Rambles in Normandy. M. F. Mansfield

whose chief industry consists of catering to summer visitors.

      From Arromanches to Mont St. Michel, the seaside resorts are not so crowded, and are therefore the more enjoyable, unless one demands the distractions of great hotels, golf-links, and tea-rooms.

      In the Seine valley, beginning with La Roche-Guyon, on the borders of the ancient royal domain, down to the mouth of the mighty river at Havre, is one continuous panorama of delightful large and small towns, not nearly so well known as one might suppose. Vernon with its tree-bordered quays; Giverny, and its artists colony; Les Andelys with their “saucy castle” built by Richard Cœur de Lion; Pont de l’Arche with the florid Gothic church dedicated to Our Lady of the Arts; the riverside resorts above Rouen; Elbeuf with its busy factories, but picturesque and historic withal; Rouen, the ancient Norman capital; La Bouille-Molineux; the great abbeys of Jumièges, St. Wandrille and St. Georges de Boscherville; Caudebec-en-Caux; Lillebonne; Harfleur; Honfleur, and Havre form a compelling array of sights and scenes which are quite irresistible.

      On the northeastern coast are Etretat, famed of artists of generations ago; Fécamp with the associations of its ancient abbey; Dieppe; the Petites Dalles; St. Valery-en-Caux; Eu with its château; and Tréport and its attendant little seashore villages.

      Inland, and southward, through the Pays-de-Caux, are Lyons-le-Forêt, which, as its name bespeaks, is a little forest-surrounded town, quite unworldly, and eight kilometres from a railway; Gournay; Forges-les-Eaux, a decayed seaport town; Gisors; and the charming little villages of the valleys of the Andelle and the Ept.

      Follow up the Eure from its juncture with the Seine at the Pont de l’Arche, and one enters quite another region, quite different from that on the other side of the Seine.

      The chief towns are Louviers, a busy cloth-manufacturing centre with an art treasure of the first rank in its beautifully flamboyant church; and Evreux with its bizarre cathedral, headquarters of the Department of the Eure; while northward and westward, by Conches and Beaumont-le-Roger to Caen and Bayeux, lies a wonderful country of picturesque and historic towns, such as Lisieux; Bernay, famous for its horse-fair; Falaise, the birthplace of William the Conqueror; and Dives, where he set sail for England’s shores—names which will awaken memories of the past in a most vivid fashion.

      Westward of the valley of the Orne lies the Cotentin, with the cathedral towns of Avranches, Coutances, and St. Lô, and Mont St. Michel, which of itself is a sort of boundary stone between Normandy and Brittany.

      The monumental curiosities of the province and the natural attractions are all noted in the plans which are here given; and from them, and this descriptive outline, one should be able to map out for himself a tour most suitable to correspond to his inclinations.

      There is this much to say of Normandy, in addition: it is the most abundantly supplied of all the ancient French provinces with artistic and natural sights and curiosities, and above all is compact and accessible.

      There is one real regret that will strike one with regard to the journeyings in the valley of the Seine. There is no way of making the trip by water above Rouen. From Havre to Rouen, one may journey in a day on a little steamer, a most enjoyable trip; and at Rouen one finds the little “fly-boats,”—reminiscent of the bateaux mouches of Paris—which will take one for a half a dozen miles in either direction for astonishingly low fares.

      Pont de l’Arche, however, and Muids, and that most picturesquely situated of all northern French towns, Les Andelys, onward to Tosny, and still up-river, by Port Mort to Vernon, there is no communication by water for the passenger, though the great barges and canal-boats pass and repass a given point scores of times in a day, carrying coal, wine, cotton, and other merchandise, through the very finest scenery of the Seine.

      A few words on the French language are inevitable with every author of a book of French travel, and so they are given here. There is a current idea that English is the language for making one’s way about. Try it in Normandy or Brittany, in the average automobile garage, the post-office, or the railway station, or on the custodian of some great church or château, and you will prove its fallacy.

      At Rouen, Havre, or Dieppe, and at the great tourist hotels it is different; but in the open country seldom, if ever, will you come across one who can speak or understand a single word of English; save an occasional chauffeur who may have seen service on some titled person’s motor-car in England, and knows “all right,” “pretty soon,” and “go ahead” to perfection.

      The writer notes two exceptions. Doubtless there may be others.

      At the quaint little Seine-side town of Vetheuil, near La Roche-Guyon, which fits snugly in the southeast corner of Normandy, one enters the tobacco-shop to buy a picture post-card, perhaps, of its quaint little church, so loved by artists, and there he will find an unassuming little man who retails tobacco to the natives and souvenir postal cards to strangers while chatting glibly in either tongue.

      At the Hôtel Bellevue in Les Andelys is a waitress who speaks excellent English; though you may be a guest of the house for months and talk in English daily with your artist-neighbour across the table, and not know that she understands a word of what you say—which surely indicates great strength of mind on the part of this estimable woman, though the circumstance has proved embarrassing.

      In this connection it is curious to note the influx of English words into the Gallic tongue. Most of these words have been taken up by the world of sport and fashion, and have not yet reached the common people.

      One can, if he is ingenious, carry on quite a conversation with a young man about town, whom one may meet at table d’hôte or at a café, either at the capital or in the larger towns, without knowing a word of French, and without his realizing that he knows English.

      “Gentleman,” “tennis,” and “golf”; “yacht,” “yachting,” and “mail-coach”; “garden-party,” “handicap,” and “jockey,”—all these are equally well-known and understood of the modern Frenchman. “Very smart” is heard once and again of a “swell” turnout drawn by a pair of “high-steppers.”

      For clothing the Frenchman of fashion affects “waterproofs,” “snow-boots,” “leggings,” and “knickerbockers,” and he travels in a “sleeping-car” when he can afford their outrageously high charges. When it comes to his menu—more’s the pity—he too often affects the “mutton-chop” and the “beefsteak” in the “grill-room” of a “music-hall.”

      The fact is only mentioned here as showing a widespread affectation, which, in a former day, was much more confined and restricted.

      In the wine country, in Touraine and on the coast, you will hear the “black rot” talked of, and in Normandy, at Havre, you will see a crowd of “dockers” discussing vehemently—as only Normans can—the latest “lockout.”

      All this, say the discerning French, is a madness that can be cured. “Allons, parlons français!” that is the remedy; and matters have even gone so far as to form an association which should propagate the French tongue to the entire exclusion of the foreign, in the same way as there is a patriotic alliance to prevent the “invasion étrangère.”

      The Norman patois is, perhaps, no more strange than the patois of other parts of France. At any rate it is not so difficult to understand as the Breton tongue, which is only possible to a Welshman—and his numbers are few.

      The Parisians who frequent Trouville revile the patois of Normandy; but then the Parisian does not admit that any one speaks the real French but he and his fellows. In Touraine they claim the same for their own capital.

      Henry Moisy claims the existence, in the Norman’s common speech of to-day, of more than five thousand words which are foreign to the French language.

      The Normandy patois, however, is exceedingly amusing and apropos. The author has been told when hurrying down a country road to the railway