782 



THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE 



Just a paragraph to percherons, be- 

 tween towns. For who can think of 

 Normandy without them, the darhngs ! 

 Along the smooth white roads they pass 

 in sturdy hue, with that majestic dignity 

 only possible to thoroughbreds, whether 

 horses or humans. Their mottled 

 haunches and polished coats gleam like 

 mother-o'-pearl, and their liquid eyes 

 speak volumes to one who loves them. 



Then Dives — Dives, with its inn of 

 the conquering William, where Madame 

 de Sevigne really left her patch-box, and 

 one almost fancies the odor of rose 

 leaves behind her — where the cook beats 

 eggs in old Caen bowls that the china 

 collector greedily gazes on, and where 

 the exquisite tapestries ought to be put 

 under glass. A chateau it was, built for 

 the Conqueror while his boats were 

 building that he crossed to England in, 

 and over the door are still the arms of 

 an old seigneur who married into the 

 house of Savoy. Dives' port, now 

 nearly choked with sand, was once a 

 great haven. There William's fleet, as- 

 sembled for the conquest of England, lay 

 a whole month awaiting the favorable 

 winds which never came until they had 

 changed their position to Saint Valery. 



Between Rouen and Havre is the 

 pretty town of Caudebec, with quaint 

 timbered houses and its broad terrace 

 beside the river. On a market day, in 

 the Grande Place in front of the church, 

 is to be seen one of the few old-time 

 sights of Normandy, the grand old 

 church and the place itself contributing 

 their share in the ensemble. But the 

 traveler who would see this specimen of 

 an old Norman town, wearing still its 

 mellow and picturesque charm, must 

 hasten thither without delay. 



Mont Saint Michel, with its detached 

 air, appears as though man and nature 

 united in their work to build a master- 

 piece. Its one straggling street, that be- 

 gins in the gateway of a king and ends — 

 ah, that is the point. Where does it end? 

 Three times did the vision of Saint 



Michel appear to Saint Aubert, com- 

 manding a church on the rocky heights. 

 Hence rose that marvel of early Norman, 

 architecture, with its tombs of saints and 

 heroes and brothers of kings, its Black 

 Virgin, its Salle des Chevaliers with sun- 

 lit aisles, its cloisters and exquisite colon- 

 nades. As one thinks of the history that 

 has peopled this pinnacled hill, emotions, 

 impressions, and sensations crowd the 

 mind, and surely the faintest imagina- 

 tion can fill the structure with the kingly 

 shapes and knightly shadows of the 

 Hundred Years' War. 



Trouville, Deauville, Dieppe — in a, 

 short sketch of Normandy I purposely 

 omit those gay bathing places, those 

 ''doubles extraits de Paris." They are 

 Watteau in the 20th century, though, 

 and the salon of a casino in the height 

 of the season is an animated and divert- 

 ing scene. 



In Normandy the artist may find con- 

 genial occupation and the opportunity, 

 so difficult in these days, of sketching- 

 picturesque types — groups at the mar- 

 ket place, groups at the inn doors, horses 

 in clumsy harness, goats and sheep in 

 biblical melange. He will find doors and' 

 porches of so good a pattern and so old 

 that they are new to the world of today. 

 One may learn the value of variety in 

 its simplest forms and realize the artistic 

 worth of high-pitched roofs and con- 

 trasts in color, if it be only of dark 

 beams against plaster, and of meaning" 

 in the lines of construction. But these 

 treasures of Normandy are disappearing 

 fast and must be quickly gathered. 



In all the fair Normandy coast, each 

 year more and more is there a disap- 

 pointing note. One looks almost in vain 

 for the old Normandy costumes; the 

 blouse and the close white cap are all 

 that are left now of the wondrous head- 

 gear, the short petticoats, the embroid- 

 ered stomacher, the Caen and Rouen 

 jewels of a generation ago. Modern- 

 izing destruction is rapidly blotting out 

 the memory of old days ! 



