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 Hatto[3]. My imagination for several days after this adventure was so deeply saturated with their nauseous idea, that every object brought them in some way or other before me.
Upon quitting Fontainbleau, we first observed the sabots (or wooden shoes) worn by the peasantry; they are of enormous size, and must, I should think, be very heavy and inconvenient to the wearer. A piece of sheep-skin, with the woolly side inwards, is often slipt between the sabot and the foot, to prevent the former from excoriating the instep.
At Moret, a dirty little town, we saw a whole row of women washing linen in the river; they were in a kneeling position, and beat the clothes with a wooden mallet; they ought all to be provided with husbands from among the linen drapers, as they are such admirable helps to the trade. We met several donkeys here, carrying rushes, piled up like moving houses, so high, that only the heads and hoofs of the animals were visible. Vast tracts of land, covered with vineyards, extended on every side, and the eternal straight road, where one could see for three or four miles the track one was to follow, began to be excessively tedious and wearing to the spirits: how different from the winding, undulating, graceful roads in England!
Country near Pont sur Yonne open, bald, and monotonous. The French vineyards when seen closely have a formal effect, being planted in stiff rows, like scarlet runners in a kitchen garden, but they much enrich the landscape at a distance. The river Yonne is a pretty little stream, but the nymphs on its banks are not at all picturesque in their costume, which is by no means particularly marked, being dirty and unbecoming, and very much (I am ashamed to say) in the style of our common countrywomen about Brentford, Hammersmith, &c.
Sens is an ancient town: it has a handsome cathedral and gateway. The bread made here (as well as in most parts of France, except partially in Paris) is mixed with leaven instead of yeast, and is sour and disagreeable in consequence. We remarked many gardens richly cultivated, full of choice vegetables and fruit, by the side of the highroad, without the smallest inclosure; a proof, I should imagine, of the honesty of the country people. There are several English families resident here, as the environs are very pretty, and the town itself an agreeable one. We stopped to take our breakfast at la Poste, and bought excellent grapes for four-pence a pound English money. The late Dauphin, father of the present king, is buried in the cathedral of this place, and the duke and duchess d'Angouleme, &c. come once a year to pray for his soul's repose.
Pursuing our route, we met many Burgundy waggons, loaded with wine; the horses were ornamented with enormous collars of sheep-skin, dyed of a bright blue colour: the tout ensemble had a picturesque appearance, and the waggons were the first we had seen in France which had four wheels, the weight being usually balanced between a pair. A sudden storm of rain now coming on, had a beautiful effect; the retreating sunbeams played in catching lights (to use the expression of an artist) upon the abrupt points of the distant hills, and partially illuminated their soft and verdant tapestry of vines. We particularly enjoyed it after the long season of heat and drought. Here are whole groves of walnut-trees, beneath which we met a group of five women belonging to the vineyards; they were every one handsome, with ruddy, wholesome, yet sun-burnt complexions, lively smiles, and long bright dark eyes and shadowy lashes.
Entered Villeneuve sur Yonne; saw loads of charcoal on the river, going to replenish the kitchens of many a Parisian Heliogabalus! this is also an ancient town, with two curious old gateways, but it appeared very dull. I admired some fine hedges of acacia, and four pretty, sleek, grey donkeys, who were drawing the plough. The road is winding here, like those of our own country, for which we were solely indebted to the turns of the river, whose course it accompanied.
Joigny. A handsome stone bridge seems its most remarkable ornament: the river is broad and fine, flowing through steep banks fringed with wood. We dined and slept at les Cinq Mineurs, and this in the same room. A most obliging, intelligent, young woman waited upon us, whose name was Veronique. After dinner we walked on the promenade by the side of the river, and saw the barracks, &c. My friends met with a little adventure in their rambles, while I was resting myself at the inn. Seeing a pretty little boy and his sister at play near the chateau, (belonging to the ancient counts of Joigny,) they entered into conversation with them, upon which they were joined by the father of the children, a French country gentleman, who resided in a small house opposite the chateau: he insisted upon their coming in with him, and as the dinner was ready, much wished to tempt them to partake the meal: this they declined, and their new acquaintance
