The conversation, to my happiness, ended; I paid my bill, which was moderate, took leave of my German host, and of his genteel interpreter, and with a well-satisfied appetite and dry clothes, I set out for Friburg.
After all, as I went along, I very frequently repented that I had not confided to my talkative friend, “the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” in order that he might either have put me in the way of procuring a passport, or at least have told me what the laws of the country really were with respect to travelling. My ignorance on the subject was most distressing, and occasioned me a great deal of unnecessary difficulty and fatigue.
About noon I discovered the high spire of the church of Friburg. It very much resembled that of Strasbourg, and although not on so grand a scale, it appeared more interesting, because I was no longer under the dangers that had made me insensible to such objects of grandeur, beauty, and veneration. I advanced towards the town, still preserving every precaution, and especially, painful as was the effort, doing my utmost to avoid the appearance of being lame.
Notwithstanding the success and encouragement I had met with on this side of the Rhine, the recollections of all I had endured on the other made me cautious of entering, or even approaching a great town; and yet I was obliged to walk directly, and in open day, towards Friburg, since, from the miserable state of my feet, a circuitous course was to me impossible.
I reconnoitred the place in every point of view, and at last, timidly and cautiously, I approached the western gate. Being very uncertain how to proceed, I did not think it prudent to enter, and the appearance of a huge grenadier at the gate, walking up and down at his post, made me turn short on my heel, and relinquish every idea of passing that way. I walked back nearly half a mile; and fortunately discovered a path leading round by the northern side of the wall, or rather ruins, as there are few vestiges of the former wall to be seen. Advancing, I suddenly came into an old square, where a small number of recruits were exercising, and in a few minutes I was on the outside of the eastern gate. I had still a sentinel and a guard-house to pass. However, I accomplished that without experiencing any difficulty; they supposed, no doubt, that I came out of the town. I felt now peculiarly happy, since I found that another great obstacle to me was surmounted. I now took my direction for Constance, a town of Suabia, seated on the lake of the same name. The little map I had gave only the names of the larger places, which perplexed me very much; and after leaving Friburg, Constance was the next town which appeared on the line that I wished to take. I found the road very mountainous and irregular. I met several waggons. As I got warm, my feet became more easy and supple, and I advanced apace. At about eight o’clock in the evening I discovered a mill on the roadside, and to my great joy a contiguous dwelling-house. I made out a sign also, projecting over the door—rapped, and received admittance. I made the people understand that I wanted a bed, and they bade me sit down. I thought this a good omen. I wished for something to eat very much, and they brought me a dish of boiled milk with bread broken into it, and seasoned highly with pepper. This they styled milk-soup, and it was all the house afforded.
Not having tasted anything since my English breakfast in the morning, about seven o’clock, I was not very nice. I was shown to bed, and was agreeably surprised; for it was a much better one than I had any reason to expect in such a place. In the morning I had some of the same kind of soup, and my bill, as it ought to be, was very reasonable. I was informed that Constance was nineteen leagues distant, and away I limped, although at first my feet were very sore and stiff. About six in the evening, the weather became very inclement; and, finding myself close to a small village, I purposed taking up my abode in it for the night.
I according went into a public-house, and was shown upstairs into the coffee-room: in these places the public sitting-room is generally on the first floor. There I found a number of people drinking, and a respectable-looking priest at their head. I made my entrée à la Française, as near as I was able, and asked, “If I could have a bed?” I could get no answer; but the landlady called aloud for her domestic, Peter, who, she said, was a Frenchman, to explain. He at length appeared; and asked, in very good French, “What I wished to have?” I asked if “I could be accommodated with a bed and something for supper?” He replied, “Certainly,” and added, “I shall take care that you are well attended upon.” This poor fellow was really very attentive and kind. I supped heartily on soup and bouilli, after which I insisted upon his giving me his history, which he did without any hesitation. It was as follows:—
“I was born, sir, in Nancy, in Lorraine, and it is now eleven years since I quitted my native place.”
Here I thought fit to interrupt him, in order the better to preserve the disguise which I had assumed. I told him “that I had observed, the moment he began to speak, a vast difference between his accent and mine, and I had consequently conjectured that he had been a long time absent from Lorraine;” and I added “that the Lorraine accent was very different from that of other parts of France.” This interruption was fortunate and well-timed; for the man, by way of rejoinder, said—
“I have forgotten a great deal of my mother tongue; and I can tell you that I was going to make the same remark with respect to your accent that you have made upon mine; but now you have saved me the trouble, by accounting for the difference. But, to continue my narrative, I assure you, sir, all that has befallen me has been the consequence of my having been drawn for a conscript; for it went against my nature to serve Buonaparte. I was by trade a weaver, and I knew that I could get a living in any country; and, painful as it was to part from my family and friends, I one morning took French leave, crossed the Rhine, and have been eight years with my present landlord. He keeps a kind of manufactory, in which I have worked until very lately; but wishing to have a trusty person in the auberge, he has made me drop my old trade of weaver, and attend here in my present capacity.”