Now, after having talked to you of the English writers, at the period when England served me as an asylum, it but remains for me to tell you of England herself at that period, of her appearance, her sites, her country-seats, her private and political manners.
The whole of England may be seen in the space of four leagues, from Richmond, above London, down to Greenwich and below.
Below London lies industrial and commercial England, with her docks, her warehouses, her custom-houses, her arsenals, her breweries, her factories, her foundries, her ships; the latter, at each high tide, ascend the Thames in three divisions: first, the smallest; then, the middle-sized; lastly, the great vessels which graze with their sails the columns of the Old Sailors' Hospital and the windows of the tavern where the visitors dine.
Above London lies agricultural and pastoral England, with her meadows, her flocks and herds, her country-houses, her parks, whose shrubs and lawns are bathed twice a day by the rising waters of the Thames. Between these two opposite points, Richmond and Greenwich, London blends all the characteristics of this two-fold England: the aristocracy in the West End, the democracy in the East; the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey are landmarks between which is laid the whole history of Great Britain.
Richmond.
I passed a portion of the summer of 1799 at Richmond with Christian de Lamoignon, occupying myself with the Génie du Christianisme. I went on the Thames in a rowing-boat, or walked in Richmond Park. I could have wished that Richmond by London had been the Richmond of the treaty Honor Richemundiæ, for then I should have found myself in my own country, and for this reason: William the Bastard made a grant to Alan[322] Duke of Brittany, his son-in-law, of 442 English feudal estates, which since formed the County of Richmond[323]: the Dukes of Brittany, Alan's successors, enfeoffed these domains to Breton knights, cadets of the families of Rohan, Tinténiac, Chateaubriand, Goyon, Montboucher. But, in spite of my inclinations, I must look in Yorkshire for the County of Richmond, raised to a duchy by Charles II.[324] in favour of a bastard[325]: the Richmond on the Thames is the Old Sheen of Edward III. There, in 1377, died Edward III., that famous King robbed by his mistress, Alice Perrers[326], who was not the same as the Alice or Catharine of Salisbury of the early days of the life of the victor of Crecy: you should only love at the age when you can be loved. Henry VIII. and Elizabeth also died at Richmond: where does one not die? Henry VIII. took pleasure in this residence. The English historians are greatly embarrassed by that abominable man: on the one hand, they are unable to conceal the tyranny and servitude to which the Parliament was subjected; on the other hand, if they too heartily anathematized the Head of the Reformation, they would condemn themselves in condemning him:
Plus l'oppresseur est vil, plus l'esclave est infâme[327].
In Richmond Park is shown the mound which served Henry VIII. as an observatory from which to spy for the news of the execution of Anne Boleyn[328]. Henry leapt for joy when the signal shot up from the Tower of London. What delight! The steel had cut through the slender neck, and covered with blood the beautiful tresses to which the poet-King had fastened his fatal kisses.
In the deserted park at Richmond I awaited no murderous signal, I would not even have wished the slightest harm to any who might have betrayed me. I strolled among the peaceful deer: accustomed to run before a pack of hounds, they stopped when they were tired; they were carried back, very gay and quite amused with this game, in a cart filled with straw. I went at Kew to see the kangaroos, ridiculous animals, the exact opposite to the giraffe: these innocent four-footed grass hoppers peopled Australia better than the old Duke of Queensberry's[329] prostitutes peopled the lanes of Richmond. The Thames bathed the lawn of a cottage half-hidden beneath a cedar of Lebanon and amidst weeping-willows: a newly married couple had come to spend the honeymoon in that paradise.
One evening, as I was strolling over the swards of Twickenham, Peltier appeared, holding his handkerchief to his mouth: