The parents of Mr. Belloc, with a happy prevision, anticipated by some
decades the _entente cordiale_, and their brilliant son felicitously
manifests in his own person many of the admirable qualities of both
races. In England he is reported to be forcefully French, and it may be
surmised that when in France he is engagingly British. Fortunately for
our literature, it is in the language of his mother that he has found his
expression. Many are the beautiful utterances scattered through his
charming works: two of the most picturesque deal with the greatness of
France; the subject of one is the Ancient Monarchy, and of the other
the Great Napoleon:--
"So perished the French Monarchy. Its dim origins stretched out
and lost themselves in Rome; it had already learnt to speak and
recognised its own nature when the vaults of the Thermae echoed
heavily to the slow footsteps of the Merovingian kings.
"Look up the vast valley of dead men crowned, and you may see the
gigantic figure of Charlemagne, his brows level and his long white
beard tangled like an undergrowth, having in his left hand the
globe, and in his right the hilt of an unconquerable sword. There
also are the short strong horsemen of the Robertian House, half
hidden by their leather shields, and their sons before them
growing in vestment and majesty and taking on the pomp of the
Middle Ages; Louis VII.
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