Winged Wheels in France

In Short

This travelogue documents a five-thousand-mile journey through France, the Rhine Valley, and Switzerland in a red automobile during the early 1900s. Driven by a desire for spontaneity rather than a fixed itinerary, the author wanders through historic provinces, ancient châteaux, and quiet villages. The work has endured as a vivid, firsthand look at a world on the cusp of modernity, offering a unique perspective on the intersection of grand history, provincial life, and the emerging thrill of high-speed personal travel.

The Story

The journey begins in Nice, where the author, possessing a "red machine" and a restless spirit, decides to leave all route planning to his French chauffeur, Jean. Leaving the coast, they ascend into the olive-crowned hills of Provence, moving toward Aix, a city the author reveres for its history and atmosphere. The narrative follows a loose, meandering path through the heart of France: Arles, the picturesque fortress of Carcassonne, the religious fervor of Lourdes, and the coastal elegance of Biarritz. Along the way, the author stops to explore the remnants of the past—from the opulent châteaux of the Loire Valley and the dark, oubliette-filled dungeons of Loches to the architectural majesty of Chartres and the quiet, gabled streets of Brittany.

The trip is not merely a sightseeing tour; it is a search for the authentic, slower rhythm of provincial life. In Anjou and Touraine, the author finds a courtly, fading elegance; in the quieter towns, he sits in local cafés, observing the residents and reflecting on the weight of centuries. He is frequently struck by the contrast between the vibrant present and the somber, blood-stained history of the sites he visits. He ruminates on the nature of ambition and legacy while standing in the ruins of castles like Tournoël, musing on the vanity of kings and the cruelty of past regimes.

As the car moves north toward Paris, the tour expands. The author explores the outskirts of the capital before pushing eastward through the forest of Fontainebleau, toward the Vosges mountains. The drive over the Col de la Schlucht provides a moment of pure, exhilarating motion, where the silence of the pines is broken only by the hum of the engine. Yet, the journey is also marked by the practical realities of the era: disputes with German custom officials, the persistent challenge of finding good lodging, and the occasional, sharp-tongued disagreement with locals who view the automobile as a nuisance on their quiet roads.

The final leg of the trip takes the travelers into the Black Forest and then into Switzerland, reaching Geneva and finally Aix-les-Bains. There, the author bids farewell to his vehicle, which has performed with remarkable reliability across thousands of miles of diverse terrain. The experience leaves him with a profound appreciation for the autonomy provided by the automobile, which allowed him to bridge the gap between ancient monuments and the modern world, all while keeping the convenience of a hotel dinner waiting at the end of every day.

How It Unfolds

The departure from Nice Spurning a pre-planned route, the author allows his chauffeur to steer them away from the crowded coast and into the mountains of Provence. This initial leg establishes the book's core philosophy: travel should be an act of discovery, not a series of scheduled appointments.

Wandering the provinces The narrative progresses through a series of vignettes as the pair moves from the sun-drenched south to the stormy, gabled towns of Brittany. Each stop—whether at a bustling market in Montpellier or a quiet, rain-swept inn in Chateaubriant—reveals the distinct character of the French regions.

Delving into history Interspersed with the driving are deep dives into the grim, often violent, past of the châteaux they visit. The author visits dungeons and ruins, reflecting on the fate of historical figures like Jacques Coeur and Ludovico Sforza, effectively linking the physical landscape to its turbulent history.

Crossing into the mountains The climax of the physical journey occurs in the Vosges and the Black Forest, where the automobile proves its worth against the challenging terrain. The beauty of the mountain air and the efficiency of the machine contrast with the bureaucratic headaches encountered at the German border.

The People

The author acts as a thoughtful, observant lens, always seeking the intersection of historical grandeur and the immediate comfort of a modern traveler. His chauffeur, Jean, is a steady, capable presence, a "staunch" guide who navigates the machine through both smooth highways and treacherous mountain passes while managing the logistics of the trip. The author relies on Jean’s expertise, noting that his life is "in his hands." Completing this small party is Yama, the author’s Japanese servant, whose presence in the French provinces serves as a point of curiosity for the locals. Yama provides a striking sense of contrast, whether he is standing in a dusty road with a small donkey-driver or effortlessly besting an overconfident English valet in a test of strength. These figures remain consistent throughout, though the author is clearly transformed by the constant, intimate contact with the "plaisant pays de France."

In Its Own Voice

"When I entered my red machine at Nice no route had been laid out,--to me there is small pleasure in travel when that is done,--so I told Jean to start and left the direction to him."

The author describes the spontaneous philosophy that drives his decision to set off into the French countryside without a formal plan.

"To-day, however, sailing onward, soundless and with no sense of motion save that of gliding, it is almost as though we are borne on wings until the first paving stone of the city jostles us down to earth once more."

This reflection captures the dream-like sensation of early automobile travel before the reality of the city streets disrupts the journey.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is an argument for the superiority of the motor car as a tool for historical and cultural engagement. By removing the traveler from the rigid, impersonal confinement of the train, the automobile allows for a deeper, more tactile connection to the landscape. The text grapples with the tension between the "bustle of the world" and the "repose" found in the ancient, often crumbling remnants of the French aristocracy. It asks whether the modern traveler can truly understand the weight of the past while moving at speed, and it concludes that the machine is the perfect vehicle for this synthesis, allowing one to observe the "sadness of these old towers" while maintaining the freedom to move forward.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow-travel movement or anyone fascinated by the history of technology will find this a charming read. It offers a rare window into a lost Europe—the last gasp of the belle époque—seen through the eyes of someone experiencing the exhilarating, and often unpredictable, dawn of the machine age.

However, a contemporary reader must be prepared for the author’s period-typical attitudes, particularly regarding the Dreyfus Affair and his views on various nationalities, which are delivered with the casual certainty of his time. The book is not a polished, modern travel guide; it is an unfiltered, often opinionated diary of a man who values his creature comforts as much as he values the architectural legacy of the Middle Ages. You will find it most rewarding if you embrace its lack of pretense and its slow, meandering pace. It is a book that demands patience, much like the winding roads the author traverses, rewarding those who stick with it with a vivid, tactile sense of a world that has long since shifted into a different gear. You walk away with the distinct impression of what it felt like to be a pioneer of the road, caught between the ancient bells of cathedrals and the hum of an engine.