Sailing the Seine - traveling the waterways of France by riverboat - Column

National Review, Feb 21, 1994 by Priscilla Buckley

What is new and exciting (to us at least) in Rouen is l'Eglise Ste. Jeanne d'Arc. In the market square where Joan went to the stake in 1431, an exciting modern church has risen over the old market, the inspired vision of the architect Louis Arretche. The interior vault resembles the hull of a ship. The twisted roof-line reaches up toward the sky like an eager flame, reminding us of the manner of Joan's death. Inside, at eye level as you descend polished stone steps, toward the altar, are preserved the sixteenth-century windows from St. Vincent's church, destroyed after the Normandy landings: the light pouring in speckles the church in ruby and sapphire splinters, larded with vibrant yellows and greens.

The rains have now turned into what would, back home, be called a Nor'easter. And when we return the next afternoon to Caudebec-en-Caux after a moistly satisfying visit to the ruined Benedictine monastery of Jumieges, we are told that the waves are ten feet high at Honfleur and the Normandie will have to stay here at Caudebec.

And so it is by taxi and bus that we visit what is called the Peace Museum, near Caen, but which is in effect a museum about the Normandy landings: impressively reported with films and slides, one of which shows on one side of a huge screen the Allied preparations and the D-Day operation, while on the other it shows German forces building and manning their defensive positions. We could have spent hours there but Bayeux--and Queen Mathilda's tapestry--calls.

The tapestry--well preserved and imaginatively displayed--tells the story (from the victors', that is the Normans', viewpoint) of Harold of England's broken oath and William the Bastard's consequent invasion of England, culminating in Harold's death at Hastings in 1066, by an arrow through the eye; setting in motion the events that will result in the burning at the stake in Rouen of a teenage French peasant gift 365 years later.

On to Honfleur. It is blowing hard. Sheets of rain get under umbrellas, down necklines. Our feet are drenched. But the little streets of this fishing village made famous by its own beauty and the works of the very early impressionists, Boudin and his disciples, are charming, and the art galleries worth far more time than we have to explore them. We duck into the simple fisherman's church near the market place, enticed by a full-throated organ. A bride and groom are plighting their troth on this vigil of the great Feast of Corpus Christi. We pause to light a candle in memory of missing friends, and hurry back to the Normandie and our farewell dinner.

Miss Buckley is an NR senior editor.