J _".> '-} iTT^--i9 II n-ni-r? FRENCH INNS m >A^ 'tATT ^tm^. Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/amongfrenchinnstOOgibsrich LITTLE PILGRIMAGES AMONG FRENCH INNS Qllir iltttl^ Ptlgnmag^jS S^ttitB A* Among English Inns By Josephine Tozibr $2.00 Susan in Sicily .... By JOSBPHIKK TOZIKR 2.00 Among Bavarian Inns . By Frank Roy Fraprib 2.00 The Italian Lakes By W. D. McCrackam 2.00 The Fair Land Tyrol . By W. D. McCrackan 2.00 Among French Inns By Charles Gibson 2.00 Among Old New England Inns . By Maky Cakolink Crawford 2.00 St. Botolph's Town : An Account of Old Boston in G>lonial Days . * By Mary Caroline Crawford 2.50 The Lands of the Tamed Turk; The Balkan States of To-day . By Blair Jaekel Or. 2.50 Houseboating on a G>lonial Waterway . By Frank and Cortelle Hutchins 2.50 From Cairo to the Cataract . By Blanche M. Carson • 2.50 The Spell of Italy By Caroline Atwatek Mason • 2.50 The Spell of Holland . . By Burton E. Stevenson • 2.50 Abroad with the Fletchers . By Jane Fhlton Sampson 2.00 L. C. PAGE & COMPANY 53 Beacon Street, Boston, Ma<8. «^ r I* M m HI^^'li^flHI If vmm ttlMfl rTn 1 BIB j| h5tel du grand cerf, grand andely {See pa^e igg) ^ $$^$$^$^ ^ ^ LITTLE PILGRIMAGES ^ ^ Mm f rencb Tim$ $ $ THE STORY OF A PILGRIM- ^ ^ $ $ AGE TO CHARACTERISTIC * ^ * SPOTS OF RURAL FRANCE BY ^ ^ Cbarlea (Bibaon ^ $ ^ ILLUSTRATED ^ ^ Xj^X ^ ^ '■ '^^^h-'-'' ^ * $ \.S\' •..•■:'•.;'•■';; A * ^ BOSTON » » » $ » 9 X. C. paoe & Company * ^ * * ♦ » PUBLISHERS ^ ^ ^$^^$$$^ ^ Copyright, igos By L. C. Page & Company (incorporated) All rights reserved Third •liiipf8ssion,'.0ctt)b,et, ?9^7 Fourth Impression/Oc'tober, 191 1 Electrotyped and Printed by THE COLONIAL PRESS C. H. Simonds &= Co., Boston, U.S.A. ACKNOWLEDGMENT My acknowledgments are due to the pro- prietors of the inns, as well as to Mrs. Charles H. Paine, through whose assistance I have been enabled to obtain many of the views from which the illustrations in this volume have been taken. 270624 PREFACE This volume is the outcome of several sum- mers, or portions thereof, that have been spent in picturesque pahs of France. An extended stay has permitted me to examine into some of the history and legends of this delightful country, to obtain some experience of the character of its inns, and to acquire — I trust — something of its atmosphere. A number of notes were taken on the spot, and these have been allowed to mellow in the memory, so that in writing of them there is a touch of reminiscence which may not per- haps be out of place in a volume of this sort. I desire to state that this pilgrimage is Among French Inns, not one made to them exclusively. Advantage has been taken of this fact to deal rather broadly with the places visited in the present narrative. "But is it a narrative?" some one may ask, and perhaps rightly. All it attempts to be is a form of history, purporting to be that of an excursion made by a number of types Preface of character that are frequently to be met with when travelling on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. If any readers of the doings or sayings of the characters in this book should claim a resemblance to them- selves, they are undoubtedly wrong. No such resemblance exists; none could exist; none was ever intended to exist! The char- acters of the story that is woven into the pages of these travels are not individual portraits. They are only attempted repro- ductions of types, at once amusing in real life, and food for contemplation and thought. I would counsel my friends to look for them when they travel in these regions, for they add greatly to the pleasure of the trip. To those who are led to make a pilgrimage Among French Inns, we would say a word or two in regard to the practical side of so poeti- cal a trip. If these inns are, in certain rural districts, more primitive than those of Eng- land, they are never without good cheer in the way of food and drink. The cuisine in France is different altogether from the cui- sine in England — as different as can be. Each has its good points; but in the cuisine of the Frenchman there is a subtle art which nothing can take from him. Preface In the bedrooms, feather beds abound; linen sheets, windows that open sidewise, and let in draughts in cold weather. Go to the inns in summer or spring, rather than in win- ter. The rates are not expensive, and the *' ex- tras " less abundant than in the larger hotels. The early breakfast of coffee and rolls is, let us say, in the neighbourhood of a franc, about twenty cents in American money. The dejeuner, or luncheon, from eleven until one-thirty, table d'hote, is from two to three francs. Dinner is in proportion. For those who do not wish to make an ex- pensive trip, the second class, in travelling, is preferable. Third class, as a rule, is to be avoided in the country districts. To those who are fond of scenery, the railway journeys, especially in Normandy, will be a source of unmitigated pleasure and delight. I have attempted to give a slight idea of this in these pages, with how unworthy a pen I myself am only too well aware. There will be little use in expecting the coachmen of the public carriages to be polite. They rarely if ever are. They bully and cheat the unwary traveller whenever occa- sion crops up. Still, they are so funny; every one is so funny; there is so much real Preface mirth in the study of character alone, that if we take most of the people we meet in a spirit of good humour, we shall find our- selves growing fat from laughter. It is important to treat the French with a great deal of politeness. They are a po- lite race, and deal in a multitude of manners. Receiving these themselves, they look for them in strangers, and are susceptible to kind- ness and good nature. They may be violent, if they are offended ever so little, but are capable of making themselves entertaining and charming. To those who love it, life in France may be a perpetual dream of enchantment. There is a sense of art everywhere, rarely to be met with except in Italy. Every Frenchman is an artist, and every place he enters, he makes his studio. It is surprising to see in the simplest, the most uneducated peasant, a knowledge and a sense of art or historical research, unheard of in our own country, or even in England. In short, France is France. Nobody can properly describe it to you if you have not been there. You must go and see it, and en- joy it for yourself. That you may enjoy it, and that you may patronize the inns, with Preface as pleasant an experience as my own, I sin- cerely trust. And if the descriptions in this humble volume find favour in your eyes, I shall be more than gratified, and feel well repaid for having written it. Should you do this, and become a pilgrim to the rural haunts of France, we may then accompany one another in the appreciation of a common joy. Charles Gibson. 9 Charles Street, Boston, igos- INTRODUCTION As we look upon the map of Normandy, the most northwesterly province of France, we may see that it is divided into five De- partments. Each of these Departments has its own distinctive capital and its characteris- tic life, dividing this beautiful portion of France, as it were, into so many counties, small in area and yet large in the part which they have played in the early history of France, and the influence which they have exerted upon the world at large. To the northeast is the Department of Seine Inferieure, which is perhaps the rich- est, in its wealth of cities and its artistic and historic treasures. In the centre of its north- ern coast is the -town of Dieppe, which was at one time so favourite a watering-place for the French and English, but which is now, like Calais and Boulogne, one of the principal Channel ports. In the extreme southwestern corner of the Department is the city of xiii Introduction Havre, the port of Paris and the most impor- tant town upon the coast. South of Dieppe, and beautifully situated on the banks of the Seine, is the city of Rouen, the capital of Normandy, and in many senses its most im- portant town. South of Seine Inferieure is the Department of Eure, whose capital and principal town is that of Evreux. West of Eure is the De- partment of Calvados, which occupies the northern central portion of Normandy, and whose most important towns are Caen, Bayeux, and Palais^. On its northern coast are also situated the twin towns of Trouville and Deauville, the fashionable rendezvous of Prance during the summer season. Directly south of Calvados is the Depart- ment of Orne, whose capital is Alengon, and which also contains the interesting town of Argentan. This is the most southern part of Normandy, and borders upon Brittany and the Department of La Sarthe, which leads in turn into Touraine, and is the gateway to the centre of Prance. On the west coast of Normandy is the Department of La Manche, which extends over its entire area from north to south; it includes the important seaport town of Cher- Introduction bourg, which is now one of the great trans- atlantic terminals, as well as the cathedral town of St. Lo, and lastly, the little town of Avranches and the town of Coutances. Avranches is built upon the brow of a steep hill, overlooking a wonderful view of the coast of Brittany and the Mont St. Michel. Southeast of Cherbourg, and nearly in the centre of a great square expanse of land, ex- tending in a northwesterly direction into the ocean, is the town of Valognes, and in the southern portion of La Manche is the ancient town of Mortain. Such is the general geographical aspect of this picturesque province of France. Southwest of Normandy lies Brittany, which is as distinctive in its character as the former, and full of interest to the trav- eller. It is bounded by the English Channel on the north, and stretches to the most western point of France. The most westerly town of importance is Brest. The great peninsula formed by this province is like a gigantic finger pointing toward the ocean, and mark- ing it, apart from the rest of France. It is, therefore, geographically unique in this respect. Southeast of Brittany, and toward the Introduction centre of France, we find Touraine, known as the garden of France, and including, like the other provinces, several Departments. To the southeast again we have Provence, reaching from the valley of the Rhone toward North- ern Italy and the Alps. s«l CONTENTS Introduction ..... I. At the Hotel Frascati, Havre II. In Search of an Inn, between Havre and Rouen ...... III. At the Hotel du Grand Cerf, Fecamp IV. Caudebec to Rouen .... V. Rouen . ..... VI. Among the Inns of Brittany VII. At the Hotel du Grand Cerf, Les Andelys VIII. With the Duchess at Trouville IX. In and Out of the Department of Orne X. At the Hotel de Guillaume le Conquerant Dives ...... XI. Among the Inns of Touraine XII. In Old Provence .... XIII. At the Hotel de la Foret, Barbizon Index PAGB xiii ?2 82 117 140 170 194 239 275 3*3 336 371 389 407 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS rAGK HdTEL DU Grand Cerf, Grand Andely {See page IQQ) Frontispiece H6tel Frascati, Havre lo H6tel de Ville, Havre 15 General View of Lillebonne — Remains of Old Roman Theatre, Lillebonne — Modern Cha- teau and Tower of Old Castle, Lillebonne 52 Church of Notre Dame, Lillebonne ... 54 H6tel Blanquet, £tretat 76 The Beach, £tretat 79 H6tel du Grand Cerf, F6camp .... 82 Market- DAY, Fecamp ..;... 98 Hotel de la Marine, Caudebec . . . .118 Market-place, Caudebec 130 Apple -orchard, near Rouen 142 Tour de la Grosse - Horloge, Rouen —The Ca- thedral, Rouen 150 coutances, from the railway . . . . i72 Bay of Mont St. Michel, from Avranches . •174 Hotel Poulard, Mont St. Michel . . .178 Chimneypiece, Hotel du Grand Cerf, Grand Andely 200 Chateau Gaillard 206 Dieppe Cathedral 232 Church of Notre Dame, Trouville . . . 240 A Farm near Trouville 257 H6tel de Ville, Dreux 279 xix List of Illustrations PAGB Chateau de Maintenon 280 Fifteenth Century House, Chartres . . . 291 Statue of William the Conqueror, Falaise . 318 Hostellerie de Guillaume le ConqueranTj Dives 324 General View of Saumur — H6tel Budan, Saumur 340 H6tel de France, Chinon 353 Chateau de Luynes — Old House, Luynes . . 361 Hotel de la Promenade and Tour St. Antoine, LocHES 368 Avignon . 384 H6tel de la Foret, Barbizon .... 390 Among French Innj CHAPTER I AT THE HOTEL FRASCATI, HAVRE It was with but a general idea of France, an idea rendered somewhat misty, we must own, by a night on the English Channel, that we landed one morning at Havre, with the intention of spending a month or two among the picturesque and rural haunts of this favoured country. Our party of three was composed of an Englishman, a Frenchman, and an American, the latter of whom had undertaken the duties of historian to the ex- pedition. The Frenchman had agreed to be the guide, and the Englishman was to content himself with enjoying the scenery, eating the French poulets and salads, which were sure to be served at the country hotels and inns, and, if possible, with getting a little rest and relaxation, after the London season. - .' . • • «> i «^ • ' • , ' ».« 1 \» -J . . " " " . . \^pi(^^g Prench Inns It was the fourteenth of July. And to those who have ever had the misfortune to arrive in France on this day of all others to avoid, perhaps we may not look in vain for sympathy. It is the date of the great ** fete de la Republique Frangaise; ^' and even if one is an enthusiastic republican, the day is at best a trying one on which to move about. It is the corresponding celebration to the Fourth of July in America, with just a touch of the Frenchman's enthusiasm thrown in; and if one chances to be a for- eigner who is in search of peace and quiet, the arrival is something of a shock. That the sailors might enjoy the holiday to its utmost, the boat was docked and the passengers landed at five A. M.^ instead of the scheduled time of seven-thirty. The miser- able travellers, who had just settled them- selves for a short nap, after tossing about on the Channel all night, are bundled out on to an empty quay, bewildered and dazed, and more dead than alive. The lady from Lon- don, who was to have joined her husband there, as she confidently assured us the night before, finds him not, and is left in a tearful condition on the dock, consoling herself with a cup of ** cafe au lait" and a brioche. An 2 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre elderly dowager, who is mercifully travelling with her maid, is so overcome by this unex- pected arrival, that she is seized with an attack of asthma, and her shortness of breath is noticeable for some distance down the quay. At last her maid dives into the depths of a travelling dressing-case, and produces a cigarette, which somewhat relieves the suf- ferer, and her neighbours, from the fear lest she strangle to death. What a change from the arrival in Eng- land! To one unaccustomed to the many charming qualities of the French and their natural mannerisms, the first impression on landing is that of being at the mercy of so many lunatics. Everybody is jumping about, rushing hither and thither, throwing their arms wildly in the air, chattering, quarrel- ling, hurrying, apparently getting nowhere and accomplishing nothing. The neatness, the order, the quiet and reserve, which we left on the other side of the Channel, has entirely disappeared. Here, everything is just the opposite. The buildings are dirty, but pic- turesque. The disorder is complete and apparent. The people are in a frenzy of excitement over nothing and no one, from the moment we first set foot on French soil. Among French Inns And yet it is all fascinating and attractive, full of life and animation, and stirring even the most phlegmatic to a smile, or a frown. The dirt and squalor are picturesque and artistic; the whole scene is changed, in the twinkling of an eye, as we step off the boat. The blue sky and brilliant sunshine, whose cheerfulness is in contrast to the misty atmos- phere of London, refreshes and invigorates, and — in short, it is France. '^ Vous navez rien a declarer, monsieur? '^ exclaims a voice in our ears, and instantly innumerable custom-house officers surround us and tear open our luggage in a ruthless manner. The Englishman's leather boxes, whose neatness would never have been dis- turbed in Britain, are dragged here and there, without any apparent reason, scratched and dirtied, so that even his calm is ruffled and his dignity disturbed. The Frenchman's cases being of light wood, tied up with cords of rope, are cut open somehow or other. On the whole, the American's steamer-trunks fare the best of the three, being designed for heavy travelling, and strongly bound with brass and iron. " Nothing to declare, messieurs? " "Nothing; absolutely nothing." 4. At the Hotel Frascati, Havre But all to no avail. *^ Allans, gargonf ^' And there being no hope of a cab at this hour in the morning, we end by walking to the hotel, preceded by an octogenarian porter rolling our luggage on a truck. " But what hotel shall we go to? " "The Hotel Frascati, of course," says the Frenchman; and though our English com- panion is inclined toward the D'Angleterre, and the American toward the De TEurope, we give way to the superior knowledge of the drum-major of the party, and proceed to the best hotel in Havre. What the Adelphi is to Liverpool, such is Frascati's to Havre, the haven of the transatlantic travellers, the delight of the Americans, and the embodi- ment of all that is comfortable and desirable. " But I thought this excursion was to be spent among French inns," persisted the Englishman, with that dogged love of con- sistency which is so a part of his race. "To be sure," says the Frenchman; "but let us indulge ourselves for this once in the best that the town affords. We shall have plenty of opportunity later to test the hos- pitality of the rural hostelries. Frascati's is one of the features of Havre, and its pro- 5 Among French Inns prietor has at least an innholder's license; so that we may stretch the imagination a little and enjoy the good cooking and comfort of the place for a day or two." In this way the momentous question was settled, and we wandered on through the picturesque streets, enjoying our first morning in Norman surroundings. The porter, in spite of his burden, was soon making himself agreeable, and impart- ing information to the party in general, and the Frenchman in particular. " Oh, yes, this is the ' fete de la Repuh- lique' messieurs. Is this the first time ces messieurs have seen one?" Ces messieurs, at least two of them, cer- tainly never had seen a '' fete de la Repub- lique " before; and for the moment, perhaps, sincerely wished that they might never see one again. But that was purely from motives of personal comfort, and nothing to do with the glory of France and her republican in- stitutions. The porter, however, soon devel- oped into an imperialist, and volunteered some information which made us rather curious as to his early history. " Ah, messieurs," said the old fellow, pausing in the middle of the street and 6 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre pushing his cap over his left eye, " this is not the first Republique that I have seen in France. I saw the Republique of 1848 when it was born — and when it died, too," and he gave a chuckle to himself, as much as to say " and a good thing it was." " I saw the last Empire as well, messieurs, the one that went out like a candle in 1870. Those were great days at the Tuileries and Fon- tainebleau. Oh, those were the days," and again he cocked his cap still further over his left eye. " Many's the time IVe seen the Emperor drive out with the Empress, and she looking as beautiful as a young goddess. Fd touch my hat to them, and they'd bow in return; for they all knew me, as I stood near the palace gates and swept the walk. But they're gone now, and nobody thinks of me. But if they ever came back they'd re- member me, I can tell you," and the old man smiled to himself, as he thought of the brilliant days that were gone. By this time we were well on our way toward the centre of the town, and the long rows of houses and buildings, with their white stones, blackened with age and dirt, and their iron balconies, were following one another in rapid succession; giving way 7 Among French Inns here and there to a public square or a civic building. The numberless cafes, with their awnings, and their rows of chairs and tables on the sidewalks, were just coming to life; for everything is early in France. The patrons of the establishments were bustling about behind their long glass windows, cov- ered with signs of " Byrrh," " Bock," " Res- taurant-Cafe," etc. The streets, paved largely with rough, flat stones, about a foot square, were anything but smooth to travel over. But the general attraction of this strange new life, suddenly appearing out of the summer morning as if by magic, made one forget the practical, and consider the whole more like a scene on the stage than reality. As we proceeded, the porter continued to regale us with stories of King Louis Philippe and Napoleon III., interspersed with remi- niscences of the Empire, which entertained us until we reached the hotel. Trams and rail- way lines frequently crossed our path, and added to the general appearances of business which were ever5rwhere predominant. For Havre is to-day a city of industry and com- merce, and its riches lie in these directions, rather than in historical or architectural monuments. 8 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre The religious sentiment and artistic genius which are to be found at Rouen, are absent here. History and worldly goods have taken the place of art. As the port of Paris and '^ one of the keys of France," Havre is now what Liverpool has been to England, though it has not sprung into this position through a fluctuation of commercial interests, nor through sudden growth. As a port and town its importance has been recognized since the sixteenth century. It has had as patrons such men as Richelieu and Colbert. It has been rescued from the hands of enemies by Catherine de Medicis and her sons Charles IV. and the Due d'Anjou. In its citadel the crafty Mazarin held captive, under the guardianship of the Due d'Harcourt, the three princes, Conde, Conti, and Longueville, during the troubles of La Fronde. It was on this occasion that Conde wrote the following lines to his jailer: ** Cet homme gros et court. Si connu dans I'histoire ; Ce grand Comte d'Harcourt Tout couronne de gloire. Qui secourut Casal et reprit Turin, Est maintenant recors de Jules Mazarin." Among French Inns With the lines still in our ears, we arrived at the door of the Hotel Frascati. Our walk through the town had separated us from our friend the porter, whom we now found await- ing our arrival, with cap in hand and atten- tively waiting for a tip. We presented him with a five-franc piece for his pains and his conversation, which more than delighted him, and he left us with evident regret and a definite intention to celebrate at the nearest cafe. The hotel is situated on the beach, and is really not far from the quay, though our morning constitutional had made us take a longer route through the city. But once ar- rived, we found a courteous manager, and many anxious waiters and house-porters with green felt aprong, ready to do our every bidding for the coins which were already as good as theirs. As the Frenchman soon remarked, " the hand is in the pocket in France from the morning till evening; and it must never be taken out empty." So we were made aware, without the least hesitation; for even a sou is dear to the heart of the Gaul, and he is miserable without some attention, be it great or small, it matters not. There is usually, lO At the Hotel Frascati, Havre however, an accepted tariff for the various degrees of service which one receives, and this we learn in time, though as a rule, only after some rather costly experience. Did ces messieurs wish rooms? Yes, ces messieurs wished rooms facing the sea, and rest and dejeuner, as soon as possible. All these desires were gratified in due sea- son. The rooms were large and comfortable, and the view from the windows agreeable, overlooking the promenade and the beach, and everything as pleasant as could be desired. The heavily curtained beds, the linen sheets, icy in winter but grateful in the heat of sum- mer, the immense feather mattresses, the little stands with white marble tops, and the inevitable glass tray, with bottles for rum and water and sugar before retiring, were typical of France. On returning to the hotel office later in the morning, refreshed and ready for amuse- ment, we were more than surprised at read- ing among the list of guests the following names : Mr. and Mrs. James Blodget Wilton. Miss Gladys Wilton. Valet and maid, all from New York. II Among French Inns His Excellency, Count Romeo di Pomponi, Rome. It would appear by the date of the register, that they had all arrived, by the steamer of the Transatlantic Company, from America, the day before. This was indeed a discovery, and one which gave our party no little to talk about during our second inspection of the city of Havre; for we had determined to see what we could, in spite of the crowds and the holiday. The arrival of la famille Wilton, accompanied by the ardent Count Romeo, was sure to lead to a series of entertainments and excursions which we had scarcely expected to indulge in at Havre. But since the fates had decreed that the beginning of our pil- grimage should be neither simple nor rural, neither entered into with sackcloth and ashes, nor attended by the more bucolic duties, we settled ourselves down to the altered conditions of the present, and pro- ceeded to investigate the city itself. " The foundation of Havre was not far from being prosaic," said the Frenchman, by way of historical introduction to our personally conducted tour. " In fact, it owes its existence to the poor fishermen of the fifteenth century, who, beaten by the stormy 12 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre winds of the Channel, sought refuge in this harbour at the mouth of the Seine. The few huts which they erected along the shore, and a small chapel dedicated to Notre Dame, constituted the entire town, which, as a mat- ter of course, was called Havre, the French for harbour. Under Louis XII. some wooden constructions were built to shelter the town from the sea, and for a time the chapel of Notre Dame de Grace gave to Havre the name of Havre de Grace. The place, how- ever, did not assume any importance until the time of Frangois I. This famous mon- arch ^ adopted the new-born town,' and with his characteristic energy and taste for build- ing, he soon made many important addi- tions." " Go on," said the Englishman. " Why do you stop when we are just beginning to be interested? I see nothing worth looking at as yet, so we may as well listen to you." '^ Thank you," said the Frenchman, " I will proceed. *^ The history of Havre is remarkable for three things: the number of sieges which it has sustained, the royal visits with which it has been honoured, and the numerous plans for enlargement, of which it has been the 13 Among French Inns object In 1562 it was delivered over to the Protestants; but these were soon expelled by the Earl of Warwick, who entered the town with the English troops. " Catherine de Medicis, however, recog- nized the importance of holding such a place, besieged the town with her two sons, and at last obtained possession of it. Under Henry IV. the governorship of Havre was in the hands of the Due de Villars, and at his death it passed into those of his brother. But in spite of the persistent attacks of the English, assaulted as it were both by the storms of the sea and the passions of men, the town seems to have grown and flourished in its commercial wealth and mercantile im- portance. The very storms to which it owed its existence were the means of saving it from its enemies at a later period of its history. For when the Due de Choiseul was in com- mand of the military forces of Havre, the English fleet, which was about to make an attack, was forced to desist by the fierce gale which raged beyond the harbour. Picture a scene more typical of the history of this maritime city! The fleet ready to attack and sack it; the ships' decks cleared for action; and the elements apprehending the battle 14 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre and defending that which they had been the means of creating. But another scene of man and nature struggling with one another for the mastery; and man the loser." The Frenchman ended his address, as he passed through the crowds of merrymakers in the Place de I'Hotel de Ville. The build- ing which gives the square its name is a con- siderable structure. But to-day the town has little to offer to the eye. An endless ex- panse of docks and shipping is the almost unbroken sight which greets the visitor. The only monuments of interest are the Churches of Notre Dame and St. Frangois, the Tower of Frangois I., and the Musee-Bib- liotheque. The Church of Notre Dame is built on the site of the ancient chapel, and is an im- posing monument of the sixteenth century. It is in the style of the Renaissance, although the tall windows, and the small chapels of the apsis, are in the Gothic period of archi- tecture. The Church of St. Frangois, dedi- cated to St. Frangois de Paule, dates back to a few years before the present structure of Notre Dame, and is little more than a cold, rather classic exterior, of slight interest or beauty. 15 Amo7ig French Inns The Tower of Francois I., placed at the end of one of the ]etees as a defence to the entrance of the port, is interesting in many ways. Built at the beginning of the sixteenth century, it was honoured by the presence of the so-called founder of the city, who re- ceived, at the expense of the town, a magnifi- cent banquet, the memory of which has long remained in the annals of its people. Fran- cois I., ever the patron of building and architecture, seldom took even a passing interest in a place without leaving behind him some memorial in stone; ^rom which posterity has reared to him an imperishable name. For at times it would seem that only words and stones endure to record the deeds of history. In spite of the lack of monumental or his- toric beauty at Havre, the mind is ever in- clined to turn toward the past. For it is interesting to review the many royal visits of which this place has been the recipient. In 1603 the first monarch of whom we have a record came in state to view the place and give to it his patronage and interest. It was Henry IV. of France. Later, Louis XV., the most fastidious of monarchs, honoured the city with his pres- 16 At the Hotel Frascatiy Havre ence. We are told that he was not favour- ably impressed, and was in truth immensely bored with his visit, finding the city too commercial for his tastes and temperament. Louis XVI., during his reign, came likewise to Havre. His visit was of more lasting benefit, for he took so great an interest in the city that he set on foot many plans for its improvement, as well as that of its vicinity. The next ruler to visit Havre was Napo- leon I., who came in 1802, when all w^as brilliancy and success. His second visit, in 1 8 10, was already clouded by the shadows of foreboding evil, and he failed to leave tlie vital stamp of his individuality behind him. Strange, that so great a monarch, filled with the desire to tear down and create anew^ should not have been impressed by the latent possibilities here; the key to the Seine, as well as the beacon of the Channel. Lastly, in 183 1, came Louis Philippe, surrounded by the good-will of his subjects and the power of the new monarchy. True to the traditions of his predecessors, he made his pilgrimage to the now important city, and received the homage of its citizens. We fear that we may have allowed our thoughts to linger too long among the relics 17 Among French Inns of a place which has more to do with the business of to-day than with the memorials of past centuries. If so, the motley crowd about us would bring them back again, in spite of our inclination to waft the fancy toward something other than the present moment. The immense proportion of strangers and foreigners who are continually coming or going, make the floating popula- tion cosmopolitan to a degree. The streets are filled with people of many nationalities. Italians, Spaniards, English, and Americans, Swedes, Russians, Austrians, all elbow one another in the crowd, speaking many lan- guages and eying one another with friendly or suspicious curiosity. For it is the ''fete de la Repuhlique y' and every one is out for a good time and a holiday. The cafes are teeming with life. The men, in loose, blue blouses and trousers, and many in wooden sabots, are laughing, quar- relling, and drinking intermittently. Peasant women, with round white caps and generous figures, are talking in the quaint Norman dialect, dragging their progeny behind them, and sitting at tables with their husbands and families. " Tient gargons! Another glass of cider, i8 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre and two of red wine! Awh, bawhl Gesi la fete. Que voulez-vouz? " And so it goes. As we pass, a good woman nudges her friend with her elbow and points us out. To them we are always '' les Anglais/' impossible for them to understand, but bringing money into pockets in summer, and welcome enough as such. A little urchin shouts after us: "Oh yeas! Fm English!" And we all laugh, it is so irresistibly funny. Every one is drinking to '' la France *' or "" la Russie/' and having a beautiful time. What would you? C'est la fete de la Repub- lique! " Let us eat, drink, and be merry," is the order of the day. On the way back to the hotel, pushing our way good-humou redly through these chil- dren of sunny France, we encountered no less a person than Mr. Blodget Wilton himself, surrounded by an immense crowd and having a quarrel with his cocker. To any one who has had dealings with the French coachman, surmounting his miserable excuse for a vic- toria, and beating his still more miserable drudge of a horse, — lame, tired, and unfed, — this scene would scarcely be a surprise. The crowd was laughing and jeering. The cocker, with red face and distorted eyes, 19 Among French Inns was gesticulating wildly, swearing fearful oaths and pushing his glazed top hat far back on his head. A gendarme was vainly trying to pacify every one and succeeding with no one; for nobody really knew what they were quarrelling about except Mr. Wilton, and he, poor man, could not explain, having no command of the French language, and being outnumbered and outvoiced by the multitude. **V along, scelerai!'^ finally shouted the Englishman to the cocher, having got into the centre of the throng without meaning to. " Oh yeas! I'm English," came back from the depths of the* crowd, and even Mr. B. Wilton was forced to smile and forget his anger for the moment. " Well, well, where did you all drop from?" said he, delighted to see some fa- miliar faces. " I never can make these idiots understand," he added. " Here, give this money to the policeman, and tell him to settle with this lunatic, and let's walk home to the hotel together. Where are you staying? At Frascati's? That's queer. We're all there, too. Just arrived yesterday — brought the dago along with us. He would come, though I hate to have him hang around 20 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre Gladys. Well, well, the ladies will be delighted to find you are here, in this God- forsaken hole. I never can get on in these foreign languages." By this time the cocher was already on his way to the cafe opposite with his friend the policeman; and the crowd was left (dis- cussing the size of Mr. Wilton's watch-chain and the value of the pearl in his scarf- pin). " It was gold," said one. " Did you see it? It was as large as a halter." " Nonsense," replied another, " it was only gilded." " Awh — Fm not so sure of that," drawled a third. "These English are so rich; they say they eat gold over there." And he pointed a bony finger in the direction of the sea. "And the pin! Did you see that?" broke in another. " It was like the brooch of my wife's grandmother, that was made from a shell found on the beach. It came to us in my wife's contract when we were married. I always thought it would sell well, if pigs went a-begging and the hens stopped laying eggs at the farm. Oh, ces Anglais! But one never knows. Give me Normandy, though, 21 Among French Inns and a good Norman cow, for my taste." And off they all went, gossiping, down the street. On arriving at the hotel we found Count Romeo in a great state of excitement at find- ing we were in the neighbourhood. He had scarcely recovered from the agonies of the sea-voyage from America, but was all smiles and affability and full of a wonderful flow of language, half-Italian, half-French, and a good deal of so-called English. "Most extraorginary chance! Oh, what chance, indeed! You here, my good friends. And the England? How did you leave it? And the London? How was she? Pleasant, ah, yes, pleasant — America? Oh, I was al- ways in movement over there, and so fat; always so fat on that side of the water. But here I am thin, oh, so thin! On the ship I threw everything out; and the stomach has completely receded. Now he can walk in comfort, without protruding. But it was a terrible experience!" And the poor count looked volumes as he described it. Mr. Wilton gave a contemptuous glance at his Excellency, and walked off, muttering under his breath, "That fool of a dago!" The gallant count, however, was soon forget- 22 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre ting his troubles over a glass of absinthe on the terrace, and waxed positively eloquent over his experiences in America. " Never reposing themselves, the Ameri- cans, oh, never. Always in movement, always busy. And the money, too, — always mov- ing, — never in the same place for five minutes. I thought I had the fortune in the hand: but fute! Off it went. And the high buildings. Oh, la, la! what dizziness! They makey me altogether upside down. And then the ascenders. Up at the top, and then down to the bottom, with the breakfast all in the throat." The poor count! He was neither a good traveller, nor a man of business; but always a fund of amusement and good nature, ex- cept when overheated or seriously offended, when he was at times almost terrible to be- hold, his fierce mustachios bristling with indignation, his hair en brosse, his fat form distended to twice its natural size. Such was his Excellency in righteous anger. It was in comparing the charms of the representatives of the fair sex, in France and America, that he was perhaps at his best. Then all the fire and ardour of his Southern nature found freedom in utterance. Then 23 Among French Inns would his eyes soften with the love-beams of Italy, and his hands, ordinarily fat and list- less, wave in graceful circles through the air. But we shall have opportunity, later, to hear some of his discourses, and at present, '" dejeuner is served," and every one is ready for an omelet and a ragout of chicken. " Oh, count," said the decided voice of Mrs. Wilton in our ears, as we turned to enter the dining-room of the hotel. "Oh, count! And oh, — why, — oh!" and then followed a series of further exclama- tions, unintelligible to the male ear, as a lady caught sight of three old friends. " Well, dear me, this is sudden ; and so unexpected. But let us go in to dejeuner, and hear where you came from later." Mrs. Blodget Wilton was a brilliant ex- ample of the most determined and persever- ing class of American motherhood. Early in life she had been tied by the circumstances of fate. Later, as her only child reached, or rather approached, the marriageable age, she became the conscious possessor of sudden fortune. With capability as her forte, and within her that power which had hitherto been dormant, To strive, to conquer, and achieve, 24 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre her migration from the west of America to the very heart of New York, and later to Europe for an occasional visit, had been definite and complete. The hitherto un- known Wiltons of Wisconsin became the spectacular Blodget Wiltons of Fifth Avenue. A name was established, a family founded upon gold dug from American soil and created by the energy of a virile Western civilization. Such were the annals of the Blodget Wiltons. How the wife and mother had longed to hyphenate that name, as some had done be- fore her! How she had planned and lain awake nights and argued. But Mr. Wil- ton, though small in stature and inferior in physical size to the ample proportions of his spouse, was a successful and decided little man in some things, and the name had re- mained in its original state. Still there was much for her to do in life. Having fed her way into the greater portion of the fashion- able world of America, her adventurous spirit sought new fields to conquer, new channels to success; and France had been the object-point. In these days, when the power of gold holds mankind in its complete embrace, to entertain sufficiently, and with 25 Among French Inns discrimination, is to create at once a place for oneself in the worlds of Europe and America. The quick and active mind of Mrs. Blod- get Wilton had realized this great fact in the social sphere, and her capable nature had been incessantly directed toward this end. " We must feed the world, and make our friends enjoy themselves,'^ she had said, first to herself, and later, with emphasis, to her husband. " Do whatever you want, only don't bother me," had said Mr. Wilton. " You can feed the Salvation Army if you like, and I'll pay the bills up to two hundred thousand a year, but no more." So the campaign began; and with her skilful engineering, and the natural, good- natured hospitality of her soul, Mrs. Blodget Wilton proceeded to feed her way into the sacred heart of society. Now she could get up a dinner of twenty at a moment's notice, and even ask the guests over the telephone. There was a time, however, when it was whispered about that she could not get up a dinner at all, and that nobody knew her; at least, no one who amounted to anything. But that was all past and gone ; and now only a few " old cats " dared to raise their voices in criticism. 26 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre (And that was really because they were not invited themselves.) Thus the Blodget Wiltons sailed forth on the social current of this world, and with them their daughter Gladys, who was really a pretty and attractive young girl, unspoiled by the rather frivolous glitter of her sur- roundings and the exploitation of her mother, who was in turn both sensible and foolish. " We must make an excursion to fitretat, if the weather is fine to-morrow, in an auto- mobile," said Mrs. Wilton at luncheon. " Oh, that would be exquisite," sighed the count, all smiles at the idea. " And the bathing and the monde! That will be a change from this dull old Havre." Mr. Wilton, however, balked at the idea of an excursion in an automobile. He was not of the turn of mind that took joy in vio- lent passages through the air, covered with clouds of dust, and half-choked with flying insects in summer-time. He had no liking for goggles, and cared not to array himself in fantastic garb of the India rubber type, to protect himself from the ravages of nature. " None of your wild-goose chases for me, Mrs. W.," said he, between a glass of red wine and a mouthful of Camembert cheese. 27 Among French Inns " None of that landing in some outlandish place, off in the country, with a broken tire, or a gear that won't work, for me! I'm too wise a bird for any more of that kind of sport, this year. You can go without me." The truth was, Mr. Blodget Wilton much preferred to go down to the Bourse and com- pare the prices of stocks, send cablegrams to Wall Street, or receive wireless messages from the incoming steamers, to all the ex- cursions in the world. He had not com- pletely gotten over the " corner in pork," which he had made in Chicago a few years previously, and was really never happy unless he was in touch with the market, or compar- ing the rise and fall in food-stuffs, that could control the output of the entire universe; for Mr. Blodget Wilton was a man of large conceptions, though he was a good six inches shorter than the average height of mankind. The rest of the party took kindly to the idea of an excursion to fitretat in auto- mobiles, and the afternoon was spent in look- ing them up, and in ascending the heights on which Ingouville and Graville are situated. These two adjoining towns were made a part of Havre in 1856. We took tea at a pretty 28 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre restaurant overlooking the lower part of the city and the harbour. The ladies took tea and the gentlemen various forms of French beverages. Here it was less crowded than in the town itself; and the view and colour- ing at sunset were most effective, and repaid them for the climb. The poor count, who had walked up part of the way for exercise, arrived puffing and wheezing like a grampus, and fatter than ever. Indeed, it seemed that his experience on the ocean had done him little or no good, and that there was every reason to expect he would soon be as fat as he had been in America. "Oh, my dear count," said the French- man, who showed decided signs of jealousy toward his Italian rival, " Oh, my dear count, you must be more careful, lest you have an attack some day, and Italy lose one of her most distinguished sons. You must be more careful. You are all warm. You alarm me. Order some chartreuse; it is good for the eruption. Mon oncle Hippo- lite, who died during the last Revolution, used always to say it was an excellent pre- ventive for apoplexy." Of course, no one for a moment believed 29 ^mong French Inns that the Frenchman's uncle Hippolite had ever recommended chartreuse for apoplexy, but everybody urged the poor count to take some, just to see what effect it would have upon him. And he did; and liking it so much, and finding it so good, took two or three glasses more of the sweet intoxicant, and, oh, horrors, became only warmer and fatter than before. The Frenchman was in triumph at the success of this contemptible trick, and the rest of the party made merry at their expense. It was amusing to observe Mrs. Wilton's complete possession of the restaurant while we were there, and to see her order about the manager, the waiters, and the musicians, until they, too, were impressed with her wealth and her commanding presence. Miss Gladys was all smiles and pleasantry during the afternoon, and definitely inclined to en- courage the advances of all the gentlemen of the party, to flirt with each one of them, and throw them all over at a moment's notice if any one else came along. Such was the de- lightful temperament of this young lady that she made everybody like her, without apparently caring anything for anybody. Still, nobody could resist the smile and the 30 At the Hotel Frascati, Havre droop of her eyelid, and it was enough to feel that she even condescended to flirt; in itself an inexpressible pleasure to her admirers. " Oh, mademoiselle, do not these lights in the distance incite the feeling of loave?" sighed the count, as they drove back to Havre, through a v^inding road lined with villas and garden walls. But Miss Wilton only laughed and said in reply: ^' Oh, Count di Pomponi, you are an amusing man." The scene by moonlight, half-hidden by the gardens and villas, was worthy oi some stage setting: a city lying at one's feet, the great jetties with their tangle of shipping, just discernible in the soft beams, a faint sug- gestion of the merrymakers below coming to us as we wound our way downward. Here, then, was the port of Normandy and Paris, stretched before us like some half- distinct object-lesson of the maritime develop- ment of France, like a wonderful myriad- jewelled carpet laid beneath us, and we hovering above it. For in the almost fairy- like atmosphere of this country nothing seems entirely real to American eyes. In another hour our first day at Havre was over. 31 CHAPTER II IN SEARCH OF AN INN Between Havre and Rouen " I'm tired of Havre, and as we feel rested, I think we had better join your party and hunt up some attractive old inn, where we can stay for a little, and make trips through this part of Normandy," said Mrs. Blodget Wilton, as we met early the next morning after our cafe au lait. " I should like nothing better," said Mr. Wilton, " only you can do the automobiling, and I will go on comfortably to fitretat with the baggage. I'm getting too old to go jolting round the country in those infernal machines." So we all started off, leaving Mr. Wilton to meet us wherever we might turn up, at Etretat, or some other more rural spot in the surrounding country. We were distributed in two automobiles, hired for several days, or longer. Mr. Wil- ton had promptly made a business arrange- o- In Search of an Inn ment, in writing, to cover the whole party, which was the only interest he seemed to take in the whole affair. As it was neces- sary to separate the count and the French- man, for diplomatic reasons, the former was invited to escort Mrs. Blodget Wilton. She liked him better than her daughter did, and could talk freely about the royal families of Europe, and glean from him many interest- ing facts, which she stored up in her brain; and then he amused her, and that in itself was an advantage. The aristocracy of Europe was her joy, and titles had always been an intoxicant which she was unable to resist. Kings were her greatest happiness. With queens she had as yet but slight acquaintance. As we dashed down the Boulevard Fran- cois I., she poured out her heart to the count. " You see, I really feel perfectly familiar with kings; riding on bicycles, short skirts, and all that sort of thing. I never have any trouble in writing notes to them. But em- perors are different; there is so much red tape; I never know how to address them. It really is very difficult." With the august surroundings of the greater sovereigns of Europe Mrs. Blodget Wilton was as yet unable to cope; for while 33 Among French Inns they were inclined to be polite to Americans of large fortune and a certain savoir vivre, the conventionalities of the great powers were rather a drawback to the more easy and familiar ways of a democratic personage like our good-natured companion. The count breathed soft words of flattery and encourage- ment into her ears, though he was half- choked with the dust, — for there were no watering-carts of the American type on the boulevard, — and he diverted her mind with an anecdote of the French Bonapartists at the tine of the Second Empire. We were to take a preliminary run to the seaside suburbs of St. Adresse and La Heve. A tramway leads from the Cour de la Re- publique to St. Adresse, if one desires to go that way; or it is an agreeable walk of about four kilometres, little more than two and a half miles, along the cliff. The road is a pleasant one, and the sun, dancing on the waters of the Channel, with the blue sky above, made the trip there a charming one. On arriving, we all paid a franc and entered the Casino, which is always a necessary part of a French watering-place, and after ex- hausting the pleasures of this establishment, took a look at the bathers on the plage. 34 In Search of an Inn This is much frequented by both ladies and gentlemen of various degrees. The charge is fifty centimes, and seventy-five centimes with costume. The costume is a distinctive element of the French bathing establishment, and well worth studying — at a discreet dis- tance. The bathing-houses are on wheels, and neatly painted, with pointed roofs, and are nicely fitted up inside. They are usually drawn up or down the broad, sandy beach, to suit the tide; and the bathers step in and out without having to walk to the water. Stout ladies, thin gentlemen, young women, youths, and children, jump and gambol about in the surf, bounced up and down, or rolled over by what is known in French as *' le jeu des vagues/' Sailors protect the in- cautious bather from danger by patrolling the deeper water in a rowboat. After his bath the patron of the bath-house is reminded of the necessary tip by the good Norman woman or the good Norman man who has charge of his particular bath-house, usually a picturesque creature with bare legs and in native costume. The party made a short visit to the prettily situated little chapel of Notre Dame des Flots, which is the religious haven of the 35 Among French Inns relatives and friends of sailors and fisher- men of the place. There they pray for those who brave the dangers of the Channel, and burn candles to the favourite saint; the simple Norman faith, half-mixed with superstition, guiding their thoughts to the belief that the Holy Virgin watches over their welfare, if thus invoked. There is something natural and human in the part which the Church plays in their lives, and in the power which the priest exerts over their thoughts and acts. "Must we mount again the hill?" sighed the poor count, as we started off for the Phares de la Heve. " Then you do not like the mounting? " queried the Frenchman, with perfect naivete. " The mounting is good for the health, mon cher. Is it possible that you do not mount the mountains in Italy?" " Oh, of course, I do my possible," replied the gallant Pomponi ; " but then, when one is so fat and the sun all in the head. Ah! the day is hot. La, la, la, la!" And it was not long before the stout count had ceased to walk. The charms of St. Adresse have been ex- tolled by Alphonse Karr, and he surely had 36 In Search of an Inn some reason to do so. But the view from the heights of La Heve is far beyond that below. It did not take us long to reach the top in the automobiles. But we paused, half-way up, to observe a monument to the French admiral Lefevre-Desnouettes, who died in 1824. " I don't think it is interesting at all," said Mrs. Wilton. " We have much better monu- ments in Central Park in New York! Go on, chauffeur. But the view certainly is lovely, even here. What a pity it is that James can't bear an automobile. But he does hate goggles so. He says they tickle the eyelashes. And I don't know that I blame him." ^' Oh, mamma, do ask Count di Pomponi to come to our automobile," called out Miss Wilton from behind. ^' Monsieur de B is getting so cross we can't do anything with him back here." The ardent Romeo was more than desirous, and the change was ac- cordingly made. The truth was that the Frenchman was showing signs of being decidedly irritable, — " a very irritatable man," as the count ex- pressed it, — and the fair Miss Gladys was tired of trying to keep the peace. He was inclined to manage every one, and to attempt, n Among French Inns when once on French soil, even to twist the British Lion's tail. The Englishman, being very calm and impassive, was impervious to the pin-pricks with which the French so fre- quently enliven their conversation. But at times even he would show inclinations to object, inclinations which it was impossible to disregard; hence the change of passengers in the different automobiles. From the Phares de la Heve we again looked down upon a beautiful view of the town and the brilliant waters of the English Channel, dotted with steamers and sails, and sparkling with the rays of the sun, reflecting always the glorious, indescribable, almost mystical atmosphere of France. The " patron " of the hotel was a funny old Norman, shrewd, suspicious, and disinclined to believe any one to be either a friend or an honest person. We queried him in regard to the inns of the neighbouring country, but got little satisfaction from his cautious answers. " What are the best inns near here? " asked Mrs. Wilton, in her direct, commanding fashion. The old Norman eyed her with sage dis- approval, and finally answered: 38 In Search of an Inn " Awh — Us sont point bon, madame — point bon/^ " I didn't ask you whether they were good or not," said Mrs. Wilton, " I simply in- quired what the best ones were. Don't you know? You're in the hotel business; you ought to." " Awh — ma foi, je n^en sais rien, madame; they may be good ; they may be bad." "Oh, what an aggravating man!" ex- claimed our hostess, exasperated with him. " Do see if you can get something out of him, Monsieur de B . I never can get along with these country hotel-keepers. They are perfectly impossible. Come, count, let us have another look at the view before we start. And, oh, Gladys, do pin up your back hair! It's all loose behind." So saying, Mrs. Wilton vanished, and we were left to decide whether or not to go back to Harfleur, a picturesque place, by way of Graville, and then take a circuitous route to fitretat. As this would give us a chance to visit Monti- vilHers, Lillebonne, Beuzeville, and Fecamp on the coast, we settled upon this itinerary, and were soon on the way back to Graville. " It is rather flat and uninteresting near the coast, is it not? " said the Englishman to 39 Among French Inns Miss Wilton, as they sped along the smooth road. '' Yes," said she, ^' but it is very pretty, I think. The red-tiled roofs of the cottages, with their white walls, and the quaint farms and village churches, are so different from England or America, that they are always new, and I find something very fascinating about them. France is to me a sort of dream- land, never quite real, and full of fanciful people and things. I love it, and especially the rural places that we visit sometimes, when mamma is tired of entertaining in Paris." Miss Wilton's face was really beautiful while she was speaking, and it was impossible for the Englishman not to be aware of it. Her deep violet eyes, shaded by long lashes, her fresh colouring, enhanced by the morn- ing air, her hair of a light sunny brown, half- curling, — the whole effect was a picture of the finest type of what America can produce in feminine beauty. No wonder the men were inclined to admire, and the adorers of the Latin nations to flatter and desire her hand. The Englishman, however, seemed strangely indifferent to all such things. The Briton, as a rule, is, to be sure, more self-con- 40 In Search of an Inn tained, more phlegmatic than his American cousin. The Latin is, of course, not to be compared, being always at fever-heat and unable to contain himself in any wise, when- ever aroused to the least sense of feeling. The Englishman is by nature inclined to receive impressions and retain them. When feeling the most he frequently displays the least to those about him. But he feels more deeply, more simply, and in a more lasting way, as a rule. Though frequently credited with a purely practical character, the English are in reality a romantic race. Their sentiments are born of a mental attitude that is free and un- affected by anything complex or contrary in its action. With the Frenchman, a thou- sand furies possess him; a hundred thoughts fly through his brain. He lives through a multitude of impressions and passions, and forgets them all, while the Englishman re- ceives a single, simple thought which he retains in perfect truth, and sometimes acts upon through life. The Frenchman fills the air with sighs, expressions, words, in wild effusion. The Englishman never utters a word which does not convey some real or permanent meaning, to himself at least, if to 41 Among French Inns no one else. The Frenchman, unrestrained, moves through heaven to hell in the twink- ling of an eye. The Englishman remains upon the earth until he dies. Our particular Englishman was one of this type, and while he seemed to like Miss Gladys Wilton, he was the least moved toward her of any of the party. Indeed, she appeared to mean nothing to him what- ever. The Wiltons, in fact, made only a dim impression upon his mind. They were rich Americans. In a London season one met many rich Americans. The American mil- lionaire formed part of the season's incidents, like the Derby, the Trooping of the Colours, or the opera. They came and went, and one thought no more about them — and here they were again, after a year or so. It was all part of the kaleidoscope which made up his life, and to which he was more or less indif- ferent. His experience of either French or American ways was limited. He simply did not take them in. Being calm, and ready to be pleased, he found Miss Wilton a pretty girl, in whose society he was willing to be thrown, and was rather entertained than otherwise by her mother's evident adoration for his position 4.2 In Search of an Inn in life. For he was no less a person than the son of an English marquis, and as such was a distinct unit in Mrs. Blodget Wilton's social horizon. England was to her a yet unconquered field, and such units were, there- fore, not to be lightly passed over. " Your life must be delightful in England,'* said she, as they paused at a little hamlet to inquire the way. " Everything is so care- fully thought out. Every one seems to be ticketed, just like some kind of a cloak in a coat-room, and to be set out in regular order. What a pity it is we don't have a court in America. Of course we should all be dukes if we did." As nobody undertook to deny this statement, it was allowed to remain un- challenged. The road was becoming more wooded and picturesque, and as we reached the little town of Graville, near Havre, the effect was attractive in the extreme. Situated on high ground to the left, was an interesting Norman church of the eleventh century, which we paused to visit. This church, which is called the Abbey of Graville, is interesting chiefly as being one of the oldest in this region. Its earliest portions date from the last half of the eleventh century, and its later portions 43 Among French Inns from the thirteenth. It is reached by steep steps of a mediaeval character, and on the left of the entrance is a picturesque and partly ruined tower, which for many years has been crowned by a covering of green, wild com- panions to its age, those shrouds with which nature drapes the stones that have been raised by man. A great cross rises in front of it, which we were told was the original of the one used in the opera of " Robert le Diable," at its first representations in France. The gravestones remaining in the churchyard about it speak in silent eloquence of the place — a worthy inspiration for some un- written elegy. A terrace on the right of the church commands a fine view of the country. For a moment the shadow of the Roman tower, the story of the cross, and the view from the stone terrace, wafted the imagination back to the simplicity of early mediaeval France when the Norman conquered races and gave the Conqueror to England. Mrs. Blodget Wilton, however, lost no time in bringing us back to the present. " Come, the chauffeur says we shall never reach Etretat at this rate; we must start at once. Moreover, Fm sure we never shall find an inn unless we go right through the 44 In Search of an Inn country and hunt one up for ourselves. These people here wouldn't give us the least idea if we questioned them till doomsday. I have been talking with an old woman while you have been poking around that musty old church. She doesn't seem to know anything; at least, she won't tell me if she does, so it all amounts to the same thing." " Oh, the mediaeval France, it is nothing compared to Italy," sighed the count, as he was bundled into his automobile and squeezed down beside Mrs. Wilton. *' Allans, chauffeur!" and off we go again in a cloud of dust. It is about four kilometres to Harfleur, and we were soon there. The town is charm- ingly picturesque in many ways, and well situated upon the Seine. Its former com- mercial glory has long since been absorbed by the proximity of Havre, and its harbour has been filled up with the mud, sand, and stones washed into it by the Lezard, a tribu- tary at this point. A beautiful tower, be- longing to the Gothic church, supposed to have been founded by Henry V. of England, rises from among a quaint tangle of houses. Their uneven roofs, covered with deep red tiles, follow one another in delightful irregu- ' 45 Among French Inns larity. A flight of steps leads down into the tributary stream, with a ^high stone bridge beyond. The scene might well be that of some stage setting, drawn by an artisfs hand. Harfleur was at one time a place of great importance, owing to its position near the mouth of the Seine, and was, in fact, the chief port of Normandy. In the part which it played in the ancient wars of France, this place was a worthy companion to Rouen itself. The names of many historical per- sonages are connected with it, for it was the centre of commerce, the theatre of early struggles, and the point from which many important expeditions to foreign countries departed. During the Hundred Years' War Har- fleur was besieged, taken, and retaken many times. In 141 5 it was attacked by Henry V., and with only a small garrison under the Sire d'Estouteville held out for forty days. Visions of the warlike spirit of mediaeval France arise to the mind as we tread these narrow, picturesque streets, with overhanging gables made of beams and plaster, blackened with the age of centuries. Edward the Con- fessor, Marguerite d'Anjou, Henry II., and fileanore de Guyenne have passed through 46 In Search of an Inn Harfleur on their way to England; and others hardly less famous have arrived, tossed by the angry waves of the Channel. What a change from the France of those days is the quiet life of Harfleur to-day! It is little more than a picturesque remem- brance of the past, a shadow of its former greatness. And yet it possesses for the visitor a rare charm and an enduring quality which cling to those who make it a place of pil- grimage to-day, in the sunny quietness of a July morning. " Now don't let's trouble to visit the church this time," said Mrs. Wilton, who was still in a hurry to proceed. " By example! " exclaimed the Frenchman in horror. For him the first duty was to visit the church at every stopping-place, examine everything, and usually offer up prayers for our safe deliverance from the dangers of the automobile. "Well, you may go if you like," replied Mrs. Wilton, in despair, " but the count and I shall remain where we are, in our places, and talk to these children. Perhaps they may know more than their parents, who cer- tainly are very peculiar with strangers. I never saw anything like these peasants. 47 ' Among French Inns They seem to think we are going to murder them all, or blow the towns up with dyna- mite. We certainly look harmless; don't you think so, count? " And Mrs. Wilton settled herself down in her seat like a huge hen going to roost, all surrounded with feathers and flufif, making a picture which, if not entirely rural, was at least worthy of study and contemplation. The count was wiping the dust from his face, and endeavouring to extract fragments of rock or gravel which had embedded them- selves in the deep mysteries of his eyelids, and was too busy to answer. The rest of the party explored the church, and found it a charming example of early si:?^teenth-century architecture. The tower is now the chief glory of Harfleur. The fagade is profusely sculptured, the carving being freely inter- spersed with quaint figures of animals, whose smooth outlines the artists of that period de- lighted to represent in stone. Lizards, squirrels, rats even, appear between the branches of vines or thistles according to the fancy of the sculptor. The interior contains one or two interesting memorials richly carved in Gothic detail, and one especially. 48 In Search of an Inn of a woman dressed in the costume worn at the time of the Valois. Every one was loath to leave the church and its beautiful Gothic tower, and return to the automobiles, which were waiting outside the best cafe of the place. " Fm glad to see you have not been too long this time," said Mrs. Wilton, with a sigh of relief as the party reappeared. " Count di Pomponi has had another glass of absinthe, and I think he really needs the motion of the automobile to clear his brain. And then if we are ever to find an inn, we may as well begin, for I can't see a sign of one here." " Oh, madame, the thought of the tavern makes me feel so rural. Ah, but the inns of Italy! You must come and see them one day. Ah, la belle Italie! " And the count's rhap- sody was lost in the buzzing of the machine as it darted off on the road to Lillebonne. The Frenchman was sure there was an inn at Lillebonne, and at all events there were two old chateaux in the neighbourhood ; so to Lillebonne we accordingly went, with the most immoderate and uncomfortable haste. As we rounded a curve in the road, with a high wall on the right, the chauffeur gave 49 Among French Inns a violent turn to his wheel and came to a standstill, wiping the cold beads of perspira- tion from his brow. The count was thrown violently against Mrs. Blodget Wilton, who screamed and pushed him from her. In the midst of the confusion and babel of fright- ened voices, a pony-cart, containing a jovial- looking cure and two comfortable-looking Frenchmen, passed serenely by, as if nothing were out of the way and they were not on the wrong side of the road. Not in the least realizing that they had just escaped being killed, they smiled politely, raised their hats, and trotted of]f in perfect serenity. The canton of Montivilliers, in which Harfleur is situated, was soon left behind, and we entered that of Lillebonne. The scenery became more rural and picturesque at every kilometre. The small, rolling hills, covered with green grass, and orchards of tiny apple- trees; the farms dotted in among them; the hedges and neatly trimmed roadsides; all bespoke the characteristic country of Nor- mandy. Ideas of cheese and cider filled the brain of the Frenchman, for he was eternally referring to them and telling us how good these indigenous products of the country were, and insisting upon our trying them. 50 In Search of an Inn Nothing would induce Mrs. Wilton, how- ever, to think of indulging in either cheese or cider. She could enjoy only the richest of French dishes, and anything simple was to her abhorrent, to be avoided if possible. Still, the rest of 'the party were willing to lend themselves to the Frenchman's enthu- siasm, and to look forward to these pleasures at Lillebonne. We drew up, on our arrival, at the Hotel de France, which is a good, clean, and rea- sonable little hostelry, and the only one worthy of the name in the place. The patron eyed us with interest, and ushered us into a neat dining-room, where we took dejeuner. Of course it included cheese and cider, much to the delight of the Frenchman and the disgust of Mrs. Wilton, who would not touch either. ^^ But the cider is the wine of the country," said he in argument. " Drink, count; it will do you good after the ride." We found it, however, rather hard, and on the whole not so good as the sparkling cider, almost like champagne, that is sold in Amer- ica. The madame of the establishment made herself very attentive to our wants, and served a delicious little Norman breakfast, 51 Among French Inns with all the delicacies of the season. How good everything tasted after our ride in the fresh country air, the soft scent of summer everywhere, the gentle greens of the foliage, the brilliant sunshine; everything contrib- uting to the joy of living! Lillebonne is one of the most ancient towns of Normandy, and is charmingly situated among thickly wooded hills, cut by a verdant valley and babbling stream winding through its half-hidden mysteries. An iron railing opposite the Place de THotel de Ville screens the remains of an old Roman theatre and baths, now dressed with the green canopy of nature. Above these ruins, and in the gar- den of a modern chateau, are the half-ruined remains of an older castle built by William the Conqueror. They include a tower of the thirteenth century and some picturesque walls. Long before the Roman invasion, Lille- bonne, under the name of Calet, or Caletum, was the capital of the Caletes, In fact, it was one of the cities of Gaul, until destroyed by Julius Caesar. In the time of Augustus it was named Juliobona, after his daughter Julia, and to him was due its reconstruction. In the eleventh century, the feudal castle 52 »».»<> GENERAL VIEW OF LILLEBONNE ■■-^mim ^^^ .jM ' : ^,_ _. L--j^^^'"^.v-.^,,, 1 '-^^M^^2^^S%i*?'*^rSi^9GpF?^ ;^^^..«--> REMAINS OF OLD ROMAN THEATRE, LILLEBONNE MODERN CHATEAU AND TOWER OF OLD CASTLE, LILLEBONNE J« « «-J Jt^^%. - In Search of an Inn was the scene of many a court held by the Duchy of Normandy, and it was here that plans for the conquest of England were dis- cussed and formulated. The significance of the history which clings to these ancient remains of Norman greatness, these places which are to-day in- significant in themselves, is indeed great, and it is interesting to observe them in travelling through this country. The world at large would hardly realize their existence, were not an occasional pilgrimage made to these shrines of ancient power, in the spirit of research and antiquarian pursuit. Lille- bonne is one of the most interesting, in point of age, and well repays a visit. The ages have left each some remem- brance of their time, some gift to this haunt of ancient days. The Roman civilization gave a theatre; the middle ages, a fortress; the Renaissance, its church; and the more recent period, industrial establishments. These, in their various functions, combine to give it a curious interest, half-picturesque, half-practical, and nature has done the rest, and contributed the magic touch which — "... gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name.** 53 Among French Inns The Church of Notre Dame, which is of the sixteenth century, deserves a passing word of praise. Its spire is richly carved in Gothic details, and rises gracefully to the left of the picture formed by the Place de I'Hotel de Ville, as we stand upon the ruins of the Roman theatre. Its portal is worthy of mention, and its interior contains some inter- esting stalls which were originally built for the Abbey of Valasse. We left the Hotel de France with some regret and attended by all the members of the establishment, the patron, the madame, — always, or nearly always, the ruling spirit of the hotel or cafe in France, — and the various other functionaries of the place, in- cluding a cat and a dog. We departed, leaving madame counting the money, and the patron taking a glass of cider, — character- istic occupations throughout Normandy. Indeed, it is strange in France how the spirit of thrift and finance will predominate in the female sex, especially in the lower classes. In the hotel it is the madame who keeps a sharp lookout on the books and storeroom. In the restaurant the madame is always be- hind the desk counting the money and the cheques, at the end of the day's business. On 54 .» > > > CHURCH OF NOTRE DAME, LILLEBONNE In Search of an Inn the farm she is in the field, and is, ten to one, the financial head of the family. She is here, there, and everywhere, has a finger in every pie and a word in every transaction, from the moment the marriage contract is signed, which ties her to her spouse for better or for worse. The character of the Norman is an inter- esting one to study. He is shrewd, suspicious, and cautious. He is the Yankee of France. He never commits himself if he can possibly avoid it, and never tells anything if he can keep it a secret. He is keen, retentive, and a good business man. In a word, he is in character what his country is in geographical position, — the link between France and England, the stepping-stone from the Latin to the Anglo-Saxon; and as such he is extremely interesting to study. " How much would you take for that cow?" said the Frenchman, as he stopped in the road near an old peasant who was slowly prodding his animal with a conscious sense of ownership. " How much would I take for that cow? " repeated the old fellow, looking volumes of suspicion and wisdom, and putting his head 55 Among French Inns on one side as if the fate of a nation de- pended upon his answer. " Awh, well — ces messieurs are Anglais? *' And then there was evidently a complete change in his ideas, and he shut up like a snail or a hedgehog, and would not commit himself to anything. " Well, I could not say," he finally an- swered. " It would depend on what the messieurs were willing to pay for it. But that would depend; if the messieurs were English, or if the messieurs were French. And it would depend on the time of year and how many cows were in the market." The old peasant looked so wise that it seemed as if his quaint form could hardly contain all the wisdom there was locked up in him. So we left him still wondering if we had found out anything from him which could interfere with the sale of his cow. " You see the character," said the French- man, in triumph, always desirous of demon- strating the characteristics of the Norman people. " You see the suspicion. He would not have given me a figure on that cow if I had talked all the afternoon, without making him an offer first." " I am not so sure of the man. He makey 56 In Search of an Inn the price to suit the people when the time come," said Pomponi, with a sudden at- tempt at argument. " I buy the cow in Italy the same way; I makey the price, and he makey the yes or no. And there!" The Frenchman could only exclaim " By example!" with an expression of perfect disbelief on his face and his eyes flashing catlike shafts through the air. It was felt advisable to drop the subject of the cow, and the conversation was steered upon some different topic. We crossed some green meadows and passed high steeps of chalk, and soon covered the eleven kilometres which was the distance to the village (little more than a hamlet) of Tancarville. It lies in a hollow between two hills, or rocks, rising directly above the Seine. On one of these the towers and walls of the Chateau de Tan- carville itself arise against tall trees, and stand in majestic ruggedness above the quiet waters of the river. The picture is one of sudden charm and contrast to the wooded depths below. The foundations, ancient fortifications, formed of half-ruined buttresses and arches against the stone, lift it still higher in the 57 Among French Inns air and lend imagination to its effect. They are in strange contrast to the more modern chateau above them, and show at once the work of different centuries in creating what is left to-day. The castle dates back as early as the twelfth century, though it is chiefly of the thirteenth. Some authorities ascribe its birth to the tirrie of Henry I., the last of the sons of William the Conqueror; and indeed the feudal character of the ancient fortress would incline us to believe this to be so. It has had a considerable history, the orig- inal feudal stronghold having been the almost inaccessible abode of the famous family of the Tancarvilles. Up to 1320 it remained in their possession, and was the theatre of many mediaeval events, situated as it was on the borders of the river and commanding so advantageous a position. In later years it was owned by the houses of Harcourt and Longueville, as well as the De la Tour d^Au- vergnes and the De Montmorencies. The tower at the southern angle of the chateau is the most ancient portion of this interesting ruin, and was originally orna- mented with the armorial bearings of the Tancarvilles. These have long since been •58 In Search of an Inn effaced by time, and the hand of man, ever eager to destroy that which his predecessor has created. The newer chateau, which rises above the mediaeval fortifications, is to-day also crumbling into ruin and decay. We were all naturally interested in this picturesque pile, as it was the first Norman chateau, with any pretension of being some- thing more than ruins, that we had seen, and we stopped at the Hotel du Havre, in the hamlet, only long enough to brush the dust — or part of it — from our shoulders before we investigated it in detail. '^ We seem to be working backward," said the Englishman, as he assisted the count and Mrs. Wilton to mount the steep incline. " Rather hard to find anything that is not a ruin, this morning, isn't it? " " Perhaps if we look long enough we shall find a real live chateau, all full of people and kept as it should be," replied Miss Wilton, with a charming smile, which sent shivers of delight and rhapsody down the fat back of Pomponi, and left apparently no impression upon the impregnable Briton. "He is like the Rock of Gibraltar," whis- pered Mrs. Wilton, as we pushed her up the hill. 59 Among French Inns " They are all like Gibraltars, detached from the mainland and completely sur- rounded by water." " It seems they have a wonderful charac- ter, the English," whispered back the count in French, " only so difficult to understand ; always silent, always composed. The fire is always within, never without. One never knows what they feel." "That is like the Norman," said the Frenchman. > Some of us had our doubts, and these brought us to the court of the chateau and the thoughts of its beauty. There is nothing to cause one to remember the present at Tancarville; there is everything to recall the past. Pictures of the days of chivalry arise to the mind on viewing this historic debris of other centuries. Visions of Raoul, son of Gerald, and grand chamberlain to William the Conqueror, who was the founder of the house of Tancarville, pass before the eye. It was here that William de Tancarville, the last of his race, died in the early part of the fourteenth century; and here, likewise, passed the heroine of the Fronde. We might linger too long were we to write the history of this place in its entirety. But 60 In Search of an Inn we are here only for a passing glance into the past. The view of the Seine, its blue waters dotted with yellow shallows of sand, the sail of a passing boat, the life of the hamlet below, all distract the eye and the imagination, and we must away. "Is it not lovely?" said Miss Wilton, softly. " I hate to leave it, and yet I suppose we must." "I am afraid so," said the Englishman; and they followed the others back to the inn. " But it really isn't an inn," said Mrs. Wilton, in despair. " And what is more, they tell me it is not always open. My opinion is, that they only take people when they feel like it at these places in Normandy. What do you think, count? " The count did not think. He was too hot and out of breath to do anything but call for a glass of white wine. ^^ G^est le cidre, que son Excellence devrait buaire/' said mine host in his funny accent. " Oh, the cider, it is too hard for the head," replied his Excellency; " I must have some- thing that is light and quenches the thirst." And so the thirst was quenched, and he was again packed into his tonneau with his 6i Among French Inns indulgent hostess, and off we all went toward the Chateau d'Etelan, not very far away. A little distance from Tancarville is the steamboat landing of Quilleboeuf, where the steamers stop on their way from Havre to Rouen. " We might take one and go on to Rouen, and telegraph Blodget to meet us there with the trunks," suggested Mrs. Wilton; but the count was not anxious to try the river, and we proceeded on our way. There is a certain difficulty in any form of very rapid locomotion over the roads of Normandy, and that is the succession of short, steep hills that are to be encountered wherever one goes.* The country being al- ways hilly, these will be found a continual objection to the tourist who is fond of speed- ing. However, if not so inclined, the pleas- ure of passing through the country, to any one who is fond of picturesque and rural scenery, is, and always must be, great. The small hills succeed one another in a series of undulations; to use the words of Anacreon, like ^' rolling persuasion," ever enticing the eye to look beyond. In spring the innumerable apple-orchards make the w^hole province a continuous bouquet of 62 In Search of an Inn blossoms, varying from deep pink to white, and interspersed with green. In its natural characteristics Normandy suggests the county of Kent in England, only here the orchards take the place of the hop-vines that are every- where to be seen on the other side of the Channel. The journey from Havre to Rouen by rail is a delightful series of views, at any time between the months of March and November. The quaint villages, the green hillsides clothed with verdure, the moss-like ravines, the streams and murmuring brooks, the plas- ter-covered walls crowned with green or flowers, the spires of the churches — all con- tribute in effect to delight the senses with their charm and rural simplicity. For every- thing is domestic rather than grandiose, picturesque rather than imaginative, quaint rather than attired in glory. It is utterly different from Touraine or Brittany, and pos- sesses a character and fascination entirely its own. To those who seek a restful moment or a picture to delight the soul, no better place can draw the weary worker than this lovely country. No haunts of man can have a sound more glad than Nature's call to Normandy. 63 Among French Inns Normandy! What a wealth of significance the word possesses, and yet how genial is the sound! It has been sung of in the ages. It has produced its heroes and its kings, and has shared in the councils of the nation of which it forms so notable a part. Let all the world make holiday with thee. And hie, in summer's smiles, to Normandy ! And yet it is surprising how few the tour- ists that disturb our path, and how little the inns and hotels are crowded by the throngs that flock to Switzerland or else- where in the warmer months. Perhaps it is one of the greatest advantages in travelling through this part of France. There is no place where the herd of sightseers tramples upon one's sensibilities, or disturbs the even tenor of one's temper. The visitor is free to roam at will and find the joy of living and of keeping holiday in peace. As we speed onward, our thoughts recur involuntarily to the winding road that leads from the hamlet to the Chateau of Tancar- ville, to the three towers named, respectively, Carree, Coquesart, and L'Aigle, to its white walls (defying our knowledge of its age) in such striking contrast to the green about it. 64 In Search of an Inn We see again in the mind's eye the newer chateau built by Louis de la Tour d'Au- vergne, Comte d'Evreux, and the forms of Jean d'Orleans, son of the Due de Longue- ville, and his wife, Louise de Bourbon-Sois- sons, seeking solitude in its hidden depths. There are, however, other places to inter- est us, and one of these is now at hand. It is the Chateau d'Etelan, also on the borders of the Seine and near Norville. It is situated at a point where the river makes its last turn, before widening to meet the Channel. It is a veritable gem of the Renaissance, and well merits a visit. "Oh, how charming!" exclaimed Miss Wilton as it came into view. " How I should like to live there!" " Yes, my dear," said her more practical mother, " but you would find it fearfully cold in winter, without any furnace or mod- ern conveniences. Think of it, my dear Gladys; why, you would die of rheumatism and tonsilitis. You know how delicate your throat is." " Of course there is no chance of my do- ing so, mamma," said her daughter; "so there is little need to worry." " In the winter you will be roasting to 65 Among French Inns death in the American house," exclaimed Count Romeo in deep concern. He had been brought up in the cold palaces of Italy, and being stout, had been unable to receive any real comfort from the extreme warmth of the American houses and buildings. Steam- heat was to him a source of unutterable dis- comfort, and the very mention of a furnace set him thinking of past sufferings. "Oh, the heat! it gives the apoplexy to the head, and the heart, he jumps and beats in the side like a polichinelle. I can do, in the hot room," meaning thereby, that he was more at his ease with the temperature be- tween forty and fifty degrees. " You see, count, young blood is warm," said the Englishman. " We like cold rooms in England, also. So much more healthy, you know. I always take a cold tub, with the window wide open, winter or summer." " Ah, you are the wisdom," shouted Pom- poni, in ecstasy at the thought; for the mid- day sun was very warm, and he longed for a white cotton parasol lined with green, lest the rays should cause him to regret his ride. " Come, now. Count di Pomponi," said Mrs. Wilton, persuasively, " you know you like to be warm in winter, and not frozen 66 In Search of an Inn to death in a room like an ice-box; don't you?" By this time we were in front of the cha- teau, and the conversation turned toward this charming and picturesque monument of the Renaissance, dressed in Gothic details. The square tower of the building has some orna- mented buttresses and other carving to enrich it, while the two windows of the roof on the left are beautiful examples of sculpture. On the end of the building is the chapel, form- ing part of the main construction, with long Gothic windows to denote its presence. It is, on the whole, a pleasing exterior, and one bearing a certain element of the picturesque with it, the mixture of Gothic and Renais- sance detail, especially in the ornamentation of the roof, making an agreeable combina- tion. The party was not allowed to remain too long in contemplation of the picturesque and rural surroundings of the Chateau d'Etelan. Time was an object, and Mrs. Blodget Wil- ton was not a woman to ignore time, even when immersed in the pleasures of such places as this. As she had assumed complete control of the movements of the company, and relegated the Frenchman to a subservient 67 Among French Inns position, the wheels of the automobiles were soon in motion, and the trees and grass went flying past the bewildered eyes of the poor count in a manner that fairly terrified that eminently comfortable personage. " Santo Domingo! What a wizz — " And in another instant his Excellency's best white sombrero was wafted from his head over the summer zephyrs and deposited, many rods behind, in a muddy stream beside the road. As the chauffeur was unable to leave the machine, the gallant Count Romeo was obliged to waddle back to it and dig it out with some difficulty, aided by the efforts of two children who had run from a cottage near by. " Oi, oi, oi, oil" shouted the gallant Romeo. " Tiens! It is the hat of Pomponi," cried the Frenchman, in delight at the discomfort of his Excellency. '' That is what he re- ceives for wearing a sombrero in the auto- mobile. Mon oncle Hippolite always — " " Oh, never mind about your uncle Hip- polite," interrupted the commanding voice of Mrs. Wilton. " Get out at once and go to Count di Pomponi's assistance. He needs you. I know he will fall into that water in 68 In Search of an Inn another minute; and then we shall have an awful time getting him dry," and she be- gan to laugh at the idea. The Frenchman darted to the side of Pom- poni, and seizing him by the arm, endeav- oured to extricate him from his perilous posi- tion on the edge of the water. For a moment the two showed evident signs of falling in together; but fate intervened to prevent so great a tragedy, and the two were at last on the road again, with the hat on the head of the count. " Oi, oi, oil The water drips in the back and tickles me under the collar," he moaned piteously, endeavouring to stop the tiny waterfalls with a flowered handkerchief of lavender hue. " I do not see that we can do anything about it," said Mrs. Wilton, still laughing. " You might take it off and tie my lace veil over your head, if that would do any good." " Oh, madame, you are too simpatica/* sighed his bedraggled Excellency; "and the new sombrero, too, it was — So then," and he took it off, and was soon tied up in the brown veil, which covered him completely. The next stopping-place was the little town of Bolbec, situated some distance to the 69 Among French Inns northwest of Norville. It is now chiefly an industrial centre, with Lillebonne as an off- shoot to its manufacturing establishments, although it dates back as far as the tenth century. The present town was built up by the Protestants after 1765, and has been, since then, a great centre of Protestantism in Normandy. The ancient family of the seigniors of Bolbec was the parent of the great houses of Longueville and Buckingham, but the his- tory of the town itself has little or nothing of a feudal character to interest or attract the student. The place was entirely des- troyed by fire in the years of 1676 and 1696, and it is to the large number of Prot- estant families who settled there after the Edict of Nantes, and gave themselves up to industrial pursuits, that it owes its present position. In these hands rest its present and its future, though the following lines of a poet have been quoted by a writer of the fourteenth century in this connection: " Non, I'avenir n'est a personne, Sire, I'avenir est a Dieu ! " Its future, however, would seem to promise more than its past has produced. Its only 70 In Search of an Inn artistic possessions of interest are two foun- tains which originally ornamented the gar- dens of Marly. One represents a figure of Time supporting the Arts, the other a figure of Diana. They are beautiful examples and worth observing. Mrs. Blodget Wilton wished she could buy them and carry them back to America, and at the moment longed for her better half to enter into negotiations with the authorities, with a view to making a bargain. The Frenchman was highly amused at the idea, and was led into giving the party a delightful description of Marly itself and its original glories. The ladies were fascinated by it, and delighted with the intelligent and witty conversation of their pseudo-guide, for he possessed that quality of quick-wittedness which is a part of his race and which is always acceptable to ladies. There was no question about it, the French- man could make himself a charming and agreeable companion when he wished to, and could leave the more amiable but less subtle Pomponi almost in the shade, for the time being. A few kilometres northwest of Bolbec, and midway between it and Etretat, is the small town of Goderville, which owes its name 71 Among French Inns to the ancient and illustrious family of Godard. The Godards had their origin during the Gaulic-Roman epoch, and became extinct sometime during the fourteenth cen- tury. They were at one time, according to certain authorities, allied to the ancient Kings of Yvetot, and were one of the most obscure and interesting of the historic Nor- man houses. The original manoir of the Barons of Goderville is still in existence to-day. It is a heavy construction in brick and stone, surrounded by moats, and is used as a departmental barrack. Close to Goderville is the village and church of Breaute, whose chief interest lies in the associations attached to the celebrated Sires de Breaute, who were connected by marriage with the most historic and impor- tant families of Normandy. These included such names as Crequi, Bethencourt, Breze, Aumont, and Estouteville, and the seigniories of Neville, — by an alliance with Agnes de Neville in 1282, — names less familiar to the world to-day than to the student of genealogy, but pregnant with significance in their rela- tion to the history of Normandy. As in its relation to the world at large the most important event in the history of this 72 In Search of an Inn famous province may be said to be the Conquest of England, so we find in study- ing the names of those who have contributed more largely to its glory the origin of the greatest names of England itself. From Normandy they have sprung, transplanted by William the Conqueror to the opposite shores of the Channel, and there producing the natural fruits of their greatness and their blood. The chief representatives of Eng- land's glorious past find, in the decayed or dying remains of these Norman strongholds, their birthplace and their beginning. A pilgrimage to their shrine repays the pil- grim who bears a spark of ancestral or his- toric worship — noble in itself as in its influence upon the minds of men — and brings to light a world of hidden memories and names. Here he may pause and sing: Awake again, thou spark of magic fire, That causes man his fellows to inspire ! Oh, tear these mists that blind his sightless eyes, And raise once more his efforts to the skies ! Here let us linger with the crowned gods ; To join the humble pilgrim, as he plods The steep and thorny path that leads to fame, And know at last the glory of a name. 73 Among French Inns Each portion of France seems to possess its special figures of history belonging to different periods, and peculiarly associated with the distinct epochs which they have represented. In Touraine everything breathes the air and atmosphere of the Renaissance. Frangois I., Catherine de Medicis, Henry III., and the Louis', are everywhere por- trayed and brought before the visitor. In Normandy it is the Conquest, with the great epic figure of the Conqueror predomi- nant, like some majestic deity hovering over the later history of the duchy, and with the illustrious line of his predecessors as a back- ground. Around this foundation are grouped those other personages who have so vitally associated their names with such historic events as Hastings, Courtray, Harfleur, Mon- thery, and a host of others. The luxurious Renaissance gives way to the stern yet chival- rous character of the feudal period. And its contemplation, like the influence of the Puritans in later centuries, gives to the heart a feeling of virile strength and manhood, which, if less easy in its touch, is yet filled with force, and potent in the significance of its results. Such, to the Anglo-Saxon, is perhaps the 74 In Search of an Inn chief comparative interest in the study of these rural haunts of Normandy, now the smiling and simple exponents of a past as great as any corner of the world may boast. To the thoughtful, it acts as an allegory upon the characters of men, teaching a silent yet eloquent lesson to the observer of its past and present life. The very domesticity of its appearance to-day adds to the feeling which it inspires in the breast, and causes its signifi- cance to sink yet deeper in the mind: France of yesterday the creator of the Anglo-Saxon races of to-day. With these thoughts we approach the heights which bring us once more to the bare and bolder spaces of the coast, and yonder find the little seaside resort of fitretat, toward which we have been directing our energies. In a moment the scene shifts into modern life, and the mood, perforce, has changed with its approach. The automobiles drew up before the door of the Hotel Blan- quet, and the whole party alighted to investi- gate the town and the beach. fitretat is a quaint little fishing village, situated in a valley between the high hills and cliffs that border upon the sea. It has become known through the writings of 75 Among French Inns Alphonse Karr, who has done much to inter- est visitors in these seaside places near Havre. They possess a charm which well merits his praise, and have become a curious mixture of the simple life of the humblest of fisher- men with the riches and fashion that are drawn to them in summer-time. It being the season, the host of the Hotel Blanquet made the party welcome, and the count was soon enjoying a refreshing draught, and the other members of the excursion their several favourite ingredients. Our host was ready to point out the interesting features of fitretat, which lie more in its natural advan- tages than in historical monuments or events. " What a quaint little place it is, and how pretty the village is, nestling into this valley between the hills," said Miss Wilton. " But, my dear, I do not think it would be nearly as gay as Trouville," remarked her mother, who was taking in the practical possibilities of the place at a glance. She had already made up her mind that it would never do as a place of continued residence. Her nature sought more advanced and sophisticated pleasures than the life of this peaceful resort. " When we arrive at Trouville I will ask 76 < H (X] H »W W & O* « u H