The Optical Magic Lantern Journal (July 1903)

110 THE OPTICAL magic time nothing bui that highest should be really opaque, a condition utterly impossible without a full exposure; and if, in addition to those, there is definition as perfect as the lens will give, you will have negatives fit for enlarging to any desirable size. JT may add that while, for enlarving, or for illustrating magazine articles, the image may profitably be allowed to occupy the whole of the 4x5 plate, on negatives intended for lantern slides it should be confined to lantern size, and so available for contact printing when that is desirable. KEK AK Three Weeks on a Wheel in France. By Waurer T. Ownn, C.A., F.R.G.S. Déléqué au Touring Club de France. Continiwed. PIT NGERS is a modern town, and I arrived AK there on the day of the National TI*etes, Music, Military Processions, speeches, ladics in flaming red (Republican colours)—a general holiday. Having been there before I was soon out of the town and off for Champtoce, which is noted for the remains of the Castle of Barbe Bleu, the infamous Gilles de Retz, the original of our nursery story and of the pantomime sketch of “ Blue Beard.’’ This man was a human monster killing many people. He was condemned, and burnt at the stake at Nantes. The peasants of the district still regard with horror the ill-omened walls. One now can shout Sister Ann until Domesday, but no Sister Ann will appear. sande is the next town, and here I witnessed the National Fete processions, and made off for Pouance, to renew my acquaintance with the hotel-keeper that I had made on a previous visit. In a ditch I saw a youth catching frogs with a hook baited with a piece of red wool, which he danced on the weeds and slime. The Chateau of Pouance is in splendid repair, and its gardens are well kept. Chateaubriant is a small town, and from here I took the road to la Milleraye. The sun was scorching, and once or twice I dismounted and rested on the grass in the shade for a few minutes. At last, the insignificant village was sighted, and choosing the best inn I enquired if they had a dejeuner, and the direction of the Trappists’ Monastery, which I had come to see. About a mile off the main road in a well wooded district lies the retreat of the Trappists or the brotherhood of silence, who never speak, and dig their own graves. Time has not dealt lightly with the edifice. It being LANTERN JOURNAL the headquarters of the Order, I expected to see towers and turrets, but found nothing of the kind, but simply a rambling plain building with whitewash everywhere. You approach the monastery by a narrow lane near a lake with a life-sized figure of a saint erected on the water's edge. The Jarge building on the right is the hotelerric or pension run by the monks at a few shillings a day, and is used more as a retreat for anyone who would care to stay. When near the monastery I heard singing in the barmlike building on the left which is the chapel. I entered and found a plain screen dividing and could see nothing. The service was going on behind, and the singing was loud, forcible, and fervent. Going to the portal of the monastery I accosted a lay brother who is bound by no laws of silence, and spends the day at the entrance giving relief to the poor, and asked if I could see the interior, the dormitories, chapel, and cemetery, to which he answered in the affirmative, and told me to roam where I wished, but before doing so, enquired if I should send an account of my visit to a magazine. Everywhere and everything was appallingly plain. The walls of the corridors adorned with plenty of texts bearing on the religious life. The rules are very strict. The services commence at 2 a.m., and every quarter of an hour day and night the convent clock strikes out its ominous message bringing a moment’s meditation to those sad men whom I hope are at peace with the world. The chapel is an instance of the severity of the order. In some monasteries there is comfort sometimes found. Where all meet to pray early morn, noon, and night, coloured statues on the altar, stained elass windows, frescoed walls adorned with the stations of the cross, lace, flowers, and brightness relieve the monastic life from its dreariness and monotony, but not at la Trappe. The monks till the soil, making it very fertile and grow excellent vegetables. Upon entering the carpenter's shop where a brother was at work, I raised my cap and said, “ Hallo, my pet, have you got a drink. He replied, “Oui, monsieur, l'eau sucree.”” A little sufficed, He told me-he had made it himself from the sap of spruce and water. His habit was nothing but patches which covered a frail body of bones (quite a contrast to the writer), and he was engaged repairing the zinc roof, in a broiling sun, with his head uncovered and shorn. Afterwards he led me to the small cemetery not much larger than a suburban villa garden. Here the bodies of the monks are consigned to the mother earth uncoffined—like the Franciscans at Rome. (To be continued.)