Logo
Prev
Bookmark
Rotate
Print
Next
Contents
All Pages
Related Articles
Browse Issues
Help
Search
Home
'
National Geographic : 1936 May
Contents
NORMANDY-CHOICE OF THE VIKINGS65 ponderous dignity suffered when he was lifted into the air by ropes and derrick and the crowd laughed in the delight man al ways feels for a pig's predicaments. The porker swung high. A rope broke. He fell heavily into the water and swam madly away. Sometimes in one's dreams a boat travels serenely over green lands. That is how the boat of the canal seems to go, for on both sides are fair lawns, wide as a park and as well kept, flanked with tall, tall poplars. People sit on benches along the way and children gambol with dogs; you might be in the Park of Versailles, but you are really a traveler on a definite journey. More travelers from overseas should know of the Caen canal. HISTORY RECORDED IN EMBROIDERY The Bayeux Tapestry, as a certain his tonec embroidery is called, beckons one to leave Caen for a day before taking the canal. It is one of those relics of the past of which everyone knows the name and which everyone not in mad haste of travel would like to see, for in this Normandy of William it is an important "human document." Two hundred and thirty feet long, this remarkable piece of needlework depicts numerous scenes in the Norman Conquest. Particularly interesting to travelers who have visited Mont St. Michel is one which shows heavily armed Normans being pulled from the quicksands where the Couesnon runs into the sandy flats surrounding the Mount. The tapestry-embroidery lies in a double glass case in the old Bishop's Palace, now the town Library, at Bayeux (page 628). But alas, they tell us we must doubt that Queen Matilda wrought it all herself with her needle as a tribute to William's power of conquest. The quiet little town seems half asleep around its Cathedral, and short strolls lead to its straggling borders. A man outside a shop of negligible interest suddenly stepped forward and threw before me on the side walk a tapestry of splendid color, undulat ing in the sun. "Very low price, Madame." He did not argue, nor persuade, merely repeated "Very low price," rippling the colorful square. And verily it was a low price. I took it, for what more fitting end to a day with the Bayeux Tapestry than to become possessed of a tapestry of one's own? "Ahi, these Americans," I heard the shabby shopman say in a voice of joy to his visiting neighbor. He was a true gentle man, attributing the sale to my fine quali ties instead of to his own skill as a salesman. That tapestry now hangs in one of New York's big hotels, but of all the people who lounge before it and enjoy its Renaissance beauty, I am the only one who sees in it the little town of Bayeux and that famous em broidered record of William's conquest. SHRINES WHERE TWO SAINTS DIED Lisieux, too, belongs to Normandy, though it is f ar to the east. A chauffeur drove me there, a jaunty, cocksure man of Michigan who had mar ried a French girl and stayed in France after the war. He pulled the car to the curb in the big square and said, "There you are. This is the home town of St. Theresa, the Little Flower." To the Carmelite convent in Lisieux came youthful Th6re'se Martin in 1888, and here, nine years later, she died in her early twenties. In 1925, only 28 years after her death, the young nun lovingly known as the Little Flower was canonized for her holi ness as manifested in the miracles ascribed to her intercession. Rouen is a shrine, not alone for France but for the whole world. Joan of Arc, and her sacrifice here, make of it a sacred city. Visitors crowd it, and over them all is a spirit of awe, unexpected perhaps when they first enter the ancient city so full of architectural treasures (page 662). The towers, the churches, would seem to be the reason for stopping there, but when ever one goes wandering about these Gothic temples, the feet inevitably stray to the old marketplace where the young girl gave up her life'. Over and over again one returns. It is not now a pretty place-the other sights of Rouen far surpass it-but there one becomes deeply conscious of the spirit of the Maid, of her work, her simple faith, and her love for God. The real heart of Normandy is here, for this was its early capital. But to me the abiding symbol of this land and all that is enduring in its eventful past is that phe nomenal Rock, with its hoary buildings, rising above the tide-washed flats like a granite monument. Once seen it can never be forgotten, and now, in retrospect, the vision of the Rock comes back to me-most vivid of all my Norman memories. 665
Links
Archive
1936 Jun
1936 Apr
Navigation
Previous Page
Next Page