QUILLEBEUF. LEAVING behind us the dark forest of Brotonne, we at length arrived at two little hamlets, placed near each other on the banks of the river-Aiziers and Vieux Port. The latter forms the subject of the annexed view, taken from the river; but although the beauty of the scene is enhanced by the vessels, whose reflections are seen so strikingly contrasted in the calm wave, yet the moral effect of our Vieux Port is absent. In fact, the impression made upon the spectator by almost any scene in nature, depends entirely upon accidental and evanescent circumstances. An author may write "here stands a church, there a castle, and yonder a grove ;" and his description, if correct, will be acknowledged to be so; but if he endeavours, at the same time, to convey a moral picture, which shall determine the character of the view, either his fidelity or his taste will be questioned by every succeeding visitor. The residence that is the most cheerful in summer-the most animate with all the sights and sounds of that bountiful season-the verdure of the woods, the song of birds, and the quietly musical voices of cattle-is, in precisely the same ratio, gloomy and desolate in winter. But, without seeking an extreme case, we need only refer to the one before us. Vieux Port presented itself to our eyes without a single sail near it; its small neat cottages were only seen at intervals through the foliage. A young girl, lying asleep under a tree, was the only living object in the picture 172 FISHERMEN OF QUILLEBŒUF. all was silence, simplicity, and peace. It seemed to be a spot where a man, when wearied with the world, might retire to rest and to dream. On the opposite bank there are a few houses scattered here and there, but all at some distance from the river. The inhabitants of these two hamlets derive their subsistence chiefly from fishing, and it is therefore needless to add that they are poor. This thankless occupation is still less productive in the little ports of the Seine than elsewhere in France. The nets commonly used in the river are made in the form of a bag, the opening of which is attached to two poles planted in the water, one at each side. As the bag hangs down perpendicularly by its own weight, it is very seldom that any fish find their way into it till the coming in of the tide. When this occurs, the stream, rushing rapidly upwards, places the net in a horizontal position, its mouth opening to swallow the rushing waters, with which it devours, at the same time, the victims whose evil destiny has thrown them in the way. When the returning tide rushes down the river, the contrary action, withstood by the weight of the fish contained in the bag, naturally shuts the mouth, and thus the captives are held fast, till they find that they have passed "out of the fryingpan into the fire;" which, in their case, means out of the water into the frying-pan. The fish taken in this manner are chiefly small, and of little value, but sometimes a salmon rejoices the heart of the poor fisherman. When he has succeeded in saving a sufficient fund,—and, since the river supplies the animal food, and the garden and hedges the vegetable food of the family, this is not impossible, he enters into a league with two or three neighbours as opulent as himself, and they embark their whole fortune in the purchase of a boat and tackle, FISHERMEN OF QUILLEBŒUF. 173 which cost four hundred francs, or sixteen pounds. The partners, or personniers, as they call themselves, are now in a large way of business. They almost live in their boat; and, day and night, in calm and storm, they brave the vicissitudes of the seasons in pursuing their hazardous trade. It is calculated that a produce yielding four francs a day will enable the associates to exist; but, alas! even this sum is not always the result of their labours. They rarely, indeed, make less than ten sous, but as rarely more than five francs; and thus they go on, from day to day, from month to month, of their painful existence, happy if the earnings of one period enable them almost to pay the debts of the former. The fishermen of France are by far the poorest of the peasantry, and we fear it is so also in England. There is, besides, a certain peculiarity of taste in the fishing districts, which make the people poorer than they need be. On the banks of the Seine, for instance, the fishermen are compelled to eat the John Dorys themselves, or else to throw them away; for this fish, so excellent and so wholesome, is not admitted to the tables of the genteel, and therefore fetches only a few centimes in the market. In England we understand good eating better, at least in this respect, and very properly place the vulgar John Dory upon a par with the aristocratical turbot. We should not forget to add, that in some parts of Ireland-for instance, in the county of Sligo, with which we are best acquainted-the skate is reckoned unfit for human food. The starving peasant turns away from it with contempt, and, when taken accidentally, either by the rich or poor, it is thrown back into the sea. The same insane prejudice prevails to a certain extent in Scotland; while in London we meet with portions of the elsewhere proscribed, and really excellent fish, at the daintiest tables. 174 FISHING RIGHTS OF THE SEINE. The right of fishing in the Seine was formerly vested in the proprietors of lands on the banks. The monks of Jumièges, for instance, enjoyed the property of the river from Melleraye to Duclair till the revolution. This they farmed out to their vassals, who were bound to reserve for their feudal lords the sturgeons, the finest salmons, and other tid-bits of the fishery. They were obliged every year, as M. Deshayes records in his 'Terre Gémétique,' to present themselves at the abbey, with the insignia of their trade, and, with a white wand in their hand, to walk three times round a dovecote in the court. At the third time they knocked at the door, and made a reverence. Those who failed in this ceremony were guilty of a breach of the feudal discipline, and condemned to pay a fine. On leaving Vieux Port we followed the course of the stream till we had gained the extremity of a tongue of land, which forms one of the sinuosities of this truly serpentine river. A single glance suffices to convince the spectator that this must have been a point of high importance at the time when the Seine was open to navigation; and he is only surprised not to see on the long narrow rock which terminates the land, at least the ruins of a fortress. Below the point the river looks like an arm of the sea; and there is nothing to intercept the view, carried over the vast waters of the channel, but the imperfection of the human vision. Above it narrows suddenly, (soon to become still more narrow,) and commences the strange involutions which make the land look like a series of peninsulas. On this long narrow rock, however, there are only a few streets of small and ill-built, but gaily painted, houses, which contain a population of about fifteen hundred souls, furnishing the greater number of the pilots of the Seine. The rest of the male inhabitants of Quilleboeuf are fishermen ; while the women sit all day long knitting lace at their doors or windows, or grouped on little stools at some favorite corner of the street. Quillebœuf is the capital of the Roumois, one of the old subdivisons of Upper Normandy, extending to Elbeuf inclusive. Till the time of Henri Quatre it consisted only of a few fishermen's huts; but this prince observing, and perhaps even exaggerating, the importance of the positionregarding it as the key of Normandy-fortified the port, constructed additional buildings, and endowed it with such privileges as he thought were likely to attract a population. The fortress, under the command of Roger de Bellegarde, the friend of Henri till he became his rival with the beautiful Gabrielle, soon rose into note; and when the troops of the Duke de Mayenne presented themselves before the ci-devant fishing hamlet, they were beaten in gallant style, and put to flight. Two years after the death of Henri IV, the fortifications had been rased by the order of Maria de Medici; but Concini, in his dilemma, bethinking himself that the "key of Normandy" would by and by be of some use, were it only to lock himself in, began with all speed to build them anew. The date of Concini's re-creations at Quillebœuf was 1616; the parliament interfered; and in 1622, there was not one stone on the top of another. A few years ago, the vessels passing up or down the river went close in by the quay of Quillebœuf; but there is now a sand-bank stretching far across the river, after having filled up a channel near the point of twenty feet of water. These banks are not only dangerous to navigation, but in some places they infect the air, producing fever and dropsy among the inhabitants on the shore. This is the case, for instance, at Tancarville, of which a fine |