JOURNEY TO GRANVILLE. GRANVILLE. VILLE DIEU. ST. SEVER. TOWN AND CASTLE OF
VIRE.
_Vire_.
Since my last, I have been as much gratified by the charms of nature and of
art, as during any one period of my tour. Prepare, therefore, for
miscellaneous intelligence; but such as, I will make bold to predict,
cannot fail to afford you considerable gratification. Normandy is doubtless
a glorious country. It is fruitful in its soil, picturesque in the
disposition of its land and water, and rich in the architectural relics of
"the olden time." It is also more than ordinarily interesting to an
Englishman. Here, in the very town whence I transmit this despatch--within
two hundred and fifty yards of the hotel of the _Cheval Blanc_, which just
now encloses me within its granite walls--here, I say, lived and revelled
the illustrious family of the DE VERES.[157] Hence William the Conqueror
took the famous AUBREY DE VERE to be a spectator of his prowess, and a
sharer of his spoils, in his decisive subjugation of our own country. It is
from this place that the De Veres derive their name. Their once-proud
castle yet towers above the rushing rivulet below, which turns a hundred
mills in its course: but the warder's horn has long ceased to be heard, and
the ramparts are levelled with the solid rock with which they were once, as
it were, identified.
I left Coutances with something approaching to reluctance; so completely
_anglicised_ seemed to be the scenery and inhabitants. The evening was
beautiful in the extreme: and upon gaining the height of one of the
opposite hills, within about half a league of the town, on the high
Granville route, I alighted--walked, stopped, and gazed, alternately, upon
the lovely landscape around--the cathedral, in the mean time, becoming of
one entire golden tint from the radiance of the setting sun. It was hardly
possible to view a more perfect picture of its kind; and it served as a
just counterpart to the more expansive scene which I had contemplated, but
the preceding evening, from the heights of that same cathedral. The
conducteur of the Diligence rousing me from my rapturous abstraction, I
remounted, and descended into a valley; and ere the succeeding height was
gained, a fainter light floated over the distant landscape ... and every
object reminded me of the accuracy of those exquisite lines of
Collins--descriptive of the approach of evening's
... gradual, dusky veil.
For the first time, I had to do with a drunken conducteur. Luckily the road
was broad, and in the finest possible condition, and perfectly well known
to the horses. Every turning was successfully made; and the fear of
upsetting began to give way to the annoyance experienced from the roaring
and shouting of the conducteur. It was almost dark when I reached
GRANVILLE--about twelve miles from Coutances; when I learnt that the horses
had run six miles before they started with us. On entering the town, the
road was absolutely solid rock: and considering what a _house_ we carried
behind us (for so the body of the _diligence_ seemed) and the uncertain
footing of the horses, in consequence of the rocky surface of the road, I
apprehended the most sinister result. Luckily it was moon-light; when,
approaching one of the sorriest looking inns imaginable, whither our
conducteur (in spite of the better instructions of the landlord of the
Hôtel d'Angleterre at Coutances) had persuaded us to go, the passengers
alighted with thankful hearts, and bespoke supper and beds.
Granville is fortified on the land side by a deep ravine, which renders an
approach from thence almost impracticable. On every other side it is
defended by the ocean, into which the town seems to have dropt
perpendicularly from the clouds. At high water, Granville cannot be
approached, even by transports, nearer than within two-thirds of a league;
and of course at low water it is surrounded by an extent of sharply pointed
rock and chalk: impenetrable--terrific--and presenting both certain failure
and destruction to the assailants. It is a GIBRALTAR IN MINIATURE. The
English sharply cannonaded it a few years since, but it was only a
political diversion. No landing was attempted. In the time of the civil
wars, and more particularly in those of the League, Granville, however, had
its share of misery. It is now a quiet, dull, dreary, place; to be visited
only for the sake of the view from thence, looking towards _St. Malo_, and
_Mont St. Michel_; the latter of which I give up--as an hopeless object of
attainment. Granville is in fact built upon rock;[158] and the houses and
the only two churches are entirely constructed of granite. The principal
church (I think it was the principal) is rather pretty within, as to its
construction; but the decidedly gloomy effect given to it by the tint of
the _granite_--the pillars being composed of that substance--renders it
disagreeable to the eye. I saw several confessionals; and in one of them,
the office of confession was being performed by a priest, who attended to
two penitents at the same time; but whose physiognomy was so repulsively
frightful, that I could not help concluding he was listening to a tale
which he was by no means prepared to receive.
An hour's examination of the town thoroughly satisfied me. There was no
public conveyance to _Vire_, whither I intended immediately departing, and
so I hired a voiture to be drawn by one sturdy Norman horse. To a question
about springs, the conducteur replied that I should find every thing "très
propre." Having paid the reckoning, I set my face towards VIRE. The day,
for the season of the year, turned out to be gloomy and cold beyond
measure: and the wind (to the east) was directly in my face. Nevertheless
the road was one of the finest that I had seen in France, for breadth and
general soundness of condition. It had all the characteristics, in breadth
and straitness, of a Roman route; and as it was greatly undulating, I had
frequently some gratifying glimpses of its bold direction. The surrounding
country was of a quietly picturesque but fruitful aspect; and had my seat
been comfortable, or after the fashion of those in my own country, my
sensations had been more agreeable. But in truth, instead of _springs_, or
any thing approximating to "très propre," I had to encounter a _hard
plank_, suspended at the extremities, by a piece of leather, to the sides;
and as the road was but too well bottomed, and the conveyance was open in
front to the bitter blast of the east, I can hardly describe (as I shall
never forget) the misery of this conveyance.
Fortunately the first stage was _Ville Dieu_. Here I ordered a voiture and
post horses: but the master of the Poste Royale, or rather of the inn,
shook his head--"Pour les chevaux, vous en aurez des meilleurs: mais, pour
la voiture il n'y en a pas. Tenez, Monsieur; venez voir." I followed, with
miserable forebodings--and entering a shed, where stood an old
tumble-down-looking phaeton--"la voilà, c'est la seule que je possède en ce
moment"--exclaimed the landlord. It had never stirred from its position
since the fall of last years' leaf. It had been--within and without--the
roosting place for fowls and other of the feathered tribe in the farm yard;
and although literally covered with the _evidences_ of such long and
undisturbed possession, yet, as there was no appearance of rain, and as I
discovered the wished for "_ressorts_" (or _springs_) I compromised for the
repulsiveness of the exterior, and declared my intention of taking it
onward. Water, brooms, brushes, and cloths, were quickly put in
requisition; and two stately and well fed horses, which threatened to fly
away with this slender machine, being fastened on, I absolutely darted
forward at a round rattling gallop for _St. Sever_. Blessings ever wait
upon the memory of that artisan who invented ... _springs_!
The postilion had the perfect command of his horses, and he galloped, or
trotted, or ambled, as his fancy--or rather our wishes--directed. The
approach to our halting place was rather imposing. What seemed to be a
monastery, or church, at St. Sever, had quite the appearance of Moorish
architecture; and indeed as I had occasional glimpses of it through the
trees, the effect was exceedingly picturesque. This posting town is in
truth very delightfully situated. While the horses were being changed, I
made our way for the monastery; which I found to be in a state rather of
dilapidation than of ruin. It had, indeed, a wretched aspect. I entered the
chapel, and saw lying, transversely upon a desk, to the left--a very clean,
large paper, and uncut copy of the folio _Rouen Missal_ of 1759. Every
thing about this deserted and decaying spot had a melancholy appearance:
but the surrounding country was rich, wooded, and picturesque. In former
days of prosperity--such as St. Sever had seen before the Revolution--there
had been gaiety, abundance, and happiness. It was now a perfect contrast to
such a state.
On returning to the "_Poste Royale_" I found two fresh lusty horses to our
voiture--but the postilion had sent a boy into the field to catch a
_third_. Wherefore was this? The tarif exacted it. A third horse
"réciproquement pour l'année"--parce qu'il faut traverser une grande
montagne avant d'arriver à Vire"--was the explanatory reply. It seemed
perfectly ridiculous, as the vehicle was of such slender dimensions and
weight. However, I was forced to yield. To scold the postboy was equally
absurd and unavailing: "parce que la tarif l'exigea." But the "montagne"
was doubtless a reason for this additional horse: and I began to imagine
that something magnificently picturesque might be in store. The three
horses were put a-breast, and off we started with a phaeton-like velocity!
Certainly nothing could have a more ridiculous appearance than my pigmy
voiture thus conveyed by three animals--strong enough to have drawn the
diligence. I was not long in reaching this "huge mountain," which provoked
my unqualified laughter--from its insignificant size--and upon the top of
which stands the town of VIRE. It had been a _fair_-day; and groups of men
and women, returning from the town, in their blue and crimson dresses,
cheered somewhat the general gloom of the day, and lighted up the features
of the landscape. The nearer I approached, the more numerous and incessant
were these groups.
Vire is a sort of _Rouen_ in miniature--if bustle and population be only
considered. In architectural comparison, it is miserably feeble and
inferior. The houses are generally built of granite, and look extremely
sombre in consequence. The old castle is yet interesting and commanding.
But of this presently. I drove to the "_Cheval Blanc_," and bespoke, as
usual, a late dinner and beds. The first visit was to the _castle,_ but it
is right that you should know, before hand, that the town of Vire, which
contains a population of about ten thousand souls, stands upon a commanding
eminence, in the midst of a very beautiful and picturesque country called
the BOCAGE. This country was, in former times, as fruitful in civil wars,
horrors, and devastations, as the more celebrated Bocage of the more
western part of France during the late Revolution. In short, the Bocage of
Normandy was the scene of bloodshed during the Calvinistic or Hugonot
persecution. It was in the vicinity of this town, in the parts through
which I have travelled--from Caen hitherwards--that the hills and the dales
rang with the feats of arms displayed in the alternate discomfiture and
success of COLIGNY, CONDÉ, MONTMOGERY, and MATIGNON.[159]
But for the Castle. It is situated at the extremity of an open space,
terminated by a portion of the boulevards; having, in the foreground, the
public library to the left, and a sort of municipal hall to the right:
neither of them objects of much architectural consequence. Still nearer in
the foreground, is a fountain; whither men, women, and children--but
chiefly the second class, in the character of _blanchisseuses_--regularly
resort for water; as its bason is usually overflowing. It was in a lucky
moment that Mr. Lewis paid a visit to this spot; which his ready pencil
transmitted to his sketch-book in a manner too beautiful and faithful not
to be followed up by a finished design. I send you a portion of this
prettily grouped picture; premising, that the woman to the right, in the
foreground, begged leave purposely to sit--or rather stand--for her
portrait. The artist, in a short time, was completely surrounded by
spectators of his graphic skill.
[Illustration]
The "_Cheval Blanc_"--the name of the hotel at which I reside--should be
rather called the "_Cheval Noir_;" for a more dark, dingy, and even dirty
residence, for a traveller of any _nasal_ or _ocular_ sensibility, can be
rarely visited. My bed room is hung with tapestry; which, for aught I know
to the contrary, may represent the daring exploits of MONTGOMERY and
MATIGNON: but which is so begrimed with filth that there is no decyphering
the subjects worked upon it.
On leaving the inn--and making your way to the top of the street--you turn
to the left; but on looking down, again to the left, you observe, below
you, the great high road leading to _Caen_, which has a noble appearance.
Indeed, the manner in which this part of Normandy is intersected with the
"_routes royales_" cannot fail to strike a stranger; especially as these
roads run over hill and dale, amidst meadows, and orchards, equally
abundant in their respective harvests. The immediate vicinity of the town
is as remarkable for its picturesque objects of scenery as for its high
state of cultivation; and a stroll upon the heights, in whatever part
visited, will not fail to repay you for the certain disappointment to be
experienced within the streets of the town. Portions of the scenery, from
these heights, are not unlike those in Derbyshire, about Matlock. There is
plenty of rock, of shrubs, and of fern; while another _Derwent_, less
turbid and muddy, meanders below. Thus much for a general, but hasty sketch
of the town of Vire. My next shall give you some detail of the _interior_
of a few of the houses, of which I may be said to have hitherto only
contemplated the _roofs_.
And yet I must not close my despatch without performing my promise about
the CASTLE; of which indeed (as you will see by the subjoined miniature
view) only a sort of ruinous shell remains. Its age may be a little towards
the end of the thirteenth century. The stone is of a deep reddish tint: and
although what remains is only a portion of the _keep_, yet I can never
suppose it, even in its state of original integrity, to have been of very
capacious dimensions. Its site is most commanding.
[Illustration]
[157] The reader will find the fullest particulars relating to this
once-distinguished family, in _Halstead's Genealogical Memoirs of
Noble Families, &c_.: a book it is true, of extreme scarcity. In lieu
of it let him consult _Collin's Noble Families_.
[158] [Mons. Licquet tells us, that in 1439, a Seigneur of Gratot, ceded
the rock of Granville to an English Nobleman, on the day of St. John
the Baptist, on receiving the homage of a hat of red roses. The
Nobleman intended to build a town there; but Henry VI. dispossessed
him of it, and built fortifications in 1440. Charles VII. in turn,
dispossessed Henry; but the additional fortifications which he built
were demolished by order of Louis XIV. &c.]
[159] An epitomised account of these civil commotions will be found in the
_Histoire Militaire des Bocains, par_ M. RICHARD SEGUIN; _a
Vire_, 1816; 12mo. of which work, and of its author, some notice
will be taken in the following pages.