We 
 
 AUTOMOBILIST 
 ABROAD 
 
 B>^ FRANCIS cTWILTOUN 
 
 Author of " Rambles in Normandy," " Rambles in Brittany," " Rambles 
 on the Riviera," "The Cathedrals of Northern France," " The Cathedrals 
 of Southern France," " The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine," etc. 
 
 With man)) illustrations from photo- 
 graphs, decorai pians 
 
 (See page 182) 
 
 L. C. PAGE C& COMPANY 
 BOSTON MDCCCCVII 
 
AUTOMOBILIST 
 ABROAD 
 
 By FRANCIS cTWILTOUN 
 
 ^Author of " Rambles in Normandy," "Rambles in Brittany," "Rambles 
 on the Riviera," "The Cathedrals cf Northern France," " The Cathedrals 
 of Southern France," " The Cathedrals and Churches of the Rhine," etc. 
 
 With many illustrations from photo- 
 graphs, decorations, maps and plans 
 
 By BLANCHE McMANUS 
 
 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 
 BOSTON MDCCCCVII 
 
LIBRARY of 00N6RESS 
 Two Cooies Received 
 JUN 10 190/ 
 n CoDynffM Entry 
 
 $ASS ft XX«.. N«. 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 Copyright, 1907, by L. C. Page 
 and Company (Incorporated) 
 
 Entered at Stationer's Hall, London 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 First impression, May, 1907 
 
 Colonial Press: Electrotyped 
 and Printed by C. H.Simonds 
 CB. Company, Boston, U.S.A. 
 
preface 
 
 The general plan of this book is not original. 
 It tells of some experiences not altogether new, and 
 contains observations and facts that have been 
 noted by other writers; but the author hopes that, 
 from the viewpoint of an automobilist at least, its 
 novelty will serve as a recommendation. As a 
 pastime automobile touring is still new and is not 
 yet accomplished without some considerable annoy- 
 ance and friction. The conventional guides are 
 of little assistance; and the more descriptive works 
 on travel fail too often to note the continually 
 changing conditions which affect the tourist alike 
 by road and rail. 
 
Contents 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 PART I 
 
 I. An Appreciation of the Automobile . . 3 
 
 II. Travel Talk . . . . .19 
 
 III. Roads and Routes 41 
 
 IV. Hotels and Things 66 
 
 V. The Grand Tour 87 
 
 PART II 
 
 I. Down through Touraine : Paris to Bordeaux 103 
 
 II. A Little Tour in the Pyrenees . . . 121 
 
 III. In Languedoc and Old Provence . . . 147 
 
 IV. By Rh6ne and Sa6ne 163 
 
 V. By Seine and Oise — A Cruise in a Canot - 
 
 automobile 181 
 
 VI. The Road to the North 202 
 
 PART III 
 
 I. The Bath Road • 225 
 
 II. The South Coast 243 
 
 III. Land's End to John o' Groat's . . . 267 
 
 PART IV 
 
 I. On the Road in Flanders 285 
 
 II. By Dykes and Windmills 301 
 
 III. On the Road by the Rhine .... 321 
 
 Appendices 
 Index 
 
 335 
 375 
 
List of Full-page Plates 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Hotel Bellevue, Les Andelys (See page 182). Frontispiece 
 
 " Speed " 13 
 
 Paris and London Traffic 14 
 
 On French Roads 46 v 
 
 Some Mile - stones 63 
 
 In French Hotels 80 
 
 On English Roads 88 
 
 Road Map of France, Belgium, and the Rhine Facing 102 
 
 Midnight at a Wayside Inn in France . . . 104 
 
 In Touraine 108 
 
 La Rochelle 113 
 
 Bordeaux, the Gateway to the Landes . . . 116 
 
 Profile Map of the Pyrenees . . . Facing 120 
 
 The " Coupe des Pyrenees " 122 
 
 Some Snap-shots in the Pyrenees .... 130 
 
 On the Road in the Pyrenees 140 
 
 Peasants of the Crau 156 
 
 St. Blaise — Les Saintes — At Martigues — St. 
 
 Mitre 158- 
 
 Avignon — Tournon 171 
 
 Meulan — Vernon — Mantes — Auvers . . . 192' 
 
 At a French Inn 194 
 
 DOUAI VlLLIERS - COTTERETS — Cr^PY - EN - VALOIS . 218- 
 
 On the Bath Road 226 
 
 The Road by the Thames ...... 230 ■ 
 
 On the Thames at Henley 232 
 
 Ryde — Newhaven — Isle of Wight — Royal Yacht 
 
 Squadron — Folkestone — Arundel Castle . 261 
 
 Near Land's End — St. Michael's Mount . . 271 
 
 Taunton, Exeter, and Bristol 275 
 
 ix 
 
List of Full-page Plates 
 
 Scottish Highlands .... 
 
 Wick, Inverness, and John o' Groat's 
 
 Things Seen in Flanders 
 
 A Street in Antwerp .... 
 
 "As Par as We Go " . 
 
 The Polders — Scheveningen 
 
 Amsterdam, Delftshaven, and Rotterdam 
 
 The Road by the Rhine 
 
 Heidelberg amd Strasburg . 
 
 The Evolution of the Racing Automobile 
 
 PAGE 
 
 280 ^ 
 
 282-., 
 
 294 
 
 297 
 
 302 
 
 311 
 
 314 
 
 322- 
 
 332 
 
 340 
 
 i 
 
PART I 
 
 GENERAL INFORMATION —THE GRAND 
 TOUR 
 
Jfipp. 
 
 OF THE 
 
 £^Lufomo6i'/e 
 
 We have progressed appreciably beyond the 
 days of the old horseless carriage, which, it will 
 be remembered, retained even the dashboard. 
 
 To-day the modern automobile somewhat re- 
 sembles, in its outlines, a cross between a decapod 
 locomotive and a steam fire-engine, or at least 
 something concerning the artistic appearance of 
 which the layman has very grave doubts. 
 
 The control of a restive horse, a cranky boat, 
 
 3 
 
4 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 or even a trolley-car on rails is difficult enough 
 for the inexperienced, and there are many who 
 would quail before making the attempt; but to 
 the novice in charge of an automobile, some seri- 
 ous damage is likely enough to occur within an 
 incredibly short space of time, particularly if he 
 does not take into account the tremendous force 
 and power which he controls merely by the mov- 
 ing of a tiny lever, or by the depressing of a 
 pedal. 
 
 Any one interested in automobiles should know 
 something of the literature of the subject, which, 
 during the last decade, has already become formi- 
 dable. 
 
 In English the literature of the automobile 
 begins with Mr. Worby Beaumont's Cantor Lec- 
 tures (1895), and the pamphlet by Mr. R. Jenkins 
 on " Power Locomotion on the Highways," pub- 
 lished in 1896. 
 
 In the library of the Patent Office in London 
 the literature of motor road vehicles already fills 
 many shelves. The catalogue is interesting as 
 showing the early hopes that inventors had in 
 connection with steam as a motive power for light 
 road vehicles, and will be of value to all who are 
 interested in the history of the movement or the 
 progress made in motor-car design. 
 
 In France the Bibliotheque of the Touring 
 Club de France contains a hundred entries 
 under the caption " Automobiles," besides com- 
 plete files of eleven leading journals devoted to 
 that industry. With these two sources of infor- 
 mation at hand, and aided by the records of the 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 5 
 
 Automobile Club de France and the Automobile 
 Club of Great Britain and Ireland, the present- 
 day historian of the automobile will find the sub- 
 ject w>ell within his grasp. 
 
 There are those who doubt the utility of the 
 automobile, as there have been scoffers at most 
 new things under the sun; and there have been 
 critics who have derided it for its ' ' seven deadly 
 sins, ' ' as there have been others who have praised 
 its " Christian graces." The parodist who wrote 
 the following newspaper quatrain was no enemy 
 of the automobile in spite of his cynicism. 
 
 " A look of anguish underneath the car, 
 Another start ; — a squeak, — a grunt, — a jar ! 
 
 The Aspiration pipe is working loose ! 
 The vapour can't get out ! And there you are I 
 
 " Strange is it not, that of the myriads who 
 Have Empty Tanks and know not what to do, 
 
 Not one will tell of it when he Returns. 
 As for Ourselves, — why, we deny it, too." 
 
 The one perfectly happy man in an automobile 
 is he who drives, steers, or " runs the thing," 
 even though he be merely the hired chauffeur. 
 For proof of this one has only to note how readily 
 others volunteer to ' ' spell him a bit, ' ' as the say- 
 ing goes. Change of scene and the exhilaration 
 of a swift rush through space are all very well for 
 friends in the tonneau, but for real " pleasure " 
 one must be the driver. Not even the manifold 
 responsibilities of the post will mar one's enjoy- 
 
6 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 ment, and there is always a supreme satisfaction 
 in keeping one's engine running smoothly. 
 
 " Nothing to watch but the road," is the gen- 
 eral motto for the automobile manufacturer, but 
 the enthusiastic automobilist goes farther, and, 
 for his motto, takes " stick to your post," and, 
 in case of danger, as one has put it, ' ' pull every- 
 thing you see, and put your foot on everything 
 else. ' ' 
 
 The vocabulary of the automobile has produced 
 an entirely new ' ' jargon, ' ' which is Greek to the 
 multitude, but, oh, so expressive and full of mean- 
 ing to the initiated. 
 
 An automobile is masculine, or feminine, as 
 one likes to think of it, for it has many of the 
 vagaries of both sexes. The French Academy 
 has finally come to the fore and declared the word 
 to be masculine, and so, taking our clue once more 
 from the French (as we have in most things in 
 the automobile world), we must call it him, and 
 speak of it as he, instead of her, or she. 
 
 That other much overworked word in automo- 
 bilism, chauffeur, should be placed once for all. 
 The driver of an automobile is not really a chauf- 
 feur, neither is he who minds and cares for the 
 engine; he is a mecanicien and nothing else — 
 in France and elsewhere. "We needed a word for 
 the individual who busies himself with, or drives 
 an automobile, and so we have adapted the word 
 chauffeur. Purists may cavil, but nevertheless 
 the word is better than driver, or motor-man 
 (which is the quintessence of snobbery), or con- 
 ductor. 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 7 
 
 The word, chauffeur, the Paris Figaro tells us, 
 was known long before the advent of automobiles 
 or locomotives. History tells that about the year 
 1795, men strangely accoutred, their faces cov- 
 ered with soot and their eyes carefully disguised, 
 entered, by night, farms and lonely habitations 
 and committed all sorts of depredations. They 
 garroted their victims, or dragged them before a 
 great fire where they burned the soles of their 
 feet, and demanded information as to the where- 
 abouts of their money and jewels. Hence they 
 were called chauffeurs, a name which frightened 
 our grandfathers as much as the scorching chauf- 
 feur to-day frightens our grandchildren. 
 
 A motor-car is a fearsome thing, — when it 
 goes, it goes; and when it doesn't, something, or 
 many things, are wrong. A few years ago this 
 uncertainty was to be expected, for, though the 
 makers will not whisper it in Gath, we are only 
 just getting out of the bone-shaker age of auto- 
 mobiles. 
 
 Every one remembers what a weirdly ungrace- 
 ful thing was the first safety bicycle, and so was 
 the gaudy painted-up early locomotive — and 
 they are so yet on certain English lines where 
 their early Victorian engines are like Kipling's 
 ocean tramp, merely " puttied up with paint." 
 So with the early automobiles, they jarred and 
 jerked and stopped — that is, under all but excep- 
 tional conditions. Occasionally they did wonder- 
 ful things, — they always did, in fact, when one 
 took the word of their owners; but now they 
 really do acquit themselves with credit, and so the 
 
8 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 public, little by little, is beginning to believe in 
 them, even though the millennium has not arrived 
 when every home possesses its own runabout. 
 
 All this proves that we are " getting there " 
 by degrees, and meantime everybody that has to 
 do with motor-cars has learned a great deal, gen- 
 erally at somebody else's expense. 
 
 To-day every one " motes," or wants to, and 
 likewise a knowledge of many things mechanical, 
 which had heretofore been between closed covers, 
 is in the daily litany of many who had previously 
 never known a clutch from a cam-shaft, or a 
 sparking plug from a fly-wheel. 
 
 Most motor enthusiasts read all the important 
 journals devoted to the game. The old-stager 
 reads them for their hints and suggestions, — 
 though these are bewildering in their multiplicity 
 and their contradictions, — and the ladies of the 
 household look at them for the sake of their pretty 
 pictures of scenery and ladies and veils and furry 
 garments pertaining to the sport. 
 
 Catalogues are another bane of the motorist's 
 life. He may have just become possessed of the 
 latest thing in a Mercedes (and paid an enhanced 
 price for an early delivery), yet upon seeing some 
 new make of car advertised, he will immediately 
 send for a catalogue and prospectus, and make 
 the most absurd inquiries as to what said car will 
 or will not do. 
 
 Since the pleasures of motoring have found 
 their champions in Kipling, Maeterlinck, and the 
 late W. E. Henley, the delectable amusement has, 
 besides entering the daily life of most of us, gen- 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 9 
 
 Types of Touring-can 
 
10 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 erously permeated literature — real literature as 
 distinct from recent popular fiction ; ' ' The Light- 
 ning Conductor " and " The Princess Passes," by 
 Mrs. Williamson, and more lately, " The Motor 
 Pirate," by Mr. Paternoster. " A Motor Car 
 Divorce " is the suggestive title of another work, 
 — presumably fiction, — and one knows not where 
 it may end, since ' ' The Happy Motorist, ' ' a series 
 of essays, is already announced. 
 
 A Drury Lane melodrama of a season or two 
 ago gave us a " thrillin' hair-bre'dth 'scape," 
 wherein an automobile plunged precipitately — 
 with an all too-true realism, the first night — 
 down a lath and canvas ravine, finally saving the 
 heroine from the double-dyed villain who fol- 
 lowed so closely in her wake. 
 
 The last entry into other spheres was during 
 the autumn just past, when Paris 's luxurious 
 opera-house was given over to the fantastic revels 
 of the ballet in an attempt to typify the apotheo- 
 sis of the automobile. This was rather a rash 
 venture in prognostication, for it may be easy 
 enough to " apotheosize " the horse, but to 
 what idyllic heights the automobile is destined 
 to ultimately reach no one really knows. 
 
 The average scoffer at things automobilistic is 
 not very sincerely a scoffer at heart. It is mostly 
 a case of " sour grapes," and he only waits the 
 propitious combination of circumstances which 
 shall permit him to become a possessor of a 
 motor-car himself. This is not a very difficult 
 procedure. It simply means that he must give 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 11 
 
 up some other fad or fancy and take up with this 
 last, which, be it here reiterated, is no fad. 
 
 The great point in favour of the automobile is 
 its sociability. Once one was content to potter 
 about with a solitary companion in a buggy, with 
 a comfortable old horse who knew his route well 
 by reason of many journeys. To-day the auto- 
 mobile has driven thoughts of solitude to the 
 winds. Two in the tonneau, and another on the 
 seat beside you in front — a well-assorted couple 
 of couples — and one may make the most ideal 
 trips imaginable. 
 
 Every one looks straight ahead, there is no un- 
 comfortable twisting and turning as there is on 
 a boat or a railway train, and each can talk to the 
 others, or all can talk at once, which is more often 
 the case. It is most enjoyable, plenty to see, ex- 
 hilarating motion, jolly company, absolute inde- 
 pendence, and a wide radius of action. What 
 other mode of travel can combine all these joys 
 unless it be ballooning — of which the writer con- 
 fesses he knows nothing? 
 
 On the road one must ever have a regard for 
 what may happen, and roadside repairs, however 
 necessary, are seldom more than makeshifts which 
 enable one to arrive at his destination. 
 
 If you break the bolt which fastens your car- 
 dan-shaft, or a link of your side-chains, you and 
 your friends will have a chance to harden your 
 muscles a bit pushing the machine to the next 
 village, unless you choose to wait, on perhaps a 
 lonely road, for a passing cart whose driver is 
 willing, for a price, to detach his tired horse to 
 
12 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 draw your dead weight of a ton and a half over 
 a few miles of hill and dale. This is readily 
 enough accomplished in France, where the peas- 
 ant looks upon the procedure as a sort of allied 
 industry to farming, but in parts of England, in 
 Holland, and frequently in Italy, where the little 
 mountain donkey is the chief means of trans- 
 portation, it is more difficult. 
 
 The question of road speed proves nothing with 
 regard to the worth of an individual automobile, 
 except that the times do move, and we are learn- 
 ing daily more and more of the facility of getting 
 about with a motor-car. A locomotive, or a 
 marine engine, moves regularly without a stop 
 for far greater periods of time than does an auto- 
 mobile, but each and every time they finish a run 
 they receive such an overhauling as seldom comes 
 to an automobile. 
 
 In England the automobilist has had to suffer 
 a great deal at the hands of ignorant and intol- 
 erant road builders and guardians. Police traps, 
 on straight level stretches miles from any collec- 
 tion of dwellings, will not keep down speed so 
 long as dangerous cobblestoned alleys, winding 
 through suburban London towns, have no guar- 
 dian to regulate the traffic or give the stranger a 
 hint that he had best go slowly. 
 
 The milk and butchers' carts go on with their 
 deadly work, but the police in England are too 
 busy worrying the motorist to pay any atten- 
 tion. 
 
 Some county boroughs have applied a ten-mile 
 speed limit, even though the great bulk of their 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 13 
 
 area is open country; but twenty miles an hour 
 for an automobile is far safer for the public than 
 is most other traffic, regardless of the rate at 
 which it moves. 
 
 Speed, so far as the bystander is concerned, is 
 a very difficult thing to judge, and the automo- 
 bilist seldom, if ever, gets fair treatment if he 
 meets with the slightest accident. 
 
 Most people judge the speed of an automobile 
 by the noise that it makes. This, up to within a 
 few years, put most automobiles going at a slow 
 speed at a great disadvantage, for the slower 
 they went the noisier they were; but matters of 
 design and control have changed this somewhat, 
 and the public now protests because " a great 
 death-dealing monster crept up silently behind — 
 coming at a terrific rate." You cannot please 
 every one, and you cannot educate a non-partici- 
 pating public all at once. 
 
 As for speed on the road, it is a variable thing, 
 and a thing difficult to estimate correctly. Elec- 
 tric cars run at a speed of from ten to twenty-two 
 miles an hour in England, even in the towns, and 
 no one says them nay. Hansoms, on the Thames 
 Embankment in London, do their regular fifteen 
 miles an hour, but automobiles are still held down 
 to ten. 
 
 The official timekeeper of the Automobile Club 
 of Great Britain and Ireland took the following 
 times (in 1905) in Piccadilly, one of the busiest, 
 if not the most congested thoroughfare in Lon- 
 don. 
 
14 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Holloway horse-drawn 'bus 11.3 miles per hour 
 
 Cyclist 15.85 « « " 
 
 Private trap 13.08 " « " 
 
 Private buggy 13.55 " " " 
 
 Private brougham 14.80 " " « 
 
 When one considers how difficult to control, 
 particularly amid crowded traffic, a horse-drawn 
 vehicle is, and how very easy it is to control an 
 up-to-date automobile, one cannot but feel that 
 a little more consideration should be shown the 
 automobilist by those in authority. 
 
 The road obstructions, slow-going traffic which 
 will not get out of one's way, carts left unat- 
 tended and the like, make most of the real and 
 fancied dangers which are laid to the door of the 
 very mobile motor-car. 
 
 In Holland and Belgium dogs seem to be the 
 chief road obstructions, or at least dangers, not 
 always willingly perhaps, but still ever-present. 
 In England it is mostly children. 
 
 In France not all the difficulties one meets with 
 en route are wilful obstructors of one's progress. 
 In La Beauce the geese and ducks are prudent, in 
 the Nivernais the oxen are placid, and in Pro- 
 vence the donkeys are philosophical ; but in Brit- 
 tany the horses and mules and their drivers take 
 fright immediately they suspect the coming of an 
 automobile, and in the Vendee the market- 
 wagons, and those laden with the product of the 
 vine, career madly at the extremities of exceed- 
 ingly lusty examples of horse flesh to the pending 
 disaster of every one who does not get out of the 
 road. 
 
An Appreciation of the Automobile 15 
 
 Sheep and hens are everywhere that they ought 
 not to be, and there seems no way of escaping 
 them. One can but use all his ingenuity and slip 
 through somehow. Dogs are bad enough and 
 ought to be exterminated. They are the silliest 
 beasts which one finds uncontrolled on the road- 
 ways. Children, of course, one defers to, but they 
 are outrageously careless and very foolish at 
 times, and in short are the greatest responsibility 
 for the driver in the small towns of England and 
 France. In France some effort is being made in 
 the schools to teach them something about a 
 proper regard for automobile traffic, and with 
 good results; but no one has heard of anything 
 of the sort being attempted in England. 
 
CHAPTER n 
 
 TRAVEL TALK 
 
 Touring abroad is nothing new, but, as an 
 amusement for the masses, it has reached gigan- 
 tic proportions. The introduction of the railroad 
 gave it its greatest impetus, and then came the 
 bicycle and the automobile. 
 
 With the railway as the sole means of getting 
 about one was more or less confined to the beaten 
 track of travel in Continental Europe, but the 
 automobile has changed all this. 
 
 To-day, the Cote d'Azur, from St. Raphael to 
 Menton, as well as the strip of Norman coast-line 
 around Trouville, in summer, is scarcely more 
 than a boulevard where the automobile tourist 
 strolls for an hour as he does in the Bois. The 
 country lying back and between these two widely 
 separated points is becoming known, and even 
 modern taste prefers the idyllic countryside to a 
 round of the same dizzy conventions that one gets 
 in season at Paris, London, or New York. 
 
 France is the land par excellence for automo- 
 bile touring, not only from its splendid roads, but 
 from the wide diversity of its sights and scenes, 
 and manners and customs, and, last but not least, 
 its most excellent hotels strung along its high- 
 ways and byways like pearls in a collarette. 
 
 10 
 
20 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 This is not saying that travel by automobile is 
 not delightful elsewhere; certainly it is equally 
 so in many places along the Rhine, in Northern 
 Italy, and in England, where the chief drawback 
 is the really incompetent catering of the English 
 country hotel-keeper to the demands of the trav- 
 eller who would dine off of something more at- 
 tractive than a cut from a cold joint of ham, and 
 eggs washed down with stodgy, bitter beer. 
 
 The bibliography of travel books is long, and 
 includes many famous names in literature. 
 Marco Polo, Froissart, Mme. de Sevigne, Taine, 
 Bayard Taylor, Willis, Stevenson, and Sterne, all 
 had opportunities for observation and made the 
 most of them. If they had lived in the days of 
 the automobile they might have sung a song of 
 speed which would have been the most melodious 
 chord in the whole gamut. 
 
 A modern writer must be more modest, how- 
 ever. He can hardly hope to attract attention 
 to himself or his work by describing the usual 
 sights and scenes. The most he can do is to set 
 down his method of travel, his approach, and his 
 departure, and, for example, to tell those who 
 may come after that the great double spires of 
 Notre Dame de Chartres are a beacon by land 
 for nearly twenty kilometres in any direction, as 
 he approaches them by road across the great 
 plain of La Beauce, the granary of France, rather 
 than give a repetition of the well-worn guide- 
 book facts concerning them. 
 
 Chartres is taken as an example because it is 
 one of those " stock " sights, before mentioned, 
 
Travel Talk 
 
 21 
 
 
 3-5 
 
 s 
 
 &q 
 
 OQ 
 
 2 8 
 
 o. 9 a 
 
 bo 
 
 _- <- >■> 55 
 
 •a © © u 
 
 S.2" 
 o'a, 
 
 «^ 
 
 — c a 
 .2= § 
 
 •2* 5.2 
 
 a ►• ® 
 
 o « 
 
 b0.a"2 
 
 53§t 
 
 rz- rt © 
 
 «H P ^M 
 
 bO © 
 
 •5 it t- 
 
 «> 2 
 
 §1 
 £ 8 
 
 n :> «-> 
 
 S£3£8 
 c«— bo*^ s 
 
 2,2 a* 3 
 
 »-it-it4HJS^6fti 
 
 *> v 
 
 a » 
 2 2 « 
 'S.2 B 
 
 © 3 w 
 ^O fl 
 
 d« O 
 
 !B 'H „ 
 
 S S © 
 
 M » © 
 
 <isaaKfce= 
 
 8 5 
 ■ok £ 
 
 ■2.2-S '5 
 
 ©^2 £3 .5 
 
 i ftc« 2 fl S 
 
22 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 which any itinerary coming within the scope of 
 the grand tour is bound to include. 
 
 Almost the same phenomenon is true of Ant- 
 werp's lacelike spire, the great Gothic wonder 
 of Cologne, and, to a lesser extent, that of Canter- 
 bury in England; thus the automobilist en route 
 has his beacons and landmarks as has the sailor 
 on the seas. 
 
 Man is an animal essentially mobile. He moves 
 readily from place to place and is not tied down 
 by anything but ways and means and, perhaps, 
 confinement at laborious affairs. Even in the 
 latter case he occasionally breaks away for a 
 more or less extended period, and either goes 
 fishing in Canada, shooting in Scotland, or auto- 
 mobiling in France, with perhaps a rush over a 
 Swiss pass or two, and a dash around the Italian 
 lakes, and back down the Rhine for a little tour 
 in Great Britain. 
 
 This is as delightful a holiday as one could 
 imagine, and the foreign tour — which has often 
 been made merely a succession of nights of travel 
 in stuffy sleeping-cars or a round of overfeeding 
 orgies at Parisian hotels and restaurants — has 
 added charms of which the generation before the 
 advent of automobiles knew nought. 
 
 The question of comfortable travel is a never- 
 ending one. The palanquin, the sedan-chair, the 
 rickshaw, even the humble horse-drawn buggy 
 have had their devotees, but the modern touring 
 automobile has left them all far behind, whether 
 for long-distance travel or promenades at Fon- 
 tainebleau, in the New Forest or the Ardennes. 
 
Travel Talk 23 
 
 There is no question but that, when touring in 
 an automobile, one has an affection for his steel- 
 and-iron horse that he never felt for any other 
 conveyance. The horse had some endearing 
 qualities, no doubt, and we were bound to regard 
 his every want; but he was only a part of the 
 show, whereas the automobile, although it is 
 nought but an inanimate combination of wheels 
 and things, has to be humoured and talked to, and 
 even cursed at times, in order to keep it going. 
 But it works faithfully nevertheless, and never 
 balks, at least not with the same crankiness as 
 the horse, and always runs better toward night 
 (this is curious, but it is a fact), which a horse 
 seldom does. All the same an automobile is like 
 David Balfour's Scotch advocate: hard at times 
 to ken rightly — most of the time, one may say 
 without undue exaggeration. Often an auto- 
 mobile is as fickle as a stage fairy, or appears to 
 be, but it may be that only your own blind stupid- 
 ity accounts for the lack of efficiency. Once in 
 awhile an automobile gets uproariously full of 
 spirits and runs away with itself, and almost 
 runs away with you, too, simply for the reason 
 that the carburation is good and everything is 
 pulling well. Again it is as silent and immovable 
 as a sphinx and gives no hint of its present or 
 expected ailments. It is most curious, but an auto- 
 mobile invents some new real or fancied com- 
 plaint with each fresh internal upheaval, and re- 
 quires, in each and every instance, an entirely 
 new and original diagnosis. 
 
 With all its caprices, however, the automobile 
 
24 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 is the most efficient and satisfactory contrivance 
 for getting about from place to place, for busi- 
 ness or pleasure, that was ever devised. 
 
 Comparatively speaking, the railway is not to 
 be thought of for a moment. It has all the dis- 
 advantages of the automobile (for indeed there 
 are a few, such as dust and more or less cramped 
 quarters, and, if one chooses, a nerve-racking 
 speed) and none of its advantages, and, whether 
 you are a mere man or a millionaire, you are tied 
 down to rails and a strict itinerary, whereas you 
 may turn the bonnet of your automobile down 
 any by-road that pleases your fancy, and arrive 
 ultimately at your destination, having made an 
 enjoyable detour which would not otherwise have 
 been possible. 
 
 Too great a speed undoubtedly detracts from 
 the joy of travel, but a hundred and fifty, two 
 hundred and fifty, or three hundred kilometres a 
 day on the fine roads of France, or a hundred, or 
 a hundred and fifty miles on the leafy lanes of 
 England's southern counties will give the 
 stranger more varied impressions and a clearer 
 understanding of men and matters than the tour- 
 ing of a country from end to end in express- 
 trains which serve your meals en route, and whisk 
 you from London to Torquay between tea and 
 dinner, or from Paris to the Cote d'Azur between 
 breakfast and nightfall. 
 
 Just how much pleasure and edification one can 
 absorb during an automobile tour depends largely 
 upon the individual — and the mood. Once the 
 craving for speed is felt, not all the historic 
 
Travel Talk 25 
 
 monuments in the world would induce one to stop 
 a sweetly running motor; but again the other 
 mood comes on, and one lingers a full day among 
 the charms of the lower Seine from Caudebec to 
 Rouen, scarce thirty miles. 
 
 Les Andelys-sur-Seine, your guide-book tells 
 you, is noted for its magnificent ruins of Richard 
 Cceur de Lion's Chateau Gaillard, and for the 
 culture of the sugar-beet, and so, often, merely 
 on account of the banal mention of beet-roots, 
 you ignore the attractions of Richard 's castle and 
 make the best time you can Parisward by the 
 great Route Nationale on the other side of the 
 Seine. This is wrong, of course, but the mood 
 was on, and the song of speed was ringing in your 
 ears and nothing would drive it out. 
 
 Our fathers and grandfathers made the grand 
 tour, in a twelvemonth, as a sort of topping-off to 
 their early education, before they settled down to 
 a business or professional life. 
 
 They checked off in their guide-books Melrose 
 Abbey, the Tower of London, the Cathedral of 
 Canterbury, and those of Antwerp, Cologne, 
 Rome, Venice, and Paris, as they did the Cheshire 
 Cheese, Mont Blanc, and the ruins of Carnac. It 
 was all a part of the general scheme of travel, to 
 cover a lot of ground and see all they could, for 
 it was likely that they would pass that way but 
 once. Why, then, should one blame the automo- 
 bilist — who really travels very leisurely in that 
 he sees a lot of the countryside manners and cus- 
 toms off the beaten track — if he rushes over an 
 
26 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 intermediate stretch of country in order to arrive 
 at one more to his liking? 
 
 One sees the thing every day on any of the 
 great highroads in France leading from the 
 Channel ports. One's destination may be the 
 Pyrenees, the Cote d'Azur, Italy, or even Austria, 
 and he does the intermediate steps at full speed. 
 The same is true if he goes to Switzerland by the 
 Rhine valley, or to Homburg by passing through 
 Belgium or Holland. He might be just as well 
 pleased with a fortnight in the Ardennes, or even 
 in Holland or in Touraine, but, if his destination 
 is Monte Carlo or Biarritz, he is not likely to 
 linger longer by the way than the exigencies of 
 food, drink, and lodging, and the care of his 
 automobile demand. 
 
 When he has no objective point he loiters by 
 the way and no doubt enjoys it the more, but it 
 is not fair to put the automobilist down as a 
 scorcher simply because he is pushing on. The 
 best guide-books are caprice and fantasy, if you 
 are not pressed for time. 
 
 Mile-stones, or rather homes kilometriques, line 
 the roadways of Continental military Europe mer- 
 cilessly, and it's a bad sign when the chauffeur 
 begins to count them off. All the same, he knows 
 his destination a great deal better than does some 
 plodding tourist by rail who scorns him for rush- 
 ing off again immediately after lunch. 
 
 One of the charms of travel, to the tried trav- 
 eller, is, just as in the time of the Abbe Prevost, 
 the ability to exchange remarks on one 's itinerary 
 with one's fellow travellers. In France it does 
 
Travel Talk 27 
 
 not matter much whether they are automobilists 
 or not. The commis-voyageur is a more numer- 
 ous class here, apparently, than in any other 
 country on the globe, and the detailed informa- 
 tion which he can give one about the towns and 
 hotels and sights and scenes en route, albeit he 
 is more familiar with travel by rail than by road, 
 is marvellous in quantity and valuable as to qual- 
 ity. 
 
 The automobile tourist, who may be an English- 
 man or an American, has hitherto been catered 
 to with automobile novels, or love stories, or 
 whatever one chooses to call them, or with more 
 or less scrappy, incomplete, and badly edited ac- 
 counts of tours made by some millionaire pos- 
 sessor of a motor-car, or the means to hire one. 
 Some of the articles in the press, and an occa- 
 sional book, have the merit of having been ' ' good 
 stuff," but often they have gone wrong in the 
 making. 
 
 The writer of this book does not aspire to be 
 classed with either of the above classes of able 
 writers; the most he would like to claim is that 
 he should be able to write a really good hand- 
 book on the subject, wherein such topographical, 
 historical, and economic information as was pre- 
 sented should have the stamp of correctness. 
 Perhaps four years of pretty constant automo- 
 bile touring in Europe ought to count for some- 
 thing in the way of accumulated pertinent infor- 
 mation concerning hotels and highways and by- 
 ways. 
 
 Not all automobilists are millionaires. The 
 
28 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 man of moderate means is the real giver of im- 
 petus to the wheels of automobile progress. The 
 manufacturers of motor-cars have not wholly 
 waked up to this fact as yet, but the increasing 
 number of tourists in small cars, both in England 
 and in France, points to the fact that something 
 besides the forty, sixty, or hundred horse-power 
 monsters are being manufactured. 
 
 Efficiency and reliability is the great requisite 
 of the touring automobile, and, for that matter, 
 should be of any other. Efficiency and reliability 
 cover ninety -nine per cent, of the requirements of 
 the automobilist. Chance will step in at the most 
 inopportune moments and upset all calculations, 
 but, with due regard given to these two great and 
 fundamental principles, the rest does not much 
 matter. 
 
 It is a curious fact that the great mass of town 
 folk, in France and probably elsewhere, still have 
 a fear and dread of the mechanism of the auto- 
 mobile. " C'est beau la mecanique, mais c'est 
 tout de meme an peu complique," they say, as 
 they regard your labours in posing a new valve 
 or tightening up a joint here and there. 
 
 The development of the automobile has brought 
 about a whole new development of kindred things, 
 as did the development of the battle-ship. First 
 there was the battle-ship, then the cruiser, and 
 then the torpedo-boat, and then another class of 
 boats, the destroyers (destined to catch torpedo- 
 boats), and finally the submarine. With the auto- 
 mobile the evolution was much the same; first it 
 was a sort of horseless carriage, for town use, 
 
Travel Talk 29 
 
 then something a little more powerful that would 
 climb hills, so that one might journey afield, and 
 then the " touring-car," and then the racing ma- 
 chine, and now we have automobile omnibuses, 
 and even automobile ambulances to pick up any 
 frightened persons possessed of less agility than 
 a kangaroo or a jack-rabbit who might inadvert- 
 ently have been bowled over. These disasters are 
 seldom the automobilist's fault, and, happily, 
 they are becoming fewer and fewer; but the in- 
 decision that overcame the passer-by, in the 
 early days of the bicycle, still exists with many 
 whenever an automobile comes in sight, and they 
 back, and fill, and worry the automobilist into such 
 a bad case of nerves that, in spite of himself, 
 something of the nature of an accident, for which 
 he is in no way responsible, really does happen. 
 
 Once the writer made eleven hundred kilo- 
 metres straight across France, from the Manche 
 to the Mediterranean, and not so much as a 
 puncture occurred. On another occasion a little 
 journey of half the length resulted in the gen- 
 eral smashing up, four times in succession, of a 
 little bolt (no great disaster in itself), within 
 the interior arrangements of the motor, which 
 necessitated a half a day's work on each occasion 
 in taking down the cylinder and setting it up 
 again, and each time in a small town far away 
 from any properly equipped machine-shop, and 
 with the assistance only of the local locksmith. 
 It's astonishing how good a job a locksmith in 
 France can do, even on an automobile, the 
 mechanism of which he perhaps has never seen 
 
30 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 before. Officially the locksmith in France is 
 known as a serrurier, but in the slang of the land 
 he is the cambrioleur du pays, a name which is 
 expressive, but which means nothing wicked. He 
 can put a thread on a bolt or make a new nut to 
 replace one that has mysteriously unscrewed it- 
 self, which is more than many a mere bicycle 
 repairer can do. 
 
 The automobilist touring France should make 
 friends with the nearest cambrioleur if he is in 
 trouble. In England this is risky, a " gas-pipe- 
 thread " being the average lay workman's idea 
 of " fixing you up." 
 
 Away back in Chaucer's day folk were " longen 
 to gon on pilgrimage," and it does not matter 
 in the least what the ways and means may be, the 
 motive is ever the same : a change of scene. 
 
 This book is no unbounded eulogy of the auto- 
 mobile, although its many good qualities are 
 recognized. There are other methods of travel 
 that, in their own ways, are certainly enjoyable, 
 but none quite equal the automobile for indepen- 
 dence of action, convenience, and efficiency. It 
 is well for all motor-car users, however, to realize 
 that they are not the only road users, and to have 
 a due regard for others, — not only their rights, 
 but their persons. This applies even more forci- 
 bly, if possible, to the automobilist en tour. 
 
 One must in duty bound regulate his pace and 
 his actions by the vagaries of others, however 
 little he may want to, or unfortunate conse- 
 quences will many times follow. Always he must 
 have a sharp look ahead and must not neglect a 
 
Travel Talk 31 
 
 backward glance now and then. He must not 
 dash through muddy roads and splash passers-by 
 (a particularly heinous offence in England), and 
 in France he must observe the rule of the road 
 (always to the right in passing, — no great diffi- 
 culty for an American, but very puzzling to an 
 Englishman), or an accident may result which 
 will bring him into court, and perhaps into jail, 
 unless he can assuage the poor peasant's feelings 
 for the damaged forelegs of his horse or donkey 
 by a cash payment on the spot. 
 
 Maeterlinck's " wonderful, unknown beast " is 
 still unknown (and feared) by the majority of 
 outsiders, and the propaganda of education must 
 go on for a long time yet. Maeterlinck's great 
 tribute to the automobile is his regard for it as 
 the conqueror of space. Never before has the 
 individual man been able to accomplish what the 
 soulless corporations have with railway trains. 
 In steamboat or train we are but a part and par- 
 cel of the freight carried, but in the automobile 
 we are stoker, driver, and passenger in one, and 
 regard every road-turning and landmark with a 
 new wonder and appreciation. 
 
 We are the aristocrats of tourists, and we are 
 bound therefore to have a kindly regard for other 
 road users or a revolution will spring up, as it did 
 in feudal times. 
 
 Take Maeterlinck's wise sayings for your guide, 
 and be tolerant of the rights of others. This will 
 do automobilism more good than can be meas- 
 ured, for it has come to stay, and perhaps even 
 advance. The days of the horse are numbered. 
 
32 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 " In accord with the needs of our insatiable, 
 exacting soul, which craves at once for the small 
 and the mighty, the quick and the slow; here it 
 is of us at last, it is ours, and offers at every turn 
 glimpses of beauty that, in former days, we could 
 only enjoy when the tedious journey was ended." 
 
 The " tour abroad " has ever been the lode- 
 stone which has drawn countless thousands of 
 home-loving English and Americans to Conti- 
 nental Europe. Pleasure — mere pleasure — has 
 accounted for many of these pilgrims, but by far 
 the largest proportion have been those who seek 
 education and edification combined. 
 
 One likes to be well cared for when he journeys, 
 whether by road or rail, and demands accord- 
 ingly, if not all the comforts of home, at least 
 many things that the native knows or cares little 
 of. A Frenchman does not desire a sitting- 
 room, a reading-room, or a fire in his sleeping- 
 room, and, according to his lights, he is quite 
 right. He finds all this at a cafe, and prefers to 
 go there for it. The steam-heated hotel, with 
 running water everywhere, is a rarity in France, 
 as indeed it is in England. 
 
 Outside Paris the writer has found this com- 
 bination but seldom in France; at Lyons, Mar- 
 seilles, Moulins in the Allier, and at Chatelle- 
 rault in Poitou only. Modernity is making its 
 way in France, but only in spots ; its progress is 
 steady, but as yet it has not penetrated into many 
 outlying districts. Modern art nouveau ideas in 
 France, which are banal enough, but which are 
 an improvement over the Eastlake and horsehair 
 
Travel Talk 33 
 
 horrors of the Victorian and Louis-Philippe 
 periods, are tending to eliminate old-fashioned 
 ideas for the benefit of the traveller who would 
 rather eat his meals in a bright, airy apartment 
 than in a stuffy, dark hole known in England as 
 a coffee-room. 
 
 In France, in particular, the contrast of the 
 new and old that one occasionally meets with is 
 staggering. It is all very well in its way, this 
 blending of antiquity and modernity, and gives 
 one something of the thrill of romance, which 
 most of us have in our make-up to a greater or 
 lesser extent; but, on the other hand, romance 
 gets some hard knocks when one finds a Roman 
 sarcophagus used as a watering-trough, or a 
 chapel as an automobile garage, as he often will 
 in the Midi. 
 
 One thing the American, and the Britisher to 
 a lesser extent, be he automobilist or mere tour- 
 ist, must fully realize, and that is that the tourist 
 business is a more highly developed industry in 
 Continental Europe than it is anywhere else. In 
 Switzerland one may well say that it is a national 
 industry, and in some parts of France (always 
 omitting Paris, which is not France) it is prac- 
 tically the same thing ; Holland and Belgium are 
 not far behind, and neither is the Rhine country ; 
 so that the tourist in Europe finds that creature 
 comforts are always near at hand. The automo- 
 bilist does not much care whether they are near 
 at hand or not. If he doesn't find the accommo- 
 dations he is looking for on the borders of Dart- 
 moor, he can keep on to Exmoor, and if Nevers 
 
34 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 won't suit his purpose for the night he can get 
 to Moulins in an hour. 
 
 A hotel that is full and overflowing is no more 
 a fear or a dread; the automobilist simply takes 
 the road again and drops in on some market-town 
 twenty, thirty, or fifty miles away and finds ac- 
 commodations that are equally satisfactory, with 
 the possibility — if he looks in at some little vis- 
 ited spot like Meung or Beaugency in Touraine, 
 Ecloo in Holland, or Reichenberg on the Rhine — 
 that he will be more pleased with his surround- 
 ings than he would be in the large towns which are 
 marked in heavy-faced type in the railway guides, 
 and whose hotels are starred by Baedeker. 
 
 In most countries the passport is no longer a 
 necessary document in the traveller's pocketbook, 
 though the Britisher still fondly arms himself 
 with this " protection," and the American will, 
 if it occurs to him, be only too glad to contribute 
 his dollars to the fees of his consulate or embassy 
 in order to possess himself of a gaudy thing in 
 parchment and gold which he can wave in front 
 of any one whom he thinks transgresses his rights 
 as an American citizen: " from the land of lib- 
 erty, and don't you forget it." 
 
 This is all very well and is no doubt the very 
 essence of a proper patriotism, but the best piece 
 d'identite for the foreigner who takes up his resi- 
 dence in Prance for more than three months is 
 a simple document which can be obtained from 
 the commissaire de police. It will pass him any- 
 where in France that a passport will, is more 
 readily understood and accepted by the banker or 
 
Travel Talk 35 
 
 post-offiee clerk as a personal identification, and 
 will save the automobile chauffeur many an annoy- 
 ance, if he has erred through lack of familiarity 
 with many little unwritten laws of the land. 
 
 The automobilist en tour always has the identi- 
 fication papers of his automobile; in England 
 his " License," and in France his " Certificat de 
 Capacite " and " Recepisse de Declaration," 
 which will accomplish pretty much all the pass- 
 port of other days would do if one flourished it 
 to-day before a stubborn octroi official or the 
 caretaker of a historical monument. 
 
 The membership card of the Italian, Swiss, or 
 French touring clubs will do much the same thing, 
 and no one should be without them, since member- 
 ship in either one or all is not difficult or costly. 
 (See Appendix.) 
 
 France is the land par excellence for the tour- 
 ist, whether by road or rail. The art of " le tou- 
 risme " has been perfected by the French to even 
 a higher degree than in Switzerland. There are 
 numerous societies, clubs, and associations, from 
 the all-powerful Touring Club de France down- 
 ward, which are attracting not only the French 
 themselves to many hitherto little-known corners 
 of " la belle France," but strangers from over 
 the frontiers and beyond the seas. These are not 
 the tourists of the conventional kind, but those 
 who seek out the little-worn roads. It is possible 
 to do this if one travels intelligently by rail, but 
 it is a great deal more satisfactorily done if one 
 goes by road. 
 
 Here and there, scattered all over France, in 
 
36 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Dauphine, in Savoie, and in the Pyrenees, one 
 finds powerful " Syndicats d'Initiative," which 
 not only care for the tourist, but bring pressure 
 to bear on the hotel-keeper and local authorities 
 to provide something in the way of improve- 
 ments, where they are needed, to make a roadway 
 safe, or to restore a historical site or monument. 
 
 In the Pyrenees, and in the Alps of Savoie and 
 Dauphine, one finds everywhere the insignia of 
 the " Club-Alpin Frangais," which caters with 
 information, etc., not only to the mountain- 
 climber, but to the automobilist and the general 
 tourist as well. 
 
 More powerful and effective than all — more 
 so even than the famous Automobile Club de 
 France — is the great Touring Club de France, 
 which, with the patronage of the President of the 
 Republic, and the influence of more than a hun- 
 dred thousand members, is something more than 
 a mere touring club. 
 
 In the fourteen years of its existence not only 
 has the Touring Club de France helped the tourist 
 find his way about, but also has taken a leading 
 part in the clearing away of the debris in many 
 a moss-grown ruin and making of it a historical 
 monument as pleasing to view as Jumieges on the 
 Seine, or world-famed Les Baux in Provence. 
 
 It has appointed itself the special guardian of 
 roads and roadways, so far as the placing of sign- 
 boards along the many important lines of com- 
 munication is concerned; it has been the means 
 of having dug up untold kilometres of Renais- 
 sance pavement ; has made, almost at its own ex- 
 
Travel Talk 37 
 
 pense, a magnificent forty-kilometre road known 
 as the Corniche de l'Esterel; and has given the 
 backward innkeeper such a shock that he has at 
 last waked up to the needs of the twentieth-cen- 
 tury traveller. All this is something for a touring 
 organization to have accomplished, and when one 
 can become a part and parcel of this great organ- 
 ization, and a sharer in the special advantages 
 which it has to offer to its members for the ab- 
 surdly small sum of five francs per annum, the 
 marvel is that it has not half a million members 
 instead of a hundred thousand. 
 

CHAPTER in 
 
 ROADS AND ROUTES 
 
 44 Chacun suit dans ce monde une route incertaiue, 
 Selon que son erreur le joue et le promene." 
 
 — Boileau. 
 
 The chief concern of the automobilist to-day, 
 after his individual automobile, is the road ques- 
 tion, the " Good Roads Question," as it has be- 
 come generally known. In a new country, like 
 America, it is to be expected that great connecting 
 highways should be mostly in the making. It is 
 to be regretted that the development should be 
 so slow, but things have been improving in the 
 last decade, and perhaps America will " beat the 
 world " in this respect, as she has in many 
 others, before many future generations have been 
 born. 
 
 In the excellence and maintenance of her roads 
 France stands emphatically at the head of all 
 nations, but even here noticeable improvement is 
 going on. The terrific " Louis Quatorze pave," 
 which one finds around Paris, is yearly growing 
 less and less in quantity. The worst road-bed in 
 France is that awful stretch from Bordeaux, via 
 Bazas, to Pau in Navarre, originally due to the 
 energy of Henri IV., and still in existence for a 
 space of nearly a hundred kilometres. One 
 
 41 
 
42 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 avoids it by a detour of some twenty odd kilo- 
 metres, and the writer humbly suggests that here 
 is an important unaccomplished work for the usu- 
 ally energetic road authorities of France. 
 
 After France the " good roads " of Britain 
 come next, though in some parts of the country 
 they are woefully inadequate to accommodate the 
 fast-growing traffic by road, notably in London 
 suburbs, while some of the leafy lanes over which 
 poets rhapsodize are so narrow that the local 
 laws prevent any automobile traffic whatever. As 
 one unfortunate individual expressed it, " since 
 the local authorities forbid automobiles on road- 
 ways under sixteen feet in width, I am unable to 
 get my motor-car within nine miles of my home ! " 
 
 In England something has been done by late 
 generations toward roads improvement. The 
 first awakening came in 1820, and in 1832 the 
 London-Oxford road had been so improved that 
 the former time of the stage-coaches had been 
 reduced from eight to six hours. Macadam in 
 1830, and Stevenson in 1847, were the real fathers 
 of the ' ' Roads Improvement Movement ' ' in Eng- 
 land. The great faults of English roads are that 
 they are narrow and winding, almost without ex- 
 ception. There are 38,600 kilometres of highways 
 (the figures are given on the metric scale for bet- 
 ter comparison with Continental facts and fig- 
 ures) and 160,900 of by-roads. There are sixty- 
 six kilometres of roads to the square kilometre 
 (kilometre car re). 
 
 In Germany the roads system is very complex. 
 In Baden, the Palatinate, and the Grand Duchy 
 
Roads and Routes 43 
 
 of Hesse they cede nothing to the best roads any- 
 where, but in the central and northern provinces 
 they are, generally speaking, much poorer. There 
 are fifty-four kilometres of roads of all grades to 
 the kilometre carre. 
 
 In Belgium the roads are greatly inferior to 
 those of France, and there are immeasurable 
 stretches of the vilest pavement the world has 
 known, not only near the large towns, but great 
 interior stretches as well. There are 17,500 kilo- 
 metres of Chemins Vicinaux and 6,990 kilometres 
 of Chemins de Grands Communications. They 
 average, taken together, eighty-three kilometres to 
 the kilometre carre. 
 
 In Switzerland the roads are thoroughly good 
 everywhere, but many, particularly mountain- 
 roads, are entirely closed to automobile traffic, 
 and the regulations in many of the towns are so 
 onerous that it is anything but agreeable to make 
 one's way through them. There are thirty-two 
 kilometres to the kilometre carre. The Simplon 
 Pass has only recently (1906) been opened to au- 
 tomobile traffic. No departure can be made from 
 Brigue, on the Swiss side, or from Gondo, in Italy, 
 after three p. m. Speed {v it esse) must not exceed 
 ten kilometres on the stretches, or two kilometres 
 around the corners. Fines for infringement of 
 the law run from twenty to five hundred francs. 
 
 Italy, with a surface area one-half that of 
 France, has but a quarter of the extent of the 
 good roads. They are of variable quality, but 
 good on the main lines of travel. In the ancient 
 kingdom of Sardinia will be found the best, but 
 
44 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 they are poor and greatly neglected around 
 Naples, and, as might be expected, in Sicily. 
 
 In Austria the roads are very variable as to 
 surface and maintenance, and there are numerous 
 culverts or canivaux across them. There are 
 21,112 kilometres of national roads, 66,747 kilo- 
 metres of provincial roads, and 87,859 of local 
 roads. They average fourteen kilometres to the 
 kilometre carre. 
 
 The history of the development of the modern 
 roadway is too big a subject to permit of its being 
 treated here; suffice it to recall that in England 
 and France, and along the Rhine, the lines of the 
 twentieth-century main roads follow the Roman 
 roads of classic times. 
 
 In France, Lyons, in the mid-Rhone valley, 
 was a great centre for the radiating roadways of 
 Gaul. Strategically it was important then, as it 
 is important now, and Roman soldiery of the 
 past, as the automobilist of to-day, had here four 
 great thoroughfares leading from the city. The 
 first traversed the valleys of the Rhine and the 
 Meuse ; the second passed by Autun, Troyes, Cha- 
 lons, Reims, Soissons, Noyon, and Amiens; the 
 third branched in one direction toward Saintes, 
 and in another to Bordeaux; while the fourth 
 dropped down the Rhone valley direct to Mar- 
 seilles. 
 
 More than thirty thousand kilometres of road- 
 ways were in use throughout Gaul during the 
 Roman occupation, of which the four great routes 
 (vice publicce) formed perhaps four thousand. 
 
 Of the great highways of France, the Grandes 
 
Roads and Routes 45 
 
 Routes Nationales, of which all travellers by road 
 have the fondest and most vivid memories, it is 
 well to recall that they were furthered, if not 
 fathered, by none other than Napoleon, who, for 
 all he laid waste, set up institutions anew which 
 more than compensated for the destructions. 
 
 The great roadways of France, such as the 
 Route de Bretagne, running due west from the 
 capital, and those leading to Spain, Switzerland, 
 Italy, and the Pays Bas, had their origin in the 
 days of Philippe-Auguste. His predecessors had 
 let the magnificently traced itineraries of the 
 Romans languish and become covered with grass 
 — if not actually timber-grown. 
 
 The arrangement and classification laid down 
 by Philippe-Auguste have never been changed, 
 simply modified and renamed; thus the Routes 
 Royales — such as followed nearly a straight line 
 from Paris by the right bank of the Loire to Am- 
 boise and to Nantes — became the Routes Na- 
 tionales of to-day. 
 
 Soon wheeled traffic became a thing to be con- 
 sidered, and royal corteges moved about the land 
 with much the same freedom and stateliness of 
 the state coaches which one sees to-day in pag- 
 eants, as relics of a past monarchical splendour. 
 
 Louis XI. created the " Service des Postes ' : 
 in France, which made new demands upon the 
 now more numerous routes and roadways, and 
 Louis XII., Francois I., Henri II., and Charles 
 IX., all made numerous ordinances for the polic- 
 ing and maintenance of them. 
 
 Henri IV., and his minister Sully, built many 
 
46 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 more of these great lines of communication, and 
 thus gave the first real and tangible aid to the 
 commerce and agriculture of the kingdom. He 
 was something of an aesthetic soul too, this Henri 
 of Beam, for he was the originator of the scheme 
 to make the great roadways of France tree- 
 shaded boulevards, which in truth is what many 
 of them are to-day. This monarch of love in- 
 trigues, religious reversion, and strange oaths 
 passed the first (and only, for the present is 
 simply a continuance thereof) ordonnance mak- 
 ing the planting of trees along the national high- 
 roads compulsory on the local authorities. 
 
 Under Louis XIV., Colbert continued the good 
 work and put up the first mile-stone, or whatever 
 its equivalent was in that day, measuring from 
 the Parvis de Notre Dame at Paris. Some of 
 these Louis XIV. homes, or stones, still exist, 
 though they have, of course, been replaced 
 throughout by kilometre stones. 
 
 The foregoing tells in brief of the natural 
 development of the magnificent roads of France. 
 Their history does not differ greatly from the 
 development of the other great European lines 
 of travel, across Northern Italy to Switzerland, 
 down the Rhine valley and, branching into two 
 forks, through Holland and through Belgium to 
 the North Sea. 
 
 In England the main travel routes run north, 
 east, south, and west from London as a radiating 
 centre, and each took, in the later coaching days, 
 such distinctive names as " The Portsmouth 
 Road," " The Dover Road," " The Bath Road," 
 
Roads and Routes 
 
 47 
 
 J&ZjOM£TjR/QUES 
 
 PARIS 88* 
 
 TOURS 
 
 J HSU 
 
 27 
 
 Afetfonaf 
 9lo*cf 
 
 %¥M. 
 
 =1 
 
 
 <7?oacf 
 
 With 
 
 Department! 
 
 Boundary 
 
 A* 
 
 flat'* 
 
 *, 
 
 c/e Pari $4. 
 
 [Bordeaux etaBayonne 
 
 IVIENNE 
 34*' 
 
 IARENTE 
 
 Pi 
 
 50 K < 
 
 ioo JWe/re 
 Stone 
 
 • M«H» 
 
 »»• ,•♦••• nt« 
 
 »•♦#«•« 
 
 Kilometre Stones in France 
 
48 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and " The Great North Road." Their histories 
 have been written in fascinating manner, so they 
 are only referred to here. 
 
 It is in France, one may almost say, that auto- 
 mobile touring begins and ends, in that it is more 
 practicable and enjoyable there; and so la belle 
 France continually projects itself into one's hori- 
 zon when viewing the subject of automobilism. 
 
 It may be that there are persons living to-day 
 who regret the passing of the good old times 
 when they travelled — most uncomfortably, be 
 it remarked — by stage-coach and suffered all 
 the inclemencies of bad weather en route with- 
 out a word of protest but a genial grumble, 
 which they sought to antidote by copious liba- 
 tions of anything liquid and strong. The auto- 
 mobile has changed all this. The traveller by 
 automobile doesn't resort to alcoholic drinks to 
 put, or keep, him in a good humour, and, when 
 he sees a lumbering van or family cart making 
 its way for many miles from one widely sepa- 
 rated region to another, he accelerates his own 
 motive power and leaves the good old ways of 
 the good old days as far behind as he can, and 
 recalls the words of Sidney Smith: 
 
 " The good of other times let others state, 
 I think it lucky I was born so late." 
 
 A certain picturesqueness of travel may be 
 wanting when comparing the automobile with the 
 whirling coach-and-four of other days, but there 
 is vastly more comfort for all concerned, and no 
 one will regret the march of progress when he 
 
 
Roads and Routes 49 
 
 considers that nothing but the means of trans- 
 portation has been changed. The delightful 
 prospects of hill and vale are still there, the long 
 stretches of silent road and, in France and Ger- 
 many, great forest routes which are as wild and 
 unbroken, except for the magnificent surface of 
 the roads, as they were when mediaeval travellers 
 startled the deer and wild boar. You may even 
 do this to-day with an automobile in more than 
 one forest tract of France, and that not far from 
 the great centres of population either. 
 
 The invention of carriage-springs — the same 
 which, with but little variation, we use on the 
 automobile — by the wife of an apothecary in the 
 Quartier de St. Antoine at Paris, in 1600, was the 
 prime cause of the increased popularity of travel 
 by road in France. 
 
 In 1776, the routes of France were divided into 
 four categories: 
 
 1. Those leading from Paris to the principal 
 interior cities and seaports. 
 
 2. Those communicating directly between the 
 principal cities. 
 
 3. Those communicating directly between the 
 cities and towns of one province and those of 
 another. 
 
 4. Those serving the smaller towns and bourgs. 
 Those in the first class were to be 13.35 metres 
 
 in width, the second 11.90, the third 10, the fourth 
 7.90. The road makers and menders of England 
 and America could not get better models than 
 these. 
 
 The advent of the automobile has brought a 
 
50 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 new factor into the matter of road making and 
 mending, but certainly he would be an ignorant 
 person indeed who would claim that the auto- 
 mobile does a tithe of the road damage that is 
 done by horse-drawn traffic. 
 
 At a high rate of speed, however, the automo- 
 bile does raise a fine sandy dust, and exposes the 
 macadam. A French authority states that up to 
 twenty to twenty-five kilometres an hour the au- 
 tomobile does little or no harm to the roads, but 
 when they increase to over fifty kilometres an 
 hour they do damage the surface somewhat. Just 
 what the ultimate outcome of it will be remains 
 to be seen, but France is unlikely to do anything 
 which will work against the interests of the auto- 
 mobilist. 
 
 In consequence of this newer and faster mode 
 of travelling, it is being found that on some parts 
 of the roads the convexity of the surface is too 
 great, and especially at curves, where fast mo- 
 tors frequently skid on the rounded surface. To 
 obviate this a piece of road near the Croix d'Au- 
 gas in the Orleannais has had the outer side of 
 the curve raised eight centimetres above the 
 centre of the road, in somewhat the same manner 
 as on the curve of a railway. Since this innova- 
 tion has proved highly successful and pleasing 
 to the devotees of the new form of travel, it is 
 likely to be further adopted. 
 
 In the early period of the construction of 
 French roads the earth formation was made hor- 
 izontal, but Tresaguet, a French engineer, intro- 
 duced the rounded form, or camber, and this is 
 
Roads and Routes 
 
 51 
 
 the method now almost generally adopted, both 
 in France and England. Only some 14,000 kilo- 
 metres of the national routes have a hand-set 
 foundation, the others being what are termed 
 broken-stone roads — the stone used is broken in 
 pieces and laid on promiscuously, after the sys- 
 tem introduced by Macadam. Some of the sec- 
 ond and third class roads are constructed of 
 gravel, and others of earth. 
 
 From the official report of 1893 it appears that 
 the cost of maintenance of roads in France was 
 as follows: 
 
 COST OF LABOUR AND MATERIALS 
 
 Routes Nationales 
 Routes D6partmentales 
 Chemins Communication 
 Chemins Vicinaux 
 
 ANNUAL TOTAL 
 COST 
 
 22,570,300 fcs. 
 14,556,860 
 82,474,450 
 44,211,126 
 
 ANNUAL COST 
 
 PER KILOMETRE 
 
 (AV.) 
 
 775 fcs. 
 600 
 423 
 200 
 
 The above is for materials and labour on the 
 roadways only, and something between 33 1-3 
 per cent, and 50 per cent, is added for the main- 
 tenance of watercourses and sidewalks, the plant- 
 ing of trees, and for general administrative ex- 
 penses. 
 
 Excepting for twenty kilometres or so around 
 Paris, the vehicular traffic on the country roads 
 of France does not seem to be in any way exces- 
 sive. The style of vehicles in France that carry 
 into the cities farm and garden produce, wood, 
 stone, etc., are large wagons with wheels six to 
 seven feet in diameter. These wagons are more 
 
52 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 easily hauled and naturally do less damage to 
 the roads than narrow-tired, low-wheeled trucks 
 or drays. The horses in Paris, and in the coun- 
 try, are nearly all plain shod, with no heels or 
 toes to act like a pick to break up the surface. 
 Sometimes even one sees draught-horses with 
 great flat, iron shoes extending out beyond the 
 hoof in all directions. 
 
 The question of the speed of the automobile on 
 the roads, in France and England, as indeed 
 
 £$ . . ®. 
 
 «....«. o—«^»~—i - l*o YT"-' o— "1 
 
 1 ta — J — i 
 
 "vj| — ""***»*-- j mr y 
 
 Profile of a French Road 
 
 everywhere else, has been the moot point in all 
 legislation that has been attempted. 
 
 The writer thinks the French custom the best. 
 You may legally go at thirty kilometres an hour, 
 and no more. If you exceed this you do it at your 
 own risk. If an accident happens it may go hard 
 with you, but if not, all is well, and you have the 
 freedom of the road in all that the term implies. 
 In the towns you are often held down to ten, eight, 
 or even six kilometres an hour, but that is merely 
 a local regulation, for your benefit as much as for 
 the safety of the public, for many a French town 
 has unthought-of possibilities of danger in its 
 crooked streets and unsafe crossings. 
 
Roads and Routes 
 
 53 
 
 Good roads have much to do with the pleasure 
 of automobilism, and competent control and care 
 of them will do much more. Where a picked bit 
 of roadway has been chosen for automobile trials 
 astonishing results have been obtained, as witness 
 the Gordon-Bennett Cup records of the last six 
 years, where the average speed per hour consist- 
 
 AL1URE MODEREE 
 
 PRESCRITE A 
 
 . iflUOtHICPLES :■ 
 
 ■TOURING 'CLUB DE FRANCE 
 
 pqsteS 
 de secours 
 
 PARIS NANTES 
 
 270 — 
 
 tiFLTCHE -ANGERS 
 
 TOURSNGCtUBDE 
 
 DELEGUE 
 
 ATTENTION! 
 
 ROUTE ^N.COURSj 
 DE RECHARfiEMENT 
 
 S3 
 
 Some Touring Club Signs in France 
 
 ently increased from thirty-eight miles to nearly 
 fifty-five, and this for long distances (three hun- 
 dred and fifty miles or more). 
 
 To meet the new traffic conditions the authori- 
 ties must widen the roads here and there, remove 
 obstructions at corners, make encircling boule- 
 vards through narrowly laid out towns, and erect 
 warning signs, like the following, a great deal 
 more numerously than they have as yet : 
 
 They have very good automobile laws in France 
 in spite of their anomalies. You agree to thirty- 
 seven prescribed articles, and go through sundry 
 
54 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 formalities and take to the road with your auto- 
 mobile. In the name of the President of the Re- 
 public and the " peuple frangais," you are al- 
 lowed thirty kilometres an hour in the open coun- 
 try, and twenty in the towns. You can do any- 
 thing you like beyond this — at your own risk, and 
 so long as no accident happens nothing will be 
 said, but you must pull up when you come to a 
 small town where M. le Maire, in the name of his 
 forty-four electors, has decreed that his village 
 is dangerously laid out for fast traffic, — and 
 truth to tell it often is, — and accordingly you are 
 limited to a modest ten or even less. It is annoy- 
 ing, of course, but if you are on a strange itiner- 
 ary you had best go slow until you know what 
 trouble lies ahead. 
 
 In theory la vitesse is national in France, but 
 in practice it is communal, and the barriers rise, 
 in the way of staring warnings posted at each 
 village-end, like the barriers across the roads in 
 the times of Louis XI. 
 
 Except in Holland, where some " private 
 roads " still exist, and in certain parts of Eng- 
 land, the toll-gate keeper has become almost an 
 historical curiosity. It is true, however, that in 
 England one does meet with annoying toll- 
 bridges and gates, and in France one has equally 
 annoying octroi barriers. 
 
 One recognizes the vested proprietary rights, 
 many of which, in England, are hereditary, of cer- 
 tain toll-gates and bridges, but it is hard in these 
 days, when franchises for the conduct of public 
 services are only granted for limited periods, that 
 
Roads and Routes 55 
 
 legislation, born of popular clamour, should not 
 confiscate, or, better, purchase at a fair valuation, 
 these " rights," and make all roads and bridges 
 free to all. 
 
 In France there are no toll-gates or bridges, or 
 at least not many (the writer recalls but one, a 
 bridge at La Roche-Guyon on the Seine, just 
 above Vernon), but there are various state ferries 
 across the Seine, the Rhone, the Saone, and the 
 Loire, where a small charge is made for crossing. 
 These are particularly useful on the lower Seine, 
 in delightful Normandy, as there are no bridges 
 below Rouen. 
 
 In France one's chief delays on the road are 
 caused by the octroi barriers at all large towns, 
 though only at Paris and, for a time, at St. Ger- 
 main do they tax the supplies of essence (gaso- 
 line) and oil, which the automobilist carries in his 
 tanks. 
 
 The octroi taxes are onerous enough in all con- 
 science, but it is a pity to annoy automobilists in 
 the way the authorities do at the gates of Paris, 
 and it's still worse for a touring automobile to be 
 stopped at the barrier of a town like Evreux 
 in Normandy, or Tarare in the Beaujolais. What- 
 ever does the humble (and civil, too) guardian 
 do it for, except to show his authority, and smile 
 pleasantly, as he waves you off after having 
 brought you to a full stop at the bottom of a 
 twisting cobble-stoned, hilly street where you 
 need all the energy and suppleness of your motor 
 in order to reach the top. 
 
 There are not many of these abrupt stops, out- 
 
56 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 side the large towns, and nowhere do they tax 
 you on your oil or essence except at Paris — 
 where you pay (alas!) nearly as much as the 
 original cost. 
 
 At Rouen the guardian comes up, looks in your 
 tonneau to see if you have a fish or a partridge 
 hidden away, and sends you on your way with a 
 bored look, as though he disliked the business as 
 much as you do. At Tours, if you come to the 
 barrier just as the official has finished a good 
 lunch, he simply smiles, and doesn't even stop you. 
 At Marseilles you get up from your seat and let 
 the official poke a bamboo stick down among your 
 chambres d'air, and say nothing — provided he 
 does not puncture them; if he does, you say a 
 good deal, but he replies by saying that he was 
 merely doing his duty, and meant no harm. 
 
 At Nantes, at Rennes, at Orleans, and Bor- 
 deaux, all of them grandes villes, every one is 
 civil and apologetic, but still the procedure goes 
 on just the same. 
 
 At Lyons the octroi tax has been abolished. 
 Real progress this! 
 
 In the old coaching days road speeds fell far 
 behind what they are to-day in a well-constructed 
 and capable automobile, but, as they put in long 
 hours on the road, they certainly did get over the 
 ground in a fairly satisfactory manner. Private 
 conveyances, with private horses, could not hope 
 to accomplish anything like it, simply because 
 there is a limit to the working powers and hours 
 of the individual horse. With the old mail- 
 coaches, in England, and the malle-poste and the 
 
Roads and Routes 57 
 
 poste-chaise, in France, things were different, 
 for at every poste, or section, was a new relay, 
 and on the coach went at the same pace as be- 
 fore. 
 
 The London-Birmingham coaches in 1830 cov- 
 ered the 109 miles between the two points at an 
 average speed of 15.13 miles per hour, the highest 
 speed being eighteen, and the lowest eleven 
 miles. 
 
 In France the speeds were a little better. From 
 Lyons the old mail-coaches used to make the jour- 
 ney to Paris in four days by way of Auxerre, and 
 in five by Moulins, though the distance is the 
 same, one hundred and twenty leagues. To-day 
 the automobile, which fears not hills, takes invari- 
 ably the Moulins road, and covers the distance 
 between breakfast and dinner; that is, if the 
 driver is a " scorcher; " and there are such in 
 France. 
 
 In 1834 there were thirteen great lines of malle- 
 postes in France as follows : 
 
 To Calais. By Clermont, Amiens, and Abbeville. 
 
 To Lille. By Senlis, Noyon, St. Quentin, Cambrai, and Douai. 
 
 To Mezieres. By Soissons, Reims, and Rhetel. 
 
 To Strasbourg. By Chalons-sur-Marne, Metz, and Sarrebourg. 
 
 To Besangon. By Troyes and Dijon. 
 
 To Lyon. By Melun, Auxerre, Autun, and Macon. 
 
 To Clermont-Ferrand. By Fontainebleau, Briare, Nevers, and 
 Moulins. 
 
 To Toulouse. By Orleans, Chateauroux, Limoges, and Cahors. 
 
 To Bordeaux. By Orleans, Blois, Tours, Poitiers, and An- 
 gouleme. 
 
 To Nantes. By Chartres, Le Mans, La Fleche, and Angers. 
 
 To Brest. By Alen<jon, Laval, Rennes, and St. Brieuc. 
 
 To Caen. By Bonnieres, Evreux, and Lisieux. 
 
 To Rouen. By Neuilly-sur-Seine, Pontoise, Gisors, Ecoui.s. 
 and Fleury-sur-Andelle. 
 
58 
 
 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
Roads and Routes 59 
 
 Besides the malle-poste there was another or- 
 ganization in France even more rapid. The fol- 
 lowing is copied from an old advertisement: 
 
 AVIS AU PUBLIC 
 
 " Messageries Royales — Nouvelles Diligences 
 
 " Le Public est averti : 
 
 " II partira de Paris toutes les semaines, pour Dunkerque, pas- 
 sant par Senlis, Compiegne, et Noyon, une diligence le lundi a 
 6 heures du matin. Elle repartira de Dunkerque a Paris, le mer- 
 credi a 6 heures du matin. II partira aussi dans chaque sens une 
 voiture pour les gros bagages et objets fragiles, le jeudi de chaque 
 semaine. 
 
 " Les bureaux de ces diligences sont 4tablis a Paris, rue St. 
 
 Denis, vis-a-vis les Filles-Dieu." 
 
 From Paris to Bordeaux, 157 leagues, the Mes- 
 sageries Royales made the going at an easy pace 
 in five days. To-day the express-trains do it in 
 six and one-half hours, and the ever-ready auto- 
 mobile has knocked a half an hour off that, just 
 for a record. " Tempus fugit." 
 
 The subject of roads and roadmaking is one that 
 to-day more than ever is a matter of deep concern 
 to those responsible for a nation's welfare. 
 
 It might seem, in these progressive days, that 
 it was in reality a matter which might take care 
 of itself, at least so far as originally well-planned 
 or well-built roads were concerned. This, how- 
 ever, is not the case; the railway has very nearly 
 reached the limit of its efficiency (at any rate in 
 thickly settled parts), and the electric roads have 
 merely stepped in and completed its functions. 
 
 It is certain that an unproved system of road 
 administration or control is needed. The turn- 
 
60 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 pike or the highroad served its purpose well 
 enough in coaching days as the most direct and 
 quickest way between important towns. To-day, 
 in many respects, conditions are changed. Cer- 
 tain centres of population and commercial activity 
 have progressed at the expense of less fortunate 
 communities, and the one-time direct highroads 
 now deviate considerably, with the result that 
 there is often an unnecessary prolongation of dis- 
 tance and expenditure of time. 
 
 Examples of this sort are to be found all over 
 Britain, but a great deal less frequently in 
 France, where the communication is by a more 
 direct line between important centres, often leav- 
 ing the small and unimportant towns out of the 
 itinerary altogether. 
 
 In England, centralization or nationalization of 
 the road-building authority should remedy all this. 
 Cuts and deviations from existing lines, for the 
 general good, would then be made without local 
 jealousy or misapplied influence being brought to 
 bear, and the general details of width and surface 
 be carried on throughout the land, under one 
 supreme power, and not, as often now is the case, 
 by various local district and urban councils and 
 county surveyors. 
 
 " The Great North Road " and " The Famous 
 Bath Road " vary greatly throughout their 
 length as to width and excellence ; and yet popu- 
 lar opinion in the south of England would seem 
 to indicate that these roads, to single them out 
 from among others, are idyllic, both in character 
 of surface and skill of engineering, throughout 
 
Roads and Routes 61 
 
 their length. This is manifestly not so. The 
 " Bath Road," for example, in parts, is as flat 
 and well-formed a surface as one could hope to 
 find, even in France itself, but at times it degen- 
 erates into a mere narrow, guttery alley, espe- 
 cially in its passage through some of the Thames- 
 side towns, where the surface is never of that 
 excellence that it should be ; throughout its entire 
 length of some hundred odd miles to Bath there 
 are ever-recurring evidences of bad road-making 
 and worse engineering. 
 
 One is bound to take into consideration that it 
 is the automobile, and the general increase in 
 automobile traffic, that, in all countries, is caus- 
 ing the wide-spread demand for improved roads. 
 
 To illustrate the growth of the use of the auto- 
 mobile on the public highway, and taking France 
 as an example, the following statistics are given 
 from the Journal des Debats: 
 
 In 1900 there were taxed in France 1,399 
 voitures-automobiles of more than two places, and 
 955 of one or two places. In 1903 the figures had 
 risen to 7,228 and 2,694 respectively. These fig- 
 ures may seem astonishingly small at first glance, 
 but their percentage of growth is certainly abnor- 
 mally large. These voitures-automobiles, be it 
 recalled, are all pleasure carriages, and displaced 
 in the same time (according to the same author- 
 ity) 10,000 horse-drawn vehicles. At the same 
 period Paris alone claimed 1,845 voitures-automo- 
 biles and 6,539 horse-drawn pleasure carriages. 
 
 Road reformers, wherever found, should agi- 
 tate for two things: the efficient maintenance of 
 
62 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 existing roads and the laying out of new and 
 improved thoroughfares where needed. 
 
 In England and America the roadways are 
 under the care of so many controlling bodies that 
 they have suffered greatly. In England, for ex- 
 ample, there is one eighteen-mile strip of road 
 which is under the control of twelve different 
 highway authorities, while the " Great North 
 Road " from London to Edinburgh, is, in Eng- 
 land alone, subject to seventy-two separate au- 
 thorities. Local jealousies, rivalry and factions, 
 and the quarrels of various road authorities in- 
 terfere everywhere with good roads. The great- 
 est good of the greatest number is sacrificed to 
 village squabbles and to the advice of the local 
 squire, who " detests motor-cars," as he does 
 most other signs of progress. The roads of the 
 future must be under some general control. At 
 present, affairs in England are pretty bad; let 
 America take heed in her new provisions for 
 road supervision and government. 
 
 There is at present an almost Chinese jumble 
 in the distribution of authority over roads in Eng- 
 land and Wales. There are in London alone 
 twenty-nine highway authorities, and 1,855 
 throughout the rest of the country. 
 
 In view of the fact that through motor traffic 
 of all kinds will increase every year, it has been 
 suggested that new loop roads should be con- 
 structed round towns on the chief roads, private 
 enterprise being enlisted by the expectation of 
 improved land value. This certainly would be a 
 move in the right direction. 
 
Roads and Routes 63 
 
 Mile-stone reform is another thing which is 
 occupying the serious attention of the road user. 
 In Continental Europe this matter is pretty well 
 arranged, though there is frequently a discrep- 
 ancy of two, three, or even five kilometres between 
 the national mile-stones (homes kilometriques) 
 and the sign-boards of the various local author- 
 ities and touring clubs. 
 
 France has the best system extant of sign- 
 boards and mile-stones. One finds the great 
 national, departmental, and communal signs and 
 stones everywhere, and at every hundred metres 
 along the road are the intermediate little white- 
 numbered stones, from which you may take your 
 bearings almost momentarily, with never a fear 
 that you are off your track. 
 
 In addition to this the sign-boards of the Tour- 
 ing Club de France, the Automobile Club de 
 France, and the Association Generale Automobile 
 satisfy any further demands that may be made 
 by the traveller by automobile who wants to read 
 as he runs. No such legible signs and warnings 
 are known elsewhere. 
 
 There is -uniformity in all the kilometre and 
 department boundary stones in France; but in 
 England " mile-stones " of all shapes, sizes, 
 materials, and degrees of legibility are found. 
 
 There are some curious relics in the form of 
 ancient mile-stones still in use, which may please 
 the antiquarian, but are of no value to the auto- 
 mobilist. There is the " eightieth mile-stone on 
 the Holyhead Koad " in England, which carries 
 one back through two centuries of road travel; 
 
64 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and there is a heavy old veteran of perhaps a 
 thousand years, which at one time marked the 
 " Voie Aurelian," as it crossed Southern Gaul. 
 It is found in Provence, in the Bouches-du- Rhone, 
 near Salon, and is a sight not to be missed by 
 those curiously inclined. 
 
 The question of dust is one of the chief prob- 
 lems yet to be solved for the benefit of automo- 
 bilists and the general public alike. A good deal 
 of the ' ' dust nuisance ' ' is due to badly made and 
 badly kept roads, but we must frankly admit that 
 the automobile itself is often the cause. " La 
 Lig"ue Contre la Poussiere, ' '' in France, has made 
 some interesting experiments, with the below 
 enumerated results, as related to automobile 
 traffic. Road-builders and manufacturers of au- 
 tomobiles alike have something here to make a 
 note of. 
 
 (1) Sharp corners and excessive road cambers lead to slip, 
 and, therefore, to dnst. 
 
 (2) More dust is raised on a rough road than on an equally 
 dusty smooth road. 
 
 (3) Watering the road moderately diminishes the dust. 
 
 (4) The spreading on the road of crude oil, or of oil emulsions 
 in water, is an important palliative. 
 
 (5) Wood, asphalt, cobblestones, and square pavings are not 
 dusty save after use by horse traffic. 
 
 (6) Cars with smooth, boat-shaped under surfaces are less 
 dusty than others. 
 
 (7) Cars with large mud-guards and leather flaps near the road 
 are more dusty. 
 
 (8) Cars on high wheels well away from the ground are less 
 dusty. 
 
 (9) Cars with large tool-boxes at the back reaching low down 
 between the back wheels are dusty. 
 
 (10) Large car bodies are often dustier than small ones. 
 
 (11) Blowing the exhaust near the ground increases the dust. 
 
 (12) Cars fitted with engines having an insufficient fly-wheel 
 or a non-uniform turning effort from any cause are more dusty. 
 
Roads and Routes 65 
 
 (13) A car mounted on very easy springs having a large up- 
 and-down play will suck up the dust with each rise and fall of 
 the body on rough roads. 
 
 (14) Front wheels — or rolling wheels — raise less dust than 
 back wheels or driving wheels. 
 
 (15) Smooth pneumatic tires are dusty. 
 
 (16) Solid or pneumatic rubber tires are more dusty at higher 
 speeds, and with high-powered engines. 
 
 (17) Non-skid devices, such as small steel studs, etc., do not 
 increase the dust. 
 
 A writer on automobilism and roads cannot 
 leave the latter subject without a reference to 
 some of the obstructions and inconveniences to 
 which the automobilist has to submit. If the 
 automobilist proved himself a " road obstruc- 
 tion ' ' like any of the following he would soon be 
 banished, and the industry would suffer. 
 
 A correspondent in the Auto, the chief Parisian 
 daily devoted to automobilism, gave the following 
 list of obstructions encountered in a journey of 
 a thousand kilometres : 
 
 1. Drivers having left their horses entirely unattended 75 
 
 2. Drivers who would not make way to allow one to pass 86 
 
 3. Drivers asleep 8 
 
 4. Drivers not holding the reins 12 
 
 5. Drivers in carriages, or carts, without lights at night 81 
 
 6. Drivers stopping their horses in the middle of the road 
 
 or at dangerous turnings 2 
 
 7. Drivers allowing their horses to descend hills unattended 
 
 while they walked behind 18 
 
 8. Dogs throwing themselves in front of one 35 
 
 9. Flocks of sheep met without guardians near by 8 
 
 10. Cattle straying unattended 10 
 
 11. Geese, hens, and children in the middle of the road 30 
 
 Instead of seven sins, any of which might be 
 deadly, there are eleven. Legislation must sooner 
 or later protect the automobilist better than it 
 does to-day. 
 
HOTELS 
 THINGS 
 
 In all the literature of travel, that which is 
 devoted to hotels has been conspicuously neg- 
 lected. Certainly a most interesting work could 
 be compiled. 
 
 Among the primitive peoples travellers were 
 dependent upon the hospitality of those among 
 whom they came. After this arose a species of 
 hostelry, which catered for man and beast in a 
 more or less crude and uncomfortable manner; 
 but which, nevertheless, was a great deal better 
 than depending upon the generosity and hospi- 
 tality of strangers, and vastly more comfortable 
 than sleeping and eating in the open. 
 
 In the middle ages there appeared in France 
 the cabaret, the gargot, the taverne, and then the 
 auberge, many of which, endowed with no more 
 majestic name, exist even to-day. 
 
 Id ON LOGE A PIED ET A CHEVAL 
 
 is a sign frequently seen along the roadways of 
 France, and even in the villages and small towns. 
 It costs usually ten sous a night for man, and five 
 
 66 
 
Hotels and Things 67 
 
 sous for his beast, though frequently there is 
 a fluctuating price. 
 
 The aabergiste of other days, on the routes 
 most frequented, was an enterprising individual, 
 if reports are to be believed. Frequently he would 
 stand at his door and cry out his prices to pass- 
 ers-by. " Au Cheval Blanc! On dine pour dome 
 sous. Huit sous le cocker. Six Hards I'ecurie." 
 
 With the era of the diligences there came the 
 Hotels de la Poste, with vast paved courtyards, 
 great stables, and meals at all hours, but the 
 chambers still remained more or less primitive, 
 and in truth have until a very recent date. 
 
 There is absolutely no question but that auto- 
 mobilism has brought about a great change in the 
 hotel system of France. It may have had some 
 slight effect elsewhere, but in France its influence 
 has been enormous. The guide-books of a former 
 generation did nothing but put an asterisk 
 against the names of those hotels which struck the 
 fancy of the compiler, and it was left to the great 
 manufacturers of " pneumatiques " for automo- 
 biles to carry the scheme to a considerably more 
 successful issue. Michelin, in preparing his ex- 
 cellent route-book, bombarded the hotel-keeper 
 throughout the length and breadth of France with 
 a series of questions, which he need not answer 
 if he did not choose, but which, if he neglected, 
 was most likely taken advantage of by his com- 
 petitor. 
 
 Given a small chef-lieu, a market-town in 
 France, with two competing establishments, the 
 one which was marked by the compiler of this 
 
68 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 excellent road-book as having the latest sanitary 
 arrangements, with perhaps a dark room for 
 photographers, stood a much better chance of the 
 patronage of the automobile traveller than he 
 who had merely a blank against the name of his 
 house. The following selection of this appall- 
 ing array of questions, used in the preparation 
 of the Guide-Michelin, will explain this to the 
 full : 
 
 Is your hotel open all the year ? 
 
 What is the price per day which the automobilist en tour may 
 count on spending with you? (This is purposely noncommittal 
 so far as an ironbound statement is concerned, being more par- 
 ticularly for classification, and is anyway a much better system 
 of classification than by a detailed price-list of dejeuner, diner, 
 etc.) 
 
 What is the price of an average room, with service and lights? 
 (Be it noted that only in avowed tourist resorts, or in the case of 
 very new travellers, are the ridiculous items of "service et bougie" 
 — service and lights — ever charged in France.) 
 
 Is wine included in your regular charges? (And it generally is 
 except in the two above-mentioned instances.) 
 
 Have you a sign denoting adherence or alliance to the A. G. A. ? 
 
 Have you a sign denoting adherence or alliance to the A. C. F. ? 
 
 Have you a sign denoting adherence or alliance to the T. C. F. ? 
 
 Have you an arrangement with the Touring Club de France 
 allowing members a discount of ten per cent. ? (Some four 
 thousand country hotels of France have.) 
 
 Have you a bath-room ? 
 
 Have you modernized hygienic bedrooms ? 
 
 Have you water-closets with modern plumbing? (Most im- 
 portant this.) 
 
 Have you a dark room for photographers ? 
 
 Have you a covered garage for automobiles ? (This must be 
 free of charge to travellers, for two days at least, or a mention of 
 the hotel does not appear.) 
 
 How many automobiles can you care for? 
 
 Have you a telephone and what is its number? 
 
 What is your telegraphic address? 
 
 What are the chief curiosities and sights in your town? 
 
 What interesting excursions in the neighbourhood ? 
 
Hotels and Things 69 
 
 This information is afterwards compiled and 
 most clearly set forth, with additional information 
 as to population, railway facilities, etc. 
 
 The annual of the Automobile Club de France 
 marks with a little silhouetted knife and fork those 
 establishments which deserve mention for their 
 cuisine, and even marks good beds in a similar 
 fashion. Clearly the makers of old-time guide- 
 books must wake up, or everybody will take to 
 automobiling, if only to have the right to demand 
 one of these excellent guides. To be sure the 
 same information might to a very considerable 
 extent be included in the recognized guide-books; 
 indeed Joanne's excellent series has in one or 
 two instances added something of the sort in re- 
 cent editions of their " Normandie " and " Pro- 
 vence," but each volume deals only with some 
 special locality, whereas the Guide-Michelin deals 
 with the whole of France, and the house also is- 
 sues another covering Belgium, Holland, and the 
 Rhine country. 
 
 The chief concern of the touring automobilist, 
 after the pleasures of the road, is the choice of a 
 hotel. The days when the diligences of Europe 
 drew up before an old-time inn, with the sign of 
 a pewter plate, an ecu d'or, a holly branch, or a 
 prancing white horse, have long since disap- 
 peared. The classic good cheer of other days, a 
 fowl and a bottle of Beaune, a baron of beef and 
 porter, or a carp and good Rhine wine have gone, 
 too. The automobile traveller requires, if not a 
 stronger fare, at least a more varied menu, as he 
 does a more ample supply of water for washing. 
 
70 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 These quaint old inns of other days, with fine 
 mullioned windows, galleried courtyards, and 
 vine-trellised facades, still exist here and there, 
 but they have been much modernized, else they 
 would not exist at all. There is not much romance 
 in the make-up of the modern traveller, at least 
 so far as his own comfort is concerned, and the 
 tired automobilist who has covered two hundred 
 kilometres of road, between lunch and dinner, 
 requires something more heroic in the way of a 
 bath than can be had in a tiny porcelain basin, 
 and a more comfortable place to sit in than the 
 average bar-parlour, such as he finds in most 
 country inns in England. 
 
 As Sterne said: " They do things better in 
 France," and the accommodation supplied the 
 automobilist is there far ahead of what one gets 
 elsewhere. 
 
 The hotel demanded by the twentieth-century 
 traveller need not necessarily be a palace, but it 
 must be something which caters to the advancing 
 needs of the time in a more efficient manner than 
 the country inn of the eighteenth century, when 
 the only one who travelled in comfort was he who 
 thrust himself upon the hospitality of friends. 
 
 We are living in a hygienic age, and to-day we 
 are particular about things that did not in the 
 least concern our forefathers. In England there 
 is no public-spirited body which takes upon itself 
 the task of pointing out the virtuous path to the 
 country Boniface. The Automobile Club of Great 
 Britain and Ireland has not succeeded very well 
 with its task as yet and has not anything like the 
 
Hotels and Things 71 
 
 influence of its two sister organizations in France, 
 or the very efficient Touring Club Italiano. 
 
 Hygiene does not necessarily go so far as to 
 demand a doctor's certificate as to the health of 
 the birds and animals which the chef presents so 
 artistically in his celebrated plats du jour, and 
 one need not take the journaux comiques too seri- 
 ously, as once did a gouty milord, who insisted 
 that his duckling Rouennais should, while alive, 
 first be certificated as to the health of its bronches 
 and poumons. All the same one likes to know that 
 due regard is given to the proprieties and neces- 
 sities of his bedroom, and to know that the kitchen 
 is more or less a public apartment where one can 
 see what is going on, which one can almost in- 
 variably do in France, in the country, at any rate. 
 Therein lies one of the great charms of the French 
 hotel. 
 
 One of the latest moves of the Automobile Club 
 de France is to call attention to the mountainous 
 districts of France, the Pyrenees, and the Jura, 
 and to exploit them as rivals to Switzerland. 
 Further, a competition among hotel-keepers has 
 been started throughout France, and a prize of 
 ten thousand francs is offered yearly to that hotel- 
 keeper who has added most to the attractions of 
 his house. The club authorities furnish expert 
 advice and recommendations as to hotel reforms 
 to any hotel-keeper who applies. In England the 
 newly established " Eoad Club " might promote 
 the interests of British motor tourists, and the 
 large numbers of Americans and foreigners, by 
 undertaking a similar work. 
 
72 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 To a great extent the tourist, by whatever 
 means of travel, must find his hotels out for him- 
 self He cannot always follow a guide-book, and 
 if he does he may find that the endorsement of 
 an old edition is no longer merited. 
 
 By far the best hotel-guides for France, Bel- 
 gium, and Holland, the Rhine, Switzerland, and 
 Italy' are the excellent annuaires of the Automo- 
 bile Clubs and Touring Clubs, and the before- 
 mentioned Guide-Michelin and " Guide-Routiere 
 Continental," issued by the great pneumatic tire 
 companies. 
 
 Hotel-finding abroad, for the stranger, is a 
 more or less difficult process, or he makes it such. 
 The crowded resorts do not give one a tithe of 
 the character or local colour to be had from a stay 
 in some little market-town inn of France or Ger- 
 many. In the former, hotels are simply bad imi- 
 tations of Parisian establishments, while the best 
 are often off the beaten track in the small towns. 
 The question of tipping is an ever present one 
 for the European traveller. It exists in Britain 
 and Continental Europe to an increasing and 
 exasperating extent, and the advent of the auto- 
 mobile has done nothing to lessen it. 
 
 There is no earthly, sensible logic which should 
 induce a gargon in a hotel or restaurant to think 
 that because one arrives in an automobile he 
 wishes to dine in a special room off of rare viands 
 and drink expensive wines, but this is his common 
 conception of the automobile tourist. One fights 
 up or down through the scale of hotel servants, 
 and does his best to allay any false ideas they 
 
Hotels and Things 73 
 
 may have, including those of the hostler, who has 
 done nothing for you, and expects his tip, too. 
 It's an up-hill process, and the idea that every 
 autornobilist is a millionaire is everywhere dying 
 hard. 
 
 The traveller demands not so much elegance as 
 comfort, and, above all, fit accommodation for his 
 automobile. Some sort of a light, airy, and clean 
 closed garage is his right to demand, and the hotel 
 that supplies this, as contrasted with the one 
 that does not, gets the business, even if other 
 things be not equal. 
 
 The requirements of an automobile en tour are 
 almost as numerous and varied as those of its 
 owner. Hence the hotel proprietor must, if he 
 values this clientele, provide something a great 
 deal better than a mere outhouse, an old untidy 
 stable-yard, or a lean-to. 
 
 Small concern is it to mine host of the local inn, 
 who is somewhat off the beaten track of motor- 
 cars, as to what really constitutes a garage. He 
 usually does not even know what the word means. 
 Any roofed-over shed or shack, with doors or not, 
 is what one generally has to put up with to-day, 
 for housing his resplendent brassy and varnishy 
 automobile. 
 
 Once the writer remembers being turned into 
 an old stable (in England), the floor of which 
 was strewn with the broken bottles of a defunct 
 local mineral water industry, and again into 
 another, used as a carpenter's shop, the floor 
 strewn with the paraphernalia and tools of the 
 trade. 
 
74 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 If the English hotel-keeper (again they do 
 things better on the Continent) only would dis- 
 criminate to the extent of believing that there is 
 nothing harmful or indecent about an automobile, 
 and let it live in the coach-house like a respectable 
 dog-cart or the orthodox brougham, all would be 
 well, and we should save our tempers and a vast 
 lot of gray matter in attempting to show a con- 
 servative landlord how far he is behind the times. 
 
 One other very important demand the automo- 
 bilist makes of the hotel, and that is the possibil- 
 ity of being supplied with his coffee at any time 
 after five in the morning. The automobile tourist, 
 not of the butterfly order, is almost invariably an 
 
 early bird. 
 
 Without question the Continental hotel of all 
 ranks is vastly superior to similar establishments 
 in Britain. The inferiority of the British inns 
 may be due to tardiness and slothfulness on the 
 part of the landlords, or long suffering and non- 
 complaining on the part of their guests. It is 
 either one or the other, or both, of these reasons, 
 but the fact is the hotel-keeper, and his establish- 
 ment as well, are each far inferior to those of 
 Continental Europe. 
 
 Perhaps the real reason of the conservatism of 
 the British hotel-keeper is yet to be fathomed, 
 but it probably starts from the fact that he does 
 not travel to learn. The young Swiss serves his 
 apprenticeship, and learns French, as a waiter at 
 Nice, just as he learns Italian at San Remo. Ten 
 years later you may find him as the manager of 
 a big hotel at home. He has learned his business 
 
Hotels and Things 75 
 
 by hard, disagreeable work. How many English 
 hotel-keepers have imitated him? Another cause 
 of backwardness in England is the " license " 
 system, with its artificial augmentation of the 
 value of all premises where alcoholic refreshment 
 is provided. This tends to make the landlord 
 look upon it as his chief, if not his sole, source of 
 profit. Even if he serves meals at a fair price, he 
 looks to the accompanying, or casual, drinks to 
 pay him best. This results in indifferent and 
 slovenly food-catering. The public bar, with its 
 foul-mouthed loafers, — there seems to be an idea 
 that one can talk in an English tavern as one 
 would not in an English street, — is often within 
 ear-shot of the dining-room. This is one of the 
 great defects of the English hotel system, in all 
 but the largest - towns, and even there it is not 
 wholly absent. 
 
 This is how the facts strike a foreigner, the 
 Frenchman, the Dutchman, the Belgian, and the 
 German, whose hotels and restaurants are, first 
 of all, for quiet, ordinary guests, and only second- 
 arily as places where liquid refreshment — alco- 
 holic or otherwise — is served with equal alac- 
 rity, but without invidious distinction. 
 
 The old-time inns of England, and their very 
 names, have a peculiar fascination for the 
 stranger. Some of us who know them intimately, 
 and who know what discomfort and inefficient 
 catering may lurk behind such a picturesque 
 nomenclature as the " Rose and Crown " or the 
 11 Hawthorne Inn," have a certain disregard for 
 the romance of it all. If one is an automobilist 
 
76 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 he has all the more reason to take cognizance of 
 their deficiencies. 
 
 All the same the mere mention of the old-time 
 posting-houses of the " Bath Road," the " Great 
 North Road " (particularly that portion between 
 London and Cambridge along which Dick Turpin 
 took his famous ride) have a glamour for us that 
 even the automobile will not wholly extinguish. 
 According to story it was at one of the many inns 
 along the ' ' Great North Road ' ' that Turpin pro- 
 cured a bottle of wine, which once having passed 
 down the throat of his famous " Black Bess " 
 enabled the rascal to escape his pursuers. The 
 automobilist will be fortunate if he can find gaso- 
 line along here to-day as easily as he can that 
 peculiarly vile brand of beer known as " bitter." 
 
 Buntingf ord on the ' ' North Road ' ' has an inn, 
 which, in a way, is trying to cope with the new 
 conditions. The landlord of the ' ' George and the 
 Dragon " has come to a full realization that the 
 motor-car has well-nigh suppressed all other 
 forms of road traffic for pleasure, and, more or 
 less incompletely, he is catering for the wants of 
 motorists, as did his predecessors for the traveller 
 by posting-carriage or stage-coach. This particu- 
 lar landlord, though he looks like one of the old 
 school, should be congratulated on a perspicuity 
 which few of his confreres in England possess. 
 
 There are two other inns which travellers on 
 the ' ' North Road ' ' will recognize as they fly past 
 in their automobiles, or stop for tea or a bite to 
 eat, for, in spite of their devotion to the traffic 
 in beer, these " North Road " inns, within a 
 
Hotels and Things 77 
 
 radius of seventy-five or a hundred miles of Lon- 
 don, seem more willing to furnish solid or non- 
 alcoholic refreshment than most of their brethren 
 elsewhere. The "Bell Inn" and the "Red, 
 White, and Blue " (and the George and the 
 Dragon) of the North Road in England deserve 
 to linger in the memory of the automobilist, al- 
 most to the exclusion of any other English inns 
 of their class. 
 
 With regard to hotel charges for all classes of 
 travellers, as well in England as on the Continent, 
 there is an undoubted upward tendency which the 
 automobile has done absolutely nothing to allay. 
 One good is coming to pass, however, and that is 
 uniformity of price for the class of accommoda- 
 tion offered, and (in France and most other Con- 
 tinental countries) the absolute abolition of the 
 charge for " lights and service," an abominable 
 and outrageous practice which still lingers in Eng- 
 land — and for that matter Scotland and Ireland. 
 
 The discussion of the subject has been worn 
 threadbare, and it is useless to enter further into 
 it here, save to remark that since the automobile 
 is bringing about so many reforms and improve- 
 ments perhaps the abolition of this species of 
 swindling on the part of the British hotel-keeper 
 will disappear along with antiquated sanitary ar- 
 rangements and uncomfortable closed-in beds. 
 
 In France — thanks again to the indefatigable 
 Touring Club de France — they have elimi- 
 nated this charge for service and lights entirely, 
 and one generally finds hanging behind the door 
 the little card advocated by the Touring Club, 
 
78 
 
 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 stating clearly the charge for that particular 
 room and the price of the various things offered 
 in the way of accommodation. This ought to be 
 demanded, by law, of every hotel-keeper. Not 
 every hotel in France has fallen in line, but those 
 
 CHAMBRE N° 
 
 Prix 
 
 )P' i person ne. 
 pi a 
 
 peraoiuieg . .„.™„_, 
 
 REPAS 
 
 Petit dejeuner (dans l'appartement).. , 
 
 — (dans la salle a manger) . 
 
 Dejeuner a la fourch"* (id. ). 
 
 Diner (id. ). 
 
 DIVERS 
 
 Pension d'un domestiqne ilojwt gourii") . 
 
 ( Panier de tiois 
 
 Chtrttage { SewjdechaAon 
 
 Bain de pieds 
 
 | — de siege 
 
 | 6 rand bain 
 
 j Omnibus (pour la gare, par ptrsanne). 
 
 i MM. let Voyagturs sonl pries de -couloir Men 
 \ deposer leurs valeun an bureau it V hotel. 
 
 Room Card, Advocated by the Touring 
 Club de France 
 
 that have are reaping the benefit. The automo- 
 bilist is a good advertiser of what he finds en 
 route that pleases him, and scores pitilessly — to 
 other automobilists — everything in the nature of 
 a swindle that he meets with, and they are not 
 few, for in many places the automobilist is still 
 considered fair game for robbery. 
 
Hotels and Things 79 
 
 As to the fare offered in English inns, as com- 
 pared with that of the Continental hotel, the least 
 said the better; the subject has been gone over 
 again and again, so it shall not be reiterated here, 
 save to quote Pierre Loti on what one eats for an 
 English dinner. 
 
 " We were assembled round a horrible bill of 
 fare, which would not be good enough for one of 
 our humblest cook-shops. But the English are 
 extraordinary folk. When I saw the reappear- 
 ance, for the fourth time, of the fatal dish of three 
 compartments, for badly boiled potatoes, for peas 
 looking poisonously green, and for cauliflower 
 drenched with a glue-like substance, I declined, 
 and sighed for Poledor, who nourished my studi- 
 ous youth on a dainty repast at a shilling per 
 day." 
 
 The modern tourist, and especially the tourist 
 by automobile, has done more for the improved 
 conduct of the wayside hotel, and even those of 
 the large towns, than whole generations of trav- 
 ellers of a former day. 
 
 Once the hotel drew its income from the hiring- 
 out of posting-horses, and the sale of a little food 
 and much wine. As the old saying goes : ' ' Four 
 horses and four bottles of port went together in 
 the account of every gentleman." Travellers of 
 those days, if comparatively few, were presuma- 
 bly wealthy. To-day no one, save the vulgar few, 
 ever cares that the innkeeper, or the servants, 
 should suspect him of being wealthy. 
 
 It's a failing of the Anglo-Saxon race, however, 
 to want to be taken for bigger personages than 
 
80 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 they really are, and often enough they pay for 
 the privilege. This is only natural, seeing that 
 even an innkeeper is human. Charges suitable 
 for a milord or a millionaire have been inflicted 
 on Browns, Joneses, and Robinsons simply be- 
 cause they demanded such treatment — for fear 
 they would not be taken for " gentlemen." Such 
 people are not numerous among real travelling 
 automobilists ; they are mostly found among that 
 class who spend the week-end at Brighton, or dine 
 at Versailles or St. Germain or ' ' make the fete ' ' 
 at Trouville. They are known instinctively by all, 
 and are only tolerated by the hotel landlord for 
 the money they spend. 
 
 The French cook's " batterie de cuisine " is a 
 thing which is fearfully and wonderfully dis- 
 played in all the splendour of polished steel and 
 copper; that is, it is frequently so displayed in 
 the rather limited acquaintance which the gen- 
 eral public has with the cuisine of a great hotel 
 or restaurant, whether it be in Paris, London, or 
 New York. 
 
 In provincial France it is quite another thing. 
 The chef-patron of a small hotel in a small town 
 may be possessed of an imposing battery of pots 
 and pans, but often, since he buys his patisserie 
 and sweetmeats of the local pastry-cook, and since 
 his guests may frequently not number a dozen 
 at a time, he has no immediate use for all of his 
 casseroles and marmites and plats ronds and 
 sauteuses at one time, and accordingly, instead of 
 being picturesquely hung about the wall in all 
 their polished brilliancy, they are frequently 
 
Hotels and Things 81 
 
 covered with a coating of dull wax or, more banal 
 yet, enveloped in an ancient newspaper with only 
 their handles protruding. It's a pity to spoil the 
 romantically picturesque idea which many have 
 of the French batterie de cuisine, but the before- 
 mentioned fact is more often the case than not. 
 
 Occasionally, on the tourist-track, there is a 
 " show hotel," like the Hotel du Grand Cerf at 
 Louviers (its catering in this case is none the 
 worse for its being a " show-place," it may be 
 mentioned) where all the theatrical picturesque- 
 ness of the imagination may be seen. There is the 
 timbered sixteenth-century house-front, the heav- 
 ily beamed, low ceiling of the cuisine, the great 
 open-fire chimney with its broche, and all the 
 brave showing of pots and pans, brilliant with 
 many scrubbings of eau de cuivre, to present quite 
 the ideal picture of its kind to be seen in France 
 — without leaving the highroads and searching 
 out the " real thing " in the byways. 
 
 On the other hand, in the same bustling town, 
 is the Mouton d 'Argent, equally as excellent in 
 its catering (perhaps more so), where the kitchen 
 is about the most up-to-date thing imaginable, 
 with a modern range, mechanical egg-beaters, 
 etc. This last is nothing very wonderful to an 
 American, but is remarkable in France, where the 
 average cook usually does the work quite as 
 efficiently with a two-tined fork, or something 
 which greatly resembles a chop-stick. 
 
 In the cuisine electric lights are everywhere, but 
 the up-to-dateness here stops abruptly; the salle 
 a manger is bare and uninviting, and the rooms 
 
82 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 above equally so, and the electric light has not 
 penetrated beyond the ground floor. Instead one 
 finds ranged on the mantel, above the cook-stove 
 in the kitchen, a regiment of candlesticks, in 
 strange contrast to the rest of the furnishings. 
 Electric bells, too, are wanting, and there is still 
 found the row of jangling grelots, their numbers 
 half -obliterated, hanging above the great doorway 
 leading to the courtyard. 
 
 The European waiter is never possessed of that 
 familiarity of speech with those he serves, which 
 the American negro waiter takes for granted is 
 his birthright. It's all very well to have a cheer- 
 ful-countenanced waiter bobbing about behind 
 one's chair, indeed it's infinitely more inspiring 
 than such of the old brigade of mutton-chopped 
 English waiters as still linger in some of London's 
 City eating-houses, but the disposition of the 
 coffee-coloured or coal-black negro to talk to you 
 when you do not want to be talked to should be 
 suppressed. 
 
 The genuine French, German, or Swiss waiter 
 of hotel, restaurant, or cafe is neither too cring- 
 ingly servile, nor too familiar, though always keen 
 and agile, and possessed of a foresight and ini- 
 tiative which anticipates your every want, or at 
 any rate meets it promptly, even if you ask for it 
 in boarding-school French or German. 
 
 There is a keen supervision of food products 
 in France, by governmental inspection and con- 
 trol, and one is certain of what he is getting when 
 he buys his filet at the butcher's, and if he patron- 
 izes hotels and restaurants of an approved class 
 
Hotels and Things 83 
 
 he is equally sure that he is eating beef in his 
 bouille and mutton in his ragout. 
 
 Horse-meat is sold largely, and perhaps certain 
 substitutes for rabbit, but you only buy horse- 
 meat at a horse butcher's, so there is no decep- 
 tion here. You buy horse-meat as horse-meat, 
 and not as beef, in the same way that you buy 
 oleomargarine as oleomargarine, and not as but- 
 ter, and the French law deals hardly with the 
 fraudulent seller of either. 
 
 The law does not interfere with one's private 
 likes and dislikes, and if you choose to make your 
 breakfast off of oysters and Creme Chantilly — 
 as more than one American has been known to do 
 on the Paris boulevards — there is no law to stop 
 you, as there is in Germany, if you want beer and 
 fruit together. Doubtless this is a good law; it 
 sounds reasonable ; but the individual should have 
 sense enough to be able to select a menu from non- 
 antagonistic ingredients. 
 
 Foreigners, by which English and Americans 
 mean people of Continental Europe, know vastly 
 more of the art of catering to the traveller than 
 do Anglo-Saxons. This is the first, last, and in- 
 termediate verse of the litany of good cheer. We 
 may catch up with our Latin and Teuton brothers, 
 or we may not. Time will tell, if we don't expire 
 from the over-eating of pie and muffins before that 
 time arrives. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE GRAND TOUR 
 
 The advantages of touring by automobile are 
 many: to see the country, to travel agreeably, 
 to be independent of railways, and to be an oppor- 
 tunist — that is to say to be able to fly off at a 
 tangent of fifty or a hundred kilometres at a 
 moment's notice, in order to take in some fete or 
 fair, or celebration or pilgrimage. 
 
 ' Le tourisme en automobile " is growing all 
 over the world, but after all it is generally only 
 in or near the great cities and towns that one 
 meets an automobile on the road. They hug the 
 great towns and their neighbouring resorts with 
 astonishing persistency. Of the one thousand au- 
 tomobiles at Nice in the season it is certain that 
 nine-tenths of the number that leave their ga- 
 rages during the day will be found sooner or later 
 on the famous " Corniche," going or coming from 
 Monte Carlo, instead of discovering new tracks 
 for themselves in the charming background of the 
 foot-hills of the Maritime Alps. 
 
 In England, too, the case is not so very differ- 
 ent. There are a thousand " week-enders " in 
 automobiles on the way to Brighton, Southsea, 
 Bournemouth, Scarborough, or Blackpool to ten 
 
 87 
 
88 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 genuine tourists, and this even though England 
 and Wales and Scotland form a snug little tour- 
 ing-grounds with roads nearly, if not always, ex- 
 cellent, and with accommodations — of a sort — 
 always close at hand. 
 
 In Germany there seems to be more genuine 
 touring, in proportion to the number of automo- 
 biles in use, than elsewhere. This may not prove 
 to be wholly the case, as the author judges only 
 from his observations made on well-worn roads. 
 
 Switzerland is either all touring, or not at all ; 
 it is difficult to decide which. At any rate most 
 of the strangers within its frontiers are tourists, 
 and most of the tourists are strangers, and many 
 of them take their automobiles with them in spite 
 of the " feeling " lately exhibited there against 
 stranger automobilists. 
 
 Belgium and Holland, as touring-grounds for 
 automobilists, do not figure to any extent. This 
 is principally from the fact that they are usually, 
 so far as foreign automobilists are concerned, in- 
 cluded in more comprehensive itineraries. They 
 might be known more intimately, to the profit of 
 all who pass through them. They are distinctly 
 countries for leisurely travel, for their areas are 
 so restricted that the automobilist who covers two 
 or three hundred kilometres in the day will hardly 
 remember that he has passed through them. 
 
 Northern Italy forms very nearly as good a 
 touring-ground as France, and the Italian engi- 
 neers have so refined the automobile of native 
 make, and have so fostered automobilism, that 
 accommodations are everywhere good, and the 
 
The Grand Tour 89 
 
 tourist to-day will not lack for supplies of benzina 
 and olio as he did a few years ago. 
 
 The bulk of the automobile traffic between 
 France and Italy enters through the gateway of 
 the Biviera, and, taken all in all, this is by far 
 the easiest, and perhaps the most picturesque, of 
 routes. Alternatives are through Gap and Cuneo, 
 Briancon and Susa, Moutiers and Aosta, or by the 
 Swiss passes, the latter perhaps the most romantic 
 of routes in spite of their difficulties and other 
 objections. 
 
 Automobiling in Spain is a thing of the future, 
 and it will be a big undertaking to make the high- 
 roads, to say nothing of the by-roads, suitable for 
 automobile traffic. The present monarchs' enthu- 
 siasm for the sport may be expected, however, to 
 do wonders. The most that the average tourist 
 into Spain by automobile will want to undertake 
 is perhaps the run to Madrid, which is easily ac- 
 complished, or to Barcelona, which is still easier, 
 or to just step over the border to Feuntarabia or 
 San Sebastian, if he does not think overrefined 
 Biarritz will answer his purpose. 
 
 More than one hardy traveller, before the age 
 of automobiles, and even before the age of steam, 
 has made ' ' the grand tour, ' ' and then come home 
 and written a book about it until there seems 
 hardly any need that a modern traveller should 
 attempt to set down his impressions of the craggy, 
 castled Ehine, the splendid desolation of Pompeii, 
 or the romantic reminders still left in old Pro- 
 vence to tell the story of the days of the trouba- 
 dours and the " Courts of Love." 
 
90 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 It is conceivable that one can see and enjoy all 
 these classic splendours from an automobile, but 
 automobilists from overseas have been known 
 to rush across France in an attempt to break the 
 record between some Channel port and Monte 
 Carlo, or dash down the Rhine and into Switzer- 
 land for a few days, and so on to Rome, and ulti- 
 mately Naples, where ship is taken for home in 
 the western world. 
 
 This is, at any rate, the itinerary of many a 
 self-made millionaire who thinks to enjoy himself 
 between strenuous intervals of international busi- 
 ness affairs. It is a pity he does not go slower 
 and see more. 
 
 The real grand tour, or, as the French call it, 
 the " Circuit Europeen," may well begin at Paris, 
 and descend through Poitou to Biarritz, along the 
 French slope of the Pyrenees, finally skirting the 
 Mediterranean coast by Marseilles and Monte 
 Carlo, thence to Genoa, in Italy, and north to 
 Milan, finally reaching Vienna. This city is gen- 
 erally considered the outpost of comfortable au- 
 tomobile touring, and rightly so, for the difficulty 
 of getting gasoline and oil along the route, and 
 such small necessities as an automobile requires, 
 continually oppresses one, and dampens his en- 
 thusiasm for the beauties of nature, the fascina- 
 tion of historic shrines, or the worship of art, the 
 three chief things for which the most of us travel, 
 unless we be mere vagabonds, and journey about 
 for the sheer love of being on the move. From 
 Vienna to Prague, to Breslau, to Berlin, Hanover, 
 and Cologne, and finally to Paris via Reims fin- 
 
The Grand Tour 91 
 
 ishes the " circuit," which for variety and excel- 
 lence of the roads cannot elsewhere be equalled. 
 
 This, or something very near to it, would be the 
 very best possible course for a series of reliability 
 trials, and certainly nothing quite so suitable or 
 enjoyable for the participants could otherwise be 
 found. It is much better than a mere pegging 
 away round and round a two hundred and fifty 
 kilometre circuit, as some trials and races have 
 been run. In all the distance is something like 
 five thousand kilometres, which easily divides it- 
 self into stages of two hundred kilometres daily, 
 and gives one an enjoyable twenty-five days or a 
 month of travel, which, in all its illuminating 
 variety, is far and away ahead of the benefits our 
 forefathers derived from the box seat of a dili- 
 gence or a post-chaise. 
 
 On this trip one runs the whole gamut of the 
 European climate, and eats the food of Paris, of 
 the Midi, of Italy, Austria, and Germany, and 
 wonders why it is that he likes the last one par- 
 taken of the best. Given a faultlessly running 
 automobile (and there are many to-day which can 
 do the work under these conditions) and no tire 
 troubles, and one could hardly improve upon the 
 poetry of motion which enables one to eat up the 
 long silent stretches of roadway in La Beauce or 
 the Landes, to climb the gentle slopes skirting 
 the Pyrenees, or the ruder ones of Northern 
 Italy, until finally he makes that bee-line across 
 half of Europe, from Berlin to Paris. One's im- 
 pressions of places when touring en automobile 
 are apt to be hazy; like those of the energetic 
 
92 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 American who, when asked if he had been to 
 Rome, replied, ' ' Why, yes ; that 's where I bought 
 my panama (sic) hat! " 
 
 Such a ' ' grand tour ' ' as outlined by the ' ' Cir- 
 cuit Europeen " presents a variety which it is 
 impossible to equal. It is a tour which embraces 
 country widely differing in characteristics — one 
 which takes in both the long, broad, ribbon-like 
 roads of Central France, flanked by meadows, 
 orchards, and farmsteads, and lofty mountains 
 from the peaks of which other peaks capped with 
 glistening snow may be gazed upon, sunlit valleys 
 and sparkling lakes. It is a tour which no man 
 could possibly make without a good machine, and 
 yet it is a tour which, with a good machine, can be 
 considered easy and comparatively inexpensive. 
 
 One does not require a car with excessive horse- 
 power for the trip, though he does need a machine 
 which has been carefully constructed and ad- 
 justed, and above all he must guard carefully that 
 his motor does not overheat, for the hills are stiff 
 for the most part. 
 
 When touring on an itinerary as varied as that 
 here indicated one should have anti-skidding tires 
 on the rear wheels, take descents with care, and, 
 if you be the owner of a powerful machine, do not 
 make that an excuse for rushing up the tortuous, 
 twisting, and frightfully dangerous roads, banked 
 by a cliff on one hand, and by a precipice on the 
 other, which abound in all mountainous regions. 
 
 In taking turnings on such roads also always 
 keep to the right, even if this necessitates slow- 
 ing down at the bends. One never knows what is 
 
The Grand Tour 93 
 
 descending, and in such parts slow-moving carts 
 drawn by cattle are numerous, and generally keep 
 the middle of the road. Most of the automobile 
 accidents which take place on mountain roads are 
 due to this swishing round bends, heedless of 
 what may be on the other side, and in allowing 
 one's machine to gather too much speed on the 
 long descents. This is gospel! There is both 
 sport and pleasure to be had from such an itiner- 
 ary as this, but it is a serious affair, for one has 
 to have a lookout for many things that are un- 
 thought of in a two hours' afternoon suburban 
 promenade. The chauffeur, be he professional or 
 amateur, who brings his automobile back from the 
 Circuit Europeen under its own power is entitled 
 to be called expert. 
 
 As for the value to automobilism of this great 
 trial one can hardly overestimate it. There is 
 no place here for the freak machine or scorching 
 chauffeur, such as one has found in many great 
 events of the past. A great touring contest over 
 such a course would be bound to have important 
 results in many ways. The ordinary class of 
 circuit is a very close approach to a racing-track, 
 with gasoline and tire stations established at many 
 points of the course. On the European Circuit 
 such advantages would be out of the question, 
 everything would have to be taken as it exists 
 naturally. In a sense, such a competition would 
 be a return to the contests organized in the early 
 days of the automobile, the Paris-Bordeaux and 
 Paris-Berlin races, when the driver had ever to 
 be on the alert for unforeseen difficulties unknown 
 
94 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 on the racing-circuit as understood in recent 
 years. 
 
 To follow the Circuit Europeen one traverses 
 France, Italy, Austria, Germany, and Belgium; 
 and one may readily enough, if time and inclina- 
 tion permit, get also a glimpse of Spain, Switzer- 
 land, and Holland. Generally the automobile 
 tourist has confined his trip to France, as prop- 
 erly he might, but, if he would go further afield, 
 the European Circuit, as it has become classically 
 known, is an itinerary vouched for as to its prac- 
 ticability and interest by the allied automobile 
 and touring clubs of many lands. 
 
 France is still far in the lead in the accommo- 
 dation which it offers to the automobilist, but 
 Germany has made great strides of late, and the 
 other frontier boundary states have naturally fol- 
 lowed suit. Roads improvement in Germany has 
 gone on at a wonderful rate of late, due, it is said, 
 to the interest of the German emperor in the 
 automobile industry, both from a sportive and a 
 very practical side. 
 
 From Paris to the Italian frontier one finds the 
 roads uniformly excellent; but, as one enters 
 Italy, they deteriorate somewhat, except along the 
 frontiers, where, curiously enough, nations seem 
 to vie with each other in a careful maintenance 
 of the highroads, which is, of course, laudable. 
 This is probably due to strategic military reasons, 
 but so long as it benefits the automobilist he will 
 not cry out for disarmament. 
 
 The Austrian roads are fair — near Vienna 
 and Prague they are quite good; but they are 
 
The Grand Tour 95 
 
 dangerous with deep ditches and gullies which the 
 French know as canivaux, the Austrians by some 
 unpronounceable name, and the Anglo-Saxon 
 as " thank- you-marms." From Prague to Bres- 
 lau the roads are twisting and turning, and large 
 stones jut here and there above the actual road 
 level. This is a real danger, and a very consider- 
 able annoyance. From Breslau to Potsdam one 
 gets as dusty a bit of road travelling as he will 
 find in all Europe. One side of the road only is 
 stone-rolled, the other apparently being merely 
 loose sand, or some variety of dust which whirls 
 up in clouds and even penetrates one's tightly 
 closed bags and boxes. Hanover, the home of 
 Continental tires, is surrounded in every direction 
 with execrable cobblestones, or whatever the Ger- 
 man equivalent is — " pf laster, ' ' the writer 
 thinks. Probably the makers of the excellent 
 tires for automobiles have nothing to do with the 
 existence of this awful pave, and perhaps if you 
 accused them of it they would repair your tires 
 without charge! The writer does not know. 
 
 From Hanover to Minden the roads improve, 
 and when one actually strikes the trail of Napo- 
 leon he finds the roads better and better. Napo- 
 leon nearly broke up Europe, or saved it — the 
 critics do not agree, but he was the greatest road- 
 builder since the Romans. 
 
 Finally, crossing the Rhine at Cologne and pass- 
 ing through Belgium, one enters France by the 
 valley of the Meuse. 
 
 One of the most remarkable tours was that 
 undertaken in 1904 by Georges Cormier, in a tiny 
 
96 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 six horse-power De Dion Populaire. He left the 
 Automobile Club de France in mid-October for 
 Sens, his first stop, 101 kilometres from Paris. 
 His route thenceforth was by Dijon, Les Rousses, 
 and the Col de la Faucille, whence he reached 
 Geneva, after crossing the Swiss frontier, in a 
 torrential rain. 
 
 From Geneva he reentered France by the Pont 
 de la Caille, then to Aiguebelle and St. Jeanne de 
 Maurienne, where the women wear the most theat- 
 rical picturesque costumes to be seen in France. 
 
 After passing Modane and Lanslebourg he fol- 
 lowed the ascent of Mont Cenis for ten kilometres 
 before he reached the summit of the pass. Within 
 three kilometres he struck the snow-line, and the 
 falling snow continued to the summit. Here he 
 found two douaniers and two gendarmes, who ap- 
 peared glad enough to have the monotony of their 
 lonely vigil relieved by the advent of an automo- 
 bile, quite unlooked for at this season of the year. 
 
 The descent to Susa and the great plain of the 
 Po was long and dangerous. It is sixty-two kilo- 
 metres from Modane to Susa, either up-hill or 
 down-hill, with the descent by far the longest. It 
 is one of the most enjoyable routes between 
 France and Italy. Once on the Italian side the 
 whole climatic aspect of things changes. The 
 towns are highly interesting whenever met with, 
 and the panoramas superb, but there is a marked 
 absence of that active life of the fields, of cattle 
 and human labourers that one remarks in France. 
 
 From Turin the route of this energetic little car 
 passed Plaisance, crossed the Appenines between 
 
The Grand Tour 97 
 
 Bologna and Florence, and so to Venice, or rather 
 to Mestre, where the car was put in a garage while 
 the conductor paid his respects to the Queen of 
 the Adriatic. 
 
 From Mestre the route lay by Udine, Pontebba, 
 Pontafel, Villac Judenburg, and Murzzuschlag, 
 through Styria to Vienna, with the roadways con- 
 tinually falling off in excellence. Here are M. 
 Cormier's own words: "Mais, par exemple, 
 comme routes, Dieu que c'est mauvais! Malgre 
 cela, j'y retournerai; le pays vaut la peine que 
 Von affronte les cailloux, les ornieres, les dos 
 d'dne at les derapages sur le sol mouille, comme 
 je Vai trop trouve, helas! " 
 
 Of the road from Vienna, through Moravia and 
 Bohemia, the tourist wrote also feelingly. " May 
 I never see those miserable countries again," he 
 said. Things must have improved in the last two 
 or three years, but the cause of the little De 
 Dion's troubles was the frequent recurrence of 
 culverts or canivaux across the road. Five hun- 
 dred in one day nearly did for the little De Dion, 
 or would have done so' had not it been carefully 
 driven. 
 
 From Prague the German frontier was crossed 
 at Zinnwalo, a tiny hamlet well hidden on a moun- 
 tain-top, beyond which is a descent of fifty kilo- 
 metres to Dresden. From Dresden to Berlin the 
 way lay over delightful forest roads, little given 
 to traffic, and most enjoyable at any season of 
 the year, unless there be snow upon the ground. 
 
 From Berlin the route was by Magdebourg, 
 Hanover, Munster, and Wesel, and Holland was 
 
98 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 entered at Beek, a little village ten kilometres 
 from Nymegen. At Nymegen the Waal was 
 crossed by a steam ferry-boat, and at Arnhem the 
 Rhine was passed by a bridge of boats, a surviv- 
 ing relic in Continental Europe still frequently to 
 be found, as at Wesel and Dusseldorf in Germany, 
 and even in Italy, near Ferrara on the Po. 
 
 Utrecht came next, then Amsterdam — " a 
 little tour of Holland," as the De Dion's conduc- 
 tor put it. In the suburbs of the large Dutch 
 towns, notably Utrecht, one makes his way 
 through miles and miles of garden walls, half- 
 hiding coquettish villas. The surface of the roads 
 here is formed of a peculiar variety of paving 
 that makes them beloved of automobilists, it being 
 of small brick placed edgewise, and very agree- 
 able to ride and drive upon. 
 
 Prom Utrecht the route was more or less direct 
 to Antwerp. At the Belgian frontier acquaint- 
 ance was made with that horrible granite-block 
 road-bed, for which Belgium is notorious. After 
 Antwerp, Brussels, then forty-five kilometres of 
 road even worse — if possible — than that which 
 had gone before. (The Belgian chauffeurs call 
 that portion of the route between Brussels and 
 Gemblout a disgrace to Belgium.) The French 
 frontier was gained, through Namur, at Rocroi, 
 and Paris reached, via Meaux, thirty-nine days 
 after the capital had previously been quitted. 
 
 This was probably the most remarkable 
 " grand tour " which had been made up to that 
 time, and it was done with a little six horse-power 
 car, which suffered no accidents save those that 
 
The Grand Tour 
 
 99 
 
 one is likely to meet with in an afternoon's prom- 
 enade. The automobile itself weighed, with its 
 baggage and accessories, practically six hundred 
 kilos, and with its two passengers 760 kilos. The 
 distance covered was 4,496 kilometres. 
 
 LOFC. 
 
PAI3LTII 
 
 TOl/fcING IN f RANGE 
 


CHAPTER I 
 
 DOWN THROUGH TOURAINE : PARIS TO BORDEAUX 
 
 As old residents of Paris we, like other auto- 
 mobilists, had come to dread the twenty-five or 
 thirty kilometres which lead from town out 
 through Choisy-le-Roi and Villeneuve St. Georges, 
 at which point the road begins to improve, and the 
 execrable suburban Paris pavement, second to 
 nothing for real vileness, except that of Belgium, 
 is practically left behind, all but occasional bits 
 through the towns. 
 
 At any rate, since our automobile horse was 
 mating his head off in the garage at St. Germain, 
 ve decided on one bright May morning to conduct 
 him forthwith by as comfortable a road as might 
 be found from St. Germain around to Choisy-le- 
 Roi. 
 
 Getting across Paris is one of the dreaded 
 things of life. For the traveller by train who, 
 fleeing from the fogs of London, as he periodically 
 does in droves from November to February of 
 each year, desires to make the south-bound con- 
 nection at the Gare de Lyon, it is something of 
 a problem. He may board the " Ceinture," with 
 a distrust the whole while that his train may not 
 make it in time, or he may go by cab, provided 
 
 103 
 
104 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 he will run the risk of some of his numerous im- 
 pedimenta being left behind, for — speak it lightly 
 . — the Englishman is still found who travels with 
 his bath-tub, though, if he is at all progressive, 
 it may be a collapsible india-rubber affair which 
 you blow up like the tires of an automobile. 
 
 For the automobilist there is the same dread 
 and fear. To avoid this one has simply to make 
 his way carefully from St. Germain, via Port 
 Marly, or Marly-Bailly, to St. Cyr (where is 
 the great military school), to Versailles, thence 
 to Choisy-le-Eoi via the Route Nationale which 
 passes to the south of Sceaux. The route is not, 
 perhaps, the shortest, and it takes something of 
 the skill of the old pathfinders to worry it out, 
 but it absolutely avoids the pavements between 
 St. Germain and Versailles and equally avoids the 
 drive through Paris with its attendant responsi- 
 bilities. 
 
 The automobilist, once clear of Paris, has only 
 to think of the open road. There will be little to 
 bother him now, save care in negotiating the oft- 
 times narrow, awkward turnings of an occasional 
 small town where, if it is market-day, untold dis- 
 aster may await him if he does not look sharp. 
 
 On the occasion of our flight south, nothing on 
 the whole journey happened to give us any con- 
 cern, save at Pithiviers, where a market-wagon 
 with a staid old farm-horse — who did not mean 
 any harm — charged us and lifted off the right 
 mud-guard, necessitating an hour's work or more 
 at the blacksmith's to straighten it out again. 
 
 At any rate, we had covered a trifle over a 
 

104 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 he will run the risk of some of his numerous im- 
 pedimenta being left behind, for — speak it lightly 
 . — the Englishman is still found who travels with 
 his bath-tub, though, if he is at all progressive, 
 it may be a collapsible india-rubber affair which 
 you blow up like the tires of an automobile. 
 
 For the automobilist there is the same dread 
 and fear. To avoid this one has simply to make 
 his way carefully from St. Germain, via Port 
 Marly, or Marly-Bailly, to St. Cyr (where is 
 the great military school), to Versailles, thence 
 to Choisy-le-Eoi via the Route Nationale which 
 passes to the south of Sceaux. The route is not, 
 perhaps, the shortest, and it takes something of 
 the skill of the old pathfinders to worry it out, 
 but it absolutely avoids the pavements between 
 St. (^MQM ^>.a waysi^j gqyffly avo ids the 
 
 drive*TnTougn Faris with its attendant responsi- 
 
 is, has only 
 open road. There will be little to 
 \ r e care in negotiating the oft- 
 w, awkward turnings of an occasional 
 where, if it is market-day, untold dis- 
 ■..-<} await him if he does not look sharp. 
 e occasion of our flight south, nothing on 
 the -mrney happened to give us any con- 
 
 cern . Pi thiviers, where a market-wagon 
 
 witli i farm-horse — who did not mean 
 
 any ha; <d us and lifted off the right 
 
 mud-gua ug an hour's work or more 
 
 • straighten it out again. 
 f covered a trifle over a 
 
Paris to Bordeaux 105 
 
 hundred kilometres from Paris, and that was 
 something. We lunched well at the Hotel de la 
 Poste, and sent off to city-bound friends in the 
 capital samples of the lark patties for which the 
 town is famous. 
 
 Nearly every town in France has its specialty; 
 Pithiviers its pate des allouettes; Montelimar its 
 nougat; Axat its mousserons; Perigueux its 
 truffes, and Tours its rillettes. When one buys 
 them away from the land of their birth he often 
 buys dross, hence it is a real kindness to send 
 back eatable souvenirs of one 's round, much more 
 kind than would be the tawdry jugs and plates 
 emblazoned in lurid colours, or white wood nap- 
 kin-rings and card-cases, usually gathered in as 
 souvenirs. 
 
 It is forty-two kilometres to Orleans, one of the 
 most historic and, at the same time, one of the 
 most uninteresting cities in France, a place 
 wholly without local dignity and distinction. Its 
 hotels, cafes, and shops are only second-rate for 
 a place of its rank, and the manners and customs 
 of its people but weak imitations of those of Paris. 
 You can get anything you may need in the auto- 
 mobile line most capably attended to, and you 
 can be housed and fed comfortably enough in 
 either of the two leading hotels r but there is noth- 
 ing inspiring or even satisfying about it, as we 
 knew from a half-dozen previous occasions. 
 
 We slept that night beneath the frowning don- 
 jon walls of Beaugency's L'Ecu de Bretagne, for 
 something less than six francs apiece for dinner, 
 lodging, and morning coffee, and did not regret 
 
106 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 in the least the twenty-five kilometres we had put 
 between us and Orleans. 
 
 At one time it was undecided whether we should 
 come on to Beaugency, or put in at Meung, the 
 attraction of the latter place being, for the senti- 
 mentalist, that it is the scene of the opening pages 
 of Dumas 's " Trois Mousquetaires, " and, in an 
 earlier day, the cradle of Jehan de Meung, the 
 author of the " Roman de la Rose." No evi- 
 dences of Dumas 's " Franc Meunier " remained, 
 and, as there was no inn with as romantic a name 
 as that at Beaugency, we kept on another seven 
 kilometres. 
 
 We had made it a rule, while on the trip, not 
 to sleep in a large town when we could do other- 
 wise, and that is why Orleans and Blois and Bor- 
 deaux are mere guide-posts in our itinerary. 
 
 From Beaugency to Blois is thirty odd kilo- 
 metres only, along the flat, national highway, with 
 glimpses of the broad, shining ribbon of the Loire 
 here and there gleaming through the trees. 
 
 Blois is the gateway of the chateaux country; 
 a score of them are within a day's compass by 
 road or rail; but their delights are worthy of a 
 volume, so they are only suggested here. 
 
 The chateaux of Blois, Chambord, Cheverny, 
 Amboise, Chaumont, Chenonceaux, Loches, Azay 
 le Rideau, Luynes, and Langeais, at any rate, 
 must be included in even a hurried itinerary, and 
 so we paid a hasty visit to them all in the order 
 named, and renewed our acquaintance with their 
 artistic charms and their historical memories of 
 the days of Francois and the Renaissance. For 
 
Paris to. Bordeaux 107 
 
 the tourist the chateaux country of the Loire has 
 no beginning and no end. It is a sort of circular 
 track encompassing both banks of the Loire, and 
 is, moreover, a thing apart from any other topo- 
 graphical division of France. 
 
 Its luxuriant life, its splendidly picturesque 
 historical monuments, and the appealing interest 
 of its sunny landscape, throughout the length and 
 breadth of old Touraine, are unique pages from a 
 volume of historical and romantic lore which is 
 unequalled elsewhere in all the world. 
 
 The climate, too, combines most of the gentle 
 influences of the southland, with a certain brisk- 
 ness and clearness of atmosphere usually found 
 in the north. 
 
 By road the Loire valley forms a magnificent 
 promenade; by rail, even, one can keep in close 
 and constant touch with its whole length; while, 
 if one has not the time or inclination to traverse 
 its entire course, there is always the delightful 
 " tour from town," by which one can leave the 
 Quai d 'Orsay by the Orleans line at a comfortable 
 morning hour and, before lunch-time, be in the 
 midst of the splendour and plenty of Touraine 
 and its chateaux. 
 
 We made our headquarters at Blois, and again 
 at Tours, for three days each, and we explored 
 the chateaux country, and some other more hum- 
 ble outlying regions, to our hearts' content. 
 
 Blois is tourist-ridden; its hotels are partly of 
 the tourist order, and its shopkeepers will sell 
 you " American form " shoes and u best Eng- 
 lish " hats. It is really too bad, for the over- 
 
 
108 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 powering splendours of the chateau, the quaint 
 old Renaissance house-fronts, the streets of stairs, 
 and the exceedingly picturesque and lively con- 
 gregation of countryside peasants on a market- 
 day would make it a delightful artists' sketching- 
 ground were one not crowded out by " bounders " 
 in bowler hats and others of the genus tripper. 
 
 The Hotel d'Angleterre et de Chambord is good, 
 well-conducted, and well-placed, but it is as un- 
 sympathetically disposed an hostelry as one is 
 likely to find. Just why this is so is inexplicable, 
 unless it be that it is a frankly tourist hotel. 
 
 At Tours we did much better. The praises of 
 the Hotel de l'Univers are many; they have been 
 sung by most latter-day travellers from Henry 
 James down ; and the Automobile Club de France 
 has bestowed its recommendation upon it — which 
 it deserves. For all this one is not wholly at his 
 ease here. We remembered that on one occasion, 
 when we had descended before its hospitable 
 doors, travel-worn and weary, we had been pained 
 to find a sort of full-dress dinner going on where 
 we expected to find an ordinary table d'hote. For 
 tins reason alone we passed the hotel by, and 
 hunted out the quaintly named Hotel du Crois- 
 sant, in a dimly lighted little back street, indicated 
 by a flaring crescent of electric lights over its 
 porte-cochere. 
 
 We drove our automobile more or less noisily 
 inside the little flagged courtyard, woke up two 
 dozing cats, who were lying full-length before us, 
 and disturbed a round dozen of sleek French com- 
 mercial travellers at their evening meal. 
 

Paris to. Bordeaux 109 
 
 They treated us remarkably well at Tours 's 
 Hotel du Croissant. " Follow the commis-voy- 
 ageur in France and dine well (and cheaply) " 
 might readily be the motto of all travellers in 
 France. The bountiful fare, the local colour, the 
 hearty greeting, and equally hearty farewell of 
 the patronne, and the geniality of the whole per- 
 sonnel gave us an exceedingly good impression 
 of the contrast between the tourist hotel of Blois 
 and the maison bourgeois of Tours, always to the 
 advantage of the latter. 
 
 The banks of the Loire immediately below 
 Tours grow the only grape in France — perhaps 
 in all the world — which is able to produce a satis- 
 factory substitute for champagne. 
 
 Vineyard after vineyard line the banks for 
 miles on either side and give great crops of the 
 celebrated vin mosseaux, the most of which finds 
 its way to Paris, to be sold by second-rate dealers 
 as the " vrai vin de champagne." There's no 
 reason why it shouldn't be sold on its own merits ; 
 it is quite good enough ; but commerce bows down 
 to American millionaires, English dukes, and the 
 German emperor, and the king of wines of to-day 
 must be labelled champagne. 
 
 From Tours to Niort is 170 kilometres, and we 
 stopped not on the way except to admire some 
 particularly entrancing view, to buy gasoline for 
 the automobile, and for lunch at Poitiers. 
 
 The whole aspect of things was changing ; there 
 was a breath of the south already in the air ; and 
 there was an unspeakable tendency on the part of 
 everybody to go to sleep after the midday meal. 
 
110 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 We passed Chatellerault and its quaint old 
 turreted and bastioned bridge at just the hour of 
 noon, and were tempted to stop, for we had just 
 heard of the latest thing in the way of a hotel 
 which was brand-new, with steam heat, and hot 
 and cold water, electric lights, baths, etc. Noth- 
 ing was said about the bill of fare, though no 
 doubt it was equally excellent. The combination 
 didn't appeal, however; we were out after nov- 
 elty and local colour, and so we rolled on and into 
 Poitiers 's Hotel de l'Europe and lunched well in 
 the most charmingly cool garden-environed din- 
 ing-room that it were possible to conceive. We 
 had made a wise choice, though on a hit-or-miss 
 formula, and we were content. 
 
 Here at least the dim echo of the rustle and 
 bustle of Paris, which drifts down the valley of 
 the Loire from Orleans to the sea, was left be- 
 hind; a whole new chromatic scale was being 
 built up. No one hurried or rushed about, and one 
 drank a " tilleuil " after dejeuner, instead of cof- 
 fee, with the result that he got sleepy forthwith. 
 
 There are five magnificent churches at Poitiers, 
 dating from Roman and mediaeval times, but we 
 saw not one of them as we passed through the 
 town. Again we had decided we were out after 
 local manners and customs, and, for the moment, 
 churches were not in the category of our demands. 
 
 We had only faint glimmerings as to where 
 Niort was, or what it stood for, but we were bound 
 thither for the night. We left Poitiers in mid- 
 afternoon, gaily enough, but within five kilo- 
 metres we had stopped dead. The sparking of 
 
Paris to. Bordeaux 111 
 
 course ; nothing else would diagnose the case ! It 
 took three hours of almost constant cranking of 
 the unruly iron monster before the automobile 
 could be made to start again. 
 
 Once started, the automobile ran but fitfully the 
 seventy-five kilometres to Niort, the whole party, 
 with fear and trembling, scarcely daring to turn 
 sidewise to regard the landscape, or take an 
 extra breath. There was no assistance to be had 
 this side of Niort, and should the sparking ar- 
 rangements go back on us again, and we were not 
 able to start, there was no hope of being towed 
 in at the back of a sturdy farm-horse; the dis- 
 tance was too great. Once we thought we had 
 nearly lost it again, but before we had actually 
 lost our momentum the thing recovered itself, 
 and we ran fearingly down the broad avenue into 
 Niort, and asked anxiously as to whether there 
 might be a grand maison des automobiles in the 
 town. 
 
 Indeed there was, and in the twinkling of an 
 eye we had shunted our poor lame duck into the 
 courtyard of a workshop which gave employment 
 to something like seventy-five hands, all engaged 
 in the manufacture of automobiles which were ex- 
 ported to the ends of the earth. 
 
 Here was help surely. Nothing could be too 
 great or too small for an establishment like this 
 to undertake, and so we left the machine with an 
 easy heart and hunted out the excellent Hotel de 
 France — the best hotel of its class between Paris 
 and Bordeaux. We dined sumptuously on all the 
 good things of the north and the south, to say 
 
112 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 nothing of fresh sardines from La Rochelle, not 
 far distant, and we gave not a thought to the 
 automobile again that night, but strolled on the 
 quay by the little river Sevre-Niortaise, and 
 watched the moon rise over the old chateau don- 
 jon, and heard the rooks caw, and saw them circle 
 and swing around its battlement in a final night- 
 call before they went to rest. It was all very 
 idyllic and peaceful, although Niort is, as may be 
 inferred, an important centre for many things. 
 
 We had planned to be on the road again by 
 eight the next morning, but, on arrival at the 
 garage, or more correctly stated, the usine, where 
 we had left the automobile the night before, we 
 found it the centre of a curious group who were 
 speculating — and had been since six o 'clock that 
 morning — as to what might be the particular 
 new variety of disease that had attacked its vital 
 parts so seriously that it still refused to go. 
 
 It was twelve o'clock, high noon, before it was 
 discovered — with the aid of the electrician from 
 the electric light works — that two tiny ends of 
 copper wire, inside the coil (which a Frenchman 
 calls a bobine), had become unsoldered, and only 
 when by chance they rattled into contact would 
 the sparking arrangements work as they ought. 
 
 This was something new for all concerned. 
 None of us will be likely to be caught that way 
 again. The cost was most moderate. It was not 
 the automobile owner who paid for the experience 
 this time, a thing which absolutely could not have 
 happened outside of France. Pretty much the 
 whole establishment had had a hand in the job, 
 
Paris to Bordeaux 113 
 
 and, if the service had been paid for according to 
 the time spent, it might have cost anything the 
 establishment might have chosen to charge. 
 
 Ten francs paid the bill, and we went on our 
 way rejoicing, after having partaken of a lunch, 
 as excellent as the dinner we had eaten the night 
 before, at the Hotel de France. 
 
 La Kochelle, the city of the Huguenots, and 
 later of Richelieu, was reached just as the setting 
 sun was slanting its red and gold over the pic- 
 turesque old port and the Tour de Richelieu. If 
 one really wants to know what it looked like, let 
 him hunt up Petit jean's " Port de la Rochelle " 
 in the Musee de Luxembourg at Paris. Words 
 fail utterly to describe the beauty and magnifi- 
 cence of this hitherto unoverworked artists' 
 sketching-ground. 
 
 We threaded our way easily enough through the 
 old sentinel gateway spanning the main street, 
 lined with quaint old arcaded, Spanish-looking 
 houses, and drew up abreast of the somewhat 
 humble-looking Hotel du Commerce, on the Place 
 d'Armes, opposite the ugly little squat cathedral, 
 once wedded to the haughty Richelieu himself. 
 
 The Hotel du Commerce at La Rochelle is the 
 equal of the Hotel de France at Niort, and has the 
 added attraction of a glass-covered courtyard, 
 where you may take your coffee and watch the 
 household cats amusing themselves with the gold- 
 fish in the pool of the fountain which plays cool- 
 ingly in the centre. 
 
 La Rochelle and its Hotel du Commerce are too 
 good to be treated lightly or abruptly by any 
 
114 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 writer; but, for fear they may both become 
 spoiled, no more shall be said here except to reit- 
 erate that they are both unapproachable in quaint- 
 ness, comfort, and charm by anything yet found 
 by the writer in four years of almost constant 
 wanderings by road and rail up and down France. 
 
 Offshore four kilometres is the He de Re, an 
 isle thirty kilometres long, where the inhabitants 
 wear the picturesque coiffe and costume which 
 have not become contaminated with Paris fash- 
 ions. The one thing to criticize is the backward- 
 ness of the lives of the good folk of the isle and 
 their enormous pieds plats. 
 
 Northward from La Rochelle is a region, almost 
 within sight of the He de Re, where the women 
 wear the most highly theatrical costumes to be 
 seen anywhere in modern France, not even except- 
 ing the peasants of Brittany. The chief distinc- 
 tion of the costume is a sort of tiny twisted ban- 
 danna over the head, a tight-fitting or folded fichu, 
 a short ballet sort of a skirt, black stockings, and 
 a gaily bordered apron and dainty, high-heeled, 
 tiny shoes — in strong contrast in size and form 
 to the ungainly feet of the women of the He de 
 Re. 
 
 We left La Rochelle with real regret, passed 
 the fortified town of Rochefort without a stop, 
 and, in something over two hours, reeled off some 
 sixty-eight kilometres of sandy, marshy roadway 
 to Saintes. 
 
 Saintes is noted for many things : its antiquity, 
 its religious history, its Roman remains, and the 
 geniality of its toddling old dealer in sewing- 
 
Paris to Bordeaux 115 
 
 machines (of American make, of course), who, as 
 a " side " line, sells gasoline and oil at consider- 
 ably under the prevailing rates elsewhere. Truly 
 we were in the ideal touring-ground for automo- 
 bilists. 
 
 To Cognac is sixty-seven kilometres. If we had 
 ever known that Cognac was the name of a town 
 we had forgotten it, for we had, for the moment, 
 at any rate, thought it the name of the region 
 where were gathered the grapes from which 
 cognac was made. 
 
 Cognac is famous for the subtle spirit which is 
 sold the world over under that name, and from 
 the fact that it was the birthplace of the art-loving 
 monarch, Francois Premier. 
 
 For these two reasons, and for the bountiful 
 lunch of the Hotel d 'Orleans, and incidentally for 
 the very bad cognac which we got at a cafe whose 
 name is really and truly forgotten, Cognac is 
 writ large in our note-books. 
 
 The house where was born Frangois Premier is 
 easily found, sitting by the river's bank. To-day 
 it is the counting-house of one of the great brandy 
 shippers whose name is current the world over. 
 Its associations have changed considerably, and 
 where once the new art instincts were born, in 
 the person of the gallant Frangois, is now the 
 cradle of commercialism. 
 
 The question as to what constitutes good brandy 
 has ever been a favourite one among possessors 
 of a little knowledge. The same class has also 
 been known to state that there is no good brandy 
 nowadays, no vrai cognac. This is a mistake, but 
 
116 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 perhaps a natural one, as the cognac district in 
 the Charente was almost wholly devastated in 
 the phylloxera ravages of half a century ago. 
 
 Things have changed, however, and there is 
 as good cognac to-day as there ever was, though 
 there is undoubtedly much more poor stuff being 
 sold. 
 
 Down through the heart of the cognac region 
 we sped, through Blaye to Bordeaux and all the 
 busy traffic of its port. 
 
 Bordeaux is attractive to the automobilist in 
 that one enters, from any direction, by wide, 
 broad avenues. It is one of the great provincial 
 capitals of France, a great gateway through 
 which much of the intercourse with the outside 
 world goes on. 
 
 It is not so cosmopolitan as Marseilles, nor so 
 historically or architecturally interesting as 
 Rouen, but it is the very ideal of an opulent and 
 well-conducted city, where one does not need to 
 await the arrival of the daily papers from Paris 
 in order to know what has happened during the 
 last round of the clock. 
 
 Hotels? The town is full of them! You may 
 put up your automobile in the garage of the 
 Hotel du Chapon-Fin, along with forty others, 
 and you yourself will be well cared for, according 
 to city standards, for twelve or fifteen francs a 
 day, — which is not dear. On the other hand, 
 Bordeaux possesses second-class hotels where, all 
 found, you may sleep and eat for the modest sum 
 of seven francs a day. One of these is the Hotel 
 Frangais, a somewhat extensive establishment in 
 
Paris to Bordeaux 117 
 
 a tiny back street. It is the cheapest city hotel 
 the writer has found in France. There was no 
 garage at the Hotel Francais, and we were forced 
 to house our machine a block or two away, where, 
 for the moderate sum of two francs, you might 
 leave it twenty-four hours, and get it back washed 
 and rubbed down, while for another fifty centimes 
 they would clean the brass work, — a nasty job 
 well worth the price. Yes ! Bordeaux is pleasant 
 for the automobilist ! 
 
 Two things the stranger, who does not want to 
 go too far back into antiquity, will remark upon 
 at Bordeaux, the exceeding ampleness, up-to-date- 
 ness, and cleanliness of the great open space in 
 front of the Opera, and the imposing and beauti- 
 fully laid out Place des Quinconces, with its senti- 
 nel pillars and its waterside traffic of railway and 
 shipping, blending into a whole which inspired 
 one of the world's greatest pictures of the fever- 
 ish life of modern activity, the painting by Eugene 
 Boudin, known as the " Port de Bordeaux," in 
 the Luxembourg. 
 
 You may find a good low-priced hotel at Bor- 
 deaux, but you pay inflated prices for your re- 
 freshments in the cafes ; a cafe-glace costs fifteen 
 sous and a glace a cafe twenty-five on the terrace 
 of the magnificent establishment opposite the 
 Opera. 
 
<7%e<7?rJZSJV<S6S 
 
 mi&& j»&*~ z£g[£* ' ^&&* 
 
 wgj£m& 
 
 / $ 
 
 no 
 
>-?v* 
 
 .>■'' ; 
 
 ,'fVV 
 
 
 
 
 u 
 
 ft 
 
 I 
 

CHAPTER II 
 
 A LITTLE TOUR IN THE PYRENEES 
 
 We had been touring France en automobile for 
 many months — for business purposes, one might 
 say, and hence had followed no schedule or itiner- 
 ary, but had lingered by the way and made notes, 
 and the artist made sketches, and in general we 
 acquired a knowledge of France and things 
 French that otherwise might not have been our lot. 
 
 The mere name of the Pyrenees had long had 
 a magic sound for us. We had seen them at a dis- 
 tance, from Carcassonne and Toulouse and Pau, 
 when we had made the conventional tour years 
 ago, and had admired them greatly, to the dis- 
 paragement of the Swiss Alps. This may be just, 
 or unjust, but it is recorded here as a fact. 
 
 To climb mountains in an automobile appealed 
 to us as a sport not yet banal or overdone, and 
 since Switzerland — so hospitable to most classes 
 of tourists — was treating automobilists badly 
 just at the time, we thought we would begin by 
 making the itinerary of the " Coupe ties Pyre- 
 nees; " then, if we liked it, we could try the 
 French Alps in Dauphine and Savoie, delightful 
 and little-known French provinces which have all 
 the advantages of Switzerland and few of its dis- 
 
 121 
 
122 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 advantages, inasmuch as the inhabitants of the 
 valley hamlets and mountain towns have not 
 become so commergant as their Swiss brothers. 
 
 In August, 1905, was organized, by La Vie en 
 Grand Air and La Depeche de Toulouse, a great 
 contest for touring automobiles, for an award to 
 be known as the " Coupe des Pyrenees/' 
 
 As a work of art the " Coupe des Pyrenees " 
 is far and away ahead of most " cups " of the 
 sort. It was the work of the sculptor, Ducuing, 
 and the illustration herewith will show some of 
 its charm. The " coupe " itself has disappeared 
 from mortal view, it having been stolen from an 
 automobile exposition in London. 
 
 The trial was intended to develop that type of 
 vehicle best suited to touring, and in every way 
 the event was a great success. The itinerary 
 covered the lovely mountain roads from the Med- 
 iterranean to the Atlantic, and was the immediate 
 inspiration for the author of this book to follow 
 along the same trail. It is one of the most de- 
 lightful excursions to be made in all France, 
 which is saying that it is one of the most delight- 
 ful in all the world. 
 
 We took our departure from Toulouse, as did 
 the participants in this famous trial of the year 
 before. Toulouse, the gay capital of the gay 
 province of old Languedoc, has abounding attrac- 
 tions for the tourist of all tastes, though it is 
 seldom visited by those who, with the first swal- 
 lows of spring-time, wing their way from the re- 
 sorts of the Riviera to Biarritz. 
 
 Toulouse has many historic sights and monu- 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 123 
 
 ments, and a cuisine which is well worth a trip 
 across France. What with truffles and the famous 
 cassoulet and the chapons fins de Toulouse one 
 forgets to speak of anything else on the menu, 
 though the rest will be sufficiently marvellous. 
 
 There are three " leading " hotels in Toulouse 
 catering for the automobile tourist. According to 
 report they are all equally good. We chose the 
 Capoul, on the Square Lafayette, and had no 
 cause to regret it. We dined sumptuously, slept 
 in a great ducal sort of an apartment with a 
 hygienique bedstead (a thing of brass openwork 
 and iron springs) tucked away in one corner, full 
 fifteen paces from the door by which one entered 
 — " Un bon kilometre encore," said the gargon 
 de chambre, facetiously, as he showed us up. It 
 promised airiness, at any rate, and if we were 
 awakened at four in the morning by the extraordi- 
 narily early traffic of the city what did it matter, 
 since automobiles invariably take early to the 
 road. 
 
 It's worth stating here that the cafe au lait at 
 six a. m. at the Hotel Capoul was excellent. Fre- 
 quently hotel coffee in the morning in France 
 (at no matter what hour) is abominable. Usually 
 it is warmed over from the night before. No 
 wonder it is bad ! 
 
 Toulouse delayed us not on this occasion. We 
 had known it of old ; so we started a little before 
 seven on a brilliant September morning, just as 
 the sun was rising over the cathedral towers and 
 strengthening the shadows on the tree-lined boule- 
 vard which leads eastward via Castlemaudry to 
 
124 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 the walled city of Carcassonne, ninety-six kilo- 
 metres away. The road-books say of this route: 
 
 " PI. Roul. puis Ond Tr. Pitt." This freely 
 translated means that the road is at first flat, then 
 rolling and hilly, but very picturesque throughout. 
 Castlemaudry delayed us not a moment, except to 
 extricate ourselves from a troop of unbridled, 
 unhaltered little donkeys being driven to the 
 market-place, where there was a great sale of 
 these gentle little beasts of burden. Pas mechant, 
 these little donkeys, but stubborn, like their breth- 
 ren elsewhere, and it was exceedingly difficult to 
 force our way through two hundred of them, all 
 of whom wiggled their ears at us and stood their 
 ground until their guardians actually came and 
 pushed them to one side. " You can often push 
 a donkey when you can't pull him," they told us, 
 a fact which was most apparent, though unknown 
 to us previously. We arrived at Carcassonne in 
 time for lunch, which we had always supposed 
 was called dejeuner in France, but which we 
 learned was here called diner, the evening meal 
 (at the fashionable hour of eight) being known as 
 souper, though in reality it is a five-course dinner. 
 
 Carcassonne was a disappointment. Imagine a 
 puffed-up little metropolis of twenty-five thousand 
 souls with all the dignity that half a dozen pre- 
 tentious hotels and gaudy cafes can give it; not 
 very clean, nor very well laid out, nor very 
 ancient-looking, nor very picturesque. Where 
 was the Carcassonne of the frowning ramparts, of 
 the gem of a Gothic church, and of the romance 
 and history of which all school-books are filled? 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 125 
 
 " Oh! You mean la Cite/' said the buxoni host- 
 ess of our hotel. (They are always buxoni host- 
 esses in books, but this was one in reality.) Well, 
 yes, we did mean la Cite, if by that name she re- 
 ferred to the old walled town of Carcassonne, 
 la ville la plus curieuse de France, un monument 
 unique au mond. 
 
 It is but a short kilometre to reach la Cite from 
 
 %uSeti^m^caM 
 
 the Ville Basse, as the modern city of Carcassonne 
 is known. Once within the double row of walls, 
 flanked by more than fifty towers, any precon- 
 ceived ideas that one may have had of what it 
 might be like will be dispelled in air. It is the 
 most stupendously theatrical thing yet on top of 
 earth, unless it be the sad and dismal Pompeii or 
 poor rent Les Baux, in Provence. 
 
 The history of this wonder-work cannot be 
 compressed into a few lines. One can merely em- 
 
126 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 phasize its marvellous attractions, so that those 
 who are in the neighbourhood may go and study 
 it all out for themselves. It will be worth whole 
 volumes on history and architecture for the ear- 
 nest student to see these things. Among all the 
 authorities who have proclaimed the magnificent 
 attractions of Carcassonne the words of Viollet-le- 
 Duc are as convincing as any. He says : ' * In no 
 part of Europe is there anything so formidable, 
 nor at the same time so complete, as the eleventh, 
 twelfth, and thirteenth century fortifications of 
 Carcassonne." 
 
 We stayed a full day at Carcassonne, and 
 reached the frowning battlements of the Eglise 
 St. Nazaire, at Beziers, at just two by the clock. 
 This is the hour when all the commis-voyageurs, 
 who may have taken lunch at the Hotel du Nord, 
 are dozing over their cafe and petites verres, and 
 the patron and patronne of the hotel are making 
 preparations for their early afternoon siesta, an 
 attribute of all the Midi of France, as it is of 
 Spain. 
 
 Nothing loath, the kitchen staff, spurred on by 
 the patron (all thoughts of his siesta having van- 
 ished), turned out a most excellent lunch, hors 
 d'ceuvres, fresh sardines, omelette, cotelette 
 d'agneau with pommes paille, delicious grapes, 
 and all you wish of the red or white vin du pays. 
 All for the absurd sum (considering the trouble 
 they were put to) of three francs each. No 
 " doing " the automobilist here; let other trav- 
 ellers make a note of the name ! 
 
 Beziers is altogether one of the most remark- 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 127 
 
 ably disposed large towns of the south of France. 
 Its storied past is lurid enough to please the 
 most bloodthirsty, as is recalled by the history 
 of its fortress-church of St. Nazaire, now the 
 cathedral. For the rest the reader must hunt it 
 out in his guide-book. "We were doing no light- 
 ning tour, but we were of a mind to sleep that 
 night at Perpignan, approximately a hundred 
 kilometres farther on. 
 
 Southward our road turned again, through Nar- 
 bonne, which, both from its history and from its 
 present-day importance, stands out as one of the 
 well-remembered spots in one's itinerary of 
 France. It is full of local colour; its bridge of 
 houses over its river is the delight of the artistic ; 
 its Hotel de Ville and its cathedral are wonders of 
 architectural art; and, altogether, as the ancient 
 capital of an ancient province, one wonders that 
 a seventeenth-century traveller had the right to 
 call it " cette vilaine ville de Narbonne." 
 
 All the way to Perpignan the roads were ter- 
 rifically bad, being cut up into great dusty ruts 
 by many great carts and drays hauling wine-pipes 
 to the railway stations. The traffic is enormous, 
 for it is the wines of Roussillon that are shipped 
 all over France for blending with and fortify- 
 ing the weaker vintages, even those of the Gi- 
 ronde. 
 
 Dusty in dry weather, and chalky mud in wet, 
 are the characteristic faults of this hundred kilo- 
 metres or more of Herault roadway which one 
 must cross to gain the shadow of the Pyrenees. 
 There seems to be no help for it unless cobble- 
 
128 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 stones were to be put down, which would be a cure 
 worse than the disease. 
 
 Perpignan is the most entrancing city between 
 Marseilles and Barcelona. It has many of the 
 characteristics of both, though of only thirty thou- 
 sand inhabitants. The old fortifications, which 
 once gave it an aspect of medievalism, are now 
 (by decree of 1903) being torn down, and only the 
 quaintly picturesque Castillet remains. The rest 
 are — at the present writing — a mere mass of 
 crumbled bricks and mortar, and a real blemish 
 to an otherwise exceedingly attractive, gay little 
 city. The automobile garages are all side by side 
 on a new-made street, on the site of one line of 
 the old fortifications, and are suitable enough 
 when found, but no directions which were given 
 us enabled us to house our machine inside of 
 half an hour's time after we had entered the 
 town. Our hotel, unfortunately, was one of the 
 few that did not have a garage as an adjunct 
 of the establishment. In other respects the Hotel 
 de la Poste was a marvel of up-to-dateness. The 
 sleeping-rooms were of that distinction known in 
 France as hygienique, and the stairways and 
 walls were fire-proof, or looked it. One dined in 
 a great first-floor apartment with a marble floor, 
 and dined well, and there was ice for those who 
 wanted it. (The Americans did, you may be 
 sure.) 
 
 Perpignan is possessed of much history, much 
 character, and much local colour of the tone which 
 artists love, and above all a certain gaiety and 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 129 
 
 brilliancy which one usually associates only with 
 Spain. 
 
 There is what might be called a street of cafes 
 at Perpignan, not far from the Castillet. They 
 are great, splendid establishments, with wide, 
 overhung, awninged terraces, and potted plants 
 and electric lights and gold and tinsel, and mixed 
 drinks and ices and sorbets, and all the epicurean 
 cold things which one may find in the best estab- 
 lishment in Paris. These cafes are side by side 
 and opposite each other, and are as typical of the 
 life of the town as is the Rambla typical of Barce- 
 lona, or the Cannebiere of Marseilles. They are 
 dull enough places in the daytime, but with the 
 hour of the aperitif, which may be anywhere 
 between five and eight in the afternoon, they 
 wake up a bit, then slumber until nine or nine- 
 thirty, when gaiety descends with all its forces 
 until any hour you like in the morning. They 
 won't think of such a thing as turning the lights 
 out on you in the cafes of Perpignan. 
 
 From Perpignan we turned boldly into the cleft 
 road through the valley of the Tet, via Prades 
 and Mont Louis to Bourg-Madame, the frontier 
 town toward Spain, and the only decent route 
 for entering Spain by automobile via the Medi- 
 terranean gateway. 
 
 Bourg-Madame is marked on most maps, but 
 it is all but unknown of itself; no one thinks of 
 going there unless he be touring the Pyrenees, or 
 visiting Andorra, one of the unspoiled corners of 
 Europe, as quaint and unworldly to-day as it ever 
 was; a tiny republic of very, very few square 
 
130 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 kilometres, whose largest city or town, or what- 
 ever you choose to call it, has but five hundred 
 inhabitants. 
 
 If one is swinging round the Pyrenean circle 
 he goes on to Porte, where, at the Auberge 
 Michette, he will learn all that is needful for pene- 
 trating into the unknown darkest spot in Europe. 
 We thought to do the journey " en auto," but 
 on arrival at Porte learned it was not to be 
 thought of. A sure-footed little Pyrenean donkey 
 or mule was the only pathfinder used to the twist- 
 ings and turnings and blind paths of this little 
 mountain republic, where the people speak Span- 
 ish, and religion and law are administrated by the 
 French and Spanish authorities in turn. 
 
 It's a week's travel properly to visit Andorra 
 and view all its wild unworldliness, so the trip is 
 here only suggested. 
 
 We took up our route again, crossing the Col 
 de Puymorans (1,781 metres), and dropped down 
 on Hospitalet, which also is printed in large 
 black letters on the maps, but which contains only 
 148 inhabitants, unless there have been some 
 births and no deaths since this was written. 
 
 From Hospitalet we were going down, down, 
 down all of the time, the valley road of the Ariege, 
 dropping with remarkable precipitation. 
 
 In eighteen kilometres we were at Aix-les- 
 Thermes. The guide-books call it " une jolie 
 petite ville," and no one will dispute it, though 
 it had no charms for us ; we were more interested 
 in routes and roads than in mere watering-places, 
 and so, beyond a stop for gasoline for the motor, 
 
&3 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 131 
 
 not having been able to get any for the last fifty 
 kilometres, still following the valley of the Ariege, 
 we arrived at Foix for lunch, at the most excellent 
 Hotel Benoit, just as the ice was being brought 
 on the table and the hors d'ceuvres were being por- 
 tioned out. 
 
 Taken all in all, Foix was one of the most de- 
 lightful towns we found in all the Pyrenean itin- 
 erary. It is quite the most daintily and pictur- 
 esquely environed town imaginable, its triple-tow- 
 ered chateau and its rocher looming high above 
 all, and sounding a dominant note which carries 
 one back to the days when Gaston Phoebus was the 
 seigneur of Foix. 
 
 We planned to spend the night at the Hotel de 
 France at St. Girons, for it was marked down in 
 the Guide-Michelin as being fitted with those 
 modern refinements of travel which most of us 
 appreciate, and there was furthermore a garage 
 and a fosse, or inspection pit. We had need of the 
 latter, for something was going wrong beneath 
 the body of our machine which manifestly re- 
 quired being attended to without delay. 
 
 We took the long way around, twenty kilometres 
 more out of our direct road, for novelty of driv- 
 ing our automobile through the Grotto of Mas- 
 D'Azil. We had been through grottoes before, 
 the Grotte de Han in the north of France, the 
 caves where they ripen Rochefort cheeses, the 
 Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, and some others, 
 but we had never expected to drive an automobile 
 through one. The Grotte de Mas-D'Azil is much 
 like other dark, damp holes elsewhere, and the 
 
132 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 only novelty is the magnificent road which pierces 
 it. The sensation of travelling over this road is 
 most weird, and it was well worth the trouble of 
 making the experiment. 
 
 From St. Girons to St. Gaudens and Montrejeau 
 is sixty odd kilometres. Nothing happened on 
 the way except that the road was literally 
 thronged with great slow-moving ox-teams trans- 
 porting great logs down the mountainside to the 
 sawmills in the lower valley. 
 
 Montrejeau was a surprise and a disappoint- 
 ment. It was a surprise that we should find such 
 a winsome little hill-town, and such a very ex- 
 cellent hotel as was the Grand Hotel du Pare, 
 which takes its name from a tiny hanging garden 
 at the rear; but we were disappointed in that for 
 a mortal half-hour we tried to make our usually 
 willing automobile climb up on to the plateau 
 upon which the town sits. Three separate roads 
 we tried, each three separate times, but climb the 
 machine would not. No one knew why, the writer 
 least of all, and he had been chauffeur and driver 
 of that automobile for many long months, and 
 had never found a hill, great or small, that it 
 would not climb. Automobiles are capricious 
 things, like women, and sometimes they will and 
 sometimes they will not. At last, after the natives 
 had had sufficient amusement, and had told us that 
 they had seen many an automobile party go with- 
 out lunch because they could not get up that steep 
 little kilometre, we found a sort of back-door 
 entrance which looked easy, and we went up like 
 the proverbial bird. It was not the main road 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 133 
 
 into town, and it took some finding. The writer 
 hopes that others who pass this way will be as 
 successful. Montrejeau, with its three steep 
 streets, its excellent hotel (when you finally got 
 in touch with it), its old-world market-house, and 
 its trim little cafe-bordered square, will be long 
 remembered. 
 
 We debated long as to whether we should drop 
 down to Luchon, and come around by Bagnerres- 
 de-Bigorre or not, but since they were likely to be 
 full of " five-o '-dockers " at this season we 
 thought the better of it, and left them entirely out 
 of our itinerary. When one wants it he can get 
 the same sort of conventionality at Ermenonville, 
 and need not go so far afield to find it. 
 
 We arrived at Tarbes, at the Hotel des Am- 
 bassadeurs, late on Sunday afternoon. The 
 name of the hotel augured well for good cheer, 
 and on the whole we found it satisfactory enough. 
 One of its most appealing features is the fact that 
 the kitchens and the garage were once a convent. 
 It has undergone a considerable change since then, 
 but it lent a sort of glamour to things to know that 
 you were stabling your automobile in such a place. 
 
 Tarbes is a great busy, overgrown, unlovely 
 big town, which flounders under the questionable 
 dignities of being a station of an army corps and 
 a prefecture. Bureaucracy and Officialdom are 
 writ large all over everything, and a poor mortal 
 without a handle to his name, or a ribbon in his 
 buttonhole, is looked upon as a sort of outcast 
 when he enters a cafe, and accordingly he waits 
 a long time to be served, 
 
134 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 We got out of Tarbes at a tres bonne heure the 
 next morning without a regret, headed for Pau. 
 All of us had always had an affection for Pau, 
 because, in a way, we admired old Henri Quatre, 
 even his rascality. 
 
 We found Pau, too, a great, overgrown, fussy 
 town, a bit more delightfully environed than 
 Tarbes, but still not at all what we had pictured 
 it. We knew it to be a tourist resort, but we were 
 hardly prepared for the tea-shops and the 
 ' ' bars ' ' and the papers — in English and 
 " American," as a local newsdealer told us when 
 we went to him to buy the inevitable picture post- 
 cards. 
 
 We found out, too, that Pau has long held a 
 unique position as the leading hunting centre on 
 the Continent. It costs sixty francs a day for the 
 hire of a saddle-horse, and from 350 francs to 
 four hundred francs for the month — certainly 
 rather dear. There are, as a rule, from thirty to 
 forty hunters available for hire each year, but 
 many of them are reserved by old stagers. Of 
 privately owned horses following the hunt, the 
 number would usually somewhat exceed two hun- 
 dred. The hounds meet three times a week, and 
 the municipality of Pau shows its appreciation 
 of the good that hunting does for the Pyrenees 
 resort by voting a subsidy of five thousand francs. 
 
 What history and romance there is about Pau 
 is pretty well blotted out by twentieth-century 
 snobbism, it would seem. 
 
 One learns that Pau was the seat of a chateau 
 of the princes of Beam as early as the tenth cen- 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 135 
 
 tury. Its great splendour and importance only 
 came with the establishment here of the residence 
 of Gaston IV., Comte de Foix, the usurper of the 
 throne of Navarre in 1464. In his train came a 
 parliament, a university, an academy, and a mint. 
 Finally came the birth of Henri Quatre, and one 
 may yet see the great turtle-shell used by the 
 afterwards gay monarch for a cradle. These were 
 gay times for Pau, and the same gaiety, though 
 of a forced nature, exists to-day with the throngs 
 of English and Americans who are trying hard 
 to make of it a social resort. May they not suc- 
 ceed. One thing they have done is to raise prices 
 for everything to everybody. This is bad enough 
 to begin with, and so with this parting observa- 
 tion Pau is crossed off the list. 
 
 There are eight highroads which cross the fron- 
 tier passes from France into Spain, and two lines 
 of railway, one along the border of the Atlantic 
 and Hendaye, and the other following the Medi- 
 terranean coast to Barcelona. 
 
 "II n'y a plus de Pyrenees," we were told as 
 we were leaving Pau. It seemed that news had 
 just been received that in fourteen hours a Span- 
 ish aeronaut had covered the 730 kilometres from 
 Pau to Grenada " comme les oiseaax." Truly, 
 after this, there are no more frontiers. 
 
 After Pau our route led to Mauleon (seventy- 
 two kilometres) via Oloron, straight across 
 Beam, where the peasants are still of that pic- 
 turesque mien which one so seldom sees out of 
 the comic-opera chorus. One reads that the 
 Bearnais are " irascible, jealous, and spirituel." 
 
136 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 This is some one's opinion of times long passed, 
 but certainly we found nothing of the kind ; noth- 
 ing indeed different from all the folk of the South 
 who dawdle at their work and spend most of their 
 leisure energetically dancing or eating. 
 
 Mauleon, known locally as Mauleon-Licharre to 
 distinguish it from Mauleon-Barousse, is the 
 douane station for entering France from Spain 
 (Pampelune) via St. Jean-Pied-de-Port and St. 
 Beat, neither of the routes much used, and not at 
 all by automobiles. 
 
 A typical little mountain town, Mauleon is the 
 chef-lieu of the Arrondissement, and the ancient 
 capital of the Vicomte de Soule. It has an excel- 
 lent hotel, allied to the Touring Club de France 
 (Hotel Saubidet), where one dines well off the 
 fare of the country with no imitation Parisian 
 dishes. There is a sort of a historical monument 
 here, the Chateau de Mauleon (Malo-Leone — 
 Mauvais Lion — Wicked Lion: the reader may 
 take his choice) of the fifteenth century, which 
 surrounds itself accommodatingly with a legend 
 which the native will tell you, if asked. 
 
 There is no great accommodation for automo- 
 biles at Mauleon, and one can only buy oil and 
 gasoline by going to a man named Etcheberrigary 
 for it. His address is not given, but any one will 
 tell you where he lives. They may not recognize 
 your pronunciation, but they will recognize your 
 dilemma at once and point the way forthwith. 
 
 It was forty-one kilometres to St. Jean-Pied-de- 
 Port, over an " all-up-and-down-hill " road, if 
 there ever was one — up out of one river valley 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 137 
 
 and down into another all the way until we struck 
 the road by the banks of the Nive and approached 
 the town. 
 
 St. Jean-Pied-de-Port takes its name from its 
 proximity to one of the Franco-Spanish gate- 
 ways through the Pyrenees. 
 
 It is in danger of becoming a resort, since the 
 guide-books already announce it as a station cli- 
 matiqtie. Its Basque name of Donajouana, or Don 
 Ilban-Garici, ought, however, to stop any great 
 throng from coming. 
 
 It lies directly at the foot of the Col de Ronce- 
 valles leading into Spain (1,057 metres). The 
 pass has ever been celebrated in the annals of 
 war, from the days of the Paladin Roland to 
 those of Marechal Soult's attack on the English 
 at Pampelune. 
 
 Considering that St. Jean-Pied-de-Port boasts 
 of only fourteen hundred inhabitants, and is al- 
 most hidden in the Pyrenean fastness, one does 
 very well within its walls. There is a railway to 
 Bayonne, the post, telegraph, a pharmacy, and a 
 Red Cross station, and the wants of the automo- 
 bilist are attended to sufficiently well by the local 
 locksmith. The Hotel Central, on the Place du 
 Marche, is vouched for by the Touring Club. It 
 has a salle des bains and other useful accessories 
 often wanting in more pretentious establishments, 
 a dark room for camera fiends, a pit for automo- 
 biles, and electric lights. For all this you pay 
 six francs a day. " Pas chert " 
 
 Bayonne, through the Basque country, is fifty 
 
138 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 odd kilometres distant, a gentle descent all the 
 way, down the valley of the Nive. 
 
 The Basques are a picturesque and lovable 
 people, and they have kept their characteristics 
 and customs bright and shining through many 
 centuries of change round about them. 
 
 They love the dance, all kinds of agile games 
 like the jeu de paume and pelota, and will dance 
 for three days at a fete with a passion which does 
 not tire. Even to-day the Basque thinks more 
 of a local fete than he does of anything else, and 
 will journey fifteen or twenty kilometres afoot — 
 if he can't get a ride — to form a part of some 
 religious procession or a tournee de paume. 
 
 Cambo, midway between St. Jean-Pied-de-Port 
 and Bayonne, is a tiny spring and bath resort try- 
 ing hard to be fashionable. There are many villas 
 near-by of wealthy " Basques-Americains, " from 
 the Argentine. 
 
 The Basques, at least the Basques-Frangais, 
 are a disappearing factor in the population of 
 Europe. It is said there are more Basques in the 
 Argentine Republic than in the Republic of 
 France, and all because of the alienation of the 
 Basques by Louis XIV. when he married Marie- 
 Therese and her 500,000 ecus of dot. Since 1659 
 the real Basque, he or she of the fine teeth, has 
 been growing beautifully less in numbers, both in 
 France and in Spain. 
 
 A certain fillip was given to Cambo by the re- 
 treat here of Edward Rostand, the author of 
 " Cyrano " and " L'Aiglon." In his wake fol- 
 lowed litterateurs and journalists, and the fame 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 139 
 
 of the hitherto unworldly little spot — sheltered 
 from all the winds that blow — was bruited 
 abroad, and the Touring Club de France erected 
 a pavilion; thus all at once Cambo became a 
 " resort," in all that the name implies. 
 
 A mecanicien has not yet come to care for the 
 automobilist in trouble, but the locksmith (serrur- 
 rier) will do what he can and charge you little for 
 it. Gasoline is high-priced, fifty sous a bidon. 
 
 Bayonne, with its tradition, its present-day 
 prosperity, and its altogether charming situation, 
 awaited us twenty odd kilometres away, and we 
 descended upon its excellent, but badly named, 
 Grand Hotel just at nightfall. There's another 
 more picturesquely named near by, and no doubt 
 as excellent, called the Panier-Fleuri. We would 
 much rather have stopped at the latter, — if only 
 on account of its name, — but there was no accom- 
 modation for the automobile. M. Landlord, brace 
 up! 
 
 Bayonne is a fortress of the first class, and 
 commands the western gateway into Spain. Its 
 brilliant aspect, its cosmopolitanism, and its 
 storied past appealed to us more than did the 
 attractions of its more fastidious neighbour, Biar- 
 ritz. One can see a better bull-fight at Bayonne 
 than he can at Biarritz, where his sport must con- 
 sist principally of those varieties of gambling 
 games announced by European hotel-keepers as 
 having " all the diversions of Monte Carlo." 
 Bull-fighting is forbidden in France, but more or 
 less mysteriously it comes off now and then. We 
 did not see anything of the sort at Bayonne, but 
 
140 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 we had many times at Aries, and Nimes, and knew 
 well that when the southern Frenchman sets about 
 to provide a gory spectacle he can give it quite 
 as rosy a hue as his Spanish brother. 
 
 Biarritz called us the next day, and, not wish- 
 ing to be taken for dukes, or millionaires, or 
 chauffeurs and their friends out on a holiday, 
 we left the automobile en garage, and covered the 
 seven kilometres by the bumble tramway. Be 
 wise, and don't take your automobile to a resort 
 like Biarritz unless you want to pay. 
 
 It's a long way from the Pont Saint-Esprit at 
 Bayonne to the plage at Biarritz, in manners and 
 customs, at any rate, and the seeker after real 
 local colour will find more of it at Bayonne than 
 he will at its seaside neighbour, where all is tinged 
 with Paris, St. Petersburg, and London. 
 
 The Empress Eugenie, or perhaps Napoleon 
 III., " made " Biarritz when he built the first 
 villa in the little Basque fishing-village, which had 
 hitherto known neither courts nor coronets. 
 There's no doubt about it; Biarritz is a fine re- 
 sort of its class, as are Monte Carlo and Ostende. 
 One can study human nature at all three, if that 
 is what he is out for; so, too, he can — the same 
 sort — on Paris 's boulevards. 
 
 The month of October is time for the gathering 
 of the fashionables and elegants of all capitals at 
 Biarritz. All the world bathes together in the 
 warm waters of the Plage des Basques, and the 
 sublime contrast of the Pyrenees on one hand, 
 and the open sea and sky on the other, give a 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 141 
 
 panorama of grandeur that few of its competitors 
 have. 
 
 The visitors to Biarritz daily augment in num- 
 bers, and, since it had been a sort of neutral 
 trysting-ground for the King and Queen of Spain 
 before their marriage, and since the seal of his 
 approval has been given to it by Edward VII. of 
 England (to the great disconcern of the Riviera 
 hotel-keepers), it bids fair to become even more 
 popular. 
 
 From Bayonne to the Spanish frontier it is 
 thirty kilometres by the road which runs through 
 the Basque country and through St. Jean-de-Luz, 
 a delightful little seaside town which has long 
 been a ' ' resort ' ' of the mildly homoeopathic kind, 
 and which, let us all hope, will never degenerate 
 into another Nice, or Cannes, or Menton. The 
 great event of its historic past was the marriage 
 here of Louis XIV. with the Infanta Marie- 
 Therese on the sixth of June, 1660, but to-day 
 everything (in the minds of the inhabitants) dates 
 from the arrival of the increasing shoals of vis- 
 itors from " brumeuse Angleterre " in the first 
 days of November, with the added hope that this 
 year's visitors will exceed in numbers those of the 
 last — which they probably will. 
 
 Those who know not St. Jean-de-Luz and its 
 charms had best hurry up before they entirely 
 disappear. The Automobile Club de France en- 
 dorses the Hotel d 'Angleterre of St. Jean as to 
 its beds and its table, and also notes the fact that 
 you may count on spending anything you like from 
 thirteen francs a day upward for your accom- 
 
142 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 modation. The Touring Club de France swears 
 by the Hotel Terminus-Plage (equally unfortu- 
 nately named), and here you will get off for ten 
 francs or so per day, and probably be cared for 
 quite as well as at the other. In any case they 
 both possess a salle des bains and a shelter for 
 your automobile. 
 
 We stopped only for lunch, and found it excel- 
 lent, at the Hotel de la Poste, with vin compris — 
 which is not the case at the great hotels. En 
 passant, let the writer say that the average 
 " tourist " (not the genuine vagabond traveller) 
 will not drink the vin de table, but prefers the 
 same thing — at a supplementary price — for the 
 pleasure of seeing the cork drawn before his eyes. 
 The " grands hotels " of the resorts recognize 
 this and cater for the tourist accordingly. 
 
 We were bound for Fontarabia that night, just 
 over the Spanish border. The Spanish know it as 
 Feuntarabia, and the Basques as Ondarriba. For 
 this reason one's pronunciation is likely to be 
 understood, because no two persons pronounce 
 it exactly alike, and the natives' comprehensions 
 have been trained in a good school. 
 
 Fontarabia is gay, is ancient, and is very for- 
 eign to anything in France, even bordering upon 
 the Spanish frontier. We left the automobile at 
 Hendaye, not wishing to put up with the customs 
 duties of eighteen francs a hundred kilos for the 
 motor, and a thousand francs for the carrosserie, 
 for the privilege of riding twenty kilometres out 
 and back over a sandy, dreary road. 
 
 We dined and slept that night at a little Span- 
 
A Little Tour in the Pyrenees 143 
 
 ish hotel half built out over the sea, Concha by 
 name, and left the Grand Hotel de Palais Mira- 
 mar to those who like grand hotels. We lingered 
 a fortnight at Fontarabia, and did much that 
 many tourists did not. One should see Fontara- 
 bia and find out its delights for oneself. There 
 is a quaintness and unworldliness about its old 
 streets and wharves, which is indescribable in 
 print ; there is a wonderfully impressive expanse 
 of sea and sky on the Bay of Bidassoa, a couple of 
 kilometres away, and all sorts and conditions of 
 men may find an occupation here for any passing 
 mood they may have. 
 
 We just missed the great fete of the eighth of 
 September, when processions, and bull-fights, and 
 all the movement of the sacred and profane re- 
 joicings of the Latins yearly astonish the more 
 phlegmatic northerner. 
 
 Another great fete is that of Vendredi-Saint 
 (Good Friday). Either one or the other should 
 be seen by all who may be in these parts at these 
 times. 
 
 Near by, in the middle of the swift-flowing cur- 
 rent of the Bidassoa, is the historically celebrated 
 He des Faisans, on which the conferences were 
 held between the French minister Mazarin and 
 the Spanish Don Louis de Haro, which led to the 
 famous Treaty of the Pyrenees, 1659, and the 
 marriage of Louis XIV. with the daughter of 
 Philip IV. The representative of each sovereign 
 advanced from his own territory, by a temporary 
 bridge, to this bit of neutral ground, which then 
 reached nearly up to the present bridge. The 
 
144 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 piles which supported the cardinal's pavilion 
 were visible not many years ago. The death of 
 Velasquez, the painter, was caused by his exer- 
 tions in superintending these constructions; 
 duties more fitting to an upholsterer than a 
 painter. 
 
 We finished our tour of the Pyrenees at Fonta- 
 rabia, having followed along the shadow of these 
 great frontier mountains their entire length ; not 
 wholly unknown ground, perhaps, but for the most 
 part entirely unspoiled, and, as a touring-ground 
 for the automobilist, without a peer. 
 
C ^JVgrUBDOC 
 
 145 
 

CHAPTER III 
 
 IN LANGUEDOC AND OLD PROVENCE 
 
 The dim purple curtain of the Pyrenees had 
 been drawn behind us, and we were passing from 
 the patois of Languedoc to the patois of Provence, 
 where the peasants say pardie in place of pardou 
 when an exclamation of surprise comes from their 
 lips. 
 
 Cast your eyes over the map of ancient 
 France, and you will distinguish plainly the lines 
 of demarcation between the old political divisions 
 which, in truth, the traveller by road may find to 
 exist even to-day, in the manners and customs 
 of the people at least. 
 
 Unconsciously we drew away from the sleepy 
 indolence of Perpignan and Roussillon, and before 
 we knew it had passed Narbonne, and on through 
 Beziers to Agde, where we proposed stopping for 
 the night. 
 
 Quite as Spanish-looking as Perpignan, Agde 
 was the very antithesis of the gay and frivolous 
 Catalan city. The aspect of its purple-brown 
 architecture, the bridge-piers crossing the He- 
 rault, and the very pavements themselves were 
 a colour-scheme quite unlike anything we had seen 
 elsewhere. Brilliant and warm as a painting of 
 
 147 
 
148 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Velasquez, there was nothing gaudy, and one 
 could only dream of the time when the Renais- 
 sance house-fronts sheltered lords and ladies of 
 high degree instead of itinerant automobilists and 
 travelling salesmen. 
 
 The Hotel du Cheval Blanc was one of these. 
 It is not a particularly up-to-date hostelry, and 
 there is a scant accommodation for automobiles, 
 but for all that it is good of its kind, and one dines 
 and sleeps well to the accompaniment of the rush- 
 ing waters of the river, at its very dooryard, on 
 its way to the sea. 
 
 From Agde to Montpellier is fifty odd kilome- 
 tres over the worst stretch of roadway of the same 
 length to be found in France, save perhaps that 
 awful paved road of Navarre across the Landes. 
 
 Montpellier is one of the most luxurious and 
 well-kept small cities of France. It is the seat 
 of the prefecture, the assizes, and a university 
 — whose college of medicine was famous in the 
 days of Rabelais. It has the modern attributes 
 of steam-heated, electric-lighted hotels and res- 
 taurants, a tramway system that is appalling and 
 dangerous to all other traffic by reason of its com- 
 plexity, and an Opera House and a Hotel de Ville 
 that would do credit to a city ten times its size. 
 
 We merely took Montpellier en route, just as 
 we had many other places, and were really bound 
 for Aigues-Mortes, where we proposed to lunch: 
 one would not willingly sleep in a place with a 
 name like that. 
 
 Of Aigues-Mortes Ch. Lentherie wrote, a quar- 
 ter of a century ago : 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 149 
 
 " The country round about is incomparably 
 melancholy, the sun scorches, and the sandy soil 
 gives no nourishment to plants, flowers, vines, or 
 grain. Cultivated land does not exist, it is a 
 desert: ugly, melancholy, and abandoned. But 
 Aigues-Mortes cannot, nay, must not perish, and 
 will always remain the old city of St. Louis, a 
 magnificent architectural diadem, with its de- 
 serted plage an aureole most radiant, a glorious 
 yet touching reminder." 
 
 One other imaginative description is the poem 
 of Charles Bigot on La Tour de Constance, in 
 which the Huguenot women were many long years 
 imprisoned. It is written in the charming Nimois 
 patois, and runs thus in its first few lines : 
 
 " Tour de la simple et forte, 
 Simbol de glorie et de pi£te\ 
 Tour de pauvres femmes mortes 
 Pour leur Dieu et la liberty." 
 
 These few introductory lines will recall to the 
 memory of all who know the history of the Cru- 
 sades and of St. Louis the part played by this 
 old walled city of Aigues-Mortes. 
 
 More complete, and more frowning and grim, 
 than Carcassonne, it has not a tithe of its interest, 
 but, for all that, it is the most satisfying example 
 of a walled stronghold of mediaeval times yet 
 extant. 
 
 With all its gloom, its bareness, and the few 
 hundreds of shaking pallid mortals which make up 
 its present-day population, the marsh city of 
 Aigues-Mortes is a lively memory to all who have 
 seen it. 
 
150 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 One comes by road and drives his automobile 
 in through the battlemented gateway over the 
 cobbled main street, or struggles up on foot from 
 the station of the puny and important little rail- 
 way which brings people down from Aries in 
 something over an hour's time. Ultimately, one 
 and all arrive at the excellent Hotel St. Louis, 
 and eat bountifully of fresh fish of the Mediterra- 
 nean, well cooked by the patron-chef, and well 
 served by a dainty Arlesienne maiden of fifteen 
 summers, who looks as though she might be 
 twenty-two. 
 
 " C'est un chose a voir " every one tells you in 
 the Bouches-du-Rhone when you mention Aigues- 
 Mortes ; and truly it is. As before suggested, you 
 will not want to sleep within its dreary walls, but 
 11 it's a thing to see " without question, and to get 
 away from as soon as possible, before a peculiarly 
 vicious breed of mosquito inoculates you with the 
 toxic poison of the marshes. 
 
 Now we are approaching the land of the poet 
 Mistral, the most romantic region in all modern 
 France, where the inhabitant in his repose and 
 his pleasure still lives in mediaeval times and 
 chants and dances himself (and herself) into a 
 sort of semi-indifference to the march of 
 time. 
 
 The Crau and the Camargue, lying south of 
 Aries between Aigues-Mortes and the Etang de 
 Berre, is the greatest' fete-making pays, one might 
 think, in all the world. 
 
 How many times, from January to January, 
 the Provencal " makes the fete " it would be dif- 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 151 
 
 ficult to state — on every occasion possible, at any 
 rate. 
 
 The great fete of Provence is the day of the 
 ferrande, a sort of a cattle round-up held on the 
 Camargue plain, something like what goes on in 
 " le Far West," as the French call it, only on 
 not so grand a scale. 
 
 Mistral describes it of course : 
 
 " On a great branding-day came this throng, 
 A help for the mighty herd-mustering, 
 Li Santo, Aigo Marto, Albaron, 
 And from Faraman, a hundred horses strong 
 Came out into the desert." 
 
 Here we were in the midst of the land of fetes, 
 and if we could not see a ferrande in all its sav- 
 age, unspoiled glory, we would see what we could. 
 
 We were in luck, as we learned when we put 
 into St. Gilles for the night, and comfortably 
 enough housed our auto in the remise of the com- 
 pany, or individual, which has the concession for 
 the stage line across the Camargue, which links 
 up the two loose ends of a toy railway, one of 
 which ends at Aigues-Mortes, and the other at 
 Stes. Maries-de-la-Mer. 
 
 Our particular piece of luck was the opportu- 
 nity to be present at the pilgrimage to the shrine 
 of the three Marys of Judea, which took place 
 on the morrow. 
 
 The poet Mistral sets it all out in romantic 
 verse in his epic " Mireio," and one and all were 
 indeed glad to embrace so fortunate an opportu- 
 nity of participating in one of the most nearly 
 unique pilgrimages and festivals in all the world. 
 
152 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 We entered the little waterside town the next 
 morning soon after snnrise. en auto. Others 
 came by rail, on foot, on horseback, or by the 
 slow-going roulotte, or caravan: pilgrims from 
 all corners of the earth, the peasant folk of Pro- 
 vence, the Arlesiens and Arlesiennes. and the 
 dwellers of the great Camargne plain. 
 
 The picture is quite as " Mireio " saw it in the 
 poem: the vision of the lone sentinel church by 
 the sea. which rises above the dunes of the Ca- 
 margne to-day. as it did in the olden ti:. 
 
 "... It looms at last in the distance dim. 
 She sees it grow on the horizon's rim, 
 The Saintes* white tower across the billowy plain, 
 Like vessel homeward bound upon the main." 
 
 On the dunes of the Camargne. between the blue 
 of the sky and the blue of the Mediterranean 
 waves, sits the gaunt, grim bourg of fisherfolk 
 and herders of the cattle and sheep of the neigh- 
 bouring plain. The lone fortress-church i 
 tall and severe in its outlines, and the whole may 
 be likened to nothing as much as a desert mirage 
 that one sees in his imagination. 
 
 At the foot of the crenelated, battlemented walls 
 of the church are the white, pink, and blue walled 
 houses of the huddling population, and the dory- 
 like boats of the fisher-. 
 
 Officially the town is known a- Stes Maries- 
 de-la-Mer. but the reliques of the three Marys, 
 who fled from Judea in company with Sts. Lazare, 
 Maxim, and Trophime. and other followers, in- 
 cluding their servant Sara, have given it the pop- 
 ular name of " Les Saints 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 153 
 
 The exiles, barely escaping death by drowning, 
 came to shore here, and, thankful for being saved 
 from death, thereupon celebrated the first mass 
 to be said in France, the saints Maxim and Lazare 
 officiating. 
 
 Maxim, Lazare, Sidoine, Marthe, and Madeleine 
 immediately set out to spread the Word through- 
 out Provence in the true missionary spirit, but the 
 others, the three Marys, St. Trophime, and Sara, 
 remained behind to do what good they might 
 among the fishers. 
 
 The pilgrimage to this basilique of " Les 
 Saintes " has ever been one of great devotion. 
 In 1347 the Bishops of Paris and of Coutances, 
 in Normandy, accorded their communicants many 
 and varied indulgences for having made " la feste 
 8. Mart Cleophee qui est le XXV. e Mai, et la feste 
 8. Marie Salome, XXII e Octobre, festeront, 
 Vhistoire d'elles prescherent, liront ou escoute- 
 ront attentilment et devotement." 
 
 In the fourteenth century three thousand or 
 more souls drew a livelihood from the industries 
 of ' ' Les Saintes ' ' and the neighbourhood, and its 
 civic affairs were administered by three consuls, 
 who were assisted in their duties by three classes 
 of citizen office-holders — divities, mediocres, and 
 paupers, the latter doubtless the " povres gens " 
 mentioned in the testament of Louis I. of Pro- 
 vence, he who bequeathed the guardianship of 
 his soul to " Saintes Maries Jacobe et Salome, 
 Catherine, Madeleine et Marthe." 
 
 The first day's celebration was devoted to the 
 further gathering of the throng and the " Grand 
 
154 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Mess." At the first note of the " Magnificat " 
 the reliques were brought forth from the upper 
 chapel and the crowd from within and without 
 broke into a thunderous " Vivent les Saintes 
 Maries! " Then was sung the " Cantique des 
 Saintes: " 
 
 «• O grandes Saintes Maries 
 Si chevies 
 De notre divin Sauveur" etc. 
 
 On the second day a -procession formed outside 
 the church for the descent to the historic sands, 
 upon which the holy exiles first made their land- 
 ing, the men bearing on their shoulders a repre- 
 sentation of the barque which brought the saints 
 thither. There were prelates and plebeians and 
 tourists and vagabond gipsies in line, and one 
 and all they entered into the ceremony with an 
 enthusiasm — in spite of the sweltering sun — 
 which made up for any apparent lack of devout- 
 ness, for, alas! most holy pilgrimages are any- 
 thing but holy when taken in their entirety. 
 
 The church at " Les Saintes " is a wonder- 
 work. As at Assisi, in Italy, there are three su- 
 perimposed churches, a symbol of the three states 
 of religion; the crypt, called the catacombs, and 
 suggestive of persecution; the fortified nave, a 
 symbol of the body which prays, but is not afraid 
 to fight; and the chapelle superieure, the holy 
 place of the saints of heaven, the Christian coun- 
 sellors in whose care man has been confided. 
 This, at any rate, is the professional description 
 of the symbolism, and whether one be churchman 
 or not he is bound to see the logic of it all. 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 155 
 
 Deep down in the darkened crypt are the 
 reliques of the dusky Sara, the servant of the 
 holy Marys. She herself has been elevated to 
 sainthood as the patronne of the vagabond gipsies 
 of all the world. On the occasion of the Fete of 
 Les Saintes Maries the nomads, Bohemians, and 
 Gitanos from all corners of the globe, who have 
 been able to make the pilgrimage thither, pass 
 the night before the shrine of their sainted pa- 
 tronne, as a preliminary act to the election of 
 their queen for the coming year. 
 
 The gipsy of tradition is supposed to be a 
 miserly, wealthy, sacrilegious fellow who goes 
 about stealing children and dogs and anything 
 else he can lay his hands upon. He may have his 
 faults, but to see him kneeling before the shrine 
 of his " patronne reine Sara," ragged and travel- 
 worn and yet burning costly candles and saying 
 his Aves as piously and incessantly as a praying- 
 machine of the East, one can hardly question but 
 that they have as much devoutness as most 
 others. 
 
 The hotels of " Les Saintes " offer practically 
 nothing in the way of accommodation, and what 
 there is, which costs usually thirty sous a night, 
 has, during the fete, an inflated value of thirty 
 or even fifty francs, and, if you are an automo- 
 bilist, driving the most decrepit out-of-date old 
 crock that ever was, they will want to charge you 
 a hundred. You will, of course, refuse to pay it, 
 for you can eat up the roadway at almost any 
 speed you like, — there is no one to say you nay 
 on these lonesome roads, — and so, after paying 
 
156 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 fifty centimes a pailful for some rather muddy 
 water to refresh the water circulation of your au- 
 tomobile, you pull out for some other place — at 
 least we did. One must either do this, or become 
 a real nomad and sleep in the open, with the 
 stars for candles, and a bunch of beach-grass for 
 a pillow. If you were a Romany cheil you would 
 sleep in, or under, your own roulotte, on a mat- 
 tress, which, in the daytime, is neatly folded away 
 in the rear of your wagon, or hung in full view, 
 temptingly spread with a lace coverlet. This in 
 the hope that some passing pilgrim will take a 
 fancy to the lace spread and want to buy it ; when 
 will come a trading and bargaining which will put 
 horse-selling quite in the shade, for it is here that 
 the woman of the establishment comes in, and the 
 gipsy woman on a trade is a Tartar. 
 
 Finally, on the last day, came the " Grande 
 Entree des Tauraux," which, it would seem, was 
 the chief event which drew the Camargue popu- 
 lation thither. They came in couples, a man and 
 a woman on the back of a single Camargue pony, 
 whole families in a Provencal cart, on foot, on 
 bicycles, and in automobiles. 
 
 Six Spanish-crossed bulls were brought up in 
 a great closed van and loosed in an improvised 
 bull-ring, of which the church wall formed one 
 side, and the roof a sort of a tribune. What the 
 cure thought of all this is not clear, but as the 
 alms-coffers of the church were already full to 
 the lids, and the parish depends largely upon the 
 contributions of visitors to replenish its funds, 
 any seeming sacrilege was winked at. 
 
PEASANTS OF THE. CRAU 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 157 
 
 For three days we had " made the fete " and 
 saw it all, and did most of the things that the 
 others did, except that we always slept at St. 
 Gilles, far away by the long, flat road which winds 
 in and out among the marshes, flamingo nests, 
 and rice-fields of the Camargue. 
 
 The " bull-fight," so called, was nothing so 
 very bloodthirsty or terrifying; merely the 
 worrying by the " amateurs " of a short-legged, 
 little black bull, about the size of a well-formed 
 Newfoundland dog, or perhaps a little larger — 
 appearances are often deceptive when one re- 
 ceives a disappointment. 
 
 Truly, as Mistral says, Provence is a land of 
 joy and laughter, and fetes followed close on one 
 another, it seemed. 
 
 We had seen the announcements in the local 
 journals of a " Mis a Mort " at Nimes, and a 
 "Corrida de Meurte " — borrowing the phrase 
 from the Spanish — at Aries, each to take place 
 in the great Roman arenas, which had not seen 
 bloodshed for centuries ; not since the days when 
 the Romans matched men against each other in 
 gladiatorial combat, and turned tigers loose upon 
 captive slaves. 
 
 The ' ' to-the-death ' ' affairs of Aries and Nimes 
 appealed to us only that we might contrast the 
 modern throngs that crowd the benches with those 
 which history tells us viewed the combats of old. 
 Doubtless there is little resemblance, but all the 
 same there is a certain gory tradition hanging 
 about the old walls and arches of those great 
 arenas which is utterly lacking in the cricket- 
 
158 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 field, tawdry plazas of some of the Spanish towns. 
 The grim arcades of these great Roman arenas 
 are still full of suggestion. 
 
 We did not see either the " Mis a Mort " at 
 Aries, or the " Corrida de Meurte " at Nimes; 
 the automobile got stalled for a day in the midst 
 of the stony Crau, with a rear tire which blew 
 itself into pieces, and necessitated a journey by 
 train into Aries in order to get another to replace 
 it. Owing to the slowness of this apology for a 
 railway train, and the awkwardness of the time- 
 table, the great " Mis a Mort " at Aries was long 
 over ere we had set out over the moonlit Crau 
 for Martigues on the shores of the Etang de 
 Berre. 
 
 We knew Martigues of old, its bouillabaisse, 
 the Pere Chabas and all the cronies of the Cafe 
 du Commerce where you kept your own special 
 bottle, of whatever aperitif poison you fancied, in 
 order that you might be sure of getting it un- 
 adulterated. 
 
 " La Venise de Provence," Martigues, is known 
 by artists far and wide. Chabas and his rather 
 grimy little hotel, which he calls the Grand Hotel 
 something or other, has catered for countless hun- 
 dreds of artist folk who have made the name and 
 fame of Martigues as an artist's sketching- 
 ground. After a three weeks ' pretty steady auto- 
 mobile run the artist of the party craved peace 
 and rest and an opportunity of putting Mar- 
 tigues 's glorious sunsets on canvas, and so we 
 camped out with Chabas, and ate bouillabaisse 
 
In Languedoc and Old Provence 159 
 
 and the beurre de Provence and langouste and 
 Chabas's famous straw potatoes and rum ome- 
 lette for ten days, and were sorry when it was 
 all over. 
 
^^^^afeftT 
 
 161 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 BY RHONE AND SAONE 
 
 It is the dream of the Marseillais that some day 
 the turgid Rhone may be made to empty itself at 
 the foot of the famous Cannebiere, and so add to 
 the already great prosperity of the most cosmo- 
 politan and picturesque of Mediterranean ports. 
 
 The idea has been thought of since Roman 
 times, and Napoleon himself nearly undertook the 
 work. In later days radical and vehement candi- 
 dates for senatorships and deputyships have 
 promised their Marseilles and Bouches-du-Rhone 
 constituencies much more, with regard to the same 
 thing, than the hand of man is ever likely to be 
 able to accomplish. 
 
 The Rhone still pushes its way through the Crau 
 and the Camargue and comes to the sea many 
 kilometres west of the Planier light and Chateau 
 d'lf, which guard the entrance to Marseilles 's Old 
 Port. 
 
 We had backed and filled many times between 
 Martigues and Marseilles during the interval 
 which we so enjoyably spent chez Chabas, and we 
 had come to know this unknown little corner of 
 old Provence intimately, and to love it. 
 
 Marseilles was our great dissipation, its hotels, 
 
 163 
 
164 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 its cafes and restaurants, its cosmopolitan life and 
 movement, its gaiety and the picturesqueness of 
 its old streets and wharves. Marseilles is a neg- 
 lected tourist point; it should be better known; 
 but it is no place for automobilists, unless they 
 are prepared for ten kilometres, in any direction, 
 of the most villainous suburban roadway in 
 France. The roadways themselves are good 
 enough; it is the abnormal and the peculiar 
 nature of the traffic that makes them so disagree- 
 able; great hooting tramways, chareltes loaded 
 with all the products of the earth and the hands 
 of man, and drawn by long tandem lines, three, 
 four, five, and even six horses to a single cart. 
 Added to this, the exits and entrances are all up 
 and down hill, and, accordingly, the roadways of 
 suburban Marseilles are a terror to stranger 
 automobilists and an eternal regret to those who 
 live near-by. 
 
 We went up the Rhone in a howling mistral, 
 against it, mark you, for it pleases the Ruler of 
 the universe to have that cyclonic breeze of the 
 Rhone valley, one of the three plagues of Pro- 
 vence, blow always from the north. 
 
 We left Martigues in an extraordinary and 
 unusual fog, reminiscent of London, except that 
 it was not black and sooty. It was dense, how- 
 ever, dense as if it were enshrouding the Grand 
 Banks, and of the same impenetrable, milky con- 
 sistency. To be sure the morning sun had not had 
 an opportunity as yet to burn it off — automobil- 
 ists on tour are early birds, and the autumn sun 
 rises late. 
 
By Rhone and Saone 165 
 
 Up around the eastern shore of the Etang de 
 Berre we went, and, crossing the Tete Noire, 
 passed Salon just as a pale yellow light struggled 
 through the rifts just topping the Maritime Alps 
 off to the eastward. We could not see the moun- 
 tains, but we knew they were there, for we still 
 had lingering memories of a long pull we once 
 made off in that direction, with an old crock of 
 an automobile of primitive make in the early days 
 of the sport, or the art, whichever one chooses to 
 call it, though it unquestionably was an art then 
 to keep an automobile going at all. 
 
 By the time Aries was reached the sun was 
 burning with a midsummer glare, as it does here 
 for three hundred or more days in the year. 
 
 At Aries one is in the very cauldron of the at- 
 mosphere of things Provencal, art, letters, history, 
 and romance, all of which are kept alive by the 
 Felibres and their fellows. 
 
 Mistral, the poet, is the master-singer of them 
 all, and whether he chants of his " Own glad 
 Kingdom of Provence," at Maillane among the 
 olive-trees, far inland, or of: 
 
 " The peace which descends upon the troubled ocean 
 And he his wrath forgets, 
 Flock from Martigues the boats with wing-like motion, 
 And fishes fill their nets," 
 
 it is all the same; the subtle, penetrating atmos- 
 phere and sentiment of Provence is over all. 
 
 Aries is the head centre. It is a city of monu- 
 mental and celebrated art, and one may spend 
 a day, a week, or a month, wandering in and out 
 
166 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and about its old Roman arena (still so well 
 preserved that it presents its occasional bull-fight 
 for the delectation of the bloodthirsty), its an- 
 tique theatre, its museums, its cathedral and its 
 cloister, or among the tombs of the Aliscamps. 
 
 We did all these things, indeed we had done 
 them before, but they were ever marvellous just 
 the same, and in the museum we were always run- 
 ning on Mistral himself, who, in his waning years, 
 finds his greatest delight in arranging and re- 
 arranging the exhibits of his newly founded 
 Musee Arletan. 
 
 The hotels of Aries are a disappointment. The 
 Hotel du Nord, with a portico of the old Forum 
 built into its walls, and the Hotel du Forum, on 
 the Place du Forum, are well enough in their 
 way, — they are certainly well conducted, — but 
 they lack " atmosphere," and instead of the cui- 
 sine du pays, you get ham and eggs and bifteck 
 served to you. This is wrong and bad business, 
 if the otherwise capable proprietors only knew it. 
 
 One does better in the environs. At St. Remy, 
 at the Grand Hotel de Provence, you will get 
 quite another sort of fare: hors d'ceuvres of a 
 peculiarly pungent variety, not forgetting the 
 dark purple, over-ripe olives, a ragout en casse- 
 role, a filet d'agneau with a sauce Provengale, 
 and a poulet and a salad which will make one 
 dream of the all but lost art of Brillat-Savarin. 
 They are good cooks, the chefs of Provence, of 
 the small cities and large towns like St. Remy, 
 Cavaillon, Salon, and Carpentras, but everybody 
 will not like their liberal douches of oil any more 
 
By Rhone and Saone 167 
 
 than they will the penetrating garlic flavour in 
 everything. 
 
 We took a turn backward on our route from 
 Aries and went to Lea Baux, the now dismal ruin 
 of a once proud feudal city whose seigneurs held 
 sway over some sixty cities of Provence. 
 
 To-day it is a Pompeii, except it is a hill town 
 worthy to rank with those picturesque peaks of 
 Italy and Dalmatia. Its chateau walls have 
 crumbled, but its subterranean galleries cut three 
 stories down into the rock itself, are much as they 
 always were. Everywhere are grim, doleful evi- 
 dences of a glory that is past and a population 
 that is dead or moved away. The sixteen thou- 
 sand souls of mediaeval times have shrunk to 
 something like two hundred to-day — most of 
 them shepherds, apparently, and the others pic- 
 ture post-card sellers. 
 
 It is a very satisfactory little mountain climb 
 from the surrounding plain up to the little plateau 
 just below the peak at Les Baux, though the en- 
 tire distance from Aries is scarcely more than 
 fifteen kilometres, and the actual climb hardly 
 more than four. The razor-back mountain chain, 
 upon one peak of which Les Baux sits, is known 
 as the Alpilles. 
 
 All of the immediate neighbourhood (scarce a 
 dozen kilometres from where the beaten track 
 passes through Aries) is a veritable museum of 
 relics of the glory of the heroic age. Caius 
 Manus entrenched himself within these walls of 
 rock and two thousand years ago planted the foun- 
 dations of the Mausoleum and Arc de Triomphe 
 
168 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 which are the pride of the inhabitant of St. Remy 
 and the marvel of what few strangers ever come. 
 They are veritable antiques — " Les Antiquites, ' ' 
 as the people of St. Remy familiarly call them, 
 and rise to-day as monuments of the past, gilded 
 by the Southern sun and framed with all the bril- 
 liancy of a Provencal landscape. 
 
 We slept at St. Remy, and made the next morn- 
 ing for Tarascon, with memories of Dumas and 
 Daudet and Tartarin and the Tarasque pushing 
 us on. 
 
 Tarascon has a real appeal for the stranger; 
 at every step he will picture the locale of Daudet 's 
 whimsical tale, and will well understand how it 
 was that the prisoners' view from the narrow- 
 barred window of the Chateau at Tarascon was 
 so limited. 
 
 There is a fine group of Renaissance architec- 
 tural monuments at Tarascon, and a street of- 
 arcaded house-fronts which will make the artist 
 of the party want to settle down to work. 
 
 Across the river is Beaucaire, famous for its 
 great fair of ages past, the greatest trading fair 
 of mediaeval times, when merchants and their 
 goods came from Persia, India, and Turkey, and 
 all corners of the earth. The Chateau of Beau- 
 caire is a fine ruin, but no more; it is not worth 
 the climbing of the height to examine it. 
 
 A little farther on is Bellegarde, where Dumas 
 placed Caderousse's little inn, the unworthy 
 Caderousse and his still more unworthy wife, 
 who nearly finished the career of Edmond Dantes 
 while he was masquerading as the Abbe. There 
 
By Rhone and Saone 169 
 
 is no inn here to-day which can be identified as 
 that of the romance, but Dumas 's description of 
 its sun-burnt surroundings, the canal, the scanty 
 herbage, and the white, parched roadway, is much 
 the same as what one sees to-day, and there is a 
 tiny auberge beside the canal, which might sat- 
 isfy the imaginative. 
 
 Avignon, the city of the seven French popes, 
 who reigned seventy years, was the next stopping- 
 place on our itinerary. 
 
 We put up at the Hotel Crillon and fared much 
 as one fares in any provincial large town. We 
 were served with imitation Parisian repasts, and 
 were asked if we would like to read the London 
 Times. Why the London Times no one knew: 
 why not the New Orleans Picayune and be done 
 with it? 
 
 We did not want to do anything of the sort, 
 we merely wanted to " do " the town, to see the 
 tomb of Pope Jean XXII. in the cathedral, to 
 walk, if possible, upon the part left standing of 
 St. Benezet's old Pont d 'Avignon, a memory 
 which was burned into our minds since our school- 
 days, when we played and sang the French ver- 
 sion of ' ' London Bridge is falling down ' ' — 
 " Sur le pont d'Avignon." 
 
 The greatest monument of all is the magnificent 
 Palais des Papes, its crenelated walls and battle- 
 ments vying with the city walls and ramparts as 
 a splendid example of mediaeval architecture. 
 We saw all these things and the museum with its 
 excellent collections, and the library of thirty 
 
170 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 thousand volumes and four thousand manu- 
 scripts. 
 
 One thing we nearly missed was Villeneuve-les- 
 Avignon, a ruined wall-circled town on the oppo- 
 site bank of the Rhone. Its machicolated crests 
 glistened in the brilliant Southern sunlight like 
 an exotic of the Saharan country. It is quite the 
 most foreign and African-looking jumble of archi- 
 tectural forms to be seen in France. It took us 
 three hours to cross the river and stroll about 
 its debris-encumbered streets and get back again 
 and start on our way northward, but it was worth 
 the time and trouble. 
 
 From St. Remy to Orange, perhaps sixty kilo- 
 metres, was not a long daily run by any means, 
 and we would not have stopped at Orange for the 
 night except that it was imperative that we should 
 see the fine antique theatre, the most magnificent, 
 the largest, and the best preserved of all existing 
 Roman theatres. 
 
 We saw it, and seeing it wondered, though, 
 when one tries to project the mind back into the 
 past and picture the scenes which once went on 
 upon its boards, the task were seemingly impos- 
 sible. 
 
 The Roman Arc de Triomphe, too, at Orange, 
 which spans the roadway to the North — the same 
 great natural road which all its length from Paris 
 to Antibes is known as the Route d'ltalie — is a 
 monument more splendid, as to its preservation, 
 than anything of the kind outside Italy itself. 
 
 There is ample and excellent accommodation 
 for the automobilist at Orange, at the Hotel des 
 

By Rhone and Saone 171 
 
 Princes, which sounds good and is good. They 
 have even a writing-room in the hotel, a silly, 
 stuffy little room which no one with any sense 
 ever enters. One simply follows a well-fed com- 
 mis-voyageur to the nearest popular cafe and 
 writes his letters there, as a well-habituated trav- 
 eller should do. 
 
 Once on the road again we passed Montelimar 
 — " le pays du nougat et de M. I' ex-President 
 Loubet," we were told by the octroi official who 
 held us up at the barrier of this self-sufficient, 
 dead-and-alive, pompous little town. We didn't 
 know M. Loubet and we didn't like nougat, so we 
 did not stop, but pushed on for Tournon. There, 
 at the little Hotel de la Poste, beneath the donjon 
 tower of the old chateau, we ate the most marvel- 
 lously concocted dejeuner we had struck for a long 
 time. There's no use describing it; it won't be 
 the same the next time; though no doubt it will 
 be as excellent. It cost but two francs fifty cen- 
 times, including vin du St. Peray, the rich red 
 wine of the Rhone, a rival to the wines of Bur- 
 gundy. 
 
 We might have done a good deal worse had we 
 stopped at progressive, up-to-date Valence, where 
 automobile tourists usually do stop, but we took 
 the offering of the small town instead of the large 
 one, and found it, as usual, very good. 
 
 We had passed La Voute-sur-Rhone, that classic 
 height which has been pictured many times in old 
 books of travel. It, and Tournon, and Valence, 
 and Viviers, and Pont St. Esprit were once river- 
 side stations for the coches d'eau which did a sort 
 
172 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of omnibus service with passengers on the Rhone, 
 between Lyons and Avignon. There is a steam- 
 boat service to-day which also carries passengers, 
 but it is not to be recommended if one has the 
 means of getting about by road. 
 
 This town, too, and Valence, were directly on 
 the route of the malle-poste from Lyons to Mar- 
 seilles. The different postes or relays were 
 marked on the maps of the day by little twisted 
 hunting-horns. For the most part an old-time 
 route map of the great trunk lines of the malle- 
 poste and the messageries would serve the auto- 
 mobilist of to-day equally as well as a modern 
 road map. 
 
 The malle-poste, and the hiring out of post- 
 horses, in France was an institution more highly 
 developed than elsewhere. 
 
 Post-horses were only delivered one in France 
 upon the presentation of a passport and payment, 
 in advance, according to the following tariff. The 
 price was fixed by law, being the same throughout 
 all France. 
 
 1 Poste (about 15 miles) 1 franc 50 centimes 
 
 £ « 75 " 
 
 i « 38 " 
 
 The postilion usually got one franc fifty per 
 poste, but could only demand seventy-five cen- 
 times. 
 
 Certain carriages (chaises and cabriolets) 
 would carry only portmanteaux (vaches), but 
 voitures fermees, caleches, and the like might 
 carry also a trunk (malle). 
 
By Rhone and Saone 173 
 
 As one goes north, sunburnt Provence, its olive 
 groves and its oil and garlic-seasoned viands are 
 left behind, until little by little one draws upon the 
 Burgundian opulence of the Cote d'Or, a land 
 where the native 's manner of eating and drinking 
 makes a full life and a merry one. 
 
 We were not there yet ; we had many kilometres 
 yet to go, always by the banks of the Rhone until 
 Lyons was reached. 
 
 Near Givors, at eight o'clock at night, within 
 twenty kilometres of Lyons, the motor gave a 
 weak asthmatic gasp, and stopped short. Like the 
 foolish virgins, we had no oil in our lamps, and 
 dusk had already fallen, and no amount of coax- 
 ing after the habitual manner would induce the 
 thing to move a yard. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to get out the tow- 
 ropes and wait — for a remorqueur, as the French 
 call any four-footed beast strong enough to tow 
 an automobile at the end of a line. (They also 
 call a tug-boat the same thing, but as an automo- 
 bile is not an amphibious animal it was a land 
 remorqueur that we awaited.) 
 
 We did not get to Lyons that night. There are 
 always uncalled for " possibilities " rising up in 
 automobiling that will upset the best thought-out 
 schedule. This was one of them. 
 
 What had happened to the machine no one yet 
 really knows, but we had to be ignominiously 
 towed, to the great amusement of the natives, at 
 the end of a long rope by the power of a diminu- 
 tive donkey which finally came along. The beast 
 
174 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 did not look as though he could draw a peram- 
 bulator, but he buckled down to it with a will, 
 and brought us safely through the half-kilometre 
 or so of crooked streets which led to the centre 
 of Givors. 
 
 Finally, we, or the car rather, was pushed into 
 an old wash-house, once a part of an ancient 
 chateau, the remise of the hotel itself, a depend- 
 ance of the chateau of other days, having been 
 preempted by an itinerant magic-lantern exhibi- 
 tion ("La Cinemetographe Americaine," it was 
 called on the bills), which proposed to show the 
 good people of Givors — ' ' for one night only, 
 and at ten sous each" — moving pictures of 
 Coney Island, Buffalo Bill's Wild West, Niagara 
 Falls, New York's " Flat Iron " building, and 
 other exotics from the New World. 
 
 We dined and slept well at Givors in spite of 
 our accident, and were ' ' up bright and early, ' ' as 
 Pepys might have said (Londoners to-day do not 
 get up bright and early, however!), to find out, 
 if possible, what was the matter with the digestive 
 apparatus of the automobile. Nothing was the 
 matter! The human, obstinate thing started off 
 at the first trial, and probably would have done 
 the same thing last night had we given the start- 
 ing-crank one more turn. Such is automobil- 
 ing! 
 
 We made our entrance into Lyons en pleine 
 vitesse, stopping not until we got to the centre 
 of the city. The octroi regulations had just been 
 revised, and the gates were open to passing traffic 
 
By Rhone and Saone 175 
 
 without the obligation of having to declare one's 
 possessions. Progressive Lyons ! 
 
 Lyons is truly progressive. It is beautifully 
 laid out and kept. It is nothing like as filthy as 
 a large city usually is, on the outskirts, and its 
 island faubourg, between the Saone and the 
 Ehone, is the ideal of a well-organized and 
 planned centre of affairs. 
 
 Lyons has, moreover, two up-to-date hotels, the 
 very latest things, one might say, in the hotel line : 
 the Terminus Hotel, which well serves travellers 
 by rail, and the Hotel de PUnivers et de PAuto- 
 mobilisme — rather a clumsy name, but that of a 
 good, well-meaning hotel. Its progressiveness 
 consists in having abolished the pourboire. You 
 have ten per cent, added on to your bill, however. 
 This looks large when it comes to figures, — pay- 
 ing something for nothing, — but at least one 
 knows where he stands, and he fears no black 
 looks from chambermaid or boots. The thing is 
 announced, by a little placard placed in every 
 room, asan <( innovation." It remains to be seen 
 if it will prove successful. 
 
 From Lyons to Dijon, 197 kilometres between 
 breakfast and lunch, was not bad. Now, at last, 
 we were in that opulent land of good living and 
 good drinking, where the food and wine are alike 
 both rich. 
 
 He's a contented, fat, sleek-looking type, the 
 native son of the Cote d'Or, and he looks with 
 contempt on the cider-nourished Norman an(? 
 Breton, and does not for a moment think thai 
 
176 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 cognac is to be compared with the eau de vie de 
 marc of his own vineyards. 
 
 The Cote d'Or is the richest wine-growing 
 region of all the world. Every direction-post and 
 sign-board is like a review of the names on a wine 
 card, — Beaune, Chambertin, St. Georges, Clos 
 Vougeot, — and of these the Clos Vougeot wines 
 are the most renowned. 
 
 A line drawn across France, just north of the 
 confines of ancient Burgundy, divides the region 
 of the v ins ordinaires — the light wines of the 
 tables d'hote — and that of those vintages which 
 have no price. This, at least, is the way the 
 native puts it, and to some extent the simile is 
 correct enough. 
 
 The Cote begins and the plain ends; the hill- 
 sides rise and the river-bottoms dwindle away in 
 the distance : such is the feeling that one experi- 
 ences as he climbs these vine-clad slopes from 
 either the Ehone, the Loire, or the Seine valleys, 
 and here it is that the imaginary line is drawn 
 between the vins ordinaires and the vins sans 
 prix. 
 
 Since there is no possibility of increasing the 
 quantity of these rich, red Burgundian wines, the 
 highly cultured area being of but small extent, 
 and because their quality depends upon the pecul- 
 iar nature of the soil of this restricted tract, there 
 is no question but that the monopoly of Burgun- 
 dian wines will remain for ever with the gold 
 coast of France, whatever Australian and Cali- 
 
By Rhone and Saone 177 
 
 fornian patriots may claim for their own imita- 
 tions. 
 
 The phylloxera here, as elsewhere in France, 
 caused a setback to the commerce in wines, as 
 serious in money figures as the losses sustained 
 during the Franco-Prussian War, but the time 
 has now passed and the famous Cote d'Or has 
 once more attained its time-honoured opulence 
 and prosperity. 
 
 " Le vin de Bourgogne 
 Met la bonne humeur 
 An cceur." 
 
 Still northward, across the plateau of Langres, 
 we set a roundabout course for Paris. There is 
 one great pleasure about automobiling that is 
 considerably curtailed if one sets out to follow 
 precisely a preconceived itinerary, and for that 
 reason we were, in a measure, going where fancy 
 willed. 
 
 We might have turned westward, via Moulins, 
 Nevers, and Montargis, from Lyons, and followed 
 the old coaching road into Paris, entering by the 
 same gateway through which we set out, but we 
 had heard of the charms of the valley of the 
 Marne, and we wanted to see them for ourselves. 
 
 Our first acquaintance with it was at Bar le 
 Due, which is not on the Marne at all, but on a 
 little confluent some twenty or thirty miles from 
 its junction. . 
 
 For a day we had been riding over corkscrew 
 roads with little peace and comfort for the driver, 
 
178 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and considerable hard work for the motor. The 
 hills were numerous, but the surface was good and 
 the scenery delightful, so, since most of us require 
 variety as a component of our daily lives, we were 
 getting what we wanted and no one complained. 
 It was easy going by Chateau Thierry and the 
 episcopal city of Meaux, retracing almost the 
 itinerary of the fleeing Louis XVI., and, as we 
 entered Paris by the Porte de Vincennes, — al- 
 ways by villainous roadways, this getting in and 
 out of Paris, — we red-inked another twelve hun- 
 dred kilometre stretch of roadway on our record 
 map of France. 
 
^SEINE 53W0ISE 
 
 179 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 BY SEINE AND OISE A CRUISE IN A CANOT - AUTO- 
 MOBILE 
 
 If automobiling on land in France is a pleasure, 
 a voyage up a picturesque and historic French 
 river in a canot-automobile is a dream, so at least 
 we thought, four of us — and a boy to clean the 
 engine, run errands, and to climb overboard and 
 push us off when we got stuck in the mud. 
 
 Our " home port " was Les Andelys on the 
 Seine, and we met in the courtyard of the Hotel 
 Bellevue at five o'clock one misty, gray September 
 morning for a fortnight's voyage up the Oise, 
 which joins the Seine midway between Les An- 
 delys and Paris. 
 
 There is nothing mysterious about an automo- 
 bile boat any more than there is about the land 
 automobile. It has its moods and vagaries, its 
 good points and some bad ones. It is not as 
 speedy as an automobile on shore, but it is more 
 comfortable, a great deal more fun to steer, and 
 less dangerous, and there is an utter absence of 
 those chief causes of trouble to the automobile, 
 punctures and what not happening to your tires. 
 Then again there is, generally speaking, no crowd 
 
 181 
 
182 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of traffic to run you into danger, and there is an 
 absence of dust, to make up for which, when you 
 are lying by waiting to go through a lock, you 
 have mosquitoes of a fierce bloodthirsty kind 
 which even the smoke from the vile tobacco of 
 French cigarettes will not keep at a distance. 
 
 Our facile little automobile boat was called the 
 " Cd et La." Rightly enough named it was, too. 
 The French give singularly pert and appropriate 
 names to their boats. " Va Von" " Quand 
 meme," and " Cd et La" certainly tell the stories 
 of their missions in their very names. 
 
 The boat itself, and its motor, too, was purely 
 a French production, and, though of modest force 
 and dimensions, would do its dozen miles an hour 
 all day long. 
 
 "We got away from the landing-stage of the 
 Touring Club de France at Les Andelys in good 
 time, our provisions, our gasoline and oil, our 
 river charts, our wraps and ourselves all stowed 
 comfortably away in the eight metres of length 
 of our little boat. Our siren gave a hoot which 
 startled the rooks circling about the donjon walls 
 of Chateau Gaillard over our heads, and we 
 passed under the brick arches of the bridge for a 
 twelve-mile run to the first lock at Courcelles. 
 
 The process of going through a river lock in 
 France is not far different from the same process 
 elsewhere, except that the all-powerful Touring 
 Club de France has secured precedence for all 
 pleasure boats over any other waiting craft. It 
 really costs nothing, but you give a franc to the 
 
By Seine and Oise 183 
 
 eclusier, and the way is thereby made the easier 
 for the next arrival. The objection to river-locks 
 is their frequency in some parts. There is one 
 stretch of thirty or forty kilometres on the Marne 
 with thirty-three locks. That costs something, 
 truly. 
 
 We knew the Seine valley intimately, by road 
 along both its banks, at any rate, and we were 
 hopeful of reaching Triel that night, near the 
 junction of the Seine "and Oise. 
 
 We passed our first lock at Courcelles, just 
 before seven o'clock, and had a good stretch of 
 straight water ahead of us before Vernon was 
 reached. 
 
 You cannot miss your way, of course, when 
 travelling by river, but you can be at a consider- 
 able loss to know how far you have come since 
 your last stopping-place, or rather you would be 
 if the French government had not placed little 
 white kilometre stones all along the banks of the 
 " navigable " and " ftottable " rivers, as they 
 have along the great national roads on land. 
 Blessed be the paternal French government; the 
 traveller in la belle France has much for which 
 to be grateful to it: its excellent roadways, its 
 sign-boards, and its kilometre stones most of all. 
 The motor-boat is highly developed in France 
 from the simple fact that you can tour on it. You 
 can go all over France by a magnificent system 
 of inland waterways; from the Seine to the 
 Marne; from the Oise to the Sambre — and so 
 to Antwerp and Ghent; from the Loire to the 
 
184 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Rhone; and even from the Marne to the Rhine; 
 and from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic. 
 France is the touring-ground par excellence for 
 the automobile boat. 
 
 Here's a new project of travel for those who 
 want to do what others have not done to any great 
 extent. Africa and the Antartic continent have 
 been explored, and the North Pole bids fair to 
 be discovered by means of a flying-machine ere 
 long, so, with no new worlds to conquer, one 
 might do worse in the way of pleasurable travel 
 than to explore the waterways of France. 
 
 Maistre wrote his " Voyage Autour de Ma 
 Chambre " and Karr his " Voyage Autour de 
 Mon Jardin," hence any one who really wants to 
 do something similar might well make the tour 
 of the He de France by water. It can be done, 
 and would be a revelation of novelty, if one would 
 do it and write it down. 
 
 For the moment we were bound up the Oise; 
 we had passed Vernon and Giverny, sitting snug 
 on the hillside by the mouth of the Ept, where we 
 knew there were countless Americans, artists and 
 others, sitting in Gaston's garden or playing ten- 
 nis on a sunburnt field beside the road. Foolish 
 business that, with a river like the Seine so near 
 at hand, and because it was the custom at Giverny, 
 a custom grown to be a habit, which is worse, we 
 liked not the place, in spite of its other undeniable 
 charms. 
 
 We put in for lunch at La Roche-Guyon, a 
 trim little town lying close beneath the Renais- 
 
By Seine and Oise 185 
 
 sance chateau of the La Rochefoucauld's. There 
 are two waterside hotels at La Roche-Guyon, 
 beside the ugly wire-rope bridge, but we knew 
 them of old, and knew they were likely to be full 
 of an unspeakable class of Parisian merrymakers. 
 There may be others who patronize these delight- 
 fully situated riverside inns, but the former pre- 
 dominate in the season. Out of season it may be 
 quite different. 
 
 We hunted out a little cafe in the town, whose 
 patron we knew, and prevailed upon his good 
 wife to give us our lunch en famille, which she 
 did and did well. 
 
 It was tres bourgeois, but that was what we 
 wanted, and, after a couple of hours eating and 
 lolling about and playing with the cats and talk- 
 ing to the parrot, — a Martinique parrot who 
 knew some English, — we took to the river again, 
 and, after passing the locks at Bonnieres, arrived 
 at Mantes at five o'clock. 
 
 The nights draw in quickly, even in the early 
 days of September, and we were bound to push 
 on, if we were to reach Triel that night. We 
 could have reached it, but were delayed at a lock, 
 while it emptied itself and half a score of down- 
 river barges, and, spying a gem of a riverside 
 restaurant at Meulan, overhanging the very water 
 itself, and hung with great golden orange globes 
 of light (so-called Japanese lanterns, and nothing 
 more), we were sentimentally enough inclined to 
 want to dine with such Claude Melnotte acces- 
 sories. This we did, and hunted up lodgings in 
 
186 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 the town for the night, vowing to get an extra 
 early start in the morning to make up for lost 
 time. 
 
 The Seine at Meulan takes on a certain luxuri- 
 ous aspect so far as river-boating goes. There 
 is even a " Cercle a la Voile," with yachts which, 
 in the narrow confines of the river, look like the 
 real thing, but which after all are very diminutive 
 members of the family. 
 
 From this point the course of the Seine is a 
 complicated winding among lies and Hots, which 
 gives it that elongation which makes necessary 
 hours of journeying by boat as against a quarter 
 of the time by the road — as the crow flies — to 
 the lower fortifications of Paris. 
 
 On either side, however, are chemins vicinales, 
 which continually produce unthought-of vistas 
 which automobilists who are making a record 
 from Trouville to Paris know nothing of. 
 
 Triel possesses an imposing thirteenth-century 
 Gothic church and an abominably ugly suspension- 
 bridge of wire rope. It is a good place to buy 
 a boat or a cargo of gypsum, which we know as 
 ' ' plaster of Paris ; ' ' otherwise the town is not 
 remarkable, though charmingly situated. 
 
 The Oise is the first really great commercial 
 tributary of the Seine. There is a mighty flow 
 of commerce which ascends and descends the 
 bosom of the Oise, extending even to the Low 
 Countries and the German Ocean, through the 
 Sambre to Antwerp and the Scheldt. 
 
 The Oise is classed as flottable from Beautor 
 
By Seine and Oise 187 
 
 to Chauny, a distance of twenty kilometres, and 
 navigable from Chauny to the Seine. Mostly it 
 runs through the great plain of Picardie and 
 forms the natural northern boundary to the 
 ancient He de France. The navigable portion 
 forms two sections. One, of fifty-five kilometres, 
 extends between Chauny and Janville, and has 
 been generally abandoned by water-craft because 
 of the opening of the Canal Lateral a la Oise ; the 
 other section, of one hundred and four kilometres, 
 is canalized in that it has been straightened here 
 and there at sharp corners, dredged and endowed 
 with seven locks. 
 
 The barge traffic of the Oise is mostly towed in 
 convoys of six, but there is a chemin de halage, 
 a tow-path, throughout the river's length. In 
 general, the boats are of moderate size, the 
 peniches being perhaps a hundred and twenty 
 feet in length, the bateaux picards somewhat 
 longer, and the chalands approximating one hun- 
 dred and sixty to one hundred and seventy-five 
 feet. 
 
 While, as stated above, the traction is generally 
 by steam towboat, the more picturesque, if slower 
 and more humble, tow-horse is more largely in 
 evidence here than elsewhere in France. 
 
 The environs of Conflans-fin-d'Oise are of a 
 marvellous charm, but the immediate surround- 
 ings, great garages of coal boats and barges, 
 coal-yards where towboats are filling up, and all 
 the grime of an enormous water-borne traffic 
 
188 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 which here divides, part to go Parisward and 
 part down-river, make it unlovely enough. 
 
 Three kilometres up-river is a little riverside 
 inn called the " Goujon de l'Oise." It is a pleas- 
 ant place to lunch, but otherwise " fishy," as 
 might be supposed. 
 
 Back toward Meulan and on the heights above 
 Triel are nestled a half-dozen picturesque little 
 red-roofed villages which are not known at all 
 to travellers from Paris by road or rail. It is 
 curious how many sylvan spots one can find 
 almost within plain sight of Paris. There are 
 wheat-fields within sight of Montmartre and hay- 
 stacks almost under the shadow of Mont Valerian. 
 
 At Evequemont, just back of Conflans, some 
 eight hundred souls eke out an existence on their 
 small farms and live the lives of their grand- 
 fathers before them, with never so much as a 
 thought as to what may be happening at the cap- 
 ital twenty kilometres away. 
 
 Boisemont is another tiny village, with an 
 eighteenth-century chateau which would form an 
 idyllic retreat from the cares of city ways. Cour- 
 dimanche, a few miles farther on, is unknown and 
 unspoiled. It crowns a hilltop, with its diminutive 
 and unusual red-roofed church overtopping all 
 and visible from the river, or from the rolling 
 country round about, for many miles. Here the 
 Oise makes a long parallelogram-like turn from 
 Maurecourt around to Eragny, perhaps two miles 
 in a bee-line, but seemingly twenty by the river's 
 course. 
 
By Seine and Oise 189 
 
 The land automobile has a distinct advantage 
 here in speed over the canot, but one's point of 
 view is not so lovely. It is only twelve kilometres 
 to Pontoise, where^ one passes the barrage just 
 below the town and saunters on shore for a spell, 
 just to get acquainted with the place that Paris- 
 ians know so well by name, and yet so little in 
 reality. 
 
 Pontoise is the metropolis of the Oise, though 
 it, too, is a veritable French country town, such 
 as one would hardly expect to find within twenty 
 kilometres of Paris. The islands of the river are 
 dotted with trees and petit maisons de campagne, 
 and the right bank is bordered with great chalky 
 cliffs, as is the Seine in Normandy. 
 
 The general appearance of Pontoise is most 
 pleasing. At first glance it looks like a mediaeval 
 Gothic city, and again even Oriental. At any rate, 
 it is an exceedingly unworldly sort of a place, 
 with here and there remains of its bold ramparts 
 and its zigzag and tortuous streets, but with no 
 very great grandeur anywhere to be remarked, 
 except in the Eglise St. Maclou. 
 
 The history of Pontoise is long and lurid, be- 
 ginning with the times of the Gauls when it was 
 known as Briva Isaroe. It is a long time since 
 the ramparts protected the old Chateau of the 
 Counts of Vexin — literally the land dedicated to 
 Vulcan (pagus Vulcanis) - - where many French 
 kings often resided. Many religious establish- 
 ments flourished here, too, all more or less under 
 royal patronage, including the Abbeys of St. 
 
190 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Mellon and St. Martin, and the Couvent des 
 Cordeliers, in whose splendid refectory the exiled 
 Parlement held its sessions in 1652, 1720, and 
 1753. Out of this circumstance grew the proverb 
 or popular saying, " Avoir I'air de revenir de 
 Pontoise." The domain of Pontoise belonged in 
 turn to many seigneurs, but up to the Revolution 
 it was still practically une ville monastique. 
 
 As one comes to the lower streets of the town, 
 near the station, and between it and the river, 
 the resemblance to a little corner of the Pays 
 Bas is remarkable, and therein lies its pictur- 
 esqueness, if not grandeur. Artists would love 
 the narrow Rue des Attanets, with its curious 
 flanking houses of wood and stone, and the Rue 
 de Rouen, which partakes of much the same char- 
 acteristics. Along the river are great flour-mills, 
 with wash-houses and red-armed, blue-bloused 
 women eternally washing and rinsing. All this 
 would furnish studies innumerable to those who 
 are able to fabricate mouldy walls and tumble- 
 down picturesqueness out of little tubes of colour 
 and gray canvas. Here, too, at Pontoise, in its 
 little port, none too cleanly because of the refuse 
 and grime of ashes and coal soot, one sees the 
 first of the heavy chalands loaded with iron ore 
 from the Ardennes, or coal from Belgium, mak- 
 ing their way to the wharves of Paris via the 
 Canal St. Denis. 
 
 More distant, and more pleasing to many, is 
 that variety of landscape made famous, and even 
 popular, by Dupre and Daubigny. So, on the 
 
By Seine and Oise 191 
 
 whole, Pontoise, and the country round about, 
 should properly be classed among the things to 
 which few have ever given more than a passing 
 glance, but which have a vast reserve fund of 
 attractions hidden behind them, needing only to 
 be sought out to be admired. 
 
 St. Ouen PAunione, a tiny little town of a couple 
 of thousand souls, opposite Pontoise, has two re- 
 markable attractions which even a bird of pas- 
 sage might well take the time to view. One is 
 the very celebrated Abbaye de Maubisson, indeed 
 it might be called notorious, if one believed the 
 chronicles relating to the proceedings which took 
 place there under Angelique d'Estrees, sister of 
 the none too saintly Gabrielle. 
 
 It was founded in 1236 by Blanche of Castile, 
 for the former religieuses of Citeaux, and was 
 justly celebrated in the middle ages for the luxu- 
 riousness of its appointments and the excellence 
 of its design. 
 
 The other feature of St. Ouen l'Aumone, which 
 got its name, by the way, from a former Arch- 
 bishop of Rouen, is a remarkable example of one 
 of those great walled farmyards in which the 
 north of France, Normandy in particular, for- 
 merly abounded. It is all attached to what was 
 known as the Pare de Maubisson, which itself is 
 closed by a high, ancient wall with two turrets at 
 the corners. This wall is supposed to date from 
 the fourteenth century, and within are the remains 
 of a vast storehouse or grange of the same cen- 
 tury. The only building at all approaching this 
 
192 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 great storehouse is the Halle au Ble at Rouen, 
 which it greatly resembles as to size. It is now 
 in the hands of a grain merchant who must deal 
 on a large scale, as he claims to have one hundred 
 thousand gerbes (sheaves) in storage at one time. 
 The interior is divided into three naves by two 
 files of monocylindrical columns, though the east- 
 ern aisle has practically been demolished. 
 
 At Auvers, just above Pontoise, which is bound 
 to Mery by an ugly iron bridge across the Oise, is 
 a fine church of the best of twelfth and thirteenth 
 century Gothic, with a series of Romanesque 
 windows in the apse. Here, too, the country im- 
 mediately environing Auvers and Mery is of the 
 order made familiar by Daubigny and his school. 
 French farmyards, stubble-thatched cottages, and 
 all the rusticity which is so charming in nature 
 draws continually group after group of artists 
 from Paris to this particular spot at all seasons 
 of the year. The homely side of country life has 
 ever had a charm for city dwellers. Auvers is 
 somewhat doubtfully stated as being the birth- 
 place of Francois Villon — that prince of vaga- 
 bonds. Usually Paris has been given this dis- 
 tinction. 
 
 Mery is an elevated little place of something 
 less than fifteen hundred souls. It has a church 
 of the thirteenth, sixteenth, and eighteenth cen- 
 turies, and a chateau which was constructed at 
 the end of the fourteenth century by the Seigneur 
 de Mery, Pierre d'Orgemont, grand chancellor of 
 France. The domain was created a marquisat in 
 
By Seine and Oise 193 
 
 1665. The famous banker, Samuel Bernard, it 
 seems, became the occupant of the chateau in the 
 reign of Louis XIV., and there received king 
 and court. 
 
 On a certain occasion, as the season had ad- 
 vanced toward the chill of winter, the opulent 
 seigneur made great fires of acacia wood. The 
 king, who was present, said courteously to his 
 host: " Know you well, Samuel, it is not possi- 
 ble for me to do this in my palace ; ' ' from which 
 we may infer that it was a luxury which even 
 kings appreciated. 
 
 There were no river obstructions to the free 
 passage of our little craft between Pontoise and 
 L 'Isle- Adam, above Auvers. We were going by 
 easy stages now, even the long tows of grain and 
 coal-laden barges were gaining on us, for we were 
 straggling disgracefully and stopping at almost 
 every kilometre stone. 
 
 We tied up at Auvers, " Daubigny's Country," 
 as we called it, and stayed for the night at the 
 Hostellerie du Nord, a not very splendid estab- 
 lishment, but one with a character all its own. 
 Auvers, and its neighbour Mery, together form 
 one of the most delightful settlements in which 
 to pass a summer, near to Paris, that could be 
 possibly imagined, but with this proviso, that on 
 Sunday one could take a day in town, for then 
 tout le monde, the proprietor of the Hostellerie 
 du Nord tells you, comes out to breathe the artis- 
 tic atmosphere of Daubigny. How much they 
 
194 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 really care for Daubigny or his artistic atmos- 
 phere is a question. 
 
 At such times the tiny garden and the dining- 
 room of the Hostellerie attempt to expand them- 
 selves to accommodate a hundred and fifty guests, 
 whereas their capacity is perhaps forty. Some- 
 thing very akin to pandemonium takes place ; it 
 is amusing, no doubt, but it is not comfortable. 
 Nothing ever goes particularly awry here, how- 
 ever ; M. T , the patron, is too good a manager 
 
 for that, and a popular one, too, to judge from 
 his Salon d' Exposition, which is hung about with 
 a couple of hundred pictures presented by his ad- 
 miring painter guests from time to time. The 
 viands are bountiful and splendidly garnished 
 and the consommations an premier choix. Then 
 there are the occupants of " les petit s menages ' 
 to swoop down on your table for crumbs, — pig- 
 eons only, — and in cages a score or more of 
 canary-birds, and, as a sort of contrast, dogs and 
 cats and fowls of all varieties of breed. 
 
 It sounds rather uncomfortable, but we did not 
 find it so at all, and, speaking from experience, 
 it is one of the most enticing of the various 
 " artists' resorts " known. 
 
 It is but a short six kilometres to L 'Isle-Adam, 
 and it was ten the next morning before we em- 
 barked. It is a small town mostly given over to 
 suburban houses of Paris brokers and merchants. 
 It is an attractive enough town as a place of resi- 
 dence, but of works of artistic worth it has prac- 
 

By Seine and Oise 195 
 
 tically none, if we except the not very splendid 
 fifteenth-century church. 
 
 The largest of the islands here, just above the 
 lock, was formerly occupied by the chateau of the 
 Prince de Conti. It was destroyed at the Revo- 
 lution, but its place has been taken by a modern 
 villa whose gardens are kept up with remarkable 
 skill and care, albeit it is nothing but a villa 
 coquette on a large scale. L 'Isle-Adam received 
 its name from the Connetable Adam who first 
 built a chateau here in 1069. 
 
 The Foret de PIsle-Adam is one of those noble 
 woods in which the north of France abounds. 
 Like the Foret de Ermenonville, Compiegne, and 
 Chantilly it is beautifully kept, with great roads 
 running straight and silent through avenues of 
 oaks. 
 
 The Chateau de Cassan, but a short distance 
 into the Foret, has a wonderful formal garden, 
 laid out after the English manner and ranking 
 with the parks of the Trianon and Ermenonville. 
 
 After L 'Isle-Adam we did not stop, except for 
 the lock at Eougemont, till the smoke-stacks and 
 factory-belchings of Creil loomed up before us 
 thirty kilometres beyond. 
 
 Creil is commercial, very commercial, and is a 
 railway junction like Clapham Junction or South 
 Chicago, — no, not quite ; nowhere else, on top 
 of the green earth, are there quite such atrocious 
 monuments to man's lack of artistic taste. It is 
 a pity Creil is so banal on close acquaintance, 
 for it is bejewelled with emerald hills and a tiny 
 
196 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 belt of silvery water which, in the savage days 
 of long ago, must have given it preeminence 
 among similar spots in the neighbourhood. 
 
 Just above is Pont St. Maxence, delightfully 
 named and delightfully placed, with a picture 
 church of the best of Renaissance architecture 
 and an atmosphere which made one want to linger 
 within the confines of the town long after his 
 allotted time. We stayed nearly half a day; we 
 ate lunch in a little restaurant in the shadow of 
 the bridge; we bought and sent off picture post- 
 cards, and we took snap-shots and strolled about 
 and gazed at the little gem of a place until all the 
 gamins in town were following in our wake. 
 
 Compiegne was next in our itinerary. We knew 
 Compiegne, from the shore, as one might say, 
 having passed and repassed it many times, and 
 we knew all its charms and attractions, or thought 
 we did, but we were not prepared for the effect 
 of the rays of the setting sun on the quaintly ser- 
 rated sky-line of the roof-tops of the city, as we 
 saw it from the river. 
 
 It was bloody red, and the willows along the 
 river's bank were a dim purply melange of all the 
 refuse of an artist's palette. Compiegne has 
 many sides, but its picturesque sunset side is the 
 most theatrical grouping of houses and landscape 
 we had seen for many a long day. 
 
 Here at Compiegne the vigour of the Oise ends. 
 Above it is a weakly, purling stream, the greater 
 part of the traffic going by the Canal Lateral, 
 while below it broadens out into a workable, in- 
 
By Seine and Oise 197 
 
 dustrial sort of a waterway which is doing its 
 best to contribute its share to the prosperity of 
 France. 
 
 We learn here, as elsewhere, where it has been 
 attempted, that the hand of man cannot irretriev- 
 ably make or reclaim the course of a river. De- 
 prived of its natural bed and windings, it will 
 always form new ones of its own making in con- 
 formity to the law of nature. The attempt was 
 made to straighten the course of the Oise, but in 
 a very short time the latent energies of the 
 stream, more forceful than were supposed, made 
 fresh windings and turnings, the ultimate devel- 
 opment of which was found to very nearly ap- 
 proximate those which had previously been done 
 away with, and so the Canal Lateral, which com- 
 mences at Compiegne, was built. 
 
 Compiegne 's attractions are many, its gener- 
 ally well-kept and prosperous air, its most excel- 
 lent hotels (two of them, though we bestowed our 
 august patronage on the Hotel de France), its 
 chateau of royal days of Louis XV., and its Hotel 
 de Ville. 
 
 Stevenson, in his " Inland Voyage," has said 
 that what charmed him most at Compiegne was 
 the Hotel de Ville. Truly this will be so with any 
 who have a soul above electric trams and the art 
 nouveau; it is the most dainty and lovable of 
 Renaissance Hotels de Ville anywhere to be seen, 
 with pignons, and gables, and niches with figures 
 in them jutting out all over it. 
 
 Then there is the novel and energetic little 
 
198 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 jaquemart, the little bronze figures of which 
 strike the hours and even the halves and quarters. 
 There is not a detail of this charming building, 
 inside or out, which will not be admired by all. 
 It is far and away more interesting in its appeal 
 than the chateau itself. 
 
 Our next day's journey was to Noyon. We 
 were travelling by boat, to be sure, but a good 
 part of the personnel of the hotel, including the 
 hostler, and the bus-driver, whose business was at 
 the station, came down to see us off. Like a bird 
 in a cage he gazed at us with longing eyes, and 
 once let fall the remark that he wished he had 
 nothing else to do but sit in the bow of a boat and 
 " twiddle a few things " to make it go faster. 
 He overlooked entirely the things that might 
 happen, such as having to pull your boat up on 
 shore and pull out the weeds and rubbish which 
 were stopping your intake pipe, or climb over- 
 board yourself and disentangle water-plants from 
 your propeller, if indeed it had not lost a blade 
 and you were forced to be ignominiously towed 
 into the next large town. 
 
 It looks all very delightful travelling about in 
 a dainty and facile little canot-automobile, and for 
 our part we were immensely pleased with this, 
 our first, experience of so long a voyage. Noth- 
 ing had happened to disturb the tranquillity of 
 our journey, not a single mishap had delayed us, 
 and we had not a quarrel with a bargeman or an 
 eclusier, as we had been told we should have. 
 We were in luck, and though we only averaged 
 
By Seine and Oise 199 
 
 from fifty to sixty kilometres a day, we were all 
 day doing it, and it seemed two hundred. 
 
 We lunched at Ribecourt and struck the most 
 ponderously named hotel we had seen in all our 
 travels, and it was good in spite of its weight. 
 " Le Courrier des Pays et des Trois Jambons," 
 or something very like it, was its name, and its 
 patronne was glad to see us, and killed a fowl 
 especially on our account, culled some fresh let- 
 tuce in the garden, and made a dream of a rum 
 omelette, which she said was the national dish of 
 America. It isn't, as most of us know, but it 
 was a mighty good omelette, nevertheless, and the 
 rum was sufficiently fiery to give it a zest. 
 
 We spent that night at Noyon of blessed mem- 
 ory. Noyon is not down in the itineraries of many 
 guide-book tourists, which is a pity for them. It 
 is altogether the most unspoiled old-world town 
 between the He de France and the Channel ports 
 of Boulogne and Calais through which so many 
 Anglo-Saxon travellers enter. It is off the beaten 
 track, though, and that accounts for it. Blessed 
 be the tourist agencies which know nothing 
 beyond their regular routes, and thus leave some 
 forgotten and neglected tourist-points yet to be 
 developed. 
 
 The majesty of Noyon 's Cathedral of Notre 
 Dame is unequalled in all the world. The grim 
 towers rise boldly without ornament or decoration 
 of any kind, and are cowled by a peculiarly 
 strange roofing. The triple porch is denuded of 
 
200 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 its decorative statues, and there is a rank Renais- 
 sance excrescence in the rear which is unseemly, 
 but for all that, as a mediaeval religious monument 
 of rank, it appeals to all quite as forcibly as the 
 brilliantly florid cathedral at Beauvais, or the 
 richly proud Amiens, its nearest neighbours of 
 episcopal rank. 
 
 We did not sit in front of the Hotel du Nord 
 at Noyon, as did Stevenson, and hear the " sweet 
 groaning of the organ " from the cathedral door- 
 way, but we experienced all the emotions of which 
 he wrote in his " Inland Voyage," and we were 
 glad we came. 
 
 The Hotel de France and the Hotel du Nord 
 share the custom of the ever-shifting traffic of 
 voyageurs at Noyon. The latter is the " auto- 
 mobile " hotel, and accordingly possesses many 
 little accessories which the other establishment 
 lacks. Otherwise they are of about the same 
 value, and in either you will, unless you are a 
 very heavy sleeper, think that the cathedral-bells 
 were made to wake the dead, so reverberant are 
 their tones and so frequent their ringing. 
 
 It was Stevenson's wish that, if he ever em- 
 braced Catholicism, he should be made Bishop of 
 Noyon. Whether it was the simple magnitude 
 of its quaint, straight-lined cathedral, or the gen- 
 erally charming and riant aspect of the town, one 
 does not know, but the sentiment was worthy of 
 both the man and the place. 
 
 " Les affaires sont les affaires," as the French 
 
By Seine and Oise 
 
 201 
 
 say, and business called us to Paris; so, after a 
 happy ten days on the Seine and Oise, we cut our 
 voyage short with the avowed intention of some 
 day continuing it. 
 
 n 
 
 ^p 
 
 Nautical Insignia, Touring Club de France 
 
gfe £?g%z? ^ ^ jVowth 
 
 We left Paris by the ghastly route leading out 
 through the plain of Gennevilliers, where Paris 
 empties her sewage and grows asparagus, passing 
 St. Denis and its royal catacombs of the ancient 
 abbey, and so on to Pontoise, all over as vile a 
 stretch of road as one will find in the north of 
 France, always excepting the suburbs of St. Ger- 
 main. 
 
 Pontoise is all very well in its way, and is by 
 no means a dull, uninteresting town, but we had 
 no thoughts for it at the moment ; indeed, we had 
 no thoughts of anything but to put the horrible 
 suburban Paris pave as far behind us as we could 
 before we settled down to enjoyment. 
 
 At Pontoise we suddenly discovered that we 
 were on the wrong road. So much for not know- 
 ing our way out of town — twenty-five kilometres 
 of axle-breaking cobblestones ! 
 
 202 
 
The Road to the North 203 
 
 We had some consolation in knowing that it was 
 equally as bad by any northern road out of Paris, 
 so we only had the trouble of making a twenty- 
 kilometre detour through the valley of the Oise, 
 by our old haunts of Auvers and L 'Isle- Adam to 
 Chantilly and Senlis. 
 
 We got our clue to the itinerary of the road to 
 the north from a view of an old poster issued by 
 the " Messageries Roy ales " just previous to the 
 Revolution (a copy of which is given elsewhere 
 in this book). 
 
 Many were the times we, and all well-habituated 
 travellers in France, had swung from Calais to 
 Paris by train, with little thought indeed as to 
 what lay between. True, we had, more than once, 
 11 stopped off " at Amiens and Abbeville to see 
 their magnificent churches, and we had spent a 
 long summer at Etaples and Montreuil-sur-Mer, 
 two " artists' haunts " but little known to the 
 general traveller; but we never really knew the 
 lay of the land north of Paris, except as we had 
 got it from the reading of Dumas, Stevenson's 
 " Inland Voyage," and the sentimental journey - 
 ings of the always delightful Sterne. 
 
 We made Chantilly our stop for lunch, en route 
 to Senlis. We ought not to have done this, for 
 what with the loafing horse-jockeys in the cafes, 
 and the trainers and " cheap sports " hanging 
 about the hotels, Chantilly does not impress one 
 as the historical shrine that it really is. 
 
 Chantilly is sporty, tres sportive, as the French 
 call it, as is inevitable of France's most popular 
 
204 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 race-track, and there is an odour of America, Ire- 
 land, and England over all. How many jockeys 
 of these nationalities one really finds at Chantilly 
 the writer does not know, but, judging from the 
 alacrity with which the hotels serve you ham and 
 eggs and the cafe waiters respond to a demand 
 for whiskey (Scotch, Irish, or American), it may 
 be assumed that the alien population is very 
 large. 
 
 We had our lunch at the Hotel du Grand Conde, 
 which is marked with three stars in the automo- 
 bile route-books. This means that it is expensive, 
 — and so we found it. It was a good enough hotel 
 of its kind, but there was nothing of local colour 
 about it. It might have been at Paris, Biarritz, 
 or Monte Carlo. 
 
 The great attractions of Chantilly are the 
 chateau and park and the collections of the Due 
 d'Aumale, famed alike in the annals of history 
 and art. We were properly appreciative, and 
 only barely escaped being carried off by our guide 
 to see the stables — as if we had not suffered 
 enough from the horse craze ever since we had 
 struck the town. 
 
 The most we would do was to admire the park 
 and the ramifications of its paths and alleys which 
 dwindled imperceptibly into the great Foret de 
 Chantilly itself. The forest is one of those vast 
 tracts of wildwood which are so plentifully be- 
 sprinkled all over France. Their equals are not 
 known elsewhere, for they are crossed and re- 
 crossed in all directions by well-kept carriage 
 
The Road to the North 205 
 
 roads where automobilists will be troubled neither 
 by dust nor glaring sunlight. They are the very 
 ideals of roads, the forest roads of France, and 
 their length is many thousands of kilometres. 
 
 Senlis is but eight kilometres from Chantilly. 
 We had no reason for going there at all, except 
 to have a look at its little-known, but very beauti- 
 ful, cathedral, and to get on the real road to the 
 north. 
 
 We spent the night at Senlis, for we had 
 become fatigued with the horrible pave of the 
 early morning, the sightseeing of the tourist 
 order which we had done at Chantilly, and the 
 eternal dodging of race-horses being exercised 
 all through the streets of the town and the roads 
 of the forest. 
 
 " Monsieur descend-il a V Hotel du Grand 
 Monarquef " asked a butcher's boy of us, as we 
 stopped the automobile beneath the cathedral 
 tower to get our bearings. He was probably 
 looking for a little commission on our hotel-bill 
 for showing us the way; but, after all, this is a 
 legitimate enough proposition. We told him 
 frankly no; that we were looking for the Hotel 
 des Arenes; but that he knew nothing of. An- 
 other, more enterprising, did, and we drove our 
 automobile into the court of a tiny little commer- 
 cial-looking hotel, and were soon strolling about 
 the town free from further care for the day. The 
 hotel was ordinary enough, neither good nor bad, 
 comme 'ci, comme ga, the French would call it, — 
 but they made no objection to getting up at six 
 
206 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 o'clock the next morning and making us fresh 
 coffee which was a dream of excellence. This is 
 a good deal in its favour, for the coffee of the 
 ordinary French country hotel — in the north, in 
 particular — -is fearfully and wonderfully made, 
 principally of chicory. 
 
 Sentiment would be served, and from Senlis we 
 struck across forty kilometres to what may be 
 called the Dumas Country, Crepy-en-Valois and 
 Villers-Cotterets. Here was a little-trodden 
 haunt which all lovers of romance and history 
 would naturally fall in love with. 
 
 Crepy is a snug, conservative little town where 
 life goes on in much the same way that it did 
 in the days when Alexandre Dumas was a clerk 
 here in a notary's office, before he descended 
 upon the Parisian world of letters. His " Me- 
 moires " tell the story of his early experiences 
 here in his beloved Valois country. It is a charm- 
 ing biographical work, Dumas 's " Memoires," 
 and it is a pity it is not better known to English 
 readers. Dumas tells of his journey by road, 
 from the town of his birth, Villers-Cotterets, to 
 Crepy, with his world's belongings done up in 
 a handkerchief on a stick, " in bulk not more 
 grand than the luggage of a Savoyard when he 
 leaves his native mountain home." 
 
 Crepy has a delightfully named and equally ex- 
 cellent hotel in the " Trois Pigeons," and one 
 may eat of real country fare and be happy and 
 forget all about the ham and eggs and bad whis- 
 key of Chantilly in the contemplation of omelettes 
 
The Road to the North 207 
 
 and chickens and fresh, green salads, such as only 
 the country innkeeper in France knows how to 
 serve. Crepy has a chateau, too, a relic of the 
 days when the town was the capital of a petit 
 gouvernement belonging to a younger branch of 
 the royal family of France in the fourteenth cen- 
 tury. The chateau is not quite one 's ideal of what 
 a great mediaeval chateau should be, but it is 
 sufficiently imposing to give a distinction to the 
 landscape, and is in every way a very representa- 
 tive example of the construction of the time. 
 
 The great Route Nationale to the north runs 
 through Crepy to-day, as did the Route Royale 
 of the days of the Valois. It is eighteen kilo- 
 metres from Crepy to Villers-Cotterets, Dumas 's 
 birthplace. The great romancer describes it with 
 much charm and correctness in the early pages of 
 " The Taking of the Bastile." He calls it " a 
 little city buried in the shade of a vast park 
 planted by Francois I. and Henri II." It is a 
 place ever associated with romance and history, 
 and, to add further to its reputation, it is but a 
 few kilometres away from La Ferte-Milon, where 
 Racine was born, and only eight leagues from 
 Chateau-Thierry, the birthplace of La Fontaine. 
 
 We had made up our minds to breathe as much 
 of the spirit and atmosphere of Villers-Cotterets 
 as was possible in a short time, and accordingly 
 we settled down for the night at the Hotel Alex- 
 andre Dumas. The name of the hotel is unusual. 
 There may be others similar, but the writer does 
 not recall them at this moment. It was not bad, 
 
208 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and, though entitled to be called a grand estab- 
 lishment, it was not given to pomposity or pre- 
 tence, and we parted with regret, for we had been 
 treated most genially by the proprietor and his 
 wife, and served by a charming young maid, who, 
 we learned, was the daughter of the house. It was 
 all in the family, and because of that everything 
 was excellently done. 
 
 There are fragments of a royal chateau here, 
 begun by Frangois I. in one of his building manias. 
 His salamanders and the three crescents of 
 Diane de Poitiers still decorate its walls, and 
 accordingly it is a historical shrine of the first 
 rank, though descended in these later days to use 
 as a poorhouse. 
 
 The chateau and forest of Villers-Cotterets 
 were settled upon Monsieur le Grand by Louis 
 XIV., after they had sheltered many previous 
 royal loves, but in the days of the later monarchy, 
 that of Philippe Egalite, the place was used 
 merely as a hunting rendezvous. 
 
 The Dumas birthplace is an ordinary enough 
 and dismal-looking building from the street. As 
 usual in France, there is another structure in the 
 rear, the real birthplace, no doubt, but one gets 
 only a glimpse through the open door or gate. 
 Carrier-Belleus's fine statue of Dumas, erected 
 here in 1885, is all that a monument of its class 
 should be, and is the pride of the local inhabitant, 
 who, when passing, never tires of stopping and 
 gazing at its outlines. This may be a little ex- 
 aggeration, but there is a remarkable amount of 
 
The Road to the North 209 
 
 veneration bestowed upon it by all dwellers in 
 the town. 
 
 We went from Villers-Cotterets direct to Sois- 
 sons, the home of the beans of that name. We 
 do not know these medium-sized flat beans as 
 soissons in America and England; to us they 
 are merely beans; but as soissons they are known 
 all over France, and in the mind and taste of 
 the epicure there is no other bean just like them. 
 This may be so or not, but there is no possible 
 doubt whatever but that " soissons au beurre ' 
 is a ravishing dish which one meets with too in- 
 frequently, even in France, and this in spite of 
 the millions of kilos of them which reach the 
 markets through the gateway of the town of Sois- 
 sons. 
 
 Soissons undoubtedly has a good hotel. How 
 could it be otherwise in such a food-producing 
 centre ? We were directed, however, by a commis- 
 voyageur whom we had met at Villers-Cotterets, 
 not to think of a hotel at Soissons, if we were 
 only to stop for lunch, but to go to the railway 
 restaurant. Of all things this would be the most 
 strange for an automobilist, but we took his ad- 
 vice, for he said he knew what he was talking 
 about. 
 
 The " Buffet " at the railway station at Sois- 
 sons is not the only example of a good railway 
 eating-house in France, but truly it is one of the 
 best. It is a marvellously conducted establish- 
 ment, and you eat your meals in a beautifully 
 designed, well-kept apartment, with the viands 
 
210 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of the country of the best and of great variety. 
 Soissons au beurre was the piece de resistance, 
 and there was poulet au casserole, an omelette au 
 rhum, a crisp, cold lettuce salad, and fruits and 
 ' ' biscuits ' ' galore to top off, with wine and bread 
 a discretion and good coffee and cognac for ten 
 sous additional, the whole totalling three francs 
 fifty centimes. We were probably the first auto- 
 mobilists on tour who had taken lunch at the rail- 
 way restaurant at Soissons. Perhaps we may not 
 be the last. 
 
 It was but a short detour of a dozen or fifteen 
 kilometres to visit the romantic Chateau de Coucy, 
 one of the few relics of mediaevalism which still 
 look warlike. It is more or less of a ruin, but it 
 has been restored in part, and, taken all in all, 
 is the most formidable thing of its kind in exist- 
 ence. It rises above the old walled town of 
 Coucy-le-Chateau in quite the fashion that one 
 expects, and, from the platform of the donjon, 
 there spreads out a wonderful view over two deep 
 and smiling valleys which, as much as the thick- 
 ness of the chateau walls, effectually protected 
 the occupants from a surprise attack. 
 
 The thirteenth century saw the birth of this, 
 perhaps the finest example still remaining of 
 France 's feudal chateaux, and, barring the effects 
 of an earthquake in 1692, and an attempt by 
 Richelieu to blow it up, the symmetrical outlines 
 of its walls and roofs are much as they always 
 were. 
 
 Its founder was Enguerrand III. de Coucy, who 
 
The Road to the North 211 
 
 took for his motto these boastful words — which, 
 however, he and his descendants justified when- 
 ever occasion offered: 
 
 " Roi je ne suis, 
 Prince, ni Comte aussi, 
 Je suis le Sire de Coucy." 
 
 We left Coucy rejoicing, happy and content, 
 expecting to reach Laon that night. We had 
 double-starred Laon in our itinerary, because it 
 was one of those neglected tourist-points that we 
 always made a point of visiting when in the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 Laon possesses one of the most remarkable 
 cathedrals of Northern France, but its hotels are 
 bad. We tried two and regretted we ever came, 
 except for the opportunity of marvelling at the 
 commanding site of the town and its cathedral. 
 
 The long zigzag road winding up the hill offers 
 little inducement to one to run his automobile 
 up to the plateau upon which sits the town proper. 
 It were wiser not to attempt to negotiate it if 
 there were any way to avoid it. We solved the 
 problem by putting up at a little hotel opposite 
 the railway station (its name is a blank, being 
 utterly forgotten) where the commis-voyageur 
 goes when he wants a meal while waiting for the 
 next train. He seems to like it, and you do cer- 
 tainly get a good dinner, but, not being commis- 
 voyageurs, merely automobilists, we were charged 
 three prices for everything, and accordingly 
 every one is advised to risk the dangerous and 
 
212 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 precipitous road to the upper town rather than 
 be blackmailed in this way. 
 
 Laon's cathedral, had it ever been carried out 
 according to the original plans, would have been 
 the most stupendously imposing ecclesiastical 
 monument in Northern France. Possibly the task 
 was too great for accomplishment, for its stones 
 and timbers were laboriously carried up the same 
 zigzag that one sees to-day, and it never grew 
 beyond its present half-finished condition. The 
 year 1200 probably saw its commencement, and it 
 is as thoroughly representative of the transition 
 from Romanesque to Gothic as any other existing 
 example of church building. 
 
 On the great massive towers of Laon's cathe- 
 dral is to be seen a most curious and unchurchly 
 symbolism in the shape of great stone effigies of 
 oxen, pointing north, east, south, and west. There 
 is no religious significance, we are told, but they 
 are a tribute to the faithful services of the oxen 
 who drew the heavy loads of building material 
 from the plain to the hilltop. 
 
 We had taken a roundabout road to the north, 
 via Laon, merely to see the oxen of the cathedral 
 and to get swindled for our lunch at that unspeak- 
 able little hotel. The one was worth the time and 
 trouble, the other was not. We left town the same 
 night headed north, in the direction of Arras, via 
 St. Quentin, anciently one of the famous walled 
 towns of France, but now a queer, if picturesque, 
 conglomeration of relics of a historical past and 
 modern business affairs. 
 
The Road to the North 213 
 
 It was Sunday, and well into the afternoon, 
 when we got away from Laon, but the peasant, 
 profiting by the fair harvest days, was working in 
 the fields as if he never had or would have a holi- 
 day. Unquestionably the peasant and labouring 
 class in France is hard-working, at his daily task 
 and at his play, for when he plays he also plays 
 hard. This, the eternal activity of the peasant 
 or labourer, whatever his trade, and the worked- 
 over little farm-holdings, with their varied crops, 
 all planted in little bedquilt patches, are the chief 
 characteristics of the French countryside for the 
 observant stranger. 
 
 We crossed the Oise at La Fere, La Fere of 
 wicked memory, as readers of Stevenson will re- 
 call. Nothing went very badly with us, but all 
 the same the memory of Stevenson's misadven- 
 ture at his hotel made us glad we were not stop- 
 ping there. 
 
 We passed now innumerable little towns and 
 villages clinging to red, brown, and green hill- 
 sides, with here and there a thatched cottage of 
 other days, for, in the agglomerations, as the 
 French government knows the hamlets and towns, 
 it is now forbidden to thatch or rethatch a roof; 
 you must renew it with tiles or slates when the 
 original thatch wears out. 
 
 Soon after passing La Fere one sees three hill- 
 top forts, for we are now in more or less strategic 
 ground, and militarism is rampant. 
 
 St. Quentin has been the very centre of a war- 
 like maelstrom for ages, and the memory of blood 
 
214 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 and fire lies over all its history, though to-day, 
 as we entered its encumbered, crooked streets, 
 things looked far from warlike. 
 
 We had our choice of the Hotel du Cygne or the 
 Hotel du Commerce at St. Quentin, and chose the 
 latter as being nearer the soil, whereas the former 
 establishment is blessed with electric lights, a 
 calorifere, and a "bar" — importing the word 
 and the institution from England or America. 
 
 We found nothing remarkable in the catering 
 of the Hotel du Commerce. It was good enough 
 of its kind, but not distinctive, and we got beer 
 served with our dinner, instead of wine or cider. 
 If you want either of the latter you must pay 
 extra. We were in the beer region, not the cider 
 country or the wine belt. It was the custom, and 
 was not being " sprung " on us because we were 
 automobilists. This we were glad to know after 
 our experience at Laon. 
 
 St. Quentin possesses a famous Gothic church, 
 known to all students of Continental architecture, 
 and there is a monument of the siege of 1557, 
 which is counted another " sight," though strictly 
 a modern work. 
 
 At St. Quentin one remarks the Canal de St. 
 Quentin, another of those inland waterways of 
 France which are the marvel of the stranger and 
 the profit of the inhabitant. This particular canal 
 connects France with the extraterritorial com- 
 merce of the Pays Bas, and runs from the Somme 
 to the Scheldt, burrowing through hillsides with 
 tunnels, and bridging gaps and valleys with via- 
 
The Road to the North 215 
 
 ducts. One of these canal-tunnels, at Riqueval, 
 has a length of nearly four miles. 
 
 We worried our way out through the crooked 
 streets of St. Quentin at an early hour the next 
 morning, en route for Arras, via Cambrai. Forty- 
 two kilometres of " ond. dure.," but otherwise 
 excellent roadway, brought us to Cambrai. (For 
 those who do not read readily the French route- 
 book directions the above expression is trans- 
 lated as " rolling and difficult.") 
 
 It matters little whether the roadways of 
 France are marked rolling and serpentine, or 
 hilly and winding, the surfaces are almost invari- 
 ably excellent, and there is nothing met with 
 which will annoy the modern automobile or its 
 driver in the least, always excepting foolish peo- 
 ple, dogs, and children. For the last we some- 
 times feel sorry and take extra precautions, but 
 the others are too intolerant to command much 
 sympathy. 
 
 Cambrai was burned into our memories by the 
 recollection that Fenelon was one-time bishop of 
 the episcopal see, and because it was the city 
 of the birth and manufacture of cambric, most of 
 which, since its discovery, has gone into the mak- 
 ing of bargain-store handkerchiefs. 
 
 Cambrai possessed twelve churches previous to 
 the Revolution, but only two remain at the pres- 
 ent day, and they are unlovely enough to belong 
 to Liverpool or Sioux City. 
 
 We had some difficulty in finding a hotel at 
 Cambrai. Our excellent " Guide-Michelin " had 
 
216 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 for the moment gone astray in the tool-box, and 
 there was nothing else we could trust. We left 
 the automobile at the shop of a mecanicien for 
 a trifling repair while we hunted up lunch. (Cost 
 fifteen sous, with no charge for housing the 
 machine. Happy, happy automobilists of France ; 
 how much you have to be thankful for!) 
 
 The Mouton Blanc, opposite the railway station 
 at Cambrai, gave us a very good lunch, in a 
 strictly bourgeois fashion, including the sticky, 
 bitter biere du Nord. We paid two francs fifty 
 centimes for our repast and went away with a 
 good opinion of Cambrai, though its offerings for 
 the tourist in the way of remarkable sights are 
 few. 
 
 Cambrai to Arras was a short thirty kilometres. 
 We covered them in an hour and found Arras all 
 that Cambrai was not, though both places are 
 printed in the same size type in the railway time- 
 tables and guide-books. 
 
 Arras has a combined Hotel de Ville and belfry 
 which puts the market-house and belfry of 
 Bruges quite in the shade from an impressive 
 architectural point of view. There is not the 
 quiet, splendid severity of its more famous com- 
 peer at Bruges, but there is far more luxuriance 
 in its architectural form, and, at any rate, it was 
 a surprise and a pleasure to find that any such 
 splendid monument were here. 
 
 The Spanish invasion of other days has left its 
 mark all through Flanders, and here at Arras the 
 florid Renaissance architecture of the Hotel de 
 
The Road to the North 217 
 
 Ville and the vaults and roofs of the market- 
 square are manifestly exotics from a land strange 
 to French architectural ways. 
 
 Arras, with its quaint old arcaded market-place, 
 is a great distributing-point for cereals. A mil- 
 lion of francs' worth in value changes hands here 
 in a year, and the sale, in small lots, out in the 
 open, is a survival of the moyen age when the 
 abbes of a neighbouring monastery levied toll for 
 the privilege of selling on the market-place. To- 
 day the toll-gatherer, he who collects the small 
 fee from the stall-owners, is still known as the 
 Abbe. 
 
 Arras is quaint and interesting, and withal a 
 lively, progressive town, where all manner of 
 merchandizing is conducted along very business- 
 like lines. You can buy sewing-machines and 
 agricultural machinery from America at Arras, 
 and felt hats and orange marmalade (which the 
 Frenchman calls, mysteriously, simply, " Dun- 
 dee ") from Britain. 
 
 To Douai, from Cambrai, was another hour's 
 run. Douai has a Hotel de Ville and belfry, too, 
 which were entirely unlooked for. Quaint, re- 
 markable, and the pet and pride of the inhabit- 
 ant, the bells of the belfry of Bible-making Douai 
 ring out rag-time dances and Sousa marches. 
 Such is the rage for up-to-dateness ! 
 
 There is a goodly bit to see at Douai in the way 
 of ecclesiastical monuments, but the chief attrac- 
 tion, that which draws strangers to the place, is 
 the July " Fete de Gayant," at which M. and 
 
218 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Mme. Gayant (giant), made of wickerwork and 
 dressed more or less a la mode, are promenaded 
 up and down the streets to the tune of the " Air 
 de Gayante." All this is in commemoration of 
 an unsuccessful attempt to capture the city by 
 Louis XI. in 1479. The fete has been going on 
 yearly ever since, and shows no signs of dying 
 out, as does the Guy Fawkes celebration in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 "We were now going through France's " black 
 country," the coal-fields of the north, and the 
 gaunt scaffolds of the mine-pits dotted the land- 
 scape here and there, as they do in Pennsylvania 
 or the Midlands of England. They did not espe- 
 cially disfigure the landscape, but gave a mod- 
 ern note of industry and prosperity which was as 
 marked as that of the farmyards of the peasants 
 and high-farmers of Normandy or La Beauce. 
 France is an exceedingly wealthy, and, what is 
 more, a " self-contained " nation; and this fact 
 should not be forgotten by the critics of what they 
 like to call effete Europe. 
 
 Bethune is in the heart of the coal country, and 
 is not a particularly lovely town. It has a dream 
 of an old-world hotel, though, and one may go a 
 great deal farther and fare a great deal worse 
 than at Bethune 's Hotel du Nord, a great ram- 
 bling, stone Renaissance building, with heavy 
 decorated window-frames, queer rambling stair- 
 cases, and ponderous, beamed ceilings. 
 
 It sits on a little Place, opposite an isolated 
 belfry, from whose upper window there twinkles, 
 
The Road to the North 219 
 
 at night, a little star of light, like a mariner's 
 beacon. What it is all supposed to represent no 
 one seems to know, but it is an institution which 
 dies hard, and some one pays the expense of keep- 
 ing it alight. A belfry is a very useful adjunct 
 to a town. If the writer ever plans a modern 
 city he will plant a belfry in the very centre, with 
 four clock-faces on it, a sun-dial, a thermometer, 
 and a peal of bells. You find all these things on 
 the belfry of Bethune, and altogether it is the 
 most picturesque, satisfying, and useful belfry 
 the writer has ever seen. 
 
 The food and lodging of the Hotel du Nord at 
 Bethune are as satisfactory as its location, and 
 we were content indeed to remain the following 
 day in the dull little town, because of a torrential 
 downpour which kept us house-bound till four in 
 the afternoon. If one really wants to step back 
 into the dark ages, just let him linger thirty-six 
 hours as we did at Bethune. More would proba- 
 bly drive him crazy with ennui, but this is just 
 enough. 
 
 The road to the north ended for us at Calais. 
 How many know Calais as they really ought? 
 To most travellers Calais is a mere guide-post 
 on the route from England or France. 
 
 Of less interest to-day, to the London tripper, 
 than Boulogne and its debatable pleasures, Calais 
 is a very cradle of history and romance. 
 
 It was in October, 1775, that Sterne set out on 
 his immortal ' ' sentimental journey. ' ' He put up, 
 as the tale goes, at Dessein's Hotel at Calais (now 
 
220 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 pulled down), and gave it such a reputation among 
 English-speaking people that its proprietor sud- 
 denly grew rich beyond his wildest hopes. So 
 much for the publicity of literature, which, since 
 Sterne's days, has boomed soap, cigars, and auto- 
 mobiles. 
 
 Sterne's familiarity with France was born of 
 experience. He had fallen ill in London while 
 supervising the publication of some of his literary 
 works and was ordered to the south of France by 
 his physicians. He obtained a year's absence from 
 his curacy, and borrowed twenty pounds from 
 his friend Garrick (which history, or rumour, 
 says he never repaid) and left for — of all places 
 — Paris, where a plunge into the whirl of social 
 dissipation nearly carried him off his feet. 
 
 Sterne and Stevenson have written more charm- 
 ingly of France and things French than any 
 others in the English tongue, and if any one would 
 like to make three little pilgrimages off the beaten 
 track, by road or rail, by bicycle or automobile, 
 let him follow the trail of Sterne in his " Senti- 
 mental Journey," or Stevenson in his " Inland 
 Voyage " and his " Travels with a Donkey." 
 They do not follow the " personally conducted " 
 tourist routes, but they give a much better idea 
 of France to one who wants to see things for him- 
 self. 
 
 Charles Dibdin, too, " muddled away five 
 months at Calais," to quote his own words. He 
 arrived from England after a thirteen-hours ' 
 passage in a gale of wind, in which he composed 
 
The Road to the North 221 
 
 his most famous sea-song, " Blow High, Blow 
 Low." Travellers across the Channel have been 
 known to occupy thirteen hours on the passage 
 since Dibdin's time, and seemingly, in the expe- 
 rience of the writer, there is not a time when the 
 words of the song might not apply. 
 
 We had come to Calais for the purpose of 
 crossing the Channel for a little tour awheel amid 
 the natural beauties and historic shrines of Merry 
 England. 
 
 It takes fifty-five minutes, according to the 
 Railway-Steamship time-cards, to make the pas- 
 sage from Calais to Dover, but the writer has 
 never been able to make one of these lightning 
 passages. 
 
 Automobiles are transported by the mail-boats 
 only upon " special arrangements," information 
 upon which point is given so vaguely that one sus- 
 pects bribery and craft. 
 
 We did not bite, but went over by the night 
 cargo-boat, at least the automobile did, at a cost 
 of a hundred francs. This is cheap or dear, ac- 
 cording to the way you look at it. For the service 
 rendered it is dear, for the accommodation to you 
 it is, perhaps, cheap enough. At any rate, it is 
 cheap enough when you want to get away from 
 England again, its grasping hotel-keepers, and its 
 persecuting police. 
 
 Why do so many English automobilists tour 
 abroad, Mr. British Hotel-keeper and Mr. Police 
 Sergeant? One wonders if you really suspect. 
 

PART III 
 ON BRITAIN'S ROADS 
 
SBafMWs^acf 
 
 224 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 THE BATH ROAD 
 
 The Bath road is in many ways the most famed 
 main road out of London. Visions as varied as 
 those of highwaymen on Hounslow Heath, boating 
 at Maidenhead, the days of the " dandies " at 
 Bath, and of John Cabot at Bristol flashed 
 through our minds whenever we heard the Bath 
 road mentioned, so we set out with a good-will 
 on the hundred and eighteen mile journey to 
 Bath. 
 
 To-day the road's designation is the same as of 
 yore, though Palmer's coaches, that in 1784 left 
 London at eight in the morning and arrived at 
 Bristol at eleven at night, have given way to au- 
 tomobiles which make the trip in three hours. 
 You can be three hours or thirty, as you please. 
 We figured it out for thirty-six and lunched, 
 dined, slept, and breakfasted en route, and felt 
 the better for it. 
 
 The real popularity of the Bath road and its 
 supremacy in coaching circles a century and a 
 quarter ago — a legacy which has been handed 
 down to automobilists of to-day — was due to the 
 initiative of one John Palmer, a gentleman of 
 
 225 
 
226 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 property, who had opened a theatre at Bath, and 
 was sorely annoyed at the delays he had to sub- 
 mit to in obtaining star actors from London to 
 appear on particular nights. Palmer was a man 
 with a grievance, but he was also a man with 
 ability and purpose. He travelled about, and 
 made notes and observations, and organized a 
 scheme by which coaching might be brought into 
 a complete system; he memorialized the govern- 
 ment, was opposed by the post-office authorities, 
 abused, sneered at, laughed at, but not beaten; 
 finally he gained the ear of William Pitt, who 
 saw that there was more in the proposed plan 
 than a mere experiment. On the 8th of August, 
 1784, Palmer ran his first mail-coach from Lon- 
 don to Bristol, and made the journey in fifteen 
 hours. That was the turning-point. The old 
 lumbering coaches, the abominable roads, the ir- 
 responsible drivers, the wretched delay, misery, 
 and uncertainty rapidly gave place to lighter, 
 stronger, and more commodious vehicles, better 
 horses, more experienced drivers, careful guards, 
 regular stages, marked by decent inns and com- 
 fortable hostelries, and improved roads. The 
 post-office made a contract with the coaching 
 speculator — a very safe contract indeed — by 
 which he was to have two and one-half per cent 
 of the money saved in the conveyance of letters. 
 This would have yielded twenty thousand pounds 
 a year; so the government broke its agreement, 
 refused to vote the payment, and compromised 
 with Mr. Palmer and its own conscience, after the 
 
The Bath Road 227 
 
 fashion of politicians of all time, by a grant of 
 fifty thousand pounds. 
 
 The Bath road traverses a section of England 
 that is hardly as varied as would be a longer 
 route from north to south, but, on the whole, it 
 is characteristically English throughout, and is as 
 good an itinerary as any by which to make one's 
 first acquaintance with English days and English 
 ways. 
 
 Via Hammersmith, Kew Bridge, Brentford, 
 and Hounslow was our way out of town, and a 
 more awful, brain-racking, and discouraging 
 start it would have been impossible to make. 
 London streets are ever difficult to thread with 
 an automobile, and when the operation is under- 
 taken on a misty, moisty morning with what the 
 Londoner knows as grease thick under foot and 
 wheel, the process is fraught with the possibility 
 of adventure. 
 
 Out through Piccadilly and Knightsbridge was 
 bad enough, but, by the time Hammersmith Broad- 
 way, its trams and tram-lines and its butchers' 
 and bakers' and milk carts, was reached and 
 passed, it was as if one had been trying to claw 
 off a lee shore in a gale, and driver and passen- 
 gers alike felt exceeding limp and sticky. The 
 Londoner who drives an automobile thinks noth- 
 ing of it, and covers the intervening miles with a 
 cool clear-headedness that is marvellous. We 
 were new to automobiling in England, but we 
 were fast becoming acclimated. 
 
 On through Chiswick there were still the awful 
 
228 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 tram-lines, but the roadway improved and was 
 wider and free from abrupt turns and twists. 
 We congratulated ourselves that at last we had 
 got clear of town, but we had reckoned beyond 
 our better judgment, for we had forgotten that 
 we had been told that Brentford was the most 
 awful death-trap that the world has known for 
 automobilists, cyclists, and indeed foot-passers as 
 well We should have kept a little of our nerve 
 by us, for we needed it when we got shut m 
 between a brewer's dray, an omnibus, and an 
 electric tram-car in Brentford's sixteen-foot 
 " main road." It was like an interminable can- 
 yon, gloomy, damp, and dangerous for all living 
 things which passed its portals, this mam street 
 of Brentford. For some miles, apparently, this 
 same congestion of traffic continued, a tram-car 
 ahead and behind you, drays, trucks, and carts 
 all around you, and fool butchers' cart and milk 
 cart drivers turning unexpected corners to the 
 likely death of you and themselves. Here is an 
 automobile reform which might well attract the 
 attention of the authorities in England. The au- 
 tomobile has as much right to be a road user as 
 any other form of traffic, and, if the automobile 
 is to be regulated as to its speed and progress, 
 it is about time that the same regulations were 
 applied also to other classes of traffic. 
 
 We finally got out of Brentford and came to 
 Hounslow, where suburban improvement has gone 
 so far as to widen the roadway and put the two 
 lines of tramway in the middle, allowing a free 
 
The Bath Road 229 
 
 passage on either side. The wood pavement, 
 which we had followed almost constantly since 
 leaving London, soon disappeared, and, finally, so 
 did the tramway. After perhaps fifteen miles we 
 were at last approaching open country; at least 
 Suburbia and perambulators had been left be- 
 hind; and truck-gardens and market-wagons, 
 often with sleepy drivers, had entered on the 
 scene. Here was a new danger, but not so terrible 
 as those we had left behind, and the poor, docile 
 horse usually had sense enough to draw aside 
 and let us pass, even if the beer-drowsy driver 
 had not. 
 
 We soon reached the top of Hounslow Heath, 
 but there was scarcely a suggestion of the former 
 romantic aspect which we had always connected 
 with it. 
 
 We made inquiries and learned that there was 
 one old neighbouring inn, the " Green Man," ly- 
 ing between the Bath and Exeter roads, which 
 was a true relic of the past, and musty with the 
 traditions of turnpike travellers and highwaymen 
 of old. We found the "Green Man" readily 
 enough, with a country yokel to point the way, for 
 which he expected the price of a beer. In the 
 palmy days of the robbing and murdering traffic 
 of Hounslow Heath it was a convenient refuge 
 for the Duvals and Turpins, and they made for 
 it with a rush on occasion, secreting themselves 
 in a hiding-place which can still be seen. 
 
 This is in a little room on the left of the front 
 door, and the entrance lies at the back of an old- 
 
230 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 fashioned fireplace. A hole leads to a passage 
 which opens into a cavernous recess beneath, to 
 which there is ample room for anybody to descend. 
 The local wiseacres declare that there is, or was, 
 a communication between this secret chamber 
 and another famous highwayman's inn, the old 
 " Magpie " directly on the Bath road, and that 
 those who preyed on travellers used to bolt from 
 one house to the other like hunted rabbits. No 
 one seemingly has himself ever explored this 
 mysterious subterranean passage. Beyond Houns- 
 low, on the Bath road, one passes through 
 Slough, leaving Windsor, Runnymede, and 
 Datchet on the left, as properly belonging to the 
 routine tours which one makes from London and 
 calls simply excursions. 
 
 The Thames is reached at Maidenhead, where 
 up-river society plays a part which reminds one 
 of the stage melodramas, except that there is real 
 water and real boat-races. It is a pretty enough 
 aspect up and down the river from the bridge at 
 Maidenhead, but it is stagey and artificial. 
 
 The hotels and restaurants of Maidenhead 
 make some pretence of catering to automobilists, 
 and do it fairly well, after a suburban fashion, 
 but there is nothing of the flavour or sentiment 
 of the old inn-keeping days, neither are any of 
 the establishments at all what the touring auto- 
 mobilist (as distinct from the promenading, or 
 half-day excursion variety) expects and demands. 
 
 The Bath road runs straight on through Twy- 
 ford to Beading, but we made a detour via Great 
 
230 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 fashioned fireplace. A hole leads to a passage 
 which opens into a cavernous recess beneath, to 
 which there is ample room for anybody to descend. 
 The local wiseacres declare that there is, or was, 
 a communication between this secret chamber 
 and another famous highwayman's urn, the old 
 " Magpie " directly on the Bath road, and that 
 those who preyed on travel!- I to bolt from 
 
 one house to the other like hunted rabbits No 
 one seemingly has himself ever explored this 
 mysterious subterranean passage. Beyond Houns- 
 low on the Bath road, one passes through 
 Slough, leaving Windsor, Runnymede, and 
 Datchet on the left, as properly belonging to the 
 routine tours which one makes from London and 
 «[rtE80AP^YnIHE THAMES 
 The blames is reached at Maidenhead, where 
 up-river society plays a part which reminds one 
 
 that there is real 
 lough 
 
 the riv< <tee at 
 
 ad, but gey and artificial. 
 
 e hotels and restaurants of Maidenhead 
 ike some pretence of catering to automobihsts, 
 and do it fairly well, after a suburban fashion 
 but there is nothing of the flavour or sentiment 
 i inn-keeping days, neither are any ot 
 hments at all what the touring auto- 
 distinct from the promenading, or 
 , arsion variety) expects and demands. 
 .I runs straight on through Twy 
 but we made a detour via Great 
 

The Bath Road 231 
 
 Marlow and Henley, merely for the satisfaction 
 of lunching at the " Red Lion Inn " at the latter 
 place. The great social and sporting attractions 
 of the Thames, the annual Henley regatta, had 
 drawn us thither years ago, and we had enjoyed 
 ourselves in the conventional manner, shouting 
 ourselves hoarse over rival crews, lunching, pic- 
 nic fashion, from baskets under the trees, and 
 making our way back to town by the railway, 
 amid a terrifying crush late at night. It was all 
 very enjoyable, but once in a lifetime was quite 
 enough. Now we were taking things easier. 
 
 The traditions hanging around the old " Red 
 Lion Inn," beside the bridge, probably account 
 for its popularity, for certainly its present-day 
 accommodations and catering are nothing remark- 
 able, and the automobilist is looked upon with dis- 
 favour. Why? This is hard to state. He is a 
 good spender, the automobilist, and he comes fre- 
 quently. All the same, the " Red Lion Inn " at 
 Henley is one of those establishments marked 
 down in the guide-books as " comfortable," and 
 if its luncheon is a bit slow and stodgy, it is whole- 
 some enough, and automobilists are generally 
 blessed with good appetites. 
 
 The Shenstone legend and the window-pane 
 verses about finding " one's warmest welcome at 
 an inn " were originally supposed to apply to this 
 * ' inn at Henley. ' ' Later authorities say that they 
 referred to an inn at Henley-in-Arden. Perhaps 
 an automobilist, even, would find the latter more 
 to his liking. The writer does not know. 
 
232 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 To Reading from Henley is perhaps a dozen 
 miles, by a pretty river road which shows all the 
 characteristic loveliness of the Thames valley 
 about which poets have raved. By Shiplake Mill, 
 Sonning, and Caversham Bridge one finally enters 
 Reading. Reading is famous for the remains of 
 an old abbey and for its biscuits, but neither at 
 the time had any attractions for us. 
 
 We made another detour from our path and 
 followed the river-road to Abingdon. Pangborne 
 (better described as Villadom) was passed, as 
 was also Mapledurham, which Dick of William 
 Morris's "Utopia" thought "a very pretty 
 place." In fine it is a very pretty place, and the 
 river hereabouts is quite at its prettiest. 
 
 Since we had actually left towns and trams 
 behind us we found the roadways good, but abom- 
 inably circuitous and narrow, not to say danger- 
 ous because of it. 
 
 Soon Streatley Hill rose up before us. Streatley 
 is one of those villages which have been pictured 
 times innumerable. One often sees its winding 
 streets, its picturesque cottages, its one shop, its 
 old mill, " The Bull Inn," or its notorious bridge 
 over the river to Goring. 
 
 To cross this bridge costs six pence per wheel, 
 be your conveyance a cart, carriage, bicycle, or 
 motor-car, so that if an automobile requires any 
 slight attention from the machinist, who quarters 
 himself at Goring boat-house, it is appreciably 
 cheaper to bargain with him to come to Streatley. 
 Thus one may defeat the object of the grasping 
 
The Bath Road 233 
 
 institution which, the lady toll-taker tells you, is 
 responsible for the outrage, and not she herself. 
 You may well believe her; she hardly looks as 
 though she approved of the means which serve to 
 keep her in her modest position. 
 
 Streatley Hill, or rather the view from it, like 
 the village itself, is famed alike by poet and 
 painter. The following quatrain should be eulogy 
 enough to warrant one's taking a rather stiff 
 climb in the hope of experiencing, to a greater 
 or a lesser degree, the same emotions : 
 
 " When you're here, I'm told that you 
 Should mount the Hill and see the view ; 
 And gaze and wonder, if you'd do 
 Its merits most completely." 
 
 The poetry is bad, but the sentiment is sound. 
 
 Goring is more of a metropolis than Streatley, 
 but we did not visit the former town because of 
 the atrocious toll-bridge charge. We were will- 
 ing enough to make martyrs of ourselves in the 
 good cause of the suppression of all such excessive 
 charges to automobilists. 
 
 On through Abingdon, and still following the 
 valley of the Thames, we kept to Faringdon and 
 Lechlade, where, at the latter place, at the subtly 
 named " Trout Inn," we proposed passing the 
 night. 
 
 We did pass the night at the " Trout Inn," 
 which has no accommodation for automobiles, 
 except a populated hen-house, the general sleep- 
 ing-place of most of the live stock of the land- 
 
234 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 lord, dogs, cats, ducks, and geese ; to say nothing 
 of the original occupants — the hens. How much 
 better they do things in France ! 
 
 At any rate there is no pretence about the 
 " Trout Inn " at Lechlade. We slept in a stuffy, 
 diamond-paned little room with chintz curtains 
 to windows, bed, and mantelpiece. We dined off 
 of trout, beefsteak, and cauliflower, and drank 
 bitter beer until midnight in the bar-parlour with 
 a half-dozen old residents who told strange tales 
 of fish and fishing. Here at least was the real 
 thing, though the appointments of the inn were 
 in no sense picturesque, and the landlord, instead 
 of being a rotund, red-faced person, was a tall, 
 thin reed of a man with a white beard who, in 
 spite of his eighty odd years, is about as lively 
 a proposition as one will find in the business in 
 England. 
 
 Mine host of " The Trout," silvered as the 
 aspen, but straight as the pine, bears his eighty- 
 two years lightly, and will tell you that he is still 
 able to protect his fishing rights, which he owns 
 in absolute fee on four miles of river-bank, 
 against trespassers — and they are many. He 
 sleeps, he says, with one eye open, and his gun 
 by his side, and thinks nothing of a sally forth 
 in the dark hours of night and exploding a charge 
 in the direction of a marauder. He and his 
 cronies of the tap-room, of an evening, before a 
 glowing fire of logs, above which is the significant 
 gun-rack (quite in old picture-book fashion), will 
 
The Bath Road 235 
 
 give a deal of copy to an able writer who seeks 
 atmosphere and local colour. 
 
 Kelmscott, so identified with William Morris, is 
 even less of the world of to-day than is its neigh- 
 bour, Lechlade, and was one of the reasons for 
 our coming here at all. 
 
 The topographical surveys and books of refer- 
 ence will tell one that it is a " chapelry, in the 
 parish of Broadwell, Union of Faringdon, hun- 
 dred of Bampton, county of Oxford; ,; that it 
 is " two miles east of Lechlade and contains 179 
 inhabitants; " and that " by measurement it con- 
 tains 1,020 acres, of which 876 are arable and 
 153 meadow and pasture." It is unlikely that the 
 population has increased since the above descrip- 
 tion ; the best authority claims that it has actually 
 decreased, like so many of the small towns and 
 villages of the countryside in England. 
 
 Kelmscott Manor House was advertised for 
 sale in 1871, a fact which Morris discovered quite 
 by accident. Writing to his friend Faulkner he 
 says : 
 
 " I have been looking about for a house . . . 
 my eye is turned now to Kelmscott, a little village 
 two miles above Radcott Bridge — a Heaven on 
 earth. ' ' 
 
 The house is thirty miles or more from Oxford, 
 by water, approached by a lane which leads from 
 Lechlade just over St. John's Bridge, by the 
 " Trout Inn." The railway now reaches Lech- 
 lade, but this was not the case when Morris first 
 found this " Heaven." Most likely he reached 
 
236 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 it by carriage from Faringdon, " by the grand 
 approach over the hills of Berkshire." 
 
 We regained the Bath road at Marlborough, 
 after our excursion into the realms of Utopia, 
 intending to reach Bath for lunch. The best laid 
 plans of mice and mere motor-men ofttimes go 
 awry, and we did not get to Bath until well on 
 into the night. There was really no reason for 
 this except an obstinate bougie (beg pardon, 
 sparking-plug in English) which sparked beauti- 
 fully in the open air, but which refused positively 
 to give a glimmer when put in its proper place. 
 We did not know this, or even suspect it at first, 
 but this was what delayed us four hours, just 
 before we reached Chippenham, where we stopped 
 and lunched, through no choice of our own, for 
 it was a bad lunch in every particular, and cost 
 three shillings and sixpence a head. To add to 
 the indignity, the local policemen came along and 
 said we were making an obstruction, and insisted 
 that we push the machine into the stable-yard, as 
 if we were committing a breach of the law, when 
 really it was only an opportunity for a ' ' bobby ' ' 
 to show his authority. Happy England ! 
 
 All the morning we had been running over typ- 
 ical English roads and running well. There is 
 absolutely no question but that the countryside 
 of England is unequalled for that unique variety 
 of picturesqueness which is characteristic of the 
 land, but it lacks the grandeur that one finds in 
 France, or indeed in most countries of Continental 
 Europe. 
 
The Bath Road 237 
 
 Crossing England thus, one gets the full force 
 of Rider Haggard's remarks about the small 
 farmer ; how, because he cannot get a small hold- 
 ing, that can be farmed profitably, for his very 
 own, he becomes a tenant, or remains always a 
 labourer, never rising in the social scale. 
 
 The peasant of Continental Europe may be 
 poor and impoverished, may eat largely of bread 
 instead of meat, and be forced to drink " thin 
 wine ' ' instead of body-building beer, — as the 
 economists in England put it, — but he has much 
 to be thankful for, nevertheless. 
 
 We stopped just before Beckhampton, at a 
 puzzling crossroads, and asked a labourer of the 
 fields if we were " right " for Chippenham. He 
 stared blankly, doffed his hat with humility, but 
 for a time answered never a word. He knew 
 Calne, a town half a dozen miles away, for he 
 occasionally walked in there for a drinking-bout 
 on a heavier brand of beer than he could buy 
 locally, but, though he had always heard of Chip- 
 penham, he did not know whether it lay north, 
 east, south, or west. This is deplorable, of 
 course, for it was within a twenty-mile radius, 
 but it is astonishing the frequency with which one 
 meets this blankness in England when looking for 
 information. There are tens of thousands like 
 this poor fellow, and one may well defy Rider 
 Haggard to make a " landed proprietor " out of 
 such poor stuff. 
 
 You do not always get what you ask for in 
 France, but the peasant at least knows enough to 
 
238 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 tell you, "Oh! that's down in the Eure " or 
 " Plus loin, par Id," and at any rate, you feel that 
 he is a broad-gauge Frenchman through and 
 through, whereas the English labourer of the 
 fields is a very " little Englander " indeed. 
 
 It is hard to believe on a bright May morning 
 that here, in this blossoming, picturesque little 
 village of Chippenham, on one bitterly cold morn- 
 ing in the month of April, 1812, when the Bath 
 coach reached its posting-house (the same, per- 
 haps, Mr. Up-to-Date Automobilist, at which you 
 have slept the night — worse luck), two of its out- 
 side passengers were found frozen to death, and 
 a third all but dead. The old lithographs which 
 pictured the " Royal Mail " stuck in a snow-drift, 
 and the unhappy passengers helping to dig it out, 
 are no longer apocryphal in your mind after you 
 have heard this bit of i ' real history, ' ' which hap- 
 pened, too, in one of England's southern coun- 
 ties. The romance of other days was often stern 
 and uncomfortable reality of a most bitter kind. 
 
 We left Chippenham, finally, very late in the 
 day, lost our way at unsign-boarded and puzzling 
 crossroads, had two punctures in a half a dozen 
 miles, and ultimately reached the centre of Bath, 
 over the North Parade Bridge — for which privi- 
 lege we paid three pence, another imposition, 
 which, however, we could have avoided had we 
 known the devious turnings of the main road into 
 town. 
 
 In two days we had covered something like two 
 hundred and fifty miles in and out of highways 
 
The Bath Road 239 
 
 and byways, had followed the Thames for its 
 entire boatable length, and had crossed England, 
 — not a very great undertaking as automobile 
 tours go, but a varied and enjoyable one in spite 
 of the restrictions put upon the free passage of 
 automobiles by the various governing bodies and 
 the indifferent hotel-keepers. 
 
 Bath and its attractions for visitors are quite 
 the best things of their kind in all England, in 
 spite of the fact that the attractions, the teas, the 
 concerts, and the lectures — to say nothing of 
 drinking and bathing in the waters — lack in- 
 dividuality. 
 
 We stayed the round of the clock at Bath, two 
 rounds and a half, in fact, in that we did not leave 
 until the second morning after our arrival, and 
 absorbed as much of the spirit and association of 
 the place as was possible, including sundry gal- 
 lons of the bubbling spring- water. 
 
 Bath has pleased many critical souls, James 
 McNeill Whistler for one, who had no patience 
 with other English resorts. It pleased us, too. It 
 was so different. 
 
 From Bath to Bristol is a dozen miles only, and 
 the topographical characteristics change entirely, 
 following the banks of the little river Avon. Bris- 
 tol was a great seaport in days gone by, but to- 
 day only coasters and colliers make use of its 
 wharves. The town is charmingly situated, but 
 it is unlovely, and, for the tourist, is only a step- 
 ping-stone to somewhere else. The Automobile 
 Club of Great Britain and Ireland directs one to 
 
240 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 the suburb of Clifton, or rather to Clifton Down, 
 for hotel accommodation, but you can do much 
 better than that by stopping at the Half Moon 
 Hotel in the main street, a frankly commercial 
 house, but with ample garage accommodation and 
 good plain fare, of which roast little pig, boiled 
 mutton, cauliflower, and mashed potatoes, with 
 the ever recurring apple tart, form the principal 
 items. 
 
9&> 
 
 241 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 THE SOUTH COAST 
 
 The south coast of England is ever dear to the 
 Londoner who spends his week's end out of town. 
 Here he finds the nearest whiff of salt-water 
 breeze that he can call his own. He may go down 
 the Thames on a Palace steamer to Southend, 
 and he will have to content himself most of the 
 way with a succession of mud-flats and eat winkles 
 with a brassy pin when he gets there; he may 
 even go on to Margate and find a fresh east wind 
 which will blow the London fog out of his brain; 
 but, until he rounds the Foreland, he will find 
 nothing that will remind him in the least of his 
 beloved Eastbourne, Brighton, and Worthing. 
 
 The most popular south coast automobile run 
 from London is to Brighton, fifty-two miles, via 
 Croyden, Redhill, and Crawley. Many " week- 
 enders ' ' make this trip nearly every Saturday to 
 Monday in the year, and get to know every rut 
 and stone in the roadway, and every degenerate 
 policeman of the rapacious crew who hide in 
 hedges and lie in wait for poor unfortunate 
 automobilists who may have slipped down a slop- 
 ing bit of clear roadway at a speed of twenty and 
 
 243 
 
244 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 one-tenth miles per hour (instead of nineteen and 
 nine-tenths), all figured out by rule of thumb and 
 with the aid of a thirty-shilling stop-watch. 
 
 " lis sont terribles, ces betes des gendarmes on 
 trouve en Angleterre," said a terror-stricken 
 French friend of ours who had been held up 
 beyond Crawley for a " technical offence." 
 Nothing was said against a drunken drayman who 
 backed his wagon up against our friend's mud- 
 guard ten miles back, and smashed it beyond re- 
 pair. Justice, thy name is not in the vocabulary 
 of the English policeman sent out by his sergeant 
 to keep watch on automobilists ! 
 
 Our road to the sea was by Rochester, Canter- 
 bury, and Dover, in the first instance, following 
 much the itinerary of Chaucer's pilgrims. 
 
 Southwark's Tabard Inn exists to-day, in name 
 if not in spirit, and it was easy enough to take 
 it for our starting-point. Getting out of London 
 to the southeast is not as bad as by the north- 
 west, but in all conscience it is bad enough, 
 through Deptford and its docks, and Greenwich 
 and Woolwich, and over the Plumstead marshes. 
 There are variants of this itinerary, we were told, 
 but all are equally smelly and sooty, and it was 
 only well after we had passed Gravesend that we 
 felt that we had really left town behind, and even 
 then we could see the vermilion stacks of great 
 steamships making their way up London's river 
 to the left, and the mouse-brown sails of the 
 barges going round the coast to Ipswich and Yar- 
 mouth. 
 
The South Coast; 245 
 
 At last a stretch of green unsmoked and un- 
 spoiled country, that via Stroud to Rochester, 
 came into view. 
 
 Rochester on the Medway, with its memories of 
 Mr. Pickwick and the Bull Inn (still remaining), 
 the cathedral and Gad 's Hill, Dickens 's home near 
 by, is a literary shrine of the first importance. 
 We stopped en route and did our duty, but were 
 soon on our way again through the encumbered 
 main street of Chatham and up the long hill to 
 Sittingbourne, itself a dull, respectable market- 
 town with a boiled mutton and grilled kipper inn 
 which offers no inducements to a gormand to stop 
 for lunch. 
 
 We kept on to Canterbury and didn't do much 
 better at a hotel which shall be nameless. The 
 hotels are all bad at Canterbury, according to 
 Continental standards, and there is little choice 
 between them. 
 
 It is said that the oldest inn in England is 
 " The Fountain " at Canterbury. " The Foun- 
 tain ' ' claims to have housed the wife of Earl God- 
 win when she came to meet her husband on his re- 
 turn from Denmark in the year 1029, and to have 
 been the temporary residence of Archbishop Lan- 
 franc whilst his palace was being rebuilt in 1070. 
 There is a legend, too, that the four knights who 
 murdered Thomas a Becket made this house their 
 rendezvous. Moreover, " The Fountain " can 
 boast of a testimonial to its excellence as an inn 
 written six hundred years ago, for, when the mar- 
 riage of Edward the First to his second queen, 
 
246 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Margaret of France, was solemnized at Canter- 
 bury Cathedral on September 12, 1299, the ambas- 
 sador of the Emperor of Germany, who was 
 among the distinguished guests, wrote thus to his 
 master: " The inns in England are the best in 
 Europe, those of Canterbury are the best in Eng- 
 land, and ' The Fountain,' wherein I am now 
 lodged as handsomely as I were in the king's 
 palace, the best in Canterbury." Times have 
 changed since the days of Edward LI 
 
 Canterbury is a very dangerous town to drive 
 through. Its streets are narrow and badly paved, 
 and there are unexpected turnings which bring 
 up a lump in one's throat when he is driving at 
 his most careful gait and is suddenly confronted 
 with a governess's cart full of children, a peram- 
 bulator, and a bath-chair, all in the middle of the 
 road, where, surely, the two latter have no right 
 to be. 
 
 The grand old shrine of Thomas a Becket, the 
 choir built by Lanfranc's monks, and the general 
 ensemble of the cathedral close are worth all the 
 risk one goes through to get to them. The cathe- 
 dral impresses one as the most thoroughly French 
 of all the Gothic churches of Britain, and because 
 of this its rank is high among the ecclesiastical 
 architectural treasures of the world. Its history 
 is known to all who know that of England, of the 
 church, and of architecture, and the edifice tells 
 the story well. 
 
 The distant view from the road, as one ap- 
 proaches the city, is one that can only be described 
 
The South Coast 247 
 
 as grand. The fabric of the great cathedral, the 
 rooftops of the houses, the sloping hills rising 
 from the water's edge, and again falling lightly 
 down to the town, form a grandly imposing view, 
 the equal of which one seldom sees on the main 
 travelled roads of England. 
 
 Between Canterbury and Winchester ran one of 
 the oldest roads in England, the " Pilgrim's 
 Way." Many parts of it still exist, and it is be- 
 lieved by many to be the oldest monument of 
 human work in these islands. About two-thirds 
 of the length of the road is known with certainty, 
 and to some extent the old itinerary forms the 
 modern highway. Its earliest route seems to have 
 been from Stonehenge to Canterbury, but later the 
 part from Stonehenge to Alton was abandoned 
 in favour of that from Winchester to Alton. 
 Guildford and Dorking were places that it 
 touched, though it was impossible to say with cer- 
 tainty where it crossed the Medway. 
 
 Margate, Ramsgate, and the Isle of Thanet lay 
 to the left of us, but we struck boldly across the 
 downs to Dover's Bay, under the shadow of the 
 Shakespeare Cliff, made famous in the scenic ac- 
 cessories of The Tempest. 
 
 Dover, seventy-two miles by road from London, 
 has a good hotel, almost reaching the Continental 
 standard, though it is not an automobile hotel and 
 you must house your machine elsewhere. It is 
 called the Lord Warden Hotel, and is just off the 
 admiralty pier head. It suited us very well in 
 spite of the fact that the old-school Englishman 
 
248 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 contemptuously refers to it as a place for brides 
 and for seasick Frenchmen waiting the prospect 
 of a fair crossing by the Calais packet. 
 
 The descent into Dover's lower town from the 
 downs above is fraught with considerable danger 
 for the automobilist. It is steep, winding, and 
 narrow, and one climbs out of it again the next 
 morning by an equally steep, though less narrow, 
 road up over the Shakespeare Cliff and down 
 again abruptly into Folkestone. 
 
 Dover is not fashionable as a resort, and its 
 one pretentious sea-front hotel is not a lovely 
 thing — most sea-front hotels are not. In spite 
 of this there is vastly more of interest going on, 
 with the coming and going of the great liners and 
 the cross-channel boats of the harbour, than is 
 to be found in a mere watering-place, where band 
 concerts, parade-walks, " nigger minstrels," tea 
 fights, and excursions in the neighbourhood are 
 the chief attractions which are advertised, and are 
 fondly believed by the authorities to be sufficient 
 to draw the money-spending crowds. 
 
 Dover is a very interesting place ; the Shakes- 
 peare Cliff dominates it on one side and the old 
 castle ruin on the other, to-day as they did when 
 the first of the Cinq-Ports held England's destiny 
 in the hollow of her hand. Sir Walter Raleigh 
 prayed his patron Elizabeth to strengthen her 
 fortifications here and formulate plans for a great 
 port. Much was done by her, but a fitting realiza- 
 tion of Dover's importance as a deep-water port 
 
The South Coast 249 
 
 has only just come to pass, and then only because 
 of a significant hint from the German emperor. 
 
 Shakespeare's, or Lear's, Cliff at Dover is one 
 of the first things to which the transatlantic up- 
 channel traveller's attention is called. Blind old 
 Gloster has thus described it : 
 
 " There is a cliff whose high and bending head 
 Looks fearfully into the confined deep." 
 
 The English War Department of to-day, it is 
 rumoured, would erase this landmark, because the 
 cliff obstructs the range of heavy guns, thus jeop- 
 ardizing the defence of Dover; but there are 
 those who, knowing that chalk is valuable, sug- 
 gest that commercialism is at the foundation of 
 the scheme for destroying the cliff. The Dover 
 corporation has accordingly passed a resolution 
 of remonstrance against the destruction of what 
 they claim " would rob the English port of one 
 of its most thrilling attractions." 
 
 Folkestone is more sadly respectable than 
 Dover; more homoeopathic, one might say. The 
 town is equally difficult for an automobile to make 
 its way through, but as one approaches the 
 water's edge things somewhat improve. Wam- 
 pach's Hotel at Folkestone is not bad, but B. B. 
 B., as the " Automobile Club's Hand Book " puts 
 it (bed, bath, and breakfast), costs eight shillings 
 and sixpence a day. This is too much for what 
 you get. 
 
 We followed the shore road to Hythe, Dym- 
 church, New Romney, and Rye, perhaps thirteen 
 
250 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 miles all told, along a pebble-strewn roadway with 
 here and there a glimpse of the shining sea and 
 the smoke from a passing steamer. 
 
 To our right was Romney Marsh, calling up 
 memories of the smuggling days of old, when 
 pipes of port and bales of tobacco mysteriously 
 found their way inland without paying import 
 duties. 
 
 Rye is by no means a resort ; it is simply a dull, 
 sleepy, red-roofed little seaside town, with, at sun- 
 set, a riot of blazing colour reflected from the 
 limpid pools left by the retreating waters of the 
 Channel, which now lies five miles away across a 
 mud-flat plain, although coastwise shipping once 
 came to Rye's very door-step. 
 
 The entrance to the town, by an old mediaeval 
 gateway, is easily enough made by a careful 
 driver, but an abrupt turn near the top of the 
 slight rise cost us a mud-guard, it having been 
 ripped off by an unexpected and most dangerous 
 hitching-post. This may be now removed ; it cer- 
 tainly is if the local policeman did his duty and 
 reported our really atrocious language to the au- 
 thorities. Of all imbecilic and unneedful obstruc- 
 tions to traffic, Rye's half-hidden hitching-post is 
 one of the most notable seen in an automobile 
 tour comprising seven countries and several hun- 
 dreds, perhaps thousands, of large and small 
 towns. 
 
 The chief curiosities of Rye are its quaint hill- 
 top church, the town walls, and the Ypres tower, 
 
The South Coast 251 
 
 all quite foreign in motive and aspect from any- 
 thing else in England. 
 
 Those interested in literary shrines may well 
 bow their heads before the door of the dignified 
 Georgian house near the church, in which resides 
 the enigmatic Henry James. There may be other 
 literary lights who shed a glow over Rye, but we 
 did not learn of them, and surely none could be 
 more worthy of the attention of literary lion- 
 hunters than the American who has become 
 " more English " than the English themselves. 
 
 We left Rye by a toll-gate road over the 
 marshes, bound for Winchelsea, and, passing 
 through the ivy-clad tower which spans the road- 
 way, stopped abruptly, like all hero or heroine 
 worshippers, before the dainty home of Ellen 
 Terry. The creeper-clung little brick cottage is 
 a reminiscence of old-world peace and quiet which 
 must be quite refreshing after an active life on 
 the stage. 
 
 Hastings saw us for the night. Hastings and 
 St. Leonards, twin sea-front towns, are what, for 
 a better description, might be called snug and 
 smug. They are simply the most depressing, un- 
 lovely resorts of sea-front and villas that one will 
 see in a round of all the English resorts. 
 
 As a pompous, bustling, self-sufficient little 
 city, Hastings, with its fisher men and women, its 
 fish-market and the ruined castle-crowned height, 
 has some quaintness and character; but as a 
 resort where the chief amusements are scrappy, 
 tuneless hurdy-gurdies, blatant brass bands, liv- 
 
252 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 ing picture shows, or third-rate repetitions of a 
 last year's London theatrical successes, it is 
 about the rankest boring proposition which ever 
 drew the unwary visitor. 
 
 We had our " B. B. B." that night at the 
 Queen's Hotel, a vast barracks of a place near the 
 end of the Parade. The best thing about it was 
 the view from the windows of our sleeping-rooms, 
 and the fact that we could stable our automobile 
 under the same roof. 
 
 We made a little run inland from Hastings the 
 next morning to view old Battle Abbey. The bat- 
 tlement-crowned gateway is still one of the archi- 
 tectural marvels of England. It took us a dozen 
 miles out of our way, but always among the rolling 
 downs which dip down to the sea, chalk-faced and 
 grass-grown in a manner characteristic only of 
 the south coast of England. 
 
 We came to Eastbourne through Pevensey, 
 famed for its old ruined castle and much history. 
 A low-lying marsh-grown fishing-port of olden 
 times, Pevensey was the landing-place of the Con- 
 queror when he came to lay the foundation-stones 
 of England's greatness. It is a shrine that 
 Britons should bow down before, and reverently. 
 
 Eastbourne is a vast improvement, as a resort, 
 over any south coast town we had yet seen. It is 
 not gay, it is rather sedate, and certainly emi- 
 nently respectable and dignified. Giant wheels, 
 hurdy-gurdies, and quack photographers are ban- 
 ished from its beach and esplanade, and one may 
 stroll undisturbed by anything but perambulators 
 
The South Coast 253 
 
 and bath-chairs. Its sea-front walk of a couple of 
 miles or more is as fine as any that can be found 
 from the Foreland to the Lizard. 
 
 Most energetically we climbed to the top of 
 Beachy Head, gossiped with the coast-guard, 
 stole a peep through the telescope by which 
 Lloyd's observer at the signal-station picks out 
 passing ships, and got down the great hill again 
 in time for lunch at the Burlington Hotel. We 
 lunched in more or less stately fashion, well, if 
 not luxuriously, in a great dining-room whose sole 
 occupant, besides ourselves, was England's laure- 
 ate. 
 
 He is herein endorsed as possessing a good 
 taste in seaside hotels, whatever one may think 
 of the qualities of his verse. The Burlington 
 seemed to us the best conducted and most satis- 
 factory hotel on all the south coast, except per- 
 haps the Lord Warden at Dover. 
 
 It was a more or less rugged climb, by a badly 
 made road, up over the downs from Eastbourne, 
 only to drop down again as quickly through East- 
 dean to Newhaven, a short ten miles, but a trying 
 one. 
 
 Newhaven is a sickly burg sheltered well to the 
 west of Beachy Head. Its only excitements are 
 the comings and goings of the Dieppe steamers 
 and a few fishing-boats. It is one of the best ports 
 for shipping one's automobile to France, and one 
 of the cheapest. In no other respect is Newhaven 
 worth a glance of the eye, and English travellers 
 themselves have no good word for the abominable 
 
254 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 tea and coffee served to limp, half-famished trav- 
 ellers as they get off the Dieppe boat. This well- 
 worn and well-deserved reputation was no induce- 
 ment for us to stop, so we made speed for 
 Brighton via Eottingdean. 
 
 Rottingdean will be famous in most minds as 
 being the rival of Brattleboro, Vt.. as the home 
 of Eudyard Kipling. Sightseers came from 
 Brighton in droves and stared the author out of 
 countenance, as they did at Brattleboro, and he 
 removed to the still less known, and a great deal 
 less accessible, village of Burwash in Kent. Thus 
 passed the fame of Rottingdean. 
 
 Brighton has been called London-on-Sea. and 
 with some truth, but as the sun shines here with 
 frequency it differs from London in that respect. 
 
 Brighton is a brick and iron built town, exceed- 
 ingly unlovely, but habitable. Its two great tower- 
 ing sea-front hotels look American, but they are 
 a great deal more substantially built. There are 
 two rivals for popular favour, the Grand and the 
 Metropole. They are much alike in all their ap- 
 pointments, but there are fewer tea-drinkers and 
 after-dinner sleepers (and snorers) at the Metro- 
 pole. There is also a famous old coaching house, 
 the Ship Hotel (most curiously named), which 
 caters particularly for automobilists. 
 
 Brighton is the typical seaside resort of Britain. 
 It is like nothing on the Continent: it is not even 
 as attractive a place as most Continental resorts; 
 but it is the best thing in Britain. 
 
 Brighton and Hove have a sea-front of perhaps 
 
The South Coast 255 
 
 three miles. Houses and hotels line the promen- 
 ade on one side, a pebbly beach and the sea on the 
 other. 
 
 The attractions of Brighton are conventional 
 and an imitation of those in London. In addition 
 one bathes, in summer, in the lapping waves, and 
 in winter sits in a glass shelter which breaks the 
 wind, and gazes seaward. 
 
 There are theatrical attractions and operas in 
 the theatre, and vocal and instrumental concerts 
 on the pier, all through the year. There are also 
 various sorts of functions which go on in the 
 turnip-topped Royal Pavilion of the Georges, 
 which once seen will ever afterward be avoided. 
 
 It is not always bright and sunny at Brighton. 
 We were storm-bound at the Metropole for two 
 days, and the Channel waves dashed up over the 
 pier and promenade and drowned out the strollers 
 who sought to take their constitutional abroad. 
 
 We sat tight in the hotel and listened to Sousa 
 marches, " Hiawatha," and " The Belle of New 
 York " strummed out by a none too competent 
 band. A genial fat-faced old lady of uncertain 
 age tried to inveigle us into a game of bridge, but 
 that was not what we came for, so we strenuously 
 refused. 
 
 The flood-tide of holiday trippers at Brighton 
 is in August. This is the month when, at certain 
 periods of the day, the mile length of roadway 
 from railway station to sea is a closely packed 
 crowd of excursionists; when the long expanse 
 of sea-front and sand presents its most animated 
 
256 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 spectacle of holiday-keeping people; when the 
 steamers plying along the Sussex coast, or to 
 France, the white-sailed yachts, the rowing-boats, 
 and motor-boats are the most numerous; and 
 when the hundred and one entertainers and pro- 
 viders of all kinds do their busiest trade. 
 
 There is a public bathing-station at the eastern 
 end of the sea-front. A large marquee is pro- 
 vided, and a worthy lady, the incarnation of the 
 British matron, sees to it that the curtains are 
 properly drawn and that inquisitive small boys 
 keep their distance. But it is rather a long walk 
 from the marquee to the water when the tide is 
 low, and one often hears the camera click on the 
 irresistible charms of some swan-like creature 
 ambling down to deep water. The authorities 
 have promised to put a stop to such liberties. 
 Can they? 
 
 We left Brighton with a very good idea indeed 
 of what it was like. It has a place to fill and it 
 fills it very well, but the marvel is that the Brit- 
 isher submits to it, when he can spend his week- 
 ends, or his holiday, at Boulogne or Dieppe for 
 practically the same expenditure of time and 
 money, and get real genuine relaxation and a 
 gaiety which is not forced. So much for 
 Brighton. 
 
 The Brighton police authorities have heeded 
 the words of admonition of the tradesmen and 
 hotel-keepers, and the automobilist has an easy 
 time of it. It is an example which it is to be hoped 
 will be far-reaching in its effects. 
 
The South Coast 257 
 
 The road by the coast runs along by New Shore- 
 ham to Worthing, where the automobilist is ca- 
 tered for in really satisfactory fashion at Warne's 
 Hotel, which possesses what is called a motor 
 depot, a name which describes its functions in an 
 obvious manner. It is a good place to lunch and 
 a good place to obtain gasoline and oil. What 
 more does the touring automobilist want? Not 
 much but good roads and ever varying scenery. 
 
 Worthing has a population of twenty-five 
 thousand conservative souls, and a mild climate. 
 Its popularity is only beginning, but it boasts 
 1,748 hours of sunshine, an exceedingly liberal 
 allowance for an English resort. It has also a 
 " school of cookery; " this may account for the 
 fare being as excellent a-s it is at " Warne's," 
 though the proprietors are silent on this point. 
 
 Littlehampton came next in our itinerary. It 
 almost equals Rye as one of the picture spots of 
 England's south coast. It may develop some day 
 into an artist's sketching ground which will rival 
 the Cornish coast. It has a tidal river with old 
 boats and barges lying picturesquely about, and 
 it permits ' ' mixed bathing, ' ' a rarity in England. 
 In spite of this there appears to be no falling off 
 in morals, and when other English seaside resorts 
 adopt the same procedure they will be falling out 
 of the conservatism which is keeping many of 
 them from developing at the rate of Littlehamp- 
 ton. 
 
 We left the coast here to visit Arundel and its 
 castle, the seat of the Duke of Norfolk. It was a 
 
258 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Friday and the keep and park were open to the 
 public. 
 
 Arundel is an ancient town which sleeps its 
 life away and lives up to the traditions of me- 
 dievalism in truly conservative fashion. The 
 Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland 
 makes no recommendation as to the hotels of 
 Arundel, and presumably the Norfolk Arms cares 
 nothing for the automobile traffic. We did not 
 stop at any hotel, but left our machine outside the 
 castle gate, enjoyed the conventional stroll about 
 inside the walls and in an hour were on the way 
 to Chichester. 
 
 Sussex is a county which, according to some 
 traditions, possesses four particular delicacies. 
 Izaak Walton, in 1653, named them as follows: 
 a Selsea cockle, a Chichester lobster, an Arundel 
 mullet, and an Amberley trout. Another author- 
 ity, Ray, adds to these three more : a Pulborough 
 eel, a Rye herring, and a Bourn wheatear, which, 
 he says, " are the best in their kind, understand 
 it, of those that are taken in this country." 
 
 Chichester is a cathedral town not usually in- 
 cluded in the itinerary of stranger-tourists. Its 
 proud old cathedral and its detached bell-tower 
 are remarkable for many things, but the strange- 
 ness of the belfry, entirely unconnected with the 
 church fabric itself, will strike the natives of the 
 land of skyscrapers most of all. 
 
 Chichester is conservative in all things, and 
 social affairs, said a public-house habitue, are en- 
 tirely dominated by the cathedral clique. He 
 
The South Coast 259 
 
 may have been a bad authority, this doddering old 
 septuagenarian, mouthing his pint of beer, but he 
 entertained us during the half-hour of a passing 
 shower with many plain-spoken opinions about 
 many things, including subjects as wide apart as 
 clericalism and submarines. 
 
 Our route from Chichester was to Portsmouth 
 and Southsea, neither of which interested us to 
 any extent. The former is warlike in every turn 
 of its crooked streets and the latter is full of re- 
 tired colonels and majors, who keep always to the 
 middle of the footpath across Southsea Common, 
 and will not turn the least bit to one side, for 
 courtesy or any other reason. Too much curry 
 on their rice or port after dinner probably ac- 
 counts for it. 
 
 We stopped at the George at Portsmouth. It 
 offers no accommodation for automobiles, but a 
 garage is near by. The halo of sentiment and 
 romance hung over the more or less dingy old 
 hotel, dingy but clean, and possessed of a parlour 
 filled with a collection of old furniture which 
 would make the connoisseur want to carry it all 
 away with him. 
 
 This was the terminus of old-time travel from 
 London to Portsmouth. The Portsmouth road, in 
 coaching days as in automobile days, ran through 
 England's fairest counties down to her emporium 
 of ships. Its beginnings go back to the founda- 
 tions of England's naval power. 
 
 Edward IV. made Portsmouth a strong place 
 
260 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of defence, but the road from town only became 
 well travelled in later centuries. 
 
 Along the old Portsmouth road were, and are 
 still, any number of nautically named inns. At 
 Liphook is the Anchor — where Pepys put up 
 when on his way to England's chief naval town — 
 and the Ship ; there is another Anchor at Ripley ; 
 at Petersfield stands the Dolphin, and near Guild- 
 ford is the Jovial Sailor. All these, and other 
 signs of a like nature, suffice to tell the observant 
 wayfarer that he is on the road which hordes of 
 seamen have trod on their way to and from Lon- 
 don, and that it was formerly deemed well worth 
 while to hang out invitations to them. 
 
 In 1703 Prince George of Denmark made nine 
 miles in six hours on this road, an indication that 
 the good roads movement had not begun. In 1751 
 Doctor Burton suggested that all the animals in 
 Sussex, including the women, were long-legged 
 because of ' ' the difficulty of pulling their feet out 
 of the mud which covers the roads hereabouts." 
 
 A hundred or more years ago Nelson came by 
 post by this road to Portsmouth to hoist his flag 
 upon the Victory. He arrived at the George, the 
 same which was sheltering our humble selves, at 
 six in the morning, as the records tell, having 
 travelled all night. The rest is history, but the 
 old Victory still swings at her moorings in Ports- 
 mouth harbour, a shrine before which all lovers 
 of the sea and its tales may worship. Ports- 
 mouth is the great storehouse of Britain's battle- 
 ships, and the Solent from Spithead to Stokes Bay 
 
Ryde 
 
 Newhaven 
 
 Isle of Wight 
 
 Royal Yacht Squadron 
 Folkestone 
 
 Annul el Castle 
 
The South Coast 261 
 
 is a vast pool where float all manner of warlike 
 craft. 
 
 The Isle of Wight was the immediate attraction 
 for us at Portsmouth. One makes the passage by 
 boat in thirty minutes, and when one gets there he 
 finds leafy lanes and well-kept roads that will put 
 many mainland counties to shame. The writer 
 does not know the length of the roadways of the 
 Isle of Wight, but there are enough to give one a 
 good three days of excursions and promenades. 
 
 We made our headquarters at Ryde and sallied 
 out after breakfast and after lunch each day, in- 
 variably returning for the night. 
 
 The beauties of the Isle of Wight are many and 
 varied, with all the charms of sea and shore. For 
 a literary shrine it has Tennyson's Freshwater 
 and the Tennyson Beacon high up on the crest of 
 the downs overlooking the Needles, Freshwater 
 Bay, and the busy traffic of the English Channel, 
 where the ships make landward to signal the ob- 
 servers at St. Catherine's Point. 
 
 Cowes and " Cowes week " are preeminent 
 annual events in society's periodical swing around 
 the circle. 
 
 The real development jf Cowes, the home of the 
 Royal Yacht Squadron^ has been the evolution of 
 week-end yachting in the summer months. City 
 men, and jaded legislators, held to town by the 
 Parliamentary duties of a long summer session, 
 rush down to Southampton every Saturday and 
 each steps off his train or motor-car on to the 
 deck of his yacht, and then, after a spin westward 
 
262 
 
 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
The South Coast 263 
 
 to the Needles or eastward to the Nab or Warner 
 Lightship, soothed by the lapping of the waters, 
 and refreshed by the pure sea air, returns on 
 the Monday to face again the terrors of London 
 heat and " fag." 
 
 Taken all in all, we found the Isle of Wight the 
 most enjoyable region of its area in all England. 
 It is quite worth the trouble of crossing from the 
 mainland with one's automobile in order to do it 
 thoroughly; for what one wants is green fields 
 and pastures new and a breadth of sea and sky. 
 
Sncf 
 
 TO 
 
 Offroat's 
 
 266 
 

CHAPTER III 
 
 LAND'S END TO JOHN o' GROAT *S 
 
 We had already done a bit of conventional tour- 
 ing in England, and we thought we knew quite 
 all of the charms and fascinations of the idyllic 
 countryside of most of Britain, not omitting even 
 Ireland. 
 
 The cathedral towns had appealed to us in our 
 youthful days, and we had rediscovered a good 
 portion of Dickens 's England on another occasion, 
 had lived for a fortnight on a house-boat on the 
 Thames, and had cruised for ten days on the Nor- 
 folk Broads, and besides had played golf in Scot- 
 land, and attempted to shoot grouse on a Scottish 
 moor. All this had furnished at least variety, and, 
 when it came to automobiling through Britain, it 
 was merely going over well-worn ground that we 
 had known in our cycling days, and usually we 
 went merely where fancy willed. 
 
 Conditions had changed considerably, in fact all 
 things had changed, we ourselves no less than cer- 
 tain aspects of the country which we had pictured 
 as always being (in England) of that idyllic tenor 
 of which the poet sings. This comes of living too 
 much in London, and with too frequent week-ends 
 at Brighton, Bournemouth, or Cromer. 
 
 267 
 
268 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 For years, ever since we had first set foot in 
 England in the days when cycling en tandem (and 
 even touring in the same manner) was in vogue, 
 if not the fashion, we had heard of John o ' Groat 's 
 house, and we had seen Land's End many a time 
 coming up Channel. We knew, too, that among 
 scorching cyclists " Land's End to John o' 
 Groat's " was a classic itinerary for those who 
 would boast of their prowess and their grit. 
 
 All this passed and then came the automobile. 
 " Land's End to John o' Groat's " is nothing for 
 an automobile, though it is the longest straight- 
 away bit of road in all Britain, 888 miles, to be 
 exact. If you are out for a record on an automo- 
 bile you do it as a " non-stop " run. It's dull, 
 foolhardy business that, and it proves nothing 
 except your ability to keep awake for anything 
 between thirty-six and forty-eight hours, which 
 you can do just as well sitting up with a sick 
 friend. 
 
 In spite of the banal sound that the very words 
 had for us, " Land's End to John o' Groat's "had 
 a perennial fascination, and so we set out with our 
 automobile to cover this much talked of itinerary, 
 with all its varied charms and deficiencies, for, 
 taking it all in all, it is probably one of the hilliest 
 roads in Britain, rising as it does over eight dis- 
 tinct ranges of what are locally called mountains, 
 and mountains they virtually are when it comes 
 to crossing them by road. 
 
 There is nothing very exciting to be had from 
 a tour such as this, though it is nearly a nine nun- 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 269 
 
 
 ^»r^»joHM o'mours 
 
 f% 
 
 
 ( j^tflHICDAU 
 
 ^/ancf's 
 
 Jkj ) ^V °"*S^ 
 
 f "^^^8Kafe ABIBDttH S 
 
 KD17(£ 
 
 TO 
 
 fJffa' 
 
 
 ybAn 
 
 ^ySi 
 
 
 (J Grrodfs 
 
 
 / igijp'v"' ^.^ 
 
 "N 888MILES 
 
 
 IMAHCASTIR 
 
 
 
 k\s- / n "" 1 
 
 
 
 •MWOOlV^Z^^ -^^ 
 
 
 
 ""^5^1 ^Ss 
 
 
 
 «ACAAr/w*_ x* 
 
 
 
 t^^^^^^S^H 
 
 
 *ou*i»S 
 
 *S ^S ~~r- — / fWHlfCMURCM 
 
 1 *tM(COU* \ 
 
 
 § j^SJif BJfmivCrw* 
 
 
 MlKTSnTTHf "^^ WARWICpj*' 
 
 NORTHAMPTON I 
 
 
 CUCAM ^WOSfJttK 
 
 •eeoro/n, ip\mc" \ 
 
 COtCH£ST£/f ^3r 
 
 
 JhifuccsriR 
 
 tttPtFORO J\£ 
 
 MUAtSfQj' 
 
 C^-rv z**oM'*^y Kit 
 
 
 
 mwbh Vs^y^/aisS&oi 
 
 
 
 /• ■■ tiKjc W»ltWf .K«CM 
 
 
 
 QOVMI^jr 
 
 
 5«/r\ TAUH/TOt0 'f 
 H \ Y Li: IhMIIJMHJB ^J 
 
 
 n* 1 \ \#5^ joyr»M»^TOw»^ 
 
 r] r -'C»tCMisrt i * ^.S 
 
 
 r .rMi'T''" O^x?' 
 
 ~V ^^lASnOi/Mt 
 
 'Vmffl 
 
 \fifi0 i ftt"l*l» 
 
 
 PtMAt^* '// 
 
 
 
 IAMB'S ttlOfg/^-f 
 
 
 
270 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 dred mile straight-away promenade. For the 
 most part one's road lies through populous cen- 
 tres, far more so than any American itinerary for 
 a reliability trial for automobiles that was ever 
 conceived. Many are the " events " which have 
 been run over this "Land's End — John o' 
 Groat's " course, and the journey has proved the 
 worth or worthlessness of many a,, new idea in 
 automobilism. 
 
 The modern automobile is getting complicated, 
 but it is also becoming efficient, if not exactly ap- 
 proaching perfection as yet. The early days of 
 automobiling were not fraught with so many tech- 
 nicalities as to-day, when the last new thing may 
 be a benzine bus or a turbine trailer; formerly 
 everything was simple and crude, — and more or 
 less inefficient. To-day many cars are as compli- 
 cated as a chronometer and require the education 
 of an expert who has lived among their intricacies 
 for many months in order to control their vagaries 
 and doctor their ills, which, if not chronic, are as 
 varied as those of an old maid of sixty. 
 
 Four of us started on our road to the north as 
 fit as possible, and we were courageous enough to 
 think our automobile was likewise, as it was a 
 tried and trusty friend with some twenty thou- 
 sand miles to its credit, and with never a breakage 
 so far as its mechanism was concerned. 
 
 We had stayed a few days at Penzance and got 
 to know something of Cornwall and things Cor- 
 nish. Unquestionably Cornwall is the least 
 spoiled section of Southern Britain; its coast- 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 271 
 
 line is rocky and serrated, and its tors and hills 
 and rills are about as wild and unspoiled by the 
 hand of man as can be imagined. There is a vast 
 literature on the subject if one cares to read it, 
 and the modern fictionists (like the painter-men) 
 have even developed a " Cornish school." How- 
 ever, there need be no discussion of its merits or 
 demerits here. 
 
 In Mount's Bay is the Cornish counterpart of 
 Normandy's St. Michel's Mount. It is by no 
 means so grand or imposing, or endowed with such 
 a wealth of architectural charm as the cross-chan- 
 nel Mont St. Michel, but the English St. Michael's 
 Mount, a granite rock rising from the sea two 
 hundred and fifty or more feet, was sufficient of 
 an attraction to draw us to Penzance for our head- 
 quarters and to keep us till we had visited its 
 castle of the days of Charles II. There is no ques- 
 tion of the age of St. Michael's Mount, for Ptol- 
 emy charted it in Roman days, and the Roman 
 warriors, who battled with the Britons, made 
 spear-heads and hatchets of the tin and iron 
 which they dug from its rocky defences. 
 
 The grim, unlovely little hotel at Land's End 
 sheltered us the night before the commencement 
 of our journey north, and the Longships Light- 
 house flashed its warning in through our open bed- 
 room window all the night long and made us 
 dream of wicked and unworldly monster auto- 
 mobiles bearing down upon us with a great blazing 
 phare which blotted out all else. 
 
 The nightmare passed, we got ourselves to- 
 
272 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 gether at five in the morning, drank tepid tea, 
 and ate the inevitable bacon and eggs furnished 
 one for breakfast in England, and, before lunch, 
 had passed Bodmin, crossed Bodmin moor (a little 
 Exmoor), and skirted Dartmoor, just north of 
 Great Links Tor, arriving at Exeter at high noon. 
 
 Pople's New London Hotel at Exeter is the 
 headquarters of the Automobile Club, is patron- 
 ized by Royalty (so the advertisements say), and 
 is a very satisfactory-looking old-century inn 
 which has not wholly succumbed to modern im- 
 provement, nor yet is it wholly backward. It is 
 " fair to middling " only, so far as the require- 
 ments of the automobilist go (what Royalty may 
 think of it the writer does not know), but its pro- 
 prietor ought to take a trip abroad and find out 
 what his house lacks. 
 
 The wonder of Exeter for us was the carved 
 west porch of its cathedral, not very good carving, 
 we were told, but undeniably effective, peopled as 
 it was with a whole regiment of sculptured effigies. 
 
 Exeter has a ruined castle, too, called Rouge- 
 ment, a name which preserves the identity of its 
 Norman origin. Exeter's High Street is a curious 
 stagy affair, with great jutting house gables, pil- 
 lars, and pignons, undeniably effective, but a ter- 
 ror to automobilists because of its narrowness and 
 the congestion of its traffic. 
 
 The road turns north after leaving Exeter and 
 passes Taunton, " one of the nicest towns in the 
 west of England," as we were told by the land- 
 lord's daughter on leaving Exeter. Not knowing 
 
Land's End to John o> Groat's 273 
 
274 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 what her standard was for judgment, but suspect- 
 ing it was tea and buns, we delved away into the 
 county of Somerset and reached Wells, on the 
 edge of the Mendip Hills, before dinner. 
 
 Somerset is reputed to be one of the loveliest 
 counties in the west of England and one of the 
 most countrified of all Britain. It is a region of 
 farming lands, of big and little estates, with the 
 big ones predominating, which the land reformers, 
 and all others who give it a thought, claim must 
 some day be divided among the people. When 
 that millennium comes Somerset will be a paradise 
 for the people. In spite of its productiveness and 
 its suitability for farming, the great estates of the 
 wealthy are used for the purposes of pleasure and 
 not of profit, for the hunting of foxes and for the 
 shooting of pheasants. 
 
 Wells is an episcopal city with a bishop who 
 presides also over Bath. Wells is essentially ec- 
 clesiastical ; never had it a momentous or warlike 
 history; it is bare of romance; it has no manu- 
 factures and no great families. Wells Cathedral 
 takes high rank for the originality of its architec- 
 ture, its general constructive excellence, and its 
 sculptures. 
 
 There are three picturesquely named hotels, 
 the Swan, the Mitre, and the Star. They are all 
 equally dull, respectable, and conservative, and 
 they stick to tradition and conventional English 
 fare. You will probably arrive on boiled-mutton 
 night; we did, and suspect that it recurs about 
 three times a week, but it was good mutton, though 
 
Taunton, Exeter, and Bristol 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 275 
 
 it would have been a great deal better roasted, 
 instead of boiled. 
 
 Via Cheddar, where the cheeses come from, we 
 made our way to Bristol. Bristol is one of the 
 most progressive automobile towns in England. 
 You may see all sorts and conditions of automo- 
 biles at Bristol, even American automobiles, which 
 are more or less of a rarity in Europe, even in 
 England. 
 
 From Bristol to Gloucester, another cathedral 
 town, we passed over good roads and pleasant 
 ones, rounding meanwhile the Cotswolds and pass- 
 ing direct to Worcester, where we lunched. 
 
 It is useless to attempt to describe a complete 
 trip in pages such as these, and, beyond com- 
 menting on changing conditions and novel scenes, 
 it is not attempted. Generally speaking the road 
 surfaces were excellent throughout, but the grades 
 of the hills were ofttimes abnormal, and the nar- 
 rowness of main roads, and the hedge-hidden by- 
 roads which crossed them, made travelling more 
 or less of a danger for the* stranger, particularly 
 if he was not habituated to England's custom of 
 " meeting on the left and passing on the right." 
 
 Following the valley of the Severn, by Shrews- 
 bury and Whitechurch, we crossed the great Holy- 
 head Road, " the king's highway," from London 
 to Holyhead. 
 
 From Ogilby's Road Book, an old book-stall find 
 of one of our party at Shrewsbury, we learned 
 that in days gone by the coach " "Wonder " left 
 the Bull and Mouth, at St. Martin 's-le-Grand in 
 
276 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 London, at 6.30 a. m., and was at Shrewsbury at 
 10.30 the same night. Good going indeed for 
 those days! 
 
 At Shrewsbury one is within easy reach of the 
 Welsh border, but, in spite of the novelty prom- 
 ised us, we kept on our way north. This was not 
 because we feared the " evil character " of the 
 Welsh (as an old writer put it), but because we 
 feared their language. 
 
 We left Liverpool and its docks, and Man- 
 chester and its cotton factories, to the left, and, 
 passing through Warrington and Preston, arrived 
 at Lancaster for the night. It was the longest 
 day's driving we had done in England, something 
 over two hundred miles. All the ordinary char- 
 acteristics of the southern counties had been left 
 far behind. The prettiness of conventional Eng- 
 lish scenery had made way for something more of 
 character and severity of outline. For the mor- 
 row we had to look forward to the climb over 
 Shap Fell, one of England's genuine mountain 
 roads, or as near like one as the country has. 
 
 Lancaster was perhaps not the best place we 
 could have chosen for the night, but everything 
 had been running well and we had pushed on 
 simply for the joy of the running. The County 
 Hotel at Lancaster was like other county hotels 
 in England. Verb. sap. They had the audacity 
 to charge two shillings for housing our automo- 
 bile for the night, and pointed out the fact that 
 this was the special rate given members of the 
 Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland. 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 277 
 
 Well ! It was the most awful ' ' roast ' ' we found 
 in England! They must have some grudge 
 against the Club! " B. B. B." cost seven shill- 
 ings and sixpence, and dinner four shillings 
 more, a bottle of Bordeaux five shillings, etc. 
 Four of us for the night (including a hot bath 
 for each — which cost the hotel practically noth- 
 ing) paid something like £3 for our accommoda- 
 tion. It wasn't worth it! 
 
 We passed the " Lake District " to the left the 
 next morning, where it always rains, we are told. 
 Perhaps it always does rain in some parts of 
 Westmoreland, but it was bright and sunny when 
 we crossed Shap Fell, at a height of some- 
 thing like twelve hundred feet above sea-level. 
 The railway station of Shap Summit is itself at 
 an elevation of a thousand feet. We had crossed 
 nothing like this previously in England, although 
 it is not so very high after all, nor is it so very 
 terrifying in the ascent or descent. The Castle 
 of Comfort Inn in the Mendip Hills was only seven 
 hundred feet, but here we were five hundred feet 
 above it, and the neighbouring Fells, Helvellyn 
 and Scafell in particular, raised their regular, 
 rounded peaks to something over thirty-two hun- 
 dred feet in the air. 
 
 Carlisle is commonly called the border town be- 
 tween England and Scotland ; at any rate it was a 
 vantage-ground in days gone by that was of a 
 great value to one faction and a thorn in the side 
 to the other. The conquering and unconquered 
 Scots are the back-bone of Britain, there's no 
 
278 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 denying that; and Carlisle is near enough to the 
 border to be intimately acquainted with their 
 virtues. 
 
 We inspected Carlisle's cathedral, its ugly 
 castle, and the County Hotel, — and preferred the 
 two former. One thing in Carlisle struck us as 
 more remarkable than all else, and that was that 
 the mean annual temperature was stated to be 
 48° F. It was just that when we were there, 
 though cloudy and unpromising as to weather. In 
 our opinion Carlisle is an unlovely, disagreeable 
 place. 
 
 Gretna Green, with its famous, or infamous, 
 career as a marriage mart, had little to offer a 
 passing tourist beyond some silly, vulgar post- 
 cards on sale at a newsdealer's. 
 
 Across the border topographical characteristics 
 did not greatly change, at least not at once, from 
 what had gone immediately before, and it was not 
 until Lockerbie was reached that we fully realized 
 that we were in Scotland. 
 
 It was a long, long pull, and a hard, hard pull 
 of seventy miles from Lockerbie to Edinburgh, 
 via Moffat, Biggar, and Penicuik, skirting the 
 Fells of Peebleshire and running close beneath the 
 Pentland Hills, with memories of Stevenson's 
 tales ever uppermost in our minds. 
 
 Via Dalkeith the entrance into Edinburgh is 
 delightful, but via Rosslyn it is unbeautiful 
 enough until one actually drops down into world- 
 famed Princes ' Street. 
 
 Romantic Edinburgh is known by all European 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 279 
 
 travellers as one of the sights never omitted from 
 a comprehensive itinerary. It is quaint, pictur- 
 esque, grand, squalid, and luxurious all rolled into 
 one. Its castle crowns the height above the town 
 on one side, and Arthur's Seat does the same on 
 the other, with gloomy old Holyrood in the gulf 
 between, the whole softened and punctuated with 
 many evidences of modern life, the smoke and 
 noise of railways, trams, and factories. There are 
 many guide-books to Edinburgh, but there are 
 none so satisfactory as Stevenson's tales dealing 
 with the town. In " Kidnapped," " The Master 
 of Ballantrae," and " Catriona," he pictures its 
 old streets and " stairs," its historic spots, its 
 very stones and flags, and the charming country- 
 side around in incomparable fashion. 
 
 The Carlton Hotel at Edinburgh is the auto- 
 mobile hotel of Britain. There is nothing quite 
 so good either in England or Scotland. The proof 
 of this is that the Automobile Club de France have 
 given it distinctive marks in its " Annuaire de 
 VEt ranger." There is the tiny silhouette of a 
 knife and fork, and four-poster bed, indicating 
 that the tables and beds are of an agreeable ex- 
 cellence. This is a great deal more satisfying as 
 a recommendation than Baedeker's *. 
 
 We crossed the Firth of Forth via the Granton 
 Ferry, from Granton to Burntisland, — pro- 
 nounced Burnt Island — a fact that none of us 
 knew previously. 
 
 Via Kinross and Loch Leven we arrived at 
 Perth for lunch. We went to the Salutation Hotel, 
 
280 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 because of its celebrated " Prince Charlie Room," 
 and bad no reason to regret the lunch that was 
 given us, or the price paid for it. Scottish hotels 
 have had a reputation of not being as good as 
 those of England and much more costly. We were 
 finding things just the reverse. Automobilism is 
 an industry in Scotland, not a fad, and the auto- 
 mobilist is catered for accordingly, at least so it 
 seemed to us, and, since the leading British auto- 
 mobile is a Scotch production, who can deny that 
 the Scot has grasped the salient points of the 
 whole scheme of affairs in a far better manner 
 than the Sassenach. 
 
 From Perth, through the very heart of the 
 Scotch Highlands, we passed through Glen Garry 
 and the Valley of the Spey. Cairn Gorm rose 
 something over four thousand feet immediately 
 on our right, when, turning abruptly northwest, 
 we came into Inverness just at nightfall. It had 
 been another long, hard day, and, since Perth, 
 over indifferent roads. 
 
 The capital of the Highlands, Inverness, treated 
 us very well at the Alexandra Hotel. As a sum- 
 mer or autumn resort Inverness has scarcely its 
 equal in Britain. It is a lively, interesting, and 
 picturesque town, and day lingers far on into the 
 night by reason of its northern situation. Its 
 temperature, moreover, for the most part of the 
 year, is by no means as low as in many parts 
 farther south. 
 
 From Inverness, via Dingwall, Tain, and Bonar 
 Bridge, the roads improved, lying almost at sea- 
 
Land's End to John o' Groat's 281 
 
 level. Here was a long sweep westward and then 
 eastward again, around the Moray Firth, and it 
 was not until we stopped at Helmsdale for lunch, 
 102 miles from Inverness, that we left the coast- 
 line road, and then only for a short distance. 
 
 Again at Berriedal we came to the coast, the 
 surging, battering North Sea waves carving 
 grimly every foot of the shore line. Lybster, 
 Albster, and Thrumster were not even names that 
 we had heard of previously, and we dashed 
 through them at the legal limit, with only a glance 
 of the eye at their quaintness and unworldliness. 
 
 Caithness is the most northern county of Scot- 
 land, and its metropolis is Wick, where one gets 
 the nearest approach to the midnight sun that can 
 be found with civilized, modern, and up-to-date 
 surroundings. 
 
 The Scottish Automobile Club vouched for the 
 accommodation of the Station Hotel, at Wick, and 
 we had no occasion to question their judgment. 
 (B. B. B., six shillings; which is cheap — though 
 it costs you two shillings to stable your machine 
 at a neighbouring garage.) 
 
 From Wick to John o' Groat's is thirty-six 
 miles, out and back. We were all day doing it, 
 loafing along over a heather-strewn plain and 
 lunching at the Hotel Huna (the significance of 
 which name we forgot to ask.) 
 
 This ended our run to the North, five days in 
 all, not a very terrific speed or a very venture- 
 some proceeding, but as good a test of one's 
 knowledge of how to keep his machine running as 
 
282 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 can be got anywhere. It was a sort of rapid 
 review of many things of which we had hitherto 
 only a scrappy, fragmentary knowledge, and is 
 a trip which should not be omitted from any one 'a 
 grand European itinerary if one has the time and 
 means of covering it. 
 
U'i'i '■-. I 
 
PART IV 
 IN BELGIUM, HOLLAND, AND GERMANY 
 
 283 
 
284 
 
CHAPTER I 
 
 ON THE KOAD IN FLANDERS 
 
 There has been a noticeable falling off in tour- 
 ing in Belgium. There is no reason for this ex- 
 cept the caprice of fashion, and the automobile 
 and its popularizing influence will soon change all 
 this, in spite of the abominable stretches of paved 
 highroads, which here and there and everywhere, 
 and most unexpectedly, crop up and shake one al- 
 most to pieces, besides working dire disaster to 
 the mechanical parts of one's automobile. ^ The 
 authorities are improving things, but it will be 
 some time yet before Belgium is as free from 
 pave as is France. 
 
 The good roads of Belgium are as good as those 
 anywhere to be found, and it is only the unlooked 
 for and distressingly frequent stretches of paved 
 highway which need give any concern. 
 
 The natives speak French — of a sort — here 
 and there in Belgium, but they also speak Flemish 
 and Walloon. 
 
 We left Paris by the Route de Belgique, crossed 
 the frontier at Givet, and made our first stop at 
 Rethel, 193 kilometres away, where we passed the 
 night, at the Hotel de France. For a town of less 
 
 285 
 
286 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 than six thousand people Bethel is quite a metrop- 
 olis. It has a grand establishment known as the 
 Societe d 'Automobiles Bauchet, which will cater 
 for any and every want of the automobilist, and 
 has a half-dozen sights of first rank, from the old 
 Hotel Dieu to the bizarre doubled-up Eglise St. 
 Nicolas and the seventeenth-century, wood-roofed 
 market-house. 
 
 Sorbon, four kilometres away, is the birthplace 
 of Robert Sorbon, the founder of the Sorbonne at 
 Paris, and is a classic excursion which is never 
 omitted by true pilgrims who come to Rethel. 
 
 Fifty-three kilometres from Rethel is Rocroi, 
 a name which means little to most strangers in 
 France. It is near the Belgian frontier and saw 
 bloody doings in the Franco-Prussian war. 
 
 Rocroi is a pompous little fortified place 
 reached only by one road and a narrow-guage 
 railway — literally two streaks of iron rust — 
 which penetrate up to the very doors of a pre- 
 tentious Hotel de Ville with a Doric fagade, and 
 not much else that is remarkable. 
 
 The town has a population of but two thousand, 
 is surrounded by fortifications, contains a Ca- 
 serne, a Sous-Prefecture, a Prison, and a Palais 
 de Justice. All this officialdom weights things 
 down considerably, and, what with the prospect of 
 the custom-house arrangements at Givet, and the 
 necessity of demonstrating to an over-zealous 
 gendarme at Rocroi that we really had a " Cer- 
 tificat de Capacite," and that the photograph 
 which it bore (which didn't look the least like us) 
 
On the Road in Flanders 287 
 
 was really ours, we were considerably angered and 
 delayed on our departure the next morning, par- 
 ticularly as we had already been three days en 
 route and the frontier was still thirty odd kilo- 
 metres away. 
 
 As one passes Rocroi, Belgium and France 
 blend themselves into an indistinguishable unit so 
 far as characteristics go. Manners and customs 
 here change but slowly, and the highroad must be 
 followed many kilometres backward toward Paris 
 before one gets out of the influence of Flemish 
 characteristics. 
 
 We finally got across the Belgium frontier at 
 Givet, at least we got our passavant here, though 
 the Belgian customs formalities took place at 
 Heer-Agimont, formalities which are delightfully 
 simple, though evolving the payment of a fee of 
 twelve per cent, of the declared value of your 
 automobile. You get your receipt for money paid, 
 which you present at the frontier station by which 
 you leave and get it back again — if you have not 
 lost your papers. If you have you might as well 
 prepare to live in Belgium the rest of your life, 
 as a friend of ours told us he had done, when we 
 met him unexpectedly on a cafe terrace at Os- 
 tende a week later. 
 
 There be those who are content to grovel in 
 dark alleys, among a sordid picturesqueness, sur- 
 rounded by a throng of garlic-sodden natives, 
 rather than while their time away on the open 
 mountainside or wide-spread lake or plain. All 
 such are advised to keep away from Southern 
 
288 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Belgium, the Ardennes, and the valley of the 
 Meuse at Dinant and Namur. 
 
 We lunched at the Hotel des Postes at Dinant 
 on the Meuse, and so lovely was the town and its 
 environs, and the twenty-eight kilometres of val- 
 ley road to Namur (no pave here), that it took us 
 eight hours of a long summer's day to get away 
 from Dinant and get settled down again for the 
 night in the Hotel d'Harscamp at Namur. 
 
 The native declares there is nothing to equal 
 the view from the fortress-height of the citadel of 
 Namur, neither in Switzerland nor the Pyrenees ; 
 but though we climbed the three twisting kilo- 
 metres to the fort, there was nothing more than a 
 ravishing view of the charming river valley at our 
 feet. The majesty of it all was in the imagination 
 of the inhabitant, but all the same it was of a love- 
 liness that few artists can describe in paint, few 
 authors picture in words, and no kodakist repro- 
 duce satisfactorily in print. There is but one 
 thing for the curious to do, and that is to go and 
 see it for himself. 
 
 The rest of the journey across Belgium to Brus- 
 sels the writer would like to forget. Oh, that ter- 
 rible next day! Sixty kilometres of one of the 
 worst and most destructive roads, for an auto- 
 mobile, in Europe, and through a most uninter- 
 esting country. Perhaps, if the road had been 
 better, the landscape might not have had so op- 
 pressive an effect. As it was, an automobilist 
 journeys along the road — which is practically 
 across the kingdom — his eyes glued to it, his 
 
On the Road in Flanders 289 
 
 heart in his mouth, and he bumps and slides over 
 the wearying kilometres until he all but forgets 
 the beauties of the Meuse now so far behind. 
 Kilometre after kilometre of this vile road is 
 paved with blocks of stone as big as one's head, 
 half of which are out of place. And when one's 
 automobile sinks into the holes one can but 
 shudder. One hears of a road that is paved with 
 good intentions. It does not enjoy a good repu- 
 tation, but it can't be worse than the road from 
 Namur to Brussels ! 
 
 We passed through what, for the want of a 
 better and more distinctive name, may be called 
 the Waterloo region; but, for the moment, we 
 cared not a jot for battle-fields. Our battle with 
 the ugly roads of Belgium was all-sufficient. 
 
 Southey's verses are so good, though, that they 
 are here given in order that the writer may arrive 
 the quicker at Brussels and take his well-earned 
 rest : 
 
 " Southward from Brussels lies the field of blood, 
 Some three hours' journey for a well-girt man ; 
 
 A horseman who in haste pursued his road 
 Would reach it as the second hour began. 
 
 The way is through a forest deep and wide, 
 
 Extending many a mile on either side. 
 
 " No cheerful woodland this of antique trees, 
 With thickets varied and with sunny glade ; 
 Look where he will, the weary traveller sees 
 
 One gloomy, thick, impenetrable shade 
 Of tall straight trunks, which move before his sight, 
 With interchange of lines of long green light. 
 
290 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 " Here, where the woods receding from the road 
 
 Have left on either hand an open space 
 
 For fields and gardens, and for man's abode, 
 
 Stands Waterloo ; a little lowly place, 
 Obscure till now, when it hath risen to fame, 
 And given the victory its English name." 
 
 Finally we reached Brussels, still over cobble- 
 stones, the road growing worse every minute, and 
 stopped at the Grand Central Hotel, in the Place 
 de la Bourse, the correspondent of the Touring 
 Club de France, and the only hotel of its class 
 which serves its table d'hote " vin compris." 
 
 Brussels has ever been put down in the note- 
 books of conventional travellers as a little Paris ; 
 but this is by no means the case. It resembles 
 Paris not at all, except that French francs pass 
 current in its shops and the French tongue is the 
 language of commerce and society. 
 
 What has less frequently been remarked is that 
 Brussels has two contrasting elements of life, 
 which, lying close, one upon the other, strongly 
 exaggerate the French note of it all, and make 
 the hotels, cafes, restaurants, etc., take on that 
 boulevard aspect which we fondly think is Paris- 
 ian. 
 
 French Brussels and Flemish Brussels are as 
 distinct elements in the make-up of this double- 
 headed city as are the ingredients of oil and 
 water, and like the latter they do not mix. 
 
 When one descends from the hilltop on which is 
 modern Brussels, past the cathedral of Ste. 
 
On the Road in Flanders 291 
 
 Gudule, he leaves the shops, the cafes, and the 
 boulevards behind him and enters the past. 
 
 The small shopmen, and the men and women of 
 the markets, all look and talk Flemish, and the 
 environment is everywhere as distinctly Flemish 
 as if one were standing on one of the little bridges 
 which cross the waterways of Ghent or Bruges. 
 
 The men and women are broad-bodied and 
 coarse-featured, — quite different from the Dutch, 
 one remarks, — and they move slowly and with 
 apparent difficulty in their clumsy sabots and 
 heavy clothing. The houses round about are tall 
 and slim, and mostly in that state of antiquity 
 and decay which we like to think is artistic. 
 
 Such is Flemish Brussels. Even in the Flemish 
 part, the city has none of that winsome sym- 
 pathetic air which usually surrounds a quaint 
 mediaeval bourg. Rather it gives one the impres- 
 sion that old traditions are all but dead and that 
 it is mere improvidence and laisser-aller that 
 allows them to exist. 
 
 Flemish Brussels is picturesque enough, but it 
 is squalid, except for the magnificent Hotel do 
 Ville, which stands to-day in all the glory that it 
 did when Charles V. of Spain ruled the destinies 
 of the country. 
 
 It was in the square in front of the Hotel de 
 Ville that Alva gloated over the flowing blood of 
 his victims as it ran from the scaffold. 
 
 The churches of Brussels, as might be supposed 
 from the historical importance of the city in the 
 past, are numerous and celebrated, at least they 
 
292 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 are characteristically Flemish in much of their 
 belongings, though the great cathedral of Ste. 
 Gudule itself is Gothic of the unmistakable French 
 variety. 
 
 Brussels, its cathedrals, its Hotel de Ville, its 
 Cloth Hall, and its Corporation or Guild Houses, 
 and many more splendid architectural sites and 
 scenes are all powerful attractions for sightseers. 
 
 We went from Brussels to Ghent, forty-eight 
 kilometres, and still over pave. The bicyclist is 
 better catered for; he has cinder side-paths al- 
 most all over Belgium, and accordingly he should 
 enjoy his touring in occidental and oriental 
 Flanders even more than the automobilist. 
 
 Ghent was one day a seaport of rank, much 
 greater rank than that of to-day, for only a sort 
 of sea-going canal-boat, a chaland or a caboteur, 
 ever comes up the canals to the wharves. 
 
 Ghent is a great big town, but it does not seem 
 in the least like a city in spite of its hundred and 
 fifty thousand inhabitants. Its churches, its bel- 
 fry, its chateau, and its museum are the chief 
 sights for tourists — automobilists and others. 
 We visited them all after lunch, which was eaten 
 (and paid for at Paris prices) at the Hotel de la 
 Poste, and covered another forty-six kilometres 
 of pave, before we turned in for the night at 
 Bruges' Hotel du Sablon. There are others, but 
 the Hotel du Sablon at Bruges was modest in its 
 price, efficient in its service, and excellent in its 
 catering. The chief delicacy of the menu here is 
 the mossel. One eats mussels (mossels) in Bel- 
 
On the Road in Flanders 293 
 
 gium — if he will — and it's hard for one to es- 
 cape them. They are monies in France, mossels 
 in Belgium and Holland, and mussels in England. 
 They are a sea food which has never tickled the 
 American palate; but, after many refusals and 
 much resentment, we ate them — and found them 
 good. 
 
 Bruges' sights are similar to those of Ghent, 
 except that its belfry is more splendid and more 
 famous and the Memlings of the Hopital St. Jean 
 draw crowds of art lovers to Bruges who never 
 even stop at Ghent. 
 
 Our little run around Belgium, a sort of willy- 
 nilly blowing about by the North Sea winds, 
 drew us next to Ostende. If there is one place 
 more splendidly chic than Ostende it is Monte 
 Carlo. The palm is still with Monte Carlo, but, 
 for August at any rate, Ostende, with its Digue, 
 its hotels and terrace cafes and restaurants, is 
 the very glass of fashion and fashionables. 
 
 It was only on entering Ostende, over the last 
 few kilometres of the road from Bruges, just 
 where it borders the Slykens Canal, that we met 
 anything deserving to be called a good road since 
 leaving the neighbourhood of Namur. The roads 
 of Belgium served a former generation very well, 
 but tempus fugit, and the world advances, and 
 really Belgium's highways are a disgrace to the 
 country. 
 
 The chief attraction of Ostende — after the 
 great hotels — is its Digue, or Dyke, a great long- 
 drawn-out breakwater against whose cemented 
 
294 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 walls pound the furies of the North Sea with such 
 a virulence and force as to make one seasick even 
 on land. ' ' See our Digue and die, ' ' say the fisher- 
 folk of Ostende, — those that have not been 
 crowded out by the palace hotels, — ' ' See our 
 Digue and eat our oysters. ' ' 
 
 Ostende is attractive, save on the August bank 
 holiday, when the trippers come from London; 
 then it looks like Margate or Southend so far as 
 its crowds are concerned, and accordingly is 
 frightful. 
 
 One should not leave Belgium without visiting 
 Ypres, that is if he wants to know what a highly 
 respectable and thriving small city of Belgium is 
 like. 
 
 Ypres is typical of the best, though unfortu- 
 nately, by whichever road you approach, you still 
 make your way over granite blocks, none too well 
 laid or cared for. The best and almost only way 
 to avoid them is to take to the by-roads and trust 
 to finding your way about. This is not difficult 
 with the excellent map of the Automobile Club de 
 Belgique, but it requires some ingenuity to under- 
 stand the native who answers your inquiry in bad 
 French and worse Walloon or Flemish. 
 
 At Ypres the Hotel de la Chatellenie will care 
 for you and your automobile very well, though its 
 garage is nothing to boast of. Both meals and 
 beds are good, and the rates are cheap, something 
 less than nine francs a day for birds of passage. 
 You must pay extra for wine, but beer is thrown 
 in, thick, sticky, sugary beer, but it's better than 
 
< ~7~j6mys Seen 
 
 &? ^/uncfers 
 
 Ostende. — Canal at Bruges. — Milk Cart 
 
On the Road in Flanders 295 
 
 England's " bitter," or the lager of Rotter- 
 dam. 
 
 Ypres is full of interesting buildings, but its 
 Hotel de Ville and its Cloth Hall, with its lace- 
 like facade, are easily the best. Ypres has a mu- 
 seum which, like most provincial museums, has 
 some good things and some bad ones, a stuffed 
 elephant, some few good pictures, sea-shells, the 
 instruments which beheaded the Comte d'Egmont, 
 and some wooden sculptures; variety enough to 
 suit the most catholic tastes. 
 
 From Ypres we continued our zigzag through 
 Belgium, following most of the time dirt roads 
 which, though not of superlative excellence, were 
 an improvement on stone blocks. It took us prac- 
 tically all day to reach Antwerp, a hundred and 
 thirty kilometres away. 
 
 Belgium is everywhere quaint and curious, a 
 sort of a cross between Holland and France, but 
 more like the former than the latter in its mode 
 of life, its food and drink and its industries, ex- 
 cept perhaps in the country between Tournai and 
 Liege. 
 
 The country between Antwerp and Brussels 
 affords a good general idea of Belgium. Its level 
 surface presents, in rapid succession, rich 
 meadows, luxuriant corn-fields, and green hedge- 
 rows, with occasional patches of woodland. The 
 smallness of the fields tells amongst how many 
 hands the land is divided, and prepares one for 
 the knowledge that East Flanders is the most 
 thickly peopled corner of Europe. The exception 
 
296 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 to this general character of the scenery is found 
 in the valley of the Meuse, where the fruitful se- 
 renity of fertile meadows and pastoral hamlets is 
 varied by bolder, more irregular, and more strik- 
 ing natural features. Hills and rocks, bluff head- 
 lands and winding valleys, with beautiful stretches 
 of river scenery, give a charm to the landscape 
 which Belgium in general does not display. 
 
 The geographical description of Antwerp is as 
 follows : 
 
 Antwerp, in Flemish Antwerpen, the chief 
 town of the province of that name, is situated 
 in a plain 51° 13' 16" north latitude, and 2° 
 3' 55" east longitude, twenty leagues from the sea, 
 on the right bank of the Scheldt. 
 
 The Hotel du Grand-Laboureur was marked 
 out for us as the automobile hotel of Antwerp. 
 There was no doubt about this, when we saw the 
 A. C. F., the A. C. B., and the M. C. B. signs on 
 its facade. It is a very excellent establishment, 
 but you pay extra for wine, or you drink beer in- 
 stead. 
 
 The sights of Antwerp are too numerous to be 
 covered in the short time that was at our disposal 
 on this occasion, but we gave some time to the 
 works and shrine of the master Rubens, and the 
 wonderful cathedral spire, and the Hotel de Ville 
 and the Guild Houses and all the rest, not forget- 
 ting Quentin Matsys 's well. We were, however, a 
 practical party, and the shipping of the great 
 port, the gay cafes, and the busy life of Antwerp's 
 marts of trade also appealed to us. 
 
A Street in Antwerp 
 

On the Road in Flanders 297 
 
 Antwerp is a wonderful storehouse of many 
 things. "It is in the streets of Antwerp and 
 Brussels," said Sir Walter Scott, " that the eye 
 still rests upon the forms of architecture which 
 appear in pictures of the Flemish school." . . . 
 " This rich intermixture of towers and battle- 
 ments and projecting windows highly sculptured 
 produces an effect as superior to the tame uni- 
 formity of a modern street as the casque of the 
 warrior exhibits over the slouch-brimmed beaver 
 of a Quaker." This was true of Sir Walter 
 Scott's time, and it is true to-day. 
 

7?(fm//ft 
 
 209 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 BY DYKES AND WINDMILLS 
 
 Holland for automobilists is a land of one hill 
 and miles and miles of brick-paved roads, so well 
 laid with tiny bricks, and so straight and so level 
 that it is almost an automobilist's paradise. 
 
 We had come from Belgium to Holland, from 
 Antwerp to Breda, a little short of fifty kilo- 
 metres, to make a round of Dutch towns by auto- 
 mobile, as we had done in the old days by the 
 humble bicycle. 
 
 Custom-house regulations are not onerous in 
 Holland. The law says you must pay five per 
 cent, duty on entering the country, or at the dis- 
 cretion of the authorities, bona-fide tourists will 
 be given a temporary permit to ' ' circulate ' ' free. 
 There are no speed limits in Holland, but you 
 must not drive to "the common danger. The first 
 we were glad to know, the second we did not pro- 
 pose to do. 
 
 As we passed the frontier the douaniers re- 
 turned to their fishing opposite the little cabaret 
 where we had some needed refreshment. It is 
 curious what satisfaction middle-class officialdom 
 in Continental Europe gets out of fishing. It is 
 
 801 
 
302 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 their one passion, apparently, if their work lies 
 near a well-stocked stream. The chef de bureau 
 goes fishing, the commissionnaire goes fishing, 
 and everybody goes fishing. A peaceful and in- 
 nocent exercise for those who like it, but one 
 which is inexplicable to an outsider. 
 
 Soon we are stopped at a toll-gate. The toll- 
 gatekeeper still exists in Holland, chiefly on pri- 
 vate bridges. He loses a good deal of his mone- 
 tary return, however, as he has a lazy habit of 
 putting out a great wooden sabot to collect the 
 fees, he, meanwhile, fishing or dozing some dis- 
 tance away. 
 
 If you are a bad shot your coin sometimes goes 
 overboard, or being an automobilist, and there- 
 fore down on all impositions, you simply do not 
 put any more coins in the sabots and think to de- 
 pend on your speed to take you out of any brew- 
 ing trouble. This old relic of the middle ages is 
 sure to decrease in Holland with the progress of 
 the automobile. 
 
 Holland is a beautiful country, one of Nature's 
 daintiest creations, where the sun and the moon 
 and the sky seem to take the greatest delight in 
 revealing their manifold charms, where the green 
 fields and the clear-cut trees and the rushing 
 rivers and the sluggish canals all seem to have 
 been put in their place to conform to an artistic 
 landscape design — for, truly, Holland is a vast 
 picture. Its cattle are picture cattle, its myriad 
 windmills seem to stand as alluring models to 
 attract the artist, its sunsets, the haze that rests 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 303 
 
 over its fields, its farms, its spick and span houses, 
 its costumes — all seem to belong to the para- 
 phernalia of pictorial art. It is a paradise for 
 motorists who behave themselves, and do not 
 rouse the ire of the Dutchman. The regulations 
 are exceedingly lenient, but the laws against fast 
 speeding must not be disregarded, and the loud 
 blowing of horns, on deserted streets in the middle 
 of the night, is entirely forbidden. 
 
 When tourists have scaled every peak and 
 trodden every pass, let them descend once again 
 to the lowlands and see if they cannot find pleas- 
 urable profit in a land whose very proximity to 
 the borders of the sea gives it a character all its 
 own. This is Holland, and this is the attitude 
 with which a party of four faced it at Breda and 
 planned the tour outlined in the following pages. 
 
 We stopped at Breda to take breath and to 
 reconnoitre a little. Breda has a population of 
 twenty thousand, and a good hotel, " Der Kroon," 
 which knows well how to care for automobilists. 
 Breda to Dordrecht is perhaps twenty-five kilo- 
 metres in a straight line, but by the highroad, via 
 Gorinchem, it is sixty-eight. Since there are no 
 amphibious automobiles as yet, and there are no 
 facile means of crossing the Hollandsch Diep, the 
 detour must be made. 
 
 A stroll round Breda, to brush up our history 
 of the siege, a view of the chateau inside and out, 
 including the reminders of Count Henry of 
 Nassau and William III. of England, and we 
 were on the road again by three in the afternoon. 
 
304 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Dordrecht and its Hotel Belle- Vue, on the 
 Boomstraat, saw us for dinner that night. The 
 trip had been without incident, save for the 
 eternal crossing of canals by high-peaked donkey- 
 back bridges which demanded careful driving till 
 you found out what was on the other side of the 
 crest, and the continual dodging from one side of 
 the road to the other to avoid running over chil- 
 dren at play. Clearly Holland, in this respect, 
 was not far different from other countries. 
 
 Dordrecht is delightful and is as nearly canal- 
 surrounded as Amsterdam or Venice,- only it is 
 not so large, and automobilists must look out or 
 they will tumble overboard when taking a sharp 
 corner. 
 
 You may eat, if you like, on the balcony of the 
 Hotel Belle- Vue, and you may watch the throng 
 of passers-by strolling through the courtyard of 
 the hotel, from one street to another, as if it were 
 a public thoroughfare. The only objection to it 
 is that you fear for the safety of the loose things 
 which you left in your automobile, but as you pay 
 a franc for housing it the responsibility falls on 
 the proprietor. No one ever heard of anything 
 going astray, which argues well for the honesty 
 of the people of Dordrecht. 
 
 The distant view of Dordrecht, with a few 
 spotted cattle in the foreground, might well pass 
 for a tableau of Cuyps, but as all Dutch land- 
 scapes look more or less alike, at least they all 
 look Dutch, this description of Dordrecht perhaps 
 does not define it very precisely. 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 305 
 
 Of course Dordrecht itself is typically Dutch; 
 one would not expect anything else of a place with 
 a name like that. The tree-covered wharves and 
 the typical Dutch crowds, the dog-drawn little 
 carts and the " morning waker," are all there. 
 Above all, almost in Venetian splendour, looms 
 the great lone tower of the church of St. Mary, 
 the Grroote Kerk of the town. For six hundred 
 years it has been a faithful guardian of the spir- 
 itual welfare of the people, and the ruggedness of 
 its fabric has well stood the test of time, built of 
 brick though it is. 
 
 Dordrecht is vulgarly and colloquially known 
 as Dordt, or Dort, and, as such, is referred to in 
 history and literature in a manner which often 
 puzzles the stranger. It is one of the most an- 
 cient cities of Holland, and, in the middle ages, 
 the most busy in its intercourse with the outside 
 world. 
 
 We left Dordrecht in the early morning, expect- 
 ing to cover quickly the twenty-seven kilometres 
 to Rotterdam. Ever and ever the thin wisps of 
 black smoke streaked into the sky from the flat 
 directly ahead, but not until we had almost 
 plumped down on the Boompjes itself did things 
 take material shapes and forms. 
 
 There are many things to do and see at Rotter- 
 dam, but the great, ceaseless commerce of the 
 great world-port is one of the marvels which is 
 often sniffed at and ignored; yet nowhere in any 
 port in Europe or America, unless it be at Ant- 
 
306 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 werp. is there to be seen such a ship-filled river as 
 at Rotterdam on the Maa- 
 
 The Hotel Weimar on the Spanishkade, and the 
 
 Maas Hotel on the Boompjes. eater for the auto- 
 
 mobilist at rather high prices, but in an intelligent 
 
 •?pt that they charge a franc for ga- 
 
 . ng your machine overnight. We f onnd the 
 same thing at Dordrecht; and in general Que ifl 
 the custom all over Holland. 
 
 We left the automobile to rest a day at Rotter- 
 dam while we took a little trip by water, to Gouda, 
 famed for its cheeses. It is an unworlcL 
 place, though its commerce in eheeaes is mormons. 
 Et& opulation. when it does travel, goes mostly by 
 boat on the Maas. You pay an astonishingly 
 small sum, and you ride nearly half a day. from 
 I erdam to Gouda. amid a mixed freight of lov- 
 able fat little Dutch women with gold spiral 
 trinkets in their ears, little calves and cows, pigs, 
 duck-, hens, and what not. and on the return trip 
 amid a boat-load of pungent eh 
 
 We got back to Rotterdam for the night, having 
 spent a tranquil, enjoyable day on one of the chief 
 waterways of Holland, a foretaste of a projr 
 tour yet to come, to be made by automobile boat 
 when the opportunity com - 
 
 one. not even the most naive unsophisticated 
 and gushing of travellers, has ever had the temer- 
 ity to signa :erdam as a city of celebrated 
 art. But it is a fondly interesting place neverthe- 
 
 38, far more so indeed than many a less lively 
 mart of trade. 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 307 
 
 As we slowly drifted our way into the city at 
 dusk of a long June evening, on board that little 
 slow-going canal and river-craft from Gouda — 
 known by so few casual travellers, but which are 
 practically water stage-coaches to the native — it 
 was very beautiful. 
 
 The brilliant crimson sun-streaks latticed the 
 western sky, the masts, spars, and sail& of the 
 quay-side shipping silhouetted themselves stereo- 
 scopically against this gleaming background, and 
 the roar and grime of the city's wheels of trade 
 blended themselves into a melange which was as 
 intoxicating to the artist and rhapsodist as would 
 have been more hallowed ground. 
 
 We left Rotterdam at eight-thirty on a misty 
 morning which augured that we should be deluged 
 with rain forthwith ; but all signs fail in Holland 
 with regard to weather, for we hardly passed the 
 Delftsche Poort, the great Renaissance gateway 
 through which one passes to Delft, Schiedam, The 
 Hague, and all the well-worn place names of 
 Dutch history, before a rift of sunlight streaked 
 through the clouds and framed a typical Holland 
 landscape in as golden and yellow a light as one 
 might see in Venice. It was remarkable, in every 
 sense of the word, and we had good weather 
 throughout a week of days when storm was all 
 around and about us. 
 
 Schiedam, with its windmills, is well within 
 sight of Rotterdam. We had all of us seen wind- 
 mills before, but we never felt quite so intimately 
 acquainted with any as with these. Don Quixote's 
 
308 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 was but a thing of the imagination, and Daudet's, 
 in Provence, was but a dismantled, unlovely, and 
 unromantic ruin. These windmills of Schiedam 
 were very sturdy and practical things, broad of 
 base and long of arm, and would work even in a 
 fog, an ancient mariner-looking Dutchman with 
 sabots and peg-top trousers told us. 
 
 The windmills of Holland pump water, grind 
 corn, make cheese and butter, and have recently 
 been adopted in some instances to the making of 
 electricity. It has been found that with a four- 
 winged mill, and the wind at a velocity of from 
 twelve to thirty feet a second, four to five horse- 
 power can be obtained with the loss of only four- 
 teen per cent., caused by friction. 
 
 A plant has been constructed in Holland which 
 lights 450 lamps, earning about twelve per cent, 
 interest on the capital invested. Of course it is 
 necessary to keep an oil-motor to provide for 
 windless days or nights and also to keep a reserve 
 of electrical power on hand; but this is but an- 
 other evidence of the practicality and the extreme 
 cleverness of the Dutch. The cows that browse 
 around the windmills of Schiedam are of the same 
 spotted black and white variety that one sees on 
 the canvasses of the Dutch painters. If you are 
 not fortunate enough to see Paul Potter's great 
 Dutch bull in the gallery at The Hague, you may 
 see the same sort of thing hereabouts at any 
 glance of the eye — the real living thing. 
 
 From Rotterdam to Delft, all the way by the 
 canal, allowing for the detour via Schiedam, is 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 309 
 
 less than twenty kilometres, and the journey is 
 short for any sort of an automobile that will go 
 beyond a snail's pace. 
 
 Visions of blue and white delftware passed 
 through our minds as we entered the old town, 
 which hardly looks as though worldly automo- 
 bilists would be well received. Delftware there 
 is, in abundance, for the delectation of the tourist 
 and the profit of the curio merchant, who will sell 
 it unblushingly as a rare old piece, when it was 
 made but a year ago. If you know delftwar9 
 you will know from the delicate colouring of tha 
 blues and whites which is old and which is not. 
 
 Delft and Delftshaven, near Schiedam, in South 
 Holland, have a sentimental interest for all de- 
 scendants of the Puritans who fled to America in 
 1620. Delftshaven is an unattractive place 
 enough to-day, but Delft itself is more dignified, 
 and, in a way, takes on many of the attributes of 
 a metropolis. Nearly destroyed by a fire in 1526, 
 the present city has almost entirely been built up 
 since the sixteenth century. 
 
 The old Gothic church of the fifteenth century, 
 one of the few remains of so early a date, shelters 
 the tomb of the redoubtable Van Tromp, the van- 
 quisher of the English. 
 
 It was easy going along the road out of Delft 
 and we reached The Hague in time for lunch at 
 the Hotel des Indes, where, although it is the 
 leading hotel of the Dutch capital, everything is 
 as French as it would be in Lyons, or at any rate 
 in Brussels. You pay the astonishingly outra- 
 
310 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 geous sunt of five francs for housing your machine 
 over night, but nothing for the time you are eat- 
 ing lunch. We got away from the gay little 
 capital, one of the daintiest of all the courts of 
 Europe, as soon as we had made a round of the 
 stock sights of which the guide-books tell, not 
 omitting, of course, the paintings of the Hague 
 Gallery, the Rubens, the Van Dycks and the 
 Holbeins. 
 
 The Binnenhof drew the romanticist of our 
 party to it by reason of the memories of the 
 brothers De Witt. It is an irregular collection of 
 buildings of all ages, most of them remodelled, 
 but once the conglomerate residence of the Counts 
 of Holland and the Stadtholders. 
 
 The Binnenhof will interest all readers of 
 Dumas. It was here that there took place the cul- 
 minating scenes in the lives of the brothers De 
 Witt, Cornelius and John. Dumas unquestion- 
 ably manufactured much of his historical detail, 
 but in the ' ' Black Tulip ' ' there was no exaggera- 
 tion of the bloody incidents of the murder of these 
 two noble men, who really had the welfare of Hol- 
 land so much at heart. 
 
 We headed down the road to the sea, by the 
 Huis-ten-Bosch (the House in the Wood), the 
 summer palace of Dutch royalty, for the Monte 
 Carlo of Holland, Scheveningen. It has all the 
 conventional marks of a Continental watering- 
 place, a plage, a kursaale, bath houses, terraces, 
 esplanades, chic hotels and restaurants, and a 
 whole regiment of mushroom chairs and wind- 
 
1 
 
 1 L, v/ Jj 
 
 
 1 £tfsEI 
 
 
 m SCH EVE *■ ■ *' <-*■ ™^% 
 
 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 311 
 
 shields dotting its wide expanse of North Sea 
 sand. 
 
 In the season the inhabitants live off of the 
 visitors, and out of season live on their fat like 
 the ground-hog, and do a little fishing for profit- 
 able amusement. It is a thing to see, Scheve- 
 ningen, but it is no place for a prolonged stay un- 
 less you are a gambler or a blase boulevardier 
 who needs bracing up with sea air. 
 
 There are good hotels, if you want to linger 
 and can stand the prices, the best of which is 
 called the Palace Hotel, but we had another little 
 black coffee on the gayest-looking terrace cafe 
 we could find, and made wheel-tracks for Leyden, 
 twenty kilometres distant. 
 
 The distances in Holland are mere bagatelles, 
 but there is so much that is strange to see, and 
 the towns of historical interest are so near to- 
 gether, that the automobilist who covers his hun- 
 dred kilometres a day must be a scorcher indeed. 
 
 We passed the night at the Gouden-Leuw, which 
 a Frenchman would call the Lion d'Or, and an 
 Anglo-Saxon the Golden Lion. It was a most ex- 
 cellent hotel in the Breestraat, and it possessed 
 what was called a garage, in reality a cubby -hole 
 which, on a pinch, might accommodate two auto- 
 mobiles, if they were small ones. 
 
 Leyden is a city of something like fifty-five 
 thousand people. It has grown since the days 
 when they chained down Bibles in its churches, 
 and books in the library of its university. The 
 chief facts that stand out in Leyden 's history, for 
 
312 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 the visitor, are those referring to the exile of the 
 Puritans here, fleeing from persecution in Eng- 
 land, and before they descended upon the New 
 World. 
 
 The famous university was founded by the gov- 
 ernment as a reward for the splendid defence 
 made by the city against the Spaniards in 1574. 
 It was a question as to whether the city should be 
 exempted from future taxation or should be en- 
 dowed with a university. The citizens themselves 
 chose the latter dignity. 
 
 Leaving Leyden and following the flat roadway 
 by the glimmering canals, which chop the polders 
 and tulip gardens off into checker-board squares, 
 one reaches Haarlem, less than thirty kilometres 
 away. 
 
 The country was becoming more and more like 
 what one imagines Holland ought to be; the 
 whole country practically a vast, sandy, sea-girt 
 land of dykes and canals, and dunes and sunken 
 gardens. 
 
 Holland has an area of about twenty thousand 
 square miles, and something over five million 
 inhabitants, with the greatest density of popula- 
 tion on the coast between Amsterdam, in the 
 north, and Rotterdam, in the south, and the few- 
 est in numbers in the region immediately to the 
 northward of the Zuyder-Zee. 
 
 Wherever in Holland one strikes the brick 
 roads, made from little red bricks standing on 
 end, he is happy. There is no dust and there are 
 no depressions in the surface which will upset 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 313 
 
 the carburation and jar the bolts off your ma- 
 chine. It is an expensive way of road-building, 
 one thinks, but it is highly satisfactory. Near 
 Haarlem these brick roadways extend for miles 
 into the open country in every direction. 
 
 Haarlem is the centre of the bulb country, the 
 gardens where are grown the best varieties of 
 tulips and hyacinths known over all the world as 
 " Dutch bulbs." The tulip beds of the polders 
 and sunken gardens of the neighbourhood of 
 Haarlem are one of the great sights of Hol- 
 land. 
 
 Besides bulbs, Haarlem is noted for its ship- 
 liiing church, and the pictures by Franz Hals in 
 the local gallery. There are other good Hals 
 elsewhere, but the portraits of rotund, jolly men 
 and women of his day, in the Haarlem Town Hall, 
 are unapproached by those of any of his con- 
 temporaries. Fat, laughing burghers, roystering, 
 knickerbockered Dutchmen and vrous gossiping, 
 smoking, laughing, or drinking, are human docu- 
 ments of the time more graphic than whole vol- 
 umes of fine writing or mere repetitions of his- 
 torical fact. All these attributes has Haarlem's 
 collection of paintings by Franz Hals. 
 
 There are all sorts of ways of getting from 
 Haarlem to Amsterdam, by train, by boat, by elec- 
 tric tram, or by automobile over an idyllic road, 
 tree-shaded, canal-bordered, and dustless. It is 
 sixteen kilometres only, and it is like running over 
 a causeway laid out between villas and gardens. 
 Nothing quite like it exists elsewhere, in Holland 
 
314 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 or out of it. An automobile can be very high- 
 geared, for there are no hills except the donkey- 
 back bridges over the canals. 
 
 Amsterdam may properly enough be called the 
 Venice of the North, and the automobilist will 
 speedily find that an automobile boat will do him 
 much better service in town than anything that 
 runs on land. 
 
 There are half a million souls in Amsterdam, 
 and hotels of all ranks and prices. The Bible 
 Hotel is as good as any, but they have no garage, 
 nor indeed have any of the others. There are 
 half a dozen " Grands Garages "in the city (with 
 their signs written in French — the universal lan- 
 guage of automobilism), and the hotel porter will 
 jump up on the seat beside you and pilot you on 
 your way, around sharp corners, over bridges, 
 and through arcades until finally you plump down 
 in as up-to-date and conveniently arranged an 
 establishment for housing your machine as you 
 will find in any land. 
 
 Amsterdam's sights will occupy the visitor for 
 a couple of days, and its art gallery for a day 
 longer. We were taking only a bird's-eye view, 
 or review, and stayed only over one night, not 
 making even the classic excursion to those artists' 
 haunts of Volendam, Monnikendam, and Marken, 
 of which no book on Holland should fail to make 
 mention. 
 
 These old Dutch towns of the Zuyder-Zee are 
 unique in all the world, and Amsterdam is the 
 gateway to them. An automobile is useless for 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 315 
 
 reaching them. The best means are those offered 
 by existing boat and tram lines. 
 
 For Utrecht one leaves Amsterdam via the 
 Amstel Dyke and the Utrechtsche Zyde, and after 
 forty kilometres of roadway, mostly brick-paved 
 like that between Haarlem and Amsterdam, he 
 reaches suburban Utrecht. Utrecht, with but a 
 hundred thousand inhabitants, has suburbs, reach- 
 ing out in every direction, that would do justice 
 to a city five times its size. Most of Utrecht's 
 population is apparently suburban, and is housed 
 in little brick houses and villas with white trim- 
 mings and door-steps, a bulb garden, an iron 
 fence, and a miniature canal flowing through the 
 back yard. This is the formula for laying out a 
 Utrecht suburban villa. 
 
 The Het Kasteel van Antwerpen, on the Oude 
 Gracht, is a hotel which treats you very well for 
 five or six florins a day, and allows you also to put 
 your automobile under roof, charging nothing for 
 the service. This is worth making a note of in 
 a country where it usually costs from one to five 
 francs a night for your automobile. 
 
 The chief sight of Utrecht is its cathedral, with 
 a fine Gothic tower over a hundred metres in 
 height. It is the proper thing to mount to its 
 highest landing, whence one gets one of the most 
 remarkable bird's-eye views imaginable. In a 
 flat country like Holland, the wide-spread pano- 
 ramas, taken from any artificial height, embrace 
 an extent of the world's surface not elsewhere 
 to be taken in by a glance of the eye. The Zuyder- 
 
316 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Zee and the lowlands of the north stretch out 
 to infinity on one side; to the east the silver- 
 spreading streaks of the Waal and the Oude Rijn 
 (later making the Rhine) lead off toward Ger- 
 many. To the south are the green-grown prairies 
 and windmill-outlined horizons of South Holland ; 
 and westward are the polders and dunes of the 
 region between Amsterdam and Rotterdam, and 
 even a glimpse, on a clear day, of the North Sea 
 itself. 
 
 Our one long ride in Holland was from Utrecht 
 to Nymegen, seventy-two kilometres. We left 
 Utrecht after lunch and slowly made our way 
 along the picture landscapes of the Holland 
 countryside, through Hobbema avenues, and 
 under the shadow of quaint Dutch church 
 spires. 
 
 One does not go to a foreign land to enjoy only 
 the things one sees in cities. Hotels, restaurants, 
 and cafes are very similar all over Europe, and 
 the great shops do not vary greatly in Rotterdam 
 from those in Liverpool. It is with the small 
 things of life, the doings of the butcher, the baker, 
 and the candlestick-maker that the change comes 
 in. In Holland the housekeeper buys her milk 
 from a little dog-drawn cart and can be waked at 
 three in the morning, without fail, by leaving an 
 order the night before with the " morning 
 waker." If you do not have a fire going all the 
 time, and want just enough to cook your dinner 
 with, you go out and buy a few lumps of blazing 
 coals. If it is boiling water you want for your 
 
By Dykes and Windmills 317 
 
 coffee, you go out and buy it too. Holland must 
 be a housekeeper's paradise. 
 
 Nymegen, on the Waal, cared for us for the 
 night. On the morrow we were to cross the 
 frontier and enter Germany and the road by the 
 Rhine. 
 
 Nymegen and its Hotel Keizer Karel, on the 
 Keizer Karel Plain, was a vivid memory of what 
 a stopping-place for the night between two ob- 
 jective points should be. 
 
 The city was delightful, its tree-grown boule- 
 vards, its attractive cafes, the music playing in 
 the park, and all the rest was an agreeable inter- 
 lude, and the catering — if an echo of things Pa- 
 risian — was good and bountiful. There was no 
 fuss and feathers when we arrived or when we 
 left, and not all the personnel of the hotel, from 
 the boots to the manager, were hanging around 
 for tips. The head waiter and the chambermaid 
 were in evidence; that was all. The rest were 
 discreetly in the background. 
 
r< 
 
 810 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 ON THE EOAD BY THE RHINE 
 
 We had followed along the lower reaches of the 
 Rhine, through the little land of dykes and wind- 
 mills, when the idea occurred to us : why not make 
 the Rhine tour en automobile? This, perhaps, 
 was no new and unheard-of thing, but the Rhine 
 tour is classic and should not be left out of any 
 one's travelling education, even if it is old-fash- 
 ioned. 
 
 At Nymegen we saw the last of Holland and 
 soon crossed the frontier. There were no restric- 
 tions then in force against the entrance of foreign 
 automobiles, though we were threatened with new 
 and stringent regulations soon to be put in force. 
 (1906. A full resume of these new regulations 
 will be found in the appendix.) Legally Germany 
 could demand eight marks a hundred kilos for 
 the weight of our machine, but in practice all 
 tourists were admitted free, provided one could 
 convince the official that he intended to return 
 across the frontier within a reasonable time. 
 
 As we crossed the railway line we made our 
 obeisance to the German customs authorities, 
 saluted the black and white barber 's-pole stripes 
 
 321 
 
322 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of the frontier post, and filled up our tanks with 
 gasoline, which had now assumed the name of 
 benzin, instead of benzine, as in Holland. 
 
 Emmerich, Cleves, Wesel, and Xanten are not 
 tourist points, and in spite of the wealth of his- 
 tory and romance which surrounds their very 
 names, they had little attraction for us. For once 
 we were going to make a tour of convention. 
 
 It is a fairly long step from Nymegen to Diis 
 seldorf, one hundred and one kilometres, but we 
 did it between breakfast and lunch, in spite of 
 the difficulty of finding our way about by roads 
 and regulations which were new to us. 
 
 The low, flat banks of the Rhine below Diissel- 
 dorf have much the same characteristics that they 
 have in Holland, and, if the roadways are some- 
 times bad as to surface — and they are terrible 
 in the neighbourhood of Crefield — they are at 
 least flat and otherwise suited to speed, though 
 legally you are held down to thirty kilometres an 
 hour. 
 
 You may find anything you like in the way of 
 hotel accommodation at Diisseldorf, from the Park 
 Hotel on the Cornelius Platz, at Waldorf prices, 
 to the modest and characteristic little German inn 
 by the name of Prince Alexanders Hof, which is 
 as cheap as a French hotel of its class, and about 
 as good. 
 
 It is at Diisseldorf that one comes first into 
 touch with the German institutions in all their 
 completeness. Immediately one comes to the 
 borders of the Rhine he comes into the sphere of 
 
322 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 of the frontier post, and filled up our tanks with 
 gasoline, which had now assumed the name of 
 benzin, instead of benzine, as in Holland. 
 
 Emmerich, Cleves, Wesel, and Xanten are not 
 tourist points, and in spite of the wealth of his- 
 tory and romance which surrounds their very 
 names, they had little attraction for us. For once 
 we were going to make a tour of convention. 
 
 It is a fairly long step from Nymegen to Diis- 
 seldorf, one hundred and one kilometres, but we 
 did it between breakfast and lunch, in spite of 
 the difficulty of finding our way about by roads 
 and regulations which were new to us. 
 
 The low, flat banks of the Rhine below Diissel- 
 dorf have much the same characteristics that they 
 have gf^oR9M, «&<£# Wfoadways are some- 
 times Tfad as to surface — and they are terrible 
 >bourhood of Crefield — they are at 
 t and otherwise suited to speed, though 
 ou are held down to thirty kilometres an 
 hour. 
 
 You may find anything you like in the way of 
 hotel accommodation at Diisseldorf, from the Park 
 Hotel on the Cornelius Platz, at Waldorf prices, 
 to the modest and characteristic little German inn 
 by the name of Prince Alexanders Hof, which is 
 as cheap as a French hotel of its class, and about 
 as good. 
 
 It is at Diisseldorf that one comes first into 
 touch with the German institutions in all their 
 completeness. Immediately one comes to the 
 borders of the Rhine he comes into the sphere of 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 323 
 
 world politics. The peace of Europe lies buried 
 at the mouth of the Scheldt where the Rhine en- 
 ters the sea, and not on the Bosphorus. " The 
 Rhine is the King of Rivers," said a German poli- 
 tician, " and it is our fault if its mouth remains 
 in the hands of foreigners." This is warlike talk, 
 if you like, but if a German prince some day rises 
 on the throne of Holland, there may be a new- 
 made map of Europe which will upset all exist- 
 ing treaties and conventions. 
 
 Diisseldorf is a veritable big town, for, though 
 it shelters two hundred and twenty-five thousand 
 inhabitants, it is not " citified." It is one of the 
 most lovely of Rhine towns, and is the head- 
 quarters of the Rhenish Westphalian Automobile 
 Club. 
 
 To Cologne is thirty-seven kilometres, with the 
 roads still bad, — shockingly so we found them, 
 though we were assured that this is unusual and 
 that even then they were in a state of repair. 
 This was evident, and in truth they needed it. 
 
 The twin Gothic splendours of Cologne 's cathe- 
 dral rise high in air long before one reaches the 
 confines of the city. Cologne is the metropolis of 
 the Rhine country, and besides its four hundred 
 thousand inhabitants possesses many institutions 
 and industries which other Rhine cities lack. 
 
 Of hotels for automobilists at Cologne there 
 are five, all of which will treat you in the real 
 tourist fashion, and charge you accordingly, — 
 overcharge you in fact. We did not have time to 
 hunt up what the sentimentalist of the party 
 
324 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 aways called " a quaint little inn," and so we put 
 into one almost under the shadow of the cathe- 
 dral (purposely nameless). 
 
 The sights of Cologne are legion. " Numer- 
 ous churches, all very ancient " describes them 
 well enough for an itinerary such as this; the 
 guide-books must do the rest. The Kolner Auto- 
 mobile Club will supply the touring automobilist 
 graciously and gratuitously with information. 
 A good thing to know! 
 
 The beer and concert gardens of Cologne's 
 waterside are famous, almost as famous as the 
 relics of the " three kings " in the cathedral. 
 
 At Cologne the pictured, storied Rhine begins. 
 A skeleton itinerary is given at the end of this 
 chapter which allows some digression here for 
 observations of a pertinent kind. 
 
 Let the traveller not be disappointed with the 
 first glance at the river as he sees it at Cologne. 
 He is yet a few miles below the banks which have 
 gained for the stream its fame for surpassing 
 beauty, but higher up it justifies the rhapsodies 
 of the poet. 
 
 " A blending of all beauties : streams and dells, 
 Fruit, foliage, crag, wood, corn-field, mountain, vine, 
 And chiefless castles breathing stern farewells 
 From gray but leafy walls, where Ruin greenly dwells. 
 
 " And there they stand, as stands a lofty mind, 
 Worn, but unstooping to the baser crowd, 
 All tenantless, save to the crannying wind, 
 Or holding dark communion with the cloud. 
 There was a day when they were young and proud, 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 325 
 
 Banners on high, and battles passed below : 
 
 But they who fought are in a bloody shroud, 
 
 And those which wav'd are shredless dust ere now, 
 
 And the bleak battlements shall bear no future blow. 
 
 " Beneath battlements, within those walls, 
 
 Power dwelt amidst her passions : in proud state, 
 
 Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, 
 
 Doing his evil will, nor less elate 
 
 Than mightier heroes of a longer date. 
 
 What want these outlaws conquerors should have? 
 
 But History's purchas'd page to call them great? 
 
 A wider space, an ornamented grave ? 
 
 Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave." 
 
 The scenery, the history and legend, and the 
 wines of the Rhine make up the complete list of 
 the charms of the river for the enthusiastic voy- 
 ager on its bosom or on its banks. 
 
 It is enjoyable enough when one is on the deck 
 of a Rhine steamboat, or would be if one were 
 not so fearfully crowded, but it is doubly so when 
 one is travelling along its banks by roadways 
 which, from here on, improve greatly. 
 
 The history and legend of the Rhine are too 
 big a subject to handle here, but some facts about 
 Rhine wine, picked up on the spot, may be of 
 interest. 
 
 The true German is not only eloquent when 
 speaking of the quality of the Rhine wines, but 
 he claims for them also the honours of antiquity. 
 One may be content to date their history back 
 merely to the days of Probus, but others declare 
 that Bacchus only could be the parent of such 
 
326 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 admirable liquor, and point to Bacharach as the 
 resting-place of the deity when he came to taste 
 the Rhine grapes, and set an example to all 
 future tipplers. It would not have been out of 
 place to call the Rhine the country of Bacchus. 
 The Rhine, Moselle, Neckar, and Main are gardens 
 of the vine ; but the Germans have not been con- 
 tent with cultivating the banks of rivers alone, 
 for the higher lands are planted as well. From 
 Bonn to Coblenz, and from the latter city to 
 Mayence, the country is covered with vineyards. 
 The Johannisberger of " father " Rhine, the 
 Gruenhauser or the Brauneberger of the Moselle, 
 and the Hochheimer of the Main, each distinguish 
 and hallow their respective rivers in the eyes of 
 the connoisseur in wine. 
 
 The vineyards of the Rhine are a scene of sur- 
 passing beauty; Erbach, enthroned among its 
 vines ; Johannisberg, seated on a crescent hill of 
 red soil, adorned with cheering vegetation; Mit- 
 telheim, Geisenheim, and Rudesheim with its 
 strong, fine-bodied wine, the grapes from which 
 bask on their promontory of rock, in the summer 
 sun, and imbibe its generous heat from dawn to 
 setting; then again, on the other side, Bingen, 
 delightful, sober, majestic, with its terraces of 
 vines, topped by the chateau of Klopp. The 
 river and its riches, the corn and fruit which the 
 vicinity produces, all remind the stranger of a 
 second Canaan. The Bingerloch, the ruins, and 
 the never-failing vines scattered among them, 
 like verdant youth revelling amid age and decay, 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 327 
 
 give a picture nowhere else exhibited, uniting to 
 the joyousness of wine the sober tinge of medita- 
 tive feeling. The hills back the picture, covered 
 with feudal relics or monastic remains, mingled 
 with the purple grape. Landscapes of greater 
 beauty, joined to the luxuriance of fruitful vine 
 culture, can nowhere be seen. 
 
 The glorious season of fruition — the Vintage 
 — is the time for the visit of a wine-lover to the 
 Rhine. It does not take place until the grapes 
 are perfectly mature; they are then carefully 
 gathered, and the bad fruit picked out, and, with 
 the stalks, put aside. The wine of the pressing 
 is separated, most vom ersten druck, vom nach- 
 druch. The more celebrated of the wines are all 
 fermented in casks; and then, after being re- 
 peatedly racked, suffered to remain for years in 
 large judders of 250 gallons, to acquire perfec- 
 tion by time. The wines mellow best in large 
 vessels; hence the celebrated Heidelberg tun, 
 thirty-one feet long by twenty-one high, and hold- 
 ing one hundred and fifty judders, or six hundred 
 hogsheads. Tubingen, Griiningen, and Konig- 
 stein (the last 3,709 hogsheads) could all boast 
 of their enormous tuns, in which the white wines 
 of the country were thought to mellow better than 
 in casks of less dimensions. These tuns were 
 once kept carefully filled. The Germans always 
 had the reputation of being good drinkers, and 
 of taking care of the " liquor they loved." Mis- 
 son says in his " Travels," that he formerly saw 
 at Nuremberg the public cellar, two hundred and 
 
328 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 fifty paces long, and containing twenty thousand 
 ahms of wine. 
 
 The names and birthplaces of the different 
 German wines are interesting. The Liebfrauen- 
 milch is a well-bodied wine, grown at Worms, 
 and generally commands a good price. The same 
 may be said of the wines of Koesterick, near 
 Mayence; and those from Mount Scharlachberg 
 are equally full-bodied and well-flavoured. Nier- 
 stein, Oppenheim, Laubenheim, and Gaubischeim 
 are considered to yield first growths, but that of 
 Deidesheim is held to be the best. 
 
 The river Main runs up to Frankfort close to 
 Mayence; and on its banks the little town of 
 Hochheim, once the property of General Keller- 
 man, stands upon an elevated spot of ground, in 
 the full blaze of the sun. From Hochheim is 
 derived the name of Hock, too often applied by 
 the unknowing to all German wines. There are 
 no trees to obstruct the genial fire from the sky, 
 which the Germans deem so needful to render 
 their vintages propitious. The town stands in 
 the midst of vineyards. 
 
 The vineyard which produces the Hochheimer 
 of the first growth is about eight acres in extent, 
 and situated on a spot well sheltered from the 
 north winds. The other growths of this wine 
 come from the surrounding vineyards. The 
 whole eastern bank of the Rhine to Lorich, called 
 the Rheingau, has been remarkable centuries past 
 for its wines. It was once the property of the 
 Church. Near this favoured spot grows the 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 329 
 
 Schloss-Johannisberger, once the property of the 
 Church, and also of the Prince of Orange. 
 Johannisberg is a town, with its castle (schloss) 
 on the right bank of the Rhine below Mentz. The 
 Johannisberger takes the lead in the wines of the 
 Rhine. The vines are grown over the vaults of 
 the castle, and were very near being destroyed 
 by General Hoche. The quantity is not large. 
 
 Rudesheim produces wines of the first Rhine 
 growths; but the Steinberger, belonging to the 
 Duke of Nassau, takes rank after the Schloss- 
 Johannisberger among these wines. It has the 
 greatest strength, and yet is one of the most deli- 
 cate, and even sweetly flavoured. That called the 
 " Cabinet " is the best. The quantity made is 
 small, of the first growth. Graefenberg, which 
 was once the property of the Church, produces 
 very choice wine, which carries a price equal to 
 the Rudesheim. 
 
 Marcobrunner is an excellent wine, of a fine 
 flavour, especially when the vintage has taken 
 place in a warm year. The vineyards of Roth 
 and Konigsbach grow excellent wines. The wine 
 of Bacharach was formerly celebrated, but time 
 produces revolutions in the history of wines, as 
 well as in that of empires. 
 
 On the whole the wines of Bischeim, Asmanns- 
 hausen, and Laubenheim are very pleasant wines ; 
 those of the most strength are Marcobrunner, 
 Rudesheimer, and Niersteiner, while those of 
 Johannisberg, Geisenheim, and Hochheim give 
 the most perfect delicacy and aroma. The Ger- 
 
330 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 mans themselves say, " Rhein-wein, fein wein; 
 Necker-wein, lecher wein; Franken-wein tranken 
 wein; Mosel-wein, unnosel wein " (Rhine wine 
 is good; Neckar pleasant; Frankfort bad; Mo- 
 selle innocent). 
 
 The red wines of the Rhine are not of ex- 
 traordinary quality. The Asmannshauser is the 
 best, and resembles some of the growths of 
 France. Near Lintz, at Neuwied, a good wine, 
 called Blischert, is made. Keinigsbach, on the 
 left bank of the Rhine, Altenahr, Rech, and 
 Kesseling, yield ordinary red growths. 
 
 The Moselle wines are secondary to those of 
 the Rhine and Main. The most celebrated is the 
 Brauneberger. The varieties grown near Treves 
 are numerous. A Dutch merchant is said to have 
 paid the Abbey of Maximinus for a variety called 
 Gruenhauser in 1793, no less than eleven hundred 
 and forty-four florins for two hundred and ninety 
 English gallons in the vat. This wine was for- 
 merly styled the " Nectar of the Moselle." 
 
 These wines are light, with a good flavour. 
 They will not keep so long as the Rhine wines, 
 but they are abundant and wholesome. Near 
 Treves are grown the wines of Brauneberg, Weh- 
 len, Graach, Zeltingen, and Piesport. The wines 
 of Rinsport and Becherbach are considered of 
 secondary rank. The wines of Cusel and Val- 
 drach, near Treves, are thought to be possessed 
 of diuretic properties. In about five years these 
 wines reach the utmost point of perfection for 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 331 
 
 drinking. They will not keep more than ten or 
 twelve in prime condition. 
 
 The wines called " wines of the Ahr " re- 
 semble those of the Moselle, except that they will 
 keep longer. 
 
 The " wines of the Neckar " are made from 
 the best French, Hungarian, and even Cyprus 
 vines. The most celebrated are those of Bessing- 
 heim. They are of a light red colour, not deep, 
 and of tolerable flavour and bouquet. 
 
 Wiesbaden grows some good wines at Schier- 
 stein, and Epstein, near Frankfort. The best 
 wines of Baden are produced in the seigniory of 
 Badenweiler, near Fribourg. At Heidelberg, the 
 great tun used to be filled with the wine of that 
 neighbourhood, boasted to be a hundred and 
 twenty years old, but it gave the wine no advan- 
 tage over other Neckar growths. Some good 
 wines are produced near Baden. The red wines 
 of Wangen are much esteemed in the country of 
 Bavaria, but they are very ordinary. Wiirzburg 
 grows the Stein and Liesten wines. The first is 
 produced upon a mountain so called, and is called 
 11 wine of the Holy Spirit " by the Hospital of 
 Wiirzburg, to which it belongs. The Liesten 
 wines are produced upon Mount St. Nicholas. 
 Straw wines are made in Franconia. A vin de 
 liqueur, called Calmus, like the sweet wines of 
 Hungary, is made in the territory of Frankfort, 
 at AschafFenburg. The best vineyards are those 
 of Bischofsheim. Some wines are made in Sax- 
 ony, but they are of little worth. Meissen, near 
 
332 
 
 The Automobilist Abroad 
 
 Dresden, and Guben, produce the best. Naum- 
 berg makes some small wines, like the inferior 
 Burgundies. 
 
 With these pages as a general guide the tour- 
 ing automobilist must make his own itinerary. 
 He will not always want to put up for the night 
 in a large town, and will often prefer the quiet- 
 ness and the romantic picturesqueness of some 
 little half-mountain-hidden townlet and its simple 
 fare to a table d'hote meal, such as he gets at 
 Cologne or Coblenz, which is simply a poor imi- 
 tation of its Parisian namesake. 
 
 The following skeleton gives the leading points. 
 
 Cologne 
 
 Bonn 
 
 Godesberg 
 
 Andernach 
 
 Coblenz 
 
 St. Goar 
 
 Bingen 
 
 Mayence 
 
 Frankfort 
 
 Worms 
 
 Mannheim 
 
 Heidelberg 
 
 Spire 
 
 Carlsruhe 
 
 Baden 
 
 to Bonn 
 to Godesberg 
 to Andernach 
 to Coblenz 
 to St. Goar 
 to Bingen 
 to Mayence 
 to Frankfort 
 to Worms 
 to Mannheim 
 to Heidelberg 
 to Spire 
 to Carlsruhe 
 to Baden 
 to Strasburg 
 
 (Hotel Rheinfeck) 
 (Hotel Blinzer) 
 (Hotel Schafer) 
 (Hotel Metropole) 
 (Hotel Rheinfels) 
 (Stakenburger Hof) 
 (Pfalzer Hof) 
 (Savoy Hotel) 
 (Europaischer Hof) 
 (Pfalzer Hof) 
 (Hotel Schrieder) 
 (Pfalzer Hof) 
 (Hotel Erbprinz) 
 (Hotel Stephanie) 
 (H6tel de l'Europe) 
 
 27 Kilometres 
 7 
 
 28 « 
 18 " 
 46 « 
 
 29 « 
 
 27 « 
 33 " 
 52 « 
 41 « 
 22 " 
 
 28 « 
 52 " 
 26 « 
 60 « 
 
 Generally speaking, none of the hotels above 
 mentioned include wine with meals. The trail 
 of the tourist accounts for this. All have accom- 
 modation for the automobilist. 
 
 From Strasburg one may continue to Basel, 
 
On the Road by the Rhine 333 
 
 if he is bound Italyward through Switzerland, 
 but the chief distinctive features of the Rhine 
 tour end at Strasburg. 
 
 From Strasburg one may enter France by St. 
 Die, in the Vosges, via the Col de Saales, the 
 douane (custom-house) station for which is at 
 Nouveau Saales. 
 
 The following are some of the signs and ab- 
 breviations met with in German hotels catering 
 for stranger automobilists. 
 
 Ohne Weill Wine not included 
 
 A. C. B. Automobile Club de Belgique 
 
 M. C. B. Moto-Club de Belgique 
 
 T. C. B. Touring Club de Belgique 
 
 T. C N. Touring Club N6erlandais 
 
 A. C. F. Automobile Club de Franca 
 
 T. C. F. Touring Club de France 
 
 Bade-Raum Bathroom 
 
 Grube Fosse or Inspection Pit 
 
 THE END. 
 
Appendices 
 
 335 
 
Appendices 
 
 WARNING ROAD SIGNS IN FRANCE 
 
 UH Vlrage a droits. 
 
 LBJ Passage en dessous. 
 
 HhJ Virago a gauche. 
 
 |S££J Passago a niveau. 
 
 Lh3 Virage avec moiitee. 
 
 WLM Pails en saillio sur route. 
 
 Bm Virage avoc debcente. 
 Mjn 
 
 U Cauiveau. 
 
 MR 
 
 mM Crolsement dangoreux. 
 
 ■QtJ Mauvalo pav*. 
 
 mJm Monwe. 
 
 MM Dos d'ane. 
 
 MM 
 
 ■fc] DCSCCDtO. 
 
 P H Villago. 
 
 Cj Desconte slnueuse avoc 
 th9 mauvaia viragos. 
 
 
 WARNING ROAD SIGNS IN ENGLAND 
 
 1. Restricted speed limit. 
 
 2. Road forbidden to automobiles. 
 
 3. Danger spots. 
 
 4. All other notices or warnings. 
 
 337 
 
II 
 
 A SHORT ACCOUNT OF SOME FAMOUS 
 EUROPEAN ROAD RACES AND TRIALS 
 
 In December, 1893, Le Petit Journal of Paris 
 proposed a trial of self-propelled road-vehicles, 
 to end with a run from Paris to Rouen. The dis- 
 tance was 133 kilometres and the first car to ar- 
 rive at Rouen was a steam-tractor built by De 
 Dion, Bouton et Cie, to-day perhaps the largest 
 manufacturers of the ordinary gasoline-motor. 
 A Peugot carriage, fitted with a Daimler engine, 
 followed next, and then a Panhard. There were 
 something like a hundred entries for this trial, 
 of which one was from England and three from 
 Germany, but most of them did not survive the 
 run. 
 
 On the 11th of June, 1895, was started the 
 now historic Paris-Bordeaux race. Sixteen gaso- 
 line and half a dozen steam cars started from the 
 Arc de Triomphe, in Paris, for the journey to 
 Bordeaux and back. It was a Panhard-Levassor 
 that arrived back in Paris first, but the prize was 
 given to a Peugot which carried four passengers, 
 whereas the Panhard carried but two. 
 
 In the following year the new locomotion was 
 evidently believed to have come to stay, for the 
 first journal devoted to the industry and sport 
 
Appendices 339 
 
 was founded in Paris, under the name of La 
 Locomotion Automobile, soon to be followed by 
 another called La France Automobile. 
 
 In 1896 was held the Paris-Marseilles race, 
 divided into five stages for the outward journey, 
 and five stages for the homeward. Twenty-four 
 gasoline-cars started, and three propelled by 
 steam, and there were five gasoline-tricycles. 
 BoleVs tandem tricycle was the sensation during 
 the first stage, averaging twenty miles an hour. 
 The itinerary out and back, of something like six- 
 teen hundred kilometres, was covered first by a 
 Panhard-Levassor, in sixty-seven hours, forty- 
 two minutes, and fifty-eight seconds. The average 
 speed of the winner was something like twenty- 
 two kilometres an hour. 
 
 In England a motor-car run was organized 
 from London to Brighton in 1896, including many 
 of the vehicles which had started in the Paris- 
 Marseilles race in France. The first vehicles to 
 arrive in Brighton were the two Bolee tricycles; 
 a Duryea was third, and a Panhard fourth. 
 
 In 1897 there was a race in France, on a course 
 laid out between Marseilles, Nice, and La Turbie. 
 The struggle was principally between the Comte 
 Chasseloup-Laubat in a steam-car, and M. Le- 
 maitre in a Panhard. with a victory for the 
 former, showing at least that there were pos- 
 sibilities in the steam-car which gasoline had not 
 entirely surpassed. 
 
 Pneumatic tires were used in the Paris-Bor- 
 deaux race in 1895, but solid tires were used on 
 the winning cars in 1894, 1895, and 1896. 
 
340 Appendices 
 
 Another affair which came off in 1897 was a 
 race from Paris to Dieppe, organized by two 
 Paris newspapers, the Figaro and Les Sports. 
 The event was won by a three-wheeled Bolee, 
 with a De Dion second, and a six-horse-power 
 Panhard third. 
 
 In 1898 there took place the Paris-Amsterdam 
 race. It was won by a Panhard, driven by Char- 
 ron, and the distance was approximately a thou- 
 sand miles, something like sixteen hundred kilo- 
 metres. 
 
 The " Tour de France " was organized by the 
 Matin in 1898. The distance was practically two 
 thousand kilometres. Panhards won the first, 
 second, third, and fourth places, though they were 
 severely pressed by Mors. 
 
 The first Gordon-Bennett cup race was held in 
 1900, between Paris and Lyons. The distance 
 was not great, but the trial was in a measure 
 under general road conditions, though it took on 
 all the aspects of a race. It was won by Charron 
 in a Panhard. 
 
 In 1901 the Gordon-Bennett race was run from 
 Paris to Bordeaux, perhaps the most ideal course 
 in all the world for such an event. It was won 
 by Girardot in a forty-horse Panhard. 
 
 The Paris-Berlin race came in the same year, 
 with Fournier as winner, in a Mors designed by 
 Brazier. 
 
 In 1902 the Gordon-Bennett formed a part of 
 the Paris-Vienna itinerary, the finish being at 
 Innsbruck in the Tyrol. De Knyff in a Panhard 
 had victory well within his grasp when, by a mis- 
 
The Evolution of the Racing A utomdbile 
 
Appendices 341 
 
 fortune in the parting of his transmission gear, 
 he was beaten by Edge in the English Napier. 
 Luck had something to do with it, of course, but 
 Edge was a capable and experienced driver and 
 made the most of each and every opportunity. 
 
 Through to Vienna the race was won by Far- 
 man in a seventy-horse-power Panhard, though 
 Marcel Renault in a Renault " Voiture Leg ere " 
 was first to arrive. 
 
 It was in 1901 that the famous Mercedes first 
 met with road victories. A thirty-five-horse 
 power Mercedes won the Nice-Salon-Nice event 
 in the south of France, and again in the following 
 year the Nice-La Turbie event. 
 
 In the Circuit des Ardennes event in 1902, Jar- 
 rot, in a seventy-horse Panhard, and Gabriel in 
 a Mors, were practically tied until the last round, 
 when Jarrot finally won, having made the entire 
 distance (approximately 450 kilometres) at an 
 average speed of fifty-four and a half miles per 
 hour. There were no controles. 
 
 In 1903 the Gordon-Bennett cup race was held 
 in Ireland, over a course of 368 miles, twice 
 around a figure-eight track. Germany won with 
 a Mercedes with Jenatzy at the wheel, with De 
 KnyfT in a Panhard only ten minutes behind. 
 
 In 1903 was undertaken the disastrous Paris- 
 Madrid road race. Between Versailles and Bor- 
 deaux the accidents were so numerous and ter- 
 rible, due principally to reckless driving, that the 
 affair was abandoned at Bordeaux. Gabriel in 
 a Mors car made the astonishing average of 
 
342 Appendices 
 
 sixty-two and a half miles per hour, hence may 
 be considered the winner as far as Bordeaux. 
 
 In 1904 the Gordon-Bennett race was run over 
 the Taunus course in Germany, with Thery the 
 winner in a Richard-Brazier car. 
 
 In 1905 Thery again won on the Circuit d'Au- 
 vergne in the same make of car, making a sen- 
 sational victory which — to the French at least 
 — has apparently assured the automobile su- 
 premacy to France for all time. 
 
 The 1906 event was the Grand Prix of the 
 Automobile Club de France on the Circuit de la 
 Sarthe. The astonishing victories of the Renault 
 car driven by Szisz, which made the round of 680 
 kilometres in two days at the average rate of 
 speed of 108 kilometres an hour, has elated all 
 connected with the French automobile industry. 
 It was a victory for removable rims also, as had 
 Szisz not been able to replace his tattered tires 
 almost instanteously with others already blown 
 up, he would certainly have been overtaken by 
 one or more of the Brazier cars, which suffered 
 greatly from tire troubles. 
 
 In 1906 another event was organized in France 
 by the Matin. It was hardly in the nature of a 
 race, but a trial of over six thousand kilometres, 
 an extended tour de France. 
 
 Forty-two automobiles of all ranks left the 
 Place de la Concorde at Paris on the 2d of 
 August, and thirty-three arrived at Paris on the 
 28th of the same month, twenty of them without 
 penalization of any sort. No such reliability 
 trial was ever held previously, and it showed that 
 
Appendices 
 
 343 
 
 Diagram of the Coupe de Matin 
 
344 
 
 Appendices 
 
 the worth of the comparatively tiny eight and 
 ten horse machines for the work was quite as 
 great as that of the forty and sixty horse 
 monsters. 
 
 The following tables show plainly the value of 
 this great trial. 
 
 COUPE DU MATIN 
 LIST OF AUTOMOBILES ENGAGED 
 
 CLASS '< ROUES " (SPUING WHEELS AND ANTI - SKIDS) 
 
 1. 
 
 Antiderapant 
 
 N6ron 
 
 de Deitrich 
 
 2. 
 
 ii 
 
 Vulcain I. 
 
 de Dion-Bouton 
 
 3. 
 
 u 
 
 Vulcain II. 
 
 Corre 
 
 33. 
 
 Roues ^lastiquea 
 
 Soleil 
 
 Rochet-Schneider 
 
 38. 
 
 ii « 
 
 Garchey I. 
 
 de Dion-Bouton 
 
 39. 
 
 u <i 
 
 Garchey II. 
 
 Mieusset 
 
 42. 
 
 <i ii 
 
 E. L. 
 
 Delauney-Belleville 
 
 CLASS ENDURANCE 
 
 1st Category 
 Motocyclettes, vitesse maxima, 25 kilometres a l'heure 
 35. Motocyclette Lurquin-Coudert 
 
 « Albatross (Motor Buchet) 
 
 64. 
 67. 
 
 Rene Gillet 
 
 2d Category 
 
 Tri-cars, vitesse maxima, 25 kilometres a l'heure 
 4. Mototri Contal I. 5. Mototri Contal II. 
 
 Sd Category 
 Voiturette 1 cylindre, al6sage maximum 110 millimetres 
 
 6. Fouillaron 34. 
 
 8. De Dion-Bouton et Cie I. 47. 
 
 9. Darracq et Cie 
 
 Voiturette Darracq II. 
 Voiturette Lacoste & 
 Battmann I. 
 
Appendices 
 
 345 
 
 12. 
 
 18. 
 25. 
 30. 
 
 De Dion-Bouton et Cie II. 48. 
 Cottereau I. 
 
 Voiturette Roy 49. 
 
 Voiturette G. R. A. R. 
 
 Voiturette Lacoste & 
 
 Battmann II. 
 Voiturette Lacoste & 
 
 Battmann III. 
 
 59. Voiturette Alcyon 
 
 jfrth Category 
 
 Voitures 2 cylindres, atesage maximum 130 millimetres, ou 
 
 4 cylindres, alesage maximum 85 millimetres 
 
 10. 
 
 Darracq II. 21. 
 
 Cottereau IV. 
 
 11. 
 
 Darracq 22. 
 
 Kallista I. 
 
 13. 
 
 De Dion-Bouton et Cie III. 23. 
 
 Kallista II. 
 
 15. 
 
 D. Thuault 44. 
 
 Panhard et Levassor 
 
 19. 
 
 Cottereau 11. 46. 
 
 Corre 
 
 20. 
 
 Cottereau III. 51. 
 5 th Category 
 
 X. 
 
 
 Voitures 4 cylindres, al6sage maximum 105 millimetres 
 
 7. 
 
 C. V. R. I. 43. Darracq V. 
 
 16. 
 
 De Dion-Bouton et Cie IV. 50. Herald 
 
 17. 
 
 De Dion-Bouton et Cie V. 57. Panhard 
 
 28. 
 
 Renault Freres 60. De Dion-Bouton et Cie VI. 
 
 29. 
 
 C. I. A. 61. Bayard Clement I. 
 
 31. 
 
 C. V. R. II. 65. Corre 
 
 
 66. Berliet 
 
 
 6th Category 
 Voitures 4 cylindres, alesage maximum 126 millimetres 
 14. Mercedes I. 52. Mors. 
 
 Scrive 53. 
 
 Pilain I. 55. 
 
 Pilain II. 58. 
 
 C. V. R. III. 62. 
 
 Gobron 63. 
 
 24. 
 26. 
 27. 
 32. 
 45. 
 
 Mercedes II. 
 Clement 
 Darracq IV. 
 Bayard-Clement II. 
 C. V. R. IV. 
 
 68. Mercedes III. 
 
 7th Category 
 
 Voitures 4 cylindres, alesage maximum 140 millimetres 
 
 36. Siddely 37. Siddely 
 
 56. Fiat 
 
ni 
 
 Boute Maps of Three Great European Events 
 
 346 
 
IV 
 
 C omparative Chart, Increase in the Average Speeds Per Hour in the 
 Great Automobile Events of the Last Five Years 
 
 847 
 
V 
 
 SOME FAMOUS HILL CLIMBS ABEOAD 
 
 ENGLAND 
 
 Birdlip Hill Near Gloucester. Length, 2 miles ; average 
 
 gradient, 1 in 8 ; steepest gradient, 1 in 7. 
 
 Dashwood Hill. — Near High Wycombe. Length, 1,180 yards ; 
 average gradient, 1 in 16 ; steepest gradient, 1 in 10.9. 
 
 Hindhead. — Near Guildford. Length, 2 3-4 miles; rise, 520 
 feet ; average gradient, 1 in 24.4 ; steepest gradient, 1 in 13. 
 
 Porlock Hill. — North Devon. Length, 3 miles ; rise, 1,365 
 feet ; gradient, 1 in 6 to 1 in 8. 
 
 Shap Fell. — Near Penrith. Rise, 1,386 feet ; gradients, 1 in 11, 
 1 in 15, 1 in 16, and 1 in 20. 
 
 Snmvdon. — Mountain in Wales. Steepest gradient, 1 in 7. 
 
 Westerham. — Length, 2,940 feet ; average gradient, 1 in 9.4. 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 Chateau Thierry. — Near Meaux. Length, 1,093 yards 
 
 Cote de Gaillon. — Near Rouen. The scene of the most famous 
 hill climbs in France. Length, 3 kilometres ; rise, 10 per cent, for 
 the greater part of the distance. 
 
 Cote de Laffray. — Near Grenoble. Length, 4.13 miles ; gradi- 
 ents, 1 in 15, 1 in 11, 1 in 10, and 1 in 8 ; average, 9.3 per cent ; 
 many bad turns. 
 
 La Turbie. — A rude foot-hill climb in the Maritime Alps just 
 back of Monte Carlo. 
 
 Mont Ventoux. — Near Avignon. Length, 20 kilometres ; rise 
 1,600 metres. 
 
 Mont Cenis. — Near Turin. The " climb " begins at Susa, on 
 the Italian side of the mountain, at the 596 metre level, and con- 
 tinues for 22 kilometres to the 2,087 metre level, a 100 - b . p. Fiat 
 climbed this in 1905 in 19 minutes, 18 3-5 seconds. 
 
 848 
 
 
VI 
 
 *r 
 
 .* t 
 
 i* 
 
 . s 
 
 - JL 
 
 3 
 
 *>' .3 
 
 i* I' 
 
 
 << 
 P 
 
 «M 
 
 1! 
 
 n 
 
 > 
 
 * 
 
 i = 
 
 1 1 
 
 < 
 
 - u. 
 
 E 
 
 al» 
 
 oq 
 
 349 
 
VII 
 
 THE AUTOMOBILE INDUSTRY IN FRANCE 
 
 Year. 
 
 Number 
 of Cars 
 Built. 
 
 Value 
 Fca. 
 
 Value 
 Exported 
 Fes. 
 
 1898 
 
 1,850 
 
 8,300,000 
 
 1,749,350 
 
 1899 
 
 2,200 
 
 11,000,000 
 
 4,259,330 
 
 1900 
 
 4,100 
 
 23,000,000 
 
 6,617,360 
 
 1901 
 
 6,300 
 
 39,000,000 
 
 15,782,290 
 
 1902 
 
 7,800 
 
 47,000,000 
 
 30,219,380 
 
 1903 
 
 11,500 
 
 81,000,000 
 
 50,837,140 
 
 1904 
 
 13,400 
 
 106,000,000 
 
 71,035,000 
 
 1905 
 
 20,500 
 
 140,000,000 
 
 100,265,000 
 
 VIII 
 HOURS OF MOONLIGHT 
 
 Moon 5 days old shines till 
 
 (I g U U M (( 
 
 u 1 u U (( « 
 
 Moon 15 days old rises at 
 
 ii \Q tl «< a (i 
 
 « ]7 <i (( n a 
 
 4< jy it « << « 
 
 11 p. m. (approx.) 
 
 12 p. m. " 
 1am " 
 
 6 p. m. (approx.) 
 
 7 p.m. " 
 
 8 P.M. « 
 
 910 p.m. « 
 
 850 
 
IX 
 THE LENGTH OF DAYS 
 
 * 3 M 5> 6 ; 6 9 IO II i! I I J k S 6 ; 69 10 II IB 
 
 After the method of M. Carlier, Ingenieur des Arts et Manu- 
 factures. 
 
 Figured for the latitude of Paris, but applicable so far as the 
 automobilist is concerned to most of continental Europe. 
 
 The deeply shaded portions represent night. 
 
 The lightly shaded portions twilight. 
 
 The white portions daylight. 
 
 Generally speaking, lamps must be lighted at the hour indi- 
 cated by deeply shaded portions in the respective months. 
 
 361 
 
X 
 
 THE TOURING CLUB DE FRANCE 
 
 The Touring Club de France is the largest and 
 most active national association for the promo- 
 tion of touring. It is under the direct patronage 
 of the President of the French Republic, and the 
 interests and wants of its members are protected 
 and provided for in a full and practical manner 
 by an excellent organization, whose influence is 
 felt in every part of France and the adjacent 
 countries. 
 
 The membership is over 100,000 and is steadily 
 growing. It includes a very considerable body of 
 foreign members, those from the United King- 
 dom and America alone numbering 5,000, a cir- 
 cumstance which may be accepted, perhaps, as the 
 best possible proofs of the value of the advan- 
 tages which the club offers to tourists from 
 abroad visiting France. 
 
 The annual subscription is 6 francs (5s.) for 
 foreign members. There is no entrance fee and 
 the election of candidates generally follows 
 within a few days after the receipt of the applica- 
 tion at the offices of the club in Paris. 
 
 The club issues a number of publications spe- 
 cially compiled for cyclists, comprising: a Year- 
 book (Annuaire) for France divided in two parts 
 (North and South) with a list of over three thou- 
 
 852 
 
Appendices 353 
 
 sand selected club hotels, at which members en- 
 joy a privileged position as to charges; an ad- 
 mirable volume of skeleton tours covering the 
 whole of France, from each large centre, and by 
 
 DEMANDE D'ADMISSION 
 
 Q. 
 
 ft 
 
 Jo demando mon admission an TQURWQ^diVB DE S| 
 
 FRANCE «.^ . 
 
 Cl-joiat 6 francs, montant de la cotisation do Vannie 8 g.2 
 
 couranto (Lo raohal do la cotisation est admis.moyennanl «J5 J 
 
 to yer.tement d'uoo sotnme de CENT francs ;-il contere la, *"-£« 
 
 qualite de MEMBRE A VIE M g' 
 
 L;i cotisation des candidats habitant les Colonies ou l'Elranger •» 5 » 
 
 eat do six francs (Voir slaluts, art. 3) <o ■- H 
 
 SIGNATURE S 8 "2 
 
 6 3a 
 
 s* s 
 
 ill 
 
 (soit l'acluellc, suit l'ancienne) -2 
 
 Nationalite _ — _ « - 5 
 
 to 3-2 
 Decorations et distinctions honoriBques _ ■ « s 3 
 
 Rue et numero , , ...... iZJ* 
 
 Sfii 
 Villa I _ ^Sg 
 
 !Rue et namen 
 Deparloment ( 
 
 |=1 
 
 yoms et adresso ( ,. , _.- __^. ^ g^ 
 
 des Parrains < fZ"* 
 
 eu References ( ■ , , -■-. -..., ^. <j ■ ■. 
 
 Adresser les mandats ou bons de poste au nom de M la < £ ** 
 
 Comte de Reinach-FoussemaOhe, tresorier du T. C. F., 65, avenue j jj 
 de la Graiide-Armce, Paris. 
 
 II 
 
 Facsimile of Application Form 
 
 regions, and supplemented by some three hundred 
 card itineraries with sketch maps; a specially 
 drawn cyclist's map of France, and a monthly 
 club gazette, all designed to facilitate the plan- 
 ning and carrying out of interesting tours with 
 comfort and economy. 
 
354 Appendices 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS TO CANDIDATES 
 
 Fill in the application form and enclose it with 
 the subscription (6 francs) to M. le President du 
 T. C. F., 65, Avenue de la Grande-Armee, Paris. 
 The applications of lady candidates should be 
 signed by a male relative — brother, father, hus- 
 band — whether a member of the club or not. 
 
 Notice of resignation of membership must 
 reach the Paris office of the club not later than 
 November 30th, failing which the member is liable 
 for the following y.ear's subscription. Those who 
 join after October 1st are entitled to the priv- 
 ileges of membership until the close of the follow- 
 ing year for one subscription. 
 
 Post-office money orders should be made pay- 
 able to M. le Tresorier du T. C. F., 65, Avenue 
 de la Grande-Armee, Paris, France. 
 
 The addresses of the representatives of the 
 Touring Club de France in England and America 
 are as follows; further information concerning 
 this admirable institution for all travellers 
 whether by train, bicycle, or automobile will be 
 gladly furnished. They can also supply forms 
 for application for membership. 
 
 
 DELEGATES 
 
 New York City 
 
 Ch. Dien 
 
 38 - 40 West 33d St. 
 
 Boston 
 
 F. Hesseltine 
 
 10 Tremont St. 
 
 Washington 
 
 H. Lazard 
 
 1453 Massachusetts Ave, 
 
 London 
 
 C F. Just 
 
 17 Victoria St. S. W. 
 
 Edinburgh 
 
 Dr. D. Turner 
 
 37 George Square. 
 
 Dublin 
 
 G. Fotterell 
 
 46 Fleet St. 
 
XI 
 
 MOTOR-CAR REGULATIONS AND 
 CUSTOMS DUTIES IN EUROPE 
 
 GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 Certain regulations are compulsory even for 
 tourists. You may obtain a license to drive a 
 motor-car in Britain if you are over seventeen 
 years of age (renewable every twelve months) 
 at a cost of five shillings. 
 
 You must register your motor-car at the 
 County or Borough Council offices where you 
 reside, fee £1.0.0. You must pay a yearly " male 
 servant " tax of fifteen shillings for your chauf- 
 feur. In case of accident, en route, you must 
 stop and, if required, give your name and ad- 
 dress, also name and address of the owner of the 
 car and the car number. 
 
 Every car must bear two number plates (the 
 number is assigned you on registration), one 
 front and one rear. The latter must be lighted 
 at night. 
 
 Speed limit is twenty miles an hour except 
 where notice is posted to the effect that ten miles 
 an hour only is allowed, or that some particular 
 road is forbidden to automobiles. 
 
 In England one's car can be registered at any 
 
 366 
 
356 Appendices 
 
 port on arrival, or, by letter addressed to any 
 licensing authority, before arrival. The regula- 
 tion as to driving licenses is as follows: 
 
 " If any person applies to the Council of a 
 county or county borough for the grant of a 
 license and the Council are satisfied that he has 
 no residence in the United Kingdom, the Coun- 
 cil shall, if the applicant is otherwise entitled, 
 grant him a license, notwithstanding that he is 
 not resident within their county or county 
 borough. ' ' 
 
 As regards the Inland Eevenue Carriage 
 License, however, it may be noted that twenty- 
 one days ' grace is allowed — in other words, that 
 licenses must be obtained within twenty-one days 
 after first becoming liable to the duty. 
 
 There are no customs duties on automobiles 
 entering Great Britain. 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 CERTIFICAT DE CAPACITE AND RECEPISSE DE 
 DECLARATION 
 
 Before taking an automobile upon the road in 
 France all drivers must procure the Certificat de 
 C apatite, commonly known as the " Carte 
 Rouge." 
 
 The following letter should be addressed to 
 the nearest prefecture, or sous-prefecture, writ- 
 ten on stamped paper {papier timbre, 60 cen- 
 times) and accompanied by two miniature photo- 
 graphs. 
 
Appendices 
 
 357 
 
 " Monsieur : — J'ai l'honneur de vous demander de me faire 
 convoquer pour subir l'examen necessaire a l'obtention d'un cer- 
 tificat de capacity pour la conduite d'une voiture . . . (indiquer 
 la marque) mue par un moteur a petrole. 
 
 " Veuillez agreer, etc." 
 
 MINISTERS 
 
 des 
 TRAVAUX PUBLICS 
 
 REPUBUQUE FRANCA1SE 
 
 pfPAKTUUMT 
 
 Cadre destineV 
 
 a la 
 photographie 
 da ti tula ire. 
 
 CIRCULATION DES AUTOMOBILES 
 
 (Decret du 10 mars 1899.) 
 
 CERTIFICAT DE CAPACITY 
 
 valable -pour la conduite 
 
 d(i) 
 
 (1) Designer la nature da oa des vehi- 
 cules auxquels s'applique le certificate 
 
 Hameto 4b e<rtiflcat. Le Prefet da department d 
 
 (l) Vu le decret da 10 mars l8Q9portant rigle- 
 
 ment relatif a la circulation des automobiles, 
 
 et spccialement son article 11 ; 
 Vu l'avis favorable da serric* des mines, 
 D^livre a M. (a) 
 
 nfi (3) 
 
 domicilii a (4) 
 
 un certificat de capacity pour la conduits 
 fl»ulur«dtttilaliir«d(j) 
 
 fonctionnant dans lea conditions piescrites 
 
 par lc decret susvise. 
 
 ,le ■ 
 
 Le Prefer, 
 
 (I) Numero du regislre special de la prefecture. — (J) Norn el prenomi. 
 — (3) Lieu el data dc oaissauce. — (4) Indication precise du domicile. — 
 (.*>) Designation de la nature du ou des vehicules a la conduite desqueli 
 i'applique le certificat cooiormement au paragraphs 11 de la circulate mioia- 
 terlaJIe du 10 avhl 1899. 
 
 
 Facsimile of "Certificat de C apatite" 
 
 Bien indiquer le nom, le prenom et l'adresse. 
 Cette lettre doit etre accompagnee de: 
 1. Un certificat de domicile delivre a Paris par 
 le commissaire de police du quartier; pour les 
 departernents, par le maire de la commune; 
 
358 
 
 Appendices 
 
 2. Une piece justificative d'identite dormant 
 l'etat civil, un bulletin de naissance, par exemple; 
 
 3. Deux photographies non collees. 
 Quelque temps apres, le chauffeur est convoque 
 
 REPUBLIQUE FRANQAISE 
 
 DiPARTBMBMT 
 
 MIMISTSkl 
 
 dec 
 
 TRAVAUX PUBLICS 
 
 d 
 
 Circulation des Automobiles 
 
 (Dlcret du io mars 1899.) 
 
 R6CEPISSE" DE DECLARATION 
 
 Le Pr£fet'du departement d 
 
 Vu. le d£cret da to mars 1899, portant rigle- 
 ment relatif a la circulation des automobiles, 
 et sp£cialement les articles 8, 9 et 10 de ce 
 dlcret, 
 
 Certifie avoir recu une declaration CO date 
 da 
 )Ron.ttprfiont. par laquelle M. (1) 
 )Indintinpr(eiie domicilii a (3) 
 
 4l ioiittit. declare €tre proprietaire du vlhicul* a mottur 
 
 mlcanique dlfini comme il suit t 
 
 Nom du constructeur : 
 
 Indication du type : 
 
 Numero d'ordre dans la sine du t jpe : 
 
 Ladite declaration a Hi enregistrec 1 la 
 prefecture sous le a* 
 
 ,U I 
 
 U Prifti, 
 
 Facsimile of u Re'cepisse de Declaration'' '' 
 
 pour passer son examen, sur une voiture du mo- 
 dele mentionne dans sa lettre. 
 
 Un certificat provisoire lui est remis; le certi- 
 ficat defmitif est fourni quelques jours plus tard 
 par la prefecture. 
 
Appendices 359 
 
 At the same time another letter should be ad- 
 dressed to the same authority requesting a Rc- 
 cepisse de Declaration. These applications must 
 be quite separate and distinct; each on its own 
 papier timbre, which you buy at any bureau de 
 tabac. 
 
 " Monsieur le Pre>et : — Je soussigne' . . . (nom, pr6- 
 nom, domicile) . . . propriStaire d'une voiture automobile 
 actionize par un moteur a p^trole systeme (type et numero du 
 type), ai 1'honneur de vous demander un permis de circulation. 
 
 " Vous trouverez sous ce pli le proces-verbal de reception d£- 
 livr6 par le constructeur. 
 
 " Veuillez agr£er, etc." 
 
 Le permis de circulation est remis soit imme- 
 diatement, soit quelques jours apres, suivant 
 l'affluence des demandes. 
 
 NAMES OF ARRONDISSEMENTS AND DISTINGUISHING 
 LETTERS BORNE BY AUTOMOBILES IN FRANCE 
 
 Alais, A 
 
 Arras, R 
 
 Bordeaux, B 
 
 Chalon-sur-Sa6ne, C 
 
 Chambe>y, H 
 
 Clermont-Ferrand, F 
 
 Douai, D 
 
 Le Mans, L 
 
 Marseille, M 
 
 Nancy, N 
 
 Poitiers, P 
 
 Rouen, Y on Z 
 
 Saint-Etienne, S 
 
 Toulouse, T 
 
 Paris, E, G, I, U, X 
 
360 Appendices 
 
 CUSTOMS DUTIES IN FRANCE 
 
 Fifty francs per 100 kilos on all motor vehicles 
 weighing more than 125 kilos. Automobiles (in- 
 cluding motor-cycles) weighing less than 125 
 kilos pay a flat rate of 120 francs. 
 
 Members of most cycling touring clubs can ar- 
 range for the entry of motor-cycles free of duty. 
 
 All customs duties paid in France may be re- 
 imbursed upon the exportation of the automo- 
 bile. The formalities are very simple. Inquire 
 at bureau of entry. 
 
 BELGIUM 
 
 Customs Dues. — 12y 2 per cent, ad valorem 
 (owners' declaration as to value), but the authori- 
 ties reserve the right to purchase at owners' val- 
 uation if they think it undervalued. This is sup- 
 posed to prevent fraud, and no doubt it does. 
 
 A driving certificate is not required of tourists, 
 but a registered number must be carried. Plates 
 and a permit are supplied at the frontier station 
 by which one enters, or they may be obtained at 
 Brussels from the chef de police. 
 
 Speed limit: 30 kilometres per hour in the 
 open country and 10 kilometres per hour in the 
 towns, except, generally speaking, the larger cities 
 hold down the speed to that of a trotting horse. 
 
 Customs Dues are five per cent, ad valorem, 
 it in practice nothing is demanded of genuine 
 
Appendices 3GI 
 
 tourists and a permit is now given (1906) for 
 eight days with a right of extension for a similar 
 period. 
 
 Foreign number plates, once recorded by the 
 Dutch customs officials, will supplant the need of 
 local number plates. 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Customs Dues are 60 francs per 100 kilos. 
 This amount, deposited on entering the country, 
 will be refunded upon leaving and complying 
 with the formalities. 
 
 Legally a driving and "circulation" permit 
 may be demanded, but often this is waived. 
 
 In the Canton Valais only the main road from 
 St. Maurice to Brigue is open for automobile 
 traffic. Many other roads are entirely closed. 
 
 N.B. Traffic regulations in many parts are 
 exceedingly onerous and often unfair to for- 
 eigners. 
 
 A recent conference of the different cantons 
 has been held at Berne to consider the question 
 of automobile traffic in the country. It was de- 
 cided to fix a blue sign on the roads where motor- 
 ists must slacken speed, and a yellow sign where 
 motoring is not allowed. The Department of the 
 Interior was deputed to draw up a uniform code 
 of rules for the guidance of police deputed to 
 take charge of the roads. No decision was ar- 
 rived at as regards uniformity in fines for in- 
 fraction of the regulations, but steps are to be 
 taken to put an end to the abuses to which it is 
 
362 Appendices 
 
 alleged the police have subjected motorists. A 
 resolution was furthermore adopted to the effect 
 that no road is to be closed to motor-cars without 
 an agreement between the authorities of all the 
 cantons concerned, and that all foreign motorists 
 shall be given a copy of the regulations on enter- 
 ing the country. 
 
 The above information is given here that no 
 one may be unduly frightened, but there is no 
 question but that Switzerland has not been so 
 hospitable to automobile tourists as to other 
 classes. 
 
 The Simplon Pass, under certain restrictions, 
 has recently been opened to automobiles. Open 
 from June 1st to October 15th, except on 
 Mondays, Thursdays, and Saturdays, but no de- 
 parture can be made from either Brigue or 
 Gondo after three p. m. Apply for pass at the 
 Gendarmerie. Speed 10 kilometres on the open 
 road, and 3 kilometres on curves and in tunnels. 
 
 ITALY 
 
 Customs Dues are according to weight. 
 
 500 kilos 
 
 200 fcs. 
 
 500 - 1000 kilos 
 
 400 fcs. 
 
 above 1000 kilos 
 
 600 fcs. 
 
 motor cycles 
 
 42 fcs. 
 
 A certificate for importation temporaire is 
 given by the customs officers on entering, and the 
 same must be given up on leaving the country, 
 when the sum deposited will be reimbursed. 
 
Appendices 363 
 
 Since January 8, 1905, a driving certificate is 
 compulsory, but the authorities will issue same 
 readily to tourists against foreign certificates or 
 licenses. 
 
 Speed during the day must be limited to 40 
 kilometres an hour in the open country and 12 
 kilometres in the towns. 
 
 At night the speed (legally) may not exceed 15 
 kilometres an hour. Lamps white on the right, 
 green on the left. There are special regulations 
 far Florence. 
 
 LUXEMBOURG 
 
 Customs Dues. — One hundred and fifty marks 
 per automobile. A piece d'identite will be given 
 the applicant on entering, and upon giving this 
 up on leaving the duties will be reimbursed. 
 
 German, French, and Belgian coins all pass 
 current (except bronze money). 
 
 GERMANY 
 
 Customs Dues. — Temporary importation by 
 tourists 150 marks per auto. Oil and gasoline in 
 the tanks also pay duty under certain rulings. A 
 small matter, this, anyway. 
 
 According to recent regulations tourists are 
 permitted to introduce motor-vehicles into Ger- 
 many for a temporary visit, free of customs duty. 
 but it has been left to the discretion of the offi- 
 cials to give motorists the benefit of this arrange- 
 ment, or to charge the ordinary duty, with the 
 
364 Appendices 
 
 result that some have had to make a deposit, and 
 others have succeeded in passing their cars into 
 the country free. 
 
 Uniform driving or tax regulations are want- 
 ing in Germany, but something definite is evi- 
 dently forthcoming from the authorities shortly 
 (1906-7), with the probability that even visitors 
 will have to pay a revenue tax. 
 
 Kule of the road is keep to the right and pass 
 on the left, as in most Continental countries. 
 
 Speed limits, during darkness, or in populous 
 districts, vary from 9 to 15 kilometres per hour, 
 but " driving to the common danger " is the only 
 other cause which will prevent one making any 
 speed he likes in the open country. 
 
 Foreigners should apply to the police authori- 
 ties immediately on having entered the country 
 for information as to new rules and regulations. 
 
 SPAIN 
 
 Customs Dues vary greatly on automobiles. 
 The motor pays 18 francs, 50 centimes per hun- 
 dred kilos., and the carrosserie according to its 
 form or design. Ordinary tonneau type four 
 places, 1,000 pesetas. For temporary importa- 
 tion receipts are given which will enable one to 
 be reimbursed upon exportation of the vehicle. 
 In general the road regulations of France apply 
 to Spain. 
 
 Speed limit, 28 kilometres per hour in open 
 country down to 12 kilometres in the towns. 
 
Appendices 365 
 
 A circulation permit and driving certificate 
 should be obtained. 
 
 M. J. Lafitte, 8 Place de la Liberte, Biarritz, 
 can " put one through " (at an appropriate fee), 
 in a manner hardly possible for one to accom- 
 plish alone. 
 
 A special " free-entry " permit is sometimes 
 given for short periods. 
 
xn 
 
 SOME NOTES ON MAP -MAKING 
 
 The most fascinating maps for tried travellers 
 are the wonderful Cartes d'Etat Major and of 
 Ministre de PInterieur in France. The Ordnance 
 Survey maps in England are somewhat of an 
 approach thereto, but they are in no way as in- 
 teresting to study. 
 
 One must have a good eye for distances and 
 the lay of the land, and a familiarity with the 
 conventional signs of map-makers, in order to 
 get full value from these excellent French maps, 
 but the close contemplation of them will show 
 many features which might well be incorporated 
 into the ordinary maps of commerce. 
 
 The great national roads are distinctly marked 
 with little dots beside the road, representing the 
 tree-bordered " Routes Nationales," but often 
 there is a cut-off of equally good road between 
 two points on one's itinerary which of course is 
 not indicated in any special manner. For this 
 reason alone these excellent maps are not wholly 
 to be recommended to the automobilist who is 
 covering new ground. For him it is much better 
 that he should stick to the maps issued by the 
 Touring Club de France or the cheaper, more 
 legible, and even more useful Cartes Taride. 
 
 366 
 
Appendices 
 
 3(57 
 
368 Appendices 
 
 In England, as an alternative to the Ordnance 
 Survey maps, there are Bartholemew's coloured 
 maps, two miles to the inch, and the Half Inch 
 Map of England and Wales. 
 
 Belgium is well covered by the excellent 
 " Carte de Belgique " of the Automobile Club 
 de Belgique, Italy by the maps of the Italian 
 Touring Club, and Germany by the ingenious 
 profile map known as " Strassenprofilkarten," 
 rather difficult to read by the uninitiated. 
 
 One of the great works of the omnific Touring 
 Club de France is the preparation of what might 
 be called pictorial inventories of the historical 
 monuments and natural curiosities of France 
 made on the large-scale maps of the Etat Major. 
 Primarily these are intended to be filed away in 
 their wonderful " Bibliotheque, ' ' that all and 
 sundry who come may read, but it is also further 
 planned that they shall be displayed locally in 
 hotels, automobile clubs, and the like. The mode 
 of procedure is astonishingly simple. These de- 
 tailed maps of the War Department are simply 
 cut into strips and mounted consecutively, and 
 the " sights " marked on the margin (with ap- 
 propriate notes) after the manner of the example 
 here given. 
 
 There seems no reason why one could not make 
 up his own maps beforehand in a similar fashion, 
 of any particular region or itinerary that he 
 proposed to " do " thoroughly. One misses a 
 great deal en route that is not marked clearly 
 on the map before his eyes. 
 
XIII 
 
 A LIST OF EUROPEAN MAP AND ROAD 
 BOOKS 
 
 GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND 
 
 The Contour Road Books 
 
 Vol. I. North England, including part of Wales. 
 " II. West England " « " " 
 
 " III. Southeastern England. 
 
 Very useful books, including about five hundred maps and 
 plans, showing gradients and road profiles. 
 
 Bartholomew's Revised Map of England and Wales. — Complete 
 in 37 sheets, 2 miles to the inch. 
 
 Half Inch Map of England, Wales, and Scotland. — Published by- 
 Gall and Inglis (Edinburgh). Complete in 47 sheets (England 
 and Wales). 
 
 " Strip " Maps. — Published by Gall and Inglis (Edinburgh) ; 2 
 miles to the inch. 
 
 1. Edinburgh to Inverness. 
 
 2. Inverness to John o' Groat's. 
 
 3. " Brighton Road," London to Brighton ; " Portsmouth 
 
 Road," London to Portsmouth. 
 
 4. « Southampton Road," London to Bournemouth. 
 
 5. "Exeter Road," London to Exeter. 
 
 6. « Bath Road," London to Bristol. 
 
 10. " Great North Road," in two parts : London to York, Leeds, 
 or Harrogate ; York to Edinburgh. 
 
 15. " Land's End Road," Bristol to Land's End. 
 
 16. " Worcester Road," Bristol to Birmingham, Worcester to 
 
 Lancashire. 
 
 18. The North Wales Road : Liverpool, Manchester, and Bir- 
 
 mingham to Holyhead. 
 
 19. London to Birmingham, Manchester, and Liverpool. 
 
 369 
 
370 Appendices 
 
 20. " Great North Road," Edinburgh to York. 
 
 21. •« Carlisle Road," Edinburgh to Lancashire. 
 23. " Highland Road," Edinburgh to Inverness. 
 
 28. "Johno' Groat's Road," Inverness to Caithness. 
 Excellent for tours over a straightaway itinerary. 
 The Cyclist's Touring Club Road Books 
 Vol. I. deals with the Southern and Southwestern Counties 
 
 south of the main road from London to Bath and Bristol. 
 Vol. II. embraces the Eastern and Midland Counties, including 
 
 the whole of Wales. 
 Vol. III. covers the remainder of England to the Scottish Border. 
 Vol. IV. includes the whole of Scotland. 
 Vol. V., Southern Ireland, deals with the country south of the 
 
 main road from Dublin to Galway. 
 Vol. VI., Northern Ireland, deals with the country north of the 
 main road from Dublin to Galway. 
 Ordance Survey Map of England and Wales. — New series, 
 complete in 354 sheets, 21 x 16 inches. One mile to the inch. 
 
 Bartholemew 's Map of Scotland. — Complete in 29 sheets, 2 
 miles to the inch. 
 
 IRELAND 
 
 Mecredys Road Maps 
 
 1. Dublin and Wicklow. 
 
 2. Kerry. 
 
 3. Donegal. 
 
 4. Connemara. 
 
 5. Down. 
 
 6. East Central Ireland. 
 
 Mecredy's Road Book 
 2 Volumes 
 Vol. I. South of Dublin and Galway. 
 Vol. II. North of Dublin and Galway. 
 
 The Continental Road Book for Great Britain. — Published by 
 the Continental Gutta-Percha Co. 
 
 Excellent information on British roads, distances, hotels, etc., 
 with a general map. 
 
 The Automobile Hand Book. — The official year book of the 
 Automobile Club of Great Britain and Ireland. 
 
Appendices 371 
 
 Contains all the " official " information concerning automobil- 
 ism in Britain. Rules and regulations, statistics, a few routes 
 and plans of the large towns, and a list of " official " hotels, re- 
 pairers, etc. 
 
 Continental Maps and Road Books 
 
 FRANCE 
 
 Cartes Taride. — Excellent road maps of all France in 25 
 sheets can be had everywhere mounted on paper at 1 franc, 
 cloth 2 fcs. 50 centimes. All good roads marked in red ; danger- 
 ous hills are marked, also railways. Kilometres are also given 
 between towns en route. The most useful and readable maps 
 published of any country. A. Taride, 20 Boulevard St. Denis, 
 Paris, also publishes The Rhine, North and South Italy, and 
 Switzerland, each at the same price. 
 
 Guide Taride (Les Routes de France). — 4,000 itineraries 
 throughout France and 150 itineraries from Paris to foreign 
 cities and towns. Contains notes as to nature of roads, kilo- 
 metric distances, etc. 
 
 L'Annuaire de Route. — The year book of the Automobile 
 Club de France contains hotel, garage, and mecanicien list f 
 charging-stations for electric apparatus and vendors of gasoline. 
 
 C. T. C. Road Book of France (in English). — Two volumes of 
 road itineraries and notes. 
 
 Cartes de VEtat Major. — Published by the Service Ge'ogra- 
 phique de V A rme'e and sold or furnished by all booksellers. Can 
 best be procured through the Touring Club de France, 65 Ave. 
 de la Grande Armee, Paris. Scale 1-80,000, 30 centimes per sheet. 
 Another scale 1-50,000. 
 
 Carte de la Ministre d'ltite'rieur. — Scale 1400,000 and 1-80,000. 
 Printed in three colours. 
 
 Carte de France au 200,000 cq. — Published by the Service Ge'o- 
 graphique and reproduced from the 1-80,000 carte by photolithog- 
 raphy. Useful, but not so clear as the original. 
 
 Cartes du Touring Club de France. — Scale 1-400,000. Indica- 
 ting all routes with remarks as to their surfaces, hills, culverts, 
 railway crossings, etc. Printed in five colours. 15 sheets, 63 x 90 
 cm. 
 
372 Appendices 
 
 These cartes lap over somewhat into Germany, Belgium, Italy, 
 and Spain, and are very good. 
 
 Le Guide-Michelin. — Issued by Michelin et Cie., the tire manu- 
 facturers. The most handy and useful hotel and mecanicien list, 
 •with kilometric distances between French towns and cities. 
 Many miniature plans of towns and large map of France. 
 
 Guide-Routiere Continental Issued by the manufacturers of 
 
 Continental tires. Gives plans of towns and cities, detailed 
 itineraries and hotel lists, etc., throughout France. Equally use- 
 ful as the Guide-Michelin, but more bulky. 
 
 La Carte Be'cherel. — Reproduced from that of the Etat Major, 
 1-200,000. Price 2 fcs., 50c. 
 
 Cartes de Dion. — Excellent four -colour maps of certain sec- 
 tions environing the great cities. Published and sold by De 
 Dion, Bouton et Cie. 
 
 Sur Route (Atlas-Guide de Poche pour Cyclistes et Automobilistes). 
 — Published by Hachette & Cie, 3 fcs., 50c. A most useful con- 
 densed and abbreviated gazetteer of France, with a series of handy 
 four-colour maps showing main roads sufficiently clearly for real 
 use as an automobile route-book. 
 
 A nnuaire General du Touring Club de France. — Hotel list, 
 mecaniciens, etc., and prices of same throughout France. 
 
 The Touring Club de France also issues an Annuaire pour 
 VEtranger, containing similar information of the neighbouring 
 countries. 
 
 Guides-Joanne. — The most perfectly compiled series of guide- 
 books in any language. The late editions of Normandie, 
 Bretagne, etc., have miniature profile road maps and much other 
 information of interest and value to automobile tourists. Seven- 
 teen volumes, covering France, Algeria, and Corsica. 
 
 The Touring Club Italiano issues a series of five excellent 
 maps covering the whole of Italy. 
 
 1. Lombardia, Piemonte, and Ligurie. 
 
 2. Veneto. 
 
 3. Central Italy. 
 
 4. Southern Italy. 
 
 5. Calabria and Sicily . 
 
Appendices 373 
 
 Strode di Grande-Comunicazione — Italia — ( Main Roads of 
 Italy). — An excellent profile road book of all of Italy; miniature 
 plans of all cities and large towns, with gradients of roads, popu- 
 lation, etc. 
 
 Carte Taride — Italie, Section Nord. — Published by A. Taride, 
 20 Bvd. St. Denis, Paris. Comprises Aoste, Bologne, Come, Flor- 
 ence, Livourne, Milan, Nice, Padoua, Parma, Pise, Sienne, 
 Trente, Turin, Venise. 1 fc. on paper, 2 fcs., 50c. cloth. 
 
 Carte Taride — Italie, Section Centrale. — Uniform with above. 
 
 SWITZERLAND 
 
 Carte Routiere. — Published by the Touring Club de Suisse ; is 
 issued in four sheets. 
 
 L'Annuaire de Route Published by the Automobile Club de 
 
 Suisse ; contains a small-scale road map, hotel list, etc. 
 
 Cyclist's Touring Club (London) Road Book for South and Cen- 
 tral Europe includes Switzerland. 
 
 Carte Taride pour la Suisse. — A continuation of the excellent 
 series of Cartes Tarides (Paris, 30 Bvd. St. Denis) 1 fc, 50c. 
 paper, 3 fcs. on cloth. 
 
 BELGIUM 
 
 The Cartes Tarides (Paris, A. Taride, 20 Boulevard St. Denis) 
 include Belgium under the Nos. 1 and 1 Bis. 
 
 Cyclist's Touring Club (London) Road Book for Northern and 
 Central Europe includes Belgium. 
 
 Carte de Belgique, issued by the Touring Club de Belgique, 
 covers all of Belgium in one sheet. 
 
 Guide-Michelin pour la Belgique, Hollande, et aux Bords du Rhin 
 contains Belgian hotel-list, plans of towns, etc. 
 
 HOLLAND 
 
 Road Atlas. — Published by the Touring Club of Holland, 
 which also issues many detailed road and route books for the 
 Pays Bas. 
 
 Cyclists Touring Club (London) Road Book for North and Cen- 
 tral Europe includes Holland. 
 
 Guide-Michelin pour La Belgique includes Holland, Luxem- 
 bourg, and the Banks of the Rhine, with information after the 
 same manner as in the « Guide-Michelin "for France. 
 
374 Appendices 
 
 A/standskaart van Nederland. — An admirable road map of all 
 Holland in two sheets, showing also all canals and waterways. 
 
 GERMANY 
 
 Ravenstein's Road Maps of Central Europe. Scale about 4 miles 
 to the inch. 
 
 Taride's Bord du Rhin. — Excellent maps in three colours, main 
 routes in red, with kilometric distances, towns, and picturesque 
 sites clearly marked. 
 
 Ravenstein's Road Book for Germany. — Two vols., North and 
 South Germany. 
 
 Cyclist's Touring Club {London) Road Book for Germany. 
 
Index of Places 
 
 Abbeville, Fr., 57, 203 
 Abingdon, Eng., 232, 233, 
 Agde, Fr., 147-148. 
 Aiguebelle, Fr., 96. 
 Aigues-Mortes, Fr., 148-150, 151. 
 Aix-les-Thermes, Fr., 130. 
 Albster, Scot., 281. 
 Alencon, Fr., 57. 
 Altenahr, Ger., 330. 
 Alton, Eng., 287. 
 Amberley, Eng., 258. 
 Amboise, Fr., 45, 106. 
 Amiens, Fr., 44, 57, 200, 203. 
 Amsterdam, Hoi., 98, 304, 312, 
 
 313-315, 316, 340. 
 Andernach, Ger., 332. 
 Angers, Fr., 57. 
 Angouleme, Fr., 57. 
 Antibes, Fr., 170. 
 Antwerp, Belg.. 22, 98, 183, 186, 
 
 295-297, 301, 305. 
 Aosta, Italy, 89. 
 Aries, Fr., 140, 150, 157, 158, 
 
 165-167. 
 Arnhem, Hoi., 98. 
 Arras, Fr., 212, 215, 216-217. 
 Arundel, Eng., 257-258. 
 Aschaffenburg, Ger., 331. 
 Asmannshausen, Ger., 329, 330. 
 Assisi, Italy, 154. 
 Autun, Fr., 44, 57. 
 Auvers, Fr., 192-194, 203, 
 Auxerre, Fr., 57. 
 Avignon, Fr., 169, 172, 348. 
 Axat, Fr., 105. 
 Azay le Rideau, Fr., 106. 
 
 Bacharach, <7er., 326, 329. 
 Baden, Ger., 332. 
 Bagnerres-de-Bigorre, Fr., 133. 
 Barcelona, -Spain, 89, 128, 129, 
 
 135. 
 Bar le Due, Fr., 177. 
 Basel, Switz., 332. 
 Bath, Eng., 46, 60, 61, 76, 225, 
 
 226, 227, 229, 230, 236, 238- 
 
 239, 274, 369, 370. 
 Battle Abbey, Eng., 252. 
 Bayonne, Fr., 137-141. 
 Bazas, Fr., 41. 
 Beaucaire, Fr., 168. 
 Beaugency, Fr., 34, 105-106. 
 Beautor, Fr., 186. 
 Beauvais, Fr., 200. 
 Becherbach, Ger., 330. 
 Beckhampton, Eng., 237. 
 Beek, Hoi., 97. 
 Bellegarde, Fr., 168-169. 
 Berlin, Ger., 90, 91, 93, 97, 340. 
 Berne, Switz., 361. 
 Berriedal, Scot., 281. 
 Besancon, Fr., 57. 
 Bessingheim, Ger., 331. 
 Bethune, Fr., 218-219. 
 Briers, Fr., 126-127, 147. 
 Biarritz, Fr., 26, 89, 90, 122, 139- 
 
 141, 204, 365. 
 Biggar, Scot., 278. 
 Bingen, Ger., 326, 332. 
 Birmingham, Eng., 57, 369. 
 Bischeim, Ger., 329. 
 Bischofsheim, Ger., 331. 
 Blackpool, Eng., 87. 
 
 375 
 
376 
 
 Index of Places 
 
 Blaye, Fr., 116. 
 Blois, Fr., 57, 106-109. 
 Bodmin, Eng., 272. 
 Boisemont, Fr., 188. 
 Bologna, Italy, 97. 
 Bonar Bridge, Scot., 280. 
 Bonn, Ger., 326, 332. 
 Bonnieres, Fr., 57, 185. 
 Bordeaux, Fr., 41, 44, 56, 57, 
 
 59, 93, 106, 111, 116-117, 
 
 338, 339, 340, 341, 342. 
 Boulogne, Fr., 199, 219, 256. 
 Bourg-Madame, Fr., 129. 
 Bourn, Eng., 258. 
 Bournemouth, Eng., 87, 267, 
 
 369. 
 Brauneberg, Ger., 330. 
 Breda, Hoi., 301, 303. 
 Brentford, Eng., 227, 228. 
 Breslau, Ger., 90, 95. 
 Brest, Fr., 57. 
 Briancon, Fr., 89. 
 Briare, Fr., 57. 
 Brighton, Ftt<7., 80, 87, 243, 254- 
 
 256, 267, 339, 369. 
 Brigue, Switz., 43. 361, 362. 
 Bristol, Eng., 225, 226, 239, 275, 
 
 369, 370. 
 Bruges, Belg., 216, 291, 292-293. 
 Brussels, Belg., 98, 288-292, 295, 
 
 297, 309, 360. 
 Buntingford, Eng., 76. 
 Burntisland, Scot., 279. 
 Burwash, Eng., 254. 
 
 Caen, Fr., 57. 
 
 Cahors, Fr., 57. 
 
 Caithness, Scot., 370. 
 
 Calais, Fr., 57, 199, 203, 219-221. 
 
 Calne, Eng., 237. 
 
 Cambo, Fr., 138-139. 
 
 Cambrai, Fr., 57, 215-216, 217. 
 
 Cambridge, Eng., 76. 
 
 Cannes, Fr., 141. 
 
 Canterbury, Eng., 22, 244, 245- 
 
 247. 
 Carcassonne, Fr., 121, 124-126, 
 
 149. 
 Carlisle, Eng., 277-278, 370. 
 Carlsruhe, Ger., 332. 
 ■ Carpentras, Fr., 166. 
 Cassan, Chateau de, Fr., 195. 
 Castelnaudry, Fr., 123-124. 
 
 Caudebec, Fr., 25. 
 Cavaillon, Fr., 166. 
 Caversham, Eng., 232. 
 Chalons, Fr., 44, 57. 
 Chambord, Fr., 106. 
 Chantilly, Fr., 195, 203-205, 206. 
 Chart-res, Fr., 20, 57. 
 Chateauroux, Fr., 57. 
 Chateau Thierry, Fr., 178, 207. 
 Chatellerault, Fr., 32, 110. 
 Chatham, Eng., 245. 
 Chaumont, Fr., 106. 
 Chauny, Fr., 187. 
 Cheddar, Eng., 275. 
 Chenonceaux, Fr., 106. 
 Cheverny, Fr., 106. 
 Chichester, Eng., 258-259. 
 Chippenham, Eng., 236-238. 
 Chiswick, Eng., 227. 
 Choisy-le-Roi, Fr., 103, 104. 
 Clapham Junction, Eng., 195. 
 Clermont-Ferrand, Fr., 57. 
 Cleves, Ger., 322. 
 Clifton, Ft?#., 240. 
 Coblenz, Ger., 326, 332. 
 Cognac, Fr., 115-116. 
 Cologne, Ger., 22, 90, 95, 323- 
 
 324 332. 
 Compiegne, Fr., 195, 196-198. 
 Conflans, Fr., 187-188. 
 Coucy-le-Chateau, Fr., 210-211. 
 CourceUes, Fr., 182, 183. 
 Courdimanche, Fr., 188. 
 Cowes, Eng., 261. 
 Crawlev, Eng., 243, 244. 
 Crefield, Ger., 322. 
 Creil, Fr., 195. 
 
 Crepy-en-Valois, Fr., 206-207. 
 Cromer, Eng., 267. 
 Croyden, Eng., 243. 
 Cuneo, Italy, 89. 
 Cusel, Ger., 330. 
 
 Dalkeith, Scot, 278. 
 Dartmoor, Fng-., 33, 272. 
 Datchet, Eng., 230. 
 Deidesheim, Ger., 328. 
 Delft, HoL, 307, 308, 309. 
 Delftshaven, Hoi, 309. 
 Deptford, Eng., 244. 
 Dieppe, Fr., 253, 254, 256, 340. 
 Dijon, Fr., 57, 96, 175. 
 Dinant, Belg., 288. 
 
Index of Places 
 
 377 
 
 Dingwall, Scot., 280. 
 Dordrecht, Hoi., 303-305, 306. 
 Dorking, Eng., 247. 
 Douai, Fr., 57, 217-218. 
 Dover, Eng., 46, 221, 244, 247- 
 
 249 253. 
 Dresden', Get., 97, 332. 
 Dunkerque, Fr., 59. 
 Diisseldorf, Ger., 98, 322-323. 
 Dymchurch, Eng., 249. 
 
 Eastbourne, Eng., 243, 252-253. 
 
 East dean, Eng., 253. 
 
 Ecloo, Hoi., 34. 
 
 Ecouis, Fr., 57. 
 
 Edinburgh, Scot., 62, 278-279, 
 
 369, 370. 
 Emmerich, Ger., 322. 
 Epstein, Ger., 331. 
 Eragny, Fr., 188. 
 Erbach, Ger., 326. 
 Ermenonville, Fr., 133, 195. 
 Etaples, Fr., 203. 
 Evequemont, Fr., 188. 
 Evreux, Fr., 55, 57. 
 Exeter, Eng., 229, 272, 369. 
 Exmoor, Eng., 33, 272. 
 
 Faringdon, Eng., 233, 235, 236. 
 Ferrara, Italy, 98. 
 Feuntarabia, Spain, 89, 142-144. 
 Fleury-sur-Andelle, Fr., 57. 
 Florence, Italy, 97, 363. 
 Foix, Fr., 131. 
 Folkestone, Eng., 248, 249. 
 Fontainebleau, Fr., 57. 
 Fontarabia, Spain (see Feuntara- 
 bia). 
 Frankfort, Ger., 328, 331, 332. 
 Fribourg, Ger., 331. 
 
 Gap, Fr., 89. 
 
 Gaubischeim, Ger., 328. 
 
 Geisenheim, Ger., 326, 329. 
 
 Gemblout, Belg., 98. 
 
 Geneva, Switz., 96. 
 
 Gennevilliers, Fr., 202. 
 
 Genoa, Italy, 90. 
 
 Ghent, Bety., 183, 291, 292, 293. 
 
 Gisors, Fr., 57. 
 
 Giverny, Fr., 184. 
 
 Givet, Fr., 285, 287. 
 Givors, Fr., 173, 174. 
 Gloucester, Eng., 275, 348. 
 Godesberg, Ger., 332. 
 Gondo, Italy, 43, 362. 
 Goring, Fr*?., 232-233. 
 Gouda, Hoi., 306, 307. 
 Graach, Ger., 330. 
 Graefenberg, Ger., 329. 
 Granton, Scot., 279. 
 Gravesend, Eng., 244. 
 Great Marlow, Frcgr., 230-231. 
 Greenwich, Eng., 244. 
 Grenada, Spain, 135. 
 Grenoble, Fr., 348. 
 Gretna Green, Scot., 278. 
 Griiningen, Ger., 327. 
 Guben, Ger., 332. 
 Guildford, Eng., 247, 260, 348. 
 
 Haarlem, Hoi, 312-313, 315. 
 Hague, The, Hoi, 307, 308, 309- 
 
 310. 
 Hammersmith, Eng., 227. 
 Hanover, Ger., 90, 95, 97. 
 Harrogate, Eng., 369. 
 Hastings, Eng.. 251-252. 
 Heer-Agimont, Belg., 287. 
 Heidelberg, Ger., 327, 331, 332. 
 Helmsdale, Scot, 281. 
 Hendaye, Fr., 135, 142. 
 Henley, Eng., 231-232. 
 Henley-in-Arden, Eng., 231. 
 High Wycombe, Eng., 348. 
 Hochheim, Ger., 328, 329. 
 Holyhead, Eng., 63, 275, 369. 
 Homburg, Ger., 26. 
 Hospitalet, Fr., 130. 
 Hounslow, Eng., 225, 227, 228- 
 
 230. 
 Hove, Eng., 254. 
 Hythe, Eng., 249. 
 
 Innsbruck, Tyrol, 340. 
 Inverness, Sco*., 280, 281, 369, 
 
 370. 
 Ipswich, Eng., 244. 
 Isle of Wight, Eng., 261-263. 
 
 Janville, Fr., 187. 
 Johannisberg, Ger., 326, 329. 
 John o' Groat's, Scot., 268-270, 
 281, 369, 37: 
 
378 
 
 Index of Places 
 
 Judenburg, Aus., 97, 
 Jumieges, Fr., 36. 
 
 Keinigsbach, Ger., 330. 
 Kelmscott, Eng., 235. 
 Kesseling, Ger., 330. 
 Kew, Eng., 227. 
 Kinross, Scot., 279. 
 Koesterick, Ger., 328. 
 Konigsbach, Ger., 329. 
 Konigstein, Ger., 327. 
 
 LaFere, Fr., 213. 
 
 La Ferte-Milon, Fr., 207. 
 
 La Fleche, Fr., 57. 
 
 Land's End, £%., 268-271, 369. 
 
 Lancaster, Fh<7., 276. 
 
 Langeais, Fr., 106. 
 
 Lanslebourg, Fr., 96. 
 
 Laon, Fr., 211-213, 214. 
 
 La Roche-Guyon, Fr., 55, 184- 
 
 185. 
 La Rochelle, Fr., 112, 113-114. 
 La Turbie, Fr., 339, 341, 348. 
 Laubenheim, Ger., 328, 329. 
 Laval, Fr., 57. 
 
 La Voute-sur-Rhone, Fr., 171. 
 Lechdale, Eng., 233-235- 
 Leeds, Eng., 369. 
 Le Mans, Fr., 57. 
 Les Andelys-sur-Seine, Fr., 25, 
 
 181, 182. 
 Les Baux, Fr., 36, 125, 167. 
 Les Rousses, Fr., 96. 
 Les Saintes, Fr. {see Stes. Maries- 
 
 de-la-Mer). 
 Leyden, Hoi., 311-312. 
 Liege, Belg., 295. 
 Lille, Fr., 57. 
 Limoges, Fr., 57. 
 Lintz, Ger., 330. 
 Liphook, Eng., 260. 
 Lisieux, Fr., 57. 
 L'Isle Adam, Fr., 193, 194-195, 
 
 203. 
 Littlehampton, Eng., 257. 
 Liverpool, Eng., 276, 316, 369. 
 Loch Leven, Scot., 279. 
 Lockerbie, Scot., 278. 
 Loches, Fr., 106. 
 London, Eng., 4, 12, 13, 19, 24, 
 
 42, 46, 57, 62, 76, 77, 80, 82, 
 
 103, 122, 140, 164, 220, 225, 
 
 226, 227, 229, 230, 243, 244, 
 247, 252, 254, 255, 259, 260, 
 263, 276, 294, 339, 369, 370, 
 373. 
 
 Lorich, Ger., 328. 
 
 Louviers, Fr., 81. 
 
 Luchon, Fr., 133. 
 
 Luynes, Fr., 106. 
 
 Lybster, Scot., 281. 
 
 Lyons, Fr., 32, 44, 56, 57, 172, 
 173-175, 309, 340. 
 
 Macon, Fr., 57. 
 Madrid, Spain, 89, 341. 
 Magdebourg, Ger., 97. 
 Maidenhead, Eng., 225, 230. 
 Maillane, Fr., 165. 
 Manchester, Eng., 276, 369. 
 Mannheim, Ger., 332. 
 Mantes, Fr., 185. 
 Mapledurham, Eng., 232. 
 Margate, Eng., 243, 247, 294. 
 Marken, Hoi., 314. 
 Marlborough, Eng., 236. 
 Marly-Bailly, Fr., 104. 
 Marseilles, Fr., 32, 44, 56, 90, 
 
 116, 128, 129, 163-164, 172, 
 
 339. 
 Martigues, Fr., 158-159, 163, 
 
 164. 
 Mauleon-Licharre, Fr., 135-136. 
 Maurecourt, Fr., 188. 
 Mayence, Ger., 326, 328, 332. 
 Meaux, Fr., 98, 178, 348. 
 Meissen, Ger., 331. 
 Melun, Fr., 57. 
 Menton, Fr., 19, 141. 
 Mentz, Ger., 329. 
 Mery, Fr., 192, 193. 
 Mestre, Italy, 97. 
 Metz, Ger., 57. 
 Meulan, Fr., 185-186, 188. 
 Meung, Fr., 34, 106. 
 Mezieres, Fr., 57. 
 Milan, Italy, 90. 
 Minden, Ger., 95. 
 Mittelheim, Ger., 326 
 Modane, Fr., 96. 
 Moffat, Scot., 278. 
 Monnikendam, i7o£., 314. 
 Montargis, Fr., 177. 
 Monte Carlo, Monaco, 26, 87, 90, 
 
 139, 140, 204, 293, 314, 348. 
 
Index of Places 
 
 379 
 
 Montelimar, Fr., 105, 171. 
 Mont Louis, Fr., 129. 
 Montpellier, Fr., 148. 
 Montrejeau, Fr., 132-133. 
 Montreuil-sur-Mer, Fr., 203. 
 Moulins, Fr., 32, 34, 57, 177. 
 Moutiers, Fr., 89. 
 Munster, Ger., 97. 
 Murzzuschlag, Aits., 97. 
 
 Namur, Belg., 98, 288, 289, 293. 
 Nantes, Fr., 45, 56, 57. 
 Naples, Italy, 44, 90. 
 Narbonne, Fr., 127, 147. 
 Naumberg, Ger., 332. 
 Neuilly-sur-Seine, Fr., 57. 
 Neuwied, Ger., 330. 
 Nevers, Fr., 33, 57, 177. 
 Newhaven, Eng., 253-254. 
 New Romney, Eng., 249. 
 New Shoreham, Eng., 257. 
 Nice, Fr., 74, 87, 141, 339, 341. 
 Nierstein. Ger., 328, 329. 
 Nimes, Fr., 140, 157, 158. 
 Niort, Fr., 109, 110-113. 
 Nouveau Saales, Fr., 333. 
 Noyon, Fr., 44, 57, 59, 198, 199- 
 
 200. 
 Nuremberg, Ger., 327. 
 Nymegen, Hoi., 98, 316-317, 321, 
 
 322. 
 
 Oloron, Fr., 135. 
 Oppenheim, Ger., 328. 
 Orange, Fr., 170-171. 
 Orleans, Fr., 56, 57, 105-106, 
 
 110. 
 Ostende, Belg., 140, 287, 293, 
 
 294. 
 Oxford, Eng., 42, 235. 
 
 Parapelune, Spain, 136, 137. 
 
 Pangborne, Eng., 232. 
 
 Paris, Fr., 7, 10, 19, 22, 24, 25, 
 32, 33, 41, 45, 46, 49, 51, 
 52, 55, 56, 57, 59, 61, 80, 
 90. 91, 93, 94, 96, 98, 103- 
 104, 105, 109, 110, 111, 112, 
 116, 140, 170, 177, 178, 181, 
 186, 188, 189, 190, 192, 193, 
 
 194, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 
 220, 285, 287, 290, 338, 339, 
 340, 341, 342, 351, 352, 
 354, 357, 371, 373. 
 
 Pau, Fr., 41, 121, 134-135. 
 
 Penicuik, Scot., 278. 
 
 Penrith, Eng., 348. 
 
 Penzance, Eng., 270, 271. 
 
 Perigueux, Fr., 105. 
 
 Perplgnan, Fr., 127-129, 147. 
 
 Perth, Scot., 279-280. 
 
 Petersfield, Eng., 260. 
 
 Pevensey, Eng., 252. 
 
 Piesport, Ger., 330. 
 
 Pithiviers, Fr., 104-105. 
 
 Plaisance, Fr., 96. 
 
 Plumstead, Eng., 244. 
 
 Poitiers, Fr., 57. 109-110. 
 
 Pompeii, Italy, 89, 125, 167. 
 
 Pontafel, Aits., 97. 
 
 Pontebba, Italy, 97. 
 
 Pontoise, Fr., 57, 189-191, 192, 
 193, 202. 
 
 Pont St, Esprit, 171. 
 
 Pont St. Maxence, Fr., 196. 
 
 Porte, Fr., 130. 
 
 Port Marly, Fr., 104. 
 
 Portsmouth, Eng., 46, 259-261, 
 369. 
 
 Potsdam, Ger., 95. 
 
 Prades, Fr., 129. 
 
 Prague, Aus., 90, 94, 95, 97. 
 
 Preston, Eng., 276. 
 
 Pulborough, Eng., 258. 
 
 Ramsgate, Eng., 247. 
 Reading, Eng., 230, 232. 
 Rech, Ger., 330. 
 Redhill, Eng., 243. 
 Reichenberg, Aus., 34. 
 Reims, Fr., 44, 57, 90. 
 Rennes, Fr., 56, 57. 
 Rethel, Fr., 285-286. 
 Rhetel, Fr., 57. 
 Ribecourt, Fr., 199. 
 Rinsport, Ger., 330. 
 Riiilev, Eng., 260. 
 Riqueval, Fr., 215. 
 Rochefort. Fr.. 114. 
 Rochester. Eng., 244-245. 
 Rocroi, Fr., 98, 286-287. 
 Rome, Italy, 92. 
 Rosslyn, Scot., 278. 
 
380 
 
 Index of Places 
 
 Roth, Get., 392. 
 
 Rotterdam, Hoi, 295, 305-307, 
 
 312 316. 
 Rottingdean, Eng., 254. 
 Rouen, Fr., 25, 55, 56, 57, 116, 
 
 192, 338, 348. 
 Rougemont, Fr., 195. 
 Roussillon, Fr., 147. 
 Rudesheim, Ger., 326, 329. 
 Runnymede, Eng., 230. 
 Ryde, Eng., 261. 
 Rye, Fflfl., 249-251, 257, 258. 
 
 Saintes, Fr., 44, 114-115. 
 
 Salon, Fr., 64, 165, 166, 341. 
 
 San Remo, Italy, 74. 
 
 San Sebastian, Spain, 89. 
 
 Scarborough, Eng., 87. 
 
 Sceaux, Fr., 104. 
 
 Scheveningen, Hoi., 310-311. 
 
 Schiedam, Hoi, 307-309. 
 
 Schierstein, Ger., 331. 
 
 Senlis, Fr., 57, 59, 203, 205-206. 
 
 Sens, Fr., 96. 
 
 Shap Summit, Eng., 277. 
 
 Shiplake Mill, Eng., 232. 
 
 Shrewsbury, Fng., 275, 276. 
 
 Sittingbourne, Eng., 245. 
 
 Slough, Fncr., 230. 
 
 Soissons, Fr., 44, 57, 209-210. 
 
 Sonning, Eng., 232. 
 
 Sorbon, Fr., 286. 
 
 Southampton, Fn^., 261, 369. 
 
 Southend, Eng., 243, 294. 
 
 Southsea, Eng., 87, 259. 
 
 Southwark, Fn^r., 244. 
 
 Spire, Ger., 332. 
 
 St. Beat, Fr., 136. 
 
 St. Brieuc, Fr., 57. 
 
 St.Cyr, Fr., 104. 
 
 St. Denis, Fr., 202. 
 
 St. Die\ Fr., 333. 
 
 Steinberg, Ger., 329. 
 
 Stes. Maries-de-la-Mer, Fr., 151- 
 157. 
 
 St. Gaudens, Fr., 132. 
 
 St. Germain, Fr., 55, 80, 103, 
 104, 202. 
 
 St. Gilles, Fr., 151, 157. 
 
 St. Girons, Fr., 131-132. 
 
 St. Goar, Ger., 332. 
 
 St. Jean-de-Luz, Fr., 141-142. 
 
 St. Jeanne de Maurienne, Fr., 
 
 96. 
 St. Jean-Pied-de-Port, Fr., 136- 
 
 137. 
 St. Leonards, Eng., 251. 
 St. Maurice, Switz., 361. 
 St. Michael's Mount, Eng., 271. 
 Stonehenge, Fn^., 247. 
 St. Ouen l'Aumone, Fr., 191. 
 St. Quentin, Fr., 57, 212-215. 
 St. Raphael, Fr., 19. 
 St. Remy, Fr., 166, 168, 170. 
 Strasburg, Ger., 57. 332, 333. 
 Streatley, Eng., 232-233. 
 Stroud, Eng., 245. 
 Susa, Zfaty, 89, 96, 348. 
 
 Tain, Scot., 280. 
 
 Tarare, Fr., 55. 
 
 Tarascon, Fr., 168. 
 
 Tarbes, Fr., 133-134. 
 
 Taunton, Eng., 272. 
 
 Thrumster, Sccrt., 281. 
 
 Torquay, Eng., 24. 
 
 Toulouse, Fr., 57, 121, 122-123. 
 
 Tournai, Fr., 295. 
 
 Tournon, Fr., 171. 
 
 Tours, Fr., 56, 57, 105, 107-109. 
 
 Treves, Ger., 330. 
 
 Triel, Fr., 183, 185, 186, 188. 
 
 Trouville, Fr., 19, 80, 186. 
 
 Troyes, Fr., 44, 57. 
 
 Tubingen, Ger., 327. 
 
 Turin, Italy, 96, 348. 
 
 Twyford, Eng., 230. 
 
 Udine, /taZy, 97. 
 
 Utrecht, Hoi, 98, 315-316. 
 
 Valdrach, Ger., 330. 
 
 Valence, Fr., 171, 172. 
 
 Venice, Ztaty, 97, 304, 305, 307, 
 
 314 - 
 Vernon, Fr., 55, 183, 184 
 Versailles, Fr., 80, 104, 341. 
 Vienna, Aus., 90, 94, 97, 340- 
 
 341. 
 Villac, Aus., 97. 
 
 Villeneuve-les- Avignon, Fr., 17U. 
 Villeneuve St. Georges, Fr., 103. 
 Villers-Cotterets, Fr., 206, 207- 
 
 209. 
 Viviers, Fr., 171. 
 Volendam, Hoi, 314. 
 
Index of Places 
 
 381 
 
 Wangen, Ger., 331. 
 Warrington, Eng., 276. 
 Wehlen, Ger., 330. 
 Wells, Eng., 274. 
 Wesel, Ger., 97, 98, 322. 
 Whitechurch. Eng., 275. 
 Wick, Scot., 281. 
 Winchelsea, Eng., 251. 
 Winchester, Eng., 247. 
 Windsor, £>!#., 230. 
 Woolwich, Eng.. 244. 
 Worcester, Eng., 275, 369. 
 
 Worms, Ger., 328, 332. 
 Worthing, Eng., 243, 257. 
 
 Xanten, Ger., 322. 
 
 Yarmouth, Eng., 244. 
 York, £nj/., 369, 370. 
 Ypres, Belg., 294-295. 
 
 Zeltingen, Ger., 330. 
 Zinnwalo, Aus., 97.