Copyright by Underwood & Underwood The approach to the Stelvio pass Page 36 EUROPE FROM A MOTOR CAR By RUSSELL RICHARDSON RAND McNALLY & COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK Copyright, 1914 By Rand, McNally & Company The Rand-McNally Press Chicago To My Mother...

The following pages have not been written to supplement the thousands of guide books about Europe. Long, technical descriptions have been avoided. An endeavor has been made, rather, to give our personal impressions of the Old World from a motor car. Our itinerary overlooked the larger cities whose contents have been so well inventoried by Baedeker. The life of the peasantry, the small towns seldom visited by American tourists, quaint villages unapproached by any railroad, the superb roads and vi

Before us was the long stretch of the Potsdamer Strasse bathed in the sunshine of a July morning. Slowly the speedometer began to devour the kilometers of the Kaiser's imperial city, and the low music of the siren seemed like a song of rejoicing that we were at last starting on our quest of motor experiences along the highways of Europe. The exhilaration of the moment called for speed, a leaping burst of it, but a Berlin street is unfortunately no place for speeding. Numerous helmeted policemen,

Even a congenial environment like that of Marienbad began to lack interest when we looked at our motor itinerary and saw awaiting us such rich experiences as climbing above the clouds over the snowbound Stelvio, or the sight of Carcassonne, tower-girt and formidable behind feudal walls. The call of the white road was irresistible when it led through the purple valleys of the Pyrenees to beautiful Biarritz on the Atlantic and to San Sebastian in Spain, where the Spanish king and queen hold summer

It was before seven that we started on the long climb. An early start is important when the main care is to keep the engine cool. Cloudless skies favored our attempt. Across the gorge we saw the towering Weiskugel, its snows turned to radiant silver while the valley was still in shadow. The Ortler was transfigured, the Madatsch dazzling—almost blinding until our eyes had grown wonted to the brilliant spectacle. Slowly the long grades sank behind us. It seemed better to set a steady, even though

At Chambéry we interrupted our trip through southern France to visit Lyons, the center of the silk industry not only for France but for the entire world. For once, we traveled by train. There is an element of strain about mountain motoring which is as severe upon driver as upon car. A diversion is not only welcome but almost necessary to the motorist who has twice guided his car over the Alps within the short space of a few days. The exhilaration of looking down into France or Italy from the sum

From Chambéry our course ran southwest through the Midi, that great sweep of territory stretching across the Mediterranean basin from the Alps to the Pyrenees and embracing many of the most interesting regions in France. Our departure, early in the afternoon, was under somber skies. We were just reaching the outskirts of the city when the engine gave evidence of trouble. The car ran for a little way and then stopped. An investigation revealed the necessity of cleaning the spark plugs. While enga

There was abundance of time to arrive in Montpellier before dark, so we let the speedometer waver between thirty and thirty-five kilometers. The road was hardly a model of smoothness. We were not always enthusiastic about the roads in the Midi. On the whole, they were not much more than average, and not so good as we had expected to find them after that first experience on the Route Nationale to Chambéry. Where there was a bad place in the road we usually saw a pile of loose stones waiting to be

Our ride toward Toulouse led us steadily into southwestern France and nearer the Pyrenees. From time to time the landscape, with its fields of fodder corn, was peculiarly American. The illusion never lasted long; a château appeared on a distant hill, or a sixteenth-century church by the roadside, and we were once more in Europe, with its ancient architecture and historical association, with its infinite change of scenery and life. Our trip never grew monotonous. There was always the element of t

From Tarbes the road climbed a high hill above the city and then flung its marvelous coils through the mountains to Pau, that fashionable English resort where the Pyrenees can be seen marshaling their peaks in such grandeur. The country around Pau looked very English. There were neat villages with high-pitched roofs, spreading trees, and a feeling of repose in the scenery very characteristic of the large English estate. With almost fantastic suddenness, the landscape changed. Peasant houses show

There is always a thrill about motoring for the first time in a new country. We had long looked forward to crossing the Spanish frontier and visiting the summer capital of King Alfonso XIII. It was a ride of about thirty miles, far too short for one of the most interesting sweeps of country to be found anywhere in Europe. There was plenty of variety. This Basque country, forming a triangular corner of northern Spain and reaching over into France, is full of it. The people speak a dialect which i

Our three days in Biarritz had grown to three short weeks before we were able to break the spell of the alluring Grande Plage and shape our course in a northeasterly direction, along the foothills of the Pyrenees, through the picturesque regions of Périgord and Limousin to Tours and the châteaux country. Bayonne, the fortress city, looked peaceful enough with its tapering cathedral spires rising above the great earthen ramparts, now grass-grown and long disused to war. Not far from Bayonne the r

Motoring on to St. Justin, we plunged into an immense forest broken only now and then by small clearings and extending for nearly sixty miles to the lumber town of Casteljaloux. Woodland depths shut out the view. Mile followed mile of dark pines and somber perspective, an endless succession of dim forest glades. The sappers were at their work, peeling the bark from the long trunks and attaching small earthenware cups to catch the resinous gum. The road was so easy and smooth that we did not find

From Périgueux we followed the Isle for some distance before turning to wind over the hills. It was a region of chestnut trees, the marronniers for which the province is so celebrated. For miles the trees formed a stately hedge along both sides of the highway, and groves of them were in the near distance, their spreading branches reminding us of English oaks. The ascent continued to Thivièrs, a tiny village of the Dordogne. One of the vieux citoyens pointed out the Hôtel de France as the best pl

Tours made a convenient headquarters for our explorations in Touraine, where along the banks of the Loire and the Indre were enacted the most important events in French history from Charles VII to Henry IV. Every one would be interested in an historical course having for subjects these Renaissance homes of France's gallantry and beauty. One lingers, and imagines the scenes of magnificent revel, the court life of kings and queens when the artistic and architectural glory of France was at its zeni

Leaving the châteaux country, we proceeded to Orléans in the lower part of the Loire valley, spending the night at the Hôtel Saint Aignan. The general appearance of the city is prosperous and modern. The walls which once surrounded it have been turned into promenades. Everything in Orléans seems connected with Jeanne d'Arc. There is a bronze equestrian statue with bas-reliefs of the "Maid" who, clad in white armor, led her soldiers from victory to victory. We hope sometime to be present at the b