In spite of all its grotesque beauties and antiquarian attractions, the
CITY OF ROUEN must be quitted--and I am about to pursue my route more in
the character of an independent traveller. No more _Diligence_, or
_Conducteur_. I have hired a decent cabriolet, a decent pair of horses, and
a yet more promising postilion: and have already made a delightfully rural
migration. Adieu therefore to dark avenues, gloomy courts, overhanging
roofs, narrow streets, cracking whips, the never-ceasing noise of carts and
carriages, and never-ending movements of countless masses of
population:--Adieu!--and in their stead, welcome be the winding road, the
fertile meadow, the thickly-planted orchard, and the broad and sweeping
Seine!
Accordingly, on the 4th of this month, between the hours of ten and eleven,
A.M. the rattling of horses' hoofs, and the echoes of a postilion's whip,
were heard within the court-yard of the _Hôtel Vatel_. Monsieur, Madame,
Jacques--and the whole fraternity of domestics, were on the alert--"pour
faire les adieux à Messieurs les Anglois." This Jacques deserves somewhat
of a particular notice. He is the prime minister of the Hôtel Vatel.[78] A
somewhat _uncomfortable_ detention in England for five years, in the
character of "prisoner of war," has made him master of a pretty quick and
ready utterance of common-place phrases in our language; and he is not a
little proud of his attainments therein. Seriously speaking, I consider him
quite a phenomenon in his way; and it is right you should know that he
affords a very fair specimen of a sharp, clever, French servant. His bodily
movements are nearly as quick as those of his tongue. He rises, as well as
his brethren, by five in the morning; and the testimonies of this early
activity are quickly discovered in the unceasing noise of beating coats,
singing French airs, and scolding the boot-boy. He rarely retires to rest
before mid-night; and the whole day long he is in one eternal round of
occupation. When he is bordering upon impertinence, he seems to be
conscious of it--declaring that "the English make him saucy, but that
naturally he is very civil." He always speaks of human beings in the
_neuter_ gender; and to a question whether such a one has been at the
Hotel, he replies, "I have not seen _it_ to-day." I am persuaded he is a
thoroughly honest creature; and considering the pains which are taken to
spoil him, it is surprising with what good sense and propriety he conducts
himself.
About eleven o'clock, we sprung forward, at a smart trot, towards the
barriers by which we had entered Rouen. Our postilion was a thorough master
of his calling, and his spurs and whip seemed to know no cessation from
action. The steeds, perfectly Norman, were somewhat fiery; and we rattled
along the streets, (for the _chaussé_ never causes the least abatement of
pace with the French driver) in high expectation of seeing a thousand rare
sights ere we reached Havre--equally the limits of our journey, and of our
contract with the owner of the cabriolet. That accomplished antiquary M. Le
Prevost, whose name you have often heard, had furnished me with so dainty a
bill of fare, or carte de voyage; that I began to consider each hour lost
which did not bring us in contact with some architectural relic of
antiquity, or some elevated position--whence the wandering Seine and wooded
heights of the adjacent country might be surveyed with equal advantage.
You have often, I make no doubt, my dear friend, started upon something
like a similar expedition:--when the morning has been fair, the sun bright,
the breeze gentle, and the atmosphere clear. In such moments how the ardour
of hope takes possession of one!--How the heart warms, and the conversation
flows! The barriers are approached; we turn to the left, and commence our
journey in good earnest. Previously to gaining the first considerable
height, you pass the village of _Bapeaume_. This village is exceedingly
picturesque. It is studded with water-mills, and is enlivened by a rapid
rivulet, which empties itself, in a serpentine direction, into the Seine.
You now begin to ascend a very commanding eminence; at the top of which are
scattered some of those country houses which are seen from Mont Ste.
Catharine. The road is of a noble breadth. The day warmed; and dismounting,
we let our steeds breathe freely, as we continued to ascend leisurely. Our
first halting-place, according to the instructions of M. Le Prevost, was
_St. George de Boscherville_; an ancient abbey established in the twelfth
century, This abbey is situated about three French leagues from Rouen. Our
route thither, from the summit of the hill which we had just ascended, lay
along a road skirted by interminable orchards now in full bloom. The air
was perfumed to excess by the fragrance of these blossoms. The apple and
pear were beautifully conspicuous; and as the sky became still more serene,
and the temperature yet more mild by the unobstructed sun beam, it is
impossible to conceive any thing more balmy and genial than was this lovely
day. The minutes seemed to fly away too quickly--when we reached the
village of _Boscherville_; where stands the CHURCH; the chief remaining
relic of this once beautiful abbey. We surveyed the west front very
leisurely, and thought it an extremely beautiful specimen of the
architecture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; for certainly there
are some portions more ancient than others. A survey of the chapter-house
filled me with mingled sorrow and delight: sorrow, that the Revolution and
a modern cotton manufactory had metamorphosed it from its original
character; and delight, that the portions which remained were of such
beautiful forms, and in such fine preservation. The stone, being of a very
close-grained quality, is absolutely as white and sound as if it had been
just cut from the quarry. The room, where a parcel of bare-legged girls and
boys were working the respective machineries, had a roof of the most
delicate construction.[79]
The very sound of a _Monastery_ made me curious to examine the disposition
of the building. Accordingly, I followed my guide through suites of
apartments, up divers stone stair-cases, and along sundry corridors. I
noticed the dormitories with due attention, and of course inquired eagerly
for the LIBRARY:--but the shelves only remained--either the fear or the
fury of the Revolution having long ago dispossessed it of every thing in
the shape of a _book_. The whole was painted white. I counted eleven
perpendicular divisions; and, from the small distances between the upper
shelves, there must have been a very considerable number of _duodecimos_.
The titles of the respective classes of the library were painted in white
letters upon a dark-blue ground, at top. _Bibles_ occupied the first
division, and the _Fathers_ the second: but it should seem that equal
importance was attached to the works of _Heretics_ as to those called
_Litterae Humaniores_--for each had a division of equal magnitude.
On looking out of window, especially from the back part of the building,
the eye rests entirely upon what had once been fruitful orchards, abundant
kitchen gardens, and shady avenues. Yet in England, this spot, rich by
nature, and desirable from its proximity to a great city, would, ere forty
moons had waned, have grown up into beauty and fertility, and expanded into
luxuriance of condition.
The day was now, if possible, more lovely than before. On looking at my
instructions I found that we had to stop to examine the remains of an old
castle at _Delafontaine_--about two English miles from _St. George de
Boscherville_. These remains, however, are but the fragments of a ruin, if
I may so speak; yet they are interesting, but somewhat perilous: for a few
broken portions of a wall support an upper chamber, where appears a stone
chimney-piece of very curious construction and ornament. On observing a
large cavity or loop-hole, about half way up the outer wall, I gained it by
means of a plentiful growth of ivy, and from thence surveyed the landscape
before me. Here, having for some time past lost sight of the Seine, I
caught a fine bold view of the sweep of that majestic river, now becoming
broader and broader--while, to the left, softly tinted by distance,
appeared the beautiful old church we had just quitted: the verdure of the
hedges, shrubs, and forest trees, affording a rich variety to the ruddy
blossoms of the apple, and the white bloom of the pear. I admit, however,
that this delicious morceau of landscape was greatly indebted, for its
enchanting effect, to the blue splendour of the sky, and the soft
temperature of the air; while the fragrance of every distended blossom
added much to the gratification of the beholder. But it is time to descend
from this elevation; and to think of reaching Duclair.
DUCLAIR is situated close to the very borders of the Seine, which has now
an absolute lake-like appearance. We stopped at the auberge to rest our
horses; and I commenced a discourse with the master of the inn and his
daughter; the latter, a very respectable-looking and well-behaved young
woman of about twenty-two years of age. She was preparing a large crackling
wood-fire to dress a fish called the _Alose_, for the passengers of the
_diligence_--who were expected within half an hour. The French think they
can never _butter_ their victuals sufficiently; and it would have produced
a spasmodic affection in a thoroughly bilious spectator, could he have seen
the enormous piece of butter which this active young _cuisinière_ thought
necessary to put into the pot in which the '_Alose_' was to be boiled. She
laughed at the surprise I expressed; and added "qu'on ne peut rien faire
dans la cuisine sans le beurre." You ought to know, by the by, that the
_Alose_, something like our _mackerel_ in flavour, is a large and delicious
fish; and that we were always anxious to bespeak it at the table-d'hôte at
Rouen. Extricated from the lake of butter in which it floats, when brought
upon table, it forms not only a rich, but a very substantial dish.
I took a chair and sat in the open air, by the side of the door--enjoying
the breeze, and much disposed to gossip with the master of the place.
Perceiving this, the landlord approached, and addressed me with a pleasant
degree of familiarity. "You are from London, then, Sir?" "I am." "Ah Sir, I
never think of London but with the most painful sensations." "How so?"
"Sir, I am the sole heir of a rich banker who died in that city before the
Revolution. He was in partnership with an English gentleman. Can you
possibly advise and assist me upon the subject?" I told him that my advice
and assistance were literally not worth a sous; but that, such as they
were, he was perfectly welcome to both. "Your daughter Sir, is not
married?"--"Non, Monsieur, elle n'est pas encore épousée: mais je lui dis
qu'elle ne sera jamais _heureuse_ avant qu'elle le soit." The daughter, who
had overheard the conversation, came forward, and looking archly over her
shoulder, replied--"ou _malheureuse_, mon père!" A sort of truism,
expressed by her with singular epigrammatic force, to which there was no
making any reply.
Do you remember, my dear friend; that exceedingly cold winter's night,
when, for lack of other book-entertainment, we took it into our heads to
have a rummage among the _Scriptores Historiae Normannorum_ of
DUCHESNE?--and finding therein many pages occupied by _Gulielmus
Gemeticensis_, we bethought ourselves that we would have recourse to the
valuable folio volume yeleped _Neustria Pia_:--where we presently seemed to
hold converse with the ancient founders and royal benefactors of certain
venerable establishments! I then little imagined that it would ever fall to
my lot to be either walking or musing within the precincts of the Abbey of
Jumieges;--or rather, of the ruins of what was once not less distinguished,
as a school of learning, than admired for its wealth and celebrity as a
monastic establishment. Yes, my friend, I have seen and visited the ruins
of this Abbey; and I seem to live "mihi carior" in consequence.
But I know your love of method--and that you will be in wrath if I skip
from _Duclair_ to JUMIEGES ere the horses have carried us a quarter of a
league upon the route. To the left of _Duclair_, and also washed by the
waters of the Seine, stands _Marivaux_; a most picturesque and highly
cultivated spot. And across the Seine, a little lower down, is the
beautiful domain of _La Mailleraye_;--where are hanging gardens, and jets
d'eaux, and flower-woven arbours, and daisy-sprinkled meadows--for there
lives and occasionally revels _La Marquise_.... I might have been not only
a spectator of her splendor, but a participator of her hospitality; for my
often-mentioned valuable friend, M. Le Prevost, volunteered me a letter of
introduction to her. What was to be done? One cannot be everywhere in one
day, or in one journey:--so, gravely balancing the ruins of still life
against the attractions of animated society, I was unchivalrous enough to
prefer the former--and working myself up into a sort of fantasy, of
witnessing the spectered forms of DAGOBERT and CLOVIS, (the fabled founders
of the Abbey) I resolutely turned my back upon _La Mailleraye_, and as
steadily looked forwards to JUMIEGES. We ascended very sensibly--then
striking into a sort of bye-road, were told that we should quickly reach
the place of our destination. A fractured capital, and broken shaft, of the
late Norman time, left at random beneath a hedge, seemed to bespeak the
vicinity of the abbey. We then gained a height; whence, looking straight
forward, we caught the first glance of the spires, or rather of the west
end towers, of the Abbey of Jumieges.[80] "La voilà, Monsieur,"--exclaimed
the postilion--increasing his speed and multiplying the nourishes of his
whip--"voilà la belle Abbaye!"
We approached and entered the village of Jumieges. Leaving some neat houses
to the right and left, we drove to a snug auberge, evidently a portion of
some of the outer buildings, or of the chapter-house, attached to the
Abbey. A large gothic roof, and central pillar, upon entering, attest the
ancient character of the place.[81] The whole struck us as having been
formerly of very great dimensions. It was a glorious sun-shiny afternoon,
and the villagers quickly crowded round the cabriolet. "Voilà Messieurs les
Anglois, qui viennent voir l'Abbaye--mais effectivement il n'y a rien à
voir." I told the landlady the object of our visit. She procured us a guide
and a key: and within five minutes we entered the nave of the abbey. I can
never forget that entrance. The interior, it is true, has not the magical
effect, or that sort of artificial burst, which attends the first view of
_Tintern_ abbey: but, as the ruin is larger, there is necessarily more to
attract attention. Like Tintern also, it is unroofed--yet this unroofing
has proceeded from a different cause: of which presently. The side aisles
present you with a short flattened arch: the nave has none: but you observe
a long pilaster-like, or alto-rilievo column, of slender dimensions,
running from bottom to top, with a sort of Roman capital. The arched
cieling and roof are entirely gone. We proceeded towards the eastern
extremity, and saw more frightful ravages both of time and of accident. The
latter however had triumphed over the former: but for _accident_ you must
read _revolution_.
The day had been rather oppressive for a May morning; and we were getting
far into the afternoon, when clouds began to gather, and the sun became
occasionally obscured. We seated ourselves upon a grassy hillock, and began
to prepare for dinner. To the left of us lay a huge pile of fragments of
pillars and groinings of arches--the effects of recent havoc: to the right,
within three yards, was the very spot in which the celebrated AGNES SOREL,
Mistress of Charles VII, lay entombed:[82]--not a relic of mausoleum now
marking the place where, formerly, the sculptor had exhibited the choicest
efforts of his art, and the devotee had repaired to
Breathe a prayer for her soul--and pass on!
What a contrast to the present aspect of things!--to the mixed rubbish and
wild flowers with which every spot is now well nigh covered! The mistress
of the inn having furnished us with napkins and tumblers, we partook of our
dinner, surrounded by the objects just described, with no ordinary
sensations. The air now became oppressive; when, looking through the few
remaining unglazed mullions of the windows, I observed that the clouds grew
blacker and blacker, while a faint rumbling of thunder reached our ears.
The sun however yet shone gaily, although partially; and as the storm
neared us, it floated as it were round the abbey, affording--by means of
its purple, dark colour, contrasted with the pale tint of the walls,--one
of the most beautiful painter-like effects imaginable. In an instant
almost--and as if touched by the wand of a mighty necromancer--the whole
scene became metamorphosed. The thunder growled, but only growled; and the
threatening phalanx of sulphur-charged clouds rolled away, and melted into
the quiet uniform tint which usually precedes sun-set. Dinner being
dispatched, I rose to make a thorough examination of the ruins which had
survived ... not only the Revolution, but the cupidity of the present owner
of the soil--who is a _rich_ man, living at Rouen--and who loves to dispose
of any portion of the stone, whether standing or prostrate, for the sake of
the lucre, however trifling, which arises from the sale. Surely the whole
corporation of the city of Rouen, with the mayor at their head, ought to
stand between this ruthless, rich man, and the abbey--the victim of his
brutal avarice and want of taste.[83]
The situation of the abbey is delightful. It lies at the bottom of some
gently undulating hills, within two or three hundred yards of the Seine.
The river here runs gently, in a serpentine direction, at the foot of
wood-covered hills--and all seemed, from our elevated station, indicative
of fruitfulness, of gaiety, and of prosperity,--all--save the mournful and
magnificent remains of the venerable abbey whereon we gazed! In fact, this
abbey exists only as a shell. I descended, strolled about the village, and
mingled in the conversation of the villagers. It was a lovely approach of
evening--and men, women, and children were seated, or sauntering, in the
open air. Perceiving that I was anxious to gain information, they flocked
around me--and from one man, in particular, I obtained exact intelligence
about the havoc which had been committed during the Revolution upon the
abbey, The roof had been battered down for the sake of the _lead_--to make
bullets; the pews, altars, and iron-work, had been converted into other
destructive purposes of warfare; and the great bell had been sold to some
speculators in a cannon-foundery at Rouen.[84] The revolutionary mania had
even brutalized the Abbot. This man, who must be considered as
....damned to everlasting fame,
had been a monk of the monastery; and as soon as he had attained the
headship of it, he disposed of every movable piece of furniture, to gratify
the revolutionary pack which were daily howling at the gates of the abbey
for entrance! Nor could he plead _compulsion_ as an excuse. He seemed
to enjoy the work of destruction, of which he had the uncontrouled
direction. But enough of this wretch.
The next resting-place was CAUDEBEC: a very considerable village, or rather
a small town. You go down a steep descent, on entering it by the route we
came. As you look about, there are singular appearances on all sides--of
houses, and hanging gardens, and elaborately cut avenues--upon summits,
declivities, and on the plain. But the charm of the view, at least to my
old-fashioned feelings, was a fine old gothic church, and a very fine spire
of what _appeared_ to belong to another. As the evening had completely
set in, I resolved to reserve my admiration of the place till the morrow.
[78] [I am ignorant of his present destination; but learn that he has
quitted the above situation a long time.]
[79] [Mr. COTMAN has published views of the West Front, the South East, the
West Entrance, and the South Transept, with sculptured capitals and
basso-relievos, &c. In the whole, seven plates.]
[80] [Mr. Cotman has published etchings of the West Front: the Towers,
somewhat fore-shortened; the Elevation of the Nave--and doorway of the
Abbey: the latter an extremely interesting specimen of art. A somewhat
particular and animated description of it will be found in _Lieut.
Hall's Travels in France_, 8vo. p. 57, 1819. [In the first edition,
I had called the west end towers of the Abbey--"small." Mons. Licquet
has suggested that I must have meant "_comparatively_" small;--in
contradistinction to the centre-tower, which would have been larger.
We learn also from M. Licquet that the spire of this central tower was
demolished in 1573, by the Abbé le Veneur, Bishop of Evreux. What
earthly motive could have led to such a brutal act of demolition?]
[81] ["I know perfectly well, says M. Licquet, the little Inn of which the
author here speaks. I can assure him that it never formed any portion
of the "chapter house." It was nevertheless une _dependance
exterieure_ (I will not attempt a version of this phrase) of the
abbey. Dare I venture to say it was the _cowhouse_? (étable aux
vaches). Thank you, good Mons. Licquet; but what is a cow-house but
"an _outer building_ attached to the Abbey?" Vide supra.]
[82] [The heart and entrails only of this once celebrated woman were,
according to M. Licquet, buried in the above spot. The body was
carried to Loches: and BELLEFOREST _(Cosmog._ vol. i. Part ii.
col. 31-32. edit. 1575, folio) gives a description of the mausoleum
where it was there entombed: a description, adds M. Licquet, which may
well serve for the mausoleum that was at Jumieges.]
[83] [Not the smallest portion or particle of a sigh escapes us, on being
told, as my translator has told us, that the "soil" in question has
become the property of another Owner. "Laius EST MORT"--are the
emphatic words of M. Licquet.]
[84] [One of the bells of the Abbey of Jumieges is now in the Tower of that
of St. Ouen, at Rouen. LICQUET.]