At Amiens, we drove to “l’hôtel d’Angleterre,” where we were magnificently and miserably lodged. Fine rooms, superbly furnished; windows and doors, which would neither keep out the rain nor wind; bad fires, and a worse supper, formed the complete picture of a french inn, and the colouring of extravagant charges was not omitted.
Starved with cold and hunger we left Amiens by break of day, on friday morning; and after travelling through a country, the beauty of which increased every step with the increasing badness of the roads, we at length reached Chantilly, not a little pleased at having escaped the dangers of a broken neck. At the post office, which is a new inn, built since the revolution, directly fronting the park of the ci-devant château, we found good beds, and a comfortable supper, prepared by the kind attention of some english friends, who had preceded us on the road.
The following morning (the 30th), we visited the ruins of this once magnificent spot. If we had had often reason, during our journey, to deplore the destructive effects of that mistaken spirit, of pretended philosophy, and pretended patriotism, which had levelled with the ground the churches and country seats, the ruins of which reminded us, in every village, of the excesses committed during the revolution; we made these reflections with double force, and double regret, in viewing what was once the palace of Chantilly. The principal building is entirely pulled down; but le petit château, and the superb edifice of the stable, still remain. This latter was saved by the orders of the present government, who forbade its being sold; and the mistress of the inn, with tears in her eyes, acquainted me, that had Bonaparte been at the head of public affairs six months sooner, the palace also would have been rescued from destruction. That extraordinary man visited Chantilly after the sale, but before the demolition of the building. He heard that the purchaser had ordered it to be pulled down—he expressed his regret; but, at that time, he had no means of preventing what he sincerely deplored.
The stables, though unhurt, are neglected and dirty. They contain, at present, a regiment of cavalry. The woods have also been greatly thinned; the garden no longer exists; and, altogether, Chantilly presents rather the picture of decayed magnificence, than that of actual beauty.
On leaving this once celebrated place, we found a fine paved road all the way to Paris. The regular avenue of hills, the rich country, the vineyards, the villas, and the carriages of all descriptions which we met, announced an approach to the capital, at the gates of which we arrived at two o’clock.
Here, and at Boulogne, we were asked very civilly for our passports, which were instantly returned us. These were the only interruptions or examinations which we experienced, during the whole of our journey. Carriages are not stopped, as formerly, at every town, to be searched for contraband goods, but, en revanchè, turnpikes are numerous and expensive. The inns are nearly as dear as those of England; and it is now not less necessary, than under the ancien régime, to make a previous bargain, before the horses are taken from the carriage. If this is not done, impositions and disputes are sure to occur.
On arriving at Paris, I drove to several hotels, before I could get accommodated at all. I am now wretchedly lodged, and fear, from what I have already seen and heard, that I must waste a considerable portion of valuable time, before I shall obtain such apartments as I wish. Good rooms are very scarce, many of the hôtels garnis having been unfurnished during the revolution, and those which remain being nearly filled with foreigners, who, since the peace, have flocked hither in great numbers, from every nation of the world.
Persons, intending to visit Paris, ought to write some days before hand to their correspondents, if they desire to be comfortably lodged on their arrival.
Adieu, my friend. I have now given you a full account of my journey. I say nothing of Paris, or its inhabitants, the only person I have yet seen being M. Peregaux, my banker. His new dignity of senateur has made no alteration in his conduct. He is as civil, and as obliging as ever.
As soon as I have seen any thing worth communicating, I shall write again. In the mean time, I take my leave. And