From Falaise we went in a direct line to Croissanville:
the road, which we intended to take by St.
Pierre
sur Dive to Lisieux, was utterly impracticable for
carriages. From Croissanville to Rouen we almost
retraced our former steps: we did not indeed again
make a detour by Bernay; but the straight road
from Lisieux to Brionne is altogether without interest.
There are two ways from Rouen to Paris: the upper,
through Ecouis, Magny, and Pontoise; the lower, by
the banks of the Seine. Having travelled by both
of them before, we could appreciate their respective
advantages; and we knew that the only recommendation
of the former was, that it saved some few miles in
distance; while the latter is one of the most beautiful
rides in France, and the towns, through which it passes,
are far from being among the least interesting in Normandy.
In such an alternative, there was no difficulty in
fixing our choice, and we proceeded straight for Pont-de-l’Arche.
The chalk cliffs, which bounded the road on our left,
for some distance from Rouen, break near the small
village of Port St. Ouen, into wild forms, and in one
spot project boldly, assuming the shape of distinct
towers. These projections are known by the name
of the rock of St. Adrien; thus called from the patron
saint of a romantic chapel, a place of great sanctity,
and of frequent resort with pilgrims, situated nearly
mid-way up the cliff.—The chapel is indeed
little more than an excavation, and is altogether
so rude, that its workmanship affords no clue to discover
the date of the building. Its south side and
roof are merely formed of the bare rock. To the
north it is screened by an erection, which, were it
not for the windows and short square steeple, might
easily be mistaken for a pent-house. The western
end appears to display some traces of Norman architecture.
The hill, which leads to this chapel, commands a view
of Rouen, the most picturesque, I think, of all that
we have seen of this city, so picturesque from various
points. You can scarcely conceive the eagerness
with which we endeavored to catch the last glimpse,
as the prospect gradually vanished from our sight,
or the pleasure with which we still dwell, and shall
long continue so to do, upon the recollection.
All round the chapel, the bare chalk is at this time
tinged with a beautiful glow, from the blue flowers
of the Viola Rothomagensis: the Isatis
Tinctoria, the true Woad, is also common
on the steep sides of the cliff. This plant, which
is here indigenous, became, during the reign of Napoleon,
an object of attention with the government, as a succedaneum
for indigo, at the same time that beet-root was destined
to supply the continent with sugar, and salsafy, or
parched wheat, to hold the place of coffee. The
restoration of peace has caused the Isatis to be again
neglected; but the Reseda luteola, or, Dyer’s
woad, is much cultivated in the neighborhood, as
is the Teasel for the use of the cloth manufactory.
