But I know your love of method—­and that you will be in wrath if I skip from Duclair to JUMIEGES ere the horses have carried us a quarter of a league upon the route.  To the left of Duclair, and also washed by the waters of the Seine, stands Marivaux; a most picturesque and highly cultivated spot.  And across the Seine, a little lower down, is the beautiful domain of La Mailleraye;—­where are hanging gardens, and jets d’eaux, and flower-woven arbours, and daisy-sprinkled meadows—­for there lives and occasionally revels La Marquise....  I might have been not only a spectator of her splendor, but a participator of her hospitality; for my often-mentioned valuable friend, M. Le Prevost, volunteered me a letter of introduction to her.  What was to be done?  One cannot be everywhere in one day, or in one journey:—­so, gravely balancing the ruins of still life against the attractions of animated society, I was unchivalrous enough to prefer the former—­and working myself up into a sort of fantasy, of witnessing the spectered forms of DAGOBERT and CLOVIS, (the fabled founders of the Abbey) I resolutely turned my back upon La Mailleraye, and as steadily looked forwards to JUMIEGES.  We ascended very sensibly—­then striking into a sort of bye-road, were told that we should quickly reach the place of our destination.  A fractured capital, and broken shaft, of the late Norman time, left at random beneath a hedge, seemed to bespeak the vicinity of the abbey.  We then gained a height; whence, looking straight forward, we caught the first glance of the spires, or rather of the west end towers, of the Abbey of Jumieges.[80] “La voila, Monsieur,”—­exclaimed the postilion—­increasing his speed and multiplying the nourishes of his whip—­“voila la belle Abbaye!”

We approached and entered the village of Jumieges.  Leaving some neat houses to the right and left, we drove to a snug auberge, evidently a portion of some of the outer buildings, or of the chapter-house, attached to the Abbey.  A large gothic roof, and central pillar, upon entering, attest the ancient character of the place.[81] The whole struck us as having been formerly of very great dimensions.  It was a glorious sun-shiny afternoon, and the villagers quickly crowded round the cabriolet.  “Voila Messieurs les Anglois, qui viennent voir l’Abbaye—­mais effectivement il n’y a rien a voir.”  I told the landlady the object of our visit.  She procured us a guide and a key:  and within five minutes we entered the nave of the abbey.  I can never forget that entrance.  The interior, it is true, has not the magical effect, or that sort of artificial burst, which attends the first view of Tintern abbey:  but, as the ruin is larger, there is necessarily more to attract attention.  Like Tintern also, it is unroofed—­yet this unroofing has proceeded from a different cause:  of which presently.  The side aisles present you with a short flattened arch:  the nave has none:  but you observe a long pilaster-like, or alto-rilievo column, of slender dimensions, running from bottom to top, with a sort of Roman capital.  The arched cieling and roof are entirely gone.  We proceeded towards the eastern extremity, and saw more frightful ravages both of time and of accident.  The latter however had triumphed over the former:  but for accident you must read revolution.