille at 
 least I would see, and perhaps, too, if the ancient 
 Roman deities looked with favour on m}'- pilgrimage 
 to their shrines, something of the poets who have 
 revived the old classic spirit of Provence and led 
 the patriotic movement of the Felibres. 
 
 To wake at Avignon with the sun of Provence 
 shining in at your window on a morning of St. 
 Martin's little summer is a goodly thing. One needs 
 must rejoice to be alive. 
 
 Avignon ! Marius, Augustus, Constantine, pass 
 in triumphal procession across one's vision. The 
 sumptuous Popes follow, dwelling for nearly a cen- 
 tury in magnificent pomp in their fortress palace on 
 the hill. And Petrarch, the divine poet, was it not 
 in these very streets he walked, dreaming and singing 
 
298 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 of his love for the chaste lady Laura, she whose tomb 
 in the old church of the " Cordeliers " became in after 
 years the shrine of generations of devout poet- 
 pilgrims, Francois I^"^ himself paying his homage 
 by leaving a sonnet from his own royal hand inside 
 the coffin. 
 
 Avignon, scene of countless historic events, kingly 
 pageants, imperial processions, bull-fights rivalling 
 those of Rome, battles, murders and sudden deaths, 
 a tradition kept up by the grim Jourdain Coupe 
 Tete of the Revolution and his hundred victims 
 flung from the height of the rock into the tower of 
 la Glaci^re. Avignon, with its old bridge of which 
 our nursery rhyme told us the thrilling fact that 
 " Tout le monde y danse, danse — Sur le pont 
 d' Avignon tout le monde y danse en rond." 
 
 Finally, the Avignon of to-day, which is still a 
 centre of interest, being the home of the FeUbres, 
 the birthplace of Felibrige, that far-spreading Hter- 
 ary Renaissance which during these past fifty years 
 has made of Avignon truly a provincial Athens. 
 
 My first visit was to a certain Uttle old-fashioned 
 book-shop in the httle old narrow street of St. Agri- 
 cole, where inscribed above the door is the name of 
 a famous poet of Provence. Even without that 
 name to draw one irresistibly, it would be hard to 
 pass the beguiling little shop with its old editions 
 and time-worn leather-bound books enticing one not 
 only from the window but from the quaint little 
 tressel-tables outside. I had an added inducement 
 to enter, for a friend awaited me in the charming 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 299 
 
 low-roofed salon at the back, the dark-eyed Dono 
 Tereso, the daughter and niece of two great patriot- 
 poets, a Felibresse too on her own account, being 
 a former Queen of the Felibres, a distinguished office 
 held for seven years, during which time she pre- 
 sided over all the Felibrige and Cigale fetes. The 
 mother of Dono Tereso is also a poet, and of no 
 mean order, devoted to the work of the Felibres, 
 and, like her husband, a native of Saint- Remy. As 
 she quoted from an early popular poem of his, first 
 in Proven9al, and then for my benefit, in French : 
 
 ** Dans un mas * qui se cache au milieu des premiers, 
 Un beau matin, au temps de la moisson, 
 Je suis ne d'un jardinier et d'une jardiniere, 
 Dans les jardins de Saint-Remy." 
 
 Fifty years ago the little acorn of Felibrige was 
 planted by seven poets of Provence, who met to- 
 gether at Font-Segugne (Vaucluse), and vowed 
 themselves to the patriotic work of restoring, purify- 
 ing and perpetuating the old language of Provence, 
 the langue d'Oc, at that time fast dying out and 
 degenerating into a mer.e patois of many varieties. 
 To-day Felibrige is a mighty oak, the leaves being, 
 hke those of the Tree of Life ** for the healing of 
 the nation," the branches spreading not only over 
 the length and breadth of the beloved land itself, 
 but stretching to the remotest parts of France, even 
 to Brittany, where in 1884 Kenan took up the move- 
 ment and inaugurated the " Felibres de I'Ouest." 
 
 The real initiator of this widespread Renaissance 
 * A farmhouse. 
 
300 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 was Joseph Roumanille, for he was the first modem 
 poet to use the ancient tongue of the Troubadours 
 as a medium for Uterary expression. His book of 
 poems, pubHshed in the year 1847, was written for 
 his mother, a simple peasant of Saint-Remy guilt- 
 less of a word of French. Full of the traditions and 
 beauties of Provence, his writings found an imme- 
 diate echo in the heart of a people always enthusi- 
 astically patriotic. Roumanille, Mistral and Ouse- 
 line Mathieu, meeting as three collegians at Avignon, 
 formed the nucleus from which sprang the Fehbrige 
 Society foimded by the seven poets, of whom Theo- 
 dore Aubanel and Felix Gras were distinguished 
 members. 
 
 But though Roumanille was the initiator and the 
 editor of the first yearly Felibrige organ, under whose 
 Oriflamme the poet-patriots mustered, it was Mistral 
 who developed and led the movement. He became 
 at once its vital essence, the prophet, seer and chief, 
 " il Capoulie " or Grand-Master, by universal consent. 
 No one like he has so expressed the soul of the 
 people. His work mirrors not only their language and 
 customs, their past, their beliefs, their traditions, 
 but in a marvellous manner their land itself, so that 
 with new sight and clearer vision they now look on 
 the familiar landmarks of their youth, the moun- 
 tains, rivers and plains. 
 
 Mistral sings his '* Lion d' Aries ; ** and henceforth 
 that famous rock of the Alpilles and his patriotic 
 song, reviewing the grand past of Aries, become 
 inseparable, the song rising to the lips of every good 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 301 
 
 Proven gal as spontaneously as a morning greeting to 
 a friend on the road. 
 
 The vast wind-swept plain of the stony Crau, with 
 its green oases of olive and vineyards, becomes 
 ** the country of Mireille," the sweet heroine of that 
 great epic which caused Lamartine to proclaim 
 Mistral un vrai poete Homerique. Even the sun of 
 Provence is endowed with a new significance and 
 personality by the " Chant du Soleil," while the 
 glorious " Hymne a la Race Latine " sends a thrill 
 and glow of patriotic pride through every man, 
 woman and child, not only of Provence but of all the 
 Midi where the langue d'Oc is spoken. 
 
 " Aubouro-te, Rago latino, 
 Souto la capo d'ou sout^u I 
 Lou rasin brun boui dins la tino, 
 Lou vin de Dieu gisclara teu." Etc. 
 
 {" Arise, thou Latin race — 
 
 Under the cloak of the sun ! 
 
 The brown grape * bubbles in the vat ' 
 
 And the wine of God gushes forth.") Etc. 
 
 As for the language of Provence, had Mistral never 
 written another word he has enshrined it for all times 
 in the imperishable casket of that marvellous work 
 *' Lou Tresor dou FeHbrige," a dictionary comprising 
 all the words of the langue d' Oc in its seven varieties 
 of dialect, with all derivations, idioms, obsolete 
 terms, proverbs and sayings of the entire Midi. The 
 history of the race is contained in this book. It opens 
 with a sonnet, the French of which begins, " O 
 peuple du Midi, ecoute ma harangue : Si tu veux re- 
 
302 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 conquerir rempire de ta langue, pour I'equiper a neuf, 
 puis dans ce Tresor." 
 
 One marked feature of this far-reaching Renais- 
 sance is the entire absence of any political ele- 
 ment. The Felibre is a better and more loyal 
 Frenchman for his devotion to the land and language 
 of Provence. His protest is merely against the deadly 
 influence of uniformity and centralisation which kills 
 out individuality and all that goes to making a man 
 instead of a machine. *' To change the language 
 of a people is almost to change the soul," says Gaston 
 Paris. The heart and soul of this race of old Roman 
 stock will never consent to change while a man 
 remains alive. 
 
 The mother of Dono Terdso spoke of the early days 
 of the Felibres when their little house was the 
 favoiuite meeting place, and she told of the simple 
 life of these true poets who dreamt as little of using 
 their art as a means of making money or gaining 
 personal renown as does the thrush singing his song 
 of spring on the bough of apple blossom. Then as 
 the patriot movement spread, of their larger reunions, 
 their Feasts of Saint-Estelle, symbolic patron saint 
 of the order, at Nimes, at Aries, at Cannes, at Mar- 
 seilles — with their brothers the Cigales, Felibres of 
 Paris, chiefly exiled Proven^aux. The Cigale was 
 soon adopted by all as badge, a bronze grasshopper 
 in buttonhole and hat being worn by every good 
 Fdlibre. Oh, those good old days when Roumanille, 
 Aubanel, Felix Gras, now alas all gone, lived here in 
 Avignon, with their Capoulie close by at Maillane I 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 303 
 
 ♦ * * * * 
 
 Saint-Remy, including the surrounding country, 
 stretching to Avignon, was once the ancient Greek 
 colony of Glanum, and walking with Done Tereso 
 through the winding old streets of the Papal city, 
 one was constantly reminded of this Greco-Roman 
 ancestry. The women, with their stately, digni- 
 fied walk and statuesque outlines of face and figure, 
 are evidently lineal descendants of the Tanagra 
 statuettes, and their classic beauty is brought out 
 admirably by the graceful Arlesienne costume. It 
 is sad to hear that both in Avignon and Aries it is 
 dying out, though happily still worn in all country 
 districts. One sighs to think that women can lay 
 aside for a commonplace modern garb showing no 
 line of beauty from head to foot this beautiful dress, 
 so simple and practical, yet so flattering to their 
 good looks. A straight full skirt, either black or 
 dark violet, long pointed shawl, full white fichu 
 folded across the breast, and a head-dress the most 
 becoming ever devised for a woman's head ! A broad 
 black velvet band worn like a coronet, and with just 
 as regal an effect, one end falling down at the back, 
 encircling a small white embroidered muslin cap 
 which is drawn up into a coquettish point. 
 
 We wandered through the streets once trodden by 
 Petrarch, passing the great sombre Hotel de Sade, 
 home of Laura, who married a de Sade, and another 
 historic palace, the Baroncelli-Javons, little changed 
 by the passing of the centuries. Over the door of the 
 
304 FELICITY IN FRANCE. / 
 
 latter are the crossed oak branches of Pope Julius 11. 
 of the house of Baroncelli, and first archbishop of 
 Avignon. On entering may be seen the rooms of 
 Henri IV. and of Saint Francois de Paule, besides 
 the helmet and sword of the " brave Crillon," faith- 
 ful friend of Henri IV. His statue, for so long the 
 centre of the Place de I'Horloge, was removed to the 
 Place du Palais, where no one notices it, to make 
 place for the aggressive monimient celebrating the 
 imion of the Comtal Venaissin with France — a great 
 event in the history of Avignon. 
 
 The name of Aubanel greeted us over an old book- 
 shop. ** It was there he lived, our dear Aubanel," 
 remarked my friend. 
 
 With keen interest I looked at the poet's house. 
 How wise they were, these Avignon poets, to create 
 for themselves such a congenial atmosphere as 
 that of a book-shop — of all surroundings the most 
 attractive. To feel it a duty, instead of the indul- 
 gence of an extravagant hobby, to buy first editions 
 and beguiling leather bindings and to go to sales of 
 old libraries. 
 
 My friend laughed at this rose-coloured view of her 
 life. "If you would Hve you must also sell your 
 books," she said, " and that is what tears one the 
 heart if one has obtained some treasure." 
 
 I protested I would hide the treasures and sell only 
 what I did not care for. 
 
 " Then I fear you would become very thin in 
 your book-shop," said this practical lady who kept 
 one. 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 305 
 
 We mounted by the long zig-zag road to the 
 Palace of the Popes, on our way pausing to visit 
 Notre Dame des Dom, founded by Ste. Marthe, in 
 honour " of the Virgin still living." Here stands the 
 deserted Papal throne, a white marble sculptured 
 seat, and that most beautiful tomb of the good Pope 
 Benedict XH. There he lies with his hands on his 
 breast as though asleep — a most noble head and 
 figure, dignified and gracious, bearing a strange 
 resemblance to a certain late Archbishop of Canter- 
 bury. 
 
 Leaving the Popes' church we continued to mount 
 higher and ever higher the rocky sides of the fortress 
 hill. We spent but little time on the palace itself, 
 which is at present given over to the garrison. 
 Soldiers swarm in every part and clatter up and down 
 the steep stone stairs and through the long passages. 
 -Such strong, fine-looking young soldiers, many sizes 
 bigger than the average little EngHsh recruit 1 But 
 then a conscription army includes the best of the 
 nation, and one is apt to forget that British patriotism 
 in the classes which serve in the ranks, rarely 
 goes to the length of a desire to choose the pro- 
 fession of arms unless driven to that alternative by 
 hunger, which antecedents are not conducive to a fine 
 physique. Everything in these military quarters 
 was bare and white. Even the frescoes of Ghirlandaio 
 are covered with whitewash except for one small 
 corner showing where they are hidden. 
 
 Continuing our ascent at last we found ourselves 
 on the plateau at the summit which by indefatigable 
 
3o6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 industry has been converted into a peaceable public 
 garden with shady trees and walks, fountains and 
 ponds, little in keeping with the stormy past of the 
 old rock. From here we looked down on the city 
 with its closely packed red brown roofs, towers, 
 churches and convents. At our feet the yellow 
 Rhone rushed by, breathless, hurrying as if racing 
 for a wager. Dante says, " Come ad Arli ov' il 
 Rhodano stagna." If this be so it must have been 
 from exhaustion after his exertions just before, for 
 there is Httle sign of stagnation in the Rhone at 
 Avignon. 
 
 On the famous bridge no one dances now. Silent 
 and deserted, cut in two, stands this once royal road 
 of the Kings and Popes, leading from the fortress of 
 Avignon to the tower of Philippe le Bel at Villeneuve- 
 les- Avignon, the walled city on the opposite bank. 
 
 Away in the far distance towards Aries rose the 
 Montagnette of Tarascon, city of Tartarin and of that 
 fabulous Tarasque dragon who devastated the 
 countryside till St. Martha laid him low with the sign 
 of the Cross and a drop of holy water. 
 
 The Pope's gigantic rock seemed to dominate the 
 whole round world. From this splendid height all 
 the country lay spread out like a fair garden, on one 
 hand bounded by the snow-capped Ventoux and the 
 Luberon range, towards the south by the low wall of 
 rocky Alpilles, beyond which lies the ruins of the 
 once great city of Les Baux. 
 
 Graveson, Maillane, Barbentan, Saint-Remy, 
 Ch&teaurenard lay low on the green plain, the 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 307 
 
 Durance winding and twisting its capricious way, 
 now hidden, now reappearing unexpectedly between 
 the dark rows of cypress trees — those protecting 
 guardians of the country from the too vigorous mis- 
 tral, that purifying north wind of Provence. 
 
 " That is where we will drive to-morrow," said 
 Dono T^r^so, pointing towards the jagged wall of 
 the Alpilles. " Over there to the home of our be- 
 loved Capoulie." 
 
 The gods were good indeed ! It must have been 
 Pan, my special deity of the pipes and reedy streams 
 and woodlands, who had wrought for me this gracious 
 answer to my wish. That Pan is not dead one soon 
 learns in Provence as surely as in Rome, where his 
 Feast, the 12th of January, is kept Hvely all through 
 the night with the shrill blowing of his pipes. Oh 
 no, Pan and all his goodly company are very much 
 alive in the staunch Catholic hearts of the descend- 
 ants of old Rome and Greece, and it is the Felibre 
 poets who have breathed into them fresh life. In 
 " Les lies d'Or " the ancient gods drink once more 
 at their own fountain of serenity and light, while at 
 the sound of " le Chant du Soleil " ApoHo awakes and 
 raises proudly his laurel-crowned brow. Here in 
 Provence at least are still sons of men, sons of Joy, 
 whose ears can hear the echo of the music he made 
 when the world was young. 
 
 The following day, with the delightfully suitable 
 escort of a Felibre Queen, I drove across the plains to 
 visit the great poet of Provence and his charming wife. 
 
 In the orchards the last fruits were being gathered. 
 
3o8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 in the vineyards the last bunches of grapes pressed 
 into the big casks or being trodden by the men 
 d pied nu. Here, as in Touraine, autumn brought 
 with it no chill touch of dying and decay, only the 
 reposeful sense of a task accomplished. The har- 
 vesters, the birds, and the cigales all sang from the 
 joy of their hearts. There was no dirging after- 
 thought that chill winter was descending to wrap the 
 earth in darkness and death for more than half a 
 year. Just a short sleep for rest and recuperation, 
 and before February is out, the light footsteps of 
 spring will be heard. 
 
 We crossed the high bridge of the Durance, the 
 river at this point so wide and swift it suggested the 
 sea coming in as a flood. The beautiful waters, now 
 blue, now white, have something in them of dan- 
 gerous and treacherous, not without cause, for in the 
 heavy rains this river is a constant menace to the 
 city close by. Driving through the wide street of 
 Graveson we passed groups of women, all in Arle- 
 sienne costimie, with every variety of colour, one 
 imperial-looking woman wearing a violet skirt and 
 yellow shawl. 
 
 These classic figures had a perfect background in 
 the old church tower, with its bell of stone, and the 
 rows of straight, tall cypress, which abound in this 
 part of the country. These trees give to the gardens 
 and farms they protect a solemn, conventual air, and 
 a character as distinctly individual to the landscape 
 as the hedgerows of England or stone dykes of 
 Scotland. 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 309 
 
 Opposite the house of the poet is a sun-dial in the 
 wall, with the words in Provencal : 
 
 " Gai lizard, bois ton soleil 
 L'heure ne passe que trop vite — 
 Et demain il pleuvra^peut-^tre." 
 
 " That is typical of the spirit of Provence," said 
 Dono T6reso. And I felt again for the hundredth 
 time I was really in Italy, not in France at all. These 
 people with their Roman ruins, Greco-Roman figures 
 and faces, Roman speech, (may the Felibres forgive 
 me, but the relationship is so close that anyone speak- 
 ing French and Italian can at least read Proven 93!), 
 and Italian hearts, joyous, sun-warmed, patriotic, 
 what are they but Romans still ? 
 
 We entered the poet's study by the garden, con- 
 ducted there by a friendly white-capped bonne, 
 evidently quite one of the family. " Madame was 
 out with the dogs. Monsieur was alone, but at this 
 moment of the day not seriously occupied. We 
 might enter without scruple — he would be enchanted 
 to see us." 
 
 The little garden was a blaze of warm autimin 
 colour. A bed of salvia, its scarlet blossoms aflame 
 in the sunshine, chrysanthemums, violet, white, and 
 rose, rioting begonia of every hue, and rows of 
 dahlias and sunflowers, aU grew together in a sweet 
 disorder, without sign of gardener's assistance or 
 preconceived design. 
 
 At the sound of our voices the poet stepped out of 
 the open French window — a. tall, robust, splendid 
 
310 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 figure, full of a vitality and vigour that made his 
 seventy-four years seem incredible. He greeted his 
 little Felibresse, the daughter of his closest friend 
 and collaborator for forty years, with warmth. " I 
 saw her bom," he remarked, as an explanatory note. 
 
 We entered the study, a real workroom, or cabinet 
 de travail. Books and engravings and photographs 
 of friends, some of them faces the world knows well, 
 covered the walls. In the comer stood a bust of 
 Lamartine, on the chimney-piece a small Venus de 
 Milo and other statuettes, one of the poet himself, 
 in his soft felt *' wideawake " and loose working coat. 
 To our apologies for interrupting him he answered 
 that our arrival enchanted him, and was especially 
 welcome just then as giving him rehef from a tire- 
 some work on which he was engaged, a work only 
 to be described as un travail de brute. It was the 
 rendering into French of his autobiography from 
 the original Proven9al. Considering the widespread 
 interest with which this book is awaited we could not 
 encourage him in laying it aside, except, as we 
 pointed out, for our benefit that afternoon. It would 
 be hard, not only on his own countrymen but on all 
 to whom the beautiful langue d'Oc is unknown, to seal 
 up such a work in the Proven9al tongue. 
 
 He spoke of the Felibre movement in other 
 countries, offshoots of the original stem. Of the 
 Roumanian folk songs gathered together by Carmen 
 Sylva and Helene Vacaresco — two true F^hbresses. 
 Also of the revival of the Gaelic tongue and the work 
 of Mr. Yeats and others, in which he felt great in- 
 
AMONG THE FSLIBRES. 311 
 
 terest, Ireland being in some ways a parallel case to 
 that of Provence. 
 
 " It is the forbidding a language to be used in the 
 schools and churches that most surely tends to kill 
 it," said the poet, " but in Provence the patriotic 
 love of our mother tongue is too deeply planted for 
 any Government to uproot. It needs but the voice 
 of the poets to awaken into new life." 
 
 I asked him of the old music and folk songs of the 
 country. " For that," he said, " you must go to 
 Paradou, to our brave ' Charloun ' the Felibre. He 
 is a peasant, a real peasant, not a sham one Hke some 
 of them. He has never ceased to work in the fields, 
 to sow, to reap, to toil for his daily bread. He has 
 lived all his life, sixty years, in the little village of 
 Paradou, near Aries. Go to him and he will sing to 
 you by the hour the songs he has written to the 
 ancient melodies of this country, songs which the 
 people have claimed as their own, ' li Cant d6u ter- 
 raire ' (* chants du terroir '). Say that I sent you." 
 
 " I will go to-morrow," I said promptly. 
 
 The poet and Dono Tereso exchanged recent news 
 of mutual Felibres friends, among others of that 
 gifted poet, writer, and artist who has been for 
 years " Chancellor " of the FeHbres, and whose 
 " Terre Proven^ale " is the most fascinating com- 
 panion and guide to all travellers in Provence, while 
 for those unable to visit that enchanting land it 
 serves as an Aladdin's carpet, transporting them 
 straight to the very spot, with the sun of Provence 
 overhead. 
 
312 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 A motor car whizzed by in the road beyond the 
 garden. The poet shuddered. " Happily they are 
 not stopping at my door this time ! " He gave a sigh 
 of reUef. " To that invention," he said, " I owe those 
 frequent parties of half-a-dozen persons who descend 
 upon me suddenly at all hours of the day and even 
 sometimes of the night. They arrive from all comers 
 of the earth. Tourists from Lyons, Marseilles, Nimes, 
 Aix, etcetera. God knows where they come not from ! 
 I have the misfortune to be now in their catalogue 
 of monuments." 
 
 He broke into his big, genial laugh, seasoned with 
 just a spice of sarcasm. " There is the Pont du Gard, 
 the Arch and Mausoleum of Saint-Remy, and the 
 poet — they do us all in one tour, you see." 
 
 I thought of Goldsmith, Chatterton, Keats, and 
 wondered if they would have preferred this form of 
 fame. 
 
 *' So you pay for renown," I sympathised. 
 
 " So I expiate it," he groaned. 
 
 I suggested he should come to London, where 
 I would find him a quiet comer in which to rest and 
 hide since peace and quiet became so impossible in 
 the plains of Provence. 
 
 He shook his head. " Even there in your London 
 I might find a difficulty, for curiously enough it 
 appears I resemble exactly a famous Englishman, or 
 rather American, of the name Bouffaloo ! Is there 
 not one so called, yes ? " 
 
 " Buffalo Bill," I laughed, and looking at the small 
 statue on the mantelpiece realised why it had seemed 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 313 
 
 so strangely familiar, recalling as it did the hoard- 
 ings outside the Earl's Court Exhibition and those 
 recently posted all over Paris. 
 
 " Yes/' continued the poet, ** it is now twelve 
 years ago since I was in Paris. One day, breakfasting 
 in a cafe on the Grands Boulevards, I beheld an exact 
 double of myself. This man regarded me, and I him, 
 startled and surprised. I said to myself, " Am I 
 myself, or am I perhaps him ? Same figure, same 
 moustache, same hat ! He also had the air of saying 
 this. Finally we advanced and shook hands warmly, 
 I and Monsieur Bouffaloo, who it appears was at that 
 moment delighting all Paris with his ponies and his 
 Indians of the Wild West." 
 
 In this connection the poet went on to tell us of 
 a dog, who about this same time came in a strange 
 manner into his Ufe. Walking one day in the fields 
 between Maillane and Saint-Remy, a strange and 
 foreign-looking beast suddenly ran up to him. No 
 amount of discouragement would prevail upon tliis 
 dog to leave him. He looked up into his face, wagged 
 his tail and greeted the poet as a long-lost friend. 
 Persistently he followed him home, and never tiU 
 the day of his death did he depart. Some time after 
 it was reported that Buffalo Bill had passed through 
 Tarascon with his dogs, horses, and Indians on his 
 way to Marseilles. " Evidently this dog had strayed 
 from the rest and was attracted to me by the resem- 
 blance of my hat to that of his master," said the poet. 
 " This at least was my first idea, but I have since 
 been convinced that there existed also another reason. 
 
314 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 He was in reality an ancestor reincarnated, one 
 who came to help and protect me, for rarely is it 
 given to any man to possess such a friend as that 
 dog was to me, while volumes might be written by 
 the Society des Recherches Psychiques " on his 
 extraordinary qualities and occult gifts/' 
 
 He then proceeded to relate some instances of this 
 strange dog's powers. 
 
 " On the day of the Toussaint it is the custom of 
 my wife, accompanied by our faithful Eisabeu, to 
 visit the cemetery and place a wreath on the tomb 
 of our family. Pan-Perdu, for so I named him, at 
 that time newly arrived, ran in before them and 
 disappeared among the labyrinth of tombs and paths. 
 When they arrived at their destination, however, 
 behold Monsieur Pan-Perdu awaiting them seated 
 on the tomb of the family ! Remark well, never 
 before had he entered that cemetery, yet he runs 
 straight to the right place. Who but an ancestor 
 could have done this ? " 
 
 We agreed it was certainly unanswerable. 
 
 On another occasion Pan-Perdu proved himself, 
 besides, an ancestor in whom the staunch principles 
 of the Catholic faith survived in spite of his re- 
 appearance on earth with four legs and a tail. 
 
 " The bishop was holding a service of confirmation 
 in our little village church/' said the poet, " It was not 
 the custom of Pan-Perdu to attend the services — 
 he knew well that man excludes dogs from these 
 rites, but on this occasion he entered quietly and 
 unobserved, and as the bishop laid his hand on the 
 
AMONG THE FliLIBRES. 315 
 
 bended heads of the children, behold the black 
 head of Pan-Perdu thrust under his hand. ' What 
 is this ? ' cries Monseigneur, startled and shocked. 
 The children seeing Pan-Perdu, their friend, smile 
 and excuse him. * Oh, it is the dog of the poet — 
 he is not as other dogs,' they reply. * Oh, the dog 
 of the poet,' exclaims the good bishop, and stretching 
 out his hand he lays it also on the head of Pan-Perdu, 
 thereby confirming him also. Pan-Perdu respect^ 
 fully licks the episcopal ring, and having been thus 
 made a good Christian he discreetly retires. Ah, 
 here come his descendants to vouch for the truth of 
 my story," he added, two dogs bounding up, and we 
 rose to greet a charming, poetic-looking woman of 
 a wonderful calm and serenity, who came towards 
 us through the garden. Hearing we were speaking 
 of the beloved Pan-Perdu, she introduced us to his 
 son and grandson, with whom she had been walking. 
 At her request we then accompanied her into the 
 little dining-room, where we partook of golden wine, 
 a nectar fit for Olympians, and delicious httle bis^ 
 cuits stamped with the Felibre badge of the grass^ 
 hopper. 
 
 " This, you know, is ' the divine beast/ " she 
 laughed, and explained she was quoting the words of 
 Plato. ** You cannot refuse to partake of him." 
 We gladly ate cigales in plenty, they spoke for them- 
 selves even without this high reference, but whether 
 the ancient sage was also a Cigale or a Felibre, or 
 both, I failed to make out. No one can doubt, how- 
 ever, that Plato owns with pride any brotherhood 
 
3i6 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 with the authors of " Les lies d'Or/' *' L'Oubretto," 
 or '* Chansons du Terroir." 
 
 As to the wine, the poet told us it was made by a 
 famous FeHbre, a monk of the Premontre order, for 
 years his friend and neighbour at the monastery of 
 Frigolet, near Tarascon, now alas, " expulsed " with 
 the rest of his brothers. " What was one to think 
 of the action of the Government in driving such men 
 from France ? It was a stupidity, a real stupidity, 
 to say nothing else on the subject ! " 
 
 The poet-monk of Frigolet is now in England, but 
 his golden verse and his golden wine, can he, I 
 wonder, make either in exile under our grey skies ! 
 
 As we said good-bye and au revoir to our delightful 
 hosts the poet's wife picked me a bunch of the briar 
 rose. " The rose is the flower of England," she 
 remarked, *' your flower ! But when you come in the 
 spring I will give you the * pervenche.' " She 
 pointed to a bed of the shining pohshed leaves under 
 the shade of a big tree. " For that is the flower 
 of Provence, therefore the flower specially of the 
 F^hbres." 
 
 From the home of the Poet we drove on to Saint- 
 Remy, and, Hke the motor tourists, finished the day 
 with a visit to the Arch and the Mausoleimi, Ics 
 antiques, as the country people call them. 
 
 Almost a kilometre from the Httle town they stand 
 in soUtary beauty at the foot of the Alpilles on a high 
 green plateau, with a background of small dark 
 pines, silvery and transparent olives, an occasional 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 317 
 
 fig-tree and willow, and the little classic asphodel 
 peering up from the carpet of grass. 
 
 These two exquisite monuments are all that remain 
 of the glory of ancient Glanum. But they speak elo- 
 quently of the past in their elegant and most melo- 
 dious beauty, which time has spared with a tenderness 
 shown to few monuments of the days of Julius Caesar. 
 The arch, some say, commemorates the victorious 
 campaigns of Caesar in Gaul and Britain, the sculp- 
 tures showing triumphal cars riding ruthlessly over 
 prostrate foes, both victor and vanquished having 
 in many cases lost a head. Compared with the 
 solid arches which the Romans left at Orange and 
 elsewhere in Provence, it is like an exquisite little 
 miniature, ** altogether Greek in feeling," pronounced 
 Dono Tereso, who has been here often with the 
 learned antiquarians. 
 
 The Mausoleum is a fitting companion to the Arch. 
 Covered with sculptures and inscriptions, its straight, 
 dainty columns rise high into the blue and enclose 
 two figures which stand side by side gazing out 
 between the protecting columns over the plains 
 towards the distant towers of Avignon. So they stand, 
 calm and immovable even as the Lion d'Arles 
 behind them, while the centuries roll by, cities rise 
 and fall, and the generations of men rapidly succeed 
 one another. The only other reminder of the 
 ancient world on which they still gaze is the yellow 
 asphodel in the grass below. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Since Dante was forced to be an exile from his 
 
3i8 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 own beloved country one feels glad he had, at all 
 events, such a city as Aries to open her gates to him, 
 Aries the beautiful, the queenly, which Constantine 
 desired to make the capital of his great kingdom, the 
 centre of all the Roman Empire. For long centuries 
 she slept, like the Princess of the fairy tale. So 
 long her sleep lasted the world forgot her, and, in spite 
 of her wonderfully preserved beauty, declared her to 
 be dead. Now, however, though no fairy Prince has 
 wakened her with his kiss, it being too late for Princes, 
 the Felibres poets have sung their sweet songs in her 
 ear, and she has stirred and smiled in her sleep till 
 people cease at least to say that she is dead. She has 
 wakened even so far as to be conscious of pride in her 
 glorious past and a noble patriotism in her present. 
 
 The Lion of the Alpilles, her guardian, also has 
 come to life. He has shaken his mane, and rallied 
 round him those sons of Aries who form the patriotic 
 FeHbres of the '* Ecole du Lion.'' 
 
 At Aries in 1852 took place the first congress of 
 Proven 9al poets under Roumanille before even the 
 founding of the Felibres. Since then Aries has shared 
 with Avignon the nurture of Felibrige. She has 
 been ever the F^libre's ideal city, the capital of their 
 kingdom. Here Mistral founded his museum, 
 visiting it regularly once a week, and holding on these 
 occasions select little gatherings of the poets — small 
 F^hbres, when Roumieux from Tarascon, Dom 
 Xavier from his monastery at Frigolet, Alphonse 
 Daudet from his mill at Fontvieille, Charloun Ri^u 
 from Paradou, and the Avignon poets, Roumanille, 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 319 
 
 Aubanel and F61ix Gras, were of this goodly company. 
 Now, though the f^tes of Sainte-Estelle show an ever- 
 increasing number of ardent F^libres, few, alas, of the 
 great Master-builder's first fellow workers remain I 
 
 Mistral's musemn at Aries is an ever-increasing 
 collection of Provencal records and treasures. There 
 can be seen the history of old Provence, her customs 
 and traditions, the implements of the field, weapons 
 of war, the furniture of the homes, the costumes, 
 jewels and books. In one room is a life-sized group 
 in wax commemorating Christmas Eve in a mas 
 or farmhouse. The father of the family is pouring 
 a libation of wine over the log fire. Supper is spread 
 on the table, which is laid with the regulation 
 three homespun linen cloths one over the other, 
 graduated in size. The supper is maigre, being the 
 Eve of the Feast, but there is plenty to eat, fish, 
 salads, olives, vegetables, fruits, the gorgeous 
 Christmas cake, noble loaves of home-baked bread, 
 a big jar of cherries preserved in brandy, and a big 
 cask of red wine in the corner of the room. Over 
 the high chimney-piece stands a figure of the Christ- 
 child, blessing the scene. All the family are gathering 
 round the table, the women in their charming Arlesi- 
 enne dress and coif. The cowherd and shepherd are 
 also of the party, including the sheep-dog, wearing 
 his great collar of ferocious spikes which protect him 
 from wolves and other foes. It is a perfect picture 
 of the prosperous, happy life of the mas. 
 
 The smile of Aries is sweetest on Sunday. Then 
 
320 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 she stirs in her long sleep and opens soft, melancholy 
 eyes full of the dreams of centuries. Through the big 
 doors of the beautiful old cathedral, St. Trophime, the 
 people pass in crowds for the grand' messe. Saint- 
 Trophime with its wonderfully sculptured Gothic 
 porch of which Mistral has sung one of his unforget- 
 able songs, the " Communion des Saints '* — St. 
 Trophime where once kings and emperors were proud 
 to receive their coronation. A perfect mar\^el of 
 rigid apostles and saints guard the ancient doorway, 
 and a cluster of cherubs' heads stud the vaulted arch 
 where sits enthroned a figure of the Christ, one finger 
 raised as if to arrest the attention of all who pass 
 beneath. 
 
 Through the cool dim aisles we made our way to the 
 sacristy and up the well-worn flight of stone steps 
 to the cloisters, the ancient cloisters of St. Trophime, 
 one of the spots most dearly loved and prized by the 
 Fehbres. And no wonder — the exquisite beauty and 
 peace of this little enclosed comer of the old world 
 comes upon one like a surprise. A veritable Sleeping 
 Beauty hidden away in the heart of the city, a stone's 
 throw from the busy market place, so perfect, so un- 
 disturbed by the long centuries that have rolled by 
 since the days when mitred and crowned heads bent 
 beneath the low lintel of the little Gothic door passing 
 in splendid procession from cloisters to cathedral. 
 
 The garrulous old guide awaiting all new-comers 
 at the entrance was the only disturber of our peace. 
 He insisted on pointing out the beauties of each 
 arcade, noting the variety of style and telling us the 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 321 
 
 sculptured story of every arch. Many illustrious 
 visitors had he conducted, with attention they had 
 listened to his di scourse ! Monsieur Mistral's favourite 
 point of view behold it here, where the tall tower of 
 the " man of bronze '* may be seen keeping watch, 
 as it were, over the city. Monsieur Roosevelt also 
 had made a point of viewing thoroughly these inter- 
 esting cloisters and listening to their true history ; 
 for this purpose he had crossed the ocean and left 
 the American Republic to look after itself for a time 
 — a man of great intelligence that one ! 
 
 In the market place outside groups of young men 
 were displaying to interested friends and relations 
 newly acquired cockades of tricolour, that symbol 
 which proclaimed them recruits of the army of the 
 Republic. 
 
 On the Promenade des Lices all Aries had turned 
 out in Sunday best, the stately Arlesiennes looking 
 like a procession of Greek goddesses, their dark 
 waving hair parted in the centre, looped up at the 
 back of the head and crowned by the severe beauty 
 of the velvet coif. The ruins of the great monastery 
 of Saint-Cesaire, the tower of Archbishop Roland, 
 the noble rampart walls, the Roman arena and the 
 long funeral avenue of the Aliscamps all meet at this 
 point. 
 
 We turned from the gay promenade, down the long 
 avenue of poplars which shade the ruined tombs and 
 sarcophagus of that once famous cemetery where 
 Dante wandered realising his vivid pictures of the 
 Purgatorio and Inferno. 
 
 II 
 
322 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 In the old pagan days it was said that this won- 
 derful necropolis made Aries, the queen of cities, 
 more opulent beneath her soil than above. " Arelas 
 ditior sepulta quam viva," quoted my Felibre guide. 
 Here the great Romans under Augustus and Constan- 
 tine regarded it as their privilege to be buried. A few 
 ruined remnants of their magnificence still show under 
 the poplar trees, some of them turned to the base use 
 of a bed for the homeless vagrant who, little consider- 
 ing the outraged shades of the mighty dead, has made 
 himself comfortable inside with a good layer of hay 
 and straw and moved the gread lid to allow his 
 entrance. 
 
 Most of the great monuments of any value and 
 beauty have long ago been removed to the greedy 
 museums of Paris and Lyons, but in spite of the 
 despoiling and desecration of the Aliscamps, the 
 melancholy avenue seems to retain something of 
 the pagan greatness of its past. It is not till one 
 reaches the old church of St. Honorat to which the 
 avenue conducts, and the walled cemetery in which 
 it stands, that the Christian spirit overpowers the 
 pagan. But the old poetic legends all feel true as 
 the old guide tells in awed tones how St. Trophime, 
 first Bishop of Aries, desiring to consecrate the pagan 
 basilica and burying ground to the true God, and 
 finding among the bishops he assembled none holy 
 enough for the office, Jesus Christ Himself appeared 
 on the night of All Saints' Festival and consecrated 
 the church and Aliscamps. For centuries after, runs 
 the legend, did the Christ return every year and 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 323 
 
 celebrate the midnight mass in St. Honorat, sur- 
 rounded by the past Bishops of Aries — good St. 
 Trophime, he who had landed in Provence in com- 
 pany with Lazarus, Martha, and the three Saintes 
 Maries at their head. 
 
 It is a strange little building, this St. Honorat, 
 half Gothic, half Byzantine, with its Roman clock 
 tower and solid walls from which a deadly damp 
 exudes, chilling one through and through, as though 
 the dead would clutch the living and draw them down 
 to the Purgatorio, which Dante walking those same 
 stones pictured here below the sod. It was a relief 
 to come out into the fresh air and mellow autumn 
 sunhght and walk in the funeral garden, where flowers 
 and herbs grew in careless freedom over the old 
 graves, reminding one by their sweet living presence 
 that Mother Earth stiU had vitality and was not 
 one vast graveyard. 
 
 Aries is full of sudden contrasts of light and shade. 
 From the exquisite solitude of the cloisters of St. 
 Trophime one steps into the market place full of 
 youthful recruits. From the melancholy poplars and 
 tombs of the Aliscamps into the lordly Roman arena, 
 that magnificent record of builders who mocked at 
 time, living testimony to the power and strength of 
 military Rome. 
 
 Here on Sunday afternoons during the summer 
 months all the inhabitants flock to see the courses 
 de taureaux. My Felibresse friend assured me for 
 my peace of mind that this harmless amusement bears 
 no more resemblance to the modem bull-fight of 
 
324 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Spain than to the gladiatorial shows for which this 
 vast arena was built in the days when fifty thousand 
 people once lined these great rampart walls, and 
 fifty thousand voices shouted their applause or dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 A funny little comedy is enacted every Sunday 
 afternoon in the summer season. The courses de 
 taureaux are forbidden by law. Oh yes, most cer- 
 tainly they are forbidden ! So, the mayor in full 
 pomp of sash and decorations walks in solemn state 
 to the entrance of the arena and there, before the gay 
 assembly, reads out the edict forbidding tjfis enter- 
 tainment in the name of the Law under penalty of 
 an amende. Whereupon the master of the cere- 
 mony comes forward, alert and nimble, amende in 
 hand, and presents the coin (a franc, I was told) to 
 the majesty of the Law. Appeased as if by magic, 
 that gentleman drops the amende into his pocket, and 
 marches into the arena to take up an honourable 
 and conspicuous position among the spectators. 
 
 " Everyone enjoys the entertainment, especially the 
 bull," declares Dono Tereso. There are no unhappy 
 horses to be gored, only proudly eager young tore- 
 adors with bright scarves to be played with. A 
 certain amount of risk, but only enough to give 
 piquancy and zest to the proceedings. ** It is in our 
 blood, we love the game, we others of Provence," 
 said my Felibresse friend. 
 
 She explained the absence of the gory element in 
 the bull-fights of Aries and Avignon by the fact that 
 the Greek strain here is so far stronger than the 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 325 
 
 Roman. At Nimes, whenever they can afford it, they 
 introduce horses ; they love to kill their bull — they 
 have no objection now and then to a human victim. 
 But then Nimes is Roman and Aries is Greek — the 
 gladiators were of Rome, not Athens. 
 
 But more than anywhere else the spirit of Greece 
 survives in the ruins of the beautiful little theatre 
 with its Corinthian columns, so delicate and exquisite, 
 suggesting what must have been the perfect beauty of 
 the whole. Here was found the Venus of Aries, that 
 formidable rival to the Venus of Milo, like many 
 others of Aries' precious treasures, torn from her 
 embrace to be placed in the Museum of the Louvre. 
 Here in later days the Felibres have often celebrated 
 their Feasts of Sainte-Estelle, Mistral, Aubanel, 
 Roumanille, reciting to an enthusiastic audience 
 their patriotic odes and sonnets. 
 
 * 9C ♦ He * 
 
 About seven miles from Aries, across the Crau, 
 that Crau whose stones still witness to the great fight 
 of Hercules, and across which poor little Mireille, 
 heroine of Mistral's great epic poem, took her flight 
 to the church of the Saintes-Maries, lies the little 
 village of Paradou, the home of the Bums of Pro- 
 vence. 
 
 We drove through Montmajour, and passed the 
 famous monastery perched high above the plains, 
 in olden days often completely islanded by the con- 
 stantly overflowing waters of the Rhone. The Mon- 
 tagnette of Tarascon stood out boldly on our left. I 
 had been to Tarascon and paid my respects to Ste. 
 
326 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Marthe and the Taresque, the big toy dragon, the 
 day before. Our cocker had seemed to think the 
 dragon of far more importance than Ste. Marthe. 
 The two share the honours of celebrities of Tarascon, 
 though both have suffered from the spirit of the age. 
 The old NoahVark-looking monster is no longer 
 allowed his fete day and procession through the 
 streets, and though the long-loved patron saint of 
 Provence has many faithful who still visit the 
 beautiful old tomb in her own church of Ste. Marthe, 
 grave doubts have been cast by the cavihng sceptic 
 as to .whether she ever landed in France at all. 
 King Rene, who built the church in her honour, had 
 no doubt about it, however, and he was much more 
 in a position to judge than the modem caviller. The 
 stem old fortress of this famous king still looks 
 menacingly across the river to Beaucaire, no doubt 
 regretful that the fighting days are over, and his 
 rival, on the opposite bank, but a harmless ruin. 
 
 Passing through Fontvieille our driver pointed 
 out the mill of Alphonse Daudet, of three on the hill 
 the only one still " marching," for, though not in 
 working order the wind turned round its sails, as if 
 protesting against death and desertion for the mill 
 which gave birth to the celebrated " Lettres de mon 
 Moulin.** Fontvieille itself was en fete, for it was 
 Sunday aftemoon. Some of the young people were 
 dancing imder the trees to the sound of the fiddle, 
 another group, young recruits with a gay, tricoloured 
 cocarde stuck proudly in their hats, were playing 
 bowls, a favourite game all over Provence. 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 327 
 
 In spite of the stones of Hercules, which take not 
 only the form of gigantic rocks and boulders, but 
 sprinkle the soil thickly for long stretches of miles, 
 the plains of the Crau are fertile with oases of olive 
 and vineyards, and rich with treasure of quarries 
 of beautiful white stone, for which Hercules was'not 
 answerable. 
 
 Just before reaching Paradou we turned aside, 
 and, winding up the steep mountain road of a spur 
 of the Alpilles, made our pilgrimage, as in duty bound, 
 to the grim ruins of Les Baux. A more God-forsaken 
 spot it would be hard to find. Higher and higher 
 we mounted the side of this great mountain gorge, 
 and looking down from the summit upon the fantastic 
 rocks and ruins, all heaped together, indistinguish- 
 able in their confusion and destruction, it was easy to 
 believe that here, as tradition says, Dante saw one of 
 the pictures he describes in his circles of the Inferno. 
 Down at the entrance of the gorge on the plain our 
 driver pointed out a small farmhouse which he told 
 us was " the home of Mireille.'* Whether he was 
 right or no I cannot say, but it is curious how this 
 imaginary heroine of the great Proven 9al poet has 
 taken her place in the hearts and minds of the people 
 as though she were a historic character. She is as 
 real to them as the Saintes Maries themselves. 
 
 In the heart of the ruins of Les Baux a squalid 
 village hides itself out of sight. The inhabitants 
 seem to exist for the purpose of waylaying travellers 
 and begging from them — there is nothing else to do. 
 They seem of a different race from the people of 
 
328 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Provence, and have taken on the grey, crumbling look 
 of the devastated ruins. It was strange to think that 
 just on the other side of these barren AlpiUes, follow- 
 ing the narrow road between the steep towering 
 rocks, in all their serene beauty and dignity, stood 
 thofee perfect specimens of the old Greco-Roman 
 world, " Les Antiques " of Saint-Remy. 
 
 Paradou is a little stone village in the plains, grey, 
 solid and respectable, utterly lacking in any touch of 
 the picturesque, or of the cosy flowery brightness of 
 the English village. 
 
 We enquired of a small group of villagers for the 
 house of the poet. They came forward politely, eager 
 to give us information about their celebrity, all speak- 
 ing Proven 9al. Alas, the poet was absent, had left 
 that day only, and would not be home till the follow- 
 ing evening. But his brother was here — they would 
 fetch him to speak with us. 
 
 The brother was called, and we made known our 
 errand. II Capoulie had sent us to hear the songs of 
 the poet of Paradou. At the mention of the FeHbre 
 chief we took on an additional interest, not only in 
 the eyes of the poet's brother but of all the hstening 
 bystanders. 
 
 To my question as to whether he also could sing, the 
 brother of Charloun shrugged his shoulders hope- 
 lessly, helplessly. For him the poetry was a language 
 he understood not, and to sing he knew not ! " Moun 
 fraire," he added with pride, " he was always differ- 
 ent from we others ; he understood the poetry, 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 329 
 
 he loved it from a child. But he is not proud, moun 
 fraire — ah, no, he was never proud ! Like me, he is 
 a peasant ; he works hard, just as we all work, lives 
 as we live, no difference at all except his poems which 
 he makes." 
 
 He asked if it would make us pleasure to see the 
 house of Charloun and some of his books. *' We 
 live together since I have become a widower," he 
 explained, as we walked towards one of the cottages 
 at the end of the main street, raised just above the 
 roadside. A severe, plain, little four-walled house. 
 Outside hung the key on a nail. He unlocked the 
 door, and we entered the room, which was kitchen 
 and parlour in one. Very bare and plain was this 
 " poet's comer," speaking eloquently of the hard, 
 toihng life of the simple peasant. A dresser, scantily 
 furnished, a small table or two, and a few chairs, a 
 cupboard, nothing more. On the walls hung some 
 photographs of the family, one of the poet in solemn 
 funereal garb, but with a singularly cheerful face, full 
 of vigour and intelligence. Not a book was to be 
 seen, the only trace of Felibrige being the framed 
 card of membership, pointing to the fact tliat Char- 
 loun had been elected a Felibre just thirty years 
 ago. 
 
 A solitary pot au feu stood on the smouldering 
 ashes in the wide chimney. One looked in vain for 
 the bright copper pans and saucepans which generally 
 lend such a cheery look to the French interior. 
 
 " The books of Charloun are in the bedroom 
 upstairs — they are not many. I will fetch them," 
 
330 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 said his brother, mounting the Kttle narrow wooden 
 staircase which led to the room overhead. 
 
 He brought us the last edition of the " Chants du 
 Terroir," a book including three volumes of poems, 
 the first of which was published in 1884 with a preface 
 in Proven 9al by Mistral ; the second, " Nouveaux 
 Chants du Terroir," in igoo, with a study of the 
 author in French by Rougier ; the third, " Des 
 Demiers Chants du Terroir ," in 1904, with a preface 
 in French by Veran. This last includes some of the 
 old folk tunes of the country, dances, dirges, marches, 
 to which the poet has set his songs as Bums did his 
 to the old tunes of Scotland. 
 
 " From 1884 to 1900 did your brother the poet 
 write nothing ? " I asked. 
 
 " My faith but yes, he wrote always when by 
 reason of the bad weather or some such cause it was 
 impossible to work out-of-doors ; but my poor father 
 and my poor mother, see you, they cared nothing for 
 poetry — it annoyed them rather. So ray brother he 
 buried all he wrote in the ' cartons ' he had upstairs. 
 He dwelt then in the house by the church supporting 
 the parents so long as they lived. When at last, 
 ten years ago, my poor mother died — very old she 
 was, very old, even as my poor father when he went 
 — Charloun, as one might say, spread the wings.'* 
 With an expressive gesture the peasant brother 
 stretched out his arms. '* By that time he had al- 
 ready fifty years, the poor boy ; he opened the car- 
 tons wherein lay the manuscripts of years and 
 began to arrange his second volume. But he is not 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 331 
 
 proud, my brother ! Oh, no, he is not proud ; still he 
 works in the fields — ^works hard even as I work. In 
 all his life he received only six months of school 
 education here at Paradou. For we were a numerous 
 family, ten children and poor — it was necessary 
 Charloun should work and waste no more time in 
 learning. He has taught himself all he knows. There 
 are many who would be proud to be so honoured as 
 Charloun has been by our great poet, Monsieur 
 Mistral, and by many famous writers also, who write 
 him letters and have even come here to Paradou 
 expressly to visit him. It makes him pleasure, but he 
 becomes never proud. Here are two medals, one of 
 gold, a piece worth four louis ! " He opened rever- 
 ently a leather case. " Think you he cares for these 
 — ^not the least in the world. Medals and such things 
 make nothing to him 1 " 
 
 " And he has never married ? " I asked. 
 
 " Ah, no — never. The women, the cafes, and all 
 such things, he leaves them on one side,'* said the 
 brother, with a fine scorn. " The poetry, that is what 
 interests him, only the poetry. He was made Hke 
 that, you see, while I, his brother, and all of us were 
 made quite the other way, to understand nothing, 
 nothing of all that. See here his book, the ' Odyssey 
 of Homer.' This he has translated into our language 
 of Provence. Here is some of the manuscript." 
 He showed us a manuscript in the finest, most delicate 
 scholar's writing — a University hand ! " And this 
 also, * Telemaque,' a great poem it appears, though 
 for me I imderstand nothing of it. We were ten 
 
332 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 of us, brothers and sisters, but out of all that number 
 one sister only resembled Charloun. She made no 
 poems, but she could speak them, and she knew how 
 to express the ideas. Oh, it was as if they two had 
 another language from we others — ^but alas, she died, 
 that one, while she was young ! " 
 
 No doubt all great souls, whether poets, prophets 
 or artists, are lonely — those who dwell on the moun- 
 tain tops must needs be so — ^but let us hope such 
 utter solitude is rare as this peasant poet must have 
 known ; denied even the society of those brothers 
 whose hands were occasionally held out to him, be- 
 cause of the duty which bound him to his old parents, 
 till youth and middle age were past. 
 
 " But you understand and love your brother's own 
 songs ? '* I asked, this tragic case of the poet Char- 
 loun making the sim of Provence itself seem less 
 bright. 
 
 " Ah yes, I understand, Hke the rest, most of the 
 songs of Charloun, though I cannot sing them, I regret 
 to say. They are our own songs, see you, made in 
 the Provencal, not the French of other poets which 
 we speak not. All the world here in Aries, in Avignon, 
 Tarascon, Saint-Remy, even so far as Nimes and 
 Marseilles, they sing the songs of Charloun and recite 
 his poetry. At the Feasts of Sainte-Estelle they make 
 him to sing his songs, and the voices of three hundred 
 will join in the chorus. Ah, that is what makes 
 pleasure to my brother ! It is a pity he is absent to- 
 day — ^willingly he would have sung to you for an 
 hour. It is truly a pity ! But," he added hospitably. 
 
AMONG THE FfiLIBRES. 333 
 
 " these ladies will return, I hope, one day ; my 
 brother he comes back after to-morrow." 
 
 A pity ! Indeed it was a pity. The word was 
 pitifully inadequate to express the great disappoint- 
 ment. We assured him we hoped greatly to come back 
 in two days' time, but even as I said it I felt a secret 
 misgiving, a presentiment that all I should see of 
 Charloun and hear of his songs, would be the shadow- 
 figure conjured up by the peasant brother's words 
 as we sat in the homely little kitchen, and the 
 shadow-songs that seemed to echo round the walls. 
 
 We drove back to Aries as the sun sank down in a 
 glory of red and gold, throwing lovely lights and 
 shadows across the wide stretches of the Crau and the 
 Carmargue, painting all violet the distant hills. 
 
 At least it was consohng to think that this 
 peasant-poet had the country of Mireille for his home, 
 the author of Mireille for his friend, and the Fehbres 
 of Provence for his brothers. 
 
 My presentiment proved only too right. A letter 
 on my return to Aries told me that circumstances 
 obliged Aunt Anne to be in Paris the following even- 
 ing, and we must meet next morning in the train as 
 it passed through Avignon. The letter began and 
 ended, " Oh, my dear, I have had such an interesting 
 time, and have never ceased wishing I had made you 
 come with me instead of leaving you to potter about 
 those old Roman ruins and to go round seeing 
 ' febrile ' poets or whatever curious name you call 
 them." 
 
 To think of what, for lack of two or three more 
 
334 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 days, I must leave undone — Charloun and his songs, 
 Nimes and the exquisite little Maison Carree and 
 temple and baths of Diana — ^that wondrous Roman 
 aqueduct, the Pont du Gard, and above all the Uttle 
 town of Orange, with its majestic Roman arch and 
 amphitheatre ! A third day and I could have made 
 my pilgrimage in the footprints of Mireille across the 
 Carmargue to Les Saintes-Maries, that village on the 
 sea where the little bark full of Saints, tradition says, 
 ran aground — St. Lazarus, St. Martha, the three 
 Saint Marys, to say nothing of the aged St. Trophi- 
 mus, Maximin, Martial and Satumin, each worthy of 
 the halo with which ancient art invests them. A 
 precious cargo indeed, and what an honour for 
 Provence. Marseilles claims Lazarus, Tarascon the 
 active Saint Martha, while the bones of the three 
 Maries, Marie-Madeleine, Marie- Jacobe and Marie- 
 Salome, repose in the old Roman church by the sea, 
 on the site of which in 540 stood Notre Dame de la 
 Barque, according to the testimony of St. C^saire, 
 Archbishop of Aries in those days. 
 
 Oh, the weeks and months that life deals out with 
 lavish hand when one desires the days to speed and 
 be few, and two little days not to be had at any price 
 when every hour could be filled to the brim with 
 joyful interest ! 
 
 With these sad reflections, and leaving more than 
 half my heart behind, I joined Aunt Anne in the Paris 
 express, and waved a sad farewell to Dono T^r^o 
 and the sentinel cypress trees of Provence. 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 
 
 THOSE who desire to know the great forest in its 
 many moods, to learn its secrets, to behold its 
 beauty, and to become familiar with the inhabitants 
 and their various haunts, will never do so by whirring 
 through in a motor, delightful as it is to get the long 
 clear run, straight as a die for two miles or so, on Dene- 
 court's admirable forest roads. The avenues of tall 
 trees arching overhead with their grateful shade, the 
 smooth white road rolHng up hke a scroll under the 
 flying wheels, and " Speed, speed on the wings of the 
 wind " — ^this is all the forest has time to say to the 
 motorist. 
 
 Those who drive in more slow and dignified fashion 
 with horse and carriage are more blest than these. 
 They have leisure to see the lovely glades and side 
 paths — ^too narrow for them to explore, it is true, but 
 they hear the passing note of a bird, and see between 
 the trees the glow of purple heather and golden 
 bracken, while the sweet scent of the pines reaches 
 them unmixed with petrol and dust. 
 
 To know the forest, however, as the stag, the 
 squirrel, and bird know it, is only given to those who 
 go on foot, or on horseback, or on a silent, swift 
 bicycle, which latter has the advantage over a four- 
 
336 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 footed friend, that you can leave it to rest against 
 a tree while dismounting and climbing some rocky 
 point of view. With a free wheel, all sense of exer- 
 cise ceases ; you skim along smoothly and noiselessly 
 as a swallow on the wing. Even the nervous, keen- 
 eared stag does not hear the rubber tyre, and you 
 slow down to watch him as he stoops to drink his 
 morning or evening draught at the Mare aux Fees or 
 Mare de Franchard. 
 
 Aunt Anne, who prefers either the dignified carriage 
 or the slow and sure method of walking, denies 
 absolutely the advantages I claim for a bicycle. This 
 is but natural, and I found it best not to mention 
 when these special privileges fell to m3'" lot. 
 
 Gertruda, who, as usual, soon had a devoted 
 chauffeur in tow, in spite of the comparative seclusion 
 of the little village of Marlotte, meekly but firmly 
 maintained that the fullest enjoyment of the forest 
 could be known only to the motorist. It was 
 " prachtvoll," " reizend/' " entzuckend," " The 
 heavenly air as you flew along between the pines, 
 like draughts of nectar it seemed, the pictures of 
 rocks, lakes, glens, chasms, unrolled themselves be- 
 fore you like a series of beautiful cinematographs." 
 Gertruda is full of poetic ideas. 
 
 To me the forest was a fascinating picture-book — 
 a book of endless variety, in which every fresh page 
 showed a new scene wherein one read a new tale. 
 Now deep in the shade of a pine-forest on a steep 
 mountain side, recalling the lovely Swiss country 
 of Zienal or Arolla, an undergrowth of bracken and 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 337 
 
 heather for miles on either hand. Then suddenly, 
 with a bend in the road, the scene alters, and here is 
 a glade of silvery beech trees, tall, slender-stemmed, 
 with foliage delicate as lace work, a haunt for fairies 
 and wood njonphs, where the sunlight dances through 
 the branches and plays on the silver bark, while moss 
 and harebells form a carpet under foot. At one of 
 the " round points '* marked in the centre by an 
 ancient cross or obelisk, from which radiate half-a- 
 dozen or more forest roads, take that to Apremont, 
 and again the landscape changes — ^broken rocky 
 ground, deep gorges and chasms, lacking only a 
 trickling brown burn to place you in the heart of the 
 rugged Highlands. Huge boulders piled high, and 
 flung about as though giants had been at play, or 
 perhaps at war. Further on, the dense growth of 
 trees again, and, just when you least expect it, a vast 
 silvery marCy silent, mysterious, deeply shadowed 
 by the encircling trees, suggesting something vaguely 
 tragic as you come upon it suddenly out of the 
 warm colour and sunlight. 
 
 The very names of the forest rocks, roads, glens 
 and lakes are full of suggestion, and conjure up 
 romances of gallant kings, mighty huntsmen, beau- 
 tiful princesses, druids, dragons, wolves, fairies, and 
 even salamanders. " Gorge aux Loups," " Mare aux 
 Fees," " Rocher de la Salamandre," " Mail Henri 
 IV.," "Belvedere des Druides," 'Xarrefour de la 
 VaJliere," 'sweet Louise of the tender heart, whose 
 presence still haunts the '* Route de la Chevrette." 
 The " Avenue Maintenon " straightens one up again 
 
338 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 — that lady spared no stags, and no fair Louises 
 either. 
 
 Venus, Orpheus, Calypso, Vulcan, all have at 
 one time haunted these woods, not forgetting Lucifer 
 himself , to whom is assigned a suitable dark and damp 
 grotto. 
 
 The ancient Croix de St. Herem recalls a celebrated 
 meeting between Napoleon and Pope Pius VII., and 
 the characteristic scene which took place, the wily 
 " petit caporal " and the diplomatic Pope both pre- 
 tending they met as friends, and ignoring the patent 
 fact that one was spider and the other fly. When it 
 came to entering the carriage which was to conduct 
 the fly into the spider's parlour at Fontainebleau, the 
 comedy reached a climax. Neither would cede the 
 right of precedence to the other, so the difficulty was 
 settled Solomon-wise by both stepping in at the same 
 moment from the right and left sides of the Imperial 
 carriage. 
 
 One of the seven roads which meet at the " round 
 point " of this famous " Croix," leads before long into 
 the Galerie de Rosa Bonheur. The name suggests 
 an exhibition of magnificent lions and tigers on 
 canvas rather than the lovely avenue of tall, slender, 
 rainbow-coloured beech trees which it really stands 
 for. Far as the eye can see they arch overhead in a 
 line straight as that from the Tuileries to the Arc 
 de Triomphe, and on either side the forest, the endless 
 ever-varying forest, with its rich carpet of burnished 
 bracken and golden leaves ; a fitting habitation for 
 Titania and her attendant fairies. 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 339 
 
 This was where the great artist loved to take her 
 morning and evening ride, her favourite spot in the 
 forest which was for so many years her home. 
 Dressed in the eminently sensible and comfortable 
 costume which man has appropriated exclusively for 
 himself, but to wear which the French Government 
 gave that favoured woman a special dispensation, 
 astride on the horse she knew and loved as the best of 
 friends, with her short, thick, white hair, and the 
 soft felt hat shading her square, strong, kindly face, 
 so curiously resembling both Victor Hugo and 
 Michelet, the manly figure of Rosa Bonheur was 
 familiar a few years ago to every wood-cutter and 
 forester in these parts. 
 
 At the end of the beech tree galerie of Rosa Bon- 
 heur, with a sudden turn the forest breaks and 
 opens on the villages of By and Thomery. The 
 chateau and garden, a large slice of the forest pre- 
 sented by the French Government to the great Rosa, 
 stand on the outskirts of By, enclosed by a high 
 white wall, this last a most necessary precaution in 
 her Hfe time, since her pet companions were lions, 
 tigers, and panthers, to whom she gave a free run of 
 house and grounds. 
 
 We had succeeded in finding quarters after our 
 heart's desire in a Uttle house at Marlotte, on the very 
 edge of the forest. The trees brushed our windows, 
 and the golden leaves blew in and strewed the floors. 
 Leaning out of my bedroom window, I could see the 
 moonbeams playing upon the beech tree beneath 
 which Murger sat and wrote his " Vie de Boheme." 
 
340 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 We were living a sort of " Vie de Boheme " our- 
 selves, not in the sense of Murger's Bohemians, but 
 as near as possible to the gipsy's ideal of freedom and 
 fresh air. 
 
 One night at the inn had proved enough for Aunt 
 Anne, though she had unfeignedly enjoyed the 
 table d'hote dinner in company with some thirty to 
 forty artists and art students in the salle a manger, 
 the walls of which were entirely covered with their 
 handiwork, mementos left often in pa5mient of the 
 bill. Some of these frescoes were very clever, and 
 most of them original ; many, as our landlord 
 pointed out with pride, were signed with names since 
 become famous. 
 
 This was a farewell dinner to many of Messieurs 
 les artistes, who were departing on the morrow, the 
 season being over, and the great master, whose 
 studios attract so many, himself about to depart in 
 a few days. " Messieurs les artistes are migratory 
 birds, and return to Marlotte only with the butter- 
 flies and flowers," said our landlord. 
 
 From our small table in the comer of the room we 
 studied these strange birds, their plimiage and note 
 highly interesting to us, who knew them only as 
 depicted on the stage. 
 
 We saw none of our own cormtrymen. All appeared 
 to be French except one little group of fair-haired 
 men and women, whose nationality was manifest 
 even before they joined in the toasts with their hearty 
 
 " skdii-skdnr 
 
 The company kept dropping in at all hours during 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 341 
 
 the meal, and each new arrival was greeted with 
 fresh cheers and laughter, and in language the gaiety 
 and good humour of which was often the only thing 
 intelligible to us. They broke into song as readily 
 as into speech, drinking and clinking glasses to each 
 other's success and to the next merry meeting. But 
 they were very well conducted birds, and never 
 made us feel we ought not to be there. 
 
 Aunt Anne was fascinated. Had she been without 
 a chaperon I am convinced she would have joined 
 in the choruses and soon been the object of a general 
 toast. 
 
 They kept it up long after we retired, and their 
 voices echoed down the village street as they dispersed 
 to their various quarters, many going off to the annex 
 of the inn. 
 
 Next morning, by a great stroke of luck, we lighted 
 on some rooms which the owner desired to let for just 
 the fortnight we required them, leaving us also her 
 honne-d-tout-faire to cook and do for us. 
 
 Elise proved a jewel, and owing to this rare com- 
 bination of perfect weather, perfect scenery, and 
 perfect freedom from domestic care, life assumed an 
 almost idyllic aspect. 
 
 All day we lived in the forest, driving, walking, 
 sketching, reading, and, above all, *' lazing " (quite 
 the best occupation for such surroundings) — ^lunching 
 from the well-filled basket provided by Elise, under 
 the shade of some wide-spreading tree or perched 
 on some rocky height. In this manner we grew to 
 know the great forest, and she unfolded to us some of 
 
342 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 her secrets, secrets she hides from those who seek her 
 only for the chase, but reveals to the dwellers in the 
 greenwood, the wood-cutters, the guardians, the 
 poachers even, of whom there are rot a few, and, 
 above all, to the rightful owners themselves, the 
 birds and beasts of the forest. 
 
 One day we spent in the villages of the Chasselas, 
 By and Thomery. They are united by a long walled 
 road hung with vines, and are like places in a fairy 
 tale. 
 
 Beautiful purple and golden grapes (the famous 
 Chasselas) decorate the walls of every house and 
 every shed. The village streets are lined with vine- 
 covered walls, and wherever a wall can be built, at 
 right angles and comers, more vines and more are 
 planted. The gardens also are filled with vines on 
 stakes, long, straight rows, closely packed as though 
 reluctant to waste an inch of precious mother-earth 
 of this sunny hillside on the borders of the Seine. 
 
 Needless to say, no one is poor in this Land of 
 the Vine. The whole place is parcelled out between 
 prosperous peasant proprietors. " At By and Tho- 
 mery," said our driver, " every one owns a horse,'* a 
 possession which at once indicates the position on the 
 social ladder. It is a curious fact that these grapes 
 by the roadside, though of good market value, being 
 dessert and not wine grapes, are never stolen. Im- 
 agine a village an hour from London, with a con- 
 venient railway station ready to hand, keeping its 
 wealth of valuable fruit hanging in the open streets 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 343 
 
 and lanes. In the closed vineyards the Thomery 
 people employ dogs at night, but this is the only 
 means taken to protect their property. 
 
 Our visit to Thomery was for the express pur- 
 pose of buying grapes to send home to England, but 
 we found none of the villagers anxious to sell. It 
 was the middle of October, and nearly all the Chas- 
 selas were gathered ; only a few black grapes re- 
 mained still hanging. The Chasselas, each bunch 
 cut with a good stalk, were being stowed in their 
 winter quarters, shut away from the sweet air and 
 light in darkened rooms, their stalks in small bottles 
 of water, rows upon rows on shelves round the walls, 
 and suspended from the ceiHngs. The whole of the 
 upper floor of most houses in Thomery is devoted to 
 this purpose, and the grapes will last till April or May, 
 if needful, in this dismal prison, selling during the 
 winter months for as much as eight or ten francs 
 a pound. In October one can buy the finest quality 
 for one franc a pound, and those of an ordinary, 
 though most excellent kind, can be had in the Paris 
 markets for half that price. Not, however, Chasselas 
 from By and Thomery, and nothing less than these 
 would content us. So having tried three polite but 
 superbly independent village proprietors, we made 
 our way to one of the large nursery gardens. Here 
 we spent two hours choosing gifts for Aunt Anne's 
 divinity and arranging for their expedition to Eng- 
 land, no easy matter, as Aunt Anne insisted on buying 
 a specimen of every beautiful thing she saw, the 
 gardener who showed us round luring her from one 
 
3i44 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 temptation to another. Wondrous giant chrysan- 
 themums, surprising as those of the Blumengarten 
 in " Parsifal " — dwarf Japanese trees counting 
 their years with the centenarians — ^fascinating 
 little vines in pots for table decoration, about two 
 feet high, bearing two or three monster bunches of 
 muscat grapes — and crimson apples emblazoned 
 by the sun with the armorial bearings and crests 
 of the aristocratic purchasers for whom they were 
 destined. 
 
 With these last Aunt Anne was enchanted. She 
 gave an order for next summer's sun to stamp the 
 entwined initials of Victoria-Beatrice upon three 
 dozen red-gold apples. " It looks like a gift from 
 le ton Dieu Himself when the sun is employed as 
 draughtsman," she turned with enthusiasm to the 
 gardener. 
 
 But that gentleman was inclined to protest against 
 the credit being entirely bestowed upon Providence. 
 
 " Mafoi ! But it is not only le hon Dieu who works 
 at this affair. Madame must know it requires the 
 greatest skill to arrive at a result thus perfect. One 
 must adjust the paper design with much care, pro- 
 tecting it from wind and rain, taking pains also that 
 the apple is always rightly posed towards the sim 
 while ripening — not easy that — le hon Dieu He gives 
 the sun, but no further assistance." 
 
 The market was just over and the last stalls were 
 being packed up when we made our way to the garden 
 of the little inn at Thomery for dejeuner. 
 
 Market carts had come in from Bourron, Marlotte, 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 345 
 
 Champagne, Nemours, and all the country round. 
 Their owners found a ready custom among these 
 prosperous vine-growers, and looked well satisfied 
 with their morning's work. We recognised a friend 
 from Marlotte in the vendor of butter, chickens and 
 eggs, just starting homewards in her two- wheel 
 charrette. She greeted us"with a wide grin, and " He, 
 bonjour, Mesdames : but you are late for the market. 
 It is at eight o'clock these ladies might have made 
 good affairs." 
 
 " I hope you yourself have made good affairs, my 
 dear Madame Gobard ? " said Aunt Anne. 
 
 " Thanks to the sainted Virgin, to whom I never 
 fail to present a candle the eve of market day, I have 
 not done badly," conceded Madame Gobard, half 
 closing her shrewd brown eyes with an expressive 
 gesture, which made me doubt whether we should 
 have made " good affairs " even at eight o'clock in 
 the morning with anyone so wide awake. 
 
 Her next speech showed me the injustice of my 
 thought. 
 
 " If it would make Mademoiselle pleasure, I will 
 conduct her one day to a market really gay — Nemours, 
 for instance, if Mademoiselle will be ready to start at 
 half-past six o'clock. I take there the four speckled 
 fowl so soon as they are ready to sell, and I will buy 
 for these ladies all that they require, and at half the 
 price they themselves would pay, even including my 
 little profit," she laughed. 
 
 I accepted this offer with alacrity. Aunt Anne 
 saying she would come on later in the day, for dearly 
 
346 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 as she loves a market, rising at dawn does not smile 
 on her. 
 
 Our friend Madame Gobard is a good specimen of 
 the small peasant proprietor. She has a httle house 
 at Marlotte with a basse cour in front, where dweU 
 her chickens, a pig, a dog, with a shed at the side for 
 Hercule, the gaunt, bony old horse, and the market 
 cart. Her house consists of five " pieces " on the 
 ground floor, en suite, with a loft above for wood and 
 forage. The kitchen, in which all the work of the 
 day is done, shows no attempt at order or beauty ; 
 but the two bedrooms and two small sitting-rooms are 
 models of cleanliness and order, while the linen 
 sheets and spring mattresses would put to shame most 
 country hotels in England. 
 
 Mme. Gobard has married her two daughters and a 
 son, and given to each a pretty little dot. She and 
 her " old one " live alone, but work as though they 
 were starting life instead of finishing it, and always 
 " for the children," that they may leave them as 
 much as possible. Madame Gobard, besides her 
 chicken and egg business, does a good trade in butter, 
 which she receives in big hampers twice a week from 
 Touraine and Brittany and resells at the markets of 
 Nemours, Fontainebleau, Thomery, and other places 
 within the power of Hercule's strong legs. 
 
 She is a good Catholic, and always attends the 
 gratid'messe on Sunday in cap and gown, suitably 
 endimanchee. Her poUtics are as soundly practical 
 as her religion. She disapproves of the present 
 Government, as not only against le bon Dieii and the 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 347 
 
 Church, but even worse if possible, detrimental to 
 les bonnes affaires : " Les Sceurs et les Freres were very 
 good clients, see you, for however pious one is, one 
 must eat I Now everywhere the religious houses 
 stand empty and desolate." 
 
 Bidding our friend au revoir a bientot, that is so 
 soon as the four speckled fowls should be fit for 
 Nemours, we drove back to Marlotte through 
 Champagne and Moret along the banks of the Loing. 
 After leaving Champagne a curious change came 
 over the villages — no more vines and no more 
 prosperity, outwardly at least. 
 
 We passed rows of small wooden huts in a bare 
 field, windowless huts with one small door, looking 
 like sheds for workmen's tools, till we noticed the 
 swarms of small, grimy children running in and out, 
 and on inquiring from our driver learnt that these 
 were the houses of the mariniers, or bargemen who 
 ply their barges up and down the Seine and Loing. 
 " A curious people the mariniers," said our driver. 
 " My faith, but a well-conducted pig, he would 
 decline to live in the family of a bargeman." 
 
 After even a passing glimpse of those poor, 
 tattered, grimy infants one could well believe this. 
 Yet how picturesque and decorative the great 
 barges looked, slowly floating up the Loing as we 
 entered Moret ; even the tattered brown infant, 
 sitting dangling bare feet over the prow, made a 
 charming picture viewed in this his right setting. 
 
 The old church of Moret is so beautiful outside, 
 involuntarily one opens the door and enters. This is 
 
348 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 a mistake. Inside it is tawdry and vulgar, no repose 
 for eyes or spirit ; of the outside beauty and dignity 
 no trace is to be found. The thirteenth century is 
 responsible for the exterior, the nineteenth for the 
 interior. So much for the progress of ecclesiastical 
 art. 
 
 The nuns at Moret, though now forced to be 
 secularised, still continue the manufacture of their 
 famous " stccre d'orge." The Sister, who sold to us 
 at about four 4;imes the price that barley sugar costs 
 in England, was a lady of stem Jesuitical appearance. 
 She combined with a curiously meek attitude an 
 inflexibly determined tone of voice, and when she 
 remarked that though the Church was going through 
 a period of persecution at present she had no fear 
 for the future, as the Church always rose up dominant, 
 one experienced the feeling of an enormous power 
 of passive resistance. 
 
 We ended the day with a visit to the great Master 
 who has made of Marlotte another Barbizon. His 
 students had all dispersed for the winter ; we had 
 assisted at their farewell dinner, but many, he told 
 us, were following him to Rome. There on the Cam- 
 pagna he found again the sun, needful as the very 
 breath of his life to this sun-loving native of Algiers. 
 " Ld-bas," he said, " I can work, for it is the land 
 of inspiration — one breathes it in with the air." 
 
 The diversity of his gifts is amazing. He has 
 been rightly called a modem Benvenuto Cellini. 
 Pictures, frescoes, enamelled caskets, triptychs, 
 vases, jewels of antique form, copper work, and silver 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 349 
 
 and gold wrought into wondrous and beautiful forms ; 
 all these may be seen in this magician's work- 
 shop. 
 
 " It is not fair. Monsieur, that you should have so 
 many gifts. You can't have time to use them all, 
 and oh ! how glad I should be to have just one — the 
 smallest even," cried Aunt Anne. 
 
 But which was the smallest it would have been 
 difficult to say, for there were no small gifts to be 
 detected anywhere, the same great artist spirit show- 
 ing itself in all his work. 
 
 He regretted we had not come to see him sooner, 
 for his menage was now all disorganised, making ready 
 for an immediate flight to the south. All through 
 the summer we should have found him at home on 
 Sunday, for that was his day of relaxation and of 
 fete. Then his friends came out from Paris to 
 spend the day, a goodly company of artists, poets, 
 actors, musicians — " all the varieties," he laughed, 
 adding hospitably that we must come another year — 
 very surely we must come ! " One sings, one makes 
 music, one plays the comedy a rimproviste, one 
 amuses oneself well, I promise you." 
 
 ♦ « ♦ ♦ * 
 
 From the living Master of Marlotte I went next 
 day to visit the home of the departed Master of 
 Barbizon, for still his spirit haunts the place, changed 
 though it is so greatly since his day. Aunt Anne, 
 true to her principles of " live dogs " rather than 
 " dead Hons," went off to the market of Fontaine- 
 bleau, taking Gertruda well equipped with baskets 
 
350 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and string-bags for purchases. Friends from a 
 chdteau some ten miles off were coming next day to 
 picnic with us in the forest, and Ehse was desirous 
 of excelling herself in the cold dejeuner. A grand 
 opportunity for the marketers. 
 
 So with an artist friend from the neighbouring 
 village of Grez-sur-Loing as my guide, and mounted 
 each on a good steel steed, we sped through the gold 
 and green glades, and along the smooth roads, with 
 the ease of birds on the wing. 
 
 We made little detours to see " points of view,** 
 and to pay our respects to some of the famous forest 
 giants, many of whom are, alas, passing away. The 
 veteran Pharamond, however, still stands Hke a huge 
 column, all branches gone save a few at the top, 
 which he wears proudly hke a green aigrette. 
 Jupiter, too, the great elm, suffers silently his 
 ** Gdtterddmmerung," while his brother hes prone a 
 few yards off, where some years ago he fell, roots up, 
 from sheer old age. His body is treated with respect. 
 I was glad to see notices forbidding him to be 
 climbed upon or his bark to be cut with the names 
 of the vulgar tourist. 
 
 At Franchard we stopped to lunch among the 
 rocks and caves, inhabited in turn in the olden da5rs 
 by holy hermits and unholy brigands. It was a grand 
 site for gentlemen of both professions. Where once 
 stood the famous monastery of Franchard, there 
 is now adjoining the ruins a restaurant. But it is 
 closed in October, so we were spared all sign of the 
 tourist as we sat and refreshed ourselves by the 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 351 
 
 quaint little fountain bearing the date 1148, and read 
 the following words of warning : — 
 
 " L'eau de notre fontaine 
 N'est ni bonne el boire 
 Ni bonne k voir." 
 
 Quite true, we made no doubt, as far as the first 
 assertion went, but no one would deny beauty to the 
 little stream trickling with its silvery tinkle over the 
 moss-grown stones. 
 
 Further on we came to the Gorge d'Apremont, 
 scene of the great fire, where acres lie desolate and 
 charred, the trees still standing, showing blackened 
 stems, specially at the roots, for the cruel flames 
 crawled along the ground, fed by the dry grass and 
 undergrowth, coiling their red tongues round the base 
 of their poor victims, and only occasionally leaping 
 up to devour the tree to its height. It was so the 
 great Clovis fell, burnt clean through at his base, 
 as though cut by the woodman's axe. 
 
 Descending the steep road from the heights of the 
 Apremont rocks, we came down into the smiling, 
 simny village of Barbizon, no longer the quiet little 
 street of low-roofed stone cottages sleeping in the 
 heart of the country on the forest's edge, as it was 
 when Pere Ganne started his first little inn, and 
 Rousseau, Corot, Diaz, and Millet had the place to 
 themselves. Barbizon has now many hotels boasting 
 all the newest inventions, and alas, a steam tram 
 connects it with Melun. The little street of peasants' 
 low-roofed stone cottages has grown to a long road 
 
352 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 of villas and artists* houses in well-kept gardens. 
 Barbizon is a fashionable summer resort ! Still, it is 
 not difficult to see through all these latter-day changes 
 Millet's Barbizon of fifty years ago ; for the forest 
 is there, and the great wide plain stretching far away 
 to the west. Still the peasants go forth to sow and 
 plough, to reap and glean, still bow their heads in 
 prayer as the Angelus rings at sunset — ^just as the 
 great master pictured them. 
 
 A high wall in the village street shuts in the house 
 and garden where Millet dwelt for thirty years. We 
 were admitted by the old gardener, who warned us on 
 the threshold that if we had come to see the pictures 
 usually on view in the studio, pictures by Diaz, Corot, 
 Rousseau, as well as by Millet, our pilgrimage was in 
 vain, for they were all away at the vamisher's " for 
 the moment." 
 
 The only thing he could show us from the hand of 
 the Master was a set of plates with pencil designs 
 ready for painting. These, though interesting, did not 
 recall the work oi** le grand Rustique,'* as he loved to 
 designate himself, and one could only regret those 
 pictures in the clutches of the terrible varnisher. 
 
 There was httle trace anjrwhere of Jean Fran9ois 
 Millet. The cottage has all been changed, the 
 dining-room and studio are the only rooms now left 
 of the little one-storied stone building with tiled roof, 
 described by Millet in his letters to his friend Sensier. 
 Even the vines he planted and the gay shrubs and 
 flower-borders which gave him such keen joy, all are 
 uprooted and destroyed. The walls of the atelier are 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 353 
 
 bare, those walls which once spoke so eloquently of 
 his life — covered as they were with heads of peasants, 
 profiles of friends, favourite mottoes, flying thoughts 
 caught on the wing by the Master's brush, some gay, 
 some sad ; here a chalk drawing, dashed in by his 
 friend Rousseau, there a grand forest tree half 
 suggested by the hand of Diaz, and near the fireplace 
 the names and heights of all this elect little company 
 of close friends and neighbours. 
 
 When Madame Millet, thirteen years after her 
 husband's death, was uprooted from this beloved 
 home on the expiration of her lease, the son of Millet 
 obliterated all trace of these precious records of his 
 father's '* Vie intime," dreading that what was so 
 sacred to his mother and iiimself should fall into the 
 cold hands of strangers. So related my artist guide 
 as we stood in the bare studio, and pictured what it 
 must have looked when the fine strong figure of the 
 Norman peasant-artist stood at his easel, working 
 out his inspired ideas, while Rousseau, Diaz or Corot 
 sat in the old armchair near the door watching him 
 and discussing their ideas and ideals regarding 
 art. 
 
 In the garden, or rather orchard, in which the 
 house stands, and which is bordered by the forest, 
 the old gardener led us to a rough stone seat beneath 
 the shade of an apple tree. " Here also he used to sit 
 and paint and often watch the sun go down,** said our 
 guide. " He worked hard, that one, for he was poor, 
 very poor, even to the day he died. Always he paid 
 rent for this house, it was not even his own ; that 
 12 
 
354 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 he regarded always as a great reproach — it troubled 
 him much." 
 
 Here at last one came in touch with the real life of 
 Jean Fran9ois Millet. The apple tree and the old 
 stone seat were unchanged save for the winters that 
 had passed over them. One looked out on the same 
 wide stretch of country he painted in his " Angelus/' 
 " Sowers/' and " Gleaners," and on the same dark 
 forest trees that form the protecting wall at the edge 
 of his field. What hours of sorrow, anxiety and 
 suffering he lived through in the little house yonder, 
 but here beneath the apple tree, visions and inspira- 
 tions must have come to him, Ufting him into that 
 seventh heaven which opens only to the great seers, 
 whether musicians, painters, poets, or prophets. 
 
 On the opposite side of the road a son of Millet still 
 lives. " He also paints," said the old gardener, 
 " but not hke his father ; that one was strong, oh, 
 but very strong — above all, as amateur de tableaux." 
 
 One cannot imagine the word " amateur " used in 
 an odder connection, to Enghsh ears at least ; it is 
 so hard for us to dissociate it from the very different 
 meaning conveyed in French. 
 
 The body of Millet rests in the little cemetery of 
 Chailly, close to the church where for generations the 
 inhabitants of Barbizon have gone to be christened, 
 married and buried. He is next to his great friend 
 Rousseau, who preceded him by many years, and to 
 the wife who stood so bravely by his side during the 
 thirty years of struggle with poverty, disappointment 
 and sorrow, which were his in even greater degree 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 355 
 
 than fails to the ordinary lot of the pioneer and 
 revolutionist in art. ** The trees he planted on the 
 grave of Rousseau now shade them all three/' said 
 my friend. " He had the simple funeral of a peasant 
 as he desired, but all the confraternity of painters, 
 poets and writers, to whom he had come as a strong 
 angel with a torch to lighten their darkness and fill 
 their hearts with new hope and courage, followed 
 weeping to that Httle grave on the hill." 
 
 I was content not to visit the spot. It is impossible 
 to think of Jean Fran9ois Millet, that spirit so vital, 
 so intensely alive, as connected in any way with a 
 cemetery, however picturesque. If he revisits this 
 world at all, it must be to wander in his beloved 
 forest, or perhaps to sit on the old stone seat at 
 sunset, gazing out over the famiUar plains as the 
 peasant toilers, with whom he had such S5niipathy and 
 understanding, wend their homeward way. 
 
 ♦ 4c a|e * ♦ 
 
 Madame Gobard did not forget her promise to take 
 me to the market at Nemours. One day EUse greeted 
 me with the news that the old dame had been round 
 to say the four speckled fowls were ready, and she 
 would call for me next morning at half-past six. 
 
 Never was a vehicle so conspicuous for an entire 
 absence of springs or other luxurious fittings as that 
 two-wheel charrette of Madame Gobard, yet seldom 
 have I enjoyed a drive more, in spite of the presence 
 of those four poor speckled ones in their basket at 
 our feet, going to their doom like the victims of the 
 Revolution in a shaky tumbril. 
 
•356 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 The morning was superb, sweet, fresh and dewy, 
 as a rose which shakes out its petals in the early 
 breeze. Everything was radiant with colour, the 
 vivid blue sky, the red and yellow forest, and the 
 carpet of green that bordered the road. The newly- 
 risen sun smiled with satisfaction on it all. To think 
 that God makes such mornings, and that we waste 
 them in bed ! The birds and beasts are wiser, and so 
 is Madame Gobard, for in spite of her steady eye to 
 les bonnes affaires, she is not blind to the beauty of 
 the world in which it is her good fortune to conduct 
 her business. She even pointed out his blessings 
 to Hercule, and kept up a running commentary 
 with him on his manner of conducting himself 
 and us. 
 
 " How then, animal — is this the way one com- 
 mences on a fine morning ? Is it a funeral procession, 
 thinkest thou ? Head of calf ! Again must one tell 
 thee to pick up thy legs of a toad lest thou leave 
 them on the road. Voyons done, Hercule, my friend 
 — ^march then, old brigand." 
 
 The ears of Hercule bent backwards and forwards ; 
 without the encouraging voice of his mistress his 
 pace instantly slackened. There is no doubt that he 
 understood her language, and though she kept up a 
 lively conversation with me it was interspersed 
 with these constant reminders to Hercule. 
 
 Beside the four fowls, who, Madame Gobard 
 assured me, in spite of their cramped quarters, were 
 ** amusing themselves well," we had a good supply 
 of golden butter from Touraine, some of a lesser 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 357 
 
 quality from Brittany, and a large basket of fresh 
 eggs. 
 
 " Mademoiselle will see, I shall return the baskets 
 empty, the pocket filled," she observed with the 
 confidence born of experience. 
 
 " Forget not that to sell your goods even at the 
 smallest profit is better than to make the return 
 journey with them. Some people have the ideas too 
 exalted — ^those there make never good affairs. 
 ' Better is a chicken in the pot than a goose on 
 the wing ' ! " Such was Madame Gobard's sound 
 policy. 
 
 As we passed through Bourron to pick up two 
 large grey geese which Madame Gobard had promised 
 to sell for a friend in return for a little benefice, I 
 saw a notice announcing a sale on the following day, 
 when among other objects of art and antiquity, a 
 bureau, once the property of Alfred de Musset, would 
 be sold. George Sand and Alfred de Musset, they, 
 too, were once famiUar figures in this part of the 
 forest. Further on we passed the house where Balzac 
 lived and wrote so many of his novels. It was not an 
 inspiring-looking dwelHng, but constructed on the 
 dull, plain pattern of a chest of drawers, backed by 
 dark groups of trees, with a lawn in front, and 
 never a flower within sight. 
 
 " He was very strong for the romances — ^there have 
 existed few who could equal our writer Balzac," 
 remarked Madame Gobard with an air of proud 
 ownership, as she pointed to the white house with 
 her long whip. " Though for my part," she added. 
 
353 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 with characteristic honesty, " I leave aside all ro- 
 mances good and bad ; they concern not those who 
 must work, and for whom life is a serious affair, see 
 
 you." 
 
 I endeavoured to argue this point, but with as much 
 success as had I tried to change the course of the 
 sun. That life could be a serious affair for me, for 
 instance, who went to market for the sole object of 
 diversion, she refused to admit. 
 
 " Life, it is serious for those only who have made 
 the acquaintance of the hunger — or would make it 
 quickly if they did "not toil. For others life is a 
 bagatelle, in spite of all Mademoiselle may say to the 
 contrary." 
 
 Still, Madame Gobard allowed things were better 
 now than formerly for the peasant. " When I was 
 a child," she said, " I hved with my grandmother. 
 She had passed through the Revolution in her 
 youth. I remember well all she used to recount to 
 me. The peasants were slaves then. Now they 
 are proprietors, they own their land. One works 
 quite as hard, without doubt, but it is for oneself at 
 least, not for a master who eats up your hfe. To 
 pay rent to another for the roof over one's head, that 
 is a thing to make a man who respects himself 
 ashamed." 
 
 I thought of Jean Fran9ois Millet, and how bitterly 
 he had felt this very thing — ^his fine old peasant 
 grandmother having constantly reiterated this doc- 
 trine from his youth up. 
 
 As we passed through Grez, with its picturesque 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 359 
 
 bridge so beloved of the artist there is never a salon 
 without it, and Larchant, with its beautiful old 
 church, other market carts began to ^pear on the 
 road. Some of the owners greeted Madame Gobard 
 as an old acquaintance, all wished us a friendly good 
 morning, except a rather cranky-looking pair of old 
 crones who looked askance at me, one of them inter- 
 jecting something, I imagine, of a scornful nature to 
 Madame Gobard about her companion. Owing to 
 the absence of any teeth in her head, I was unable to 
 understand, but Madame Gobard hurled after her 
 a strong recommendation to mind her own affairs, 
 and specially her rather precarious seat, for both old 
 bodies were perched on chairs placed in their high 
 charrette, and, as they jolted along, seemed to have no 
 firmer tenure than a couple of old withered leaves 
 which a breath might blow away. 
 
 The warning, much to Madame Gobard's satisfac- 
 tion, proved not unnecessary. Just as we were driv- 
 ing down the stately avenue of " talking poplars,'* 
 as R. L. Stevenson has so aptly named them, and I 
 was mentally agreeing with his verdict that not a 
 nobler road could be found than that entrance to 
 Nemours, a hooting automobile rushed by in a cloud 
 of dust, and in the same moment a shrill scream of 
 " Au secours I " reached us from behind. We turned 
 and beheld one old dame lying in the dusty road, her 
 chair upside down by her side, while the other 
 struggled with the horse, who had swerved to the side 
 of the road, tilting one wheel on to a heap of stones, 
 and bidding fair to overturn the charrette. 
 
36o FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 I sprang down, fearing the old lady was killed, 
 for she lay like a log, but on my raising her up I was 
 relieved to hear her pour forth a torrent of excedingly 
 forcible language on those accursed inventions, 
 les automobiles, and their still more accursed drivers. 
 Wonderful to say, she was not even hurt. I came to 
 the conclusion she must have had considerable ex- 
 perience in falling, poor old soul. She and her 
 daughter — they were alike as twins, but this was in 
 fact the relationship — were soon reinstalled, jogging 
 along quite happily again, and with, I am glad to say, 
 a much more kindly feeling for Madame Gobard's 
 companion than before. 
 
 The market place was an animated scene — ducks 
 quacking, women wrangling, babies yelling, carts 
 arriving on all sides, their owners unloading and 
 setting out their goods in the bright October sun- 
 shine. 
 
 Madame Gobard took up her position between an 
 old lady with vegetables and cheeses and a man with 
 a large family of white ducks. She remarked she was 
 well placed, for, said she, " My neighbour here with 
 the ducks is like most of the men, a bad marketer ; 
 he has the tete dure, and likes not to abate his price 
 and be accommodating. His ducks, which are good 
 enough, will bring customers to whom I shall sell these 
 geese. On the other side, those who buy cheeses 
 from the ' old one ' will desire also butter — and here 
 behold it." 
 
 How well Madame Gobard knew her 7nonde was 
 shown by the accurate fulfilment of her prophecy 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 361 
 
 before the end of the day. It was not until all the 
 speckled fowls and the pair of grey geese had been 
 sold that her neighbour of the tete dure, seething with 
 inward wrath and vexation, made the inevitable 
 reduction and got rid of two of his noisy family at 
 the eleventh hour to avoid the disgrace of conduct- 
 ing them all home again. Then Aunt Anne, arriving 
 late on the scene, having been detained by her 
 usual category of thrilling adventures, hearing the 
 tragic tale of the tete dure, though she did not require 
 ducks, purchased another pair of the remaining eight 
 and threw in with the very welcome francs some 
 sound advice, which was somewhat sulkily received, 
 being exactly that which Madame Gobard had given 
 him on triumphantly packing up her empty baskets 
 shortly before. 
 
 I found Aunt Anne in a mood of bitterness against 
 the French nation. A mood induced by a little scene 
 she had just witnessed at the boot stall further down 
 in the market place. 
 
 " I should like to prosecute them for cruelty to that 
 child," said Aunt Anne, pointing in the direction of a 
 small boy ; '' this French economy is in most cases 
 nothing more than miserliness and avarice, my dear 
 Felicity. I prefer spendthrifts like the English. You 
 see that child ; look at his boots." 
 
 We were close to him now, and I noticed that the 
 small boy seemed to have on exactly the same sized 
 boots as the man whose hand he was holding, 
 awkward clumping, heavy boots they were, too. 
 
 " I came up, hearing a lively altercation," said 
 
362 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Aunt Anne, " between the boy's bonne and the parents, 
 evidently quite well-to-do bourgeois. Several people 
 were listening, the saleswoman was siding with 
 the parents against the bonne, who was urging the 
 mother to buy boots to fit the unhappy boy, or to 
 leave him barefoot. ' The poor little one cannot 
 drag his feet along,' she said. * Not at all, they are 
 very well, these boots/ said the mother ; * he 
 grows fast, and they will serve also for next year, 
 see you.' The father and grandmother both agreed, 
 saying, ' the idea was very practical.' Practical 1 
 They are the most unpractical people under the sun," 
 pronounced Aunt Anne. 
 
 As Madame Gobard and I drove back to Marlotte 
 we met a group of women coming from the forest who 
 seemed to have stepped straight out of one of 
 Millet's pictures. They were returning from gather- 
 ing wood and sticks, and were all heavily laden with 
 gigantic loads on their backs, a pad of bracken at 
 their necks to protect them from the sharp ends of 
 the wood. 
 
 " The law permits them to take all they can carry 
 in the hand or on the back," said Madame Gobard ; 
 " but no cart or barrow may be used. It is a benefice 
 for the poor only, or at least those who one sup- 
 poses to be poor," she added with a laugh. " See the 
 old Madame Bouton, she is a proprietor and might 
 well rest tranquil by the corner of the fire, but she 
 works to gain still a few more sous for the children and 
 grandchildren." She pointed to a frail-looking old 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 363 
 
 bent body, with a face the same colour as the burnt 
 bracken at her back, not only weighed down by a 
 great load on her back, but trailing a huge log in one 
 hand. A forcible example of the mighty power of 
 mind over matter, but Aunt Anne would have no 
 doubt said another example of French love of saving 
 and parsimony. 
 
 It is certainly a strange feature in French peasant 
 life, the way in which old people of both sexes con- 
 tinue to work on long after one would think they had 
 earned their seat of rest by the fire, or on a garden 
 bench in the sunshine. There is always the same 
 invariable reason given. " One must work for the 
 children." The children seem to be quite of the 
 same mind, and in their turn will doubtless toil far 
 harder at seventy and eighty than at thirty. French 
 parents have not done with their children when they 
 send them out into the world, and this is one great 
 reason why, with the urgent desire of providing for 
 their children, they take good care as a rule not to 
 have more than they can manage. A large family 
 means to them a burden more heavy than they 
 could bear, for the Enghsh plan of rearing the children 
 from hand to mouth, blissfully uncertain whether on 
 the morrow there will be anything for the hand to 
 put into the seven or ten hungry mouths and taking 
 the same amount of thought for the future as the 
 sparrows overheaa, is a solution of the problem 
 which never presents itself to the French mind. 
 
 ♦ ♦ He « ♦ 
 
 Our last day in the forest was one in which I have to 
 
364 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 confess we broke all the canons of our greenwood 
 life, and forfeited for ever the trust and goodwill 
 we had hitherto been slowly earning from the right- 
 ful owners of the forest. True, we did not go so far 
 as to sin against the noble king of the woods himself, 
 nor against the feathered fraternity, except, that is, 
 by filling their peaceful domain with the ominous 
 howling of dogs and sounding of horns, and their 
 hearts with a sickening fear. It was the exciting 
 chasse a sanglier which tempted us, the opening hunt 
 of the season. 
 
 Our friends at the chateau, where we were lunching 
 the day before, insisted it was not a thing to miss. 
 They were among the invited, so could take us, for it 
 was a chasse privee, at which no one was supposed to 
 assist without an invitation from the Master of the 
 boarhounds, who had purchased the sole right to 
 chase the wild boar for that year. The stag hunt, 
 also put up to auction yearly by the Government, 
 has for several seasons now been in the hands of an- 
 other keen sportsman. 
 
 There was a great variety of opinion at the chateau 
 as to the conveyances most suitable for this chasse. 
 Only two of the men of the party were to be actually 
 among the chasseurs, but everybody, including our 
 hostess and her numerous guests, were bent on follow- 
 ing. 
 
 After dejeuner we all went round to the stables to 
 inspect the horses and carriages. Our host is justly 
 proud of this department ; never had horses a more 
 luxurious home. Everything is done ^ I'Anglaise, 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 365 
 
 even to the names of the horses and the nationality 
 of the grooms. The stables were a model of freshness 
 and order, each horse his coat like satin, his stall or 
 loose-box like a drawing-room, with a neatly platted 
 little border round the edge of the carpet of straw. 
 Two most attractive and intelligent Egyptian donkeys 
 occupying a loose-box at one end of the stables 
 Hfted up their voices for carrots, sugar, and other 
 dainties, directly they heard the voice of their mis- 
 tress. They were evidently a great source of annoy- 
 ance to the beautiful and haughty lady who resided 
 next to them. She lay back her high-bred ears and 
 showed the whites of her scornful eyes ; it required 
 aU her master's most flattering speeches to soothe 
 her feelings. 
 
 " Voyons done, ma belle," he murmured, his arm 
 round her neck, '* thou and I we hunt the sanglier 
 to-morrow — vex not thyself for that canaille, they 
 remain at the house to draw the children about the 
 garden ! Such poor beasts are unworthy of thy 
 notice." Thus petitioned, the haughty beauty re- 
 lented, and presently condescended to eat the sugar 
 offered her, and even to rub noses with her master. 
 
 From the stables we went to the coach-houses, and 
 were introduced to the " Dragon Rouge," a splendid 
 " Mercedes," the " Serin," a smart little yellow 
 " de Dion Bouton," and the two chauffeurs, both 
 Frenchmen. 
 
 " The Englishman he is admirable with the horse, 
 but the Frenchman he understand best the machine," 
 said our host. " For all that which concerns science, 
 
366 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 and requires precision, exactitude, the deft hand, 
 give me the Frenchman ; but for the horse who de- 
 mands study of character, no one hke the English 
 groom, that is to say, when he is a good boy and 
 loves not too much the beer." 
 
 Some of the party voted for the " Dragon Rouge," 
 some for the victoria. One prudent lady, however, 
 declared herself firmly for the coup6 brougham. She 
 was a dainty little person of pure Parisian breed, got 
 up in an elaborate rustic costume that somehow 
 suggested the absence of a shepherdess's crook and 
 bunch of ribbons. 
 
 " I prefer to feel myself safely shielded from the 
 tusks of the angry monster, see you," she said. *' In 
 a victoria nothing more likely than that the beast 
 should refuge himself inside. Armand, tnon chert," 
 she turned to her son, a young man of some five- 
 and-twenty years, who had voted for the automobile, 
 " thou wilt accompany me — I should have a crisis of 
 the nerves if I knew thee in an exposed position." 
 
 Poor Armand protested that he would place 
 himself behind the broad shield of his host's back, 
 where surely the eye of no sanglier would detect him, 
 but in vain ; this was no subject for joking, said his 
 mother firmly. 
 
 She regarded me as little better than a lunatic for 
 regretting my riding habit. '* You do not realise. 
 Mademoiselle, that a sanglier he is not of the disposi- 
 tion of the fox or the hare or even the deer — there is 
 danger with that one, he has a bad character." 
 
 It was true I found it difficult to realise that a reallv 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 367 
 
 serious form of hunting could take place in these 
 beautiful well-kept civilised woods only an hour from 
 Paris. A sanglier, I imagined, would resemble a 
 Surrey stag who plays the same game over and over 
 again, till he dies of a green old age. It was with 
 astonishment I learnt that on the last occasion of a 
 sanglier hunt, one of the boarhounds had been killed 
 and half-a-dozen wounded by the same desperate 
 fighter before he yielded his life. 
 
 Aunt Anne voted for the victoria, and I, since a 
 horse without a habit was impossible, for my bicycle, 
 in which I was seconded by another enthusiast for 
 the free-wheel, a pleasant little Vicomte, the nephew 
 of our host. He eagerly volunteered to escort me, 
 saying he knew the forest like his own pocket. 
 
 " Les hicyclettes ! " cried the rustic lady from Paris, 
 " but that is much worse than a horse ! " And all the 
 party joined in a chorus of advice to the two rash 
 cyclists to make their " testaments " before starting. 
 
 There was a thick, soft veil over everything the 
 following morning, the first sign we had yet seen of a 
 mist. It was no doubt a protest on the part of the 
 forest, an effort to shield and protect her own 
 greenwood children from the savage attacks of their 
 enemy man, and his slave dogs. As the day ad- 
 vanced the sun pierced through and to a great extent 
 dispersed the mist, leaving only a blue-grey distance, 
 and a sort of gentle mystery around the trees. 
 
 The meet was fixed for between eleven and half 
 past, at the " Belle Croix." Our friends with the 
 
368 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 " Dragon Rouge," the " Serin " for the two eques- 
 trians, whose horses had been sent on before, the 
 victoria, the coupe, and bicycles, all came round to 
 fetch us. Marlotte was greatly excited at sight of 
 this cortege, and turned out to see us depart ^vith 
 cheers of encouragement. 
 
 I found myself provided with two cavaliers, for 
 besides the little Vicomte, who knew the forest " like 
 his pocket," to my surprise, there was Monsieur 
 Armand, son of the prudent lady, mounted on a 
 free-wheel. 
 
 " I have persuaded Maman that nothing so safe as 
 a bicyclette," said he ; " for if one sees advancing a 
 sanglier one has but to descend, see you, and mount 
 a tree. Then with my revolver, which behold ready 
 loaded, I shoot the beast. A famous idea, is it not ? " 
 he laughed. " And the poor little Maman she is quite 
 consoled, for I have procured for her a charming 
 cavaher who is enchanted to sit by her side in the 
 coupe and make her compliments — the old General 
 de Soissons it is ; with his leg of wood he holds not 
 much to encounter the double danger of the auto- 
 mobile and the wild boar." 
 
 " Ah, the cunning one that thou art," said the 
 Vicomte. " It will amuse me much to see thee 
 climbing trees, but for the revolver I beg thee take it 
 not — the lives of Mademoiselle and myself have a 
 certain value, little though you may suspect it." 
 
 " Maurice, my friend, I can support much, but thou 
 goest too far even for our friendship." His tone was 
 dignified but pained. Another moment and I feared 
 
\ LIFE IN THE FOREST. 369 
 
 he might request the httle Vicomte to bring a 
 revolver too, and that I might have to act as temoin 
 to both. There is a beautiful uncertainty with the 
 Gallic temperament as to where lies the border-line 
 between jest and earnest. It is often overstepped 
 in an instant and without the slightest warning. 
 Happily the danger passed, and we were soon speed- 
 ing smoothly along the splendid forest road in the 
 wake of the " Dragon Rouge " and the " Serin," 
 the rest of the procession far behind. 
 
 Round the " Belle Croix " a goodly number had 
 already assembled, and down all the long avenues 
 which radiate from this point rond of the forest more 
 were arriving. Officers in various uniforms made 
 bright patches of colour against the dark trees. The 
 elegant " gilded youth '* in long black frock-coats, 
 white breeches, top-boots, white tie, and white 
 gloves ; the Master of the hunt and his friends in 
 pink, with blue collars and cuffs, black velvet caps, 
 and slung round each neck the big brass hunting horn, 
 la irompe. There were no amazones of the party on 
 this occasion, though the stag hunt is often patronised 
 by ladies. Many carriages joined us and several 
 smart motors. Everyone seemed to know each other, 
 and they laughed and chatted in a way to warn 
 sangliers and serfs for miles round. Most of the 
 riders arrived in coupes or motors, from which they 
 emerged well wrapped up in fur-lined coats, their 
 horses and grooms awaiting them at the rendezvous. 
 
 It was a scene which, but for the automobiles, 
 reminded one of la chasse as depicted in the old tapes- 
 
370 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 tries at the Chateau of Fontainebleau, showing 
 Louis XIV. and his courtiers and huntsmen assembled 
 at one of these same " round points," the big cross of 
 " Le Grand Veneur " or " Croix du Grand Maitre " in 
 the centre. For there were the picqueurs in the same 
 scarlet coats and blue velvet caps, the same brass 
 hunting horn coiled about their necks, and swords at 
 their sides. There were also the big, strong boar- 
 hounds of the same breed as those of the Magnifi- 
 cent King, met together for the undoing, without 
 a doubt, of a lineal descendant of the wild boar in 
 the tapestry. 
 
 One of the picqueurs held a bunch of the hounds in 
 leash. They, explained my escort, were the dogs who 
 would be first released to find the scent, blood- 
 thirsty looking beast ! I felt sorry for the poor 
 sanglier and hoped he was sharpening up his tushes 
 and would not be taken unawares. 
 
 Before we started, up drove an ominous covered 
 conveyance described by Monsieur Armand as " the 
 hearse." It was a waggonette containing a large 
 basket and drawn by a pair of depressed-looking 
 horses. 
 
 After innumerable delays and false starts at last 
 the pioneer dogs were loosed by the picqueur and 
 we were off, soon scattered in every direction down 
 the avenues and glades of the forest. The picqueurs 
 on foot plunged into the thicket with the rest of the 
 pack still held back, the mounted picqueurs and the 
 Master took one road, while other huntsmen started 
 down another. The hunting horn sounded now near. 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 371 
 
 now far. The music of the cor de chasse is a regular 
 language and a most complicated one to the un- 
 initiated, but I was fortunate in having a companion 
 who could interpret all the calls. " They are finding," 
 he cried ; then a moment later, *' No, it was a false 
 scent. Ha, they have started a stag — they call the 
 hotmds off." Again from another side of the wood 
 came ringing notes with an echo of wild excite- 
 ment — " A la bonne heure — they have found over in 
 that direction — listen ! " 
 
 We three cyclists wheeled round and darted down a 
 narrow green glade, where several horsemen spring- 
 ing up from imexpected quarters quickly followed us, 
 the motors and carriages keeping to the broad roads. 
 
 " The sanglier will cover an enormous area if he 
 can only find thick cover," said the Vicomte ; "he 
 is not like the stag, who if possible keeps to the 
 district he knows well, and who circulates in a com- 
 paratively small circumference. Often he ends by 
 taking to the water, the unhappy one, and there he 
 is lost for sure — monsieur sanglier gives himself 
 much more chance." 
 
 It was no empty boast on the part of the Vicomte 
 that he knew the forest like his pocket. He knew not 
 only every road, glade and point of view, but where 
 the squirrels hid their nuts and where the birds had 
 nests, which was not, as I had imagined, on the 
 branches where occasionally we had the good fortime 
 to hear one singing, but invariably on the outskirts 
 of the forest. " They enter to find food," he said, 
 " but they build never in the heart of the wood ! " 
 
372 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 He could tell also the ways of the flowers and mosses 
 and ferns. Very wise in woodland lore was the httle 
 Vicomte, and as great an enemy to le sport, though 
 generally keeping his unpopular opinions very quiet, 
 as Jean Francois Millet himself, who had no words 
 to express his abhorrence of the disturbers of the 
 sylvan peace and beauty which made such a joy in 
 his life. 
 
 The Vicomte was delighted to find that my sym- 
 pathies were aU with the sanglier and my interest 
 in la chasse purely pictorial. What I loved were the 
 pink coats of the huntsmen, the gay uniforms of the 
 officers, the smart, glossy horses curvetting round 
 the old stone cross, with the background of pines and 
 beech trees, and above all the shining coils of the big 
 brass hunting horns and the picturesque music they 
 made among the forest glades. He thought I was 
 joking when I told him the only form of hunting I 
 enjoyed was following the trail of the red herring, 
 never having heard of it. His idea of the Englishman 
 was, I discovered inferentially, that of a being but one 
 step higher in the scale than the sanglier, ranking at 
 the best with his own British Hon. Courageous, but 
 imprudent, even to the verge of folly, brutal, and if 
 the truth must be confessed, only partially civilised ; 
 dwelling in the northern latitudes of cold and damp, 
 wrapped in a perpetual opaque fog ; deaf and blind 
 to the beauties of art, though with a sort of good- 
 natured tolerance for those artists who visited his 
 arctic clime. His only genius, les affaires — his damp 
 country one big dreary workshop — ^his only pastime. 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 373 
 
 le sport — namely, killing. It was, I could see, a 
 new light on the character of this northern savage 
 that he was content to enjoy la chasse for the mere 
 love of exercise minus the shedding of innocent 
 blood. Needless to say the little Vicomte had never 
 crossed the Channel, and knew the Englishman 
 chiefly as depicted in comic papers and burlesques 
 before the entente cordiale. 
 
 I also saw the Frenchman in a new light that day. 
 Hitherto I had pictured him as somewhat of an 
 amateur as regards real sport, loving all the para- 
 phernalia and trappings of le sport, but content to 
 slay tom-tits, and habitually shooting the fox. That 
 chasse au sanglier opened my eyes. 
 
 In all our wanderings in the forest we had never 
 seen sign of the wild boar, and even now with the 
 hounds in full cry and the horns proclaiming his 
 presence in joyous excited chorus, I was rather in- 
 clined to class him in the category of fauns, dragons 
 and other bygone or fabulous persons. This delusion 
 was also dispelled that day. 
 
 We had been skimming along peaceably for about 
 an hour, sometimes close to the huntsmen and within 
 sight of the hounds, but more intent on trying each 
 beguiling glade as it opened to right or left, than in 
 keeping up our credit as keen votaries of le sport. 
 
 Suddenly Monsieur Armand, who had darted on 
 ahead, gave a wild whoop and wheeled to one side. 
 In the same moment, crashing through the cover, 
 came a round, dark mass. For a second the Vicomte 
 and I saw him splendidly as he crossed the narrov/ 
 
374 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 path between ourselves and our companions. He was 
 far larger than the pig of India, with an enormous 
 head and a most alarming flash of tushes. I realised 
 there was some foundation for the wild excitement 
 of the hounds. As for Monsieur Armand, he behaved 
 in a manner to have alarmed even a less prudent 
 mother than his own. Instead of climbing a tree as 
 arranged, he sent a far-reaching call in the direction 
 of the distant picquetirs and plunged recklessly into 
 the thicket on foot after the boar. He even fired his 
 famous revolver, but fortunately with no fatal result 
 to the boar or anybody else, and without its being 
 noticed. 
 
 In an astonishingly short time dogs and men were 
 all about us, horsemen galloping up from every 
 direction, carriages and motors tearing past in a long 
 Hne on the nearest high road. 
 
 Monsieur Armand was quite a hero for the moment. 
 He indicated the course of the boar, and remounting 
 his bicycle, rode round by a short cut to the rocks of 
 Franchard for which the wily boar had made. Here 
 motors, carriages, and even bicycles were brought 
 to a stand. Only the horsemen and picqueurs could 
 foUow the hounds, and that with difficulty. We lost 
 sight of them entirely for a long time, hearing only 
 the far distant calls of la irompe in widely different 
 directions of the forest. 
 
 Slowly the mist again began to wrap us round with 
 its grey folds, adding a curiously supernatural touch 
 to this tapestry hunting scene of the olden times. We 
 seemed to be chasing a phantom boar with phantom 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 375 
 
 dogs and huntsmen, so mysteriously they would 
 suddenly flit into sight and as quickly merge into 
 the shadowy trees. 
 
 We were just crossing the Gorge aux Loups in the 
 wake of a small group of horsemen, when all at once 
 we again saw the enormous black ball roll rapidly 
 across our path. A few yards higher up a piercing 
 shriek told us he had been seen on the road. We 
 hastened back and discovered the coup6 brought to a 
 sudden standstill by the prudent lady inside. That 
 flying vision of tushes and bristles had realised her 
 worst terrors. It was in vain her son endeavoured to 
 reassure her with the production of his new revolver 
 and his noble flask of eau-de-vie. In vain that her 
 gallant cavalier pressed her hajid and urged alter- 
 nately, " Du courage, chere madame," and " Calmez 
 vous, mats calmez vous, chere dame,'' the latter in tones 
 of frenzied agitation. Nothing was able to arrest 
 the crisis of " nerves " which followed, and nothing 
 would satisfy the distracted lady but a speedy return 
 to the safety of the chateau with her son in her 
 wake. 
 
 Armand's protestations fell on deaf ears, as also 
 our chorus of reassurance that the sanglier was by 
 this time probably at Bourron, possessed by a terror 
 for the coupe far exceeding what the poor lady felt 
 for his tushes. 
 
 " Ah mon Dieu ! he was larger than a cow, the 
 monster," she cried. " How thou hast deceived me, 
 Armand, thou who didst swear him to be of the size 
 only of a pumpkin. I shall see that beast till the day 
 
376 FELICITY IN FRANCE. 
 
 I die — his glaring eyes, his savage teeth — mon Dieu, 
 quel horreur I '* 
 
 With a " Calme tot, ma pauvre mere, je viens,'- 
 Armand, hke the good French son he was, gave up 
 his chasse and mounted his bicycle for the homeward 
 route. 
 
 " And I, who had the intention of winning the 
 tushes and presenting them to Mademoiselle," he 
 sighed regretfully as we parted. 
 
 Up and down the forest did that black ball lead the 
 dogs. At one time they started two sangliers, and the 
 pack divided. Many of the carriages and motors 
 began to disperse, on the mist becoming denser. 
 
 Aunt Anne, whose companions had deserted her for 
 a returning motor, sat alone and alert in the victoria, 
 determined to see the chasse to the end and to be in at 
 the death if there was one. Her valiant spirit was 
 rewarded. By a piece of good fortune, as she regarded 
 it, she actually arrived first on the final scene, her 
 coachman, a former picqueur, and well acquainted 
 with the ways of sa7tgliers, divining, as he said, by 
 an inspiration the spot where the victim would be 
 brought low. 
 
 It was on the route de la Haute-Bome that the 
 gallant old fighter, wearied out at last, was run down 
 and made his last desperate stand, killing outright 
 two of the hounds, and goring badly some eight or 
 ten others, before he was finally overpowered. The 
 chief picqueur administered the coup-de-grace, 
 
 I did not witness that last grim scene, but 1 heard 
 the dramatic music which accompanied it from Ics 
 
LIFE IN THE FOREST. 377 
 
 trompes, and the terribly suggestive yells and howls of 
 the hounds. My cavalier and I agreed that this was 
 more than enough to satisfy our tastes, and then and 
 there sped back to Marlotte by the nearest route. 
 
 It was not until Aunt Anne returned triumphantly 
 about an hour later and greeted me with her usual 
 " Oh, my dear Felicity, I've had such a splendid 
 time," that I learnt that to her had been awarded the 
 honours of the chase. 
 
 * * ♦ * * 
 
 Shining with this unexpected glory fresh upon her, 
 and a copy of the Fontainebleau paper in her pocket, 
 giving a description of the Chasse a Courre de 
 V equipage de Monsieur le Marquis de Carrdbas and 
 of the dame Anglaise whose intrepid following was 
 rewarded with the honours of the chase, we bade 
 adieu to the forest next day, the boar's head to 
 follow in due course ; and standing on the Dover 
 steamer some hours later breathed a heartfelt au 
 revoir to Fair France. •^ 
 
 THE END. 
 
Established 1798 
 
 fWfliOalia 
 
 T. NELSON 
 AND SONS 
 
 PRINTERS AND 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
THE 
 
 NELSON LIBRARY 
 
 OF NOTABLE BOOKS. 
 
 Uniform with this Volume and same Price, 
 
 FORTHCOMING VOLUMES. 
 
 MY CLIMBS IN THE ALPS AND CAUCASUS. 
 
 A F. Mummery. 
 Mr. A. F. Mummery, who was killed by an avalanche 
 in attempting the ascent of Nanga Parbat in the 
 Himalayas, was probably the greatest climber of his 
 day. He was the first, for example, to ascend that 
 most formidable of the Chamonix Aiguilles, the Grepon, 
 where the "Mummery Chimney" still commemorates 
 his achievement The present volume is one of the 
 great classics of mountaineering, and can be read with 
 delight by those who have never seen anything higher 
 than the Surrey Downs. {August 6.) 
 
 JOHN BRIGHT. R. Barry O'Brien. 
 
 Mr. Barry O'Brien's book is the only authoritative life 
 so far published of one who was perhaps the greatest 
 orator of Victorian England. Mr. Augustine Birrell 
 has written an interesting preface. {September 3.) 
 
^LREADT ISSUED. 
 
 THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS. Mrs. Alec Tweedie. 
 Mrs. Tweedle's former volume on Mexico in the Nelson 
 Library of Notable Books was warmly received, and the 
 present book is a no less delightful example of her racy 
 and light-hearted travels. She saw Finnish life from the 
 inside, and describes it with sympathy and vivacity. 
 
 LEAVES FROM AN INSPECTOR'S LOGBOOK. 
 
 Dr. John Kerr. 
 Dr. Kerr's former volume in Nelson's Library con- 
 tained many of the best stories of the day. The 
 present book adds to their number, and contains also a 
 delightful account of a visit to Egypt and the Soudan. 
 
 WILD ENGLAND OF TO-DAY. C. J. Cornish. 
 
 The late Mr. Cornish had no rival as a field naturalist 
 and a brilliant writer on country topics. The present 
 book is a worthy successor of Richard Jefferies' work, 
 and will be welcomed by all who love country wan- 
 derings. 
 
 WHAT I SAW IN RUSSIA. Hon. Maurice Baring. 
 Mr. Maurice Baring has long established his reputation 
 as one of the most brilliant English students of Russian 
 life and character. The present volume is made up from 
 three of his earlier books, and contains those sections 
 which the author regards as of permanent interest. They 
 give a fascinating account of every aspect of modern life 
 in Russia. 
 
 THE LIFE OF LORD LAWRENCE. R. Bosworth Smith. 
 Lord Lawrence was one of the foremost of our Indian 
 viceroys, and in his hands lay the reconstruction after 
 the Indian Mutiny. Mr. Bosworth Smith's biography 
 is the standard record of a great and varied life. 
 
LIFE AND LETTERS OF LORD MACAULAY. 
 
 Vols. L and IL Sir George O. Trevelyan, Bart. 
 
 Sir George Trevelyan's life of his uncle has been gener- 
 ally placed third among the biographies in English 
 literature — after Lockhart's " Life of Scott " and Boswell's 
 " Life of Johnson." It is a brilliant picture i^ot only of 
 a great man, but of English society and politics during 
 the first half of the nineteenth century. The present 
 edition represents the text in its final form. 
 
 PROBLEMS OF POVERTY. Dr. Chalmers. 
 
 This volume contains selections from Dr. Chalmers's 
 chief economic writings. The founder of the Free 
 Church of Scotland was not only a great theologian, 
 but a brilliant economist, and his views have received 
 striking confirmation in the recent report of the Poor 
 Law Commission. The problem grows more pressing 
 daily, and this selection will be found most valuable by 
 all who are interested in the subject. 
 
 THE BURDEN OF THE BALKANS. M. E. Durham. 
 The story of a lady's tour in the Balkan Peninsula. 
 
 FIELDS, FACTORIES, AND WORKSHOPS. 
 
 Prince Kropotkin. 
 This edition of Prince Kropotkin's famous book has 
 been thoroughly revised by the author. It is a brilliant 
 f study of the relations of industrial development to agri- 
 culture, and of brain work to manual labour. 
 
 SOME OLD LOVE STORIES. T. P. O'Connor. 
 
 Mr. T. P. O'Connor is one of the most versatile and 
 agreeable writers of our day, and in this volume he has 
 retold some of the most famous love stories of the past^ 
 adding the glamour of romance to the truth of history. 
 
THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA. 
 
 H. Hesketh Prichard. 
 This is one of the most fascinating modern records of 
 travel. Mr. Hesketh Prichard led the expedition sent 
 to Patagonia to look for the giant sloth, and though the 
 expe4ition failed in its special purpose, it explored for 
 the first time much strange country. Mr. Prichard is a 
 well-known novelist, and his narrative of travel is as 
 vigorous as any romance. 
 
 THE JUBILEE BOOK OF CRICKET. 
 
 Prince Ranjitsinhji. 
 The publishers are happy to be able to include in their 
 Nelson Library a cheap edition of one of the most 
 famous of modern works on Cricket. The Maharaja 
 Jam of Nawanagar was the most brilliant batsman of 
 his day, and no sounder guide could be found to our 
 national game. The book has been revised where 
 necessary and brought up to date. 
 
 THE EARLY LIFE OF CHARLES JAMES FOX. 
 
 Sir George O. Trevelyan. 
 Sir George O. Trevelyan in this work, and in the 
 subsequent volumes of his "American Revolution," 
 has written the political history of England around 
 the life of his hero. It is not only a brilliant study of 
 character and politics, but a picture of the inner life 
 of the later eighteenth century. Like his uncle, Lord 
 Macaulay, Sir George Trevelyan is so fully the master 
 of his subject that he can give it the picturesqueness 
 and vivacity of a modern chronicle seen by an eye- 
 witness. In his hands scientific history is invested 
 with all the charm of romance. 
 
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY VIGNETTES. 
 
 Austin Dobson. 
 
 Mr. Austin Dobson in his poetry has long made the 
 eighteenth century his special province. No English 
 writer has more completely recaptured its delicate evasive 
 grace. In his " Eighteenth Century Vignettes " he gives 
 us prose studies of eighteenth century characters and 
 scenes, and his prose is no less engaging than his poetry. 
 
 POPULAR ASTRONOMY. Camille Flammarion. 
 
 This is an authorized translation of the most popular 
 book on astronomy ever written. The name of Camille 
 Flammarion stands high among modern scientists, and 
 in addition to wide knowledge he has the power of 
 attractive exposition. The book is a delightful intro- 
 duction to a fascinating study. 
 
 BY DESERT WAYS TO BAGHDAD. Mrs. Wilkins. 
 
 This is the record of the adventurous journey of two 
 ladies from Constantinople through Asia Minor and 
 Kurdistan to Baghdad. The tale is full of incidents 
 and colour, and the style is as vivacious as the ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 FROM PARIS TO NEW YORK BY LAND. 
 
 Harry de Windt. 
 In this book Mr. de Windt recounts an adventurous 
 journey through Europe, across Siberia, and then via 
 Alaska to New York. He covered a good deal of un- 
 explored country, and travelled at a pace which few 
 explorers have ever approached. It is a fascinating 
 narrative of adventure in little-known countries. 
 
NELSON LIBRARY OF NOTABLE BOOKS 
 
 CONDENSED LIST. 
 
 Scrambles Amongst the Alps. 
 
 Collections and Recollections. 
 
 The Great Boer War. 
 
 Life of John Nicholson. 
 
 Dean Hole's " Memories." 
 
 Life of Gladstone. 
 
 Psalms in Human Life. 
 
 Wild Life in a Southern County. 
 
 The Forest. 
 
 The Golden Age. 
 
 Sir Henry Hawkins's Reminis- 
 cences. 
 
 Selected Essays. 
 
 Life of Lord Russell of Killowen. 
 
 Making of Modem Egypt. 
 
 From the Cape to Cairo. 
 
 Life of Alexander Hamilton. 
 
 A Book about the Garden. 
 
 Culture and Anarchy. 
 
 Collections and Recollections. 2nd 
 Series. 
 
 Life of Frank Buckland. 
 
 A Modem Utopia. 
 
 With Kitchener to Khartum. 
 
 Unveiling of Lhasa. 
 
 Life of Lord Dufferin. 
 
 Life of Dean Stanley. 
 
 Popular Astronomy. 
 
 Dream Days. 
 
 Round the World on a Wheel. 
 
 Path to Rome. 
 
 The Life of Canon Ainger. 
 
 Reminiscences of Lady Dorothy 
 Nevill. 
 
 A Social Departure. 
 
 Letters and Recollections of Sir 
 Walter Scott. 
 
 Literature and Dogma. 
 
 Sermons by the Rev. C. H. Spur- 
 geon. 
 
 My Confidences. 
 
 Sir Frank Lockwood. 
 
 The Making of a Frontier. 
 
 Life of General Gordon. 
 
 Collected Poems of Henry Newbolt. 
 
 Pot-Pourri from a Surrey Garden. 
 
 The Ring and the Book. 
 
 The Alps from End to End. 
 
 Others in 
 
 The English Constitution. 
 
 The Life of Cobden. I In India. 
 
 The Life of Parnell. 
 
 Havelock's March. 
 
 Up from Slavery. 
 
 Recollections of the Rt. Hon. Sir 
 
 Algernon West. 
 Great Englishmen of the Sixteenth 
 
 Centurv. 
 Where Black Rules White. 
 Historical Mysteries. 
 The Strenuous Life, 
 Memories Grave and Gay. 
 Life of Danton. 
 A Pocketful of Sixpences. 
 The Romance of a Proconsul (Sir 
 
 George Grey). 
 A Book about Roses. 
 Random Reminiscences. 
 The London Police Courts. 
 The Amateur Poacher. 
 The Bancrofts. | At the Works. 
 Mexico as I Saw It. 
 Eighteenth Century Vignettes. 
 The Great Andes of the Equator. 
 The Early History of C. J. Fox. 
 Through the Heart of Patagonia. 
 Browning as a Religious Teacher, 
 Life of Tolstoy. 
 Paris to New York. 
 Life of Lewis Carroll. 
 A Naturalist in the Guianas. 
 The Mantle of the East. 
 Letters of Dr. John Brown. 
 Jubilee Book of Cricket. 
 By Desert Ways to Baghdad. 
 Some Old Love Stories. 
 Fields, Factories, and Workshops. 
 Life of Lord Lawrence. 
 Problems of Poverty. 
 The Burden of the Balkans. 
 Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay 
 
 —I. and II. 
 What I Saw in Russia. 
 Wild England of To-day 
 Leav es from an I nspect or *s Logbook. 
 Through Finland in Carts. 
 Voyage of the " Discovery." — I.drll.j 
 
 Preparation. ' 
 
 THOMAS NELSON AND SONS. 
 
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YA 0742^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY