EXCURSION TO RINCY. AMUSEMENTS OF THE
VILLAGES ON SUNDAY EVENING
The late Duke of Orléans owned Rincy, and took great pains to arrange
his park and garden in the English taste. Since his death it has fallen
into decay, but the Parisians frequent it on Sunday, much as our
Londoners regale themselves at Richmond or at Greenwich Parks.
We departed at an early hour, accompanied by Mrs. Cosway. Rincy is
thirteen miles from the capital and situated on the Strasburg road. On
our journey we met two open carts filled with criminals, principally
robbers, who were under their way to the metropolis under an escort of
gens d’armes. The first cart contained two captains of those predatory
bands of thieves who infest the Departments near the Rhine, and of
whose exploits such terrible accounts have been given. One of them
seemed to be placed in an unusually conspicuous position, so that he
might be easily recognised. He was extraordinarily tall, and under an
immense round hat exhibited features almost equalling in ferocity those
of the painter David.
It seemed incomprehensible that the Government should go to the expense
and inconvenience of transporting these wretches 200 miles from the
theatre of their crimes, in order to take their trials before the
criminal tribunal in Paris, where all witnesses for and against could
only be produced at a very great public cost. When I returned to
Paris I attempted to probe this matter to the bottom, when the only
_rational_ answer I obtained was that the citizens of Paris were
fond of seeing the execution of great criminals! I suggested that this
taste for blood might be as easily gratified if the culprits were
transferred after their conviction to the Parisian guillotine, having
been first tried in the Department where their crimes were committed. I
was told, however, the effect would not be the same.
[Sidenote: THE CHÂTEAU OF RINCY]
I resume my narrative. We had hitherto been favoured with fine weather,
but just as we arrived at the gates of the château a heavy shower of
rain began to fall--the coachman desired the woman to open the gates,
which she bluntly refused to do unless we produced a permit from the
present proprietor. Upon which I held out “un petit écu,” and received
this reply from the female citizen: “C’est impossible, monsieur, ce
n’est pas une affaire du gouvernement!” A more open and honest avowal
of the venality of the present government of France was impossible.
But a further parley and exhibition of our papers of identity effected
what bribery could not accomplish, and we were suffered eventually to
pass.
Just at the entrance of the park is a traiteur’s (or restaurant),
where, it being Sunday, many of the bourgeois of Paris were regaling
themselves. The grounds themselves resemble an Englishman’s park.
It has, of course, suffered from the effects of the Revolution, but
enough remains to indicate that it was once a most voluptuous spot. The
château unhappily is demolished, and the massive pillars lie broken
and dispersed upon the ground. The lodge is repairing for the actual
proprietor, a wealthy Parisian merchant and the present keeper of
Madame Tallien, the wife of the Conventional butcher of Bordeaux.
Opposite to this edifice stand the stables, in a tolerably good state
of preservation. The gravel walks are in good order, the fountains,
aqueducts and basins in a complete state, and the copses and woods have
not been cut down. The magnificent dairy is untouched, and at the top
of the hill which overlooks the park, the Sunday excursionists amuse
themselves by wandering in a labyrinth and surveying the “jets d’eau”
which are continually playing.
In ascending the hill we found a pretty cottage, at the door of which
stood a man whose physiognomy announced his English extraction. He
also perceived we were English and invited us in our own language
to rest in his house. His name is Hudson, he was gamekeeper to the
late Duke of Orleans for fourteen years, and had accompanied him from
England on the occasion of that Prince’s visit when Duc de Chartres to
our country. He had a son of about ten years of age, who spoke English
and French with equal facility. The extreme neatness of the little
cottage showed it was not inhabited by a Frenchman--everything was
arranged in English fashion. A fine ham was on the table and several
flitches of bacon decorated the ceiling. During Robespierre’s reign
Hudson was imprisoned, and was to have been executed, but the death of
that monster happily intervening, he was liberated.
Hudson made many affectionate and respectful inquiries after the
young Princes of the House of Orleans, and was very particular in his
questions respecting the Count of Beaujolais, whom he had taught to
ride, and for whom he seemed to entertain a great affection. He did not
appear the least disposed to quit France, nor to leave the situation he
now holds under another master. He consoles himself with the idea “that
things are coming round again as they were before the Revolution, and
he hoped he should do as well at Rincy under the new proprietor as he
did under the late Duke.” He is one of those beings who are satisfied
with any master so long as he is well provided for.
I inquired for the celebrated breed of merino sheep, and was told the
whole flock had been removed to Rambouillet. We then retired to the
traiteur’s, where we were provided with an excellent dinner; and after
eating it, while the horses were harnessing, entered into conversation
with an old man who had formerly received a pension from the late Duke,
and who now, with so many others, was quite destitute.
[Sidenote: THE PANTHEON]
Most bitterly did he deplore the Revolution and curse its abettors. We
were surprised to find nearly all the people at Rincy speak of the late
Duke in terms of deep regret. On our return to Paris we were serenaded
in every village, and twice alighted to watch the diversions of the
peasants. At one place they were dancing by moonlight on a green, and
at another in a large room lighted for the purpose. They were neatly
dressed in their Sunday clothes, and seemed to enjoy their sports. We
did not pass a single village where there was not a rural ball; and on
the left of the high road a great number of rooms were lighted in which
suppers were preparing for the dancers. These rooms were interspersed
among the trees and gave a pleasing and lively appearance.
Such innocent diversions reminded us of the old days of France, when
the country people were remarkable for their innocent gaiety and
good-natured mirth; as the sweet poet sings:
“Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease,
Pleased with itself, whom all the world can please,
Alike all ages. Dames of ancient days
Have led their children through the mirthful maze,
And the gay grandsire, skilled in jestic lore,
Has frisked beneath the burden of fourscore.”
GOLDSMITH’S _Traveller_.