Chapter VIII: Part 8

We reached Nancy to dinner. This is a large, clean, and very handsome town, and the streets are much broader than in most foreign ones. They resounded, as the evening advanced, with joyous songs in chorus, sung (often in parts with considerable accuracy) by the common people, in honour of _les vendanges_; but their mirth soon became rather too loud for refined ears, as they shouted (men and women together) at the utmost pitch of their voices, a sort of recitative and chorus, dancing at the same time _en ronde_, and frequently mingling shrill bursts of laughter and shrieks with this wild and extraordinary harmony. Every one of the _garçons_ of our inn ran out in the street to join the peasantry in the maddening dance. Altogether it was a perfect bacchanalian festival, strongly resembling those ancient rites in honour of the rosy god mentioned in the pagan mythology. We went in the evening to the theatre, to see Baptiste (from Paris), who is reckoned one of the best French actors in comedy, and who performed here for one night only. The piece was a little comic pastoral, interspersed with music, but Baptiste's _role_ was far too trifling for us to form any just idea of his talents--but how extraordinary it is that this nation, from time immemorial to the present day, should have been so totally ignorant of the true genius of vocal music. Rousseau's well-known opinion (in his letter from St. Preux to Julie, upon the difference of Italian and French taste in singing) came into my head more than once, and I most sincerely wished that the French would always confine themselves to what they so particularly excel in, the dance: their songs make the same sort of impression upon my mind, when compared with the beautiful productions of the Italian school, that a Savoyard cretin would do, if placed by the side of an Apollo Belvidere.

The theatre at Nancy was large, and the decorations and machinery tolerably good. It was the only one that we had seen illuminated in the boxes as well as upon the stage, a lustre being suspended above the pit, which shed a very pleasant light over all the house.

The next day, Sept. 30, we pursued our route. There is a beautiful Grecian gateway at this end of the town, which is worthy of every traveller's observation.

The road from hence was in a straight line with a tiresome avenue, as usual (_note_ S.), and led us through a fine wood of beech and other trees (none of them of large growth); but it lost nearly all picturesque effect, from the vicinity of this artificial avenue, and the unbending line of the highway. The country for many miles is very open, bounded by hills, and bearing some resemblance to the county of Wiltshire.

Thoul, a pretty town, stands in the midst of wide plains, a small hill covered with vines sheltering it on one side. It is decorated with long rows of formal stiff poplars, above which tower the spires of its large cathedral. The river Moselle runs near this place, an inconsiderable tame little stream, whose banks can boast no kind of beauty.

The town was adorned by several vineyards and kitchen-gardens, full of well-cultivated vegetables and fruit; but the country beyond it was wide, flat, and insipid, for a considerable distance. At length we had the agreeable variety of entering a remarkably pretty, wild looking wood of young beech-trees, where we observed an ancient, lone, white mansion, greatly fallen to decay, yet evidently inhabited, and surrounded by gardens and walls for fruit, of large size and height: the latter also, as well as the house, much dilapidated. The wood, closing round on all sides, gave it an air of singularity and romance; nor could I restrain my fancy (during a subsequent uninteresting drive) from tracing the plan of a little _novel_ sort of history, relative to the inhabitants of this solitude. How delightfully would the late Charlotte Smith have done the same thing! All her novels (putting on one side her passion for democracy, and her blind prejudices in favour of the Americans) interest my feelings extremely. They have a tone of elegant pathos (far removed from the sickly whine of affected sensibility) peculiar to themselves, and with many palpable faults are altogether bewitching. I am not singular in this taste, having, I believe, the honour of acquiescing in the opinion of some of the best judges.

We were now close upon the borders of Champaigne. Immense woods extended in every direction, yet they were not sufficiently near, to vary the landscape agreeably. As far as the eye could distinctly reach, nothing but vast uninclosed stubble fields appeared in view.

Ligny, a large town (surrounded by vineyards), dull and dead-looking, and unenlivened by any attempt at costume among the inhabitants. There are large manufactories of cotton here.

We dined and slept at Bar le Duc, a cheerful, neat town: inn (_au Cigne_), where we met with excellent accommodations. At dinner we were attended by a merry active _paysanne_: she brought us some of the wine to taste, of this year's vintage. It was then in its first state, previous to fermentation, and much resembled sweet cyder fresh from the press. When properly clarified, and ripened by age, it would turn out, we were told, to be a strong bodied red wine. This town, for the last few years, had been successively occupied by soldiers of all nations, French, Prussians, Russians, Austrians, and Cossacks: the girl persisted in calling the latter _Turques_, and told us that during the time of their _séjour_ here, all the young _paysannes_ of the neighbourhood had been carefully concealed (herself among the number), by their mothers: she said that at that period she had not entered service, but was living at home with _maman_. We observed _maman_ to be the usual title of all mothers, even in the lowest class of people, and that it was used by the grown up daughters (in speaking of them), contrary to our English custom, where the term is a refinement, and not much adopted, except by the little denisons of the nursery: the unlimited power of _mamans_ of all classes now appears to be very happily moderated and reduced; a great moral improvement which has taken place in France in consequence of the Revolution. The unprincipled system of parents arranging the marriages of the children, independent of their own choice or consent, which existed during the _ancien régime_, being nearly abolished, and consequent crime and misery connected with it, much diminished. I was happy to learn, from one of the most enlightened and sensible persons at Geneva, that since that awful _bouleversement_, conjugal attachment and fidelity, together with a taste for domestic pleasures, had rapidly increased, and this even in Paris itself. I was assured that the English (judging of the whole from their experience of a part) have formed an erroneous idea of the general immorality of French families, particularly in fancying that their national and innate love of amusement (springing from climate, constitution, and other causes), interfered improperly with, or was preferred to the duties of husband and parent. This defence of the French nation (prompted by a benevolent love of truth and candour) appeared particularly amiable, coming as it did from persons, whose government, religious opinions, and habits of life, were so very different.

Leaving Bar le Duc, October 1st, we proceeded through several woods, and found the face of the country more varied and agreeable than during the journey of yesterday: there was an appearance of cleanliness and comfort in this town, not often met with in France: the dress of the inhabitants and the neatness of the shops bore a nearer resemblance to an English country town than any we had yet seen. It is situated on the river Ornaine, and is as generally called Bar sur Ornaine as Bar le Duc. Being on the high road to Strasburg, we met with many German travellers, and were ourselves now, as well as formerly, frequently mistaken for natives of that country: the similarity of language, and perhaps of features and complexion, will naturally account for it.

We soon entered Champagne, and continually met bands of joyous peasants gathering the rich produce of the widely extended vineyards. This is the only province throughout France where the grape of which this wine is made will grow, and there must be, I should imagine, some great peculiarity of soil. The vintage, universally, was finer than had been known for years. It is generally remarked, that neither in Paris, nor in any other place upon the continent, is wine to be met with of that very superior quality, which it is usual to find in England; no other nation can afford so high a price.

In the vicinity of Vitri sur Marne, the country can scarcely be said to be the country, if trees, green fields, hills, and dales, give a right to that appellation. Nothing but one vast boundless uninclosed surface of stubble was to be seen. It reminded me (in point of monotonous effect) of the plain in the _Palais de la Verité_ (mentioned by Madame de Genlis), where a fairy condemns the fickle-minded Azelie to remain for years, in order to cure her of a passion for variety. During this wearisome journey, I know not what we should have done without Moliere. Fortunately we had him in the carriage, and I need not say what an enlivening _compagnon du voyage_ he was. Turning our eyes therefore from the "dull realities" of the scene around, we were soon lost in an imaginary world, full of bright creations and amusing conceptions.

We dined and slept at Chalons sur Marne, where we met with tolerable accommodations, but were charged very extravagantly, at _la Cloche d'Or_. We left it at half past six the next morning, and found the road equally uninteresting: I could hardly have formed an accurate idea of the bald sort of ugliness of a great portion of France, had I not thus witnessed its effect. The usual absence of costume continued, and there was nothing to break the dulness, or to give a ray of animation to the scene.

We now and then passed through villages, built formally in a long street, with the high road running between the houses; dirty, ugly, tasteless, and mean! no gardens, consequently neither fruit nor vegetables to be seen, and as there was no appearance of trees for such an immense number of miles, we were at a loss to conceive how the wretched inhabitants warmed themselves sufficiently, during the winter, except from the heaps of cinder dirt, at some of their doors, which proved that coals were burned there; not a very common circumstance in France. Troops of beggar children now ran after us, bold, audacious, and filthy in the extreme; all our charitable feelings froze in a moment.

The farther we proceeded, the wider seemed to extend the vast and barren desert that surrounded us; never can I forget the disgust and ennui which assailed us in consequence. We tried to awaken our powers of conversation, when wearied by long continued reading, but it was a vain attempt. Imagination seemed extinguished, and our minds experienced a degree of stagnation impossible to describe. After passing through this country, I must be allowed to differ, for the rest of my life, from those theoretical reasoners, who think it is even a point of morality to maintain, that the mental powers are not influenced by local impressions. I am convinced Madame de Genlis took her idea of the redoubted plain in her _Palais de la Verité_ before mentioned, from having travelled through _this_ part of her native country; for surely she would never have discovered its parallel in any other: even in the deserts of Arabia the traveller finds a species of sublimity, and undergoes perils, which at all events prevent his suffering from _ennui_.

In many of the villages (in all parts of France) we observed the sign of "Saint Nicholas." He is a very popular saint among this nation, and must have been a man of taste, as he stands forth the patron of all the young unmarried damsels, presiding over every _nôce_, and _fête de village_. He has chosen a most amusing _metier_ altogether, thereby proceeding upon a far more rational and sensible plan than some of his brethren, many of whom have made it their business to frown upon the enjoyments of mankind, and who pretend that the only way to merit heaven in the next world, is to make a purgatory of this. Fortunately their unhappy followers are but few, (comparatively speaking); for the great body of the people, in all ages, seem to be of Sir Toby Belch's opinion, when Shakespeare makes him indignantly exclaim to his formal censor Malvolio, "what! dost think that because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" These Roman catholic puritans, let it be remembered, have the honour of being imitated very closely by many a worthy English heretic.

It was a great relief to us to enter Rheims, where we took a luncheon, and afterwards walked about the town, and saw the grand gothic cathedral. The _façade_ of this building is most superbly beautiful; the fret work, carving, and imagery, are in some respects superior to those of the Duomo at Milan; although the edifice is of a less precious material, much smaller, and in a different taste altogether. The interior is grandly simple, the windows of the most magnificent old stained glass, in patterns of infinite variety, and of the most glowing colours. But the outside of this cathedral is by far more imposing than any other part, and I was rather discomposed upon being obliged to acknowledge that our Westminster Abbey is extremely inferior in every way. Here the ancient monarchs of France used to be crowned (as books of juvenile information have duly informed us), and we could scarcely imagine a finer place for such sort of spectacles. The portal was built in the thirteenth century, and the other parts as far back as about the seventh or eighth.

We did not remark any thing particularly worth notice in the town (which is nevertheless very large), and the only thing which struck us forcibly was the general ugliness of the _bourgeoises_, and also the _paysannes_ of the environs. The country beyond was exactly in the same wearisome character with what we had already passed, and the road for many miles extremely bad.

Owing to repeated delays about horses, we did not arrive at Laon until nine o'clock in the evening, by which means we lost the view of the two last stages before reaching that place, where the country is said to improve in a very striking manner, swelling occasionally into lofty hills, enriched with wood.

Laon is built upon an abrupt and rocky eminence, shaded by trees, and commanding a very extensive bird's-eye prospect of the surrounding country. There was a high appearance of cultivation and fertility of soil, while the immediate vicinity of vineyards, filled with cheerful groups of people, was very enlivening; but no costume was to be observed except the almost universal cross worn round the necks of the women[11]. Our inn (_à la Hure_) was extremely well appointed; the host an attentive, civil old man, and we were waited upon with celerity and good humour by two young _paysannes_, who appeared to think no exertion too much which could contribute in any way to the comfort of the guests. One of them (like most French servants) chatted in a natural intelligent manner, was full of frolic and glee, ready to laugh at every thing, carolling with the gaiety of a lark, in all parts of the house, and seeming with difficulty to restrain herself from dancing at the same time: all this (as I once before mentioned) without the least degree of immodesty. What a wide difference exists between the ideas of a French and English woman in this situation of life, on the score of what is called propriety; a vague term, and changeable as the chamelion in its nature, however some worthy folks may suppose it confined solely to one shape, and one definite meaning. The sense of female honour among the country girls of France, so far from being too lax, or but little regarded, seems, on the contrary, to be particularly correct, and I have taken some pains in my inquiries upon this point. The loss of fair fame is rare, and always accompanied by the utmost disgrace and ignominy; so much so, that one young woman (whose heart was, I am sure, upon her lips) told me, "that if such a circumstance occurred, the unfortunate girl had much better be dead at once; for she never would be looked upon again by her youthful companions." Let it, therefore, be remembered, to the credit of the French, that innocence is perfectly compatible with a lively freedom of manner, and that virtue can be firmly maintained, although unshackled by the restraints of primness and formality. I am now convinced that climate has a great deal more influence upon our feelings and conduct than I was once inclined to think. The chilly fogs and heavy weight of atmosphere in England do certainly affect, in some measure, the mental faculties of her children, rendering their ideas of morality needlessly gloomy and strict. I judge (in part) from my own occasional sensations. I never feel in so cheerful and happy a frame of mind, so willing to be candid, and to look upon persons and things in the most favourable light, as during a fine clear sunshiny day. _Au contraire_, there have been moments in the cold, humidity, and dark gloom of winter, when I have been shocked and ashamed at perceiving my sentiments involuntarily narrowing into prejudices, and my spirits saddening in proportion. It has required a strong exertion of reason to get the better of such feelings, and even to divest myself of an idea of their being in some degree meritorious.

I now hasten to continue the narrative of our route from Laon to Cambray, which was a day's journey. The road for the first stage presented us with a welcome variety of landscape, hills, dales, copses, shady villages, and fertile fields. Never did we see such a profusion of fine apples as were growing here, on each side of the way. The peasants were gathering them as we passed, and heaps of this rosy, tempting fruit were piled up in hillocks beneath the trees from which they had just been taken. They were even strewed by thousands on the grass around, and were perpetually rolling into the road under the wheels of our carriage. Such a triumph of Pomona it is really difficult to imagine without having seen its animating effect! We stopt to purchase some, and found them truly delicious; spirited, juicy, and possessing all the acid sweetness of champaigne. We remarked the soil in which these trees so peculiarly flourished: it consisted of a loose, light, sandy earth, with a mixture of clay; but in those parts of England where they thrive best, I understand that the soil is of a redder earth, with not nearly so large a proportion of sand. For what are called common fruits and flowers I have ever entertained a preference, and for the latter I have almost a passion. The richest collection of rare exotics do not make the same agreeable and soothing impression upon my imagination as the unpretending garden which my mother formerly cultivated in Surrey, or that of a dear and excellent friend, in which from childhood I have ever delighted, and where the common flowers of each season, fruits, vegetables, herbs, and shrubs, flourish together, in defiance of the more refined arrangements of modern days. I recollect the simple charms of her sitting-room windows (shadowed by the climbing honeysuckle and sweetbriar), and those of my mother's pretty doorway, half lost in a thick bower of clematis, with the liveliest feelings of pleasure, while I have totally forgotten a hundred prouder boudoirs, rich in the odours of tuberose, cape jessamine, night-blowing geraniums, and other splendid extravagancies.

The country for the last stage before we reached St. Quentin (a strong-built large town) was very fast relapsing into the baldness of that which had so lately annoyed us; but the peasantry were generally much better looking, cleaner, and altogether gayer in their appearance. This place is in the direct road from Paris to Brussels. We arrived at Cambray to supper, slept, and breakfasted there the next morning, when we proceeded towards the coast. The inn was not very comfortable, although we had the best apartments in the house. It was a very striking and singular spectacle to behold, as we now did, English sentinels on duty at the drawbridges of this town, and an encampment of the same troops just beneath its walls. How would John Bull have writhed and raged with shame and grief, if the scene had been exhibited _vice versa_ in our own country? Can we then (with any pretence to candour and justice) affect to wonder at the deep-felt disgust and dislike of the French towards us?

We saw the fine regiments of our foot guards, and the 95th, or sharp-shooters, here. All the men looked clean, bright, and cheerful, and most of them were decorated with Waterloo medals. Our hearts sensibly warmed at sight of the well-remembered countenance of our countrymen, and (without any degree of unjust partiality) we could not but be forcibly struck with the superiority of appearance and deportment displayed by our English officers, when we compared them with all the French whom we had had an opportunity of observing. There is, I think (generally speaking), a greater suavity and benevolence in the manners of a Frenchman of birth and education; there is a higher degree of polish in his address; but in point of personal appearance I must decidedly award the preference to our manly, graceful, dignified countrymen. An English gentleman (in the true acceptation of the word) is the flower of the world. I do not mean to discuss at length, the different moral virtues and mental perfections of either nation. I have neither time nor sufficient experience and information for such a task; but of this I am convinced, "that the head and heart of our countrymen (taking their fairest specimens) may sustain a comparison with those of any other race of men upon this habitable globe, and fail not to come forth with honour and credit from the investigation." Of the _bourgeoisie_ of each country I cannot pretend to judge; but with respect to the unsophisticated peasantry, I feel by no means clear that the superiority lies on our side. We were informed that a great many of the English soldiers at Cambray, and elsewhere, had taken wives from among the _paysannes_, but that the _petites bourgeoises_ did not listen so favourably to their vows. Every where we had the gratification of hearing praises of the orderly, quiet, and moderate behaviour of the British regiments.

The country beyond this town, for a considerable distance, was uninteresting, and the lesser towns and villages were very ugly. What was wanting in trees seemed to be made up in windmills, which spread their long arms abroad in every direction. Had Don Quixote been alive, and travelling this road, he would have found himself in the predicament of poor Arlechino, _dans l'embarras des richesses_.

We now passed through Douay, a clean, gay-looking, strong-built town. It was more than usually alive, from the circumstance of a fair which was going on in the market-place. Among the different articles exposed for sale, I was struck by the cotton handkerchiefs worn by the _paysannes_. Their richness and beauty of colour were very remarkable, the dyes being brilliant beyond any that we possess, and the patterns very fanciful and pretty. Here the women adopt the same picturesque double gold drops in the ears, as those of Calais; wearing likewise richly-worked heavy crosses upon the bosom, and long loose cloaks, made of coloured linen or black silk, frilled round, with a very deep hood. Two pretty little girls, from twelve to thirteen years of age, had a highly graceful effect, as they passed through the crowd, in white gauze or muslin veils, extremely transparent, and reaching to the ground, thrown carelessly over their heads. They appeared like young sylphs, flitting in all their purity among the gayer, yet grosser, figures which surrounded them.

We arrived in very good time at Lille (frequently spelt Lisle), and entered through a most beautiful gateway of Tuscan architecture. This town is extensive, well built, lively, and interesting: there are excellent shops, with signs of the most fanciful and ingenious devices, like those of Paris. This place is reckoned impregnable, and the citadel is of wonderful strength, being the masterpiece of Vauban, the celebrated engineer. Our inn (_l'hotel de Bourbon_) was very comfortable in every respect, except that we were bitten by bugs. They, however, are so common in various parts of the continent that the traveller must make up his mind to bear with them as things of course. We were amused by the humour of a _valet de place_ here, who was also hair-dresser and barber: he was a true disciple of the renowned Vicar of Bray, having squared his politics according to every change in the government, and contrived to thrive equally under all. He assured us (as if he had been enumerating his virtues) that _Vive la liberté! vive Napoleon!_ or _vivent les Bourbons!_ was all the same thing to him; and he had constantly held himself in readiness to call out for each, provided they left heads enough for him to find hair to friz, and beards to mow. His countenance made us laugh the moment he appeared, being the counterpart of Liston's, with that peculiar expression of _niaiserie_ which is so irresistibly ludicrous in him. It was no wonder that we were amazed by the number of windmills in the environs of this town; for we learnt that there were no less than two hundred used in making oil, &c.

We quitted Lille the next morning, and in changing horses at Bailleul we discovered that the cap and linchpin of the axletree had fallen off. They were found about a quarter of a mile behind us; and it was very extraordinary that this accident did not occasion our overturn, as the wheel had really no support. The country now began to improve in point of trees and verdure, but still wore an air of formality. A disagreeable _patois_ is spoken here.

The approach to Cassel was very pretty; the trees gradually lost their prim regularity, and formed a rich wood, which entirely covered a high hill, called Mont Cassel. It is the only one in the Netherlands, and commands a most extensive view: no less than twenty-two fortified towns may be discerned from it. Most of the cottages in these environs are thatched, and resemble those in England, each having a little garden (inclosed by neat hedges) full of vegetables. From the summit of the above-mentioned hill, we were much pleased by a prospect of great fertility, and some beauty. Seen from this distance, the artificial mode of planting the trees was not distinguished, and they had a very luxuriant woody effect altogether. Just at the entrance of Cassel is a churchyard, in which we observed a tall crucifix, with a wooden image of our Saviour, larger than life, painted flesh colour, and having a stream of blood flowing from the side (made of a long strip of wire, standing far out in a curve from the body), and which was caught in a cup by another clumsy image (Dutch built) representing a cherubim. The latter was suspended in the air, by some contrivance (not discoverable at that distance), so as to appear flying. Nothing could well be more absurd, or in a worse taste!

We dined and slept at St. Omer, a large town. We found at the inn (_l'ancienne Poste_) very comfortable accommodations; but it was full of English officers, who had a mess there, and in consequence we could not get a morsel to eat, or a creature to attend upon us, till these _messieurs_ were first served. They were assembled there in readiness for a ball, which was to take place somewhere in the town, at night.

Suffering under the sharpest pangs of hunger, we felt the warmth of our feelings towards our compatriots rather decreasing; but we recovered our nationality after dinner. The next morning we went on to Calais. It was rather a pretty drive the first two stages; the country woody, and the villages much neater than usual. No costume, however, made its appearance (except the long ear-ring and cross), neither could we observe any beauty.

We breakfasted this morning at the small post-house of Ardres. The old dame there told us that the behaviour of the British troops had been most exemplary, and that they would be missed and regretted by some among the natives.

We were now in Picardy, which we understood was more infested with beggars than most other provinces. Some half starved children ran after the carriage, screaming the popular air of _Vive Henri Quatre_. We gave them a sous or two, purely for the sake of that _père de son peuple_, whose memory is yet green in their hearts. It is in comparing his species of greatness with that of Napoleon, that I am most forcibly impressed with the inferiority of the latter. The union of talent and benevolence in a sovereign (like that of judgment and imagination in an author) seems almost indispensable; and, at all events, there can be no perfection of character without it. How awfully requisite are both these qualities in the head of an absolute monarchy, and how devoutly to be wished for, even under the less extensively important influence which (like our own) is limited by the laws of the constitution. Those persons, who, from a timid sort of morality, would exalt mere goodness, in opposition to superior talent, seem to me to be thereby counteracting the influence of the very principle upon which they profess to act. Those, on the other hand, who adopt the contrary mode of reasoning are yet worse, for they assert an opinion which is in direct defiance of humanity, morality, and religion. Comparing Napoleon with some of his crowned cotemporaries, I must confess that my admiration of him alarmingly increases; but place him by the side of _Henri quatre_, and he sinks at once. Madame de Stael has beautifully and justly expressed my own sentiments; I must indulge myself in quoting her eloquent language. Speaking of another political tyrant, (Cardinal Richelieu) she remarks, "On a beaucoup vanté le talent de ce ministre, parce qu'il a maintenu la grandeur politique de la France; et sous ce rapport, on ne sçauroit lui réfuser des talens superieurs! Mais _Henri quatre_ atteignoit au même but, en gouvernant par des principes de justice et de verité! Le génie se manifeste non seulement dans le triomphe qu'on remporte, mais dans les moyens qu'on a pris pour l'obtenir."

Upon approaching Calais, we felt our courage quail beneath the idea of the passage to Dover, which was now so near at hand; but as it never answers any rational purpose to dwell upon disagreeables which are inevitable, and as this transient purgatory was the only means of attaining the paradise of English comforts that awaited us on the other side of the water, we made up our minds, and prepared for our fate with becoming resolution. We were very fortunate in arriving at Quilliac's early in the day, as we had an opportunity of taking possession of a most comfortable suite of apartments, which would not have fallen to our share, half an hour later; for the concourse of equipages which soon followed ours into the inn-yard was quite astonishing. Quilliac's is a magnificent hotel, and seems to be organized in a manner that does credit to the head of the master. They make up from a hundred and fifty to a hundred and sixty beds, and the day of our arrival, they were serving up little separate dinners to a hundred and forty persons, exclusive of servants. Yet the attendance was by no means hurried, or our comforts of any sort diminished, upon that account: every waiter and _fille de chambre_ seemed to know their particular walk, nor could we observe any awkward scrambling or jostling among them.

Determined not again to encounter the annoyance of a crowded packet, we desired inquiries to be made for any family of respectability, who might wish to share a private one with us: fortune befriended us, for we soon beheld some English friends drive into the court, who agreed to join forces, and accordingly we took the Antigone (Capitaine Margollé), between us. She was accounted the best sailer in the harbour, and we found the truth of her reputation confirmed the next morning, when at nine o'clock we all embarked. She brought us into Dover before several other packets, which had sailed from Calais three hours previous to ourselves; but the winds were nevertheless against us, as we were becalmed for seven hours, and the passage lasted altogether ten. I was the only person on board who suffered much; but I speedily forgot all my wretchedness, when I found myself happily landed at Dover, and seated by an English fireside.

We left that place the next day (October 8th), and felt that however we might justly admire foreign countries, our native land possessed a charm above all others, for the hearts of its children. We were delighted by the richness of the woods, and the smiling fertility of the landscape between Canterbury and Sittingbourne, and also by the peculiar air of neatness and cleanliness displayed in every cottage and house, both in the towns and villages: their superiority in these respects to those of France was very apparent; but I could not help being struck by the different costume, countenance and air of the lower classes of my countrywomen, from what I had been used to behold for the last few weeks among the daughters of the continent. The former certainly did (since the truth must be told) appear what is called dowdy and heavy, and the general expression of face was somewhat sullen, in comparison. I also greatly missed the brilliant dark eye, and the charming shadowy eyelash, which is generally to be met with abroad.

We were once more gratified by the pre-eminent swiftness, ease, and dexterity of our English mode of posting; the horses really seemed to fly, and their spruce effect, together with that of their drivers, contrasted favourably with those we had left on the other side the channel.

Passing through Rochester, to Dartford, the river Thames presented a most imposing spectacle, being covered with innumerable vessels in full sail, bound for London. A foreigner must have been impressed with a superb idea of our commercial wealth and glory.

At length we reached home late in the evening, and, full of grateful pleasure for all we had enjoyed during our absence from it, returned to the worship of our Penates with all the fervour and sincerity of true hearted, though not wrong headed, Britons.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] I had reason, however, afterwards to doubt the accuracy of the rural dame's assertion.

[2] The principal beauty of this cathedral is the choir, and it is also famous for Gobelin tapestry.

[3] Vide Southey's Miscellaneous Poems.

[4] Vide Spurzheim's Craniology.

[5] Vide Bath Guide, page 100.

[6] Goldsmith.

[7] Vide Bath Guide.

[8] Lord Byron.

[9] Some of the original productions of this person are in the possession of collectors in our own country.

[10] The _promenade_ also, near the cathedral, is remarkable for the beautiful prospect it discloses of the glaciers, particularly at sunset, when the rose-coloured tints upon their snowy summits are wonderfully fine.

[11] This town is memorable for the sanguinary contests between Blucher and the French army, during which it was taken and retaken several times. The epicure will here find the best _grenouilles_ in France: we did not chance to meet with this delicacy, nor with another, which, however common here, does not exactly accord with the taste of John Bull, viz. snails.

NOTES.

Note (A.) page 109, line 18.

_Aromatic plants._

Near the summits of these mountains, and in the highest region of vegetation, is found the _gennipi_, a plant of the camomile genus, and which, next to the _sang du bouquetin_, or wild goat (which, as an inhabitant of these places, though now a very rare one, is worthy of mention), is the most powerful sudorific, and of high estimation in the treatment of pleurisy.

Note (B.) page 127, line 21.

_The Devil's Bridge--Pont du Diable._

We cannot too much admire the boldness and skill with which this extraordinary work has been achieved in such a country, and one knows not in what age. The marvellous histories believed concerning it by the credulous peasantry are scarcely to be wondered at. Suffice it to say, that its dimensions are a single arch of twenty-four feet in the span, fourteen wide, and seventy-two above the surface of the stream; but in this circumstance alone (considered without reference to the wild sublimity of the surrounding scenery), there is nothing extraordinary to English eyes, who may view the whole width of the Thames at London embraced by three arches of such stupendous dimensions.

Note (C.) page 131, line 17.

_Mont Cenis._

Upon the plain of Mont Cenis are found large masses of the gypsum, or alabaster, from which the plaster of Paris is made. The more sheltered parts are bright with the flowers of the _rhododendron ferrugineum_, which I have in another part of my work described. Quantities of the beautiful little blue butterfly, called the argus, are seen here, and (though not so common) that fine fly, named _l'Apollon des Alpes_. Besides the great wild goat (_le bouquetin_), there are in these mountains the chamois, with the marmottes, which require bold and active chasseurs to be got at: they are shot by single ball. The whistling sort of cry of the marmotte resembles that of some birds of prey. It is the signal they give upon being alarmed. When fat, they are considered as rather delicate food. We saw one unfortunate little animal of this species in a tame state, belonging to a peasant boy, who had taught it to shoulder a stick like a firelock, and to twirl itself about in a manner difficult to describe, that he called dancing. He sung at the same time, to animate the poor creature's reluctant exertions, a little _patois_ song, in which the words _dansez a madama_ were frequently repeated. The tune haunted me for some time afterwards, and was really not inharmonious.

Note (D.) page 159, line 2.

_Consists in their vineyards._

There is something awfully striking in the sudden devastation occasioned by the summer storms, too frequent in these climates. In the same garden where at noon you had been walking under the shade of pergolas (i. e. latticed frames of wood, the roofs of which were fretted with innumerable and rich clusters of grapes) surrounded by fig and peach trees full of fruit, you would often find in the evening the whole ground strewed with broken branches, their fruit quite crushed, and hardly a leaf left upon them.

Note (E.) page 231, line 19.

_Ague and fever._

We were induced, by the opinion of several persons to whom we related this indisposition, to believe that it was most probably brought on by the sudden transition from the intense heat of the shores of the Lago Maggiore to the equally intolerable cold of the Simplon. Mr. B. was not provided with that additional clothing which might have obviated the ill effects of the latter. The complaint, however, went off very quickly in the subsequent health-inspiring air of Switzerland.

Note (F.) page 237, line 8.

_Mont St. Bernard._

Before Bonaparte formed his magnificent passage across the Simplon, one of the principal roads from Switzerland into Italy lay over this grand mountain. Our line of road did not permit us to visit it, which we much regretted. It was always highly interesting, from the histories, both ancient and modern, which belong to it. By this route it is supposed that Hannibal led his army over the Alps; not by softening the rocks with vinegar, but by refreshing his fatigued troops by a mixture of it with water. He is said also to have founded here a splendid temple, dedicated to Jupiter. It is certain that several remains of antiquity, medals, inscriptions, sacrificial instruments, &c. have been found here, and are preserved in the museum at Turin. That the modern Hannibal, with or without vinegar, led his army over the St. Bernard, we too well know. Of the baths of Loësche, in the Upper Valais, we also heard much; but of these, as well as the Grand St. Bernard, I can only speak from the description of others. Notwithstanding the difficult roads which lead to the baths, they are much frequented, and are, we were told, justly celebrated for their salutary effects. It must be truly curious to see water too hot to bear the hand in, of the temperature of 43 degrees of Reaumur (boiling water being 80), springing from the earth in the midst of this icy country; a phenomenon, however, with which those travellers who have frequented still colder parts of the world are perfectly well acquainted. This water has the peculiar quality of restoring faded flowers to life and freshness, and of preserving them so for some time, when one would rather imagine that it would boil them. I do not here mean to offer a poetical allusion to female beauty, but merely to relate a literal fact. The mode of bathing is too singular not to mention, although I cannot say much of its delicacy. There are four square open divisions, in which twenty or thirty persons of both sexes (attired, as properly as may be, in flannel dresses) bathe all together. They sit very comfortably for half an hour, with a small desk before each, upon which they have their books, and little planks are seen floating on the water, full of holes, in which fragrant flowers and branches of verdure are inserted.

Note (G.) page 238, line 12.

_A celebrated waterfall--Cascade of the Pisse Vache._

There are several of the same name in Switzerland; but this, I believe, is reckoned the most remarkable. In the neighbourhood of these mountains, one sees with pleasure the industry of man repaid by considerable fertility. The cottages are comfortable, and surrounded with orchards of various fruit-trees. The natural and ungrafted cherry, called _mérise_, is much cultivated in these parts. It is from this fruit that the famed _kirschenwasser_, or cherry-water, is made, and which is not only an agreeable cordial, but a valuable medicine among the peasantry, subsisting, as they do, so much upon a crude and milky diet, not easy of digestion. It was offered to Mr. B. during his illness, by a rustic host, with strong commendations.

Note (H.) page 268, line 17.

_Glaciers._

The height of these glaciers, at their utmost point, is 9268 feet above the level of the sea. Voltaire might well say,

"Ces monts sourcilleux,
Qui pressent les enfers, et qui fendent les cieux."

But there is another point of view in which the natural philosopher will contemplate these stupendous mountains with admiration and gratitude: I mean as being the immense and inexhaustible reservoirs of those springs and rivers which make so essential a part in the beautiful and beneficial economy of nature. In these particular regions will be found the sources of the Rhone, the Rhine, and the Tessin, with a multitude of other rivers; and some idea of the enormous quantity of water that they produce may be formed from the known fact, that the magnificent lake of Geneva (measuring above twenty-six square leagues) is raised ten feet and a half, by the mere melting of the snows during the summer. Strawberries of the finest flavour may be gathered almost at the very edge of the ice, and the adjoining woods are full of wild flowers.

Note (I.) page 271, line 14.

_Mines of gold, silver, and lead._

It has been thought by some, that it is not so much from the poverty of the state as from a moral policy that the exploration of these dangerous productions has been purposely discouraged. This is the nobler reason of the two. Haller (the favourite poet of the Swiss) in his poem on the Alps, exclaims, "The shepherd of the Alps sees these treasures flow beneath his feet--what an example to mankind! he lets them flow on." And he feels a security in the rude simplicity of his country, that holds out nothing to tempt the invasion of avarice or ambition--

"Tout son front hérissé, n'offre aux desirs de l'homme
Rien qui puisse tenter l'avarice de Rome."

_Crebillon, dans Rhadamiste._

Note (J.) page 273, line 11.

_For which this place is celebrated._

Among other interesting objects to be seen here are the cabinets of natural history of Monsieur de Saussure, so well known for his scientific and enterprising researches, and of Monsieur de Luc. Petrifactions of the _oursis_, or sea hedgehog, and of the _corni d'ammon_, are preserved in this collection, which were found in the Alps of Savoy, 7844 feet above the level of the sea.

Note (K.) page 275, line 12.

_Powerless and inadequate._

It will not, I am sure, be unacceptable to the reader if I here transcribe part of the beautiful description to which I have alluded. Speaking (in Letter 23) of the exhilarating but soothing effect of the mountain air, he says--"Il semble qu'en s'elevant au-dessûs du sejour des hommes, on y laisse tous les sentimens bas et terrestres; et qu'à mesure qu'on approche des regions ethereés, l'ame contracte quelque chose de leur inalterable pureté: on y est grave sans melancholie, paisible sans indolence, content d'être et de penser. Les plaisirs y sont moins ardens, les passions plus modereés. Tous les desirs trop vifs, s'emoussent; ils perdent cette point aigue qui les rendent douloureux; il ne laissent au fond du coeur qu'une emotion legère et douce, et c'est ainsi qu'un heureux climat, fait servir à la felicité de l'homme, les passions qui font ailleurs son tourment." Without being so unfortunate as to possess Rousseau's irritable temper and fiery passions, any person of sensibility must be forcibly struck by the truth of these remarks, in passing through the same scenes.

Note (L.) page 291, line 21.

_Lake of Morat._

This lake in severe winters freezes sufficiently to bear the heaviest loads. There is a popular and vulgar idea in the country, that whoever falls into this lake can no more be recovered; but another quality attached to it (of rather superior probability) is, that its fish are of so excellent a nature, as to sell, in time of Lent, at two _creutzers_ a pound dearer than those of any other. One cannot see without surprise, and even a degree of indignant concern, that the ancient chapel, containing the bones of the Bourguignons, slain by the Swiss (then the allies of Louis XI.) in 1476, should be no longer in existence. These remains of mortality were, when we beheld them, thrown upon the ground, totally unsheltered from the air, in a most careless and irreverent manner. Formerly (I have heard) the inhabitants of Morat used to celebrate the anniversary of this national triumph with feast and song. Voltaire, in his "Mélange de Poesies," alludes to this triumph of liberty in some truly elevated lines.

Note (M.) page 293, line 2.

_Tan-coloured wood._

This is the cleft fir of which the cottages here are constructed. They have galleries running round the outsides, protected by the projecting roofs. Sometimes thatch is used; but in the more mountainous parts of the country they are tiled (if I may be allowed the expression) with pieces of slit wood, which are kept firm by the weight of large stones lying upon them: the whole having a most picturesque appearance. The wide projection of these roofs not only secures their galleries from the snows, but affords convenient shelter for their fire-wood and various other articles. A granary is sometimes built over the dwelling-rooms at the top of these houses, which is rendered attainable by means of a sort of bridge (moveable, I rather think), upon which we ourselves witnessed the singular spectacle of a cart and horses conveying a load of grain to this exalted store-chamber. These wooden fabrics, although one would not suppose so, are warmer than those of brick or stone; but then, in case of fire, its ravage is dreadful, from the quantity of turpentine contained in the fir planks.

Note (N.) page 295, line 24.

_The Alps._

The Alps of Switzerland are certainly the highest points of Europe. But however elevated these mountains may be, and removed as they now are, a hundred leagues from the sea, there can be no doubt of their having once been covered by its waters. This is clearly demonstrated by the fossile maritime remains which are found in some of their highest parts, as well as by those of shells, fishes, and animals, now only existing in other quarters of the globe. What astonishing changes the surface of our earth has undergone in periods anterior to the Mosaic history, may be contemplated from the circumstance of the petrified trunk of the palm-tree, and the bones of elephants, being found in Siberia.

Note (O.) page 308, line 1.

_William Tell._

Although the limited time for our tour did not permit us to visit either the Lac de Thoun, or the village of Kussnacht, both of them consecrated in the eyes of the Swiss, by the chapels built there in memory of Guillaume Tell, travellers must not leave Switzerland without some mention of this renowned patriot. It was at the latter place that the tyrant Ghessler fell by his hand. There is (we were told) a tolerably painted representation of the occurrence on the walls of the chapel, and under it the following inscription in German verse, the French translation of which is this:

"Ici a eté tué par Tell, l'orgueilleux Ghessler. Ici est le berceau de la noble liberté des Suisses, 1307. Combien durerâ t'elle? Encore long tems, pourvu que nous ressemblions à nos ancêtres."

Note (P.) page 215, line 13.

_The rhododendron._

This is the _rhododendron ferrugineum_, which is not much cultivated in our gardens.

Note (Q.) page 216, line 18.

_Over the doors._

What a stupendous conception must the reader form to himself of this range of mountains, when I tell him, that the ascent and descent make together forty-two miles.

Note (R.) page 312, line 25.

_Soleure._

Near Soleure is the hermitage of St. Frêne. No traveller, I am assured, should miss seeing this beautiful and romantic spot. That we unfortunately did so was owing only to our not having been previously aware of its existence.

Note (S.) page 332, line 12.

_Avenue as usual._

I ought (in justice) to have recollected, when I exclaimed so much against them, that in forming these roads, convenience, not taste, was consulted. No one can be more grateful to the powers of convenience than myself; but it is difficult to reconcile a lover of the picturesque to so cruel a divorce between the _utile et dolce_.

THE END.

LONDON:
PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.

Transcriber's Notes

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

No attempt was made to correct the diacritics in French.

Space removed: "green[ ]gages" (p. 31), "for[ ]ever" (p. 317).

Hyphen added: "above[-]mentioned" (p. 128).

Hyphen removed: "water[-]fall" (p. 238), "way[-]side" (p. 288).

Alternate spellings not changed: "Champagne" / "Champaigne", "Anglais" / "Anglois".

P. 22: "farewel" changed to "farewell" (her farewell performance).

P. 25: "aad" changed to "and" (sullenness and malignity).

P. 61: "broood" changed to "brood" (their young brood).

P. 105: "Shakspeare's" changed to "Shakespeare's" (Shakespeare's "spinners and knitters in the sun").

P. 198: "reblance" changed to "resemblance" (it bore some resemblance).

P. 273: "Jaques" changed to "Jacques" (Rue de Jean Jacques Rousseau).

P. 275: "recal" changed to "recall" (while I recall his magical description).

P. 322: duplicate "in" removed (all dressed in their gayest costume).