Both Monsieur Brée l'Ainé--and his workmen were equally gratified by my
notice and commendation of this sentiment. "It is the favourite sentiment,
Sir, of your country,"--remarked the master. To this I readily assented.
"It is also, Sir, the favourite one of our own," replied M. Brée
l'Ainé--and his men readily attested their concurrence in the same reply.
"Ah, Sir, if you would only favour us by _singing the air_, to which these
words belong, you would infinitely oblige us all" ... said a shrewd and
intelligent-looking compositor. "With all my heart"--rejoined I--"but I
must frankly tell you, that I shall sing it rather with heart than with
voice--being neither a vocal nor an instrumental performer." "No matter:
give us only a notion of it." They all stood round in a circle, and I got
through two stanzas as gravely and as efficiently as I was able. The usual
"charmant!" followed my exertions. It was now my turn to ask a favour.
"Sing to me your favourite national air of ROBERT and ARLETTE." "Most
willingly, Sir," replied the forementioned "shrewd and intelligent-looking
compositor." "Tenez: un petit moment: je vais chercher mon violon. Ca ira
mieux."
He left the house in search of his violin. The tune of the National air
which he sung was both agreeable and lively: and upon the whole it was
difficult to say which seemed to be the better pleased with the respective
national airs. M. Brée shewed me his premises in detail. They had been
formerly a portion of an old church; and are situated on the edge of the
great fosse which encircles the town. A garden, full of sweet blooming
flowers, is behind them; and the view backwards is cheerful and
picturesque. There are generally five presses at work; which, for a
provincial printing office, shews business to be far from slack. Mons. B.
sells a great number of almanacks, and prints all the leading publications
connected with the town. In fact, his title, as _Imprimeur du Roi_,
supposes him to take the principal lead as a printer. This agreeable man
has a brother who is professor of rhetoric in the Collège Royale at Paris.
Of _Bouquinistes_, or dealers in old books, there are scarcely any. I spent
three or four fruitless hours in a search after old chronicles and old
poetry: and was compelled, almost from pure civility, to purchase of
DUFOURS a _Petit's Virgil_ of 1529, folio--which will be hardly worth the
carriage. I tried hard for a fine copy of _Fauchet's Origines de la Poésie
Françoise_, 1581, 4to. with the head of the author, but in vain; yet
endeavoured to console myself by an old blue morocco copy of _Les regrets
et tristes lamentations du Comte de Montgomery_, by _Demorenne_, Rouen,
1574, 8vo. as well as a clean, fresh, and almost crackling copy of
_Amoureuses occupations de la Taysonniere_, Lyon, 1555, 8vo.--for two
francs each--and both destined for the rich and choice library of our
friend....
Thus much for FALAISE: for a spot, which, from the uniform serenity of the
weather since I have been here--from the comfort of the inn--from the
extreme civility and attention of the townspeople--and from the yet more
interesting society of the Comte de la Fresnaye, the _Curés_ Mouton and
Langevin--together with the amenity of the surrounding country, and the
interesting and in part magnificent remains of antiquity--can never be
erased from my recollection. It is here that the tourist and antiquary may
find objects for admiration and materials for recording. I have done both:
admired and recorded--happy, if the result of such occupations shall have
contributed to the substantial gratification of yourself and of our common
friends. And now, farewell; not only to Falaise, but to NORMANDY. I shall
leave it, from this delightful spot, in the most thorough good humour, and
with more than ordinary regret that my stay has necessarily been short. I
have taken my place in the Diligence, direct for PARIS. "Il n'y a qu'un
Paris"--said the Comte de la Fresnaye to me the other day, when I told him
I had never been there--to which I replied, "Are there then TWO Londons?"
Thirty-six hours will settle all this. In the mean time, adieu.
[169] On the return of Louis the XVIII. the town of Falaise manifested its
loyalty in the most unequivocal manner.