MORPHY IN FRANCE.
On the last day of last August, I awakened Paul Morphy at an early hour.
The Folkestone train left London Bridge at 9 55 A. M., and there was some
twenty minutes of hard driving to get to the railway station; but Morphy
came down to breakfast with admirable _sang froid_, took his own time at
the meal, laughed at my fears of being too late, and got into a cab at
least ten minutes later than we ought to have done. We arrived at the
depot in time to see the doors shut in our faces. Now this was not
agreeable, inasmuch as there was no other train for Paris, by that line,
during the day. I therefore proposed to Morphy that we should stroll about
until half-past one o'clock in the afternoon, and then take the route
through Dover and Calais, to which he assented.
The trip across the Straits of Dover is neither long nor pleasant, and Mr.
Morphy was dreadfully sea-sick; but his mind was preoccupied with his
forthcoming campaigns in _la Belle France_, and he observed to me, "Well,
now I am going to meet Harrwitz! I shall beat him in the same proportion
as I beat Loewenthal, although he is a better match-player than Loewenthal.
But I shall play better with Harrwitz." Some of my readers may object to
such an observation; but those who know Morphy, know that he speaks from
thorough acquaintance with his opponents' capabilities, and conviction of
his own superiority--not from any improper feeling of pride.
People suffering from sea-sickness generally recognize the truth of the
maxim, "It is better to give than to receive:" you have much difficulty in
getting them to take any thing, even fat pork; but if you watch your
opportunity, when the will is stronger than the deed, and induce them to
worry down a modicum of champagne well up, you infuse new life into them.
So I requested the steward to make us acquainted with his Sillery
Mousseux, and Morphy and I toasted each other on the deck of the
steamboat. On my asking him immediately afterwards how he felt, he allowed
that he was better; adding, however, that he believed it was nothing but
imagination which worked the cure.
It was but a short run to the pier of Calais, and the sea-sickness was
forgotten when our feet again touched _terra firma_. On landing, we got
into a slight difficulty. Morphy speaks the French language with the
purest Gallic accent, and the officials would not at first consent to his
travelling with a United States passport. This our hero soon cleared up by
reading the _gens d'armes_ a _precis_ of the settlement, manners,
customs, &c., of the State of Louisiana, and his own antecedents;
whereupon that official restored him his _papier regle_, but confiscated a
quantity of underlinen. They told us that was Customary.
Eight o'clock in the evening; and if we took the train forthwith, we
should arrive in Paris next morning at six. Morphy proposed that we should
sleep there that night, and take an early train the following day, which
course would enable us to see the town of Calais. So we repaired to the
Hotel Dessin, attended to our inner and outer man, and then prepared for a
stroll. As the result of our observations, we agreed Calais must have been
a magnificent town before the discovery of the principles of architecture.
After diligent inquiry, we could not learn that any one knew when the last
house was built, and Morphy gave it as his opinion that, were William the
Conqueror to revisit Calais, he would find it unchanged, except in being
dirtier. When I reminded him that the town possessed peculiar interest for
me as an Englishman, he coolly set me down, by observing that he had a
very poor opinion of my ancestors for wishing to keep such a place.
The next morning we got into the train at a quarter to eight o'clock, and
commenced the long, dreary ride of ten mortal hours to Paris. But there
was no way out of the difficulty, and, what with yawning and dozing
between the stations, and grumbling at the tedious regulation speed of the
French railways, we ultimately arrived at the capital. Now every
traveller, on getting to this point, thinks he is bound to paint the
various emotions arising in his breast on entering the city of the Seine.
My own sensations were of strong Anglican bias. I wanted to dine. Morphy
is never betrayed into rhapsody, and what he felt he didn't speak.
Having again submitted our baggage to the inspection of numerous
officials, we thanked our stars for seeing the last of the _Chemin de Fer
du Nord_,--drove off to _Meurice's_, where they gave us rooms about the
fifteenth story,--started for the _Restaurant des Trois Freres
Provencaux_, and got a capital dinner, and then addressed ourselves to the
duties of _flaneurs_. I knew the French capital like a _gamin de Paris_;
and, without saying a word to Morphy of my intention, I led him quietly
down the Palais Royal, past the Theatre Francais, and right into the Cafe
de la Regence.