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PRVILLE SETS The cathedral viewed from the tower of St. Pierre. In the foreground and at the that life was, after all, not so much shorter than art, that Senlis would not change one whit in fifty years, and that I might finish my interrupted sketch next day or next year or ten years hence.
right edge of the picture may be seen towers of the old Roman wall
As I walked through the dusk I came to a very modern inn, dead white and businesslike and utterly out of keeping with the rest of the town. It seemed to say, “Leave romance and color and come to pork chops and beer!"
On an autumn evening in 1915, I entered the twenty-centuries old town of Senlis. I sat in the front seat of war ambulance, which passed the gates only
after a searching examination by the unshaven, sweaty, war-worn French sentries who held a barrier-fort across the road. “C'est que ces sals Boches ont tout brûlé 'vant d'partir, 'puis ils ont fusillé le maire," they cried after us as we left them and sped down the hilly cobbled main street, through the wrecked, charred shell of the former town of Senlis. Chimneys and scarred wall-fragments stood out against the sky, while among them lay black ashes, like dust within the ribs of a skeleton. We looked straight through these ribs at the red sun setting into the hills behind. As we rode through the dusk we came to the very modern inn, dead white and businesslike and utterly out of keeping
Ruins of the Château de Thiers at Senlis. Tourists who pass hurriedly
through the country may ascribe to the Germans many
ruins that date from a much earlier period
with the rest of the town of Senlis. It had been the headquarters of the officers of the German general staff. The chef told us stories of their brutality and arrogance. The house of pork chops and beer had been passed over uninjured and unscathed, while the town of romance and color had disappeared flames.