First Impressions on a Tour upon the Continent

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 Hatto3. 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.