First Impressions on a Tour upon the Continent

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 effect². 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 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.