effect, is attractive on other grounds. It is far more interesting than
Coutances to the historical inquirer. Many facts in the history of
Normandy are plainly written in the architectural changes of this noble
church. The most interesting portion indeed does not appear in the
general view of the interior. The church of Odo, the church at whose
dedication William was present, and which must have been rising at the
time of the visit of Harold, now survives only in the crypt of the choir
and in the lower portions of the towers.[11] The rest was destroyed by
fire, like so many other churches in Normandy, during the wars of Henry
the First. Of the church which then replaced it, the arcades of the nave
still remain. No study of Romanesque can be more instructive than a
comparison of the work of these two dates. Odo's work is plain and
simple, with many of the capitals of a form eminently characteristic
of an early stage of the art of floriated enrichment--a form of its own
which grew up alongside of others, and gradually budded into such
splendid capitals of far later work as we see at Lisieux. Will it be
believed that the remorseless demon of restoration has actually
descended the steps of this venerable crypt, and that two of the
capitals are now, not of the eleventh century, but brand-new productions
of the nineteenth? Of course we are told that they are exact copies; but
what then? We do not want copies, but the things themselves, and if they
were a little ragged and jagged, what harm could it do down underground?
A striking contrast to the work of Odo, a contrast as striking as can
easily be found between two things which are, after all, essentially of
the same style, is to be seen in the splendid arcades of the nave, one
of the richest examples to be found anywhere of the later and more
ornamented Romanesque. The arches are of unusual and very irregular
width; the irregularity must be owing to something in the remains or
foundations of the earlier building. They are crowned, however, not by a
triforium and clerestory of their own style, but a single clerestory of
coupled lancets of enormous height, with the faintest approach to
tracery in the head. The effect is striking, but certainly somewhat
incongruous. The choir is one of the most beautiful productions of the
thirteenth-century style of the country, always approaching nearer to
English work than the architecture of any other part of the Continent.
Another church at Bayeux, that which now forms the chapel of the
seminary, is well known as being more English still. It might, as far as
details go, stand unaltered as an English building.
And now for a few words as to the obscure Breton church which we have
ventured to put into competition with such formidable Norman rivals.[12]
Perhaps it derives some of its attractions from its being out of the way
and comparatively unknown. It has that peculiar charm which attaches to
a fine building found where one would hardly expect to find it--a
feeling which reaches its highest point at St. David's. The first
impression which it gives is that there is something Irish about it;
there is certainly no church in Ireland which can be at all compared to
it; still it is something like what one could fancy St. Canice growing
into. One marked characteristic of Dol Cathedral comes from its
material. It is built of the granite of the country, which necessarily
gives it a somewhat stern and weather-beaten look, and hinders any great
exuberance of architectural ornament. Not that we think this any loss;
the simple buttresses and flying buttresses at Dol are really a relief
after the elaborate and unintelligible forests of pinnacles which
surround so many French churches, even of very moderate size. It is only
in the huge porch attached to the south transept that an approach to
anything of this kind is found. But very beautiful work of other sorts
may be seen at Dol. The smaller porch is a gem of early work, and the
range of windows in the north aisle presents some of the most delicate
triumphs of geometrical tracery, too delicate in truth to last, as all
are more or less broken. The flat east end gives the church an English
look, and the flat east end with an apsidal chapel beyond it especially
suggests Wells. Within, the church has a great effect of height and
narrowness, greater certainly than Coutances. Like Coutances, the nave
and choir are of somewhat different dates, the choir being more modern,
but, unlike Coutances, still more unlike Bayeux, they range completely
together in composition. The nave we might fairly call Early English. It
is not quite so characteristic as some of the work at Bayeux, but it
uses the round abacus freely, although not exclusively. But for a few
square abaci which are used, and for the appearance of early tracery in
the side windows, it might pass as a purely Lancet building. The choir
is fully developed geometrical work, of excellent character, with a
beautifully designed triforium and clerestory. Altogether we think Dol
may make good its claim to a high place among churches of the second
order. It is specially curious to see how a building which does not
differ in any essential peculiarity of style from its fellows assumes a
distinct character, and that by no means wholly to its loss, through the
use of a somewhat rugged material.
OLD NORMAN BATTLE-GROUNDS
1867
In the strictly historical aspect, the English inquirer is perhaps
naturally led to think most of those events in which his more recent
countrymen were more immediately concerned--those events of the Hundred
Years' War, on which so much light has lately been thrown by the
researches of M. Puiseux.[13] But he should not forget that, besides
being the scene of these events in the great struggle between England
and France, Normandy, independent Normandy, has also a history of its
own, in which both England and France had a deep interest. It is not
only because Normandy is the cradle of so many families which after
events made English, because so many Norman villages still bear names
illustrious in the English peerage. It is because it is in the earlier
history of Normandy, above all, in the reign of William himself, that
we are to seek for one side of the causes which made a Norman conquest
of England possible, just as it is in the earlier history of England,
above all, in the reign of Eadward, that we are to seek for the other
side of those causes.
No one among those causes was more important than the personal character
of the great Duke of the Normans himself. And the qualities which made
William able to achieve the Conquest of England were, if not formed, at
least trained and developed, by the events of his reign in his own
Duchy. Succeeding with a very doubtful title, at once bastard and minor,
it is wonderful that he contrived to retain his ducal crown at all; it
is not at all wonderful that his earlier years were years of constant
struggle within and without his dominions. He had to contend against
rivals for the Duchy, and against subjects to whom submission to any
sovereign was irksome. He had to contend against a jealous feudal
superior, who dreaded his power, who retained somewhat of national
dislike to the Danish intruders, and who, shut up in his own Paris,
could hardly fail to grudge to any vassal the possession of the valley
and mouth of the Seine. William, in short, before he conquered England,
had to conquer both Normandy and France. And such was his skill, such
was his good luck, that he found out how to conquer Normandy by the help
of France, and how to conquer France by the help of Normandy. The King
of the French acted as his ally against his rebellious vassals, and
those rebellious vassals changed into loyal subjects when it was needful
to withstand the aggressions of the King of the French.
The principal stages in this warfare are marked by two battles, the
sites of which are appropriately placed on the two opposite sides of the
Seine. At Val-es-dunes William of Normandy and Henry of France overcame
the Norman rebels.[14] Afterwards, when Henry had changed his policy,
the Normans smote the French with a great slaughter at Mortemer, neither
of the contending princes being personally present. Val-es-dunes, we
must confess the fact, was in truth a victory of the Roman over the
Teuton. It was by the aid of his French overlord that William chastised
into his obedience the sturdy Saxons of the Bessin and the fierce Danes
of the Cotentin. The men of the peninsula boasted, in a rhyme which is
still not forgotten in the neighbourhood of the fight, how
De Costentin partit la lance
Qui abastit le roy de France.
For King Henry, successful in the general issue of the day, had his own
personal mishaps in the course of the battle, and to have overthrown the
King of the French was an exploit which supplied the vanquished with
some little consolation.
The scene of this battle is fitly to be found in the true Normandy, but
towards its eastern frontier. It must not be forgotten that the truest
Normandy was not the oldest Normandy. The lands first granted to Rolf,
perhaps for the very reason that they were the lands first granted to
him, became French, while the later acquisitions of Rolf himself still
remained Danish.
The boundary was seemingly marked by the Dive. Val-es-dunes then, placed
a little to the west of that river, comes within the true Normandy,
though it is near to its outskirts. The Teutonic Norman was beaten on
his own ground, but the Frenchman at least never made his way to the
gates of Bayeux or Coutances. The site of the battle is less attractive
to the eye than many other battle-fields, but the ground is excellently
adapted for what the battle seems really to have been, a sharp encounter
of cavalry, a few gallant charges ending in the headlong flight of the
defeated side. This was the young Duke's first introduction to serious
warfare; but he had tougher work than this to go through before his
career was over. To the east of Caen stretches a somewhat dreary
country, which forms a striking contrast to the rich meadows and
orchards of the Bessin, while it in no way approaches to the wildness of
the sterner portions of the Cotentin. A range of hills of some height
bounds the prospect to the north, and it was from that direction that
William brought his forces to the field. The field itself is a sort of
low plateau, sloping to the east, and bordered by a series of villages
placed in what, if the height of the rising ground were higher, might be
called _combes_ or valleys. The churches of Valmeray, where a ruined
fragment of later date marks the spot where King Henry heard mass before
the fight, Billy, Boneauville, Chicheboville, and Secqueville, all skirt
the hill, if hill we can call it. The actual battle-field lies between
the two last-named villages. To the west a higher ridge, called by the
name of St. Lawrence, marks the furthest point of the battle, the place
where the defeated rebels made their last stand, and which was marked by
a commemorative chapel, now destroyed. From that point the high ground
again stretches westward as far as the village of Haute Allemagne, the
great quarry of Caen stone. Over all the ground in this direction the
rebels were scattered, multitudes of them being carried away, we are
told, by the stream of the Orne.
The spot, as we have said, is not in itself particularly attractive,
though there is something striking in the view both ways from the high
ground of St. Lawrence. It is easy to say how thoroughly well the ground
was chosen for what took place on it, a _melee_, of mounted knights, a
tournament in earnest. And it is quite worth the while of any student
of Norman history to walk over the ground, Wace in hand, taking in the
graphic description of the honest rhymer, as clear and accurate as usual
in his topographical details. And it is pleasant to find how well the
events of the day are still remembered by the peasantry of the
neighbourhood. There is no fear, as there is said to be in the
neighbourhood of Worcester, of an inquirer after the field of battle
being taken to see the scene of a battle between some local Sayers and
Heenan. The Norman of every rank, when let alone by Frenchmen, is a born
antiquary, proud of the ancient history of his country, and taking an
intelligent interest in it which in England is seldom to be found except
amongst highly-educated men.
The other site, Mortemer, lies in a region far more attractive to the
eye than Val-es-dunes, but, as an historical spot, it is chiefly
remarkable from the event of the battle having, so to speak, wiped out
all traces of itself.[15] The spot where the French invaders received so
heavy a blow lies appropriately in the more French part of Normandy, in
the region on the right of the Seine, and it seems to have been almost
wholly by the hands of the men of the surrounding districts that the
blow was struck. The Mortemer of which we speak must not be mistaken for
the Abbey of Mortemer, near Lyons-la-foret, in that famous wood of
which Sir Francis Palgrave has so much to tell. Both the one and the
other Mortemer happily lie quite out of the beat of ordinary tourists.
The Mortemer of the battle lies on the road between the small towns of
Neufchatel and Aumale. Neufchatel-en-Bray, a Neufchatel without lake or
watches or republic, can nevertheless boast of surrounding hills which,
if not equal to the Jura, are of considerable height for Northern Gaul,
and its cheese is celebrated through a large portion of Normandy. Ascend
and descend one hill, then ascend and descend another, and the journey
is made from Neufchatel to Aumale. Just out of the road, at the base of
the two hills, the eye is caught by a ruined tower on the right hand.
This is what remains of the castle of Mortemer, a fragment of
considerably later date than the battle. The church is modern and
worthless; the few scattered houses, almost wholly of wood, which form
the hamlet, present nothing remarkable. But it is in this very absence
of anything remarkable that the historic interest of Mortemer consists.
The Mortemer of the eleventh century was a town; the Mortemer of the
nineteenth century is a very small and scattered village. Doubtless a
town of that age might be, in point of population, not beyond a village
now; still a town implies continuous houses, which is just what Mortemer
now does not possess. The French occupied Mortemer because of the
convenient quarters to be had in its hostels. It is now one of the last
places in the world to which one would go for quarters of any kind.
Mortemer was apparently an open town, not defended by walls or a castle,
or the French could hardly have occupied it, as they did, without
resistance. But it must have been a town, as towns then went, or so
large a body could not have been so comfortably quartered in it as they
evidently were. The key to the change is to be found in the event
itself. The Normans of the surrounding country surprised the French on
the morning after they had entered Mortemer, while they were still
engaged in revelry and debauchery. They set fire to the town, and slew
the Frenchmen as they attempted to escape. To all appearance, the town
was never rebuilt, and its change into the mean collection of houses
which now bears its name is a strange but abiding trophy of a great
triumph of Norman craft--in this case we can hardly say of Norman
valour--eight centuries back.
Such are two of the historic spots which are to be found in abundance on
the historic soil of Normandy. They are only two out of many; every
town, almost every village, has its tale to tell. From Eu to Pontorson
there is hardly a spot which does not make some contribution to the
history of those stirring times when Normandy had a life of its own, and
when the Norman name was famous from Scotland to Sicily. After six
hundred years of incorporation with the French monarchy, Normandy is
still Norman; "le Duc Guillaume" is still a familiar name, not only to
professed scholars or antiquaries, but to the people themselves. Without
any political bearing--for the political absorption of Normandy by
France was remarkably speedy--the feelings and memories of the days of
independence have lingered on in a way which is the more remarkable as
there is no palpable distinction of language, such as distinguishes
Bretons, Basques, or even the speakers of the Tongue of Oc. But in
everything but actual speech the old impress remains, and the result is
that in Normandy, above all in Lower Normandy, the English historical
traveller finds himself more thoroughly at home than in any other part
of the Continent except in the lands where the speech once common to
England, to Bayeux, and to Northern Germany is still preserved.
FECAMP
1868
It has sometimes struck us that the mediaeval founders of towns and
castles and monasteries were not so wholly uninfluenced by
considerations of mere picturesque beauty as we are apt to fancy. We are
apt to think that they had nothing in their minds but mere convenience,
according to their several standards of convenience, convenience for
traffic, convenience for military defence or attack, convenience for the
chase, the convenience of solitude in one class of ecclesiastical
foundations, the convenience of the near neighbourhood of large centres
of men in another class. This may be so; but, if so, these
considerations of various kinds constantly led them, by some sort of
happy accident, to the choice of very attractive sites. And we venture
to think that it was not merely accident, because we often come upon
descriptions of sites in mediaeval writers which seem to show that the
men of those times were capable of appreciating the picturesque
position of this or that castle or abbey, as well as its direct
suitableness for military or monastic purposes. Giraldus, for instance,
evidently admired the site of Llanthony, and, if he expressed himself
about it in rather exaggerated language, that is no more than what
naturally happens when any man, especially when Giraldus, expresses
himself in Latin, especially in mediaeval Latin. In the like sort, we
have come across one or two descriptions of the Abbey of Fecamp which
clearly show that the writers were struck, as any man of taste would be,
with the position in which that great and famous monastery had arisen.
And, to leap to scenes which far surpass either Fecamp or Llanthony, the
well-known story of Saint Bernard's absorption on the shores of the Lake
of Geneva really tells the other way. We are told that the saint was so
given up to pious contemplation that he travelled for a whole day
through that glorious region without noticing lake, mountains, or
anything else. Now we need hardly stop to show that the fact that
Bernard's absorption was thought worthy of record proves that, if he did
not notice any of these things, there was some one in his company who
did. We suspect that in this, as in a great many things, we have more in
common with our forefathers several centuries back than we have with
those who are nearer to us by many generations.
[Illustration: Abbey of Fecamp, N.E.]
Modern taste might possibly make one objection to the site of Fecamp.
Though near the sea, it is not within sight of the sea. The modern
watering-place of Fecamp is springing up at a considerable distance from
the ancient abbey. But the love of watering-places and sea-bathing is
one which is altogether modern, and, in the days in which our old towns,
castles, and monasteries grew up, a site immediately on the sea would
have been looked on as unsafe. And in truth there are not many places,
and certainly Fecamp is not one of them, where all the various buildings
of a great monastery could have been planned so as to command the modern
attraction of a sea-view. Moreover it is a point not to be forgotten
that people who go to Fecamp or elsewhere for sea-views and sea-bathing
go there during certain months only, while the monks had to live there
all the year round. The monks of Saint Michael's Mount were indeed
privileged with, or condemned to, an everlasting sea-view; but the title
of their house was that of Saint Michael "_in periculo maris_." To be
exposed to the perils of the sea was no part of the intention of the
founders of Fecamp, either of abbey, town or palace.[16] They chose them
a site which gave them the practical advantages of the sea without the
dangers of its immediate neighbourhood. Fecamp then lies a little way
inland. Two parallel ranges of hills run down to the sea, with a
valley and a small stream between them, at the mouth of which the modern
port has been made. On the slope of the hills on the left side lies the
huge mass of the minster rising over the long straggling town which
stretches away to the water. But though the great church thus lies
secluded from the sea, the spiritual welfare of sea-faring men was not
forgotten. The point where the opposite range of hills directly
overhangs the sea is crowned by one of those churches specially devoted
to sailors and their pilgrimages which are so often met with in such
positions. The chapel of Our Lady of Safety, now restored after a season
of ruin and desecration, forms a striking and picturesque object in the
general landscape. And from the chapel itself and from the hill-side
paths which lead up to it, we get the noblest views of the great abbey,
in all the stern simplicity of its age, stretching the huge length of
its nave, one of the very few, even in Normandy, which rival the effect
of Winchester and Saint Albans. A single central tower, of quite
sufficient height, of no elaborate decoration, crowned by no rich spire
or octagon, but with a simple covering of lead, forms the thoroughly
appropriate centre of the whole building. We feel that this tower is
exactly what is wanted; we almost doubt whether the church gained or
lost by the loss of the western towers, which would have taken off from
the effect of boundless length which is the characteristic of the
building. At any rate we think how far more effective is the English and
Norman arrangement, which at all events provides a great church with the
noblest of central crowns, than the fashion of France, which
concentrates all its force on the western front, and leaves the at least
equally important point of crossing to shift for itself.
The church itself is one of the noblest even in Normandy, and it is in
remarkably good preservation. And the two points in which the fabric has
suffered severe damage are not owing either to Huguenots or to Jacobins,
but to its own guardians under two different states of things. The bad
taste of the monks themselves in their later days is chargeable with the
ugly Italian west front, which has displaced the elder front with towers
of which the stumps may still be seen. An Italian front, though it must
be incongruous when attached to a mediaeval building, need not be in
itself either ugly or mean, but this front of Fecamp is conspicuously
both. The other loss is that of the _jube_ or roodloft, which, from the
fragments left, seems to have been a magnificent piece of later Gothic
work, perhaps almost rivalling the famous one at Alby. The destruction
of roodlofts has been so general in France that one is not particularly
struck by each several case of destruction. But there is something
singular about this Fecamp case, as the _jube_ was pulled down at the
restoration of religion, through the influence of the then cure, in
opposition to the wishes of his more conservative or more ritualistic
parishioners. With these two exceptions Fecamp has lost but little, as
far as regards the church itself. The conventual buildings, like most
French conventual buildings, have been rebuilt in an incongruous style,
and now serve for the various public purposes of the local
administration. In a near view of the north side, they form an ugly
excrescence against the church, but they are lost in the more distant
and general view.