B M f 
 
 LONC-MATM <& C9 PATJiRNOSXEB ROW. 
 
WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 BY 
 
 LEITCH RITCHIE, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 heath's picturesque annual, schinderhannes, romance 
 of french history, &c. 
 
 WITH 
 
 TWENTY ENGRAVINGS 
 
 from Bratomgs 
 
 BY 
 
 J. M. W. TURNER, ESQ. R.A. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETOR, BY 
 LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMAN ; 
 RITTNER & GAUPIL, PARIS; AND A. ASHER, BERLIN. 
 
 1834. 
 
LONDON: 
 
 MOYESj CASTLE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE 1 
 
 II. THE TOWER OF FRANCIS I. ■ 17 
 
 III. FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR 37 
 
 IV. THE WANDERER'S REVERIE 58 
 
 V. LILLEBONNE 66 
 
 VI. SCENERY AND SENTIMENT 78 
 
 VII. THE BAR OF THE SEINE 92 
 
 VIII. THE LADY OF BEAUTY 98 
 
 IX. THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU 109 
 
 X. THE NORMAN CAPITAL 124 
 
 XI. THE SORCERESS 134 
 
 XII. NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN •••• 146 
 
 XIII. MONT SAINTE CATHERINE 159 
 
 XIV. THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE 169 
 
 XV. QUILLEBOZUF 182 
 
 XVI. THE MARAIS VERNIER 194 
 
 XVII. THE DEAD LAKE 212 
 
 XVIII. THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN 232 
 
 XIX. ARLETTE 244 
 
ENGRAVINGS 
 
 FROM 
 
 Brafomgs 
 
 BY 
 
 J. M. W. TURNER, ESQ. R.A. 
 
 Arranged according to the manner in which the Views present themselves to the 
 Traveller in sailing up the Seine. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 1. LIGHT-TOWERS OF THE HEVE (Vignette) left hand 39 
 
 2. HAVRE 4 
 
 3. HAVRE. TOWER OF FRANCIS I 29 
 
 4. GRAVILLE 39 
 
 5. HARFLEUR 47 
 
 6. HONFLEUR right hand 255 
 
 7. TANCARVILLE (Back View) left hand 51 
 
 8. TANCARVILLE (Front View) 57 
 
 9. QUILLEBOEUF right hand 193 
 
 10. LILLEBONNE. CHATEAU AND TOWER left hand 65 
 
 11. LILLEBONNE. CHATEAU 77 
 
 12. BETWEEN QUILLEBffiUF AND VILLEQUIER right hand 182 
 
 13. CAUDEBEC left hand 85 
 
 14. CHATEAU DE LA MEILLERAIE right hand 173 
 
 15. JUMIEGES left hand 99 
 
 16. LA CHAISE DE GARGANTUA right hand 112 
 
 17. ROUEN left hand 116 
 
 18. ROUEN, looking up the River 124 
 
 19. ROUEN CATHEDRAL 150 
 
 20. ROUEN, looking down the River 158 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The present volume contains the narrative of a 
 Pedestrian Tour on both banks of the Seine, 
 from its embouchure to Rouen ; and is intended 
 also as a guide to the traveller in the more usual 
 excursion by the steam-boat. 
 
 In the next volume the Author will continue 
 his Wanderings, from Rouen to the sources of 
 the river in the Cote d'Or. 
 
 London, Nov. 25, 1833. 
 
WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 That man is to be pitied who has never sailed from 
 Southampton to Havre-de-Grace ! On setting out, the 
 mind is filled with proud and pleasant feelings, as we 
 see gliding gracefully away from us the beautiful land 
 to which we are bound by the ties of kindred and 
 country. Its most radiant aspect is there presented to 
 us ; and we turn away from the Garden of England* 
 as we part from a fair mistress who bids adieu to her 
 lover with a smile. In some moods, the huge cliffs of 
 Dover, and the naked shores of Brighton, may excite 
 sensations grateful to the mind from their harmony ; 
 but at all times the view on leaving Southampton is 
 delightful. It rejoices the gay, soothes the melancholy, 
 and even warms the indifferent. 
 
 Our feelings do not subside, and hardly change, 
 even when in mid-channel the vast sea is spread out 
 before, behind, and around us — without beginning and 
 without end — when the heavens and the waters are 
 only separated by the line of the visible horizon, which 
 
 * The Isle of Wight. 
 B 
 
2 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 describes a circle, whereof we ourselves are the centre. 
 Even there we know that in another hour the land will 
 appear again like a film on the edge of the sea, till, 
 waxing by degrees, it shall acquire form, and colour, 
 and consistence, before our eyes, and elevate its moun- 
 tains above our head, and open its bays to receive us 
 in their bosom. The sea-birds sail over our ship, hail- 
 ing us with a hoarse scream as they pass — some bound 
 for the coast of England, and some for that of France ; 
 but all bearing steadily on, like mariners who know 
 their way. 
 
 By and by the distant horizon seems clouded and 
 uneven, although the rest of the expanse, both of sea 
 and sky, is without a spot, and glows in all the radiance 
 of a summer afternoon. A kind of film gathers on 
 that part of the rim of the ocean ; but as it sometimes 
 shifts its place, and sometimes disappears, when we 
 look steadily, it is attributed rather to an imperfection 
 in our own eyes than to any reality in the scene. In 
 the course of a few turns more upon the deck, the film 
 has changed into a cloud- — dusky, lowering, and myste- 
 rious ; which gradually extends along the line of the 
 sea, and sometimes overflows, as it were, and enters 
 within the charmed circle. Soon the seeming cloud 
 forms, settles, and becomes steady ; its edges are more 
 definite ; its masses are divided into height and hollow ; 
 a daub of colour here and there begins to give effect to 
 the unfinished picture ; and when at length the sun- 
 light is able to pierce the shades of distance, or rather 
 when our own eyes have power to follow it, we see 
 palpably before us the coast of France. 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 3 
 
 Nor is this consummation — foreseen and certain 
 though it was — unattended by the hopes, fears, and 
 disappointments, which give dramatic interest to an 
 event. The varying phenomena of the scene are all 
 subjects of doubt, conjecture, and argument ; the tele- 
 scope is handed eagerly from one to another ; and even 
 the sailors, who behold the same spectacle every week 
 of their lives, are moved with the same interest which 
 agitates the passengers. 
 
 On nearing the land, we observe two lines of coast, 
 to the right and left, separated by a gulf of water four 
 or five leagues broad. This is the embouchure of the 
 Seine ; on the right bank of which, at the entrance, 
 stands Havre, and on the left, Honfleur. The river is 
 studded, but not impeded — (for here it seems not a 
 river, but the sea)- — by immense sand-banks, along 
 which the eye is carried towards Quilleboeuf, a distance 
 of nearly six leagues ; where the expanse of water ap- 
 pears to terminate, forming in the whole an immense 
 oblong lake. 
 
 It was already the commencement of evening when 
 we landed at Havre ; and the crowd on the pier, the 
 lights here and there in the windows, and the noises of 
 the busy streets, gave indication of a great and popu- 
 lous town. There is something, in fact, altogether 
 Parisian in the aspect of this place, which is in reality 
 the port of Paris ; and while wandering through its 
 lofty and dusky thoroughfares, more especially at night, 
 the traveller might easily be able to persuade himself 
 that he traversed one of the quarters of the huge 
 metropolis. The Rue de Paris, more especially, would 
 
4 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 be considered a handsome street in any capital ; but it 
 is not of mere beauty we talk, but of character — and 
 this is altogether French and Parisian. 
 
 In order to obtain an idea of Havre, however, in its 
 distinct individual character, it is necessary to view the 
 town in its sea-port aspect ; and the splendid engraving 
 before us will enable the reader to do so as well as if 
 he stood upon the pier itself. A steam-boat is just 
 about to leave the quay, probably for Southampton — 
 no, for Honfleur — which will account for the unusual 
 crowd. 
 
 Havre is, comparatively, an infant city, dating only 
 from the beginning of the sixteenth century, when its 
 foundation was laid by Francis I. ; although the honour 
 of the idea at least, if nothing more, is due to his 
 predecessor, Louis XII. It is not wonderful that the 
 French kings should have formed a strong predilection 
 for a port situated at the mouth of the Seine — the 
 river of Paris — the river of France; but even their 
 efforts would have been insufficient to have compelled 
 towards its newly born harbour the great stream of 
 commerce, but for the fortuitous aid of circumstances. 
 Havre owes its prosperity, as it did its origin, to the 
 calamities of its neighbours. The destruction of Har- 
 fleur by the moving sands of the river called it into 
 existence; the revolution, so prolific of ruin, was its 
 nurse ; and the trade which deserted the other ports 
 of France came in full flow to the embouchure of the 
 Seine. 
 
 The construction of this city of harbours, called 
 Le Havre (harbour), par excellence, was a Herculean 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 5 
 
 task. A town built upon the site of the few fishermen's 
 huts which once stood upon these solitary shores, would 
 have been useless as a sea-port ; and it was necessary, 
 therefore, to wrest a territory from the sea itself for its 
 foundation. Eleven years after, on the night of the 
 15th of January, 1525, when the inhabitants of the 
 new city were asleep in their lofty houses, dreaming 
 of further conquests, and smiling at the roar of that 
 stormy ocean which was now their slave, a sound of 
 terror awoke them. It was the roar of the sea, wasting 
 its fury no longer against the stone walls of its masters, 
 but riding in triumph over them, and sweeping away 
 every obstacle to its progress. The whole town was at 
 length covered by this inundation, known to the people 
 of the district by the name of the Male- Mar ee, a great 
 proportion of the inhabitants drowned, and twenty- 
 eight fishing- vessels floated over the fields into the 
 ditches of the Chateau de Greville. After recovering 
 from their consternation, the survivors, with a spirit 
 worthy even of the Dutch, set themselves to repair their 
 walls, and drive back the great enemy into his prison- 
 depths. In a very little time, Havre raised its head 
 anew, crowned with the spoils of Neptune : when an- 
 other inundation carried terror, and almost despair, 
 into the hearts of its builders. This new inroad of the 
 sea was called the Coup de Vent de Saint -Felix, and 
 a procession was instituted in honour of the unlucky 
 saint, which, no doubt, was effectual, — as a similar dis- 
 aster, at least to any considerable extent, never again 
 occurred. 
 
 Up to this time Havre was not only subject to the 
 
6 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 assaults of the ocean, but to those of the still more 
 bitter Rabelais, in whose immortal work " la grande 
 nau Frangaise" received honourable mention — a stu- 
 pendous ship built by Francis L, which it was found 
 impossible, on account of her immense size, to launch 
 into the sea. Still, it must be confessed, that we owe 
 the fact of such mention only to tradition ; for at present 
 there is no one extant who has read Rabelais. 
 
 Scarcely a score of years, however, after the first 
 inundation, a fleet issued from this laughter-stricken 
 port, so considerable as to awe the English into peace ; 
 and in the reign of Charles IX., Havre had become so 
 important that it was given up to our Queen Elizabeth 
 by the Protestants, as a guarantee for the assistance 
 which she promised to send them. The Earl of War- 
 wick, accordingly, with six thousand English, took pos- 
 session of the place. They retained it in their hands 
 for some time, and only capitulated after a long and 
 gallant defence. 
 
 The public buildings of Havre are not remarkable ; 
 but the old tower of Francis I., on the northern jetty, 
 still draws the attention of travellers, on account of a 
 deed of arms, altogether original, which was performed 
 there towards the close of the sixteenth century. 
 
 All that is known to history with regard to this 
 exploit is, that it was undertaken as a means of momen- 
 tary escape from the punishment of some trivial offence ; 
 and with regard to its hero, that he was a native of 
 Caen, and that his name was Aignan Lecomte. This 
 adventure, given as an isolated fact, unconnected with 
 the other incidents of his life, resembles an act of 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 7 
 
 aimless insanity, which we pity while we admire. 
 We, however, who permit our insignificant life to run 
 away in researches after details which are beneath the 
 notice of the historian, have discovered, with much 
 difficulty, a train of causes that confer at least a kind 
 of wild dignity upon the frenzy of Aignan Lecomte. 
 We do not pretend that the author of a deed which 
 had no political consequences, and could have none, is 
 entitled to occupy much space in the chronicles of 
 a nation. The following anecdote, therefore, is not 
 offered as a portion of history, but merely as a historical 
 note, which future writers may append to the reign of 
 Henri III. 
 
 AIGNAN LECOMTE. 
 
 When Aignan Lecomte first took up arms, it was 
 not because he cared a rush about either of the parties 
 which then rent the state asunder. It was the era of 
 the Holy League — of the war of the three Henrys, 
 Henri III, Henri de Guise, and Henri de Navarre — 
 of the murder of Mary of Scotland — of the defeat of 
 the Invincible Armada ; in short, it was the era, par 
 excellence, of modern romance. The brain of Aignan 
 Lecomte was on fire. He had been brought up in that 
 learned city, the ancient capital of Lower Normandy, sur- 
 rounded by shadows, and living in a world of imagina- 
 tion. He had glided from boyhood , like a spirit, through 
 the cloisters of Saint -Etienne ; his footsteps echoing 
 
8 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 among the tombs of the mighty dead, and his soul con- 
 versing with the heroes of the past, whose voices ran 
 whispering along the mystic walls. 
 
 When at length the time was come, and the youth, 
 stepping proudly upon the threshold of manhood, looked 
 round upon the new world he was about to enter, he 
 was like a slumberer awakened from some glorious 
 dream to find the figments of his sleep converted into 
 realities. 
 
 All the world was in arms. The shaveling monk 
 held up a dagger for the crucifix, and the stern minister 
 of Calvinism kept his Bible open with a naked sword. 
 The flames of burning villages reddened the horizon ; 
 the shrieks of insulted maidens rent the air ; the idols 
 of the old religion fell groaning to the ground, or were 
 upheld in their niches by a pile of dead bodies. Every 
 where there was the marching of soldiers, and the pro- 
 cessions of priests — the elevation of the war-banner 
 and of the host — the shouting of hymns and battle- 
 cries — the roar of artillery drowning the swell of the 
 organ, or of the congregational psalm — the shrieks of 
 women, mingled with the tinkle of the sacristan's bell 
 scaring away ill spirits from the altar. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte looked, and listened, and panted. 
 The incidents that were only distinguished by others 
 in their relative character of fortunate or unfortunate, 
 possessed for his visionary mind an overwhelming in- 
 terest. He already fancied himself a hero of romance, 
 ignorant that he would one day become a personage of 
 history ; and, infected by the atmosphere of Saint-Eti- 
 enne, where the bones of the mighty Bastard had spread 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 9 
 
 enchantment around, # he one moment demanded of his 
 fates another England to conquer ; and the next, yield- 
 ing to softer impressions peculiar to his early years, 
 resolved to call the youth of Caen around him, and fly 
 to the rescue or revenge of the lovely and unhappy 
 Queen of Scots. 
 
 These reveries at length gave way to the necessity 
 of the times. A part must be chosen in the drama of 
 life. All civil professions were ruined — all trades 
 broken up but that of the armourer. Aignan Lecomte 
 — without money, for his patrimony had been devoured 
 by the Leaguers and Huguenots between them, and 
 without interest, for he was an orphan — became a 
 private soldier, determining to climb upwards with his 
 pike from the ranks. 
 
 Soon after he had entered the army his division 
 was ordered to Havre. The effect of the scenery of the 
 embouchure of the Seine upon a mind cultivated to 
 every useless purpose may be conceived. Aignan Le- 
 comte, in spite of the hard realities of a soldier's life, 
 became every day more a dreamer : the moments of 
 relaxation from duty were spent in wandering along 
 the cliffs of the Heve, or in tracing the line of the sea 
 as it rolled at their base ; and on these occasions, his 
 mind, free from the ponderous discipline of the gar- 
 rison, recovered its spring, and soared once more into 
 the cloud-land of fancy. 
 
 In the meantime, it must be confessed, these grave 
 
 * They were sacrilegiously disinterred during" these troubles, and 
 again in the anarchy of the revolution. 
 
10 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 realities, from which he delighted to fly, would not 
 have offered much attraction even to the most matter- 
 of-fact mind. The construction of the army at this 
 crisis was loose in the extreme. It included not only 
 the religious, the honourable, and the romantic, but 
 the low and the vile — the very offscourings of society. 
 The dishonest debtor fled to the ranks to spend the 
 money of his creditors in debauchery ; the ruined 
 gamester, the prowling robber, even the midnight 
 murderer — all sought in the camp a refuge for their 
 crimes. The consequence was, that the usual laws of 
 discipline were found to be of no avail ; and regula- 
 tions were established and enforced, adapted more to 
 the character of the men they were meant to restrain, 
 than consistent with the honour of the profession of 
 arms. Offences were classed without reference to their 
 moral relationship ; and thus a breach of etiquette was 
 visited as mutiny, and a failure, however slight in 
 point of time, received the general punishment of 
 " disobedience of orders. " The penalties were con- 
 ceived in the same spirit ; and the man of honour 
 who did not answer to his name the instant it was 
 called, received the same ignominious chastisement 
 which awaited the coward or the thief. 
 
 During a humiliating scene of this kind, Lecomte 
 one day found himself on duty, keeping off the crowd 
 from the spot where the provost-marshal-men were per- 
 forming their office. It was not an ordinary occasion ; 
 for the sufferer was known to be a respectable man, 
 and to be incapable of any baseness. The offence, 
 besides, for which he suffered the degrading punish- 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 11 
 
 ment of the bastinado, was one which, in circumstances 
 slightly modified, would have assumed the character of 
 a virtue. In the hope that his absence would not be 
 discovered, he had absented himself without leave for 
 the purpose of being married to the girl of his heart ; 
 the time had sped by without his cognisance ; and 
 before the ceremony was fairly began, he had been 
 dragged away from the altar, and, with scarcely a 
 form of trial, tied up to the ignominious stake. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte, with a sickening heart and averted 
 eyes, kept his post in the show ; but ever and anon he 
 was compelled to turn round for the purpose of resist- 
 ing the encroachments of the rabble. On one of these 
 occasions he saw a young woman, apparently of higher 
 station than the rest of the spectators, struggling with 
 the crowd ; and surprise and indignation at the unfe- 
 minine taste which led her into such a scene made him 
 turn away his head. The next casual glance, how- 
 ever, convinced him that she was an unwilling spec- 
 tatress, and that the object of her struggles was to 
 escape. But, soon finding her efforts unavailing, she 
 stood still ; her eyes dwelt for a moment upon Lecomte, 
 and his fell beneath the look of mingled scorn and hate 
 with which she seemed to regard him. 
 
 A shriek from the unhappy culprit broke for a 
 moment the current of his thoughts ; and, after the 
 agitation it caused was over, he felt still more unwilling 
 to encounter the gaze of the female. He continued to 
 see her, however, with his mind's eye. She was young 
 and fair — O how fair ! and in dress and manner, 
 though not higher than the rank to which he was 
 
12 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 entitled by birth and habit, yet far beyond the access of 
 a private soldier. His cheeks tingled, half with shame, 
 half with delight; and he would have given a month's 
 pay to have been able to look upon her again, without 
 being seen in return. In the midst of his hesitation, 
 the execution of the sentence finished, and the detach- 
 ment employed in keeping the lines was dismissed. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte looked round like a man awaken- 
 ing from a trance. The crowd was dissolving as sud- 
 denly as it had assembled ; the object of his reverie had 
 vanished like a spirit ; and he inquired, almost with 
 satisfaction, whether her appearance had not been only 
 a dream. He drew his hat over his eyes, and wan- 
 dered on, moody and perplexed; yet every now and 
 then raised his head unconsciously, to cast a hasty 
 glance among the passers-by. 
 
 All on a sudden he encountered again the look of the 
 young girl ; and, moved by an impulse which he could 
 neither direct nor control, he strode up to her, and 
 seized her arm. 
 
 " What would you?" said she, calmly. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte dropped his prize, as if he had 
 been wounded, and fell back several paces. He raised 
 his hand to his hat, and attempted to speak ; but not a 
 word would come. When she turned away, however, 
 after looking at him steadily, " One moment!" said 
 he, gasping. 
 
 " What would you?" demanded the damsel again. 
 " You have done me injustice," said he. She looked 
 back towards the place of punishment. 
 
 " No matter!" replied Aignan Lecomte. 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 13 
 
 " What are you?" 
 
 " I am a man — and a Frenchman!" 
 
 She looked at him long and keenly ; and at length 
 said, " I believe it!" 
 
 " These are scenes," remarked Lecomte, somewhat 
 relieved, — " God knows if they be necessary ! — scenes 
 which overthrow many a dream of honour, and crimson 
 many a proud cheek." 
 
 " And you, too, have your dreams of honour! — 
 You — a private soldier — the subject of the lash!" 
 He smiled grimly. 
 
 " Subject," replied he, " I may be, and no doubt 
 am ; but the lash shall never exert its sovereignty over 
 me." 
 
 " I believe it!" said the damsel again. 
 
 " But you must not think more harshly of my un- 
 happy comrade than you can help. He was guilty of 
 no crime, but that of calculating time falsely ; and de- 
 ceived as he was by love — " 
 
 " I know all. No matter: his wounds will soon 
 heal, the nuptial rites will be recommenced, and your 
 comrade will forget his dishonour," — he sighed heavily, 
 as a crowd of instances rushed upon his memory, — 
 " for Ids bride is not a Frenchwoman!" 
 
 Aignan Lecomte started as she pronounced these 
 words, while her cheek glowed, and her lip curled with 
 a beautiful pride ; and as her eyes met his, they shot 
 forth a fire which seemed to penetrate into the inner- 
 most recesses of his being. He walked on with her to 
 a small but somewhat genteel-looking house near the 
 sea-shore, where she resided with her widowed mother ; 
 
14 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 and there the two chance- acquaintances took leave 
 by shaking hands. 
 
 It must not be supposed, however, that they had 
 arrived at this point of intimacy all at once. When the 
 excited feelings which had thrown them into contact 
 had subsided, they found themselves unconsciously on a 
 footing somewhat closer than that which is warranted 
 by the acquaintanceship of half an hour. They glided 
 gradually, therefore, into a conversation partaking of 
 the tone of confidence generally assumed at their years ; 
 and before they had reached the termination of the 
 walk, Aignan Lecomte knew the whole history, and 
 something of the character, of his fair companion ; 
 while Matilde St. Amand was aware that the private 
 soldier beside her was descended of genteel parentage, 
 and had received a liberal education at Caen. 
 
 As for the more minute discoveries which took place 
 between them, these have not arrived at the knowledge 
 of the chronicler. He is led to conjecture, however, 
 that Matilde appeared to Lecomte in the likeness of a 
 young woman of twenty or twenty-one, somewhat dark 
 of complexion and melancholy in temperament, and pos- 
 sessing withal that sort of spiritual beauty which inspires 
 a love resembling more a devotion than a passion. 
 Aignan himself might have been taken for her brother ; 
 and perhaps it was this mutual likeness which first 
 drew them together. There are more sympathies in the 
 world than those developed by the laws of chemistry ! 
 
 He was taller and darker, but not more robust. 
 His figure, indeed, was as slight as a girl's, but then it 
 was knit together like whipcord. The fierce and con- 
 
THE EMBOUCHURE OF THE SEINE. 
 
 15 
 
 stant working of his mind appeared to operate on the 
 muscles of his body, which seemed to have acquired 
 strength from the violent action to which they were 
 habituated. An observer, however, would have said 
 that this extreme tension would be of short duration — 
 that the bow would soon break, and become useless ; 
 while the eyes, shedding a wild and strange light over 
 his dusky features and beneath his coal-black hair, 
 might have indicated to the physiognomists of the period 
 a troubled life and an early grave. 
 
 Nevertheless, Aignan Lecomte was all the better for 
 this adventure. The day-dreams in which he was 
 accustomed to indulge had of late been almost insuf- 
 ficient for the solace of a spirit galled and fretted by the 
 untoward circumstances of life. Many a fairy edifice 
 had been broken into ruins by the sound of the lash 
 — many a gay and golden vision put to flight by a 
 drunken shout, an impious oath, or a brutal jest. He 
 had not as yet fleshed his maiden sword — no oppor- 
 tunity of acquiring distinction had occurred ; shut up in 
 a garrison from the very commencement of his career 
 of arms, he had been condemned to a slothful and 
 inglorious life. How different was this from the fate 
 which he had anticipated ! His " comrades in glory " 
 were lower in mind than the lowest populace of Caen ; 
 his greatest feat of arms was to attend a parade or 
 an execution ; and the highest reward he could expect 
 for perseverance and diligence in his profession was 
 exemption from punishment! 
 
 Now, however, his thoughts, if nothing more, had a 
 new employment. They did not waste themselves, as 
 
16 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 heretofore, on shadows too unsubstantial to serve as a 
 buckler against the disgusts of the world. Matilde, 
 
 " A woman, yet a spirit too/ 7 
 
 served as a refuge for his wearied mind ; his dream, 
 since he knew her, " was not all a dream his pur- 
 poses, before so vague and fleeting, had received a 
 definite direction ; a star had appeared in the dark 
 heaven of his destiny, to guide and enlighten him. 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 The absences of Aignan Lecomte from the barracks 
 at length became so frequent as to rouse the curiosity 
 of his comrades, although he had always taken care to 
 reappear before the hour struck which delivered him 
 up to the discipline of the ranks. There was, in fact, 
 not a soldier in the garrison, whose conduct, even in 
 the minutiae of etiquette, was more irreproachable ; and 
 the officers looked upon Aignan Lecomte as one of those 
 machines of habit that are shaped by nature into the 
 instruments of military ambition. 
 
 Among those who were most anxious to pry into the 
 secrets of Aignan Lecomte, was a quondam schoolfellow, 
 called Letournois, who had attained a rank somewhat 
 higher than that of our visionary in the same company. 
 There had once existed a sort of rivalry between the 
 two young men, in which, however, the talents and 
 activity of Letournois were no match for the wild 
 enthusiasm of his competitor. A series of petty defeats, 
 both in the college and the fencing- room, had embit- 
 tered his spirit ; and even after he had found himself, 
 through the influence of his friends, in a situation to 
 command the object of his dislike, he still continued to 
 regard him with habitual jealousy and fear. As for 
 Lecomte, he neither loved nor hated his fellow-towns- 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 man. There was so little in common between them, 
 that after leaving Caen he had almost forgotten there 
 was such a being in existence ; yet we must confess, 
 that when he found himself suddenly placed in a situa- 
 tion immediately beneath him, it was not without some 
 chagrin that he reflected on the injustice of fortune. 
 Nothing, however, had as yet occurred to awaken the 
 spirit of rivalry — which so often includes envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness ; and Letournois con- 
 tinued to command, and Lecomte to obey, with the me- 
 chanical regularity which befits the puppets of war. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte, notwithstanding, began to be sur- 
 prised, nay annoyed, at meeting so frequently with his 
 old rival in his walks. On more than one occasion he 
 was compelled, by the presence of Letournois, to forego 
 his purpose of keeping rendezvous with his mistress ; 
 and the change from supercilious coldness to all the 
 warmth of friendship, which took place about the same 
 time in his comrade's manner, was by no means suf- 
 ficient to counterbalance such a vexation. Several times 
 the lovers when together were met, in spite of their 
 precautions, by this person ; and Lecomte felt a pang 
 more painful than he cared to acknowledge even to 
 himself, as he observed the look of deep but momentary 
 admiration which he fixed upon his mistress. On such 
 occasions he concealed his embarrassment by a shew of 
 cordiality foreign to his heart, and returned the friendly 
 salutation which he received with apparent warmth. 
 Matilde, owing to this little equivoque, was led to 
 imagine that a confidential intimacy subsisted between 
 the two young men ; and when she met Letournois 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 If) 
 
 alone, treated him with the distinction to which he was 
 entitled as the friend of Lecomte. 
 
 One evening, while lingering near the place of 
 rendezvous, and wondering what could delay her lover, 
 this attentive friend broke in upon her meditations out 
 of breath. 
 
 " Mademoiselle," said he, panting, " this evening 
 you wait in vain." 
 
 " You are sent with an explanation ? " 
 
 " No. My friend was unexpectedly ordered to at- 
 tend the execution of a military sentence, and I, being- 
 exempted from a duty abhorrent to my nature, requested 
 him to employ me in any message he might wish to 
 send. The form of his denial it is needless to repeat; 
 but he turned away from me, laughing, to join his 
 comrades. Knowing, however, that you would wait — 
 that your mind would be uneasy — that the evening air 
 was cold — in shorty anxious to spare you one uncom- 
 fortable thought, or one unnecessary moment, I am 
 here ! " 
 
 " I will walk back with you to the town," said 
 Matilde, after a pause. 
 
 " I cannot permit it ; your welfare is dearer to me 
 even than such a happiness. Our friend is of a strange, 
 wayward temper; and many of our sex, you know, 
 even of those who claim every possible liberty of action 
 for themselves, are singularly scrupulous in the freedom 
 they accord to women. We must not be seen together." 
 
 " Then I shall walk alone ; the twilight has only 
 commenced." 
 
 " Beit so," said Letournois, sadly; " I shall attend 
 
20 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 your steps at a little distance, to defend you from the 
 insults of the licentious soldiery." 
 
 Matilde hesitated: " Are you good at the oar?" 
 said she. " Can you row this little skiff round the point ? 
 I shall get one of my cousins to bring me back." 
 
 " I lack the skill of our friend," replied Letournois ; 
 " but I have all his strength, and, more than all, his 
 good will ;" and without further speech he handed her 
 into the boat. 
 
 " And now," said he, when he had shoved off, 
 " may I crave to know your business at Havre?" 
 
 " You have a right to ask the question," she replied ; 
 " and my reluctance to answer it proceeds only from 
 the fear of wounding an honourable spirit. It is my 
 duty to doubt every thing rather than the — the — 
 politeness of Monsieur Lecomte. I therefore doubt 
 you ; and my business at Havre is to ascertain what is 
 the true cause of his breaking his word, and refusing to 
 avail himself of the means of sparing me an unnecessary 
 disappointment." 
 
 " You are candid, mademoiselle ; but since the effect 
 of the experiment cannot but be in my favour, I do not 
 repine. For both our sakes, however, we must not be 
 known to have been together. Promise me, were it 
 only as the fare of your voyage, that you will not men- 
 tion to Lecomte that you have seen me this evening ! " 
 
 " I do not like concealment, but I cannot refuse 
 such a trifle." Letournois appeared satisfied. 
 
 They swept far out from the shore to avoid the 
 current that runs by the rocks. It was a heavenly 
 evening; the sea was as smooth as a lake, and the 
 
THE TOWER OP FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 21 
 
 noises of the land were too distant to interrupt the 
 silence of the deep. Letournois more than once lay 
 upon his oars ; he seemed on the point of addressing 
 Matilde ; but suddenly abandoning his purpose, as if by 
 a strong effort, he once more constrained himself to his 
 task, and the light skiff cut through the water as a bird 
 cleaves the air. The distant clock of the town had told 
 seven when they set out; and the chimes, on landing, 
 informed them that the voyage had occupied just half 
 an hour. 
 
 When Matilde bade adieu to her companion, she 
 walked straight to the barracks, and saw that the 
 information she had received was correct. The execu- 
 tion of the sentence was just over ; and the next moment 
 her lover was dismissed from duty. 
 
 " Matilde ! " exclaimed he, when they met, " this 
 indeed is kind \" 
 
 " Had you no means of informing me of what has 
 occurred ? " 
 
 " No — yes^ — none that I could think of availing 
 myself of." Matilde was silent; and they walked on 
 in mutual embarrassment till they reached the pier. 
 
 " You came, then, by water?" 
 
 « Yes." 
 
 Aignan Lecomte was about to ask, " With whom ?" 
 but something sealed his lips. Her question as to his 
 having any means of letting her know that he was 
 detained from the rendezvous had been pointed ; her 
 manner was cold and restrained ; every thing con- 
 vinced him that she had seen and spoken with Letour- 
 nois — nay, that this early rival had rowed her up alone 
 
22 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 from the bay. An uncomfortable sensation passed 
 across his heart, already vexed and embittered by the 
 scenes of the evening. Matilde looked towards the 
 skiff — hesitated — lingered — and at length withdrew 
 her arm. At that moment a new change came over the 
 wayward spirit of Lecomte, and his lips ventured to 
 make the offer which she had no doubt expected as a 
 thing of course. But it was too late ; she had already 
 beckoned to her cousin, whom she saw on the pier. 
 
 " Will you not allow me " said Lecomte, faintly. 
 
 " Excuse me ; I cannot take advantage of your 
 politeness." She leaped into the boat, and in another 
 moment he saw her gliding away on the smooth sea. 
 
 Lecomte stood for some time upon the pier like a 
 man in a dream. The transaction, similar to most of 
 those which determine the fortune of love, had been of 
 so slight and trivial a nature that it hardly presented a 
 hold for his reflections. He asked himself in vain what 
 had occurred, or what spell had paralysed his faculties. 
 He recalled the words and air of Matilde, her pause 
 of expectation, the indignant manner in which she had 
 withdrawn her arm ; and, wondering at the infatuation 
 which had beset him, he began to walk with huge 
 strides towards the habitation of Madame Saint- Amand. 
 
 It was dark before he arrived ; but as the distance 
 was less than by sea, he knew that he must be before 
 Matilde, and walked leisurely down towards the rock 
 which served as a landing-place. 
 
 " Good night, Monsieur Lecomte," said some one 
 passing him. 
 
 " Who speaks?" 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 23 
 
 "It is I," replied the voice — " Antoine Saint- 
 Amand. On landing my cousin just now, she bade 
 me run home as fast I could, for fear the gates should 
 be shut." 
 
 " So much the better," thought Aignan Lecomte. 
 "It is right that we should be alone for the single 
 minute I can command. Hark! it is her footstep — 
 accompanied by that of another ! — by that of a man !" — 
 and he shrunk, he knew not why, behind a tree. 
 
 " It shall be done, mademoiselle," said Letournois, 
 passing. " Your commands are to me like the voice 
 of fate. Your proud and careless lover shall be here 
 to-morrow morning, if I drag him with my own hands 
 to your feet." 
 
 " I shall expect him," said Matilde. " You mis- 
 understand his character in this — at least I think, I 
 believe, you do — as completely as I knoiv you have done 
 in the other case connected with high and honourable 
 feeling." 
 
 " I have known him longer than you!" 
 
 " Ridiculous I" and she spoke angrily. "He crouch, 
 like a beaten cur, beneath the lash ! He jest upon his 
 own degradation ! " 
 
 " Only wait, Matilde ! I ask nothing but mercy 
 as regards myself ; and I wish you to believe nothing 
 but your own senses. If such is really his character, 
 there will soon be ample means of discovery with a 
 discipline like ours. Nay, if one more week passes 
 before it takes place, I shall confess that I have wronged 
 him, and endeavour to obtain my transfer to another 
 
24 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 regiment, far from a spot so dangerous to my peace." 
 They passed on. Lecomte shook as if in an ague. 
 
 " Serpent!" said he, grinding his teeth' — - " what 
 holds me from crushing him ? But, no ! I have a 
 greater stake at hazard than my life ; and now that I 
 possess a key to his manoeuvres, I can foil, and trample 
 on the villain at my ease." 
 
 He had not yet emerged from his ambush when 
 Letournois passed him again, walking rapidly, and 
 alone, towards the water-side. " I have him in the 
 toils ! " muttered he as he passed. 
 
 " At the sword's point before I am two days older," 
 replied Lecomte mentally ; and as soon as the sound of 
 his enemy's footsteps ceased, he sprang from his con- 
 cealment, and hurried back to his quarters, which he 
 reached in good time. 
 
 That night he went upon guard at the Tower of 
 Francis I. ; and when his vigil was expired, Letournois, 
 as the officer of the watch, gave the word of command 
 which relieved him. 
 
 " Lecomte," said he in a whisper, " I fear you 
 hardly think me your friend ; and yet I am now about 
 to do you a service. I know — it matters not how — 
 that Mademoiselle Saint-Amand is desirous of seeing 
 you to-morrow morning before roll-call. Will you keep 
 the rendezvous?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Enough." 
 
 As soon as the gates were opened, Aignan Lecomte 
 left the Tower, and walked towards the dwelling of 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 25 
 
 Madame Saint- Amand with as much speed as if he was 
 afraid of being too late for an appointment. All was 
 silent and motionless. The eyelids of the house (which 
 are its window-shutters) were still closed. He wan- 
 dered about, like an unquiet spirit, watching the signs 
 of morning, till the whole house was astir, and the 
 whole atmosphere filled with the multitudinous noises 
 of daylight. Matilde only was unseen and unheard. 
 A portion of her window-shutters, it is true, had been 
 long since opened ; and well he knew the small deli- 
 cate hand which was half visible while performing the 
 office. She had forgotten her promise, however, to 
 Letournois; she did not keep the appointment made 
 under her own authority. 
 
 Little did the lover know that the object of his 
 meditations had been dressed, in the impatience of her 
 spirit, long before daylight ; and that at that moment 
 she was pacing her room in an agony of uncertainty, 
 torn asunder, as it were, between pride and love ! At 
 length the door was thrown open, and Matilde, slowly, 
 and, as it seemed, carelessly, walked forth. 
 
 " Star of my destiny!" cried Aignan Lecomte, with 
 his wonted enthusiasm ; " I have waited two hours for 
 your rising, and now I have only a moment to greet 
 you ! Dearest Matilde, may I come here in the even- 
 ing, for even now I must be gone?" 
 
 " No, my friend," replied his mistress. " We are 
 at the commencement of our first misunderstanding ; 
 and I shall not trust to the events even of a few hours. 
 You shall row me round the point, and we can explain 
 as we glide along." 
 
26 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " With a little more time, this would be happiness ; 
 but—" 
 
 " Hark to the chimes! — we have still three quar- 
 ters ; and the voyage, on a smooth sea like this, takes 
 only half an hour." 
 
 " I do hate the smoothness of the sea ! When the 
 storm shrieks, and the waters boil, then you know what 
 it is you risk ; but, nevertheless, since you wish it — " 
 
 " There is not a speck on the sky, not a wrinkle on 
 the deep, and we have three quarters good to a voyage 
 of half an hour ! " 
 
 " Enough ! The moment will soon come when I 
 shall prove that I possess the spirit of a man ; but now — 
 I do confess it — I am haunted by the terrors of a boy ! " 
 
 They were soon at the margin of the sea, and Matilde 
 seated in the stern of the skiff ; and as they commenced 
 their voyage, they entered, with the habitual frankness of 
 honourable minds, upon a conversation which soon dissi- 
 pated the clouds that had beset them. Lecomte, in the 
 meantime, whose mind was continually haunted by the 
 dread of laying himself open, even accidentally, to dis- 
 honour, did not relax for an instant in his exertions ; 
 but, employing all his strength and skill, which were 
 both great, plied the oars with such vigour as almost 
 threatened to defeat its own purpose, by breaking them 
 against the resisting waters. 
 
 They were at length directly opposite the point, and 
 therefore midway on the voyage. 
 
 " Great Heaven! what is that?" cried Lecomte. 
 " One — two — three; it is impossible!" 
 
 " The clock is wrong," said Matilde, with decision. 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 27 
 
 " Our minds have been too much occupied to permit us 
 to notice the lapse of time ; but I never saw you exert 
 more strength or skill at the oar. We shall perform 
 the distance much within the half hour." 
 
 " She rows lazily," muttered Lecomte. " I feel as 
 if I was swimming on some sea of the night-mare, and 
 rowing desperately, yet hardly producing motion on the 
 boat." 
 
 "She is as dry as this hand!" cried Matilde ; 
 " look there — there is hardly a drop of water beneath 
 the planks ; and yet she does move unwillingly ! Give 
 way, my dear friend ! Spare not your noble strength ; 
 for, if the clock is right, we shall have warm work 
 to keep our time ! " 
 
 Lecomte bent forward upon the oars, and strained 
 his well-knit arms till the sinews seemed ready to 
 crack. In vain, however, he strove, 
 
 u Till the toil-drops fell from his brow like rain ; " 
 
 the same sluggishness in the motion of the boat con- 
 tinued ; he became convinced that the clock was right ; 
 the pier was still far distant; the minute of roll-call 
 was near at hand. 
 
 Matilde grew pale — she seemed ready to faint; but 
 the next moment, starting, as if from a trance, she 
 plunged her head over the gunwale, and looked down 
 towards the keel through the calm bright waters. 
 
 " Traitor ! traitor !" she shrieked. " O for a hatchet! " 
 — and she was about to dart over the side. In a mo- 
 ment she was in the grasp of her lover. 
 
 " Take the oars, Matilde !" he said, almost sternly; 
 
28 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 and he leaped into the sea, and disappeared beneath the 
 boat. 
 
 A board was fastened to the keel in such a manner 
 as trebled the resistance offered by the vessel to the 
 water ; and it was not before Lecomte had come three 
 times to the surface to breathe, that even his desperation 
 was able to detach it. 
 
 " Bravely done !" cried Matilde. " Take the sea- 
 ward oar, and leave the other to me — I am stronger 
 than you think ! " 
 
 " Hearken, love !" said Lecomte, as they pulled for 
 life and death. " The fiend who has betrayed me will 
 no doubt watch well for his victim. If the hour strikes 
 before I reach the Tower of Francis L, you know what 
 must follow. What do you counsel?" 
 
 " That if the hour strikes before your foot is on the 
 shore, we put about, and run to sea, and trust to Heaven 
 for the rest ! " 
 
 " It shall be done. Even desertion is more honour- 
 able than — Hark ! " 
 
 « No — no!" 
 
 u Hark, again ! " 
 
 " It is nothing ! Our ears are haunted by the spirits 
 of sound. Give way, dear love ; see how I swing you 
 round — For shame ! " 
 
 " My noble girl! Hark! — no, no! — we are yet 
 in time ; the pier is just a-head. Hark ! " 
 
 " 'Tis nothing ! How we spin through the water ! 
 There — another stroke — another — another — God be 
 praised ! " and the vessel at length bounding alongside 
 the pier, grazed the stones as she flew. 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 29 
 
 To spring upon his feet — to catch by a projecting 
 stone, and vault upon the quay, was but the work of a 
 moment for Lecomte. 
 
 " Bravely done!" said Matilde. " God and good 
 angels be your speed ! O holy heaven ! — What is that? 
 The hour struck! Come back!" she shrieked, " back, 
 if you be a man! — back, in the name of Heaven ! — 
 back, in the name of God ! " and, her mortal faculties 
 unable longer to bear the excitation of her mind, she 
 fell senseless upon the beams. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte, in the meantime, did not cease to 
 fly — the voice of his mistress, lost in the sound of that 
 sullen bell, which, after its reality had passed away, con- 
 tinued still to peal through the depths of his soul. 
 
 He reached his post at the Tower of Francis I., which, 
 perhaps, did not very greatly differ in appearance from 
 the tower of the present day, as represented in the 
 annexed view. 
 
 " You are my prisoner!" said Letournois, advancing 
 with four men of the guard ; " surrender your arms!" 
 
 Lecomte, who had already drawn his sword, struck 
 a blow at the traitor, without a word of reply, which 
 would have cleft him from shoulder to hip, had it not 
 been parried by one of his comrades. The whole then 
 closed upon him, not for the purpose of wounding, but 
 of disarming him ; and no man was more sedulously 
 careful that he should be taken unhurt than Letournois. 
 It was owing to this forbearance that the mutineer 
 was able to fight his way backward to the gate of the 
 fortress, which was now deserted by the few soldiers 
 it contained (at the hour of morning muster), who 
 
30 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 were drawn from the interior by the noise of the dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 Aignan Lecomte made a stand at the threshold for 
 several minutes, and then suddenly darted into the 
 tower, and closed the gate. His enemies paused, seeing 
 that their victim had run, of his own accord, into a 
 trap, and was now secure ; and some of them began to 
 joke upon the oddity of a single man offering resistance 
 to such a power. Letournois at length attempted to 
 push open the gate with his foot, and then tried to force 
 it with the but-end of a musket. It was in vain : the gate 
 was fast ; and they heard the last of the heavy iron bolts 
 grating against the stone as it was thrust into the wall. 
 
 In vain they summoned this strange garrison to sur- 
 render; in vain they thundered with their muskets at 
 the gate : the only reply was the echo of the sound as 
 it rumbled through the deserted building. Under cir- 
 cumstances so unusual, Letournois did not dare to pro- 
 ceed further on his own responsibility ; but despatched a 
 messenger to the governor, to inform him that the 
 Tower of Francis I. had been taken by a soldier of the 
 guard, and was defended by him against the arms of 
 the ex-garrison. 
 
 The surprise which this announcement created may 
 be conceived. The citizens shut up their shops, and 
 buckled on their swords ; some ran through the streets 
 shouting treason ; even the governor dreaded that the 
 mutiny was more considerable than it had been repre- 
 sented ; and speedily the drum beat to arms, the whole 
 of the garrison turned out. and the Tower of Francis I. 
 was regularly invested by the troops. 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 31 
 
 A summons to surrender, under the authority of the 
 governor, met with the same inattention as the former, 
 while the mutineer was observed looking down from 
 one of the windows upon the scene, his hair hanging in 
 disordered masses over his brow, and his dark eyes 
 blazing beneath with fury and disdain. A column was 
 then ordered to advance and force the gate; but the 
 attempt was ineffectual ; and, the besiegers being by 
 this time reinforced by a body of more than a thousand 
 armed citizens, the signal was given for a general 
 assault. 
 
 Till now the mutineer appeared to have been satis- 
 fied with the passive resistance he was able to offer by 
 means of the bolts and bars of the fortress; but after 
 listening for a while to the shouts of the besiegers, and 
 the thunder of their musketry, directed against every 
 opening where he might be supposed to stand, either 
 resolving to defend his liberty to the last, or uncon- 
 sciously animated by the common instinct of our nature, 
 to turn upon and rend those who would destroy us, 
 he started from his inaction, and rushed upon the 
 ramparts. 
 
 Here, collecting a quantity of large stones for am- 
 munition, he hurled them down upon the assailants, 
 remaining himself secure from their fire ; and so cer- 
 tain was his aim, that the groans of the wounded soon 
 conferred a terrible reality upon a scene which might 
 otherwise have appeared to be only a mimicry of war. 
 The besiegers now became furious ; and, " Ladders ! 
 ladders!" was the cry; " To the walls! for shame!" 
 They planted a ladder at a window distant from the 
 
32 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 scene of Lecomte's operations ; but his quick ear had 
 caught the sound, and the first man who stepped on 
 the ledge was received upon his halberd. 
 
 And thus, flying from window to window, wherever 
 his enemies appeared, and ever and anon rushing back 
 to the ramparts and hurling heavy stones upon their 
 heads — thus, we say, did Aignan Lecomte defy the 
 united forces of the troops and citizens of Havre, and 
 sustain gallantly a siege, or rather one continuous 
 assault of arms, for more than three hours, in the old 
 Tower of Francis I. # 
 
 Letournois, in the mean time, stood inactive in the 
 rear, and some paces distant from the dense mass of the 
 besiegers. Whether he felt any touch of pity or admi- 
 ration it is impossible to say; but more than once he 
 was seen to raise his carbine to his shoulder, and as 
 often to lower it again instantaneously. At last, after a 
 long look behind towards the sea, he brought his piece 
 once more to bear upon the ramparts, and remained 
 patiently in one attitude for nearly a quarter of an hour. 
 At the end of that time, the shoulder of the mutineer 
 appeared unsheltered, as he stooped to rend a stone 
 from the wall. Letournois's finger touched the trigger ; 
 but he checked himself. Then the leg of his enemy 
 was partially exposed, and again the finger caught the 
 fatal spring, and was again withheld by a strong effort 
 of forbearance, betrayed in the white lip and clenched 
 teeth of the assassin. At length the head of the muti- 
 
 * It is necessary to say, that these facts are strictly historical. The 
 tower is now no longer a fortress, but is the resort of all strangers who 
 wisli to enjoy the splendid view of the sea which it affords. 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 33 
 
 neer appeared above the ramparts for an instant — and 
 that instant was enough. 
 
 It was not to watch the operations of his enemies 
 that the motion was made, for he could not see those 
 that were near the tower. His eyes were upon the blue, 
 calm waters below ; and in the same moment a bullet 
 pierced his brain, and Aignan Lecomte fell dead upon 
 the walls. 
 
 As soon as Letournois saw that his rival was no 
 more, taking advantage of the confusion of the scene, 
 he left his post, and ran at full speed to the pier. The 
 skiff had drifted away with the tide, and was now at 
 some distance. Matilde sat on the beams, her hands 
 folded in her lap, and her eyes fixed upon the Tower 
 of Francis I. After a moment's hesitation, he leaped 
 into a boat that lay moored by a line to the pier ; and 
 shipping a single oar in the stern, began to scull out 
 with all his might. 
 
 As he neared the object of his pursuit, Matilde, 
 starting suddenly from her lethargy, seized both oars, 
 and applying to the task a strength and skill not 
 usually found in woman, made the light skiff dance 
 over the waves with a speed which soon distanced her 
 pursuer. He, on the other hand, waxing fiercer and 
 fiercer, compelled the heavy and sullen boat which he 
 sculled to plunge through the water with a rapidity that 
 would have seemed marvellous in ordinary circum- 
 stances. They were soon so far at sea, that the pecu- 
 liarities of the coast could hardly be distinguished. 
 
 Letournois at length lay upon his oar, and was just 
 about to abandon the hopeless chase, when Matilde 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 suddenly became faint ; the oars dropped from her 
 hands, she sank back upon the beams, and the light 
 skiff pursued her way upon the waters, so far as the 
 impetus she had received carried her, without farther 
 aid or direction. 
 
 " Another pull !" muttered Letournois between his 
 clenched teeth ; and, mustering his remaining energies, 
 he bounded again along the deep. He had just over- 
 taken the skiff — an oar's length more, and he would 
 have been alongside — when Matilde, rising hastily, 
 seized the oars, and recommenced her flight. So feeble, 
 however, did she appear, that, even favoured as she 
 was by the comparative lightness of the vessel, her 
 escape seemed almost a miracle. Her pursuer was 
 sometimes so near, that, had he stood forward instead 
 of in the stern, he might have grasped the rudder of 
 the fugitive ; and once, as this idea occurred to him- 
 self, he threw down his oar, and sprang along the 
 beams with an impetuosity which had nearly thrown 
 him over the bows into the water. Loud and shrill 
 laughed Matilde at his disappointment; and as her 
 maniacal shrieks leaped along the water, he looked 
 round in sudden terror, and saw that the land had 
 totally disappeared. 
 
 Letournois became desperate. The warm sweat 
 suddenly froze upon his brow, or trickled down in 
 drops so cold as to make him shudder. His senses 
 began to wander. He sometimes imagined that Ma- 
 tilde must receive supernatural assistance ; and he even 
 persuaded himself that he saw at one oar the shadowy 
 figure of Aignan Lecomte, while his mistress pulled at 
 
THE TOWER OF FRANCIS THE FIRST. 
 
 35 
 
 the other. His voice broke forth in a shout, half of 
 cursing, half of deprecation, and was replied to by the 
 wild laughter of Matilde, who seemed to derive a 
 strange enjoyment from the excitement of the chase. 
 
 A sail at length appeared in sight. Letournois 
 awoke to the realities of his situation ; and Matilde, 
 as if losing all hope of escape, relaxed gradually in 
 her exertions, and at length suffered the oars to drop 
 from her hands. She sunk upon the gunwale; the 
 small vessel dipped to the water's edge ; her head, 
 then her shoulders, then her entire bust, were over- 
 board ; in vain she tried to save herself — as the head- 
 long bark of her pursuer dashed against hers, the 
 shock threw her wholly into the water, and she was 
 just disappearing below the surface when Letournois 
 grasped her by the hair. 
 
 Bounding upward, at that moment, like a spirit of 
 the sea, she returned the grasp of love with one of 
 death. Clasping her arms round the neck of her 
 victim, she dragged him into the abyss ; and as the 
 two vessels drifted away to different points of the com- 
 pass, the yells of insane triumph which she screamed 
 in his ear appalled him still more than the real terrors 
 of his situation. A powerful man, however, and a 
 good swimmer, he struggled long and hard for life. 
 He tore and buffeted in his desperation that form on 
 which his eyes had hitherto dwelt in passionate de- 
 light ; but even after he had stifled her unearthly 
 shrieks in the wave, he found it impossible to unloose 
 her arms from his neck. 
 
 The ship he had seen, and to which he had looked 
 
36 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 as his only hope of salvation, at length reached the 
 spot. The two empty boats, however, alone remained 
 to tell of the struggle ; and she sailed majestically over 
 the desert waters, the surface of which was unruffled by 
 the death-struggles of Letournois, who writhed drown- 
 ing beneath. 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 37 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 The view from the principal pier at Havre is perhaps 
 one of the finest in the world obtained so near the 
 level of the sea. The vast lake of the Seine, which we 
 have described as terminating at Quilleboeuf, is seen, in 
 all its beautiful and magnificent details, to the left ; 
 directly opposite, Honfleur, surmounted by the hill of 
 Notre Dame de Grace, is niched in the wooded shore ; 
 and on the right, the eye loses itself in the immensity of 
 the ocean. 
 
 After enjoying this spectacle, let the traveller pro- 
 ceed to the promontory of the Heve, where two light- 
 towers were constructed by Louis XV. to correspond 
 with those of Ailley and Barfleur. After climbing the 
 rock, he will reach the summit of one of the towers by 
 means of a stair of more than a hundred steps ; and 
 from this elevation — three hundred and eighty-five feet 
 above the level of the sea — he will contemplate the 
 scene from which he has so lately withdrawn his eye, 
 with changed feelings. The view has expanded to an 
 extent which at once delights and oppresses the soul. 
 The Seine is no longer a lake, but a mighty river, 
 whose windings are lost in the distance ; and the eye 
 wanders beyond the hills of Honfleur (which before shut 
 
38 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 in the prospect), tracing the line of the Norman coast 
 to a distance of fifty miles as the crow flies, where at 
 length the falaise of Barfleur rests like a film on the 
 horizon. 
 
 There landed our English Edward (of fatal memory 
 for France), to dispute the throne with Philippe de Valois 
 on his own ground, and overthrow the French army 
 at l'Ecluse. There, if you withdraw your eye slowly 
 along the line of coast, is the Hogue, where, landing 
 again, he led his victorious islanders to the field of 
 Crecy. Nearer still is the spire of Formigny, where 
 Charles VII. — he who was saved by the enthusiasm of 
 one woman, and regenerated by the love of another — 
 struck the decisive blow at the dominion of the English 
 in Normandy. Now commences the long line of the 
 Rocks of Calvados, with a gulf between them and the 
 land, where one of the ships of the famous Armada 
 perished in what is called to this day the Grave of 
 Spain. There is the bay of Coleville, where a single 
 Norman, on a foggy night, routed two invading 
 squadrons of English with the sound of an old drum. # 
 Now comes the embouchure of the Dive, where the 
 banner of the Three Leopards went forth on its career 
 of conquest. f And, finally, our eyes rest on the great 
 sand-banks of Honfleur, which seem destined to destroy 
 eventually one of the finest rivers in the world. 
 
 * See the History of Monsieur Cabieux, in " Heath's Picturesque 
 Annual, 1834." 
 
 t The ensign of Normandy, raised by William the Conqueror at the 
 entrance of this little river, when he embarked on his wonderful enter- 
 prise. 
 
4 
 
 FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 39 
 
 The vignette at the beginning of this volume conveys 
 an accurate idea of the situation of the light-towers of 
 the Heve ; but even the pencil of Turner would find it 
 impossible to describe the view they afford. 
 
 From the heights of Ingouville, where the English 
 colonists principally reside, the view also is admirable ; 
 and there M. Casimir Delavigne, a native of the place, 
 was betrayed by his enthusiasm into the exclamation — 
 
 " Apres Constantinople, il n'est rien de plus beau ! " 
 
 For our part, we know nothing as yet about Con- 
 stantinople ; and we are not inclined to take the word 
 of a poet, that it presents any thing half so beautiful 
 as the embouchure of the Seine. 
 
 Leaving Havre behind us, we leave behind the 
 triumph of honour, genius, and industry, and enter a 
 domain where nature asserts a fatal sovereignty. 
 
 The village of Eure, to the east of the fortifications, 
 seated among fertile fields and clumps of trees, looks 
 like the abode of ease and content ; but the blood- 
 less faces and languid motions of the inhabitants tell 
 another tale. The sea and the south-west wind are the 
 masters of this portion of the coast to the Point of the 
 Hoc ; and they still threaten to destroy even the vestiges 
 of the works of man. 
 
 The opposite engraving conveys a good idea of this 
 unwholesome but beautiful flat. The view is taken 
 from the heights of Graville, near the road to Harfleur ; 
 and the buildings on the left comprise the remains of 
 the old church and monastery erected over the bones 
 
40 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 of the virgin -martyr St. Honoria. This holy person 
 was disturbed from her repose in the monastery of 
 Conflans by the appearance of the Norman pirates in 
 the Seine. The monks fled with every thing they 
 considered likely to tempt the cupidity of the wild men 
 of the north, and, among other precious property, very 
 prudently carried off the bones of St. Honoria. 
 
 Pausing to take breath at Graville, they were at 
 length induced to deposit permanently there the sacred 
 treasure ; and the consequence was, that the spot very 
 soon became the rendezvous of a crowd of pilgrims, 
 attracted by the miracles wrought continually by the 
 relics. The martyr having preserved so miraculously 
 her own bones from captivity, was naturally disposed to 
 take a warmer interest in captives than in sufferers of 
 any other description ; and, accordingly, it was only 
 necessary for a prisoner of war to invoke her name, in 
 order to break his fetters. 
 
 The great popularity of the saint, however, ended in 
 attracting the envy of the diocese of Paris, which, after 
 a lapse of several centuries, had the cruelty and in- 
 justice to demand that the bones which had found so 
 hospitable an asylum should be returned to their care. 
 It was in vain to argue. The residence of St. Honoria 
 at Graville, according to the rapacious Parisians, was 
 nothing more than a visit ; the Normans had given up 
 war and pillage, and taken to the trade of grazing 
 cattle and brewing cider ; and, since the exigency of the 
 time had passed by, it was only proper that the saint 
 should return to her natural diocese. 
 
 The people of Graville consented with a heavy heart ; 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 41 
 
 but, behold, a new miracle was operated in their favour. 
 The saint, although absent in the bones, remained pre- 
 sent in the spirit ; prayers, and, above all, gifts, were 
 still offered to the empty sarcophagus ; and at length 
 the family of Mallet of Graville established a troop of 
 canons in the temple, who remained there till the 
 revolution. The saint, on her part, was grateful for the 
 gratitude of her adorers; and when prisoners of war 
 were scarce, did not scruple to employ herself in curing 
 deafness. The pilgrim who was troubled with this 
 malady, merely inserted his head through a circular 
 hole in the wall, and looking down into the sarco- 
 phagus, straightway heard a noise resembling the 
 murmur of the sea, and was instantaneously cured. 
 The cure of Graville latterly caused this aperture to be 
 filled up, — probably because the disease had been wholly 
 eradicated. 
 
 In the ninth century, the sea, forming a fine bay, 
 rose to the front of the hill, entirely covering the plain 
 represented in the view. Although the bay is now a 
 tract of fertile land, it is said that great iron rings have 
 been seen in some ruined walls near Graville, which 
 were used some centuries ago for mooring vessels. The 
 ruins are the remains of a very ancient fortress, which 
 protected the barks of the Scandinavians, and which 
 was not entirely demolished sixty years ago. 
 
 One of the above-mentioned family of Mallet lost 
 his head for espousing the cause of Charles the Bad, 
 king of Navarre, against King John of France ; and his 
 son is the hero of an adventure related with great 
 naivete by Froissart. This William of Graville, in order 
 
42 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 to avenge his father's death, determined to deliver into 
 the hands of the adherents of Navarre the chateau of 
 Evreux, then an important point ; and the method he 
 took displayed equal patience and boldness. 
 
 The governor, Oudart, was a man of a cold, phleg- 
 matic disposition, who was never, by any accident, off his 
 post, rarely quitting the exterior wicket of the fortress. 
 He one day observed from the walls a gentleman 
 lounging lazily on the esplanade, and looked at him for 
 a moment ; the next day his attention was attracted in 
 the same manner; and the next, and the next: till at 
 length, Oudart, a man made up of habit, would have 
 felt a positive inconvenience from missing a sight of the 
 stranger. Sometimes this idler would make a remark 
 as he lounged along ; and sometimes the governor him- 
 self would speak first : till, in process of time, attracted 
 as if by some chemical affinity, they began to fancy 
 themselves acquainted. 
 
 One day, as the stranger passed, the governor stood 
 at the outer wicket, and they pulled off their hats to one 
 another with great civility. The stranger soon began to 
 talk of the news of the country ; and the governor, who 
 rarely heard any thing, listened with something like 
 interest. His attention, however, was still more strongly 
 excited by a remark which fell accidentally from his 
 gossiping companion : " And by the same token," said 
 he, " when my friend sent me this news, he sent 
 me along with it the most capital chess-board in the 
 world." Now, chess happened just to be the thing that 
 Oudart liked best upon earth. It is the very game for 
 a dull, drowsy, dreaming man, who bestows as much 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 43 
 
 empty thought and idle patience upon the movements 
 of his little pieces of bone, as if their progress involved 
 the fate of a kingdom. He inquired eagerly as to the 
 form of the chess-board, and argued stoutly on the 
 details of the game ; till, at length, the stranger — an 
 enthusiast like himself — proposed that they should send 
 for the materials, and try their skill forthwith. 
 
 His servant happened to be within call, and was 
 accordingly despatched into the town close by, with 
 the governor's hearty consent ; and the stranger, in the 
 meantime, suggested that they should go in and pre- 
 pare the scene for the engagement. Oudart was very 
 willing; and his companion, out of good breeding, 
 complied with his polite desire, by entering first. He 
 then turned round, and seeing the governor stoop his 
 head as he passed under the wicket, William de Graville 
 — for it was he — struck him with a small hatchet, 
 " tellement qu'il le pourfendit jusques aux dents, et 
 l'abattit mort a ses pieds." The chess-men then made 
 their appearance in the form of Navarrian warriors, 
 and took the castle at one move. 
 
 At the port of Eure, where there now stands a 
 farm-house, there was formerly a chapel, built, in the 
 year 1294, on the edge of the sea, and dedicated to 
 Notre Dame des Neiges. The anchorage at the bottom 
 of the walls was chiefly frequented by small vessels 
 loaded with glass, the feudal duty on which was 
 exacted in rather an odd manner. The merchant was 
 required to present one of the largest of his glasses to 
 the provost, who in turn filled it with wine, which he 
 gave him to drink. If the custom-payer was able to 
 
44 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 swallow the beverage without drawing breath, it was all 
 very well — he returned the empty glass, and the affair 
 was over ; but if unfortunately he paused in the draught, 
 either to enjoy its flavour or to digest his disgust, he 
 was obliged to pay two glasses. It is said that mariners 
 in general consented at once to pay the second glass 
 rather than drink the provost's wine. 
 
 This antique port is now filled up by the sands 
 washed continually by the action of the tide from the 
 Point of the Hoc. It was here that, in the middle of 
 the seventeenth century, a seventy-gun ship called the 
 Rouen was lost in the quick-sands. There are persons 
 now living who remember seeing the end of one of her 
 masts above the surface of the water. 
 
 The chapel of Notre Dame des Neiges stood for- 
 merly on an island, although there is now not the 
 slightest trace of any separation from the rest of the 
 land ; but when the traveller has reached the further 
 side of the Point, the changes that have taken place in 
 the aspect of the coast are on a scale so great as to 
 strike him with awe. While wandering along the 
 embouchure of the little river Lezarde, in vain he 
 endeavours to discover the roads where the navy of our 
 Henry V. once floated in triumph. He ascends the 
 beautiful and quiet stream, in search of the place which 
 Monstrelet calls " le souverain port de Normadie," and 
 arrives at length at a small, neat inland town, without 
 harbour, without fortifications, and surrounded with 
 rich pastures instead of basins, filled with grazing cattle 
 instead of ships. This is Harfleur. 
 
 Harfleur was once the Havre of the Seine. The mer- 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 45 
 
 chant-ships of Spain and Portugal delivered there their 
 cargoes free of duty ; and, besides being a great entrepot 
 of commerce, its home manufactures, particularly of 
 cloth, were held in great estimation. So late as the 
 beginning of the sixteenth century the ships of Harfleur 
 sailed beyond the tropics ! 
 
 The similarity of the names, and a verbal mistake 
 of Froissart, have led almost all authors to confound this 
 place, in its early history, with Barfleur. The old 
 chronicler, in describing a descent of the English in 
 1346, says distinctly enough: — 
 
 " Et tant allerent (the English) qu'ils vindrent a 
 un bon port de mer et une forte ville qu'on clame Her- 
 fleu, et les conquerent tantot ; car les bourgeois se ren- 
 dirent pour doute de mort ; mais pour ce ne demoura 
 mie que toute la ville ne fut robee, et prins or et argent, 
 et chers ioyaux." 
 
 All this, however, must apply to Barfleur, on the 
 coast of the Norman peninsula ; for the same writer 
 says, in the first line of the chapter, " Quand la nave 
 du Roi d'Angleterre eut prins terre en la Hogue" &c. ; 
 and afterwards, " Et allerent tant qu'ils vindrent a 
 une bonne ville, grosse et riche, qui s'appelle Cher- 
 bourg" The error here is evident enough ; but what 
 shall we say to M. de St. Amand, in his " Lettres d'un 
 Voyageur a. 1' Embouchure de la Seine/' who, although 
 aware of the seeming difficulty, gravely describes the 
 shipwreck of the son of Henry I., in 1120, as taking- 
 place at Harfleur ; the vessel, immediately after leaving 
 this part of the Seine, striking on the Raz de Catte- 
 viile — a rock at the extreme point of the Cotentin! 
 
46 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 At the beginning of the fifteenth century the decline 
 of Harfleur began to take place. In the year 1415, 
 Henry V. of England disembarked close to its walls, 
 and besieged the town during forty days ; when food 
 and ammunition failing the garrison, at one moment it 
 surrendered to an army of thirty thousand men. Henry, 
 transported with this success, vowed to erect a temple 
 to God on the site of the humble church of Harfleur, 
 worthy of his name ; and, in the meantime, pillaging 
 of their property sixteen hundred families of the inha- 
 bitants, he sent them prisoners to Calais. The temple 
 was erected — 
 
 " C'est le clocher d'Harfleur, debout pour nous apprendre 
 Que l'Anglais l'a bati, mais ne l'a su defendre !"* 
 
 Twenty years after, a body of one hundred and four of 
 the citizens, rising suddenly, massacred the English 
 garrison, and retook the town. In memory of this 
 deed, it was long the custom at Harfleur — now for- 
 gotten — to strike one hundred and four blows on the 
 great bell of the church every morning at daybreak, 
 the hour of the attack. 
 
 In 1440, this unhappy town again fell into the 
 hands of the " natural enemies" of France ; and nine 
 years after was again retaken, by Charles VII. in 
 person, " sa salade sur la tete," as Monstrelet says, 
 " ct son pavois en main." By this time it was no 
 longer of importance as a maritime town. Its ships, 
 denied access to their parent port by the sands, carried 
 
 * Casimir Delavigne, — Prologue for the opening of the Havre theatre. 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 47 
 
 their wealth elsewhere ; by and by Havre arose almost 
 by its side; the religious wars of 1562 paralysed its 
 remaining industry ; and in 1685, the revocation of the 
 Edict of Nantes, by scattering abroad the only part of 
 the population worth retaining, completed a calamit}^ 
 from which it has never recovered to this day. In the 
 opposite view the reader will sec Harfleur as it now 
 stands, with its little river hardly able to float a fishing- 
 wherry, and its tall white spire looking like a monu- 
 ment to its departed glory. 
 
 The procession of the Saw of Harfleur is an absurdity 
 which has descended even to our sensible times ; and it 
 is supposed to date from the conquest of the English. 
 An association, formed at that epoch by the knights of 
 the district for their mutual protection, was the nucleus ; 
 but after chivalry had become nothing more than a 
 memory, some wise persons, at the commencement of 
 the sixteenth century, bethought themselves of reviving 
 the customs of the olden time. The governor of the 
 town was the patron of the new society ; and its name 
 was derived from his family arms — a saw. The mem- 
 bers swore on this instrument to observe the rules of 
 the association; and each, on his admission, kissed the 
 rugged steel in ratification of the oath. On Shrove 
 Tuesday, the procession of the Saw, preceded by clarions 
 and trumpets, sets out on horseback from Harfleur, 
 and marches upon Havre, every one vying with his 
 neighbour in the grotesqueness of his appearance. The 
 cortege is admitted into the town in due form, the reply 
 to the qui vive? of the guard being " Folies d'Harfleur!" 
 The mysterious saw is carried, with much noise and 
 
48 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 ceremony, to the citadel ; when, on being presented to 
 the military authorities, a small sum of money is given 
 to the bearers to drink. At the Hotel de Ville the 
 same scene is repeated ; and the procession, after having 
 made the tour of the town, returns to Harfleur. 
 
 Now commences the morality of the sport. The 
 worthy sawyers of Harfleur, before sitting down to the 
 banquet prepared for them, proceed in a body to the 
 house of some person renowned in the place for con- 
 jugal unpoliteness. The trumpets and clarions cease ; 
 a dreadful silence reigns for some time, and is only 
 interrupted by the sound of loud and solemn knocking 
 at the door of the unhappy man. When, at length, he 
 appears, trembling and conscience-stricken, he is ad- 
 dressed by two of the society, whose features are con- 
 cealed by masks, and admonished to preserve in his 
 house the baton friseux till some husband is found still 
 guiltier than he ! A shout from the assembled populace 
 terminates the lecture ; and the actors in this important 
 ceremony proceed to their rendezvous, to indemnify 
 themselves for the grave labours of the day by an 
 evening of mirth and festivity. 
 
 This folly has been classed with the various Festivals 
 of Fools which served to relieve the solemnity of the 
 Catholic regime ; but in reality it has nothing whatever 
 in common with those saturnalia of the slaves of super- 
 stition. It does not get tipsy at the expense of the 
 church, but of the state ; and, instead of turning into 
 ridicule holy things and holy men, it takes into question 
 only the misdeeds of such husbands as are guilty of the 
 impropriety of beating their wives. In this respect it 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 49 
 
 ranks with the Mere Folle of Dijon, otherwise called 
 the Infanterie Dijonaise. The banner of this procession 
 represented not a saw, but a fool's bauble, with the 
 capital legend — 
 
 " Le monde est plein de fous, et qui n'en veut point voir, 
 Doit se tenir tout seul, et casser son miroir." 
 
 When any oddity took place in the town, such as an 
 ill-assorted marriage, or a ridiculous love -suit, the 
 " infantry" were called out ; and, a person being dressed 
 so as to resemble exactly the offending party, they 
 pursued him in procession through the streets with 
 loud shouts. 
 
 " We do not perform these things," say they, " se- 
 riously — but only in sport, to the end that our natural 
 folly may thus escape at least once a year. A wine- 
 barrel would burst if you did not occasionally draw 
 the bung to let out the gas ; and, for the same reason, 
 we devote some days to buffoonery, in order that we 
 may return afterwards with more pleasure and savour 
 to the study and exercise of religion. "* 
 
 Taking leave of the ci-devant port of Harfleur, we 
 pursue our solitary walk along the banks of the Seine. 
 The first object which attracts our attention, on ap- 
 proaching again the water's edge, is the chateau d'Or- 
 cher, perched on the summit of a steep falaise. It is 
 a heavy and clumsy pile of building, erected on the 
 spot where an ancient fortress once commanded the 
 entrance of the river. From its lofty situation it is a 
 
 * Dutilliat, Memoires pour servir a la Fete des Fous. 
 E 
 
50 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 very remarkable object at sea, and serves as a beacon 
 to vessels coming to anchor in the roads of Havre for 
 the purpose of waiting the tide. After enjoying a 
 prospect which must be thought remarkable by those 
 who have never stood on the heights of Ingouville, or 
 on the light -towers of the Heve, we wind our way 
 down the steep through rocks and trees, and, arrived 
 near the bottom, examine with some curiosity a spring 
 said to possess the virtue — or rather the vice — of petri- 
 fying any object immersed in its waters. In this case, 
 however, the report goes beyond the truth ; for, although 
 sufficiently curious, the spring does not petrify, but 
 merely incrusts with a kind of marl the substance ex- 
 posed to its action, so as to give it the appearance of 
 stone. In some places the moss through which the 
 water trickles sustains a similar operation, and pre- 
 sents a specimen of filigree-work more beautiful and 
 delicate than was ever produced by the workmanship 
 of man. 
 
 Pursuing the line of falaises, which hitherto border 
 almost uniformly the banks of the river, we traverse 
 the lands of Oudales, the vineyards of which were in 
 considerable repute at the time when the Pays du Caux 
 was a wine country, and arrive at a spot which presents 
 a spectacle so remarkable as to detain our steps for a 
 considerable time. 
 
 From the summit of a rock, called the Pierre 
 Geante, we see the whole course of the river, from 
 Honfleur on the right to Caudebec on the left ; but 
 our eye retires from the majestic spectacle to rest on 
 a single object at our feet. 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 51 
 
 The remains of the ancient chateau of Tancarville 
 rank among the most striking monuments of the feudal 
 ages in France. In fact, while gazing at the shadow 
 of by-gone magnificence, we are apt to think that all 
 history must be a dream, and that, instead of the rude 
 barons of the middle ages, the lords of such a structure 
 must have been the true knights of romance. The 
 local point of these fortresses seems to have been chosen 
 on a general principle ; for the description of that of 
 Tancarville will apply to almost all those situated on 
 the banks of a river. In the " Histoire des Frangais 
 des divers Etats," while reading of the feudal chateau 
 of Montbason, we have only to substitute the Seine for 
 the Indre, in order to obtain a complete idea of the 
 picture now before us. 
 
 " Represent to yourself, in the first place," says 
 M. Monteil, " a superb position — a steep hill, bristled 
 with rocks, and furrowed with ravines and precipices : 
 there stands the chateau. The little houses near it 
 increase its magnitude by comparison ; the Indre seems 
 to swerve in its course out of respect, and makes a 
 wide semicircle at its feet." 
 
 The ditches of Tancarville are now without water, 
 and the courts covered with grass, and the cavern-like 
 windows broken in fragments ; but we see enough to 
 recall the idea of Saint Pierre, suggested by a neigh- 
 bouring manor : " When I recollect that this structure 
 was formerly the abode of petty tyrants, who there 
 exercised their bandit -trade not only on their own 
 vassals but on travellers, i" think I see the carcass and 
 hones of some huge wild beast." 
 
52 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 The chateau of Tancarville belonged to the cham- 
 berlains of the Duke of Normandy ; but it occupies no 
 space in the political chronicles of the time. The great 
 names of French chivalry are sometimes mentioned in 
 connexion with its walls ; but they pass by like a troop 
 of shadows. Of these are Melun, Montgommeri, Dunois, 
 Longueville, and Montmorenci. Raoul de Tancarville 
 was governor to William the Conqueror ; and one of the 
 counts of the name was taken prisoner at Poitiers, and 
 died at Azincourt. So much for history ; but its legends 
 of chivalry and religion are not so scanty. 
 
 Some particulars of a private war between the 
 Chamberlain de Tancarville and the Sire de Harcourt 
 are given in the " Croniques de Normandie," and, 
 although often quoted by the French writers, throw so 
 curious a light upon the manners of the times, that we 
 shall venture to translate the passage. 
 
 " In the time of King Philip le Bel, after the Knight 
 of the Green Lion had conquered the King of Arragon, 
 there arose a fierce dissension between two great barons 
 of Normandy, that is to say, the Sire de Harcourt and 
 the Chamberlain de Tancarville, on the subject of a 
 mill, the property of which they disputed with each 
 other. The Tort de Harcourt" (so called on account of 
 a natural deformity) " fell upon the people of the said 
 chamberlain, wounded and defeated them, and took 
 possession of the mill by force. Whereupon the cham- 
 berlain immediately summoned his men, and, at the 
 head of a company three hundred strong, arrived at 
 Lillebonne, where were the Sire de Harcourt and the 
 Tort, his brother. The chamberlain shouted against 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 53 
 
 them reproaches and defiance, to which the Sire de 
 Harcourt, in his turn, gave the lie ; and having gone 
 forth to the barriers with all his men, he gave them 
 battle stoutly, and some were slain on both sides. 
 
 " When the king heard of this disorder, he sent 
 the Messire Enguerrand de Marigny to summon them 
 to appear before him ; but on the way to court, it 
 happened that the Sire de Harcourt met the chamber- 
 lain, and falling upon him unawares, struck out his 
 left eye with the finger of his gauntlet, and so returned 
 home. When the chamberlain was cured, he went to 
 the king, and demanded battle against the said Lord 
 of Harcourt; which coming to the ears of Monsieur 
 Charles de Valois, the king's brother, who loved much 
 the Sire de Harcourt, he pledged his faith to him, and 
 hastened to court. Messire Enguerrand de Marigny, 
 grand-counsellor of the king, declared that the Sire 
 de Harcourt had been guilty of treachery; Monsieur 
 Charles said, nay ; and Messire Enguerrand gave Mon- 
 sieur Charles the lie : for the which he paid so dear that 
 he was thereupon hung, notwithstanding his quality. 
 
 " The battle was decreed, and the Sire de Harcourt 
 came into the field armed with fleurs de lys ; and the 
 two barons fought very proudly. The King of England 
 and the King of Navarre, who were then present, at 
 length begged the King of France to put an end to the 
 combat ; saying it was pity two such valiant men 
 should destroy one another. Whereupon the King of 
 France cried " Ho !" and both parties being satisfied, 
 peace was made between them by the said king, about, 
 the year thirteen hundred." 
 
54 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 The right of private wars, so universally assumed by 
 the nobles, was legal in the true sense of the word. It 
 commenced in the decline of the empire of Charlemagne ; 
 and when the great barons tacitly submitted to a new 
 dynasty, begun in the person of Hugh Capet, they did 
 not for a moment dream of abandoning one of their 
 privileges. They attached, indeed, so little importance 
 to the title or office of king, that the principal cause of 
 their submission was indifference : they did not a whit 
 the less consider themselves the equal of the new mon- 
 arch ; and one day, when Hugh sent in anger to one of 
 his rebellious lords with the demand, " Who made thee 
 a count?" he received the counter-question, " Who made 
 thee a king?" 
 
 These wars were at first of infinite disadvantage to 
 the state ; for a baron, who considered that his own 
 individual interest should take precedence of every 
 thing, did not scruple to pursue his private quarrels 
 even when summoned to the field by his prince. In 
 the course of time, however, there were rules adopted 
 which at least lessened the mischiefs of the system. A 
 general war, for instance, extinguished, during its con- 
 tinuance, the private wars ; and the relations of the 
 family, before implicated to the seventh degree, were 
 only obliged to take a part in the feud to the third 
 degree. In the case of the Lords of Harcourt and Tan- 
 carville, we have seen that both parties ran to arms 
 without the smallest form of preliminary • but a century 
 later, a declaration of war would have been necessary, 
 and after that a delay of fifteen days, to afford time for 
 concession. 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 
 
 55 
 
 As for the wager of battle, it was duly authorised 
 by law, and has been at various times the subject of 
 legislation. In the year 1168, Louis VII. forbade the 
 duel when the matter in contest did not amount to 
 more than five sous ! # In 1205 Philippe- Auguste regu- 
 lated the length of the club with which villeins knocked 
 one another to pieces in form of law. This weapon was 
 to be three feet long ; but such persons were forbidden 
 the use of the knightly sword or lance. If a noble 
 called a villein into the field, both parties fought with 
 clubs; but if the villein was the appellant, he alone 
 used the weapon of his caste, while his enemy was per- 
 mitted to ride into the lists armed cap-a-pie. In the 
 latter case, the pedestrian was of course trampled to the 
 ground at once, and was then hung without ceremony. 
 
 In 1260 Saint Louis at length abolished the wager 
 of battle in civil matters ; but the law authorising pub- 
 lic duels on other grounds was in force under Francis L, 
 since this royal knight-errant was so eager to call out 
 the Emperor Charles V. They were afterwards abo- 
 lished by his son Henri II., when his favourite Chateign- 
 eraie was killed in single combat by Jamac ; but this 
 decree was of no effect, and the subsequent law of 
 Charles IX. (the monster of Saint Bartholomew), pro- 
 hibiting all duels under pain of death, was never exe- 
 cuted, and its very existence was speedily forgotten. 
 
 In judicial combats each party had a second, called 
 an avocat, whose province it was to fix the preliminaries 
 
 * " Por dette de cinq sols et de moins, se elle est niee, ne soit bat- 
 taille ja entre deux gens." 
 
56 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 of the battle, and, if this was possible, to arrange the 
 quarrel without bloodshed. If a gentleman approached 
 the lists immediately after the duel had commenced, his 
 horse was confiscated ; a bourgeois, or villein, under 
 the same circumstances, had his ear cut off. The 
 appellant was always expected to enter the arena armed 
 as he meant to fight ; and if by accident he wore his 
 vizor up, he was compelled to allow it to remain so 
 during the combat. Women and minors fought by 
 proxy ; and if defeated, the proxies lost their hands, 
 and the principals their heads. 
 
 The practice of private duels grew naturally out of 
 that of j udicial combats ; but, like the private wars of 
 earlier times, they were never authorised by any express 
 law. In the sixteenth century, this abuse came to so 
 absurd a height, that treatises were written and studied 
 to establish the point of honour, even regarding a glance 
 of the eye or the tone of the voice. The duel sometimes 
 took place on horseback, the parties sitting in their 
 saddles in their shirts ; but this custom gave way, and 
 the combatants were not only fully dressed, but the 
 collars of their coats were stuffed with flowers. The 
 weapon was frequently the pistol, which their descend- 
 ants have now given almost entirely up to the English. 
 
 To ask a man to be second in a duel was to confer a 
 great favour on him, although it sometimes cost him 
 his life ; for the seconds fought as well as the principals. 
 Sometimes there were two seconds, and sometimes as 
 many as nine, all fighting at the same moment like so 
 many devils. 
 
 But having thus sketched the history of the duel, 
 
FORTUNES AND FOLLIES OF HARFLEUR. 57 
 
 we must not forget to add the result of that of the Lords 
 of Harcourt and Tancarville, whose quarrel had cost 
 the eye of a chamberlain, the neck of a grand counsellor, 
 and the lives of some individuals of less note. The Sire 
 de Harcourt was fined fifty livres. 
 
 The engraving represents the Chateau de Tancarville, 
 seen in that kind of spectral light which Turner has 
 the art of throwing over his ruins. A portion of the 
 building is comparatively new, having been built by 
 the celebrated projector Law, who, immediately after 
 he had bought the property for eight hundred thousand 
 francs, was obliged to fly the kingdom. 
 
 Has the English house of Tankerville any connexion 
 with this celebrated chateau? The question interests 
 us — and why? because we have just read the following 
 lines in the " Court Journal." We have never, to our 
 knowledge, seen the lady alluded to, and, for the sake 
 of our soul's peace, we pray Heaven we never may ! 
 
 " No longer glowing gay as morning light — 
 
 No longer changeful as the summer breeze — 
 As when, in Chiswick's garden of delight, 
 
 All hearts, all hopes, were with the young Corise ! 
 
 No longer vivid with a noontide glare, 
 
 As when in Carlton halls her beauty shone, 
 
 And, mid the galaxy that sparkled there, 
 All eyes were on the brilliant Ossulston ! 
 
 But graceful with each grace the world can grant, 
 Or the high blood of Grammont's race instil ; 
 
 With smiles that win, and glances that enchant, 
 Refinement's self is seen in Tankerville." 
 
58 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE WANDERER'S REVERIE. 
 
 " Come and see 
 The cypress, hear the owl, and plod your way 
 O'er steps of broken thrones and temples ! 
 
 * # -* * * 
 
 Cypress and ivy, weed and wall-flower, grown, 
 Matted, and massed together, hillocks heaped 
 On what were chambers, arch crushed, column strewn 
 In fragments, choked-up vaults, and frescos steeped 
 In subterranean damps, where the owl peeped, 
 Deeming it midnight." 
 
 The earth is covered with ruins, piled themselves upon 
 the ruins of an earlier age: the atmosphere is thick 
 with the shadows of history ; our ear is filled with the 
 hum of perished nations. After a walk of only two 
 leagues from Tancarville, we are still untired ; but the 
 disc of the sun has disappeared beneath the horizon, 
 and the stillness of the hour, and the dusky tints of the 
 sky, invite the body to repose, while they awaken the 
 mind to more vigorous life. Seated on a moss-covered 
 stone, beetling over the brow of a hill, we gaze into a 
 rich and profound valley, where the shadows of twi- 
 light are already deepening into gloom. What strange 
 pageant is this which passes before our vision ? Do we 
 see with the eye of the senses or that of the spirit 1 
 
THE WANDERER'S REVERIE. 
 
 59 
 
 Creeping along the bottom of the valley, weary and 
 slow, there first appear some uncouth yet indefinite 
 forms, their sandals soiled with the travel of years, and 
 their backs laden with the pledges of their pilgrim-love, 
 desert-born. Troop after troop they come, perchance 
 from the land of Egypt, or from the mountains of the 
 Caucasus, or from farther India. They look around 
 them in the shadowy valley ; some climb the steeps, 
 and some fling themselves on the earth, exhausted. 
 But finally they gather in a group, in the middle ; and 
 straightway rude dwellings arise on the solitary spot, 
 and the wanderers sit down as in an abiding place 
 and a continuing city. 
 
 A voice in the valley! It is the sound of prayer 
 and worshipping. The sun when it shines, and the 
 moon walking in brightness, are their visible deities; 
 and they go up to the high places of their rocks (like 
 those of old Phoenicia), to meet the stars as they come 
 trooping over the hill. But after a time they are 
 seized with fear, if their gods are unseen in the sky ; 
 and they look round, quaking, in search of relief from 
 the indefinite dread, which sits like the night-hag on 
 their souls. And then some old men arise from among 
 them — old men with white heads, and lofty brows, and 
 deep bright eyes — and go apart from the sons and 
 daughters of their people. And the men of the city of 
 huts follow them afar off, and the old men minister 
 between them and the invisible deities of the world. 
 On the tops of mountains, or in the depths of forests, 
 they build edifices of unhewn stones, in shape like the 
 sun, or like the moon when it is full ; and, at their call, 
 
60 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the deities descend invisibly from their sphere to in- 
 habit the temples appointed for them. Then a deeper 
 dread seizes upon the people ; the whole world becomes 
 a mystery ; they read prophecies in the starry heavens, 
 and hear, as of old, the voice of the Lord God among 
 the trees. And they bow down before their priests, 
 and beat their foreheads upon the ground ; and the 
 father offers up the first-born as a blood-offering, and 
 the mother tears the lips of her infant from her full 
 breast, and flings it into the fire of sacrifice. 
 
 Clouds in the valley — a sea of tumbling clouds! 
 Darkness in the heavens, and thick darkness on the 
 earth ! But a mighty wind at length arises in the 
 south, and drives before it the rack of the sky, and the 
 shadows of the land. The clash of arms is borne on 
 the gust, and here and there the glitter of steel is seen, 
 like flashes of lightning, through the gloom. A wail 
 ascends from the valley ! The city of huts is on fire ! 
 and as the flames sink and disappear at intervals, a 
 hissing sound is heard from the embers. Through the 
 smoke and fire are seen the forms of another race, steel- 
 clad, and terrible in their aspect, like the gods when 
 they warred with men. As the chaos disappears, we 
 see towers and temples rising from the ruins of the 
 huts ; a vast fortress guards the new city, and high- 
 ways, fit for the tread of giants, radiate from a spot 
 which might seem the centre of the world. The mas- 
 ters of the valley laugh at the old altars of Teutates, 
 yet adore the god, recognising his identity with their 
 own Mercurius, with Hermes, Thoth, and the early 
 deity of every nation their arms had subdued. Their 
 
THE WANDERER'S REVERIE. 
 
 61 
 
 own heaven, however, is more capacious. Their pan- 
 theon comprehends all nature, both moral and physical, 
 separated in its various forms and attributes ; every 
 phenomenon affording a myth ; every element, every pas- 
 sion, every class of objects recognisable by the senses 
 individualised into a god ; every god represented by a 
 symbol. They worship every virtue, every vice, every 
 sentiment — peace, war, death, and hell — the angels 
 and the furies — trees, stones, and rivers — voices, and 
 the echoes of a voice. They divide the universe of mind 
 and matter into its component atoms, and every atom 
 is a god. 
 
 Mirth in the valley! Mirth and laughter, with 
 shrieks between — the shrieks of the victim and the 
 slave. The altars are strewn with flowers, sprinkled 
 with wine and tears, and perfumed with incense min- 
 gled with sighs. The clash of cymbals is heard instead 
 of the clash of swords ; the helmet is thrown aside for 
 the garland ; processions take place of marches ; and 
 the thirsty eagle of Rome, once gorged with blood, is 
 now drunken with wine. 
 
 Chaos again in the valley ! — rebellion, and treachery, 
 and strife, and struggling ; and in the midst a still 
 small voice proclaiming peace on earth, and good-will 
 to men! Again there is the sound of marching, and 
 the voice of war, and the hissing of flame, and the 
 gush of blood. The eyes of the old eagle are dim with 
 voluptuousness, and his limbs enervated with de- 
 bauchery. The Cross is raised as the standard at once 
 of religion and revolt ; it proclaims the equality of men 
 in the sight of God ; and the cry goes forth — " Where 
 
62 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty ! " The old 
 altars are overthrown; the statues of marble, and of 
 gold, and of silver, are broken to pieces ; the barbarians 
 who had stood at the frontiers of the empire, gazing in 
 as at a wonder and a show, now crowd into the centre ; 
 the oppressed, the discontented, the ambitious, and the 
 devout, — all form different parties in the state ; the 
 prestige vanishes like a dream which encompassed the 
 old Roman name ; and, vanquished at once by effemi- 
 nacy, treachery, true religion, and the sword, the 
 empire falls ! 
 
 Darkness again in the valley ! Amidst storms and 
 earthquakes, a bold and warlike, but savage race build 
 their rude fortresses among the palaces of the Caesars. 
 Soon the clouds are dispelled, and the tempest hushed ; 
 and the golden sceptre of Charlemagne, stretched from 
 horizon to horizon, looks like a rainbow in the heavens. 
 The old temples, however, are upreared anew ; sacri- 
 fices are still offered, but of treasure instead of blood ; 
 and gods of stone worshipped as before, but under the 
 name of saints. The new idolaters surpass in profanity 
 even the Hindoos, for they represent Brahma himself, 
 or the Supreme, in their simulacra ; but, unlike them, 
 they never pray to him, contenting themselves with the 
 meaner deities of the Christian mythology. * 
 
 * The Emperor Constantine decreed the public exercise of the 
 Christian religion in the year 325. This was a proof of the weakness of 
 despotism ; and the bishops were not slow in taking- advantage of cir- 
 cumstances, so as to throw off altogether the yoke of civil jurisdiction. 
 Immediately after the conquest of Gaul by the Franks, under Clovis, the 
 priestly order seems to have been still higher than that of the nobles ; 
 
THE WANDERER'S REVERIE. 
 
 63 
 
 Again, a sound of terror and of woe, and the scene 
 once more changes in the valley ! The descendants of 
 the aborigines, of the Gauls, of the Romans, and of the 
 Franks, fly shrieking from their homes ; whence, in 
 turn, the flames rise, roaring to the heavens, and then 
 sink, quenched in blood and tears. The new invaders 
 are wild men of the north — robbers of the ocean, 
 led forth from the shores of the Baltic by their sea- 
 kings, to ravage countries more fertile than their own. 
 Gorged with booty, they at length withdraw; and the 
 inhabitants of the valley return, trembling, to build 
 anew among the smoking ruins of their habitations. 
 The Northmanns appear again — and again — and again ; 
 and at last, liking too well a soil which can produce 
 crops of plunder so abundant, they " make a solitude, 
 and call it peace," and sit quietly down to enjoy the 
 fruits of their rapine. 
 
 Softening under the influence of the genial clime, 
 and reformed by the spirit even of an impure Christi- 
 anity, the wild Normans at length begin to cultivate 
 the fields they had fertilised with blood. We see, 
 by and by, the glancing of knightly arms, the prancing 
 
 for, although the nobles were sometimes pi'iests, the priests were always 
 nobles. The usurper Pepin introduced, in 755, the anointment, or con- 
 secration, of the kings of France by the prelates of the churcb ; and the 
 pope, in return, called him the New Moses, and the New David. In this 
 reign the Christian priesthood was erected into a separate political order 
 in the state ; and, although somewhat checked by Charlemagne, the son 
 of Pepin, it had waxed so marvellously by the time of his grandson, 
 Louis le Debonnaire, that the pope deposed the king, and shut him up 
 in a cell ! By the secular rise of the priesthood, we, of course, measure 
 the decline of genuine Christianity. 
 
64 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 of the gallant steed, the warrior bending his waving 
 plumes to the feet of beauty ; but amidst the song of 
 the minstrel, the swell of the clarion, and the rich 
 laugh of ladies, there mingle by fits the howls of the 
 crushed serf, the sobs of the despoiled orphan, and 
 the shriek of the captive maid. In midst of all, how- 
 ever, there now arises from the ruined palace of the 
 Csesars a vast and warlike pile, which attracts the eyes 
 of the whole valley, and the fame of which spreads 
 abroad over the world. The lord of the edifice is at 
 once a giant of romance, a demi-god of song, and a 
 hero of history. He knows how to excite, to control, 
 and to direct, — how to fuse, as it were, the minds of 
 men in the mould of his own opinions. The chateau 
 becomes too small for his huge person ; the ducal sceptre 
 too light for his iron hand ; the wide realm of Nor- 
 mandy too confined for his boundless spirit. He calls 
 his nobles and warriors around him, and, raising on 
 high the proud and holy banner of the Three Leopards, 
 leads the mighty cortege across the seas. At the first 
 blow of the chief, an empire falls ; and he seats himself, 
 as if by enchantment, on the throne of a hundred kings. 
 
 Once more gloom in the valley! — but the softened 
 gloom of a twilight which follows a glorious day. The 
 greater part of the city crumbles away, stone by stone, 
 till the traveller, striking his staff into the moss that 
 covers some shapeless fragment, inquires, — " Was this 
 a portion of a Gothic spire, or of a Norman fort, or of a 
 Roman theatre, or of a Gaulic temple ? " The palace 
 of the Conqueror has vanished, till conjecture can only 
 point to an enclosure as having belonged to its fortifica- 
 
THE WANDERER S REVERIE. 
 
 65 
 
 tions ; and even a new chateau, raised upon its ruins, 
 is itself a ruin. Some broken walls, some roofless 
 chambers, some crumbling towers, — and these are all. 
 Peasants amuse themselves with their uncouth games 
 in places where it would once have been death for a serf 
 to enter. In the hollow below, a white spire rises in 
 the midst of a few scores of houses, the remains of the 
 fated city ; and, in the distance, the Seine, majestic 
 and beautiful, flows calmly and unswervingly on — like 
 the fate of the human race ! 
 
66 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LILLEBONNE. 
 
 The next morning, before going forth to visit in de- 
 tail a place which, judging by the scraps and outlines 
 of its history that had stuck to our memory, we were 
 prepared to find so interesting, we were amused by a 
 little dispute at the breakfast-table. We know not 
 what were the merits of the case, or, in fact, what 
 was the bone of contention among the feasters ; but the 
 words of a lady, who spoke with some heat, and great 
 volubility, made such an impression upon us, as to turn 
 away for the moment our thoughts from the Gaulic- 
 Roman-Saxon-Norman-French city of Lillebonne. 
 
 " Politeness!" exclaimed she, " French politeness! 
 what a farce ! You may as well talk of French chivalry, 
 or of any thing else that belonged to an earlier age, but 
 which is unknown in ours. The French of to-day are 
 brutes! — low, vulgar, coarse -minded, ill-mannered 
 brutes ! They grin and chatter, I grant you, at a woman 
 like so many monkeys; but as for the true respect 
 which is shewn in action, in sacrifice, in endurance 
 and forbearance, they know nothing about it. The 
 cold, phlegmatic Englishman is a thousand times more 
 of a gentleman, as he calls it, — a word which has no 
 synonyme in our language, although it resembles the 
 chevalier of ancient times. If a woman is in danger 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 67 
 
 from the rain, whose umbrella, whose cloak, is at her 
 service ? The Frenchman's ? Trust him ! He buttons 
 himself up to the chin with a grimace ; while the En- 
 glishman, without moving a muscle, strips himself to 
 the waistcoat, if necessary, and sits dripping like a 
 water-god through the shower. If we are to be carried 
 across the dirty road from the door of the diligence, 
 who leads us by the end of the finger, choosing the 
 cleanest place for his own tiptoes? Why, the Frenchman. 
 Who, in the same situation, takes us up in his arms, 
 and stalks, like a statue moved by magic, through the 
 very depths of the mud, that he may land us, without 
 a soil upon the hem of our gown, upon the pave? — 
 The Englishman, I say. French politeness! bah!"* 
 
 It may be that the historical reference in the lady's 
 speech harmonised with the nature of our thoughts ; 
 but, at all events, incongruous as the subjects may seem, 
 we walked forth to view the Juliobona of the Romans, 
 immersed in a reverie upon French politeness. 
 
 The fair disputant is right. The character of the 
 French, so far as the male sex is concerned, has 
 changed : they are no longer a polite people. This 
 discovery we must ourselves have made long since 
 unconsciously, without having had the sense to apply 
 it ; for no sooner had she spoken, than we felt, from a 
 hundred before-unheeded experiences, that she was 
 right. The sovereignty of the women in France is 
 supported by an ancestral prestige, which is daily 
 
 * If we have not translated her speech, we hope we have at least 
 guessed at the meaning of the fair Havraise, and have thus redeemed a 
 very questionable security — the word of a traveller. 
 
68 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 vanishing. The Revolution, which overthrew the crown, 
 shook the empire of beauty to its foundation ; and the 
 affair of July has left her only the memory of vanished 
 greatness, and the shadow of a throne. As for the 
 imperial regime that came between, it was apparently 
 favourable to the falling cause, although really the 
 reverse. The Bonaparte people were parvenus, and 
 clung to all the prestiges of the preceding dynasty with 
 the jealous eagerness of an attorney's wife, who sud- 
 denly finds herself, by some hocus-pocus of the law, 
 the squiress and lady of the manor. Had Napoleon 
 been a prince by birth, he would have contented himself 
 with filling the throne of Saint Louis, instead of exag- 
 gerating the kingdom into an empire. This Cockneyism 
 (universal word !) of the imperial family threw such an 
 air of ridicule upon all their pretensions, that, even 
 when bending before the queens and princesses (titled 
 and untitled) of the house, the imagination, by the mis- 
 chievous instinct of contrast, associated them with the 
 idea of the mop and the wash-tub. As for the English, 
 every body knows that we are all bulls and bears, and 
 so we have no character to lose ; but, notwithstanding, 
 we are more polite, in the true sense of the word, than 
 the French. Upon that question we will peril life and 
 limb! 
 
 Even the external garb of politeness is now almost 
 universally laid aside in France. Formerly, and as 
 late as the sixteenth century, if you met the public 
 executioner on the road, he would mould his features 
 into an expression of the most cordial bonhomie, and 
 exclaim, " God preserve you from my hands!" When 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 69 
 
 he put the rope round the neck of a criminal on the 
 scaffold, this functionary would not fail to say, " My 
 friend, the king salutes thee!" This, however, was 
 nothing. A salutation was a seigneurial right, and 
 could be sued for at law like any other emolument. 
 
 At that time an inferior embraced the knee, the 
 thigh, the boot of his superior, and kissed his hand, his 
 fingers, or a single finger of his hand. With a great 
 lady, the saluter fell upon his knees, and kissed the 
 hem of her gown ; and when one lady visited another 1 
 of equal rank, if the proper ceremony was omitted, the 
 slighted party would say, " Madam, you ought to kiss 
 me by rights ! " 
 
 On speaking to a high dignitary of the church, .it 
 was always necessary to say, monseiyneur ; to a knight, 
 messire ; to a gentleman, monsieur; to a magistrate, 
 monsieur, or monsieur-mat tre ; to an advocate, or a 
 physician, mattre. The last title was also the right of 
 the public executioner. The wife of a noble or knight 
 was called madame ; that of a gentleman, an advocate, 
 or a physician, mademoiselle; that of a tradesman or 
 artisan, dame. It was not till the close of the sixteenth 
 century that the honourable title of madame had de- 
 scended to the ladies of advocates, physicians, and even 
 the higher order of tradesmen — which now, alas! is 
 claimed by every applewoman in the streets. 
 
 The word monsieur, now so general — applied in 
 common to the crown prince and the pauvre diable 
 who begs a sous for the love of God — was, not long 
 ago, thought of some importance. It was cut in 
 two before being conferred upon a bourgeois, who 
 
70 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 was called sieur ; and a distinction was even made 
 between the full title arid its component parts in 
 separation — monsieur, and mon sieur. As for the 
 tutoiement, it was long before thought an insult by 
 equals, and a condescension by inferiors ; and it is 
 thought that Francis I. would have condemned any 
 body to the scourge who could have been bold enough 
 to have addressed him with the pronouns " thee" or 
 " thou." 
 
 If you sneezed, every body present at the operation 
 bowed, crying " God help you ! — God bless you !" when, 
 pulling off your hat, you bowed in return, saying, 
 " Thank you — many thanks!" This custom is still 
 common in the provinces; and on one occasion it 
 amused us very much. A lady — and a young and 
 pretty lady — sneezed, and was complimented in due 
 form by the company, which was chiefly composed of 
 gentlemen. She sneezed again, and the salutation was 
 again performed with much unction. A third time ; and 
 some of the polite Frenchmen humphed, and shrugged 
 their shoulders. The fourth repetition was followed by 
 a profound silence ; only interrupted by one faint and 
 solitary exclamation — " God help you, madam!" 
 
 In conversation, it was the custom for an inferior to 
 commence his discourse by asking permission to speak ; 
 and a wife, in like manner, (O golden days!) went 
 through the same ceremony with her husband. To 
 say, " That is not true," or " You lie," would have 
 been ill manners; but the most polite person might 
 say, " Saving your grace's presence, that is false," — 
 or, " Under correction of your displeasure, that is a 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 71 
 
 lie !" If one contradicted another on the slightest fact 
 or opinion, it was necessary to preface it with a par- 
 donnez moi ; which in these rude times has dwindled 
 into the familiar dissyllable pardon! 
 
 At table, the grand difficulty was the system of 
 healths ; which we do not attempt to explain, seeing 
 that we ourselves do not comprehend it. It was neces- 
 sary, however, to follow the old maxim, and " do as 
 you were done by which is to say, that (for instance) 
 if any body drank to you supernaculum, it was neces- 
 sary on your part to " rendre rubis sur Fongle" with 
 equal precision.* At the end of the repast, a general 
 " choque," or hob-or-nob, took place, in which all the 
 glasses of the guests met with a clash in the middle 
 of the table. It was usual to wash the hands before as 
 well as after the meal ; but, till lately, the nasty and 
 disgusting ceremony of publicly rinsing the mouth was 
 unknown both in France and England. 
 
 In dancing, the politeness of the French was pecu- 
 liarly conspicuous. The eyes, the lips, the arms — all 
 were brought into play as well as the feet; and the 
 books of the art, in marking the measure, distinguished 
 also the intervals at which a salute, a bow, a curtsy, 
 or a kiss, was to be performed. 
 
 Many of these wholesome and excellent regulations, 
 however, are now dispensed with ; and the Frenchman 
 of to-day fancies that, by pulling off his hat on all 
 
 * As this custom, which once obtained (what ?) in England, is now 
 among the things that were, it is proper to say, that drinking supernaculum 
 means draining your glass even to the last drop, which you quaff' from 
 your thumb-nail. 
 
72 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 occasions, in season and out of season, he obtains a 
 plenary indulgence for his sins against ceremony. 
 
 While immersed in such profound and important 
 speculations, our thoughts wandering from the manners 
 of one century to those of the previous one, we found 
 ourselves at length in the earliest ages of the French 
 monarchy ; whence the distance was but a step to the 
 time of the domination of the Romans in Gaul. Lille- 
 bonne was then the chief city of the Caletes, or inha- 
 bitants of what is now called the Pays de Caux ; but 
 what was its original name no one knows. Its Roman 
 name of Juliobona was imposed in honour of the 
 founder of the dynasty of the Caesars, probably during 
 his proconsulate in Gaul ; # and in the days of Ptolemy 
 the geographer, who flourished during the latter half 
 of the second century, it was still the capital of the 
 Caletes. It is mentioned also in the Itinerary of Anto- 
 nine, and in the map of Peutinger ; but a long and 
 dreary period elapses after the classic era, in which 
 Juliobona sleeps in darkness till wrapped in a bloody 
 light by the torches of the marauding pirates of Scan- 
 dinavia. 
 
 The ancient importance of this capital may be con- 
 jectured, not only from the ruins of its theatre, but 
 from the Roman roads radiating from it in every direc- 
 tion. One of these, as the Itinerary of Antonine informs 
 
 * Some writers make it Julia Bona, and say that it was named after 
 the fair and frail daughter of Augustus ; but the historians of the middle 
 ages, who were at least nearer the epoch than we, are explicit on the 
 point : " Sed Juliobonam," says Robert du Mont, " Julius Caesar, ex 
 cujus nomine Julia vocatur, condidit, destructa urbe Caleto." 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 73 
 
 us, went to Dreux, another to Evreux, and another to 
 Caudebec, Rouen, and Paris. The last mentioned is 
 still the highway between Rouen and Caudebec. The 
 map of Peutinger also exhibits a Roman way leading 
 from Juliobona towards Boulogne. 
 
 The medals of all the early emperors were found in 
 the ruins of the theatre ; and in another place a collec- 
 tion of five hundred, omitting the more ancient, and 
 proceeding, with little interruption, from Otho to Pro- 
 bus. This is undoubtedly a curious circumstance ; and 
 it derives still more interest from a fact which we have 
 not seen noticed conjunctively, that, about the time of 
 Probus, or immediately after, Juliobona must have 
 fallen from the rank of cities. This is proved by its 
 never having been the see of a bishop. 
 
 Near the place where this numismatic hoard was 
 found, there was discovered, in the ruins of a Roman 
 house, a small bronze statue of Hercules, in perfect 
 preservation. On the banks of the little river Lille- 
 bonne, and near the gate of the town, the remains of 
 an extensive building were also excavated, the court 
 of which, paved in rustic mosaic, is precious in the 
 eyes of antiquaries. It was on the banks of this river 
 that the stone was quarried which served for the con- 
 struction of the public buildings of the city. In its 
 natural state below the earth it appears to be soft and 
 moist, and may be taken out in enormous masses ; but 
 by a very few hours' exposure to the sun, it becomes as 
 hard as adamant. 
 
 The left bank of the Bolbec, which forms the western 
 limit of the town, was also rich in vestiges of the arts 
 
74 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 and of domestic architecture. At the southern entrance, 
 from the number of funeral vases discovered, it is sup- 
 posed that on that spot there must have been a Roman 
 cemetery. 
 
 The valley, however, through which the Roman 
 road winds, is more peculiarly holy ground to the 
 explorer of the antique world. There stands the new 
 chateau, broken down with the weight of many hundred 
 years, and built upon the ruins of the Roman Acro- 
 polis ; the baths, erected probably in the first cen- 
 turies of the Christian era ; and the theatre, the most 
 remarkable monument of the masters of the world in 
 the north of France. 
 
 The Roman fortress has perished, with the exception 
 of part of a military wall, at the bottom of which swords 
 of formidable dimensions, and sculptures, apparently 
 anterior to the introduction of Christianity, have been 
 found. The stones are in some cases finely cut ; but 
 M. Gaillard has detected an artifice, which at least 
 diminished the labour, if it does not detract from the 
 skill of the Gaulic artists. # They chose, it seems, such 
 stones as were most spungy and defective, and, of 
 course, most easily cut ; and, when their work was 
 finished, dinted and roughened the surface with the 
 chisel, and then applied a coating of some kind of 
 cement, occasionally red, but often white and brilliant. 
 
 The apartments of the baths are small and oblong, 
 the largest being only thirty feet by eighteen. In one 
 of them a female statue was found as large as life, and 
 
 * The Gauls, under the instruction of their masters, became expert 
 sculptors. 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 75 
 
 cut in the beautiful marble of Paros. It is thought to 
 represent the wife of the Emperor Antoninus Pius, 
 which would, in some measure, fix the date of the 
 balnearium in the second century. # Some of the apart- 
 ments are ornamented with paintings in fresco, and 
 paved with black and gray schistus. The establish- 
 ment appears to have contained baths for the women 
 as well as for the men ; and it has been noticed as 
 something worthy of remark (although we consider it 
 a circumstance of mere accident, from which no con- 
 clusion can be drawn), that in the balnea virilia there 
 was found a medal of William Rufus, king of England. 
 
 Directly facing the hill of the Acropolis, the sides 
 of which are covered with these monuments, and the 
 summit with the chateau of the middle ages, there is 
 another eminence, on which stands the Roman theatre. 
 The facade of this edifice, which is now wholly de- 
 stroyed, must have been three hundred and thirty feet 
 long ; and the inner circumference of the building, 
 formed by a circular corridor, six hundred and twenty- 
 five feet. One half of the theatre stands in the valley, 
 and the other on the sides of the eminence ; but the 
 former part is so far below the level of the modern 
 houses, and of the Roman road, which runs past the 
 fagade, that it looks like a vast excavation. It would 
 
 * A wall similar to those erected by the Romans at Narbonne, Peri- 
 gueux, Bordeaux, and elsewhere, separates the facade from the body of 
 the edifice ; whence it is argued that the balnearium must have been 
 more ancient than the fourth century, the date of such erections. If the 
 statue mentioned in the text, however, is really that of Constantine's 
 empress, we have ourselves no doubt (for ignorance is always pre- 
 sumptuous) that the baths were in ruins before the wall was built. 
 
76 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 be needless, however, to look for the sites of Roman 
 buildings on the same level with the roads, the latter 
 being, in most cases, built up like a lofty rampart ; 
 and in the course of seventeen or eighteen hundred 
 years, it is not wonderful if we should find the ancient 
 soil raised to a great height by vegetable earth alone. 
 In the ruins of the comparatively recent constructions 
 of the middle ages, we are generally obliged to descend 
 as into a vault ; the threshold of the doorway being 
 considerably below the surface which belongs to the 
 present denizens of the earth. 
 
 Near the theatre a figure of gilded bronze, six feet 
 high, was found in 1823, " apparently," says M. Rever, 
 " a statue of the god Bacchus. It is completely naked ; 
 its hair, divided in the middle of the brow, borders the 
 temples, and unites in a knot behind." 
 
 The ducal palace of William the Conqueror exists 
 in little more than conjecture ; its ruins having been re- 
 erected, towards the twelfth century, into a feudal cha- 
 teau, the property of the house of Harcourt, whose feud 
 with that of Tancarville we have noticed above. Here 
 William organised, in 1066, the invasion of England ; 
 and here he frequently resided from inclination before 
 his will or destiny called him to a throne. 
 
 The constructions within the extensive enclosure are 
 evidently of different epochs ; one square tower being 
 of the thirteenth century, and a round tower as late as 
 the fifteenth. The drawbridge, by means of which the 
 latter is attained, is thirty-three feet broad, and thrown 
 over a very deep ditch ; the walls are thirteen feet 
 thick, and divided into three stages. 
 
LILLEBONNE. 
 
 77 
 
 " There," says the author of the " Studies of Nature," 
 " There arise lofty battlemented towers, with trees grow- 
 ing from the summit like a head-dress. Gothic win- 
 dows, resembling the entrances of caverns, open at 
 intervals through the ivy. No living thing is seen in 
 this desolate abode, save buzzards flying in silence 
 round the walls; or, if you chance to hear the voice 
 of a bird, it is that of some owl who builds here its 
 hermit -nest. When I remember, in viewing this 
 manor, that it was formerly the abode of petty tyrants, 
 who there exercised their bandit-trade not only on their 
 own vassals but on travellers, I think I see the carcass 
 and bones of some huge wild beast." 
 
 "Alas!" exclaims M. Licquet, " who would re- 
 cognise here the abode of the most formidable prince of 
 his time ? Roofless, floorless, nothing but fragments 
 and ruins ! Fern, nettles, and ivy, have usurped the 
 palace of the Norman kings ! " 
 
 To this Turner adds nothing in words ; but behold 
 how eloquent he is ! That is a Study of Nature which 
 would have been worthy the pencil of Saint Pierre 
 himself. 
 
78 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 Returning to the river-side, from which Lillebonne is 
 distant nearly a league, we wandered on, " thorough 
 brake, thorough brier," for a considerable distance, with- 
 out meeting with any thing worthy of note, except almost 
 at every step an enchanting peep of the water. We 
 looked out sharply for the "farm" mentioned by the 
 compiler of a clever little guide-book published at 
 Havre, but now out of print. It was invisible, however, 
 to our eyes on the land, although the voyager will be 
 more successful who employs his telescope as he sails 
 up the river. 
 
 This " farm" (most vague and unsubstantial sub- 
 stantive !) was rendered illustrious, it seems, by the 
 residence there of a gentleman whose adventure we 
 should be anxious, with more time and space, to inquire 
 into in detail. 
 
 In the year 1562, to be brief, when Rouen, in the 
 hands of Montgommeri, was besieged by the Guise 
 party, two lamentable accidents occurred. The King of 
 Navarre was mortally wounded, and Monsieur Civille 
 was struck in the face by a ball, which, passing straight 
 through, re-entered the atmosphere at the back of his 
 neck. He fell down in the ditch where he had been 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 79 
 
 fighting like a hero ; and his comrades, although they 
 had no time for an epitaph, covered the body up with 
 a little loose earth, and left it to the worms. 
 
 A faithful servant of his house, however, — for Mon- 
 sieur Civille was a knight and a gentleman — grieved 
 that his master should lie thus undistinguished among 
 the slain, obtained permission to search for the body, 
 and, if successful, to bring it into the town for more 
 befitting obsequies. He set out on the adventure in the 
 dead of the night, hiding his lantern under his coat, 
 till he had groped his way into the ditch, and was com- 
 pletely screened from the observation of the enemy on 
 the surface of the earth. His heart was well fortified 
 with the enthusiasm of loyalty and affection, or it must 
 have failed him at that trying moment. The Golgotha 
 in which he trod was heaped with the bodies of the 
 slain ; and as his foot now and then slipped on some 
 blood-boltered corpse, he could not help fancying that 
 it stirred and groaned. 
 
 No face that he saw resembled that of Monsieur 
 Civille. Two or three, indeed, were so mangled that 
 it would have been impossible to identify them, and 
 among these, no doubt, was his master's ; but how to 
 discover which was the question. When at the very 
 brink of despair, however, he saw the glitter of a gem, 
 as it was touched by the rays of his lamp, on one of the 
 dead men's fingers ; and recognising a ring which 
 Monsieur Civille was in the habit of wearing, he joy- 
 fully gathered up the owner, and, taking him on his 
 back, made all the despatch in his power out of the 
 ditch. More than once he stumbled among the bodies ; 
 
80 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 more than once he stood stock-still, the arms of the 
 corpse dropping perpendicularly over his breast, and 
 the dead face reclining on his shoulder. The hair 
 bristled on his head ; his limbs were bedewed with a 
 cold sweat ; his knees knocked together. 
 
 It was no wonder if the thoughts of a man in this 
 situation were not very steady. He felt his brain turn 
 round. He thought his master spurred him on the leg, 
 and that the dead lips whispered in his ear " Chick ! 
 chick!" When he gained the street he did not stay 
 for the challenge of the sentries, but, breaking into a 
 gallop, ran at once to the surgery of the garrison. The 
 surgeons laughed at him. 
 
 " Why, Johnny !? said they, " what is this? would 
 you have us doctor a dead man ?" 
 
 The serving-man was in a rage. He insisted that 
 his master was not dead ; and forthwith took him home 
 to his house, undressed him, washed his wounds, and 
 put him to bed. 
 
 During five days he watched the senseless body ; 
 but so strong a hold had the idea of his being alive 
 taken of his mind, that even then he did not lose 
 hope. Indeed, his hope rather increased than other- 
 wise with the lapse of time ; for he persuaded himself, 
 that if life had really been extinct, some of those unplea- 
 sant symptoms would have been apparent which attend 
 the process of decomposition. He again applied to the 
 surgeons, and, out of curiosity, they came to see Mon- 
 sieur Civille. They probed and dressed the wound as 
 if it had been that of a living patient, and the body 
 stirred ! Monsieur Civille was actually alive ; and in a 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 81 
 
 very short time his cure became almost certain, when, 
 unfortunately, the town was taken by assault. 
 
 A Catholic officer took possession of the house ; and 
 his servants, who were too humane to put their dying 
 host to death, merely lifted him up, palliass and all, and 
 transferring him to a remote chamber, left him in the 
 hands of Providence. Monsieur Civille, it may be 
 imagined, had been long before now forgotten by his 
 living fellow-townsmen ; but his younger brother was 
 not in the same predicament. Certain citizens, who 
 were his enemies, believing that it was he who was in 
 the house, took advantage of the confusion of victory to 
 obtain revenge ; and breaking in, like a pack of wolves, 
 ransacked the building from top to bottom for the 
 object of their hatred. They found no one but a man 
 lying on a palliass, either dead or dying, and him — pre- 
 suming that he must belong in some way or other to 
 the ousted family — -they whirled out of the window. 
 Monsieur Civille fell upon a heap of dung. 
 
 Some days after, when the confusion in the town 
 had in a great measure subsided, the relations of the 
 family were able to shew their heads ; and they took 
 advantage of the calm to inquire into the fate of Mon- 
 sieur Civille. They found that, three days before, either 
 a sick man or a dead body had been thrown out of a 
 back -window, and rightly conjecturing that this was 
 their unfortunate friend, they proceeded to search for his 
 remains. Shivering as they went, for it was the dead 
 of winter, they entered a deserted court ; and there, 
 sure enough, they found the body lying on its impure 
 bed, with no other covering to defend it, were defence 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 necessary, against the inclemency of the weather, than 
 a cotton night-cap. The result is more easily told than 
 believed ; but as it is given on the authority of the 
 person most deeply interested himself, we venture to 
 say — -Monsieur Civille was alive ! 
 
 Whether cold and hunger, on the one hand, reduced 
 his fever, and the warmth of the dunghill, on the other, 
 proved sufficient for animal life — but this question we 
 leave to the learned. It is sufficient that Monsieur 
 Civille was alive, and that he was transported privily to 
 the " farm" indicated above, and that he afterwards 
 wrote with his own hand, and published, an account of 
 his unparalleled calamities. 
 
 This singular man was married twice, and lived to 
 a good old age. Even the accident which conducted 
 him to the tomb in right earnest was somewhat uncom- 
 mon — we say accident, for it will be felt that a man 
 like Monsieur Civille could not die quietly, or as a 
 matter of course, like other people. When he was 
 some time past his grand climacteric, he fell in love 
 with a young girl, and, tortured by suspicion, passed 
 an entire night under her window. The consequence 
 was a severe illness ; and 
 
 " Love, who sent, forgot to save 
 The old, the hardy, and the brave !" 
 
 Monsieur Civille died of jealousy and a fluxion in the 
 breast. 
 
 The traveller who is pressed for time, or who takes 
 no interest in natural scenery when unassociated with 
 historical recollections, will do well to proceed direct from 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 83 
 
 Lillebonne to Caudebec by the great road. He, how- 
 ever, who loves to loiter and to dream — who can admire 
 a beautiful object without knowing if it have a name — 
 whose recollections are drawn, not only from the annals 
 of mankind, but from the history of his own mind — and 
 associated, not only with individual localities, but with 
 all nature, — let him choose the path, narrow and 
 interrupted though it be, by the river side. There the 
 reflective will find food for their meditations, and the 
 sanguine for their dreams. The world of the past is 
 open to that imaginative species of memory which con- 
 verts the past into the present, and thus enables us to 
 enjoy twice. The world of the future is open to a hope 
 of the same kind, by means of which the far, the 
 difficult, even the impossible, are brought within the 
 compass of our power. 
 
 A very foolish question has frequently been proposed 
 with regard to the compatibility of what, in common 
 language, is called day-dreaming, with the business and 
 duties of life. This occupation or recreation of the 
 mind we hold to be the most beneficial to which it can 
 apply itself. In a mere worldly point of view, it re- 
 freshes the faculties by a total change of labour — for 
 change is all the mind requires, it being incapable of 
 rest. In moral effect it is next to religion itself. No 
 one is altogether bad in his day-dreams. In defeat 
 we are brave; in success, magnanimous; in enjoyment, 
 generous : and the habit of rehearsing virtues in imagi- 
 nation leads us insensibly to practise them in reality. 
 
 As for the unfitness of highly imaginative men for 
 the business of life, that is all nonsense. Where are 
 
84 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the examples? Not in Shakespeare, we apprehend, 
 even if he once tried his hand at woodcraft ; not, cer- 
 tainly, in Milton, that great man and admirable citizen ; 
 not in Spencer ; not in Pope ; not in Fielding ; not in 
 Scott, although he suffered a casualty so frequent with 
 those who desire to accumulate fortune. The great 
 French and German writers of the class whose lives 
 are mostly spent in the world of imagination, were, 
 with hardly an exception, of the same stamp ; and the 
 wild career of some of the Italian poets belonged mani- 
 festly to the epoch and scenes in which they lived. 
 The greater part of the examples of carelessness and 
 intemperance that are adduced in proof of the danger 
 of the gift of imagination, occur in men of a lower 
 grade, who made use of the popular error as an excuse 
 for follies that would have broken out at any rate. 
 
 After passing through the village of Menil-sous- 
 Lillebonne, we arrive at the ruined church of Notre 
 Dame de Gravenchon, an edifice of the fifteenth century, 
 well worth a visit. On the northern side of the nave 
 there is a stone sunk in the wall containing a sculpture 
 in bas-relief, representing a naked figure, which is 
 supposed by M. Langlois to be of Gaulic workmanship. 
 The path leads to Norville, avoiding a turn which the 
 Seine makes here ; and from Norville, along the water's 
 edge, to Villequier. 
 
 Seen either by land or water, this is a delicious little 
 place. From the river it is one of the gayest-looking 
 villages we ever saw. The houses seem not only neat 
 and clean, but are painted of every gaudy colour you 
 can imagine. A rude breast-work runs along, separating 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 85 
 
 the single line of cottages from the Seine ; and to this 
 the boats of the inhabitants are moored, at all times 
 within reach of the owners, like the gondolas of Venice. 
 The chateau dominating the village is the property of 
 the first president of the Cour Royale at Rouen. 
 
 From Villequier to Caudebec the same kind of 
 scenery continues ; but, on arriving within nearer view 
 of the latter, the beauty of the landscape increases to a 
 degree of magnificence of which it is not easy to give 
 any adequate idea. In the opposite illustration, sketched 
 from an eminence above the road, Turner has done all 
 that the pencil could do in so small a space ; yet it 
 comprehends only half the view from Caudebec. There 
 is a spot upon the quay of the little town which Vernet 
 the French painter instanced as presenting one of the 
 finest pictures in France. It is too extensive, however, 
 to be copied with any chance of success ; and the tra- 
 veller, therefore, who is able to see it with his own eyes, 
 is doubly happy. The Seine describes a parallel ellipsis 
 on either hand, marked by the uniform rising of the 
 ground ; but in front, owing to the flatness of the 
 country beyond, the broad river is almost the only 
 object which could come into the piece. 
 
 In the town itself there is the same gaiety of colour 
 which we noticed at Villequier. Houses blue, white, 
 yellow, and red, imbedded in the dark green of the 
 foliage, look at a distance like a parterre of flowers. 
 The quay is planted with trees ; cottages and summer- 
 houses surround and dot the sides of the hill; and 
 paths, winding upward among the trees, lose themselves 
 in the distance. From many of these walks you may 
 
86 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 enjoy a finer view than that admired so much by 
 Vernet. The opposite bank gradually rises, till an 
 immense amphitheatre is formed, terminated in the 
 middle by a chain of hills crowned by the hoary woods 
 of the forest of Brotonne. 
 
 The church of Caudebec, which Henri IV., on 
 account of its being without a transept, declared to be 
 " the most beautiful chapel he had ever seen," is a very 
 fine specimen of Gothic architecture. The great gate 
 is especially admired for its tasteful delicacy. A balus- 
 trade runs round the building, which was formerly 
 resplendent with gilding ; and on the wall, or entabla- 
 ture, some portions of the Salve Regina, Magnificat, 
 JBenedictus, and Tota pulchra es, are inscribed in letters 
 three feet long. The interior has lost a great deal of 
 its splendour ; but the chapel of the Virgin, where the 
 body of the principal architect reposes, is still highly 
 worthy of the traveller's attention. His name, we learn 
 from the epitaph which describes his share of the task, 
 was Le Tellier ; and, after having been thirty years 
 employed in the work, he died in the year 1484 (latt 
 mil UU C Qttatre bmgS et qtiatre), leaving to the church a 
 rent of seven sols and six denier s.* 
 
 Caudebec possessed a port so early as 853, since 
 Charles-le-Chauve, by a charter dated that year, pre- 
 sents it, with its port, &e. to the monks of Fontenelle. 
 It was not, however, a place of any importance, or the 
 Normans in their frequent visits to the monastery would 
 not have overlooked its dependency. It was probably 
 
 * About threepence three farthings. 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 87 
 
 not a town till the latter part of the eleventh century ; 
 for its church is mentioned by William, in a charter 
 elated at Lillebonne, shortly after the conquest of Eng- 
 land. At the beginning of the fifteenth century it was 
 surrounded by walls and ditches, and protected by 
 towers, and was in a condition to disregard the summons 
 of Henri V., after the capture of Rouen. It was be- 
 sieged by Warwick and Talbot, and taken, after an 
 entrenchment of six months. Talbot became the gover- 
 nor, and held it for England till 1449, when all Nor- 
 mandy was united to the French crown by Charles VII. 
 Caudebec is well known also in the wars of the League ; 
 having had the honour of wounding the Duke of Parma 
 in the arm when he besieged it. Before this time it 
 had several manufactories, particularly one of gloves 
 made of goat-skins, and so fine that a pair could be 
 contained in a walnut. Its hats were also famous, 
 under the name of Caudebecs ; but the revocation of 
 the Edict of Nantes scattered its artisans, and conse- 
 quently its arts, over the face of the earth. To make 
 up for the loss of real advantages, the government over- 
 whelmed the town with those fatal gifts bestowed before 
 the revolution upon the places which the king delighted 
 to honour. Caudebec was the seat of the bailliage of 
 Caux, and at the head of six sergenteries. It possessed, 
 besides, innumerable courts and offices, such as presi- 
 dial, provote, maitrise, amiraute, election, grenier a sel, 
 haute justice seigneuriale, recette des tailles, ferme gene- 
 rale, direction des aides, bureau des traites, bureau des 
 domains, &c. The consequence, it is said, is felt to this 
 day, in the absurd importance attached by the inha- 
 
88 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 bitants to official titles, and the consequent disdain of 
 commercial employment. Travellers who do not advert 
 to the above causes, express their astonishment " que 
 l'industrie ait si peu d'activite dans une ville qui offre 
 tant des chances et des avantages a son developpement." 
 
 Near the town is the holy well of Saint Onuphre, a 
 sort of puddle celebrated for the cure of ail cutaneous 
 diseases from ringworm to leprosy. On a particular 
 day in the year the unclean patients resort to the waters 
 in crowds, to drink, and bathe, and wallow in the 
 marsh. Each of them, at the commencement of the 
 exercises, gathers a branch in a neighbouring wood, 
 which he deposits in some central spot; and in the 
 evening, the faggot so formed is set fire to by the parish 
 priest, who comes forth to the expectant flock dressed 
 in his sacerdotal robes, and marching to the tune of an 
 anthem. When the smoke is at the thickest, he flings 
 a white dove into the cloud, and as the liberated bird 
 rises from amidst into the air, the patients fall upon 
 their knees, exclaiming, " It is the Holy Ghost!" On 
 this signal a lame man starts up, throws his crutches 
 into the fire, and is straightway cured. The ceremony 
 concludes with copious draughts of cider, which the 
 patients, we have no doubt, find a more pleasant, if not 
 a more medicinal beverage than the foul waters of Saint 
 Onuphre. 
 
 We had not ourselves an opportunity of witnessing 
 this ceremony ; but we have not the smallest doubt of 
 at least its temporary efficacy. At one time we sup- 
 posed that the imagination could only exert such a 
 power over nervous maladies ; but we have watched a 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 89 
 
 variety of cases with equal jealousy and curiosity, in 
 which the patient was cured for the time of diseases 
 apparent — and horribly apparent — in the skin and 
 flesh. In one of these, a disorder of our times, resem- 
 bling, and perhaps identical with, the ancient leprosy, 
 was cured by the seventh son of a seventh son. After 
 the prayers were said by the operator, who was a poor, 
 simple, devout-looking country lad, the patient rose 
 from the sofa on which he had lain for many days in 
 helpless agony, drew his stocking over the diseased leg, 
 and walked forth upon his affairs ! His faith sustained 
 him for nearly a week, but gradually the charm dis- 
 solved. This individual was a shrewd, worldly-minded 
 man, and, although an Irishman, not a Roman Catholic. 
 
 We complain of the introduction of new diseases ; 
 but we forget that at the present day we dispute about 
 the very identity of a malady, for which a few centuries 
 ago there were more than twenty thousand lazarettos in 
 Europe. In the fourteenth century, in the domains of 
 the Seigneur de Courcy alone, there were ten of these 
 leprosies ; and in all France, there were supposed to be 
 more than two thousand. In Dauphiny there was one 
 for nobles alone ; and, near Paris, one for females of 
 royal blood. Vanity of vanities! Let us devote a 
 moment to recalling the ceremony which cut off alike 
 the royal, noble, and plebeian leper from the society of 
 his fellow-men. 
 
 Clothed in a pall, the dead-alive stood at the steps 
 of the church at the appointed hour, the people forming 
 a wide circle round him, and gazing with dread and 
 horror on the victim thus pointed out by the wrath of 
 
90 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 Heaven. The clergy of his parish then appeared, walk- 
 ing in procession, and the leper followed them into the 
 church, and laid himself down on a bier, set round 
 with lighted tapers. The service for the dead was then 
 performed, with the usual chanting of prayers, sprink- 
 ling of holy water, and flinging of incense ; and when 
 the unhappy wretch was thus religiously dead, he was 
 taken out of the town to the solitary hut appointed for 
 his habitation. 
 
 A pall hung above the door, surmounted by a cross, 
 before which he fell upon his knees ; and the priest 
 then commenced an exhortation, enjoining him to the 
 virtue of patience, recalling to his memory the sufferings 
 of Jesus Christ, and pointing out to him that heaven 
 above his head, where there are no tears and no lepers, 
 but where all are for ever sound, for ever pure, and for 
 ever happy. He then took off his coat, and assumed 
 the leper's dress, and the clicket, or rattle, by which he 
 was for the future to give notice of his approach, that 
 his fellow-men might fly from the polluted path. The 
 priest then pronounced the interdictions prescribed by 
 the ritual. 
 
 " I forbid thee to go abroad without thy leper's dress. 
 " I forbid thee to go abroad with naked feet. 
 " I forbid thee to pass through any narrow street. 
 " I forbid thee to speak to any one except against 
 the wind. 
 
 " I forbid thee to enter any church, any mill, any 
 fair, any market, any assembly of men whatever. 
 
 " I forbid thee to drink, or to wash thy hands, 
 either in a well or a river. 
 
SCENERY AND SENTIMENT. 
 
 91 
 
 " I forbid thee to handle any merchandise before 
 thou hast bought it. 
 
 " I forbid thee to touch children, or to give them 
 any thing.' 7 
 
 The priest then gave him his foot to kiss, threw a 
 handful of earth upon his head, and, having shut the 
 door of the hut on the outcast, recommended him to the 
 prayers of the bystanders, who immediately dispersed. 
 
 The goods accorded to the leper were safe from 
 robbers ; his vineyard, his cow, his sheep, might remain 
 without a keeper ; for no extremity of hunger could 
 tempt any one to put forth his hand upon the property 
 of the accursed. His former clothes, his house, his 
 furniture, were burnt to ashes; and if his wife chose 
 to follow the footsteps of his despair — which was not 
 rarely the case — she also was devoted when living to 
 the leper's doom, and when dead, her ashes were 
 refused a resting-place in consecrated earth. In con- 
 secrated earth? What have we said? It is the relic 
 which sanctifies the place ; and wherever were thrown 
 the remains of that devoted wife, there was holy 
 ground ! 
 
92 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE BAR OF THE SEINE. 
 
 Opposite Caudebec there was formerly an island 
 called Belcinne, inhabited by some monks, who had 
 built there a little convent. It belonged, as well as the 
 seigneurie of Caudebec itself, to the celebrated monas- 
 tery of Fontenelle ; but the little convent was so much 
 eclipsed by its splendid superior, that few visitors sought 
 the solitary shore, except now and then a pious fisher- 
 man, who went to return thanks to God and the Virgin 
 for his escape from the perils of the Seine. One day, 
 however, the Lord of Caudebec bethought himself 
 suddenly, that he had never paid his vows at the 
 humble shrine ; and, seized with a fit of devotion, he 
 stepped into his barge, and was soon at the foot of 
 the altar. 
 
 The extreme poverty of the place, however, the 
 nakedness of the altar, arid the mortified looks of the 
 holy brethren, hardened his heart ; and, gazing around 
 him for a moment, as if he had merely come out of 
 curiosity, he turned away, and regained his barge. 
 The water was rough ; and the poor priests, instead of 
 resenting his haughtiness, besought him to take care 
 lest his vessel, which was heavily loaded, should sink. 
 
 " Do you threaten me?" said the Lord of Caudebec, 
 conscious that he deserved no kindness. 
 
THE BAR OF THE SEINE. 
 
 93 
 
 " God forbid !" said the poor priests ; " we trust 
 you will live long enough to be fit for death: it is 
 only the righteous who can afford to die suddenly ; 
 and to them death is the highest boon even Heaven 
 can bestow on this side of eternity." 
 
 " Pull away, my men !" cried the seigneur, abruptly. 
 "As soon shall their solid island sink in the Seine as 
 this trim vessel of ours." 
 
 " Sooner, we pray God," replied the monks ; 
 " sooner ! — sooner !" 
 
 The next morning, the Lord of Caudebec, while 
 looking out of the window of his chateau, rubbed his 
 eyes, and blessed himself. The island had disappeared, 
 the convent, the monks — all had been swallowed up, 
 and sunk in the river ! The effect of this awful lesson 
 may be imagined. The seigneur retired into the mo- 
 nastery of Fontenelle, where he lived a holy life long 
 enough to understand that death may be looked upon 
 by the righteous as a boon. 
 
 This event must have occurred after the year 853, 
 the seigneurie of Caudebec not being till then the pro- 
 perty of the monks of Fontenelle, who in that year 
 received it as a gift (as we have before noted) from 
 Charles-le-Chauve. In the year 1641, however, the 
 island suddenly reappeared ; and the inhabitants of 
 Caudebec saw, with superstitious wonder, the broken 
 walls of the convent, which by that time was only a 
 memory of " the oldest inhabitant." 
 
 Still, it did not remain long the object of their 
 gaze. The waters of the Seine, as if conscious of the 
 presence or approach of some terrible phenomenon, 
 
94 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 shuddered visibly. A low moaning sound was heard 
 along the river ; and presently a white line appeared 
 in the distance, extending from shore to shore. The 
 noise increased, till it resembled first the bellowing of a 
 herd of wild beasts, and then the roar of a cataract. 
 The white line appeared to be a wave of boiling foam 
 rushing against the stream, and revolving as it rushed 
 on its own axis. Sometimes it broke upon the prow of 
 a vessel steering down to the sea ; and sometimes it 
 lifted her up, and dashed her headlong upon a sand- 
 bank, formed at the instant as if for her destruction. 
 Occasionally it overflowed the terrace -banks of the 
 Seine, sweeping away cattle, huts, and men, at one 
 blow; but immediately recalling its forces, it held on 
 its wild career, — shouting the louder as it flew, and 
 increasing in magnitude till it resembled a hill of foam. 
 On reaching the point of Quillebceuf, nearly opposite 
 Lillebonne, straitened by the immense sand-banks which 
 there almost choke up the river, its fury seemed to 
 reach its climax. This was only in appearance, how- 
 ever. Carrying every thing before it, it continued its 
 deadly course, more calm but not less fatal, along the 
 narrowed stream, till, rolling past Caudebec, and swal- 
 lowing up the island of Belcinne, with its convent-walls, 
 at a mouthful, it appeared to spend its rage, and 
 gradually subside in the distance. 
 
 Some readers will think that we are drawing our 
 traveller's bow with a vengeance ; yet the scene which 
 we have endeavoured to describe without exaggeration 
 did actually occur, and the island of Belcinne, so 
 strangely vomited forth by the waters, was actually 
 
THE BAR OF THE SEINE. 
 
 95 
 
 swallowed up again in the fracas, and never more 
 reappeared. And, moreover, the same watery pheno- 
 menon — which is the famous bar of the Seine — occurs 
 still, with a greater or less degree of violence, once 
 every month, at the full of the moon, and more espe- 
 cially during the equinoxes. 
 
 Saint Pierre, who briefly describes it in the " Studies 
 of Nature," was not merely a witness, but had almost 
 become a victim. He rose up in astonishment to gaze 
 upon the <c montagne d'eau" rolling upon him so un- 
 expectedly ; when the leap of the vessel, as she was 
 struck by the bar, threw him overboard, and he was 
 nearly drowned. 
 
 The river, in fact, from Quillebceuf downwards, is 
 not at any time very safe for mariners ; the ever-new 
 formations of sand changing its surface so constantly, 
 that the vessel which gets down in safety in the morn- 
 ing will hardly know her w r ay back in the afternoon. 
 But if this circumstance injures the commerce of the 
 little ports of the Seine, it serves to produce employ- 
 ment for great numbers of the inhabitants. At Quille- 
 bceuf alone there are seventy pilots and their assistants, 
 constantly occupied in exploring the river, and ascer- 
 taining the changes that take place each tide in the 
 sand-banks. Notwithstanding this, however, accidents 
 are very frequent ; more especially, as a French author 
 asserts, among the English vessels, — the pride of that 
 nation not permitting them to be beholden to French 
 pilots ! Nor are the inhabitants themselves always 
 secure. Few seasons pass without some calamity or 
 other occurring ; and, a short time ago, not fewer than 
 
96 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 seventeen persons were drowned by the bar at one 
 sweep. They were the feasters at a wedding party, 
 who had taken the freak of carrying out the bride and 
 bridegroom into the Seine, in order to vary the enjoy- 
 ments of a day usually so delightful to all parties. 
 They gained the middle of the river, when they were 
 suddenly alarmed by the roar of the approaching bar. 
 They endeavoured to gain the shore ; but the wind was 
 contrary. They were thrown back into the stream. 
 The virgin-wife was seen throwing her arms round her 
 husband's neck, and burying her face in his bosom. 
 The next instant the bar swept wildly over their heads. 
 Eight days after, three bodies were thrown upon the 
 shore : the rest of the seventeen were never more seen. 
 
 The bar is rarely formidable after it passes Ville- 
 quier, or at least Caudebec ; although its influence is 
 said to be felt as high up as Pont-de-l'Arche, beyond 
 Rouen. 
 
 The monastery of Fontenelle, to which the sub- 
 merged island belonged, is only a little way from Cau- 
 debec ; and thither we directed our pilgrim-steps, after 
 many a long gaze at the bosom of the Seine, in search 
 of the broken walls of the convent. 
 
 Always ruins, nothing but ruins, in this " country 
 of castles and cathedrals," the paradise of poets and 
 painters! We have come to visit the famous monas- 
 tery of Fontenelle, founded by the descendant of King 
 Pepin, and the nurse of the learning of its age. Where 
 is it? Where are its towers and spires? — where its 
 sculptured and painted windows ? its rich cornices ? its 
 columns, and statues, and monuments? We see only 
 
THE BAR OF THE SEINE. 
 
 97 
 
 a desert of long, rank grass, and here and there, in the 
 midst, a ruined wall, or the shaft of a pillar, with its 
 broken capital by its side; and, of all the glories of 
 Fontenelle, the only record we meet is an inscription 
 on some prostrate tumulary stone, indicating an abbot's 
 name, and the date of his consecration and death. 
 
 This abbey was founded in the seventh century by 
 Saint Vandrille, by whose name it is better known in our 
 day than by that of Fontenelle. The great archbishop 
 Saint Ouen devoted much attention to it, and under his 
 care it became the most famous school of learning of 
 the period. In the following century the monks built 
 their church of Saint Michel, with stones carried from 
 the ruins of Lillebonne — " de Juliobona castro quondam 
 nobilissimo ac formissimo," which is the reason why 
 we see so few remains of the proconsulate palace. 
 
 The invasion of the Normans in 841 was the first 
 check received by the growing fortunes of a shrine 
 which the faithful vied with each other in enriching. 
 On this occasion, however, the marauders were bought 
 off by a ransom ; but returning twenty years after, they 
 preferred sounding the depth of the holy coffers with 
 their own hands. A second church was built in 1033, 
 and was destroyed by fire two centuries after. A third 
 arose in the sixteenth century ; but the central tower 
 fell down, and destroyed the whole edifice. The monks 
 built no more. A Voice had gone forth — a curse was 
 upon the spot, the deserted pile withered away stone by 
 stone beneath the breath of heaven j and in a few years 
 more, the traveller, less fortunate even than we, will 
 search in vain for the ruins of Fontenelle. 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Saint Vandrille is near the high road from Caudebec 
 to Rouen ; but after the traveller has meditated for a 
 while among its tombs, let him turn again to the path 
 which leads along the river-side. He will find himself 
 shut in by a line of hills and woods from a view of the 
 country on his left hand ; but this will be amply com- 
 pensated for by the panorama of the opposite bank of 
 the Seine, gliding past him as the stream runs. 
 
 Among the principal objects, he will observe, before 
 he has walked an hour, the chateau of la Mailleraie, with 
 its hills rising gently behind it, covered with groves and 
 gardens ; and, standing still, he will lose some moments 
 in a dream of the lovely La Valliere, and his lips will 
 unconsciously repeat the description of the elegant Saint 
 Pierre. Then comes the dark forest of Brotonne, 
 covering an area of twelve thousand three hundred 
 acres ; and then commences the abrupt and magnificent 
 sweep of the river, which forms a peninsula (on which 
 he stands), one of the most celebrated spots in the 
 " country of castles and cathedrals." 
 
 On the opposite bank of the Seine, the form of the 
 land changes instantaneously. A rampart of black 
 hills, crowned with trees, circles round the peninsula, 
 with the river between, like the inner ditch of some 
 
THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 99 
 
 fortress of giants. This singular rampart is flanked by 
 a series of buttresses, which, only for their enormous 
 size, we would set down at once as artificial fortifica- 
 tions. They are ridges, diverging at regular intervals 
 from the hill to the water's edge, and pointing towards 
 the rounded end of the peninsula. 
 
 The peninsula itself, which nature seems to honour 
 in so remarkable a manner, is almost a flat ; and in the 
 midst we see, rising from above its trees, the towers of an 
 edifice that appears well worthy of such fortifications. 
 
 Always ruins, however, — still ruins! On approach- 
 ing nearer, we perceive only a mass of roofless walls, 
 and broken turrets, — wild-flowers in the windows, and 
 nettles in the hall, — ivy instead of tapestry, and carpets 
 of the long grass that grows upon graves. It is the once- 
 famous abbey of Jumieges, whose remains thus stand 
 like a monument to itself. The annexed view is taken 
 from a different point ; but the idea it conveys of the 
 mouldering edifice is excellent. The human figures in 
 the piece add to the effect ; they seem hastening away 
 from a spot sacred to solitude and desolation. 
 
 In all points of local situation — we repeat what we 
 have said elsewhere — commend us to the taste of the 
 monks ! Some writers describe the spot before us as 
 having been originally a wild and unwholesome plain, 
 covered with woods and marshes, and indebted eventu- 
 ally to the industry of the holy brethren for its fertility. 
 Their only warrant, however, for this assumption is 
 some obscure etymology, which traces the Latin name 
 Gemmeticus to the Celtic wen or guen, a marsh ; and 
 their collateral proof is sought in the marshy nature of 
 
100 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the other lands in the neighbourhood. It is far more 
 likely, however, that the monks would have chosen for 
 their resting-place an oasis in the desert, than a marsh 
 among marshes ; and, besides, the old chroniclers are 
 unanimous in describing Jumieges as a spot full of all 
 manner of delights, and especially as a favourite abode 
 of the vine. This plant, however, it must be said, was 
 neither a rarity in Normandy, as M. Jouy supposes, in 
 arguing on the subject, nor is its disappearance to be attri- 
 buted to the monks ; but to the check which its cultivation 
 received from royal edicts, and the consequent introduc- 
 tion of cider as the common beverage of the country. 
 
 The abbey was founded, as some relate, by Dago- 
 bert ; but, according to others, about forty years later, 
 that is to say, in the middle of the seventh century, 
 by Saint Bathilde, the queen of Clovis II., and Saint 
 Philibert, who became the first abbot. This saint, who 
 had only seventy monks under him, made such good 
 use of his time, that his successor counted nine hun- 
 dred. Four hundred of these holy men, however, were 
 translated to heaven on the same day with the abbot, 
 and thus only five hundred were left to run away from 
 the Normans, who totally ruined the monastery in 851. 
 It was re-constructed by degrees, and in the eleventh 
 century attained the zenith of its splendour. It fell 
 anew, but more gradually. At the revolution the work 
 of destruction was completed ; and now the principal 
 objects that once adorned this remarkable pile are to be 
 found in England — who bought with gold, in order 
 to preserve them, the relics which the modern Vandals 
 of France would have destroyed. 
 
THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 101 
 
 The ruins, as they now stand, are among the most 
 imposing we have seen. Although the whole of the 
 roof has disappeared from the nave, yet the walls, still 
 standing, convey perhaps even an exaggerated idea of 
 the scale and grandeur of the building. The western 
 towers also are almost entire, at least in the outline ; 
 and the view from the summit is one of the most 
 striking that can be imagined. The peninsular form of 
 the land is beautifully developed. Looking towards 
 the stately Seine, which sweeps round you in front, you 
 observe the natural rampart we have described, with its 
 strange buttresses fortifying the opposite banks ; on the 
 right is the black forest of Brotonne ; on the left, the 
 forest of Mauny; and behind, the woods and preci- 
 pices of Duclair. 
 
 In the midst of all this, the vast ruins at your feet 
 confer a solemn and almost awful character upon the 
 picture. Too far from the surface of the earth to hear 
 the intelligible voices of its inhabitants, you imagine 
 that a preternatural stillness reigns over the scene, — a 
 stillness not interrupted, but rather pointed out in a 
 more startling manner, by the sound of the wind, as 
 it wails among the broken monuments of the past. 
 Among the spectral forms with which you people the 
 nave below, you descry, as they gleam for a moment, 
 and disappear beneath the arches of the lateral vaults 
 (like the shadows of the haunted slumbers of Mac- 
 beth), King Dagobert, the second Clovis, his consort 
 Bathilde, Saint Philibert, the Scandinavian Rollo, 
 William Longue-Epee, and Charles VII., the royal 
 protege of the Maid of Orleans. 
 
102 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 But who is she, this lady of the past, who, gliding 
 away from the rains, seems to take the path towards 
 the little chateau of Menil in the neighbourhood? 
 Flowers spring up beneath her feet — sweet phantom- 
 flowers, which fade when she has gone by ; the air 
 around her is rich with fragrance ; the very shrubs, as 
 they wave back their branches to let her pass, appear 
 conscious of the queenly step of beauty. It is Agnes 
 Sorel, the noble, the high-hearted — ay, the honourable, 
 ay, the virtuous Agnes Sorel, the mistress of Charles VII. 
 This admirable woman, unambitious of acting the part 
 of a heroine herself, was satisfied with making her lover 
 a hero. " If honour," said she, " cannot lead you from 
 love, love at least shall lead you to honour ! " There 
 is something akin to this sentiment in that glorious 
 stanza of one of our old poets : 
 
 " Yet this inconstancy is such 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
 Loved I not honour more !' 7 
 
 Agnes Sorel is described by the chroniclers of the 
 time as " la plus belle des belles" — the loveliest of 
 the lovely, and of a sweet, gentle, meek, and holy dis- 
 position. She was charitable to excess, kind, generous, 
 and forgiving. Her heart was peculiarly open to reli- 
 gious impressions ; and, when summoned by the angel 
 of death in her mid career — in the flush of prosperity, 
 the pride of place, the full glow of a beauty without 
 rival and without comparison — the single error of her 
 life presented itself in the aspect of a mortal sin, and 
 she wept tears of remorse for that heroic love to which, 
 
THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 103 
 
 perhaps, her country owed its freedom. In vain had 
 the blood of the Maid of Orleans flowed in the field — 
 in vain her godlike spirit ascended to heaven on the 
 flames of her funeral pile — had not Agnes remained, 
 the guardian angel of her royal friend, to inspire him 
 with honour through the vehicle of passion, and infuse 
 the enthusiasm of kingly virtue into his soul with the 
 kisses of her woman's love. 
 
 Great pains is taken by the courtly historian Char- 
 tier to disprove what he calls the scandal that was 
 abroad respecting Agnes and the king ; and he even 
 mentions a list of persons — all honourable men — who 
 had inquired formally into the proofs, and declared 
 themselves satisfied of the innocence of the parties. 
 The magnificence of her apparel, and the royal state 
 in which she lived and moved, he attributes to the 
 generosity of her mistress the queen, who took delight in 
 decking out this creature, so surpassingly fair and good, 
 in all the splendour of the time. Agnes, however, sub- 
 sequently left the service of her kind mistress, and at- 
 tached herself to the Queen of Sicily ; yet no observable 
 difference took place in her appearance or resources. 
 
 The time at last came when this radiant being 
 was to vanish from the eyes of her royal worshipper. 
 When Charles was at Jumieges, after the capture of 
 Rouen, Agnes inhabited the little manor of Menil, at 
 a short distance from the abbey; and the path may 
 yet be seen — or conjectured — by which he threaded 
 his way through the wood to his mistress's house. Here 
 she was struck by a mortal sickness, almost in the 
 arms of her lover, and in the midst of that career of 
 
104 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 glory which she had incited him to pursue. Some say- 
 that she died in childbirth ; others that she fell a victim 
 to the jealousy of the queen : the question matters not ; 
 her high mission was fulfilled, her destiny completed, 
 and she died. 
 
 Her heart was buried in the chapel of the Virgin at 
 Jumieges, beneath a lofty and magnificent mausoleum 
 of black marble. Agnes herself was represented kneel- 
 ing on both knees, and offering a heart to the Mother 
 of Mercy. At the foot of the tomb was another heart 
 in white marble. All this has vanished ; but the tabular 
 piece which covered the mausoleum may still be seen 
 at Rouen, inserted in the wall of a house in the Rue 
 Saint Maur, fauxbourg Cauchoise. Part of the inscrip- 
 tion remains in a legible state ; and the whole may be 
 collected from the account of her tomb at Loches, in 
 Touraine, where the rest of her body was buried, and 
 where the monument seems to have been a fac-simile 
 of the one at Jumieges. 
 
 CY GIST 
 
 NOBLE DAMOISELLE AGNES DE SOREL, 
 EN SON VIVANT DAME DE BEAUTE^ 
 ROCHERIE, ETC. 
 PITEUSE ENVERS TOUTES GENS, 
 ET QUI LARGEMENT DONNOIT SON BIEN 
 
 AUX EGLISES ET AUX PAUVRES. 
 LAQUELLE TREPASSA LE NEUVIEME JOUR 
 DE FEVRIER 1449. 
 PRIEZ DIEU POUR LE REPOS DE L'AME D'ELLE. 
 AMEN!* 
 
 * Agnes was dame de Beaute-sur-Marne ; whence she was usually 
 styled, with a gallant and pardonable double-meaning, the Lady of 
 Beauty. 
 
THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 105 
 
 The monks of Loches, whom she had largely en- 
 dowed with her wealth, received her remains with 
 respect and gratitude ; but Charles VII. was no sooner 
 dead (twelve years after), than, in the true monachal 
 spirit, they were seized with religious scruples about 
 having given harbour in their holy ground to the mis- 
 tress of a defunct king. The successor, Louis XL, they 
 knew, besides, had been his father's bitterest enemy, 
 and openly in arms against him ; and no doubt he had 
 already given proofs of that ardent devotion which after- 
 wards loaded even his hat-band with medals of the 
 saints. They therefore petitioned with one voice for 
 liberty to remove the contamination to some less sancti- 
 fied grave. 
 
 It is hard to say what were the real thoughts of 
 Louis XL upon this application — of the friend and 
 crony of Tristan l'Hermite, of him who cut off the 
 heads of his nobles, or shut them up in iron cages, and 
 who hung his less distinguished subjects, like acorns, 
 upon the trees of Plessis. Louis was perhaps a man in 
 some parts of his nature, just as he was an excellent 
 king in almost every thing but his attachment to the 
 use of the rope and the axe. At all events, the reply 
 was, that the desire of the said monks was only devout 
 and reasonable ; and that, on giving up the property 
 bequeathed to them by the deceased, they were at liberty 
 to do what they chose with her body. A new light 
 broke upon the holy men at this answer. A woman 
 who had given two thousand crowns of gold to the 
 Abbey of Loches, could not have been so very wicked 
 as people said ; and to this donation poor Agnes had 
 
106 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 added tapestries — and not only tapestries, but pictures — 
 and not only pictures, but jewels. Wicked! Why she 
 was positively a saint ! What devil could have put it 
 into their heads to think of removing her ashes ? They 
 determined, however, to make up for the error by 
 redoubling their tender and respectful cares ; and ac- 
 cordingly the Lady of Beauty lay undisturbed for more 
 than three hundred years, when the revolution burst 
 forth, and almost made up for its Vandalism in de- 
 stroying the monuments, by scattering the monks who 
 guarded them over the face of the earth. 
 
 The chapel of the Virgin, in which her heart was 
 buried, forms a considerable part of the ruins, in the 
 midst of which we are now wandering, 
 
 " Alone, unfriended, melancholy, slow.' 7 
 
 We entered it through the Salle des Gardes, a naked 
 and gloomy vault, which once echoed to the armed tread 
 of the knights of Charles VII. The glimpse from this 
 place of the more spacious portions of the edifice is full 
 of grandeur ; and the effect heightened in a remarkable 
 manner by the light streaming through the open roof 
 upon the broken and mouldering ruins. We enter the 
 church with a superstitious thrill, in the midst of moving 
 shadows, and alternate sunbeams, gliding, phantom-like, 
 along the walls. In a windowed niche before us we 
 saw a stone, by which we learned that there was buried 
 the once warm and noble heart of Agnes Sorel. 
 
 " O could I feel as I have felt, or be what I have been, 
 Or weep, as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished 
 scene !" 
 
THE LADY OF BEAUTY. 
 
 107 
 
 But no, the time has gone by — although not long — 
 the time when, cap in hand, and knee to earth, we 
 should have saluted, with a full heart and quivering 
 lip, the grave of Agnes Sorel. As it was, we bestowed 
 a long and silent gaze upon the spot, while recalling 
 her high and heroic spirit, her glorious beauty, and 
 her devoted love. And yet we do not pretend to aver, 
 that it was without some swelling in the throat, some 
 watery sensation in the eyes, we at length read this 
 line : 
 
 " Hie jacet in tumba raitis simplexque columba." 
 Here rests in the tomb a sweet and gentle dove ! 
 
 These are feelings which we do not wish to live long 
 enough to get over. Nay, Mr. Biblio Dibdin himself 
 had some qualms of sentiment on this spot, although, 
 it is true, he was eating his dinner all the while. His 
 pictorial friend, he tells us, with great naivete, went 
 away to take views, while he, affected by some myste- 
 rious sympathy, lingered near the fragments of the 
 tomb and of the meal. There are several things which 
 Solomon frankly owned he did not understand ; and, 
 after such an example of humility, we can have no 
 hesitation in making the same avowal. Among the 
 few questions that puzzle us is this : How any man 
 could possibly eat cold fowl on the grave of Agnes 
 Sorel ? 
 
 In another compartment of this vast building is seen 
 the monument of the Enerves. If the reader asks who 
 the enerves were, we would fain tell him, after certain 
 writers, that they were the two sons of Clovis II., who 
 rebelled against their father — for thereby hangs a tale. 
 
108 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 Unfortunately, however, there are other writers, still 
 more worthy of credit, who inform us, without the 
 least remorse, that the said Clovis died at the age of 
 twenty-two ; and that therefore his progeny could not 
 have reached that age of discretion when sons hecome 
 undutiful. The statues on the monument, besides, which 
 consist of two male figures lying side by side on their 
 backs, are supposed to indicate, by their style and cos- 
 tume, the age of Saint Louis, which is not less than 
 seven hundred years later. The tradition, however, is, 
 that the sons of Clovis, on being taken by their father 
 in open rebellion, were enerves by his order ; that is to 
 say, the sinews of their arms were severed, so as to 
 render them incapable of any action requiring muscular 
 force. They were then placed in a small skiff without 
 rudder or sails, and sent adrift upon the Seine. Guided 
 by Heaven, the vessel stranded on the territory of the 
 monks of Jumieges ; and, being found by Saint Phili- 
 bert, the wandering princes were received into the con- 
 vent, where they adopted the monastic rules, and died 
 in the odour of sanctity. 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 109 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 It was a project of the Marshal de Vauban — and we 
 rather think its execution was actually commenced — 
 to dig a canal across the neck of the peninsula of 
 Jumieges, and thus abridge the navigation of the Seine 
 by five leagues. Even had this been accomplished, 
 however, it would not have changed our route ; and we 
 should not the less have traced the line of the land 
 till we arrived, after walking nearly a league, at an 
 obscure, modest-looking chateau, shaded by mysterious 
 woods, and retiring consciously, but not awkwardly, 
 from the gaze of the world. 
 
 The little manor of Menil is not by any means 
 remarkable in its appearance ; and the traveller, unac- 
 quainted with its associations, would in all probability 
 pass by without even asking its name. Let him enter, 
 however, at our invitation ; and, after wandering through 
 the long corridor which intersects the interior of the 
 house, proceed with uncovered head into the small chapel 
 he will find at the end. There, beneath the Gothic 
 window, is the tribune of the chatelaine — the very bench 
 where she sat, on silken cushions, listening to the holy 
 word, which she disobeyed, perhaps, in fewer points of 
 importance than most women of her day and genera- 
 tion. If the traveller is a Protestant, let him bend his 
 
110 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 head reverentially, in honour and memory of virtue — 
 alas ! human virtue ; if a Catholic, let him whisper a 
 prayer for the soul of Agnes Sorel. 
 
 Lounging lazily along the deserted hanks of the 
 river, we at length left the peninsula of Jumieges 
 behind us, and plunged into the high road leading to 
 Duclair. On one side every body was at work in his 
 fields and orchards ; and on the water some fishing- 
 boats with rods and nets kept up the animation of the 
 scene, It was like coming out of a tomb into the busi- 
 ness of the world. By and by, we passed an amateur 
 angler, who seemed to us the only absurd and incon- 
 gruous figure on the whole landscape. This patient, 
 treacherous, and cowardly pastime is only fit for the 
 hours of relaxation of an ancient Jesuit. Look at him 
 as he crawls along the bank, fixing his cat-like eye 
 upon the water ! There is a jerk of the rod, but no 
 bite. Now he tries again — it is nothing! Now he 
 withdraws his line, not fretfully, however, but as pa- 
 tiently as an ass, and examines the hook. All is right, 
 and he commits it again to the stream. If you return 
 two hours hence, and ask after his day's sport, the 
 philosopher will tell you that he has had a most glorious 
 nibble ! 
 
 But, hold ! there is something more than a nibble ; 
 he has hooked a fish ! Why, then, does he not draw 
 it in at once, and put an end to its torment by dashing 
 its head against a stone? Because he is a human cat, 
 whose appetite for cruelty is not glutted till he is 
 wearied of playing with the agonies of his victim. He 
 gives the creature the line ; and, forgetting the pain of 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 Ill 
 
 its lacerations in the feeling of liberty, it darts away into 
 the deep, when a sudden jerk brings it too, as if by 
 the heart-strings. Away it is allowed to fly again — 
 more feebly, less hopefully, but still instigated to fly, 
 even in the midst of despair, by the common instinct 
 which animates fish and men. The sport continues ; its 
 tortures increase, but their physical expression dimi- 
 nishes ; and the amateur, meeting no longer that resist- 
 ance to his power which constitutes the delight of cats 
 and anglers, lands his victim upon the bank. See the 
 calm fingers with which he detaches the hook from its 
 bleeding entrails — the glassy eye with which he counts 
 the gasps of its parting breath, and the throes of its 
 mortal agony ! He at length puts it carefully into the 
 basket at his back ; and if, in a quarter of an hour 
 after, he still feels the convulsions of life, he is over- 
 joyed at his prowess in conquering so fine and lively 
 a fish ! 
 
 Hunting and shooting have at least the excitement 
 of exercise for an apology ; but still we cannot allow 
 them, as they are practised in this country, to be manly 
 amusements. For our part, we would rather shoot a 
 man than a bird ; and to this day we are haunted by 
 the idea of a wanton assassination which we committed 
 when a school-boy upon a sparrow. 
 
 Duclair is a little town built upon the water's edge. 
 It is protected behind by lofty steeps, while on the 
 opposite side of the Seine there seems to be a continuous 
 marsh. This alternation of heights and plains — one 
 bank falling as the other rises — has continued almost 
 all along, and forms a peculiarity of the Seine which we 
 
112 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 have not noticed in the same degree in any other river. 
 It adds greatly to the extent and variety of the pro- 
 spects. In the annexed view near Duclair, the land is 
 seen swelling again to a formidable height, soon after you 
 pass the town. The singularly shaped rock is called by 
 tradition La Chaise de Gargantua, in honour of which 
 personage, no'doubt, the lightning is playing. 
 
 The line of falaises continues for some distance 
 beyond Duclair, and their summits repay the difficulty 
 of the access by a series of superb views. In some 
 places these rocks are excavated into cellars, and even 
 houses, similar to those noticed in the first volume of 
 this work on the banks of the Loire near Tours. The 
 opposite bank, in the meantime, presents a still more 
 singular appearance. It is a complete marsh, but appa- 
 rently a very fertile one ; and at this moment we see 
 extensive and luxuriant pastures, with only the blades 
 of grass above the water. These are intersected by 
 rows of fruit-trees ; and on every little spot of compa- 
 ratively dry land, there is a thatched cottage, half visible 
 through the foliage which surrounds it. 
 
 At the hamlet of Fontaine there are the ruins of an 
 ancient building called the Chapel of Saint Anne, the 
 history of which, so far as we could learn, is altogether 
 unknown. 
 
 We are now within a short walk of Rouen ; but 
 the Seine chooses to make a coquettish sweep of eight 
 or nine leagues before touching the ancient capital of 
 Neustria, and, what is worse, without offering any 
 thing on our side of the water much worth the journey. 
 We shall therefore, for the present, bid adieu to the 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 113 
 
 river ; and, after paying our vows at the shrine of Saint 
 Georges de Bocherville, ascend the heights of Canteleu, 
 from which we can swoop down upon the city. 
 
 The ruined abbey of Saint Georges, otherwise Saint 
 Martin de Bocherville, stands near the entrance of the 
 forest of Roumare, about two leagues from Rouen. It 
 is considered to afford some of the finest specimens of 
 Norman architecture extant. The church and the hall 
 of the chapter belong to the eleventh and twelfth cen- 
 turies, and are loaded with all the magnificence of those 
 periods. The founder was Raoul de Tancarville, the 
 ancestor of the rude baron whose feud with the house 
 of Harcourt we have described, and governor and 
 chamberlain to William the Conqueror. This canonry 
 was erected into an abbey by his son in 1114; and 
 nearly six centuries after, a new dormitory was added 
 by the last direct descendant of the hero Dunois, and 
 the house of Tancarville. * The columns of the salle 
 capitulaire are ornamented at the capitals with groups 
 of scriptural figures, extremely valuable as specimens 
 of the sculpture of the age. M. A. Deville, however, 
 has published a complete account of the abbey, under 
 the title of an " Essai Historique et Descriptif;" and 
 to this we refer the reader, rather than run the risk of 
 giving him too much at once on the subject of monastic 
 antiquities. Yet we ourselves may be excused for a 
 partiality which the monks very well deserve. The 
 
 * The last Count de Tancarville was Jean II., Viscount de Melun, 
 who was killed in 1415 at the battle of Azincourt. His daughter carried 
 the countship as her dowry into the house of Harcourt, and her daughter 
 married Dunois. 
 
 I 
 
114 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 convents were the cradle of modern learning', and the 
 monkish chronicles are the sources of modern history. 
 Moreover, it was long the custom of some of the ancient 
 abbeys — for instance, of Jumieges — to devote one day 
 in the year to prayer and meditation " pro illis qui 
 dederunt et fecerunt libros," — a class of persons who 
 grievously require the good offices of the faithful.* 
 Wandering through the forest of Roumare, we 
 
 * At first sight, it might seem proper to divide the persons specified 
 in the rales of the monastery into two classes ; the one, qui dederunt, 
 meaning the booksellers, and the other, qui fecerunt, the authors. Anxious 
 as we are, however, to extend the benefit of the act to the former trade — 
 the patron of the latter, according to the wise Johnson — we fear it is 
 impossible. The British Museum and Universities are, no doubt, the 
 successors of the convents as receptacles of the donations of modern 
 books ; but unfortunately the book-sellers are only the agents, the cost 
 ultimately falling upon the author. This, however, is a slight evil 
 (except in the case of very expensive works) compared with the enormous 
 profit — of one fourth — which custom authorises the retail sellers to 
 charge. The wholesale houses, which constitute the great majority of 
 the publishers, so far from participating in the booty, are ruined by it. 
 They must add together the expense of the copyright, of the paper, print, 
 binding, advertising, &c. &c. ; and between the amount of those and the 
 utmost price which can be extracted from the public, after the retailer 
 has deducted his quarter, the profit is, in nine cases out of ten, far from 
 equivalent to the risk of the speculation. The real loss, indeed, may be 
 said to fall upon the author, his copyright being, in mercantile phrase, 
 the raw material, and deteriorating in value in proportion to the heaviness 
 of the expense of bringing it to market. Even in this loss, however, the 
 wholesale publishers participate ; inasmuch as they are often tempted, 
 and sometimes forced, to the fatal folly of being satisfied with an inferior 
 article at a lower price — a system which, out of necessity and the nature 
 of things, ends (however it may begin) in bankruptcy. Why should the 
 bookselling trade continue to be fettered by those old-womanly rules 
 which every other has rejected long since with scorn and laughter ? 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 115 
 
 speedily began to ascend the line of hills which was 
 probably the boundary between the country of the 
 Velocasses and that of the Caletes. The former people 
 inhabited the district which is now the Vexin, and 
 spread themselves over the rich plains that lie between 
 Pontoise and Rouen, their capital. The territory of 
 the Caletes commenced at the hills where we are now 
 pausing to take breath as we ascend, and extended to 
 the sea-shore, embracing the line of coast from Havre 
 to Eu, or its dependency Triport. Their chief city 
 was the Juliobona of the Romans, or the modern 
 Lillebonne. 
 
 On the left bank of the Seine were six small states, 
 the capitals of which were Evreux, Lisieux, Bayeux, 
 Coutances, Seez, and Avranches;^ all of which, accord- 
 ing to the Commentaries of Csesar, had the right of 
 sending representatives to the general council. The 
 whole tract of country on both sides of the river was 
 named by this literary general the Second Lyonnese ; 
 it afterwards took the name of Neustria, when it passed 
 from under the Roman domination ; and then became 
 Normandy, in honour of the Nordmann pirate Rollo 
 and his comrades. This last name is still sometimes 
 heard in conversation ; but the broad surface of Nor- 
 mandy is now only distinguished by its departmental 
 divisions — those of the Eure, the Seine Inferieur, Cal- 
 vados, the Orne, and La Manche. 
 
 We have now reached the summit of Canteleu, and 
 
 * Civitas Eburovicum, Civitas Lexoviorum, Civitas Baiocassium, 
 Constantia Castra, Civitas Sesuviorum, and Ingenua Abricanorum. 
 
116 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the Norman capital is before our eyes, — the principal 
 object in a scene which, for aught we know, may be 
 equalled, but certainly cannot be surpassed, in Europe. 
 In making this assertion we run no risk, for we have 
 never heard any difference of opinion on the subject. 
 Mr. Dibdin's burst of enthusiasm is so natural, that we 
 could almost forgive him for eating cold fowl on the 
 grave of Agnes Sorel. Besides, he has added a pictorial 
 illustration, which, although not perfectly correct in the 
 relation of some objects, gives a very excellent idea of 
 the truly magical effect of the picture. 
 
 The view which attracts the reader's admiration on 
 the opposite page is taken from quite a different point, 
 and is inferior in magnificence only to the scene itself. 
 The vast pile in the centre of the city is that gorgeous 
 cathedral of which Mr. Turner will presently exhibit a 
 nearer view. 
 
 The sky was serene, and, although early in the 
 season, the air balmy as well as bracing ; there was a 
 delicious silence over the whole scene — a silence which 
 seems so strange, so almost preternatural, when within 
 view of one of the great and ever-restless congregations 
 of the human kind. He who can gaze from such an 
 elevation on a picture like this without an inflation of 
 the breast, a tingling in the blood, a perceptible waxing 
 of the principle of animal life throughout his frame, a 
 disposition to shout as he was wont in the brave joy of 
 boyhood., — let him descend at once into the valley. 
 Go delve in the mine, go barter in the streets, go hoard 
 in the closet — but presume not to insult the genius loci 
 with a dull eye and a cold spirit ! 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 117 
 
 Rouen is not mentioned by any writer earlier than 
 Ptolemy, who flourished in the first part of the second 
 century. By him we are informed that its name was 
 Rothomagus, and that it was the capital of the Velo- 
 casses. During the domination of the Romans, it was 
 simply a garrison town, but nothing more ; and from 
 their expulsion till the appearance of the Normans, we 
 hear few details respecting it except the names of its 
 bishops. From this epoch, 841, to the surrender of 
 Neustria to Rollo in 912, Rouen was a scene of con- 
 fusion, of burning, and massacre, from which the student 
 of history turns away with horror and disgust. With 
 the advent of Rollo, therefore, may be said to commence 
 the interest which the general reader feels in exploring 
 the annals of the city. 
 
 The river, which we now see sweeping before us so 
 regular and harmonious, reached at that time to the 
 Rue des Bonnetiers, close by the cathedral. It was 
 broken by numerous islands, on all, or almost all, of 
 which a church was built. Most of these were sup- 
 pressed at the revolution ; but Saint Eloi still stands, 
 at some distance in the town, to awaken the wonder of 
 the spectator, when he remembers that the time was 
 when it could only be approached by means of boats. 
 The operation of uniting these islands to the main, and 
 building streets and quays on what once was the bed of 
 the Seine, was performed by Rollo and his son William 
 Longue-Epee — not, of course, for the purpose of form- 
 ing new lands in a country where the great want was 
 population ; but in order to render the river more navi- 
 gable by damming it up in a narrower bed. We do 
 
118 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 not know what was the condition of the opposite bank 
 at that time ; but at present it is a marshy, and gene- 
 rally unwholesome flat; and in all probability it was 
 then covered, to a considerable extent, with the waters 
 of the Seine. 
 
 The Normans were led to this improvement by the 
 habits of their country and vocation. They were ma- 
 riners from the cradle, and pirates by trade; and the 
 first thing they thought of, on settling in the country, 
 was to render the river near their capital navigable for 
 their boats. 
 
 It is not the least singular circumstance in the his- 
 tory of this singular people, that no man can name 
 with certainty the country from which they came, 
 although their incursions, from their first appearance 
 to their final settlement, occupy a space of at least 
 seventy years. According to some authors, they were 
 Norwegians; according to others, Danes; and according 
 to others, Swedes. Eginhard makes the Nordmanni 
 consist of the Danes and Swedes together ; but, after 
 all, we are forced to be satisfied with the vague explana- 
 tion of William of Jurnieges, who says simply, that they 
 were Men of the North.* 
 
 Their name of Bigoths, it is said, was bestowed 
 upon the occasion of Rollo swearing in his language, 
 " By Got!' 7 When invited, for instance, to kiss the 
 foot of Charles the Simple, in token of his homage, he 
 exclaimed, abruptly, " Ne se, by Got!" which was the 
 
 * " Nortmanni dicuntur quia, lingua eorum, Boreas North vocatur, 
 Homo vero Man ; id est, Homines Boreales per denominationem nuncu- 
 pantur." 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 119 
 
 cause of much laughter among the courtiers. From 
 this comes our word bigot, which expresses at the 
 present day, as it did in that of Charles the Simple, a 
 person who is at once impious and absurd. 
 
 Rollo is called by different writers Rolf, Roull, 
 Harould, Raoul, and Rou. The last name has a 
 singular affinity to that of Mouen ; but let it pass. He 
 is said to have been of an illustrious and powerful 
 family ; but this is only a dream. Even the Norman 
 writers tell us, that the chiefs of these wandering pirates 
 were chosen without reference to any thing but their 
 personal prowess and hardihood ; and that, when the 
 battle was over, the general sank into the station of a 
 private individual. Rollo was simply a man of genius, 
 in addition to being " the bravest of the brave ;" and 
 this is a far more legitimate title to the ducal crown 
 than most princes of his day could boast. 
 
 The original cause of these incursions is unknown ; 
 but, in fact, the north appears to have been a point 
 from which successive swarms of barbarians issued from 
 the earliest times to spread themselves over Europe. 
 There is nothing mysterious in this. The northern 
 hordes, when they became too populous, or when some 
 adventurous or ambitious men arose among them, would 
 naturally seek a more genial climate. The Saxons, 
 besides, whom Charlemagne, seventy years before, 
 transported in thousands to the north, may have in- 
 stilled by their tales the spirit either of revenge or 
 cupidity in the breasts of their sons. Rollo himself 
 may have been a descendant of Vitikind, and thus may 
 have only returned the poisoned chalice to the lips of 
 
120 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the descendants of the Francs. The Saxons, in their 
 origin, were probably men of the north ; so were the 
 Gauls or Celts — so were the Francs — so were the 
 Normans. All we know is, that the points of re- 
 semblance were numerous and striking among all these 
 nations ; and if Rollo had paid his visit before Chris- 
 tianity had created a revolution in manners, his blood- 
 offerings must have been presented on the altars of his 
 own deities. To conclude on this subject, we may 
 observe, that there is a remarkable resemblance between 
 the facility with which the French conqueror Clovis 
 and the Norman conqueror Rollo suffered themselves 
 to be converted to the new religion. 
 
 Rollo, there is good reason to believe, was a banished 
 man, an outlaw, expatriated for his political crimes — or 
 virtues. He passed first into England, where he might 
 easily have founded a throne ; but our time was not 
 yet come; and, directed by a dream, according to 
 William of Jumieges, he crossed the channel, and pene- 
 trated by the Seine into the heart of Neustria. 
 
 Rouen had been sacked and burnt by his country- 
 men thirty-five years before; and on this occasion, as 
 some writers tell us, it sustained a siege very valiantly. 
 Others, however, say that, on the conqueror's arrival at 
 Jumieges, he received a deputation from the citizens, 
 offering to recognise him as their lord ; and that this 
 submission was made, not to his power, but to his great- 
 ness of character. It matters not a straw which was 
 the case. Rollo became master of Rouen, and soon 
 after of the whole of Neustria. His path, like that of 
 other conquerors, was traced in blood and ashes. His 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 121 
 
 ranks, thinned in battle, were constantly reinforced by 
 new hordes of his barbarous countrymen, and by the 
 outlawed, the disaffected, and the desperate of the land 
 which he traversed like a destroying angel. The weak 
 Charles at length, determining to glut, since he could 
 not conquer him, bestowed upon the fortunate pirate 
 the whole province, which was thenceforth called Nor- 
 mandy, and the hand of his daughter Giselle. Rollo 
 immediately became a Christian ! 
 
 We now see him in a new point of view. Become a 
 Christian, a duke, and a husband, the domestic arrange- 
 ments of this fierce and relentless warrior are sharply 
 criticised by historians. He was, it seems, but a faithless 
 lord to poor Giselle, preferring the smiles of a damsel he 
 had captured, with other baggage, at Bayeux, to those of 
 his lawful wife. He was, however, a great captain, firm, 
 far-sighted, and religious — in presents to the church. 
 He recalled the ruined citizen to his warehouse, the 
 frighted peasant to his fields, and placed his outlawed 
 comrades among them like quiet burgesses. " Set a 
 thief" — but the proverb is somewhat musty. So strict 
 were his laws, and so strictly enforced, that we are told, 
 a golden bracelet which he had hung accidentally on 
 the branch of a tree in the forest of Roumare, remained 
 there three years without any one being tempted to put 
 forth his hand upon the enticing fruit. This reminds 
 us of the " rich and rare" lady of our delightful Moore. 
 The song, indeed, might be made quite as true to Nor- 
 man history as to Irish, by the alteration of the names 
 and of a single line : 
 
122 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " Lady, dost thou not fear to stray, 
 So lone and lovely, through this bleak way ? 
 Are Hollo's sons so good or so cold 
 As not to be tempted by woman or gold V 
 
 (< Sir Knight, I feel not the least alarm, 
 No son of Rollo will offer me harm ; 
 For though they love woman and golden store, 
 They fear the whip and the halter more /" 
 
 Rollo at length, growing old, abdicated in favour of 
 his son William Longue-Epee, and died in the year 932. 
 
 Shall we be blamed for this sketch, with Rouen at 
 our feet, and the venerable pile rising like a temple of 
 giants in the midst, wherein we are about to see the 
 tombs of the mighty dead ? Normandy is not only 
 interesting as a " country of castles and cathedrals/' it 
 is renowned both in arts and arms; its sons were the 
 bravest of the brave in the Holy Land ; it founded the 
 kingdom of the Two Sicilies ; the proud Lion of Eng- 
 land crouched beneath its banner. 
 
 " The Normans are an excellent people/' said Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, " when subjected to severe and 
 impartial discipline. " # 
 
 " They are cunning, revengeful, covetous, hypocri- 
 tical," says Malaterra, a Sicilian monk of the twelfth 
 century, " and preserve a certain mean between extra- 
 vagance and avarice. They know how to natter ; they 
 are eloquent ; and, except when held in by a tight bridle, 
 
 * This is, in a few words, the sense of the passage. Orderic Vital, 
 apud Duchesne, p. 656. 
 
THE HEIGHTS OF CANTELEU. 
 
 123 
 
 are wilful and violent. They endure, when necessary, 
 cold, hunger, and fatigue, without a murmur." 
 
 " If we would describe the Normans in a single 
 word," says an anonymous Norman of the present day, 
 " we would say, that this province is the country, par 
 excellence, of that faculty so rare elsewhere, and so 
 precious every where — good sense." 
 
 " A people," says M. Dubois, " at once brave, indus- 
 trious, intellectual, wise, and learned — a people who 
 have furnished France with her earliest poets and 
 greatest writers." 
 
 The unfavourable part of the picture has been given 
 a hundred times as the character of our clear country- 
 men the Scotch, particularly by our contemporaries, 
 the Times newspaper and its friend Cobbett. The 
 reverse of the medal is inscribed with the legend 
 " Caledonia" by Beattie, whose stanza will be admired 
 on the north side of the Tweed long after Burns is 
 forgotten : 
 
 " A nation famed for song and beauty's charms, 
 Zealous yet modest, innocent though free ; 
 Patient of toil, serene amidst alarms, 
 Inflexible in faith, invincible in arms !" 
 
124 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 Descending into the rich and industrious valley of 
 Bapaume, we rejoin the great road, which conducts us 
 towards the city by the avenue of Mont Ribaudet, 
 planted on either side with a double row of elms. As 
 we approach the imposing mass of habitations, the first 
 thing that fixes our eye is the noble river covered with 
 boats, and lined on one side by a range of houses which 
 remind us of Paris. 
 
 While proceeding along the Quai du Havre, which 
 continues the line of the Avenue du Mont Ribaudet, we 
 pause suddenly ; for the city is presented from this spot 
 in its most magnificent aspect — as may easily be sup- 
 posed by any one who looks at the opposite engraving. 
 On the left, the superb mass of building rising above 
 the rest, surmounted by towers and spires, is the cathe- 
 dral ; beyond is the stunted and shapeless tower of 
 Saint Maclou, destroyed by tempests and revolutions ; 
 and, still farther, that of Saint Ouen, tall, graceful, 
 and beautiful, the ornament of the most ancient ab- 
 bey in Normandy. In the distance is a small portion 
 of the hill of Saint Catherine ; and in withdrawing 
 the eye along the course of the river, we meet first 
 the new stone bridge ; then the bridge of boats close 
 by, and almost lost in the reflection of the other in 
 
THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 125 
 
 the water ; and, finally, the busy crowd of boats and 
 human beings, which give a perpetual animation to 
 the river. 
 
 At the invasion of the Normans there was no bridge 
 at Rouen, as M. Licquet proves, by the fact of Charles- 
 le-Chauve being obliged to transport his army across in 
 boats. The great breadth of the river, however, is proof 
 enough in itself ; for it is not likely that even the idea 
 of a bridge could have suggested itself till the stream was 
 reduced to a much smaller compass. The first bridge, 
 however, was considerably longer than the present 
 breadth of the water, since the wall of the ancient quay 
 has been discovered in the foundation of some houses 
 near the Rue Grand Pont. 
 
 It is not lon°; since the vestiges of this bridge were 
 
 O o O 
 
 seen at low water, near the bridge of boats. It is sup- 
 posed to have been constructed by the Empress Matilda, 
 the daughter of Henry I., and mother of Henry II. of 
 England. This must have taken place about the middle 
 of the twelfth century ; but in the latter part of the 
 sixteenth it was already in so bad a state that it was 
 necessary to cross the river in boats. In 1626, the idea 
 was conceived of making these boats stationary — and 
 hence the present bridge of this kind, which extends 
 across the river a little higher up than the site of the 
 old one. It is composed of fifteen vessels, rising and 
 falling with the tide. It was found, however, to be 
 expensive and troublesome; and in 1810, a new stone 
 bridge, still higher up, was decreed, and in 1829 
 opened to the public. The trees seen beyond it in 
 Turner's drawing belong to the island Lacroix, which 
 
126 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 serves as the foundation of the middle part, or rather 
 the work consists of two bridges meeting on this 
 island . 
 
 We have said that we never heard any difference of 
 opinion regarding the picture of Rouen exhibited from 
 the heights of Canteleu ; but when the veil of distance 
 is withdrawn — that half-transparent veil which " lends 
 enchantment to the view" — then comes the struggle of 
 tastes. Mr. Dibdin, for instance, is all rapture. The 
 lofty and grotesque streets in the interior of the town 
 make as delightful an impression upon his senses as if 
 they were so many ranges of old, musty, moth-eaten, 
 black-letter folios. There is an air of antiquity about 
 the houses which makes his heart nutter with joy ; he 
 fancies himself transported suddenly into a town of the 
 middle ages ; and, like a boy in a confectioner's shop, 
 is only puzzled to think which object he shall attack 
 first. 
 
 M. Gondinet, a sensible, intelligent, well-informed 
 young writer, may be taken, although unknown in this 
 country, as a favourable specimen of the opposite class 
 of observers. 
 
 " In entering Rouen," says he, " by lamp-light, I 
 could have imagined that I was still in Paris. A great 
 street which we traversed, near the theatre, presented 
 us with the brilliant shops, the light, the lustre, the 
 richness and variety, the life and motion, of the Rue 
 Saint Honore ; but the next day the illusion vanished, 
 never to return. # # # Figure to yourself an 
 immense mass of gloomy houses, arranged in narrow 
 and irregular streets ; districts dirty and full of obstruc- 
 
THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 127 
 
 Hons ; old edifices without grandeur ; and a port in 
 which new buildings are mingled with ruins ! " 
 
 For our part, we belong to neither of the classes 
 represented by these two writers. We do not care 
 about antiquity for its own sake ; and yet we can 
 admire a town of old and gloomy houses, and narrow 
 and irregular streets, which does not resemble Paris. 
 Rouen made a stronger impression upon our imagina- 
 tion than any city we have yet seen. To us it seemed 
 still under the sway of the old dukes of Normandy ; 
 and on emerging from the Rue du Bac, we were sur- 
 prised to find that they had constructed a bridge of 
 boats over the Seine, where even Henri Quatre, that 
 man of yesterday, was obliged to be rowed across. 
 
 But to argue on such a subject is vain. Rouen is 
 unquestionably the most interesting city in France to 
 an Englishman ; it is the city of Rollo ; it is the capital 
 of Normandy. We therefore propose to describe it 
 more methodically than our erratic habits would seem 
 to permit ; and we shall take care to give such local 
 names and notions, chemin faisant, as will enable the 
 reader to find his way without the assistance of a valet 
 de place. 
 
 There is nothing to hinder our commencing on the 
 very spot where we now stand, on the Quai du Havre : 
 nay, this is the best starting -place we could select; 
 for, in all probability, the traveller will lodge in one 
 or other of the hotels that face the river. 
 
 A little way lower than the bridge of boats is the 
 Rue Grand Pont, to which the old stone bridge, now 
 destroyed, extended. At the corner of this street stands 
 
128 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the Theatre des Arts, which needs not detain us long. 
 It is, in fact, not worthy of the town. 
 
 The next street on the quay is the Rue Nationale, 
 with the Tribunal of Commerce, commonly called the 
 Consuls, at the corner — a large building decorated with 
 some pictures and several Latin inscriptions. Proceed- 
 ing still along the quay, we turn the corner of the 
 Douane, and, ascending the Rue de la Vicomte, arrive 
 at the church of St, Vincent, on the right hand of the 
 street. This was formerly called Saint Vincent-sur-Rive, 
 because it stood upon the bank of the river ; where it 
 served as a sort of custom-house, at which vessels laden 
 with salt deposited a certain quantity for behoof of the 
 parish. The painted windows of the church are greatly 
 admired by the curious in the art. One of them repre- 
 sents the miracle of the mule, performed at Toulouse by 
 Saint Anthony of Padua. A heretic of the former city, 
 it seems, had the hardiness to doubt whether the second 
 person of the Trinity was actually devoured in the holy 
 wafer; and so improbable did the transubstantiation 
 appear to him, that he declared he would not believe, 
 unless the fact was confirmed by a miracle. The 
 miracle he demanded was nothing less than that the 
 mule on which he rode, on being presented with oats 
 and hay after a famine of three days, would neglect its 
 breakfast for the purpose of adoring the sacred host. 
 The saint agreed to grant his desire. The mule was 
 starved for the stipulated time ; and instead of falling 
 upon the food which was offered it, turned suddenly 
 away on perceiving the holy sacrament in the hands of 
 Saint Anthony, and dropped down on its knees before it. 
 
THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 129 
 
 Passing the church of Saint Vincent, we take the 
 first turning to the right, which is the Rue aux Ours, 
 and then the first to the left, which leads us to the 
 antique Tour de la Grosse Horloge. This is a construc- 
 tion of the fifteenth century, the bell of which is called 
 the silver hell — a name which refers, perhaps, in poeti- 
 cal fashion, to its sound. It rings for a quarter of an 
 hour every evening at nine o'clock, and thus answers to 
 the English curfew of William the Conqueror. 
 
 In the Grande Rue, of which this tower forms a 
 part, there are two antique wooden houses — Nos. 115 
 and 129 — which will attract the stranger's attention, 
 notwithstanding the display of merchandise in a street 
 where almost every house is a shop. Turning up a 
 short avenue, however, almost opposite the tower, he 
 arrives at the Palais de Justice and the Salle cles Pro- 
 cureurs — not one building, as might be imagined, for 
 the former was built by Louis XII. in 1499, and the 
 latter by the town of Rouen in 1493. Before the latter 
 date the merchants used to congregate in the cathedral, 
 thus making the temple, if not " a den of thieves," yet 
 a rendezvous for buyers and sellers ; and the Salle was 
 at last built by the scandalised authorities at the public 
 expense. It is a vaulted apartment, sixty feet long and 
 fifty broad, the roof unsupported by pillars, and the 
 whole executed in a taste at once chaste and bold. 
 Another apartment, contiguous, which serves as the 
 Court of Assize, is very beautiful, although almost all 
 the ornamental work has disappeared. Its ceiling is 
 of oak, grown black with age. 
 
 The facade of the Palais de Justice "fives a good 
 
 K 
 
130 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 idea of the peculiar taste of the period at which it was 
 constructed. It is loaded with ornaments, mostly in- 
 congruous, but still producing in the whole an agree- 
 able and striking effect. The Rue aux Juifs runs along 
 the Salle we have mentioned ; and, without knowing 
 the mercantile purpose for which this hall was built, 
 one would be surprised to find the persecuted remnant 
 of Israel in such neighbourhood. The Jews, in fact, 
 were always the victims of law, and, in their own 
 dealings, were supposed to have little to do with 
 justice. 
 
 In France, as elsewhere, they were in general con- 
 fined to a single street, or quarter of the town ; but it is 
 curious to observe, that even after the interdicts which 
 fettered them were relaxed, they still continued to herd 
 together as closely as their avocations permitted — the 
 destiny of the " peculiar people" thus seeming to set 
 at defiance both the rigour and lenity of the Gentile 
 nations. At the time of the second crusade, they would 
 probably have been exterminated in France, but for the 
 exertions of Saint Bernard himself, the enthusiast who 
 kindled the zeal which sought to consume them. This 
 took place under the reign of Louis le Jeune, a violent, 
 foolish, and devout prince ; but his son Philip, sur- 
 named Augustus, took the part of banishing entirely 
 this class of his subjects, the masters and conductors of 
 all the commerce his kingdom could boast. He soon, 
 however, discovered his error, and permitted them to 
 return ; and the poor Jews, restrained by no modern 
 Moses, hastened back to the flesh-pots of Egypt and 
 the chains of Pharaoh. 
 
THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 131 
 
 Louis VIII. forbade them to lend at interest. 
 Foolish tautology!- — would they have lent without in- 
 terest? In the time of the next Louis — he who was 
 very properly promoted to be a saint by the church, 
 in reward for his being far less wicked than his pre- 
 decessors — they were first banished, and then invited to 
 return. Philippe le Bel fostered them for a time, and 
 then packed them out of the kingdom. The latter pro- 
 ceeding was the very essence of benignity in a prince 
 who burned the Knights Templars at a slow fire. The 
 Israelites were recalled by Louis le Hutin ; but the 
 people rose against them in all quarters. At Chinon an 
 immense grave was dug, filled with combustibles, and 
 set on fire ; and sixty Jews were thrown living into the 
 flames. In Aquitaine it was at one time the custom to 
 hunt them like wild beasts. Notwithstanding all, the 
 Jews returned from their frequent banishments as soon 
 as they were permitted to do so, and established them- 
 selves on the very spot where their fathers had perished 
 in the flames or swung on the gibbet. 
 
 In addition to being confined to a separate quarter 
 of the town, they were obliged to distinguish themselves 
 by wearing two circles of felt, or of some yellow stuff 
 upon their coat, one before, and one behind. They 
 could be thrown into prison by the order of a simple 
 monk ; they were forbidden to suckle their children by 
 means of Christian nurses ; they durst not bathe in a 
 river ; if condemned to death, they were hung between 
 two dogs. In the midst of these rigorous laws the in- 
 terest on their loans was reduced to two deniers in the 
 livre per week, affording an annual profit on their capital 
 
132 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 employed of nearly forty-five per cent. # They were 
 forbidden, besides, to receive in pledge the plate of a 
 church, the iron share of a plough, or cloth stained 
 with blood ! 
 
 The pawnbrokers of our day in England are better 
 off. Their twenty per cent is much more extravagant 
 interest, according to the relative value of money, than 
 the forty-five per cent of the Jews at the time we speak 
 of. They have no occasion, besides, to dread a revision 
 of the law which gives up the substance of the poor 
 into their hands ; for this simple reason, that it is the 
 interest of the rich to keep the poor dependent. A rich 
 man exclaims against the villany and impiety of those 
 who illegally and usuriously seek more than five per 
 cent from him for a temporary loan ; but he knows very 
 well, at the same moment, that his poorer neighbour, 
 who gives the bed from under him as a security, must 
 pay twenty per cent, without any lawful pretext for 
 grumbling. The odd thing is, that the security of the 
 poor is much more complete than that of the rich ; 
 for the pawnbroker advances not a penny till he has 
 the pledge in his possession ! Money, in our opinion, 
 should be under no more restriction than any other 
 merchantable commodity ; but if the mania of legisla- 
 tion will interfere, why tax the temporary necessities of 
 the poor with twenty per cent, and those of the rich 
 with only five per cent? But, as we have said, there is 
 no hope on this subject. Even the critics, who will 
 
 * The denier is the twelfth part of a sous, and there are twenty 
 sous in a livre, or franc. 
 
THE NORMAN CAPITAL. 
 
 133 
 
 bestow upon our lucubrations a modicum either of 
 charitable praise or of too just censure, will avoid, with 
 a blush or a frown, the ungenteel topic. No matter! 
 Born in the middle rank ourselves, we love the poor 
 from sheer vulgarity. If our destiny had been higher, 
 we should have slighted them through ignorance; if 
 lower, through a mean and pitiful pride. 
 
134 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 THE SORCERESS. 
 
 Returning to the Grande Rue, and passing the Tour 
 de la Grosse Horloge, we reach presently the Place de 
 la Pucelle. 
 
 The area of this spot, filled at once with ennobling 
 and humiliating associations, is small. A well and a 
 statue — the latter inferior even to that at Orleans itself 
 — marks the place where the heroic girl died. Some 
 hackney-coachmen sleep on their boxes close by ; the 
 population of the city floats along, without turning the 
 head — without raising the eyes. 
 
 If all the other crimes perpetrated by the English in 
 France were heaped into one mass, they would not 
 equal in guilt and horror the execution of Jeanne d'Arc. 
 It is inconceivable to think how men, who possessed at 
 least the property of physical courage, could have been 
 guilty of so cowardly an atrocity. In fact, the whole 
 transaction resembles the disjointed fragments of some 
 hideous night-mare, which it is impossible to arrange 
 on any principle of moral perspective. We may sup- 
 pose that the English were carried away by a brute- 
 rage, engendered by the shame of defeat; but among 
 the judges of the Maid there were Frenchmen as well 
 as Englishmen. Among the former were the Bishop of 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 135 
 
 Beauvais (afterwards of Lisieux), the Bishop of Bayeux, 
 and the Abbots of Fecamp, Jumieges, Bee, and Mont 
 St. Michel ; and at the execution, the English were not 
 only impatient for her blood, but also, as Massieu says, 
 " several other captains." Can we understand, either, 
 the. poor, pitiful, sneaking conduct of Charles VII., 
 who was in other respects a hero ? 
 
 At the siege of Campiegne, the young heroine was 
 wounded and taken prisoner by the English, clothed in 
 armour and standard in hand. A tribunal was imme- 
 diately formed, composed 6f nine doctors of the Sor- 
 bonne, and thirty-five abbots and monks ; the vicar of 
 the Inquisition, brother Martin, presiding, assisted by 
 the Bishop of Beauvais, mentioned above. They tried 
 her, not for delivering her country from a foreign yoke, 
 and chasing away the English from before the banner 
 consecrated by her high and holy enthusiasm — but for 
 sorcery ! She was condemned therefore to suffer the 
 death of a heretic, and to pass through the fire to 
 Mammon. 
 
 Placards were carried before her to the place of 
 execution, stating the nature of her crime. She was 
 declared to be guilty of divination, blasphemy, super- 
 stition, and of wearing men's attire — a thing abomi- 
 nable in the sight of God ! On her arrival, a sermon 
 was pronounced by Midy ; and Massieu informs us that 
 she listened with great firmness and attention. At the 
 conclusion she was delivered up to the secular autho- 
 rities — (for the priesthood of the Lamb of God never 
 shed blood !) — the preacher saying, " Go in peace, the 
 church can no longer defend thee ! " The holy bishop 
 
136 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 of Beauvais then read her sentence aloud, and Jeanne 
 fell on her knees. 
 
 Her prayers, however, and those of her confessor, 
 were thought too long; and the English, " and even 
 several other captains," exclaimed brutally, " Hollo, 
 priest ! do you mean that we are to dine here ? " They 
 at length took hold of her, and, bowing to all the 
 assistants, she walked towards the funeral pile, and 
 was delivered to the executioner. 
 
 This man relates that the scaffold on which she was 
 placed was built very high above the faggots, and 
 plastered, so that the flames could not easily catch, nor 
 quickly reach her ; "for the which he was exceedingly 
 sorry, having great compassion for the cruel form and 
 manner in which they made her die." So slowly did 
 the fire burn, that her confessor, Martin Ladvenu, who 
 stood with her upon the scaffold, was not aware that 
 the pile had been lighted, till the circumstance was 
 pointed out to him by Jeanne herself, who besought 
 him to retire, but to hold up the cross to her at a dis- 
 tance, that her eyes might look upon it to the last. 
 
 After the deed was over, the executioner was struck 
 with great horror and religious despair. He declared 
 that the heart of the victim would not burn. Her 
 remains, however, were on the same day collected by 
 the order of the English cardinal, and thrown into 
 the Seine. 
 
 Many stories went abroad after her death. Among 
 others, it was stated that, owing to the peculiar con- 
 struction of the scaffold, she had escaped from the 
 flames; and, in consequence, her name was assumed 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 137 
 
 by more than one counterfeit. A gentleman, whose 
 name was Des Armoires, was so well deceived, that he 
 actually married a young woman who gave herself out 
 to be Jeanne d'Arc. 
 
 Some years after, her sentence was revised, and the 
 murdered girl declared innocent by the Pope. A cross 
 was raised upon the spot, and then a fountain, said to 
 have been of beautiful workmanship. Both, however, 
 have disappeared ; and the paltry erections which now 
 occupy so remarkable a site are a reproach to the city. 
 
 The Place de la Pucelle formed part of the Vieux 
 Marche, which, at the time of her execution, being 
 the great public market-place, occupied a considerable 
 area. At the end of the fifteenth century, it was in- 
 tersected by some houses; and one of them, opposite 
 the monument of Jeanne d'Arc, exists still, and is 
 worthy of the traveller's attention. This is the Hotel du 
 Bourgtheroulde, celebrated for its bas-reliefs, of which 
 the principal represent the meeting of Henry VIII. 
 and Francis I. on the Field of the Cloth of Gold. These 
 bas-reliefs are very precious, not only as memorials of 
 the sculpture, but also of the costume and manners of 
 the age. Those relating to the interview between the 
 two kings are five in number ; four of which are 
 occupied with the processions. The fifth represents 
 the meeting, and is interpreted by Montfaucon to this 
 effect : 
 
 The two kings are seen saluting, and holding their 
 hats raised in the right hand. The housing of the 
 French king's horse is ornamented with fleurs-de-lis, 
 and that of Henry with leopards and rosettes alter- 
 
f 
 
 138 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 nately. At the side of each there is a valet on foot, 
 whose caps have plumes of feathers falling back over 
 the head. The last cavalier on the right belongs to 
 the suite of the King of France, which is seen by the 
 royal salamander on his back. 
 
 The Protestant church of Saint Eloi, close beside 
 the hotel, merits little attention. It stood formerly 
 upon an island, which afterwards formed pail of the 
 terres neuves that, in the eleventh century, were the 
 fauxbourgs of Rouen. 
 
 From the Place Saint Eloi a few steps take us into 
 the Rue du Vieux Palais, along which we proceed to 
 its end further from the river. Here, on the left, is a 
 narrow street, or rather lane, called the Rue de Pie, 
 into which we entreat the reader to follow us. We 
 stop at a certain door, and contemplate respectfully a 
 bust which ornaments it, neither in bronze nor marble, 
 but in common plaster. Is our companion surprised? 
 Let him cast his eyes a little higher up, and read on 
 the slab fixed in the wall, 
 
 PIERRE CORNEILLE 
 EST NE DANS CETTE MAISON 
 EN 1606. 
 
 The house, of late years, has been beautified, as our 
 churchwardens say, and has lost almost all traces of 
 antiquity. The anniversary of this father of the French 
 Drama is celebrated every year at the theatre with great 
 magnificence. 
 
 Turning to the right, after traversing the Rue de la 
 Pie, we find ourselves presently in a broad street, ter- 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 139 
 
 minated at some distance by the extensive buildings of 
 the Hotel Dieu. This is a work of the last century, 
 constructed in consequence of the dangerous state of 
 the ancient Hopital de Sainte Madeleine, near the 
 cathedral. The charity is reserved for the inhabitants 
 of the town alone, and only for cases that appear to be 
 curable. After a treatment of six months here without 
 fortunate results, the patient is declared incurable, and 
 sent to the Hospice Generale. The patients are attended 
 not only by the proper medical officers, but by the reli- 
 gious ladies of the order of Saint Augustin, who are 
 unwearied in their assiduity. 
 
 This beautiful and affecting species of beneficence is 
 very ancient in France ; but the rules under which even 
 the lay-brothers and sisters of the hospital voluntarily 
 placed themselves were so austere, that one is surprised 
 to find in the number those who had still any thing 
 left to attach them to the world. In the fourteenth 
 century, a man dedicating himself to the service of the 
 Hotel Dieu of Paris became to all intents and purposes 
 a monk, although without taking the vows. He cut 
 off his hair, wore a black dress, with long white trousers, 
 assisted at all the offices of religion, abstained from 
 meat four days in the week, ate at a common table, 
 lay down to sleep without undressing, and came under 
 an oath of poverty and chastity. 
 
 The sisters, of whatever rank, wore a gown of black 
 serge ; a kind of cloak, black also, and furred with 
 lambskin ; a white apron, and a linen cap with large 
 wings which concealed the face. They were under the 
 direction of a matron, who punished the slightest fault 
 
140 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 by public penance, a diet of bread and water, and even 
 the scourge. 
 
 The first thing a patient did on entering the Maison- 
 Dieu was to confess and communicate, He was then 
 master of the house, and the brothers and sisters were 
 his servants. Nothing was refused which a sick fancy 
 could desire. Meats were daily sent from the daintiest 
 tables for their use ; and it was not unknown for a sum 
 of money to be left to the establishment with which to 
 gratify, on the anniversary of the testator's death, every 
 whim of the sick, at any expense. One legacy was 
 destined to buy them soup ; another, fruit and confec- 
 tions. Louis IX., it is known, was often on the point 
 of becoming a brother of the hospital ; and the Hun- 
 garian queen of Louis X. left the Hotel Dieu the bed 
 on which she died. This kind of donation was first 
 begun by the canons of Notre Dame, and soon became 
 general among all classes. 
 
 The elegant modern church of the Madeleine is 
 connected with the buildings of the Hotel Dieu. Be- 
 hind the master-altar is the chapel of the dames of 
 Saint Augustin, the ministering angels of the hospital ; 
 and before the great gate there is a magnificent avenue 
 planted with trees, which leads us along the Champ 
 de Foire into the Avenue de la Ribaudet. 
 
 We have now made a tour long enough for a morn- 
 ing's walk ; and, on turning to the left, are not sorry to 
 see the shipping and the bridges before us, which point 
 out the position of our hotel. In passing, however, 
 the entrance of the Boulevard Cauchoise, we pause for 
 a while to gaze upon the site where once stood the 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 141 
 
 ancient palace built by our Henry V. A thick tower 
 was the commencement of the edifice, which received 
 the significant name of Mal-s'y-frotte, and was finished 
 by Henry VI., five years before the celebrated siege of 
 Rouen. The governor of the fortress lodged in this 
 tower, the walls of which were fifteen feet thick. The 
 whole edifice was protected on the south by the Seine, 
 and every where else by wide and deep ditches. 
 
 This palace, of which we do not now see a stone, 
 was inhabited by Talbot, the general of the English, 
 in 1449. 
 
 When the city was summoned by Charles VII., it 
 is related that he would not permit the heralds to ap- 
 proach, but used them so roughly that they were in 
 danger of their lives. The French immediately took 
 up a position before the walls ; and although it rained 
 in torrents for three days, as Jean Chartier informs 
 us, " ceux de la ville faisoient des fortes, grandes, et 
 furieuses sorties, et ou il y est de grandes proiiesses et 
 beaux faits d'armes." The king again summoned the 
 town by heralds, but again the unpolite English drove 
 them away — a thing, says the historian, " contrary to 
 all seigneurie and chivalry:" — for if the English had 
 possessed understanding and good manners, they would 
 have called, and received the said heralds, and listened 
 to any summons they chose to make ; they would then 
 have set before them drink and victuals in honour and 
 reverence of the prince from whom they came ; and 
 then have returned them an answer as the case re- 
 quired." On this repeated incivility, the king and his 
 general, Dunois, perceived that there was no hope of a 
 
142 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 surrender ; and the weather being much broken, as it 
 was now near winter, they retired to Pont de l'Arche. 
 
 They were speedily informed, however, that the 
 French party in the town was stronger than they 
 imagined ; and that two of the towers flanking the 
 walls were actually in the possession of the king's 
 adherents, who waited impatiently to favour any attack 
 that might be made. Charles immediately gave orders 
 to march ; and on arriving near Rouen, created a 
 number of knights, according to a well-known custom, 
 who were expected to earn their spurs in the assault. 
 These mounted the walls very gallantly at the head of 
 their party ; but were received by Talbot with three 
 hundred English, who had rushed to the spot on hear- 
 ing of the attack. A fierce but brief combat took 
 place. The French were beaten, and were either slain 
 fighting, driven over the walls, or massacred afterwards 
 in cold blood. 
 
 The bitterness of the assault, however, and the 
 fierce cruelty of the English, alarmed the inhabitants 
 so much, that the utmost excitement prevailed, and 
 secret meetings took place ; and at length, as the public 
 mind became pretty well known, it was supposed that, 
 on the first favourable opportunity, a rising would take 
 place, the result of which would be the massacre of the 
 garrison. They contented themselves, however, with 
 waiting upon the Duke of Somerset, the viceroy of 
 Normandy, and representing to him that the famine, 
 already in the city, made it imperative upon them to 
 take some steps towards an accommodation ; and the 
 duke, who saw his little band of fifty or sixty sur- 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 143 
 
 rounded by at least a thousand armed citizens, was 
 at last fain to sanction a deputation to the king. 
 
 When the deputation returned, however, although 
 the terms obtained were very agreeable to the inha- 
 bitants, the English could not brook them ; and the 
 consequence of this difference of opinion was an attack 
 upon the smaller party, who were compelled to secure 
 themselves in the chateau and the palace. The citizens 
 then took the affair into their own hands, and sent a 
 message to the king, declaring that they were willing 
 to surrender, if he would only force the English to the 
 same good intention. Dunois upon this immediately 
 invested Fort Sainte Catherine, which surrendered ; 
 and then, presenting himself before the Porte de Mar- 
 tinuille, received in form the keys of the city. At this 
 time the French forces are described to have been in 
 glorious condition. " Never had a king so handsome 
 an army," says the chronicler, " and so leste a com- 
 pany all at once, nor better equipped, nor so lavishly 
 filled with lords, barons, knights, and squires." Before 
 this power, the English, deserted by the citizens, could 
 not stand ; and having in vain attempted to obtain the 
 terms which would have been accorded to them a few 
 days before, they shut themselves up in the palace. 
 
 Siege was immediately laid to this place by the 
 royal troops ; and the Duke of Somerset, assaulted at 
 once by famine and such fearful odds, opened anew 
 negotiations with the king. It is an interesting trait 
 in the manners of the time, that the duke was on both 
 occasions his own messenger, and on the present one 
 was accompanied by his duchess. It is recorded, that 
 
144 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 he wore a long robe of figured velvet, trimmed with 
 fur, and a vermilion cap of the same sort. From this 
 embassy also he returned unsuccessful ; and the siege 
 was recommenced with greater vigour. New negotia- 
 tions were then entered into, as things became more 
 desperate, and continued for ten days; at the end of 
 which time the duke surrendered. 
 
 The chronicler delights to linger upon the magni- 
 ficence of the king's entry. The royal archers led the 
 way, clothed in jackets of vermilion, red, white, and 
 green, with helmet on head, and harness on limbs, 
 and armed with swords and daggers. Then came the 
 heralds, clothed in their coats of arms, and followed by 
 trumpets and clarions, " which sounded so strongly as 
 to make a great melody, and a very sweet thing to 
 hear." The chancellor of France marched next, with 
 a white horse led by two grooms, bearing on his back a 
 small coffer containing the seals of the king. Charles 
 himself then appeared, preceded by his two esquires. 
 He was armed cap-a-pie, and his horse was covered 
 from head to heel with a cloth of azure velvet, em- 
 broidered with golden fleurs-de-lis. The lords who 
 followed him were dressed in all the colours of the 
 rainbow ; and in this state the party was met by the 
 clergy of Rouen, including the four mendicant orders, 
 singing Te Deum laudamus. " It is a thing certain, that 
 the king was never escorted at any time by so handsome 
 and richly clothed a chivalry, nor by so great a body of 
 warriors and men-at-arms, as at this entrance into the 
 city of Rouen." Among the things worthy of note 
 which the procession fell in with, was an artificial stag, 
 
THE SORCERESS. 
 
 145 
 
 which, " by a great and rare artifice," knelt before the 
 king as he passed. There was also an Agnus Dei spout- 
 ing wine from its horns ! Perhaps, however, the most 
 interesting sight was that of the Duchess of Somerset 
 and the Countess Dunois, with Talbot and the other 
 English lords detained as hostages, gazing upon the 
 cortege from a window. 
 
 L 
 
146 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 Once on a time there was a dragon, and his name was 
 Gargouille, and he lived in the forest of Rouvray. 
 Every day he issued from his den as soon as the sun 
 was up, and prowled about seeking whom he might 
 devour. The husbandman in his fields, the priest at 
 the altar, the maid at her spinning-wheel, — all were 
 alike to him : he gobbled them up. He breakfasted at 
 one village, dined at a second, supped at a third. 
 Young or old, fat or lean, tough or tender, — it did not 
 matter. A couple of youths were enough for breakfast ; 
 a man-at-arms, or a ploughman, with a few little boys 
 and girls, sufficed for dinner and dessert ; and a young 
 Caletian lass afforded something light for supper. The 
 country at last was thinned of provision ; every day he 
 had farther to go for his bite and sup ; and at last 
 Gargouille put his long snout, wistfully, but not rudely, 
 over the walls of Rouen. 
 
 The citizens were dismayed. No man durst stir out 
 of the town. If a young woman stole to the water-side 
 to give her sweetheart the rendezvous (for young women 
 in love — and when are they out of love? — have no 
 fear), Gargouille was there. If little Tommy or Jacky 
 let themselves down the ramparts to play at marbles in 
 the road, or gather filberts in the wood (for little boys 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 147 
 
 have no sense), Gargouille was there. Every day some- 
 body was missing. At last, Saint Romain, awaking one 
 morning from a dose which the smell of the incense 
 always threw him into, determined to take the matter 
 in hand. 
 
 Being a priest, he could not fight the dragon him- 
 self, for " the church," we all know, " abhors blood ;" 
 and to send any innocent layman upon an errand of 
 such doubtful result went against his conscience. He 
 therefore demanded of the authorities a thief, and a 
 murderer who had been already condemned to death ; 
 and with these heroes, as a cat's-paw, he marched away, 
 on the day of the Ascension, to give battle to Gargouille. 
 The thief, as might be expected, stole himself off ; but 
 the murderer, being used to killing, stood his ground. 
 Saint Romain began to pray valiantly ; and the dragon 
 appeared. 
 
 Terrible was the conflict! The murderer's lance 
 had little effect upon the scale-armour of his opponent ; 
 but, on the other hand, his own defensive gear sufficed 
 for his protection. The mark of Cain was upon his 
 forehead, and Gargouille rather declined eating him. 
 At last, alarmed by the noise made by Saint Romain, 
 who redoubled his invocations, the monster turned his 
 head to see what was the matter. That motion was 
 fatal. The lance of his opponent entered between the 
 wrinkles of the neck, and, glancing downwards, severed 
 the oesophagus, penetrated the upper portion of the 
 right lung, and buried itself in the heart. Gargouille, 
 with a roar that made the whole forest shudder, imme- 
 diately gave up the ghost. 
 
148 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 In memory of this deed the clergy of Rouen were 
 granted by King Dagobert the privilege — they and 
 their successors for ever — of delivering a prisoner every 
 year on the day of the Ascension. At first it did not 
 matter of what crime the individual chosen had been 
 convicted ; but Henri Quatre, too much of a Protestant 
 to be well read in his Catholic legends, excluded mur- 
 derers, traitors, heretics, and coiners, from the benefit of 
 the act. The "forever" of King Dagobert extended 
 only to the revolution. 
 
 It is meet that the reader should be acquainted with 
 these facts, before setting out on his second tour through 
 the curiosities of Rouen ; for the very first object we 
 come to is the monument of Saint Romain, and the 
 place where a condemned prisoner was liberated every 
 year according to ancient usage. A vast building, 
 called the Halles, lies to the right of the Rue de 
 Bee, which turns up from the quay ; and before it is 
 the Vieille Tour, on the first stage of which the levee 
 de la jierte, or elevation of the shrine, took place, 
 which delivered a prisoner from the doom his crimes 
 had received. 
 
 Fifteen days before the Rogations, four canons pa- 
 raded, in their ecclesiastical robes, to the various high 
 courts of the city, to give notice of their privilege, in 
 order that no criminal should be executed between that 
 day and the one on which their claim was to be made. 
 During the three rogation- days, two canon -priests, 
 accompanied by the registrar of the chapter and two 
 chaplains, preceded by the verger in cap and gown, 
 with his silver mace, visited the prisons of the city and 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 149 
 
 fauxbourgs, to receive the confessions of such prisoners 
 as put in a claim to the privilege. 
 
 On Ascension-day the chapter assembled, and after 
 reading the confessions, proceeded to the choice of an 
 individual most worthy of their temporal salvation. 
 They then sent his name to the parliament, assembled 
 in the palace in their red robes. The parliament having 
 given its approbation, the confessions of the other pri- 
 soners were formally burnt in the hall of the chapter ; 
 and all being ready, the clergy of the metropolitan 
 church walked in procession to the Vieille Tour, car- 
 rying the shrine before them containing the relics of 
 Saint Romain. Here the prisoner was brought in by 
 the chaplain, to whom he had been delivered by the 
 parliament ; the holy shrine was raised ; at the signal 
 his fetters were knocked off ; and he walked back with 
 the priests to the metropolitan church, where mass 
 was celebrated. The next day a lecture was publicly 
 read to him touching the horror of his crime ; and after 
 another mass, celebrated in the chapel of Saint Romain, 
 he was set at liberty. 
 
 On the site of the Halles there stood a palace built 
 by Richard I., the grandson of Rollo ; and by its side a 
 tower was afterwards elevated, which served as a state 
 prison, and was distinguished from more modern con- 
 structions by the name of the Vieille Tour. The monu- 
 ment we have mentioned is supposed to be the remains 
 of the building which is pointed out by historians as 
 the place where John Lackland assassinated his young 
 nephew with his own hands. 
 
 The Halles, or market-halls, are themselves ancient, 
 
150 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 dating from the thirteenth century ; and it is to them 
 a stranger must still betake himself who would obtain 
 an accurate idea of the wealth, industry, and animation 
 of the Norman capital. A hall is set apart for each of 
 the staple kinds of merchandise ; and the scene of bustle 
 presented in them all is hardly surpassed either in 
 England or the Netherlands. The whole population of 
 the country, as well as the town, seems congregated 
 in one spot. There is the place to study costume and 
 physiognomy ; and there you find the descendant of the 
 Norman pirates truly at home — behind his counter. 
 
 The Rue Malpalu, behind the Halles, leads us to 
 the church of Saint Maclou, a structure of the fifteenth 
 century, possessing a beautiful Gothic staircase, and the 
 memory of an elegant spire. Near this is the cathedral, 
 to which no direction is required. 
 
 It is impossible to contemplate the facade of this 
 remarkable edifice without wonder, and to describe it 
 is altogether out of the question. The innumerable 
 details of Gothic architecture, individually insignificant, 
 yet grand and harmonious in their union, are here 
 lavished with a profusion which confuses both the eye 
 and the brain. To view it quietly, you would require 
 to stand far enough off for the ornaments to lose their 
 individuality, yet near enough for them to retain their 
 effect. But this golden mean, unhappily, is not to be 
 attained. At Rouen, as elsewhere, these gorgeous 
 monuments of the olden time are obscured by a mass 
 of paltry habitations crowding round their base, like 
 the vulgar parasites that infest the antechamber of a 
 king. Perhaps in the fine study of Turner annexed, 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 151 
 
 the reader will see the cathedral better than if he stood 
 at the fountain of Notre Dame. 
 
 The gorgeous fagade we have mentioned was con- 
 structed in about twenty years, towards the middle of 
 the sixteenth century, by the first Cardinal d'Amboise. 
 The bas-reliefs above the doors, although much injured 
 in the religious war of 1562, are highly curious. The 
 middle one contains the genealogical tree of Jesse, 
 which is a grand scriptural support of the Catholics 
 in their adoration of the Virgin. It seems to us, how- 
 ever, to be the genealogy, not of Mary, but of her 
 earthly husband. The bas-relief on the left contains 
 the history of the decapitation of Saint John. The 
 daughter of Herodias is represented dancing before 
 the king on her hands; and the executioner is seen 
 ready to strike off the martyr's head, which is thrust 
 through a window for that purpose. 
 
 The northern tower of the fagacle was constructed 
 at different epochs, but its base is thought to be the 
 most ancient part of the whole edifice. The southern 
 is called the Tour de Beurre, to commemorate its 
 origin. It was built by a fund collected by the arch- 
 bishop, from the proceeds of a sale of permissions to 
 eat butter during Lent. The indulgence was obtained 
 from Innocent VIII. The Cardinal d'Amboise, desiring 
 that so superb and holy a tower should possess " the 
 handsomest bell in the kingdom," presented to the 
 chapter four thousand livres for the purpose of founding 
 one. A bell was accordingly put up, whose clapper 
 weighed seven hundred and ten pounds — the bell 
 declaring, in an inscription, its own weight : — 
 
152 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 JE SUIS NOMMEE GEORGE d'aMBOISE, 
 QUI BIEN TRENTE SIX MILLE POISE, 
 ET CIL QUI BIEN ME POISERA 
 QUARANTE MILLE Y TROUVERA. 
 
 Two hundred and thirty years after, the clapper broke 
 loose and came thundering down. It was replaced by 
 one four feet nine inches in circumference. The decree, 
 however, had gone forth. The bell cracked in 1786 
 at the sight of the fated king, Louis XVI. He did not 
 take warning! Seven years after, his head rolled on 
 the scaffold, and the bell was pulled down and cast into 
 cannon. Nay, the congeniality in their destiny -con- 
 tinued even after this double work of destruction was 
 completed ; for the outrages heaped upon the remains 
 of the king were perpetuated on those of his monitor. 
 Medals were struck from some fragments that remained, 
 bearing this insulting inscription : — 
 
 MONUMENT DE VANITE 
 DETRU1T POUR L'uTILITE 
 l'aN DEUX DE L'EGALITE. 
 
 The Portail des Libraires, on the north of the tran- 
 sept, was so called on account of the number of book- 
 sellers at each side of the court, which was formerly a 
 cemetery. The sculptures on this part of the church 
 are very odd, and some not very delicate. One of them 
 represents a man reclining negligently on his elbow, 
 and leaning his head in his hand. It is a pig's head. 
 
 The interior of the church, besides the grandeur of 
 its proportions, is remarkable for its painted windows 
 and its tombs. One of the most interesting of the latter 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 153 
 
 is in the chapel du Petit Saint Romain. It is the tomb 
 of Rollo! The following inscription is on a marble 
 table above the arcade: — - 
 
 HIC POSITUS EST 
 ROLLO, 
 
 NORMANNLE A SE TERRIT^E, VASTAT\E, 
 RESTITUTE 
 PRIMUS DUX, CONDITOR, PATER, 
 A FRANCONE ARCHIEP. ROTOM. 
 BAPTISATUS ANNO DCCCCXII. 
 OBIIT ANNO DCCCCXVII. 
 OSSA IPSIUS IN VETERI SANCTUARIO 
 NUNC CAPITE NAVIS PRIMUM 
 CONDITA 
 TRANSLATO ALTAR1, COLLOCATA 
 SUNT A B. MAURILIO, ARCHIEP. ROTOM. 
 AN. MLXIII. 
 
 The most curious thing in the inscription is, that the 
 date of Rollo's death is wrong by fifteen years ! M. 
 Dubois, and almost all other writers, fix upon 932 as 
 the proper epoch. 
 
 Another of the twenty-five chapels which surround 
 the interior of this vast temple is that of Sainte Anne, 
 which contains the remains of William Longue-Epee, 
 the son of Rollo, with an inscription to nearly the same 
 effect as the preceding. The choir of the cathedral, 
 which, if we are to believe history, is rich in heroic 
 dust, presents only three inscriptions, and these are 
 modern. # 
 
 The chapel of the Virgin is of course filled with 
 
 * Among others, the heart of Richard Coeur de Lion was buried on 
 the right of the grand altar. 
 
154 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 sepulchral pomp. The mausoleum of De Breze is a 
 very magnificent specimen of the arts in the sixteenth 
 century. It was raised to him by his faithful spouse 
 Diana of Poictiers, the mistress of Henri II. — 
 
 " Indivulsa tibi quondam et fidissima conjux, 
 Ut fuit in thalamo, sic erit in tumulo ! " 
 
 One of the least lying inscriptions we ever read upon a 
 monument ; for the chaste Diana was just as much 
 indivulsa and fidissima to the grave of her husband, as 
 she had been to his bed — directing her body to be 
 interred in the Chateau d'Anet, presented to her by her 
 royal lover. 
 
 Above the altar is the Adoration of the Shepherds, 
 a picture by Philippe de Champagne, much, and we 
 think justly, admired. 
 
 On leaving the cathedral, we pause for a moment 
 in the Rue Saint Romain, which runs along its north 
 side, to contemplate an ancient house which forms 
 No. 80 of the street ; and then proceed into the Rue des 
 Carmes, commencing at the corner of the Place from 
 which we entered the church. In this street the ancient 
 Chambre des Comptes is worth looking at ;] but the 
 next turning to the right leads to the desecrated abbey 
 of Saint Amand, which is still more so. 
 
 This monastery, founded in the eleventh century, 
 and richly endowed by the French kings, is now let in 
 mean lodgings ! A wooden building, however, covered 
 with sculptures, and some other pageants, still demands 
 the traveller's attention. In 1800, while they were 
 demolishing the church of the abbey, a leaden coffin 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 155 
 
 was found in one of the vaults, and on being opened 
 disclosed a human body in the most perfect state of 
 preservation. It was the body of the abbess Anne de 
 Souvre, who had died one hundred and fifty years 
 before. 
 
 The workmen robbed her of her ring and cross, 
 and then threw her into a deep pit, where she landed 
 on her feet, and stood upright. The circumstance was 
 curious. There was something so strange and ghastly 
 in the scene, that a crowd soon gathered round ; and, 
 from peeping in at the dead antique in her attitude of 
 life, at length by degrees gained courage enough to 
 draw her out. Her face was as fresh as if she had died 
 yesterday. The people cried, "A miracle!" Some 
 threw themselves on their knees, and some kissed the 
 lips that had been closed for a century and a half. 
 The desire at last arose among the people of possessing 
 relics of the saint. Her veil was first detached, and 
 torn in pieces by the eager devotees ; then her gown 
 created a scuffle ; and, finally, when she was stripped of 
 every article of clothing, even a portion of her ears was 
 cut off! Night separated the combatants. The successful 
 vanished with their spoils, and the others slunk off one 
 by one in despair mingled with superstitious fear ; till 
 Anne de Souvre was left naked and alone in the dark- 
 ness of night. The next morning the whole town 
 rushed to the spot as soon as it was daylight. The 
 abbess was found where she had been left, but as black 
 as ebony. The authorities met with no interruption in 
 removing the body for interment ; and before the end 
 of the day, the only evidence of what had occurred was 
 
156 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the ceaseless cry of the hawkers selling hundreds and 
 thousands of pieces of serge and black crape as the 
 relics of the bienheureuse Anne de Souvre. 
 
 A little way to the north of Saint Amand, and easily 
 distinguished by its graceful spire, is the church of Saint 
 Ouen, which belonged to the most ancient abbey in 
 Rouen and in Normandy. It was founded in the year 
 533, destroyed by the Normans in 841, and rebuilt by 
 Rollo. A curious and not unpleasing trait of ancient 
 manners is related in evidence of the early celebrity of 
 the monastery. The Emperor Otho, it is said, when 
 besieging Rouen, demanded of its defender, Richard 
 Sans Peur, permission to enter the town in order to 
 pay his vows at the holy shrine. A passport was 
 accordingly granted ; the chivalrous emperor entered, 
 without fear and without risk, into the stronghold of 
 his enemy; and, having finished his devotions, coolly 
 returned to give orders for an assault on the city. 
 
 In 1046 the whole edifice then subsisting was demo- 
 lished, to make room for a new basilica ; and after a 
 labour of eighty years the latter was at length com- 
 pleted, when an accidental fire burnt it to the ground. 
 In 1318 the first stone was laid of the present building, 
 although it was not till the commencement of the six- 
 teenth century that this great work was completed, 
 which is to-day the boast of Rouen, and the admiration 
 of all strangers. 
 
 Among the monuments in the chapels is one to 
 Alexandre de Berneval, one of the architects of the 
 church, to which an improbable, or at all events an 
 untrue, story is attached, although quoted frequently on 
 
NOTRE DAME AND SAINT OUEN. 
 
 157 
 
 the authority of Dom Pommeraye, the grave historian 
 of the abbey. The two roses of the great window, as 
 the learned Benedictine tells us, were constructed in the 
 year 1439, one by Alexandre Berneval, and one by his 
 apprentice. The latter, unfortunately for all parties, 
 was the most beautiful ; the connoisseurs were never 
 weary of admiring it, while they treated with compara- 
 tive neglect the work of the master. This preyed so 
 deeply upon Berneval, that at last a jealous frenzy took 
 possession of his soul, and he murdered his pupil. He 
 was tried for the crime, found guilty, and executed ; 
 but in consideration of the benefits which his art had 
 rendered the church, the holy fathers of Saint Ouen 
 made interest with public justice to obtain the body of 
 the criminal, which they interred in the second chapel, 
 the same as if he had died the death of the righteous. 
 
 The present Hotel de Ville (formerly the dormitory 
 of the monks) adjoins the south side of the church, and 
 contains, in its second floor, the library and museum of 
 the city. The library, which boasted at first two hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand volumes, counts at present only 
 thirty thousand, with eleven hundred manuscripts. 
 One of the latter weighs seventy- three pounds, and 
 kept the laborious author in occupation thirty years. 
 
 Going out of the Place Saint Ouen by the same 
 passage by which we entered, and proceeding along the 
 Rue de Robec, we turn, by and by, to the right, and 
 arrive at the prison commonly called the Bicetre. 
 Opposite this building, towards the east, is the Hos- 
 pice Generale, which we have mentioned in speaking 
 of the Hotel Dieu. Its most interesting feature is the 
 
158 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 reception it affords to foundlings. These poor little 
 creatures, to the number of seven or eight hundred 
 every year, are put into a box in the wall, which, when 
 the bell is rung, turns towards the interior. The prize 
 thus found by the hospital is sent either to Neufchiitel 
 or the Bourg Achard, to be nursed. 
 
 Rejoining the line of road carried along the edge of 
 the river, and called the Quai de Paris below the 
 bridge, and the Cours Dauphin above it, we find our- 
 selves again within sight of our hotel, but yet not much 
 fatigued with a walk that has exercised the mind more 
 than the body. We are tempted by an idle boat lying 
 at the breast, and whose owner is willing to earn a few 
 sous, to launch upon the same waters where the fleet of 
 Rollo once rode in triumph, and to land upon the He 
 de la Croix, the island which serves as a support for the 
 new stone bridge. Our spirit of adventure increasing 
 by indulgence, we now cross to the opposite terra fir ma y 
 and there we are fully repaid for the perils we have run. 
 Rouen is before us in a new aspect. The same towers 
 of Notre Dame, the same tower of Saint Ouen, the 
 same shapeless mass of Saint Maclou, are painted 
 against the sky ; but each assumes a new form, arid is 
 impressed with a new character. On this spot Turner 
 stood. Why can we not exchange our pen for a pencil? 
 
 Following the Grand Cours, we recross the river 
 by the bridge, and find ourselves again on the Quai de 
 Paris, and again at the door of our hotel. 
 
MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 The few remaining objects which can come into so 
 brief a summary as ours are too distant, and too far 
 between, and, indeed, comparatively speaking, too un- 
 important, to admit of being arranged in a separate 
 tour. Should the stranger, notwithstanding, have 
 time for a longer and less productive walk, let him, 
 by all means, ascend the line of street commencing 
 on the quay with the Rue Grand Pont, till he 
 almost completely intersects the town. He will find 
 at last the Rue BefFroi on the left, behind which is 
 the church of Saint Godard, where that archbishop 
 was buried in a subterranean chapel in the year 533. 
 The stained windows are very beautiful ; and, among 
 the subjects, it is hoped he will see with peculiar in- 
 terest the adventure of Saint Romain with our friend 
 Gargouille. 
 
 The tomb of Saint Godard was removed to the 
 church of Saint Romain (at some distance to the north, 
 beyond the boulevards), where it still remains, and in 
 a very singular situation — forming, in fact, the master- 
 altar in the choir, being surmounted only by the tabu- 
 lar piece. There the painted windows are still more 
 numerous, if not more valuable, than in the former 
 church ; and among the representations we find again 
 
160 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the combat of Gargouille, together with the procession 
 of the Fierte. # 
 
 Near the church of Saint Godard, in the garden of 
 the Ursuline dames in the Rue Morand, there is an old 
 tower, the only fragment existing of a spacious fortress 
 built by Philippe Auguste on the demolition of the 
 Vieille Tour described above. It was in a tower, long 
 since demolished, of this chateau, that the heroic Maid 
 was imprisoned before her execution. 
 
 Another old tower close by, at the side of the boule- 
 vards, called the Tour Bigot, is worth seeing. So also 
 is the church of Saint Patrice, which is within sight, 
 on account of its painted windows. In the fourteenth 
 century, a brotherhood of the Passion of our Lord was 
 instituted here, who walked in procession every year, on 
 Good Friday, with children in the character of angels 
 carrying the cross, the nails, the sponge, and other 
 instruments of the Passion. Two centuries after, a 
 great improvement was made upon this show. The 
 holy lists were thrown open to the poets, and the above 
 articles, when done with, were bestowed in prizes upon 
 the best makers of verses on the Passion of our Lord. 
 There was, however, a little malice in the distribution. 
 He who set him down in the epic throne was honoured 
 with a crown of thorns ; a rod was bestowed upon the 
 ballad-monger; and the small sonnetteer received — a 
 sponge. 
 
 The first turning from the Rue Saint Patrice is the 
 
 * The stranger at Rouen will do well to provide himself with 
 M. E. H. Langlois' work — " Memoire sur la Peinture-sur-verre et sur 
 quelques Vitraux remarquahles des Eglises de Rouen." 
 
MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 161 
 
 Rue Etoupee, where there is an antique house that 
 claims a passing glance : the second leads to the Rue 
 des Bons Enfans, where a marble table in the wall of 
 No. 134 informs us that there Fontenelle entered into 
 one of his plurality of worlds. 
 
 The church of Saint Gervais is at the farthest point 
 of the suburbs in this direction — or rather altogether 
 beyond them. Here, in the crypt beneath the choir, 
 the two first archbishops of Rouen were buried ; here, 
 according to some authors, William the Conqueror was 
 carried to die ;* and here some small, and now subter- 
 ranean, remains of the Roman road are seen which 
 connected Juliobona and the ancient Rothomagus — the 
 only traces visible in this city of the " masters of the 
 world." 
 
 Our street wanderings are now finished on the south 
 bank of the river.f It is necessary, however, to devote 
 a few minutes to the opposite fauxbourg of Saint Sever 
 — and a very few will suffice. 
 
 The infantry barracks near the south end of the 
 bridge of boats are not remarkable in themselves ; but 
 the esplanade before them is a locality which should 
 not be altogether forgotten. On this spot there stood 
 a small fort, the origin of which is unknown, sur- 
 rounded by the waters of the Seine; and on its ruins 
 our Henry V. constructed an edifice called indifferently 
 the Petit Chateau and the Barbican, the name of its 
 
 * According to others, he died at Fecamp, on the sea-coast of the 
 Pays de Caux. 
 
 t The stranger who desires more minute local details should possess 
 M. Licquet's " Precis de l'Histoire de Rouen." 
 
 M 
 
162 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 predecessor. When the old stone bridge, which it pro- 
 tected, was falling into decay, the same prince ordered 
 the chateau to be demolished, and the materials, to- 
 gether with the ground on which it stood, to be given 
 to the magistrates of the town, on condition of their 
 repairing the bridge. The gift, however, was not ac- 
 cepted ; the bridge at length disappeared ; and the 
 chateau was not destroyed till late in the last century, 
 when its walls were levelled, its ditches filled up, and 
 its site planted with trees. 
 
 From the esplanade a street leads to the church of 
 Saint Sever, which is only remarkable on account of 
 the oddity of its origin. Saint Sever was the bishop of 
 Avranches, at the other extremity of Normandy, and 
 a person of such sanctity that his tomb was the fre- 
 quent resort of pilgrims. Among others, there went to 
 the holy place two priests of Rouen, who were seized 
 all on a sudden with the desire of stealing the body of 
 the saint. They were at first prevented by the guardians 
 of the dead ; but returning to Rouen, and obtaining 
 the sanction of Duke Richard I. to the robbery, they 
 presented themselves again at Avranches, and, not- 
 withstanding the resistance and lamentations of the 
 inhabitants, succeeded in carrying off the booty. Every 
 now and then, however, on the road, the holy bones 
 became so heavy, that all their exertions to raise the 
 shrine were vain, till they had made a vow to erect a 
 chapel on the spot. The same miracle took place for 
 the last time at the bourg of Emendreville : where a 
 church was accordingly erected, which, as well as the 
 town, received from that day the name of Saint Sever. 
 
MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 163 
 
 From this church the Rue du Pre conducts to the 
 Caserne Bonne Nouvelle, which is the cavalry barracks 
 of Rouen. It stands upon the site of an ancient priory, 
 said to have been founded by Matilda, the wife of the 
 Conqueror, when she heard the " good news" of the 
 victory of Hastings, which made her a queen. 
 
 Returning to the church of Saint Sever, a road 
 conducts us to the hospital of Saint Yon ; the church 
 of which was built by the brotherhood of the Christian 
 school founded by Lavalle, without the assistance either 
 of architects or workmen. It is now a lunatic asylum, 
 said to be conducted upon admirable principles both of 
 science and humanitv. 
 
 This is all, perhaps, which the town of Rouen and 
 its fauxbourgs afford of real interest to the stranger ; but 
 the walks in the neighbourhood, so far as the prospects 
 are concerned, are among the finest in France. The 
 city is surrounded to the east, south, and west, by a 
 chain of hills, of which the superb Mont Sainte Cathe- 
 rine, advancing like a promontory into the vast valley 
 of the Seine, is the chief and monarch. 
 
 On the Sunday morning before we left Rouen, to 
 follow, on the opposite bank, the course of the river 
 to the sea, we wandered to the top of this remarkable 
 steep. The plateau is intersected in different directions 
 by great mounds of earth, the artificial appearance of 
 which impresses the spectator with the idea that he is 
 treading upon the ruins of distant ages. There is hardly 
 a stone visible, however, except in one spot, where a 
 narrow fragment of wall, completely isolated, stands 
 tall and threatening. The silence and solitude of the 
 
164 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 place, the desolation that reigns around, the loftiness of 
 the mount, where the atmosphere already is thin and 
 chill, while the world below is fainting with heat — in 
 fine, the air of mystery which hangs over the scene — 
 all conspire to lead back our thoughts to the age of 
 the Druids, when every forest contained an altar, and 
 every mountain-top was a temple. 
 
 But the indications we find of this terrible supersti- 
 tion are rather moral than physical. The phenomena 
 we observe belong to the era of the Redeemer ; for here 
 stood, at different epochs, the abbey of the Holy Trinity 
 and the priory of Saint Michel ; and here was the fort 
 in which the Marquis de Villars withstood the assaults 
 of Henri Quatre. All are now vanished ; the very 
 stones are buried in the earth of a new age — all, 
 except a tottering fragment, which, in a few years, 
 perhaps in a few months, we shall look for in vain. 
 
 The destruction of Fort Sainte Catherine was de- 
 manded by the citizens themselves, whom it had been 
 accustomed to annoy more severely than it did their 
 enemies ; and Henri Quatre, in complying, remarked, 
 " I want no other ramparts than the affections of my 
 subjects." It is here that Catherine de Medicis, sur- 
 rounded by her maids of honour, was an eye-witness 
 of the siege of Rouen by Charles IX., and an actor in 
 the barbarities to which it led. But it was here also 
 that the Catholic leader, Guise, put in practice one of 
 the rarest virtues of the age — forgiveness. 
 
 " I wish to shew you," said he (as Montaigne re- 
 ports), addressing himself to a Protestant gentleman, 
 who had intended to assassinate him ; " I wish to shew 
 
MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 165 
 
 you how much more merciful is my religion than the 
 one you profess : yours counselled you to kill me — 
 mine commands me to pardon you." 
 
 At the front of the mount, the picture of the mag- 
 nificent valley of the Seine developes itself at our feet. 
 The river, spotted with islands, on which are houses, 
 gardens, and pastures, forms an immense peninsula, 
 which appears to be a dead and dreary flat, with 
 marshes at the edges, and the forest of Rouvray in 
 the middle. This peninsula is shut in, amphitheatri- 
 cally, by loftier ground, some portions of which are 
 flanked by the same curious kind of ridges which we 
 noticed at Jumieges. On the right bank, enclosed by 
 a semicircle of hills, stands the city of Rouen. 
 
 The only prominent towers or spires are those of 
 Notre Dame and Saint Ouen ; and thus there is one 
 great adjunct wanting in the magnificence of a city ; 
 yet it is rarely we meet with a more splendid picture. 
 Here and there are those daubs of colour which give so 
 much character to a French town ; but, owing to the 
 height of our position, the dark roofs of the houses fill 
 up a considerable portion of the space ; and thus a 
 sombre shade prevails over the scene. This is increased 
 by the gloomy mass of the cathedral, towering in 
 priestly pomp above the whole ; and, gazing as we do 
 now from this lofty and lonely spotj, surrounded by the 
 relics of bygone ages, we feel an impression of awe 
 stealing over our meditations. 
 
 The denizens of the city, stirring like ants below 
 us, add to this impression ; for we cannot see the vulgar- 
 details of their occupations, or hear their tiny voices. 
 
166 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 Our imagination feels itself at liberty — our very lungs 
 play more boldly and freely than usual in this bright 
 and boundless atmosphere. The associations of history 
 begin to mingle even with our outward perceptions, till 
 at length we hardly know which is the object of our 
 gaze — the past or the present. 
 
 The fauxbourg of Saint Sever has disappeared, and 
 marshes and waste-lands extend towards the interior of 
 the peninsula, where they are lost in the hoary forest of 
 Ronmare. A single bridge of massive stone spans the 
 river, and is guarded on the opposite bank by the stern 
 fortress of the Barbican. Instead of the broad and 
 shady alleys of the boulevards, a thick wall encom- 
 passes the city, flanked by a deep ditch. At the com- 
 mencement of the further end of the wall, at the river's 
 edge, there is the tower of Mal-s'y-frotte ; nearer us, on 
 the same line, the Vieille Tour of Richard the Fear- 
 less • and at the northern extremity of the walls, the 
 Vieux Chateau of Philip Augustus. It is a city of 
 war we see before us. It is the Rouen of the middle 
 ages, surrounded by the fortifications which befit a 
 stronghold of feudal power. 
 
 But in another moment the illusion vanishes ; 
 towers, walls, and ditches disappear; and the clang 
 of innumerable church -bells comes tumultuously on 
 the breeze. It is the Sabbath ; and these solemn sounds 
 invite the faithful to prayer. But, hark ! There is 
 also, mingling with the mezzuin-calls of the temple, 
 the roll of the drum, the braying of the hoarse trumpet, 
 and the fierce shouts of human voices. It is the Sab- 
 bath ; and these announcements proclaim that the 
 
MONT SAINTE CATHERINE. 
 
 167 
 
 various spectacles are about to open, and particularly 
 that a great fight is just commencing in the fauxbourg 
 Saint Sever, of bulls, dogs, bears, and men. 
 
 Nor are the Sunday strollers absent even here ; but 
 the air is cold, the place remote, and even solemn ; and 
 our companions, therefore, are few. Some we can see 
 walking in pairs {solus cum sola) through the ditches 
 of the buried fortress ; the happy lover every now and 
 then finding an apology in the abrupt inequalities of 
 the path for passing his arm round his mistress's waist. 
 Turning away at length, we gaze frowningly for a mo- 
 ment on a little ugly, incongruous brick erection, on 
 the very highest spot of the plateau — the nature and 
 no-meaning of which we cannot tell — and then descend 
 the mount in another direction, in order to return town- 
 ward by the great road. 
 
 The villages are all animation. Crowds of gaily 
 dressed men, women, and children, of the lower rank, 
 are hastening from the town, and vanishing into the 
 numerous taverns and cabarets that line the road. The 
 windows of these open ; and we hear the sound of 
 laughter and music within, mingled ever and anon 
 with the gush of cider, the pistol-like report of beer, 
 and the more soberly alluring plunk ! of wine-corks. 
 As we get nearer the town, the crowd increases, till the 
 scene resembles a fair. The road is bordered with 
 stalls, provided with wheels-of-fortune, at which the 
 Norman lass boldly ventures her solid sous for empty 
 hopes. Chivalrous sex ! ever losing, yet ever risking. 
 Sometimes it is the lover who deposits the stake. His 
 ungrateful mistress will not thank him if she is unfor- 
 
168 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 tunate ; but no matter, it is not the last of his money 
 that will be spent in the purchase of disappointment. 
 Among the rest, beggars throng the road, chanting 
 their ceaseless litanies ; and many a sol, dropped into 
 the extended hat for the love of God, purchases per- 
 mission of the donor's conscience to go to the devil for 
 the evening. 
 
 We at length traverse the Cours Dauphin, passing 
 the Champ de Mars and the Jardin des Plantes. On 
 the Quai de Paris various affiches on the walls flaunt 
 before our eyes the programmes of the play and the 
 exhibitions. Among the rest is that glorious fight of 
 bulls, dogs, bears, and men ! The scene of action is 
 only at the other end of the bridge ; the trumpet is 
 braying in our ears. We step quickly from the trottoir 
 into the street — but the sudden clang of a church-bell 
 arrests us, like a twinge of remorse. " It is only a 
 step," whispers Sathanas in our ear. " Consider ! 
 bulls — dogs — bears — and men!" 
 
 Did we yield ? Guess ! 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. * 
 
 THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 Having completed our wanderings on the right bank 
 of the Seine, from its embouchure to Rouen, we set 
 out the next morning to walk back again, on the left 
 bank, from Rouen to its embouchure. We crossed 
 the river, traversed the fauxbourg of Saint Sever, and, 
 having thus suddenly emerged from the middle of a 
 crowd composed of a hundred thousand of our fellows, 
 we found ourselves wending, solitary and museful, 
 towards the forest of Rouvray. 
 
 Often did this ancient forest resound to the halloo 
 of the early dukes of Normandy. Under these shades, 
 perhaps, the idea of the conquest of England was first 
 conceived ; for here William paused, in the midst of 
 the chase, to learn from a messenger that King Edward 
 was dead. In 1160, Henry the Second of England 
 built a residence near the edge of the wood, where 
 the successor of Rollo had erected palisades for an en- 
 closure, or preserve, for game. Soon afterwards it be- 
 came a leprosiere, for the reception of noble lepers ; 
 the king, as an old historian informs us, having " une 
 inclination grandement naturelle pour les pauvres le- 
 preux." After various fortunes, the whole building was 
 destroyed at the commencement of the revolution, with 
 
170 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the exception of the church, which is still extant, though 
 greatly injured. 
 
 Passing through two villages, the Petit and Grand 
 Couronne, we arrive at a ruin, of which the origin and 
 history are alike unknown. It is situated on one of 
 the lofty conical hills so frequent on this bank, and 
 which rises here in absolute isolation from the rest of 
 the world. Some traces of ditches around ; some frag- 
 ments of enormous walls ; a deep subterranean opening, 
 vaulted with savage art, — and these are all. Formless 
 and indefinite, it baffles conjecture ; but when standing 
 among the huge and shapeless ruins, gazing around 
 from this proud eminence on the forests and villages 
 beneath, and the Seine on the left flowing like the sea, 
 we feel — we are sure — that some high, though lost 
 or forgotten history must be connected with the soil. 
 
 If you inquire of the peasant who coasts carefully 
 round the solitary hill at night-fall, he will tell you 
 boldly, that these broken walls, which shew so strange 
 and ghastly against the sky, belonged to the chateau of 
 Robert the Devil. This personage, he will say, is still 
 seen in our own time, wandering in his grave-clothes 
 through the environs of the chateau, and visiting, 
 above all, the site of its cemetery. Often, even in the 
 daytime, a flash of more vivid lightning discloses for 
 an instant the thin, filmy figure of the phantom gliding 
 among the mounds ; and its unearthly shriek is heard 
 mingling with the voices of the storm. If, when the 
 confusion of the elements is over, the startled witness, 
 either in curiosity or incredulity, approaches the spot, 
 his blood freezes in his veins when he observes that the 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 171 
 
 earth of one of the tumuli is loose, as if it had been 
 removed and then replaced. Sometimes the phantom 
 appears to the passer-by in the form of a wolf, looking 
 down upon him, huge and gaunt, from the ruins. 
 Sometimes his howl is heard at midnight, wild and 
 high, in the forest; and at the sound, the terrified 
 listener, praying and perspiring, creeps down under 
 the bedclothes. 
 
 The old chroniclers of Normandy relate, that this 
 Robert was the son of a certain Aubert, " the first 
 duke," and that he was surnamed the Devil, " pour les 
 grans cruaultes et mauvaiseties dont il fut plain." The 
 first duke of history, however, was Rollo, — not in the 
 reign of King Pepin, like the above, but a hundred and 
 fifty years later ; and the first Robert was the lover of 
 Arlette. The latter, therefore, was, of course, dis- 
 covered to be the true Robert the Devil. 
 
 And, indeed, in spite of the sneers of some authors, 
 in our humble opinion, he richly deserved the name. 
 He began his career by revolting against his brother. 
 He was taken at the siege of Exmes, sworcl in hand, 
 and pardoned by the generous Richard ; whom, in 
 token of gratitude, he soon after poisoned. He became, 
 first the enemy, and then the friend of his dissolute 
 uncle, the archbishop of Rouen ; and, having con- 
 quered another holy churchman in battle, the bishop of 
 Bayeux, he obliged him to ask pardon in his shirt, 
 his feet naked, and a saddle on his back. He was 
 never at rest, but always from war to war, from battle 
 to battle; and at his battles no quarter was given — his 
 wars were wars of extermination. He, at last, repent- 
 
172 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 ing of his crimes, set out on a pilgrimage to Palestine, 
 to scourge himself at the foot of the holy sepulchre. 
 When returning, he was poisoned by his own servants ; 
 or, as others say, attacked by a fever, and died in 
 JVicea. 
 
 It matters not, however, who was the true Robert 
 the Devil ; this was his chateau, whoever he might be. 
 It was entire at the epoch of Philippe Auguste; and 
 from its gloomy walls, if we may believe Guillaume 
 le Breton, John Lackland went forth one night to as- 
 sassinate his nephew Arthur in the Vieille Tour of 
 Rouen. To-day its shapeless fragments are covered 
 with ivy, and the " herbe qui tgare." Wo to the luck- 
 less traveller who treads upon this creeper among tombs 
 and ruins ! In vain he tries to escape from the en- 
 chanted spot. Circling round the hill, he starts and 
 trembles to find himself still near the chateau of Robert 
 the Devil. The fruitless efforts continue all night ; till 
 at last, at his customary hour of prayer, as the holy 
 words escape his lips habitually, the spell dissolves. 
 
 Traversing a long alley of poplars, we reach the 
 village of La Bouille, from which passage-boats set out 
 several times in the day for Rouen, for the accommo- 
 dation of travellers from Pontaudemer and the depart- 
 ment of Calvados. Near La Bouille is Caumont, cele- 
 brated for its quarries, which afford a beautiful and 
 hard white stone. The quarry called Jacquiline is 
 especially worthy the traveller's notice, being wrought 
 in vast subterranean cavities, encrusted with crystals 
 and stalactites. 
 
 From Caumont we pass the end of the forest of 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 173 
 
 Mauny, and proceed to Lendin, without being tempted 
 to follow the sweep of the river. At Lendin we pause 
 for a while to examine the curious ridges of the hill 
 which impressed our imagination so vividly when at 
 Jumieges, and to gaze upon the ruins of that famous 
 abbey on the opposite bank. Crossing, at length, a 
 portion of the vast forest of Brotonne, we arrive at 
 La Mailleraie. 
 
 The delicious view annexed exhibits the appearance 
 of this chateau from the river, with its groves and 
 gardens. It is said that the beautiful La Valliere spent 
 here some years of her early life ; but no historical 
 associations are connected with the spot, — unless we 
 reckon one, its having had the honour of giving break- 
 fast one morning to the Duchess de Berri. A marble 
 column was raised (which unfortunately does not enter 
 into our friend's drawing) in memory of the stupendous 
 event. 
 
 At Vatteville, on the banks of the river, it is said 
 the French kings of the Merovingian race had a palace. 
 We could discover no ruins, however, nor any indica- 
 tion in the form of the ground to enable us even to 
 hazard a conjecture with regard to its site. 
 
 Beyond this the famous bar of the Seine is seldom 
 dangerous in our time ; but as we get farther down, we 
 find that a complete and sudden change takes place in 
 the character of the river. The waters widen, and 
 great sand-banks present themselves in the distance, 
 seeming to shut up the navigation altogether. Still 
 lower, these banks stretch along and across the river 
 in every direction, forming numerous narrow channels, 
 
174 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 that change almost every tide. Once a month a kind of 
 general revolution takes place. The bar carries in with 
 it immense quantities of sand, ground from the falaises 
 that border the coast by the ceaseless action of the sea ; 
 and this, forming a common stock with the deposits of 
 the Seine, creates new accumulations. Over these the 
 tide sweeps wildly in, presenting a mass of boiling- 
 waters twenty feet high ; and in the cou rse of a few 
 hours the whole aspect of the river is changed. 
 
 After this phenomenon, and even after the common 
 daily tides, the pilots may be seen threading the mazes 
 of the stream, sounding at every step, and exerting their 
 utmost sagacity to discover the safest path for vessels. 
 Their number amounts exactly to ninety-nine — never 
 reaching a hundred ! In the same manner there used 
 to be ninety-nine canons at Tours ; and at the moment 
 in which we write, there are ninety-nine cows grazing 
 in a field in Somers Town, one of the suburbs of Lon- 
 don, which the owner, it is said, has in vain endea- 
 voured to increase to a hundred! In this last case, 
 the very instant the hundredth cow is bought, another 
 dies, or walks off in some way or other, to make room 
 for it. 
 
 A hundred projects have been, and are, on foot for 
 remedying these evils of the navigation of the Seine. 
 Some have proposed that a canal should be dug from 
 Villequier (a little higher up from where we now stand, 
 and on the opposite bank) to Havre ; but the nature of 
 the ground seems to set this out of the question. The 
 canal in some places would have to be dug through 
 solid rock, and, if brought near the river, would be 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 175 
 
 destroyed in the course of time by the current washing 
 away its foundations. 
 
 Another canal has been projected, to commence on 
 the left bank, at the spot where the influence of the bar 
 ceases to be mischievous, and to be carried thence to 
 Vieux Port, across the hill of Saint Leonard at Quille- 
 bceuf, through the marshes of Vernier, over the lofty 
 ground of Laroque, and along the borders of Berville 
 and Fiquefleur to Harfleur. This canal would be 
 twenty feet broad, and its estimated cost amounts to 
 sixteen millions of francs. 
 
 But, even supposing the latter scheme to be practi- 
 cable, say other projectors, it would accomplish com- 
 paratively only a very small object. Rouen is but the 
 entrepot. Paris is the ultimate centre to which we wish 
 our goods to be conveyed, and our navies to float. The 
 Seine, which from Rouen to Paris is impracticable for 
 boats in the dry weather of summer, imperfect as it is, 
 may be converted into a creek of the sea, which will 
 make Paris a second London. The manner in which 
 this consummation is to be effected discloses one of the 
 most magnificent projects that can be conceived. The 
 author, an engineer of Caen, proposes that a strong 
 dyke should be built at the embouchure, extending from 
 one bank to the other ; by which means the bed of the 
 river will always preserve its level — the bar will be 
 unfelt — the sand-banks, and therefore the channel, will 
 become permanent — and the force of the stream will be 
 so far paralysed as to prevent new accumulations. 
 
 A dyke across the embouchure of the Seine seems 
 an impossibility ; but at Cherbourg they have attempted 
 
176 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 similar impossibilities, " yea, got the better of them." 
 It is not the depth of the water, nor the difficulty of 
 building in the abysses of the sea, which renders the 
 scheme, perhaps, more than doubtful ; for the resources 
 of human daring and ingenuity are now almost bound- 
 less. Could that huge Norman who conquered Eng- 
 land at a blow arise from his grave to-day, what a 
 pigmy he would think himself! How he would stare 
 to see his descendants sailing in the air above his head, 
 like a speck in the distant sky — or working coolly with 
 the axe and the hammer many fathoms under the 
 water — or sweeping, without sails, over the deep, in 
 the very eye of the wind — or rushing along the road at 
 the rate of forty miles an hour ! But there are some dif- 
 ficulties which we cannot yet overcome. At Cherbourg 
 the dyke was built upon rocks ; at the mouth of the Seine 
 we should have to build upon sand. Our knowledge 
 is too imperfect to allow us to speak ex cathedra on the 
 subject ; but in our opinion there is many an argosy now 
 rotting at the bottom of this sand, at a depth more than 
 equal to the height of her own masts. But, even if the 
 obstacles of nature could be overcome, those of human 
 interest and passion would remain. Havre would not 
 suffer itself to be destroyed without a cry that would 
 alarm Europe ; even the small voice of Honfleur would 
 make itself heard ; and the ninety-nine pilots of Quille- 
 bceuf would make common cause with the Tritons and 
 Nereides. 
 
 Leaving these stupendous projects, however, to 
 future generations, the French of to-day are expending 
 their francs in the construction of a rail-road from Paris 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 177 
 
 to Havre. This we cannot help considering a very 
 useless and foolish enterprise, entered into, like some 
 similar undertakings in England, without knowledge or 
 consideration. Steam-carriages, which will eventually 
 become general in all civilised countries, do not neces- 
 sarily require a rail-road. They require precisely such 
 a road as they have at present in almost all the great 
 thoroughfares of France — a good solid highway, paved 
 with hard stones. The public-spirited enterprise of Sir 
 Charles Dance, and those of Colonel Macerone and Mr. 
 Squire, have proved this fact to a demonstration ; and 
 we were ourselves a party in a little experimental expe- 
 dition, performed by the latter gentlemen, under cir- 
 cumstances which deserve to be communicated to the 
 public both of France and England. 
 
 Drawn one day out of a hut on Bushey Heath, by 
 the appearance of an unusual commotion among the 
 few inhabitants of the village, we saw a steam-coach 
 which had stopped at the door of the public house. 
 The apparition of a vehicle of this kind in such a place 
 was unaccountable. A balloon would not have sur- 
 prised us ; but the idea of steam was associated in our 
 minds only with that of rails, flat ground, or the level 
 ocean. Bushey Heath forms the plateau of a mountain 
 which is the highest point of terra firma in Middlesex ; 
 and, although so far inland, serves as a land-mark for 
 vessels at sea. The access to it from the London side 
 is by a road far steeper and more difficult than the one 
 by which we once climbed over the Simplon into Italy. 
 
 While meditating on a phenomenon which left our 
 philosophy at fault, we were accosted by Colonel Mace- 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 rone, in whom we were glad to recognise an old ac- 
 quaintance ; and in reply to our questions, he informed 
 us that, although the roads were in a peculiarly bad 
 state, the journey had been performed with perfect ease 
 — adding, that it was his intention to proceed to Wat- 
 ford. Now, if the road from Edgeware to Bushey 
 Heath was steep and difficult, the descent from Bushey 
 Heath to Edgeware was much worse. A portion of it, 
 more especially, called Clay Hill, we knew to be abso- 
 lutely precipitous, and not only so, but of a soft and 
 treacherous nature, answering to its name. When 
 ascending this hill to the Heath, it is requisite even 
 for the light stage-coaches drawn by four horses to 
 employ the service of a fifth horse, in order to sur- 
 mount the difficulty. We told our friend that he 
 might, no doubt, go by steam to Watford, but that we 
 were quite certain he would not return by the same 
 means of locomotion. Nevertheless, at his pressing- 
 instances, we consented to hazard our own person in 
 the adventure. 
 
 We set off, amidst the cheers of the villagers, at a 
 pace about equal to that of the gallop of a stage-coach. 
 The motion was so steady that we could have read or 
 taken notes with the greatest ease ; and the noise, so 
 disagreeable to passers-by, was not at all so great to 
 us as that of a common vehicle. 
 
 On arriving at the somewhat sudden commence- 
 ment of the descent of Clay Hill, the local inexperience 
 of the attendant (who had never been on this road 
 before) led him to be guilty of a neglect which might 
 have been followed by troublesome consequences. He 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 179 
 
 did not descend to perform the operation which, in 
 another kind of coach, is called " clogging the wheel," 
 till it became impossible. The impetus already acquired 
 by a vehicle of such enormous weight was irresistible ; 
 and we went thundering down the steep at a rate, it 
 was supposed, of not less than thirty miles an hour. 
 
 Fortunately there was nothing in the way ; but even 
 if there had been other carriages in the road, we are 
 not prepared to say that any accident would have 
 occurred. Our impression, indeed, is quite on the other 
 side. Mr. Squire, who acted as steersman, never lost 
 his presence of mind for an instant ; and the huge 
 vehicle — speed only excepted — appeared to be as docile 
 in his hands as a lady's pony.* It may be conceived 
 what amazement an apparition of this kind, flashing 
 through the village of Bushey, occasioned among the 
 inhabitants. The people seemed petrified. The front 
 of the carriage, without horses, or other apparent means 
 of locomotion — the line of black smoke streaming like 
 a flag behind us — and the calm faces of the colonel 
 and his partner in front, as each continued quietly to 
 smoke his segar, were alike unaccountable. 
 
 In the busy and populous town of Watford the 
 sensation was similar. The men gazed in a grave and 
 speechless wonder ; the women, less reflective but more 
 generous, clapped their hands, and screamed for their 
 
 * While writing the above, we observe by the newspapers that Sir 
 Charles Dance has solved the problem with regard to the practicability of 
 these carriages traversing the streets of London without danger to the 
 passers-by. A steam omnibus has also begun to ply regularly on the 
 crowded thoroughfare of the City Road. 
 
180 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 brothers and husbands to come and see. We at length 
 " put about," at the farther end of the line of street, in 
 magnificent style ; and, as we commenced our return, 
 were greeted with one long shout from the whole 
 population. 
 
 Our evil augury, we are happy to say, was not 
 verified. We ascended Clay Hill at the same rate 
 which is performed every day by the stage-coaches with 
 five horses ; and if the road had been hard, or even 
 covered in the soft places with broken granite, our 
 speed would have been far greater. There was indeed 
 a momentary stop ; but this was caused by one of the 
 wheels not being firmly enough fixed to the body of 
 the vehicle. # We at length regained our starting-place 
 in the firm persuasion that we had witnessed the com- 
 mencement of a revolution which will one day change 
 the whole face of Europe, and produce results, moral, 
 social, and political, so gigantic as to be beyond the 
 grasp even of the imagination. 
 
 The expense of running these carriages, as Colonel 
 Macerone informed us, compared with that of the four- 
 horse stages, is as one penny to a shilling. The 
 difference will be still greater in France, where fuel is 
 
 * In this state the wheel turns round with immense velocity without 
 producing motion in the carriage ; but it is customary, before ascending 
 a steep hill, to lock the wheels so as to prevent their getting loose. 
 Without this peculiarity of construction, which permits the wheels to 
 be disunited at pleasure from the axle-tree, a steam-carriage would be a 
 very dangerous machine indeed. It might take the fancy, for instance, 
 when the steam rose, of proceeding on the journey without the concur- 
 rence of the owner, who would thus find himself carried off as if by 
 magic — or the artificial leg of Mynheer von Wodenblock. 
 
THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 
 
 181 
 
 cheaper in comparison than corn. In France, too, the 
 roads are ready made ; while most of ours in England 
 would be impassable in their present state in a rainy 
 winter. As for rail-roads, they are excellent in a per- 
 fectly flat country ; but down hill they will be dangerous 
 in the extreme, and up hill almost absolutely useless, 
 except for carriages drawn by horses. To understand 
 this, it is only necessary to consider for an instant that, 
 when the horse is the moving power, he walks between 
 the rails on a road adapted to his feet, and only de- 
 mands that the wheels shall glide over a surface so 
 smooth as to present no impediment to their progress. 
 In the case of steam, the moving power resides in the 
 body of the carriage, and it propels only by turning the 
 wheels ; which therefore require, in ascending, a firm 
 and uneven surface, in order to give them a hold, as it 
 were, of the road. 
 
 If this is a digression, it cannot be considered a very 
 irrelevant one in the narrative of a traveller. If our 
 book, however, shall last a century, (and, unless the 
 plates are detached, we think it will,) the above ac- 
 count of our " expedition" will be read with a smile. 
 At that time, steam-coaches will traverse the civilised 
 countries of Europe from end to end ; steam-ships will 
 circumnavigate the globe ; and the descendant of Sir 
 Charles Dance will come into town from his seat at 
 Bushey in a steam-gig. 
 
182 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 QUILLEBCEUF. 
 
 Leaving behind us the dark forest of Brotoime, we at 
 length arrived at two little hamlets, placed near each 
 other on the banks of the river — Aiziers and Vieux 
 Port. The latter forms the subject of the annexed view, 
 taken from the river ; but although the beauty of the 
 scene is enhanced by the vessels, whose reflections are 
 seen so strikingly contrasted in the calm wave, yet the 
 moral effect of our Vieux Port is absent. In fact, the 
 impression made upon the spectator by almost any 
 scene in nature depends entirely upon accidental and 
 evanescent circumstances. An author may write, Ci here 
 stands a church, there a castle, and yonder a grove ; " 
 and his description, if correct, will be acknowledged to 
 be so ; but if he endeavours, at the same time, to con- 
 vey a moral picture which shall determine the character 
 of the view, either his fidelity or his taste will be ques- 
 tioned by every succeeding visitor. The residence that 
 is the most cheerful in summer — the most animate 
 with all the sights and sounds of that bountiful season 
 — the verdure of the woods, the song of birds, and the 
 quietly musical voices of cattle — is, in precisely the 
 same ratio, gloomy and desolate in winter. But, 
 without seeking an extreme case, we need only refer 
 to the one before us. 
 
QUILLEBCEUF. 
 
 183 
 
 Vieux Port presented itself to our eyes without a 
 single sail near it; its small neat cottages were only 
 seen at intervals through the foliage. A young girl, 
 lying asleep under a tree, was the only living object in 
 the picture — all was silence, simplicity, and peace. It 
 seemed to us to be a spot where a man, when wearied 
 with the world, might retire to rest and to dream. On 
 the opposite bank there are a few houses scattered here 
 and there, but all at some distance from the river. 
 
 The inhabitants of these two hamlets derive their 
 subsistence chiefly from fishing, and it is therefore 
 needless to add that they are poor. This thankless 
 occupation is still less productive in the little ports of 
 the Seine than elsewhere in France. The nets com- 
 monly used in the river are made in the form of a bag, 
 the opening of which is attached to two poles planted 
 in the water, one at each side. As the bag hangs down 
 perpendicularly by its own weight, it is very seldom that 
 any fish find their way into it till the coming in of the 
 tide. When this occurs, the stream, rushing rapidly 
 upwards, places the net in a horizontal position, its 
 mouth opening to swallow the rushing waters, with 
 which it devours, at the same time, the victims whose 
 evil destiny has thrown them in the way. When the 
 returning tide rushes down the river, the contrary action, 
 withstood by the weight of the fish contained in the 
 bag, naturally shuts the mouth, and thus the captives 
 are held fast till they find that they have passed " out 
 of the frying-pan into the fire ;" which in their case 
 means out of the water into the frying-pan. 
 
 The fish taken in this manner are chiefly small and 
 
184 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 of little value, but sometimes a salmon rejoices the heart 
 of the poor fisherman. When he has succeeded in 
 saving a sufficient fund — and, since the river supplies 
 the animal food, and the garden and hedges the vege- 
 table food of the family, this is not impossible — he 
 enters into a league with two or three neighbours as 
 opulent as himself, and they embark their whole fortune 
 in the purchase of a boat and tackle, which cost four 
 hundred francs, or sixteen pounds. The partners, or 
 personniers, as they call themselves, are now in a large 
 way of business. They almost live in their boat ; and, 
 day and night, in calm and storm, they brave the 
 vicissitudes of the seasons in pursuing their hazardous 
 trade. It is calculated that a produce yielding four 
 francs a-day will enable the associates to exist; but, 
 alas ! even this sum is not always the result of their 
 labours. They rarely, indeed, make less than ten sous, 
 but as rarely more than five francs ; and thus they go 
 on, from day to day, from month to month, of their 
 painful existence, happy if the earnings of one period 
 enable them almost to pay the debts of the former. 
 
 We have remarked in another publication, that the 
 fishermen of France are by far the poorest of the 
 peasantry, and we fear it is so also in England. There 
 is, besides, . a certain peculiarity of taste in the fishing 
 districts, which make the people poorer than they need 
 be. On the banks of the Seine, for instance, the fisher- 
 men are compelled to eat the John Dorys themselves, 
 or else to throw them away ; for this fish, so excellent 
 and so wholesome, is not admitted to the tables of the 
 genteel, and therefore fetches only a few centimes in the 
 
QUILL EBCEUF. 
 
 185 
 
 market.* In England we understand good eating 
 better, at least in this respect, and very properly place 
 the vulgar John Dory upon a par with the aristocratical 
 turbot. We should not forget to add, that in some parts 
 of Ireland — for instance, in the county Sligo, with which 
 we are best acquainted — the skate is reckoned unfit for 
 human food. The starving peasant turns away from it 
 with contempt, and, when taken accidentally either by 
 the rich or poor, it is thrown back into the sea. The 
 same insane prejudice prevails to a certain extent in 
 Scotland ; while in London we meet with portions of 
 the elsewhere proscribed, and really excellent fish, at 
 the daintiest tables. 
 
 The right of fishing in the Seine was formerly vested 
 in the proprietors of lands on the banks. The monks 
 of Jumieges, for instance, enjoyed the property of the 
 river from Melleraye to Duclair till the revolution. 
 This they farmed out to their vassals, who were bound 
 to reserve for their feudal lords the sturgeons, the finest 
 salmons, and other tid-bits of the fishery. They were 
 obliged every year, as M. Deshayes records in his 
 " Terre Gemetique," to present themselves at the abbey, 
 with the insignia of their trade, and, with a white wand 
 in their hand, to walk three times round a dovecote in 
 the court. At the third time they knocked at the door, 
 and made a reverence. Those who failed in this cere- 
 mony were guilty of a breach of the feudal discipline, 
 and condemned to pay a fine. 
 
 On leaving Vieux Port we followed the course of 
 
 * A centime is about the fifth part of a halfpenny. 
 
186 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 the stream till we had gained the extremity of a tongue 
 of land, which forms one of the sinuosities of this truly 
 serpentine river. A single glance suffices to convince 
 the spectator that this must have been a point of high 
 importance at the time when the Seine was open to 
 navigation ; and he is only surprised not to see on the 
 long narrow rock which terminates the land, at least 
 the ruins of a fortress. Below the point the river looks 
 like an arm of the sea ; and there is nothing to inter- 
 cept the view, carried over the vast waters of the chan- 
 nel, but the imperfection of the human vision. Above 
 it narrows suddenly (soon to become still more narrow), 
 and commences the strange involutions which make 
 the land look like a series of peninsulas. 
 
 On this long narrow rock, however, there are only 
 a few streets of small and ill-built, but gaily painted, 
 houses, which contain a population of about fifteen 
 hundred souls, furnishing the greater number of the 
 pilots of the Seine. The rest of the male inhabitants 
 of Quilleboeuf are fishermen ; while the women sit all 
 day long knitting lace at their doors or windows, or 
 grouped on little stools at some favourite corner of the 
 street. 
 
 Quilleboeuf is the capital of the Roumois, one of 
 the old subdivisions of Upper Normandy, extending 
 to Elbeuf inclusive. Till the time of Henri Quatre it 
 consisted only of a few fishermen's huts ; but this prince 
 observing, and perhaps even exaggerating, the import- 
 ance of the position — regarding it as the key of Nor- 
 mandy — fortified the port, constructed additional build- 
 ings, and endowed it with such privileges as he thought 
 
QUILLEBCEUF. 
 
 187 
 
 were likely to attract a population. The fortress, under 
 the command of Roger de Bellegarde, the friend of 
 Henri till he became his rival with the beautiful Gabri- 
 elle, soon rose into note ; and when the troops of the 
 Duke de Mayenne presented themselves before the 
 ci-devant fishing-hamlet, they were beaten in gallant 
 style, and put to flight. 
 
 The " king of the people" even sought to connect 
 his name with the glory of a place destined, as he 
 imagined, to be one of the safeguards of the country, 
 and he baptised it Henriqueville. The inhabitants, 
 however, paid no more respect to the wishes of a prince 
 who desired " that the poorest peasant in his kingdom 
 might have a fowl in his pot on Sundays," than the 
 Havrais had done to the commands of their knight- 
 errant Francis, the " king of the gentlemen." It is 
 easy to confer a name upon a place which has none ; 
 the most absurd or insignificant circumstances suffice 
 every day for the idea. But to change a name is 
 another thing. The name of a town, a village, or 
 hamlet, is an heir-loom inherited from our ancestors. 
 It is associated with the history of our family, with the 
 graves of our kindred, with all our early recollections. 
 The royal power did not extend over such matters even 
 in the time of Francis L, one of the most absolute of 
 the French kings. Havre remained Havre, and Quille- 
 bceuf will be Quilleboeuf to the end of time. 
 
 Henri Quatre was fortunately a good man (although 
 no doubt a little too fond of play and of the ladies), for 
 he reigned, like Francis, as an absolute monarch. The 
 difference between them is described in their two appel- 
 
188 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 lations of " king of the people" and " king of the 
 gentlemen." Francis was not aware that such a political 
 body as the people existed, or, if aware of the fact, he 
 considered their power a usurpation, and, without cere- 
 mony, substituted for the States an assembly of notables 
 (which may be translated " courtiers"), not to criticise, 
 but to approve of his intentions. Henri, on the other 
 hand, recognised the people even by his hypocrisy ; for 
 the lits de justice, which he established in lieu of the 
 notables, were nothing else than a sacrifice to popular 
 opinion. He loved individual glory as well as Francis ; 
 but he was aware that this could only be acquired 
 through the suffrages of the people. He therefore felt 
 it to be his interest to make his subjects happy, and he 
 had not the smallest scruple in forcing them to be so. 
 That he was wholly uninfluenced by any enlarged views 
 of political liberty, is evidenced by the fact that the 
 very peasants whose pots he wished to supply with a 
 fowl were sent to the galleys for killing a rabbit. 
 
 The firmness of character, however, of this prince 
 kept the machine steady during his life ; but he was no 
 sooner laid in his bloody grave than every thing fell 
 into confusion. His Italian marriage let loose upon 
 the nation a crowd of foreigners, headed by his queen, 
 Maria de Medici — the " strange woman," who brought 
 forth to the good, gallant, and great Henri Quatre, a 
 blockhead and assassin ! The principal favourite of 
 the queen-mother, who was made regent during the 
 minority of Louis XIII., was Concini, a Florentine ad- 
 venturer, to whom she had married her nurse's daugh- 
 ter, Leonora Galigai. This man rose suddenly to the 
 
QUILLEBCEUF. 
 
 189 
 
 highest dignity of a subject. He became " prime 
 minister," as Voltaire says, " without knowing the 
 laws of the kingdom ; and marshal of France without 
 having ever drawn a sword." 
 
 The Marshal d'Ancre, for such was now his title, 
 almost plunged the kingdom into a civil war. The 
 states-general were convoked for the last time before 
 the revolution ; but instead of attending to the crisis of 
 the country, they amused themselves with discussing 
 the affairs of the clergy. A complaint, however, was 
 made of Concini's maladministration ; the consequence 
 of which was the arrest of the Prince de Conde, the 
 chief of the discontented and of the Calvinists. All 
 was in confusion ; the Florentine's hour was at hand ; 
 and, reading the signs of the times, he determined, 
 with his usual pride and boldness, to fortify himself in 
 Normandy, of which he had been appointed governor. 
 
 Now comes our little town of Quilleboeuf into the 
 scene. Two years after the death of Henri, the forti- 
 fications had been rased by the order of Maria de 
 Medici ; but Concini, in his dilemma, bethinking him- 
 self that the " key of Normandy" would by and by 
 be of some use, were it only to lock himself in, began 
 with all speed to build them anew. He had not read 
 the stars aright, however, even with the assistance of 
 his wife, Leonora, who was reputed to be a sorceress. 
 Louis, perplexed with the remonstrances of his subjects, 
 and the rumours of wars that were in his ears, hardly 
 knew what to do with his ci-devant friend Concini. A 
 whisper from a young page called Luynes, determined 
 him. The Florentine was murdered in the king's 
 
190 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 palace, Leonora burnt alive for sorcery, and the queen- 
 mother banished. There is no beast of the forest so 
 energetic and uncontrollable in action as a fool. 
 
 The date of Concini's re-creations at Quilleboeuf was 
 1616; the parliament interfered; and in 1622, there 
 was not one stone on the top of another. 
 
 The next historical anecdote connected with Quille- 
 boeuf we translate as we find it, our own recollections 
 being somewhat confused on the subject. 
 
 " A Norman gentleman called Latruaumond, born 
 at Rouen, of the family of an auditor of accounts, was 
 for a long time lost in debt and debauchery. Being 
 considered, therefore, a fit associate for any desperate 
 undertaking, some malcontents of the court inspired 
 him with the idea of entering into a conspiracy against 
 Louis XIV. Among the conspirators was the Duke 
 de Rohan, son of the Duke de Mombazon, and also a 
 certain Chevalier de Preau, a Marquis de Belleau, and 
 a schoolmaster called Vanderende. Their object was 
 to deliver up the town of Quilleboeuf to the Dutch, for 
 the purpose of facilitating their introduction into all 
 Normandy. The plot, however, was discovered. La- 
 truaumond fled to his chateau of Cracouville, near 
 Evreux ; and when his pursuers arrived, took refuge in 
 the cellars, and perished there, the victim of a useless re- 
 sistance. The other conspirators were beheaded at the 
 Bastille, with the exception of Vanderende, who was 
 hung. It is said that the executioner, proud of having 
 cut off the heads of a prince, a marquis, and a knight, 
 turned to his assistants, and, pointing to the school- 
 master, said, ' You fellows, hang him yourselves.'" 
 
QUILLEBGEUF. 
 
 191 
 
 A few years ago, the vessels passing up or down the 
 river went close in by the quay of Quilleboeuf ; but there 
 is now a sand-bank stretching far across the river, after 
 having filled up a channel near the point of twenty feet 
 of water. These banks are not only dangerous to navi- 
 gation, but in some places they infect the air, producing 
 fever and dropsy among the inhabitants on the shore. 
 This is the case, for instance, at Tancarville, of which a 
 fine view is enjoyed from Quilleboeuf. The denizens of 
 the hamlet below the chateau are livid and sickly. 
 
 Quilleboeuf, although thus defended from enemies 
 by sand-banks, instead of fortifications, is still a place 
 of some importance, inasmuch as almost all vessels are 
 under the necessity of coming to anchor near its har- 
 bour. When ascending the river, indeed, it is possible 
 to get as far as Villequier in a single tide, if the wind 
 is favourable ; but when coming down, as they cannot 
 pass Aizier and Vieux Port except at full water, they 
 do not reach Quilleboeuf till the state of the tide con- 
 strains them to stop. 
 
 This little town, built on a rock, as we have said, 
 at the extremity of a point of land — with no neighbours 
 but the hamlet of Vieux Port at some distance on one 
 hand, and that of Laroque on the other, with the river, 
 interrupted by sand-banks, in front — and shut in behind 
 from the rest of the world by an immense marsh, which 
 we are about to visit, — presents, as might be expected, 
 not a few peculiarities of manners and customs. 
 
 The Quillebois is a rough and unpolite animal, and 
 his language is without refinement, and not so com- 
 pletely French as a stranger would desire. The Quille- 
 
192 
 
 WANDERINGS BY TFIE SEINE. 
 
 boise, however, is, in general, tall, handsome, and not 
 destitute of a certain wild grace. Her cap is neither 
 the lofty cone of the Lieuvin, nor the lace helmet of the 
 Pays de Caux, but rather a plain set-out, round which 
 is thrown loosely a piece of white muslin bordered with 
 lace. Her dress is made to fit the shape from the chin 
 to the waist ; but, on gala occasions, this is ornamented 
 by a thickly wreathed frill down the front, across the 
 neck, and over the shoulders, like an epaulette. 
 
 The young men do not look abroad for a wife ; 
 marriages are contracted entirely among themselves ; 
 and thus the whole village resembles a single family. 
 When a death takes place, the misfortune affects, to a 
 greater or less degree, every one of the community ; for 
 all have lost either a kinsman or a connexion. In the 
 same way, every marriage, every baptism, every fete, 
 is a public transaction ; the affairs of each inhabitant 
 are as well known to his neighbour as to himself ; his 
 losses occasion universal sympathy, and his successes 
 universal joy. This, however, must be taken cum grano 
 salts, or Quillebceuf would be a terrestrial paradise. 
 There are, no doubt, here, as elsewhere, envy, hatred, 
 malice, and all uncharitableness ; though not perhaps 
 to the same extent. Habit effects wonders. A family 
 composed of individuals the most dissimilar in character 
 generally contrive to get through the world without 
 many squabbles. One's brothers and sisters are a part 
 of one's self ; and although we may long sometimes to 
 thrash them all heartily, yet, somehow or other, the 
 esprit de corps (which is at bottom nothing else than 
 selfishness) sets every thing right again. 
 
QUILLEBCEUF. 
 
 193 
 
 Before quitting Quilleboeuf, we present our readers, 
 on the opposite page, with a glimpse of the town, and 
 of the formidable bar so frequently mentioned in these 
 wanderings. On the further side are a number of 
 vessels, which are fortunate in finding themselves safely 
 at anchor. They have been known to amount in num- 
 ber to a hundred. 
 
194 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 On leaving Quillebceuf, the next place we reached 
 was the village of the Marais Vernier, the capital, so 
 to speak, of a tract of country altogether singular. 
 In fact, while traversing these banks of the Seine, we 
 sometimes feel as if we were on a terra incognita. Our 
 previous reading, we had thought, was somewhat at 
 large, and we anticipated little from the journey but 
 the pleasure of seeing and recollecting. We have now 
 discovered that we knew nothing. 
 
 The Marais Vernier is an immense marsh, in shape 
 of a horse-shoe, the base of which is formed by the 
 Seine, and the rounded part by a line of hills, on which 
 are situated — stationed, we might say — about half a 
 dozen villages, at almost regular distances. * In the 
 middle of this vast meadow, which is sometimes com- 
 paratively dry, there is a lake called the Grand'mare, 
 the deep black waters of which never subside. It 
 covers about a twentieth part of the whole area, and, 
 at almost all seasons of the year, is darkened by clouds 
 of water-fowl. 
 
 Gardens, or fields, of kitchen vegetables, which the 
 inhabitants call courtils, occupy a space of nearly a 
 
 * The whole surface of the marsh contains two thousand four hun- 
 dred and seventy hectares. 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 195 
 
 twelfth part of the whole marsh, and their fertility may 
 be characterised truly by the adjective prodigious. Tur- 
 nips as thick as a man's leg, and more than two feet 
 long, with carrots in proportion, are among the mon- 
 strous births of the soil ;* while the cabbages which do 
 not weigh from twenty-five to thirty pounds are reck- 
 oned under the standard. M. de Nagu, the lord of the 
 village of Marais Vernier, once gained a bet which he 
 had made to send six cabbages to Paris weighing three 
 hundred pounds. One of this illustrious half-dozen 
 alone weighed sixty-eight ! The strange thing is, that 
 these enormous vegetables preserve no analogy with the 
 animal kingdom under such circumstances, but keep 
 their proper flavour amidst all their excess of growth. 
 The potato, however, is an exception to this rule. It 
 grows, like the rest, to a colossal size ; but, in a soil so 
 different from that of its natural hard and stony bed, it 
 contracts a taste of soap. 
 
 The agricultural implements used in the marsh 
 are very unlike, as we may suppose, those of other 
 districts. The spade, for instance, which is employed 
 in turning over earth that presents no resistance, is 
 almost as large in proportion as the fruits of the soil. 
 The beds are generally intersected at every fifteen feet 
 of width by ditches, or drains, of six feet. 
 
 But while the principle of vegetable life developes 
 itself so vigorously, that of human life declines. The 
 
 * It may be necessary to say, that the Norman turnips are oblong 
 instead of round, as we have them in England ; while the carrots would 
 resemble our English turnip, if they did not terminate in a short and 
 sudden cone. 
 
196 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 miasma of the marsh is fatal ; and in autumn more 
 especially, or in the intense heats of summer, the vic- 
 tims are numerous. The disease produced is a slow 
 fever, which varies in malignity with the state of the 
 atmosphere, but for which there is no hope in medicine. 
 Doctors, notwithstanding, are called as usual ; drugs 
 are swallowed ; and the patient descends into the tomb 
 secundum artem. The fresh tints of the women of 
 Quillebceuf are here unknown. Sallow complexions, 
 spiritless eyes, and feeble limbs, demonstrate the deadly 
 influence of the marsh. Almost every girl you meet is 
 an orphan — every woman a widow. The human affec- 
 tions themselves are under the control of the spirit of 
 the place. Mourning for the dead is here a brief and 
 empty form. The widow and the widower enter into a 
 new connexion without loss of time, and 
 
 " the funeral baked meats 
 Do coldly furnish forth the wedding table." 
 
 It is by no means uncommon for one individual, of 
 either sex, to have been married four or five times ; and 
 the conflicting interests of so many families produce, as 
 a matter of course, eternal quarrels, heartburnings, and 
 suits at law. The lawyers, fortunately, are at hand. 
 These benevolent and disinterested persons, undeterred 
 by the miasma of the marsh, crowd round its brink like 
 the birds of prey that feed upon its bosom. They place 
 themselves among the population, like the six-feet drains 
 among the vegetable beds, to carry off the exuberance 
 of fertility. 
 
 The village of Marais Vernier does not resemble so 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 197 
 
 much a village, as a confused multitude of detached 
 cottages, each at some distance from the rest, and sur- 
 rounded hy gardens and orchards. The spirit of union, 
 therefore, so visible at Quilleboeuf, is here absent; the 
 generous selfishness which embraces a whole town, 
 because it is one's own town, is unknown ; and the 
 inhabitants of the marsh, quite as insulated in their 
 position as the Quillebois, have nothing of that social 
 sympathy which endears solitude to the solitary, and 
 desolation to the desolate. 
 
 The marsh is said to have formerly been the site of 
 a forest ; but the same thing is said of every marsh in 
 France, and for precisely the same reason — that trunks 
 of trees, and entire trees, have been found beneath the 
 surface of the earth. The most extraordinary place we 
 know of, where this has been observed, is the vast grtve 
 of St. Michel, where the sands of the ocean descend to 
 such a depth, that a ship sinks in them, and disappears, 
 till even her tall masts leave no trace behind. The 
 truth, we suspect, is, that the greater part of the low- 
 lands, not only of France, but of all Europe, were at 
 one time covered with woods, and that, wherever there 
 are traces of any considerable revolution on the earth's 
 surface, their remains will be found. The trees dug up 
 from such abysses as the Marais Vernier, where the 
 fluidity prevents any geological cue from being attained 
 through the measurement of the accumulation of ve&'e- 
 table earth, are probably much older than has been 
 supposed. 
 
 The project of reclaiming the lands of this great 
 marsh has been frequently entertained ; but the diffi- 
 
198 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 culties are numerous. In the first place, the bank of 
 the river has been sensibly elevated by the ceaseless 
 deposits of the tide ; so that the most distant part of 
 the marsh has become the deepest. The water, there- 
 fore, never finds its way into the Seine, except when it 
 is above its usual level. An artificial canal, indeed, 
 exists ; but this is found to be of little use, partly, no 
 doubt, from the nature of the ground, but chiefly, we 
 presume, from its not being carried sufficiently deep. 
 In this more distant part is the lake of the Grand'mare, 
 which operates strongly against the efforts of man. It 
 is, in fact, the grand receptacle of the waters of the 
 marsh, which at one moment it borrows, and at another 
 repays with interest. 
 
 Henri Quatre was very anxious to reclaim the whole 
 of the marshy lands of France, but met with many 
 obstacles. It appears he was unable to find among his 
 own subjects any person able or willing to assist his 
 views, and at length he sent to the Netherlands. 
 
 " Not having found any of our own subjects," says 
 he, in an edict of 1607, " willing to attempt the enter- 
 prise, either on account of the great difficulty, risk, and 
 expense, or from some other cause, we have brought 
 from the Netherlands the Sieur Humphrey Bradley, a 
 gentleman of the country of Brabant, and native of 
 Bergen-op-Zoom, our master of dikes, and a personage 
 of great knowledge and experience in draining." Three 
 other men joined with Bradley in the undertaking, and 
 the association immediately commenced work in different 
 parts of the kingdom. At the Marais Vernier they 
 appear to have begun with considerable spirit ; and 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 199 
 
 excavations are seen to this day, eight feet in diameter, 
 known by the name of abimes, and the remains of a 
 construction called the Digue and Maison des Hollan- 
 dais. These are the only traces of their labours, which 
 were broken off, as is stated in the edicts, by law-suits 
 and other opposition. 
 
 In vain Henri urged them to persevere, and in vain 
 granted them exemption from imposts, and other privi- 
 leges. In vain he even offered titles of nobility to any 
 twelve among them who were not noble by birth. The 
 Netherlanders could not brook the ungenerous treat- 
 ment they had received from the lords of the district, 
 and, with the exception of their chief, returned to their 
 own country. Bradley would still have endeavoured to 
 come to some understanding with the " seigneur chate- 
 lain et patron" of the marsh, and entered into some 
 negotiations with him for the purpose. The result we 
 only know by the fact, that the attempt at draining was 
 never resumed; and in 1639 the magnanimous master 
 of dikes was no more. 
 
 It was afterwards attempted to turn the marsh to 
 some account by extracting from it the fuel called 
 tourbe ; but the expense of carriage was found to be 
 too great to admit of any hope of success. Similar 
 operations, notwithstanding, were recommenced in 1 825 
 on a larger scale. Three hundred Picards set to work 
 near the lake of Grand'mare ; numerous trunks of trees, 
 both of oak and elm, were dug up, and, for aught we 
 know to the contrary, their labours are continued to 
 this day. 
 
 The villages which surround the Marais are poor 
 
200 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 and ill-constructed; but their situation, and the view 
 they afford, are very striking. Placed on the sides of 
 the semicircular chain of hills, they overlook the vast 
 plain, intersected by canals of water as black as night, 
 with its dead lake in the middle. The ceaseless lowing 
 of cattle feeding on the outskirts, and on some meadows 
 that extend into the interior, as it swells wildly and 
 mournfully on the heavy air, sounds like the voice of 
 Pestilence ; and the shrill scream of the sea-birds that 
 hover in thousands over the lake conveys a kind of 
 superstitious thrill to the heart of the stranger. 
 
 The Chateau du Marais attracts notice only by its 
 common-place character, on a spot where we look for 
 something more than usually striking ; but at no great 
 distance to the south, and still nearer the lake, there 
 were seen, till lately, some vestiges of a more ancient 
 and remarkable edifice. This was called the Chateau 
 du Grand'mare ; and on the opposite side of the marsh, 
 near the modern village of Sainte Opportune, it was 
 confronted by another of a similar character, every 
 stone of which has now disappeared. The latter was 
 called the Vieux Chateau ; but both names, we appre- 
 hend, were bestowed by the peasantry after the build- 
 ings had fallen into ruin. These two ruins are con- 
 nected together in popular tradition ; and, being unwil- 
 ling to pass by so remarkable a place without lounging 
 for a while, we give the story as plainly as the habits of 
 a somewhat unmanageable pen will permit. 
 
 At a certain period, which the village chroniclers 
 carry back to the time of Charlemagne, although the 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 201 
 
 story evidently belongs to a much later era, the Marais 
 Vernier belonged, in its whole extent, to two powerful 
 families. The residence of one was the Chateau de 
 Grand'mare, and that of the other the Vieux Chateau. 
 The great plain was divided in equal portions between 
 them, as also the fishing of the lake ; no retainer of 
 the Vavassours being permitted to cast his nets on the 
 farther side of an ideal line drawn through the middle, 
 and the same kind of reservation being imposed upon 
 the retainers of Montargis. These regulations were 
 at first productive of many disputes, some of them not 
 unattended by bloodshed ; but by degrees the balance 
 of power found its proper level, and for a considerable 
 time before the date of the tradition we here undertake 
 to repeat, the two families had lived in the same kind 
 of amity which is preserved by neighbouring princes 
 whose similarity of interests keeps them at peace. 
 
 In those days, indeed, every petty baron resembled 
 a sovereign prince, and the affairs of his estate were 
 managed with all the formality which attends the 
 government of a kingdom. His sons and daughters 
 were bestowed in marriage either as peace-offerings or 
 as gifts of friendship and alliance ; and the youth or 
 maiden who presumed to fancy that the taste or liking 
 of either should be consulted on the occasion, was treated 
 as a rebel to lawful and natural authority. This state 
 of things, it may be said, remains to our day ; and per- 
 haps it does — but with far less shew of reason. The 
 most violent admirer of romance existing would hardly 
 desire that a princess of the blood should be allowed a 
 liberty of choice ; and the damsels of the olden time we 
 
202 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 speak of were in precisely the same situation as prin- 
 cesses of the blood. The interest, nay, sometimes the 
 very existence, of the family depended upon the disposal 
 of the daughter's hand ; and she who allowed her own 
 predilections to interfere might, therefore, without much 
 injustice, have been termed undutiful. 
 
 At any rate, the point was completely understood 
 between the two families more immediately in view. 
 Several matrimonial alliances had taken place between 
 them, without any symptoms of unwillingness on the 
 part of the betrothed ; and now the fair Julie de Mont- 
 argis, betrothed almost from infancy to Roland de 
 Vavassour, found herself within about a year of her 
 wedding, without any other symptom of emotion than 
 a radiant smile when the idea passed across her mind. 
 Julie, it is told in tradition, was " the most beautiful of 
 the beautiful," and she possessed more especially, in all 
 their lustre, the blue eyes of the Normans. This is a 
 kind of eye with which a woman can speak — all the 
 languages of Babel. The darker orb has more intensity, 
 but you require to understand it previously ; the blue 
 discourses extempore, and you know what it would say 
 without a key. 
 
 Roland de Vavassour had just donned the hauberk 
 of a knight, which, in spite of tradition, places his era 
 nearer us than the tenth century, and fixes his age — 
 supposing him, as is most probable, to have flourished 
 before the decline of chivalry — at twenty-one. He was 
 a fine, manly, handsome youth, and of those ample 
 proportions which befitted the hereditary wearer of 
 several stone of iron. Julie at least believed him to be 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 203 
 
 cast in the true mould of a hero. She dreamt of him 
 at night, and — still more unequivocal symptom — she 
 dreamt of him by day. Roland himself was of a grave 
 and somewhat melancholy character. The saying of 
 Pierre, that " a soldier's mistress is his religion," was 
 no jest to him. The love of God and of woman seemed 
 to him to be twin sentiments ; and in taking upon him- 
 self the vows of knighthood, he understood literally that 
 he pledged himself, soul and body, to be true at once to 
 his lady and to the Cross. 
 
 The same flight of time, however, which brought 
 nearer the day appointed for the union of the lovers, 
 brought with it, in the first place, the day of their tem- 
 porary separation. It was the custom in the family of 
 the Vavassours — (which leads us into the eleventh, if 
 not into the twelfth century) — for their sons to signalise 
 their entrance into knighthood, and their sense of the 
 honour to which they had thus attained, by setting out 
 on a course of adventures, which was to extend for a 
 year and a day from their exodus from the paternal 
 chateau. Whether Roland really grieved or not at the 
 circumstance, has escaped the memory of " the oldest 
 inhabitant ;" but we have it at least on oral record, 
 that on the day of the assumption he wept at his mis- 
 tress's feet the first tears that had stained his cheek of 
 manhood ; and set forth, in the character of knight- 
 errant, in quest of honour and hard blows. 
 
 Some months passed by, and Julie was inconsolable. 
 All the habits of her life had been interrupted — her very 
 thoughts required to seek a new channel. She wandered 
 along the borders of the marsh, gazing on the still lake, 
 
204 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 where she had floated, with Roland by her side, on 
 many a summer's afternoon. She endeavoured to fill up 
 her " waste of feelings unemployed," with new occu- 
 pations and new favourites ; but it would not do. In 
 vain she bestowed the name of Roland upon her best- 
 loved puppy ; in vain she sung the songs he had praised, 
 and listened to the echo, endeavouring to fancy it to 
 be his voice. Her solitude of soul seemed to increase ; 
 she became more melancholy every moment ; and at 
 length she had reached that point of romantic sensi- 
 bility, at which so many young women of our own 
 intellectual day either throw themselves into the Thames, 
 or quaff such a medicine, that sickness of the stomach 
 is mingled, as we read, with sickness of the heart. 
 
 Just at this moment there came a new hero into the 
 field. It was the younger brother of Roland — younger 
 only by an hour — who had been educated at some 
 ducal court with the name of which we are unac- 
 quainted, and who returned to the comparatively humble 
 abode of his father an accomplished courtier. Claude 
 de Vavassour was received by Julie at once as a friend ; 
 she looked upon him as a portion of his brother ; and 
 her heart felt a happy relief in bein g able to pour forth 
 its feelings into a breast where they would be sure to 
 be received with welcome. As for Claude, he at first 
 beheld the fair rustic with a kind of amused surprise. 
 Her manner was so different from any thing he had 
 been accustomed to, that he looked upon her as a being 
 of another, and possibly lower, species. He sought her 
 society as an amusement, and listened to her rhapsodies 
 just as he listened to the music of the minstrels. 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 205 
 
 By degrees, however, her society became necessary 
 to him. The echo of her voice lingered in his ear after 
 the sound had departed — the ducal court retreated 
 farther and farther from his vision ; and, by and by, 
 the hills which bounded the Marais Vernier became the 
 horizon of his world, and the blue eye of Julie the sun 
 which enlightened it. 
 
 This change was for a time imperceptible to Julie ; 
 and at last when she saw it with her eyes, she endea- 
 voured to conceal it from her mind. Claude was her 
 friend, her companion, her confidant — he was the only 
 being to whom she could speak freely ; and the day 
 when he was absent from the Vieux Chateau was a 
 blank to Julie. The tradition goes further, and says 
 that she loved him — but this is nonsense. A woman of 
 a pure mind cannot love two men at the same moment, 
 and her love for Roland was too manifest for dispute. 
 We must even confess that the peasant-chroniclers of 
 the Marais affix a certain stigma of lightness to the 
 character of our Julie ; and that the portion of the story 
 which relates to her is told as a general satire upon 
 woman and woman's love. 
 
 This we can excuse in them, on the score of igno- 
 rance ; but there are other historians, and other story- 
 tellers, to whom we cannot allow the plea. The man 
 in civilised life who disbelieves in love is capable of 
 atheism ! What though we ourselves may never have 
 met with it ? Do we not feel that it exists ? Are not 
 the evidences of its being engraven on our souls and 
 consciences in the same characters as those which testify 
 the existence of a Deity ? It is folly, nay impiety, to 
 
206 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 say, because we have been abused and deceived our- 
 selves, — " there is no love !" Our own hearts give us 
 the lie at the very moment, for love is there. It is 
 the same way with misanthropes, or the disbelievers 
 in human virtue — they are either fools or scoundrels. 
 They either doubt the existence of a quality which they 
 know they do not possess themselves ; or, possessing it 
 themselves, they are so boyish as to fancy that it is a 
 peculiar attribute of their own, unshared by the rest of 
 the human race ! 
 
 As for Julie, she was the friend of Claude, and the 
 mistress of Roland — but this distinction, which is pos- 
 sible for a woman, is not possible for a man. If we are 
 asked, why ? we answer frankly, we do not know. It 
 may be that the heart of man is naturally more capa- 
 cious — but that question we shall not enter upon at 
 present. All we say is, that a woman may be the friend 
 of one of our sex, and the mistress of another ; and that 
 a man, if he is not the lover of the object of his atten- 
 tions can only be a common acquaintance. 
 
 Julie, then, conceived a tender and sisterly regard for 
 Claude, and Claude a deep and fervent passion for Julie. 
 
 Time went by — " moons rolled on moons away" — 
 the year at length expired, and the day came ; and 
 Julie found herself, with beating heart, and flushing 
 cheek, and happy yet anxious eyes, standing by the 
 altar of the little chapel of Saint Ouen. It was here 
 that the lovers were to meet ; it was here that Roland 
 was to deposit the palm-branch he had cut in the woods 
 of Judea ; and it was here that, in a few days after, 
 their union was to be celebrated. 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 207 
 
 The chapel of Saint Ouen, which stood on the site 
 of the present church of that name, was about half a 
 league from the chateau ; and as Julie had walked 
 towards it alone in the dusk of the evening, a certain 
 degree of perplexity had mingled with the flutter of her 
 thoughts. The deep despondency into which Claude 
 had gradually sunk, as the time approached when his 
 dream was to have an end, had given her not only 
 affliction, but remorse ; for she could not but be aware 
 that her own conduct towards him had served to foster 
 the passion which she was now about to crush — and 
 with it the heart where it had grown. She remembered 
 with bitterness the selfish facility with which she had 
 yielded herself to a society she found so agreeable, 
 and cursed those minstrel-songs whose witchery had 
 so often induced her to listen, when, in mercy to the 
 singer, she ought to have shut her ears. 
 
 On these latter occasions her expressive eyes had 
 unconsciously responded to the strain ; and Claude, in 
 an ecstasy of delight, forgot the destiny which severed 
 them. His brother — his brave and noble brother — 
 faded before his love-enchanted view into a shadow ; 
 and, even after the intoxication of the moment was 
 over, the idea took possession of his soul, that Julie 
 might yet be his. This consummation could only be 
 brought about by one of two means — the falsehood 
 or death of Roland. The former, Claude (who was a 
 courtier) fancied at times was at least within the pale 
 of possibility ; but when he turned his eyes upon the 
 face of his mistress, and heard the accents of a voice 
 which melted in the ear of the listener till his whole 
 
208 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 soul was saturated with sweetness, he acknowledged 
 with a groan, that the man who loved Julie once must 
 love for ever. The other alternative, his rival's death — 
 Claude fled from the imagination as if it had been a 
 spectre. High in honour, noble in mind, he was one 
 of those specimens of knightly loyalty which Tradition 
 and her sister Romance delight to paint ; and when 
 the idea crossed his mind, of happiness purchased at 
 the expense of Roland's blood, his cheek blanched, 
 and his heart trembled. Claude, however, though a 
 knight, was still a man. The paleness of his cheek, 
 and the quaking of his heart, were caused not so much 
 by the fact which he contemplated, as by the shame 
 and horror which he felt on discovering that he could 
 contemplate the catastrophe without a brother's grief. 
 Yet he continued, notwithstanding his fits of remorse, 
 to listen to the tales of casualty brought back by pil- 
 grims from the Holy Land ; and sometimes, on such 
 occasions, Julie had started in sudden terror, as, on 
 raising her tearful lids, she saw the eager, and almost 
 wolfish, expression of his eyes. 
 
 As the day approached, however, Claude lost hope. 
 Intelligence had been received of his brother, who was 
 then at Nicea, on his journey homeward. He had 
 passed unscathed through the dangers of the Moslem 
 country ; he had knelt at the holy sepulchre, with his 
 hand upon the hilt of his sword, and the pennon of his 
 lance pointed against the infidels gathering round lij?:e 
 evil spirits ; he had cut his palm-branch in triumph from 
 the fairest bough in Palestine ; he had won fame and 
 honour in field and tournament ; and having acquitted 
 
THE M ARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 209 
 
 himself in all respects — of faith, courage, and loyalty — 
 as a Christian knight, he was now returning in triumph 
 to receive the reward of his chivalry in the fair hand 
 of Julie. 
 
 On the last day of the year Claude bade adieu to 
 the Vieux Chateau. Julie was aware that it would be 
 so ; and yet his departure gave her pain. She wept as 
 she extended her hand to him ; and wept the more 
 when she found that the lips were cold and tremulous 
 to which it was pressed. Claude, however, bore the 
 farewell with knightly pride. He had never spoken of 
 his love, and had sworn never to do so while his brother 
 lived. He mounted his steed ; then paused, as if he 
 had forgotten something. Julie raised her head, and 
 their eyes again met ; his face was as pale as marble ; 
 and the rigid and compressed lips bespoke his internal 
 struggle. She stepped forward, in mingled grief and 
 remorse, and uttered his name ; but the young knight 
 only bent his head in answer, and, closing his vizor, 
 rode away. 
 
 All these circumstances passed in review before the 
 damsel of Montargis during her twilight walk to the 
 chapel of Saint Ouen ; but by the time she arose from 
 her knees by the altar, every other thought was lost in 
 the delightful idea, that in a few minutes more she 
 would be in the arms of Roland. 
 
 An hour passed away, and she grew restless. She 
 began to pace through the deserted aisle of the chapel, 
 and start at the changing aspect of Saint Ouen, as his 
 statue of white marble gleamed amidst the deepening 
 shadows of evening. The silence was awful. The 
 
 p 
 
210 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 echo of her light foot ran in whispers along the walls ; 
 and she stopped, shuddering. The colours of the 
 western window were still faintly visible, and threw 
 a red stain upon the font beneath, near the door ; and 
 here and there a streak of mellowed light, at regular 
 intervals, marked the openings of the lateral windows. 
 The middle of the chapel, however, was filled with 
 shadows ; on the opposite wall the spectral head of 
 Saint Ouen shone with a ghastly paleness amidst the 
 gloom ; and at the eastern end, the statues of the 
 altar-piece were scarcely visible against the darkened 
 window behind. 
 
 Julie felt her heart grow sick. A strange confusion 
 took possession of her faculties ; the pavement seemed 
 to open ; dead faces stared at her wherever she turned 
 her eyes ; her name was pronounced in whispers ; and 
 as a chill blast of wind entered the chapel, and swept 
 moaning round the walls, she sunk down at the foot 
 of an image of the Virgin, near which she had been 
 standing. 
 
 The impression upon her mind was, that the western 
 door had opened, and that a funeral procession was in 
 the act of entering ! The whole nave seemed to be 
 filled with moving shadows ; and the whispering of 
 voices, and the waving of garments, fell distinctly upon 
 her ear. Had the door been really opened to the night 
 wind ? And were these things caused by the uncertain 
 light admitted, and the waving of votive offerings and 
 pictures, as the current of air rushed round the build- 
 ing? Julie half raised her head as the supposition 
 suggested itself ; but the next moment a new sensation 
 
THE MARAIS VERNIER. 
 
 211 
 
 of faintness came over her, as she actually saw a human 
 figure standing in the red light near the font. 
 
 The figure advanced; it was that of a man — of a 
 knight, loaded with armour — yet no sound followed 
 his footfalls ! As he passed one of the windows, she saw 
 that he bore the red pennon of Sir Roland de Vavassour 
 in one hand, and a palm-branch in the other. Having 
 glided at length as far as the middle of the nave, he 
 stopped, and turned his face towards Julie, which 
 gleamed in the surrounding darkness, as white as that 
 of the marble statue of Saint Ouen. A low moan 
 escaped her oppressed heart as she recognised the fea- 
 tures of her lover; and the figure, seeming to fix his 
 eyes upon her, advanced a step. But the next moment, 
 waving his hand mournfully, he crossed his brow and 
 bosom, and glided slowly away towards the altar. Julie 
 fainted. 
 
212 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 The tradition goes on to say, that the damsel of 
 Montargis was delirious for some days after this ad- 
 venture ; and that, even when she had recovered, it 
 was thought improper to run a risk of forcing her mind 
 back into the fatal remembrance, by informing her that 
 a palm-branch had actually been found on the altar ! 
 No trace of Sir Roland had been discovered ; no knight 
 had been seen in the neighbourhood ; the fact was, 
 therefore, certain beyond dispute, that what she had 
 seen was an apparition. Julie, however, required no 
 reasoning to convince her of this. It was the face of no 
 living man she had seen ; it was no armed warrior of 
 earth who had glided through the chapel, without pro- 
 ducing a sound by his tread. Roland, besides, would 
 not have looked upon his love with those glassy eyes, 
 had his arms been able to press her to his breast. It 
 was, indeed, but the form of her gallant knight she 
 had beheld — a shadow from his far and bloody grave ; 
 and a week had scarcely elapsed, when sure intelli- 
 gence was received that he had perished in a storm 
 at sea. 
 
 The palm-branch was preserved by the monks as a 
 relic of extraordinary sanctity ; and many thought that 
 the warrior, whose spirit had thus performed the vow 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 213 
 
 he had taken in the body, should be admitted into the 
 holy army of the saints. That they were correct is 
 more than probable ; for, even without the ceremony of 
 canonisation, the relic wrought numerous cures which 
 were justly esteemed miraculous. The gratitude of the 
 common people, however, does not wait to be sanctioned 
 by papal bulls ; and many a village maid who had 
 recovered her bloom, withered by the miasma of the 
 marsh, prayed fervently to the supernatural physician ; 
 and many a young mother, as she held up her first- 
 born to the palm branch, invoked and blessed Saint 
 Roland. 
 
 In the meantime, the old lord of Vavassour died, 
 and Sir Claude returned to the Marais Vernier, to take 
 possession of the family estates. For a time he grieved 
 sincerely for the death of his brother; but gradually 
 the world brightened before the eyes of the youthful 
 knight. Julie was now his, beyond the intervention of 
 fate ; and his family, absorbed in their own selfish 
 feelings, even attempted to push forward the new union 
 with indecent haste. But Claude did not wish Julie to 
 be merely his wife, but also his mistress ; and, con- 
 scious that she loved him better than any living being, 
 he resolved to await the revival of the crushed flower 
 before he gathered it. 
 
 This took place in the due course of nature ; but 
 the flower had suffered a change. More beautiful than 
 ever, its beauty was of a softer, grave nature; and its 
 fragrance, before that of the rose and lily intermingled, 
 was now the sweet perfume of the wall-flower growing 
 upon monuments and ruins. This change, however, 
 
214 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 after a time, was only perceptible to Claude — to him 
 who had explored every depth of her mind, and studied 
 every expression of her countenance. To others she 
 seemed the Julie of former years, only altered from a 
 girl into a woman ; and her new gravity of character 
 was looked upon as nothing more than the change 
 which sometimes takes place so suddenly at the age 
 when instinct ripens into reason. 
 
 Julie, when her first grief was over, knew that 
 Claude must be her husband ; and, far from regretting 
 it, she looked forward with pleasure to the period when 
 their friendship would be so endearingly cemented. 
 Something, however, was due to the dead, and some- 
 thing to the feelings of the living ; and she steadily 
 refused to become a wife till she had dedicated a full 
 year to mourning for her lover. Claude, nevertheless, 
 was constantly with her ; he was the companion of her 
 walks ; he knelt with her at the altar ; and by degrees 
 she loved him as well as woman can do, before the 
 ruins of her first idol have completely vanished from 
 the temple of her heart. 
 
 The time at length had almost arrived, and the 
 waning year touched upon its close. Preparations were 
 made for celebrating the marriage with all the pomp of 
 the feudal age. This was the grand occasion when the 
 ancient rivalry of the two families broke out, although 
 in a new form ; and the question was not of prowess in 
 the field, but of splendour in the hall. Minstrels and 
 jugglers thronged the courts of the two castles; lords 
 and ladies from far and near crowded to the approach- 
 ing festivities; and many a wandering knight turned 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 215 
 
 out of his road, when he heard the tidings, to claim 
 hospitality either of the Vavassours or Montargis. 
 
 The day came at last, and it was ushered in with 
 rain, and storm, and thunder. A sudden damp was 
 cast upon the spirits of every body — and no wonder, 
 for the bravery of the ladies would be spoiled, and the 
 plumes of the gentlemen dangle ungracefully about 
 their ears. The ceremony, however, must go on ; pre- 
 parations were already made at the chapel ; the priests 
 had been in waiting since daybreak ; and processions of 
 monks had arrived from the neighbouring convents, 
 with relics and banners. It was the family custom, 
 however, that the marriage should be celebrated at 
 night, by the light of the holy tapers ; and there was 
 yet time for a change of weather. But the hopes of the 
 party were disappointed. The evening closed in dark 
 and gusty ; and at length the torches were lighted, and 
 the cortege set out, silent and gloomy, for the chapel of 
 Saint Ouen. 
 
 The nature of the ground precluded the possibility 
 of riding ; but the ladies, highest in dignity, were car- 
 ried in litters. Among them Julie went first, with her 
 lover walking by her side. Sir Claude sometimes 
 pressed the hand of his bride, but neither spoke ; they 
 looked round upon the strange scene with a feeling 
 resembling wonder; and when they saw the torches 
 extinguished one by one by the wind and rain, Julie 
 felt a depression stealing over her heart, which she 
 could not subdue. 
 
 " Claude — " said she, at last, faintly. 
 
 " My life!" 
 
216 
 
 "WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " Could not this be deferred even now?" 
 
 " It is impossible." 
 
 " Heaven itself seems against us !" 
 
 " You will not think so when we return to the 
 chateau, and find ourselves surrounded by lights and 
 merry faces. Cheer up, my love ! this is only an acci- 
 dent of the weather. Heaven must be on the side of 
 my Julie, in spite of all the thunder in the clouds!" 
 
 " Claude!" said she again; " did you mark that 
 single skiff on the lake, gliding through the red reflec- 
 tion of the torches?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Had it not a strange appearance?" 
 
 " It was a remarkable object in a remarkable scene. 
 Would that we had a painter here ! " 
 
 " I thought, when I saw it, of the rhyme you once 
 sung to me of that mystic boat which carries the dead 
 across the river of hell ! " 
 
 " Julie ! my own life ! you must not give way to 
 such fancies. This is our wedding night. No mortal 
 crime stains my hand — no evil thoughts my heart; and 
 you, my fairest bride, are as pure as the angels them- 
 selves. Why should we fear? Come, give me your 
 hand ; lean upon my shoulder, that you may feel I am 
 near you." 
 
 " Do you come in steel gauntlets to a bridal?" ex- 
 claimed she, quickly, as she complied. 
 
 " Alas, no ; but your own hand is so marble-cold 
 that you cannot feel mine aright." 
 
 While he was yet speaking, the procession arrived 
 at the chapel -door; and, without order or ceremony, 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 217 
 
 all hastened into the shelter of the little colonnade. In 
 vain the priests endeavoured to preserve some regu- 
 larity, and at least form the company into a line on 
 entering the church ; but, cold, dripping, and gloomy, 
 they resisted all control, and hurried up to the altar in 
 a confused, and scarcely an amicable, mass. The mor- 
 tified monks lost all presence of mind. The torches, 
 on which they had depended so much for effect, were 
 not rekindled; and the tapers surrounding the high 
 altar threw only a feeble and flickering light into the 
 body of the church. Worship, however, began ; all 
 fell upon their knees; and a deep silence followed 
 the tumult, interrupted only by the chanting of the 
 priests. 
 
 When the congregation rose, the exhibition of the 
 relics took place immediately previous to the marriage 
 service ; and as each shrine was elevated, every knee 
 touched the earth, every tongue muttered an ora pro 
 nobis, and every hand made the sign of the cross upon 
 the brow and bosom. The stranger brotherhoods exhi- 
 bited first ; and then the priests of Saint Ouen came 
 upon the scene. The last relic they held up to the 
 adoration of the multitude was a palm-branch. 
 
 Julie started at the sight, which recalled so terrible 
 a recollection ; but the next moment, detecting in the 
 invocations of the peasantry, who filled the bottom of 
 the nave, the name of Roland, she looked round in 
 astonishment and dismay. 
 
 " Look to the altar, love," whispered Claude ; " our 
 bridal service begins !" 
 
 « Hush!" 
 
218 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " Julie! dearest Julie ! — " 
 
 " There ! there !" — and, having uttered these words, 
 a scream broke from her lips, so loud and shrill as to 
 make every heart quake; and before her lover could 
 extend his arms, she fell senseless upon the ground. 
 
 She was taken up by her bride-maidens; and Sir 
 Claude, having ascertained by a glance that she was 
 properly cared for, strode fiercely towards the point 
 upon which her eyes had been fixed. This was the 
 statue of Saint Ouen, leaning against which appeared 
 the tall figure of a man, in the dress of a penitent, 
 with his cowl drawn over his face. 
 
 " What knave is this," cried Sir Claude, in a pa- 
 roxysm of passion, " who disturbs the rites of holy 
 church ? " 
 
 " He is no knave," answered the peasants; " he is 
 the Monk of the Marais ! " 
 
 " Monk or no monk, he shall play his juggleries 
 here no longer" — and the impetuous knight rushed 
 forward, as if for the purpose of ejecting the supposed 
 offender by main force. The peasants threw themselves 
 in a body between. 
 
 " Let us stand by the monk ! " cried they, tumul- 
 tously, one to the other. " Come, brethren, to the 
 rescue ! The Monk of the Marais ! The Monk of the 
 Marais!" — and the young knight, bareheaded and un- 
 armed, as were also his comrades, seeing that opposition 
 to such a force was useless, stood still, chafing with 
 fury and disdain. The monk, in the meantime, had 
 remained in precisely the same posture, as if ignorant 
 that he was at all concerned in the tumult around him. 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 219 
 
 He leant with his right arm resting on the drapery of 
 the statue, and his cheek reclining upon his hand. 
 The attitude would have seemed one of mere indolence, 
 had it not been that the left arm hung down power- 
 lessly, and gave the idea of extreme despondence and 
 desolation. Even Claude, when he had considered the 
 figure for some moments, repented of his violence. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " I perceive that this man 
 means no harm ; but the health and the nerves of the 
 lady Julie are out of order — his presence disturbs her 
 ■ — I pray you persuade him to depart in peace." 
 
 The monk, as if understanding what he had said, 
 immediately arose from his reclining posture, and, 
 gathering his ample cloak around him, walked slowly 
 away, the peasants falling back respectfully, and making 
 a line for him to pass. When he had gained the door 
 of the chapel, he stopped for an instant, and turned half 
 round ; but the next moment he resumed his slow and 
 stately step, and vanished in the darkness without. 
 
 The bride, however, was not to be reassured. She 
 trembled violently, and ever and anon her eyes sought 
 the statue of St. Ouen with so bewildered a gaze, that 
 her friends feared for her intellects. Even the tender 
 whispers of Claude were unavailing. She answered 
 " Yes " and " No " incoherently to his questions ; and 
 at last burst into a hysterical fit of sobbing. It was in 
 vain to persist. The bride was evidently unwell: the 
 couch of sickness must be spread for her, instead of the 
 marriage bed ; and the counsel of the leech sought 
 before that of the priest. The amazed company broke 
 up, and returned as they had come, in gloom and 
 
220 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 discontent — and so ended the bridals of the Baron 
 of Vavassour and the damsel of Montargis. 
 
 Here the tradition, instead of gratifying any reason- 
 able curiosity it may have excited on the subject of 
 the Monk of the Marais, merely states parenthetically 
 that this individual was an ascetic recluse, who had 
 taken up his abode in the middle of the marsh, on the 
 very brink of the lake of Grand'mare. It neither fixes 
 the date of his appearance in the district, nor states 
 whence he came ; but leaves the hearer to conjecture 
 that he was some religious enthusiast, who thought to 
 cheat heaven of its right of chastisement in the next 
 world, by inflicting on himself all the pains and penalties 
 of sin which the present can afford. His enthusiasm, 
 however, was harmless to others, although dangerous, 
 and perhaps fatal in intent to himself, as the situation 
 of his dwelling sufficiently proved. 
 
 The waters of the lake were evidently gaining upon 
 the comparatively firm land — and perhaps at that day 
 they comprehended a much smaller surface than they 
 clo now. The banks were raised in some places to a 
 height of many feet, and the poisonous wave below 
 seemed to corrode and eat into their substance, till 
 occasionally huge masses of black earth, breaking off 
 from the body of the marsh, toppled headlong into the 
 deep. When a catastrophe of this kind occurred, the 
 liberated fragment was generally carried far out into 
 the lake by the impetus of its fall ; and, being composed 
 of light and spongy earth, united by fibres of plants and 
 branches of decayed trees, it formed a floating island, 
 and swam for several days together. Gradually, how- 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 221 
 
 ever, a separation of its parts took place ; piece by piece 
 it mouldered away, and at length wholly disappeared. 
 
 In a particular place, one of these masses had 
 detached itself from a sort of promontory ten or twelve 
 feet high, which formed the loftiest part of the bank, 
 but, arrested at the water's edge, hung there in a posture 
 so threatening, that the fishermen, as they passed, made 
 unconsciously a wide sweep round the spot. There were 
 several other portions of the bank in a decaying state, 
 but this would have been pointed out as the most likely 
 to go first ; yet this was the very spot on which it 
 had pleased the hermit to build his solitary hut. Some 
 thought that the site was chosen on account of the 
 shelter which the promontory behind afforded ; but all 
 remarked, as a very strange and even awful circum- 
 stance, that although every month some fragment fell, 
 this, which had appeared the nearest to such a consum- 
 mation of them all, still retained its position. It seemed 
 as if the sanctity of the recluse protected the very earth 
 on which his hut was built! He was sometimes seen 
 abroad, and even Julie and Claude had occasionally 
 passed him in their walks ; but the hermit neither 
 raised his cowl nor his head. It may easily be con- 
 ceived, that a man of this kind needed only to die to 
 become as good a saint as Roland himself; but in the 
 meantime, awaiting such a catastrophe, the peasants took 
 care that, at all events, he should not perish for want 
 of food. Their gifts were thrown at arm's length from 
 the bank ; but the master of the hut, so far from coming 
 forth to thank them, if he saw them approach at a 
 distance, retired into his lair like a wild beast. 
 
222 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 In the middle of the night of the interrupted nup- 
 tials, Julie, having fallen into a profound sleep, was 
 left alone by her attendants, in the hope that when they 
 returned, they should find her almost well both in body 
 and mind. Her malady, they knew, required only rest 
 and kindness ; for it was evidently nothing more than 
 a weakness incidental to the female constitution. She 
 had been placed in a new and momentous situation ; 
 the storm and thunder with which the night was 
 ushered in had affected powerfully her sensibilities ; 
 the view of the palm-branch had called up before her 
 mind's eye the awful vision she had seen on that very 
 spot ; and the spectral form of Saint Ouen catching 
 her view at the instant — or, perhaps, even the muffled 
 figure of the poor monk — had completed the overturn 
 of her equilibrium. The attendants, shading the night- 
 taper from the invalid's eyes, carefully closed the door, 
 and retired into an ante-room, to watch there for the 
 rest of the night. 
 
 The sleep of Julie did not last long. She started up 
 in the bed, and looked wildly round the room, as if in 
 search of some person ; then, pressing her hand to her 
 hot forehead, appeared to endeavour to call to mind 
 what had passed. Soon after, she arose noiselessly, 
 and creeping across the room, listened at the door. 
 All was quiet. She then hastily caught up some articles 
 of dress, which she put on with feverish impatience; 
 and adding, over all, apparently in the confusion of her 
 mind, the splendid nuptial-robe of the preceding even- 
 ing, contemplated her appearance for a moment in the 
 mirror. A smile passed across her face as she observed 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 223 
 
 the fever-bloom on her cheek, and the fire of delirium 
 in her eye ; and then, throwing open the casement, she 
 leaped with the lightness of a bird upon the ledge of 
 the window, and crept down the broken stones of a 
 buttress into the court. 
 
 " Queen of heaven !" cried the warder at the postern- 
 gate, as she presented herself ; " what means this, 
 dear lady?" 
 
 " I have a vow ! " said she calmly. " If unfulfilled 
 this night, I shall see no sun of to-morrow. I am your 
 lord's daughter ; I am your foster-sister. Open, I 
 command and entreat you ! " The warder obeyed re- 
 luctantly ; but after she was gone, he appeared to be 
 seized with a panic, and re-opening the gate looked 
 after her into the night. 
 
 " No ! " said he, with a sigh of relief, as he saw her 
 take the path to the chapel of Saint Ouen : H her er- 
 rand is not to destroy her body, but to benefit her soul. 
 God and the Virgin be her comfort ! Holy Saint Ouen 
 pray for her ! Amen ! " — and so saying, he retired 
 again and closed the door ; resolving, however, to pre- 
 vent the possibility of accident, to let some of the family 
 know of her nocturnal excursion, as soon as a change of 
 guard took place. 
 
 Julie, in the meantime, when she had advanced 
 far enough in the path to be concealed from observation 
 by the trees, changed her route ; and, circling round a 
 thickly planted eminence, darted, with the fleetness of 
 a deer, to the bank of the Grand'mare. A single small 
 skiff was moored to a little quay constructed by the 
 fishermen, the rest of the boats lying at a distant 
 
224 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 village. She untied the line, as one accustomed to 
 such employment, and leaping lightly into the vessel, 
 seized an oar, and made her glide through the water 
 like a swan. 
 
 The rain was now completely over, and only the 
 remains of the storm moaned in hollow-sounding gusts 
 along the lake ; while the moon, appearing fitfully 
 through the broken rack, one moment wrapped the 
 waters in light, and the next left them in the blackest 
 gloom. Sometimes the vast level of the marsh, un- 
 distinguished in the obscurity, seemed only a portion 
 of the Grand'mare ; and an idea of loneliness, united 
 with that of immensity, was produced, resembling the 
 impression which thrills our souls when voyaging, far 
 from all view of the land, on the bosom of the mighty 
 ocean. Julie felt the fever of her blood abate as she 
 gazed around, and the night-wind appeared to cool her 
 throbbing temples and burning bosom. A sensation of 
 awe stole over her mind, and her feelings, if not less 
 deep, became more tranquil. 
 
 The skiff now approached the promontory of black 
 earth, beneath which she could distinguish, though im- 
 perfectly, the hanging fragment, and the hut of the 
 hermit -monk. She laid down the oar gently, and 
 allowed the little vessel to glide undirected through the 
 deepening shadow. Protected from the influence of 
 the gust, the lake here was smooth and silent ; and no 
 sound announced the visitor's approach, save the gentle 
 rippling of the water at the prow of the boat. She 
 landed, and knocked with a trembling hand at the 
 door of the hut. 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 225 
 
 There was no answer. 
 
 " Father!" said she, at length, in a broken and 
 timid voice. There was a sudden stir within, like that 
 of one who starts in terror from his repose. 
 
 " Father!" she repeated, almost in a whisper. She 
 trembled from head to foot, and leant helplessly against 
 the wall. 
 
 " Who is there?" demanded the monk, in a low 
 and husky tone. 
 
 " A penitent! a wanderer! an outcast of Heaven! 
 Counsel me — help me — uphold the steps of my despair 
 — or I am lost!" 
 
 The door opened, and the monk slowly came forth. 
 His head was uncovered ; and, as the moonlight fell 
 upon his pale and haggard features, Julie tottered 
 back. 
 
 " What would you, lady?" said he — " Lo! I am 
 here." She wrung her hands in speechless anguish. 
 
 " Why gaze in such astonishment? Do you marvel 
 that disappointment should have withered my heart — 
 that suffering should have drunk up my yet young- 
 blood — that despair should have dimmed my eye?" 
 
 " And this for me !" 
 
 " Ay, for you! It was weakness — no matter. I 
 loved you — even to sin — even to idolatry ! You were 
 my only — my all — " 
 
 " For me! — For me!" — and she threw herself on 
 her knees before him, and clasped his hand, and covered 
 it with tears and kisses. He in vain endeavoured to 
 raise her. One moment she gazed in his wan face, 
 and the next examined his pale thin hand: " It was 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 all for me!" she cried — " 0 Roland! Roland!" and 
 broke anew into a fit of passionate weeping. 
 
 " Julie," said De Vavassour, in strong agitation — 
 " Lady! — I was not prepared for this. All things else 
 I could have met with fortitude — Spare me — spare 
 me, I entreat!" 
 
 " Spare you?" exclaimed she, suddenly rising — 
 " And is it to Julie that Roland says ' spare me?' I 
 would have nursed you in my arms, even as a young 
 mother nurses her first-born ; I would have begged for 
 you through the world ; I would have stood by your 
 side in battle, and received you in my lap when you 
 fell ; your last sigh would have escaped upon my lips ; 
 and, having hidden your beloved head under the earth, 
 I would have laid me down and died upon your grave !" 
 
 Roland clasped her in his arms ; he hid his face on 
 her neck ; for some time his chest heaved convulsively 
 and in silence ; but at length the soldier's pride gave 
 way — he sobbed aloud, and Julie felt that her shoulder 
 was wet with burning tears. 
 
 They sat down upon the ground, and a hasty and 
 abrupt conversation made each acquainted with what 
 had passed. 
 
 " I escaped as if by miracle," said Roland, " from 
 the devouring waters, when all else were swallowed up, 
 and made my way alone to the valley of the Marais, 
 a week before the expiration of the year and day. My 
 vow being unfulfilled, I could not present myself to my 
 kindred before the time ; but wandered at nightfall 
 around the Vieux Chateau like a spirit. At every 
 peasant's hut, as I listened for tidings by the door, 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 227 
 
 I heard surmises of your infidelity ; and with my own 
 eyes I saw enough to carry conviction into the breast 
 of a long- absent lover. The night of our promised 
 meeting, however, would determine my fate ; and when 
 the evening fell, 1 commenced my watch near the cha- 
 teau. No lights, however! no preparations ! — all was 
 dark — all was silence and solitude around." 
 
 " Dreadful mistake !" exclaimed Julie — " I was by 
 that time in the chapel, being unwilling that our first 
 meeting should take place, in the usual custom, before 
 a crowd. 7 ' 
 
 Sir Roland shuddered. 
 
 4 6 When I reached the chapel of Saint Ouen, I be- 
 lieved it to be utterly deserted ; but lest, perchance, 
 some lonely penitent might be within, I pulled off my 
 boots before entering — for already the cloud had come 
 upon my spirit, and I had determined to retire for ever 
 from the world, and break off all communication with 
 my own species. Something stirred, methought, near 
 the image of Our Lady — " 
 
 " Alas! alas! It was I!" 
 
 "You! Mysterious Heaven! I passed on, sup- 
 posing it to be the creature of fancy ; I deposited my 
 palm-branch on the altar ; left the chapel as silently as 
 I had entered — and, lo ! I am here !" 
 
 Julie's tale was told as simply. 
 
 " Do you love Claude?" said De Vavassour, after a 
 pause, when she had finished. 
 
 " 1 do — as my friend, and your brother." 
 
 " Could you have loved him as a husband — as a 
 lover, had you remained in ignorance of my fate V 
 
228 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 She paused for a moment before replying, and then 
 said with simplicity — 
 
 " It may be that I could. They say the heart loves 
 twice ; but I cannot tell. Claude is worthy of a wo- 
 man's love — he is brave, generous, and lofty in mind." 
 
 " And is he beautiful?" said Roland, with emotion ; 
 " is he tall and graceful ? Is he high-spirited and 
 light-hearted as he was when a boy? — Companion of 
 my cradle! O, my brother! my twin brother!" He 
 covered his face with his hands for some moments. 
 
 " Julie," said he at length, " it is time to separate. 
 Go back as you came, and endeavour, if possible, to 
 gain your chamber unobserved. You shall hear from 
 me in the morning." 
 
 She rose hastily, and springing to the water's edge, 
 spurned the light skiff into the lake with her foot. It 
 darted out beyond the shadow of the promontory, and, 
 being caught in the gust, drifted towards the opposite 
 bank. 
 
 " This is my place," said she, returning ; " here I 
 remain till my family come to seek me — I shall be 
 found under the protection of my husband." 
 
 " Rash girl!" exclaimed Roland, almost sternly — 
 " you have destroyed my brother! Why wither his 
 young and happy heart, to revive a ruin like mine? 
 How can I return into a world where I must be received 
 by the curses of him who shared with me the milk of 
 the same breast?" 
 
 " Where are your arms?" said Julie. " For shame! 
 throw off your cowl, and don the knight — and your 
 gloom will vanish like a cloud from the face of yonder 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 229 
 
 heaven ! Men may call me a light-o'-love if they will ; 
 but here, in the silence of night, and on this lonely 
 spot, will I buckle on the first armour of the Baron de 
 Vavassour !" 
 
 And so saying, she ran into the hut, and, taking 
 down his coat-of-mail and its appurtenances, clothed 
 him, with a playful force, in his suit of steel. 
 
 " What sound is that?" said she, starting, when 
 she had finished. 
 
 " It is the sound of rushing steps along the marsh, 
 and of leaping across its wide and deep chasms." 
 
 " Pray Heaven, then, it be only my foster-brother !" 
 
 " They are the steps of a man in armour — of a 
 knight !" 
 
 Julie clasped the hand of her lover, trembling. It 
 was only then the true nature of her situation broke 
 upon her mind ! The next moment Claude looked 
 down over the brink of the promontory. 
 
 " Julie !" cried he, " my life ! are you safe?" 
 
 He stopped short; for he saw his mistress in the 
 arms of a knight! 
 
 u Hold, madman!" shouted Roland. 
 
 But it was too late ; Claude had already taken the 
 fatal leap ; he landed with a heavy fall upon the frag- 
 ment on which they stood ; and, breaking away from 
 its insecure hold, it plunged sullenly, and then floated 
 out into the lake. The two knights contrived to sup- 
 port their mistress, although the whole party were nearly 
 precipitated into the gulf. 
 
 " Behold your brother!" said Julie. 
 
 " Claude!" 
 
230 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " Roland ! Alive ! O God, what a meeting !" 
 " We are sinking — we shall be lost!" exclaimed 
 Julie. 
 
 "May Heaven forbid!" replied De Vavassour ; 
 " yet we cannot all be saved. Our spongy vessel, 
 saturated by the torrents of rain which fell to-day, will 
 separate in another moment, if not relieved of a part of 
 its load. Farewell, sweet Julie ; farewell, beloved bro- 
 ther ! When lightened of this weight of armour, and 
 the useless limbs it covers, your raft will in all probabi- 
 lity float till you receive assistance from the shore." 
 And so saying, he would have leaped into the lake, had 
 he not been caught at the same moment by Claude and 
 Julie. 
 
 " Roland," said the latter, calmly, " your life 
 would be a useless sacrifice, for I now feel that Julie 
 never can be mine ;" and with a sudden spring he had 
 almost cleared the edge. A struggle took place between 
 the brothers, which might have seemed to a spectator 
 to have been a hostile combat ; while Julie, filling the 
 air with her screams, clung to the necks of both. The 
 consequence may be foreseen. The frail raft began to 
 separate beneath their feet, piece by piece. 
 
 The inmates of the Vieux Chateau, who had been 
 alarmed by the warder, were by this time astir; but 
 there was no boat nearer than half a league. Torches 
 were seen flying in every direction along the shore, their 
 reflection contrasting in the water with that of the pale 
 beams of the moon. The alarm-bell began to toll, and 
 was answered from the neighbouring chateaux ; and a 
 bale-fire blazed up from the keep, which produced a 
 
THE DEAD LAKE. 
 
 231 
 
 corresponding flame, at nearly regular distances, all 
 round the valley of the marsh. Village and chateau were 
 alike deserted by their inhabitants, who rushed down 
 half-naked to the shores of the dead lake. Boats were 
 manned on the instant ; and where there were no boats, 
 stout swimmers plunged into the tide. Some of them 
 turned back in despair ; others continued for a time 
 to traverse the black waters — which now exhibited no 
 trace of their victims, save here and there a fragment 
 of earth drifting with the breeze. 
 
232 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 After leaving the Marais Vernier, which is at a little 
 distance from the river, we directed again our steps 
 towards the banks, and arrived at the small village of 
 La Roque. The fertility of the marsh, it appears, still 
 continues ; for a pear-tree here has the reputation of 
 producing four hundred gallons of perry in the year ! 
 Proceeding towards the rocky promontory, called the 
 Pointe de la Roque, we fell in with a cavern, inscribed 
 with the names of numerous travellers, who had taken 
 this ingenious method of immortalising themselves. 
 This cavern, it seems, was the refuge of a certain Gere- 
 mer, or Berenger, the abbot of Pentalle, whose monks 
 had conspired against his life. These holy men had 
 expected to be governed by one chosen from their own 
 body, and, in order to get rid of the stranger, fixed a 
 sharp blade perpendicularly in his bed, expecting that, 
 as he lay down to rest, it would spit him through and 
 through. Geremer, however, " inspired by Heaven," 
 as the chronicle says, discovered the steel-trap that was 
 laid for him, and retiring to the church, passed the rest 
 of the night in prayer. 
 
 In the morning he called the monks into the 
 monastery, and throwing himself at their feet, besought 
 them to choose an abbot from among themselves, and 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 233 
 
 permit him to take up his abode in a cavern, a depend- 
 ancy of the convent. They of course complied, desir- 
 ing nothing better ; and Geremer betook himself to 
 the den now before us, where he passed his days in 
 fasting, and his nights in weeping and praying. The 
 renown of his sanctity at length reached the ears of 
 Saint Ouen, who besought him to return to the spiritual 
 government of Pentalle ; and Geremer, tired, perhaps, 
 of the cavern, was about to comply. He was still fur- 
 ther induced to this step by the apparent repentance of 
 his monks, who -waited on him in procession to solicit his 
 return. A day was accordingly appointed ; but on the 
 preceding night, Geremer was translated to Heaven ! 
 The monks cried, " A miracle !" and so did the people. 
 The fortunate abbot had ascended like Elijah, leaving 
 only his gown behind, which was found by the fisher- 
 men floating in the Seine. 
 
 The view from the summit of La Roque is remark- 
 ably fine. The opposite bank of the river seems to be 
 formed of white cliffs, descending abruptly to the water's 
 edge. On the right hand the picture is terminated by 
 Lillebonne, seen beyond the point of Quilleboeuf ; on 
 the left, the eye ranges unimpeded over the ocean. 
 
 The promontory is composed of a perpendicular 
 rock, or rather mass of rocks, one hundred and fifty 
 feet high. On the west it forms the angle of a deep 
 bay, almost filled up by an enormous bank, and into 
 which the little river Rille discharges itself. This 
 bank, covered in many places with grass, was formerly 
 a league in diameter, but is now much less extensive. 
 Its name is the Banc du Nord. 
 
234 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 The next village on the banks is Berville, situated 
 at the opposite angle of the bay. Of this village we 
 find the following memorandum in our note-book, 
 written while sailing up the Seine in a steam-boat : 
 u At the fishing hamlet of Berville, the land sinks ; the 
 vegetable world assumes a more delicate green ; and 
 the whole place looks like a little paradise." And this 
 is indeed the aspect it would present in a picture ; but 
 the literary artist is obliged to look closer. If the voy- 
 age of life were like the steam-boat voyage of the Seine, 
 the prospect of heaven would lose its value ; but, alas ! 
 we have many a creek to enter on the way, and many 
 a sand -bank to touch upon ; and both the man and 
 the author often find that the object which looks most 
 beautiful at a distance is the most destitute of attraction 
 when exposed to a nearer view. Berville is a miserable 
 hamlet, inhabited by poor fishermen, who are just able 
 to live on the produce of their nets and their labour in 
 the fields. The fish caught here are in general small, 
 and some possess a flavour of the most fearful descrip- 
 tion. We should like to see an amateur angler sit 
 down to a dish of these delicacies of his own catching, 
 rather than give a few sous to the fishermen for his 
 dinner. They are commonly used (except by mistake) 
 for fattening fowls ; but unless care is taken to feed the 
 animals on other diet for some weeks afterwards, even 
 hunger is scared from the board. 
 
 Among the other fish caught at Berville are crabs, 
 eels, flounders — and whales. Some years ago, there 
 was one hooked of the last-mentioned species, which 
 measured five feet in diameter. A French author, 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 235 
 
 however, mentions, that such kind of trouts have of 
 late years " become scarce." Herons, swans, curlews, 
 and a great many other birds of migratory habits, are 
 found on the coast in autumn, and captured by the 
 fishermen, whose dominion includes both the air and 
 the water. One of these, a sort of duck, called the 
 tadorne, immediately on landing proceeds to the nearest 
 rabbit-burrow, and turning out the inhabitants, esta- 
 blishes himself in their cosy corner. The rabbits, how- 
 ever, are speedily avenged ; for the fishermen watch 
 patiently at the hole till he comes out again, and arrest 
 him for the burglary. 
 
 The next commune to Berville inland is Conteville, 
 possessed originally by Hellouin, a Norman gentleman, 
 who married Arlette, the mistress of Robert the Devil, 
 and mother of William the Conqueror. After becoming 
 Countess of Conteville, she presented her lord with two 
 sons — Odon, afterwards the famous Bishop of Bayeux, 
 and Robert, the Count of Mortain; both of whom, ac- 
 companied by their father, followed the banner of Wil- 
 liam into England. 
 
 When William at last was carried from the siege of 
 Mantes to die in the monastery near Rouen, now the 
 church of Saint Gervaise, # Hellouin, who had faith- 
 fully followed his fortunes, was still beside him. 
 
 " The body of the king/' says Thierry, " was left 
 forsaken for some hours ; but at last the priests and 
 monks arranged a procession. Neither his son, nor his 
 brother, nor any of his relations, were near ; not one 
 
 * See page 161. 
 
236 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 offered to undertake his obsequies ; and it was a private 
 knight called Hellouin who took upon him the trouble 
 and^ expense. He transported the body in a hearse, 
 attended by mourners, to the bank of the Seine, and 
 thence down the river in a boat, and by sea to the city 
 of Caen." 
 
 Pursuing our wanderings from Berville, we climb a 
 hill called Mont Courel, from which Havre is seen to 
 great advantage. There is here an excavation called 
 the Fosse Glame, which has occasioned some specula- 
 tion. The name is supposed to be a corruption of 
 Guillaume ; and the Conqueror is said to have posted 
 above the cave one of his corps of observation at the 
 time he left the Dives for England. Descending Mont 
 Courel on the other side, we find ourselves at the village 
 of Grestain. 
 
 The site of the ancient abbey of this name is still 
 distinguished ; and as the remains of the beautiful 
 Arlette, the mother of William the Conqueror, are be- 
 neath, it must be interesting ground both to English 
 and Normans. A chapel was erected here by Hellouin, 
 mentioned above, who afterwards married this frail and 
 famous lady. This good deed was performed in conse- 
 quence of a vow made to the Virgin in sickness ; and 
 when Hellouin found that he actually did recover from 
 a very disagreeable disease (said by some to have been 
 leprosy), he resolved to be still better than his word. 
 He founded an abbey on the spot, which was destined 
 to occupy some space in the history of monachal 
 refinement. 
 
 In the year 1090 the decay of the original monas- 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 237 
 
 tery began to take place, through the rapacity of Henry 
 Beauclerc of England; and in 1122 it was burnt 
 almost to the ground by an accidental fire. It was soon 
 reconstructed, however, and at length reached such a 
 pitch of prosperity, that at one time it counted two 
 hundred monks. In 1364 the English destroyed, and 
 half a century afterwards rebuilt it. But its suc- 
 cess was over ; and in the middle of the fifteenth 
 century, only twenty-three remained of the crowd of 
 holy men whom its princely revenues had fattened for 
 heaven. 
 
 In the twelfth century some little disorders took 
 place in the monastery, no doubt incidental to the cross- 
 ness usually caused by want of room. The superior, 
 however, who was a grave and crabbed personage, took 
 the matter in dudgeon, and retired to England. In 
 vain the Bishop of Lisieux implored him to return ; and 
 as his refusal might have led the censorious world to 
 imagine that things were still worse than the reality, 
 this prelate took a precognition, as we call it in Scotch 
 law, on the spot. His letter to Pope Alexander III., 
 dated in 1159, describes, somewhat harshly, the man- 
 ner of these poor men, devoted to a life of religious 
 mortification. 
 
 " They forget their religious duties," says he. And 
 no wonder. What mundane memory could contain the 
 multitudinous duties of a monk ? A bell was hung for 
 the very purpose of acting like the flappers of Laputa ; 
 and if any forgetfulness took place, we feel confident 
 that it must have been owing to the belman. Belmen, 
 
238 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 it must be recollected, are poets by profession ; and 
 poets are never sober men. 
 
 " They are in the habit," continueth the bishop, " of 
 ducking sick people seven times in the convent well." 
 Very properly. If a patient stands such an operation, 
 he must be an impostor, and should be well drubbed 
 into the bargain. 
 
 " A woman," he goeth on, " on being ducked seven 
 times, in the dead of winter, died in their hands." This 
 was the fault of the season, not of the monks. But it 
 was not pretended that the well was destitute of virtue ; 
 and will the prelate tell us, that the virtues of a holy 
 well depend upon the state of the atmosphere ? Besides, 
 the woman could not have died in better hands. 
 
 " The cook of the abbey," saith he, " being offended 
 with one of the monks for calling upon his wife, began 
 to scold him ; and, from less to more, it came to pass, 
 that the monk caught up a knife, and struck the cook 
 so violently upon the head, that his blood sprung over 
 the dishes he had been preparing for dinner." A most 
 frivolous charge ! Every one knows that " a cook, 
 when cooking, is a fury ; " and if he chose to be so 
 absurd and indecent as to suppose that a priest could 
 have had evil intentions of any kind, he was rightly 
 served. The monk knew full well, that a saucy cook 
 could not understand any thing but the arms of the 
 flesh. 
 
 " The procureur of the convent, after getting tipsy in 
 the refectory at dinner, struck two of the brethren with 
 a knife, who knocked him down with cudgels." No- 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 239 
 
 thing could be more proper. If the monks had been 
 laymen, they would have cut out the attorney's tongue, 
 since he had given up using that instrument against the 
 public, and taken to cold steel. Remembering, how- 
 ever, that the church " abhorret a sanguine" they 
 merely floored the litigant with their staves. Upon the 
 whole, we are of opinion, considering all things {and 
 especially the state of the other convents), that the 
 bishop's complaint was vexatious, and the decision of 
 the pontiff unjust, who decreed that the establishment 
 should be reformed. 
 
 The abbey, which possessed not only revenues in 
 France, but considerable property in the city of London, 
 enjoyed latterly only six thousand francs of rent ; and 
 when the revolution impiously compelled the monks to 
 work for their subsistence like other men, the buildings 
 were bought by a retired merchant of Honfleur, who 
 constructed with the materials a dwelling-house upon 
 the spot. Only a score of years before this, however, 
 there was enough remaining to testify the care which 
 the holy fathers took of the outward man. In an oblong 
 apartment, so constructed that a constant current of air 
 ran through it, were still seen the hooks on which the 
 monks hung their provisions. At the bottom of this 
 larder there was a well, extending the whole length of 
 the apartment, where fresh-water fish were fattened for 
 the table ; and near it, another of salt water, in which 
 the denizens of the ocean were kept alive till they were 
 wanted. A village near the walls of the abbey, called 
 Saint Ouen de Grestain, shared its fate. It was formerly 
 a considerable place, and was reckoned among the 
 
240 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " gros bourgs" of Normandy; but was destroyed, first 
 by fire, and then by water. A small portion of its 
 church is still seen ; and at low water, some vestiges of 
 its habitations may be discovered among the sands of 
 the river. 
 
 Odon, the first abbot of Grestain, was a very remark- 
 able churchman. He was the son of Hellouin, count 
 de Conteville, as we have already said, and possessing, 
 it seems, a natural turn for ecclesiastical affairs, was 
 made bishop of Bayeux at seventeen. He followed his 
 brother, the Conqueror, to England at thirty-two, and 
 celebrated mass before the army on the morning of the 
 victory of Hastings. After mass, he mounted a scaffold, 
 and preached a sermon, in which he advised them to 
 make a vow never to eat meat on that day of the week, 
 provided the God of battles would fight on their side. 
 The Normans willingly took the vow ; and the high 
 priest, descending from his pulpit, buckled a hauberk 
 over his gown, threw down the mass-book, and took up 
 a lance, and, springing upon a white steed, dashed into 
 the melee. When the bloody business of the day was 
 over, he became the churchman again in the twinkling 
 of an eye, and sung a funeral mass for the victims of 
 his valour. The town of Dover fell to the share of this 
 priestly soldier, and, turning out the inhabitants, he 
 established his dependants in their houses and lands. 
 
 When William was firmly enough fixed in his 
 new throne to make an excursion to Normandy (which 
 occurred in six months !), he left Odon behind as his 
 lieutenant. The ecclesiastic, however, was fond of 
 money — and, we dare be sworn, of spending it — and 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 241 
 
 his exactions were levied with so little address, that 
 even the people of England, who had bent their heads 
 like steers to the yoke, became crusty. However, Wil- 
 liam had only put his foot upon their necks ; Odon put 
 his hand into their pockets — and this is quite another 
 thing. But the rattling priest was not dismayed. He 
 suppressed the tumult ; and having nothing else to think 
 of, began to consider what should hinder him from 
 becoming pope. He hired some Italian priests to spread 
 abroad the report that he was to succeed Gregory VII., 
 purchased a palace in Rome, sent presents to the cardi- 
 nals, and, above all things, assembling a band around 
 him of stout Norman knights, set forth to storm the 
 papacy. 
 
 He was probably aware that his brother would think 
 this was carrying matters too far, for he did not await 
 his return. Unfortunately, however, they met near the 
 Isle of Wight, William hastening back to put a stop to 
 the operations of the bishop ; and all having landed on 
 the island, the king accused him, before his assembled 
 Normans, of divers political offences. 
 
 " Advise me, I pray you," said William, in con- 
 cluding his address, " how to act towards such a bro- 
 ther." Not a tongue hazarded a reply. 
 
 " Seize him !" shouted the king. Not a hand stirred. 
 
 " Then I shall !" And he caught hold of the bishop. 
 
 " I am a priest !" cried Odon ; <c I am the minister 
 of the Lord ; and the Pope alone has the power to 
 judge me." 
 
 " It is not a priest whom I judge," said William, 
 without relaxing his gripe, " but a servant whom I 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 arrest !" And he immediately handed him over to his 
 guards, sent him a prisoner to Normandy, and shut 
 him up there in a fortress, where he remained till his 
 brother's death. 
 
 Restored at length to liberty, he retired into his 
 abbey of Grestain, and became so exceedingly holy, that 
 all men thought his adventures were ended in the world. 
 Shortly after, however, he dashed over to England to 
 join in the war against William Rufus ; and, shutting 
 himself up in the town of Rochester, was besieged, and 
 forced to capitulate. He was allowed, notwithstanding, 
 to march out with arms and baggage ; much to the dis- 
 satisfaction of the soldiery, who were very anxious to 
 have the pleasure of hanging him. He again retired 
 to the abbey of Grestain ; but popped out almost in- 
 stantly to marry the King of France to Bertrade of 
 Anjou, a lady whom Philip had carried off from her 
 husband. At last, imagining that his peccadilloes were 
 numerous enough to demand an excursion to Jerusalem, 
 and fearing that it might be dangerous to delay it 
 longer, he set out for the Holy Land. It will be felt, 
 however, that Odon was not a likely man to don the 
 weeds of a pilgrim. On the contrary, he clothed him- 
 self in helm and hauberk, hung his shield round his 
 neck, and sallied forth, with lance in hand, to join the 
 crusade of Peter the Hermit. But the infidels were 
 happily saved from the meditated visit. He was at- 
 tacked by illness in Sicily, and closed his turbulent 
 career at Palermo in 1098. 
 
 In the reign of Louis XV. the abbot of Grestain 
 was M. de Boismont, who, although a member of the 
 
THE ABBEY OF GRESTAIN. 
 
 243 
 
 Academy, would not deserve mention here but for a 
 pleasant anecdote connected with his name. M. Bois- 
 mont, it seems, was a very rich man, but did not like 
 to pay his debts ; and one day a creditor from a distance 
 coming in person to demand his money, called by 
 mistake upon the Abbot of Voisnon, at Belleville. 
 The abbot was not at home ; but on receiving the 
 message, addressed the following note to his visitor : 
 
 " I am sorry, sir, you did not see me ; for you 
 would have discovered the difference between the Abbot 
 of Boismont and me. He is young, and I am old ; he 
 is strong and healthy, and I am weak and ailing ; he 
 preaches, and I have need of being preached to ; he 
 has a large and rich abbey, and mine is very little ; he 
 is in the Academy without knowing why, and every 
 body asks why I am not. In fine, he owes you a 
 pension, and I have only the desire to be your debtor. 
 I am, &c." 
 
 The last monk of this famous abbey was an Irish- 
 man, called Albiac, who died in 1814, near Honfleur, 
 at the age of ninety. 
 
244 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ARLETTE. 
 
 There is not one stone of the mausoleum of Arlette to 
 be seen to-day — of that frail daughter of a furrier, 
 herself the daughter of as frail a princess, who gave a 
 dynasty of kings to England, whose illustrious line 
 extended through a period of five hundred years. If 
 all that historians tell be true, there is something re- 
 pulsive, though romantic, in the story of her mother. 
 She is accused by her contemporaries of a long series 
 of misconduct ; and later writers search with avidity 
 after the faults which were so great as to blot her very 
 name out of the chronicles of the times. This, however, 
 is needless. The fact of a princess loving a tradesman, 
 was in the eleventh century a crime compared to which 
 parricide would have been reckoned a mere indis- 
 cretion. 
 
 This was the epoch of pure feudality. The human 
 race was divided into two species, the noble and the 
 plebeian ; and no analogy drawn from natural history 
 could give any idea of the distance between them. It 
 was not merely that the mass of the people were serfs or 
 slaves, whether under the name of villeins or bourgeois ; 
 but even the freedmen under the nobles, in many 
 instances, renounced their liberty, in order to sink into 
 an easier species of despotism. It is true that, as 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 245 
 
 serfs, they might be beaten, mutilated, or even killed, 
 by their master, with absolute impunity ; but still 
 being, to all intents and purposes, his property, he 
 was less likely to exercise this extremity of power 
 over them than over the " freedmen," who belonged 
 to nobody. 
 
 While such insane distinctions existed, was it won- 
 derful that a king's daughter should have lost caste, 
 and been thrown forth to prowl with the Pariahs of 
 society, when convicted of having loved — a furrier? 
 
 Edward Ironsides, the Saxon- Englishman, was a 
 king and a knight, yet he refused to shut up his 
 daughter in a dungeon, which proves that he possessed 
 the feelings of a father stronger than most men of his 
 day. He cast her off, however, and banished her from 
 the kingdom, — without retinue, without money, the 
 object of scorn and loathing to that whole class of per- 
 sons whom she had been accustomed to call " the 
 world." 
 
 And now comes the proof of the young lady's inno- 
 cence of any crime but that of loving, " not wisely, but 
 too well." Had she been sunk in profligacy, as we are 
 told, — cast away, and abandoned as she was now, a 
 wanderer and a beggar, would that man, who had 
 enjoyed the smiles of the princess, have sought to share 
 the fortunes of the homeless, friendless girl? We 
 think not. The two lovers, however, met in Nor- 
 mandy ; and, in the midst of care, and fatigue, and 
 hunger, continued to love on. They had three child- 
 ren ; and with these pledges, it is said, of a passion 
 which had survived the tests of poverty and misery, 
 
246 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 they wandered about the country, begging alms from 
 town to town. 
 
 We next find them — by one of those magical changes 
 of fortune which occur every day before our eyes, and 
 yet are not reckoned the less magical — settled in the 
 town of Falaise. The furrier is again among his furs ; 
 and, by dint of industry and economy, has attained to 
 a station of tolerable respectability among his fellow- 
 tradesmen. Their children are grown up ; and the 
 eldest, whose name is Herleve {her, illustrious, and 
 leve, dear, in Danish, say the learned Thebans), inherits 
 all the beauty of her all-beautiful mother. 
 
 One day, Duke Robert, alias Robert the Devil, 
 walking round the tower of his chateau, was attracted 
 by the interesting sight of some young girls washing 
 clothes in the river below. Robert was a connoisseur 
 in female beauty, and his attention was therefore riveted 
 upon one of the group — tall and splendidly lovely, like 
 Diana among her nymphs. Her feet, more especially, 
 as the Roman de Rou informs us, were whiter than 
 the snow — or even than the fleur-de-lis ; and the asto- 
 nished duke fell in love, plump. 
 
 " Des pics et des jambes parurent, 
 Qui si tres beaux et si blancs furent, 
 Que ce fut bien au due adris, 
 Que neifs ert pale effic-r de lys, 
 Avers la see grant blanchor, 
 Merveille i torna s'amor." 
 
 Robert was the sovereign prince of the country ; 
 Arlette (for so Herleve is modernised) was the daughter 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 247 
 
 of a furrier : it is needless to say more. The old chro- 
 nicles, notwithstanding, go into an absurd detail of the 
 formalities observed in the wooing ; although even they 
 give us an instructive glimpse of the manners of that 
 barbarous age, by disclosing that the negotiations of the 
 duke were carried on through the father. 
 
 Arlette in due time became the mother of a son, 
 who was called William ; and to this child of love, 
 Robert the Devil, on setting out for Palestine, be- 
 queathed his ducal throne. The holy pilgrim died, as 
 we have related, at Nicea ; and William took possession 
 of his heritage by force of arms, endowing his mother 
 with part of the spoils he ravished from the rebellious 
 nobles. 
 
 At this time the Conqueror must have been only 
 a boy, for Arlette was yet young when she married 
 Hellouin, and brought him the dowry conquered by 
 her son. She died about the year 1090, and was buried 
 in the abbey of Grestain, beside her husband, who had 
 preceded her. 
 
 The history of the amour of Robert the Devil and 
 Arlette, which proved to be of such vast and permanent 
 importance to all Europe, is sung in Normandy, and 
 more especially at Falaise, in verses whose gaiety and 
 light-heartedness are unsoiled either by licentiousness, 
 or its more suspicious opposite, prudery. 
 
 " De Guillaume le Conquerant 
 
 Chantons l'historiette ; 
 II naquit, eel illustre enfant, 
 
 D'une simple amourette. 
 Le hasard fait souvent les grands. 
 
4S 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! 
 
 Normands, 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! 
 
 Fille dun simple pelletier, 
 
 Elle etait gentillette ; 
 Robert, en gallant chevalier, 
 
 Vint lui conter fleurette : 
 L'amour egale tous les rangs. 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! 
 
 Normands, 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! 
 
 Falaise dans son noble tour 
 
 Vit entrer la fillette, 
 Et c'est la que le dieu d 'amour 
 
 Finit l'historiette. 
 Anglais, honorez ces amans ! 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! 
 
 Normands, 
 Vive le fils d'Arlette ! " 
 
 Near Grestain, but a little way from the river, is the 
 village of Carbec, where there is another well, quite as 
 good as that of the monks of Grestain. Its patron is 
 Saint Meen, who was born in Brittany, in the sixth 
 century. When he came to the banks of the Seine, he 
 neither went to " kirk nor market/' nor did he adver- 
 tise, like modern apostles, that " a sermon would be 
 preached on such a day." He retired into a wild and 
 lonely valley, and there prayed, fasted, and scourged 
 himself, till the whole population of the district came 
 flocking around him to admire his piety. If our field 
 and street preachers would only take the hint, they 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 249 
 
 may be assured that, in asking for bread, they would 
 not, as now, receive a stone. They would soon be in 
 the capacity to put a joint of meat in their pot, whereas 
 at present they are only treated with cabbages. 
 
 The very lepers at last came to Saint Meen, imagining 
 that a saint of such extra holiness could do something 
 even for them — nor were they disappointed. He pre- 
 scribed for them a plunge in a neighbouring well — 
 and faith ; and it is needless to say, after what we 
 have declared, of our own knowledge, on the subject — 
 that the patients were cured. A large crucifix now 
 directs the eye to the holy well, which runs at its foot ; 
 but the unclean of our day drink its waters instead of 
 washing with them ; and the successor of Saint Meen, 
 in the guardianship of the spring, is so worldly-minded 
 as to charge for the draught, like an apothecary. 
 
 This mercenary proceeding is the more unwarrant- 
 able, as the water is well known to have no virtue in 
 itself, deriving all its efficacy from the faith of the 
 drinker. A visit to the spring is called the Pilgrimage 
 of Saint Meen ; and the devotee, whatever be his rank 
 or wealth, must beg his way barefooted to the spot. 
 This act of humility is followed by an act of prayer, not 
 to God, but to Saint Meen, and then by an act of faith ; 
 and after drinking as much as he can hold, if not more, 
 the pilgrim returns home in the " sure and certain 
 hope " that he is cured. 
 
 There is a small church near the place, and a ceme- 
 tery, planted with apple-trees, like many others in this 
 part of Normandy. The erection is of considerable 
 antiquity, as we find by the melancholy strain of Olivier 
 
250 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 Basselin, a French poet of the fourteenth century, which 
 runs almost in this manner, — 
 
 " Where friends, so dear in life, are laid, 
 We plant the goodly apple-tree, 
 To tell that the beloved dead — 
 Liked cider just as well as we ! " 
 
 By a relic of antiquity found near the church, we 
 discover that on the very spot where they are busy to- 
 day in the cure of cutaneous maladies, the Romans 
 occupied themselves in doctoring the eyes. The relic 
 was one of those stone stamps with which the ancient 
 empirics sealed their phials ; and the one in question 
 belonged to an oculist of the second century, called 
 Lollius Fromimus, who vended a collyrium which had 
 the property of imparting brilliance to the eyes. Oint- 
 ments of this kind, which were applied with a fine 
 pencil, were carried throughout the whole empire — no 
 lady could possibly be without them ; and even the 
 possessors of the finest eyes in the Roman dominions 
 sought by this means to " gild the refined gold." It is 
 added, however, by those antiquaries who do a little 
 more than search after names and dates, that the quacks 
 must have derived their chief subsistence from the 
 remote and ignorant provinces, their seals being found 
 there in much greater numbers than near the capital. 
 
 At a short distance to the south of Carbec is a little 
 valley, known by the name of the Val Anglais, which 
 tradition describes as the site of a combat in which our 
 countrymen were cut in pieces by the French. It took 
 place at the time when Charles VI. besieged Honfleur, 
 then in our possession ; and the victims were a marauding 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 251 
 
 party that had come out to pillage the country. The 
 inhabitants at first fled; hut gathering courage, they 
 united in a body, enclosed the English in a narrow 
 defile, and, overwhelming them with numbers, mas- 
 sacred them almost to a man. Even now, when the 
 earth is removed from any part of the valley, it is com- 
 mon to find human bones, which testify of that bloody 
 day ; and the Norman peasants, proud of the heroic 
 remembrance, boast of the prowess of their forefathers. 
 
 Charles was present in person at the above-men- 
 tioned siege, and passed a night in the abbey of Grestain. 
 He had just buried the heart of Agnes Sorel at Jumieges, 
 and now found himself treading on the dust of Arlette ! 
 
 " King Charles VII." says the Chronique de Nor- 
 mandie, " set out from Jumieges, and went to lie at 
 an abbey called Grestain, two leagues from the said 
 Honnefleu ; and all those who were at the said siege 
 made great approaches, ditches, and mines, and shot 
 bombs, cannons, and flying engines, which greatly dis- 
 heartened the said place. And the English were so 
 cast down, that fear and necessity constrained them to 
 render ; whereupon an undertaking was entered into 
 that the said place should be so surrendered, provided, 
 on the eighteenth day of February following, the English 
 were beaten in closed lists, which were accordingly pre- 
 pared for the combat with great diligence by the French ; 
 nevertheless, the said English failed to present them- 
 selves, and compeared nowise." 
 
 The custom alluded to above was common in those 
 martial times. The siege of a town was considered a 
 trial of skill and courage ; and if the defenders, on find- 
 
252 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 ing that they were likely to get the worst of it, chose to 
 appeal to another mode of deciding the question, they 
 were permitted to do so by the courtesy of chivalry. 
 This new trial by battle took place in closed lists, and 
 was decided either by one champion, or by a troop, 
 as might be agreed. 
 
 These times, so glorious for poets and romancers, 
 are gone by ; and in our vulgar day, a cannon fired by 
 the hand of a peasant would destroy all the knights of 
 the Round Table at one shot. At the era of chivalry 
 the wars were much less bloody than ours ; and, in fact, 
 a pair of knights might hammer all day long on one 
 another's helmets and cuirasses, without doing a great 
 deal of mischief. So much was this the case, that it 
 was by no means uncommon for the combatants, when 
 spent with fatigue, to arrange a truce for an hour or 
 two. They then sat down side by side on the grass ; 
 and when they had rested and refreshed themselves, 
 got up and went to it again like heroes. We are not 
 sure, however, that gunpowder has, upon the whole, 
 injured the cause of humanity. It has brought men 
 more upon a par ; and as success, therefore, depends 
 not so much upon individual valour as upon numbers 
 and discipline, the exchequer of the kingdom is the 
 grand oracle to be consulted. War empties the pocket ; 
 no kingdom can go to war with empty pockets • and 
 thus national poverty acts as the preserver of mankind. 
 But, as yet, we are only in the way to peace. When 
 such instruments as Mr. Perkins's steam-gun come to be 
 pointed at one nation by another, the whole world will 
 take the alarm, and cry — Hold ! hold ! Wars will then 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 253 
 
 cease, and men fall upon some other mode of redressing 
 their grievances, or despoiling their neighbours. 
 
 It was at the siege of Pontaudemer, a town at no 
 great distance to the north-east of this part of the river, 
 that the Normans first became acquainted with artillery. 
 Perhaps the transition from guns to ladies may be 
 thought somewhat sudden ; yet as they are both de- 
 stroyers, in their several ways, of mankind, we must 
 indulge ourselves in quoting from a charter of John 
 Lackland, dated in 1203, certain regulations respecting 
 the women of Pontaudemer. 
 
 " When a woman," says the royal lawgiver, " is 
 convicted of being shrewish and quarrelsome, a cord 
 shall be passed under her arms, and she shall be thrown 
 into the water. 
 
 " When a man insults a woman, he shall be sub- 
 jected to a fine of ten sous ; but if it is the woman who 
 insults the man, in addition to the fine of ten sous, she 
 shall be thrown into the water!" 
 
 " Evil-minded persons," says a Norman writer, in 
 commenting on the above, u hence conclude that the 
 quarrelsome and shrewish temper of the ladies of Pon- 
 taudemer goes back to all antiquity ; but, for us, we 
 have proofs to the contrary!" We are grieved to find 
 so heavy a charge against the fair ones of Pontaudemer 
 admitted, or rather taken for granted, by a compatriote. 
 But what does he mean by having proofs that this ac- 
 knowledged unhappy temper has not descended to them 
 from antiquity ? He may, no doubt, have his reasons for 
 calumniating the present race ; but why be so anxious 
 to defend the reputation of their grandmothers 1 
 
254 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 " In these unjust and unchivalrous measures/' con- 
 tinues he, " we see only the trace of those English 
 laws, according to which, even in our own days, hus- 
 bands, discontented with their companions, are not 
 ashamed of selling them in full market with a rope 
 about their necks!" We have not a word to say to 
 this. We had before attributed the great value of 
 cordage in England to the number of persons who were 
 hanged, or who hanged themselves; but the mystery 
 is now cleared up. With such a law in operation, who 
 would wonder at the high price of ropes ? # 
 
 At Beuzeville, a bourg not far from Pontaudemer, 
 one of the greatest cattle-fairs of the country is held. 
 It attracts more than ten thousand people to the spot. 
 The patron is Saint Hillier, whose altar in the church 
 is on that day decorated with fresh-gathered flowers. 
 This saint inhabited a hermitage in the island of Jersey, 
 where his head was eventually cut off by a pirate. But 
 this was not all : he caught the head, as it fell, in his 
 hands, and walked off with it for more than a hundred 
 steps ! The event is commemorated in the following 
 elegant verses in the " Acta Sanctorum :" — 
 
 " Hunc, cum confecerat sitis et macies, 
 Minuit capite Vandalis acies : t 
 Novum quod mortuus propriis manibus 
 Cervicem detulit plus centum passibus." 
 
 When an altar was erected to the saint at Beuzeville, 
 
 * We cannot allow ourselves to quiz M. de Saint Amand without 
 acknowledging that we received great advantage from his " Lettres 
 d'un Voyageur a l'Embouchure de la Seine." He is a native of the 
 banks of the river, and well acquainted with their localities. 
 
ARLETTE. 
 
 255 
 
 the people called him by mistake Saint JDelie ; and 
 hence, even to this day, you find mothers, whose children 
 are not sufficiently active, crowding to his festival to 
 supplicate him to delier their limbs, or make them 
 supple. It is said that these petitions are very effi- 
 cacious. 
 
 At Saint Clair, after passing Jobles and Fiquefleur, 
 we find another fair, but of a different kind. The crowd 
 who assemble here are mingled with servants, whose 
 purpose it is to sell themselves for a time, and with 
 pilgrims who come to solicit the good offices of Saint 
 Clair in restoring their sight. Saints are thus chosen 
 by the populace by their name, as in the case of Saint 
 Dtlic ; but when no name can be found suitable to the 
 complaint, or when there is reason to fear, from want 
 of success in their prayers, that they may have chosen 
 a wrong one, recourse is had to a species of divination. 
 The names of numerous saints are written on ivy-leaves, 
 which are then put into holy water ; and the next 
 morning, the leaf that is the most spotted and injured 
 reveals the name of him who is to cure them. Should 
 the trial fail, however, which it sometimes does, in 
 consequence of there being several of the leaves in the 
 same state, the whole of the names are taken, and 
 presented collectively to the priest, who comprehends 
 them all in the Mass. 
 
 In a few minutes more we find ourselves at Hon- 
 fleur, the last town on the left bank of the Seine; a 
 description of which may be read at a glance in the 
 beautiful view annexed. Honfleur was once a place of 
 considerable importance. We have already alluded to 
 
526 
 
 WANDERINGS BY THE SEINE. 
 
 its siege by Charles VII., at which time it had been in 
 the hands of the English for ten years. The fortifica- 
 tions were afterwards battered to pieces in the war of 
 the League, and have never since been rebuilt. Its 
 commerce has deserted to the opposite port of Havre ; 
 the herrings, which formed one of the principal re- 
 sources of the inhabitants, have left its coasts ; and the 
 Seine is daily filling up its harbour with mud and sand. 
 
 But though all is poverty and gloom in the town, 
 without there is the beauty and magnificence of nature. 
 From the hill included in Turner's drawing, the view 
 of the ocean and the river is almost unrivalled. There 
 we pause to look again upon the beautiful and majestic 
 Seine, to which, as well as to the reader, we must now 
 bid — farewell? we hope not — au revoir ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 J. MOVES, CASTLE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE. 
 
GETTY RESEARCH INSTITUTE 
 
 3 3125 01114 4041