May, 1818.
MY DEAR FRIEND.
In spite of all its grotesque beauties and antiquarian attractions, the CITY OF ROUEN must be quitted--and I am about to pursue my route more in the character of an independent traveller. No more Diligence, or Conducteur. I have hired a decent cabriolet, a decent pair of horses, and a yet more promising postilion: and have already made a delightfully rural migration. Adieu therefore to dark avenues, gloomy courts, overhanging roofs, narrow streets, cracking whips, the never- ceasing noise of carts and carriages, and never-ending movements of countless masses of population:--Adieu!--and in their stead, welcome be the winding road, the fertile meadow, the thickly-planted orchard, and the broad and sweeping Seine!
Accordingly, on the 4th of this month, between the hours of ten and eleven, A.M. the rattling of horses' hoofs, and the echoes of a postilion's whip, were heard within the court-yard of the Hôtel Vatel. Monsieur, Madame, Jacques--and the whole fraternity of domestics, were on the alert-- "pour faire les adieux à Messieurs les Anglois." This Jacques deserves somewhat of a particular notice. He is the prime minister of the Hôtel Vatel.[78] A somewhat uncomfortable detention in England for five years, in the character of "prisoner of war," has made him master of a pretty quick and ready utterance of common-place phrases in our language; and he is not a little proud of his attainments therein. Seriously speaking, I consider him quite a phenomenon in his way; and it is right you should know that he affords a very fair specimen of a sharp, clever, French servant. His bodily movements are nearly as quick as those of his tongue. He rises, as well as his brethren, by five in the morning; and the testimonies of this early activity are quickly discovered in the unceasing noise of beating coats, singing French airs, and scolding the boot-boy. He rarely retires to rest before mid-night; and the whole day long he is in one eternal round of occupation. When he is bordering upon impertinence, he seems to be conscious of it--declaring that "the English make him saucy, but that naturally he is very civil." He always speaks of human beings in the neuter gender; and to a question whether such a one has been at the Hotel, he replies, "I have not seen it to-day." I am persuaded he is a thoroughly honest creature; and considering the pains which are taken to spoil him, it is surprising with what good sense and propriety he conducts himself.
About eleven o'clock, we sprung forward, at a smart trot, towards the barriers by which we had entered Rouen. Our postilion was a thorough master of his calling, and his spurs and whip seemed to know no cessation from action. The steeds, perfectly Norman, were somewhat fiery; and we rattled along the streets, (for the chaussé never causes the least abatement of pace with the French driver) in high expectation of seeing a thousand rare sights ere we reached Havre--equally the limits of our journey, and of our contract with the owner of the cabriolet. That accomplished antiquary M. Le Prevost, whose name you have often heard, had furnished me with so dainty a bill of fare, or carte de voyage; that I began to consider each hour lost which did not bring us in contact with some architectural relic of antiquity, or some elevated position--whence the wandering Seine and wooded heights of the adjacent country might be surveyed with equal advantage.
You have often, I make no doubt, my dear friend, started upon something like a similar expedition:--when the morning has been fair, the sun bright, the breeze gentle, and the atmosphere clear. In such moments how the ardour of hope takes possession of one!--How the heart warms, and the conversation flows! The barriers are approached; we turn to the left, and commence our journey in good earnest. Previously to gaining the first considerable height, you pass the village of Bapeaume. This village is exceedingly picturesque. It is studded with water-mills, and is enlivened by a rapid rivulet, which empties itself, in a serpentine direction, into the Seine. You now begin to ascend a very commanding eminence; at the top of which are scattered some of those country houses which are seen from Mont Ste. Catharine. The road is of a noble breadth. The day warmed; and dismounting, we let our steeds breathe freely, as we continued to ascend leisurely. Our first halting-place, according to the instructions of M. Le Prevost, was St. George de Boscherville; an ancient abbey established in the twelfth century, This abbey is situated about three French leagues from Rouen. Our route thither, from the summit of the hill which we had just ascended, lay along a road skirted by interminable orchards now in full bloom. The air was perfumed to excess by the fragrance of these blossoms. The apple and pear were beautifully conspicuous; and as the sky became still more serene, and the temperature yet more mild by the unobstructed sun beam, it is impossible to conceive any thing more balmy and genial than was this lovely day. The minutes seemed to fly away too quickly--when we reached the village of Boscherville; where stands the CHURCH; the chief remaining relic of this once beautiful abbey. We surveyed the west front very leisurely, and thought it an extremely beautiful specimen of the architecture of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; for certainly there are some portions more ancient than others. A survey of the chapter-house filled me with mingled sorrow and delight: sorrow, that the Revolution and a modern cotton manufactory had metamorphosed it from its original character; and delight, that the portions which remained were of such beautiful forms, and in such fine preservation. The stone, being of a very close-grained quality, is absolutely as white and sound as if it had been just cut from the quarry. The room, where a parcel of bare-legged girls and boys were working the respective machineries, had a roof of the most delicate construction.[79]
The very sound of a Monastery made me curious to examine the disposition of the building. Accordingly, I followed my guide through suites of apartments, up divers stone stair-cases, and along sundry corridors. I noticed the dormitories with due attention, and of course inquired eagerly for the LIBRARY:--but the shelves only remained--either the fear or the fury of the Revolution having long ago dispossessed it of every thing in the shape of a book. The whole was painted white. I counted eleven perpendicular divisions; and, from the small distances between the upper shelves, there must have been a very considerable number of duodecimos. The titles of the respective classes of the library were painted in white letters upon a dark-blue ground, at top. Bibles occupied the first division, and the Fathers the second: but it should seem that equal importance was attached to the works of Heretics as to those called Litterae Humaniores--for each had a division of equal magnitude.
On looking out of window, especially from the back part of the building, the eye rests entirely upon what had once been fruitful orchards, abundant kitchen gardens, and shady avenues. Yet in England, this spot, rich by nature, and desirable from its proximity to a great city, would, ere forty moons had waned, have grown up into beauty and fertility, and expanded into luxuriance of condition.
The day was now, if possible, more lovely than before. On looking at my instructions I found that we had to stop to examine the remains of an old castle at Delafontaine--about two English miles from St. George de Boscherville. These remains, however, are but the fragments of a ruin, if I may so speak; yet they are interesting, but somewhat perilous: for a few broken portions of a wall support an upper chamber, where appears a stone chimney-piece of very curious construction and ornament. On observing a large cavity or loop-hole, about half way up the outer wall, I gained it by means of a plentiful growth of ivy, and from thence surveyed the landscape before me. Here, having for some time past lost sight of the Seine, I caught a fine bold view of the sweep of that majestic river, now becoming broader and broader--while, to the left, softly tinted by distance, appeared the beautiful old church we had just quitted: the verdure of the hedges, shrubs, and forest trees, affording a rich variety to the ruddy blossoms of the apple, and the white bloom of the pear. I admit, however, that this delicious morceau of landscape was greatly indebted, for its enchanting effect, to the blue splendour of the sky, and the soft temperature of the air; while the fragrance of every distended blossom added much to the gratification of the beholder. But it is time to descend from this elevation; and to think of reaching Duclair.
DUCLAIR is situated close to the very borders of the Seine, which has now an absolute lake-like appearance. We stopped at the auberge to rest our horses; and I commenced a discourse with the master of the inn and his daughter; the latter, a very respectable-looking and well-behaved young woman of about twenty-two years of age. She was preparing a large crackling wood-fire to dress a fish called the Alose, for the passengers of the diligence--who were expected within half an hour. The French think they can never butter their victuals sufficiently; and it would have produced a spasmodic affection in a thoroughly bilious spectator, could he have seen the enormous piece of butter which this active young cuisinière thought necessary to put into the pot in which the 'Alose' was to be boiled. She laughed at the surprise I expressed; and added "qu'on ne peut rien faire dans la cuisine sans le beurre." You ought to know, by the by, that the Alose, something like our mackerel in flavour, is a large and delicious fish; and that we were always anxious to bespeak it at the table-d'hôte at Rouen. Extricated from the lake of butter in which it floats, when brought upon table, it forms not only a rich, but a very substantial dish.