A great river always exercises an attraction upon a certain class of people, and when that river is lined by historic towns and flows through beautiful country, it cannot fail to be attractive to everyone. As we have said, the Seine belongs to France rather than Normandy; very French are the views of its olive green flood, with the blue-green fringe of poplars, and the cliff-like scarred banks to be seen so continually in its course; but yet in some of the towns we shall pass, especially the smaller ones, there still lingers the breath of things Norman.
QUAI ST CATHERINE, HONFLEUR
The mouth between the two similarly named towns of Harfleur and Honfleur is very wide, but not good for navigation, for it is filled with perpetually shifting sandbanks, which try the mariners’ patience to the utmost. For this reason there was made that canal from Havre to Tancarville which ensures at all events a certain passage. The wide funnel-like mouth narrowing suddenly near at the corner by Quillebœuf, and again below, is the cause of the great mascaret, or wave of the high tide which sweeps up occasionally as far as Caudebec; this is a great wall of water, higher or lower according to the force of the wind and the strength of the tide, which together combine to produce it. The bar or line which sweeps up first is the advance-guard of an unusually high tide, which will carry destruction to all small or badly managed boats. The mascaret is regularly reckoned among the sights of Caudebec.
It is magnificent in its impetuous flow, coming on in irresistible force, the water turning, writhing, and twisting under the impetus, with a fringe of foam outlined on the indigo slopes—a strenuous thing, living, growling, hungry for its prey.
As the wide mouth of the river contracts a little, the ruined castle of Tancarville is seen standing on its precipitous cliff. This belonged to the Sires de Tancarville, one of the proud Norman families who held the hereditary chamberlainship of the dukedom of Normandy. The last of the line was killed on the field of Agincourt, and the name, disguised as Tankerville, is held by an English peer. The chateau as it is now, consists partly of the ruins of the ancient chateau, to which is attached the new chateau, so called. The older parts date from the twelfth century, the newer from the eighteenth. The gateway is still imposing, with its two flanking towers; and the small dungeon-like rooms with iron-barred windows, in which the unhappy prisoners were kept, can be seen. Most of the building is, however, of the later date. The towers, by their name, suggest the wild, stirring days of old; we have la Tour de l’Aigle, la Tour du Diable or du Lion, and la Tour Coquesart. In the keep is a well three hundred feet deep. Quillebœuf, from its position on a rock stretching out into the flood, was at one time a place of no small strategic importance.
Opposite is Lillebonne, charmingly situated amid woods, and owning one event of historical importance which gives it dignity. It was in the castle of Lillebonne that William held the celebrated council, in which it was finally decided he should attempt the subjugation of England. That Lillebonne has been of importance from very ancient times, is shown by its splendidly preserved Roman theatre, which is celebrated throughout all the world of antiquaries. The ruins are now overgrown, but that the place could easily accommodate 3000 spectators is apparent. Near the theatre are the remains of William’s castle; but ruins of this sort are so common in Normandy, that they hardly provoke comment. After this the river takes its first great bend before Caudebec; nothing is more curious than the amazing sinuosity of the Seine, which forms loops and horseshoes of extraordinary length.
Caudebec is one of the most charming of the small Norman towns, and is beloved of artists; unfortunately, as it advances in fame it loses that unsophisticated innocence which was one of its delights. The church is so magnificent that it merits the designation cathedral, and the quaintness of the ancient timber houses leaning over the narrow street, down which, as in all mediæval cities, a stream runs to carry off the refuse and drainage, is part of the delight of this little place.
The forests that line the Seine, sometimes on one side and sometimes on another, from this point onward, merit a special word. Wonderful are they, rising high on wooded slopes or stretching over acres of flat country. Some, as those opposite Jumièges, are of beech almost entirely, with a sprinkling of dark evergreens; others are varied. There are forests of firs penetrated by “rides cut as straight as rulers” through a chunk of solid tree-growth; there are others so mixed up with intertwining creeper that to penetrate them would be impossible.
Jumièges is in exactly the place where you would expect to find an abbey. They loved a broad encircling river those old monks, they loved to be surrounded by wide forests, to build on low ground: their idea was defence, not aggression; the peace of those who are passed by, not of those whose strength defies invaders.