FIRST IMPRESSIONS.

On Monday, August 9th, we embarked from the Ship inn at Dover, for

Calais, on board the Princess Augusta packet. The passage was dreadful,

the usual miseries attended us, and at the time I am now writing this,

viz. August 13th, we are still suffering from the effects of our voyage.

I will not make my readers ill by recalling the disgusting scenes which

we there encountered, suffice it to say, that the bare remembrance of

them is sufficient to overwhelm my still sick fancy, and to render the

very name of the sea appalling to my ears. Upon landing at Calais,

however, we contrived to raise our heavy eyes, with a lively feeling of

curiosity and interest, to the motley crowd assembled on the beach to

view us come on shore. I was pleased with what we are taught to call

the habitual politeness of even the lowest order of French people,

evinced in the alacrity with which twenty hands were held out to support

me in descending from the packet, and in the commiseration which I

plainly discovered in many a sun-burnt countenance for my evident

indisposition. The hotel (Quillacq's) is excellent, and the attendants

remarkably civil and active. The style of furniture is superior to that

of the best English hotels; and for a dinner and dessert of the most

superior quality, we did not pay more than we should have done at an

ordinary inn in our own country for very common fare. The dress of the

lower classes here is rather pretty; the circumstance of the women

wearing caps, neatly plaited, and tolerably clean, together with the

body and petticoat of different colours, gives them a picturesque air:

the long gold ear-rings, also (universally worn at this place,

consisting of two drops, one suspended at the end of the other),

contribute greatly to their graceful effect. The men do not differ much

in their appearance from those of the same rank in England, but I think

the animation universally displayed in the countenances of the fairer

sex particularly striking, and certainly preferable to that want of

expression so often to be found among my countrywomen.

When we first started from Calais for Paris, with post-horses, I could

not help a little national feeling of complacency upon observing the

slovenly, shabby appearance of their harness and accoutrements, compared

with those of England. From London to Dover, we had bowled away with

ease and rapidity; the carriage seemed to cut through the air with a

swift and even motion. Now we crawled and jumbled along, as it pleased

the fancy of the horses and driver, upon the latter of which no

remonstrance of ours would have had any effect. The costume of the

post-boy (who drives three horses abreast, a fat, full-sized beast in

the middle, his own rather smaller, and the off horse always a ragged

flap-eared pony, looking as if he had just been caught up from a common)

is whimsical enough; it is universally the royal livery: a shabby,

dirty, short-waisted blue jacket, turned up with crimson, and laced

sometimes with silver; boots resembling those of our heavy cavalry, and

a thick clubbed pigtail, swinging like a pendulum from beneath a rusty

japan hat. It was not till we had reached the distance of Abbeville that

we met with the celebrated genuine _grosses bottes_, whose enormous size

put me in mind of my nursery days, when I used to listen to the

wonderous tale of the giant-killer and his seven-leagued boots. The lash

of the post-boy's whip is thick and knotted, and they have a curious

method of cracking it upon passing other carriages, to give notice of

their approach: this saves their lungs, and has not an unpleasant

effect, the cracking sound being of a peculiar nature, double, as if it

said "crac-crac" at each stroke. It is not every post-boy, however, who

manages this little implement in the true style. They all carry the

badge of their profession upon the left arm (like our watermen), being a

silver or metal plate with the arms of France upon it. From Calais to

Haut-buisson the country is extremely flat, barren and uninteresting,

like the ugliest parts of Wiltshire and Sussex; and the straight line in

which all the French roads are cut is tiresome and monotonous to a great

degree. The case is not mended even when you advance as far as Marquise,

and I began to yawn in melancholy anticipation of a similar prospect for

nearly a hundred and eighty miles, which yet remained to be passed ere

we reached Paris; but upon coming near Beaupres, we were agreeably

disappointed, finding the surface of the country more undulated, and

patches of woodlands thinly strewn here and there--it is amazing how

greatly the eye is relieved by this change. The hamlets between

Haut-buisson and Boulogne much resemble those in the west of England; we

were perpetually fancying ourselves in a Somersetshire village as we

passed through them. On the road-side it is very common to see large

crucifixes, raised to a considerable height, with the figure of our

Saviour the size of life. We remarked one in particular, painted black,

and the image flesh-colour, with the drapery about the middle gilt;

another was inclosed in a small railed space (like a village pound),

surrounded by four or five clumsy stone images, which I rather imagine

were meant to represent the holy women who assembled round the cross

during our Saviour's last moments. As we approached Boulogne, we met

several old peasants: they all wore cocked hats, and a suit of decent,

_sad-coloured_ clothes, not unlike the dress of our villagers on a

Sunday.

The entrance to Boulogne is very picturesque: the fortifications are

crumbling a little beneath the touch of time, and the walls are partly

overgrown by trees and lichens; but a very little exertion would render

it formidable enough, I imagine, to besiegers. We dined here at an inn,

where they thought they could not do us a greater favour than by sending

up a meal in what they believed to be the English style of cookery;

consequently it was neither one thing nor the other, and extremely

disagreeable: amongst various delicacies, we had melted salt butter

swimming in oil, and quite rancid, brought to table in a tea-cup, and a

large dish of tough spongy lumps of veal, which they called veal

cutlets. As I sat at the window, which opened upon the principal street,

I had an opportunity of remarking a specimen of true French flattery,

but I was not quite so pervious to its benign influence as Sterne

describes his ladies to have been in the Sentimental Journey. A little

ragged urchin of about ten years old rather annoyed me, by jumping up

and grinning repeatedly in my face: "Allez, allez, que faites vous là?"

said I. "C'est que je veux dire bon jour à Madame!"--"Eh, bien donc,

vous l'avez dit à present--allez!"--"Ah! mais que Madame est jolie! Mon

Dieu! elle est _very prit_. Elle me donnera un sous, n'est ce pas?"

It was at Poix that we accidentally met a woman of Normandy upon the

road. She was well looking, and the costume both singular and becoming:

the snow white cap with a deep plaited border, and a crown half a yard

in height, fastened on the forehead by a gold pin, the long drop

ear-rings and gold cross in a heavy worked setting, suspended round the

throat by a narrow black riband, white handkerchief crossed over the

bosom, and a body and petticoat of opposite colours, with full white

shift sleeves coming over the elbows, formed a remarkably pretty dress.

I ought to have mentioned before now, that on the road between Marquise

and Beaupres we were amused by observing an unfinished tower, erected by

Bonaparte some years since, designed to commemorate his intended victory

over the English, by invasion--a true _chateau en Espagne_. Wishing to

refresh ourselves by leaving the carriage while the horses were changed,

I entered a sort of rustic public-house, where I observed with much

interest the interior of a French cottage kitchen and its inhabitants. A

group of peasants sat round a wood fire, apparently waiting for their

dinner, which, as a brisk lively _paysanne_ took it off the embers to

pour into a dish, looked and smelt most temptingly; it consisted of a

mess of bread, herbs, and vegetables, stewed in broth: there was a

member of this little circle who seemed to watch the progress of the

cooking with peculiar delight; I mean a large, powerful, yet playful

dog, whose exact breed we did not discover, but we were informed he was

English--doubtless he recognized his countrymen! The plates and dishes,

utensils, &c. were ranged upon shelves from the top to the bottom of the

little kitchen, and equally distributed on all sides, instead of being

confined to the vicinity of the dresser, as is generally the case in

England; they were chiefly of a coarse white clay, painted in a gaudy

and sprawling pattern of red flowers: the old woman of the house

apologized for their not being quite so bright as they ought to have

been, but said the flies dirtied them sadly; however, every thing looked

clean and comfortable. The costume of the men is not becoming; they all

wear white coarse cotton night-caps, and smock-frocks dyed with indigo;

their features and countenances much resemble those of a similar rank in

England. It appears to me that the old peasants alone wear the cocked

hat in this part of France: perhaps it is a remnant of the national

dress in the time of the _ancien regime_. The young children, from one

to five or six years of age, are (generally speaking) very pretty, and

some of them have the drollest little faces I ever saw, dark eyes and

marked eyebrows and lashes, full of smiles and roguery; their hair is

always allowed to hang at full length upon their shoulders, never being

shorn and cropt. Having dined at Boulogne, we proceeded on our journey

as far as Samer, intending to sleep the first night at Montreuil; but a

direct stop was put to any such project, by the circumstance of a total

absence of post-horses; they were all too much fatigued to carry us

farther, or were employed in the service of other travellers. Evening

was now closing rapidly in, and we were really glad to comply with the

urgent solicitations of a rural _fille de chambre_, who ran out of the

little inn at that place (Samer), and assured us we should meet with

very comfortable accommodations and be treated with every attention at

the Tête de Boeuf, to which she belonged: "Ma foi, messieurs," said

the postilion, "vous trouverez que cette demoiselle est bien

engageante." When we entered the house (through the kitchen, which much

resembled that of a large cottage), we found a neat little parlour, the

water ready boiling in the tea-kettle, excellent tea, bread, butter, and

cream. The _demoiselle_ or _fille de la maison_ (being the daughter of

the hostess), and her assistant (the before-mentioned _fille de

chambre_, in her country costume), flew about, seeming to anticipate all

our wishes and wants; every thing was ready in an instant, and all was

done, not by the wand of an enchanter, but by the magical influence of

good humour and activity, void of pertness, and free from bustle or

awkwardness of any sort. _La jeune demoiselle_ was a pretty, modest,

well-behaved girl, of sixteen or seventeen, and the maid a merry,

good-looking, sprightly lass, some few years older. She appeared to

enjoy a joke to her heart, and returned a neat answer to our laughing

questions more than once, and this without being at all immodest or

impertinent. Mr. B. asked her if she was married: "Pas encore,

Monsieur," (said she, looking comically _naïve_), "mais j'espère

toujours!" In short, her manner was something quite peculiar to the

French in that class of society. An English maid servant who had kept

up this sort of badinage would most probably have been a girl of light

character; but servants in France are indulged in a playful familiarity

of speech and manner which is amusing to witness, and seldom (if ever)

prevents them from treating you with every essential respect and

attention. When we started the next morning, the demoiselle earnestly

entreated us to breakfast at the Hotel de l'Europe, at Montreuil, which

was kept by her sister, a young woman only two years older than herself,

who was just married; and both she and her little maid added many a

remembrance upon their parts to _la chere soeur_. Whether this was

genuine sisterly affection, or the policy of two innkeepers playing into

each other's hands, I really cannot take upon me to determine.

The country between Samer and Montreuil becomes far more agreeable than

hitherto; one here sees hills and vales, and waving woods: we passed the

forest of Tingri, but did not remark any large trees; they were chiefly

of beech, with a great profusion of low underwood. We met many waggons

and carts upon the road which are all very different from those used in

England, being much narrower, and lighter for the horses: they are

usually open at the ends, and the sides resemble two long ladders. The

wheat harvest in this part of the country was remarkably fine; oats were

plentifully planted, but the crops were thin; the hay, clover, &c. were

scarce also, and of inferior quality, owing to the long drought. We

observed the women reaping quite as much as the men, and their

complexions, poor creatures! were absolutely baked black by the sun. The

road now led us though the heart of the forest of Aregnes: it is of

large extent, but we observed the same want of fine timber as in that of

Tingri; the reason of this is, that the trees are always cut down before

they attain their full growth, for the purpose of fuel, as wood fires

are universal in France. We admired, however, several "dingles green,"

and "tangled wood walks wild," which looked very cool and inviting, but

I remembered with pride the "giant oaks and twilight glades beneath" of

our own New Forest, and this coppice made but a trifling appearance in

the comparison. Emerging once more from hence upon the open country, we

beheld in the distance a troop of English dragoons (probably from

Boulogne) exercising their horses. What a singular spectacle in the

midst of a people who so lately ruled the world, but who now are

trampled beneath the feet of the stranger! The sight of the English,

thus proudly paramount, must necessarily be revolting and galling to

them in the highest degree: we should feel quite as bitterly, were it

our own fate--more so, perhaps. Let us therefore be just, and make

allowance for their natural disgust, while we condemn the vanity and mad

ambition which has thus reduced them.

The approach to Montreuil is pretty; the character of the landscape

changes, in a sudden and agreeable manner: in place of an uninclosed

tract of land, resembling a vast ocean of waving corn, you now see

verdant meadows and green pastures, refreshing the tired eye, and

wearing the livery of early spring; this effect is produced by the

fields lying low, and by the practice of irrigation, which is an

admirable substitute for rain.

Montreuil is a fortified town; we passed over drawbridges upon entering

and leaving it: the houses are all very ancient, and the whole

appearance is picturesque. Here we had a mental struggle between

sentiment and good nature, for we wished to breakfast at the same inn

where Sterne met with La Fleur, and yet were unwilling to disappoint the

hopes of our little demoiselle at Samer, who had recommended her

sister's hotel. Good nature carried the day, and we drove to l'Hotel de

l'Europe, where we met with most comfortable accommodation, and were

pleased by the young hostess's resemblance to her pretty sister, and by

her civil, lively manner of receiving us. She sat during our breakfast

in a neighbouring apartment, by the kitchen (like the mistress of the

mansion in times of yore), working at her needle, surrounded by her

hand-maidens, who were occupied in the same employment. They all seemed

to be fond of her, and the light laugh of genuine hilarity rang from one

to the other as they chatted at their ease. The room in which we

breakfasted had (in common with most of the French apartments, which are

not paved with brick), a handsome oak floor, waxed and dry rubbed till

it was nearly as highly polished as a dining-table; the walls were

wainscoted in part, and partly hung with a very amusing paper, having

groups of really superior figures stamped upon it, in the manner of

black and white chalk drawings upon a blue ground; one space, which had

been intended for a looking-glass, was filled up in this style, with a

scene from the loves of Cupid and Psyche, executed in a classical

manner. You would never see such a thing in any English country inn, and

I consider the French in these sort of decorations to possess far better

taste than ourselves. As we passed through the cornfields on our way

from Montreuil to Nampont, we were saluted by the _ramasseurs_

(gleaners), with a bouquet or two, formed of wheat, platted in a neat

and ingenious way, which they threw into the carriage, begging a sous in

return, which we bestowed with much good will! Some children also began

to sing and dance on the pathway by the road side, and I was surprised

by observing that the tune was that of a quadrille, and that the steps

were correct. I plainly recognized the _en avant_ and the _rigadon_. Did

this nation come into the world under the influence of a dancing star? I

should say yes.

When the horses were changed at Nampont we disturbed the postillion at

his dinner, who made his appearance devouring an indescribable

something, which we afterwards discovered to be an _omelette aux

herbes_: he deposited this occasionally on the saddle, while adjusting

his harness.

The ricks of corn and hay here are constructed rather in a slovenly

manner: the French farmers seem to have no idea of the neat method of

the English, in this respect.

The road now led us by the celebrated Forest of Crecy, and the image of

our gallant Black Prince rose vividly before my mind's eye. At Bernay we

entered another peasant's cottage, where we (for the first time since

our landing in this country) beheld real and positive beauty. Two

lovely girls with clear brown skins (through which glowed a pure and

animated carnation), long, dark blue eyes, black fringed lashes, and

oval faces, came out with their mother, (a hale, well-looking country

woman), and a younger sister of six years old, whose infantine charms

were full as great in their way. I asked if the latter was the _cadette_

of the family? Upon which the rural dame, with infinite good humour and

readiness, corrected what she termed my mistaken appellation, by

informing me that it was only the second child which they called the

_cadet_ or _cadette_[1]: the youngest was _le dernier_, or _la

derniere_. We had much pleasure in remarking this beautiful trio, and

the mother seemed not a little gratified at our evident admiration of

her progeny.

The face of the country here again changed for the worse, relapsing into

the same flat and monotonous appearance as at first, and it continued

thus until within a mile of Abbeville, which is a very fine old town,

with a cathedral dedicated to Saint Villefrond. The architecture is very

striking, and the interior replete with the usual ornaments of

superstition and idolatry: it was built by the English. My companions

visited it, while I was resting quietly at the hotel, and saw several

precious relics of saints departed. They found three very young devotees

there, before a _Salvator Mundi_, who were much too merry to be very

religious! I however met with quite an affecting spectacle when I went

in my turn. Two poor _paysannes_, in the usual picturesque costume, were

prostrate before the image of a dead Christ supported by the Virgin.

They were praying with an expression of much earnest and sorrowful

devotion: one of them had a sick child in her arms, for whom she

appeared to invoke the divine compassion: poor little thing, the

impression of approaching death was stamped upon its pale face, as it

lay motionless, hardly seeming to breathe. The group struck my

imagination so forcibly, that I afterwards attempted to sketch it from

memory. Surely this religion, with all its faults, is very consolatory;

and the faith and piety of these poor women must be confessed to be

respectable and praiseworthy, however mingled with the alloy of

superstition and ignorance: Calvin himself might have thought as I did,

had he seen them.

It was market-day at Abbeville the morning after our arrival, and we

were much amused with the various costumes and faces assembled there. We

did not, however, see one pretty woman during the whole of our stay,

which was two nights and a day. We went one evening to the theatre, and

observed the same dearth of beauty among the audience, which chiefly

consisted of _petites bourgeoises_, and officers of the national guards.

This theatre is a very inferior one, and full of bad smells. We were

assured by our hostess that the company (from Amiens) was very good, and

that the piece they were to act (_Les Templiers_) was thought highly of.

We all found it extremely difficult to follow the actors, owing to their

unnatural declamatory tones, and the mouthing manner of pronouncing

their words: this I believe, however, is universally the case, even

with the first tragedians at Paris, _Talma_ not excepted. How brightly

do nature's favourite children, _O'Neil_ and _Kean_, shine in

comparison!

The inn at Abbeville, in which we took up our quarters (l'hotel de

l'Europe), is most excellent: it is very large and roomy, and must once

have been a handsome chateau. There is a delightful garden, which

belonged formerly to a convent adjacent: the high walls covered with a

profusion of delicious fruit. The trees in other parts of the garden

also were bending beneath the weight of the apples and pears, plums, &c.

Myrtles and rododendrons (the latter very large and fine) were placed

here and there in tubs; and the fig-tree and vine overshadowed our

bed-room windows, which looked upon this agreeable scene: the grapes

were nearly ripe. The furniture of our bed-rooms was in a very superior

style, though I have seen the same sort of things even in the most

shabby looking little inns throughout France. Marble must be very

common, and of a reasonable price, for we met with it every where, in

chimney-pieces, slabs, tables, the tops of drawers, &c. The little

washing stand, in our room at Abbeville, was of fine carved mahogany, in

the form of an antique altar or tripod; and the bason and ewer, of an

equally pure and classic form, were of fine French porcelain.

As I have a great passion for seeing the manners of all ranks of people,

I went down into a little room next the kitchen, to chat with the

hostess, while she was shelling some _haricots blancs_ for dinner. I

found this lady very communicative and civil; and I won her heart I

believe, by taking some notice of her daughter, about six years old (her

farewell performance in the maternal line), a pretty, gentle, timid

little creature, who was busily occupied in putting her doll to bed in a

cradle. Several peasants came into the inn-yard as I sat on a bench

there: I observed that all the women wore large crosses, of clumsy

workmanship, chiefly of white crystal, or glass, and coloured ear-rings,

but not so long as those at Calais. We went into a little jeweller's

shop, and bought a couple of the silver rings, with curious ornaments,

which the peasants usually wear; their sentimental devices were very

amusing.

Leaving Abbeville, we saw the common people employed in making ropes by

the road-side, and remarked several large fields of hemp, and one or two

of flax: the hemp, when cut, is piled up in sheaves, like corn. The

country here is verdant, and rather woody: it lies low, and the river

Somme winds through it, whose course may be plainly traced to a great

distance by the willows which grow upon its banks, reminding me of parts

of Berkshire. I ought not to omit mentioning the profusion of

apple-trees which grow by the road-side, almost all the way to Paris:

the trees were absolutely sinking beneath the weight of the fruit, and

one or two of them had quite given way, and lay prostrate, training

their rosy burthen in the dust. I am almost ashamed to say that my

appetite was so much stronger than my honesty, that I could not be

satisfied without tasting them; when I discovered that these fair apples

were like those mentioned in the Scriptures, bright and tempting to the

eye, but bitter as ashes within! In short, they were not eatable, but

entirely of the cider kind, which, as every body knows, are good for

nothing in a natural state. There are quantities, however, of eating

apples besides, in every cottage garden; and the favourite food of the

peasant children appears to be coarse, brown, heavy bread, with these

roasted and spread upon it, instead of butter. We saw large piles of

roasted apples in the market at Abbeville for this purpose.

The country near Airaines again becomes tiresome, from its barren

sameness. Passing a little public house, we observed the following

somewhat selfish inscription over the door: "Messieurs! nous sommes

quatres hussards, et nous disons, que pour conservir nos amis, il ne

faut pas faire de credit." The weather was invariably delightful: a

bright sun, with a refreshing cool breeze, and an elasticity and

lightness in the air, gave animation and cheerfulness to us all. The sky

was generally of a cloudless azure, and the nights almost as light and

as free from damps as the days: I never beheld the moon in greater

majesty. Airaines is an uninteresting little town, not worth mentioning.

Our postillion here was a most ruffian-like, cut-throat looking

creature, all over dirt, and having a true jacobinical air. He cast

several glances full of sullenness and malignity at my companions; so

much so, that I felt very thankful we were in the cheerful haunts of

men, and not in the solitary Alps, or the black forests of Germany, with

such a conductor.

We dined at Granvilliers, where we were waited upon by a little girl of

thirteen, fair and lively enough, with an English bloom. She spoke our

language remarkably well, although she had only been six months _en

pension_ at Amiens, in order to acquire it! Her instructress was a

French woman, which is singular, for she seemed to have given her little

pupil a perfect knowledge of our idiom, and an excellent accent.

From Granvilliers to Marseille, the country rapidly improves in beauty.

Just beyond the latter place we remarked a very fine old chateau,

embosomed in extensive woods: it must formerly have belonged to some of

the rich noblesse, and perhaps does so still. Near Marseille, vineyards

appeared for the first time. We now approached the town of Beauvais,

which had a very pretty effect, surrounded by woods, with the cathedral

standing proudly conspicuous over all. It just now occurs to me to

mention (though not immediately _à-propos_ to Beauvais), that the

houses, in most of the French towns and villages we have yet seen, are

numbered, and in a singular method; for the several streets are not

allowed their numbers, separately reckoned, but they go on counting from

the first house in the place to the last, so that it sometimes happens

you might be directed to call upon a friend at number 1000, or 2000, and

so on. In Paris they have another peculiarity, for the even numbers,

such as 2, 4, 6, 8, &c. are all on one side of the street, and the odd

ones, 7, 9, 11, &c. on the other.

Beauvais is a filthy town; the streets narrow and dark, and the houses

very ordinary. The diversity of intolerable smells here nearly overset

me, and made me wish almost to lose the power of my olfactory nerves.

The inn was miserable, dirty, inconvenient, badly attended, and noisy.

The only good things we met with were beds; indeed we have been

fortunate in that respect every where, and the linen throughout France

is excellent and plentiful.

We had (with some difficulty) prevailed upon the awkward _Maritornes_ of

a _fille de chambre_ to set a tea-board before us in the little

chair-lumbered closet dignified by the name of a _salle a manger_, and

into which three or four doors were perpetually opened _sans ceremonie_,

when our Swiss travelling valet, Christian, came in to tell us of the

hard fate of an English family who were just arrived, and whose fatigue

obliged them to sleep here; but as the sitting-rooms were all occupied,

they were under the necessity of taking their tea in the kitchen, which

did not, alas! boast the cheerful and clean appearance of the cottage

kitchens I have formerly described. Common politeness, therefore, laid

us under the necessity of sending an invitation to these unfortunates,

to share our sitting-room, and join us at our tea. Accordingly, in came

two ladies; one a fat, comely, masculine dame, of a certain age; the

other lean, tall, plain, and some few years younger. In a few minutes

they were joined by a large, gruff, sour-looking old gentleman (the

husband of the elder lady), who, without attempting any salutation or

apology to us, began to express his dissatisfaction at finding tea going

forward, 'when you know (said he) I never drink any.' He then settled

himself at a small table, and ordered a _pâté_ for his supper. The style

of the ladies may easily be guessed by the sort of language in which

they described every thing they had seen. The younger, mentioning a

tempestuous passage which they had encountered, from Dover to Boulogne,

told us that the air smelt quite _sulphurus_, and the lightning _tizzed_

in the water very frightfully. The old gentleman grumbled himself by

degrees into conversation, and we soon discovered that he was a genuine

Squire Sullen, and that his companions were fully aware of it. These

poor people seemed to dislike almost all they had met with in France;

persons, places, travelling, &c. They beheld every thing _en noir_, and

appeared to make mountains of mole-hills. Peace be with them! and a

speedy release from each other's society.

We went (although the day was sinking into twilight) to view the

magnificent cathedral, which for beauty of architecture I have seldom

seen equalled. It is not finished. The different chapels of the saints,

and the high altar, were very striking, seen through the solemn gloom of

the fine old stained glass windows. Lights were burning before the

shrine of one single saint, the patron of the town; they twinkled dimly

through the Gothic pillars and tracery, and had a highly picturesque and

singular effect[2]. Many peasants were kneeling round the altar at this

shrine, and the old woman (our guide) informed us they were praying for

rain, now the harvest was got safely in: we asked her if she thought the

saint would grant their prayers, and she replied she had no doubt but

that he would. Prostrate on the steps of the altars, in the different

small chapels of this cathedral, half lost in shadow, were several other

devotees, who had come there for the purpose of confessing themselves

previous to the great and solemn festival of the _assomption de la

Sainte Vierge_, which was to take place on the morrow. Altogether the

spectacle was interesting and imposing, nor could I find any disposition

in my heart to ridicule a religion which seemed to be carried on with so

much sacred solemnity, and in so awe inspiring a temple. Certainly the

absence of pews in the body of a place of public worship is a great

advantage, both in a religious and a picturesque point of view. There is

something soothing and elevating to the imagination in the idea of so

grand a building being open equally, and at all times, to the noble and

the peasant, who, it might easily happen, may be seen side by side

kneeling on the same steps of the magnificent altar, wrapt in devout

adoration of that Being, in whose sight all men are equal. In my

opinion (and I have ever since I can remember thought the same) a Gothic

cathedral is the most appropriate style of building for a place

dedicated to the worship of the Almighty, nor can I look upon the

magnificent style in which the Roman catholics adorn their altars, and

array their officiating priests, without some feelings of approbation

and reverence.

We were right glad to quit Beauvais early the next morning; and, as we

advanced towards Beaumont, were delighted with the beauty of its

environs. The river Seine has a fine appearance here, although vastly

inferior to our Thames; and we remarked a great number of chateaus

rising among the woods, on every side: many of them, with their parks

and domains, were really superb. Some peasants here attempted to impose

upon us as foreigners, in a very disgusting manner, asking a franc for a

couple of greengages, and three sous a-piece for pears, which they

offered at the windows of our carriage. Our servant was very indignant

at their impudence, and sent them off in a hurry, saying, "Dey ought to

be shamed of demselves." Upon entering Beaumont, we met the population

of the place returning from mass, in their _costumes des fêtes_. Nothing

can well be more sweetly pretty, and delicately neat, than the dress of

the women! snowy caps, with deep lace or thin _linon_ borders plaited,

white cotton gowns and stockings, gay coloured cotton handkerchiefs

crossed smartly over the bosom so as to display the shape to advantage,

a large gold cross suspended from the neck by a black narrow riband, or

gold chain, with ear-rings, and pin for the forehead of the same

material. Some few wore a crimson apron and bib, over the white gown,

and others crimson gowns, with aprons of a bright antique sort of

blue--a mixture of colours which is for ever to be remarked in the

paintings of the old masters, and which has a singularly becoming effect

upon the skin. A little worked muslin _fischu_, with a vandyke

bordering, is sometimes added, as a finish to the dress, worn over all.

We now came to St. Denis, and at length beheld Paris! We did not pass

the heights of Montmartre, &c. without emotion, when we recollected the

memorable contest which so lately took place there between the veteran

Blucher and the French! The country in the immediate vicinity of Paris

is flat and ugly; but we thought not of nature upon entering this

celebrated work and wonder of art. Covered with dust, and followed by

the eyes of the multitude, who easily discovered our English

physiognomies, we drove up to several hotels, at every one of which we

were refused admittance for want of room to accommodate us, there being

at this moment no less than thirty thousand English at Paris. At last,

we were comfortably housed at the _hotel Rivoli_ (near the _jardins des

Tuileries_), one of the best in the city, where we found abundant

civility and attention, and every convenience.

Why should I attempt to describe Paris? It has already and so often been

done by abler pens than mine, that the very school girl in a country

town in England is perfectly acquainted with all its lions; I shall only

say, that we spent so short a time there, and I was so afraid of

exhausting my stock of strength, which was fully wanted for the journey

to Geneva, &c. that I did not even attempt to see every thing that might

have been seen.

The extreme height of the houses, and narrowness of the streets,

together with the inconceivable variety of horrible smells in all parts

of the town, and the want of pavements for pedestrians, made an

extremely unpleasant impression upon me. The gaiety and fancy displayed

in the signs over the shops (every one of which has an emblematic device

peculiar to itself) were very striking, however, as well as their

markets, where Pomona seemed to have lavished the choicest treasures of

her horn: indeed I never beheld such a profusion of exquisite fruits and

vegetables, the cheapness of which astonished us natives of a more

niggard clime not a little. The quantities of cooling and refreshing

beverages, sold in every corner of the streets, were also quite a novel

thing to us, as well as the circumstance of all the world sitting on

hired chairs out of doors, sipping lemonade, or eating ices.

I did not remark, I must confess, that appearance of excessive animation

and enjoyment, which I had been led to expect among the Parisians; on

the contrary, I saw full as many grave faces as in _notre triste pays_,

as they call it. The Palais Royal I thought a very amusing place; and

the fountain in the midst is most beautiful and refreshing, throwing up

a stream of water, which in its descent resembles a weeping willow. The

fountain of the Lions, also, is still superior, and I think them among

the most agreeable objects in Paris. The Boulevards are an airy,

cheerful situation, and the moving scene constantly going on there put

me in mind of a perpetual fair.

The gentlemen went to the Opera Françoise, where the splendour of the

ballet, and the superiority of the dancing, struck them with

astonishment and admiration. They visited Tivoli (which did not appear

to them to be so good a thing of the sort as our Vauxhall); and I went

one evening to the _Beaujon_, and _les Montaignes Russes_, in _les

Champs Elysées_. Both the latter, however, were shut; that is, no

sliding in the cars was going on, for there had been so many fatal

accidents lately, that the rage for this amusement was over. I did not

like _les Champs Elysées_ so well as our Kensington Gardens; the want of

turf was unpardonable in our English eyes. _La place de Louis XV._,

opposite the Tuileries, where the unfortunate Louis XVI. was executed,

is very superb in itself, as well as interesting from its melancholy

legends. I was rather disappointed in _les jardins des Tuileries_,

admiring the fine orange-trees in tubs there more than the gardens

themselves. We saw the remains of that horrible monument of cruelty,

injustice, and despotism, the Bastile; and drove past the entrance to

the celebrated _Jardin des plantes_, which we did not enter, as I had

already seen a very fine botanical collection at Kew, and a much

superior set of wild beasts at Exeter Change.

To the Louvre, however, even in its present state of diminished

splendour, no words of mine can do justice; its superb gallery far

exceeded even my expectations, which had been highly excited by all I

had ever heard upon the subject: to see the paintings properly, one

ought to go there every day for a week. We had only time particularly to

distinguish several landscapes of Claude Lorraine, beautiful beyond all

idea, and the set of historical pictures illustrative of the life of

_Henri quatre_, by Rubens: I was much struck with the fine countenance

and person of the gallant monarch. A Saint Sebastian also, by Guido,

rivetted my delighted attention. A friend of ours has painted an

exquisite miniature copy of it, with which I remember being greatly

struck in England, but it was not until I had seen the original that I

was fully aware of its extraordinary merit. The gallery itself is a most

magnificent thing; it really is quite a long fatiguing walk from one end

of it to the other; and the crowds of people of all ranks who are

constantly to be met with there render it altogether one of the most

curious and interesting spectacles in Europe.

I was much amused with the shops, particularly the confectioners; the

ingenious and endless devices into which they form their delicious bon

bons and dried fruits are really surprising, and we purchased specimens

of their different fancies, to astonish our English friends upon our

return home. The _vendeurs des tisannes_ (cooling beverages, something

like _eau de groseilles_, or lemonade), going about with their stock in

trade strapped to their backs like walking tea-urns, were curious

figures. The vessel which holds the _tisanne_ is not unlike a long

violin case in shape, with a spout to it; it finishes at the top like a

Chinese pagoda, and is sometimes covered with little jingling bells, and

hung round with pretty silver mugs. The dress of the _petites

bourgeoises_ is quite distinct from that of every other rank of person;

it is rather smart and neat than otherwise, but not at all picturesque.

I do not remember to have heard a single note of agreeable music while I

was in Paris, except that which regaled our ears in an opposite hotel

(belonging to Count S.) the second evening of our arrival. This nobleman

(of an Irish family, but now a naturalized Frenchman) gave a grand

dinner (in a temporary banqueting-room, built out upon the leads of the

house _à la troisieme étage_) to the English; and, during the

entertainment, his band of musicians played several pieces, amongst

others the celebrated national air, still dear to the French, of _Vive

Henri quatre_; they then attempted God save the King, but made a

dreadful business of it, which I attribute less to professional

ignorance than to the impossibility of their being able to feel it, or

to enter into the spirit of it _con amore_! The ballad singers (at least

all of them that we had an opportunity of hearing) have harsh wiry

voices and nasal tones; the latter circumstance, however, is almost

inseparable from their language. I could not but be diverted with the

_espièglerie_ of the _fille de chambre_ who attended me at the hotel de

Rivoli: she was ugly, but shrewd, and very active and civil. I asked her

if Count S. was a young man; upon which she hopped round the room in the

most ridiculous manner possible, imitating the action of a decrepit old

person. _Jeune!_ (said she) _oh mon Dieu, que non! c'est un vieux

Monsieur_ _qui va toujours comme cela!_ I inquired if she knew why he

gave this fête. Oh, _je n'en sais rien, mais, le pauvre homme, il n'a

que tres peu de temps encore à restre dans ce monde ci, et je crois

qu'il aime à faire parler de lui, avant de partir pour l'autre._

As to the personal charms of the women here, they appeared to me to be

very mediocre; we remarked three or four pretty faces, but not one that

had any claim to superior beauty. The people were all civil to us,

except one woman, who kept a little shop for _bijouterie_ in _le Palais

Royal_: nothing could be more pert and sulky than her language and

manner; she looked as if she hated us and our nation altogether. We

heard reports from other English people residing here, that it was very

common for the lower orders of French to treat us with marked incivility

and dislike; indeed that they should do so, under the present

circumstances, ought not to be wondered at. The bronze statue of _Henri

quatre_ was erecting during our stay; we passed by the spot (close to

the _Pont Neuf_), and beheld a mob assembled around it, with _gens

d'armes_ on duty: we did not see the statue itself, it being at that

moment covered with a purple mantle, studded with golden _fleurs de

lis_. The various political parties speak differently of this affair:

some say the brass of the statue will soon be converted into mortars,

and others, that it is built upon a rock, and will stand for ever! The

bridges appeared to us all vastly inferior to ours in London; that of

Waterloo, in the Strand, makes them shrink into utter insignificance in

comparison! but the palaces and public buildings are, on the contrary,

infinitely finer than our own. Nothing can be more magnificent, or in a

more noble taste! I was very much amused by the novelty (totally unknown

to ladies in England) of dining at a _restaurateur's_. Curiosity induced

me to accompany Mr. Baillie, and our friend, to _Véry's_, and the next

day to _Beauvilliers'_, two of the most distinguished in the profession

in Paris; and the excellence of the cookery almost awakened (or rather I

should say created) in me a spirit of _gourmandise_. There were a few

other ladies present, which was a sort of sanction for me. A Russian or

Prussian officer (by his appearance) sat at one of the little tables

next to us, at _Beauvilliers'_, and very nearly made me sick by the

sight of his long, thick, greasy moustaches, and his disgusting habit of

spitting every instant upon the floor. I observed that the French people

eat their vegetables (always dressed with white sauce) after the meat,

&c. and as a sort of dessert or _bonne bouche_ even after they have

finished their sweet dishes: to us this seems an odd custom. We took our

coffee and liqueurs at a _Café_ near the Tuileries, and then, while the

gentlemen went to the opera, I returned to the hotel, to go on with my

journal.

One morning we devoted to an expedition to the interesting cemetery of

_Père de la Chaise_, the celebrated confessor of Louis quatorze. The

house in which he resided stands in the midst, and is preserved as a

sacred ruin. Nothing can be more striking, and affecting to the

imagination, than this place of burial; it is of considerable extent,

with a well managed relief of shade and inequality of ground. The tombs

and graves are kept in the highest order and repair, and almost all of

them are planted with shrubs and fragrant flowers, mingled with the

mournful cypress and yew: the acacia tree also is planted here in great

abundance, and the wild vine trails its broad leaves and graceful

clusters over many of the monuments. We remarked several beautiful

tombs; amongst others, a light Gothic temple, which contains the

mouldering remains of Abelard and Eloise, brought from the former place

of their interment to the present appropriate and lovely situation:

their statues lie side by side carved in stone, in their religious

habits, their heads resting on cushions, and his feet upon a dog. All

this did him too much honour; as he was the most selfish tyrannical

lover in the world, and quite unworthy, in my opinion, of the attachment

of the unfortunate Eloise. Several of the inscriptions on humbler tombs

were affecting from their brevity and simplicity; upon that of a man in

the prime of life we read the following short sentence: _A la memoire de

mon meilleur ami_--_c'étoit mon frere_! On another, _Ci_ _git P----

N----: son epouse perd en lui le plus tendre de ses amis, et ses enfans

un modele de vertu_. And upon one raised by its parents to the memory of

a child, _ci git notre fils cheri_; a little crown of artificial orange

blossoms, half blown, was in a glass-case at his head. We observed many

garlands of fresh and sweet flowers, hung upon the graves; every thing

marked the existence of tender remembrance and regret: it appears to me

as if in this place, alone, the dead were never forgotten. I ought,

however, to make honourable mention of a similar custom in Wales. A

woman was kneeling upon one of the tombs (which was overgrown by

fragrant shrubs), weeping bitterly, and I felt a great inclination to

bear her company: the last roses of summer were still lingering here,

and she was gathering one as we passed. There is a remarkably fine view

of Paris from the mount on which the house of _Père de la Chaise_

stands. I said it was preserved as a sacred ruin, but I, as a

protestant, could not look with much veneration upon it, as the

residence of the instigator of the revocation of the edict of Nantes;

that foul stain upon the character, and disgrace to the understanding of

_le grand Louis_, which will ever be remembered with indignation by

every candid and liberal Christian. But Protestantism has likewise its

bigots, almost as remorseless, and equally blind! witness some

sentiments discovered in the discourses of furious Calvin, and John

Knox; witness the actions of Cromwell, and his fanatical roundheads;

witness (alas! in our own days), the uncharitable and horribly

presumptuous principles and tenets of the Methodists and Saints! But

this is another digression: I return to the view of Paris. It is, as I

said before, extremely fine; you have a bird's eye prospect of the whole

city, with the proud towers of Notre Dame eminently conspicuous, and the

gilded dome of _l'hôpital des Invalides_, glittering in the sun. A word

(only one word) relative to the French custom of gilding so much and so

gaudily; it quite spoils the dignified effect of some of their noblest

works of architecture, and puts one in mind of a child who prefers the

showy ostentation of gold leaf upon his gingerbread to the more

wholesome taste of its own plain and unornamented excellence. I have met

with English people, however, who are vastly delighted with this false

style of decoration.

Before I take leave of Paris, I ought in justice to acknowledge that I

have not had an opportunity of enjoying its chief and proudest

attraction; I mean its best society. Our time did not allow of any

intercourse of this nature, and I regretted it much, because I have

always heard (and from those most capable of judging rightly) that the

tone of conversation in the upper circles here is remarkably attractive

and delightful; and that lovers of good taste, high breeding, social

enjoyment, and literary pursuits, would find themselves in Paris _en

pays de connoissance_. Deprived of this gratification, we felt (at least

Mr. B. and myself) no sort of reluctance or regret when the day of our

departure arrived: for our friend Mr. W. I will not so confidently

answer; he had been in Paris twice before, had met with many agreeable

people there, and consequently felt more at home among them.

As for me in particular, I can only say that Paris made no great

impression upon my fancy, and none at all upon my feelings; (always

excepting the _Louvre_, the _cimetiere_ of _Père de la Chaise_, and one

or two other interesting spectacles): and that I was, as I before

observed, so overpowered by its inconceivably filthy effluvia, and the

wretched inconvenience of its streets (both for walking and going in a

carriage), that I rather felt an exhilaration of spirits than otherwise

when we finally bade it adieu.

On the morning of our departure it rained a good deal, and our

postillion had taken care to fence himself against the weather; for he

had disguised himself in a long shaggy dress of goats' skins, bearing a

very accurate resemblance to the prints of Robinson Crusoe. We observed

this done by others, more than once. The horses had little bells

fastened to their harness; which practice is very common, we were told,

both in France and Italy. All the roads in the former, and most of them

in the latter country, are good; wide, smooth, and generally paved in

the middle, which has a noisy effect, but it renders the draught for

horses much easier than the road, in wet weather, or when they work in

very heavy carriages. Avenues are general; they improve the face of the

country when seen at a distance, but are monotonous and tiresome in

themselves. I used formerly to admire roads leading though avenues, but

it is possible to have too much of this. Between Villejuif and

Fromenteau we observed a pillar on the left with the following

chivalrous inscription; _Dieu, le Roi, les Dames!_ I was going to

rejoice in this apparent proof of the gallant spirit of the nation, but

I recollected the celebrated words of Burke, in his letter upon the

French revolution, and sighed as I involuntarily repeated, "The age of

chivalry is no more."

Just beyond Fromenteau, the country is really fine: woods, villages,

chateaus were in abundance, and the river Seine appeared to much

advantage; we remarked two stone fountains, one on each side of the

road, with the _fleurs de lis_ engraved upon them, built by Louis XV.

The French mile-stones here have quite a classical air, resembling

broken columns; they are not properly mile-stones, but serve to mark the

half leagues.

At Essone, where we changed horses, the postillion came out in a white

night-cap (or rather a cap which once had boasted that title of purity),

loose blue trowsers reaching scantily below the knee, and sans shoes or

stockings of any sort: upon seeing that his services were wanted, he

threw on an old japan hat, jumped into his jack boots, and clawing up

the reins, drove off with an air of as much importance and self

satisfaction as the smartest-clad post-boy on the Epsom road during the

race week.

In the stubble fields near Fontainbleau, we observed great quantities of

partridges. The shepherds here sleep in little moveable houses or huts,

upon wheels, somewhat inferior to a good English dog-kennel. At Chailly,

we saw the Virgin Mary looking out of a round hole in the wall, and not

at all more dignified in her appearance than the well-known hero of

Coventry. We now exchanged our driver for a spirited old gentleman, who

frolicked along beneath the burthen of threescore or more, seeming to

bid defiance to the whole collection of pains and HH's (vide Kemble's

classical pronunciation). Perhaps, reader, I do not make my meaning

perfectly clear; but that does not signify, the first authors write in

this way; and besides, I know what I mean myself, which is not always

the case even with them. We remarked in the course of our journey a

great number of similar merry Nestors, and found, almost invariably,

that they drove us faster, better, and in a superior style altogether to

their younger competitors. I suppose they have a sort of pride in thus

displaying their activity, which a middle-aged man does not feel.

We entered the superb forest of Fontainbleau just as the day began to

decline; the sombre gloom and peculiar smell of the leaves were very

agreeable. I have ever loved forest scenery, and would prefer a constant

residence in its vicinity to that of mountain, lake, or plain: the trees

here were chiefly beech, mixed with silver poplars, birch, and a few

oaks. How was it possible to thread these mazes without thinking of

_Henri quatre_, and his famous hunting adventure in the miller's hut? I

almost expected to see the stately shade of the noble monarch start from

each shadowy dell. Methought the sullen, yet faithful Sully, emerged

from the dark glades on the opposite side, seeking in vain for the

benighted sovereign; and venting his affectionate inquietudes in the

language of apparent severity and ill humour. I thought--but it does not

matter what more I thought, in which opinion I dare say my reader will

fully agree with me. We arrived at our inn (_la Galère_), and well did

it deserve that name, for never poor slave chained to the bench and oar

suffered more severely from the merciless lash of his task-master than I

did from the tormenting tyranny of the bugs, which swarmed in this

detestable place. There was no sitting-room immediately ready for our

reception, so we sat down in the old, lofty, smoke-stained kitchen, and

amused ourselves with observing the progress of our supper, in company

with a very sociable little dog, (who took a great fancy to me,) and

_Monsieur le Chef_, an appropriate name, invariably given to the cook

in most parts of the Continent.

When we retired to rest for the night, no words can express the disgust

which assailed us: finding it impossible to remain in bed, I was obliged

to lie in the middle of the room, upon six hard, worm-eaten, wooden

chairs, whose ruthless angles ran into my wearied frame, and rendered

every bone sore before morning; but even this did not save me, for the

vermin ascended by the legs of the chairs, and really almost eat me up,

as the rats did Southey's Bishop Hatto[3]. My imagination for several

days after this adventure was so deeply saturated with their nauseous

idea, that every object brought them in some way or other before me.

Upon quitting Fontainbleau, we first observed the _sabots_ (or wooden

shoes) worn by the peasantry; they are of enormous size, and must, I

should think, be very heavy and inconvenient to the wearer. A piece of

sheep-skin, with the woolly side inwards, is often slipt between the

sabot and the foot, to prevent the former from excoriating the instep.

At Moret, a dirty little town, we saw a whole row of women washing linen

in the river; they were in a kneeling position, and beat the clothes

with a wooden mallet; they ought all to be provided with husbands from

among the linen drapers, as they are such admirable helps to the trade.

We met several donkeys here, carrying rushes, piled up like moving

houses, so high, that only the heads and hoofs of the animals were

visible. Vast tracts of land, covered with vineyards, extended on every

side, and the eternal straight road, where one could see for three or

four miles the track one was to follow, began to be excessively tedious

and wearing to the spirits: how different from the winding, undulating,

graceful roads in England!

Country near Pont sur Yonne open, bald, and monotonous. The French

vineyards when seen closely have a formal effect, being planted in stiff

rows, like scarlet runners in a kitchen garden, but they much enrich

the landscape at a distance. The river Yonne is a pretty little stream,

but the nymphs on its banks are not at all picturesque in their costume,

which is by no means particularly marked, being dirty and unbecoming,

and very much (I am ashamed to say) in the style of our common

countrywomen about Brentford, Hammersmith, &c.

Sens is an ancient town: it has a handsome cathedral and gateway. The

bread made here (as well as in most parts of France, except partially in

Paris) is mixed with leaven instead of yeast, and is sour and

disagreeable in consequence. We remarked many gardens richly cultivated,

full of choice vegetables and fruit, by the side of the highroad,

without the smallest inclosure; a proof, I should imagine, of the

honesty of the country people. There are several English families

resident here, as the environs are very pretty, and the town itself an

agreeable one. We stopped to take our breakfast at _la Poste_, and

bought excellent grapes for four-pence a pound English money. The late

Dauphin, father of the present king, is buried in the cathedral of this

place, and the duke and duchess d'Angouleme, &c. come once a year to

pray for his soul's repose.

Pursuing our route, we met many Burgundy waggons, loaded with wine; the

horses were ornamented with enormous collars of sheep-skin, dyed of a

bright blue colour: the _tout ensemble_ had a picturesque appearance,

and the waggons were the first we had seen in France which had four

wheels, the weight being usually balanced between a pair. A sudden storm

of rain now coming on, had a beautiful effect; the retreating sunbeams

played in catching lights (to use the expression of an artist) upon the

abrupt points of the distant hills, and partially illuminated their soft

and verdant tapestry of vines. We particularly enjoyed it after the long

season of heat and drought. Here are whole groves of walnut-trees,

beneath which we met a group of five women belonging to the vineyards;

they were every one handsome, with ruddy, wholesome, yet sun-burnt

complexions, lively smiles, and long bright dark eyes and shadowy

lashes.

Entered Villeneuve sur Yonne; saw loads of charcoal on the river, going

to replenish the kitchens of many a _Parisian Heliogabalus_! this is

also an ancient town, with two curious old gateways, but it appeared

very dull. I admired some fine hedges of acacia, and four pretty, sleek,

grey donkeys, who were drawing the plough. The road is winding here,

like those of our own country, for which we were solely indebted to the

turns of the river, whose course it accompanied.

Joigny. A handsome stone bridge seems its most remarkable ornament: the

river is broad and fine, flowing through steep banks fringed with wood.

We dined and slept at _les Cinq Mineurs_, and this in the same room. A

most obliging, intelligent, young woman waited upon us, whose name was

_Veronique_. After dinner we walked on the promenade by the side of the

river, and saw the barracks, &c. My friends met with a little adventure

in their rambles, while I was resting myself at the inn. Seeing a pretty

little boy and his sister at play near the chateau, (belonging to the

ancient counts of Joigny,) they entered into conversation with them,

upon which they were joined by the father of the children, a French

country gentleman, who resided in a small house opposite the chateau: he

insisted upon their coming in with him, and as the dinner was ready,

much wished to tempt them to partake the meal: this they declined, and

their new acquaintance proceeded to shew them his collection of

pictures, _de très bons morceaux_, as he called them, but which did not

rank quite so high in the estimation of his visitors. He unintentionally

displayed, however, a much more pleasing possession; I mean that of an

amiable and grateful disposition, for he said in the course of

conversation, that he was always on the watch for an opportunity of

shewing hospitality and attention to the English, as some little return

for the kindness he had experienced from their nation, during a visit he

had formerly made to his brother in Dorsetshire; this brother was one of

the monks of the order of _La Trappe_, a small number of whom had been

collected together, and who lived, in their former habits of monastic

gloom and austerity, at Lulworth castle in that county, under the

protection of an English catholic (Mr. Weld), during the French

revolution. He related some interesting anecdotes of this severe

establishment; in particular, that of an Austrian general of high rank,

who after enrolling himself a member of the community, and living some

years in the practice of incredible hardships and privations, at length

permitted his tongue to reveal his name and family, about ten minutes

previous to his dissolution; faithful to the vow which is common to them

all, of not speaking until the moment of death. I was not aware that

such an institution existed in England, till this French gentleman

related the circumstance, and it strengthened the sensations of mixed

horror and pity, which I have ever felt for the victims of fanaticism,

in every shape and in every degree. How incredible does it appear, (in

the judgment of reasonable beings) that mortals should imagine the

benevolent Author of Nature can possibly take pleasure in a mode of

worship which restricts his creatures from the enjoyment of those

comforts and innocent pleasures with which life abounds, and for which

he has so peculiarly adapted their faculties! Shall all created beings

express their sense of existence in bursts of involuntary cheerfulness

and hilarity of spirit, and man alone offer up his adorations with a

brow of gloom, and a heart withered by slavish sensations of fear and

alarm? but enough upon so sacred a subject.

On returning to their inn, the gentlemen met several teams of oxen,

decorated with pretty high bonnets (_à la cauchoise_) made of straw: the

natives here seem to take great pride and pleasure in the accoutrements

of their cattle. An English family arrived at the _Cinq Mineurs_ at the

same time with ourselves; they were well known in London as people of

some consequence and property. Their sensations on passing through

France were widely different from ours, as they described themselves to

have been thoroughly disgusted with every body and every thing they saw;

had met with nothing but cheating and imposition among the people; and

had not been able to observe any pretty country, or interesting objects

_en route_--yet they had gone over exactly the same ground that we had

done. As they sometimes travelled all night, I conclude they slept the

whole or greater part of the time; but there are more ways than one of

going through the world with the eyes shut.

In the neighbourhood of Joigny, (on the other side of the town,) there

is a great quantity of hemp grown; and all the trees are stripped up to

the tops, like those in many parts of Berkshire, where the graceful is

frequently sacrificed to the useful: they had a very ugly effect.

Approaching Auxerre, the cathedral looks handsome; there are three

churches besides. The first view of Burgundy is not prepossessing;

nothing but tame-looking hills, with casual patches of vines; the river,

however, is a pretty object, and continues to bestow a little life upon

the landscape. The same absence of costume continues. At Auxerre, we

breakfasted at _l'hotel du Leopard_; the vines were trained over the

house with some degree of taste, and took off from the air of forlorn

discomfort which the foreign inns so frequently exhibit. I was rather

surprised at being ushered into the same room with a fine

haughty-looking peacock, a pea-hen, and their young brood; they did not

seem at all disconcerted at my entrance, but continued stalking gravely

about, as if doing the honors of the apartment. The _salle à manger_ was

in a better _goût_ (although not half so comfortable) than most of our

English parlours; the walls were papered with graceful figures from

stories of the pagan mythology and bold, spirited landscapes in the back

ground, coloured in imitation of old bistre drawings; the crazy sopha

and arm chair were covered with rich tapestry, of prodigiously fine

colours, yet somewhat the worse for wear. This was our first Burgundy

breakfast, and it evinced the luxuriance of the country, for it

consisted (as a thing of course) of black and white grapes, melons,

peaches, greengages, and pears, to which were added fresh eggs by the

dozen, good _cafè au lait_, and creaming butter just from the churn,

with the crucifix stamped upon it. At all French _déjeunés_ they ask if

you do not choose fruit, and at dinner it is invariably brought to table

in the last course, with a slice of cheese as part of the dessert. Mr.

Baillie was not well, and starved like Tantalus in the midst of plenty,

which was very unlucky.

Bonaparte on his return from Elba occupied this apartment; and the

postillion who drove us was one of those who rendered the same service

to him: we had also a pair of the same horses which aided in conveying

him on towards Paris. He passed two days here, waiting for his small

army of five thousand men to come up with him, as his speed greatly

outran theirs. He had six horses to his travelling carriage, and gave

each postillion ten francs a piece; "_Ma foi!_" (said ours in relating

the circumstance) "_nous avons bien galoppé! quand on nous paye si bien,

les chevaux ne se fatiguent jamais!_" There was some honesty as well as

wit in this avowal.

Quitting Auxerre, we passed a large stone cistern, with a cross on the

top; several loaded donkeys were drinking here, and some women washing

clothes; it was altogether a picturesque group, and singular to an

English eye. Vineyards, vineyards, vineyards! _toujours perdrix!_ I was

quite tired of them at last. The country, however, now became much more

hilly, and we used the drag-chain, for the first time, between Saint

Bris and Vermanton; these hills were richly covered with vines, and

woods began to appear, in the form of thick dwarfish oak.

Vermanton. This place is famed for wood and wine. We saw the _paysannes_

here in deep gipsy straw hats, the first we had beheld in France among

this class of people; for even in Paris, the _petites bourgeoises_, as

well as the countrywomen, all walk about in caps, or the French

handkerchief tied carelessly round the head. The country from hence

again changed much for the worse, barren hills extended for several

miles, now and then covered with partial spots of vegetation.

Close to the town of Avalon, we remarked a range of hills, one of which

is of great height, called Montmartre. We here bid adieu for some time

to vineyards. Large extensive woods surround Avalon, from which the

greater part of the fuel burnt in Paris is taken. Flocks of sheep were

continually passing, numbers of black ones, and some goats always among

them. There seemed to be few pigs any where, and all of them were

frightfully lean: "as fat as a pig" is a term of reproach for which I

have ever entertained a particular aversion, but I am now convinced that

these beasts are much more disgusting when deprived of their natural

_embonpoint_. I fancy the French people make too good a use themselves

of what we should call _the refuse of the kitchen_, to have any to spare

for the necessities of these their fourfooted brethren. We now came into

the neighbourhood of widely extended cornfields--fields I ought not to

call them, for there are no inclosures. We saw an old woman at a cottage

door, with a distaff in her hand; the first I had ever seen except in a

picture. She was a withered, grim-looking crone, but not quite sublime

enough for one of Gray's "fatal sisters." Scene the next, a pretty,

green, tranquil glen, (where cattle were making the most of the

unusually rich pasturage,) bounded by a steep bank, and copse wood; not

unlike some spots in Surrey.

We drove on, through a shady wood, to Rouvray, passing on the road

crowds of waggons drawn by oxen, loaded with empty wine casks,

preparatory to the vintage, which was expected to be very fine this

season: the waggoners almost all wore cocked hats, and we remarked that

the oxen were yoked by the head. We met a _diligence_ drawn by four

mules, and observed many beautiful trees of mountain ash, with their

bright clusters of scarlet berries, by the side of the highway.

Stopping for a few moments at la Roche en Berney, we joined a group of

the most respectable _bourgeoisie_, (men and women,) sitting with the

hostess on a bench at her door. They all rose up to salute us, and the

men stood _sans chapeau_ as we passed, with an agreeable expression of

civil good will upon every countenance. Some of the ladies had little

French dogs under their arms. The country near this place is covered

with wood, yet has notwithstanding a monotonous character; these woods

however are worthy of remark, from their extent and duration, continuing

on all sides without interruption for many miles.

We now arrived at Saulieu, where we supped and slept at _la Poste_. It

was quite in the cottage style, which we all rather liked than not: we

had a cheerful little wood fire at night (as the weather felt chilly),

and sat round it talking of the adventures of the day, until the hour of

repose. This town stands upon the highest ground in France; the snow was

never entirely off the neighbouring woods during the whole of the last

winter: vineyards will not flourish in so bleak a situation, and other

fruits are very scarce. The hostess was a most loyal personage, for upon

my observing a bust of _Henri quatre_ over the chimney, and saying he

was truly the father of his people, she exclaimed, _Oui, Madame! mais à

present nous avons aussi des rois qui font le bonheur de leurs sujets_.

The costume here still continues undecided, and devoid of taste. Two

very pretty, modest, rustic lasses waited upon us, named Marie and

Lodine. Lodine was a brunette, with an arch, dimpled, comical little

face, (round as an apple, and equally glowing,) teeth white as snow, and

regular as a set of pearls; but I rather preferred the opposite style of

Marie, who was slighter in her person, graver, and whose long dark eyes

and penciled brows alone gave lustre and expression to an oval face, and

a pale yet clear and fine grained skin: these eyes, however, were not so

often illuminated by bright flashes of innocent gaiety as those of

Lodine, but they made amends by the length and beauty of their soft

black lashes. Lodine's admiration was prodigiously excited by my English

ear-rings, and rings, &c. She took them up one by one to examine, and

exclaimed frequently that she had never seen such beautiful things in

her life. Poor little rustic! I hope no unprincipled traveller will ever

take advantage of thy simplicity and love of finery, and persuade thee

to exchange for toys of a similar description the precious jewels of

innocence and good fame. Mr. W. went into the market the next morning,

before either Mr. Baillie or myself were up, and remarked that almost

every woman there was well looking; he also saw some really beautiful

girls among them. There are two neat churches here. The swarms of

beggars which assailed us at every town, in this part of the country,

were positively quite annoying; their bold and sturdy importunity made

me recollect, with regret, the sensitive delicacy of Sterne's poor

"Monk," and wish that they were as easily repulsed! Had this been the

case, I dare say we should have given them every _sous_ in our

possession; but, as it was, I never felt less difficulty in steeling my

ears and my heart.

The face of nature seemed like a map, the road was upon such elevated

ground. But leaving Saulieu, our route was agreeably varied by a

continual alternation of hill and dale; the foreground rocky, enlivened

with purple heath and furze. We frequently made the remark, that we had

not yet seen a single cottage which could be called pretty since we

landed at Calais; and the lovely and picturesque hamlets of the Isle of

Wight, the neighbourhood of the New Forest, and of parts of Surrey,

returned upon my imagination in all their force. There are woods of

dwarf oak near this place, beyond which we caught, for the first time

during our tour, the view of a mountain in the horizon. We changed

horses at Pierre Ecrite, where we met with a postillion who was a living

image of Don Quixote. I, who am such an enthusiastic admirer of the

latter, could willingly have given a double fee for the pleasure I took

in contemplating his faithful resemblance; the loose shamoy leather

doublet, brown beaver Spanish-looking flapped hat; long, black, greasy

hair, hanging in strings about his scraggy neck and doleful visage; the

wild, eager, prominent, dark eyes, &c.--all was complete! The French

drivers differ in many particulars from ours; in one respect alone there

is a wide line of demarcation. The former talk a good deal (_en route_)

to their horses, while the latter confine themselves to the mute

eloquence of the whip and spur.

The country now assumes a totally new character. The hills rise into

the dignity of mountains, and are entirely barren, save in the immediate

vicinity of a little valley or two which smiles between them, when their

rough granite sides are clothed with partial underwood; these valleys

have a verdant and cultivated effect, from being well wooded, and also

from the unusual practice of inclosing the fields with hedges. Indeed

the whole scene for three or four miles before you come to Autun is

bold, rich, and beautiful. We were told that the people here and in the

South of France were (generally speaking) extremely well-disposed

towards the Bourbon government, disliking the remembrance of Bonaparte.

Autun, an ugly town, yet most romantically situated at the foot of three

mountains covered with superb woods. Here are some fine gateways of

Corinthian architecture, baths, and a cathedral. We went to look at the

latter, and saw several women there telling their beads, who cast an eye

of curiosity upon us in the midst of their devotions, while their

fingers and lips continued to move with great rapidity. I peeped into

several vacant confessionals, which resembled little sentry-boxes,

partitioned into two apartments, in one of which there is a seat for the

priest, and in the other a grated aperture through which the penitent

breathes his communications.

The tomb of the president Jennin and his wife is shewn here. It was, I

believe, concealed during the fury of the revolution, in common with

many similar and sacred curiosities. He was one of _Henri quatre's_

ministers, and a man much esteemed by that sovereign. He cannot have a

higher professional eulogium. The costume both of the president and his

dame is quaint in the extreme, and the length of her waist is quite

ridiculous. Our inn (_la poste_) was comfortable and reasonable. For

five francs a-head, they sent us up for dinner (I will for once say what

we had for dinner) some capital soup _au ris_, a magnificent jack, a

duck stewed with pickles, a fowl, white and delicate as those of

Dorking, a ragout of sweetbreads in brown sauce, a large dish of

craw-fish, potatoes drest _à la maître d'hotel_, Guyere cheese, and four

baskets of fruit. The latter evinced the coldness of the climate here,

for the peaches were diminutive, crude, and colourless, the grapes

rather sour, and the cherries hard, tough, and not bigger than black

currants.

Leaving Autun, we passed over a very steep granite mountain of that

name, covered in the most luxuriant profusion with trees of every sort,

but chiefly oak: the road wound round the sides till it reached nearly

the summit of this mountain in graceful sweeps. It rained during our

ascent, and the groups of women emerging at intervals from the woody

recesses in the steeps above us, with their gay coloured cotton

handkerchiefs held over their white caps, to shelter them from the

scudding shower, looked highly picturesque. The male costume here

becomes marked; it consists of a very large black hat, (with a low crown

and an enormous breadth of brim,) round which is sometimes worn a string

of red and white beads; a dark blue linen jacket and trowsers, coloured

waistcoat, white shirt, with a square deep collar thrown open at the

throat, and _sabots_. We could plainly hear the babbling of the brook

which runs among these sylvan retreats. My husband gathered me some

blackberries in the woods, and I longed to accompany him in his rambles,

instead of remaining in the carriage. Altogether it was the most

romantic scene I had ever beheld, and my exclamations of admiration

reaching the ears of the postillion, (who was easing his horses by

walking by their side) he came up to the window, to ask me if I had ever

seen such a beautiful thing in my own country? I assured him I had not,

and he graciously added that he would shew me a very grand plain also in

a few minutes. Our Swiss attendant, however, (Christian) did not seem to

approve of all these commendations, and could not refrain from throwing

out a hint, that we should see much finer things in _his_ country. This

mountain is covered with wild strawberries in the season. Bonaparte

intended to have made a wider road through it, had not the Fates thought

proper to cut short his plans when he least expected it. The view of the

promised plain was fertile as that of Canaan; the glimpses of it caught

occasionally through the openings of the rocks were charming. I liked

the national pride of the postillion; applied thus to the beauties of

nature, it had almost a character of refinement: he was a good-humoured,

merry-looking, ugly fellow, who seemed as if he had never known a care

in his life; but (the truth must be told) he was a great admirer of

Bonaparte, and said he should live and die in the hope of his return. He

had laid by his green jacket and badge in his box, thinking it not

impossible that he might want to wear it again one day; at all events he

trusted to see the young son upon the throne, and spoke of him with much

affectionate emotion. Bonaparte had been driven by this man (upon his

flight from Elba,) and this puts me in mind, that I omitted to mention

the circumstance of my having slept in the same bed which he then

occupied at Autun; I think he must have left his troubled spirit behind

him, for my dreams were perturbed and melancholy in the greatest degree!

There are plenty of wolves and wild boars in this neighbourhood; five

of the latter were killed the week before. I expected to have met with

gipsies, but neither here, nor in any other part of the continent, had

we yet encountered one of the race.

At St. Emilan, (a small village) we stopt to breakfast: it was a merry,

cheerful meal. We sat round the blazing faggots in the cottage kitchen

of la Poste, and boiled our eggs in a vessel which I believe was an old

iron shaving pot; the milk (for our coffee) was served up in a large

earthen tureen, with a pewter ladle; and the cups were of a dirty yellow

cracked ware, that I am sure my cook would not suffer to be exhibited in

her scullery. The bread was sour, and so was the fruit, but I never

remember to have enjoyed a breakfast more thoroughly; so true is it,

that hunger is the best sauce. The host (seeing that we were English)

asked if we would not choose our _pain_ to be _grillé_? and was

proceeding to broil it accordingly, instead of toasting it, if we had

not preferred the loaf in its natural state. We were somewhat surprised

at seeing a print over the chimney of Dr. Nicholas Saunderson,

Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge. An obscure village kitchen in the

heart of France was the last place where one would have expected to have

found such a thing. The hostess had bought it many years since at a sale

of the property of the celebrated Buffon.

Seeing some cows ploughing in the fields here, which was what we had

never before witnessed, our servant Christian gave us an account of the

manner of conducting that operation in Switzerland; "de only difference

is (said he) dat dere de _cows_ be all _oxes_." The costume of the

_paysannes_ is very picturesque; a straw hat, of the gipsy form, and

large as an umbrella, rather short petticoat, gay coloured handkerchief,

deep bordered white cap, and _sabots_. The landscape was rather pretty

for some distance beyond St. Emilan.

We now began to meet with vineyards again, as we descended from these

bleak and elevated regions. A brook wound through the lowlands, fringed

with willows, by means of which we could as usual trace its course for

miles. I forgot to mention the _cajoleries_ made use of by a set of

little beggar children, the preceding day. The white beaver hats worn by

my husband and Mr. W. struck their fancy not a little, and they ran

after the carriage with incredible perseverance, calling out, _Vivent

les chapeaux blancs! Vivent les jolis messieurs! vive la jolie dame!

vive le joli carrosse! vive le roi, et vive le bon Dieu!_ We were

engaged in lamenting the drawback of a _goître_ (or swelling in the

throat) to the beauty of a very pretty woman, whom we had just seen,

when in going down a steep hill we met with an accident, which might

have been serious. The harness (made of old ropes) suddenly broke, one

of the horses fell down, the postillion was thrown off, and the other

horses continuing to trot on without stopping, we felt the carriage go

over some soft substance, which we concluded to be the person of their

unfortunate driver. Both the gentlemen involuntarily exclaimed "he is

killed!" when we were relieved by seeing him running by the side of the

animals, very little the worse for his fall. The poor horse was the

greatest sufferer, as the wheels went twice over his neck! however, even

he was not much hurt, and was able to rise and go on with his work in a

few seconds. The great creature in the middle was an old, scrambling,

wilful beast, who liked his own way, and I believe he would never have

stopt, had not his bridle been seized by a man in the road. I was very

much alarmed for the moment, and so I rather suspect was our trusty

valet, who presented himself at the door to inquire if "Madame was

frighted," with a face as white as his own neckcloth. This _contretems_

would not have occurred had we not changed our horses and postillion a

few moments before it happened, with those belonging to another carriage

which we met on the way. The country continued rather pretty, and was

also inclosed; were it not for the vineyards, it would be like many

parts of England. We saw a little insignificant chateau or two, and that

reminds me of the very dull effect of all the houses in France when seen

from a distance--they have universally the air of being shut up, owing

to the _jalousies_ being painted white instead of green.

Chalons sur Saone; rather a pretty town: there is a stone fountain here,

with a statue of Neptune, well executed. We stopt at the hotel du Parc,

a reasonable and tolerably well appointed inn, though by no means

deserving of the pompous commendation bestowed upon it in the printed

Tourist's Guide, where it is mentioned as being the best in France. Mr.

W. suffered some annoyance from bugs, which I must ever consider as

great drawbacks to comfort. We were attended at dinner by the first

_male_ waiter we had seen since leaving Paris, from which Chalons is

about two hundred miles distant. The people in the town stared at and

followed us about in rather a troublesome manner; I believe they were

attracted by the white hats, and my travelling cap, so different from

any of their own costumes.

People talk a great deal about the warmth of the South of France, but

all I can say is, that as soon as we approached it, we ordered fires,

while we had left our countrymen in frigid England fainting with heat! I

may as well indulge myself in a few more desultory remarks while I am

about it, particularly as our narrative just now is rather bare of

incident. The first is, the great inferiority of the French cutlery to

ours: all their knives are extremely coarse and bad; and with regard to

the forks and spoons (both of which, to do them justice, are almost

always of silver), they do not seem ever to have come in contact with a

bit of whiting or a leather rubber since they were made! Plate-powder of

course is an unknown invention here. How would our butlers at home (so

scrupulously nice in the arrangement of their sideboard) have stared,

could they have beheld these shabby appurtenances of a foreign dinner

table! They are not less behind-hand also with respect to the locks of

their doors, all of which are wretchedly finished, even in their best

houses. Their carriages are generally ugly, shabby, badly built, and

inelegant; and they have some domestic customs (existing even in the

midst of the utmost splendor and refinement,) which are absolutely

revolting to the imagination of an English person, and to which no

person who knows what real cleanliness and comfort means, could ever be

reconciled; but the French are, beyond all doubt, an innately filthy

race,--with them _l'apparence_ is all in all.

Leaving Chalons sur Saone, we observed large fields planted with Turkey

wheat, called here _Turquie_; they mix it with other flour in their

bread. There is nothing but barren stubble for a length of way, and we

should have found the prospect excessively wearying and tiresome, had

not a bold hill or two in the distance afforded a slight degree of

relief. We saw a man sowing among the stubble, which they plough up

after the seed is sown, thereby saving the labour of the harrow; the

practice is not general, however.

About three miles from Tournus, we ascended a very steep hill, covered

with underwood and vines, and were refreshed by the sight of a little

pasture land. From the summit a surprisingly fine country burst upon

us--the river Saone leading its tranquil waters through a rich plain,

the town of Tournus with its bridge and spires, and the chain of Alpine

mountains bounding the distant horizon, were altogether charming; the

latter appeared like a continued ridge of gray clouds, Mont Blanc

towering far above them all. We formed some idea of the magnitude of

this hoary giant from the circumstance of our being able thus to see him

at the distance of a hundred and fifty miles! He looked, however, like a

thin white vapour, rising amid the lovely blue of the summer sky.

At Tournus, where we stopt to breakfast, the _maîtresse de la maison_

was a very pretty woman, but I cannot praise her taste in china ware;

the cups she set before us were of a most disgusting shape and material,

and of enormous proportions; they resembled our coarse red flower-pots

glazed, and it was with difficulty that I could prevail upon myself to

taste the tea or coffee (I forget which) that they contained. The women

in this neighbourhood wear a singular head-dress, a black beaver hat, of

the size and form of a small soup plate, placed flat upon the crown of

the head, with three long knots of broad black riband, hanging down, one

behind, and one on each side the face. They have a little white cap,

called _la coquette_, under this, with a coarse open lace border,

standing stiff off the temples, something like that of Mary, Queen of

Scots. This place is celebrated for its pretty women, and we remarked

many ourselves. I took a hasty sketch of one as we changed horses. There

is a great quantity of hemp grown here. The weather now began to be

intensely hot; and we did not wonder at this, as we were in the same

latitude as that of Verona and Venice. The former chill, which I

mentioned upon first approaching the south of France, was quite an

accidental circumstance, partly induced by our being at that time upon

extremely high ground, whereas the temperature of the valleys is very

different.

We saw the peasants making ropes by the side of the road; one man

carried a distaff in his hand, much bigger than a large stable broom. I

bought of a _villageoise_ at Macon one of the little hats and caps

before mentioned. She attempted to impose upon me as to the price; but I

do not consider this at all as a national trait. I am afraid an English

countrywoman would have been equally anxious to make the best bargain

she could, fairly or otherwise! The cap was really very becoming, even

to my British features. I saw in one of the cottages a loaf of their

bread: it was extremely coarse, and as flat, round, and large as a

table. There is a grand chain of mountains on the right, called the

_Charolais_. We again observed cows ploughing in the fields: they had

all a curious head-dress, a sort of veil or network, to preserve them

from the flies, like the military bridles of our dragoon horses. Most of

the cattle hereabouts (and we had seen quantities) were of a cream

colour. The country is luxuriant, full of chateaux, fertile, and

cultivated, more so than any we had yet observed, and it is allowed to

be the finest part of France. Mr. W. examined the nature of the soil,

and found it fat and rich in the highest degree. I must once more

repeat my admiration of the frequent and great beauty of the young

children in this country, more particularly in these parts. I saw

several with cheeks like the sunny side of a peach; little, round, plump

faces, and delicately chiselled features, with a profusion of luxuriant

hair hanging in natural ringlets upon their shoulders: the mere babies

also are very interesting. The parents throughout France are remarkable

for love of offspring[4].

About three or four miles from Macon you enter the department of the

Maconnais, and afterwards that of the Jura (so called from the mountains

of the same name), but formerly known by that of the Lyonnais. We saw at

St. George de Rognains a most beautiful woman, a _villageoise_; her

proportions were fine, and rather full; her face very much in the style

of our well-known English belles, Lady O. and Mrs. L.; but she was not

so large as either of them. She wore the usual costume of her native

place, which was more peculiarly marked in the cap. It is extremely

becoming, and pretty in itself. I know not how to describe it exactly;

but it is flat upon the crown, with a good deal of coarse transparent

lace, like wings, full every where but on the brow, across which it is

laid low and plain, in the style of some antique pictures I remember to

have seen. This superb woman's fine features set it off amazingly. She

also wore a flowered cotton gown (of gay colours upon a dark ground), a

crimson apron and bib, with a white handkerchief. What a charming

portrait would Sir Thomas Lawrence have made of her, and how she would

astonish the amateurs of beauty in England, were she suddenly to appear

among them! I am thus particular in describing costume, to please the

readers of my own sex. We met here some _religieuses_ walking in the

road, belonging to a convent in the distance. Their habit was not very

remarkable, except that they wore black veils, with high peaks on the

front of the head, and long rosaries by their sides.

Villefranche; a populous old town. It was market day; yet not one

instance of intoxication did we see, neither here nor in any other part

of France through which we had passed. Certainly drunkenness is not the

vice of the nation, although they have a due admiration for strong beer,

which is sold under the name of _bonne bierre de Mars_. There is a fine

church here, of Gothic architecture.

We did not reach Lyons until late at night; and, as I was very much

fatigued, and longed to get into the hotel, I thought the length of the

environs and suburbs endless. However, we arrived at last, and after a

refreshing sleep, were awakened the next morning by the firing of cannon

close under our windows. It was the fête of St. Louis, which is always

celebrated with particular pomp and splendour. It was also the great

jubilee of the Lyonese _peruquiers_, who went in procession to high

mass, and from thence to an entertainment prepared for them. The

_jouteurs_ (or plungers in water) likewise made a very magnificent

appearance. They walked two and two round the town, and after a famous

dinner (laid out for them in a lower apartment of our hotel) proceeded

to exhibit a sort of aquatic tournament, in boats, upon the river. This

is a very ancient festival, and is mentioned (if I recollect right) by

Rousseau. The dress of the combatants (among whom were several young

boys of eight and five years old) was very handsome and fanciful,

entirely composed of white linen, ornamented with knots of dark-blue

riband. They had white kid leather shoes, tied with the same colours,

caps richly ornamented with gold, and finished with gold tassels. In

their hands they carried blue and gold oars, and long poles, and upon

their breasts a wooden sort of shield or breastplate, divided into

square compartments, and strapped firmly on like armour, or that

peculiar ornament, the ephod, worn by the ancient Jewish high priests.

Against this they pushed with the poles as hard as possible,

endeavouring to jostle and overturn their opponents; the vanquished,

falling into the water, save themselves by swimming, while the victors

carry off a prize. We went down stairs to see these heroes at dinner,

and one of them civilly invited us into the room, to observe every

particular at our ease.

The military were all drawn out this morning, and I thought there never

would be an end of their firing, trumpeting, &c.; the whole town

resounded with noise, bustle, and gay confusion. We distinguished the

Swiss guards, who wore a red uniform, like the English troops; a fine

regiment of chasseurs, green, faced with red; a troop of lancers, on

beautiful spirited black horses, uniform green and orange; the national

guards, dark blue and red, with cocked hats; and, lastly, the foot

guards, in white: the officers of the latter really looked like London

footmen; nothing could be more ugly and ungentlemanly than their

costume. All these were reviewed in _la Grande Place_, built by

Bonaparte, who laid the first stone. The houses there are very handsome,

and some of them rise to the height of seven stories. A steep hill,

covered with vines, and crowned by buildings like castles, forms the

background of this fine _place_, at the bottom of which rolls the grand

and magnificent Rhone. Our inn (_l'hotel de Provence_) stood here. It

is a very comfortable, excellent, well-ordered establishment: the

apartments assigned for our particular use put me in mind of the old

state-rooms in our shabby palace of St. James. The furniture was of

crimson and white satin damask, and the beds of rich crimson damask;

Lyons, as all the world knows, being famous for its rich silks. The

ancient arm-chairs were studded with gilt nails, and the brick-floors

carefully rubbed and polished till they resembled marble. That of the

_salle à manger_ was of curiously inlaid oak. The attendants were all

men: one of them made my bed, and was perpetually frisking in and out

(in his department of housemaid), rather to my annoyance and surprise.

The first night of our arrival, I was shut up (as I thought) in my own

room, unpacking my _sac de nuit_, when, upon turning suddenly round, I

saw the great rough figure of our postillion, who had entered without

knocking, and was standing much at his ease, expecting to be paid. The

_garçon_ who waited at dinner was a fine specimen of the honest,

cheerful French peasant lad, his countenance and manner the perfection

of good humour and simplicity.