EUROPE - - ; m E N G,L AND MEDITERRANEAN -HAMBURG 'BERLIN ^S QWARSAW ; R u s s i A R KFURT WITTENBERG ANY LEIPZIG HUNGARY EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR approach to the Stelvio pass Page 36 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR By RUSSELL RICHARDSON RAND McNALLY & COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK Copyright, 1914 By RAND, McNALir & COMPANY Hcmfr - SEU%laU Chicago To MY MOTHER CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE Preface 9 I Berlin to Marienbad 1 1 II Marienbad to Trafoi 24 III Crossing the Stelvio into Italy 36 IV A Visit to Lyons 65 V Chambery to Nimes 79 VI Nimes to Carcassonne 97 VII Carcassonne to Tarbes no VIII Tarbes to Biarritz 122 IX A Day in Spain 130 X Biarritz to Mont-de-Marsan 143 XI Mont-de-Marsan to Perigueux 159 XII Perigueux to Tours 172 XIII The Chateaux of Touraine 182 XIV Orleans to Dieppe 197 XV Expenses and Suggestions 215 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE THE APPROACH TO THE STELVIO PASS . . 2 A FRENCH HIGHWAY n THE BRANDENBURGER ThoR 20 CUTTING ACROSS THE GLACIER 34 LAKE COMO, MOST BEAUTIFUL OF THE ITALIAN LAKES 44 ITALIAN VILLAS ON LAKE COMO .... 48 ABOVE THE VAL D'AOSTA 54 THE RHONE AT LYONS 66 OUT OF THE SILENCE AND GLOOM .... 80 THE ANCIENT ROMAN THEATER AT ORANGE 86 ARC DE TRIOMPHE AT ORANGE .... 88 THE PALACE OF THE POPES AT AVIGNON . . 90 THE RUINED BRIDGE OF ST. BENEZET AT AVIGNON 92 THE MAISON CARREE AT NIMES .... 94 THE CASTLE AND DOUBLE LINE OF FORTIFI- CATIONS AT CARCASSONNE 102 THE WALLED CITY OF CARCASSONNE . . .104 THE PYRENEES WERE IN SIGHT . . . .112 ICE PEAKS OF THE PYRENEES 116 THE GRANDE PLAGE AT BIARRITZ . . . .126 THE OX-CARTS WERE CURIOUS CREATIONS . 134 THE DEATH STROKE 140 A FAMILIAR VILLAGE SCENE IN PROVINCIAL FRANCE 156 8 ILLUSTRATIONS PAGE A MIRACLE OF GOTHIC SPLENDOR . . . .162 A CONVENIENT WAY TO CARRY BREAD . .176 THE ROAD SWEPT Us ALONG THE BANK OF THE LOIRE 180 THE CHATEAU OF LOCHES BEHIND ITS IM- POSING ENTRANCE 186 THE CHATEAU OF CHENONCEAUX . . . .190 THE CHATEAU OF AMBOISE ON THE LOIRE . 194 THE WHEAT FIELDS OF NORMANDY . . . 198 THE GOTHIC CATHEDRAL AT CHARTRES . . 200 THE SEINE AT ROUEN 208 WHERE JEANNE D'ARC WAS BURNED AT THE STAKE . .212 'T^ * PREFACE following pages have not been written * to supplement the thousands of guide books about Europe. Long, technical descrip- tions have been avoided. An endeavor has been made, rather, to give our personal impressions of the Old World from a motor car. Our itinerary overlooked the larger cities whose contents have been so well inventoried by Baedeker. The life of the peasantry, the small towns seldom visited by American tourists, quaint villages unapproached by any railroad, the superb roads and views of the Tyrol, the crossing of the Alps over the snow-crowned Stelvio into Italy, the flight through northern Italy to Como, loveliest of the Italian lakes such unique experiences amid beautiful scenery appealed to us more than the attractions of the crowded metropolis. We were out for a motor ramble instead of a sight-seeing tour. Our route did not follow entirely the familiar highways of tourist traffic. From the summit of the Alps we were to see, far below us, the valleys of picturesque Savoy. Then came the long, thrilling descent into France through Provenge, that treasure land of Roman antiq- uity, through the Pyrenees, lifting their huge io PREFACE barriers between France and Spain, to Biarritz on the Atlantic. Spain was before us, the pastoral beauties of Limousin and Perigord, the chateaux of Touraine, and the Cathedrals of Normandy. An important part of our equipment was the Michelin Guide, which, with its convenient arrangement and wealth of useful information about hotels and roads, rendered invaluable aid. Its maps were so clear that it was seldom necessary to retrace our path. By means of them we planned our route and found our way through the different countries. The writer wishes to thank Michelin & Co. of Paris, and Dr. Lehmann of the Benz Com- pany in Mannheim, Germany, for their assist- ance and advice. The files of the London Daily Mail contributed helpful suggestions. Obliga- tion is also "expressed to Mr. Charles Netcher, whose good judgment and motormanship were indispensable to the success of the trip. RUSSELL RICHARDSON. (..].> risrllt hy Umli-rwoixl & I'll A French highway Page EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR CHAPTER I BERLIN TO MARIENBAD "OEFORE us was the long stretch of the Potsdamer Strasse bathed in the sunshine of a July morning. Slowly the speedometer began to devour the kilometers of the Kaiser's imperial city, and the low music of the siren seemed like a song of rejoicing that we were at last starting on our quest of motor experiences along the highways of Europe. The exhilara- tion of the moment called for speed, a leap- ing burst of it, but a Berlin street is unfortu- nately no place for speeding. Numerous helmeted policemen, vigilant guardians of Ger- man speed laws, were sufficient reminders that the way of the motor transgressor would be paved with heavy fines. These policemen looked like soldiers. In Berlin one is always surrounded by a mili- tary atmosphere. The city is the product and the producer of this martial spirit. The Prussian wars are written so completely in ii 12 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR pages of bronze and marble, one has the impression of being among people who are on the verge of war and prepared for it. Even as we glided along, a huge Zeppelin air ship hovered above us, one of those ill-fated war machines which have so often met destruction. A little farther on, there was a stirring sound of military music, and our way was intercepted by a marching regiment. It was fully ten min- utes before the last soldier passed. Such scenes are common in the capital of a country bounded on two frontiers by powerful nations, and dependent for its very existence upon the maintenance of a large standing army. Gradually the music grew fainter, the warn- ings of countless "verbotens" became less fre- quent. Soon we were riding through the Prussian country, pleasantly pastoral and interspersed by red-roofed villages. Every- where were barracks and soldiers, and each small community was throbbing with indus- trial life. This was prosaic, military, modern Germany; that is, it might have seemed prosaic had we not seen it from a motor car. There is a quality of romance about all BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 13 motoring in Europe. It is fascinating to appear unexpectedly among a people in the midst of their everyday activities, to see them as they really are, to flash for a brief moment upon the horizon of their local life, and then to whirl on to other scenes. Such a trip is never monot- onous. There is magic in this song of the swift kilometers. The tourist, by train or on foot, is over- whelmed by details. He sees small cross- sections of life. But the motorist, of all travelers, can see larger outlines. For him a thousand details merge to form a unit which he can grasp; to paint a picture of clear-cut, dominating impressions and filled with life-long memories. Even "the best traveler 1 on foot Barrow or Stevenson can enjoy himself, or interest others, only by his impressions of the insistent details of each trudged mile. The motorist alone can perform the great deduction of travel. His privilege is to see the surface of his planet and the activities of his fellow- men unroll in impressive continuity. He iFrom "The Alpine Road of France," by Sir Henry Nor- man, M. P., in Scribner's Magazine for February, 1914. i4 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR moves along the vital lines of cause and effect. He sees how the earth has imposed character and habits upon her inhabitants." When one has seen Europe from a motor car, the geography of the Old World ceases to be a mass of hazy facts set off by indefinite boun- daries. We had vaguely thought of the Alps as being in Switzerland. After crossing them twice, these mountain barriers, extending from Vienna to the Mediterranean, through Austria, Switzerland, Italy, and France, were to have a new meaning. Most of us would probably con- fuse the old provinces of France with the departments which correspond roughly to our states. But Normandy, Brittany, and Prov- enge have no more geographical significance to-day than "Mason and Dixon's Line," which once served as a boundary between North and South. Places which had previously existed for us, in cold print, were to glow with life and color, and were in turn to tell their romantic story. Now, when we look at our map of France, we can see "the great central wheat plain ; the broad wine belt ; the western landes; the eastern pine slopes, the welter of history BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 15 in Touraine and Anjou; dear, yellow, dusty, windswept, singing, dancing, Provenge; the southward climatic procession of buckwheat, wheat, vine, olive, palm, and orange tree." 1 Our chronicle of this first day of motoring in- cludes a brief glimpse of Wittenberg, where Luther burned the Papal Bull and thus kindled the flame of the Reformation. After Wittenberg came Leipzig, famed as the home of immortal Baedeker. One cannot ride far in Germany without encountering a city counting its pop- ulation by the hundred thousand. This wealth of population explains in part how Prussia, only a generation ago so agricultural, could have changed so quickly into a vast workshop ; there has always been a plentiful supply of labor. We stopped for the night at Chemnitz, a smoky city and with a dreary looking hotel showing in prominent letters the unpleasant name of "Hotel zur Stadt Gotha." The next morning we ran the easy gauntlet of custom- house formalities at Gottesgab, and crossed the Austrian frontier into Bohemia, that land of iFrom " The Alpine Road of France," by Sir Henry Nor- man, M. P., in Scribner's Magazine for February, 1914. 16 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR shadows and thorn in the flesh of the Austrian government where the gay colors of peasant dress hardly conceal the evidences of poverty and squalid misery, and where hunger appears to be driving out plenty. It is a country of peasants. There are millions of them, back in the Middle Ages as to their agricultural methods, unable to adapt themselves to the harsh, pro- gressive realities of the present, and careless whether the abundant meal of to-morrow will make up for the meager repast of to-day. If you wish to see real misery, and to under- stand why the Bohemians emigrate in such great numbers to the United States, then take a motor trip through this most discontented and unhappy of all the Austrian provinces. Here amid picturesque and beautiful scenery one finds the rural slums of Europe. The small farm hamlets look forlorn and unkempt, the barnyards disorderly, the towns dirty and neglected, the people as if they were both the cause and effect of these conditions. It is a common sight of the road to see women harnessed with dogs or oxen. Here even wooden shoes would be something of a luxury. BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 17 There is something fascinating about explor- ing these neglected corners of Europe in a motor car. The dress of the peasants is gay even though ragged, their life picturesque even in its poverty. One finds lights as well as shadows in the picture. Nature has softened the harsh lines of peasant life with dreamy, misty horizons, with pine-clad hills and dashing brooks, with pleasant vistas of distant moun- tains. On reaching Carlsbad about noon we found the season of this fashionable watering place at its height. Crowds of visitors were promenad- ing in the street, returning from the baths and springs or trying to stimulate jaded appetites by a few breaths of the fine invigorating air. The place is really beautiful with its fine setting of Bohemian mountains. Friends were expecting us in Marienbad, so we resumed our journey early in the afternoon. This stretch of forty miles lay through the loveliest part of Bohemia. Such depths of blue atmosphere melting into the green of pine forests ! The forestry system of Bohemia is something i8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR to admire and to study. For generations, governmental inspection has been tireless in its efforts to improve and develop the forests. There are many large estates which have their own private foresters; no opportunity for tree planting is neglected. On the smaller farms, if the soil is not adapted to the raising of fruits and vegetables, the state tells the farmer what trees will flourish best in that kind of soil. Thus no acre is wasted. Twice a year the official inspector decides what trees may be cut. If, during the year, some farmer wishes lumber, it is the inspector who decides what trees, if any, may be cut. No sooner has the tree fallen than a fresh sappling takes its place. The trees are planted in regular rows. There is no crowding. In such a land, forestry is a dis- tinguished profession. For some distance the valley narrowed almost to a canon. Then wider views opened, until from a wooded ridge we saw below us in the valley the village of Marienbad. Nature was good to her children when she fashioned this rare resort, lying so white and clean in its green cradle of high pine-covered hills. BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 19 Much too briefly must we give our impres- sions of life at a Bohemian watering place. Every one lives out of doors. The many villas are generously provided with balconies to catch the sunshine and pine breezes. Unlike most health resorts, the atmosphere of the sick room is absent. Few invalids are to be seen. Most of the Kurgaste come here for the purpose of reducing their weight. Their chief rule of life is to eat little and exercise much. The numer- ous tennis courts are constantly filled. The mountains invite to long walks. There are hot baths, steam baths, mud baths, and baths that would probably have been new even to the bath- loving Romans. The gymnasia are elaborately equipped with exercising apparatus. If one wishes to watch another phase of this struggle against excessive avoirdupois, he should rise at a dim gray hour and walk over to the Prome- nade. People of every nationality crowd about the mineral springs and then, with their glasses well filled, they take their places in the cosmo- politan throng which moves slowly up and down the long Promenade. One hears the confused murmuring of many voices in many 20 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR languages, the favorite topics of this linguistic Babel relating to various ailments and the weight-reducing qualities of different mineral waters. A less corpulent arrival is looked upon with envy. Slowly the glasses are emptied, and then again filled. It is customary to walk up and down for an hour, while drinking two glasses of mineral water. With each swallow the Kurgdste appear to be imbibing the hopes of their diminishing avoirdupois. The Ger- mans are in the majority. They are always desperately conscientious in their endeavor to meet all the requirements of this simple but exacting life, possibly because they realize that a long devotion to beer and sandwiches is not the best means to preserve the youthful figure. Near the Promenade are weighing shops. A place like Marienbad naturally includes among its habitues some who could easily qualify for the monstrosity class. We remember one Egyptian phenomenon of enormous proportions who had to have his own private scales. After the hour at the spring comes a strenu- ous half-hour climb to a hilltop restaurant where breakfast is served. How inviting those BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 21 repasts in the open air ! The coffee is as good as can be found anywhere in Europe, and the scrambled eggs and Schinken aus Prague are served by pretty Bohemian waitresses arrayed in all the colors of their native costumes. At these hilltop restaurants orchestra music is always an attractive feature of the breakfast. One is never sure what distinguished states- men or prince of royal blood is sitting near by. While we were breakfasting one morning a gentleman dressed in an ordinary business suit approached and sat alone at a table close at hand. We learned later that he was the Prime Minister of Russia. The activities and diversions of the day would be incomplete without a stroll after dinner down the pleasant Kaiser strasse. At this evening hour all the visitors to Marienbad pass in leisurely review. The Austrian officers, erect and soldierly, make quite a striking ap- pearance. Our attention was also attracted to the monks of Tepl, with their long black cloaks and broad-brimmed hats. They are the own- ers of Marienbad, and live in a monastery situated a few miles from the village. About 22 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR two centuries ago the monks of Tepl began to realize the commercial possibilities of their springs. Forests were cut away; streets were laid; marshes blossomed into gardens and green lawns; splendid buildings were erected for patrons who wished to take the various baths, and to-day Marienbad is a village of hotels and villas. Last year there were about forty thousand visitors. The monks whom we saw looked sleek and well-fed. They lead an easy life, hunting, fishing, and managing their lucrative property. The monastic vow of poverty has probably long since ceased to mean much of a hardship. This fact of a modern village being controlled by a wealthy religious organization dating as far back as 1133 is most unique. It is doubtful if a parallel case can be found anywhere. The town shows in many ways the influence of its monastic administration. Licensed gambling halls, which are so prevalent in all of the French watering places, do not exist here. There is no night life. After ten o'clock in the evening the streets begin to look deserted. Amusement places of doubtful character have thus far found BERLIN TO MARIENBAD 23 no footing in this simple village life. Consider- ing the thousands of idle and pleasure-loving Europeans who throng every year to Marien- bad, it seems remarkable that the general tone of the place should have been kept so high. \ CHAPTER II MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI T^VEN a congenial environment like that of Marienbad began to lack interest when we looked at our motor itinerary and saw awaiting us such rich experiences as climbing above the clouds over the snowbound Stelvio, or the sight of Carcassonne, tower-girt and formidable behind feudal walls. The call of the white road was irresistible when it led through the purple valleys of the Pyrenees to beautiful Biarritz on the Atlantic and to San Sebastian in Spain, where the Spanish king and queen hold summer court. The perfect day of blue skies added its persuasive voice. We were again on the road. The villas of Marienbad withdrew behind the mountains, and we settled down to the complete enjoyment of the ride through Bohemia and southern Ger- many to Munich. On either side were quaint scenes of Bohemian life. Every little farm hamlet had its pond of geese, with a goose girl tending her flocks. One of them threw us a 24 MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 25 flower. Her action meant more to us than she thought ; it was a happy omen for the rest of the trip. Peasant women were toiling barefooted in the fields, or trudging along the road, bend- ing under heavy burdens of wood. This human element in the scene was impressive. Here, as everywhere, the great drama of human life was being played. But the role of the actors was such a humble and pathetic one, so much of the land was given over to unfruitful fields, half cleared of stumps! There were no such pic- tures of content and prosperity as one finds everywhere in Germany and Holland. The houses were scarcely more than huts. We halted in some of the towns to take a first lesson in the Czeck or Bohemian dialect. The store signs were mysterious, with their hiero- glyphics. One shop contained sewing ma- chines, and the word "Singowiski" above the door hinted that this might be the Bohemian translation of Singer sewing machines. Road signs were not always visible, and less often intelligible. Then we were obliged to ask the way. If the source of our information was a town official he usually spoke in German, 26 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR otherwise in Bohemian, an answer which did not relieve us of our uncertainty. The German frontier was reached about noon. Our Triply que received the customary official stamping at the Zoll-amt. To our great relief, no questions were asked about Pichner Torte, a very delicious kind of cake made only in Austria, and so good that tourists always lay in ample supplies. Such articles as a rule are heavily taxed at the Austrian frontier. Just at this moment Looloo, our French bull terrier, became sick. The shock of coming so suddenly into German territory was probably too much for her sensitive French temperament, but she soon revived after eating a piece of French dog biscuit. We lunched at a Gasthaus in the small town of Furth im Walde. The first word on the wall which caught our attention was " Ausstellung." That was enough to make us feel that we were once more in the Father- land. The Germans seem to be always holding or advertising exhibitions and fairs. "Ausstel- lung" and "Practisch" need have no immediate fear of losing their place in the vocabulary of the average German. There was no doubt of MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 27 our being in Germany. We would have known it from the trim, clean farms. Order and thrift were in evidence, every stick of every wood pile in place all such a contrast to Bohemian untidiness. Once more in the land of the Kaiser, and motoring through picturesque Bavaria, slow changing and old-fashioned, the mediaeval part of modern Germany, a region of small towns and peasant farms. We were often delayed to pay the Zoll of a few pfennigs. The impost was not onerous, but it was inconvenient to stop so often. Frequently a little girl or small boy would come out to collect our pfennigs, and would hold up flowers for us to purchase. On one occasion we saw an aged collector of tolls apparently overburdened by official cares, his head sunk in slumber, and a large beer stein on a table near him. The picture was so charac- teristic of the slow-moving life around us ! Our motor flight through this fascinating region of Germany afforded opportunity to observe how the different towns had striven for a style of architecture original and unique. The houses had much warmth of color, much 28 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR more than one would see in northern Germany. But then Bavaria is of course closer to Italy, and to the vivid landscapes, the bright sunny skies of the southland, and this difference in -climate is naturally reflected in the life of the people. It is not surprising that the great artists of Germany should have come from the south. We remember vividly the town of Straubing, where we stopped to buy gasoline. In the middle of the street an old-fashioned clock tower rose above the red-tiled roofs and gabled houses. Many of the homes had* attractive window gardens; red and blue were the pre- vailing colors. No one was in a hurry; life moved with a leisurely swing. Baedeker barely mentions Straubing, but we doubt if Nurnberg or Munich could show a street more typically south German or better worth the artist's brush. At this point should be mentioned the happy discovery of the lunch box which thoughtful friends had stowed away with the baggage. There had been so much to attract our atten- tion that we had overlooked it. Our motor appetites were equal to the occasion; fruit, cakes, and cold chicken sandwiches received no MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 29 mercy. It is unnecessary to add that scenery and sandwiches went well together, especially such scenery and such sandwiches. The landscapes were not more varied than the weather. At times the road was wet where a shower had just preceded us. All day the sunshine had brightened and faded. Now we noticed a battalion of dark clouds massing heavily above us; little by little the blue sky surrendered to the storm king; the artillery of heaven thundered into action. It was worth a wetting to see the storm sweep toward us and then fade into the gorgeous sunset which closed the day. The church spires of Munich were luminous in the golden light. Swiftly we sped down the long, straight road into the city. When we stopped before the comfortable Regina Palast Hotel our speedometer registered one hundred and eighty-five miles, the longest run of the trip. The country ahead of us was to prove too interesting for any attempt at long- distance records. The evening gave a pleasant glimpse of Bavarian life, of its good cheer and warm spirit of hospitality, so in contrast with the colder 30 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR social customs of the north. The Berliner is reserved, exclusive. When he enters a cafe he would like, if possible, a table where he can sit alone. But Bavarian sociability is all- pervasive. The cafe where we passed an hour or so was rilled with it. Tyrolean warblers in native costume occupied the stage fashioned to portray a bit of south German landscape. Song books were handed us. Every one joined in singing the rollicking folk songs. Of course the evening would have been incomplete without a visit to the famous Brauerei and a cooling sample of Munchner Brau. After a couple of days in Munich we departed for Landeck, in the Austrian Tyrol, a ride of one hundred and eighty-two kilometers. For some distance our course was the same as the route to Ober-Ammergau. Lunch at a wayside inn in- cluded Gdnsebraten, which can only be described as "ausgezeichnet." Bright Tyrolese landscapes flew by. It was glorious running, the air buoyant with the breath of the mountains, which rose in a jagged, majestic profile above little villages where the houses were painted with queer scenes of peasant life. MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 31 At Garmisch we were in the heart of the Bavarian Tyrol. It was a good place to stop for a few minutes to watch the people, the women almost theatrical in the gay colors of their dress, the men equally gorgeous with their red neckties, green hats and vests, to say nothing of green leggings which left knee and ankle bare. Every one wore the feather. Garmisch is not far from the Austrian frontier, so we purchased five liters of gasoline, this necessary article being much more expensive in Austria than elsewhere in Europe. Indeed, on reaching the Zoll-amt at Griesen we found that gasoline had jumped from forty-five or fifty pfennigs to a kronen a liter, an increase of about eight cents. The Austrian officials made us pay a duty of ninety heller on the five liters of gasoline which we carried as reserve. They also enriched the treasury of their government by a duty of 3.60 kronen on our twelve liters of oil, and thoughtfully suggested that we purchase five additional liters of gasoline at the Austrian rates. In view of our purchase in Garmisch, this invitation was declined. Had we carried a spare wheel and covers, they would have 3 32 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR requested us to remove them and would have weighed them in an outhouse opposite the Zoll- amt. It is customary to charge duty on tires if the equipment be above a certain weight. If one carries the average equipment, there is usually no trouble. Just across the frontier a sign post, bearing the word " Rechtsfahren," reminded us of the change in the rule of the road. The scenery grew wilder. Nowhere in Europe can be found a more perfect country for the motorist than the Austrian Tyrol, with its splendid roads and in- comparable scenery. Steadily the road circled and climbed. It was the sunset hour. Shadows were creeping out of deep valleys; a snowy mountain was turning to a lovely rose color in the crucible of the afterglow. Far down among the shadows we spied a little lake, still and black under the overhanging mountains. The Post-Hotel in Landeck was surprisingly good. It is located right on the river Inn, which rushes noisily through the middle of the town. After an excellent Abendessen we retired early, and were not long in yielding to the drowsy roar of the waters. MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 33 Breakfast was followed by an animated scene in front of our hotel. Amid a medley of motor horns, other cars were also departing. As we ascended beyond Landeck, the road swung with easy grades above the magnificent gorge of the Hoch Finstermunz pass, where we stopped for a picture. The ride from this point over the Reschen-scheideck pass was simply inde- scribable. In that exhilarating air, one seemed to be flying instead of motoring. We plunged through rocky tunnels, or hesitated as the road appeared to leap off into the abyss or the towering rock masses seemed to sweep forward as if to bar further progress. Then would come a sharp turn, opening up a new sweep of highway. The road was as good as we found anywhere on the trip, and wide enough for the motor cars that occasionally passed us. But accidents could easily have happened at the curves. Sure brakes and a tireless motor horn are invaluable at these critical moments. It was a pleasant surprise at Reschen to see a cozy villa flying the American flag, and to dis- cover acquaintances in this secluded corner of the Old World. We had forgotten that 34 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR buckwheat cakes could be so good. Our departure was accompanied with warnings about the difficulties of the Stelvio, which we were to climb the next day. After being shown the picture of this most formidable of mountain roads, with its serpen- tine windings, rising mile upon mile, and finally disappearing above the clouds, we wondered if the car could possibly ascend such a barrier, and if it would not be better to reach Italy by some less dangerous route. One motorist had attempted the feat a few weeks before, and after climbing eight thousand feet was forced to turn back on account of deep snowdrifts. Mention was also made of a particularly dangerous curve where there had once been a fatal accident. These reports were not encour- aging, but nevertheless we v/anted to make the attempt. Every one who motors in the Aus- trian Tyrol has but one dream, one ambition to submit his skill and car to the supreme test of scaling the Stelvio. From Reschen the car ran along a pretty lake, then shot down a long grade to Mais and from there wound along to Neu Spondinig, where we MARIENBAD TO TRAFOI 35 stopped for a few minutes for tea and to exchange motor experiences with other travel- ers, on their way to Landeck over the same route by which we had come. Leaving Neu Spondinig, we turned sharply to the right and into the gloom of a deep gorge, crossing the bridges of the impetuous Trafoier Bach and climbing for several kilometers to Trafoi, where a most marvelous view burst upon us. Until this moment the high walls of the gorge had shut us in, but now the road suddenly opened into a view so magnificent as to seem almost unreal. We were directly under the shadow of the Ortler, with its twelve thousand feet of rock and ice. The glittering whiteness of the Madatsch glacier formed with its ice floods a veritable mer de glace. The scene was so wild, the impression so overwhelming, that for some minutes we forgot to order rooms for the night at the fine Trafoi hotel. CHAPTER III CROSSING THE STELVIO INTO ITALY T T was before seven that we started on the long climb. An early start is important when the main care is to keep the engine cool. Cloud- less skies favored our attempt. Across the gorge we saw the towering Weiskugel, its snows turned to radiant silver while the valley was still in shadow. The Ortler was transfigured, the Madatsch dazzling almost blinding until our eyes had grown wonted to the brilliant spectacle. Slowly the long grades sank behind us. It seemed better to set a steady, even though slow pace, and maintain it until the summit was reached. So we were forced to use second speed. The sides of the engine bonnet had been tied back to give the engine every possible bit of cool air. From "hairpin" to "hairpin" we went, these curves so sharp that at first it seemed impossible to make them with- out backing. How they twisted above us like the loops of a gigantic lasso flung far up the mountain, into the region of eternal snow! 36 CROSSING THE STELVIO 37 Imagine it! Forty-six of them! Only on one turn were we forced to back, but with a large, powerful car this record would have been im- possible. Any car that cannot turn easily in a fifty-foot circle would better find some other way of reaching Italy. It is not pleasant to back up when the edge of the precipice is a matter of inches. When the Austrians built this road, a century ago, they were not thinking about motor cars. This masterpiece of road construction was intended for armies, not for automobiles. The makers of those curves, cut through heights of solid rock, never anticipated the luxurious modes of modern travel. If then they had only foreseen the coming of motor warfare, how much inconvenience would have been spared the impetuous motorist who to-day attempts to climb the Stelvio in a long, powerful car which cannot quite make the turns without backing. Surely, a few feet would have been added to those tantalizing, agonizing curves. How little the Austrians realized that their military inva- sion would be followed by the more peaceful motor invasion of our day. 38 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR With every turn, our admiration for this per- fect road increased. One marvels at such matchless feats of engineering, at such gigantic obstacles so completely overcome. Here, high retaining walls have been built to keep the road from crumbling away; there, mountain torrents that would have washed it away have been diverted. Turn after turn, and still higher to go! Pine woods gave way to stunted shrub- bery, and then vegetation ceased altogether. We were above the clouds. Nothing but the sun above us. Snow banks appeared on either side; we could put out our hands and touch them. Then through Franzenshohe, formerly the seat of the Austrian customhouse, to Ferdi- nandshohe and the summit of Stelvio, 9,041 feet above the sea, the highest point of motor or carriage travel in Europe. It is impossible to describe the thrill, the intoxication, of the moment as we stood there watching the ice fields roll away in great waves, as if the ocean, in a moment of wild upheaval, had been frozen. Leaving the car near the little Ferdinandshohe hotel, we climbed an elevation of one hundred and fifty feet to the CROSSING THE STELVIO 39 Hotel Dreisprachenspitze, where one stands at the apex of three countries. We could look down into Italy. The ice floods of Switzerland swept to the horizon; a hundred snow peaks flashed in the morning sun. In the other direction yawned the mighty gorge of the Stelvio, where it had taken us two hours and seven minutes to make eight miles. The wind was of razor keenness. On descending to arrange customhouse de- tails with the Austrian officials, we found the car frozen in the ice. The hot steel-studded tires had melted a deep groove, and were now held fast in the prison of their own making. Even on the Stelvio we had not expected to be frozen fast on the first of August. In vain we opened wide the throttle. The wheels turned furiously without gaining an inch. Austrian soldiers came to our rescue. Half a dozen of us pushed from behind. Two American tourists who had just climbed the Stelvio from the Italian side in a Cadillac, also gave generous aid. With the additional help of pickaxes and quantities of sawdust, the car finally shook off its icy fetters. 40 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Meanwhile we had succeeded in snapping some kodak pictures without attracting the notice of the Austrian officers. The Stelvio is a military road, various forts are in the neigh- borhood, and the government regulations forbid the taking of photographs. In securing these pictures we ran the risk of heavier penalties than the confiscation of the camera and films. Fortune did not smile so cheerfully at the Italian dogana, two miles farther down. Hardly had we touched the kodak when Italian soldiers and customhouse officers rushed toward us. We were not sure whether we would be shot on the spot or simply left to languish in an Italian prison. One of the officers seized the camera, tied a red string around it, and sealed it. Observing that our ignorance of military regulations was fully equal to our ignorance of Italian, he instructed us in French not to open the camera until we were beyond Tirano, seventy miles away, the frontier town of the military zone. During the ascent the engine bore the chief strain. It had worked heroically without once faltering. Now, upon the long down grades of CROSSING THE STELVIO 41 the Italian slope, we were forced to rely upon the brakes. The road descended with a con- tinuous and fairly steep gradient for almost fourteen miles. It was dangerous, difficult work. We not only had to make the turns, which were just as sharp as on the Austrian side, but it was necessary to watch the straining brakes, releasing them when the grade per- mitted and alternating the emergency brake with compression. This was a feat demanding all the qualities of motormanship. Coolness and good judgment were indispensable at every curve of the descent. The road turned icy corners and edged along precipitous cliffs. If the brakes had refused to work, it would have been fatal; the downward plunge of the car would have been beyond control in a few sec- onds. But at that moment we were not think- ing of danger. The thrill of the descent, the feeling of flying down from a great height, the ice peaks that rose higher above us, the stu- pendous chasm that at every curve opened newer and more savage depths these were all a part of our exhilarating experience. We were coasting much of the time ; gasoline 42 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR and ignition had been cut off. Rocky walls hurled back the blast of our motor horn as we entered the slippery winter galleries of the Diroccamento defile. According to law, no vehicle may enter a tunnel if it is occupied. Farther down, the road looped like the coils of a great serpent, twisting, disappearing, only to reappear farther down as a faint streak of shimmering roadway. It was curious, that sensation of falling, always sinking lower and yet never reaching the bottom. One more feweep through the Braulio Valley, and we stopped for lunch before the luxurious hotel Bagni-Nuovi, that popular watering place for the leisure rich of Italy. Our first repast upon Italian soil very fittingly included macaroni and a generous bottiglia divino italiano. After lunch we went into the terraced garden, fragrant with orange trees, overlooking dreamy Bormio, the gateway of Italy. The warm sunshine was delightful after having so recently faced the icy winds of the Stelvio. Here we joined an American party from Detroit, Mr. and Mrs. , who were chaperon- ing two attractive American girls on a motor CROSSING THE STELVIO 43 trip through Italy and the Tyrol. They had rented an Italian car in Rome, but had not found the investment altogether satisfactory, the usual story of rented cars in Europe. These chance meetings with other Americans en route were among the pleasantest features of our trip. We would gladly have prolonged the visit, had it not been necessary to leave early in the after- noon if we were to reach Menaggio on Lake Como before dark. After descending into Bormio, one motors for some distance bet ween high, vine-clad slopes, and then passes through two or three villages, typ- ically Italian with their dilapidated churches and narrow, cobbled streets swarming with dirty children, many of whom took a special delight in darting across our track just as we were passing. Northern Italy is wonderfully picturesque. The long defile of S. Antonio Morignone, the antiquated towns, the slender campaniles stand- ing out so clearly in the misty, dreamy land- scape, the plains of Lombardy with their scenes of peasant life, these were all inter- esting details to be duly jotted down in the notebook of memory. 44 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR It was haying time. The farming methods seemed so primitive; everything was hand work. We did not see a single labor-saving machine. The International Harvester Com- pany would not have done a profitable business here. The hayricks were very small, and even these were often lacking, for barefooted women staggered under large bundles of hay. Yet these backward farmers make stalwart soldiers. Sturdy and frugal, they are, as in France, the backbone and hope of the nation. Europe recognizes the fine horsemanship of the Italian cavalry. The "Corazzieri," or royal bodyguard, is a magnificent corps. It is difficult to believe that most of these men are peasants. There was no need of a compass to learn that we were going west, for the afternoon sun shone full in our faces. This steady glare, and the dazzling reflection from the white, dusty road, became almost unbearable. It was constantly necessary to shield the eyes. There was no winding or turning. Often we overtook a hayrick occupying most of the highway. The driver was usually invisible Copyright liy riulorwmd & Umlerw 1 Lake Como, most beautiful of the Italian lakes Page 45 CROSSING THE STELVIO 45 in the soft depths of the hay, and so drowsy from the sun or liberal drafts of chianti that persistent blasts of the motor horn were necessary to attract his attention. Tresenda was passed, and then Sondrio, the capital of the fertile Val Tellina, noted for its wines. The sun was a glowing disk upon the horizon when we reached Colico upon Lake Como, most beautiful of the Italian lakes. There was a crimson light on the water. Red sails drifted lazily toward the shore. Across the lake the high mountains rose cone-like to a peak, like extinct volcanoes. From a distant bell tower floated the clear, sweet tones of the angelus. Before some of the houses, young Italians were playing melodies on guitars. Twilight was falling, that wonderful twilight so full of color and feeling, of the romance and sentiment of northern Italy. After several miles along the shore, through these fascinating scenes, we reached Menaggio. The evening in the cool lake garden of the Grand Hotel was a refreshing sequel to the afternoon's hot ride. We could see the govern- ment searchlight sweeping its bright rays in 46 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR search of smugglers. The Italian lakes are partly in Italy and partly in Switzerland. Salt and tobacco are state monopolies in Italy. The poor people are forbidden even to pick up from the docks the few grains of salt which may have fallen during the loading and unload- ing of ships. Guards patrol the beaches to compel those who use the sea for a washtub, thoroughly to wring the salt water from the clothes. In spite of all the government's precautions, large quantities of salt and tobacco are smuggled in from Switzerland over the Italian lakes. The Italian officials are poorly paid. The operator of the searchlight which we saw received only eight dollars a month. The small salaries breed bribery and corrup- tion, and it often happens, therefore, that on a dark night the government searchlight fails to discover a rowboat that goes out from the Swiss shore. The smugglers escape the vigi- lance of the swift revenue cutters, and make a successful landing on the Italian side. The next day was so hot that it seemed best to pass the time quietly at Menaggio, in our restful retreat. The rooms were large and CROSSING THE STELVIO 47 airy, and open to the fresh lake breezes. The hotel had once been a villa, and with its private garden of thick plane trees was just such a spot as the dusty motorist delights to stumble upon after a long ride over the hot Italian roads. Our gasoline was running low, so noticing a sign with the words Benzino-Lubrificanti, we entered. The commercianti spoke as much English as we spoke Italian. We compromised on gestures. In Italy it is a safe rule to pay about half the price asked. After half an hour of bargaining we obtained five liters of gasoline for forty-five centesimi a liter. The price demanded at first was ninety-five centesimi. Our change included a couple of five-lira notes so dirty, greasy, and mangled that they looked in the last stages of the plague. We would have felt safer to have handled them with tongs. Within a few days we had received kronen, heller, marks, pfennigs, lira, centesimi. It was quite an education in the currency systems of Europe. On the way back to the hotel we entered the cathedral. To find so imposing an edifice 48 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR amid so much poverty was a surprise. Equally astonishing was the way the steep hills behind the town were terraced and cultivated, as though the very rocks themselves had been made to blossom and bear fruit. An Italian woman across the street was filling her jug at a fountain. The nozzle, crumpled into a trefoil, was of the same style as that used by the Roman matrons twenty-five centuries ago. Little things like this show how slowly time has marched in these lake towns of northern Italy. The cool fragrance of early morning filled the air when we waved addio to our padrone and followed the curves of the shore toward Como at the end of the lake. There is much in favor of an early start before the heat begins to quiver above the road and the air to resemble a continuous cloud of dust. Every foot of the way was interesting. There were bright- colored villas half smothered in vines; crum- bling bell towers flung their shadows across our path; dizzy cliffs hung above us; the lake was constantly within view. At one of the turns a bicycle rider shot by. CROSSING THE STELVIO 49 We missed him by an inch. He was followed by many others, scattered over the distance of a mile. They were all riding recklessly, rounding the corners at top speed and with heads bent low over the handle bars. Different numbers were pinned on their backs. This was evidently a long-distance bicycle race. It was nerve racking to meet so many curves and not to know whether the riders would pass us on the right or on the left. There is no fixed rule of the road in Italy. In towns having a tram, one turns to the left. Southern Italy is still more confusing, since each town has its own rule. In Como we motored down two or three streets before finally discovering, after many inquiries, the road running north- ward to Aosta in the Italian Alps. We regretted our last glimpse of the lake. Instead of hazy mountains, blue sparkling waters, red sails, and pretty villas, the scenery changed to flat, uninteresting country. No- vara was reached by noon, its streets baking in the fierce August sun. At the Hotel Italia the flies covered table and dishes. The menu card presented difficulties; it was written in So EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR a very illegible Italian. We guessed at most of the courses, but macaroni was the only dish of which we were sure. But our plight was not quite so discouraging as that of another motorist who found that for three of his courses he had ordered eggs cooked in three different ways. The early afternoon was so hot that we had thought of taking a siesta, but soon gave up the idea. There were too many flies. The inmates of the garage were all fast asleep, and the two blinking men whom we aroused could not conceal their surprise at our unsea- sonable departure. Once out in the country, the dust invaded and pervaded everything. It was real Italian dust, that sifted into us and all but blinded us. The heat was terrific. For fear of burst- ing a tire, we halted in a drowsy village to let the car cool off under a shady chestnut tree. As if by magic, a score of dirty, ragged Italian children surrounded us, and begged for centes- imi. We threw them a few coppers, but this vision of riches only served to redouble the clamor. Flight seemed the only price of tranquillity. CROSSING THE STELVIO 51 A little way outside the village, a cloud rolled swiftly toward us. The motor car did not appear to be much more than a cloud when it passed us, so thick was the dust. If there is anything hotter or dustier than an Italian highway on the third of August, we do not wish to see it. The drivers of most of the small carts were curled up, content to let the patient mule take its own pace, provided their siesta was undisturbed. The shrill call of our horn often caused them to move a little; there would be a slight twitching of the reins, and then they would relax again into slumber. The mule never changed its course. Beyond Ivrea the country became more rolling and broken, and the Alps, which an hour before had appeared as blue, shadowy cloud masses, now lifted bold, distinct outlines. This contrast in scenery was as abrupt as it was impressive. Perhaps it was a ruined castle perched like an eagle's nest amid high crags. Within the same view, the eye beheld the vineyards, not planted in the usual manner of row above row, but arbor above arbor, supported by white stone pillars, and these 52 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR arbors rising to the very summit of lofty hills. The road which had been winding and rising above the magnificent valley of Aosta now ran into a level stretch. We had opened wide the throttle, when all at once a motor car flashed around a curve two hundred yards ahead of us. An officer in the back seat waved to attract our attention, and kept pointing back to the curve. The warning was just in time, for as we waited within the shadow of the bend, another motor car shot at racing speed around the curve. She was a French racer. There had been no warning shriek of her horns; the road was so narrow at this point that a collision could hardly have been avoided without that precious second of warning. Every year in Europe reckless driving causes more accidents than all the steep roads of the Alps. This is the chief danger of motoring on the Continent. The roads are so good that there is the constant temptation to disregard the still small voice of prudence. The old Roman town of Aosta was in sight. This "Rome of the Alps" is a perfect treasure CROSSING THE STELVIO 53 house of antiquities. Passing under ancient Roman arches, we rode down the quaint main streets to the Hotel Royal Victoria, situated, according to our Michelin Guide, "pres de la gare" The hotel, although small, was clean. This fact of cleanliness speaks much for any hotel located in a small Italian town. Our morning promenade revealed much that was interesting. The middle of some of the streets was traversed by a mountain stream, the above-ground sewage system of Aosta. It was curious to notice how a part of the ancient Roman theater had become the sup- porting wall of a crowded tenement house. Aosta remains to-day almost undiscovered to the American tourist world. Yet there are few places where antiquity speaks more vividly. The market place was a scene of activity. This is the starting point for the crossing of the Petit St. Bernard pass. Here tourists were climbing into large excursion automobiles, and German mountain climbers .were setting out, well equipped with long, iron-pointed poles, ice picks, ropes, and heavy spiked shoes for their battle with snow and ice. 54 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR It was ideal weather for our second con- quest of the Alps over the Petit St. Bernard, which is closed eight months out of the year. While very dangerous in places, the pass is free from the restrictions which the motorist finds on the Simplon. There, one has to give notice in writing of intention to cross. It is also necessary to pay five francs for a permit. The speed limit of six miles an hour is rigidly enforced. Nevertheless, as one experienced motorist told us, if the Simplon pass compels a speed of six miles an hour on the straight course, and one and three-fourths miles at the curves, the Petit St. Bernard ought to have a special speed-limit of three miles an hour on the straight and two guards at every corner. Except the Stelvio, there is probably not a more difficult mountain pass in Europe. We left Aosta to its memories of Roman days, threaded for some distance the tortuous windings of the Val d'Aosta, and crossed the Pont de la Salle above a high gorge. Near the ancient village of Pre St. Didier a rocky tunnel buried us temporarily from the outer world. Here the ascent began, and continued CROSSING THE STELVIO 55 for some miles to La Thuile, the Italian dogana. As we climbed out of the valley the panorama included a sublime view of Mont Blanc, highest of the Alps. At La Thuile, two Frenchmen, about to make the ascent on motor cycles, cautioned us about the dangers of the climb. The customhouse officials were unusually affable, and were delighted to be included in a group picture. Then the long climb of six miles to the sum- mit began to reveal dangers and difficulties. One sharp curve followed another. We soon overtook the French motor cyclists. They were walking, having found the ascent too steep. It was thrilling to be able to look down into the sunshine and fertility of Italy and then to observe the barren world of rock and snow into which we had risen. The engine proved equal to the severe test. We used the same tactics which were so successful on the Stelvio, keep- ing the same pace until the summit was gained, where we let the car rest near the world- famous Hospice du Petit St. Bernard. Other cars had halted in succession, having made the ascent from the French side en tour to Italy. 5 6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR There was missing one interesting personality who had greeted visitors to the hospice in other years, the Abbe Chanoux, for fifty years rector of the hospice and the last patriarch of that legendary region of the Alps. The hospices of the Grand St. Bernard, and of the Simplon in Swiss territory, are managed by priests, but the Abbe Chanoux reigned alone in his mountain hospital, assisted by a few helpers and by his dogs. For half a century it was always a joy, when he saw some traveler less hurried than the others, to offer him a glass of muscat in his workshop and then, after having shown his garden of Alpine plants, to point out the shortest road to La Thuile. To-day the tourist can see the Alpine garden and the grave where, at the age of eighty-one years, Abbe Chanoux was buried. The resting place is where he wished it to be, in view of Italy, France, Mont Blanc, and his beloved hospice. Just beyond the hospice is a Roman column of rough marble bearing the statue of St. Bernard. One also sees, close by, a circle of large stones marking the spot where Hannibal CROSSING THE STELVIO 57 is supposed to have held a council of war. A simple slab by the roadside designates the boundary line between Italy and France. As if to emphasize the fact that we were in France, a group of French soldiers were on duty close to the frontier. The cuisine of the restaurant Belvedere, with its attractive carte du jour, took us into the real atmosphere of the country. The descent of nearly eighteen miles from the summit to the French douane at Seez, was like passing from mid-winter to mid-summer. What a superb stretch of motoring it was! The panorama, one of those marvelous master- pieces which nature rarely spreads before the eyes even of fortunate motorists! From our point of observation, on a level with the ice peaks, we could look for miles down into the plains of Savoy. Mont Blanc glistened like burnished silver. We could trace the mountain streams from their cradle in the glacier to their wild leaping from cascade to cascade and to the more peaceful flow through the valley. Pine forests mantled the lower part of the mountain. 58 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Ignition was cut off, and the car left to her own momentum. The grades were much steeper than on the Italian slope, and the curves without railing or protection of any kind. The slightest carelessness in steering would have been fatal. Flowers and grass began to cover the meadows. Pine forests surrounded us. Then we entered on the long, sharp descent to Seez, stopping at the douane where the French officials came out to re- ceive us. The following incident will sound almost too incredible even to be included in a story of motor experiences. There was a small duty to be paid on the gasoline which we were carrying. Our wealth consisted of American express checks, a few Italian coins, and some French change, insufficient by twenty centimes to pay the duty. One of the officials advanced the twenty centimes from his own pocket, thus saving us the inconvenience of trying to cash the express checks somewhere in the town. We wished to "snap" his picture, but his modesty was too great. He also refused the Italian coins which we tried to press upon CROSSING THE STELVIO 59 him as a souvenir of the occasion. One associates customhouse officials with so many things that are unpleasant, that the incident naturally made a great impression on us. Our difficulties were by no means over. The winding road with its sharp grades re- quired the greatest caution. Near the Pont St. Martin it appeared to run straight over a precipice, and then turned sharply to the right. This was the place where only a few weeks later an American party suffered a terrible accident. Their machine swerved while mak- ing the slippery turn, and fell nearly seventy feet among the rocks. For a distance of seventeen miles from Bourg St. Maurice to Mouthiers the road was in an appalling condition, any speed over ten miles an hour being at the risk of breaking the springs. A railroad was being constructed, and the heavy teams had raised havoc. We were creeping through this traffic, when the sudden halt of the wagon in front compelled us to stop. Two big teams, drawing stone, closed in on either side. The drivers, intent only on looking ahead, did not notice that 60 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR their heavy wheels were in danger of smashing the car. We finally attracted their attention, but barely in time to avoid trouble. From Albertville our course was over the splendid Nationale, which runs from Paris to Italy. It is always a pleasant experience to motor on these famous highways, to observe the governmental system of tree planting, and to study what trees have been found most suitable in certain regions to protect the road and the traveler. The ornamental horse chest- nut and maple greeted us most often in the small towns of eastern and northern France. Long rows of plane trees formed one of the familiar and beautiful sights of Provenge. We often saw these trees fringing the fields to give shelter and protection from the blasts of the mistral. It was also interesting to notice how fruit trees have in many places replaced forest trees along the road. These national highways, so much improved by Napoleon, were for us like open books for the study of the French trees. It has been well noted that "while the state has the right to plant along the national roads, CROSSING THE STELVIO 61 at any distance it pleases from the adjoining property, it exercises this right with judicious moderation and leaves, as a rule, two meters six and one-half feet between the trees and the outside edge of the roadway. "Tree planting is let in small contracts, sometimes as low as five thousand francs apiece. The object of this is to promote competition and to attract specialists, such as gardeners and nurserymen, who are hardly likely to have the means for undertaking large contracts. "Government inspectors see that the con- tractor plants well-formed trees, free from dis- ease and in every way first class. "As the best planting season is short, a fine is imposed for every day's delay. When the contractor gets his pay, a certain sum is re- tained as a guarantee; and for two years he is responsible for the care of the trees and for the replacing of any that died or that proved de- fective. The sum held back until the final acceptance of his work, protects the government from danger of loss." l 1 From "French Roads and their Trees," by J. J. Conway, in Munsey's Magazine for October, 1913. X 62 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR There was no hurry about reaching Cham- bery, our headquarters for the night. The distance of a few miles could easily be covered before dark, so we halted for a little while by the roadside. The car was in remarkably good condition after the tremendous strain of the day's ride. Dimly, in the distance, towered the snow-clad heights where we had been motor- ing only a short time before. By thus tarrying a while we enjoyed dazzling retrospect, present beauty, and alluring prospect. A big Peugot tore by. These wide, smooth highways of crushed stone invite speed. There is a speed limit of eighteen miles in the open country, but it has long been a dead letter. The French system is to allow the motorist to choose his own pace, but to make him fully responsible for accidents. By thus heavily penalizing careless driving, the law works to develop the driver's discretion and does not impose farcical speed limits. This absence of burdensome regulations eliminates an endless amount of friction, and is one of many condi- tions in France which have contributed to the pleasure and comfort of foreign motorists. CROSSING THE STELVIO 63 Now we were in Savoy, celebrated for its mountain scenery, its lakes, and curious peasant villages. There was a home feeling in our return to this beautiful French province, for we had motored here a previous summer. Many a delightful motor ramble was associated with the names of Chamonix, at the foot of Mont Blanc; Evian-les-Bains, on Lake Geneva; Annecy, on the lake of the same name, that quaint city which so charmed the Prince of Wales, a few years ago, with its arcaded, wind- ing streets and old-world charm; Aix-les-Bains, the noted and popular watering place; and there, only a few miles away, Chambery, historic city of the dukes of Savoy and of the kings of Italy. It was fine to see that same blue atmosphere about us again, and, above all, to think that for weeks our motor wanderings were to be in France, the one country on the continent of Europe where an American can feel most at home, and where the motorist can find, amid diversity of scenery, a provincial life charming alike for its hospitality and old- fashioned customs. Riding through the twi- light to Chambery, we hunted up the Hotel de 5 6 4 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR France. This hotel could hardly have been described as luxurious, but it was comfortable, as are most of the hotels in the provinces. The chief interest of Chambery centers about the Rue des Arcades. At one end of the arcaded street is the curious ( Fontaine des Elephants. This monument, on four bronze elephants, is dedicated "to the Comte de Boigne, who settled here after his romantic life of soldiering in India and bestowed much of the fruit of the pagoda-tree upon the town." At the other end of the street are the high, massive walls which protect the chateau where the dukes of Savoy lived and where some of the kings of Italy were born. There is little enough to recall the glamour and glitter of those proud days. The city, with its more prosaic emblems of civil and military authority, now occupies the chateau. CHAPTER IV A VISIT TO LYONS A T Chambery we interrupted our trip through southern France to visit Lyons, the center of the silk industry not only for France but for the entire world. For once, we traveled by train. There is an element of strain about mountain motoring which is as severe upon driver as upon car. A diversion is not only welcome but almost necessary to the motorist who has twice guided his car over the Alps within the short space of a few days. The exhilaration of looking down into France or Italy from the summit of the Alps does not lessen the dangers of the long descent, where for considerable stretches every foot of the way is crowded with possibilities of accident. Lyons, while usually overlooked by the vast army of summer tourists, holds, in many respects, a unique place among the world's great cities. We would speak of its magnificent loca- tion upon two rivers, the rapid Rhone and the sluggish Saone; of the twenty-seven bridges 65 66 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR that cross them ; of the many miles of tree-lined quays, which hold back the spring floods and offer a lovely promenade to the people. No one who has seen Lyons will forget how the houses rise in picturesque confusion, tier piled above tier, to the heights of Fauviere, where some of the Roman emperors lived centuries ago, and where, on the site of the old Roman forum, stands a beautiful church, overlooking the city and embracing one of the views of Europe of which one never tires. On a clear day the Alps are visible, and the snows of Mont Blanc, and just outside the city one can see the two rivers uniting in their sweep to the Mediterranean. Lyons is a military stronghold. Its promi- nence as a manufacturing and railroad center indicates, of course, its great strategic impor- tance. Seventeen forts guard the hills around the city. The army is much in evidence. This constant coming and going of the French soldiers gives much color and animation to the street scenes. Everyone is impressed by the cuirassiers. They are powerfully built and look so effective, like real soldiers who could uphold the traditions of Napoleon's time, and A VISIT TO LYONS 67 who would feel much more at home on the battle field than at an afternoon tea. We saw the Zouaves, in their huge, baggy red pantalons and with their faces tanned by exposure to the tropical sun of Algeria. Their red caps re- minded us of the Turkish fez. The Place des Terraux, peaceful enough to-day with its busy shops and clouds of white doves, witnessed many a tragic spectacle of the French Revolution. The guillotine stood in the center of the square. Lyons, always royalist in its sympathies, was one of the first cities to raise the standard of revolt against the excesses of the revolutionists in Paris. The consequences of this act were fatal and terrible. The Reign of Terror in Paris was surpassed by the more gruesome reign of terror in Lyons. An army was sent against the city, which was finally captured, after a desperate resistance. "Then the convention resolved to inflict an unheard-of punishment ; it ordered the destruc- tion of a part of the city and the erection on the ruins of a pillar, with the inscription, 'Lyons waged war with liberty; Lyons is no more.' " l 1 Political History of Modern Europe, by Ferdinand Schwill, Ph.D. 68 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR The city was "the scene of perhaps the greatest cruelty of the Revolution, when women who had begged for mercy to their dear ones, were tied to the foot of the guillotine and compelled to witness hours of butchery." l It was soon found that the guillotine did not work fast enough. The defect was quickly remedied. Hundreds of captives were taken outside the city, where the guns of the revolutionists con- tinued the slaughter on a larger and more satis- factory scale. Possibly the most interesting fact about modern Lyons is its industrial prominence. Baedeker tells us that the city exports annually over one hundred million dollars' worth of silk. Its life seems to be founded upon this one indus- try. The rich Lyonnais are silk manufacturers. The museum of silks is the finest thing of its kind in Europe. In the old part of the city is the statue of Jacquard, the inventor of the silk loom. As we walked through the narrow streets, there could be heard the sharp clicking of the shuttles, a sign that the weavers were The Alpine Road of France," by Sir Henry Nor- man, M. P., in Scribner's Magazine, February, 1914. A VISIT TO LYONS 69 busy at their looms. We were shown the "conditioning house," where the imported raw silk is tested and subjected to a high tempera- ture. This is the first important step in the manufacture of silk, which in the raw state absorbs moisture readily. But by exposing the silk to heat at a temperature of seventy-two to seventy-seven degrees Fahrenheit, the water evaporates and the weight of the silk may then be ascertained. To prevent fraud it is then marked by a sworn valuer. France raises very little raw silk, most of it being imported from Japan and China. Out of a population of nearly half a million, nearly a third is directly engaged in the production of silk, and the workers in the surrounding districts would probably number as many more. For a dis- tance of thirty miles, outside of Lyons, the country is dotted with little houses, each con- taining one or more looms. The prosperity of few large cities is more clearly the result of a single industry. Americans are especially interested in Lyons for its connection with the starting of silk manu- facturing in the United States. A short time 70 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR ago we were shown a letter written in 1863 by an American living in Lyons. He refers to the excitement created in this district by the rumor that weavers were being engaged with a view to establishing silk manufacturing in the United States on a very extensive scale, and that several companies had been formed and had sent out agents to purchase in Lyons all the machinery and looms used in the manufacture of silk. The writer doubted if the conditions in the United States would make possible the suc- cess of the venture. In spite of this prediction, the industry developed rapidly, so that to-day nine hundred American manufacturers have a combined annual output valued at over two hundred million dollars. At the time of the assassination of Lincoln the United States gov- ernment received a silk flag from the weavers of Lyons dedicated to the people of the United States in memory of Abraham Lincoln. The flag was of the finest fabric and was inscribed: "Popular subscription to the Republic of the United States, in memory of Abraham Lincoln. Lyons, 1865." But while the United States is making more A VISIT TO LYONS 71 silk than France, Lyons remains the real center and heart of the industry. American high- power looms are mostly engaged in turning out, by the mile, a cheaper kind of silk, and largely confined to standard grades in most common use. The thread is much coarser. After hav- ing lived in Lyons it is possible to understand why this city continues to be the center of the silk industry, even when we consider that this is a mechanical age, and that the inventions of one nation spread quickly to competing na- tions. American manufacturers are using the Jacquard loom, a Lyonnais invention. The first American looms were imported from Lyons, but one thing which was not bought and im- ported with the loom, was that aptitude for handling it which is inborn in the Lyonnais. Machinery has its limitations, and back of the machine is the question of efficient labor. The trained hand of the workman is needed at every turn. The looms of Lyons are famous for their light, soft, brilliant tissues. The silk thread woven into many of these beautiful products is so fine that two and one-half million feet of it would weigh only two and one-fifth pounds. 72 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR It is an experience to see the weavers at their work, and to watch the sure, skillful way in which they weave the thousands of delicate threads into harmonies of color. Their skill is the heritage that has come down from father to son. These workmen have a start of many centuries over their American competitors. Their ancestors were weaving silk before Amer- ica was discovered, the industry being started in Lyons in 1450 by Italian refugees. Tradi- tions count for a great deal in the silk in- dustry, and from the moment when Lyonnais weavers gained the Grand Prix from their Venetian rivals, under Louis XIV, in the latter half of the seventeenth century, their looms were busy making costly robes and rare tapestries for the royalty of Europe. In the museum at Lyons is a robe worn by the famous Catherine II of Russia. One is shown tapestries that adorned the apartments of Marie An- toinette in the Tuileries at Paris, and the throne room of Napoleon I in the palace at Versailles. Money could not buy these precious souvenirs of the Lyonnais looms. Many of the gorgeous robes worn at the coronation ceremony of A VISIT TO LYONS 73 George V were made in Lyons. To-day, as in the past, to make these rich silks and brocades that France is exporting, there is needed not only the skill of the worker, but the soul of the artist. This artistic French temperament is the important and deciding factor that makes Lyons the center of the silk industry. There has been the attempt to create in the United States a style which would be distinctly American. It failed. The German emperor also encouraged efforts to create a style which would be typically German. The result was the same. The atmosphere in these countries is too commercial and mechanical for artistic vitality. In such an environment it is said that the French weavers who are employed in Amer- ican silk factories become less effective, and lose much of their artistic originality. The indus- trial pace is too fast. The cost of labor in the United States is so great that the emphasis has to be placed on speed and quantity in order to cover the cost of production. But in Lyons, with a cheaper labor cost, the organization of hand and power looms is so perfect that a manu- facturer is able to fill large orders readily. 74 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR A superior loom organization, combined with a temperament naturally artistic and creative, explains the advantage of the Lyonnais manu- facturer over his American rival, and why it is that American buyers for our large department stores come to Lyons twice a year to select designs and place orders with the Lyonnais manufacturers. Department stores which cater to the wealthiest class of trade have their rep- resentatives permanently stationed here to keep in closest possible touch with the latest French fashions. This question of style is of such absorbing interest to the average American home that it will be worth while to notice the forces at work in Lyons to produce it. Paris is so largely the parade ground for new fashions that nearly everyone overlooks the tremendous influence of Lyons in the creation of styles. The hun- dred and more silk manufacturers of Lyons have their own designers, who are constantly devising new patterns and color combinations. Most of the new designs and color schemes that appear every season in muslins, taffetas, satins, in all the varied kinds and qualities of silk, have A VISIT TO LYONS 75 their origin here. This is the creative source. It is Paris that discriminates and decides to which of these new patterns it will give expres- sion in the models which will be copied in all the fashion centers of the world. Paris has the artistic sense of knowing how to combine the materials that Lyons furnishes. The two cities work together. The famous fashion stores of Paris and the silk manufacturers of Lyons are the primary factors in the creation of styles, and yet, after all, the origin of style is to be found in the spirit of the times. Our restless age craves constant change. A century ago in France, when life moved more slowly, the silk dress was an important part of the bride's trousseau, and after being worn on special occasions through her life, was handed down to the next genera- tion. But to-day the styles change with the seasons. And as they change in Paris so they change in the United States. If we look at this ques- tion of style simply from the standpoint of organization, it seems remarkable how per- fectly every little detail of the complicated machinery has been worked out. A French 7 6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR silk manufacturer, who arrived in Lyons after a visit to several American cities, was impressed not only with the rapidity with which styles spread from the upper to the middle classes, and the quickness with which the American people grasp new ideas of dress, but also with the fact that Paris fashions appear in New York and Chicago at almost the same time that they appear in Paris. He saw accurate reproduc- tions of the spring Paris fashions, made in America of French materials, and with the color, the line, the idea, the detail, so perfectly reproduced that it would have been difficult to decide between them and the Paris garment. More and more we are coming to realize our great debt to France, and to the Old World, for our education in matters of taste, for our appreciation of beauty in line and color. And in Lyons one comes closest to this artistic spirit in the workshops of the weavers, and especially those who work on the hand looms. There are thousands of these weavers of the old school that has done so much to make famous the silk industry of the city. Their wages are small and they work amid surroundings of A VISIT TO LYONS 77 extreme poverty. We visited some of them in their shops. Often we found the loom situated in a damp, gloomy basement, or on the top floor of some old house that looked as though it might have passed through the storm and stress of the period of the French Revolution. These sanitary conditions are so bad that in 1911 there was organized a charitable company with the sole purpose of providing decent lodgings where the weavers could work under improved conditions of light and shade. We always found them hospitable, eager to exhibit their work and explain the workings of the loom. In one workshop the weaver was busy with a piece of satin, the design being wrought in silver and gold. For this beautiful bit of tapestry, which had been ordered for one of the apartments of the Queen of England in Windsor Castle, the workman was receiving only one dollar a day. On another loom there was being reproduced a piece of sixteenth-century brocade. A French millionaire had noticed the original in a mu- seum and wanted an exact reproduction of it for a new chateau he is building. After a morning passed amid such scenes, you feel that 78 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Lyons is worth visiting, if for no other reason than to see at their work these artists of the loom who are so closely associated with one of the world's oldest and most interesting industries. CHAPTER V CHAMBERY TO NIMES "C^ROM Chambery our course ran southwest through the Midi, that great sweep of territory stretching across the Mediterranean basin from the Alps to the Pyrenees and embracing many of the most interesting regions in France. Our departure, early in the afternoon, was under somber skies. We were just reaching the outskirts of the city when the engine gave evidence of trouble. The car ran for a little way and then stopped. An investigation re- vealed the necessity of cleaning the spark plugs. While engaged in this work, we did not notice the approach of an ox team which came swinging along the road, drawing a two-wheeled cart, the wheels high and heavy, of a type which one often sees in the Midi. We were bending over the engine, with no thought of impending danger, when, without warning, the great wheels were upon us. The driver was evidently asleep; it was too 6 79 8o EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR late to attract his attention. The wheel grazed one of us, and then, as the oxen swung in, crushed the other against the fender. It was fortunate that the fender yielded just enough to cause him to be forced under it and thus saved him from serious injury. Our car carried the scars of that encounter until the end of the trip. We were just as well satisfied that it was the car which bore the scars. Not more than a mile or so from the scene of this adventure, a sign called attention to a long tunnel just ahead. The signs of the French roads speak an expressive language, they are so elaborately worked out for the traveler's convenience. This time it was a voice of warning. Lamps were lighted. The tunnel closed over us. We could just make out the faint star of daylight ahead. Weird shadows danced in front of the car. In the silence and gloom, the noise of our progress over the slippery road was greatly magnified. We emerged from the tunnel to find ourselves above a broad valley and nearing the small town of Les Echelles. CHAMBERY TO NIMES 81 Until this point our course was the route to the Grande Chartreuse, the monastery where, in mediaeval days, the monks concocted a soothing cordial to refresh the hours of rude toil. The road now branched off in another direction. Our hopes of catching a glimpse of the celebrated old monastery, built high amid enshrining mountains, were doomed to disappointment. A storm was about to break. Heavy clouds, weighted down by their burdens of water, blotted out everything. From a patch of blue sky above Les Echelles, the sun streamed, and then disappeared. We raced down the easy slope to gain shelter in the village a mile away. Swiftly the thick curtain of rain closed in. It was a question whether we would be able to reach shelter before the fury of the elements burst upon us. Once more our car proved equal to the emer- gency, and we poked our way into the shed adjoining a village inn and waited until the worst of the storm had subsided. The rain continuing, we put up the top, and started in time to see a brilliant rainbow arching the whole valley. It was only for a moment. For 82 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR the rest of the afternoon we splashed steadily through puddles and mud. The scenery changed. Mountain landscapes gave place to the lowlands of the Midi, barren rocks to fertile peasant farms. It was all a glimpse of France as she really is; not like Germany, a land of large cities, but rather of small towns and rural hamlets where peasant ownership is a fact, and where the peasantry form a mighty political force. France, so torn by rival factions, would be like a machine without a balance wheel if it were not for a large peasant class attached to the soil by the bond of ownership. The life of the French peasant is not easy. He toils long hours for small rewards. Even in the rain, we could see him continuing at his work. But he is free. Those two or three acres are his own. That is the great point. This fact of posses- sion, by creating local ties and by fostering patriotism, is the safeguard of the country. His implements appeared to be of the simplest ; probably most of those whom we saw working on that rainy afternoon had never seen a steam plow or a harvesting machine. The CHAMBERY TO NIMES 83 homes were equally rude. Everywhere in France we noticed the absence of those cozy, comfortable houses which are so characteristic of the average American farm. Few fences were to be seen, possibly because of the spirit of justice as regards property rights, or per- haps because the land laws had been so per- fectly worked out. We entered Romans through a street so unusually wide as to be a pleasant surprise. Darkness was coming on. Road signs were indistinct, so we were forced to inquire the way to Valence. The people were obliging. Whether we were in the country or in some small town, there was always in evidence that same spirit of hospitable helpfulness which we found at the French douane in Seez. The street lamps of Valence were burning when we arrived at the Hotel de la Croix d'Or, so well known to all who journey from Paris to the Riviera. The marble entrance was quite imposing, but apparently after reaching the top of the staircase the builders were suddenly seized by a passion for economy, since the interior was very plain, like most 84 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR of the hotels in the French provincial towns. The dinner, however, made up for other deficiencies. Here, and all through the Midi, we could be sure of delicious haricots verts, omektte, and poulet; and what may seem strange, we never became tired of these dishes. The art of cooking them must be a monopoly of the French cuisine, for they never tasted so good in other countries. Valence is more of a place to stop en tour than to visit for sight-seeing. It is fortunate in being situated on the main route from Paris to the Riviera, the road that we were to follow, and probably the most popular and most frequented motor road in France. Over its smooth, broad surface passes the winter rush of motorists seeking the warmer, more con- genial climate of the Mediterranean shores. We often found more or less trouble in getting out of the larger French towns. The streets are apt to have a snarl and tangle. Carts and wagons block the way. Roads are the worse for wear. This seemed to us one of the big differences between France and Germany. The German town is neat, clean, well-kept as CHAMBERY TO NIMES 85 if the watchful eye of municipal authority were always on the alert to notice and remedy small defects. The average French town looks neglected. The people are just as thrifty, but they appear to care less for appearances. From Valence we swung more quickly than usual into the splendid Route Nationale above mentioned. It was Sunday. Peasants were entering and coming from the small age-worn churches. At that hour the fields looked strangely deserted. Blue skies were radiant, the air agreeably cooled by the rain of the night before, the dust well laid. More and more we were yielding to the fascination of Europe from a motor car. Train schedules did not trouble us. We were independent. There were no worries about having to arrive or depart at a certain hour. Life on the road was a constant flow of new impressions, new experiences. Every village had its own unique attraction. Many motor cars passed us, each one an object of interest. Possibly in our cruise along these high seas of the French roads our feelings were a little like those of the mariner when he sights a passing ship. 86 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Where does she hail from? Where her prob- able destination? Of what make? What flag is she flying? It was always a welcome sight to view the Stars and Stripes flying toward us. One can usually tell the American car even when some distance away, it is built so high. We noticed many Fords and Cadillacs. There is not much of a market in Europe for the expensive American car, because the foreign high-priced car is considered by the Europeans to be good enough. The cheaper American product has a market because few of the foreign firms make a cheap car. High noon was upon us, the heat oppressive, our appetites ravenous, when we stopped in the poor little village of Pierrelatte. The prospect for lunch was not encouraging. A single stray resident appeared at the other end of the silent street. The houses might have been occupied by peasants who wrested mere existence from a barren soil. The inn, which was pointed out to us, would never have been recognized as such. It looked more like a venerable ruin. In an American town of this size we would have hesitated before Copyright li.v Undt-nvr....! 4 rnd.Tw.ind The ancient Roman theater at Orange Page 88 CHAMBERY TO NIMES 87 entering, and then probably would have turned away in despair to look for a bakery shop to stay the pangs of hunger. But we were grow- ing familiar with the small French towns. It does not take long to discover that a hotel with an exterior symbolizing woe and want can have a very attractive interior at lunch time. We are still carrying pleasant memories of that lunch. There was potage St. Germain, made as only the French can make it. The oil for the salade was from the neighboring olive groves of Provence. The haricots verts picked that morning in the garden, the raisins fresh from the vineyard. Best of all were the mushroom patties. One portion called for another. Our hostess was pleased; there was no mistaking our genuine appreciation of her cooking. Interrupting her culinary labors, she told us that the mushrooms were of her own canning. Each year it was neces- sary to lay in a larger supply. Tourists had found them so good that, on leaving, they had left orders for shipment to their home addresses. Now she was planning to erect a small factory. 88 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Her recital was interrupted by a Frenchman, who implored "une troisieme portion" He purchased a dozen cans of mushrooms, and if they had been gold nuggets he could not have stowed them away more carefully in his car. The French are authorities when it is a question of good things to eat. The road to Orange was like a continuous leafy arbor. This shimmering arcade was too refreshingly cool to be covered quickly. On the outskirts of Orange we halted to see the Arc de Triomphe, a wonderful echo from the age of Tiberius. The arch stands in a circular grassy plot and the road divides, as if this product of the Roman mind were too precious to be exposed to the accidents of ordinary traffic. The antique theater at the other end of the town is just as remarkable for aichitectural splendor. It is not enough to say that this structure is the largest and most magnificent of its kind in the world. It is also the best preserved. Every year in August dramatic and lyrical performances are given by La Comedie Frangaise. Thus, after nearly twenty Ci.pyriirht liy UmU>rw,..Kl & V mh-rwiH.il Arc de Triomphe at Orange CHAMBERY TO NIMES 89 centuries, the theater is still serving its original purpose. We were impressed by the auditory facilities. One of us stood on the lowest tier of seats, and the other on the topmost row. Even a whisper was distinctly audible. The erection of buildings with such perfect acoustics may perhaps be classed among the lost arts. Southward from Orange, the country began to look more like Italy. Olive and mulberry trees were more numerous. The cypress trees, so often seen in Italian cemeteries, gave an impression of solemnity, almost of melancholy, to the country. At times they fringed the highway or stood alone upon the horizon like a distant steeple against a crimson sunset. The twilight was full of a brooding, dreamy silence as of communion with the past. This is the atmosphere of Provenge, an atmosphere of "old, forgotten, far-off things and battles long ago." If one is interested in wonderful ruins that suggest the might of Rome's empire, then let him go to Provenge, that part of southern France where the Romans founded their provincia, and where they built great cities. We found the hotels rather dreary. go EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR The towns were quiet. Many of them, like Pierrelatte, looked so poor. The streets were dirty and littered. One notices these things at first, and then forgets them, the air is so clear, the sunshine so dazzling, the horizons so distinct, the stars so bright. Much of the country is barren and rocky. But the rocks as well as the ruins have a rich, golden brown color from being steeped for centuries in this bright southern sun. The people are romantic, impractical, happy in their poverty, singing amid grinding routine. They have their own dialect, which is very musical. Even the names of their towns and cities are full of music, for example, Monte- limar, Avignon, Carcassonne. The country, with its Roman ruins, its bright sun, its rich color, its laughter, and song, is like another Italy. Nowhere except in that land do we come so close to the great things of Roman antiquity. We reached the Grand Hotel in Avignon at nightfall, but dined outside that we might the better observe the life of the people. The sweet voice of an Italian street singer made CHAMBERY TO NIMES 91 it easy for us to imagine ourselves under the skies of Florence or Naples. Avignon is the most Italian looking city in France. The following morning was devoted to rambling. Sometime we must spend a week in this interesting walled city on the Rhone, where the popes lived between 1305 and 1377 in the huge palace that resembles a fortress. If there were nothing to Avignon but its high mediaeval walls and watch towers, the place would be worth a long pilgrimage. These gray ramparts, apparently new, were actually built in the fourteenth century. What a pic- ture they gave us of stormy feudal times, when even the 'Church was compelled to seek safety behind strong walls! The Palais des Papes is a colossal structure. We have forgotten what pope it was who was besieged here for years by a French army, and then escaped by the postern; it does not matter. The palace walls looked high and thick enough to defy all attack. The scenes of vice and profligacy during this period must have rivaled the court life of an ancient Roman emperor. There was one pope, John XXII, 9 2 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR who in eighteen years amassed a fortune of eighteen million gold florins in specie, not to mention the trifling sum of seven millions in plate and jewels. Perhaps it was just as well for the popes of that time that the walls of their fortress towers were high and thick. Above the palace of the popes and the adjoin- ing cathedral is the Promenade des Doms, a public garden. We followed one of the paths that led along the edge of a high precipice. This view is one of the sights of Avignon. It embraces the valley of the Rhone, the swiftest river in France. The rapid current winds and disappears. Nearly opposite, on the other shore, is the village of Villeneuve. It is deso- late enough now, with no trace of the beautiful villas which the cardinals built and where they were wont to revel amid luxury after the day's duties at the palace. Beyond the town we could see the stately towers of Fort St. Andre, in that early period a frontier fortress of France, so jealous of the growing power of the papacy. Most appealing of all, was the broken bridge of St. Benezet, resisting with its few remaining arches the hastening Rhone. Above one of the CHAMBERY TO NIMES 93 piers is the little Chapel of St. Nicholas. The bridge is a romantic relic of the gay life of Avignon when the city was the refuge of the popes. Daudet, in his Lettres de mon Moulin, tells us that the streets were too narrow for the farandole, so the people would place the pipes and tambourine on the bridge and there, in the fresh wind of the Rhone, they would dance and sing. "Sur le pont d' Avignon, Ton y danse, 'on y danse; Sur le pont d'Avignon, 1'on y danse tous en rond." The distance to Nimes was so short that we decided to motor there for lunch, see the vast Roman amphitheater and the world-famous Maison Carree, and then push on to Montpellier, where we planned to spend the night and perhaps remain for a day or so. The ride was more memorable for the oppressive heat than for any particular charm of scenery. It was noon when we crossed the river and looked back for a last view of the huge Palais des Papes. The sun blazed upon the white road, which quivered like white heat. There were few trees. The engine hood was so hot that we could not touch it. It would not 94 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR have surprised us if one tire, or all of them, had burst ; they probably would have done so if we had gone much farther. The glare was so intense that we entirely overlooked the little octroi station on the edge of the town. We, how- ever, were not overlooked. Some one was shout- ing and waving a hundred yards behind us. It was not inspiring to back slowly through our own dust to convey the valuable information that we carried nothing dutiable. Of course, at a time like this, the engine refused to start. After vigorously "cranking" for a quarter of an hour, and suffering all the sensations of sun- stroke, we moved on to the Hotel du Luxem- bourg for dejeuner. Among our recollections of the lunch at this hotel were the ripe, purple figs. There is no reason why we should confess how quickly this delicious fruit disappeared. Farther north, in Berlin, such figs would have been a luxury, and might have appeared for sale at a fancy price in some store window. In Nimes they were served as a regular part of the lunch. We could almost have traced our trip southward by the fruits that were served us from time to time. CHAMBERY TO NIMES 95 The broad boulevards and shady avenues of Nimes form a small part of the attractions of this prosperous city. There are fine theaters and cafes, especially the cafes with tables and chairs extending into the streets to accommo- date the crowds of thirsty patrons. It was pleasant to be a part of this typically French environment, to watch this group or that, with their gestures, shrugging of shoulders, laughter, and rapid conversation. Many phases of French life pass before so advantageous an observation point. But Nimes is not simply a modern city. No- where else in France, not even in Orange, does one get a clearer idea of what the splendor of Roman civilization must have been. Provincia was a favorite and favored province of the empire ; Nimes was the center of provincial life. For five centuries the different emperors took turns in enriching and embellishing it. We visited the Maison Carree, most perfect of existing Roman temples, inspected the gateway called the Porte d'Auguste, looked up at the Tour Magne, a Roman tower, saw the remains of the Roman baths, and then made our way to 7 96 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR the amphitheater, smaller than the Colosseum but so wonderfully preserved that you simply lose track of the centuries. The great stones, fitting so evenly without cement, have that same rich, golden brown color, the prevailing color tone of Provence. We entered the amphi- theater through one of many arcades, the same arcades through which so many generations of toga-clad Romans had passed to applaud the gladiatorial combats. Now the people go there to see the bull fights which are held three or four times a year. On that particular after- noon a large platform had been erected for the orchestra in the middle of the arena. Open- air concerts are very popular in Nimes during the summer. It was something of a shock to pass from these scenes of Roman life by a jump into a motor car the amphitheater illustrating the grandeur of Rome's once imperial sway, the motor car symbolizing the spirit of our rushing modern age. The contrast was startling. CHAPTER VI NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 'T^HERE was abundance of time to arrive in Montpellier before dark, so we let the speedometer waver between thirty and thirty- five kilometers. The road was hardly a model of smoothness. We were not always enthusias- tic about the roads in the Midi. On the whole, they were not much more than average, and not so good as we had expected to find them after that first experience on the Route Na- tionale to Chambery. Where there was a bad place in the road we usually saw a pile of loose stones waiting to be used for repair, but many of these piles looked as though they had been waiting a long time. The roads are apparently allowed to go too long before receiving atten- tion. Owing to the increasing amount of heavy traffic, the deterioration in recent years has been more rapid than formerly. In some of the provinces, like Touraine, there were short stretches of roadway in urgent need of repair. With conditions as they now are, the money 97 9 8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR voted by the government is insufficient to keep up the standard of former years. England now expends more than twice as much per mile as France, but while the French roads are in dan- ger of losing to England the supremacy they have so long enjoyed, we cannot state too clearly that, taken as a whole, they are still the finest on the Continent. It is probable that the pres- ent signs of decadence are only temporary. The government is fully alive to the needs of the hour. In all probability the movement headed by President Poincare more fully to open up the provinces to motor-tourist travel will have a good effect upon road conditions. It would be hard to find a small French city which makes such a pleasant first impression as Montpellier; there is such an atmosphere of culture. One does not need to be told that this is a university town. Municipal affairs seem to be well regulated; the hotel de mile would do credit to a much larger city. We discovered an open-air restaurant located upon an attractive place. The gar son, after receiving a preliminary pourboire, served us so well that we returned there the next day. NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 99 Everybody who visits Montpellier will re- member the Promenade de Peyrou which rises above the town. The scenic display is great. Only a few miles away, and in clear view, tosses the restless Mediterranean. The prospect made us realize how far south we had come since the starting of our tour from Berlin. Another in- teresting bit of sight-seeing in the neighborhood is the Jardin des Plantes, a remarkable botanical garden which was founded as far back as 1593 by Henry IV, and is said to be the oldest in France. Whatever the indictment against French roads in the Midi, the stretch from Montpellier to Carcassonne was above reproach. Much of the way it was the French highway at its best. Wide-spreading trees arched our route. We would have been speeding every foot of the dis- tance if the beautiful scenery had not acted as a constant brake. For a little way we ran close to the sea. The fresh salt breeze fanned our faces. It was a rare glimpse of the Mediter- ranean. This enchanting scene lasted but a moment, for the road swerved into the great vineyards of the Midi, an Arcadian land of TOO EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR peace and plenty, the home of a wine industry celebrated since Roman times. As far as the eye could reach, nothing but these green waves that billowed and rolled away from either side of the road. There was a touch of fall in the air, a glint of purple amid the green. Ripening suns and tender rains had done their work. The road led through Beziers, bustling center of preparations for the harvest. On several occa- sions we passed a wagon loaded with wine casks so large that three horses with difficulty drew it. The capacity of those huge casks must have been thousands of gallons. At Beziers we could have taken the direct route to Toulouse, but then we would have missed seeing Carcassonne, the most unique architectural curiosity in France and perhaps in the whole world. Our roundabout course brought us to Capestang, a scattered peasant village inhabited by laborers in the vineyards. The luxuries and even the ordinary conven- iences seemed far away from these homes. The shutters consisted of nothing but a couple of boards bolted or nailed together and clumsily working on a hinge. It was a region of flies; NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 101 certainly they had invaded the little inn where we lunched. A heavy green matting tried ineffectually to take the place of a screen door, and let in thousands of unbidden guests. Under these circumstances our lunch was a hasty one. As the noontide heat was too great to permit a start, we gladly accepted the invi- tation of our hotesse to see the church. The cool interior induced us to prolong our acquaint- ance with the sacred relics and to admire with our guide a statue of St. Peter whose halo had become somewhat dimmed by the dust of centuries. The afternoon's ride to Carcassonne was in the face of a strong wind. It was our first experience with the mistral, a curious and disagreeable phenomenon of Provence. There was no let-up to the storms of dust it swept over us. There were no clouds; simply this incessant wind that hurled its invisible forces against the car, at times with such violence that we were almost standing still. A heavy rainstorm would have been preferable; at least we would not then have been so blinded by the dust. Occasionally the shelter of the 102 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR high hills gave a brief respite from the choking gusts. All at once we forgot about the wind. In full view from the road was a hill crowned by the towers and ramparts of a mediaeval city, a marvelous maze of battlements, frown- ing and formidable as if the enemy were expected any moment. We rode on to la mile basse, the other and more modern Carcassonne, a little checkerboard of a city with streets running at right angles and so different from the usual intricate streets of mediaeval origin. Securing rooms at the Grand Hotel St. Bernard, we hastened back, lest in the meantime an apparition so mirage-like should have disap- peared. The first view of this silent, fortified city makes one believe that the imagination has played tricks. There is something fairy- like and unreal in the vision. It seems impos- sible that so majestic a spectacle could have survived the ages in a form so perfect and complete. Carcassonne had always been one of our travel dreams. From somewhere back in high-school days came the memory of a French r.ipjrriitlit liy Ciulorw,.,,(I & Underwood The castle and double line of fortifications at Carcassonne Page 7OJ NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 103 poem about an old soldier, a veteran of the Napoleonic wars, who longed to see la cite. One day he started on his pilgrimage, but he was sick and feeble. His weakness increased, and death overtook him while the journey was still unfinished. He never saw Car- cassonne. Since that time we had wondered what kind of place it was that had made such an impression upon the French writers, and induced the French government to make of it a monument historique. At that moment, as we climbed the hill, the past seemed more real than the present. We looked for armored knights upon the wall, and listened for the rattle of weapons, the sharp challenge of the sentry. Crossing the draw- bridge over the deep moat, we were conducted by the gardien along the walls and through the fighting-towers, great masses of masonry that had known so often the horrors of attack and siege. In this double belt of fortifications there were sentinel stations and secret tunnels by which the city was provisioned in time of war. Here, was a wall that the Romans had built; there, a tower constructed by the 104 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Visigoths; and all so well preserved, as if there were no such thing as the touch of time or the flight of centuries. Other places, like Avignon, show the military architecture of the Middle Ages, but it is the work of a single epoch. The defenses of Carcassonne show all the systems of military architecture from Roman times to the fourteenth century. No- where in the world can be found such a perfect picture of the military defenses of the eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries. The walls and the huge round towers tell their own thrill- ing tales of Roman occupation, of Visigothic triumph, atid of conquering Saracen. Then we could understand why the old French soldier longed to see Carcassonne, and why tourists from all over the world include the city in their itinerary of places that must be visited. From our lofty observation point on the ramparts there was visible a great range of country, the slender windings of the river Aude, the foothills of the Pyrenees, and the vague summits of the Cevennes. We followed a silent grass-grown street to the church of NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 105 St. Nazaire. It was beautiful to see the win- dows of rare Gothic glass in the full glow of the setting sun. Such burning reds, such brilliant blues and purples! "C'est magnifique comme c'est beau" A French family was standing near us. Before leaving the church, we looked back. They were still under the spell of that glory of color. There may have been an elevator in the Grand Hotel St. Bernard, but we were not successful in locating it. In a general way, this modest hostelry was of the same type which one finds in most of the small French cities like Valence and Avignon. We were of course greatly interested in gathering and comparing impressions of provincial hotel life. This was particularly interesting in a country like France, where the provinces with their rural and small-town life represent to such a marked degree the nation as a whole. It is always an instructive experience to discover how other countries live, and to compare their standard of living with our own. The hotel life of any country, if we keep away from fashionable tourist centers, usually gives an io6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR illuminating insight into the customs of that people. We had often noticed that the French are indifferent to matters relating to domestic architecture. So long as the kitchen performs its functions well, so long as the quality of the cuisine is above criticism, it does not matter if the rooms are small and gloomy or if the architect forgets to put a bathroom in the house. The Frenchman likes to dine well. The cafe ministers to his social life. But with these important questions settled to his satis- faction, he is not inclined to be too exacting about his domestic environment. If we keep in mind these general observations, it will be easier for us to understand the defects and advantages of the French provincial hotel. Most of the hotels where we passed the night would not begin to compare, in many ways, with the hotels to be found in American towns of the same size. We noticed a characteristic lack of progressiveness in so many respects. It was exceptional to find running hot and cold water. The corridors were narrow and gloomy, the electric light poor for reading. If there was an elevator, it usually failed to NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 107 work. Bathing facilities were on the same primitive scale. The attractions of the writing room were conspicuous for their absence. In France it is usually the writing room that suffers most; either it is a gloomy, stuffy chamber, more fitted to be a closet than a place for correspondence, or else located with no idea of privacy, and in full view of every- one coming in and going out. There were no cheerful lounging or smoking rooms. Had it been winter, the heating facilities would probably have left much to be desired, and we might often have repeated our experience at the H6tel Touvard in Romans. It was January, and very cold. Arriving early in the afternoon, we found that our rooms had absorbed a large part of the frigidity of out- of-doors. Complaints were fruitless. We were informed that it was not the custom of the hotel management to heat the rooms before seven o'clock in the evening. In our selection of hotels we followed the advice contained in the excellent Michelin Guide, which has a convenient way of placing two little gables opposite the names of hotels io8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR above the average. While they were not pretentious, the quality of service was sur- prisingly good. We could always get hot water when we wanted it. The maitre de Vtibtel was always on the alert to render our stay as comfortable as possible, and to give us any information to facilitate sight-seeing. Most of the hotels had electric lights, such as they were; the bedrooms were clean and com- fortable, the cuisine faultless. If it be true that one pays as high as two francs for a bath, that is because bathing among the French is more of the nature of a ceremony than a habit. As for the small and neglected writing room, we must remember that in France the cafe usurps that function of the American hotel. This is a national custom. How the Frenchman lives in his cafe! Here he comes before lunch for his aperitif, to discuss business or politics, to write letters, to read the newspapers and play games, to enjoy his tasse de cafe after lunch, and in summer to while away the drowsy hours of the early afternoon while listening to open- air music. It was pleasant to meet in Carcassonne two NIMES TO CARCASSONNE 109 American students from Joliet, Illinois, who were making a long European tour on ' ' Indian ' ' motor cycles. One of them had received not less than six punctures the preceding day and was awaiting in Carcassonne the arrival of another tire. He was beginning to be a little doubtful about the perfect joys of motor cycling on the French roads. Neither of them spoke French, but their resourceful American gestures had up to that point extricated them from situations both humorous and annoying. CHAPTER VII CARCASSONNE TO TARBES ride toward Toulouse led us steadily into southwestern France and nearer the Pyrenees. From time to time the landscape, with its fields of fodder corn, was peculiarly American. The illusion never lasted long; a chateau appeared on a distant hill, or a six- teenth-century church by the roadside, and we were once more in Europe, with its ancient architecture and historical association, with its infinite change of scenery and life. Our trip never grew monotonous. There was always the element of the unexpected. For instance, in the village of Villefranche we rode into the midst of a local fete. Banners overhung the road; flags were flying from the windows; ruddy-cheeked girls in gay peasant dress were practicing in the dusty street a rustic two-step or farandole in preparation for the harvest dance. While entering Toulouse we narrowly escaped disaster. It was not late, but our depleted no CARCASSONNE TO TARBES in funds made it necessary to reach a bank before closing time. Suddenly a bicycle rider shot out from a cross street. There was a "whish" as we grazed his rear wheel. The infinitesimal fraction of an inch means a good deal some- times. We were too late; the banks were closed. The next day was a business holiday, and the following day was Sunday. Our letter-of-credit would not help us before Monday. But as luck would have it, we were able to discover and fall back upon a few good American express checks. Our hotel, the Tiviolier, gave us a poor rate of exchange, but almost any exchange would have looked good at that poverty- stricken moment. Toulouse, the flourishing and lively capital of Languedoc, is a city of brick still awaiting its Augustus to make of it a city of marble. The old museum must have been a splendid monas- tery. We dined in three different restaurants, and fared sumptuously in them all. The cas- soulet of Toulouse was so good that we tried to order it in other towns. The experiences of the day very fittingly included a trolley ride along 8 ii2 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR the banks of the famous Canal du Midi, and a visit to the remarkable church of St. Sernin, considered the finest Romanesque monument in France. It would have been difficult not to make an early start the next morning, the air was so keenly exhilarating. The usually turbid Ga- ronne revealed limpid depths and blue skies as we crossed the bridge. The road dipped into a valley and then, ascending, spread before us imposing mountain ranges. The Pyrenees were insight; every mile brought them nearer. The name was magical. It suggested landscapes colorful and lovely, strange types of peasant dress, songs that had been sung the same way for centuries, exquisite villages that had never been awakened by the locomotive's whistle. Range retreated behind range into mysterious cloud realms. The road was like a boulevard Parisien under the black bars of shadow cast by the poplar trees. At St. Gaudens, where we stopped before the H6tel Ferriere for lunch, an American party was just arriving from the opposite direction. There were three middle-aged ladies and a CARCASSONNE TO TARBES 113 French chauffeur who did not appear to under- stand much English. The question of what they should order for lunch was evidently not settled. One of them wished to order potage St. Germain. Another thought it would be better to have something else for a change, since they had partaken of potage St. Germain the preceding day. The remaining member of the party was sure it would be nicer if they saved time by all ordering the same thing, but did not suggest what that should be. The chauffeur, who looked hungry and cross, merely contributed a long-suffering silence to the conversation. Leaving our car in the garage and our sym- pathy with the unfortunate chauffeur, we went in to give appreciative attention to a well-served menu. So long as we remained in France we never failed to order sardines. There is a cer- tain quality and delicacy about the flavor of the French sardine which one misses outside of that country. Coffee was served outside, under the trees in front of the hotel, where we could watch the life of the road. St. Gaudens is on the main highway passing through the Pyrenees ii4 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR to Cannes and Nice on the Riviera. It is also the central market for the fine cattle of the Pyrenees, and for their sale and distribution to other parts of France and the outside world. We could see them swaying lazily along the road, big, powerful creatures with wide horns and glossy skin. Descending from St. Gaudens into the plain, we shot along the highway to Montrejeau, where there was a steep ascent through this bizarre little town, very Italian looking with its arcaded streets, red roofs, and brightly painted shutters. Then the moors of a high plateau swept by us until we darted downward and curved for several miles through a beautiful wooded valley. One of the front tires was evidently in trouble. It was our first puncture in more than thirteen hundred miles of motoring, not a bad record when one considers the fre- quency of such accidents on European roads, where the hobnails of peasants lie in ambush at every turn. We halted by the side of the road, to put on a fresh tire, refusing many offers of assistance from passing cars. CARCASSONNE TO TARBES 115 An unusual reception awaited us near Tour- nay. The whole barnyard family had taken the road for their private promenade. There were a couple of mules, some goats, half a dozen geese, and a large white bull. He was a savage looking brute as he stood facing us and angrily pawing the ground. It did not add to our composure when a gaunt collie, awakened by the noise, came snarling up to the car. At this eventful moment, the engine stopped run- ning. No one of us was in a hurry to alight and "crank up." The barnyard clamor would have rivaled the well-known symphony of the Edison Phonograph Company of New York and Paris. At last a peasant appeared. He whistled to the dog and succeeded in driving the bull to one side, so that we could edge by to less dangerous scenes. The standard of living in these mountain com- munities is not high. We saw one farmhouse where the goats moved in and out as if very much at home and on the same social footing as their peasant owners. A mile farther on, we were spectators at a dance which the peasants were giving along the roadside. There was an n6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR orchestra of two violins and a cornet, enthroned upon a wooden platform brightly decorated with flags and flowers. A dozen couples were dancing up and down the road. Wooden shoes were all the style. This unique ballroom floor impressed us as being rather dusty. Steep- sided valleys yawned in quick succession. There were views of the snowy Pyrenees. On the side of a mountain we caught a moment's glimpse of Tarbes in the plain. The Grand Hotel Moderne was a happy sur- prise. The elevator actually worked, and the running hot and cold water was a boon delight- ful to find after these dusty mountain roads. Tarbes is chiefly interesting for its great horse-breeding industry. Barere, the regicide, described by Macaulay as coming "nearer than any person mentioned in history or fiction, whether man or devil, to the idea of consum- mate and universal depravity," was born here in 1755. Tourist traffic has found Tarbes to be a convenient stopping place on the through route from Biarritz on the Atlantic to the winter resorts of the Mediterranean shores, and also a natural center for excursions to the Pyrenees. Op.vrijiht hy rucli-rw I & I'm I,' Ice peaks of the Pyrenees CARCASSONNE TO TARBES 117 We remained in Tarbes an extra day to make the trip to Lourdes, the tragic Mecca for in- creasing thousands of Catholic pilgrims. A short half-hour's ride and then Lourdes, without doubt one of the most dismal and melancholy places in the world. We are cer- tain that nothing would ever draw us there again. For many, the trip is a pilgrimage of faith; others go from curiosity; but for so many suffering thousands the miraculous spring at Lourdes is the goal of anxious hopes. They gather from all parts of France, from England, Scotland, and Ireland, and even from distant parts of Europe. Last year there were over six hundred thousand visitors. Around us, on that afternoon, we saw the sick and the dying. Some were hobbling along on crutches, others walking helplessly with sightless eyes. Many were being carried on stretchers, and there were sights that we would rather not mention. It seemed as if all the diseases to which mortal humanity is heir were represented in that pathetic throng. The following newspaper ac- count describes the pilgrimage which left Paris in August, 1913: n8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR "The great Austerlitz Railway station in Paris presented a strange and terrible scene and above all, a distressingly pitiful one yes- terday afternoon, when the annual pilgrimage to Lourdes set forth on the long journey to the little Pyrenean village. During last night thirty-three special long trains converged on Lourdes from every quarter of France. Every train ran slowly because of the many sick people on board. And this morning all the trains will reach their destination and will discharge their pilgrims at the station near the shrine. "From two to four o'clock, the greater part of the Austerlitz station was given up entirely to the pilgrims. The railway servants with- drew, and their places were taken by hundreds of saintly faced Little Sisters of the Assumption, and brave men of all ages and all ranks in life, all wearing the broad armlet that denoted their self-sacrificing service to the sick and helpless. One by one, on stretchers, in bath chairs, over a thousand suffering people, men and women of all ages, youths and little children, entered the great hall of the station. "Each, as he or she is brought in, is laid upon CARCASSONNE TO TARBES 119 a bench transformed into an ambulance, to await the departure of the train. A silence that is almost oppressive falls upon the usually noisy station; people speak in whispers, and move with silent feet. "Then the train the long white train for the grands malades moves softly in to the plat- form, and each poor human parcel is gently convoyed to its allotted place. Eventually, the long task is over, and then came the last mov- ing ceremony. The Cardinal Archbishop of Paris passed slowly down the train and blessed the sick within it. A moment after, without a whistle or a sound, the long white train moved out. "Eight other equally long trains followed, the last bearing at the rear the Red Cross flag." We watched the procession forming to move toward the sacred miraculous spring, such a sad procession, the halt, the ir. aimed, and the blind, who had come, many of them, thousands of miles to bathe in the icy waters and be healed. Attendants passed us, carrying a sick man on a stretcher; the eyes were closed, the features white and fixed. We saw a mother 120 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR clasping a sick child; she also joined the slow, pitiful procession. Where will you find such a picture of human suffering! It was all like the incurable ward of a vast open-air hospital. The fame of Lourdes dates back to 1858, when a little village girl, fourteen years old, named Bernadette Soubirons, said that she had seen and talked with the Virgin. This happened several times. Each time the Virgin is said to have commanded the child to tell others, and to have a church built above the spring, since its waters were to have miraculous powers of healing. Crowds went with her to the grotto, but she was the only one who saw any- thing. The Bishop of Tarbes believed in her visions. The fact that the child was "diseased, asthmatic, and underfed," and also that "she was not particularly intelligent," did not make any difference. Pope Pius X issued a Bull of endorsement. A basilica was built above the grotto, and from that time the thousands kept coming in increasing numbers every year. We noticed that not all of the visitors to Lourdes had come on a pilgrimage of faith. CARCASSONNE TO TARBES 121 Everywhere one sees signs with large letters warning against pickpockets. The evidence of business enterprise was also unmistakable. There were large hotels; one long street was devoted to bazaars for selling pious mementos; the windows of many shops contained tin cans of all sizes for sale, these to be filled with Lourdes water. The many advertisements of Lourdes lozenges, made from Lourdes water, and the women dressed in black, sitting at the gates of the garden and selling wax candles, all helped to give the place an atmosphere of commercial enterprise. CHAPTER VIII TARBES TO BIARRITZ TT^ROM Tarbes the road climbed a high hill above the city and then flung its marvel- ous coils through the mountains to Pau, that fashionable English resort where the Pyrenees can be seen marshaling their peaks in such grandeur. The country around Pau looked very English. There were neat villages with high- pitched roofs, spreading trees, and a feeling of repose in the scenery very characteristic of the large English estate. With almost fantastic suddenness, the landscape changed. Peasant houses showed traces of Spanish influence. We saw no horses; plows and country carts were drawn by bullocks. Such fine looking cattle of the Pyrenees, hundreds of them! It seemed at least every few minutes that a new drove crowded in confusion down the road or across it, and made it very difficult for us to get through. There were many bulls. One hears so many exciting tales about the savage bulls of the Pyrenees that we were prepared for an attack at almost any time. 122 TARBES TO BIARRITZ 123 If any one would like to make sure of having an eventful experience, we suggest that he motor through the Pyrenees in a red car. Other motor cars kept the dust clouds flying. At one railway crossing we counted ten automobiles waiting for the bar to be lifted. A score of hungry motorists were lunching in the village inn of Orthez when we arrived. One of them, a Frenchman, told us by all means to see the curious fortified bridge that crosses the Gave in this village. "C'est tres curieux. C'est quelque chose & voir! " The ruin, with the high stone tower in the middle of the bridge, is a thrilling relic of the religious wars. One can see the tower window through which the un- fortunate priests and friars were forced by the Protestants to leap into the rapid stream. Those who breasted the strong current were killed as they climbed out on the banks. Bayonne was calling us. Our speedometer registered the kilometers so quickly that there were fully two hours of daylight to spare when we crossed the long bridge over the Adour in search of the Grand Hotel. One street led us astray, and then another, until we were in the 124 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR suburbs before discovering our mistake. It was a fortunate mistake, for we were here favored with a view of the fortifications of Bayonne and the ivy-covered ruin of Marrac, the chateau where Napoleon met the Spanish king Ferdinand and compelled him to renounce the throne in favor of his brother Joseph. It is one of the strange turnings of history that the same city where Joseph was proclaimed King of Spain should have witnessed, six years later, the downfall of his hopes. Our return search was more successful. We found the Grand Hotel, and then were half sorry that we had found it. The hotel was crowded, the only chambre placed at our disposal not large enough for two people. An extra cot had been put in to meet the emer- gency. The room was gloomy, and opened on a stuffy little court. Many repairs were under way, so that the appearance of the hotel was far from being at its best. Had it not been raining heavily we would have gone on to Biarritz; but the torrents were descending. For one night we submitted to the inevitable and to the inconvenience of our cramped TARBES TO BIARRITZ 125 quarters. On descending, we noticed other tourists still arriving. Possibly these new victims were stowed away in the elevator or in the garage. Our stay in Bayonne was, under the circum- stances, not long, but long enough for us to become acquainted with the jambon delicieux and the bonbons for which the city is so well known. After paying our compte, including a garage charge of two francs, the first which we had paid since leaving Chambery, we covered the few remaining kilometers to Biar- ritz, stopping en route to pick up ten liters of gasoline in order to avoid the more extravagant prices of that playground for Europe's royalty and aristocracy. The choicest feature of our rooms at the H6tel Victoria was the splendid outlook upon the Atlantic and its ever-changing panorama of sky and sea. The Spanish season was in full swing. There is always a season in the golden curve of Biarritz's sunny sands. The Spanish invasion during the hot summer months is followed by that of the French, when Parisian beauties promenade in all the voluptu- ous array of costly toilettes. For a couple of 126 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR months, Paris ceases to be the proud capital of French animation and gayety. During the winter, the place takes on the appearance of an English colony; and the Russian royal family has made spring a fashionable time for the invasion from that country. The charm of Biarritz is irresistible. It is easy to see why Napoleon III made it the seat of his summer court and built the Villa Eugenie, which has since become the Hotel du Palais. If one searched the whole coast line of Europe, it would be hard to find a spot so rich in natural beauty. The sea has such wide horizons; no matter how calm the weather, the snowy surges are always rolling on the Grande Plage. Other smaller beaches alternate with rugged, rocky promontories. The coast line is very irregular, full of arcades, caverns, and grottoes. At sun- set, when the wind falls and the air is clear, the coast of Spain appears, the mountains respond to the western glow, and the low cadence of the waves makes the scene too wonderful for words. We always looked forward to the morning plunge into the cool breakers. Eleven o'clock was the popular hour. Then the Plage was Copyright liy ViKli-rwiK-icl & T'liclorw.,.,,! The Grande Plage at Biarritz TARBES TO BIARRITZ 127 covered with brilliant tent umbrellas. There were the shouts of the bathers as the green, foaming combers swept over them. The beach was a kaleidoscope of color and animation. Dark-eyed senoritas, carrying brightly colored parasols and robed in the latest and most original French toilettes, walked along the shore. The Spanish women are very fond of dress, and especially of anything that comes from Paris. Often the breeze would sweep aside their veils of black silk, and show their powder- whitened faces. French girls, daintily gowned and with complexions just as "artistic," were busy with delicate embroidery. There were Basque nurse- maids whose somber black-and-white checker- board costumes contrasted with the latest styles from the gay metropolis. All types were there, from the portly German who adjusted his monocle before wading into the frothy brine, to the contemplative Englishman who smoked his pipe while watching the animated scenes around him. Where will one find a more cosmo- politan glimpse of fashionable Europe in the enjoyment of a summer holiday! After the plunge comes the drying off on the warm sands, 128 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR or the walk, bare-footed and in bathrobe, along the Plage; then lunch in the casino res- taurant above the sea, while an Italian orchestra plays music that one likes to hear by the ocean. For our tasse de cafe we would choose one of the cafes along the crowded avenue Bellevue. What a display of wealth and fine motor cars! On one of these occasions we saw the young King of Spain stop his Spanish car before one of the stores. He was bareheaded, and was driv- ing his own car. One of his officers sat with him. The king is a keen sportsman, and motoring is one of his favorite diversions. Under the reign of this popular and aggressive young monarch there ought to be great progress in the improvement of the Spanish roads and in the opening of Spain's scenic wealth to the tourist world. Toward the close of the after- noon every one went to the beautiful casino to enjoy the concert and une tasse de the, and then later in the evening to watch the brilliant spectacle of dress and gayety. The interesting places around Biarritz are part of its attraction. If we had stayed there for months, there could have been an excursion TARBES TO BIARRITZ 129 for each day. Placed beside the ocean, at the foot of the Pyrenees, close to the Spanish frontier and amid the fascinating Basque country where the people have retained all their primitive ways and quaint dress, Biarritz makes an ideal center for one-day trips. The excursion which we enjoyed most was to the Spanish resort of San Sebastian, a modern sea- side town where the king and queen pass the summer in their splendid Villa Miramar. CHAPTER IX A DAY IN SPAIN 'T^HERE is always a thrill about motoring for the first time in a new country. We had long looked forward to crossing the Spanish frontier and visiting the summer capital of King Alfonso XIII. It was a ride of about thirty miles, far too short for one of the most interest- ing sweeps of country to be found anywhere in Europe. There was plenty of variety. This Basque country, forming a triangular corner of northern Spain and reaching over into France, is full of it. The people speak a dialect which is as much a puzzle to Spanish as to French. Until less than half a century ago, they had retained their inde- pendence. Proud of their history, and claiming to be the oldest race in Europe, they still cling to their language and hold to their ancient customs, their dances, songs, and pastoral plays. In this region of valleys and mountains we were always within sight or sound of the sea, the road approaching a smooth, white beach 130 A DAY IN SPAIN 131 washed with foam, or sinking into a quiet valley drowsy with the faint monotone of the waves. A few miles before reaching Spain is the old seaside town of St. Jean-de-Luz, once the winter headquarters of Wellington and now buried in the shade of its venerable trees. The life in this little village of only four thousand people was not always so simple as it is now. Louis XIV was a frequent visitor, with his courtiers. One can see the chateau where the "Grand Mon- arque " lodged at the time of his marriage to the Infanta Marie Therese of Spain on June 9, 1660. Another page from this gorgeous period is the church of St. Jean Baptiste, where the ceremony took place. Following the Basque custom, the upper galleries are reserved for the men, while the area below is reserved for the women. On reaching the Franco-Spanish frontier village of Behobie a French officer appeared and, after he had entered the necessary de- tails in his book, allowed us to cross the bridge over the Bidassoa River into Spain. This part of the town is called Behobeia. It is a unique arrangement, this administration of what is practically one and the same town by i 3 2 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR two different countries. Yet the difference between Behobie and Behobeia is as great as the difference between France and Spain. The houses across the river began to display the most lively colors. It would have been hard to say whether browns, pinks, blues, or greens pre- dominated. Some of the people wore blue shoes. Red caps were the style for cab drivers. Of course we looked around for some of our "castles in Spain," but saw instead the Spanish customhouse. An official came out, modestly arrayed in more than Solomon's glory. He wore red trousers, yellow hose, and blue shoes, and looked as though in more prosperous days he might have been a matador. We had for- gotten to bring along a fluent supply of Spanish. The oversight caused us no inconvenience. French is sufficient to carry one through any matter of official red tape. One hears many reports about the difficulty of passing the Spanish customhouse, the severity of the examination, of the long delays. At our hotel in Biarritz they told us that the only safe way would be to pay eight francs to a private company on the French side of the frontier, and A DAY IN SPAIN 133 that with the passavant so obtained, together with our triptyque, we would not only secure prompt service but also make this company responsible for our safety while in Spain. So much solicitude made us wonder just what per- centage of our eight francs would be received by this hotel proprietor, so we decided to cross the frontier without the much advised passavant. These warnings proved to be exaggerated. The delay was not greater than it would have been in France or Germany. The douaniers were, nevertheless, keenly alert to prevent the smuggling of motor supplies for purposes of sale in Spain. These articles are much more expen- sive in Spain than elsewhere in Europe. The number of our tires was noted, so that the officials could make sure that we carried the same number of tires out of the country. Another arrangement, new to us, was the method of ascertaining how much the gasoline duty would be. The amount of gasoline in the tank was calculated by depth only and not by capacity. A hundred fascinating scenes of Spanish country life attracted our attention. Peasant i 3 4 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR women, evidently returning from market, be- straddled patient little donkeys, or walked, balancing on their heads burdens of various kinds. One of them carried a baby under one arm, a pail filled with wine bottles under the other, and all the time preserved with her head the equilibrium of a basket piled several stories high with household articles. We would not have been greatly surprised to see another baby tucked away somewhere in the top story. These peasant types looked bent and worn, their wrinkled faces old from drudging toil in the fields; they fitted in perfectly with the dilapi- dated farmhouses. The country was fertile, with vineyards and cornfields, but a prosperity in such contrast with the wretched homes of the people. Little donkeys strained in front of heavily loaded wagons that would have taxed the strength of a large horse. The ox carts were curious creations, the wheels being with- out spokes, as though made from a single piece of fiat board. The small chimneys on the houses resembled those which we had seen in Italy. We did not see a single plow, not even a wooden one; the peasants of the Basque country use Copyright l>y Umlcrwc. The ox-carts were curious creations A DAY IN SPAIN 135 instead the laga, or digging fork, an imple- ment shaped like the letter "h." San Sebastian is a clean, fresh-looking city, a place essentially, almost exaggeratedly, Span- ish, with all that gayety and vivid architecture which one naturally expects to see in a place patronized by the royal court. It was hopeless to think of rinding a place for our car in any garage. They were all full. This was the day of the bull fight. From different parts of Spain, as well as from France, motorists had swarmed in to see the matadors show their skill and daring. In Spain the people divert themselves at the bull fight very much as we would go to see a baseball game. We saw motor cars stationed in long files in the streets. Leaving our car to stand in the rear of one of these imposing lines, we strolled down a bright, picturesque street to the Concha. Just as La Grande Plage represents Biarritz, so the Concha represents San Sebastian. "Concha" suggests a bay shaped like a shell. The word exactly describes the beautiful body of water around which the city is built. Through the narrow channel we could see the waves roll in, i 3 6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR contracted at first, then widening as they sweep down the bay to break on the long, curving stretch of yellow sand. From the Concha we could see the white walls of the royal Villa Miramar. The fortress La Mota guarded from its high elevation the narrow entrance to the harbor. We walked along the Paseo de la Concha, in the dense shade of tamarisk trees which nearly encircled the bay. Sitting in chairs under the trees were Spanish girls, their dark eyes glowing through their black lace veils. The scene was full of color, completely Spanish, the green of the tamarisks shining between the golden sands and the white villas which edged the water. We watched the bathers, haughty dons from Madrid and peasants from Aragon, for the moment on a level in the joyous democracy of the surf. After lunching at the Continental Hotel, fronting on the Concha, we turned our steps in the direction of the amphitheater, where the bull fight was to take place. The tickets cost twelve pesetas (about $2.40) apiece. It was not with any anticipation of pleasure that we decided to watch the Spaniards engage in their A DAY IN SPAIN 137 national sport. The bull fight is a combination of a scene from the Chicago stockyards and from an ancient Roman arena. It is a succes- sion of shivers and thrills, from the first blast of the trumpet announcing the entry of the toreadors to the final estocade, when the last bull falls dying upon the bloody sand. Few of the toreadors die a natural death. Connected with the large amphitheater is the operating room, where the wounded fighters can receive prompt treatment. We were told that it is customary for them to receive the sacrament before entering into the arena. Their coolness and dexterity in sidestepping the mad rushes of the bull are wonderful. But the moment comes when the bull is unexpectedly quick, when the foot slips just a little, or when the eye misjudges the precious fraction of an inch which may mean life or death. We noticed at regular intervals, around the arena, wooden barriers, placed just far enough from the main encircling barrier to let the hard-pressed toreador slip in, when there was no time to vault. These exhibitions take place all over Spain, and in San Sebastian at least once a week. i 3 8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR There is keen rivalry between Spanish cities over the skill of their toreadors. Bull fighting is not on the decline. The city of Cordova has just started a school for the training of profes- sional bull fighters. When we arrived the amphitheater was crowded to the highest tier of seats. The vast crowd, impatient, whistled and shouted. At- tendants passed among the spectators, selling Spanish fans painted with bull-fight scenes. The large orchestra was playing. Suddenly, above the music and the noise of the crowds, sounded the piercing blast of a trumpet. The music ceased. The crowd became silent, then cheered and clapped as doors swung open and two horsemen dashed out and made the tour of the arena. They were followed by a procession of toreadors, picadores, and banderilleros, with their attendants. The picadores were armed with long pikes with which to enrage the bull. They were mounted on wretched skeletons of so-called horses, with one eye blindfolded. Six bulls were to battle with their tormentors before finally falling, pierced by the toreador's sword. Three or four horses are usually killed by each A DAY IN SPAIN 139 bull. The banderilleros appear in the second phase of the struggle, after the horses have been killed. They are on foot. Their work is to face the bull, infuriated by the pikes of the picadores, and to plant in his neck several darts, each over two feet long and decorated with ribbons. The toreador comes on the scene the last of all, when the bull, though tired, is still dangerous. It would be a mistake to imagine that the bulls are spiritless, or have been so starved that they are weak, without strength, energy, and courage. These animals that we saw leap into the arena were all specially bred Andalusian bulls, the very picture of strength and wild ferocity. We have no desire to describe in detail the barbarous spectacle which followed. In front of us sat an American couple. It was the lady's first bull fight, and when the moment was crit- ical, the scene a gory confusion of bull, horses, and picadores, she would scream and hide her face behind her fan. In contrast, were the Spanish girls seated around us. Their faces were whitened more by powder than by emo- tion. They would languidly move embroidered i 4 o EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR fans, or wave them with gentle enthusiasm when the banderillero planted a daring dart or the toreador thrust home the death stroke. There was one moment in that exhibition, however, when even their hardened indifference to suffering was touched. One of the bande- rillero s planted his dart in the neck of the bull, but slipped while trying to get away from the enraged beast. There was a cry of horror, a groan of pity from the crowd as the great armed head lifted its victim and hurled him thirty feet through the air. The man struck heavily on the sand, moved a little, and then lay motionless. There was no shouting at that moment. An agony of suspense pervaded the amphitheater. But the bull was given no opportunity to follow up his attack; a toreador waved a red cape before his eyes; another dart was planted in his neck. He turned savagely to face and charge on his new assailants, who nimbly avoided his rush. The wounded man was carried from the arena. The enthusiasm and cheers of the crowd were unbounded when he revived and struggled with the attendants to get back into the arena. A DAY IN SPAIN 141 After all, human nature has changed but little under these southern skies, so that what the plebeian sought in the gladiatorial combats of the amphitheater, the Spaniard or Frenchman of to-day seeks and finds in the bloody scenes of the course de tauraux. We left early to get a start of the rush of motor cars for the French frontier, but others had done the same thing, so that by the time the Spanish authorities had stamped our sortie definitive, we found the international bridge filled with cars, all impatiently waiting to take their turn at the French douane. Then amid a whirl of dust and a blowing of horns, car after car leaped for the homeward flight. Ahead of us and behind us, cars of every make, motor horns of every variety. The dust fog was continuous. Every one seemed racing to get out of it. It was a likely place for an accident. There was the wind-smothered shriek of a horn as a French racer shot by to lead the exciting procession. Farther ahead, the road turned sharply, and we stopped to find thirty or forty cars held up at a railway crossing. One of them was the French racer; officers were i 4 2 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR taking her number. It was growing dark, and we lighted our lamps. Looking back from the summit of a long hill, we could see the lights of other cars swiftly ascending around the curves. The wind was rising. Through the twilight came the dull roaring of heavy surf. A revolv- ing beacon light, appearing and then disappear- ing, announced that we were once more in Biarritz. CHAPTER X BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN /'"VUR three days in Biarritz had grown to ^^^ three short weeks before we were able to break the spell of the alluring Grande Plage and shape our course in a northeasterly direc- tion, along the foothills of the Pyrenees, through the picturesque regions of Perigord and Limousin to Tours and the chateaux country. Bayonne, the fortress city, looked peaceful enough with its tapering cathedral spires rising above the great earthen ramparts, now grassgrown and long disused to war. Not far from Bayonne the road forked; we were in doubt whether to continue straight on or to turn to the left. A group of workingmen near by ceased their toil as we drew near to ask for information. The answer to our question was very different from what we expected. One of them approached the car, brandishing a scythe in a manner more hostile than friendly, and asked if we were Germans. This question con- cerning our nationality came with all the force 10 143 144 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR of a threat. The restless scythe cut a nearer airy swath. He had recognized the German make of our car, and was convinced that we belonged to the hated nation allemande. A German motor car is not the safest kind of an introduction to these French peasants, espe- cially when the vin du pays has circulated freely. If appearances counted for anything, this par- ticular peasant was quite inclined to use his scythe for more warlike purposes than those for which it was originally intended. But his companions, more peaceably disposed, seizing him, drew him back from the car and gave us, although reluctantly, the necessary information. It was not our first experience of this kind. In France there is & strong sentiment against Germany. Our German car was often the target for unfriendly observation. This fierce ill feeling appears to be increasing. Never since the war of 1870 has there been such a period of military activity in the two countries. Germany is raising her army to a total of nearly nine hundred thousand men, at an initial cost of two hundred and fifty million dollars, and a subsequent annual cost of fifty million BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 145 dollars. France has decided to meet these warlike preparations by keeping under the colors for another year the soldiers whose term of service would have expired last fall. This measure adds about two hundred thousand soldiers to the fighting strength of the French army. This increase of armament involves necessarily the admission of the increase of suspicion and antagonism. At such a time of tension and suspense it was for us a rare privilege to motor through the French provinces, to stop in the small towns and villages and to hear from the lips of the people themselves an expression of their attitude toward Germany. Rural France is conservative; opinions and ideas form slowly, yet there can be no doubt but that their views represent the sentiment of the French nation which is so largely agricultural. No feature of our long tour through France was more instructive than this opportunity to study at first hand the influences at work to widen the gulf between the two nations. We conversed with soldiers, officers, peasants in the fields, and casual French acquaintances i 4 6 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR whom we met in the cafes and hotels. Every one admitted the gravity of the situation, and said that nothing short of the actual shadow of German invasion could have induced France to submit to the tremendous sacrifices incident to the large increase of the army. The enthusiasm with which France has consented to the enormous sacrifices entailed by increasing the army on so large a scale shows how widespread is the impression of impending conflict. France realizes that there is only one way to prevent war, and that is to be so strong that Germany will hesitate to take the fatal step. There have been past menaces of invasion, and while it is true that Germany has not made war for over forty years, she has repeatedly threatened it. William I and Moltke wanted to attack France in 1874 and again in 1875, before she had recov- ered from the effects of 1870, to make it impossible for her again to become a power of the first rank. Russia and England sup- ported France; Germany drew back to wait for another chance. Professor Lamprecht, the great German historian, regrets that Germany BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 147 did not hurl her armies against France at that time. In the Delcasse crisis of 1905 France was again threatened. We know now that the Morocco negotiations between France and Germany in 1911 kept Europe on the verge of war for months. This movement toward a more vigorous expression of French national spirit, while gathering strength for the last ten years, actually dates from the sending of the gun- boat Panther to Agadir in 1911. This was the igniting spark. It was in that moment that the French nation found itself. The generation that lived through and followed the disastrous war of 1870 was saddened and subdued. There was little of that spirit of national self-confidence ; politics played a larger role than patriotism. But now a new genera- tion is to the front. Young France is coming into power, and the result is a rebirth of self- confidence and aggressiveness along patriotic lines. It will no longer be possible for Germany to be successful in a policy of intimidation against France, as she was in the Congress of Berlin in 1878. The new France is too I I 148 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR patriotic, too proud, too conscious of her own strength, to concede to any unreasonable demand for economic compensation that Ger- many or Austria might make. If there were no other reason for possibility of war, the internal situation in Germany itself would be enough to place France on her guard. In spite of Germany's industrial prog- ress, the struggle of the masses for bread is nowhere more bitter. The intense competi- tion in the markets of the world, the necessity of paying interest on borrowed capital, the fact of a vast and rapidly increasing population all this spells low wages in a country where taxes are high and where the burdens of arma- ment are fast becoming unbearable. Such conditions make for socialism. Already the socialists form the most powerful party in the Reichstag. The Kaiser wishes peace, but he is, above all, a believer in monarchical insti- tutions. If socialism continues to spread with its present rapidity, no one doubts that he would stake Germany's supremacy in a foreign war in order to unite the nation around him and to divert the people from their struggle BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 149 for a more democratic form of government. A successful war with France would not only mean rich provinces, a big war indemnity, but it would also mean a new prestige for the Hohenzollern government, sufficient to carry it through the socialistic perils of another generation. In view of these facts, it is not surprising that the French nation considers a conflict inevitable, and especially when they see the Kaiser appealing to his already overtaxed and discontented people to make a supreme sacrifice. With Germany the question is one of economic existence. She can feed her population for only a fraction of a year. More and more she finds herself dependent upon rival nations for foodstuffs and raw materials. She has built up great steel and iron industries, but the supply of ore in the province of Silesia will be exhausted, at the present rate of con- sumption, in about twenty-five years. Ger- many will then be totally dependent upon France, Spain, and Sweden for iron ore. But France has an eighty per cent superiority over Spain and Sweden in her supply of this material. ISO EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR Her richest mines are situated in Basse-Lor- raine, hardly more than a cannon shot from the German frontier. By the conquest of a few miles in Lorraine, she would secure enough iron ore to supply her iron and steel industries for centuries. A suggestive commentary upon Germany's aggressive plans may be noted in the German atlas of Steiler. It writes the names of different countries and their cities in the spelling of each country. The French cities and provinces are written in French, with the exception of provinces of Basse- Lorraine, Franche-Comte, and Bourgogne. These are written in German. Another force in Germany making for war is the Pan-German League. This is the war party of the armor-plate factories of the officers of the army and navy, of a large part of the German press, of the Crown Prince, of many who have intimate relations with the Kaiser. The spectacular demonstrations of the Crown Prince in the Reichstag against the too peaceful policy of the Chancellor at the time of the Morocco negotiations, the send- ing of the Panther to Agadir, the enormous BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 151 increase of the army and navy in recent years, the arbitrary suppression of French influence in Alsace-Lorraine, have all been the fruits of its efforts. There can be no question of the tremendous power of this organization which is so close to the heart of the Crown Prince. If the Kaiser should die to-morrow, France might well have reason to distrust the warlike and impulsive young ruler who would ascend the Hohenzollern throne. The Crown Prince has recently written a book called Germany in Arms. Its warlike fervor shows how little he is in sympathy with the emperor's loyalty to peace. What makes the influence of the Crown Prince all the more dangerous is the great discontent to-day in Germany with the government's foreign policy "of spending hundreds of millions upon a fruitless and pacific imperialism." Added to all these influences which are straining the relations between France and Germany, is the question of Alsace-Lorraine, for more than two centuries a French province and ceded to Germany after the Franco- Prussian War as a part of the price of peace. 152 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR It is now a generation and more that Germany has tried to assimilate the province, but with so little success that to-day the people persist more than ever in their sympathy with French culture and their hostility toward Germany. There has been immigration; probably two fifths of the population are Germans, but the two peoples do not mix. The silent struggle between two civilizations goes on. The reason for the failure of German government in Alsace- Lorraine is due to its refusal to recognize this dual civilization. Alsace is largely French in sympathy; but instead of letting the people cling to their local customs, Germany has tried to make them think and speak German, and adopt the German ways. Instead of enjoying an equality with the other states in the regulation of local affairs, the province is treated as a vassal state, the governor being responsible to the Kaiser. Naturally such a system of government means the continual clash of the two nationalities. The teaching of French and French history has been almost suppressed in the schools, and the younger generation compelled to learn German. "But BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 153 they are French at heart, and after leaving school return again to the traditions of their family. After forty years, no music stirs them like the Marseillaise." It is said that the little Alsatian schoolboys, when on a trip to the frontier, decorate their hats and buttonholes with the French colors.' No one can be long in Strassburg without realizing the futility of Ger- many's campaign against French influence. It is true that there is a certain veneer of German civilization; the policemen wear the same uni- form as the Berlin police ; German names appear over the principal shops; but in the stores and cafes one hears the middle-class Alsatians speak- ing French; French clothes, French customs prevail. In a word, the people, without French support, have gradually become more French in feeling and in culture than at the moment of annexation. One effect of this struggle against Germany's brutal and arbitrary policy has been to start a strong undercurrent of sympathy in France. In many of the French towns one sees Alsace postcards in the store windows. The picture on one card was a reproduction of a French painting. A soldier appears on the iS4 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR lookout in a forest. Not far away is a captive bound to a tree. He is watching with expect- ant joy the coming of the soldier. One can easily guess that the captive is Alsace, the soldier, France. We might also speak of the petty annoyances practiced by the German authorities in Alsace upon any one suspected of French sympathy. Sporting clubs have been dissolved. One reads of French sportsmen who have been refused permission to rent "shoot- ings." The most recent measure of oppression gives the governor of the province absolute power to suppress all French newspapers, as well as all societies supposed to favor French culture. This is only a part of the evidence at hand, which gives the impartial observer reason to believe that the friction of nationalities in Alsace is the prelude to the larger and more ter- rible struggle to-day is regarded in France as inevitable. At the School of Political Science in the sorbonne at Paris, where the superiority of German methods used to be accepted with- out question, it is said the professors can now hardly mention them, for fear of hostile demonstrations. BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 155 This question of Franco-German relations has already overshadowed Europe. All attempts to promote a more friendly understanding have been fruitless. Even though the present ten- sion be only temporary, it is very doubtful if there can be any approach to better relations until Germany has solved the question of Alsace- Lorraine, abandoning her policy of rough-shod assimilation, recognizing the existence of a dual civilization, granting autonomy of local affairs, and welcoming the province, on an equal footing with the other German states, to the brother- hood of the empire. With this source of dis- cord removed, Alsace-Lorraine might become a bond instead of a barrier between France and Germany. Such a solution, however remote, would be an important step toward a more auspicious era of friendly feeling, of good faith. Unfortunately, the Kaiser is op- posed to this conciliatory policy. The fact that Alsace-Lorraine belongs to the empire as a whole, and is therefore a bond of unity between the German states, makes him un- willing to disturb the present arrangement and to recognize anything approaching a dual government in Alsace-Lorraine. 156 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR In the light of the above facts, our encounter with the French peasant was of deep signifi- cance. We could see behind it the forces economic, political, and sentimental that are at work to divide France and Germany. Naturally, we were on the lookout for any incident of this kind which would give us a clearer view of the great question which is placing such terrible burdens upon the two countries. We shall not easily forget our experience in one French town. It was Sunday evening, and the street was crowded with peasants and artisans. One of us had stuck in his hat a Swiss feather, such as is commonly worn in the Tyrol of southern Germany. He purchased a French newspaper, and after glancing through it, dropped it in the gutter. This harmless act very nearly involved us in serious trouble. A burly Frenchman, noticing the feather and taking him for a German, resented the appar- ently contemptuous way in which the journal had been thrown in the street. "Vous avez insulte la patrie," he said in a loud voice. Like a flash the rumor spread in the street that three fe, BIARRITZ TO MONT-DE-MARSAN 157 Germans had insulted France, and a threaten- ing crowd surrounded us. A restaurant offering the nearest refuge, we stepped inside to order une demi-tasse and to wait until the excite- ment had subsided. The gar con refused to serve us. Outside, the crowd grew larger. Then a policeman appeared. Upon learning that we were Americans, he quickly appreciated the humor of the situation, and explained the misunderstanding to the crowd pressing around the door. The excitement abated as quickly as it arose, and we were allowed to continue our walk without further interruption. Mont-de-Marsan has little to relieve the monotony of its narrow village life. We bumped over cobbled streets to the Hotel Richelieu, securing pleasant rooms which opened on an attractive little court, enlivened by a murmuring fountain. Dinner was hardly over when the silence of the country began to settle along the deserted streets. Such a soporific environment was sleep-compelling. An alarm clock was not necessary, for at early dawn the street resounded with a medley of noises, the varied repertoire of the barnyard, i 5 8 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR a hundred of them, in fact. Geese, chickens, goats, and sheep were all tuning up for the village fair. It is a mystery how we motored through that maze of poultry and small wooden stands heaped with fruits, poultry, game, even dry goods a kind of open-air department store. The clerks were grizzled peasant women, some of them eating their breakfast of grapes and dry bread, others displaying tempting fruit to entice us into a purchase. CHAPTER XI MONT-DE-MARSAN TO PERIGUEUX 1\ yTOTORING on to St. Justin, we plunged into an immense forest broken only now and then by small clearings and extending for nearly sixty miles to the lumber town of Castel- jaloux. Woodland depths shut out the view. Mile followed mile of dark pines and somber perspective, an endless succession of dim forest glades. The sappers were at their work, peeling the bark from the long trunks and attaching small earthenware cups to catch the resinous gum. The road was so easy and smooth that we did not find it difficult to take notes. From the lumber yards of Casteljaloux was blown the fragrant odor of fresh-sawn pine. Bright sun- shine flooded the wide-open country. The freedom of the fields was around us again. Here and there a maple showed the first gor- geous colors of autumn. In the enjoyment of these peaceful scenes we ran unexpectedly through an encampment of French soldiers. The army was getting ready 11 159 160 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR for the autumn maneuvers. Rifles were stacked, and heavy accouterments deposited on the grass. There were three or four large Paris omnibuses transformed into kitchens, motor-propelled and equal to a speed of twenty miles an hour. Soldiers and officers watched us curiously, almost suspiciously. Our notebooks were hastily put aside. To be detected taking notes from a German motor car in a French encampment might have had unpleasant conse- quences, or at least subjected us to serious inconvenience. One of the officers took our number; another "snapped" us with a camera, but there was no attempt to interfere with our progress. The infantry wore long blue coats and red trousers. One wonders why the French army, otherwise so scientifically equipped, should have such showy uniforms. If France went to war to-morrow, her soldiers would be at a great dis- advantage. These uniforms would be a con- spicuous target at the farthest rifle range. All other modern armies, like those of Germany, England, or Italy, have adopted the "invisible" field dress. But in France the colors have not MONT-DE-MARSAN TO PERIGUEUX 161 changed from the blue and red of Napoleon's soldiers. A few years ago the War Minister Berteaux tried to introduce a uniform of green material. His efforts were without success; the old color tradition was too strong. A French officer commented as follows: "The French army is one of the most routine-bound in Europe. In some things, like flying, we have a lead, because civilians have done all the pre- liminary work, but in purely military matters, like uniforms, officialdom delays reform at every turn. It was not until 1883 that we gave up wearing the gaiters and shoes of Napoleon's time, and took to boots like other armies." Even the officers whom we saw from our motor car were dressed in scarlet and gold, red breeches, and sky-blue tunics with gold braid. A little farther on we passed several motor cars filled with French officers; just behind them came a dozen Berliet trucks of a heavy military type, loaded with meat and ammuni- tion. These are the times of motor war. The automobile has revolutionized the old method of food supply. The long, slow train of trans- port wagons, unwieldy and drawn by horses, 162 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR has been replaced by swift motor trucks. The French army is unsurpassed in mechanical equipment. No effort has been spared to give the army the full benefit of technical and scientific improvements. This year, for the first time, the Paris motor omnibuses are serv- ing as meat-delivery vans. With this innova- tion, the army can have fresh meat every morning, instead of the canned meats of other years. The supply stations can be, in safety, thirty miles from the front, and yet remain in effective communication with the troops. France is in grim earnest. The army is ready and competent. The terrible lessons of the Franco-Prussian war of 1870 have been learned. A French officer with whom we conversed on the subject of the French and German armies, spoke of the superiority of the French artillery over German guns in the recent Balkan war. He said that the French were counting upon their great advantage in this respect to offset the German superiority in numbers. Com- menting on the wish of the Kaiser to visit Paris, he was quite sure that the Kaiser would never repeat the performance of his grandfather, Copyright by I'mlonv..,,,! & T T II