Hotel d'Angleterre, January 15th.--On Tuesday morning, (12th) we took our
departure from the Hotel de Louvre. It is a most excellent and perfectly
ordered hotel, and I have not seen a more magnificent hall, in any
palace, than the dining-saloon, with its profuse gilding, and its
ceiling, painted in compartments; so that when the chandeliers are all
alight, it looks a fit place for princes to banquet in, and not very fit
for the few Americans whom I saw scattered at its long tables.
By the by, as we drove to the railway, we passed through the public
square, where the Bastille formerly stood; and in the centre of it now
stands a column, surmounted by a golden figure of Mercury (I think),
which seems to be just on the point of casting itself from a gilt ball
into the air. This statue is so buoyant, that the spectator feels quite
willing to trust it to the viewless element, being as sure that it would
be borne up as that a bird would fly.
Our first day's journey was wholly without interest, through a country
entirely flat, and looking wretchedly brown and barren. There were rows
of trees, very slender, very prim and formal; there was ice wherever
there happened to be any water to form it; there were occasional
villages, compact little streets, or masses of stone or plastered
cottages, very dirty and with gable ends and earthen roofs; and a
succession of this same landscape was all that we saw, whenever we rubbed
away the congelation of our breath from the carriage windows. Thus we
rode on, all day long, from eleven o'clock, with hardly a five minutes'
stop, till long after dark, when we came to Dijon, where there was a halt
of twenty-five minutes for dinner. Then we set forth again, and rumbled
forward, through cold and darkness without, until we reached Lyons at
about ten o'clock. We left our luggage at the railway station, and took
an omnibus for the Hotel de Provence, which we chose at a venture, among
a score of other hotels.
As this hotel was a little off the direct route of the omnibus, the
driver set us down at the corner of a street, and pointed to some lights,
which he said designated the Hotel do Provence; and thither we proceeded,
all seven of us, taking along a few carpet-bags and shawls, our equipage
for the night. The porter of the hotel met us near its doorway, and
ushered us through an arch, into the inner quadrangle, and then up some
old and worn steps,--very broad, and appearing to be the principal
staircase. At the first landing-place, an old woman and a waiter or two
received us; and we went up two or three more flights of the same broad
and worn stone staircases. What we could see of the house looked very
old, and had the musty odor with which I first became acquainted at
Chester.
After ascending to the proper level, we were conducted along a
corridor, paved with octagonal earthen tiles; on one side were
windows, looking into the courtyard, on the other doors opening into the
sleeping-chambers. The corridor was of immense length, and seemed still
to lengthen itself before us, as the glimmer of our conductor's candle
went farther and farther into the obscurity. Our own chamber was at a
vast distance along this passage; those of the rest of the party were on
the hither side; but all this immense suite of rooms appeared to
communicate by doors from one to another, like the chambers through which
the reader wanders at midnight, in Mrs. Radcliffe's romances. And they
were really splendid rooms, though of an old fashion, lofty, spacious,
with floors of oak or other wood, inlaid in squares and crosses,
and waxed till they were slippery, but without carpets. Our own
sleeping-room had a deep fireplace, in which we ordered a fire, and asked
if there were not some saloon already warmed, where we could get a cup of
tea.
Hereupon the waiter led us back along the endless corridor, and down the
old stone staircases, and out into the quadrangle, and journeyed with us
along an exterior arcade, and finally threw open the door of the salle a
manger, which proved to be a room of lofty height, with a vaulted roof, a
stone floor, and interior spaciousness sufficient for a baronial hall,
the whole bearing the same aspect of times gone by, that characterized
the rest of the house. There were two or three tables covered with white
cloth, and we sat down at one of them and had our tea. Finally we wended
back to our sleeping-rooms,--a considerable journey, so endless seemed
the ancient hotel. I should like to know its history.
The fire made our great chamber look comfortable, and the fireplace threw
out the heat better than the little square hole over which we cowered in
our saloon at the Hotel de Louvre. . . . .
In the morning we began our preparations for starting at ten. Issuing
into the corridor, I found a soldier of the line, pacing to and fro there
as sentinel. Another was posted in another corridor, into which I
wandered by mistake; another stood in the inner court-yard, and another
at the porte-cochere. They were not there the night before, and I know
not whence nor why they came, unless that some officer of rank may have
taken up his quarters at the hotel. Miss M------ says she heard at
Paris, that a considerable number of troops had recently been drawn
together at Lyons, in consequence of symptoms of disaffection that have
recently shown themselves here.
Before breakfast I went out to catch a momentary glimpse of the city.
The street in which our hotel stands is near a large public square; in
the centre is a bronze equestrian statue of Louis XIV.; and the square
itself is called the Place de Louis le Grand. I wonder where this statue
hid itself while the Revolution was raging in Lyons, and when the
guillotine, perhaps, stood on that very spot.
The square was surrounded by stately buildings, but had what seemed to be
barracks for soldiers,--at any rate, mean little huts, deforming its
ample space; and a soldier was on guard before the statue of Louis le
Grand. It was a cold, misty morning, and a fog lay throughout the area,
so that I could scarcely see from one side of it to the other.
Returning towards our hotel, I saw that it had an immense front, along
which ran, in gigantic letters, its title,--