Béarn and the Pyrenees | Page 3

absence,
but had supported herself by opening a little café, which she assured us
had succeeded admirably, they were proceeding, with well-filled purses,
to see their only child who was in the keeping of its grandmother. She
told wondrous histories of his exploits amongst the ice, of his
encounters with the natives--"les Indiens," of the success of all his
voyages, and the virtues of his captain, who was an Englishman and
never spoke to his crew, but was the most just man in the world, and
ended by saying that when she met with English people she felt in
Paradise.
Although we listened to her continued chattering with amused attention,
it was far otherwise with some quiet, silent, women who sat beside us;
we soon gathered, by certain contemptuous glances which they
exchanged, that they did not give credit to half our little Dejazet was
telling; and when to crown the whole, she related a story of a beautiful
maiden of Lisieux, who had been distinguished by the notice of the
Duke de Nemours when he visited that place on his way to join his ship
at Havre, they could support their impatience no longer, and broadly
contradicted her on the ground that the Prince de Joinville and not
Nemours was the sailor.
Nothing daunted, our gay whaler's wife insisted on every part of her
history being true, asserting that she must know best, and if the young
prince had left the navy since, it was not her affair.
As she approached Lisieux she became more and more animated,
darting her body half way out of the window every minute to look out
for her papa or her other relations;--at length, with a scream which

would have secured Dejazet three rounds of applause, she recognised
her parent in a peasant en blouse, trudging along the road carrying his
bundle--on his way, no doubt, as she assured us, to see her sister, who
lived at a village near. Tears and smiles alternately divided the
expression of her countenance, as she now feared her sister was ill, and
now rejoiced at seeing her father. All was however happily settled
when the coach stopped and she sprang out into the arms of her papa,
who had followed the diligence, and came up out of breath; and it was
then that we became aware that a remarkably ill-looking, dirty, elderly,
Jewish featured man, to whom she had occasionally spoken on the
journey, was the identical perfection of a mari, of whom she had been
boasting all the way. The incredulous listeners, whom she had so
annoyed, now revenged themselves by sundry depreciatory remarks on
the appearance of this phoenix, whom they pronounced to have the air
of a tinker or old clothesman, and by no means that of the hero he had
been represented.
As it was raining violently on our arrival at Lisieux, the town presented
to us but an uncomfortable appearance; and as we had to search for an
hotel, and were at last obliged to be content with one far from inviting,
our first impression was by no means agreeable; nor does Lisieux offer
anything to warrant a change in the traveller's opinion who considers it
dreary, slovenly, and ruinous. There is much, however, to admire in the
once beautiful cathedral, and the church of St. Jacques, both grand
specimens of the massive architecture of the twelfth century.
In this town lived and died the traitor Bishop of Bayeux, Pierre
Cauchon, who sold the heroic Jeanne d'Arc for English gold. An
expiatory chapel was erected by him in the cathedral, where it was
hoped the tears of the pious would help to wash his sins away; but no
one now remembers either him or his crime, for we asked in vain for
the spot; and when prayers are offered at the shrine of the Virgin in the
chapel dedicated to her, which we eventually discovered to be its site,
not one is given to the cruel bishop, whose ill-gotten money was
therefore expended in vain; for the centuries it must have required to
rescue his soul from purgatory cannot have expired by this time. The
churches are being restored, and building, as usual in all French towns,

is going on: when numerous ugly striped houses are removed, and their
places filled up, the principal square of Lisieux may deserve to be
admired, though whether it will ever merit the encomium of an old lady
who resides in it, and who assured us it would in a short time be
superbe, time will determine. The public promenades are good, and the
views round the town pretty, but we did not feel tempted to wait for
finer weather, and took our departure for Falaise with little delay.
The drive from Lisieux to Falaise is charming;