Photo by Mrs. A. H. Harris 

 THE TWENTIETH CENTURY AUTOMOBILE IN A SIX- 

 TEENTH CENTURY STREET : CARCASSONNE, 

 ERANCE 



in sunset and nightfall. Nothing short of 

 an heroic poem can do justice to the 

 marvelous transformation — the flood of 

 ruddy lavender fire that suffuses sky and 

 snow peaks, tints the gray old town, and 

 fires the Isere for a few all-too-fleeting 

 moments before the coming of the ter- 

 rible, tangible green that succeeds and 

 quenches it, leaving the silent town pallid 

 and sere, and the slow, tender darkening 

 of sky and water and air to the crystal- 

 line azure of the southern night, flecked 

 with the gold of star and light in heavens 

 and city. 



MOTHER-HOUSE OE THE GRANDE 

 CHARTREUSE 



What a spot St. Bruno and his six 

 austere, silent companions chose for their 

 monastery, which became the Grande 



Chartreuse, the mother- 

 house of the Carthusian 

 Order! Here is a sloping, 

 sunny mead, embayed by 

 dense pine forests, 3,000 

 feet above the sea, and 

 dominated by the towering 

 limestone crag of the Grand 

 Som, that rears its savage 

 crest still 3,600 feet higher. 

 Surely no more ideal loca- 

 tion could be found for 

 ascetics who wished to live 

 in holy solitude and mortify 

 the flesh. Here the fathers 

 lived in their cells, really 

 small two-storied houses, 

 each with a woodshed and 

 workshop on the ground 

 floor and a little garden 

 outside. 



What we see of the con- 

 vent today belongs to the 

 State. It is a tremendous 

 walled inclosure, filled with 

 ugly seventeenth century 

 buildings, whose high- 

 pitched roofs, however, 

 give them a certain distinc- 

 tion. The monks, exiled 

 by the Separation Act, now 

 reside in Tarragona, Spain, 

 where they may pray and 

 distil their famous liqueur 

 undisturbed. Deserted 

 though the convent is now, 

 there is still a grim spirit 

 to it that gives one the sense, especially 

 in the grand cloister, more than 700 feet 

 long, that the sort of life lived here for 

 centuries can never be entirely forgotten 

 or ignored. 



Of the many magnificent views along 

 the driving road between Grenoble and 

 Aix-les-Bains, there is one in which, at 

 the mouth of a lofty tunnel, Nature has 

 painted a sublime picture. Right below 

 the road winds in one vast horseshoe 

 curve and a whole series of smaller ones 

 down the blue and green foothills into the 

 rolling plain where Chambery nestles, all 

 red roofs and tan walls. Away in the 

 distance Lake Bourget turns its sparkling 

 sapphire toward the sun between high in- 

 closing mountains gemmed with stately 

 and commanding chateaux. Scarlet pop- 

 pies lift their hot tongues of flame 



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