As has been said, each of the great provinces into which France was divided previous to the Revolution possessed characteristics, unmistakable even to-day. As to the topography of any single one, the question is so vast in its detail that more than mention of principal features can hardly be made in a book such as this. It is then perhaps enough that some slight information concerning Brittany and its principal places should be recorded here, and that the chief configurations of its territory should be outlined.
In addition to the principal old-time governments, there were the ancient fiefs and local divisions, and these in many cases had names often encountered in history and literature. Sometimes these were relics of the still earlier day, of Gaul before the Roman conquest, their ancient names having come down through the ages with but little change.
If one would understand the economic or agricultural aspect of France of to-day, he must know these principal provinces by name at least.
When one is at Chartres, he must be aware that he is on the edge of the great plateau of Beauce,—the granary of France,—and that as he crosses into Brittany—perhaps through Perche, whence come the great-footed Percherons—he enters the country of the ancient Veneti. Farther west lies rock-bound Cornouaille, which in every characteristic resembles Cornwall in Britain; Léon on the north, and finally Penthièvre.
The traveller remakes his history where he finds it. If he have a good memory, this is not a difficult process, but, in any case, the French guide-books, that is to say, those written in French, not the English or Anglo-German variety, are sufficiently explicit as to dates and events to set him on the right track.
The armchair traveller usually desires something more. He likes his plain stories garnished with a not too elaborate series of embellishment, both as to text and illustration, giving him some tangible reminder of things as they are in this enlightened twentieth century, when tram-cars have taken the place of the diligence, and the electric light has supplanted the tallow dip, and one may well say with Sterne: “Since France is so near to England, why not go to France?”
Here, in spots all but unknown even in Normandy and Brittany, the traveller finds for himself monuments of a civilization gone before and of a local history not yet completely erased, and as interesting as those of any land made famous by antiquaries whose only claim to fame rests upon their questionable ability in propounding new theories, of which the chief merit is plausibility,—a process of history-making sadly overdone of late in some parts.
Both in Brittany and in Normandy there are innumerable glorious architectural monuments of a past from which history may be builded anew. Character counts for a great deal with cities as with individuals. One can love Rouen as the capital of the ancient Normandy, or Nantes as the capital of Lower Brittany, but he will no more have the same sort of affection for Lyons or for Nice than he will have it for Manchester or for Chicago.
In the days of old, when each little town had its dignitaries, who may have been counts or who may have been bishops, there was perhaps more individuality than in the present age of monotonous prefects and mayors. Nantes had its dukes, and Rouen had its prelates, and both of them, even to-day, overshadow the civic dignitaries of their time; hence it is the memory of the parts played by them which induces an association of ideas prompting a desire to know personally the ground trodden by them.
Normandy and Brittany are supposed to be the happy hunting-grounds of cheap tourists and trippers, but, as a matter of fact, the former do not go beyond Dieppe, or the latter beyond the Channel Islands,—with possibly a day excursion to St. Malo,—so no discomfort need really arise from the fear of their presence. Furthermore, the tourists from across Channel that one does meet in Normandy or Brittany to-day are not so outrageous in their dress and manners as the type pictured by Punch.