MONS. MOUTON. CHURCH OF STE. TRINITÉ. COMTE DE LA FRESNAYE. GUIBRAY CHURCH.
SUPPOSED HEAD OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. M. LANGEVIN, HISTORIAN OF FALAISE.
PRINTING OFFICES.
I lose no time in the fulfilment of my promise. The church of SAINTE
TRINITÉ, of which Monsieur Mouton is the Curé, is the second place of
worship in rank in the town. During the Revolution, Mons. Mouton was
compelled, with too many of his professional brethren, to fly from the
general persecution of his order. One solitary and most amiable creature
only remained; of the name of LANGEVIN--of whom, by and by, Monsieur Mouton
did me the honour of shewing me the interior of his church. His stipend (as
he told me) did not exceed 1500 francs per annum; and it is really
surprising to observe to what apparent acts of generosity towards his
flock, this income is made subservient. You shall hear. The altar consists
of two angels of the size of life, kneeling very gracefully, in white
glazed plaister: in the centre, somewhat raised above, is a figure of the
Virgin, of the same materials; above which again, is a representation of
the TRINITY--in a blaze of gilt. The massive circular columns surrounding
the choir--probably of the fourteenth century--were just fresh painted, at
the expense of the worthy Curé, in alternate colours of blue and
yellow--imitative of marble;--that is to say, each column, alternately, was
blue and yellow. It was impossible to behold any thing more glaring and
more tasteless. I paid my little tribute of admiration at the simplicity
and grace of the kneeling figure of the Virgin--but was stubbornly silent
about every thing else. Monsieur Mouton replied that "he intended to grace
the brows of the angels by putting a _garland_ round each." I felt a sort
of twinge upon receiving this intelligence; but there is no persuading the
French to reject, or to qualify, their excessive fondness for flower
ornaments.
Projecting from the wall, behind the circular part of the choir, I observed
a figure of _St. Sebastian_--precisely of that character which we remark in
the printed missals of the fifteenth century,--and from which the engravers
of that period copied them: namely, with the head large, the body meagre,
and the limbs loose and muscular. It was plentifully covered, as was the
whole surface of the wall, with recent white wash. On observing this, my
guide added: "oui, et je veux le faire couvrir d'une teinte encore plus
blanche!" Here I felt a second twinge yet more powerful than the first. I
noticed, towards the south-side door, a very fine crucifix, cut in wood,
about three feet high; and apparently of the time of Goujon. It was by much
the finest piece of sculpture, of its kind, which I had seen in Normandy;
but it was rather in a decaying state. I wished to know whether such an
object of art--apparently of no earthly importance, where it was
situated--might be obtained for some honourable and adequate compensation.
Monsieur Mouton replied that he desired to part with it--but that it must
be replaced by another "full six feet high!" There was no meeting this
proposition, and I ceased to say another word upon the subject.
Upon the whole, the church of the Holy Trinity is rather a fine and
capacious, than a venerable edifice; and although I cannot conscientiously
approve of the beautifying and repairing which are going on therein, yet I
will do the _planner_ the justice to say, that a more gentlemanly,
liberally-minded, and truly amiable clergyman is perhaps no where to be
found,--within or without the diocese to which he belongs. Attached to the
north transept or side door, parallel with the street, is a long pole.
"What might this mean?" "Sir, this pole was crowned at the top by a
garland, and by the white flag of _St. Louis_,[169]--which were hoisted to
receive me on my return from my long expatriation"--and the eyes of the
narrator were suffused with tears, as he made the answer! It is of no
consequence how small the income of an unmarried minister, may be, when he
thus lives so entirely in the HEARTS OF HIS FLOCK. This church bears
abundant evidence, within and without, of what is called the restoration of
the Gothic order during the reign of Francis I.: although the most
essential and the greater portion is evidently of the latter part of the
fourteenth century.[170] Having expressed my admiration of the manufacture
of wax candles (for religious purposes) which I had frequently observed in
the town, Monsieur Mouton, upon taking me into the sacristy (similar to our
vestry-room) begged I would do him the honour to accept of any which might
be lying upon the table. These candles are made of the purest white wax: of
a spiral, or twisted, or square, or circular form; of considerable length
and width. They are also decorated with fillagree work, and tinsel of
various colours. Upon that which I chose, there were little rosettes made
of wax. The moderate sum for which they are obtained, startles an
Englishman who thinks of the high price of this article of trade in his own
country. You see frequently, against the walls and pillars of the choir,
fragments of these larger wax candles, guttering down and begrimed from the
uses made of them in time of worship. In this sacristy there were two
little boys swinging _wooden_ censers, by way of practice for the more
perfect use of them, when charged with frankincense, at the altar. To
manage these adroitly--as the traveller is in the constant habit of
observing during divine worship--is a matter of no very quick or easy
attainment.
From the Curé we proceed to the Comte DE LA FRESNAYE; whose pleasantly
situated mansion had been pointed out to me, as you may remember, by the
former. Passing over one of the bridges, leading towards _Guibray_, and
ascending a gentle eminence to the left, I approached the outer lodge of
this large and respectable-looking mansion. The Count and family were at
dinner: but at _three_ they would rise from table. "Meanwhile," said the
porter, it might give me pleasure to walk in the garden." It was one of the
loveliest days imaginable. Such a sky--blue, bright, and cloudless--I had
scarcely before seen. The garden was almost suffocated with lilacs and
laburnums, glittering in their respective liveries of white, purple, and
yellow. I stepped into a berceau--and sitting upon a bench, bethought me of
the strange visit I was about to make--as well as of all the pleasing
pastoral poetry and painting which I had read in the pages of De Lille, or
viewed upon the canvas of Watteau. The clock of the church of _St. Gervais_
struck three; when, starting from my reverie, I knocked at the hall-door,
and was announced to the family, (who had just risen from dinner) above
stairs. A circle of five gentlemen would have alarmed a very nervous
visitor; but the Count, addressing me in a semi-British and semi-Gallic
phraseology, immediately dissipated my fears. In five minutes he was made
acquainted with the cause of this apparent intrusion.
Nothing could exceed his amiable frankness. The very choicest wine was
circulated at his table; of which I partook in a more decided manner on the
following day--when he was so good as to invite me to dine. When I touched
upon his favourite theme of Norman Antiquities, he almost shouted aloud the
name of INGULPH,--that "cher ami de Guillaume le Conquérant!" I was
unwilling to trespass long; but I soon found the advantage of making use of
the name of "Monsieur Mouton--l'estimable Curé de la Sainte Trinité."
[Illustration]
In a stroll to Guibray, towards sunset the next day, I passed through a
considerable portion of the Count's property, about 300 acres, chiefly of
pasture land. The evening was really enchanting; and through the branches
of the coppice wood the sun seemed to be setting in a bed of molten gold.
Our conversation was animated and incessant. In the old and curious church
of Guibray, the Count shewed us his family pew with the care and
particularity of an old country squire. Meanwhile Mr. Lewis was making a
hasty copy of one of the very singular ornaments--representing _Christ
bearing his cross_--which was suspended against the walls of the altar of a
side chapel. You have it here. It is frightfully barbarous, and
characteristic of the capricious style of art which frequently prevailed
about the year 1520: but the wonder is, how such a wretched performance
could obtain admission into the sanctuary where it was deposited. It was
however the pious gift of the vestry woman--who shewed us the interior--and
who had religiously rescued it, during the Revolution, from the demolition
of a neighbouring abbey. The eastern end of this church is perhaps as old
as any ecclesiastical edifice in Normandy;[171] and its exterior (to which
we could only approach by wading through rank grass as high as our knees)
is one of the most interesting of its kind. During our admiration of all
that was curious in this venerable edifice, we were struck by our old
friends, the _penitents_,--busy in making confession. In more than one
confessional there were two penitents; and towards one of these, thus
doubly attended, I saw a very large, athletic, hard-visaged priest
hastening, just having slipt on his surplice in the vestry. Indeed I had
been cursorily introduced to him by the Count. It was Saturday evening, and
the ensuing Sunday was to be marked by some grand procession.
The village-like town of Guibray presents a most singular sight to the eye
of a stranger. There are numerous little narrow streets, with every window
closed by wooden shutters, and every door fastened. It appears as if the
plague had recently raged there, and that the inhabitants had quitted it
for ever. Not a creature is visible: not a sound is heard: not a mouse
seems to be stirring. And yet Guibray boasts of the LARGEST FAIR in France,
save one![172] This, my friend, precisely accounts for the aspect of
desolation just described. During the intervals of these _triennial_ fairs,
the greater part of the village is uninhabited: venders and purchasers
flocking and crowding by hundreds when they take place. In a short, narrow
street--where nothing animated was to be seen--the Count assured me that
sometimes, in the course of one morning, several millions of francs were
spent in the purchase of different wares. We left this very strange place
with our minds occupied by a variety of reflections: but at any rate highly
pleased and gratified by the agreeable family which had performed the part
of guides on the occasion. In the evening, a professor of music treated us
with some pleasing tunes upon the guitar--which utterly astonished the
Count--and it was quite night-fall when we returned homewards, towards our
quarters at the hotel of the _Grand Turc_.
A memorable incident occurred in our way homewards; which, when made known,
will probably agitate the minds and shake the faith of two-thirds of the
members of our Society of Antiquaries. You may remember that I told you,
when at Caen, that the Abbe De la Rue had notified to me what were the
objects more particularly deserving of attention in my further progress
through Normandy. Among these, he particularly mentioned a figure or head
of William the Conqueror at Falaise. In the _Place St. Gervais_, this
wonderful head was said to exist--and to exist there only. It was at the
house of an Innkeeper--certainly not moving in the highest circle of his
calling. I lost little time in visiting it; and found it situated at the
top of a dark narrow staircase, projecting from the wall, to the right,
just before you reach the first floor. Some sensation had been excited by
the enquiries, which I had previously set on foot; and on a second visit,
several people were collected to receive us. Lights, warm water, towels,
soap and brushes, were quickly put in requisition. I commenced operations
with a kitchen knife, by carefully scraping away all the layers of hardened
white and ochre washes, with which each generation had embedded and almost
obliterated every feature. By degrees, the hair became manifest: then
followed the operation of soap and water--which brought out the features of
the face; and when the eyes fully and distinctly appeared, the exclamation
of "_Mon Dieu_!" by the spectators, was loud and unremitting. The nose had
received a serious injury by having its end broken off. Anon, stood forth
the mouth; and when the "whiskered majesty" of the beard became evident, it
was quite impossible to repress the simultaneous ejaculation of joy and
astonishment ... "_Voilà le vrai portrait de Guillaume le Conquérant_!
The whiskers apparently denote it to be rather _Saxon_ than _Norman_. The
head is nearly eleven inches in length, by seven and a half in width: is
cut upon a very coarse, yet hard-grained stone--and rests upon a square,
unconnected stone:--embedded within the wall. If it ever had shoulders and
body, those shoulders and body were no part of the present appendages of
the head. What then, is the Abbé de la Rue in error? The more liberal
inference will be, that the Abbé de la Rue had never seen it. As to its
antiquity, I am prepared to admit it to be very considerable; and, if you
please, even before the period of the loves of the father and mother of the
character whom it is supposed to represent. In the morning, Madame Rolle
seemed disposed to take ten louis (which I freely offered her) for her
precious fragment: but the distinct, collected view of whiskers, mouth,
nose, eyes, and hair, instantaneously raised the quicksilver of her
expectations to "_quinze_ louis pour le moins!" That was infinitely "trop
fort"--and we parted without coming to any terms. Perhaps you will laugh at
me for the previous offer.
The church of St. Gervais is called the mother church of the town: and it
is right that you should have some notion of it. It stands upon a finely
elevated situation. Its interior is rather capacious: but it has no very
grand effect-arising from simplicity or breadth of architecture. The
pillars to the right of the nave, on entering from the western extremity,
are doubtless old; perhaps of the beginning of the thirteenth century. The
arches are a flattened semicircle; while those on the opposite side are
comparatively sharp, and of a considerably later period. The ornaments of
the capitals of these older pillars are, some of them, sufficiently
capricious and elaborate; while others are of a more exceptionable
character on the score of indelicacy. But this does not surprise a man who
has been accustomed to examine ART, of the middle centuries, whether in
sculpture or in painting. The side aisles are comparatively modern. The
pillars of the choir have scarcely any capitals beyond a simple rim or
fillet; and are surmounted by sharp low arches, like what are to be seen at
St. Lo and Coutances. The roof of the left side aisle is perfectly green
from damp: the result, as at Coutances, of thereof having been stripped for
the sake of the lead to make bullets, &c. during the Revolution. I saw this
large church completely filled on Sunday, at morning service--about eleven:
and, in the congregation, I observed several faces and figures, of both
sexes, which indicated great intelligence and respectability. Indeed there
was much of the air of a London congregation about the whole.
From the Church, we may fairly make any thing but a digression--in
discoursing of one of its brightest ornaments, in the person of Monsieur
LANGEVIN:--a simple priest--as he styles himself in an octavo volume, which
entitles him to the character of the best living HISTORIAN OF FALAISE. He
is a mere officiating minister in the church of Mons. Mouton; and his
salary, as he led me to infer, could be scarcely twenty louis per annum.
Surely this man is among the most amiable and excellent of God's creatures!
But it is right that you should know the origin and progress of our
acquaintance. It was after dinner, on one of the most industriously spent
of my days here--and the very second of my arrival,--that the waiter
announced the arrival of the Abbé Langevin, in the passage, with a copy of
his History beneath his arm. The door opened, and in walked the
stranger--habited in his clerical garb--with a physiognomy so benign and
expressive, and with manners so gentle and well-bred,--that I rose
instinctively from my seat to give him the most cordial reception. He
returned my civility in a way which shewed at once that he was a man of the
most interesting simplicity of character. "He was aware (he said) that he
had intruded; but as he understood "Monsieur was in pursuit of the
antiquities of the place, he had presumed to offer for his acceptance a
copy of a work upon that subject--of which he was the humble author." This
work was a good sized thick crown octavo, filling five hundred closely and
well-printed pages; and of which the price was _fifty sous_! The worthy
priest, seeing my surprise on his mentioning the price, supposed that I had
considered it as rather extravagant. But this error was rectified in an
instant. I ordered _three copies_ of his historical labours, and told him
my conscience would not allow me to pay him less than _three francs_ per
copy. He seemed to be electrified: rose from his seat:--and lifting up one
of the most expressive of countenances, with eyes apparently suffused with
tears--raised both his hands, and exclaimed.... "Que le bon Dieu vous
bénisse--les Anglois sont vraiement généreux!"
For several seconds I sat riveted to my seat. Such an unfeigned and warm
acknowledgment of what I had considered as a mere matter-of-course
proposition, perfectly astounded me: the more so, as it was accompanied by
a gesture and articulation which could not fail to move any bosom--not
absolutely composed of marble. We each rallied, and resumed the
conversation. In few but simple words he told me his history. He had
contrived to weather out the Revolution, at Falaise. His former preferment
had been wholly taken from him; and he was now a simple assistant in the
church of Mons. Mouton. He had yielded without resistance; as even
_remonstrance_ would have been probably followed up by the guillotine. To
solace himself in his afflictions, he had recourse to his old favourite
studies of _medicine_ and _music_;--and had in fact practised the former.
"But come, Sir, (says he) come and do me the honour of a call--when it
shall suit you." I settled it for the ensuing day. On breaking up and
taking leave, the amiable stranger modestly spoke of his History. It had
cost him three years' toil; and he seemed to mention, with an air of
triumph, the frequent references in it to the _Gallia Christiana_, and to
_Chartularies_ and _Family Records_ never before examined. On the next day
I carried my projected visit into execution--towards seven in the evening.
The lodgings of M. Langevin are on the second floor of a house belonging to
a carpenter. The worthy priest received me on the landing-place, in the
most cheerful and chatty manner. He has three small rooms on the same
floor. In the first, his library is deposited. On my asking him to let me
see what _old books_ he possessed, he turned gaily round, and
replied--"Comment donc, Monsieur, vous aimez les vieux livres? A ça,
voyons!" Whereupon he pulled away certain strips or pieces of wainscot, and
shewed me his book-treasures within the recesses. On my recognising a
_Colinæus_ and _Henry Stephen_, ere he had read the title of the volumes,
he seemed to marvel exceedingly, and to gaze at me as a conjuror. He
betrayed more than ordinary satisfaction on shewing his _Latin Galen_ and
_Hippocrates_; and the former, to the best of my recollection, contained
Latin notes in the margin, written by himself. These tomes were followed up
by a few upon _alchymy_ and _astrology_; from which, and the consequent
conversation, I was led to infer that the amiable possessor entertained due
respect for those studies which had ravished our DEES and ASHMOLES of old.
In the second room stood an upright piano forte--the _manufacture_, as well
as the property, of Monsieur Langevin. It bore the date of 1806; and was
considered as the first of the kind introduced into Normandy. It was
impossible not to be struck with the various rational sources of amusement,
by means of which this estimable character had contrived to beguile the
hours of his misfortunes. There was a calm, collected, serenity of manner
about him--a most unfeigned and unqualified resignation to the divine
will--which marked him as an object at once of admiration and esteem.
There was no boast--no cant--no formal sermonising. You _saw_ what
religion had done for him. Her effects _spake_ in his discourse and in
his life.... Over his piano hung a portrait of himself; very
indifferently executed--and not strongly resembling the original. "We
can do something more faithful than this, sir, if you will allow
it"--said I, pointing to Mr. Lewis: and it was agreed that he should
give the latter a sitting on the morrow. The next day M. Langevin came
punctually to his appointment, for the purpose of having his portrait
taken.
On telling this original that the pencil drawing of Mr. Lewis (which by the
bye was executed in about an hour and a half) should be
_engraved_--inasmuch as he was the modern _Historian of Falaise_--he seemed
absolutely astonished. He moved a few paces gently forwards, and turning
round, with hands and eyes elevated, exclaimed, in a tremulous and
heart-stricken tone of voice, "Ah, mon Dieu!" I will not dissemble that I
took leave of him with tears, which were with difficulty concealed. "Adieu,
pour toujours!"--were words which he uttered with all the sincerity, and
with yet more pathos, than was even shewn by Pierre Aimé Lair at Caen. The
landlord and landlady of this hotel are warm in their commendations of him:
assuring me that his name is hardly ever pronounced without the mention of
his virtues. He has just entered his sixty-second year.[173]
It remains only to give an account of the progress of Printing and of
Literature in this place: although the latter ought to precede the former.
As a literary man, our worthy acquaintance the Comte de la Fresnaye takes
the lead: yet he is rather an amateur than a professed critic. He has
written upon the antiquities of the town; but his work is justly considered
inferior to that of Monsieur Langevin. He quotes _Wace_ frequently, and
with apparent satisfaction; and he promises a French version of his beloved
_Ingulph_. Falaise is a quiet, dull place of resort, for those who form
their notions of retirement as connected with the occasional bustle and
animation of Caen and Rouen. But the situation is pleasing. The skies are
serene: the temperature is mild, and the fruits of the earth are abundant
and nutritious. Many of the more respectable inhabitants expressed their
surprise to me that there were so few English resident in its
neighbourhood--so much preferable, on many accounts to that of Caen. But
our countrymen, you know, are sometimes a little capricious in the objects
of their choice. Just now, it is the _fashion_ for the English to reside at
Caen; yet when you consider that the major part of our countrymen reside
there for the purpose of educating their children--and that Caen, from its
numerous seminaries of education, contains masters of every description,
whose lessons are sometimes as low as a frank for each--it is not
surprising that Falaise is deserted for the former place. For myself--and
for all those who love a select society, a sweet country, and rather a
plentiful sprinkle of antiquarian art,--for such, in short, who would read
the fabliaux of the old Norman bards in peace, comfort, and silence--there
can be no question about the preference to be given to the spot from which
I send this my last Norman despatch.
I have before made mention of the fountains in this place. They are equally
numerous and clear. The inn in which we reside has not fewer than three
fountains--or rather of _jets d'eau_--constantly playing. Those in the
_Place St. Trinité Grand Rue_, and _Place St. Gervais_, are the largest;
but every gutter trickles with water as if dissolved from the purest
crystal. It has been hot weather during the greater part of our stay; and
the very sight of these translucent streams seems to refresh one's languid
frame. But I proceed chiefly to the productions of the PRESS. They do a
good deal of business here in the way of ephemeral publications. Letellier,
situated in the Grande Rue, is the chief printer of _chap books_: and if we
judge from the general character of these, the _Falaisois_ seem to be
marvellously addicted to the effusions of the muse. Indeed, their ballads,
of all kinds, are innumerable. Read a few--which are to be found in the
very commonest publications. There is something rather original, and of a
very pleasingly tender cast, in the first two: