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 V
 
 LITTLE PILGRIMAGES AMONG 
 FRENCH INNS
 
 UNIFORM VOLUMES 
 
 Little Pilgrimages Among 
 English Inns 
 
 By JoSEPHlxNE To;^iER 
 
 Little Pilgrimages Among 
 French Inns 
 
 By Charles Gibson 
 
 Little Pilgrimages Among 
 Bavarian Inns 
 
 By Roy Fraprie 
 
 The Fair Land Tyrol 
 By W. U. McCrackan 
 
 ¥ 
 
 Each, I vol., library i2mo, cloth, gilt 
 top, profusely illustrated, $2.00 
 
 ¥ 
 
 L. C. Page & Company 
 
 New England Building 
 
 Boston, Mass.
 
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 THE STORY OF A PILGRIM- 
 AGE TO CHARACTERISTIC 
 SPOTS OF RURAL FRANCE 
 
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 BY 
 
 Charles (Bibaou 
 
 ILLUSTRATED 
 
 BOSTON ^999^ 
 
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 9 9 9 9 PUBLISHERS 
 
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 Copyright, igo^ 
 By L. C. Page & Company 
 
 (incorporated) 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 First Impression, Noveml)er, 1905 
 Second Impression, June, 1906 
 
 COLONIAL PRESS 
 
 EUctrotyptd and Printed by C. H. Simonds &• Co. 
 
 Boston, U. S. A.
 
 TO 
 
 WHOSE LOVE, ENCOURAGEMENT, AND SYMPATHY 
 
 HAVE BEEN THE 
 
 CONSTANT GUIDE TO MY LIFE 
 
 THIS BOOK IS 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED
 
 ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 My acknowledgments are due to the pro- 
 prietors of the inns, as well as to Mrs. 
 Charles H. Paine, through whose assistance 
 I have been enabled to obtain many of the 
 views from which the illustrations in this 
 volume have been taken.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 This volume is the outcome of several sum- 
 mers, or portions thereof, that have been 
 spent in picturesque parts of France. An 
 extended stay has permitted me to examine 
 into some of the history and legends of this 
 delightful country, to obtain some experience 
 of the character of its inns, and to acquire — 
 I trust — something of its atmosphere. 
 
 A number of notes were taken on the spot, 
 and these have been allowed to mellow in the 
 memory, so that in writing of them there is 
 a touch of reminiscence which may not per- 
 haps be out of place in a volume of this sort. 
 I desire to state that this pilgrimage is 
 Among French Inns, not one made to them 
 exclusively. Advantage has been taken of 
 this fact to deal rather broadly with the 
 places visited in the present narrative. 
 
 "But is it a narrative?" some one may 
 ask, and perhaps rightly. All it attempts to 
 be is a form of history, purporting to be that 
 of an excursion made by a number of types 
 
 vii
 
 Preface 
 
 of character that are frequently to be met 
 with when travelling on the other side of 
 the Atlantic Ocean. If any readers of the 
 doings or sayings of the characters in this 
 book should claim a resemblance to them- 
 selves, they are undoubtedly wrong. No 
 such resemblance exists; none could exist; 
 none was ever intended to exist! The char- 
 acters of the story that is woven into the 
 pages of these travels are not individual 
 portraits. They are only attempted repro- 
 ductions of types, at once amusing in real 
 life, and food for contemplation and thought. 
 I would counsel my friends to look for them 
 when they travel in these regions, for they 
 add greatly to the pleasure of the trip. 
 
 To those who are led to make a pilgrimage 
 Among French Inns, we would say a word or 
 two in regard to the practical side of so poeti- 
 cal a trip. If these inns are, in certain rural 
 districts, more primitive than those of Eng- 
 land, they arc never without good cheer in 
 the way of food and drink. The cuisine in 
 France is different altogether from the cui- 
 sine in England — as different as can be. 
 P2ach has its good points; but in the cuisine 
 of the Frenchman there is a subtle art which 
 nothing can take from him. 
 
 vin
 
 Preface 
 
 In the bedrooms, feather beds abound; 
 linen sheets, windows that open sidewise, and 
 let in draughts in cold weather. Go to the 
 inns in summer or spring, rather than in win- 
 ter. The rates are not expensive, and the " ex- 
 tras " less abundant than in the larger hotels. 
 The early breakfast of coffee and rolls is, 
 let us say, in the neighbourhood of a franc, 
 about twenty cents in American money. 
 The dejeuner, or luncheon, from eleven until 
 one-thirty, table d'hote, is from two to three 
 francs. Dinner is in proportion. 
 
 For those who do not wish to make an ex- 
 pensive trip, the second class, in travelling, 
 is preferable. Third class, as a rule, is to 
 be avoided in the country districts. To those 
 who are fond of scenery, the railway journeys, 
 especially in Normandy, will be a source of 
 unmitigated pleasure and delight. I have 
 attempted to give a slight idea of this in 
 these pages, with how unworthy a pen I 
 myself am only too well aware. 
 
 There will be little use in expecting the 
 coachmen of the public carriages to be polite. 
 They rarely if ever are. They bully and 
 cheat the unwary traveller whenever occa- 
 sion crops up. Still, they are so funny; 
 every one is so funny; there is so much real 
 
 uc
 
 Preface 
 
 mirth in the study of character alone, that 
 if we take most of the people we meet in a 
 spirit of good humour, we shall find our- 
 selves growing fat from laughter. 
 
 It is important to treat the French with 
 a great deal of politeness. They are a po- 
 lite race, and deal in a multitude of manners. 
 Receiving these themselves, they look for 
 them in strangers, and are susceptible to kind- 
 ness and good nature. They may be violent, 
 if they are ofifended ever so little, but are 
 capable of making themselves entertaining 
 and charming. 
 
 To those who love it, life in France may be 
 a perpetual dream of enchantment. There is 
 a sense of art everywhere, rarely to be met 
 with except in Italy. Every Frenchman is 
 an artist, and every place he enters, he makes 
 his studio. It is surprising to see in the 
 simplest, the most uneducated peasant, a 
 knowledge and a sense of art or historical 
 research, unheard of in our own country, or 
 even in England. 
 
 In short, France is France. Nobody can 
 properly describe it to you if you have not 
 been there. You must go and see it, and en- 
 joy it for yourself. That you may enjoy it, 
 and that you may patronize the inns, with
 
 Preface 
 
 as pleasant an experience as my own, I sin- 
 cerely trust. And if the descriptions in this 
 humble volume find favour in your eyes, 
 I shall be more than gratified, and feel well 
 repaid for having written it. Should you do 
 this, and become a pilgrim to the rural 
 haunts of France, we may then accompany 
 one another in the appreciation of a common 
 joy. 
 
 Charles Gibson. 
 
 9 Charles Street, Boston, igo^. 
 
 s<t
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 As we look upon the map of Normandy, 
 the most northwesterly province of France, 
 we may see that it is divided into five De- 
 partments. Each of these Departments has 
 its own distinctive capital and its characteris- 
 tic life, dividing this beautiful portion of 
 France, as it were, into so many counties, 
 small in area and yet large in the part which 
 they have played in the early history of 
 France, and the influence which they have 
 exerted upon the world at large. 
 
 To the northeast is the Department of 
 Seine Inferieure, which is perhaps the rich- 
 est, in its wealth of cities and its artistic and 
 historic treasures. In the centre of its north- 
 ern coast is the town of Dieppe, which was at 
 one time so favourite a watering-place for the 
 French and English, but which is now, like 
 Calais and Boulogne, one of the principal 
 Channel ports. In the extreme southwestern 
 corner of the Department is the city of
 
 Introduction 
 
 Havre, the port of Paris and the most impor- 
 tant town upon the coast. South of Dieppe, 
 and beautifully situated on the banks of the 
 Seine, is the city of Rouen, the capital of 
 Normandy, and in many senses its most im- 
 portant town. 
 
 South of Seine Inferieure is the Department 
 of Eure, whose capital and principal town 
 is that of Evreux. West of Eure is the De- 
 partment of Calvados, which occupies the 
 northern central portion of Normandy, and 
 whose most important towns are Caen, 
 Bayeux, and Falaise. On its northern coast 
 are also situated the twin towns of Trouville 
 and Deauville, the fashionable rendezvous 
 of France during the summer season. 
 
 Directly south of Calvados is the Depart- 
 ment of Orne, whose capital is Alengon, and 
 which also contains the interesting town of 
 Argcntan. This is the most southern part 
 of Normandy, and borders upon Brittany and 
 the Department of La Sarthe, which leads in 
 turn into Touraine, and is the gateway to 
 the centre of France. 
 
 On the west coast of Normandy is the 
 Department of La Manche, which extends 
 over its entire area from north to south; it 
 includes the important seaport town of Cher- 
 
 XIV
 
 Introduction 
 
 bourg, which is now one of the great trans- 
 atlantic terminals, as well as the cathedral 
 town of St. Lo, and lastly, the little town of 
 Avranches and the town of Coutances. 
 Avranches is built upon the brow of a steep 
 hill, overlooking a wonderful view of the 
 coast of Brittany and the Mont St. Michel. 
 Southeast of Cherbourg, and nearly in the 
 centre of a great square expanse of land, ex- 
 tending in a northwesterly direction into the 
 ocean, is the town of Valognes, and in the 
 southern portion of La Manche is the ancient 
 town of Mortain. 
 
 Such is the general geographical aspect of 
 this picturesque province of France. 
 
 Southwest of Normandy lies Brittany, 
 which is as distinctive in its character as 
 the former, and full of interest to the trav- 
 eller. It is bounded by the English Channel 
 on the north, and stretches to the most western 
 point of France. The most westerly town of 
 importance is Brest. The great peninsula 
 formed by this province is like a gigantic 
 finger pointing toward the ocean, and mark- 
 ing it, apart from the rest of France. It is, 
 therefore, geographically unique in this 
 respect. 
 
 Southeast of Brittany, and toward the 
 
 XV
 
 Introduction 
 
 centre of France, we find Touraine, known as 
 the garden of France, and including, like the 
 other provinces, several Departments. To the 
 southeast again we have Provence, reaching 
 from the valley of the Rhone toward North- 
 ern Italy and the Alps. 
 
 m
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 Introduction ..... 
 I, At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 II. In Search of an Inn, between Havre and 
 Rouen ...... 
 
 III. At the Hotel du Grand Cerf, Fecamp 
 
 IV. Caudebec to Rouen .... 
 V. Rouen . ..... 
 
 VI. Among the Inns of Brittany 
 VII. At the Hotel du Grand Cerf, Les Andelys 
 VIII. With the Duchess at Trouville 
 IX. In and Out of the Department of Orne 
 X. At the Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant, 
 Dives ...... 
 
 XI. Among the Inns of Touraine 
 XII. In Old Provence .... 
 
 XIII. At the Hotel de la Foret, Barbizon 
 Index 
 
 PAGE 
 
 xiii 
 1 
 
 32 
 
 82 
 
 117 
 
 140 
 170 
 194 
 
 239 
 
 275 
 
 313 
 336 
 
 371 
 
 389 
 407
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 H6tel du Grand Cerf, Grand Andely {See page 
 
 igg) ....... Frontispiece 
 
 H6tel Frascati, Havre lo 
 
 H6tel de Ville, Havre 15 
 
 General View of Lillebonne — Remains of Old 
 Roman Theatre, Lillebonne — Modern Cha- 
 teau and Tower of Old Castle, Lillebonne 52 
 Church of Notre Dame, Lillebonne ... 54 
 
 Hotel Blanquet, £tretat .... 
 
 The Beach, £tretat 
 
 Hotel du Grand Cerf, Fecamp 
 
 Market-day, Fecamp 
 
 Hotel de la Marine, Caudebec 
 Market-place, Caudebec .... 
 Apple -orchard, near Rouen .... 
 Tour de la Grosse-Horloge, Rouen —The Ca 
 
 thedral, Rouen 
 
 Coutances, from the Railway 
 Bay of Mont St. Michel, from Avranches . 
 Hotel Poulard, Mont St. Michel 
 Chimneypiece, Hotel du Grand Cerf, Grand 
 
 Andely 
 
 Chateau Gaillard 
 
 Dieppe Cathedral 
 
 Church of Notre Dame, Trouville 
 
 A Farm near Trouville 
 
 Hotel de Ville, Dreux 
 
 xuc 
 
 76 
 
 79 
 
 82 
 
 98 
 118 
 130 
 142 
 
 150 
 
 172 
 
 174 
 178 
 
 200 
 206 
 232 
 240 
 257 
 279
 
 List of Illustrations 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Chateau de Maintenon 280 
 
 Fifteenth Century House, Chartres . . . 291 
 
 Statue of William the Conqueror, Falaise . 318 
 
 Hostellerie de Guillaume le Conquerant, Dives 324 
 
 General View of Saumur — Hotel Budan, Saumur 340 
 
 Hotel de France,^ Chinon 353 
 
 Chateau de Luynes — Old House, Luynes . . 361 
 Hotel de la Promenade and Tour St. Antoine, 
 
 Loches 368 
 
 Avionon . 384 
 
 Hotel dk la Foret, Barbizon .... 390
 
 Among French Innj 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 AT THE HOTEL FRASCATI, HAVRE 
 
 It was with but a general idea of France, 
 an idea rendered somewhat misty, we must 
 own, by a night on the English Channel, that 
 we landed one morning at Havre, with the 
 intention of spending a month or two among 
 the picturesque and rural haunts of this 
 favoured country. Our party of three was 
 composed of an Englishman, a Frenchman, 
 and an American, the latter of whom had 
 undertaken the duties of historian to the ex- 
 pedition. The Frenchman had agreed to 
 be the guide, and the Englishman was to 
 content himself with enjoying the scenery, 
 eating the French poulets and salads, which 
 were sure to be served at the country hotels 
 and inns, and, if possible, with getting a 
 little rest and relaxation, after the London 
 season. 
 
 I
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 It was the fourteenth of July. And to 
 those who have ever had the misfortune to 
 arrive in France on this day of all others 
 to avoid, perhaps we may not look in vain 
 for sympathy. It is the date of the great 
 "fete de la Republique Franqaise;" and 
 even if one is an enthusiastic republican, the 
 day is at best a trying one on which to move 
 about. It is the corresponding celebration 
 to the Fourth of July in America, with just 
 a touch of the Frenchman's enthusiasm 
 thrown in; and if one chances to be a for- 
 eigner who is in search of peace and quiet, 
 the arrival is something of a shock. 
 
 That the sailors might enjoy the holiday 
 to its utmost, the boat was docked and the 
 passengers landed at five A. M.^ instead of the 
 scheduled time of seven-thirty. The miser- 
 able travellers, who had just settled them- 
 selves for a short nap, after tossing about on 
 the Channel all night, are bundled out on to 
 an empty quay, bewildered and dazed, and 
 more dead than alive. The lady from Lon- 
 don, who was to have joined her husband 
 there, as she confidently assured us the night 
 before, finds him not, and is left in a tearful 
 condition on the dock, consoling herself with 
 a cup of "cafe au lait" and a brioche. An 
 
 2
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 elderly dowager, who is mercifully travelling 
 with her maid, is so overcome by this unex- 
 pected arrival, that she is seized with an 
 attack of asthma, and her shortness of breath 
 is noticeable for some distance down the quay. 
 At last her maid dives into the depths of a 
 travelling dressing-case, and produces a 
 cigarette, which somewhat relieves the suf- 
 ferer, and her neighbours, from the fear lest 
 she strangle to death. 
 
 What a change from the arrival in Eng- 
 land! To one unaccustomed to the many 
 charming qualities of the French and their 
 natural mannerisms, the first impression on 
 landing is that of being at the mercy of so 
 many lunatics. Everybody is jumping about, 
 rushing hither and thither, throwing their 
 arms wildly in the air, chattering, quarrel- 
 ling, hurrying, apparently getting nowhere 
 and accomplishing nothing. The neatness, the 
 order, the quiet and reserve, which we left on 
 the other side of the Channel, has entirely 
 disappeared. Here, everything is just the 
 opposite. The buildings are dirty, but pic- 
 turesque. The disorder is complete and 
 apparent. The people are in a frenzy of 
 excitement over nothing and no one, from 
 the moment we first set foot on French soil. 
 
 3
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 And yet it is all fascinating and attractive, 
 full of life and animation, and stirring even 
 the most phlegmatic to a smile, or a frown. 
 The dirt and squalor are picturesque and 
 artistic; the whole scene is changed, in the 
 twinkling of an eye, as we step off the boat. 
 The blue sky and brilliant sunshine, whose 
 cheerfulness is in contrast to the misty atmos- 
 phere of London, refreshes and invigorates, 
 and — in short, it is France. 
 
 " Vous navez rien a declarer, monsieur? " 
 exclaims a voice in our ears, and instantly 
 innumerable custom-house officers surround 
 us and tear open our luggage in a ruthless 
 manner. The Englishman's leather boxes, 
 whose neatness would never have been dis- 
 turbed in Britain, are dragged here and 
 there, without any apparent reason, scratched 
 and dirtied, so that even his calm is ruffled 
 and his dignity disturbed. The Frenchman's 
 cases being of light wood, tied up with cords 
 of rope, are cut open somehow or other. On 
 the whole, the American's steamer-trunks 
 fare the best of the three, being designed for 
 heavy travelling, and strongly bound with 
 brass and iron. 
 
 "Nothing to declare, messieurs?" 
 "Nothing; absolutely nothing."
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 But all to no avail. 
 
 " Allans, gar con I " 
 
 And there being no hope of a cab at this 
 hour in the morning, we end by walking to 
 the hotel, preceded by an octogenarian porter 
 rolling our luggage on a truck. 
 
 " But what hotel shall we go to? " 
 
 " The Hotel Frascati, of course," says the 
 Frenchman; and though our English com- 
 panion is inclined toward the D'Angleterre, 
 and the American toward the De I'Europe, 
 we give way to the superior knowledge of the 
 drum-major of the party, and proceed to 
 the best hotel in Havre. What the Adelphi 
 is to Liverpool, such is Frascati's to Havre, 
 the haven of the transatlantic travellers, the 
 delight of the Americans, and the embodi- 
 ment of all that is comfortable and desirable. 
 
 " But I thought this excursion was to be 
 spent among French inns," persisted the 
 Englishman, with that dogged love of con- 
 sistency which is so a part of his race. 
 
 "To be sure," says the Frenchman; "but 
 let us indulge ourselves for this once in the 
 best that the town affords. We shall have 
 plenty of opportunity later to test the hos- 
 pitality of the rural hostelries. Frascati's 
 is one of the features of Havre, and its pro- 
 
 5
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 prietor has at least an innholder's license; 
 so that we may stretch the imagination a 
 little and enjoy the good cooking and comfort 
 of the place for a day or two." In this 
 way the momentous question was settled, 
 and we wandered on through the picturesque 
 streets, enjoying our first morning in Norman 
 surroundings. 
 
 The porter, in spite of his burden, was 
 soon making himself agreeable, and impart- 
 ing information to the party in general, and 
 the Frenchman in particular. 
 
 " Oh, yes, this is the ' fete de la Repub- 
 iique/ messieurs. Is this the first time ces 
 messieurs have seen one? " 
 
 Ces messieurs, at least two of them, cer- 
 tainly never had seen a '^ fete de la Repub- 
 lique" before; and for the moment, perhaps, 
 sincerely wished- that they might never see 
 one again. But that was purely from motives 
 of personal comfort, and nothing to do with 
 the glory of France and her republican in- 
 stitutions. The porter, however, soon devel- 
 oped into an imperialist, and volunteered 
 some information which made us rather 
 curious as to his early history. 
 
 " Ah, messieurs." said the old fellow, 
 pausing in the middle of the street and 
 
 6
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 pushing his cap over his left eye, " this is 
 not the first Republique that I have seen in 
 France. I saw the Republique of 1848 
 when it was born — and when it died, too," 
 and he gave a chuckle to himself, as much as 
 to say " and a good thing it was." " I saw 
 the last Empire as well, messieurs, the one 
 that went out like a candle in 1870. Those 
 were great days at the Tuileries and Fon- 
 tainebleau. Oh, those were the days," and 
 again he cocked his cap still further over his 
 left eye. " Many's the time Fve seen the 
 Emperor drive out with the Empress, and she 
 looking as beautiful as a young goddess. 
 I'd touch my hat to them, and they'd bow 
 in return ; for they all knew me, as I stood 
 near the palace gates and swept the walk. 
 But they're gone now, and nobody thinks of 
 me. But if they ever came back they'd re- 
 member me, I can tell you," and the old 
 man smiled to himself, as he thought of the 
 brilliant days that were gone. 
 
 By this time we were well on our way 
 toward the centre of the town, and the long 
 rows of houses and buildings, with their 
 white stones, blackened with age and dirt, 
 and their iron balconies, were following one 
 another in rapid succession; giving way 
 
 7
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 here and there to a public square or a civic 
 building. The numberless cafes, with their 
 awnings, and their rows of chairs and tables 
 on the sidewalks, were just coming to life; 
 for everything is early in France. The 
 patrons of the establishments were bustling 
 about behind their long glass windows, cov- 
 ered with signs of " Byrrh," " Bock," " Res- 
 taurant-Cafe," etc. The streets, paved largely 
 with rough, flat stones, about a foot square, 
 were anything but smooth to travel over. But 
 the general attraction of this strange new 
 life, suddenly appearing out of the summer 
 morning as if by magic, made one forget the 
 practical, and consider the whole more like 
 a scene on the stage than reality. 
 
 As we proceeded, the porter continued to 
 regale us with stories of King Louis Philippe 
 and Napoleon III., interspersed with remi- 
 niscences of the Empire, which entertained us 
 until we reached the hotel. Trams and rail- 
 way lines frequently crossed our path, and 
 added to the general appearances of business 
 which were everywhere predominant. For 
 Havre is to-day a city of industry and com- 
 merce, and its riches lie in these directions, 
 rather than in historical or architectural 
 monuments. 
 
 8
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 The religious sentiment and artistic genius 
 which are to be found at Rouen, are absent 
 here. History and worldly goods have taken 
 the place of art. As the port of Paris and 
 " one of the keys of France," Havre is now 
 what Liverpool has been to England, though 
 it has not sprung into this position through 
 a fluctuation of commercial interests, nor 
 through sudden growth. 
 
 As a port and town its importance has been 
 recognized since the sixteenth century. It 
 has had as patrons such men as Richelieu 
 and Colbert. It has been rescued from the 
 hands of enemies by Catherine de Medicis 
 and her sons Charles IV. and the Due 
 d'Anjou. In its citadel the crafty Mazarin 
 held captive, under the guardianship of the 
 Due d'Harcourt, the three princes, Conde, 
 Conti, and Longueville, during the troubles 
 of La Fronde. It was on this occasion that 
 Conde wrote the following lines to his jailer: 
 
 ** Cet homme gros et court. 
 Si connu dans I'histoire ; 
 Ce grand Comte d'Harcourt 
 Tout couronne de gloire. 
 Qui secourut Casal et reprit Turin, 
 Est maintenant recors de Jules Mazarin."
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 With the lines still in our ears, we arrived 
 at the door of the Hotel Frascati. Our walk 
 through the town had separated us from our 
 friend the porter, whom we now found await- 
 ing our arrival, with cap in hand and atten- 
 tively waiting for a tip. We presented him 
 with a five-franc piece for his pains and his 
 conversation, which more than delighted 
 him, and he left us with evident regret and 
 a definite intention to celebrate at the nearest 
 cafe. 
 
 The hotel is situated on the beach, and is 
 really not far from the quay, though our 
 morning constitutional had made us take a 
 longer route through the city. But once ar- 
 rived, we found a courteous manager, and 
 many anxious waiters and house-porters 
 with green felt aprons, ready to do our every 
 bidding for the coins which were already as 
 good as theirs. 
 
 As the Frenchman soon remarked, " the 
 hand is in the pocket in France from the 
 morning till evening; and it must never be 
 taken out empty." So we were made aware, 
 without the least hesitation; for even a sou 
 is dear to the heart of the Gaul, and he is 
 miserable without some attention, be it great 
 or small, it matters not. There is usually, 
 
 lO
 
 
 4 
 
 ' :■*•■' ^^^B 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 < 
 
 < 
 
 u. 
 
 <0 
 
 I
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 however, an accepted tariff for the various 
 degrees of service which one receives, and 
 this we learn in time, though as a rule, only 
 after some rather costly experience. 
 
 Did ces messieurs wish rooms? Yes, 
 ces messieurs wished rooms facing the sea, 
 and rest and dejeuner, as soon as possible. 
 All these desires were gratified in due sea- 
 son. The rooms were large and comfortable, 
 and the view from the windows agreeable, 
 overlooking the promenade and the beach, and 
 everything as pleasant as could be desired. 
 The heavily curtained beds, the linen sheets, 
 icy in winter but grateful in the heat of sum- 
 mer, the immense feather mattresses, the 
 little stands with white marble tops, and the 
 inevitable glass tray, with bottles for rum 
 and water and sugar before retiring, were 
 typical of France. 
 
 On returning to the hotel office later in 
 the morning, refreshed and ready for amuse- 
 ment, we were more than surprised at read- 
 ing among the list of guests the following 
 names: 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. James Blodget Wilton. 
 
 Miss Gladys Wilton. 
 
 Valet and maid, all from New York. 
 
 II
 
 A7nojig French Inns 
 
 His Excellency, Count Romeo di Pomponi, 
 Rome. 
 
 It would appear by the date of the register, 
 that they had all arrived, by the steamer of 
 the Transatlantic Company, from America, 
 the day before. This was indeed a discovery, 
 and one which gave our party no little to 
 talk about during our second inspection of the 
 city of Havre; for we had determined to see 
 what we could, in spite of the crowds and the 
 holiday. The arrival of la famille Wilton, 
 accompanied by the ardent Count Romeo, was 
 sure to lead to a series of entertainments and 
 excursions which we had scarcely expected 
 to indulge in at Havre. But since the fates 
 had decreed that the beginning of our pil- 
 grimage should be neither simple nor rural, 
 neither entered into with sackcloth and 
 ashes, nor attended by the more bucolic 
 duties, we settled ourselves down to the 
 altered conditions of the present, and pro- 
 ceeded to investigate the city itself. 
 
 " The foundation of Havre was not far 
 from being prosaic," said the Frenchman, 
 by way of historical introduction to our 
 personally conducted tour. " In fact, it owes 
 its existence to the poor fishermen of the 
 fifteenth century, who, beaten by the stormy 
 
 12
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 winds of the Channel, sought refuge in this 
 harbour at the mouth of the Seine. The few 
 huts which they erected along the shore, 
 and a small chapel dedicated to Notre Dame, 
 constituted the entire town, which, as a mat- 
 ter of course, was called Havre, the French 
 for harbour. Under Louis XII. some 
 wooden constructions were built to shelter the 
 town from the sea, and for a time the chapel 
 of Notre Dame de Grace gave to Havre the 
 name of Havre de Grace. The place, how- 
 ever, did not assume any importance until 
 the time of Frangois I. This famous mon- 
 arch ' adopted the new-born town,' and with 
 his characteristic energy and taste for build- 
 ing, he soon made many important addi- 
 tions." 
 
 "Go on," said the Englishman. "Why 
 do you stop when we are just beginning to 
 be interested? I see nothing worth looking 
 at as yet, so we may as well listen to you." 
 
 " Thank you," said the Frenchman, " I 
 will proceed. 
 
 " The history of Havre is remarkable for 
 three things: the number of sieges which 
 it has sustained, the royal visits with which 
 it has been honoured, and the numerous plans 
 for enlargement, of which it has been the 
 
 13
 
 Aino7ig Fre7tch Inns 
 
 object. In 1562 it was delivered over to the 
 Protestants ; but these were soon expelled by 
 the Earl of Warwick, who entered the town 
 with the English troops. 
 
 " Catherine de Medicis, however, recog- 
 nized the importance of holding such a place, 
 besieged the town with her two sons, and 
 at last obtained possession of it. Under 
 Henry IV. the governorship of Havre was 
 in the hands of the Due de Villars, and at his 
 death it passed into those of his brother. 
 But in spite of the persistent attacks of the 
 English, assaulted as it were both by the 
 storms of the sea and the passions of men, 
 the town seems to have grown and flourished 
 in its commercial wealth and mercantile im- 
 portance. The very storms to which it owed 
 its existence were the means of saving it from 
 its enemies at a later period of its history. 
 For when the Due de Choiseul was in com- 
 mand of the military forces of Havre, the 
 English fleet, which was about to make an 
 attack, was forced to desist by the fierce gale 
 which raged beyond the harbour. Picture 
 a scene more typical of the history of this 
 maritime city! The fleet ready to attack and 
 sack it; the ships' decks cleared for action; 
 and the elements apprehending the battle 
 
 14
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 and defending that which they had been the 
 means of creating. But another scene of man 
 and nature struggling with one another for 
 the mastery; and man the loser." 
 
 The Frenchman ended his address, as he 
 passed through the crowds of merrymakers 
 in the Place de I'Hotel de Ville. The build- 
 ing which gives the square its name is a con- 
 siderable structure. But to-day the town has 
 little to offer to the eye. An endless ex- 
 panse of docks and shipping is the almost 
 unbroken sight which greets the visitor. 
 The only monuments of interest are the 
 Churches of Notre Dame and St. Frangois, 
 the Tower of Francois I., and the Musee-Bib- 
 liotheque. 
 
 The Church of Notre Dame is built on 
 the site of the ancient chapel, and is an im- 
 posing monument of the sixteenth century. 
 It is in the style of the Renaissance, although 
 the tall windows, and the small chapels of 
 the apsis, are in the Gothic period of archi- 
 tecture. The Church of St. Frangois, dedi- 
 cated to St. Frangois de Paule, dates back 
 to a few years before the present structure of 
 Notre Dame, and is little more than a cold, 
 rather classic exterior, of slight interest or 
 beauty. 
 
 15
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 The Tower of Francois I., placed at the 
 end of one of the ]etees as a defence to the 
 entrance of the port, is interesting in many 
 ways. Built at the beginning of the sixteenth 
 century, it was honoured by the presence of 
 the so-called founder of the city, who re- 
 ceived, at the expense of the town, a magnifi- 
 cent banquet, the memory of which has long 
 remained in the annals of its people. Fran- 
 cois I., ever the patron of building and 
 architecture, seldom took even a passing 
 interest in a place without leaving behind 
 him some memorial in stone; from which 
 posterity has reared to him an imperishable 
 name. For at times it would seem that only 
 words and stones endure to record the deeds 
 of history. 
 
 In spite of the lack of monumental or his- 
 toric beauty at Havre, the mind is ever in- 
 clined to turn toward the past. For it is 
 interesting to review the many royal visits of 
 which this place has been the recipient. In 
 1603 the first monarch of whom we have a 
 record came in state to view the place and 
 give to it his patronage and interest. It was 
 Henry IV. of France. 
 
 Later, Louis XV., the most fastidious of 
 monarchs, honoured the city with his pres- 
 
 16
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 ence. We are told that he was not favour- 
 ably impressed, and was in truth immensely 
 bored with his visit, finding the city too 
 commercial for his tastes and temperament. 
 Louis XVI., during his reign, came likewise 
 to Havre. His visit was of more lasting 
 benefit, for he took so great an interest in 
 the city that he set on foot many plans for 
 its improvement, as well as that of its vicinity. 
 
 The next ruler to visit Havre was Napo- 
 leon I., who came in 1802, when all was 
 brilliancy and success. His second visit, 
 in 1810, was already clouded by the shadows 
 of foreboding evil, and he failed to leave the 
 vital stamp of his individuality behind him. 
 Strange, that so great a monarch, filled with 
 the desire to tear down and create anew, 
 should not have been impressed by the latent 
 possibilities here; the key to the Seine, as 
 well as the beacon of the Channel. Lastly, 
 in 183 1, came Louis Philippe, surrounded by 
 the good-will of his subjects and the power 
 of the new monarchy. True to the traditions 
 of his predecessors, he made his pilgrimage 
 to the now important city, and received the 
 homage of its citizens. 
 
 We fear that we may have allowed our 
 thoughts to linger too long among the relics 
 
 17
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 of a place which has more to do with the 
 business of to-day than with the memorials 
 of past centuries. If so, the motley crowd 
 about us would bring them back again, in 
 spite of our inclination to waft the fancy 
 toward something other than the present 
 moment. The immense proportion of 
 strangers and foreigners who are continually 
 coming or going, make the floating popula- 
 tion cosmopolitan to a degree. The streets 
 are filled with people of many nationalities. 
 Italians, Spaniards, English, and Americans, 
 Swedes, Russians, Austrians, all elbow one 
 another in the crowd, speaking many lan- 
 guages and eying one another with friendly 
 or suspicious curiosity. For it is the "fete 
 de la Republique," and every one is out for 
 a good time and a holiday. 
 
 The cafes are teeming with life. The 
 men, in loose, blue blouses and trousers, and 
 many in wooden sabots, are laughing, quar- 
 relling, and drinking intermittently. Peasant 
 women, with round white caps and generous 
 figures, are talking in the quaint Norman 
 dialect, dragging their progeny behind them, 
 and sitting at tables with their husbands and 
 families. 
 
 " Tient gm-Qons! Another glass of cider, 
 
 i8
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 and two of red wine! Awh, bawh! Cest 
 la fete. Que voulez-vouz? " And so it goes. 
 
 As we pass, a good woman nudges her 
 friend with her elbow and points us out. To 
 them we are always " les Anglais," impossible 
 for them to understand, but bringing money 
 into pockets in summer, and welcome enough 
 as such. A little urchin shouts after us: 
 
 "Oh yeas! I'm English!" And we all 
 laugh, it is so irresistibly funny. 
 
 Every one is drinking to "" la France " or 
 " la Russie," and having a beautiful time. 
 What would you? Cest la fete de la Repub- 
 lique! " Let us eat, drink, and be merry," 
 is the order of the day. 
 
 On the way back to the hotel, pushing our 
 way good-humouredly through these chil- 
 dren of sunny France, we encountered no less 
 a person than Mr. Blodget Wilton himself, 
 surrounded by an immense crowd and having 
 a quarrel with his cocker. To any one who 
 has had dealings with the French coachman, 
 surmounting his miserable excuse for a vic- 
 toria, and beating his still more miserable 
 drudge of a horse, — lame, tired, and unfed, 
 — this scene would scarcely be a surprise. 
 
 The crowd was laughing and jeering. 
 The cocker, with red face and distorted eyes, 
 
 19
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 was gesticulating wildly, swearing fearful 
 oaths and pushing his glazed top hat far 
 back on his head. A gendarme was vainly 
 trying to pacify every one and succeeding 
 with no one ; for nobody really knew what 
 they were quarrelling about except Mr. 
 Wilton, and he, poor man, could not explain, 
 having no command of the French language, 
 and being outnumbered and outvoiced by 
 the multitude. 
 
 "V along, scelerat! " finally shouted the 
 Englishman to the cocker, having got into 
 the centre of the throng without meaning to. 
 
 " Oh yeas! I'm English," came back from 
 the depths of the crowd, and even Mr. B. 
 Wilton was forced to smile and forget his 
 anger for the moment. 
 
 " Well, well, where did you all drop 
 from?" said he, delighted to see some fa- 
 miliar faces. " I never can make these idiots 
 understand," he added. " Here, give this 
 money to the policeman, and tell him to settle 
 with this lunatic, and let's walk home to the 
 hotel together. Where are you staying? 
 At Frascati's? That's queer. We're all 
 there, too. Just arrived yesterday — brought 
 the dago along with us. He would come, 
 though I hate to have him hang around 
 
 20
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 Gladys. Well, well, the ladies will be 
 delighted to find you are here, in this God- 
 forsaken hole. I never can get on in these 
 foreign languages." 
 
 By this time the cocher was already on his 
 way to the cafe opposite with his friend the 
 policeman; and the crowd was left (dis- 
 cussing the size of Mr. Wilton's watch-chain 
 and the value of the pearl in his scarf- 
 pin). 
 
 " It was gold," said one. " Did you see it? 
 It was as large as a halter." 
 
 " Nonsense," replied another, " it was only 
 gilded." 
 
 " Awh — I'm not so sure of that," drawled 
 a third. "These English are so rich; they 
 say they eat gold over there." And he 
 pointed a bony finger in the direction of the 
 sea. 
 
 " And the pin! Did you see that?" broke 
 in another. " It was like the brooch of my 
 wife's grandmother, that was made from 
 a shell found on the beach. It came to us 
 in my wife's contract when we were married. 
 I always thought it would sell well, if pigs 
 went a-begging and the hens stopped laying 
 eggs at the farm. Oh, ces Anglais! But one 
 never knows. Give me Normandy, though, 
 
 21
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and a good Norman cow, for my taste." 
 And off they all went, gossiping, down the 
 street. 
 
 On arriving at the hotel we found Count 
 Romeo in a great state of excitement at find- 
 ing we were in the neighbourhood. He 
 had scarcely recovered from the agonies of 
 the sea-voyage from America, but was all 
 smiles and affability and full of a wonderful 
 flow of language, half-Italian, half-French, 
 and a good deal of so-called English. 
 
 "Most extraorginary chance! Oh, what 
 chance, indeed! You here, my good friends. 
 And the England? How did you leave it? 
 And the London? How was she? Pleasant, 
 ah, yes, pleasant — America? Oh, I was al- 
 ways in movement over there, and so fat; 
 always so fat on that side of the water. But 
 here I am thin, oh, so thin! On the ship 
 I threw everything out; and the stomach has 
 completely receded. Now he can walk in 
 comfort, without protruding. But it was a 
 terrible experience!" And the poor count 
 looked volumes as he described it. 
 
 Mr. Wilton gave a contemptuous glance 
 at his Excellency, and walked off, muttering 
 under his breath, "That fool of a dago!" 
 The gallant count, however, was soon forget- 
 
 22
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 ting his troubles over a glass of absinthe on 
 the terrace, and waxed positively eloquent 
 over his experiences in America. 
 
 " Never reposing themselves, the Ameri- 
 cans, oh, never. Always in movement, always 
 busy. And the money, too, — always mov- 
 ing, — never in the same place for five 
 minutes. I thought I had the fortune in the 
 hand: but fute! Off it went. And the 
 high buildings. Oh, la, la! what dizziness! 
 They makey me altogether upside down. 
 And then the ascenders. Up at the top, and 
 then down to the bottom, with the breakfast 
 all in the throat." 
 
 The poor count! He was neither a good 
 traveller, nor a man of business; but always 
 a fund of amusement and good nature, ex- 
 cept when overheated or seriously offended, 
 when he was at times almost terrible to be- 
 hold, his fierce mustachios bristling with 
 indignation, his hair en brosse, his fat form 
 distended to twice its natural size. Such 
 was his Excellency in righteous anger. 
 
 It was in comparing the charms of the 
 representatives of the fair sex, in France and 
 America, that he was perhaps at his best. 
 Then all the fire and ardour of his Southern 
 nature found freedom in utterance. Then 
 
 23
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 would his eyes soften with the love-beams of 
 Italy, and his hands, ordinarily fat and list- 
 less, wave in graceful circles through the air. 
 But we shall have opportunity, later, to hear 
 some of his discourses, and at present, 
 " dejeuner is served," and every one is ready 
 for an omelet and a ragout of chicken. 
 
 " Oh, count," said the decided voice of 
 Mrs. Wilton in our ears, as we turned to 
 enter the dining-room of the hotel. 
 
 " Oh, count ! And oh, — why, — oh 1" 
 and then followed a series of further exclama- 
 tions, unintelligible to the male ear, as a 
 lady caught sight of three old friends. 
 
 "Well, dear me, this is sudden; and so 
 unexpected. But let us go in to dejeuner, 
 and hear where you came from later." 
 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton was a brilliant ex- 
 ample of the most determined and persever- 
 ing class of American motherhood. Early in 
 life she had been tied by the circumstances 
 of fate. Later, as her only child reached, 
 or rather approached, the marriageable age, 
 she became the conscious possessor of sudden 
 fortune. With capability as her forte, and 
 within her that power which had hitherto 
 been dormant, 
 
 To strive, to conquer, and achieve, 
 24
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 her migration from the west of America to 
 the very heart of New York, and later to 
 Europe for an occasional visit, had been 
 definite and complete. The hitherto un- 
 known Wiltons of Wisconsin became the 
 spectacular Blodget Wiltons of Fifth Avenue. 
 A name was established, a family founded 
 upon gold dug from American soil and 
 created by the energy of a virile Western 
 civilization. Such were the annals of the 
 Blodget Wiltons. 
 
 How the wife and mother had longed to 
 hyphenate that name, as some had done be- 
 fore her! How she had planned and lain 
 awake nights and argued. But Mr. Wil- 
 ton, though small in stature and inferior in 
 physical size to the ample proportions of his 
 spouse, was a successful and decided little 
 man in some things, and the name had re- 
 mained in its original state. Still there was 
 much for her to do in life. Having fed her 
 way into the greater portion of the fashion- 
 able world of America, her adventurous 
 spirit sought new fields to conquer, new 
 channels to success; and France had been 
 the object-point. In these days, when the 
 power of gold holds mankind in its complete 
 embrace, to entertain sufficiently, and with 
 
 25
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 discrimination, is to create at once a place for 
 oneself in the worlds of Europe and America, 
 
 The quick and active mind of Mrs. Blod- 
 get Wilton had realized this great fact in the 
 social sphere, and her capable nature had 
 been incessantly directed toward this end. 
 
 " We must feed the world, and make our 
 friends enjoy themselves," she had said, first 
 to herself, and later, with emphasis, to her 
 husband. 
 
 " Do whatever you want, only don't bother 
 me," had said Mr. Wilton. " You can feed 
 the Salvation Army if you like, and Fll pay 
 the bills up to two hundred thousand a year, 
 but no more." 
 
 So the campaign began; and with her 
 skilful engineering, and the natural, good- 
 natured hospitality of her soul, Mrs. Blodget 
 Wilton proceeded to feed her way into the 
 sacred heart of society. Now she could get up 
 a dinner of twenty at a moment's notice, and 
 even ask the guests over the telephone. There 
 was a time, however, when it was whispered 
 about that she could not get up a dinner at 
 all, and that nobody knew her; at least, no 
 one who amounted to anything. But that was 
 all past and gone; and now only a few " old 
 cats" dared to raise their voices in criticism, 
 
 26
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 (And that was really because they were not 
 invited themselves.) 
 
 Thus the Blodget Wiltons sailed forth on 
 the social current of this world, and with 
 them their daughter Gladys, who was really 
 a pretty and attractive young girl, unspoiled 
 by the rather frivolous glitter of her sur- 
 roundings and the exploitation of her mother, 
 who was in turn both sensible and foolish. 
 
 " We must make an excursion to Etretat, 
 if the weather is fine to-morrow, in an auto- 
 mobile," said Mrs. Wilton at luncheon. 
 
 " Oh, that would be exquisite," sighed 
 the count, all smiles at the idea. " And the 
 bathing and the monde! Tliat will be a 
 change from this dull old Havre." 
 
 Mr. Wilton, however, balked at the idea 
 of an excursion in an automobile. He was 
 not of the turn of mind that took joy in vio- 
 lent passages through the air, covered with 
 clouds of dust, and half-choked with flying 
 insects in summer-time. He had no liking 
 for goggles, and cared not to array himself in 
 fantastic garb of the India rubber type, to 
 protect himself from the ravages of nature. 
 
 " None of your wild-goose chases for me, 
 Mrs. W.," said he, between a glass of red 
 wine and a mouthful of Camembert cheese. 
 
 27
 
 Amo7tg French Inns 
 
 " None of that landing in some outlandish 
 place, off in the country, with a broken tire, 
 or a gear that won't work, for me! I'm too 
 wise a bird for any more of that kind of 
 sport, this year. You can go without me." 
 
 The truth was, Mr. Blodget Wilton much 
 preferred to go down to the Bourse and com- 
 pare the prices of stocks, send cablegrams to 
 Wall Street, or receive wireless messages 
 from the incoming steamers, to all the ex- 
 cursions in the world. He had not com- 
 pletely gotten over the " corner in pork," 
 which he had made in Chicago a few years 
 previously, and was really never happy unless 
 he was in touch with the market, or compar- 
 ing the rise and fall in food-stuffs^ that 
 could control the output of the entire 
 universe; for Mr. Blodget Wilton was a 
 man of large conceptions, though he was a 
 good six inches shorter than the average 
 height of mankind. 
 
 The rest of the party took kindly to the 
 idea of an excursion to £tretat in auto- 
 mobiles, and the afternoon was spent in look- 
 ing them up, and in ascending the heights on 
 which Ingouville and Graville are situated. 
 These two adjoining towns were made a part 
 of Havre in i8i;6. We took tea at a pretty 
 
 28
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 restaurant overlooking the lower part of the 
 city and the harbour. The ladies took tea 
 and the gentlemen various forms of French 
 beverages. Here it was less crowded than 
 in the town itself; and the view and colour- 
 ing at sunset were most effective, and repaid 
 them for the climb. 
 
 The poor count, who had walked up part 
 of the way for exercise, arrived puffing and 
 wheezing like a grampus, and fatter than 
 ever. Indeed, it seemed that his experience 
 on the ocean had done him little or no good, 
 and that there was every reason to expect he 
 would soon be as fat as he had been in 
 America. 
 
 " Oh, my dear count," said the French- 
 man, who showed decided signs of jealousy 
 toward his Italian rival, " Oh, my dear 
 count, you must be more careful, lest you 
 have an attack some day, and Italy lose one 
 of her most distinguished sons. You must 
 be more careful. You are all warm. You 
 alarm me. Order some chartreuse; it is 
 good for the eruption. Mon oncle Hippo- 
 lite, who died during the last Revolution, 
 used always to say it was an excellent pre- 
 ventive for apoplexy." 
 
 Of course, no one for a moment believed 
 
 29
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 that the Frenchman's uncle Hippolite had 
 ever recommended chartreuse for apoplexy, 
 but everybody urged the poor count to take 
 some, just to see what effect it would have 
 upon him. And he did; and liking it so 
 much, and finding it so good, took two or 
 three glasses more of the sweet intoxicant, 
 and, oh, horrors, became only warmer and 
 fatter than before. The Frenchman was in 
 triumph at the success of this contemptible 
 trick, and the rest of the party made merry 
 at their expense. 
 
 It was amusing to observe Mrs. Wilton's 
 complete possession of the restaurant while 
 we were there, and to see her order about the 
 manager, the waiters, and the musicians, 
 until they, too, were impressed with her 
 wealth and her commanding presence. Miss 
 Gladys was all smiles and pleasantry during 
 the afternoon, and definitely inclined to en- 
 courage the advances of all the gentlemen of 
 the party, to flirt with each one of them, and 
 throw them all over at a moment's notice if 
 any one else came along. Such was the de- 
 lightful temperament of this young lady 
 that she made everybody like her, without 
 apparently caring anything for anybody. 
 Still, nobody could resist the smile and the 
 
 30
 
 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre 
 
 droop of her eyelid, and it was enough to feel 
 that she even condescended to flirt; in itself an 
 inexpressible pleasure to her admirers. 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle, do not these lights in 
 the distance incite the feeling of loave? " 
 sighed the count, as they drove back to 
 Havre, through a winding road lined with 
 villas and garden walls. 
 
 But Miss Wilton only laughed and said 
 in reply: "Oh, Count di Pomponi, you are 
 an amusing man." 
 
 The scene by moonlight, half-hidden by 
 the gardens and villas, was worthy of some 
 stage setting: a city lying at one's feet, the 
 great jetties with their tangle of shipping, 
 just discernible in the soft beams, a faint sug- 
 gestion of the merrymakers below coming 
 to us as we wound our way downward. 
 Here, then, was the port of Normandy and 
 Paris, stretched before us like some half- 
 distinct object-lesson of the maritime develop- 
 ment of France, like a wonderful myriad- 
 jewelled carpet laid beneath us, and we 
 hovering above it. For in the almost fairy- 
 like atmosphere of this country nothing seems 
 entirely real to American eyes. 
 
 In another hour our first day at Havre was 
 over. 
 
 31
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN SEARCH OF AN INN 
 Between Havre and Rouen 
 
 " I'm tired of Havre, and as we feel 
 rested, I think we had better join your party 
 and hunt up some attractive old inn, where 
 we can stay for a little, and make trips 
 through this part of Normandy," said Mrs. 
 Blodget Wilton, as we met early the next 
 morning after our cafe au lait. 
 
 " I should like nothing better," said Mr. 
 Wilton, " only you can do the automobiling, 
 and I will go on comfortably to fitretat with 
 the baggage. I'm getting too old to go 
 jolting round the country in those infernal 
 machines." So we all started ofif, leaving 
 Mr. Wilton to meet us wherever we might 
 turn up, at fitretat, or some other more rural 
 spot in the surrounding country. 
 
 We were distributed in two automobiles, 
 hired for several days, or longer. Mr. Wil- 
 ton had promptly made a business arrange- 
 
 32
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 ment, in writing, to cover the whole party, 
 which was the only interest he seemed to 
 take in the whole affair. As it was neces- 
 sary to separate the count and the French- 
 man, for diplomatic reasons, the former was 
 invited to escort Mrs. Blodget Wilton. She 
 liked him better than her daughter did, and 
 could talk freely about the royal families of 
 Europe, and glean from him many interest- 
 ing facts, which she stored up in her brain; 
 and then he amused her, and that in itself was 
 an advantage. The aristocracy of Europe 
 was her joy, and titles had always been an 
 intoxicant which she was unable to resist. 
 Kings were her greatest happiness. With 
 queens she had as yet but slight acquaintance. 
 
 As we dashed down the Boulevard Fran- 
 cois I., she poured out her heart to the count. 
 
 " You see, I really feel perfectly familiar 
 with kings; riding on bicycles, short skirts, 
 and all that sort of thing. I never have any 
 trouble in writing notes to them. But em- 
 perors are different; there is so much red 
 tape; I never know how to address them. It 
 really is very difficult." 
 
 With the august surroundings of the 
 greater sovereigns of Europe Mrs. Blodget 
 Wilton was as yet unable to cope; for while 
 
 33
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 they were inclined to be polite to Americans 
 of large fortune and a certain savoir vivre, 
 the conventionalities of the great powers were 
 rather a drawback to the more easy and 
 familiar ways of a democratic personage like 
 our good-natured companion. The count 
 breathed soft words of flattery and encourage- 
 ment into her ears, though he was half- 
 choked with the dust, — for there were no 
 watering-carts of the American type on the 
 boulevard, — and he diverted her mind with 
 an anecdote of the French Bonapartists at the 
 time of the Second Empire. 
 
 We were to take a preliminary run to the 
 seaside suburbs of St. Adresse and La Heve. 
 A tramway leads from the Cour de la Re- 
 publique to St. Adresse, if one desires to go 
 that way; or it is an agreeable walk of 
 about four kilometres, little more than two 
 and a half miles, along the clifif. The road 
 is a pleasant one, and the sun, dancing on the 
 waters of the Channel, with the blue sky 
 above, made the trip there a charming one. 
 On arriving, we all paid a franc and entered 
 the Casino, which is always a necessary part 
 of a French watering-place, and after ex- 
 hausting the pleasures of this establishment, 
 took a look at the bathers on the plage. 
 
 34
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 This is much frequented by both ladies and 
 gentlemen of various degrees. The charge 
 is fifty centimes, and seventy-five centimes 
 with costume. The costume is a distinctive 
 element of the French bathing establishment, 
 and well worth studying — at a discreet dis- 
 tance. The bathing-houses are on wheels, 
 and neatly painted, with pointed roofs, and 
 are nicely fitted up inside. They are usually 
 drawn up or down the broad, sandy beach, 
 to suit the tide; and the bathers step in and 
 out without having to walk to the water. 
 
 Stout ladies, thin gentlemen, young women, 
 youths, and children, jump and gambol 
 about in the surf, bounced up and down, or 
 rolled over by what is known in French as 
 '' le jeu des vagues." Sailors protect the in- 
 cautious bather from danger by patrolling the 
 deeper water in a rowboat. After his bath 
 the patron of the bath-house is reminded of 
 the necessary tip by the good Norman 
 woman or the good Norman man who has 
 charge of his particular bath-house, usually 
 a picturesque creature with bare legs and in 
 native costume. 
 
 The party made a short visit to the 
 prettily situated little chapel of Notre Dame 
 des Flots, which is the religious haven of the 
 
 35
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 relatives and friends of sailors and fisher- 
 men of the place. There they pray for those 
 who brave the dangers of the Channel, and 
 burn candles to the favourite saint; the 
 simple Norman faith, half-mixed with 
 superstition, guiding their thoughts to the 
 belief that the Holy Virgin watches over 
 their welfare, if thus invoked. There is 
 something natural and human in the part 
 which the Church plays in their lives, and 
 in the power which the priest exerts over 
 their thoughts and acts. 
 
 "Must we mount again the hill?" sighed 
 the poor count, as we started off for the 
 Phares de la Heve. 
 
 " Then you do not like the mounting? " 
 queried the Frenchman, with perfect naivete. 
 " The mounting is good for the health, mon 
 cher. Is it possible that you do not mount the 
 mountains in Italy? " 
 
 " Oh, of course, I do my possible," replied 
 the gallant Pomponi ; " but then, when one is 
 so fat and the sun all in the head. Ah! the 
 day is hot. La, la, la, la!" And it was 
 not long before the stout count had ceased to 
 walk. 
 
 The charms of St. Adresse have been ex- 
 tolled by Alphonse Karr, and he surely had 
 
 36
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 some reason to do so. But the view from the 
 heights of La Heve is far beyond that below. 
 It did not take us long to reach the top in the 
 automobiles. But we paused, half-way up, 
 to observe a monument to the French admiral 
 Lefevre-Desnouettes, who died in 1824. 
 
 " 1 don't think it is interesting at all," said 
 Mrs. Wilton. " We have much better monu- 
 ments in Central Park in New York! Go 
 on, chauffeur. But the view certainly is 
 lovely, even here. What a pity it is that 
 James can't bear an automobile. But he does 
 hate goggles so. He says they tickle the 
 eyelashes. And I don't know that I blame 
 him." 
 
 " Oh, mamma, do ask Count di Pomponi 
 to come to our automobile," called out Miss 
 
 Wilton from behind. " Monsieur de B 
 
 is getting so cross we can't do anything with 
 him back here." The ardent Romeo was 
 more than desirous, and the change was ac- 
 cordingly made. 
 
 The truth was that the Frenchman was 
 showing signs of being decidedly irritable, — 
 " a very irritatable man," as the count ex- 
 pressed it, — and the fair Miss Gladys was 
 tired of trying to keep the peace. He was 
 inclined to manage every one, and to attempt, 
 
 37
 
 Amojtg French Inns 
 
 when once on French soil, even to twist the 
 British Lion's tail. The Englishman, being 
 very calm and impassive, was impervious to 
 the pin-pricks with which the French so fre- 
 quently enliven their conversation. But at 
 times even he would show inclinations to 
 object, inclinations which it was impossible 
 to disregard; hence the change of passengers 
 in the different automobiles. 
 
 From the Phares de la Hevc we again 
 looked down upon a beautiful view of the 
 town and the brilliant waters of the English 
 Channel, dotted with steamers and sails, and 
 sparkling with the rays of the sun, reflecting 
 always the glorious, indescribable, almost 
 mystical atmosphere of France. The 
 " patron " of the hotel was a funny old 
 Norman, shrewd, suspicious, and disinclined 
 to believe any one to be either a friend or 
 an honest person. We queried him in regard 
 to the inns of the neighbouring country, but 
 got little satisfaction from his cautious 
 answers. 
 
 " What are the best inns near here? " asked 
 Mrs. Wilton, in her direct, commanding 
 fashion. 
 
 The old Norman eyed her with sage 'dis- 
 approval, and finally answered: 
 
 38
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 " Awh — Us sont point bon, madame — 
 point bon." 
 
 " I didn't ask you whether they were good 
 or not," said Mrs. Wilton, " I simply in- 
 quired what the best ones were. Don't you 
 know? You're in the hotel business; you 
 ought to." 
 
 " Awh — ma foi, je n'en sais rien, madame; 
 they may be good ; they may be bad." 
 
 "Oh, what an aggravating man!" ex- 
 claimed our hostess, exasperated with him. 
 
 " Do see if you can get something out of 
 
 him. Monsieur de B . I never can get 
 
 along with these country hotel-keepers. 
 They are perfectly impossible. Come, count, 
 let us have another look at the view before we 
 start. And, oh, Gladys, do pin up your back 
 hair! It's all loose behind." So saying, Mrs. 
 Wilton vanished, and we were left to decide 
 whether or not to go back to Harfleur, a 
 picturesque place, by way of Graville, and 
 then take a circuitous route to Etretat. As 
 this would give us a chance to visit Monti- 
 villiers, Lillebonne, Beuzeville, and Fecamp 
 on the coast, we settled upon this itinerary, 
 and were soon on the way back to Graville. 
 
 " It is rather flat and uninteresting near the 
 coast, is it not? " said the Englishman to 
 
 39
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Miss Wilton, as they sped along the smooth 
 road. 
 
 " Yes," said she, " but it is very pretty, I 
 think. The red-tiled roofs of the cottages, 
 with their white walls, and the quaint farms 
 and village churches, are so different from 
 England or America, that they are always 
 new, and I find something very fascinating 
 about them. France is to me a sort of dream- 
 land, never quite real, and full of fanciful 
 people and things. I love it, and especially 
 the rural places that we visit sometimes, 
 when mamma is tired of entertaining in 
 Paris." 
 
 Miss Wilton's face was really beautiful 
 while she was speaking, and it was impossible 
 for the Englishman not to be aware of it. 
 Her deep violet eyes, shaded by long lashes, 
 her fresh colouring, enhanced by the morn- 
 ing air, her hair of a light sunny brown, half- 
 curling, — the whole effect was a picture of 
 the finest type of what America can produce 
 in feminine beauty. No wonder the men 
 were inclined to admire, and the adorers of 
 the Latin nations to flatter and desire her 
 hand. The Englishman, however, seemed 
 strangely indifferent to all such things. The 
 Briton, as a rule, is, to be sure, more self-con- 
 
 40
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 tained, more phlegmatic than his American 
 cousin. The Latin is, of course, not to be 
 compared, being always at fever-heat and 
 unable to contain himself in any wise, when- 
 ever aroused to the least sense of feeling. 
 The Englishman is by nature inclined to 
 receive impressions and retain them. When 
 feeling the most he frequently displays the 
 least to those about him. But he feels more 
 deeply, more simply, and in a more lasting 
 way, as a rule. 
 
 Though frequently credited with a purely 
 practical character, the English are in reality 
 a romantic race. Their sentiments are born 
 of a mental attitude that is free and un- 
 affected by anything complex or contrary in 
 its action. With the Frenchman, a thou- 
 sand furies possess him; a hundred thoughts 
 fly through his brain. He lives through a 
 multitude of impressions and passions, and 
 forgets them all, while the Englishman re- 
 ceives a single, simple thought which he 
 retains in perfect truth, and sometimes acts 
 upon through life. The Frenchman fills the 
 air with sighs, expressions, words, in wild 
 effusion. The Englishman never utters a 
 word which does not convey some real or 
 permanent meaning, to himself at least, if to 
 
 41
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 no one else. The Frenchman, unrestrained, 
 moves through heaven to hell in the twink- 
 ling of an eye. The Englishman remains 
 upon the earth until he dies. 
 
 Our particular Englishman was one of 
 this type, and while he seemed to like Miss 
 Gladys Wilton, he was the least moved 
 toward her of any of the party. Indeed, 
 she appeared to mean nothing to him what- 
 ever. The Wiltons, in fact, made only a dim 
 impression upon his mind. They were rich 
 Americans. In a London season one met 
 many rich Americans. The American mil- 
 lionaire formed part of the season's incidents, 
 like the Derby, the Trooping of the Colours, 
 or the opera. They came and went, and one 
 thought no more about them — and here they 
 were again, after a year or so. It was all 
 part of the kaleidoscope which made up his 
 life, and to which he was more or less indif- 
 ferent. His experience of either French or 
 American ways was limited. He simply did 
 not take them in. 
 
 Being calm, and ready to be pleased, he 
 found Miss Wilton a pretty girl, in whose 
 society he was willing to be thrown, and was 
 rather entertained than otherwise by her 
 mother's evident adoration for his position 
 
 42
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 in life. For he was no less a person than 
 the son of an English marquis, and as such 
 was a distinct unit in Mrs. Blodget Wilton's 
 social horizon. England was to her a yet 
 unconquered field, and such units were, there- 
 fore, not to be lightly passed over. 
 
 " Your life must be delightful in England," 
 said she, as they paused at a little hamlet 
 to inquire the way. " Everything is so care- 
 fully thought out. Every one seems to be 
 ticketed, just like some kind of a cloak in a 
 coat-room, and to be set out in regular order. 
 What a pity it is we don't have a court in 
 America. Of course we should all be dukes 
 if we did." As nobody undertook to deny 
 this statement, it was allowed to remain un- 
 challenged. 
 
 The road was becoming more wooded and 
 picturesque, and as we reached the little 
 town of Graville, near Havre, the effect was 
 attractive in the extreme. Situated on high 
 ground to the left, was an interesting Norman 
 church of the eleventh century, which we 
 paused to visit. This church, which is called 
 the Abbey of Graville, is interesting chiefly 
 as being one of the oldest in this region. Its 
 earliest portions date from the last half of 
 the eleventh centurv, and its later portions 
 
 43
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 from the thirteenth. It is reached by steep 
 steps of a mediaeval character, and on the left 
 of the entrance is a picturesque and partly 
 ruined tower, which for many years has been 
 crowned by a covering of green, wild com- 
 panions to its age, those shrouds with which 
 nature drapes the stones that have been 
 raised by man. A great cross rises in front 
 of it, which we were told was the original 
 of the one used in the opera of " Robert le 
 Diable," at its first representations in France. 
 The gravestones remaining in the churchyard 
 about it speak in silent eloquence of the 
 place — a worthy inspiration for some un- 
 written elegy. A terrace on the right of the 
 church commands a fine view of the country. 
 
 For a moment the shadow of the Roman 
 tower, the story of the cross, and the view 
 from the stone terrace, wafted the imagination 
 back to the simplicity of early mediaeval 
 France when the Norman conauered races 
 and gave the Conqueror to England. 
 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton, however, lost no 
 time in bringing us back to the present. 
 
 " Come, the chaufifeur says we shall never 
 reach fitretat at this rate; we must start at 
 once. Moreover, I'm sure we never shall 
 find an inn unless we go right through the 
 
 44
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 country and hunt one up for ourselves. These 
 people here wouldn't give us the least idea 
 if we questioned them till doomsday. I have 
 been talking w^ith an old woman while you 
 have been poking around that musty old 
 church. She doesn't seem to know anything; 
 at least, she won't tell me if she does, so it 
 all amounts to the same thing." 
 
 " Oh, the mediaeval France, it is nothing 
 compared to Italy," sighed the count, as he 
 was bundled into his automobile and squeezed 
 down beside Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 '^Allans, chauffeur!" and off we go again 
 in a cloud of dust. 
 
 It is about four kilometres to Harfleur, 
 and we were soon there. The town is charm- 
 ingly picturesque in many ways, and well 
 situated upon the Seine. Its former com- 
 mercial glory has long since been absorbed 
 by the proximity of Havre, and its harbour 
 has been filled up with the mud, sand, and 
 stones washed into it by the Lezard, a tribu- 
 tary at this point. A beautiful tower, be- 
 longing to the Gothic church, supposed to 
 have been founded by Henry V. of England, 
 rises from among a quaint tangle of houses. 
 Their uneven roofs, covered with deep red 
 tiles, follow one another in delightful irregu- 
 
 45
 
 Among Freeze h Inns 
 
 larity. A flight of steps leads down into the 
 tributary stream, with a high stone bridge 
 beyond. The scene might well be that of 
 some stage setting, drawn by an artist's hand. 
 
 Harfleur was at one time a place of great 
 importance, owing to its position near the 
 mouth of the Seine, and was, in fact, the 
 chief port of Normandy. In the part which 
 it played in the ancient wars of France, this 
 place was a worthy companion to Rouen 
 itself. The names of many historical per- 
 sonages are connected with it, for it was the 
 centre of commerce, the theatre of early 
 struggles, and the point from which many 
 important expeditions to foreign countries 
 departed. 
 
 During the Hundred Years' War Har- 
 fleur was besieged, taken, and retaken many 
 times. In 141 5 it was attacked by Henry V., 
 and with only a small garrison under the 
 Sire d'Estouteville held out for forty days. 
 Visions of the warlike spirit of mediaeval 
 France arise to the mind as we tread these 
 narrow, picturesque streets, with overhanging 
 gables made of beams and plaster, blackened 
 with the age of centuries. Edward the Con- 
 fessor, Marguerite d'Anjou, Henry II., and 
 £lcanore de Guycnne have passed through 
 
 46
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 Harfleur on their way to England; and 
 others hardly less famous have arrived, 
 tossed by the angry waves of the Channel. 
 
 What a change from the France of those 
 days is the quiet life of Harfleur to-day! 
 It is little more than a picturesque remem- 
 brance of the past, a shadow of its former 
 greatness. And yet it possesses for the visitor 
 a rare charm and an enduring quality which 
 cling to those who make it a place of pil- 
 grimage to-day, in the sunny quietness of a 
 July morning. 
 
 " Now don't let's trouble to visit the 
 church this time," said Mrs. Wilton, who was 
 still in a hurry to proceed. 
 
 " By example! " exclaimed the Frenchman 
 in horror. For him the first duty was to 
 visit the church at every stopping-place, 
 examine everything, and usually ofifer up 
 prayers for our safe deliverance from the 
 dangers of the automobile. 
 
 " Well, you may go if you like," replied 
 Mrs. Wilton, in despair, " but the count and 
 I shall remain where we are, in our places, 
 and talk to these children. Perhaps they 
 may know more than their parents, who cer- 
 tainly are very peculiar with strangers. I 
 never saw anything lilce these peasants. 
 
 47
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 They seem to think we are going to murder 
 them all, or blow the towns up with dyna- 
 mite. We certainly look harmless; don't 
 you think so, count? " And Mrs. Wilton 
 settled herself down in her seat like a huge 
 hen going to roost, all surrounded with 
 feathers and flufif, making a picture which, 
 if not entirely rural, was at least worthy of 
 study and contemplation. 
 
 The count was wiping the dust from his 
 face, and endeavouring to extract fragments 
 of rock or gravel which had embedded them- 
 selves in the deep mysteries of his eyelids, 
 and was too busy to answer. The rest of the 
 party explored the church, and found it a 
 charming example of early sixteenth-century 
 architecture. The tower is now the chief 
 glory of Harfleur. The fagade is profusely 
 sculptured, the carving being freely inter- 
 spersed with quaint figures of animals, whose 
 smooth outlines the artists of that period de- 
 lighted to represent in stone. Lizards, 
 squirrels, rats even, appear between the 
 branches of vines or thistles according to the 
 fancy of the sculptor. The interior contains 
 one or two interesting memorials richly 
 carved in Gothic detail, and one especially. 
 
 48
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 of a woman dressed in the costume worn at 
 the time of the Valois. 
 
 Every one was loath to leave the church 
 and its beautiful Gothic tower, and return to 
 the automobiles, which were waiting outside 
 the best cafe of the place. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you have not been too 
 long this time," said Mrs. Wilton, with a 
 sigh of relief as the part5j reappeared. 
 " Count di Pomponi has had another glass 
 of absinthe, and I think he really needs the 
 motion of the automobile to clear his brain. 
 And then if we are ever to find an inn, we 
 may as well begin, for I can't see a sign of 
 one here." 
 
 " Oh, madame, the thought of the tavern 
 makes me feel so rural. Ah, but the inns of 
 Italy! You must come and see them one day. 
 Ah, la belle Italie! " And the count's rhap- 
 sody was lost in the buzzing of the machine 
 as it darted ofif on the road to Lillebonne. 
 
 The Frenchman was sure there was an inn 
 at Lillebonne, and at all events there were 
 two old chateaux in the neighbourhood; so to 
 Lillebonne we accordingly went, with the 
 most immoderate and uncomfortable haste. 
 As we rounded a curve in the road, with a 
 high wall on the right, the chauffeur gave 
 
 49
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 a violent turn to his wheel and came to a 
 standstill, wiping the cold beads of perspira- 
 tion from his brow. The count was thrown 
 violently against Mrs. Blodget Wilton, who 
 screamed and pushed him from her. In the 
 midst of the confusion and babel of fright- 
 ened voices, a pony-cart, containing a jovial- 
 looking cure and two comfortable-looking 
 Frenchmen, passed serenely by, as if nothing 
 were out of the way and they were not on the 
 wrong side of the road. Not in the least 
 realizing that they had just escaped being 
 killed, they smiled politely, raised their hats, 
 and trotted off in perfect serenity. 
 
 The canton of Montivilliers, in which 
 Harfleur is situated, was soon left behind, and 
 we entered that of Lillebonne. The scenery 
 became more rural and picturesque at every 
 kilometre. The small, rolling hills, covered 
 with green grass, and orchards of tiny apple- 
 trees; the farms dotted in among them; 
 the hedges and neatly trimmed roadsides; all 
 bespoke the characteristic country of Nor- 
 mandy. Ideas of cheese and cider filled the 
 brain of the Frenchman, for he was eternally 
 referring to them and telling us how good 
 these indigenous products of the country 
 were, and insisting upon our trying them. 
 
 50
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 Nothing would induce Mrs. Wilton, how- 
 ever, to think of indulging in either cheese or 
 cider. She could enjoy only the richest of 
 French dishes, and anything simple was to 
 her abhorrent, to be avoided if possible. 
 Still, the rest of the party were willing to 
 lend themselves to the Frenchman's enthu- 
 siasm, and to look forward to these pleasures 
 at Lillebonne. 
 
 We drew up, on our arrival, at the Hotel 
 de France, which is a good, clean, and rea- 
 sonable little hostelry, and the only one 
 worthy of the name in the place. The patron 
 eyed us with interest, and ushered us into a 
 neat dining-room, where we took dejeuner. 
 Of course it included cheese and cider, much 
 to the delight of the Frenchman and the 
 disgust of Mrs. Wilton, who would not touch 
 either. 
 
 " But the cider is the wine of the country," 
 said he in argument. " Drink, count; it 
 will do you good after the ride." 
 
 We found it, however, rather hard, and on 
 the whole not so good as the sparkling cider, 
 almost like champagne, that is sold in Amer- 
 ica. The madame of the establishment made 
 herself very attentive to our wants, and 
 served a delicious little Norman breakfast, 
 
 51
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 with all the delicacies of the season. How 
 good everything tasted after our ride in the 
 fresh country air, the soft scent of summer 
 everywhere, the gentle greens of the foliage, 
 the brilliant sunshine; everything contrib- 
 uting to the joy of living! 
 
 Lillebonne is one of the most ancient towns 
 of Normandy, and is charmingly situated 
 among thickly wooded hills, cut by a verdant 
 valley and babbling stream winding through 
 its half-hidden mysteries. An iron railing 
 opposite the Place de I'Hotel de Ville screens 
 the remains of an old Roman theatre and 
 baths, now dressed with the green canopy of 
 nature. Above these ruins, and in the gar- 
 den of a modern chateau, are the half-ruined 
 remains of an older castle built by William 
 the Conqueror. They include a tower of 
 the thirteenth century and some picturesque 
 walls. 
 
 Long before the Roman invasion, Lille- 
 bonne, under the name of Calet, or Caletum, 
 was the capital of the Caletes. In fact, it 
 was one of the cities of Gaul, until destroyed 
 by Julius Caesar. In the time of Augustus 
 it was named Juliobona, after his daughter 
 Julia, and to him was due its reconstruction. 
 In the eleventh century, the feudal castle 
 
 52
 
 (iENEKAL VIEW OF LILLEBONNK 
 
 REMAINS OF OLD ROMAN THEATRE, LILLEBONNE 
 
 MODERN CHATEAU AND TOWER OF OLD CASTLE, LILLEBONNE
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 was the scene of many a court held by the 
 Duchy of Normandy, and it was here that 
 plans for the conquest of England were dis- 
 cussed and formulated. 
 
 The significance of the history which 
 clings to these ancient remains of Norman 
 greatness, these places which are to-day in- 
 significant in themselves, is indeed great, and 
 it is interesting to observe them in travelling 
 through this country. The world at large 
 would hardly realize their existence, were 
 not an occasional pilgrimage made to these 
 shrines of ancient power, in the spirit of 
 research and antiquarian pursuit. Lille- 
 bonne is one of the most interesting, in point 
 of age, and well repays a visit. 
 
 The ages have left each some remem- 
 brance of their time, some gift to this haunt 
 of ancient days. The Roman civilization 
 gave a theatre; the middle ages, a fortress; 
 the Renaissance, its church; and the more 
 recent period, industrial establishments. 
 These, in their various functions, combine to 
 give it a curious interest, half-picturesque, 
 half-practical, and nature has done the rest, 
 and contributed the magic touch which — 
 
 "... gives to airy nothing 
 A local habitation and a name." 
 
 53
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 The Church of Notre Dame, which is of 
 the sixteenth century, deserves a passing word 
 of praise. Its spire is richly carved in Gothic 
 details, and rises gracefully to the left of the 
 picture formed by the Place de I'Hotel de 
 Ville, as we stand upon the ruins of the 
 Roman theatre. Its portal is worthy of 
 mention, and its interior contains some inter- 
 esting stalls which were originally built for 
 the Abbey of Valasse. 
 
 We left the Hotel de France with some 
 regret and attended by all the members of 
 the establishment, the patron, the madame, — 
 always, or nearly always, the ruling spirit 
 of the hotel or cafe in France, — and the 
 various other functionaries of the place, in- 
 cluding a cat and a dog. We departed, 
 leaving madame counting the money, and the 
 patron taking a glass of cider, — character- 
 istic occupations throughout Normandy. 
 Indeed, it is strange in France how the spirit 
 of thrift and finance will predominate in the 
 female sex, especially in the lower classes. 
 In the hotel it is the madame who keeps a 
 sharp lookout on the books and storeroom. 
 In the restaurant the madame is always be- 
 hind the desk counting the money and the 
 cheques, at the end of the day's business. On 
 
 54
 
 CHURCH OF NOTRE DAMK. LILLEBONNE
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 the farm she is in the field, and is, ten to 
 one, the financial head of the family. She 
 is here, there, and everywhere, has a finger 
 in every pie and a word in every transaction, 
 from the moment the marriage contract is 
 signed, which ties her to her spouse for better 
 or for worse. 
 
 The character of the Norman is an inter- 
 esting one to study. He is shrewd, suspicious, 
 and cautious. He is the Yankee of France. 
 He never commits himself if he can possibly 
 avoid it, and never tells anything if he can 
 keep it a secret. He is keen, retentive, and 
 a good business man. In a word, he is in 
 character what his country is in geographical 
 position, — the link between France and 
 England, the stepping-stone from the Latin 
 to the Anglo-Saxon; and as such he is 
 extremely interesting to study. 
 
 " How much would you take for that 
 cow? " said the Frenchman, as he stopped in 
 the road near an old peasant who was slowly 
 prodding his animal with a conscious sense 
 of ownership. 
 
 " How much would I take for that cow? " 
 repeated the old fellow, looking volumes of 
 suspicion and wisdom, and putting his head 
 
 55
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 on one side as if the fate of a nation de- 
 pended upon his answer. 
 
 " Avvh, well — ces messieurs are Anglais^ " 
 And then there was evidently a complete 
 change in his ideas, and he shut up like a 
 snail or a hedgehog, and would not commit 
 himself to anything. 
 
 " Well, I could not say," he finally an- 
 swered. " It would depend on what the 
 messieurs were willing to pay for it. But 
 that would depend; if the messieurs were 
 English, or if the messieurs were French. 
 And it would depend on the time of year 
 and how many cows were in the market." 
 The old peasant looked so wise that it seemed 
 as if his quaint form could hardly contain 
 all the wisdom there was locked up in him. 
 So we left him still wondering if we had 
 found out anything from him which could 
 interfere with the sale of his cow. 
 
 " You see the character," said the French- 
 man, in triumph, always desirous of demon- 
 strating the characteristics of the Norman 
 people. " You see the suspicion. He would 
 not have given me a figure on that cow if I 
 had talked all the afternoon, without making 
 him an offer first." 
 
 " I am not so sure of the man. He makey 
 
 56
 
 /;/ Search of an Inn 
 
 the price to suit the people when the time 
 come," said Pomponi, with a sudden at- 
 tempt at argument. 
 
 " I buy the cow in Italy the same way; I 
 makey the price, and he makey the yes or 
 no. And there! " 
 
 The Frenchman could only exclaim " By 
 example!" with an expression of perfect 
 disbelief on his face and his eyes flashing 
 catlike shafts through the air. 
 
 It was felt advisable to drop the subject of 
 the cow, and the conversation was steered 
 upon some different topic. We crossed some 
 green meadows and passed high steeps of 
 chalk, and soon covered the eleven kilometres 
 which was the distance to the village (little 
 more than a hamlet) of Tancarville. It lies 
 in a hollow between two hills, or rocks, rising 
 directly above the Seine. On one of these 
 the towers and walls of the Chateau de Tan- 
 carville itself arise against tall trees, and 
 stand in majestic ruggedness above the quiet 
 waters of the river. The picture is one of 
 sudden charm and contrast to the wooded 
 depths below. 
 
 The foundations, ancient fortifications, 
 formed of half-ruined buttresses and arches 
 against the stone, lift it still higher in the 
 
 57
 
 Aniofig French Inns 
 
 air and lend imagination to its effect. They 
 are in strange contrast to the more modern 
 chateau above them, and show at once the 
 work of different centuries in creating what 
 is left to-day. The castle dates back as early 
 as the twelfth century, though it is chiefly 
 of the thirteenth. Some authorities ascribe 
 its birth to the time of Henry I., the last of 
 the sons of William the Conqueror; and 
 indeed the feudal character of the ancient 
 fortress would incline us to believe this to 
 be so. 
 
 It has had a considerable history, the orig- 
 inal feudal stronghold having been the almost 
 inaccessible abode of the famous family of 
 the Tancarvilles. Up to 1320 it remained in 
 their possession, and was the theatre of many 
 mediaeval events, situated as it was on the 
 borders of the river and commanding so 
 advantageous a position. In later years it 
 was owned by the houses of Harcourt and 
 Longueville, as well as the De la Tour d'Au- 
 vergnes and the De Montmorencies. 
 
 The tower at the southern angle of the 
 chateau is the most ancient portion of this 
 interesting ruin, and was originally orna- 
 mented with the armorial bearings of the 
 Tancarvilles. These have long since been 
 
 58
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 effaced by time, and the hand of man, ever 
 eager to destroy that which his predecessor 
 has created. The newer chateau, which rises 
 above the mediaeval fortifications, is to-day 
 also crumbling into ruin and decay. 
 
 We were all naturally interested in this 
 picturesque pile, as it was the first Norman 
 chateau, with any pretension of being some- 
 thing more than ruins, that we had seen, 
 and we stopped at the Hotel du Havre, in 
 the hamlet, only long enough to brush the 
 dust — or part of it — from our shoulders 
 before we investigated it in detail. 
 
 " We seem to be working backward," said 
 the Englishman, as he assisted the count and 
 Mrs. Wilton to mount the steep incline. 
 
 " Rather hard to find anything that is not 
 a ruin, this morning, isn't it? " 
 
 " Perhaps if we look long enough we shall 
 find a real live chateau, all full of people 
 and kept as it should be," replied Miss 
 Wilton, with a charming smile, which sent 
 shivers of delight and rhapsody down the 
 fat back of Pomponi, and left apparently 
 no impression upon the impregnable Briton. 
 
 " He is like the Rock of Gibraltar," whis- 
 pered Mrs. Wilton, as we pushed her up the 
 hill. 
 
 59
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " They are all like Gibraltars, detached 
 from the mainland and completely sur- 
 rounded by water." 
 
 " It seems they have a wonderful charac- 
 ter, the English," whispered back the count in 
 French, "only so difficult to understand; 
 always silent, always composed. The fire 
 is always within, never without. One never 
 knows what they feel." 
 
 " That is like the Norman," said the 
 Frenchman. 
 
 Some of us had our doubts, and these 
 brought us to the court of the chateau and 
 the thoughts of its beauty. There is nothing 
 to cause one to remember the present at 
 Tancarville; there is everything to recall the 
 past. Pictures of the days of chivalry arise 
 to the mind on viewing this historic debris 
 of other centuries. Visions of Raoul, son of 
 Gerald, and grand chamberlain to William 
 the Conqueror, who was the founder of the 
 house of Tancarville, pass before the eye. It 
 was here that William de Tancarville, the 
 last of his race, died in the early part of the 
 fourteenth century; and here, likewise, 
 passed the heroine of the Fronde. 
 
 We might linger too long were we to write 
 the history of this place in its entirety. But 
 
 60
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 we are here only for a passing glance into 
 the past. The view of the Seine, its blue 
 waters dotted with yellow shallows of sand, 
 the sail of a passing boat, the life of the 
 hamlet below, all distract the eye and the 
 imagination, and we must away. 
 
 " Is it not lovely? " said Miss Wilton, 
 softly. " I hate to leave it, and yet I suppose 
 we must." 
 
 "I am afraid so," said the Englishman; 
 and they followed the others back to the 
 inn. 
 
 " But it really isn't an inn," said Mrs. 
 Wilton, in despair. " And what is more, 
 they tell me it is not always open. My 
 opinion is, that they only take people when 
 they feel like it at these places in Normandy. 
 What do you think, count? " 
 
 The count did not think. He was too hot 
 and out of breath to do anything but call 
 for a glass of white wine. 
 
 " Cest le cidre, que son Excellence devrait 
 buaire," said mine host in his funny accent. 
 
 " Oh, the cider, it is too hard for the head," 
 replied his Excellency; " I must have some- 
 thing that is light and quenches the thirst." 
 
 And so the thirst was quenched, and he 
 was again packed into his tonneau with his 
 
 6i
 
 A7nong French Inns 
 
 indulgent hostess, and off we all went toward 
 the Chateau d'Etelan, not very far away. 
 
 A little distance from Tancarville is the 
 steamboat landing of Quilleboeuf, where the 
 steamers stop on their way from Havre to 
 Rouen. 
 
 " We might take one and go on to Rouen, 
 and telegraph Blodget to meet us there with 
 the trunks," suggested Mrs. Wilton; but 
 the count was not anxious to try the river, 
 and we proceeded on our way. 
 
 There is a certain difficulty in any form 
 of very rapid locomotion over the roads of 
 Normandy, and that is the succession of 
 short, steep hills that are to be encountered 
 wherever one goes. The country being al- 
 ways hilly, these will be found a continual 
 objection to the tourist who is fond of speed- 
 ing. However, if not so inclined, the pleas- 
 ure of passing through the country, to any 
 one who is fond of picturesque and rural 
 scenery, is, and always must be, great. 
 
 The small hills succeed one another in a 
 series of undulations; to use the words of 
 Anacreon, like " rolling persuasion," ever 
 enticing the eye to look beyond. In spring 
 the innumerable apple-orchards make the 
 whole province a continuous bouquet of 
 
 62
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 blossoms, varying from deep pink to white, 
 and interspersed with green. In its natural 
 characteristics Normandy suggests the county 
 of Kent in England, only here the orchards 
 take the place of the hop-vines that are every- 
 where to be seen on the other side of the 
 Channel. 
 
 The journey from Havre to Rouen by rail 
 is a delightful series of views, at any time 
 between the months of March and November. 
 The quaint villages, the green hillsides 
 clothed with verdure, the moss-like ravines, 
 the streams and murmuring brooks, the plas- 
 ter-covered walls crowned with green or 
 flowers, the spires of the churches — all con- 
 tribute in effect to delight the senses with 
 their charm and rural simplicity. For every- 
 thing is domestic rather than grandiose, 
 picturesque rather than imaginative, quaint 
 rather than attired in glory. It is utterly 
 different from Touraine or Brittany, and pos- 
 sesses a character and fascination entirely its 
 own. To those who seek a restful moment 
 or a picture to delight the soul, no better 
 place can draw the weary worker than this 
 lovely country. No haunts of man can have 
 a sound more glad than Nature's call to 
 Normandy. 
 
 63
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Normandy! What a wealth of significance 
 the word possesses, and yet how genial is 
 the sound! It has been sung of in the ages. 
 It has produced its heroes and its kings, and 
 has shared in the councils of the nation of 
 which it forms so notable a part. 
 
 Let all the world make holiday with thee. 
 And hie, in summer's smiles, to Normandy ! 
 
 And yet it is surprising how few the tour- 
 ists that disturb our path, and how little 
 the inns and hotels are crowded by the 
 throngs that flock to Switzerland or else- 
 where in the warmer months. Perhaps it is 
 one of the greatest advantages in travelling 
 through this part of France. There is no 
 place where the herd of sightseers tramples 
 upon one's sensibilities, or disturbs the even 
 tenor of one's temper. The visitor is free 
 to roam at will and find the joy of living 
 and of keeping holiday in peace. 
 
 As we speed onward, our thoughts recur 
 involuntarily to the winding road that leads 
 from the hamlet to the Chateau of Tancar- 
 ville, to the three towers named, respectively, 
 Carree, Coquesart, and L'Aigle, to its white 
 walls (defying our knowledge of its age) in 
 such striking contrast to the green about it. 
 
 64
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 We see again in the mind's eye the newer 
 chateau built by Louis de la Tour d'Au- 
 vergne, Comte d'Evreux, and the forms of 
 Jean d'Orleans, son of the Due de Longue- 
 ville, and his wife, Louise de Bourbon-Sois- 
 sons, seeking solitude in its hidden depths. 
 
 There are, however, other places to inter- 
 est us, and one of these is now at hand. It 
 is the Chateau d'Etelan, also on the borders 
 of the Seine and near Norville. It is situated 
 at a point where the river makes its last turn, 
 before widening to meet the Channel. It is 
 a veritable gem of the Renaissance, and well 
 merits a visit. 
 
 "Oh, how charmino-l" exclaimed Miss 
 Wilton as it came into view. " How I 
 should like to live there!" 
 
 " Yes, my dear," said her more practical 
 mother, " but you would find it fearfully 
 cold in winter, without any furnace or mod- 
 ern conveniences. Think of it, my dear 
 Gladys; why, you would die of rheumatism 
 and tonsilitis. You know how delicate your 
 throat is." 
 
 " Of course there is no chance of my do- 
 ing so, mamma," said her daughter; "so 
 there is little need to worry." 
 
 " In the winter you will be roasting to 
 
 65
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 death in the American house," exclaimed 
 Count Romeo in deep concern. He had been 
 brought up in the cold palaces of Italy, and 
 being stout, had been unable to receive any 
 real comfort from the extreme warmth of 
 the American houses and buildings. Steam- 
 heat was to him a source of unutterable dis- 
 comfort, and the very mention of a furnace 
 set him thinking of past sufferings. 
 
 " Oh, the heat! it gives the apoplexy to 
 the head, and the heart, he jumps and beats 
 in the side like a polichinelle. I can do, in 
 the hot room," meaning thereby, that he was 
 more at his ease with the temperature be- 
 tween forty and fifty degrees. 
 
 " You see, count, young blood is warm," 
 said the Englishman. " We like cold rooms 
 in England, also. So much more healthy, 
 you know. I always take a cold tub, with 
 the window wide open, winter or summer." 
 
 " Ah, you are the wisdom," shouted Pom- 
 poni, in ecstasy at the thought; for the mid- 
 day sun was very warm, and he longed for 
 a white cotton parasol lined with green, lest 
 the rays should cause him to regret his ride. 
 
 " Come, now. Count di Pomponi," said 
 Mrs. Wilton, persuasively, " you know you 
 like to be warm in winter, and not frozen 
 
 66
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 to death in a room like an ice-box; don't 
 you?" 
 
 By this time we were in front of the cha- 
 teau, and the conversation turned toward this 
 charming and picturesque monument of the 
 Renaissance, dressed in Gothic details. The 
 square tower of the building has some orna- 
 mented buttresses and other carving to enrich 
 it, while the two windows of the roof on the 
 left are beautiful examples of sculpture. On 
 the end of the building is the chapel, form- 
 ing part of the main construction, with long 
 Gothic windows to denote its presence. It 
 is, on the whole, a pleasing exterior, and one 
 bearing a certain element of the picturesque 
 with it, the mixture of Gothic and Renais- 
 sance detail, especially in the ornamentation 
 of the roof, making an agreeable combina- 
 tion. 
 
 The party was not allowed to remain too 
 long in contemplation of the picturesque and 
 rural surroundings of the Chateau d'Etelan. 
 Time was an object, and Mrs. Blodget Wil- 
 ton was not a woman to ignore time, even 
 when immersed in the pleasures of such 
 places as this. As she had assumed complete 
 control of the movements of the company, 
 and relegated the Frenchman to a subservient 
 
 67
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 position, the wheels of the automobiles were 
 soon in motion, and the trees and grass went 
 flying past the bewildered eyes of the poor 
 count in a manner that fairly terrified that 
 eminently comfortable personage. 
 
 " Santo Domingo! What a wizz — " And 
 in another instant his Excellency's best white 
 sombrero was wafted from his head over 
 the summer zephyrs and deposited, many 
 rods behind, in a muddy stream beside the 
 road. As the chauffeur was unable to leave 
 the machine, the gallant Count Romeo was 
 obliged to waddle back to it and dig it out 
 with some difficulty, aided by the efforts of 
 two children who had run from a cottage 
 near by. 
 
 " Oi, oi, oi, oi!" shouted the gallant 
 Romeo. 
 
 " Tiens! It is the hat of Pomponi," cried 
 the Frenchman, in delight at the discomfort 
 of his Excellency. " That is what he re- 
 ceives for wearing a sombrero in the auto- 
 mobile. Mon oncle Hippolite always — " 
 
 " Oh, never mind about your uncle Hip- 
 polite," interrupted the commanding voice of 
 Mrs. Wilton. " Get out at once and go to 
 Count di Pomponi's assistance. He needs 
 you. I know he will fall into that water in 
 
 68
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 another minute; and then we shall have an 
 awful time getting him dry," and she be- 
 gan to laugh at the idea. 
 
 The Frenchman darted to the side of Pom- 
 poni, and seizing him by the arm, endeav- 
 oured to extricate him from his perilous posi- 
 tion on the edge of the water. For a moment 
 the two showed evident signs of falling in 
 together; but fate intervened to prevent so 
 great a tragedy, and the two were at last on 
 the road again, with the hat on the head of 
 the count. 
 
 " Oi, oi, oi! The water drips in the back 
 and tickles me under the collar," he moaned 
 piteously, endeavouring to stop the tiny 
 waterfalls with a flowered handkerchief of 
 lavender hue. 
 
 " I do not see that we can do anything 
 about it," said Mrs. Wilton, still laughing. 
 " You might take it off and tie my lace veil 
 over your head, if that would do any good." 
 
 " Oh, madame, you are too simpatical' 
 sighed his bedraggled Excellency; " and the 
 new sombrero, too, it was — So then," and 
 he took it ofif, and was soon tied up in the 
 brown veil, which covered him completely. 
 
 The next stopping-place was the little 
 town of Bolbec, situated some distance to the 
 
 69
 
 Amo7ts: French Imts 
 
 ■^ 
 
 northwest of Norville. It is now chiefly an 
 industrial centre, with Lillebonne as an off- 
 shoot to its manufacturing establishments, 
 although it dates back as far as the tenth 
 century. The present town was built up 
 by the Protestants after 1765, and has been, 
 since then, a great centre of Protestantism 
 in Normandy. 
 
 The ancient family of the seigniors of 
 Bolbec was the parent of the great houses of 
 Longueville and Buckingham, but the his- 
 tory of the town itself has little or nothing 
 of a feudal character to interest or attract 
 the student. The place was entirely des- 
 troyed by fire in the years of 1676 and 
 1696, and it is to the large number of Prot- 
 estant families who settled there after the 
 Edict of Nantes, and gave themselves up 
 to industrial pursuits, that it owes its present 
 position. In these hands rest its present and 
 its future, though the following lines of a 
 poet have been quoted by a writer of the 
 fourteenth century in this connection: 
 
 *' Non, I'avenir n'est a personne, 
 Sire, I'avenir est a Dieu ! " 
 
 Its future, how^ever, would seem to promise 
 more than its past has produced. Its only 
 
 70
 
 hi Search of an Inn 
 
 artistic possessions of interest are two foun- 
 tains which originally ornamented the gar- 
 dens of Marly. One represents a figure of 
 Time supporting the Arts, the other a figure 
 of Diana. They are beautiful examples and 
 worth observing. Mrs. Blodget Wilton 
 wished she could buy them and carry them 
 back to America, and at the moment longed 
 for her better half to enter into negotiations 
 with the authorities, with a view to making 
 a bargain. The Frenchman was highly 
 amused at the idea, and was led into giving 
 the party a delightful description of Marly 
 itself and its original glories. The ladies 
 were fascinated by it, and delighted with 
 the intelligent and witty conversation of their 
 pseudo-guide, for he possessed that quality 
 of quick-wittedness which is a part of his 
 race and which is always acceptable to ladies. 
 
 There was no question about it, the French- 
 man could make himself a charming and 
 agreeable companion when he wished to, and 
 could leave the more amiable but less subtle 
 Pomponi almost in the shade, for the time 
 being. 
 
 A few kilometres northwest of Bolbec, and 
 midway between it and Etretat, is the small 
 town of Goderville, which owes its name 
 
 71
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to the ancient and illustrious family of 
 Godard. The Godards had their origin 
 during the Gaulic-Roman epoch, and became 
 extinct sometime during the fourteenth cen- 
 tury. They were at one time, according to 
 certain authorities, allied to the ancient 
 Kings of Yvetot, and were one of the most 
 obscure and interesting of the historic Nor- 
 man houses. The original manoir of the 
 Barons of Goderville is still in existence 
 to-day. It is a heavy construction in brick 
 and stone, surrounded by moats, and is used 
 as a departmental barrack. 
 
 Close to Goderville is the village and 
 church of Breaute, whose chief interest lies 
 in the associations attached to the celebrated 
 Sires de Breaute, who were connected by 
 marriage with the most historic and impor- 
 tant families of Normandy. These included 
 such names as Crequi, Bethencourt, Breze, 
 Aumont, and Estouteville, and the seigniories 
 of Neville, — by an alliance with Agnes de 
 Neville in 1282, — names less familiar to the 
 world to-day than to the student of genealogy, 
 but pregnant with significance in their rela- 
 tion to the history of Normandy. 
 
 As in its relation to the world at large the 
 most important event in the history of this 
 
 72
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 famous province may be said to be the 
 Conquest of England, so we find in study- 
 ing the names of those who have contributed 
 more largely to its glory the origin of the 
 greatest names of England itself. From 
 Normandy they have sprung, transplanted by 
 William the Conqueror to the opposite shores 
 of the Channel, and there producing the 
 natural fruits of their greatness and their 
 blood. The chief representatives of Eng- 
 land's glorious past find, in the decayed or 
 dying remains of these Norman strongholds, 
 their birthplace and their beginning. A 
 pilgrimage to their shrine repays the pil- 
 grim who bears a spark of ancestral or his- 
 toric worship — noble in itself as in its 
 influence upon the minds of men — and 
 brings to light a world of hidden memories 
 and names. Here he may pause and sing: 
 
 Awake again, thou spark of magic fire, 
 
 That causes man his fellows to inspire ! 
 
 Oh, tear these mists that blind his sightless eyes, 
 
 And raise once more his efforts to the skies ! 
 
 Here let us linger with the crowned gods ; 
 To join the humble pilgrim, as he plods 
 The steep and thorny path that leads to fame, 
 And know at last the glory of a name. 
 
 11
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Each portion of France seems to possess 
 its special figures of history belonging to 
 different periods, and peculiarly associated 
 with the distinct epochs which they have 
 represented. In Touraine everything breathes 
 the air and atmosphere of the Renaissance. 
 Frangois L, Catherine de Medicis, Henry 
 ILL, and the Louis', are everywhere por- 
 trayed and brought before the visitor. 
 
 In Normandy it is the Conquest, with the 
 great epic figure of the Conqueror predomi- 
 nant, like some majestic deity hovering over 
 the later history of the duchy, and with the 
 illustrious line of his predecessors as a back- 
 ground. Around this foundation are grouped 
 those other personages who have so vitally 
 associated their names with such historic 
 events as Hastings, Courtray, Harfleur, Mon- 
 thery, and a host of others. The luxurious 
 Renaissance gives way to the stern yet chival- 
 rous character of the feudal period. And its 
 contemplation, like the influence of the 
 Puritans in later centuries, gives to the heart 
 a feeling of virile strength and manhood, 
 which, if less easy in its touch, is yet filled 
 with force, and potent in the significance of 
 its results. 
 
 Such, to the Anglo-Saxon, is perhaps the 
 
 74
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 chief comparative interest in the study of 
 these rural haunts of Normandy, now the 
 smiling and simple exponents of a past as 
 great as any corner of the world may boast. 
 To the thoughtful, it acts as an allegory upon 
 the characters of men, teaching a silent yet 
 eloquent lesson to the observer of its past and 
 present life. The very domesticity of its 
 appearance to-day adds to the feeling which 
 it inspires in the breast, and causes its signifi- 
 cance to sink yet deeper in the mind: France 
 of yesterday the creator of the Anglo-Saxon 
 races of to-day. 
 
 With these thoughts we approach the 
 heights which bring us once more to the 
 bare and bolder spaces of the coast, and 
 yonder find the little seaside resort of 
 Etretat, toward which we have been directing 
 our energies. In a moment the scene shifts 
 into modern life, and the mood, perforce, has 
 changed with its approach. The automobiles 
 drew up before the door of the Hotel Blan- 
 quet, and the whole party alighted to investi- 
 gate the town and the beach. 
 
 Etretat is a quaint little fishing village, 
 situated in a valley between the high hills 
 and cliffs that border upon the sea. It has 
 become known through the writings of 
 
 75
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Alphonse Karr, who has done much to inter- 
 est visitors in these seaside places near Havre. 
 They possess a charm which well merits 
 his praise, and have become a curious mixture 
 of the simple life of the humblest of fisher- 
 men with the riches and fashion that are 
 drawn to them in summer-time. 
 
 It being the season, the host of the Hotel 
 Blanquet made the party welcome, and the 
 count was soon enjoying a refreshing draught, 
 and the other members of the excursion their 
 several favourite ingredients. Our host was 
 ready to point out the interesting features of 
 fitretat, which lie more in its natural advan- 
 tages than in historical monuments or events. 
 
 " What a quaint little place it is, and how 
 pretty the village is, nestling into this valley 
 between the hills," said Miss Wilton. 
 
 " But, my dear, I do not think it would 
 be nearly as gay as Trouville," remarked her 
 mother, who was taking in the practical 
 possibilities of the place at a glance. She 
 had already made up her mind that it would 
 never do as a place of continued residence. 
 Her nature sought more advanced and 
 sophisticated pleasures than the life of this 
 peaceful resort. 
 
 " When we arrive at Trouville I will ask 
 
 76
 
 < 
 
 H 
 U 
 
 oi 
 
 z 
 
 <: 
 
 K 
 E-
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 the Duchesse de V to invite you all to 
 
 stay in her villa, and then we shall have a 
 very gay time. I had a letter from her yes- 
 terday, and she said she hoped Gladys and 
 I would come, and bring some amusing men 
 with us." 
 
 " Oh, the duchesse! I loave the duchesse," 
 said the enthusiastic Romeo, glad at the 
 thought of being entertained and circulating 
 among the ladies, and showing ofif his won- 
 drous costumes and summer flannels. He 
 was to vie with the Frenchman in the glories 
 of eccentric Continental attire, so dear to the 
 heart of the fashionable Latin, and so sur- 
 prising to the Anglo-Saxon of good taste 
 and breeding. 
 
 As they sauntered along the water-front, 
 his eye caught sight of a Frenchman in the 
 full glory of a summer bicycle outfit, parad- 
 ing about in perfect confidence that he was 
 attracting the attention and admiration of 
 his countrymen — and women. 
 
 " Ah, how well they put themselves," 
 exclaimed Romeo, in appreciation of the 
 sight; "how well they put themselves, in 
 summer. That is what I would say is a 
 ]oli garqon." 
 
 We looked and beheld the '' ]oU gargon"
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 a man of some forty summers, his face cov- 
 ered with a silky, virgin beard, black and 
 apparently moth-eaten, his form clothed in 
 a so-called suit of knickerbockers covered 
 with an immense black and white check, the 
 trousers gathered at the knee by an elastic 
 band. White cotton stockings draped his 
 sinewy limbs. Cheap rubber-soled shoes en- 
 cased his feet. A brilliant pink shirt, a large 
 fluffy tie, and huge boutonniere of the same 
 colour completed this singular costume. His 
 hair, " en brosse," as well as the fierce black 
 mustachios upon his upper lip, gave him a 
 chivalrous and nonchalant air. Such was the 
 ^' joli gargon" of Count Romeo di Pomponi's 
 ideas. He might well have stepped out of 
 some comic opera in America; but here he 
 seemed perfectly at ease, and appeared to fit 
 into the landscape as naturally as could be. 
 
 " My senses, what a man! " exclaimed Mrs. 
 Wilton. " Why, I should call him a figure 
 of fun. His clothes look as if they were made 
 by a dressmaker, instead of a tailor. Count, 
 I am surprised at your taste." 
 
 "Ah, that is what I call a ' joli garcon,' " 
 replied the count, and the subject was al- 
 lowed to drop. 
 
 fitretat has many charming things about 
 
 78
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 it. Tlie sunsets are beautiful, and reflect 
 the colours of the western sky in the water, 
 rippling and dancing in the soft light of 
 an afternoon. The high meadows above 
 reach to the very edge of the cliffs, white and 
 chalky, and unlike the American coast, yet 
 still different from the white cliffs of Eng- 
 land. 
 
 On either side of the bay these cliffs arise, 
 high above the sea, which has torn great 
 arches under them in a curious and impos- 
 ing formation, like some watery cave which 
 holds its deep and hidden mysteries. In 
 winter the storms rage about them, but in 
 summer all is smiling nature and a genial 
 sight. 
 
 " I should like a whiskey and soda, if you 
 please," said the Englishman to the waiter, 
 as the party returned to the Hotel Blanquet. 
 
 " Un whiskie et soda?" queried the 
 waiter in amazement. " Oh, that we have 
 not. Perhaps monsieur will take a cofifee and 
 some liqueur, or some good cider, fresh 
 made? " 
 
 " My dear Lord F ," broke in Mrs. 
 
 Wilton, " don't you know there is no such 
 thing as a whiskey and soda in this part of 
 
 79
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the world? Why, they do not know what 
 the word means." 
 
 " Ah, madame, we have the soda, but the 
 whiskie, that is something only drunk by 
 les Anglais, la has! " 
 
 "Yes, that is right; they only have the 
 whiskey, ' la has! ' Take some coffee in- 
 stead." 
 
 Accordingly, the Englishman took coffee, 
 which was served in a long, tapering glass 
 instead of a cup, which he could not seem 
 to understand at all. 
 
 " Will madame stay over night? " asked the 
 host, with an engaging smile. 
 
 "No, not to-day," answered Mrs. Wilton; 
 "we have no baggage; but we will come 
 back some other time. Send for the auto- 
 mobiles, and we will start for Fecamp." 
 
 " Well," said the Frenchman, " will you 
 all come?" And we all proceeded to dress 
 ourselves up so as to be unrecognizable by 
 the ordinary mortal. 
 
 It is only a few kilometres to Fecamp, 
 which, in some respects, is a more important 
 place than fitretat, and it was not long before 
 we were in the town itself. There are three 
 hotels in Fecamp, the Canchy and the 
 Chariot d'Or, both of which are good. We 
 
 80
 
 In Search of an Inn 
 
 decided, however, to " descend " at the Grand 
 Cerf, which is a curious old house opposite 
 the abbey. Here Mr. Wilton had already 
 arrived with the " immediate luggage," and 
 engaged the best rooms that there were. 
 
 " I certainly thought you would all break 
 down, somewhere, and be brought on here in 
 pieces," said he, as we met at the door of 
 the inn. 
 
 "No such luck," said the Englishman; 
 and soon all had gone to their rooms to 
 clean off the dust of the day's excursion, and 
 prepare for another on the morrow. 
 
 8i
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AT THE HOTEL DU GRAND CERF 
 Fecamp 
 
 This charming and picturesque old house 
 is the oldest hotel in Fecamp, and a typical 
 French inn. It was known originally under 
 the name of L'Hotellerie du Grand Cerf, 
 and has an interesting history attached to it. 
 It was the ancient treasury of the Benedictine 
 monks, dating from the fourteenth century, 
 and it was here that Frangois I. stayed when 
 he visited Fecamp. To-day it is a delightful 
 old timbered building with heavy cornices 
 and windows in the roof. The principal en- 
 trance is through the driveway into the court, 
 like so many of the French inns and hotels. 
 It presents a distinct contrast to the buildings 
 on either side of it on the paved street, and, 
 at a glance, tells of age and mellow hospi- 
 tality', and quaint characters and associations. 
 
 " Wc must take a walk about the place 
 and see what it is like,'' said Mrs. Wilton, the 
 next morning, as we met for the day. 
 
 82
 
 < 
 '■J
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 " I saw all I wanted of it yesterday," said 
 her husband. " While you are sightseeing, 
 I shall go in bathing. It's so warm, I would 
 like to get cool, and the salt water will do 
 me good. Come with me, count. It will 
 make you feel like a king." 
 
 " What a curious old place this is," said 
 Miss Wilton, who had just appeared, look- 
 ing as fresh and lovely as a summer rose. 
 *' Good morning, papa." 
 
 " Kiss your mother, Gladys, and tell me 
 whether my hat is on straight," interrupted 
 Mrs. Wilton. " It was impossible to see 
 anything in my glass, and Cecile has dis- 
 appeared. I didn't know where to find 
 anything." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton had on a wonderful creation 
 which covered her head with lace and imi- 
 tation grapes and flowers falling down be- 
 hind, making her look like a veritable flower- 
 garden. 
 
 " This certainly is a fascinating old inn," 
 said the Frenchman. " I remember coming 
 here years ago and having a bottle of Bur- 
 gundy with the landlord. He was famous 
 for his Burgundy, and his stories. I remem- 
 ber his telling me that Beau Brummel came 
 here once, and the interesting anecdotes he 
 
 83
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 told. When we arrive at the Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre, at Caen, we shall see the apartments 
 which he occupied there, after he had left 
 England — like the Conqueror — to die in 
 Normandy." 
 
 " I declare, it is a funny old place," said 
 Mr. Wilton, " all passages and turns and 
 quaint rooms. I rather like it. And they 
 gave us a very good dinner last night, on the 
 whole; didn't they? " 
 
 " I suppose we are bound to have chicken 
 and salad twice a day, now that we are in 
 France," said Mrs. Wilton, " but we might 
 do worse." 
 
 "Oh, the poulet and the salade for me; 
 that is all there is of most," exclaimed the 
 count, who delighted in these dishes. 
 
 And here the Frenchman agreed with 
 him for once, and they went off together to 
 inspect the menu for dejeuner. They were 
 soon off to the beach with Mr. Wilton for 
 their bath, and Miss Wilton and the Eng- 
 lishman took the lead in the party that was 
 to inspect the sights of Fecamp. 
 
 A quaint legend is told of the manner in 
 which the place was founded, which was 
 as early as the year 658. The seas are re- 
 ported to have cast up the remains of a fig- 
 
 84
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 tree, in the trunk of which had been con- 
 cealed the blood of Christ, bequeathed to a 
 certain man named Isaac, by his uncle, 
 Joseph of Arimathea. On the spot was 
 erected a monastery for women. Richard 
 Sans Peur, who was the grandfather of Will- 
 iam the Conqueror, rebuilt the present im- 
 portant abbey, which he used as a place of 
 residence during the latter part of his life. 
 
 As it was opposite the inn, we visited it 
 first, and found it full of interest. The ex- 
 terior is a fine example of Gothic architecture 
 as it is found in Normandy, unaffected by the 
 influence of later periods. It rises, like a 
 massive monument to God, out of the valley 
 in which the town is situated, flanked by the 
 high, rather bleak hills, rolling up on either 
 side, like the waves of the sea. The western 
 fagade is the only variation in the severe 
 style of its architecture, which is strong and 
 symmetrical, though somewhat cold to the 
 eye. 
 
 The abbey, which, during his life, was 
 both the palace and minster of Richard Sans 
 Peur, was likewise his sepulchre. There he 
 was carried at his own request, after his 
 death at Bayeux, his remains being deposited 
 first in a curious sarcophagus outside the 
 
 85
 
 Amojig French Inns 
 
 church, but later interred within its walls. 
 His example made the abbey a nucleus for 
 those of the ducal house of Normandy who 
 turned toward the religious life. Nicholas, 
 the son of Richard III., and William, sur- 
 named Longue Epee, both lived here, the 
 latter adding a palace and a chapel. The 
 present facade dates only from the end of 
 the sixteenth century, the original church, 
 which was called St. Trinite, finished in 1107, 
 having been mostly destroyed by fire. In- 
 deed, the churches of Normandy, especially 
 those of Rouen, seem to have been fre- 
 quently a prey to flames, while many of the 
 chateaux shared the same fate. The energy 
 and piety of the Normans have, however, 
 succeeded in erecting a greater and more 
 elaborate monument in almost every in- 
 stance. 
 
 " The interior of this abbey has almost 
 the appearance of a cathedral/' said the 
 Englishman to Miss Wilton, as they wan- 
 dered through the nave inspecting the walls, 
 which were in many places spoiled by white- 
 wash or inferior restorations. 
 
 " Yes,'' said she. " How cool and solemn 
 the place seems after the life outside, and 
 what a contrast." 
 
 86
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 A mass was being repeated in one of the 
 small chapels near the choir, and the two 
 paused for a moment, impressed by the 
 reverence of the scene. The mass was for 
 the repose of the soul of some one departed 
 this life, and was evidently upon the first 
 anniversary of death ; a custom that is preva- 
 lent in France, and not without a certain 
 beautiful religious sentiment. A single 
 candle burned before an image of the Virgin 
 near the altar, and a single figure, clothed 
 in weeds of woe, knelt devoutly in the 
 chapel. It was that of an aged woman, 
 bowed with grief, who had doubtless saved 
 her humble earnings to pay for this treasured 
 office to some dear one who had passed out- 
 ward to another life. 
 
 The priest, a young abbe, was intoning the 
 " Kyrie Eleison," in the soft light of the 
 chapel. The whole scene was so simple and 
 touching in its devotion that instinctively 
 Miss Wilton sank to her knees, and the Eng- 
 lishman with her. 
 
 In a moment it seemed as if the full mean- 
 ing of the Roman Catholic faith, in its influ- 
 ence upon the emotional side of human 
 feeling, was borne upon the fair American 
 girl and the companion at her side, not with 
 
 ^1
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 incense and peals of music and robes, not 
 in the grandeur of a festival, nor attended 
 by dignitaries of the Church, but in its inti- 
 mate relation with the soul, the sentiment of 
 human hearts, rather than its appeal to the 
 senses. 
 
 Such is perhaps the truest individual com- 
 munion with the Deity, the simplest office 
 of religion given in this almost monastic 
 solitude, an appeal unattended by pageantry 
 or crowds, and given in sincerity to God. 
 
 It was impossible for the two who had 
 thus joined the mass to believe for the mo- 
 ment that they were not one with it and of 
 it. For the time, all thought of religious 
 differences of creeds, all suggestion of man's 
 conflict in the past with dogma or theology 
 vanished. It was a communion of spirit, 
 born of natural impulse and feeling — surely 
 the truest image of the Eternal mind on 
 earth. 
 
 As they rose, at the conclusion of the mass, 
 Miss Wilton whispered a word of thanks to 
 her companion for thus joining in her own 
 sentiment and action. 
 
 " I should like to speak to this woman," 
 said she. 
 
 " I think she would appreciate it if you 
 
 88
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 did," said the Englishman, who had for- 
 gotten for the moment that he was de- 
 scended from a long line of the sternest 
 supporters of the Church of England. 
 
 Miss Wilton approached the still kneeling 
 figure, and held out her hand in sympathetic 
 acknowledgment of their unusual meeting. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, may the hon Dieu 
 bless you!" said the old woman, weeping. 
 " You bring back to me my own loved one 
 that is gone. She was my only daughter, 
 all that was left to me; as beautiful as the 
 heavens, like yourself, mademoiselle. The 
 waves had taken all the others from me, and 
 then God called her also." 
 
 As the aged figure vanished through the 
 doorway of the church it seemed as if some- 
 thing had passed between these two young 
 people which could not be described in 
 words, and which changed the atmosphere 
 about them. Their thoughts were unable to 
 shake off the impression which this incident 
 had made upon them, and the air of the 
 abbey seemed, as it were, sanctified by some- 
 thing deeper and more human than the mere 
 stones and effigies about them. 
 
 " I am glad that we stayed for the mass," 
 
 89
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 said Miss Wilton, simply, to the Englishman, 
 as they passed from the building. 
 
 " And I, too," said he, with something in 
 his voice which had not been there before. 
 
 As they came out of the transept door 
 they paused to examine the spot where Duke 
 Richard was originally buried. The origin 
 of the stone sarcophagus, which was placed 
 in the very pathway leading to the entrance, 
 has been a subject of much interest and 
 research to historians of the abbey, and 
 those who have been interested in its past. 
 It stood so close to the walls of the edifice 
 that the water, dripping from the gargoyle 
 extending from the eaves above, moistened its 
 surface in wet weather and baptized it with 
 the rains of heaven. 
 
 Its original use, according to Palgrave, 
 w^as not that of a tomb, but as a receptacle 
 for wheat and grain, which was distributed, 
 together with other alms, to the poor of 
 Fecamp on the eve of every Sabbath. Grain 
 was at that period a common luxury in Nor- 
 mandy, and appreciated by those in need of 
 charity. It was, therefore, a beautiful idea 
 which caused this rude stone to be used as 
 the place of burial for the earthly remains 
 of the ducal patron of the monastery. It 
 
 90
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 has been a spot of almost sacred interest ever 
 since. 
 
 As they wandered on through the streets 
 and byways of the town, the Englishman's 
 thoughts returned to the incident in the 
 abbey. In some way it had produced a 
 strange effect upon his mind, and his opinion 
 of the beautiful American girl at his side 
 was undergoing a change. Was it possible 
 that this young woman, surrounded by the 
 irresponsible frivolities and luxuries which 
 seemed so a part of her existence, had some- 
 thing deeper and more sincere in her nature 
 than appeared upon the surface? 
 
 Hitherto he had regarded her only as a 
 bird of feathery plumage, borne upon the 
 current of every passing air that blows about 
 persons of great and sudden wealth, un- 
 accompanied by those traditions of inherit- 
 ance that are so much a part of English life. 
 What he had seen of her before had given 
 him only the impression of a charming, but 
 vain and careless person, ignorant of any 
 of the duties or considerations which are 
 shared and practised by Englishwomen of 
 the better sort. She had appeared to him, 
 more perhaps than to any of the young men 
 who had met her, as a winged butterfly, enter- 
 
 91
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 taining and iridescent in the sunlight, but 
 not to be thought of seriously, nor to be con- 
 sidered in any sombre light, where the rays of 
 the sun were not visible, nor in shadows 
 through which they could not pierce. 
 
 Now all was altered, and the Englishman 
 was obliged to rearrange his thoughts. It 
 took time and an effort to do so, and it was 
 not surprising that he was silent most of the 
 way; for how could he be expected to alter 
 his opinion of a young lady's character, and 
 talk to her at the same time? 
 
 " I am sorry that I did not ask the name 
 and address of the old woman when we were 
 in the church." It was Miss Wilton's voice 
 that roused him from his thoughts at last. 
 
 " Do you think we could find her if we 
 returned?" he asked; "it is not too late 
 to turn back." 
 
 " I am afraid she has gone too far by 
 this time," returned Miss Wilton, " but I 
 should like to have asked her some more 
 about her daughter, and to have done some- 
 thing for her, if possible, for she seemed very 
 poor." 
 
 " Perhaps we shall see her again before 
 we leave," suggested the Englishman, hope- 
 fully. " Fecamp is not very large, you 
 
 92
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 know, and one is likely to meet the same 
 people again. There is only one person, 
 however, whom I hope we shall not meet 
 again while we are here, and that is the 
 ridiculous-looking ' ]oli garqong' whom the 
 count admired at Etretat. It was enough 
 to make one ill to look at him." 
 
 But alas! As if the hand of Fate had 
 attended the Englishman's remark, who 
 should appear on the horizon at that instant 
 but the ]oli gargon himself, strutting down 
 the street and pluming himself, for all the 
 world, like a turkey-cock in a barnyard! 
 
 " ' Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us,' " 
 quoted Miss Wilton. 
 
 " ' To see oursels as ithers see us,' " added 
 the Englishman, finishing out the line of the 
 poet with an expression of absolute contempt 
 on his face, — which the joli garqon did not 
 see as he passed, delighted with his own 
 appearance and oblivious of evil. 
 
 " Let us go and see the Maison de St. 
 Waninge, who founded the original monas- 
 tery," said Miss Wilton; and the two made 
 their way toward La Retenue, at the end of 
 which this interesting house is situated. The 
 most attractive part of it is the doorway, 
 which is of the thirteenth century, and is a 
 
 93
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 fitting sequel to the abbey itself, associated 
 as it is with the early history of the town. 
 
 High aboye the shore, and situated upon 
 the blufif oyerlooking the sea, is a little chapel 
 with a tall lighthouse near it. In the yiew 
 of Fecamp it stands against the sky in almost 
 desolate isolation, like a beacon on the hill. 
 The chapel is that of Notre Dame de Salut, 
 which is a place of pilgrimage. Near it, on 
 the headland which is sometimes called Cap- 
 Fagnet, is a fort known as Notre Dame de 
 Bourg-Baudouin. Up the steep pathway 
 leading to the chapel, the poor pilgrims of 
 the place may be found climbing to the altar 
 aboye; for the deyotion of a pilgrimage is 
 one of the religious characteristics of France, 
 and in all parts it is the joy of good Catholics 
 to repair on certain days to some shrine where 
 they may ofifer their prayers and their obla- 
 tions to the Almighty. 
 
 Not far from the centre of the town is the 
 Fontaine du Precieux-Sang, where the tra- 
 ditional fig-tree was washed up by the sea, 
 and in which the blood of our Lord was said 
 to haye been enclosed. The water of this 
 fountain is belieyed to this day to possess 
 certain wondrous properties and healing 
 powers, and many children have been im- 
 
 94
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 mersed in it, — sometimes to their ultimate 
 ill, be it said. For such superstitions, which 
 are common in Normandy, are more pic- 
 turesque as legends of the fancy than valua- 
 ble as agencies of health and comfort to youth 
 or early childhood. 
 
 By the time Miss Wilton and the English- 
 man had returned to the inn, the rest of the 
 party had gathered for dejeuner, and they 
 found plenty to discuss and gossip over. The 
 count had found some French friends while 
 bathing, and was full of interest and conver- 
 sation, as usual. Indeed, it did not take 
 much to set the count's tongue a-wagging, or 
 the count's throat a-thirsting, or the count's 
 brain a-whirling, in true Latin style, on the 
 sea of social intercourse. 
 
 "Well, count, we had a fine bath, didn't 
 we? " said Mr. Wilton, who was in excel- 
 lent humour. 
 
 " Only the bath-suit, he was so small," 
 added his Excellency, thinking of the time 
 he had had squeezing into the elastic sub- 
 stance which he had purchased on the beach. 
 " I put him on, and it take two men to pull 
 him ofif over the head; and the legs was all 
 filled with salt. Ah, but ces dames, they 
 were lovely in the bath-suits; one all in pink 
 
 95
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and one all in green, Dieu! how I would 
 like a pink suit." 
 
 " He'd look like a lobster with it on," said 
 Mr. Wilton under his breath. " There's one 
 thing the count can do, however," he added 
 aloud, " and that is to float. You should 
 have seen him, ladies; he was half out of 
 
 water." 
 
 " \¥ith the swimming I can do," said the 
 count; "but the floating, that I can manage. 
 Oh, yes," and he made an indescribable 
 gesture to express his pride in the accom- 
 plishment. " I lie on the back, and the water 
 takes the body to the air." 
 
 "That's it," said Mr. Wilton, "you press 
 the button, and the waves do the rest." (Mr. 
 Wilton's wit was apt to be tinged with slang 
 or local expressions, which he learned on 
 the Exchange.) " But how about the surf? 
 I thought you were going to kill that lady 
 when you rolled over on top of her." 
 
 " Do not tease the count," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton to her husband. " He has had a nice 
 bath, and I am sure looks a great deal better 
 for it. I was really worried about him yes- 
 terday." 
 
 " So was I," said the Frenchman. " With 
 
 96
 
 At the Hotel du Gravid Cerf 
 
 the blood in his head, I was afraid of an 
 attack or a fit." 
 
 " Oh, Dieu, Dieu! " exclaimed the count in 
 alarm. " I hope not. Mia madre had one 
 when she was sixty, and was always a little 
 light in the head after it. I hope not a 
 fitl" 
 
 " They say one never knows when one has 
 a fit," said the Frenchman, by way of con- 
 soling the count, " so that one has to be told 
 after it is over." 
 
 "Come," said Mrs. Wilton, "let's talk 
 of something pleasanter. Dejeuner is ready, 
 and — think of it, count — we are to have 
 some of the famous old Burgundy with our 
 chicken! " 
 
 The count's eyes sparkled, and the skies 
 were serene once more. 
 
 Later in the afternoon it was decided to 
 take a run down to Yvetot in the automobiles, 
 and perhaps on to Caudebec, if there were 
 time. About two o'clock every one was 
 ready except Mr. Wilton, who positively 
 refused to go, so he was left behind with 
 the luggage, to smoke his cigar with the 
 host of the inn, to whom he seemed to have 
 taken a great fancy. The host told Mr. 
 Wilton wonderful stories of Fecamp and the 
 
 97
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 past glories of the inn, and in return Mr. 
 Wilton told mine host wonderful stories of 
 American ways, and how to make money, 
 and how he had better pack up his Burgundy 
 and take it over to New York and start a 
 hotel there. 
 
 As long as he was pleased and well, Mrs. 
 Wilton did not care so much as a pin what 
 he was up to. She had too much to do when 
 she was abroad to bother about Mr. Wilton 
 or what amused him, or did not. In early 
 life she had worked and endured and slaved 
 with him for their mutual interest and bene- 
 fit, but now life was passing, and in her 
 actual field of operations her husband could 
 take only a minor part. So it happened 
 that when he was dragged to Europe once 
 every year or two, to show the great world 
 there that Mrs. Blodget Wilton had a hus- 
 band, and could produce him if she had 
 a mind to, he was left, a good deal of the 
 time, to his own devices, and only forced 
 to appear on occasions which actually de- 
 manded his presence, — such as one out of 
 every three of the princely banquets (which 
 he paid for, be it said), during the Paris 
 season, and every now and then a visit at 
 some chateau in the country. These he
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 hated more than anything, because he could 
 not speak French, nor understand French 
 wit, nor get away from the people who were 
 staying there. He was usually bullied into 
 going by his wife, after a good deal of argu- 
 ing and prodding, and he got away if he 
 could on almost any excuse before the end of 
 the visit was reached. 
 
 So much for Mr. Blodget Wilton. The 
 rest of the party were ready to enjoy the 
 afternoon. Tihe ladies had on their most 
 approved automobile costumes, covered with 
 dust-coloured gossamers, and half a hundred 
 veils over their heads and faces. The count 
 and the Frenchman were both in the best 
 of humour, and the Englishman as fresh and 
 serene as usual. 
 
 Yvetot is situated about midway between 
 Fecamp and Rouen, in a direct line running 
 in a southeasterly direction, and it may be 
 reached by passing through Valmont, Our- 
 ville, and Fauville. The distance is not too 
 great to be covered comfortably in an auto- 
 mobile, over the roads for which France is 
 so noted. Even the constant hills (which are 
 at times steep, and the roads winding) are 
 scarcely an impediment to one of the good 
 French machines; for the French certainly 
 
 99
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 have led the world in this respect, as they 
 have in the network of state roads which 
 cover the country and are a model for all 
 governments and municipalities to follow. 
 They combine the practical and the pictur- 
 esque, lined by broad borders of green well- 
 trimmed grass, with cuttings for the water to 
 drain through, and edged with neat hedges, 
 not unlike some parts of England. 
 
 Not far from Fecamp, and near Ourville, 
 is Valmont, in the midst of lovely scenery 
 preserved in freshness and verdure by the 
 warmth of the Norman sunshine, the con- 
 stant rains, and the moisture of the sea which 
 is wafted southward through the country. 
 Valmont is interesting historically and archi- 
 tecturally. It possesses a chateau, a mon- 
 astery, and a church. The chateau is asso- 
 ciated with the name of Francois I. (whose 
 influence in architecture has crept even into 
 Normandy), and of the famous Duguesclin. 
 Charles V. gave the chateau to his gallant 
 Connctable, and Francois T. visited it at the 
 time of the marriage of Adrienne d'Estoute- 
 ville to the Comte de St. Paul. 
 
 The land of Valmont itself belonged in 
 early days to the house of Estouteville, and 
 it was the last of this celebrated Norman 
 
 lOO
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 family who allied it to the royal house of 
 France by the marriage just referred to, the 
 Comte de St. Paul being Charles de Bour- 
 bon. Through his daughter, this mater- 
 nal domain was transferred to the house of 
 Orleans-Longueville, so that its associations 
 have been distinctly of a royal character. 
 
 The foundations of the chateau are of the 
 twelfth century, while the upper portions, 
 which arise out of the depths of green be- 
 low them, are of the fifteenth and sixteenth 
 centuries, and show the more ornate and 
 luxurious influence of the Renaissance. It 
 is interesting to note, in such places as these, 
 how the hand of Francois I., who brought 
 the florid yet beautiful style of the Renais- 
 sance from Italy, and bequeathed it as an 
 imperishable gift to France, shows itself 
 even here, far from his favoured haunts of 
 Touraine. The stern walls of the early 
 Norman days were at once adorned for his 
 coming with all the ornaments and achieve- 
 ments of his time, details which not even the 
 ruthless and inconsiderate restorations of 
 later owners have been able to utterly destroy 
 or hide. 
 
 Enter, you who stand before this noble 
 habitation of other days, and observe in 
 
 lOI
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 truth the allegory which these cold and life- 
 less stones may teach, and apply it to your 
 own less picturesque environment. Are not 
 romances of life more deeply graven in 
 these walls that rise to-day on all sides in 
 France, out of the mists of the past, than are 
 enacted in our dramas, or printed upon the 
 pages of our volumes? Is there not poetry 
 concealed in every corner and beneath every 
 shadow, which breathes of chivalry and love, 
 of passion, misery, or death? Life comes 
 again and fills it with joy and youth. Am- 
 bitions, hopes, intrigues fill its galleries, and 
 whisper of the ways of courts now long 
 since overthrown and gone. The whole 
 array of personages, as human as ourselves 
 though born in other times, returns, as we 
 wander through these castles of France, fill- 
 ing our minds with history — much of which 
 is never to be written by man — and kindling 
 again the old romance and action of baronial 
 times. 
 
 Ah! There is something which touches, 
 deep in the heart, a spark of animated 
 fire that smoulders in the souls of many who 
 have not trod these paths of European haunts, 
 yet desire the very inspiration which they 
 give, and who know it when it comes. With 
 
 I02
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 those who feel it we would sympathize, and 
 urge them to the effort of a pilgrimage; for 
 surely nothing broadens the imagination more 
 generously; nothing fills so truthfully the 
 void; nothing satisfies more swiftly the 
 desire. 
 
 The Hotel du Commerce at Valmont 
 opens its doors to the passing visitor, and 
 the company of which we form a part stops, 
 nothing loath, to refresh its members and 
 pause, filled with the impressions which the 
 chateau and the other monuments of the 
 place have given them. On the opposite side 
 of the river are the remains of the monastery, 
 which date from the twelfth century also. 
 The Chapelle de la Vierge, which savours 
 of the Renaissance, like the chateau itself, 
 contains the tombs of the departed Sires 
 d'Estouteville, memorials of a famous race, 
 now passed from view for ever. 
 
 A charming legend is told in reference 
 to the foundation of the abbey, known as the 
 Miracle of the Roses. Mademoiselle d'Es- 
 touteville, the daughter of the founder, was 
 wont to conceal provisions for the poor work- 
 men who built it, and who were ground 
 down to poverty by the avarice of her father. 
 One day he discovered her. 
 
 103
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " What is that which you have hidden in 
 your dress? " said he. 
 
 " Father," said the maiden, in fear of the 
 paternal anger, " it is only some roses." And 
 behold, as she loosed her dress there fell from 
 it, not the provisions which she had placed 
 there, but a mass of scented flowers, fragrant 
 with the perfume of summer. 
 
 Heaven had prevented one of its saints 
 from being punished for telling a falsehood. 
 
 The party left Valmont and the Hotel du 
 Commerce with regret, and sped on to Our- 
 ville, which is only a short distance, — soon 
 covered by an automobile. 
 
 " These old castles of Normandy, and in 
 fact in France generally, are a curious con- 
 trast to ours in England," said the English- 
 man to Miss Wilton. 
 
 " There is an air of artistic neglect here 
 which is hardly ever seen with you," said the 
 latter. "Your beautiful lawns and parks are 
 so much more neatly trimmed and cared for, 
 that it is almost impossible to compare the 
 two." 
 
 " France has a charm, different, and yet 
 all its own," said the Englishman. 
 
 "And what a poetic charm 1" interrupted 
 the Frenchman. " Do you know, as we go 
 
 104
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 the lines of the French poet run through my 
 head: 
 
 *' ' Voir, c'est avoir ; 
 Aliens courir : 
 Vie errante 
 Est chose enivrante ! 
 Voir, c'est avoir ; 
 Allons courir, 
 Car tout voir 
 C'est tout conquerir ! ' " 
 
 " Oh, that is delightful," said the count. 
 " I must learn the words. They are full 
 of the life of movement and running!" 
 
 Miss Wilton laughed. *' You do have 
 such an amusing way of putting things. Count 
 di Pomponi," said she. *' I wonder why we 
 never think of saying the things that you 
 do." 
 
 The Englishman thought, from his point 
 of view, that Mrs. Blodget Wilton, to say 
 nothing of her husband, had at times some 
 very amusing ways of putting things, but he 
 hardly liked to say so to their daughter. 
 
 " The Italian, he likes to say what he think 
 always," said the count, graciously waving 
 his glove until it touched his left waistcoat 
 pocket. " He is never afraid to say what 
 he think. The sentiment, he expand, and 
 the heart is always warm. Oh! signorina, 
 
 105
 
 Amons: French Inns 
 
 '^ti 
 
 I would loave to show you the Italia, and the 
 poesia Italiana." 
 
 The count looked volumes of fat rapture 
 as he spoke, and every one laughed. Poor 
 man! No one would take him seriously, and 
 he could never understand the reason why. 
 
 " Ah, but the loave in the boosom is true, 
 when we wish to sacrifice the life," he 
 added, with tragic fervour. 
 
 " Oh, dear count, I hope you are not going 
 to kill yourself," said Miss Wilton. " That 
 would be too dreadful. Think of it! If 
 you did, we should have no one to show 
 Italy to us." 
 
 " I can do," sighed the count, in an agony 
 of romantic fervour, allowing his arms to 
 hang listlessly in the air, as if they were en- 
 tirely independent of his body. 
 
 " Come, come," said his fair tormentor, 
 indulgently. " You must not feel so badly. 
 Look at this lovely view; we are losing it 
 all." 
 
 " I can see," answered the count, wistfully. 
 " He go by so fast the trees is all in the air, 
 and the grass up on top with the eyes." 
 
 " You might shut them," suggested the 
 Englishman, " and then you would not get 
 so much dust in them." 
 
 1 06
 
 At the Hotel dti Grand Cerf 
 
 Finally the count did close his lustrous 
 orbs, and sank into a semi-slumber, while his 
 generous form bounced about on the seat 
 like so much jelly when taken out of its 
 mould. 
 
 Passing through Ourville and Fauville, 
 picturesque villages nestling in lovely scenery, 
 the party pursued its way to Yvetot, the 
 ancient capital of the Pays du Caletes. The 
 chief interest that centres about Yvetot is 
 political and historical. As a sixteenth- 
 century poet has expressed it: 
 
 " Au noble pays du Caux 
 Y a quatre abbaies royaux, 
 Six prieurez conventuaux, 
 Et six barons de grand arroi, 
 Quatre comtes, trois dues, un roi." 
 
 In truth the " kingdom of Yvetot " was 
 one of those tiny independent states, more 
 in name than in space, which are to be found 
 more frequently in the history of other 
 centuries than to-day. Although historians 
 have failed to discover satisfactorily the real 
 origin of this petty kingdom, it arose to 
 suzerain power sometime between the reigns 
 of William the Conqueror and John Lack- 
 land. The seigneurs of Yvetot appear upon 
 
 107
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the stage of history in the train of the Nor- 
 man Conquest, and we hear of a transaction 
 in 1203 between Richard d'Yvetot and the 
 Abbey of St. Wandrille, through which 
 the former was granted an independent 
 sovereignty. 
 
 Various evidences appear through suc- 
 cessive centuries, showing that the Sires 
 d'Yvetot were wont to style themselves as 
 other rulers, that their wives assumed the 
 titles of queens and princesses, and that they 
 were apparently recognized as such by the 
 Kings of France. The existence, however, 
 of this so-called " kingdom," which was a 
 unique exception to the common right in 
 France, has been more or less the object of 
 mockery or satire. The poetry which is 
 associated with Yvetot is that of Berenger, 
 which savours of the humourous yet philo- 
 sophic spirit of the materialist and the hoary 
 son of toil. It breathes the atmosphere of 
 the Norman peasant, the scent of the apple, 
 the intoxication of cider, and the song of the 
 public house at the end of the village street. 
 Here is an example, which has been quoted 
 by other writers, of this interesting phase of 
 sovereignty: 
 
 108
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 " II etait un roi d'Yvetot 
 Peu connu dans I'histoire. 
 Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! Ah ! Ah ! Ah ! Ah ! 
 Quel bon petit roi c'etait la ! " 
 
 But though seemingly insignificant as mon- 
 archs, the Kings of Yvetot held their pre- 
 rogatives for several centuries. They assem- 
 bled their miniature courts, made terms with 
 the powers with whom they came in contact, 
 and defended their integrity in the wars 
 which threatened their possessions and their 
 independence. They have left a curious, 
 historical, and almost mythical interest be- 
 hind them, which has attracted the anti- 
 quaries of France and elsewhere. The mists 
 which hover over the country of Normandy 
 seem to have enveloped in their folds the 
 early days of the rise and creation of Yvetot 
 as a separate kingdom. Possibly for this 
 very reason speculation is rife, and the curi- 
 osity of historians more keenly alive. In 
 any case, to the student of political history, 
 this one example of independent sovereignty 
 among the early dependencies and provinces 
 of France must always clothe the capital of 
 its past power with a romantic and pictur- 
 esque quality which is worthy of investiga- 
 tion and study. 
 
 109
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 To-day the town is the proud possessor of 
 manufactures and an immense market which 
 at times is the great centre of business, gos- 
 sip, intrigue, and the life in general of the 
 inhabitants of this departed kingdom. Here 
 they arrive, in all manner of equipages, 
 clothed in all manner of quaint attire, and 
 here barter their souls for a pig, a cow, or a 
 barrel of apples. The price of eggs, the 
 quality of butter, or the laying powers of 
 the domesticated hen, — these are the latter- 
 day topics of the kingdom of Yvetot, founded 
 upon the aftermath of the Conqueror of 
 England, and created by the ambitions of its 
 puissant sires. Oh, crown! Where is thine 
 end? Oh, greatness! Where was thy begin- 
 ning? 
 
 Rested and refreshed by a draught of 
 delicious cider at the Hotel des Victoires, 
 our party went on for a few kilometres, in 
 order to visit the famous oak, known through- 
 out this part of the country as the " Chene 
 d'Allouville." This remarkable tree, which 
 is one of the most curious examples of its 
 kind in France, is situated in the church- 
 yard of the village church of AUouville, 
 and is considered to be at least nine hundred 
 years old. 
 
 no
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 It is so large in circumference that it has 
 been possible to build two rustic chapels in 
 its trunk, one above the other. Around this 
 picturesque shrine the patriarchal branches 
 of the tree twine themselves in a religious 
 embrace which lends to it a quaint and rural 
 dignity. Behind it the tower of the church 
 rises above its gnarled and tangled form, 
 watching over its destiny as if to protect it by 
 the hand of God. The humble villagers 
 kneel before it in devout respect, offering up 
 a prayer to the Almighty for that which 
 they hold most dear in life — the repose 
 of a soul, the protection of a relative, the 
 preservation of some family possession, or 
 strength to bear the burden of their years. 
 
 It is another picture of the noticeable in- 
 fluence of religious feeling in the every-day 
 existence of the Latin countries, which is to 
 be observed so frequently in France; more 
 even in the rural districts than in larger 
 towns or cities. The circumference of the 
 tree at its base is thirteen metres, and as it is 
 entirely hollow, the lower chapel is almost 
 the same size. It dates from the seventeenth 
 century, and is dedicated to Notre Dame de 
 la Paix. Above it is a second chamber, 
 reached by an exterior staircase, 
 
 III
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 The Frenchman, as soon as the party had 
 alighted, tore off his cap and darted into 
 the chapel, where he was discovered in a few 
 moments saying his prayers. 
 
 "What a wonderful old tree!" said Mrs. 
 Wilton. " I declare, it is like one of our 
 large trees in California. What a pity it is 
 one could not buy it and carry it back to 
 America! It would be such a surprise to 
 have it at our place on Long Island." 
 
 " Ah, madame," exclaimed the count, 
 " if you come to Roma you would want to 
 buy the Arch of Titus; but they would not 
 sell it;" and Mrs. Wilton looked almost 
 angry. 
 
 " Come, count," said she, " you must get 
 out of the automobile and climb up here in 
 the tree." 
 
 " But are the stairs safe? And will they 
 hold the weight of the body? " inquired 
 the intrepid Romeo, sagaciously. It was not 
 his desire to be led into any pitfalls or dan- 
 gers if they could be avoided. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, pray do not urge Count 
 Romeo to go up those stairs. Think how 
 awkward it would be if he slipped and broke 
 his leg." 
 
 " Oh, yes, if the leg was broke the whole 
 
 112
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 body would be agonizing me with the pain," 
 answered his Excellency, in alarm. 
 
 But Mrs. Wilton was bent upon the count's 
 entering the tree, and so up the poor count 
 was obliged to go, his hostess pulling him 
 I efore, and the Englishman assisting his 
 ascent from behind. By their united efforts 
 he was pushed up the stairs and squeezed 
 through the narrow door into the chamber 
 of the famous oak. There he could be heard 
 shouting for joy, and flattering Mrs. Wilton 
 in his most chivalrous and romantic style. 
 
 " But if the floor would fall through, the 
 bones would be all broken to pieces," said he, 
 finally, and he was about to make his exit. 
 
 " Hush," said Mrs. Wilton, in a command- 
 ing tone. " You must not make so much 
 noise. Remember this tree is a chapel, and 
 
 I do believe Monsieur de B is saying his 
 
 prayers down-stairs. He is always saying his 
 prayers. I wish somebody could stop him. 
 It does not seem to do him the least good." 
 
 " Oh, but it is hot in the tree," said Count 
 Romeo, unable to support the heat any 
 longer. " It is like the Inferno of Dante, 
 instead of the house of God," and he began 
 quoting a line of the Divine Poet to himself. 
 Yet fate had greater trials in store for his 
 
 113
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Excellency than the warmth of the weather 
 or the atmosphere of the chapel. As he 
 started down the open stairs, without think- 
 ing of the dangers before him, behold, his 
 Excellency's foot slipped and went through 
 one of the openings of the steps, and oh, 
 misericordia! his Excellency's heavy frame 
 rolled down the whole length to the ground. 
 There he lay in a bewildered heap, moaning 
 and muttering in broken English and Italian, 
 and evidently bruised and shaken up. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton, in alarm, hurried after him. 
 Her daughter and the Englishman, who 
 could not help smiling at the ridiculous 
 figure of the count rolling over and over on 
 the ground at the foot of the oak, soon fol- 
 lowed and endeavoured to assist him. The 
 Frenchman, whose devotions had been inter- 
 rupted by the clatter of the fall, darted out 
 of the chapel below, his eyes flashing with 
 excitement. A small crowd was soon gath- 
 ered about the fallen Romeo, all offering 
 suggestions and restoratives. 
 
 " Quickly, Gladys, get my smelling-salts," 
 cried Mrs. Wilton, who had assumed charge 
 of the operation of restoring the count to 
 himself. 
 
 " Oi, oi, oi! give me air, give me time," 
 
 114
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 groaned his Excellency, not knowing whether 
 he was dead or alive. He was sputtering 
 and talking, calling upon "" mio padre'' and 
 " mia madre," — both of whom had died 
 some years previously, — and summoning all 
 the saints in the calendar to witness his mis- 
 fortune. 
 
 "We must send for tin medecin at once. 
 The blood is all in the head. Lift the body. 
 Lift the limbs. If he were to have an at- 
 tack!" The Frenchman was in a delirium 
 of excitement. 
 
 '' Do be quiet," said Mrs. Wilton, who by 
 this time was ordering the chauffeurs to prop 
 up the count with pillows. 
 
 " I think there is really no serious trouble," 
 said the Englishman, who had been calmly 
 feeling of the count during all the turmoil 
 and hubbub which the accident had occa- 
 sioned. 
 
 " Tiens! II respire!" exclaimed the 
 Frenchman. " Breathe gently, count; take 
 matters calmly. Remember the blood in the 
 head and how warm the day is." 
 
 By this time the count was coming to him- 
 self a little, and felt some reassurance and a 
 slight desire to get upon his feet again. This 
 
 115
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 was accomplished with the aid of the assem- 
 bled company. 
 
 " If the bones are broken I cannot feel it," 
 said his Excellency. 
 
 "You must wait; the pain comes later. 
 You may be in the agony. Step gently. 
 Move cautiously. Cover your head with a 
 wet handkerchief," exclaimed the French- 
 man, in comforting and sympathetic tones. 
 And so the count was moved to the automo- 
 bile, and there deposited in state beside his 
 hostess once more, and the cavalcade was 
 allowed to proceed, at an easy pace, to Cau- 
 debec. 
 
 " It certainly is a mercy that no bones were 
 broken," said Mrs. Wilton, in relief. 
 
 " You must look before you leap, count," 
 said the Englishman, philosophically; and 
 the remainder of the conversation was smoth- 
 ered in a cloud of dust. 
 
 ii6
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 CAUDEBEC TO ROUEN 
 
 Caudebec is a delightful place, and an 
 excellent centre for excursions to rural places 
 of interest in the neighbourhood. The town 
 itself is picturesque in the extreme, suggest- 
 ing, as other writers have before mentioned, 
 a combination of the Italian and the Norman. 
 
 Situated on the banks of the Seine, and 
 surrounded by ideal scenery, it possesses a 
 view over an extensive horizon, including 
 Villequier on one side, and St. Wandrille, 
 with its beautiful monastery, on the other, 
 while in the centre of the picture arise in 
 the distance the trees of the forest of Bro- 
 tonne, the towers of Jumieges, as well as the 
 magnificent park and chateau of la Maille- 
 raie. 
 
 The name of Caudebec is said to come 
 from the old name Caletensium Be ecus, 
 meaning the River of Caux. The basin of 
 water which has given its name to the town 
 
 117
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 is to-day drawn from the little stream of 
 St. Gertrude. Opposite the town itself 
 there existed in a remote period an island 
 formed by the river Seine, on which some 
 Celtic druids once established one of their 
 mysterious colleges. The town, with its 
 prehistoric associations, is in its way a gem. 
 Its view, which is one of those that are at 
 once the glory and the joy of the French 
 country, is as worthy of the study of an 
 artist's pen or brush as are the quaint streets, 
 the ancient houses, of at least four centuries, 
 and the overhanging gables and beams, which 
 make each corner and each turn a picture in 
 itself. 
 
 The automobiles, bearing the almost life- 
 less body of the count, paused at the door 
 of the Hotel de la Marine, and their occu- 
 pants entered the establishment, and being 
 pleased with its appearance, assured of its 
 comforts by the host, and tired after the exer- 
 tion of the afternoon, concluded to remain 
 and rest themselves after their journey. In 
 the soft afternoon light the whole place was 
 aglow with mellow tones, and the dim, de- 
 parting sunshine, which gives to everything 
 in France a magic touch of fancy. Here 
 we are no longer troubled by the cares of 
 
 ii8
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 life, the duties of the ever busy world, the 
 worries of ill-natured thoughts, the sorrows 
 of desires unfulfilled. The time is one of 
 holiday, forgetfulness, and rest, surrounded 
 by pictures and thoughts so alien to man's 
 viler moods that it is impossible to resist the 
 influence, or to deny the hand that leads us 
 to forget ourselves and to enjoy the scene. 
 
 " It would be too late to go back to Fe- 
 camp to-night," said Mrs. Wilton. "We 
 may as well stay here, and give Count di 
 Pomponi a chance to rest and recover. He 
 certainly needs it, for he has hardly said 
 a word since we left the tree at Allouville." 
 
 So it was decided to remain at Caudebec, 
 and the gentlemen were kept busy sending 
 " des tel e grammes " and " des communica- 
 tions'' to Mr. Blodget Wilton at Fecamp. 
 
 " Tell him to come here, or go on to 
 Rouen, whichever he likes the best," said his 
 thoughtful wife, realizing that Mr. Wilton 
 might take it into his head to dislike the 
 Hotel de la Marine as much as she and her 
 companions liked it — and realizing also, 
 in her thoughtfulness and masterful intelli- 
 gence, that she might also wish to go on to 
 Rouen in the morning. 
 
 There was a scene at the Postes et Tele- 
 
 119
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 graphes while arranging some suitable words 
 in French that Mr. Wilton would be able to 
 understand. 
 
 " Ces messieurs do not wish ce Monsieur 
 Wilton to know that the madame remains 
 here alone?" queried the operator, ready to 
 aid in an intrigue, if need be. 
 
 " Good gracious, no," said Mrs. Wilton, 
 horrified at the idea. 
 
 " Oh, I only thought the madame might 
 not wish the monsieur to know," added the 
 lady operator, soothingly. " Madame has 
 so many messieurs with her, no doubt one 
 more will make no difiference." 
 
 " Do I look respectable, or do I not? Tell 
 
 me, Monsieur de B ?" demanded Mrs. 
 
 Wilton, in great concern. 
 
 " I do not think anybody would desire to 
 ' enlever' Madame Wilton," said the French- 
 man, with great gallantry. It would indeed 
 have been a dangerous undertaking for any 
 one to have attempted such a thing if they 
 could have seen Mrs. Blodget Wilton in all 
 her matronly dignity at that moment, her 
 feathers bristling with virtue, her nose more 
 like the beak of a hen than ever, her whole 
 figure commanding respect and submission 
 to her nobility of purpose. At length a 
 
 1 20
 
 Caiidebec to Rouen 
 
 suitable telegram was framed, and the party 
 returned to the hotel by the way it had come. 
 
 The streets of Caudebec present a most 
 interesting appearance to the visitor who 
 passes through them. Their narrow, wind- 
 ing features are in every sense a study for 
 the artist. The old beams and carving on 
 the houses have an air of age in keeping with 
 the atmosphere of Normandy. The churches 
 are of rare beauty. The quay, with its 
 hotels, its life, its houses, suggests, as we have 
 said, a town of Italy. In short, the whole 
 place is surrounded by a charm not easily 
 to be surpassed in France. 
 
 In the ninth century Caudebec was a 
 simple abode of fishermen, and its foundation 
 may be really ascribed to the inhabitants 
 of the island of Balcinac, which was sub- 
 sequently engulfed by the river Seine. 
 Fearful of its future, they repaired to the 
 mainland, and the monks, who were all- 
 powerful in those days, received certain 
 grants and privileges from Charles le 
 Chauve. The Benedictines of Fontenelle 
 received from Richard II. a confirmation of 
 their rights, as possessors of Caudebec and 
 its surroundings, and William the Conqueror 
 gave to them those of Balcinac. In the 
 
 121
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 reign of Henry I., the market which was 
 held at St. Wandrille was transferred to 
 Caudebec, and thus the town grew slowly 
 in size and prosperity. 
 
 In the fifteenth century the place was 
 deemed worthy of a military fortification, 
 and possessed walls flanked by towers and 
 donjons. In 1419, during the invasion of 
 Normandy by the English, Caudebec en- 
 dured a six months' siege, at the end of which 
 it was forced to surrender to Warwick and 
 Talbot, the generals whom Henry V. had 
 placed in command of his forces. Caudebec 
 is associated with a considerable number of 
 events in history during the fifteenth century, 
 which was its period of greatest military 
 activity. Were we permitted the time or 
 space, in so short a study as this, to trace 
 the several occasions upon which its inhabit- 
 ants have attacked their enemies, both by the 
 sword and by the pen, we might find much 
 that was of interest in the pages of their 
 history. So frequently, however, have the 
 defenders of Caudebec resorted to the poign- 
 ant use of words in verse, which have been 
 parried between them and their enemies, 
 that we may not inappropriately add a line 
 of query to the adage of the poet, and ask: 
 
 122
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 " What wound lies deeper than a word ? 
 ' The pen is mightier than the sword.' " 
 
 The events which characterized the his- 
 tory of Caudebec prior to the reign of Louis 
 XII. were more of a martial than an indus- 
 trial nature. Charles VII. and Louis XI. 
 have both figured in the scenes which have 
 been enacted here. Charles le Temeraire 
 appeared in warlike array before the town, 
 but did not succeed in taking it. The 
 Huguenots followed, and the name of Henry 
 IV. also appears upon this page of its his- 
 tory. Here also the Prince de Parme in 
 his attack upon Caudebec received the wound 
 from whose effects he subsequently died. 
 Thus, through the early centuries of its 
 existence, this picturesque and interesting 
 place fought for its identity and its preser- 
 vation. Later, in the more peaceful days 
 which followed, the Norman tendency 
 toward industry, so noticeable upon all sides 
 to-day, found opportunity to assert itself 
 and prosper. 
 
 Such, then, is the history of Caudebec in a 
 few words, one which stirs the imagination 
 to its review of chivalry and valour, and 
 brings it to the natural pursuits of peace. 
 Through its varied fortunes it was enabled 
 
 123
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to grow into a well-worn picture of the past, 
 which now draws to it the worship of the 
 passing pilgrims. Each shade seems laden 
 with a hundred recollections; each sunlit 
 spot the object of a quaint renown brought 
 into one whole composite form, that still 
 possesses something of the touch of time. 
 
 The morning after the arrival of the auto- 
 mobilists at the Hotel de la Marine was 
 cold and cloudy, and the Englishman had 
 indulged in a fire in his room before de- 
 jeuner. After having finished some letters, 
 he descended to the office and sought the 
 head of the establishment, and gave orders 
 to have the fire kept up in his chamber. His 
 French, alas, left something still to be desired, 
 and his choice of words was at times embar- 
 rassing in its results. 
 
 '' Ne laissez pas ce fou s'en aller, dans 
 cette chambre," said he to the good host at 
 the office, never thinking what effect his 
 mistake in pronouncing the word " fire " 
 would produce. 
 
 The astonished host, hearing the word 
 " fou," immediately supposed that there was a 
 crazy man in the room above, and communi- 
 cated at once with the madame. The word 
 flew like wild-fire through the lower regions 
 
 124
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 of the establishment that there was " un fou " 
 shut up in one of the rooms of the Hotel de la 
 Marine at Caudebec. The Englishman, 
 meanwhile, had gone forth for a morning 
 walk, little dreaming of the mischief that he 
 had unwittingly created. 
 
 The employees of the hotel, after the news 
 had once spread among them, with the neces- 
 sary exaggeration and embellishment (which 
 we will leave for the imagination), were in a 
 perfect frenzy of excitement. It was decided 
 to reconnoitre through the upper regions, 
 and discover, if possible, in which room the 
 wild man, the madman, the maniac — for 
 such he had now become in the minds of 
 these simple Norman folk — was then en- 
 closed. 
 
 " Think of their bringing a maniac with 
 them," said the waiter to the maid. 
 
 "Oh, these English! What tricks they 
 play us, taking our hotel by storm in such 
 a fashion. Do they think we are a lunatic 
 asylum, that they bring their fools with 
 them? " said another. 
 
 " Perhaps he went mad on the road," sug- 
 gested the madame. " One might well go 
 crazy, riding in those infernal machines all 
 day long, with the rattle and buzzing in the 
 
 125
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 ears, and the dust in the eyes, he hon Dieu 
 nous protege. I hope he will not try to kill 
 any one." 
 
 '' Calm yourself," said the host to his wife. 
 " Let us see where he is, and if he will be 
 violent, or easy to bind and tie down to a 
 chair. Dominic, bring a stout cord to bind 
 him if he kicks and tries to jump at us. Ah, 
 we will manage him if he jumps at our 
 throats! " 
 
 So saying, they came to the door of the 
 unsuspecting count, who was singing a popu- 
 lar Neapolitan air to himself while com- 
 pleting his toilet. He, too, had had a fire in 
 his room, and at once the people outside, 
 crouching stealthily in the passage, decided 
 that this was the " fou'' whom the Englishman 
 had cautioned them not to allow to go out. 
 In a twinkling of the eye — in a shorter space 
 of time even than it has taken to write down 
 these words — the maitre d'hotel had turned 
 the handle of the door, poked in his head, 
 snatched the key from the inside, and locked 
 the poor count securely from the outside. 
 
 " The robbers are in the house! " exclaimed 
 his Excellency, who had turned his head in 
 time to see this sudden performance, and was 
 
 126
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 convinced that he was then and there the 
 victim of " foul play." 
 
 "Oh, the robbers! The rascals! They 
 seek to keep me in the room, perhaps to 
 murder me! Oh, misericordia! Au secours! 
 Help! Murder! Oii suis-je? Que faire? " 
 And with this he threw his heavy frame 
 against the old and trembling door with a 
 violence that nearly broke it through. 
 
 Those in the hall were preparing for the 
 emergency, and were planning to scale the 
 outside of the house with ladders and ex- 
 tract the maniac from a window, when Mrs. 
 Wilton, attracted by the clatter and noise, 
 came forth to discover the cause. Her sur- 
 prise was great when she beheld most of 
 the servants of the place assembled outside 
 the door of the Count di Pomponi, and heard 
 the cries of his Excellency from within. 
 
 "Good gracious! What is the matter?" 
 she exclaimed. " Has his Excellency gone 
 mad? Or is he in a delirium from the effects 
 of his accident? " 
 
 " Oh, madame, he certainly has gone mad; 
 and the English monsieur has given strict 
 orders for him to be carefully guarded while 
 he has gone for the doctor or the police, 
 who can tell which? Oh, madame, this is 
 
 127
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 a terrible affliction that you have brought 
 on our quiet hotel! Oh, oh, oh!" And 
 the madame went off into violent hysterics 
 on the spot. 
 
 The count v^as still crying out and kicking 
 at the door and shouting " Murder " from 
 within, and for the moment Mrs. Wilton 
 really thought he had lost his reason. Still, 
 she waited and eventually held parley with 
 the suspected lunatic. 
 
 " Do calm yourself, count. What is the 
 matter? Is your head disordered from your 
 fall yesterday? Pray sit down and let us 
 come in and talk to you. No one is going to 
 murder you." 
 
 " Oh, chere madame, the head is all be- 
 wildered," cried the count, getting hopelessly 
 muddled with his English. " The rascalated 
 thieves would have murthered me. Ah, 
 they would. But you save me. Wait until 
 I tie the neckties under the neck and you 
 shall coame in and let me free. Oh, the 
 shock! Oh, the agony of fear! The heart 
 he is thumping and thumping in the boosom. 
 He is — There — now," and the count 
 subsided within. 
 
 " But the madame must not go into the 
 room. The monsieur is completement fou. 
 
 128
 
 Caudebec to Rotten 
 
 It is not safe. No, no! Madame must stay 
 where she is until the police come to investi- 
 gate," said the maitre d'hotel. 
 
 There was nothing to do but to wait until 
 the Englishman returned, to unravel the 
 tangle of affairs and clear the situation. 
 
 This he mercifully did in a short time. 
 The mistake was explained. The count was 
 set free. The host apologized to his Excel- 
 lency in wonderful language, and every one 
 went down-stairs and drank his health in a 
 glass of cider. 
 
 The inns of Normandy are not expensive 
 as a rule. The rooms and furnishings may 
 be simple or primitive, but the food is usu- 
 ally excellent, and the atmosphere both 
 quaint and genial. The visitor, when once 
 admitted, is made to feel at home, and en- 
 joys his stay. He is regaled with anecdotes 
 and stories by those whom he meets, and 
 finds plenty to amuse him while he remains. 
 
 The stay at Caudebec was no exception 
 to this rule, when once the painful effects of 
 the above incident had worn away, and our 
 friends found themselves more than pleased 
 with the atmosphere of the place and its 
 surroundings. The principal church is a 
 beautiful example of architecture, and is 
 
 129
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 pleasing both to the senses and the eye. It is 
 known as L'Eglise de Caudebec. The open 
 space, in front of it, has been used as a 
 market, and it is here that the people of 
 the neighbourhood gather on certain days to 
 form that scene so typical of Continental life 
 and so indicative of this locality. 
 
 In France the " ]our du marche" is one 
 of the events of the week, and is attended by 
 an activity on the part of the country people 
 which is both picturesque and entertaining. 
 It is here that pigs and cows find their 
 price, and the peasants the reward for their 
 labours in the field. Here, on the tables or 
 the booths erected for the day, are to be 
 found all the local produce, fruits, vegetables, 
 and all forms of food-stuffs, as well as gar- 
 ments, trinkets, and every conceivable article 
 which could be sold. Here we hear the 
 cackle of the hen, and observe the young calf 
 elongate his soft, pink tongue in gentle en- 
 dearment. Here is the bargaining and the 
 gossip, the barter and the sale, and here the 
 meeting of the worthy farmers in their quaint 
 costume. 
 
 To the '' marche" repair, you who would 
 observe the Norman peasant in his element, 
 and study his desires and his ways. He is 
 
 130
 
 MARKET-PLACE, CAUDEBEC
 
 Cattdebec to Rouen 
 
 distinctive and striking, and invites more than 
 a passing glance. He is a shrewd fellow 
 at a bargain, and knows the value of his 
 wares. 
 
 After a visit to the interior of the church, 
 which possesses many interesting points, the 
 party was constrained to visit the " Convent 
 des Capucins," an ancient establishment over- 
 looking the Seine. Situated on the side of a 
 high, rocky elevation, its terraces descend 
 toward the river and afford a magnificent 
 view over the beautiful scenery, unsurpassed 
 in this part of Normandy. It is an appro- 
 priate place for meditation and religious 
 inspiration, in the halo of the sunlight, and 
 resting beneath the clear blue heaven and 
 the beauty of its surroundings. 
 
 " Have you ever thought that you would 
 like to be a nun?" asked the Frenchman of 
 Miss Wilton, as they stood near the convent, 
 overlooking the view before them. 
 
 " I must confess that I never have," said 
 she; " but what has made you think of such 
 a thing? Do I look as if I were inclined to 
 take the veil? To begin with, I am not a 
 Roman Catholic, and then T fear there is 
 nothing in the life that I lead which would 
 fit me for such a vocation." 
 
 131
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " Oh, in France, our young women of 
 position are frequently drawn to this, even 
 those who have led a life of pure frivolity 
 and pleasure, without much previous study 
 or preparation. They find in it a peace and 
 rest from the vanity of existence, a tran- 
 quillity to the soul, which it is impossible 
 to obtain in the evils of Paris, or by the 
 persons who inhabit it. You know we are 
 people of extreme feeling, and we frequently 
 have strong reactions in our sentiments." 
 
 " I have sometimes thought that my time 
 was spent rather aimlessly," said Miss 
 Wilton, " but I do not think that I should 
 really be happy in a convent. The way in 
 which we are brought up in America is very 
 different from France. We have much 
 more freedom there, and are able to enjoy 
 it in a more healthy way than young girls 
 on the Continent of Europe." 
 
 " That is because your men have no tem- 
 perament," remarked the Frenchman. " They 
 go to their office in the morning and think of 
 nothing but business all day, and in the 
 evening are too tired to care to do much of 
 anything but read the newspaper. The 
 women must be free to fill up their time as 
 they please." 
 
 132
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 " That may be partly true," said Miss 
 Wilton, " but though the foreigners are more 
 entertaining to talk to, I think our American 
 men inspire more confidence in us when it 
 comes to anything that is really of impor- 
 tance. It is more possible for us to be friends 
 than it is with you." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said the Frenchman, who did 
 not entirely fancy the trend which the con- 
 versation was taking, " Ah, yes. But how 
 much more pleasure we have in our lives! 
 And how much more brilliant is the life of 
 an American who marries a Frenchman! 
 Think of the beauty of our country and the 
 charm of our life in it. We have time to 
 enjoy, and to spend what we have in enjoy- 
 ment, rather than seeking always to increase 
 our fortunes. Ah, Miss Wilton, you would 
 be happier over here, much happier," and 
 the Frenchman glowed with enthusiasm at 
 the idea. 
 
 " Your picture is very attractive. Mon- 
 sieur de B ," replied Miss Wilton, droop- 
 ing her eyes, " but I do not think that I 
 know my own mind yet, and papa says I 
 must marry an American business man who 
 has made his own way in the world, like 
 himself. Still, I do not think that T have 
 
 133
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 seen one whom I should care to marry, as 
 yet." 
 
 The Frenchman saw hopeful signs in Miss 
 Wilton's mood, and was about to follow up 
 the impression he had made, but the English- 
 man suddenly joined them, the conversation 
 became general, and the moment was lost. 
 
 " 1 have ordered carriages to be ready on 
 our return to take us to St. Wandrille," said 
 Mrs. Wilton, as they started for the hotel. 
 " There is something the matter with one of 
 the automobiles, and I think a drive will 
 soothe the count's nerves. What say you, 
 count? " 
 
 "Oh, advantageous, advantageous!" ex- 
 claimed his Excellency, delighted at the 
 thought of a more reposeful method of loco- 
 motion. " We will pass in quiet over the 
 road, and my poor bones will be less jolted." 
 
 The drive to St. Wandrille was a beautiful 
 one, through the glorious domestic country 
 of Upper Normandy, so genial and smiling 
 that each turn presents a picture, and each 
 grove some fairylike creation of nature. 
 The Abbaye de St. Wandrille itself is one 
 of the glories of this region, and is one of the 
 most picturesque and beautiful in existence. 
 It was founded about the middle of the 
 
 134
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 seventh century by Wandrille, or Wandre- 
 gisilus, a member of the court belonging to 
 the Merovingian king. 
 
 The pious Wandrille, whom posterity has 
 created a saint, was joined by several hun- 
 dred monks, whose influence upon the 
 history of this region, both ecclesiastic and 
 secular, became great and lasting. A num- 
 ber of churches were built about the abbey, 
 whose cloisters are of rare beauty and grace 
 of architecture. They should be visited by 
 all who are interested in the historic monu- 
 ments of Normandy. 
 
 As it is not the province of this book to 
 describe in detail the religious edifices of 
 this province, we may not do more than give 
 a passing word of comment to so beautiful 
 a place, filled with the atmosphere of sanc- 
 tity, which God alone can give to his 
 sanctuaries, and surrounded by its mantle 
 of age and history. The air seems filled 
 with something of a holier order, and the 
 visitor breathes in the meaning of these 
 ancient monasteries, which have done so 
 much to mould the spiritual, as well as tem- 
 poral, life of France, through the pages of 
 her history and development. 
 
 That they should be so nearly done away 
 
 135
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 with by the exigencies of modern times, must 
 ever be a regret to those who visit such 
 places as the Abbaye de St. Wandrille, 
 near Caudebec, and that the cloistered life 
 which they contain should be no more, seems 
 sad to contemplate. However necessary may 
 have been the change, the pilgrim must feel 
 regret at their departure, and mourn, when 
 worshipping at their shrine, the dead or 
 dying past which was so glorious a sacrifice 
 to God. 
 
 Normandy has ever been foremost in 
 religious history. From the days of the 
 Conqueror to Jeanne d'Arc, the enthusiasm, 
 which belief in sacred things brought forth, 
 was uppermost. In peace, as in war, it 
 held sway, and guided the Normans to 
 deeds of glory and achievement, making an 
 earnest of their lives and an example of 
 their characters. We cannot but recognize 
 and applaud this quality, however frequently 
 it may have erred on the side of fanatic zeal, 
 or ambition that was misguided or devoid 
 of better judgment. The marks of its exist- 
 ence remain imprinted upon its people, and 
 have stamped themselves upon its history. 
 It is not to be ignored, nor passed lightly by, 
 in any study of this country or its people. 
 
 136
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 " I should like to spend days wandering 
 in and out of these old cloisters," said Miss 
 Wilton to the Frenchman, who was pointing 
 out to her the beauties of the abbey. " There 
 is something exquisitely peaceful and serene 
 m the atmosphere which pervades the place, 
 that seems to hold one here." 
 
 "Why should it not hold you here?" 
 asked the Frenchman, suddenly. " You 
 would certainly be happier than in America, 
 where you find so little to inspire or lift 
 you above the commercial elements of every- 
 day life. What have you there, out of all 
 the luxury and the striving, that is really 
 satisfying to your soul? Ah, mademoiselle, 
 I know your feelings better than you do 
 yourself. You may not dare to acknowledge 
 it, but France holds out more to you than 
 America. Why not recognize it and stay? " 
 
 But Miss Wilton said nothing, and some- 
 how the Frenchman was constrained to 
 silence also, though he knew that he had pro- 
 duced an effect upon the mind of the fair 
 American heiress who was beside him, in the 
 cloisters of the Abbaye de St. Wandrille, 
 in the soft light of the afternoon. 
 
 On their return to Caudebec, Mrs. Wilton 
 went to her daughter's room before retiring. 
 
 ^Z7
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 She was sure that something had occurred 
 during the excursion of the afternoon, to 
 make Gladys so absorbed in her thoughts 
 during the evening, for she had scarcely 
 spoken after dinner. 
 
 " What was Monsieur de B saying to 
 
 you in the cloisters of St. Wandrille this 
 afternoon?" she asked, abruptly, hoping to 
 gain some clue to her daughter's mysterious 
 silence. " He seemed to be very much in- 
 terested in something." 
 
 '' I hardly remember, mamma," her daugh- 
 ter answered; "he was speaking about the 
 abbey and the effect that it produced on 
 people — and different things." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton saw that her daughter was 
 not inclined to go into the details of the 
 conversation, and, very wisely, did not 
 question her. She was far too experienced in 
 the ways of the world not to realize that 
 something had been said in the cloisters, and, 
 womanlike, she set herself to consider what 
 the consequences of that something might be 
 to the fortunes of the house of Wilton. 
 
 She fell asleep, however, without having 
 reached any satisfactory conclusion. But she 
 decided that it would be best to be on the 
 alert, and to observe carefully the signs of 
 
 138
 
 Caudebec to Rouen 
 
 the times, and the direction in which the 
 wind might be blowing, before talking the 
 matter over with her husband. 
 
 Prudent mother! Cautious wife! Can we 
 blame her for a natural interest in her only 
 daughter's welfare, and a desire that it 
 should be so moulded as to bring greatness 
 and honour to her family, and guard the 
 integrity of her vast fortune? She would 
 indeed have been lacking in maternal duty 
 had she failed to do so. Still, there were 
 many human beings in the world, many 
 marriageable bachelors, and much time 
 ahead. Perhaps it would be well to wait and 
 see what the future might bring forth. And 
 so night fell over the reflections of Mrs. 
 Blodget Wilton, and sleep enfolded her 
 senses in its restful embrace. 
 
 139
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 ROUEN 
 
 The following day the whole party em- 
 barked on one of the pleasure-steamers 
 which ply their way up the Seine from 
 Havre to Rouen. They stepped on board 
 with feelings that increased in expectation 
 as they left Caudebec and glided up the 
 river toward the ancient capital of Nor- 
 mandy. 
 
 There are, perhaps, few sensations more 
 agreeable than the pleasurable anticipation 
 of visiting an old town that has been the 
 scene of innumerable events in history, and 
 contains a world of traditions behind its 
 crumbling stones. If we know something 
 of this history, or have already seen pictures 
 of those monuments that still remain, it adds 
 tenfold to the pleasure of our visit. Still 
 more, if we approach it amid attractive 
 surroundings, our idle thoughts assume a 
 character all the more pleasing to ourselves. 
 
 140
 
 Rotten 
 
 As we wind our way up the river, which 
 turns upon itself at least three times during 
 the journey, a misty picture of Rouen rises 
 to the mind, out of the green orchards and 
 rolling fields. The spire of its beautiful 
 cathedral, the details of the Churches of St. 
 Ouen and St. Maclou, the halls of the Palais 
 de Justice, the faces of William the Con- 
 queror, of Jeanne d'Arc, of many heroes of 
 romantic history who have figured in past 
 events of this capital of ancient Norman 
 power, succeed one another in a strange and 
 wondrous mass. They give to us a glimpse 
 into the past, through these images por- 
 trayed upon the mind. 
 
 As we have said, the banks of the river 
 twist in such quaint fashion that the scene is 
 altered at every turn. The very hills would 
 seem to change places one with another. 
 They might well be playing at hide and seek, 
 appearing suddenly and vanishing again 
 before the eye. At another time the scene 
 gives place to tiny valleys, filled with dimin- 
 utive trees, so small and green that they 
 look like tufts of moss or grass in the land- 
 scape. In the midst of this the thatched roof 
 of a farm bobs up its head, and seems to 
 ask what right we have thus to disturb its 
 
 141
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 sweet tranquillity. Everything is dressed in 
 rustic charms, that wave off the rude comer 
 from this quiet life and bid him only wel- 
 come who knows and loves its simple tastes. 
 
 Normandy is the land of apples, as we 
 have observed before, if we are not mis- 
 taken. There are, indeed, few places in this 
 charming country where the truth of this 
 saying could be doubted. Every hillside 
 and valley is furnished with an orchard of 
 apple-trees, which, by some mystic arrange- 
 ment with Nature, seem always to be young 
 and of a peculiarly delicate character. We 
 are tempted to dwell upon these orchards 
 of Normandy with more than a passing 
 word, for so associated are they with its 
 scenery that without them we should hardly 
 recognize the country as itself. 
 
 The wine of the country being cider, we 
 hear a typical remark on the deck of the 
 steamer as we wind our way on toward 
 Rouen. 
 
 " Hola, garqong! Another bottle of cider 
 there!" shouts the Englishman. 
 
 " Me, also," says the count, dreamily, who 
 is dozing on the deck in the sun. " We will 
 drink to the health of these ladies. Oh, ces 
 
 142
 
 z 
 
 D 
 
 c 
 
 a: 
 
 < 
 z 
 
 a: 
 < 
 
 X 
 
 a: 
 
 al 
 
 3. 
 <
 
 Rouen 
 
 dames! " And the gallant Romeo is all 
 aflame at the thought. 
 
 Still, he is not entirely satisfied with the 
 turn that affairs seem to be taking, nor with 
 the headway he has been making of late in 
 the affections of the fair Miss Gladys. Some- 
 how his accident at the tree has affected him, 
 and then that unfortunate mistake of the 
 Englishman, and the subsequent incident at 
 the hotel at Caudebec, have all left their 
 impression on him. But was it entirely a 
 mistake on the part of the Englishman? 
 Could it have been a trick? One never 
 knows with these English. And at times 
 Pomponi is almost inclined to think that, 
 after all, he may have been the victim of 
 a love intrigue, too deep and villainous even 
 to be thought of without a shudder. 
 
 The morning wore on, and his Excellency 
 was still immersed in thought, without reach- 
 ing any very satisfactory conclusion. That 
 he had been made to appear ridiculous he 
 was well aware; just how far the disad- 
 vantage under which he now laboured had 
 been allowed to go, he was at a loss to decide. 
 And thus Rouen was reached, — Rouen, the 
 grand theatre of events, the centre of Norman 
 power and greatness in the past, that jewel- 
 
 H3
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 box in which lie even to-day some of the 
 rarest gems of architecture that have been 
 preserved from mediaeval France. 
 
 On landing we may not do better than to 
 quote the words of a French author, who 
 seems to have duly appreciated the impor- 
 tance and history of this interesting place. 
 He says: 
 
 " The history of Normandy, that province 
 which has been the mother of several king- 
 doms, is not less interesting or worthy of 
 remembrance than that of the greatest em- 
 pires. Its capital, Rouen, the witness of so 
 many important events, the theatre of so many 
 celebrated dramas of history, the cradle of a 
 civilization as active as it has been indus- 
 trious, merits above all others to be the 
 object of the attention and study of those 
 minds which are stimulated by an intelligent 
 curiosity." ^ 
 
 Like this admirable writer, we, too, are 
 stimulated by a desire to know something of 
 a place that is so laden with the picturesque 
 memorials of history. " It is indeed a city of 
 traditions and souvenirs." As we wander 
 through its streets, each corner seems to con- 
 
 ' Translation from "La Normandie Tllustree," page 6, Vol. I. 
 Text by M. Raymond Bordeaux and Mile. Amelie Bosquet. 
 
 144
 
 Rotten 
 
 tain some new trace or vestige of the revo- 
 lutions and sieges that have rent the city in 
 the past. Monuments arise out of the dust 
 of ages and tell us stories of heroic deeds. 
 The remembrance of yesterday, the business 
 of to-day, seem oddly mingled into one life, 
 while the air of everything betrays the pas- 
 sage of a thousand years. 
 
 Churches, towers, chapels, civic buildings, 
 follow one another in a succession of archi- 
 tectural performances which bear testimony 
 to the traditions that lie buried within and 
 around them. At one moment the eye is 
 caught by the beauty of the flamboyant 
 Gothic in the details of some church window, 
 in the carving of a flying buttress, or in the 
 groining of some vaulted roof. At another, 
 the eye is distracted from these objects, and 
 is carried away by the historical significance 
 of a monument or tombstone, that bears one 
 back to the middle ages. 
 
 The impression which Rouen produces 
 upon the visitor, through its architectural 
 side alone, in such that, did not its superior 
 age make such a title seem inappropriate, 
 we should at once describe it as the Oxford 
 of France. Though Oxford is more correctly 
 the Rouen of England, we may be permitted 
 
 145
 
 Among Fretich Inns 
 
 in this case the change. Each city displays, 
 in its limited area and number of inhabit- 
 ants, a collection of historic masterpieces of 
 architecture, religious, civic, and educational, 
 which are unequalled in like manner by any 
 others of the countries in which they exist. 
 They stand like rich treasure-houses of stone 
 made sacred by time, significance, and events, 
 bringing to those who study them something 
 of the higher and better field of man's accom- 
 plishment. They are, indeed, shrines to 
 which the devout pilgrim may well repair 
 in reverence and esteem. 
 
 It is impossible for a single pen to convey 
 an adequate idea of such a wealth-laden 
 past as that of Rouen, a past that is so em- 
 bodied in these impressive witnesses of its 
 history. The task is one which the most 
 accomplished may well shrink from un- 
 dertaking. Yet it would tempt even the 
 most fleeting worshipper at this famous 
 shrine to portray something of its wonders 
 and its glory. The air lifts him to labours 
 that are too great for him to seriously at- 
 tempt, yet hold him with a sense of willing- 
 ness to fail. If only he may give to some 
 one a single feeling of the many that pos- 
 sess his soul in admiration, he may rest 
 
 146
 
 Rouen 
 
 contented with his task. So truly would the 
 scene impress his heart with wonder and 
 respect! 
 
 It would be useless to trace the steps by 
 which the primitive name of Rothomagus 
 ended finally in that of Rouen. Such an 
 occupation belongs rather to those more 
 skilled in etymology than ourselves. As far 
 back as the fourth century we hear of this 
 historic city of Normandy. As early as the 
 sixth century those religious and artistic 
 instincts, which at all times have moved the 
 people of Rouen, made themselves felt, and 
 their subsequent results have been the monu- 
 ments, or their successors, which are to-day 
 so notable and so remarkable. By the time 
 the ninth century was reached it had already 
 taken an important place among the cities 
 of France. 
 
 The feelings of religion and patriotism, 
 which in other parts of Normandy are 
 secondary to personal interest, seem here to 
 have been above all others. They have con- 
 tinued to the present day in the characters of 
 the inhabitants, and have left their imprint 
 upon the stages of the city's development 
 and life. 
 
 " It is sacred ground that we tread," whis- 
 
 147
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 pered the Frenchman, as they passed through 
 the narrow streets, darkened with the tall 
 gables of time-stained houses. 
 
 " It is the city of La Pucelle," said the 
 count, as the thought of Jeanne d'Arc rose 
 uppermost in his mind. " Ah, here is the 
 home of the Normandy, the history and the 
 art." 
 
 " Wonderful place," added the English- 
 man, laconically; but he felt deeply the ef- 
 fect of his surroundings, although, as usual, 
 he thought more than he expressed in words. 
 
 " I really do not know what hotel James 
 said he was going to," said Mrs. Wilton, as 
 the party proceeded on their way through 
 the city. " We might as well walk about 
 a little and see something first, and then 
 meet at the Hotel d'Angleterre. If he is 
 not there, the servants can go and hunt him 
 up at one of the other hotels. He must 
 have arrived yesterday; if he has not taken 
 it into his head to go to Paris and attend to 
 something." 
 
 So saying, the party wandered on through 
 the streets of Rouen, enchanted with what 
 they saw and appreciative of the mediaeval 
 aspect of the city. It may have been the 
 recognition of those qualities of religion and 
 
 148
 
 Rouen 
 
 patriotism, to which we have already al- 
 luded, that brought in early days such men 
 as St. Mellon, St. Ouen, and St. Avitien to 
 Rouen, to preach the gospel and lay the first 
 foundations of its greatest churches. It was 
 doubtless the feeling of their existence, and 
 the trust which he had in this belief, which 
 brought the Conqueror of England once more 
 to his deserted capital of Normandy to die. 
 
 So constant were the labours which these 
 strong instincts of the people of Rouen in- 
 spired, that as the centuries rolled by, the 
 number of churches in the city increased to 
 an extent almost unprecedented in history. 
 During the seventeenth century there were 
 some forty of them in all. The hand of 
 Time, the misfortunes of fate, the passions 
 of men, were alike incapable of arresting 
 their growth. In spite of the invasions, 
 sieges, wars, through which the city sufifered 
 pillage and desecration, the indomitable 
 spirit of its inhabitants was ever uppermost. 
 If they were driven from their houses, or if 
 their churches were destroyed, their first 
 thought on regaining possession of them was 
 to rebuild and rebeautify these monuments. 
 
 But if the religious edifices of Rouen have 
 so notable a place in the history of this re- 
 
 149
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 markable city, what shall we say of the 
 others, which are of a more civic or secular 
 character? Truly they are of an order too 
 high to be lightly passed over. For the 
 Palais de Justice, with its beautiful archi- 
 tecture and its historic significance; the Tour 
 de la Grosse-Horloge, with its arch over the 
 street; the famous Hotel du Bourgtheroulde, 
 as well as the Fontaine de Jeanne d'Arc, in 
 the Place de la Pucelle; the Maison de Diane 
 de Poitiers, and other monuments, we have 
 only the highest admiration and praise. They 
 emphasize, in their glories, the history of 
 Rouen and the phases of its past, in the life 
 of France and Normandy. They delight the 
 eye and appeal to the senses, while stimu- 
 lating the imagination with pictures of other 
 centuries and the persons who filled them 
 with their figures and actions. They are 
 remarkable, in their age and aspect, as well 
 by themselves as in conjunction with the 
 wonderful collection of churches which rear 
 their ornamental spires above the city, and 
 mark the landscape at a distant view. 
 
 The first in importance of these religious 
 monuments is the cathedral. Let us view 
 it from its western fagade. In 1063 Maurile, 
 Archbishop of Rouen, completed the prin- 
 
 150
 
 Rouen 
 
 cipal parts of this great work. But it be- 
 came almost immediately a prey to one of 
 those fires which have done much to impede 
 the construction of many of the churches of 
 Rouen. The fagade, though otherwise beau- 
 tiful, is to-day blackened and charred in a 
 manner which time has been unable to efface 
 or even partially disguise. 
 
 The cathedral is remarkable for the vari- 
 ety of its architecture and for the extraor- 
 dinary lack of symmetry in its towers. That 
 on the right, know^n as the Tour de Beurre, 
 is the most beautiful, and is a fine example 
 of the Norman period, embellished with 
 Gothic details. The spire is chiefly interest- 
 ing as being constructed of cast iron and 
 having a height of 465 feet. It was built in 
 the middle of the nineteenth century to re- 
 place a former one that had been burnt as 
 a result of having been struck by lightning. 
 The Tour de Beurre once contained one of 
 the largest bells in the world, which was 
 melted during the Revolution, and from 
 which medals were struck off commemora- 
 ting its demolition. Its name was curiously 
 derived from the fact of its having been 
 built with money which was paid by persons 
 for indulgences granted them to eat butter 
 
 151
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 during Lent. It is higher and more imposing 
 in every way than its companion, which, 
 though ornate in design, is entirely different 
 both in size and shape. 
 
 The carving about the doors of the cathe- 
 dral is some of the most elegant work of its 
 kind to be found in Normandy. It is lamen- 
 table that the flames should have impaired 
 so much of its beauty. A curious example 
 of the disorder which is frequently to be 
 found in the older cities of Europe, exists 
 here, where a small dwelling-house has been 
 built directly against the larger tower of the 
 cathedral. Its picturesque appearance serves 
 partially to excuse its presence there, though 
 it is with something of a shock that we ob- 
 serve it. 
 
 The most beautiful example of the many 
 beautiful churches of Rouen is undoubtedly 
 that of St. Ouen. Though much of its exte- 
 rior is comparatively modern through restora- 
 tion, it is one of the most perfect and 
 symmetrical ecclesiastical structures in ex- 
 istence. The exquisiteness of its details, the 
 perfection of its contour, the delicacy and 
 grace of its towers, make it a religious in- 
 spiration, as it is an architectural triumph. 
 We dare not trust ourselves to enter, lest 
 
 152
 
 Rouen 
 
 we chronicle at too great length the admira- 
 tion and delight of the band of pilgrims who 
 are with us. We must leave them, with 
 others, to wander by themselves through its 
 noble and sanctified interior, and find those 
 treasures which embellish and furnish it 
 with significance. 
 
 Next to the wonderful Church of St. Ouen, 
 which might well have been a cathedral 
 had it been placed elsewhere, stands, in its 
 beauty and position among the religious 
 monuments of Rouen, the really lovely 
 Church of St. Maclou. It is one of the most 
 complete specimens in existence of the pris- 
 matic architecture of the fifteenth century. 
 After having been destroyed several times, 
 the entire church was rebuilt in 1480 as it 
 now stands. Since that date it has scarcely 
 been altered in any of its details. Apart 
 from being the most beautiful church in 
 Rouen, after that of St. Ouen, it is remark- 
 able for its western fagade. This has been 
 developed in the form of an immense porch 
 with five separate arches carved and deco- 
 rated in an elaborate and intricate manner. 
 
 The visit of the party to St. Maclou was 
 enlivened by the conversation of a pompous 
 beadle who was awaiting their arrival at 
 
 153
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the door of the church. He was dressed in a 
 superb uniform of dark blue and silver, and 
 wore a large cocked hat, sidewise, after the 
 manner of Napoleon I. 
 
 " But why blue and silver? " queried the 
 Englishman, who always liked to know the 
 reason for things. 
 
 The Frenchman was unable to offer any 
 suitable reason, and the beadle looked so 
 important that no one dared to interrogate 
 him on this point. 
 
 " What a nice way to dress the sexton up," 
 said Mrs. Wilton. " Oh, how I wish we 
 could do that with our sexton in New 
 York! I'm sure he would add tremendously 
 to the effect. Gladys, dear, we must have 
 one at the little church in Long Island." 
 
 " But, mamma dear, the church there is 
 Unitarian, you know, and they never would 
 allow such a looking person to go anywhere 
 near it." 
 
 "Oh that is true," said Mrs. Wilton. 
 " Well, we might have one at the Roman 
 Catholic Church instead, and go every now 
 and then, if only to take a good look at him. 
 I'm sure that nice old Irish priest would love 
 it if I gave him one for his church." 
 
 As she spoke, the beadle stepped forward 
 
 154
 
 Rouen 
 
 and asked the ladies and gentlemen if they 
 would like to see the inside of the church, 
 and the invitation was promptly accepted. 
 
 " He seems to have a very good opinion 
 of himself," said Miss Wilton to the French- 
 man, as the beadle went flourishing on before 
 them, stamping his great staff on the re- 
 sounding stones of the church floor, and 
 boasting fearfully of his discovery of the 
 ancient frescoes behind the half-covered 
 walls. 
 
 " Oh, he is at his ease, he is at his ease," 
 replied the Frenchman, repeating his assur- 
 ance (which every one, by the way, was 
 perfectly aware of all the time). " He is at 
 his ease. He will show the church as he 
 wishes." 
 
 " My dear Gladys, if we could only get 
 him to Long Island, what a sensation he 
 would make," exclaimed Mrs. Wilton, who 
 was lost in admiration of this clerical Mal- 
 volio, who, in turn, was delighted with the 
 effect he was producing. 
 
 " Oh, in Italy we have them everyA\^here," 
 exclaimed Count Romeo, piqued that France 
 should receive so much undue attention. 
 "And in St. Peter's! Oh, madame, 5^ou 
 should see them. On the Easter! What 
 
 155
 
 Amo7tg French Inns 
 
 show, what magnification! Oh, madame, 
 this is nothing to it! " And the count waved 
 his hand majestically in the air with one 
 of his sweeping Italian gestures. 
 
 It was fortunate that the Frenchman was 
 too far in front to overhear this sally on the 
 part of his Excellency, or an international 
 argument might have ensued. He was, how- 
 ever, too much occupied in drawing Miss 
 Wilton's attention to the fragments of fres- 
 coes to give any attention to conversation 
 other than their own. 
 
 " And are these really as old as that? " 
 said Miss Gladys, as the Frenchman pointed 
 out the great age of the bits of painting that 
 still remained to bear witness to a former 
 work of art. 
 
 " They undoubtedly are, and were some 
 fine examples of the decorative art before 
 they were ruthlessly covered over by an 
 inferior hand. Ah, mademoiselle, I see 
 you have the feeling for art which we all 
 share in France. You should really live 
 over here, where you can breathe it and 
 become part of it. How you would grace 
 a salon of the Faubourg in Paris and a 
 chateau in the country!" 
 
 Miss Wilton almost began to give way 
 
 156
 
 Rouen 
 
 beneath the fire of the Frenchman and the 
 pictures which he so successfully painted. 
 She became infused with the effect of such 
 suggestions and the charmed atmosphere 
 which they brought with them, and felt her- 
 self rapidly falling before their subtle magic. 
 Unfortunately for the Frenchman's inten- 
 tions, Mrs. Wilton and the count and the 
 Englishman were close on their heels, and 
 now joined the two, and the party moved 
 toward the door of the church. 
 
 " Give him a five-franc piece, will you, 
 
 Monsieur de B ? " said Mrs. Wilton, in 
 
 her definite, practical way, as they were 
 being bowed out by the portentous beadle; 
 and the coin was accordingly proffered. The 
 beadle, however, was far too much of a 
 grand seigneur to stoop to anything so menial 
 as a tip, and waved it aside contemptuously. 
 
 " Put it in the box for the poor of the 
 parish," said Mrs. Wilton, a little taken 
 aback; and the party wandered off to visit 
 the Palais de Justice. 
 
 The walls of this beautiful and famous 
 building, which is situated in the Rue Jeanne 
 d'Arc, arise from three sides of a broad 
 paved court. The structure dates back as 
 far as 1499, and was built on the site of an 
 
 157
 
 Among French I mis 
 
 ancient market-place which, still earlier in 
 the middle ages, was used as a pasture for 
 cattle. To those who look at the delicate 
 carving of the facade to-day, it seems diffi- 
 cult to believe that the early chapters of a 
 city so famous in history, and so laden with 
 monuments and glories, should have been 
 enacted in a scene as primitive as a village 
 market or a rural pasture. 
 
 The Palais de Justice was built origi- 
 nally by Louis XII., who left so many monu- 
 ments to posterity. During the fifteenth 
 and sixteenth centuries it was used by the 
 Parliament of Normandy as its place of meet- 
 ing. Its earlier use was as the court of the 
 Echiquier de Normandie, which possessed 
 many and considerable powers, and which 
 was accepted by Frangois I. as a parliament. 
 The beautiful architectural details extend 
 from the fifteenth to the nineteenth centuries, 
 and, though covering so great a period of 
 time, are in perfect harmony of design and 
 style. The symmetry of their arrangement 
 and proportions, the grace of their delicate 
 Gothic decorations, lifting their needle-points 
 above the high roofs on three sides of the 
 court, are at once an inspiration and glory 
 to behold. 
 
 ■58
 
 Rouen 
 
 The Palais de Justice of Rouen must 
 always be a perfect example of this type; 
 a shrine for the lover of the beautiful, and 
 appropriate to worship at and to offer tribute, 
 something to see and to remember in after- 
 years when far from these scenes and sepa- 
 rated from their elevating atmosphere. It is 
 lamentable that the wonderful remains of 
 mediaeval Rouen, which in the smaller 
 houses so lavishly arrayed the streets of the 
 city not long since, have been largely done 
 away with by the modern improvements of 
 the citizens. Boulevards, in imitation of 
 Paris, have too often in later years replaced 
 the quaint streets with their picturesque and 
 almost sacred architectural possessions. 
 
 In spite of the inroads upon this portion of 
 Rouen, there yet remain many quaint cor- 
 ners and picturesque groups of houses that 
 delight the eye of the artist and in which the 
 antiquarian may revel. Beyond the Palais 
 de Justice, in the Rue Jeanne d'Arc, arises 
 the famous Tour de la Grosse-Horloge, 
 which is said to have been built in 1389. It 
 has a picturesque arch over the street, on 
 the left of the one in which we stand, which 
 dates from the fourteenth century. The 
 strangeness of its position, as well as the 
 
 159
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 beautiful decorations upon it, make it un- 
 usually interesting to look upon. 
 
 "What a place for the clock to be put!" 
 exclaimed the count in wonder. " He look 
 as if he would lose the equilibrity up there! " 
 
 " Count di Pomponi, what are you trying 
 to say? " said Mrs. Wilton, who delighted in 
 the gallant Romeo's strange use of English. 
 " You mean its equilibrium, do you not? " 
 
 " I said ' the equilibrity,' " replied his 
 Excellency, perfectly contented with the 
 word. " He is all up in the hair there. 
 Dieu, que c'est drole!" And he began to 
 laugh genially and waddle around under- 
 neath it. 
 
 " Oh, dear, count, you never will learn to 
 speak English," said Mrs. Wilton, in despair. 
 " You must say ' up in the air! Hair is 
 what you have on your head." 
 
 " I had the 'air on the 'ead," sighed Romeo, 
 imperviously, " but he all dropped out and 
 so now I wear iin toupet. But do not 
 say, madame, oh, do not say it to your daugh- 
 ter! She would never learn to loave me if 
 you should." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton half-promised not to, and of 
 course did tell her daughter that very eve- 
 ning, and forbade her ever to marry the 
 
 1 60
 
 Rouen 
 
 Count Romeo di Pomponi. Her daughter 
 assured her that she never would, and later 
 kept her word, without breaking her heart. 
 
 " Really, my dear," said Mrs. Wilton, " if 
 you married an Italian with a wig, I think 
 your father would be almost capable of 
 stopping your allowance." 
 
 " But, mamma dear, nothing would tempt 
 me to marry Count di Pomponi. I like him, 
 and think him very amusing. So do we all. 
 But I should no more think of being his 
 wife than I should of flying." 
 
 " Well, I'm glad to hear you say so, 
 Gladys," said Mrs. Wilton. " I want you 
 to marry well and be happy, dear, and be a 
 pride to your father and mother. You 
 know it is all for your own good that we are 
 so much concerned about your future. Do 
 take time and think things over before you 
 ever say * yes ' to any man. God knows, one 
 may regret it later on, and it pays to think 
 twice," and Mrs. Wilton thought of herself, 
 and of some of her friends, perhaps, who 
 have nothing to do with this story. 
 
 Beyond the Tour de la Grosse-Horloge, 
 near the street of the same name, is situated 
 the famous Hotel du Bourgtheroulde, which 
 is one of the historical monuments of Rouen. 
 
 i6i
 
 Amo7ig French Inns 
 
 It dates from the fifteenth century, and was 
 completed by Frangois I. Like so many 
 buildings of its kind, it is built around a 
 court. Two of its fagades are rich in sculp- 
 tures and highly ornamented in Renaissance 
 and Gothic details. There is a tower and 
 staircase in one corner, beautifully sculp- 
 tured, as are the two windows in the roof, 
 alive with figures and emblems of their 
 period. 
 
 The exterior, however, shows the result 
 of having been begun by one man of genius 
 and completed by another, and its interest 
 architecturally lies more in the beauty and 
 richness of its details than in the symmetry 
 of its ensemble. It is, however, a notable 
 figure in the group of monuments that stand 
 out above many others of rare beauty and 
 distinction in Rouen, and that give to it the 
 glorious title which it has assumed among 
 the cities of France, as a treasure-house of 
 ornamented stones. 
 
 Who shall say that there is no life in 
 brick and wood and stone, after living for 
 a time amongst such creations as we have 
 already endeavoured to describe in passing? 
 Or who shall deny the grandeur and the 
 charm that they possess? Did not Ruskin 
 
 162
 
 Rouen 
 
 find in Venice something more than mere in- 
 animate piles of hardened substance to inspire 
 his soul and cause his inmost being to respond 
 and speak? Are there not here living expres- 
 sions of man's noblest handiwork, fashioned 
 out of the dust of ages, as God created man 
 himself, and breathing life and its experi- 
 ences to those who see them? 
 
 We must needs bow in homage, and exhort 
 our workers in a newer land to stir them- 
 selves still further in their efforts to produce 
 something approaching these old-world 
 beauties, in their artistic conceptions. Nature 
 does her utmost, and produces but unseemly 
 substances below the earth. Then comes 
 man, the most glorious creation of his Maker, 
 and here and there a genius touches with his 
 magic wand some spot upon the earth, and 
 there arises something that is beautiful, and 
 lives, to lend its inspiring presence to the 
 centuries through which it remains. One 
 may well bow to these venerable marks, and 
 tend them with assidous care, lest they fall 
 and be no more. 
 
 That something of these sentiments was 
 shared in the thoughts of our friends on that 
 memorable day at Rouen, we may not utterly 
 deny. They were impressed, each in his 
 
 163
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 or her own way, with the significance of 
 what they saw, and though they may have 
 been in some sense light and frivolous in 
 their conception of life, they were, neverthe- 
 less, prone to appreciate the value of the 
 truest things that are found worthy to be 
 valued. 
 
 By the time they had completed their 
 inspection of the Hotel du Bourgtheroulde 
 they were ready to go to the Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre, in search of Mr. Wilton. No word 
 had been heard from him, and every one 
 had been so occupied in seeing the sights 
 of Rouen that the day had passed by, and it 
 was now late in the afternoon. 
 
 On arriving at the Hotel d'Angleterre, they 
 found him waiting, and peacefully reading 
 his letters, which had been forwarded from 
 Paris. 
 
 " Well, I thought you were all lost," said 
 he, as he shook hands with every one, his 
 cigar in his mouth, while he held a pile of 
 correspondence in his left hand. " I got 
 your telegram from Caudebec, but as I 
 had no idea where you had gone when you 
 left there, T came on here and settled down 
 to wait. This is quite a hotel, but so noisy 
 after the jolly little inn at Fecamp, that I 
 
 164
 
 Rouen 
 
 moved over to the Hotel du Nord. I 
 couldn't sleep a wink last night. There 
 seemed to be something going on every 
 minute," and Mr. Wilton took his cigar out 
 of his mouth and sat down. 
 
 " I told them to reserve some rooms in case 
 you all turned up, and I think you will like 
 them. The hotel is close to the big clock- 
 tower, so you might just as well get into cabs 
 and go right back from where you started. 
 How's the count? Had an accident? Well, 
 well, I declare! I hope no bones are broken." 
 And then Mr. Wilton was told of the unfor- 
 tunate incident at Caudebec, and laughed 
 heartily and enjoyed the joke hugely. 
 
 He poked fun at the crestfallen Romeo 
 until that worthy gentleman was entirely 
 crushed by the onslaught, and had no words 
 left for repartee. Mr. Wilton was always 
 breezy, blustering, and businesslike, and 
 never left one a leg to stand upon when 
 he once set out to have his joke — with the 
 possible exception of his better half, before 
 whose commanding brain even he was at 
 times forced to bow in submission. 
 
 The party found the Hotel du Nord very 
 comfortable indeed, and not at all expensive, 
 which latter quality was highly appreciated 
 
 165
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 by the European members of the party. The 
 count and the Frenchman, especially, were 
 averse to throwing away their money in what 
 they termed unwise expenditure, and were 
 always pleased when the prices were low 
 and the accommodations comfortable. 
 
 The count had a servant rejoicing in the 
 name of Dante Galante, who ministered to 
 his many wants and kept a sharp lookout 
 on his innumerable pieces of luggage, which 
 were almost as curious-looking as their 
 master. Mr. Wilton, who could not pro- 
 nounce either French or Italian names, in- 
 sisted upon calling the count's valet " the 
 gallant Dante," which greatly disconcerted 
 the latter. 
 
 " What have you done with Dante Ga- 
 lante?" queried his Excellency, on arriving 
 at the Hotel du Nord. 
 
 " Oh, I told him he could go out and see 
 the town," said Mr. Wilton. " I knew you 
 would be too busy beauing the ladies to 
 need him." But luckily, Dante Galante 
 came in sight at that moment, and the count 
 retired to have his ankle rubbed with oil, for 
 the fatigues of the day had made his Excel- 
 lency's foot very lame. 
 
 The following day our friends made a 
 
 i66
 
 Rouen 
 
 visit to the Church of St. Gervais, which is 
 situated in the western corner of the city, 
 for it is here that the remains of St. Mellon, 
 the first and perhaps the most famous bishop 
 of Rouen, were buried. A priory adjoins the 
 church, which possesses a historical sig- 
 nificance second to no spot in Rouen, for it 
 was here that the Conqueror of England 
 breathed his last. 
 
 To those who stand in the sanctified atmos- 
 phere of the priory, it seems difficult to be- 
 lieve that it was the final scene of the last 
 act of a drama so portentous in its effect upon 
 history as the life of William the Conqueror, 
 or that nearly a thousand years have passed 
 by since these walls enclosed the dying form 
 of this remarkable king. Pregnant with sig- 
 nificance is the spot, and many the reflections 
 which force themselves upon the pilgrim at 
 this shrine of past suffering and detachment 
 of a repentant soul from its earthly habita- 
 tion. There is something awe-inspiring in 
 the feeling that we tread the very stones 
 where the Conqueror lay in deathly stillness, 
 when the last battle had been fought, and he 
 the victim of the strife. 
 
 It was to this place that he was removed 
 from the palace during his last illness, in 
 
 167
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 order that he might be quieter during his 
 fast numbering days. Here he repented him 
 of his sins, and made his final offerings to 
 God, and sought forgiveness from his Maker. 
 William Rufus bade him good-bye, and 
 repaired, at his command, to England, to 
 assume his duties there. Filled with a 
 desire to die at peace with God and man, the 
 Conqueror, whose life had been spent in 
 war and ravage, fraught with the passion 
 of conquest and ruthless power, decided to 
 leave his private treasures to the Church; 
 and in this chamber his last will was drawn 
 up and executed. 
 
 We may pass over the revolting scenes 
 which followed the demise of this great 
 heroic figure in early mediaeval history, 
 whose influence upon the centuries has been 
 so powerful and lasting. The plunder and 
 desertion of his body by his attendants has 
 been recorded by historians, and his burial 
 at Caen has been described in all its horrible 
 details. We must allow the curtain to fall 
 at this spot, made sacred as the place where 
 his soul was turned from earthly to celestial 
 desires, and where the better thoughts of his 
 life found utterance and effect. As he passed, 
 history lost one of its most remarkable figures. 
 
 1 68
 
 Rouen 
 
 There is no place more appropriate upon 
 which to take leave of Rouen than this, the 
 scene of the last earthly acts of William the 
 Conqueror, Duke of Normandy and King 
 of England. 
 
 169
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 AMONG THE INNS OF BRITTANY 
 
 " Do you know," said the Englishman to 
 Mrs. Wilton, " I feel as if I should like to 
 make a visit to Brittany, and I think I shall 
 go at once, and leave you for a few days, or 
 a week, and meet you again, here or else- 
 where." 
 
 " Do not go alone. We will all come 
 also," said Mrs. Wilton, with that quick 
 decision which was so a part of her nature. 
 As they were speaking. Count Romeo ap- 
 peared in the hall of the hotel, fresh from 
 the attentive hands of Dante Galante, and 
 thought he would like to go to Brittany 
 exceedingly. Little by little the party assem- 
 bled, and each in turn obeyed the dictum of 
 that most capable of women, Mrs. Blodget 
 Wilton. 
 
 To Brittany we were then definitely going; 
 but how, when, and to what portion of this 
 interesting province? The distance from 
 
 170
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 Rouen being great, it would necessitate a 
 long journey in the automobiles, and arrange- 
 ments would have to be made in advance. 
 But the difficulty was that none of the party 
 had ever been in Brittany, and no one, there- 
 fore, knew anything about it. What, then, 
 should be done? Inquiries of our host 
 brought forth no very definite information, 
 and we finally decided to risk inconvenience 
 and to start, with no one but the chauffeurs 
 to direct us. When we were tired we would 
 stop at the first town we came to and put up 
 with the best accommodations we could 
 find. 
 
 " It's a crazy undertaking, I think," said 
 Mr. Wilton. " I'll just buy a Baedeker and 
 bring it along with me in case of need, for it 
 has maps in it, and gives the names of the 
 hotels. 
 
 " That's a good idea," said his wife. " I'll 
 take my guide-book, too, so we shall have 
 something to refer to." With this the whole 
 party proceeded to bundle into the auto- 
 mobiles, and set out from Rouen. 
 
 " The best thing we can do is to go 
 straight to the Mont St. Michel," said Mr. 
 Wilton, who had been studying his Baedeker. 
 *' It is just between Normandy and Brittany, 
 
 T71
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and we can stop there and then decide where 
 we want to go to." 
 
 " I think it is a good idea," said the Eng- 
 lishman. And so we proceeded to the famous 
 Mont St. Michel, by way of Elbeuf, Bernay, 
 Lisieux, Caen, St. Lo, and Coutances, to 
 Avranches, which is at the southeastern cor- 
 ner of Normandy. St. Lo is the capital of the 
 Departement de La Manche, and is a pictur- 
 esque little town. The church known as the 
 cathedral of St. Lo is a superb religious 
 monument, and is chiefly of the fifteenth and 
 sixteenth centuries. Its most remarkable 
 features are its towers and spires, and its 
 exterior pulpit, which has attracted artists 
 and painters at all times. 
 
 Southwest of St. Lo is Coutances, where 
 our party spent a night at the Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre, which is very good. The view of Cou- 
 tances from the railway is distinctly impos- 
 ing, the apple-orchard in the foreground, the 
 thick lines of trees beyond, and the lofty 
 towers of its cathedral and church rising 
 from the picturesque houses of the town itself. 
 The episcopal palace, with its terrace and 
 row of orange-trees, rises boldly to the right 
 of the picture. The more distant view of 
 Coutances, however, is the most artistic. 
 
 172
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 Here, from one of the hills beyond the town, 
 the beautiful proportions of the Norman 
 architecture, which characterizes the Cathe- 
 dral de Notre Dame de Coutances, are 
 visible. Nearer they are half-hidden by the 
 bishop's palace. The gray town, the plum- 
 coloured tiles to the roofs, the green-clad 
 ramparts, all lend their charm to the scene. 
 The cathedral dates from the thirteenth 
 century, and followed an earlier church of 
 the eleventh, whose remains are still in 
 existence. 
 
 It was with regret that we left Coutances, 
 which is a characteristic town of Western 
 Normandy, and took the road which leads 
 to Avranches. 
 
 " The churches are certainly superb," said 
 the Englishman, who was rarely enthusiastic 
 over anything. " It is very remarkable to 
 find such a wealth of church architecture 
 in these small towns of Normandy." 
 
 " It makes them appear in stronger con- 
 trast," said Mrs. Wilton, who had studied 
 up her cathedrals and really knew a good 
 deal about ecclesiastical architecture. 
 
 Our road led through Folligny and La 
 Haye-Pesnel, which are near together and 
 south of Coutances. A little southeast of 
 
 173
 
 Among Frerich Inns 
 
 these lies Avranches, with its wonderful view 
 of the Mont St. Michel, and the expanse of 
 flats that are left bare by the receding tides 
 of the Channel. The view from Avranches 
 is unique in its extent. In the centre of it 
 arises the wonderful island abbey, surmount- 
 ing the rock on which it stands, while in 
 the distance we may observe the coast of 
 Brittany. We arrived at Avranches in the 
 afternoon, and, as we stood upon the terrace 
 of its gardens, the effect of sunset over these 
 wonderful sands which separate Normandy 
 from Brittany was something to be remem- 
 bered, but not easily to be described. For 
 who shall say, in truth, what depths of mean- 
 ing lies in the art with which the Almighty 
 has enveloped the sinking of the sun to rest? 
 Behind it arises an aftermath of reflection 
 which covers 
 
 " Earth and air. 
 Land and sea,'** 
 
 and lights everything with a myriad of hues, 
 and covers life with a golden tinge of colour, 
 resembling at times the depicted glories of 
 paradise. 
 
 If what has once been said is true, that 
 "art is nature seen through a man's soul," ^ 
 
 ' Wordsworth. " Ode on ImmortaUty." " Ruskin.
 
 t/: 
 
 a 
 
 X 
 
 u 
 z 
 
 < 
 
 ai 
 > 
 
 X 
 
 o 
 
 2 
 
 C 

 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 then truly the highest art of Claude and 
 Turner was in their matchless impressions 
 of the effect of sunsets. The}^ endeavoured 
 to depict the deep, unfathomable beams 
 which radiate from the sun, and expand in 
 glory as they cover the scene. How well 
 they succeeded time has amply proved. 
 When we see the wealth of colour which such 
 men as these employed to convey what they 
 observed, we may begin to realize the deep 
 feeling and the sense of art that rests within 
 a beautiful sunset. 
 
 But how these moods of the atmosphere 
 vary! Now all is dark, melancholy, and 
 filled with the stern sadness of life. Steel 
 gray clouds fill the heavens and cover the 
 earth with a canopy of leaden gloom. They 
 tell of the sorrows, the tragedies of mankind, 
 and speak to us in a minor key. Suddenly 
 a light bursts through the threatening passion 
 of the heavens. A deep red streak pierces 
 through the gray, and gradually the whole 
 sky is softened into rose-coloured shades and 
 tones that spread their sense of beauty, 
 tranquillity, and peace after the storm. 
 From lavender to purple, and from gray to 
 blue, the reflection of the orb, now sinking 
 in majesty beneath the horizon, is varied in 
 
 175
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 a multitude of shades, and gives to those 
 who view it all the splendour of God as well 
 as the supreme art of nature itself. 
 
 Over artists who feel something divine in 
 form and colour, the magnificence of a 
 beautiful sunset has a hypnotic influence, 
 and causes them to create and do things 
 which otherwise they would not. Here in 
 France we have seen what they could pro- 
 duce, and as the sun sinks down in the 
 distance behind the Mont St. Michel, we 
 ourselves are moved to feel something of 
 what others have experienced. To the crea- 
 tor of imaginative work, the beauty and 
 grandeur of a real sunset over the sands that 
 cover the spaces about Avranches, that sepa- 
 rate the Norman from the Breton coast, 
 must always appeal. To the poet, they 
 should be an inspiration for verses and 
 thoughts before unwritten; to the artist they 
 should act as a study for some beautiful 
 picture. 
 
 As we turned from the gardens at 
 Avranches to enter our hotel, we were filled 
 with the sense of beauty and art that there is 
 everywhere in France. The Hotel d'Angle- 
 terre is a pleasant place to remain in. It 
 is frequented by English, who come there 
 
 176
 
 Among the I mis of Brittany 
 
 for the summer. Its table d'hote is typical 
 of Normandy, and is usually patronized by 
 some agreeable people. 
 
 The Englishman was naturally pleased 
 with Avranches, and it was with difficulty 
 that he could be dragged away from the 
 hotel the following day to visit the Mont St. 
 Michel with its famous inn, known the 
 world over as the Hotel Poulard. It is a 
 pleasant ride from Avranches, descending 
 the height upon which the town is situated. 
 We pass the remains of the cathedral, which 
 collapsed in 1790, and follow the line of the 
 bay to the causeway which has been built 
 from the mainland to the Mont St. Michel. 
 
 The island rock rises out of the sandy 
 flats, now left bare by the low tide, which 
 stretch for miles around, tempting the ven- 
 turesome fishermen to dangerous distances, 
 and the washerwomen who perform their 
 duties in the streams or pools that are near 
 at hand. Woe to those who stray too far 
 afield, for suddenly the sound of rushing 
 waters is heard, in the distance and dimly 
 at first, then near at hand. A mighty wave 
 is seen upon the horizon, dashing forward 
 like a flood, at the rate of a galloping horse, 
 and swallowing everything in its path. As 
 
 177
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 if by magic the whole expanse of desert sand 
 and waste is covered by the sea, and Mont 
 St. Michel is once more girdled by the waves. 
 
 Such is the extraordinary geographical 
 characteristic of this island mount, whose 
 fame has spread abroad through the centuries 
 that have beheld the abbey which still crowns 
 its summit. The hand of man has performed 
 a feat in building upon and fortifying this 
 island home of religious exiles from the 
 mainland. The high walls rise in irregular 
 and mediaeval sternness from the water's 
 edge, and have protected it from foes since 
 they were built at a remote period. 
 
 The Hotel Poulard, with its delightful and 
 efficient hostess, is one of the most original 
 and attractive inns in France. Here we all, 
 to use the French phrase, descended, or rather 
 ascended the steep and tortuous street which 
 winds its narrow way up the side of the rock. 
 The street is so narrow that one is obliged 
 to walk, and the houses appear almost to be 
 hanging in mid-air. On the left is the en- 
 trance to the Hotel Poulard Aine. 
 
 In spite of the crowds that fill this interest- 
 ing inn in summer, the table and wines are 
 excellent, and the poulet is deservedly famous 
 throughout this region. We dine upon a ter- 
 
 178
 
 El! 
 
 X 
 
 z 
 
 c 
 
 < 
 
 3 
 
 c 

 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 race, if so inclined, with the view of the bay, 
 and the stars twinkling above us, and the 
 effect is very much like that of some stage. 
 Only it is the stage of life, and the actors 
 are real, instead of impersonations by others. 
 
 The two dependances of the hotel are 
 reached by stone steps hewn out of the rock, 
 and enclose the overflov/ of guests from the 
 hotel itself. Summer-houses and overhanging 
 flowers and plants overlook the terrace and 
 make the place attractive in the extreme. 
 Madame Poulard herself is the spirit and 
 life of the hotel, and has made it the centre 
 which it is. 
 
 " I declare, this is a curious place," said 
 Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 " It is like the streets in the Naples," said 
 Pomponi, the scene reminding him of his 
 native city. 
 
 " We must mount the rock and see the 
 abbey above by moonlight," said the French- 
 man, and the whole party climbed the steep 
 footway leading to the top, where the en- 
 trance to this half-ruined monastery of other 
 centuries is reached. 
 
 The original name of Mont St. Michel 
 was Mons Tomba, on account of its early 
 usage as a tomb. It was in the eighth 
 
 179
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 century that St. Michel founded the Abbey 
 of Aubert, which was increased and beauti- 
 fied by succeeding Dukes of Normandy 
 until it became an important sanctuary, lift- 
 ing its beautiful Gothic pinnacles above the 
 rock and marking their outlines against the 
 sky. William the Conqueror, on his return 
 from the Conquest, took special pains to 
 enrich and add to the Abbey of Mont St. 
 Michel, and to him was due much of its 
 grandeur and importance. 
 
 Pilgrims have dutifully climbed the rock- 
 bound steps that lead to the sacred spot for 
 many hundred years, and there the monks 
 collected the wonderful manuscripts which 
 gave it the name *' La Cite des Livres." 
 In the thirteenth century the Mont was be- 
 sieged by Philippe-Auguste during his war 
 against King John of England, and most 
 of its abbey was destroyed by fire, but later 
 restored by the very monarch who consigned 
 it to the flames. It was again attacked, this 
 time by the English, during the fifteenth cen- 
 tury. During the same period of its his- 
 tory the Order of St. Michel was founded 
 and held its first chaoter under Louis XL, 
 and here the original knights assembled to 
 receive the emblems of their office. It is 
 
 1 80
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 difficult to picture a more romantic setting 
 to so interesting a scene. 
 
 Our party spent two days wandering 
 through the dungeons beneath the abbey, 
 leading down to subterranean depths through 
 the solid rock, now enclosing only such tem- 
 porary prisoners as artists seeking the advan- 
 tage of the stray beams of light that wander 
 through the iron gratings, which once en- 
 closed those who were condemned to solitude 
 or death. We might allow ourselves to linger 
 here indefinitely, and describe at length the 
 interesting history which clusters about this 
 romantic and artistic spot, were we not ac- 
 companied by others more energetic than 
 ourselves, with automobiles awaiting our 
 coming at the foot of the Mont St. Michel. 
 Still, we must leave it with regret, and 
 remember, with its many attractions, the 
 hospitality of the Hotel Poulard. 
 
 To the westward, on the coast of Brittany, 
 is the little seacoast town of St. Malo, 
 whence steamers ply their way to Dinard, a 
 fashionable little resort much frequented by 
 French, Americans, and English. The one 
 is directly across the bay from the other, but 
 St. Malo is much the more interesting of the 
 two historically. It is one of the doorways 
 
 i8i
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to Brittany, and possessed of much that is 
 attractive to the traveller. It was not a 
 great distance from Mont St. Michel for 
 the automobiles to cover, and we arrived at 
 the Hotel de I'Univers, St. Malo, between 
 dejeuner and dinner. The town is situated 
 upon a promontory of rock that gives it a 
 picturesque quality which the seacoast towns 
 of Brittany possess more often than those of 
 Normandy. 
 
 The rock upon which St. Malo stands be- 
 came an island during the eighteenth century 
 by the receding of the land and the overflow 
 of the sea. It is now, like Mont St. Michel, 
 united to the mainland by a causeway or 
 road, built for the convenience of its inhabit- 
 ants. It stands, in bold and bluf¥ relief, 
 above the blue waters of the ocean, and is a 
 suitable associate for the island mount arising 
 in the distant view. 
 
 On one side of the causeway, or sillon as it 
 is called, is the harbour, which is left dry 
 at low tide. On the other are outlying 
 islands and forts which have been charmingly 
 described by Chateaubriand and others who 
 were natives of St. Malo. The former, how- 
 ever, was perhaps her most distinguished 
 son. Born in the house which is now the 
 
 182
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 Hotel de France, he delighted in the solitude 
 which he sought in this island home, and he 
 has written of it with all the fervent depth 
 of his nature. On the island known as La 
 Grande Be, he appropriately but unknow- 
 ingly, as he tells us, chose his final resting- 
 place. For in the Breton language Be 
 signifies a tomb. And there to-day a granite 
 cross marks his sepulchre. The loneliness 
 of the spot is in keeping with the desire of his 
 heart. 
 
 Chateaubriand loved St. Malo with its 
 sea-girt crags and rocks, and from its smiling 
 countenance in summer, as from its tempests 
 in winter, he drew inspiration, and with them 
 fed the cravings of his genius. Among 
 them he found repose and calm for his 
 care-burdened soul, and in them he desired 
 that his bones should be buried. They lie 
 upon the deserted but lovely island that is 
 covered by wild flowers, that alone keep 
 guard around the grave of one of the im- 
 mortals. 
 
 La Bourdonnais, Maupertuis, and Brous- 
 sais, were all born at St. Malo, and have 
 contributed to its renown. Its history has 
 been one of hardihood and tenacity on the 
 part of its people, and its two most distin- 
 
 183
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 guished sons, Lamennais and Chateaubriand, 
 have immortalized it in the minds of men. 
 Such is a passing glimpse of St. Malo; nor 
 should we omit to mention, before we leave 
 it, the chateau, built in the period of Fran- 
 gois II., rising upon the rocks which lift it 
 above the hungry waves, that would seem to 
 devour everything within their reach, as they 
 did the land about the very town itself. 
 
 On leaving St. Malo we returned a little 
 upon our journey to visit the picturesque old 
 town of Dol, separated from the coast by 
 a plain known as the Marais de Dol. This 
 great marsh, for it was little else, has been 
 reclaimed from the sea like the land about 
 Dives, and is protected from the incursions 
 of the sea itself by a huge dike fully twenty- 
 five miles in length. It is extremely interest- 
 ing as a triumph of man in the early ages, — 
 for the dike was begun, it is said, during 
 the eleventh century, — and the plain con- 
 tains many fossils that are archaeologically 
 interesting. 
 
 Dol has little human interest or animation. 
 Its houses, however, are particularly pictur- 
 esque, with high tiled roofs and overhanging 
 eaves, and porticoes in the lower stories. 
 There was originally a cathedral at Dol, 
 
 184
 
 ^7nong the Inns of Brittany 
 
 which is now reduced to the rank of a church. 
 It was made a see in the middle of the ninth 
 century by one of the ancient Breton kings. 
 
 The character of Brittany and its people 
 is distinctive and interesting to study. It is 
 the Wales of France and the Bretons are the 
 Celts of the French nation. Their language, 
 their race, their character, all bear traces of 
 resemblance, as well as their geographical 
 position. We find in them the same hardi- 
 hood and simplicity of life, about their homes 
 the same rocky coast, in contrast to the chalky 
 cliffs of England or Northern France. The 
 ancient costumes of the Bretons are pictur- 
 esque in the extreme, but, we regret to say, 
 are fast dying out, and less often to be ob- 
 served in travelling through the country. 
 
 The inn at Dol is the Hotel de la Grande 
 Maison, and in its quaint interior we re- 
 mained for a night and then proceeded on 
 our way to Combourg. 
 
 " They say the chateau there is very pictur- 
 esque," said the Frenchman. 
 
 " Well, we must stop and see it then," said 
 Mr. Wilton, who was becoming reconciled 
 to these rapid excursions, and endeavouring 
 to take an interest in Brittany. 
 
 It is a short run to the Chateau de Com- 
 
 185
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 bourg, which is on the railway line running 
 from Dol to Rennes. The architecture is of 
 the fifteenth century, a typical mediaeval 
 castle with stern walls dotted with windows, 
 and four high towers with pointed roofs 
 capped by iron pinnacles. The Chateau de 
 Combourg was inherited by Francois Rene 
 de Chateaubriand during the Revolution, 
 and a great-nephew of the author is still in 
 possession of it. The little village clustering 
 at the foot of the chateau is a charming and 
 picturesque group of cottages reflected in 
 the water beside it. 
 
 " Chateaubriand speaks of Combourg in 
 the ' Memoires d'Outre Tombe,' " said the 
 Frenchman to Miss Wilton, as they were 
 wandering about the place, *' only he is so 
 sad in his mood that I hate almost to recall 
 his words. The sadness of the Revolution, 
 of course, left its imprint upon his sensitive 
 mind, and his writings show it." 
 
 The party again mounted to the comfort- 
 able cushions of the automobiles, and the 
 count and Mrs. Wilton led the cavalcade 
 toward Dinan, which is west of Combourg 
 and Dol. There we remained for a night 
 at the Hotel d'Angleterre, which is a delight- 
 ful place, and where the Englishman was, 
 
 1 86
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 of course, happy and seemingly at home. 
 Dinan is a most interesting old town, and 
 should not be confused with the watering- 
 place Dinard, opposite St. Malo, and on the 
 northwestern corner of the long bay which 
 runs southward to Dinan. The one is a fash- 
 ionable seaside resort, the other a quaint 
 Breton town, filled with the history and asso- 
 ciations of the past rather more than with 
 the affairs of to-day. 
 
 Being tired on our arrival at the Hotel 
 d'Angleterre, we retired early to rest, and 
 on the morrow went forth to investigate the 
 town, which is separated a little from both 
 the hotels of the place. Dinan itself stands 
 upon a height of land above the Ranee, and 
 the country about it is full of wild and char- 
 acteristic charm. There is not the domestic 
 quality which we find in Normandy, but a 
 more rugged effect here, with gorges and 
 ramparts rising about the town, ancient forti- 
 fications that have remained through the 
 ages, and are to-day clothed with green and 
 moss. 
 
 The ancient castle of Dinan, around which 
 the town grew up, owes its existence to the 
 Vicomte Hamon, and dates from the tenth 
 century. Harold took part in a siege of 
 
 187
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the town under William the Conqueror, and 
 was knighted by him. The heart of Du- 
 guesclin is said to lie beneath the tomb of 
 black marble in the Church of St. Sauveur, 
 where his wife also was buried. Behind the 
 church are some gardens which overlook a 
 pleasing view. 
 
 A few kilometres distant are the ruins of 
 the Chateau de la Garaye, picturesque re- 
 mains with an octagonal tower dressed with 
 Gothic decorations. It is of the fifteenth 
 century, and is known to the world through 
 "The Lady of La Garaye," written by Mrs. 
 Norton. The story is that of the last own- 
 ers of the chateau, the Comte Claude Marot 
 and his wife. A few lines of the poem may 
 not be inappropriate here, as we take leave 
 of Dinan and its delightful neighbourhood: 
 
 ** Go forth in snow-white cap and sable gown. 
 Tending the sick and hungry in the town. 
 And show dim pictures on their quiet walls 
 Of those who dwelt in Garaye' s ruined halls." 
 
 Leaving Dinan, our party betook them- 
 selves westward to Lamballe, pausing at the 
 Hotel de France. 
 
 " I wonder how many Hotels de France 
 
 1 88
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 there are in Normandy and Brittany," said 
 Mrs. Wilton derisively. 
 
 " I should hate to have to count them," 
 said the Englishman. 
 
 " We are certainly getting a liberal edu- 
 cation in country inns and their names," put 
 in Mr. Wilton, as we left the automobiles to 
 wander through the town. 
 
 Lamballe was owned by the house of 
 Penthievre from the eleventh century, and 
 has a good church of the thirteenth century 
 and earlier, which was once the chapel of 
 the chateau. It is Notre Dame. The smaller 
 Church of St. Martin belonged to the Abbey 
 of Marmoutiers, established in the eleventh 
 century by the Comte de Lamballe. The 
 famous Princesse de Lamballe, who was the 
 friend of Marie Antoinette, married a mem- 
 ber of this family, and the place must have 
 an added interest, if only on account of the 
 association of its name. 
 
 Farther west is St. Brieuc, a cathedral 
 town, of age and historical interest, but of 
 exceeding dulness. The Hotel de la Croix 
 Blanche was our stopping-place, and there 
 we spent the night. 
 
 " I declare," said Mr. Wilton, " T feel so 
 tired of bouncing over the roads in the Mer- 
 
 189
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 cedes that I've a great mind to go back to 
 Rouen." 
 
 " Oh, please do not desert us," said a 
 chorus of voices, and after some persuasion 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton was packed oflf to bed 
 w^ith a nice glass of rum and water and 
 sugar, to which, we must confess, he had 
 taken a passing fancy. 
 
 After visiting the Cathedral of St. Etienne, 
 at St. Brieuc, our party were ready to move 
 on to the next destination, through the wild 
 and picturesque scenery of Brittany, peopled 
 by the simple Breton folk in their character- 
 istic costumes. 
 
 " I never saw such a place as France," said 
 Miss Wilton; "everything seems to be 
 named after a saint." 
 
 " That is because it is a sainted country," 
 said Count Romeo, chuckling to himself as 
 he was jounced ofif on the road that runs to 
 Plouaret. About midway between it and St. 
 Brieuc is Guingamp, a bright and lively 
 place. The Hotel de I'Ouest was inclined 
 to receive the party with joyous hospitality, 
 and we all entered and partook thereof. 
 
 The town was, like Lamballe, part of the 
 possessions of the house of Penthievre, and 
 has some interesting churches and the re- 
 
 190
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 mains of an abbey founded in the twelfth 
 century. The lanes and roadsides about this 
 part of Brittany are quaint and rural in the 
 extreme, suggesting at times certain portions 
 of England or Wales. But how the sense of 
 age is brought before such travellers as 
 Americans, to whom a hundred years is a 
 historic period of time! Here the centuries 
 pile one upon another until a thousand years 
 are added to the sum of their amount, and 
 often more than mere crumbling remains bear 
 witness to the hardihood and works of man. 
 We cannot leave Guingamp without a 
 passing mention of its quaint mill, often 
 painted by artists, with its background of 
 poplar-trees. To Morlaix we proceed at 
 full speed, and alight at the delightful Hotel 
 de I'Europe. From Morlaix many delight- 
 ful excursions may be made. We find in the 
 town that usual old-world quaintness which 
 pervades Brittany, but little that is remark- 
 able. Its position upon an estuary of the sea, 
 that runs for several kilometres to the coast, 
 part stream, part canal, is in a deep valley or 
 ravine between steep hills that are crossed 
 by the railroad in a bold and picturesque 
 manner. The Chateau du Taureau, which 
 
 191
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 stood upon an island, now, alas, serves the 
 purpose of a prison. 
 
 We are now in Finistere and may pro- 
 ceed toward Brest, the most western town in 
 France of any importance. There the full 
 ruggedness of the coast of Brittany shows 
 itself in its wild beauty and attraction as 
 we turn our steps homeward. Before going 
 southward, however, we cannot refrain from 
 mentioning, for those who are so inclined, 
 the delightful excursions which may be made 
 from Lannion, a town situated a little north 
 of Plouaret. 
 
 There the Hotel de I'Europe may be used 
 as headquarters, with its pretty garden, and 
 visits may be made to the ruins of the Cha- 
 teau de Tonquedec on its wooded hill above 
 a pond, from which rise the voices of innu- 
 merable frogs. There are a number of 
 chateaux in the environs of Lannion, among 
 them Coetirec, Kergrist, and Runfas. The 
 strange Breton names are in contrast to those 
 in other parts of France, and the chateaux 
 likewise are characteristic of Brittany. 
 
 It is impossible, in so short a sketch as 
 this, to give anything like an adequate de- 
 scription of this interesting part of France, 
 so distinctive in itself, almost Dutch or Ger- 
 
 192
 
 Among the Inns of Brittany 
 
 man, in its contrast to the rest of the country. 
 We can only indicate a few places to which 
 the visitor may well repair with advantage, 
 and leave him to continue on his road. 
 
 Our own party returned to Normandy and 
 Rouen once more, after visiting Chateaulin, 
 Quimper, and Lorient, on the south coast 
 of Brittany. From there we turned north- 
 ward to Pontivy, an interesting place, re- 
 named Napoleonville by the Emperor. The 
 return journey may be made by way of 
 Rennes and Fougeres, Mayenne, Pres en 
 Pail, to Normandy once more. 
 
 On our return trip we visited the famous 
 stones of Carnac, which, though smaller than 
 those at Stonehenge in England, are still 
 wild, and intensely interesting relics of the 
 druid rites that have been celebrated in 
 Brittany. They arise like sentinels of stone, 
 soft gray-green in colour, guarding the mys- 
 tery of their past that lies buried in the 
 heather around them. Near them is the Cha- 
 teau de Kercado. As the roofs of the 
 chateau and the silent stones fade in the 
 distance, let us bid farewell to Brittany and 
 its quaint character and history, and return 
 again to more familiar regions, though better 
 for our glimpse into its scenery and life. 
 
 193
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 AT THE HOTEL DU GRAND CERF 
 Les Andelys 
 
 There is a delightful old chateau, not 
 very far from Rouen, known as the Cha- 
 teau de Martinville. It is a fine example of 
 Norman architecture of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, symmetrical in design, and set amid 
 charming surroundings. 
 
 Our party decided to visit it, and found 
 that it well repaid them for the excursion. 
 The chateau has the proverbial high roofs, 
 ornamented with the graceful iron points 
 which are always a delicate and necessary 
 finish to its walls. The latter are flanked 
 by four round towers in the same style. 
 Above the door, in the centre of the fagade, 
 is a bow window, highly ornamented, which 
 ends in an angular tower in the roof, and 
 adds greatly to the charm of the building. 
 
 On the left of the chateau is one of those 
 
 194
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 delightful walls, so frequently to be found 
 in Normandy, as in other parts of France, 
 enclosing the gardens or courts around 
 which stables are built in large estates. Here, 
 however, they assume a more mellow hue, 
 and a picturesqueness of appearance which 
 gives to them a truer expression of age than 
 in the central or southern provinces of 
 France. On their inner sides are usually to 
 be found wall-fruits and vines that dress them 
 with a mantle of friendly green, and give 
 forth odours, and bear grapes and other 
 delicacies in summer-time. The gardens 
 contain delightful tangles of vegetables and 
 flowers and alleys in which to walk and enjoy 
 the scented atmosphere and soft airs that 
 blow across the face and breathe of fanciful 
 desires. 
 
 The Frenchman would have liked to entice 
 Miss Wilton into one of these charmed en- 
 closures, had the time permitted, during their 
 excursions, and had the other members of 
 the party been more often absent than they 
 were. However, the time must surely present 
 itself sooner or later, and so he waited, watch- 
 ful, hopeful, on the alert, as Frenchmen are 
 apt to do, his mind intent upon his subject, 
 and his keen wit ever ready to be used when 
 
 195
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 necessary to attract the desired object of its 
 chase. There being little opportunity at 
 Martinville, he was forced to content him- 
 self with whispering nothings of an amatory 
 or flattering character into her exquisitely 
 shaped ears, and to hope for assistance from 
 his friend the duchess when they should 
 arrive at Trouville. The duchess was al- 
 ways ready for a little romance or intrigue, 
 and nothing delighted her so much as to 
 encourage flirtations, and, if possible, arrange 
 a match against the wishes of the parents 
 of either interested party. 
 
 So the Frenchman hoped and waited, and 
 viewed with regret the arrangement which 
 placed Miss Wilton in the automobile with 
 the Englishman as they started from the 
 chateau. It must be said here that Mr. Wil- 
 ton had engaged two new machines of the 
 latest model to come from Paris to Rouen 
 and take this cosmopolitan party of tourists 
 whither they would go, and where they 
 would remain, and that the machines had 
 arrived at the Hotel du Nord the day pre- 
 vious. 
 
 It was now decided to go to the Hotel du 
 Grand Cerf, at Les Andelys, for the next 
 few days. This ancient inn was known to the 
 
 196
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 Frenchman and recommended by him in the 
 most laudatory terms, and there the whole 
 party repaired with all possible speed. 
 Before doing so, however, a rapid trip was 
 made to the picturesque Chateau de Cleres, 
 which is some little distance north of Rouen. 
 After visiting this delightful place, which 
 dates from the fourteenth and sixteenth cen- 
 turies, the party again set forth for Les 
 Andelys. 
 
 The day was beautiful, and the undulating 
 country, smiling in its fair and fragrant 
 beauty, seemed as if made to be admired. 
 
 The count was in rhapsodies of poetic joy 
 at the scenery and the air of everything 
 about him. The soft zephyrs passed over 
 his Excellency's face and cooled his Excel- 
 lency's brow. The clouds in the heavens 
 were not enough to hide the rays of sunlight 
 that poured down upon this glorious portion 
 of the earth and touched its beauties with a 
 magic hand. 
 
 The count's bosom heaved sighs of delight 
 and pleasure, and his great eyes rolled about 
 in their sockets like orbs of living Italian 
 fire. His soul was filled with love and 
 longing, and he thought of the amorous 
 people of his native land, and finally of the 
 
 197
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 fair Miss Gladys Wilton before him, beauti- 
 ful as the lilies of the field and arrayed like 
 one of them. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, count? " said 
 she, as she turned her lovely head and per- 
 ceived his pensive expression, 
 
 " Oh, mademoiselle, it is of you — the 
 loave is in the boosom, and fills it all up to 
 the mouth. Ah, you are divine this morning! 
 I worship in the shrine. If I had the guitar 
 I would serenade the fair signorina. Con 
 amove! Con amore! " and the count cast 
 languishing eyes at the object of his affection. 
 
 " Do you really play on the guitar, Count 
 di Pomponi?" said Miss Wilton. "You 
 never told me that you did." 
 
 " In the Italy I sing to the guitar in the 
 garden, or under the windows of the ladies. 
 Ah, that is the way we do in the home," 
 answered Count Romeo, aglow at the thought 
 of his past peccadilloes and attachments. 
 
 "How romantic!" exclaimed Miss Wil- 
 ton. " And do you sing also? " 
 
 For answer the count opened his mouth 
 and let loose all the fervour of his soul in a 
 burst of song that nearly deafened the occu- 
 pants of the automobile, and went resounding 
 
 198
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 over the hills and dales through which they 
 were passing. 
 
 Miss Wilton was convulsed with laughter, 
 but the count was well pleased with his 
 efforts. His methods of love-making were 
 spontaneous and direct, and untrammelled 
 by conventions or other impediments to his 
 purpose. Had he been young and handsome, 
 his advances would not have been received so 
 tolerantly, but as it was, he was only a figure 
 of fun, too humourous to take seriously, and 
 too animated to ignore. 
 
 Thus Les Andelys were reached. These 
 twin towns are situated on and near the 
 banks of the Seine. The road crosses a 
 plain before we reach Le Petit Andely, a 
 pretty village, above which rises a pile of 
 beautiful ruins that compose the Chateau 
 Gaillard. Opposite is an island on which 
 rises the remains of a ruined tower built by 
 Richard Coeur de Lion. 
 
 Amid these picturesque surroundings we 
 reach Le Grand Andely, and draw up at the 
 door of an ancient hostelry, the delightful 
 old Hotel du Grand Cerf. The building is 
 a picturesque house of the sixteenth century. 
 It is built of white plaster and black beams, 
 richly carved, with a heavy cornice, which 
 
 199
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 divides the second story from the roof. It. 
 is situated directly upon the street, like most 
 of the French inns, without the grounds and 
 gardens that so frequently surround those 
 in England. A smiling host greets us, and 
 we pass on into a quaint old courtyard that 
 delights the artistic eye. 
 
 The Hotel du Grand Cerf is one of the 
 most interesting inns of France, as well as 
 one of the oldest. It is well known to anti- 
 quarians, and dates back as far as the thir- 
 teenth century. It has been the abode of 
 princes and illustrious personages from the 
 days of the English invasions to our own 
 times, and has traditions of a historical and 
 literary character, of which a more important 
 place might well be proud. 
 
 The original building was partly ruined 
 by fire, and was rebuilt in 15 15 by Nicholas 
 Duval, Seigneur du Viennois and a counsel- 
 lor of the Parliament of Rouen, one of the 
 favourites of Frangois I. In the interior of 
 the inn the familiar salamander and the 
 fieur-de-lys of the Roi Chevalier appear in 
 profusion. There is a beautiful carved 
 " tambour " in the corner of one of the rooms, 
 forming a sort of circular closet. The great 
 chimneypiece, also of the Renaissance, is 
 
 200
 
 CHIMNEYPIECE, HOTEL DU GRAND CERF, GRAND ANDELV
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 most interesting, and is worthy of one of the 
 chateaux of Touraine. 
 
 In October, 1847, Victor Hugo visited the 
 inn and dedicated the following couplet to 
 the chimneypiece: 
 
 ** La vaste cheminee, a I'ecusson aider, 
 Devore en nous chauffant une chene tout entier." 
 
 Nicholas Poussin also stayed here, as well 
 as les Corneilles, Pigault-Lebrun, Walter 
 Scott, Horace Vernet, Chateaubriand,Viollet- 
 le-Duc, and Rosa Bonheur. Antoine de 
 Bourbon, father of Henry IV., is said to have 
 died in one of the rooms on the first story 
 as a result of a wound received during the 
 siege of Rouen in 1552. Later this interest- 
 ing house was used as a summer residence 
 by the Archbishop of Rouen, seigneur of 
 Les Andelys. 
 
 In October, 1749, the executors of Marie 
 Catherine Duval sold the Hotel du Viennois 
 to a Monsieur Lefevre, who was the first to 
 make it into a public hostelry. Its present 
 host is the hospitable Monsieur J. Duval. 
 
 " This certainly is a real inn," said Mrs. 
 Wilton, who had been rather quiet during 
 the ride. " I declare, it looks a thousand 
 years old, but T do not see how we are ever 
 
 201
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to squeeze into it, with Cecile and Henry 
 and your Dante Galante, count. I think 
 they will have to sleep on the roof." 
 
 " He is so high wx never reach them if 
 they did," said his Excellency, referring at 
 once to the roof and the servants. 
 
 " I can do without Dante Galante, and 
 madame can do without her maid, but then," 
 he added, meaning thereby that they could 
 not do without them. The count was as 
 helpless as a baby when his servant was 
 absent. He was unable to handle either him- 
 self or his wardrobe without the assistance 
 of this faithful attendant. He could neither 
 shave nor dress alone, and was unable to 
 stoop comfortably in order to unpack his 
 clothes, owing to the singular character of 
 his figure. However, the travellers were 
 successfully stowed away in the various 
 rooms of the inn, and gathered, the next day, 
 to see the sights of the neighbourhood. 
 
 As they were about to set forth on foot an 
 unusual commotion was observed to be in 
 progress in the courtyard, and on looking 
 out, it appeared that Dante Galante was the 
 centre of attraction. He had got into some 
 argument over an iron which he wished to 
 
 202
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 heat in order to press one of his master's 
 wondrous suits of clothes, and, we blush to 
 acknowledge, he had used rather ungallant 
 language to one of the maids. The race feel- 
 ing made itself felt, below stairs, and the 
 gallant Dante found himself suddenly in the 
 courtyard, sprawling unceremoniously on the 
 ground with one of the men servants of the 
 inn. 
 
 Many were the outcries, and great the ire 
 of the Italian. He rose and made an on- 
 slaught upon his enemy, and both of them 
 were soon the centre of an excited group, 
 some urging bloodshed and others endeavour- 
 ing to secure " peace with honour." The 
 count was much concerned at the disturbance, 
 and fearful of the future, not only of his 
 servant, but of his costume, which, needless 
 to say, had completely disappeared. 
 
 " Dante Galante is always in the trouble," 
 he exclaimed in agitation. " If I go out he is 
 flirting with the girls; or he is hot, or he is 
 cold," meaning presumably that Dante Ga- 
 lante was inclined to live up to the latter 
 part of his name. 
 
 After a great deal of talking and discus- 
 sion, the quarrel was made up between the 
 fiery Italian and the inhabitants of the inn, 
 
 203
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and everything ran smoothly once more. It 
 was proposed to walk through the quaint old 
 town and visit the monument erected to the 
 painter Nicholas Poussin, who was born at 
 Villers, a small hamlet two or three kilo- 
 metres from Le Grand Andely. The statue 
 is situated in the Place du Marche, and com- 
 memorates this great master of landscape 
 painting, whose works, with those of Claude, 
 so nobly depict the beauties of the French 
 country. The work of Poussin is deeper in 
 colouring and feeling than that of Claude, 
 his pastures more fertile and his groves more 
 thickly wooded. Still we find in his land- 
 scapes the same classic touch, the murky pools 
 and streams, the graceful figures bathing 
 or reclining upon their banks. They remind 
 us of the lines of Thomas Gray when we 
 look upon them : 
 
 ** Where'er the oak's thick branches stretch 
 
 A broader, browner shade. 
 Where'er the rude and moss-grown beech 
 
 O'ercanopies the glade. 
 Beside some water's rushy brink 
 With me the Muse shall sit and think 
 
 (At ease reclined in rustic state) 
 How vain the ardour of the crowd. 
 How low, how little, are the proud. 
 
 How indigent the great ! " 
 
 204
 
 At the Hotel dtt Grand Cerf 
 
 It is impossible, in looking upon the figure 
 of so great an imaginative artist as was 
 Poussin, not to recall his admirable scenes 
 and his truthful portrayal of such thoughts 
 as these. That the woody dells and graceful 
 ruins of his native country brought inspira- 
 tion to his genius is scarcely to be doubted, 
 and that Le Grand Andely should honour 
 his memory is fitting and natural. 
 
 The relations of Les Andelys are interest- 
 ing to observe. Le Grand Andely, removed 
 from the Seine, and on a tributary of this 
 river, arose out of the depths of the valley, 
 where it could neither observe the waters of 
 the fruitful stream nor increase its impor- 
 tance by the commerce which might be de- 
 rived from it. Still, it grew and thrived 
 long before Le Petit Andely, a little village 
 on the borders of the greater river, came into 
 existence. It possesses a church, called 
 Notre Dame, with some magnificent carving 
 about its windows and portal. 
 
 The chief portions of the history of the 
 town centre around this church, whose ear- 
 liest foundation is ascribed to St. Clotilde, 
 wife of King Clovis, who established a mon- 
 astery for young girls in the early part of 
 the sixth century. A miracle is told of St. 
 
 205
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Clotilde incident to the building of her mon- 
 astery. Taking pity on the poor workmen, 
 who had had nothing to drink but water, 
 owing to the absence of vineyards (a circum- 
 stance which in France is considered a hard- 
 ship), she changed the water of a spring 
 near by to wine, which wondrous act has 
 ever since been extolled to her glory and 
 honour. 
 
 On the heights above Le Petit Andely 
 rises the picturesque pile of ruins that form 
 the remains of the Chateau Gaillard. It 
 was built by Richard Coeur de Lion toward 
 the middle of the twelfth century, for the 
 purpose of having a formidable fortress 
 from which to defend the integrity of the 
 Duchy of Normandy from its enemies. At 
 the same time the village was founded. 
 Prior to this, an earlier chateau had been 
 built on the island opposite, the remains of 
 which are still in existence. 
 
 As the history of Le Grand Andely centres 
 about its church, so that of Le Petit Andely 
 is associated with its chateau, whose noble 
 ruins are such a landmark in the scene. It 
 is remarkable that this great citadel was 
 built in a single year. Richard Cceur de 
 
 206
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 Lion, on viewing its grandeur, exclaimed, 
 '^ Quelle est belle, ma fille d'un an! " 
 
 Both the fortress of Gaillard and that on 
 the island were besieged by Philippe-Au- 
 guste, who, after the mysterious death of 
 Prince Arthur at Rouen (attributed to his 
 uncle. King John of England), decided to 
 confiscate the Duchy of Normandy. The 
 siege of the Chateau Gaillard was a horrible 
 one. Its details have been described by Will- 
 iam le Breton, a poet of the period. 
 
 Many are the dramas and tragedies of 
 history that have been enacted around the 
 walls of this early media3val fortress. We 
 are enabled to touch upon them only in pass- 
 ing, and suggest to the visitor the wealth of 
 interest that clusters about these falling and 
 weather-beaten stones. They are to-day the 
 picturesque and silent witnesses of the events 
 that have taken place in the centuries passed. 
 The half-ruined towers rise, like ghostly 
 phantoms crowning the steepnesses on which 
 they stand. They seem like spirits of a past 
 existence lifting themselves out of the soft 
 light of the summer evening. The village 
 nestles beneath them, and the waters of the 
 river reflect the dim forms of the boats that 
 pass over them. It is all fascinating and 
 
 207
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 suggestive to the imagination, breathing the 
 subtle atmosphere of the chivalric, historic 
 Normandy of the past and of its present 
 rural simplicity. 
 
 *' What could one see more delightful to 
 the eye? " said the Frenchman to Miss Wil- 
 ton, as they stood together on the bank of the 
 river, looking up at the rugged remains of the 
 castle beetling against the sky. 
 
 " It makes me feel glad that I live in the 
 twentieth century, and not in the days of 
 donjons and tortures, when women were im- 
 prisoned and poisoned whenever they of- 
 fended their lords and masters," said Miss 
 Wilton, half-shuddering at the thoughts of 
 the dark deeds which those towers had 
 enclosed. " It must have been terrible for 
 the poor people who were starved to death 
 during the siege you have described," for 
 the Frenchman had been regaling his com- 
 panion with a detailed history of the fortress. 
 
 " I would like to see you crown one of 
 the more recent chateaux of France as 
 chatelaine," said the Frenchman, " and to 
 restore it with you as it should be. How 
 beautiful we could make it!" 
 
 " It would be charming," whispered his 
 fair companion, carried away by the idea. 
 
 208
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 Then, half-checking herself, as if some new 
 thought had crossed her mind, she added, " I 
 think we should join the others now. It is 
 getting late, and we must return to the inn." 
 
 " As you will," replied the Frenchman, 
 and they left the scene and its possible dan- 
 gers. Somehow, the Frenchman felt that his 
 task was more difficult than he had realized, 
 and that this beautiful winged butterfly was 
 more difficult to capture than he had calcu- 
 lated or bargained for. Yet he comforted 
 himself with the assurance that the duchess 
 would help him when he confided to her 
 his troubles and his desires. 
 
 The host of the inn was full of good 
 humour and anxious to please his guests. 
 The dinner was everything that could be 
 desired, and the count consequently in the 
 fairest of moods and the most agreeable of 
 humours. He had discovered that Dante 
 Galante was really not the chief ofiFender 
 in the dispute of the morning, and, in fact, 
 that one of the visitors in the kitchen, angered 
 at his intrusion, had taken the liberty of pull- 
 ing his nose, which was in itself cause for any 
 retaliation short of manslaughter. 
 
 " I think you had better keep a sharp look- 
 out on him, count," said Mr. Wilton. " You 
 
 209
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 know that we might have some international 
 complications if any blood was spilt. And 
 I should have a nice time getting things 
 settled, down here in the country," he added 
 to the Englishman, as every one parted for 
 the night and proceeded to stow themselves 
 away in the various apartments of the inn. 
 
 There are many delightful places to visit 
 from Les Andelys, and our party made 
 several attractive excursions from there. The 
 places are all in the neighbourhood, and 
 may be seen with considerable advantage by 
 visitors at the Hotel du Grand Cerf. The 
 ruins of the Abbaye de Fontaine-Guerard, 
 in the Pare de Radepont (Canton de Fleury- 
 sur-Andelle), are beautiful remains, situated 
 among ideal surroundings. The Abbaye de 
 Mortemer, at Lisors, near Lyons-la-Foret, 
 is another of equal charm and beauty. 
 
 The chateau and church of Gisors are also 
 two principal objective points of pilgrimage. 
 The chateau is in ruins, but the church is a 
 superb bit of richly sculptured architec- 
 ture. 
 
 Were our space sufficient we might describe 
 these lovely haunts in the Department of 
 Eure — for we are now there — in detail, 
 and illustrate in some way their attractions 
 
 2IO
 
 At the Hotel dti Grand Cerf 
 
 and their history. There are, however, many 
 other places that call upon our attention, and 
 it is to these that we must beg the reader to 
 accompany us. They are farther from the 
 inn in which we are staying, and in some 
 cases necessitate a journey by rail ; but they 
 may all be visited in an automobile, when 
 time is no particular object. 
 
 Were he so inclined, the visitor might even 
 push farther north, and, reentering Seine 
 Inferieure, visit Dieppe and its surroundings, 
 and also the delightful vicinity of Neufchatel, 
 made familiar to us by its cheese. These por- 
 tions of Normandy are rich in historic monu- 
 ments, chateaux, manoirs, churches, civic 
 buildings, dating back hundreds of years, and 
 bearing all the evidences of their age. We 
 have left them, however, for others to 
 describe, and are inclined to push farther 
 afield in our excursions through the country 
 of France. 
 
 One of the most attractive trips to be taken 
 is to Louviers and Pont de I'Arche. Louviers 
 is situated on the river Eure, and the latter 
 place is at the point where it empties into 
 the Seine. The party set forth one morning, 
 crossing the river at Le Petit Andely, and 
 passing through the country that divides it 
 
 211
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 from the smaller river, reached Louviers in 
 time for dejeuner. 
 
 " This seems a nice old place," said Mr. 
 Wilton, who had been induced to join the 
 company on this occasion. " I notice they 
 haven't got their trolley-lines down in this 
 part of the country, though. I should think 
 some one might have enterprise enough to 
 start one up. There ought to be a nice little 
 business between here and Evreux. A sort 
 of county town, isn't it? " 
 
 The Englishman at once inquired into the 
 population of the two towns, and Mr. Wilton 
 thought they sounded decidedly promising, 
 and was amusing himself, in a harmless 
 fashion, by figuring out fares and profits, 
 until he was pounced upon by his wife and 
 forced to stop. 
 
 " My dear James, can't you ever get away 
 from business? The idea of thinking of 
 trolley-lines in Louviers! Why, it would 
 ruin the place absolutely." 
 
 " Well, I guess I could make a line pay 
 here inside of a year," replied Mr. Blodget 
 Wilton, with an air of bravado. He was, 
 however, deterred for the time being from 
 any further calculations, and contented him- 
 self with following the rest of the party 
 
 2ia
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 about with a bored expression and his hands 
 in his pockets. 
 
 " What a superb bit of carving there is on 
 the porch of that church," said Mrs. Wilton. 
 " Look, James, do you see it? " Mr. Blodget 
 Wilton looked obediently, but remained un- 
 impressed by its grandeur and richness. 
 
 " It is finer, almost, than the south portal 
 of Canterbury Cathedral," said the English- 
 man, after a careful survey of this beautiful 
 portal. The Englishman never spoke un- 
 necessarily, and never made a statement that 
 was not carefully weighed and considered 
 beforehand. 
 
 "Well, I should smile," said Mr. Wilton, 
 not to be outdone in appreciation. " I'm 
 not much on architecture, but I should say 
 Canterbury couldn't hold a candle to this 
 place. Suppose we just look inside and see 
 what they've got there. I'd like to bet it's 
 full of wax statues and imitation gold flowers 
 and dripping candles. Never could stand 
 them, even in New^ York. Never could!" 
 And Mr. Wilton disappeared into the solemn 
 stillness of the church. 
 
 " ' Fools rush in where angels fear to 
 tread,' " muttered the Frenchman to himself, 
 in resentment at Mr. Wilton's way of speak- 
 
 213
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 ing of his country's famous shrines. To him, 
 perhaps, there was more feeling of reverence 
 for the letter than the spirit of his religion 
 and his life. Still, who are we, that we 
 should inquire into the depths of his char- 
 acter? Or who was Mr. Blodget Wilton, 
 that he should burst into the church with so 
 much levity? We are always ready to judge, 
 always ready to pick flaws before perfecting 
 ourselves, in this world, and the characters 
 of this book, being, after all, only poor 
 human beings, are possessed of all or rather 
 most of the frailties common to mankind. 
 Let us take them as they are, and not expect 
 too much from them, lest we be disappointed. 
 Ideals are soon broken, and gods soon become 
 men, when closely examined. 
 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton did not like the 
 church any better than he had expected, but 
 his wife was determined that he should give 
 himself over to an appreciation of the his- 
 tory and artistic elements of Louviers. 
 
 " There's no use in telling me a lot of 
 dates and names. I can tell you just what it 
 is before you begin. They're all the same, 
 these old Normandy towns. I found that 
 out before we left Fecamp. And I wish to 
 goodness I was back there." (Mr. Blodget 
 
 214
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 Wilton was, we fear, recollecting the several 
 good glasses of Burgundy he had sipped with 
 mine host of the Hotel du Grand Cerf.) 
 
 " Come, now, Mr. de B ," he con- 
 tinued, addressing the Frenchman, " isn't this 
 just about it? William the Conqueror, Rich- 
 ard Cceur de Lion, Joan of Arc, and one or 
 two others, got together here, had a little 
 fun, a fight or two, or something like that, 
 founded a monastery for unmarriageable 
 daughters, — poor creatures, I pity 'em, — 
 and all that sort of thing. Oh, I forgot 
 Philip Augustus; he ought to be here some- 
 where or other. He usually is. Come, now, 
 don't talk to me about history, because I 
 know it all, my boy," and Mr. Blodget Wil- 
 ton gave the Frenchman a rousing slap on 
 the back, which made that worthy gentleman 
 jump with sudden emotion. 
 
 Nothing daunted, Mr. Wilton continued 
 his harangue. 
 
 " How's that for history? Eh, count? " 
 and his Excellency received a vigorous dig 
 in the flesh that so generously covered his 
 ribs. " I guess you feel about the same way 
 as I do, don't you, count?" Mr. Blodget 
 Wilton was always informal, and liked noth- 
 ing better than breaking up any semblance 
 
 215
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 of dignity or formality in others. At times, 
 it must be said, he really gave his wife con- 
 siderable trouble and annoyance, and very 
 often caused her agonies of mortification in 
 polite society. 
 
 One of his habits on formal occasions was 
 to address personages of importance by wrong 
 titles, sometimes calling duchesses by the 
 appellation " Mrs.," and mixing up people 
 and names generally, to the distraction of his 
 wife and the occasional offence of those with 
 whom he conversed. When entering a draw- 
 ing-room of the Faubourg St. Germain, Mrs. 
 Wilton usually gave him some special instruc- 
 tions, which he invariably forgot as soon as 
 occasion required that they be followed. 
 
 " Now remember not to call people by 
 their names this evening," said she, on one 
 remarkable occasion. " You know you always 
 get them wrong, and strangers do not like it." 
 But we dare not disclose the lamentable 
 failure of Mr. Wilton to comply with these 
 instructions. 
 
 In spite of his lack of appreciation of 
 Louviers, the party enjoyed their visit there, 
 though without hearing much of the history 
 of the town, we fear. There is a Hotel du 
 Grand Cerf there also; but the party stopped 
 
 216
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 at the Hotel du Mouton, and found it suffi- 
 ciently comfortable for their passing needs. 
 
 " All the towns has a hotel called the 
 Great Boar," said the count, pensively. 
 
 " The Great Stag," said the Englishman, 
 correcting him. " I suppose the name came 
 from the old custom of stag-hunting, which 
 is 80 prevalent in France." 
 
 " But we never eat the stag in the hotel," 
 said the count, still pensively. 
 
 " Or the pig either, for that matter," said I. 
 
 " Only in the boudin," said the French- 
 man. 
 
 " Is boudin that sort of black sausage that 
 they sell by the yard in the butcher-shops?" 
 asked Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 "Yes; you must try some," said the 
 Frenchman. " It is delicious. I will get 
 a piece to-morrow, and we will have it for 
 dinner." 
 
 " And I will cook some spaghetti a 
 ritalien," added the count, whose eyes 
 twinkled, and whose mouth watered at the 
 thought of eating his native dish once more, 
 in the full glory of its flavours and subtle 
 attributes. 
 
 " If it's a success, count, I'll take the 
 receipt and put it into my list of canned 
 
 217
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 food-stuffs," said Mr. Wilton. "We'll work 
 it into the trust. We'll pay you a royalty on 
 every can that is sold, and you'll be a mil- 
 lionaire before you know it." 
 
 "Ah, there is the fortune, after all!" ex- 
 claimed his Excellency, in joy — his wildest 
 dreams of American dollars about to be 
 realized at last. 
 
 " I only hope we sha'n't all be poisoned," 
 said Mrs. Wilton; and the party proceeded to 
 put on their goggles and gossamers and start 
 northward to Pont de I'Arche. 
 
 The road from Louviers is a delightful 
 one, and a detour may be taken through the 
 forest, which reaches to the ruins of the 
 Abbaye de Bon-Port, near the Seine. The 
 village is charmingly situated on the banks 
 of the river, its unfinished church, with 
 beautiful stained-glass windows, and gar- 
 goyles extending from the roof above them, 
 rising high above the Roman ruins which 
 surround the town. Over the broad stream 
 extends the bridge, with a series of twenty- 
 four arches, and standing against it is a 
 picturesque house built upon tall piles. 
 
 The original bridge, of which only the 
 foundations have remained, was built by 
 Charles le Chauve, but its chief portions 
 
 218
 
 At the Hotel dn Grand Cerf 
 
 date from the thirteenth and fourteenth cen- 
 turies. Early in the thirteenth century John 
 Lackland destroyed the fortifications of the 
 town and probably most of the early bridge 
 also. It has had numerous restorations, and 
 is, in fact, one of the most remarkable ex- 
 amples now existing in France. 
 
 The village, which to-day contains less 
 than two thousand inhabitants, has endured, 
 during its interesting history, some terrible 
 sieges and hardships. It is, indeed, one of the 
 most ancient villages of Normandy. In 
 862 Charles le Chauve built the first bridge 
 and castle, with fortifications on either side, 
 to arrest the invasions of the Normans and 
 their use of the river Seine. It is said that 
 so terrible was the effect produced upon 
 the minds of the inhabitants of La Neustrie 
 by these inroads, that they inserted in their 
 litanies the famous supplication, " From the 
 Normans deliver us, O Lord!" 
 
 A short walk along the bank of the Seine 
 brings us to the remains of the Abbaye de 
 Bon-Port, before mentioned, which was 
 founded by Richard Coeur de Lion, who 
 figured so conspicuously in Norman history. 
 An interesting story is told of its foundation. 
 The king, while hunting a boar on the fourth 
 
 219
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 of October, in the year 1 190, near Maresdans, 
 was nearly killed in his pursuit of the animal, 
 which had thrown itself into the waters of the 
 river. His horse was drawn down by the 
 current of the stream, and the royal hunts- 
 man might have perished in the watery 
 chase. Realizing his danger, he vowed that 
 he would erect a monastery to the Virgin 
 Mary, if he should escape. 
 
 He kept his promise, and for centuries an 
 immense church stood near the spot, com- 
 memorating the event. It was destroyed 
 toward the early part of the nineteenth cen- 
 tury. The ruined walls of the abbey, half- 
 covered with ivy, have remained to tell of 
 its past glories, and add another spectre to 
 the monastic life of Normandy. 
 
 In 1352 King John held his council at the 
 abbey, and Charles le Mauvais was also 
 present. Here, likewise, in later years, the 
 Cardinal de Polignac composed the greater 
 portion of his " Anti-Lucrece." 
 
 The return from Pont de I'Arche to 
 Le Grand Andely may be made through a 
 beautiful stretch of country north of the 
 Seine, thus making a complete circuit of this 
 delightful excursion. 
 
 The following evening at the inn was set 
 
 220
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 aside as the occasion for the feast of the 
 houdin and the spaghetti. The Frenchman 
 had purchased, during the afternoon, the 
 choicest quality of this stimulating dish, well- 
 seasoned with rich ingredients and spices, and 
 the count had laid in a store of spaghetti that 
 would have sent joy to the heart of any Ital- 
 ian, w^ere he prince or peasant. 
 
 At the appointed time the table was set, 
 and the boudin placed in the hands of the 
 cook. Then it was that the Count Romeo di 
 Pomponi, attended by the faithful Dante 
 Galante, descended in all his glory into the 
 kitchen of the Hotel du Grand Cerf to pre- 
 pare and cook the spaghetti. To those wait- 
 ing above, it seemed a wondrous time that it 
 took to prepare the savoury and succulent 
 dish. 
 
 Odours were wafted from the region of the 
 culinary department, and brought tidings of 
 the strenuous labours that were in progress. 
 Once the Englishman went to the door with 
 the Frenchman to reconnoitre, and returned, 
 bearing news of great doings in the kitchen. 
 A curious sizzling sound was reported to 
 have issued from the mysterious depths of 
 the stove, as the boudin and the spaghetti 
 
 221
 
 Aniojig Fre7ich Inns 
 
 fought for the upper hand. It was a battle 
 royal as to which should be ready the first. 
 
 A little later Dante Galante came dashing 
 into the presence of the expectant company 
 in search of a fan, and reported the count to 
 be very red in the face, and evidently much 
 overheated. 
 
 "Ah, he will have an apoplexy; I knew 
 it," exclaimed the Frenchman, ever ready to 
 cry " wolf." 
 
 " You never will be satisfied until that poor 
 man has a stroke," said Mrs. Wilton at last. 
 " I declare, you are always making me think 
 he is going to have a fit." 
 
 " But think of the heat, madame," urged 
 the Frenchman, nothing daunted. He was 
 waiting for the triumphant moment when he 
 could say, " I told you so," and see the poor 
 count stretched out on the floor, all overcome 
 and foaming at the mouth. 
 
 By and by the savoury odours of the steam- 
 ing viands emanating from the centre of ac- 
 tivity gave notice that the feast was prepared 
 and the dishes ready to be served. The com- 
 pany sat down, and the count appeared from 
 the kitchen, his face aglow with triumph 
 and exhilaration. The boudin was served. 
 
 ''What a curious-looking dish," said Mrs. 
 
 222
 
 At the Hotel dii Grand Cerf 
 
 Wilton. " They look as if they were alive. 
 I don't know that I quite like to touch them." 
 
 The count was well pleased at this, for it 
 boded well for the success of the spaghetti. 
 
 " It is only cut in different pieces," ex- 
 plained the Frenchman. " Dieu, how good 
 it is! Dieu, que cest bonf ^^ 
 
 "Yes, that certainly is savoury," said Mr. 
 Wilton, evidently enjoying the dish. " What 
 do you think of it. Marietta?" 
 
 " It really is quite good," replied Mrs. 
 Wilton, " if it only did not look so peculiar." 
 
 The count's face fell during this conver- 
 sation, and his soul was consumed with jeal- 
 ousy, after his labours with the spaghetti. 
 At this portentous moment entered Dante 
 Galante, bearing aloft the mighty dish pre- 
 pared by the master. In just pride he intro- 
 duced it to the company, and then handed it 
 around. 
 
 " Oh, what a wonderful dish," said Miss 
 Wilton. 
 
 " You certainly have worked hard," added 
 the Englishman. 
 
 "How do you get it out?" cried Mrs. 
 Wilton, struggling with the long pieces of 
 spaghetti that dangled from her fork and re- 
 fused to part from their companions. 
 
 223
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " Ah, you must take, so," explained the 
 gallant Romeo, landing an immense quantity 
 on Mrs. Wilton's plate with great dexter- 
 ity. 
 
 " This is the way we eatey the spaghetti 
 in the Italy," he added, twisting a huge 
 quantity of the stringy substance around 
 his fork and devouring the whole in the 
 twinkling of an eye. 
 
 "Oh, I don't see how you do it!" ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Wilton, trying unsuccessfully 
 to do likewise. " It is most unmanageable. I 
 must cut mine up." So saying, Mrs. Wilton 
 proceeded to eat her spaghetti "a I'Ameri- 
 
 caine." 
 
 " Dieu, que c'est hon! " grunted the count, 
 enjoying the success of his venture. All 
 laughed and ate and were gay, all but the 
 Frenchman, who sat on the wrong side of 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton; and his eyes flashed 
 spite and ire lest the cuisine of Italy should 
 overshadow that of France. 
 
 The count, on perceiving his expression,, 
 was really confused and alarmed. He began 
 muttering and gobbling his food in such an 
 immoderate fashion that the Frenchman 
 soon had the best of the evening, with innu- 
 merable sharp thrusts at the gallant Romeo, 
 
 224
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 which ended by nearly routing that nobleman 
 altogether. 
 
 " I tell you what, count," said Mr. Wilton, 
 who had been studying the ingredients of the 
 spaghetti in a businesslike manner, " I think 
 this stuff might be made into a pretty good 
 thing and put on the market. I'll make you 
 a proposition on it to-morrow, if you like." 
 
 " Oh, in the pleasure, in the pleasure," 
 exclaimed his Excellency, all smiles and 
 affability at the idea. This was really too 
 good to be true. The thought that his 
 beloved dish should be the means of building 
 up the fortunes of his ancient but decaying 
 house was to him both joyful and unexpected. 
 
 But the Frenchman sat silent, meditating 
 an attack on his rival if the time were pro- 
 pitious, and unless he should meanwhile re- 
 ceive some soothing attention from his 
 hostess. This Mrs. Wilton, being quick- 
 witted and equal to an emergency, proceeded 
 to bestow, and the evening wore awav, and 
 finally ended without any serious mishap to 
 either Monsieur de B or the count. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Wilton was discov- 
 ered with a broad smile on his face, and his 
 whole countenance expressive of amusement 
 and mirth. 
 
 225
 
 Atnong French Inns 
 
 u 
 
 The old count certainly is a good joke," 
 said he. " What do you think happened to 
 him last night? " 
 
 "We can't imagine; do tell us," echoed a 
 chorus of voices. 
 
 " Why, he had a nightmare. I suppose it 
 was the combination of spaghetti and wine, 
 and that sausage. At all events, he dreamt 
 that the Frenchman threw all his spaghetti 
 in his face. Just think of that, Mr. de 
 B ." And Mr. Blodget Wilton ex- 
 ploded in one of his most boisterous fits of 
 merriment, while the rest of the party had 
 another good laugh at the count's expense. 
 
 It was perfectly true. The count had had 
 a very bad dream, and so impressed had he 
 been with the jealous vexation of the French- 
 man that his visions took this form. He 
 confided to Mrs. Wilton, later in the day, the 
 horrors of his sleeping hours. 
 
 " Imagine! I dreamt that Monsieur de 
 
 B threw all the spaghetti in the face," 
 
 and his Excellency made a graphic gesture 
 as he described it. 
 
 The following day the party took the train 
 by way of Rouen, and visited Dieppe and 
 some places in the neighbourhood, among 
 them the famous Chateau d'Eu, which has 
 
 226
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 been for centuries the abode of the royal 
 family of France. The chateau is a noble 
 and symmetrical pile, with two dependencies 
 that form a court, enclosed by the familiar 
 iron railing used in the royal residences of 
 France, painted black, and its points tipped 
 with gold. 
 
 In front of it rises a large church of rather 
 ungainly proportions, though with elaborate 
 ornamentation. It fills the greater portion 
 of the space in front of the chateau, and faces 
 its court and fagade, as if to remind its 
 owners of their duty to religious service in 
 perpetuity. 
 
 The chateau, with its associations and his- 
 tory, is the chief interest of the town, and 
 has dominated its life and actions completely. 
 It is now the residence of the Orleans family, 
 and is usually occupied by the Comtesse de 
 Paris. 
 
 The Comte d'Eu, which has been a royal 
 title since the domain was created by Richard 
 II., and conferred upon his natural brother 
 Geofifroy, has been in turn the possession of 
 the houses of Lusignan, Artois, Bourgogne, 
 Lorraine, Orleans, Penthicvre, and others 
 no less familiar to history. The title of 
 Comtesse d'Eu was borne by the widow of 
 
 227
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Henry I. de Guise, by Catherine de Cleves, 
 and by Louise de Montpensier, — "La 
 Grande Mademoiselle," whose final mar- 
 riage to Lauzun was so sad a romance of 
 royal history. 
 
 It was the famous Duchesse de Maine, a 
 bearer of the title, who, after her many flirta- 
 tions, addressed to her husband this flatter- 
 ing remark: "There has remained for me, 
 then, only the mortification of having mar- 
 ried you." 
 
 Many are the thoughts of historic person- 
 ages figuring in the old court life of France; 
 many are the literary remembrances and the 
 contributions to the belles-lettres of biogra- 
 phy and reminiscence that arise to the mind 
 as we gaze upon the fair outlines of the Cha- 
 teau d'Eu. Upon its brilliant walls the sun 
 spreads its light, illuminating its ornaments 
 and chasing despondency from its shadows. 
 It has shone upon its glories in the past, and 
 lights the hopes and progress of its future. 
 
 In the vicinity of Dieppe, also, are the 
 beautiful ruins of the Chateau d'Arques, now 
 little more than the crumbling remains of a 
 feudal fortress rising upon the crest of a 
 hill like an effigy of its former power. They 
 speak in silent eloquence of the days of Will- 
 
 228
 
 At the Hotel dit Grand Cerf 
 
 iam the Conqueror, in whose reign it was 
 built, and of the ancient Comte d'Arques, 
 which William conferred upon his uncle 
 to satisfy his pretensions to the ducal throne. 
 The little bourg beneath was once the capital 
 of the original Pays de Talon, one of the 
 early divisions of this part of Normandy. 
 
 The way from Dieppe to D'Arques is a 
 charming one, leading through the Vallee 
 d'Eaulne, the villages of Martin-Eglise and 
 Ancourt, the forest of Arques, and finally 
 Archelles, or Le Petit Arques. Each of 
 these is pleasing and interesting to pass 
 through, and makes an agreeable excursion 
 on a summer's day. Leading, as they do, to 
 the noble Chateau d'Arques, they form a 
 sequence at once genial and inspiring. 
 
 Mr. Wilton was well pleased with his 
 visit to this place. He preferred to travel 
 by railway or behind a horse, and this ex- 
 cursion being free from automobiles, the day 
 a fair one, — and the stock-market in New 
 York in good condition, — he was disposed to 
 enjoy himself. 
 
 " Well, you dear girl," said he to his 
 daughter, " give your old father a kiss, and 
 tell him how much you love him; on the 
 nose, please; my cheek is so hot." Miss 
 
 229
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Gladys accordingly kissed her father's nose 
 dutifully and charmingly. 
 
 " Oh, mia madre, if the kiss had only been 
 for me! " sighed the lovelorn Romeo to him- 
 self, his bosom heaving with the deep love 
 that lay beneath it. 
 
 " Ah, del! if it had been for me! " thought 
 the Frenchman, as he beheld the charming 
 act on the part of the daughter. But the 
 Englishman said nothing either to himself 
 or to any one else, and no one could have told 
 by the immovable expression of his face what 
 his ideas might be on the subject of the kiss, 
 though Mrs. Blodget Wilton watched him 
 narrowly all the while, and observed with- 
 out difficulty what was going on in the minds 
 of the two Continentals standing opposite. 
 
 " Ah, now, that is the real charming loave 
 for the father," said the count to Miss Wil- 
 ton, as she emerged smiling from the paternal 
 embrace. 
 
 " You're a dear, good girl, aren't you, 
 Gladys?" said her father, beaming with 
 fondness. "And you love your old daddy, 
 don't you? Even though he doesn't see you 
 any too often." 
 
 " Oh, yes, papa, I do, indeed," said 
 Gladys, and she gave him another kiss, this 
 
 230
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 time on the top of his weather-beaten fore- 
 head. 
 
 " Now, James, I think you might get those 
 ' cockers,' and we can go on to that other 
 place you wanted to see," said Mrs. Wilton, 
 in her most practical fashion. " Let me see, 
 what was the name of it? " 
 
 " The Manoir d'Ango, at Varengeville," 
 said the Frenchman, very precisely. 
 
 " Yes, that was it," returned Mrs. Wilton. 
 " I knew it sounded something like ' argot,' 
 but I could not remember. Come, James, 
 do hurry. What are you picking there? I 
 declare, I hope it isn't any kind of a cactus. 
 Mr. Wilton is always stopping to pick some- 
 thing," she added to the count, who was cool- 
 ing himself with a palm-leaf fan, and 
 indulging in a cigar. 
 
 And so the party set forth for Varengeville, 
 and visited the old Manoir d'Ango, which 
 is a delightful and picturesque place, typical 
 of Normandy and its characteristics. The 
 manoir is to be found here as in no other 
 province of France, and is essentially in- 
 digenous to the soil and associated with 
 Norman ideas. It is not a chateau, and yet 
 not an ordinary house. The manoirs of 
 Normandy are usually constructed of brick 
 
 231
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and stone, with tiled roofs, and are sometimes 
 composed of beams and plaster. They are 
 set in picturesque and domestic surroundings, 
 and more frequently nestle among trees and 
 farm buildings instead of standing boldly 
 against the rocks and precipices that charac- 
 terize the sites of the feudal fortresses and 
 castles. 
 
 The Manoir d'Ango is one possessing these 
 characteristics. It is a picturesque collec- 
 tion of buildings grouped around a court, and 
 dressed in almost rural attire. A large, round 
 tower with a domed roof stands in the centre, 
 curiously decorated with a sort of network 
 of ornament. Above it pigeons and other 
 birds hover and find shelter. 
 
 " This is a charming place," said Miss 
 Wilton and the Englishman, almost in the 
 same breath; but they were hardly able to 
 do more than make a cursory visit to the 
 place before they were bustled away by 
 Mrs. Wilton, who had always an eye to the 
 time and the next place to be visited. 
 
 That night was spent at the Hotel Royal 
 at Dieppe, facing the shore. The view of 
 the sea again in the morning was pleasant, 
 after the days spent in the country. By the 
 next afternoon the whole party was once 
 
 232
 
 DIEPPE CATHEDRAL
 
 At the Hotel ciit Grand Cerf 
 
 more at the inn at Le Grand Andely, plan- 
 ning an excursion to Evreux the following 
 day. So well pleased was Mr. Blodget Wil- 
 ton with this little visit to Dieppe and its 
 surroundings, that he decided to risk a ride 
 in the automobile to the capital of Eurc and 
 a chateau in the neighbourhood. 
 
 They set forth early and with every antici- 
 pation of joy, in the full glory of a summer's 
 morning and the sweet fragrance of the 
 odours wafted from hedge and tree by the 
 soft airs that play against the face. Miss 
 Wilton was radiantly beautiful. Her eyes 
 sparkled with merriment, and the count was 
 unable in any way to disguise his admiration 
 for her, while as for the others perhaps the 
 least said the better. Yet with what magic 
 does the hand of Cupid play mischief with 
 the hearts of men, and hold them captive 
 when they least expect it! Happy magic! 
 Joyous state! With all the sorrows born 
 upon its train: 
 
 *• 'Tis better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all 
 
 i> 
 
 The road from the Seine to Evreux is a de- 
 lightful one to pass over, leading through 
 the heart of Norman beauty and its rustic 
 
 233
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 enchantment, making every visitor a votary 
 of its charm. Evreux itself is an ancient 
 cathedral town, as well as being the capital 
 of the Department, and has much that is 
 interesting in it. The ancient Comte 
 d'Evreux was one of the royal possessions 
 of the Dukes of Normandy. The first Comte 
 d'Evreux was Robert, Archbishop of Rouen, 
 and second son of Richard I., Duke of Nor- 
 mandy. 
 
 The cathedral is a beautiful piece of archi- 
 tecture, dating chiefly from the sixteenth 
 century. Its delicate carvings and lace- 
 work are mostly Gothic, though the towers 
 show the influence of the Renaissance. 
 The streets are more often tortuous and 
 picturesque, lined by ancient timbered houses 
 and quaint corners, bearing evidences of 
 ancient France. The clock-tower, known 
 as the Befifroi d'Evreux, presents a delight- 
 ful view at the end of one of these quaint 
 and time-worn streets, its simple Norman 
 lines being in severe contrast to the more 
 delicate magnificence of the cathedral. 
 
 Much history and many of the great names 
 of Normandy are associated with Evreux, 
 but our space forbids more than a passing 
 word, a look, a glance, at what there is; and 
 
 234
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 then away once more into the heart of the 
 country, to the lovely valley of the river 
 Iton, flowing through the Arrondissement 
 d'Evreux. 
 
 Here the objective point was the Chateau 
 de Conde-sur-Iton, an ancient summer resi- 
 dence of the Bishops of Evreux, situated 
 upon the very banks of the river. Its design 
 suggests, in its high castellated walls and 
 towers, the character of some of the Scotch 
 castles, and may well have inspired some 
 of the architects who built them. It is, like 
 every Norman dwelling, surrounded by pic- 
 turesque additions of trees and green, soften- 
 ing its harsher outlines and blending the 
 colder walls and expanses of stone with the 
 landscape. 
 
 The great round tower near the river must 
 have served in ancient times as a place of 
 watch for the protectors of the bishops during 
 their holiday retreat in this pleasing abode. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton liked the chateau, and was 
 inclined to investigate it within and without, 
 and to wander through the park and grounds, 
 which invited further visits to their hidden 
 mysteries. A delightful afternoon was spent, 
 therefore, in wandering about this charming 
 
 235
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 spot and absorbing something of its quality 
 and atmosphere. 
 
 The village of Conde, though containing 
 little more than one thousand souls, is one 
 of extreme antiquity, and boasts an age 
 greater than any of its neighbours. It dates, 
 in fact, to the time of the Romans, and was, 
 according to the best authorities, mentioned 
 under the name of Condate in the itinerary 
 of Antonine. Conde is close to Breteuil, and 
 from there an interesting trip may be made 
 to the Chateau of Beaumesnil, situated mid- 
 way between Conches and Bernay, one of 
 the towns of the Department of Eure. In 
 this arrondissement are also the Chateau de 
 Thevray, and farther to the northeast the 
 ruins of Beaumont-le-Roger. 
 
 Still farther to the north, and near Brionne, 
 is the Chateau d'Harcourt, the ancient relic 
 of one of the great houses of France, a name 
 that has rung in the annals of its history, 
 and is synonymous with its valour and 
 esteem. This is a delightful part of Nor- 
 mandy in which to wander, visiting the 
 picturesque monuments that so generously 
 furnish the country with historic interest, and 
 stopping at the simple, primitive places that 
 ofifer hospitality to the pilgrim. 
 
 236
 
 At the Hotel du Grand Cerf 
 
 The road from Conde to Beaumesnil may 
 be taken through one of those beautiful 
 forests that cover France with a constant 
 series of fairylike enchantments, bringing to 
 the mind of the poet the scenes of a " Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream," and peopling their 
 shady mysteries with winged forms and 
 dancing elves that charm the senses into 
 dreamland. 
 
 The Chateau de Beaumesnil itself is a 
 high symmetrical construction of pink brick 
 and white stone, rising gracefully from a 
 broad moat and approached by a draw- 
 bridge. Its heavy window-caps and impos- 
 ing decorations would suggest a town 
 residence rather than a chateau. It is, how- 
 ever, efifective and interesting to look at 
 across the expanse of glasslike water that 
 mirrors its outlines in shadowy semblance of 
 itself, a veritable palace rising out of its 
 watery reflection and surrounded by its park. 
 
 The place was built in the reign of Henry 
 IV. by the Seigneur of Beaumesnil, whose 
 house, during the twelfth century, was con- 
 nected by marriage with that of Harcourt. 
 Beaumesnil was originally a part of the 
 famous domain of Beaumont-le-Roger, whose 
 history is so associated with the events of this 
 
 237
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 part of Normandy that it must ever possess 
 an interest to the antiquarian. 
 
 Still another place deserves our mention 
 in this region — the ruins of the Abbaye du 
 Bee, near Brionne. They are an equal dis- 
 tance on the north to the Chateau d'Har- 
 court on the south, from Beaumesnil, and 
 well merit a visit. The great tower of the 
 castle rises out of a cluster of small houses 
 and rears its lofty buttresses above them 
 toward the heavens, its belfry windows show- 
 ing the evening light that already fills the 
 sky and calls the weary pilgrim home to rest 
 and sleep. 
 
 238
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 WITH THE DUCHESS AT TROUVILLE 
 
 Bernay is a picturesque old town in spite 
 of its manufactures, of which it boasts a num- 
 ber, and has many timbered houses and 
 quaint bits of architecture, besides a charm- 
 ing tower which stands in the centre of the 
 picture. We were fortunate in having a view 
 of the Procession de la Fete Dieu at Bernay, 
 one of the great religious festivals of rural 
 France. 
 
 From Bernay to Lisieux is only a short 
 ride on the railway line, running from Paris 
 to Caen and Cherbourg, and the party set 
 out for this town on their way to visit the 
 duchess at Trouville. Earlier in the week 
 a cordial invitation, skilfully engineered by 
 Mrs. Wilton, had been received by the 
 latter for the entire party, and had been 
 promptly accepted, even to the unwilling 
 inclusion of Mr. Blodget Wilton himself, 
 
 239
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 who had tried to beg off from going, but had 
 not been excused by his wife. 
 
 On arriving at Lisieux he became almost 
 petulant, and Mrs. Wilton, being fearful 
 lest he slip through her fingers after all, as 
 he had been known to do on previous occa- 
 sions, decided to hurry forward to Trou- 
 ville. A branch line runs through Pont 
 I'Eveque and Honfleur, and the party were 
 soon seated in a special carriage, with the 
 servants and dressing-cases in an adjoining 
 one; and, after a pleasant trip, during which 
 Mr. Wilton was kept continually pleased 
 and amused, the station of Trouville was 
 reached. 
 
 Servants of the ducal establishment met our 
 party at the '' gare " and escorted us to equi- 
 pages in waiting outside. We were soon 
 driven to the delightful villa of the duchess, 
 situated in exquisite grounds a little inland 
 from the beach and the town. The villa 
 itself was a modern structure, large and 
 commodious in aspect, and surrounded by 
 gardens filled with rare flowering plants 
 arranged in tasteful profusion. 
 
 Indeed, though Trouville has little that 
 is historically or architecturally important, 
 it has much that is pleasing and attractive to 
 
 240
 
 CHURCH OF NOTRE DAME, TROUVILLE
 
 IVith the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 the eye. It is a town of villas, chiefly 
 modern and used only in summer. Facing 
 the beach are the rows of restaurants, 
 cafes, and other establishments that are 
 always to be found at a French watering- 
 place. 
 
 The twin town, Deauville, is separated 
 from Trouville by the Touques. Three kilo- 
 metres distant is Touques itself, where Will- 
 iam Rufus set out for England after the 
 death of the Conqueror at Rouen. Here 
 there is a charming old Manoir de Meautrix, 
 built in the sixteenth and seventeenth cen- 
 turies. The ruins of the ancient fortress of 
 Bonneville-sur-Touques arise upon the banks 
 of the river. It dates from the early thir- 
 teenth century, and has five round towers re- 
 maining from the days of William the Con- 
 queror, who used it as a favourite residence. 
 In the Tour du Serment we are told he 
 received the oath of allegiance from Harold, 
 though it is not certain this was the actual 
 place. The tower is an interesting spot his- 
 torically, lighted by a window known as 
 the Fenetre de la Reine Mathilde, presum- 
 ably on account of its association with the 
 wife of William the Conqueror. 
 
 There are three hotels in Trouville which 
 
 241
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 it may be well to mention for those travellers 
 who do not chance to know the Duchesse de 
 
 V and the pleasure of her hospitality. 
 
 They are the Hotels des Roches Noires, the 
 De Bellevue, and the De Paris. Their repre- 
 sentatives meet the visitor at the station with 
 the familiar hotel omnibus of the Continent 
 and urge him to accompany them to their 
 respective establishments. 
 
 In the Rue des Rosiers there is an interest- 
 ing house, No. 5. It was here that Louis 
 Philippe stayed over night at the time he fled 
 from France. What country, within the more 
 recent periods of history, has had so many 
 rulers and pretenders to its throne as fugi- 
 tives from the anger of its people or exiled 
 from its borders? It would seem that since 
 the Revolution, history has seen a succession 
 of royalty divested of or prevented from 
 assuming its rights. 
 
 But we digress from our narrative. 
 
 It being the month of August, everything 
 was in the full dress of the season's gaieties, 
 at this gayest of French seaside resorts. 
 Mrs. and Miss Wilton's most wonderful 
 costumes were packed in the trunks which 
 accompanied them, and Mrs. Wilton's most 
 gorgeous jewels were enclosed in the dressing- 
 
 242
 
 With the Dttchess at Trouville 
 
 case which was jealously guarded by the 
 valet and maid. Even Mr. Wilton was made 
 to spruce himself up to an unusual extent, and 
 as for the count and the Frenchman, we may 
 leave their costumes to the wildest imagina- 
 tion of our readers. The Englishman was 
 always well clad, and made no special dif- 
 ference in his dress for the occasion. 
 - The duchess received her guests with much 
 grace and af^fability, and tea was immediately 
 served by a number of servants in livery on a 
 fairylike terrace overlooking the gardens 
 and a distant view of the sea. All the taste 
 and refinement of luxury, which are the 
 accompaniments of the great houses of France 
 to-day, lacking often their old political im- 
 portance but still holding their positions in 
 the world of society, were in evidence. 
 
 In these surroundings Mrs. Blodget Wilton 
 positively revelled, and drank in the sweet 
 perfume of their atmosphere with enjoyment 
 made more delicious by her long absence 
 from them in America. Oh, the joy that 
 comes to womanhood with the attainment 
 of such goals of her ambition, the balm that 
 soothes her spirit after the labour and the 
 warfare! 
 
 To strive, to conquer, and achieve. 
 243
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Who would deny Mrs. Blodget Wilton the 
 motto of her existence, or the flush of happi- 
 ness accompanying its accomplishment? Who 
 would be so heartless or so bold as to question 
 her right of eminent domain in these regions 
 of the gods, won by her own labours and 
 strengthened by American dollars? She 
 played her part. She paved her way with 
 gold; gold, the glittering, the alluring 
 medium of exchange for all mankind. 
 Europe loves gold, and Europeans love its 
 results, as well as other peoples of other 
 climes. Who shall chide them for it, in the 
 face of every-day existence in America? 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton knew all this — knew 
 the hearts of men and women of two conti- 
 nents, catered to their wants, and succeeded 
 in her campaign of enjoyment. 
 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton, on the contrary, 
 cared not so much as a fig for all this non- 
 sense. He conducted his life on strictly 
 business lines, and had never taken the time 
 to expand his interests to other spheres. 
 Pork and lard were the shrines at which 
 he worshipped. His cohorts were wagons, 
 workmen, and live stock. Their activities 
 were in the slaughter-house and the stock- 
 yard rather than in drawing-rooms and 
 
 244
 
 With the Duchess at Trottville 
 
 casinos. The click of the typewriter and 
 the stock-exchange ticker were music to his 
 ears — more satisfying than the melodies of 
 Verdi or the harmonies of Wagner. His 
 battles were fought in Wall Street, not Fifth 
 Avenue, and his triumphs were in the field 
 of finance rather than in society. Who shall 
 deny him his glory, or his title to esteem? 
 Surely not so humble a pen as that which 
 traces this passing history of his exploits. 
 
 " Be seated on the sofa; let's take it easy; 
 it's warm," said he to the duchess, while 
 eating a delicate piece of sponge-cake. " My 
 wife looks well, don't she? You have to 
 speak distinctly, though; she's a bit hard of 
 hearing. Grows on her," he added, almost 
 whispering in the duchess's ear, for fear lest 
 his wife should know what he was saying; 
 for he realized the truth of the maxim, that 
 when occasion least suspects, there are none 
 so long-eared as the deaf. 
 
 " Madame Wilton is looking very well," 
 said the duchess, a little taken aback by this 
 sortie, though she had had some previous 
 experience of Mr. Wilton's peculiar manners. 
 
 " Your daughter has grown prettier than 
 ever," she added with meaning, for the 
 Frenchman had written to her before their 
 
 245
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 arrival, and she was already aware which 
 way the wind was blowing. 
 
 In a few moments the ladies Wilton retired 
 to their rooms, and the duchess was left 
 alone with the Frenchman. 
 
 " Well, mon ami, so you love Miss Wil- 
 ton," said she, without any further prelude. 
 " I saw, without any difficulty, from your 
 letter what you were thinking of. You never 
 could conceal anything, you know." 
 
 " Oh, duchess, I am fou d'amour, fou, fou, 
 foul" exclaimed the Frenchman. " But they 
 are so hard to please, these Americans. One 
 never knows what they feel, whether they 
 love or not. Ah, it is different in America 
 from la France. There we have to do all 
 the asking, and the parents do nothing. They 
 marry with or without dots, just as they feel 
 inclined. It is most perplexing." 
 
 " But surely Monsieur Wilton will give 
 his daughter a dot," said the duchess. " That 
 I know very well. He has no other chil- 
 dren." 
 
 The duchess was the greatest match-maker 
 in France, and knew all the fine points of the 
 game. It was even hinted that she had been 
 the cause of more marriages than any other 
 woman in Europe. She did not care a pin 
 
 246
 
 With the Duchess at Troiroille 
 
 whether they turned out well or not, so long 
 as they were advantageous from a worldly 
 point of view; for the pleasure of making 
 a match was sufficient excitement in itself, 
 and she did not hesitate to launch her pro- 
 teges upon the sea of matrimony without the 
 necessary time to think the matter over. 
 
 " Do they like one another? " she said to 
 the Marquis de St. Suffit, on one occasion. 
 " Do they like one another? I am sure I do 
 not know. I never asked them. But you will 
 agree with me that it is an excellent match 
 for both of them, and the wedding is to be at 
 St. Clotilde in April. Of course I made the 
 match. My cousin Antoine is delighted 
 that his son is so well placed." 
 
 Such was the character of the arch-con- 
 spirator whom the Frenchman sought out to 
 aid him in his quest for the hand of the lovely 
 Miss Gladys Wilton of Wisconsin and New 
 York. Oh, mothers, you who take your 
 fair innocents to Europe to finish their educa- 
 tion, or refine their manners, beware! Look 
 well into the character of those with whom 
 you may allow them to associate. Unsus- 
 pecting maidens have before been sacrificed 
 upon the altar of Hymen, for the sole pur- 
 pose, on the part of their husbands, of 
 
 247
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 garnishing again, with the fruits of American 
 labour and industry, the tarnished escutcheon 
 of some noble but dilapidated house. Men 
 there are who will make your daughters 
 happy, and cause the bargain to be a fair 
 one. Others there are, however, who will 
 bring them only misery, sorrow, and despair. 
 Mothers, take heed, for the fathers need little 
 counsel ; guard your daughters from the 
 intrigues, the fascinations, and the pitfalls 
 of European life! 
 
 The lights glitter. The names are music 
 in the ears. The play is a brilliant and 
 entrancing one. But something lies deeper 
 than the footlights of the theatre, and that 
 is human character. Man is human, and his 
 character is varied. Within these palace 
 walls there are degrees of happiness and life. 
 Daughters of America, pause and consider 
 the consequences of a little word, uttered in 
 the soft light of an arbour, in the conserva- 
 tory of a villa, in the lane of some lovely 
 retreat I All is seeming love, enchantment, 
 and delight. But the morrow comes and the 
 scene changes. You awake and find the 
 dream a sad reality, too late to retrieve the 
 happiness that might have been yours! 
 
 The duchess was a delightful and fascina- 
 
 248
 
 With the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 ting woman, at whose shrine all fashionable 
 France bowed in homage. She combined the 
 virtues and most of the vices — but not all — 
 of the French aristocracy. Had it not been 
 for her inveterate love of romance and in- 
 trigue, the world about her would have been 
 in every way a happy and desirable one. 
 Still, even this failing had its compensations, 
 and occasionally, in one of her match-making 
 efforts, she aided two lovers who were suited 
 to each other, in whose case marriage and 
 freedom from the tyranny of their parents 
 worked well and happily. For of all the 
 peoples in the world, the French, while good 
 and devoted parents in many respects beyond 
 other nations, can torment and tyrannize over 
 the objects of their solicitude with a success 
 unattained elsewhere. 
 
 " Then you really think you love her," 
 said the duchess to the Frenchman, as she 
 soothed the irritable little barks of her toy 
 terrier, seated on a cushion at her feet. 
 
 " Love her? " exclaimed the Frenchman 
 in a fever of excitement; " did I not say T 
 was fou, fou, fou d'amour? Duchesse, if 
 you could only lend me your assistance, I 
 am sure she would consent to become my 
 wife." 
 
 249
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " I do not believe you are really in love 
 with her at all," said the duchess, half-laugh- 
 ingly, and raised a perfumed handkerchief 
 to her face. " You young men are all the 
 same. You spend your last sous over in 
 America, and then come and confide in me, 
 to help you to do what you cannot do for 
 yourselves. You remember it was the same 
 last year, and it all came to nothing. You 
 mean to say that you were with her in the 
 Abbaye de St. Wandrille and did not pro- 
 pose? My dear child, we never shall suc- 
 ceed in arranging a marriage for you if you 
 have no success by yourself. You know these 
 Americans do things differently from our- 
 selves. I never can understand their ways." 
 
 " But they take their positions in France 
 with success, duchess," said the Frenchman, 
 and the duchess was obliged to acknowledge 
 that this was true. Still, she seemed to be 
 much too engrossed with her lap-dog to really 
 hold out a serious promise of assistance. 
 Perhaps she had other plans for the fair 
 young American who was her guest for the 
 week at Trouville. Who can tell what there 
 is in the mind of so experienced a woman 
 as the Duchessc de V ? 
 
 " Such a touching little life," said she, 
 
 250
 
 With the Duchess at Troiiville 
 
 adoringly, as she glanced at the bundle of 
 curly hair that composed her lap-dog. 
 
 " What do you call him, duchess? " asked 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton, who had just returned 
 to the drawing-room. 
 
 " She calls herself ' Mees,' " replied his 
 hostess, reprovingly, stroking the little bark- 
 ing animal, which seemed to care nothing 
 for the affection lavished upon it. 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Blodget Wilton, trying to 
 follow the idea and make some practical use 
 of it, "it's a lady, is it? Miss who?" 
 
 "Just 'Mees,' tout simplement," replied 
 the duchess, satisfied. 
 
 "Oh," said Mr. Wilton, and gave up the 
 attempt to make anything out of such a 
 nonsensical name for such a nonsensical dog, 
 as he afterward remarked to the English- 
 man, when well out of hearing. 
 
 " My nephew," said the duchess to Miss 
 Wilton, who entered at that moment, intro- 
 ducing a small, slight youth, with light 
 yellow mustachios rising nearly to his eye- 
 brows; and the two young people bowed 
 and entered into conversation. 
 
 " My aunt says you w^ill be here for the 
 w^eek," said he; "we shall see something of 
 the races, I hope, before you go." 
 
 251
 
 Among Frejich Inns 
 
 Miss Wilton looked at the diminutive 
 Comte Raoul de Breville — for such was the 
 name of the duchess's nephew — with some- 
 thing akin to mirth on her countenance. 
 
 " Are the races as early as next week? " 
 she said. " I had no idea they were so soon. 
 But we have been wandering about the 
 country in automobiles, and staying at such 
 queer inns and out-of-the-way places, that I 
 have nearly lost all account of time." 
 
 A bell rang, and the company separated 
 to dress for dinner. The duchess's brother-in- 
 law, the Due de St. Galmier, was of the 
 party. Mrs. Blodget Wilton had the honour 
 of being taken in to dinner by him, and Mr. 
 Blodget Wilton escorted the duchess. The 
 duke was so great a personage that instead of 
 ending his letters in the manner of ordinary 
 mortals, he considered it enough to say, 
 " I feel well. St. Galmier." He never 
 " proffered his distinguished salutations," 
 nor " deposed at the feet " of his correspond- 
 ents " his most profound sentiments," as did 
 other less elevated members of the French 
 aristocracy. It seemed sufficient, in his esti- 
 mation of his friends' regard, that the Due 
 de St. Galmier should feel well. And so 
 
 252
 
 JVith the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 he invariably did feel well, when writing to 
 any one short of a reigning monarch. 
 
 ''And how is Trouville this year, due?" 
 said Mrs. Wilton, in her most engaging 
 manner. The duke had to be talked to, 
 amused, and drawn out, like the stops of an 
 organ, and, being the duke that he was, Mrs. 
 Wilton was perfectly willing to work over 
 him and await results; for results invariably 
 followed everything that she really undertook 
 to do. 
 
 " Trouville is gai, bien gat/' replied the 
 duke. " The Casino is crowded. Everybody 
 plays from morning till night. Nobody 
 seems to win, though. Does your husband 
 play piquet? " 
 
 Mr. Wilton did play piquet, and his wife 
 determined that he should play with the 
 duke after dinner, and, if necessary, allow 
 him to win the rubber. What cared they? 
 It might make the duke a very useful friend, 
 and was well worth a thousand francs. Such 
 friends as the Due de St. Galmier were 
 usually powerful and true. And then the 
 duke had an eldest son, a promising member 
 of the Chamber des Deputes, and heir to 
 all the chateaux, estates, and honours of the 
 
 253
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 great name of his family. Decidedly let him 
 play piquet with Mr. Blodget Wilton. 
 
 " What is the latest move in regard to the 
 religious orders in France?" said she, for 
 she was well up in French politics and knew 
 that she could twist the duke around her 
 finger by sympathizing with him on a burn- 
 ing question. 
 
 " Ah, you have not seen my letter in the 
 Gaulois, then," said the duke, rising imme- 
 diately to the bait which was held out to 
 him. " I have written, protesting against 
 this exclusion of the congregations. It means 
 they must all leave France. We shall resist 
 the government's policy to the utmost. It 
 is infamous, wicked, atrocious! What can 
 we expect our children to become, if we 
 exclude religion from their lives and prevent 
 the congregations and religious orders from 
 retaining their property? Ah! I do not 
 know what we are coming to," and the Due 
 de St. Galmier made a tragic gesture, which 
 denoted something of the grandeur of his 
 feelings. 
 
 He was the head and front of the Opposi- 
 tion, which was then working up conservative 
 France to a pitch of frenzy over the action 
 of the government in regard to the religious 
 
 254
 
 IVith the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 orders. It was said that, incited by the gen- 
 eral outcry on the part of the old regime, 
 the nuns of a certain convent had barricaded 
 the doors, and caused no end of trouble to 
 the authorities who were charged with the 
 duty of carrying out the provisions of the 
 new law. 
 
 The duchess was an ally of her brother- 
 in-law. She soon took up the trend of the 
 conversation and delivered herself of a num- 
 ber of ducal sentiments, as decided as they 
 were violent in their tone. 
 
 " I am glad you feel as you do, madame," 
 said she to Mrs. Wilton. " It is a terrible 
 calamity, a terrible calamity to France. I 
 do not know what we are coming to," and the 
 duchess consoled herself with the remains 
 of a souffJe. 
 
 " And so you have been staying at the inns 
 since you landed in Normandy," said the 
 duchess to Mr. Wilton, who was feeling 
 much bored, and did not care a button for 
 the religious congregations, or whether they 
 stayed or went. His eyes were wandering 
 down the beautiful table to the figure of his 
 daughter, seated between two Frenchmen, 
 bending over her in fascinated conversation, 
 vying with each other for her replies and 
 
 255
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the favour of her attention. Mr. Wilton sat 
 there, thinking of the probable future of his 
 only child, this daughter whom he loved 
 more than his millions; and for the moment 
 he hardly heard the duchess's remark. 
 
 " Oh, the inns, yes, nice old places, yes," 
 said he, absently. ** You see, duchess, it's 
 just^ this way. I don't like automobiles and 
 really I've no business to be in Europe, any- 
 way. My proper place is at home, looking 
 after my affairs. But the Mrs.," — and with 
 this he pointed jocosely with one of his 
 thumbs in the direction of his wife, — " she 
 will have it that I need a vacation. So here 
 I've been, dumped down at any old place in 
 France they take it into their heads to visit." 
 
 The duchess looked at him in amazement. 
 
 " We must have a little music," she said, 
 as she gave the signal to rise and return to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Gladys sings, does she 
 not?" continued the duchess; and Miss 
 Gladys very obligingly sang several pretty 
 songs, accompanied by Count Raoul de Bre- 
 ville. The duchess liked her voice, and 
 seemed pleased that she sang with her 
 nephew. Judging from her manner, there 
 were other plans in the duchess's fertile 
 
 256
 
 With the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 brain than the arrangement of a match be- 
 tween the Frenchman and the object of his 
 affection. 
 
 " It would be nice if you would sing a 
 duet with Conte di Pomponi," said the 
 duchess; but Miss Wilton was a little 
 hoarse, and had forgotten her duets, we fear 
 purposely, having heard the count sing on a 
 previous occasion. 
 
 The following day was occupied with 
 visits to the beach and the neighbouring 
 places, with calls and entertainments of va- 
 rious kinds, which delighted Mrs. Wilton, 
 and gave Count Romeo an opportunity to 
 dress himself in flamboyant attire, and to 
 circulate freely among the ladies. 
 
 Trouville has been a place of fashion since 
 1825. Its familiarity with the world which 
 now frequents it may be said to have orig- 
 inated with the sea pictures painted by the 
 artist Mozin about that time. Now it is 
 the scene of wild gaiety during August, and 
 almost deserted at other times of the year. 
 The beach is one of its features, with beau- 
 tifully dressed women sitting upon the sands, 
 or promenading upon the walk, with bands of 
 music, with bathers, and the familiar bathing- 
 machines of France. 
 
 257
 
 Amo7tg French Inns 
 
 There is a charming chateau, dating from 
 the time of Louis XIIL, near the forest of 
 Touques, about fifteen kilometres from Trou- 
 ville, and this the duchess and some of the 
 party at the villa visited. It is known as the 
 Chateau d'Hebertot, and well repaid them 
 for their visit and the fatigue of the long 
 drive, — for the duchess would not hear of an 
 automobile! 
 
 On another day we were taken to the Cha- 
 teau de Lassay, which is now in ruins, but 
 which is pregnant with interest and asso- 
 ciations of La Grande Mademoiselle, for 
 whose arrival it was built by the famous 
 Marquis de Lassay of that time, and which 
 must have pleased her fastidious taste, if we 
 may judge by accounts of its former beauty. 
 Indeed, in those days the great nobles of 
 France thought nothing of adding a whole 
 wing to their chateaux, or building a new 
 one, as in this case, for the reception — some- 
 times for a night only — of their sovereign 
 or a member of his family. 
 
 Probably no greater extravagance or lux- 
 ury in building has existed than among the 
 French in the days of their monarchical 
 splendour, save with the Romans in the days 
 of their magnificent emperors. Such cha- 
 
 258
 
 IVith the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 teaux as Versailles, Compiegne, Chantilly, 
 and others remain, to tell us of what was 
 done in the periods dating from Frangois I. 
 to Louis XVI., and bear witness to the truth 
 of our assertion. 
 
 The third day of the visit was one of the 
 days of the races, and the duchess's party 
 went forth to attend this function, in all its 
 glory. That France is a sporting nation may 
 no longer be gainsaid. Since she has taken 
 up the time-honoured sport of horse-racing 
 she has developed it to its greatest extent. 
 Her courses are some of the finest and most 
 beautiful in the world. Her horses and 
 riders are in the front rank, and her show of 
 beauty and dresses in the favoured enclo- 
 sures beyond any similar accumulations of 
 wealth in the world. 
 
 But what shall we say of the interest that 
 is taken in sport by the great mass of the 
 people themselves? On a holiday every 
 family that can afTord the outing, goes to les 
 courses, armed with their savings, which they 
 risk on their favourite horse; for the pleas- 
 ure and excitement of gambling is ingrained 
 in the French nature, and the last sou goes 
 to the betting booth, in voluntary offering to 
 the god of chance. 
 
 259
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Les courses! Who shall adequately de- 
 scribe the scene, in Paris or elsewhere, the 
 crowds that gather in the sunlight of a 
 holiday at Longchamps or Auteuil? Whither 
 flies this army of carriages, from the coach 
 and four to the meanest fiacre that rolls 
 along the Bois de Boulogne? To les courses! 
 Allez, cocher! It is the hour of les courses. 
 Fortunes are lost and won. Jockeys are in- 
 jured. The game goes on. The spirit of 
 fatality underlying the sport has little effect. 
 To les courses, and haste, lest we be too 
 late! 
 
 The races at Trouville are the climax of 
 the season there, and all the world goes to 
 them, in its fairest attire, and attended by 
 all that France possesses which is most bril- 
 liant in Vanity Fair. It so happened that 
 Miss Gladys Wilton was driven to the course 
 by Comte Raoul de Breville in a very pretty 
 dog-cart (which had been waiting in the 
 duchess's stable for just this occasion). 
 Seated beside her escort, she looked a picture 
 of beauty, and, of course, her other suitors 
 were jealous, unutterably jealous; but that 
 made little difference, for it was so arranged 
 in the disposition of the guests that they were 
 to escort the other ladies of the party. Mrs. 
 
 260
 
 With the Duchess at Troitville 
 
 Wilton went with the Due de St. Galmier 
 (who had won his rubber at piquet the night 
 before), and was in a most amiable frame 
 of mind. 
 
 The day was a beautiful one, and the races 
 everything that could be desired, under the 
 circumstances. They were not Paris, of 
 course, nor was the Trouville course the 
 Bois de Bologne; but Auteuil is closed in 
 August, and fashionable France disports 
 itself at the seashore or in its chateaux 
 dotted about this beautiful country. 
 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton enjoyed herself ex- 
 ceedingly. She made distinct headway with 
 the duke, who invited her to stay at his cha- 
 teau for the shooting season in October. In 
 the late afternoon every one returned to the 
 villa for tea — every one but the Comte 
 Raoul and the fair Miss Gladys. 
 
 "Where the deuce is Gladys?" asked Mr. 
 Wilton, as time wore on. 
 
 " Oh, my nephew has probably taken her 
 for a little drive," said the duchess, uncon- 
 cernedly; but Mr. Blodget Wilton had heard 
 of these little drives before, and did not 
 feel entirely easy in his mind. This uneasi- 
 ness grew upon him as dinner-time ap- 
 proached and no daughter appeared. At 
 
 261
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 home he would have thought nothing of it, 
 but here it was different. He mistrusted 
 foreigners in general, and the Comte Raoul 
 de Breville in particular. 
 
 He fumed with annoyance while the rest 
 of the party amused themselves in their own 
 way, and finally appeared for dinner. Then 
 even Mrs. Blodget Wilton began to wonder 
 what had happened to her daughter. The 
 Count Raoul, though the nephew of the 
 duchess, was almost a stranger, and it was not 
 pleasant to think that an accident might have 
 occurred, and that they had been stranded 
 alone in the country near Trouville; and 
 after the races, too, with all sorts of strange 
 people wandering about — alone with a for- 
 eigner after dark, and in France! Mrs. 
 Wilton was not at her ease, and was unable 
 to be as attentive to the Due de St. Galmier 
 as she would have wished. There was a sense 
 of impending evil hanging over the dinner, 
 and Mr. Wilton clearly showed his annoy- 
 ance by his expression. 
 
 The duchess alone was unconcerned, and 
 seeemed to think of the matter as an every- 
 day occurrence. Still, the soup, the fish, the 
 entrees, and finally the entire dinner went by, 
 and no Gladys, and no Comte Raoul! 
 
 262
 
 IVith the Duchess at Trouville 
 
 " C'est drole, pourtant," said the duchess 
 finally. 
 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton thought it was any- 
 thing but droll, but succeeded in containing 
 himself with a good deal of difficulty and 
 considerable self-control. Finally the com- 
 pany left the table, and coffee and liqueurs 
 appeared on the terrace. The evening was a 
 beautiful one, but there was no moon (and it 
 must have been very dark on the country 
 roads and hedge-lined lanes at that hour.) 
 
 " I cannot help feeling that they must 
 have had an accident," said Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 The Count Romeo di Pomponi was thor- 
 oughly worked up over the disappearance, 
 and was much flustered at the occurrence. 
 Where could they be? What could have 
 happened? He was for instituting a search- 
 ing-party in automobiles. All sorts of ideas 
 flew through his romantic brain, and filled 
 him with a wild desire to rush forth into the 
 night in pursuit of Comte Raoul de Breville 
 and in deliverance of his fair one. What 
 if she did not reciprocate his passion! Was 
 not love in itself strong enough for any 
 sacrifice short of actual death? And then, 
 to save her from a possible danger would be 
 at once to make himself a hero, and as such, 
 
 263
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 entitled to her consideration and esteem, 
 perhaps her love, who could tell? 
 
 In the midst of these deliberations voices 
 were heard in the hall, and in another minute 
 the fair Gladys herself appeared in the 
 doorway, and behind her Comte Raoul de 
 Breville. 
 
 "Well, at last!" we all exclaimed in a 
 chorus of voices. 
 
 " Why, Gladys, where have you been? We 
 really were getting anxious," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton, much relieved to see her alive and well. 
 
 " Give me a kiss, my little girl. Are you 
 all right? " said her father, and sat down 
 to light a cigar, now that he saw she was 
 safe and sound. 
 
 " But what did happen? Was there an 
 accident? " said every one at once, and in 
 great excitement. 
 
 Miss Wilton looked serious, and the 
 Comte Raoul rather frightened. 
 
 " Yes, there was an accident," said he. 
 "There was something the matter with one 
 of the wheels of the carriage, and we had 
 to walk most of the way home." 
 
 "Oh!" said every one, much concerned; 
 and the Comte Raoul proceeded, hastily, 
 to go into further details. But Miss Wilton 
 
 264
 
 With the Duchess at Tro2iville 
 
 complained that she was tired, and retired 
 almost immediately to her room, followed 
 by her mother. 
 
 " Mamma," said she, " you must make 
 some excuse to the duchess, and cither take 
 me away, or let me go away with papa to- 
 morrow. I do not feel that I care to see 
 Comte Raoul de Breville again." 
 
 " Why, my dear, do you mean what you 
 say? What has happened? Consider how 
 very awkward it would be," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton, in one breath and much agitated. 
 
 " Something has occurred, mamma, which 
 was not agreeable to me at all, and I am 
 sure you would not wish me to stay any 
 longer. I am sure papa would not wish it, 
 either." 
 
 Mrs. Wilton knew that her daughter was 
 probably right, and, knowing her tempera- 
 ment, wisely desisted from going into any 
 further details; so she proceeded to give 
 orders to have her daughter's clothes packed, 
 and then sat down to think the matter over. 
 It would be very awkward, not to say im- 
 possible, for the whole Wilton family to 
 leave the duchess's roof suddenly on the 
 morrow. The consequence of such a step 
 would be too serious to Mrs. Wilton's carc- 
 
 265
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 fully guarded position in France, for her to 
 entertain the thought for a moment. So she 
 decided to send Gladys away with her father. 
 His excuse would be business, and her daugh- 
 ter's, an indisposition, subsequent to the 
 accident which Comte Raoul had described 
 with so much detail, but which Mrs. Blodget 
 Wilton knew in her own heart to have been 
 either a myth or a carefully planned incident 
 in a definitely arranged programme on the 
 part of the duchess and her nephew. 
 
 So it was decided, and the following day 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton and his daughter de- 
 parted from Trouville — ostensibly for Paris 
 but in reality for the Department of Orne 
 in Southern Normandy. With them went 
 also the American historian of these pages. 
 The duchess was desolee to have them go, 
 and, indeed, seemed a little disconcerted at 
 losing them, but hoped to see them again. 
 They must come back and stay at Trouville, 
 or at the Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant 
 at Dives, when they could all meet for de- 
 jeuner. They must come. They would 
 come. 
 
 That something had occurred was evident 
 to the mind of every member of the house 
 
 party of the Duchesse de V 's villa the 
 
 266
 
 With the DitcJiess at Trouville 
 
 following day. But what that something was 
 no one was able to discover from any word or 
 deed on the part of those who knew what 
 the occurrence had been. Nobody ever has 
 been able to find out to this day, and probably 
 no one ever will know, if they should live 
 to be a hundred years old. 
 
 The duchess and Mrs. Wilton were as 
 silent as the grave. The Due de St. Galmicr 
 tried to find out that something, but failed 
 absolutely. The Comte Raoul de Breville 
 said there had been an accident to the left 
 wheel, but when the Count Romeo di Pom- 
 poni and the Frenchman visited the stables 
 to inspect the vehicle, having crept there 
 quite by accident at different times when no 
 one knew what they were about, they were 
 informed that it had gone to be repaired. 
 Presumably its owner had given orders that 
 it should not be shown to any one, not even 
 to the duchess herself. So the matter rested 
 there, and it was tacitly accepted by every 
 one concerned that something had occurred 
 which they could not find out, and that that 
 something must for ever remain a secret, an 
 unravelled mystery, too deep even for the 
 subtle wit of the Frenchman to discover. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton, it must be said, behaved with 
 
 267
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 rare tact and discretion all through the 
 trying period which followed the departure 
 of her husband and daughter. She acted, 
 indeed, just as if nothing had occurred, and 
 even went so far as to play piquet with both 
 the duke and the duchess once in the after- 
 noon and once in the evening, losing a thou- 
 sand or two francs each time, but winning 
 back a few hundred from the duchess on the 
 last day of her visit, just to show that she 
 could play the game when she wished to. 
 
 She made herself so indispensable to every 
 one present, that Trouville felt it really 
 needed Mrs. Blodget Wilton to make itself 
 enjoy the season's pleasures to the utmost. 
 Before leaving, she gave a grand dinner at 
 one of the most expensive restaurants, which 
 was attended by several dukes and duchesses, 
 by three princes, and many notabilities in all 
 branches of life. The diamonds sparkled. 
 The conversation was brilliant. Fruits and 
 flow^ers out of season embellished the table. 
 A whole suite of apartments was reserved for 
 the guests, and rare dishes containing price- 
 less foods delighted their appetites and their 
 souls. 
 
 Mrs. Blodget Wilton's dinner became one 
 of the incidents of the season that year. 
 
 268
 
 With the DzicJiess at Trottvi/Ie 
 
 The dinner was talked of. Mrs. Wilton was 
 talked of. 
 
 The count and the Frenchman were as 
 much in the dark and as anxious to find out 
 what had occurred as any one. Something 
 had happened; one could depend on that. 
 Did Raoul de Breville propose, or did he 
 not? Or was it something else? They had 
 not, of course, been enlightened in any way. 
 Why should they? The count was most 
 injudicious, and always told everything to 
 everybody as soon as he heard it. If he had 
 known the smallest detail, all Trouville 
 would have been the wiser within twelve 
 hours. Every one heard how they had gone 
 to the stables to see the injured dog-cart, and 
 found it hidden away. Every place where it 
 could have been sent for repairs in Trou- 
 ville was hastily searched, but nobody ever 
 found it, and nobody ever saw the broken 
 wheel, or knew whether it had been really 
 broken at all. 
 
 What u^as it that Raoul de Breville had 
 done, and that Miss Gladys Wilton had not 
 done, on the now famous evening of the 
 return from the races in the dog-cart? Any- 
 body coming to Trouville at this time would 
 have found society divided up into an im- 
 
 269
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 promptu detective agency, with old Made- 
 moiselle de Rossignol, who had known all 
 the somethings that had occurred at Trou- 
 ville for twenty years, as the chef de bureau. 
 
 The strangest part of it all was the indif- 
 ference which the Englishman displayed 
 toward the afifair. He did not seem to take 
 in the situation at all. Could it have been 
 that — But no; that would have been 
 impossible. Every one knew that it would 
 have been impossible. He was with the 
 duchess and the count and the Frenchman 
 all the time before and after the races. 
 
 Still, it was very strange that he always 
 changed the subject when it was brought 
 up before him, and seemed indifferent to the 
 whole question. The English are so reserved 
 it is impossible to get them to disclose any- 
 thing of this nature. 
 
 Suddenly the Frenchman disappeared, and 
 no one knew where he had gone. It was 
 said that he had gone to La Sarthe, but there 
 was no evidence to that effect, and he might 
 have dropped through the centre of the earth, 
 for all that any one knew of his whereabouts. 
 He had never left Trouville so early in the 
 season before. There must be some reason. 
 
 Soon after this there came another sudden 
 
 270
 
 With the Duchess at Troiiville 
 
 surprise. It was announced one lovely morn- 
 ing in the month of August that Mr. Blodgct 
 Wilton, his daughter, the Frenchman, and the 
 American, were all staying at the famous 
 old Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant at 
 Dives. Wonders would never cease. 
 
 It was not long before all Trouville had 
 heard the news, and had thrown itself into 
 the wildest delirium of excitement. Gossip 
 had reached the fever point, and nothing 
 could hold back the people now. Steam and 
 electricity, horses, carriages, every mode of 
 conveyance at hand bore Trouville to the 
 Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant, at Dives. 
 Never has so much business been done there 
 as that season. The hosts were submerged 
 with guests and the place became a centre 
 of excursions from Trouville and its sur- 
 roundings. 
 
 Could it be wondered at? When an inci- 
 dent as mysterious and interesting as the 
 something which had occurred at Trouville 
 actually does occur, and when the heroine is 
 a beautiful girl, the heiress to countless 
 millions, safely stowed away, in a great 
 American business, and in the most conserva- 
 tive of American securities, is it to be won- 
 dered at that society takes an interest and 
 
 271
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 desires to be enlightened? Society would 
 not be human if it sat by and did not. 
 
 No one was more rejoiced to learn of the 
 arrival of Mr. and Miss Wilton than Count 
 Romeo di Pomponi. The weeks that they 
 had been aw^ay were like months to him. 
 Life without the delightful presence of the 
 fair Miss Gladys, even though she loved 
 him not, seemed but an idle affair, lacking 
 all the joy and brightness of living. For 
 though his appearance was not romantic, still 
 his soul was youthful and ardent. Count 
 Romeo delighted to think of love as some- 
 thing coming from the gods, a heavenly 
 possession, and he saw no reason for conceal- 
 ing it, having never concealed anything 
 in his life, and being then nearly fifty years 
 of age. 
 
 Be it said, however, in defence of his char- 
 acter, that no matter how often he might be 
 touched by the tender passion, nor how 
 fleeting might be its stay, it left behind it a 
 pleasant aftermath of friendship or friendly 
 feeling. His desire was to serve and to 
 make happy his present or his past divinities. 
 He would travel miles to see them, send 
 flowers, cards, missives of every sort, on all 
 occasions, spend his last sou in their enter- 
 
 272
 
 With the Duchess at TroKville 
 
 tainment, and remain faithful in his atten- 
 tions long after the fierce storm of love had 
 spent itself, and left only a kindly sentiment 
 behind it. 
 
 In this way he made many real friends, 
 for, besides the ladies themselves, there were 
 frequently their mothers, fathers, and fami- 
 lies, as well as the various other confidants 
 whom he sought on these occasions. On this 
 occasion he had poured out his heart to the 
 Frenchman, who, of course, had listened to 
 every word, and retained his own opinions 
 in regard to the romance. And so it hap- 
 pened that the count also went to the Hotel 
 de Guillaume le Conquerant. 
 
 But the historian is digressing a little from 
 his narrative, and must ask his readers to go 
 back with him to the weeks previous, and to 
 follow Mr. Wilton and his daughter in that 
 little excursion which they took so suddenly 
 into the Department of Orne in Southern 
 Normandy, and visit with them some of the 
 interesting places which they saw by them- 
 selves, and with one or two other friends 
 whom they chanced to meet on their way. 
 
 We shall then be prepared to take up in 
 detail some of the events which clustered 
 around the occupants of the hotel at Dives, 
 
 273
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and observe whether or not Mademoiselle 
 de Rossignol and the rest of the gossips 
 learned anything in regard to what had 
 occurred at Trouville. 
 
 274
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 IN AND OUT OF THE DEPARTMENT OF ORNE 
 
 When Mr. Wilton and his daughter left 
 the duchess's villa, they had no very settled 
 plan of action. As we drove to the station, 
 Gladys suggested our going to Chartres, but 
 we finally ended by taking the train to Argen- 
 tan. As we continued, however, the idea of 
 going a little farther afield grew upon us. 
 We changed cars at the latter place, and took 
 a lovely journey through the Department of 
 Orne (by way of St. Gaubourge, Laigle, and 
 Verneuil), to Dreux. 
 
 Verneuil is a quaint old place containing 
 the remains of a fortified castle, built by 
 Henry I. and Henry H. " La Tour Grise" 
 is the only tower that is left of the chateau. 
 There are several churches and picturesque 
 houses that well repay a visit. Laigle pos- 
 sesses a chateau associated with the name of 
 William Rufus. The town itself is famous 
 as having been the first to experience a veri- 
 
 275
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 table shower of stones, which are reported to 
 have fallen in the year 1830. 
 
 On arriving at Dreux the three travellers 
 were driven to the Hotel du Paradis, which 
 they found very comfortable, and where they 
 were glad to rest after their journey across 
 country (usually tedious and slow at best), 
 and there to recover from the events of the 
 last twenty-four hours. During the day 
 Gladys had hardly referred to the incident 
 at Trouville the evening before. She knew 
 her father's prejudice against foreigners, and 
 was aware that the less said about them the 
 better. 
 
 " Gladys," he had once said, " I hope 
 when you do marry that you will marry an 
 American. It is much better to do so than 
 to waste your life on one of these foreigners, 
 who are only after your money, and do not 
 know what it means to give a true, unselfish 
 love to a woman. You deserve to be happy, 
 and I have seen too much unhappiness re- 
 sulting from foreign marriages to make me 
 believe in them. Think of me, my dear, 
 when you are tempted to do anything of the 
 kind, and try to resist the temptation for 
 my sake." 
 
 Gladys often thought of her father's re- 
 
 276
 
 The Department of Onie 
 
 quest, and it produced, perhaps, a greater 
 influence on her actions than anything he had 
 ever said to her. 
 
 " I could never marry a man unless 1 
 loved him, papa," she had replied, " and I 
 hope, for your sake, that 1 shall love an 
 American." 
 
 Mr. Blodget Wilton knew her mother's 
 ambitions, and the influence which heredi- 
 tary tastes play in the lives of young people. 
 He was vexed, very vexed, at what had oc- 
 curred at Trouville, but he said nothing 
 during the journey, feeling sure that he had 
 no cause to be angry with Gladys. In her 
 all the better side of his nature was centred. 
 His love was true and sincere. He wished 
 her to have all that the world could give 
 her, which he had not, and never could have, 
 — taste, refinement, culture; and, first of all, 
 happiness. 
 
 It was a real satisfaction for him to be 
 with her for a little, with only their Ameri- 
 can friend the historian in the parry, and 
 to enjoy her sweet nature in peace and com- 
 fort, without the interference of others, for 
 whom he cared little or nothing. It was 
 pleasant to see the gentleness of this rous^h 
 diamond in his relations with his daughter, 
 
 277
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 this man whose life was given up to the 
 accumulation of wealth, and spent in the 
 daily fight for millions, in the destruction of 
 others less shrewd than himself, and in the 
 hard-hearted turmoil of the every-day battles 
 of business. 
 
 " How much pleasanter this is than Trou- 
 ville, papa," said Gladys, one day, as we 
 were on our way to visit the beautiful 
 Church of St. Pierre. 
 
 " I am glad you enjoy being with your old 
 father, dear," he replied. " I was afraid 
 you would find it rather dull without all 
 your other friends. By the way, I have re- 
 ceived word from your mother that she has 
 decided to stay on with the duchess at Trou- 
 ville for another week. So we may as well 
 wander about for a little, and, if you like, 
 go to Maintenon and Chartres. They are 
 a little out of our way, but we can return at 
 any time, if we feel like it." 
 
 So we stayed on a few days longer at 
 the Hotel du Paradis, and wandered in and 
 out of the churches and other places of 
 interest at Dreux. The town is an ancient 
 and delightful one, and legend has it that it 
 dates back far through the ages, even to the 
 time of Agrippa. The old clock-tower is 
 
 278
 
 HOTEL DE VILLE, DKKl'X
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 interesting and beautiful, and the Hotel 
 de Ville, which is one of the architectural 
 features of the town, is of the Renaissance, 
 But it is as a sepulchre for the Orleans family 
 that Dreux has its chief interest, and as we 
 mount the hill at the end of the principal 
 street, we may see the chapel built by the 
 Dowager Duchesse d'Orleans, in 1813. In 
 this sanctuary repose the bones of the de- 
 parted members of this royal family, visited 
 by the living only when another is to be 
 added to that sanctified and silent company. 
 Dreux has its elegiac side as well as its 
 charm for the visitor, and serves to bring to 
 him thoughts of a more serious and peaceful 
 nature than are commonly to be met with in 
 this portion of France. 
 
 From Dreux our friends journeyed to 
 Maintenon, with its charming chateau, 
 around which cluster traditions and history. 
 The station is about a mile from the town, 
 and it is a pretty drive to the Hotel St. 
 Pierre. The town is situated on the river 
 Eure, though, like Dreux and Chartres, it 
 is in the Department of Eure et Loire, and 
 not in Normandy. The entrance to the cha- 
 teau is near the bridge over the river, and 
 is adorned with the arms of Jean Cottereau, 
 
 279
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 who built it. He was the royal treasurer 
 during the reigns of Louis XL and Fran- 
 cois L Louis XIV. bought the chateau in 
 1685 from its owner the Marquis de Viller- 
 nay, and gave it to Frangoise d'Aubigne, 
 whom he had secretly married. 
 
 It is thus that this interesting place became 
 the abode of the famous Madame de Mainte- 
 non, and associated with her and the history 
 of her times. It was she who, stronger than 
 the mistresses who had hitherto held the 
 fancy of the fastidious Louis XIV., refused 
 his gallantries until he should have made her 
 his wife. 
 
 Every phase of this intensely interesting 
 period of the court life of France comes back 
 to the visitor who treads the stones that still 
 retain the glory of the Chateau de Mainte- 
 non. It savours of beauty and romance, of 
 days when the spirit of monarchy and mag- 
 nificence prevailed. It brings us nearer to 
 the character of Madame de Maintenon 
 herself, and the influence which she exerted 
 over Louis XIV., than does Versailles. There 
 is here, something more intimate and per- 
 sonal, which brings her individuality vividly 
 to view, and shows the true associations of her 
 home. 
 
 280
 
 II If ft 
 
 I 
 
 CHATEAU DE MAINTENON
 
 The Department of Onie 
 
 At her death she bequeathed the chateau, 
 made historic through her possession of it, 
 to her nephew by marriage, the Due de 
 Noailles. It has since been owned by suc- 
 cessive bearers of this distinguished title, and 
 is to-day courteously opened to the pilgrims 
 that visit this shrine of royal favour. 
 
 The chateau itself is of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, and has been considerably restored 
 from time to time, but it is both picturesque 
 and beautiful to behold, covered with deli- 
 cate carving, and ornamented windows ris- 
 ing against the roof. In some respects it is 
 not unlike the Louis XII. wing of the Cha- 
 teau de Blois, being in a similar style of 
 architecture. Strangers are allowed to visit 
 the buildings, looking like stables or depen- 
 dences, on the left of the courtyard, but which 
 in reality contain a superb gallery of pictures. 
 Here the ancestors of the present Due de 
 Noailles look down from their ornamented 
 surroundings upon those who pay them 
 homage. 
 
 In the chateau itself are the bedroom and 
 dining-room which were used by Madame 
 de Maintenon. Here we are shown her 
 portrait by Mignard, full of force and inter- 
 est, and portraying those features so familiar 
 
 281
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to history. Near it is the sedan-chair used by 
 her during her residence at Maintenon. 
 
 The gardens near the chateau are delight- 
 ful examples of the art of Lenotre, who 
 laid them out. TIhe French gardens have an 
 atmosphere and beauty all their own. They 
 possess lovely statues of white marble, par- 
 terres and tunnels of green, profusions of 
 flowers and straight, formal lines, though 
 less shaded by trees and shrubs than those of 
 Italy or England. 
 
 Mr. Wilton and his daughter were de- 
 lighted with what they saw at Maintenon, 
 and enjoyed a drive in the park, where they 
 found the Avenue Racine, named after the 
 poet, who made long visits to this delight- 
 ful abode. Indeed, to Racine the charm of 
 Maintenon was both a pleasure and an in- 
 spiration, and from it he drew thoughts 
 which appear in his tragedies of " Esther " 
 and " Athalie," composed for the young 
 ladies of St. Cyr. 
 
 One of the features of the park at Mainte- 
 non is the ruin of the great aqueduct built 
 by Louis XIV. for the purpose of bringing 
 the water from the river Eure to Versailles, 
 used in the famous fountains known as 
 " Les Grands Eaux." 
 
 282
 
 The Departnient of Orne 
 
 It chanced at Maintenon that Mr. Wilton 
 and his daughter met two old friends, who 
 added considerably to the pleasure of their 
 visit. As we are likely to see something 
 more of them, we may as well disclose their 
 names in this history. They were xMr. 
 George Van Cortland and his sister Mary. 
 They were both good-looking, well bred, and 
 members of an old New York family. They 
 had left their father and mother at Aix-les- 
 Bains, and were taking a pleasure-trip 
 together. 
 
 They w^ere w^ll known to the Wiltons and 
 the American, and Gladys was delighted to 
 see them. 
 
 " Why, Mary, w^here did you come from? " 
 said Gladys. "Think of our meeting here! 
 It is most amusing. I had no idea that you 
 were abroad, George. How well George is 
 looking since his illness! I should never 
 know that you had had typhoid fever, 
 George." And Gladys gave a little laugh, 
 which brought the colour to her cheek, and 
 made her look like a young goddess de- 
 scended to the park of Maintenon from 
 some region above the earth. At least 
 George thought so as he looked at her in the 
 sunlight.
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " Where are you going, when you leave 
 here?" asked Mary, after the four had ex- 
 changed greetings and recovered from their 
 unexpected meeting. 
 
 " We are going on to Chartres in a day 
 or two," said Mr. Wilton. " Why don't 
 you come along with us? We could make a 
 very jolly little party, couldn't we?" he 
 added, turning to his daughter. 
 
 " Oh, yes, do come," said Gladys. " It 
 would be so nice to have you both, and then 
 we can go back to Argentan together." 
 
 " Shall we, George? " said Mary. 
 
 " I see no reason why we should not," said 
 George. " I think it would be delightful." 
 
 Mr. Wilton liked George Van Cortland. 
 He was the kind of young man that he ap- 
 proved of. The family to which he belonged 
 was regarded by Mr. Wilton as one of the 
 best that there was in America, and he vener- 
 ated the best there was in America, much 
 more than the best there was in Europe. 
 George was athletic, well built, and hand- 
 some. He was thoroughly strenuous, and as 
 clean in character as he was well made in 
 physique. 
 
 Mr. Wilton liked this kind of voung man, 
 and then George was a member of the firm 
 
 284
 
 TJie Department of Orne 
 
 of Van Cortland and Company, bankers, 
 Wall Street, and a very active young member 
 at that. Mr. Wilton did business with this 
 firm, and liked their junior partner. He was 
 genuinely glad to see him, and to have him 
 and his sister as travelling companions. 
 
 They set out from Maintenon the next 
 day, and journeyed together to Chartres. 
 Mr. Wilton talked stocks with George, who 
 was abroad on a short vacation, and the rest 
 of the party had plenty to chat about. They 
 were taken up with Paris fashions and private 
 gossip most of the time, and it was not long 
 before they arrived at the station at Chartres. 
 
 Maintenon is to the northeast, in the country 
 of Epernon and Rambouillet, where the 
 President of the Republic has an official 
 residence, with shooting-preserves. It is 
 an attractive part of France, difi^erent in 
 character from Normandy, and filled with 
 interesting places and associations. The 
 towers of its magnificent cathedral dominate 
 Chartres from the far distant view. The 
 railway line from Le Mans to Paris passes 
 over a broad plain before reaching the town, 
 and the tow^ers appear at first like tiny specks 
 upon the horizon, and grow larger as we 
 approach, rising finally to their actual height. 
 
 285
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 We have reason to remember the impression 
 which is to be received from this distant 
 view of the cathedral of Chartres, from many- 
 journeys over this wind-swept plain, in 
 strong contrast with the domestic hills and 
 rolling scenery of Orne or Seine Inferieure. 
 It possesses a grandeur and eloquence in 
 keeping with so great a monument to the 
 Almighty. 
 
 At Chartres we were driven to the Hotel du 
 Due de Chartres, appropriately named after 
 a member of the royal family of France who 
 bears this title. It so happened, that with 
 our friends arrived a travelling circus, which 
 pitched its tents in close proximity to the 
 windows of the hotel, in every other way 
 desirable. 
 
 In the middle of the night the ladies were 
 aroused by a fearful uproar and shouting. 
 Mr. Wilton was aroused. Gladys was 
 aroused. All the occupants of the Hotel du 
 Due de Chartres were aroused. Mr. Wilton 
 hurried to his daughter's room, clothed in 
 light attire, to see if anything were wrong. 
 The hall was filled with frightened guests. 
 
 "Oh, monsieur!" said one of the men 
 servants, who was on his return from the 
 lower regions, "Oh, monsieur! Lock your- 
 
 286
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 self into your room. It is not safe to be up. 
 One of the lions of the travelling circus has 
 got loose. He is hungry, and for all we 
 know, may have eaten up a little girl." 
 
 Why the man should imagine that the hun- 
 gry lion might have eaten up a little girl at 
 that hour of the night, Mr. Blodget Wilton 
 did not know, nor did George, whom he met 
 in the hallway, know either; so, after assur- 
 ing themselves that the ladies were safe, they 
 returned to their own rooms to see the fun. 
 
 Below the window a fearful racket and 
 hubbub was taking place. Terrified Gauls 
 were rushing wildly about, calling upon the 
 saints to save them, and endeavouring to es- 
 cape from the lion, and to catch him, all at 
 the same time. Some were carrying lassoes, 
 others guns. One had even armed himself 
 with a long carving-knife, with which he 
 hoped to pierce to the heart the angry king 
 of beasts. All, be it said, were in a com- 
 plete state of panic, and no one knew exactly 
 where the lion was at the moment when our 
 friends looked out of their windows. 
 
 Finally one of the keepers succeeded in 
 caging the wild animal in his rightful abode, 
 and the people came forth once more, first 
 in fear and trembling, then courageously, at 
 
 287
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 last with assurance and relief. They gathered 
 about the cage and poked the lion through 
 the bars, while he, fatigued with his excur- 
 sion to the town, contented himself with 
 growling and showing his teeth whilst pacing 
 up and down the limited area allotted to him. 
 To show his anger at being thus confined, 
 he and his brethren of the circus roared all 
 night, to the distraction of Mr. Wilton and 
 the other guests of the hotel, who were 
 vainly endeavouring to snatch forty winks 
 before daylight. 
 
 " I can't stand this," said Mr. Wilton the 
 next morning. " Either that circus must 
 leave town, or I do. How much will you 
 take to get out?" said he, later in the day 
 through an interpreter, to the manager of 
 the circus. The manager named a certain 
 sum. 
 
 " Too large," said Mr. Wilton, whose 
 instinct always led him to negotiate for 
 things under the market price. " I'll give 
 you so much," he added, naming a figure 
 which was large enough to make the manager 
 open his eyes. " It is a rainy day, and your 
 show isn't worth nearly as much to you as the 
 sum I have offered, with your seating ca- 
 pacity," and Mr. Wilton emphasized his 
 
 288
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 remark by slapping his cheque-book down 
 on the table. 
 
 The manager, perceiving the truth of the 
 argument, decided to accept, and having been 
 duly informed of the greatness of Mr. Wil- 
 ton's fortune and power, the bargain was 
 struck, and the circus left town that very 
 morning, to the astonishment and relief of 
 the citizens of Chartres. 
 
 Mr. Wilton became at once the object of 
 public curiosity and concern. The local 
 paper published an article. The inhabitants 
 talked of nothing else. The man in the 
 street knew of " qe Monsieur Wilton " and 
 his wonderful power of gold. He had 
 bought up the entire circus, some said, and 
 given it as a present to the President of the 
 Republic. Was there anything these rich 
 Americans would not do? They were more 
 remarkable than the " Lor's Anglais*' who 
 would come sometimes and take every room 
 in the hotel. Mr. Wilton was a hero, pro 
 tern., and the idol of the Hotel du Due de 
 Chartres. The mayor called upon him, and 
 invited him to attend a banquet and subscribe 
 to a number of local charities. Mr. Wilton, 
 nothing loath, subscribed, and became in a 
 
 289
 
 Amofig French Inns 
 
 few days little short of a dictator in the affairs 
 of Chartres. 
 
 But we digress from our narrative. The 
 cathedral, of course, dominates the town. 
 We will forego a description of this magnifi- 
 cent religious monument, for so familiar is 
 it to the world at large that any further 
 mention here would be superfluous. It is 
 rightly considered by many to be the most 
 beautiful cathedral in existence. Gladys and 
 the Van Cortlands spent ideal days in wan- 
 dering through its interior and beneath its 
 noble vaultings. 
 
 " It is wonderfully impressive," said 
 Gladys. 
 
 " I think I like it better than any church I 
 have been in," said George, looking at Gladys 
 as she smiled. Somehow Gladys had never 
 seemed to smile in just that way before. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how nice it is to be 
 with Americans again," said she; "you are 
 so different from the foreigners, George. 
 Somehow I never feel that they are sincere 
 when they speak, and when we are talking 
 we always understand just what the other 
 feels, and we know that it is real. Still, they 
 are fascinating, are they not, Mary? " 
 
 " They certainly are," replied Mary; " but 
 
 290
 
 FIFTEENTH CENTURY HOUSE, CHARTRES
 
 The Dcpartinent of Orne 
 
 good gracious, Gladys, fancy marrying one 
 of them!" 
 
 " Let us go and see the Maison de Loens," 
 said Gladys, turning the conversation to an- 
 other topic. " It is the old chapter-house, 
 I believe." So they visited it, and found it 
 a most interesting place, full of the atmos- 
 phere that pervades the sanctified life of the 
 cathedral. 
 
 Gladys seemed to enjoy being with George 
 Van Cortland, and Mr. Wilton observed with 
 pleasure their conversation and companion- 
 ship. He took occasion to enlarge upon 
 George's fine characteristics that evening, and 
 to say how much he liked him. 
 
 There is an interesting Hotel de Ville at 
 Chartres, in which there is a museum. 
 George and Gladys visited it one afternoon 
 together. As they passed through some of 
 the streets on their expedition, they found a 
 number of delightful houses of the fifteenth 
 and sixteenth centuries, that brought back all 
 the mediaeval character which the more 
 modern buildings served to do away with. 
 
 " Do you remember, Gladys, how we 
 used to play in Central Park as children?" 
 said George. " I do not think we have 
 really been to walk alone together since." 
 
 291
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 " Why, that is true, I do not think we 
 have," said Gladys, softly; and George felt 
 that he had not realized before how much 
 he had missed by not making better use of 
 his opportunities. 
 
 " How did you enjoy your winter last 
 year in New York? " he asked. 
 
 " Oh, very much," answered his compan- 
 ion. " But you know I had really been out in 
 France before. It was hardly a novelty. 
 But I missed you at the dances, George. 
 We felt so sorry that you were ill all winter. 
 You look wonderfully strong now, however. 
 I cannot realize that we were ever anxious 
 about you." 
 
 Gladys looked shyly up at the face of her 
 stalwart escort, and he looked down into 
 hers, and a thrill passed through his frame 
 akin to ecstasy. Was it that love possessed 
 his soul in a moment, after years of simple, 
 friendly acquaintance with Gladys Wilton? 
 It is difficult for us to say, it was so strange 
 and sudden a sensation. 
 
 These moments come to men unexpectedly, 
 and take them so unawares that it is not 
 possible to pause and analyze the thought 
 which holds them spellbound and enslaves 
 their being in a holy rapture, lifting them 
 
 292
 
 The Department of Onie 
 
 from the common light of day into the atmos- 
 phere of heaven. For love cometh from 
 heaven, and is a gift of the gods. And sud- 
 denly life is changed into a miracle of joy. 
 
 Thus, in the magic air of sunny France, 
 fanned by the soft winds that blow over its 
 plains and forests and its ornamented 
 shrines of God, did George Van Cortland 
 realize that he loved this friend of early 
 childhood. In the charmed atmosphere of 
 love, unheralded, unsought, untold, he was 
 at first as one intoxicated with unreasonable 
 joy. 
 
 And Gladys? What was the meaning of 
 those laughing eyes, the flashes of excitement, 
 the colour rising to her face? It might be 
 merely the tenderness of old acquaintance. 
 A woman's heart is not so easy to discern. 
 She shields her holier thoughts behind a 
 cloak of maidenly concern, and holds him 
 at a distance who would approach too swiftly. 
 So it seemed wise to George to wait, and, 
 if possible, control his natural desire to speak 
 out, and learn what fate decreed should be 
 his rightful end. 
 
 That they saw little of the musee and the 
 Hotel de Ville at Chartres, may scarcely be 
 
 293
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 wondered at by those who know the secret 
 in the hearts of these two lovers. 
 
 The following day the party of five left 
 Chartres and took the train to Nogent, on 
 the southeastern boundary of Normandy. 
 Reentering it, they passed on to Mortagne 
 and thence to Alen^on, the capital of the 
 Department of Orne. There is a forest to 
 the east of Mortagne, south of which is the 
 Chateau de la Veve. The monastery of La 
 Grande Trappe is also in this region, and 
 well merits a visit. The town of Alengon 
 is on the southern boundary of Orne, at about 
 its centre. The best hotel is, need we say, 
 the Hotel du Grand Cerf, a very comfortable 
 place to stay in. The town is historically 
 interesting, having been taken by William 
 the Conqueror as early as 1296. It was here 
 that the famous incident occurred, in which 
 the defenders beat their skins and leather 
 garments against the walls of the town, cry- 
 ing, "Hides, hides for the tanner!" The 
 Conqueror never forgave this insult to his 
 birth, and swore " by the splendour of God " 
 to be avenged upon the defenders. We may 
 well imagine the punishment which was 
 meted out to them when he took possession 
 of their stronghold. 
 
 294
 
 The Depart jucnt of Orjie 
 
 We find this region as rich in old tradi- 
 tions and legendary lore, as are those parts 
 which we have already visited in architec- 
 ture. The latter seems to bear an odd 
 resemblance, in its character, to the country 
 itself. There are in both the most active, the 
 most sudden variations. At one moment we 
 are on an arid plain, swept by the wind and 
 dust and surrounded by brown fields. At 
 the next, we are in a fertile valley. At 
 one place a church appears, so overloaded 
 with flamboyant or Renaissance ornamenta- 
 tion that it seems scarcely able to stand be- 
 neath its weight of riches. At the next we 
 come upon an abbey or a chateau of Norman 
 architecture, so bare of decoration that it 
 seems desolate and dull. 
 
 These contrasts were hardly noticed by 
 George Van Cortland during the trip from 
 Chartres to Alengon. He was too engrossed 
 in the revelation of love to his soul, to think 
 of anything but its efi'ect upon himself and 
 the object of his passion. He realized, in- 
 deed, for the first time in his life, that he 
 possessed a soul, and what the soul may be 
 when once it has been touched by love. 
 
 There was, however, little chance for him 
 to learn whether Gladys realized also the 
 
 295
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 deep feeling which had so suddenly taken pos- 
 session of him, and made him half-man, half- 
 slave to this young girl, whom he had never 
 regarded in any other light than as a passing 
 friend. But yet how soon doth love replace 
 the brotherly regard, and make the selfsame 
 object hold us, in desire to obtain the heart 
 of her who now becomes the idol of our life! 
 How often have men scofifed at Love, and 
 laughed away his subtle arts, and then cried 
 out for mercy when once wounded by his 
 dart! 
 
 There is a church at Alengon called Notre 
 Dame, which possesses in its portal one of 
 the most beautiful examples of the flam- 
 boyant period that has found its way as 
 far south as this. The elaborate work char- 
 acterizing this portion of the church is in 
 striking contrast to the uneducated taste dis- 
 played in its tower and its choir. Here that 
 strange and sudden variance, of which we 
 have spoken, is concentrated in a single 
 monument. 
 
 George and Gladys made a visit to the 
 church the day after their arrival at Alen- 
 Qon. Mr. Wilton was busy over some cor- 
 respondence, and Mary had a convenient 
 headache, so that the two were left alone. 
 
 296
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 It was the first opportunity George had had 
 since they were at Chartres, and when once 
 they were together, he found himself almost 
 abashed in the presence of his love. To 
 pour out his heart's desire, and clasp her in 
 his arms, was his first thought, but when he 
 wished to do so something seemed to hold 
 him back and forbid his speaking. 
 
 " Is not this a beautiful piece of carving? " 
 said Gladys. " It is almost like lace in its 
 elaborate delicacy. By the way, we must visit 
 the lace establishment here, and get some 
 of the famous ' point d'Alengon.' " 
 
 They were driven to the place where this 
 beautiful lace is made, and where thousands 
 of women are employed. Gladys was inter- 
 ested in the details of the lace-making and in 
 the lives of the women who were thus em- 
 ployed, while George found comfort and 
 pleasure in buying a superb veil and pre- 
 senting it to her. 
 
 Perhaps he wondered, if some day she 
 might not wear it to adorn her hair, as he 
 led her in bridal robes to the altar, to become 
 his wife. How can we tell, who are only 
 half-admitted to the confidence of these two 
 lovers? The hours thus spent were exquintc 
 to George. He seemed to be half in drcam- 
 
 2Q7
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 land and half on earth, and Gladys the god- 
 dess of some Olympian grove. 
 
 Her smiles, her confidences to him of her- 
 self, were treasures that he held in after- 
 years, and looked back upon with joy. We 
 have even heard him say, in later life, that 
 France has been for him since then a sort 
 of fairy-land that held a sentiment which 
 nothing could destroy, whatever else went 
 from him in his life. 
 
 What is there on earth more satisfying 
 than romantic love, made manifest in youth, 
 and consummated in the union of two souls? 
 Nothing takes its place. No pain can dim 
 its joys. No sorrow or despair destroy the 
 fragrance of its truth. 
 
 And Gladys? How was she impressed by 
 these unfettered signs of love in the spirit of 
 her childhood's friend, now met in early 
 womanhood? As she looked up into those 
 eyes, that showed only too plainly the truth 
 and honesty of the afifection in the man be- 
 hind them, all the inclination of her nature 
 to flirt and temporize with those who sought 
 her hand was taken from her. Love, in a 
 moment, transformed the wayward, frivo- 
 lous girl into a woman. And she realized 
 what affection of this kind might be. 
 
 298
 
 The Department of Oyiie 
 
 George had certainly been fascinating to her 
 during the last days. It must be that he cared 
 for her. But how did he care for her? Was 
 it really love? That she cared for him she 
 knew; but how? Such were the questions 
 which came to the mind of Gladys Wilton 
 during this day which they spent enjoying 
 the sights of Alengon. 
 
 Two great towers arise near the Hotel 
 de Ville, remains of the ancient chateau ; 
 and they paused to admire and remark upon 
 them. George stood beside her, so close 
 that he nearly touched her, and as the two 
 looked up at the stern, circular walls of the 
 tower, she began to realize how great a place 
 this man had taken in her heart. Still, she 
 doubted herself, so uncertain was she of her 
 own love and the knowledge of her true 
 feelings. 
 
 Suddenly George spoke. " I hope you are 
 not tired, Gladys." 
 
 " How could I be, George, with you 
 here?" 
 
 The words fell so unexpectedly she hardly 
 realized what was said, and when she had 
 said them, wished she had not. But it was 
 too late. George had caught the spirit of the 
 remark, and, borne by the fire of his love, 
 
 299
 
 Amo7ig French Inns 
 
 exclaimed, " Gladys, do you really mean 
 it? Is it true, or am I dreaming? Gladys, 
 I love you, I adore you. I cannot keep it 
 back. You have taken me out of myself, my 
 love! Say that you are not angry with me, 
 and tell me, oh, tell me, that you love me 
 also." 
 
 There was not time to hesitate or retreat. 
 Had she not called it upon herself? Gladys 
 felt that she was being carried away and 
 overwhelmed by the current of love, which 
 swept these two toward one another. 
 
 " George," she said, softly, half-daring to 
 say the words, " George, I love you." 
 
 They were in the shadow of the great 
 tower now, unseen by any one, and with an 
 exclamation of joy, George Van Cortland 
 clasped his loved one in his arms. But one 
 word sealed the kiss which he imprinted on 
 her brow — *' Sweetheart! " — yet, echoing a 
 thousand times in her soul, it told more than 
 we can ever tell of true love, nobly crowned 
 and won. 
 
 Oh, that all lovers might be so blessed of 
 the gods as to achieve without more grief 
 the consummation of their great desire! 
 
 Oh, that the world were made of hearts 
 entwined as these, and free from sorrows, 
 
 300
 
 The Department of Oriie 
 
 that tear in twain the lives of men and women 
 worthy of a happier end! Let us write of 
 them in our books, and sing congratulations 
 in our verse, and exhort the world to follow 
 in their train. Yet nature holds the sceptre, 
 governing this kingdom of the heart, and 
 bears with her the travesty of love when 
 lovers disagree, or love in man is unrecipro- 
 cated by a like passion in woman. 
 
 The feeling of an infinite happiness so 
 possessed George and Gladys, that they cared 
 little what they saw or did. To be, was 
 enough for them, and to bathe in the beauty 
 of each other's love gave life, for them, its 
 full completion and accord. They decided 
 to keep their love a secret for a few days, 
 in order to enjoy, in freedom from the stir 
 its knowledge would create, the full enjoy- 
 ment of their happiness; and so they re- 
 turned to the hotel, apparently the same, but 
 yet how different at heart! So Love doth 
 metamorphose the soul of man, or woman, 
 with his coming! 
 
 The following day they all left Alencon 
 and made a beautiful excursion to the Cha- 
 teau de Carrouges, passing through a forest, 
 fairylike in its growth and appropriate to the 
 mood of lovers. Carrouges is one of the 
 
 301
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 most important as well as one of the largest 
 chateaux in Orne. It is a notable example 
 of the less ornate monuments of this portion 
 of France. Although almost every century 
 from the fourteenth to the eighteenth has 
 left something to add to the vast proportions 
 of the mass of buildings, the result is rather 
 sad and bare. The chief ornamentation is 
 toward the roofs and on the towers at the 
 corners. Moats surround its walls, and a 
 bridge leads to the doorway of the chateau. 
 The first view which the party obtained, 
 through a beautiful Renaissance iron gate, 
 is one of the most agreeable. 
 
 Mr. Wilton thought Carrouges rather 
 gloomy, and Mary shared this view; but to 
 George and Gladys everything, seen through 
 lovers' eyes, was roseate in hue and touched 
 with beauty. One of the most attractive 
 portions of the chateau is the pavilion over 
 the entrance, separated from the building 
 itself. This is of great beauty of design, and 
 is crowned by gracefully pointed towers and 
 roofs; its delicate points, its windows with 
 ornamented caps, its differently coloured 
 bricks, recall the graceful style of the fif- 
 teenth century. 
 
 The apartments in the interior of the cha- 
 
 302
 
 The Departnicut of Ornc 
 
 teau have little left of their former splendour. 
 That where Louis XI. must have slept when 
 on his way to Alengon, is remarkable only 
 for a vast chimneypiece and some gilded 
 woodwork. Marie de Medici is reported 
 to have used this room also, some centuries 
 later. The Seigneurs of Carrouges, of 
 Veneur, and of Blosset, who have succes- 
 sively owned the chateau, have figured in the 
 most prominent afifairs of both Church and 
 state. But we regret that time does not 
 permit us to enter into the histories of these 
 interesting families. 
 
 On leaving Carrouges, our friends took a 
 long and beautiful drive toward the north- 
 east, to the famous Chateau d'O, near Mon- 
 tree. The whole country seemed tinged with 
 the atmosphere of romance. Mr. Wilton and 
 the rest of the party suspected that some 
 understanding had been reached by George 
 and Gladys, and were more than delighted 
 at the subtle evidences, which they were 
 unable to hide during the drive, of an attach- 
 ment so natural and healthy that there was no 
 concealing from these sympathetic compan- 
 ions what was taking place. 
 
 At the Chateau d'O they were allowed 
 to wander ofif by themselves, and to enjoy 
 
 303
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 those exquisite and treasured moments, of 
 which lovers alone know the value. In these 
 ideal surroundings how can the affections 
 be restrained when they have once been 
 allowed to venture upon the sea of love? 
 As if made for love are these gardens and 
 parks surrounding the chateaux of France. 
 The French give themselves over to the 
 tender passion with a willingness and enthu- 
 siasm almost unknown elsewhere. Their 
 mental attitude is full of poetry, and so are 
 the pleasure-grounds which they have created 
 as a setting to it in past centuries. 
 
 The Chateau d'O, which is one of the 
 large and important places of Orne, arises 
 out of watery moats in the centre of a magnif- 
 icent park. Its graceful exterior, its loftiness 
 and dignity, make it almost ecclesiastical in 
 effect. The oldest and the most noticeable 
 portion of the chateau is said to have been 
 built by Isabeau de Baviere, upon land given 
 her by the King of England; but it is prob- 
 ably of the fifteenth century. There is an 
 irregularity in the arrangement of the win- 
 dows, nay, an absence of them almost in 
 some places, which gives to the exterior a 
 curious effect. It is a combination of stern- 
 ness and delicacy, of lightness and force, at 
 
 304
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 once engaging and impressive. It was for 
 long the possession of the famous family of 
 the individual O. The last D'O was director 
 of finances to Henry III. and Henry IV., 
 and was one of the mignons of the former. 
 
 George and Gladys wandered in and 
 around the walls of the chateau, bending 
 over the stone balustrade above the moat in 
 ideal and blissful happiness. Once he bent 
 down, in the shadows of the park, and whis- 
 pered in her ear, "My love!" — and kissed 
 her, — and she, looking at him, felt that she 
 must surely love this man who so embodied 
 everything that was to her ideal. 
 
 How the thought of Trouville, and all 
 those there, seemed far away and uninter- 
 esting to her, now that she had found in 
 happiness an ideal too beautiful to describe. 
 The thought of Count Raoul de Breville was 
 to her almost revolting, and she could think 
 of the duchess only as associated with that 
 incident. Then her mind recurred to the 
 ardent Count Romeo, to the spaghetti party 
 at the Hotel du Grand Cerf, Les Andelys, 
 and it all seemed so ridiculous, so much the 
 travesty of love, when compared to this 
 ideal hour. 
 
 " My angel," whispered George, as he 
 
 305
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 bent down toward her, " tell me once more 
 that you love me, — again, Gladys, once 
 again. It is almost too much happiness for 
 one man to possess. I hardly feel worthy of 
 so great a prize. It seems almost holy in 
 its wonderful impression upon me." 
 
 " George," said Gladys, leaning against 
 his arm and holding his hand in hers, " you 
 are to me all the world and every one in it. 
 Everything falls before the greatness of your 
 power to make me happy. To have you 
 with me is enough. Why should I not 
 acknowledge it, now that we are engaged to 
 each other? It is true, and I should not be 
 true to myself if I denied it." 
 
 And thus they wandered back to the others 
 through the shadowy alleys of the park, 
 while George kept repeating in his mind the 
 refrain: 
 
 Let all the world keep holiday with thee. 
 And hie in summer's smiles to Normandy. 
 
 It seemed to have become the love-motif 
 of his stay here, and to typify the spirit of 
 his mood. He repeated it to Gladys, and 
 she kept it in her heart and treasured it. 
 Love seemed suddenly to develop hidden 
 mysteries in her nature hitherto unknown to 
 
 306
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 herself, and the romantic atmosphere of 
 France brought them to the surface. Words 
 and thoughts that to the uninitiated seem 
 but follies, become natural expressions when 
 love takes complete possession of the heart. 
 
 Men and women, under the cardinal in- 
 fluence of love, are not as others, and may 
 not be judged as they are. They are subject 
 to different laws and impulses. When all 
 goes well, they are lifted to the skies and 
 breathe the air of the gods. When love is 
 baffled or disturbed, they pass through " the 
 valley of the shadow of death," and torture 
 holds them in her painful embrace. They 
 are maddened with desire, with ideals unful- 
 filled, a promise of happiness held out by 
 Nature, and revoked. They are, indeed, 
 to be pitied. 
 
 Mercifully these two lovers had not fallen 
 into this category. Why they should have 
 been so favoured by fate and blessed of the 
 gods, we may not explain. But sucii they 
 were, and as such, we have been privileged 
 to accompany them, and to portray something 
 of their joy and blessedness. 
 
 The country near Montree and Almene- 
 ches is rich in beautiful places and chateaux. 
 Besides those already described, there are 
 
 307
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the superb Chateau de Sacy, the residence 
 of the late Due d'Audififret-Pasquier, and the 
 fifteenth-century Chateau of Clerai. Sees, 
 with its interesting cathedral, is near by, and 
 farther to the north the famous Haras du 
 Pin, founded as a royal stock-farm by Louis 
 XIV. Its chateau and view are charming, 
 its extensive buildings and stables interest- 
 ing, and its noble avenues and trees in keep- 
 ing with the magnificence of its founder. 
 It is here that the government to-day breeds 
 some of the finest Norman horses. 
 
 Mr. Wilton was extremely interested in 
 the Haras, and asked no end of questions 
 of the young officer who showed the party 
 over it, and who could mercifully speak 
 English; for Mr. Blodget Wilton was not an 
 adept in French. He was thinking of his 
 place on Long Island, and taking in a great 
 many practical ideas, to be transplanted to 
 American soil. 
 
 And so on to Argentan. What form of 
 excursion more delightful than to pass 
 through this picturesque and romantic 
 scenery of France, in love, engaged to the 
 object of our choice? Truly, we have no 
 cause to complain, if the gods permit us to 
 do likewise. It was no use keeping the thing 
 
 308
 
 The Department of Onie 
 
 a secret any longer from our party. We had 
 already found out what was going on, and 
 as we were all to be together for some days, 
 Gladys and George decided to tell us of 
 their engagement. 
 
 It was hardly a surprise, but Mary af- 
 fected to be very much taken off her guard, 
 and Mr. Wilton was in the greatest excite- 
 ment and spirits over the affair. He gave his 
 unqualified blessing to both the young people, 
 and promised to do everything to make 
 them happy. He ordered a wonderful din- 
 ner at the Hotel des Trois Maries, at Argen- 
 tan, which kept the whole establishment in 
 a state of preparation all the afternoon, on 
 the day of our arrival. He toasted his 
 daughter and future son-in-law in a wonder- 
 ful bottle of vintage wine, and went off to 
 bed in a distinct state of hilarity, kissing 
 every one good night, including Mary. 
 
 Perhaps his greatest triumph was that he 
 had circumvented the intrigues of the duch- 
 ess and the foreigners and the tendencies of 
 Mrs. Wilton. That he had been the means 
 of bringing the young people together, and 
 that the courtship and betrothal had taken 
 place under his auspices, was to him so de- 
 lightful that he never really recovered from 
 
 309
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 it to his dying day. Whatever the social 
 successes of his wife, he had always this 
 feather in his cap, that he had been the one 
 to settle his daughter in life. 
 
 " Go it, my boy, go it," he said to George, 
 slapping him on the back. " You can't be 
 young but once. Enjoy it while you can. 
 Make the best of it. We'll have a bang-up 
 wedding in New York in November. And 
 I'll buy up a whole cuvee of '89 champagne 
 in Paris for the occasion. We'll show 'em 
 what we can do in the way of a wedding, 
 I tell you!" And Mr. Blodget Wilton 
 trotted ofif to bed, the happiest man in the 
 world, after George Van Cortland, who 
 must, of course, be excepted, being a trifle 
 happier than any other human being at that 
 particular moment. 
 
 They remained at Argentan, and made 
 excursions every day to the chateaux in the 
 neighbourhood. Argentan itself is delight- 
 ful. The Hotel des Trois Maries is very 
 comfortable; and they were all as happy 
 there as the day is long. The Church of St. 
 Germain is a magnificent, flamboyant struc- 
 ture. It dates from the fifteenth to the 
 seventeenth century, and its Renaissance 
 towers and portal are rich in decoration. 
 
 310
 
 The Department of Orne 
 
 The old Chateau of Argentan is a pictur- 
 esque monument, now used as public offices, 
 and the Tour Marguerite is an interesting 
 sentinel, remaining from the old fortifica- 
 tions. Northeast of Argentan, and near 
 Fel, are the Chateaux of Chambois and 
 Aubry. They are not far apart, and in the 
 neighbourhood of Exmes. Chambois is of 
 the twelfth century, and a beautiful specimen 
 of the old feudal fortress, partly ruined. 
 The Chateau d'Aubry, of the seventeenth 
 century, rises sternly from surrounding 
 water, but it possesses the chimneys and other 
 attributes which denote a later period of 
 architecture. Its surroundings are pictur- 
 esque in the extreme. 
 
 Another day was spent in visiting the 
 Chateau de la Saucerie, near Domfront, to 
 the westward. It is of the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, and of a delightfully rustic and pictur- 
 esque appearance. On their return the happy 
 party bade farewell to the Hotel des Trois 
 Maries and its kind hosts (who had, we fear, 
 found out the secret of our two lovers), and 
 journeyed toward Falaise, visiting on the 
 way the Chateau de la Foret-d'Auvray, and 
 the Castel du Repas, beautiful abodes near 
 
 311
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Putange, and about midway between Argen- 
 tan and Falaise. 
 
 With this an ideal trip, in and out of the 
 Department of Orne, was completed, and 
 our friends passed on into Calvados. 
 
 312
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 AT THE HOTEL DE GUILLAUME LE 
 CONQUERANT 
 
 Dives 
 
 In the compartment of the train on which 
 our party journeyed to Falaise was a culti- 
 vated and interesting Frenchman, who soon 
 entered into conversation w^ith us. On learn- 
 ing that we had been to Argentan, and had 
 seen the Church of St. Germain, he told us 
 a legend concerning an old bell there. 
 
 The legend runs as follows: A certain 
 Jacques Gautier Dumontel, the son of a 
 merchant of Paris, was travelling toward 
 Argentan one evening. It chanced to be 
 Whitsunday, the day of the fair at Argentan. 
 His road led through the forest of Gouffcrn, 
 and while he was in the midst of it the shad- 
 owy form of a beautiful woman, half- 
 clothed, appeared before his horse. He rode 
 after her, but the vision, or phantom, was 
 always the same distance in advance. At 
 
 313
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 last, in the midst of his chase, a voice cried 
 out near him: "The third merchant of 
 Paris is in our hands." He looked in the 
 direction of the voice and perceived the 
 forms of three men crouching about a fire in 
 the forest, and drinking from silver goblets. 
 One of them bore a resemblance to the cruel 
 Abdalla of Spain, of whom Dumontel had 
 heard at the time that he followed Dugues- 
 clin into that country. 
 
 Thinking himself to be in the hands of 
 some evil spirits who had entrapped him 
 through the allurements of the beautiful 
 vision, Dumontel was seized with a sudden 
 fear. He gave the reins to his horse, and, 
 urging him forward with his spurs, he rode 
 about in the forest for a long time, endeavour- 
 ing to escape. 
 
 At last a bell in the distance began to toll, 
 and enabled him to find his way safely to 
 Argentan. On arriving there he told his 
 adventure to his friends, who listened to his 
 story with interest, and endeavoured to con- 
 vince him that the whole matter was due 
 to his disordered fancy. He was, however, 
 so affected, by his experience, that when he 
 returned to Paris his first act was to purchase 
 the most beautiful bell that money could 
 
 3H
 
 Hotel de Gttillaiime le Coiiqiicyant 
 
 buy, and send it as a gift to the Church of 
 St. Germain at Argentan. It remained there 
 until 1793, when it was destroyed by the 
 Revolution. It has been replaced since then 
 by another bell, which, like its predecessor, 
 rings annually upon the eve of the fair at 
 Argentan, and doubtless directs many an 
 honest merchant on his way through the 
 heart of the forest. 
 
 Mr. Wilton was interested in the legend, 
 and conversed at some length with the 
 French gentleman, who spoke excellent Eng- 
 lish. The world is small, after all, and be- 
 fore arriving we discovered that our travel- 
 ling acquaintance was the Vicomte de Brebis, 
 an intimate friend of the duchess and of 
 every one else in Trouville. Of course he 
 had heard of the something that had occurred 
 there, though he did not let the chief actors 
 in this drama know it. He was inclined to 
 tell us a great deal about Normandy and its 
 customs. 
 
 " Although there are many points of inter- 
 est in the people," said he, " perhaps their 
 most curious characteristic is their love of 
 lawsuits. It exists in all classes and under 
 all conditions. To go to law is enough to 
 make a Norman of this region happy for 
 
 315
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the rest of his natural existence. To have 
 even the most petty excuse suffices for the 
 opening of legal proceedings, that last for 
 an interminable length of time, and do very 
 little good to anybody but the lawyer or the 
 notary. 
 
 " I once knew a lady," continued Mon- 
 sieur de Brebis, " who told me with great 
 pride that she had only two lawsuits as 
 yet unsettled, and on inquiring about them, 
 I discovered that one was with her father 
 and the other with her son. I expressed sur- 
 prise, but she seemed to think it was per- 
 fectly natural. The Normans are always 
 at law. A family of peasants will quarrel 
 over a piece of land for fifty years, and they 
 will have the most bitter controversy and 
 jealousy about a clause of a will or a paper, 
 which conveys only an imaginary benefit." 
 
 Thus the whole party arrived at Falaise, 
 the interesting town which was the birth- 
 place of William the Conqueror. We have 
 seen at Rouen the spot where his last hours 
 upon earth were passed. Here was the open- 
 ing of his life, the beginning of his remark- 
 able career. Yonder, in the castle of which 
 we now observe the picturesque remains, 
 fortified by Richard, Duke of Normandy, 
 
 316
 
 Hotel de Guillaume le Couqucraut 
 
 his son Robert le Diable looked down from 
 the heights, and fell in love with Arlettc 
 (the daughter of a tanner), who was wash- 
 ing in the stream below. 
 
 She was warned by her advisers not to 
 enter the castle in response to the seductive 
 entreaties of her royal lover, save by the great 
 door. But though she eventually followed 
 this good counsel, a son William was born 
 out of wedlock. At his birth he seized the 
 straw on which he lay with such tenacity, 
 that it has been quoted as an omen of his 
 life, that he never allowed to slip from him 
 that which he had once grasped in his hands. 
 
 He was known as William the Bastard. 
 At seven years of age he inherited the Duchy 
 of Normandy from his father, and later 
 became the Conqueror of England, marking 
 the turning-point in English history. 
 
 '' Ces messieurs et ces dames devraicnt 
 aivllez au chawteau'' said an old woman, in 
 her funny drawl, outside the Hotel de Nor- 
 mandie, where we had stopped over night. 
 And we proceeded to visit it. We were 
 immensely interested. For it is one of 
 the most important of the feudal castles 
 of France, and surrounded by a history 
 that is second to none. Its grim wall* 
 
 317
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 tell of the days of the Conqueror and the 
 Dukes of Normandy, of the rise of the family 
 of Arlette to royal favour, of Talbot, and 
 of Henry V. of England, They stand as the 
 silent reminders of the origin of states, the 
 turning-point of nations, the creation of an 
 era in history. 
 
 Below it, in the Place de la Trinite, arises 
 the modern statue of the Conqueror upon his 
 charger, challenging the world to combat, — 
 truly an epic figure in the landscape! He 
 stands out as the embodiment of action and 
 virility, the grandeur of manhood, mastering 
 the handicap of his birth, and leaving to man- 
 kind the greatness of his results. We may 
 well pause and do homage to his effigy, in 
 this, the home of his birth. 
 
 George and Gladys stood long, looking 
 at the martial figure of the greatest of the 
 Dukes of Normandy, and then turned into 
 a side street and visited the Eglise de la 
 Trinite. This church has a beautiful Renais- 
 sance '^ portair' and a Gothic nave, and is 
 extremely interesting to study. 
 
 " How strange it seems," said Gladys, " to 
 be standing here where William the Con- 
 queror was actually born, after having been 
 brought up on him in our history at school! " 
 
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 " Yes, love," answered George, " and how 
 happy I am to be here with you! It inspires 
 me to do things that may be worthy of you, 
 in my own life. I only hope that I may be 
 really worthy of your love, sweetheart. 
 Are you sure that you love me, Gladys; are 
 you sure? " 
 
 And Gladys told him again that she was 
 sure, and George believed it, in the fulness 
 of his heart's triumph. 
 
 They met Monsieur de Brebis again at 
 Falaise. He seemed anxious to make them 
 acquainted with anything that was inter- 
 esting, and told them of the famous fair 
 held annually there, which is known as " hi 
 Foire de Gibraye." It is perhaps one of the 
 most historic and important in this country 
 of rural fairs which have been held from 
 time immemorial. 
 
 If we approach the town upon the opening 
 of this fair, we are soon made aware of its 
 existence by the quantity of carts and wagons 
 that appear upon the road, filled with merry- 
 making peasants. They join the general 
 cavalcade en route to the " Foire de Gi- 
 braye." In one cart a whole family are 
 crowded; a mass of human nature, that is, 
 indeed, a curious study. Not only the father 
 
 319
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and mother, but the children and grand- 
 children are frequently included in the party. 
 The women wear the " bonnets de colon," 
 always quaint in effect, while the men disport 
 themselves in blue blouses and sabots. 
 
 They are as happy as the day is long, and 
 intend to be happier when they arrive at the 
 fair. The dust flies in every direction, as 
 a cart full of pigs (as fat as only the bucolic 
 pig can be) rattles around the corner of a 
 hedge, regardless of consequences. An old 
 woman, not unlike a weasel in her facial 
 appearance, the head of the establishment, 
 is seated on a board above the fattest and 
 largest pig, urging the Norman farm-horse 
 forward, and kicking the other pigs with her 
 wooden sabots. 
 
 At last the sounds of music and laughter, 
 of chattering and bargaining, of buying and 
 selling, announce that the fair is at hand, 
 and we join the crowd and prepare to see 
 the sights. Had we come to Falaise in the 
 seventeenth instead of the twentieth century, 
 we should probably have found a different 
 state of things, and one more picturesque to 
 the eye; but as it is, " la Foire de Gibraye " 
 holds it own, and cannot but interest and 
 divert the attention of the visitor to Falaise. 
 
 320
 
 Hotel de Giiillaume le Conqiierant 
 
 The street is lined with booths, filled with 
 every fabric made in the surrounding coun- 
 try. Groups of peasants are engaged in 
 earnest conversation as to the merits of the 
 various goods for sale. A whole family is 
 thrown into a state of excitement, almost 
 bordering on frenzy, over the purchase of 
 a simple pair of stockings. They must be 
 from " le Midi." Normans are more self- 
 contained in their affairs. 
 
 At the end of the square a man is busily 
 beating a large drum, and announcing to an 
 admiring populace that he can extract their 
 teeth without pain. Judging by the average 
 peasant, his services would seem to be un- 
 necessary, for they appear, as a class, to 
 have few of these necessities to spare, and the 
 fame of the American dentist has not yet 
 reached the rural districts of France. 
 
 Bevond the gentleman who extracts teeth 
 is a platform, on which acrobats are giving 
 a performance to a delighted crowd. At the 
 end of it the hat is passed around, and the 
 enthusiastic peasants drop in their sous and 
 cr}^ for more. A deafening noise is kept up 
 by an immense travelling organ, with every 
 conceivable attachment in the way of drums, 
 triangles, and cymbnl?. Tt sends forth a 
 
 321
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 volume of sound like thunder; but it is 
 welcomed by those at the fair as part of the 
 show. 
 
 Farther on a play is being performed, and 
 a clown keeps up a volley of wit before the 
 curtain, and draws forth laughter from the 
 audience, and finally the money from their 
 pockets, after which the painted actors with- 
 draw and the lights are extinguished. Such 
 plays are partly of a comic, partly of a 
 tragic nature, and are never of a high order; 
 but they serve to interest the passer-by, and 
 the little troupe of actors manages to exist 
 from year to year, and to make its round of 
 the country fairs, which occur at stated 
 intervals. 
 
 The life of these theatrical companies is 
 interesting to study. They have often their 
 pathetic side, and could tell a tale of struggle 
 and disappointment, of effort and failure, 
 which might fill a page in the history of 
 the stage. They have produced genius from 
 the ranks of their unhonoured artists. They 
 have been the bitter, early schooling of many 
 an actor who has arisen to prominence. For 
 the French are a race of actors, and in 
 France, as in no other country, " all the 
 world's a stage." 
 
 322
 
 Hotel de Giii/Iaume Ic Coiqucrauf 
 
 In the evening the crowds who attend the 
 fair regale themselves with wine and cider, 
 and indulge in dancing, song, and laughter 
 well into the night. For many, it is tlie 
 event of the year, at which tlie wives and 
 daughters of the peasant revel in llieir Sun- 
 day best, and where the daughter of a 
 family not infrequently meets her future 
 lord and master. After all, it is, in a sense, 
 the parent to the County Fair of America, 
 and to this institution in France we can trace 
 its origin. For here, as with us, the pumpkin, 
 the cabbage, and the apple reign in all their 
 
 glory- 
 Such is a passing picture of Falaise and its 
 
 fair. We leave it with regret, and must 
 regard it ever as one of the most interesting 
 points of France, representing the historic 
 centre of Southern Calvados. 
 
 We said good-bye here to George and 
 Mary for a few days. It was necessary for 
 George to join his parents at Ai\ and inform 
 them of his engagement, and do many things 
 incident to so important an announcement 
 to the world. Mrs. Wilton, it should be 
 borne in mind, was as yet in total ignorance 
 of the whole afifair, and the only suggestion 
 which the outside world could possibly have 
 
 323
 
 Among Frertch Inns 
 
 had was through the Vicomte de Brebis, 
 who, we may venture to say, had formed his 
 own opinions on the subject. 
 
 Thus George bade a fond farewell for a 
 few days to his beloved, and repaired to Paris 
 with his sister; and Mr. Wilton and Gladys 
 and their friend departed for the famous 
 Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant at Dives, 
 where, as we have seen in a previous chapter, 
 their arrival caused such consternation and 
 concern to Trouville. 
 
 The Hostellerie de Guillaume le Con- 
 querant is one of the most ancient and cele- 
 brated inns of France. Situated at the little 
 village of Dives, near the seacoast, in Cal- 
 vados, it looks out over the barren expanse 
 of land reclaimed from the Channel, where 
 William, Duke of Normandy, set forth for 
 the conquest of England. 
 
 The ancient harbour at the mouth of the 
 river Dives has been filled up with sand, and 
 a pillar marks the spot where the Conqueror 
 is supposed to have set sail. The village, 
 once an important place on the coast, con- 
 tains some interesting carved houses and a 
 church, upon the walls of which are in- 
 scribed the names of the knights who accom- 
 panied William to England. It is, therefore, 
 
 324
 
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 '■li 
 
 S 
 
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 J 
 
 as 
 
 J 
 J 
 
 s
 
 Hotel de Gitillaume le Couqueranf 
 
 a historic and almost sacred spot, this little 
 Dives, with its famous inn, and one to which 
 the pilgrim may well repair in the warm airs 
 of summer, with pleasure and advantage. 
 
 The hotel itself is charmingly picturesque, 
 a wood and plaster construction of the Nor- 
 man type, built around a court, with ram- 
 bling rooms and exterior staircases. The 
 beams are blackened w^ith age and carved in 
 designs of the sixteenth century, and the cor- 
 ners of the court are softened by climbing 
 roses, wistaria, and other vines. They ad- 
 vance toward the quaint balconies running 
 around the second story, and dress them with 
 a floral decoration at once picturesque and 
 charming to behold. 
 
 This is, indeed, the ideal of the French 
 inn, one so well known and appreciated that 
 its fame has gone over the world, and pic- 
 tures of it in water-colour may be found in 
 England and in far-away America to-day, 
 adorning drawing-rooms, and reminding us 
 of days spent beneath its hospitable roof. It 
 possesses an atmosphere that is all its own. 
 and known to those who have, at one time or 
 another, tested its hospitality or its enter- 
 tainment. 
 
 "Well, I declare! What a place this is!" 
 
 325
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 said Mr. Wilton, on arriving. " I feel as if I 
 were an actor in some opera, instead of B. 
 Wilton, travelling in France. Why, it isn't 
 like real life at all, is it, Gladys? How your 
 mother will cut up, though, when she comes, 
 and we tell her all about you and George! 
 Think of the fun we will have with the count 
 and the Frenchman!" But Gladys begged 
 her father not to say anything to them until 
 the formal announcement; and he was ob- 
 liged to promise not to do so until George 
 returned, for Gladys wished to have the 
 pleasure of writing home to her friends and 
 announcing it herself. 
 
 So the doting father was obliged to con- 
 tent himself with cabling instructions to his 
 bankers in New York to transfer two millions 
 of dollars in American bonds to the name of 
 Gladys Wilton, and another million, to be 
 placed in trust, the income of which should 
 be for the use of George Van Cortland on the 
 day that he made her his wife. 
 
 He would have a little surprise for them, 
 and make an announcement all by himself, 
 if they would not let him announce their 
 engagement. Why should he not? He had 
 sixty or seventy millions, and only one child; 
 and she, dear girl, was going to marry the 
 
 326
 
 Hotel de Guillaunie le Conqiierant 
 
 man whom he would have picked out for 
 her. Mr. B. Wilton would show the world 
 how he could do things when he wished to. 
 This would do as a beginning; but he in- 
 tended it only as a beginning. He proposed 
 that the great name of Van Cortland should 
 be surrounded by fitting dignity, when his 
 daughter bore it. Had not he, B. Wilton, 
 made all this money himself, and did it not 
 belong to him, to do with it as he wished? 
 
 He intended to build up his family in- 
 fluence at home. Some day titled Europe 
 would flock to America, just as untitled 
 America now flocked to Europe, and then 
 they would find out the value of a great 
 name in America and the grandeur of Ameri- 
 can institutions. Such was the patriotic turn 
 of Mr. Blodget Wilton's business mind, and 
 who are we that we should disagree with 
 
 him? 
 
 By and by came Mrs. Wilton herself to 
 the Hotel of William the Conqueror, fresh 
 from her social triumphs at Trouville. She 
 had telegraphed her husband to reserve two 
 rooms and bath for her accommodation. 
 
 "Two rooms and bath," said Mr. Wilton, 
 reading the telegram; "that's nonsense; she 
 
 327
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 can't have that here. It's an inn. She's for- 
 gotten that it's not Trouville." 
 
 The afternoon of her arrival w^as an event- 
 ful one in the annals of the Wilton family. 
 Gladys went to her mother's room, and Mr. 
 Wilton smoked a cigar in the courtyard. 
 
 " Mamma," said Gladys, " I have some- 
 thing very interesting to tell you." 
 
 "Why, Gladys, what is it?" said her 
 mother, all interest and attention, for she 
 saw by the expression of her daughter's face 
 that something unusual was coming. 
 
 " Mamma, you cannot guess; I'm engaged 
 to be married! " 
 
 Tableau! 
 
 "Engaged!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilton, her 
 eyes sparkling with excitement; "engaged 
 to be married! And to whom, pray? Not 
 to Count Romeo di Pomponi? Oh, Gladys, 
 I hope not." 
 
 "No, mamma; give another guess," said 
 Gladys, delighted at the surprise. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Gladys, do tell your mother. 
 How do I know? You have been away with 
 your father for weeks. How can I tell what 
 you two have been up to, off in those out- 
 of-the-way places? Oh, Gladys, is it Lord 
 
 F — -? Is it Monsieur de B ? Is it 
 
 328
 
 Hotel de Giiillaume le Conquerant 
 
 Comte Raoul de Breville? Why don't you 
 tell your mother? You naughty girl — 
 when I ought to have known all about it! 
 Think of your playing me such a trick!" 
 And Mrs. Wilton nearly swooned then and 
 there. 
 
 " Mamma, it's George Van Cortland," 
 said Gladys, laughing and kissing her 
 mother. " Mamma, I love him. Oh, how 
 I love him!" And Gladys fell into her 
 mother's arms and was clasped in her sym- 
 pathetic embrace. 
 
 " George Van Cortland," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton, in bewilderment. " George Van Cort- 
 land," she repeated again, as the full signifi- 
 cance of the alliance dawned upon her. 
 
 " But, Gladys, where under the sun have 
 you seen him? Oh, you sly girl, not to tell 
 your mother anything about it!" 
 
 Mrs. Wilton thought it all over, and, 
 realizing the importance of being associated 
 with Mrs. Van Cortland in the role of 
 mother-in-law, an importance which no other 
 arrangement short of a family alliance could 
 possibly have given her, decided on the 
 whole that the engagement was in every way 
 a desirable one, and gave it her unqualified 
 endorsement. 
 
 329
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 She had no objection whatever to George 
 Van Cortland personally. In fact, she liked 
 him very much. The family influence was 
 great, in every sense of the word. So Mrs. 
 Wilton sat herself down to write to Mrs. 
 Van Cortland, and make arrangements to 
 announce the engagement to the world, 
 during the following week. 
 
 There were things to do on such a momen- 
 tous occasion. Cablegrams had to be sent, 
 letters written, people notified, Trouville 
 informed, and the duchess seen and pacified. 
 One is not engaged nowadays without time, 
 trouble, and expense. Conventionalities 
 must be followed, and things take their 
 regular and appropriate course. 
 
 But we are progressing in advance of our 
 story. Who should appear at the Hotel de 
 Guillaume le Conquerant, the night of the 
 arrival of Mr. Wilton and his daughter, but 
 the Frenchman himself! He had followed 
 the party from Falaise, and arrived only a 
 few hours behind them. 
 
 After dinner he asked Gladys to take a 
 walk to see some points of interest; and thus 
 they were left alone, in the half-light of the 
 fading day. 
 
 " I have followed you," said the French- 
 
 330
 
 Hotel de Guillaiime le Conqucrant 
 
 man, " because I have wanted to tell you 
 something, something that 1 did not have a 
 chance to say at the duchess's. You know 
 what it is, mademoiselle? Oh, 1 love youl 
 Will you marry me? Will you be my wife? " 
 
 The Frenchman had been so sudden in 
 his passionate appeal that Gladys had had 
 no time to stop him, nor to ward off the 
 danger before it was fairly upon her; for 
 there was the Frenchman on his knees before 
 her in the damp grass. 
 
 "Why, Monsieur de B , what can you 
 
 be thinking of?" she cried. "Pray get up. 
 You will get wet, and your trousers will be 
 covered with green stains. It is impossible 
 — impossible. I cannot marry you. I do 
 not love you. There has been a mistake. 
 You must not think of such a thing. Pray 
 get up, and take me home," she added in 
 real alarm, for the Frenchman was still on 
 his knees, and was endeavouring to embrace 
 the edge of her skirt. 
 
 "Ah!" he cried, in despairing accents, 
 still on his knees. " Ah, then you do not love 
 me. Then you love some one else! Ah, T 
 knew it. I am too late." And the French- 
 man arose in a paroxysm of despair and 
 grief. 
 
 331
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Gladys's one idea was to get away and put 
 an end to this unfortunate interview, which 
 she really had not at all expected, and which 
 she now deeply regretted. Under other cir- 
 cumstances she might have enjoyed the pleas- 
 ure of a proposal from the Frenchman, and 
 even have considered it seriously. But now 
 that her heart was so completely given to 
 another, she felt only a sense of pain and 
 regret. 
 
 She liked the Frenchman, and was sorry 
 to give him any unhappiness, for she was not 
 heartless in regard to men in general ; but in 
 this instance she had no very strong belief 
 in the seriousness of his love, having seen 
 Frenchmen profess the tender passion be- 
 fore, and knowing their manner of express- 
 ing it. 
 
 " I am very sorry. Monsieur de B ," 
 
 she hastened to add, when he had finished his 
 dramatic scene. " I appreciate your feeling 
 for me, and hope that we shall always be 
 friends; but it is impossible. You are right 
 — I love some one else. In fact, I am al- 
 ready engaged to marry him." 
 
 "Oh, malheur! Alas! If I had only 
 spoken at the duchess's! " sighed the French- 
 man. 
 
 332
 
 Hotel de Guilla^une le Conqucraiit 
 
 "Who is my rival?" he continued, his 
 eyes flashing with jealous sparks. " I know; 
 it is Lord F , or Pomponi." 
 
 " No, it is neither," answered Gladys, 
 decidedly. " It is some one you have never 
 seen. If you will promise to behave like a 
 man, instead of going on like a crazy per- 
 son, I will tell you who he is, before any 
 of the others; and you must be your old 
 self, and come to the wedding in New York." 
 
 Learning that it was neither of his old 
 rivals, the Frenchman was somewhat paci- 
 fied, and felt that, after all, he had better 
 not sacrifice such valuable friends as the 
 Wiltons, even if he could not make Miss 
 Gladys Wilton his wife and keep her in 
 France. So he escorted her home to the inn, 
 and on the whole behaved pretty well, under 
 the rather trying circumstances; and Gladys 
 took good care that she should not be left 
 alone with him in the near future. 
 
 The day following Mrs. Wilton's arrival, 
 the count and the Englishman joined our 
 party, and the travelling group, once more 
 united, made an excursion by automobile to 
 Caen, which is not far from Dives, and which 
 is the capital of Calvados. There we all 
 visited the hotel where Beau Brummel lived 
 
 333
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 and died, after his retirement from the 
 glories of the court of George IV. The 
 rooms still remain where he received imagi- 
 nary guests during the period of his insanity. 
 Caen is a historic town, filled with 
 churches. It owes its greatness to William 
 the Conqueror, who lies buried in the Abbaye 
 aux Hommes, founded by him during his 
 reign. His wife, Queen Matilda, is buried 
 in the Abbaye aux Dames, which she also 
 founded at the same period. 
 
 From Caen the party went on to Bayeux, 
 with its Norman cathedral containing the 
 famous tapestries, in reality, embroideries, 
 worked by Queen Matilda to commemorate 
 the history of the Conquest. These tapestries 
 are some of the most interesting historical 
 examples of needlework in existence, and 
 have been scrupulously preserved. 
 
 Bayeux was the ancient capital of the 
 Vadicassess, and was for long a residence 
 of the Dukes of Normandy. It contains 
 many curious old timbered houses that are 
 extremely interesting to study and observe. 
 Its best hotel is the Hotel de Luxembourg, 
 and there our party halted. Two chateaux 
 in the neighbourhood drew us to their doors. 
 The first, the Chateau de Creuilly, is a pic- 
 
 334
 
 Hotel de Gitillai(mc Ic Conqitcnuit 
 
 turesque, castellated building of white stone. 
 Its owners were noted in history for their 
 inhospitality, and legend has it that they 
 would stand upon the battlements and shoot 
 the workmen whom they had employed to 
 restore it, as they departed. Its present 
 owners have mercifully dispensed with this 
 mediaeval custom. 
 
 Nearer the coast is the more extensive 
 Chateau of Fontaine-Henri, which has a 
 beautifully carved fagade. It is an excellent 
 example of the chateaux of Calvados. Mrs. 
 Wilton liked it extremely, and wished she 
 could hire it for a summer; but Mr. Wilton 
 was disinclined to make any inquiries in this 
 direction. 
 
 "Oh, James," said she, as they were re- 
 turning to Dives, " I never will forgive you 
 for keeping me in complete ignorance of 
 George and Gladys's afifair. But you cer- 
 tainly were clever," and Mrs. Wilton gave 
 her happy husband a pat on the cheek, that 
 savoured of aflection, and reminded him of 
 the days of his own courtship. 
 
 335
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 AMONG THE INNS OF TOURAINE 
 
 Our original party was once more gath- 
 ered together at Dives, and every one was as 
 peaceful and happy, to all outward appear- 
 ances, as if Gladys Wilton had never met 
 George Van Cortland, or given him her hand 
 and heart. It was decided that we should 
 leave the Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant, 
 bid good-bye to Normandy and its pictur- 
 esque scenery, and pursue our way southward 
 into the more imaginative province of Tou- 
 raine. Though Mrs. Wilton had made a 
 trip there before, she was ready to return 
 with her present congenial companions, who 
 were anxious to wander along the banks of 
 the Loire, and see something of the world- 
 famous garden of France. 
 
 " I sha'n't go to any of the chateaux that 
 we visited before, Marietta," said Mr. Wil- 
 ton. 
 
 " Very well," said his wife; " we might go 
 
 336
 
 Among the Inns of Touraine 
 
 to Loches and Langeais, for you know we 
 did not have time to see these when we were 
 in Touraine last year." 
 
 The others of the party made no opposi- 
 tion, and so we set forth the following morn- 
 ing, by way of Le Mans, where there is an 
 interesting cathedral, with flying buttresses 
 and stained glass windows of rare tone and 
 colouring. It was late in the afternoon when 
 we arrived, and the beams of the western 
 sunlight, pouring through the coloured win- 
 dows, gave to the interior an effect which was 
 peculiarly mellow and harmonious. The 
 cathedral of Le Mans is an ancient structure, 
 and stands high above the town, dominating 
 it for some distance. Near it is a quaint 
 old house, with interesting carved timbers, 
 which is worth visiting. 
 
 Below the cathedral, in another part of the 
 town, are some charming public gardens, 
 where the count was glad to rest himself in 
 the shade of trees, and breathe in the per- 
 fume of flowers, which were now in full 
 bloom. August is the month of gardens in 
 France, as elsewhere, and the gardens of this 
 beautiful country acknowledge no superiors, 
 and bow to no rivals in beauty. Tn them 
 were a number of animals, enclosed behind 
 
 337
 
 Among Fre7ich Inns 
 
 wire netting, and the count was aroused to 
 interest and enjoyment at the sight of a 
 family of guinea-pigs, who were peacefully 
 basking in the sun. The happy nature of 
 the Italian, lil<:e that of a child, was capable 
 of being amused in the simplest manner, 
 and thus it was that the gallant Romeo found 
 himself suddenly seated on the grass, en- 
 deavouring to poke the noses of the guinea- 
 pigs with a small stick, which he held in his 
 hand, and to feed them with some bits of 
 candy, which he had concealed in the mys- 
 terious depths of his pockets. 
 
 " I cannot see what pleasure you find in 
 playing with those guinea-pigs," said Mrs. 
 Wilton, poking the count in turn with her 
 parasol. 
 
 "Why is he called a pig?" asked the 
 count, who was too absorbed in the animals 
 to answer her remark. 
 
 " I am sure I don't know," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton; "you must ask some of the gentlemen." 
 But as none of the latter could give the in- 
 quiring count a satisfactory explanation, he 
 was obliged to pursue his pastime unan- 
 swered. 
 
 "Come; we must be going," said Mrs. 
 Wilton to her daughter. " Monsieur de 
 
 338
 
 Aifiong the Inns of Touva'uie 
 
 B , can you not help Count di Pomponi 
 
 to get up? I know he cannot do it himself." 
 
 After some persuasion Count Romeo was 
 assisted to his feet, and we proceeded to take 
 a drive through the town, which has really 
 little of artistic interest apart from the por- 
 tions which we had already visited. Le 
 Mans is the capital of the Department of 
 La Sarthe, and so possesses barracks filled 
 with soldiers. These may be seen walking 
 through the streets, and lending their touch 
 of colour, in contrast to the white walls of 
 the buildings. 
 
 The country throughout La Sarthe is 
 beautiful, and the roads as perfect as those 
 of other parts of France. Our party passed 
 on through the little towns of Sable and La 
 Fleche. There is a race-course at the latter 
 place, where meetings are held in summer; 
 and not far from it are the beautiful gar- 
 dens and chateau of Le Lude, belonging to 
 the Marquis de Talhoiiet. The road beyond 
 La Fleche crosses the river Loir, and runs 
 directly south for a long distance, toward 
 the larger and more famous Loire. These 
 two rivers, on account of their similar names, 
 are frequently confused by travellers, nnd 
 not unnaturally, for they are close to each 
 
 339
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 other, and their waters are mingled beyond 
 Angers. 
 
 On the south bank of La Loire, which 
 widens here, as it runs northwest toward La 
 Poissoniere, is situated the charming town of 
 Saumur. Smiling in the sunshine, it is re- 
 flected in the blue waters of the river, and 
 clusters at the foot of the ancient fortress, 
 which looms high against the sky-line behind 
 it. Saumur, like Le Mans, is a garrison 
 town, and filled with officers and soldiers, 
 which give gaiety and life to its streets. 
 
 How different is this scene from Nor- 
 mandy, with its rolling hills and domestic 
 scenery! And how interesting a contrast is 
 this beautiful view of La Loire, to that of 
 the Seine at Rouen or elsewhere! The at- 
 mosphere of the south has begun to make 
 itself felt, and Touraine is at hand, with all 
 its suggestions of the Renaissance, and its 
 luxurious splendour, following the rude cus- 
 toms of earlier mediaeval days. 
 
 Saumur is a favourite haunt of visitors, 
 who delight to linger upon the bridge over 
 the river, and gaze at the extended view 
 marked by the strong lines of the chateau 
 and the slender church tower, rising like a 
 needle-point to the sky. It bears aloft the 
 
 340
 
 GENERAL VIEW OF SAUMUR 
 
 HOTF.I. IIUDAN. SAUMUR
 
 Among the Inns of Touniine 
 
 cross, as if to remind its inhabitants of the 
 origin of their town, and fill them with re- 
 ligious inspiration. For Saumur owes its 
 birth to the monastery and fortress, which 
 was begun as early as the tenth century, for 
 the purpose of enclosing the relics of St. 
 Florent. 
 
 At a later period the inhabitants revolted 
 from the monasteries of St. Florent and 
 Fontevrault, situated in the same country, 
 and became Calvinists. From that time, 
 Saumur, which was then a considerable 
 town, continued to be the centre of Calvinism 
 until the Edict of Nantes. By this decree 
 Louis XIV. gave its growth and importance 
 a check from which it has never recovered. 
 Still, the well-known Ecole de Cavnlene, 
 which is situated there, has done much to 
 make it a centre of activity. 
 
 Our party, who were delighted with the 
 view which they had obtained during their 
 arrival at Saumur, entered the town in the 
 happiest mood, and drew up at the Hotel 
 Budan, which is an excellent hostelry, whose 
 hosts are devoted to the interest and comfort 
 of their guests. We remained, however, only 
 a night, and made an excursion the following 
 morning to the Chateau de Morains, situated 
 
 341
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 at Dampierre, a few kilometres distant. This 
 little chateau, which is of the fifteenth cen- 
 tury, is famous as having been the abode of 
 Marguerite d'Anjou, widow of Henry VI. 
 of England, during her exile. Here she 
 died, in 1480, bowed down with grief at the 
 misfortunes of her life. She lies buried in 
 the cathedral of Angers, by the side of her 
 father. King Rene. Morains is a charming 
 chateau, with a castellated tower and wall, 
 its pointed roofs surmounted by ornaments of 
 iron. 
 
 Gladys, who had avoided the Frenchman 
 as much as possible during their journey 
 southward, now found herself with him in 
 front of the chateau. No reference had ever 
 been made to the scene which had taken place 
 on the night of his arrival at Dives, and 
 Gladys, now that it had passed, was inclined 
 to look upon it more in the light of a joke 
 than as a serious proposal. She was, there- 
 fore, a little surprised when the Frenchman 
 suddenly turned the conversation to that 
 memorable evening. 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle," said he, " Monsieur 
 Van Cortland is indeed lucky to have you 
 as a fiancee. But still, deeply as I am 
 wounded by your refusal, I can forgive 
 
 342
 
 Among the Imis of Toiiniinc 
 
 everything, since it was neither the English- 
 man nor Count Romeo that you chose as a 
 husband." 
 
 Gladys was on the point of remarking 
 that she could see no cause why the French- 
 man should have anything to forgive what- 
 ever, but she checked herself, knowing that 
 he had made a great effort to control his 
 emotions and his disappointment, and feel- 
 ing that in her happiness at possessing the 
 love of George Van Cortland she could 
 afford to be generous to his rival. 
 
 Beyond Dampierre, about twelve kilo- 
 metres distant, is Montsoreau, a chateau of 
 the Renaissance, upon the banks of the Loire. 
 Its high, rather bleak walls, rise above the 
 river, and its outline is reflected in the waters 
 at its feet. It is almost devoid of ornament, 
 and is in a partially decayed condition. The 
 little village beyond it has two ruined 
 churches of an early century. There is 
 little that is either ornamental or beautiful, 
 architecturally, at Montsoreau, and we fol- 
 lowed the banks of the river with a feeling 
 of sadness, almost, as we pursued our way 
 toward Fontevrault. The few kilometres 
 of road leading from the river pass through 
 a beautiful valley filled with vineyards and 
 
 343
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 lovely views of the country. The valley runs 
 southward, and farther on it is shaded by 
 forest tangles and rich growths of trees, 
 over which hang the mists of Touraine, the 
 familiar " brouillard de la Loire," which 
 lends to everything its soft and mysterious 
 atmosphere. Here we may well agree with 
 the poets who sing of the idealism of the 
 French country and extol its beauty. Is it to 
 be wondered that they have been inspired to 
 graceful verses in these surroundings, so 
 blessed by nature and so cultivated by man? 
 
 Our party alighted at the Hotel de France, 
 a nice little hotel with an attractive garden, 
 and paused for dejeuner. It was warm, and 
 the count was glad to cool himself in the 
 shade of an arbour, and to sip a light draught 
 of the wine of Touraine — a delicious white, 
 sparkling wine from the coteaux de Saumur. 
 
 "No more cider, count," said Mr. Wilton, 
 jocosely, giving his Excellency one of those 
 facetious digs in his side, which that person- 
 age disliked so extremely, and which tickled 
 and startled him on occasions when he least 
 expected them. However, the fact that Mr. 
 Wilton had made him that promised propo- 
 sition after the spaghetti party, and had 
 agreed to pay him liberally for his receipt 
 
 344
 
 Among the Inns of Touraine 
 
 of this interesting foodstuff, when properly 
 canned and placed on the market, made 
 Count Romeo di Pomponi's heart warm 
 toward the American financier, and inclined 
 him to accept his jokes (and his physical 
 violence) with philosophical composure. 
 
 " I am glad the cider is no more," said his 
 Excellency. " He is too hard for the head. 
 The wine here is like the Italy, and reminds 
 me of my own vineyard. Ah, Monsieur 
 Wilton, you should see my garden on the 
 Lago di Como. When you coame there, you 
 shall eat the fresh figs from the trees, and see- 
 the torrents rushing down from the mountain. 
 Ah, la belle Italic!" And the count raised 
 his glass to his lips in a long health to his 
 native land. 
 
 "Italia multa hella," said the Englishman, 
 sedately, with a strong Anglo-Sa.xon accent. 
 
 The count was pleased, and the party sat 
 down to dejeuner. The abhey church (if 
 Fontevrault is a most interesting historical 
 monument. It dates back as far as the 
 eleventh century, when it was founded by 
 Robert d'Arbrissol. The present church 
 was consecrated by one of the popes, and 
 was a very important abbey of this region 
 for many centuries. Much history has clus- 
 
 345
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 tered about it, and it possesses many royal as- 
 sociations and tombs. The abbesses of Font- 
 evrault have all played their part in history. 
 One of them was the sister of Madame de 
 Montespan. The daughters of Louis XV. 
 were taught here as children. Its superb 
 cloister bears traces of dating from the 
 twelfth to the seventeenth century, while the 
 chapter-house has a magnificent portal of 
 the latter period. The choir and transepts, 
 which have been restored, are now used for 
 mass, and the atmosphere has a sanctified and 
 glorious character which nothing can take 
 from it. 
 
 If we allow our steps to lead us to the semi- 
 circular chapel in one of the transepts, we 
 shall stand before the monuments of the 
 Plantagenets. The tombs beneath them bear 
 the remains of these historic personages. 
 Eleanore de Guyenne sleeps before us, with 
 her hands crossed and an expression of beati- 
 tude upon her countenance. Her son, Rich- 
 ard CoEur de Lion, holding his sceptre in his 
 hand, reposes upon a couch of stone drapery 
 beside her. There is something almost 
 sublime in the appearance of these graven 
 effigies, the repose and calm upon their fea- 
 tures conveying to us an idea of peace after 
 
 346
 
 Among the Inns of Touraine 
 
 the turmoils of this life. Here also lies 
 Henry II., holding likewise, in his hands, 
 the symbol of his majesty. Beyond him is 
 the wooden effigy of Isabelle d'Angouleme, 
 who was the wife of King John. 
 
 At the end of the refectory of the abbey 
 is the Tour d'Evrault, built in the twelfth 
 century. It served as the kitchen for the 
 abbey itself, and is a most peculiar and 
 interesting building — in fact, one of the 
 most individual in existence. It is octaironal 
 in form, with a high, angular roof, tapering 
 to a cupola at its apex. Curious round 
 bulges extend between the buttresses, more 
 for use than for ornament. 
 
 Our party wandered about Fontcvrault 
 during the afternoon, and returned to Sau- 
 mur in the soft light of the fading day, well 
 pleased with their excursion. The following 
 day we proceeded along the southern bank 
 of the Loire to Chinon. How shall we 
 describe adequately the charm of these jour- 
 neys through Touraine, in the w^arm sun of 
 summer? The sky was laden with fleecy 
 clouds, shaded from white to gray, that sailed 
 over the clear, blue surface of the heavens 
 and formed a background to the pictures 
 which we passed continually. The graceful 
 
 347
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 points of towers, the high slate roofs of cha- 
 teaux rose above the verdant foliage of the 
 landscape. Their white walls, seeming like 
 marble in the distance, appeared in the open- 
 ing of trees or upon the summit of some 
 hill. Everything here was lofty, graceful, 
 and decorated with a touch of fancy that 
 inspired us with a classic note, and forced 
 upon us at every turn the glory of the Renais- 
 sance, brought first from Italy and deposited 
 here in France. 
 
 Our party had gained at Saumur two 
 interesting additions in the form of George 
 Van Cortland and his sister. They had 
 come from Aix, where they had left their 
 parents, to join us when we should arrive at 
 Versailles. That the arrival of George Van 
 Cortland was attended by interest and con- 
 gratulations on the part of our travelling 
 companions need hardly be mentioned. Mrs. 
 Wilton's meeting with him was effusive. 
 She kissed him on both cheeks, and told him 
 that he was the handsomest and the nicest 
 man she had ever known, and that she was 
 proud to have him as a son-in-law, which 
 was perfectly true. If Mrs. Wilton was 
 pleased, her husband was, to say the least, 
 puffed up with pride and satisfaction. The 
 
 348
 
 Among the Inns of Touraine 
 
 Englishman, the Frenchman, the count, and 
 the American, who was an old friend, gath- 
 ered about George, showered him with con- 
 gratulations, and drank his health, in what 
 is known in France as " un bouteille de 
 quatrevingt-treize." 
 
 Gladys was looking radiantly happy, and 
 was rivalled in appearance by Mary Van 
 Cortland. The latter was tall and graceful, 
 her willowy figure having an air of great 
 distinction. She had dark eyes and hair, and 
 when the colour came to her face and her 
 expression became animated, she was, if not 
 beautiful, certainly a very attractive girl. 
 The count and the Frenchman were over- 
 heard discussing her, as Latins do whenever 
 they see a pretty woman. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Van Cortland est jolie." 
 said the Frenchman. 
 
 " She is the Italian type," said the count. 
 "That is what we have in the Italy more 
 than in the America." 
 
 " She puts herself like the French, how- 
 ever," said the Frenchman. "She is like 
 a Parisian — very well put, et bien coiffee," 
 he added, in a tremendous whisper. 
 
 "True," said the count. "Charming 
 
 349
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 miss. I like Miss Van Cortland; but she 
 does not inspire the loave in the boosom." 
 
 There was one member of the party, how- 
 ever, who was perfectly contented with this 
 state of affairs, though there was little danger 
 of the count's being a serious rival. 
 
 Thus we proceeded on our way toward 
 Chinon, and on arriving there, alighted at 
 the Hotel de la Boule d'Or. A beautiful 
 bridge crosses the river, behind which 
 stretch lines of poplar-trees, rearing their 
 slender heads like sentinels in the landscape, 
 a feature of the scenery of Touraine. The 
 road upon the opposite bank is also lined 
 with trees, and on the height above them 
 rise the uneven lines of the mediaeval for- 
 tress of Chinon. It is one of great age. 
 Caino, the predecessor of Chinon, was known 
 as far back as the Roman period, and in the 
 time of King Clovis, was one of the chief 
 strongholds of the kingdom. 
 
 During the eleventh century, Thibault III., 
 who was one of the ancient Counts of Tou- 
 raine, gave Chinon to Geoffroy Martel. The 
 fortress has a long and noble history. It has 
 been the abode of Henry II. of England, who 
 died there in 1189. ^^ ^^^ been the property 
 of Philip Augustus and Charles II., and it 
 
 350
 
 Among the Inns of Toitraine 
 
 was here that the latter monarch assembled 
 the States General of France. A short road 
 leads from the town to the Pavilion de 
 I'Horloge, which is the entrance to the cha- 
 teau. 
 
 The fortress itself comprises a labyrinth 
 of walls and ruined fortifications. It has, in 
 fact, three distinct castles. The Chateau de 
 St. Georges, the Chateau de Milieu, and the 
 Chateau de Coudray, which is in the centre. 
 The former was built by the Plantagenet 
 king, and little but its walls remain to-day 
 to tell of its former importance, or of the 
 sieges which it sustained. The second, whose 
 foundations arose upon the ruins of a Roman 
 camp, contains the Grand-Logis, which was 
 used by Henry II., Charles VII., and Louis 
 XV. The third and central chateau contains 
 the Tour de St. Martin and the chapel. 
 
 Visions of Jeanne d'Arc rise to the mind, 
 as we stand at Chinon, for it was here that 
 her meeting took place with Charles VII., 
 and it was in the Chateau de Coudray that 
 she remained. Here we are in the earlier 
 mediaeval history of France, that bloody 
 period which preceded the Renaissance. 
 Chinon is in contrast to such chateaux as 
 Azay-le-Rideau and Chenonceaux, which 
 
 351
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 breathe the luxury of later days. The stern 
 ruggedness of life characterized its existence. 
 Battlements and machicolations crowned its 
 walls, and served to protect its defenders 
 against the encroachments of enemies and the 
 missiles of their armies. 
 
 Such was the life of this ancient fortress, 
 whose stones surmount the height above the 
 peaceful river. The arches of the bridge are 
 reflected upon its surface. The whole pic- 
 ture is one of beauty and significance, while 
 from the advantageous positions of the tow- 
 ers an extended view may be obtained over 
 the luxuriant country which stretches be- 
 neath them. 
 
 The little town clustering at the foot of 
 the hill, and shielded from the river by its 
 lines of trees, has many a quaint corner and 
 picturesque street. Here we find a timbered 
 house, with a carving depicting the stoning 
 of St. Stephen. The Church of St. Etienne 
 has a beautiful portal, which is attributed 
 to Philippe de Comines. There are other 
 churches at Chinon, but we will leave them 
 for others to describe. 
 
 The statue of Rabelais (who is reported 
 to have been born here), though modern, 
 is interesting to look upon, and brings back 
 
 352
 
 X 
 
 u 
 
 < 
 
 X
 
 Among tJie Luis of Toura'uie 
 
 to us the writings of this commanding genius 
 of French literature. Indeed, Touraine 
 possesses a literature of its own. Balzac has 
 written of the province at length, and in it 
 are laid the scenes of many of his stories. 
 Voltaire, Rousseau, and others who preceded 
 the Revolution, and whose writings intlu- 
 enced the upheaval of France, were often at 
 Chenonceaux; and other writers have im- 
 mortalized this countrv, made dear to the 
 hearts of those who have dwelt upon its 
 hills or within the mysterious shadows of 
 its valleys. 
 
 There is another hotel at Chinon besides 
 the Boule d'Or. It is tlie Hotel dc IVance. 
 Some of our party decided to try its hospi- 
 tality, and found it a (luaint little hotel, 
 as all such places are, in the small villages 
 which grow up about the larger chateaux of 
 Touraine. 
 
 In the afternoon we said good-bye to 
 Chinon, with its ancient fortress and its 
 view above the river Vienne, upon which 
 it is situated. Our way led through a lovelv 
 country, for about twenty-five kilometres, to 
 the town of Azay-le-Rideau. where we spent 
 the night at the Hotel du Grand Monarquc. 
 As IMrs. Wilton had been there before, wc 
 
 353
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 were hurried on the next morning to see 
 the Chateau de Rochecotte, belonging to the 
 Marquis de Castellane, which is in this 
 neighbourhood, and where the great Tally- 
 rand is reported to have died. Rochecotte 
 is close to Langeais, and it was not long 
 before our party had drawn up before the 
 door of the Lion d'Or, at the latter place. 
 Langeais is one of that wonderful group 
 of chateaux which make Touraine a prov- 
 ince at once rich in architecture, and sought 
 by lovers of beauty. Unlike Chinon, it is 
 now used as a private residence. The mod- 
 ern accompaniments of luxury, the parterres 
 and flowers, the plants upon the terraces, and 
 various other evidences of life, give to it 
 a touch of beauty and a finish which the 
 ruined chateaux lack. Langeais is a noble 
 piece of architecture, dating from a more 
 remote period than Chenonceaux or Azay-le- 
 Rideau. It shows the evidences of the feudal 
 period in the sternness of its walls, the 
 rugged simplicity of its architecture, and the 
 height of its fortifications. It was built by 
 the famous Foulques Nerra, Comte d'Anjou, 
 whose name is associated with both Loches 
 and Langeais. The castle dates from the 
 tenth century. Upon the remains of this 
 
 354
 
 Among tJic Inns of Tourainc 
 
 fortress arise the present fifteenth-century 
 chateau, which still bears signs of having 
 been built to withstand the attacks of ene- 
 mies. It rises to a great height, and is 
 mediaeval in appearance. The court is 
 reached by a gateway beneath two great 
 towers, and is supplied with the ancient 
 portcullis. 
 
 The present chateau was begun by the 
 celebrated barber of Louis XL, Oliver le 
 Dain, according to the historians of Lan- 
 geais, but was only completed by Jean 
 Bourre, his minister, who was the subsequent 
 owner of this property. As to what hap- 
 pened to the barber, or why Langeais passed 
 out of his hands, we must confess ourselves 
 to be in ignorance. It matters little. The 
 work of completing this fine domain was 
 carried on by his successor, and is to-day 
 one of the historical monuments of Tou- 
 raine. 
 
 By the courtesy of the present owners, 
 visitors are admitted to the court wwA the 
 interior of the chateau. The rooms are 
 furnished with ancient furniture, pictures, 
 tapestries, and all the accompaniments of the 
 luxurious beauty which was so prevalent in 
 the Renaissance. The decorations are less 
 
 355
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 fantastic than those of Chenonceaux, and for 
 that very reason perhaps more in keeping 
 with the character of the architecture. 
 
 The terraces of Langeais are one of its 
 most beautiful features. We have spoken of 
 the parterres; now we observe the orange- 
 trees, which bloom in France in summer- 
 time and lend their formal dignity to such 
 places as Langeais. They are here in all 
 their beauty, stationed like sentinels of fra- 
 grant beauty, and replacing the warlike 
 guards which defended Langeais through 
 the earlier centuries. The bloody days 
 which characterized the sixteenth and seven- 
 teenth centuries in France have left little 
 trace of their existence here. As we bathe 
 ourselves in the sunshine that warms the 
 terraces of Langeais, and gaze over the fair 
 view of the surrounding country, we find 
 only such peaceful warriors as the lines of 
 poplar-trees, which seem to be marching in 
 martial array by the borders of streams or 
 through the verdant tranquillity of valleys. 
 They have replaced the soldiers of Louis XL 
 and other monarchs, who for a thousand 
 years invaded and devastated this beautiful 
 country. There were periods of peace, as 
 there were those of war, and we must not 
 
 356
 
 Among the Inns of Tourainc 
 
 believe that Touraine was not allowed time 
 to beautity her royal residences, or embellish 
 them with the accompaniments of luxury and 
 ease. They are, at many places, noticeable, 
 and at Langeais we find them in all their 
 charm and beauty. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton was more pleased with Lan- 
 geais than Chinon. It conveyed to her some- 
 thing more in keeping with her own ambi- 
 tions and tastes than the ruined walls of 
 that earlier mediaeval fortress. 
 
 " I sometimes feel that I should like to 
 own one of these chateaux," said she. " The 
 life here seems to be ideal, and then 1 
 could have such agreeable house-parties all 
 summer long, and take people off for auto- 
 mobile trips," she added, carried away by the 
 charm of her surroundings. 
 
 "Why do you not buy Azay-le-Rideau? " 
 said the Frenchman. " It is the gem of 
 the Renaissance, and I believe could be 
 bought now, since they have sold the pic- 
 tures and other works of art." 
 
 " We might go back to-morrow, and look 
 it over more carefully than we did yester- 
 day," said Mrs. Wilton, who seemed really 
 enthusiastic over the idea. 
 
 " I think you will find it too far from 
 
 357
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Paris," said Mr. Wilton, throwing cold 
 water on the plan. 
 
 But Mrs. Wilton was not to be turned 
 aside from her intention, and in spite of 
 Mr. Wilton's objection she returned the fol- 
 lowing day and went over the chateau from 
 attic to cellar in the most practical and care- 
 ful manner. During her inspection she 
 pictured herself giving the most remarkable 
 fetes and entertainments since the days of 
 Catherine de Medicis at Chenonceaux. She 
 beheld the Due de St. Galmier and the 
 
 Duchesse de V , with all the brilliant 
 
 company which she would assemble about 
 them, possibly headed by royalty itself, 
 seated at her dinner-table, and viewing an 
 evening fete from the terrace of the chateau. 
 
 " You know that it would be a very nice 
 place for George and Gladys to come to for 
 the summer, in case we did not come abroad 
 ourselves," said she to Mr. Wilton. But 
 the latter did not see the force of the argu- 
 ment, possibly because he feared that he 
 would be forced to play host at too many 
 house-parties, and that his wife might even 
 cause him to take lessons in the French lan- 
 guage, a thing which he had always posi- 
 tively refused to do. The possibility, 
 
 358
 
 Among the Inns of Toiiniinc 
 
 however, had always been held over him 
 by his wife, like the " Sword of Damocles," 
 and he feared this punishment more than 
 anything that might happen to him during 
 their yearly trips to Europe. 
 
 From Azay-le-Rideau our party went 
 directly to Tours, where they stayed at the 
 Hotel de I'Univers, which, if not an inn, is 
 a very comfortable hotel to stop at. For tin- 
 convenience of other travellers, we may 
 m.ention also the Hotel de la Bt)ule d"Or, 
 which is more of a typically French hotel 
 than the De I'Univers. It was pleasant to 
 have the comforts of a city once more, after 
 the primitive conveniences of the country 
 inns and other places in which we had re- 
 mained for so long. 1 he host and hostess 
 of the Hotel de I'Univers made us feel that 
 we were really welcome, and gave us every 
 information in regard to the places to visit 
 in the neighbourhood, as well as in Tours 
 
 itself. 
 
 The city is the old capital of Touraine. 
 and is now the capital of the Department 
 of Indre-et-Loire, named from its two rivers. 
 Tours is a very ancient city, dating from 
 the Roman period, and has a long and inter- 
 esting history. 
 
 359
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 The Counts of Touraine were the gover- 
 nors of Tours at an early period. Later it 
 was owned by Henry 11. of England. In 
 the thirteenth century, after a series of strug- 
 gles, it was incorporated as part of France. 
 The town was fortified by Frangois I. It 
 has been the scene of many sieges during 
 the religious wars which rent France through 
 the middle ages, as well as the Renaissance. 
 To-day it is a centre, in more respects than 
 one, not only of Touraine, but of France. 
 It is here that we find the purest language 
 and accent of the French in all its beauty 
 and richness, a language recognized by all 
 the world as the most facile, the most musi- 
 cal, and the most potent for international 
 uses. Its literature is unmatched. Its devel- 
 opment and growth have advanced with that 
 of its people. It is the synonym of perfec- 
 tion, and the medium of the world's thought. 
 Though English may supplant it in the 
 future, it must always remain unequalled in 
 certain respects. 
 
 Tours is an excellent centre for excursions, 
 marked in the landscape by the towers of its 
 beautiful cathedral, which we will not at- 
 tempt to describe here, but which we would 
 counsel those who visit the city to investigate. 
 
 360
 
 y. 
 
 IT. 
 Y. 

 
 Among the Inns of Ton mine 
 
 A kilometre from the town is Plessis les 
 Tours, where Louis XL died, and where the 
 world was rid of one of its most perfidious 
 rulers. In the chateau, which was largely 
 destroyed during the Revolution, was one 
 of the prisons of the famous Cardinal de 
 Balue. 
 
 Marmoutier, Rochecourbon, and Luynes 
 are all close to Tours, while Loches is not 
 far distant. We visited the Chateau dc 
 Luynes the day after our arrival. It is a 
 pleasant ride in an automobile from Tours, 
 and is a picturesque and interesting place 
 to see. The castle, though rather stern and 
 bleak in appearance, is approached by a 
 long flight of steps leading to a Romanesque 
 doorway, with high walls, partly covered 
 with vines and overhanging creepers. The 
 castle is flanked by a number of bare, cir- 
 cular towers, with plain, pointed roofs, 
 telling us at a glance that it was built origi- 
 nally for use more than for beauty. 
 
 In early times, Luynes was the domain 
 of the Comte de Maille, which was created 
 a duchy by Louis XIIL, for his favourite 
 minister, Charles Albert de Luynes. The 
 present Due de Luynes still owns the cha- 
 teau. There is nothing here to tell us of the 
 
 361
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 effete and luxurious days of the Renaissance; 
 nothing of the delicacy of beauty, the rich- 
 ness of carving, or the graceful outlines 
 which characterize other chateaux of Tou- 
 raine. Here we find a monument which 
 represents the stern significance of life. The 
 virile qualities which made the French so 
 great a nation were uppermost when the 
 Chateau de Luynes was built to defend 
 those who upheld the sovereignty of France. 
 Their successors have not seen fit to array 
 this ancient fortress in that lighter dress 
 which we find clothing other chateaux of 
 France. It would seem that they preferred 
 to retain in its simplicity the glorious tra- 
 ditions of their race, and let it stand as a 
 silent witness to their deeds. As such, we 
 must approach the chateau, and take from it 
 that sense of ancient hardihood which char- 
 acterized the origin and growth of France. 
 Let us descend again these ancient steps 
 and wander through the little town, pictur- 
 esque in its quaint tangle of houses, and 
 observe a delightful example of the timbered 
 house of the fifteenth century. It has carved 
 pillars, with the figures of the Madonna and 
 St Christopher, and is one of the features 
 of the village. Such is the general aspect 
 
 362
 
 Among the Inns of Ton mine 
 
 of Luynes; a clustering town, crowned by 
 the castle upon the height above it, the usual 
 arrangement which we find in France for 
 the chateaux which were built primarily for 
 defensive purposes. 
 
 Returning to Tours, we made our wav 
 on the following day to Loches. Near it is 
 the sixteenth-century Chateau de Sansac. 
 which is a pleasing example of the Renais- 
 sance. From it we may observe Loches 
 rising before us, the towers of its church and 
 the great dungeon lifting themselves upon 
 the brow of the hill upon which they stand, 
 while below in the valley are, here and 
 there, poplar-trees, which give to the whole 
 scene an element of romance. A mile from 
 Loches is Beaulieu, whose streets and houses 
 are delightfully picturesque, more so, in a 
 sense, than those of Loches. 
 
 Beaulieu has many attractive points, 
 among them the abbey church, part of which 
 is now ruined, which was built by Foulques 
 Nerra in the eleventh century, and where he 
 lies buried. There is an interesting pulpit 
 which stands outside of the abbot's house, 
 which is a noticeable point for visitors to 
 pause and admire; and the old mill beside 
 the river has a rare charm which ha^ at-
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 tracted many artists in summer, and where, 
 if we are able with our brush, we, too, may 
 pause and draw from it a picture to keep 
 as a souvenir of the picturesque qualities of 
 Beaulieu. 
 
 Thus we arrive at Loches, that sinister and 
 forbidding abode of monarchs in mediaeval 
 France, that dungeon, where the spirits of 
 many a noble victim wore themselves out in 
 hopeless longing for freedom while enclosed 
 beneath the gray stone walls that served 
 them as a prison. What memories of 
 Charles le Chauve, of Richard Cceur de 
 Lion, of Philippe Auguste, of Louis XL, 
 return to us as we mount this hill and 
 wander through the ruined citadel! It is a 
 tale of misery, sorrow, and despair, of tor- 
 ture, evil-doing, and tyranny, that weaves 
 itself into the history of Loches. 
 
 The town, starting upon the bank of the 
 Loire, opposite Beaulieu, is a picturesque 
 tangle of houses, many of them of great age, 
 and rises to the hill above, where we enter 
 the precincts of the castle. The origin of 
 the town is said to have been coincident 
 with that of the monastery founded in the 
 fifth century by St. Ours. In the following 
 century the castle made its appearance. 
 
 364
 
 Among the Inns of Touraine 
 
 From the ninth to the thirteenth century 
 Loches was the property of the Anjous. In 
 the twelfth century it was taken by. Richard 
 Cceur de Lion. Retaken by Philippe 
 Auguste, it was given by him to his Con- 
 stable of France. 
 
 Loches has always been a combination of 
 royal residence and prison. Many of the 
 French kings have dwelt there, and perhaps 
 its most sinister recollections date from the 
 reign of Louis XL We alighted at the 
 Hotel de la Promenade in the little town, 
 and set forth almost immediately to visit the 
 chateau. The donjon rises in gloomy stern- 
 ness, its Romanesque architecture of the 
 twelfth century being well suited to its uses 
 as a prison. Here the Due d'Alenqon, the 
 Comte de Tours, Thibault the Third, and 
 many others, were imprisoned. The par- 
 tially ruined buildings and walls of the an- 
 cient fortress cover a great space upon the 
 crest of the hill. They form almost a minia- 
 ture city in themselves, now dead, but once 
 teeming with life, with human feeling and 
 intrigues, with royal commands, with mili- 
 tary accompaniments of the court of France; 
 and beneath it all the unheard cries of 
 prisoners enclosed in living tombs, or going 
 
 365
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 to their death in the mysterious watches of 
 the night. Such were the days of Loches 
 at the time when Louis XL held sway, and 
 wore his famous cap, crowned with the 
 images of saints, which he so poorly imitated 
 in life. 
 
 One of the most famous portions of the 
 castle is the Prison des fiveques. Here we 
 find one of the most pathetic remains of the 
 history of those royal prisons, in the simple 
 Chemin de la Croix, fashioned by the 
 bishops during their imprisonment. From 
 the walls of their cell rude pictures of our 
 Saviour's Passion looked down upon them, 
 and aided them in the celebration of their 
 mass. Our guide shows us the marks of 
 their hands, which still remain, where they 
 clung to the walls, in their endeavour to 
 obtain some light from the narrow opening 
 which served them as a window. How 
 awful must have been their confinement, and 
 how great the sufiferlngs of these two divines, 
 we may readily imagine, as we look upon 
 these evidences of the past. Let us leave 
 them and visit La Tour Ronde, where hung 
 the Iron cages In which were suspended the 
 Cardinal de Balue and other victims of the 
 cruelty of Louis XL They were not more 
 
 366
 
 Among tJic Inns of l\')urainc 
 
 than seven or eight feet square, and whether 
 the cardinal was ever suspended in one of 
 them or not, — there is a question, — they 
 certainly held other prisoners, 'llicrc was 
 a secret passage, the remains of which still 
 exist at Loches, where Louis XI. could come 
 and taunt his prisoners as they hung in 
 mid-air. He was frequently accompanied 
 by Oliver le Dain, a fitting companion for 
 such an errand. There the king, when not 
 praying to the images upon his cap, would 
 indulge himself in all the wickedness of his 
 soul, and add insults to the injury which he 
 was already doing to others less powerful 
 than himself. 
 
 These are the gloomy, we might almost 
 say repugnant, recollections of Loches, now 
 a dignified ruin, bathed in the sunlight of 
 heaven, and serving the peaceful ends of all 
 historic monuments in France to-day, — 
 the reception of visitors from other portions 
 of the world who make their pilgrimages 
 to such time-honoured spots. 
 
 The remains of Le Martelct. a fifteenth- 
 century building, still exist; the upper por- 
 tions have been destroyed. In it were the 
 common prisons of Loches. One of the 
 most interesting was that where Ludovico
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Sforza was incarcerated for a term of nine 
 years. The wails are covered witli half- 
 ef]faced frescoes, or drawings, as well as a 
 portrait of himself, made with the simple 
 materials which he had at hand. 
 
 Let us leave such unhappy scenes to his- 
 torians who are more inclined to dwell upon 
 the painful passages of history, and pass on 
 for a brief visit to the church and town, 
 before leaving Loches behind us and pro- 
 ceeding farther south. The church stands 
 upon that portion of the hill covered by the 
 remains of the chateau. It was begun in 
 962 by the father of Foulques Nerra, and 
 continued by the latter. If we may quote the 
 words of Viollet-le-Duc, who has written 
 of this church, " it is possessed of a savage 
 beauty, a strange monument, into which 
 are moulded the influences of Oriental art 
 with the methods of construction that were 
 adopted in the North at the beginning of the 
 twelfth century." It possesses a superb 
 portal of that period, and is, on the whole, 
 an interesting, though rather severe, build- 
 ing. Its towers are uneven, but rise in 
 majestic dignity against the sky. 
 
 Descending to the town, we may observe 
 the Tour St. Antoine, the remains of a 
 
 368
 
 Hotel he la promenade and tour st. antoine, 
 
 LOCHES
 
 Among the Inns of Touyaine 
 
 Renaissance church. Another feature is the 
 Hotel Nau, in which are some tapestries 
 and a fine chimney, with a bust of Diane dc 
 Poitiers. The Hotel de Ville, as well as 
 some good houses, are all of the Renais- 
 sance. 
 
 " It is interesting and heroic," said the 
 Englishman to Mrs. Wilton, as they walked 
 back to the hotel, " but there is something 
 rather bare and forbidding about it all." 
 
 " I don't know but what I agree with 
 you," replied the latter. " Let us try and 
 forget about the prisons at dinner, and get 
 Count di Pomponi to tell us a story about 
 some of his love-doings in Italy, for I feel 
 as if I needed diversion." 
 
 "What is the plan for to-morrow?" asked 
 George Van Cortland, as they met at the inn 
 for dinner. 
 
 " Well, I guess we're going back to Tours, 
 and then right down into Provence as fast 
 as we can go," said Mr. Wilton, with a 
 wink of his eye, " for I expect you young 
 people will be wanting to get up to Paris 
 pretty soon." 
 
 "Ah, signorina," said the count to Miss 
 Wilton across the table, " what a bcaiiti- 
 
 369
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 ful ring that is upon the finger of your 
 hand!" 
 
 " I am glad you like it," said Gladys, 
 blushing. " It is the ring which George has 
 given me." I 
 
 370
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 IN OLD PROVENCE 
 
 On our return to the Hotel de TUnivers, 
 at Tours, we were glad of a chance to rest, 
 and so remained a day or two before start- 
 ing on our journey southward. 
 
 Thinking it would take too long to go 
 comfortably by automobile, we took one of 
 the good trains to Lyons, sending the ma- 
 chines ahead to meet us there. The journey 
 is a pretty one, by way of Chateauroux, 
 Montlugon, and Roanne. Lyons is a large 
 city, in fact, the second largest in France. 
 It is the capital of the Dcpartcment du 
 Rhone, and lies at the joining of tlic river 
 Rhone with that of the Saone. On the 
 banks of the latter rise the oldest and most 
 picturesque portions of the city. 
 
 We were driven to the Hotel de TEurope, 
 in the Rue de Bellecour, which has a fine 
 view. After visiting the sights, which in- 
 clude the cathedral and the Galerie de Pcin- 
 
 371
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 ture, in which is a fine collection of pic- 
 tures, we entered the automobiles to continue 
 our journey through the valley of the Rhone 
 into Provence. Our machines were certainly 
 the perfection of art in the manufacture of 
 automobiles, and carried us over the smooth 
 roads with a speed and ease as unusual as 
 it was agreeable. 
 
 As we sped southward through the Midi 
 of France, the sun sent out a radiant quality 
 which is only to be met with in the South, 
 and gave to everything an almost dreamlike 
 atmosphere. Can we wonder at the story 
 of Tennyson's " Lotos Eaters," or at the 
 dolce far niente of the Italian, when we 
 breathe in this exotic air, that gives its lan- 
 guid tendency to mankind, and soothes us to 
 fancies and dreams? There is a subtle influ- 
 ence in every breath, which charms us with 
 its sense of unreality. Yet it is real, and pro- 
 duces a very definite reality of life, full of 
 art, of history, of interest, to those who study 
 It. 
 
 Provence, that ancient province in the 
 southeastern portion of France, contains 
 much that is architecturally and historically 
 delightful to the traveller. The old flavour 
 of the French, touched by the Italian influ- 
 
 372
 
 /;/ Old Provence 
 
 ence, mellow and alluring, pervades this 
 country from the valley of the Rhone toward 
 Northern Italy. 
 
 South of Lyons, and on the Rhone, is 
 Vienne. The Gers empties into the larger 
 river here, and behind the town rises Mont 
 Salomon. We stayed at the Hotel du Nord, 
 and visited the ancient temple of Augustus 
 and Livia, which has remained from the 
 Roman days, and which possesses some beau- 
 tiful fluted columns. Near it are indications 
 of a Roman forum, long since demolished. 
 
 The cathedral of St. Maurice, which dates 
 back as far as the eleventh century, is a 
 picturesque church of the flamboyant Gothic 
 style, approached by a large flight of steps 
 at the end of a street. 
 
 In the Boulevard Pyramide is the ancient 
 obelisk, known as I'Aiguille, standing upon 
 a Roman arch. It formed, originally, part 
 of a circus, which has almost entirely dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " How dififerent all this is from Tou- 
 raine," said Mrs. Wilton, as she stood look- 
 ing at the cathedral. 
 
 "Yes," said the Frenchman. "You know 
 Vienne was the ancient capital of Burgundv. 
 and has often been a place of residence for 
 
 373
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the Dauphins of France. What a change 
 now from the life of other days, when the 
 younger court held sway here. Let us go 
 and look at the old theatre. There is a 
 picturesque gateway, which is very Italian 
 in effect." 
 
 They wandered on and found the gateway 
 an attractive subject for a sketch, which 
 Mary Van Cortland took an opportunity 
 of making, with very pleasing results. 
 
 It seemed to the writer of these pages that 
 he had rarely seen so much taste shown in 
 a water-colour sketch, and he was inclined 
 to look at it with unusual appreciation; but 
 that may have been from eyes that were 
 prejudiced in her favour, so attractive did 
 she seem to him. The air of the south is 
 conducive to romance, and there is no tell- 
 ing what havoc it may not work in the heart 
 when least expected. 
 
 From Vienne to Valence is a beautiful 
 journey along the borders of the Rhone, its 
 valley running through southeastern France 
 to Avignon and Aries, and making the 
 western boundary of Provence. There are 
 many delightful places to visit between 
 Lyons and Avignon; but we paused only 
 at Valence, situated near the point where 
 
 374
 
 In Old Provence 
 
 the river Isere empties into the Rhone, and 
 from there pushed farther south. 
 
 We were ready to start on this trip, when 
 it was suggested by the Frenchman that we 
 should diverge from our course, and, strik- 
 ing to the eastward, visit La Grande Char- 
 treuse. Although it was some distance out 
 of our way, we decided that it was too good 
 an opportunity to lose, and, changing our 
 plans, set out for this interesting spot. 
 
 The shortest route from Vienne was by 
 way of Chambery, due east, and half the 
 distance between the Rhone and the Italian 
 frontier. We arrived at Chambery in the 
 evening, and put up at the Hotel d'Anglc- 
 terre, which we found comfortable enough 
 for our purposes. The town was the ancient 
 capital of Savoie, and has a cathedral and 
 an old chateau of the thirteenth century. 
 
 The next morning we went on to La 
 Grande Chartreuse, which is a most de- 
 lightful ride of about thirty kilometres. The 
 nearest place to the monastery is St. Laurent 
 du Pont, about twelve kilometres distant, 
 from which point carriages may be taken. 
 We pushed on to the objective point through 
 interesting mountain scenery, more like that 
 of Switzerland than France. The Cascade 
 
 375
 
 Among French htns 
 
 de Couz, described by George Sand, is 
 still attractive, and merits a pause in an 
 excursion. At Les Echelles we obtained 
 our first view of La Grande Chartreuse, 
 nestling among the mountains dotted with 
 evergreen trees. 
 
 At St. Laurent we follow the little moun- 
 tain torrent, and pass the factory where the 
 famous liqueur is made, which has made the 
 name of Chartreuse famous throughout the 
 world. Mounting the beautiful road which 
 winds up the steep, rocky ascent, we reach 
 the monastery. The whole character of the 
 scene is as different as can be from those 
 parts of France which we have been visit- 
 ing, and the contrast makes it all the more 
 interesting. 
 
 La Grande Chartreuse is one of the most 
 important and famous of French monas- 
 teries, still keeping up its sacred work and 
 cloistered life. It was founded by St. Bruno 
 in the eleventh century. He repaired to the 
 French Alps, and, accompanied by a few 
 companions, obtained a grant of land, and 
 there established this institution. The pres- 
 ent buildings date from the sixteenth cen- 
 tury, and are picturesque, with their pointed 
 roofs and severe pinarets, as well as their 
 
 376
 
 In Old Provence 
 
 double rows of small windows, in keeping 
 with the scenery about them. 
 
 La Grande Chartreuse has been the meet- 
 ing-place of the Carthusian monks for cen- 
 turies. The income derived by the monks 
 from the sale of their li(]ucur is large, and 
 this they expend in good works throughout 
 the surrounding country. The vast buildings 
 and galleries are most interesting to visit, 
 and so engrossed were we in our inspection 
 that we ended by staying for luncheon, 
 which is served to visitors at a moderate 
 price, and we finally decided to remain over- 
 night. 
 
 " Dear me, how strange it seems to be 
 staying in a convent," said Mrs. ^^'ilton. 
 "Apparently 'we have to stay in a different 
 place from the gentlemen, and are not even 
 allowed to enter the monastery. There are 
 two sisters at a building called the Infir- 
 merie, who are very kind, and say we are 
 to remain there." 
 
 The Frenchman was in raptures at being 
 able to stay at La Grande Chartreuse, and 
 the other gentlemen of the party were 
 pleased also. We slept in cells, comfortablv 
 enough, rose early, and had a ver\' good 
 breakfast at half-past eight. The monks
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 arose at five and began their devotions, 
 which are continued at intervals through- 
 out the day and evening. We found them 
 most agreeable to talk to, and, on the whole, 
 enjoyed thoroughly our visit to this interest- 
 ing place. Before leaving, the next day, we 
 all visited the little chapel of St. Bruno, a 
 tiny shrine perched upon a rock among the 
 trees, at the spot where the founder of the 
 monastery established his first hermitage. 
 
 From Chambery we journeyed to Grenoble 
 and thence to Valence, leaving the charming 
 scenery of the French Alps for the valley 
 of the Rhone once more. There is an old 
 familiar saying in French that, — 
 
 "A Valence 
 Le Midi commence," — 
 
 though we are accustomed to associate it 
 with places even farther north. It is, how- 
 ever, a typical town of Le Midi, and Is 
 to-day the capital of the Departement de la 
 Drome. In the fifteenth century Louis XII. 
 gave the Comte de Valentinois to Caesar 
 Borgia, and with it the capital town of 
 Valence. It was from here that Diane de 
 Poitiers, the beautiful mistress of the French 
 king, derived her title of duchess, and with 
 
 378
 
 In Old Provence 
 
 her name it has since been associated. The 
 Hotel du Louvre et de la Poste is a pleasant 
 place to stay, in spite of its long name. 
 There we spent a day wandering about and 
 inspecting the cathedral, which is strongly 
 Roman in character. In it is a bust of Pope 
 Pius VI., whose heart reposes in a sepul- 
 chre. 
 
 The association of the Popes with South- 
 ern France was very important, and lasted 
 for the whole period of the fourteenth cen- 
 tury. They resided at Avignon, where their 
 ancient capital is, and even after their re- 
 turn to Rome, in the fifteenth century, they 
 still ruled through one of their representa- 
 tives. This fact has added, more than most 
 things, to the influence of the Italian spirit 
 over this portion of France, and we observe 
 its evidences at all points. 
 
 From Valence to Montelimar, and from 
 there to Orange, is a delightful journey, 
 along the banks of the Rhone, the great 
 river running always southward to the 
 Mediterranean. Here we reach at last tlie 
 real doorway of old Provence, the land of 
 the ancient farandola, of serenades, of ro- 
 mance and chivalry. We are no longer in 
 Touraine. The courts of the French kings 
 
 379
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 have lost the character which they possessed 
 in Normandy or elsewhere. Here we may 
 live again in the days of the troubadours, 
 and hear the sounds of the guitar and the 
 tambourine accompanying the legends and 
 folk-songs of their times. The days of the 
 Crusades have returned anew, and we are 
 in an atmosphere as different as can be 
 imagined from that of other portions of 
 France. 
 
 The real character of old Provence is to 
 be found in these places bordering upon the 
 Rhone, or eastward toward the Alps. It 
 is in such places as Orange, Avignon, Digne, 
 and Aix, that we find the true temperament 
 and feeling of this ancient province. In the 
 southern towns of the coast, which form the 
 Riviera of France, are to be found the 
 activity and life of to-day. The new Pro- 
 vence extends from Marseilles to Toulon, 
 Hyeres, Cannes, and Nice, rather than upon 
 the northern slopes of les Alps Maritimes. 
 The southern coast is filled with the modern, 
 artificial life of fashion and the world of 
 to-day. The ancient character is elsewhere, 
 and this we are in search of in our present 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 Orange is a most interesting place from 
 
 380
 
 In Old Provence 
 
 this point of view. Its aspect is that which 
 we would associate with the days of the 
 Emperor Charlemagne, or the Prince of 
 Orange. It is the place from which that 
 well-worn title in European history has 
 emanated, and represents the independence 
 of a principality^, besieged by a king of 
 France. Orange was originally the capital 
 of the Cavares, and in the reign of Charle- 
 magne was made a countship; but not until 
 after the Treaty of Utrecht did it become 
 properly a part of France. 
 
 Architecturally the town is important, and 
 deserves the attention of every one who is 
 interested in such monuments as the Arch 
 of Augustus, the "Chateau de TArc " (the 
 abode of the Princes of Orange), the cathe- 
 dral, or the Roman theatre. Though the 
 Visigoths did much damage to the ancient 
 monuments of Orange, these still remain, to 
 remind us of the days of Gaul and the later 
 Emperors of Rome. 
 
 " It is almost like being in Italy, is it not, 
 George?" said Gladys, as they stopped at 
 the Hotel de la Poste to rest, after a walk 
 through the town and a view of its sights. 
 
 " Yes," said George. " 1 wonder, dear, 
 if you really would like to go there on our
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 wed ding- tour. I think it would be ideal 
 myself." 
 
 "What are you two talking about there?" 
 queried Mrs. Wilton, as she joined them. 
 " But, then, I suppose I should not ask. 
 Of course you are making love and deciding 
 on plans for the wedding. There is only one 
 thing I pray, though, Gladys, and that is 
 that you will not do anything more without 
 consulting your mother. It was bad enough 
 to have you run off from Trouville with 
 your father and get engaged; but if you 
 make any private arrangements about the 
 wedding, I do not think I could bear it." 
 
 That was a field in which Mrs. Wilton 
 felt herself rightfully entitled to display 
 her powers and her energy. She intended to 
 make the Van Cortland-Wilton wedding 
 one long to be remembered in the glorious 
 annals of Hymen. With this in view, she 
 was already beginning to make preparations. 
 Hardly a day passed that she did not des- 
 patch letters to her daughter's dressmakers 
 in Paris to prepare for their coming. For, 
 once there, not a moment could be lost; 
 every day would be filled to overflowing 
 before they left for America. 
 
 With these thoughts in her mind, Mrs. 
 
 382
 
 In Old Provence 
 
 Wilton set out the following day, with the 
 rest of her party, for Avignon and Tarascon. 
 There is a charmingly picturesque place 
 near by called Vaison, with an old inn, 
 where we paused upon our way. The inn 
 is the Hotel de la Commerce. The place 
 dates from the early centuries, and is said 
 to have been founded by the Greeks, and to 
 have been a rich and flourishing city, after 
 the Romans overran the country. 
 
 Thus, on to Avignon, which seems, as it 
 were, the centre of the thoughts which are 
 associated with Provence. We alighted at 
 the Hotel de I'Europe, which may be recom- 
 mended in many ways, and where the travel- 
 ler is likely to be comfortable during his 
 stay. The town of Avignon has had a long 
 and notable history, out of which arise the 
 majestic figures of the several Popes, who, 
 for a century, made it the seat of the Holy 
 See. 
 
 Its situation is picturesque, sublime almost, 
 as it rises upon the hill above the waters of 
 the river, that lies in beautiful stillness in the 
 evening light. As the capital of the De- 
 partement de Vaucluse, it still holds an 
 important place in this portion of Provence. 
 The great Gothic palace of the Popes rc- 
 
 383
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 mains in stern and warlike grandeur within 
 the town. It is rather the fortified relic of a 
 temporal than of a spiritual sovereign. 
 Still, in those days the temporal power held 
 sway, and men were filled with the wild 
 passions and religious controversies that dis- 
 tressed the middle ages, and made such 
 places necessary. 
 
 We might remain long at Avignon and 
 describe with pleasure its churches, its 
 palaces, its convents, and its museum; but 
 we must away, and leave behind us the 
 beautiful bridge of St. Benezet, which, in 
 other centuries, joined Provence to Langue- 
 doc. Tarascon and Aries lie before, and 
 beckon us toward their gates. We leave the 
 ancient capital of the Popes with a genuine 
 regret, to follow still farther the course of 
 the Rhone to Tarascon. 
 
 If we turn a little from our path we shall 
 have an opportunity to visit, in the direction 
 of Nimes, the famous Pont du Gard, per- 
 haps the finest aqueduct in existence. It was 
 built, in a series of immense arches over the 
 river, in the reign of Agrippa, to carry the 
 waters to Nimes. The arches have been 
 rightly compared to those upon the sides of 
 a cathedral. It is, in effect, a grand and 
 
 384
 
 In Old Provotce 
 
 picturesque sight, in every way Roman in 
 character, and bearing the dignity of a score 
 of centuries. 
 
 A little northwest of Avignon is Uzes, the 
 seat of the premier Due de France. The 
 Chateau of La Duche is a superb palace, 
 opened to visitors in the absence of the 
 Duchesse d'Uzes, who is distinguished for 
 her charities. The Due d'Uzes became the 
 first of the French dues under Louis XIII., 
 taking precedence of the Due de Luynes, on 
 account of arriving first at the palace, having, 
 according to the historical anecdote, over- 
 turned the latter's carriage in his haste to 
 be first before the king to verify his title. 
 
 After leaving Uzes, where there is a good 
 inn known as the Hotel Ferdinand Bechard, 
 we proceeded to Tarascon, which is to the 
 south and upon the banks of the Rhone. The 
 Hotel des Empereurs opened its arms to 
 us, and w^e alighted and proceeded to wander 
 about the town, as was our usual custom. 
 Tarascon has all the flavour of Provence, 
 having been one of the cities of Gaul under 
 the Romans. In later centuries it was part 
 of the domain of the Counts of Provence. 
 
 There is a beautiful Gothic church at 
 Tarascon, with a delicate spire rising behind 
 
 385
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 the view of the square fourteenth-century 
 castle, which stands beside the river, and 
 seems almost to rise out of it. Its rocky foun- 
 dation is at one end of a large suspension- 
 bridge across the river, and upon the opposite 
 side is the ancient castle of Beaucaire. Its 
 • square towers, with mediaeval battlements, 
 stand high against the hill behind the town, 
 and are reflected in the waters at their feet. 
 It is a fitting companion to the castle of 
 Tarascon, now unfortunately used as a 
 prison. 
 
 From Tarascon to Aries, still on the 
 Rhone, is not a long ride. There the 
 Hotel du Nord is good, and graced by a 
 delightful hostess, which adds to the comfort 
 of her guests. The town is full of interest- 
 ing things, not least of which are its women, 
 who are noted for their beauty. The clois- 
 ters of St. Trophime, its Roman theatre, its 
 Arenes, are all grand and imposing, and a 
 delight to see. We spent several days in 
 studying the wonderful archaeologic treas- 
 ures of this greater city of Gaul, with its 
 relics of Roman days. 
 
 From Aries to Aix via Rognac is an 
 interesting trip. We may mention Ma- 
 nosque, with its pleasant inn, the Hotel 
 
 386
 
 In Old Prcrocnce 
 
 Pascal, as well as Riez, with its beautiful 
 Corinthian columns, like those of the Forum 
 at Rome, in passing. They are both worthy 
 of a visit for those who are able to make a 
 digression in their journey through this 
 corner of France. 
 
 Aix itself was the ancient capital of 
 Provence, and as such demands our atten- 
 tion and study. At the Hotel Negre-Coste 
 we ensconced ourselves and enjoyed a few- 
 days' visit to the town. It was here tli.it the 
 Counts of Provence held their courts and 
 reigned supreme. The original Roman 
 camp, from which Aix has sprung, was 
 entirely destroyed by the Saracens, who 
 besieged Provence, and traces of whose at- 
 tacks appear in the history of Riez. To-day 
 the town is neat and attractive, with an 
 avenue known as the Cours Mirabeau in its 
 centre. The thirteenth-century church of 
 St. Jean de Malte contains tombs of some of 
 the old reigning Counts of Provence. The 
 cathedral, the Hotel de Ville, and the Tour 
 de THorloge, are all interesting and worthy 
 of a visit. The houses of the old Provenc^al 
 nobles still remain, and denote the lu.xury 
 of their day. 
 
 From Aix we journeyed to Meyrargucs,
 
 Aifiong French Inns 
 
 Les Arcs, and Grasse; thence to Digne, Sis- 
 teron, Veynes, and Grenoble, from which 
 place we took the train north, and sent the 
 automobiles to meet us near Fontainebleau, 
 where our next pilgrimage was to be made. 
 
 388
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 AT THE HOTEL DE LA FORET 
 Barbizon 
 
 On entering the Department of Seine et 
 Marne we proceeded, by way of Fontainc- 
 bleau, to Barbizon, a charming place much 
 frequented by artists, who gather there in 
 summer and make studies of the country 
 round about. 
 
 Nothing can be more conducive to the 
 inspiration of an artist than the imaginative 
 atmosphere of the forest of Fontaineblcau, 
 with its fairylike foliage, its brooks and 
 rocky streams, whispering melodies in sum- 
 mer, and giving a refreshing sound of mur- 
 muring waters. It takes the visitor by the 
 hand and leads him, willing or not, into that 
 enchanted atmosphere which pervades at 
 once all France, as well as the environs of 
 Paris. 
 
 In Normandy and Brittany nature holds 
 sway, and we follow it in its picturesijue 
 
 389
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 pageantry, but here the hands of man, in- 
 spired by successive Kings of France, — mon- 
 archs whose conceptions were as magnificent 
 as the power which enabled them to be grati- 
 fied, — have trained and utilized the beauties 
 of nature into a more careful and distinctive 
 form. This, time has mellowed, and the 
 result may well be termed an enchanted 
 paradise, as ideal as it is alluring. 
 
 The Hotel de la Foret, at Barbizon, is truly 
 a rural abode, and one well fitted to conclude 
 a pilgrimage to rustic France, — one which 
 we are loath to leave, and which we must 
 always remember with pleasure. Its pictur- 
 esque exterior is only equalled by the attrac- 
 tion of its hospitality and the kindness of its 
 hosts, who received our party with every 
 evidence of friendliness and afifection. 
 
 George and Gladys were too deeply in 
 love to care very much where they were. 
 But the Hotel de la Foret was for them a 
 pleasing setting to their mood. Here, and 
 in the forest, they could, as Mr. Wilton put 
 it, " bill and coo," as much as they liked, and 
 no one would think it extraordinary. 
 
 " Ah, he is lucky, ce Monsieur Van Cort- 
 land," said the Frenchman to Count Romeo, 
 the evening they arrived. 
 
 390
 
 /. 
 
 < 
 
 
 .c
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 U V, 
 
 Yes," said the latter, " yes, it is the loavc 
 that he has, not we, mon cher; we must 
 look on and pretend we are pleased. Ah, 
 viisericordia ! If it had been one of us! 
 But — " and the count gave a shrug of his 
 shoulders, and the Frenchman gave a shrug 
 of his shoulders, and they both cast up their 
 eyes to heaven in an expression that spoke 
 volumes. 
 
 Such was the decree of fate; poor, re- 
 jected suitors! There was no accounting for 
 tastes. Yet what could they do but accept it, 
 and look about for suitable wedding-gifts 
 when they reached Paris, for they were both 
 indebted to the Wiltons, and must show their 
 appreciation even if their future happiness 
 was ruined, and their lives henceforward 
 made dark by the marriage of Miss Gladys 
 Wilton to ce Monsieur George Van Cort- 
 land. 
 
 The Englishman confided his feelings 
 to no one, but Mrs. Wilton observed that he 
 did feel something, deep down in his heart; 
 and his wedding-present, a superb necklace, 
 was, perhaps, handsomer than the occasion 
 might have been supposed to warrant. 
 
 Thus the party settled themselves in the 
 Hotel de la Foret, and proceeded to make 
 
 391
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 daily excursions through the forest, to the 
 Chateau de Fontainebleau, and to many 
 places of interest in its environs. There are 
 few spots more happily situated than Barbi- 
 zon for such little journeys; and were we to 
 chronicle all the doings of this agreeable 
 party, we should be writing till doomsday, 
 and, we fear, wearing out our readers' 
 patience. We can only follow them to a 
 few of the more favoured spots, and bid 
 them godspeed on their way to Paris and 
 America, and to that famous wedding which 
 was to startle all New York — and the rest 
 of the world into the bargain — in Novem- 
 ber. 
 
 The ride to the Chateau de Fontainebleau, 
 through the forest, is one of those enchanted 
 experiences with which France delights to 
 surprise her visitors. 
 
 This is the land of Corot and Millet, the 
 modern French painters who touched their 
 canvases with a subtle art that nothing has 
 approached in the treatment of these wood- 
 land scenes. Their creative genius has por- 
 trayed this stretch of country in all its rural 
 beauty. 
 
 The Chateau de Fontainebleau is one of 
 the most magnificent, the most famous of 
 
 392
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 France. With Versailles, with Chantilly, 
 with Marly, it ranks among the most beauti- 
 ful and extensive of the great royal domains, 
 that are to-day filled with treasures, relig- 
 iously preserved by the state, and showing all 
 the glory of the ancient monarchy of France. 
 The richness of the Renaissance, as encour- 
 aged by Frangois I.; the magnificence of 
 the Louis', as portrayed in the beautiful 
 sequence of styles, of Louis XIV., Louis 
 XV., and Louis XVL; the Empire brought 
 by Napoleon, are all represented in this 
 wonderful ensemble, which is one of the 
 glories of France. 
 
 We arrived at the Hotel de France ct 
 d'Angleterre, opposite the chateau, its noble 
 proportions rising in symmetrical richness 
 before us. The square towers, the pilasters, 
 the cornices, the pointed roofs, so universal 
 in France until Mansard cut them short in 
 his innovation of style (more suitable to 
 dependances than to central buildings), arc 
 almost suggestive of the Louvre; but the 
 effect is lighter and more in keeping with 
 the country. 
 
 The chateau has five courts, of which the 
 largest is the Cour du Cheval-Blanche, 
 named from a copy of the horse of Marcus 
 
 393
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 Aurelius brought from Rome. Later its 
 name was changed to that of the Cour des 
 Adieux, for it was here that Napoleon bade 
 his impressive farewell to the famous Vieille 
 Garde on his departure for the island of 
 Elba. It must have been an impressive 
 scene, when the great soldier, the conqueror 
 of nations and creator of kingdoms, left his 
 favourite guard, who had followed him 
 through his campaigns and conquests, to 
 became a prisoner of the powers who had 
 at last checked his career. 
 
 But if the memories of Napoleon cluster 
 around the Cour des Adieux, what shall we 
 say of the associations that are linked with 
 the pavilions of the Chateau de Fontaine- 
 bleau, with its buildings and its history? 
 As early as the twelfth century Louis le 
 Jeune, King of France, lived here. After 
 him, many other kings used it as a residence. 
 Several of them were born and died there, 
 and from it were dated acts and incidents 
 of their lives that have contributed to his- 
 tory. 
 
 After the death of Philippe V. came Fran- 
 cois I., bringing with him all the rich glory 
 of the Renaissance. This was a period of 
 greatness for Fontainebleau which has never 
 
 394
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 been surpassed, and from it date the archi- 
 tectural and artistic beauties of the chateau. 
 The fetes which were given by Fran(,'ois I. 
 were presided over by his mistress, La Du- 
 chesse d'Etampes, than whom, we are told by 
 historians, there was no one more brilliant or 
 learned. If the fetes of Catherine de 
 Medicis in Touraine were magnificent, 
 those of Francois I. at Fontainebleau were 
 equally so, and his residence there has been 
 rightly called the golden age of the chateau. 
 Succeeding this reign was that of Fienry 
 II., who brought with him Diane de Poitiers, 
 the beautiful mistress who has figured so 
 conspicuously in French history, and whose 
 emblems and monogram are carved with 
 that of the king upon the walls of the cha- 
 teau. Indeed, the history of Fontainebleau 
 is, in a way, written upon its walls. Fach 
 sovereign has added his distinctive character 
 of decoration, and impressed his personality 
 upon the wonderful apartments of the inte- 
 rior. These noble apartments show the early 
 traces of the decorations of the Renaissance 
 in their gilding and pilasters upon the 
 walls, as well as by the heavy beams of the 
 ceilings. Upon this has been grafted, in an 
 artistic manner, the rococo and circular 
 
 395
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 forms of the style of Louis XIV., concep- 
 tions well suited to the character of so grand 
 a monarch. Here and there, in the same 
 apartment often, we find interwoven with 
 these, portions of Louis XV. and Louis XVL 
 decorations as well as furniture. 
 
 It was the ambition of Francois I. to 
 make of Fontainebleau one of the glories of 
 the world. Here he succeeded better than at 
 his other hunting chateau of Chambord, 
 in Touraine. Artists from Italy embellished 
 its walls and ceilings. II Rosso, the pupil of 
 Michelangelo, came first; later he was sup- 
 planted by Primaticcio, and ended by taking 
 poison in 1541, overcome by the fury of his 
 jealous disposition. None of his frescoes 
 have survived the hand of " Le Primatice," 
 as Primaticcio was called in France. 
 
 In those days the Italian influence was 
 everywhere at Fontainebleau, as well as in 
 Touraine. Under Frangois II., who suc- 
 ceeded Henry II., Catherine de Medicis 
 held sway, and here took place the famous 
 reception of the embassy of the Catholic 
 monarchs, that came to demand the carrying 
 out of the articles of the Council of Trent. 
 Around the queen were grouped more than 
 a hundred beautiful maids of honour, mak- 
 
 396
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 ing the scene a glory of loveliness, as well 
 as a national occasion. 
 
 Were we to write the history of Fontainc- 
 bleau, we should fill a bulky volume with 
 the incidents that have been witnessed by 
 its ornamented walls. We are only visitinj^ 
 it in passing, and must, perforce, abstain 
 from much that would be interesting to 
 mention. Louis XIII. was born in the cha- 
 teau, but did not often occupy it in his 
 reign. But Henry IV., who preceded 
 Louis XIII., did much to beautify it, and 
 the remains of his work still appear. 
 
 Louis XIV. came every year for a periodic 
 residence, and dragged hither his unwilling 
 family and court. We cannot greatly sympa- 
 thize with those who were not an.xious to 
 accompany the king, for there were worse 
 places in France in those days than the fair 
 proportions of Fontainebleau, with its gar- 
 dens and its matchless forest. 
 
 Neither the Englishman nor Count Romeo 
 had ever visited this remarkable pahicc be- 
 fore, and they were both absorbed, in going 
 through it and observing everything to be 
 
 seen. 
 
 " T like the Italian influence," said the 
 count. " He is ahvavs full of colour. Ah, 
 
 397
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 we knew how to paint la has!" And he 
 pointed southward to Italy. 
 
 " You have led the world in art," said 
 the Englishman, thoughtfully. " And you 
 have served as a model for architecture also. 
 Most of our ducal homes, as well as a num- 
 ber of the greater houses in London, are 
 taken directly from Italian palaces or villas." 
 
 " We must go to Italy on our wedding- 
 tour, George," said Gladys, " and then we 
 will visit Count di Pomponi, and he shall 
 show us some of his wonderful things." 
 
 " Ah, that would be the next best thing 
 to having you as la contessa," exclaimed the 
 exuberant Romeo; and every one laughed, 
 including George Van Cortland himself. 
 He could afford to be generous to the re- 
 jected suitors, having won such a prize. 
 
 During the visit to Fontainebleau Miss 
 Mary Van Cortland had seemed more and 
 more fascinating to the historian of this 
 pilgrimage. In fact, there began to be no 
 doubt — or at least very little — in his mind 
 that they were mutually agreeable to one 
 another. But there — if we allow ourselves 
 to go on, we shall be telling the secret to 
 all the world; and when all the world knows 
 a thing it is no longer a secret, and this little 
 
 398
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 confidence is a secret, for the present at 
 least. 
 
 As we wandered through the Napoleonic 
 rooms, the Frenchman dilated upon the 
 beauty of the Empire furniture, wiiich 
 serves as an example to copyists of this stvlc 
 the world over. The Louis XV. and Louis 
 XVL furnitures of Fontaincbleau arc 
 equally if not more beautiful in grace and 
 contour. They are some of the best ex- 
 amples of French furniture in existence, and 
 well deserve the fame which they have won. 
 
 As we stood in the bedroom of Napo- 
 leon I., which contains his bed as well as the 
 cradle of the King of Rome, the Frenchman 
 told the story of the emperor's attempt at 
 suicide in 1814, at Fontaincbleau. It was 
 the custom of Napoleon to carry with him 
 a phial of poison, to be used at a moment's 
 notice, if need be. Feeling that the time 
 had arrived, he took the poison; hut it being 
 old, its properties had lost their deadly 
 power, and, instead of their expected ciTcct. 
 they made him violently sick. We may 
 imagine the annoyance of the great hero, 
 when awaiting his end in epic grandeur, to 
 find himself foiled in his intention, and, in 
 a short time, as much alive as ever. 
 
 399
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 The Cabinet de I'Abdication, the room 
 where he finally renounced his power, is an 
 impressive apartment, pregnant with memo- 
 ries and associations of the Empire. The 
 Salon du Conseil is decorated by Bouchier, 
 and is one of the most interesting rooms of 
 the chateau. It was used by Louis Philippe 
 when he resided there. Beyond it is the 
 throne-room, which contains a splendid por- 
 trait of Louis XIIL, by Philippe de Cham- 
 paigne, in his best style. It was originally 
 used as the bedroom of the Bourbons, and 
 dates from the reign of Charles IX. 
 
 Leading from this apartment is the ex- 
 quisite Boudoir de Marie Antoinette, deco- 
 rated by Barthelemy. All the rooms asso- 
 ciated with Marie Antoinette are of great 
 beauty, and characterized by that delicacy of 
 taste which was so a part of all her surround- 
 ings. The Chambre a Coucher de la Reine, 
 the Salon de Musique, and other rooms, are 
 included among these apartments. 
 
 What wonders there are in these suites of 
 royal chambers, following one another in 
 bewildering succession, and filled with all 
 the memories and traditions of France! 
 From the Grands Appartements and the 
 Salon des Tapisseries, to the Galerie de 
 
 400
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 Diane, all the periods of the French kin^rs 
 are represented in a superb menKjrial to 
 their taste and power. We might spend 
 days, even weeks, in their study, and still 
 find much that had escaped our attention. 
 
 Without are the gardens, the fountains, 
 the terraces, and the magnificent staircase, 
 with ornamental balustrades, winding dcnvn 
 from the first story to the ground, in the 
 centre of the chateau, in graceful curves. 
 The Chapelle de la St. Trinite, built under 
 Francois I., and embellished with paintings 
 by Freminet, under Henry IV., has witnessed 
 the marriage of Louis XV. to Marie Le- 
 czinska, and other royal marriages. 
 
 The gardens and parterre, as arranged by 
 Lenotre, remain as they were at the time of 
 Louis XIV. The parterre is a beautiful 
 example of this form of French garden, like 
 a carpet of flowers in formal arrangement. 
 The Jardin Anglais, after the manner of that 
 at Versailles, is a delightful contrast, ami 
 it is a pleasure to loiter there during the 
 warmer hours of the day. 
 
 We lingered over the basin in which are 
 the famous carp, the descendants of those 
 placed there by Lc Grand Monarque. Tount 
 Romeo, who was fond of those animals 
 
 401
 
 Among French Inns 
 
 which inhabit the waters under the earth, 
 as well as those upon the earth itself, was 
 soon engaged in feeding the fish. They 
 could be seen beneath the surface of the 
 water, eagerly rising for the pieces of bread 
 which his Excellency threw to them. The 
 pastime is one often indulged in by visitors 
 to Fontainebleau. 
 
 This brings us to the origin of the name 
 itself, which is said to come from the Fon- 
 taine Bleau, which stood in the centre of 
 the Jardin Anglais. It is a pleasing idea, 
 and one which we are inclined to believe. 
 
 " Let us go and take dejeuner at the Hotel 
 de France et d'Angleterre," said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton. " It is so good, we might almost have 
 stayed there, except that Barbizon is more 
 rural, and you know we are determined to 
 be rural this summer, aren't we, count? " 
 she added, with a laugh. Mrs. Wilton 
 looked anything but rural, or in keeping 
 with the artist life of Barbizon, with its 
 colony of painters and its simplicity; but the 
 count agreed, and we repaired to the hotel. 
 
 After dejeuner Mrs. Wilton insisted upon 
 having a table outside, and playing bridge- 
 whist under the shade of a tree, with cham- 
 pagne served during the game. The count 
 
 402
 
 At the Hotel de la Forct 
 
 was " hien gai," as he expressed it, and of 
 course lost his game; but that mattered little, 
 since he was to become a millionaire, as the 
 result of the spaghetti. The people of the 
 hotel were in a state of commotion over 
 the Wiltons and their party. But uiien they 
 found that it was ce riche Monsieur et 
 Madame Wilton d'Ameriquc, they were 
 in a still greater commotion, and we de- 
 parted in a cloud of dust, mingled with the 
 glory which accompanies American dollars, 
 after a delightful day at Fontainebleau. 
 
 The ride through the forest, on our way 
 back to Barbizon, was full of beauty, and 
 the association of the artists, to whom it is 
 practically given over in summer. Tlie lives 
 of Corot and Millet seem linked with this 
 spot; and real pictures, which must have 
 inspired them in life, appeared to us as we 
 sped homeward at sunset, through the long 
 alleys, in which the Kings of France used for 
 centuries to hunt. 
 
 Posts indicate the way to those who arc 
 not familiar with the forest. They were 
 placed there by Napoleon III. Following 
 one of them, we came to the Rochcrs 
 d'Avon, which are lovely to behold, and 
 retain the visitor in the embrace of their 
 
 403
 
 Among Fre7ich Inns 
 
 encfiantment. La Mare de Franchard is 
 another beautiful and artistic spot, as well as 
 the Vallee de la Salle and the Fontaines 
 Sanguinede et du Mont Chauvet. These 
 excursions may be made with ease, and are 
 sure to be a pleasure to any one in summer. 
 
 At last we returned to the charming 
 Hotel de la Foret at Barbizon. Its situation 
 is delightful, between the forest and the 
 Seine, upon which this little artist colony 
 is situated. Here and there little farms 
 and houses are dotted about, with miniature 
 gardens and quaint bits of colour that are 
 dear to the artistic eye. Many are the hopes 
 and ambitions of budding geniuses, of lesser 
 lights, of those even who strive and fail, 
 who live and work at Barbizon. Many are 
 the anecdotes and stories told of the great 
 masters who have dwelt and toiled for great- 
 ness in this inspiring haunt. 
 
 We lingered several days at the hotel, 
 whose artistic surrounding and quaint charm 
 added much to our enjoyment of its hos- 
 pitality. One day an excursion was made 
 to the beautiful Chateau de Vaux-Praslin, 
 near Melun, which was built by the famous 
 Fouquet, in the days of Cardinal Mazarin 
 and La Fronde. Its decorations, by Mi- 
 
 404
 
 At the Hotel de la Foret 
 
 gnard and Charles Lebrun, are superb, and 
 its gardens by Lenotre most beautiful. 
 
 At last the time came to leave our pleasant 
 quarters and go to Versailles, where, at the 
 Hotel des Reservoires, was to take place 
 the meeting of the Van Cortland and \\\\- 
 ton families. And here we fear that we 
 must draw the curtain upon the scene; for 
 our pilgrimage is at an end, and the summer 
 is fast turning into autumn. 
 
 The Englishman must return to Scotland 
 for the shooting season. The Frenchman 
 leaves us for a visit to his family at a cha- 
 teau in Seine et Oise. The count must turn 
 his steps to his villa upon the Lake of Como, 
 there to dream, in the shadows of his moun- 
 tain scenes, of what might have been, if 
 only his love had been reciprocated. We 
 part, dear friends, w^th deep regret, and 
 may we meet again. 
 
 And find in rural France a joy that comes 
 
 To those who linger near fair Nature's homes. 
 
 Seek something hidden 'neath its sun-kissed soil, 
 
 Nor think again of sorrow, care, and toil. 
 
 Lead us, fair land, to these thy treasured haunts, 
 
 That bless thy name — the magic name of France ! 
 
 THE END.
 
 INDEX 
 
 Abbaye aux Dames (Caen), 
 
 334- 
 Abbaye aux Hommes (Caen), 
 
 334- 
 Abbaye de Bon-Port, 218, 219. 
 Abbaye de Fontaine-Guerard, 
 
 Pare de Radepont, 210. 
 Abbaye de Marmoutiers 
 
 (Lamballe), 189. 
 Abbaye d e M o r t e m e r 
 
 (Lisors), 210. 
 Abbaye du Bee, 238. 
 Abbaye of Graville, 43. 
 Abbeys (See under individual 
 
 names). 
 Abdalla of Spain, 314. 
 Agrippa, 278, 384. 
 Aix, 323, 348, 380, 386, 387; 
 
 Cours Mirabeau, 387; 
 
 Hotel de Ville, 3^7; St. 
 
 Jean de Malte Church, 387 ; 
 
 Hotel Negre-Coste, 387 ; 
 
 Tour de I'Horloge, 387. 
 Alengon, 294, 295, 296, 299, 
 
 301, 303; Hotel du Grand 
 
 Cerf, 294; Notre Dame 
 
 Church, 296, 
 Allouville, no. 
 Almeneches, 307. 
 Ancourt, 229. 
 
 Angers, 340; Cathedral, 342. 
 " Anti-Lucrece," 220. 
 Arch of Augustus (Orange), 
 
 381. 
 
 Archelles (Le Petit Arques), 
 229. 
 
 Argentan, 275, 308. 310. 312, 
 3^3, 314; Chateau of. 311 ; 
 Hotel des Trois Margue- 
 rites, 309. 310, 311; St. 
 Germain Giurch, 310, 313, 
 315; Tour Marguerite. 311. 
 
 Aries. 374, 384. 386; Hotel du 
 Nord, 386. 
 
 .'\rlette, 317, 318. 
 
 Arthur. Prince. 207. 
 
 .-\rtois family, 227. 
 
 "Athalie." 282. 
 
 Aubert, Abbey of {See Mont 
 St. Michael). 
 
 Aubry, Chateau. 311. 
 
 Augustus, 52. 
 
 Aumont family. 72. 
 
 .\uteuil. 260, 261. 
 
 .\vignon. 374, 37'). 380. 383. 
 384. 385 ; Hotel de r Europe, 
 
 383. 
 Avranches. 172, 173. I74. I7<». 
 
 177; Hotel d'.Vngletcrre, 
 
 170. 
 Azay-le-Ridcau. 35.V 3.'^0'. 
 
 Chateau, 354; ll«'>tcl du 
 
 Grand Monarquc, 353. 
 
 Balcinac, 121. 
 
 Balzac. 353- 
 
 Barbizon. 380. 39-!, 403, 404. 
 
 Barthelemy, 40a 
 
 407
 
 Index 
 
 Bayeux, 85, 334; Chateau de 
 Creuilly, 334; Hotel de 
 Luxembourg, 334. 
 
 Beaucaire, Castle of, 386. 
 
 Beaulieu, 363, 364. 
 
 Beaumesnil, Chateau of, 236, 
 237, 238; Seigneur of, 237. 
 
 Beaumont-Ie-Roger, 236, 237. 
 
 Bechard, Ferdinand, 385. 
 
 Beffroi d'Evreux, 234. 
 
 Berenger, 108. 
 
 Bernay, 172, 236, 239. 
 
 Bethencourt family, 72. 
 
 Blosset, 303. 
 
 Bois de Boulogne, 260, 261. 
 
 Bolbec, 69, 71 ; Family, 90. 
 
 Bonheur, Rosa, 201. 
 
 Bonneville-sur-Touques, 241. 
 
 Borgia, Caesar, 378. 
 
 Bouchier, 400. 
 
 Boulevard Pyramide (Lyons), 
 
 Bourgogne family, 227. 
 Bourre, Jean, 355. 
 Breaute, 72; Sires de, 72. 
 Brest, 192. 
 Breteuil, 236. 
 Breze family, 72. 
 Brionne, 236, 238. 
 Brotonne, 117. 
 Broussais, 183. 
 Brummel, Beau, 333. 
 Buckingham family, 70. 
 
 Caen, 168, 172, 239, 333, 334; 
 
 Abbaye aux Dames, 334; 
 
 Abbaye aux Hommes, 334; 
 
 Hotel d'Angleterre, 84. 
 Csesar, Julius, 52. 
 Caino, 350. 
 Calet (or Caletum), See 
 
 Lillebonne. 
 Calvados, 312, 324, 333, 335. 
 Cannes, 380. 
 
 Canterbury Cathedral, 213. 
 Cap-Faguet, 94. 
 Caree Tower (Tancarville), 
 
 64. 
 
 Carnac, 193 
 
 Carrouges, 301, 302, 303; 
 
 Chateau of, 301. 
 Carthusian Monks, 377. 
 Cascade de Couz, 376. 
 Castel du Repas, 311. 
 Castellane, Marquis, 354. 
 Caudebec, 97, 117, 119, 121, 
 
 122, 123,^ 129, 137, 140, 143, 
 
 164; Hotel de la Marine, 
 
 118, 124, 125; L'figlise du 
 
 Caudebec, 130. 
 Caux River, 117. 
 Cavares, 381. 
 Chambery, 375, 378; Hotel 
 
 d'Angleterre, 375. 
 Chambois, Chateau of, 311. 
 Chambord, Chateau of, 396. 
 Chantilly, 259, 393. 
 Chapelle de la Trinite (Fon- 
 
 tainebleau), 401. 
 Chapelle de la Vierge (Val- 
 
 mont), 103. 
 Charlemagne, Emperor, 381. 
 Charles L (Le Chauve), 121, 
 
 218, 219, 364. 
 Charles H., 350. 
 Charles IV., 9. 
 Charles V., 100. 
 Charles VHL (Le Teme- 
 
 rairc), 123, 351. 
 Charles IX., 400. 
 Charles le Mauvais, 220. 
 Chartres, 275, 279, 285, 286, 
 
 289, 290, 294, 29s, 297; 
 
 Hotel de Ville, 291 ; 293, 
 
 299 ; Hotel Due de Chartres, 
 
 286, 289. 
 Chateaubriand, 182, 183, 184, 
 
 201 ; Frangois Rene de, 186. 
 Chateau de Rochecotte, 351, 
 
 354- 
 
 Chateaulin, 193. 
 
 Chateauroux, 371. 
 
 Chateaux i^See under indi- 
 vidual names). 
 
 Chemin de la Croix (Loches), 
 366. 
 
 408
 
 Index 
 
 Cha- 
 357; 
 351; 
 351 
 
 "Chene d'Allouville," no. 
 
 Chenonceaux, 351, 353, 354, 
 356, 358. 
 
 Cherbourg, 239. 
 
 Chinon, 347, 350, 353; 
 teau, 351-352, 354, 
 Chateau de Coudray, 
 Chateau de Milieu, 
 Chateau de St. Georges, 
 351; Grand-Log is, 351; 
 Hotel de France, 353 ; 
 Hotel de la Boule d'Or, 
 350; Pavilion de I'Horloge, 
 351; Tour de St. Martin, 
 
 351- 
 Churches {See under indi- 
 vidual names). 
 Claude, Mons., 175, 204. 
 Clerai, Chateau of, 308. 
 Cleres. Chateau of, 197. 
 Clovis, King, 205, 350. 
 Coetirec, 192. 
 Colbert, 9. 
 Combourg, 185, 186; Chateau 
 
 de, 185, 186. 
 Compiegne, 259. 
 Conches, 236. 
 Condate {Sec Conde). 
 Conde, Prince, 236, 2ZT- 
 Connetable, 100. 
 Conti. Prince, 9. 
 Coquesart Tower (Tancar- 
 
 ville), 64. 
 Corde-sur-Iton, Chateau 
 
 (Evreux), 235. 
 Comcille, 201. 
 Corot, 392, 403. 
 Cottereau, Jean, 279. 
 Council of Trent, 396. 
 Cour de la Republique, 34- 
 Cour des Adieux (Fontainc- 
 
 bleau). 394- 
 Cour du Cheval-B 1 a nch e 
 
 (Fontainebleau), 393. 
 Cours Mirabcau (Aix), 
 
 387- 
 Courtray, 74. 
 Coutances, 172, 173; Hotel 
 
 d'Angletcrre, 172: Notre 
 Dame Cathedral. 173. 
 
 " Couvcnt des Capucuis," 131. 
 
 Crequi family, 72. 
 
 Dampierrc, 343 ; Chateau 
 Morains, 342. 
 
 Deauviile, 241. 
 
 D'AlcnQon, Due. 365. 
 
 D'Angoulcmc, Isabelle, 347. 
 
 D'Anjou, Comtc, 354; Due. 
 9; Marguerite, 46. .^4^. 
 
 D'Arbrissol. Robert, 345. 
 
 D'Arc. Jeanne, 136, 141, 351. 
 
 D'Arqucs, Comte, 12()\ Cha- 
 teau, 228. 229. 
 
 D'Auhigne. PVanQoisc. jSo. 
 
 D'Audiffrct-Pasquier, Due, 
 308. 
 
 De Balue, Cardinal. 361, 366. 
 
 De Baviere, Isabeau, 304. 
 
 De Blois, Chateau, 281. 
 
 De Bourbon, Antoinc, 201. 
 
 De Bourbon, Charles. 100, 
 
 lOI. 
 
 De Bourbon-Soissons, Louise, 
 
 65- 
 De Champaigne, Philippe, 400. 
 De Choiscul, Due, 14. 
 De Geves, Catherine, 228. 
 De Comincs. Philippe, 352. 
 De Creuilly, Chateau, 334. 
 D'Estoutevillc. Sire, 46. 
 D'fitampes. Duchessc, 395. 
 D'Etelan, Chateau, 62, 65. 67. 
 D'Eu, Chateau, 226, 228; 
 
 Comte, ^2^. 
 D'Evreux. Comtc, 65. 
 De Guyennc, Eleanor, 46, 346. 
 D'Harcourt, Chateau. J.lh, 
 
 238; Due, 9; Family, 58, 
 
 Dllebertot, Oiateau. 258. 
 De r.\rc. Chateau (Orange), 
 
 381. 
 
 De la Duche (Urcs). 385. 
 
 De la Forct-d'Auvray, Cha- 
 teau. 311. 
 
 409
 
 Index 
 
 De la Garaye, Chateau (Di- 
 
 nan), i88. 
 De la Saucerie, Chateau, 311. 
 De la Tour d'Auvergne 
 
 family, 58; Louis, 65. 
 De la Trinite Church (Fa- 
 
 laise), 318. 
 De la Veve, Chateau, 294. 
 De Lassay, Chateau, 258; 
 
 Marquis, 258. 
 De Luynes, Charles Albert, 
 
 361 ; Due, 385. 
 De Maille, Comte, 361. 
 De Maine, Duchesse, 228. 
 De Maintenon, Mme., 280, 
 
 281. 
 De Medicis, Catherine, 9, 14, 
 
 74, 358, 395, 396; Marie, 
 
 303- 
 De Montespan, Mme., 346. 
 De Montmorencies, The, 
 
 58. 
 De Montpensier, Louise (La 
 
 Grande Mademoiselle), 228, 
 
 258. 
 De Noailles, Due, 281. 
 D'O, Chateau, 303, 304. 
 D'Orleans, Jean, 65. 
 De Paris, Comtesse, 227. 
 De Parme, Prince, 123. 
 De Poitiers, Diane, 369, 378, 
 
 395; Maison, 150. 
 De Polignac, Cardinal, 220. 
 De St. Paul, Comte {See 
 
 Charles de Bourbon). 
 De Talhoiiet, Marquis, 339. 
 De Thevray, Chateau, 236. 
 De Valentinois, Comte, 378. 
 De Villars, Due. 14. 
 De Villernay, Marquis, 280. 
 Dieppe, 211, 226, 228, 229, 
 
 ^ZZ \ Chateau d'Arques, 228, 
 
 229; Chateau d'Eu, 226, 
 
 228; Hotel Royal, 232. 
 Digne, 380, 388. 
 Dinan, 186, 187, 188; Cha- 
 teau de la Garaye, 188; 
 
 Hotel d'Angleterre, 186. 
 
 187; St. Sauveur Church, 
 
 188. 
 Dinard, 181. 
 Dives, 184, 324, 32s, ZZ2>, 335, 
 
 336, 342; Hotel^ de Guil- 
 
 laume le Conquerant, 266, 
 
 271, 2^2„ 324, 2,^1, 330, 336. 
 
 Dol, 184, 186; Hotel de la 
 
 Grande Maison, 185. 
 Domfront, 311. 
 Dreux, 275, 276, 278, 279; 
 
 Hotel de Ville, 279; 
 
 Hotel du Paradis, 276, 278. 
 Duguesclin, 100, 188, 314. 
 Dumontel, Jacques Gautier, 
 
 313, 314- 
 Duval, 201 ; Marie Catherine, 
 201 ; Nicolas, 200. 
 
 fichiquier de Normandie, 158. 
 £cole de Cavaliere (Sau- 
 
 mur), 341. 
 Edict of Nantes, 70, 341. 
 Edward the Conqueror, 46. 
 Elbeuf, 172. 
 English Channel, i, 2, 3, 13, 
 
 17, 34, 38, 47, 65, 12>, 174- 
 Epemon, 285. 
 " Esther," 282. 
 Estouteville, Adrienne, 100, 
 
 103; Family, 72, 100. 
 fitretat, 27, 28. 32, 39, 71, 75, 
 
 78, 80; Hotel Blanquet, 75, 
 
 76. 
 Eure River, 211, 279, 282. 
 Evreux, 233, 234, 235; Bish- 
 ops of, 235 ; Chateau 
 
 Conde-sur-Iton, 235. 
 Exmes, 311. 
 
 Falaise, 312, 313, 316, 319, 320, 
 323 ; De la Trinite Church, 
 318; Foire de Gibraye, 319, 
 320; Hotel de Normandie, 
 317; Place de la Trinite, 
 318. 
 
 Fauville, 99, 107. 
 
 Fecamp, 80, 82, 90, 92, 94, 
 
 410
 
 Index 
 
 97. 99. 100, rig, 164, 214; 
 Abbey of, 85, 90; Fon- 
 taine du Precieux-Sang, 
 94; Hotel Canchv, 80; 
 Hotel Chariot d'O'r, 80; 
 Hotel du Grand Cerf, 81; 
 La Retenue, 93; Notre 
 Dame de Salut, 94; St. 
 Trinite, 86. 
 
 Fel, 311. 
 
 " Fenctre de la Reine Ala- 
 thilde," 241. 
 
 Finistere, 192. 
 
 " Foire de Gibraye " (Fa- 
 laise), 319, 320. 
 
 Folligny, 173. 
 
 Fontaine Bleau, 402. 
 
 Fontainebieau, 388, 389; Cha- 
 pelle de la Trinite, 401 ; 
 Chateau, 392, 393-402; 
 Hotel de France et d'Angle- 
 terre, 393 ; Cour d c s 
 Adieux, 394; Cour du 
 Cheval-Blanche, 393. 
 
 Fontaine de Jeanne d'Arc 
 (Rouen), 150. 
 
 Fonjtaine du Precieux-Sang 
 (Fecamp), 94. 
 
 Fontaine-Henri, Chateau, 335. 
 
 Fontaines Sanguinede ct du 
 Mont Qiauvet, 404. 
 
 Fontevrault, 341, 343. 347; 
 Church of, 345; Hotel de 
 France, 344; Tour d'Ev- 
 rault, 374. 
 
 Fougeres, 193. 
 
 Foulques, 354. 
 
 Fouquet, 404, 
 
 Frangois I., 13, 16, 74, 82, 
 100, loi, 158, 162, 200, 259, 
 280, 360, 393, 394, 395. 396. 
 401 ; Frangois II., 184, 396. 
 
 Freminel, 401. 
 
 Gaillard, Chateau (Le Petit 
 
 Andely), 109. 206, 207. 
 Galerie du Peinture (Lyons), 
 
 371- 
 
 Geoffroy, 227. 
 
 George IV.. 334. 
 
 Gerald, 60. 
 
 Gers River, 373. 
 
 Gisor.s, 210. 
 
 Godard family, 72. 
 
 Godervillc, 71, 72; Barons of, 
 
 72. 
 GoufiFern, 313. 
 Grand Chartreuse Monas- 
 
 tcr>'. 375. y7(i> i77- 
 Grand-Logis, The (Chinon), 
 
 351. 
 Grasse, 388. 
 Gravillc, 28, 39, 43: Abbey 
 
 of. 43- 
 Gray, Thomas, 204. 
 Grenoble, 378. 388 
 Guingamp, 190, igi : Hotel 
 
 de rOuest, 190. 
 
 Hamon, Vicomte, 187. 
 Haras du Pin. 308. 
 Ilartknir, 39, 45, 46. 47. 48. 
 
 50; Church of, 47-49; 
 
 Family 74. 
 Harold, 187. 241. 
 Hastings, 74. 
 Havre. 1-31. 32-43. 62. 76, 
 
 140; Hotel d'-Xn^lctcrrc, 
 
 5; Hotel de I'Kuropc, 5; 
 
 Hotel Frascati. 5. 10. 20; 
 
 Notre Dame Guirch, 15; 
 
 Notre Dame dc Grace 
 
 Chapel, 13; Place dc 
 
 I'Hotel dc Villc. 15; St. 
 
 Fran go is Church. 15; 
 
 Tower of Frangois I., 15. 
 
 16. 
 Havre de Grace {See Ha\Tc. 
 
 13). 
 Henry I.. ,s8. 122. 275 
 Henry 1. (dc Guise). 221^ 
 Henry H.. 46. 275. 347. 35°. 
 
 351. .^^"O. 305. 396 
 Henry HI., 74 
 Henry IV.. 14. 16, 123, 200, 
 
 397. 401. 
 
 411
 
 Index 
 
 Henry V., 45, 46, 122, 318. 
 
 Henry VI., 342. 
 
 Honfleur, 240. 
 
 Hotel Blanquet (fitretat), 
 
 75. 7^- 
 
 Hotel Budan (Saumur), 341. 
 
 Hotel Canchy (Fecamp), 80. 
 
 Hotel Chariot d'Or (Fe- 
 camp), 80. 
 
 Hotel Ferdinand B e c h a r d 
 (Uzes), 385. 
 
 Hotel Frascati (Havre), 5, 
 10, 20. 
 
 Hotel Lion d'Or (Langeais), 
 
 354. 
 
 Hotel Nau (Loches), 369. 
 
 Hotel Negre-Coste, Aix, 387. 
 
 Hotel Pascal (Manosque), 
 386. 
 
 Hotel Poulard (Mont St. 
 Michel), 177, 178. 181. 
 
 Hotel Royal (Dieppe), 232. 
 
 Hotel St. Pierre (Mainte- 
 non), 279. 
 
 Hotel d'Angleterre (Avran- 
 ches), 176; (Coutances), 
 172; (Caen), 84; Cham- 
 bery, 375; (Dinan), 186, 
 187; (Havre), 5; (Rouen), 
 164. 
 
 Hotel de Bellevue (Trou- 
 ville), 242. 
 
 Hotel de France (Chinon), 
 353; (Fontevrault), 344; 
 (Lamballe), 188; (Lille- 
 bonne), 51, 54. 
 
 Hotel de France et d'Angle- 
 terre (Fontainebleau), 393. 
 
 Hotel de Guillaume le Con- 
 querant (Dives), 266, 271, 
 273, 324, 327, 330, 336. 
 
 Hotel de la Boule d'Or 
 ( A z a y-1 e-Rideau ) , 359 ; 
 (Chinon), 350. 
 
 Hotel de la Commerce (Vai- 
 son), 383- 
 
 Hotel de la Croix Blanche 
 (St. Brieuc), 189. 
 
 Hotel de I'Europe (Avignon), 
 
 383; (Havre), 5; (Lan- 
 
 nion), 192; (Lyons), 371; 
 
 (Morlaix), 191. 
 Hotel de la Foret (Barbizon), 
 
 390, 391, 404. 
 Hotel de la Grande Maison 
 
 (Dol), 185. 
 Hotel de la Marine (Caude- 
 
 bec), 118, 124, 125. 
 Hotel de I'Ouest (Guin- 
 
 gamp), 190. 
 Hotel de la Promenade, 
 
 (Loches), 365. 
 Hotel de I'U'nivers (St. 
 
 Malo), 182; (Tours), 359, 
 
 371- 
 Hotel de Luxembourg (Ba- 
 
 yeux), 334. 
 Hotel de Normandie (Fa- 
 
 laise) 317. 
 Hotel de Paris (Trouville), 
 
 242. 
 Hotel de Ville (Aix), 387; 
 
 (Chartres), 291, 293, 299; 
 
 (Dreux), 279; (Loches), 
 
 369. 
 Hotel des Empereurs (Taras- 
 
 con), 385. 
 Hotel des Trois Maries (Ar- 
 
 gentan), 309, 310, 311. 
 Hotel des Reservoires (Ver- 
 sailles), 405. 
 Hotel des Roches Noires 
 
 (Trouville), 242. 
 Hotel des Victoires (Yvetot), 
 
 no. 
 Hotel du Bourgtheroulde 
 
 (Rouen), 150, 161, 164. 
 Hotel Due de Chartres 
 
 (Chartres), 286, 289. 
 Hotel du Commerce (Val- 
 
 mont), 103. 
 Hotel du Grand Cerf (Alen- 
 
 Qon), 294; (Fecamp), 81; 
 
 (Le Grand Andely), 199, 
 
 200, 210, 305; (Louviers), 
 
 216, 221. 
 
 412
 
 Index 
 
 Hotel du Grand Monarqiie 
 
 (Azay-le-Rideau), 353. 
 Hotel du Havre (Tancar- 
 
 yille), 59. 
 Hotel du Louvre et de la 
 
 Poste (Valence), 379. 
 Hotel du Mouton (Lou- 
 
 viers), 217. 
 Hotel du Nord (Aries), 386; 
 
 (Rouen), 165; (Vienne), 
 
 Hotel du Paradis (Dreux), 
 
 276, 278. 
 Hotel du Viennois (^See 
 
 Hotel du Grand Cerf, 
 
 Les Andelys). 
 Tlugo, Victor, 20r. 
 Hundred Years' War, 46. 
 Hyeres, 380. 
 
 Ingouville, 28. 
 Isere River, 375. 
 I ton River, 235. 
 
 Jardin Anglais, Fontainc- 
 bleau, 401, 402; Ver- 
 sailles, 401. 
 
 John, King, 180, 220, 347. 
 
 Juliobona (^See Lillcbonne). 
 
 Jumieges, 117. 
 
 Karr, Alphonse, 36, 76. 
 Kercado, Chateau de, 193. 
 Kergrist, 192. 
 King of Rome, 399. 
 
 La Bourdonnais, 183. 
 
 Lackland, John, 107, 219. 
 
 La Fleche, 339. 
 
 La Fronde, 9, 60, 404. 
 
 "La Grande Be," 183. 
 
 La Grande Trappe Monas- 
 tery, 294. 
 
 La Haye-Pesnel, 173. 
 
 La He've, 34, Zl- 
 
 Laigle, 275. 
 
 Lambrille, 188, 180, 100; 
 Abbaye de Marmoutiers, 
 
 189; Comtc de, 180; Hotel 
 dc France, 188; Notre 
 Dame Church. i8g; I'rui- 
 cesse dc, 189; St. Martin 
 Church, 189. 
 
 Lamennais, lij. 
 
 Langeais, 354; Chateau, 354. 
 355. 356, 357; Lion d'Or. 
 354- 
 
 Lannion, 192; Hotel dc 
 I'Europe, 192. 
 
 La Poissonicre, 340. 
 
 La Rctenue (Fecamp), 93. 
 
 La Sarthc, 270, 339. 
 
 " La Tour Grisc," 275. 
 
 Lauzun, 228. 
 
 L' Aigle Tower ( T a n c a r - 
 viUe). 64- 
 
 L'Aiguilie (Vicnnc), 373. 
 
 Le Breton, William. 207. 
 
 Lebrun, Charles, 405. 
 
 Leczinska, Marie, 401. 
 
 Le D a i n, Oliver, 355, 
 ,367. 
 
 L'Eglise de Caudebcc, 130. 
 
 Lefivre, Mon., 201. 
 
 Lefevre-Desnouettes, Adm., 
 
 Z7- 
 Le Grand Andcly. 199, 204, 
 
 205, 206. 220, ziy. Hotel 
 du Grand Cerf, 199, 200. 
 210, 305; Notre Hamc 
 Church, 205 ; Place du 
 Marchc, 204. 
 
 Le Lude, Chateau, 330. 
 Le Mans. 283, zyj, 339- 
 Lenotro, 2%2. 
 
 Le Pttit Andely, 199. Jos. 206. 
 211; Chateau Gaillard. 199, 
 
 206. 207. 
 
 Les Andelys, 196, 197, 199. 
 
 _'oi, 205, 210. 
 Les Arcs. 388. 
 Les Echellcs, 376. 
 "Les Grands ICaux." 282. 
 Lczard River, 45. 
 Lillcbonne, 4'>. 50, 51. 52-54, 
 
 70; Abbey of Vaiassc, 54; 
 
 413
 
 Index 
 
 Hotel de France, 51, 54; 
 Notre Dame Church, 54; 
 Place de I'Hotel de Ville, 
 52, 54- 
 
 Lisieux, 172, 239, 240. 
 
 Lisors, Abbaye de Mortemer, 
 210. 
 
 Loches, Hotel de la Prome- 
 nade, 365; Hotel de Ville, 
 369; Hotel Nau, 369; Le 
 Martelet, 367; Prison des 
 fiveques, 366; Tour Ronde, 
 366 ; Tour St. Antoine, 368 ; 
 Town of, 364, 368; Cha- 
 teau of, 354, 363, 364, 365, 
 367; Chemin de la Croix, 
 366. 
 
 Loir River, 339. 
 
 Loire River, 336, 339, 340, 
 
 343, 347, 364. 
 Longchamps, 260. 
 Longueville, Prince, 9; Due, 
 
 65; Family, 58, 70. 
 Lorient, 193. 
 Lorraine family, 227. 
 Louis XL, 123, 180, 280, 303, 
 
 355, 356, 361, 364, 365, 366, 
 
 367. 
 Louis Xn., 13, 123, 158, 281, 
 
 378. 
 Louis XHL, 258, 361, 385, 
 
 397, 400. 
 Louis XIV., 280, 282, 308, 
 
 341, 393- 396, 397, 401- 
 
 Louis XV., 16, 346, 351, 393, 
 396, 401. 
 
 Louis XVL, 17, 259, 393, 
 396. 
 
 Louis le Jeune, 394. 
 
 Louis Philippe, 8, 17, 242, 
 400. 
 
 Louviers, 211, 212, 214, 216, 
 218; Hotel du Grand Cerf, 
 216, 221 ; Hotel du Mouton, 
 217. 
 
 Lusignan family, 227. 
 
 Luynes, 361, 362, 363; Cha- 
 teau de, 361, 362; Due de, 
 
 361; Charles Albert de, 
 
 361. 
 Lyons-la-Foret, 210. 
 Lyons, 371, 373; Hotel de 
 
 I'Enrope, 371 ; Galerie de 
 
 Peinture, 371 ; Rue de 
 
 Bellecour, 371. 
 
 Maillerais, 117. 
 
 Maintenon, 279, 282, 283, 285; 
 
 Chateau of, 280; Hotel St. 
 
 Pierre, 279. 
 Manoir d'Ango (Varenge- 
 
 ville), 231, 232. 
 Manoir de Meautrix 
 
 (Touques), 241. 
 Manosque, Hotel Pascal, 
 
 386. 
 " Marais de Dol," 184. 
 Mare de Franchard, 404. 
 Maresdans, 220. 
 Marie Antoinette, 189. 400. 
 Marly, 393; Gardens of, 71. 
 Marmoutier, 361. 
 Marot. Comte Claude, 188. 
 Marseilles, 380. 
 Martel, Geoffrey, 350. 
 Martelet (Loches), 367. 
 Martin-Eglise, 229. 
 Matilda, Queen, 334. 
 Maupertuis, 183. 
 M a u r i 1 e. Archbishop of 
 
 Rouen, 150. 
 Mayenne, 193. 
 Mazarin, Cardinal, 9, 404. 
 Melun, 404. 
 Meyrargues, 387. 
 Michelangelo, 396. 
 Mignard, 281, 404. 
 Millet, 392, 403. 
 Mons Tomba ^See Mont St 
 
 Michel). 
 Montelimar, 379. 
 Monthery, 74. 
 Montivilliers, 50. 
 MontluQon, 371. 
 Montree, 303, 307. 
 Mont Salomon, 373. 
 
 414
 
 Index 
 
 Mont SL Michel, 172, 174, 
 
 176, 177, 178, 181, 182; 
 
 Hotel Poulard, 177, 178, 
 
 181. 
 Montsoreau, Chateau, 343. 
 Moraiiis, Chateau (Dam- 
 
 pierre), 342. 
 Morlaix, 191; Hotel de 
 
 I'Europe, 191. 
 Mortagne, 294, 
 Mozin, 257. 
 Musee-Bibliotheque (Havre), 
 
 15- 
 
 Napoleon I., 17, 393, 399. 
 Napoleon HI., 8, 403. 
 Nerra, Foulques, 354, 363, 
 
 368. 
 Neufchatel, 211. 
 Neville, Agnes de, ^2 ; 
 
 Family, 72. 
 Nice, 380. 
 Nicolas, 86. 
 Nimcs, 384. 
 Nogent, 294. 
 Norville, 65, 70. 
 Notre Dame Cathedral (Cou- 
 
 tances), 173. 
 Notre Dame Church (Aleii- 
 
 Qon), 296; Havre, 15; 
 
 Lamballe, 189; Lc Grand 
 
 Andely, 205; Lillebonne, 
 
 54- 
 
 Notre Dame de Bourg-Bau- 
 douin (Fecamp), 94. 
 
 Notre Dame de Grace, Chapel 
 of (Havre), 13. 
 
 Notre Dame de Saint (Fe- 
 camp), 94. 
 
 Notre Dame des Flots, Chapel 
 of (St. Adressc), 35. 
 
 Orange, 379, 380. 381 ; Cha- 
 teau de I'Arc, 381. 
 Orleans family, 227-279. 
 Orleans-Longucvillc family, 
 
 lOI. 
 
 Ourville, 99, 100, 107. 
 
 Palais de Justice (Rourn). 
 
 141, 150. 157, 158. 159 
 Palgrave, 90. 
 Pare dc Radepont (Canton 
 
 de Fleury-sur-A n d I 1 U I, 
 
 210. 
 Paris, 9, 31, 160, 239. 260, 261, 
 
 266, 28s. 313. 314. l^\. 
 Parliament of Rouen, 200. 
 Pavilion de I'llorluKc. 351. 
 Pay>^ dc Talon. 229. 
 Pcnthicvrc, House of, 189, 
 
 190, 227. 
 Pharcs dc la Hevc, 36, 38. 
 Philippe v., 394. 
 Phihppe-Auguste, 180, 207, 
 
 350, 3f>4. i^^> 
 Pigault-Lebrun, 20:. 
 Place de rH6tel dc Viilc 
 
 (Havre), 15; (Lillebonne), 
 
 52, 54- 
 Place de la Pucelle (Rouen), 
 
 150. • 
 Place dc la Trinitc ( Fa- 
 
 laise), 318. 
 Place du Marchc (Lc Grand 
 
 Andely). 204. 
 Plcssis les Tours, 361. 
 Plouaret, 190, 192. 
 Pont de r.Vrchc, 211. 218, 230. 
 Pont du Gard, 384. 
 Pont ivy, 193. 
 Pont rFve(iue, 240. 
 Poussin, Nicolas, 201, 204, 
 
 J05. 
 Pres en Pail, 193. 
 Priinaticcio, 396. 
 "Prison dcs tvcqucs" 
 
 (Loches), 366. 
 Putange, 312. 
 
 Ouiilelxvuf, 63. 
 (Juimpcr, 193. 
 
 Rabelais, 352. 
 Racine, 282. 
 Rambouillct. 285. 
 Rancc River, 187. 
 
 415
 
 Index 
 
 Raoul, 60. 
 
 Rene, King, 342. 
 
 Rennes, 186, 193. 
 
 Rhone River, 371, 372, 373, 
 374 375, 378, 379, 380, 384, 
 385, 386. 
 
 Richard I., Duke of Nor- 
 mandy, 234. 
 
 Richard II., 121, 227. 
 
 Richard III., 86. 
 
 Richard (Cceur de Lion), 199, 
 
 206, 219, 346, 364, 3b5. 
 Richard, Duke of Normandy, 
 
 316. 
 Richard Sans Peur, 85, 90. 
 Richelieu, 9. 
 Riez, 387. 
 Roanne, 371. 
 Robert, Archbishop of 
 
 Rouen, 234. 
 "Robert le Diable," 44, 317. 
 Rochecotte, Chateau of, 354. 
 Rochecourbon, 361. 
 Rochers d'Avon, 403. 
 Rognac, 386. 
 Rosso, 396. 
 Rothomagus, 147. 
 Rouen, 9, 46, 62, 63, 86, 99, 
 
 140-169, 171, 193, 197, 201, 
 
 207, 226, 241, 316, 340; 
 Fontaine de Jean d'Arc, 
 150; Hotel d'Angleterre, 
 164; Hotel du Bourgthe- 
 roulde, 150, 161, 164; Hotel 
 du Nord, 165 ; Maison de 
 Diane de Poitiers, 150; 
 Palais du Justice, 141, 150, 
 157, 158, 159; Parliament 
 of, 200; Place de la Pu- 
 celle, 150; Rue Jeanne 
 d'Arc, 157, 159; St. Ger- 
 vais Church, 167 ; St. Ma- 
 clou Church, 141, 153; St. 
 Ouen Church, 141, 152-153; 
 Tour de Beurre, 151 ; 
 Tour de la Grosse-Hor- 
 loge, 150, 159, 161. 
 
 Rousseau, 353. 
 
 Rue de Bellecour (Lyons), 
 
 371. 
 Rue des Rosiers (Trouville), 
 
 242. 
 
 Rue Jeanne d'Arc (Rouen), 
 
 157, 159- 
 Runfas, 192. 
 
 Sable, 339. 
 
 Sacy, Chateau of, 308. 
 
 Sand, George, 376. 
 
 Sansac, Chateau de, 2,(i2)- 
 
 Saone River, 371. 
 
 Saurnur, 340, 341, 347, 348; 
 
 Hotel Budan, 341. 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 201. 
 Seine, 13, 17, 45, 46, 57, 61, 
 
 65, 117, 118, 121, 140, 199, 
 
 205, 211, 218, 219, 220, 22,2i- 
 Sforza, Ludovico, 367. 
 Sisteron, 388. 
 St. Adresse, 34, 36; Notre 
 
 Dame des Plots, 35. 
 St. Avitien, 149. 
 St. Benezet, Bridge of, 384. 
 St. Brieuc, 189, 190; Hotel de 
 
 la Croix Blanche, 189; St. 
 
 Etienne Cathedral, 190. 
 St. Bruno, 376; Chapel of, 
 
 378. 
 St. Clotilde, 205. 
 St. Cyr, 282. 
 St. Etienne Cathedral (St. 
 
 Brieuc), 190. 
 St. Florent, 341. 
 St. Frangois, Church of 
 
 (Havre), 15. 
 St. Francois de Paule, 15. 
 St. Gaubourge, 275. 
 St. Germain, Church of (Ar- 
 
 gentan), 310, 313, 315. 
 St. Gertrude, River of, 118. 
 St. Gervais, Church of 
 
 (Rouen), 167. 
 St. Jean de Malte Church 
 
 (Aix), 387. 
 St. Laurent du Pont, 375, 
 
 376, 377. 
 
 416
 
 Index 
 
 St. Lo, 172. 
 
 St. Maclou Church (Rouen), 
 
 141, 153- 
 St. Malo, 181-184. 187; Hotel 
 
 de rUnivers, 182. 
 St. Martin Church (Lani- 
 
 balle), i8g. 
 St. Maurice Cathedral 
 
 (Vienne), zii- 
 St. Mellon, 149. 
 St. Ouen, 149; Church of 
 
 (Rouen), 141, I5^-I53- 
 St. Ours, 364. 
 St. Sauvcur Church (Di- 
 
 nan), 188. 
 St. Trinite (Fecamp), 86. 
 St. Trophime Theatre 
 
 (Aries), 386. 
 St. Wandrille, 117, 122, 134; 
 
 Abbaye de, 108, 134, 135, 
 
 St. Waninge, Maison de (Fe- 
 camp), 93. 
 Stonehenge, Eng., 193. 
 
 Talbot, Gen., 122, 318. 
 Talleyrand, 354. 
 Tancarville, 57-62; Chateau 
 
 of. 57. 59' 64; Family of, 
 
 58; Hotel du Havre, 59; 
 
 Towers of, 64; William 
 
 de, 60 
 Tarascon, 383, 384. 385, 386; 
 
 Hotel des Empcreurs, 
 
 385. 
 Taureau, Chateau of, 191. 
 Temple to Augustus and 
 
 Livia (Vienne), 373. 
 Thibaut HI.. 350, 365. 
 Tonquedcc. 192. 
 Toulon. 380. 
 Touques, 241, 258; Manoir 
 
 de Meautrix, 241. 
 Touques River. 241. 
 Tour de Bcurre (Rouen), 
 
 151- 
 Tour d'Evrault (Fontc- 
 
 vrault), 347- 
 
 Tour dc rHorlogc (Aix), 
 
 Tour dc la Grossc-Horloge 
 (Rouen), 150. 159. 161. 
 
 Tour de St. Martin (Chinon), 
 
 .,35i. 
 
 lour (hi Si-rmcnt, J41. 
 
 Tour Marguerite (Argcntan), 
 311. 
 
 "Tour Ronde" (Lochcs). 
 }}*-»■ 
 
 Tour St. Antoine (Lochcs), 
 368. 
 
 Tours, 359, 360. 361. 363: 
 Comtc de, 365; Hotel «!.• 
 rUnivcrs, 359. 371; Hotel 
 de la Roule d'Or. 359, 
 
 Tower of F r a n «; o i s I. 
 (Havre). 15. 16. 
 
 Treaty of Utrecht, 381. 
 
 Trouvillc. 239. 240, 241, 257. 
 258, 2' XI, 202, 266, 2<>8. 260, 
 270, 271. 276, 277, 305. 3-J»<. 
 330; Hotel dc Htilcvtic. 
 242; Hotel de Pans. 242; 
 Hotel des Roches Noircs, 
 242; Rue des Rosiers, 
 
 Turner, 175. 
 
 Uzes, 385; Chateau dc la 
 Duche. 385: I)"c do. ^^5; 
 Hotel Ferdinand Bcch.ird, 
 385. 
 
 " Vadicassess," The. 334- 
 Vaison, 383; Hotel dc 'a 
 
 Commerce, 383. 
 \\il.isso, Ahbiy of (Lillc- 
 
 liMinu-), 54. 
 Valetici-, 374. 378. 370 : ' ' 
 
 du Lfnivrc et de la : 
 
 370. 
 Vallec Ancourt. 22f>. 
 Valice de la S.ilic. 4' ■ 
 ValmMtit, O"). lOo; l 
 
 de la Vicrgc. 103; 
 
 du Commerce, loj. 
 
 417
 
 Index 
 
 Varengeville, 231 ; Manoir 
 d'Ango, 231, 232. 
 
 Vaux-PrasHn, Chateau of, 
 404. 
 
 Veneur, 303. 
 
 Vernet, Horace, 201. 
 
 Vemeuil, 275. 
 
 Versailles, 259, 280, 282, 348, 
 393. 
 
 Veynes, 388. 
 
 Vieille Garde, 394. 
 
 Vienne, 373, 374, 375 ; Hotel 
 du Nord, 373; L'Aiguille, 
 373 ; St. Maurice Cathe- 
 dral, ZT7>\ Temple to Au- 
 gustus and Livia, 373. 
 
 Vienne River, 353. 
 
 Villers, 204. 
 
 Viollet-le-Duc, 201, 368. 
 Voltaire, 353. 
 
 William (Longue Epee), 86. 
 
 William the Conqueror, 44, 
 52, 58, 60, TZ, 85, 107, no, 
 121, 136, 141, 149, 167, 168, 
 169, 180, 188, 229, 241, 294, 
 
 315. 317. 318, 324, 334- 
 William Rufus, 168, 241, 275. 
 Warwick, Earl of, 14. 
 Warwick, Gen., 122. 
 
 Yvetot, 97, 99, 107, 109, no; 
 Hotel des Victoires, no; 
 Kings of, 72 ; Richard, 108. 
 
 418
 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 NOT IS JUN2 91995 
 
 RET'DJUN 131995 
 
 Series 9482 
 
 "▼•^•^' 
 
 § 
 
 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE 
 STAMPED BELOW.
 
 Ill