DOI issue:
No. 41 (August, 1896)
DOI article:Lenfestey, Giffard H.: Dieppe, Rouen and Chartres as a sketching ground
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.17297#0160
Dieppe, Rouen and Chartres
utterable grief. Perhaps, however, the vin ordinaire
also played its part in that episode. But I am
digressing.
There is little enough in Rouen that has escaped
the artist's eagle eye and ready pencil. To Cole-
ridge's declaration that the people took their
history from Shakespeare and their theology from
Milton (which, by the way, can scarcely be truthfully
quoted of this generation) might be added that to
the artist all roads lead to Rouen. Painted to
death by artists, sketched to death by illustrators
and photographed to death by Messrs. Cook's
the opening and shutting of every door, and ghostly
creaks accompanying a walker about a house
wherever he goes. In the streets—roughly paved
serpentine thoroughfares—loll brown-faced youths
and dark-eyed maidens, rugged old men, wrinkled
women, and aggressively grubby urchins, as though
there were little else in the wide world to do but
blink in the sun and ruminate upon nothing in
particular. The Rue Robec may be mentioned as
one of the most characteristic of these zig-zag
streets. It is a veritable slum, down one side of
which flows a brooklet, now unfortunately covered
OLD WASHING HOUSES, RENNES FROM A DRAWING BY G. H. LENFESTEY
lay patrons, there is nevertheless an indescribable
charm and freshness about la ville aux vielles rues,
as Victor Hugo called it. Time cannot wither nor
custom stale the infinite variety of its heavily gabled,
rickety old houses, sheltered by overhanging eaves
and pierced by many shaped windows, brightened
here by boxes of scarlet geraniums and there by
dazzlingly white linen hung out to air; its hard
oak staircases, the balusters, heavy as bed-posts,
turned and moulded in quaint fashion, the
handrail as massive as a parapet top and the stairs
themselves twisting so closely as to suggest a person
trying to look over his shoulder; the irregular-
surface of the floors rising into bluffs and sinking
into valleys, every window replying by a clang to
144
by pavement upon which are displayed collections
of more or less musty furniture for sale at an
enormous sacrifice. The life of this neighbourhood
is lived for the most in the open air or what does
duty for such, and the unsuspecting passer-by is
treated willy-nilly to a full uninterrupted view of
the domestic affairs of the inhabitants. Here ex-
cellent opportunity occurs for studying the groups
of old people indulging in their humble dejeuner
sitting upon the steps of the high pavement, whilst
others stand sentry over the stalls, from which no
one appears particularly anxious to pilfer. It is
somewhat startling to note the domestic uses to
which some of the churches of this part of the
town have been put since their desecration, for
utterable grief. Perhaps, however, the vin ordinaire
also played its part in that episode. But I am
digressing.
There is little enough in Rouen that has escaped
the artist's eagle eye and ready pencil. To Cole-
ridge's declaration that the people took their
history from Shakespeare and their theology from
Milton (which, by the way, can scarcely be truthfully
quoted of this generation) might be added that to
the artist all roads lead to Rouen. Painted to
death by artists, sketched to death by illustrators
and photographed to death by Messrs. Cook's
the opening and shutting of every door, and ghostly
creaks accompanying a walker about a house
wherever he goes. In the streets—roughly paved
serpentine thoroughfares—loll brown-faced youths
and dark-eyed maidens, rugged old men, wrinkled
women, and aggressively grubby urchins, as though
there were little else in the wide world to do but
blink in the sun and ruminate upon nothing in
particular. The Rue Robec may be mentioned as
one of the most characteristic of these zig-zag
streets. It is a veritable slum, down one side of
which flows a brooklet, now unfortunately covered
OLD WASHING HOUSES, RENNES FROM A DRAWING BY G. H. LENFESTEY
lay patrons, there is nevertheless an indescribable
charm and freshness about la ville aux vielles rues,
as Victor Hugo called it. Time cannot wither nor
custom stale the infinite variety of its heavily gabled,
rickety old houses, sheltered by overhanging eaves
and pierced by many shaped windows, brightened
here by boxes of scarlet geraniums and there by
dazzlingly white linen hung out to air; its hard
oak staircases, the balusters, heavy as bed-posts,
turned and moulded in quaint fashion, the
handrail as massive as a parapet top and the stairs
themselves twisting so closely as to suggest a person
trying to look over his shoulder; the irregular-
surface of the floors rising into bluffs and sinking
into valleys, every window replying by a clang to
144
by pavement upon which are displayed collections
of more or less musty furniture for sale at an
enormous sacrifice. The life of this neighbourhood
is lived for the most in the open air or what does
duty for such, and the unsuspecting passer-by is
treated willy-nilly to a full uninterrupted view of
the domestic affairs of the inhabitants. Here ex-
cellent opportunity occurs for studying the groups
of old people indulging in their humble dejeuner
sitting upon the steps of the high pavement, whilst
others stand sentry over the stalls, from which no
one appears particularly anxious to pilfer. It is
somewhat startling to note the domestic uses to
which some of the churches of this part of the
town have been put since their desecration, for