Part 11 (2/2)
There is a great deal of magnificence at Lyons, in the way of quays, promenades, and buildings; but its excessive filthiness spoils everything. One could scarce admire a Venus in such an atmosphere; and you cannot find room to stand in Lyons where you have not some nauseating odor. I was glad to escape from the lower streets, and climb up the long staircases to the observatory that overhangs the town. From the base of this elevation the descent of the river is almost a precipice. The houses hang on the side of the steep hill, and their doors enter from the long alleys of stone staircases by which you ascend. On every step, and at almost every foot of the way, stood a beggar. They might have touched hands from the quay to the summit.
If they were not such objects of real wretchedness, it would be laughable to hear the church calendar of saints repeated so volubly.
The lame hobble after you, the blind stumble in your way, the sick lie and stretch out their hands from the wall, and all begin in the name of the Virgin Mary, and end with ”_Mon bon Monsieur_,” and ”_un pet.i.t sous_.” I confined my charities to a lovely child, that started out from its mother's lap, and ran down to meet us--a dirty and ragged little thing, but with the large dark eyes of the province; and a skin, where one could see it, of the clearest nut-brown teint. Her mother had five such, and each of them, to any one who loved children, would have been a treasure of beauty and interest.
It was holy-week, and the church of _Notre Dame de Fourvieres_, which stands on the summit of the hill, was crowded with people. We went in for a moment, and sat down on a bench to rest. My companion was a Swiss captain of artillery, who was a pa.s.senger in the boat, a very splendid fellow, with a mustache that he might have tied behind his ears. He had addressed me at the hotel, and proposed that we should visit the curiosities of the town together. He was a model of a manly figure, athletic, and soldier-like, and standing near him was to get the focus of all the dark eyes in the congregation.
The new square tower stands at the side of the church, and rises to the height of perhaps sixty feet. The view from it is said to be one of the finest in the world. I have seen more extensive ones, but never one that comprehended more beauty and interest. Lyons lies at the foot, with the Saone winding through its bosom in abrupt curves; the Rhone comes down from the north on the other side of the range of mountains, and meeting the Saone in a broad stream below the town, they stretch off to the south, through a diversified landscape; the Alps rise from the east like the edges of a thunder-cloud, and the mountains of Savoy fill up the interval to the Rhone. All about the foot of the monument lie gardens, of exquisite cultivation; and above and below the city the villas of the rich; giving you altogether as delicious a nucleus for a broad circle of scenery as art and nature could create, and one sufficiently in contrast with the barrenness of the rocky circ.u.mference to enhance the charm, and content you with your position. Half way down the hill lies an old monastery, with a lovely garden walled in from the world; and several of the brotherhood were there, idling up and down the shaded alleys, with their black dresses sweeping the ground, possibly in holy contemplation. The river was covered with boats, the bells were ringing to church, the glorious old cathedral, so famous for its splendor, stood piled up, with its arches and gray towers, in the square below; the day was soft, sunny, and warm, and existence was a blessing. I leaned over the bal.u.s.trade, I know not how long, looking down upon the scene about me; and I shall ever remember it as one of those few unalloyed moments, when the press of care was taken off my mind, and the chain of circ.u.mstances was strong enough to set aside both the past and the future, and leave me to the quiet enjoyment of the present. I have found such hours ”few and far between.”
LETTER XXIV.
DEPARTURE FROM LYONS--BATTEAUX DE POSTE--RIVER SCENERY--VILLAGE OF CONDRIEU--VIENNE--VALENCE--POINT ST.
ESPRIT--DAUPHINY AND LANGUEDOC--DEMI-FETE DAY, ETC.
I found a day and a half quite enough for Lyons. The views from the mountain and the river were the only things that pleased me. I made the usual dry visit to the library and the museum, and admired the Hotel de Ville, and the new theatre, and the front of the _Maison de Tolosan_, that so struck the fancy of Joseph II., and having ”despatched the lions,” like a true c.o.c.kney traveller, I was too happy to escape the offensive smells of the streets, and get to my rooms.
One does not enjoy much comfort within doors either. Lyons is a great imitation metropolis--a sort of second-hand Paris. I am not very difficult to please, but I found the living intolerable. It was an affectation of abstruse cookery throughout. We sat down to what is called the best table in the place, and it was a series of ludicrous travesties, from the soup to the salad. One can eat well in the country, because the dishes are simple, and he gets the natural taste of things; but to come to a table covered with artificial dishes, which he has been accustomed to see in their perfection, and to taste and send away everything in disgust, is a trial of temper which is reserved for the traveller at Lyons.
The scenery on the river, from Lyons to Avignon, has great celebrity, and I had determined to take that course to the south. Just at this moment, however, the Rhone had been p.r.o.nounced too low, and the steamboats were stopped. I probably made the last pa.s.sage by steam on the Saone, for we ran aground repeatedly, and were compelled to wait till horses could be procured to draw the boat into deep water. It was quite amusing to see with what a regular, business-like air, the postillions fixed their traces to the prow, and whipped into the middle of the river. A small boat was my only resource, and I found a man on the quay who plied the river in what is called _batteaux de poste_, rough shallops with flat bottoms, which are sold for firewood on their arrival, the rapidity of the Rhone rendering a return against the current next to impossible. The sight of the frail contrivance in which I was to travel nearly two hundred miles, rather startled me, but the man a.s.sured me he had several other pa.s.sengers, and two ladies among them. I paid the _arrhes_, or earnest money, and was at the river-stairs punctually at four the next morning.
To my very sincere pleasure the two ladies were the daughters of my polite friend and fellow pa.s.senger from Chalons. They were already on board, and the little shallop sat deep in the water with her freight.
Besides these, there were two young French cha.s.seurs going home on leave of absence, a pretty Parisian dress-maker flying from the cholera, a masculine woman, the wife of a dragoon, and my friend the captain. We pushed out into the current, and drifted slowly down under the bridges, without oars the padrone quietly smoking his pipe at the helm. In a few minutes we were below the town, and here commenced again the cultivated and ornamented banks I had so much admired on my approach to Lyons from the other side. The thin haze was just stirring from the river's surface, the sunrise flush was on the sky, the air was genial and impregnated with the smell of gra.s.s and flowers, and the little changing landscapes, as we followed the stream, broke upon us like a series of exquisite dioramas. The atmosphere was like Doughty's pictures, exactly. I wished a thousand times for that delightful artist, that he might see how richly the old _chateaux_ and their picturesque appurtenances filled up the scene. It would have given a new turn to his pencil.
We soon arrived at the junction of the rivers, and, as we touched the rapid current of the Rhone, the little shallop yielded to its sway, and redoubled its velocity. The sun rose clear, the cultivation grew less and less, the hills began to look distant and barren, and our little party became sociable in proportion. We closed around the invalid, who sat wrapped in a cloak in the stern, leaning on her father's shoulder, and talked of Paris and its pleasures--a theme of which the French are never weary. Time pa.s.sed delightfully. Without being decidedly pretty, our two Parisiennes were quiet-mannered and engaging; and the younger one particularly, whose pale face and deeply-sunken eyes gave her a look of melancholy interest, seemed to have thought much, and to feel, besides, that her uncertain health gave her a privilege of overstepping the rigid reserve of an unmarried girl. She talks freely, and with great delicacy of expression and manner.
We ran ash.o.r.e at the little village of Condrieu to breakfast. We were a.s.sailed on stepping out of the boat by the _demoiselles_ of two or three rival _auberges_--nice-looking, black-eyed girls, in white ap.r.o.ns, who seized us by the arm, and pulled each to her own door, with torrents of unintelligible _patois_. We left it to the captain, who selected the best-looking leader, and we were soon seated around a table covered with a lavish breakfast; the b.u.t.ter, cheese, and wine excellent, at least. A merrier party, I am sure, never astonished the simple people of Condrieu. The pretty dress-maker was full of good-humor and politeness, and delighted at the envy with which the rural belles regarded her knowing Parisian cap; the cha.s.seurs sang the popular songs of the army, and joked with the maids of the _auberge_; the captain was inexhaustibly agreeable, and the hour given us by the padrone was soon gone. We embarked with a thousand adieus from the pleased people, and altogether it was more like a scene from Wilhelm Meister, than a pa.s.sage from real life.
The wind soon rose free and steady from the north-west, and with a spread sail we ran past _Vienne_, at ten miles in the hour. This was the metropolis of my old friends, ”the Allobrogues,” in Cesar's Commentaries. I could not help wondering at the feelings with which I was pa.s.sing over such cla.s.sic ground. The little dress-maker was giving us an account of her fright at the cholera, and every one in the boat was in agonies of laughter. I looked at the guide-book to find the name of the place, and the first glance at the word carried me back to my old school-desk at Andover, and conjured up for a moment the redolent cla.s.sic interest with which I read the history of the land I was now hurrying through. That a laugh with a modern _grisette_ should engross me entirely, at the moment I was traversing such a spot, is a possibility the man may realize much more readily than the school-boy. A new roar of merriment from my companions plucked me back effectually from Andover to the Rhone, and I thought no more of Gaul or its great historian.
We floated on during the day, pa.s.sing _chateaux_ and ruins constantly; but finding the country barren and rocky to a dismal degree, I can not well imagine how the Rhone has acquired its reputation for beauty. It has been sung by the poets more than any other river in France, and the various epithets that have been applied to it have become so common, that you can not mention it without their rising to your lips; but the Saone and the Seine are incomparably more lovely, and I am told the valleys of the Loire are the most beautiful part of France.
From its junction with the Saone to the Mediterranean, the Rhone is one stretch of barrenness.
We pa.s.sed a picturesque chateau, built very widely on a rock washed by the river, called ”_La Roche de Glun_,” and twilight soon after fell, closing in our view to all but the river edge. The wind died away, but the stars were bright and the air mild; and, quite fatigued to silence, our little party leaned on the sides of the boat, and waited till the current should float us down to our resting-place for the night. We reached _Valence_ at ten, and with a merry dinner and supper in one, which kept us up till after midnight, we got to our coa.r.s.e but clean beds, and slept soundly.
The following forenoon we ran under the _Pont St. Esprit_, an experiment the guide-book calls very dangerous. The Rhone is rapid and noisy here, and we shot under the arches of the fine old structure with great velocity; but the ”Rapids of the St. Lawrence” are pa.s.sed constantly without apprehension by travellers in America, and those of the Rhone are a mere millrace in comparison. We breakfasted just below, at a village where we could scarce understand a syllable, the _patois_ was so decided, and at sunset we were far down between the provinces of _Dauphiny_ and _Languedoc_, with the villages growing thicker and greener, and a high mountain within ten or fifteen miles, covered with snow nearly to the base. We stopped opposite the old castle of _Rochemeuse_ to pay the _droit_. It was a _demi-fete_ day, and the inhabitants of a village back from the river had come out to the green bank in their holyday costume for a revel. The bank swelled up from the stream to a pretty wood, and the green sward between was covered with these gay people, arrested in their amus.e.m.e.nts by our arrival. We jumped out for a moment, and I walked up the bank and endeavored to make the acquaintance of a strikingly handsome woman about thirty, but the _patois_ was quite too much. After several vain attempts to understand each other, she laughed and turned on her heel, and I followed the call of the padrone to the batteau. For five or six miles below, the river pa.s.sed through a kind of meadow, and an air more loaded with fragrance I never breathed. The sun was just down, and with the mildness of the air, and quiet glide of the boat on the water, it was quite enchanting. Conversation died away, and I went forward and lay down in the bow alone, with a fit of desperate musing.
It is as singular as it is certain, that the more one enjoys the loveliness of a foreign land, the more he feels how absolutely his heart is at home in his own country.
LETTER XXV.
INFLUENCE OF A BOATMAN--THE TOWN OF ARLES--ROMAN RUINS--THE CATHEDRAL--Ma.r.s.eILLES--THE Pa.s.s OF OLLIOULES--THE VINEYARDS--TOULON--ANTIBES--LAZARETTO--VILLA FRANCA, ETC.
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