Böcker av Milburg F Mansfield

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-franca-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. There are many French writers, and painters for that matter, who have made these provinces famous. Napoleon, perhaps, set the fashion, when he wrote, in 1786, that eulogy beginning: ¿It is now six or seven years since I left my native country.¿ More familiar is the ¿Native Land¿ of Lamartine. Camille Flammarion wrote ¿My Cradle,¿ meaning Champagne; Dumas wrote of Villers-Cotterets, and Chateaubriand and Renan of Brittany; but head and shoulders above them all stand out Frederic Mistral and his fellows of the Félibres at Avignon and Arles.

¿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. Here at Orange one has before him the most wonderful old Roman arch outside of Italy, and an amphitheatre so great and stupendous in every way, and so perfectly preserved, that he may well wonder if he has not crossed some indefinite frontier and plunged into the midst of some strange land he knew not of. The history of Provence covers so great a period of time that no one as yet has attempted to put it all into one volume, hence the lover of wide reading, with Provence for a subject, will be able to give his hobby full play.

¿ONE doubles his span of life,¿ says George Moore, ¿by knowing well a country not his own.¿ 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. It is possible to carry the likeness still further, but the author is not rash enough to do so. The above is doubtless sufficient to awaken any spirit of contention which might otherwise be latent. Some one has said that the genuine traveller must be a vagabond; and so he must, at least to the extent of taking things as he finds them. He may have other qualities which will endear him to the people with whom he comes in contact; he may be an artist, an antiquarian, or a mere singer of songs;¿even if he be merely inquisitive, the typical Norman peasant makes no objection. One comes to know Normandy best through the real gateway of the Seine, though not many distinguish between Lower Normandy and Upper Normandy. Indeed, not every one knows where Normandy leaves off and Brittany begins, or realizes even the confines of the ancient royal domain of the kings of France.

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. An itinerary that follows not only the ridges, but occasionally plunges down into the hollows and turns up or down such crossroads as may have chanced to look inviting, is perhaps more interesting than one laid out on conventional lines. A shadowy something, which for a better name may be called sentiment, if given full play encourages these side-steps, and since they are generally found fruitful, and often not too fatiguing, the procedure should be given every encouragement.

We have progressed appreciably beyond the days of the old horseless carriage, which, it will be remembered, retained even the dashboard. To-day the modern automobile somewhat resembles, in its outlines, across between a decapod locomotive and a steam fire-engine, or at least something concerning the artistic appearance of which the layman has very grave doubts. The control of a restive horse, a cranky boat, or even a trolley-car on rails is difficult enough for the inexperienced, and there are many who would quail before making the attempt; but to the novice in charge of an automobile, some serious damage is likely enough to occur within an incredibly short space of time, particularly if he does not take into account the tremendous force and power which he controls merely by the moving of a tiny lever, or by the depressing of a pedal.

TOO often¿it is a half-acknowledged delusion, however¿one meets with what appears to be a theory: that a book of travel must necessarily be a series of dull, discursive, and entirely uncorroborated opinions of one who may not be even an intelligent observer. This is mere intellectual pretence. Even a humble author¿so long as he be an honest one¿may well be allowed to claim with Mr. Howells the right to be serious, or the reverse, "with his material as he finds it;" and that "something personally experienced can only be realized on the spot where it was lived." This, says he, is "the prime use of travel, and the attempt to create the reader a partner in the enterprise" ... must be the excuse, then, for putting one's observations on paper. He rightly says, too, that nothing of perilous adventure is to-day any more like to happen "in Florence than in Fitchburg." A "literary tour," a "cathedral tour," or an "architectural tour," requires a formula wherein the author must be wary of making questionable estimates; but he may, with regard to generalities,¿or details, for that matter,¿state his opinion plainly; but he should state also his reasons. With respect to church architecture no average reader, any more than the average observer, willingly enters the arena of intellectual combat, but rather is satisfied¿as he should be, unless he is a Freeman, a Gonse, or a Corroyer¿with an ampler radius which shall command even a juster, though no less truthful, view.

THERE is no topographical division of Europe which more readily defines itself and its limits than the Rhine valley from Schaffhausen to where the river empties into the North Sea. The region has given birth to history and legend of a most fascinating character, and the manners and customs of the people who dwell along its banks are varied and picturesque. Under these circumstances it was but to be expected that architectural development should have expressed itself in a decided and unmistakable fashion. One usually makes the Rhine tour as an interlude while on the way to Switzerland or the Italian lakes, with little thought of its geographical and historical importance in connection with the development of modern Europe. It was the onward march of civilization, furthered by the Romans, through this greatest of natural highways to the north, that gave the first political and historical significance to the country of the Rhine watershed. And from that day to this the Rhenish provinces and the Low Countries bordering upon the sea have occupied a prominent place in history. There is a distinct and notable architecture, confined almost, one may say, to the borders of the Rhine, which the expert knows as Rhenish, if it can be defined at all; and which is distinct from that variety of pre-Gothic architecture known as Romanesque.

As of my last knowledge update in January 2022, I don't have specific information about a book titled "The Cathedrals of Northern France" by M. F. Mansfield. It's possible that the book may be a less widely known or niche publication.If "The Cathedrals of Northern France" by M. F. Mansfield is a real or upcoming book, or if there are variations in the title or author's name, I recommend checking more recent sources such as online bookstores, library catalogs, or the publisher's website for the latest information.Books about the cathedrals of Northern France could cover a range of topics, including their architectural features, history, and cultural significance. If you are interested in this subject, you may also explore other well-known works on French cathedrals and architecture.

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