THREE NORMANDY
•INNS'
BY
ANNA
BOWMAN
ft>
LIBRARY
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
SANTA BARBARA
PRESENTED BY
MRS. ALFRED W. INGALLS
C- /cx-^w^. ^ ^
^
IN AND OUT OF
THREE NORMANDY INNS
o
o
a
J
IN AND OUT
THREE NORMANDY INNS
BY
ANNA BOWMAN DODD
AUTHOR OF
CATHEDRAL DAYS," " GLORINDA," " THE REPUBLIC OF THE FUTURE,
ETC.
Illustrated by C. S. REIN HART
and
Other Artists
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1899
r/
Copyright, 1892,
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY
\_A/i rights reservtdj]
TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
Mj> Dear Mr. Stedman :
To this little company of Norman men and wom-
en, you will, I know, extend a kindly greeting, if
only because of their nationality. To your courtesy,
possibly, you will add the leaven of interest, when
you perceive — as you must — that their qualities are
all their own, their defects being due solely to my own
imperfect presentment.
JVith sincere esteem,
ANNA BOWMAN DODD.
New York.
CONTENTS.
VILLERVILLE.
CHAPTER
I. A Landing on the Coast of France,
II. A Spring Drive,
III. From an Inn Window,
IV. Out on a Mussel-bed,
V. The Village, .
VI. A Pagan Cobbler, .
VII. Some Norman Landladies,
VIII. The Quartier Latin on the Beach,
IX. A Norman Household, .
X. Ernestine,
PAGE
1
13
24
35
45
55
66
80
84
93
ALONG AN OLD POST-ROAD.
XI. To an Old Manoir,
XII. A Norman Cure, . . . .
XIII. HoNFLEUR — New and Old,
103
lis
127
DIVES.
XIV. A Coast Drive,
XV. Guillaume-le-Conquerant,
147
161
vm CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
XVI. The Green Bench, 1G9
XVII, The Would that Came to Dives, . .177
XVIII. The Conversation op Patriots, . . . 183
XIX. In La Chambre des Marmousets, . . 188
TWO BANQUETS AT DIVES.
XX. A Seventeenth Century Revival, . . 197
XXI. The After-Dinner Talk op Three Great
Ladles, 204
XXII. A Nineteenth Century Breakfast, . . 225
A LITTLE JOURNEY ALONG THE COAST.
XXIII. A Night in a Caen Attic, .... 247
XXIV. A Day at Bayeux and St. L6, , . . 266
XXV. A Dinner at Coutances, .... 276
XXVI. A Scene in a Norman Court, . . . 290
XXVII. The Fete-Dieu— A June Christmas, . . 302
XXVin. By Land to Mont St. Michel, . . .318
MONT ST. MICHEL.
XXIX. By Sea to the Poulard Inn, . . . 335
XXX. The Pilgrims and the Shrine — An His-
torical Omelette, 350
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
GUILLAUME-LE-CONQUERANT — DiVES,
Frontispiece
A Village Street — Villerville,
On the Beach — Villerville,
A Sale of Mussels — Villerville,
A Villerville Fish-wife, ....
A Departure — Villerville,
The Inn at Dives — Guillaume-le-Conouerant,
Chambre de la Pucelle — Dives,
Chambre des Marmousets— Dives,
Madame de Sevigne,
Chambre de la Pucelle — Dives,
Chateau Fontaine le Henri, near Caen,
An Exciting Moment — A Coutances Interior,
A Street in Coutances— Eglise Saint-Pierre,
Mont Saint Michel,
Mont Saint Michel Snail-gatherers,
FACING
PAGE
18
24
36
46
66
144
168
194
204
224
248
302
334
364
VILLERVILLE.
AN INN BY THE SEA.
THREE NORMANDY INNS.
CHAPTER I.
A LANDING ON THE COAST OF FEANCE.
Narrow streets
with sinuous
curves ; dwarfed
houses with mi-
nute shops j)ro-
truding o n
i n c h - w i d e
sidewalks: a
tiny casino
perched like
a bird - cag-e
on a tiny scaffolding- ; bath-houses dumped on the
beach; fishing-smacks drawn up along the shore
like so many Greek galleys; and, fringing the
cliffs — the encroachment of the nineteenth cen-
tury — a row of fantastic sea-side villas.
This was Villerville.
Over an arch of roses ; across a broad line
of olives, hawthorns, laburnums, and syringas,
straight out to sea —
4 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
This was tlie view from our windows.
Our inn was bounded by the sea on one side, and
on the other by a narrow villag^e street. The dis-
tance between good and evil has been known to be
quite as short as that which laj^ between these two
thoroughfares. It was only a matter of a strip of
land, an edge of cliff, and a shed of a house bear-
ing the proud title of Hotel-sur-Mer.
Two nights before, our arrival had made quite
a stir in the village streets. The inn had given
us a characteristic French welcome; its eye had
measured us before it had extended its hand. Be-
fore reaching the inn and the village, however, we
had already tasted of the flavor of a genuine Nor-
man welcome. Our experience in adventure had
begun on the IIa"VT;e quays.
Our expedition could hardly be looked upon as
perilous : yet it was one that, from the first, evi-
dently appealed to the French imagination ; half
Havre was hanging over the stone wharves to see
ns start.
'■ Dame, only English women are up to that ! "
— for all the world is English, in French eyes,
when an adventurous folly is to be committed.
This was one view of our temerity : it was the
comment of age and experience of the world, of the
cap with the short pipe in her mouth, over which
curved, downward, a bulbous, fierj^-hued nose that
met the pipe.
" Oest J)eau,tout de memc, when one is young — and
rich." This was a generous partisan, a girl with a
miniature copy of her own round face — a copy
that was tied up in a shawl, very snug ; it was a
THREE NORMANDY INNS. o
bundle that could not xoossibly be in any one's
way, even on a somewhat prolonged tour of obser-
vation of Havre's shipping" interests.
" And the blonde one— what do you think of her,
hein ? "
This was the blouse's query. The tassel of the
cotton night-cap nodded, interrogatively, toward
the object on which the twinkling ex-mariner's
eye had fixed itself — on Charm's slender figure,
and on the yellow half -moon of hair framing her
face. There was but one verdict concerning the
blonde beauty ; she was a creature made to be
stared at. The staring was suspended only when
the bargaining went on ; for Havre, clearly, was
a sailor and merchant first ; its knowledge of a
woman's good points was rated merely as its sec-
ond-best talent.
Meanwhile, our bargaining for the sailboat was
being conducted on the principles peculiar to
French traffic ; it had all at once assumed the as-
pect of dramatic complication. It had only been
necessary for us to stop on our lounging stroll
along the stone wharves, diverting our gaze for a
moment from the grotesque assortment of old
houses that, before now, had looked down on so
many naval engagements, and innocently to ask a
brief question of a nautical gentleman, pictur-
esquely attired in a blue shirt and a scarlet beret,
for the quays immediately to swarm with jerseys
and red caps. Each beret was the owner of a
boat ; and each jersey had a voice louder than his
brother's. Presently the battle of tongues was
drowning all other sounds.
6 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
In point of fact, there were no other sounds to
drown. All other business along the quays was
being- temporarily suspended ; the most thrilling
event of the day was centring in us and our treaty.
Until this bargain was closed, other matters could
wait. For a Frenchman has the true instinct of
the dramatist; business he rightly considers as
only an entr'acte in life ; the serious thing is the
scene de thedtre, wherever it takes place. Therefore
it was that the black, shaky -looking houses, lean-
ing over the quays, were now populous with frowsy
heads and cotton nightcaps. The captains from
the adjacent sloops and tug-boats formed an outer
circle about the closer ring made by the competi-
tors for our favors, while the loimgers along the
parapets, and the owners of top seats on the shin-
ing quay steps, may be said to have been in posses-
sion of orchestra stalls from the first rising of the
curtain.
A baker's boy and two fish-wives, trundling their
carts, stopped to witness the last act of the play.
Even the dogs beneath the carts, as they sank,
panting, to the ground, followed, with red-rimmed
eyes, the closing scenes of the little drama.
" Allons, let us end this," cried a piratical-looking
captain, in a loud, masterful voice. And he named
a price lower than the others had bid. He would
take us across — yes, us and our luggage, and land
us — yes, at Villerville, for that.
The baker's boy gave a long, slow whistle, with
relish.
" Dame ! " he ejaculated, between his teeth, as he
turned away.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 7
The rival captains at first had drawn back ; they
had looked at their comrade darkly, beneath their
berets, as they might at a deserter with whom they
meant to deal — later on. But at his last words
they smiled a smile of grim humor. Beneath
the beards a whisper grew ; whatever its import,
it had the power to move all the hard mouths to
laughter. As they also turned away, their shrug-
ging shoulders and the scorn in their light laugh-
ter seemed to hand us over to our fate.
In the teeth of this smile, our captain had
swung his boat round and we were stepping into
her.
" Au revoir — au revoir et a hientot /"
The group that was left to hang over the para-
pets 'and to wave us its farewell, was a thin one.
Only the professional loungers took part in this
last act of courtesy. There was a cluster of caps,
dazzlingly white against the blue of the sky ; a
collection of highly decorated noses and of old
hands ribboned with wrinkles, to nod and bob and
wave down the cracked- voiced " bojijours." But the
audience that had gathered to witness the closing
of the bargain had melted away with the moment
of its conclusion. Long ere this moment of our
embarkation the wide stone street facing the water
had become suddenly deserted. The curious-eyed
heads and the cotton nightcaps had been swal-
lowed up in the hollows of the dark, little windows.
The baker's boy had long since mounted his broad
basket, as if it were an .ornamental head-dress, and
whistling, had turned a sharp corner, swallowed
up, he also, by the sudden gloom that lay between
8 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the narrow streets. The sloop-owners had linked
arms with the defeated captains, and were walking"
oflf toward their respective boats, whistling a gay
little air.
" Colinette au bois s'en alia
En saiitillant par-ci, jmr-ld ;
Trala deridei-a., train, derid-er-a-a"
One jersey-clad figure was singing lustily as he
drojjped Avith a sirring into his boat. He began to
coil the loose ropes at once, as if the disappoint-
ments in life were only a necessary interruption,
to be accepted philosoi3hically, to this, the serious
business of his days.
We were soon afloat, far out from the land of
either shores. Between the two, sea and river meet ;
is the river really trying to lose itself in the sea,
or is it hopelessly attempting- to swallow the sea ■?
The green line that divides them will never give
you the answer : it changes hour bj" hour, day by
day ; now it is like a knife-cut, deep and straight ;
and now like a ribbon that wavers and flutters, ty-
ing together the blue of the great ocean and the sil-
ver of the Seine. Close to the lips of the mighty
mouth lie the two shores. In that fresh May sun-
shine Havre glittered and bristled, was aglow with
a thousand tints and tones : but we sailed and
sailed away from her, and behold, already she had
melted into her clifl's. Opposite, nearing with
every dip of the dun-colored sail into the blue
seas, was the Calvados coast ; in its turn it glis-
tened, and in its young spring verdure it had the
lustre of a rough -hewn emerald.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 9
" Que voulez-votcs, mesdames ? Who could have
told that the wind would play us such a trick ? "
The voice was the voice of our captain. With
much affluence of gesture he was explaining — his
treachery ! Our nearness to the coast had made
the confession necessary. To the blandness of his
smile, as he x)roceeded in his unabashed recital,
succeeded a pained expression. We were not ac-
cepting the situation with the true phlegm of
philosophers ; he felt that he had just cause for
protest. What possible difference could it make to
us whether we were landed at Trouville or at Yil-
lerville ? But to him — to be accused of betraying
two ladies — to allow the whole of the Havre quays
to behold in him a man disgraced, dishonored !
His was a tragic figure as he stood up, erect on
the poop, to clap hands to a blue-clad breast, and
to toss a black mane of hair in the golden air.
" Dame ! Toujours ete galant Jiomme, moi ! I am
known on both shores as the most gallant of men.
But the most gallant of men cannot control the
caprice of the wind ! " To which was added much
abuse of the muddy bottoms, the strength of the
undertow, and other marine disadvantages pecu-
liar to Villerville.
It was a tragic figure, with gestures and voice to
match. But it was evident that the Captain had
taken his own measure mistakenly. In him the
French stage had lost a comedian of the first mag-
nitude. Much, therefore, we felt, was to be con-
doned in one who doubtless felt so great a talent
itching for expression. When next he smiled, we
had revived to a keener appreciation of baffled
10 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
g-eniiis ever on the scent for the capture of that
fickle goddess, opportunity.
The captain's smile was oiling- a further word of
explanation. " See, mesdames, they come ! the})
will soon land you on the beach ! "
He was pointing to a boat smaller than our own,
that now ran alongside. There had been frequent
signallings between the two boats, a running up
and doAvn of a small yellow flag which we had
thought amazingly becoming to the marine land-
scape, until we learned the true relation of the flag
to the treachery aboard our own craft.
" You see, mesdames," smoothly continued our
talented traitor, " you see how the waves run up on
the beach. We could never, with this great sail,
run in there. We should capsize. But behold,
these are bathers, accustomed to the water— they
will carry you — but as if you were feathers ! " And
he pointed to the four outstretched, firmly -muscled
arms, as if to warrant their powers of endurance.
The two men had left their boat ; it was dancing
on the water, at anchor. They were standing im-
movable as pillars of stone, close to the gunwales
of our craft. They were holding out their arms
to us.
Charm suddenly stood upright. She held out
her hands like a child, to the least impressionable
boatman. In an instant she was clasping his
bronze throat.
" All my life I've prayed for adventure. And at
last it has come ! " This she cried, as she was
carried high above the waves.
" That's right, have no fear," answered her car-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 11
rier as he plimg-ed onward, ploughing his way-
through the waters to the beach.
Beneath my own feet there was a sudden swish
and a swirl of restless, tumbling waters. The
motion, as my carrier buried his bared legs in the
waves, was such as accompanies impossible flights
described in dreams, through some unknown
medium. The surging waters seemed struggling
to submerge us both ; the two thin, tanned legs of
the fisherman about whose neck I was clinging,
appeared ridiculously inadequate to cleave a suc-
cessful path through a sea of such strength as was
running shoreward.
" Madame does not appear to be used to this
kind of travelling," i^uffed out my carrier, his con-
versational instinct, apparently, not in the least
dampened by his strenuous plunging through the
spirited sea. "It happens every day — all the aris-
tocrats land this way, when they come over by the
little boats. It distracts and amuses them, they
say. It helps to kill the ennui."
" I should think it might, my feet are soaking ;
sometimes wet feet "
" Ah, that's a pity, you must get a better hold,"
sympathetically interrupted my fisherman, as he
proceeded to hoist me higher up on his shoulder.
I, or a sack of corn, or a basket of fish, they were
all one to this strong back and to these toughened
sinews. When he had adjusted his present load
at a secure height, above the dashing- of the spray,
he went on talking, " Yes, when the rich suffer a
little it is not such a bad thing, it makes a i^leas-
ant change — cela leur distrait. For instance, there
12 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
is the Princess de L , there's her villa, close
by, with g-reeu blinds. She makes little excuses
to go over to Havre, just for this — to be carried in
the arms like an infant. You should hear her, she
shouts and claims her hands ! All the beach as-
sembles to see her land. When she is wet she
cries for joy. It is so difficult to amuse one's self,
it appears, in the great world."
" But, iicns, here we are, I feel the dry sands." I
was dropped as lightly on them as if it had been
indeed a bunch of feathers my fisherman had been
carrying.
And meanwhile, out j^onder, across the billows,
with \x\vy gesture dramatically executed, our treach-
erous captain was waving us a theatrical salute.
The infant mate was grinning like a gargoyle.
They were both delightfully unconscious, appar-
ently, of any event having transj^ired, during the
afternoon's pleasuring, which could possibly tinge
the moment of parting Avith the hues of regret.
" Pour Jen hngages, mesdames "
Two drii^ping, outstretched hands, two berets
doffed, two picturesque giants bowing low, with a
Frenchman's grace — this, on the Trouville sands,
was the last act of this little comedy of our land-
ing on the coast of France.
CHAPTEK n.
A SPRING DEIYE.
The Trouville beach was as
empty as a desert. No
other footfall, save our own,
echoed along the broad
board walks ; this Boule-
vard des Italiens of the Nor-
mandy coast, under the sun
of May was a shining- pave-
ment that boasted only a
company of jelly - fishes as
loungers.
Down below was a village,
a white cluster of little wooden houses ; this was
the village of the bath-houses. The hotels might
have been monasteries deserted and abandoned, in
obedience to a nod from Eome or from the home
government. Not even a fisherman's net was
spread a-drying, to stay the appetite with a sense
of past favors done by the sea to mortals more
fortunate than we. The whole face of nature was
as indifferent as a rich relation grown callous to
the voice of entreaty. There was no more hope of
man apparently, than of nature, being moved by
our necessity ; for man, to be moved, must primar-
ily exist, and he was as conspicuously absent on.
14 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
this occasion as Genesis proves him to have been
on the fourth day of creation.
Meanwhile we sat still, and took counsel to
gether. The chief of the council suddenly pre-
sented himself. It was a man in miniature. The
masculine shape, as it loomed up in the distance,
gi'adually separating- itself from the backgrround of
villa roofs and casino terraces, resolved itself into
a figure stolid and sturdy, very browoi of leg, and
insolent of demeanor — swaggering along as if con-
scious of there being- a full-g-roA\Ti man buttoned
up within a boy's ragged coat. The swagger was
accompanied by a whistle, w^hose neat crispness
announced habits of leisure and a sense of the re-
fined pleasures of life ; for an artistic rendering- of
an aria from " La Fille de Madame Ang-ot " was
cutting the air with clear, hig-h notes.
The whistle and the brown legs suddenly came
to a dead stojD. The round blue eyes had caug-ht
sight of us :
" Omd-a-a ! " was this young Norman's saluta-
tion. There was very little trouser left, and what
there was of it was all pocket, apparently. Into
the pockets the boy's hands were stuffed, along
with his amazement ; for his face, round and full
though it was, could not hold the full measure of
his surprise.
" We came over by boat — from Havre," we mur-
mured meekly; then, " Is there a cake-shop near ? "
irrelevantly conclrded Charm with an unmistak-
able ring- of distress in her tone. There was no
need of any further esj)lanation. These two hearty
young a^Dpetites understood each other ; for hunger
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 15
is a universal language, and cake a countersign
common among the youth of all nations.
" Until you came, you see, we couldn't leave the
luggage," she went on.
The blue eyes swept the line of our boxes as if
the lad had taken his afternoon stroll with no other
puriDose than to guard them. " There are eight,
and two umbrellas. Soyez tranquille, je vous atten-
drai."
It was the voice and accent of a man of the
world, four feet high — a pocket edition, so to speak,
in shabby binding. The brown legs hung, the
nest instant, over the tallest of the trunks. The
skilful whistling was resumed at once ; our appear-
ance and the boy's present occupation were mere
interludes, we were made to understand ; his real
business, that afternoon, was to do justice to
the Lecoq's entire ojoera, and to keep his eye on
the sea.
Only once did he break down ; he left a high
hanging perilously in mid-air, to shout out "Hike
madeleines, I do ! " We assured him he should
have a dozen.
" Bien ! " and we saw him settling himself to
await our return in patience.
Up in the town the streets, as we entered them,
were as empty as was the beach. Trouville might
have been a buried city of antiquity. Yet, in spite
of the desolation, it was French and foreign ; it
welcomed us with an unmistakably friendly, com-
panionable air. Why is it that one is made to feel
the companionable element, by instantaneous pro-
cess, as it were, in a Frenchman and in his towns ?
16 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
And by what mag-ic also does a French village or
cit}^ even at its least animated period, convey to
one the fact of its nationality ? We made bnt ten
steps progress through these silent streets, front-
ing the beach, and yet, such was the subtle enigma
of charm with which these dumb villas and mute
shops were invested, that we walked along- as if
under the spell of fascination. Perhaps the charm
is a matter of sex, after all : towns are feminine, in
the wise French idiom, that idiom so delicate in
discerning qualities of sex in inanimate objects, as
the Greeks before them were clever in discovering"
sex distinctions in the moral qualities. Trouville
was so true a woman, that the coquette in her was
alive and breathing" even in this her moment of
susjDended animation. The closed blinds and iron
shutters appeared to be winking at us, slyly, as if
warning" us not to believe in this nightmare of
desolation ; she was only sleejoing, she wished us
to understand ; the touch of the first Parisian
would wake her into life. The features of her
fashionable face, meanwhile, were arranged with
perfect comjposure ; even in slumber she had pre-
served her woman's instinct of orderly grace ; not
a sign was awry, not a window-blind gave hint of
rheumatic hinges, or of shattered vertebrse; all
the machinery was in order : the faintest pressure
on the electrical button, the button that connects
this lady of the sea with the Paris Bourse and the
Boulevards, and how gayly, how agilely would this
Trouville of the villas and the beaches spring into
life!
The listless glances of the few tailors and cob-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 17
biers wlio, witli suspended thread, now looked
after us, seemed dazed — as if they could not be-
lieve in the reality of two early tourists. A wom-
an's head, here and there, leaned over to us from
a high window ; even these feminine eyes, how-
ever, appeared to be g-lued with the long- winter's
lethargy of dull sleep ; they betrayed no edge of
surprise or curiosity. The sun alone, shining with
spendthrift glory, flooding the narrow streets and
low houses with a late afternoon stream of color,
was the sole inhabitant who did not blink at us,
bovinely, with dulled vision.
Half an hour later we were speeding along the
roadway. Half an hour — and Trouville might have
been a thousand miles away. Inland, the eye
plunged over nests of clover, across the tops of the
apple and peach trees, frosted now with blos-
soms, to some farm interiors. The familiar Nor-
mandy features could be quickly spelled out, one
by one.
It was the milking-hour.
The fields were crowded with cattle and women ;
some of the cows were standing immovable, and
still others were slowly defiling, in i^rocessional
dignity, toward their homes. Broad-hipped, lean-
busted figures, in coarse gowns and worsted ker-
chiefs, toiled through the fields, carrying full milk-
jugs ; brass ampliorce these latter might have been,
from their classical elegance of shajDe. Plough-
men appeared and disappeared, they and their
teams rising and sinking with the varying heights
and depressions of the more distant undulations.
In the nearer cottages the voices of children would
18 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
occasionally fill the air with a loud clamor of
speech ; then our steed's bell-collar would jing-le,
and for the childi-en's cries, a bird-throat, high
above, from the heights of a tall pine would pour
forth, as if in micontrollable ecstasj^, its rapture
into the stillness of this radiant Normandy garden.
The song appeared to be heard by other ears than
ours. We were certain the dull-brained sheep
were greatly affected by the strains of that gen-
erous-organed songster — they were so very still
under the pink apple boughs. The cows are al-
ways good listeners; and now, relieved of their
milk, they lifted eyes swimming with appreciative
content above the grasses of their pasture. Two
old peasants heard the very last of the crisp trills,
before the concert ended ; they were leaning forth
from the narrow window-ledges of a straw-roofed
cottage ; the music gave to their blinking old eyes
the same dreamy look we had read in the ruminat-
ing cattle orbs. For an aeronaut on his way to
bed, I should have felt, had I been in that black-
bird's plumed corselet, that I had had a gratify-
ingly full house.
Meanwhile, toward the west, a vast marine
picture, like a panorama on wheels, was accom-
panying us all the way. Sometimes at our feet,
beneath the seamy fissures of a hillside, or far re-
moved by sweep of meadow, lay the fluctuant mass
we call the sea. It was all a glassy yellow surface
now ; into the liquid mirror the polychrome sails
sent down long lines of color. The sun had sunk
beyond the Havre hills, but the flame of his man-
tle still swept the sky. And into this twilight
A VILLAGE STREET — VILLERVILLE.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 1^
there crept up from the earth a subtle, delicious
' scent and smell — the smell and perfume of spring —
of the ardent, vigorous, unspent Normandy spring.
Suddenly a belfry grew out of the grain-fields.
" Nous void — here's Villerville ! " cried lustily
into the twilight our coachman's thick peasant
voice. "With the butt-end of his whip he pointed
toward the hill that the belfry crowned. Below
the little hamlet church lay the village. A high,
steep street plunged recklessly downward toward
the cliff; we as recklessly were following it. The
snapping of our driver's whip had brought every
inhabitant of the street upon the narrow side-
vv^alks. A few old women and babies hung forth
from the windows, but the houses were so low,
that even this portion of the population, ham-
pered somewhat by distance and comparative iso-
lation, had been enabled to join in the chorus of
voices that filled the street. Our progress down
the steeiJ, crowded street was marked by a pomp
and circumstance which commonly attend only a
royal entrance into a town ; all of the inhabitants,
to the last man and infant, apparently, were as-
sembled to assist at the ceremonial of our entry.
A chorus of comments arose from the shadowy-
groups filling the low doorways and the window
casements.
" Tiens — it begins to arrive — the season ! "
" Two ladies— alone — like that ! "
"Dame ! Anglaises, Americaines — they go round
the world thus, a deux ! "
" And why not, if they are young and can
pay ? "
20 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" Bah ! old or poor, it's all one — they're never
still, those English ! " A chorus of croakins:
laug-hter rattled down the street along with the
rolling of our carriage-wheels.
Above, the great arch of sky had shrunk, all at
once, into a naiTOw scollop ; with the fields and
meadows the glow of twilight had been left behind.
We seemed to be pressing our way against a great
curtain, the curtain made by the rich dusk that
filled the narrow thoroughfare. Through the
darkness the sinuous street and rickety houses
wavered in outline, as the bent shapes of the aged
totter across dimly-lit interiors. A fisherman's
bare legs, lit by some dimly illumined interior ;
a line of nets in the little yards : here and there
a white kerchief or cotton cap, dazzling in white-
ness, thrown out against the black facades, were
spots of light here and there. There was a glimpse
of the village at its supper — in low-raftered inter-
iors a group of blouses and women in fishermen's
rig were gathered about narrow tables, the coarse-
featured faces and the seamed foreheads lit up by
the feeble flame of candles that ended in long, thin
lines of smoke.
" Olie — J/ere 3Iouchard ! — des voyageurs ! " cried
forth our coachman into the darkness. He had
drawn up before a low, brightly -lit interior. In
response to the call a figure appeared on the
threshold of the open door. The figure stood
there for a long instant, rubbing its hands, as it
peered out into the dusk of the night to take a
good look at us. The brown head was cocked on
one side thoughtfully ; it was an attitude that ex-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 21
pressed, witli astonisliingly clear emphasis, an
immistakable professional conception of hospital-
ity. It was the air and manner, in a word, of one
who had long- since trimmed the measurement of
its g-raciousness to the price paid for the article.
" Ces dames wished rooms, they desired lodgings
and board — ces dames were alone ? " The voice
finally asked, with reticent dignity.
" From Havre — from Trouville, parp'tH hateau ! "
called out lustily our driver, as if to furnish us,
gratis, with a passport to the landlady's not too
efiusive cordiality.
What secret sj^ell of magic may have lain hid-
den in our friendly coachman's announcement we
never knew. But the " jD'tit bateau " worked mag--
ically. The figure of Mere Mouchard materialized
at once into such zeal, such effusion, such a zest
of welcome, that we, our bag's, and our coachman
were on the instant toiling" up a pair of spiral
wooden stairs. There was quite a little crowd to fill
the all-too-narrow landing at the top of the steep
steps, a crowd that ended in a long line of waiters
and serving--maids, each g-rasping* a remnant of
luggage. Our hostess, meanwhile, was fumbling
at a door-lock — an obstinate door that refused to
be wrenched open.
"Augustine — run — I've taken the wrong key.
Cours, mon enfant, it is no farther away than the
kitchen."
The long line pressed itself against the low
walls. Augustine, a blond - haired, neatly -gar-
mented shape, sped down the rickety stairs with
the step of youth and a dancer ; for only the nimble
22 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ankles of one accomplished in waitzing- could have
trij)ped as dexterously downward as did Augus-
tine.
"How she lags! what an idiot of a child!"
fumed Mere Mouchard as she joeered down into
the round blackness about which the curving
staircase closed like an embrace. " One must have
patience, it appears, with people made like that.
Ah, tiens, here she comes. How could you keep
ces dames waiting like this? It is shameful,
shameful ! " cried the woman, as she half shook the
panting girl, in anger. " If ces dames will enter,"
— her voice changing at once to a caressing fal-
setto, as the door flew open, opened by Augustine's
trembling fingers — " they will find their rooms in
readiness."
The rooms were as bare as a soldier's baiTack,
but they were spotlessly clean. There was the
pale flicker of a sickly candle to illumine the
shadowy recesses of the curtained beds and the
dark little dressing-rooms.
A few moments later we wound our way down-
ward, sjairally, to find ourselves seated at a round
table in a cosy, compact dining-room. Directly
opposite, across the corridor, was the kitchen,
from which issued a delightful combination of
vinous, aromatic odors. The light of a strong,
bright lamp made it as brilliant as a ball-room ; it
was a ball-room which for decoration had rows of
shining brass and copper kettles — each as bur-
nished as a jewel — a mass of sunny porcelain, and
for cari^et the satin of a wooden floor. There was
much bustling to and fro. Shapes were constantly
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 23
passing- and repassing across the lighted interior.
The Mere's broad-hipped figure was an omniscient
presence : it hovered at one instant over a steam-
ing saucepan, and the next was lifting a full milk-
jug or opening a wine-bottle. Above the clatter
of the dishes and the stirring of spoons arose the
thick Normandy voices, deep alto tones, speaking
in strange jargon of speech — a world of ^ja/ots re-
moved from our duller comprehension. It was
made somewhat too plain in this country, we re-
flected, that a man's stomach is of far more impor-
tance than the rest of his body. The kitchen
yonder was by far the most comfortable, the warm-
est, and altogether the prettiest room in the whole
house.
Augustine crossed the narrow entry just then
with a smoking j)ot of soup. She was followed,
later, by Mere Mouchard, who bore a sole cm vin
blanc, a bottle of white Burgundy, and a super-
naturally ethereal souffle. And an hour after, even
the curtainless, carpetless bed-chambers above
were powerless to affect the luxurious character of
our di'eams.
CHAPTEK m.
FROM AN INN WINDOW.
One travels a long' dis-
tance, sometimes, to make
the astonishing discovery
that pleasure comes with
gf ^' ^^ doing of very simple
things. AYe had come from
■y. "' over the seas to find the act
\ of leaning on a window case-
ment as exciting as it was satisfying. It is true
that from our two inn windows there was a de-
lightful variety of nature and of human nature to
look out upon.
From the windows overlooking the garden there
was only the horizon to bound infinity. The Atlan-
tic, beginning with the beach at our feet, stoi^ped
lit nothing till it met the sky. The sea, literally,
was at our door ; it and the Seine were next-door
neighbors. Each hour of the day these neighbors
presented a different face, were arrayed in totally
different raiment, were grave or gay, glowing with
color or shrouded in mists, according to the mood
and temper of the sun, the winds, and the tides.
The width of the sky overhanging this space was
immense ; not a scrap, apparently, was left over
to cover, decently, the rest of the earth's surface —
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 25
of that one was quite certain in looking- at this vast
inverted cuid overflowing- with ether. What there
was of land was a very sketchy xierformance. Op-
posite ran the red line of the Havre headlands.
Following- the river, inland, there was a pretence
of shore, just sufficiently outlined, like a j'outh's
beard, to g-ive substance to one's belief in its future
g-rowth and development. Beneath these windows
the water, hemmed in by this edge of shore, pant-
ed, like a child at play ; its sig-hs, liquid, lisping-,
were irresistible ; one found oneself listening- for
the sound of them as if they had issued from a
human throat. The humming- of the bees in the
g-arden, the cry of a fisherman calling across the
water, the shout of the children below on the
beach, or, at twilight, the chorussing birds, carol-
ling at full Concert pitch ; this, at most, was all the
sound and fury the sea-beach yielded.
The windows opening on the village street let
in a noise as tumultuous as the sea was silent.
The hubbub of a perpetual babble, all the louder
for being compressed within narrow space, was
always to be heard ; it ceased only when the vil-
lage slej)t. There was an incessant clicking ac-
companiment to this noisy street life ; a music
played from early dawn to dusk over the pave-
ment's rough cobbles — the click clack, click clack
of the countless wooden sabots.
Part of this clamor in the streets was due to the
fact that the village, as a village, appeared to be
doing a tremendous business with the sea.
Men and women were perjjetually going to and
coming from the beach. Fishermen, sailors.
26 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
women bearing- nets, oars, masts, and sails -,
chiklren bending beueatli the weight of baskets
filled with kicking fish; wheelbarrows stocked
high with sea-food and warm clothing; all this
commerce with the sea made the life in these
streets a more animated performance than is com-
moidy seen in French villages.
In time, the provincial mania began to work in
our veins.
To watch our neighbors, to keep an e^'e on
this life — this became, after a few days, the chief
occupation of our waking hours.
The windows of our rooms fronting on the
street were peculiarly well adapted for this un-
mannerly occupation. By merely oiDening the
blinds, we could keep an eye on the entire village.
Not a cat could cross the street without undergo-
ing inspection. Augustine, for example, who,
once having turned her back on the inn windows,
believed herself entirely cut off from observation,
was perilously exposed to our mercy. We knew
all the secrets of her thieving habits ; we could
count, to a second, the time she stole from the
Mere, her employer, to squander in smiles and
dimples at the corner creamery. There a tall
Norman rained admiration upon her through wide
blue eyes, as he patted, caressingly, the pots of
blond butter, just the color of her hair, before
laying them, later, tenderly in her open palm.
Soon, as our acquaintance with our neighbors
deepened into something like intimacy, we came
to know their habits of mind as we did their facial
peculiarities; certain of their actions made an
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 27
event in our day. It became a serious matter of
conjecture as to whether Madame de Tours, the
social swell of the town, would or would not offer
up her prayer to Deity, accompanied by Frij)onne,
her black i)oodle. If Friponne issued forth from
the narrow door, in company with her austere mis-
tress, the shining- black silk g-own, we knew, would
not decorate the angular frame of this aristocratic
provincial ; a sober beige was best fitted to resist
the dashes made by Friponne's sharply-trimmed
nails. It was for this, to don a silk g-own in full
sight of her neighbors ; to set up as companion a
dog- of the highest fashion, the very purest of
caniches, that twenty years of patient nursing- a
paralytic husband — who died all too slowly — had
been counted as nothing !
Once we were summoned to our outlook by the
vigorous beating- of a drum. Madame Mouchard
and Augustine were already at their own post of
observation — the open inn door. The rest of the
village was in full attendance, for it was not every
day in the week that the "tambour," the town-
crier, had business enough to render his appear-
ance, in his official capacity, necessary ; as a mere
townsman he was to be seen any hour of the day,
as drunk as a lord, at the sign of " L'Ami Fidele."
His voice, as it rolled out the words of his cry,
was as staccato in pitch as any org-an can be whose
practice is largely confined to unceasing- calls for
potations. To the listening- crowd, the thick voice
was shouting :
" Bladame Tricot — a la messe — dimanche — a —
perdu une brocJie — or et perles — avec cheveux — 3Ia-
28 THREE NORMAN DT INNS.
dame Merle aj^crdu — sur la plage — im imnier avec
— un chat noir "
AVe ourselves, to our astonishment, were drum-
med the very next morning-. Augustine had
made the discovery of a missing- shouhler-cape ;
she had taken it upon herself to call in the drum-
mer. So great was the attendance of villag"ers,
even the abstractors of the lost garment must, we
were certain, be among the crowd assembled to
hear our names shouted out on the still air. We
were greatly affected by the publicity of the occa-
sion ; but the village heard the announcement,
both of our names and of our loss, with the phlegm
of indifference. " Vingf francs jyoiir avoir famhour-
ine mademoiselle ! " This was an item which a
week later, in madame's little bill, was not con-
fronted with indifference.
" It gives one the feeling of having had relations
with a wandering circus," remarked the young
philosopher at my side.
"But it is really a great convenience, that
system," she continued ; " I'm always mislaying
things — and through the drummer there's a whole
village as aid to find a lost article. I shall, doubt-
less, always have that, now, in my bills ! " And
Charm, with an air of serene confidence in the vil-
lage, adjusted her restored shoulder-cape.
Down below, in our neighbor's garden — the one
adjoining our own and facing the sea — a new and
old world of fashion in capes and other garments
were a-flutter in the breeze, morning after morn-
ing. Who and what was this neighbor, that he
should have so curious and eccentric a taste in
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 29
clothes % No woman was to be seen in the garden-
paths ; a man, in a butler's apron and a silk skull-
cap, came and went, his arms jailed liig-li with
gowns and scarves, and all manner of strange odds
and ends. Each morning some new assortment of
garments met our wondering eyes. Sometimes it
was a collection of Empire embroidered costumes
that were hung out on the line ; faded fleur-de-lis,
sprigs of dainty lilies and roses, gold-embossed
Emjiire coats, strewn thick with seed-pearls on
satins softened by time into melting shades. When
next we looked the court of Napoleon had van-
ished, and the Bourbon j^eriod was, literally, in full
swing. A frou-frou of laces, coats with deep skirts,
and beribboned trousers would be fluttering airily
in the soft May air. Once, in fine contrast to
these courtl}^ splendors, was a wondrous assort-
ment of flannel petticoats. They were of every
hue — red, yellow, brown, pink, patched, darned,
wide-skirted, plaited, ruffled — they appeared to
represent the taste and requirement of every cli-
mate and country, if one could judge by the
thickness of some and the gossamer tissues of
others ; but even the smartest were obviously, un-
mistakably, effrontedly, flannel petticoats.
It was a mystery that greatly intrigued us. One
morning the mystery was solved. A whiff of to-
bacco from an upper window came along with a
puff of wind. It was a heated whiff, in spite of
the cooling breeze. It was from a pipe, a short,
black pipe, owned by some one in the Mansard
window next door. There was the round disk of a
dark-blue beret drooping over the pipe. " Good — "
30 THREE NORXTANDF INNS.
I said to myself— "I shall see now — at last — this
maniac with a taste for darned petticoats ! "
The pipe smoked peacefully, steadily on. The
beret was motionless. Betweeen the pipe and the
cap was a man's profile ; it was too much in shadow
to be clearly defined.
The next instant the man's face was in full sun-
lig"ht. The face turned toward me — with the quick
instinct of knowing- itself watched — and then —
"Pas— possible ! "
" You— here ! "
" Been here a year — but you, when did you ar-
rive % What luck ! TMiat luck ! "
It was John Eenard, the artist : after the first
salutations question followed question.
" Are you alone ? "
" No."
" Is she — young ? "
" Yes."
" Pretty % "
"Judge for yourself — that is she — in the garden
yonder."
The beret dipped itself perilously out into the
sky — to take a full view.
" Hem — I'll come in at once."
It was as a trio that the conversation was con-
tinued later, in the garden. But Eenard was still
chief questioner.
" Have you been out on the mussel-beds ? "
" Not yet."
" "We'll go this afternoon — Have you been to
Honfleur ? Not yet ? — We'll go to-morrow. The
tide will be in to-day about four — I'll call for you
THREE NORM AND T INNS. 31
— wear heavy boots and old clothes. It's jolly
dirty. T\Tiere do you breakfast ? "
The breakfast was eateu^ as a trio, at our inn, an
hour later. It was so warm a day, it was served
under one of the arbors. Augustine was feeding-
and caressing the doves as we entered the inn
garden. At sight of Eenard she dropped a quiet
courtesy, smiles and roses struggling for a su-
premacy on her round peasant face. She let the
doves loose at once, saying : " Allez, allez," as if
they quite understood that with Monsieur Ke-
nard's advent their hour of success was at an end.
Why does a man's presence always seem to com-
municate such surprising animation to a woman
— to any woman ? ^liy does his apj^earance, for
instance, suddenly, miraculously stiflfen the sauces,
lure from the cellar bottles incrusted with the
gray of thick cobwebs, give an added drop of the
lemon to the mayonnaise, and make an omelette
to swim in a sea of butter? All these added
touches to our commonly admirable breakfast
were conspicuous that day — it was a breakfast for
a prince and a gourmet.
" The Mere can cook — when she gives her mind
to it," was Kenard's meagre masculine comment,
as the last morsel of the golden omelette disap-
peared behind his mustache.
It was a gay little breakfast, with the circling
above of the birds and the doves. There are dull-
er forms of pleasure than to eat a repast in the
company of an artist. I know not why it is, but it
has always seemed to me that the man who lives
only to copy life appears to get far more out of it
32 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
than those who make a point of seeing nothing in
it save themselves.
Renard, meanwhile, was taking pains to assure
lis that in less than a month the Villerville beaches
would be crowded ; only the artists of the brushes
were here now; the artists of high life would
scarcely be found deserting the Avenue des Aca-
cias before June.
" French people are always coming to the sea-
shore, you know — or trying to come. It's a part
of their emotional religion to worship the sea.
' La mer ! la mer ! ' i\iey cry, with eyes all whites ;
then they go into little swoons of rapture — I can
see them now, attitudinizing in salons and at
tables-d'hote ! " To which comment we could find
no more original rejoinder than our laughter.
It was a da}^ when laughter was good ; it put one
in closer relations with the universal smiling.
There are certain days when nature seems to laugh
aloud ; in this hour of noon the entire universe, all
we could see of it, was on a broad grin. Every-
thing moved, or danced, or sang ; the leaves were
each alive, trembling, quivering, shaking : the in-
sect hum was like a Wagnerian chorus, deafening
to the ear ; there was a brisk, light breeze stining
— a breeze that moved the higher branches of the
trees as if it had been an arm : that rippled the
grass ; that tossed the wavelets of the sea into
such foam that they seemed over-running with
laughter ; and such was still its unspent energy
that it sent the Seine with a bound up through its
shores, its waters clanging like a sheet of mail
armor worn by some lusty wamor. We were
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 33
walking in the narrow lane that edged the cliff ; it
was a lane that was guarded with a sentinel row
of osiers, syringas, and laburnums. This was the
guard of the cliffs. On the other side was the
high garden wall, over which we caught dissolv-
ing views of dormer-windows, of gabled roofs,
vine-clad walls, and a maze of peach and pear
blossoms. This was not precisely the kind of
lane through which one hurried. One needed
neither to be sixteen nor even in love to find it a
delectable path, very agreeable to the eye, very
suggestive to the imaginative facultj^ exceedingly
satisfactory to the most fastidious of all the senses,
to that aristocrat of all the five, the sense of smell.
Like all entirely perfect experiences in life, the
lane ended almost as soon as it began ; it ended
in a steep pair of steps that dropped, precipitously,
on the pebbles of the beach.
For some reason best known to the day and the
view, we all, with one accord, proceeded to seat
ourselves on the topmost step of this stairway.
We were waiting for the tide to fall, to go out to
the mussel-bed. Meanwhile the prospect to be
seen from this imj^rovised seat was one made to be
looked at. There is a certain innate compelling
quality in all great beauty. When nature or
woman presents a really grandiose appearance,
they are singularly reposeful, if 3'ou notice ; they
have the calm which comes with a consciousness
of splendor. It is only prettiness which is tor-
mented with the itching for display ; and there-
fore this prospect, which rolled itself out beneath
our feet, curling in a half -moon of beach, broaden-
34 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ing into meadows that di-opped to the river edge,
lifting its beauty upward till the hills met the sky,
and the river was lost in the clasp of the shore —
this aspect of nature, in this moment of beauty,
was as untroubled as if Chateaubriand had not
found her a lover, and had flattered man by per-
suading him that
" La voix de Tunivers, c'est mon intelligence."
CHAPTEE IV.
OUT ON A MUSSEL-BED.
That same afternoon we were
out on the mussel-bed.
The tide was at its lowest.
Before us, for an acre or more,
there lay a wide, wet, stretch of
brown mud. Near the beach
was a strip of yellow sand ; here
and there it had contracted
into narrow ridges, elsewhere
it had expanded into scroll-like
patterns. The bed of mud and slime ran out from
this yellow sand strip — a surface diversified by
puddles of muddy water, by pools, clear, ribbed
with wavelets, and by little heaps of stones covered
with lichens. The surface of the bed, whether
pools or puddles, or rock-heaps, or sea-weeds
massed, was covered by thousands and thousands
of black, lozenge-shaped bivalves. These bivalves
were the mussels. Over this bed of shells and
slime there moved and toiled a whole villageful
of old women. Where the sea met the edges of
the mud-flat the throng of women was thickest.
The line of the ever-receding shore was marked
by the shapes of countless bent figures. The
heads of these stooping women were on a level
36 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
with their feet, not one stood upright. All that
the eye could seize for outline was the dome made
by the bent hips, and the backs that closed against
the knees as a blade is clasped into a knife handle.
The oblong- masses that were lifted now and then,
from the level of the sabots, resolved themselves
into the outlines of women's heads and women's
faces. These heads were tied up in cotton ker-
chiefs or in cotton nightcaps ; these being white,
together with the long, thick, aprons also white,
were in startling contrast to the blue of the sky
and to the changing sea-tones.
Between these women and the incoming tide,
twice daily, was fought a persistent, unrelenting
duel. It was a duel, on the jiart of the fish-wives,
against time, against the fate of the tides, against
the blind forces of nature. For this combat the
women were armed to the teeth, clad as they were
in their skeleton muscular leanness ; helmeted with
their heads of iron ; visored in the bronze of their
skin and in wrinkles that laughed at the wind.
In these sinewy, toughened bodies there was a
grim strength that appeared to know neither ache
nor fatigue nor satiety.
High, clear, strong, came their voices. The
tones were the tones that come from deep chests,
and with a prolonged, sustained capacity for en-
during the toil of men. But the high-pitched
laughter proved them women, as did their loud
and unceasing gossip. The battle of the voices
rose above the swash of the waves, above, also,
another sound, as incessant as the women's chatter
and the swish of the water as it hissed along- the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 37
mud-flat's edg-es. This was the swift, sharp, saw-
like cutting- among- the stones and the slime, the
scrape, scrape of the hundred of knives into the
moist earth. This ceaseless scraping-, lung-ing-,
digging, made a new world of sound — strang-e, sin-
ister, uncanny. It was neither of the sea nor j^et
of the land — it was a noise that seemed insepar-
able from this tong-ue of mud, that also appeared
to be neither of the heavens above nor of the earth,
from the bowels out of which it had sprung-.
The mussels clin,^ to their slime with extraordi-
nary tenacity ; only an expert, who knows the ex-
act point of attachment between the hard shell and
its soil, can remove a mussel with dexterity. These
women, as thej' dipped their knives into the thick
mud, swept the diminutive black bivalve with a
trenchant movement, as a Moor might cleave a
human head with one turn of his moon-shaped
sword. Into the bronzed, wrinkled old hands the
mussels then were slipped as if they had been so
many dainty sweets.
New and pung-ent smells were abroad on this
strip of slime. Sea smells, strong- and salty ;
smells of the moist and damp soil, the bitter-sweet
of wetted weeds, the aromatic flavor that shell-life
yields, and the smells also of rotten and decaying-
fish — all these were inextricably blended in the
air, that was of the keenness of a frost-blig-ht for
freshness, and yet was warm with the softness of a
June sun.
Meanwhile the voices of the women were near-
ing-. Some of the bent heads were lifted as we ap-
proached. Here and there a coif, or cotton cap,
38 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
nodded, and the slit of a smile would gape be-
tween the nose and the meeting chin. A high
good humor appeared to reign among the groujjs ;
a carnival of merriment laughed itself out in
coarse, cracked laughter ; loud was the play of
the jests, hoarse and guttural the gibes that were
abroad on the still air, from old mouths that
uttered strong, deep notes.
" AMi}'' should they all be old?" we queried.
We were near enough to see the women face to
face now, since we were far out along the outer
edges of the bed ; we were so near the sea that
the tide was beginning to wash us back, along with
the fringe of the diggers.
" They're not — they only look old," re^Dlied Ee-
nard, stopping a moment to sketch in a group di-
rectly in front. " This life makes old women of
them in no time. How old, for instance, should
you think that girl was, over there ? "
The girl whom he designated was the only fig-
ure of youth we had seen on the bed. She was
working alone and remote from the others. She
wore no coif. Her masses of red, wavy hair shaded
a face already deeply seamed with lines of pre-
mature age. A moment later she passed close to
us. She was bent almost double beneath a huge,
reeking basket, heaped with its pile of wet mus-
sels. She was carrying it to a distant pool. Once
beside the pool, with swift, dexterous movement
the heavy basket was slipped from the bent back,
the load of mussels falling in a shower into the
miniature lake. The next instant she was stamping
on the heap, to plunge them with her sabot still
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 39
further into the pool. She was washing her load.
Soon she shouldered the basket again, filling it
with the cleansed mussels. A moment later she
joined the long, toiling line of women that were
perpetually forming and reforming on their way
to the carts. These latter were di*awn up near the
beach, their contents guarded by boys and old
men, who received the loads the women had dug,
dragging the whole, later, up the hill.
" She has the Venus de Milo lines, that girl,"
Renard continued, critically, with his eyes on her,
as she now repassed us. The figure was drawn
up at its full height. It had in truth a noble dig-
nity of outline. There was a Spartan vigor and
severity in the lean, uncorseted shape, with the
bust thrown out against the sky — the bust of a
young warrior rather than a woman. There was a
hardy, masculine freedom in the pliable motion
of her straight back, a ripple with muscles that
played easily beneath the close bodice, in her
arms, and her finely turned ankles and legs, that
were bared below the knee. The very simplicity
of her costume helped to mark the Greek severity
of her figure. She wore a short skirt of some
coarse hempen stuff, covered with a thick apron
made of sail-cloth, her feet thrust into black sabots,
while the upper part of her body was covered with
an unbleached chemise, widely open at the throat.
She had the Phidian breadth and the modern
charm — that charm which troubles and disturbs,
haunting the mind with vague, unsatisfied sugges-
tions of something finer than is seen, something
nobler than the gross physical envelope reveals.
40 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" I must have her — for my Salon picture," calm-
ly remarked Renartl, after a long- moment of scru-
tiny, his eyes following the lean, stately figure in
its grave walk across the weeds and slime. " Yes,
I must have her."
" Won't she be hard to g-et ? How can she be
made to sit, a stiffened imag-e of clay, after this
life of freedom, this athletic strugg-le out here —
with these winds and tides ? "
One of us, at least, was stirred at Renard's calm
assumption — the assumption so common to artists,
who, when they see a good thing at once count on
its possessorship, as if the whole world, indeed,
were eternally sitting, agape with impatience,
awaiting the advent of some painter to sketch in
its portrait.
" Oh, it'll be easy enough. She makes two francs
a day with her six basketfuls. I'll offer her three,
and she'll drop like a shot."
" I'll make it a red picture," he continued, dip-
ping his brushes into a little case of paints he held
on his thumb ; " the mussel-bed a reddish violet,
the sky red in the horizon, and the girl in the
foreground, with that torrent of hair as the high
light. I've been hunting for that hair all over
Europe." And he began sketching her in at
once.
" Bonjour, mere, how goes it 1 " He nodded as
he sketched at a \vi-inkled, bent figure, who was
smiling out at him from beneath her load of mus-
sels.
" Pas mal — e vous, 31'sieur Renard ? "
" All right — and the mortgage, how goes that « "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 41
" Pas si mal — it'll be paid off next year."
" Who is she ? One of your models ? "
" Yes, last year's : she was my belle — the belle
of the mussel-bed for me, a year ago. Now there's
a lesson in patience for you. She's sixty-five, if
she's a minute ; she's been working- here, on this
mussel-bed, for five years, to pay the mortg-ag-e off
her farm ; when that is done, her daug-hter Aug"us-
tine can marry ; Aug-ustine's dot is the farm."
" Augustine — at our inn ■? "
" The very same."
"And the blonde — the handsome man at the
creamery, he is the future "? "
" I'm sorry to hear such thing's of Augustine,"
smiled Eenard, as he worked; "she must be in-
dulging- in an entr'acte. No, the gentleman of
Augustine's — well, perhaps not of her affections,
but of her mother's choice, is a peasant who works
the farm ; the creamery is only an incidental di-
version. Again, I'm sorry to hear such sad things
of Augustine "
" Horrors ! "
" Exactly. That's the way it's done — over here.
Will you join me — over there ?" Eenard blushed
a little. " I mean I wish to follow that girl — she's
going to dig out yonder. Will you come ? "
Meanwhile the light was changing, and so was
the tide. The women were coming inward, washed
up to the shore along with the grasses and sea-
weeds. A band of diggers suddenly started, with
full basket loads, toward a fishing boat that had
dropped anchor close in to the shore ; it was a
Honfleur craft, come to buy mussels for the Paris
42 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
market. The women trudged through the water,
up to their waists ; they clustered about the boats
like so many laden beasts. But their shrill bar-
gaining proved them women.
Meanwhile that gentle hissing along the level
stretch of brown mud was the tide. It was push-
ing the women upward, as if it had been a hand —
the hand of a relentless fate — instead of a little,
liquid kiss.
The sun, as it dipped, made a glory of splendor
out of this commonplace bank. It soaked the mud
in gold ; it was in a royal mood, throwing its lar-
gess with reckless abundance to this poor of earth
— to the slime and the mud. The long, yellow,
lichen leaves massed on the rocks were dyed as if
lying in a yellow bath. The sands were richly
colored ; the ridges were brown in the shadows
and burnished at the tops. In the distance the
sea- weeds were black, sable furs, covering the vel-
vet robes of earth. The sea out beyond was as
rosy as a babe, and the sails were dazzlingly white
as they floated past, between the sky and the dis-
tant purple line of the horizon.
Meanwhile the tide is coming in.
The procession of the women toward the carts
grows in numbers. The thick sabots plunge into
the mud, the water squirts out of the wooden shoes
as the strong heels press into them. The straw,
the universal stocking of these women-diggers, is
reeking with dirt. Volumes of slush are splashed
on the bared skinny ankles, on the wet skirts, wet
to the waists, and on the coarse sail-cloth aprons
tied beneath the hanging bosoms. The women
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 43
are all drenched now in a bath of filth. The
baskets are reeking- with filth also, they rain
showers of dirt along- the bent backs. A long line
of the bent figures has formed on their way to the
carts. There is, however, a thick fringe of dig-gers
left who still dispute their rights with the sea.
But the tide is pushing them inward, upward.
And all the while the light is getting more and
more golden, shimmery, radiant. Under this light,
beneath this golden mantel of color, these creat-
ures appear still more terrible. As they bend
over, their faces tirelessly held downward on a
level with their hands, they seem but gnomes ;
surely they are huge, undeveloped embrj^os of
women, with neither head nor trunk. For this
light is pitiless. It makes them even more a
j)art of this earth, out of which they seem to have
sprung, a strange amorphous growth. The
bronzed skins are dyed in the gold as if to match
with the hue of the mud ; the wet skirts are
shreds, gray and brown tatters, not so good in text-
ure as the lichens, and the ragged jerseys seem
only bits of the more distant weeds woven into
tissues to hide mercifully the lean, sinewy backs.
The tide is almost in.
In the shallows the sunset is fading. Here and
there are brilliant little jdooIs, each pool a mirror,
and each mirror reflects a diflerent picture. Here
is a second skj^ — faintly blue, with a trailing saf-
fron scarf of cloud ; there, the inverted silhouettes
of two fish-wives are conical shapes, their coifs and
wet skirts startlinglj" distinct in tones ; beyond,
sails a fantastic fleet, with polychrome sails, each
44 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
spar, masthead, and wrinkled sail as sharply out-
lined as if chiselled in relief. Presently these min-
iature pictiires fade as the light fades. Blacker
g"rows the mud, and there is less and less of it ;
the silhouetted shapes of the diggers are seen no
more ; they are following the carts up the steep
cliffs ; ev^en the sky loses its color and fades also.
And the little pools that have been a burning
orange, then a darkening violet, gay with pictured
worlds, in turn i^ale to graj^ and die into the uni-
versal blackness.
The tide is in.
It is flowing, rich and full, crested with foam be-
neath the osier hedges. "We hear it break with a
sudden dash and splutter against the cliff para-
pets. And the mud-bank is no more.
Half an hour later, from our chamber windows
we looked forth through the dusk across at the
mussel-bed. The great mud-bank, all that black
acreage of slime and sea- weed, the eager, strug-
gling band of toiling fish-wives, all was gone ; it
was all as if it had not been — would never be
again. The water hissed along the beach ; it broke
in rhythmic, sonorous measure against the para-
pet. Surely there had never been any beds, or
any mussels, or any toiling fish -wives ; or if there
had, it was all a world that the sea had washed
up, and then as quietly, as heedlessly, as piti-
lessly had obliterated.
It was the very epitome of life itself.
CHAPTEE V.
THE \t:llage.
OuE visit to the mussel-bed,
as we soon found, had been
our formal introduction to
the village. Henceforth ev-
ery door-step held a friend ;
not a coif or a blouse passed
without a greeting". The
village, as a village, lived in
the open street. Villerville
had the true French genius
for society ; the very houses
were neighborly, cro wdin g
close upon the narrow sidewalk. Conversation, to
be carried on from a dormer-window or from oppo-
site sides of the street, had evidently been the first
architectural consideration in the mind of the
builders ; doors and windows must be as open and
accessible as the lives of the inhabitants. The
houses themselves appeared to be regarded in the
light of pockets, into which the old women and
fishermen plunged to drag forth a net or a knife ;
also as convenient, if rude, little caverns into
which the village crawled at night, to take its
hea\^ slumber.
The door-step was the drawing-room, and
46 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
tlie open street was the club of this Villerville
world.
The door-way, the yard, or the bit of g-arden
tucked in between two high walls — it was here,
under the tent of sky rather than beneath the
stuffy roofs, that the village lived, talked, quar-
relled, bargained, worked, and more or less openly
made love.
To the door-step everything was brought that
was portable. There was nothing, from the small
boy to the brass kettle, that could not be more
satisfactorily polished off, in full view of one's
world, than by one's self, in seclusion and solitude.
Justice, at least, appeared to gain by this passion
for oi:)en-air ministration, if one were to judge by
the frequency with which the Villerville boy was
laid across the parental knee. We were repeat-
edly called U130U to coincide, at the very instant
of flagellation, with the verdict pronounced against
the youthful offender.
" S'il est assez vnichant, lui ? Ah, mesdames, what
do you think of one who goes forth dr}^ with clean
sabots, that I, myself, have washed, and behold
him returned, ajn^es un tout ptit quart d'heure,
stinking with filth ? Bah ! it's he that will catch
it when his father comes home ! " And mean-
while the mother's hand descends, lest justice
should cool ere night.
There were other groups that crowded the door-
steps; there were young mothers that sat there,
with their babes clasped to the full breasts, in
whose eyes was to be read the satisfied passion of
recent motherhood ; there were gay clusters of
k VII.LEHMLLE KI.S11- W 1 KE.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 47
young- Norman maidens, whose glances, brilliant
and restless, were pregnant with all the meaning-
of unspent youth. The figures of the fishermen,
toiling- up the street with bared legs and hairy
breast, bending- beneath their baskets alive with
fish, stopped to have a word or two, seasoned with
a laugh, with these latter groups. There were
also knots of patient old men, wrecks that the sea
had tossed back to earth, to rot and die there, that
came out of the black little houses to rest their
bones in the sun. And everywhere there were
g-roups of old women, or of women still young, to
whom the look of ag-e had come long before its
due time.
The villag-e seemed peopled with women, sexless
creatures for the most part, whom toil and the life
on the mussel-bed or in the field had dried and
hardened into mummy shapes. Only these, the
old and the useless, were left at home to rear the
younger generation and to train them to take up
the same heavy burden of life. The coifs of these
old hags made dazzling spots of brightness against
the gray of the walls and the stuccoed houses;
clustered tog-ether, the high caps that nodded in
unison to the chatter were in startling contrast to
the bronzed faces bending over the fish-nets, and
to the blue-veined, leatherj^ hands that flew in and
out of the coarse meshes Avith the fluent ease of
long practice.
With one of these old women we became friends.
We had made her acquaintance at a poetic mo-
ment, under romantic circumstances. We were all
three watching a sunset, under a xDink sky; we
48 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
were sitting far out on the grasses of the cliff.
Her house was in the midst of the grasses, some
little distance from the village, attached to it only
as a ragged fringe might edge a garment. It was
a thatched hut ; yet there were circumstances in
the life of the owner which had transformed the
interior into a 'luxurious apartment. The owner
of the hut was herself hanging on the edge of life:
she was a toothless, bent, and Avithered old rem-
nant ; but her vigor and vivacity were those of a
witch. Her hands and eyes were ceaselessly ac-
tive ; she was forever bus\^ fingering a fish-net, or
polishing her Normandy brasses, or stirring some
dark liquid in an iron pot over the dim fire.
At our first meeting, conversation had immedi-
ately engaged itself ; it had ended, as all right
talk should, in friendship. On this morning of
our visit, many a gay one having preceded it, we
found our friend arrayed as if for an outing. She
had mounted her best coif, and tied across her
shrivelled old breast was a vivid purple silk ker-
chief.
" Tiens, mes enfants, soyez les bienvemies," was
her gay greeting, seasoned with a high cackling
laugh, as she waved us to two rickety chairs.
" No, I'm not going out, not yet : there is plenty
of time, plenty of time. It is you who are good,
si aimables, to come out here to see me. And tired,
too, hein, with the long walk ? Tiens, I had nearly
forgotten ; there's a bottle of wine open below —
you must take a glass."
She never forgot. The bottle of wine had al-
ways just been opened ; the cork was always also
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 49
miraculously rebellious for a cork that had been
previouslj" pulled. Althoug-h our ancient friend
was a peasant, her cellar was the cellar of a gour-
met. Wonderful old wines were hers ! Port,
Bordeaux, white wines, of vintag-es to make the
heart warm ; each was produced in turn, a differ-
ent vintage and wine on each one of our visits, but
no champagne. This was no wine for women —
for the right women. Champagne was a bad, fast
wine, for fast, disreputable j)eople. " C'est tin
vra{pmso7i, qui vous infecfe," she had declared again
and again, and when she saw her daughter drink-
ing it, it made her shudder ; she confessed to hav-
ing a moment of doubt ; had Paris, indeed, really
brought her child no harm ? Then the old mere
would shrug her bent shoulders and rub her
hands, and for a moment she would be lost in
thought. Presently the cracked old laugh would
peal forth again, and, as she threw back her head,
she would shake it as if to dispel some dark
vision.
To-day she had dropped, almost as soon as we
entered, into a narrow trap -door, descending a
flight of stone steps. We could hear a clicking of
bottles and a rustling of straw; and then, behold,
a veritable fairy issuing from the bowels of the
earth, with flushes of red suffusing the ribbed, be-
wrinkled face, as the old figure straightens its
crookedness to carry the dusty bottle securely,
steadily, lest the cloudy settling at the bottom
should be disturbed. What a merry little feast
then began ! We had learned where the glasses
were kept; we had been busily scouring them while
50 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
our hostess was below. Then wine and glasses,
along- with three chairs, were quickly placed on
the pine table at the door of the old house. Here,
on the grass of the cliffs, we sat, sipping our wine,
enjoying the sea that lay at our feet, and above,
the sunlit sky. To our friend both sky and sea
were familiar companions ; but the fichu was a
new friend.
" Yes, it is very beautiful, as you say," she said,
in answer to our admiring comments. " It came
from Paris, from my daughter. She sent it to
me ; she is always making me gifts ; she is one
who remembers her old mother ! Figure to your-
selves that last year, in midwinter, she sent me no
less than three gowns, all wool ! What can I do
with them ? C'est x>oiir me flatter, c'est sa maniere
de me dire qu'ilfaut viure^your long(em2)s f Ah, la
cJierefoIIe ! But she spoils me, the darling ! "
This daughter had become the most mysterious
of all our Villerville discoveries. Our old friend
was a peasant, the child of peasant farmers. She
would always remain a peasant ; and yet her
daughter was a Parisian, and lived in a bonbon-
niere. She was also married ; but that only served
to thicken the web of mystery enshrouding her.
How could a daughter of a peasant, brought up as
a peasant, who had lived here, a tiller of the fields
till her nineteenth year, suddenly be transformed
into a woman of the Parisian world, gain the posi-
tion of a banker's wife, and be dancing, as the old
mere kept telling us, at balls at the Elysee ? Her
mother never answered this riddle for us; and,
more amazing still, neither could the village. The
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 51
village would slirug its shoulders, when we ques-
tioned it, with discretion, concerning- this enigma.
" Ah, dame ! It was she — the old mere — who had
had chances in life, to marry her daughter like
that ! Victorine was pretty^yes, there was no
gainsaying she was joretty — but not so beautiful
as all that, to entrap a banker, un homme serieux,
qui vit de ses rentes ! and who was generous, too,
for the old mere needn't work now, since she was
always receiving money." Gifts were perpetually
pouring into the low rooms — wines, and Parisian
delicacies, and thick garments.
The tie between the two, between the mother
and daughter, appeared to be as strong and their
relations as complete, as if one were not clad in
homespun and the other in Worth gowns. There
was no shame, that was easily seen, on either side ;
each apparently was full of pride in the other ;
their living apart was entirely due to the old
mere's preference for a life on the cliffs, alone in
the midst of all her old peasant belongings.
" G'est2^lns chez-soi, ici ! Victorine feels that, too.
She loves the smell of the old wood, and of the
peat burning there in the fireplace. When she
comes down to see me, I must shut fast all the
doors and windows ; she wants the whole of the
smell, 2^our fcure h vrai bouquet, as she says. If
she had had children — ah ! — I don't say but what
I might have consented ; but as it is, I love my
old fire, and my view out there, and the village,
best ! "
At this point in the conversation, the old eyes,
bright as they were, turned dim and cloudy ; the
52 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
inward eye was doubtless seeing something' otlier
than the view ; it was resting on a youthful figure,
clad in Parisian draperies, and on a face rising
above the draperies, that bent lovingly over the
deep-throated fireplace, basking in its warmth, and
revelling in its homely perfume. We were silent
also, as the picture of that transfigured daughter
of the house flitted across our own mental vision.
" The village ? " suddenly broke in the old mere.
" Dieu de Dieu ! that reminds me. I must go, my
children, I must go. Loisette is waiting ; la jmu-
vre enfant — perhaps suff'ering too — how do I know ?
And here am I, playing, like a lazy clout ! Did
you know she had had nn nini this morning ? The
little angel came at dawn. That's a good sign !
And what news for Auguste ! He was out last
night — fishing ; she was at her washing when he
left her. Tienfi, there they are, looking for him !
They've brought the spy-glass."
The old mere shaded her eyes, as she looked out
into the dazzling- sunlight. We followed her fin-
ger, that pointed to a j)rojection on the cliffs.
Among the grasses, grouped on top of the high-
est rock, was a family party. An old fish-wife was
standing far out against the sky ; she also was
shading her eyes. A child's round head, crowded
into a white knit cap, was etched against the
wide blue ; and, kneeling, holding in both hands a
seamaus long glass, was a girl, sweeping the hori-
zon with swift, skilful stretches of arm and hand.
The sun descended in a shower of light on the old
grandam's seamy face, on the red, bulging cheeks
of the chubb}' child, and on the bent figui'e of the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 53
girl, whose knees were firmly implanted in the
deep, tall .i^frasses. Bej'ond the group there was
nothing but sea and sk}".
"Yes," the mere went on, garrulously, as she
recorked the bottle of old port, carrying table and
glasses within doors. " Yes, they're looking for
him. It ought to be time, now : he's due about
now. There's a man for you — good — hon com rite le
bon Dieu. Sober, saving too — good father — in love
with Loisette as on the wedding night — ah, mes
enfanfs f — there are few like him, or this village
would be a paradise ! "
She shut the door of the little cabin. And then
she gave us a broad wink. The wink was entirely
by way of explanation ; it was to enlighten us as
to why a certain rare bottle of port — a fresh one —
was being secreted beneath her fichu. It was a
wink that conveyed to us a reall}^ valuable number
of facts ; chief among them being the very obvious
fact that the French Government was an idiot, and
a tyrant into the bargain, since it imposed stupid
laws no one meant to carry out ; least of all a good
Norman. What ? pay two sous octroi on a bottle
of one's own wine, that one had had in one's cellar
for half a lifetime ? To cheat the town out of
those twopence becomes, of course, the true Nor-
man's chief pleasure in life. "WTiat is his rei^uta-
tion worth, as a shrewd, sharp man of business, if
a little thing like cheating stops him ? It is even
better fun than bargaining, to cheat thus one's
own town, since nothing is to be risked, and one is
so certain of success.
The mere nodded to us gayly, in farewell, as
54 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
we all three re-entered the town. She disap-
peared all at once into a narrow door-way, her arms
still clasping- her old port, that lay in the folds of
her shawl. On her shrewd kindly old face came a
lig-ht that touched it all at once with a g-low of di-
vinity ; the mother in her had sprung into life with
sharp, sweet suddenness ; she had caught the wail
of the new-born babe through the open door.
The village itself seemed to have caught some-
thing of the same glow. It was not only the
splendor of the noon sun that made the faces of
the worn fish-wives and the younger women softer
and kindlier than common ; the groups, as we
passed them, were all talking of but one thing — of
this babe that had come in the night, of Auguste s
absence, and of Loisette's sharp pains and her
cries, that had filled the street, so that none could
sleep.
CHAPTEE VI.
A PAGAN COBBLER.
At dusk that evening- the
same subject, with vari-
ations, was the universal
topic of the conversation-
al groups. Still Auguste
had not come; half the
village was out watching
for him on the cliffs. The
other half was crowding-
the streets and the door-
steps.
Twilight is the classic time, in all French towns
and villages, for the alfresco lounge. The cool
breath of the dusk is fresh, then, and restful ; after
the heat and sweat of the long noon the air, as it
touches brow and lip, has the charm of a caress.
So the door -ways and streets were always crowded
at this hour ; groups moved, separated, formed
and re-formed, and lingered to exchange their bud-
get of gossip, to call out their " Bonne nuit," the
girls to clasp hands, looking longingly over their
shoulders at the younger fishermen and farmers ;
the latter to nod, carelessly, gayly back at them ;
and then — as men will — to fling an arm about a
56 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
comrade's shoulder as they, in their turn, called
out into the dusk,
" AUons, mon brave : de Vahsinthe, toi ? " as the
cabaret swallowed them up.
Great and mighty were the cries and the oaths
that issued from the cabaret's open doors and
windows. The Villerville fisherman loved Bacchus
only, second to Neptune ; when he was not out
casting- his net into the Channel he was drinking'
up his spoils. It was during the sobering process
only that atiairs of a purely domestic nature en-
gaged his attention. Some of the streets were
permeated with noxious odors, with the poison of
absinthe and the fumes of cheap brandy. Noisy,
reeling groups came out of the tavern doors, to
shout and sing, or to fight their way homeward.
One such figure was filling a narrow alley, sway-
ing from right to left, with a jeering crowd at his
heels.
" Est-il assez ridicule, lui ? with his cap over his
nose, and his knees knocking at everyone's door ?
Bah ! gajme ! " the group of lads following him went
on, shouting about the poor sot, as they pelted him
with their rain of pebbles and paper bullets.
"Ah — h, he will beat her, in his turn, poor
soul ; she always gets it when he's full, as full as
that "
The voice was so close to our ears that we started.
The words appeared addressed to us ; they were,
in a way, since they were intended for the street,
as a street, and for the benefit of the groups that
filled it. The voice was gruff yet mellow ; despite
its gruffness it had the ring of a latent kindliness
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 57
in its deep tones. The man who owned it was
seated on a level with our elbows, at a cobbler's
bench. We stopped to let the crowd push on
beyond us. The man had only lifted his head from
his work, but involuntarily one stopped to salute
the power in it.
" Bonsoir, mesdames " — the head gravely bowed
as the great frame of the body below the head
rose from the low seat. The room within seemed
to contain nothing else save this giant figure, now
that it had risen and was moving toward us. The
half-door was courteously opened.
" Will not ces dames give themselves the trouble
of entering? The streets are not gay at this
hour."
We went in. A dog and a woman came forth
from a smaller inner room to greet us ; of the two
the dog was obviously the personage next in j^oint
of intelligence and importance to the master. The
woman had a snuffed-out air, as of one whose life
had died out of her years ago. She blinked at us
meekly as she dropped a timid courtesy ; at a low
word of command she turned a pitifully patient
back on us all. There were years of obedience to
orders written on its submissive curves ; and she
bent it once more over her kettles ; both she and
the kettles were on the bare floor. It was the
poorest of all the Villerville interiors we had as
yet seen : the house was also, perhaps, the oldest
in the village. It and the old church had been
opposite neighbors for several centuries. The
shop and the living-room were all in one ; the low
window was a counter by day and a shutter by
58 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
night. Within, the walls were bare as were the
floors. Three chairs with sunken leather covers,
and a bed with a mattress also sunken — a hollow
in a iDine frame, was the equipment in furniture.
The poverty was brutal; it was the naked, un-
abashed poverty of the middle ages, with no hint
of shame or effort of concealment. The colossus
whom the low roof covered was as unconscious
of the barrenness of his surroundings as were his
own walls. This hovel was his home; he had
made us welcome with the manners of a king.
Meanwhile the dog' was sniffing- at our skirts.
After a tour of observation and inspection he
wagged his tail, gave a short bark, and seated him-
self by Charm. The giant's eyes twinkled.
" You see, mesdames, it is a dog with a mind — he
knows in an instant Avho are the right sort. And
eloquence, also — he is one who can make speeches
with his tail. A dog's tongue is in his tail, and
this one Avags his like an orator ! "
Some one else, as well as the dog, possessed the
oratorical gift. The cobbler's voice was the true
speaker's voice — rich, vibrating", sonorous, with a
deep note of melody in it. Pose and gestures
matched with the voice ; they were flexible and
picturesquely suggestive.
"If you care for oratory — " Charm smiled out
upon the huge but mobile face — " you are well
placed. The village lies before you. You can
always see the play going- on, and hear the
speeches — of the passers-by."
The large mouth smiled back. But at Charm's
first sentence the keen Norman ej^es had fixed
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 59
their twinkling- glitter on the girl's face. They
seemed to be reading to the very bottom of her
thought and being. The scrutiny was not relaxed
as he answered.
" Yes, yes, it is very amusing. One sees a little
of everything here. Le monde qui passe — it makes
life more diverting ; it helps to kill the time. I
look out from my perch, like a bird — a very old
one, and caged " — and he shook forth a great
laugh from beneath the wide leather apron.
The woman, hearing the laugh, came out into
the room.
" E%en — et toi — what do you want ? "
The giant stopped laughing long enough to
turn tyrant. The woman, at the first of his growl,
smiled feebly, going back with unresisting meek-
ness to her knees, to her pots, and her kettles.
The dog growled in imitation of his master ; ob-
viously the soul of the dog was in the wrong
body.
Meanwhile the master of the dog and the
woman had forgotten both now ; he was continu-
ing, in a masterful way, to enlighten us about the
peculiarities of his native village. The talk had
now reached the subject of the church.
"Oh, yes, it is fine, very, and old; it and this
old house are the oldest of all the inhabitants
of this village. The church came first, though, it
was built by the English, when they came over,
thinking to conquer us with their Hundred Years'
"War. Little they knew France and Frenchmen.
The church was thoroughly French, although the
English did build it ; on the ground many times,
60 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
but lip ag-ain, only waiting tlie hand of the builder
and the restorer."
Again the slim-waisted shape of the old wife
ventured forth into the room.
" Yes, as he says " — in a voice that was but an
echo — "the church has been down many times."
" Tais-toi — c'est moi qui parJe," grumbled anew
her husband, giving the withered face a terrific
scowl.
" Ohe, oni, c'est toi," the echo bleated. The thin
hands meekly folded themselves across her apron.
She stood quite still, as if awaiting more punish-
ment.
" It is our good cure who wishes to pull it down
once more," her terrible husband went on, not
heeding her quiet presence. " Do you know our
cure ? Ah, ha, he's a fine one. It's he that rules
us now — he's our king- — our emperor. Ugh, he's
a bad one, he is."
" Ah, 3^es, he's a bad one, he is," his wife echoed,
from the side wall.
" Well, and who asked you to talk ? " cried her
husband, with a face as black as when the cure's
name had first been mentioned. The echo shrank
into the wall. " As I was telling these ladies " —
he resumed here his boot work, clamping the last
between his great knees — " as I was saying-, we
have not been fortunate in cures, we of our parish.
There are cures and cures, as there are fagots and
fagots — and ours is a bad lot. We've had nothing
but trouble since he came to rule over us. We get
poorer day by day, and he richer. There he is
now, feeding his hens and his doves — look, over
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 61
there — with the ladies of his household gathered
about him — his mother, his aunt, and his niece — a
perfect harem. Oh, he keeps them all fat and
sleek, like himself ! Bah ! "
The g-runt of disgust the cobbler g-ave filled the
room like a thunder-clap. He was peering over
his last, across the oj^en counter, at a little house
adjoining the church green, with a great hatred in
his face. From one of the windows of the house
there was leaning forth a group of three heads ;
there was the tonsured head of a priest, round,
pink-tinted, and the figures of two women, one
youthful, with a long, sad-featured face, and the
other ruddy and vigorous in outline. They were
watching the priest as he scattered corn to the
hens and geese in the garden below the window.
The cobbler was still eying them fiercely, as he
continued to give vent to his disgust.
"Mediant homme — lui," he here whipped his
thread, venomously, through the leather he was
sewing. " Figure to yourselves, mesdames, that
besides being wicked, our cure is a very shrewd
man ; it is not for the pure good of the parish he
works, not he."
"Not he," the echo repeated, coming forth again
from the wall. This time the whisper passed un-
noticed ; her master's hatred of the cure was
greater than his passion for showing his own
power.
" Religion — religion is a very good way of mak-
ing money, better than most, if one knows how to
work the machine. The soul, it is a fine instru-
ment on which to play, if one is skilful. Our
62 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
cure has a grand touch ou this instrument. You
should see the good man take up a collection, it is
better than a comedy."
Here the cobbler turned actor ; he rose, scatter-
ing his utensils right and left ; he assumed a grand
air and a mincing, softly tread, the tread of a
priest. His flexible voice imitated admirably the
rounded, unctuous, autocratic tone peculiar to the
graduates of St. Sulpice.
" You should hear him, when the collection does
not suit him : ' 3Ies freres ef mes sa'urs, I see that
le hon Dieu isn't in your minds and your hearts
to-day ; you are not listening to his voice ; the
Saviour is then speaking in vain ? ' Then he
prays — " the cobbler folded his hands with a great
parade of reverence, lifting his eyes as he rolled
his lids heavenward hypocritically — " yes, he prays
— and then he i^asses the plate himself ! He holds
it before your very nose, there is no pushing it
aside ; he would hold it there till you dropped —
till Doomsday. Ah, he's a hard crust, he is !
There's a tyrant for you — la monarchie ahsolue —
that's what he believes in. He must have this, he
must have that. Now it is a new altar-cloth, or a
fresh Virgin of the modern make, from Paris, with
a robe of real lace ; the old one was black and faded,
too black to pray to. Now it is a huissier, forsooth,
that we must have, we, a parish of a few hundred
souls, who know our seats in the church as well as
we know our own noses. One would think a
' Suisse ' would have done ; but we are swells now —
aver ce gaiJlard-la, only the tiptop is good enough.
So, if you grace our poor old church Avith your
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 63
presence you will be shown to your bench by a
very splendid g-entleman in black, in knee-breeches,
with silver chains, with a three-cornered hat, who
strikes with his stick three times as he seats j'ou.
Bah ! ridiculous ! "
" Eidiculous ! " the woman repeated, softly.
" They had the cure once, though. One day in
church he announced a subscription to be taken up
for restorations, from fifty centimes to — to any-
thing ; he will take all you give him, avaricious
that he is ! He believes in the greasing of the
palm, he does. Well, think you the subscription
was for restorations, mesdames ? It was for
demolition — that's what it was for — to make
the church level with the ground. To do this
would cost a little matter of twenty thousand
francs, which would pass through his hands,
you understand. Well, that staggered the parish.
Our mayor — a man ^:»ffis tro^y fin, was terribly up-
set. He went about saying the cure claimed the
church as his ; he could do as he liked with it, he
said, and he proposed to make it a fine modern
one. All the village was Aveeping. The church
was the oldest friend of the village, except for
such as I, whom these things have turned pa-
gan. AYell, one of our good citizens reminds the
mayor that the church, under the new laws, be-
longs to the commune. The mayor tells this
timidly to the cure. And the cure retorts, 'Ah,
hien, at least one-half belongs to me.' And the
good citizen answers — he has gone with the
mayor to prop him up — ' Which half will you
take '? The cemetery, doubtless, since your charge
64 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
is over the souls of the parish.' Ah ! ah ! he
pricked him "well then ! he pricked him well ! "
The low room rang- with the g-reat shout of the
cobbler's laughter. The dog- barked furiously in
concert. Our own laughter was drowned in the
thunder of our hosts loud guffaws. The poor old
wife shook herself with a laugh so much too vigor-
ous for her frail frame, one feared its after-effects.
The after-effects were a surprise. After the first
of her husband's spasms of glee the old woman
spoke out, but in trembling tones no longer.
" Ah, the cemetery", it is I who forgot to go there
this week."
Her husband stopped, the laugh dying on his
lip as he turned to her.
"All, ma bonne, hoAv came that ? You forgot ? "
His own tones trembled at the last Avord.
" Yes, you had the cramps again, you remember,
and there was no money left for the bouquet."
" Yes, I remember," and the great chest heaved
a deej) sigh.
" You have children — you have lost someone ? "
" Helas ! no living children, mademoiselle. No,
no — one daughter we had, but she died twenty
years ago. She lies over there — where we can see
her. She would have been thirty-eight years now
■ — the fourteenth of this very month ! "
" Yes, this very month."
Then the old woman, for the first time, left her
refuge along the wall : she crept Softly, quietly
near to her husband to put her withered hand in
his. His large palm closed over it. Both of the old
faces turned toward the cemetery ; and in the old
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 65
eyes a film gathered, as they looked toward all
that was left of the hojDe that was buried away
from them.
We left them thus, hand iu hand, with many
promises to renew the acquaintance.
The village was no longer abroad in the streets.
During our talk in the shop the night had fallen ;
it had cast its shadow, as trees cast theirs, in
a long, slow slant. Lights were trembling in the
dim interiors ; the shrill cries of the children were
stilled ; only a muffled murmur came through the
open doors and windows. The villagers were pat-
tering across the rough floors, talking, as their sa-
bots clattered heavily over the wooden surface, as
they washed the dishes, as they covered their fires,
shoving back the tables and chairs. As we walked
along, through the nearer windows came the sound
of steps on the creaking old stairs, then a rustling
of straw and the heavy fall of weary bodies, as the
villagers flung themselves on the old oaken beds,
that groaned as thej^ received their burden. Pres-
ently all was still. Onl}^ our steps resounded
through the streets. The stars filled the sky ; and
beneath them the waves broke along the beach. In
the closely packed little streets the heavy breath-
ing of the sleeping village broke also in short,
quick gasps.
Only we and the night were awake.
CHAPTEK VII.
SOME NORMAN LANDLADIES.
Quite a number of changes
came about witli our an-
nexation of an artist and
his garden. Chief among-
these changes was the sur-
prising discovery of find-
ing ourselves, at the end of a week, in possession
of a villa.
" It's next door," Eenard remarked, in the casual
way peculiar to artists. "You are to have the
whole house to 3^ourselves, all but the top floor ;
the people who own it keep that to live in.
There's a garden of the right sort, with espaliers,
also rose-trees, and a tea-house ; quite the right
sort of thing altogether."
The unforeseen, in its way, is excellent and ad-
mirable. De Vimjyrevn, surely this is the dash of
seasoning — the caviare we all crave in life's some-
what too monotonous repasts. But as men have
been known to admire the still-life in wifely char-
acter, and then repented their choice, marrjdng
peace only to court dissension, so we, inconti-
nently deserting our humble inn chambers to take
possession of a grander state, in the end found the
A DEPAKTURE — VILLEKVILl.E.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 67
capital of experience drained to pay for our little
infidelity.
The owners of the villa Belle Etoile, our friend
announced, he had found greatly depressed ,• of
this, their passing" mood, he had taken such advan-
tage as only comes to the knowing. " They speak
of themselves drearily as ' deux pauvres malheu-
reux ' with this villa still on their hands, and here
they are almost ' touching June,' as they put it.
They also gave me to understand that only the
finest flowers of the aristocracy had had the honor
of dwelling in this villa. They have been able, I
should say, more or less successfully to deflower
this ' fine fleur ' of some of their gold. But they
are very meek just now — they were willing to listen
to reason."
The " two poor unhappies " were looking sur-
prisingly contented an hour later, when w^e went
in to inspect our possessions. Thej^ received us
with such suave courtesy, that I was quite certain
Renard's skill in transactions had not played its
full gamut of capacity.
Civility is the Frenchman's mask ; he wears it
as he does his skin — as a matter of habit. But
courtesy is his costume de hal ; he can only afi^ord
to don his bravest attire of smiles and gracious-
ness when his pocket is in holiday mood. Madame
Fouchet we found in full ball-room toilet ; she was
wreathed in smiles. AVould ces dames give them-
selves the trouble of entering ? would they see the
house or the garden first ? would they permit their
trunks to be sent for ? Monsieur Fouchet, mean-
while, was making a brave second to his wife's
68 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
bustling- welcome ; lie was rubbing his hands vig-
orously, a somewhat suspicious action in a French-
man, I have had occasion to notice, after the com-
pletion of a bargain. Nature had cast this mild-
eyed individual for the part of accompanyist in
the comedy we call life ; a role he sometimes
varied as now, with the office of cJaqxeiir, when an
uncommonly clever proof of madame's talent for
business drew from him this noiseless tribute of
applause. His weak, fat contralto called after us,
as we followed madame's quick steps up the waxed
stairway; he would be in readiness, he said, to
show us the garden, " once the chambers were vis-
ited."
" It wasn't a real stroke, mesdames, it was only
a warning ! " was the explanation conveyed to us
in loud tones, with no reserve of whispered deli-
cacy, when we expressed regret at monsieur's de-
tention below stairs ; a partially paralyzed leg,
dragged painfully after the latter's flabby figure,
being the obvious cause of this detention.
The stairway had the line of beauty, describing
a pretty curve before its glassy steps led us to a
narrow entry ; it had also the brevity which is said
to be the very soul, Vanima viva, of all true wit ;
but it was quite long and straight enough to serve
Madame Fouchet as a stage for a prolonged mono-
logue, enlivened with much affluence of gesture.
Fouchet's seizure, his illness, his convalescence,
and present physical condition — a condition which
appeared to be bristling with the tragedy of dan-
ger, "un vrai drame d'anxiete " — was graphically
conveyed to us. The horrors of the long winter
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 69
also, so sad for a Parisian — " si triste pour la
Parisienne, ces hivers de province " — tog-ether with
the miseries of her own home life, between this
paralj'tic of a husband below stairs, and above, her
mother, an old lady of eig-hty, nailed to her sofa
with gout. " You may thus figure to yourselves,
mesdames, what a melancholj^ season is the win-
ter ! And now, with this villa still on our hands,
and the season already announcing itself, ruin
stares us in the face, mesdames — ruin ! "
It was a moving picture. Yet we remained
straugelj' unaffected by this tale of woe. Madame
Fouchet herself, the woman, not the actress, was
to blame, I think, for our unfeelingness. Some-
hoAV, to connect woe, ruin, sadness, melancholy, or
distress, in a word, of anj^ kind with our landlady's
opulent figure, we found a diflicult acrobatic men-
tal feat. She presented to the eye outlines and
features that could only be likened, in x)oint of
prosperitj^, to a Dutch landscape. Like certain of
the mediaeval saints presented by the earlier de-
lineators of the martyrs as burning- above a slow
fire, while wearing- smiles of purely animal con-
tent, as if in full enjoyment of the temperature,
this lady's sufferings were doubtless an invisible
discipline, the hair shirt which her hardened cuti-
cle felt only to be a pleasurable itching.
" Voila, mesdames ! " It was with a magnificent
gesture that madame opened doors and windows.
The drama of her life was forgotten for the mo-
ment in the conscious pride of presenting us with
such a picture as her gay little house offered.
Inside and out, summer and the sun were bloom-
70 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ing- and shining- with spendthrift luxuriance. The
salon opened directh' on the garden ; it would
have been difficult to determine just where one
began and the domain of the other ended, with the
pinks and geraniums that nodded in response to
the peach and pear blossoms in the garden. A bit
of faded Aubusson and a i^rint representing Ma-
dame Geoffrin's salon in full session, with a poet
of the period transporting the half-moon grouped
listeners about him to the jioint of tears, were evi-
dences of the refined tastes of our landlady in the
arts ; only a sentimentalist Avould have hung that
picture in her salon. Other decorations further
proved her as belonging to both worlds. The
chintzes gay with garlands of roses, with which
walls, beds, and chairs were covered, revealed the
mundane element, the woman of decorative tastes,
possessed of a hidden passion for effective back-
grounds. Two or three wooden crucifixes, a ^:>ri€-
dieu, and a couple of saints in plaster, went far to
prove that this excellent bourgeoise had thriftily
made her peace with Heaven. It was a curioiis
mixture of the sacred and the profane.
Do^Ti below, beneath the windows overlooking
the sea, lay the garden. All the houses fronting
the cliff had similar little gardens, giving, as the
French idiom so prettily puts it, upon the sea.
But comjDared to these others, ours was as a rose of
Sharon blooming in the midst of little deserts.
Kenard had been entirely right about this particu-
lar bit of earth attached to our villa. It was a gem
of a garden. It was a French g-arden, and there-
fore, entirely as a matter of course, it had walls.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 71
It was as cut off from the rest of the world as if it
had been a prison or a fortification.
The Frenchman, above all others, appears to
have the true sentiment of seclusion, when the so-
ciety of trees and flowers is to be enjoyed. Next
to woman, nature is his fetich. True to his na-
tional taste in dress, he prefers that both should
be costumed a la Parisienne ; but as poet and lover,
it is his instinct to build a wall about his idol,
that he may enjoy his moments of expansion un-
seen and unmolested. This square of earth, for
instance, was not much larg-er than the space cov-
ered by the chamber roof above us ; and yet, with
the high walls towering over the rose-stalks, it was
as secluded as a monk's cloister. "We found it, in-
deed, on later acquaintance, as poetic and delicate-
ly sensuous a retreat as the romance-writers would
wish us to believe did those mediaeval connoisseurs
of comfort, when, with sandalled feet, they paced
their own convent garden-walks. Fouchet was a
broken-down shojikeeper ; but somewhere hidden
within, there lurked the soul of a M£ecenas; he
knew how to arrange a feast — of roses. The gar-
den was a bit of greensward, not much larger
than a pocket-handkerchief ; but the grass had
the right emerald hue, and one's feet sank into
the rich turf as into the velvet of an oriental rug.
Small as was the enclosure, between the espaliers
and the flower-beds serpentined minute i:)aths of
glistening jDebbles. Nothing which belonged to
a garden had been forgotten, not even a pine
from the tropics, and a bench under the pine
that was just large enough for two This lat-
72 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ter was an ideal little spot iu which to bring a
friend or a book. One could sit there and gorge
one's self with sweets : a dance Avas perpetually
going on — the gold-and-i^urple butterflies flutter-
ing gayly from morning till night ; and the bees
freighted the air with their buzzing. If one tired
of i)erfumes and dancing, there Avas always music
to be enjoyed, from a full orchestra. The sea, jast
the other side of the wall of osiers, was always in
voice, whether sighing or shouting. The larks and
blackbirds had a predilection for this nest of color,
announcing their x^reference loudly in a combat
of trills. And once or twice, we were quite certain,
a nightingale with Patti notes had been trying its
liquid scales in the dark.
It was in this garden that our acquaintance with
our landlord deepened into something like friend-
ship. Monsieur Fouchet was always to be found
there, tying up the rose-trees, or mending the
liaths, or shearing the bit of turf.
'' Jlonjardin, c'esf un peu moi, vous savez — it is my
pride and my consolation." At the latter word.
Fouchet was certain to sigh.
Then we fell to wondering just what gi-ief had
befallen this amiable person which required Hora-
tian consolation. Horace had need of rose-leaves
to embalm his disappointments, for had he not
cooled his j)assions by plunging into the bath of
literature % Besides, Horace was bitten by the
modern rabies : he was as restless as an American.
AVhen at Rome was he not always sighing for his
Sabine farm, and when at the farm always regret-
ting Rome ? But this harmless, innocent-eyed,
THREE NORMANDT INNS. 73
benevolent-browed old man, with his passive
brains tied up in a foulard, o' morning-s, and his
bourgeois feet adorned with carpet slippers, what
g-rief in the past had bitten his poor soul and left
its mark still sore ?
" It isn't monsieur — it is madame who has made
the i^ast dark," was Renard's comment, when we
discussed our landlord's probable acquaintance
wdth regret — or remorse.
AVhatever secret of the past may have hovered
over the Fouchet household, the evil bird had not
made its nest in madame's breast, that was clear ;
her smooth, white brow was the sign of a rose-leaf
conscience ; that dark curtain of' hair, looped ma-
donna-wise over each ear, framed a face as unruffled
as her conscience.
She was entirely at peace with her world — and
with heaven as well, that was certain. Whatever
her sins, the confessional had j)urged her. Like
others, doubtless, she had found a husband and the
provinces excellent remedies for a damaged repu-
tation. She lived now in the very odor of sanctity ;
the cure had a pipe in her kitchen, with something
more sustaining, on certain bright afternoons. Al-
though she was daily announcing to us her ap-
proaching dissolution — " I die, mesdames — I die of
ennui "■ — it seemed to me there were still signs, at
times, of a vigorous resuscitation. The cure's visits
were wont to produce a deeper red in the deep
bloom of her cheek ; the mayor and his wife, who
drank their Sunday coffee in the arbor, broug"ht,
as did Beatrix's advent to Dante, vita nuova to this
homesick Parisian.
74 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
There were other i^leasures in her small "world,
also, which made life endurable. Barg-ainiu":,
when one teems with talent, may be as exciting-
as any other form of conquest. 'iNIadame's days
were chiefly j^assed in imitation of the occupa-
tion so dear to an earlier, hardier race, that race
kings have knig-hted for their powers in dealing-
mightily with their weaker neighbors. Madame,
it is true, was only a woman, and Villerville was
somewhat slimly populated. But in imitation of
her remote feudal lords, she also fell upon the
passing stranger, demanding tribute. When the
stranger did not pass, she kept her arm in jDrac-
tice, so to speak, by extracting the last sou in a
transaction from a neighbor, or by indulging in a
drama in which the comedy of insult was matched
by the tragedy of contempt.
One of these mortal combats it was my privilege
to witness. The war arose on our announcement
to Mere Mouchard, the lady of the inn by the sea,
of our decision to move next door. To lis Mere
Mouchard jjresented the unruflied plumage of a
dove ; her voice also was as the voice of the same,
mellowed by sucking. Ten minutes later the toAvn
was assembled to lend its assistance at the en-
counter between our two landladies. Each stood
on their respective doorsteps with arms akimbo
and head thrust forward, as geese protrude head
and tongue in moments of combat. And it was
thus, the mere hissed,that her boarders were stolen
from her — under her very nose — while her back was
turned, with no more thought of honesty or shame
than a (?). The word was never uttered. The
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 75
mere's insult was drowned in a storm of voices ;
for there came a loud protest from the group of
neighbors. Madame Fouchet, meanwhile, was sus-
taining her own role with great dignity. Her at-
titude of self-control could only have been learned
in a school where insult was an habitual weapon.
She smiled, an infuriating, exasperating, success-
ful smile. She showed a set of defiant Avhite teeth,
and to her proud white throat she gave a boast-
ful curve. Was it her fault if ces dames knew
what comfort and cleanliness were ? if they pre-
ferred "des chambres garnies avec gout, vraiiiient ar-
tistiques" — to rooms fit only for peasants'? Ces
dames had just come from Paris : doubtless, they
were not yet accustomed to provincial customs —
aux moeursprovinciales. Then there were exchanged
certain melodious acerbities, which proved that
these ladies had entered the lists on previous oc-
casions, and that each was well practised in the
other's methods of warfare. Opportunely, Renard
appeared on the scene ; his announcement that we
proposed still to continue taking our repasts with
the mere, was as oil on the sea of trouble. A rec-
onciliation was immediately effected, and the
street as immediately lost all interest in the play,
the audience melting away as speedily as did the
wrath of the disputants.
" Le hon Dleu soit loue," cried Madame Fouchet,
puffing, as she mounted the stairs a few moments
later — " God be praised " — she hadn't come here
to the provinces to learn her rights — to be taught
her alj)habet. Mere Mouchard, forsooth, who
wanted a week's board as indemnity for her loss
76 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
of us ! A week's board — for lodgings scorned by
peasants !
" All, these Normans ! what a people, what a
peoi)le ! They would peel the skin off your back !
They would sell their children ! They would cheat
the devil himself ! "
" You, madame, I presume, are from Paris."
Madame smiled as she answered, a thin fine smile,
richly seasoned with scorn. " Ah, mesdames ! All
the world can't boast of Paris as a birthplace, un-
fortunately. I also, I am a Norman, inais }e ne
m'en ficlie jms ! Most of my life, liowever, I've
lived in Paris, thank God ! " She lifted her head
as she spoke, and swept her hands about her
waist to adjust the broad belt, an action preg-
nant with suggestions. For it was thus conveyed
to us, delicately, that such a figure as hers was not
bred on rustic diet ; also, that the Parisian glaze
had not failed of its effect on the coarser provin-
cial clay.
Meanwhile, below in the garden, her husband
was meekly tying up his rose-trees.
Neither of the landladies' husbands had figured
in the street-battle. It had been a purely Amazo-
nian encounter, bloodless but bitter. Both the
husbands of these two belligerent landladies ap-
peared singularly well trained. Mouchard, indeed,
occuiiied a comparatively humble sphere in his
wife's menage. He was perpetually to be seen in
the court-yard, at the back of the house, washing
dogs, or dishes, in a costume in which the greatest
economy of cloth compatible with decency had
been triumphantly solved. His wife ran the house,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 77
and he ran the errands, an arrangement which,
apparently, worked greatly to the satisfaction of
both. But Mouchard was not the first or the
second French husband who, on the threshold of
his connubial experience, had doubtless had his
role in life appointed to him, filling the same with
patient acquiescence to the very last of the lines.
There is something very touching in the subjec-
tion of French husbands. In point of meekness
they may well serve, I think, as models to their
kind. It is a meekness, however, which does not
hint of humiliation; for, after all, what humilia-
tion can there be in being thoroughly understood ?
The Frenchwoman, by virtue of centuries of ac-
tivity, in the world and in the field, has become
an expert in the art of knowing her man ; she
has not worked by his side, under the burn of the
noon sun, or in the cimmerian darkness of the
shop-rear, counting the pennies, for nothing. In
exchanging her illusions for the bald front of fact,
man himself has had to pay the penalty of this
mixed gain. She tests him by i^urely professional
standards, as man tests man, or as he has tested
her, when in the ante-matrimonial days he weighed
her dot in the scale of his need. The French-
woman and Shakespeare are entirely of one mind :
they perceive the great truth of unity in the
scheme of things :
" Woman's test is man's taste."
This is the first among the great truths in the
feminine grammar of assent. French masculine
taste, as its criterion, has established the excellent
78 THREE NORMANDY INNS. ■
doctrine of utilitarianism. With quick apprehen-
sion the Frenchwoman has mastered this fact ;
she has cleverly taken a lesson from ophidian
habits — she can change her skin, quickly shedding-
the sentimentalist, when it comes to serious action,
to don the duller raiment of utility. She has ac-
cepted her world, in other words, as she finds it,
wdth a philosopher's shrug". But the philosopher
is lined with the logician; for this system of life
has accomplished the miracle of making its women
lo*gical ; they have grasped the subtleties of in-
ductive reasoning. Marriage, for example, they
know is entered into solely on the principle of
mutual benefit ; it is therefore a partnership, hon :
now, in partnerships sentiments and the emotions
are out of place, they only serve to dim the eye ;
those commodities, therefore, are best conveyed
to other markets than the matrimonial one ; for in
purely commercial transactions one has need of
X)erfect clearness of vision, if only to keep one well
practised in that simple game called looking out
for one's own interest. In Frenchwomen, the ra-
tiocinationist is extraordinarily develoijed; her
logic laenetrates to the core of things.
Hence it is that Mouchard washes dishes.
Monsieur Jourdain, in Moliere's comedy, who
expressed such surprise at finding that he had
been talking prose for forty years without know-
ing it, was no more amazed than would Mere Mou-
chard have been had you announced to her that she
was a logician ; or that her husband's daily occu-
pations in the bright little court-yard were the
result of a system. Yet both facts were triie.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 79
In that process we now know as tlie survival of
the fittest, the mere's caijacity had snuffed out her
weaker spouse's incompetency ; she had taken her
place at the helm, because she belonged there by
virtue of natural fitness. There were no tender il-
lusions which would suffer, in seeing- the husband
allotted to her, probably by her parents and the dot
system, relegated to the ignominy of passing his
days washing dishes — dishes which she cooked
and served — dishes, it should be added, which she
was entirely conscious were cooked by the hand of
genius, and which she garnished with a sauce and
served with a smile, such as only issue from French
kitchens.
CHAPTER Vm.
THE QUAETIER LATIN ON THE BEACH.
^-|—:— '^-'^-^V^-V^ The beach, oue morning-, we
found suddenly peopled with
artists. It was a little city of
tents. Beneath strij^ed awn-
ings and white umbrellas a
multitude of flat-capi^ed heads sat immovably still
on their three-legged stools, or darted hither and
thither. Paris was evidently beginning to empty
its studios ; the Normandy beaches now furnished
the better model.
One morning we were in luck. A certain blonde
beard had counted early in the day on having the
beach to himself. He had posed his model in the
open daylight, that he might paint her in the
suiL He had placed her, seated on an edge of sea-
wall : for a background there was the curve of the
yellow sands and the flat breadth of the sea, with
the droop of the sky meeting the sea miles away.
The girl was a slim, fair shape, with long, thin legs
and delicately moulded arms : she was dressed
in the fillet and chiton of Greece. During her
long poses she was as immovable as an antique
marble ; her natural grace and i^rettiness were
transfigured into positive beauty by the flowing
lines and the pink draperies of her Attic costume.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 81
Seated thus, she was a breathing- embodiment of
the best Greek period. When the rests came, her
jump from the wall landed her square on her
feet and at the latter end of the nineteenth cen-
tury. Once free, she bounded from her perch on
the hig-h sea-wall. In an instant she had tucked
her tinted draperies within the slender girdle ;
her sandalled feet must be untrammelled, she
was about to take her run on the beach. Soon
she was i^elting, irreverently, her painter with a
shower of loose pebbles. Next she had challenged
him to a race; when she reached the goal, her
thin, bare arms were uplifted as she clapped and
shouted for glee ; the Quartier Latin in her blood
was having- its moment of hig'h revelry in the
morning- sun.
This little grisette, running about free and un-
shackled in her loose draperies, quite unabashed
in her state of semi-nudity — g-ay, reckless, wooing
pleasure on the wing, surely she might have posed
as the embodied archetype of France itself. So has
this pag-an among modern nations borrowed some-
thing of the antique spirit of wantonness. Along-
with its theft of the Attic charm and grace, it has
captured, also, something of its sublime indiffer-
ence ; in the very teeth of the dull modern world,
France has laughed opinion to scorn.
At noon the tents were all deserted. It was at
this hour that the inn garden was full. The gay-
ety and laughter overflowed the walls. Everyone
talked at once ; the orders were like a rattle of ar-
tillery — painting for hours in the open air gives a
fine edge to appetite, and jjatience is never the
82 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
true twin of hunger. Everything- but the potage
was certain to be on time.
Colinette, released from her Greek draperies,
with her Parisian bodice had recovered the blague
of the studios.
" Sacre nom de — on reste done claquemure ainsi
toute la matinee ! And all for an omelette — a
puny, good-for-nothing omelette. And you —
you've lost your tongue, it seems ? " And a shrill
voice pierced the air as Colinette gave her painter
the hint of her i^rodding elbow. With the appear-
ance of the omelette the reign of good humor
would return. Everything then went as merrily
as that marriage-bell which, apparently, is the
only one absent in Bohemia's gay chimes.
These arbors had obviously been built out of
pure charity: they appeared to have been con-
structed on the principle that since man, painting
man, is often forced to live alone, from economic
necessity, it is therefore only the commonest char-
ity to provide him with the proper surroundings
for eating a deux. The little tables beneath the
kiosks were strictly tete-a-tete tables; even the
chairs, like the visitors, appeared to come only in
couples.
The Frenchman has been reproached with the
sin of ingratitude ; has been convicted, indeed, as
possessed of more of that pride that comes late —
the day after the gift of bounty has been given —
than some other of his fellow-mortals. Yet here
were a company of Frenchmen — and French-
women — proving in no ordinary fashion their
equipment in this rare virtue. It was early in
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 83
Maj^; up yonder, where the Seine flows beneath
the Parisian bridges, the pulse of the gay Paris
world was beating in time to the spring in the air.
Yet these artists had deserted the asphalt of the
boulevards for the cobbles of a village street, the
delights of the cafe chantant had been exchanged
for the miracle of the moon rising over the sea,
and for the song of the thrush in the bush.
The Frenchman, more easily and with simi)ler
art than any of his modern brethren, can change
the prose of our dull, i^ractical life into poetry ; he
can turn lyrical at a moment's notice. He pos-
sesses the power of transmuting the commonplace
into the idyllic, by merely clapping on his cap
and turning his back on the haunts of men. He
has retained a singular — an almost ideal sensitive-
ness, of mental cuticle — such acuteness of sensa-
tion, that a journey to a field will oftentimes yield
him all the flavor of a long voyage, and a sudden
introduction to a forest, the rapture that commonly
comes only with some unwonted aspect of nature.
Perhaps it is because of this natural poet indwell-
ing in a Frenchman, that makes him content to
remain so much at home. Surely the extraordi-
nary is the costly necessity for barren minds ; the
richly-endowed can see the beauty that lies the
other side of their own door-step.
CHAPTEK IX.
A NORMAN HOUSEHOLD.
"" : There were two paths in the
•* viUag-e that were well
worn. One was that
which led the villag-e up
into the fields. The other
was the one that led the
tillers of the soil down
into the village, to the
door-step of the justice of
the peace.
A good Norman is no
Norman who has not a lawsuit on hand.
Anything- will serve as a pretext for a quarrel.
No sum of money is so small as not to warrant
a breaking of the closest blood-ties, if therebj'
one's rights may be secured. Those beautiful
stripes of rj'e, barley, corn, and wheat up yonder
in the fields, that melt into one another like sea-
tones — down here on the benches before the juge
de paix — what quarrels, what hatreds, what evil
passions these few acres of land have brought
their owners, facing each other here like so many
demons, readj^ to spring at the others' throats!
Brothers on these benches forget they are brothers,
and sisters that thev have suckled the same mother.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 85
Two more yards of the soil that should have been
Fillette's instead of Jeanne's, and the grave will
enclose both before the clenched fist of either is
relaxed, and the last sous in the stocking will
be spent before the war between their respective
lawyers will end.
Many and man}- were the tales told ns of the
domestic tragedies, born of wills mal-administered,
of the passions of hate, ambition, and despair kept
at a white heat because half the village o-wTied, up
in the fields, what the other half coveted. Many,
also, and fierce were the heated faces we looked in
upon at the justice's door, in the very throes of the
great moment of facing justice, and their adversary.
Our own way, by iireference, took us up into
the fields. Here, in the broad open, the farms lay
scattered like fortifications over, a plain. Doubt-
less, in the earlier warlike days they had served as
such.
Once out of the narrow Yillerville streets, and
the pastoral was in full swing.
The sea along this coast was not in the least in-
sistant ; it allowed the shore to play its full gamut
of power. There were no tortured shapes of trees
or plants, or barren wastes, to attest the fierce waj^s
of the sea with the land. Reminders of the sea
and of the life that is lived in ships were conspic-
uous features everywhere, in the j^astoral scenes
that began as soon as the town ended. Women
carrying sails and nets toiled through the green
aisles of the roads and lanes. Fishing-tackle hung
in company with tattered jerseys outside of huts
hidden in grasses and honeysuckle. The shep-
86 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
herdesses, as they followed the sheep inland into
the heart of the pasture land, were busy netting-
the coarse cages that trap the finny tribe. Long-
limbed, vigorous-faced, these shepherdesses were
Biblical figures. In their coarse homespun, with
only a skirt and a shirt, with their bare legs,
half-open bosoms, and the fine poise of their blond
heads, theirs was a beaut}^ that commanded the
homage accorded to a rude virginity.
In some of the fields, in one of our many walks,
the grass was being cut. In these fields the groups
of men and women were thickest. The long
scythes were swung mightily by both ; the voices,
a gay treble of human speech, rose above the me-
tallic swish of the sharj) blades cutting into the
succulent grasses.
The fat pasture lands rose and sank in undula-
tions as rounded as the nascent breasts of a young
Greek maiden. A medley of color played its
charming variations over fields, over acres of pop-
pies, over lolains of red clover, over the backs of
spotted cattle, mixing, mingling, blending a thou-
sand twists and turns into one exquisite, harmoni-
ous whole. There was no discordant note, not one
harsh contrast ; even the hay-ricks seemed to have
been modelled rather than pitched into shape;
their sloping sides and finely pointed apexes giv-
ing them the dignity of structural intent.
AVhy should not a peasant, in blouse and sabots,
with a grinning idiot face, have put the picture
out ? But he did not. He was walking, or rather
waddling, toward us, between two green walls that
rose to be arched by elms that hid the blue of
THREE NORMAJSDY INJVS. 87
the sky. This lane was the kind of lane one sees
only in Devonshire and in Normandy. There are
lanes and lanes, as, to quote our friend the cob-
bler, there are cures and cures. But only in these
above-named countries can one count on walk-
ing straight into the heart of an emerald, if one
turns from the high-road into a lane. The trees,
in these Devonshire and Normandy by-paths, have
ways of their own of vaulting into space ; the
hedges are thicker, sweeter, more vocal with in-
sect and song notes than elsewhere ; the roadway
itself is softer to the foot, and narrower — only two
are exjDected to walk therein.
It was through such a lane as this that the
coarse, animal shai^e of a peasant was walking
toward us. His legs and body were horribly
twisted ; the dangling arms and crooked limbs ap-
peared as if caricaturing the gnarled and tortured
boughs and trunks of the apple-trees. The peas-
ant's blouse was filthy : his sabots were reeking
with dirty straw : his feet and ankles, bare, were
blacker than the earth over which he was pain-
fully crawling; and on his face there was the
vacuous, sensuous deformity of the smile idiocy
wears. Again I ask, why did he not disfigure this
fair scene, and put out something of the beauty
of the day ? Is it because the French peasant
seems now to be an inseparable adjunct of the
Frenchman's landscape ? That even deformity
has been so handled by the realists as to make ua
see beauty in ugliness ? Or is it that, as moderns,
we are all bitten by the rabies of the picturesque ;
that all things serve and are acceptable so long as
88 THREE NORMANDY INNS. .
we have our necessary note of contrast ? Certain
it is that it appears to be the peasant's blouse that
perpetuates the Salon, and perhaps — who knows ?
— when over-emig-ration makes our own American
farmer too poor to wear a boiled shirt when he
ploug-hs, we also may develop a school of land-
scape, with fig-ures.
Meanwhile the walk and the talk had made
Charm thirsty. " Why should we not go," she
asked, " across the next field, into that farm-house
yonder, and beg" for a g-lass of milk ? "
The farm-house might have been waiting for us,
it was so still. Even the grasses along its sloping
roof nodded, as if in welcome. The house, as we
approached it, together with its out-buildings,
assumed a more imposing aspect than it had from
the road. Its long, low facade, broken here and
there by a miniature window or a narrow doorway,
appeared to stretch out into interminable length
beneath the towering beeches and the snarl of the
peach-tree boughs.
The stillness was ominous — it was so profound.
The only human in sight was a man in a distant
field; he was raking the ploughed ground. He was
too far £tway to hear the sound of our voices.
" Perha]3s the entire establishment is in the
fields," said Charm, as we neared the house.
Just then a succession of blows fell on our ear.
" Someone is beating a mattress within, we shall
have our glass after all."
We knocked. But no one answered our knock.
The beating continued ; the sound of the blows
fell as regularly as if machine-impelled. Then a
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 89
cry rose up ; it was the cry of a young, strong voice,
and it was followed by a low wail of ang-uisli.
The door stood half-open, and this is what we
saw: A man — tall, strong, powerful, with a face
jjurple with passion — bending" over the crouching
form of a girl, whose slender body was quivering,
shrinking, and writhing as the man's hand, armed
with a short stick, fell, smiting her defenceless
back and limbs.
Her wail went on as each blow fell.
In a corner, crouched in a heap, sitting on her
heels, was a woman. She was clapi^ing her hands.
Her eyes were starting from her head ; she clapped
as the blows came, and above the girl's wail her
strong, exultant voice arose — calling out :
" Tm-la ! Tue-la ! "
It was the voice of a triumphant fury.
The backs of all these people were turned upon
us ; they had not seen, much less heard, our en-
trance.
Someone else had seen us, however. A man with
a rake over his shoulder rushed in through the
open door ; it was the peasant we had seen in the
field. He seized Charm by the arm, and then my
own hand was grasped as in a grip of iron. Be-
fore we had time for resistance he had pushed us
out before him into the entry, behind the outer
door. This latter he slammed. He put his broad
back against it ; then he dropped his rake and be-
gan to mop his face, violently, with a filthy hand-
kerchief he i^lucked from beneath his blouse.
" Qiie chance ! Nam de Dieu, que chance ! Je v'-
avions vue, I saw you just in time — just in time — "
90 THREE NORMANDY INNS:
" But, I must go in — I Avisli to go back ! ' But
Charm might as well have attempted to move a
pillar of stone.
The peasant's coarse, good-humored face broke
into a broad laugh.
" Pardon, mam'selle — fu hougeons jya^. Xot'
maitre e' €71 colere ; c' son jour — faut x>cis Virriter — aiC-
Jou'hui."
Meantime, during the noise of our forced exit
and the ensuing dialogue, the scene Avithiu had
evidently changed in character, for the blows had
ceased. Steps could be heard crossing and re-
crossing the wooden floor. A creaking sound suc-
ceeded to the beating — it was the creaking and
groaning of a wooden staircase bending beneath
the weight of a human figure. In an upper cham-
ber there came the sound of a quiet, subdued sob-
bing now. The}' were the sobs of the girl. She
at least had been released.
A face, cruel, j)inched, hardened, with flaming
agate eyes and an insolent smile, stood looking
out at us through the dulled, dusty window-pane.
It was the fury.
Meanwhile the peasant was still defending his
post. A moment later the tall frame of the farmer
suddenly filled the open doorway. The peasant
well-nigh fell into his master's arms. The farm-
er's face was still terrible to look upon, but the
purple stain of jiassion was now turned to red.
There was a mocking insolence in his tone as he
addi'essed us, that matched Avith the woman's un-
concealed glee.
" Will you not come in, mesdames ? Will you
THREE NORMAXDY INNS. 9]
not rest a while after your long walk ? " On the
man's hard face there was still the shadow of a
sinister cruelty as he waved his hand toward the
room within.
The peasant's good-humored, loutish smile, and
his stupid, cow-like eyes, by contrast, were the
e^'es and smile of a benevolent deity.
The smile told us we were right, as we slunk
away toward the oj^en road. The head kept nod-
ding approval as we vanished presently beneath
the shade of the protecting trees.
The fields, as we swept rapidly past them, were
as bathed in peace as when we had left them ;
there was even a more voluptuous content abroad :
for the twilight was wrapping about the land-
scape its poppied dusk of gloom and shadow.
Above, the birds were swirling in sweeping circles,
raining down the ecstasy of their night-song ; still
above, far beyond them, across a zenith pure,
transparent, ineffably pink, illumined wisps of
clouds were trailing their scarf-like shapes. It
was a scene of beatific peace. Across the fields
came the sound of a distant bell. It was the An-
gelus. The ploughmen stopped to doff their hats,
the women to bend their heads in prayer.
And in our ears, louder than the vibrations of
the hamlet bell, louder than the bird-notes and
the tumult of the voluptuous insect whirr, there
rang the thud, thud of cruel blows falling on quiv-
ering human flesh.
The curtain that hid the life of the peasant-
farmer had indeed been lifted.
CHAPTEK X.
ERNESTINE.
'Ah, mesdames, what will
you have ? The French
peasant is like that. When
he is in a rage nothing,
stops him — he beats any-
thing-, every thing- : what-
ever his hand encounters
must suffer when he is an-
gry ; his wife, his child,
his servant, his horse, they are all alike to him
when he sees red."
Monsieur Fouchet was tying up his rose-trees ;
we were watching him from our seat on the green
bench. Here in the garden, beneath the blue vault,
the roses were drooping from very heaviness of
g-lory ; they g-ave forth a scent that made the head
swim. It was a healthy, virile intoxication, how-
ever, the salt in the air steadying one's nerves.
Nature, not being- mortal and cursed with a con-
science, had risen that morning in a mood for ca-
rousal ; at this hour of noon she had reached the
point of ecstatic stupor. No state of trance was
ever so exquisite. The air was swooning, but how
delicate its g-asps, as if it fell away into calm !
How adorably blue the sky in its debauch of sun-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 93
lit ether ! The sea, too, although it reeled slig-ht-
ly, unsteadily rising- only to fall away, what a radi-
ance of color it maintained ! Here in the g-arden
the drowsy air would lift a flower petal, as some
dreamer sunk in hasheesh slumber mig-ht touch a
loved hand, only to let it slip away in nerveless
impotence. Never had the charm of this Nor-
mandy sea-coast been as compelling- ; never had
the divine softness of this air, this harmonious
marriag-e of earth-scents and sea-smells seemed as
perfect ; never befoi-e had the delicacy of the foli-
age and color-gradations of the sky as triumph-
antly proved that nowhere else, save in France,
can nature be at once sensuous and poetic.
We looked for something- other than pure enjoy-
ment from this g-olden moment : we hoped its
beauty would help us to soften our landlord. This
was the moment we had chosen to excite his sym-
pathies, also to g-ain counsel from him concerning-
the tragedy we had witnessed the day before. He
listened to our tale with evident interest, but there
was a disappointing coolness in his eye. As the
narrative proceeded, the brutality of the situation
failed to sting him to even a mild form of indig-
nation. He went on tjang his rose-trees, his
ardor expending itself in choice snippings of the
stray stalks and rebellious tendrils.
" This Guichon," he said, after a brief moment,
in the tone that goes with the i^ursuance of an
occupation that has become a passion. " This
Guichon — I know him. He is a hard man, but no
harder than many others, and he has had his losses,
which don't always soften a man. ' Qui ferre a
94 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
guerre a,' Moliere says, and Guichon has had many
lawsuits, losing them all. He has been twice mar-
ried ; that was his daughter by his first wife he
w'as touching up like that. He married only the
other day Madame Tier, a rich woman, a neighbor,
their lands join. It was a great match for him,
and she, the wife, and his daughter don't hit it
ofi", it appears. There was some talk of a marriage
for the girl lately ; a good match presented itself,
but the girl will have none of it ; perhaps that ac-
counts for the beating."
A rose, overblown with its fulness of splendor,
dropped in a shower at Fouchet's feet just then.
" Tiens, elle est finie, ceUe-la," he cried, with an
accent of regret, and he stooped over the fallen
petals as if they had been the remains of a friend.
Then he sighed as he swept the mass into his
broad palm.
" Come, let us leave him to the funeral of his
roses ; he hasn't the sensibilities of an insect ; "
and Charm grasped my arm to lead me over the
turf, across the gravel paths, toward the tea-house.
This tottering structure had become one of our
favorite retreats ; in the poetic mise-en-scene of the
garden it played the part of Ruin. It was ab-
surdly, ridiculously out of repair ; its gaping beams
and the sunken, dejected floor could only be due
to intentional neglect. Fouchet evidentlj^ had
grasped the secrets of the laws of contrast ; the
deflected angle of the tumbling roof made the
clean-cut garden beds doubly true. Nature had
had comi^assion on the aged little building, how-
ever ; the clustering, fragrant vines, in their hatred
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 95
of nudity, had invested the prose of a wreck with
the poetry of drapery. The tip-tilted settee be-
neath the odorous roof became, in time, our chosen
seat ; from that perch we could overlook the garden-
walls, the beach, the curve of the shore, the grasses
and hollyhocks in our neighbor's garden, the latter
startlingly distinct, against the great arch of the
sky.
It was here Renard found us an hour later. To
him, likewise, did Charm narrate our extraordinary
experience of yesterday, with much adjunct of fiery
comment, embellishment of gesture, and imitative
pose.
"Ye gods, what a scene to paint! You were in
luck — in luck ; why wasn't I there % " was Renard's
tribute to human pity.
" Oh, you are all alike, all — nothing moves you
— you haven't common human sympathies — you
haven't the rudiments of a heart ! You are terri-
ble — all of you — terrible ! " A moment after she
had left us, as if the narrowness of the little house
stifled her. With long, swinging steps she passed
out, to air her indignation, apparently, beneath the
wall of the esjoaliers.
" Splendid creature, isn't she ? " commented Re-
nard, following the long lines of the girl's flut-
tering muslin gown, as he plucked at his mus-
tache. " She should always wear white and gold
— what is that stufl' ? — and be lit up like that with
a kind of goddess-like anger. She is wrong, how-
ever," he went on, a moment later ; " those of us
who live here aren't really barbarians, only we get
used to things. It's the peasants themselves that
96 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
force us ; they wouldn't stand interference. A
peasant is a kind of king- on his own domain ; he
does anything he likes, short of murder, and he
doesn't always stop at that."
"But surely the Government — at least their
Church, ought to teach them "
" Oh, their Church ! they laugh at their cures —
till they come to die. He's a heathen, that's what
the French peasant is — there's lots of the middle
ages abroad up there in the country. Along here,
in the coast villag-es, the nineteenth century has
crept in a bit, humanizing them, but the fonds is
always the same ; they're by nature avaricious,
sordid, cruel ; they'll do anything for money ; there
isn't anything- sacred for them except their
pocket."
A few days later, in oiir friend the cobbler we
found a more sympathetic listener. " Dame ! I
also used to beat my wife," he said, contempla-
tively, as he scratched his herculean head, "but
that was when I was a Christian, when I went to
confession ; for the confessional was made for that,
c'est pour laver h linge sale des consciences, ca " (in-
terjecting- his epigram). " But now — now that I am
a free-thinker, I have ceased all that ; I don't beat
her," pointing to his old wife, " and neither do I
drink or swear."
" It's true, he's g-ood — he is, now," the old wife
nodded, with her slit of a smile ; " but," she added,
quickly, as if even in her husband's religious past
there had been some days of glory, "he was al-
ways just — even then — when he beat me."
" C'est tres fenune, qci — hein, mademoiselle ? " And
THREE NORMANBT INNS. 97
the cobbler cocked liis head in critical pose, with
a philosopher's smile.
The result of the interview, however, although
not entirely satisfactory, was illuminating-, besides
this light which had been thrown on the cobbler's
reformation. For the cobbler was a cousin, dis-
tant in point of kinship, but still a cousin, of the
brutal farmer and father. He knew all the points
of the situation, the chief of which was, as Fouchet
had hinted, that the girl had refused to wed the
hon 2yarti, who was a connection of the step-mother.
As for the step-mother's murderous outcry, " Kill
her ! kill her ! " the cobbler refused to take a dra-
matic view of this outburst.
" In such moments, you understand, one loses
one's head ; brutality always intoxicates ; she was
a little drunk, you see."
When we proposed our modest little scheme,
that of sending for the girl and taking her, for a
time at least, into our service, merely as a change
of scene, the cobbler had found nothing but ad-
miration for the project. " It will be perfect,
mesdames. They, the parents, will ask nothing
better. To have the girl out at service, siwsiy, and
yet not disgracing them by taking a place with
any other farmer ; yes, they will like that, for they
are rich, you see, and wealth always respects it-
self. Ah, yes, it's perfect ; I'll arrange all that —
all the details."
Two days later the result of the arrangement
stood before us. She was standing with her arms
crossed, her fingers clasping her elbows — with her
very best peasant manner. She was neatly, and,
98 TUREE NORMANDY INNS.
for a peasant, almost fashionably attired in her
holiday dress — a short, black skirt, white stock-
ings, a flowery kerchief crossed over her broad
bosom, and on her i^rett}' hair a richly tinted blue
foulard. She was very well dressed for a i^easant,
and, from the point of view of two travellers, of
about as much use as a i^lough.
" It's a beautiful scheme, and it's as dramatic as
the fifth act of a play ; but what shall we ilo with
her ? ■
" Oh," replied Charm, carelessly, " there isn't
anything in i^articular for her to do. I mean to
buy her a lot of clothes, like those she has on, and
she can walk about in the garden or in the fields."
" Ah, I see ; she's to be a kind of a perambu-
lating figure-i3iece "
" Yes, that's about it. I dare say she will be
very useful at sunset, in a dim street ; so few peas-
ants wear anything approaching to costume now-
ada\'S."
Ernestine herself, however, as we soon discov-
ered, had an entirely different conception of her
vocation. She was a vigorous, active young
woman, with the sap of twenty summers in her
lusty .young veins. Her energies soon found vent
in a continuous round of domestic excitements.
There were windows and floors that cried aloud to
Heaven to be scrubbed ; there were holes in the
sheets to make mam'zelle's h'ing between them
une Itoufe, une vraie horde. As for Madame Fouchet's
little weekly bill, Dieu de Dieu, it was filled with
such extortions as to make the very angels weep.
Madame and Ernestine did valiant battle over
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 99
those bills thereafter. Ernestine was possessed of
the courage of a true martyr ; she could suffer and
submit to the scourge, in the matter of personal
persecution, for the religion of her own convic-
tions ; but in the service of her rescuer, she could
fight with the fierceness of a common soldier.
" When Norman meets Norman " Charm be-
gan one day, the sound of voices, in a high treble
of anger, coming in to us through the windows.
But Ernestine was knocking at the door, with a
note in her hand.
" An answer is asked, mesdames," she said, in a
voice of honey, as she di'opped her low courtesy.
This was the missive :
ALONG AN OLD POST-ROAD TO
HONFLEUR AND TROUVILLE.
CHAPTEK XI.
TO AN OLD MANOR.
'Will ces dames join me in a
marauding- expedition ? Like
the iDoet Villon, I am about to
turn marauder, house-breaker,
thief. I shall hope to end the
excursion by one act, at least,
of hig-hway robbery. I shall
lose courage without the enliv-
ening presence of ces dames.
We will start when the day is
at its best, we will return when
the moon smiles. In case of
finding" none to rob, the coach
of the desperadoes will be gar-
risoned with i^rovisions ; Henri will accomjjany us
as counsellor, purveyor, and bearer of arms and
costumes. The carriage for ces dames will stop the
way at the hour of eleven.
" I have the honor to sign myself their humble
servant and co-conspirator.
"John Eenaed."
" This, in plain English," was Charm's laconic
translation of this note, " means that he wishes us
to be ready at eleven for the excursion to P ,
104: THREE NORMANDY INNS.
to spend the day, you may remember, at that old
manoir. He wants to paint in a background, he
said yesterday, Avhile wc stroll about and look at
the old place. AVhat shall I wear % "
In an hour we were on the road.
A jaunty yellow cart, laden with a girl on the
front seat ; with a man, tawny of mustache, broad
of shoulder, and dark of eye, with face shining- to
match the spring- in the air and that fair face be-
side him ; laden also with another lad}^ on the
back seat, beside whom, uprig-ht and ^tiff, with
folded arms, sat Henri, costumer, valet, cook, and
gi-oom. It was in the latter capacity that Henri
was now posing. The role of groom was uj^permost
in his orderly mind, although at intervals, when
his foot chanced to touch a huge luncheon-basket
with which the cart was also laden, there were be-
traying signs of anxiety ; it was then that the chef
crept back to life. This spring in the air was all
very well, but how would it affect the sauces?
This great question was written on Henri's brow
in a network of anxious wrinkles.
" Henri," I remarked, as we w^ere wheeling down
the roadway, " I am quite certain you have put up
enough luncheon for a regiment."
" Madame has said it, for a regiment ; Monsieur
Eenard, when he works, eats with the hunger of a
wolf."
" Henri, did you get in all the rags 1 " This
came from Eenard on the front seat, as he plied
his steed with the whip.
" The costume of Monsieur le Marquis, and also
of Madame la Marquise de Pompadour, are be
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 105
neatli my feet in the valise, Monsieur Kenard. I
haye the sword between my leg's," replied Henri,
the costiimer coming- to the surface long- enough
to readjust the sword.
" Capital fellow, Henri, never forg-ets anything-,"
said Renard, in English.
" Couldn't we offer a libation or something-, on
such a morning- "
" On such a morning-," interrupted the painter,
" one should be seated next to a charming- young-
lady who has the g-enius to wear Nile g-reen and
white ; even a painter with an Honorable Mention
behind him and fame still ahead, in spite of the
Mention, is satisfied. You know a Greek deity
was nothing to a painter, modern, and of the
French school, in point of fastidiousness."
" Nonsense ! it's the American woman who is
fastidious, when it comes to clothes."
Meanwhile, there was one of the party who was
looking at the road ; that also was arraj'ed in Nile
green and white; the tall trees also held umbrel-
las above us, but these coverings were woven of
leaves and sky. This bit of roadway appeared to
have slipped down from the upper country, and to
have carried much of the upper country with it.
It was highway posing as jiure rustic. It had
brought all its pastoral i^araphernalia along. Noth-
ing had been forgotten : neither the hawthorn
and the osier hedges, nor the tree-trunks, suddenly
grown modest at sight of the sea, burying their
nudity in nests of vines, nor the trick which elms
and beeches have, of growing arches in the sky.
Timbered farm-houses were here, also thatched
106 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
huts, to make the next villa-g-ate gain in stateli-
ness ; apple orchards were dotted about with such
a knowing- air of wearing the long line of the At-
lantic girdled about their gnarled trunks, that one
could not believe pure accident had carried them
to the edge of the sea. There were several miles
of this driving along beneath these green aisles.
Through the screen of the hedges and the crowd-
ed tree-trunks, picture succeeded picture : bits of
the sea were caught between slits of cliff; farm-
houses, huts, and villas lay smothered in blossoms;
above were heights whereon poiilars seemed to
shiver in the sun, as they Avrapped about them their
shroud-like foliage ; meadows slipped away from
the heights, plunging seaward, as if wearying for
the ocean ; and through the whole this line of
green roadway threaded its path with sinuous
grace, serpentining, coiling, braiding in land and
sea in one harmonious, inextricable blending of
incomparable beauty. One could quite compre-
hend, after even a short acquaintance with this
road, that two gentlemen of Paris, as difficult to
X^lease as Daubigny and Isabey, should have seen
points of excellence in it.
There are all sorts of ways of being a jjainter.
Perhaps as good as any, if one cares at all about a
trifling matter like beauty, is to know a good
thing when one sees it. That poet of the brush,
Daubigny, not only was gifted with this very un-
usual talent in a painter, but a good thing could
actually be entrusted in his hands after its dis-
covery. And herein, it appears to me, lies all the
difference between good and bad painting ; not
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 107
only is an artist — any artist — to be judg-ed by what
he sees, but also by what he does with a fact after
he's acquired it — whether he turns it into poetry
or prose.
I might incautiously have sprung these views
on the artist on the front seat, had he not wisely
forestalled mj^ outburst by one of his own.
" By the way," he broke in ; " by the way, I'm
not doing" my duty as cicerone. There's a church
near here — we're coming to it in a moment — famous
— eleventh or twelfth century, romanesque style
— yes — that's right, although I'm somewhat shaky
when it comes to architecture — and an old manoir,
museum now, with lots of old furniture in it — in
the manoir, I mean."
" There's the church now. Oh, let us stop ! "
In point of fact there were two churches be-
fore us. There was one of ivy : nave, roof, aisles,
walls, and conic-shaped top, as j^erfectly defined
in gi'een as if the beautiful mantle had been cut
and fitted to the hidden stone structure. Every
few moments the mantle would be lifted by the
light breeze, as might a priest's vestment ; it
would move and waver, as if the building were a
human frame, changing its posture to ease its
long standing. Between this church of stone
and this church of vines there were signs of the
fight that had gone on for ages between them.
The stones were obviously fighting decay, fight-
ing ruin, fighting annihilation ; the vines were also
struggling, but both time and the sun were on
their side. The stone edifice was now, it is true,
as Renard told us, protected by the Government
108 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
— it was classed as a "monument liistorique "--
but the church of gi-eens was protected by the
g-od of nature, and seemed to laugh aloud, as if
with conscious gleeful strength. This gay, tri-
umphant laugh was reflected, as if to emphasize
its mockery of man's work, in the tranquil waters
of a little pond, lily-leaved, garlanded in bushes,
that lay hidden beyond the roadway. Through
the interstices of the vines one solitary window
from the tower, like a sombre eye, looked down
into the pond ; it saw there, reflected as in a mir-
ror, the old, the eternal picture of a dead ruin
clasped by the arms of living beauty.
This Criqueboeuf church presents the ideal pic-
turesque accessories. It stands at the corner of
two meeting roadways. It is set in an ideal jDas-
toral frame — a frame of sleeping fields, of waving
tree-tops, of an enchanting, indescribable snarl of
bushes, vines, and wild flowers. In the adjoining
fields, beneath the tree-boughs, ran tlie long, low
line of the ancient manoir — now turned into a
museum.
AVe glanced for a few brief moments at the col-
lection of antiquities assembled beneath the old
roof — at the Henry II. chairs, at the Pompadour-
wreathed cabinets, at the long rows of panels on
which are presented the whole history of France —
the latter an amazing record of the industry of a
certain Dr. Le Goupils.
" Criqueboeuf doesn't exactly hide its light un-
der a bushel, you know, although it doesn't crown
a hill. No end of jjeople know it ; it sits for its
portrait, I should say at least twice a week regu-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 109
larly, on an average, during" the season. English
water-colorists go mad over it — they cross over on
purpose to ' do ' it, and they do it extremely badly,
as a rule."
This was Renard's last comment of a biographi-
cal and critical nature, concerning the " historical
monument," as we reseated ourselves to pursue
our way to P .
" AVhy don't you show them how it can be
done ? "
" Would," coolly returned Renard, " if it were
worth while, but it isn't in my line. Henri, did
you bring any ice ? "
Henri, I had noticed, when we had reseated our-
selves in the cart, had greeted us with an air of
silent sadness; he clearly had not approved of
ruins that interfered with the business of the
day.
" Old, monsieur, I did bring some ice, but as
monsieur can imagine to himself — a two hours'
sun "
" Nonsense, this sun wouldn't melt a pat of but-
ter ; the ice is all right, and so is the wine."
Then he continued in English : " Now, ladies, as
I should begin if I were a politician, or an auc-
tioneer ; now, ladies, the time for confession has
arrived ; I can no longer conceal from you my bur-
glarious scheme. In the next turn that we shall
make to the right, the park of the P manoir
will disclose itself. But, between us and that
Park, there is a gate. That gate is locked. Now,
gates, from the time of the Garden of Eden, I take
it, have been an invention of — of — the other fellow,
110 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
to keep people out. I know a way — but it's not
the way you can follow. Henri and I will break
down a few bars, we'll cross a few fields over yon-
der, and will present ourselves, with all the virtues
written on our faces, to you in the Park. Mean-
while you must enter, as queens should — through
the g-reat gates. Behold, there is a cure yonder, a
great friend of mine. You will step along the road-
way ; you will ring a door-bell : the cure will ap-
pear ; you will ask him if it be true that the manoir
of P is to rent, you have heard that he has the
keys : he will present you the keys ; you will open
the big gate and find me."
" But — but, Mr. Renard, I really don't see how
that scheme will work."
" Work ! It will work to a charm. You will
see. Henri, just help the ladies, will j'ou ? "
Henri, with decisive gravity, was helping the
ladies to alight ; in another instant he had re-
g'ained his seat, and he and Benard were flj'ing
down the roadway, out of sight.
" Beally— it's the coolest i3roceeding," Charm
began. Then we looked through the bars of the
park gate. The park was as green and as still as
a convent garden ; a jjink brick mansion. Math
closed window-blinds, was standing, surrounded
by a terrace on one side, and by glittering par-
terres on the other.
" TVTiere did he say the old cure was ? " asked
Charm, quite briskly, all at once. Every thing had
turned out precisely as Benard had predicted.
Doubtless he had also counted on the efficacy of
the old fable of the Peri at the Gate — one look
THREE NORMANDY INNS. Ill
had been sufficient to turn us into aiTant conspir-
ators ; to gain an entrance into that tranquil para-
dise any ruse would serve.
"Here's a church — he said nothing about a
chvirch, did he ? "
Across the ayenue, above the branches of a row
of tall trees, rose the ivied facade of a rude hamlet
church ; a flight of steep weedy steps led up to its
Norman doorway. The door was wide open;
through the arched aperture came the sounds of
footfalls, of a heavy, vigorous tread ; Charm ran
lightly up a few of the lower steps, to peer into
the open door.
" It's the cure dusting the altar— shall I go in ? "
" No, we had best ring — this must be his house."
The clatter of the cure's sabots was the response
that answered to the bell we pulled, a bell attached
to a diminutive brick house lying at the foot of
the churchyard. The tinkling of the cracked-voiced
bell had hardly ceased when the door opened.
But the cure had already taken his first glance
at us over the garden hedges.
CHAPTER Xn.
A NORMAN CURE.
Mesdames ! "
The priest's massive
frame filled the narrow
door ; the tones of his mel-
low voice seemed also sud-
denly to fill the air, drown-
ing all other sounds. The
<i;race of his manner, a
grace that invested the
simple act of his uncov-
ering and the holding of
his calotte in hand, with an
air of homage, made also our own errand the more
difiicult.
I had already begun to murmur the nature of
our errand: we were passing, we had seen the
mauoir opposite, we had heard it was to rent, also
that he. Monsieur le Cure, had the keys.
Yes, the keys were here. Then the velvet in
Monsieur le Cure's eyes turned to bronze, as they
looked out at us from beneath the fine dome of
brow.
" I have the keys of the garden only, mesdames,"
he replied, Avitli perfect but somewhat distant
courtesy ; " the gardener, down the road yonder,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 113
has the keys of the house. Do you really wish to
rent the house ? "
He had seen through our ruse with quick Nor-
man penetration. He had not, from the first, been
in the least deceived.
It became the more difiicult to smooth the situ-
ation into shape. We had thought perhaps to
rent a villa, we w^ere in one now at Yillerville. If
Monsieur le cure would let us look at the garden.
Monsieur Eenard, whom perhaps he remem-
bered
" M. Eenard ! Oh ho ! Oh ho ! I see it all now,"
and a deep, mellow laugh smote the air. The keen-
ness in the fine eyes melted into mirth, a mirth
that laid the fine head back on the broad shoul-
ders, that the laugh that shook the powerful frame
might have the fuller play.
"Ah, mes en/ants, I see it all now — it is that
scoundrel of a boy. I'll warrant he's there, over
yonder, already. He was here yesterday, he was
here the day before, and he is afraid, he is ashamed
to ask again for the kej^s. But come, mes en/ants,
come, let us go in search of him." And the little
door was closed with a slam. Do-s\ti the broad
roadway the next instant fluttered the old cure's
soutane. We followed, but could scarcely keep
pace with the brisk, vigorous strides. The sabots
ploughed into the dust. The cane stamped along
in company with the sabots, all three in a fury of
impatience. The cure's step and his manner might
have been those of a boy, burning with haste to
discover a playmate in hiding. All the keenness
and shrewdness on the fine, ruddy face had melted
11-i THREE NORMANDY INNS.
iuto sweetness ; an exuberance of mirth seemed to
be the sap that fed his rich nature. It was easy to
see he had passed the meridian of his existence in
a realm of high spirits; an irrepressible fountain
within, the fountain of an unquenchable g-ood-
liumor, bathed the whole man with the hues of
health. Eipe red lips curved generously over
superb teeth ; the cheeks were g'lowing, as were
the eyes, the crimson below them deepening to
splendor the velvet in the iris. The one severe
line in the face, the thin, straight nose, ended in
wdde nostrils— in the quivering, mobile nostrils of
the humorist. The swell of the g-ourmand's paimch
beneath the soutane was i^roof that the cure was
a true Norman — he had not passed a lifetime in
these fertile gardens forgetful of the fact that the
fine art of good living is the one indulg-ence the
Church has left to its celibate sons.
Meanwhile, our guide was peering with quick,
excited gaze, through the thick foliage of the
park : his fine black eyes were sweeping the par-
terre and terrace.
"Ah-lil"his rich voice cried out, mockingly;
and he stopped, suddenly, to plant his cane in the
ground with mock fierceness.
" Tiens, Monsieur le Cure ! " cried Eenard, from
behind a tree, in a beautiful voice. It was a voice
that matched with his well-acted surprise, when
he appeared, confronting us, on the other side of
the tree -trunk.
' The cure opened his arms.
" Ah, man enfant, viens, vkns ! how good it is to
see thee once again ! "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 115
They were in eacli other's arms. The cure was
pressing his lips to Eenard's cheek, in hearty
French fashion. The priest, however, adminis-
tered his reproof before he released him. Ee-
nard's broad shoulders received a series of pats,
which turned to blows, dealt by the cure's hercu-
lean hand.
"Why didn't you let me know you were here,
yesterday, Hein ? Answer me that. How goes
the picture ? Is it set up yet ? You see, mes-
dames," turning with a reddened cheek and gleam-
ing eyes, " it is thus I punish him — for he has no
heart, no sensibilities — he only understands sev-
erities ! And he defrauded me yesterday, he
cheated me. I didn't even know of his being here
till he had gone. And the picture, where is it ? "
It \\'as on an easel, sunning itself beneath the
park trees. The old priest clattered along the
gravelly walk, to take a look at it.
" Tiens — it grows — the figures begin to move —
they are almost alive. There should be a trifle
more shadow under the chin, what do you think ? "
Henri raised his chin. Henri had undergone
the process of transformation in our absence. He
was now M. le Marquis de Pompadour — under the
heart-shaped arch of the great trees, he was stand-
ing, resplendent in laces, in glistening satins,
leaning on a rusty, dull-jewelled sword. Eenard
had mounted his j^alette ; he was dipping already
into the mounds of color that dotted the palette-
board, with his long brushes. On the canvas, in
colors laid on by the touch of genius, this archway
beneath which we were standing reared itself
116 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
aloft : the park trees were as tall and noble, trans-
fixed in their image of immutable calm, on that
strip of linen, as they towered now above us ; even
the yellow cloud of the laburnum blossoms made
the sunshine of the shaded grass, as it did here,
where else no spot of sun might enter, so dense
was the night of shade. The life of another day
and time lived, however, beneath that shade ;
Charm and the cure, as they drooped over the
canvas, confronted a graceful, attenuated courtier,
sickening in a languor of adoration, and a spright-
ly coquette, whose porcelain beauty was as fin-
ished as the feathery edges of her lacy sleeves.
" Tres — hien — tres—hien," said the cure, nodding
his head in critical commendation. " It will be a
little masterpiece. And now," waving his hand
toward us, " what do you propose to do with these
ladies while you are painting ? "
" Oh, they can wander about," Renard replied,
abstractedly. He had already reseated himself
and had begun to ply his brushes; he now saw
only Henri and the hilt of the sword he was i)aint-
ing in.
" I knew it, I could have told you — a painter
hasn't the manners of a peasant when he's paint-
ing," cried the priest, lifting cane and hands high
in air, in mock horror. " But all the better, all the
better, I shall have you all to myself. Come, come
with me. You can see the house later. I'll send
for the gardener. It's too fine a day to be indoors.
What a day, hei)i ? Le hoii Dieu sends us such days
now and then, to make us ache for paradise. This
way, this way — we'll go through the little door — ■
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 117
my little door ; it was made for me, j^ou know,
when the manoir was last inhabited. I and the
children were too im^Datient — we suflfered from
that malady — all of ns — we never could wait for
the great gates yonder to be opened. So Mon-
sieur de H built us this one."
The little door opened directly on the road, and
on the cure's house. There was a tangle of under-
brush barring the way ; but the cure pushed the
briars apart with his strong hands, beating them
doAvn with his cane.
When the door opened, we passed directly be-
yond the roadway, to the steep ste^os leading to
the church. The cure, before mounting the ste^ss,
swept the road, upward and downward, with his
keen glance. It was the instinctive action of the
provincial, scenting the chance of novelty. Some
distant object, in the meeting of two distant road-
ways, arrested the darting eyes ; this time, at least,
he was to be rewarded for his prudence in looking
about him. The object slowly resolved itself into
two crutches between which hung the limp figure
of a one-legged man.
" Bonjour, Monsieur Je cure." The crutches came
to a standstill : the cripple's hand went up to doff
a ragged worsted cap.
" Good-day, good-day, my friend ; how goes it ?
Not quite so stiff, liein — in such a bath of sunlight
as this ? Good-day, good-day."
The crutches and their burden passed on, kick-
ing a little cloud of dust about the lean figure.
" Unpeu casse, Je honhomvie,'' he said, as he nodded
to the cripiale in a tone of reflection, as if the
118 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
breakage that had befallen his humble friend were
a fresh incident in his experience. " Yes, he's a
little broken, the poor old man ; but then," he ad-
ded, quickly renewing- his tone of unquenchable
hig-h spirits — "one doesn't die of it. No, one
doesn't die, fortunately. Why, we're all more or
less cracked, or broken — np here."
He shook another laugh out, as he preceded
us up the stone steps. Then he turned to stop
for a moment to point his cane toward the small
house with whose chimnej^s we were now on a
level.
" There, mesdames, there is the jjroof that mere
breaking- doesn't sig-iiify — in this matter of life
and death. Tenez, madame — " and with a charm-
ing- g-esture he laid his richly-veined, strong- old
hand on my arm — a hand that ended in beautiful
fing-ers, each with its rim of moon-shaped dirt ;
" tenez — figure to yourself, madame, that I myself
have been here twenty years, and I came for two !
I bought out the honliomme who lived over yonder
— I bought him and his furniture out. I said to
myself, ' I'll buy it for eight hundred, and I'll sell
it for four hiindred, in a year.' " Here he laid his
finger on his nose — lengthwise, the Norman in him
supplanting the priest in his remembrance of a
good bargain. " And now it is twenty years since
then. Everything creaks and cracks over there : all
of us creak and crack. You should hear my chairs,
elles se cassent les reins — they break their thighs
continually. Ah ! there goes another, I cry out, as
I sit doAvn in one in winter and hear them groan.
Poor old things, they are of the Empire, no won-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 119
der they groati. You should see us, when our
brethren come to take a cup of soup with me.
Such a collection of antiquities as we are ! I
catch them, my brothers, looking about, slyly
peering" into the secrets of my little menage.
'From his ancestors, doubtless, these old chairs
and tables,' say these good freres, under their
breath. And then I wink slyly at the chairs,
and they never let on."
Again the mellow laugh broke forth. He stopped
again to puff and blow a little, from his toil up
the steep steps. Then all at once, as the rough
music of his clicking sabots and the i^layful taps
of his cane ceased, the laugh on his mobile lips
melted into seriousness. He lifted his cane, point-
ing to the cemetery just above us, and to the grave-
stones looking down over the hillsides between a
network of roses.
" We are old, madame — we are old, but, alas ! we
never die ! It is difficult to people, that cemetery.
There are only sixty of us in the jjarish, and we
die — we die hard. For example, here is vaj old
servant" — and he covered a grave with a sweep
of his cane — for we were leisurely sauntering
through the little cemetery now. The grave to
which he pointed was a garden ; heliotrope, myo-
sotis, hare-bells and mignonette had made of the
mound a bed of perfume — " see how quietly she
lies — and yet what a restless soul the flowers
cover ! She, too, died hard. It took her years to
make up her mind ; finally le hon Dieu had to de-
cide it for her, when she was eighty-four. She
complained to the last — she was poor, she was in
120 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
my way, she was blind. ' Eh hien, fx n'as pas besoin
de me f aire Jes beaux yeux, foi'-l used to say to
her. Ah, tlie good soul that she was ! " and the
dark eye g-listened with moisture. A moment
later the cure was blowing- vigorously the note of
his grief, in trumpet-tones, through the organ that
only a Frenchman can render an effective adjunct
to moments of emotion.
" You see, mes enfants, I am like that — I weep
over my friends — when they are gone ! But see,"
he added quickly, recovering himself — " see,
over yonder there is my predecessor's grave. He
lies well, hein ? — comfortable, too — looking his old
church in the face and the sun on his old bones
all the blessed day. Soon, in a few years, he will
have company. I, too, am to lie there, I and a
friend." The humorous smile was again curving
his lips, and the laughter-loving nostrils were be-
ginning to quiver. " When my friend and I lie
there, we shall be a little crowded, perhaps. I
said to him, when he proposed it, proposed to lie
there with us, ' but we shall be crunching each
other's bones ! ' ' No,' he replied, ' only falling into
each other's arms ! ' So it was settled. He comes
over from Havre, every now and then, to talk our
tombstones over; we drink a glass of wine to-
gether, and take a pipe and talk about our future
■ — in eternity ! Ah, how gay we are ! It is so good
to be friends with God ! "
The voice deejDened into seriousness. He went
on in a quieter key :
" But why am I always preaching and talking
about death and eternity to two such ladies — two
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 121
such children ? Ah — I know, I am really old — I
only deceive myself into pretending- I'm young.
You will do the same, both of you, some day.
But come and see my good works. You know
everyone has his little corner of conceit — I have
mine. I like to do good, and then to boast of it.
You shall see — you shall see."
He was hurrying us along the narrow paths
now, past the little company of grave-stones,
graves that were bearing their barbaric burdens
of mortuary wreaths, of beaded crosses, and the
motley assemblage, common to all French grave-
yards, of hideous shrines encasing tin saints and
madonnas in plaster.
Above the sunken graves and the tin effigies of
the martj'rs behind the church, arose a fair and
glittering- marble tomb. It was strangely out of
keeping- with the meagre and paltry surroundings
of the peasant grave-stones. As we approached
the tomb it grew in imposingness. It was a circu-
lar mortuary chapel, with carved pediment and
iron-wrought gateway.
" It's fine, hein, and beautiful, hein ? It is the
Duke's ! " The cure, it was easy to see, considered
the chapel in the light of a personal possession.
He stood before it, bare-headed, with a new earn-
estness on his mobile face. " It is the Duke's.
Yes, the Duke's. I saved his soul, blessed be
God ! and he — he rebuilds my cellars for me !
See " — and he pointed to the fine new base of
stone, freshly cemented, on which the church
rested—" see, I save his soul, and he preserves my
buildings for me. It's a fair deal, isn't it ? How
122 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
does it come about, that lie is converted? Ah,
you see, althoug^h I am a man without science,
without knowledge, devoid of pretensions and
learning-, the good God sometimes makes use of
such humble instruments to work His will. It
came about in the usual way. The Duke came
here carrying his religion lightly, as one may say,
not thinking of his soul. I — I dine with him.
We talk, we argue ; he does, that is — I only preach
from my Bible. And behold ! one day he is con-
verted. He is devout. And from gratitude, he
repairs my crumbling old stones. And now see
how solid, how strong is my church cellar ! "
Again the fountain of his irrepressible merriment
bubbled forth. For all the gayety, however, the
severe line deepened as one grew to know the face
better ; the line in profile running from the nose
into the firm upper lip and into the still more
resolute chin, matched the impress of authority
marked on the noble brow. It was the face of one
who might have infinite charity and indulgence
for a sin, and yet would make no compromise
with it.
We had resumed our walk. It led us at last into
the interior of the little church. The gloom and
silence within, after the dazzling brilliancy of the
noon-day sun and the noisy insect hum, invested
the narrow nave and dim altar with an added
charm. The old priest knelt for the briefest in-
stant in reverence to the altar. "Wlien he turned
there was surjjrise as well as a gentle reproach in
the changeable eyes.
" And you, mesdames ! How is this ? You are
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 123
not Catliolics ? And I was so sure of it ! Quite
sure of it, you were so sympathetic, so full of rev-
erence. And you, my child " — turning- to Charm —
"you speak our tong"ue so well, with the very
accent of a good Catholic. What ! you are Prot-
estant ? La ! La ! What do I hear % " He shook
his cane over the backs of the straw-bottomed
chairs ; the sweet, mellow accents of his voice
melted into loving protest — a protest in which the
fervor was not quenched in spite of the merry key
in which it was pitched.
" Protestants ? Pouffe ! pouffe ! What is that %
What is it to be a Protestant 1 Heretics, heretics,
that is what you are. So you are deux affreuses
Jieretiques ? Ah, la ! la ! Horrible ! horrible ! I
must cure you of all that. I must cure you ! "
He dropped his cane in the enthusiasm of his at-
tack ; it fell with a clanging sound on the stone
pavement. He let it lie. He had assumed, un-
consciously, the orator's, the i^reacher's attitude.
He crowded past the chairs, throwing b'ack his
head as he advanced, striking into argumentative
gesture :
" Tenez, listen, there is so little difference, after
all. As I was saying to M. le comte de Chermont
the other day, no later than Thursday — he has
married an English wife, you know — can't under-
stand that either, how they can marry English
wives. However, that's none of my business — we
have nothing to do with marrying, we jiriests, ex-
cept as a sacrament for others. I said to M. le
comte, who, you know, shows tendencies toward
anglicism — astonishing the influence of women — 1
124 THREE NORM AN DT INNS.
said : ' But, my dear M. le comte, why clian.2fe ?
You will only exchange certainty for uncertainty,
facts for doubts, truth for lies.' ' Yes, yes,' the
comte replied, ' but there are so many new truths
introduced now into our blessed religion — the in-
fallibility of the pope — the — ' ' Ah, mon cher comte
— ne m'en 2^arlez pas. If that is all that stands in
your way — faites comme le ban Dieu ! Lid — il fertile
les yeiix et tend les bras. That is all we ask — we his
servants — to have you close 3-our eyes and open
your arms.'"
The good cure was out of breath : he w^as panting.
After a moment, in a deeper tone, he went on :
" You, too, my children, that is what I say to
you — you need only to open your arms and to
close your eyes. God is waiting for you."
For a long instant there was a great stillness —
a silence during which the narrow spaces of the
dim aisles were vibrating with the echoes of the
rich voice.
The rustle of a light skirt sweeping the stone
flooring broke the moment's silence. Charm was
crossing the aisles. She paused before a little
wooden box, nailed to the wall. There came sud-
denly on the ear the sound of coin rattling down
into the empty box ; she had emptied into it the
contents of her purse.
" For your poor, monsieur le cure," she smiled
up, a little tremulously, into the burning, glowing
eyes. The priest bent over the fair head, laying
his hand, as if in benediction, upon it.
" My poor need it sadly, my child, and I thank
you for them. God will bless you."
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 125
It was a touching- little scene, and I preferred,
for one, to look out just then at Henri's figure ad-
vancing- tosvai'd us, up the stone steps.
AVhen thf- priest s^Doke again, it was in a husky-
tone, the gokl in his voice dusted with moisture ;
but the bantering spirits in him had reappeared.
" What a pity, that you must burn ! For you
must — dreadful heretics that you are! And this
dear child, she seems to belong to us — I can never
sit by, now, in Paradise, happy and secure, and
see her burn ! " The laugh that followed was a
mingled caress and a blessing. Henri came in for
a part of the indulgence of the good cure's smile
as he came up the steps.
" Ah, Henri, you have come for these ladies ? "
" Old, monsieur le cure, luncheon is served."
Our friend followed us to the topmost step, and
to the very edge of the step. He stood there,
talking down to us, as we continued to press him
to return with us.
" No, my children — no — no, I can't join you ;
don't urge me ; I can't, I must not. I must say
my XDrayers instead: besides the children come
soon, for their catechism. No, don't beg me, I
don't need to be importuned; I know what that
dear Eenard's wine is. Au revoir et a hientot — and
remember," and here he lifted his arms — cane and
all, high in the air — " all you need do is to close
your eyes and to open your arms. God himself is
doing the same."
High up he stood, with uplifted hands, the
smile irradiating a face that glowed with a saint's
simplicity. Behind the black lines of his robe,
126 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the suulig-ht lay streaming" in noon ,q"lory : it au-
reoled liim as never saint was aureolod by mortal
brush. A moment only he ling-ered there, to raise
his cap in parting salute. Then he turned, the
trail of his gown sweeping the gravel paths, and
presently the low church door swallowed him up.
Through the door, as we crossed the road, there
came out to us the click of sabots striking the
rude flagging ; and a moment after, the murmur-
ing echo of a deep, rich voice, saying- the office oi
the hour.
CHAPTEE XIII.
HONTLEUE — NEW AND OLD.
The stillness of tlie park trees, as we
passed beneath them, was like the
silence that comes after a blessing".
The sun, flooding- the land-
^ scape with a delug-e of
light, lost something- of its
effulgence, by contrast with
the fulness of the priest's
rich nature. This fair world
of lieauty that lay the other
side of the terrace wall, be-
neath which our luncheon
was spread, was fair and
lovely still — but how unim-
portant the landscape seemed compared to the
varied scenery of the cure's soul -lit character!
Of all kinds of nature, human nature is assuredly
the best ; it is at least the most perdurably in-
teresting-. When we tire of it, when we weary of
our fellow-man and turn the blase cheek on the
fresh pillow of mother-earth, how quickly is the
pillow deserted once the mental frame is rested
or renewed ! The history of all human relations
has the same ending — we all of us only fall out of
love with man to fall as swiftly in again.
128 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The remainder of the afternoon passed with
the rapidity common to all phases of enchant-
ment.
How could one eat seriously, with vulgar, iilut-
touous hunger, of a feast spread on the i^arapet of
a terrace-wall? The white foam of napkins, the
mosaic of the patties, the white breasts of chicken,
the salads in their bath of dew — these spoke the
lang-uag-e of a lost cause. For there was an open-
air concert going on in full swing, and the per-
formance was one that made the act of eating seem
as gross as the munching of ap^ales at an oratorio —
the music being, indeed, of a highly refined order
of perfection. One's ears needed to be highly at-
tuned to hear the pricking of the locusts in the
leaves ; even the breeze kept uncommonly still,
that the brushing of the humming-birds' and bees'
wings against the flower-petals might be the more
distinctly heard.
I never knew which one of the party it was that
decided we were to see the daj" out and the night
in : that we were to dine at the Cheval Blanc, on
the Houfleur quays, instead of sedately breaking
bread at the Mere Mouchards. Even our steed
needed very little urging to see the advantages of
such a scheme. Henri alone wore a grim air of
disapproval. His aspect was an epitome of rigid
protest. As he took his seat in the cart, he held
the sword between his legs with the air of one
burning with a pent-up anguish of protest. His
eye gloomed on the day ; his head was held aloft,
reared on a column of bristling vertebrae, and on
kis brow was written the sign of mutiny.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 129
" Henri — 3"ou think we should go back ; j^on think
going' on to Honlieur a mistake ? "
" Madame has said it "' — Henri was a fatalist
— in his speech, at least, he lived up to his creed.
" Hontleur is far — Monsieur Kenard has not the
good digestion — when he is tired — he suffers. II
passe des nuits d'cmgoisse. II sovffre des fatigues de
Vestomac. II se fatigue avjourd'hui ! " This, with
an air of stern conviction, was accompanied by a
glance at his master in which compassion was not
the most ol^vious note to be read. He w^ent on,
remorselessly :
" And, as madame knows, the work but begins
for me when we are at home. There are the cos-
tumes to be dusted and put away, the paint-
brushes to clean, the dishes and lunch-basket to be
attended to. As madame says, monsieur is some-
times lacking in consideration. Mais, que voulez-
voiis ? le genie, c. est fait coinme fa."
Madame had not expressed the feeblest echo of
a criticism on the composition of the genius iu
front ; but the short dialogue had helloed, percep-
tibly, to lift the weight of Henri's gloom ; he was
beginning to accept the fate of the day with a phi-
losox^her's ijhlegm. Already he had readjusted a
little difficulty between his feet and the lunch^
basket, making his religious care of the latter com-
patible with the open sin of improved personal
comfort.
Meanwhile the two on the front seat were a
thousand miles away. Neither we, nor the day,
nor the beautj' of the drive had power to woo their
glances from coming back to the focal point of in-
130 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
terest they had found in each other. They were
beg-inning to talk, not about each other but of
themselves — the danger-signal of all tete-a-tete
adventures.
AYlien two young people have got into the i^er-
sonal-pronoun stage of human intercourse, there
is but one thing left for the unfortunate third in
the party to do. Yes, now that I think of it, there
are two roles to be played. The usual conception
of the part is to turn marplot — to spoil and ruin
the others' dialogue — to put an end to it, if possible,
by legitimate or illegitimate means ; a very suc-
cessful way, I have observed, of prolonging, as a
rule, such a duet indefinitely. The more enlight-
ened actor in any such little human comedy, if
he be gifted with insight, will collapse into the
wings, and let the two young idiots liave the whole
stage to themselves. As like as not they'll weary
of the play, and of themselves, if left alone. No
harm will come of all the sentimental strvitting
and the romantic attitudinizing, other than view-
ing the scene, later, in persioective, as a rather
amusing bit of emotional farce.
Besides being in the very height of the spring
fashion, in the matter of the sentiments, these two
were also busily treading, at just this particular
moment, the most alluring of all the jiaths lead-
ing to what may be termed the outlying territo-
rial domain of the emotions ; they were wandering
through the land called Mutual Discovery. Now,
this, I have always held, is among the most de-
lectable of all the roads of life ; for it may lead
one — anywhere or nowhere.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 131
Therefore it was from a purely g-enerous impulse
that I continued to look at the view. The sur-
roundings were, in truth, in consiDiracy with the
sentimentalists on the front seat ; the extreme
beauty of the road would have made any but senti-
mental egotists oblivious to all else. The road
was a continuation of the one we had followed in
the morning's drive. Again, all the greenness of
field and grass was braided, inextricably, into the
blue of river and ocean. Above, as before, in that
earlier morning drive, towered the giant aisles
of the beaches and elms. Through those aisles
the radiant Normandy landscape flowed again,
as music from rich organ - piped throats flows
through cathedral arches. Out j^onder, on the
Seine's wide mouth, the boats were balancing
themselves, as if they also were half divided be-
tween a doubt and a longing ; a freshening spurt
of breeze filled their flapping sails, and away they
sped, skipping through the waters with all the
gayety which comes with the vigor of fresh reso-
lutions. The light that fell over the land and
waters was dazzling, and yet of an astonishing
limpidity ; only a sun about to di-op and end his
reign could be at once so brilliant and so tender
— the diffused light had the sparkle of gold made
soft by usage. "\\Tierever the eye roved, it was fed
as on a banquet of light and color. Nothing could
be more exquisite, for depth of green swimming
in a bath of shadow, than the meadows curled
beneath the cliffs ; nothing more tempting, to the
painter's brush, than the arabesque of blossoms
netted across the sky ; and would you have the
132 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
living eye of nature, bristling- with animation,
alive with winged sails, and steeped in tlie very
soul of yellow sunshine, look out over the great
sheet of the waters, and steep the senses in such a
breadth of aqueous splendor as one sees only in
one or two of the rare shows of earth.
Then, all at once, all too soon, the great picture
seemed to shrink ; the quivering pulsation of light
and color gave way to staid, commonplace gar-
dens. Instead of hawthorn hedges there was the
stench of river smells — Ave were driving over cob-
ble-paved streets and beneath rows of crooked,
crumbling houses. A group of noisy street ur-
chins greeted us in derision. And then we had
no doubt whatsoever that we were alreadj' in
Houileur town.
" Honfleur is an evil-smelling place," I remarked.
" Oh, well, after all, the smells of antiquity are
a part of the show ; we should refuse to believe
in ancientness, all of us, I fancy, if mustiness
wasn't served along with it."
" How can any town have such a stench with all
this river and water and verdure to sweeten it ? " I
asked, with a woman's belief in the morality of
environment — a belief much cherished by wives
and mothers, I have noticed.
" Wait till you see the inhabitants — they'll en-
lighten you — the hags and the nautical gentle-
men along the basins and quays. They've dis-
covered the secret that if cleanliness is next to
godliness, dirt and the devil are likewise near
neighbors. Awful set — those Honfleur sailors.
The Havre and Seine i3eoj)le call them Chinamen,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 133
they are so unlike the rest of France and French-
men."
"Why are they so unlike ? " asked Charm.
" They're so low down, so hideously wicked :
they're like the old houses, a rotten, worm-eaten
set — you'll see."
Charm stopped him then, with a g"esture. She
stopped the horse also ; she brouo-ht the whole es-
tablishment to a standstill : and then she nod-
ded her head briskly forward. AVe were in the
midst of the Honfleur streets — streets that were
running away from a wide open space, in all
possible directions. In the centre of the square
rose a curious, an altogether astonishing" struct-
ure. It was a tower, a belfry doubtless, a house,
a shop, and a warehouse, all in one ; such a pictu-
resque medley, in fact, as only modern irreverence,
in its lawless disregard of original purpose and
design, can produce. The low-timbered sub-base
of the structure was pierced by a lovely doorway
with sculptured lintel, and also with two imjierti-
nent modern windows, flaunting muslin curtains,
and coquettishly attired with rows of flowering
carnations. Beneath these windows was a shop.
Above the whole rose, in beautiful symmetrical
lines, a wooden belfry, tapering from a square
tower into a delicately modelled spire. To com-
plete and accentuate the note of the jDicturesque,
the superstructure was held in its lalace by rude
modern beams, propping the tower with a naive
disregard of decorative embellishment. AVe knew
it at once as the quaint and famous Belfry of St.
Catherine.
134 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
As we were about to turn away to descend the
high street, a Norman maiden, with close-capped
face, leaned over the carnations to look down upon
us.
" That's the daughter of the bell-ringer, doubt-
less. Economical idea that," Eenard remarked,
taking his cap off to the smiling eyes.
" Economical ? "
" Yes, can't you see ? Bell-ringer sends pretty
daughter to window, just before vespers or ser-
vice, and she rings in the worshippers ; no need
to make the bells ring."'
" What nonsense ! " — but we laughed as flatter-
ingly as if his speech had been a genuine coin of
wit.
A turn down the street, and the famous Hon-
fleur of the wharves and floating docks lay before
us. About us, all at once, was the roar and hub-
bub of an extraordinary bustle and excitement :
all the life of the town, apparently, was centred
upon the quays. The latter were swarming with
a tattered, ragged, bare- footed, bare-legged assem-
blage of old women, of gamins, and sailors. The
collection, as a collection, was one gifted with the
talent of making itself heard. Everyone appeared
to be shrieking, or yelling, or crying aloud, if only
to keep the others in voice. Sailors lying on the
flat parapets shouted hoarsely to their fellows in
the rigging of the ships that lay tossing in the
docks ; fishermen's families tossed their farewells
above the hubbub to the captain-fathers launching
their fishing-smacks ; one shrieking infant was be-
ing passed, gayly, from the poop of a distant deck.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 135
across the closely lying shipping-, to the quay's
steps, to be hushed by the g-enerous opening of a
peasant mother's bodice. One could hear the
straining- of cordag-e, the creak of masts, the flap of
the sails, all the noises peculiar to shipping riding-
at anchor. The shriek of steam-whistles broke out,
ever and anon, above all the din and ux)roar. Along-
the quay steps and the wharves there were con-
stantly forming and re-forming groups of wretched,
tattered human beings ; of men with bloated faces
and a dull, sodden look, strikingly in contrast with
the vivacity common among French people. Even
the children and women had a depraved, shameless
appearance, as if vice had robbed them of the last
vestige of hope and ambition. Along the i)arapet
a half-dozen di-unkards sprawled, asleep or dozing.
At the legs of one a child was pulling, crying :
" Viens — mere f hattra, elle estsoule aicssi."
The sailors out yonder, busy in the rigging, and
the men on the decks of the smart brigs and
steamships, whistled and shouted and sang, as in-
different to this picture of human misery and de-
gradation as if they had no kinship with it.
As a frame to the picture, Honfleur town lay be-
neath the crown of its hills ; on the tops and sides
of the latter, villa after villa shot through the
trees, a curve of roof-line, with rows of daintily
di-aj)ed windows. At the right, close to the wharves,
below the wooded heights, there loomed out a
quaint and curious gateway flanked by two watch-
towers, grim reminders of the Honfleur of the
great days. And above and about the whole, en-
compassing villa-crowded hills and closely packed
136 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
streets, and the forest of masts trembling against
the sky, there hxy a heaven of spring- and snmmer.
Kenard had driven briskly up to a low, rambling
facade parallel with the quays. It was the " Che-
val Blanc." A crowd assembled on the instant, as
if appearing according to command.
" AUons — n'encombrez pas ces dames ! " cried a
very smart individual, in striking contrast to the
down-at-heel air of the hotel — a personage who
took high-handed possession of us and our traps.
" Will CCS dames desire a salon — there is mi vrai
petit bijou empty just now," murmured a voice in a
purring soprano, through the iron opening of the
cashier's desk.
Another voice was crying out to us, as we wound
our way upward in pursuit of the jewel of a salon.
"And the widow, La Veuve, shall she be dry or
sweet ? "
When we entered the low dining-room, a little
later, Ave found that the artist as well as the epi-
cure has been in active conspiracy to make the
dinner complete ; the choice of the table pro-
claimed one accomplished in massing effects. The
table was parallel with the low window, and
through the latter was such a picture as one trav-
els hundreds of miles to look upon, only to miss
seeing it, as a rule. There was a great breadth of
sky through the windows ; against the sky rose
the mastheads ; and some red and brown sails cur-
tained the space, bringing into relief the gray line
of the sad-faced old houses fringing the shore-
line.
" Couldn't have chosen better if we'd tried, could
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 137
we ■? It's just the right hour, and just the right
kind of light. Those basins are unendurable^
sinks of iniquitous ugliness, unless the tide's in
and there's a siuiset going on. Just look — now !
Who cares whether Honlleurhas been done to death
by the tourist horde or not ? and been jDainted un-
til one's art-stomach turns ? I presume I ought to
beg your pardon, but I can't stand the abomina-
tion of modern repetitions ; the hand-organ busi-
ness in art, I call it. But at this hour, at this
time of the year, before this rattle-trap of an inn
is as packed with Baedeker attachments as a Si-
berian prison is with Nihilists — to run out here
and look at these quays and basins, and old Hon-
Heur Ijang here, beneath her green cliffs — well,
short of Cairo, I don't know any better bit of color.
Look out there, now ! See those sails, dripping
with color, and that fellow up there, letting the
sail down — there, splash it goes into the water, I
knew it would; now tell me where will you get
better blues or 3"ellows or bro^\^lS, with just the
right purj)les in the shore line, than j'oull get
here ? "
Renard was fairly started ; he had the bit of the
born monologist between his teeth ; he stopped
barely long enough to hear even an echoing as-
sent. We were quite content ; we continued to
sip our champagne and to feast our eyes. Mean-
while Benard talked on.
" Guide-books — what's the use of guide-books ?
What do they teach you, anj^waj^ ? Open any one
of the cursed clap -trap things. Yes, yes, I know
I oughtn't to use vigorous language."
138 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
"Do," bleated Charm, smiling- sweetly up at
him. " Do, it makes j^ou seem manly."
Even Kenard had to take time to laugh.
" Thank you ! I'm not above making- use of any
aids to create that illusion. Well, as I was saying,
what guide-book ever really helped an3^one to
see ? — that's what one travels for, I take it. Here,
for instance, Murray or Baedeker would give you
this sort of thing : ' Honfleur, an ancient town,
with j)ier, beaches, three floating docks, and a
good deal of trade in timber, cod, etc. ; exports
large quantities of eggs to England.' Good heav-
ens ! it makes one boil I Do sane, reasonable mor-
tals travel three thousand miles to read ancient
history done up in modem binding-, served uj) a
la Murray, a la Baedeker % "
" Oh, you do them injustice, I think — the guides
do go in for a little more of the picturesque than
that "
" And how — how do thej?^ do it ? This is the
sort of thing thej^'ll give you : ' Church of St.
Catherine is large and remarkable, entireh^ of tim-
ber and i)laster, the largest of its kind in France.'
Ah ! ha ! that's the picturesque with a vengeance.
No, no, my friends, throw the guide-books into the
river, laitch them overboard through the port-
holes, along with the flowers, and letters io he read
three days out, and the nasty novels people send
you to make the crossing pleasant. And when
you travel, really travel, mind, never make a i^lau
— just go — go anywhere, whenever the impulse
seizes you — and you may hope to get there, in the
right way, possibly."
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 139
Here Kenard stopped to finish, his g-lass, drain-
ing" the last drop of the yellow liquid. Then he
went on : " To travel ! To start when an impulse
seizes one ! To go — anywhere ! Why not ! It was
for this, after all, that all of us have come our three
thousand miles." Perhaps it was the restless toss-
ing of the shipping- out yonder in the basins that
awoke an answering impatience within, in re-
sponse to Kenard's outburst. Where did they go,
those ships, and, up beyond this mouth of the
Seine, how looked the shores, and what life lived
itself out beneath the rustling poplars ? Is it the
mission of all flowing water to create an unrest in
men's minds ?
Meanwhile, though the talk was not done, the
dinner was long since eaten. We rose to take a
glimpse of Honfleur and its famous old basin.
The quays and the floating docks, in front of
which we had been dining, are a part of the nine-
teenth century ; the great shi^^s ride in to them
from the sea. But here, in this inner quadi'angular
dock, beside which we were soon standing, traced
by Duquesne when Louis the Great discovered the
maritime importance of Honfleur, we found still
reminders of the old life. Here were the same
old houses that, in the seventeenth century, up-
right and brave in their brand new carvings, saw
the high-decked, picturesquely jDainted Spanish
and Portuguese ships ride in to dip their flag to
tlie French fleur-de-lis. There are but few of the
old streets left to crowd about the shipping life
that still floats here, as in those bygone days of
Honfleur pride ; — when Havre was but a yellow
1-10 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
stri]) of sand ; when the Honfleur merchants would
have hiughed to scorn any prophet's cry of warn-
ing that one day that sand-bar opposite, despised,
disregarded, boasting- only a chapel and a tavern,
would grow and grow, and would steal year by year
and inch by inch bustling HonHeur's traffic, till
none was left.
In the old adventurous days, along with the
Spanish ships came others, French trading and
fishing vessels, Avitli the salty crustations of long
voyages on their hulls and masts. The wharves
were alive then with fish-wives, whom Evelyn will
tell you wore " iiseful habits made of goats' skin."
The captains' daughters Avere in quaint Normandy
costumes ; and the high-peaked coifs and the stiff
woollen skirts, as well as the goat-skin coats,
trembled as the women darted hither and thither
among the sailors — whose high cries filled the air
as they i^icked out mother and wife. Then were
bronzed beards buried in the deeply-wrinkled old
meres' faces, and young, strong arms clasped
about maidens' waists. The whole town rang with
gayety and with the mad joy of reunion. On the
morrow, coiling its way up the steep hillsides,
wound the long lines of the grateful comjDany, one
composed chiefly of the crews of these vessels
happily come to port. The procession would mount
up to the little church of Notre Dame de Grace
perched on the hill overlooking the harbor. Home
even — so deep was their joy at deliverance from
shipwreck and so fervent their piety — crawled up,
bare-footed, with bared head, wives and children
following, weeping for joy, as the rude ex-vofos
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 141
were laid by the sailors' trembling bands at the
feet of the Virgin Lady.
As reminders of this old life, what is left ? With-
in the stone quadi'angle we found clustered a mot-
ley Heet of wrecks and fishing-vessels ; the nets,
flung out to diy in the night air, hung like shrouds
from the mastheads ; here and there a figure be-
strode a deck, a rough shape, that seemed en-
dowed with a double gift of life, so still and
noiseless was the town. Around the silent dock,
grouped in mysterious medley and confusion,
were tottering roof lines, j) rejecting eaves, narrow
windows, all crazily tortured and out of shape.
Here and there, beneath the broad beams of sup-
port, a little interior, dimly lighted, showed a
knot of sailors gathered, drinking or lounging.
Up high beneath a chimney perilously overlook-
ing a rude facade, a quaint shape emerged, one
as decrepit and forlorn of life and hope as the
decaying houses it overlooked. Silence, pov-
erty, wretchedness, the dregs' of life, to this has
Honfleur fallen. These old houses, in their slow
decay, hiding in their dark bosom the gaunt se-
crets of this poverty and human misery, seemed to
be dancing a dance of drunken indifference. Some
day the dance will end in a fall, and then the
Honfleur of the past will not even boast of a
ghost, as reminder of its days of splendor.
An artist quicker than anyone else, I think, can
be trusted to take one out of history and into the
picturesque. Eenard refused to see anything but
beauty in the decay about us ; for him the houses
were at just the right drooping angle ; the roof
142 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
lines were delig-litful in their irreg'ularity ; and
the fluttering- tremor of the nets, along- the rig-
ging, was the very poetry of motion.
" We'll finish the evening- on the pier," he ex-
claimed, suddenly: "the moon will soon be up
— we can sit it out there and see it begin to
color things."
The pier was more popular than the quaint
old dock. It was crowded with promenaders,
who, doubtless, were taking a bite of the sea-air.
Through the dusk the tripping- figures of gentle-
men in white flannels and jaunty caps brushed
the provincial Houfleur swells. Some gentle
English voices told us some of the villa residents
had come down to the pier, moved by the beauty
of the night. Groups of sailors, with tanned
faces and punctured ears hooped with gold rings,
sat on the broad stone parapets, talking unintelli-
g-ible Breton jmfois. The pier ran far out, almost
to the Havre cliffs, it seemed to us, as we walked
along in the dusk of the young nig-ht. The sky
was slowly losing its soft flame. A tender, mel-
low half light was stealing over the waters, mak-
ing the town a rich mass of shade. Over the top
of the low hills the moon shot out, a large, globular
mass of beaten g-old. At first it was only a part
and portion of the universal lighting, of the still
flushed sky, of the red and crimson harbor lights,
of the dim twinkling of lamps and candles in the
rude interiors along the shore. But slowly, tri-
umphantlj^ the great lamp swung up ; it rose
higher and higher into the soft summer sky, and as
it mounted, skj^ and earth began to pale and fade.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 143
Soon there was only a silver world to look out
upon — a wealth of quivering- silver over the breast
of the waters, and a deeper, richer gray on cliffs
and roof tops. Out of this silver world came the
sound of waters, lapping in soft cadence against
the pier ; the rise and fall of sails, stirring in the
night wind ; the tread of human footsteps moving
in slow, measured beat, in unison with the rhythm
of the waters. Just when the stars were scatter-
ing- their gold on the bosom of the sea-river, a
voice rang out, a rich, full baritone. Quite near,
two sailors were seated, with their arms about
each other's shoulders. They also were looking
at the moonlight, and one of them was singing to
it:
" Te souviens-tu, Maine,
De notre enfcoice aux champs ?
Te souviens-tu ?
Le temps queje regrette
C'esi le temps qui n'est plus."
DIVES:
AN INN ON A HIGH-ROAD.
^ICi.^
w> 1^^
CHAPTEK XIV.
A COAST DRIVE.
On our return to Villerville we
Ck*''^^^>'.^ found that the charm of the
. ^ J place, for us, was a broken one.
^i 4il^^ We had seen the world; the ef-
fect of that experience was to
produce the common result —
there was a fine deposit of dis-
content in the cup of our pleas-
. ) ure.
Madame Fouchet had made use
of our absence to settle our destiny; she had
rented her villa. This was one of the bitter dregs.
Another was to find that the life of the villag-e
seemed to pass us by ; it gave us to understand,
with unflattering frankness, that for strangers
who made no bargains for the season, it had little
or no civility to squander. For the Villerville
beach, the inn, and the villas were crowded.
Mere Mouchard was tossing omelettes from morn-
ing till night ; even Augustine was far too hurried
to pay her usual visit to the creamery. A detach-
ment of Parisian costumes and be-ribboned nur-
sery maids was crowding out the fish -wives and
old hags from their stations on the low door-steps
and the grasses on the cliffs.
148 TUBER NORMANDY INNS.
Even Fouehet was no long-er a familiar figure in
the foregronnd of his garden ; his roses were bloom-
ing' now for the present owners of his villa. He
and madame had betaken themselves to a box of a
hut on the very outskirts of the village — a miser-
able little hovel with two rooms and a bit of past-
ure land being the substitute, as a dwelling-, for the
g:ay villa and its garden along the sea-clifis. Pity,
however, would have been entirely wasted on the
Fouehet household and their change of habitation.
Tucked in, cramped, and uncomfortable beneath
the low eaves of their cabin ceilings, they could now
wear away the summer in blissful contentment :
Were they not living on nothing — on less than
nothing, in this dark joocket of a chaumiere, while
their fine house yonder was paying" for itself hand-
somely, week after week ? The heart beats high, in
a Norman breast, when the pocket bulges ; gold —
that is better than bread to feel in one's hand.
The whole village wore this triumphant expres-
sion — now that the season was beginning. Paris
had come down to them, at last, to be shorn of its
strength ; angling for pennies in a Parisian pocket
was better, far, than casting nets into the sea.
There was also more contentment in such fishing
— for true Norman wit.
Only once did the villag^e change its look of
triumph to one of polite regret ; for though it was
Norman, it was also French. It remembered, on
the morning- of our departure, that the civilitj^ of
the farewell costs nothing, and like bread prodi-
gally scattered on the waters, may perchance bring
back a tenfold recompense.
THREE NORMANDT INNS. 149
Even the morning arose with a flattering" pallor.
It was a gray day. The low houses were like so
many rows of jiale faces ; the caps of the fish-
wives, as they nodded a farewell, seemed to put
the villag-e in half-mourning.
" You will have a perfect day for 3'our drive —
there's nothing- better than these grays in the
French landscape," Renard was saying", at our car-
riage wheels ; " they bring out every tone. And
the sea is wonderful. Pity you're going. Grand
day for the mussel-bed. However, I shall see you,
I shall see you. Remember me to Monsieur Paul :
tell him to save me a bottle of his famous old
wine. Good-bj', good-by."
There was a shower of rose-leaves flung out upon
us : a great sweep of the now familiar beret : a
sonorous " Hui ! " from our di'iver, with an accom-
paniment of vigorous whip-snapping, and we were
off.
The grayness of the closely-packed houses was
soon exchanged for the farms lying beneath the
elms. With the widening of the distance between
our carriage-wheels and Villerville, there was soon
a gi*eat expanse of mouse-colored sky and the
breath of a silver sea. The fields and foliage were
softly brilliant ; when the light wind stirred the
grain, the poppies and bluets were as vivid as
flowers seen in dreams.
It is easy to understand, I think, why French
painters are so enamoured of their gray skies — such
a background makes even the commonplace wear
an air of importance. All the tones of the land-
scaj)e were astonishingly serious ; the features of
150 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the coast and the inland country were as signifi-
cant as if they were meditating an outbreak into
speech. It was the kind of day that bred reflec-
tion ; one could put anything one liked into the
picture with a certainty of its fitting the frame.
We were putting a certain amount of regret into
it ; for though Yillerville has seen us depart with
civilized indifference or the stolidity of the bar-
barian — for they are one, we found our own attain-
ments in the science of unfeelingness deficient ; to
look down upon the village from the next hill -top
was like facing a lost joy.
Once on the higliroad, however, the life along
the shore gave us little time for the futility of re-
gret. Kegret, at best, is a barren thing : like the
mule, it is incapable of perpetuating its own mis-
takes ; it apxDears to apologize, indeed, for its stu-
pidity by making its exit as speedily as possible.
With the next turn of the road we were in fitting
condition to greet the wildest form of adventure.
Pedlars' carts and the lumbering Normandy farm
wagons were, at first, our chief companions along
the roadway. Here and there a head would peep
forth from a villa window, or a hand be stretched
out into the air to see if any rain was falling from
the moist sky. The farms were quieter than usual ;
there was an air of patient waiting in the court-
yards, among the blouses and standing cattle, as
though both man and beast were there in attend-
ance on the day and the weather, till the latter
could come to the point of a final decision in re-
gard to the rain.
Finally, as we were nearing Trouville, the big
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 151
drops fell. The grain-fields were soon bent double
beneath the spasmodic shower. The poppies were
di'enched, so were the cobble-paved courtyards ;
only the geese and the regiment of the ducks came
abroad to revel in the downpour. The villas were
hermetically sealed now — their summer finery was
not made for a wetting. The landscape had no
such reserves ; it gave itself up to the light summer
shower as if it knew that its raiment, like Kachel's,
when dampened the better to take her j^lastic out-
lines, only gained in tone and loveliness the closer
it fitted the recumbent figure of mother earth.
Our coachman could never have been mistaken
for any other than a good Xorman. He was en-
dowed with the gift of oratory peculiar to the
country ; and his profanity was enriched with all
the flavor of the provincial's elation in the com-
mitting of sin. From the earliest moment of our
starting, the stream of his talk had been unending".
His vocabulary was such as to have excited the
envy and desjDair of a French realist, imiDassioned
in the pursuit of " the word.'
" Hid ! — h-r-r-r! " — This was the most common
of his salutations to his horse. It was the Nor-
man coachman's familiar apostrophe, impossible
of imitation ; it was also one no Norman horse who
respects himself moves an inch without first hear-
ing. Chat Noir was a horse of purest Norman an-
cestry ; his Percheron blood was as untainted as
his intelligence was unclouded by having no
mixtures of tongues with which to deal. His
owner's " Hui ! " lifted him with arrowy light-
ness to the top of a hill. The deeper " Bougre "
152 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
steadied his uerve for a g"ood mile of nnbroken
trottius:. Any toil is pleasant iu the gTay of a
cool morning', with a friend holding the reins
who is a, g'ifted monologist ; even imprecations,
rightly administered, are only lively punctuations
to really talented speech.
" Come, my beauty, take in thy breath — courage !
The hill is before thee ! Curse thy withered legs,
and is it thus thou stumbleth ? On — up with thee
and that mountain of flesh thoii carriest about with
thee." And the mountain of flesh would be lifted —
it was carried as lightly by the finely-feathered
legs and the broad haunches as if the firm avoir-
dupois were so much gossamer tissue. On and on
the neat, strong- hoofs rang their metallic click,
clack along the smooth macadam. They had car-
ried us past the farm-houses, the clifi's, the mead-
ows, and the Norman-roofed manoirs buried in their
apple-orchards. These same hoofs were now care-
fully, dexterously picking* their way down the
steep hill that leads directly into the city of the
Trouville villas.
Presently, the hoofs came to a sudden halt, from
sheer amazement. What was this order, this com-
mand the quick Percheron hearing had overheard ?
Not to go any farther into this summer city — not
to go down to its sand-beach — not to wander
through the labyrinth of its g-ay little streets ? —
Verily, it is the fate of a good horse, how often!
to carry fools, and the destiny of intelligence to
serve those deficient in mind and sense.
The criticism on our choice of direction was an-
nounced by the hoofs turning resignedlj^ with tho
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 153
patient assent of tlie fatigue that is bred of dis-
gust, into one of the upper Trouville by-streets.
Our coachman contented himself with a commiser-
ating" shrug and a prolonged How of explanation.
Perhaps ces dames, being strangers, did not know
that Trouville was now beginning its real season
— its season of baths ? The Casino, in truth, was
only opened a week since ; but we could hear the
band even now playing above the noise of the
waves. And behold, the villas were filling ; each
day some gr ancle dame came down to take posses-
sion of her house by the sea.
How could we hope to make a Frenchman com-
l^rehend an instinctive imjiulse to turn our backs
on the Trouville world ? AYhat, pray, had we just
now to do with fashion — with the purring accents
of boudoirs, with all the life we had run away
from ? Surely the romance — the charm of our
present experiences would be put to flight once
we exchanged salutations with the heaii monde —
with that world that is so sceptical of any pleasure
save that which blooms in its own hot-houses, and
so disdainful of all forms of life save those that are
modelled on fashion's types. We had fled from
cities to escape all this ; were we, forsooth, to be
pushed into the motley crowd of commonplace
pleasure-seekers because of the scorn of a human
creature, and the mute criticism of a beast that
was hired to do the bidding of his betters ? The
world of fashion was one to be looked out upon as
a part of the general mise-en-schie — as a bit of the
universal decoration of this vast amphitheatre of
the Normandy beaches.
154 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
Chat noir had little reverence for philosophic
reflections ; he turned a sharjj corner just then ;
he stopped short, directly in front of the broad
windows of a confectioner's shop. This time he
did not apijeal in vain to the strangers with a
barbarian's contempt for the great world. The
brisk drive and the salt in the air were stimulants
to appetite to be respected; it is not ever}- day
the palate has so fine an edge.
" Dii the, mesdauies — a I'Anglaise ? " a neatly-
corsetted shape, in black, to set off a pair of daz-
zling pink cheeks, shone out behind rows of apri-
cot tarts. There was also a cap that conveyed to
one, through the medium of pink bows, the ca-
pacities of coquetry that lay in the depths of the
rich brown eyes beneath them. The attractive
shape emerged at once from behind the counter,
to set chairs about the little table. We were bid-
den to be seated with an air of smiling grace, one
that invested the act with the emphasis of genu-
ine hospitality. Soon a great clatter arose in the
rear of the shop ; opinions and counter-opinions
were being volubly exchanged in shrill French,
as to whether the water should or should not
come to a boil ; also as to whether the leaves of
oolong or of green should be chosen for our bev-
erage. The cap fluttered in several times to ask,
with exquisite politeness — a politeness which
could not wholly veil the hidden anxiety — our
own tastes and preferences. When the cajD re-
turned to the battling forces behind the screen,
armed with the authority of our confessed preju-
dices, a new war of tongues arose. The fate of
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 155
nations, trembling on the turn of a battle, mig-lit
have been settled before that pot of water, so
watched and guarded over, was brought to a boil.
AVhen, finally, the little tea service was brought
in, every detail was perfect in taste and appoint-
ment, except the tea ; the faction that had held
out valiantly, that the water should not boil,
had prevailed, as the half-soaked tea-leaves float-
ing- on top of our full cups triumphantly pro-
claimed.
We sipped the beverage, agreeing Balzac had
well named it ce hoisson fade et melcmcolique ; the
novelist's disdain being the better understood as
we reflected he had doubtless only tasted it as
concocted by French ineptitude. We were very
merry over the liver-colored liquid, as we sipped
it and quoted Balzac. But not for a moment had
our merriment deceived the brown eyes and the
fluttering cap -ribbons. A little drama of remorse
was soon played for our benefit. It was she, her
very self, the cap protested— as she pointed a
tragic finger at the swelling-, rounded line of her
firm bodice — it was she who had insisted that the
water should not boil ; there had been ladies — des
vraies cmglaises — here, only last summer, who
would not that the water should boil, when their
tea was made. And now, it appears that they
were wrong, " detail jyrohahlement une fantaisie de
la part de ces dames." Would we wait for an-
other cup ? It would take but an instant, it was
a little mistake, so easy to remedy. But this mis-
take, like many another, like crime, for instance,
could never be remedied, we smilingly told her ;
156 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
a smile that changed her solicitous remorse to a
humorist's view of the situation.
Another humorist, one accustomed to vieAv the
world from heights known as trapeze elevations,
Ave met a little later on our way out of the narrow
upper streets ; he was also looking down over
Trouville. It was a motley figure in a Pierrot garb,
with a smaller striped body, both in the stage
pallor of their trade. These were somewhat start-
ling objects to confront on a Normandy high-road.
For clowns, hoAvever, taken by surprise, they were
astonishingly civil. They passed their " horgour "
to us and to the coachman as glibly as though ac-
costing us from the commoner circus distance.
" They have come to taste of the fresh air, they
have," laconically remarked our driver, as his
round Norman eyes ran over the muscled bodies
of the two athletes. "I had a brother who was
one — I had ; he was a famous one — he was ;• he
broke his neck once, Avhen the net had been for-
gotten. They all do it— ils se cassent le cou tons, fof
ou tard .' Allans — toi — fas peur, foi ? " Chat
noir's great back was quivering with fear : he
had no taste, himself, for shapes like these, spec-
tral and Avan as ghosts, walking about in the sun.
He took us as far aw^ay as possible, and as quick-
ly, from these reminders of the thing men call
pleasure.
We, meanwhile, were asking Pierre for a cer-
tain promised chateau, one famous for its beauty,
betAveen TrouA'ille and Cabourg.
" It is here, madame — the chateau," he said, at
last.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 157
Two lions couchant, seated on wide pedestals
beneath a company of noble trees, were the only
visible inhabitants of the dwelling. There was a
sweep of g-ardens ; terraces that picked their way
daintily down the cliffs toward the sea, a mansard
roof that covered a large mansion — these were the
sole aspects of chateau life to keep the trees com-
pany. In spite of Pierre's urgent insistance that
the view was even more beautiful than the one
from the hill, we refused to exchange our first ex-
periences of the beauty of the prospect for a second
which would be certain to invite criticism ; for it is
ever the critic in us that plays the part of Blue-
beard to our many- wived illusions.
We passed between the hedgerows with not even
a sigh of regret. We were presently rewarded by
something better than an illusion — by reality,
which, at its best, can afford to laugh at the spec-
tral shadow of itself. Near the chateau there lived
on, the remnant of a hamlet. It was a hamlet, ap-
parently, that boasted only one farm-house ; and the
farm-house could show but a single hayrick. Be-
neath the sloping roof, modelled into shape by a
pitchfork and whose symmetrical lines put Man-
sard's clumsy creation yonder to the blush, sat
an old couple — a man and a woman. Both were
old, wdtli the rounded backs of the laborer ; the
woman's hand was Ij'ing in the man's open palm,
while his free arm was clasped about her neok
with all the tenderness of young love. Both of
the old heads were laid back on the pillow made
by the freshly-piled grasses. They had done a long
day's work already, before the sun had reached its
158 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
meridian ; tliey were weary and resting- here be-
fore tliey went back to their toil.
This was better than the view ; it made life seem
finer than nature ; how rich these two poor old
thing's looked, with only their iDoverty about them !
Meanwhile Pierre had quickly changed the rural
mise-en-scene ; instead of pink hawthorn hedges we
were in the midst of young forest trees. AVhy is
it that a forest is always a surprise in France ? Is
it that we have such a respect for French thrift, that
a real forest seems a waste of timber ? There are
forests and forests ; this one seemed almost a strip-
ling in its tentative delicacy, compared to the ma-
ture splendor of Fontainebleau, for example. This
forest had the virility of a young savage ; it was
neither dense nor vast ; yet, in contrast to the rib-
bony grain-fields, and to the finish of the villa parks,
was as refreshing to the eye as the right chord
that strikes upon the ear after a succession of trills.
In all this fair Normandy sea-coast, Avith its won-
derful inland contrasts, there was but one disap-
l^ointing note. One looked in vain for the old
Normandy costumes. The blouse and the close
white cap — this is all that is left of the wondrous
headgear, the short brilliant petticoats, the em-
broidered stomacher, and the Caen and Eouen jew-
els, abroad in the fields only a decade ago.
Pierre shrugged his shoulders when asked a
question concerning these now pre -historic cos-
tumes.
" Ah ! mademoiselle, you must see for yourself,
that the peasant who doesn't despise himself
dresses now in the fields as he would in Paris."
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 159
As if in confirmation of Pierre's news of the
fashions, there stepped forth from an avenue of
trees, fringing a near farm-house, a wedding-party.
The bride was in the traditional white of brides ;
the little cortege following the ti'aii of her white
gown, was di'essed in costumes modelled on Bon
Marche styles. The coarse peasant faces flamed
from bonnets more flowery than the fields into
which they were passing-. The men seemed
choked in their high collars : the agony of new
boots was written on faces not used to concealing
such form of torture. Even the groom was sufter-
ing- ; his bliss was something the gay little bride
hanging on his arm must take entirely for granted.
It was enough greatness for the moment to wear
broadcloth and a white vest in the face of men.
" Laissez, laissez. Marguerite, it is clean here; it
will look fine on the g-reen ! " cried the bride to an
improvised train-bearer, who had been holding up
the white alpaca. Then the full splendor of the
bridal skirt trailed across the freshly mown g-rasses.
An irrepressible murmur of admiration welled up
from the wedding guests ; even Pierre made part
of the chorus. The bridegroom stopped to mop
his face, and to look forth i3roudly, through start-
ing ej^eballs, on the splendor of his possessions.
"Ah! Lizette, thou art pretty like that, thou
knowest. Faut t'emhrasser, tu sais."
He gave her a kiss full on the lips. The little
bride returned the kiss with unabashed fervor.
Then she burst into a loud fit of laughter.
" How silly you look, Jean, with your collar
burst open."
160 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The groom's enthusiasm had been too much for
his toilet ; the noon sun and the excitements of
the marriage service had dealt hardly with his
celluloid fastenings. All the wedding cortege
rushed to the rescue. Pins, shouts of advice,
pieces of twine, rubber fastenings, even knives,
were offered to the now exploding bridegroom ;
everyone was helping him repair the ravages
of his moment of bliss ; everyone excepting the
bride. She sat down upon her train and wept
from i^ure rapture of laughter.
Pierre shook his head gravely, as he whipped
u^D his steed.
" Jean will rei^ent it : he'll lose worse things
than a button, with Lizette. A woman who laughs
like that on the threshold of marriage will cry
before the cradle is rocked, and will make others
weep. HoAvever, Jean won't be thinking of that —
to-night."
" AVhere are they going — along the highroad ? "
" Only a short distance. They turn in there,"
and he pointed with his whip to a near lane ; " they
go to the farm-house now — for the wedding din-
ner. Ah ! there'll be some heavy heads to-mor-
row. For you know, a Norman peasant only
really eats and drinks well twice in his life — when
he marries himself and when his daughter mar-
ries. Lizette's father is rich — the meat and the
wines will be good to-night."
Our coachman sighed, as if the thought of the
excellence of the coming banquet had disturbed
his own dig-estion.
CHAPTEK XV.
GUILLATOEE-LE-CONQUERANT.
The wedding- party was lost in a thicket.
Pierre gave his whij^ so resounding- a
snap, it was no sur]3rise to find ourselves
rolling- over the cobbles of a villag-e
street.
" This is Dives, mesdames, this is the inn ! "
Pierre drew up, as he spoke, before a long, low
facade.
Now, no one, I take it, in this world enjoys be-
ing- duped. Surely disajDpointment is only a civil
term for the varying- degrees of fraud practised
on the imagination. This inn, apparently, was to
be classed among such frauds. It did not in the
least, externally at least, fulfil Eenard's promises.
He had told us to expect the marvellous and the
mediaeval in their most approved period. Yet
here Ave were, facing a featureless exterior ! The
facade was built yesterday — that was writ large,
all over the low, rambling structure. One end,
it is true, had a gabled end ; there was also an
old shrine niched in glass beneath the gable, and
a low Norman gateway with rude letters carved
over the arch. June was in its glory, and the
barrenness of the commonplace structure was
mercifully hidden by a wreath of pink and amber
162 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
loses. But one scarcely diives twenty miles in
the sun to look upon a facade of roses !
Chat noir, meamvliile, was becoming restless.
Pierre had managed to keep his own patience
well in hand. Now, however, he broke forth :
" Shall we enter, my ladies ? "
Pierre di'ove us straight into paradise ; for
here, at last, within the courtyard, was the inn we
had come to seek.
A group of low-gabled buildings surrounded an
open court. All of the buildings were timbered,
the diagonal beams of oak so old they were black
in the sun, and the snowy whiteness of fresh plas-
ter made them seem blacker still. The gabled
roofs Avere of varying tones and tints ; some were
red, some mossy green, some as gray as the skin
of a mouse ; all were deeply, plentifully fur-
rowed with the washings of countless rains, and
they were bearded with moss. There w^ere out-
side galleries, beginning somewhere and ending
anywhere. There were open and covered outer
stairways so laden with vines they could scarce
totter to the low heights of the chamber doors on
which they opened ; and there were open sheds
where huge farm-wagons were rolled close to the
most modern of Parisian dog-carts. That not a
note of contrast might be lacking, across the court-
yard, in one of the windows beneath a stairway,
there flashed the gleam of some rich stained glass,
spots of color that were repeated, with quite a dif-
ferent lustre, in the dapj^led haunches of rows of
sturdy Percherons munching their meal in the
adjacent stalls. Add to such an ensemble a va-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 163
grant multitude of rose, honeysuckle, clematis,
and wistaria vines, all blooming- in full rivalry of
perfume and color ; insert in some of the corners
and beneath some of the older casements archseic
bits of sculpture — strange barbaric features with
beards of Assyrian correctness and forms clad in
the rig-id draperies of the early Jumieg-es period
of the sculptor's art ; lance above the roof-ridges
the quaint polj^chrome finials of the earlier Pa-
lissy models ; and trowel the rough cobble-paved
courtyard with a rare and distinguished assem-
blage of flamingoes, peacocks, herons, cockatoos
swinging* from gabled windows, and game-cocks
that strut about in company with pink doves —
and you have the famous inn of Guillaume le Con-
querant !
Meanwhile an individual, with fine deep-gray
eyes, and a face grave, yet kindly, over which a
smile was humorously breaking, was patiently
waiting at our carriage door. He could be no
other than Monsieur Paul, owner and inn-keeper,
also artist, sculptor, carver, restorer, to whom, in
truth, this miracle of an inn owed its present per-
fection and picturesqueness.
" We have been long expecting you, mesdames,"
Monsieur Paxil's grave voice was saying. " Mon-
sieur Penard had written to announce your com-
ing. You took the trouble to drive along the
coast this fine day ? It is idyllically lovely, is it
not — under such a sun "? "
Evidently the moment of enchantment was not
to be broken by the worker of the spell. Mon-
sieur Paul and his inn were one ; if one was a
[64 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
poem the other was a j)oet. The poet was also
lined with the man of the practical moment. He
had quickly summoned a host of serving-people to
take charge of us and our luggag-e.
" Lizette, show these ladies to the room of
Madame de Sevigne. If they desire a sitting-
room — to the Marmousets."
The inn-keei3er gave his commands in the quiet,
well-bred tone of a man of the world, to a woman
in peasant's dress. She led us past the open court
to an inner one, where we were confronted with a
building still older, apparently, than those grouped
about the outer quadrangle. The j^easant passed
quickly beneath an overhanging gallery, draped in
vines. She was next preceding us up a spiral turret
stairway ; the adjacent walls were hung here and
there with faded bits of tapestry. Once more she
turned to lead us along an open gallery ; on this
several rooms appeared to oi)en. On each door a
different sign was painted in rude Gothic letters.
The first was " Chambre de 1' Officier ; " the second,
" Chambre du Cure," and the next was flung widely
open. It was the room of the famous lady of the
incomparable Letters. The room might have been
left — in the yesterday of two centuries — by the
lady whose name it bore. There was a beautiful
Seventeenth centur}'^ bedstead, a couple of wide
arm-chairs, with down pillows for seats, and a
clothes press with the carvings and brass work pe-
culiar to the eiDOch of Louis XIY. The chintz
hangings and draperies were in keeping, being
coiDies of the brocades of that day. There Avere por-
traits in miniature of the courtiers and the ladies
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 1G5
of the Great Reig-ii on the verv ewers and basins.
On the flounced dressinq-talile, with its antique
glass and a diminutive patch-box, now the recep-
tacle of Lubin's powder, a sprig of the lovely Rose
The was exhaling a faint, far-away century perfume.
It was surely a stage set for a real comed}' ; some
of these high-coiffed ladies, who knows ? perhaps
Madame de Sevigne herself would come to life,and
give to the room the only thing it lacked — the liv-
ing presence of that old world grace and siieech.
Presently, we sallied forth on a further voyage
of discovery. We had reached the courtj^ard when
Monsieur Paul crossed it : it was to ask if, while
waiting for the noon breakfast, Ave would care to
see the kitchen ; it was, perhai^s, different to those
now commonly seen in modern taverns.
The kitchen which was thus modestly described
as unlike those of our own century might easily,
except for the appetizing smell of the cooking
fowls and the meats, have been put under lock and
key and turned over to a care-taker as a full-fledged
culinary museum of antiquities. One entire side
of the crowded but orderly little room was taken up
by a huge open fireplace. The logs resting on the
great andirons were the trunks of full-grown
trees. On two of the spits were long rows of fowl
and legs of mutton roasting : the great chains were
being slowly turned by a chef in the paper cap of
his profession. In deep burnished brass bowls lay
water-cresses : in Caen dishes of an age to make a
bric-a-brac collector turn green with envy, a Bear-
naise sauce was being beaten by another gallic mas-
ter-hand. Along the beams hung old Rouen plates
166 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
and platters ; in the numberless carved Normandy
cupboards gleamed rare bits of Delft and Limoges :
the walls may be said to have been hung with Nor-
mandy brasses, each as bui-nished as a jewel. The
tioor was sanded and the tables had attained that
satiny finish which comes only with long usage
and tireless use of the brush. There was also a
shrine and a clock, the latter of antique Norman
make and design.
The smell of the roasting fowls and the herbs
used by the maker of the sauces, a hungry palate
found even more exciting than this most original
of kitchens. There was a wine that went with the
sauce ; this fact Monsieur Paul explained, on our
sitting down to the noonday meal ; one which, in
remembrance of Monsieur Renard's injunctions,
he would suggest our trying. He crossed the
courtyard and disappeared into the bowels of the
earth, beneath one of the inn buildings, to bring
forth a bottle incrusted with layers of moist dirt.
This Sauterne was by some, Monsieur Paul smil-
ingly explained, considered as among the real
treasures of the inn. Both it and the sauce, we
were enabled to assure him a moment later, had
that golden softness which make French wines
and French sauces at their best the rapture of the
palate.
In the courtyard, as our breakfast proceeded, a
variety of incidents was happening. We were
facing the open archway ; through it one looked
out upon the high-road. A wheelbarrow passed,
trundled by a peasant-girl : the barrow stopped,
the girl leaving it for an instant to cross the court.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 167
" Bojijour, mhx "
" Bonjour, mafille — it goes well ? " a deep gnttural
voice responded, just outside of the window.
" Jusfemenf — I came to tell you the mare has
foaled and Jean will be late to-night."
" Bien."
"And Barbarine is still angry "
" Make up with her, my child — anger is an evil
bird to take to one's heart," the deeia voice went
on.
"It is my mother," explained Monsieur Paul.
" It is her favorite seat, out yonder, on the green
bench in the courtyard. I call it her judge's
bench," he smiled, indulgently^ as he went on.
" She dispenses justice with more authority than
anjr other magistrate in town. I am Mayor, as it
happens, just now ; but madame my mother is far
above me, in real power. She rules the town and
the country about, for miles. Everyone comes to
her sooner or later for counsel and command. You
will soon see for yourselves."
A murmur of assent from all the table accom-
panied Monsieur Paul's prophecy.
" Feinine vraiment remarquahle" hoarsely whis-
pered a stout breakfaster, behind his napkin, be-
tween two spoonsful of his soup.
" Not two in a century like her," said my neigh-
bor.
"No — nor two in all France — nonjylus" retorted
the stout man.
" She could rule a kingdom — hey, Paul "? "
" She rules me — as you see — and a man is harder
to govern than a province, they say," smiled Mon-
168 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
sieur Paul with a humorous relish, obviouslj^ the
otispriug- of experience. " In France, mesdames,"
he added, a sweeter look of feeling- coming into
the deep eyes, " you see we are always children —
toujours enfanfs — as long as the mother lives. AYe
are never really old till she dies. May the good
God preserve her ! " and he lifted his glass tow-
ard the green bench. The table drank the toast,
in silence.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE GEEEN BENCH.
In the course of the first few days
we learned what all Dives had
known for the past fifty years
or so — that the focal point of
interest in the inn was cen-
tred in Madame Le Mois. She
drew us, as she had the country
around for miles, to circle close
about her g-reen bench.
The bench was placed at the
best possible point for one who, between dawn
and darkness, made it the business of her life to
keep her eye on her world. Not the tiniest
mouse nor the most spectral shade could enter or
slip away beneath the open archway without un-
S0
170 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
derg-oing' inspection from that omniscient eye, that
seemed never to blink nor to grow weary. This
same eye conkl keep its watch, also, over the entire
establishment, with no need of the huge body to
which it was attached mcjving a hair's-breadth.
Was it Nitouche, the head-cook, who was g-rum-
bling because the kitchen-wench had not scoured
the brass saucej)ans to the last point of mirrory
brightness? Behold both Nitouche and the trem-
bling peasant-girl, tog-ether Avith the brasses as
evidence, all could be brought at an instant's call,
into the open court. Were the maids — were Ma^
rianne or Lizette neg-lecting* their work to Hirt
with the coachmen in the sheds yonder ?
"AJIons, mes Jillen — douceineni, Ui-has — et vos I its?
qui lesfaif — k's hons saints du jiaradis, peut-etre? "
And Marianne and Lizette would slink away to the
waiting beds. Nothing- escaped this eye. If the
poule sultane was gone lame, limping in the inner
quadrangle, madame's eye saw the trouble — a
thorn in the left claw, before the feathered cripple
had had time to reach her objective point, her
mistress's capacious lap, and the healing touch of
her skilful surgeon's fingers. Neither were the
cockatoes nor the white parrots given license to
make all the noise in the coui-t-yard. When
madame had an unusually loquacious moment,
these more strictly professional conversationists
were taught their place.
" JS'hen, foi — and thou wishest to proclaim to the
world what a gymnast thou art — swinging on thy
perch ? Quietly, quietly, there are also others
who wish to praise themselves ! And now, my
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 171
child, you were telling" me how good you had
been to your old grandmother, and how she scolded
you. Well, and how about obedience to our par-
ents, Jiein — how about that ? " This, as the old
face bent to the maiden beside her.
There was one, assuredly, who had not failed
in his duty to his parents. Monsieur Paul's
whole life, as we learned later, had been a willing-
sacrifice to the unconscious tyranny of his moth-
er's affection. The son was gifted with those gifts
which, in a Parisian atelier, would easily have made
him successful, if not famous. He had the artis-
tic endowment in an unusual degree ; it was all
one to him, whether he modelled in clay, or carved
in wood, or stone, or built a house, or restored old
bric-a-brac. He had inherited the old world round-
ness of artistic ability — his was the plastic renas-
cent touch that might have developed into that of
a Giotto or a Benvenuto.
It was such a sacrifice as this that he had lain
at his mother's feet.
Think you for an instant the clever, witty, canny
woman in Madame Le Mois looked upon her son's
renouncing the world of Paris, and holding to the
glories of Dives and their famous inn in the light
of a sacrifice ? " Parbleic ! " she would explode,
when the subject was touched on, " it was a lucky
thing for him that Paul had had an old mother to
keep him from burning his fingers. Paris ! What
did the i^rovinces want with Paris ? Paris had
need enough of them, the great, idle, shiftless, dis-
siioated, cruel old city, that ground all their sons
to powder, and then scattered their ashes abroad
172 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
like so many cinders. Oh, yes, Paris couldn't get
along- without the provinces, to plunder and rob,
to seduce their sous away from living- good, pure
lives, and to suck these lives as a pig would a
trough of fresh water ! But the provinces, if they
valued their souls, shunned Paris as they would the
devil. And as for artists — when it came to the
young of the provinces, Avho thought they could
paint or model
" Tenez, madame — this is what Paris does for our
young. My neighbor 3'onder," and she pointed,
as only Frenchwomen point, sticking her thumb
into the air to designate a point back of her
bench, "my neighbor had a son like Paul. He
too was always niggling at something. He nig-
gled so well a rich cousin sent him up to Paris.
Well, in ten years he comes back, famous, rich,
too, with a wife and even a child. The establish-
ment is complete. AVell, they come here to break-
fast one fine morning, with his mother, whom he
put at a side table, with his nurse — he is ashamed
of his mother, you see. Well, then his wife talks
and I hear her. ' Mais, mon Chai^les, c'esf foi qui
est lephisfameux — il n'y a que toi ! Tu es un dieu,
tu sais — il n'y a pas deux comme toi ! ' The fa-
mous one deigns to smile then, and to eat of his
breakfast. His digestion had gone wrong, it ap-
pears. The Figaro had placed his name second
on a certain list, after a rival's ! He alone must be
great — there must not be another god of painting
save him ! He ! He ! that's fine, that's greatness
— to lose one's appetite because another is praised,
and to be ashamed of one's old mother ! "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 173
Madame Le Mois's face, for a moment, was terri-
ble to look upon. Even in her kindliest moments
liers was a severe countenance, in spite of the true
Norman curves in mouth and nostril — the laugh-
ter-loving" curves. Presently, however, the fierce-
ness of her severity melted ; she had caught sight
of her son. He was passing her, now, with the
wine bottles for dinner piled up in his arms.
" You see," croaked the mother, in an exultant
whisper, " I've saved him from all that — he's hap-
py, for he still works. In the winter he can amuse
himself, when he likes, with his carving and paint-
brushes. Ah, tiens, du monde qui arrive ! " And
the old woman seated herself, with an air of great
dignity, to receive the new-comers.
The world that came in under the low archway
was of an altogether different character from any
we had as yet seen. In a satin-lined victoria, amid
the cushions, lay a j^oung and lovely-eyed Anonyma.
Seated beside her was a weak -featured man, Avith a
huge flower decorating his coat lappel. This lat-
ter individual divided the seat with an army of
small dogs who leaped forth as the carriage
stopped.
Madame Le Mois remained immovable on her
bench. Her face was as enigmatic as her voice, as
it gave Suzette the order to show the lady to the
salon bleu. The high Louis XV. slipper, as it
picked its way carefully after Suzette, never
seemed more distinctly astray than when its fair
wearer confided her safety to the insecure footing
of the rough, uneven cobbles. In a brief half -hour
the frou-frou of her silken skirts was once more
174 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
sweeping' the court-yard. She and her companion
and the dogs chose the open air and a tent of sky
for their banqueting' - hall. Soon all "were seated
at one of the many tables placed near the kitchen,
beneath the rose-vines.
Madame gave the j)air a keen, dissecting glance.
Her verdict was delivered more in the emphasis
of her shrug and the humor of her broad wink
than in the loud- whispered — " Comme vous voyez,
chere dame, de touies sortes id, cliez nous — mais —
toujour s hon genre ! "
The laughter of one who could not choose her
world was stopped, suddenly, by the dipping of
the thick fingers into an old snuff-box. That very
afternoon the court-yard saw another arrival ; this
one was treated in quite a different spirit.
A dog-cart was briskly driven into the yard by
a gentleman who did not appear to be in the best
of humor. He drew his horse up with a sudden
fierceness ; he as fiercely called out for the hostler.
Monsieur Paul bit his lip ; but he composedly
confronted the disturbed countenance perched on
the driver's seat. The gentleman wished
" I want indemnity — that is what I want. In-
demnity for my horse," cried out a thick, coarse
voice, with insolent authority.
" For your horse ? I do not think I under-
stand "
" O — h, I jsresume not," retorted the man, still
more insolently ; " jjeople don't usually understand
when they have to pay. I came here a week ago,
and stayed two daj^s ; and you starved my horse —
and he died — that is what hap^aened — he died ! "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 175
The whole court-yard now rang with the cries of
the assembled household. The high, angry tones
had called together the last serving-man and scul-
lery-maid; the cooks had come out from their
kitchens; they were brandishing their long-han-
dled saucepans. The iDeasant-women were shriek-
ing in concert with the hostlers, who were raising
their arms to heaven in i^roof of their innocence.
Dogs, cats, cockatoos swinging on their perches,
peacocks, parrots, pelicans, and every one of the
cocks swarmed from the barnyards and garden
and cellars, to add their shrill cries and shrieks
to the universal babel.
Meanwhile, calm and unruffled as a Hindoo god-
dess, and strikingly similar in general massiveness
of structure and proportion to the common repro-
duction of such deities, sat Madame Le Mois.
She went on with her usual occupation ; she was
dipping fresh-cut salad leaves into great bowls of
water as quietly as if only her own little family
were assembled before her. Once only she lifted
her heavily -moulded, sagacious eyebrow at the
irate dog-cart driver, as if to measure his pitiful
strength. She allowed the fellow, however, to
touch the point of abuse before she crushed him.
Her first sentence reduced him to the ignominy
of silence. All her people were also silent. What,
the deep sarcastic voice chanted on the still air —
Avhat, this gentleman's horse had died — and yet
he had waited a whole week to tell them of the
great news % He was, of a truth, altogether too
considerate. His own memory, perhaps, was also
a short one, since it told him nothing of the con-
176 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ditiou in wliicli tlie i300i' beast had arrived, drop-
ping- with fatigrie, wet with sweat, his mouth all
blood, and an eye as of one who already was past
the consciousness of his suffering' ? Ah no, mon-
sieur should go to those who also had short mem-
ories.
" For we use our eyes — we do. We are used to
deal with g-entlemen — with Christians ' (the He-
brew nose of the owner of the dead horse, even
more plainly abused the privilege of its pedigree
in pi'oving its race, by turning downward, at this
onslaught of the mere's satire), " as I said, with
Christians," continued the mere, pitilessly. " And
do those gentlemen complain and put upon us the
death of their liorses ? No, my fine sir, they re-
turn — ih revieimenf, et sont reueuus depuis la Con-
quete ! '"
With this fine climax madame announced the
court as closed. She bowed disdainfulh', with a
grand and magisterial air, to the defeated claim-
ant, who crept away, sulkily, through the low
archway.
" That is the way to deal with such vermin,
Paul ; whip them, and they turn tail." And the
mere shook out a great laugh from her broad
bosom, as she regaled her wide nostrils with a
fresh j)inch of snuff. The assembled household
echoed the laugh, seasoning" it with the glee of
scorn, as each went to his allotted place.
CHAPTER XVn.
THE \YOELD THAT CA]\IE TO DITES.
It was a world of many
mixtures, of y a r i o u s
ranks and liabits of life
that found its way under
the old arcliway, and sat
do^vn at the table d'hote
breakfasts and dinners.
Madame and her g-ifted
son were far too clever
to attempt to play the
mistaken part of Provi-
dence; there w^as no
pointed assortment made of the sheep and the
goats ; at least, not in a way to suggest the most
remote intention of any such separation being pre-
meditated. Such separation as there was came
about in the most natural and in the pleasantest
possible fashion. When Petitjean, the pedler, and
his wife drove in under the Gothic sign, the huge
lumbering vehicle was as quickly surrounded as
when any of the neighboring notabilities arrived
in emblazoned chariots. Madame was the first to
waddle forward, nodding up toward the open hood
as, with a short, brisk, business " Bonj<mr," she wel-
comed the head of Petitjean and his sharjD-eyed
spouse looking over the aprons.
178 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The pedler is always popular with his world ;
and Dives knew Petit jean to be as honest as a
pedler can ever hope to be in a world where small
pence are only made large by some one being sac-
rificed on the altar of duplicity. Therefore it was
that Petit] cans hearse-like cart was always a wel-
come visitor ; — one could at least be as sure of a
just return for one's money in trading- with a ped-
ler as from any other source in this thieving
world. In the end, one always got something else
besides the bargain to carry away with one. For
Petit jean knew all the gossip of the province ; after
dinner, when the stiff cider was working in his
veins, he Avould be certain to tell all one wanted to
know. Even Madame Le Mois, whose days were
too busy in summer to include the daily reading
of her newspaper, had grown dependent, in these
her later years, on such sources of information as
the laedler's garrulous tongue supplied. In the
end she had found his talent for fiction quite as
reliable as that of the journalists, besides being
infinitel}^ more entertaining, abounding in person-
alities which were the more racy, as the jjedler felt
himself to be exempt from that curse of responsi-
bility, which, in French journalism, is so often a
barrier to the full play of one's talent.
Therefore it was that Petit jean and his bright-
eyed spouse were always made welcome at Dives.
" It goes well, Madame Jean 1 Ah, there you
are. Well, Jiein, also ? It is long since we saw
you."
" Ah, madame, centuries, it is centuries since we
were here. But what will you have ? with the bad
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 179
season, the rains, the banks failing-, the — but you,
maclame, are well ? And Monsieur Paul ? "
"All, c.a va tout doucement — Paul is well, the good
God be praised, but I — I perish day by day "
At which the entire court-yard was certain to
burst into laughing protest. For the whole house-
hold of Guillaume le Conquerant was quite sure to
be assembled about the great wheels of the ped-
ler's wagon — only to look, not to buy, not yet.
Petit jean and his wife had not dined yet, and a
pedler's hunger is something to be respected — one
made money by waiting for the hour of digestion.
The little crowd of maids, hostlers, cooks, and
scullery wenches, were only here to whet their ap-
petite, and to greet Petit jean. Nitouche, the head
chef, put a little extra garlic in his sauces that day.
But in spite of this compliment to their palate, the
pedler and his wife dined in the smaller room off
the kitchen ; — Madame was desolated, but the salle-
d-manger was crowded just now. One was really
suffocated in there these days ! Therefore it was
that the two ate the herbaceous sauces with an
extra relish, as those conscious of having a larger
space for the play of vagrant elbows than their
less fortunate brethren.
The gossip and trading came later.
On the edge of the fading daylight there was
still time to see ; the chosen articles could easily
be taken into the brightly lit kitchen to be passed
before the lamps. After the buying and bargain-
ing came the talking. All the household could
find time to spend the evening on the old benches ;
these latter lined the sidewalk just beneath the low
180 THREE IfORMANDY INNS.
kitclien casements. They had been here for many
a long" year.
AVhat a history of Dives these old benches could
have told ! What troopers, and beg-g-ars, and
cowled monks, and wayfarers had sat there ! — each
sitter helping to wear away the wood till it had
come to have the depressions of a drinking--trough.
Nig-ht after nig-ht in the long- centuries, as the dark-
ness fell upon the hamlet — what tales and con-
fidences, and what murmured anguish of remorse,
what cries for help, what g-ay talk and lig'ht song-
must have welled up into the dome of sky !
Once, as we sat within the court-yard, under the
stars, a young voice sang- out. It was so still and
quiet every word the youth phrased was as clear
as his fresh young- voice.
" Tiens — it is Mathieu — he is singing- Les Oreil-
lers ! " cried Monsieur Paul, with an accent of
pride in his own tone.
The young voice sang on :
" J'arrive en ce pays
De Basse Normayidie,
Vous dire une chanson,
S'il plait la compagnie ! "
" It is an old Norman bridal song," Monsieur
Paul went on, lowering his voice. " One I taught
a lot of young boys and lads last winter — for a
wedding held here — in the inn."
Still the fresh notes filled the air :
"ies amours sont partis
Dans nn bateau de verre ;
Le bateau a casse
a casse —
Les amours sont parterre.'^
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 181
"How the old women langlied — and cried — at
once ! It was years since they had heard it — the
old song". And when these boys — their sons and
grandsons — sang it, and I had trained them well —
they wept for pure delight."
Again the song- went on :
" Ouvrez la porte, ouvrez !
Nouvelle mariee,
Car si vons ne Pouvrez
Vous serez accuseeJ'^
" I dressed all the yonng girls in old costumes,"
our friend continued, still in a whisper. " I ran-
sacked all the old chests and closets about here. I
got the ladies of the chateaux near by to aid me ;
they were so interested that many came down
from Paris to see the wedding'. It was a jDrettj^
sight, each in a different dress ! Every century
since the thirteenth was represented."
" Attendezd demain.
La fraiche matinee,
Quand mon oiseau prive
Aura jyris sa volee ! "
Clear, strong, free rang the j^ouug" tenor's voice
— and then it broke into " Comment — tu dis que
Claire est Id ? " whereat Monsieur Paul smiled.
" That will be the next wedding — what shall I
devise for that 1 That will also be the ending of
a long lawsuit. But he should have sung the
last verse — the prettiest of all. Mathieu ! " Paul
lifted his voice, calling into the dark.
182 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
"Old, Ilonsieur Paul ! "
" Sing- us the last verse "
" Dans se jar din du Roi
A pris sn reposee,
Cueillant le romarin
La — vande — boutnn — nee "
The last notes were but faint vibrations, coming
from a lengthening" distance.
" Ah ! " and Monsieur Paul breathed a sigh.
" They don't care about singing. They are doing
it all the time — they are so much in love. The
fathers' lawsuit ended only last month. They've
waited three years — happy Claire — happy Ma-
thieu ! "
CHAPTEE XVm.
THE CONYEESATION OF PATRIOTS.
TTzy^
The world that found its way to
the maj'ors table at this early
. period of the summer season
was largely composed of the
class that travels chiefly to
amuse others. The commer-
cial gentlemen in France, how-
ever, have the outward bearing
of those who travel to amuse themselves. The
selling of other people's goods — it is surely as
good an excuse as any other for seeing the world !
Such an occui3ation offers an orator, one gifted
in conversational talents — talents it would be a
pitj'^ to see buried in the domestic napkin — a fine
arena for display.
The French commercial traveller is indeed a
genus apart ; he makes a fetich of his trade ; he
preaches his proj^aganda. The fat and the lean,
the tall and the little, the well or meanly dressed
representatives of the great French houses who
sat down to dine, as our neighbors or vis-a-vis,
night after night, were, on the whole, a great credit
to their country. Their manners might have been
mistaken for those of a higher rank; their gifts
184 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
as talkers were of snch an order as to make listen-
ing- the better p.art of discretion.
Dining is always a serious act in France. At
this inn the sauces of the chef, with their reputa-
tion behind them, and the proof of their real ex-
cellence before one, the dinner-hour was elevated
to the importance of a ceremony. How the petty
merchants and the commercial gentlemen ate, at
first in silence, as if respecting- the appeal im-
posed by a great hunger, and then warming into
talk as the acid cider was j)assed again and again !
What crunching of the sturdy, dark-colored bread
between the great knuckles ! Wliat huge helps
of the famous sauces ! What insatiable aj^petites !
What nice appreciation of the right touch of the
tricksy garlic ! What nodding of heads, clinking
of glasses, and warmth of friendship established
over the wine-cups! At dessert everyone talked
at once. On one occasion the subject of Gam-
betta's death was touched on ; all the table, as one
man, broke out into an effeYvescence of political
babble.
" What a loss ! TMiat a death-blow to France
was his death ! " exclaimed a heavy young man in
a pink cravat.
"If Gambetta had lived, Alsace and Lorraine
would be ours now, without the firing of a gun ! "
added an elderly merchant at the foot of the table.
" Ah — h ! without the firing of a gun they will
come to us yet. I tell you, without the firing of a
gun — unless we insist on a battle," explosively re-
joined a fiery -hued little man sitting next to Mon-
sieur Paul ; " but you will see — we shall insist.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 185
There is between us and Germany an inextin-
guishable hate — and we must kill, kill, right and
left!"
"Allans — allons ! " protested the table, in chorus.
"Yes, yes, a general massacre, that is what we
want ; that is what we must have. Men, women,
and children — all must fall. I am a married man
— but not a woman or a child shall escape — when
the time comes," continued the fiery-ej^ed man,
getting more and more ferocious as he warmed
with the thought of his revenge.
" AMiat a monster ! " broke in Madame Le Mois,
her deep base notes unruffled by the spectacle of
her bloodthirsty neighbor's violence : " you — to
bayonet a woman with a child in her arms ! "
"I would — I would "
" Then you would be more cruel than they were.
They treated our women with respect."
There was a murmur of assenting ai^i^lause, at
this sentiment of justice, from the table. But the
fiery-eyed man was not to be put down.
" Oh, yes, they were generous enough in '71, but
I should remember their insults of 1815 ! "
" Andenne liistoire — ca," said the mere, dismiss-
ing the subject, with a humorous wink at the
table.
"As you see," was Monsieur Patil's comment
on the conversation, as we were taking our after-
dinner stroll in the garden — " as you see, that
sort of person is the bad element in our countr}^ —
the dangerous element — unreasoning, revengeful,
and ignorant. It is such men as he who still up-
hold hatreds and kee^D the flame alive. It is
186 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
better to Lave no talent at all for politics — to be
harmless like me, for instance, whose worst vice is
to buy up old laces and carvings."
" And roses "
" Yes — that is another of my vices — to perpetu-
ate the old varieties. They call me along our
coast — the millionnaire — of roses ! Will you have
a ' Marie Louise,' mademoiselle ? "
The garden was as complete in its old-time aspect
as the rest of the inn belongings. Onl}^ the older,
rarer varieties of flowers and rose-stalks had been
chosen to bloom within the beautifully arranged
inclosure. Citronnelle, purple irises, fringed asters,
sage, lavender, rose-])eche, bachelor's-button, the
d'Horace, and the wonderful electric fraxinelle,
these and manj' other shrubs and plants of the
older centuries were massed here with the taste
of one difficult to please in horticultural arrange-
ments. Our after-dinner walks became an event
in our day. At that hour the press of the day's
work was over, and Madame Mere or Monsieur
Paul were always ready to join us for a stroll.
" For myself, I do not like large gardens," Mon-
sieur Paul remarked, during one of these after-
dinner saunters. "The monks, in the old days,
knew just the right size a garden should be —
small and sheltered, with walls — like a strong
arm about a pretty woman — to protect the shrubs
and flowers. One should enter the garden, also,
by a gate which must click as it closes — the click
tickles the imagination — it is the sound hence-
forth connected with silence, with perfumes and
seclusion. How far away we seem now, do we
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 187
not ? — from the bustle of the inn court-yard — and
yet I could throw a stone into it."
The only saunterers besides ourselves were the
flamingo, who, cautiously, timorously picked his
way — as if he were conscious he was only a bunch
of feathers hoisted on stilts ; the white parrot,
who was wabbling across the lawn to a favorite
perch in the leaves of a tropical palm ; and the
peacock, whose train had been spread with a due
regard to effect across a bed of purple irises, with
a view to annihilating the brilliancy of their rival
hues.
The bit of sky framed by these four garden
walls always seemed more delicate in tone than
that which covered the open court-yard. The
birds in the bushes had moments of melodious
outbursts they did not, apparently, indulge in
along the high-road. And what with the fading
lights, the stars pricking their way among the
palms, the scents of flowers, and the talk of a
poet, it is little wonder that this twilight hour in
the old garden was certain to be the most lyrical
of the twenty-four.
CHAPTER XIX.
IN LA CHAMBKE DES MAEMOUSETS.
" It is the winters, mesdames, that
are hard to bear.
The}' are long —
they are dull. No
one passes along
the high-road. It
is then, when sometimes the snow is piled knee-
deep in the court-yard, it is then I try to amuse
myself a little. Last year I did the Jumieges
sculptures : they fit in well, do they not 1 "
It was raining ; and Monsieur Paul was paying
us an evening call. A great fire was burning in
the beautiful Francois I. fireplace of our sitting-
room, the famous Chambre des Mai-mousets. We
had not consented that any of the lights should
be lit, although the lovely little Louis XIV.
chandelier and the antique brass sconces were
temptingly filled with fresh candles. The flames
of the great logs would sufier no rival illumina-
tions : if the trunks of full-grown trees could not
suffice to light up an old room, with low-raftered
ceilings, and a mass of bric-a-brac, what could a
few thin waxen candles hoj^e to do ?
On many other occasions we had thought our
marvellous sitting-room had had exceptional mo-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 189
ments of beauty. To turn in from tlie sunlit,
open court-yard ; to j)ass beneath the vine-hung
gallery ; to lift the great latch of the low Gothic
door and to enter the rich and sumptuous inte-
rior, where the light came, as in cathedral aisles,
only through the jewels of fourteenth - century
glass ; to close the door ; to sit beneath the pris-
matic shower, ensconced in a nest of old tapestried
cushions, and to let the eye wander over the
wealth of carvings, of ceramics, of Spanish and
Normandy trousseaux chests, on the collection of
antique chairs, Dutch porcelains, and priceless em-
broideries — all the riches of a museum in a living-
room — such a moment in the Marmousets we had
tested again and again with delectable results.
At twilight, also, when the garden was submerged
in dew, this old seigneurial chamber was a re-
treat fit for a sybarite or a modern aesthete. The
stillness, the soft luxurious cushions, the rich dusk
thickening in the corners, the complete isolation
of the old room from the noise and tumult of the
inn life, its curious, its delightful unmodernness,
made this Marmouset room an ideal setting for
any mediaeval picture. Even a sentiment tinct-
ured with modern cynicism would, I think, have
borrowed a little antique fervor, if, like the pho-
tographic negative our nineteenth-century emo-
tionalism somewhat too closely resembles, in its
colorless indefiniteness, the sentiment were suffi-
ciently exposed, in point of time and degree of
sensitiveness, to the charm of these old surround-
ings.
On this particular evening, however, the patter-
190 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ing of the raiu without on the cobbles and the
great blaze of the fire within, made the old room
seem more beautiful than we had yet seen it.
Perhaps the capture of our host as a guest was
the added treasure needed to complete our collec-
tion. Monsieur Paul himself was in a mood of
prodigal liberality ; he was, as he himself neatly
termed the phrase, ripe for confession ; not a se-
cret should escape revelation ; all the inn mys-
teries should yield up the fiction of their frauds ;
the full nakedness of fact should be given to us.
" You see, chcres dames, it is not so difficult to
create the beautiful, if one has a little taste and
great patience. My inn — it has become my
hobby, my pride, my wife, my children. Some
men marry their art, I espoused my inn. I found
her poor, tattered, broken-down in health, if you
will ; veril}", as your Shakespeare says of some
country wench : ' a poor thing but mine own.' "
Monsieur Paul's possession of the English lan-
guage was scarcely as complete as the storehouse
of his memory. He would have been surprised,
doubtless, to learn he had called poor Audrey, " a
pure ting, buttaire my noon ! "
" She was, however," he continued, securely, in
his own richer Norman, " though a wench, a beau-
tiful one. And I vowed to make her glorious.
' She shall be famous,' I vowed, and — and — bet-
ter than most men I have kept my vow. All
France now has heard of Guillaume le Conque-
ant ! "
The pride Monsieur Paul took in his inn was
indeed a fine thing to see. The years of toil he
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 191
had spent on its walls and in its embellishment
had brought him the recompense much giving-
always brings ; it had enriched him quite as
much as the wealth of his taste and talent had
bequeathed to the inn. Latterly, he said, he had
travelled much, his collection of curios and antiq-
uities having called him farther afield than many
Frenchmen care to wander. His love of Delft
had taken him to Holland ; his passion for Span-
ish leather to the country of Velasquez ; he must
have a Virgin, a genuine fifteenth-century Virgin,
all his OAvn ; behold her there, in her stiff wooden
skirts, a Neapolitan captive. The brass braziers
yonder, at which the courtiers of the Henris had
warmed their feet, stamping the night out in cold
ante-chambers, had been secured at Blois ; and
his collection of tapestries, of stained glass, of
Normandy brasses, and Breton carvings had made
his OAvn coast as familiar as the Dives streets.
" The priests who sold me these, madame," he
went on, as he picked up a priest's chasuble, now
doing duty as a table covering " would sell their
fathers and their mothers. It is all a question of
price."
After a review of the curios came the history of
the human collection of antiquities who had peo-
pled the inn and this old room.
Many and various had been the visitors who
had slept and dined here and gone forth on their
travels along the high-road.
The inn had had a noble origin ; it had been
built by no less a personage than the great Will-
iam himself. He had deemed the sjDot a fitting
192 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
one in which to build his boats to start forth for
his modest i^roject of conquering England. He
could watch their construction in the waters of
Dives River — that flows still, out yonder, among-
the grasses of the sea-meadows. For some years
the Norman dukes held to the inn, in memor}' of
the success of that clever boat-building. Then
for five centuries the inn became a manoir — the
seigneurial residence of a certain Sieur de Sem-
illy. It was his arms we saw yonder, joined to
those of Savoy, in the door panel, one of the
family having married into a branch of that great
house.
Of the famous ones of the world who had trav-
elled along this Caen post-road and stopped the
night here, humanly tired, like any other humble
wayfarer, was a hurried visit from that king who
loved his trade — Louis XI. He and his suite
crowded into the low rooms, grateful for a bed
and a fire, after the weary pilgrimage to the
heights of Mont St. Michel. Louis's piety, how-
ever, was not as lasting- in its physically exhaust-
ive effects, as Avere the fleshly excesses of a
certain other king — one Henri IV., whose over-ap-
preciation of the oysters served him here, caused
a royal attack of colic, as you may read at your
pleasure in the State Archives in Paris — since,
quite rightly, the royal secretary must write the
court physician every detail of so imjDortant an
event. AVhat with these kingly travellers and
such modern uncrowned kings as Puvis de Cha-
vannes, Dumas, George Sand, Daubigny, and Troy-
on, together with a goodly number of lesser great
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 193
ones, tlie famous little inn has liad no reason to
feel itself slighted by the great of any century.
Of all this motley company of notabilities there
were two whose visits seemed to have been in-
definitely prolonged. There was nothing, in this
present flowery, picturesque assemblage of build-
ings, to suggest a certain wild di'ama enacted here
centuries ago. Nothing either in yonder tender
skj^, nor in the silvery foliage on a fair day, which
should conjure up the image of William as he
must have stood again and again beside the little
river; nor of the fury of his impatience as the
boats were building all too slowly for his hot
hopes ; nor of the strange and motley crew he had
summoned there from all corners of Europe to cut
the trees ; to build and launch boats ; to sail them,
finally, across the strip of water to that England
he was to meet at last, to grapple with, and over-
throw, even as the English huscarles in their turn
bore down on that gay Minstrel Taillefer, who
rode so insolently forth to meet them, with a song
in his throat, tossing his sword in English eyes,
still chanting the song of Koland as he fell.
None of the inn features were in the least informed
with this great, impressive picture of its past.
Yet does William seem by far the most realizable
of all the jaersonages who have inhabited the old
house.
There was another visitor whose presence Mon-
sieur Paul declared was as entirely real as if she,
also, had only just passed within the court-yard.
" I know not why it is, but of all these great, ee.<?
fameux, Madame de Sevigne seems to me the
194 THREE NORMANDT INNS.
nearest, in point of time. Her visit appears to
have happened only yesterday. I never enter her
room but I seem to see her moving about, talk-
ing, laughing, speaking in epigrams. She men-
tions the inn, you know, in her letters. She gives
the details of her journey in full."
I, also, knew not why; but, later, after Mon-
sieur Paul had left us, when he had shut himself
out, along with the pattering raindi'ops, and had
closed us in with the warmth and the flickering
fire-light, there came, with astonishing clearness,
a vision of that lady's visit here. She and her
company of friends might have been stopping,
that very instant, without, in the open court. I,
also, seemed to hear the very tones of their voices ;
their talk w^as as audible as the wind rustling in
the vines. In the growing stillness the vision
grew and grew, till this was what I saw and heard:
TWO BANQUETS AT DIVES.
CHAPTEK XX.
A SEYENTEEXTH-CENTUEY REVIVAL.
Olttside the inn, some two
hundred years ago, there
was a great noise and con-
fiTsion ; the cries of out-
riders, of mounted guards-
men and halberdiers, made
the quiet village as noisy
as a camj). An imposing
cavalcade was being
brought to a sharp stop :
for the outriders had sud-
denly perceived the open
inn entrance, with its raised portcullis, and they
were shouting to the coachmen to turn in, beneath
the archwaj^, to the paved court-j'ard within.
In an incrediblj' short space of time the open
quadrangle presented a brilliant picture ; the
dashing guardsmen were dismounting ; the maids
and lackeys had quickly descended from their
perches in the calecTies and coaches ; and the
gentlemen of the household were dusting their
wide hats and lace-trimmed coats. The halber-
diers, ranging themselves in line, made a pris-
matic grouping beneath the low eaves of the
picturesque old inn. In the very middle of the
19S THREE NORMANDY INNS.
court-yard stood a coach, resplendent in painted
l^anels and emblazoned with ducal arms. About
this coach, as soon as the four horses which drew
the vehicle were brought to a standstill, cavaliers,
footmen, and maids swarmed with effusive zeal.
One of the footmen made a rush for the door-
another let down the steps ; one cavalier was
already presenting an outstretched, deferential
hand, while still another held forth an arm, as
rigid as a post, for the use of the occupants of the
ducal carriage.
Three ladies were seated within. Large and
roomy as was the vehicle, their voluminous drap-
eries and the paraphernalia of their belongings
seemed completely to fill the wide, deep seats.
The ladies were the Duchesse de Chaulnes, Ma-
dame de Kerman, and Madame de Sevigne. The
faces of the Duchesse and of Madame de Kerman
were invisible, being still covered with their
masks, which, both as a matter of habit and of
precaution against the sun's rays, they had re-
ligiously worn during the long day's journey.
But Madame de Sevigne had torn hers off; she
was holding it in her hand, as if glad to be re-
lieved from its confinement.
All three ladies were in the highest possible
spirits, Madame de Sevigne obviously being the
leader of the jests and the laughter.
They were in a mood to find everything amus-
ing and delightful. Even after they had left the
coach and were carefully picking their way over
the rough stones — walking on their high-heeled
"mules," at best, was always a dangerous per-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 199
formance — their laughter and gayety continued in
undiminished exuberance. Madame de Sevigne's
keen sense of humor found so many things to
ridicule. Could anything, for example, be more
comical than the spectacle they presented as they
walked, in state, with their long trains and high-
heeled slippers, up these absurd little turret
steps, feeling their way as carefully as if they
were each a i^ickpocket or an assassin ? The long
line behind of maids carrying their muffs, and of
lackeys with the muff-dogs, and of pages hold-
ing their trains, and the grinning innkeeper,
bursting with pride and courtesying as if he had
St. Vitus's dance, all this crowd coiling round the
rude spiral stairway — it was enough to make one
die of laughter. Such state in such savage sur-
roundings ! — they and their j)atch-boxes, and tow-
ering head-gears and trains, and dogs and fans,
all crowded into a place fit only for peasants !
When they reached their bedchambers the ridi-
cule was turned into a condescending admiration ;
they found their rooms unexpectedly clean and
airy. The furniture was all antique, of interest-
ing design, and though rude, really astonishingly
comfortable. Beds and dressing-tables, mostly of
Henry III.'s time, were elaborately canopied in
the hideous crude draperies of that primitive
epoch. How different were the elegant shapes
and brocades of their own time! Fortunately
their women had suitable hangings and draperies
with them, as well, of course, as any amount of
linen and any number of mattresses. The settees
and benches would do very well, with the aid of
200 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
their own hassocks and cushions, and, after all, it
was only for a night, they reminded the other.
The toilet, after the heat and exposure of the
day, was necessarily a long- one. The Duchesse
and Madame de Kerman had their faces to make
up — all the paint had run, and not a patch was in
its place. Hair, also, of this later de Maintenon
period, with its elaborate artistic rang-es of curls,
to say nothing- of the care that must be given to
the coif and the " follette," these were matters that
demanded the utmost nicety of arraug-ement.
In an hour, however, the three ladies reassem-
bled, in the panelled lower room — in " la Cham-
bre de la Pucelle." In spite of the care her two
companions had g"iven to repairing the damag-es
caused by their journey, of the three, Madame de
Sevig-ne looked by far the freshest and youngest.
She still wore her hair in the loosely iiowing- de
Montespan fashion; a stjde which, thoug"h now
out of date, was one that exactly suited her fair
skin, her candid brow, and her brilliant eyes.
These latter, when one examined them closely,
were found to be of different colors ; but this pe-
culiarity, which might have been a serious defect
in any other countenance, in Madame de Sevig-ne's
brilliant face was perhaps one cause of its extraor-
dinarily luminous quality. Not one feature was
perfect in that fascinating-ly mobile face : the chin
was a trifle too long- for a woman's chin ; the lips,
that broke into such delicious curves when she
laug-hed, when at rest betrayed the firmness of
her wit and the almost masculine quality of her
reasoning- judgment. Even her arms and hands
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 203
and her shoulders were " mal tailles," as her con-
temporaries would have told you. But what a
charm in those irregular features ! What a seduc-
tiveness in the ensemble of that not too-well-pro-
portioned figure ! What an indescribable radiance
seemed to emanate from the entire personality of
this most captivating of women !
As she moved about the low room, dark with
the trembling shadows of light that flowed from
the bunches of candles in the sconces, Madame
de Sevigne's clear com^Dlexion, and her unj)ow-
dered chestnut curls, seemed to spot the room with
light. Her companions, though dressed in the"
very height of the fashion, were yet not half as
catching to the eye. Neither their minute waists,
nor their elaborate underskirts and trains, nor
their tall gofi'ered coifs (the duchesse's was not un-
like a bishop's mitre, studded as it was with rubj^-
headed j)ins), nor the correctness of these ladies'
carefully placed i3atches, nor yet their painted
necks and tinted eyebrows, could charm as did the
unmodish figure of Madame de Sevigne — a figure
so iudifierently clad, and yet one so replete with
its distinction of innate elegance and the subtle
charm of her individuality.
With the entrance of these ladies dinner was
served at once. The talk flowed on ; it was, how-
ever, more or less restrained by the presence of the
always too curious lackeys, of the bustling inn-
keeper, and the gentlemen of the household in at-
tendance on the party. As a s^oectacle, the little
room had never boasted before of such an assem-
blage of fashion and greatness. Never before had
202 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the air under the rafters been so loaded with
scents and i^erfumes — these ladies seeminf^, indeed,
to breathe out odors. Never before had there
been grouped there such splendor of toilet, nor
had such courtly accents been heard, nor such
finished laughter. The fire and the candlelig-ht
were in competition which should best light up
the tall transparent caps, the lace fichus, the bro-
cade bodices, and the long trains. The little muif-
dogs, released from their prisons, since the muffs
were laid aside at dinner-time, blinked at the fire,
curling their minute bodies— clipped lion-fashion
— about the huge andirons, as they snored to kill
time, knowing their o^ti dinner would come only
when their mistresses had done.
After the dessert had been served the ladies
withdrew ; they were preceded by the ever-bowing
innkeeper, who assured them, in his most rever-
ential tones, that they woidd find the room open-
ing on the other court-yard even warmer and more
comfortable than the one they were in. In spite
of the walk across the paved court-yard and the
enormous height of their heels, always a fact to be
remembered, the ladies voted to make the change,
since by that means they could be assured the
more entire seclusion. Mild as was the May air,
Madame de Kerman's hand-glass hanging at her
side was quickly lifted in the very middle of the
open court-j'^ard ; she had scarcely passed the door
when she had felt one of her patches blowing
off.
" I caught it just in time, dear duchesse," she
cried, as she stood quite still, replacing it with a
THREE NORMANDT INNS. 203
fresh one iDicked from her patch-box, as the others
passed her.
" The very best patch-maker I have found lives
in the rue St. Denis, at the sig-n of La Perle des
Mouches ; have you discovered him, dear friend ? "
said the duchesse, as they walked on toward the
low door beneath the galleries.
" No, dear duchesse, I fear I have not even looked
for him — the science of patches I have always
found so much harder than the science of living" ! "
g"ayly answered Madame de Sevigne.
Madame de Kerman had now rejoined them, and
all three passed into la Chambre des Marmousets.
CHAPTER XXI.
THE AFTER-DINNER TALK OF THREE GREAT LADIES.
The three ladies grouped them-
selves about the fire, which
they found already lighted.
The duchesse chose a Henry
II. carved arm-chair, one, she
laughingly remarked, quite
large enough to have held both the King and Di-
ana. A lackey carrj^ing the inevitable muff-dogs,
their fans, and scent-bottles, had followed the
ladies ; he placed a hassock at the duchesse's feet,
two beneath the slender feet of Madame de Ker-
man, and, after having been bidden to open one of
the casements, since it was still so light Avithout,
withdi-ew, leaving the ladies alone.
Although Madame de Sevigne had comfortably
ensconced herself in one of the deep window-seats,
piling the cushions behind her, no sooner was the
window opened than with characteristic impetu-
osity she jumped up to look out into the country
that lay bej'ond the leaded glass. In spite of the
long day's drive in the open air, her appetite for
blowing roses and sweet earth smells had not been
sated. Madame de Sevigne all her life had been
the victim of two loves and a passion ; she adored
society and she loved nature j these were her
MADAME DE SEVIGXfi.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 205
lesser delig-hts, that g-ave way before the chief
idolatry of her soul, her adoration for her daug-h-
ter.
As she stood by the open window, her charming
face, always a mirror of her emotions, was suf-
fused with a glow and a bloom that made it seem
young- again. Her eyes grew to twice their com-
mon size under the " wandering " eyelids, as her
gaze roved over the meadows and across the tall
grasses to the sea. A part of her youth was be-
ing, indeed, vividly brought back to her ; the sight
of this marine landscape recalled many memories ;
and with the recollection her whole face and fig-
ure seemed to irradiate something of the inward
ardor that consumed her. She had passed this
very road, through this same country before, long
ago, in her youth, with her children. She half
smiled at the remembrance of a description given
of the impression produced by her appearance on
the journey by her friend the Abbe Arnauld ; he
had ecstatically compared her to Latona seated in
an open coach, between a youthful Apollo and a
young Diana. In spite of the abbe's poetical ex-
travagance, Madame de Sevigne recognized, in
this moment of retrospect, the truth of the pict-
ure. That, indeed, had been a radiant moment !
Her life at that time had been so full, and the
rapture so complete — the rapture of possessing
her children — that she could remember to have
had the sense of fairly evaporating happiness.
And now, the sigh came, how scattered was this
gay group ! her son in Brittany, her daughter in
Provence, two hundred leagues away ! And she.
206 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
au elderly Latoiia, mourning her Apollo and lier
divine huntress, lier incomparable Diana.
The inextinguishable flame of youth was burn-
ing still, however, in Madame de Sevigne's rich
nature. This adventure, this amazing adventure
of three ladies of the court having to pass the
night in a rude little Normandy inn, she, for one,
was finding richly seasoned with the spice of the
unforeseen ; it would be something to talk of and
write about for a month hence at Chaulnes and at
Paris. Their entire journey, in point of fact, had
been a series of the most delightful episodes. It
was now nearly a month since they had started from
Picardy, from the castle of Chaulnes, going into
Normandy via Rouen. They had been on a driving
tour, their destination being Kennes, which they
would reach in a week or so. They had been trav-
elling in great state, with the very best coach, the
very best horses ; and they had been guarded hj a
whole regiment of cavaliers and halberdiers. Ev-
ery possible precaution had been taken against
their being disagreeably surprised on their route.
Their chief fear on the journey had been, of course,
the cry common in their day of " Au voleur ! " and
the meeting of brigands and assassins ; for, once
outside of Paris and the police reforms of that
dear Colbert, and one must be prepared to take
one's life in one's hand. Happily, no such misad-
ventures had befallen them. The roads, it is true,
thej" had found for the most j^art in a horrible
condition ; they had been pitched about from one
end of their coach to the other ' they might easily
have imagined themselves at sea. The dust also
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 207
had nearly blinded them, in spite of their masks.
The other nuisances most difficult to put up
with had been the swarm of beggars that infested
the roadsides ; and worst of all had been the
army of crippled, deformed, and mang-y soldiers.
These latter they had encountered everywhere;
their whines and cries, their armless, legless bod-
ies, their hideous filth, and their insolent impor-
tunities, they had found a veritable X3est.
Another annoyance had been the over-zealous
courtesy of some of the upper middle-class.
Only yesterday, in the very midst of the dust and
under the burning noon sun, they had all been
forced to alight, to receive the homage tendered
the duchesse, of some thirty women and as many
men. Each one of the sixty must, of course, kiss
the duchesse's hand. It was really an outrage to
have exposed them to such a form of torture ! Poor
Madame de Kerman, the delicate one of the party,
had entirely collapsed after the ceremony. The
duchesse also had been prostrated ; it had wearied
her more than all the rest of the journey. Madame
de Sevigne alone had not suffered. She was pos-
sessed of a degree of physical fortitude which
made her equal to any demand. The other two
ladies, as well as she herself, were now experienc-
ing the pleasant exhilaration which comes with
the hour of rest after an excellent dinner. They
were in a condition to remember nothing except
the agreeable. Madame de Sevigne was the first
to break the silence.
She turned, with a brisk yet graceful abrupt-
ness, to the two ladies still seated before the low
208 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
fire. With a charmin"- outburst of enthusiasm
she exclaimed aloud :
" AYhat a beauty, and youth, and tenderness this
spring has, has it not "? "
" Yes," answered the duchesse, smiling" gra-
ciously into Madame de Sevigne's brilliantly lit
face; "yes, the weather in truth has been perfect."
" What an adorable journey we have had ! " con-
tinued Madame de Sevigne, in the same tone, her
ardor undampeued by the cooler accent of her
friend — she was used to having her enthusiasm
greeted with consideration rather than response.
" What a journey ! — only meeting with the most
agreeable of adventures ; not the slightest incon-
venience anywhere ; eating the very best of every-
thing ; and di-iving through the heart of this en-
chanting springtime ! '
Her listeners laughed quietly, with an accent
of indulgence. It was the habit of her world to
find everything Madame de Sevigne did or said
charming. Even her frankness was forgiven her,
her tact was so perfect ; and her spontaneitj^ had
always been accounted as her chief excellence ; in
the stifled air of the court and the rueUea it had
been frequently likened to the blowing in of a
fresh May breeze. Her present mood was one
well knowTi to both ladies.
" Always ' pretty pagan,' dear madame," smiled
Madame de Kerman, indulgently. "How Avell
named — and what a happy hit of our friend Ar-
nauld d'Audilly ! You are in truth a delicious —
an adorable pagan ! You have such a sense of the
joy of living ! Why, even living in the country
THREE NORMAN DT INNS. 209
has, it apiDeai's, no terrors for you. We hear of
your walking" about in the moonlight — you make
your very trees talk, they tell us, in Italian — in
Latin ; you actually pass whole hours alone with
the hamadryads ! " There was just a susjpicion of
irony in Madame de Kerman's tone, in spite of its
caressing- softness ; it was so impossible to con-
ceive of anyone really finding nature endurable,
much less pretending' to discover in trees and
flowers anything amusing or suggestive of senti-
ment !
But Madame de Sevigne was quite impervious
to her friend's raillery. She responded, with per-
fect good humor :
" Why not ? — why not try to discover beauties
in nature ? One can be so happy in a wood !
What a charming thing to hear a leaf sing ! I
know few things more delightful than to watch
the triumph of the month of May when the
nightingale, the cuckoo, and the lark open the
spring in our forests ! And then, later, come
those beautiful crystal days of autumn — days that
are neither warm, nor yet are they really cold !
And then the trees — how eloquent they can be
made; with a little teaching they may be made
to converse so charmingly. Bella cosa far nienfe,
says one of my trees ; and another answers. Amor
odit ineries. Ah, when I had to bid farewell to all
my leaves and trees ; when my son had to dispose
of the forest of Buron, to pay for some of his
follies, you remember how I wept! It seemed to
me I could actually feel the grief of those dispos-
sessed sylvans and of all those homeless dryads ! "
210 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
"It is this, clear friend — this life you lead at
Les Eochers — and your enthusiasm, which keep
yon so young". Yes, I am sure of it. How incon-
ceivably young-, for instance, you are looking* this
very evening ! You and the g-low out yonder
make youth seem no longer a legend."
The duchesse delivered her flattering little
speech with a caressing" tone. She moved gently
forward in her chair, as if to g"ain a better view of
the twilig"ht and her friend. At the sound of the
duchesse's voice Madame de Sevigne again turned,
with the same charming" smile and the quick im-
pulsiveness of movement common to her. Dur-
ing her long monologue she had remained stand-
ing: biit she left the window now to reg"ain her
seat amid the cushions of the window. There
was something" better than the twilight and the
spring" in the air; here, within, were two delight-
ful friends — and listeners ; there was before her,
also, the prospect of one of those endless conver-
sations that were the chief delight of her life.
She laughed as she seated herself — a gay, frank,
hearty little laugh — and she spread out her
hands with the opening" of her fan, as, with her
usual vivacious spontaneity, her mood changed.
" Fancy, dear duchesse, the punishment that
comes to one who commits the crime of looking
young — younger than one ought ! My son-in-law,
M. de Grignan, actually avows he is in daily terror
lest I should give him a father-in-law • "
All three ladies laughed gayly at this absurd-
ity; the subject of Madame de Sevigne's remarry
ing had come to be a venerable joke now It had
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 211
been talked of at court and in society for nearly
forty years ; but such was the conquering- power
of her charms that these two friends, her listeners,
saw nothing- really extravagant in her son-in-law's
fear ; she was one of those rare women who, even
at sixty, continue to suggest the altar rather than
the grave. Madame de Kerman was the first to
recover her breath after the laughter.
" Dear friend, you might assure him that after
a youth and the golden meridian of your years
passed in smiling- indifference to the sighs of a
Prince de Conti, of a Turenne, of a Fouquet, of a
Bussy de Rabutin, at sixty it is scarcely likely
that "
" Ah, dear lady ! at sixty, when one has the
complexion and the curls, to say nothing of the
eyes of our dear enchantress, a woman is as dan-
gerous as at thirty ! " The duchesse's flattery
was charmingly put, with just enough vivacity of
tone to save it from the charge of insipidity.
Madame de Sevig-ne bowed her curls to her waist.
" Ah, dear duchesse, it isn't age," she retorted,
quickly, " that could make me commit follies.
It is the fact that that son-in-law of mine actually
surrounds me with spies— he keeps me in perpet-
ual surveillance. Such a state of captivity is capa-
ble of making me forget everything ; I am begin-
ning to develop a positive rage for follies. You
know that has been my chief fault— always ; discre-
tion has been left out of my composition. But I say
now, as I have always said, that if I could manag-e
to live two hundred years, I should become the
most delightful person in the world ! "
212 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
She herself was the first to lead in the laus"hter
that followed her outburst ; and then the du-
chesse broke in :
" You talk of defects, dear friend ; but reflect
what a life yours has been. So surrounded and
courted, and yet you were always so guarded ; so
free, and yet so wise ! So gay, and yet so
chaste ! "
" If you rubbed out all those flattering- colors,
dear duchesse, and wrote only, ' She worshipped
her children, and preferred friends to lovers,' the
portrait would be far nearer to the truth. It is
easy to be chaste if one has only known one pas-
sion in one's life, and that the maternal one ! "
Again a change passed over Madame de Sevig-
ne's mobile face ; the bantering tone was lost in a
note of deep feeling. This gift of sensibilitj'' had
always been accounted as one of Madame de Sevig-
ne's chief charms ; and now, at sixty, she was as
completely the victim of her moods as in her
earlier youth.
" Where is your daughter, and how is she ? "
sympathetically queried the duchesse.
" Oh, she is still at Grignan, as usual : she is
well, thank God. But, dear duchesse, after all
these years of separation I suffer still, cruelly."
The tears sprang to Madame de Sevigne's eyes, as
she added, with passion and a force one would
scarcely have expected in one whose manners
were so finished, " the truth is, dear friends, I can-
not live without her. I do not find I have made
the least progress in that career. But, even now,
believe me, these tears are sweeter than all else
THREE NOBMANDY INNS. 213
in life — more enrapturing- than the most trans-
porting joy ! "
Madame de Kerman smiled tenderly into the
rapturous mother's face ; but the duchesse moved,
as if a little restless and uneasy under this shower
of maternal feeling-. For thirty years her friends
had had to listen to Madame de Sevig-ne's rhaj)-
sodies over the perfections of her incomparable
daughter. Although sensibility was not the emo-
tional fashion of the day, maternity, in the iDerson
of Madame de Hevigne, had been apotheosized
into the queen of the ]3assions, if only because of
its rarity; still, even this lady's most intimate
friends sometimes wearied of banqueting- off the
feast of Madame de Grignan's virtues.
" Have you heard from Madame de La Fayette
recently ? " asked the duchesse, allowing- just time
enough to elapse, before lautting- the question, for
Madame de Sevigne's emotion to subside into com-
posure. The duchesse was too exquisitely bred to
allow her impatience to take the form of even the
appearance of haste.
" Oh, yes," was Madame de Sevigne's quiet re-
ply : the turn in the conversation had been in-
stantly understood, in spite of the delicacy of the
duchesse's methods. " Oh, yes — I have had a line
— only a line. You know how she detests writing-,
above all things. Her letters are all the same —
two lines to say that she has no time in which to
say it ! "
" Did she not once write you a pretty little series
of epigrams about not writing ? "
" Oh, yes — some time ago, when I was with my
214 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
daughter. I've quoted them so often, they have
become famous. ' You are in Provence, my
beauty ; your hours are free, and your mind still
more so. Your love for corresponding- with every-
one still endures within you, it appears ; as for me,
the desire to write to any human being- has long
since j)assed away — forever ; aiid if I had a lover
who insisted on a letter every morning, I should
certainly break with him ! '"
" What a curious compound she is ! And how
well her soubriquet becomes her ! "
" Yes, it is perfect — ' Le Bi-ouillard ' — the fog.
It is indeed a fog that has always enveloped her,
and what charming horizons are disclosed once it
is lifted ! "
"And her sensibilities— of what an exquisite
quality ; and what a rare, precious type, indeed, is
the whole of her nature ! Do you remember how
alarmed she would become when listening to
music ■? "
" And yet, with all this sensibility and delicacy
of organization there was another side to her
nature." Madame de Kerman paused a moment
before she went on ; she was not quite sure how
far she dared go in her criticism ; Madame de La
Fayette was such an intimate friend of Madame
de Sevigne's.
" You mean," that lady broke out, with unhesi-
tating candor, " that she is also a very selfish per-
son. You know that is my daughter's theory of
her — she is always telling me how Madame de La
Fayette is making use of me ; that while her sen-
sitiveness is such that she cannot sustain the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 215
tragedy of a farewell visit — if I am going to Les
Eocliers or to Provence, when I go to paj^ my last
visit I must pretend it is only an ordinary run-
ning-in ; yet her delicacy does not prevent her
from making very indelicate proposals, to suit her
own convenience. You remember what one of her
commands was, don't you ? "
" No," answered the duchesse, for both herself
and her companion. " Pray tell us."
Madame de Sevigne went on to narrate that
once, when at Les Rochers, Madame de La Fayette
was quite certain that she, Madame de Sevigne,
was losing her mind, for no one could live in the
provinces and remain sane, poring over stupid
books and sitting over fires.
" She was certain I should sicken and die, be-
sides losing the tone of my mind," laughed Ma-
dame de Sevigne, as she called up the picture of
her dissolution and rapid disintegration : " and
therefore it was necessary at once that I should
come up to Paris. This latter command Avas de-
livered in the tone of a judge of the Supreme
Court. The penalty of my disobedience was to be
her ceasing to love me. I was to come up to Paris
directly — on the minute ; I was to live with you,
dear duchesse ; I was not to buy any horses until
spring ; and, best of all, I was to find on my arri-
val a purse of a thousand crowns which would be
lent me without interest ! What a proposition,
mon Dieu, what a proposition ! To have no house
of my own, to be dependent, to have no carriage,
and to be in debt a thousand crowns ! "
As Madame de Sevigne lifted her hands the
216 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
laces of her sleeves were fairly trembling- with the
force of her iudig'iiation. There were certain
things that always put her in a passion, and Ma-
dame de La Fayette's peculiarities she had found
at times unendurable. Her listeners had followed
her narration with the utmost intensity and ab-
sorption. AVlien she stopped, their eyes met in a
look of assenting comment.
" It was perfectly characteristic, all of it ! She
judged you, doubtless, by herself. She always
seems to me, even now, to keep one eye on her
comfort and the other on her purse ! "
" Ah, dear duchesse, how keen you are ! " laugh-
ingly acquiesced Madame de Sevigne, as with a
shrug she accepted the verdict — her indignation
melting with the shrug. " And how right ! No
woman ever drives better bargains, without moving
a finger. From her invalid's chair she can conduct
a dozen lawsuits. She spends half her existence
in courting death ; she caresses her maladies : she
positively hugs them ; but she can always be mi-
raculously resuscitated at the word money ! "
" Yes," added with a certain relish Madame de
Kerman. "And this is the same woman who
must be forever running away from Paris because
she can no longer endure the exertion of talking,
or of replying, or of listening; because she is
wearied to extinction, as she herself admits, of
saying good-morning and good-evening. She
must hide herself in some pastoral retreat, Avhere
simply, as she says, ' to exist is enough ; ' where
she can remain, as it were, miraculously suspended
between heaven and earth ! "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 217
A ripple of amused laughter went round the
little group; there was nothing" these ladies en-
joyed so keenly as a delicate dish of gossip, sea-
soned with wit, and stuffed with epigrams. This
talk was exactly to their taste. The silence and
seclusion of their surroundings were an added
stimulus to confidence and to a freer interchange
of opinions about their world. Paris and Ver-
sailles seemed so very far away ; it would appear
safe to say almost anything about one's dearest
friends. There was nothing to remind them of
the restraints of levees, or the penalty indiscre-
tion must pay for folly breathed in that whisper-
ing gallery — the ritelle. It was indeed a delight-
ful hour ; altogether an ideal situation.
The fire had burned so low only a few embers
were alive now, and the candles were beginning
to flicker and droop in the sconces. But the three
ladies refused to find the little room either cold
or dark ; their talk was not half done yet, and
their muffs would keep them warm. The shadow
of the deepening gloom they found delightfully
provocative of confidences.
After a short pause, while Madame de Kermau
busied herself with tho tongs and the fagots, try-
ing to reinvigorate the dying flames, the duchesse
asked, in a somewhat more intimate tone than she
had used yet :
" And the duke— do you really think she loved
the Duke de La Kochefoucauld 1 "
" She reformed him, dear duchesse ; at least she
always proclaims his reform as the justification of
her love."
218 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" Toil — you esteemed him yourself very highly,
did 3'oii not ? "
" Oh, I loved him tenderly ; how could one help
it ? He was the best as well as the most brilliant
of men ! I never knew a tenderer heart : domes-
tic joj's and sorrows affected him in a way to ren-
der him incomparable. I have seen him weep over
the death of his mother, who only died eig-ht years
before him, you know, with a depth of sincerity
that made me adore him."
" He must in truth have been a very sincere per-
son."
" Sincere ! " cried Madame de Sevig-ne, her ej-es
flaming-. " Had you but seen his deathbed ! His
bearing was sublime ! Believe me, dear friend,
it was not in vain that M. de La Rochefoucauld
had written philosophic reflections all his life ;
he had already anticipated his last moments in
such a way that there was nothing either new or
strange in death when it came to him."
" Madame de La Fayette truly mourned him —
don't you think so ? You were with her a great
deal, were you not, after his death ? "
"I never left her. It was the most pitiable
sight to see her in her loneliness and her misery.
You see, their common ill-health and their seden-
tary habits, had made them so necessary to each
other! It was, as it were, two souls in a single
bodj'. Nothing- could exceed the confidence and
charm of their friendship ; it was incomparable.
To Madame de La Fayette his loss came as her
doath-blow; life seems at an end for her; for
where, indeed, can she find another such friend, or
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 219
sucli intercourse, such sweetness and charm — such
confidence and consideration ? "
There was a moment's silence after Madame de
Sevig'ne's eloquent outburst. The eyes of the
three friends were lost for a moment in the twin-
kling- flames. The duchesse and Madame de Ker-
man exchanged meaning glances.
" Since the duke's death her thoughts are more
and more turned toward religion. I hear she has
been fortunate in her choice of directors, has she
not ? Du Guet is said to be an ideal confessor
for the authoress of ' La Princesse de Cleves.' "
There was just a suspicion of malice in the du-
chesse's tones.
" Oh, he was born to take her in hand. He
knew just when to speak with authority, and when
to make use of the arts of persuasion. He wrote
to her once, you remember : ' You, who have passed
your life in dreaming — cease to dream ! You, who
have taken such pride unto yourself for being so
true in all things, were very far, indeed, from the
truth — you were only half true — falsely true. Your
godless wisdom was in reality purely a matter of
good taste ! ' "
" What audacity ! Bossuet himself could not
have put the truth more nakedly." The duchesse
was one of those to whom truths were novelties,
and unpleasant ones.
"Bossuet, if I remember rightly, was with the
Duke de La Eochefoucauld at the last, was he
not ? "
" Yes," responded Madame de Sevigne ; " he was
with him ; he administered the supreme unction.
220 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The duke was in a beautiful state of grace. M.
Vinet, you remember, said of liim that he died
with ' perfect decorum.' "
" Sjjeaking of dj'ing- reminds me " — cried sud-
denly Madame de Sevig-ne — " how are the dukes
hanging's getting on '? "
"They begin, the duke writes me, to hang
again to-morrow," answered the duchesse, with a
certain air of disdain, the first appearance of this
weapon of the great now coming to the gr ancle
dame's aid. Her husband, the Duke de Chaulnes'
trouble with his revolutionary citizens at Eennes
was a subject that never failed to arouse a feeling
of angry contempt in her. It was too preposter-
ous, the idea of those insolent creatures rising
against him, their rightful duke and master !
The duchesse's feeling in the matter was fully
shared by her friends. In all the court there was
but one opinion in the matter — hanging Mas really
far too good for the wretched creatures.
" Monsieur de Chaulnes," the duchesse went on,
with ironical contempt in her voice, " still goes on
punishing Eennes ! "
" This province and the duke's treatment of it
will serve as a capital example to all others. It
will teach those rascals," Madame de Kerman con-
tinued, in lower tones, " to respect their gover-
nors, and not to throw stones into their gardens ! "
" Fancy that — the audacity of throwing stones
into their duke's garden! Whj^, did you know,
the}^ actually — those insolent creatures actually
called him — called the duke — ' gros cochcni ? ' "
All three ladies gasped in horror at this unpar-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 231
alleled instance of audacity ; they threw up their
hands, as they groaned over the picture, in low
tones of finished elegance.
" It is little wonder the duke hangs right and
left ! The dear duke — what a model governor !
How I should like to have seen him sack that street
at Rennes, with all the ridiculous old men, and the
women in childbirth, and the children, turned out
pele-mele ! And the hanging, too — why, hanging
now seems to me a positively refreshing j)erform-
ance ! " And Madame de Sevigne laughed with
unstinted gayety as at an excellent joke.
The picture of Eennes and the cruelty dealt its
inhabitants was a pleasant picture, in the contem-
plation of which these ladies evidently found
much delectation. They were quiet for a longer
period of time than usual ; they continued silent,
as they looked into the fire, smiling; the liames
there made them think of other flames as forms of
merited punishment.
" A curious people those Bas Bretons," finally
ejaculated Madame de Sevigne. " I never could
understand how Bertrand Duguesclin made them
the best soldiers of his day in France ! "
" You know Lower Brittany very well, do j'ou
not, dear friend 1 "
" Not so well as the coast. Les Rochers is in
Upper Brittany, you know. I know the south
better still. Ah, what a charming journey I
once took along the Loire with my friend Bien-
Bon, the Abbe de Coulanges. We found it the
most enchanting country in the world — the coun-
tr3^ of feasts and of famine ; feasts for us and fam-
222 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ine for the people. I remember we had to cross
the river ; our coach was placed on the bar^e, and
we were rowed along' by stout peasants. Throug-h
the glass windows of the coach we looked out at
a series of changing i^ictures — the views were
charming. We sat, of course, entirely at our
ease, on our soft cushions. The country people,
crowded together below, were— ugh! — like pigs in
straw."
" Was Bien-Bon with j^ou when you made that
little excursion to St. Germain '^ '' queried the
duchesse.
" Ah, that was a gay night," joyously resiDonded
Madame de Sevigne. " How well we amused our-
selves on that little visit that we paid Madame
de Maintenon — when she was only Madame Scar-
ron."
" Was she so handsome then as the}^ say she
was — at that time ^ "
" Yery handsome ; she was g"ood, too, and ami-
able, and easy to talk to ; one talked well and
readily with her. She was then only the gover-
ness of the king's bastards, you know — of the
children he had had by Madame de Moi:tespan.
That was the first step toward g"overniug the
king'. Well, one night — the night to which you
refer — I remember we were all supping with
Madame de La Fayette. We had been talking
endlessly ! Suddenly it occurred to us it would be
a most amusing adventure to take Madame Scar-
ron home, to the very last end of the Faubourg
Saint Germain, far beyond where Madame de La
Fayette lived — near Yaugirard, out into the Bois,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 223
in the country. The Abbe came too. It was mid-
night when we started. The house, when at last
we reached it, we found large and beautiful, with
large and fine rooms and a beautiful garden ; for
Madame Scarron, as governess of the king's chil-
dren, had a coach and a lot of servants and
horses. She herself dressed then modestly and
yet magnificently, as a woman should, who spent
her life among people of the highest rank. We
had a merry outing, returning in high spirits,
blessed in having no end of lanterns, and thus
assured against robbers."
" She and Madame de La Fayette were very
close friends, I remember, during that time,"
mused the duchesse, " when they were such near
neighbors."
" Yes," Madame de Sevigne went on, as unwear-
ied now, although it was nearly midnight, as in the
beginning of the long* evening. " Yes ; I always
thought Madame de Maintenon's satirical little
joke about Madame de La Fayette's bed festooned
with gold — ' I might have fifty thousand pounds
income, and never should I live in the style of a
great lady ; never should I have a bed festooned
with gold like Madame de La Fayette ' — was the
beginning of their rupture."
" All the same, Madame de La Fayette, lying on
that bed, beneath the gold hangings, was a much
more simple person than ever was Madame de
Maintenon ! "
" Your speaking of bed reminds me, dear ladies
ours must be quite cold by this time. How we
have chatted ! What a delightful gossip ! But
224 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
we must not for^^fet that our journey to-morrow is
to be a long- one ! "
The duchesse rose, the other two ladies rising
instantly, observing-, in spite of the intimate rela-
tions in which they stood toward the duchesse,
the deference due to her more exalted rank. The
latter clapped her hands ; outside the door a
shuffling' and a low groan were heard — the groan
came from the sleepy lackey, roused from his
deep slumber, as he uncoiled himself from the
close knot into which his legs and body were knit
in the curve of the narrow stairs.
The ladies, a few seconds later, were wending
their way up the steep turret steps. They were
l^receded by torches and followed by quite a long
train of maids and lackej^s. For a long hour, at
least, the little inn resounded with the sound of
hurrjnng feet, of doors closing and shutting ; with
the echo of voices giving commands and of others
purring in sleepy accents of obedience. Then
one by one the sounds died away ; the lights went
out in the bedchambers ; faint flickerings stole
through the chinks of doors and windows. The
watchman cried out the hour, and the gleam of a
lantern flashed here and there, illuminating the
open court-yard. The cocks crowed shrilly into
the night air. A halberdier turned in his sleep
where he lay, on some straw beneath the coach-
shed, his halberd rattling as it struck the cobbles.
And over the whole — over the gentle slumber of
the great ladies and the sleep of beast and man —
there fell the peace and the stillness of the mid-
night — of that midnight of long ago.
CHAPTER XXn.
A NTNETEENTH-CENTUEY BEEAKFAST.
The very next morning", after
the rain, and the vision I
had had of Madame de Se-
vigne, conjured up by my
surrounding's and the read-
ing of her letters, Monsieur
Paul paid us an early call. He came to beg the
loan of our sitting-room, he said. He had had a
despatch from a coaching-party from Trouville ;
they were to arrive for breakfast. The whip and
owner of the coach was a great friend of his, he
proffered by way of explanation — a certain count
who had a genius for friendship — one who also had
an artist's talent for admiring the beautiful. He
was among those who were in a state of perpetual
adoration before the inn's perfections. He made
yearly pilgrimages from his chateau above Rouen
to eat a noon breakfast in the Chambre des Mar-
mousets. Now, a breakfast served elsewhere than
in this chamber would be, from his point of view,
to have journeyed to a shrine to find the niche
empty. The gift that was begged of us, therefore,
was the loan for a few hours of the famous little
room.
In less than a half-hour we were watching the
226 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
entrance of tlie coach by the side of Madame Le
Mois. We were all three seated on the green
bench.
Faintly at first, and presently gaining in dis-
tinctness, came the fall of horses' hoofs and the
rnmble of wheels along the highway. A little
cavalcade was soon passing beneath the archway.
First there dashed in two horsemen, who had
sprung to the ground almost as soon as their
steeds' hoofs struck the paved court -yard. Then
there swept by a jaunty dog-cart, driven by a man-
nish figure radiantly robed in white. Swiftly fol-
lowing came the dash and jingle of four coach -
horses, bathed in sweat, rolling the vehicle into
the court as if its weight were a thing of air. All
save one among the gay party seated on the high
seats, were too busy with themselves and their
chatter, to take heed of their surroundings. A
lad}" beneath her deep parasol was busily en-
gaged in a gay traffic of talk with the groups of
men peopling the back seats of the coach. One
of the men, however, was craning his neck beyond
the heads of his companions ; he was running his
eye rapidly up and down the long inn facade.
Finally his glance rested on us ; and then, with a
rush, a deep red mounted the man's cheek, as he
tore off his derby to wave it, as if in a triumph of
discovery. Renard had been true to his promise.
He had come to see his friends and to test the
famous Sauterne. He flung himself down from
his lofty perch to take his seat, entirely as a mat-
ter of course, beside us on the gi'een bench.
" What luck, hey ? — greatest luck in the world,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 227
finding- you in, like this. I've been in no end of a
tremble, fearing" you'd gone to Caen, or Falaise, or
somewhere, and that I shouldn't see you after all.
Well, how are you ? How goes it ? What do you
think of old Dives and Monsieur Paul, and the
rest of it ? I see you're settled ; you took the
palace chamber. Trust American women — they
know the best, and get it."
" But these people, who are thej^ and how did
you — ? " We were unfeig-nedly glad to see him,
but curiosity is a passion not to be triiied with —
after a month in the provinces.
" Oh — the De Troisacs ? Old friends of mine
— known them years. Jolly lot. Charming fel-
low, De Troisac — only good Frenchman I've ever
known. They're just off their yacht ; saw them
all yesterday at the Trouville Casino. Said they
were running down here for breakfast to-day,
asked me, and I came, of course." He laughed as
he added : " I said I should come, you remember,
to get some of that Sauterne. A man will go any
distance for a good bottle of wine, you know."
Meanwhile, in the court-yard, the party on the
coach, by means of ladders and the helping of the
grooms, were scrambling down from their seats.
Eenard's friend, the Comte de Troisac, was eas-
ily picked out from the group of men. He was
the elder of the party — stoutish, with frank eyes
and a smiling mouth ; he was bustling about from
the gaunt grooms to the ladder, and from ladder
to the coach-seat, giving his commands right and
left, and executing most of them himself. A tall,
slim woman, with drooping eyelids, and an air of
22S THREE NORMANDY INNS.
extreme elegance and of cultivated fatig^ue, was
also easily recognizable as the countess. It took
two grooms, two of the gentlemen guests, and her
husband to assist her to the ground. Her passage
down the steps of the ladder had been long enough,
however, to enable her to display a series of pretty
poses, each one more effective than the others.
When one has an instep of ideal elevation, Avhat
is the use of being born a Frenchwoman, unless
one knows how to make use of opportunity %
From the dog-cart, that had rattled in across
the cobbles with a dash and a spurt, there came
quite a different accent and pose. The whitish
personage, whom we had mistakenly supposed to
be a man, wore petticoats ; the male attire only
held as far as the waist of the lady. The stiff
white shirt-front, the knotted tie — a. faultless male
knot — the loose driving- jacket, with its sprig of
white geranium, and the round straw-hat worn in
mannish fashion, close to the level brows, was a
costume that would have deceived either sex.
Below the jacket flowed the straight lines of a
straight skirt, that no further conjectures should
be rendered necessary. This lady had a high-
bred air of singular distinction, accentuated by a
tremendously knowing look. She was at once
elegant and rakish : the gamin in her was obvi-
ously the touch of caviare to season the woman of
fashion. The mixture made an extraordinarily at-
tractive ensemble. As she jumped to the ground,
throwing her reins to a groom, her jumj) was a
master-stroke ; it landed her squarely on her feet ;
even as she struck the ground her hands were
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 229
thrust deeply into her pockets. The man seated
beside her, who now leaped out after her, seemed
timid and awkward by contrast with her alert pre-
cision. This couple moved at once toward the
bench on which madame was seated. With the
coming" in of the coach and the cart she had
risen, waddling- forward to meet the party. Mon-
sieur Paul was at the coach-wheels before the
grooms had shot themselves down; T>e Troisac,
with eager friendliness, stretched forth a hand
from the top of his seat, exclaiming, with gay
heartiness,
" Ah, man bon — comment ca va ? "
The mere was as eagerly greeted. Even the
countess dismissed her indifference for the mo-
ment, as she held out her hand to Madame Le
Mois.
" Dear Madame Le Mois — ^and it goes well with
you ? . And the gout and the rheumatism, they
have ceased to torment you ? Quelle bonne nou-
velle ! And here are the dear old cocks and the
wounded bantam. The cockatoos — ah, there they
are, still swinging in the air ! Comme c'esf joli — et
frais — et que Qa sent bon ! "
Madame and Monsieur Paul were equally effu-
sive in their inquiries and exclamations — it was
clearly a meeting- of old friends. Madame Le
Mois' face was meanwhile a studj\ The huge
surface was glistening with pleasure ; she was un-
feignedly glad to see these Parisians : — but there
was no elation at this meeting on such easy terms
with greatness. Her shrewdness was as alive as
ever ; she was about to make money out of the
230 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
visit — they were to have of her best, but they
must pay for it. Between her rapid fire of ques-
tionings as to the countess's health and the his-
tory of her travels, there was as rapid a shower
of commands, sometimes shouted out, above all
the hubbub, to the cooks standing- gaping in the
kitchen doorway, or whispered hoarsely to Ernes-
tine and Marianne, who were flying about like
wild pigeons, a little drunk with the novelty of
this first breakfast of the season.
" Allons, mon enfant — cours — cours — get thy linen,
my child, and the silver candelabres. It is to be
laid in the Marmousets, thou knowest. Paul will
come presently. And the salads, pluck them and
bring them in to me — cours — cours."
The gi-eat world was all very well, and it was
well to be on friendh^, even intimate terms, with it :
but, DicH .' one's own bread is of importance too !
And the countess, for all her delicacy, was a bonne
fourchette.
The countess and her friend, after a moment
of standing in the court-yard, of patting the peli-
can, of trying their blandishments on the fla-
mingo, of catching up the bantam, and filling the
air with their jjurring, and caressing, and in-
cessant chatter, passed beneath the low door to
the inner sanctum of madame. The two ladies
were clearly bent on a few moments of unre-
served gossip and that repairing of the toilet
which is a religious act to women of fashion the
world over.
In the court-yard the scene was still a brilliant
one. The gayly painted coach was now deserted.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 231
It stood, a chariot of state, as it were, awaiting roy-
alty ; its yellow sides gleamed like topaz in the
suu. The grooms were unharnessing the leaders,
that were still bathed in the white of their sweat.
The count's dove-colored flannels were a soft mass
against the snow of the chef's apron and cap ; the
two were in deep consultation at the kitchen door.
Monsieur Paul was showing, with all the absorp-
tion of the artist, his latest Jumieges carvings
to the taller, more awkward of the gentlemen, to
the one driven in by the mannish beauty.
The cockatoos had not ceased shrieking from
the very beginning of the hubbub ; nor had the
squirrels stopped running along the bars of their
cage, a-flutter with excitement. The peacocks
trailed their trains between the coach-wheels, an-
nouncing, squawkingly, their delight at the advent
of a larger audience. Above the cries of the fowls
and the shrieks of the cocks, the chatter of human
tongues, the subdued murmur of the ladies' voices
coming through the open lattice, and the stamp of
horses' hoofs, there swept above it all the light
June breeze, rustling in the vines, shaking the
thick branches against the wooden facades.
The two ladies soon made their appearance in
the sunlit court-yard. The murmur of their talk
and their laughter reached us, along with the frou-
frou of their silken petticoats.
" You were not bored, chere enfant, driving
Monsieur d'Agreste all that long distance % "
The countess was smiling tenderly into her
companion's face. She had stopped her to read-
just the geranium sprig that was drooping in her
232 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
friend's cover-coat. The smile was the smile of a
sympathiziug- augel, but what a touch of hidcleu
malice there was in the notes of her caressing
voice! As she repinned the &o?</o?i7? fere, she g-ave
the dancing- eyes, that were brimming with the
mirth of the coming- retort, the searching" inquest
of her glance.
" Bored ! Dieu, que non ! " The black little
beauty threw back her throat, laughing, as she
rolled her great eyes. " Bored — with all the tricks
I was playing % Fernande ! pity me, there was
such a little time, and so much to do ! "
" So little time — only fourteen kilos ! " The
countess compressed her lips ; they were smiling
no longer.
" Ah, but you see, I had so much to combat.
You had a whole season, last summer, in which to
play your game, your solemn game." Here the
gay young widow rippled forth a jiearly scale of
treble laughter. " And I have had only a week,
thus far ! "
" Yes, but what time you make ! "
And this time both ladies laughed, although,
still, only one laughed well.
" Ah ! those women — how they love each other,"
commented Eenard, as he sat on the bench,
swinging his legs, with his eyes following the
two vanishing figures. " Only women who are
intimate — Parisian intimates — can cut to the bone
like that, with a surgeon's dexterity."
He explained then that the handsome brunette
was a widow, a certain Baronne d'Autun, noted for
her hunting and her conquests ; the last on the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 233
latter list was Monsieur d'Agreste, a former ad-
mirer of the countess ; he was somewhat famous
as a scientist and socialist, so good a socialist
as to refuse to wear his title of duke. The other
two g-entlemen of the part}^ who had joined them
now, the two horsemen, were the Comtes de Mirant
and de Fonbriant. These latter were two typical
young- swells of the Jockey Club model ; their
vacant, well-bred faces wore the correct degree of
fashionable pallor, and their manners appeared
to be also as periect as their glances were inso-
lent.
Into these vacant faces the languid countess
was breathing the inspiration of her smile. Enig-
matic as was the latter, it was as simjjle as an in-
fant's compared to the occult character of her
glance. A wealth of complexities lay enfolded in
the deep eyes, rimmed with their mystic darkened
circlet — that circle in which the Parisienne frames
her experience, and through which she pleads to
have it enlarged !
A Frenchwoman and cosmetics ! Is there any
other combination on this round earth more sug-
gestive of the comedy of high life, of its elegance
and of its perfidy, of its finish and of its empti-
ness ?
The men of the party wore costumes perilously
suggestive of Opera Bouffe models. Their fingers
were richly begemmed ; their watch-chains were
laden with seals and charms. Any one of the cos-
tumes was such as might have been chosen by a
tenor in which to warble effectively to a souhrette
on the boards of a i:)rovincial theatre ; and it was
234 THREE NORMA:NDr INNS.
worn by these fops of the Jockey Club with the
air of its being- the last word in nautical fashions.
Better than their costumes were their voices : for
what speech from human lips pearls itself off with
such crispness and finish as the delicate French
idiom from a Parisian tongue ?
I never quite knew how it came about that we
were added to this gay party of breakfasters.
We found ourselves, however, after a high skir-
mish of j)reliminary presentations, among" the
number to take our places at the table.
In the Chambre des Marmousets, Monsieur
Paul, we found, had set the feast with the taste of
an artist and the science of an arcliMeologist. The
table itself was long and narrow, a genuine fif-
teenth-century table. DoAvn the centre ran a strip
of antique altar-lace ; the sides were left bare, that
the lustre of the dark wood might be seen. In the
centre was a deep old Caen bowl, with grapes and
fuchsias to make a mound of soft color. A pair
of seventeenth - century candelabres twisted and
coiled their silver branches about their rich rr-
pousse columns ; here and there on the yellow strip
of lace were laid bunches of June roses, those only
of the rarer and older varieties having been chosen,
and each was tied with a Louis XV. love-knot.
Monsieur Paul was himself an omniscient figure
at the feast ; he was by turns ofliciating as butler,
carving, or serving from the side-tables ; or he
was crossing the court-yard with his careful, cat-
like tread, a bottle under each arm. He was also
constantly appealed to by Monsieur d'Agreste or
the count, to settle a dispute about the age of the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 235
china, or the original home of the various okl
chests scattered about the room.
" Paul, your stained giass shows up well in this
light," the count called out, wijDing his mustache
over his soup-plate.
" Yes," answered Monsieur Paul, as he went on
serving the sherry, pausing for a moment at the
count's glass. "They always look well in full
sunlight. It was a piece of pure luck, getting
them. One can always count on getting hold of
tapestries and carvings, but old glass is as rare
as "
" A pretty woman," interpolated the gay young-
widow, with the air of a connoisseur."
" Outside of Paris — you should have added,"
gallantly contributed the count. Everyone went
on eating after the light laughter had died away.
The countess had not assisted at this brief con-
versation ; she was devoting her attention to re-
ceiving the devotion of the two young counts ;
one was on either side of her, and both gave
every outward and visible sign of wearing her
chains, and of wearing them with insistance. The
real contest between them ajDpeared to be, not so
much which should make the conquest of the lan-
guid countess, as which should outflank the other
in his compromising demeanor. The countess,
beneath her drooping lids, watched them with the
indulgent indolence of a lioness, too luxuriously
lazy to spring.
The countess, clearh^, was not made for sun-
light. In the courtyard her face had seemed
chiefly remarkable as a triumph of cosmetic treat-
236 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ment -, here, under this rich glow, the purity and
delicacy of the features easily placed her among-
the beauties of the Parisian world. Her eyes,
now that the languor of the lids was disappearing-
with the advent of the wines, were magnificent ;
her use of them was an open avowal of her own
knowledge of their splendor. The young widow
across the table was also using her eyes, but in a
very different fashion. She had now taken off her
straw hat : the curly crop of a brown mane gave the
brilliant face an added accent of vigor. The chien
de race was the dominant note now in the muscu-
lar, supple body, the keen-edged nostrils, and the
intent gaze of the liquid eyes. These latter were
fixed with the fixity of a savage on Charm. She
was giving, in a sweet sibilant murmur, the man
seated next her — Monsieur d'Agreste, the man who
refused to bear his title — her views of the girl.
" Those Americans, the Americans of the best
type, are a race apart, I tell you ; we have nothing
like them ; we condemn them because we don't un-
derstand them. They understand us — thej^ read
us "
"Oh, they read our books — the worst of them."
" Yes, but they read the best too ; and the worst
don't seem to hurt them. I'll warrant that Mees
Gay — that is her name, is it not ? — has read Zola,
for instance ; and yet, see how simple and inno-
cent — yes — innocent, she looks."
" Yes, the innocence of experience — which knows
how to hide," said Monsieur d'Agreste, with a slight
shrug.
" Mees Gay ! " the countess cried out across the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 237
table, suddenly waking- from her somnolence ; she
had overheard the baroness in spite of the low
tone in which the dialogue had been carried on ;
her voice was so mellifluously sweet, one instinct-
ively scented a touch of hidden poison in it — " Mees
Gaj^, there is a question beiug- put at this side of
the table you alone can answer. Pray pardon the
impertinence of a personal question — but we hear
that American young ladies read Zola: is it
true ? "
" I am afraid that we do read him," was Charm's
frank answer. " I have read him — but my reading"
is all in the past tense now."
" Ah — you found him too highly seasoned ? "
one of the young counts asked, eagerly, with his
nose in the air, as if scenting an indiscretion.
" No, I did not go far enough to get a taste of
his horrors ; I stopped at his first period."
"And what do you call his first period, dear
mademoiselle ? " The countess's voice was still
freighted with honey. Her husband coug-hed and
gave her a warning" glance, and Renard was mov-
ing uneasily in his chair.
" Oh," Charm answered lig-htly, " his best pe-
riod — when he didn't sell."
Everyone laughed. The little widow cried be-
neath her breath :
" Elle a de l'esi)rit, celle-la "
" £lle en a de trop," retorted the countess.
" Did you ever read Zola's ' Quatre Saisons ? ' "
Renard asked, turning" to the count, at the other
end of the table.
No, the count had not read it — but he could
238 THREE NORMANDY INN8.
read the story of a beautiful nature when he en-
countered one, and presently he allowed Charm to
see how absorbing" he found its perusal.
" Ah, hien — et tout de meme — Zola, yes, he writes
terrible books; but he is a good man — a model
husband and father," continued Monsieur d'Ag--
reste, addressing the table.
" AndDaudet — he adores his wife and children,"
added the count, as if with a determination to find
only goodness in the world.
" I wonder how posterity will treat them ? They'll
judge their lives by their books, I presume."
" Yes, as we judg-e Rabelais or Voltaire "
" Or the English Shakespeare by his ' Hamlet.'"
" Ah ! what would not Voltaire have done with
Hamlet ! " The countess was beginning- to wake
again.
" And Moliere ? What of his ' Misanthrope ? '
There is a finished, a human, a possible Hamlet !
a Hamlet with flesh and blood," cried out the
younger count on her right. " Even Mounet-
Sully could do nothing with the English Hamlet."
" Ah, well, Mounet-Sully did all that was possible
with the part. He made Hamlet at least a lover!"
" Ah, love ! as if, even on the stage, one be-
lieved in that absurdity any longer ! " was the
countess's malicious comment.
"Then, if you have ceased to believe in love,
why did you go so religiously to Monsieur Care's
lectures ? " cried the baroness,
" Oh, that dear Caro ! He treated the passions
so delicately, he handled them as if they were
curiosities. One went to hear his lecture on Love
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 239
as one might go to hear a treatise on the pecu-
liarities of an extinct species," was the countess's
quiet rejoinder.
" One should believe in love, if only to prove
one's unbelief in it," murmured the young count
on her left.
" Ah, my dear comte, love, nowadays, like nat-
ure, should only be used for decoration, as a bit
of stage setting, or as stage scenery."
"A moonlight night can be made endurable,
sometimes," whisjiered the count.
" A dair de lune that ends in lune de miel, that is
the true use to which to put the charms of Diana."
It was Monsieur d'Agreste's turn now to murmur
in the baroness's ear.
" Oh, honey, it becomes so cloying in time," in-
terpolated the countess, who had overheard ; she
overheard everything. She gave a wearied glance
at her husband, who was still talking vigorously
to Charm and Benard. She went on softly : " It's
like trying to do good. All goodness, even one's
own, bores one in the end. At Basniege, for
example, lovely as it is, ideally feudal, and with
all its towers as erect as you please, I find this
modern virtue, this craze for charity, as tiresome
as all the rest of it. Once you've seen that all
the old women have woollen stockings, and that
each cottage has fagots enough for the winter,
and your role of benefactress is at an end. In
Paris, at least, charity is sometimes picturesque ;
poverty there is tainted with vice. If one be-
lieved in anything, it might be worth while to
begin a mission ; but as it is "
240 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" The g-ospel of life, according to you, dear
comtesse, is that in modem life there is no real
excitement except in studying the very best way
to be rid of it," cried out Renard, from the bottom
of the table.
" True ; but suicide is such a coarse weapon,"
the lady answered, quite seriously ; "so vulgar
now, since the common people have begun to use
it. Besides, it puts your adversary, the world, in
possession of j'our secret of discontent. No, no.
Suicide, the invention of the nineteenth century,
goes out with it. The only refined form of sui-
cide is to bore one's self to death," and she smiled
sweetly into the young man's eyes nearest her.
" Ah, comtesse, you should not have parted so
early in life with all your illusions," was Mon-
sieur d'Agreste's protest across the table.
" And, Monsieur d'Agreste, it isn't given to us
all to go to the ends of the earth, as you do, in
search of new ones ! This friction of living doesn't
wear on you as it does on the rest of us."
" Ah, the ends of the earth, the}^ are very much
like the middle and the beginning of things.
Man is not so very different, wherever you find
him. The only real difference lies in the manner
of approaching him. The scientist, for example,
finds him eternally fresh, novel, inspiring ; he is a
mine only as yet half-worked." Monsieur d'Ag-
reste was beginning to wake up ; his eyes, hither-
to, alone had been alive ; his hands had been busy,
crunching his bread ; but his tongue had been
silent.
" Ah — h science ! Science is only another
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 241
anaesthetic — it merely helps to kill time. It is a
hobby, like any other," was the countess's re-
joinder.
" Perhaps," courteously returned Monsieur d'Ag--
reste, with perfect sweetness of temper. "But at
least, it is a hobby that kills no one else. And
if of a hobby you can make a principle "
" A principle ? " The countess contracted her
brows, as if she had heard a word that did not
please her.
" Yes, dear lady ; the wise man lays out his life
as a gardener does a garden, on the principle of
selection, of order, and with a view to the succes-
sion of the seasons. You all bemoan the dulness
of life ; you, in Paris, the tor^oor of ennui stifles
you, you cry. On the contrary, I would wish the
days were weeks, and the weeks months. And
why % Simply because I have discovered the
philosopher's stone. I have grasped the secret of
my era. The comedy of rank is played out : the
life of the trifler is at an end ; all that went out
with the Bourbons. Individualism is the new
order. To-day a man exists simjily by virtue of
his own effort — he stands on his own feet. It is
the era of the republican, of the individual — sci-
ence is the true republic. For us who are dis-
placed from the elevation our rank gave us, work
is the watchword, and it is the only battle-cry left
us now. He only is strong, and therefore happy,
who perceives this truth, and who marches in
step with the modern movement."
The serious turn given to the conversation had
silenced all save the baroness. She had listened
242 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
even more intently than the others to her friend's
eloquence, nodding her head assentingly to all
that he said. His philosophic reflections pro-
duced as much effect on her vivacious excitability
as they might on a restless Skye-terrier.
" Yes, yes — he's entirely right, is Monsieur
d'Agreste ; he has got to the bottom of things.
One must keep in step with modernitj'- — one must
hefndesi^cle. Comtesse, you should hunt ; there
is nothing like a fox or a boar to make life worth
living. It's better, infinitely better, than a pur-
suit of hearts ; a boar's more troublesome than a
man."
" Unless you marry him," the countess inter-
rupted, ending with a thrush-like laugh. When
she laughed she seemed to have a bird in her
throat.
" Oh, a man's heart, it's like the flag of a de-
fenceless country — an3^one may capture it."
The countess smiled with inefi'able grace into
the vacant, amorous-ej^ed faces on either side of
her, rising as she smiled. We had reached des-
sert now ; the coffee was being handed round.
Everyone rose ; but the countess made no move
to pass out from the room. Both she and the bar-
oness took from their pockets dainty cigarette-
cases.
" Vous permettez?" ix^\.edi the baroness, leaning
over coquettishly to Monsieur d'Agreste's cigar.
She accompanied her action with a charming
glance, one in which all the woman in her was
uppermost, and one which made Monsieur
d'Agreste's pale cheeks flush like a boy's. He
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 243
was a philosopher and a scientist ; but all his sci-
ence and philosophy had not saved him from the
barbed shafts of a certain mischievous little g"od.
He, also, was visibly hugging- his chains.
The party had settled themselves in the low
divans and in the Henri lY. arm-chairs ; a few
here and there remained, still grouj^ed about the
table, with the freedom of pose and in the comfort
of attitude smoking and coffee bring with them.
It was destined, however, that the hour was to
be a short one. One of the grooms obsequiously
knocked at the door ; he whispered in the count's
ear, who advanced quickly toward him, the news
that the coach was waiting ; one of the leaders — —
" Desolated, my dear ladies — but my man tells
me the coach is in readiness, and I have an imper-
tinent leader who refuses to stand, when he is
waiting, on anything more solid than his hind
legs. Fernande, my dear, we must be on the
move. Desolated, dear ladies — desolated — but it's
only cm revoir. We must arrange a meeting later,
in Paris "
The scene in the court -yard was once again gay
with life and bristling with color. The coach and
the dog-cart shone resplendent in the slanting
sun's rays. In the brighter sunlight, the added
glow in the eyes and the cheeks of the brilliantly
costumed group, made both men and women seem
younger and fresher than when they had ap-
peared, two hours since. All were in high good
humor —the wines and the talk had warmed the
quick French blood. There was a merry scramble
for the top coach-seats ; the two young counts ex-
244 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
chaug-ed their seat in their saddles for the privi-
lege of holding-, one the countess's vinaigrette, and
the other, her long-handled parasol. Renard was
beside his friend De Troisac ; the horn rang out,
the horses started as if stung, dashing at their
bits, and in another moment the great coach was
being- whirled beneath the archway.
"Alt revoir — cm revoir ! " was cried doAvn to us
from the throne - like elevation. There was a
pretty waving of hands — for even the countess's dis-
like melted into sweetness as she bade us farewell.-
There were answering- cries from the shrieking-
cockatoos, from the peacocks who trailed their
tails sadly in the dust, from the cooks and the
peasant serving- women who had assembled to bid
the distinguished guests adieu. There was also a
sweeping bow from Monsieur Paul, and a grunt
of contented dismissal from Madame Le Mois.
A moment after the departure of the coach the
court-yard was as still as a convent cloister.
It was still enough to hear the click of ma-
dame's fingers, as she tapped her snuff-box.
" The count doesn't see any better than he did
— toujours mj/02)e, lid" the old woman murmured to
her son, with h preg-nant wink, as she took her
snuff.
■' C'est sa faQon cle tout voir, au contraire, ma
mere," significantly returned Monsieur Paul, with
his knowing smile.
The mother's shrug answered the smile, as both
mother and son walked in different directions —
across the sunlit court.
A LITTLE JOURNEY ALONG
THE COAST.
CAEN, BAYEUX, ST. LO, COUTANCES.
CHAPTEK XXin.
A NIGHT IN A CAEN ATTIC.
I HAVE always found the act
of going- away contagious.
Who really enjoys being
left behind, to mope in a
corner of the world others
have abandoned ? The
gay company atoj) of the
coach, as they were whirled
beneath the old archway,
had left discontent behind ;
the music of the horn, like
that played by the Pied
Piper, had the magic of
making the feet ache to follow after.
Monsieur Paul was so used to see his world go
and come — to greeting it with civility, and to as-
sist at its departure with smiling indifference — that
the announcement of our OAvn intention to desert
the inn within a day or so, was received with un-
flattering impassivity. We had decided to take
a flight along the coast — the month and the
weather were at their best as aids to such adven-
ture. W^e hoped to see the Fete-Dieu at Caen.
W^hy not push on to Coutances, where the Fete
was still celebrated with a mediaeval splendor ?
248 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
From thence to the great Mont, the Mont St. Mi-
chel, it was but the distance of a good steeds gal-
loping' — we could cover the stretch of country be-
tween in a day's di-iving-, and catch, who knows ?
— Ijerhaps the June pilgrims climbing the Mont.
" Ah, mesdames ! there are duller things in the
world to endure than a glimpse of the Normandy
coast and the scent of June roses ! Idt/Ui(jueinent
belle, la cote a ce moment-ci ! "
This was all the regret that seasoned Monsieur
Paul's otherwise g'racious and most graceful of
farewells. Why cannot we all attain to an innkeep-
er's altitude, as a point of view from which to look
out upon the world ? AVhy not emulate his calm,
w^hen iseople who have done with us turn their
backs and stalk away % Why not, like him, count
the pennies as not all the payment received when
a pleasure has come which cannot be footed \x\i in
the bill ?
The entire company of the inn household was
assembled to see us start. Not a white mouse but
was on duty. The cockatoos performed the most
perilous of their trapeze accomi^lishments as a last
tribute ; the doves cooed mournfully ; the mon-
keys ran like frenzied spirits along their gratings
to see the very last of us. Madame Le Mois consid-
erately carried the bantam to the archway, that
the lost joy of strutting might be replaced by the
pride of jjreferment above its fellows.
" Adieu, mesdames."
" Au revoir — you will return — tout le mondere-
vient — Guillaume le Conquerant, like Caesar, con-
quers once to hold forever — remember "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 249
From Monsieur Paul, in quieter, riclier tones,
came liis true farewell, the one we had looked for :
"The evening's in the Marmousets will seem
lonely when it rains — you must g'ive us the hope
of a quick return. Hope is the food of those who
remain behind, as we Normans say ! "
The archway darkened the sod for an instant ;
the next we had jjassed out into the broad high-
way. Jean, in his blouse, w^th Suzette beside
him, both jolting along- in the lumbering char-a-
banc, stared out at us with a vacant-eyed curiosity.
We were only two travellers like themselves, along-
a dusty roadway, on our way to Caen ; we were of
no particular importance in the landscape, we and
our rickety little phaeton. Yet only a moment
before, in the inn court-yard, we had felt ourselves
to be the pivotal centre of a world wholly peopled
with friends ! This is what comes to all men who
live under the modern curse — the double curse of
restlessness and that itching for novelty, which
made the old Greek longing for the unknown
deity — which is also the only honest prayer of so
many,/??i de siecle souls!
Besides the dust, there were other thing's abroad
on the high-road. What a lot of June had got
into the air ! The meadows and the orchards were
exuding- perfumes ; the hedge-rows were so many
yards of roses and wild grajje-vines in blossom.
The sea-smells, aromatic, pungent, floated inland
to be married, in hot haste, to a perfect harem of
clover and locust scents. The charm of the coast
was enriched by the homely, familiar scenes of
farm-house life. All the country between Dives
250 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
and Caen seemed one vast farm, beautifully tilled,
with its meadow-lands dipping- seaward. For
several miles, perlia]os, the ag-ricultural note alone
would be the dominant one, with the fields full of
the old, the eternal surprise — the dawn of young
summer rising over them. Down the sides of
the low hills, the polychrome grain waved be-
neath the touch of the breeze like a moving sea.
Many and vast were the Hat-lands ; they were
wide vistas of color : there were fields that were
scarlet with the pomp of poppies, others tinged
to the yellow of a Celestial by the feathery mus-
tard ; and still others blue as a sapphire's heart
from the dye of millions of bluets. A dozen small
rivers — or perhaps it was only one — coiled and
twisted like a cobra in sinuous action, in and out
among the pasture and sea-meadows.
As we ijassed the low, bushy banks, we heard
the babel of the washerwomen's voices as they
gossiped and beat their clothes on the stones. A
fisherman or two gave one a hint that idling was
understood here, as elsewhere, as being a fine art
for those who possess the talent of never being
pressed for time. A peasant had brought his
horse to the bank ; the river, to both peasant and
Percheron, was evidently considered as a personal
IDossession — as are all rivers to those who live
near them. There was a naturalness in all the life
abroad in the fields that gave this Normandy high-
road an incomparable charm. An Arcadian calm,
a certain patriarchal simplicity reigned beneath the
trees. Children trudged to the river bank with
pails and pitchers to be filled ; women, with rakes
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 251
and scythes in hand, crept down from the upper
fields to season their mid-day meal with the cooling-
Avhiff of the river and sea air. Children tugged at
their skirts. In two feet of human life, with ker-
chief tied under chin, the small hands carrying"
a huge bunch of cornHowers, how much of great
g-ravity there may be ! One such rustic sketch
of the future peasant was seriously carrying* its
bouquet to another small edition seated in a grove
of poppies ; it might have been a votive offering.
Both the children seated themselves, a very ear-
nest conversation ensuing-. On the hilltop, near
by, the father and mother were also conversing,
as they bent over their scythes. Another picture
was wheeling itself along" the river bank ; it was a
farmer behind a hug"e load of green g-rass ; atop
of the g"rasses two moon-faced children had laps
and hands crowded with field flowers. Behind
them the mother walked, with a rake slung over
her shoulder, her short skirts and scant draperies
giving to her step a noble freedom. The brush
of Yollon or of Breton would have seized upon
her to embody the type of one of their rustic
beauties, that type whose mingled fierceness and
g-race make their peasants the rude goddesses of
the plough.
Even a rustic river wearies at last of wandering,
as an occupation. Miles back we had left the
sea ; even the hills had stopped a full hour ago,
as if they had no taste for the rivalry of cathedral
spires. Behold the river now, coursing as se-
dately as the high-road, between two intermina-
ble lines of poplars. Far as the eye could reach
252 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
stretched a wide, great plain. It was flat as an
old woman's palm: it was also as fertile as the
cit}^ sitting- in the midst of its luxuriance has been
rich in history.
" Cepays est ires beau, et Caen la plus JoUe ville, la
plus avenanfe, la plus gate, la mieux situee, les plus
belles ru£s, les plus beaux bdtiments, les plus belles
eglises "
There was no doubt, Charm added, as she re-
peated the lady's verdict, of the opinion Madame
de Sevigne had formed of the town. As we drove,
some two hundred years later, through the Caen
streets, the charm we found had been perpet-
uated, but alas ! not all of the beauty. At first we
were entirely certain that Caen had retained its
old loveliness ; the outskirts were tricked out with
the bloom of gardens and with old houses brave
in their armor of vines. The meadows and tlie
great trees of the plain were partly to blame for
this illusion ; they yielded their place grudgingly
to the cobble-stoned streets and the height of
dormer windows.
To come back to the world, even to a provincial
world, after having lived for a time in a corner, is
certain to evoke a ^pleasurable feeling of elation.
The streets of Caen were by no means the liveliest
we had driven into ; nor did the inhabitants, as at
Villerville, turn out en masse to welcome us. The
streets, to be quite truthful, were as sedately quiet
as any thoroughfares could well be, and proudly
call themselves boulevards. The stony-faced gray
houses presented a singularly chill front, consid-
ering their nationality. But neither the pallor of
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 253
the streets nor their aspect of provincial calm had
jjower to damioeu the sense of our having returned
to the world of cities. A girl issuing from a door-
way with a netted veil drawn tightly over her rosy
cheeks, and the curve of a Parisian bodice, imme-
diately invested Caen with a metropolitan impor-
tance.
The most courteous of innkeepers was bending
over our carriage-door. He was desolated, but
his inn was already full ; it was crowded to reple-
tion with people ; surelj^ these ladies knew it was
the week of the races ? Caen was as crowded as
the inn ; at night many made of the open street
their bed ; his own court-yard was as filled with
men as with farm- wagons. It was altogether
hopeless as a situation ; as a welcome into a
strange city, I have experienced none more arctic.
I had, however, forgotten that I was travelling
with a conqueror; that when Charm smiled she
did as she pleased with her world. The innkeeper
was only a man ; and since Adam, when has any
member of that sex been known to say " No " to a
pretty woman ? This French Adam, when Charm
parted her lips, showing the snow of her teeth,
found himself suddenly, miraculously, endowed
with a fragment of memory. Tiens, he had for-
gotten ! that very morning a corner of the attic —
un bout du tent — had been vacated. If these ladies
did not mind mounting to a,grenier — an attic, com-
fortable, although still only an attic !
The one dormer window was on a level with the
roof-tops. We had a whole company of " belles
voisines," a trick of neighborliness in windows the
254 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
quick French wit, years ago, was swift to name.
These " neighbors " were of every order and pat-
tern. All the world and his mother-in-law were
gone to the races ; — and yet every window was
playing a different scene in the comedy of this life
in the sky. Who does not know — and love — a
French window, the higher up in the world of air
the better ? There are certain to be plants, rows
of them in pots, along the wide sill ; one can
count on a bullfinch or a parrot, as one can on the
hehes that appear to be born on purpose to jioke
their fingers in the cages ; there is certain also
to be another cage hanging above the flowers —
one filled with a fresh lettuce or a cabbage-leaf.
There is usually a snowy curtain, fringed : just at
the parting of the draiJeries an old woman is
always seated, with chin and nose-tip meeting,
her bent figure rounding over the square of her
knitting-needles.
It was such a window as this that made us feel,
before our bonnets were laid aside, that Caen was
glad to see us. The window directly opposite
was wide open. Instead of one there were half a
dozen songsters aloft : we were so near their cages
that the cat-bird whistled, to call his master and
mistress to witness the intrusion of these stran-
gers. The master brought a hot iron along — he
was a tailor and was just in the act of pressing a
seam. His wife was scraping carrots, and she
tucked her bowl between her knees as she came to
stand and gaze across. A cry rose up within the
low room. Some one else wished to see the new-
comers. The tailor laid aside his iron to lift
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 255
proudly, far out beyond the cages, tlie fattest,
rosiest offspring- that ever was born in an attic.
The babe smote its hands for pure joy. We were
better than a broken doll — we were alive. The
family as a family accepted us as one among them.
The man smiled, and so did his wife. Presently
both nodded graciouslj', as if, understanding the
cause of our intrusion on their aerial privacy, they
wished to present us with the compliment of their
welcome. The manners among these garret-win-
dows, we murmured, were really uncommonly
good.
" Bonjour, mesdames ! " It was the third time
the woman had passed, and we were still at the
window. Her husband left his seam to join her.
" Ces dames are not accustomed to such heights
— d ces hauteurs — peuf-efre ?"
The ladies in truth were not, unhappily, always
so well lodged : from this height at least one could
hoi^e to see a city.
" Ah! ha ! c'esf gai jxir icl, n'est-cepas ? One has
the sun all to one's self, and air ! Ah ! for fresh-
ness one must climb to an attic in these days, it
appears."
It was impossible to be more contented on a
height than was this family of tailors ; for when
not cooking, or washing, or tossing the " hehe " to
the birds, the wife stitched and stitched all her
husband cut, besides taking a turn at the family
socks. Part of this contentment came, no doubt,
from the variety of shows and amusements with
which the family, as a family, were perpetually sup-
plied. For workers, there were really too many so-
256 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
cial distractions abroad in the streets ; it was almost
impossible for the two to meet all the demands
on their time. Now it was the jing-le of a horse's
bell-collar ; the tailor, between two snips at a col-
lar, must see who was stopping at the hotel door.
Later a horn sounded ; this was only the fish-ven-
der, the wife merely bent her head over the flow-
ers to be quite sure. Next a trumiaet, clear and
strong-, rang- its notes up into the roof -eaves ; this
was something bebe must see and hear — all three
were bending at the first throbbing touch of that
music on the still air, to see whence it came. Thus
you see, even in the jDrovinces, in a French street,
something is quite certain to happen ; it all de-
pends on the choice one makes in life of a window
— of being rightly placed — whether or not one
finds life dull or amusing. This tailor had the
talent of knowing where to stand, at life's corner —
for him there was a ceaseless procession of excite-
ments.
It may be that our neighbor's talent for seeing
was catching. It is certain that no city we had
ever before looked out upon had seemed as crowded
with sights. The whole history of Caen was writ
in stone against the blue of the sky. Here, below
us, sat the lovely old town, seated in the grasses of
her plain. Yonder was her canal, as an artery to
keep her pulse bounding in response to the sea ;
the ship -masts and the drooping sails seemed
strange companions for the great trees and the
old garden walls. Those other walls William built
to cincture the city, Froissart found three centu-
ries later so amazingly " strong, full of drapery and
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 257
merchandise, rich citizens, noble dames, damsels,
and fine chnrches," for this girdle of the Conquer-
or's great bastions the eye looks in vain. But Will-
iam's vow still proclaims its fulfilment ; the spire
of I'Abbaye aux Hommes, and the Romanesque
towers of its twin, I'Abbaye aux Dames, face each
other, as did William and Mathilde at the altar —
that union that had to be expiated by the penance
of building these stones in the air.
Commend me to an attic window to put one in
sympathetic relations with cathedral spires ! At
this height we and they, for a part of their flight
upward, at least, were on a common level — and
we all know what confidences come about from the
accident of propinquity. They seemed to assure
us as never before when sitting at their feet, the
difiiculties they had overcome in climbing heaven-
ward. Every stone that looked down upon the
city wore this look of triumph.
In the end it was this Caen in the air — it was this
aerial city of finials, of towers, of peaked spires, of
carved chimneys, of tree-tops over which the clouds
rode ; of a plain, melting — like a sea — into the
mists of the horizon ; this high, bright region
peopled with birds and pigeons ; of a sky tender,
translucent, and as variable as human emotions ;
of an air that was rapture to breathe, and of nights
in which the stars were so close they might almost
be handled ; it was this free, hilly city of the roofs
that is still the Caen I remember best.
There were other features of Caen that were
good to see, I also remember. Her street expres-
sion, on the whole, was very pleasing. It was
/
258 THREE KORMANDT INNS.
singularly calm and composed, even for a city in a
plain. But the quiet came, doubtless, from its pop-
ulation being- away at the races. The few towns-
people who, for obvious reasons, Avere staj^-at-
homes, were uncommonl}^ civil ; Caen had evidently
preserved the tradition of good manners. An
army of cripples was in waiting to point tlie way
to the church doors ; a regiment of beggars was
within them, with nets cast already for the catch-
ing of the small fry of our pennies. In the gay,
geranium-lit garden circling the side walls of Bt.
Pierre there were many legless soldiers ; the old
houses we went to see later on in the high street
seemed, by contrast, to have survived other wars,
those of the Directory and the Mountain, with a
really scandalous degree of good fortune. On our
way to a still greater church than St. Pierre, to
the Abbaye aux Dames, that, like the queen who
built her, sits on the throne of a hill — on our way
thither we passed innumerable other ancient man-
sions. None of these were down in the guide-
books : they were, therefore, invested with the
deeper charm of personal discovery. Once away
from the little city of the shops, the real Caen
came out to greet us. It was now a gray, sad,
walled town ; behind the walls, level-browed Fran-
cis I. windows looked gravely over the tufts of ver-
dure ; here was an old gateway ; there what might
once have been a portcullis, now only an arched
wreath of vines ; still beyond, a group of severe-
looking mansions with great iron bound windows
presented the front of miniature fortresses.
And everywhere gardens and gardens.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 259
Turn where you would, you would only turn to
face verdure, foliage, and masses of flowers. The
hig"h walls could neither keep back the odors nor
hide the luxuriance of these Caen g-ardens. These
must have been the streets that bewitched Madame
de Sevig-ne. Through just such a maze of foliag-e
Charlotte Corday has also walked, again and again,
with her wonderful face aflame with her great pur-
pose, before the purpose ripened into the dagger
thrust at Marat's bared breast — that avenging Angel
of Beauty stabbing the Beast in his bath. Auber,
with his Anacreontic ballads in his young head,
would seem more fittingly framed in this old Caen
that runs up a hill-side. But women as beautiful
as Marie Stuart and the Corday can deal safely in
the business of assassination, the world will al-
ways continue to aureole their pictures with a gar-
land of roses.
The Abbaye on its hill was reached at last. All
Caen lay below us ; from the hillside it flowed
as a sea rolls away from a great ship's sides.
Down below, far below, as if buttressing the town
that seemed rushing away recklessly to the waste
of the plains, stands the Abbaye's twin-brother,
the Aux Hommes. Plains, houses, roof - tops,
spires, all were swimming in a sea of golden light ;
nothing seemed quite real or solid, so vast was the
prospect and so ethereal was the medium through
which we saw it. Perhaps it was the great con-
trast between that shimmering, unstable city be-
low, that reeked and balanced itself like some hu-
man creature whose dazzled vision had made its
footing insecure — it may be that it was this note
260 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
of contrast which invested this vast structure be-
striding- the hill, with such astonishing- grandeur.
I have knoAvn few, if any, other churches produce
so instantaneous an effect of a beauty that was one
with austerity. This great Norman is more Puri-
tan than French ; it is Norman Gothic with a Pu-
ritan severity.
The sound of a deep sonorous music took us
quickly within. It was as mysterious a music
as ever haunted a church aisle. The vast and
snowy interior was as deserted as a Presbyterian
church on a week-day. Yet the sound of the rich,
strong voices filled all the place. There was no
sound of tingling- accompaniment : there was no
organ pipe, even, to add its sensuous note of color.
There was only the sound of the voices, as they
swelled, and broke, and began afresh.
The singing- went on.
It was a slow "plain chant." Into the g-reat
arches the sonorous chanting- beat upon the ear
with a rhythmic perfection that, even without the
lovely flavor of its sweetness, would have made a
beauty of its own. In this still and holy j^lace,
with the comjDany of the stately Norman arches
soaring- aloft — beneath the sombre g-lory of the
g-iant aisles — the austere simplicity of this chant
made the heart beat, one knew not why, and the
eyes moisten, one also knew not why.
We had followed the voices. They came, we
found, from within the choir. A pattering of steps
proclaimed we were to go no farther.
" Not there, my ladies — step this way, one only
enters the choir by going into the hospital."
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 261
The voice was low and sweet ; the smile, a
spark of divinity set in a woman's face ; and the
whole was clothed in a nun's garb.
We followed the fluttering robes ; we jDassed
out once more into the sunlit parvis. We spoke
to the smile and it answered : yes, the choir was
reserved for the Sisters — they must be able to ap-
proach it from the convent and the hospital ; it
had always, since the time of Mathilde, been re-
served for the nuns ; would we pass this way ?
The way took us into an open vaulted iDassage,
past a grating- where sat a white-capped Sister,
past a group of girls and boys carrying wreaths
and garlands — they were making ready for the
Fete-Dieu, our nun explained — past, at the last,
a series of corridors through which, faintly at first,
and then sweeter and fuller, there struck once
more upon our ears the sounds of the deej) and
resonant chanting.
The black gown stopped all at once. The nun
was standing in front of a green curtain. She
lifted it. This was what we saw. The semicircle
of a wide apse. Behind, rows upon rows of round
arches. Below the arches, in the choir-stalls, a
long half-circle of stately figures. The figures
were draped from head to foot. T\Tien they bent
their heads not an inch of flesh was visible, except
a few hands here and there that had escaped the
long, wide sleeves. All these figures were motion-
less ; they were as immobile as statues ; occasion-
ally, at the end of a " Gloria," all turned to face
the high altar. At the end of the " Amen " a
cloud of black veils swept the ground. Then for
262 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
several measures of the chant the fisfures were
as^ain as marble. In each of the low, round arches, a
stately woman, tall and nobly planned, di'aped like
a g-oddess turned saint, stood and chanted to her
Lord. Had the Norman builders carved these
women, ages ago, standing about Mathilde's tomb,
those ancient sculptures could not have embodied,
in more ideal image, the type of womanly renun-
ciation and of a saint's fervor of exaltation.
We left them, with the rich chant still full \\\)on
their lips, with heads bent Ioav, calm as g-raven
images. It was only the bloom on a cheek, here
and there, that made one certain of the youth en-
tombed within these nuns' garb.
" Happy, incsdames ? Oh, mais tres Jieureuses,
tonfes — there are no women so happy as we. See
how they come to us, from all the country around.
En voila une — did you remark the pretty one, with
the book, seated, all in white ? She is to be ?. full
Sister in a month. She comes from a noble fam-
ily in the south. She was here one day, she saw
the life of the Sisters, of us all working here,
among the poor soldiers — elle a vu r,a, et jmur tout
de bon, s'esf don nee a Dieu ! "
The smile of our nun was rapturous. She was
proving its source. Once more we saw the young
countess who had given herself to her God. An
hour later, when we had reached the hospital
wards, her novice's robes were trailing the ground.
She was on her knees in the very middle of the
great bare room. She was repeating the office of
the hour, aloud, with clasped hands and uplifted
head. On her lovelj- young face there was the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 263
glow of a divine ecstasy. All the white faces from
the long- rows of the white beds were bending
toward her ; to one even in all fulness of strength
and health that girlish figure, praying- beside the
g-reat vase of the snowy daisies, with the glow
that irradiated the sweet, pure face, might easily
enough have seemed an ang-el's.
As companions for our tour of the g-rounds we
had two young Englishmen. Both eyed the nuns
in the distance of the corridors and the gardens
with the sharpened g-lances all men level at the
women who have renounced them. It is a mys-
tery no man ever satisfactorily fathoms.
" Queer notion, this, a lot of women shutting-
themselves up," remarked the young-er of the two.
" In England, now, they'd all go in for being
old maids, drinking- tea and coddling- cats, you
know."
" I wonder which are the happier, your coun-
trywomen or these Sisters, who, in renouncing-
the world devote their lives to serving- it. See,
over yonder ! " and I nodded to a scene beneath
the wide avenue of the limes. Two tall Augus-
tines were supporting- a crippled old man ; they
were showing- him some fresh garden-beds. Be-
yond was a gayer group. Some of the lay sisters
were tugging at a huge basket of clothes, fresh
from the laundry. Running- across the grass,
with flying draperies, two nuns, laughing- as they
ran, each striving- to outfoot the other, were has-
tening to their rescue.
" They keep their bloom, running- about like
that ; only healthy nuns I ever saw."
264 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" That's because they have something- better
than cats to coddle."
" Ah, ha ! that's not bad. It's a slow suicide,
all the same. But here we are, at the top ; it's a
fine outlook, is it not ? "
The young man panted as he reached the top
of the Maze, one of the chief glories of the old
Abbaye grounds. He had a fair and sensitive
face : a weak product on the whole, he seemed,
compared with the noblj^-built, vigorous-bodied
nuns crowding the choir-stalls yonder. Instead,
of that long, slow suicide, surely these women
should be doing their greater work of reproducing
a race. Even an open-air cell seems to me out of
place in our century. It will be entirely out of
fashion in time, doubtless, as the mediaeval cell
has gone along with the old castle life, whose
princely mode of doing things made a nunnery
the only respectable hiding-x)lace for the undow-
ered daughters.
As we crept down into Caen, it was to find it
thick with the dust of twilight. The streets were
dense with other things besides the thickened
light. The Caen world was crowding homeward;
all the boulevards and side-streets were alive with
a moving throng of dusty, noisy, wearj'^ holiday-
makers. The town was abroad in the streets to
hear the news of the horses, and to learn the his-
tory of the betting.
Although we had gone to church instead of
doing the races, many of those who had peopled
the gaj^ race-track came back to us. The table
d'hote, at our inn that night, was as noisy as a
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 265
Parisian cafe. It was scarcely as discreet, I
should say. On our way to our attic that night,
the little corridors made us a really amazing
number of confidences.
It was strange, but all the shoes appeared to
have come in pairs of twos. Never was there
such a collection of boots in couples. Strange it
was, also, to see how many little secrets these rows
of candid shoe-leather disclosed. Here a pert,
coquettish pair of ties were having as little in
common as jDossible with the stout, somewhat
clumsy walking-boots nest them. In the two just
beyond, at the next door, how the delicate, slender
buttoned kids leaned over, floppingly, to rest on
the coarse, yet strong, hobnailed clumx)ers !
Shabbier and shabbier grew the shoes, as we
climbed upward. With each pair of stairs we
seemed to have left a rung in the ladder of fortune
behind. But even the very poorest in pocket had
brought his little extravagance with him to the
races.
The only genuine family party had taken re-
fuge, like ourselves, in the attic.
At the very next door to our own. Monsieur,
Madame, et Bebe proclaimed, by the casting of
their dusty shoes, that they also, like the rest of
the world, had come to Caen to see the horses run.
CHAPTEK XXIV.
A DAY AT BAYEUX AND ST. LO,
Caen seated in its plain,
wearing- its crown of stee-
t pies — this was our last
glimpse of the beautiful
city. Our way to Bayeux
was strewn thick with these
Normandy jewels ; wit h
towns smaller than Caen ;
with Gothic belfries ; with
ruined priories, and Avitli
castles, stately even when
tottering in decay. When the last castle was lost
in a thicket, we discovered that our iron horse was
stopping in the very middle of a field. If the
guard had snouted out the name of any Ameri-
can city, built overnight, on a Western prairie, we
should have felt entirely at home in this meadow ;
we should have known any clearing, with grass
and daisies, was a very finished evidence of civili-
zation at high pressure.
But a lane as the beginning of a cathedral
town !
Evidently Bayeux has had a Buskinian dread
of steam-whistles, for this ancient seat of bish-
ops has succeeded in retaining the charms of
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 267
its old rustic approaches, whatever else it may-
have sacrificed on the altar of modernness.
An harang-ue, at the door of the quaint old
Normandy omnibus, by the driver of the same,
was proof that the lesson of good orator}', ad-
ministered by generations of bishops, had not
been lost on the Bayeux inhabitants. Two re-
bellious English tourists furnished the text for
the driver's sermon ; they were showing, with all
the naive j)ride of pedestrians, their intention of
footin,^ the distance between the station and the
cathedi-al. This was an independence of spirit no
Norman could endure to see. TVTiat ? these gen-
tlemen proposed to walk, in the sun, throug-h
clouds of dust, when here was a carriage, with
ladies for companions, at their command? The
coach had come dowTi the hill on purpose to con-
duct Messieurs les voyageurs ; how did these gen-
tlemen suppose a ^?ere de famille was to make his
living if the fashion of walking came in ? And
the rusty red vest was thumbed by the g-narled
hand of the father, who was also an orator ; and
a high-peaked hat swept the ground before the
hard-hearted g-entlemen. All the tragedy of the
situation had come about from the fact that the
tourists, also, had gotten themselves up in cos-
tume. When two fine youths have risen early in
the day to put on checked stockings, leggings,
russet walking-shoes, and a j^laited coat with a
belt, such attire is one to be lived up to. Once
in knickerbockers and a man's g-etting" into an
omnibus is really too ignominious ! With such
a road before two sets of such well-shai^ed calves—
268 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
a road all shaped and graded — this, indeed, would
be Hying" in the face of a veritable providence of
bishoiD-builders intent on maintaining" pastoral
effects.
The knickerbockers relentlessly strode onward ;
the driver had addressed himself to hearts of
stone. But he had not yet exhausted his quiver
of appeal. Englishmen walk, well! there's no
accounting for the taste of Britons who are also
still half savages ; but even a barbarian must eat.
Half-way up the hill, the rattle of the loose-
jointed vehicle came to a dead stop. "With great
gravity the guard descended from his seat ; this
latter he lifted to take from the entrails of the old
vehicle a handful of hand-bills. He, the horse,
the omnibus, and we, all waited for, what do you
suppose? To besprinkle the walking English-
men as they came within rang-e with a shower of
circulars announcing that at " midi, cJiez Nigaud,
il y aura nn dejeuner chaud."
The driver turned to look in at the window —
and to nod as he turned — he felt so certain of
our sympathy ; had he not made sure of them at
last?
A group of g"ossamer caps beneath a row of sad,
gray -faced houses was our Bayeux welcome. The
faces beneath the caps watched our approach with
the same sobriety as did the old houses — they had
the antique Norman seriousness of asjiect. The
noise we made with the clatter and rattle of our
broken-down vehicle seemed an impertinence, in
the face of such severe countenances. AVe might
have been entering a deserted city, except for
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 269
the presence of tliese motionless Normandy fig-
ures. The cathedral met us at the threshold of
the city : magnificent, majestic, a huge gray
mountain of stone, but severe in outline, as if the
Norman builders had carved on the vast surface
of its fa9ade an imprint of their own grave
earnestness.
We were somewhat early for the hot breakfast
at Nigaud's. There was, however, the appetizing
smell of soup, with a flourishing x^ervasiveness of
onion in the pot, to sustain the vigor of an appe-
tite whetted by a start at dawn. The knicker-
bockers came in with the omelette. But one is
not a Briton on his travels for nothing ; one does
not leave one's own island to be the dupe of
French inn-keepers. The smell of the soup had
not departed with our empty jplates, and the
voice of the walkers was not of the softest when
they demanded their rights to be as odorous as.
we. There is always a curiously agreeable sensa-
tion, to an American, in seeing an Englishman
angry ; to get angry in public is one thing we
do badly ; and in his cup of wrath our British
brother is sublime — he is so superbly unconscious
— and so contemptuous — of the fact that the
world sometimes finds anger ridiculous.
At the other end of the long and narrow table
two other travellers were seated, a man and a.
woman. But food, to them, it was made mani-
festly evident, was a matter of the most supreme
indifference. They were at that radiant moment
of life when eating is altogether too gross a form
of indulgence. For these two were at the most
270 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
iuteresting- period of French courtship — just after
the wedding' ceremony, when, with the priest's
blessing-, had come the consent of their worki and
of tradition to their making- the other's acqiTaint-
ance. This provincial bride and her husband
of a day were beginning, as all rustic courting
beg-ius, by a furtive holding- of hands ; this
particular couple, in view of our proximity and
their own mutual embarrassment, had recourse to
the subterfug-e of desperate lung-es at the other's
fing-ers, beneath the table-cloth. The screen, as a
screen, did not work. It deceived no one — as the
bride's pale-gray dress and her Howery bonnet
also deceived no one — save herself. This latter,
in certain ranks of life, is the bride's travelling-
costume, the world over. And the world over, it
is worn by the recently wedded with the profound
conviction that in donning- it they have discovered
the most complete of all disg-uises.
This bride and g-room were obviously in the
first rapture of mutual discovery. The honey in
their moon was not fresher than their views of the
other's tastes and predilections.
" Ah — ah — you like to travel quickly — to see
everything-, to take it all in in a g-ulp — so do I,
and then to digest at one"s leisure."
The bride was entirely of this mind. Only, she
murmured, there were other things one must not
do too quickly — one must go slow in matters of
the heart — to make quite sure of all the stages.
But her husband was at her throat, that is, his
eyes and lips were, as he answered, so that all the
table might partake of his emotion — " No, no, the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 271
quicker tlie heart feels the quicker love comes.
Tiens, voyons, man amie, toi-meme, fu m'as confie " —
and the rest was lost in the bride's ear.
Apparently we were to have them, these brides,
for the rest of our journey, in all stages and of all
ages ! Thus far none others had appeared as de-
termined as were these two honey-mooners, that
all the world should share their bliss. They were
cracking filberts with their disengaged fingers,
the other two being closely interlocked, in quite
scandalous openness, when we left them.
That was the only form of expitement that
greeted us in the quiet Bayeux streets. The very
street urchins invited repose ; the few we saw
were seated sedately on the threshold of their own
door -steps, frequent sallies abroad into this
quiet city having doubtless convinced them of
the futility of all sorties. The old houses wore
their carved fagades as old ladies wear rich lace—
they had reached the age when the vanity of per-
sonal adornment had ceased to inflate. The great
cathedral, towering above the tranquil town, wore
a more conscious air ; its significance was too
great a contrast to the quiet city asleep at its
feet. In these long, slow centuries the towers
had grown to have the air of protectors.
The famous tapestries we went to see later,
might easily enough have been worked yesterday,
in any one of the old mediaeval houses ; Mathilde
and her hand-maidens would find no more — not so
much — to distract and disturb them now in this
still and tranquil town, with its sad gray streets
and its moss-grown door-steps, as they must in
272 THREE N0RMAND7 INNS.
those earlier bustling" centuries of the Conqueror.
Even then, when Normandy was only beginning-
its career of importance among the g"reat French
f)rovinces, Bayeux was already old. She was
far more Norse then than Norman; she was
Scandinavian to the core ; even her nobles spoke
in harsh Norse syllables; they were as little
French as it was possible to be, and yet g-overn a
people.
Mathilde, when she toiled over her frame, like
all great wi-iters, was doubtless quite unconscious
she was producing- a masterpiece. She was, how-
ever, in point of fact, the very first among- the
g-reat French realists. No other French writer has
written as graphically as she did with her needle,
of the life and customs of their day. That long
scroll of tapestry, for truth and a naive perfection
of sincerity — where will you find it equalled or
even approached ? It is a rude Homeric epic ;
and I am not quite certain that it ought not to
rank higher than even some of the more famous
epics of the world — since Mathilde had to create
the mould of art into which she poured her story.
For who had thought before her of making wom-
en's stitches write or paint a great historical
event, crowded with homely details which now are
dubbed archaeological veracities ?
Bayeux and its tapestry ; its grave company of
antique houses; its glorious cathedral dominat-
ing the whole — what a loveh^ old background
against which poses the eternal modernness of the
young noon sun ! The history of Bayeux is com-
monly given in a paragraph. Our morning's walk
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 273
had proved to us it was the kind of town that does
more to re-ci'eate the historic past than all the
pages of a Guizot or a Challamel.
The bells that were ringing out the hour of high-
noon from the cathedral towers at Bayeux were
making the heights of St. L6, two hours later,
as noisy as a village fair. The bells, for rivals, had
the clatter of women's tongues. I think I never,
before or since, have beheld so lively a company
of washerwomen as were beating their clothes in
Vire Eiver. The river bends prettily just below
the St. L6 heights, as if it had gone out of its way
to courtesy to a hill. But even the waters, in
their haste to be polite, could not course beneath
the great bridge as swiftly as ran those women's
tongues. There were a good hundi-ed of them at
work beneath the washing - sheds. Now, these
sheds, anywhere in France, are really the open-
air club - room of the French peasant woman ;
the whole dish of the village gossip is hung out
to dry, having previously been well soused and
aired, along with the blouses and the coarse che-
mises. The town of St. L6 had evidently fur-
nished these club members of the washing-stones
with some fat dish of gossip — the heads were as
close as currants on a stem, as they bent in
groups over the bright waters. They had told it
all to the stream ; and the stream rolled the vol-
ume of the talk along as it carried along also the
gay, sparkling reflections of the life and the toil
that bent over it — of the myriad reflections of
those moving, bare-armed figures, of the brilliant
kerchiefs, of the wet blue and gray jerseys, and of
274 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the long" prismatic line of the damp, motley-hued
clothes that were fluttering- in the wind.
The bells' clang-or was an assurance that some-
thing- was happening- on top of the hill. Just
what happened was as altog-ether pleasing- a spec-
tacle, after a long- and arduous climb up a hillside,
as it has often been my g-ood fortune to encounter.
The portals of the church of Notre-Dame were
wide open. Within, as we looked over the shoul-
ders of the townspeople who, like us, had come to
see what the bells meant by their ring-ing-, within
the church there was a rich and sombre dusk ; out
of this dusk, indistinctly at first, lit by the tremu-
lous flicker of a myriad of candles, came a line
of white -veiled heads; then another of young-
boys, with faces as jDale as the noseg-ays adorning:
their brand-new black coats; next the scarlet-
robed choristers, singing', and behind them still
others swinging incense that thickened the dusk.
Suddenly, like a vision, the white veils passed out
into the sunlig-ht, and we saw that the faces be-
neath the veils were young- and comely. The
faces were still alternately lig-hted by the flare of
the burning tapers and the g-lare of the noon sun.
The long procession ended at last in a straggling-
group of old peasants with fine tremulous mouths,
a- tremble with pride and with feeling ; for here
they were walking in full sight of their town, in
their holiday coats, with their knees treacherously
unsteady from the thrill of the organ's thunder
and the sweetness of the choir-boys' singing.
TMiether it was a pardon, or a fete, or a first
communion, we never knew. But the town of St.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 275
L6 is ever gloriouslj^ liglited, for us, with a nimbus
of young heads, such as encircled the earlier ma-
donnas.
After such a goodlj^ spectacle, the rest of the
town was a tame morsel. We took a parting sniff
of the incense still left in the eastern end of the
church's nave ; there was a bit of good glass in a
Avindow to reward us. Outside the church, on the
west from the Petite Place, was a wide outlook over
the lovely vale of the Tire, with St. L6 itself twist-
ing and turning in graceful postures down the hill-
side.
On the same prospect two kings have looked,
and before the kings a saint. St. L6 or St. Lau-
dus himself, who gave his name to the town, must,
in the sixth century, have gazed on virgin forests
stretching away from the hill far as the ej^ e could
reach. Charlemagne, three hundred years later,
in his turn, found the site a goodly one, one to
tempt men to worship the Creator of such beauty,
for here he founded the great Abbey of St. Croix,
long since gone with the monks who peopled it.
Louis XI., that mystic wearing the warrior's
helmet, set his seal of ajoproval on the hill, by
sending the famous glass yonder in the cathedral,
when the hill and the St. L6 people beat the Bre-
tons who had come to capture both.
Like saint, and kings, and monks, and warriors,
we in our turn crej)t down the hill. For we also
were done with the town.
CHAPTEE XXV.
A DINKEE AT COUTANCES,
, The way from St. L6 to Cou-
tances is a pleasant way.
There is no map of the
country that will give you
even a hint of its true
character, any more than
from a photograph you
can hope to gain an in-
sight into the moral qual-
ities of a i^retty woman.
Here, at last, was the ideal Normandy landscape.
It was a country with a savage look — a savage that
had been trained to follow the plough. Even in
its color it had retained the true barbarians' in-
stinct for a good primary. Here were no melting-
yellow mustard-fields, nor flame-lit poppied mead-
ows, nor l)lue -bells lifting their baby-blue eyes
out of the grain. All the land was green. Fields,
meadows, forests, plains — all were green, green,
green. The features of the landscape had changed
Avith this change in coloring. The slim, fragile
grace of slim trees and fragile cliffs had been re-
placed by trees of heroic proportions, and by out-
lines nobly roimded and full — like the breasts of a
mother. The whole country had an astonishing
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 277
look of vigor — of the vig-or whicli comes with rude
strength ; and it had that charm which goes with
all untamed beauty — the power to sting one into a
sense of agitated enjoyment.
Even the farm-houses had been suddenly trans-
formed into fortresses. • Each one of the groups of
the farm enclosures had its outer walls, its minia-
ture turrets, and here and there its rounded bas-
tions. Each farm, apparently, in the olden days
had been a citadel unto itself. The Breton had
been a very troublesome neighbor for many a
long century ; every ploughman, until a few hun-
dred years ago, was quite likely to turn soldier at
a second's notice — every true Norman must look
to his own sword to defend his hearth-stone. Such
is the story those stone turrets that cap the farm
walls tell you— each one of these turrets was an
open lid through which the farmer could keep his
eye on Brittany.
Meanwhile, along the roads as we rushed swiftly
by, a quieter life was passing. The farm wagons
were jogging peacefulh' along* on a high-road as
smooth as a fine lady's palm — and as white. The
horses were harnessed one before the other, in in-
terminable length of line. Sometimes six, some-
times eight, even so many as ten, marched with great
gravity, and with that majestic dignity only pos-
sible to full-blooded Percherons, one after the
other. They each wore a saddle-cloth of blue sheep-
skin. On their mottled haunches this bit of color
made their polished coats to gleam like unto a liz-
ards' skin.
Meanwhile, also, we were nearing Coutances.
278 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The farm-houses were fortresses no lono-er : the
thatched roofs were one once more with the green
of the high-roads ; for even in the old days there
was a great walled city set up on a hill, to which
refuge all the people about for miles could turn for
protection.
A city that is set on a hill ! That for me
is commonly recommendation enough. Such a
city, so set, promises at the Yery least the dual
distinction of looking up as well as looking down ;
it is the nearer heaven, and just so much the.
farther removed from earth.
Coutances, for a city with its head in the air,
was surprisingly friendly. It went out of its way
to make us at home. At the very station, down
below in the lilain, it had sent the most loc[uaci-
ous of coach-drivers to put us in immediate touch
with its present interests. All the city, as the
coarse blue blouse, flourishing its whip, took
pains to explain, was abroad in the fields: the
forests, tiens, down yonder through the trees, we
could see for ourselves how the young people were
making the woods as crowded as a ball-room.
The city, as a city, was stripping the land and the
trees bare — it would be as bald as a new-born
babe by the morrow. But then, of a certainty, we
also had come for the fete — or, and here a puzzled
look of doubt beclouded the provincial's eyes —
might we, perchance, instead, have come for the
trial? 3Iais non, pas ca, these ladies had never
come for that, since they did not even know the
court was sitting, now, this very instant, at Cou-
tances. And — sapristi ! but there was a trial go-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 279
iug- on — one to make the blood curdle : he himself
h'^d not slept, the rustic coachman added, as he
shivered beneath his blouse, all the night before —
the blood had run so cold in his veins.
The horse and the road were all the while g'oing'
up the hill. The road was easily one that mig-ht
have been the path of warriors ; the walls, still
loft}' on the side nearest the town, bristled with a
turret or a bastion to remind us Coutances had
not been set on a hill for mere purposes of beauty.
The ramparts of the old fortifications had been
turned into a broad promenade. Even as we
jolted past, beneath the great breadth of the
trees' verdure we could see how gloriously the
prospect widened — the country below reaching
out to the horizon like the waters of a sea that
end only in indefiniteness.
The city itself seemed to grow out of the walls
and the trees. Here and there a few scattered
houses grouped themselves as if meaning to start
a street ; but a maze of foliage made a straight
line impossible. Finally a large group of build-
ings, with severe stone faces, took a more serious
plunge away from the vines ; they had shaken
themselves free and were soon soberly ranging
themselves into the parallel lines of narrow city
streets.
It was a pleasant surprise to find that, for once,
a Norman blouse had told the truth ; for here
were the f)eople of Coutances coming uj) from the
fields to prove it. In all these narrow streets a
great multitude of people were passing us ; some
were laden with vines, others with young forest
280 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
trees, and still others with rude g-arlands of flow-
ers. The iJeasaut women's faces, as the bent fig-
ures staggered beneath a young fir-tree, were pur-
ple, but their smiles were as gay as the wild
flowers with which the stones were thickly strewn.
Their words also were as rough :
" Diantre—mais c'e lourd ! "
" E-hen, e toi, tu rC hovgeons point, toi ! "
And the nearest fir-tree carrier to our carriage-
wheels cracked a swift blow over the head of a
vine-bearer, who being but an infant of two, could
not make time with the swift foot of its mother.
The smell of the flowers was everywhere. Fir-
trees perfumed the air. Every doorstep was a
garden. The courtyards were alive with the
squat figures of capped maidens, wreathing and
twisting greens and garlands. And in the streets
there was such a noise as was never before heard
in a city on a hill-top.
For Coutances was to hold its great fek, on the
morrow.
It was a relief to turn in from the noise and
hubbub to the bright courtyard of our inn. The
brightness thereof, and of the entire establish-
ment, indeed, appeared to find its central source
in the brilliant eyes of our hostess. Never was
an inn-keeper gifted with a vision at once so om-
niscient and so effulgent. Those eyes were every-
where ; on us, on our bags, our bonnets, our boots ;
they divined our wants, and answered beforehand
our unuttered longings. We had come far? the
eyes asked, burning a hole through our gossamer
evasions ; from Paris, i^erha^DS — a glance at our
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 281
bonnets proclaimed the eyes knew all ; we were
here for the fete, to see the bishop on the mor-
row ; that was well ; we were going on to the
Mont ; and the eyes scented the shortness of our
stay by a swift glance at our luggage.
" Numero quatre, au troisieme ! "
There was no aj^peal possible. The eyes had
penetrated the disguise of our courtesy ; we were
but travellers of a night ; the top story was built
for such as we.
But such a top story, and such a chamber
therein ! A great, wide, low room ; beams deej?
and black, with here and there a brass bit hang-
ing ; waxed floors, polished to mirrory perfection ;
a great bed clad in snowy draperies, with a snow-
white duvet of gigantic proportions. The walls
were gray with lovely bunches of faded rosebuds
flung abroad on the soft surface ; and to give a
quaint and antique note to the whole, over the
chimney was a bit of worn tapestry with formid-
able dungeon, a Norman keep in the background,
and well uj^ in front, a stalwart young master of
the hounds, with dogs in leash, of the heavy Nor-
man type of bulging muscle and high cheek-
bones.
Altogether, there were worse fates in the world
than to be travellers of a night, with the destiny
of such a room as part of the fate.
When we descended the steep, narrow spiral of
steps to the dining-room, it was to find the eyes
of our hostess brighter than ever. The noise in
the streets had subsided. It was long after dusk,
and Coutances was evidently a good provincial.
282 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
But iu the guy little diniiig'-room there was an as-
touishing' bustle and excitement.
The fefe and the court had brought a crowd of
diners to the inn-table ; when we were all seated
we made quite a compan}^ at the long, narrow
board. The candles and lamjos lit up any number
of Vandyke-pointed beards, of bald heads, of
loosely-tied cravats, and a few matronly bosoms
straining at the buttons of silk holiday gowns.
For the Fcfe-Dieu had brought visitors besides
ourselves from all the country round ; and then
" a first communion is like a marriage, all the rela-
tives must come, as doubtless we knew," was a
bald-head's friendly beginning of his soup and
his talk, as we took our seats beside him.
With the ai^pearance of the pofage conversation,
like a battle between foes eager for contest, had
immediately engaged itself. The setting of the
table and the air of comjjanionship pervading the
establishment were aiders and abettors to imme-
diate intercourse. Nothing could be prettier than
the Caen bowls with their bunches of purple
l^hlox and spiked blossoms. Even a metropolitan
table might have taken a lesson from the perfec-
tion of the lighting of the long board. In order
that her guests should feel the more entirely at
home, our brilliant-eyed liostess came in with
the soup ; she took her place behind it at the
head of the table.
It was evident the merchants from Cherbourg
who had come as witnesses to the trial, had had
many a conversational bout before now with mad-
ame's ready wit. So had two of the toAvn lawyers.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 283
Even the commercial gentlemen, for once, were
experiencing a brief moment of armed suspense,
before they flung themselves into the arena of
talk. At first, or it would never have been in the
provinces, this talk at the long table, everyone
broke into speech at once. There was a flood of
words ; one's sense of hearing was stunned by the
noise. Gradually, as the cider and the thin red
wine were passed, our neighbors gave digestion a
chance ; the din became less thick with words ;
each listened when the other talked. But, as the
volume of speech lessened, the interest thickened.
It finally became concentrated, this interest, into
true French fervor when the question of the trial
was touched on.
" They say D'Alengon is very clever. He
pleads for Filon, the culprit, to-night, does he
not ? "
" Yes, poor Filon — it will go hard with him.
His crime is a black one."
''I should think it was — implicating le petit ! "
" Dame ! the judge doesn't seem to be of your
mind."
" Ah — h ! " cried a florid Yaudyke-bearded man,
the dynamite bomb of the table, exj^lodiug with
a roar of rage. "All — li, ere nom de Dieu ! — Mes-
sieurs Jes jrre si dents are all like that ; they are
always on the side of the innocent "
" Till they jDrove them guilty."
" Guilty ! guilty ! " the bomb exploded in earn-
est now. " How many times in the annals of
crime is a man guilty — really guilty ? They
should search for the cause — and punish that.
284 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
That is true justice. The instis^-ator, the insti-
gator — he is the true culprit. Inheritances — voild
les vrais coiqyahles. But when are such things in-
vestigated ? It is ever the innocent who are i)un-
ishecl. I know something of that — I do."
" AlJons — aJIonsf" cried the table, laughing at
the beard's vehemence. ""WTien were you ever
under sentence ? "
" When I was doing my dut3%"' the beard hurled
back with both arms in the air; " when I was doing
my three years — I and my comrade ; we were con-
victed—punished — for an act of insubordination
we never committed. Without a trial, without a
chance of defending ourselves, we were put on
two crumbs of bread and a glass of water for two
months. And we were innocent — as innocent as
babes, I tell you."
The table was as still as death. The beard had
proved himself worthy of this compliment ; his
voice was the voice of di-ama, and his gestures such
as every Frenchman delights in beholding and
executing. Every ear was his, now.
" I have no rancor. I am, by nature, what God
made me, a peaceable man, but " — here the voice
made a wild crescendo — " if I ever meet my colonel
— gave a lid ! I told him so. I waited two years,
two long years, till I was released ; then I walked
up to him " (the beard rose here, putting his hand
to his forehead), " I saluted " (the hand made the
salute), " and I said to him, ' Mon colonel, you
convicted me, on false evidence, of a crime I never
committed. You j^unished me. It is two years
since then. But I have never forgotten. Pray to
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 285
God we may never meet in civil life, for then yours
would end ! "
" Allons, aJlons ! A man after all must do his
duty. A colonel — he can't go into details ! " re-
monstrated the hostess, with her knife in the air.
"I would stick him, I tell you, as I would a iDig
— or a Prussian ! I live but for that ! "
" 3Ionstre ! " cried the table in chorus, with a
laugfh, as it took its wine. And each turned to his
neighbor to prove the beard in the wrong*.
" Of what crime is the defendant g"uilty — he who
is to be tried to-night ? " Charm asked of a silent
man, with sweet serious eyes and a rough gray
beard, seated next her. Of all the beards at the
table, this one alone had been content with lis-
tening.
" Of fraud — mademoiselle — of fraud and for.
gery." The man had a voice as sweet as a church
bell, and as deep. Every word he said rang out
slowly, sonorously. The attention of the table was
fixed in an instant. " It is the case of a Monsieur
Filon, of Cherbourg. He is a cider merchant. He
has cheated the state, making false entries, -etc.
But his worst crime is that he has used as his ac-
complice un toutjxfit Jeune homme — a lad of barely
fifteen "
" It is that that will make it go hard for him
with the jury "
" Hard ! " cried the ex-soldier, getting red at
once with the jjassion of his protest—" hard — it
ought to condemn him, to guillotine him. What
are juries for if they don't kill such rascals as
he?"
286 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" Doucement, doucement, monsieur," interrupted the
bell-note of the merchant. " One doesn't condemn
people without hearing both sides. There may
be extenuating circumstances ! "
" Yes — there are. He is a merchant. All mer-
chants are thieves. He does as all others do —
07iJy he was found out."
A protesting murmur now rose from the table,
above which rang once more, in clear vibrations,
the deep notes of the merchant.
"Ah — h, mai.s — tons voleurs- -non, not all are
thieves. Commerce conducted on such princij)les
as that could not exist. Credit is not founded
on fraud, but on trust."
" Tres Men, ires bien," assented the table. Some
knives were thumi)ed to emjahasize the assent.
" As for stealing " — the rich voice continued,
with calm judicial sloA^Tiess — " I can understand
a man's cheating the state once, perhaps — yield-
ing to an impulse of cupidity. But to do as ce
Monsieur Filon has done — he must be a consum-
mate master of his art — for his processes are or-
ganized robbery."
" Ah — h, but robbery against the state isn't the
same thing as robbing an individual," cried the
exj)losive, driven into a corner.
"It is quite the same — morally, only worse.
For a man who robs the state robs everyone — in-
cluding himself."
"That's true — perfectly true — and very well
put." All the heads about the table nodded ad-
miringly : their hostess had expressed the views
of them all. The company was looking now at the
THREE NOBMANDT INNS. 287
gray beard witli g-listening eyes ; lie had proved
himself master of the argument, and all were de-
sirous of proving- their homage. Not one of the
nice ethical points touched on had been missed ;
even the women had been eagerly listening-, fol-
lowing", criticising-. Here was a little company
of people g-athered tog-ether from rustic France,
meeting, perhaps, for the first time at this board.
And the conversation had, from the very beginning-,
been such as one commonly expects to hear only
among the upper ranks of metropolitan circles.
AVho would have looked to see a company of Xor-
man provincials talking morality, and handling-
ethics with the skill of rhetoricians ?
Most of our fellow-diners, meanwhile, were tak-
ing their coffee in the street. Little tables were
ranged close to the house- wall. There was just
room for a bench beside the table, and then the
sidewalk ended.
" Shall you be going- to the trial to-night ? "
courteously asked the merchant who had proven
himself a master in debate, of Charm. He had
lifted his hat before he sat down, bowing- to her
as if he had been in a ball-room.
" It v/ill be fine to-night — it is the opening- of
the defence," he added, as he placed carefully two
lumps of sugar in his cup.
" It's always finer at night — what with the lights
and the people, " interpolated the landlady, from
her perch on the door-sill. " If ces dames wish to
go, I can show them the way to the g-alleries.
Only," she added, with a warning- tone, her grow-
ing- excitement obvious at the sense of the com-
288 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ing- pleasure, "it is like the theatre. The earlier
we get there the better the seat. I go to get my
hat." And the door swallowed her up.
" She is right — it is like a theatre," soliloquized
the merchant — " and so is life. Poor Filon ! "
We should have been very content to remain
where we were. The night had fallen ; the
streets, as they lost themselves in dim turnings,
in mysterious alleyways, and arches that seemed
irrotesquely high in the vague blur of things,
were filled for us with the charm of a new and
lovely beauty. At one end the street ended in a
towering' mass of stone ; that doubtless was the
cathedral. At the right, the narrow houses
dipped suddenly ; their roof -lines were lost in
vagueness. Between the slit made by the street
a deep, vast chasm opened ; it was the night fill-
ing the great width of sky, and the mists that
shrouded the hill, rising out of the sleeping- earth.
There was only one single line of light; a long-
deep glow was banding the horizon ; it was a bit
of flame the dusk held up, like a fading torch, to
show where the sun had reigned.
In and out of this dusk the townspeople came
and went. Away from the mellow lights, stream-
ing past the open inn doors, the shajjes were
only a part of the blur; they were vague, phan-
tasmal masses, clad in coarse draperies. As they
passed into the circle of light, the faces showed
features we had grown to know — the high cheek-
bones, the ruddy tones, the deep-set, serious
eyes, and firm mouths, with lips close to-
g-ether. The air on this hill-top must be of ex-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 289
cellent quality; the life up liere could scarcely
be so hard as in the field villages. For the
women looked less worn, and less hideously old,
and in the men's eyes there was not so hard and
miserly a glittering-.
Almost all, young or old, were bearing strange
burdens. Some of the men w^ere carrying huge
floral crosses ; the women were laden with every
conceivable variety of object — with candlesticks,
vases, urns, linen sheets, rugs, with chairs even.
" They are helping to dress the reposoirs, they
must all be in readiness for the morning," an-
swered our friend, still beside us, when we asked
the cause of this astonishing spectacle.
Everywhere garlands and firs, leaves, flowers,
and wreaths ; j)eople moving rapidly; the carriers
of the crosses stopping to chat for an instant with
groups working at some mysterious scaffolding —
all shapes in darkness. Everywhere, also, there
was the sweet, aromatic scent of the greens and
the pines abroad in the still, clear air of the sum-
mer night.
This was the perfume and these the dim pict-
ures that were our company along the narrow
Coutances streets.
CHAPTER XXVI.
A SCENE IX A NORMAN COURT.
The court-room was brig-htly
lighted; the yellow radi-
ance on the white walls
made the eyes blink. We
had turned, following- our
guide, from the gloom of
the dim streets into the
roomy corridors of the
Prefecture. Even the gar-
dens about the building
were swarming with townsjieople and peasants
waiting for the court to open. "When we entered
it was to find the hallways and stairs blocked with
a struggling mass of jieople, all eager to get seats.
A voice that was softened to a purring note, the
Yoice that goes with the pursuit of the five-franc
piece, spoke to our landlady. "The seats to be
reserved in the tribune were for these ladies ? "
No time had been lost, you perceive. We were
strangers ; the courtesies of the town were to be
extended to us. We were to have of their best,
here in Coutances ; and their best, just now, was
this mise-en-scene in their court-room.
The stage was well set. The Frenchman's in-
stinctive sense of fitness was obvious in the ar-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 291
rangements. Long- lines of blue drapery from
the tall windows brought the groups below into
high relief; the scarlet of the judges' robes was
doubly impressive ag-aiust this background. The
lawyers, in their flowing black gowns and white
ties, gained added dignitj'^ from the marine note
behind them. The bluish pallor of the walls made
the accused and the group about him pathetically
sombre. Each one of this little group was in black.
The accused himself, a sharp, shrew^l, too keen-eyed
man of thirty or so, might have been following a
corpse — so black was his raiment. Even the youth
beside him, a dull, sodden-eyed lad, with an air of
being- here not on his own account, but because
he had been forced to come, was clad in deepest
mourning. By the side of the culprit sat the one
really tragic fig'ure in all the court — the culprit's
wife. She also w^as in black. In happier times
she must have been a fair, fresh-colored blonde.
Now all the color was g-one from her cheek. She
was as pale as death, and in her sweet downcast
eyes there were the tell-tale vigils of long- nights
of weeping. Beside her sat an elderly man who
bent over her, talking, whispering-, commenting- as
the trial went on.
Every eye in the tribune was fixed on the slim
young figure. A passing- g-lance sufficed, as a rule,
for the culprit and his accomplice ; but it was
on the wife that all the quick French sympathy,
that volubly spoke itself out, was lavished. The
blouses andjjeasants' caps, the tradesmen and their
wives crowded close about the railing to pass their
comment.
292 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
" She looks far more guilty than he," muttered
a wizened old man next to us, very crooked on his
three-legged stool.
" Yes," warmly added a stout capped peasant,
with a basket once on her arm, now serving as a
liedestal to raise the higher above the others her
own curiosit}'. " Yes — she has her modesty — too
— to siDeak for her "
" Bah — all i^ut on — to soften the jiuy." It was
our fiery one of the table d'hote who had wedged
his way toward us.
" And wh}' not ? A woman must make use of
what weapons she has at hand "
" Silence ! Silence ! messieurs f " The huissier
brought do"^Ti his staff of office with a ring. The
clatter of sabots over the wooden floor of the tri-
bune and the loud talking were disturbing the
court.
This French court, as a court, sat in strange
fashion, it seemed to us. The bench was on
wonderfully friendly terms with the table about
which the clerks sat, with the lawyers, with the
foreman of the jury, with even the huissiers. Mon-
sieur le President was in his robes, but he wore
them as negligently as he did the dignity of his
office. He and the lawyer for the defence, a noted
Coutances orator, openly wrangled; the latter, in-
deed, took little or no pains to show him respect ;
now they joked together, next a retort flashed
forth which began a quarrel, and the court and
the trial looked on as both struggled for a mastery
in the art of personal abuse. The lawyer made
nothing of raising his finger, to shake it in open
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 293
menace in the very teeth of the scarlet robes. And
the robes clad a purple-faced figure that retorted
ang-rily, like a fighting- school-boy.
But to Coutances, this, it appears, was a projDer
way for a court to sit.
" All, D'AIenQon — il est fort, lui. C'est lui qui agace
toujours monsieur' le president "
"He'll win — he'll make a great speech — he is
never really fine unless it's a question of life or
death " Such were the criticisms that were
poured out from the quick-speaking lips about us.
Presently a simultaneous movement on the part
of the jury brought the i^roceedings to confusion.
A witness in the act of giving evidence stopped
short in his sentence ; he twisted his head ; look-
ing upward, he asked a question of the foreman,
and the latter nodded, as if assenting-. The judge
then looked up. All the court looked up. All
the heads were twisted. Something obviously
was wrong. Then, i^resently the concierge ap-
I)eared with a huge bunch of keys.
And all the court waited in jDcrfect stillness —
while the windows were being closed !
"U y avail un courant d'air — there was a
draught," — gravely announced the crooked man,
as he rose to let the concierge pass. This latter
had her views of a court so susceptible to whiffs
of night air.
" Ces messieurs are delicate — pity they have to be
out at night ! " — whereat the tribune snickered.
All went on bravely for a good half -hour. More
witnesses were called ; each answered with won-
derful aptness, ease, and clearness ; none were
294 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
confused or timid ; these were not men to be
the playthings of others who made tortuous
cross-questionings their trade. They, also, were
Frenchmen ; they knew how to speak. The judge
and the Coutances lawyer continued their jokes
and their squabblings. And still only the poor
wife hung her head
Then all at once the judge began to mop his
brow. The jury, to a man, mopped theirs. The
witnesses and lawyers each brought forth their
big silk handkerchiefs. All the court was wiping
its brow.
" It's the heat," cried the judge. " Huissier, call
the concierge; tell her to open the windows."
The concierge reappeared. Flushed this time,
and with anger in her eye. She pushed her way
through the crowd ; she took not the least pains
in the world to conceal her opinion of a court as
variable as this one.
" All metis, this is too much ! if the jury doesn't
know its mind better than this ! "—and in the fury
of her wrath she well-nigh upset the crooked little
old gentleman and his three-legged stool.
" That's right — that's right. I'm not a fine lady,
tip me over. You open and shut me as if I were
a bureau drawer ; continues — coniinuez "
The concierge had readied the windows now.
She was opening and slamming them in the face
of the judge, the jury, and messieurs les huissiers,
with unabashed violence. The court, except for
that one figure in sombre drai^eries, being men,
suft'ered this violence as only men bear with a
woman in a temper. With the letting in of the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 295
fresh air, fresli energy in the prosecution mani-
fested itself. The witnesses were being sub-
jected to inquisitorial torture ; their answers
were still glib, but the faces were studies of the
passions held in the leash of self-control. Not
twenty minutes had ticked their beat of time
when once more the jury, to a man, showed signs
of shivering. Half a dozen gravely took out their
pocket-handkerchiefs, and as gravely covered their
heads. Others knotted the square of linen, thus
making a closer head-gear. The judge turned un-
easily in his own chair ; he gave a furtive glance
at the still open windows ; as he did so he caught
sight of his jury thus patiently suflfering. The
spectacle went to his heart ; these gentlemen were
again in a draught ? Where was the concierge ?
Then the huissier whispered in the judge's ear;
no one heard, but everyone divined the whisper.
It was to remind monsieur le president that the
concierge was in a temper ; would it not be bet-
ter for him, the huissier, to close the windows?
Without a smile the judge bent his head, assent-
ing. And once more all proceedings were at a
standstill ; the court was patiently waiting, once
more, for the windows to be closed.
Now, in all this, no one, not even the wizened
old man who was obviously the humorist of the
tribune, had seen anything farcical. To be too
hot — to be too cold ! this is a serious matter in
France. A jury surely has a right to protect itself
against cold, against la migraine, and the devils of
rheumatism and pleurisy. There is nothing ridic-
ulous in twelve men sitting in judgment on a fel-
296 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
low-man, with their handkerchiefs covering" their
bare heads. Nor of a judge who gallantl}' remem-
bers the temper of a concierge. Nor of a whole
court sitting- in silence, while the windows are
opened and closed. There was nothing- in all this
to tickle the play of French humor. But then, we
remembered, France is not the land of humorists,
but of wits. Monsieur d'Alengon doAvn yonder, as
he rises from his chair to address the judge and
jury, will j)rove to you and mCj in the next two
hours, how great an orator a Frenchman can be,
without trenching- an inch on the humorist's
ground.
The court-room was so still now that you could
have heard the fall of a jjin.
At last the great moment had come — the mo-
ment and the man. There is nothing in life
Frenchmen love better than a good speech — un
discours ; and to have the same pitched in the
dramatic key, with a tragic result hanging on the
effects of the pleading, this is the very climax of
enjoyment. To a Norman, oratory is not second,
but first, nature ; all the men of this province have
inherited the gift of a facile eloquence. But this
Monsieur d'Alen^on, the crooked man whispered,
in hurried explanation, he was un fameux — even
the Paris courts had to send for him when they
wanted a great orator.
The famous lawyer understood the alphabet of
his calling. He knew the value of effect. He
threw himself at once into the orator's pose. His
gown took sculptural lines ; his arms were waved
majestically, as arms that were conscious of hav-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 297
ing" great sleeves to accentuate the lines of gest-
ure.
Then he began to speak. The voice was soft ; at
first one was chiefly conscious of the music in its
cadences. But as it warmed and grew with the
ardor of the words, the room was filled with such
vibrations as usually come only with the sounding-
of rich wind-instruments. With such a voice a
man could do anything. D'Alen^on i^laj^ed with
it as a man plays with a power he has both trained
and conquered. It was firmly modulated, with
no accent of symxaathy when he opened his plea
for his client. It warmed slightly when he indig-
nantly repelled the charges brought against the
latter. It took the cadence of a lover when he
pointed to the young wife's figure and asked if it
were likely a husband could be g'uilty of such
crimes, year after year, with such a woman as that
beside him ? It was tenderly explanatory^ as he
went on enlarging on the young wife's perfections,
on her character, so well known to them all here
in Coutances, on the influence she had given the
home-life yonder in Cherbourg-. Even the chil-
dren were not forgotten, as an aid to incidental
testimony. Was it even conceivable a father of a
young" family would lead an innocent lad into
error, fraud, and theft ?
" It is he who knows how to touch the heart ! "
" Qv£l beau moment / " cried the wizened man, in
a transport.
" See — the jury weep ! "
All the court was in tears, even monsieur le
president snifiied, and yet there was no draught.
298 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
As for the peasant women and the shop-keepers,
they couki not have been more moved if the cul-
prit had been a blood-relation. How they en-
joyed their tears ! What a delight it was to thus
thrill and shiver ! The wife was sobbing- now,
with her head on her uncle's shoulder. And the
culprit was acting his part, also, to perfection.
He had been firmly stoical until now. But at this
parade of his wife's virtues he broke down, his
head was bowed at last. It was all the tribune
could do to keep its applause from breaking forth.
It Avas such a perfect performance ! it was as good
as the theatre — far better — for this Avas real — this
play — with a man's whole future at stake !
Until midnight the lawyer held all in the town
in a trance. He ended at last with a Ciceronian,
declamatory outburst. A great buzz of applause
welled up from the court. The tribune was in
transports: such a magnificent harangue he had
not given them in years. It was one of his great-
est victories.
" And his victories, madame, they are the vic-
tories of all Coutances."
The crooked man almost stood upright in the
excitement of his enthusiasm. Great drops of
sweat were on his wrinkled old brow. The even-
ing had been a great event in his life, as his
twisted frame, all a-tremble with pleasurable ela-
tion, exultingl}^ proved. The women's caj^s were
closer together than ever ; they were pressing in
a solid mass close to the railing of the tribune to
gain one last look at the figure of the wife.
" It is she who will not sleep "
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 299
" Poor soul, are lier children with her ? "
" No — and no women either. There is only the
uncle."
" He is a good man, he will comfort her ! "
" Faut prier le hon Dieu ! "
At the court-room door there was a last glimpse
of the stricken figure. She disappeared into the
blackness of the night, bent and feeble, leaning
with pitiful attempt at dignity on the uncle's arm.
With the dawn she would learn her husband's fate.
The jury would be out all night.
" You see, madame, it is she who must really
suffer in the end." AVe were also walking into
the night, through the bushes of the garden, to
the dark of the streets. Our landlady was guid-
ing us, and talking volubly. She was still under
the influence of the i^ast hour's excitement. Her
voice trembled audibly, and she was walking with
brisk strides through the dim streets.
" If Filou is condemned, what would happen to
them ? "
" Oh, he would pass a few years in prison — not
manj^. The jury is always easy on the rich. But
his future is ruined. They — the family — would
have to go away. But even then, rumor would
follow them. It travels far nowadays — it has a
thousand legs, as they say here. "Wherever they
go they will be known. But Monsieur d'Aleugon,
what did you think of him, hein ? There's a great
man — what an orator! One must go as far as
Paris — to the theatre ; one must hear a great play
— and even there, when does an actor make you
weep as he did ? Henri, he was superb. I tell
300 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
you, superb ! cVune eloquence ! " And to her hus-
band, when we reached the inn door, our viva-
cious landlady was still narrating- the chief points
of the speech as we crawled wearily up to our
beds.
It was early the next morning- when we descend-
ed into the inn dining-room. The lawyer's elo-
quence had interfered with our rest. Coffee and
a bite of fresh air were best taken together, we
agreed. Before the coffee came the news of the
culprit's fate. Most of the inn establishment had
been sent to court to learn the jury's verdict.
Madame confessed to a sleepless night. The
thought of that poor wife had haunted her pillow.
She had deemed it best — but just to us all, in a
word, to despatch Auguste — the one inn waiter, to
hear the verdict. Tiens, there he was now, turn-
ing the street corner.
" II est acquitte ! " rang through the streets.
"He is acquitted — he is acquitted ! Le bon Dieu
soit lorn ! Henri — Ernest — Monsieur Terier, he
is acquitted— he is acquitted ! I tell you ! "
The crj" rang through the house. Our landlady
was shouting the news out of doors, through win-
dows, to the passers-by, to the very dogs as they
ran. But the townsioeople needed no summon-
ing. The windows were crowded full of eager
heads, all asking the same question at once. A
company of peasants coming \i\) from the fields
for breakfast stopped to hear the glad tidings.
The shop-keepers all the length of the street
gathered to join them. Everyone was talking at
once. Every shade of opinion was aired in the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 301
morning" sun. On one subject alone there was a
universal agreement.
" What good news for the poor wife ! "
"And what a night she must have passed ! "
All this sympathy and interest, be it remem-
bered, was for one they barely knew. To be the
niece of a Coutances uncle — this was enough, it
appears, for the good people of this cathedral
city, to insure the flow of their tears and the gift
of their prayers.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE FETE-DIEU^A JUNE CHEISTMAS.
When we stepped forth into
the streets, it was to find a
flower - strewn city. The
paving-stones were covered
with the needles of pines,
with fir-boug'hs, with rose-
leaves, lily stocks, and with
the petals of flock and cle-
matis. One's feet sank into
the odorous carpet as in the
thick wool of an Oriental prayer-rug". To tread
upon this verdure was to crush out perfume. Yet
the fragrance had a solemn flavor. There was a
touch of consecration in the very aroma of the
fir-sap.
Never was there a town so given over to its
festival. Everything else — all trade, commerce,
occupation, work, or pleasure even, was at a dead
standstill. In all the city there was but one
thought, one object, one end in view. This was
the great day of the Feie-Dieu. To this blessed
feast of the Sacrament the townspeople had been
looking forward for weeks.
It is their June Christmas. The great day
brings families together.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 303
From all the country round the farm wagons had
been climbing- the hill for hours. The peasants
were in holiday dress. Gold crosses and amber
beads encircled leathery old necks ; the gossamer
caps, real Normandy caps at last, crowned heads
held erect to-day, with the pride of those who had
come to town clad in their best. Even the younger
women were in true peasant garb ; there was a
touch of a ribbon, brilliant red and blue stockings,
and the sparkle of silver shoe-buckles and gold
necklaces to prove they had donned their finerj^
in honor of the fete. The men wore their blue
and puri:)le blouses over their holiday suits: but
almost all had jiinned a sprig of bright geranium
or honeysuckle to brighten up the shiny cotton
of the preservative blouse. Even the children car-
ried bouquets ; and thvis many of the farm wagons
were as gay as the streets.
No, gay is not the word. Neither the city nor
the streets were really gay. The city, as a city,
was too dead in earnest, too absorbed, too intent,
to indulge in gayety. It was the greatest of all
the days of the year in Coutances. In the cli-
maxic moments of life, one is solemn, not gay.
It was not only the greatest, but the busiest, day
of the year for this cathedral town. Here was a
whole city to deck ; every street, every alleyway
must be as beautiful as a church on a feast-day.
The city, in truth, must be changed from a bust-
ling, trading, commercial entrepot into an altar.
And this altar must be beautiful — as beautiful,
as ingeniously picturesque as only the French
instinct for beauty could make it.
304 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
Thiuk you, with such a task on haucl, this city-
ful of artists had time for frivolous iJliug' ] Since
dawn these artists had been scrubbing- their
doors, washing" windows, and sluicing the gutters.
One is not a provincial for nothing- ; one is hon-
est in the provinces ; one does not drape finery
over a filthy frame. The city was washed first,
before it was adorned.
Opposite, across from our inn door-sill, where
we lingered a moment before we began our jour-
ney through the streets, we could see for our-
selves how thorough was this cleansing. A shop-
keeper and his wife were each mounted on a
step-ladder. One washed the inside and the other
the outside of the low shop -windows. They were
in the greatest possible haste, for they were late
in their preparations. In two hours the proces-
sion was to pass. Their neighbors stopped to cry
up to them :
" Tendez-vous, aujourcVhid ? " It is the universal
question, heard everywhere.
" Mais Old" croaked out the man, his voice
sounding like the croak of a rook, from the height
from which he spoke. " Only we are late, you
see."
It was his wife who was taking- the question to
heart. She saw in it just cause for affii-ont.
" Ah, those Espergnons, they're always on time,
they are; they had their hanging-s out a week
ago, and now they are as filthy as wash-rags. No
wonder they have time to walk the streets ! " and
the indignant dame gave her window-pane an
extra polish.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 305
" Here, Leon, catch hold, I'm ready now ! "
The woman was hokling- out one end of a long-,
snowy sheet. Leon meekly took his end ; both
hooked the stuff to some rings ready to secure the
hang-ing- ; the fagade of the little house Avas soon
hidden behind the white fall of the family linen ;
and presently Leon and his wife beg-an xexj g-ravely
to pin tiny sprigs of purple clematis across the
white surface. This latter decoration was jDer-
formed with the sure touch of artists. No mediae-
val desig-ner of tapestry could have chosen, with
more secure selection, the precise points of dis-
tance at which to place the bouquets ; nor could the
tones and tints of the g-reens and jDurples, and the
velvet of the occasional heartsease, sparsely used,
have been more correctly combined. When the task
was ended, the commonplace house was a palace
wall, hung- with the sheen of fine linen, on which
bloomed geometric figures beautifully spaced.
All the city was thus draped. One walked
through long walls of snow, in which flowers
grew. Sometimes the floral decorations expand-
ed from the more common sprig into wreaths and
garlands. Here and there the Coutances fancy
worked itself out in JJeur-dc-lis emblems or in ar-
morial bearings. But everywhere an astonishing,
instinctive sense of beauty, a knowledge of jaro-
j)ortion, and a natural sense for color were ob-
vious. There was not, in all the town, a single of-
fence committed against taste. Is it any wonder,
with such an heredity at their fingers' ends, that
the provinces feed Paris, and that Paris sets the
fashions in beauty for the rest of the world ?
306 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
Come with us, and look upon this open-air
chapel. It stands iu the oj^en street, in front of
an old house of imposing aspect. The two com-
monplace-looking- women who are iDutting- the
finishing touches to this beautiful creation tell us
it is the reposoir of Madame la Baronne. They
have been working on it since the day before. In
the night the miracle was finished — nearly — they
Avere so weary they had gone to bed at dawn.
They do not tell you it is a miracle. They think
it fine, oh, yes — " cest beau — Madame la Baronne
always has the most beautiful of all the reposoirs,"
but then they have decked these altars since they
were born ; their grandmothers built them before
ever they saw the light. For always in Coutances
"on la f tie beaucoup ; " this feast of the Sacrament
has been a great day in Coutances for centuries
past. But although they are so used to it, these
natural architects love the day. " It's so fine to
see — si beau a vol}' — all the reposoirs, and the
children and the fine ladies walking through the
streets, and then, all kneeling when Monseigneur
I'Archeveque prays. Ah yes, it is a fine sight."
They nod, and smile, and then they turn to light a
taper, and to consult about the placing of a certain
vase from out of which an Easter lilj^ towers.
At the foot of these miniature altars trees had
been planted. Gardens had also been laid out;
the parterres were as gravely watered as if they
were to remain in the middle of a biistling high
street in perpetuity. Steps lead up to the altar.
These were covered with rugs and carpets ; for the
feet of the bishop must tread only on velvet and
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 307
flowers. Candelabra, vases, banners, crosses, cru-
cifixes, flowers, and tall thin tapers — all tlie altars
were crowded with such adornments. Human
vanity and the love of surpassing one's neighbors,
these also figured consi^icuously among the things
the fitfully shining- sun looks down upon. But
what a charm there is in such a contest ! Surely
the desire to beautify the spot on which the
Blessed Sacrament rests — this is only another
way of professing one's adoration.
As we passed through the streets a multitude of
jiictures crowded upon the eyes. In an archway
groups of young first communicants were forming;
they were on their way to the cathedral. Their
white veils against the gloom of the recessed
archways were like sunlit clouds caught in an
abyss. Priests in gorgeous vestments were walk-
ing quickly through the streets. All the peasants
were going also toward the cathedral. A grouiD
stopped, as did we, to turn into a side-street. For
there was a picture we should not see later on.
Between some lovely old turrets, down from con-
vent walls a group of nuns fluttered tremulously ;
they were putting the last touches to the reposoir
of their own Sacre Coeur. Some were carrying
huge gilt crosses, staggering as they walked ;
others were on tiptoe filling' the tall vases ;
others were on their knees, patting into perfect
smoothness the turf laid about the altar steps.
There was an old cure among them and a young
carpenter whom the cure was directing. Every-
one of the nuns had her black skirts tucked up ;
their stout shoes must be free to fly over the
308 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ground with the swiftness of hounds. How pretty
the faces were, under the great caps, in that
moment of unwonted excitement ! The cheeks,
even of the okler nuns, were pink ; it was a pink
that made their habitual iDallor have a dazzling"
beauty. The eyes were lighted into a fresh flame
of life, and the lips were temptingly crimson ;
they were only women, after all, these nuns, and
once a year at least this feast of the Sacrament
brings all their feminine activities into plaj'.
Still we moved on, for within the cathedral
the procession had not yet formed. There was
still time to make a tour of the town.
To plunge into the side-streets away from the
wide cathedral parvis,was to be confronted with a
strange calm. These narrow thoroughfares had
the stillness which broods over all ancient cities'
bj^-ways. Here was no festival bustle ; all was
grave and sad. The only dwellers left in the an-
tique fifteenth century houses were those who
must remain at home till a still smaller house
holds them. We passed several aged Coutan^ais
couples. By twos they were seated at the low
windows ; they had been dressed and then left ;
they were sitting here, in the pathetic x)atience of
old age ; they were hoping something of the fete
might come their way. Two women, in one of
the low interiors, were more philosophic than
their neighbors ; if their stiffened knees would not
carry them to the fete, at least their gnarled old
hands could hold a pack of cards. They were
seated close to the open casement, facing each
other across a small round table ; along the win-
dow-sill there Avere rows of flower-XDots ; a pewter
A STREET IN COCTANCES — EGLISE SAINT- I'lEKKE.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 309
tankard was set between them ; and out of the
shadowy interior came the topaz gleam of the
Normandy brasses, the hng-e bed, with its snowj"
draperies, the great chests, and the flower}^ chintz-
frill defining the width of the yawning fireplace.
The two old faces, with the strong features, deep
wrinkles, sunken mouths, and bald heads tied uj)
in dazzling white coifs, were in full relief against
the dim background. They were as motionless as
statues ; neither looked up as our footfall struck
along the cobbles ; it was an exciting moment in
the game.
Below these old houses stretched the public
gardens. Here also there was a great stillness.
For us alone the rose gardens bloomed, the tropi-
cal trees were shivering, and the palms were
making a night of shade for wide acres of turf.
E-arely does a city boast of such a garden. It was
no surprise to learn, later, that these lovely paths
and noble terraces had been the slow achievement
of a lover of landscape gardening, one who, dy-
ing, had given this, his master-piece, to his native
town.
There is no better place from which to view the
beautiful city. From the horizontal lines of the
broad terraces flows the great sweep of the hill-
side ; it takes a swift precipitous plunge, and rests
below in wide stretches of meadow. The garden
itself seemed, by virtue of this encompassing cir-
cle of green, to be only a more exquisitely culti-
vated portion of the lovely outlying hills and
wooded depths. The cows, grazing below in the
valleys, were whisking their tails, and from the
farm-yards came the crow of the chanticleer.
310 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
One turned to look iTpward — to follow heaven-
ward the soaring' glory of the cathedral towers.
From the plane of the streets their geometric per-
fection had made thei*" lines seem cold. Through
this aerial perspective the eye followed, enrapt-
ured, the perfect Gothic of the sjiires and the
lower central tower. The great nave roof and
the choir lifttnl themselves above the turrets
and the tiled house-tops of the city, as g"ray
mountains of stone rise above the huts of pyg-
mies. Coutances does well to be proud of its ca-
thedral.
The sound of a footstep, crunching the gravel
of the garden-walk, caused us to turn. It was to
find, face to face, the hero of the night before ; the
celebrated Coutances lawyer was also taking his
constitutional. But not alone, some friends were
with him, come up to town doubtless for the fcfe
or the trial. He was showing them his city. He
stretched a hand forth, with the same magisterial
g-esture of the night before, to point out the glory
of the prospect lying- below the terrace. He
faced the cathedral towers, explaining the points
of their perfection. And then, for he was a French-
man, he perceived the j^resence of two ladies. In
an instant his hat was raised, and as quickly his
eyes told us he had seen us before, in the court-
room. The bow was the lower because of this re-
cognition, and the salute was accompanied by a
g-rave smile.
Manners in the provinces are still good, you
perceive — if only jou are far enough away from
Paris.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 311
Someone else also bestowed on us the courtesy
of a passing- greeting. It was a cure who was
saying" his Ave, as he paced slowly, in the sun, up
and down the yew path. He was old; one leg-
was already tired of life — it must be dragg-ed pain-
fully along", when one walked in the sun. The cure
himself was not in the least tired of life. His
smile was as warm as the sun as he lifted his
calotte.
" Surely, mesdames, you will not miss the fete ?
It must be forming now."
He had taken an old man's, and a priest's, privi-
lege. We were all three looking down into the
valley, which lay below, a pool of freshness. He
had spoken, first of the beauty of the j)rospect,
and then of the great day. To be young and
still strong, to be able to follow the procession
from street to street, and yet to be lingering here
among the roses ! — this passed the simple cure's
comprehension. The reproach in his mild old
eyes was quickly changed to approval, however ;
for upon the announcement that the procession
was already in motion we started, bidding him a
hurried adieu.
The huge cathedral portals yawned at the top
of the hill : they were like a gaping chasm. The
great place of the cathedral square was half
filled : a part of the procession had passed already
beyond the gloom of the vast aisles into the frank
openness of daj^ Winding- in and out of the
white-hung streets a long line of figures was
marching : part of the line had reached the first
reposoir, and gi-adually the swaying of the heads
312 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
was slackening-, as, by twos and twos, the figures
stopped.
Still, from between the cathedral doors an un-
ending- multitude of people kept pouring- forth
upon the cathedral square. Now it was an inter-
minable line of young- girls, first communicants,
in their white veils and g-owns ; against the grays
and browns of the cathedi-al fagade this mass
of snow was of startling purity — a g-reat white
rose of light. Closely following the dazzling line
marched a grave com^Dany of nuns ; with their
black robes sweeping the flower-strewn streets,
the pallor of their faces, and the white wings of
their huge coifs, they might have been so many
marble statues moving with slow, automatic step,
repeating in life the statues in stone above their
heads, incarnations of meek renunciation. With
the free and joj^ous step of a vigorous youth not
yet tamed to comjilete self-obliteration, next there
stepped forth into the sun a group of seminarists.
In the lace and scarlet of their bright robes they
were like unto so many young kings. High in the
summer air they swung their golden censers ; from
huge baskets, heajDed with flowers, they scattered
flowers as they swayed, in the grace of their youth,
from side to side, with priestly rhythmic motion.
In the days of Greece, under the Attic tent of
sky, it was Jove that was thus worshipped ; here
in Coutances, under the paler, less ardent blue
of France, it was the Christian God these youths
were honoring. So men have continued to scat-
ter flowers ; to swing incense ; to bend the knee :
surely in all ages the long homage of men, like the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 313
procession here before us, has been but this — the
longing- to worship the Invisible, and to make the
act one with beauty.
Is it Greek, is it Christian, this festival ? If it
be Catholic, it is also pagan. It is as composite a
union of religious ceremonials as man is himself
an aggregate of lost types, for there is a subtle
law of repetition which governs both men and
ceremonials.
How pagan was the color ! how Greek the sense
of beauty that lies in contrasts ! how Jewish the
splendor of the priestly vestments as the gold and
silver tissues gleamed in the sun ! How mediaeval
this survival of an old miracle play !
See this group of children, half-frightened,
half-i3roud, wandering from side to side as chil-
dren unused to walking soberly ever march. They
were following the leadership of a huge Suisse.
This latter was magnificently apx)arelled. He
carried a great mace, and this he swung high in
the air. The children, little John the BaiDtist,
Christ, Mary the Mother, and Magdalen, were
magnetized by his mighty skill. They were
looking at the golden stick ; they were thinking
only of how high he, this splendid giant who ter-
rified them so, would throw it the next time, and
if he would always surely catch it. The small
Virgin, in her long brown robes, tripped as she
walked. The cherubic John the Baptist, with
only his sheepskin and his cross, shivered as he
stumbled after her.
" At least thej" might have covered his arms, le
2muvre2)etit," one stout peasant among the bystand-
314 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ers was Christian enon2:li to mutter, " Poor little
John ! " Even in summer the sun is none too hot
on this hill-top -, and a sheepskin is a garment one
must be used to, it apf)ears. Christ, himself, was
no better oft'. He was wearing- his croAvn of thorns,
but he had only his night-dress, bound with a
girdle, to keep his naked little bod}'^ warm. An
angel, in gossamer wings and a huge rose-wreath,
being of the other sex, had her innate woman's
love of finery to make her oblivious to the light
sting of the Avind, as it joassed through her draper-
ies. As this group in the i^rocession moved
slowly along, the city took on a curiously antique
aspect. In every lattice window a head was
framed. The lines of the townspeople pressed
closer and closer; they made a serried mass of
blouses and caps, of shiny coats and bared heads.
The very houses seemed to recognize that a part
of their own youth was jiassing them by ; these
were the figures they had looked out upon, time
after time, in the old fourteenth and fifteenth cen-
tury daj's, when the great miracle plays drew the
country around, for miles and miles, to this Cou-
tances square.
Across the square, in the long gray distance of
the streets, the archbishop's canopy was motion-
less. A sweet groaning murmur rij^pled from lip
to lip.
Then a swift and mighty rustling filled the air,
for the bones of thousands of knees were striking
the stones of the street ; — even heretic knees were
bent when the Host was lifted. It was the moment
of silent prayer. It was also, perhaps, the most
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 315
beautiful, it was assuredly the most consum-
mately picturesque moment of the da3^ The bent
heads : the long" vistas of kneeling- figures ; the
lovely contrasts of the flowing- draperies ; the
trailing sj^lendor of the priests' robes dying into
the black note made by the nuns' sombre skirts ;
the gossamer brilliance of the hundreds of white
veils, through which the 3^oung rapture of relig-
ious awe on lips and brow made even common-
place features beautiful ; the choristers' scarlet
petticoats ; the culminating note of splendor, the
Archbishop, throned like some antique scriptural
king- under the feathers and velvets of his crimson
canopy ; then the long lines of the townspeople with
the groujis of peasants beside them, whose well-
sunned skins made even their comi:)lexion seem
pale by the side of cheeks that brought the burn
of noon-suns in the valleys to mind ; and behind
this wall of kneeling figures, those other walls,
the long white-hung house facades, with their
pendent sprig-s and wreaths and garlands above
which hung the frieze of human heads beneath
the carved cornices; surely this was indeed the
culminating- moment, both in point of beauty and
in impressiveness, of the great day's festival.
Thus was repcsoir after reposoir visited. Again
and again the multitude was on its knees. Again
and again the Host was lifted. And still we
followed. Sometimes all the line was in full
light, a long perspective of color and of pris-
matic radiance. And then the line would be lost ;
some part of it was still in a side-street ; and
the rest were singing along the edges of the
316 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
city's ramparts, under the great branches of the
trees. Here, in the g"ray of the narrow streets,
the choristers' gowns were startling in their rich-
ness. Yonder, in full sunlight, the brightness on
the maidens' robes made the shadows in their
white skirts as blue as light caught in a grotto's
depth.
Still ih.ej sang. In the dim streets or under
the trees, where the gay banners were still flut-
tering, and the white veils, like airy sails, were
bulging in the wind, the hymn went on. It w^as
thin and pathetically weak in the mouths of the
babes that walked. It was clear, as fresh and pure
as a brooklet's ripple, from the mouths of the
young communicants. It was of firm contralto
strength from the throats of the grave nuns. The
notes gained and gained in richness ; the hymn
was almost a chant with the priests ; and in the
mouths of the people it was as a ringing chorus.
Together with the swelling music swung the in-
cense into high air; and to the Host the rose-
leaves were flung.
Still we followed. Still the long line moved
on from altar to altar.
Then, when the noon was long jDast, wearily we
climbed upward to our inn.
In the high streets there was much going to
and fro. The shop-keepers already were taking
down their linen. Pouffe ! Pouffe ! there was
much blowing through mouths and a great stand-
ing on tiptoes to reach the tall tapers on the
reposoirs.
Coutances was pious. Coutances was proud of
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 317
its fete. But Coutances was also a thrifty city.
Once the cortege had passed, it was high time to
snuff out the tajjers. Who could stand by and see
good candles blowing uselessly in the wind, and
one's money going along with the dripping !
CHAPTER XX^TEI.
BY LAND TO MONT ST. MICHEL.
Two hours later the usual
collection of forces was as-
sembled in our inn court-
yard ; for a question of im-
portance was to be decided.
Madame was there — chief
of the council : her hus-
band was also present, be-
cause he misfht be useful in case any dispute
as to madame's word came up ; Aug"uste, the
one inn waiter, was an important fisfure of the
group ; for he, of them all, was the really travelled
one ; he had seen the world — he was to be counted
on as to distances and routes ; and above, from the
upper windows, the two ladies of the bed-chamber
looked down, to act as chorus to the brisk dia-
logue going" on between madame and the owner
of a certain victoria for which we were in treaty.
" Ces dames" madame said, with a shrug which
was meant for the coachman, and a smile which
was her gift to us — " these ladies wish to go to
Mont St. Michel, to drive there. Have you your
little victoria and Poulette ? "
Now, by the shrug madame had conveyed to the
man and the assembled household generally, her
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 319
own great scorn of ns, and of our plans. What a
whim this, of driving-, forsooth, to the Mont !
Dieu salt — French people were not given to any
such follies ; they were serions-minded, always, in
matters of travel. To travel at all, was no light
thing; one made one's will and took an honest
and tearful farewell of one's family, when one
went on a journey. But these English, these
Americans, there's no foretelling to what point
their folly will make them tempt fate ! However,
madame was one who knew on which side her
bread was buttered, if ever a woman did. and the
continuance of these mad follies helped to butter
her own French roll. And so her shrug and Avink
conveyed to the tall Norman just how much these
particular lunatics before them would be willing
to pay for this their whim.
" Have you Poulette ? "
" Yes — yes — Poulette is at home. I have made
her repose herself all day — hearing these ladies
had spoken of driving to the Mont "
Chorus from the upper window-sills. " The
poor beast ! it is joUment longiie — la distance."
" As these ladies observe," continued the owner
of the doomed animal, not raising his head, but
quickly acting on the hint, "it is long, the dis-
tance — one does not go for nothing." And though
the man kept his mouth from betraying' him, his
keen eyes glittered with avarice.
" And then — ces dames must descend at Genets,
to cross the greve, tu sais," interpolated the waiter,
excitedly changing his napkin, his wand of office,
from one armpit to the other. The thought of
320 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
travel stirred his blood. It was fine — to start off
thus, without haviug- to make the necessary ar-
rang-ements for a winter's service or a summer's
season. And to drive, that would be new — yes
that would be a chang-e indeed from the stuffy
third-class compartments. For Auguste, you see,
approved of us and of the foolishness of our plans.
His sympathy being* gratis, was allied to the pro-
tective instinct — he would see the cheating was at
least as honestly done as was compatible with
French methods.
" Another carriage — and why ? " we meekly quer-
ied, warned by this friendly hint. A chorus now
arose from the entire audience.
" JIais, madame ! — it is as much as five or six
kilos over the sands to the Mont from Genets ! "
was cried out in a tone of universal reproach.
"Through rivers, madame, through rivers as
high as that ! " and Auguste, striking in after the
chorus, measured himself off at the breast.
" Yes — the water comes to there, on the horse,"
added the driver, sweeping" an imaginary horse's
head, with a fine gesture, in the air.
" Dame, that must be fine to see," cried down
Leontine and Marie, gasping- with little sighs of
envy.
" And so it is ! " cried back Auguste, nodding
upward with dramatic gesture. " One can get as
wet as a duck — splashing through those rivers.
Dieu ! que c'est heau ! " And he clasped his hands
as his eye, rolling heavenward, caught the blue
and the velvet of the four feminine orbs on its up-
ward way. Seeing which ecstasy, the courtyard
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 321
visibly relented ; Aug-uste's rapture and liis envy
had worked the common human miracle of turning
contemj)t for a folly into belief in it.
This quick firing- of French jieople to a jileasur-
able elation in others' adventure is, I think we
must all ag-ree, one of the great charms of this ex-
citable race : anything- will serve as a pretext for
setting- this sympathetic vibration in motion.
What they all crave as a nation is a daily, hourly
diet of the unusual, the unforeseen.
It is this passion for incident which makes a
Frenchman's life not unlike his soups, since in the
case of both, how often does he make something-
out of nothing !
An hour later we were picking our way thi'ough
the city's streets. Sweeter than the crushed flow-
ers was the free air of the valley.
There is no way of looking back so agreeable, on
the whole, I think, as to look back upon a city.
From the near distance of the first turn in the
road, Coutances and its cathedral were at their
very best. The hill on which both stood was only
one of the many hills we now saw g-rowing- out of
the green valley ; among the dozen hill-tops, this
one we were leaving was only more crowded than
the others, and more g-loriously crowned. In giant
height uprose, above the city's roofs and the lesser
towers, the spires and the lovely lantern tower.
This vast mass of stone, pricked into lacy aper-
tures and with its mighty lines of grace— for how
many a long century has it been in the eye of the
valley ? Tancrede de Hauteville saw it before
"William was born — before he, the Conqueror, rode
322 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
in his turn tliroug-li the green lanes to consecrate
the church to One greater than he. From Tancrede
to Boileau, what a succession of bishops, each in
their turn, have had their eye on the great cathe-
dral. There was a sort of viking bishop, one
Geoffrey de Montbray, of the Conqueror's day, who,
having a greater taste for men's blood than their
puritication, found Coutances a dull city : there
was more war of the kind his stout arm rejoiced
in across the Channel ; and so he travelled a bit
to do a little pleasant killing. From Geoffrey to
Boileau and the latter's lacy ruffles — how many a
rude Norman epic was acted out, here in the val-
ley, beneath the soaring spires, before the Homeric
combat was turned into the verse of a chanson de
geste, a Roman de Rou, or a Lufrin !
As Poulette rolled the wheels along, instead of
visored bishop, or mail rustling on strong breasts,
there was the oi^en face of the landscape, and the
tremble of the grasses beneath the touch of the
wind. Coming down the hill was a very j)eaceable
company ; doubtless, between wars in those hot
fighting centuries, just such travellers went up and
down'the hill-road as unconcernedly as did these
peasants. There was quite a variety among the
present groups : some were strictly family parties ;
these talked little, giving their mind to stiff walk-
ing — the smell of the soup in the farmj^ard kitchen
was in their nostrils. The women's ages M-ere
more legibly read in their caps than in their faces —
the older the women the prettier the caps. Among
these groups, queens of the party, were some first
communicants. Their white kid slippers were
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 323
brown now, from the long walk in the city streets
and the dust of the highway. They held their
veils with a maiden's awkwardness ; with bent
heads they leaned gravely on their fathers' arms.
In this, their first sujDreme experience of self-
consciousness, they had the self-absorption of
young brides. The trail of their muslin gowns
and the light cloud of their veils made dazzling
spots of brightness in the delicate frame of the
June landscape. Each of these white-clad figures
was followed by a long train of friends and rela-
tives.
" C'est joli a i;oir— it's a pretty sight, hein, my la-
dies ? — these young girls are beautiful like that ! "
Our coachman took his eye off Poulette to turn in
his seat, looking backward at the groups as they
followed in our wake. " Ah — it was hard to leave
my own — I had two like that, myself, in the pro-
cession to-day." And the full Norman eye filled
with a sudden moisture. This was a more attrac-
tive glitter than the avarice of a moment be-
fore.
" You see, mesdames," he went on, as if wishing
to excuse the moistened eyelids, " you see — it's a
great day in the family when our children take
their first communion. It is the day the child dies
and the man, the woman is born. When our chil-
dren kneel at our feet, before the priest, before
their comrades, and beg us to forgive them all the
sin they have done since they were born — it is too
much — the heart grows so big it is near to burst-
ing. Ah — it is then we all weep ! "
Charm settled herself in her seat with a satis-
324 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
fiecl smile. " We are iu hick — an emotional coach-
man who weeps and talks ! The five hours will
fly," she murmured. Then aloud, to Jacques— as
we learned the now snifflinf?- father was called — she
presently asked, with the oil of encourag-ement in
her tone :
" You say your two were in the procession ? "
" Two ! there were five in all. Even the babies
walked. Did you see Jesu and the Mag-dalen?
They were mine — C'etait a mot, ga ! For the priests
will have them — as many as they can get."
" They are right. If the children didn't walk,
how could the procession be so fine ? "
"Fine — heau — c,a?" And there was a deep
scorn in Jacques's voice. " You should liaA'e seen
the fete twenty years ago ! Now, its glory is as
nothing. It's the i^riests themselves who are to
blame. They've spoiled it all. Years ago, the
whole town walked. Dieu — what a spectacle ! The
mayor, the mairie, all the firemen, municipal ofli-
cers — yes, even the soldiers walked. And as for
the singing — dame, all the young men were chor-
isters then— we were trained for months. When we
walked and sang in the open streets the singing
filled all the to^vn. It was like a great thunder."
" And the change^ why has it come ? " persisted
Charm.
" Oh," Jacques replied, caressing Poulette's
haunches with his whip-lash. "It's the priests;
they were too grasping. They are avaricious,
that's what they are. They want everything for
themselves. And a. fete — c.a coute, vous savez. Be-
sides, the spirit of the times has changed. Peoj)le
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 325
aren't so devout now. Lihres j^enseurs — that's tlie
fashion now. Hold, Poulette ! "
Poulette responded. She dashed into the valley,
below US now, as if this rolling- along- of a heavy-
victoria, a lot of lug'gag-e, and three travellers,
was an agreeable episode in her career of toil.
But on the mind of her owner, the spectre of the
free-thinkers was still hovering like an evil spirit.
During- the next hour he g-ave us a long- and exhaust-
ive exposition of the changes wrought by ces mes-
sieurs qui nienf le hon Dieu. Among their crimes was
to be numbered that of having- disintegrated the
morale of the peasantry. They — the peasants — no
longer believed in miracles, and as for sorcery, for
the good old superstitions, bah ! they were looked
upon as old wives' tales. Even here, in the heart
of this rural countrj^, you would have to walk far
before you could find inie vraie sorciere, one who.
by looking- into a g-lass of water, for instance, could
read the future as in a book, or one who, if your cow
dried up, could name the evil spirit, the demon,
who, among the peasants was exercising- the curse.
All this science was lost. A peasant would now
be ashamed to bring his cow to a fortune-teller ;
all the village would laugh. Even the shei^herds
had lost the power of communing with the planets
at night ; and all the valley read the Petit Journal
instead of consulting the vieilles mh'es. One must
go as far as Brittanj^ to see a real peasant with the
superstitions of a peasant. As for Normandy, it
went in step with the rest of the world, que diahle !
And again the whip lash descended. Poulette
must suffer for Jacques's disgust.
326 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
If the Normau peasant was a modern, his coun-
try, at least, had retained the charm of its ancient
beauty. The road was as Norman a higiiwaj^ as
one could wish to see. It had the most capricious
of natures, turning- and perversely twisting among-
the farms and uplands. The land was ribboned
with growing grain, and the June g-rass was being
cut. The farms stood close npon the roadway, as
if longing for its companionshi]) ; and then, having
done so much toward the establishment of neigh-
borly gossip, promptly turned their backs upon
it — true Normaiis, all of them, with this their ap-
pearance of frankness and their real reserves of
secrecy.
For a last time we caught a distant glimpse of
the great cathedral. As we looked back across
the bright-roofed villages, we saw the stately pile,
gray, glorious, superb, dominating the scene, the
hills, river, and fields, as in the old days the great
city walls and the cathedral towers had dominated
all the human life that played helplessly about
them.
We were out once more among the green and
yellow broadlands ; between our carriage - wheels
and the horizon there was now spread a wide am-
phitheatre of wooded hills. The windings of the
poplar-lined road serpentined in sinuous grace in
and out of forests, meadows, hills, and islands.
The afternoon lights were deepening ; the shad-
ows on the grain-fields cast by the oaks and beeches
were a part of our comj^any. The blue bloom of
the distant hills was strengthening into purple.
As the light was intensifying in color, the human
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 327
life in the fields was relaxing- its tension ; the bent
backs were straightening", the ploughmen were
whipping their steeds toward the open road ; for
although it was Sunday, and a/efe day, the farmer
must work. The women were gathering up some
of the grasses, tying them into bundles, and toss-
ing them on their heads as they moved slowly
across the blackening earth.
One field near us was peopled with a group of
girls resting on their scythes. One or two among
them were mopping their faces with their coarse
blue aprons; the faces of all were aflame with
the red of rude health. As we came upon them,
some had flung away their scythes, the tallest
among the group grasping a near companion,
playfully, in the pose of a wrestler. In an instant
the company was turned into a group of wrestlers.
There was a great shout of laughter, as maiden af-
ter maiden was tumbled over on her back or face
amid the grasses. Sabots, short skirts, kerchiefs,
scarlet arms rose and fell to earth in the mad
whirl of their gayety.
" Stop, Jacques, I must see the end," cried
Charm. " Will the}^ fight or dance, I wonder ! "
" Oh, it is a pure Georgic — they'll dance."
They were dancing already. The line, with dis-
hevelled hair, aprons and kerchiefs askew, had
formed into the square of a quadrille. A rude
measure was tripped; a snatch of song, shouted
amid the laughter, gave rhythm to the measure,
and then the whole band, singing in chorus,
linked arms and swept with a furious dash be-
neath the thatched roof of a low farm-house.
328 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
"As you see, my ladies, sometimes the fields
are gay — even now," was Jacques's comment.
" But they should be getting- their grasses in — for
it'll rain before night. It's time to sing when the
scythe sleeps — as we say here."
To our eyes there were no signs of rain. The
clouds rolling in the blue sea above us were only
gloriously lighted. But the birds and the peas-
ants knew their sky ; there was a great fluttering
of wings among the branches ; and the peasants,
as we rattled in and out of the hamlets, were pull-
ing the reposoirs to pieces in the haste that j)re-
dicts bad weather. They had been " celebrating"
all along the road; and besides the piety, the
Norman thrift was abroad upon the highway,
AYomen were tearing sheets off the house facades ;
the lads and girls were bearing crosses, china
vases, and highly-colored Virgins from the wood-
en altars into the low houses.
Presently the great droits fell ; they beat upon
the smooth roadway like so many hard bits of
coin. In less than two ticks of the clock, the
world was a wet world ; there were masses of soft
gray clouds that were like so much cotton, drip-
ping with moisture. The earth was as drenched
as if, half an hour ago, it had not been a jeAvel
gleaming in the sun ; and the very farm-houses
had quickly assumed an air of having been caught
out in the rain without an umbrella. The farm
gardens alone seemed to rejoice in the suddenness
of the shower. Flowers have a way of shining,
when it rains, that proves flower-petals have a
woman's love of solitaires.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 329
There were other dashes of color that made the
gray landscape astonishingly brilliant. Some of
the peasants on their way to the Yillage fetes were
also caught in the i^assing shower. They had
opened their wide blue and purple umbrellas ;
these latter made huge disks of color reflected in
the glass of the wet macadam. The women had
turned their black alpaca and cashmere skirts in-
side out, tucking the edges about their stout
hii3S; beneath the wide vivid circles of the drip-
ping umbrellas these brilliantly colored under-
petticoats showed a liberal revelation of scarlet
hose and thick ankles sunk in the freshly polished
black sabots. The men's cobalt-blue blouses and
their peaked felt hats sj)otted the landscape wdth
contrasting notes and outlines.
After the last peaked hat had disappeared into
the farm enclosures, we and the wet landscape had
the rain to ourselves. The trees now were spec-
tral shapes : they could not be relied on as com-
panions. Even the gardens and grain lands were
mysteriously veiled, so close rolled the mists to
our carriage- wheels. Beyond, at the farthest end
of the road, these mists had formed themselves
info a solid, compact mass.
The clouds out yonder, far ahead, seemed to be
enwrapping some part of earth that had lanced it-
self into the sky.
After a little the eyes unconsciously watched
those distant woolly masses. There was a some-
thing beyond, faint, vague, impalpable as yet,
which the rolling mists begirt as sometimes they
cincture an Alpine needle. Even as the thought
330 THREE NOmiANDT INNS.
came, a sudden liftiii"- of the ^vay mass showed
the point of a high uplifted j^innacle. The point
thereof pricked the sky. Then the wind, like a
strong hand, swept the clouds into a mantle, and
we saw the strange spectacle no more.
For several miles our way led us through a
dim, phantasmal landscape. All the outlines were
blurred. Even the rain was a veil ; it fell between
us and the nearest hedgerows as if it had been a
curtain. The jingling of Poulette's bell-collar and
the gurgle of the w'ater rushing in the gulleys —
these were the only sounds that fell upon the ear.
Still the clouds about that distant mass curled
and rolled ; they were now breaking, now re-form-
ing — as if some strange and wondrous thing were
hanging there — between heaven and earth.
It was still far out, the mass ; even the lower
mists were not resting on any plain of earth. They
also were moved by something that moved beneath
them, as a thick cloak takes the shape and mo-
tion of the body it covers. Still we advanced,
and still the great mountain of cloud grew and
grew. And then there came a little lisping, hiss-
ing sound. It was the kiss of the sea as it met
some unseen shore. And on our cheeks the sea-
wind blew, soft and salty to the lips.
The mass was taking shape and outline. The
mists rolled along some Avide, broad base that
rested beneath the sea, and skyward they clasped
the apexal point of a pyramid.
This pyramid in the sky was Mont St. Michel.
With its feet in the sea, and its head vanishing
into infinit}' — here, at last, was this rock of rocks.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 331
caught, phantom-like, up iuto the veiy heavens
above.
It loomed out of the spectral landscape — itself
the superlative spectre ; it took its flight upward
as might some genius of beauty enrobed in a
shroud of mystery.
Such has it been to generations of men. Beau-
tiful, remote, mysterious ! With its altars and its
shrines, its miracle of stone carved by man on
those other stones he"\^Ti by the wind and the tem-
pest, Mont St. Michel has ever been far more a
part of heaven than a thing of earth.
Then, for us, the clouds suddenly lifted, as, for
modern generations of men, the mists of super-
stition have also rolled themselves away.
MONT ST. MICHEL:
AN INN ON A ROCK.
CHAPTER XXIX.
BY SEA TO THE POULAKD INN,
We were being" tossed in
the air like so many balls.
A Normandy char-d-hanc
was proving- itself no re-
specter of nice distinc-
tions in conditions in life.
It phlipped, dashed, and
rolled us about with no
more concern than if it
were taking us to market
to be sold by the pound.
For we were on the
greve. The promised
rivers were before us.
■ • So was the Mont, spec-
tral no longer, but nearing with every plunge
forward of our sturdy young- Percheron. Loco-
motion through any new or untried medium is
certain to bring- with the experiment a dash of
elation. Now, driving- through water appears to
be no long-er the fashion in our fastidious cen-
tury ; someone might g-et a wetting-, possibly, has
been the conclusion of the prudent. And thus a
very innocent and exciting bit of fun has been
336 THREE XOEMANDY INNS.
gradually relegated among the lost arts of j^leas-
ure.
We were taking water as we had never taken
it before, and liking the method. We were as
wet as ducks, but what cared we ? We were be-
ing deluged with spray ; the spume of the sea
was spurting in our faces with the force of a
strong wet breeze, and still we liked it. Besides,
driving thus into the white foam of the waters,
over the sand ridges, across the do^\Tis, into the
wide plains of wet mud, this was the old classical
way of going up to the Mont. Surely, what had
been found good enough as a i^athway for kings
and saints and pilgrims should be good enough
for two lovers of old-time methods. The dike
yonder was built for those who believe in the
devil of haste, and for those who also serve him
faithfully.
Someone else besides ourselves was enjoj'ing
our drive through the waves. Our gay young
Normandy driver seemed to find an exquisite
relish in the spectacle of our wet faces and un-
stable figures. He could not keep his ej^es off us ;
they fairly glistened with the dew of his enjoy-
ment. Two ladies pitched and rolled about, ex-
actly as if they were peasants, and laughing as if
they were children — this was a spectacle and a
keen appreciation of a joke that brought joy to a
rustic blouse.
" Ah— ah ! mesdames ! " he cried, exultingly, be-
tween the gasps of his own laughter, as he tossed
his own fine head in the air, sitting on his rude
bench, covered with sheepskin, as if it had been
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 337
an armchair. " Ah, ah ! mesdames, yon didn't ex-
pect this, hein ? You hoped for a landau, and
feathers and cushions, perhaps ? But soft feath-
ers and springs are not for the greve."
" Is it dang-erous 1 are there deep holes ? "
" Oh, the holes, they are as nothing-. It is the
quicksands we fear. But it is only a little dan-
g-er, and danger makes the charm of travel, is it
not so, my ladies 1 Adventure, that is what one
travels for ! Hid ! Fend I'Air ! "
It had occurred to us before that we had been
uncommonly lucky in our coachmen, as well as
in the names of the horses, that had brightened
our journey. In spite of Juliet, whose disdain of
the virtue or the charm that lies in a name is no
more worthy of respect than is any lover's opinion
when in the full-orbed foolishness of his lunacy,
I believe names to be a very effective adjunct to
life's scenic setting. Most of the horses we had
had along these Normandy high-roads, had an-
swered to names that had helped to italicize the
features of the country. Could Poulette, the sturdy
little mare, with whom only an hour ago we had
parted forever, have been given a better sobri-
quet by which to have identified for us the fat
landscape ? And now here was Fend I'Air proving
good his talent for cleaving through space, what-
ever of land or sea lay in his path.
" And he merits his name, my lady," his driver
announced with grave pride, as he looked at the
huge haunches with a loving eye. " He can go,
oh, but as the wind ! It is he who makes of the
crossing but as if it were nothing ! "
338 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
The crossiu.s: ! That was the key-note of the
way the coast si^oke of the Mont. The rock out
yonder was a country apart, a bit of hind or stone
the shore chiimed not, had no part in, felt to be as
remote as if it were a foreign province. At Ge-
nets the village spoke of the Mont as one talks of
a distant land. Even the journey over the sands
was looked upon with a certain seriousness. A
starting- forth was the signal for the village to as-
semble about the char -a -banc's wheels. Quite a
large company for a small village to muster was
grouped about our own vehicle, to look on gravely
as we mounted to the rude seat within. The vil-
lagers gave us their " honjours " with as much fer-
vor as if we were starting forth on a sea voj^age.
" You will have a good crossing ! " cackled one
of the old men, nodding toward the peak in the
sky.
" The sands may be wet, but they are firm al-
ready ! " added a huge x)easant— the fattest man in
all the canton, whisperingly confided the landlady,
as one proud of possessing a village curiosit3^
" Hni, Fend lAir ! attention, toi / " Fend lAir
tossed his fine mane, and struck out with a will
over the cobbles. But his driver was only pos-
ing for the assembled village. He was in no real
haste ; there was a fresh voice singing yonder in
his mother's tavern ; the sentimentalist in him
was on edge to hear the end of the song.
" Do you hear that, mesdames ? There's no such
singing as that out of Paris. One must go to a
caf6 "
" Allans, toi ! " shrieked his mother's voice, as
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 339
her face darkened. "Do you think these ladies
want to spend the night on the (jrcve? Depeclies-
toi, vaurien ! " And she gave the wheels a shove
with her strong hand, whereat all the village
laughed. But the good-for-nothing son made no
haste as the song went on —
" Le bon vin me fait dormir,
Ucmiour me revell "
He continued to cock his head on one side and
to let his ej'es dream a bit.
Within, a group of peasants was gathered about
the inn table. There were some young girls
seated among the blouses ; one of them, for the
hour that we had sat waiting for Fend I'Air to be
captured and harnessed, had been singing songs of
questionable taste in a voice of such contralto
sweetness as to have touched the heart of a bishop.
" Some young girls from the factories at Avranches,
mesdames, who come here Sundays to get a bit of
fresh air ; Dieu salt si elles en out hesoin, 2^ciuvres
enfants ! " was the landlady's charitable explana-
tion. It appeared to us that the young ladies from
Avranches were more in need of a moral than a
climatic change. But then, we also charitably re-
flected, it makes all the diflerence in the world, in
these nice questions of taste and morality, whether
one has had as an inheritance a past of Francis I.
and a Babelais, or of Calvin and a Puritan con-
science.
The geese on the green downs, just below the
village, had clearly never even heard of Calvin ;
340 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
they were luxuriatiug in a series of plung-es into
the deep pools in a way to prove complete igno-
rance of nice Sabbatarian laws.
AVith our first toss upon the clo-mis, a world of
new and fresh experiences began. Genets was
qiiite right ; the Mont over yonder was another
countr}"; even at the very beginning of the
journey we learned so much. This breeze blow-
ing in from the sea, that had swept the ramparts
of the famous rock, was a double extract of the
sea-essence ; it had all the salt of the sea and the
aroma of firs and wild flowers ; its lips had not
kissed a garden in high air without the perfiime
lingering, if only to betraj^ them. Even this strijD
of meadow marsh had a character peculiar to itself ;
half of it belonged to earth and half to the sea.
You might have thought it an inland pasture,
with its herds of cattle, its flocks of sheep, and its
colonies of geese — j)atrolled by ragged urchins.
But behold, somewhere out yonder the pasture was
lost in high sea-waves ; ships with bulging sails
replaced the curve of the cattle's sides, and in-
stead of bending necks of sheep, there were sea-
gulls swooping down upon the foamj^ waves.
As the incarnation of this dual life of sea and
land, the rock stands. It also is both of the sea
and the land. Its feet are of the waters — rocks
and stones the sea-waves have used as playthings
these millions of years. But earth regains pos-
session as the rocks i)ile themselves into a moun-
tain. Even from this distance, one can see the
moving arms of great trees, the masses of yellow
flower-tips that dye the sides of the stony hill.
THREE NORMAJSDY INNS. 341
and the strips of green grass here and there. So
much has nature done for this wonderful i^yramid
in the sea. Then man came and fashioned it to
his liking". He piled the stones at its base into
titanic walls ; he carved about its sides the round-
ed breasts of bastions; he x^iled hig-herand hig-her
up the dizzy heig-hts a medley of palaces, con-
vents, abbeys, cloisters, to lay at the very top the
fitting- crown of all, a jewelled Norman-Gothic
cathedral.
Earth and man have thro^^^l their g-auntlet down
to the sea — this rock is theirs, they cry to the
waves and the might of oceans. And the sea
laug-hs — as strong men laug-li when boys are
ang-ry or insistent. She has let them build and
toil, and pray and fight ; it is all one to her what
is done on the rock — whether men carve its
stones into lace, or rot and die in its dungeons ;
it is all the same to her whether each spring the
daffodils creep up within the crevices and the
irises nod to them from the gardens.
It is all one to her. For twice a day she re-
caxatures the Mont. She encircles it with the
strong arm of her tides ; with the might of her
waters she makes it once more a thing of the sea.
The tide was rising now.
The fringe of the downs had dabbled in the
shoals till they had become one. We had left
behind the last of the shepherd lads, come out to
the edge of the land to search for a wandering-
kid. We were all at once plunging into high
water. Our road was sunk out of sight ; we were
driving through waves as high as our cart-wheels.
342 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
Fend TAir was shivering ; he was as a-tremble as
a woman. The height of the rivers was not to his
liking.
" Sacre faineant ! " yelled his owner, treating
the tremor to a mighty crack of the whip.
" Is he afraid ? "
" Yes — when the water is as high as that, he is
always afraid. Ah, there he is — diantre, but he took
his time!" he growled, but the growl Avas set in
the key of relief. He was pointing toward a fig-
ure that was leaping toward us through the water.
" It is the guide ! " he added, in explanation.
The guide was at Fend lAir's shoulder. Very
little of him was above water, but that little was
as brown as an Egyptian. He was jjuffing and
blowing like unto a porpoise. In one hand he
held a huge pitchfork — the trident of this watery
Mercury.
" Shall I conduct you ? " he asked, dipping the
trident as if in salute, into the water, as he still
puffed and gasjDed.
" If you please," as gravely responded our dri-
ver. For though uf) to our cart-wheels and breasts
in deep water, the formalities were not to be dis-
pensed with, you understand. The guide i^laced
himself at once in front of Fend lAir, whose
shivers as quickly disappeared.
" You see, mesdames — the guide gives him cour-
age — and he now knows no fear," cried out with
pride our whip on the outer bench. " And what
news, Victor — is there any ? " It was of the Mont
he was asking. And the guide replied, taking an
extra plunge into deep water :
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 343
"Oil, not much. There's to be a wedding to-
morrow and a pilgrimage the next day. Madame
Poulard has only a handful as yet. Ces dames
descend doubtless at Madame Poulard's — celle qui
fait les omelettes ? " The ladies were ignorant as
yet of the accomplishments of the said landladj' ;
they had only heard of her beauty.
" C'est elle" gravely chorussed the guide and
the driver, both nodding their heads as their
eyes met. " Fameuse, sa beaute, comme son omelette,"
as gravely added our di'iver.
The beauty of this lady and the fame of her ome-
lette were very sobering, apparently, in their ef-
fects on the mind ; for neither guide nor driver
had another word to say.
Still the guide plunged into the rivers, and Fend
I'Air followed him. Our cart still pitched and
tossed — we were still rocked about in our rough
cradle. But the sun, now freed from the banks of
clouds, was lighting our way with a great and sud-
den glory. And for the rest of our watery jour-
ney we were conscious only of that lighting. Be-
hind the Mont, lay a vast sea of saffron. But it
was in the sky ; against it the great rock was as
black as if the night were upon it. Here and
there, through the curve of a flying buttress, or the
apertures of a pierced parapet, gay bits of this
yellow world were caught and framed. The sea
lay beneath like a quiet carpet ; and over this car-
pet ships and sloops swam with easy gliding
motion, with sails and cordage dipped in gold.
The smaller craft, moored close to shore, seemed
transfigured as in a fog of gold. And nearer still
344 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
were the browu walls of the Mont making a great
shadow, and in the shadow the waters were as
black as the skin of an African. In the shoals
there were lovely masses of turquoise and i^al-
est green ; for here and there a cloudlet passed,
to mirror their complexions in the translucent
pools.
But Fend I'Air's hoofs had struck a familiar
note. His iron shoes were clicking along the
macadam of the dike. There was a rapid dashing
beneath the great walls ; a sudden night of dark-
ness as we plunged through an open archway
into a narrow village street : a confused impres-
sion of houses built into side-walls ; of machico-
lated gateways ; of rocks and roof-tops tumbling
about our ears ; and within the street was sound-
ing the babel of a shrieking troop of men and
women. Poiiers, peasants, lads, and childi'en were
clamoring about our cart-wheels like unto so many
jackals. The bedlam did not cease as we stopped
before a wide, brightly-lit open doorway.
Then through the doorway there came a tall,
finely - featured brunette. She made her way
through the yelling crowd as a duchess might
cleave a path through a rabble. She was at the
side of the cart in an instant. She gave us a bow
and smile that were both a welcome and an act of
appropriation. She held out a firm, soft, brown
hand. When it closed on our o"svn, we knew it to
be the grasp of a friend, and the clasp of one who
knew how to hold her world. But when she
spoke the words were all of velvet, and her voice
had the cadence of a caress.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 345
" I have been watching you, cheres dames — cross-
ing- the greve — btit how wet and weary you must
be ! Come in by the fire, it is ablaze now — I
have been feeding it for j^ou ! " And once more
the beautifully curved lips parted over the fine
teeth, and the exceeding brightness of the dark
eyes smiled and glittered in our own. The caress-
ing voice still led us forward, into the great gay
kitchen ; the touch of skilful, discreet fingers un-
did wet cloaks and wraps ; the soft charm of a
lovely and gracious woman made even the pene-
trating warmth of the huge fire-logs a secondary
feature of our welcome. To those who have never
crossed a grreve ,• who have had no jolting in a
Normandy cJiai'-d-banc ; who, for hours, have not
known the mixed pleasures and discomfort of be-
ing a part of sea-rivers ; and who have not been
met at the threshold of an Inn on a Eock by the
smiling welcome of Madame Poulard — all such
have yet a joleasant page to read in the book of
travelled experience.
Meanwhile somewhere, in an inner room, things
sweet to the nostrils were cooking. Maids were
tripping up and down stairs with covered dishes :
there was the pleasant clicking in the ear of the
lids of things ; dishes or pans or jars were being
lifted. A-ud more delicious to the ear than even
the promise to starving mouths of food, and of red
wine to the lip, was the continuing music of ma-
dame's voice, as she stood over us purring with
content at seeing her travellers drying and being
thoroughly warmed. " The dinner-bell must soon
be rung, dear ladies ; I delayed it as long as I
346 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
dared — I gauged your progress across from the
terrace — I have kept all my jaeople waiting ; for
your first dinner here must be hot ! But now it
rings ! Shall I conduct you to your rooms ? "
I have no doubt that, even without this brunette
beauty, with her olive cheek and her comely fig-
ure as guides, we should have gone the way she
took us in a sort of daze. One cannot pass un-
der machicolated gateways; rustle between the
walls of fourteenth century fortifications ; climb a
stone stairway that begins in a watch-tower and
ends in a rampart, with a great sea view, and with
the breadth of all the land shoreward ; walk calmly
over the top of a king's gate, with the arms of a
bishop and the shrine of the Yirgin beneath one's
feet ; and then, presently, begin to climb the side
of a rock in which rude stone steps have been cut,
till one lands on a miniature terrace, to find a i^re-
posterousl}' sturdy-looking house afiixed to a ri-
diculous ledge of rock that has the presumption
to give shelter to a hundred or more travellers —
ground enough, also, for rows of plane-trees, for
honeysuckles, and rose-vine, with a full coquet-
tish equii^ment of little tables and iron chairs —
no such journey as that up a rock was ever taken
with entirely sober eyes.
Although her j)eople were waiting below, and
the dinner was on its way to the cloth, Madame
Poulard had plenty of time to give to the beauty
about her. How fine was the outlook from the top
of the ramparts ! AVTiat a fresh sensation, this,
of standing' on a terrace in mid-air and looking
down on the sea, and across to the level shores I
THREE NOBMANDT INN'S. 347
The rose-vines — we found them sweet — //e?i.s— one
of the branches had fallen — she had full time to
re-adjust the loosened support. And " Marianne,
give these ladies their hot water, and see to their
bags — " even this order was given with courtesy.
It was only when the sui^x^le, agile figure had left
us to fly down the steep rock-cut steps ; when it
shot over the top of the gateway and slid with
the grace of a lizard into the street far below us,
that we were made sensible of there having been
any especial need of madame's being in haste.
That night, some three hours later, a pictur-
esque group was assembled about this same sup-
pie figure. A pretty, and unlooked-for ceremony
was about to take place.
It was the ceremony of the lighting of the lan-
terns.
In the great kitchen, in the dance of the fire-
light and the glow of the lamps, some seven or
eight of us were being equipj^ed with Chinese
lanterns. This of itself was an engaging sight.
Madame Poulard was always gay at this perform-
ance—for it meant much innocent merriment
among her guests, and with the lighting of the
last lantern, her own day was done. So the brill-
iant eyes flashed with a fresh fire, and the olive
cheek glowed anew. All the men and women
laughed as children sputter laughter, when they
are both pleased and yet a little ashamed to show
their pleasure. It was so very ridiculous, this
journey up a rock with a Chinese lantern ! But
just because it was ridiculous, it was also delight-
ful. One — two — three — seven — eight — they were
348 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
all. lit. Tlie last male guest had touched his cap
to madame, exchanging" the " bonne nuil " a man
onh^ gives to a pretty woman, and that which a
woman returns who feels that her beauty has re-
ceived its just meed of homage ; madame's figure
stood, still smiling, a radiant benedictory j)res-
ence, in the doorway, with the great glow of the
firelight behind her ; the last laugh echoed down
the street — and behold, darkness was upon iis !
The street was as black as a cavern. The strip
of sky and the stars above seemed almost day, by-
contrast. The great arch of the Porte du Eoi en-
gulphed us, and then, slowly groping our waj^ we
toiled up the steps to the open ramparts. Here
the keen night air swept rudely through our
cloaks and garments ; the sea tossed beneath the
bastions like some restless tethered creature, that
showed now a gray and now a ]iurple coat, and
the stars were gold balls that might drop at any
instant, so near they were.
The men shivered and buttoned their coats,
and the women laughed, a trifle shrilly, as they
grasiDed the floating burnous closer about their
faces and shoulders.
And the lanterns' beams danced a strange dance
on the stone flagging.
Once more we were lost in darkness. TVe were
passing through the old guard-house. And then
slowly, more slowly than ever, the lanterns were
climbing the steps cut in the rock. Hands groped
in the blackness to catch hold of the iron railing ;
the laughter had turned into little shouts and
gasjDS for helj). And then one of the lanterns
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 349
played a treacherous trick ; it showed the backs of
two figures groining upward together — about one
of the girlish figures a man's arm was flung. As
suddenly the noise of the cries was stilled.
The lanterns played their fitful light on still
other objects. They illumined now a vivid yellow
shrub ; they danced upon a roof-top ; they flood-
ed, with a sudden circlet of brilliance, the awful
depths below of the swirling waters and of rocks
that were black as a bottomless pit.
Then the terrace was reached. And the lan-
terns danced a last gay little dance among the
roses and the vines before, Pouffe ! Pouffe ! and
behold ! they were all blown out.
Thus it was we went to bed on the Mont.
CHAPTEE XXX.
AN HISTORICAL OMELETTE. — THE PILGRIMS AND THE
SHEIXE.
To awake on a hilltop at sea.
This was what morning'
])roiig-ht.
CroAvcl this hill with
houses plastered to the sides
of rocks, with great walls
iiirdling it, with tiny gardens
lodged in crevices, and with
a forest tumbling seaward.
'^ Let this hill yield you a
town in which to walk, with a street of many-
storied houses ; with other promenades along ram-
parts as broad as church aisles: with dungeons,
cloisters, halls, guard-rooms, abbatial gateways,
and a cathedral whose flying buttresses seemed
to spring from mid-air and to end in a cloud —
such was the world into which we awoke on the
heights of Mont St. Michel.
The verdict of the shore on the hill had been a
just one ; this world on a rock was a world apart.
This hill in the sea had a detached air — as if,
though French, at heart a true Gaul, it had had
from the beginning of things a life of adventure
peculiar to itself. The shore, at best, had been
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 351
only a foster-mother ; the hill was the true child
of the sea. Since its birth it has had a more or
less enforced separateness, in experience, from the
country to which it belonged. Whether temple
or fortress, whether forest-clad in virginal fierce-
ness of aspect, or subdued into l^eauty by the
touch of man's chisel, its destinj" has ever been
the same — to suffice unto itself — to be, in a word,
a world in miniature.
The Mont proved by its appearance its history
in adventure ; it had the grim, grave, battered
look that comes only to features, whether of rock
or of more ]olastic human mould — that have been
carved by the rough handling of experience.
It is the common habit of hills and mountains,
as we all know, to turn disdainful as they grow
skyward ; they only too eagerly drop, one by one,
the things by which man has marked the earth for
his own. To stand on a mountain top and to go
down to your grave are alike, at least in this —
that you have left everything, except yourself, be-
hind you. But it is both the charm and the tri-
umph of Mont St. Michel, that it carries so miich
of man's handiwork up into the blue fields of air ;
this achievement alone would mark it as unique
among hills. It appears as if for once man and
nature had agreed to work in concert to produce a
masterpiece in stone. The hill and the archi-
tectural beauties it carries aloft, are like a taunt
flung out to sea and to the upjjer heights of air ;
for centuries they aj^pear to have been crying
aloud, '■ See what we can do, against your tempests
and your futile tides — when we try."
352 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
On that particular morning-, the tannt seemed
more like an ei^ithalamium — such marriag'e-liues
did sea and sky appear to be reading over the
glistening face of the rock. June had pitched its
tent of blue across the seas ; all the world was
blue, except where the sun smote it into gold. To
eyes in love with beauty, what a world at one's
feet ! Beneath that azure roof, toward the west,
was the world of water, curling, dimpling, like
some human thing charged with the conscious joy
of dancing in the sun. Shoreward, the more stable
earth was in the Moslem's ideal posture — that of
perpetual prostration. The Brittany coast was a
long, flat, green band ; the rocks of Cancale were
brown, but scarcely higher in point of elevation
than the sand-hills ; the Normandy forests and
orchards were rippling lines that focussed into
the spiral of the Avranches cathedral spires ;
floating between the two blues, hung the aerial
shapes of the Chaunsey and the Channel Islands ;
and nearer, along the coast-line, were the fringing
edges of the shore, broken with shoals and shal-
lows — earth's fingers, as it were, touching the sea
— playing-, as Coleridge's Abyssinian maid fingered
the dulcimer, that music that haunts the poet's ear.
"We were seated at the little iron tables, on the
terrace. We were sipping our morning cofiee,
beneath the j)lane-trees. The terrace, a foot be-
yond our coffee-cups, instantly began its true ca-
reer as a precipice. We, ourselves, seemed to
have begun as suddenly our own flight heaven-
ward — on such astonishing terms of intimacy were
we with the sky. The clapping close to our ears
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 353
of larg-e-wing-ed birds ; the swirling- of the circling-
sea-gulls ; the amazing nearness of the cloud
drapery — all this gave us the sense of being- in a
new world, and of its being a strang-ely pleasant
one.
Suddenly a cock's crow, shrill and clear, made
us start from the luxurious languor of our content-
ment ; for we had scarcely looked to find laoultry
on this Hill of Surprises. Tui-ning- in the direction
of the homely, familiar note, we beheld a garden.
In this garden walked the cock — a two-legged
gentleman of gorgeous plumage. If abroad for
purely constitutional purposes, the crowing chan-
ticleer must be forced to pass the same objects
many times in review. Of all infinitesimal, micro-
scopic gardens, this one, surely, was a model in
minuteness. Yet it was an entirely self-respect-
ing little garden. It was not much larger than a
generous-sized pocket-handkerchief ; yet how much
talent — for growing- — may be hidden in a yard of
soil— if the soil have the right virtue in it. Here
were two rocks forming, with a fringe of clifi', a tri-
angle ; in that tri-cornered bit of earth a lively
crop of growing- veg-etables was offering flatter-
ing signs of promise to the owner's eye. Where
all land runs aslant, as all land does on this Mont,
not an inch was to be wasted ; up the rocks peach
and pear-split trees were made to climb — and why
should they not, since everything else — since man
himself must climb from the moment he touches
the base of the hill ?
Following the cock's call, came the droning-
sweetness of bees ; the rose and the honeysuckle
354 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
vines were loading- the morning- air with the per-
fume of their invitations. Then a human voice
drowned the bees' whirring-, and a face as fresh
and as smiling- as the day stood beside us. It was
the voice and the face of Madame Poulard, on the
round of her morning- inspections. Our table and
the radiant world at her feet were included in this,
her line of observations.
"Ah, inesdaiiies, cumnie voiis savez Men vous
placer ! — hoAv admirably you understand how to
place yourselves ! Under such a sky as this — be-
fore such a si^ectacle — one should be in the front
row, as at a theatre ! "
And that was the beginning- of our deeds finding-
favor in the eyes of Madame Poulard.
It was our happy fate to di'ink many a moming-
cup of coffee at those little iron tables ; to have
many a prolonged chat with the charming- land-
lady of the famous inn; to become as familiar
with the glories and splendors of the historical
hill as with the habits and customs of the world
that came up to view them.
For here our journey was to end.
The comedy of life, as it had played itself out
in Normandy inns, was here, in this Inn on a Eock,
to give us a series of farewell performances. On
no other stage, we were agreed, could the versatile
French character have had as admirable and pict-
uresque a setting- ; and surely, on no other bit of
French soil could such an astonishing and amaz-
ing variety of types be assembled for a final ap-
pearance, as came up, day after day, to make the
tour of the Mont.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 355
To tlie shore, and for tlie whole of the near-lying
Breton and Norman rustic world, the Mont is still
the Hill of Delig-ht. It is their Alp, their shrine,
the tenth wonder of the world, a i^rison, a jDalaee,
and a temple still. In spite of Parisian changes
in religious fashions, the blouse is still devout ;
for curiosity is the true religion of the provincial,
and all love of adventui'e did not die out with the
Crusades.
Therefore it is that rustic France along this
coast still makes pilgrimages to the shrine of the
Archangel St. Michael. Xo marriage is rightly
arranged which does not include a wedding- jour-
ney across the rireve : no nuptial breakfast is aure-
oled with the true halo of romance which is eaten
elsewhere than on these heights in mid-air. The
yoimg come to drink deep of wonders; the old,
to refresh the depleted fountains of memory : and
the tourist, behold, he is as a plague of locusts
let loose upon the defenceless hill !
After a fortnight's sojourn. Charm and I held
many a grave consultation ; close observation of
this world that climbed the heights had bred cer-
tain strange misgivings. "WTiat was it this world
of sight-seers came up to the Mont for to see ?
Was it to behold the great glories thereof, or
was it, oh, human eye of man ! to look on the face
of a charming woman ? It was impossible, after
sojourning a certain time upon the hill, not to
concede that there were two equally strong cen-
tres of attractions, that drew the world hither-
w^ard. One remained, indeed, gravely suspended
between the doubt and the fear, as to which of
356 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
these potential units had the greater pnll, in
IDoint of actual attraction. The impartial histo-
rian, g-iven to a just Aveighing- of evidence, would
have been startled to find how invariably the
scales tipped ; how lightly an historical Mont,
born of a miracle, crowned by the noblest build-
ings, a pious Mecca for saints and kings in-
numerable, shot up like feathers in lightness
when over-weighted by the modem realities of
a perfectly appointed inn, the cooking and eat-
ing" of an omelette of omelettes, and the all-con-
quering charms of Madame Poulard. The fog- of
doubt thickened as, day after day, the same scenes
were enacted ; when one beheld all sorts and con-
ditions of men similarly affected ; when, again
and again, the potentiality in the human magnet
was proved true. Doubt turned to conviction, at
the last, that the holy shrine of St. Michael had,
in truth, been violated ; that the Mont had been
desecrated ; that the latter exists now solely as a
setting for a i^earl of an inn ; and that within the
shrine — it is Madame Poulard herself who fills
the niche !
The pilgrims come from darkest Africa and the
sunlit Yosemite, but they remain to pray at the
Inn of the Omelette. Yonder, on the greves, as
we ourselves had j^roved, one crosses the far seas
and one is wet to the skin, only to hear the
praises sung of madame's skill in the handling
of eggs in a pan ; it is for this the lean g-uide
strides before the pilgrim tourist, and that he
dippeth his trident in the waters. At the great
gates of the fortifications the pilgrim descends,
THREE NORMANDT INNS. 357
and behold, a howling- chorus of serving'-people
take up the chant of : " Chez Madame Poulard, a
gauche, a la renommee de Vomelette ! " The inner
walls of the towTi lend themselves to their last
and best estate, that of proclaiming- the giory of
" L' Omelette." Placards, rich in indicative illus-
trations of hands all forefing-ers, point, with a
directness never vouchsafed the sinner eager to
find the way to rig-ht and duty, to the inn of
" V Incomparable, la Fameuse Omelette ! " The i^il-
grims meekly descend at that shrine. They bow
low to the worker of the modern miracle ; they
pass with eag-er, trembling- foot, into the inner
sanctorum, to the kitchen, where the presiding-
deity receives them with the grace of a queen and
the simplicity of a saint.
Life on the Mont, as we soon found, resolved
itself into this — into so arranging- one's day as to
be on hand for the great, the eventful hour. In
point of fact there were two such hours in the Mont
St. Michel day. There was the hour of the cook-
ing of the omelette. There was always the other
really more tragic hour, of the coming across the
dike, of the huge lumbering omnibuses. For you
see, that although one may be beautiful enough
to compete successfully against dead-and-gone
saints, against worn-out miracles, and wonders
in stone, human nature, when it is alive, is hu-
man nature still. It is the curse of success, the
world over, to arouse jealousy : and we all have
lived long enough to know that jealousy's evil-
browed offspring are named Hate and Competi-
tion. Up yonder, beyond the Porte du Eoi, ri-
358 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
valiy has set up a coiiiiter-sbrine, with a compe-
ting" saint, with all the hateful accessories of a
pretty face, a younger figure, and a graceful if
less skilled aptitude in the making of omelettes in
public.
The hour of the coming in of the coaches, was,
therefore, a tragic hour.
On the arrival of the coaches Madame was at
her post long before the pilgrims came up to her
dooi\ Being entirely without personal vanity —
since she felt her beauty, her cleverness, her grace,
and her charm to be only a part of the capital of
the inn trade — a higher order of the stock in trade,
as it were — she made it a point to look hand-
somer on the arrival of coaches than at any other
time. Her cheeks were certain to be rosier ; her
bird's head was always carried a trifle more tak-
ingly, perched coquettishly sideways, that the
caressing smile of welcome might be the more
personal ; and as the woman of business, lining
the saint, so to speak, was also present, into the
deep pockets of the blue-checked apron, the cal-
culating fingers were thrust, that the quick count-
ing of the incoming guests might not be made
too obvious an action.
After such a pose, to see a pilgrim escape ! To
see him pass by, unmoved by that smile, turning
his feelingless back on the true shrine ! It was
enough to melt the stoutest heart. Madame's
welcome of the cajDtured, after such an afixont,
was set in the minor key ; and her smile was the
smile of a suffering angel.
" Cours, mon enfant, run, see if he descends or if
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 359
he pushes on ; tell him / am Madame Poulard ! "
This, a low command murmured between a hun-
dred orders, still in the minor key, would be
purred to Clementine, a peasant in a cap, exceed-
ing fleet of foot, and skilled in the capture of
wandering sheep.
And Clementine would follow that stray pil-
grim ; she would attack him in the open street ;
would even climb after him, if need be, up the
steep rock-steps, till, proved to be following
strange gods, he would be brought triumphantly
back to the kitchen-shrine, by Clementine, puf-
fing, but exultant.
" Ah, monsieur, how could you pass us by ? "
madame's soft voice would murmur reproachfully
in the pilgrim's ear. And the pilgrim, abashed,
ashamed, would quickly make answer, if he were
born of the right parents : " Chere madame, how
was I to believe my e3'es ? It is ten years since I
was here, and you are younger, more beautiful
than ever ! I was going in search of your moth-
er ! " at which needless truism all the kitchen
would laugh. Madame Poulard herself would find
time for one of her choicest smiles, although this
was the great moment of the working of the
miracle. She was beginning to cook the ome-
lette.
The head-cook was beating the eggs in a great
yellow bowl. Madame had already taken her
stand at the yawning Louis XV. fireplace ; she
was beginning gently to balance the huge casserole
over the glowing logs. And all the pilgrims were
standing about, watching the j)rocess. Now, the
360 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
group circling- about the great fireplace was
scarcely ever the same : the pilgrims presented a
different face and garb day after day — but in point
of hunger they were as one man ; they were each
and all as unvaryingly hungry as only tourists
could be, who, clamoring for food, have the smell
of it in their nostrils, with the added ache of
emptiness gnawing within. But besides hunger,
each one of the j)ilgrims had brought with him a
pair of eyes ; and what eyes of man can be pure
savage before the spectacle of a pretty woman
cooking, for him, before an open fire ? Therefore
it was that still another miracle was wrought, that
of turning a famished mob into a buzzing- swarm
of admirers.
" 3Iais si, monsieur, in this pan I can cook an
omelette large enough for you all : you will see.
Ah, madame, you are off already ? Cclestine !
Madame's bill, in the desk yonder. And you,
monsieur, you too leave us % Deux cognacs ? Vic-
tor — deux cognacs et une demi-tasse pour mon-
sieur ! "
These and a hundred other answers and ques-
tions and orders, were uttered in a fluted voice or
in a tone of sharp command, by the miracle-worker,
as the pan was kept gently turning, and the eggs
were poured in at just the right moment — not one
of the pretty poses of head and wrist being forgot-
ten. Madame Poulard, like all clever women who
are also pretty, had two voices : one was dedicated
solely to the working of her charms ; this one was
soft, melodious, caressing, the voice of dove when
cooing ; the other, used for strictly business pur-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 361
poses, was set in the quick, metallic staccato tones
proper for such occasions.
The dove's voice was trolling- its sweetness, as
she went on
" Eg-gs, monsieur ? How many I use ? Ah, it
is in the season that counting the dozens becomes
difficult — seventy dozen I used one day last
year ! "
" Seventy dozen ! " the iiilgrim - chorus ejacu-
lated, their eyes growing* the wider as their lips
moistened. For behold, the eggs were now cooked
to a turn ; the long-handled pan was being lifted
with the effortless skill of long practice, the ome-
lette was rolled out at just the right instant of
consistency, and was being- as quickly turned into
its great flat dish.
There was a scurrying and scampering up
the wide steps to the dining-room, and a hasty
settling into the long rows of chairs. Presently
madame herself would appear, bearing the huge
dish. And the omelette — the omelette, unlike the
pilgrims, would be found to be always the same —
melting, juicy, golden, luscious, and above all
liot !
The noon-day table d'hote was always a sight to
see. Many of the pilgrim-tourists came up to the
Mont merely to pass the day, or to stop the night ;
the midday meal was therefore certain to be the
liveliest of all the repasts.
The cloth was spread in a high, white, sunlit
room. It was a trifle bare, this room, in spite of
the walls being covered with pictures, the win-
dows with pretty drajDeries, and the spotless linen
362 THREE XOIi.VAXDT INNS.
that covered the long- table. But all temples
liowever richly adorned, have a more or less un-
furnished aspect ; and this room served not only
as the diniug-table, but also as a foreshadowing- of
the apotheosis of Madame Poulard. Here were
g-roujjed together all the trophies and tributes of
a grateful world ; there were portraits of her
charming- brunette face sig-ued by famous admir-
ers ; there were sonnets to her culinarj'^ skill and
her charms as hostess, framed : these alternated
with gifts of horned beasts that had been slain in
her honor, and of stuffed birds who, in life, had
beguiled the long winters for her with their songs.
About the wide table, the snow of the linen re-
flected always the same picture ; there were rows
of little palms in flower-pots, interspersed with
fruit dishes, with the butter pats, the almonds,
and raisins, in their flat plates.
The rows of faces above the cloth were more
varied. The four corners of the earth were some-
times to be seen gathered together about the
breakfast-table. Frenchmen of the Midi, Avith the
skin of Spaniards and the buzz of Tartarin's ze ze
in their speech ; priests, lean and fat ; Germans
who came to see a French stronghold as defence-
less as a woman's palm ; the Italian, a rarer iy^Q,
whose shoes, sufiiciently pointed to jDrick, and
whose choice for decollete collars betrayed his na-
tionality before his lisping French accent could
place him indisputably be3'ond the Alps ; herds of
English — of all types— from the aristocrat, whose
open-air life had colored his face with the hues of
a butcher, to the pale, ascetic clerk, oft" on a two
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 363
weeks' lioliday, whose bending- at his desk had
given him the stoop of a schohir ; with all these
were mixed hordes of French provincials, chiefly
of the bourgeois tj'pe, who singly, or in family
parties, or in the nuptial train of sons or daug-li-
ters, came up to the shrine of St. Michel.
To listen to the chatter of these tourists was to
learn the last word of the world's news. As in the
days before men spoke to each other across conti-
nents, and the medium of cold t\'pe had made the
event of to-day the history of to-morrow, so these
pilgrims talked through the one medium that
alone can give a fact the real essence of freshness
— the ever young-, the perdurably charming hu-
man voice. It was as good as sitting out a play
to watch the ever-recurring characteristics, which
made certain national traits as marked as the
noses on the faces of the tourists. The question,
for example, on which side the Channel a pilgrim
was born, was settled five seconds after he was
seated at table. The way in which the butter was
passed was one test ; the manner of the eating of
the famous omelette was another. If the tourist
were a Frenchman, the neat glass butter-dish was
turned into a visiting-card — a letter of introduc-
tion, a pontoon-bridge, in a word, hastily impro-
vised to throw across the stream of conversation.
" JIadame " (this to the lady at the tourist's left),
me permet-elle de luioffrir le beurre ? " Whereat ma-
dame bowed, smiled, accepted the golden balls as
if it were a bouquet, returning the gift, a few sec-
onds later, by the proffer of the gravy dish. Be-
tween the little ceremony of the two bows and the
364 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
smiling" 7?ie7'Ci'.s, a tentative outbreak of speech en-
sued, which at the end of a half-hour, had spread
from bourgeois to countess, from cure to Parisian
houlevardler, till the entire side of the table was
in a buzz of talk. These genial people of a genial
land finding" themselves all in search of the same
adventure, on top of a hill, away from the petty
world of conventionality, remembered that speech
was given to man to communicate with his fel-
lows. And though neig-hbors for a brief hour,
how charming" such an hour can be made when
into it are crowded the effervescence of iiersonal
experience, the witty exchange of comment and
observation, and the agreeable conflict of thought
and opinion !
On the opposite side of the table, Avhat a con-
trast ! There the English were seated. There
was the silence of the grave. All the rigid fig-
ures sat as upright as posts. In front of these
severe countenances, the butter-plates remained
as fixtures ; the passing" of them to a neighbor
would be a frightful breach of g"ood form — be-
sides being" dangerous. Such practices, in public
places, had been known to lead to things — to un-
speakable things — to knowing" the wrong people,
to walks afterward with cads one couldn't shake
off, even to marriages with the impossible ! There-
fore it was that the butter remained a fixture.
Even between those who formed the same tourist-
party, there was rarely such an act of self-forget-
fulness committed as an indulgence in talk — in
public. The eye is the only active organ the
Englishman carries abroad with him ; his talking"
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 365
is done by staring. What fierce scowls, what dark
looks of disapproval, contempt, and dislike were
levelled at the chattering- Frenchmen opposite.
Across the table, the national hate perpetuated
itself. It ajppears to be a test of patriotism,
this hatred between Frenchmen and Englishmen.
That strip of linen might easily have been the
Channel itself ; it could scarcely more effectually
have separated the two nations. A whole comedy
of bitterness, a drama of rivalry, and a five-act
tragedy of scorn were daily x^layed between the
Briton who sat facing the south, and the French-
man who faced north. Both, as they eyed their
neighbor over the foam of their napkins, had the
Island in their eye ! — the Englishman to flaunt its
might and glory in the teeth of the hated Gaul,
and the Frenchman to return his contempt for a
nation of moist barbarians.
Meanwhile, the omelette was going its rounds.
It was being passed at that moment to Monsieur
le Cure. He had been watching its progress with
glistening eye and moistening lips. Madame
Poulard, as she slipped the melting morsel be-
neath his elbow, had suddenly assumed the role
of the penitent. Her tone was a reminder of the
confessional, as of one who passed her master-
piece apologetically. She, forsooth, a sinner, to
have the honor of ministering to the carnal needs
of a son of the Church !
The son of the Church took two heaping spoon-
fuls. His eye gave her, with his smile, the bene-
diction of his gratitude, even before he had tasted
of the luscious compoimd.
366 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
"Ah, chere utachune ! il n'y a que vans — it is only
you wlio can make the ideal omelette ! I have
tried, but Suzette lias no art in her fingers ; your
receipt doesn't Avork away from the Mont ! " And
the good man sighed as he chuckled forth his
praises.
He had come up to the hill in company with
the two excellent ladies beside him, of his flock,
to make a little visit to his brethren yonder, to
the priests who were still here, wrecks of the once
former flourishing monastery. He had come to
see them, and also to gaze on La Merveille. It
was a good five years since he had looked uj^on
its dungeons and its lace-work. But after all, in
his secret soul of souls, he had longed to eat of
the omelette. Dieu ! how often during those
slow, quiet years in the little hamlet yonder on
the plain, had its sweetness and lightness mocked
his tongue with illusive tasting ! Little wonder,
therefore, that the good cure's praises were sweet
in madame's ear, for they had the ring of truth —
and of envy ! And madame herself was only mor-
tal, for what woman lives but feels herself iip-
lifted by the sense of having found favor in the
eyes of her priest ?
The omelette next came to a halt between the
two ladies of the cure's flock. These were two
bourgeoises with the deprecating, mistrustful air
peculiar to commonplace the world over. The
walk up the steej) stairs was still quickening their
breath — their compressed bosoms were straining
the hooks of their holiday woollen bodices — cut
when they were of slenderer build. Their bon-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 367
nets proclaimeJ the antique fashions of a past
decade : but the edge of their tongues had the
keenness that comes with dailj' i^ractice — than
which none has been found surer than adoration
of one's pastor, and the invigorating" gossip of
small towns.
These ladies eyed the omelette with a chilled
glance. Naturally, thej* could not see as much to
admire in Madame Poulard or in her dish as did
their cure. There was nothing so wonderful after
all in the turning of eggs over a hot fire. The
omelette ! — after all, an omelette is an omelette !
Some are better — some are worse ; one has one's
luck in cooking as in anj^thing else. They had
come up to the Mont with their good cure to see
its Avonders and for a days outing : admiration of
other women had not been anticipated as a part of
the programme. Tiens — who was he talking to
now ? To that tall blonde — a foreig'ner, a joung
girl — liens — who knows ? — possibly an American —
those Americans are terrible, they saj^ — bold, im-
modest, irreverent. And the two ladies' necks
were screwed about their over-tight collars, to
give Charm the verdict of their disapproval.
"Monsieur le Cure, they are passing you the
fish ! " cried the stouter, more aggressive parish-
ioner, who boasted a truculent mustache.
" Monsieur le Cure, the roast is at your elbow ! "
interpolated the second, with the more timid
voice of a second in action : this protector of the
good cure had no mustache, but her face was
mercifully protected by nature from a too-disturb-
ing combination of attractions, by being pleuti-
368 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
fully punctuated with moles from which sprouted
little tufts of hair. The rain of these ladies' inter-
ruption was incessant ; but the cure was a man of
firm mind ; their efforts to recapture his attention
were futile. For the music of Charms foreign
voice was in his ear.
Worship of the cloth is not a national, it is a
more or less universal cult, I take it. It is in
the blood of certain women. Opposite the two
fussy, jealous bourgeoises, were others as importun-
ate and aggressive. They were of fair, lean, lank
English build, with the shifting eyes and the per-
sistent courage which come to certain maidens in
whose lives there is but one fixed and certain fact
— that of haAdng missed the matrimonial market.
The shrine of their devotions, and the present
citadel of their attack, was seated between them —
he also being lean, pale, high-arched of brow,
high anglican by choice, and noticeably weak of
chin, in whose sable garments there was framed
the classical clerical tie.
To this curate Madame was now passing her
dish. She still wore her fine sweet smile, but
there was always a discriminating reserve in its
edge when she touched the English elbow. The
curate took his spoonful with the indifference of a
man who had never known the religion of good
eating. He put up his one eye-glass ; it swept
Madame's bending face, its smile, and the yellow
glory floating beneath both. " Ah — h — ya — as —
an omelette ! " The glass was dropped ; he took a
meagre spoonful which he cut, presently, with his
knife. He turned then to his neighbors — to both
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 369
liis nei^jrlibors ! They had been talking- of the
parish church on the hill.
"Ah-h-h, ya-as — lovely porch — isn't it ?"
" Oh, lovely — lovely ! " chorussed the two maid-
ens, with assenting- fervor. " Were you there this
morning ? " and they lifted eyes swimming- with
the rapture of their admiration,
ia-as.
" Only fancy — our missing- you ! We were both
there ! "
" De-ar me ! Heally, were you ? "
" Could you go this afternoon ? I do want so to
hear your criticism of my drawing- — I'm working
on the arch now."
" So sorry — can't — possibly. I promised what's
his name to go over to Tombelaine, don't you
know ! "
" Oh-h ! We do so want to go to Tombelaine ! "
"Ah-h — do you, really ? One ought to start a
little before the tide drops — they tell me ! " and
the clerical eye, through its correctly adjusted
glass, looked into those four isleading- eyes with
no hint of softening. The dish that was the mas-
terpiece of the house, meanwhile, had been de-
spatched as if it were so much leather.
The omelette fared no better with the brides,
as a rule, than with the English curates. Such a
variety of brides as came up to the Mont ! You
could have your choice, at the midday meal, of
almost any nationality, age, or color. The at-
tempt among these bridal couples to maintain the
distant air of a finished indifference only made
their secret the more open. The British phlegm,
370 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
ou such a journey, did not always serve as a con-
venient mask ; the flattering-, timid glance, the rii3-
ple of the tender whispers, and the furtive touch-
ing of fingers beneath the table, made even these
English couples a part of the great human marry-
ing- family ; their superiority to their fellows would
return, doubtless, when the honey had dried out of
their moon. The best of our adventures into this
tender country were with the French bridal tour-
ists ; they were certain to be delightfully human.
As we had had occasion to remark before, they
were off, like ourselves, on a little voyage of dis-
covery ; they had come to make acquaintance with
the being to whom they were mated for life.
Yarious degrees of progress could be read in the
air and manner of the hearty young bourgeoises
and their j)aler or even ruddier partners, as they
crunched their bread or sipped their thin wine.
Some had only entered as yet upon the path of
inquiry ; others had already passed the mile-stone
of criticism ; and still others had left the earth
and were floating in full azure of intoxication.
Of the many wedding- parties that sat down to
breakfast, we soon made the commonplace discov-
ery that the more jjlebeian the company, the more
certain-orbed a^Dpeared to be the promise of hap-
piness. V
Some of theV peasant weddings were noisy,
boisterous performances: but how gay were the
brides, and how bloated with joy the hardy,
knotty-handied grooms ! These peasant wedding-
g-uests all bore a striking family likeness : they
might easily ail have been brothers and sisters,
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 371
whetlier they had come from the fields near Pon-
torson, or Cancale, or Dol, or St. Malo. The older
the women, the prettier and the more gossamer
were the caps ; but the young-er maidens were al-
ways delightful to look upon, such was the rii^e
vigor of their frames, and the liquid softness of
eyes that, like animals, were used to wide sunlit
fields and to great skies full of light. The bride,
in her brand-new stuff gown, with a bonnet that
recalled the bridal wreath only just laid aside, was
also certain to be of a general universal type — -
with the broad hips, wide waist, muscular limbs,
and the melting sweetness of lips and eyes that
only abundant health and a rich animalism of nat-
ure bring to maidenhood.
Madame Poulard's air with this, her world, was
as full of tact as with the tourists. Many of the
older women would give her the Norman kiss, sol-
emnly, as if the salute were a part of the ceremony
attendant on the eating of a wedding breakfast at
Mont St. Michel. There would be a three times'
clapping of the wrinkled or the ruddy peasant
cheeks against the sides of Madame Poulard's
daintier, more delicately modelled face. Then all
would take their seats noisily at table. It was
Madame Poulard who then would bring us news
of the partj^ ; at the end of a fortnight, Charm and
I felt ourselves to be in possession of the hidden
and secret reasons for all the marrying that had
been done along the coast, that year. " Tiens, ce
n'est pas gai, la noce ! I must learn the reason ! "
Madame would then flutter over the bridal break-
fasters as a delicate-plumaged bird hovers over a
372 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
mass of stuff out of wliicli it hopes to make a re-
spectable meal. She joresently would return to
murmur in a Whisper, " it is a mariage de raison.
They, the bride and g-room, love elsewhere, but
they are marrying- to make a g-ood partnership ;
the}" are both liair-dressers at Caen. The}' have
bought a new and fine shop with their earnings."
Or it would be, " Look, madame, at that joJie per-
sonnc ; see how sad she looks. She is in love with
her cousin who sits op^Dosite, but the groom is the
old one. He has a larg-e farm and a hundred cows."
To look on such a trio would only be to make the
acquaintance anew of Sidouie and Eisler and of
Froment Jeune. Such brides always had the wan-
dering gaze of those in search of fresh horizons,
or of those looking already for the chance of es-
cape. For such "unhappies," ces malheureuses, Ma-
dame's manner had an added softness and tender-
ness : she passed the frosted bridal cake as if it
were a propitiatory offering to the God of Hymen.
However melancholy the bride, the cake and Ma-
dames caressing smiles wrought ever the same
spell; for an instant, at least, the newly-made
wife was in love with matrimony and with the
cake, accepting the latter with the pleased sur-
prise of one who realizes that, at least, on one's
wedding day, one is a person of importance : that
even so far as Mont St. Michel the news of their
marriage had turned the ovens into a baking of
wedding-cakes. This was destined to be the first
among the deceptions that greeted such brides ; for
there were hundreds of such cakes, alas ! kept con-
stantly on hand. They were the same — a glory of
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 373
sugar-moulcliug's and devices covering a mountain
of richness — that were sent up yearly at Christmas
time to certain mansard studios in the Latin quar-
ter, where the artist recipients, like the brides, eat
of the cake as did Adam when partaking- of the
apple, believing all the woman told them !
There were other visitors who came up to the
Mont, not as welcome as were these tourist par-
ties.
One morning, as Ave looked toward Pontorson,
a small black cloud appeared to be advancing
across the bay. The day was wind}^ ; the sky was
crowded with huge white mountains — round,
luminous clouds that moved in stately sweeps.
And the sea was the color one loves to see in an
earnest woman's eye, the dark-blue sapphire that
turns to blue-gray. This was a setting that made
that particular cloud, making such slow progress
across from the shore, all the more conspicuous.
Gradually, as the black mass neared the dike, it
began to break and separate ; and we saw plainly
enough that the scattering particles were human
beings.
It was, in point of fact, a band of pilgrims ; a
peasant xjilgrimage was coming up to the Mont. In
wagons, in market carts, in char-a-bancs, in don-
key-carts, on the backs of monster Percherons —
the x^ilgrimage moved in slow processional dig-
nity across the dike. Some of the younger black
gowns and blue blouses attempted to walk across
over the sands : we could see the girls sitting
down on the edge of the shore, to take off their
shoes and stockings and to tuck up their thick
374 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
skirts. Wlieii they finally started they were like
mito so many hug-e cheeses hoisted on stilts. The
bare legs plunged boldly forward, keeping ahead
of the slower-moving peasant-lads ; the girls'
bravery served them till they reached the fringe
of the incoming tide ; not until their knees went
under water did they forego their venture. A
higher wave came in, deluging the ones farthest
out ; and then ensued a scampering- toward the
dike and a climbing- tip of the stone embank-
ment. The old route across the sands, that had
been the only one known to kings and barons,
was not good enough for a modern Norman peas-
ant. The religion of personal comfort has spread
even as far as the fields.
At the entrance gate a tremendous hubbub and
noise announced the arrival of the pilgrimage.
Wagons, carts, horses, and peasants were crowded
together as onlj^ such a throng is mixed in pil-
g'rimages, wars, and fairs. Women were taking
down hoods, unharnessing the horses, fitting slats
into outsides of wagons, rolling up blankets, un-
packing from the char-a-bancs cooking- utensils,
children, grain-bags, long- columns of bread, and
hard-boiled eggs. For the women, darting hither
and thither in their blue jDctticoats, their i^ink
and red kerchiefs, and the stiff white Norman caps,
were doing all the work. The men appeared to
be decorative adjuncts, inlying the Norman's gift
of tongue across wagon-wheels and over the back
of their vigorous wives and daug-hters. For them
the battle of the day was over ; the hour of relax-
ation had come. The bargains they had made
THREE NORMANDT INNS. 375
along the route were now to be rehearsed, sea-
soned with a joke.
" Allons, toi, on ne fait 2^(18 de la monnaie blanche
comme ga ! "
" Je t'ai qffert huit sous, tu sais, lapin / "
" Farceur, va-fen "
" Come, are you never going" to have done fool-
ing ? " cried a tan-colored, wide-hipjied peasant to
her husband, who was lounging against the wagon
pole, sporting a sprig of gentian pinned to his
blouse. He was fat and handsome ; and his eye
proclaimed, as he was making it do heavy work at
long range at a cluster of girls descending from
an antique gig, that the knowledge of the same
was known unto him.
" That's right, growl ahead, thou, tes heaux jours
sont passes, but for me I'amour, I'amour — que c'est
gai, que c'est frais !" he half sung, half shouted.
The moving mass of color, the Breton caps, and
the Norman faces, the gold crosses that fell from
dented bead necklaces, the worn hooped earrings,
the clean bodices and home-spun skirts, streamed
out past our windows as we looked down upon
them. How pretty were some of the faces, of the
younger women particularly ! and with what gay
spirits they were beginning their day ! It had
begun the night before, almost; many of the
carts had been driven in from the forests beyond
Avranches ; some of the Brittany groups had start-
ed the day before. But what can quench the foun-
tain of French vivacity ? To see one's world, surely,
there is nothing in that to tire one ; it only excites
and exhilarates ; and so a fair or market day, and
376 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
above all a pilgrima.sfe, are better than balls, since
they come more regularly ; they are the peasant's
opera, his Piccadilly and Broadway, club, drawing-
room. Exchange, and parade, all in one.
A half -hour after a landing of the pilgrims at
the outer gates of the fortifications, the hill was
swarming with them. The single street of the
town was choked with the black gowns and the
cobalt-blue blouses. Before these latter took a
turn at their devotions they did homage to Bac-
chus. Crowds of peasants were to be seen seated
about the long, narrow inn-tables, lifting huge
pewter tankards to bristling beards. Some of these
taverns were the same that had fed and sheltered
bands of i)ilgrims that are now mere handfuls of
dust in country churchyards. Those sixteenth cen-
tury pilgrims, how many of them, had found this
same arched doorway of La Licorne as cool as the
shade of great trees after the long hot climb up
to the hill ! What a j)leasant face has the tim
bered facade of the Tete d'Or, and the Mouton
Blanc, been to the weary-limbed ! and how sweet
to the dead lips has been the first taste of the acid
cider !
Other aspects of the hill, on this day of the
pilgrimage, made those older dead-and-gone bands
of pilgrims astonishingly real. On the tops of
bastions, in the clefts of the rocks, beneath the
glorious walls of La Merveille, or perilously lodged
on the crumbling cornice of a tourelle, numerous
rude altars had been hastily erected. The ciTide
blues and scarlets of banners were fluttering, like
so many pennants, in the light breeze. Beneath
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 37T
the improvised altar-roofs — strips of gay cloth
stretched across poles stuck into the gi'ouud — were
groups not often seen in these less fervent centu-
ries. High up, mounted on the natural piilpit
formed of a bit of rock, with the rude altar before
him, with its bit of scarlet cloth covered with cheap
lace, stood or knelt the priest. Against the wide
blue of the open heaven his figure took on an im-
posing sialendor of mien and an unmodem impres-
siveness of action. Beneath him knelt, with bowed
heads, the groups of the peasant-pilgrims ; the
women, with murmuring lips and clasjDed hands,
their strong, deeply-seamed faces outlined, with
the iDrecision of a Francesco painting, against the
gray background of a giant mass of wall, or the
amazing breadth of a vast sea-view ; children,
squat and chubby, with bulging cheeks starting
from the close-fitting French horoiei ; and the peas-
ant-farmers, mostly of the older varieties, whose
stiffened or rheumatic knees and knotty hands
made their kneeling real acts of devotional zeal.
There were a dozen such altars and groups scat-
tered over the perpendicular slant of the hill.
The singing of the choir-boys, rising like skylark
notes into the clear space of heaven, would be
floating from one rocky-nested chapel, while be-
low, in the one beneath which we, for a moment,
were resting, there would be the groaning murmur
of the peasant groups in prayer.
All day little processions were going up and
down the steep stone steps that lead from forti-
fied rock to parish church, and from the town to
the abbatial gateway. The banners and the choir-
378 THREE NORMANDT INNS.
boys, the priests in their embroideries and lace,
the peasants in cap and blouse, were incessantly
mounting' and descending, standing on rock edges,
caught for an instant between a medley of perpen-
dicular roofs, of giant gateways, and a long per-
spective of fortified walls, only to be lost in the
curve of a bastion, or a fl3'ing buttress, that, in
their turn, would be found melting into a distant
sea- view.
All the hours of a pilgrimage, we discovered, were
not given to prayer : nor yet is an incessant bow-
ing at the shrine of St. Michel the sole other di-
version in a true pilgrims round of pious devo-
tions. Later on in this eventful day, we stumbled
on a somewhat startling variation to the peniten-
tial order of the performances. In a side alley,
beneath a friendly overhanging rock and two pro-
tecting roof-eaves, an acrobat was making her pro-
fessional toilet. When she emerged to lay a worn
strip of carpet on the rough cobbles of the street,
she presented a pathetic figure in the gold of the
afternoon sun. She was old and wrinkled ; the
rouge would no longer stick to the sunken cheeks :
the wrinkles were become clefts ; the shrunken
but still muscular legs were clad in a pair of tights,
a very caricature of the silken webs that must once
have encased the poor old creatiu'e's limbs, for
these were knitted of the coarse thread the com-
monest j)easant uses for the rough field stocking.
Over these obviously" home-made coverings was a
single skirt of azure tarlatan, plentifully be-
sprinkled with golden stars. The gossamer skirt
and its spangles turned, for their debut, a somer-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 379
sault in tlie air, and the knitted tig-hts took strange
leaps from the bars of a rude trapeze. The groups
of peasants were soon thicker about this spectacle
than they had gathered about the improvised al-
tars. All the men who had passed the day in the
taverns came out at the sound of the hoarse cracked
voice of the aged acrobat. As she hurled her poor
old twisted shape from swinging" bar to pole, she
cried aloud, "Ah, messieurs, essayez Qa seulement !"
The men's hands, when she had landed on her feet
after an uncommonly venturous whirl of the blue
skirts in mid-air, came out of their deep pock-
ets ; but they seasoned their ajjplause with coarse
jokes which they flung-, with a cruel relish, into
the pitifully-aged face. A cracked accordion and a
jingling tambourine were played by two hardened-
looking ruffians, seated on tlieir heels beneath a
window — a discordant music that could not drown
the noise of the peasants' derisive laughter. But
the latter's i^ennies rattled a louder jingle into the
ancient acrobat's tin cup than it had into the
priest's green-netted contribution-box.
" No, madame, as for us, we do not care for pil-
grimages," was Madame Poulard's verdict on such
survivals of past religious enthusiasms. And she
seasoned her comments with an enlightening
shrug. "AVe see too well how they end. The
men go home dead drunk, the women are drop-
ping with fatigue, et les enfants meme se grisent de
cidre ! No ; pilgrimages are bad for everyone.
The priests should not allow them."
This was at the end of the day, after the black
and blue swarm had passed, a weary, uncertain-
380 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
footed tlirougr, down the loug- street, to take its
departure along the dike. At the very end of the
straggling- procession came the three acrobats ;
they had begged, or bought, a drive across the
dike from some of the pilgrims. The lady of the
knitted tights, in her conventional skirts and wom-
anly fichu, was scarcely distinguishable from the
peasant women who eyed her askance ; though de-
cently garbed now, they looked at her as if she
were some plague or vice talking in their midst.
The verdict of Madame Poulard seemed to be
the verdict of all Mont St. Michel. The whole
town was abroad that evening, on its doorsteps
and in its garden-beds, repairing the ravages com-
mitted by the band of the pilgrims. Never had
the town, as a town, been so dirty; never had the
street presented so shocking a collection of abom-
inations ; never had fiowers and shrubs been so
mercilessly robbed and lilundered — these were the
comments that flowed as freely as the water that
was rained over the dusty cobbles, thick Avith re-
fuse of luncheon and the shreds of torn skirts and
of children's socks.
At any hour of the day, of even an ordinar}^ un-
eventful day, to take a walk in the town is to
encounter a surprise at every turning. AYoiild
you call it a toAvn — this one straggling street that
begins in a King's gateway and ends — ah, that is
the point, just where does it end ? I, for one, was
never once quite certain at just what precise point
this one single Mont St. Michel street stopped —
lost itself, in a word, and became something else.
That was also true of so many other things on the
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 381
hill : all objects had such an astonishing- way of
suddenly becoming something else. A house, for
example, that you had passed on your upward
walk, had a beguiling air of sincerity. It had its
cellar beneath the street front like any other
properly built house ; it continued its g-rowth up-
ward, showing" the commonplace features of a door,
of so many windows — queerly spaced, and of an
amazing variety of shapes, but still unmistakably
windows. Then, assured of so much integrity of
character, you looked to see the roof covering the
house, and instead — like the eg"gs in a Chinese
juggler's fingers, that are turned in a jifi'y into a
growing- iplant — behold the roof miraculously
transformed into a g-arden, or lost in a rampart,
or, with quite shameless effrontery, playing- de-
serter, and serving as the basement of another and
still fairer dwelling. That was a samj^le of the
way all things played you the trick of surprise on
this hill. Stairways began on the cobbles of the
streets, only to lose themselves in a side wall ; a
turn on the ramparts would land you straight into
the privacy of a St. Michelese interior, with an en-
tire household, perchance, at the mercy of your
eye, taken at the mean disadvantage of morning-
dishabille. As for doors that flew open where you
looked to find a bastion; or a school -house that
fiuug all the Michelese voyous over the tops of the
ramparts at play -time ; or of fishwives that sprung-,
as full-armed in their kit as Minerva from her sire's
brows, from the very forehead of fortified places ;
or of beds and settees and wardrobes (surely no
Michelese has ever been able, successfully, to
382 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
maintain in secret the ghost of a family skele-
ton !) into which you were innocently precipitated
on your way to discover the minutest of all ceme-
teries — these were all commonplace occurrences
once your foot was set on this Hill of Surprises.
There are two roads that lead one to the noble
mass of building's crowning- the hill. One may
choose the narrow street with its moss-grown
steps, its curves, and turns ; or one may have the
broader path along- the ramparts, with its glori-
ous outlook over land and sea. Whichever ap-
proach one chooses, one passes at last beneath the
^reat doors of the Barbican.
Three times did the vision of St. Michel appear
to Saint Aubert, in his dream, commanding the
latter to erect a church on the heights of Mont
St. Michel to his honor. How many a time must
the modern pilgrim traverse the stupendous mass
that has grown out of that command before he is
quite certain that the splendor of Mont St. Michel
is real, and not a part of a dream! Whether one
enters through the dark magnificence of the great
portals of the Chatelet ; whether one mounts the
fortified stairway, passing into the Salle des
Gardes, passing onward from dungeon to fortified
bridge,to gain the abbatial residence ; whether one
leaves the vaulted splendor of oratories for aerial
I)assage-ways, only to emerge beneath the majestic
roof of the Cathedral — that marvel of the early Nor-
man, ending in the Gothic choir of the fifteenth
century; or, as one penetrates into the gloom of
the mighty dungeons where heroes and the broth-
ers of kings, and saints and scientists have died
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 383
their long" death — as one gropes through the black
night of the Cryjpt, where a faint, mysterious giint
of light falls aslant the mystical face of the Black
Virgin; as one climbs to the light beneath the
ogive arches of the Aumonerie, through the wide-
lit aisles of the Salle des Chevaliers, jDast the
slender Gothic columns of the Refectory, up at
last to the crowning- glory of all the glories of La
Merveille, to the exquisitely beautiful colonnades
of the open Cloister — the impressions and emo-
tions excited by these ecclesiastical and mili-
tary masterpieces are ever the same, however
many times one may pass them in review. A
charm, indefinable, but replete with subtle attrac-
tions, lurks in every one of these dungeons. The
g-reat halls have a power to make one retraverse
their space, I have yet to find under other
vaulted chambers. The g-rass that is set, like a
green jewel, in the arabesques of the Cloister, is a
bit of g-reensward the feet press with a different
tread to that which skips lightly over other strijDS
of turf. And the world, that one looks out upon
through prison bars, that is so gloriously arched
in the arm of a flying buttress, or that lies prone
at your feet from the dizzy heights of the rock
clefts, is not the world in which you, daily, do
your iDetty stretch of toil, in which you laugh and
ache, sorrow, sigh, and g'o down to your grave
in. The secret of this deep attraction may lie
in the fact of one's being in a world that is built
on a height. Much, doubtless, of the charm lies,
also, in the reminders of all the human life that,
since the early dawn of history, has peoijled this
384 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
hill. One has the sense of living- at tremendously
high mental pressure ; of impressions, emotions,
sensations crowding' upon the mind; of one's
whole meagre outfit of memory, of poetic equip-
ment, and of imaginative furnishing, being un-
equal to the demand made by even the most hur-
ried tour of the great buildings, or the most
flitting review of the noble massing of the clouds
and the hilly seas.
The very emptiness and desolation of all the
buildings on the hill help to accentuate their
splendor. The stage is magnificently set ; the
curtain, even, is lifted. One waits for the coming
on of kingly shapes, for the pomp of trumpets,
for the pattering of a mighty host. But, behold,
all is still. And one sits and sees only a shadowy
company pass and repass across that glorious
mise-en-sccne.
For, in a certain sense, I know no other mediaeval
mass of buildings as peox)led as are these. The
dead shapes seem to fill the vast halls. The Salle
des Chevaliers is crowded, daily, with a brilliant
gathering of knights, who sweej) the trains of their
white damask mantles, edged with ermine, over
the dulled marble of the floor ; two by two they
enter the hall ; the golden shells on their mantles
make the eyes blink, as the groups gather about
the great chimneys, or wander through the col-
umn-broken space. Behind this dazzling cortege,
up the steep steps of the narrow street, swarm
other groups — the mediaeval pilgrim host that
rushes into the cathedi'al aisles, and that climbs
the rami)arts to watch the stately procession as it
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 385
makes its way toward the church portals. There
are still other figures that fill every empty niche
and deserted watch-tower. Through the lancet
windows of the abbatial gateways the yeomanry
of the vassal villages are peering ; it is the weary
time of the Hundred Years' War, and all France
is watching, through sentry windows, for the ap-
proach of her dread enemy. On the shifting
sands below, as on brass, how indelibly fixed are
the names of the hundred and twenty-nine knights
whose courage drove, step by step, over that treach-
erous surface, the English invaders back to their
island strongholds. Will you have a less stormy
and belligerent company to people the hill ? In
the quieter days of the fourteenth century, on
any bright afternoon, you could have sat beside
some friendly artist-monk, and watched him
color and embellish those wondrous missals that
made the manuscripts of the Brothers famous
throughout France. Earlier yet, in those naive
centuries, Robert de Torigny, that " bouclie des
Papes," would doubtless have discoursed to you
on any subject dear to this "counsellor of kings " —
on books, or architecture, or the science of fortifi-
cations, or on the theology of Lanfranc ; from the
helmeted locks of Rollon to the veiled tresses of
the lovely Tiphaine Raguenel, Duguesclin's wife ;
from the ghastly rat-eaten body of the Dutch
journalist, who offended that tyrant King, Louis
XIV., to the Revolutionary heroes, as pitilessly
doomed to an odious death under the gentle Louis
Philippe — there is no shape or figure in French
history which cannot be summoned at will to refill
386 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
either a dungeon or a jialace chamber at Mont St.
Michel.
Even in these, our modern days, one finds
stvange relics of past fashions in thought and
opinion. The various political, religious, and
ethical forms of belief to be met with in a fort-
night's sojourn on the hill, give one a sense of
having j)assed in review a very complete gallery
of ancient and modern portraits of men's minds.
In time one learns to traverse even a dozen or
more centuries with ease. To be in the dawn of
the eleventh century in the morning ; at high noon
to be in the flood-tide of the fifteenth ; and, as the
sun dipped, to hear the last word of our own dying
century — such were the flights across the abysmal
depths of time Charm and I took again and again.
One of our chosen haunts was in a certain watch-
tower. From its top wall, the loveliest prospect of
Mont St. Michel was to be enjoyed. Day after day
and sunset after sunset, we sat out the hours there.
Again and again the world, as it passed, came and
took its seat beside us. Pilgrims of the devout and
ardent type would stoi3, perchance, would jDrofter
a preliminary greeting, would next take their seat
along the parapet, and, quite unconsciously, would
end by sitting for their portrait. One such sitter,
I remember, was clad in carmine crepe shawl ; she
was bonneted in the shape of a long-ago decade.
She had climbed the hill in the morning before
dawn, she said ; she had knelt in prayer as the sun
rose. For hers was a pilgrimage made in fulfilment
of a vow. St. Michel had granted her wish, and she
in return had brought her prayers to his shrine.
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 387
"All, mesclames ! how g-ood is God! How
greatly He rewards a little self-sacrifice. Figure
to yourselves the Mout in the early mists, with the
sun rising out of the sea and the hills. I was on
my knees, up there. I had eaten nothing since
yesterday at noon. I was full of the Holy Ghost.
When the sun broke at last, it was God Himself
in all His glory come down to earth ! The whole
earth seemed to be listening — pretait VoreiUe — and
with the great stillness, and the sea, and the
light breaking everywhere, it was as if I were be-
ing taken straight up into Paradise. Saint Michel
himself must have been supporting me."
The carmine crepe shawl covered a poet, you
see, as well as a devotee.
Up yonder, in the little shops and stalls tucked
away within the walls of the Barbican, a lively
traffic, for many a century now, has been going on
in relics and 7->/o?y^&.s de pelerinage. Some of these
mediaeval impressions have been unearthed in
strange localities, in the bed of the Seine, as far
away as Paris. Pude and archaic are many of
these early essays in the sculptor's art. But they
preserve for us, in quaint intensity, the fervor of
adoration which possessed that earlier, more de-
vout time and period. On the mind of this nine-
teenth century pilgrim, the same lovely old forms
of belief and superstition were imprinted as are
still to be seen in some of those winged figures of
St. Michel, with feet securely set on the back of
the terrible dragon, staring, with triumphant g"aze,
through stony or leaden eyes.
On the evening of the jjilgrimage our friend,
388 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
the Parisian, joined lis on our high percli. The
Mont seemed strangely qniet after the noise and
confusion the peasants had brought in their train.
The Parisian, like ourselves, had been glad to es-
cape into the upper heights of the wide air, after
the bustle and hurry of the daj^ at our inn.
" You permit me, mesdames 1 " He had lighted
his after-dinner cigar ; he went on iDuffing, having
gained our consent. He curled a leg comfortably
about the railings of a low bridge connecting a
house that sprang out of a rock, with the rampart.
Below, there was a clean drop of a few hundred
feet, more or less. In spite of the glories of a
spectacular sunset, yielding ceaseless changes and
transformations of cloud and sea tones, the words
of Madame Poulard alone had power to possess
our companion. She had uttered her protest
against the X3ilgrimage, as she had swept the
Parisian's jyousse-cafe from his elbow. He took up
the conversation where it had been droi:)ped.
"It is amusing to hear Madame Poulard talk
of the priests stopping the pilgrimages ! The
priests ? Whj^, that's all they have left them to
live upon now. These peasants' are the only
pockets in which they can fumble nowadays."
" All the same, one can't help being grateful to
those peasants," retorted Charm. " Thej^ are the
only creatures who have made these things seem
to have any meaning. How dead it all seems !
The abbey, the cloisters, the old prisons, the
fortifications — it is like wandering through a
splendid tomb ! "
" Yes, as the cure said yesterday, ' Vdme n'y est
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 389
plus,' — since the priests liave been dislodged, it is
the house of the dead."
" The priests " — ^the Parisian snorted at the very-
sound of the word — " thej" have only themselves
to blame. They would have been here still, if
they had not so abused their power."
" How did they abuse it ? " Charm asked.
" In every possible way. I am, myself, not of
the country. But my brother was stationed here
for some years, when the Mont was garrisoned.
The priests were in full possession then, and they
conducted a lively commerce, mademoiselle. The
Mont was turned into a show — to see it or any
part of it, everyone had to i^ay toll. On the great
fete-days, when St. Michel wore his crown, the
gold ran like water into the monks' treasury. It
was still then a fashionable religious fad to have
a mass said for one's dead, out here among the
clouds and the sea. Well, try to imagine fifty
masses all dumped on the altar together ; that is,
one mass wovild be scrambled through, no names
would be mentioned, no one save Je bon Dieu him-
self knew for whom it was being said ; but fifty or
more believed they had bought it, since they had
paid for it. And the priests laughed in their
sleeves, and then sat down, comfortably, to count
the gold. Ah, mesdames, those were, literally, the
golden days of the priesthood ! "WTiat with the
pilgrimages, and the sale of relics, and les benefices
— together with the charges for seeing the won-
ders of the Mont — what a trade they did ! It is
only the Jews, who, in their turn, now own us, up
in Paris, who can equal the priests as commercial
390 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
geniuses ! " Aud our pessimistic Parisian, during
the next half-hour, gave us a prophetic picture
of the approaching' ruin of France, brought about
by the genius for phmder and organization that is
given to the son? of Moses.
Following tlio' Parisian, a figure, bent and
twisted, opened a door in a side-wall, and took
his seat beside us. One became used, in time,
to these sudden appearances ; to vanish doAMi a
chimney, or to emerge from tlie womb of a rock,
or to come up from the bowels of what earth there
was to be found — all such exits and entrances be-
came as common^Dlace as all the other extraordi-
nary phases of one's life on the hill. This particu-
lar shape had emerged from a hut, carved, literally,
out of the side of the rock ; but, for a hut, it was
amazingly snug — as we could see for ourselves;
for the venerable shape hospitably opened the
low wooden door, that we might see how much of
a home could be made out of the side of a rock.
Only, when one had been used to a guard-room,
and to great and little dungeons, and to a rattling
of keys along dark corridors, a hut, and the blaze
of the noon sun, were trjdng things to endure, as
the shape, with a shrug, gave us to understand.
" You see, mesdames, I was jailor here, years
ago, when all La Merveille was a prison. Ah!
those were great days for the Mont ! There were
soldiers and officers who came up to look at the
soldiers, and the soldiers — it was their biTsiness
to look after the prisoners. The Emperor himself
came here once — I saAv him. What a sight ! — Dieu !
all the monks and priests and nuns, and the arch-
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 391
bisliop himself were out. What banners and
crosses and flag-s ! The cannon was like a great
thunder — and the greve was red with soldiers.
Ah, those were days! Dieu — why couldn't the
republic have continued those glories — ces gloires ?
A iijowd'hui noiLS ne sommes que des morts — instead
of prisoners to handle — to watch and work, like so
many good machines — there is only the dike yon-
der to keep in repair ! What changes — mon Dieu !
what changes ! " And the shape wrung his hands.
It was, in truth, a touching spectacle of grief for a
good old past.
An old priest, with equally saddened vision,
once came to take his seat, quite easily and
naturally, beside us, on our favorite perch. He
was one of the little band of priests who had
remained faithful to the Mont after the govern-
ment had dispersed his brothers — after the mon-
astery had been broken up. He and his four
or five comiDanions had taken refuge in a small
house, close by the cemetery; it was they who
conducted the services in the little parish church ;
who had gathered the treasures still grouped to-
gether in that little interior — the throne of 8t.
Michel, with its blue draperies and the golden
fleur-de-lis, the floating banners and the shields of
the Knights of St. Michel, the relics, and won-
drous bits of carving rescued from the splendors
of the cathedral.
" AJi , mesdame's — que voidez-vous ? " was the old
priest's broken chant : he was bewailing the woes
that had come to his order, to religion, to France.
"What will you have? The history of nations
392 THREE NORMANDY INNS.
repeats itself, as we all know. We, of our day, are
fallen on evil times ; it is the reig-n of imao^e-
breakers — nothing" is sacred, except money.
France has worn herself out. She is like an old
man, the hero of many battles, who cares only for
his easy chair and his slippers. She does not
care about the children who are throwing- stones
at the windows. She likes to snooze, in the sun,
and count her money-bag's. France is too old to
care about religion, or the future — she is thinking-
how best to be comfortable — here in this world,
when she has rheumatism and a cramp in the
stomach ! " And the old priest wrapped his own
soutane about his lean knees, suiting his g-esture
to his inward convictions.
Was the priest's summary the last word of
truth about modern France ? On the sands that
lay below at our feet, we read a different answer.
The skies were still brilliantly lig-hted. The
actual twilight had not come yet, with its long-,
deep g'low, a passion of color that had a long-er life
up here on the heights than when seen from a
lower level. This twilight hour was always a pro-
longed moment of transfiguration for the Mont.
The very last evening- of our stay, we chose this
as the loveliest light in which to see the last of
the hill. On that evening, I remember, the reds
and saffrons in the sky were of an astonishing-
richness. The sea wall, the bastions, the faces of
the great rocks, the yellow broom that sprang
from the clefts therein, were dyed as in a carmine
bath. In that mighty glow of color, all things
took on something of their old, their stupendous
THREE NORMANDY INNS. 393
splendor. The giant walls were paved with
brightness. The town, climbing- the hill, assumed
the proportions of a mighty citadel ; the forest
tree-tops were i^rismatic, emerald balls flung be-
neath the illumined Merveille ; and the Cathedral
was set in a daffodil frame ; its aerial escalier de
dentelle, like Jacob's ladder, led one easily heaven-
ward. The circling birds, in the lace-work of the
spiral finials, sang their night songs, as the glow
in the sky changed, softened, deepened.
This was the world that was in the west.
Toward the east, on the flat surface of the
sands, this world cast a strange and wondrous
shadow. Jagged rocks, a pyramidal city, a
Gothic cathedral in mid-air — behold the rugged
outlines of Mont St. Michel carving their giant
features on the shifting, sensitive surface of the
mirroring sands.
In the little pools and the trickling rivers, the
fishermen — from this height, Liliputians grap-
pling with Liliputian meshes — were setting their
nets for the night. Across the river-beds, peasant
women and fishwives, with bared legs and baskets
clasped to their bending backs, appeared and dis-
appeared — shapes that emerged into the light
only to A^anish into the gulf of the night.
In was in these pictures that we read our
answer.
Like Mont St. Michel, so has France carried
into the heights of history her glory and her
power. On every century, she, like this world
in miniature, has also cast her shadow, dwarfing
some, illuminating others. And, as on those
394
THREE NORM ANDY IXNS.
distant sands the toiling shapes of the fishermen
are to be seen, early and late, in summer and
winter, so can France point to her i^eople, whose
industry and amazing talent for toil have made
her, and maintain her, great.
Some of these things we have learned, since, in
Normandy Inns, we have sat at meat with her
peasants, and have grown to be friends with hei
fishwives.
Catftttrral Ba^ss
A TOUR IN
SOUTHERN ENGLAND
By ANNA BOWMAN DODD
New edition. Illustrated with Sketches
and Photographs by E. Eldon Deane.
l2mo. Cloth, extra. Price, $i.^O
©pinions on <3!^at!)ctrral 2iaj>s
A fresh and ever readable author. — New York Tributie.
Irving and Hawthorne seem to us the only travellers in England who have
shown such keen insight into the spirit of English life as she does. — Chicago
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It is no small compliment to say that in its new dress ... it deserves a
reception as warm as the first. The cathedrals visited are Salisbury, Wells,
Exeter, Chichester, and Winchester, and the illustrations include pictures of all
of them, but the real value of the book comes from the author's keen eye for
small details of manners, dress, and bearing, speech and voice, necessary for the
perfection of an imagined picture of a foreign land. — Ne'w York Times.
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The author's eye is quick and her hand is sure, whether surrounded by the
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which brightens the colors of every view. The personal interest is well man-
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pro\oking, are never given a word too much. — San Francisco Argonaut,
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In " Montcalm and Wolfe" Mr. Parkman has told the story of the cam-
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" Montcalm and Wolfe" represents his fijll maturity, and is worthy of the
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%itt at JHtcftggX ^ngel0
By HERMAN GRIMM
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cite 3£slcg nnXf ^ftrtnc^
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