skirts. Architecturally it preserves a calm classicism which is as complete as it is restful. The most modest cottage is embellished with carefully chiselled mouldings. The proximity of quarries of easily worked sandstone has much to do with it, but it takes more than soft stone to perpetuate a classic tradition. Proud dwellings of the 16th and 17th centuries fill its streets, bearing with great dignity marks of a battered old age. Their iron balconies have been eaten with rust, and the moisture of centuries has crumbled the smooth surfaces of their facades, but their poise has not deserted them. They are still stalwart enough to house a large part of the population of Saumur.
There remain a few forlorn remnants of the old timbered houses which once grouped around the church of St. Pierre, two of which make up the rather dramatic mass shown in the present lithograph. Desperately they clutch one another to keep from crashing to the ground in a shower of worm-eaten splinters. If this lithograph seems a bit hectic, I should explain that it was made under the window of a refined young ladies’ Pensionnat, and that the refined young ladies tortured me with the most ghastly symphony of simultaneous music lessons that can be imagined.
The chateau of Saumur, one of the most military in France,
frowns down from a truly formidable ridge of rocks, more awe-inspiring than Amboise or Luynes or even Chinon. So inaccessible it is, in fact, that it remains unsketchable save from a respectful distance or else from a high grassy plot adjoining the entranceway, where a series of stairs and towers and fortified portals are seen to pile up behind a wide acreage of wall. Bullets have peppered the facing of the walls, especially where a narrow slit, for sharpshooting defenders, appears on the surface. A tottering concierge leads you through endless halls of magnificent emptiness, whose rigidity bespeaks the recent restoration by the inspector of “monuments historiques.” The work was effected, incidentally, with the aid of some of the original plans which were discovered among the manuscripts of the Due de Berry.
A Hotel de Ville of consummate grace has been bequeathed to Saumur, a structure as disturbing as it is intriguing—disturbing because its principal facade is divided precisely in the middle. One wing dates from that tremulous period when florid
flamboyancy was not enough, and Gothic form began to take on the contours of relaxed rubber bands, while the other wing is the model of feudal grace which appears in the enclosed sketch. What admirable style, what strength and what fragility are manifest in this rare bijou of medieval architecture! And what crimes have been committed on this Hotel de Ville partie!
Saumur is a “ville elegante,” due to the prestige lent by its cavalry school and the elite corps of officers who canter through its boulevards. Representatives of many nations are enrolled in the school, including officers of our own army, and gay are the evenings in the town cafes when they clank in with spurs and sabres. The menial task of attending to an army of horses is given over to Algerian soldiers. Red fezzes and baggy mustard
trousers have become parts of the Saumurian scene. I retreated from Saumur before an invading horde of horsemen who had come for the annual sale of thoroughbreds, not being the possessor of either a pair of leather top boots or a fancy vest.
Angers is an energetic city, joyous and vibrant. There is much of the garishly new in the city, but reminders of its ancient charm and splendor are wedged in everywhere. Two of the noblest old houses in France remain serenely in place on its busiest street, unmoved by the squawking of French horns and the rumbling of trucks. The mossy ruins of the Eglise Toussaint hover next to a garage, and its beautiful, vine-covered tracery yawns at the sputtering of exhausts. The chateau walls, bolstered with plump, striped towers, are the more impressive because they face a modern slaughter house in the worst art nouveau tradition.
The gaiety of Angers comes as a relief to the itinerant pencil pusher, weary of drab evenings in the bushes. Luxurious theatres and cafes supplant the lonely stroll on the village green. Parisian chic replaces the homespun rusticity of the meadows. Sidewalk orchestras substitute for the tinkling of cow bells. Angers has quite a tonic effect.
Many of its old houses are irresistible sketch subjects. There is a group on the “other side” of the river, facing a staunch little fountain, which makes as charming a melange as can be found in many a day. No hint of the color can be given in paltry black and white, which is regrettable, for a patine of soft, luminous tones covers the sagging timbers
THE CHATEAU TOWERS, ANGERS
There remain a few forlorn remnants of the old timbered houses which once grouped around the church of St. Pierre, two of which make up the rather dramatic mass shown in the present lithograph. Desperately they clutch one another to keep from crashing to the ground in a shower of worm-eaten splinters. If this lithograph seems a bit hectic, I should explain that it was made under the window of a refined young ladies’ Pensionnat, and that the refined young ladies tortured me with the most ghastly symphony of simultaneous music lessons that can be imagined.
The chateau of Saumur, one of the most military in France,
frowns down from a truly formidable ridge of rocks, more awe-inspiring than Amboise or Luynes or even Chinon. So inaccessible it is, in fact, that it remains unsketchable save from a respectful distance or else from a high grassy plot adjoining the entranceway, where a series of stairs and towers and fortified portals are seen to pile up behind a wide acreage of wall. Bullets have peppered the facing of the walls, especially where a narrow slit, for sharpshooting defenders, appears on the surface. A tottering concierge leads you through endless halls of magnificent emptiness, whose rigidity bespeaks the recent restoration by the inspector of “monuments historiques.” The work was effected, incidentally, with the aid of some of the original plans which were discovered among the manuscripts of the Due de Berry.
A Hotel de Ville of consummate grace has been bequeathed to Saumur, a structure as disturbing as it is intriguing—disturbing because its principal facade is divided precisely in the middle. One wing dates from that tremulous period when florid
flamboyancy was not enough, and Gothic form began to take on the contours of relaxed rubber bands, while the other wing is the model of feudal grace which appears in the enclosed sketch. What admirable style, what strength and what fragility are manifest in this rare bijou of medieval architecture! And what crimes have been committed on this Hotel de Ville partie!
Saumur is a “ville elegante,” due to the prestige lent by its cavalry school and the elite corps of officers who canter through its boulevards. Representatives of many nations are enrolled in the school, including officers of our own army, and gay are the evenings in the town cafes when they clank in with spurs and sabres. The menial task of attending to an army of horses is given over to Algerian soldiers. Red fezzes and baggy mustard
trousers have become parts of the Saumurian scene. I retreated from Saumur before an invading horde of horsemen who had come for the annual sale of thoroughbreds, not being the possessor of either a pair of leather top boots or a fancy vest.
Angers is an energetic city, joyous and vibrant. There is much of the garishly new in the city, but reminders of its ancient charm and splendor are wedged in everywhere. Two of the noblest old houses in France remain serenely in place on its busiest street, unmoved by the squawking of French horns and the rumbling of trucks. The mossy ruins of the Eglise Toussaint hover next to a garage, and its beautiful, vine-covered tracery yawns at the sputtering of exhausts. The chateau walls, bolstered with plump, striped towers, are the more impressive because they face a modern slaughter house in the worst art nouveau tradition.
The gaiety of Angers comes as a relief to the itinerant pencil pusher, weary of drab evenings in the bushes. Luxurious theatres and cafes supplant the lonely stroll on the village green. Parisian chic replaces the homespun rusticity of the meadows. Sidewalk orchestras substitute for the tinkling of cow bells. Angers has quite a tonic effect.
Many of its old houses are irresistible sketch subjects. There is a group on the “other side” of the river, facing a staunch little fountain, which makes as charming a melange as can be found in many a day. No hint of the color can be given in paltry black and white, which is regrettable, for a patine of soft, luminous tones covers the sagging timbers
THE CHATEAU TOWERS, ANGERS