1818 T. F. Dibdin – Rouen
Géricault Life
1855 Théodore Rousseau A Stand of Oak Trees Louvre.
Thomas Frognall Dibdin visited Rouen in 1818, accompanied by his illustrator George Lewis. Here is an excerpt of his observations published in A Bibliographical, Antiquarian and Picturesque Tour in France and Germany,Volume I “Letter IV, Rouen, Approach, Boulevards, Population, Street Scenery.”[Abridged] London: Shakespeare Press, 1821.(pp. 36-46)
T. F. Dibdin – Rouen
“Here I am, my excellent good friend, in the most extraordinary city in the world. One rubs one’s eyes, and fancies one is dreaming, upon being carried through the streets of this old-fashioned place: or that, by some secret talismanic touch, we are absolutely mingling with human beings, and objects of art, at the commencement of the XVIth century: so very curious, and out of the common routine of things, is almost every object connected with Rouen. But before I commence my observations upon the town, I must give you a brief sketch of my journey thither.
Previously to leaving Dieppe, we had obtained our regular circumstantial passports. No recruit was ever more exactly measured than were Mr. L. and myself; and Linnæus could not have written down the characteristics of a plant with more scrupulous accuracy than did the municipal officer survey and describe “Messieurs les Anglois.” You should know, in few words, that there is a printed list of the features; so that the scribe has only to add the epithet in writing to each particular feature.
We had bespoke our places in the cabriolet of the Diligence, which just holds three, tolerably comfortable; provided there be a disposition to accommodate each other. This cabriolet, as you have been often told, is a sort of a buggy, or phæton seat, with a covering of leather, in the front of the coach. It is fortified with a stiff leathern apron, upon the top of which is a piece of iron, covered with leather, to fasten firmly by means of a hook on the perpendicular supporter of the head. There are stiffish leathern curtains on each side, to be drawn, if necessary, as a protection against the rain, &c. You lean upon the bar, or top of this leathern apron, which is no very uncomfortable resting-place. And thus we took leave of Dieppe, on the 4th day after our arrival there. As we were seated in the cabriolet, we could scarcely refrain from loud laughter at the novelty of our situation, and the grotesqueness of the conveyance. Our postilion was a rare specimen of his species, and a perfectly unique copy. He fancied himself, I suppose, rather getting “into the vale of years,” and had contrived to tinge his cheeks with a plentiful portion of rouge. His platted and powdered hair was surmounted with a battered black hat, tricked off with faded ribband: his jacket was dark blue velvet, with the insignia of his order upon his left arm. What struck us as not a little singular, his countenance was no very faint resemblance of that of Voltaire, when he might have been verging towards his sixtieth year. Most assuredly he resembled him in his elongated chin, and the sarcastic expression of his mouth. We rolled merrily along – the horses sometimes spreading, and sometimes closing, according to the size of the streets through which we were compelled to pass. Nothing apparently can be more bungling that the management of the conveyance, in going down hill. There is no such a thing as a drag-chain; and at times the whole weight of the machine seems to press upon the haunches of the wheel-horses, – who, without breeching, go staggering along, sometimes at right angles, sometimes almost in one continued strait line with each other, turning face to face. The reins and harness are of cord; which, however, keep together pretty well. The postilion endeavours to break the rapidity of the descent by conducting the wheels over piles of gravel or rubbish, which are laid at the sides of the road, near the ditch; so that, to those sitting in the cabriolet, and overlooking the whole process, the effect, with weak nerves, is absolutely terrific. They stop little in changing horses, and the Diligence is certainly well managed; and in general no accidents occur. We carried with us about fifty thousand francs of government money, and a cavalry soldier (one of the gens-d’armes) accompanied us, in consequence, all the way to Rouen.
The road from Dieppe to Rouen is wide, hard, and in excellent condition. There are few or no hedges, but rows of apple-trees afford a sufficient line of demarkation. The country is open, and gently undulating; with scarcely any glimpses of what is called forest-scenery, till you get towards the conclusion of the first stage. There are several sharp ascents and descents; yet the conductor does not request the passengers to get down and walk. Nothing particularly strikes you till you approach Malaunai, within about half a dozen miles of Rouen, and of course after the last change of horses. The environs of this beautiful village repay you for every species of disappointment, if any should have been experienced. The rising banks of a brisk serpentine trout stream are studded with white houses, in which are cotton manufactories that appear to be carried on with spirit and success. Above these houses are hanging woods; and though the early spring would scarcely have coated the branches with green in our own country, yet here there was a general freshness of verdure, intermingled with the ruddy blossom of the apple – altogether rejoicing the eye and delighting the heart. Occasionally there were delicious spots, which the taste and wealth of an Englishman would have embellished to every possible degree of advantage. But wealth, for the gratification of picturesque taste, is a superfluity that will not fall to the lot of the French. The Revolution seems to have drained their purses, as well as daunted their love of enterprise, and thinned their population. Along the road-side there were some few houses of entertainment; and we observed the emptied cabriolet and stationary voiture, by the side of the gardens, where Monsieur and Madame, with their families, tripped lightly along the vistos, and smirked as John Bull saluted them! Moving vehicles, and numerous riding and walking groups, increased upon us, and every thing announced that we were approaching a great and populous city. Let me tell you, however, that we had accomplished the last eight miles within an hour; but during the preceding stages we had not exceeded five miles in an hour.
The approach to Rouen is indeed magnificent. I speak of the immediate approach; after you reach the top of a considerable rise, and are stopped by the barriers. You then look down a strait, broad, and strongly paved road, lined with a treble row of trees on each side. As the foliage was not thickly set, we could discern, through the delicately-clothed branches, the tapering spire of the Cathedral, and the more massive tower of the Abbaye de St. Ouen – with hanging gardens, and white houses, to the left – covering a richly cultivated ridge of hills, which sink, as it were into the Boulevards; and which is called the Faubourg Cauchoise. Perhaps the Cathedral and St. Ouen are rather more in front; yet, with the town, they incline somewhat to the left: the whole being built upon a slope. To the right, through the trees, you see the river Seine (here of no despicable depth or breadth) covered with boats and vessels in motion: the voice of commerce, and the stir of industry, cheering and animating you as you approach the town. We were told that almost every vessel which we saw (some of them of two hundred, and even of three hundred tons burden) was filled with brandy and wine. The lamps are suspended from the centre of long ropes, across the road; and the whole scene is of a truly novel and imposing character. But how shall I convey to you an idea of what I experienced, as, turning to the left, and leaving the broader streets which flank the quay, we began to enter the penetralia of this truly antiquated town. What narrow streets, what overhanging houses, what bizarre, capricious ornaments – what a mixture of modern with ancient art – what fragments or rather ruins, of old delicately-built Gothic churches – what signs of former and of modern devastation! – what fountains, gutters, groups of never-ceasing men, women, and children, all gay, all occupied, and all apparently happy! The Rue de la Grosse Horloge (so called from a huge, clumsy, antiquated clock which goes across the street) struck us as not among the least singular streets of Rouen. Amazed, and half-bewildered, we turned floundering from street to street, with the eyes of the gazing multitude upon us, – “voilà des Anglois!” On reaching the office of the Diligence, we prepared to put our baggage in motion for the Hotel-Vatel, the favorite inn of the English. Porters appeared, with their hottes upon their backs; and a burden of at least two hundred and fifty pounds was placed upon one of those machines, and marched away with, in all the triumph of conscious skill and strength. The hotte is well contrived, causing the principal weight of the burden to fall horizontally across the shoulders, in an upright position, which is infinitely preferable to the perpendicular pressure, from the English knot, upon the nape of the neck and shoulders. In five minutes we were in the court-yard of the hotel, in the center of which was a large newly-constructed public vehicle called a veloçifère. The springs are enormous, but there is much good sense in the planning of the whole – and I thought that it savoured of British ingenuity, before I was told of the springs being actually modelled after those of our own vehicles.
I commenced settling our plans by securing rooms, and bespeaking board and lodging “according to art.” The landlady, a civil little woman, soon convinced us that she was the perfect mistress of her occupation, by anticipating many of our wants, and answering all our queries in a very good-humoured and satisfactory manner. The relics of a table d’hôte, hashed up in the French style, was not the most agreeable dinner we could have desired for our first meal – especially when five francs were charged for one re-boiled fowl enfiladed by sorel sauce! However, here we are; here we have been these two days; and here we purpose staying till my particular objects of research shall have been accomplished. In spite of their national antipathies, the French cannot but admit that in general “les Anglois sont bien bons et très propres.” (“the English are very pleasant and presentable.”) On the evening of our arrival, we were soon saluted by a laquais de place – the leech-like hanger-on of every hotel – who begged to know if we would walk upon the Boulevards. We consented; turned to the right; and gradually rising, gained a considerable eminence. Again we turned to the right, walking upon a raised promenade; while the blossoms of the pear and apple trees, within a hundred walled gardens, perfumed the air with their delicious fragrance. As we continued our route along the Boulevard Beauvoisine, we gained one of the most interesting and commanding views imaginable of the city of Rouen – just at that moment lighted up by the golden rays of a glorious setting sun – which gave a broader and mellower tone to the shadows upon the Cathedral and the Abbey of St. Ouen. The locality of Rouen renders it necessarily picturesque, view it from what station you will…
The population of Rouen should seem to be after the Chinese fashion: in other words, of an enormous extent. It is supposed to be full one hundred thousand souls. In truth, there is no end to the succession of human beings. They swarm like bees, and like bees are busy in bringing home the produce of their industry. You have all the bustle and agitation of Cheapside and Cornhill; only that ever-moving scene is carried on within the limits one-half as broad. Conceive Bucklesbury, Cannon-street, and Thames-street, – and yet you cannot conceive the narrow streets of Rouen – filled with the flaunting cauchoise, and echoing to the enternal tramp of the sabot (wooden shoes). Here they are; men, women, and children – all abroad in the very centre of the streets – alternately encountering the splashing of the gutter, and the jostling of their townsmen – while the swift cabriolet, or the slow-paced cart, or the thundering diligence, severs them, and scatters them abroad, only that they may seem to be yet more condensely united. Mr. L. with the natural enthusiasm of his profession, becomes daily more in ecstacies with all around him…for myself, it is with difficulty I am persuaded that I am not living in the times of our Henry VIII and of their Francis I…”