Well merited attentions to St. Anthony—The young Countess de
S—.—Leeches paying postilions better than the English—General de
Boigne—Lemenc and its antiquities—Droit de dépouille of the
Bénédictines—Their agreement with the nobles of Chambéry—Ancient
vaults beneath the church—Colossal statues feared by the good
people of Chambéry—Tomb of an Irish Primate—Calvary—Monument of
General de Boigne—His low birth—His struggles—His success in
India—The death of his benefactor Sindiah—His gratitude shown
towards his heir—The story of his betrayal of Tippoo Saib
unfounded—His arrival in England—His marriage with the Marquis of
Osmond’s daughter an unhappy one—His return to Chambéry—His
benefactions—Created Count—His death—Aix—Its antiquities—Tower
and Cascade of Grésy—The friend of Queen Hortense—Her fate—Her
monument—Rumilly—Its convent—Siege by Louis the Thirteenth—The
courage of a nun—The three privileged houses and discipline of a
French soldiery—Frangy, an impertinent innkeeper—Fanny’s
wisdom—L’Éluiset—A sweet evening—A bad night—A welcome
dawning—Geneva—The fusillades of 94—The Secheron.
Another procession in honour of St. Anthony, a tribute of gratitude he
would merit were all tales true. I said we had ridden to the cascade du
Bout du Monde, which lies on the left of the Montmeillan road, green
lanes and crooked paths leading thither along the bank of the river.
Once on a time the rapid melting of the snows caused the cascade’s
sudden increase, and the river overflowing, threatened destruction to
the faubourg Montmeillan. In their fear the inhabitants besought St.
Anthony, who was no sooner invoked than the waters stopped at the
entrance of the faubourg. This day was the anniversary of the miracle.
The street was lined with green boughs, and hangings depended from its
windows; one of them, opposite our inn, was a hearth rug on a curtain
pole—grenadiers and military music preceded long ranks of young girls
in white veils carrying lilies in token of the saint’s purity; but as
white lilies are scarce, those only of the priests, which are
artificial, bore the virgin hue, all the rest being orange-coloured! A
priest carried in the palm of his hand a small gilded St. Anthony.
Instead of the white-robed men and women, we had the whole contents of
the monastery of begging friars in their gowns and cowls of
unwholesome-looking brown serge, with half shaven heads and dirty
beards and soiled feet sandalled—mostly fat, notwithstanding their
condition of mendicants. After the procession followed breakfasts,
their expense defrayed by collections made by and _for_ the faithful
who eat them in the saint’s honour.
Those who make Chambéry a residence find it cheap and agreeable, as its
society is good and not difficult of access. It is surrounded with
chateaux, many of which are let on reasonable terms, while furnished
apartments in the town itself are to be had from 600 to 1000 francs
yearly. Meat is 7 sous a-pound. Forage extremely low, fruit and milk to
be had almost for the asking, good wine 8 sous a bottle. We had a proof
of their being a kindly, unceremonious people. In our rides we have
sometimes met a young lady on horseback, the Comtesse de S——, with
her brothers. We were told she was anxious to make our acquaintance,
and that it was the easiest thing in the world, as we need only ride up
to her chateau, where we should be well received; but as we are to
remain but some days longer, we are unwilling to do what would merely
be a source of regret, particularly as we know her history. She is a
sweet looking, fair girl; her family one of the most ancient and
richest here: her father is a very old man; her mother died in her
infancy, and she was almost brought up by a sister ten years older than
herself, who was, I am told, a beautiful and amiable young woman. They
had three brothers, all in the army, and were a very united family. The
youngest daughter was eight or ten years old, when her sister, who had
always been remarkably pious, one morning went to mass as usual, but
when it was over did not return. The terrified father, for her brothers
were each with his regiment, sought for her in vain; she had not been
seen in her usual place at church, nor was she to be heard of
elsewhere. The next day a letter arrived, dated from the convent at
Annecy: “she had,” she said, “accomplished a project formed many years
before,” and was never again to return to the home she had quitted, or
the child to whom she had been as a mother.
She merely told her resolution, and desired that such necessaries as
she had not with her should be sent without delay. The convent to which
she had gone was a branch of that of Lemenc, and her arrangements had
probably been made beforehand. The nuns, who should have refused to
receive the mistaken girl, encouraged her resolution, persuaded her of
the truth of her vocation, and rendered vain the prayers and
remonstrances of her heart-broken parent. He remembered that, when a
child, she often expressed her intention of becoming a nun, and his
sorrow was increased by the despair of his remaining daughter, who also
determined on leaving a world in which she felt forsaken. The brothers
were summoned home and opposed her resolution as they had vainly done
that of the novice. The latter had taken the veil, and her family one
day visiting her, she received them standing behind her convent grate,
while a nun remained to repress by her presence any emotions which
might seem hurtful to the weal of the order. Its heartless laws forbade
her touching the offered hands of her father and brothers, and they
quitted her with a still stronger determination to save their young
sister from a like sacrifice. One of her affectionate brothers for her
sake abandoned his profession, fearing the loneliness of her home; a
second has obtained a prolongation of leave to aid in watching over her
till she is settled in life. She is not fond of general society, but
mild and timid; and of all the amusements she has been induced to share
in, likes only riding, and passes almost every evening on her small
chestnut horse in her brothers’ company. As she is rich and sovereign
in her father’s house, her joy and occupation lie in providing for a
multitude of poor people who depend on her for all—she appears to be
almost worshipped in Chambéry.
More leeches arrived to-night, post. This hot weather renders
travelling mortal to many, and as lingering on the road is fatal to
them, we hear that they pay postilions even better than the English!!!
Passing the General de Boigne’s monumental fountain and the boulevard,
and crossing the bridge which leads to the Geneva road, we ascended the
hill instead of following it, and walked to the church of Lemenc, one
of the first raised to Christianity. The antiquities found here prove
that the village was very anciently inhabited. When Hannibal had led
his army across the Mont du Chat, he arrived hither and went hence to
Montmeillan, passing up the valley of the Isère and entering Italy by
the Little St. Bernard. There are two monasteries, one adjoining the
church which belongs to it, another at a short distance. I believe the
latter to be the Benedictine, of whose prior and chaplain the Knights
Templar, who established themselves here in 1199, were obliged to ask
or buy permission ere they erected an oratory. The Bénédictines
formerly exercised an extraordinary right, called by a fit name, “Droit
de dépouille.” When in Chambéry or its environs the head of a family
died, the monks received his best suit of clothes, with which his
survivors were bound to present them; the custom awoke murmurs,
particularly when, in addition, they claimed the bed on which the
deceased expired. Early in 1400, the Bénédictines of Lemenc came to an
agreement with the Syndics of Chambéry, contenting themselves with
receiving the suit of clothes or its price. A noble might redeem it
with eight florins of Savoy; a burgess paid five; an artisan two, and a
poor man one!
We had been told that beneath the church were vaults of great age,
probably those in which the Christians of early times assembled. A
flight of steps on each side the choir leads below. A few rude pillars
sustain the roof; on a tomb lies a colossal figure of the Saviour
sculptured in stone by some unskilful artist of gone by centuries; it
is surrounded by nine others of like size, which stand in various
attitudes about the tomb. All have been more or less mutilated, but
bear traces of having been painted long ago. This giant group has a
startling effect on entering the dimly lighted chapel, and the good
people of Chambéry hold the figures in fear and reverence. The priest,
our acquaintance, told me he too had visited Lemenc, and not knowing
his way thither, took a guide, a fine tall fellow. Arrived in the
subterranean chapel, Pierre, who above had manifested no extraordinary
devotion, prostrated himself in sudden fervour, and recited a De
Profundis fast, and tremulously. The Abbé inquired “What ailed him?”
“Don’t you see them, Sir,” said Pierre in a whisper, pointing to the
enormous effigies, “and don’t you know that you and I are here alone?”
In one of the chapels of the upper church are the bones of one St.
Concord, whose real name was Couchouars, archbishop of Armagh and
primate of Ireland; his figure is exhibited within a glass case or
shrine, dressed in pontificals, and with a waxen face and hands!
Walking higher up the hill, we passed several stations leading to a
Calvary, supposed to be very ancient also. An inscription assures, that
whoever shall visit them with due devotion, gains the same indulgences
as are attached to the holy places at Jerusalem, an advantage which
would save trouble. Beyond, the ground is covered with blocks of flat
stone, which leave between them no room for vegetation, and you must
beware of breaking your legs by slipping into their holes and crevices.
We went on till we arrived at a giddy height, hanging over the road to
Geneva, and the view repaid us for our climbing. I forgot to mention,
that opposite the Irish Saint’s chapel in the church of Lemenc is a
monument to General de Boigne. When I arrived in Chambéry, where he is
naturally and properly remembered with respect and affection, I yet had
some trouble in learning his true history, so that I will save you the
like.
He was born in this town in 1741; his father was a hide-merchant, who
could bequeath him no fortune, but bestowed on him a good education in
his native college, and destined him for a lawyer. Young Benoit chose,
notwithstanding, the career of arms, first entering the Irish regiment
in the service of France and accompanying it to the Mauritius. He was
generally liked, as well for the physical advantages he possessed, for
he was tall and handsome, as for his character, whose extreme
gentleness contrasted with its fire and unwearied activity, and
firmness of purpose not to be shaken.
Having obtained little promotion during the five years passed in the
French service, he offered his resignation, and obtained letters from
the Sardinian minister to Admiral Orloff, who then commanded in the
Archipelago the land and naval force of Russia. Orloff at once, with
the promptitude of perception belonging to an old officer, appreciated
the new comer at his true value, and placed him as captain in one of
Catherine’s Greek regiments. During a sortie of the garrison, at the
siege of Tenedos, in 1780, the company he commanded was cut to pieces,
and himself taken prisoner. Conducted to Constantinople he suffered the
hardships of a cruel captivity during seven months, and the peace which
freed him, also destroyed all hopes of further promotion; and having
received the rank of major in reward of his gallant conduct, he threw
up his commission once more, and departed for Smyrna, where he made
acquaintance with the French consul, and also with many foreigners
lately returned from India; and listening to the recitals of the
latter, he felt all the dreams of his youth and its love of adventure
revive within him. He returned to Constantinople, journeyed thence to
Alexandria and Aleppo, to join a caravan starting for Balsora, and the
caravan being unable to proceed by reason of the war between the Turks
and Persians, again repaired to Alexandria and embarked, but fortune
being unfavourable still, he was shipwrecked at the mouth of the Nile,
and cast on the Arabs’ mercy. Instead of being, as he expected,
stripped and murdered, they received him with the most generous
hospitality, and conducted him under their protection to Cairo. Thence
through the kindness of Mr. Baldwin, the English consul, he was enabled
to reach India by the isthmus of Suez, and went to Bombay first, and
then to Madras, where, being a foreigner, he obtained no employment,
and to earn his bread gave lessons in fencing, an art in which he
excelled. At last he received an ensign’s commission in a native
regiment in the Company’s service. In a skirmish which took place soon
after, between some of Hyder Aly’s troops and of those of the India
Company, De Boigne’s corps was almost wholly destroyed, and himself
only escaped, because he had been detached with orders a few moments
before.
Discouraged by this last event, which rendered his chances of promotion
more distant, he gave in his resignation, and resolved on returning to
Europe, and doing so by land, trusting to his intimate knowledge of the
geography of the country, and of its various dialects. His superior
officers, who liked and esteemed him, furnished him with
recommendations to Lord Hastings, then Governor of India, and from the
sudden change in his projects and alteration of his fortunes, as well
as from other circumstances, it was presumed that he had offered his
services as envoy or mediator to the different princes, enemies or
allies, and that Lord Hastings furnished him with instructions, and
also with means of accomplishing a mission, for which his intelligence
and courage, and also his speaking their various languages with
facility, rendered him so well fitted.
He went first to Lucknow, where the English ambassador presented him to
the Nabob, Assefed-Daulah; then to Delhi, and at last determined on
offering his services to one of the native princes, and selected in the
first instance the Ranah of Gohed, who was about to make war with
Sindiah, the most powerful of the twelve princes who formed the
Mahratta confederation. Lord Hastings opposed at first his
determination of taking service, and he was recalled to Calcutta, and
employed by the English once more. He then went to Delhi, where by the
counsel of the English ambassador, Brown, who himself made the
proposals necessary, he offered himself to the same Sindiah, whose foe
he had almost been so shortly before. Boigne was to raise and
discipline, after the European manner, a portion of Sindiah’s army. In
providing soldiers there was little difficulty; much in bowing the
Indian character to military discipline; yet in the space of five
months he had accomplished the task, and the superiority of his troops
was proved at the siege of Callindjer.
From this moment date the successes of De Boigne, and the commencement
of his colossal fortune. But Sindiah, who had gratified his officer
with riches and honours, yielding to the insinuations of his courtiers,
soon evinced suspicion and jealousy, with which he was unable to bear,
and sent in his resignation, which being accepted, he retired to
Lucknow. Sindiah soon felt his loss, for his preponderance in the scale
startled the remainder of the Mahratta confederation, and Holkar, one
of its chief members, raised an army to dethrone him.
It was then that, aware of his folly and injustice, he despatched a
message to De Boigne, requesting him to return, on whatever conditions
he might please to make, consenting beforehand to them all. Boigne
started without hesitation, and had no sooner appeared before the
troops, than his old officers and all the soldiers came crowding round
him. He obtained the most complete success. Good administrator as well
as warrior, he introduced regularity and economy into the army;
repressed the depredations of tax-collectors, and enforcing military
discipline, punished pillage severely.
This same year brought him other triumphs. The Rahjad of Djaipour
having revolted, he marched against and defeated him, then besieged him
in his capital. The frightened rebel submitted; paid the arrears of his
tribute, and an indemnity of twenty millions. The General himself
signed the treaty, and made his triumphal entry into Djaipour, mounted
on an elephant covered with gold and embroidery, and followed by a
brilliant staff. Sindiah believed he could not better reward such
signal services than by making him governor over these conquered
provinces, with share of the tribute. India was pacified; from the
confines of Lahore to the sea of Cambaye, all had submitted to Sindiah.
While the power of the house of Savoy ebbed from the encroaching arms
of the Republic, and King Charles Emmanuel could only in the island of
Sardinia unrol his standard, its white cross gleamed victoriously along
the banks of the Indus. The fortunate Savoyard possessed unlimited
power over the Mahratta states to the north of Cumbul, but a blow was
struck in the midst of his prosperity, for Sindiah died, leaving the
crown to his great nephew, on the twelfth of February, 1794. With him
expired all hopes of further conquest; the soul of his thoughts, the
motive of his actions had departed: his “occupation was gone,” and with
a heart almost broken with the loss of his friend and benefactor, he
resolved on returning to Europe. The greater part of the conquered or
tributary sovereigns burned to recover their independence. The Great
Mogul and the King of Caboul first felt of what importance might be De
Boigne’s support, and sent him an embassy, offering the place of prime
minister. Far from accepting these terms, or seeking to dismember the
states left by Sindiah, he gave his successor all advice and
instructions necessary to their preservation, and, to consolidate his
work, deferred his departure for two years. These past, and his health
permitting no further delay, he bade adieu to his brothers in arms, and
started for Calcutta with the regiment of Persian cavalry belonging to
himself, and which Sindiah’s nephew would have bought, but refused to
pay for till he should return. Not accepting these conditions, the
General offered it to the India Company, by whom it was purchased for
nine hundred thousand francs.
It has been foolishly asserted that De Boigne’s betraying Tippoo Saib
to the English had caused the former’s downfall; but the Sultan of
Maissour’s ruin took place in 1799, when the General de Boigne had been
three years returned to Europe; and during his long stay in India, he
never held communication with this prince, who resided at a distance of
five hundred leagues from the country where himself acquired glory and
fortune.
He went to settle in England, where he was well received in the first
society, and married the daughter of the Marquis of Osmond, who had
formerly been ambassador from France to London; but this ill-assorted
union did not afford the General a day of happiness. Abandoning the
noisy pleasures of cities, he sought repose in his own country. Large
fortunes are rare there; and in his delicious residence of Buisson at
the gates of Chambéry, he lived like a man of moderate means; and thus,
without diminishing his capital, he was enabled to make public and
private benefactions.
His native town owes to him her theatre, her new streets, scientific
foundations, donations to sapeur pompiers, the enlargement of its
hospitals, and of the Jesuits’ College. Commiserating the indigent old
age of such as had been born to better fortunes, he founded a house of
refuge, and gifted it with a dotation of 900,000 francs. Forty persons
past the age of sixty, of either sex, are received within, and not only
provided for, but treated with respect and care, to which their earlier
days have been accustomed.
He bestowed 650,000 francs on an establishment for the reception of the
poor wanting work, to put a stop to mendicity and its consequences; and
400,000 more on an hospital for the insane.
His marble bust, executed during his life, was placed by the king of
Sardinia’s order in the public library. He was at the same time created
count, lieutenant-general, and grand cross of the military orders of
St. Maurice and St. Lazare. He left one son; the fortune bequeathed to
him was computed at 37,678,000 francs. De Boigne died June, 1830.
June 18th. Geneva, Hôtel du Secheron.
We took leave the evening of the 15th of the abbé, who departed for
Aix, and the old officer who is gone to Geneva; and ourselves left very
early the next morning, while the mist still hung heavily over the town
and along the base of the Dent de Nivolet, at whose foot the road
winds, and a great part of the road to Aix forms a wall of cliff like,
as I said, a mighty fortification, with vineyards and châteaux in its
shadow. The grande route, which is broad and handsome, is mostly shaded
by old trees, walnut and sweet chestnut. When we arrived at Aix, which
is the fashion and extolled by guide-books, I was disappointed, as the
mountains had lost their boldness, and the lake was not visible; nor
did I see anything remarkable, as we rode through it, but the
magnificent trees of its promenades. It is famous for its warm
sulphureous waters, and for the splendid remains of Roman baths; a
temple of the Ionic order, thought to be dedicated to Diana; and a
Doric arch, raised, according to its inscription, by Pompeius Campanus.
At a short distance from Aix the country again becomes beautiful, and
there is a grey ruined tower on the right hand perched high among the
woods, and commanding a ravine and its narrow mountain stream. Some
villagers ran out from their cottages to tell us that this was Grésy,
and to hold our horses while we visited the cascade, which is near the
road but not visible from it: with it is connected a melancholy story.
Queen Hortense, when sovereign of Holland, visited it in company of
several of her ladies, among whom was one she particularly loved, the
Baroness de Broc, a very young and beautiful woman. Too curious and too
bold, her foot slipped as, placing it on the wet plank, she refused the
hand of the guide, and she fell into the torrent below. Her scream of
terror was the last sound from her lips her royal friend heard. At this
spot are deep cavities hollowed by the waters in their violent fall.
All endeavours to raise the poor victim proved vain for half an hour:
life had long departed. A stone bearing the following inscription has
been raised to record her death:—
“To the memory of the Baroness de Broc, aged twenty-five years, who
perished before her friends’ eyes, June the 19th, 1813. Oh you who come
to view these spots, and hang over their abysses, beware how you
venture your lives. Think of those who love you!”
From Grésy to Rumilly the road continues interesting, though less so
than that from the Échelles to Chambéry. Rumilly is a dirty town: we
met at its entrance a postilion looking for prey, who conducted us to
the hôtel de la Poste, which has just now no innkeeper; as he who kept
it is ruined, and has lately run away; and the two servants left in
charge, an elegant mannered young “chef” and a woman, have too much to
do, therefore we got little attendance. The house will soon follow the
master, for a beam in the room where we slept was so awfully cracked
across its centre, that I commenced speculating on the weight it would
bring down with it; and D—— consoled me by saying it would probably
last till morning! Entering the town, we passed some traces of former
fortifications, and an old convent, the only one in the town, stood
(the servant said) just behind the tumbling house. So knowing the
localities, I will tell you a part of their history. In 1630 Louis the
Thirteenth’s forces had entered Savoy: Chambéry and Annecy opened their
gates; Rumilly, more brave than strong, resisted: the French forces
were commanded by the Marshal du Hallier. The troops forced their way,
and not until the extermination of the town had been commanded, did the
officer who gave the order recollect that _there_ resided three young
relatives of Du Hallier, the demoiselles de Pessieux de Salagine, one
of whom was a Bernardine nun. He sent to warn them of their danger,
inviting them to take refuge in the camp; but they replied, “they chose
to share the fate of their fellow-citizens, and would not abandon them
in their extremity.” At this time the principal inhabitants, who had
hastily assembled, decided on deputing the nun, guarded by some of
their own body, to their besiegers’ head-quarters. She was beautiful
and young, as well as high-spirited and full of talent. Arrived at the
camp, her loveliness, her eloquence, and firmness, aroused the
officer’s pity: he retracted his sentence as the noble woman knelt
before him, and she returned to her town to inform those who waited her
in hope and fear, that it would be plundered for the space of one hour
only, and that the soldiers were enjoined to respect the houses
containing the three sisters, confided to the safeguard of French
honour.
The demoiselles de Pessieux employed the time which was yet to
intervene in assembling all the young of their own sex, and all
portable property of value in their three several houses. The soldiery,
accustomed to severe discipline, forbore to approach the privileged
mansions containing the sisters, who were called in truth the guardian
angels of their native place.
We slept in a thorough draught on account of the bad air, and rose long
before sunrise to travel on; but to very little purpose, as no one
followed our example. The garçon d’écurie after a long search was
discovered under the manger, too sound asleep to be wakened by ordinary
means. After an hour’s riding, when the heat was becoming painful, and
the flies beginning their persecution, which both do before nine
o’clock, we missed the second valise, which I had packed and D——
carried down, and both of us forgotten. We began by considering which
of us was most in fault, then we decided the lazy people of the house
were alone to blame, and then we wondered how we were to get it again;
which was embarrassing, for we preferred losing its contents to
travelling back; but not impossible, for there is an extraordinary
honesty along the road, and nothing is stolen, though there is often
neither gate to the yard nor fastening to the stable. As we arrived at
the old castle with two grey towers, which, standing at the road side,
is now converted into a post-house, we met a postilion who was going
back for something forgotten by the diligence, and promised for two
francs to bring it that night to Frangy, where we intended to sleep.
Frangy is only three posts distant from Rumilly, yet, when we commenced
descending the hill, which commands a beautiful wild view of mountains
of all shapes and forms, with the town nestled beside the river in the
Valley of the Usses, we were completely exhausted by the heat, which
was intense. The steep, unshaded road seems unending, as it is cut in
zigzags on the mountain side, and the shining steeple at the bottom
appeared to grow more distant as we went on.
Arrived at the hotel, and D—— with his horses gone to the stable, I
found myself opposite an impertinent-looking personage with his hat on,
who gave a list of prices which certainly could be justified by nothing
to be procured at Frangy. As he would hear of no others, I said “very
well,” and ordered breakfast; which was bad: and we and the horses
being fed, the latter, to the surprise of the innkeeper, who believed
the hot sun would reconcile us to his dirty rooms, reappeared at the
door.
“Monsieur and Madame,” said he, looking doleful, “you shall stay at
your own prices.” “Monsieur,” said we, “you should have thought of that
before: good morning!”
The heat, till we got out of the valley, was tremendous; but as the
road is next carried over the ridge of Mont Sion, where we had air once
more, and numbers of fine trees, we did not suffer. Little Fanny, who
daily increases in wisdom, having been stopped beneath them once or
twice, while we mustered courage to brave the sun again, the remainder
of her journey of her own accord trotted towards shade, and arrived in
it, regularly stopped a few seconds to refresh herself. L’Éluiset, to
which we were bound, is a pretty looking hamlet, of a few detached
houses, but the post-house is not, as we had been told, an inn; and the
two auberges, which stand opposite one another, merely receive
rouliers. We examined their exterior ere we decided, and fixed on the
Balance, of which beware. The little room, to which we ascended by a
species of ladder, looked clean, and might, we thought, for one night,
be bearable, though the jutting roof of the broad balcony prevented the
air from entering at the open windows. There was no room in which we
could dine; but behind the house was a just-mown hay-field, with noble
walnut-trees, and a mountain view; and there we sent the dinner table,
and agreed we had not yet had a saloon we liked as well. We passed the
afternoon pleasantly; and when the moon got up, there would have been
nothing to prevent our going on to Geneva, but for the custom-house,
which was closed then, and not to re-open till seven in the morning.
The valise arrived in safety, it had not even been opened,—a poor
fellow having brought it all the way on foot in expectation of only a
two-franc piece; and his hot face shone with pleasure when D—— gave
him something more for his five-and-twenty miles. You might have envied
us our evening, with the wind in the trees and the moon in the sky, and
the glow-worms shining in the corn, and the pretty laugh of the
children, who gathered in the hay-field to watch us and to play; but
you would not have envied the night which was to follow. We went to
bed, and I had been asleep five minutes, when a start at the other end
of the room roused me, and there I saw D—— sitting upright, the
pallid image of inquisitive horror. “What is the matter?” exclaimed I.
“The devil,” said he; and glancing at my own sheets, which I praised as
I lay down, because they smelt of wild thyme, there were the demons, in
companies, regiments, armies. We made a bed on the floor, and
surrounded it by a flood; but the very floor was alive; and dressing in
despair, we recollected the balcony down to which we could jump from
the window, and there we transported our baggage and ourselves, and sat
longing for day, and to get into the hay-field; but the great house-dog
lay across the threshold, and at every movement we made looked up, and
growled ominously. The dawn came at last, shining on the lake of
Geneva, only two leagues and a half distant, but we were not disposed
to admire. I have seldom felt happier than when the sleepers were
roused at last, and I found myself in my wished-for field, and could
lie down on the grass, though it was wet with dew like rain. The dog
came to inspect me carefully, a ceremony I could have dispensed with;
but having satisfied himself I was no thief, and licked my hand to tell
me so, he sat down opposite as a guard, gravely gazing at me from four
to seven. At seven the custom-house opened, and we rode away. Beyond
L’Éluiset you pass over neutral ground, which, lying between
Switzerland and Savoy, and subject to neither, is the contrebandier’s
paradise. Exhausted by the heat, we got some milk at a cottage, for it
was impossible to take anything at L’Éluiset. Arrived at St. Julien,
where passports are examined, we hoped to pass through without being
noticed; but were hailed by a red-nosed employé, and kept broiling in
the heat while it was visé. Of the road from St. Julien to Geneva I
know very little, being at last so weary, that I absolutely fell asleep
on Fanny’s back, and was wakened by knocking my head against D——’s
shoulder.
We passed through Carouge, which has become a town, and has nothing
picturesque; but houses with green shutters and verandas, and neat
gardens, like an English watering-place. Entering Geneva by the Porte
Neuve, we rode before its strong fortifications, now perfectly
repaired, (in consequence of the threats of France last year, when
Switzerland sheltered Louis Bonaparte,) and the ramparts, which form
beautiful and shady promenades. Near the Porte Neuve is the botanic
garden, terribly celebrated; as the spot that it occupied was that
where in 1794 took place the fusillades and executions which decimated
the respectable citizens of Geneva under the direction of a member of
the Comité du Salut Public, from Paris. We crossed the Rhone, which is
here so deep and bright a blue, that I at first looked to see whether
any dyeing establishment were near, and then smiled at my folly in
supposing it could act on the rapid river for a further space than a
few feet. As we took the steep streets pointed out to us as the
shortest way to the Porte de Cornavin, and the road to Lausanne, our
first impression of Geneva was less favourable than it would have been
choosing the longer and better way by the quays and new bridge, which
affords a view of the lake. The hôtel du Secheron is about a quarter of
a mile from the gate on the Lausanne road. The heat when we arrived was
already excessive, though it was hardly nine o’clock, and we felt the
luxuries of its quiet and cleanliness. These windows command a splendid
view of the lake, framed by the fine trees of the park which stretches
down to its shore, of the mild green hill on the other side, dotted by
villas, among which is Lord Byron’s; and the mountains of the Salève,
near Geneva;—those of the Voiron, and the blue pointed Mole farther
away; and between them, and though far beyond, seeming to stand forth
before in its brightness and purity, Mont Blanc. The Secheron is a
better inn than any I have met with even in England, and,
notwithstanding its expensive reputation, is more reasonable, as well
as more comfortable, than the Bergues, according to the account of an
acquaintance we met in Geneva. I do not comprehend how any stranger can
prefer the stifling streets and their noise to the shade and quiet
here, particularly as we find every facility for making excursions.
Monsieur Dejean supplies the town with carriages, and keeps thirty
horses in his stables, and the hôtel having its own boat and boatmen,
we are landed on the quay in five minutes.
Notwithstanding these advantages, the Secheron, from being accused of
high charges, and from its nickname of Hôtel des Têtes Couronnées, has
made little money of late. The old proprietor, in whose family it has
been many years, for his great-grandfather planted most of its trees,
resigns himself, saying, that if not an inn it will be a country house.
We wish him success, for, unlike his brethren, he refuses to turn out
his servants at the approach of winter: he never sells an old horse,
and has latterly fed and lodged for some days, and for nothing, a
traveller who had no means of payment.