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An Inland Voyage
By
Robert Louis Stevenson
Contents
ON
THE SAMBRE CANALISED - TO QUARTES.
PONT-SUR-SAMBRE
- WE ARE PEDLARS
PONT-SUR-SAMBRE
- THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT
ON
THE SAMBRE CANALISED - TO LANDRECIES.
SAMBRE
AND OISE CANAL - CANAL BOATS
ORIGNY
SAINTE-BENOITE - A BY-DAY
ORIGNY
SAINTE-BENOITE - THE COMPANY AT TABLE.
DOWN
THE OISE - THROUGH THE GOLDEN VALLEY.
DOWN
THE OISE: CHURCH INTERIORS
To equip so small a book with a preface is, I =
am
half afraid, to sin against proportion.&nb=
sp;
But a preface is more than an author can resist, for it is the rewar=
d of
his labours. When the foundat=
ion stone
is laid, the architect appears with his plans, and struts for an hour before
the public eye. So with the w=
riter
in his preface: he may have never a word to say, but he must show himself f=
or a
moment in the portico, hat in hand, and with an urbane demeanour.
It is best, in such circumstances, to represen=
t a
delicate shade of manner between humility and superiority: as if the book had been written by=
some
one else, and you had merely run over it and inserted what was good. But for my part I have not yet lea=
rned
the trick to that perfection; I am not yet able to dissemble the warmth of =
my
sentiments towards a reader; and if I meet him on the threshold, it is to
invite him in with country cordiality.
To say truth, I had no sooner finished reading
this little book in proof, than I was seized upon by a distressing
apprehension. It occurred to =
me
that I might not only be the first to read these pages, but the last as wel=
l;
that I might have pioneered this very smiling tract of country all in vain,=
and
find not a soul to follow in my steps.&nbs=
p;
The more I thought, the more I disliked the notion; until the distas=
te
grew into a sort of panic terror, and I rushed into this Preface, which is =
no
more than an advertisement for readers.
What am I to say for my book? Caleb and Joshua brought back from=
Palestine
a formidable bunch of grapes; alas! my book produces naught so nourishing; =
and
for the matter of that, we live in an age when people prefer a definition to
any quantity of fruit.
I wonder, would a negative be found enticing? =
for,
from the negative point of view, I flatter myself this volume has a certain=
stamp. Although it runs to considerably u=
pwards
of two hundred pages, it contains not a single reference to the imbecility =
of God's
universe, nor so much as a single hint that I could have made a better one
myself.--I really do not know where my head can have been. I seem to have forgotten all that =
makes
it glorious to be man.--'Tis an omission that renders the book philosophica=
lly unimportant;
but I am in hopes the eccentricity may please in frivolous circles.
To the friend who accompanied me I owe many th=
anks
already, indeed I wish I owed him nothing else; but at this moment I feel
towards him an almost exaggerated tenderness. He, at least, will become my reade=
r:
--if it were only to follow his own travels alongside of mine.
R.L.S.
We made a great stir in Antwerp Docks. A stevedore and a lot of dock port= ers took up the two canoes, and ran with them for the slip. A crowd of children followed cheering. The Cigarette went = off in a splash and a bubble of small breaking water. Next moment the Arethusa was after her. A steamer was coming dow= n, men on the paddle-box shouted hoarse warnings, the stevedore and his porters we= re bawling from the quay. But in= a stroke or two the canoes were away out in the middle of the Scheldt, and all steamers, and stevedores, and other 'long-shore vanities were left behind.<= o:p>
The sun shone brightly; the tide was making--f=
our
jolly miles an hour; the wind blew steadily, with occasional squalls. For my part, I had never been in a=
canoe
under sail in my life; and my first experiment out in the middle of this big
river was not made without some trepidation. What would happen when the wind fi=
rst caught
my little canvas? I suppose i=
t was
almost as trying a venture into the regions of the unknown as to publish a
first book, or to marry. But =
my
doubts were not of long duration; and in five minutes you will not be surpr=
ised
to learn that I had tied my sheet.
I own I was a little struck by this circumstan=
ce
myself; of course, in company with the rest of my fellow-men, I had always =
tied
the sheet in a sailing-boat; but in so little and crank a concern as a cano=
e,
and with these charging squalls, I was not prepared to find myself follow t=
he
same principle; and it inspired me with some contemptuous views of our rega=
rd
for life. It is certainly eas=
ier to
smoke with the sheet fastened; but I had never before weighed a comfortable
pipe of tobacco against an obvious risk, and gravely elected for the
comfortable pipe. It is a
commonplace, that we cannot answer for ourselves before we have been
tried. But it is not so commo=
n a
reflection, and surely more consoling, that we usually find ourselves a gre=
at
deal braver and better than we thought.&nb=
sp;
I believe this is every one's experience: but an apprehension that they may =
belie
themselves in the future prevents mankind from trumpeting this cheerful sen=
timent
abroad. I wish sincerely, for=
it
would have saved me much trouble, there had been some one to put me in a go=
od
heart about life when I was younger; to tell me how dangers are most porten=
tous
on a distant sight; and how the good in a man's spirit will not suffer itse=
lf
to be overlaid, and rarely or never deserts him in the hour of need. But we are all for tootling on the
sentimental flute in literature; and not a man among us will go to the head=
of
the march to sound the heady drums.
It was agreeable upon the river. A barge or two went past laden with
hay. Reeds and willows border=
ed the
stream; and cattle and grey venerable horses came and hung their mild heads
over the embankment. Here and=
there
was a pleasant village among trees, with a noisy shipping-yard; here and th=
ere
a villa in a lawn. The wind s=
erved
us well up the Scheldt and thereafter up the Rupel; and we were running pre=
tty
free when we began to sight the brickyards of Boom, lying for a long way on=
the
right bank of the river. The =
left
bank was still green and pastoral, with alleys of trees along the embankmen=
t,
and here and there a flight of steps to serve a ferry, where perhaps there =
sat
a woman with her elbows on her knees, or an old gentleman with a staff and
silver spectacles. But Boom a=
nd its
brickyards grew smokier and shabbier with every minute; until a great church
with a clock, and a wooden bridge over the river, indicated the central
quarters of the town.
Boom is not a nice place, and is only remarkab=
le
for one thing: that the majority of the inhabitants have a private opinion =
that
they can speak English, which is not justified by fact. This gave a kind of haziness to our
intercourse. As for the Hotel=
de la
Navigation, I think it is the worst feature of the place. It boasts of a sanded parlour, wit=
h a
bar at one end, looking on the street; and another sanded parlour, darker a=
nd
colder, with an empty bird-cage and a tricolour subscription box by way of =
sole
adornment, where we made shift to dine in the company of three uncommunicat=
ive
engineer apprentices and a silent bagman.&=
nbsp;
The food, as usual in Belgium, was of a nondescript occasional chara=
cter;
indeed I have never been able to detect anything in the nature of a meal am=
ong
this pleasing people; they seem to peck and trifle with viands all day long=
in
an amateur spirit: tentativel=
y French,
truly German, and somehow falling between the two.
The empty bird-cage, swept and garnished, and =
with
no trace of the old piping favourite, save where two wires had been pushed =
apart
to hold its lump of sugar, carried with it a sort of graveyard cheer. The
engineer apprentices would have nothing to say to us, nor indeed to the bag=
man;
but talked low and sparingly to one another, or raked us in the gaslight wi=
th a
gleam of spectacles. For thou=
gh handsome
lads, they were all (in the Scots phrase) barnacled.
There was an English maid in the hotel, who had
been long enough out of England to pick up all sorts of funny foreign idiom=
s,
and all sorts of curious foreign ways, which need not here be specified.
Next morning, when we set forth on the Willebr=
oek
Canal, the rain began heavy and chill.&nbs=
p;
The water of the canal stood at about the drinking temperature of te=
a;
and under this cold aspersion, the surface was covered with steam. The exhilaration of departure, and=
the
easy motion of the boats under each stroke of the paddles, supported us thr=
ough
this misfortune while it lasted; and when the cloud passed and the sun came=
out
again, our spirits went up above the range of stay-at-home humours. A good breeze rustled and shivered=
in
the rows of trees that bordered the canal.=
The leaves flickered in and out of the light in tumultuous masses. It seemed sailing weather to eye a=
nd
ear; but down between the banks, the wind reached us only in faint and
desultory puffs. There was ha=
rdly
enough to steer by. Progress =
was
intermittent and unsatisfactory. A
jocular person, of marine antecedents, hailed us from the tow-path with a
'C'est vite, mais c'est long.'
The canal was busy enough. Every now and then we met or overt=
ook a long
string of boats, with great green tillers; high sterns with a window on eit=
her
side of the rudder, and perhaps a jug or a flower- pot in one of the window=
s; a
dinghy following behind; a woman busied about the day's dinner, and a handf=
ul
of children. These barges wer=
e all
tied one behind the other with tow ropes, to the number of twenty-five or
thirty; and the line was headed and kept in motion by a steamer of strange
construction. It had neither =
paddle-wheel
nor screw; but by some gear not rightly comprehensible to the unmechanical
mind, it fetched up over its bow a small bright chain which lay along the
bottom of the canal, and paying it out again over the stern, dragged itself
forward, link by link, with its whole retinue of loaded skows. Until one had found out the key to=
the
enigma, there was something solemn and uncomfortable in the progress of one=
of
these trains, as it moved gently along the water with nothing to mark its
advance but an eddy alongside dying away into the wake.
Of all the creatures of commercial enterprise,=
a
canal barge is by far the most delightful to consider. It may spread its sails, and then =
you
see it sailing high above the tree-tops and the windmill, sailing on the
aqueduct, sailing through the green corn-lands: the most picturesque of things
amphibious. Or the horse plods
along at a foot-pace as if there were no such thing as business in the worl=
d;
and the man dreaming at the tiller sees the same spire on the horizon all d=
ay
long. It is a mystery how thi=
ngs
ever get to their destination at this rate; and to see the barges waiting t=
heir
turn at a lock, affords a fine lesson of how easily the world may be
taken. There should be many c=
ontented
spirits on board, for such a life is both to travel and to stay at home.
The chimney smokes for dinner as you go along;=
the
banks of the canal slowly unroll their scenery to contemplative eyes; the b=
arge
floats by great forests and through great cities with their public buildings
and their lamps at night; and for the bargee, in his floating home, 'travel=
ling
abed,' it is merely as if he were listening to another man's story or turni=
ng
the leaves of a picture-book in which he had no concern. He may take his afternoon walk in =
some
foreign country on the banks of the canal, and then come home to dinner at =
his
own fireside.
There is not enough exercise in such a life for
any high measure of health; but a high measure of health is only necessary =
for unhealthy
people. The slug of a fellow,=
who
is never ill nor well, has a quiet time of it in life, and dies all the eas=
ier.
I am sure I would rather be a bargee than occu=
py
any position under heaven that required attendance at an office. There are few callings, I should s=
ay,
where a man gives up less of his liberty in return for regular meals. The bargee is on shipboard--he is =
master
in his own ship--he can land whenever he will--he can never be kept beating=
off
a lee-shore a whole frosty night when the sheets are as hard as iron; and so
far as I can make out, time stands as nearly still with him as is compatible
with the return of bed-time or the dinner-hour. It is not easy to see why a bargee
should ever die.
Half-way between Willebroek and Villevorde, in=
a
beautiful reach of canal like a squire's avenue, we went ashore to lunch. There were two eggs, a junk of bre=
ad,
and a bottle of wine on board the Arethusa; and two eggs and an Etna cooking
apparatus on board the Cigarette.
The master of the latter boat smashed one of the eggs in the course =
of
disembarkation; but observing pleasantly that it might still be cooked a la
papier, he dropped it into the Etna, in its covering of Flemish newspaper.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> We landed in a blink of fine weath=
er;
but we had not been two minutes ashore before the wind freshened into half a
gale, and the rain began to patter on our shoulders. We sat as close about the Etna as =
we
could. The spirits burned with
great ostentation; the grass caught flame every minute or two, and had to be
trodden out; and before long, there were several burnt fingers of the
party. But the solid quantity=
of cookery
accomplished was out of proportion with so much display; and when we desist=
ed,
after two applications of the fire, the sound egg was little more than
loo-warm; and as for a la papier, it was a cold and sordid fricassee of
printer's ink and broken egg-shell. We made shift to roast the other two, by
putting them close to the burning spirits; and that with better success.
It is almost unnecessary to mention that when
lunch was over and we got aboard again and made sail, the wind promptly died
away. The rest of the journey=
to
Villevorde, we still spread our canvas to the unfavouring air; and with now=
and
then a puff, and now and then a spell of paddling, drifted along from lock =
to
lock, between the orderly trees.
It was a fine, green, fat landscape; or rather=
a
mere green water- lane, going on from village to village. Things had a settled look, as in p=
laces
long lived in. Crop-headed ch=
ildren
spat upon us from the bridges as we went below, with a true conservative
feeling. But even more conservative were the fishermen, intent upon their f=
loats,
who let us go by without one glance.
They perched upon sterlings and buttresses and along the slope of the
embankment, gently occupied. =
They
were indifferent, like pieces of dead nature. They did not move any more than if=
they
had been fishing in an old Dutch print.&nb=
sp;
The leaves fluttered, the water lapped, but they continued in one st=
ay
like so many churches established by law.&=
nbsp;
You might have trepanned every one of their innocent heads, and foun=
d no
more than so much coiled fishing-line below their skulls. I do not care for your stalwart fe=
llows
in india-rubber stockings breasting up mountain torrents with a salmon rod;=
but
I do dearly love the class of man who plies his unfruitful art, for ever an=
d a
day, by still and depopulated waters.
At the last lock, just beyond Villevorde, there
was a lock-mistress who spoke French comprehensibly, and told us we were st=
ill
a couple of leagues from Brussels.
At the same place, the rain began again. It fell in straight, parall=
el
lines; and the surface of the canal was thrown up into an infinity of little
crystal fountains. There were=
no
beds to be had in the neighbourhood.
Nothing for it but to lay the sails aside and address ourselves to
steady paddling in the rain.
Beautiful country houses, with clocks and long
lines of shuttered windows, and fine old trees standing in groves and avenu=
es,
gave a rich and sombre aspect in the rain and the deepening dusk to the sho=
res
of the canal. I seem to have =
seen
something of the same effect in engravings: opulent landscapes, deserted and
overhung with the passage of storm.
And throughout we had the escort of a hooded cart, which trotted
shabbily along the tow-path, and kept at an almost uniform distance in our
wake.
The rain took off near Laeken. But the sun was already down; the =
air
was chill; and we had scarcely a dry stitch between the pair of us. Nay, now we found ourselves near t=
he end
of the Allee Verte, and on the very threshold of Brussels, we were confront=
ed
by a serious difficulty. The =
shores
were closely lined by canal boats waiting their turn at the lock. Nowhere was there any convenient l=
anding-place;
nowhere so much as a stable-yard to leave the canoes in for the night. We scrambled ashore and entered an
estaminet where some sorry fellows were drinking with the landlord. The landlord was pretty round with=
us;
he knew of no coach-house or stable-yard, nothing of the sort; and seeing we
had come with no mind to drink, he did not conceal his impatience to be rid=
of
us. One of the sorry fellows came to the rescue. Somewhere in the corner of the bas=
in
there was a slip, he informed us, and something else besides, not very clea=
rly
defined by him, but hopefully construed by his hearers.
Sure enough there was the slip in the corner of
the basin; and at the top of it two nice-looking lads in boating clothes. The Arethusa addressed himself to
these. One of them said there=
would
be no difficulty about a night's lodging for our boats; and the other, taki=
ng a
cigarette from his lips, inquired if they were made by Searle and Son. The name was quite an introduction=
. Half-a- dozen other young men came=
out
of a boat-house bearing the superscription ROYAL SPORT NAUTIQUE, and joined=
in
the talk. They were all very
polite, voluble, and enthusiastic; and their discourse was interlarded with
English boating terms, and the names of English boat-builders and English
clubs. I do not know, to my s=
hame,
any spot in my native land where I should have been so warmly received by t=
he
same number of people. We were
English boating-men, and the Belgian boating-men fell upon our necks. I wonder if French Huguenots were =
as
cordially greeted by English Protestants when they came across the Channel =
out
of great tribulation. But aft=
er
all, what religion knits people so closely as a common sport?
The canoes were carried into the boat-house; t=
hey
were washed down for us by the Club servants, the sails were hung out to dr=
y,
and everything made as snug and tidy as a picture. And in the meanwhile we were led
upstairs by our new-found brethren, for so more than one of them stated the
relationship, and made free of their lavatory. This one lent us soap, that one a =
towel,
a third and fourth helped us to undo our bags. And all the time such questions, s=
uch
assurances of respect and sympathy!
I declare I never knew what glory was before.
'Yes, yes, the Royal Sport Nautique is the old=
est
club in Belgium.'
'We number two hundred.'
'We'--this is not a substantive speech, but an
abstract of many speeches, the impression left upon my mind after a great d=
eal
of talk; and very youthful, pleasant, natural, and patriotic it seems to me=
to
be--'We have gained all races, except those where we were cheated by the
French.'
'You must leave all your wet things to be drie=
d.'
'O! entre freres! In any boat-house in England we sh=
ould
find the same.' (I cordially =
hope
they might.)
'En Angleterre, vous employez des sliding-seat=
s,
n'est-ce pas?'
'We are all employed in commerce during the da=
y;
but in the evening, voyez-vous, nous sommes serieux.'
These were the words. They were all employed over the
frivolous mercantile concerns of Belgium during the day; but in the evening=
they
found some hours for the serious concerns of life. I may have a wrong idea of wisdom,=
but I
think that was a very wise remark. People connected with literature and
philosophy are busy all their days in getting rid of second-hand notions and
false standards. It is their
profession, in the sweat of their brows, by dogged thinking, to recover the=
ir
old fresh view of life, and distinguish what they really and originally lik=
e,
from what they have only learned to tolerate perforce. And these Royal Nautical Sportsmen=
had
the distinction still quite legible in their hearts. They had still those clean percept=
ions
of what is nice and nasty, what is interesting and what is dull, which envi=
ous
old gentlemen refer to as illusions.
The nightmare illusion of middle age, the bear's hug of custom gradu=
ally
squeezing the life out of a man's soul, had not yet begun for these
happy-starred young Belgians. They
still knew that the interest they took in their business was a trifling aff=
air compared
to their spontaneous, long-suffering affection for nautical sports. To know what you prefer, instead of
humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to h=
ave kept
your soul alive. Such a man m=
ay be
generous; he may be honest in something more than the commercial sense; he =
may
love his friends with an elective, personal sympathy, and not accept them a=
s an
adjunct of the station to which he has been called. He may be a man, in short, acting =
on his
own instincts, keeping in his own shape that God made him in; and not a mere
crank in the social engine-house, welded on principles that he does not
understand, and for purposes that he does not care for.
For will any one dare to tell me that business=
is
more entertaining than fooling among boats? He must have never seen a boat, or=
never
seen an office, who says so. =
And
for certain the one is a great deal better for the health. There should be nothing so much a =
man's
business as his amusements. N=
othing
but money-grubbing can be put forward to the contrary; no one but
Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From
Heaven,
=
durst
risk a word in answer. It is =
but a
lying cant that would represent the merchant and the banker as people
disinterestedly toiling for mankind, and then most useful when they are mos=
t absorbed
in their transactions; for the man is more important than his services. And when my Royal Nautical Sportsm=
an
shall have so far fallen from his hopeful youth that he cannot pluck up an =
enthusiasm
over anything but his ledger, I venture to doubt whether he will be near so
nice a fellow, and whether he would welcome, with so good a grace, a couple=
of
drenched Englishmen paddling into Brussels in the dusk.
When we had changed our wet clothes and drunk a
glass of pale ale to the Club's prosperity, one of their number escorted us=
to
an hotel. He would not join u=
s at
our dinner, but he had no objection to a glass of wine. Enthusiasm is very wearing; and I =
begin
to understand why prophets were unpopular in Judaea, where they were best
known. For three stricken hou=
rs did
this excellent young man sit beside us to dilate on boats and boat-races; a=
nd
before he left, he was kind enough to order our bedroom candles.
We endeavoured now and again to change the
subject; but the diversion did not last a moment: the Royal Nautical Sportsman bridl=
ed,
shied, answered the question, and then breasted once more into the swelling
tide of his subject. I call i=
t his
subject; but I think it was he who was subjected. The Arethusa, who holds all racing=
as a
creature of the devil, found himself in a pitiful dilemma. He durst not own his ignorance for=
the
honour of Old England, and spoke away about English clubs and English oarsm=
en whose
fame had never before come to his ears.&nb=
sp;
Several times, and, once above all, on the question of sliding-seats=
, he
was within an ace of exposure. As
for the Cigarette, who has rowed races in the heat of his blood, but now
disowns these slips of his wanton youth, his case was still more desperate;=
for
the Royal Nautical proposed that he should take an oar in one of their eigh=
ts
on the morrow, to compare the English with the Belgian stroke. I could see my friend perspiring i=
n his
chair whenever that particular topic came up. And there was yet another
proposal which had the same effect on both of us. It appeared that the champion cano=
eist
of Europe (as well as most other champions) was a Royal Nautical
Sportsman. And if we would on=
ly
wait until the Sunday, this infernal paddler would be so condescending as to
accompany us on our next stage.
Neither of us had the least desire to drive the coursers of the sun
against Apollo.
When the young man was gone, we countermanded =
our
candles, and ordered some brandy and water. The great billows had gone over ou=
r head. The Royal Nautical Sportsmen were =
as
nice young fellows as a man would wish to see, but they were a trifle too y=
oung
and a thought too nautical for us.
We began to see that we were old and cynical; we liked ease and the
agreeable rambling of the human mind about this and the other subject; we d=
id
not want to disgrace our native land by messing an eight, or toiling pitifu=
lly
in the wake of the champion canoeist.
In short, we had recourse to flight. It seemed ungrateful, but we tried=
to
make that good on a card loaded with sincere compliments. And indeed it was no time for scru=
ples; we
seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks.
Partly from the terror we had of our good frie=
nds
the Royal Nauticals, partly from the fact that there were no fewer than fif=
ty-five
locks between Brussels and Charleroi, we concluded that we should travel by
train across the frontier, boats and all. Fifty-five locks in a day's journ=
ey
was pretty well tantamount to trudging the whole distance on foot, with the
canoes upon our shoulders, an object of astonishment to the trees on the ca=
nal side,
and of honest derision to all right-thinking children.
To pass the frontier, even in a train, is a difficult matter for the Arethusa. He is somehow or other a marked man for the official eye. Wherever he journeys, there are the officers gathered together. T= reaties are solemnly signed, foreign ministers, ambassadors, and consuls sit throne= d in state from China to Peru, and the Union Jack flutters on all the winds of heaven. Under these safeguard= s, portly clergymen, school-mistresses, gentlemen in grey tweed suits, and all= the ruck and rabble of British touristry pour unhindered, Murray in hand, over = the railways of the Continent, and yet the slim person of the Arethusa is taken= in the meshes, while these great fish go on their way rejoicing. If he travels without a passport, = he is cast, without any figure about the matter, into noisome dungeons: if his papers are in order, he is suffered to go his way indeed, but not until he has been humiliated by a general incredulity. He is a = born British subject, yet he has never succeeded in persuading a single official= of his nationality. He flatters himself he is indifferent honest; yet he is rarely taken for anything better than a spy, and there is no absurd and disreputable means of livelihood but= has been attributed to him in some heat of official or popular distrust. . . .<= o:p>
For the life of me I cannot understand it. I too have been knolled to church,=
and
sat at good men's feasts; but I bear no mark of it. I am as strange as a Ja=
ck
Indian to their official spectacles. I might come from any part of the g=
lobe,
it seems, except from where I do.
My ancestors have laboured in vain, and the glorious Constitution ca=
nnot
protect me in my walks abroad. It
is a great thing, believe me, to present a good normal type of the nation y=
ou belong
to.
Nobody else was asked for his papers on the wa=
y to
Maubeuge; but I was; and although I clung to my rights, I had to choose at =
last
between accepting the humiliation and being left behind by the train. I was sorry to give way; but I wan=
ted to
get to Maubeuge.
Maubeuge is a fortified town, with a very good
inn, the Grand Cerf. It seemed to be inhabited principally by soldiers and
bagmen; at least, these were all that we saw, except the hotel servants.
The Cigarette was nearly taken up upon a charg=
e of
drawing the fortifications: a=
feat
of which he was hopelessly incapable.
And besides, as I suppose each belligerent nation has a plan of the =
other's
fortified places already, these precautions are of the nature of shutting t=
he
stable door after the steed is away.
But I have no doubt they help to keep up a good spirit at home. It is a great thing if you can per=
suade
people that they are somehow or other partakers in a mystery. It makes them feel bigger. Even the Freemasons, who have been=
shown
up to satiety, preserve a kind of pride; and not a grocer among them, howev=
er
honest, harmless, and empty-headed he may feel himself to be at bottom, but
comes home from one of their coenacula with a portentous significance for h=
imself.
It is an odd thing, how happily two people, if
there are two, can live in a place where they have no acquaintance. I think the spectacle of a whole l=
ife in
which you have no part paralyses personal desire. You are content to become a mere
spectator. The baker stands i=
n his
door; the colonel with his three medals goes by to the cafe at night; the
troops drum and trumpet and man the ramparts, as bold as so many lions. It would task language to say how
placidly you behold all this. In a
place where you have taken some root, you are provoked out of your
indifference; you have a hand in the game; your friends are fighting with t=
he
army. But in a strange town, =
not
small enough to grow too soon familiar, nor so large as to have laid itself=
out
for travellers, you stand so far apart from the business, that you positive=
ly
forget it would be possible to go nearer; you have so little human interest
around you, that you do not remember yourself to be a man. Perhaps, in a very short time, you=
would
be one no longer. Gymnosophis=
ts go
into a wood, with all nature seething around them, with romance on every si=
de;
it would be much more to the purpose if they took up their abode in a dull
country town, where they should see just so much of humanity as to keep the=
m from
desiring more, and only the stale externals of man's life. These externals are as dead to us =
as so many
formalities, and speak a dead language in our eyes and ears. They have no m=
ore
meaning than an oath or a salutation.
We are so much accustomed to see married couples going to church of a
Sunday that we have clean forgotten what they represent; and novelists are =
driven
to rehabilitate adultery, no less, when they wish to show us what a beautif=
ul
thing it is for a man and a woman to live for each other.
One person in Maubeuge, however, showed me
something more than his outside.
That was the driver of the hotel omnibus: a mean enough looking little man, =
as
well as I can remember; but with a spark of something human in his soul.
I wonder if my friend is still driving the omn=
ibus
for the Grand Cerf? Not very
likely, I believe; for I think he was on the eve of mutiny when we passed
through, and perhaps our passage determined him for good. Better a thousand times that he sh=
ould
be a tramp, and mend pots and pans by the wayside, and sleep under trees, a=
nd see
the dawn and the sunset every day above a new horizon. I think I hear you say that it is a
respectable position to drive an omnibus?&=
nbsp;
Very well. What right =
has he
who likes it not, to keep those who would like it dearly out of this
respectable position? Suppose a dish were not to my taste, and you told me =
that
it was a favourite amongst the rest of the company, what should I conclude =
from
that? Not to finish the dish
against my stomach, I suppose.
Respectability is a very good thing in its way,
but it does not rise superior to all considerations. I would not for a moment venture t=
o hint
that it was a matter of taste; but I think I will go as far as this: that if a position is admittedly u=
nkind,
uncomfortable, unnecessary, and superfluously useless, although it were as
respectable as the Church of England, the sooner a man is out of it, the be=
tter
for himself, and all concerned.
=
About
three in the afternoon the whole establishment of the Grand Cerf accompanie=
d us
to the water's edge. The man =
of the
omnibus was there with haggard eyes.
Poor cage-bird! Do I n=
ot
remember the time when I myself haunted the station, to watch train after t=
rain
carry its complement of freemen into the night, and read the names of dista=
nt
places on the time-bills with indescribable longings?
We were not clear of the fortifications before=
the
rain began. The wind was cont=
rary,
and blew in furious gusts; nor were the aspects of nature any more clement =
than
the doings of the sky. For we=
passed
through a stretch of blighted country, sparsely covered with brush, but
handsomely enough diversified with factory chimneys. We landed in a soiled meadow among=
some
pollards, and there smoked a pipe in a flaw of fair weather. But the wind blew so hard, we coul=
d get
little else to smoke. There w=
ere no
natural objects in the neighbourhood, but some sordid workshops. A group of children headed by a ta=
ll
girl stood and watched us from a little distance all the time we stayed.
At Hautmont, the lock was almost impassable; t=
he
landing-place being steep and high, and the launch at a long distance. Near a dozen grimy workmen lent us=
a
hand. They refused any reward=
; and,
what is much better, refused it handsomely, without conveying any sense of
insult. 'It is a way we have =
in our
countryside,' said they. And =
a very
becoming way it is. In Scotla=
nd,
where also you will get services for nothing, the good people reject your m=
oney
as if you had been trying to corrupt a voter. When people take the trouble to do
dignified acts, it is worth while to take a little more, and allow the dign=
ity
to be common to all concerned. But
in our brave Saxon countries, where we plod threescore years and ten in the
mud, and the wind keeps singing in our ears from birth to burial, we do our
good and bad with a high hand and almost offensively; and make even our alm=
s a
witness-bearing and an act of war against the wrong.
After Hautmont, the sun came forth again and t=
he
wind went down; and a little paddling took us beyond the ironworks and thro=
ugh
a delectable land. The river =
wound
among low hills, so that sometimes the sun was at our backs, and sometimes =
it
stood right ahead, and the river before us was one sheet of intolerable glo=
ry. On
either hand, meadows and orchards bordered, with a margin of sedge and water
flowers, upon the river. The =
hedges
were of great height, woven about the trunks of hedgerow elms; and the fiel=
ds,
as they were often very small, looked like a series of bowers along the
stream. There was never any
prospect; sometimes a hill-top with its trees would look over the nearest
hedgerow, just to make a middle distance for the sky; but that was all.
In the meadows wandered black and white cattle
fantastically marked. One bea=
st,
with a white head and the rest of the body glossy black, came to the edge to
drink, and stood gravely twitching his ears at me as I went by, like some s=
ort
of preposterous clergyman in a play.
A moment after I heard a loud plunge, and, turning my head, saw the
clergyman struggling to shore. The
bank had given way under his feet.
Besides the cattle, we saw no living things ex=
cept
a few birds and a great many fishermen.&nb=
sp;
These sat along the edges of the meadows, sometimes with one rod,
sometimes with as many as half a score. They seemed stupefied with contentm=
ent;
and when we induced them to exchange a few words with us about the weather,
their voices sounded quiet and far away.&n=
bsp;
There was a strange diversity of opinion among them as to the kind of
fish for which they set their lures; although they were all agreed in this,
that the river was abundantly supplied.&nb=
sp;
Where it was plain that no two of them had ever caught the same kind=
of
fish, we could not help suspecting that perhaps not any one of them had ever
caught a fish at all. I hope,=
since
the afternoon was so lovely, that they were one and all rewarded; and that a
silver booty went home in every basket for the pot. Some of my friends would cry shame=
on me
for this; but I prefer a man, were he only an angler, to the bravest pair of
gills in all God's waters. I =
do not
affect fishes unless when cooked in sauce; whereas an angler is an important
piece of river scenery, and hence deserves some recognition among
canoeists. He can always tell=
you
where you are after a mild fashion; and his quiet presence serves to accent=
uate
the solitude and stillness, and remind you of the glittering citizens below
your boat.
The Sambre turned so industriously to and fro
among his little hills, that it was past six before we drew near the lock a=
t Quartes. There were some children on the
tow-path, with whom the Cigarette fell into a chaffing talk as they ran alo=
ng
beside us. It was in vain that I warned him. In vain I told him, in English, th=
at
boys were the most dangerous creatures; and if once you began with them, it=
was
safe to end in a shower of stones.
For my own part, whenever anything was addressed to me, I smiled gen=
tly
and shook my head as though I were an inoffensive person inadequately acqua=
inted
with French. For indeed I hav=
e had
such experience at home, that I would sooner meet many wild animals than a
troop of healthy urchins.
But I was doing injustice to these peaceable y=
oung
Hainaulters. When the Cigarette went off to make inquiries, I got out upon =
the bank
to smoke a pipe and superintend the boats, and became at once the centre of
much amiable curiosity. The
children had been joined by this time by a young woman and a mild lad who h=
ad
lost an arm; and this gave me more security. When I let slip my first word or s=
o in
French, a little girl nodded her head with a comical grown-up air. 'Ah, you see,' she said, 'he under=
stands
well enough now; he was just making believe.' And the little group laughed toget=
her very
good-naturedly.
They were much impressed when they heard we ca=
me
from England; and the little girl proffered the information that England wa=
s an
island 'and a far way from here--bien loin d'ici.'
'Ay, you may say that, a far way from here,' s=
aid
the lad with one arm.
I was as nearly home-sick as ever I was in my
life; they seemed to make it such an incalculable distance to the place whe=
re I
first saw the day. They admir=
ed the
canoes very much. And I obser=
ved one
piece of delicacy in these children, which is worthy of record. They had be=
en
deafening us for the last hundred yards with petitions for a sail; ay, and =
they
deafened us to the same tune next morning when we came to start; but then, =
when
the canoes were lying empty, there was no word of any such petition. Delicacy? or perhaps a bit of fear=
for
the water in so crank a vessel? I
hate cynicism a great deal worse than I do the devil; unless perhaps the two
were the same thing? And yet =
'tis a
good tonic; the cold tub and bath-towel of the sentiments; and positively
necessary to life in cases of advanced sensibility.
From the boats they turned to my costume. They could not make enough of my r=
ed
sash; and my knife filled them with awe.
'They make them like that in England,' said th=
e boy
with one arm. I was glad he did not know how badly we make them in England
now-a- days. 'They are for pe=
ople
who go away to sea,' he added, 'and to defend one's life against great fish=
.'
I felt I was becoming a more and more romantic
figure to the little group at every word.&=
nbsp;
And so I suppose I was. Even
my pipe, although it was an ordinary French clay pretty well 'trousered,' a=
s they
call it, would have a rarity in their eyes, as a thing coming from so far
away. And if my feathers were=
not
very fine in themselves, they were all from over seas. One thing in my outfit, however, t=
ickled
them out of all politeness; and that was the bemired condition of my canvas
shoes. I suppose they were su=
re the
mud at any rate was a home product.
The little girl (who was the genius of the party) displayed her own
sabots in competition; and I wish you could have seen how gracefully and
merrily she did it.
The young woman's milk-can, a great amphora of
hammered brass, stood some way off upon the sward. I was glad of an opportunity to di=
vert
public attention from myself, and return some of the compliments I had
received. So I admired it cor=
dially
both for form and colour, telling them, and very truly, that it was as beau=
tiful
as gold. They were not
surprised. The things were pl=
ainly
the boast of the countryside. And
the children expatiated on the costliness of these amphorae, which sell
sometimes as high as thirty francs apiece; told me how they were carried on
donkeys, one on either side of the saddle, a brave caparison in themselves;=
and
how they were to be seen all over the district, and at the larger farms in
great number and of great size.
=
The
Cigarette returned with good news.
There were beds to be had some ten minutes' walk from where we were,=
at
a place called Pont. We stowed the canoes in a granary, and asked among the
children for a guide. The cir=
cle at
once widened round us, and our offers of reward were received in dispiriting
silence. We were plainly a pa=
ir of
Bluebeards to the children; they might speak to us in public places, and wh=
ere
they had the advantage of numbers; but it was another thing to venture off
alone with two uncouth and legendary characters, who had dropped from the
clouds upon their hamlet this quiet afternoon, sashed and be-knived, and wi=
th a
flavour of great voyages. The=
owner
of the granary came to our assistance, singled out one little fellow and
threatened him with corporalities; or I suspect we should have had to find =
the
way for ourselves. As it was,=
he
was more frightened at the granary man than the strangers, having perhaps h=
ad
some experience of the former. But
I fancy his little heart must have been going at a fine rate; for he kept
trotting at a respectful distance in front, and looking back at us with sca=
red
eyes. Not otherwise may the c=
hildren
of the young world have guided Jove or one of his Olympian compeers on an
adventure.
A miry lane led us up from Quartes with its ch=
urch
and bickering windmill. The h=
inds
were trudging homewards from the fields.&n=
bsp;
A brisk little woman passed us by.&=
nbsp;
She was seated across a donkey between a pair of glittering milk-can=
s;
and, as she went, she kicked jauntily with her heels upon the donkey's side,
and scattered shrill remarks among the wayfarers. It was notable that none of the tir=
ed men
took the trouble to reply. Our
conductor soon led us out of the lane and across country. The sun had gone down, but the wes=
t in
front of us was one lake of level gold.&nb=
sp;
The path wandered a while in the open, and then passed under a trell=
is like
a bower indefinitely prolonged. On
either hand were shadowy orchards; cottages lay low among the leaves, and s=
ent
their smoke to heaven; every here and there, in an opening, appeared the gr=
eat gold
face of the west.
I never saw the Cigarette in such an idyllic f=
rame
of mind. He waxed positively
lyrical in praise of country scenes.
I was little less exhilarated myself; the mild air of the evening, t=
he
shadows, the rich lights and the silence, made a symphonious accompaniment =
about
our walk; and we both determined to avoid towns for the future and sleep in
hamlets.
At last the path went between two houses, and
turned the party out into a wide muddy high-road, bordered, as far as the e=
ye
could reach on either hand, by an unsightly village. The houses stood well back, leavin=
g a
ribbon of waste land on either side of the road, where there were stacks of
firewood, carts, barrows, rubbish- heaps, and a little doubtful grass. Away on the left, a gaunt tower st=
ood in
the middle of the street. Wha=
t it
had been in past ages, I know not:
probably a hold in time of war; but now-a-days it bore an illegible
dial-plate in its upper parts, and near the bottom an iron letter-box.
The inn to which we had been recommended at
Quartes was full, or else the landlady did not like our looks. I ought to say, that with our long=
, damp
india-rubber bags, we presented rather a doubtful type of civilisation: like rag-and-bone men, the Cigaret=
te
imagined. 'These gentlemen are
pedlars?--Ces messieurs sont des marchands?'--asked the landlady. And then, without waiting for an a=
nswer,
which I suppose she thought superfluous in so plain a case, recommended us =
to a
butcher who lived hard by the tower, and took in travellers to lodge.
Thither went we. But the butcher was flitting, and a=
ll his
beds were taken down. Or else=
he
didn't like our look. As a pa=
rting shot,
we had 'These gentlemen are pedlars?'
It began to grow dark in earnest. We could no longer distinguish the=
faces
of the people who passed us by with an inarticulate good- evening. And the householders of Pont seeme=
d very
economical with their oil; for we saw not a single window lighted in all th=
at
long village. I believe it is=
the
longest village in the world; but I daresay in our predicament every pace
counted three times over. We =
were
much cast down when we came to the last auberge; and looking in at the dark
door, asked timidly if we could sleep there for the night. A female voice assented in no very
friendly tones. We clapped th=
e bags
down and found our way to chairs.
The place was in total darkness, save a red gl=
ow
in the chinks and ventilators of the stove. But now the landlady lit a lamp to=
see her
new guests; I suppose the darkness was what saved us another expulsion; for=
I cannot
say she looked gratified at our appearance. We were in a large bare apartme=
nt,
adorned with two allegorical prints of Music and Painting, and a copy of the
law against public drunkenness. On
one side, there was a bit of a bar, with some half-a-dozen bottles. Two labourers sat waiting supper, =
in attitudes
of extreme weariness; a plain-looking lass bustled about with a sleepy chil=
d of
two; and the landlady began to derange the pots upon the stove, and set some
beefsteak to grill.
'These gentlemen are pedlars?' she asked
sharply. And that was all the
conversation forthcoming. We =
began
to think we might be pedlars after all.&nb=
sp;
I never knew a population with so narrow a range of conjecture as the
innkeepers of Pont-sur-Sambre. But manners
and bearing have not a wider currency than bank-notes. You have only to get far enough ou=
t of
your beat, and all your accomplished airs will go for nothing. These Hainaulters could see no
difference between us and the average pedlar. Indeed we had some grounds for ref=
lection
while the steak was getting ready, to see how perfectly they accepted us at
their own valuation, and how our best politeness and best efforts at
entertainment seemed to fit quite suitably with the character of packmen. At least it seemed a good account =
of the
profession in France, that even before such judges we could not beat them at
our own weapons.
At last we were called to table. The two hinds (and one of them loo=
ked
sadly worn and white in the face, as though sick with over- work and under-=
feeding)
supped off a single plate of some sort of bread-berry, some potatoes in the=
ir
jackets, a small cup of coffee sweetened with sugar-candy, and one tumbler =
of
swipes. The landlady, her son=
, and
the lass aforesaid, took the same.
Our meal was quite a banquet by comparison. We had some beefsteak, not so tend=
er as
it might have been, some of the potatoes, some cheese, an extra glass of the
swipes, and white sugar in our coffee.
You see what it is to be a gentleman--I beg yo=
ur
pardon, what it is to be a pedlar.
It had not before occurred to me that a pedlar was a great man in a
labourer's ale-house; but now that I had to enact the part for an evening, I
found that so it was. He has =
in his
hedge quarters somewhat the same pre-eminency as the man who takes a private
parlour in an hotel. The more=
you
look into it, the more infinite are the class distinctions among men; and
possibly, by a happy dispensation, there is no one at all at the bottom of =
the scale;
no one but can find some superiority over somebody else, to keep up his pri=
de
withal.
We were displeased enough with our fare. Particularly the Cigarette, for I =
tried
to make believe that I was amused with the adventure, tough beefsteak and
all. According to the Lucreti=
an maxim,
our steak should have been flavoured by the look of the other people's
bread-berry. But we did not f=
ind it
so in practice. You may have a head-knowledge that other people live more
poorly than yourself, but it is not agreeable--I was going to say, it is ag=
ainst
the etiquette of the universe--to sit at the same table and pick your own
superior diet from among their crusts.&nbs=
p;
I had not seen such a thing done since the greedy boy at school with=
his
birthday cake. It was odious =
enough
to witness, I could remember; and I had never thought to play the part
myself. But there again you s=
ee
what it is to be a pedlar.
There is no doubt that the poorer classes in o=
ur
country are much more charitably disposed than their superiors in wealth. And I fancy it must arise a great =
deal
from the comparative indistinction of the easy and the not so easy in these
ranks. A workman or a pedlar =
cannot
shutter himself off from his less comfortable neighbours. If he treats himself to a luxury, =
he
must do it in the face of a dozen who cannot. And what should more directly lead=
to charitable
thoughts? . . . Thus the poor man, camping out in life, sees it as it is, a=
nd
knows that every mouthful he puts in his belly has been wrenched out of the
fingers of the hungry.
But at a certain stage of prosperity, as in a
balloon ascent, the fortunate person passes through a zone of clouds, and
sublunary matters are thenceforward hidden from his view. He sees nothing but the heavenly b=
odies,
all in admirable order, and positively as good as new. He finds himself surrounded in the=
most
touching manner by the attentions of Providence, and compares himself invol=
untarily
with the lilies and the skylarks.
He does not precisely sing, of course; but then he looks so unassumi=
ng
in his open landau! If all the
world dined at one table, this philosophy would meet with some rude knocks.=
=
Like
the lackeys in Moliere's farce, when the true nobleman broke in on their hi=
gh
life below stairs, we were destined to be confronted with a real pedlar.
I suppose it was about half-past eight when th=
is
worthy, Monsieur Hector Gilliard of Maubeuge, turned up at the ale-house do=
or
in a tilt cart drawn by a donkey, and cried cheerily on the inhabitants. He=
was
a lean, nervous flibbertigibbet of a man, with something the look of an act=
or,
and something the look of a horse-jockey.&=
nbsp;
He had evidently prospered without any of the favours of education; =
for
he adhered with stern simplicity to the masculine gender, and in the course=
of
the evening passed off some fancy futures in a very florid style of
architecture. With him came h=
is
wife, a comely young woman with her hair tied in a yellow kerchief, and the=
ir
son, a little fellow of four, in a blouse and military kepi. It was notable that the child was =
many
degrees better dressed than either of the parents. We were informed he was already at=
a
boarding- school; but the holidays having just commenced, he was off to spe=
nd them
with his parents on a cruise. An
enchanting holiday occupation, was it not? to travel all day with father and
mother in the tilt cart full of countless treasures; the green country ratt=
ling
by on either side, and the children in all the villages contemplating him w=
ith
envy and wonder? It is better=
fun,
during the holidays, to be the son of a travelling merchant, than son and h=
eir
to the greatest cotton-spinner in creation. And as for being a reigning
prince--indeed I never saw one if it was not Master Gilliard!
While M. Hector and the son of the house were
putting up the donkey, and getting all the valuables under lock and key, th=
e landlady
warmed up the remains of our beefsteak, and fried the cold potatoes in slic=
es,
and Madame Gilliard set herself to waken the boy, who had come far that day,
and was peevish and dazzled by the light.&=
nbsp;
He was no sooner awake than he began to prepare himself for supper by
eating galette, unripe pears, and cold potatoes--with, so far as I could ju=
dge,
positive benefit to his appetite.
The landlady, fired with motherly emulation, a=
woke
her own little girl; and the two children were confronted. Master Gilliard looked at her for a
moment, very much as a dog looks at his own reflection in a mirror before he
turns away. He was at that ti=
me
absorbed in the galette. His =
mother
seemed crestfallen that he should display so little inclination towards the
other sex; and expressed her disappointment with some candour and a very pr=
oper
reference to the influence of years.
Sure enough a time will come when he will pay =
more
attention to the girls, and think a great deal less of his mother: let us hope she will like it as we=
ll as
she seemed to fancy. But it i=
s odd
enough; the very women who profess most contempt for mankind as a sex, seem=
to
find even its ugliest particulars rather lively and high-minded in their own
sons.
The little girl looked longer and with more
interest, probably because she was in her own house, while he was a travell=
er
and accustomed to strange sights.
And besides there was no galette in the case with her.
All the time of supper, there was nothing spok=
en
of but my young lord. The two
parents were both absurdly fond of their child. Monsieur kept insisting on =
his
sagacity: how he knew all the=
children
at school by name; and when this utterly failed on trial, how he was cautio=
us
and exact to a strange degree, and if asked anything, he would sit and
think--and think, and if he did not know it, 'my faith, he wouldn't tell yo=
u at
all--foi, il ne vous le dira pas': <=
/span>which
is certainly a very high degree of caution. At intervals, M. Hector would appe=
al to
his wife, with his mouth full of beefsteak, as to the little fellow's age at
such or such a time when he had said or done something memorable; and I not=
iced
that Madame usually pooh-poohed these inquiries. She herself was not boastful in her
vein; but she never had her fill of caressing the child; and she seemed to =
take
a gentle pleasure in recalling all that was fortunate in his little
existence. No schoolboy could=
have
talked more of the holidays which were just beginning and less of the black
school-time which must inevitably follow after. She showed, with a pride perhaps p=
artly
mercantile in origin, his pockets preposterously swollen with tops and whis=
tles
and string. When she called at a house in the way of business, it appeared =
he kept
her company; and whenever a sale was made, received a sou out of the
profit. Indeed they spoiled h=
im
vastly, these two good people. But
they had an eye to his manners for all that, and reproved him for some litt=
le
faults in breeding, which occurred from time to time during supper.
On the whole, I was not much hurt at being tak=
en
for a pedlar. I might think t=
hat I
ate with greater delicacy, or that my mistakes in French belonged to a
different order; but it was plain that these distinctions would be thrown a=
way
upon the landlady and the two labourers.&n=
bsp;
In all essential things we and the Gilliards cut very much the same
figure in the ale-house kitchen. M.
Hector was more at home, indeed, and took a higher tone with the world; but=
that
was explicable on the ground of his driving a donkey-cart, while we poor bo=
dies
tramped afoot. I daresay, the=
rest
of the company thought us dying with envy, though in no ill sense, to be as=
far
up in the profession as the new arrival.
And of one thing I am sure: that every one thawed and became m=
ore humanised
and conversible as soon as these innocent people appeared upon the scene. I would not very readily trust the
travelling merchant with any extravagant sum of money; but I am sure his he=
art was
in the right place. In this m=
ixed
world, if you can find one or two sensible places in a man--above all, if y=
ou
should find a whole family living together on such pleasant terms--you may
surely be satisfied, and take the rest for granted; or, what is a great deal
better, boldly make up your mind that you can do perfectly well without the
rest; and that ten thousand bad traits cannot make a single good one any the
less good.
It was getting late. M. Hector lit a stable lantern and=
went
off to his cart for some arrangements; and my young gentleman proceeded to
divest himself of the better part of his raiment, and play gymnastics on his
mother's lap, and thence on to the floor, with accompaniment of laughter.
'Are you going to sleep alone?' asked the serv=
ant
lass.
'There's little fear of that,' says Master
Gilliard.
'You sleep alone at school,' objected his
mother. 'Come, come, you must=
be a
man.'
But he protested that school was a different
matter from the holidays; that there were dormitories at school; and silenc=
ed
the discussion with kisses: h=
is
mother smiling, no one better pleased than she.
There certainly was, as he phrased it, very li=
ttle
fear that he should sleep alone; for there was but one bed for the trio.
Some time before I fell asleep the loft was fu=
ll
of the sound of mighty snoring: the
Gilliards, and the labourers, and the people of the inn, all at it, I suppo=
se,
with one consent. The young m=
oon outside
shone very clearly over Pont-sur-Sambre, and down upon the ale-house where =
all
we pedlars were abed.
=
In the
morning, when we came downstairs, the landlady pointed out to us two pails =
of
water behind the street-door.
'Voila de l'eau pour vous debarbouiller,' says she. And so there we made a shift to wa=
sh
ourselves, while Madame Gilliard brushed the family boots on the outer
doorstep, and M. Hector, whistling cheerily, arranged some small goods for =
the day's
campaign in a portable chest of drawers, which formed a part of his
baggage. Meanwhile the child =
was
letting off Waterloo crackers all over the floor.
I wonder, by-the-bye, what they call Waterloo
crackers in France; perhaps Austerlitz crackers. There is a great deal in the point=
of view. Do you remember the Frenchman who,
travelling by way of Southampton, was put down in Waterloo Station, and had=
to
drive across Waterloo Bridge? He
had a mind to go home again, it seems.
Pont itself is on the river, but whereas it is=
ten
minutes' walk from Quartes by dry land, it is six weary kilometres by
water. We left our bags at th=
e inn,
and walked to our canoes through the wet orchards unencumbered. Some of the children were there to=
see
us off, but we were no longer the mysterious beings of the night before.
The good folk of the inn at Pont, when we call=
ed
there for the bags, were overcome with marvelling. At sight of these two dainty little
boats, with a fluttering Union Jack on each, and all the varnish shining fr=
om
the sponge, they began to perceive that they had entertained angels
unawares. The landlady stood =
upon
the bridge, probably lamenting she had charged so little; the son ran to and
fro, and called out the neighbours to enjoy the sight; and we paddled away =
from
quite a crowd of wrapt observers.
These gentlemen pedlars, indeed!&nb=
sp;
Now you see their quality too late.
The whole day was showery, with occasional
drenching plumps. We were soa=
ked to
the skin, then partially dried in the sun, then soaked once more. But there were some calm intervals=
, and
one notably, when we were skirting the forest of Mormal, a sinister name to=
the
ear, but a place most gratifying to sight and smell. It looked solemn along=
the
river-side, drooping its boughs into the water, and piling them up aloft in=
to a
wall of leaves. What is a for=
est
but a city of nature's own, full of hardy and innocuous living things, where
there is nothing dead and nothing made with the hands, but the citizens
themselves are the houses and public monuments? There is nothing so much alive, an=
d yet
so quiet, as a woodland; and a pair of people, swinging past in canoes, feel
very small and bustling by comparison.
And surely of all smells in the world, the sme=
ll
of many trees is the sweetest and most fortifying. The sea has a rude, pistolling sor=
t of
odour, that takes you in the nostrils like snuff, and carries with it a fine
sentiment of open water and tall ships; but the smell of a forest, which co=
mes
nearest to this in tonic quality, surpasses it by many degrees in the quali=
ty
of softness. Again, the smell of the sea has little variety, but the smell =
of a
forest is infinitely changeful; it varies with the hour of the day, not in
strength merely, but in character; and the different sorts of trees, as you=
go
from one zone of the wood to another, seem to live among different kinds of
atmosphere. Usually the resin=
of
the fir predominates. But some
woods are more coquettish in their habits; and the breath of the forest of
Mormal, as it came aboard upon us that showery afternoon, was perfumed with
nothing less delicate than sweetbrier.
I wish our way had always lain among woods.
Alas! the forest of Mormal is only a little bi=
t of
a wood, and it was but for a little way that we skirted by its boundaries.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And the rest of the time the rain =
kept
coming in squirts and the wind in squalls, until one's heart grew weary of =
such
fitful, scolding weather. It =
was
odd how the showers began when we had to carry the boats over a lock, and m=
ust
expose our legs. They always =
did. This
is a sort of thing that readily begets a personal feeling against nature. There seems no reason why the show=
er
should not come five minutes before or five minutes after, unless you suppo=
se an
intention to affront you. The
Cigarette had a mackintosh which put him more or less above these
contrarieties. But I had to b=
ear the
brunt uncovered. I began to
remember that nature was a woman. My companion, in a rosier temper, listened
with great satisfaction to my Jeremiads, and ironically concurred. He instanced, as a cognate matter,=
the
action of the tides, 'which,' said he, 'was altogether designed for the
confusion of canoeists, except in so far as it was calculated to minister t=
o a
barren vanity on the part of the moon.'
At the last lock, some little way out of
Landrecies, I refused to go any farther; and sat in a drift of rain by the =
side
of the bank, to have a reviving pipe.
A vivacious old man, whom I take to have been the devil, drew near a=
nd
questioned me about our journey. In
the fulness of my heart, I laid bare our plans before him. He said it was the silliest enterp=
rise
that ever he heard of. Why, d=
id I not
know, he asked me, that it was nothing but locks, locks, locks, the whole w=
ay?
not to mention that, at this season of the year, we should find the Oise qu=
ite
dry? 'Get into a train, my li=
ttle
young man,' said he, I and go you away home to your parents.' I was so astounded at the man's ma=
lice,
that I could only stare at him in silence.=
A tree would never have spoken to me like this. At last I got out with some words.=
We had come from Antwerp already, =
I told
him, which was a good long way; and we should do the rest in spite of him.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Yes, I said, if there were no other
reason, I would do it now, just because he had dared to say we could not. The pleasant old gentleman looked =
at me
sneeringly, made an allusion to my canoe, and marched of, waggling his head=
.
I was still inwardly fuming, when up came a pa=
ir
of young fellows, who imagined I was the Cigarette's servant, on a comparis=
on,
I suppose, of my bare jersey with the other's mackintosh, and asked me many
questions about my place and my master's character. I said he was a good enough fellow=
, but
had this absurd voyage on the head.
'O no, no,' said one, 'you must not say that; it is not absurd; it is
very courageous of him.' I be=
lieve
these were a couple of angels sent to give me heart again. It was truly fortifying to reprodu=
ce all
the old man's insinuations, as if they were original to me in my character =
of a
malcontent footman, and have them brushed away like so many flies by these
admirable young men.
When I recounted this affair to the Cigarette,
'They must have a curious idea of how English servants behave,' says he dry=
ly,
'for you treated me like a brute beast at the lock.'
I was a good deal mortified; but my temper had
suffered, it is a fact.
At Landrecies the rain still fell and the wind
still blew; but we found a double-bedded room with plenty of furniture, real
water- jugs with real water in them, and dinner: a real dinner, not innocent of real
wine. After having been a ped=
lar
for one night, and a butt for the elements during the whole of the next day,
these comfortable circumstances fell on my heart like sunshine. There was an English fruiterer at
dinner, travelling with a Belgian fruiterer; in the evening at the cafe, we
watched our compatriot drop a good deal of money at corks; and I don't know
why, but this pleased us.
It turned out we were to see more of Landrecies
than we expected; for the weather next day was simply bedlamite. It is not the place one would have=
chosen
for a day's rest; for it consists almost entirely of fortifications. Within the ramparts, a few blocks =
of houses,
a long row of barracks, and a church, figure, with what countenance they ma=
y,
as the town. There seems to b=
e no
trade; and a shopkeeper from whom I bought a sixpenny flint-and-steel, was =
so much
affected that he filled my pockets with spare flints into the bargain. The only public buildings that had=
any
interest for us were the hotel and the cafe. But we visited the church. There lies Marshal Clarke. But as neither of us had ever hear=
d of
that military hero, we bore the associations of the spot with fortitude.
In all garrison towns, guard-calls, and reveil=
les,
and such like, make a fine romantic interlude in civic business. Bugles, and drums, and fifes, are =
of
themselves most excellent things in nature; and when they carry the mind to
marching armies, and the picturesque vicissitudes of war, they stir up
something proud in the heart. But
in a shadow of a town like Landrecies, with little else moving, these point=
s of
war made a proportionate commotion. Indeed, they were the only things to
remember. It was just the pla=
ce to
hear the round going by at night in the darkness, with the solid tramp of m=
en
marching, and the startling reverberations of the drum. It reminded you, that even this pl=
ace
was a point in the great warfaring system of Europe, and might on some futu=
re
day be ringed about with cannon smoke and thunder, and make itself a name a=
mong
strong towns.
The drum, at any rate, from its martial voice =
and
notable physiological effect, nay, even from its cumbrous and comical shape,
stands alone among the instruments of noise. And if it be true, as I have heard=
it
said, that drums are covered with asses' skin, what a picturesque irony is
there in that! As if this lon=
g- suffering
animal's hide had not been sufficiently belaboured during life, now by Lyon=
nese
costermongers, now by presumptuous Hebrew prophets, it must be stripped from
his poor hinder quarters after death, stretched on a drum, and beaten night
after night round the streets of every garrison town in Europe. And up the heights of Alma and
Spicheren, and wherever death has his red flag a-flying, and sounds his own
potent tuck upon the cannons, there also must the drummer-boy, hurrying with
white face over fallen comrades, batter and bemaul this slip of skin from t=
he
loins of peaceable donkeys.
Generally a man is never more uselessly employ=
ed
than when he is at this trick of bastinadoing asses' hide. We know what effect it has in life=
, and
how your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating. But in this state of
mummy and melancholy survival of itself, when the hollow skin reverberates =
to
the drummer's wrist, and each dub- a-dub goes direct to a man's heart, and =
puts
madness there, and that disposition of the pulses which we, in our big way =
of
talking, nickname Heroism:- is there not something in the nature of a reven=
ge
upon the donkey's persecutors? Of
old, he might say, you drubbed me up hill and down dale, and I must endure;=
but
now that I am dead, those dull thwacks that were scarcely audible in countr=
y lanes,
have become stirring music in front of the brigade; and for every blow that=
you
lay on my old greatcoat, you will see a comrade stumble and fall.
Not long after the drums had passed the cafe, =
the
Cigarette and the Arethusa began to grow sleepy, and set out for the hotel,
which was only a door or two away.
But although we had been somewhat indifferent to Landrecies, Landrec=
ies
had not been indifferent to us. All
day, we learned, people had been running out between the squalls to visit o=
ur
two boats. Hundreds of person=
s, so
said report, although it fitted ill with our idea of the town--hundreds of
persons had inspected them where they lay in a coal-shed. We were becoming lions in Landreci=
es,
who had been only pedlars the night before in Pont.
And now, when we left the cafe, we were pursued
and overtaken at the hotel door by no less a person than the Juge de Paix:<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> a functionary, as far as I can mak=
e out,
of the character of a Scots Sheriff-Substitute. He gave us his card and invited us=
to
sup with him on the spot, very neatly, very gracefully, as Frenchmen can do=
these
things. It was for the credit=
of
Landrecies, said he; and although we knew very well how little credit we co=
uld
do the place, we must have been churlish fellows to refuse an invitation so=
politely
introduced.
The house of the Judge was close by; it was a
well-appointed bachelor's establishment, with a curious collection of old b=
rass
warming-pans upon the walls. =
Some
of these were most elaborately carved.&nbs=
p;
It seemed a picturesque idea for a collector. You could not help thinking how ma=
ny
night-caps had wagged over these warming-pans in past generations; what jes=
ts
may have been made, and kisses taken, while they were in service; and how o=
ften
they had been uselessly paraded in the bed of death. If they could only speak, at what
absurd, indecorous, and tragical scenes had they not been present!
The wine was excellent. When we made the Judge our complim=
ents upon
a bottle, 'I do not give it you as my worst,' said he. I wonder when Englishmen will learn
these hospitable graces. They=
are
worth learning; they set off life, and make ordinary moments ornamental.
There were two other Landrecienses present.
As the evening went on, the wine grew more to =
my
taste; the spirits proved better than the wine; the company was genial. This was the highest water mark of
popular favour on the whole cruise.
After all, being in a Judge's house, was there not something semi- o=
fficial
in the tribute? And so, remem=
bering
what a great country France is, we did full justice to our entertainment. Landrecies had been a long while a=
sleep
before we returned to the hotel; and the sentries on the ramparts were alre=
ady
looking for daybreak.
=
Next
day we made a late start in the rain.
The Judge politely escorted us to the end of the lock under an
umbrella. We had now brought
ourselves to a pitch of humility in the matter of weather, not often attain=
ed
except in the Scottish Highlands. =
span>A
rag of blue sky or a glimpse of sunshine set our hearts singing; and when t=
he rain
was not heavy, we counted the day almost fair.
Long lines of barges lay one after another alo=
ng
the canal; many of them looking mighty spruce and shipshape in their jerkin=
of Archangel
tar picked out with white and green.
Some carried gay iron railings, and quite a parterre of
flower-pots. Children played =
on the
decks, as heedless of the rain as if they had been brought up on Loch Carron
side; men fished over the gunwale, some of them under umbrellas; women did
their washing; and every barge boasted its mongrel cur by way of
watch-dog. Each one barked fu=
riously
at the canoes, running alongside until he had got to the end of his own shi=
p,
and so passing on the word to the dog aboard the next. We must have seen something like a
hundred of these embarkations in the course of that day's paddle, ranged one
after another like the houses in a street; and from not one of them were we
disappointed of this accompaniment.
It was like visiting a menagerie, the Cigarette remarked.
These little cities by the canal side had a ve=
ry
odd effect upon the mind. They
seemed, with their flower-pots and smoking chimneys, their washings and
dinners, a rooted piece of nature in the scene; and yet if only the canal b=
elow
were to open, one junk after another would hoist sail or harness horses and
swim away into all parts of France; and the impromptu hamlet would separate,
house by house, to the four winds.
The children who played together to- day by the Sambre and Oise Cana=
l,
each at his own father's threshold, when and where might they next meet?
For some time past the subject of barges had
occupied a great deal of our talk, and we had projected an old age on the
canals of Europe. It was to b=
e the
most leisurely of progresses, now on a swift river at the tail of a steam-b=
oat,
now waiting horses for days together on some inconsiderable junction. We should be seen pottering on dec=
k in
all the dignity of years, our white beards falling into our laps. We were ever to be busied among
paint-pots; so that there should be no white fresher, and no green more eme=
rald
than ours, in all the navy of the canals.&=
nbsp;
There should be books in the cabin, and tobacco-jars, and some old
Burgundy as red as a November sunset and as odorous as a violet in April. There should be a flageolet, whenc=
e the
Cigarette, with cunning touch, should draw melting music under the stars; or
perhaps, laying that aside, upraise his voice--somewhat thinner than of yor=
e,
and with here and there a quaver, or call it a natural grace-note--in rich =
and
solemn psalmody.
All this, simmering in my mind, set me wishing=
to
go aboard one of these ideal houses of lounging. I had plenty to choose from, as I =
coasted
one after another, and the dogs bayed at me for a vagrant. At last I saw a =
nice
old man and his wife looking at me with some interest, so I gave them good-=
day
and pulled up alongside. I be=
gan with
a remark upon their dog, which had somewhat the look of a pointer; thence I
slid into a compliment on Madame's flowers, and thence into a word in prais=
e of
their way of life.
If you ventured on such an experiment in Engla=
nd
you would get a slap in the face at once.&=
nbsp;
The life would be shown to be a vile one, not without a side shot at
your better fortune. Now, wha=
t I like
so much in France is the clear unflinching recognition by everybody of his =
own
luck. They all know on which =
side
their bread is buttered, and take a pleasure in showing it to others, which=
is surely
the better part of religion. =
And
they scorn to make a poor mouth over their poverty, which I take to be the
better part of manliness. I h=
ave
heard a woman in quite a better position at home, with a good bit of money =
in
hand, refer to her own child with a horrid whine as 'a poor man's child.' I would not say such a thing to th=
e Duke
of Westminster. And the Frenc=
h are
full of this spirit of independence.
Perhaps it is the result of republican institutions, as they call
them. Much more likely it is
because there are so few people really poor, that the whiners are not enoug=
h to
keep each other in countenance.
The people on the barge were delighted to hear
that I admired their state. T=
hey
understood perfectly well, they told me, how Monsieur envied them. Without doubt Monsieur was rich; a=
nd in
that case he might make a canal boat as pretty as a villa--joli comme un ch=
ateau. And with that they invited me on b=
oard
their own water villa. They a=
pologised
for their cabin; they had not been rich enough to make it as it ought to be=
.
'The fire should have been here, at this side.'
explained the husband. 'Then =
one
might have a writing-table in the middle-- books--and' (comprehensively)
'all. It would be quite
coquettish-- ca serait tout-a-fait coquet.' And he looked about him as though =
the
improvements were already made. It
was plainly not the first time that he had thus beautified his cabin in
imagination; and when next he makes a bit, I should expect to see the
writing-table in the middle.
Madame had three birds in a cage. They were no great thing, she expl=
ained. Fine birds were so dear. They had sought to get a Hollandai=
s last
winter in Rouen (Rouen? thought I; and is this whole mansion, with its dogs=
and
birds and smoking chimneys, so far a traveller as that? and as homely an ob=
ject
among the cliffs and orchards of the Seine as on the green plains of
Sambre?)--they had sought to get a Hollandais last winter in Rouen; but the=
se
cost fifteen francs apiece--picture it--fifteen francs!
'Pour un tout petit oiseau--For quite a little
bird,' added the husband.
As I continued to admire, the apologetics died
away, and the good people began to brag of their barge, and their happy
condition in life, as if they had been Emperor and Empress of the Indies. It was, in the Scots phrase, a good
hearing, and put me in good humour with the world. If people knew what an inspiriting=
thing
it is to hear a man boasting, so long as he boasts of what he really has, I=
believe
they would do it more freely and with a better grace.
They began to ask about our voyage. You should have seen how they symp=
athised. They seemed half ready to give up =
their
barge and follow us. But these
canaletti are only gypsies semi-domesticated. The semi-domestication came o=
ut
in rather a pretty form. Sudd=
enly Madam's
brow darkened. 'Cependant,' s=
he
began, and then stopped; and then began again by asking me if I were single=
?
'Yes,' said I.
'And your friend who went by just now?'
He also was unmarried.
O then--all was well. She could not have wives left alon=
e at
home; but since there were no wives in the question, we were doing the best=
we
could.
'To see about one in the world,' said the husb=
and,
'il n'y a que ca--there is nothing else worth while. A man, look you, who sticks in his=
own
village like a bear,' he went on, '--very well, he sees nothing. And then death is the end of all.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And he has seen nothing.'
Madame reminded her husband of an Englishman w=
ho
had come up this canal in a steamer.
'Perhaps Mr. Moens in the Ytene,' I suggested.=
'That's it,' assented the husband. 'He had his wife and family with h=
im,
and servants. He came ashore =
at all
the locks and asked the name of the villages, whether from boatmen or
lock-keepers; and then he wrote, wrote them down. Oh, he wrote enormously! I suppose it was a wager.'
A wager was a common enough explanation for our
own exploits, but it seemed an original reason for taking notes.
Before nine next morning the two canoes were
installed on a light country cart at Etreux: and we were soon following them al=
ong
the side of a pleasant valley full of hop-gardens and poplars. Agreeable
villages lay here and there on the slope of the hill; notably, Tupigny, wit=
h the
hop-poles hanging their garlands in the very street, and the houses cluster=
ed
with grapes. There was a faint
enthusiasm on our passage; weavers put their heads to the windows; children
cried out in ecstasy at sight of the two 'boaties'--barguettes: and bloused pedestrians, who were =
acquainted
with our charioteer, jested with him on the nature of his freight.
We had a shower or two, but light and flying.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The air was clean and sweet among =
all
these green fields and green things growing. There was not a touch of autum=
n in
the weather. And when, at Vad=
encourt,
we launched from a little lawn opposite a mill, the sun broke forth and set=
all
the leaves shining in the valley of the Oise.
The river was swollen with the long rains. From Vadencourt all the way to Ori=
gny,
it ran with ever-quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, and rac=
ing
as though it already smelt the sea. The water was yellow and turbulent, swu=
ng
with an angry eddy among half-submerged willows, and made an angry clatter
along stony shores. The cours=
e kept
turning and turning in a narrow and well- timbered valley. Now the river would approach the s=
ide,
and run griding along the chalky base of the hill, and show us a few open c=
olza-fields
among the trees. Now it would=
skirt
the garden-walls of houses, where we might catch a glimpse through a doorwa=
y,
and see a priest pacing in the chequered sunlight. Again, the foliage closed so thick=
ly in
front, that there seemed to be no issue; only a thicket of willows, overtop=
ped
by elms and poplars, under which the river ran flush and fleet, and where a
kingfisher flew past like a piece of the blue sky. On these different manifestations =
the
sun poured its clear and catholic looks.&n=
bsp;
The shadows lay as solid on the swift surface of the stream as on the
stable meadows. The light sparkled golden in the dancing poplar leaves, and
brought the hills into communion with our eyes. And all the while the river never
stopped running or took breath; and the reeds along the whole valley stood
shivering from top to toe.
There should be some myth (but if there is, I =
know
it not) founded on the shivering of the reeds. There are not many things in natur=
e more
striking to man's eye. It is =
such
an eloquent pantomime of terror; and to see such a number of terrified
creatures taking sanctuary in every nook along the shore, is enough to infe=
ct a
silly human with alarm. Perha=
ps
they are only a-cold, and no wonder, standing waist-deep in the stream. Or perhaps they have never got
accustomed to the speed and fury of the river's flux, or the miracle of its
continuous body. Pan once pla=
yed
upon their forefathers; and so, by the hands of his river, he still plays u=
pon these
later generations down all the valley of the Oise; and plays the same air, =
both
sweet and shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the terror of the world.
The canoe was like a leaf in the current. It took it up and shook it, and ca=
rried
it masterfully away, like a Centaur carrying off a nymph. To keep some command on our direct=
ion
required hard and diligent plying of the paddle. The river was in such a hurry for =
the
sea! Every drop of water ran =
in a
panic, like as many people in a frightened crowd. But what crowd was ever so numerou=
s, or
so single-minded? All the obj=
ects
of sight went by at a dance measure; the eyesight raced with the racing riv=
er;
the exigencies of every moment kept the pegs screwed so tight, that our bei=
ng quivered
like a well-tuned instrument; and the blood shook off its lethargy, and tro=
tted
through all the highways and byways of the veins and arteries, and in and o=
ut
of the heart, as if circulation were but a holiday journey, and not the dai=
ly
moil of threescore years and ten.
The reeds might nod their heads in warning, and with tremulous gestu=
res
tell how the river was as cruel as it was strong and cold, and how death lu=
rked
in the eddy underneath the willows.
But the reeds had to stand where they were; and those who stand still
are always timid advisers. As=
for
us, we could have shouted aloud. If
this lively and beautiful river were, indeed, a thing of death's contrivanc=
e,
the old ashen rogue had famously outwitted himself with us. I was living three to the minute.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I was scoring points against him e=
very
stroke of my paddle, every turn of the stream. I have rarely had better profit of=
my
life.
For I think we may look upon our little private
war with death somewhat in this light.&nbs=
p;
If a man knows he will sooner or later be robbed upon a journey, he =
will
have a bottle of the best in every inn, and look upon all his extravagances=
as
so much gained upon the thieves.
And above all, where instead of simply spending, he makes a profitab=
le
investment for some of his money, when it will be out of risk of loss. So every bit of brisk living, and =
above
all when it is healthful, is just so much gained upon the wholesale filcher=
, death. We shall have the less in our pock=
ets,
the more in our stomach, when he cries stand and deliver. A swift stream is a favourite arti=
fice
of his, and one that brings him in a comfortable thing per annum; but when =
he
and I come to settle our accounts, I shall whistle in his face for these ho=
urs
upon the upper Oise.
Towards afternoon we got fairly drunken with t=
he
sunshine and the exhilaration of the pace.=
We could no longer contain ourselves and our content. The canoes were too small for us; =
we
must be out and stretch ourselves on shore. And so in a green meadow we bestow=
ed our
limbs on the grass, and smoked deifying tobacco and proclaimed the world
excellent. It was the last go=
od
hour of the day, and I dwell upon it with extreme complacency.
On one side of the valley, high up on the chal=
ky
summit of the hill, a ploughman with his team appeared and disappeared at
regular intervals. At each
revelation he stood still for a few seconds against the sky: for all the world (as the Cigarette
declared) like a toy Burns who should have just ploughed up the Mountain Da=
isy. He was the only living thing within
view, unless we are to count the river.
On the other side of the valley a group of red
roofs and a belfry showed among the foliage. Thence some inspired bell-ringer m=
ade the
afternoon musical on a chime of bells.&nbs=
p;
There was something very sweet and taking in the air he played; and =
we
thought we had never heard bells speak so intelligibly, or sing so melodiou=
sly,
as these. It must have been t=
o some
such measure that the spinners and the young maids sang, 'Come away, Death,=
' in
the Shakespearian Illyria. Th=
ere is
so often a threatening note, something blatant and metallic, in the voice of
bells, that I believe we have fully more pain than pleasure from hearing th=
em;
but these, as they sounded abroad, now high, now low, now with a plaintive
cadence that caught the ear like the burthen of a popular song, were always=
moderate
and tunable, and seemed to fall in with the spirit of still, rustic places,
like the noise of a waterfall or the babble of a rookery in spring. I could have asked the bell-ringer=
for
his blessing, good, sedate old man, who swung the rope so gently to the tim=
e of
his meditations. I could have
blessed the priest or the heritors, or whoever may be concerned with such
affairs in France, who had left these sweet old bells to gladden the aftern=
oon,
and not held meetings, and made collections, and had their names repeatedly
printed in the local paper, to rig up a peal of brand- new, brazen,
Birmingham-hearted substitutes, who should bombard their sides to the
provocation of a brand-new bell-ringer, and fill the echoes of the valley w=
ith
terror and riot.
At last the bells ceased, and with their note =
the
sun withdrew. The piece was at an end; shadow and silence possessed the val=
ley
of the Oise. We took to the p=
addle
with glad hearts, like people who have sat out a noble performance and retu=
rned
to work. The river was more
dangerous here; it ran swifter, the eddies were more sudden and violent.
Often there was free water at the end, and we
could steer round the leafy promontory and hear the water sucking and bubbl=
ing
among the twigs. Often, again=
, when
the tree reached from bank to bank, there was room, by lying close, to shoot
through underneath, canoe and all.
Sometimes it was necessary to get out upon the trunk itself and pull=
the
boats across; and sometimes, when the stream was too impetuous for this, th=
ere
was nothing for it but to land and 'carry over.' This made a fine series of acciden=
ts in
the day's career, and kept us aware of ourselves.
Shortly after our re-embarkation, while I was
leading by a long way, and still full of a noble, exulting spirit in honour=
of
the sun, the swift pace, and the church bells, the river made one of its
leonine pounces round a corner, and I was aware of another fallen tree with=
in a
stone-cast. I had my backboar=
d down
in a trice, and aimed for a place where the trunk seemed high enough above =
the
water, and the branches not too thick to let me slip below. When a man has just vowed eternal
brotherhood with the universe, he is not in a temper to take great
determinations coolly, and this, which might have been a very important det=
ermination
for me, had not been taken under a happy star. The tree caught me about the chest=
, and
while I was yet struggling to make less of myself and get through, the river
took the matter out of my hands, and bereaved me of my boat. The Arethusa swung round broadside=
on,
leaned over, ejected so much of me as still remained on board, and thus
disencumbered, whipped under the tree, righted, and went merrily away down
stream.
I do not know how long it was before I scrambl=
ed
on to the tree to which I was left clinging, but it was longer than I cared
about. My thoughts were of a grave and almost sombre character, but I still
clung to my paddle. The strea=
m ran
away with my heels as fast as I could pull up my shoulders, and I seemed, by
the weight, to have all the water of the Oise in my trousers-pockets. You can never know, till you try i=
t,
what a dead pull a river makes against a man. Death himself had me by the heels,=
for
this was his last ambuscado, and he must now join personally in the fray. And still I held to my paddle. At last I dragged myself on to my
stomach on the trunk, and lay there a breathless sop, with a mingled sense =
of humour
and injustice. A poor figure =
I must
have presented to Burns upon the hill-top with his team. But there was the paddle in my han=
d. On my tomb, if ever I have one, I =
mean
to get these words inscribed: 'He
clung to his paddle.'
The Cigarette had gone past a while before; fo=
r,
as I might have observed, if I had been a little less pleased with the univ=
erse
at the moment, there was a clear way round the tree-top at the farther side=
. He had offered his services to hau=
l me
out, but as I was then already on my elbows, I had declined, and sent him d=
own
stream after the truant Arethusa.
The stream was too rapid for a man to mount with one canoe, let alone
two, upon his hands. So I cra=
wled along
the trunk to shore, and proceeded down the meadows by the river-side. I was so cold that my heart was
sore. I had now an idea of my=
own
why the reeds so bitterly shivered.
I could have given any of them a lesson. The Cigarette remarked facetiously=
that
he thought I was 'taking exercise' as I drew near, until he made out for
certain that I was only twittering with cold. I had a rub down with a towel, and
donned a dry suit from the india-rubber bag. But I was not my own man again for=
the
rest of the voyage. I had a q=
ueasy
sense that I wore my last dry clothes upon my body. The struggle had tired =
me;
and perhaps, whether I knew it or not, I was a little dashed in spirit. The devouring element in the unive=
rse
had leaped out against me, in this green valley quickened by a running
stream. The bells were all ve=
ry
pretty in their way, but I had heard some of the hollow notes of Pan's
music. Would the wicked river=
drag
me down by the heels, indeed? and look so beautiful all the time? Nature's good-humour was only skin=
-deep after
all.
There was still a long way to go by the winding
course of the stream, and darkness had fallen, and a late bell was ringing =
in Origny
Sainte-Benoite, when we arrived.
=
The
next day was Sunday, and the church bells had little rest; indeed, I do not=
think
I remember anywhere else so great a choice of services as were here offered=
to
the devout. And while the bel=
ls
made merry in the sunshine, all the world with his dog was out shooting amo=
ng
the beets and colza.
In the morning a hawker and his wife went down=
the
street at a foot-pace, singing to a very slow, lamentable music 'O France, =
mes amours.' It brought everybody to the door; =
and
when our landlady called in the man to buy the words, he had not a copy of =
them
left. She was not the first nor the second who had been taken with the song=
. There is something very pathetic i=
n the
love of the French people, since the war, for dismal patriotic
music-making. I have watched a
forester from Alsace while some one was singing 'Les malheurs de la France,=
' at
a baptismal party in the neighbourhood of Fontainebleau. He arose from the table and took h=
is son
aside, close by where I was standing.
'Listen, listen,' he said, bearing on the boy's shoulder, 'and remem=
ber
this, my son.' A little after=
he
went out into the garden suddenly, and I could hear him sobbing in the
darkness.
The humiliation of their arms and the loss of
Alsace and Lorraine made a sore pull on the endurance of this sensitive peo=
ple;
and their hearts are still hot, not so much against Germany as against the
Empire. In what other country=
will
you find a patriotic ditty bring all the world into the street? But affliction heightens love; and=
we
shall never know we are Englishmen until we have lost India. Independent America is still the c=
ross
of my existence; I cannot think of Farmer George without abhorrence; and I
never feel more warmly to my own land than when I see the Stars and Stripes=
, and
remember what our empire might have been.
The hawker's little book, which I purchased, w=
as a
curious mixture. Side by side with the flippant, rowdy nonsense of the Paris
music- halls, there were many pastoral pieces, not without a touch of poetr=
y, I
thought, and instinct with the brave independence of the poorer class in
France. There you might read =
how the
wood-cutter gloried in his axe, and the gardener scorned to be ashamed of h=
is spade. It was not very well written, this
poetry of labour, but the pluck of the sentiment redeemed what was weak or
wordy in the expression. The
martial and the patriotic pieces, on the other hand, were tearful, womanish
productions one and all. The =
poet
had passed under the Caudine Forks; he sang for an army visiting the tomb of
its old renown, with arms reversed; and sang not of victory, but of death.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> There was a number in the hawker's=
collection
called 'Conscrits Francais,' which may rank among the most dissuasive
war-lyrics on record. It woul=
d not
be possible to fight at all in such a spirit. The bravest conscript would turn p=
ale if
such a ditty were struck up beside him on the morning of battle; and whole
regiments would pile their arms to its tune.
If Fletcher of Saltoun is in the right about t=
he
influence of national songs, you would say France was come to a poor pass.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But the thing will work its own cu=
re,
and a sound-hearted and courageous people weary at length of snivelling over
their disasters. Already Paul
Deroulede has written some manly military verses. There is not much of the trumpet n=
ote in
them, perhaps, to stir a man's heart in his bosom; they lack the lyrical
elation, and move slowly; but they are written in a grave, honourable, stoi=
cal spirit,
which should carry soldiers far in a good cause. One feels as if one would like to =
trust
Deroulede with something. It =
will
be happy if he can so far inoculate his fellow-countrymen that they may be
trusted with their own future. And
in the meantime, here is an antidote to 'French Conscripts' and much other
doleful versification.
We had left the boats over-night in the custod=
y of
one whom we shall call Carnival. I
did not properly catch his name, and perhaps that was not unfortunate for h=
im,
as I am not in a position to hand him down with honour to posterity. To this person's premises we strol=
led in
the course of the day, and found quite a little deputation inspecting the
canoes. There was a stout gen=
tleman
with a knowledge of the river, which he seemed eager to impart. There was a very elegant young gen=
tleman
in a black coat, with a smattering of English, who led the talk at once to =
the Oxford
and Cambridge Boat Race. And =
then
there were three handsome girls from fifteen to twenty; and an old gentlema=
n in
a blouse, with no teeth to speak of, and a strong country accent. Quite the pick of Origny, I should
suppose.
The Cigarette had some mysteries to perform wi=
th
his rigging in the coach-house; so I was left to do the parade
single-handed. I found myself=
very
much of a hero whether I would or not.&nbs=
p;
The girls were full of little shudderings over the dangers of our
journey. And I thought it wou=
ld be
ungallant not to take my cue from the ladies. My mishap of yesterday, told =
in
an off-hand way, produced a deep sensation. It was Othello over again, with no=
less
than three Desdemonas and a sprinkling of sympathetic senators in the backg=
round. Never were the canoes more flatter=
ed, or
flattered more adroitly.
'It is like a violin,' cried one of the girls =
in
an ecstasy.
'I thank you for the word, mademoiselle,' said
I. 'All the more since there =
are
people who call out to me that it is like a coffin.'
'Oh! but it is really like a violin. It is finished like a violin,' she=
went
on.
'And polished like a violin,' added a senator.=
'One has only to stretch the cords,' concluded
another, 'and then tum-tumty-tum'--he imitated the result with spirit.
Was not this a graceful little ovation? Where this people finds the secret=
of
its pretty speeches, I cannot imagine; unless the secret should be no other
than a sincere desire to please? But then no disgrace is attached in France=
to
saying a thing neatly; whereas in England, to talk like a book is to give in
one's resignation to society.
The old gentleman in the blouse stole into the
coach-house, and somewhat irrelevantly informed the Cigarette that he was t=
he
father of the three girls and four more:&n=
bsp;
quite an exploit for a Frenchman.
'You are very fortunate,' answered the Cigaret=
te
politely.
And the old gentleman, having apparently gained
his point, stole away again.
We all got very friendly together. The girls proposed to start with u=
s on
the morrow, if you please! An=
d,
jesting apart, every one was anxious to know the hour of our departure. Now, when you are going to crawl i=
nto
your canoe from a bad launch, a crowd, however friendly, is undesirable; an=
d so
we told them not before twelve, and mentally determined to be off by ten at
latest.
Towards evening, we went abroad again to post =
some
letters. It was cool and plea=
sant;
the long village was quite empty, except for one or two urchins who followe=
d us
as they might have followed a menagerie; the hills and the tree-tops looked=
in
from all sides through the clear air; and the bells were chiming for yet
another service.
Suddenly we sighted the three girls standing, =
with
a fourth sister, in front of a shop on the wide selvage of the roadway. We had been very merry with them a
little while ago, to be sure. But
what was the etiquette of Origny?
Had it been a country road, of course we should have spoken to them;=
but
here, under the eyes of all the gossips, ought we to do even as much as
bow? I consulted the Cigarett=
e.
'Look,' said he.
I looked.&nbs= p; There were the four girls on the same spot; but now four backs were turned to us, very upright and conscious.&= nbsp; Corporal Modesty had given the word of command, and the well-discipl= ined picket had gone right-about-face like a single person. They maintained this formation all= the while we were in sight; but we heard them tittering among themselves, and t= he girl whom we had not met laughed with open mouth, and even looked over her shoulder at the enemy. I wond= er was it altogether modesty after all? or in part a sort of country provocation?<= o:p>
As we were returning to the inn, we beheld
something floating in the ample field of golden evening sky, above the chalk
cliffs and the trees that grow along their summit. It was too high up, too large, and=
too
steady for a kite; and as it was dark, it could not be a star. For although a star were as black =
as ink
and as rugged as a walnut, so amply does the sun bathe heaven with radiance,
that it would sparkle like a point of light for us. The village was dotted with people =
with
their heads in air; and the children were in a bustle all along the street =
and
far up the straight road that climbs the hill, where we could still see them
running in loose knots. It wa=
s a
balloon, we learned, which had left Saint Quentin at half-past five that
evening. Mighty composedly the
majority of the grown people took it.
But we were English, and were soon running up the hill with the
best. Being travellers oursel=
ves in
a small way, we would fain have seen these other travellers alight.
The spectacle was over by the time we gained t=
he
top of the hill. All the gold had withered out of the sky, and the balloon =
had disappeared. Whither? I ask myself; caught up i=
nto
the seventh heaven? or come safely to land somewhere in that blue uneven di=
stance,
into which the roadway dipped and melted before our eyes? Probably the
aeronauts were already warming themselves at a farm chimney, for they say i=
t is
cold in these unhomely regions of the air.=
The night fell swiftly.
Roadside trees and disappointed sightseers, returning through the
meadows, stood out in black against a margin of low red sunset. It was cheerfuller to face the oth=
er
way, and so down the hill we went, with a full moon, the colour of a melon,
swinging high above the wooded valley, and the white cliffs behind us faint=
ly
reddened by the fire of the chalk kilns.
The lamps were lighted, and the salads were be=
ing
made in Origny Sainte-Benoite by the river.
=
Although
we came late for dinner, the company at table treated us to sparkling
wine. 'That is how we are in
France,' said one. 'Those who sit down with us are our friends.' And the re=
st applauded.
They were three altogether, and an odd trio to
pass the Sunday with.
Two of them were guests like ourselves, both m=
en
of the north. One ruddy, and =
of a
full habit of body, with copious black hair and beard, the intrepid hunter =
of
France, who thought nothing so small, not even a lark or a minnow, but he m=
ight
vindicate his prowess by its capture.
For such a great, healthy man, his hair flourishing like Samson's, h=
is
arteries running buckets of red blood, to boast of these infinitesimal
exploits, produced a feeling of disproportion in the world, as when a steam=
-hammer
is set to cracking nuts. The =
other
was a quiet, subdued person, blond and lymphatic and sad, with something the
look of a Dane: 'Tristes tete=
s de
Danois!' as Gaston Lafenestre used to say.
I must not let that name go by without a word =
for
the best of all good fellows now gone down into the dust. We shall never again see Gaston in=
his
forest costume--he was Gaston with all the world, in affection, not in
disrespect--nor hear him wake the echoes of Fontainebleau with the woodland
horn. Never again shall his k=
ind smile
put peace among all races of artistic men, and make the Englishman at home =
in
France. Never more shall the =
sheep,
who were not more innocent at heart than he, sit all unconsciously for his =
industrious
pencil. He died too early, at=
the
very moment when he was beginning to put forth fresh sprouts, and blossom i=
nto something
worthy of himself; and yet none who knew him will think he lived in vain. I never knew a man so little, for =
whom
yet I had so much affection; and I find it a good test of others, how much =
they
had learned to understand and value him.&n=
bsp;
His was indeed a good influence in life while he was still among us;=
he
had a fresh laugh, it did you good to see him; and however sad he may have =
been
at heart, he always bore a bold and cheerful countenance, and took fortune's
worst as it were the showers of spring.&nb=
sp;
But now his mother sits alone by the side of Fontainebleau woods, wh=
ere
he gathered mushrooms in his hardy and penurious youth.
Many of his pictures found their way across the
Channel: besides those which =
were
stolen, when a dastardly Yankee left him alone in London with two English
pence, and perhaps twice as many words of English. If any one who reads these lines s=
hould
have a scene of sheep, in the manner of Jacques, with this fine creature's =
signature,
let him tell himself that one of the kindest and bravest of men has lent a =
hand
to decorate his lodging. Ther=
e may
be better pictures in the National Gallery; but not a painter among the
generations had a better heart.
Precious in the sight of the Lord of humanity, the Psalms tell us, is
the death of his saints. It had need to be precious; for it is very costly,
when by the stroke, a mother is left desolate, and the peace-maker, and pea=
ce- looker,
of a whole society is laid in the ground with Caesar and the Twelve Apostle=
s.
There is something lacking among the oaks of
Fontainebleau; and when the dessert comes in at Barbizon, people look to the
door for a figure that is gone.
The third of our companions at Origny was no l=
ess
a person than the landlady's husband:
not properly the landlord, since he worked himself in a factory duri=
ng
the day, and came to his own house at evening as a guest: a man worn to skin and bone by per=
petual
excitement, with baldish head, sharp features, and swift, shining eyes. On Saturday, describing some paltry
adventure at a duck- hunt, he broke a plate into a score of fragments. Whenever he made a remark, he woul=
d look
all round the table with his chin raised, and a spark of green light in eit=
her
eye, seeking approval. His wi=
fe
appeared now and again in the doorway of the room, where she was superinten=
ding
dinner, with a 'Henri, you forget yourself,' or a 'Henri, you can surely ta=
lk
without making such a noise.' Indeed, that was what the honest fellow could=
not
do. On the most trifling matt=
er his
eyes kindled, his fist visited the table, and his voice rolled abroad in
changeful thunder. I never sa=
w such
a petard of a man; I think the devil was in him. He had two favourite expressions:<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> 'it is logical,' or illogical, as =
the
case might be: and this other,
thrown out with a certain bravado, as a man might unfurl a banner, at the
beginning of many a long and sonorous story: 'I am a proletarian, you see.' Indeed, we saw it very well. God forbid that ever I should find=
him
handling a gun in Paris streets!
That will not be a good moment for the general public.
I thought his two phrases very much represented
the good and evil of his class, and to some extent of his country. It is a strong thing to say what o=
ne is,
and not be ashamed of it; even although it be in doubtful taste to repeat t=
he
statement too often in one evening.
I should not admire it in a duke, of course; but as times go, the tr=
ait
is honourable in a workman. O=
n the
other hand, it is not at all a strong thing to put one's reliance upon logi=
c;
and our own logic particularly, for it is generally wrong. We never know where we are to end,=
if
once we begin following words or doctors. There is an upright stock in a ma=
n's
own heart, that is trustier than any syllogism; and the eyes, and the
sympathies and appetites, know a thing or two that have never yet been stat=
ed
in controversy. Reasons are as plentiful as blackberries; and, like fisticu=
ffs,
they serve impartially with all sides. Doctrines do not stand or fall by t=
heir
proofs, and are only logical in so far as they are cleverly put. An able controversialist no more t=
han an
able general demonstrates the justice of his cause. But France is all gone wandering a=
fter
one or two big words; it will take some time before they can be satisfied t=
hat
they are no more than words, however big; and when once that is done, they =
will
perhaps find logic less diverting.
The conversation opened with details of the da=
y's
shooting. When all the sports=
men of
a village shoot over the village territory pro indiviso, it is plain that m=
any
questions of etiquette and priority must arise.
'Here now,' cried the landlord, brandishing a
plate, 'here is a field of beet-root.
Well. Here am I then.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I advance, do I not? Eh bien! sacr=
isti,'
and the statement, waxing louder, rolls off into a reverberation of oaths, =
the
speaker glaring about for sympathy, and everybody nodding his head to him in
the name of peace.
The ruddy Northman told some tales of his own =
prowess
in keeping order: notably one=
of a
Marquis.
'Marquis,' I said, 'if you take another step I
fire upon you. You have commi=
tted a
dirtiness, Marquis.'
Whereupon, it appeared, the Marquis touched his
cap and withdrew.
The landlord applauded noisily. 'It was well done,' he said. 'He did all that he could. He admitted he was wrong.' And then oath upon oath. He was no marquis-lover either, bu=
t he
had a sense of justice in him, this proletarian host of ours.
From the matter of hunting, the talk veered in=
to a
general comparison of Paris and the country. The proletarian beat the table lik=
e a
drum in praise of Paris. 'Wha=
t is
Paris? Paris is the cream of
France. There are no
Parisians: it is you and I an=
d everybody
who are Parisians. A man has =
eighty
chances per cent. to get on in the world in Paris.' And he drew a vivid sketch of the =
workman
in a den no bigger than a dog-hutch, making articles that were to go all ov=
er
the world. 'Eh bien, quoi, c'=
est
magnifique, ca!' cried he.
The sad Northman interfered in praise of a
peasant's life; he thought Paris bad for men and women; 'centralisation,' s=
aid
he -
But the landlord was at his throat in a
moment. It was all logical, he
showed him; and all magnificent.
'What a spectacle! What a glance for an eye!' And the dishes reeled upon the tab=
le under
a cannonade of blows.
Seeking to make peace, I threw in a word in pr=
aise
of the liberty of opinion in France.
I could hardly have shot more amiss. There was an instant silence, and a
great wagging of significant heads. They did not fancy the subject, it was
plain; but they gave me to understand that the sad Northman was a martyr on
account of his views. 'Ask hi=
m a
bit,' said they. 'Just ask hi=
m.'
'Yes, sir,' said he in his quiet way, answering
me, although I had not spoken, 'I am afraid there is less liberty of opinio=
n in
France than you may imagine.' And
with that he dropped his eyes, and seemed to consider the subject at an end=
.
Our curiosity was mightily excited at this.
On the morrow we had an opportunity of going
further into the question; for when we rose very early to avoid a sympathis=
ing deputation
at our departure, we found the hero up before us. He was breaking his fast on white =
wine
and raw onions, in order to keep up the character of martyr, I conclude.
Nothing could be more characteristic of the two
countries. Politics are the religion of France; as Nanty Ewart would have s=
aid,
'A d-d bad religion'; while we, at home, keep most of our bitterness for li=
ttle
differences about a hymn-book, or a Hebrew word which perhaps neither of the
parties can translate. And pe=
rhaps
the misconception is typical of many others that may never be cleared up: not only between people of differe=
nt
race, but between those of different sex.
As for our friend's martyrdom, he was a Commun=
ist,
or perhaps only a Communard, which is a very different thing; and had lost =
one
or more situations in consequence.
I think he had also been rejected in marriage; but perhaps he had a
sentimental way of considering business which deceived me. He was a mild, gentle creature, an=
yway;
and I hope he has got a better situation, and married a more suitable wife
since then.
=
Carnival
notoriously cheated us at first.
Finding us easy in our ways, he regretted having let us off so cheap=
ly;
and taking me aside, told me a cock-and-bull story with the moral of another
five francs for the narrator. The
thing was palpably absurd; but I paid up, and at once dropped all friendlin=
ess
of manner, and kept him in his place as an inferior with freezing British
dignity. He saw in a moment t=
hat he
had gone too far, and killed a willing horse; his face fell; I am sure he w=
ould
have refunded if he could only have thought of a decent pretext. He wished me to drink with him, bu=
t I would
none of his drinks. He grew
pathetically tender in his professions; but I walked beside him in silence =
or
answered him in stately courtesies; and when we got to the landing-place,
passed the word in English slang to the Cigarette.
In spite of the false scent we had thrown out =
the
day before, there must have been fifty people about the bridge. We were as pleasant as we could be=
with
all but Carnival. We said goo=
d-bye,
shaking hands with the old gentleman who knew the river and the young gentl=
eman
who had a smattering of English; but never a word for Carnival. Poor Carnival! here was a
humiliation. He who had been =
so
much identified with the canoes, who had given orders in our name, who had
shown off the boats and even the boatmen like a private exhibition of his o=
wn,
to be now so publicly shamed by the lions of his caravan! I never saw anybody look more
crestfallen than he. He hung =
in the
background, coming timidly forward ever and again as he thought he saw some
symptom of a relenting humour, and falling hurriedly back when he encounter=
ed a
cold stare. Let us hope it wi=
ll be
a lesson to him.
I would not have mentioned Carnival's peccadil=
lo
had not the thing been so uncommon in France. This, for instance, was the only c=
ase of
dishonesty or even sharp practice in our whole voyage. We talk very much about our honest=
y in
England. It is a good rule to=
be on
your guard wherever you hear great professions about a very little piece of
virtue. If the English could =
only
hear how they are spoken of abroad, they might confine themselves for a whi=
le
to remedying the fact; and perhaps even when that was done, give us fewer of
their airs.
The young ladies, the graces of Origny, were n=
ot
present at our start, but when we got round to the second bridge, behold, it
was black with sightseers! We=
were
loudly cheered, and for a good way below, young lads and lasses ran along t=
he
bank still cheering. What with current and paddling, we were flashing along
like swallows. It was no joke=
to keep
up with us upon the woody shore. But the girls picked up their skirts, as if
they were sure they had good ankles, and followed until their breath was
out. The last to weary were t=
he
three graces and a couple of companions; and just as they too had had enoug=
h,
the foremost of the three leaped upon a tree-stump and kissed her hand to t=
he
canoeists. Not Diana herself,
although this was more of a Venus after all, could have done a graceful thi=
ng
more gracefully. 'Come back a=
gain!'
she cried; and all the others echoed her; and the hills about Origny repeat=
ed
the words, 'Come back.' But t=
he
river had us round an angle in a twinkling, and we were alone with the green
trees and running water.
Come back?&nb=
sp;
There is no coming back, young ladies, on the impetuous stream of li=
fe.
=
'The
merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season
takes.'
=
And we
must all set our pocket-watches by the clock of fate. There is a headlong, forthright ti=
de,
that bears away man with his fancies like a straw, and runs fast in time and
space. It is full of curves l=
ike
this, your winding river of the Oise; and lingers and returns in pleasant
pastorals; and yet, rightly thought upon, never returns at all. For though it should revisit the s=
ame
acre of meadow in the same hour, it will have made an ample sweep between-w=
hiles;
many little streams will have fallen in; many exhalations risen towards the
sun; and even although it were the same acre, it will no more be the same r=
iver
of Oise. And thus, O graces of
Origny, although the wandering fortune of my life should carry me back agai=
n to
where you await death's whistle by the river, that will not be the old I who
walks the street; and those wives and mothers, say, will those be you?
There was never any mistake about the Oise, as=
a
matter of fact. In these upper reaches it was still in a prodigious hurry f=
or
the sea. It ran so fast and
merrily, through all the windings of its channel, that I strained my thumb,
fighting with the rapids, and had to paddle all the rest of the way with one
hand turned up. Sometimes it had to serve mills; and being still a little
river, ran very dry and shallow in the meanwhile. We had to put our legs out of the =
boat,
and shove ourselves off the sand of the bottom with our feet. And still it went on its way singi=
ng
among the poplars, and making a green valley in the world. After a good woman, and a good boo=
k, and
tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river. I forgave it its attempt on my lif=
e;
which was after all one part owing to the unruly winds of heaven that had b=
lown
down the tree, one part to my own mismanagement, and only a third part to t=
he
river itself, and that not out of malice, but from its great preoccupation =
over
its business of getting to the sea.
A difficult business, too; for the detours it had to make are not to=
be
counted. The geographers seem=
to
have given up the attempt; for I found no map represent the infinite contor=
tion
of its course. A fact will sa=
y more
than any of them. After we ha=
d been
some hours, three if I mistake not, flitting by the trees at this smooth,
break-neck gallop, when we came upon a hamlet and asked where we were, we h=
ad
got no farther than four kilometres (say two miles and a half) from
Origny. If it were not for th=
e honour
of the thing (in the Scots saying), we might almost as well have been stand=
ing
still.
We lunched on a meadow inside a parallelogram =
of
poplars. The leaves danced and
prattled in the wind all round about us.&n=
bsp;
The river hurried on meanwhile, and seemed to chide at our delay. Li=
ttle
we cared. The river knew wher=
e it
was going; not so we: the less our hurry, where we found good quarters and a
pleasant theatre for a pipe. =
At
that hour, stockbrokers were shouting in Paris Bourse for two or three per =
cent.;
but we minded them as little as the sliding stream, and sacrificed a hecato=
mb
of minutes to the gods of tobacco and digestion. Hurry is the resource of the faith=
less. Where a man can trust his own hear=
t, and
those of his friends, to-morrow is as good as to-day. And if he die in the meanwhile, why
then, there he dies, and the question is solved.
We had to take to the canal in the course of t=
he
afternoon; because, where it crossed the river, there was, not a bridge, bu=
t a siphon. If it had not been for an excited =
fellow
on the bank, we should have paddled right into the siphon, and thenceforward
not paddled any more. We met =
a man,
a gentleman, on the tow-path, who was much interested in our cruise. And I was witness to a strange sei=
zure
of lying suffered by the Cigarette:
who, because his knife came from Norway, narrated all sorts of
adventures in that country, where he has never been. He was quite feverish at the end, =
and pleaded
demoniacal possession.
Moy (pronounce Moy) was a pleasant little vill=
age,
gathered round a chateau in a moat.
The air was perfumed with hemp from neighbouring fields. At the Golden Sheep we found excel=
lent entertainment. German shells from the siege of La=
Fere,
Nurnberg figures, gold-fish in a bowl, and all manner of knick-knacks, embe=
llished
the public room. The landlady=
was a
stout, plain, short-sighted, motherly body, with something not far short of=
a genius
for cookery. She had a guess =
of her
excellence herself. After every dish was sent in, she would come and look o=
n at
the dinner for a while, with puckered, blinking eyes. 'C'est bon, n'est-ce pas?' she wou=
ld
say; and when she had received a proper answer, she disappeared into the
kitchen. That common French d=
ish, partridge
and cabbages, became a new thing in my eyes at the Golden Sheep; and many
subsequent dinners have bitterly disappointed me in consequence. Sweet was our rest in the Golden S=
heep
at Moy.
We lingered in Moy a good part of the day, for=
we
were fond of being philosophical, and scorned long journeys and early start=
s on
principle. The place, moreove=
r,
invited to repose. People in =
elaborate
shooting costumes sallied from the chateau with guns and game-bags; and this
was a pleasure in itself, to remain behind while these elegant pleasure-see=
kers
took the first of the morning. In this way, all the world may be an aristoc=
rat,
and play the duke among marquises, and the reigning monarch among dukes, if=
he
will only outvie them in tranquillity.&nbs=
p;
An imperturbable demeanour comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or=
frightened,
but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock
during a thunderstorm.
We made a very short day of it to La Fere; but=
the
dusk was falling, and a small rain had begun before we stowed the boats.
The Cigarette and I could not sufficiently
congratulate each other on the prospect, for we had been told there was a
capital inn at La Fere. Such a
dinner as we were going to eat! such beds as we were to sleep in!--and all =
the
while the rain raining on houseless folk over all the poplared
countryside! It made our mout=
hs water. The inn bore the name of some wood=
land
animal, stag, or hart, or hind, I forget which. But I shall never forget how spaci=
ous
and how eminently habitable it looked as we drew near. The carriage entry was lighted up,=
not
by intention, but from the mere superfluity of fire and candle in the
house. A rattle of many dishe=
s came
to our ears; we sighted a great field of table-cloth; the kitchen glowed li=
ke a
forge and smelt like a garden of things to eat.
Into this, the inmost shrine and physiological=
heart
of a hostelry, with all its furnaces in action, and all its dressers charged
with viands, you are now to suppose us making our triumphal entry, a pair of
damp rag-and-bone men, each with a limp india-rubber bag upon his arm. I do not believe I have a sound vi=
ew of
that kitchen; I saw it through a sort of glory: but it seemed to me crowded with t=
he
snowy caps of cookmen, who all turned round from their saucepans and looked=
at
us with surprise. There was no
doubt about the landlady, however:
there she was, heading her army, a flushed, angry woman, full of
affairs. Her I asked politely=
--too politely,
thinks the Cigarette--if we could have beds: she surveying us coldly from head =
to
foot.
'You will find beds in the suburb,' she
remarked. 'We are too busy fo=
r the
like of you.'
If we could make an entrance, change our cloth=
es,
and order a bottle of wine, I felt sure we could put things right; so said =
I: 'If
we cannot sleep, we may at least dine,'--and was for depositing my bag.
What a terrible convulsion of nature was that
which followed in the landlady's face!&nbs=
p;
She made a run at us, and stamped her foot.
'Out with you--out of the door!' she
screeched. 'Sortez! sortez! s=
ortez
par la porte!'
I do not know how it happened, but next moment=
we
were out in the rain and darkness, and I was cursing before the carriage en=
try
like a disappointed mendicant.
Where were the boating men of Belgium? where the Judge and his good
wines? and where the graces of Origny? Black, black was the night after the
firelit kitchen; but what was that to the blackness in our heart? This was not the first time that I=
have
been refused a lodging. Often=
and
often have I planned what I should do if such a misadventure happened to me
again. And nothing is easier =
to
plan. But to put in execution=
, with
the heart boiling at the indignity?
Try it; try it only once; and tell me what you did.
It is all very fine to talk about tramps and
morality. Six hours of police
surveillance (such as I have had), or one brutal rejection from an inn-door,
change your views upon the subject like a course of lectures. As long as you keep in the upper
regions, with all the world bowing to you as you go, social arrangements ha=
ve a
very handsome air; but once get under the wheels, and you wish society were=
at
the devil. I will give most
respectable men a fortnight of such a life, and then I will offer them twop=
ence
for what remains of their morality.
For my part, when I was turned out of the Stag=
, or
the Hind, or whatever it was, I would have set the temple of Diana on fire,=
if it
had been handy. There was no =
crime
complete enough to express my disapproval of human institutions. As for the Cigarette, I never knew=
a man
so altered. 'We have been tak=
en for
pedlars again,' said he. 'Goo=
d God,
what it must be to be a pedlar in reality!' He particularised a complaint for =
every
joint in the landlady's body. Timon
was a philanthropist alongside of him.&nbs=
p;
And then, when he was at the top of his maledictory bent, he would s=
uddenly
break away and begin whimperingly to commiserate the poor. 'I hope to God,'=
he
said,--and I trust the prayer was answered,-- 'that I shall never be uncivi=
l to
a pedlar.' Was this the imper=
turbable
Cigarette? This, this was he.=
O change beyond report, thought, or
belief!
Meantime the heaven wept upon our heads; and t=
he
windows grew brighter as the night increased in darkness. We trudged in and out of La Fere
streets; we saw shops, and private houses where people were copiously dinin=
g;
we saw stables where carters' nags had plenty of fodder and clean straw; we=
saw
no end of reservists, who were very sorry for themselves this wet night, I
doubt not, and yearned for their country homes; but had they not each man h=
is place
in La Fere barracks? And we, =
what
had we?
There seemed to be no other inn in the whole
town. People gave us directio=
ns,
which we followed as best we could, generally with the effect of bringing us
out again upon the scene of our disgrace.&=
nbsp;
We were very sad people indeed by the time we had gone all over La F=
ere;
and the Cigarette had already made up his mind to lie under a poplar and sup
off a loaf of bread. But righ=
t at
the other end, the house next the town-gate was full of light and bustle. 'Bazin, aubergiste, loge a pied,' =
was
the sign. 'A la Croix de Malt=
e.' There
were we received.
The room was full of noisy reservists drinking=
and
smoking; and we were very glad indeed when the drums and bugles began to go
about the streets, and one and all had to snatch shakoes and be off for the
barracks.
Bazin was a tall man, running to fat: soft-spoken, with a delicate, gent=
le
face. We asked him to share o=
ur
wine; but he excused himself, having pledged reservists all day long. This was a very different type of =
the
workman-innkeeper from the bawling disputatious fellow at Origny. He also loved Paris, where he had =
worked
as a decorative painter in his youth.
There were such opportunities for self-instruction there, he said. And if any one has read Zola's
description of the workman's marriage-party visiting the Louvre, they would=
do
well to have heard Bazin by way of antidote. He had delighted in the museums in=
his
youth. 'One sees there little
miracles of work,' he said; 'that is what makes a good workman; it kindles a
spark.' We asked him how he m=
anaged
in La Fere. 'I am married,' he
said, 'and I have my pretty children. But frankly, it is no life at all.
It faired as the night went on, and the moon c=
ame
out of the clouds. We sat in =
front
of the door, talking softly with Bazin. At the guard-house opposite, the gu=
ard
was being for ever turned out, as trains of field artillery kept clanking in
out of the night, or patrols of horsemen trotted by in their cloaks. Madame Bazin came out after a whil=
e; she
was tired with her day's work, I suppose; and she nestled up to her husband=
and
laid her head upon his breast. He
had his arm about her, and kept gently patting her on the shoulder. I think Bazin was right, and he was
really married. Of how few pe=
ople
can the same be said!
Little did the Bazins know how much they served
us. We were charged for candl=
es,
for food and drink, and for the beds we slept in. But there was nothing in the bill =
for
the husband's pleasant talk; nor for the pretty spectacle of their married
life. And there was yet anoth=
er
item unchanged. For these peo=
ple's politeness
really set us up again in our own esteem.&=
nbsp;
We had a thirst for consideration; the sense of insult was still hot=
in
our spirits; and civil usage seemed to restore us to our position in the wo=
rld.
How little we pay our way in life! Although we have our purses contin=
ually
in our hand, the better part of service goes still unrewarded. But I like to fancy that a grateful
spirit gives as good as it gets.
Perhaps the Bazins knew how much I liked them? perhaps they also were
healed of some slights by the thanks that I gave them in my manner?
=
=
Below
La Fere the river runs through a piece of open pastoral country; green,
opulent, loved by breeders; called the Golden Valley. In wide sweeps, and with a swift a=
nd
equable gallop, the ceaseless stream of water visits and makes green the
fields. Kine, and horses, and
little humorous donkeys, browse together in the meadows, and come down in
troops to the river-side to drink.
They make a strange feature in the landscape; above all when they ar=
e startled,
and you see them galloping to and fro with their incongruous forms and
faces. It gives a feeling as =
of
great, unfenced pampas, and the herds of wandering nations. There were hills in the distance u=
pon
either hand; and on one side, the river sometimes bordered on the wooded sp=
urs
of Coucy and St. Gobain.
The artillery were practising at La Fere; and =
soon
the cannon of heaven joined in that loud play. Two continents of cloud met and ex=
changed
salvos overhead; while all round the horizon we could see sunshine and clear
air upon the hills. What with=
the
guns and the thunder, the herds were all frightened in the Golden Valley. We could see them tossing their he=
ads,
and running to and fro in timorous indecision; and when they had made up th=
eir
minds, and the donkey followed the horse, and the cow was after the donkey,=
we could
hear their hooves thundering abroad over the meadows. It had a martial sound, like caval=
ry
charges. And altogether, as f=
ar as the
ears are concerned, we had a very rousing battle-piece performed for our
amusement.
At last the guns and the thunder dropped off; =
the
sun shone on the wet meadows; the air was scented with the breath of rejoic=
ing
trees and grass; and the river kept unweariedly carrying us on at its best
pace. There was a manufacturi=
ng
district about Chauny; and after that the banks grew so high that they hid =
the
adjacent country, and we could see nothing but clay sides, and one willow a=
fter
another. Only, here and there=
, we
passed by a village or a ferry, and some wondering child upon the bank would
stare after us until we turned the corner.=
I daresay we continued to paddle in that child's dreams for many a n=
ight
after.
Sun and shower alternated like day and night,
making the hours longer by their variety.&=
nbsp;
When the showers were heavy, I could feel each drop striking through=
my
jersey to my warm skin; and the accumulation of small shocks put me nearly
beside myself. I decided I sh=
ould
buy a mackintosh at Noyon. It=
is
nothing to get wet; but the misery of these individual pricks of cold all o=
ver
my body at the same instant of time made me flail the water with my paddle =
like
a madman. The Cigarette was g=
reatly
amused by these ebullitions. =
It
gave him something else to look at besides clay banks and willows.
All the time, the river stole away like a thie=
f in
straight places, or swung round corners with an eddy; the willows nodded, a=
nd
were undermined all day long; the clay banks tumbled in; the Oise, which had
been so many centuries making the Golden Valley, seemed to have changed its
fancy, and be bent upon undoing its performance. What a number of things a river do=
es, by
simply following Gravity in the innocence of its heart!
Noyon stands about a mile from the river, in a
little plain surrounded by wooded hills, and entirely covers an eminence wi=
th its
tile roofs, surmounted by a long, straight-backed cathedral with two stiff
towers. As we got into the to=
wn,
the tile roofs seemed to tumble uphill one upon another, in the oddest
disorder; but for all their scrambling, they did not attain above the knees=
of
the cathedral, which stood, upright and solemn, over all. As the streets drew near to this
presiding genius, through the market- place under the Hotel de Ville, they =
grew
emptier and more composed. Bl=
ank
walls and shuttered windows were turned to the great edifice, and grass gre=
w on
the white causeway. 'Put off =
thy shoes
from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.' The Hotel du Nord, nevertheless, l=
ights
its secular tapers within a stone-cast of the church; and we had the superb=
east-end
before our eyes all morning from the window of our bedroom. I have seldom looked on the east-e=
nd of
a church with more complete sympathy.
As it flanges out in three wide terraces and settles down broadly on=
the
earth, it looks like the poop of some great old battle-ship. Hollow-backed buttresses carry vas=
es, which
figure for the stern lanterns.
There is a roll in the ground, and the towers just appear above the
pitch of the roof, as though the good ship were bowing lazily over an Atlan=
tic
swell. At any moment it might=
be a
hundred feet away from you, climbing the next billow. At any moment a window might open,=
and
some old admiral thrust forth a cocked hat, and proceed to take an observat=
ion. The old admirals sail the sea no l=
onger;
the old ships of battle are all broken up, and live only in pictures; but t=
his,
that was a church before ever they were thought upon, is still a church, and
makes as brave an appearance by the Oise.&=
nbsp;
The cathedral and the river are probably the two oldest things for m=
iles
around; and certainly they have both a grand old age.
The Sacristan took us to the top of one of the
towers, and showed us the five bells hanging in their loft. From above, the town was a tessela=
ted
pavement of roofs and gardens; the old line of rampart was plainly traceabl=
e;
and the Sacristan pointed out to us, far across the plain, in a bit of glea=
ming
sky between two clouds, the towers of Chateau Coucy.
I find I never weary of great churches. It is my favourite kind of mountain
scenery. Mankind was never so
happily inspired as when it made a cathedral: a thing as single and specious as a
statue to the first glance, and yet, on examination, as lively and interest=
ing
as a forest in detail. The he=
ight
of spires cannot be taken by trigonometry; they measure absurdly short, but=
how
tall they are to the admiring eye!
And where we have so many elegant proportions, growing one out of the
other, and all together into one, it seems as if proportion transcended its=
elf,
and became something different and more imposing. I could never fathom how a man dar=
es to
lift up his voice to preach in a cathedral. What is he to say that will not be=
an
anti-climax? For though I have
heard a considerable variety of sermons, I never yet heard one that was so
expressive as a cathedral. 'T=
is the
best preacher itself, and preaches day and night; not only telling you of m=
an's
art and aspirations in the past, but convicting your own soul of ardent sym=
pathies;
or rather, like all good preachers, it sets you preaching to yourself;--and
every man is his own doctor of divinity in the last resort.
As I sat outside of the hotel in the course of=
the
afternoon, the sweet groaning thunder of the organ floated out of the church
like a summons. I was not ave=
rse,
liking the theatre so well, to sit out an act or two of the play, but I cou=
ld
never rightly make out the nature of the service I beheld. Four or five priests and as many
choristers were singing Miserere before the high altar when I went in. There was no congregation but a fe=
w old
women on chairs and old men kneeling on the pavement. After a while a long train of young
girls, walking two and two, each with a lighted taper in her hand, and all
dressed in black with a white veil, came from behind the altar, and began to
descend the nave; the four first carrying a Virgin and child upon a table.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The priests and choristers arose f=
rom
their knees and followed after, singing 'Ave Mary' as they went. In this order they made the circui=
t of
the cathedral, passing twice before me where I leaned against a pillar. The
priest who seemed of most consequence was a strange, down- looking old
man. He kept mumbling prayers=
with
his lips; but as he looked upon me darkling, it did not seem as if prayer w=
ere uppermost
in his heart. Two others, who=
bore
the burthen of the chaunt, were stout, brutal, military-looking men of fort=
y,
with bold, over-fed eyes; they sang with some lustiness, and trolled forth =
'Ave
Mary' like a garrison catch. =
The
little girls were timid and grave.
As they footed slowly up the aisle, each one took a moment's glance =
at the
Englishman; and the big nun who played marshal fairly stared him out of
countenance. As for the chori=
sters,
from first to last they misbehaved as only boys can misbehave; and cruelly
marred the performance with their antics.
I understood a great deal of the spirit of what
went on. Indeed it would be
difficult not to understand the Miserere, which I take to be the compositio=
n of
an atheist. If it ever be a g=
ood
thing to take such despondency to heart, the Miserere is the right music, a=
nd a
cathedral a fit scene. So far=
I am
at one with the Catholics:- an odd name for them, after all? But why, in God's name, these holi=
day
choristers? why these priests who steal wandering looks about the congregat=
ion
while they feign to be at prayer? why this fat nun, who rudely arranges her
procession and shakes delinquent virgins by the elbow? why this spitting, a=
nd snuffing,
and forgetting of keys, and the thousand and one little misadventures that
disturb a frame of mind laboriously edified with chaunts and organings? In any play-house reverend fathers=
may
see what can be done with a little art, and how, to move high sentiments, i=
t is
necessary to drill the supernumeraries and have every stool in its proper
place.
One other circumstance distressed me. I could bear a Miserere myself, ha=
ving
had a good deal of open-air exercise of late; but I wished the old people
somewhere else. It was neithe=
r the
right sort of music nor the right sort of divinity for men and women who ha=
ve
come through most accidents by this time, and probably have an opinion of t=
heir
own upon the tragic element in life.
A person up in years can generally do his own Miserere for himself;
although I notice that such an one often prefers Jubilate Deo for his ordin=
ary singing. On the whole, the most religious
exercise for the aged is probably to recall their own experience; so many
friends dead, so many hopes disappointed, so many slips and stumbles, and
withal so many bright days and smiling providences; there is surely the mat=
ter
of a very eloquent sermon in all this.
On the whole, I was greatly solemnised. In the little pictorial map of our=
whole
Inland Voyage, which my fancy still preserves, and sometimes unrolls for the
amusement of odd moments, Noyon cathedral figures on a most preposterous sc=
ale,
and must be nearly as large as a department. I can still see the faces of the p=
riests
as if they were at my elbow, and hear Ave Maria, ora pro nobis, sounding th=
rough
the church. All Noyon is blot=
ted
out for me by these superior memories; and I do not care to say more about =
the
place. It was but a stack of brown roofs at the best, where I believe people
live very reputably in a quiet way; but the shadow of the church falls upon=
it
when the sun is low, and the five bells are heard in all quarters, telling =
that
the organ has begun. If ever =
I join
the Church of Rome, I shall stipulate to be Bishop of Noyon on the Oise.
=
The
most patient people grow weary at last with being continually wetted with r=
ain;
except of course in the Scottish Highlands, where there are not enough fine
intervals to point the difference.
That was like to be our case, the day we left Noyon. I remember nothing of the voyage; =
it was
nothing but clay banks and willows, and rain; incessant, pitiless, beating
rain; until we stopped to lunch at a little inn at Pimprez, where the canal=
ran
very near the river. We were =
so
sadly drenched that the landlady lit a few sticks in the chimney for our
comfort; there we sat in a steam of vapour, lamenting our concerns. The husband donned a game-bag and =
strode
out to shoot; the wife sat in a far corner watching us. I think we were worth looking at.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> We grumbled over the misfortune of=
La
Fere; we forecast other La Feres in the future;--although things went bette=
r with
the Cigarette for spokesman; he had more aplomb altogether than I; and a du=
ll,
positive way of approaching a landlady that carried off the india-rubber
bags. Talking of La Fere put =
us
talking of the reservists.
'Reservery,' said he, 'seems a pretty mean way=
to
spend ones autumn holiday.'
'About as mean,' returned I dejectedly, 'as
canoeing.'
'These gentlemen travel for their pleasure?' a=
sked
the landlady, with unconscious irony.
It was too much. The scales fell from our eyes. Another wet day, it was determined=
, and
we put the boats into the train.
The weather took the hint. That was our last wetting. The afternoon faired up: grand clouds still voyaged in the =
sky,
but now singly, and with a depth of blue around their path; and a sunset in=
the
daintiest rose and gold inaugurated a thick night of stars and a month of
unbroken weather. At the same=
time,
the river began to give us a better outlook into the country. The banks were not so high, the wi=
llows
disappeared from along the margin, and pleasant hills stood all along its
course and marked their profile on the sky.
In a little while the canal, coming to its last
lock, began to discharge its water-houses on the Oise; so that we had no la=
ck
of company to fear. Here were=
all
our old friends; the Deo Gratias of Conde and the Four Sons of Aymon journe=
yed
cheerily down stream along with us; we exchanged waterside pleasantries with
the steersman perched among the lumber, or the driver hoarse with bawling to
his horses; and the children came and looked over the side as we paddled
by. We had never known all th=
is
while how much we missed them; but it gave us a fillip to see the smoke from
their chimneys.
A little below this junction we made another
meeting of yet more account. =
For
there we were joined by the Aisne, already a far- travelled river and fresh=
out
of Champagne. Here ended the =
adolescence
of the Oise; this was his marriage day; thenceforward he had a stately,
brimming march, conscious of his own dignity and sundry dams. He became a tranquil feature in the
scene. The trees and towns saw
themselves in him, as in a mirror.
He carried the canoes lightly on his broad breast; there was no need=
to
work hard against an eddy: but
idleness became the order of the day, and mere straightforward dipping of t=
he
paddle, now on this side, now on that, without intelligence or effort. Truly we were coming into halcyon
weather upon all accounts, and were floated towards the sea like gentlemen.=
We made Compiegne as the sun was going down: a fine profile of a town above the
river. Over the bridge, a reg=
iment
was parading to the drum. Peo=
ple
loitered on the quay, some fishing, some looking idly at the stream. And as the two boats shot in along=
the
water, we could see them pointing them out and speaking one to another. We
landed at a floating lavatory, where the washerwomen were still beating the
clothes.
We put up at a big, bustling hotel in Compiegn=
e,
where nobody observed our presence.
Reservery and general militarismus (as the Ger=
mans
call it) were rampant. A camp=
of
conical white tents without the town looked like a leaf out of a picture Bi=
ble;
sword-belts decorated the walls of the cafes; and the streets kept sounding=
all
day long with military music. It
was not possible to be an Englishman and avoid a feeling of elation; for the
men who followed the drums were small, and walked shabbily. Each man inclined at his own angle=
, and
jolted to his own convenience, as he went.=
There was nothing of the superb gait with which a regiment of tall
Highlanders moves behind its music, solemn and inevitable, like a natural
phenomenon. Who that has seen it can forget the drum-major pacing in front,=
the
drummers' tiger-skins, the pipers' swinging plaids, the strange elastic rhy=
thm
of the whole regiment footing it in time--and the bang of the drum, when the
brasses cease, and the shrill pipes take up the martial story in their plac=
e?
A girl, at school in France, began to describe=
one
of our regiments on parade to her French schoolmates; and as she went on, s=
he
told me, the recollection grew so vivid, she became so proud to be the coun=
trywoman
of such soldiers, and so sorry to be in another country, that her voice fai=
led
her and she burst into tears. I have
never forgotten that girl; and I think she very nearly deserves a statue. To call her a young lady, with all=
its
niminy associations, would be to offer her an insult. She may rest assured of one thing:=
although she never should marry a =
heroic
general, never see any great or immediate result of her life, she will not =
have
lived in vain for her native land.
But though French soldiers show to ill advanta=
ge
on parade, on the march they are gay, alert, and willing like a troop of
fox-hunters. I remember once seeing a company pass through the forest of Fo=
ntainebleau,
on the Chailly road, between the Bas Breau and the Reine Blanche. One fellow walked a little before =
the
rest, and sang a loud, audacious marching song. The rest bestirred their feet, and=
even
swung their muskets in time. A
young officer on horseback had hard ado to keep his countenance at the
words. You never saw anything=
so
cheerful and spontaneous as their gait; schoolboys do not look more eagerly=
at
hare and hounds; and you would have thought it impossible to tire such will=
ing
marchers.
My great delight in Compiegne was the
town-hall. I doted upon the t=
own-hall. It is a monument of Gothic insecur=
ity,
all turreted, and gargoyled, and slashed, and bedizened with half a score o=
f architectural
fancies. Some of the niches a=
re
gilt and painted; and in a great square panel in the centre, in black relie=
f on
a gilt ground, Louis XII. rides upon a pacing horse, with hand on hip and h=
ead
thrown back. There is royal
arrogance in every line of him; the stirruped foot projects insolently from=
the
frame; the eye is hard and proud; the very horse seems to be treading with =
gratification
over prostrate serfs, and to have the breath of the trumpet in his
nostrils. So rides for ever, =
on the
front of the town-hall, the good king Louis XII., the father of his people.=
Over the king's head, in the tall centre turre=
t,
appears the dial of a clock; and high above that, three little mechanical
figures, each one with a hammer in his hand, whose business it is to chime =
out
the hours and halves and quarters for the burgesses of Compiegne. The centre figure has a gilt
breast-plate; the two others wear gilt trunk-hose; and they all three have
elegant, flapping hats like cavaliers.&nbs=
p;
As the quarter approaches, they turn their heads and look knowingly =
one
to the other; and then, kling go the three hammers on three little bells
below. The hour follows, deep=
and
sonorous, from the interior of the tower; and the gilded gentlemen rest from
their labours with contentment.
I had a great deal of healthy pleasure from th=
eir
manoeuvres, and took good care to miss as few performances as possible; and=
I
found that even the Cigarette, while he pretended to despise my enthusiasm,=
was
more or less a devotee himself.
There is something highly absurd in the exposition of such toys to t=
he
outrages of winter on a housetop.
They would be more in keeping in a glass case before a Nurnberg
clock. Above all, at night, w=
hen
the children are abed, and even grown people are snoring under quilts, does=
it
not seem impertinent to leave these ginger-bread figures winking and tinkli=
ng
to the stars and the rolling moon?
The gargoyles may fitly enough twist their ape-like heads; fitly eno=
ugh may
the potentate bestride his charger, like a centurion in an old German print=
of
the Via Dolorosa; but the toys should be put away in a box among some cotto=
n,
until the sun rises, and the children are abroad again to be amused.
In Compiegne post-office a great packet of let=
ters
awaited us; and the authorities were, for this occasion only, so polite as =
to
hand them over upon application.
In some ways, our journey may be said to end w=
ith
this letter-bag at Compiegne. The
spell was broken. We had part=
ly
come home from that moment.
No one should have any correspondence on a
journey; it is bad enough to have to write; but the receipt of letters is t=
he
death of all holiday feeling.
'Out of my country and myself I go.' I wish to take a dive among new
conditions for a while, as into another element. I have nothing to do with my frien=
ds or
my affections for the time; when I came away, I left my heart at home in a
desk, or sent it forward with my portmanteau to await me at my
destination. After my journey=
is
over, I shall not fail to read your admirable letters with the attention th=
ey
deserve. But I have paid all =
this
money, look you, and paddled all these strokes, for no other purpose than t=
o be
abroad; and yet you keep me at home with your perpetual communications. You tug the string, and I feel tha=
t I am
a tethered bird. You pursue m=
e all
over Europe with the little vexations that I came away to avoid. There is no discharge in the war of
life, I am well aware; but shall there not be so much as a week's furlough?=
We were up by six, the day we were to leave. They had taken so little note of u=
s that
I hardly thought they would have condescended on a bill. But they did, with some smart
particulars too; and we paid in a civilised manner to an uninterested clerk=
, and
went out of that hotel, with the india-rubber bags, unremarked. No one care=
d to
know about us. It is not poss=
ible
to rise before a village; but Compiegne was so grown a town, that it took i=
ts
ease in the morning; and we were up and away while it was still in dressing=
-gown
and slippers. The streets wer=
e left
to people washing door-steps; nobody was in full dress but the cavaliers up=
on the
town-hall; they were all washed with dew, spruce in their gilding, and full=
of
intelligence and a sense of professional responsibility. Kling went they on the bells for t=
he
half-past six as we went by. =
I took
it kind of them to make me this parting compliment; they never were in bett=
er
form, not even at noon upon a Sunday.
There was no one to see us off but the early
washerwomen--early and late--who were already beating the linen in their
floating lavatory on the river.
They were very merry and matutinal in their ways; plunged their arms
boldly in, and seemed not to feel the shock. It would be dispiriting to me, this
early beginning and first cold dabble of a most dispiriting day's work. But I believe they would have been=
as
unwilling to change days with us as we could be to change with them. They crowded to the door to watch =
us
paddle away into the thin sunny mists upon the river; and shouted heartily =
after
us till we were through the bridge.
There is a sense in which those mists never ro=
se
from off our journey; and from that time forth they lie very densely in my
note- book. As long as the Oi=
se was
a small rural river, it took us near by people's doors, and we could hold a
conversation with natives in the riparian fields. But now that it had grown so wide,=
the
life along shore passed us by at a distance. It was the same difference as betw=
een a
great public highway and a country by-path that wanders in and out of cotta=
ge
gardens. We now lay in towns,=
where
nobody troubled us with questions; we had floated into civilised life, where
people pass without salutation. In
sparsely inhabited places, we make all we can of each encounter; but when it
comes to a city, we keep to ourselves, and never speak unless we have trodd=
en
on a man's toes. In these wat=
ers we
were no longer strange birds, and nobody supposed we had travelled farther =
than
from the last town. I remembe=
r,
when we came into L'Isle Adam, for instance, how we met dozens of pleasure-=
boats
outing it for the afternoon, and there was nothing to distinguish the true
voyager from the amateur, except, perhaps, the filthy condition of my sail.=
The
company in one boat actually thought they recognised me for a neighbour. You get entertainment pretty much =
in
proportion as you give. As lo=
ng as
we were a sort of odd wanderers, to be stared at and followed like a quack
doctor or a caravan, we had no want of amusement in return; but as soon as =
we sank
into commonplace ourselves, all whom we met were similarly disenchanted.
In our earlier adventures there was generally
something to do, and that quickened us.&nb=
sp;
Even the showers of rain had a revivifying effect, and shook up the
brain from torpor. But now, w=
hen
the river no longer ran in a proper sense, only glided seaward with an even,
outright, but imperceptible speed, and when the sky smiled upon us day after
day without variety, we began to slip into that golden doze of the mind whi=
ch
follows upon much exercise in the open air. I have stupefied myself in this wa=
y more
than once; indeed, I dearly love the feeling; but I never had it to the sam=
e degree
as when paddling down the Oise. It
was the apotheosis of stupidity.
We ceased reading entirely. Sometimes when I found a new paper=
, I took
a particular pleasure in reading a single number of the current novel; but I
never could bear more than three instalments; and even the second was a
disappointment. As soon as th=
e tale
became in any way perspicuous, it lost all merit in my eyes; only a single
scene, or, as is the way with these feuilletons, half a scene, without
antecedent or consequence, like a piece of a dream, had the knack of fixing=
my
interest. The less I saw of t=
he
novel, the better I liked it: a
pregnant reflection. But for =
the
most part, as I said, we neither of us read anything in the world, and empl=
oyed
the very little while we were awake between bed and dinner in poring upon
maps. I have always been fond=
of
maps, and can voyage in an atlas with the greatest enjoyment. The names of places are singularly
inviting; the contour of coasts and rivers is enthralling to the eye; and to
hit, in a map, upon some place you have heard of before, makes history a new
possession. But we thumbed our
charts, on these evenings, with the blankest unconcern. We cared not a frac=
tion
for this place or that. We st=
ared
at the sheet as children listen to their rattle; and read the names of town=
s or
villages to forget them again at once.&nbs=
p;
We had no romance in the matter; there was nobody so fancy-free. If you had taken the maps away whi=
le we
were studying them most intently, it is a fair bet whether we might not have
continued to study the table with the same delight.
About one thing we were mightily taken up, and
that was eating. I think I ma=
de a
god of my belly. I remember
dwelling in imagination upon this or that dish till my mouth watered; and l=
ong
before we got in for the night my appetite was a clamant, instant annoyance=
. Sometimes
we paddled alongside for a while and whetted each other with gastronomical
fancies as we went. Cake and
sherry, a homely rejection, but not within reach upon the Oise, trotted thr=
ough
my head for many a mile; and once, as we were approaching Verberie, the
Cigarette brought my heart into my mouth by the suggestion of oyster-patties
and Sauterne.
I suppose none of us recognise the great part =
that
is played in life by eating and drinking.&=
nbsp;
The appetite is so imperious that we can stomach the least interesti=
ng
viands, and pass off a dinner- hour thankfully enough on bread and water; j=
ust
as there are men who must read something, if it were only Bradshaw's
Guide. But there is a romance=
about
the matter after all. Probabl=
y the
table has more devotees than love; and I am sure that food is much more gen=
erally
entertaining than scenery. Do=
you
give in, as Walt Whitman would say, that you are any the less immortal for
that? The true materialism is to be ashamed of what we are. To detect the flavour of an olive =
is no
less a piece of human perfection than to find beauty in the colours of the
sunset.
Canoeing was easy work. To dip the paddle at the proper in=
clination,
now right, now left; to keep the head down stream; to empty the little pool
that gathered in the lap of the apron; to screw up the eyes against the
glittering sparkles of sun upon the water; or now and again to pass below t=
he
whistling tow-rope of the Deo Gratias of Conde, or the Four Sons of Aymon--=
there
was not much art in that; certain silly muscles managed it between sleep an=
d waking;
and meanwhile the brain had a whole holiday, and went to sleep. We took in, at a glance, the larger
features of the scene; and beheld, with half an eye, bloused fishers and
dabbling washerwomen on the bank.
Now and again we might be half-wakened by some church spire, by a
leaping fish, or by a trail of river grass that clung about the paddle and =
had
to be plucked off and thrown away.
But these luminous intervals were only partially luminous. A little =
more
of us was called into action, but never the whole. The central bureau of
nerves, what in some moods we call Ourselves, enjoyed its holiday without
disturbance, like a Government Office. The great wheels of intelligence tur=
ned
idly in the head, like fly- wheels, grinding no grist. I have gone on for half an hour at=
a time,
counting my strokes and forgetting the hundreds. I flatter myself the beasts that p=
erish
could not underbid that, as a low form of consciousness. And what a pleasure it was! What a hearty, tolerant temper did=
it
bring about! There is nothing
captious about a man who has attained to this, the one possible apotheosis =
in
life, the Apotheosis of Stupidity; and he begins to feel dignified and long=
aevous
like a tree.
There was one odd piece of practical metaphysi=
cs
which accompanied what I may call the depth, if I must not call it the
intensity, of my abstraction. What
philosophers call ME and NOT-ME, EGO and NON EGO, preoccupied me whether I =
would
or no. There was less ME and =
more
NOT-ME than I was accustomed to expect.&nb=
sp;
I looked on upon somebody else, who managed the paddling; I was awar=
e of
somebody else's feet against the stretcher; my own body seemed to have no m=
ore
intimate relation to me than the canoe, or the river, or the river banks. Nor this alone: something inside my mind, a part o=
f my
brain, a province of my proper being, had thrown off allegiance and set up =
for
itself, or perhaps for the somebody else who did the paddling. I had dwindled into quite a little=
thing
in a corner of myself. I was
isolated in my own skull. Tho=
ughts
presented themselves unbidden; they were not my thoughts, they were plainly=
some
one else's; and I considered them like a part of the landscape. I take it, in short, that I was ab=
out as
near Nirvana as would be convenient in practical life; and if this be so, I
make the Buddhists my sincere compliments; 'tis an agreeable state, not very
consistent with mental brilliancy, not exactly profitable in a money point =
of
view, but very calm, golden, and incurious, and one that sets a man superio=
r to
alarms. It may be best figure=
d by supposing
yourself to get dead drunk, and yet keep sober to enjoy it. I have a notion that open-air labo=
urers
must spend a large portion of their days in this ecstatic stupor, which
explains their high composure and endurance. A pity to go to the expense of lau=
danum,
when here is a better paradise for nothing!
This frame of mind was the great exploit of our
voyage, take it all in all. I=
t was
the farthest piece of travel accomplished.=
Indeed, it lies so far from beaten paths of language, that I despair=
of getting
the reader into sympathy with the smiling, complacent idiocy of my conditio=
n;
when ideas came and went like motes in a sunbeam; when trees and church spi=
res
along the bank surged up, from time to time into my notice, like solid obje=
cts
through a rolling cloudland; when the rhythmical swish of boat and paddle i=
n the
water became a cradle-song to lull my thoughts asleep; when a piece of mud =
on
the deck was sometimes an intolerable eyesore, and sometimes quite a compan=
ion
for me, and the object of pleased consideration;--and all the time, with the
river running and the shores changing upon either hand, I kept counting my
strokes and forgetting the hundreds, the happiest animal in France.
We made our first stage below Compiegne to Pont
Sainte Maxence. I was abroad a
little after six the next morning.
The air was biting, and smelt of frost. In an open place a score of women =
wrangled
together over the day's market; and the noise of their negotiation sounded =
thin
and querulous like that of sparrows on a winter's morning. The rare passengers blew into their
hands, and shuffled in their wooden shoes to set the blood agog. The streets were full of icy shado=
w,
although the chimneys were smoking overhead in golden sunshine. If you wake early enough at this s=
eason
of the year, you may get up in December to break your fast in June.
I found my way to the church; for there is alw=
ays
something to see about a church, whether living worshippers or dead men's
tombs; you find there the deadliest earnest, and the hollowest deceit; and =
even
where it is not a piece of history, it will be certain to leak out some
contemporary gossip. It was
scarcely so cold in the church as it was without, but it looked colder. The white nave was positively arct=
ic to
the eye; and the tawdriness of a continental altar looked more forlorn than
usual in the solitude and the bleak air.&n=
bsp;
Two priests sat in the chancel, reading and waiting penitents; and o=
ut
in the nave, one very old woman was engaged in her devotions. It was a wonder how she was able t=
o pass
her beads when healthy young people were breathing in their palms and slapp=
ing
their chest; but though this concerned me, I was yet more dispirited by the
nature of her exercises. She =
went
from chair to chair, from altar to altar, circumnavigating the church. To each shrine she dedicated an eq=
ual
number of beads and an equal length of time. Like a prudent capitalist with a
somewhat cynical view of the commercial prospect, she desired to place her
supplications in a great variety of heavenly securities. She would risk nothing on the cred=
it of
any single intercessor. Out o=
f the
whole company of saints and angels, not one but was to suppose himself her
champion elect against the Great Assize!&n=
bsp;
I could only think of it as a dull, transparent jugglery, based upon
unconscious unbelief.
She was as dead an old woman as ever I saw; no
more than bone and parchment, curiously put together. Her eyes, with which she interroga=
ted
mine, were vacant of sense. It
depends on what you call seeing, whether you might not call her blind. Perhaps she had known love: perhaps borne children, suckled th=
em and
given them pet names. But now=
that
was all gone by, and had left her neither happier nor wiser; and the best s=
he
could do with her mornings was to come up here into the cold church and jug=
gle
for a slice of heaven. It was=
not
without a gulp that I escaped into the streets and the keen morning air.
I had need of all my cerebral hygiene during t=
hat
day's paddle: the old devotee stuck in my throat sorely. But I was soon in the seventh heav=
en of
stupidity; and knew nothing but that somebody was paddling a canoe, while I=
was
counting his strokes and forgetting the hundreds. I used sometimes to be afraid I sh=
ould
remember the hundreds; which would have made a toil of a pleasure; but the =
terror
was chimerical, they went out of my mind by enchantment, and I knew no more
than the man in the moon about my only occupation.
At Creil, where we stopped to lunch, we left t=
he
canoes in another floating lavatory, which, as it was high noon, was packed
with washerwomen, red-handed and loud-voiced; and they and their broad jokes
are about all I remember of the place.&nbs=
p;
I could look up my history-books, if you were very anxious, and tell=
you
a date or two; for it figured rather largely in the English wars. But I prefer to mention a girls'
boarding-school, which had an interest for us because it was a girls'
boarding-school, and because we imagined we had rather an interest for it.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> At least--there were the girls abo=
ut the
garden; and here were we on the river; and there was more than one handkerc=
hief
waved as we went by. It caused
quite a stir in my heart; and yet how we should have wearied and despised e=
ach
other, these girls and I, if we had been introduced at a croquet-party! But this is a fashion I love: to kiss the hand or wave a handker=
chief
to people I shall never see again, to play with possibility, and knock in a=
peg
for fancy to hang upon. It gi=
ves
the traveller a jog, reminds him that he is not a traveller everywhere, and
that his journey is no more than a siesta by the way on the real march of l=
ife.
The church at Creil was a nondescript place in=
the
inside, splashed with gaudy lights from the windows, and picked out with
medallions of the Dolorous Way. But
there was one oddity, in the way of an ex voto, which pleased me hugely:
At Creil, as at Noyon, Saint Joseph seemed a
favourite saint on the score of punctuality. Day and hour can be specified; and
grateful people do not fail to specify them on a votive tablet, when prayer=
s have
been punctually and neatly answered.
Whenever time is a consideration, Saint Joseph is the proper
intermediary. I took a sort of
pleasure in observing the vogue he had in France, for the good man plays a =
very
small part in my religion at home.
Yet I could not help fearing that, where the Saint is so much comman=
ded for
exactitude, he will be expected to be very grateful for his tablet.
This is foolishness to us Protestants; and not=
of
great importance anyway. Whet=
her
people's gratitude for the good gifts that come to them be wisely conceived=
or
dutifully expressed, is a secondary matter, after all, so long as they feel
gratitude. The true ignorance=
is
when a man does not know that he has received a good gift, or begins to ima=
gine
that he has got it for himself. The
self-made man is the funniest windbag after all! There is a marked difference betwe=
en
decreeing light in chaos, and lighting the gas in a metropolitan back-parlo=
ur
with a box of patent matches; and do what we will, there is always something
made to our hand, if it were only our fingers.
But there was something worse than foolishness placarded in Creil Church. The Association of the Living Rosary (of which I had never previously heard) is responsible for that. This Association was founded, according to the printed advertisement, by a brief= of Pope Gregory Sixteenth, on the 17th of January 1832: according to a coloured bas-relief= , it seems to have been founded, sometime other, by the Virgin giving one rosary= to Saint Dominic, and the Infant Saviour giving another to Saint Catharine of Siena. Pope Gregory is not so imposing, but he is nearer hand. I could not distinctly make out whether the Association was entirely devotion= al, or had an eye to good works; at least it is highly organised: the names of fourteen matrons and = misses were filled in for each week of the month as associates, with one other, generally a married woman, at the top for zelatrice: the leader of the band. Indulgences, plenary and partial, = follow on the performance of the duties of the Association. 'The partial indulgences are attac= hed to the recitation of the rosary.' On 'the recitation of the required dizaine,' a partial indulgence promptly follows. When people serve the kingdom of heaven with a pass-book in their hands, I should always be afraid lest they should carry the same commercial spirit into their dealings with their fellow-men, which would make a sad and sordid business of this life.<= o:p>
There is one more article, however, of happier
import. 'All these indulgence=
s,' it
appeared, 'are applicable to souls in purgatory.' For God's sake, ye ladies=
of
Creil, apply them all to the souls in purgatory without delay! Burns would take no hire for his l=
ast songs,
preferring to serve his country out of unmixed love. Suppose you were to
imitate the exciseman, mesdames, and even if the souls in purgatory were not
greatly bettered, some souls in Creil upon the Oise would find themselves n=
one
the worse either here or hereafter.
I cannot help wondering, as I transcribe these
notes, whether a Protestant born and bred is in a fit state to understand t=
hese
signs, and do them what justice they deserve; and I cannot help answering t=
hat
he is not. They cannot look so
merely ugly and mean to the faithful as they do to me. I see that as clearly as a proposi=
tion
in Euclid. For these believer=
s are
neither weak nor wicked. They=
can
put up their tablet commanding Saint Joseph for his despatch, as if he were
still a village carpenter; they can 'recite the required dizaine,' and
metaphorically pocket the indulgence, as if they had done a job for Heaven;=
and
then they can go out and look down unabashed upon this wonderful river flow=
ing by,
and up without confusion at the pin-point stars, which are themselves great
worlds full of flowing rivers greater than the Oise. I see it as plainly, I say, as a
proposition in Euclid, that my Protestant mind has missed the point, and th=
at
there goes with these deformities some higher and more religious spirit tha=
n I dream.
I wonder if other people would make the same
allowances for me! Like the ladies of Creil, having recited my rosary of
toleration, I look for my indulgence on the spot.
We made Precy about sundown. The plain is rich with tufts of po=
plar. In a wide, luminous curve, the Ois=
e lay
under the hillside. A faint m=
ist
began to rise and confound the different distances together. There was not a sound audible but =
that
of the sheep-bells in some meadows by the river, and the creaking of a cart
down the long road that descends the hill.=
The villas in their gardens, the shops along the street, all seemed =
to
have been deserted the day before; and I felt inclined to walk discreetly a=
s one
feels in a silent forest. All=
of a
sudden, we came round a corner, and there, in a little green round the chur=
ch,
was a bevy of girls in Parisian costumes playing croquet. Their laughter, and the hollow sou=
nd of
ball and mallet, made a cheery stir in the neighbourhood; and the look of t=
hese
slim figures, all corseted and ribboned, produced an answerable disturbance=
in
our hearts. We were within sn=
iff of
Paris, it seemed. And here we=
re
females of our own species playing croquet, just as if Precy had been a pla=
ce in
real life, instead of a stage in the fairyland of travel. For, to be frank, the peasant woma=
n is
scarcely to be counted as a woman at all, and after having passed by such a
succession of people in petticoats digging and hoeing and making dinner, th=
is
company of coquettes under arms made quite a surprising feature in the land=
scape,
and convinced us at once of being fallible males.
The inn at Precy is the worst inn in France. Not even in Scotland have I found =
worse
fare. It was kept by a brothe=
r and
sister, neither of whom was out of their teens. The sister, so to speak, prepared =
a meal
for us; and the brother, who had been tippling, came in and brought with hi=
m a
tipsy butcher, to entertain us as we ate.&=
nbsp;
We found pieces of loo-warm pork among the salad, and pieces of unkn=
own
yielding substance in the ragout.
The butcher entertained us with pictures of Parisian life, with whic=
h he
professed himself well acquainted; the brother sitting the while on the edg=
e of
the billiard-table, toppling precariously, and sucking the stump of a
cigar. In the midst of these
diversions, bang went a drum past the house, and a hoarse voice began issui=
ng a
proclamation. It was a man wi=
th
marionnettes announcing a performance for that evening.
He had set up his caravan and lighted his cand=
les
on another part of the girls' croquet-green, under one of those open sheds
which are so common in France to shelter markets; and he and his wife, by t=
he
time we strolled up there, were trying to keep order with the audience.
It was the most absurd contention. The show-people had set out a cert=
ain
number of benches; and all who sat upon them were to pay a couple of sous f=
or
the accommodation. They were =
always
quite full- -a bumper house--as long as nothing was going forward; but let =
the show-woman
appear with an eye to a collection, and at the first rattle of her tambouri=
ne
the audience slipped off the seats, and stood round on the outside with the=
ir
hands in their pockets. It ce=
rtainly
would have tried an angel's temper.
The showman roared from the proscenium; he had been all over France,=
and
nowhere, nowhere, 'not even on the borders of Germany,' had he met with suc=
h misconduct. Such thieves and rogues and rascal=
s, as
he called them! And every now=
and
again, the wife issued on another round, and added her shrill quota to the
tirade. I remarked here, as e=
lsewhere,
how far more copious is the female mind in the material of insult. The audience laughed in high good-=
humour
over the man's declamations; but they bridled and cried aloud under the wom=
an's
pungent sallies. She picked o=
ut the
sore points. She had the hono=
ur of
the village at her mercy. Voi=
ces
answered her angrily out of the crowd, and received a smarting retort for t=
heir
trouble. A couple of old ladies beside me, who had duly paid for their seat=
s,
waxed very red and indignant, and discoursed to each other audibly about the
impudence of these mountebanks; but as soon as the show-woman caught a whis=
per
of this, she was down upon them with a swoop: if mesdames could persuade their
neighbours to act with common honesty, the mountebanks, she assured them, w=
ould
be polite enough: mesdames had
probably had their bowl of soup, and perhaps a glass of wine that evening; =
the
mountebanks also had a taste for soup, and did not choose to have their lit=
tle
earnings stolen from them before their eyes. Once, things came as far as a brief
personal encounter between the showman and some lads, in which the former w=
ent
down as readily as one of his own marionnettes to a peal of jeering laughte=
r.
I was a good deal astonished at this scene,
because I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of French strollers, more=
or
less artistic; and have always found them singularly pleasing. Any stroller must be dear to the
right-thinking heart; if it were only as a living protest against offices a=
nd
the mercantile spirit, and as something to remind us that life is not by
necessity the kind of thing we generally make it. Even a German band, if you see it =
leaving
town in the early morning for a campaign in country places, among trees and
meadows, has a romantic flavour for the imagination. There is nobody, under thirty, so =
dead
but his heart will stir a little at sight of a gypsies' camp. 'We are not cotton-spinners all'; =
or, at
least, not all through. There=
is
some life in humanity yet: and
youth will now and again find a brave word to say in dispraise of riches, a=
nd
throw up a situation to go strolling with a knapsack.
An Englishman has always special facilities for
intercourse with French gymnasts; for England is the natural home of
gymnasts. This or that fellow=
, in
his tights and spangles, is sure to know a word or two of English, to have
drunk English aff-'n-aff, and perhaps performed in an English music-hall. He is a countryman of mine by prof=
ession. He leaps, like the Belgian boating=
men,
to the notion that I must be an athlete myself.
But the gymnast is not my favourite; he has li=
ttle
or no tincture of the artist in his composition; his soul is small and
pedestrian, for the most part, since his profession makes no call upon it, =
and does
not accustom him to high ideas. But
if a man is only so much of an actor that he can stumble through a farce, h=
e is
made free of a new order of thoughts.
He has something else to think about beside the money-box. He has a pride of his own, and, wh=
at is
of far more importance, he has an aim before him that he can never quite
attain. He has gone upon a
pilgrimage that will last him his life long, because there is no end to it
short of perfection. He will =
better
upon himself a little day by day; or even if he has given up the attempt, he
will always remember that once upon a time he had conceived this high ideal,
that once upon a time he had fallen in love with a star. ''Tis better to have loved and los=
t.' Although
the moon should have nothing to say to Endymion, although he should settle =
down
with Audrey and feed pigs, do you not think he would move with a better gra=
ce,
and cherish higher thoughts to the end?&nb=
sp;
The louts he meets at church never had a fancy above Audrey's snood;=
but
there is a reminiscence in Endymion's heart that, like a spice, keeps it fr=
esh
and haughty.
To be even one of the outskirters of art, leav=
es a
fine stamp on a man's countenance.
I remember once dining with a party in the inn at Chateau Landon.
A troop of strollers once came to the inn wher=
e I
was staying, in the department of Seine et Marne. There was a father and mother; two
daughters, brazen, blowsy hussies, who sang and acted, without an idea of h=
ow
to set about either; and a dark young man, like a tutor, a recalcitrant
house-painter, who sang and acted not amiss. The mother was the genius of t=
he
party, so far as genius can be spoken of with regard to such a pack of
incompetent humbugs; and her husband could not find words to express his
admiration for her comic countryman.
'You should see my old woman,' said he, and nodded his beery
countenance. One night they
performed in the stable-yard, with flaring lamps--a wretched exhibition, co=
ldly
looked upon by a village audience.
Next night, as soon as the lamps were lighted, there came a plump of
rain, and they had to sweep away their baggage as fast as possible, and make
off to the barn where they harboured, cold, wet, and supperless. In the morning, a dear friend of m=
ine,
who has as warm a heart for strollers as I have myself, made a little
collection, and sent it by my hands to comfort them for their
disappointment. I gave it to =
the
father; he thanked me cordially, and we drank a cup together in the kitchen,
talking of roads, and audiences, and hard times.
When I was going, up got my old stroller, and =
off
with his hat. 'I am afraid,' =
said
he, 'that Monsieur will think me altogether a beggar; but I have another de=
mand
to make upon him.' I began to=
hate
him on the spot. 'We play aga=
in
to-night,' he went on. 'Of co=
urse,
I shall refuse to accept any more money from Monsieur and his friends, who =
have
been already so liberal. But =
our
programme of to-night is something truly creditable; and I cling to the ide=
a that
Monsieur will honour us with his presence.' And then, with a shrug and a smile=
: 'Monsieur understands--the vanity =
of an artist!' Save the mark! The vanity of an artist! That is the kind of thing that
reconciles me to life: a ragg=
ed,
tippling, incompetent old rogue, with the manners of a gentleman, and the v=
anity
of an artist, to keep up his self-respect!
But the man after my own heart is M. de
Vauversin. It is nearly two y=
ears
since I saw him first, and indeed I hope I may see him often again. Here is his first programme, as I =
found
it on the breakfast-table, and have kept it ever since as a relic of bright=
days:
=
'Mesdames
et Messieurs,
'Mademoiselle Ferrario et M. de Vauversin auro=
nt
l'honneur de chanter ce soir les morceaux suivants.
'Madermoiselle Ferrario chantera--Mignon--Oise=
aux
Legers--France-- Des Francais dorment la--Le chateau bleu--Ou voulez-vous
aller?
'M. de Vauversin--Madame Fontaine et M.
Robinet--Les plongeurs a cheval--Le Mari mecontent--Tais-toi, gamin--Mon vo=
isin
l'original-- Heureux comme ca--Comme on est trompe.'
=
They
made a stage at one end of the salle-a-manger. And what a sight it was to see M. =
de
Vauversin, with a cigarette in his mouth, twanging a guitar, and following
Mademoiselle Ferrario's eyes with the obedient, kindly look of a dog! The entertainment wound up with a
tombola, or auction of lottery tickets:&nb=
sp;
an admirable amusement, with all the excitement of gambling, and no =
hope
of gain to make you ashamed of your eagerness; for there, all is loss; you =
make
haste to be out of pocket; it is a competition who shall lose most money for
the benefit of M. de Vauversin and Mademoiselle Ferrario.
M. de Vauversin is a small man, with a great h=
ead
of black hair, a vivacious and engaging air, and a smile that would be
delightful if he had better teeth.
He was once an actor in the Chatelet; but he contracted a nervous
affection from the heat and glare of the footlights, which unfitted him for=
the
stage. At this crisis Mademoi=
selle
Ferrario, otherwise Mademoiselle Rita of the Alcazar, agreed to share his
wandering fortunes. 'I could =
never
forget the generosity of that lady,' said he. He wears trousers so tight that it=
has
long been a problem to all who knew him how he manages to get in and out of
them. He sketches a little in
water-colours; he writes verses; he is the most patient of fishermen, and s=
pent
long days at the bottom of the inn-garden fruitlessly dabbling a line in the
clear river.
You should hear him recounting his experiences
over a bottle of wine; such a pleasant vein of talk as he has, with a ready
smile at his own mishaps, and every now and then a sudden gravity, like a m=
an
who should hear the surf roar while he was telling the perils of the deep.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> For it was no longer ago than last
night, perhaps, that the receipts only amounted to a franc and a half, to c=
over
three francs of railway fare and two of board and lodging. The Maire, a man worth a million of
money, sat in the front seat, repeatedly applauding Mlle. Ferrario, and yet
gave no more than three sous the whole evening. Local authorities look with such a=
n evil
eye upon the strolling artist.
Alas! I know it well, who have been myself taken for one, and pitile=
ssly
incarcerated on the strength of the misapprehension. Once, M. de Vauversin visited a co=
mmissary
of police for permission to sing.
The commissary, who was smoking at his ease, politely doffed his hat
upon the singer's entrance. '=
Mr.
Commissary,' he began, 'I am an artist.'&n=
bsp;
And on went the commissary's hat again. No courtesy for the companions of =
Apollo! 'They are as degraded as that,' sa=
id M.
de Vauversin with a sweep of his cigarette.
But what pleased me most was one outbreak of h=
is,
when we had been talking all the evening of the rubs, indignities, and
pinchings of his wandering life.
Some one said, it would be better to have a million of money down, a=
nd
Mlle. Ferrario admitted that she would prefer that mightily. 'Eh bien, moi non;--not I,' cried =
De Vauversin,
striking the table with his hand.
'If any one is a failure in the world, is it not I? I had an art, in which I have done
things well--as well as some--better perhaps than others; and now it is clo=
sed
against me. I must go about t=
he
country gathering coppers and singing nonsense. Do you think I regret my life? Do you think I would rather be a f=
at
burgess, like a calf? Not I!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I have had moments when I have been
applauded on the boards: I th=
ink nothing
of that; but I have known in my own mind sometimes, when I had not a clap f=
rom
the whole house, that I had found a true intonation, or an exact and speaki=
ng
gesture; and then, messieurs, I have known what pleasure was, what it was t=
o do
a thing well, what it was to be an artist.=
And to know what art is, is to have an interest for ever, such as no
burgess can find in his petty concerns.&nb=
sp;
Tenez, messieurs, je vais vous le dire--it is like a religion.'
Such, making some allowance for the tricks of
memory and the inaccuracies of translation, was the profession of faith of =
M.
de Vauversin. I have given hi=
m his
own name, lest any other wanderer should come across him, with his guitar a=
nd
cigarette, and Mademoiselle Ferrario; for should not all the world delight =
to honour
this unfortunate and loyal follower of the Muses? May Apollo send him rimes hitherto
undreamed of; may the river be no longer scanty of her silver fishes to his
lure; may the cold not pinch him on long winter rides, nor the village
jack-in-office affront him with unseemly manners; and may he never miss Mad=
emoiselle
Ferrario from his side, to follow with his dutiful eyes and accompany on the
guitar!
The marionnettes made a very dismal
entertainment. They performed=
a
piece, called Pyramus and Thisbe, in five mortal acts, and all written in
Alexandrines fully as long as the performers. One marionnette was the king; anot=
her
the wicked counsellor; a third, credited with exceptional beauty, represent=
ed
Thisbe; and then there were guards, and obdurate fathers, and walking
gentlemen. Nothing particular took place during the two or three acts that =
I sat
out; but you will he pleased to learn that the unities were properly respec=
ted,
and the whole piece, with one exception, moved in harmony with classical
rules. That exception was the=
comic
countryman, a lean marionnette in wooden shoes, who spoke in prose and in a
broad patois much appreciated by the audience. He took unconstitutional liberties=
with
the person of his sovereign; kicked his fellow-marionnettes in the mouth wi=
th
his wooden shoes, and whenever none of the versifying suitors were about, m=
ade
love to Thisbe on his own account in comic prose.
This fellow's evolutions, and the little prolo=
gue,
in which the showman made a humorous eulogium of his troop, praising their =
indifference
to applause and hisses, and their single devotion to their art, were the on=
ly
circumstances in the whole affair that you could fancy would so much as rai=
se a
smile. But the villagers of P=
recy
seemed delighted. Indeed, so =
long
as a thing is an exhibition, and you pay to see it, it is nearly certain to
amuse. If we were charged so much a head for sunsets, or if God sent round a
drum before the hawthorns came in flower, what a work should we not make ab=
out
their beauty! But these thing=
s,
like good companions, stupid people early cease to observe: and the Abstract Bagman tittups pa=
st in
his spring gig, and is positively not aware of the flowers along the lane, =
or
the scenery of the weather overhead.
Of the next two days' sail little remains in my
mind, and nothing whatever in my note-book. The river streamed on steadily thr=
ough pleasant
river-side landscapes. Washer=
women
in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified the green banks; and =
the relation
of the two colours was like that of the flower and the leaf in the
forget-me-not. A symphony in
forget-me-not; I think Theophile Gautier might thus have characterised that=
two
days' panorama. The sky was b=
lue
and cloudless; and the sliding surface of the river held up, in smooth plac=
es,
a mirror to the heaven and the shores.&nbs=
p;
The washerwomen hailed us laughingly; and the noise of trees and wat=
er
made an accompaniment to our dozing thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream=
.
The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of=
the
river, held the mind in chain. It
seemed now so sure of its end, so strong and easy in its gait, like a grown=
man
full of determination. The su=
rf was
roaring for it on the sands of Havre.
For my own part, slipping along this moving
thoroughfare in my fiddle-case of a canoe, I also was beginning to grow awe=
ary
for my ocean. To the civilise=
d man,
there must come, sooner or later, a desire for civilisation. I was weary of dipping the paddle;=
I was
weary of living on the skirts of life; I wished to be in the thick of it on=
ce
more; I wished to get to work; I wished to meet people who understood my own
speech, and could meet with me on equal terms, as a man, and no longer as a
curiosity.
And so a letter at Pontoise decided us, and we
drew up our keels for the last time out of that river of Oise that had
faithfully piloted them, through rain and sunshine, for so long. For so many miles had this fleet a=
nd
footless beast of burthen charioted our fortunes, that we turned our back u=
pon
it with a sense of separation. We
had made a long detour out of the world, but now we were back in the famili=
ar
places, where life itself makes all the running, and we are carried to meet
adventure without a stroke of the paddle.&=
nbsp;
Now we were to return, like the voyager in the play, and see what
rearrangements fortune had perfected the while in our surroundings; what
surprises stood ready made for us at home; and whither and how far the world
had voyaged in our absence. Y=
ou may
paddle all day long; but it is when you come back at nightfall, and look in=
at
the familiar room, that you find Love or Death awaiting you beside the stov=
e;
and the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek.