_Miss Henrietta Julia Wiggins, on her Travels, to Miss Adelaide
Theresa Ditto, in Bucklersbury. With a short Postscript from
Mamma, and another from Papa._
"_Ma chère Sœur_—According to promise, I now send you the journal of my
tour; but, _hélas!_ if you expect it has been a happy one, you _trompez_
yourself most sadly. _Mon dieu!_ the sufferings we have undergone! _Mais
voilà_ the journal.
"MONDAY, SEPT. 1.—Embarked on board the "Emerald" steamer at London
Bridge for Boulogne, at one o'clock in the morning, after having passed
a miserable night in packing up, and trying to go to sleep in easy
chairs. Pa complaining of symptoms of lumbago.—All the berths taken,
mostly by gentlemen—or rather, by monsters in the form of gentlemen.
_Mon dieu!_ what brutes the English men are! to suffer us poor helpless
_femelles_ to pass the night on deck, while they are snoring away
comfortably in the cabins! Ma's blue silk pelisse was soon put _hors de
combat_ by the nasty tar and stuff, and my new French-white bonnet was
turned into a regular London smoke in ten minutes by the horrid
chimney.—Ma has made the acquaintance of a very nice _Dame Française_,
who speaks pretty good English, and abounds in anecdotes about _la
grande nation_. Also, has kindly taken charge of one of Ma's _sacs de
nuit_; as she says the French _douaniers_ won't allow people to land
more than one carpet-bag a-piece, and Ma not choosing to leave her
valuables at the mercy of those _vilains bêtes_, the custom-house
officers. _Moi aussi, j'ai fait connaissance_ with a charming fellow,
the _Marquís de Mandeville_, a young _militaire_, in black moustaches
and a green foraging cap.—Marquis beginning to make himself very
agreeable; in fact, becoming quite _amoureux_, when both taken suddenly
ill, and obliged to part. Ah! Adelaide dear! it's a sad change, from
love-sick to sea-sick! French lady very kind, and asked me if I had the
_mal de mere_—thought she meant "my mother's complaint," which you know
is rheumatism in the hips—answered accordingly, and got horribly laughed
at by a lot of rude fellows in make-believe sailors' jackets.—Ma next
attacked—Pa next—_tout le monde_ soon in the same plight. Sensation
dreadful—headache worse and worse—Ma wanted to be set down at Dover, but
Captain wouldn't hear of it. French lady very attentive—_would_ fetch
tumblers of brandy and water for Pa and Ma and me—couldn't drink a drop—
_she_ did, and wasn't sick at all. Obliged to stop my journal—so very
ill.
"TUESDAY, _Boulogne_—Landed here half dead, having lost the tide, and
obliged to pass another night at sea. All very ill. Pa's lumbago
confirmed, and Ma's rheumatism _très mal_.—Unable to go to Paris; and
our places having been paid for all the way, obliged to forfeit the
money; Pa very cross, Ma very uncomfortable. 5 O'CLOCK, P.M.—Pa has just
been in to say that the French lady refuses to give up Ma's _sac de
nuit_, containing all her valuables; and that, as it was landed in her
name, there's no remedy.—A call from Marquis—advises us not to make a
rumpus about it, for fear of being taken up as smugglers. His lordship's
valet not being yet arrived, under the unpleasant necessity of borrowing
five pounds of Pa. Pa very suspicious, until Marquis showed us his
passport, where they have taken him two black eyes, a nose _aquilin_,
black _cheveux_, and five feet three inches of _taille_. Only think,
Adelaide dear! what a picture of a lover!
"WEDNESDAY.—Passed a dreadful night, not having been able to sleep a
wink for the _punaises_. Ma bit all over, and her face as big as two.
_Moi aussi_, my eyes completely swelled up, all but one little corner,
just enough to see what a fright I am in the looking-glass. Unable to
get any assistance from the people at the inn, our _manuel du voyageur_
not containing any dialogue between a chambermaid and a lady bitten by
bugs; and Pauline, Ma's maid, that she hired by advertisement, having
left us the moment we landed, her only motive in engaging herself at all
being to get her passage paid back to her native country.—Can't get
anything that we can eat at the inn, and reduced to sea biscuits and
water. I have again tried to make our wants known to the _fille de
chambre_, but without success, they _do_ speak such very bad French in
the provinces—quite a _patois_, in fact. Hope we shall do better in
Paris.—Marquis called, and recommended Pa to hire a _valet de place_.
Kindly undertook to provide him one, who speaks French and English, and
understands the horrible _patois_ of the Boulognese. This will take a
good deal off my hands, who am obliged to be _interpreteur_ to the whole
party.—_Alexis_, the new _valet de place_, arrives.—Got something
eatable at last, and are to start for Paris _demain matin_.
"THURSDAY.—Up at five. _Déjeûner_, and start for Paris at seven—Marquis
in same _diligence_. Weather dreadfully hot. Rival diligence got the
start, and _will_ keep before us all day, the French laws not allowing
one coach to pass another. Dust dreadful—and worse for us than any of
the rest, as we had taken our seats in front of the _voiture_, for the
sake of seeing the country—and, after all, no country to see. Proposed
to some _gentilhommes_ inside to change places with Ma and me; but met
with a flat refusal. Begin to think French gentlemen are not much more
_poli_ than English ones.—Dined at Abbeville, and arrived at Amiens late
at night, very tired and ill.
"FRIDAY.—Up at five, after a sleepless night. Started at seven. Heat
_comme hier_—dust _ditto_: _two_ diligences before us.—Dined, or rather
_table d'hôte'd_ (which is a very different thing) at Clermont. Didn't
eat an ounce all three of us, but obliged to pay five francs a-piece for
our dinners—and, as we had no francs left, the people kindly consented
to take English shillings instead.—Ma and I quite ill, from heat, and
dust, and fasting, and one thing or another; and Pa's lumbago much worse
since the heavy thunderstorm which soaked thro' his waterproof hat, and
ran off his Mackintosh into his shoes, till they were all of a squash.—
Seeing our distress, three French gentlemen inside kindly consented to
relinquish their seats in our favour, an offer which we gladly accepted.
The French are really polite, _après tout!_—10 O'CLOCK, _à la nuit!_—
Arrived in Paris at the _Hotel de Lyon_, the Marquis very politely
handing us out, and seeing us to our room.—Rather annoyed by Pa's coming
in and kicking up a rumpus about the gentlemen who had taken our paid
places on the _première banquette_, and who had left him to pay for the
three insides all the way from Boulogne.—Marquis very _aimable_, and
gave us all a pressing invitation to pay him a visit at his _château_ in
_La Vendée_.
"SATURDAY.—The Marquis to breakfast.—With his Lordship to the _Jardin
des Plantes_, where we had no sooner arrived among the lions and tigers
than it began to rain cats and dogs. The noble Marquis very kind in
holding the umbrella over him and me, and sending Pa to call a coach at
the neighbouring coach-stand. Pa _très long-tems_ away—at last saw him
coming along in the custody of two _gend'armes_, covered with mud and
dirt, and bleeding profusely. Learned that poor Pa, instead of calling
'_cocher_,' as he ought to have done, had called the man '_cochon_,'
which, you know, means 'pig;' at which the coachman at first laughed;
but Pa persisting in calling him '_cochon_,' he at last got down in a
rage, and attacked Pa most furiously. I am sorry to say, poor Pa got
_terriblement maltraité_. Ma has been in fits ever since, and Pa won't
be able to go out for weeks. _Pour moi_, I am as ill as any one can be—
nothing but the Marquis's kindness keeps me alive...."
"P.S.—SUNDAY.—My dearest child! Your unhappy mother sends you this. Your
deluded sister disappeared last night with the Marquis de Mandevil,
leaving this unfinished letter on her table, and your Pa and me both
heart-broken. I am too ill to write any more.
Your miserable mother,
BERTHA WIGGINS."
"P.S.—MONDAY.—Dear daughter! Your distressed father sends you this. Your
unhappy mother eloped last night with that villain _Alexis_—and all the
luggage. I have discovered that he and the Marquis are a couple of
sharpers. A pretty week we have made of it!
Your wretched father,
BARTHOLOMEW WIGGINS."