Part 6 (1/2)
[Ill.u.s.tration: _London, Published by I, Murray, 1819._ HERMITAGE of ST^E. FRENE.]
We took an early dinner at Soleure (_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 ma.s.s, and by the too frequent recurrence of _jours de fetes_.
We pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sistance 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 b.a.l.l.stall, 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 ma.s.s 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 pa.s.sed: 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 das.h.i.+ng 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 b.a.l.l.stall. 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 pa.s.sing 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 s.p.a.cious 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 n.o.ble 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 coa.r.s.e bright green cloth, without collars, enormously long waisted waistcoats (sometimes red, laced with gold, and large b.u.t.tons), with c.o.c.ked 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 a.n.a.logy 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.
Pa.s.sing 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 pa.s.sing 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 circ.u.mstances), would a.s.suredly 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, n.o.ble 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 s.h.i.+llings.
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 n.o.ble 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 circ.u.mstances 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 quant.i.ties. 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 pa.s.sed 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 cl.u.s.ter 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 _garcons_ of our inn ran out in the street to join the peasantry in the maddening dance. Altogether it was a perfect baccha.n.a.lian festival, strongly resembling those ancient rites in honour of the rosy G.o.d 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 l.u.s.tre being suspended above the pit, which shed a very pleasant light over all the house.