Caudebec,
_Saturday, 20th August._
[Sidenote: _A Visit to Rouen_]
Dearest Mamma,--To-day has been the loveliest I ever remember, not a
cloud in the sky. We landed at Rouen the day before yesterday about
six, and the hotel we stopped at was quite decent, and although the
windows of my room looked upon the inner courtyard they at least had
shutters. I wanted to go and see the marks the flames of Joan of Arc's
burning had made on the wall, but every one was so hungry, we had to
have dinner so early, there wasn't time. _Canard à la Rouennaise is_
good, it is done here with a wine called _Grenache_. I had two
helpings, and just as we were finishing, the Vicomte and "Antoine" came
in from the station. They aren't in uniform now, but their hair does
stick up so, and somehow their clothes don't look comfortable. I liked
them in uniform best. Madame de Vermandoise talked to "Antoine" across
the table quite a lot. That is the only way one may speak directly to a
person, it seems. After dinner we went in search of some place of
amusement, but there was no theatre open, so we had to content
ourselves with a walk along the quay, and then we came back and drank
_sirop_. It _is_ sweet and nice, and you can have it raspberry, or
gooseberry, or what you like, and I am sure if the people in England
who drink nasty old ports and things could have it they would like it
much better. The Baronne calls all the men by their end names like
"Tournelle," "Croixmare," "Trémors," &c., and every one is very devoted
to her, and I daresay she is even older than you, mamma; isn't it
wonderful? Jean now always sits beside me, I suppose he thinks he is my
host, but I would rather have the Vicomte de la Trémors, who is very
amusing. But to go back to Rouen. It was a treat to sleep fearlessly in
a clean bed after Vernon, and I actually had a bath in the morning. I
don't know where Agnès retrieved it from.
[Sidenote: _"Coiffer St. Catherine"_]
You can see Joan of Arc's flames quite plain, we went there as soon as
we were dressed. "Antoine" would insist it was only the black from a
smoky chimney, but I paid no attention to him. The _Horloge_ is nice,
and we did a lot of churches, but they always look to me just the same,
and any way they all smell alike, and I don't think I shall bother with
any more. We had breakfast on the _Sauterelle_, but it was so fine
after we left Vernon, and yesterday, that we could have it each day in
the bows under the awning, and so had not to wash our forks and plates.
The Châteaux are so picturesque, and such woods! after you leave Rouen.
Héloise did not sleep yesterday. "Antoine" talked so much, no one could
really have had a comfortable nap. In the afternoon the Marquise told
us our fortunes; she said Héloise would marry twice, which made her
look as pleased as Punch, but Jean did not think it at all funny,
though every one else laughed She told me I should probably be an old
maid ("_Coiffer St. Catherine_"), and so I said in that case I should
run pins into the horrid old saint's head: I simply _won't_ be an old
maid, Mamma, so they need not make any more predictions. However, it
would be worse to be one here than at home, because even up to forty,
if you aren't married, you mayn't go to the nice theatres, or talk to
people alone, or even speak much more than "Yes" and "No," and you
generally get a nasty moustache or something. We saw a whole family of
elderly girls at our hotel at Rouen, and they all had moustaches or
moles on the cheek.
We got here (Caudebec) yesterday soon after four. Our inn looks right
on to the Seine, and is as old nearly as the one at Vernon, but
fortunately beautifully clean. Only you have to get at your room
through somebody else's. Mine is beyond the Baronne's and Madame de
Vermandoise gets at hers through the Comtesse de Tournelle's. Hers is
the most ridiculous place, with a red curtain hanging across so that
sometimes it can be turned into two; and such a thing happened last
night. "Antoine" went in with the Comte de Tournelle to help him to
shut the window, as Madame de Tournelle couldn't, when a gust of wind
blew the door shut, and whether there was a spring lock or not I don't
know, but any way nothing would induce it to open again. So there they
were. We had stayed up rather late; the landlord and the servants were
in bed. They rattled and shook and pushed, but to no purpose.
[Sidenote: _A Misadventure_]
There was only a board partition between my room and Madame de
Vermandoise's, so I could hear everything, and Tournelle said there was
nothing for it but that "Antoine" would have to sleep in the other bed
in her room. She screamed a great deal, and they all laughed very much,
and all talked at once, so I suppose that was why I could not
understand quite everything they were saying. At last the Baronne
rushed into my room to discover what the noise was. She looks perfectly
_odd_ when going to bed; a good deal seemed to have come off; she is as
thin as a lath; and on the dressing table was such a sweet lace
nightcap, with lovely baby curls sewed to its edge, and when she put
that on she did look sweet. It isn't that she has no hair herself, it's
thick and brown; but she explained that having to wear a nightcap
because of ear-ache, she found it more becoming with the curls. I
suppose it is on account of the waiters coming in with the breakfast
that they have to be so particular in France how they look in bed.
But to go on about the door. We sent the Baronne's maid and Agnès to
try and find the landlord; but, after exploring untold depths below and
above, they only succeeded in unearthing Hippolyte. He came up from his
bed looking just like that very clever Missing Link that was at
Barnum's, do you remember?--the one that sometimes was an Irishwoman,
and could do housework in a cage by itself. I don't know exactly what
Hippolyte had on, but it ended up with a petticoat of red and black
plaid, and a pair of grey linen trousers over his shoulders; his
whiskers and hair were standing straight on end, and his shaved bits
were bluer than ever at night. He said a good deal of the French
equivalent of, "Here's a pretty kettle of fish," and shrugged so that I
was afraid the petticoat would slip off; and finally, when all the
pushing and pulling had no effect on the door, he said people must
resign themselves to the accidents of travel, and as there were four
beds, he did not see that they had too much to complain of.
[Sidenote: _"Not Much to Complain of"_]
At this moment Héloise came out of her room to see what the commotion
was. She understood it was her husband locked in the room, and she
laughed too very much, and said they must just stay there; but when she
heard the voice of "Antoine" she seemed to think the situation grave--I
suppose because he is not married--and she also did everything she
could to open the door. Of course if they had been Englishmen they
would have simply kicked it down, and got out without more ado, but the
French aren't strong enough for that.
Héloise became quite disagreeable about it, though as it wasn't Jean I
can't think what business it was of hers. She said it was because
"Antoine" did not really try, and she was sure he had done it on
purpose, upon which Madame de Vermandoise gurgled with mirth. I could
hear both sides you see, because of the wooden partition. "Antoine"
came into the inner room and said he was "Doux comme un petit agneau,"
but the Marquise said that he was "Un loup dans une peau de mouton,"
and must go away. Finally the whole of the rest of the party in
different stages of _déshabillé_ got collected outside the door. No
landlord was to be found anywhere. Then the old Baron suggested quite a
simple plan, which was for Madame de Tournelle to share Madame de
Vermandoise's room, and to leave the Comte and "Antoine" in her room.
No one seemed to have thought of this before; and that is what they
finally did, and at last we got to sleep. In the morning no landlord
could still be found, and we had no coffee, but presently he arrived
accompanied by two _gendarmes_ and goodness knows what other rabble
armed with sticks, and they wanted to proceed upstairs. We heard every
sort of "_Sacrés!_" going on between them and Hippolyte, and eventually
the landlord almost crawled up apologising, and opened the door with
his key.
[Sidenote: _A Cautious Landlord_]
It appears that hearing the noise of the door being tried to be opened
and Madame de Vermandoise's screams, he had thought it wiser to decamp
for the night, as two years ago there had been a murder there, and he
had had "beaucoup d'embêtement," he said, on account of it, and was
determined not to be mixed up in one again, "En ces affaires là, il est
bien assez tôt d'arriver le lendemain," he said.
Everybody was still laughing too much over the situation to be angry
with him; and the coffee, which we got at last, was so good it made up
for it; but you should have heard the _plaisanteries_ they made over
the night's adventure!
Caudebec is an odd place; it used to be inhabited by hundreds of
Protestant beaver hat-makers, who fled from there after the Edict of
Nantes' affair, and so there are streets of deserted houses still, and
so old, one has a stream down the middle. I would not go into the
church: the usual smell met me at the door; so the Vicomte and Jean and
I went for a walk, and now we are just going to start on the
_Sauterelle_ again, and this must be posted. I have managed to write it
on my knee, sitting on a stone bench outside the inn door.--Good-bye,
dear Mamma, with love from your affectionate daughter, Elizabeth.