Normandy | Page 3

Gothic does not fail to inspire. In the north transept of St
Ouen, some of the walls and pillars have at various times been made to
bear large printed notices which have been pasted down, and when out
of date they have been only roughly torn off, leaving fragments that
soon become discoloured and seriously mar the dignified antiquity of
the stone-work. But beyond this, one finds that the great black stands
for candles that burn beside the altars are generally streaked with the
wax that has guttered from a dozen flames, and that even the floor is
covered with lumps of wax--the countless stains of only partially
scraped-up gutterings of past offerings. There is also that peculiarly
unpleasant smell so often given out by the burning wax that greets one

on entering the cool twilight of the building. The worn and tattered
appearance of the rush-seated chairs in the churches is easily explained
when one sees the almost constant use to which they are put. In the
morning, or even as late as six in the evening, one finds classes of boys
or girls being catechised and instructed by priests and nuns. The visitor
on pushing open the swing door of an entrance will frequently be met
by a monotonous voice that echoes through the apparently empty
church. As he slowly takes his way along an aisle, the voice will cease,
and suddenly break out in a simple but loudly sung Gregorian air, soon
joined by a score or more of childish voices; then, as the stranger
comes abreast of a side chapel, he causes a grave distraction among the
rows of round, closely cropped heads. The rather nasal voice from the
sallow figure in the cassock rises higher, and as the echoing footsteps
of the person who does nothing but stare about him become more and
more distant, the sing-song tune grows in volume once more, and the
rows of little French boys are again in the way of becoming good
Catholics. In another side chapel the confessional box bears a large
white card on which is printed in bold letters, "M. le Cure." He is on
duty at the present time, for, from behind the curtained lattices, the
stranger hears a soft mumble of words, and he is constrained to move
silently towards the patch of blazing whiteness that betokens the free
air and sunshine without. The cheerful clatter of the traffic on the
cobbles is typical of all the towns of Normandy, as it is of the whole
republic, but Caen has reduced this form of noise by exchanging its
omnibuses, that always suggested trams that had left the rails, for swift
electric trams that only disturb the streets by their gongs. In Rouen, the
electric cars, which the Britisher rejoices to discover were made in
England--the driver being obliged to read the positions of his levers in
English--are a huge boon to everyone who goes sight-seeing in that city.
Being swept along in a smoothly running car is certainly preferable to
jolting one's way over the uneven paving on a bicycle, but it is only in
the largest towns that one has such a choice.
Although the only road that is depicted in this book is as straight as any
built by the Romans and is bordered by poplars, it is only one type of
the great routes nationales that connect the larger towns. In the hilly
parts of Normandy the poplar bordered roads entirely disappear, and

however straight the engineers may have tried to make their ways, they
have been forced to give them a zig-zag on the steep slopes that breaks
up the monotony of the great perspectives so often to be seen stretching
away for great distances in front and behind. It must not be imagined
that Normandy is without the usual winding country road where every
bend has beyond it some possibilities in the way of fresh views. An
examination of a good road map of the country will show that although
the straight roads are numerous, there are others that wind and twist
almost as much as the average English turnpike. As a rule, the route
nationale is about the same width as most main roads, but it has on
either side an equal space of grass. This is frequently scraped off by the
cantoniers, and the grass is placed in great piles ready for removal.
When these have been cleared away the thoroughfare is of enormous
width, and in case of need, regiments could march in the centre with
artillery on one side, and a supply train on the other, without impeding
one another.
Level crossings for railways are more frequent than bridges. The gates
are generally controlled by women in the family sort of fashion that one
sees at the