Part 6

Our adventurers did not see things in this light. The division of employments, which produces prices so cheap and good, makes bad travellers. Our boats’ cargo embarked with fear and trembling, and “she has but one boiler!” passed from mouth to mouth, amid ominous faces. A bachelor-looking personage of about fifty, with his person well swaddled in July, declared in a loud voice that we were “all going on board, to be drowned.” This startled A——, who, having full faith in my nautical experience, asked what we were to think of it. It was a mere question between ten hours and fifteen, and so I told her. The females who had just before been trembling with alarm, brightened at this, and two or three of them civilly thanked me, for the information they had thus obtained incidentally!—“Boat, sir; boat?”—“Thank ’ee, sir; thank ’ee, sir.”

We found two or three parties on board, of a higher condition than common. Apprehension cast a shade over the cold marble-like polish of even the English aristocrat; for if, as Mrs. Opie has well observed, there is nothing “so like a lord in a passion, as a commoner in a passion;” “your fear” is also a sad leveller. The boat was soon under way, and gradually our cargo of mental apprehensions settled into the usual dolorous physical suffering of landsmen, in rough water. So much for excessive civilization. The want of a boiler, under similar circumstances, would have excited no feeling whatever, among a similar number of Americans, nineteen in twenty of whom, thanks to their rough-and-tumble habits, would know exactly what to think of it.

I was seated, during a part of the day, near a group of young men, who were conversing with a lady of some three or four and twenty. They expressed their surprise at meeting her on board. She told them it was a sudden whim; that no one knew of her movements; she meant only to be gone a fortnight, to take a run into Normandy. In the course of the conversation, I learned that she was single, and had a maid and a footman with her. In this guise she might go where she pleased, whereas, had she taken “an escort,” in the American fashion, her character would have suffered. This usage, however, is English, rather than European. Single women on the continent, except in extraordinary cases, are obliged to maintain far greater reserve even than with us; and there, single or married, they cannot travel under the protection of any man, who is not very nearly connected with them, domestics and dependants excepted.

The debates about proceeding at all, had detained us so long, and the “one boiler” proved to be so powerless, that night set in, and we had not yet made the coast of France. The breeze had been fresh, but it lulled towards sunset, though not before we began to feel the influence of the tides. About midnight, however, I heard some one exclaim, “Land!” and we all hastened on deck, to take a first look at France.

The boat was running along beneath some cliffs. The moon was shining bright, and her rays lighted up the chalky sides of the high coast, giving them a ghostly hue. The towers of two light-houses, also, glittered on a head-land near by. Presently, a long sea-wall became visible, and rounding its end, we shot into smooth water. We entered the little port of Havre, between artificial works, on one of which stands a low, massive, circular tower, that tradition attributes to no less a personage than Julius Cæsar.

What a change, in so short a time! On the other side of the channel, beyond the usual demands for employment, which were made in a modest way, and the eternal “Thank ’ee, sir,” there was a quiet in the people, that was not entirely free from a suspicion of surliness. Here, every man seemed to have two voices, both of which he used, as if with no other desire than to hear himself speak. Notwithstanding the hour, which was past midnight, the quay was well lined, and a dozen officials poured on board the boat to prevent our landing. Custom-house officers, _gens-d’armes_, with enormous hats, and female _commissionaires_, were counteracting each other, at every turn. At length we were permitted to land, being ordered up to a building, near by. Here the females were taken into a separate room, where their persons were examined, by functionaries of their own sex, for contraband goods! This process has been described to me, as being, to the last degree, offensive and humiliating. My own person was respected, I know not why, for we were herded like sheep. As we were without spot, at least so far as smuggling was concerned, we were soon liberated. All our effects were left in the office, and we were turned into the streets, without even a rag, but what we had on. This was an inauspicious commencement, for a country so polished, and yet, when one comes to look at the causes, it is not easy to point out an alternative. It was our own fault that we came so late.

The streets were empty, and the tall gray houses, narrow avenues, and the unaccustomed objects, presented a strange spectacle, by the placid light of the moon. It appeared as if we had alighted in a different planet. Though fatigued and sleepy, the whole party would involuntarily stop to admire some novelty, and our march was straggling and irregular. One house refused us after another, and it soon became seriously a question whether the night was not to be passed in the open air. P—— was less than three years old, and as we had a regular gradation from that age upward, our _début_ in France promised to be any thing but agreeable. The guide said his resources were exhausted, and hinted at the impossibility of getting in. Nothing, but the inns, was open, and at all these we were refused. At length I remembered that, in poring over an English guide-book, purchased in New York, a certain _Hotel de l’Angleterre_ had been recommended as the best house in Havre. “_Savez-vous mon ami, ou est l’hôtel de l’Angleterre?_” “_Ma fois, oui; c’est tout près._” This “_ma fois, oui_,” was ominous, and the “_c’est tout pres_,” was more so still. Thither we went, however, and we were received.—Then commenced the process of climbing. We ascended several stories, by a narrow crooked stair-case, and were shown into rooms on the fifth floor.

The floors were of waxed tiles, without carpets or mats, and the furniture was tawdry. We got into our beds, which fatigue could scarcely render it possible to endure, on account of the bugs. A more infernal night I never passed, and I have often thought since, how hazardous it is to trust to first impressions. This night, and one or two more passed at Havre, and one other passed between Rouen and Paris, were among the most uncomfortable I can remember; and yet if I were to name a country in which one would be the most certain to get a good and a clean bed, I think I should name France!

The next morning I arose, and went down the ladder, for it was little better, to the lower world. The servant wished to know if we intended to use the _table d’hôte_, which he pronounced excellent. Curiosity induced me to look at the appliances. It was a dark, dirty and crowded room, and yet not without certain savory smells. French cookery can even get the better of French dirt. It was the only place about the house, the kitchen excepted, where a tolerable smell was to be found, and I mounted to the upper regions, in self-defence.

An hour of two afterwards, the consul did me the favour to call. I apologized for the necessity of causing him to clamber up so high. “It is not a misfortune here,” was the answer, “for the higher one is, the purer is the atmosphere,” and he was right enough. It was not necessary to explain that we were in an inferior house, and certainly every thing was extremely novel. At breakfast, however, there was a sensible improvement. The linen was white as snow; we were served with silver forks—it was a breakfast _à la fourchette_—spotlessly clean napkins, excellent rolls, and delicious butter, to say nothing of _côtelettes_ that appeared to have been cooked by magic. Your aunt and myself looked at each other with ludicrous satisfaction when we came to taste the coffee, which happened to be precisely at the same instant. It was the first time either of us had ever tasted French coffee—it would scarcely be exaggeration to say, that either of us had ever tasted coffee, at all. I have had many French cooks since; have lived years in the capital of France itself, but I could never yet obtain a servant who understood the secret of making _café au lait_, as it is made in most of the inns and _cafés_, of that country. The discrepancy between the excellence of the table, and the abominations of the place, struck them all, so forcibly, that the rest of the party did little else but talk about it. As for myself, I wished to do nothing but eat.

I had now another specimen of national manners. It was necessary to get our luggage through the custom house. The consul recommended a _commissionaire_ to help me. “You are not to be surprised,” he said, laughing, as he went away, “if I send you one in petticoats.” In a few minutes, sure enough, one of the _beau sexe_ presented herself. Her name was _Désirée_, and an abler negotiator was never employed. She scolded, coaxed, advised, wrangled, and uniformly triumphed. The officers were more civil, by day-light, than we had found them under the influence of the moon, and our business was soon effected.

W—— had brought with him a spy-glass. It was old and of little value, but it was an heir-loom of the family. It came from the Hall at C——n, and had become historical for its service in detecting deer, in the lake, during the early years of the settlement. This glass had disappeared. No inquiry could recover it. “Send for _Désirée_,” said the consul. _Désirée_ came, received her orders, and in half an hour the glass was restored. There was an oversight in not getting a passport, when we were about to quit Havre. The office hours were over, and the steam-boat could not wait. “Where is _Désirée_?” Désirée was made acquainted with the difficulty, and the passport was obtained. “_Désirée, ou est Désirée?_” cried some one in the crowd, that had assembled to see the Camilla start for England, the day after our arrival. “Here is an Englishman who is too late to get his passport _visèd_” said this person to Désirée, so near me that I heard it all, “the boat goes in ten minutes—what is to be done?” “_Ma foi_—it is too late!” “Try, _ma bonne_—it’s a pity he should lose his passage—_voici_.” The Englishman gave his fee. Désirée looked about her, and then taking the idler by the arm, she hurried him through the crowd, this way and that way, ending by putting him aboard without any passport at all. “It is too late to get one,” she said; “and they can but send you back.” He passed undetected. France has a plenty of these managing females, though Désirée is one of the cleverest of them all. I understood this woman had passed a year or two in England, expressly to fit herself for her present occupation, by learning the language.

While engaged in taking our passages on board the steam-boat for Rouen, some one called me by name, in English. The sound of the most familiar words, in one’s own language, soon get to be startling in a foreign country. I remember, on returning to England, after an absence of five years, that it was more than a week before I could persuade myself I was not addressed, whenever a passer by spoke suddenly. On the present occasion, I was called to by an old school-boy acquaintance, Mr. H——r, who was a consul in England, but who had taken a house on what is called the _Côte_, a hill-side, just above Ingouville, a village at no great distance from the town. We went out to his pretty little cottage, which enjoyed a charming view. Indeed I should particularize this spot, as the one which gave me the first idea of one species of distinctive European scenery. The houses cling to the declivity, rising above each other in a way that might literally enable one to toss a stone into his neighbour’s chimney-top. They are of stone, but being white-washed, and very numerous, they give the whole mountain-side the appearance of a pretty hamlet, scattered without order in the midst of gardens. Italy abounds with such little scenes; nor are they unfrequent in France, especially in the vicinity of towns, though whitened edifices are far from being the prevailing taste of that country.

That evening we had an infernal clamour of drums in the principal street, which happened to be our own. There might have been fifty, unaccompanied by any wind instrument. The French do not use the fife, and when one is treated to the drum, it is generally in large potions, and nothing but drum. This is a relick of barbarism, and is quite unworthy of a musical age. There is more or less of it, in all the garrisoned towns of Europe. You may imagine the satisfaction with which one listens to a hundred or two of these plaintive instruments, beat between houses six or eight stories high, in a narrow street, and with desperate perseverance! The object is to recall the troops to their quarters.

Havre, is a tide-harbour. In America, where there is, on an average, not more that five feet of rise and fall to the water of the sea, such a haven would, of course, be impracticable for large vessels. But the majority of the ports on the British channel, are of this character, and indeed, a large portion of the harbours of Great Britain. Calais, Boulogne, Havre and Dieppe, are all inaccessible at low water. The cliffs are broken by a large ravine, a creek makes up the gorge, or a small stream flows outward into the sea, a basin is excavated, the entrance is rendered safe by moles which project into deep water, and the town is crowded around this semi-artificial port, as well as circumstances will allow. Such is, more or less, the history of them all. Havre, however, is, in some measure, an exception. It stands on a plain, that I should think had once been a marsh. The cliffs are near it, seaward, and towards the interior there are fine receding hills, leaving a sufficient site, notwithstanding, for a town of large dimensions.

The port of Havre has been much improved of late years. Large basins have been excavated, and formed into regular wet-docks. They are nearly in the centre of the town. The mole stretches out several hundred yards, on that side of the entrance of the port which is next the sea. Here signals are regularly made to acquaint vessels in the offing with the precise number of feet that can be brought into the port. These signals are changed at the rise or fall of every foot, according to a graduated scale which is near the signal pole. At dead low water the entrance to the harbour, and the outer harbour itself, are merely beds of soft mud. Machines are kept constantly at work, to deepen them.

The ship from sea makes the lights, and judges of the state of the tide by the signals. She rounds the Mole-Head at the distance of fifty or sixty yards, and sails along a passage too narrow to admit another vessel, at the same moment, into the harbor. Here she finds from eighteen to twenty, or, even twenty-four feet of water, according to circumstances. She is hauled up to the gates of a dock, which are opened at high water only. As the water falls, one gate is shut, and the entrance to the dock becomes a lock: vessels can enter, therefore, as long as there remains sufficient water in the outer harbour for a ship to float. If caught outside, however, she must lie in the mud until the ensuing tide.

Havre is the sea-port of Paris, and is rapidly increasing in importance. There is a project for connecting the latter with the sea, by a ship-channel. Such a project is hardly suited to the French impulses, which imagine a thousand grand projects, but hardly ever convert any of them to much practical good. The opinions of the people are formed on habits of great saving, and it requires older calculations, greater familiarity with risks, and more liberal notions of industry, and, possibly, more capital than is commonly found in their enterprises, to induce the people to encounter the extra charges of these improvements, when they can have recourse to what, in their eyes, are simpler and safer means of making money. The government employs men of science, who conceive well; but their conceptions are but indifferently sustained by the average practical intellect of the country. In this particular, France is the very converse of America.

The project of making a sea-port of Paris, is founded on a principle that is radically wrong. It is easier to build a house on the sea-side, than to carry the sea into the interior. But the political economy of France, like that of nearly all the continental nations, is based on a false principle, that of forcing improvements. The intellects of the mass should first be acted on, and when the public mind is sufficiently improved to benefit by innovations, the public sentiment might be trusted to decide the questions of locality and usefulness. The French system looks to a concentration of every thing in Paris. The political organization of the country favours such a scheme, and in a project of this sort, the interests of all the northern and western departments would be sacrificed to the interests of Paris. As for the departments east and south of Paris, they would in no degree be benefited by making a port of Paris, as goods would still have to be transhipped to reach them. A system of canals and rail-roads is much wanted in France, and most of all a system of general instruction, to prepare the minds of the operatives to profit by such advantages. When I say that we are behind our facts in America, I do not mean in a physical, but in a moral, sense. All that is visible and tangible is led by opinion; in all that is purely moral, the facts precede the notions of the people.

I found, at a later day, many droll theories broached in France, more especially in the Chamber of Deputies, on the subject of our own great success in the useful enterprises. As is usual, in such cases, any reason but the true one was given. At the period of our arrival in Europe, the plan of connecting the great lakes with the Atlantic had just been completed, and the vast results were beginning to attract attention in Europe. At first, it was thought, as a matter of course, that engineers from the old world had been employed. This was disproved, and it was shown that they who laid out the work, however skilful they may have since become by practice, were at first little more than common American surveyors. Then the trifling cost was a stumbling-block, for labour was known to be far better paid in America than in Europe; and lastly, the results created astonishment. Several deputies affirmed that the cause of the great success, was owing to the fact, that in America, we trusted such things to private competition, whereas, in France, the government meddled with every thing. But it was the state governments, (which indeed alone possess the necessary means and authority) that had caused most of the American canals to be constructed. These political economists knew too little of other systems to apply a clever saying of their own—_il y a de la Rochefoucald, et de la Rouchefoucald_. All governments do not wither what they touch.

Some Americans have introduced steam-boats on the rivers of France, and on the lakes of Switzerland and Italy. We embarked in one, after passing two delectable nights at the _Hotel de l’Angleterre_. The boat was a frail-looking thing, and so loaded with passengers that it appeared actually to stagger under its freight. The Seine has a wide mouth, and a long ground-swell was setting in from the channel. Our Parisian cockneys, of whom there were several on board, stood aghast. _Nous voici en pleine mer!_ one muttered to the other, and the annals of that eventful voyage are still related, I make no question, to admiring auditors in the interior of France. The French make excellent seamen when properly trained; but, I think, on the whole, they are more thoroughly landsmen than any people of my acquaintance, who possess a coast. There has been too much sympathy with the army to permit the mariners to receive a proper share of the public favour.

The boat shaped her course diagonally across the broad current, directly for Honfleur. Here we first began to get an idea of the true points of difference between our own scenery and that of the continent of Europe, and chiefly of that of France. The general characteristics of England are not essentially different from those of America, after allowing for a much higher finish in the former, substituting hedges for fences, and stripping the earth of its forests. These, you may think, are, in themselves, grand points of difference, but they fall far short of those which render the continent of Europe altogether of a different nature. Of forest, there is vastly more in France than in England. But, with few exceptions, the fields are not separated by enclosures. The houses are of stone, or of wood, rough-cast. Honfleur, as we approached, had a gray distinctness that is difficult to describe. The atmosphere seemed visible, around the angles of the buildings, as in certain Flemish pictures, bringing out the fine old sombre piles from the depth of the view, in a way to leave little concealed, while nothing was meretricious or gaudy. At first, though we found these hues imposing, and even beautiful, we thought the view would have been gayer and more agreeable, had the tints been livelier; but a little use taught us that our tastes had been corrupted. On our return home every structure appeared flaring and tawdry. Even those of stone had a recent and mushroom air, besides being in colours equally ill-suited to architecture or a landscape. The only thing of the sort in America which appeared venerable and of a suitable hue, after an absence of eight years, was our own family abode, and this the despoiler, paint, had not defiled for near forty years.