Besançon.
The D—— of H—— went some weeks ago to visit an acquaintance in one of the
provinces of France. As I inclined rather to pass that time at Geneva, we
agreed to meet at Paris, whither Jack and I are thus far on our way.
I must now fairly confess that I found myself so happy with my kind
friends the Genevois, that I could not spare an hour from their company
to write to you or any correspondent, unless on indispensable business.
I might also plead, that you yourself have been in some measure the
cause of my being seduced from my pen. In your last letter; which I
found waiting for me at the post-house at Geneva, you mention a late
publication in terms that gave me a curiosity to see it; and an English
gentleman, who had the only copy which has as yet reached that city, was
so obliging as to lend it me. The hours which I usually allot to sleep,
were all I had in my power to pass alone; and they were very considerably
abridged by this admirable performance. The extensive reading there
displayed, the perspicuity with which historical facts are related, the
new light in which many of them are placed, the depth of the reflections,
and the dignity and nervous force of the language, all announce the hand
of a master. If the author lives to complete his arduous undertaking, he
will do more to dissipate the historical darkness which overshadows the
middle ages, give a clearer _History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman
Empire_, and fill up, in a more satisfactory manner, the long interval
between ancient and modern history, than all the writers who have
preceded him. This accounts for my long silence. You see I resume my pen
the very first opportunity, after the causes I have assigned for it are
removed, which ought to give the more weight to my apology.
As I have frequently been at Lyons, I chose, on this occasion, to return
to Paris by Franche Comté and Champagne. We accordingly set out very
early yesterday morning, and were by no means in high spirits when we
left Geneva, and passed along the side of the lake, through the Pais de
Vaud. The beauties of that country, though they astonish at first sight,
yet, like the characters of the inhabitants, they improve on intimacy.
Every time I have looked at the lake of Geneva, and its delightful
environs, I have discovered something new to admire. As I entered the
Canton of Bern, I often turned about, and at last withdrew my eyes from
those favourite objects, with an emotion similar to what you feel on
taking leave of a friend, whom you have reason to think you shall never
see again.
The first place we came to, on entering France from the Canton of Bern,
is a poor little town on an hill; I forget its name. While the postillion
stopped to put something to rights about the harness, I stepped into a
shop where they sold wooden shoes; and in the course of my conversation
with a peasant, who had just purchased a pair for himself, and another
for his wife, he said, “les Bernois sont bien à leur aise, Monsieur,
pendant que nous autres François vivons tres durement, et cependant
les Bernois sont des hérétiques.” “Voilà,” said an old woman, who
sat in a corner reading her breviary; “voilà,” said she, taking off
her spectacles, and laying her beads on the book, “ce que je trouve
incompréhensible.”
This was, however, at the extremity of France, and in a province lately
acquired; for it must be confessed, that it is not common for the French
to imagine that any country whatever has the advantage of theirs in any
one circumstance; and they certainly are not so apt to grumble as some
of their neighbours, who have less reason. When I was last at Geneva, a
French hair-dresser—Let me intreat you not to shew this to your friend
——, who is so fond of people of quality, that he thinks there is no
_life_ out of their company. He would pshaw, and curse my poor peasants,
and old women, and hair-dressers, and accuse me of being too fond of such
low company.
As for the old women, I am much mistaken if there are not at least as
many to be found of both sexes in high life as in low; for the others,
I declare I have no particular affection, but I am fond of strokes of
nature and character, and must look for them where they are to be found.
I introduce the present hair-dresser to your acquaintance, because, if I
am not mistaken, he spoke the sentiments of his whole nation, high and
low. You shall judge. This young fellow attended me every morning while
I remained at Geneva; he had been a year or two at London; and while he
dressed my hair, his tongue generally moved as quick as his fingers. He
was full of his remarks upon London, and the fine people whose hair he
pretended to have dressed. “Do you not think,” said I, “that people may
live very happily in that country?” “Mais—pour cela oui, Monsieur.” “Do
you think, then, they _are_ happy?” “Pour cela, non, Monsieur.” “Can you
guess at the reason why they are not, though they have so much reason to
be so?” “Oui, Monsieur, elle est toute simple.” “Pray what is the reason
they are not happy?” “C’est, qu’ils ne font pas destinés à l’être.”
A very genteel young man, a Genevois, happened to call on me, for two
minutes, while this friseur was with me. The young gentleman had passed
some time at Paris, and was dressed exactly in the Parisian taste. “He
has much the air of one of your countrymen,” said I to the Frenchman, as
soon as the other had left the room.
“Mon Dieu! quelle différence,” cried the friseur. “For my part, I can
see none,” said I. “Monsieur,” resumed he, “soyez persuadé qu’aucun
Genevois ne sera jamais pris pour un François.” “There are certainly
some _petit-maîtres_ to be found in this town,” said I. “Pardonnez moi,”
replied he, “ils ne sont que petit-maîtres manqués.”
“Did you ever see an Englishman,” said I, “who might pass for a
Frenchman?” “Jamais de la vie, Monsieur!” replied he, with an accent of
astonishment.
“Suppose him,” said I, “a man of quality?” “N’importe.”
“But,” continued I, “suppose he had lived several years at Paris, that
he was naturally very handsome, and well made, that he had been educated
by the best French dancing-master, his clothes made by the best French
taylor, and his hair dressed by the most eminent friseur in Paris?”
“C’est beaucoup, Monsieur, mais ce n’est pas assez.”
“What!” exclaimed I, “would you still know him to be an Englishman?”
“Assurément, Monsieur.”
“What! before he spoke?” “Au premier coup d’œil, Monsieur.”
“The Devil you would; but how?” “C’est que Messieurs les Anglois ont un
air—une manière de se présenter—un—que sais-je moi—vous m’entendez bien,
Monsieur—un certain air si Gau—”
“Quel air maraud?” “Enfin un air qui est charmant, si vous voulez,
Monsieur,” said he rapidly, “mais que le Diable m’emporte si c’est l’air
François.”
To-morrow I shall take a view of this town, and proceed immediately after
breakfast to Paris: mean while I wish you very heartily good night.