“My Dear —, As you kindly said that you would be glad to hear of our progress when any opportunity offered of writing you a letter, I now avail myself of some friends passing through Brussels to let you know that thus far we have proceeded in health and safety; but whether we shall complete our project of wintering in Italy seems more and more doubtful, as I believe the cholera to be doing its work pretty actively in some of the states we propose to visit; and a gentleman told me yesterday, who has lately left the country, that the Pope is so glad of an excuse to keep heretics out of his dominions, that he has never taken off the quarantine: so that, under any circumstances, we must vegetate in some frontier hole for a fortnight before we can be admitted; a circumstance in itself sufficiently deterring, in my opinion. Besides which, what with the perplexity of the coinage, and the constant attempt at pillage which we have already met with, and which, I am told, is quadrupled on the other side of the Alps, such a counterbalance exists to any of the enjoyments of travelling, that I am heartily weary of the continual skirmishing and warfare I am subjected to;—warfare indeed, as at Cologne I was called out. The story is too good to be lost, so I will tell it for your amusement and that of our friends at Brussels; moreover that you may caution every one against Mons. Disch, of the Cour Imperiale:— We had marchandéed with Madame Disch for rooms, who at last agreed to our terms; but when the bill came, she changed her own. We remonstrated, and the bill was altered; but Mons. Disch made his appearance before I could pay it, insisting on the larger sum, saying his wife had no business to make a bargain for him. I remonstrated in vain, and Mrs — commenced most eloquently to state the case: he was, however, deaf to reason, argument, eloquence, and beauty. At last I said, ‘Do not waste words the matter, I will pay the fellow and have done with him, taking care that neither I nor my friends will ever come to his house again,’ at the same time snatching the bill from his hand when he demanded, in a great fury, what I meant by that; exclaiming, ‘I am Germans gentlemans,—you English gentlemans, I challenge you—I challenge you.’ Although somewhat wroth before this. I was so amused that I laughed in the rascal’s face, which doubled his rage, and he reiterated his mortal defiance; adding,—‘I was in London last year; they charge me twelve—fourteen shillings for my dinner at coffee-house, but I too much gentlemans to ask them take off one farding. I challenge you—I challenge you.’ I then said, ‘Hold your tongue, sir; take your money and be off.’ ‘Me take money!’ replied he; ‘me take money! No, my servant take money; I too much gentlemans to take money.’ Upon which the waiter swept the cash off the table, handed it to his master, who immediately sacked it and walked off.”
I certainly have myself come to the conclusion that the idea of going abroad for economy is most erroneous. As I have before observed, the only article, except education, which is cheaper, is wine; and I am afraid, considering the thirsty propensities of my countrymen, that is a very strong attraction with the nobler sex. If claret and all other French wines were admitted into England at a much lower duty, they would be almost as cheap in England as they are in foreign capitals; and, as the increased consumption would more than indemnify the government, it is to be lamented that it is not so arranged.—Formerly we shut out the French wines, and admitted those of Portugal, as our ancient ally; but our ancient ally has shown any thing but good-will towards us lately, and we are at all events under no further obligation to support her interests. Let us admit French wines in bottles at a very low duty, and then England will be in every respect as cheap, and infinitely more comfortable as a residence than any part of the Continent. The absentees who are worth reclaiming will return; those who prefer to remain on the Continent are much better there than if they were contaminating their countrymen with their presence. How true is the following observation from the author I before quoted on her return from abroad:—
“Home, home at last. How clean, how cheerful, how comfortable! I was shown at Marthien the shabby, dirty-looking lodgings where the — are economising, in penance for the pleasure of one little year spent in this charming house! Poor people! How they must long for England! how they must miss the thousand trivial but essential conveniences devised here for the civilisation of human life! What an air of decency and respectfulness about the servants! what a feeling of homeishness in a house exclusively our own! The modes of life may be easier on the Continent,—but it is the ease of a beggar’s ragged coat which has served twenty masters, and is twitched off and on till it scarcely holds together, in comparison with the decent, close-fitting suit characteristic of a gentleman.”
Chapter Thirty.
Brussels.
Authors, like doctors, are very apt to disagree. Reading, the other day, a very amusing publication, called the “Diary of a Désennuyée,” some passages in it induced me to fall back upon Henry Bulwer’s work on France. Among his remarks upon literary influence in that country, he has the following:—
“A literary Frenchman, whom I met not long ago in Paris, said to me that a good-natured young English nobleman, whom I will not name, had told him that dancers and singers were perfectly well received in English society, but not men of letters.
“‘Est il possible qu’on soit si barbare chez vous?’”