First Impressions on a Tour upon the Continent

September 24th. – I must in justice recommend all our friends passing this way to take up their quarters au Faucon, as it is a most excellent house, and the mistress a very attentive sensible person.

I ought not to take leave of the place without also mentioning the promenade upon the ramparts, and the glorious view of woods, hamlets, and glaciers to be seen from thence[10 - The promenade also, near the cathedral, is remarkable for the beautiful prospect it discloses of the glaciers, particularly at sunset, when the rose-coloured tints upon their snowy summits are wonderfully fine.]. We were much amused in watching the sports of the youth of the town there, who have a green inclosure, where various games and exercises (resembling the ancient gymnastic) are carried on every evening, at a certain hour; they are admirably well calculated to cherish habits of activity and agility, and to promote both health and strength.

All the public offices here are served by persons who faithfully and zealously fulfil their functions, without emolument of any sort.

Marriages through Switzerland are much encouraged by some of their political institutions; in this canton, for instance, a bachelor cannot arrive at the honourable post of bailiff, or be admitted to the council, or become what they call a seigneur, which is an inferior office in the government; but at the same time so fearful are these governments of any circumstance that might in process of time by the accumulation of fortunes infringe upon their liberties, that marriages between cousins german are forbidden by law.

In the best statistic account of the population of this country taken from the public registers, it is estimated inclusive of the allied provinces at about two millions. The protestant cantons are found to be the most populous, as they are the most active, industrious, and commercial, but they are not always the richest.

The police is regulated with the most exemplary vigilance and good order; the canton is a protestant one.

Upon quitting Berne, we found the country a lovely repetition of rich waving woods (chiefly of beech and pine); the brilliant autumnal tints of the former trees glowing beneath the bright blue of a cheerful morning sky, and the aromatic perfume of the latter, scenting the freshness of the breeze. How weak and inadequate are words to express certain feelings of delight! How easy is it to mention woods and plains, rocks and lakes, and to expatiate upon the charm of each, in appropriate terms; yet how far are we all the time from conveying to the minds of our hearers or readers the sensation of enjoyment which thrilled through our own bosoms while actually beholding the scenes we attempt to describe.

We passed through several villages which appeared to be the favourite haunts of peace, health, and humble happiness. The parsonage-house in one of them was a charming picture of comfort, neatness, and picturesque taste; close to the cheerful little whitewashed church, it reared its grey venerable roof. The walls were covered by the spreading branches of a fruitful pear-tree, and the green latticed windows were shaded by a vine, which wreathed its graceful foliage, and hung in luxuriant clusters, likewise, over a small bower, or recess, adjoining the sitting-room, where I could imagine a simple primitive pastor and his happy family assembled together, enjoying the social evening meal. La Fontaine's lovely descriptions of such scenes and such beings, in his Nouveau Tableau de Famille, rushed upon my recollection, and I almost expected to see his sweet Augusta (in the days of her prime) come forth from the rustic porch, leaning on the arm of her valuable husband, and surrounded by their innocent and blooming race. When this same Augusta becomes a grandmother, I think La Fontaine has painted her too selfishly forgetful of the happiness of her youthful days, and of the feelings natural to girls at that age; it is not in character with the virtue and sentimental graces of her earlier years, and rather conduces to encourage in the bosom of the reader a sensation of indignant disgust at the rigid, frigid, and unamiable propensities sometimes found among the aged. This beautiful and affecting novel is so well known to all persons of good taste and discrimination, that my allusion to it will I hope be at once understood and forgiven. Beyond this neighbourhood, the country opened in the most striking manner, affording a fine and heart-cheering prospect of cultivated plains, fresh pastures, peaceful flocks and herds, walnut groves and thatched cottages; the latter looked at a distance like large beehives, and the inhabitants seemed to evince a similarity to the bees in their habits of brisk and lively industry. I can easily understand the pre-eminent attachment of the Swiss to their native land; they must indeed be senseless were they less alive to the charms of scenes like this.

We took an early dinner at Soleure (Note R (#note_R).), or Solothurne. We were now in a catholic canton, and the difference of our accommodations at the inn (la Couronne) from those we had experienced in the protestant governments was very apparent, for once more dirt, in various shapes, made its unwelcome appearance. The houses were, some of them, painted gaudily on the whitewashed outsides, in the Italian manner, and the cathedral, of Grecian architecture, was full of paltry paintings. The costume of the townspeople was both tasteless and dirty; a white linen cap, with a border of muslin, half a yard in depth, flapping about in the most unbecoming way, increasing the general plainness of the women's features. Their persons, also, were awkward and ill made, particularly about the legs and feet. The place itself was full of bad smells, but situated in a picturesque part of the country. As we proceeded, we found the cottages decrease in beauty; nor did they exhibit the same degree of aisance and comfort as those near Berne. The fields likewise partook of this spirit of decline, appearing less cultivated and productive. We could not help attributing this to the people having their time so perpetually broken in upon by the necessity of going to mass, and by the too frequent recurrence of jours de fêtes.

We passed a fine picturesque old castle upon the left, a few miles beyond Soleure, and arriving at Balstadt (a dirty-looking village), where we slept, found a most uncomfortable, slovenly inn, and bad attendance; and to heighten our miseries, our friend became so much worse, that we were obliged to send for what medical assistance the wretched place afforded. Accordingly there arrived the "village leech," who had much the air of a farrier, or cow-doctor, and who applied various nostrums without success. His unfortunate patient made a vigorous effort to shake him off the next morning, and we went on, hoping to get as far as Basle. We started with two horses and three mules, having to ascend a steep mountain immediately upon quitting Balstadt (or rather Ballstall, in modern orthography). The surrounding scenery was of a very different nature from that of the preceding day: the road (in some places nearly as perpendicular as any in the wild mountains of Savoy) led us through pale grey rocks, scooped occasionally into quarries, and fringed on one side by an infinite variety of young trees of every sort, and on the other by extensive woods of pine, whose shades formed a beautiful contrast to the brighter verdure of the velvet turf, from which they sprung. We observed (as usual) great numbers of wild barberry trees, and juniper bushes, while the purple heath-bell, waving her fairy cups amid the moss and thyme, upon every bank, gave a smiling character to the foreground.

Falkenstein Castle (a fantastic ruin, crowning the summit of a bold jutting mass of rock far above our heads) had a very imposing effect. The battled walls and narrow round towers were so much of the same colour as the mountain from which they rose, as scarcely to be distinguished from it at a distance. It reminded us strongly of some of Mrs. Radcliffe's descriptions, and our fancy easily peopled it with a terrific baron, a fair suffering heroine, a captive lover, and every other requisite et cetera of romance. As we were now in German Switzerland, such visions were not inappropriate, and my readers will pardon them accordingly. We saw another castle, also, further on, situated upon an eminence in the midst of magnificent woods of beech, and looking down upon a pretty hamlet of white cottages, each with its neat little verger and potager, some of them shaded by vines, and almost all furnished with a range of beehives. The inhabitants were gathering the walnuts, apples, and plums, from their loaded trees, as we passed: a clear little wimpling stream ran through the village, and the spire of the church rose among rich tufted foliage in perspective. We began to suspect, from this appearance of comfort and neatness, that we were once more in the neighbourhood of a protestant government, which we found afterwards was really the case. The sweet stream I have just mentioned was so kind as to accompany us for a considerable way, pure, sparkling, and dashing its shallow waters over the yellow pebbles, with a rippling murmur that was delightfully soothing to the ear. The country again resumed the woody, cultivated appearance, which is so pleasing to behold, and gradually expanded into lovely meadows, which the little brook kept forever fresh and verdant.

We stopped at Liestall, where we found a cleaner town, a better inn, and a more prepossessing hostess than at Ballstall. The people manufacture gloves here: they were good, but very dear. It is not to be told how disagreeably the German language grated upon our ears in passing through these cantons; after the mellifluous harmony of the Italian, and even when compared with the French, it was doubly intolerable. Our own is harsh enough, in the opinion of foreigners; yet I can with difficulty imagine any thing so bad as German.

We arrived to dinner at Basle. This is a very large town (under a protestant jurisdiction), clean and gay. Its chief attraction to us was the river Rhine, which rolled its majestic waters beneath the windows of our auberge (les Trois Rois), which was spacious and convenient. We ascended to our apartments by a curious spiral staircase, in an old round tower, that formed part of the building.

The Rhine is a noble river, but inferior in beauty of colour to the Rhone at Geneva. Indeed the latter I cannot at this moment recollect without a feeling of pleasure and admiration impossible to describe.

We left Basle, Sept. 26. The road as far as Bourglibre, and even considerably beyond it, was flat and uninteresting; the cottages rather dirty than otherwise, and extremely ugly; the costume of the peasantry very indistinctly marked, and by no means becoming, being a wretched imitation of the French. All this was accounted for, when we recollected that we had now once more entered the territories of that nation, leaving modern Germany on our right, and turning our backs upon the sweet simplicity and unequalled charms of Switzerland. The postillion also strongly evinced the national character, mounting his horse with a true gasconade flourish, and cracking his whip in the old well-remembered style.

We dined and slept at Colmar. The inn (aux Six Montagnes Noirs) was dirty, and the attendance very mediocre; but the beds were good, and free from vermin. Our host was the most hideous man I ever saw: he was absolutely strangling with fat; his bristly grizzled hair was strained off the forehead, and forced into a long thick queue, with so tight a hand, that the water in consequence was perpetually running from his little red eyes; his voice in speaking was most unpleasantly guttural, and rendered still more disagreeable by the absurd mixture of bad French and German, which he sputtered with great difficulty, in answering our necessary questions. His daughter usually sat in the bar, playing a French love ditty upon an old guitar. Of her I can only say, that she was the "softened image" of her "honoured papa."

The paysannes in the near neighbourhood of Colmar wear a pretty little flat, round-eared cap, at the back of the head, made either of very gay coloured silk, or cotton, and sometimes of gold tissue with crimson spots; their neck handkerchiefs are likewise of the brightest dyes, thrown carelessly over the gown, and the ends confined before, by a girdle. These women, generally speaking, are not at all handsome; the men chiefly wear coats of coarse bright green cloth, without collars, enormously long waisted waistcoats (sometimes red, laced with gold, and large buttons), with cocked hats.

The country upon first leaving Colmar was mountainous, but not very pleasing or interesting, in spite of the inequality of ground, the presence of verdure, the view of distant villages, and a very fine clear sky; all of which are notwithstanding the materials for forming a beautiful landscape. This, to my mind, had an analogy with the persons of some women I had formerly seen; who possessed fine hair and teeth, clear bright eyes, a good complexion, were sufficiently young, and not ill-made; yet with all these requisites to beauty, were plain, awkward, and totally wanting in agreeable effect. A strange caprice of nature, but not less true than strange.

The face of things, however, rather improved, upon approaching Schelestat. The costume of the paysannes brightened into a degree of taste and neatness that we had not seen equalled since leaving St. Denis, near Paris. Some of their caps were wholly of white worked muslin, with a thin clear border, and bound neatly round the head by a light blue or rose-coloured riband: the gowns also sometimes varied, being not unfrequently made of white cotton, with gay crimson sprigs upon them. We continually saw castles and churches upon the surrounding heights, and a great number of vineyards; but the villages and small towns were invariably dirty, and very ugly.

Since we had left Basle, we had been travelling through Alsace (ancient Germany), in the department of the Haut Rhin. A few miles farther, brought us into the vicinity of very fine fresh pasture lands, bordered by willows, and relieved by a magnificently rich back ground of high hills, clothed with young beech-trees, intermingled with oak. Here vast herds of cattle were feeding; close to the road, and forming a sort of border to the meadows, were extensive fields of potatoes, turnips, cabbages, and broccoli, &c. without any guard or inclosure; this (as I formerly mentioned) spoke well for the honesty of the poor people, and at all events proved them to be enjoying a degree of ease and plenty, as far as vegetable riches were concerned. I remarked, in the hedges here, the first honey-suckles I had seen since leaving England. The costume of the young infants in this part of the world is very singular; they all wear little foundling-shaped caps of black velvet, studded with gold spots, or of white, with silver embroidery upon them, which has a very strange effect to an English eye; but among the French people there is such an infinite variety of fanciful attire, that nothing appears extraordinary or out of the common way.

Passing through a small village, we saw several groups of the peasantry, mingled with the Austrian soldiery, all dressed in their gayest costume (it being Sunday evening), and we caught the musical tones of the slow German waltz, to which national melody some of them were dancing. There was not the least appearance of riot or disorder; they were blamelessly rejoicing in the natural gaiety of their hearts, at the close of that day whose forenoon had been spent in the exercise of their religious duties; – that day which is devoted, in some parts of the world, to mere peaceful rest from labour, unattended with any demonstration of hilarity: in others, to a puritanical gloom, and rigid formality; but in this, to cheerful, social intercourse, and the enjoyment of a harmless mode of exercise – I say harmless, because the waltz is not looked upon by the natives here in at all the same light as it sometimes is, in the higher ranks of English society; and it is the only dance with which they are acquainted. How weak and absurd, how really wicked is the intolerance which leads people to condemn or quarrel with their fellow creatures, for the different points of view under which they regard this same day! Although I cannot quote Sterne as a moralist in all cases, I certainly do most sincerely coincide with him in his sentiments relative to religious feeling, as expressed in that chapter of his "Sentimental Journey," called "The Grace." At the same time I am perfectly aware that a similar method of passing the Sunday evening, after the service of the day is fulfilled, would not be advisable (even were it possible to try the experiment), in our own country. It does not agree with the character and habits of the nation; and the lower orders of people, (in the present state of existing circumstances), would assuredly debase it by every species of vice and immorality. They require a strongly marked line to be laid down, as a rule of right, from which all deviation would probably be dangerous. Considering the subject in this light, I should therefore be concerned to behold any great change attempted in the manner of spending the Sunday evening, and would certainly not be the first person to put myself forward in the outward display of different opinions to the generality of individuals in the country, and under the government to which I belong. We all owe an example, which may be salutary to our inferiors and dependents.

At St. Marie aux Mines we were obliged to take five horses to the carriage, as the road beyond that place was very mountainous. We had the mental refreshment of observing numbers of sweetly pretty women here, all dressed with native taste and neatness; the children also were engaging in their appearance, and the men generally good-looking. French is almost universally spoken among them.

Ascending les montagnes de St. Marie aux Mines, the scenery presented a beautiful melange of wood and rock; the road likewise was excellent. We admired the way in which the postillions managed their horses, walking, the whole of the ascent, by their side, but obliging them to maintain an unrelaxing steady pace, and this by words alone: the poor animals were almost as intelligent as their drivers, obeying them with the utmost readiness and alacrity. I must here indulge myself in marvelling at that perversion of every generous and rational feeling, which leads man to torture and abuse these generous, noble creatures. I have before mentioned, that the conduct of the French drivers to their horses is highly praiseworthy. The sleek comely appearance of the post-horses throughout France, as well as the state of their feet, evinces that they are well fed and kindly treated, and during our whole tour, we met with no instance of brutality among the postillions. These roads have been greatly improved by the present king.

We arrived to a late supper at St. Diez, where we slept. We were not disposed to quarrel with la Poste for being a true country inn: the host had not been spoiled by too many English travellers, those Milords Anglais, of whose proverbial riches every aubergiste imagines he has a right to take advantage, and who in consequence render humbler voyageurs of other nations ready to execrate their very names. We were taken for Germans, and found our bills reasonable and moderate in consequence. The maitresse de la maison was a kind-hearted, natural little bourgeoise, and very proud of her only child (a fine infant of nine or ten months), which she brought to shew us, in hopes of its being admired and praised. Mothers, in higher life than this poor woman, are deeply sensible to the charms of this species of flattery; and, even when they know it to be flattery, are hardly ever able to resist feeling pleased and propitiated thereby. For myself, I plead guilty at once. The amount of our charges at St. Diez it may perhaps be as well to mention: for supper (which was a good one), beds, apartments, wine, fruit, lemonade, and breakfast the next morning, we three persons did not pay more than twelve English shillings.

We started from hence at eight o'clock the following day, and found the road for the first stage mountainous and woody. Most of the cottages were ugly (as usual), and the inhabitants appeared dirty and lamentably poor. For the two or three following stages the country grew perceptibly flatter, and more open; the highway began to resume the old French line of undeviating straightness, and avenues of puny seedling trees were planted by its side. Large (or rather vast) tracts of arable land, in all the baldness of a recent harvest, spread their tawny surface around, and the whole presented a picture of monotony that was far from agreeable.

All the people in this part of France seemed attached to the memory of Bonaparte. The postmaster at Menilflin had a conversation with the gentlemen upon the subject. He said that "the nation entertained a good opinion of the private virtues of Louis XVIII., and wished him well; but it was impossible not to remember what vast improvements of various sorts Bonaparte had introduced, what noble works he had achieved, and to what a pitch of military glory he had raised the country." He then asked, with some appearance of reproach, "Why the English kept him so barbarously immured in a dreadful prison?" All attempt to soften this representation of Napoleon's present circumstances seemed of no avail; our host only shook his head, and seemed to entertain a very strong persuasion of the needless cruelty of the British nation.

Beyond Menilflin the scene again changed to a view of pasture lands, with hills and woods in the distance; and upon approaching the latter we found they were chiefly of oak. The potatoe was here generally cultivated, and in great quantities. Formerly the French despised this fine vegetable, but at present they are fully sensible of its importance.

Just beyond the large town of Luneville there were many vineyards, and a profusion of walnut-trees. The vines were planted alternately with the potatoe, in patches, and the contrast of the two different shades of green was singular, and not unpleasing. Beggars at this time began to make their reappearance, clamouring, in the old cant, at the windows of the carriage.

We now passed through a landscape of wonderful richness and verdure, and enjoyed a succession of woods and vineyards for many miles. It was the time of les vendanges. Every waggon we met was loaded with grapes, and every peasant was reeling under the weight of a large wooden bucket (as long as himself) filled with the same luxuriant and picturesque burden. Groups of young children followed, each, like a little Bacchus, holding a ripe cluster in its hand, attended by several women carrying baskets of the fruit, and all of them singing, laughing, and warmly enjoying the cheerful scene.

We reached Nancy to dinner. This is a large, clean, and very handsome town, and the streets are much broader than in most foreign ones. They resounded, as the evening advanced, with joyous songs in chorus, sung (often in parts with considerable accuracy) by the common people, in honour of les vendanges; but their mirth soon became rather too loud for refined ears, as they shouted (men and women together) at the utmost pitch of their voices, a sort of recitative and chorus, dancing at the same time en ronde, and frequently mingling shrill bursts of laughter and shrieks with this wild and extraordinary harmony. Every one of the garçons of our inn ran out in the street to join the peasantry in the maddening dance. Altogether it was a perfect bacchanalian festival, strongly resembling those ancient rites in honour of the rosy god mentioned in the pagan mythology. We went in the evening to the theatre, to see Baptiste (from Paris), who is reckoned one of the best French actors in comedy, and who performed here for one night only. The piece was a little comic pastoral, interspersed with music, but Baptiste's role was far too trifling for us to form any just idea of his talents – but how extraordinary it is that this nation, from time immemorial to the present day, should have been so totally ignorant of the true genius of vocal music. Rousseau's well-known opinion (in his letter from St. Preux to Julie, upon the difference of Italian and French taste in singing) came into my head more than once, and I most sincerely wished that the French would always confine themselves to what they so particularly excel in, the dance: their songs make the same sort of impression upon my mind, when compared with the beautiful productions of the Italian school, that a Savoyard cretin would do, if placed by the side of an Apollo Belvidere.

The theatre at Nancy was large, and the decorations and machinery tolerably good. It was the only one that we had seen illuminated in the boxes as well as upon the stage, a lustre being suspended above the pit, which shed a very pleasant light over all the house.

The next day, Sept. 30, we pursued our route. There is a beautiful Grecian gateway at this end of the town, which is worthy of every traveller's observation.

The road from hence was in a straight line with a tiresome avenue, as usual (Note S (#note_S).), and led us through a fine wood of beech and other trees (none of them of large growth); but it lost nearly all picturesque effect, from the vicinity of this artificial avenue, and the unbending line of the highway. The country for many miles is very open, bounded by hills, and bearing some resemblance to the county of Wiltshire.

Thoul, a pretty town, stands in the midst of wide plains, a small hill covered with vines sheltering it on one side. It is decorated with long rows of formal stiff poplars, above which tower the spires of its large cathedral. The river Moselle runs near this place, an inconsiderable tame little stream, whose banks can boast no kind of beauty.

The town was adorned by several vineyards and kitchen-gardens, full of well-cultivated vegetables and fruit; but the country beyond it was wide, flat, and insipid, for a considerable distance. At length we had the agreeable variety of entering a remarkably pretty, wild looking wood of young beech-trees, where we observed an ancient, lone, white mansion, greatly fallen to decay, yet evidently inhabited, and surrounded by gardens and walls for fruit, of large size and height: the latter also, as well as the house, much dilapidated. The wood, closing round on all sides, gave it an air of singularity and romance; nor could I restrain my fancy (during a subsequent uninteresting drive) from tracing the plan of a little novel sort of history, relative to the inhabitants of this solitude. How delightfully would the late Charlotte Smith have done the same thing! All her novels (putting on one side her passion for democracy, and her blind prejudices in favour of the Americans) interest my feelings extremely. They have a tone of elegant pathos (far removed from the sickly whine of affected sensibility) peculiar to themselves, and with many palpable faults are altogether bewitching. I am not singular in this taste, having, I believe, the honour of acquiescing in the opinion of some of the best judges.

We were now close upon the borders of Champaigne. Immense woods extended in every direction, yet they were not sufficiently near, to vary the landscape agreeably. As far as the eye could distinctly reach, nothing but vast uninclosed stubble fields appeared in view.

Ligny, a large town (surrounded by vineyards), dull and dead-looking, and unenlivened by any attempt at costume among the inhabitants. There are large manufactories of cotton here.

We dined and slept at Bar le Duc, a cheerful, neat town: inn (au Cigne), where we met with excellent accommodations. At dinner we were attended by a merry active paysanne: she brought us some of the wine to taste, of this year's vintage. It was then in its first state, previous to fermentation, and much resembled sweet cyder fresh from the press. When properly clarified, and ripened by age, it would turn out, we were told, to be a strong bodied red wine. This town, for the last few years, had been successively occupied by soldiers of all nations, French, Prussians, Russians, Austrians, and Cossacks: the girl persisted in calling the latter Turques, and told us that during the time of their séjour here, all the young paysannes of the neighbourhood had been carefully concealed (herself among the number), by their mothers: she said that at that period she had not entered service, but was living at home with maman. We observed maman to be the usual title of all mothers, even in the lowest class of people, and that it was used by the grown up daughters (in speaking of them), contrary to our English custom, where the term is a refinement, and not much adopted, except by the little denisons of the nursery: the unlimited power of mamans of all classes now appears to be very happily moderated and reduced; a great moral improvement which has taken place in France in consequence of the Revolution. The unprincipled system of parents arranging the marriages of the children, independent of their own choice or consent, which existed during the ancien régime, being nearly abolished, and consequent crime and misery connected with it, much diminished. I was happy to learn, from one of the most enlightened and sensible persons at Geneva, that since that awful bouleversement, conjugal attachment and fidelity, together with a taste for domestic pleasures, had rapidly increased, and this even in Paris itself. I was assured that the English (judging of the whole from their experience of a part) have formed an erroneous idea of the general immorality of French families, particularly in fancying that their national and innate love of amusement (springing from climate, constitution, and other causes), interfered improperly with, or was preferred to the duties of husband and parent. This defence of the French nation (prompted by a benevolent love of truth and candour) appeared particularly amiable, coming as it did from persons, whose government, religious opinions, and habits of life, were so very different.

Leaving Bar le Duc, October 1st, we proceeded through several woods, and found the face of the country more varied and agreeable than during the journey of yesterday: there was an appearance of cleanliness and comfort in this town, not often met with in France: the dress of the inhabitants and the neatness of the shops bore a nearer resemblance to an English country town than any we had yet seen. It is situated on the river Ornaine, and is as generally called Bar sur Ornaine as Bar le Duc. Being on the high road to Strasburg, we met with many German travellers, and were ourselves now, as well as formerly, frequently mistaken for natives of that country: the similarity of language, and perhaps of features and complexion, will naturally account for it.

We soon entered Champagne, and continually met bands of joyous peasants gathering the rich produce of the widely extended vineyards. This is the only province throughout France where the grape of which this wine is made will grow, and there must be, I should imagine, some great peculiarity of soil. The vintage, universally, was finer than had been known for years. It is generally remarked, that neither in Paris, nor in any other place upon the continent, is wine to be met with of that very superior quality, which it is usual to find in England; no other nation can afford so high a price.

In the vicinity of Vitri sur Marne, the country can scarcely be said to be the country, if trees, green fields, hills, and dales, give a right to that appellation. Nothing but one vast boundless uninclosed surface of stubble was to be seen. It reminded me (in point of monotonous effect) of the plain in the Palais de la Verité (mentioned by Madame de Genlis), where a fairy condemns the fickle-minded Azelie to remain for years, in order to cure her of a passion for variety. During this wearisome journey, I know not what we should have done without Moliere. Fortunately we had him in the carriage, and I need not say what an enlivening compagnon du voyage he was. Turning our eyes therefore from the "dull realities" of the scene around, we were soon lost in an imaginary world, full of bright creations and amusing conceptions.

We dined and slept at Chalons sur Marne, where we met with tolerable accommodations, but were charged very extravagantly, at la Cloche d'Or. We left it at half past six the next morning, and found the road equally uninteresting: I could hardly have formed an accurate idea of the bald sort of ugliness of a great portion of France, had I not thus witnessed its effect. The usual absence of costume continued, and there was nothing to break the dulness, or to give a ray of animation to the scene.

We now and then passed through villages, built formally in a long street, with the high road running between the houses; dirty, ugly, tasteless, and mean! no gardens, consequently neither fruit nor vegetables to be seen, and as there was no appearance of trees for such an immense number of miles, we were at a loss to conceive how the wretched inhabitants warmed themselves sufficiently, during the winter, except from the heaps of cinder dirt, at some of their doors, which proved that coals were burned there; not a very common circumstance in France. Troops of beggar children now ran after us, bold, audacious, and filthy in the extreme; all our charitable feelings froze in a moment.

The farther we proceeded, the wider seemed to extend the vast and barren desert that surrounded us; never can I forget the disgust and ennui which assailed us in consequence. We tried to awaken our powers of conversation, when wearied by long continued reading, but it was a vain attempt. Imagination seemed extinguished, and our minds experienced a degree of stagnation impossible to describe. After passing through this country, I must be allowed to differ, for the rest of my life, from those theoretical reasoners, who think it is even a point of morality to maintain, that the mental powers are not influenced by local impressions. I am convinced Madame de Genlis took her idea of the redoubted plain in her Palais de la Verité before mentioned, from having travelled through this part of her native country; for surely she would never have discovered its parallel in any other: even in the deserts of Arabia the traveller finds a species of sublimity, and undergoes perils, which at all events prevent his suffering from ennui.

In many of the villages (in all parts of France) we observed the sign of "Saint Nicholas." He is a very popular saint among this nation, and must have been a man of taste, as he stands forth the patron of all the young unmarried damsels, presiding over every nôce, and fête de village. He has chosen a most amusing metier altogether, thereby proceeding upon a far more rational and sensible plan than some of his brethren, many of whom have made it their business to frown upon the enjoyments of mankind, and who pretend that the only way to merit heaven in the next world, is to make a purgatory of this. Fortunately their unhappy followers are but few, (comparatively speaking); for the great body of the people, in all ages, seem to be of Sir Toby Belch's opinion, when Shakespeare makes him indignantly exclaim to his formal censor Malvolio, "what! dost think that because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?" These Roman catholic puritans, let it be remembered, have the honour of being imitated very closely by many a worthy English heretic.

It was a great relief to us to enter Rheims, where we took a luncheon, and afterwards walked about the town, and saw the grand gothic cathedral. The façade of this building is most superbly beautiful; the fret work, carving, and imagery, are in some respects superior to those of the Duomo at Milan; although the edifice is of a less precious material, much smaller, and in a different taste altogether. The interior is grandly simple, the windows of the most magnificent old stained glass, in patterns of infinite variety, and of the most glowing colours. But the outside of this cathedral is by far more imposing than any other part, and I was rather discomposed upon being obliged to acknowledge that our Westminster Abbey is extremely inferior in every way. Here the ancient monarchs of France used to be crowned (as books of juvenile information have duly informed us), and we could scarcely imagine a finer place for such sort of spectacles. The portal was built in the thirteenth century, and the other parts as far back as about the seventh or eighth.

We did not remark any thing particularly worth notice in the town (which is nevertheless very large), and the only thing which struck us forcibly was the general ugliness of the bourgeoises, and also the paysannes of the environs. The country beyond was exactly in the same wearisome character with what we had already passed, and the road for many miles extremely bad.

Owing to repeated delays about horses, we did not arrive at Laon until nine o'clock in the evening, by which means we lost the view of the two last stages before reaching that place, where the country is said to improve in a very striking manner, swelling occasionally into lofty hills, enriched with wood.

Laon is built upon an abrupt and rocky eminence, shaded by trees, and commanding a very extensive bird's-eye prospect of the surrounding country. There was a high appearance of cultivation and fertility of soil, while the immediate vicinity of vineyards, filled with cheerful groups of people, was very enlivening; but no costume was to be observed except the almost universal cross worn round the necks of the women[11 - This town is memorable for the sanguinary contests between Blucher and the French army, during which it was taken and retaken several times. The epicure will here find the best grenouilles in France: we did not chance to meet with this delicacy, nor with another, which, however common here, does not exactly accord with the taste of John Bull, viz. snails.]. Our inn (à la Hure) was extremely well appointed; the host an attentive, civil old man, and we were waited upon with celerity and good humour by two young paysannes, who appeared to think no exertion too much which could contribute in any way to the comfort of the guests. One of them (like most French servants) chatted in a natural intelligent manner, was full of frolic and glee, ready to laugh at every thing, carolling with the gaiety of a lark, in all parts of the house, and seeming with difficulty to restrain herself from dancing at the same time: all this (as I once before mentioned) without the least degree of immodesty. What a wide difference exists between the ideas of a French and English woman in this situation of life, on the score of what is called propriety; a vague term, and changeable as the chamelion in its nature, however some worthy folks may suppose it confined solely to one shape, and one definite meaning. The sense of female honour among the country girls of France, so far from being too lax, or but little regarded, seems, on the contrary, to be particularly correct, and I have taken some pains in my inquiries upon this point. The loss of fair fame is rare, and always accompanied by the utmost disgrace and ignominy; so much so, that one young woman (whose heart was, I am sure, upon her lips) told me, "that if such a circumstance occurred, the unfortunate girl had much better be dead at once; for she never would be looked upon again by her youthful companions." Let it, therefore, be remembered, to the credit of the French, that innocence is perfectly compatible with a lively freedom of manner, and that virtue can be firmly maintained, although unshackled by the restraints of primness and formality. I am now convinced that climate has a great deal more influence upon our feelings and conduct than I was once inclined to think. The chilly fogs and heavy weight of atmosphere in England do certainly affect, in some measure, the mental faculties of her children, rendering their ideas of morality needlessly gloomy and strict. I judge (in part) from my own occasional sensations. I never feel in so cheerful and happy a frame of mind, so willing to be candid, and to look upon persons and things in the most favourable light, as during a fine clear sunshiny day. Au contraire, there have been moments in the cold, humidity, and dark gloom of winter, when I have been shocked and ashamed at perceiving my sentiments involuntarily narrowing into prejudices, and my spirits saddening in proportion. It has required a strong exertion of reason to get the better of such feelings, and even to divest myself of an idea of their being in some degree meritorious.

I now hasten to continue the narrative of our route from Laon to Cambray, which was a day's journey. The road for the first stage presented us with a welcome variety of landscape, hills, dales, copses, shady villages, and fertile fields. Never did we see such a profusion of fine apples as were growing here, on each side of the way. The peasants were gathering them as we passed, and heaps of this rosy, tempting fruit were piled up in hillocks beneath the trees from which they had just been taken. They were even strewed by thousands on the grass around, and were perpetually rolling into the road under the wheels of our carriage. Such a triumph of Pomona it is really difficult to imagine without having seen its animating effect! We stopt to purchase some, and found them truly delicious; spirited, juicy, and possessing all the acid sweetness of champaigne. We remarked the soil in which these trees so peculiarly flourished: it consisted of a loose, light, sandy earth, with a mixture of clay; but in those parts of England where they thrive best, I understand that the soil is of a redder earth, with not nearly so large a proportion of sand. For what are called common fruits and flowers I have ever entertained a preference, and for the latter I have almost a passion. The richest collection of rare exotics do not make the same agreeable and soothing impression upon my imagination as the unpretending garden which my mother formerly cultivated in Surrey, or that of a dear and excellent friend, in which from childhood I have ever delighted, and where the common flowers of each season, fruits, vegetables, herbs, and shrubs, flourish together, in defiance of the more refined arrangements of modern days. I recollect the simple charms of her sitting-room windows (shadowed by the climbing honeysuckle and sweetbriar), and those of my mother's pretty doorway, half lost in a thick bower of clematis, with the liveliest feelings of pleasure, while I have totally forgotten a hundred prouder boudoirs, rich in the odours of tuberose, cape jessamine, night-blowing geraniums, and other splendid extravagancies.