His native town owes to him her theatre, her new streets, scientific foundations, donations to sapeur pompiers, the enlargement of its hospitals, and of the Jesuits’ College. Commiserating the indigent old age of such as had been born to better fortunes, he founded a house of refuge, and gifted it with a dotation of 900,000 francs. Forty persons past the age of sixty, of either sex, are received within, and not only provided for, but treated with respect and care, to which their earlier days have been accustomed.
He bestowed 650,000 francs on an establishment for the reception of the poor wanting work, to put a stop to mendicity and its consequences; and 400,000 more on an hospital for the insane.
His marble bust, executed during his life, was placed by the king of Sardinia’s order in the public library. He was at the same time created count, lieutenant-general, and grand cross of the military orders of St. Maurice and St. Lazare. He left one son; the fortune bequeathed to him was computed at 37,678,000 francs. De Boigne died June, 1830.
June 18th. Geneva, Hôtel du Secheron.
We took leave the evening of the 15th of the abbé, who departed for Aix, and the old officer who is gone to Geneva; and ourselves left very early the next morning, while the mist still hung heavily over the town and along the base of the Dent de Nivolet, at whose foot the road winds, and a great part of the road to Aix forms a wall of cliff like, as I said, a mighty fortification, with vineyards and châteaux in its shadow. The grande route, which is broad and handsome, is mostly shaded by old trees, walnut and sweet chestnut. When we arrived at Aix, which is the fashion and extolled by guide-books, I was disappointed, as the mountains had lost their boldness, and the lake was not visible; nor did I see anything remarkable, as we rode through it, but the magnificent trees of its promenades. It is famous for its warm sulphureous waters, and for the splendid remains of Roman baths; a temple of the Ionic order, thought to be dedicated to Diana; and a Doric arch, raised, according to its inscription, by Pompeius Campanus. At a short distance from Aix the country again becomes beautiful, and there is a grey ruined tower on the right hand perched high among the woods, and commanding a ravine and its narrow mountain stream. Some villagers ran out from their cottages to tell us that this was Grésy, and to hold our horses while we visited the cascade, which is near the road but not visible from it: with it is connected a melancholy story.
Queen Hortense, when sovereign of Holland, visited it in company of several of her ladies, among whom was one she particularly loved, the Baroness de Broc, a very young and beautiful woman. Too curious and too bold, her foot slipped as, placing it on the wet plank, she refused the hand of the guide, and she fell into the torrent below. Her scream of terror was the last sound from her lips her royal friend heard. At this spot are deep cavities hollowed by the waters in their violent fall. All endeavours to raise the poor victim proved vain for half an hour: life had long departed. A stone bearing the following inscription has been raised to record her death:—
“To the memory of the Baroness de Broc, aged twenty-five years, who perished before her friends’ eyes, June the 19th, 1813. Oh you who come to view these spots, and hang over their abysses, beware how you venture your lives. Think of those who love you!”
From Grésy to Rumilly the road continues interesting, though less so than that from the Échelles to Chambéry. Rumilly is a dirty town: we met at its entrance a postilion looking for prey, who conducted us to the hôtel de la Poste, which has just now no innkeeper; as he who kept it is ruined, and has lately run away; and the two servants left in charge, an elegant mannered young “chef” and a woman, have too much to do, therefore we got little attendance. The house will soon follow the master, for a beam in the room where we slept was so awfully cracked across its centre, that I commenced speculating on the weight it would bring down with it; and D—— consoled me by saying it would probably last till morning! Entering the town, we passed some traces of former fortifications, and an old convent, the only one in the town, stood (the servant said) just behind the tumbling house. So knowing the localities, I will tell you a part of their history. In 1630 Louis the Thirteenth’s forces had entered Savoy: Chambéry and Annecy opened their gates; Rumilly, more brave than strong, resisted: the French forces were commanded by the Marshal du Hallier. The troops forced their way, and not until the extermination of the town had been commanded, did the officer who gave the order recollect that there resided three young relatives of Du Hallier, the demoiselles de Pessieux de Salagine, one of whom was a Bernardine nun. He sent to warn them of their danger, inviting them to take refuge in the camp; but they replied, “they chose to share the fate of their fellow-citizens, and would not abandon them in their extremity.” At this time the principal inhabitants, who had hastily assembled, decided on deputing the nun, guarded by some of their own body, to their besiegers’ head-quarters. She was beautiful and young, as well as high-spirited and full of talent. Arrived at the camp, her loveliness, her eloquence, and firmness, aroused the officer’s pity: he retracted his sentence as the noble woman knelt before him, and she returned to her town to inform those who waited her in hope and fear, that it would be plundered for the space of one hour only, and that the soldiers were enjoined to respect the houses containing the three sisters, confided to the safeguard of French honour.
The demoiselles de Pessieux employed the time which was yet to intervene in assembling all the young of their own sex, and all portable property of value in their three several houses. The soldiery, accustomed to severe discipline, forbore to approach the privileged mansions containing the sisters, who were called in truth the guardian angels of their native place.
We slept in a thorough draught on account of the bad air, and rose long before sunrise to travel on; but to very little purpose, as no one followed our example. The garçon d’écurie after a long search was discovered under the manger, too sound asleep to be wakened by ordinary means. After an hour’s riding, when the heat was becoming painful, and the flies beginning their persecution, which both do before nine o’clock, we missed the second valise, which I had packed and D—— carried down, and both of us forgotten. We began by considering which of us was most in fault, then we decided the lazy people of the house were alone to blame, and then we wondered how we were to get it again; which was embarrassing, for we preferred losing its contents to travelling back; but not impossible, for there is an extraordinary honesty along the road, and nothing is stolen, though there is often neither gate to the yard nor fastening to the stable. As we arrived at the old castle with two grey towers, which, standing at the road side, is now converted into a post-house, we met a postilion who was going back for something forgotten by the diligence, and promised for two francs to bring it that night to Frangy, where we intended to sleep. Frangy is only three posts distant from Rumilly, yet, when we commenced descending the hill, which commands a beautiful wild view of mountains of all shapes and forms, with the town nestled beside the river in the Valley of the Usses, we were completely exhausted by the heat, which was intense. The steep, unshaded road seems unending, as it is cut in zigzags on the mountain side, and the shining steeple at the bottom appeared to grow more distant as we went on.