We had been told at Paris that we should arrive at Metz in time for the diligence to Trèves. Out of England one does not expect exactness; still it was provoking, as we wanted to get on, to find, when arriving at seven in the morning, that the diligence had started at six. We needed rest, certainly; and so made up our minds to endure with equanimity the necessity we were under of not fatiguing ourselves to death from a principle of economy. The inn was tolerable, and the table d’hôte sufficiently good; and, best praise, quietly served. Metz is a clean, pleasant town, a little dull or so; but from the gardens on the ramparts we commanded a view of the hill-surrounded plain in which it is built, with the Moselle flowing peaceably at our feet. We hired a boat, and loitered several hours delightfully on the river; but being without a boatman, found difficulty in discovering the main stream amidst a labyrinth of canals and mill-dams. Afterwards, we walked in the public gardens, which would have been pleasant, but for the foreign style of gravel, which is not gravel, but shingle; smooth turf and a velvet sward are never found out of England: they don’t know what grass means abroad, except to feed horses and cows. The weather meanwhile was fine, the air balmy; it was a day of agreeable idleness.
Sunday, 28th.
At six in the morning we left Metz for Trèves, the distance fifty-five miles, which occupied us fourteen hours. We had now entered the true region of German expedition. The diligence was a sort of char-à-banc, with a heavy roof. We had the front seats; but the people behind had ingress and egress only by passing ours, which was done by raising the middle seat, in the style of the public boxes at our theatres. The horses went well enough (I have an idea we only changed them once, half way); but the peculiarity of German travelling consists in its frequent and long stoppages. During each of these the people behind got out, and refreshed themselves by eating and drinking. Another inconvenience resulted from our stopping so often; our left-hand leader went well enough when once off, but it was very difficult to persuade him to move; and he was never urged by any but the gentlest means. Every time we stopped he refused to set off; on which our driver got down to pat and coax him, and feed him with slices of bread—horses eat a great deal of bread in Germany. When he thought he had succeeded, he mounted again; but the horse being still obstinate, he had to get down and renew his caresses and bits of bread. Sometimes he repeated these manœuvres half a dozen times before he succeeded. Once, just as the horse, after showing himself particularly self-willed, had deigned to yield, a passenger behind, a simple-looking bumpkin, started forward, exclaiming in accents of distress— “Oh, mon gâteau!” He had bought a cake; but by some accident had left it behind, and he entreated the driver to stop, that he might recover it: this was too much; a full quarter of an hour’s coaxing and much bread could not thus be wasted, all to be begun over again.
The fields on the road-side were planted with cherry-trees, which, for the purpose of distilling kirchen-wasser, abound all over Germany; the fruit was ripe, and the heavily-laden branches hung over the road; our outside passengers helped themselves plentifully, so that in a short time we were pursued by a hue and cry of peasants. There is a heavy fine for robbing cherry-trees; and these people wanted to be paid: fierce objurgations passed, and a frequent use of the word schwein—the most opprobrious name a German can give or receive. The peasants had the worst and got nothing. We stopped nearly two hours at Thionville for dinner. In the same room, at the other end of the same table, a civic feast was prepared, delayed only by the non-arrival of the sous-préfet: he came at last and was joyously welcomed. But here German was the usual language; and we became worse than deaf, for we heard but could not understand.
Thionville is pleasantly situated in the valley of the Moselle, close to the river. It was the eve of some great feast in honour of the Virgin; and all the girls around were erecting altars and triumphal arches, and adorning them with waxen figures in full dress, and quantities of flowers and ribbons. They were enjoying themselves greatly and very proud of their handy-work.
Soon after leaving Thionville we arrived at the Prussian frontier; there was but one passenger besides ourselves, and he only had any taxable goods—sugar-plums from Nancy. Our luggage was taken down and some portion of it slightly inspected; the necessary ceremony was soon over; but two hours were loitered away, one knew not wherefore. The people were civil and the day fine, so we did not feel inclined to be discontented. The country after this grew more varied and pleasant, but the villages deteriorated dismally. They were indescribably squalid. The dung before the doors—the filth of the people—the wretched appearance of the cottages, formed a painful contrast, which too often presents itself to the traveller, between the repulsive dwellings of man and the inviting aspect of free beautiful nature, all elegant in its forms, delicious in its odours, and peaceful in its influence over the mind.
As we slowly proceeded, and were entering a village, a violent thunder storm came on; the driver drew up the diligence to the road-side, and he and the conducteur, and all the outside passengers took shelter in an inn, where they remained drinking beer while the storm lasted. After we had proceeded thence about three miles, our fellow-passenger, who had appeared a mild quiet German, and had been conversing good-humouredly with us, discovered that he had been taken beyond his place of destination, which was indeed the village where we had stopped during the storm. This he considered the fault of the conducteur, and flew into the most violent rage. We escaped the benefit of his angry language since we did not understand him;—he and his portmanteau were left under a tree, looking helpless enough; and we went on.
The disagreeable part of a slow style of travelling is, that although at the outset we take it patiently, and may find it even amusing, yet, when we are to reach a definite bourne, and the hours pass, and apparently we are still as far off as ever, we become excessively weary. The country was pretty, and after the shower, the evening wore a garb of sober gray not unpleasing. But our fatigue increased rapidly; and mile after mile we proceeded, not interspersed with the capricious and ludicrous stoppages that had marked our outset, but in a sort of determined jogtrot, that showed that the men and horses had lost the gay spirit which had led them to play with their work, and were seriously set upon finishing it with all the slow haste of which they were capable. We arrived at Trèves at ten o’clock last night.
The inn (l’Hôtel de Trèves) is the best we have yet met with; the civility and alacrity with which we are served is quite comforting,—as well as the cleanliness of the house, and the ultimate moderation of the charges. Our first care on arriving has been to arrange for descending the Moselle. There is no steamer; one is promised for next year; but, for the present, there is only a passage-boat twice a week, Thursday and Saturday, and this is Monday. Upon inquiry, we learn that we can hire a tolerably commodious boat, with three men to work her, at no extravagant price. We have found also at the hotel two young Cantabs, friends of one of our party, bent on the same voyage, on their way to a tour in Switzerland. They have agreed to join us. By early rising and late arriving, we might accomplish the descent in two days; we prefer a more easy style of proceeding. We are to sleep two nights on shore, and occupy the better part of three days going down the river.
Trèves, or, as the Germans call it, Trier, is a very interesting town, as being one of the oldest in the northern part of Europe. It was a metropolis, we are told, before the time of Julius Cæsar. After the Roman Conquest, and during the decay of the empire, it was the centre of northern civilisation. During the middle ages, and till the time of the French Revolution of 1789, it flourished as the capital of an archbishopric, such as existed in Germany, where the mitre was united rather to the sword and sceptre, than to the crosier. It is now in a state of decay, but venerable in its fall. The old Roman ruins give token of that magnificent spirit which causes the steps of the masters of the world to be made evident everywhere, through the solidity, grandeur, and utility of their works.