Bøger af M F Mansfield

An attempt to enumerate the architectural monuments of France is not possible without due consideration being given to the topographical divisions of the country, which, so far as the early population and the expression of their arts and customs is concerned, naturally divides itself into two grand divisions of influences, widely dissimilar.

I recall to mind a British colonel, who said to me in Calcutta: "This is the third time that I have been sent to India. Twenty-five years ago, as lieutenant, and then the Russians were some fifteen hundred miles from the Indian frontier; then, six years since, as captain, and the Russians were then only five hundred miles away. A year ago I came here as lieutenant-colonel, and the Russians are right up to the passes leading to India." The map of the world unfolds itself before me. All seas are ploughed by the keels of English vessels, all coasts dotted with the coaling stations and fortresses of the British world-power. In England is vested the dominion of the globe, and England will retain it; she cannot permit the Russian monster to drink life and mobility from the sea.

"À Valence, le Midi commence!" is a saying of the French, though this Rhône-side city, the Julia-Valentia of Roman times, is in full view of the snow-clad Alps. It is true, however, that as one descends the valley of the torrential Rhône, from Lyons southward, he comes suddenly upon a brilliancy of sunshine and warmth of atmosphere, to say nothing of many differences in manners and customs, which are reminiscent only of the southland itself. Indeed this is even more true of Orange, but a couple of scores of miles below, whose awning-hung streets, and open-air workshops are as brilliant and Italian in motive as Tuscany itself.

"ONE doubles his span of life," says George Moore, "by knowing well a country not his own." Un pays aimé is a good friend, indeed, to whom one may turn in time of strife, and none other than Normandy-unless it be Brittany-has proved itself a more safe and pleasant land for travellers. When one knows the country well he recognizes many things which it has in common with England. Its architecture, for one thing, bears a marked resemblance; for the Norman builders, who erected the magnificent ecclesiastical edifices in the Seine valley during the middle ages, were in no small way responsible for many similar works in England.

THE regard which every one has for the old French provinces is by no means inexplicable. Out of them grew the present solidarity of republican France, but in spite of it the old limits of demarcation are not yet expunged. One and all retain to-day their individual characteristics, manners, and customs, and also a certain subconscious atmosphere. Many are the casual travellers who know Normandy and Brittany, at least know them by name and perhaps something more, but how many of those who annually skim across France, in summer to Switzerland and in winter to the Riviera or to Italy, there to live in seven-franc-a-day pensions, and drink a particularly vile brand of tea, know where Brittany leaves off and Normandy begins, or have more than the vaguest of vague notions as to whether the charming little provincial capital of Nantes, on the Loire, is in Brittany or in Poitou. A recollection of their school-day knowledge of history will help them on the latter point, but geography will come in and puzzle them still more.

The modern traveller sees something beyond mere facts. Historical material as identified with the life of some great architectural glory is something more than a mere repetition of chronologies; the sidelights and the co-related incidents, though indeed many of them may be but hearsay, are quite as interesting, quite as necessary, in fact, for the proper appreciation of a famous palace or chateau as long columns of dates, or an evolved genealogical tree which attempts to make plain that which could be better left unexplained. The glamour of history would be considerably dimmed if everything was explained, and a very seamy block of marble may be chiselled into a very acceptable statue if the workman but knows how to avoid the doubtful parts.