The Argosy — page 167: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

150 Fair Normandy. We were abundantly rewarded. Days and weeks would not exhaust the hidden beauties of Rouen, for you may visit and revisit these old haunts, and each time find some new feature to charm the eye, and reward the most indefatigable patience and research. ‘True it is always of the same kind; the beauties of architecture and antiquity ; but it is a kind that is only too rare; only too quickly dis appearing from the face of the earth. In the centuries and generations that are to come there will be nothing handed down to posterity so beautiful as we have possessed in the traces and remnants of the middle ages ; those grand old medizval times whose people seemed full of genius and lofty thoughts and ideals: times which furnished so much that was great in art; when men had convictions beyond the reach of all power of argument; religious faith and fervour which the terrors of martyrdom could never destroy. In our walks in Rouen we came upon many of these ancient streets, in what would probably be called the back slums of the city, parts that the sanitary inspector would no doubt condemn as liable to infection and disease. But we had nothing to do with interiors, though no doubt many an interior would have charmed and delighted us, if we had known where to choose and received permission to enter. It always seems to us that life from behind those latticed windows must be so different, the people so much more interesting and original, than anything that can happen or exist under modern influences. And the outer world must be seen under a new aspect ; or perhaps under an old aspect; but at least and at any rate, ina much more charming atmosphere. Again we would come upon a long stretch of river or canal; a narrow stream bordered by crumbling walls and small back gardens, which furnished weeping and over-hanging willows, and other small trees that found their reflections in the running water. And above, from out the greenery as it were, would rise the quaint gables and the red roofs, the dormer windows and latticed panes of these ancient houses. It was impossible for the eye not to be charmed. If the sun shone and the sky was blue, it was quite a laughing scene, full of beauty and sparkle. The sunshine seemed to gild the old houses. into life and youth once more, and the phantoms of the past, by which all these old houses are haunted, seemed to vanish and disappear as mists before the dawn. There was one such spot in particular in Rouen to which we re- turned many times, though it was far from our hotel, for the sake of the vivid delight and impression its contemplation invariably gave us. It was all I have described. In sunshine it was full of sparkle and beauty, and in gloom it was full of depth and grandeur, and a certain artistic colouring that invariably sent H.C. into the poetical mood I had once fondly hoped was buried with the Majorcan days. But I suppose we cannot really discard our nature. Our moods may slumber, but they do not die. They may remain in abeyance for a e€om | an \ 21 0)(0)(0)| KS,(E() m