fourths of the Parisians: but then they are gay, and cheerful, and
apparently happy. If they have not the phlegm of the German, or the
thoughtfulness of ourselves, they are less cold, and less insensible to the
passing occurrences of life. A little pleases them, and they give in return
much more than they receive. One thing, however, cannot fail to strike and
surprise an attentive observer of national character. With all their
quickness, enthusiasm, and activity, the mass of French people want that
admirable quality which I unfeignedly think is the particular
characteristic of ourselves:--I mean, _common sense_. In the midst of their
architectural splendor--while their rooms are refulgent with gilding and
plate-glass; while their mantle-pieces sparkle with or-molu clocks; or
their tables are decorated with vases, and artificial flowers of the most
exquisite workmanship--and while their carpets and curtains betray
occasionally all the voluptuousness of eastern pomp ... you can scarcely
obtain egress or ingress into the respective apartments, from the
wretchedness of their _locks_ and _keys!_ Mechanical studies or
improvements should seem to be almost entirely uncultivated--for those who
remember France nearly half a century ago, tell me that it was pretty much
then as it is now. Another thing discomposes the sensitive nerves of the
English; especially those of our notable housewives. I allude to the
rubbishing appearance of their _grates_--and the dingy and sometimes
disgusting aspect of carpets and flowered furniture. A good mahogany dining
table is a perfect rarity[199]--and let him, who stands upon a chair to
take down a quarto or octavo, beware how he encounter a broken shin or
bruised elbow, from the perpendicularity of the legs of that same chair.
The same want of common-sense, cleanliness, and convenience--is visible in
nearly the whole of the French ménage. Again, in the streets--their
cabriolet drivers and hackney coachmen are sometimes the most furious of
their tribe. I rescued, the other day, an old and respectable gentleman--
with the cross of St. Louis appendant to his button-hole--from a situation,
in which, but for such a rescue, he must have been absolutely knocked down
and rode over. He shook his cane at the offender; and, thanking me very
heartily for my protection, observed, "these rascals improve daily in their
studied insult of all good Frenchmen." The want of _trottoirs_ is a serious
and even absurd want; as it might be so readily supplied. Their carts are
obviously ill-constructed, and especially in the caps of the wheels; which,
in a narrow street--as those of Paris usually are--unnecessarily occupy a
_foot_ of room, where scarcely an _inch_ can be spared. The rubbish piled
against the posts, in different parts of the street, is as disgusting as it
is obviously inconvenient. A police "ordonnance" would obviate all this in
twenty-four hours.
Yet in many important respects the Parisian multitude read a lesson to
ourselves. In their public places of resort, the French are wonderfully
decorous; and along the streets, no lady is insulted by the impudence of
either sex. You are sure to walk in peace, if you conduct yourself
peaceably. I had intended to say a word upon morals: and religion; but the
subject, while it is of the highest moment, is beyond the reach of a
traveller whose stay is necessarily short, and whose occupations, upon the
whole, have been confined rather among the dead than the living.
Farewell, therefore, to PARIS. I have purchased a very commodious
travelling carriage; to which a pair of post-horses will be attached in a
couple of days--and then, for upwards of three hundred miles of
journey--towards STRASBOURG! No schoolboy ever longed for a holiday more
ardently than I do for the relaxation which this journey will afford me. A
thousand hearty farewells!
[191] [The work is now perfect in 3 volumes.]
[192] [I here annex a fac-simile of his autograph from the foot of the
account for these drawings.]
[Illustration]
[193] Then, Louis XVIII.
[194] ["Sir T. Lawrence, who painted the portrait of the late Duke de
Richlieu, which was seen at the last exhibition, is undoubtedly of the
first class of British Portrait painters; but, according to Mr.
Dibdin's judgment, many artists would have preferred to have sided
with our Gérard." CRAPELET. vol. iv. 220. I confess I do not
understand this reasoning: nor perhaps will my readers.]
[195] [Here, Mons. Crapelet drily and pithily says, "Translated from the
English." What then? Can there be the smallest shadow of doubt about
the truth of the above assertion? None--with Posterity.]
[196] At Domremi, in Lorraine.
[197] When Desnoyers was over here, in 1819, he unequivocally expressed his
rapture about our antiquarian engravings--especially of Gothic
churches. Mr. Wild's _Lincoln Cathedral_ produced a succession of
ecstatic remarks. "When your fine engravings of this kind come over to
Paris we get little committees to sit upon them"--observed Desnoyers
to an engraver--who communicated the fact to the author.
[198] [The experience of ten years has confirmed THE TRUTH of the above
remark.]
[199] [Not so now! Mahogany, according to M. Crapelet, is every where at
Paris, and at the lowest prices.]
_LETTER XII._
PARIS TO STRASBOURG.
_Hotel de l'Esprit, Strasbourg, July 20, 1818_.
I can hardly describe to you the gratification I felt on quitting the
"trein-trein".of Paris for the long, and upon the whole interesting,
journey to the place whence I date this despatch. My love of rural sights,
and of rural enjoyments of almost every kind, has been only equalled by my
admiration of the stupendous Cathedral of this celebrated city. But not a
word about the city of Strasbourg itself, for the present. My description,
both of _that_ and of its _curiosities_, will be properly reserved for
another letter; when I shall necessarily have had more leisure and fitter
opportunities for the execution of the task. On the eleventh of this month,
precisely at ten o'clock, the rattling of the hoofs of two lusty post
horses--together with the cracking of an _experimental_ flourish or two of
the postilion's whip--were heard in the court-yard of the Hôtel des
Colonies. Nothing can exceed the punctuality of the Poste Royale in the
attendance of the horses at the precise hour of ordering them. Travellers,
and especially those from our _own_ country, are not _quite_ so punctual in
availing themselves of this regularity; but if you keep the horses for the
better part of an hour before you start, you must pay something extra for
your tardiness. Of all people, the _English_ are likely to receive the most
useful lesson from this wholesome regulation. By a quarter past ten, Mr.
Lewis and myself having mounted our voiture, and given the signal for
departure, received the "derniers adieux" of Madame the hostess, and of the
whole corps of attendants. On leaving the gates of the hotel, the postilion
put forth all his energies in sundry loud smackings of his whip; and as we
went at a cautious pace through the narrower streets, towards the _Barriers
of St. Martin_, I could not but think, with inward satisfaction, that, on
visiting and leaving a city, so renowned as Paris, for the _first_ time, I
had gleaned more intellectual fruit than I had presumed to hope for; and
that I had made acquaintances which might probably ripen into a long and
steady friendship. In short, my own memoranda, together with the drawings
of Messrs. Lewis and Coeuré, were results, which convinced me that my time
had not been mispent, and that my objects of research were not quite
undeserving of being recorded. Few reflections give one so much pleasure,
on leaving, a city--where there are so many thousand temptations to abuse
time and to destroy character.
The day of our departure was very fine, tending rather to heat. In a little
half hour we cleared the barrier of St. Martin, and found ourselves on the
broad, open, route royale--bordered by poplars and limes. To the right, was
the pretty village of _Belleville:_ to the left, at the distance of some
six or eight English miles, we observed _Montmorenci, St. Germain en Laye_,
and, considerably nearer, _St. Denis_. All these places, together with
_Versailles,_ I had previously visited--Montmorenci and St. Denis twice--
and intended to have given you an account of them; but you could have
received from me scarcely any thing more than what the pages of the
commonest tour would have supplied you with. We first changed horses at
_Bondy_, the forest of which was once very extensive and much celebrated.
You now behold little more than a formal avenue of trees. The _Castle of
Raincy_, situated in this forest, is to the right, well-wooded--and the
property of the Duke of Orleans. _Ville-Parisis_ was the next prettiest
spot, in our route to _Claye_, where we again changed horses. The whole
route, from _Ville-Parisis_ to _Meaux_, was exceedingly pleasing and even
picturesque. At Meaux we dined, and have reason to remember the extravagant
charges of the woman who kept the inn. The heat of the day was now becoming
rather intense. While our veal-cutlet was preparing, we visited the church;
which had frequently, and most picturesquely, peeped out upon us during our
route. It is a large, cathedral-like looking church, without transepts,
Only one tower (in the west front), is built--with the evident intention of
raising another in the same aspect. They were repairing the west front,
which is somewhat elaborately ornamented; but so intensely hot was the
sun--on our coming out to examine it--that we were obliged to retreat into
the interior, which seemed to contain the atmosphere of a different
climate. A tall, well-dressed, elderly priest, in company with a
middle-aged lady, were ascending the front steps to attend divine service.
Hot as it was, the priest saluted us, and stood a half minute without his
black cap--with the piercing rays of the sun upon a bald head. The bell
tolled softly, and there was a quiet calm about the whole which almost
invited, us to _postpone_ our attack upon the dinner we had ordered.
Ten francs for a miserable cutlet--and a yet more wretchedly-prepared
fricandeau--with half boiled artichokes, and a bottle of undrinkable vin
ordinaire--was a charge sufficiently monstrous to have excited the well
known warmth of expostulation of an English traveller--but it was really
too hot to talk aloud! The landlady pocketed my money, and I pocketed the
affront which so shameful a charge may be considered as having put upon me.
We now rolled leisurely on towards _La Ferté-sous-Jouarre:_ about five
French-leagues from Meaux--not without stopping to change horses at _St.
Jean,_ &c. The heat would not even allow of the exercise of the postilion's
whip. Every body, and every thing seemed to be oppressed by it. The
labourer was stretched out in the shade, and the husbandman slept within
the porch of his cottage. We had no sooner entered the little town of La
Ferté-sous-Jouarre, and driven to the post-house, when not fewer than four
blacksmiths came rushing out of their respective forges, to examine every
part of the carriage. "A nail had started here: a screw was wanting there:
and a fracture had taken place in another direction: even the perch was
given way in the centre!" "Alas, for my voiture de voyage!" exclaimed I to
my companion. Meanwhile, a man came forward with a red-hot piece of iron,
in the shape of a cramp, to fix round the perch--which hissed as the
application was made. And all this--before I could say wherefore! or even
open my mouth to express astonishment! They were absolutely about to take
off the wheels of the carriage; to examine, and to grease them--but it was
then for the first time, that I opened a well-directed fire of
expostulation; from which I apprehend that they discovered I was not
perfectly ignorant either of their language or of their trickery. However,
the rogues had _four_ francs for what they had the impudence to ask _six_;
and considering my vehicle to be now proof against the probability of an
accident, I was resolved to leave the town in the same good humour in which
I had entered it.
On quitting, we mounted slowly up a high ascent, and saw from thence the
village of _Jouarre_, on a neighbouring summit, smothered with trees. It
seemed to consist of a collection of small and elegant country houses, each
with a lawn and an orchard. At the foot of the summit winds the
unostentatious little stream of _Le Petit Morin_ The whole of this scenery,
including the village of _Montreuil-aux-Lions_--a little onwards--was
perfectly charming, and after the English fashion: and as the sky became
mellowed by the rays of the declining sun, the entire landscape assumed a
hue and character which absolutely refreshed our spirits after the heat of
the previous part of the journey. We had resolved to sleep at
_Chateau-Thierry_, about seven leagues off, and the second posting-place
from where we had last halted. Night was coming on, and the moon rose
slowly through a somewhat dense horizon, as we approached our rendezvous
for the evening. All was tranquil and sweet. We drove to the inn called the
_Sirène_, situated in the worst possible part of the town: but we quickly
changed our determination, and bespoke beds for the night, and horses for
the following morning, at the _Poste Royale_. The landlady of the Inn was a
tartar--of her species. She knew how to talk civilly; and, for her, a more
agreeable occupation--how to charge! We had little rest, and less sleep. By
a quarter past five I was in the carriage; intending to breakfast at
_Epernay_, about twenty-five miles off.
The first post-station is _Parois_. It is a beautiful drive thither, and
the village itself is exceedingly picturesque. From _Parois_ to _Dormans_,
the next post village, the road continues equally interesting. We seemed to
go each post like the wind; and reached _Epernay_ by nine o'clock. The
drive from Dormans to Epernay is charming; and as the sky got well nigh
covered by soft fleecy clouds when we reached the latter place, our
physical strength, as well as animal spirits, seemed benefited by the
change. I was resolved to _bargain_ for every future meal at an inn: and at
Epernay I bespoke an excellent breakfast of fruit, eggs, coffee and tea, at
three francs a head. This town is the great place in France for the
manufacture of _Vin de Champagne_. It is here where they make it in the
greatest quantities; although _Sillery_, near Rheims, boasts of champagne
of a more delicate quality. I learnt here that the Prussians, in their
invasion of France in 1814, committed sad havoc with this tempting
property. They had been insulted, and even partially fired upon--as they
passed through the town,--and to revenge themselves, they broke open the
cellars of M ..., the principal wine merchant; and drank the contents of
only--_one hundred thousand bottles of champagne_!" "But," said the owner
of these cellars, (beyond the reach of the hearing of the Prussians, as you
may be well assured!) "they did not break open my _largest vault_ ... where
I had _half as much again!_. "Indeed, I was told that the wine vaults of
Epernay were as well worth inspection, as the catacombs of Paris.
I should observe to you that the river _Marne_, one of the second-rate
rivers, of France, accompanies you pretty closely all the way from Chateau
Thierry to Chalons--designated as _Chalons-sur-Marne._ From Epernay to
Chalons you pass through nothing but corn fields. It is a wide and vast
ocean of corn--with hardly a tree, excepting those occasionally along the
road, within a boundary of ten miles. Chalons is a large and populous town;
but the churches bear sad traces of revolutionary fury. Some of the
porches, once covered with a profusion of rich, alto-relievo sculpture, are
absolutely treated as if these ornaments had been pared away to the very
quick! Scarcely a vestige remains. It is in this town where the two great
roads to STRASBOURG--one by _Metz_, and the other by _Nancy_--unite. The
former is to the north, the latter to the south. I chose the latter;
intending to return to Paris by the former. On leaving Chalons, we purposed
halting to dine at _Vitry-sur-Marne_--distant two posts, of about four
leagues each. _La Chaussée,_ which we reached at a very smart trot, was the
first post town, and is about half way to Vitry. From thence we had "to
mount a huge hill"--- as the postilion told us; but it was here, as in
Normandy--these huge hills only provoked our laughter. However, the wheel
was subjected to the drag-chain--and midst clouds of white dust, which
converted us into millers, we were compelled to descend slowly. Vitry was
seen in the distance, which only excited our appetite and made us anxious
to increase our pace.
On reaching Vitry, I made my terms for dinner with the landlady of the
principal inn--who was literally as sharp as a razor. However, we had a
comfortable room, a good plain dinner, with an excellent bottle of _Vin de
Beaune_, for three francs each. "Could Monsieur refuse this trifling
payment?" He could not. Before dinner I strolled to the principal church--
which is indeed a structure of a most noble appearance--like that of St.
Sulpice in form, and perhaps of a little more than half its size. It is the
largest parish church which I have yet seen; but it is comparatively
modern. It was Sunday; and a pleasing spectacle presented itself on
entering. A numerous group of young women, dressed almost entirely in
white, with white caps and veils, were singing a sort of evening hymn--
which I understood to be called the _Chaplet of the Virgin_. Their voices,
unaccompanied by instrumental music, sounded sweetly from the loftiness of
the roof; and every singer seemed to be touched with the deepest sense of
devotion. They sang in an attitude with the body leaning forward, and the
head gently inclined. The silence of the place--its distance from the
metropolis--the grey aspect of the heavens--and the advanced hour of the
day ... all contributed to produce in our minds very pleasing and yet
serious sensations. I shall not easily forget the hymn called THE CHAPLET
OF THE VIRGIN, as it was sung in the church of Vitry.
After leaving this place we successively changed horses at _Longchamp_ and
at _St. Dizier_. To our great comfort, it began to threaten rain. While the
horses were being changed at the former place, I sat down upon a rough
piece of stone, in the high road, by the side of a well dressed paysanne,
and asked her if she remembered the retreat of Bonaparte in the campaign of
1814--and whether he had passed there? She said she remembered it well.
Bonaparte was on horseback, a little in advance of his troops--and ambled
gently, within six paces of where we were sitting. His head was rather
inclined, and he appeared to be very thoughtful. _St. Dizier_ was the
memorable place upon which Bonaparte made a rapid retrograde march, in
order to get into the rear of the allied troops, and thus possess himself
of their supplies. But this desperate movement, you know, cost him his
capital, and eventually his empire. St. Dizier is rather a large place, and
the houses are almost uniformly white. Night and rain came on together as
we halted to change horses. But we were resolved upon another stage--to
_Saudrupt_: and were now about entering the department of LORRAINE.
The moon struggled through a murky sky, after the cessation of rain, as we
entered _Saudrupt_: which is little better than a miserable village.
Travellers seldom or never sleep here; but we had gone a very considerable
distance since five in the morning, and were glad of any thing in the shape
of beds. Not an inn in Normandy which we had visited, either by day or by
night, seemed to be more sorry and wretched than this, where we--stretched
our limbs, rather than partook of slumber. At one in the morning, a young
and ardent lover chose to serenade his mistress, who was in the next house,
with a screaming tune upon a half-cracked violin--which, added to the
never-ceasing smacking of whips of farmers, going to the next market town--
completed our state of restlessness and misery. Yet, the next morning, we
had a breakfast ... so choice, so clean, and so refreshing--in a place of
all others the least apparently likely to afford it--that we almost fancied
our strength had been recruited by a good night's sleep. The landlord could
not help his miserable mansion, for he was very poor: so I paid him
cheerfully and liberally for the accommodation he was capable of affording,
and at nine o'clock left Saudrupt in the hope of a late dinner at NANCY--
the capital of Lorraine.
The morning was fresh and fair. In the immediate neighbourhood of Saudrupt
is the pretty village of _Brillon_, where I noticed some stone crosses; and
where I observed that particular species of domestic architecture, which,
commencing almost at Longchamps, obtains till within nearly three stages of
Strasbourg. It consists in having rather low or flat roofs, in the Italian
manner, with all the beams projecting _outside_ of the walls: which gives
it a very unfinished and barbarous look. And here too I began to be more
and more surprised at the meagreness of the population of the _country_.
Even on quitting Epernay, I had noticed it to my companion. The human
beings you see, are chiefly females--ill-featured, and ill complexioned--
working hard beneath the rays of a scorching sun. As to that sabbath-attire
of cleanliness, even to smartness among our _own_ country people, it is a
thing very rarely to be seen in the villages of France. At Brillon, we
bought fine cherries, of a countrywoman for two sous the pound.
_Bar-le Duc_ is the next post-town. It is a place of considerable extent
and population: and is divided into the upper and lower town. The approach
to it, along hilly passes, covered with vineyards, is pleasant enough. The
driver wished to take us to the upper town--to see the church of St. Peter,
wherein is contained "a skeleton perforated with worm-holes, which was the
admiration of the best connoisseurs." We civilly declined such a sight, but
had no objection to visit the church. It was a Saint's day: and the
interior of the church was crowded to excess by women and lads. An old
priest was giving his admonition from the high altar, with great propriety
and effect: but we could not stay 'till the conclusion of the service. The
carriage was at the door; and, reascending, we drove to the lower town,
down a somewhat fearful descent, to change horses. It was impossible to
avoid noticing the prodigious quantity of fruit--especially of currants and
strawberries. _Ligny_ was our next halting place, to change horses. The
route thither was sufficiently pleasant. You leave the town through rather
a consequential gateway, of chaste Tuscan architecture, and commence
ascending a lofty hill. From hence you observe, to the left, an old castle
in the outskirts of the town. The road is here broad and grand: and
although a very lively breeze was playing in our faces, yet we were not
insensible to the increasing heat of the day. We dined at _St. Aubin_. A
hearty good-humoured landlady placed before us a very comfortable meal,
with a bottle of rather highly-flavoured vin ordinaire. The inn was little
better than a common ale house in England: but every thing was "très
propre." On leaving, we seemed to be approaching high hills, through flat
meadows--where very poor cattle were feeding. A pretty drive towards _Void_
and _Laye_, the next post-towns: but it was still prettier on approaching
_Toul_, of which the church, at a distance, had rather a cathedral-like
appearance. We drank tea at Toul--but first proceeded to the church, which
we found to be greatly superior to that of Meaux. Its interior is indeed,
in parts, very elegant: and one lancet-shaped window, in particular, of
stained glass, may even vie with much of what the cathedral of this place
affords.