A MARKET SCENE AT VANNES, BRITTANY 



Photo by Arthur Stanley R 



"These towns have their share of curious old houses, some carved, some curiosities in an 

 architectural way, and some with unusual personal features, like the top-heavy, tipsy-looking 

 'House of Gilles and his Wife,' at a busy corner in Vannes. Fat and stubby effigies of the 

 good burgher and his spouse lean out smilingly from the corner of the second story above 

 the unquiet street and watch the throngs of passers-by with good-humored interest" (see 

 text, page 418). 



the drawbridge's thin line of communica- 

 tion is suggestive in the extreme of the 

 slender means of communication between 

 the classes and the masses of those un- 

 forgettable centuries (see page 436). 



On one side the moat has been filled 

 up to provide for a handsome modern 

 boulevard, graced with trees and fine 

 buildings, while at an angle of the pen- 

 tagonal castle, in a large open square, 

 stands a monument of Count Rene of 

 Anjou, the most remarkable man his 

 times produced. The beautiful bronze 

 figure represents the unfortunate mon- 

 arch in tilting armor. In the niches of 

 the granite pedestal on all four sides are 

 exquisite little figures, also in bronze, of 

 several of the Fulks of Anjou, of Rene's 

 two consorts, and of his daughter, the 

 heroic Margaret of Anjou, with her little 

 son, Prince Edward of England. The 



monument is the work of David d' An- 

 gers, of whom his fellow-townsmen are 

 justly proud. 



A COMEEY PROVINCE 



Poitou is a comely province, of soft 

 and delicate coloring, tender azure skies, 

 unhurried streams "that moving, seem 

 asleep." The whole rich and fertile re- 

 gion is a tone-harmony, full of subtle 

 shades of color. Among the furrows 

 great oxen toil with bent heads and pa- 

 tient eyes — the "beefs" the peasant often 

 values more than his easily replaced wife. 

 They plow ; they reap ; they haul heavy 

 burdens along the endless white roads. 

 They even brighten up the unutterable 

 dinginess of railway yards, as they pad 

 softly back and forth, shunting freight 



cars. 



Through the sweet-smelling grain fields 



421 



