ORLÉANS TO DIEPPE
Leaving the châteaux country, we proceeded to Orléans in the lower part
of the Loire valley, spending the night at the Hôtel Saint Aignan. The
general appearance of the city is prosperous and modern. The walls which
once surrounded it have been turned into promenades. Everything in
Orléans seems connected with Jeanne d'Arc. There is a bronze equestrian
statue with bas-reliefs of the "Maid" who, clad in white armor, led her
soldiers from victory to victory. We hope sometime to be present at the
brilliant "Fête de Jeanne d'Arc," which is held every year on May 8, in
commemoration of her raising the siege of Orléans in 1429. Small shops
display postal cards representing scenes from her life. The Musée is
filled with interesting souvenirs. In the cathedral, where the people
worship her as a saint, we saw on the walls votive tablets bearing
inscriptions of gratitude to her for recovery from sickness. In the same
street is the "Maison de Jeanne d'Arc" where she was received by the
Duc d'Orléans during the eventful siege. That morning was filled with an
interesting series of historical sidelights.
From the vineyards of Touraine to the wheat fields of Normandy; the
change was complete. Like an endless white ribbon, the road stretched
straight through the vast plain of La Beauce, the granary of France.
What far reaches of level fields! There were no telegraph poles, no
hedges, no fences. We seemed to be moving through a strange solitude,
empty of human face or habitation. The distant farmhouses and windmills
were too much like specks on the horizon to seem real. There is, after
all, no scenery to compare with the beauty of the lowlands, where every
mood of heaven, every change of sky, is part of a wonderful picture. The
weather, which was threatening when we left Orléans, now looked more and
more like a storm. No shelter was in sight, nothing but the open
country, the great dome of heaven, and the road ever narrowing ahead of
us until its indistinct thread merged into a faint blur. Swift clouds
took on a greenish, copper-colored hue, which deepened into black as
they swirled toward us. Then the hailstones began to fall with a
stinging force that increased with every movement. It was one of those
furious hailstorms of northern France which are as characteristic of
that region as the mistral is of the Midi. There were no mitigating
influences. The wind was pitiless, untempered even by the shelter of a
tree or barn. By stopping the car and crouching behind it, we secured a
little protection from the biting blasts. The sun soon burst through the
cloud barriers. We continued toward Chartres, stopping for a moment at a
railway crossing to "kodak" a passing freight train.
[Illustration: Copyright by Underwood & Underwood
_The wheat fields of Normandy_]
The approach to Chartres was impressively picturesque. The double spires
of its vast Gothic cathedral, growing more distinct, finally towered
above the moat and the Porte Guillaume, the fourteenth-century gateway
of the city. Our hotel, the Grand Monarque, gazed upon the turmoil of a
village fair. The din was deafening. A merry-go-round added the blare of
brazen music; several hand-organs were in discordant evidence. We
mingled with the peasants around the small booths, and were almost
enticed by a _jolie paysanne_ into buying a pair of small _sabots_. Our
ride in the small motor car of the merry-go-round was the dizziest burst
of speed on our whole trip.
Little Chartres is overshadowed by its mighty cathedral. All interest
concentrates there. Many consider it the finest in France. Every one
would agree that the interior is incomparable. Nowhere can we find a
more sublime expression of Gothic art. Those who fashioned this "sacred
rock-work set to music" belong to the great unknown; their names are
buried somewhere back in the early part of the thirteenth century when
the cathedral was built. At least, they have given us a picture of their
times; such structures could not be erected now. Our age is attuned to a
different key; there are too many distracting influences. Then, there
were no popular theaters, and few books or forms of amusement. The
church was the natural center of thought and life. Only the religious
inspiration of a people naturally artistic could have created the
immortal works which the cathedral builders have bequeathed.
[Illustration: Copyright by Underwood & Underwood
_The Gothic cathedral at Chartres_ _Page 200_]
For a few miles outside of Chartres we were again on Route Nationale No.
10. The blue-and-white advertisements of various productions appeared
close to the road signs. This is a common practice of the French
advertisers, who wish to catch the eye of the _voyageur_. We had no idea
there were so many different makes of _pneus_ and _chocolats_. In the
roadside hamlets the French advertiser makes use of the sides of barns
and the corners of houses, but there is very little landscape
advertising. Being Americans, we were impressed by this absence of
disfiguring advertisements along the countryside in Normandy and other
parts of France. The "Bull Durham" herd, so often found in American
meadows, would not thrive in French pastures. It would be taxed out of
existence.
Hardly had we sat down to lunch in the Hôtel du Grand Cerf of Nonancourt
when there was a great shouting and beating of drums outside. A group of
conscripts marched noisily by. They wore red, white, and blue cockades,
and neckties of the same color, in curious contrast to their simple
peasant dress. In accordance with the provincial custom, it was a day
of feasting to signalize their admission to the army. In two weeks they
were to leave their homes to begin the long, tedious period of military
service. A young _cuirassier_ whom we met in Limoges, and who had just
completed his first year of service in the cavalry, related interesting
experiences of life in the French army. The discipline is severe. The
German soldier is not subjected to a more rigorous training. The rising
hour is 5 A.M. in the spring, and 4 A.M. in the summer. There are long,
exhausting marches. As often as two or three times a week the recruits
are awakened in the middle of the night to make a long march. Life is
made to conform as closely as possible to the conditions of actual war.
A day's work of eighteen hours is not unusual. Naturally, this means
hardship, but it also means good soldiers. The French army is very
democratic. Rich and poor are treated alike. Both live together in the
barracks. There are no privileges. Even if a recruit is wealthy, he is
not allowed to keep a valet. Every man is his own domestic. The German
army is not nearly so democratic. There, if the recruit has means, he
can keep a servant and may live out of barracks in a comfortable
apartment.
The conscripts whom we saw in Nonancourt were destined to anything but
an easy, inactive life. For infantry as well as cavalry there is the
same grueling routine. The three hours of drilling in the morning do not
include gymnasium exercises for three-quarters of an hour. Such menial
duties as peeling potatoes, or washing dishes and clothes, form part of
the morning's work. The short noon respite is followed by three hours of
military exercises. During this period of training the recruits receive
only one cent a day, besides clothing, guns, and very simple fare. The
term of service has recently been extended from two to three years, to
offset the increases of the German army. The average age of enlistment
is about eighteen years, an age when the American boy is entering
college or laying the foundation for a business career. In comparison,
the French boy is heavily handicapped. Even if his school days end at
the age of sixteen, he can do little in business. The French business
man does not think it worth while to prepare the boy for an important
position, since his military service is so close at hand. France pays a
terrible price for national security. The financial cost, burdensome
though it is, is the smallest item. Frenchmen who have lived in the
United States often speak of the great advantages enjoyed by the young
American who can devote to his education or to his life work those three
precious years which the French youth must give to the army.
Anatole France, the distinguished French writer, was among those who
protested against the new military law. "This addition of a year to the
conscription comes on us just when France is moving forward with a new
energy, both in science and industry. It will be a grave blow to all our
higher life. Medicine especially will be injured, for the medicine of
the army is not the medicine of the civil state. French science requires
the time of its young students, and that will be gravely curtailed. The
demand for another army year from all young Frenchmen, imposed without
any exemptions, will draw off the best from every field of life. It
comes at a moment of great industrial development. It will check that
development. It comes at a moment of expansion in our arts, especially
in sculpture. It will be a heavy blow. Sculpture is not practiced on the
battlefield."
We wonder if there is any help for Europe! How will it all end? So far
as we can now foresee, the peace conference at The Hague, to have been
held in 1915, has been indefinitely postponed. Instead of this gathering
of the nations to establish some practical basis for limitation of
armaments, there is the prospect of increased armaments. The burdens,
already so crushing, are apparently only the prelude to what is coming.
England is the pacemaker on the sea. Mr. Winston Churchill, in his
recent speech before the House of Commons, urged that the naval budget
for 1915 be raised to over a quarter billion dollars. He said: "The
naval estimates for the next year are the largest in British history,
$257,750,000. The causes which might lead to a general war have not been
removed. The world is arming as it never armed before. All attempts at
arresting it have been ineffectual." Germany is more than ever a nation
in arms. At the present rate of increase, her standing army in time of
peace will soon number more than a million men. France, which less than
a year ago passed the Three Years' Service Bill, already faces the
possible necessity of adding still another year to the term of military
service.
Count Witte, the Russian statesman, has estimated that forty per cent of
the total income of the great powers is absorbed by their armies and
navies. He said: "Unless the great states which have set this hideous
example agree to call a halt and to knit their subjects into a pacific,
united Europe, war is the only issue I can perceive. And when I say war,
I mean a conflict which will surpass in horror the most brutal armed
conflicts known to human history, and entail distress more widespread
and more terrible than living men can realize."
Russia is making sweeping military reforms. The disastrous war with
Japan taught valuable lessons. The reorganization of the army includes
vast increases of men, and especially the improvement in facilities of
transportation. The railroad network in process of construction on her
western frontier will probably be completed in 1915. When the plans of
the Czar are realized in 1917, Russia will have one of the most
formidable armies in the world, a war machine with a fighting strength
of over four million men.
"Throughout Austria-Hungary there is just now a feeling of considerable
dread of Russia's ulterior motives in a number of measures, military and
otherwise, that are being discussed in political circles here. Of
greatest moment in that connection is a short but vigorous speech made
by the Hungarian premier, Count Tisza, before the Parliament. It was
delivered while advocating the new army increase bill (since adopted by
a large majority), which raises considerably the annual quota of
recruits. After bewailing the necessity of imposing new burdens on a
nation impoverished and already staggering under its load, he termed the
contemplated increase in the fighting strength of the army an absolute
necessity. 'The shadows of a coming big war are thrown ahead, and the
losing side will forfeit its national life, or at least expect a painful
amputation,' he cried."
In every country where we motored there was scarcely an hour which did
not bring the sound of drums, the sight of barracks, of soldiers
drilling or on the march. Whether in Germany, Austria, Italy, or France,
there were the same sights of preparation for war. The sacrifices of
peace in 1914 are hardly less exhausting than were the sacrifices of war
in 1813.
"What a reflection on modern diplomacy the whole situation casts! A
policy which men like Gray and Asquith have repeatedly characterized as
one of madness, as one leading to bankruptcy, as one that makes a
mockery of peace by throwing away half its benefits, is pursued because
the diplomats can't agree on a plan of armament limitation. It is
admitted that the frenzied rivalry in armament increase adds nothing to
the relative strength of any power or group of powers, yet the frenzied
rivalry continues at the expense of industry and constructive social and
economical reforms. If the 'causes of a general war' in Europe have not
been removed, what has diplomacy been doing and of what use are the
alliances, the ententes, and understandings among the powers? Might not
a little courage and boldness in pushing the armament-limitation idea
and appealing to public, business, and democratic sentiment force the
hands of the routine-ridden diplomats?"
[Illustration: Copyright by Underwood & Underwood
_The Seine at Rouen_ _Page 210_]
For nearly twenty miles the road cut a white swath through the treeless
plain of St. André to the cathedral town of Evreux. The wheat fields and
cathedrals of Normandy should be mentioned in the same sentence. France,
so full of the picturesque, has few finer sights than the view of these
airy cathedral spires while one is still miles away from any town. We
zigzagged into the valley of Iton, climbed, swooped downward, and
crossing that hurrying stream, ran beside the river Eure into the main
street of Louviers. The warning, "_Allure modère_," was unnecessary. The
cobble stones were sufficient to make us slacken speed. The beauty of
the church of Nôtre Dame served to stop us completely. The church, with
its profuse embroidery of rich, delicate carving, shone like a jewel
amid the motley and jumbled houses. It was like finding a rosebush
blooming in the gutter of some neglected street. Through the forest of
Pont de l'Arche to the town of the same name, where we crossed the
Seine, past bright little Norman cottages, our route shot ahead to
Rouen, the center of cotton manufacturing for France, the most
interesting mediæval city in Normandy, and renowned the world over for
splendid Gothic churches. After inspecting the rooms of two or three
hotels, we chose the Hôtel d'Angleterre, close by the crowded traffic of
the Seine.
Sight-seeing in Rouen is more convenient by carriage than by motor car.
We moved from the abbey church of St. Ouen to the church of St. Maclou.
If Europe had no other remains of Gothic art, Rouen would be enough to
describe all the splendor of that style of architecture. The cathedral
is a whole library of description in itself. Curious is the legend of
the Tour de Beurre, built by money received from indulgences sold, and
permitting the people to eat butter in Lent.
"At the base of the Tour St. Romain, there still stands the lodge of the
porter whose duties from very early times right up to 1760, included the
care of the fierce watchdogs who were at night let loose in the
cathedral to guard its many precious treasures from robbers. How much
would we give for a glimpse of one of those porters walking through the
cavernous gloom of these echoing aisles, with his lamp throwing strange
shadows from the great slouching dogs!"[8]
[8] From _Motor Routes of France_, Part I, by Gordon Home.
The central tower rises into a great spire of open iron work, more than
one and a half times as high as the steeple of Trinity Church in New
York. One seldom sees anything so quaintly picturesque as the little
wooden cloister, Aître Saint-Maclou. From its courtyard, the burial
ground for so many victims of the Black Death of 1348, one sees mediæval
spires which rise in all directions. Another vivid reminder of the past
is the archway of the Grosse Horloge, with its huge clock in colors of
blue and gold and dating from the sixteenth century.
But the impressions of Rouen that thrilled us most related to the sad
closing days of Jeanne d'Arc. At Orléans we saw her in the hour of
victory, a young girl dictating to experienced generals, cutting her way
through the English army around the city and bringing provisions and
succor to the beleaguered inhabitants. Our _cocher_ escorted us to the
tower where, with instruments of torture around her, she faced and
baffled her brutal inquisitors. In the old market place, the scene of
her martyrdom, one is shown a simple slab which reads, "Jeanne d'Arc, 30
Mai, 1431." This marks the spot where she was burned at the stake.
The last lap of the trip, the ride to Dieppe on the English Channel, was
past many large Norman farms. Neat haystacks dotted the rolling acres.
Nowhere else had we seen so many horses,--big, powerful creatures.
Normandy breeds and exports them. Apple orchards were in constant view.
Coasting down a long hill into the city, we left the car in the garage
of the Grand Hôtel, and joined an enthusiastic crowd which was watching
a football game between Dieppe and Rouen.
The new France is keenly interested in sports and games. In 1912 there
was held in Paris the International Congress for Physical Culture, the
idea being to impress upon the young the need for physical development.
The extent to which the idea of physical culture has captured France
will be evident from the following figures: in 1896 the various
athletic societies had less than fifty thousand members; to-day, they
have more than three hundred thousand members. France has indeed entered
upon a new era. The chief characteristic of it is not literary but
practical, self-assertive, and everywhere for action. The young
Frenchman of to-day is more interested in sports than in art or
literature. A French professor recently said: "I have lived my life in
my library. There I have passed through my intellectual crises. There I
have experienced my most fervent emotions. In the lives of my sons I
notice that books play a very little part, or if they read, it is
biography, and especially the biography of men of action like Napoleon."
[Illustration: Copyright by Underwood & Underwood
_Where Jeanne d'Arc was burned at the stake_]
* * * * *
Now comes the pang of keen regret. We are close to the end. These weeks
of unmingled joy stand around us like a group of friends, as if to stay
our leaving. Four thousand miles of motoring, in five countries, and
without an accident! Our car has taken on personality. Here, climbing a
mountain to the very summit whose far-away vistas held us enchanted, or
rushing down on the other side, we skirted some quiet lake that lay
embosomed in its own loveliness; there, a wild glen with its mysterious
depths beckoning us to halt! We have seen the peasantry, as in France,
looked upon their quaint costumes and customs, and caught the simple
melody of their songs. We have gone close to palaces, and wondered
whether prince or peasant were the happier. We have seen châteaux that
were tragedies and cathedrals that were poems. We have seen the
conscripts file slowly past, each surrendering three years of the most
important period of his life. Then, we have contrasted a nation as a
military camp with our own great republic, without a large standing
army, but safe. And now, homeward bound to the freest land beneath the
sun, America!