LETTER XVIII.

BIBLIOGRAPHY. MONSIEUR ADAM. MONSIEUR DE LARENAUDIERE. OLIVIER BASSELIN. M. SEGUIN. THE PUBLIC LIBRARY.

It is a sad rainy day; and having no temptation to stir abroad, I have shut myself up by the side of a huge wood fire—(surrounded by the dingy tapestry, of which my last letter did not make very honourable mention) in a thoroughly communicative mood—to make you acquainted with all that has passed since my previous despatch. Books and the Bibliomania be the chief "burden of my present song!" You may remember, in my account of the public library at Caen, that some mention was made of a certain OLIVIER BASSELIN—whom I designated as the DRUNKEN BARNABY of Normandy. Well, my friend—I have been at length made happy, and comforted in the extreme, by the possession of a copy of the Vaudevires of that said Olivier Basselin—and from the hands, too, of one of his principal editors ... Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, Avocat, et Maire, de Tallevende-le-Petit. This copy I intend (as indeed I told the donor) for the beloved library at Althorp. But let me tell my tale my own way.

Hard by the hotel of the Cheval Blanc, (the best, bad as it is—and indeed the only one in the town) lives a printer of the name of ADAM. He is the principal, and the most respectable of his brethren in the same craft. After discoursing upon sundry desultory topics—and particularly examining the books of Education, among which I was both surprised and pleased to find the Distichs of Muretus[160]—I expressed my regret at having travelled through so many towns of Normandy without meeting with one single copy of the Vaudevires of Olivier Basselin for sale. "It is not very surprising, Sir, since it is a privately printed book, and was never intended for sale. The impression too is very limited. You know, Sir, that the book was published here—and—" "Then I begin to be confident about obtaining it"—replied I. "Gently, Sir;—" resumed Monsieur Adam—"it is not to be bought, even here. But do you know no one...?" "Not a creature." "Well, Sir, take courage. You are an Englishman. One of its principal editors—a very gallant Bibliomaniac—who is a great collector and lover of the literature of your country—(here I picked up courage and gaiety of heart) lives in this town. He is President of the Tribunal. Go to him." Seeing me hesitate, in consequence of not having a letter of introduction—"Ce n'est rien (said he) allez tout-droit. Il aime vos compatriotes; et soyez persuade de l'accueil le plus favorable." Methought Monsieur Adam spake more eloquently than I had yet heard a Norman speak.[161]

In two seconds I quitted his shop, (promising to return with an account of my reception) and five minutes brought me into the presence of Monsieur Lanon de Larenaudiere, President du Tribunal, &c. It is not possible for me to convey to you a notion of the warmth, cordiality, and joyousness of heart, that marked the reception which this gentleman instantly gave me: and I will frankly own that I was as much "abashed" as ever our ancient friend Caxton had been—in the presence of his patroness the Duchess of Burgundy. I followed my new bibliomaniacal acquaintance rapidly up stairs; and witnessed, with extreme pleasure, a few bundles of books (some of them English) lying upon the window seats of the first landing-place; much after the fashion followed in a certain long, rambling, and antique residence, not quite three quarters of a mile from the towers of Westminster Abbey.

On gaining the first floor, mine host turned the keys of the doors of two contiguous rooms, and exclaimed, "VOILA MA BIBLIOTHEQUE!" The air of conscious triumph with which these words were uttered, delighted me infinitely; but my delight was much increased on a leisurely survey of one of the prettiest, most useful, and commendable collections of books, chiefly in the department of the Belles-Lettres, which I had ever witnessed. Monsieur de Larenaudiere has a library of about 9000 volumes, of which eight hundred are English. But the owner is especially fond of poetical archaeology; in other words, of collecting every work which displays the progress of French and English poetry in the middle and immediately following ages; and talks of Trouveurs and Troubadours with an enthusiasm approaching to extacy. Meanwhile he points his finger to our Warton, Ellis, Ritson, and Southey; tells you how dearly he loves them; but yet leads you to conclude that he rather prefers Le Grand, Ginguene, Sismondi, and Raynouard. Of the venerable living oracle in these matters, the Abbe de la Rue, he said he considered him as "un peu trop systematique." In short, M. de Larenaudiere has almost a complete critical collection, in our tongue, upon the subject of old poetry; and was most anxious and inquisitive about the present state of cultivation of that branch of literature in England: adding, that he himself meditated a work upon the French poetry of the XIIth and XIIIth centuries. He said he thought his library might be worth about 25,000 francs: nor did I consider such a valuation overcharged. He talks rapidly, earnestly, and incessantly; but he talks well: and spoke of the renown of a certain library in St. James's Place, in a manner which could not fail to quicken the pulse and warm the blood of its Librarian. I concluded an interview of nearly two hours, by his compliance with my wish to dine with me on the following day: although he was quite urgent in bargaining for the previous measure of my tasting his potage and vol au vent. But the shortness and constant occupation of my time would not allow me to accede to it. M. de Larenaudiere then went to a cabinet-like cupboard, drew forth an uncut copy, stitched in blue spotted paper, of his beloved Vaudevires of OLIVIER BASSELIN:[162] and presenting it to me, added "Conservez le, pour l'amour de moi." You may be assured that I received such a present in the most gracious manner I was capable of—but instantly and honestly added—"permettez qu'il soit depose dans la bibliotheque de Milord S...? "C'est la meme chose"—rejoined he; and giving me the address of the public librarian, we separated in the most cordial manner till the morrow.

I posted back to Monsieur Adam, the printer and bookseller, and held aloft my blue-covered copy of the Vaudevires as an unquestionable proof of the successful result of my visit to Monsieur La Renaudiere. Leaving the precious cargo with him, and telling him that I purposed immediately visiting the public library, he seemed astonished at my eagerness about books—and asked me if I had ever published any thing bibliographical? "Car enfin, Monsieur, la pluspart des Virois ne savent rien de la literature angloise"—concluded he ... But I had just witnessed a splendid exception to this sweeping clause of censure. I then sought the residence of the Abbe Du MORTUEUX, the public librarian. That gentleman was from home, at a dinner party. I obtained information of the place where he might be found; and considering two o'clock to be rather too early an hour (even in France) to disturb a gentleman during the exercise of so important a function, I strolled in the neighbourhood of the street, where he was regaling, for a full hour and half: when, at the expiration of that time, I ventured to knock at the door of a very respectable mansion, and to enquire for the bibliographical Abbe. "He is here, Sir, and has just done dinner. May I give him your name?" "I am a stranger: an Englishman; who, on the recommendation of Monsieur Larenaudiere, wishes to see the public library. But I will call again in about an hour." "By no means: by no means: the Abbe will see you immediately." And forthwith appeared a very comely, tall, and respectable-looking gentleman, with his hair en plein costume, both as to form and powder. Indeed I had rarely before witnessed so prepossessing a figure. His salutation and address were most gracious and winning; and he told me that I had nothing to do but to accompany him to the place which I wished to visit. Without even returning to his friends, he took his hat—and in one minute, to my surprise, I found myself in the street with the Abbe de Mortueux, in the high way to the PUBLIC LIBRARY. In our way thither our discourse was constant and unrestrained. "You appear here; Monsieur l'Abbe, to be partial to literature;... but allow me first to congratulate you on the beautiful environs of your town." "For literature in general, we are pretty well disposed. In regard to the beauties of the immediate neighbourhood of Vire, we should be unworthy inhabitants indeed, if we were not sensible of them." In five minutes we reached the Library.

The shutters of the room were fastened, but the worthy Abbe opened them in a trice; when I saw, for the first time in Normandy, what appeared to be a genuine, old, unmutilated, unpillaged library. The room could be scarcely more than twenty-two feet square. I went instantly to work, with eyes and hands, in the ardent hope, and almost full persuasion, of finding something in the shape of a good old Greek or Roman Classic, or French Chronicle, or Romance. But, alas, I looked, and handled the tomes in vain! The history of the library is this:—The founder was a Monsieur PICHON; who, on being taken prisoner by the English, at the capture of Louisburg in 1758, resided a long time in England under the name of TYRREL, and lived in circumstances of respectability and even of opulence. There—whether on the dispersion of the libraries of our Meads, Foulkes', and Rawlinsons, I know not—he made his collection; took his books over with him to Jersey, where he died in 1780: and bequeathed them, about 3000 in number, to his native town of Vire. M. du Mortueux, who gave me these particulars, has drawn up a little memorial about Pichon. His portrait, executed by an English artist, (whilst he lived among us) adorns the library; with which I hope it will go down to a distant and grateful posterity. The colouring of this portrait is faded: but it is evident that Monsieur Pichon had an expressive and sensible physiognomy.

Wonderful to relate, this collection of books was untouched during the Revolution; while the neighbouring library of the Cordeliers was ransacked without mercy. But I regret to say that the books in the cupboards are getting sadly damp. Do not expect any thing very marvellous in the details of this collection; The old-fashioned library doors, of wood, are quite in character with what they protect. Among the earlier printed books, I saw a very bad copy of Sweynheym and Pannartz's edition of the De Civitate Dei of St. Austin, of the date of 1470; and a large folio of Gering's impression of the Sermons of Leonard de Utino printed about the year 1478. This latter was rather a fine book. A little black-letter Latin Bible by Froben, of the date of 1495, somewhat tempted me; but I could not resist asking, in a manner half serious and half jocose, whether a napoleon would not secure me the possession of a piquant little volume of black-letter tracts, printed by my old friend Guido Mercator?[163] The Abbe smiled: observing—"mon ami, on fait voir les livres ici; on les lit meme: mais on ne les vend pas." I felt the force of this pointed reply: and was resolved never again to ask an Ecclesiastic to part with a black-letter volume, even though it should be printed by "my old friend Guido Mercator."

Seeing there was very little more deserving of investigation, I enquired of my amiable guide about the "LIBRARY OF THE CORDELIERS," of which he had just made mention. He told me that it consisted chiefly of canon and civil law, and had been literally almost destroyed: that he had contrived however to secure a great number of "rubbishing theological books," (so he called them!) which he sold for three sous a piece—and with the produce of which he bought many excellent works for the library. I should like to have had the sifting of this "theological rubbish!" It remained only to thank the Abbe most heartily for his patient endurance of my questions and searches, and particularly to apologise for bringing him from his surrounding friends. He told me, beginning with a "soyez tranquille," that the matter was not worth either a thought or a syllable; and ere we quitted the library, he bade me observe the written entries of the numbers of students who came daily thither to read. There were generally (he told me) from fifteen to twenty "hard at it"—and I saw the names of not fewer than ninety-two who aspired to the honour and privilege of having access to the BIBLIOTHECA PICHONIANA.

For the third time, in the same day, I visited Monsieur Adam; to carry away, like a bibliomaniacal Jason, the fleece I had secured. I saw there a grave, stout gentleman—who saluted me on my entrance, and who was introduced to me by Monsieur A. by the name of SEGUIN. He had been waiting (he said) full three quarters of an hour to see me, and concluded by observing, that, although a man in business, he had aspired to the honour of authorship. He had written, in fact, two rather interesting—but wretchedly, and incorrectly printed—duodecimo volumes, relating to the BOCAGE,[164] in the immediate vicinity of Vire; and was himself the sole vender and distributer of his publications. On my expressing a wish to possess these books, he quitted the premises, and begged I would wait his return with a copy or two of them. While he was gone, M. Adam took the opportunity of telling me that he was a rich, respectable tradesman; but that, having said some severe things of the manufactures of Vire in his first publication,[165] relating to the civil history of the Bocains, his townsmen sharply resented what they considered as reflections thrown out against them; and M. Seguin was told that perhaps his personal safety was endangered ... He wanted not a second hint—but fled from home with precipitancy: and in his absence the populace suspended his effigy, and burnt it before the door of his house. This, however, did not cool the ardour of authorship in M. Seguin. He set about publishing his military history of the Bocains; and in the introductory part took occasion to retort upon the violence of his persecutors. To return to M. Seguin. In about ten minutes he appeared, with two copies in his hand—which I purchased, I thought dearly, at five francs each volume; or a napoleon for the four books. After the adventures of this day, I need hardly tell you that I relished a substantial dinner at a late hour, and that I was well satisfied with Vire.

Yesterday M. de Larenaudiere made good his engagement, and dined with me at five, in the salle a manger. This is a large inn; and if good fare depended upon the number and even elegance of female cooks, the traveller ought to expect the very best at the Cheval Blanc. The afternoon was so inviting—and my guest having volunteered his services to conduct me to the most beautiful points of view in the immediate neighbourhood—that we each seemed to vie with the other in quickly dispatching what was placed before us; and within thirty-five minutes, from the moment of sitting down, we were in the outskirts of Vire. Never shall I forget that afternoon's ramble. The sun seemed to become more of a golden hue, and the atmosphere to increase in clearness and serenity. A thousand little songsters were warbling in the full-leaved branches of the trees; while the mingled notes of the blanchisseuses and the milk-maids, near the banks of the rippling stream below, reached us in a sort of wild and joyous harmony—as we gazed down from the overhanging heights. The meadows were spotted with sheep, and the orchards teemed with the coming fruit. You may form some notion of the value of this rich and picturesque scenery, when I tell you that M. de Larenaudiere possesses land, in the immediate vicinity of Vire, which lets per acre at the rate of 6l. 6s. English. My guide was all gaiety of heart, and activity of step. I followed him through winding paths and devious tracks, amidst coppice-wood and fern—not however till I had viewed, from one particular spot upon the heights, a most commanding and interesting panorama of the town of Vire.

In our perambulation, we discoursed of English poetry; and I found that THOMSON was as great a favourite with my guide as with the rest of his countrymen. Indeed he frankly told me that he had translated him into French verse, and intended to publish his translation. I urged him to quote specimens; which he did with a readiness and force, and felicity of version, that quite delighted me. He thoroughly understands the original; and in the description of a cataract, or mountain torrent, from the Summer, he appeared to me almost to surpass it. My guide then proceeded to quote Young and Pope, and delivered his opinion of our two great Whig and Tory Reviews. He said he preferred the politics and vivacity of the Edinburgh, but thought the Quarterly more instructive and more carefully written. "Enfin (he concluded) j'aime infiniment votre gouvernement, et vos ecrivains; mais j'aime moins le peuple Anglois." I replied that he had at least very recently shewn an exception to this opinion, in his treatment of one among this very people. "C'est une autre chose"—replied he briskly, and laughingly—"vous allez voir deux de vos compatriotes, qui sont mes intimes, et vous en serez bien content!" So saying, we continued our route through a delightful avenue of beech-trees, upon the most elevated part within the vicinity of the town; and my companion bade me view from thence the surrounding country. It was rich and beautiful in the extreme; and with perfect truth, I must say, resembled much more strongly the generality of our own scenery than what I had hitherto witnessed in Normandy. But the sun was beginning to cast his shadows broader and broader, and where was the residence of Monsieur and Madame S——?

It was almost close at hand. We reached it in a quarter of an hour—but the inmates were unluckily from home. The house is low and long, but respectable in appearance both within and without. The approach to it is through a pretty copse, terminated by a garden; and the surrounding grounds are rather tastefully laid out. A portion of it indeed had been trained into something in the shape of a labyrinth; in the centre of which was a rocky seat, embedded as it were in moss—and from which some fine glimpses were caught of the surrounding country. The fragrance from the orchard trees, which had not yet quite shed their blossoms, was perfectly delicious; while the stillness of evening added to the peculiar harmony of the whole. We had scarcely sauntered ten minutes before Madame arrived. She had been twelve years in France, and spoke her own language so imperfectly, or rather so unintelligibly, that I begged of her to resume the French. Her reception of us was most hospitable: but we declined cakes and wine, on account of the lateness of the hour. She told us that her husband was in possession of from fourscore to a hundred acres of the most productive land; and regretted that he was from home, on a visit to a neighbouring gentleman; assuring us, if we could stay, that he would be heartily glad to see us—"especially any of his countrymen, when introduced by Monsieur de Larenaudiere." It was difficult to say who smiled and bowed with the greater complacency, at this double-shotted compliment. I now pressed our retreat homewards. We bade this agreeable lady farewell, and returned down the heights, and through the devious paths by which we had ascended,

While talk of various kind deceived the road.

A more active and profitable day has not yet been devoted to Norman objects, whether of art or of nature. Tomorrow I breakfast with my friend and guide, and immediately afterwards push on for FALAISE. A cabriolet is hired, but doubts are entertained respecting the practicability of the route. My next epistle will be therefore from Falaise—where the renowned William the Conqueror was born, whose body we left entombed at Caen. The day is clearing up; and I yet hope for a stroll upon the site of the castle.



[160] "Les Distiques de Muret, traduits en vers Francais, par Aug. A. Se vend a Vire, chez Adam imprimeur-lib. An. 1809. The reader may not be displeased to have a specimen of the manner of rendering these distichs into French verse:

1. Dum tener es, MURETE, avidis haec auribus hauri: Nec memori modo conde animo, sed et exprime factis.

2. Imprimis venerare Deum; venerare parentes: Et quos ipsa loco tibi dat natura parentum. &c.

1. Jeune encore, o mon fils! pour etre homme de bien, Ecoute, et dans ton coeur grave cet entretien.

2. Sers, honors le Dieu qui crea tous les etres; Sois fils respectueux, sois docile a tes maitres. &c.

[161] [Smartly and felicitously rendered by my translator Mons. Licquet; "Jamais bouche Normande ne m'avait paru plus eloquente que celle de M. Adam." vol. ii. p. 220.]

[162] The present seems to be the proper place to give the reader some account of this once famous Bacchanalian poet. It is not often that France rests her pretensions to poetical celebrity upon such claims. Love, romantic adventures, gaiety of heart and of disposition, form the chief materials of her minor poems; but we have here before us, in the person and productions of OLIVIER BASSELIN, a rival to ANACREON of old; to our own RICHARD BRAITHWAIT, VINCENT BOURNE, and THOMAS MOORE. As this volume may not be of general notoriety, the reader may be prepared to receive an account of its contents with the greater readiness and satisfaction. First, then, of the life and occupations of Olivier Basselin; which, as Goujet has entirely passed over all notice of him, we can gather only from the editors of the present edition of his works. Basselin appears to have been a Virois; in other words, an inhabitant of the town of Vire. But he had a strange propensity to rusticating, and preferred the immediate vicinity of Vire—its quiet little valleys, running streams, and rocky recesses—to a more open and more distant residence. In such places, therefore, he carried with him his flasks of cider and his flagons of wine. Thither he resorted with his "boon and merry companions," and there he poured forth his ardent and unpremeditated strains. These "strains" all savoured of the jovial propensities of their author; it being very rarely that tenderness of sentiment, whether connected with friendship or love, is admitted into his compositions. He was the thorough-bred Anacreon of France at the close of the fifteenth century.

The town of Vire, as the reader may have already had intimation, is the chief town of that department of Normandy called the BOCAGE; and in this department few places have been, of old, more celebrated than the Vaux de Vire; on account of the number of manufactories which have existed there from time immemorial. It derives its name from two principal valleys, in the form of a T, of which the base (if it may be so called—"jambage") rests upon the Place du Chateau de Vire. It is sufficiently contiguous to the town to be considered among the fauxbourgs. The rivers Vire and Virene, which unite at the bridge of Vaux, run somewhat rapidly through the valleys. These rivers are flanked by manufactories of paper and cloth, which, from the XVth century, have been distinguished for their prosperous condition. Indeed, BASSELIN himself was a sort of cloth manufacturer. In this valley he passed his life in fulling his cloths, and "in composing those gay and delightful songs which are contained in the volume under consideration." Discours Preliminaire, p. 17, &c. Olivier Basselin is the parent of the title Vaudevire—which has since been corrupted into Vaudeville. From the observation of his critics, Basselin appears to have been the FATHER of BACCHANALIAN POETRY in France. He frequented public festivals, and was a welcome guest at the tables of the rich; where the Vaudevire was in such request, that it is supposed to have superseded the "Conte, or Fabliau, or the Chanson d'Amour."[B] p. xviij:

Sur ce point-la, soyez tranquille: Nos neveux, j'en suis bien certain, Se souviendront de BASSELIN, Pere joyeux du Vaudeville: p. xxiij.

I proceed to submit a few specimens of the muse of this ancient ANACREON of France; and must necessarily begin with a few of those that are chiefly of a bacchanalian quality.

VAUDEVIRE II.

AYANT le doz au feu et le ventre a la table, Estant parmi les pots pleins de vin delectable, Ainsi comme ung poulet Je ne me laisseray morir de la pepie, Quant en debvroye avoir la face cramoisie Et le nez violet;

QUANT mon nez devendra de couleur rouge ou perse, Porteray les couleurs que cherit ma maitresse. Le vin rent le teint beau. Vault-il pas mieulx avoir la couleur rouge et vive, Riche de beaulx rubis, que si pasle et chetive Ainsi qu'ung beuveur d'eau.

VAUDEVIRE XI.

CERTES hoc vinum est bonus: Du maulvais latin ne nous chaille, Se bien congru n'estoit ce jus, Le tout ne vauldroit rien que vaille. Escolier j'appris que bon vin Aide bien au maulvais latin.

CESTE sentence praticquant, De latin je n'en appris guere; Y pensant estre assez scavant, Puisque bon vin aimoye a boire. Lorsque maulvais vin on a beu, Latin n'est bon, fust-il congru. Fy du latin, parlons francois, Je m'y recongnois davantaige. Je vueil boire une bonne fois, Car voicy ung maistre breuvaige; Certes se j'en beuvoye soubvent, Je deviendroye fort eloquent.

VAUDEVIRE XXII.

HE! qu'avons-nous affaire Du Turc ny du Sophy, Don don. Pourveu que j'aye a boire, Des grandeurs je dis fy. Don don. Trincque, Seigneur, le vin est bon: Hoc acuit ingenium.

QUI songe en vin ou vigne, Est ung presaige heureux, Don don. Le vin a qui rechigne Rent le coeur tout joyeux, Don don. Trincque, Seigneur, le vin est bon: Hoc acuit ingenium. &c.

The poetry of Basselin is almost wholly devoted to the celebration of the physical effects of wine upon the body and animal spirits; and the gentler emotions of the TENDER PASSION are rarely described in his numbers. In consequence, he has not invoked the Goddess of Beauty to associate with the God of Wine: to

"Drop from her myrtle one leaf in his bowl;"

or, when he does venture to introduce the society of a female, it is done after the following fashion—which discovers however an extreme facility and melody of rhythm. The burden of the song seems wonderfully accordant with a Bacchanalian note.

VAUDEVIRE XIX.

En ung jardin d'ombraige tout couvert, Au chaud du jour, ay treuve Madalaine, Qui pres le pie d'ung sicomorre vert Dormoit au bort d'une claire fontaine; Son lit estoit de thin et marjolaine. Son tetin frais n'estoit pas bien cache: D'amour touche, Pour contempler sa beaute souveraine Incontinent je m'en suys approche. Sus, sus, qu'on se resveille, Voicy vin excellent Qui faict lever l'oreille; Il faict mol qui n'en prent.

Je n'eus pouvoir, si belle la voyant, De m'abstenir de baizotter sa bouche; Si bien qu'enfin la belle s'esveillant, Me regardant avec ung oeil farouche, Me dit ces mots: Biberon, ne me touche. Belle fillette a son aize ne couche Avecq celuy qui ne faict qu'yvrongner, &c. &c.

The preceding extracts will suffice. This is a volume in every respect interesting—both to the literary antiquary and to the Book-Collector. A NEW EDITION of this work has appeared under the editorial care of M. Louis Dubois, published at Caen in 1821, 8vo. obtainable at a very moderate price.

[B] The host, at these public and private festivals, usually called upon some one to recite or sing a song, chiefly of an amatory or chivalrous character; and this custom prevailed more particularly in Normandy than in other parts of France:

Usaige est en Normandie, Que qui hebergiez est qu'il die Fable ou Chanson a son oste.

See the authorities cited at page XV, of this Discours preliminaire.

[163] Some account of this printer, together with a fac-simile of his device, may be seen in the Bibliographical Decameron, vol. ii. p. 33-6.

[164] The first publication is entitled "Essai sur l'Histoire de l'Industrie du Bocage en General et de la Ville de Vire sa capitale en particulier, &c." Par M. RICHARD SEGUIN. A Vire, chez Adam, Imprimeur, an 1810, 12mo. It is not improbable that I may have been the only importer of this useful and crowdedly-paged duodecimo volume; which presents us with so varied and animated a picture of the manners, customs, trades, and occupations of the Bocains and the Virois.

[165] I subjoin an extract which relates to the

DRESS AND CHARACTER OF THE WOMEN.

"Quant au COSTUME DES FEMMES d'aujourd'hui, comme il faudrait un volume entier pour le decrire, je n'ai pas le courage de m'engager dans ce labyrinte de ridicules et de frivolites. Ce que j'en dirai seulement en general, c'est qu'autant les femmes du temps passe, etaient decentes et chastes, et se faisaient gloire d'etre graves et modestes, autant celles de notre siecle mettent tout en oeuvre pour paraitre cyniques et voluptueuses. Nous ne sommes plus au temps ou les plus grandes dames se faisaient honneur de porter la cordeliere.[C] Leurs habillemens etaient aussi larges et fermes, que celui des femmes de nos jours sont ouverts et legers, et d'une finesse que les formes du corps, au moindre mouvement, se dessinent, de maniere a ne laisser rien ignorer. A peine se couvrent-elles le sein d'un voile transparent tres-leger ou de je ne sais quelle palatine qu'elles nomment point-a-jour, qui, en couvrant tout, ne cache rien; en sorte que si elles n'etalent pas tous leurs charmes a decouvert, c'est que les hommes les moins scrupuleux, qui se contentent de les persifler, en seraient revoltes tout-a-fait. D'ailleurs, c'est que ce n'est pas encore la mode; plusieurs poussent meme l'impudence jusqu'a venir dans nos temples sans coiffure, les cheveux herisses comme des furies; d'autres, par une bizarrerie qu'on ne peut expliquer se depouillent, autant qu'il est en leur pouvoir, des marques de leur propre sexe, sembleut rougir d'etre femmes, et deviennent ridicules en voulant paraitre demi-hommes.

"Apres avoir deshonore l'habit des femmes, elles ont encore voulu prostituer CELUI DES HOMMES. On les a vues adopter successivement les chapeaux, les redingotes, les vestes, les gilets, les bottes et jusqu'aux boutons. Enfin si, au lieu de jupons, elles avaient pu s'accommoder de l'usage de la culotte, la metamorphose etait complette; mais elles ont prefere les robes trainantes; c'est dommage que la nature ne leur ait donne une troisieme main, qui leur serait necessaire pour tenir cette longue queue, qui souvent patrouille la boue ou balaye la poussiere. Plut a Dieu que les anciennes lois fussent encore en vigueur, ou ceux et celles qui portaient des habits indecent etaient obliges d'aller a Rome pour en obtenir l'absolution, qui ne pouvait leur etre accordee que par le souverain pontife, &c.

"Les femmes du Bocage, et sur-tout les Viroises, joignent a un esprit vif et enjoue les qualites du corps les plus estimables. Blondes et brunes pour le plus grand nombre, elles sont de la moyenne taille, mais bien formees: elles ont le teint frais et fleuri, l'oeil vif, le visage vermeil, la demarche leste, un air etoffe et tres elegantes dans tout leur maintien. Si on dit avec raison que les Bayeusines sont belles, les filles du Bocage, qui sont leurs voisines, ne leur cedent en aucune maniere, car en general le sang est tres-beau en ce pays. Quant aux talens spirituels, elles les possedent a un degre eminent. Elles parlent avec aisance, ont le repartie prompte, et outre les soins du menage, ou elles excellent de telle sorte qu'il n'y a point de contrees ou il y ait plus de linge, elles entendent a merveille, et font avec succes tout le detail du commerce." p. 238.

These passages, notwithstanding the amende honorable of the concluding paragraph, raised a storm of indignation against the unsuspecting author! Nor can we be surprised at it.

This publication is really filled with a great variety of curious historical detail—throughout which is interspersed much that relates to "romaunt lore" and romantic adventures. The civil wars between MONTGOMERY and MATIGNON form alone a very important and interesting portion of the volume; and it is evident that the author has exerted himself with equal energy and anxiety to do justice to both parties—except that occasionally he betrays his antipathies against the Hugonots.[D] I will quote the concluding passage of this work. There may be at least half a score readers who may think it something more than merely historically curious:

"Je finirai donc ici mon Histoire. Je n'ai point parle d'un grand nombre des faits d'armes et d'actions glorieuses, qui se sont passes dans la guerre de l'independance des Etats-Unis d'Amerique ou beaucoup de Bocains ont eu part; mais mon principal dessein a ete de traiter des guerres qui ont eu lieu dans le Bocage; ainsi je crois avoir atteint mon but, qui etait d'ecrire l'Histoire Militaire des Bocains par des faits et non par des phrases, je ne peux cependant omettre une circonstance glorieuse pour le Bocage; c'est la visite que le bon et infortune Louis XVI. fit aux Bocains en 1786. Ce grand Monarque dont les vues etaient aussi sages que profondes, avait resolu de faire construire le beau Port de Cherbourg, ouvrage vraiment Royal, qui est une des plus nobles entreprises qui aient ete faites depuis l'origine de la Monarchie. Les Bocains sentirent l'avantage d'un si grand bienfait. Le Roi venant visiter les travaux, fut accueilli avec un enthousiasme presqu'impossible a decrire, ainsi que les Princes qui l'accompagnaient. Sa marche rassemblait a un triomphe. Les peuples accouraient en foule du fond des campagnes, et bordaient la route, faisant retentir les airs de chants d'alegresse et des cris millions de fois repetes de Vive le Roi! Musique, Processions, Arcs de triomphe, Chemins jonches de fleurs; tout fut prodigue. Les villes de Caen, de Bayeux, de Saint-Lo, de Carentan, de Valognes, se surpasserent dans cette occasion, pour prouver a S.M. leur amour et leur reconnaissance; mais rien ne fut plus brillant que l'entree de ce grand Roi a Cherbourg. Un peuple immense, le clerge, toute la noblesse du pays, le son des cloches, le bruit du canon, les acclamations universelles prouverent au Monarque mieux encore que la pompe toute Royale et les fetes magnifiques que la ville ne cessa de lui donner tous les jours, que les coeurs de tous les Bocains etaient a lui." p. 428.

[C] "Ceinture alors regardee comme le symbole de la continence. La reine de France en decorait les femmes titrees dont la conduite etait irreprochable." Hist. de la reun. de Bretagne a la France par l'abbe Irail.

[D] "Les soldats Huguenots commirent dans cette occasion, toutes sortes de cruautes, d'infamies et de sacrileges, jusqu'a meler les Saintes Hosties avec l'avoine qu'ils donnaient a leurs chevaux: mais Dieu permit qu'ils n'en voulurent pas manger." p. 369.



LETTER XIX.

DEPARTURE FROM VIRE. CONDE. PONT OUILLY. ARRIVAL AT FALAISE. HOTEL OF THE GRAND TURC. THE CASTLE OF FALAISE. BIBLIOMANIACAL INTERVIEW.

Falaise.

Here I am—or rather, here I have been—my most excellent friend, for the last four days—and from hence you will receive probably the last despatch from NORMANDY—- from the "land (as I told you in my first epistle) of "castles, churches, and ancient chivalry." An old, well-situated, respectably-inhabited, and even flourishing, town—the birth-place too of our renowned FIRST WILLIAM:—weather, the most serene and inviting—and hospitality, thoroughly hearty, and after the English fashion:—these have all conspired to put me in tolerably good spirits. My health, too, thank God, has been of late a little improved. You wish me to continue the thread of my narrative unbroken; and I take it up therefore from the preparation for my departure from Vire.

I breakfasted, as I told you I was about to do, with my friend and guide Mons. de Larenaudiere; who had prepared quite a sumptuous repast for our participation. Coffee, eggs, sweetmeats, cakes, and all the comfortable paraphernalia of an inviting breakfast-table, convinced us that we were in well-furnished and respectable quarters. Madame did the honours of the meal in perfectly good taste; and one of the loveliest children I ever saw—a lad, of about five or six years of age—with a profusion of hair of the most delicate quality and colour, gave a sort of joyous character to our last meal at Vire. The worthy host told me to forget him, when I reached my own country;[166] and that, if ever business or pleasure brought me again into Normandy, to remember that the Maire de Tallevende-le-Petit would-be always happy to renew his assurances of hospitality. At the same time, he entreated me to pay attention to a list of English books which he put into my hands; and of which he stood considerably in need. We bade farewell in the true English fashion, by a hearty shake of the hands; and, mounting our voiture, gave the signal for departure. "Au plaisir de vous revoir!"—'till a turning of the carriage deprived us of the sight of each other. It is not easy—and I trust it is not natural—for me to forget the last forty-eight hours spent in the interesting town of VIRE!

Our route to this place was equally grand and experimental; grand, as to the width of the road, and beauty of the surrounding country—but experimental, inasmuch as a part of the route royale had been broken up, and rendered wholly impassable for carriages of any weight. Our own, of its kind, was sufficiently light; with a covering of close wicker-work, painted after the fashion of some of our bettermost tilted carts. One Norman horse, in full condition of flesh, with an equal portion of bone and muscle, was to convey us to this place, which cannot be less than twenty-two good long English miles from Vire. The carriage had no springs; and our seat was merely suspended by pieces of leather fastened at each end. At Conde, about one-third of the distance, we baited, to let both man and horse breathe over their dinners; while, strolling about that prettily situated little town, we mingled with the inhabitants, and contemplated the various faces (it being market-day) with no ordinary degree of gratification. Amidst the bustle and variety of the scene, our ears were greeted by the air of an itinerant ballad-singer: nor will you be displeased if I send you a copy of it:—since it is gratifying to find any thing like a return to the good old times of the sixteenth century.

VIVE LE ROI, VIVE L'AMOUR.

Francois Premier, nous dit l'histoire, Etoit la fleur des Chevaliers, Pres d'Etampes aux champs de gloire Il recueillit myrtes et lauriers; Sa maitresse toujours fidele, Le payant d'un tendre retour, Lui chantant cette ritournelle; Vive le Roi, vive l'Amour.

Henri, des princes le modele, Ton souvenir est dans nos coeurs, Par la charmante Gabrielle Ton front fut couronne de fleurs; De la Ligue domptant la rage, Tu sus triompher tour-a-tour, Par la clemence et ton courage: Vive le Roi, vive l'Amour.

Amant cheri de la Valliere, Des ennemis noble vainqueur, LOUIS savoit combattre et plaire, Guide par l'Amour et l'honneur; A son retour de la Victoire, Entoure d'une aimable cour, Il entendoit ce cri de gloire: Vive le Roi, vive l'Amour.

&c.

There was a freshness of tint, and a comeliness of appearance, among the bourgeoises and common people, which were not to be eclipsed even by the belles of Coutances. Our garcon de poste and his able-bodied quadruped having each properly recruited themselves, we set forward—by preference—to walk up the very long and somewhat steep hill which rises on the other side of Conde towards Pont Ouilly—in the route hither. Perhaps this was the most considerable ascent we had mounted on foot, since we had left Rouen. The view from the summit richly repaid the toil of using our legs. It was extensive, fruitful, and variegated; but neither rock nor mountain scenery; nor castles, nor country seats; nor cattle, nor the passing traveller—served to mark or to animate it. It was still, pure nature, upon a vast and rich scale: and as the day was fine, and my spirits good, I was resolved to view and to admire.

Pont Ouilly lies in a hollow; with a pretty winding river, which seems to run through its centre. The surrounding hills are gently undulating; and as we descended to the Inn, we observed, over the opposite side of the town, upon the summit of one of the hills, a long procession of men and women—headed by an ecclesiastic, elevating a cross—who were about to celebrate, at some little distance, one of their annual festivals. The effect—as the procession came in contact with a bright blue sky, softened by distance—was uncommonly picturesque ... but the day was getting on fast, and there was yet a considerable distance to perform,—while, in addition, we had to encounter the most impassable part of the road. Besides, I had not yet eaten a morsel since I had left Vire. Upon holding a consultation, therefore, it was resolved to make for the inn, and to dine there. A more sheltered, rural, spot cannot be conceived. It resembled very many of the snug scenes in South Wales. Indeed the whole country was of a character similar to many parts of Monmouthshire; although with a miserable draw-back in respect to the important feature of wood. Through the whole of Normandy, you miss those grand and overshadowing masses of oak, which give to Monmouthshire, and its neighbouring county of Glocester, that rich and majestic appearance which so decidedly marks the character of those counties. However, we are now at the inn at Pont Ouilly. A dish of river fish, gudgeons, dace, and perch, was speedily put in requisition. Good wine, "than which France could boast no better!" and a roast fowl, which the daughter of the hostess "knew how to dress to admiration" ... was all that this humble abode could afford us." "But we were welcome:"—that is, upon condition that we paid our reckoning....

The dinner would be ready in a "short half hour." Mr. Lewis, went to the bridge, to look around, for the purpose of exercising his pencil: while I sauntered more immediately about the house. Within five minutes a well-looking, and even handsome, young woman—of an extremely fair complexion—her hair cut close behind—her face almost smothered in a white cap which seemed of crape—and habited in a deep black—passed quickly by me, and ascended a flight of steps, leading to the door of a very humble mansion. She smiled graciously at the aubergiste as she passed her, and quickly disappeared. On enquiry, I was told that she was a nun, who, since the suppression of the convent to which she had belonged, earned her livelihood by teaching some of the more respectable children in the village. She had just completed her twentieth year. I was now addressed by a tall, bluff, shabby-looking man—who soon led me to understand that he was master of the inn where my "suite" was putting up;—that I had been egregiously deceived about the nature of the road—for that it was totally impossible for one horse:—even the very best in Normandy—(and where will you find better? added he, parenthetically—as I here give it to you) to perform the journey with such a voiture and such a weight of luggage behind." I was struck equally with amazement and woe at this intelligence. The unpitying landlord saw my consternation. "Hark you, sir... (rejoined he) if you must reach Falaise this evening, there is only one method of doing it. You must have another horse." "Willingly," I replied. "Yes, sir—but you can have it only upon one condition." "What is that?" "I have some little business at Falaise myself. Allow me to strap about one hundred weight of loaf-sugar at the back of your conveyance, and I myself will be your garcon de poste thither." I own I thought him about the most impudent fellow I had yet seen in Normandy: but there was no time for resistance. Necessity compelled acquiescence. Accordingly, the dinner being dispatched—which, though good, was charged at six francs a-head—we prepared for our departure.

But judge of my surprise and increased consternation, when the fellow ordered forth a little runt of a quadruped—in the shape of a horse—which was hardly higher than the lower part of the chest of the animal which brought us from Vire! I remonstrated. The landlord expostulated. I resisted—but the fellow said it was a bargain; and proceeded quietly to deposit at least two hundred weight of his refined sugar at the back of the carriage. This Lilliputian horse was made the leader. The landlord mounted on the front seat, with our Vire post-boy by the side of him; and sounding his whip, with a most ear-piercing whoop and hollow, we sprung forward for Falaise—which we were told we should reach before sunset. You can hardly conceive the miseries of this cross-road journey. The route royale was, in fact, completely impassable; because they were repairing it. Alarmed at the ruggedness of the cross-road, where one wheel was in a rut of upwards of a foot deep, and the other elevated in proportion—we got out, and resolved to push on a-foot. We walked for nearly two leagues, before our conveyance overtook us—so harassing and so apparently insurmountable seemed to be the road. But the cunning aubergiste had now got rid of his leader. He said that it was only necessary to use it for the first two or three leagues—which was the most difficult part of the route—and that, for the remainder, about five English miles, our "fine Norman horse" was perfectly sufficient. This fine Norman horse was treated most unmercifully by him. He flogged, he hallooed, he swore ... the animal tript, stumbled, and fell upon his knees—more than once—from sheer fatigue. The charioteer hallooed and flogged again: and I thought we must have taken up our night quarters in the high-way;—when suddenly, to the left, I saw the fine warm glow of the sun, which had set about twenty minutes, lighting up one of the most perfect round towers, of an old castle, that I had yet seen in Normandy. Voila FALAISE!—exclaimed the ruthless charioteer; ... and in a quarter of an hour we trotted hard down a hill (after the horse had been twice again upon his knees) which terminated in this most interesting place.

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 incumbrances 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 principal 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 balls, 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 noble 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 principal churches of the town—and that his name was MOUTON. Be assured that I shall not lose sight of the Comte de la Fresnaye, and Monsieur Mouton.

[166] [Only ONE letter has passed 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 massive 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. Passing 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 trespass long; but I soon found the advantage of making use of the name of "Monsieur Mouton—l'estimable Cure de la Sainte Trinite."



In a stroll to Guibray, towards sunset the next day, I passed 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 grass 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 Saturday 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 assured 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 scraping 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 ejaculation 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 coarse, 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 sexes, 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 entitles 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 God'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 passage, 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 assistant 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 title 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 amusement, 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: assuring me that his name is hardly ever pronounced 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'assure 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 amusements Savent contenter notre enfance; Mais bientot 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, Assez vite il nous faut quitter Tendres ardeurs, vives jouissances; Et dans uu coeur qui sait aimer, La raison vient ... sans qu'on y pense.

Mais enfin, sur l'aile du temps, On arrive au but du voyage, Et l'on voit la glace des ans, Couronner nos fronts a cet age; S'il fut sensible a la pitie, S'il cultiva la bienfaisance, Entre les bras de l'amitie L'homme finit ... sans qu'il y pense

You must know that they are here great lovers of royalty, and of course great supporters of the Bourbon Family. The King's printer is a Mons. BREE l'Aine. He is a very pleasant, well-bred man, and lives in the Place Trinite. I have paid him more than one visit, and always felt additional pleasure at every repetition of it. My first visit was marked with a somewhat ludicrous circumstance. On entering the compositors' room, I observed, pasted upon the walls, in large capital letters, the following well known words:

GOD SAVE THE KING.

Both Monsieur Bree l'Aine—and his workmen were equally gratified by my notice and commendation of this sentiment. "It is the favourite sentiment, Sir, of your country,"—remarked the master. To this I readily assented. "It is also, Sir, the favourite one of our own," replied M. Bree l'Aine—and his men readily attested their concurrence in the same reply. "Ah, Sir, if you would only favour us by singing the air, to which these words belong, you would infinitely oblige us all" ... said a shrewd and intelligent-looking compositor. "With all my heart"—rejoined I—"but I must frankly tell you, that I shall sing it rather with heart than with voice—being neither a vocal nor an instrumental performer." "No matter: give us only a notion of it." They all stood round in a circle, and I got through two stanzas as gravely and as efficiently as I was able. The usual "charmant!" followed my exertions. It was now my turn to ask a favour. "Sing to me your favourite national air of ROBERT and ARLETTE." "Most willingly, Sir," replied the forementioned "shrewd and intelligent-looking compositor." "Tenez: un petit moment: je vais chercher mon violon. Ca ira mieux."

He left the house in search of his violin. The tune of the National air which he sung was both agreeable and lively: and upon the whole it was difficult to say which seemed to be the better pleased with the respective national airs. M. Bree shewed me his premises in detail. They had been formerly a portion of an old church; and are situated on the edge of the great fosse which encircles the town. A garden, full of sweet blooming flowers, is behind them; and the view backwards is cheerful and picturesque. There are generally five presses at work; which, for a provincial printing office, shews business to be far from slack. Mons. B. sells a great number of almanacks, and prints all the leading publications connected with the town. In fact, his title, as Imprimeur du Roi, supposes him to take the principal lead as a printer. This agreeable man has a brother who is professor of rhetoric in the College Royale at Paris.

Of Bouquinistes, or dealers in old books, there are scarcely any. I spent three or four fruitless hours in a search after old chronicles and old poetry: and was compelled, almost from pure civility, to purchase of DUFOURS a Petit's Virgil of 1529, folio—which will be hardly worth the carriage. I tried hard for a fine copy of Fauchet's Origines de la Poesie Francoise, 1581, 4to. with the head of the author, but in vain; yet endeavoured to console myself by an old blue morocco copy of Les regrets et tristes lamentations du Comte de Montgomery, by Demorenne, Rouen, 1574, 8vo. as well as a clean, fresh, and almost crackling copy of Amoureuses occupations de la Taysonniere, Lyon, 1555, 8vo.—for two francs each—and both destined for the rich and choice library of our friend....

Thus much for FALAISE: for a spot, which, from the uniform serenity of the weather since I have been here—from the comfort of the inn—from the extreme civility and attention of the townspeople—and from the yet more interesting society of the Comte de la Fresnaye, the Cures Mouton and Langevin—together with the amenity of the surrounding country, and the interesting and in part magnificent remains of antiquity—can never be erased from my recollection. It is here that the tourist and antiquary may find objects for admiration and materials for recording. I have done both: admired and recorded—happy, if the result of such occupations shall have contributed to the substantial gratification of yourself and of our common friends. And now, farewell; not only to Falaise, but to NORMANDY. I shall leave it, from this delightful spot, in the most thorough good humour, and with more than ordinary regret that my stay has necessarily been short. I have taken my place in the Diligence, direct for PARIS. "Il n'y a qu'un Paris"—said the Comte de la Fresnaye to me the other day, when I told him I had never been there—to which I replied, "Are there then TWO Londons?" Thirty-six hours will settle all this. In the mean time, adieu.

[169] On the return of Louis the XVIII. the town of Falaise manifested its loyalty in the most unequivocal manner.

COUPLETS

Chantes par les Eleves du College de Falaise, en arborant le Drapeau Blanc.

Air: Un Soldat par un coup funeste.

Loin de nous la sombre tristesse, Mars a depose sa fureur; Enfin la foudre vengeresse Vient de terrasser l'opresseur, L'aigle sanguinaire Succombe a l'aspect de ces LYS. Peuple francais, tu vas revoir ton Pere! Vive le Roi! Vive LOUIS!

Drapeau, que d'horribles tempetes Avoient eloigne de ces lieux, Tu reviens embellir nos Fetes, Plus brillant et plus radieux! Ta douce presence Ramene les jeux et les ris; Sois a jamais l'Etendard de la France, Vive le Roi! vive LOUIS!

O Dieu! vengeur de l'innocence, Protege ces LYS glorieux! Conserve long-temps a la France LE ROI que tu rends a nos voeux! Si la perfidie De nouveau troubloit ton bonheur Viens nous guider, o Banniere cherie! Nous volerons au champ d'honneur.

[170] The worthy historian of Falaise, quoted in a preceding page, is exceedingly anxious to make us believe that there are portions of this church—namely, four stones—in the eastern and western gable ends—which were used in the consecration of it, by MATHILDA, the wife of our first William. Also, that, at the gable end of the south transept, outside, an ancient grotto,—in which the Gallic priests of old purified themselves for the mysteries of their religion—is now converted into the sacristy, or vestry, or robing room. But these are surely mere antiquarian dreams. The same author more sagaciously informs us that the exact period of the commencement of the building of the nave, namely in 1438, is yet attested by an existing inscription, in gothic letters, towards the chief door of entrance. The inscription also testifies that in the same year, "there reigned DEATH, WAR, and FAMINE." The chancel of the choir, with the principal doors of entrance, &c. were constructed between the years 1520, and 1540. It may be worth remarking that the stalls of the choir were brought from the Abbey of St. John—on the destruction of that monastic establishment in 1729; and that, according to the Gallia Christiana, vol. xi. p. 756, these stalls were carved at the desire of Thomas II. de Mallebiche, abbot of that establishment in 1506-1516. In a double niche of the south buttress are the statues of HERPIN and his WIFE; rich citizens of Falaise, who, by their wealth, greatly contributed to the building of the choir. (Their grandson, HERPIN LACHENAYE, together with his mistress were killed, side by side, in fighting at one of the gates of Falaise to repel the successful troops of Henry IV.) The Chapel of the Virgin, behind the choir, was completed about the year 1631. LANGEVIN, p. 81-128-131.

[171] We have of course nothing to do with the first erection of a place of worship at Guibray in the VIIIth century. The story connected with the earliest erection is this. The faubourg of Guibray, distant about 900 paces from Falaise, was formerly covered with chestnut and oak trees. A sheep, scratching the earth, as if by natural instinct (I quote the words of M. Langevin the historian of Falaise) indicated, by its bleatings, that something was beneath. The shepherd approached, and hollowing out the earth with his crook, discovered a statue of the Virgin, with a child in its arms. The first church, dedicated to the Virgin, under the reign of Charles Martel, called the Victorious, was in consequence erected—on this very spot—in the centre of this widely spreading wood of chestnut and oak. I hasten to the construction of a second church, on the same site, under the auspices of Mathilda, the wife of the Conqueror: with the statue of a woman with a diadem upon her head—near one of the pillars: upon which statue Langevin discourses learnedly in a note. But neither this church nor the statue in question are now in existence. On the contrary, the oldest portions of the church of Guibray, now existing—according to the authors of the Gallia Christiana, vol. xi. p. 878, and an ancient MS. consulted by M. Langevin—are of about the date of 1222; when the church was consecrated by the Bishop of Coutances. The open space towards the south, now called La Place aux Chevaux, was the old burying ground of the church. There was also a chapel, dedicated to St. Gervais, which was pillaged and destroyed by the Hugonots in 1562. I should add, that the South-East exterior (behind the chancel) of this very curious old church at Guibray, resembles, upon a small scale, what M. Cotman has published of the same portion of St. Georges de Bocherville. Recherches sur Falaise, p. 49-53. Monsieur le Comte de la Fresnaye, in his Notice Historique sur Falaise, 1816, 8vo. will have it, that "the porch of this church, the only unmutilated portion remaining of its ancient structure, demonstrates the epoch of the origin of Christianity among the Gauls." "At least, such is the decision of M. Deveze, draftsman for Laborde; the latter of whom now Secretary to the Count d'Artois, instituted a close examination of the whole fabric." p. 5-6. I hope there are not many such conclusions to be found in the magnificent and meritorious productions of LABORDE.

[172] This fair lasts full fifteen days. The first eight days are devoted to business of a more important nature—which they call the GREAT WEEK: that is to say, the greatest number of merchants attend during the earlier part of it; and contracts of greater extent necessarily take place. The remaining seven days are called the LITTLE WEEK—in which they make arrangements to carry their previous bargains into effect, and to return home. Men and merchandise, from all quarters, and of all descriptions, are to be seen at this fair. Even Holland and Germany are not wanting in sending their commercial representatives. Jewellery and grocery seem to be the chief articles of commerce; but there is a prodigious display of silk, linen, and cotton, &c.: as well as of hides, raw and tanned; porcelaine and earthen ware. The live cattle market must not be forgotten. Langevin says that, of horses alone, they sometimes sell full four thousand. Thus much for the buyer and seller. But this fair is regularly enlivened by an immense confluence of nobility and gentry from the adjacent country—to partake of the amusements, which, (as with the English,) form the invariable appendages of the scene. Langevin mentions the minor fairs of Ste. Croix, St. Michel, and St. Gervais, which help to bring wealth into the pockets of the inhabitants. Recherches Historiques sur Falaise; p. 199, &c.