Paris: Palace de Concorde: Champs Elysees: The Bois de Boulogne: The
extensive Boulevards: The River Seine, etc.: Leaving Paris: Arrive at
Dijon: Our Hotel: Dijon, its Churches, etc.: Our journey to Chambery,
etc.
The Place de la Concorde. Here we were pointed out was a place where a
terrible struggle took place between the Germans and the French in 1871.
The work of devastation and ruin was only too apparent. We drove to the
Champs Elysees. This is a most lovely place, with a broad avenue a mile
long, with trees on each side of all sorts, and grass lawns and flower
beds in the greatest profusion. Here wander carelessly the gay crowds,
or sit in beautiful little cafes under the spreading branches of the
trees. In the groves around the children are swarming, shouting, and
playing. We noticed there was the ever-loved of children, “The Punch and
Judy,” also with stalls with toys, gingerbread, etc., etc.
[Picture: The Bastille Column, Paris] When the darkness gathers and the
numerous and brilliant gas jets are lighted, stretching for the distance
of more than a mile, and music and song float on the air, the scene is
very fascinating. It is said, that along this broad avenue, in 1871,
Paris with suppressed rage—watched the last of the German army disappear.
Our jarvey then drove us to the Bois de Boulogne, which is not far from
here. This is a grand promenade for chariots and horses, a little like
our Rotten Row, in London. There are here to be seen lakes, islands,
caverns, artificial mounds, avenues, and, indeed, everything to make a
most charming retreat from the busy city life. The Champ de Mars is
another of the open spaces. Napoleon, before the famous battle of
Waterloo, held his last review of the grand army of France here. Again,
in 1852, 60,000 soldiers were brought together on the occasion of the
distribution of eagles to the different regiments, also several Arabs, in
native costume, as representative of the vanquished Algerian tribes. And
here again, sad to say, in 1871, the Germans levelled their dreadful
“mitrailleuse” and shot down, in their helplessness, many of the French.
We can hardly leave Paris without saying further that the boulevards of
Paris are a great boon and joy to the city. Whatever may be thought or
said of the career of Napoleon III., in fourteen years he spent
£60,000,000 in building seventy miles of streets and two hundred
boulevards, eight churches, eighty schools, twelve wonderful bridges, and
planted fifty thousand trees. All added ultimately to the wealth as well
as the attractions of the city. To describe the streets is a task I
shall not attempt. They are called Rue—as Rue Lafitte, Rue de la
Chausse, Rue de la Victorie, Rue St. Dennis. The numerous places and
things in and around Paris that call for remarks are legion, but I must
forbear, only to give one passing reference to the river Seine and its
many bridges. Pont Notre Dame or the bridge of Our Lady, dates from the
fifteenth century; a bridge of later date, we were told, was made of
wood, and fell into the river taking sixty houses with it. This is a
fine bridge built of solid masonry. The Pont d’Arcole is a suspension
bridge for foot passengers only. The Pont Neuf was built by Henry IV.
There is a bronze horse on the bridge which was cast in Tuscany. On its
way to Paris, the vessel bringing it was wrecked off the Norman coast,
and lay for a year at the bottom of the sea. It was ultimately fished up
and brought to its present position. And now I must leave, for a time at
least, any further reference to Paris, only to say we settled our account
at the Hotel and drove off to Gare-de-Lyon to catch the train at 10.25
for Dijon. Our driver was a very interesting sort of Frenchman, and
tried to explain and show us places and things, but we were little the
better for his attempts to enlighten us. We reached the station early,
and were soon steaming away through France, and as we did so, we came to
the conclusion it was as fair a land as e’er we had set eyes on; miles of
lovely lawns; hedges cut and trimmed as if by a barber; the poplar trees
rising in rows, long and even, all in order and beauty; then the rivers
here and there rolling along, between grassy banks, and the lovely fat
looking cattle browsing or sleeping in soft sunshine; cosy cottages,
almost buried in bowers of roses; quaint old world villages, with
red-tiled cottages; and stately churches with ivy covered towers, made
one think of the poet who sang:—
“Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines,
O, pleasant land of France.”
We had very comfortable seats in the train, and our travelling
companions, I think, saw we were foreigners, therefore did not trouble us
with any conversation. The country scenery we passed was charming, as
the autumn tints were visible upon the trees; also the rich corn harvest
was gathered in, and stacks of wheat were plentiful. Labourers we could
see in the fields tilling the soil for next year’s produce. The country
we passed through in our journey from Paris to Dijon (our next stop) is
comparatively flat, slightly undulating in places, and I should think the
soil is of a rich nature. About 6 o’clock we arrived at Dijon, and soon
were out of the train and into the hotel ’bus. We had arranged
beforehand our hotel from a list supplied from “Cook & Sons.” Here we
had chosen the “Grand Hotel de la Cloche,” or we should call it the “Bell
Hotel.” After having secured our apartments—which were of a first-class
order, most profusely decorated and richly furnished, and clean beyond
description—we had a wash, and found table-de-hote was ready, and we were
ready too. A well prepared and well served dinner of eight courses;
wines free and abundant to those who cared to have it; indeed, a bottle
of the French red wine was placed to each individual at the table; fruit
in abundance. A very good company, and apparently very jolly. All were
foreigners, either French, German or Italian. After dessert we went for
a little while to the smoke room, and then to bed. We slept well until
very early in the morning, when a terrible storm of thunder and lightning
broke over the town—it was very startling, being so severe. We learned,
when at breakfast, that a woman had been struck by lightning close by our
hotel; she, however, was not killed.
Dijon lies in a valley, the river Onche runs through it, and a beautiful
undulating piece of land, covered with vines, lies to the left of the
town, which is nearly 200 miles from Paris. It has now, I believe, a
population of about 50,000. We took the best means of seeing it in the
short time at our disposal, by hiring a car. One of the most
jolly-looking Frenchmen I ever saw, with a face as round and red as an
apple, his horse was just as fat as a horse could be, and he cared for it
as if it was human, or even more than some human beings are cared for.
He drove us to some lovely gardens where there was a fine lake and a
fountain which was then playing. Having my Kodak with me I took a
snap-shot, though I regret to say, I did not get a good picture. We
drove to the lovely Cathedral of St. Boniface, built, we were told, for
the third time in the twelfth century. The spire is very fine, rising to
a height of 300 feet. We also visited St. Michael’s, which is Grecian in
its exterior, but it is Gothic in its interior. We passed a very old
Carmelite Church with rich carving about the entrance, and a fine old
carved oak door. On the steps sat two old men resting, typical of the
labouring class of France. I just managed to get a snap-shot. There is
a fine town hall, which shows itself to great advantage. We learnt it
was at one time the Palace of the Duke of Burgundy, and had then a very
large collection of scientific and art subjects, and a library of 50,000
volumes. Dijon is one of the loveliest towns of France. It has in it
some manufacturies as woollen cloth, blankets, glue, baskets, mustard
oil, saltpetre, and there is also a brewery. At the time of the Roman
invasion, it is said, Cæsar fixed and fortified a camp near here. The
Germans attacked it in 1871, and it capitulated on October 23rd of that
year, after a long and severe struggle, and was made, for the time being
(to the great chagrin of the inhabitants) the head-quarters of the German
General Werder. Having made as full an acquaintance of the place as we
could in the short time at our disposal, we paid our hotel account and
found ourselves again at the railway station. Here I had a long and
angry altercation with the ticket examiner. I understood him to say our
tickets were for another route; I closely scanned them, and assured him
in the best French at my command, our tickets were in order, and, after
considerable difficulty, he consented to our passing the stile and
getting, to the train. Again we were on rail, comfortably fixed and
destined for Chambery. We had not left Dijon long before we noticed the
vine-clad hills, which indicated our approach to the South of France, and
Alpine hills. The scenery grew more beautiful as we sped along towards
our destination. We were able not only to enjoy the views as we passed
villages and hamlets—but were able to get a fairly good square meal on
the train. We arrived safely at Chambery about 5 o’clock, and as usual
we had fixed upon an hotel. This time it is Hotel de France, and we were
soon in a rumbling old ’bus and driven to a very quiet part of this quiet
sleepy little town. We found it fairly comfortable, and a hostess who
had a robust and bonny appearance, and whose welcome in the French
fashion was all we could wish. Our rooms were lofty and rather barely
furnished. There was a feeling of chilliness about the place, but we
were only staying for one night, so would put up with it. A good hot
table-de-hote dinner, and we felt better. To bed at an early hour, was
our habit, and here we did not break it. A good night’s rest, and I was
stirring early to look round and get information. It is a town of about
13,000 inhabitants. An Archbishop resides here (of the Romish Church) of
course. It has some manufacturies in silk gauze, watches, leather, etc.
I saw some soldiers on horseback on parade and took a snap-shot. Also
two fine bullocks pulling a wagon of timber. We had a very good
breakfast, as our hostess was most gracious and obliging. We settled up
accounts, which we found on a moderate scale, indeed, cheaper than a
similar hotel in England. We started for the station on foot, the
morning being fine, while a porter conveyed our luggage on a wheelbarrow.
Arriving in good time at the station we managed to get good comfortable
corner seats, so we could “view the landscape o’er” at our leisure. We
soon found it was worth surveying, for we were nearing the Alps. On our
left, some fifty miles or more—Geneva and, between the city and Chambery,
lay a rugged mountainous district scarcely matched in any part of the
world. For an hour or more we watched the changing scenery with an
intense interest.