The itinerary was carefully prepared to miss nothing on the way, and on April 8 we left my mother in charge of the house, whilst my husband, myself, and Mary started from Chalon, where we went on board the steamer for Mâcon. My husband having often seen the town, was left to his writing whilst I took Mary to see the church of Brou. From Mâcon to Lyons we enjoyed the landscape from the deck of the steamer, particularly Trévoux, and L'Ile Barbe as we neared Lyons.
Note in the diary: "We passed through some lovely scenery, but I came to the conclusion never to boat with the 'Arar' below Courzon."
So long as he remained on the water or in little out-of-the-way places, Gilbert was well enough and enjoyed himself exceedingly, but as soon as we were obliged to stay in large towns he began to suffer; at Lyons, having attempted to go to the Museum when it was crowded, he had to hurry out, and it is a miracle how he managed to reach the hotel, where he went through one of the worst attacks of nervousness in his life. It did not last very long, and when he was well again I took Mary to Fourvières.
By rail we proceeded to Vienne, then to Valence and Pierre-latte, where it was pitch dark as we got out, and raining heavily. To our dismay we saw no sign of either omnibus or carriage. However, a man was coming up to us in a leisurely way with a broken lantern, and he explained that the "'bus had not come because it was raining." He led us to a very queer—apparently deserted—hotel, where the getting of sheets for the narrow beds seemed to be an almost insurmountable difficulty; and as to cases for the pillows, in sheer despair of ever getting any, we had to use clean towels out of our bags in their stead. The double-bedded room was adorned with a gallery of pastel portraits so wan and faded that they looked by the faint gleam of moonlight through the shutters like a procession of ghosts; and there were so many chairs in Mary's room, and such an immensely long table, that it must surely have been used by the ghosts as a dining-hall. Nevertheless, we slept soundly, had a charming excursion in the morning, and a good, though late, déjeuner afterwards, for it chanced to be the drawing of lots for the conscription, and the hotel was crowded by famished officials—Mayor, adjoints, gendarmes, officers, etc. Of course there was nothing for unofficial people like us but to wait and catch the dishes as they left the important table, and appropriate what might remain upon them. There was enough for us, and the wine was excellent,—so good indeed that we thought of having a cask sent to La Tuilerie. The great people having departed, we were able to talk at our leisure with the landlady, but all of a sudden we became aware that it was getting time to go, and asked for the bill. "Oh! there was no need for a bill, she could reckon in her head—but there was no hurry." We explained that there was some hurry, as the carriage we had ordered would be at the door presently.
"Mais pourquoi? pourquoi vous en aller?" exclaimed the simple woman, with an air of consternation; "est-ce que vous n'êtes pas bien ici?"
Bourg St. Andéol, where we stopped next, is a very interesting place. My husband was particularly pleased with the little town and the Hôtel Nicolai. Our arrival created quite a stir in the sleepy, regular routine of the little bourg, and the doors and windows it can boast of became alive with curious eyes as we passed along the deserted streets. In an open carriage we were driven to Pont St. Esprit, and noticed the long lines of mulberry trees on each side of the roads; the driver explained that they are planted to feed the silkworms, and that in two months they would be leafless. We took the steamer again at Pont St. Esprit, late in the following day, for Avignon. In the morning of Sunday we all went to hear High Mass in the Cathedral, then to the Palace of the Popes, and round the walls. In the afternoon we visited the tomb of John Stuart Mill, and my husband left his card at the house of Miss Taylor. We then heard music in the open air, and saw the old bridge.
It was a very pleasant fortnight that we spent at Marseilles with our relations, the only drawback being Gilbert's uncertain health, which prevented him from going out much; though close to the expanse of the Mediterranean, I suppose he had the feeling expressed in the preface to "Landscape" in these words: "The lover of wilderness always feels confined among the evidences of a minutely careful civilization."
Towards the end of the day, when the blinding glare of sunshine was softened, we generally went to the Vieux Port, where there was an uninterrupted succession of picturesque scenes among sailors of all nations and ships of every description; or to La Joliette, to watch the arrival or departure of the Chinese vessels and other curious craft. At other times we walked in the Pare Borelli or on the Corniche.
A novel feature in our life was the frequent visits to the theatre with our friends. It was most remarkable that my husband should take such a sudden fancy to the Opera; he could not account for it himself, except by noticing that "he felt at home in it." We invariably took fauteuils d'orchestre, so that he only saw the musicians, actors, and scenery—hardly any of the occupants of the theatre, except those in the stage-boxes. It is a curious fact that in the space of a fortnight he heard more operas than in all the rest of his life.
He wrote the greater part of the day in a very quiet room, which M. Pelletier, who was well acquainted with his tastes, had fitted up accordingly at the very beginning of our visit.