TO W. H----, ESQ.
Rouen, 1824.
My dear H----,
You will be surprised to find that we have got no farther on our pilgrimage than Rouen, but my desultory habit of never proceeding straight to any object, and suffering myself to be tempted always by the collateral; makes our progress slow. We arrived here, through some beautiful valleys, filled with manufactories of cotton: and after passing by a long alley of fine trees, wound through a number of narrow dull streets, to the Hotel----, which, though one of the best in the town, still offers that mixture of finery and filth which pervades all French inns. The salle à manger, I am convinced, has never been swept or cleaned since its construction. The dirt may sometimes have been kicked out by accident, but can never have been removed intentionally.
Our breakfast was served to us on very handsome plate; but a pig, followed by some turkeys, walked in from the court with a cabbage-leaf in his mouth, and with true French urbanity, seemed very much inclined to keep us company at our meal. Although we explained to him in the clearest manner that we wished to be alone, we had some difficulty in keeping him out, as the door would not shut, and he appeared to have right prescriptive to a free entrance. Shortly after, we had the company of our landlady, who, though much more élégante than a person of the same class in England, has the most tremendous tongue that ever woman was blessed with. She began upon her own history, and went through it from the beginning even unto the end. She informed us that her husband was bête, but bon, explained to us her opinions upon various points of morality which did not exactly coincide with our own, and was then going to enter upon another story--when, as we could not get rid of her as we had got rid of the pig--we wished her good morning, and took a ramble through the town.
The general appearance of Rouen is dull, but there is an air of antiquity about it which I have often found wanting as a characteristic in places considerably older than this. One of the first things which attracted our notice was the beauty of the women: certainly never did I see such a number of pretty faces, as there are here framed and glazed at shop windows, with their large dark eyes glancing at us like diamonds as we pass by. But this is no subject for you, Sir Stoic; old mouldering monuments, and crumbling ruins, will better suit your musty, antiquarian soul. You would revel were you with us here. This place is one great museum of ancient buildings: every thing smacks of old days; and memory has plenty of occupation in raking up all the histories that each object recall.
I have seen good paintings of the Cathedral as it appeared some years ago, before the spire was burnt; and though the people lament very much its fall, I cannot say that I think the building has lost by the accident. The spire was light and elegant certainly, but it did not seem to me to harmonize well with the rest of the church. I believe that we wore out the patience of our valet-de-place, staying nearly three hours to examine every part of it, and admiring and re-admiring the beautiful combinations which the light Gothic arches present at every step you take along the aisles. Round some of the principal columns there is a curious sort of open balcony, which I do not remember to have seen any where else, and which has a very pleasing effect.
After remaining so long in the interior we mounted the tower, and proceeding through a little door which led to the outside, found ourselves amongst all the grotesque figures with which our good Norman ancestors ornamented their churches. There were monkeys, and bears, and parrots, and dragons, and devils, and saints; all pellmell, jostling against each other, without any respect for persons.
It was singular to remark, that the iconoclastic spirit of the French revolution had found out the statues of the saints and martyrs even up here, and chopped their heads off without mercy, leaving the devils as the proper images of the spirit of the time. It certainly was the most ridiculous fury that ever seized a mad nation, to think of beheading blocks of marble. When the sans-culottes entered the town of Nancy in Alsace, they found, amongst other things, the statues of Apollo and the nine muses; these they immediately christened the King and the royal family, and proceeded to guillotine them on the spot. The busts of Voltaire and Rousseau were about to undergo the same fate, but the librarian of the town saved them, by announcing them as the very patriarchs and apostles of the revolution.
Immediately after the Cathedral, we saw the Abbey church of St. Ouen. It wants the vast solemnity of the other, but more than makes up for it, by the correctness of the proportions, and the minute elegance of all the parts. A very beautiful effect is produced by the disposition of the font, which is so placed as to reflect almost the whole interior of the building.
From St. Ouen we went to the Library, whose principal curiosity seems to be an old illuminated psalm-book, which must have cost a world of useless labour to the monk who, as the librarian informed us with no small emphasis, occupied fifty years of his life in painting it. Afterwards, in rambling through the town, we came to the spot where poor Jeanne d'Arc was burnt. It is called La Place de la Pucelle; and in a neighbouring house we were shown the cabinet in which, it is said, her judges deliberated their cruel sentence. It is a dark, gloomy, octagonal room, lined with black oak; and one naturally repeoples it with the merciless countenances of those who once sat there, to gratify their bloodthirsty malice on the poor enthusiast who had been the means of their overthrow. There can be little doubt that the Maid of Orleans was nothing but a visionary, and as such became the tool of Agnes Sorrel and her party, to whom the delivery of France front the English yoke is really to be ascribed.
A great part of the common dwelling-houses in Rouen bear evident marks of their ancient construction, but the one I have just mentioned, in the Place de la Pucelle, is particularly worthy of remark, on account of a curious relief on one of the pavilions, representing the famous meeting of Henry VIII. and Francis I. between Guisnes and Ardres. Most of the figures are very perfect, and on various parts of the building there are some curious sculptures and arabesques. Before the revolution, the number of churches in Rouen, must have been immense; at every step the vestiges of some of these edifices present themselves, converted into workshops or storehouses: and there remain a great many, still appropriated to the purposes of religion. The French possess an infinity of monuments of this kind, but they are not careful of them. It is truly disgusting to see quantities of dirty stalls and outhouses raised against their finest buildings, and all sorts of nuisances practised against them in midday. The interior is also often spoiled by the bad taste of those who have the charge of them; frequently we find the fine stonework painted all sorts of colours; no qualm of conscience opposes itself to adding a Greek doorway or skreen to a Norman church; and the horrid daubs of pictures which are to be met in the finest churches in France, would disgrace a barber's shop.
The churches in Rouen, are, I believe, without exception Gothic, which appears to me to be far better suited than any other architecture to the character of the Christian religion. There is that pensive kind of shade which invites the mind to thought. The grandeur of the objects, and the vastness of the proportions, make us feel our own littleness: we find ourselves as nothing in the temples we ourselves have made; and our thoughts naturally turn to Him who created all.
Certain it is, that the purer the religion, the less is it connected with external appearances; but so little have we the power of abstracting our ideas from the immediate matter of our senses, that there are few who have not, at some time, felt that a great degree of solemnity in all which surrounds us, is absolutely necessary, when we would turn the whole current of our thoughts towards the sublime object of our devotion. Pomp and show, and stage effect, are beneath the dignity of religion; but when under a dispensation which guides the heart and its feelings, as well as the body and its actions, the creature kneels to adore its Creator, the solemnity of every object around can never be too great for such an awful occasion.
The religion of the Greeks, in harmony with their climate, their customs, and their minds, was one of striking and brilliant ceremonies, formed to excite the passions and dazzle the imagination; with more show than feeling, more elegance than solemnity.
The architecture of their temples was consonant both to the nature of the people and their religion, light, rich, and graceful, and full of forms more calculated to excite pleasure and admiration, than thought or devotion, it had far more grace but less grandeur than the Gothic. Its very perfection is the cause of its wanting solemnity. The pillars are exactly proportioned to the building, and the ornaments to the parts which they adorn; every thing is gradual and easy; but in Gothic architecture, all is abrupt and striking. The minute ornaments which are too small to distract the attention from general effect, give, by contrast, an additional vastness to the high pointed arches, and enormous columns. The very disproportion of the parts makes the whole appear larger than it really is, the soul of man seems to have power to expand amidst the gigantic vaults, under which he walks as an insect; and his mind naturally takes a tone from the solemn vastness of the building.
To you, who are almost as great a Goth as myself in these points, I am not afraid to express my opinions; although I have no architectural knowledge to support them. I am apt to judge alone from my feelings, and certainly I never experience the same sensation of awe in any other building that I do in a Gothic cathedral.
Nothing has occurred to myself worth commemorating since our arrival in this city, if I except some suspicions which have assailed me regarding my worthy servant Essex. You remember the fellow and his extreme plausibility. Amongst other points of his character he affected no slight dislike to his former master, your acquaintance Wild; representing him as the most violent and malevolent of human beings. On going to the post-office myself, the other day, I saw fixed up amongst the letters which have not been forwarded for want of postage, one addressed to no other person than Alfred Wild, Esquire, and that address, too, written in the precise hand which delivers me my weekly accounts. What, this means I do not know; but I mentioned to my friend B----, while the fellow was in the room, the fact of having seen a letter addressed to Wild, but not forwarded for want of postage. The next day the letter was no longer there. This, however, might be nothing, did I not feel very sure that--at whose instigation I know not--the rascal gives himself the trouble of watching me in my various rambles through the town. If I detect him, he will return to England with a broken head, although he can find out but little in my goings forth which can injure
Your's ever,
J---- Y----