Chapter IV: A Travel Chapter

To those upon whom has fallen the desire to travel amid historic sights and scenes, no part of France offers so much that is so accessible, so economically covered, or as interesting as the coasts and plains and river valleys of Normandy.

If possible they should lay out their journey beforehand, and if time presses make a tour that shall comprise some one distinct region only; as the Seine valley from Havre to La Roche-Guyon; the coast from Tréport to Caen, or even Granville, or Mont St. Michel; or following a line which runs more inland from Rouen by Lisieux, Falaise, and the valley of the Orne, to the famous Mont on the border of Brittany. They may indeed combine this last with a little tour which should take in the north Breton coast and even cross to the Channel Isles; but if it is the Normandy coast or the Norman country-side of the Seine valley which they desire to know fully, and if time be limited, they should confine themselves to either one route or the other.

Normandy divides itself topographically into the three itineraries mentioned: “The Coast,” “The Seine Valley,” and the “Inland Route.” They may be combined readily enough, or they may be taken separately; but to nibble a bit at one, a little at another, and still less at a third, and then rush on to Paris and its distractions, or to some seaside place where brass bands and a casino form the principal attractions, is not the way to have an intimate, personal, and wholly delightful experience of “la belle Normandie.”

A skeleton plan of each of these itineraries will be found, and further details of a practical nature also, elsewhere in this book.

One’s expenses may be what they will. By rail, twelve to fifteen francs a day will amply pay the bill, and by road, on bicycle or automobile, they can be made to approximate as much or as little as one’s tastes demand; nor will the quality of the accommodation and fare vary to an appreciable degree in either case. Even the automobilist with his sixty-horse Mercédes, while he may be suspected of being a millionaire American or an English lord, will not necessarily be adjudged so, and will be charged according to the tariff of the “Touring Club,” or other organization of which he may be a member. If he demands superior accommodation, a sitting-room as well as a bedroom, or a fire and a hot bath, he will pay extra for that, as well as for the _vin supérieur_ which he may wish instead of the _ordinaire_ of the table d’hôte, or the _café_ which he drinks after his meal.

The old simile still holds good. The franc in France will usually purchase the value of a shilling in England. There is not much difference with respect to one shilling; but an appalling sum in a land of cheap travel, when one has let a thousand of them pass through his hands.

The leading hotels of the great towns and cities of Rouen, Havre, and Cherbourg rise almost to the height of the charges of those of the French capital itself; and those of Trouville-Deauville or Dieppe to perhaps even higher proportions, if one requires the best accommodation. The true peripatetic philosopher, however, will have naught to do with these, but will seek out for himself--unless some one posts him beforehand--such humble, though excellent inns as the “Trois Marchands,” or the “Mouton d’Argent.”

These are the real hotels of the country, where one lives bountifully for six to eight francs a day, and eats at the table d’hôte with an informative commercial traveller, or a keenly mindful small landholder of the country-side, who, if it is market-day, will as like as not be dressed in a black blouse.

One criticism may justly be made of many of the hotels in Normandy, though mostly this refers only to such tourist establishments as one finds at Dieppe or Trouville. It is that the table wine is often charged for at two francs a bottle, while it ought to be served without extra charge, and is elsewhere in France. In many commercial hotels this is not the custom, but too frequently it is so, and, considering that the _hôteliers_ of Normandy buy their wine in a much more favourable market, by reason of its cheap transport by sea, than their brethren of Lozère or the Cantal, where wine is never thought of as an extra, it seems somewhat of an imposition to one who knows his France well.

The beef and mutton of Normandy is of most excellent quality, coming from fine animals who are only used if they are in the best condition.

This statement is made with a knowledge based upon some years’ residence, to allay the all too prevalent opinion that French meat is of inferior quality, and is only palatable because well disguised in the cooking. This is a fetish which ought long ago to have been burned. The fish one gets in Normandy is always fresh and remarkably varied, as well as the shell-fish (_crevettes_, meaning usually shrimp or prawns). The oysters are of course famous, for no one ever heard of a Courseulles bivalve which had typhoid tendencies.

The railway has proved a great civilizer in France, and everywhere is found a system of communicating lines which are almost perfect.

The great artery of the Western Railroad reaches out through all Normandy and Brittany, and its trunk lines to Dieppe, Havre, Cherbourg, and Brest leave nothing to be desired in the way of appointments and expedition.

The only objection, that the economical traveller can justify, is that second and third class tickets are often not accepted for distances under a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilometres; and, accordingly, he is forced to wait the accommodation train, which, truth to tell, is not even a little brother of the express-train. If it is any relation at all, it is a stepchild merely.

At all events, the railway service throughout France is well systematized and efficient, and Ruskin’s diatribe against railways in general was most unholy. Lest it may have been forgotten, as many of his ramblings have, and should be, it is repeated here. “Railways are to me the loathsomest form of devilry now extant, animated and deliberate earthquakes” (we know what he thought of bicycles, and we wonder with fear what may have been his strictures on the automobile had he lived a few years longer), “destructive of all wise, social habits and possible natural beauty, carriages of damned souls on the ridges of their own graves.” This, from a prophet and a seer, makes one thank Heaven the tribe _was_ blind.

Travel by rail is a simple and convenient process in Normandy, as indeed it is in all France. There is no missing of trains at lonesome junctions, and the time-tables are admirably and lucidly planned.

In the larger towns all the stations have a bureau of information which will smooth the way for the traveller if he will not take it upon himself to consult that almost perfect series of railway time-tables found in every café and hotel throughout France. He registers his baggage and gets a receipt for it, like the “checks” of the American railways, by paying two sous; or he may send it by express (not by freight, for there is too little difference in price), or as unaccompanied baggage, which will ensure its being forwarded by the first passenger-train, and at a most reasonable charge.

The economical way of travelling in France, and Normandy in particular, is third class; and the carriages, while bare and hard-seated, are thoroughly warmed in winter, and are as clean as those of their kind anywhere; perhaps more so than in England and America, where the stuffy cushions harbour much dirt and other objectionable things.

Second class very nearly approaches the first class in point of price, and is very nearly as luxurious; while first class itself carries with it comparative exclusiveness at proportionately high charges.

More important, to the earnest and conscientious traveller, is the fact that often, for short distances between near-by places, a convenient train will be found not to carry third-class passengers; and to other places, a little less widely separated, not even second class; although third and second class passengers are carried by the same train for longer distances. This is about the only inconvenience one suffers from French railways, and makes necessary a careful survey of the time-table, where the idiosyncrasies of individual trains are clearly marked.

Excursion trains of whatever class are decidedly to be avoided. They depart and return from Paris, Trouville, Dieppe, or some other popular terminus at most inconveniently uncomfortable hours, and are invariably overcrowded and not especially cheap.

The attractions of Normandy for the traveller are so many and varied that it would be practically impossible to embrace them all in any one itinerary without extending its limit of time beyond that at the disposal of most travellers.

From Tréport, on the borders of Picardy, to Arromanches, near Bayeux, is an almost uninterrupted line of little and big seashore towns whose chief industry consists of catering to summer visitors.

From Arromanches to Mont St. Michel, the seaside resorts are not so crowded, and are therefore the more enjoyable, unless one demands the distractions of great hotels, golf-links, and tea-rooms.

In the Seine valley, beginning with La Roche-Guyon, on the borders of the ancient royal domain, down to the mouth of the mighty river at Havre, is one continuous panorama of delightful large and small towns, not nearly so well known as one might suppose. Vernon with its tree-bordered quays; Giverny, and its artists colony; Les Andelys with their “saucy castle” built by Richard Cœur de Lion; Pont de l’Arche with the florid Gothic church dedicated to Our Lady of the Arts; the riverside resorts above Rouen; Elbeuf with its busy factories, but picturesque and historic withal; Rouen, the ancient Norman capital; La Bouille-Molineux; the great abbeys of Jumièges, St. Wandrille and St. Georges de Boscherville; Caudebec-en-Caux; Lillebonne; Harfleur; Honfleur, and Havre form a compelling array of sights and scenes which are quite irresistible.

On the northeastern coast are Etretat, famed of artists of generations ago; Fécamp with the associations of its ancient abbey; Dieppe; the Petites Dalles; St. Valery-en-Caux; Eu with its château; and Tréport and its attendant little seashore villages.

Inland, and southward, through the Pays-de-Caux, are Lyons-le-Forêt, which, as its name bespeaks, is a little forest-surrounded town, quite unworldly, and eight kilometres from a railway; Gournay; Forges-les-Eaux, a decayed seaport town; Gisors; and the charming little villages of the valleys of the Andelle and the Ept.

Follow up the Eure from its juncture with the Seine at the Pont de l’Arche, and one enters quite another region, quite different from that on the other side of the Seine.

The chief towns are Louviers, a busy cloth-manufacturing centre with an art treasure of the first rank in its beautifully flamboyant church; and Evreux with its bizarre cathedral, headquarters of the Department of the Eure; while northward and westward, by Conches and Beaumont-le-Roger to Caen and Bayeux, lies a wonderful country of picturesque and historic towns, such as Lisieux; Bernay, famous for its horse-fair; Falaise, the birthplace of William the Conqueror; and Dives, where he set sail for England’s shores,--names which will awaken memories of the past in a most vivid fashion.

Westward of the valley of the Orne lies the Cotentin, with the cathedral towns of Avranches, Coutances, and St. Lô, and Mont St. Michel, which of itself is a sort of boundary stone between Normandy and Brittany.

The monumental curiosities of the province and the natural attractions are all noted in the plans which are here given; and from them, and this descriptive outline, one should be able to map out for himself a tour most suitable to correspond to his inclinations.

There is this much to say of Normandy, in addition: it is the most abundantly supplied of all the ancient French provinces with artistic and natural sights and curiosities, and above all is compact and accessible.

There is one real regret that will strike one with regard to the journeyings in the valley of the Seine. There is no way of making the trip by water above Rouen. From Havre to Rouen, one may journey in a day on a little steamer, a most enjoyable trip; and at Rouen one finds the little “fly-boats,”--reminiscent of the _bateaux mouches_ of Paris,--which will take one for a half a dozen miles in either direction for astonishingly low fares.

Pont de l’Arche, however, and Muids, and that most picturesquely situated of all northern French towns, Les Andelys, onward to Tosny, and still up-river, by Port Mort to Vernon, there is no communication by water for the passenger, though the great barges and canal-boats pass and repass a given point scores of times in a day, carrying coal, wine, cotton, and other merchandise, through the very finest scenery of the Seine.

A few words on the French language are inevitable with every author of a book of French travel, and so they are given here. There is a current idea that English is the language for making one’s way about. Try it in Normandy or Brittany, in the average automobile garage, the post-office, or the railway station, or on the custodian of some great church or château, and you will prove its fallacy.

At Rouen, Havre, or Dieppe, and at the great tourist hotels it is different; but in the open country seldom, if ever, will you come across one who can speak or understand a single word of English; save an occasional _chauffeur_ who may have seen service on some titled person’s motor-car in England, and knows “all right,” “pretty soon,” and “go ahead” to perfection.

The writer notes two exceptions. Doubtless there may be others.

At the quaint little Seine-side town of Vetheuil, near La Roche-Guyon, which fits snugly in the southeast corner of Normandy, one enters the tobacco-shop to buy a picture post-card, perhaps, of its quaint little church, so loved by artists, and there he will find an unassuming little man who retails tobacco to the natives and souvenir postal cards to strangers while chatting glibly in either tongue.

At the Hôtel Bellevue in Les Andelys is a waitress who speaks excellent English; though you may be a guest of the house for months and talk in English daily with your artist-neighbour across the table, and not know that she understands a word of what you say,--which surely indicates great strength of mind on the part of this estimable woman, though the circumstance has proved embarrassing.

In this connection it is curious to note the influx of English words into the Gallic tongue. Most of these words have been taken up by the world of sport and fashion, and have not yet reached the common people.

One can, if he is ingenious, carry on quite a conversation with a young man about town, whom one may meet at table d’hôte or at a café, either at the capital or in the larger towns, without knowing a word of French, and without his realizing that he knows English.

“_Gentleman_,” “_tennis_,” and “_golf_”; “_yacht_,” “_yachting_,” and “_mail-coach_”; “_garden-party_,” “_handicap_,” and “_jockey_,”--all these are equally well-known and understood of the modern Frenchman. “_Very smart_” is heard once and again of a “_swell_” turnout drawn by a pair of “_high-steppers_.”

For clothing the Frenchman of fashion affects “_waterproofs_,” “_snow-boots_,” “_leggings_,” and “_knickerbockers_,” and he travels in a “_sleeping-car_” when he can afford their outrageously high charges. When it comes to his menu--more’s the pity--he too often affects the “_mutton-chop_” and the “_beefsteak_” in the “_grill-room_” of a “_music-hall_.”

The fact is only mentioned here as showing a widespread affectation, which, in a former day, was much more confined and restricted.

In the wine country, in Touraine and on the coast, you will hear the “_black rot_” talked of, and in Normandy, at Havre, you will see a crowd of “_dockers_” discussing vehemently--as only Normans can--the latest “_lockout_.”

All this, say the discerning French, is a madness that can be cured. “_Allons, parlons français!_” that is the remedy; and matters have even gone so far as to form an association which should propagate the French tongue to the entire exclusion of the foreign, in the same way as there is a patriotic alliance to prevent the “_invasion étrangère_.”

The Norman patois is, perhaps, no more strange than the patois of other parts of France. At any rate it is not so difficult to understand as the Breton tongue, which is only possible to a Welshman--and his numbers are few.

The Parisians who frequent Trouville revile the patois of Normandy; but then the Parisian does not admit that any one speaks the real French but he and his fellows. In Touraine they claim the same for their own capital.

Henry Moisy claims the existence, in the Norman’s common speech of to-day, of more than five thousand words which are foreign to the French language.

The Normandy patois, however, is exceedingly amusing and apropos. The author has been told when hurrying down a country road to the railway that there is plenty of time; the locomotive “hasn’t laughed yet,” meaning it had not whistled. Again at table d’hôte, when one has arrived late, and there remains only one small fish for two persons, you may be told that you will have to put up with “_œufs à la coque_” instead, as there is only “_une souris à treize chats_.” It is not an elegant expression, but it is characteristic.

Victor Hugo had the following to say concerning Norman French:

“Oh, you brave Normans! know you that your patois is venerable and sacred. It is a flower which sprang from the same root as the French.

“Your patois has left its impress upon the speech of England, Sicily, and Judea, at London, Naples, and at the tomb of Christ. To lose your speech is to lose your nationality, therefore, in preserving your idiom you are preserving your patriotism.”

“Yes, your patois is venerable and your first poet was the first of _poètes français_:

“Je di e dirai ke je suis
Wace de Jersuis.”

The following compilation of Norman idioms shows many curious and characteristic expressions. The definitions are given in French, simply because of the fact that many of them would quite lose their point in translation.

_Amuseux._--Fainéant, qui muse: “C’est pas un mauvais homme,
seulement il est un brin amuseux.”

_Annuyt._--Aujourd’hui. “J’aime mieux annuyt qu’à demain.”

_Andouille à treize quiens_ (chiens).--Petit héritage pour beaucoup
d’héritiers; on dit aussi “une souris à treize cats (chats).”

_Apanage._--Possession embarrassante; “Ma chère, c’est tout un
apanage de maison à tenir.”

_Chibras._--Paquet, monceau, fouillis, amas de choses en désordre.
Se trouve dans Rabelais.

_Quant et._--En compagnie de, “j’m’en vais à quant et té.”

_A queutée._--Rangée à la queue leu leu, “une à queutée de monde.”

_Assemblée._--Fête villageoise.

_Assiette faîtée._--Assiette dont le contenu s’élève au-dessus, en
faîte, littéralement en forme de faîte: “C’est un faim-vallier, il
ne mange que par assiettes faîtées.”

_Du feur._--Fourrage, vieux mot d’origine Scandinave, d’où vient le
fourrier.

_D’s’horains._--Mot honfleurais; dans l’ancien langage des marins
de Honneur, on appelait des _horains_ les plus gros câbles des
navires. Par image, le mot est entré et resté dans le langage
usuel, pour amarre. D’où la très jolie locution honfleuraise, dont
quelques vieilles gens font encore usage, sans trop en savoir le
vrai sens original. “Il a queuq’horain.” Il est amoureux, il a
quelques fortes attaches.

Et simplement: “Chacun a ses horains.”--Chacun a ses habitudes (en
mauvaise part).

_Crassiner._--Pleuvoir d’une petite pluie fine qui a nom _crassin_
ou _crachin_ et ressemble à du crachat qui encrasse les objets.

_I’s ont té el’vés commes trois petits quiens_ dans un’ manne
auprès du feu.

_I’ li cause._--D’un amoureux, il lui fait la cour.

_I’s parle._--Se dit d’un paysan qui cherche à parler le langage de
la ville.

_Le temps est au conseil._--Jolie expression maritime pour dire que
le temps est incertain.--Le “conseil” délibère s’il fera beau ou
vilain.

_Se démenter._--Se donner du trouble d’esprit, pour quelque chose.

A Villerville, les pêcheurs sont tous des _maudits monstres_ et des
_maudits guenons_, termes d’amitié.--Les femmes sont des “por’ti
cœurs.”

_Pouchiner._--Caresser un enfant comme une poule son poussin.

_Adirer._--Perdre, égarer.

_Espérer_ quelqu’un.--Attendre.

_Capogner._--Chiffonner avec force, déformer.

_Se chairer._--S’asseoir en prenant toute la place, se carrer.

_Mitan._--Le milieu, le centre (tout au mitan).

_Le coupet._--Le sommet (au fin coupet de l’arbre).

_Binder._--Rebondir.

_Patinguet._--Saut.

_Un repaire._--Se dit d’un homme vicieux. “Ne me parlez pas de
celui-là, c’est un repaire.”

_Atiser, ratiser._--Corriger par des coups: “j’t’ vas ratiser.”

_Atourotter._--Enrouler autour; “l’serpent l’atourottit et
l’étouffit.”

_Attendiment._--En attendant que; “soigne le pot au feu,
attendiment que j’vas queri du bois.”

_A c’t’heure._--Maintenant: A cette heure, vieux français employé
dans Montaigne.

_D’aveuc._--Avec.

_Barbelotte._--Bête à bon Dieu, coccinelle.

_Bavoler._--Voler près de terre; “i va ché d’qui (il va tomber
quelque chose), les hirondelles bavolent.”

_Qu’ri._--Quérir, chercher.

_D’la partie._--En partant de là, depuis; “d’la partie de
Pont-l’Evêque, j’sommes venus à Honfleur.”

_A l’enrait._--A cet endroit.

_Piler._--Fouler aux pieds; “ne m’pile pas su le pied.”

_S’commercer sur, s’marchander sur._--Faire des affaires; “i
s’marchande su’ les grains.”

_Aloser._--Louanger, dire du bien de.

_Allouvi._--Avoir une faim de loup: “j’sommes allouvis.”

_Détourber._--Déranger, détourner.

_Crépir._--“I’s’crépit d’su’ses argots.” Se dit d’un coq.

_A ses accords._--A ses ordres. “Si tu cré que j’sis à ses
accords.”

_A ses appoints._--Même sens.

_Demoiselle._--Petite mesure de liquide. Ce qu’une demoiselle peut
boire d’eau-de-vie ou de cidre.

_Dans par où._--Laisser tout dans par où; commencer un ouvrage sans
l’achever.

_Goublain._--Revenant, fantôme, diable des matelots; ils
apparaissent en mer sous la forme des camarades noyés. En passant
“sous Grâce” ou quand on fait le signe de la croix, le goublain se
jette à l’eau; _Kobold_ des conteurs du Nord.

_Décapler._--S’en aller, mourir. “Le pauvre bougre est décaplé.”
Terme maritime.

_Itou._--Aussi.

_Une bordée._--Compagnie nombreuse.

_Eclipper._--Eclabousser.

_C’est un char de guerre._--Se dit d’une personne brutale. Même
signification que _Cerbère, porte de prison_.

_La terre est poignardée._--La terre est corrompue.

_Le monde tire à sa fin._--Pour exprimer l’étonnement d’un fait
rare, extraordinaire, une découverte.

_Où Dieu baille du train, il donne du pain._--Dieu protège les
nombreuses familles.

_Cramail._--Le con, “prendre au cramail.”

_La belle heure._--“Je ne vois pas la belle heure de faire cela!”
Ce ne sera pas commode.

_J’va pas voulé ça._--Oh! mais non, par exemple.

_Pièce._--“J’nai pièce:” je n’en ai pas.

_Heurer._--“Il est heuré pour ses repas.” Il a ses heures
régulières.

_Heurible._--Précoce. Un pommier “heurible.”

_Ingamo._--“Avoir de l’ingamo,” avoir de l’esprit.

_Cœuru._--Qui a du cœur, dru, solide.

_Faire sa bonne sauce._--Présenter les choses à son avantage.

_Pas bileux._--Qui ne se fait pas de bile.

_D’un bibet il fait un eléphant._--Il exagère tout.

_En cas qu’ça sé._--En cas que cela soit, dubitatif ironique, pour:
cela n’est pas vrai.

_Cousue de chagrin._--Une fille cousue de chagrin, elle ferait
pleurait les cailloux du chemin.

_Suivez le cheu li._--On dit que c’est un brave homme; avant de le
croire, suivez-le chez lui. Dans l’intimité, l’on se montre ce
qu’on est.

_Plus la haie est basee, plus le monde y passe._--Plus vous êtes
malheureux, moins on a d’égards pour vous.

_Les filles, les prêtres, les pigeons,_

_No sait ben d’où qu’i viennent._

_No n’sait point où qu’i vont._

_N’y a cô qu’sé à ses noces._--Il n’est rien de tel que soi-même
pour veiller à ses intérêts.

_L’ergent ça s’compte deux fé._--L’argent se compte deux fois.

_Veux-tu être hureu un jour?_ Saoule té!

_Veux-tu être hureu trois jours?_ Marie té!

_Veux-tu être hureu huit jours?_ Tue tan cochan!

_Veux-tu être hureu toute ta vie?_ Fais té curé!

With the English tourist, at least, the Norman patois will not cause dissension, if indeed he notices it at all--or knows what it’s all about, if he does notice it.

Every intelligent person, of course, is fond of speculating as to the etymology of foreign words and phrases; and in France he will find many expressions which will make him think he knows nothing at all of the language, provided he has learned it out of school-books.

Many a university prize-winner has before now found himself stranded and hungry at a railway buffet because he could not make the waiter understand that he wanted his tea served with milk and his cut of roast beef underdone.

French colloquialism and idiom are the stumbling-blocks of the foreigner in France, even if he is college bred. The French are not so prolific in proverbs as the Spanish, and the slang of the boulevards is not the speech of the provincial Frenchman. There are in the French language quaint and pat sayings, however, which now and then crop up all over France, and as an unexpected reply to some simple and grammatically well-formed inquiry are most disconcerting to the foreigner.

A Frenchman will make you an off-hand reply to some observation by stating “_C’est vieux comme le Pont Neuf_,” meaning “it’s as old as the hills,” and “_bon chat, bon rat_,” when he means “tit for tat,” or “sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.”

If you have had a struggle with your automobile tire, or have just escaped from slipping off the gangplank leading from a boat to the shore, you might well say in English, “That was warm work.” The Frenchman’s comment is not far different; he says, “_L’affaire a été chaude_.” “Business is business” is much the same in French, “_Les affaires sont les affaires_,” and “trade is bad” becomes “_Les affaires ne marchent pas_.” “He is a dead man,” in French, becomes, “_Son affaire_ (or _son compte_) _est fait_.” The Frenchman, when he pawns his watch, does not “put it up” with his uncle, but tells you, “_J’ai porté ma montre chez ma tante_.” “Every day is not Sunday” in its French equivalent reads, “_Ce n’est pas tous les jours fête_.”

“He hasn’t an idea in his head” becomes “_Il a jeté tout son feu_,” and, paradoxically, when one gets a receipt from his landlord that individual writes, “_pour acquit_.”

A fortune, in a small way, awaits the person who will evolve some simple method of teaching English-speaking people how to know a French idiom when they meet with it. Truly, idiomatic French is a veritable pitfall of phrase.