... There are some fine places in the neighborhood. We went to-day to Chiffevast, a large chateau which had belonged to the Darus, but has been bought recently by a rich couple, Valognes people, who have made a large fortune in cheese and b.u.t.ter. It seems their great market is London.

They send over quant.i.ties via Cherbourg, which is only twenty minutes off by rail. It is a splendid place--with a fine approach by a great avenue with beautiful old trees. The chateau is a large, square house--looks imposing as one drives up. We didn't see the master of the house--he was away--but madame received us in all her best clothes. She was much better dressed than we were, evidently by one of the good Paris houses. Countess Florian had written to ask if we might come, so she was under arms. She was a little nervous at first, talked a great deal, very fast, but when she got accustomed to us it went more easily, and she showed us the house with much pride. There was some good furniture and one beautiful coverlet of old lace and embroidery, which she had found somewhere upstairs in an old chest of drawers. They have no children--such a pity, as they are improving and beautifying the place all the time. The drive home was delightful, facing the sunset. I was amused with the Florians' old coachman. He is a curiosity--knows everybody in the country. He was much interested in our visit and asked if we had seen "la patronne"--said he knew her well, had often seen her on a market day at Valognes, sitting in her little cart in the midst of her cheeses and b.u.t.ter; said she was a brave femme. How strange it must seem to people like that, just out of their hard-working peasant life--and it _is_ hard work in France--to find themselves owners of a splendid chateau and estate, receiving the great people of the country.

I dare say in ten or twelve years they will be like any one else, and if there were sons or daughters the young men would get into parliament or the diplomatic career, the daughters would marry some impoverished scion of a n.o.ble family, and cheeses and b.u.t.ter would be forgotten.

We had one delightful day at Cherbourg. The Prefet Maritime invited us to breakfast with him at his hotel. We went by rail to Cherbourg, about half an hour, and found the admiral's carriage waiting for us. The prefecture is a nice, old-fashioned house, in the centre of the town, with a big garden. We took off our coats in a large, handsome room upstairs. The walls were covered with red damask and there were pictures of Queen Victoria and Louis Napoleon. It seems the Queen slept in that room one night when she came over to France to make her visit to Louis Philippe at the Chateau d'Eu. We found quite a party a.s.sembled--all the men in uniform and the women generally in white. We breakfasted in a large dining-room with gla.s.s doors opening into the garden, which was charming, a blaze of bright summer flowers. We adjourned there for coffee after breakfast. The trees were big, made a good shade, and the little groups, seated about in the various bosquets, looked pretty and gay. When coffee and liqueurs were finished we drove down to the quay, where the admiral's launch was waiting, and had a delightful afternoon steaming about the harbour. It is enormous, long jetties and breakwaters stretching far out, almost closing it in. There was every description of craft--big Atlantic liners, yachts, fishing boats, ironclads, torpedoes, and once we very nearly ran over a curious dark object floating on the surface of the water, which they told us was a submarine. It did not look comfortable as a means of transportation, but the young officers told us it was delightful.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Market women. Valognes.]

We got back to Valognes to a late dinner, having invited a large party to come over for tennis and dinner the next day. The Florians are a G.o.dsend to Cherbourg. They are most hospitable, and with automobiles the distance is nothing, and one is quite independent of trains. Yesterday four of our party went off to Cherbourg to make a cruise in a torpedo-boat. The ladies were warned that they must put on clothes which would not mind sea-water, but I should think bathing dresses would be the only suitable garments for such an expedition. They were remarkable objects when they came home, Mademoiselle de Nadaillac's hat a curiosity, also her white blouse, where the red of her hat-ribbons and cravat had run. However, they had enjoyed themselves immensely--at least the girl. Countess de Nadaillac was not quite so enthusiastic. They got into dry clothes and played tennis vigorously all the afternoon.

We had a pleasant family evening. Mademoiselle de Nadaillac has a pretty voice and sang well. Florian and I played some duets. I joined in the dowager's game of dominoes, which I don't seem to have mastered, as I lose regularly, and after she left us, escorted by her faithful old butler (a light shawl over his arm to put on her shoulders when she pa.s.sed through the corridors), we had rather an interesting conversation about ways and manners in different countries, particularly the way young people are brought up. I said we were a large family and that mother would never let us read in the drawing-room after dinner. If we were all absorbed in our books, conversation was impossible. We were all musical, so the piano and singing helped us through. Madame de Florian, whose father, Marquis de Nadaillac, is quite of the old school, said they were not even allowed to work or look at pictures in the _salon_ after dinner! Her father considered it disrespectful if any of his children did anything but listen when he talked. They might join in the conversation if they had anything intelligent to say. She told us, too, of some of the quite old-fashioned chateaux that she stayed in as a girl, and even a young married woman. There was one fire and one lamp in the drawing-room. Any one who wanted to be warm, or to work, was obliged to come into that room. No fires nor lamps allowed anywhere else in the house; a cup of tea in the afternoon an unheard-of luxury. If you were ill, a doctor was sent for and he ordered a tisane; if you were merely tired or cold, you waited until dinner-time.

We have also made a charming expedition to Quineville, a small seaside place about an hour and a half's drive, always through the same green country, our Norman posters galloping up all the hills. We pa.s.sed through various little villages, each one with a pretty little gray, square-towered church. There was plenty of pa.s.sing, as it was market day. We met a good many peasant women carrying milk in those curious old bra.s.s bowls one sees everywhere here. Some of them are very handsome, polished until they shine like mirrors, with a delicate pattern lightly traced running around the bowl. They balance them perfectly on their heads and walk along at a good swinging pace. They all look prosperous, their skirts (generally black), shoes, and stockings in good condition, and their white caps and handkerchiefs as clean as possible. Quineville is a very quiet little place, no hotel, and rows of ugly little houses well back from the sea, but there is a beautiful stretch of firm white sand. To-day it was dead low tide. The sea looked miles away, a long line of dark sea-weed marking the water's edge. There were plenty of people about; women and girls with stout bare legs, and a primitive sort of tool, half pitchfork, half shovel, were piling the sea-weed into the carts which were waiting on the sh.o.r.e. Children were paddling about in the numerous little pools and making themselves wreaths and necklaces out of the berries of the sea-weed--some of them quite bright-coloured, pink and yellow. We wandered about on the beach, sitting sometimes on the side of a boat, and walking through the little pools and streams. It was a lonely bit of water. We didn't see a sail. The sea looked like a great blue plain meeting the sky--nothing to break the monotony. We got some very bad coffee at the restaurant--didn't attempt tea. They would certainly have _said_ they had it, and would have made it probably out of hay from the barn. The drive home was delicious, almost too cool, as we went at a good pace, the horses knowing as well as we did that the end of their day was coming.... We have been again to market this morning. It was much more amusing than the first time, as it was horse day, and men and beasts were congregated in the middle of the Cathedral Square. There was a fair show--splendid big carthorses and good cobs and ponies--here and there a nice saddle-horse. There were a good many women driving themselves, and almost all had good, stout little horses. They know just as much about it as the men and were much interested in the sales. They told me the landlady of the hotel was the best judge of a horse and a _man_ in Normandy. She was standing at the entrance of her court-yard as we pa.s.sed the hotel on our way home, a comely, buxom figure, dressed like all the rest in a short black skirt and sabots. She was exchanging smiling greetings and jokes with every one who pa.s.sed and keeping order with the crowds of farmers, drivers, and horse-dealers who were jostling through the big open doors and clamoring for food for themselves and their animals. She was the type of the hard-working, capable Frenchwoman of whom there are thousands in France.

Some years ago I was on the committee for a great sale we had in our arrondiss.e.m.e.nt in Paris for the benefit of "L'a.s.sistance par le Travail," an excellent work which we are all much interested in. I was in charge of the buffet, and thought it better to apply at once to one of the great caterers, Potel and Chabot, and see what they could do for us. We made an appointment, and Mme. de B. and I drove down to the place. The manager was out, but they told us that Madame was waiting for us in the back shop. We found rather a pretty woman, very well dressed in velvet, with diamond earrings, and I was put out at first--thought that didn't look like business. However, we talked a few minutes; she said her husband was obliged to go to the country, but would certainly come and see me the next day. Then she stepped up to her desk, where there was a big book open, said she understood we wished to give an order for a buffet for a charity sale, and was at once absorbed in sandwiches, tea and coffee, orangeade, and all the requirements for such an occasion. She was perfectly practical and gave us some very useful hints--said she supposed we wanted some of their maitres d'hotel. We thought not--our own would do. That, she said, would be a great mistake.

They weren't accustomed to that sort of thing and wouldn't know how to do it. One thing, for instance--they would certainly fill all the gla.s.ses of orangeade and punch much too full and would waste a great deal. Their men never filled a gla.s.s entirely, and consequently gained two on every dozen. She told us how much we wanted, made out the estimate at once, and ended by asking if we would allow them to present the tea as their contribution to the charity. It didn't take more than twenty minutes--the whole thing. She then shut up her book, went to the door with us, thanked us for giving them the order, and hoped we would be satisfied. That business capability and thriftiness runs through almost all Frenchwomen of a certain cla.s.s, and when I hear, as of course I often do, the frivolous, b.u.t.terfly, pleasure-loving Frenchwoman spoken of, that energetic, hard-working bourgeoise comes into my mind. We all who live in France know the type well.

The whole nation is frugal. During the Franco-German War, my husband, who had spent all the dreary months of the invasion at his chateau in the country, was elected a member of the a.s.semblee Nationale, which met at Bordeaux. They were entirely cut off from Paris, surrounded by Prussian troops on all sides, and he couldn't get any money. Whatever he had had at the beginning of the war had been spent--sending off recruits for one of the great army corps near his place. It was impossible to communicate with his banker or any friends in Paris, and yet he couldn't start without funds. He applied to the notary of La Ferte-Milon, the little town nearest the chateau. He asked how much he wanted. W. said about 10,000 francs. The notary said, "Give me two days and I will get it for you." He appeared three days afterward, bringing the 10,000 francs--a great deal of it in large silver five-franc pieces, very difficult to carry. He had collected the whole sum from small farmers and peasants in the neighbourhood--the five-franc pieces coming always from the peasants, sometimes fifty sewed up in a mattress or in the woman's thick, wadded Sunday skirt. He said he could get as much more if W. wanted it. It seems impossible for the peasant to part with his money or invest it. He must keep it well hidden, but in his possession.

... We had a pretty drive this afternoon to one of Florian's farms, down a little green lane, some distance from the high-road and so hidden by the big trees that we saw nothing until we got close to the gate. It was late--all the cows coming home, the great Norman horses drinking at the trough, two girls with bare legs and high caps calling all the fowl to supper, and the farmer's wife, with a baby in her arms and another child, almost a baby, pulling at her skirts, seated on a stone bench underneath a big apple-tree, its branches heavy with fruit. She was superintending the work of the farm-yard and seeing that the two girls didn't waste a minute of their time, nor a grain of the seed with which they were feeding the chickens. A little clear, sparkling stream was meandering through the meadows, tall poplars on each side, and quite at the end of the stretch of green fields there was the low blue line of the sea. The farmhouse is a large, old-fashioned building with one or two good rooms. It had evidently been a small manor house. One of the rooms is charming, with handsome panels of dark carved wood. It seemed a pity to leave them there, and almost a pity, that the Florians could not have made their home in such a lovely green spot, but they would have been obliged to add to the house enormously, and it would have complicated their lives, being so far away from everything.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Old gate-way. Valogues.]

... We have had a last walk and flanerie this morning. We went to the Hospice, formerly a Benedictine convent, where there is a fine gate-way and court-yard with most extraordinary carving over the doors and gate--monstrous heads and beasts and emblems alongside of cherubs and beautiful saints and angels. One wonders what ideas those old artists had; it seems now such distorted imagination. We walked through some of the oldest streets and past what had been fine hotels, but they are quite uninhabited now. Sometimes a bric-a-brac shop on the ground-floor, and some sort of society on the upper story, but they are all neglected and half tumbling down. There is still splendid carving on some of the old gate-ways and cornices, but bits of stone and plaster are falling off, gra.s.s is growing between the paving stones of the court-yards, and there is an air of poverty and neglect which is a curious contrast to the prosperous look of the country all around--all the little farms and villages look so thriving. The people are smiling and well fed; their animals, too--horses, cows, donkeys--all in good condition.

I have played my last game of dominoes in this fine old hotel and had my last cup of tea in the stiff, stately garden, with the delicious salt sea-breeze always coming at four o'clock, and the cathedral chimes sounding high and clear over our heads. I leave to-morrow night for London, via Cherbourg and Southampton.

X

NORMAN CHATEAUX

We never remained all summer at our place. August was a disagreeable month there--the woods were full of horse-flies which made riding impossible. No nets could keep them off the horses who were almost maddened by the sting. They were so persistent that we had to take them off with a sharp stick. They stuck like leeches. We generally went to the sea--almost always to the Norman Coast--establishing ourselves in a villa--sometimes at Deauville, sometimes at Villers, and making excursions all over the country.

Some of the old Norman chateaux are charming, particularly those which have remained just as they were before the Revolution, but, of course, there are not many of these. When the young ones succeed, there is always a tendency to modify and change, and it is not easy to mix the elaborate luxurious furniture of our times with the stiff old-fashioned chairs and sofas one finds in the old French houses. Merely to look at them one understands why our grandfathers and grandmothers always sat upright.

One of the most interesting of the Norman chateaux is "Abondant," in the department of the Eure-et-Loir, belonging until very recently to the Vallambrosa family. It belonged originally to la d.u.c.h.esse de Tourzel, gouvernante des Enfants de France (children of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette). After the imprisonment of the Royal Family, Madame de Tourzel retired to her chateau d'Abondant and remained there all through the Revolution. The village people and peasants adored her and she lived there peacefully through all those terrible days. Neither chateau nor park was damaged in any way, although she was known to be a devoted friend and adherent of the unfortunate Royal Family. A band of half-drunken "patriots" tried to force their way into the park one day, with the intention of cutting down the trees and pillaging the chateau, but all the villagers instantly a.s.sembled, armed with pitchforks, rusty old guns and stones, and dispersed the rabble.

Abondant is a Louis XV chateau--very large--seventeen rooms en facade--but simple in its architecture. The d.u.c.h.ess occupied a large corner room on the ground-floor, with four windows. The ceiling (which was very high) and walls covered with toiles de Jouy. An enormous bed a baldaquin was trimmed with the same toile and each post had a great bunch of white feathers on top.

In 1886, when one of my friends was staying at Abondant, the hangings were the same which had been there all through the Revolution. She told me she had never been so miserable as the first time she stayed at the chateau during the lifetime of the late d.u.c.h.esse de Vallambrosa. They gave her the d.u.c.h.esse de Tourzel's room, thinking it would interest her as a chambre historique. She was already nervous at sleeping alone on the ground-floor, far from all the other inmates of the chateau. The room was enormous--walls nearly five metres high--the bed looked like an island in the midst of s.p.a.ce; there was very little furniture, and the white feathers on the bed-posts nodded and waved in the dim light. She scarcely closed her eyes, could not reason with herself, and asked the next morning to have something less magnificent and more modern.

In all the bedrooms the dressing-tables were covered with dentelle de Binche[15] of the epoch, and all the mirrors and various little boxes for powder, rouge, patches, and the hundred accessories for a fine lady's toilette in those days, were in Vernis Martin absolutely intact. The drawing-rooms still had their old silk hangings--a white ground covered with wreaths of flowers and birds with wonderful bright plumage--hand-painted--framed in wood of two shades of light green.

[15] Binche, name of a village in Belgium where the lace is made.

The big drawing-room was entirely panelled in wood of the same light green, most beautifully and delicately carved. These old boiseries were all removed when the chateau was sold. After the death of the d.u.c.h.esse de Tourzel the chateau went to her niece, the d.u.c.h.esse des Cars--who left it to her niece, the d.u.c.h.esse de Vallambrosa, a very rare instance, in France, of a property descending directly through several generations in the female line.

It was sold by the Vallambrosas. The old wood panels are in the Paris house of a member of that family. The park was very large and beautifully laid out, with the fine trees one sees all over Normandy.

Twenty years ago a salle de spectacle "en verdure" still existed in the park--the seats were all in gra.s.s; the coulisses (side scenes) made in the trees of the park--their boughs cut and trained into shape, to represent green walls, a marble group of allegorical figures at the back. It was most carefully preserved--the seats of the amphitheatre looked like green velvet and the trees were always cut in the same curious shapes. It seemed quite a fitting part of the fine old place, with its memories of past fetes and splendours, before the whirlwind of liberty and equality swept over the country.

Many of the chateaux are changing hands. The majorat (entail) doesn't exist in France, and as the fortunes must always be divided among the children, it becomes more and more difficult to keep up the large places. Life gets dearer every day--fortunes don't increase--very few young Frenchmen of the upper cla.s.ses do anything. The only way of keeping up the big places is by making a rich marriage--the daughter of a rich banker or industrial, or an American.

Our cousins, Comte and Comtesse d'Y----, have a pretty little old place not very far from Villers-sur-Mer, where we went sometimes for sea-bathing. The house is an ordinary square white stone building, a fine terrace with a flight of steps leading down to the garden on one side. The park is delightful--many splendid old trees. Until a few years ago there were still some that dated since Louis XIV. The last one of that age--a fine oak, with wide spreading branches--died about two years ago, but they cannot make up their minds to cut it down. I advised them to leave the trunk standing--(I think, by degrees, the branches will fall as they are quite dead)--cover it with ivy or a vine of some kind, and put a notice on it of the age of the tree.

The house stands high, and they have splendid views--on one side, from the terrace, a great expanse of green valley looking toward Falaise--on the other, the sea--a beautiful, blue summer sea, when we were there the other day.

We went over from Villers to breakfast. It was late in the season, the end of September--one of those bright days one sometimes has in September, when summer still lingers and the sun gives beautiful mellow tints to everything without being strong enough to make one feel the heat. The road was lovely all the way, particularly after we turned off the high road at the top of the Houlgate Hill. We went through countless little Norman lanes, quite narrow, sometimes--between high green banks with a hedge on top, and the trees meeting over our heads--so narrow that I wondered what would happen if we met another auto. We left the sea behind us, and plunged into the lovely green valley that runs along back of the coast line. We came suddenly on the gates of the chateau, rather a sharp turn. There was a broad avenue with fine trees leading up to the house--on one side, meadows fenced off with white wooden palings where horses and cows were grazing--a pretty lawn before the house with beds of begonias, and all along the front, high raised borders of red geranium which looked very well against the grey stone.

We found a family party, Comte and Comtesse d'Y----, their daughter and a governess. We went upstairs (a nice wooden staircase with broad shallow steps) to an end room, with a beautiful view over the park, where we got out of all the wraps, veils, and gla.s.ses that one must have in an open auto if one wishes to look respectable when one arrives, and went down at once to the hall where the family was waiting.

The dining-room was large and light, high, wide windows and beautiful trees wherever one looked. The decoration of the room was rather curious. The d'Y----s descend--like many Norman families--from William the Conqueror, and there are English coats-of-arms on some of the shields on the walls. A band which looks like fresco, but is really painted on linen--very cleverly arranged with some composition which makes it look like the wall--runs straight around the room with all sorts of curious figures: soldiers, horses, and boats, copied exactly from the famous Bayeux tapestries, the most striking episodes--the departure of the Conqueror from Dives--the embarkation of his army (the cavalry--most extraordinary long queerly shaped horses with faces like people)--the death of Harold--the fighting Bishop Odo--brother of the Conqueror, who couldn't carry a lance, but had a good stout stick which apparently did good service as various Saxons were flying horizontally through the air as he and his steed advanced; one wonders at the imagination which could have produced such extraordinary figures, as certainly no men or beasts, at any period of time, could have looked like those. The ships were less striking--had rather more the semblance of boats.

However, the effect, with all the bright colouring, is very good and quite in harmony with this part of the country, where everything teems with legends and traditions of the great Duke. They see Falaise, where he was born, from their terrace, sometimes. We didn't, for though the day was beautiful, there was a slight haze which made the far-off landscapes only a blue line.

After breakfast we went for a walk in the park. They have arranged it very well, with rustic bridges and seats wherever the view was particularly fine. We saw a nice, old, red brick house, near the farm, which was the manoir where the Dowager Countess lives now. She made over the chateau to her son, in her life time, on condition that he would keep it up and arrange it, which he has done very well. We made the tour of the park--pa.s.sing a pretty lodge with roses and creepers all over it and "Mairie" put upon a sign; d'Y----is mayor of his little village and finds it convenient to have the Mairie at his own gate. We rested a little in the drawing-room before going back, and he showed us various portraits and miniatures of his family which were most interesting. Some of the miniatures are exactly like one we have of father, of that period with the high stock and tight-b.u.t.toned coat. The light was lovely--so soft and warm--in the drawing-room, and as there were no lace curtains or vitrages, and the silk curtains were drawn back from the high plate gla.s.s windows, we seemed to be sitting in the park under the trees. They gave us tea and the good little cakes, "St.

Pierre," a sort of "sable," for which all the coast is famous.

The drive home was enchanting, with a lovely view from the top of the hill; a beautiful blue sea at our feet and the turrets and pointed roofs of the Villers houses taking every possible colour from the sunset clouds.

We went back once more to a the dansant given for her seventeen-year-old daughter. It was a lovely afternoon and the place looked charming--the gates open--carriages and autos arriving in every direction--people came from a great distance as with the autos no one hesitates to undertake a drive of a hundred kilometres. The young people danced in the drawing-room--Madame d'Y---- had taken out all the furniture, and the parents and older people sat about on the terrace where there were plenty of seats and little tea-tables. The dining-room--with an abundant buffet--was always full; one arrives with a fine appet.i.te after whirling for two or three hours through the keen salt air. The girls all looked charming--the white dresses, bright sashes, and big picture hats are so becoming. They were dancing hard when we left, about half past six, and it was a pretty sight as we looked back from the gates--long lines of sunlight wavering over the gra.s.s, figures in white flitting through the trees, distant strains of music, and what was less agreeable, the strident sound of a sirene on some of the autos. They are detestable things.

We were very comfortable at Villers in a nice, clean house looking on the sea, with broad balconies at every story, where we put sofas and tables and green blinds, using them as extra salons. We were never in the house except to eat and sleep. Nothing is more characteristic of the French (particularly in the bourgeoise) than the thorough way in which they _do_ their month at the sea-sh.o.r.e. They generally come for the month of August. Holidays have begun and business, of all kinds, is slack.

Our plage was really a curiosity. There is a splendid stretch of sand beach--at low tide one can walk, by the sh.o.r.e, to Trouville or Houlgate on perfectly firm, dry sand. There are hundreds of cabins and tents, striped red and white, and umbrellas on the beach, and all day long whole families sit there. They all bathe, and a curious fashion at Villers is that you put on your bathing dress in your own house--over that a peignoir, generally of red and white striped cotton, and walk quite calmly through the streets to the etabliss.e.m.e.nt. Some of the ladies and gentlemen of mature years are not to their advantage. When they can, if they have houses with a terrace or garden, they take their meals outside, and as soon as they have breakfasted, start again for the beach. When it is low tide they go shrimp-fishing or walk about in the shallow water looking for sh.e.l.ls and sea-weed. When it is high tide, all sit at the door of their tents sewing, reading, or talking--I mean, of course, the pet.i.te bourgeoisie.

At other places on the coast, Deauville or Houlgate, the life is like Newport or Dinard, or any other fashionable seaside place, with automobiles, dinners, dressing, etc. They get all the sea air and out-of-door life that they can crowd into one month. One lady said to me one day, "I can't bathe, but I take a 'bain d'air' every day--I sit on the rocks as far out in the water as I can--take off my hat and my shoes and stockings."

There is a great clearing out always by the first of September and then the place was enchanting--bright, beautiful September days, one could still bathe, the sun was so strong; and the afternoons, with just a little chill in the air, were delightful for walking and driving. There was a pretty Norman farm--just over the plage--at the top of the falaise where we went sometimes for tea. They gave us very good tea, milk, and cider, and excellent bread and b.u.t.ter and cheese. We sat out of doors in an apple orchard at little tables--all the beasts of the establishment in the same field. The chickens and sheep surrounded us, were evidently accustomed to being fed, but the horses, cows, and calves kept quite to the other end. We saw the girls milking the cows which, of course, interested the children immensely.

We made some charming excursions in the auto--went one Sat.u.r.day to Caen--such a pretty road through little smiling villages--every house with a garden, or if too close together to allow that, there were pots of geraniums, the falling kind, in the windows, which made a red curtain dropping down over the walls. We stopped at Lisieux--a quaint old Norman town, with a fine cathedral and curious houses with gables and towers--one street most picturesque, very narrow, with wooden houses, their projecting roofs coming so far over the street one could hardly see the sky in some places. There were all kinds of balconies and cornices most elaborately carved--the wood so dark one could scarcely distinguish the original figures and devices, but some of them were extraordinary, dragons, and enormous winged animals. We did not linger very long as we were in our new auto--a Martini hill-climber--built in Switzerland and, of course (like all automobilists), were anxious to make as fast a run as possible between Villers and Caen.

The approach to Caen is not particularly interesting--the country is flat, the road running through poplar-bordered fields--one does not see it at all until one gets quite near, and then suddenly beautiful towers and steeples seem to rise out of the green meadows. It was Sat.u.r.day--market day--and the town was crowded--every description of vehicle in the main street and before the hotel, two enormous red 60-horse-power Mercedes--farmers' gigs and donkey carts with cheeses and b.u.t.ter--a couple generally inside--the man with his blue smock and broad-brimmed hat, the woman with a high, clean, stiff-starched muslin cap, a knit shawl over her shoulders. They were not in the least discomposed by the bustle and the automobiles, never thought of getting out of the way--jogged comfortably on keeping to their side of the road.

We left the auto at the hotel and found many others in the court-yard, and various friends. The d'Y----s had come over from Grangues (their place). He is Conseiller General of Calvados, and market day, in a provincial town, is an excellent occasion for seeing one's electors.

There were also some friends from Trouville-Deauville, most of them in autos--some in light carriages. We tried to make a rendezvous for tea at the famous patissier's (who sends his cakes and bonbons over half the department), but that was not very practical, as they had all finished what they had to do and we had not even begun our sightseeing. However, d'Y---- told us he would leave our names at the tea-room, a sort of club they have established over the patissier's, where we would be quieter and better served than in the shop which would certainly be crowded on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. We walked about till we were dead tired.

St. Pierre is a fine old Norman church with beautiful tower and steeple.

It stands fairly well in the Place St. Pierre, but the houses are much too near. It should have more s.p.a.ce around it. There was a market going on, on the other side of the square--fruit, big apples and pears, flowers and fish being heaped up together. The apples looked tempting, such bright red ones.

We went to the two abbayes--both of them quite beautiful--St.

etienne--Abbaye aux Hommes was built by William the Conqueror, who was originally buried there. It is very grand--quite simple, but splendid proportions--a fitting resting-place for the great soldier, who, however, was not allowed to sleep his last sleep, undisturbed, in the city he loved so well. His tomb was desecrated several times and his remains lost in the work of destruction.

We went on to the Abbaye aux Dames which is very different; smaller--not nearly so simple. The facade is very fine with two square towers most elaborately carved, the steeples have long since disappeared; and there are richly ornamented galleries and bal.u.s.trades in the interior of the church, not at all the high solemn vaulted aisles of the Abbaye aux Hommes. It was founded by Queen Mathilde, wife of William the Conqueror, and she is buried there--a perfectly simple tomb with an inscription in Latin. There was at one time a very handsome monument, but it was destroyed, like so many others, during the Revolution, and the remains placed, some years after, in the stone coffin where they now rest. We hadn't time to see the many interesting things in the churches and in the town, as it was getting late and we wanted some tea before we started back. We found our way to the patissier's quite easily, but certainly couldn't have had any tea if d'Y---- had not told us to use his name and ask for the club-room. The little shop was crowded--people standing and making frantic dashes into the kitchen for chocolate and m.u.f.fins. The club-room upstairs was quite nice--painted white, a good gla.s.s so that we could arrange our hair a little, one or two tables--and we were attended to at once. They brought us the specialite of the place--light, hot brioches with grated ham inside--very good and very indigestible.