Part 16

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.), 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.