A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany Volume I Part 18

It will be difficult for me to forget--after such a long, wearisome, and in part desperate journey--our approach to Falaise:--and more especially the appearance of the castle just mentioned. The stone seemed as fresh, and as perfectly cemented, as if it had been the work of the preceding year.

Moreover, the contiguous parts were so fine and so thoroughly picturesque--and the superadded tradition of its being, according to some, the birth place--and according to others, the usual residence--of WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR ... altogether threw a charm about the first glimpse of this venerable pile, which cannot be easily described. I had received instructions to put up at the "_Grand Turc_"--as the only hotel worthy an Englishman's notice. At the door of the Grand Turk, therefore, we were safely deposited: after having got rid of our inc.u.mbrances of two postilions, and two hundred weight of refined sugar. Our reception was gracious in the extreme. The inn appeared "tout-a-fait a la mode Anglaise"--and no marvel ... for Madame the hostess was an Englishwoman.

Her husband's name was _David_.

Bespeaking a late cup of tea, I strolled through the princ.i.p.al streets,--delighted with the remarkably clear current of the water, which ran on each side from the numerous overcharged fountains. Day-light had wholly declined; when, sitting down to my souchong, I saw, with astonishment--a _pair of sugar-tongs_ and a _salt-spoon_--the first of the kind I had beheld since I left England! Madame David enjoyed my surprise; adding, in a very droll phraseology, that she had "not forgotten good English customs." Our beds and bed rooms were perfectly comfortable, and even elegant.

The moat which encircles, not only the castle, but the town--and which must have been once formidable from its depth and breadth, when filled with water--is now most pleasingly metamorphosed. Pasture lands, kitchen gardens, and orchards, occupy it entirely. Here the cattle quietly stray, and luxuriously feed. But the metamorphosis of the _castle_ has been, in an equal degree, unfortunate. The cannon b.a.l.l.s, during the wars of the League--and the fury of the populace, with the cupidity or caprice of some individuals, during the late revolution--helped to produce this change. After breakfast, I felt a strong desire to survey carefully the scite and structure of the castle. It was a lovely day; and in five minutes I obtained admission at a temporary outer gate. The first near view within the ramparts perfectly enchanted me. The situation is at once bold, commanding, and picturesque. But as the opposite, and immediately contiguous ground, is perhaps yet a little higher, it should follow that a force, placed upon such eminence--as indeed was that of Henry the Fourth, during the wars of the League--would in the end subdue the garrison, or demolish the castle. I walked here and there amidst briars and brushwood, diversified with lilacs and laburnums; and by the aid of the guide soon got within an old room--of which the outer walls only remained--and which is distinguished by being called the _birth-place_ of WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR.

Between ourselves, the castle appears to be at least a century later than the time of William the Conqueror; and certainly the fine round tower, of which such frequent mention has been made, is rather of the fourteenth, if not of the beginning of the fifteenth century;[167] but it is a n.o.ble piece of masonry. The stone is of a close grain and beautiful colour, and the component parts are put together with a hard cement, and with the smallest possible interstices. At the top of it, on the left side, facing the high road from Vire,--and constructed within the very walls themselves, is a _well_--which goes from the top apparently to the very bottom of the foundation, quite to the bed of the moat. It is about three feet in diameter, measuring with the eye; perhaps four: but it is doubtless a very curious piece of workmanship. We viewed with an inquisitive eye what remained of the _Donjon_: sighed, as we surveyed the ruins of the _chapel_--a very interesting little piece of ecclesiastical antiquity: and shuddered as we contemplated the enormous and ponderous portcullis--which had a _drop of_ full twenty feet ... to keep out the invading foe. I was in truth delighted with this first reconnoissance of FALAISE--beneath one of the brightest and bluest skies of Normandy!

and--within walls, which were justly considered to be among the most perfect as well as the most ancient of those in Normandy.

Leaving my companion to take a view of the upper part of this venerable building, I retreated towards the town--resolved to leave no church and no street unexplored. On descending, and quitting the gate by which I had entered, a fine, robust, and respectable figure, habited as an Ecclesiastic, met and accosted me. I was most prompt to return the salutation. "We are proud, Sir, of our castle, and I observe you have been visiting it. The English ought to take an interest in it, since it was the birth-place of William the Conqueror." I readily admitted it was well worth a minute examination: but as readily turned the conversation to the subject of LIBRARIES. The amiable stranger (for he was gaining upon me fast, by his unaffected manners and sensible remarks) answered, that "their _own_ public library existed no longer--having been made subservient to the inquisitorial visit of M. Moysant of Caen[168]: that he had himself procured for the Bishop of Bayeux the _Mentz Bible_ of 1462--and that the Chapter-Library of Bayeux, before the Revolution, could not have contained fewer than 40,000 volumes. "But you are doubtless acquainted, Sir, with the COMTE DE LA FRESNAYE, who resides in yonder large mansion?"--pointing to a house upon an elevated spot on the other side of the town. I replied that I had not that honour; and was indeed an utter stranger to every inhabitant of Falaise. I then stated, in as few and precise words as possible, the particular object of my visit to the Continent. "Cela suffit"--resumed the unknown--"nous irons faire visite a Monsieur le Comte apres le dine; a ce moment il s'occupe avec le potage--car c'est un jour maigre. Il sera charme de vous recevoir. Il aime infiniment les Anglois, et il a reste long-temps chez vous. C'est un brave homme--et meme un grand antiquaire."

My pulse and colour increased sensibly as the stranger uttered these latter words: and he concluded by telling me that he was himself the Cure of _Ste.

Trinite_ one of the two princ.i.p.al churches of the town--and that his name was MOUTON. Be a.s.sured that I shall not lose sight of the Comte de la Fresnaye, and Monsieur Mouton.

[166] [Only ONE letter has pa.s.sed between us since my departure; and that enables me to subjoin a fac-simile of its author's autograph.

[Autograph: de Larenaudiere]

[167] [It was in fact built by the famous Lord Talbot, about the year 1420.

A similar castle, but less strong and lofty, may be seen at Castor, near Yarmouth in Norfolk--once the seat of the famous Sir JOHN FASTOLF, (a contemporary with Talbot) of whom Anstis treats so fully in his _Order of the Garter_, vol.i. p.142.]

[168] See p. 205 ante.

LETTER XX.

MONS. MOUTON. CHURCH OF STE. TRINITe. COMTE DE LA FRESNAYE. GUIBRAY CHURCH.

SUPPOSED HEAD OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR. M. LANGEVIN, HISTORIAN OF FALAISE.

PRINTING OFFICES.

I lose no time in the fulfilment of my promise. The church of SAINTE TRINITe, of which Monsieur Mouton is the Cure, is the second place of worship in rank in the town. During the Revolution, Mons. Mouton was compelled, with too many of his professional brethren, to fly from the general persecution of his order. One solitary and most amiable creature only remained; of the name of LANGEVIN--of whom, by and by, Monsieur Mouton did me the honour of shewing me the interior of his church. His stipend (as he told me) did not exceed 1500 francs per annum; and it is really surprising to observe to what apparent acts of generosity towards his flock, this income is made subservient. You shall hear. The altar consists of two angels of the size of life, kneeling very gracefully, in white glazed plaister: in the centre, somewhat raised above, is a figure of the Virgin, of the same materials; above which again, is a representation of the TRINITY--in a blaze of gilt. The ma.s.sive circular columns surrounding the choir--probably of the fourteenth century--were just fresh painted, at the expense of the worthy Cure, in alternate colours of blue and yellow--imitative of marble;--that is to say, each column, alternately, was blue and yellow. It was impossible to behold any thing more glaring and more tasteless. I paid my little tribute of admiration at the simplicity and grace of the kneeling figure of the Virgin--but was stubbornly silent about every thing else. Monsieur Mouton replied that "he intended to grace the brows of the angels by putting a _garland_ round each." I felt a sort of twinge upon receiving this intelligence; but there is no persuading the French to reject, or to qualify, their excessive fondness for flower ornaments.

Projecting from the wall, behind the circular part of the choir, I observed a figure of _St. Sebastian_--precisely of that character which we remark in the printed missals of the fifteenth century,--and from which the engravers of that period copied them: namely, with the head large, the body meagre, and the limbs loose and muscular. It was plentifully covered, as was the whole surface of the wall, with recent white wash. On observing this, my guide added: "oui, et je veux le faire couvrir d'une teinte encore plus blanche!" Here I felt a second twinge yet more powerful than the first. I noticed, towards the south-side door, a very fine crucifix, cut in wood, about three feet high; and apparently of the time of Goujon. It was by much the finest piece of sculpture, of its kind, which I had seen in Normandy; but it was rather in a decaying state. I wished to know whether such an object of art--apparently of no earthly importance, where it was situated--might be obtained for some honourable and adequate compensation.

Monsieur Mouton replied that he desired to part with it--but that it must be replaced by another "full six feet high!" There was no meeting this proposition, and I ceased to say another word upon the subject.

Upon the whole, the church of the Holy Trinity is rather a fine and capacious, than a venerable edifice; and although I cannot conscientiously approve of the beautifying and repairing which are going on therein, yet I will do the _planner_ the justice to say, that a more gentlemanly, liberally-minded, and truly amiable clergyman is perhaps no where to be found,--within or without the diocese to which he belongs. Attached to the north transept or side door, parallel with the street, is a long pole.

"What might this mean?" "Sir, this pole was crowned at the top by a garland, and by the white flag of _St. Louis_,[169]--which were hoisted to receive me on my return from my long expatriation"--and the eyes of the narrator were suffused with tears, as he made the answer! It is of no consequence how small the income of an unmarried minister, may be, when he thus lives so entirely in the HEARTS OF HIS FLOCK. This church bears abundant evidence, within and without, of what is called the restoration of the Gothic order during the reign of Francis I.: although the most essential and the greater portion is evidently of the latter part of the fourteenth century.[170] Having expressed my admiration of the manufacture of wax candles (for religious purposes) which I had frequently observed in the town, Monsieur Mouton, upon taking me into the sacristy (similar to our vestry-room) begged I would do him the honour to accept of any which might be lying upon the table. These candles are made of the purest white wax: of a spiral, or twisted, or square, or circular form; of considerable length and width. They are also decorated with fillagree work, and tinsel of various colours. Upon that which I chose, there were little rosettes made of wax. The moderate sum for which they are obtained, startles an Englishman who thinks of the high price of this article of trade in his own country. You see frequently, against the walls and pillars of the choir, fragments of these larger wax candles, guttering down and begrimed from the uses made of them in time of worship. In this sacristy there were two little boys swinging _wooden_ censers, by way of practice for the more perfect use of them, when charged with frankincense, at the altar. To manage these adroitly--as the traveller is in the constant habit of observing during divine worship--is a matter of no very quick or easy attainment.

From the Cure we proceed to the Comte DE LA FRESNAYE; whose pleasantly situated mansion had been pointed out to me, as you may remember, by the former. Pa.s.sing over one of the bridges, leading towards _Guibray_, and ascending a gentle eminence to the left, I approached the outer lodge of this large and respectable-looking mansion. The Count and family were at dinner: but at _three_ they would rise from table. "Meanwhile," said the porter, it might give me pleasure to walk in the garden." It was one of the loveliest days imaginable. Such a sky--blue, bright, and cloudless--I had scarcely before seen. The garden was almost suffocated with lilacs and laburnums, glittering in their respective liveries of white, purple, and yellow. I stepped into a berceau--and sitting upon a bench, bethought me of the strange visit I was about to make--as well as of all the pleasing pastoral poetry and painting which I had read in the pages of De Lille, or viewed upon the canvas of Watteau. The clock of the church of _St. Gervais_ struck three; when, starting from my reverie, I knocked at the hall-door, and was announced to the family, (who had just risen from dinner) above stairs. A circle of five gentlemen would have alarmed a very nervous visitor; but the Count, addressing me in a semi-British and semi-Gallic phraseology, immediately dissipated my fears. In five minutes he was made acquainted with the cause of this apparent intrusion.

Nothing could exceed his amiable frankness. The very choicest wine was circulated at his table; of which I partook in a more decided manner on the following day--when he was so good as to invite me to dine. When I touched upon his favourite theme of Norman Antiquities, he almost shouted aloud the name of INGULPH,--that "cher ami de Guillaume le Conquerant!" I was unwilling to trespa.s.s long; but I soon found the advantage of making use of the name of "Monsieur Mouton--l'estimable Cure de la Sainte Trinite."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

In a stroll to Guibray, towards sunset the next day, I pa.s.sed through a considerable portion of the Count's property, about 300 acres, chiefly of pasture land. The evening was really enchanting; and through the branches of the coppice wood the sun seemed to be setting in a bed of molten gold.

Our conversation was animated and incessant. In the old and curious church of Guibray, the Count shewed us his family pew with the care and particularity of an old country squire. Meanwhile Mr. Lewis was making a hasty copy of one of the very singular ornaments--representing _Christ bearing his cross_--which was suspended against the walls of the altar of a side chapel. You have it here. It is frightfully barbarous, and characteristic of the capricious style of art which frequently prevailed about the year 1520: but the wonder is, how such a wretched performance could obtain admission into the sanctuary where it was deposited. It was however the pious gift of the vestry woman--who shewed us the interior--and who had religiously rescued it, during the Revolution, from the demolition of a neighbouring abbey. The eastern end of this church is perhaps as old as any ecclesiastical edifice in Normandy;[171] and its exterior (to which we could only approach by wading through rank gra.s.s as high as our knees) is one of the most interesting of its kind. During our admiration of all that was curious in this venerable edifice, we were struck by our old friends, the _penitents_,--busy in making confession. In more than one confessional there were two penitents; and towards one of these, thus doubly attended, I saw a very large, athletic, hard-visaged priest hastening, just having slipt on his surplice in the vestry. Indeed I had been cursorily introduced to him by the Count. It was Sat.u.r.day evening, and the ensuing Sunday was to be marked by some grand procession.

The village-like town of Guibray presents a most singular sight to the eye of a stranger. There are numerous little narrow streets, with every window closed by wooden shutters, and every door fastened. It appears as if the plague had recently raged there, and that the inhabitants had quitted it for ever. Not a creature is visible: not a sound is heard: not a mouse seems to be stirring. And yet Guibray boasts of the LARGEST FAIR in France, save one![172] This, my friend, precisely accounts for the aspect of desolation just described. During the intervals of these _triennial_ fairs, the greater part of the village is uninhabited: venders and purchasers flocking and crowding by hundreds when they take place. In a short, narrow street--where nothing animated was to be seen--the Count a.s.sured me that sometimes, in the course of one morning, several millions of francs were spent in the purchase of different wares. We left this very strange place with our minds occupied by a variety of reflections: but at any rate highly pleased and gratified by the agreeable family which had performed the part of guides on the occasion. In the evening, a professor of music treated us with some pleasing tunes upon the guitar--which utterly astonished the Count--and it was quite night-fall when we returned homewards, towards our quarters at the hotel of the _Grand Turc_.

A memorable incident occurred in our way homewards; which, when made known, will probably agitate the minds and shake the faith of two-thirds of the members of our Society of Antiquaries. You may remember that I told you, when at Caen, that the Abbe De la Rue had notified to me what were the objects more particularly deserving of attention in my further progress through Normandy. Among these, he particularly mentioned a figure or head of William the Conqueror at Falaise. In the _Place St. Gervais_, this wonderful head was said to exist--and to exist there only. It was at the house of an Innkeeper--certainly not moving in the highest circle of his calling. I lost little time in visiting it; and found it situated at the top of a dark narrow staircase, projecting from the wall, to the right, just before you reach the first floor. Some sensation had been excited by the enquiries, which I had previously set on foot; and on a second visit, several people were collected to receive us. Lights, warm water, towels, soap and brushes, were quickly put in requisition. I commenced operations with a kitchen knife, by carefully sc.r.a.ping away all the layers of hardened white and ochre washes, with which each generation had embedded and almost obliterated every feature. By degrees, the hair became manifest: then followed the operation of soap and water--which brought out the features of the face; and when the eyes fully and distinctly appeared, the exclamation of "_Mon Dieu_!" by the spectators, was loud and unremitting. The nose had received a serious injury by having its end broken off. Anon, stood forth the mouth; and when the "whiskered majesty" of the beard became evident, it was quite impossible to repress the simultaneous e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of joy and astonishment ... "_Voila le vrai portrait de Guillaume le Conquerant_!

The whiskers apparently denote it to be rather _Saxon_ than _Norman_. The head is nearly eleven inches in length, by seven and a half in width: is cut upon a very coa.r.s.e, yet hard-grained stone--and rests upon a square, unconnected stone:--embedded within the wall. If it ever had shoulders and body, those shoulders and body were no part of the present appendages of the head. What then, is the Abbe de la Rue in error? The more liberal inference will be, that the Abbe de la Rue had never seen it. As to its antiquity, I am prepared to admit it to be very considerable; and, if you please, even before the period of the loves of the father and mother of the character whom it is supposed to represent. In the morning, Madame Rolle seemed disposed to take ten louis (which I freely offered her) for her precious fragment: but the distinct, collected view of whiskers, mouth, nose, eyes, and hair, instantaneously raised the quicksilver of her expectations to "_quinze_ louis pour le moins!" That was infinitely "trop fort"--and we parted without coming to any terms. Perhaps you will laugh at me for the previous offer.

The church of St. Gervais is called the mother church of the town: and it is right that you should have some notion of it. It stands upon a finely elevated situation. Its interior is rather capacious: but it has no very grand effect-arising from simplicity or breadth of architecture. The pillars to the right of the nave, on entering from the western extremity, are doubtless old; perhaps of the beginning of the thirteenth century. The arches are a flattened semicircle; while those on the opposite side are comparatively sharp, and of a considerably later period. The ornaments of the capitals of these older pillars are, some of them, sufficiently capricious and elaborate; while others are of a more exceptionable character on the score of indelicacy. But this does not surprise a man who has been accustomed to examine ART, of the middle centuries, whether in sculpture or in painting. The side aisles are comparatively modern. The pillars of the choir have scarcely any capitals beyond a simple rim or fillet; and are surmounted by sharp low arches, like what are to be seen at St. Lo and Coutances. The roof of the left side aisle is perfectly green from damp: the result, as at Coutances, of thereof having been stripped for the sake of the lead to make bullets, &c. during the Revolution. I saw this large church completely filled on Sunday, at morning service--about eleven: and, in the congregation, I observed several faces and figures, of both s.e.xes, which indicated great intelligence and respectability. Indeed there was much of the air of a London congregation about the whole.

From the Church, we may fairly make any thing but a digression--in discoursing of one of its brightest ornaments, in the person of Monsieur LANGEVIN:--a simple priest--as he styles himself in an octavo volume, which ent.i.tles him to the character of the best living HISTORIAN OF FALAISE. He is a mere officiating minister in the church of Mons. Mouton; and his salary, as he led me to infer, could be scarcely twenty louis per annum.

Surely this man is among the most amiable and excellent of G.o.d's creatures!

But it is right that you should know the origin and progress of our acquaintance. It was after dinner, on one of the most industriously spent of my days here--and the very second of my arrival,--that the waiter announced the arrival of the Abbe Langevin, in the pa.s.sage, with a copy of his History beneath his arm. The door opened, and in walked the stranger--habited in his clerical garb--with a physiognomy so benign and expressive, and with manners so gentle and well-bred,--that I rose instinctively from my seat to give him the most cordial reception. He returned my civility in a way which shewed at once that he was a man of the most interesting simplicity of character. "He was aware (he said) that he had intruded; but as he understood "Monsieur was in pursuit of the antiquities of the place, he had presumed to offer for his acceptance a copy of a work upon that subject--of which he was the humble author." This work was a good sized thick crown octavo, filling five hundred closely and well-printed pages; and of which the price was _fifty sous_! The worthy priest, seeing my surprise on his mentioning the price, supposed that I had considered it as rather extravagant. But this error was rectified in an instant. I ordered _three copies_ of his historical labours, and told him my conscience would not allow me to pay him less than _three francs_ per copy. He seemed to be electrified: rose from his seat:--and lifting up one of the most expressive of countenances, with eyes apparently suffused with tears--raised both his hands, and exclaimed.... "Que le bon Dieu vous benisse--les Anglois sont vraiement genereux!"

For several seconds I sat riveted to my seat. Such an unfeigned and warm acknowledgment of what I had considered as a mere matter-of-course proposition, perfectly astounded me: the more so, as it was accompanied by a gesture and articulation which could not fail to move any bosom--not absolutely composed of marble. We each rallied, and resumed the conversation. In few but simple words he told me his history. He had contrived to weather out the Revolution, at Falaise. His former preferment had been wholly taken from him; and he was now a simple a.s.sistant in the church of Mons. Mouton. He had yielded without resistance; as even _remonstrance_ would have been probably followed up by the guillotine. To solace himself in his afflictions, he had recourse to his old favourite studies of _medicine_ and _music_;--and had in fact practised the former.

"But come, Sir, (says he) come and do me the honour of a call--when it shall suit you." I settled it for the ensuing day. On breaking up and taking leave, the amiable stranger modestly spoke of his History. It had cost him three years' toil; and he seemed to mention, with an air of triumph, the frequent references in it to the _Gallia Christiana_, and to _Chartularies_ and _Family Records_ never before examined. On the next day I carried my projected visit into execution--towards seven in the evening.

The lodgings of M. Langevin are on the second floor of a house belonging to a carpenter. The worthy priest received me on the landing-place, in the most cheerful and chatty manner. He has three small rooms on the same floor. In the first, his library is deposited. On my asking him to let me see what _old books_ he possessed, he turned gaily round, and replied--"Comment donc, Monsieur, vous aimez les vieux livres? A ca, voyons!" Whereupon he pulled away certain strips or pieces of wainscot, and shewed me his book-treasures within the recesses. On my recognising a _Colinaeus_ and _Henry Stephen_, ere he had read the t.i.tle of the volumes, he seemed to marvel exceedingly, and to gaze at me as a conjuror. He betrayed more than ordinary satisfaction on shewing his _Latin Galen_ and _Hippocrates_; and the former, to the best of my recollection, contained Latin notes in the margin, written by himself. These tomes were followed up by a few upon _alchymy_ and _astrology_; from which, and the consequent conversation, I was led to infer that the amiable possessor entertained due respect for those studies which had ravished our DEES and ASHMOLES of old.

In the second room stood an upright piano forte--the _manufacture_, as well as the property, of Monsieur Langevin. It bore the date of 1806; and was considered as the first of the kind introduced into Normandy. It was impossible not to be struck with the various rational sources of amus.e.m.e.nt, by means of which this estimable character had contrived to beguile the hours of his misfortunes. There was a calm, collected, serenity of manner about him--a most unfeigned and unqualified resignation to the divine will--which marked him as an object at once of admiration and esteem.

There was no boast--no cant--no formal sermonising. You _saw_ what religion had done for him. Her effects _spake_ in his discourse and in his life.... Over his piano hung a portrait of himself; very indifferently executed--and not strongly resembling the original. "We can do something more faithful than this, sir, if you will allow it"--said I, pointing to Mr. Lewis: and it was agreed that he should give the latter a sitting on the morrow. The next day M. Langevin came punctually to his appointment, for the purpose of having his portrait taken.

On telling this original that the pencil drawing of Mr. Lewis (which by the bye was executed in about an hour and a half) should be _engraved_--inasmuch as he was the modern _Historian of Falaise_--he seemed absolutely astonished. He moved a few paces gently forwards, and turning round, with hands and eyes elevated, exclaimed, in a tremulous and heart-stricken tone of voice, "Ah, mon Dieu!" I will not dissemble that I took leave of him with tears, which were with difficulty concealed. "Adieu, pour toujours!"--were words which he uttered with all the sincerity, and with yet more pathos, than was even shewn by Pierre Aime Lair at Caen. The landlord and landlady of this hotel are warm in their commendations of him: a.s.suring me that his name is hardly ever p.r.o.nounced without the mention of his virtues. He has just entered his sixty-second year.[173]

It remains only to give an account of the progress of Printing and of Literature in this place: although the latter ought to precede the former.

As a literary man, our worthy acquaintance the Comte de la Fresnaye takes the lead: yet he is rather an amateur than a professed critic. He has written upon the antiquities of the town; but his work is justly considered inferior to that of Monsieur Langevin. He quotes _Wace_ frequently, and with apparent satisfaction; and he promises a French version of his beloved _Ingulph_. Falaise is a quiet, dull place of resort, for those who form their notions of retirement as connected with the occasional bustle and animation of Caen and Rouen. But the situation is pleasing. The skies are serene: the temperature is mild, and the fruits of the earth are abundant and nutritious. Many of the more respectable inhabitants expressed their surprise to me that there were so few English resident in its neighbourhood--so much preferable, on many accounts to that of Caen. But our countrymen, you know, are sometimes a little capricious in the objects of their choice. Just now, it is the _fashion_ for the English to reside at Caen; yet when you consider that the major part of our countrymen reside there for the purpose of educating their children--and that Caen, from its numerous seminaries of education, contains masters of every description, whose lessons are sometimes as low as a frank for each--it is not surprising that Falaise is deserted for the former place. For myself--and for all those who love a select society, a sweet country, and rather a plentiful sprinkle of antiquarian art,--for such, in short, who would read the fabliaux of the old Norman bards in peace, comfort, and silence--there can be no question about the preference to be given to the spot from which I send this my last Norman despatch.

I have before made mention of the fountains in this place. They are equally numerous and clear. The inn in which we reside has not fewer than three fountains--or rather of _jets d'eau_--constantly playing. Those in the _Place St. Trinite Grand Rue_, and _Place St. Gervais_, are the largest; but every gutter trickles with water as if dissolved from the purest crystal. It has been hot weather during the greater part of our stay; and the very sight of these translucent streams seems to refresh one's languid frame. But I proceed chiefly to the productions of the PRESS. They do a good deal of business here in the way of ephemeral publications. Letellier, situated in the Grande Rue, is the chief printer of _chap books_: and if we judge from the general character of these, the _Falaisois_ seem to be marvellously addicted to the effusions of the muse. Indeed, their ballads, of all kinds, are innumerable. Read a few--which are to be found in the very commonest publications. There is something rather original, and of a very pleasingly tender cast, in the first two:

LE BAISER D'ADIEUX.

Pres de toi l'heure du mystere Ne m'appellera plus demain, Vers ta demeure solitaire Mes pas me guideront en vain; J'ai respire ta douce haleine, Et des pleurs ont mouille mes yeux, J'ai tout senti, plaisir et peine, ) J'ai recu ton baiser d'adieux. ) _bis._

Tu pars, et malgre ta promesse Rien ne m'a.s.sure de ta foi, Nul souvenir de ta tendresse Ne vient me dire: Pense a moi.

Ton amour qu'envain je reclame Ne me laisse, en quittant ces lieux, Que Phumide et brulante flamme De ton dernier baiser d'adieux.

Puisse au moins ton indifference Te garder d'un nouvel amour.

Et le veuvage de l'absence Hater ton fortune retour!

Puisse alors l'amant qui t'adore, Te revoyant aux memes lieux, Sur tes levres vierges encore Retrouver son baiser d'adieux!

L'IMAGE DE LA VIE.

Nous naissons et dans notre coeur, A peine aux portes de la vie, Tout au plaisir, tout au bonheur, Et nous invite et nous convie; D'abord, simples amus.e.m.e.nts Savent contenter notre enfance; Mais bientt aux jeux innocens, L'amour nous prend ... sans qu'on y pense.

Fillette a l'age de quinze ans, Offre l'image de la rose, Qui des l'approche du printemps, Entr'ouvre sa feuille mi-close; Bientot l'aiguillon du desir Vient ouvrir fleur d'innocence, Et sous la bouche du plaisir, Elle s'eclot ... sans qu'elle y pense.

Vous, qui pendant vos jeunes ans, Ne courtisez pas la folie, Songez donc que cet heureux temps Ne dure pas toute la vie, a.s.sez vite il nous faut quitter Tendres ardeurs, vives jouissances; Et dans uu coeur qui sait aimer, La raison vient ... sans qu'on y pense.