STEVENSON'S N INLAND VOYAGE THt feOTT7?33V ,A55ICS iMi Class J5'S54^S. Book .Aja Gopight]^". 1^/0 COPYRIGHT DEPOStr ZTbc Scrlbner Bngllsb Claesfcs EDITED BY FREDERICK H. SYKES, Ph.D. TEACHERS COLLEGE, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AN INLAND VOYAGE The Scribner English Classics. Prof. Frederick H. Sykes, Ph.D., Teachers College, Columbia Uni- versity, General Editor. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH. BURKE. Speech for Conciliation with the Colonies. Edited by Dean Thomas Arkle Clark, University of Illinois. WEBSTER. First Bunker Hill Oration. ) WASHINGTON. Farewell Address. \ ^""^ volume. Edited by Dean Thomas Arkle Clark, University of Illinois. CARLYLE. Essay on Bums. Edited by Prof. Archibald MacMechan, Dalhousie University. COLERIDGE. The Ancient Mariner, and Select Poems. Edited by Prof. Henry M. Belden, University of Missouri. MACAULAY. Life and Writings of Addison. ) ^ , _ _ , > One volume. Essay on Johnson. ) Edited by Prof. Cecil Lavell, Queen's University, Kingston. 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CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON ATLANTA / Zbe Sccibncr jEngllsb Claegfcs ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AN INLAND VOYAGE EDITED WITH BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH AND NOTES • NEW YORK CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1910 ^ ^^ # i>'..o ^\ Copyright, 1905, 1910, by Charles Scribner's Sons • « * • • TO SIR WALTER GRINDLAY SIMPSON, Bart. My dear Cigarette, It was enough that you should have shared so h'berally in the rams and portages of our voyage; that you should have had so hard a battle to recover the derelict Arethtisa on the flooded Oise; and that you should thenceforth have piloted a mere wreck of mankind to Origny Sainte-Benoite and a supper so eagerly desired. It was perhaps more than enough, as you once somewhat piteously complained, that I should have set down all the strong language to you, and kept the appropriate reflexions for myself. I could not in decency expose you to share the disgrace of another and more public shipwreck. But now that this voyage of ours is going into a cheap edition, that peril, we shall hope, is at an end, and I may put your name on the burgee. But I cannot pause till I have lamented the fate of our two ships. That, sir, was not a fortunate day when we projected the possession of a canal barge ; it was not a fortunate day when we shared our day-dream with the most hopeful of day- dreamers. For a while, indeed, the world looked smilingly. The barge was procured and christened, and as the Eleven Thousand Vii'-gins of Cologne^ lay for some months, the ad- mired of all admirers, in a pleasant river and under the walls of an ancient town. M. Mattras, the accomplished carpenter of Moret, had made her a centre of emulous labour ; and you vi DEDICATION will not have forgotten the amount of sweet champagne con- sumed in the inn at the bridge end, to give zeal to the work- men and speed to the work. On the financial aspect, I would not willingly dwell. The Eleven Thousand Virgins of Colog7ie rotted in the stream where she was beautified. She felt not the impulse of the breeze; she was never harnessed to the patient track-horse. And when at length she was sold, by the indignant carpenter of Moret, there were sold along with her the Arethusa and the Cigarette^ she of cedar, she, as we knew so keenly on a portage, of solid-hearted English oak. Now these historic vessels fly the tricolor and are known by new and alien names. K.. L. S. PREFACE TO equip so small a book with a preface is, I am half afraid, to sin against pro- portion. But a preface is more than an author can resist, for it is the reward of his labours. When the foundation stone is laid, the architect appears with his plans, and struts for an hour before the public eye. So with the writer in his preface : he may have never a word to say, but he must show himself for a moment in the portico, hat in hand, and with an urbane demeanour. It is best, in such circumstance, to represent a delicate shade of manner between humility and superiority: as if the book had been written by some one else, and you had merely run over it and inserted what was good. But for my part I have not yet learned the trick to that perfection; I am not yet able to dissemble the warmth of viii PREFACE my sentiments towards a reader; and if I meet him on the threshold, it is to invite him in with country cordiaHty. To say truth, I had no sooner finished reading this httle book in proof than I was seized upon by a distressing apprehension. It occurred to me that I might not only be the first to read these pages, but the last as well; that I might have pioneered this very smiling tract of country all in vain, and find not a soul to follow^ in my steps. The more I thought, .the more I disliked the notion; until the distaste grew into a sort of panic terror, and I. rushed into this Preface, which is no more than an advertisement for readers. What am I to say for my book? Caleb and Joshua brought back from Palestine a formidable bunch of grapes; alas! my book produces naught so nourishing; and for the matter of that, we live in an age when people prefer a definition to any quantity of fruit. I wonder, would a negative be found enticing? for, from the negative point of view, I flatter my- PREFACE ix self this volume has a certain stamp. Although it runs to considerably upwards of two hundred pages, it contains not a single reference to the imbecility of God's universe, nor 'so much as a single hint that I could have made a better one myself, — I really do not know where my head can have been. I seemed to have forgotten all that makes it glorious to be man. 'T is an omis- sion that renders the book philosophically unim- portant; but I am in hopes the eccentricity may please in frivolous circles. To the friend who accompanied me I owe many thanks already, indeed I wish I owed him nothing else : but at this moment I feel towards him an almost exaggerated tenderness. He, at least, will become my reader — if it were only to follow his own travels alongside of mine. R. L. S. CONTENTS Page Brief Bibliography ,.,... xii Antwerp to Boom i On the Willebroek Canal 8 The Royal Sport Nautique . . ; 17 At Maubeuge 26 On the Sambre Canalised: to Quartes 34 Pont-sur-Sambre : — We are Pedlars 43 The Travelling Merchant 52 On the Sambre Canalised: to Landrecies .... 60 At Landrecies 68 Sambre and Oise Canal: Canal Boats 76 The Oise in Flood 84 Origny Sainte-Benoite: — A By-Day 97 The Company at Table 107 Down the Oise: to Moy 118 La Fere of Cursed Memory . 127 Down the Oise: through the Golden Valley . . 137 NoYON Cathedral 141 Down the Oise: to Compiegne ........ 149 At Compiegne 153 Changed Times 161 Down the Oise: Church Interiors 171 Pr£cy and the Marionettes 182 Back to the World 199 Epilogue to "An Inland Voyage" 205 Notes 231 Biographical Sketch 243 BRIEF BIBLIOGRAPHY Editions: The Thistle Edition. 26 vols. A complete collection of Stevenson's writings. The Biographical Edition. 27 vols. These volumes are of especial interest because of the introductions by Mrs. Stevenson. The Scribner Popular Edition. lo vols. Biographical: Life of Robert Louis Stevenson. 2 vols. By Graham Balfour. Published in the Thistle Edition, but sold separately. Much material of a biographical character appears in The Vailima Letters, 2 vols., and The Letters of Robert Louis Stevenson, 2 vols., both edited by Sidney Colvin; and in Memories and Portraits, The Amateur Emigrant, Across the Plains, The Silverado Squatters, and In the South Seas. A Chronicle of Friendships, by Will H. Low. "Stevenson at Play," By Lloyd Osbourne, Scribner's Mag- azine, 24 : 709. " Recollections." By Andrew Lang, Xorth American Review, 160 : 185. , "Personal Recollections." By Edmund Gosse, Century Magazine, 50 : 447, General: Stevensonia. By J. A. Hammerton. "A Stevenson Pilgrimage Along the Route of An Inland Voyage." By J. A. Hammerton, Critic, June, 1905. A Bibliography of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson. By Colonel W. F. Prideaux. AN INLAND VOYAGE ANTWERP TO BOOM WE made a great stir in Antwerp Docks. A stevedore and a lot of dock porters took up the two canoes, and ran wath them for the shp. A crowd of children followed cheering. The Cigarette went off in a splash and a bubble of small breaking water. Next moment the Arethiisa w^as after her. A steamer was com- ing down, men on the paddle-box shouted hoarse warnings, the stevedore and his porters were bawl- ing from the quay. But in a stroke or two the canoes were away out in the middle of the Scheldt, and all steamers, and stevedores, and other 'long- shore vanities were left behind. The sun shone brightly ; the tide was making — four jolly miles an hour ; the wind blew steadil}^, with occasional squalls. For my part, I had never been in a canoe under sail in mv life ; and mv first 2 AN INLAND VOYAGE experiment out in the middle of this big river was not made without some trepidation. What would happen when the wind first caught my little can- vas? I suppose it was almost as trying a venture into the regions of the unknown as to publish a first book, or to marry. But my doubts were not of long duration; and in five minutes you will not be surprised to learn that I had tied my sheet. I own I was a little struck by this circumstance myself ; of course, in company with the rest of my fellow-men, I had always tied the sheet in a sailing- boat ; but in so little and crank a concern as a canoe, and with these charging squalls, I was not prepared to find myself follow the same principle; and it inspired me with some contemptuous views of our regard for life. It is certainly easier to smoke with the sheet fastened; but I had never before weighed a comfortable pipe of tobacco against an obvious risk, and gravely elected for the comfortable pipe. It is a commonplace, that we cannot answer for ourselves before we have been tried. But it is not so common a reflection, and surely more consoling, that we usually find our- ANTWERP TO BOOM 3 selves a great deal braver and better than we thought. I believe this is every one's experience: but an apprehension that they may belie themselves in the future prevents mankind from trumpeting " this cheerful sentiment abroad. I wish sincerelv, for it would have saved me much trouble, there had been some one to put me in a good heart about life when I was younger ; to tell me how dangers are most portentous on a distant sight ; and how the good in a man's spirit will not suffer itself to be overlaid, and rarely or never deserts him in the hour of need. But we are all for tootling on the sentimental flute in literature ; and not a man among us will go to the head of the march to sound the heady drums. It was agreeable upon the river. A barge or two went past laden with hay. Reeds and willows bor- dered the stream ; and cattle and grey, venerable horses came and hung their mild heads over the embankment. Here and there was a pleasant vil- lage among trees, with a noisy shipping-yard ; here and there a villa in a lawn. The wind served us well up the Scheldt and thereafter up the Rupel ; 4 AN INLAND VOYAGE and we were running pretty free when we began to sight the brickyards of Boom, lying for a long way on the right bank of the river. The left bank was still green and pastoral, with alleys of trees along the embankment, and here and there a flight of steps to serve a ferry, where perhaps there sat a woman with her elbows on her knees, or an old gentleman with a staff and silver spectacles. But Boom and its brickyards grew smokier and shab- bier with every minute ; until a great church with a clock, and a wooden bridge over the river, indi- cated the central quarters of the town. Boom is not a nice place, and is onl)^ remarkable for one thing: that the majority of the inhabitants 'have a private opinion that they can speak English, which is not justified by fact. This gave a kind of haziness to our intercourse. As for the Hotel de la -Navigation, I think it is the worst feature of the place. It boasts of a sanded parlour, with a bar at one end, looking on the street; and another sanded parlour, darker and colder, with an empty bird-cage and a tricolor subscription box by way of sole adornment, where we made shift to dine in the ANTWERP TO BOOM 5 company of three uncommunicative engineer ap- prentices and a silent bagman. The food, as usual in Belgium, was of a nondescript occasional char- acter; indeed I have never been able to detect any- thing in the nature of a meal among this pleasing people ; they seem to peck and trifle with viands all day long in an amateur spirit: tentatively French, truly German, and somehow falling between the two. The empty bird-cage, swept and garnished, and with no trace of the old piping favourite, save where two wires had been pushed apart to hold its lump of sugar, carried with it a sort of graveyard cheer. The engineer apprentices would have noth- ing to say to us, nor indeed to the bagman; but talked low and sparingly to one another, or raked us in the gaslight with a gleam of spectacles. For though handsome lads, they were all (in the Scotch phrase) barnacled. There was an English maid in the hotel, who had been long enough out of England to pick up all sorts of funny foreign idioms, and all sorts of curious foreign ways, which need not here be 6 AN INLAND VOYAGE specified. She spoke to us very fluently in her jargon, asked us information as to the manners of the present day in England, and obligingly cor- rected us when we attempted to answer. But as we were dealing with a woman, perhaps our informa- tion was not so much thrown away as it appeared. The sex likes to pick up knowledge and yet pre- serve its superiority. It is good policy, and almost necessary in the circumstances. If a man finds a woman admires him, were it only for his ac- quaintance with geography, he will begin at once to build upon the admiration. It is only by uninter- mittent snubbing that the pretty ones can keep us in our place. Men, as Miss Howe or Miss Harlowe would have said, " are such encroachers.'' For my part, I am body and soul with the women ; and after a well-married couple, there is nothing so beautiful in the world as the myth of the divine huntress. It is no use for a man to take to the woods; we know him; Anthony tried the same thing long ago, and had a pitiful time of it by all accounts. But there is this about some women, which overtops the best gymnosophist among men, ANTWERP TO BOOM 7 that thev sufifice to themselves, and can walk in a high and cold zone without the countenance of any trousered being. I declare, although the re- verse of a professed ascetic, I am more obliged to women for this ideal than I should be to the majority of them, or indeed to any but one, for a spontaneous kiss. There is nothing so encourag- ing as the spectacle of self-sufficiency. And when I think of the slim and lovely maidens, running the woods all night to the note of Diana's horn; mov- ing among the old oaks, as fancy-free as they; things of the forest and the starlight, not touched by the commotion of man's hot and turbid life^ — although there are plenty other ideals that I should prefer — I find my heart beat at the thought of this one. 'T is to fail in life, but to fail with what a grace ! That is not lost which is not regretted. And where — here slips out the male — where would be much of the glory of inspiring love, if there were no contempt to overcome? ON THE WILLEBROEK CANAL NEXT morning, when we set forth on the Willebroek Canal, the rain began heavy and chill. The water of the canal stood at about the drinking temperature of tea ; and under this cold aspersion, the surface was covered with steam. The exhilaration of departure, and the easy motion of the boats under each stroke of the paddles, supported us through this misfortune while it lasted; and when the cloud passed and the sun came out again, our spirits went up above the range of stay-at-home humours. A good breeze rustic and shivered in the rows of trees that bordered the canal. The leaves flickered in and out of the light in tumultuous masses. It seemed sailing weather to eye and ear ; but down between the banks, the wind reached us only in faint and desultory puffs. There was hardly enough to steer by. Progress was intermittent and unsatisfactory. WILLEBROKK CANAL 9 A jocular person, of marine antecedents, hailed us from the tow-path with a '" C'est vite, mais c'est long." The canal was busy enough. Every now and then we met or overtook a long string of boats, with great green tillers ; high sterns with a window on either side of the rudder, and perhaps a jug or a flower-pot in one of the windows; a dingy fol- lowing behind; a woman busied about the day's dinner, and a handful of children. These barges were all tied one behind the other with tow-ropes, to the number of twenty-five or thirty; and the line was headed and kept in motion by a steamer of strange construction. It had neither paddle- wheel nor screw; but by some gear not rightly comprehensible to the unmechanical mind, it fetched up over its bow a small bright chain which lay along the bottom of the canal, and paying it out again over the stern, dragged itself forward, link by link, with its whole retinue of loaded scows. Until one had found out the key to the enigma, there was something solemn and uncomfortable in the progress of one of these trains, as it moved lo AN INLAND VOYAGE gently along the water with nothing to mark its advance but an eddy alongside dying away into the wake. Of all the creatures of commercial enterprise, a canal barge is by far the most delightful to con- sider. It may spread its sails, and then you see it sailing high above the tree-tops and the wind-mill, sailing on the aqueduct, sailing through the green corn-lands : the most picturesque of things am- phibious. Or the horse plods along at a foot-pace as if there were no such thing as business in the w^orld; and the man dreaming at the tiller sees the same spire on the horizon all day long. It is a mystery how things ever get to their destination at this rate; and to see the barges waiting their turn at a lock, affords a fine lesson of how easilv the world may be taken. There should be many contented spirits on board, for such a life is both to travel and to stay at home. The chimney smokes for dinner as you go along ; the banks of the canal slowly unroll their scenery to contemplative eyes; the barge floats by great forests and through great cities with their public WILLEBROEK CANAL n buildings and their lamps at night; and for the bargee, in his floating home, '' travelling abed," it is merely as if he were listening to another man's story or turning the leaves of a picture book in which he had no concern. He may take his after- noon walk in some foreign country on the banks of the canal, and then come home to dinner at his own fireside. There is not enough exercise in such a life for any high measure of health; but a high measure of health is only necessary for unhealthy people. The slug of a fellow, who is never ill nor well, has a quiet time of it in life, and dies all the easier. I am sure I would rather be a bargee than occupy any position under Heaven that required attend- ance at an office. There are few callings, I should say, where a man gives up less of his liberty in return for regular meals. The bargee is on ship- board; he is master in his own ship; he can land whenever he w^ill ; he can never be kept beating off a lee-shore a whole frosty night when the sheets are as hard as iron; and so far as I can make out, 12 AN INLAND VOYAGE time stands as nearly still with him as is com-' patible with the return of bedtime or the dinner- hour. It is not easy to see why a bargee should ever die. Half-way between Willebroek and Villevorde, in a beautiful reach of canal like a squire's avenue, w^e went ashore to lunch. There were two eggs, a junk of bread, and a bottle of wine on board the Arethusa; and two eggs and an Etna cooking ap- paratus on board the Cigarette. The master of the latter boat smashed one of the eggs in the course of disembarkation; but observing pleasantly that it might still be cooked a la papier, he dropped it into the Etna, in its covering of Flemish news- paper. We landed in a blink of fine weather ; but w^e had not been two minutes ashore before the wind freshened into half a gale, and the rain began to patter on our shoulders. We sat as close about the Etna as we could. The spirits burned with great ostentation; the grass caught flame every minute or two, and had to be trodden out; and before long there were several burnt fingers of the party. But the solid quantity of cookery accom- WILLEBROEK CANAL 13 plished was out of proportion with so much dis- play; and when we desisted, after two appHcations of the fire, the sound egg was a Httle more than loo-warm ; and as for a la papier, it was a cold and sordid fricassee of printer's ink and broken egg- shell. We made shift to roast the other two by putting them close to the burning spirits, and that with better success. And then we uncorked the. bottle of wine, and sat down in a ditch with our canoe aprons over our knees. It rained smartly. Discomfort, when it is honestly uncomfortable and makes no nauseous pretensions to the contrary, is a vastly humourous business; and people well steeped and stupefied in the open air are in a good vein for laughter. From this point of view, even Qgg a la papier offered by way of food may pass muster as a sort of accessory to the fun. But this manner of jest, although it may be taken in good part, does not invite repetition ; and from that time forward the Etna voyaged like a gentleman in the locker of the Cigarette. It is almost unnecessary to mention that when lunch was over and we got aboard again and 14 AN INLAND VOYAGE made sail, the wind promptly died away. The rest of the journey to Villevorde we still spread our canvas to the unfavouring air, and with now and then a puff, and now and then a spell of paddling, drifted along from lock to lock between the orderly trees. It was a fine, green, fat landscape, or rather a mere green water-lane going on from village to village. Things had a settled look, as in places long lived in. Crop-headed children spat upon us from the bridges as we went below, with a true conservative feeling. But even more conser- vative were the fishermen, intent upon their floats, who let us go by without one glance. They perched upon sterlings and buttresses and along the slope of the embankment, gently occupied. They were indifferent like pieces, of dead nature. They did not move any more than if they had been fishing in an old Dutch print. The leaves fluttered, the water lapped, but they continued in one stay, like so many churches established by law. You might have trepanned every one of their in- nocent heads and found no more than so much WILLEBROEK CANAL 15 coiled fishing-line below their skulls. I do not care for your stalwart fellows in india-rubber stockings breasting up mountain torrents with a salmon rod; but I do dearly love the class of man who plies his unfruitful art for ever and a day by still and depopulated waters. At the lock just beyond Villevorde there was a lock mistress who spoke French comprehen- sibly, and told us we were still a couple of leagues from Brussels. At the same place the rain began agam. It fell in straight, parallel lines, and the surface of the canal was thrown up into an infinity of little crystal fountains. There wxre no beds to be had in the neigh- bourhood. Nothing for it but to lay the sails aside and address ourselves to steady paddling in the rain. Beautiful country houses, with clocks and long lines of shuttered windows, and fine old trees standing in groves and avenues, gave a rich and sombre aspect in the rain and the deepening dusk to the shores of the canal. I seem to have seen something of the same effect in engravings: opu- i6 AN INLAND VOYAGE lent landscapes, deserted and overhung with the passage of storm. And throughout we had the escort of a hooded cart, which trotted shabbily along the tow-path, and kept at an almost uni- fonn distance in our wake. THE ROYAL SPORT NAUTIQUE THE rain took off near Laeken. But the sun was already down ; the air was chill ; and we had scarcely a dry stitch between the pair of us. Nay, now we found ourselves near the end of the Allee Verte, and on the very thresh- old of Brussels we were confronted by a serious difficulty. The shores were closely lined by canal boats waiting their turn at the lock. Nowhere was there any convenient landing-place; nowhere so much as a stable-yard to leave the canoes in for the night. We scrambled ashore and entered an estaminet where some sorry fellows were drink- ing with the landlord. The landlord was pretty round with us; he knew of no coach-house or stable-yard, nothing of the s©rt; and seeing we had come with no mind to drink, he did not con- ceal his impatience to be rid of us. One of the sorry fellows came to the rescue. Somewhere in i8 AN INLAND VOYAGE the corner of the basin there was a sHp, he in- formed us, and something else besides, not very clearly defined by him, but hopefully construed by his hearers. Sure enough there was the slip in the corner of the basin ; and at the top of it two nice-looking lads in boating-clothes. The Arethusa addressed himself to these. One of them said there would be no difficulty about a night's lodging for our boats ; and the other, taking a cigarette from his lips, inquired if they were made by Searle & Son. The name was quite an introduction. Half-a- dozen other young men came out of a boat-house bearing the superscription Royal Sport Nau- TiQUE_, and joined in the talk. They were all very polite, voluble, and enthusiastic ; and their discourse was interlarded with English boating-terms, and the names of English boat-builders and English clubs. I do not know, to my shame, any spot in my native land, where I should have been so warmly received by the same number of people. We were English boating-men, and the Belgian boating-men fell upon our necks. I wonder if French Hugue- SPORT NAUTIQUE 19 nots were as cordially greeted by English Prot- estants when they came across the Channel out of great tribulation. But, after all, what religion knits people so closely as common sport? The canoes were carried into the boat-house; they were washed down for us by the club ser- vants, the sails were hung out to dry, and every- thing made as snug and tidy as a picture. And in the meanwhile we were led upstairs by our new-found brethren, for so more than one of them stated the relationship, and made free of their lavatory. This one lent us soap, that one a towel, a third and fourth helped us to undo our bags. And all the time such questions, such assurances of respect and sympathy! I declare I never knew W'hat glory was before. " Yes, yes, the Royal Sport N antique is the old- est club in Belgium." " We number two hundred." " We " — this is not a substantive speech, but an abstract of many speeches, the impression left upon my mind after a great deal of talk; and very youthful, pleasant, natural, and patriotic it 20 AN INLAND VOYAGE seems to me to be — " We have gained all races, except those where we w^ere cheated by the French." " You must leave all your wet things to be dried." ''O! entre freres ! In any boat-house in Eng- land we should find the same." (I cordially hope they might.) *'' En Angleterre, vous employee des sliding-seats, n'est-ce pas ? " " We are all employed in commerce during the day; but in the evening, voyez-vons, nous sommes serieiixf' These were the words. They were all employed over the frivolous mercantile concerns of Belgium during the day; but in the evening they found some hours for the serious concerns of life. I may have a wrong idea of wisdomj but I think that was a very wise remark. People connected with literature and philosophy are busy all their days in getting rid of second-hand notions and false . standards. It is their profession, in the sweat of their brows, by dogged thinking, to recover their old fresh view of life, and distinguish what they r SPORT NAUTIQUE 21 really and originally like from what they have only learned to tolerate perforce. And these Royal Nautical Sportsmen had the distinction still quite legible in their hearts. They had still those clean perceptions of what is nice and nasty, what is in- teresting and what is dull, which envious old gen- tlemen refer to as illusions. The nightmare illusion of middle age, the bear's hug of custom gradually squeezing the life out of a man's soul, had not yet begun for these happy-star 'd young Belgians. They still knew that the interest they took in their business was a trifling affair compared to their spontaneous, long-suffering affection for nautical sports. To know wdiat you prefer, instead of humbly saying Amen to what the world tells you you ought to prefer, is to have kept your soul alive. Such a man may be generous ; he may be honest in something more than the commercial sense; he may love his friends with an elective, personal sympathy, and not accept them as an ad- junct of the station to which he has been called. He may be a man, in short, acting on his own instincts, keeping in his own shape that God made 22 AN INLAND VOYAGE him in ; and not a mere crank in the social engine- house, welded on principles that he does not un- derstand, and for purposes that he does not care for. For will any one dare to tell me that business is more entertaining than fooling among boats? He must have never seen a boat, or never seen an office, who says so. And for certain the one is a great deal better for the health. There should be nothing so much a man's business as his amuse- ments. Nothing but money-grubbing can be put forward to the contrary ; no one but Mammon, the least erected spirit that fell From Heaven, durst risk a word in answer. It is but a lying cant that would represent the merchant and the banker as people disinterestedly toiling for man- kind, and then most useful when they are most absorbed in their transactions; for the man is more important than his services. And when my Royal Nautical Sportsman shall have so far fallen from his hopeful youth that he cannot pluck up an enthusiasm over anything but his ledger, I ven- SPORT NAUTIQUE 23 ture to doubt whether he will be near so nice a fellow, and whether he would welcome, with so good a grace, a couple of drenched Englishmen paddling into Brussels in the dusk. When we had changed our wet clothes and drunk a glass of pale ale to the club's prosperity, one of their number escorted us to a hotel. He would not join us at our dinner, but he had no objection to a glass of wine. Enthusiasm is very wearing; and I begin to understand why prophets were unpopular in Judaea, where they were best known. For three stricken hours did this excellent young man sit beside us to dilate on boats and boat-races ; and before he left, he was kind enough to order our bedroom candles. We endeavoured now and again to change the subject ; but the diversion did not last a moment : the Royal Nautical Sportsman bridled, shied, an- swered the question, and then breasted once more into the swelling tide of his subject. I call it his subject; but I think it was he who was subjected. The Arcthusa, who holds all racing as a creature of the devil, found himself in a pitiful dilemma. 24 AN INLAND VOYAGE He durst not own his ignorance for the honour of old England, and spoke away about English clubs and English oarsmen whose fame had never before come to his ears. Several times, and once, above all, on the question of sliding-seats, he was within an ace of exposure. As for the Cigarette, who has rowed races in the heat of his blood, but now disowns these slips of his wanton youth, his case was still more desperate; for the Royal Nau- tical proposed that he should take an oar in one of their eights on the morrow, to compare the English with the Belgian stroke. I could see my friend perspiring in his chair whenever that par- ticular topic came up. And there was yet another proposal which had the same effect on both of us. It appeared that the champion canoeist of Europe (as well as most other champions) w^as a Royal Nautical Sportsman. And if we would only wait until the Sunday, this infernal paddler would be so condescending as to accompany us on our next stage. Neither of us had the least desire to drive the coursers of the sun against Apollo. When the young man was gone, we counter- SPORT NAUTIQUE 25 manded our candles, and ordered some brandy and water. The great billows had gone over our head. The Royal Nautical Sportsmen were as nice young fellows as a man would wish to see, but they were a trifle too young and a thought too nautical for us. We began to see that we were old and cyni- cal; we liked ease and the agreeable rambling of the human mind about this and the other subject; we did not want to disgrace our native land by messing at eight, or toiling pitifully in the wake of the champion canoeist. In short, we had re- course to flight. It seemed ungrateful, but we tried to make that good on a card loaded with sincere compliments. And indeed it was no time for scruples; we seemed to feel the hot breath of the champion on our necks. AT MAUBEUGE PARTLY from the terror we had of our good friends the Royal Nauticals, partly from the fact that there were no fewer than fifty-five locks between Brussels and Char- leroi, we concluded that we should travel by train across the frontier, boats and all. Fifty-five locks in a day's journey was pretty well tantamount to trudging the whole distance on foot, with the canoes upon our shoulders, an object of astonish- ment to the trees on the canal-side, and of honest derision to all right-thinking children. To pass the frontier, even in a train, is a diffi- cult matter for the Arethusa. He is, somehow or other, a marked man for the official eye. Wherever he journeys, there are the officers gathered to- gether. Treaties are solemnly signed, foreign min- isters, ambassadors, and consuls sit throned in state from China to Peru, and the union jack flut- AT MAUBEUGE 27 ters-on all the winds of heaven. Under these safeguards, portly clergymen, school-mistresses, gentlemen in grey tweed suits, and all the ruck and rabble of British touristry pour unhindered, Murray in hand, over the railways of the Conti- nent, and yet the slim person of the Arethnsa is taken in the meshes, while these great fish go on their way rejoicing. If he travels without a pass- port, he is cast, without any figure about the mat- ter, into noisome dungeons : if his papers are in order, he is suffered to go his way indeed, but not until he has been humiliated by a general incredul- ity. He is a born British subject, yet he has never succeeded in persuading a single official of his nationality. He flatters himself he is indifferent honest ; yet he is rarely known for anything better than a spy, and there is no absurd and disreputable means of livelihood but has been attributed to him in some heat of official or popular distrust. . . . For the life of me I cannot understand it. I, too, have been knolled to church and sat at good men's feasts, but I bear no mark of it. I am as strange as a Jack Indian to their official spectacles. 28 AN INLAND VOYAGE I might come from any part of the globe, it seems, except from where I do. My ancestors have la- boured in vain, and the glorious Constitution can- not protect me in my walks abroad. It is a great thing, believe me, to present a good normal type of the nation you belong to. Nobody else was asked for his papers on the way to Maubeuge, but I was; and although I clung to my rights, I had to choose at last be- tween accepting the humiliation and being left behind by the train. I was sorry to give way, but I wanted to get to Maubeuge. Maubeuge is a fortified town with a very good inn, the Grand Cerf. It seemed to be inhabited principally by soldiers and bagmen; at least, these were all that we saw except the hotel servants. We had to stay there some time, for the canoes were in no hurry to follow us, and at last stuck hopelessly in the custom-house until we went back to liberate them. There was nothing to do, noth- ing to see. We had good meals, which was a great matter, but that was all. The Cigarette was nearly taken up upon a AT MAUBEUGE 29 . charge of drawing the fortifications : a feat of which he was hopelessly incapable. And besides, as I suppose each belligerent nation has a plan of the other's fortified places already, these precau- tions are of the nature of shutting the stable door after the steed is away. But I have no doubt they help to keep up a good spirit at home. It is a great thing if you can persuade people that they are somehow or other partakers in a mystery. It makes them feel bigger. Even the Freemasons, who have been shown up to satiety, preserve a kind of pride; and not a grocer among them, how^ever honest, harmless, and empty-headed he may feel himself to be at bottom, but comes home from one of their coenacida with a portentous significance for himself. It is an odd thing how happily two people, if there are two, can live in a place where they have no acquaintance. I think the spectacle of a whole life in which you have no part paralyses personal desire. You are content to become a mere spec- tator. The baker stands in his door; the colonel with his three medals goes by to the cafe at night ; JO AN INLAND VOYAGE the troops drum and trumpet and man the ram- parts as bold as so many lions. It would task language to say how placidly you behold all this. In a place where you have taken some root you are provoked out of your indifference; you have a hand in the game, — your friends are fighting with the army. But in a strange town, not small enough to grow too soon familiar, nor so large as to have laid itself out for travellers, you stand so far apart from the business that you positively forget it would be possible to go nearer ; you have so little human interest around you that you do not remember yourself to be a man. Perhaps in a very short time you would be one no longer. Gymnosophists go into a wood with all nature seethuig around them, with romance on every side ; it would be much more to the purpose if they took up their abode in a dull country, town where they should see just so much of humanity as to keep them from desiring more, and only the stale ex- ternals of man's life. These externals are as dead to us as so many forma,lities, and speak a dead language in our eyes and ears. They have no AT MAUBEUGE 31 more meaning tlian an oath or a salutation. We are so much accustomed to see married couples going to church of a Sunday that we have clean forgotten what they represent ; and novelists are driven to rehabilitate adultery, no less, when they wish to show us what a beautiful thing it is for a man and a woman to live for each other. One person in Maubeuge, however, showed me something more than his outside. That was the driver of the hotel omnibus : a mean enough look- ing little man, as well as I can remember, but with a spark of something human in his soul. He had heard of our little journey, and came to me at once in envious sympathy. How he longed to travel ! he told me. How he longed to be some- where else, and see the round world before he went into the grave! '' Here I am," said he. " I drive to the station. Well. And then I drive back again to the hotel. And so on every day and all the week round. My God, is that life?" I could not say I thought it was — for him. He pressed me to tell him where I had been, and where I hoped to go ; and as he listened, I de- 32 AN INLAND VOYAGE clare the fellow sighed. Might not this have been a brave African traveller, or gone to the Indies after Drake? But it is an evil age for the gipsily inclined among men. He who can sit squarest on a three-legged stool, he it is who has the wealth and glory. I wonder if my friend is still driving the omni- bus for the Grand Cerf! Not very likely, I be- lieve; for I think he was on the eve of mutiny w^hen we passed through, and perhaps our pas- sage determined him for good. Better a thou- sand times that he should be a tramp, and mend pots and pans by the wayside, and sleep under trees, and see the dawn and the sunset every day above a new horizon. I think I hear you say that it is a respectable position to drive an omnibus? Very well. What right has he who likes it not to keep those who would like it dearly out of this respectable position? Suppose a dish were not to my taste, and you told me that it was a favourite among the rest of the company, what should I conclude from that ? Not to finish the dish against my stomach, I suppose. AT MAUBEUGE 33 Respectability is a very good thing in its way, but it does not rise superior to all considerations. I would not for a moment venture to hint that it was a matter of taste; but I think I will go as far as this : that if a position is admittedly un- kind, uncomfortable, unnecessary, and superflu- ously useless, although it were as respectable as the Church of England, the sooner a man is out of it, the better for himself, and all concerned. ON THE SAMBRE CANALISED TO QUARTES ^BOUT three in the afternoon the whole /~\ estabHshment of the Grand Cerf accom- panied us to the water's edge. The man of the omnibus was there with haggard eyes. Poor cage-bird ! Do I not remember the time when I myself haunted the station, to watch train after train carry its complement of freemen into the night, and read the names of distant places on the time-bills with indescribable longings? We were not clear of the fortifications before the rain began. The wind was contrary, and blew in furious gusts ; nor were the aspects of nature any more clement than the doings of the sky. For we passed through a blighted country, sparsely covered with brush, but handsomely enough diver- sified with factory chimneys. We landed in a soiled meadow among some pollards^ and there smoked r ON THE SAMBRE 35 a pipe in a flaw of fair weather. But the wind blew^ so hard we could get Httle else to smoke. There were no natural objects in the neighbour- hood, but some sordid workshops. A group of children, headed by a tall girl, stood and watched us from a little distance all the time we stayed. I heartily wonder what they thought of us. At Hautmont, the lock w'as almost impassable; the landing-place being steep and high, and the launch at a long distance. Near a dozen grimy workmen lent us a hand. They refused any re- ward; and, what is much better, refused it hand- somely, without conveying any sense of insult. " It is a way we have in our country-side," said they. And a very becoming way it is. In Scot- land, where also you will get services for nothing, the good people reject your money as if you had been trying to corrupt a voter. When people take the trouble to do dignified acts, it is worth while to take a little more, and allow the dignity to be common to all concerned. But in our brave Saxon countries, where we plod threescore years and ten in the mud, and the wind keeps singing in our S6 AN INLAND VOYAGE ears from birth to burial, we do our good and bad with a high hand and almost offensively; and make even our alms a witness-bearing and an act of war against the wrong. After Hautmont, the sun came forth again and the wind went down; and a little paddling took us beyond the iron works and through a delectable land. The river wound among low hills, so that sometimes the sun was at our backs and sometimes it stood right ahead, and the river before us was one sheet of intolerable glory. On either hand meadows and orchards bordered, with a margin of sedge and water flowers, upon the river. The hedges were of great height, woven about the trunks of hedgerow elms; and the fields, as they were often very small, looked like a series of bowers along the stream. There was never any prospect ; sometimes a hill-top with its trees would look over the nearest hedgerow, just to make a middle distance for the sky ; but that was all. The heaven was bare of clouds. The atmosphere, after the rain, was of enchanting purity. The river doubled among the hillocks, a shining strip of ONTHESAMBRE 37 mirror glass ; and the dip of the paddles set the flowers shaking along the brink. In the meadows wandered black and white cattle fantastically marked. One beast, with a white head and the rest of the body glossy black, came to the edge to drink, and stood gravely twitching his ears at me as I went by, like some sort of preposterous clergyman in a play. A moment after I heard a loud plunge, and, turning my head, saw the clergy- man struggling to shore. The bank had given way under his feet. Besides the cattle, we saw no living things except a few birds and a great many fishermen. These sat along the edges of the meadows, sometimes with one rod, sometimes with as manv as half a score. They seemed stupefied with contentment; and, when we induced them to exchange a few words with us about the weather, their voices sounded quiet and far away. There was a strange diversity of opinion among them as to the kind. ol fish for which they set their lures; although they were all agreed in this, that the river was abun- dantly suppHed. Where it was plain that no two 38 AN INLAND VOYAGE of them had ever caught the same kind of fish, we could not help suspecting that perhaps not any one of them had ever caught a fish at all. I hope, since the afternoon was so lovely, that they were one and all rewarded ; and that a silver booty went home in every basket for the pot. Some of my friends would cry shame on me for this; but I prefer a man, were he only an angler, to the bravest pair of gills in all God's waters. I do not affect fishes unless when cooked in sauce; whereas an angler is an important piece of river scenery, and hence deserves some recognition among canoeists. He can always tell you where you are, after a mild fashion; and his quiet presence serves to accen- tuate the solitude and stillness, and remind you of the glittering citizens below your boat. The Sambre turned so industriously to and fro among his little hills that it was past six before we drew near the lock at Quartes. There were some children on the tow-path, with whom the Cigarette fell into a chaffing talk as they ran along beside us. It was in vain that I warned him. In vain I told him in English that boys were the most ON THE SAMBRE 39 dangerous creatures; and if once you began with them, it was safe to end in a shower of stones. For my own part, whenever anything was addressed to me, I smiled gently and shook my head, as though I were an inoffensive person inadequately ac- quainted with French. For, indeed, I have had such an experience at home that I would sooner meet many wild animals than a troop of healthy urchins. But I was doing injustice to these peaceable young Hainaulters. When the Cigarette went off to make inquiries, I got out upon the bank to smoke a pipe and superintend the boats, and became at once the centre of much amiable curiosity. The children had been joined by this time by a young woman and a mild lad who had lost an arm; and this gave me more security. When I let slip my first word or so in French, a little girl nodded her head with a comical grown-up air. " Ah, you see," she said, " he understands well enough now : he was just making believe." And the little group laughed together very good-naturedly. They were much impressed when they heard 40 AN INLAND VOYAGE we came from England; and the little girl prof- fered the information that England was an island " and a far way from here — bien loin d'ici/' " Ay, you may say that, a far way from here," said the lad with one arm. I was nearly as homesick as ever I was in my life; they seemed to make it such an incalculable distance to the place where I first saw the day. They admired the canoes very much. And I observ^ed one piece of delicacy in these children which is worthy of record. They had been deaf- ening us for the last hundred yards with petitions for a sail ; ay, and they deafened us to the same tune next morning when we came to start; but then, when the canoes were lying empty, there was no word of any such petition. Delicacy? or per- haps a bit of fear for the water in so crank a vessel ? I hate cynicism a great deal worse than I do the devil ; unless perhaps, the two were the same thing? And yet 'tis a good tonic; the cold tub and bath-towel of the sentiments; and positively necessary to life in cases of advanced sensibility. From the boats they turned to my costume. ON THE SAMBRE 41 They could not make enough of my red sash ; and my knife filled them with awe. " They make them like that in England," said the boy with one arm. I was glad he did not know how badly we make them in England nowadays. *' They are for people who go away to sea," he added, " and to defend one's life against great fish." I felt I was becoming a more and more romantic figure to the little group at every word. And so I suppose I was. Even my pipe, although it was an ordinary French clay, pretty well " trousered," as they call it, would have a rarity in their eyes, as a thing coming from so far away. And if my feathers were not very fine in themselves, they were all from over seas. One thing in my outfit, however, tickled them out of all politeness; and that was the bemired condition of my canvas shoes. I suppose they were sure the mud at any rate was a home product. The little girl (who was the genius of the party) displayed her own sabots in competition; and I wish you could have seen how gracefully and merrily she did it. 42 AN INLAND VOYAGE The young woman's milk-can, a great amphora of hammered brass, stood some way off upon the sward. I was glad of an opportunity to divert pub- lic attention from myself and return some of the compliments I had received. So I admired it cor- dially both for form and colour, telling them, and very truly, that it was as beautiful as gold. They were not surprised. The things were plainly the boast of the country-side. And the children ex- patiated on the costliness of these amphorae, which sell sometimes as high as thirty francs apiece; told me how they were carried on donkeys, one on either side of the saddle, a brave caparison in themselves; and how they were to be seen all over the district, and at the larger farms in great « number and of great size. PONT-SUR-SAMBRE WE ARE PEDLARS THE Cigarette returned with good news. There were beds to be had some ten minutes' walk from where we were, at a place called Pont. We stowed the canoes in a granary, and asked among the children for a guide. The circle at once widened round us, * and our offers of reward were received in dis- piriting silence. We were plainly a pair of Bluebeards to the children; they might speak to us in public places, and where they had the advantage of numbers ; but it was another thing to venture off alone with two uncouth and legendary characters, who had dropped from the clouds upon their hamlet this quiet afternoon, sashed and beknived, and with a flavour of great voyages. The owner of the granary came to our assistance, singled out one little fellow, and 44 AN INLAND VOYAGE threatened him with corporaUties ; or I suspect we should have had to find the way for ourselves. As it was, he w^as more frightened at the granary man than the strangers, having perhaps had some experience of the former. But I fancy his little heart must have been going at a fine rate, for he kept trotting at a respectful distance in front, and looking back at us with scared eyes. Not other- wise may the children of the young world have guided Jove or one of his Olympian compeers on an adventure. A miry lane led us up from Quartes, with its church and bickering wind-mill. The hinds were trudging homewards from the fields. A brisk little old woman passed us by. She was seated across a donkey between a pair of glittering milk- cans, and, as she went, she kicked jauntily with her heels upon the donkey's side, and scattered shrill remarks among the wayfarers. It was not- able that none of the tired men took the trouble to reply. Our conductor soon led us out of the lane and across country. The sun had gone down, but the west in front of us was one lake of level PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 45 gold. The path wandered awhile in Ihc open, and then passed under a treUis hke a bower in- definitely prolonged. On either hand were shad- owy orchards; cottages lay low among the leaves and sent their smoke to heaven ; every here and there, in an opening, appeared the great gold face of the west. I never saw the Cigarette in such an idyllic frame of mind. He waxed positively lyrical in praise of country scenes. I was little less ex- hilarated myself; the mild air of the evening, the shadows, the rich lights, and the silence made a symphonious accompaniment about our walk; and we both determined to avoid towns for the future and sleep in hamlets. At last the path went between two houses, and turned the party out into a wide, muddy high- road, bordered, as far as the eye could reach on either hand, by an unsightly village. The houses stood well back, leaving a ribbon of waste land on either side of the road, where there were stacks of firewood, carts, barrows, rubbish heaps, and a little doubtful grass. Away on the left, a gaunt 46 AN INLAND VOYAGE tower stood in the middle of the street. What it had been in past ages I know not : probably a hold in time of war; but nowadays it bore an illegible dial-plate in its upper parts, and near the bottom an iron letter-box. The inn to which we had been recommended at Quartes was full, or else the landlady did not like our looks. I ought to say, that with our long, damp india-rubber bags, we presented rather a doubtful type of civilisation : like rag-and-bone men, the Cigarette imagined. " These gentlemen are pedlars? — Ces messieurs sont des mar- chandsf " — asked the landlady. And then, with- out waiting for an answer, which I suppose she thought superfluous in so plain a case, recom- mended us to a butcher who lived hard by the tower and took in travellers to lodge. Thither went we. But the butcher was flitting, and all his beds were taken down. Or else he did n't like our looks. As a parting shot, we had, " These gentlemen are pedlars ? " It began to grow dark in earnest. We could no longer distinguish the faces of the people who PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 47 passed us by with an inarticulate good-evening. And the householders of Pont seemed very eco- nomical with their oil, for we saw not a single window lighted in all that long village. I believe it is the longest village in the world ; but I dare say in our predicament every pace counted three times over. We were much cast down when we came to the last auberge, and, looking in at the dark door, asked timidly if we could sleep there for the night. A female voice assented, in no very friendly tones. We clapped the bags down and found our way to chairs. The place was in total darkness, save a red glow in the chinks and ventilators of the stove. But now the landlady lit a lamp to see her new guests; I suppose the darkness was what saved us another expulsion, for I cannot say she looked gratified at our appearance. We were in a large, bare apartment, adorned with two allegorical prints of Music and Painting, and a copy of the Law against Public Drunkenness. On one side there was a bit of a bar, with some half-a-dozen bottles. Two labourers sat waiting supper, in at- 48 AN INLAND VOYAGE titudes of extreme weariness; a plain-looking lass bustled about with a sleepy child of two, and the landlady began to derange the pots upon the stove and set some beefsteak to grill. "These gentlemen are pedlars?" she asked sharply; and that was all the conversation forth- coming. We began to think we might be pedlars, after all. I never knew a population with so nar- row a range of conjecture as the innkeepers of Pont-sur-Sambre. But manners and bearing have not a wider currency than bank-notes. You have only to get far enough out of your beat, and all your accomplished airs will go for nothing. These Hainaulters could see no difference between us and the average pedlar. Indeed, we had some grounds for reflection while the steak was getting ready, to see how perfectly they accepted us at their own valuation, and how our best politeness and best efforts at entertainment seemed to fit quite suitably with the character of packmen. At least it seemed a good account of the profession in France, that even before such judges we could not beat them at our own weapons. PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 49 At last we were called to table. The two hinds (and one of them looked sadly worn and white in the face, as though sick with over-work and under-feeding) supped off a single plate of some sort of bread-berry, some potatoes in their jackets, a small cup of coffee sweetened with sugar candy, and one tumbler of swipes. The landlady, her son, and the lass aforesaid took the same. Our meal w^as quite a banquet by comparison. We had some beefsteak, not so tender as it might have been, some of the potatoes, some cheese, an extra glass of the swipes, and white sugar in our coffee. You see what it is to be a gentleman, — I beg your pardon, what it is to be a pedlar. It had not before occurred to me that a pedlar was a great man in a labourer's alehouse; but now that I had to enact the part for the evening, I found that so it was. He has in his hedge quarters somewhat the same pre-eminency as the man who takes a private parlour in a hotel. The more you look into it the more infinite are the class dis- tinctions among men; and possibly, by a happy dispensation there is no one at all at the bottom 50 AN INLAND VOYAGE of the scale; no one but can find some superiority over somebody else, to keep up his pride withal. We were displeased enough with our fare. Par- ticularly the Cigarette; for I tried to make believe that I was amused with the adventure, tough beef- steak and all. According to the Lucretian maxim, our steak should have been flavoured by the look of the other people's bread-berry; but we did not find it so in practice. You may have a head knowledge that other people live more poorl}' than yourself, but it is not agreeable — I was going to say, it is against the etiquette of the universe — to sit at the same table and pick your own superior diet from among their crusts. 1 had not seen such a thing done since the greedy boy at school with his birthday cake. It was odious enough to witness, I could remember; and I had never thought to play the part myself. But there, again, you see what it is to be a pedlar. There is no doubt that the poorer classes in our country are much more charitably disposed than their superiors in wealth. And I fancy it must arise a great deal from the comparative indistinc- PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 51 tion of the easy and the not so easy in these ranks. A workman or a pedlar cannot shutter himself off from his less comfortable neighbours. If he treats himself to a luxury, he must do it in the face of a dozen who cannot. And what should more directly lead to charitable thoughts? . . . Thus the poor man, camping out in life, sees it as it is, and knows that every mouthful he puts in his belly has been wrenched out of the fingers of the hungry. But at a certain stage of prosperity, as in a balloon ascent, the fortunate person passes through a zone of clouds, and sublunary matters are thence- forward hidden from his view. He sees nothing but the heavenly bodies, all in admirable order and positively as good as new. He finds himself surrounded in the most touching manner by the attentions of Providence, and compares himself involuntarily with the lilies and the skylarks. He' does not precisely sing, of course; but then he looks so unassuming in his open Landau! If all the world dined at one table, this philosophy would meet with some rude knocks. PONT-SUR-SAMBRE THE TRAVELLING MERCHANT LIKE the lackeys in Moliere's farce, when J the true nobleman broke in on -their high life below stairs, we were destined to be confronted with a real pedlar. To make the lesson still more poignant for fallen gentlemen like us, he was a pedlar of infinitely more consideration than the sort of scurvy fellows we were taken for; like a lion among mice, or a ship of war bearing down upon two cock-boats. Indeed, he did not deserve the name of pedlar at all; he was a trav- elling merchant. I suppose it was about half-past eight when this worthy, ^Monsieur Hector Gilliard, of Mau- beuge, turned up at the alehouse door in a tilt cart drawn by a donkey, and cried cheerily on the inhabitants. He was a lean, nervous flibber- tio;ibbet of a man, with something- the look of an PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 53 actor and something the look of a horse jockey. He had evidently prospered without any of the favours of education, for he adhered with stern sim- plicity to the masculine gender, and in the course of the evening passed off some fancy futures in a very florid style of architecture. With him came his wife, a comely young woman, with her hair tied in a yellow kerchief, and their son, a little fellow of four, in a blouse and military kepi. It was notable that the child was many degrees better dressed than either of the parents. We were informed he was already at a boarding-school ; but the holidays having just commenced, he was off to spend them with his parents on a cruise. An enchanting holiday occupation, was it not? to travel all day wnih. father and mother in the til,t cart full of countless treasures ; the green country rattling by on either side, and the children in all the villages contemplating him with envy and wonder. It is better fun, during the holidays, to be the son of a travelling merchant, than son and heir to the greatest cotton spinner in cre- ation. And as for being a reigning prince. — 54 AN INLAND VOYAGE indeed, I never saw one if it was not Master Gilliard ! While M. Hector and the son of the house were putting up the donkey and getting all the val- uables under lock and key, the landlady warmed up the remains of our beefsteak and fried the cold potatoes in slices, and Madame Gilliard set herself to waken the boy, who had come far that day, and was peevish and dazzled by the light. He was no sooner awake than he began to prepare himself for supper by eating ga- lette, unripe pears, and cold potatoes, with, so far as I could judge, positive benefit to his appetite. The landlady, fired with motherly emulation, awoke her own little girl, and the two children were confronted. Master Gilliard looked at her for a moment, very much as a dog looks at his own reflection in a mirror before he turns away. He was at that time absorbed in the galette. His mother seemed crestfallen that he should display so little inclination towards the other sex, and expressed her disappointment with some candour PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 55 and a very proper reference to the influence of years. Sure enough a time will come when he will pay more attention to the girls, and think a great deal less of his mother; let us hope she will like it as well as she seemed to fancy. But it is odd enough ; the very women who profess most contempt for mankind as a sex seem to find even its ugliest par- ticulars rather lively and high-minded in their own sons. The little girl looked longer and with more in- terest, probably because she was in her own house, while he was a traveller and accustomed to strange sights. And, besides, there was no galette in the case with her. All the time of supper there was nothing spoken of but my young lord. The two parents were both absurdly fond of their child. Monsieur kept insisting on his sagacity; how he knew all the children at school by name, and when this utterly failed on trial, how he was cautious and exact to a strange degree, and if asked anything, he would sit and think — and think, and if he did not know S6 AN INLAND VOYAGE it, " my faith, he would n't tell you at all — ma foi, il ne vous le dira pas.'' Which is certainly a very high degree of caution. At intervals, M. Hector would appeal to his wife, with his mouth full of beefsteak, as to the little fellow's age at such or such a time when he had said or done something memorable ; and I noticed that Madame usually poohpoohed these inquiries. She herself was not boastful in her vein; but she never had her fill of caressing the child; and she seemed to take a gentle pleasure in recalling all that was fortunate in his little existence. No school-boy could have talked more of the holidays which were just beginning and less of the black school-time which must inevitably follow after. She showed, with a pride perhaps partly mercantile in origin, his pockets preposterously swollen with tops, and whistles, and string. When she called at a house in the way of business, it appeared he kept her company; and, whenever a sale was made, re- ceived a sou out of the profit. Indeed, they spoiled him vastly, these two good people. , But they had an eye to lu's manners, for all that, and reproved P O N I - S U R - S A M B R E 57 him for some little faults in breeding* which oc- curred from time to time during supper. On the whole, I was not much hurt at being taken for a pedlar. I might think that I ate with greater delicacy, or that my mistakes in French belonged to a different order; but it was plain that these distinctions would be thrown away upon the landlady and the two labourers. In all essen- tial things we and the Gilliards cut very much the same figure in the alehouse kitchen. M. Hector was more at home, indeed, and took a higher tone with the world; but that was explicable on the ground of his driving a donkey-cart, while we poor bodies tramped afoot. I dare say the rest of the company thought us dying with envy, though in no ill sense, to be as far up in the pro- fession as the new arrival. And of one thing I am sure; that every one thawed and became more humanised and con- versible as soon as these innocent people appeared upon the scene. I would not very readily trust the travelling merchant with any extravagant sum of money, bu: I am sure his heart was in the 58 AN INLAND VOYAGE right place. In this mixed world, if you can find one or two sensible places in a man; above all, if you should find a whole family living together on such pleasant terms, you may surely be satisfied, and take the rest for granted ; or, what is a great deal better, boldly make up your mind that you can do perfectly well without the rest, and that ten thousand bad traits cannot make a single good one any the less good. It was getting late. M. Hector lit a stable lan- tern and went off to his cart for some arrange- ments, and my young gentleman proceeded to divest himself of the better part of his raiment and play gymnastics on his mother's lap, and thence on to the floor, with accompaniment of laughter. "Are you going to sleep alone?" asked the servant lass. " There 's little fear of that," says Master Gilliard. " You sleep alone at school," objected his mother. '' Come, come, you must be a man." But he protested that school was a different PONT-SUR-SAMBRE 59 matter from the holidays; that there were dor- mitories at school, and silenced the discussion with kisses, his mother smiling, no one better pleased than she. There certainly was, as he phrased it, very little fear that he should sleep alone, for there was but one bed for the trio. We, on our part, had firmly protested against one man's accommodation for two; and we had a double-bedded pen in the loft of the house, furnished, beside the beds, with ex- actly three hat pegs and one table. There was not so much as a glass of water. But the window would open, by good fortune. Some time before I fell asleep the loft was full of the sound of mighty snoring; the Gilliards, and the labourers, and the people of the inn, all at it, I suppose, with one consent. The young moon outside shone very clearly over Pont-sur- Samhre, and down upon the alehouse where all we pedlars were abed. ON THE SAMBRE CANALISED TO LANDRECIES IN the morning, when we came down-stairs the landlady pointed out to us two pails of water behind the street door. " Voila de Veau pour vous debarbouiller/' says she. And so there we made a shift to wash ourselves, while Madame Gilliard brushed the family boots on the outer doorstep, and M. Hector, whistling cheerily, arranged some small goods for the day's cam- paign in a portable chest of drawers, which formed a part of his baggage. Meanwhile the child was letting off Waterloo crackers all over the floor. I wonder, by the way, what they call Waterloo crackers in France; perhaps Austerlitz crackers. There is a great deal in the point of view. Do you remember the Frenchman who, travelling by way of Southampton, was put down in Waterloo ON THE SAM BRK 61 Station, and had to drive across Waterloo Bridge? He had a mind to go home again, it seems. Pont itself is on the river, but whereas it is ten minutes' walk from Quartes by dry land, it is six w^eary kilometres by water. We left our bags at the inn and walked to our canoes through the wet orchards unencumbered. Some of the children were there to see us off, but we were no longer the mysterious beings of the night before. A de- parture is much less romantic than an unexplained arrival in the golden evening. Although we might be greatly taken at a ghost's first appear- ance, we should behold him vanish with compara- tive equanimity. The good folks of the inn at Pont, when we called there for the bags, were overcome with marvelling. At the sight of these two dainty little boats, wnth a fluttering union jack on each, and all the varnish shining from the sponge, they began to perceive that they had entertained angels un- awares. The landlady stood upon the bridge, probably lamenting she had charged so little; the son ran to and fro, and called out the neighbours 62 AN INLAND VOYAGE to enjoy the sight; and we paddled away from quite a crowd of rapt observers. These gentlemen pedlars, indeed! Now you see their quality too late. The whole day was showery, with occasional drenching plumps. We were soaked to the skin, then partially dried in the sun, then soaked once more. But there were some calm intervals, and one notably, when we were skirting the forest of Mormal, a sinister name to the ear, but a place most gratifying to sight and smell. It looked' solemn along the river-side, drooping its boughs into the water, and piling them up aloft into a wall of leaves. What is a forest but a city of nature's own, full of hardy and innocuous living things, where there is nothing dead and nothing made with the hands, but the citizens themselves are the houses and public monuments? There is nothing so much alive and yet so quiet as a wood- land; and a pair of people, swinging past in canoes, feel very small and bustling by comparison. And, surely, of all smells in the world the smell of many trees is the sweetest and most for- ONIHES^MBRE 63 tifying. The sea has a rude pistolHng sort of odour, that takes you in the nostrils Hke snuff, and carries with it a fine sentiment of open water and tall ships; but the smell of a forest, which comes nearest to this in tonic quality, surpasses it by many degrees in the quality of softness. Again, the smell of the sea has little variety, but the smell of a forest is infinitely changeful; it varies with the hour of the day, not in strength merely, but in character; and the different sorts of trees, as you go from one zone of the wood to another, seem to live among different kinds of atmosphere. Usually the rosin of the fir predom- inates. But some woods are more coquettish in their habits; and the breath of the forest Mormal, as it came aboard upon us that showery after-, noon, was perfumed with nothing less delicate than sweetbrier. I wish our way had always lain among woods. Trees are the most civil society. An old oak that has been growing where he stands since be- fore the Reformation, taller than many spires, more stately than the greater part of mountains. 64 AN INLAND VOYAGE and yet a living thing, liable to sicknesses and death, like you and me : is not that in itself a speaking lesson in history? But acres on acres full of such patriarchs contiguously rooted, their green tops billowing in the wind, their stalwart younglings pushing up about their knees; a whole forest, healthy and beautiful, giving colour to the light, giving perfume to the air; what is this but the most imposing piece in nature's repertor}'? Heine wished to lie like Merlin under the oaks of Broceliande. I should not be satisfied with one tree ; but if the wood grew together like a banyan grove, I would be buried under the tap- root of the whole ; my parts should circulate from oak to oak ; and my consciousness should be dif- . fused abroad in all the forest, and give a common heart to that assembly of green spires, so that it, also, might rejoice in its own loveliness and dig- nity. I think I feel a thousand squirrels leaping from bough to bough in my vast mausoleum; and the birds and the winds merrily coursing over its uneven, leafy surface. Alas! the forest of Mormal is only a little bit ON THE SAMBRE 6 s of. a wood, and it was but for a little way that we skirted bv its boundaries. And the rest of the time the rain kept coming in squirts and the wind in squalls, until one's heart grew weary of such fit- ful, scolding weather. It was odd how the showers began when we had to carry the boats over a lock and must expose our legs. They always did. This is a sort of thing that readily begets a personal feeling against nature. There seems no reason why the shower should not come five minutes be- fore or five minutes after, unless you suppose an intention to affront you. The Cigarette had a mackintosh which put him more or less above these contrarieties. But I had to bear the brunt uncovered. I began to remember that nature was a woman. My companion, in a rosier temper, listened with great satisfaction to my jeremiads, and ironically concurred. He instanced, as a cog- nate matter, the action of the tides, " which," said he, " was altogether designed for the confusion of canoeists, except in so far as it was calculated to minister to a barren vanity on the part of the moon." S 66 AN INLAND VOYAGE At the last lock, some little way out of Landre- cies, I refused to go any farther; and sat in a drift of rain by the side of the bank, to have a reviving pipe. A vivacious old man, whom I took to have been the devil, drew near, and questioned me about our journey. In the fulness of my heart I laid bare our plans before him. He said it was the silliest enterprise that ever he heard of. Why, did I not know, he asked me, that it was nothing but locks, locks, locks, the whole way? not to mention that, at this season of the year, we would find the Oise quite dry ? ** Get into a train, my little young man," said he, " and go you away home to your parents." I was so astounded at the man's malice that I could only stare at him in silence. A tree would never have spoken to me like this. At last I got out with some words. We had come from Antwerp already, I told him, which was a good long way; and we should do the rest in spite of him. Yes, I said, if there were no other reason, I would do it now, just be- cause he had dared to say we could not. The pleasant old gentleman looked at me sneeringly, ON THE SAMBRE 67 made an allusion to my canoe, and marched off, wagging his head. I was still inwardly fuming when up came a pair of young fellows, who imagined I was the Cigarette's servant, on a comparison, I suppose, of my bare jersey with the other's mackintosh, and asked me many questions about my place and my master's character. I said- he was a good enough fellow, but had this absurd voyage on the head. Oh, no, no," said one, " you must not say that ; it is not absurd ; it is very courageous of him." I believe these were a couple of angels sent to give me heart again. It was truly fortifying to reproduce all the old man's insinuations, as if they were original to me in my character of a malcontent footman, and have them brushed away like so many flies by these admirable young men. When I recounted this affair to the Cigarette, " They must have a curious idea of how English servants behave," says he, drily, " for you treated me Hke a brute beast at the lock." I was a good deal mortified ; but my temper had suffered, it is a fact. AT LANDRECIES AT Landrecies the rain still fell and the /~"\ wind still blew; but we found a double- bedded room with plenty of. furniture, real water-jugs with real water in them, and dinner, a real dinner, not innocent of real wine. After having been a pedlar for one night, and a butt for the elements during the whole of the next day, these comfortable circumstances fell on my heart like sunshine. There was an English fruiterer at dinner, travelling with a Belgian fruiterer; in the evening at the cafe we watched our compatriot drop a good deal of money at corks, and I don't know why, but this pleased us. It turned out that we were to see more of Landrecies than we expected ; for the weather next day was simply bedlamite. It is not the place one would have chosen for a day's rest, for it consists almost entirelv of fortifications. Within the ram- AT LANDRECIES 69 parts, a few blocks of houses, a long row of bar- racks, and a church figure, with what countenance they may, as the town. There seems to be no trade, and a shop-keeper from whom I bought a sixpenny flint and steel was so much affected that he filled my pockets with spare flints into the bargain. The only public buildings that had any interest for us were the hotel and the cafe. But we visited the church. There lies Marshal Clarke. But as neither of us had ever heard of that mili- tary hero, we bore the associations of the spot with fortitude. In all garrison towns, guard-calls, and reveilles, and such like, make a fine, romantic interlude in civic business. Bugles, and drums, and fifes are of themselves most excellent things in nature, and when they carry the mind to marching armies and the picturesque vicissitudes of war they stir up something proud in the heart. But in a shadow of a town like Landrecies, with little else moving, these points of war made a proportionate commo- tion. Indeed, they were the only things to re- member. It was just the place to hear the round 70 AN INLAND VOYAGE going by at night in the darkness, with the soHd tramp of men marching, and the starthng rever- berations of the drum. It reminded vou that even this place was a point in the great warfaring system of Europe, and might on some future day be ringed about with cannon smoke and thunder, and make itself a name among strong towns. The drum, at any rate, from its martial voice and notable physiological effect, nay, even from its cumbrous and comical shape, stands alone among the instruments of noise. And if it be true, as I have heard it said, that drums are covered with asses' skin, what a picturesque irony is there in that! As if this long-suffering animal's hide had not been sufficiently belaboured during life, now by Lyonnese costermongers, now by presump- tuous Hebrew prophets, it must be stripped from his poor hinder quarters after death, stretched on a drum, and beaten night after night round the streets of every garrison town in Europe. And up the heights of Alma and Spicheren, and wher- ever death has his red flag a-flying, and sounds his own potent tuck upon the cannons, there also AT LANDRECIES 71 must the drummer boy, hurrying with white face over fallen comrades, batter and bemaul this slip of skin from the loins of peaceable donkevs. Generally a man is never more uselessly em- ployed than when he is at this trick of bastinado- ing asses' hide. We know what effect it has in life, and how your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating. But in this state of mummy and melancholy survival of itself, when the hollow skin reverberates to the drummer's wTist, and each dub- a-dub goes direct to a man's heart, and puts mad- ness there, and that disposition of the pulses which we, in our big way of talking, nickname Heroism, — is there not something in the nature of a re- venge upon the donkey's persecutors? Of old, he might say, you drubbed me up hill and down dale and I must endure; but now that I am dead those dull thwacks that were scarcely audible in coun- try lanes have become stirring music in front of the brigade, and for every blow that you lay on my old great-coat, you will see a comrade stumble and fall. 72 AN INLAND VOYAGE Not long after the drums had passed the cafe, the Cigarette and the Arethiisa began to grow sleepy, and set out for the hotel, which was only a door or two away. But although we had been somewhat indifferent to Landrecies, Landrecies had not been indifferent to us. All day. we learned, people had been running out between the squalls to visit our two boats. Hundreds of persons, so said report, although it fitted ill with our idea of the town, — hundreds of persons had inspected them where they lay in a coal-shed. We were becoming lions in Landrecies, who had been only pedlars the night before in Pont. And now, when we left the cafe, we were pur- sued and overtaken at the hotel door by no less a person than the Juge de Paix ; a functionary, as far as I can make out, of the character of a Scotch Sheriff Substitute. He gave us his card and invited us to sup with him on the spot, very neatly, very gracefully, as Frenchmen can do these things. It was for the credit of Landrecies, said he; and although we knew very well how little credit we could do the place, we must have been AT LANDRECIES 73 churlish fellows to refuse an invitation so politely introduced. The house of the judge was close by; it was a well-appointed bachelor's establishment, with a curious collection of old brass warming-pans upon the walls. Some of these were most elaborately carved. It seemed a picturesque idea for a col- lector. You could not help thinking how many nightcaps had wagged over these warming-pans in past generations : what jests may have been made and kisses taken while they were in service ; and how often they had been uselessly paraded in the bed of death. If they could only speak at what absurd, indecorous, and tragical scenes had they not been present? The wine was excellent. When we made the judge our compliments upon a bottle, " I do not give it you as my worst," said he. I wonder when Englishmen will learn these hospitable graces. They are worth learning; they set off life and make ordinary moments ornamental. There were two other Landrecienses present. One was the collector of something or other, I 74 AN INLAND VOYAGE forget what; the other, we were told, was the principal notary of the place. So it happened that wx all five more or less followed the law. At this rate, the talk was pretty certain to become technical. The Cigarette expounded the poor laws very magisterially. And a little later I found my- self laying down the Scotch law of illegitimacy, of w^hich I am glad to say I know nothing. The collector and the notary, who wxre both married men, accused the judge, who was a bachelor, of having started the subject. He deprecated the charge, with a conscious, pleased air, just like all the men I have ever seen, be they French or ft English. How strange that we should all, in our unguarded moments, rather like to be thought a bit of a rogue with the women ! As the evening went on the wine grew more to my taste; the spirits proved better than the wine; the company was genial. This was the highest water mark of popular favour on the whole cruise. After all, being in a judge's house, was there not something semi-official in the tribute? And so, remembering what a great AT LANDRECIES 75 country France is, we did full justice to our en- tertainment. Landrecies had been a long while asleep before we returned to the hotel ; and the sentries on the rahiparts were already looking for daybreak. SAMBRE AND OISE CANAL CANAL BOATS NEXT day we made a late start in the rain. The judge poHtely escorted us to the end of the lock under an umbrella. We had now brought ourselves to a pitch of humility, in the matter of weather, not often at- tained except in the Scotch Highlands. A rag of blue sky or a glimpse of sunshine set our hearts singing; and when the rain was not heavy we counted the day almost fair. Long lines of barges lay one after another along the canal, many of them looking mighty spruce and shipshape in their jerkin of Archangel tar picked out with .white and green. Some carried gay iron railings and quite a parterre of flower- pots. Children played on the decks, as heedless of the rain as if they had been brought up on Loch Caron side ; men fished over the gunwale. SAM BRE AND O 1 SE 77 some of them under umbrellas ; women did their washing'; and every barge boasted its mongrel cur by way of watch -dog. Each one barked furi- ously at the canoes, running alongside until he had got to the end of his own ship, and so pass- ing on the word to the dog aboard the next. We must have seen something like a hundred of these embarkations in the course of that day's paddle, ranged one after another like the houses in a street; and from not one of them w^ere we disappointed of this accompaniment. It was like visiting a menagerie, the Cigarette remarked. These little cities by the canal-side had a very odd effect upon the mind. They seemed, with their flower-pots and smoking chimneys, their . washings and dinners, a rooted piece of nature in the scene; and yet if only the canal below were to open, one junk after another would hoist sail or harness horses and swim awav into all parts of France ; and the impromptu hamlet would separate, house by house, to the four winds. The children who played together to-day by the Sambre 78 AN INLAND VOYAGE and Oise Canal, each at his own father's thresh- old, when and where might they next meet? For some time past the subject of barges had occupied a great deal of our talk, and we had projected an old age on the canals of Europe. It was to be the most leisurely of progresses, now on a swift river at the tail of a steamboat, now waiting horses for days together on some incon- siderable junction. We should be seen pottering on deck in all the dignity of years, our white beards falling into our laps. We were ever to be busied among paint-pots, so that there should be no white fresher and no green more emerald than ours, in all the navy of the canals. There should be books in the cabin, and tobacco jars, and some old Burgundy as red as a November sunset and as odorous as a violet in April. There ^ should be a flageolet whence the Cigarette, with cunning touch, should draw melting music under the stars; or perhaps, laying that aside, upraise his voice — somewhat thinner than of yore, and with here and there a quaver, or call it a natural grace note — in rich and solemn psalmody. SAMBRE AND OISE 79 All this simmering in my mind set me wishing to go aboard one t^f these ideal houses of loung- ing. I had plenty to choose from, as I coasted one after another and the dogs bayed at me for a vagrant. At last I saw a nice old man and his wife looking at me with some interest, so I gave them good-day and pulled up alongside. I began with a remark upon their dog, which had some- what the look of a pointer ; thence I slid into a compliment on Madame's flowers, and thence into a word in praise of their way of life. If you ventured on such an experiment in Eng- land you would get a slap in the face at once. The life would be shown to be a vile one, not without a side shot at vour better fortune. Now, what I like so much in France is the clear, un- flinching recognition by everybody of his own luck. They all know on which side their bread is buttered, and take a pleasure in showing it to others, which is surely the better part of religion. And they scorn to make a poor mouth over their poverty, which I take to be the better part of manliness. I have heard a woman in quite a 8o AN INLAND VOYAGE better position at home, with a good bit of money in hand, refer to her own child with a horrid whine as " a poor man's child." I would not say such a thing to the Duke of Westminster. And the French are full of this spirit of inde- pendence. Perhaps it is the result of republican institutions, as they call them. Much more likely it is because there are so few people really poor that the whiners are not enough to keep each other in countenance. The people on the barge were delighted to hear that I admired their state. They understood per- fectly well, they told me, how Monsieur envied them. Without doubt Monsieur was rich, and in that case he might make a canal boat as pretty as a villa — joli comme un chateau. And with that they invited me on board their own water villa. They apologised for their cabin ; they had not been rich enough to make it as it ought to be. " The fire should have been here, at this side," explained the husband. " Then one might have a writing-table in the middle — books — and " SAMBRE AND OlSE 8i (comprehensively) "all. It would be quite coquet- tish — ga serait toiit-d-fait coquet." And he looked about him as though the improvements were al- ready made. It was plainly not the first time that he had thus beautified his cabin in imagination; and when next he makes a hit, I should expect to see the writing-table in the middle. Madame had three birds in a cage. They were no great thing, she explained. Fine birds were so dear. They had sought to get a Hollandais last winter in Rouen ( Rouen, thought I ; and is this whole mansion, with its dogs, and birds, and smok- « ing chimneys, so far a traveller as that, and as homely an object among the cliffs and orchards of the Seine as on the green plains of Sambre?) — they had sought to get a Hollandais last winter in Rouen ; but these cost fifteen francs apiece — picture it — fifteen francs ! " Pour un tout petit oiseau — For quite a little bird," added the husband. As I continued to admire, the apologetics died away, and the good people began to brag of their barge and their happy condition in life, as if they 82 AN INLAND VOYAGE had been Emperor and Empress of the Indies. It was, in the Scotch phrase, a good hearing, and put me in good-humour with the world. If people knew what an inspiriting thing it is to hear a man boasting, so long as he boasts of what he really has, I believe they w^ould do it more freely and with a better grace. They began to ask about our voyage. You should have seen how they sympathised. They seemed half ready to give up their barge and follow us. But these canaletti are only gipsies semi-domesticated. The semi-domestication came out in rather a pretty form. Suddenly Madame's brow darkened. " Cependant," she began, and then stopped ; and then began again by asking me if I were single. " Yes," said I. *' And your friend who went by just now?" He also was unmarried. Oh, then, all was well. She could not have wives left alone at home; but since there were no wives in the question, we were doing the best we could. SAMBRE AND OISE 83 " To see about one in the world," said the husband, " il n'y a que ga — there is nothing else worth while. A man, look you, who sticks in his own village like a bear," he went on, " very well, he sees nothing. And then death is the end of all. And he has seen nothing." Madame reminded her husband of an English- man who had come up this canal in a steamer. " Perhaps Mr. Moens in the Ytenc/' I suggested. " That 's it," assented the husband. " He had his wife and family with him, and servants. He came ashore at all the locks and asked the name of the villages, whether from boatmen or lock- keepers ; and then he wTote, wrote them down. Oh, he wrote enormously! I suppose it was a wager." A wager was a common enough explanation for our own exploits, but it seemed an original reason for taking notes. THE OISE IN FLOOD BEFORE nine next morning the two canoes I were installed on a light country cart at Etreux; and we were soon following them along the side of a pleasant valley full of hop- gardens and poplars. Agreeable villages lay here and there on the slope of the hill : notably, Tu- pigny, with the hop-poles hanging their garlands in the very street, and the houses clustered with grapes. There was a faint enthusiasm on our passage; weavers put their heads to the windows; children cried out in ecstasy at sight of the two '' boaties " — harquettes ; and bloused pedestrians, who were acquainted with our charioteer, jested with him on the nature of his freight. We had a shower or two, but light and flying. The air was clean and sweet among all these green fields and green things growing. There was not a touch of autumn in tht* weather. And THE OISE IN FLOOD 85 when, at Vadencourt, we launched from a Httle lawn opposite a mill, the sun broke forth and set all the leaves shining in the valley of the Gise. The river was swollen with the long rains. From Vadencourt all the way to Origny it ran with ever-quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, and racing as though it already smelt the sea. The water was yellow and turbulent, swung with an angry eddy among half -submerged willows, and made an angry clatter along stony shores. The course kept turning and turning in a narrow and well-timbered valley. Now the river would approach the side, and run gliding along the chalky base of the hill, and show us a few open colza fields among the trees. Now it would skirt the garden-walls of houses, where we might catch a glimpse through a doorway, and see a priest pacing in the checkered sunlight. Again, the foliage closed so thickly in front that there seemed to be no issue; only a thicket of willows overtopped by elms and poplars, under which the river ran flush and fleet, and where a kingfisher flew past like a piece of the blue sky.- 86 AN INLAND VOYAGE On these different manifestations the sun poured its clear and cathoHc looks. The shadows lay as solid on the swift surface of the stream as on the stable meadows. The light sparkled golden in the dancing poplar leaves, and brought the hills into communion with our eyes. And all the while the river never stopped running or took breath ; and the reeds along the whole valley stood shivering from top to toe. There should be some myth (but if there is, I know^ it not) founded on the shivering of the reeds. There are not many things in nature more striking to man's eye. It is such an eloquent pantomime of terror; and to see such a number of terrified creatures taking sanctuary in every nook along the shore is enough to infect a silly human with alarm. Perhaps they are only acold, and no wonder, standing waist deep in the stream. Or, perhaps, they have never got accustomed to the speed and fury of the river's flux, or the miracle of its continuous body. Pan once played upon their forefathers ; and so, by the hands of his river, he still plays upon these later generations I THE OISE IN FLOOD 87 down all the valley of the Gise; and plays the same air, both sweet and shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the terror of the world. The canoe was like a leaf in the current. It took it up and shook it, and carried it masterfully away, like a Centaur carrying off a nymph. To keep some command on our direction required hard and diligent plying of the paddle. The river was in such a hurry for the sea ! Every drop of water ran in a panic, like so many people in a frightened crowd. But what crowd was- ever so numerous or so single-minded? All the objects of sight went by at a dance measure ; the eyesight raced with the racing river; the exigencies of every moment kept the pegs screwed so tight that our being quivered like a well-tuned instrument, and the blood shook off its letharg>\ and trotted through all the high- ways and byways of the veins and arteries, and in and out of the heart, as if circulation were but a holiday journey and not the daily moil of three- score years and ten. The reeds might nod their heads in w^arning, and with tremulous gestures tell how the ri^•er was as cruel as it was strong and 88 AN INLAND VOYAGE cold, and how death lurked in the eddy underneath the willows. But the reeds had to stand where they were; and those who stand still are always timid advisers. As for us, we could have shouted aloud. If this lively and beautiful river were, in- deed, a thing of death's contrivance, the old ashen rogue had famously outwitted himself with us. I was living three to the minute. I was scoring points against him every stroke of my paddle, every turn of the stream. T have rarely had bet- ter profit of my life. For I think we may look upon our little private war with death somewhat in this light. If a man knows he will sooner or later be robbed upon a journey, he will have a bottle of the best in every inn, and look upon all his extravagances as so much gained upon the thieves. And above all, where, instead of simply spending, he makes a profitable investment for some of his money, when it will be out of risk of loss. So every bit of brisk living, and above all when it is healthful, is just so much gained upon the wholesale filcher, death. We shall have the less in our pockets, the more in our THE OISE IN FLOOD 89 stomachs, when he cries, Stand and dehver. A swift stream is a favourite artifice of liis, and one that brings him in a comfortable thing per annum ; but when he and I come to settle our accounts I shall whistle in his face for these hours upon the upper Gise. Towards afternoon we got fairly drunken with the sunshine and the exhilaration of the pace. We could no longer contain ourselves and our content. The canoes were too small for us; we must be out and stretch ourselves on shore. And so in a green meadow we bestowed our limbs on the grass, and smoked deifying tobacco, and pro- claimed the world excellent. It was the last good hour of the day, and I dwxU upon it with extreme complacency. On one side of the valley, high upon the chalky summit of the hill, a ploughman with his team appeared and disappeared at regular intervals. At each revelation he stood still for a few seconds against the sky, for all the world (as the Cigarette declared) like a toy Burns who had just ploughed up the Mountain Daisy. He was the only living go AN INLAND VOYAGE thing within view, unless we are to count the river. On the other side of the valley a group of red roofs and a belfry showed among the foliage. Thence some inspired bell-ringer made the after- noon musical on a chime of bells. There was something very sweet and taking in the air he played, and we thought we had never heard bells speak so intelligibly or sing so melodiousl}' as these. It must have been to some such measure that the spinners and the young maids sang, '' Come away. Death."" in the Shakespearian Illyria. There is so often a threatening note, something blatant and metallic, in the voice of bells, that I believe we have fully more pain than pleasure from hearing them: but these, as they sounded abroad, now high, now low, now with a plaintive cadence that caught the -ear like the bur- den of a popular song, were always moderate and tunable, and seemed to fall in with the spirit of still, rustic places, like the noise of a waterfall or the babble of a rookery in spring. I could have asked the bell-ringer for his blessing, good, THE OISE IN FLOOD 91 sedate old man, who swung the rope so gently tc the time of his meditations. I could have blessed the priest or the heritors, or whoever may be concerned with such atlairs in France, who had left these sweet old bells to gladden the after- noon, and not held meetings, and made collections, and had their names repeatedly printed in the local paper, to rig up a peal of brand-new. brazen, JBirmingham-hearted substitutes, who should bom- bard their sides to the provocation of a brand-new bell-rino;er. and till the echoes of the vallev with terror and riot. At last the bells ceased, and with their note the sun withdrew. The piece was at an end; shadow and silence poss'essed the valley of the Oise. We took to the paddle with glad hearts, like people who have sat out a noble performance and return to work. The river was more dan- gerous here ; it ran swifter, the eddies were more sudden and violent. All the way down we had had our fill of difficulties. Sometimes it was a weir which could be shot, sometimes one so shallow and full of stakes that we must withdraw the boats 92 AN INLAND VOYAGE from the water and carry them round. But the chief sort of obstacle was a consequence of the late high winds. Every two or three hundred yards a tree had fallen across the river, and usually involved more than another in its fall. Often there was free water at the end, and we could steer round the leafy promontory and hear the water sucking and bubbling among the twigs. Often, again, when the tree reached from bank to bank, there was room, by lying close, to shoot through underneath, canoe and all. Sometimes it was necessary to get out upon the trunk itself and pull the boats across; and sometimes, where the stream was too impetuous for this, there was nothing for it but to land and " carry over." This made a fine series of accidents in the day's career, and kept us aware of ourselves. Shortly after our re-embarkation, while I was leading by a long way, and still full of a noble, exulting spirit in honour of the sun, the swift pace, and the church bells, the river made one of its leonine pounces round a corner, and I was aware of another fallen tree within a stone-cast. THE OISE IN FLOOD 93 I had my back-board down in a trice, and aimed for a place where the trunk seemed high enough above the water, and the branches not too thick to let me slip below. When a man has just vowed eternal brotherhood with the universe he is not in a temper to take great determinations coolly, and this, which might have been a very important determination for me. had not been taken under a happy star. The tree caught me about the chest, and while I was yet struggling to make less of myself and get through, the river took the matter out of my hands and bereaved me of my boat. The Arcthusa swung round broadside on. leaned over, ejected so much of me as still remained on board, and. thus disencumbered, whipped under the tree, righted, and went merrily away down stream. I do not know how long it was before I scram- bled on to the tree to which I was left clinging, but it was longer than I cared about, ^ly thoughts were of a grave and almost sombre character, but I still clung to my paddle. The stream ran away with my heels as fast as I could pull up my shoul- 94 AN INLAND VOYAGE ders, and I seemed, by the weight, to have all the water of the Oise in my trousers* pockets. You can never know, till you try it. what a dead pull a river makes against a man. Death himself had me by the heels, for this was his last ambuscade, and he must now join personally in the fray. And still I held to my paddle. At last I dragged myself on to my stomach on the trimk. and lay there a breathless sop, with a mingled sense of humour and injustice. A poor hgure I must have presented to Bums upon the hill-top with his team. But there was the paddle in my hand. On ni}* tomb, if e\'er I have one, I mean to get these words inscribed : '' He climg to his paddle." The Cigarette had gone past awhile before : for, as I might have observed, if I had been a little less pleased with the universe at the moment, there was a clear way round the tree-top at the farther side. He had offered his services to haul me out. but, as I was then already on my elbows. I had de- clined and sent him down stream after the truant Arethusa. The stream was too rapid for a man tc THE OlSE IN FLOOD 95 mount with one canoe, let alone two, upon his hands. So I crawled along the trunk to shore, and proceeded down the meadows by the river- side. I was so cold that my heart was sore. I had now an idea of my own why the reeds so bitterly shivered. I could have given any of them a lesson. The Cigarette remarked, facetiously, that he thought I was " taking exercise " as I drew near, until he made out for certain that I was only twittering with cold. I had a rub-down with a towel, and donned a dry suit from the india- rubber bag. But I was not my own man again for the rest of the voyage. I had a queasy sense that I wore my last dry clothes upon my body. The struggle had tired me ; and, perhaps, whether I knew it or not, I was a little dashed in spirit. The devouring element in the universe had leaped out against me, in this green valley quickened by a running stream. The bells were all very pretty in their way, but I had heard some of the hollow notes of Pan's music. Would the wicked river drag me down by the heels, indeed? and look so beaut'iful all the time? 96 AN INLAND VOYAGE Nature's good-humour was only skin deep, after all. There was still a long way to go by the winding course of the stream, and darkness had fallen, and a late bell was ringing in Origny Sainte-Benoite when we arrived. ORIGNY SAINTE-BENOITE A BY-DAY THE next day was Sunday, and the church bells had little rest; indeed, I do not think I remember anywhere else so great a choice of services as were here offered to the devout. And while the bells made merry in the sunshine, all the world with his dog was out shoot- ing among the beets and colza. In the morning a hawker and his wife went down the street at a foot-pace, singing to a very slow, lamentable music, '' O France, mcs amours." It brought everybody to the door; and when our landlady called in the man to buy the w^ords, he had not a copy of them left. She was not the first nor the second who had been taken with the song. There is something very pathetic in the love of the French people, since the war, for dismal patriotic music-making. I have watched a forester 98 AN INLAND VOYAGE from Alsace while some one was singing " Les inalheurs de la France,'' at a baptismal party in the neighbourhood of Fontainebleau. He arose from the table and took his son aside, close by where I was standing. " Listen, listen," he said, bearing on the boy's shoulder, '' and remember this, my son." A little after he went out into the garden suddenly, and I could hear him sobbing in the darkness. The humiliation of their arms and the loss of Alsace and Lorraine made a sore pull on the endurance of this sensitive people ; and their hearts are still hot, not so much against Germany as against the Empire. In what other country will you find a patriotic ditty bring all the world into the street? But affliction heightens love; and we shall never know w^e are Englishmen until we have lost India. Independent America is still the cross of my existence; I cannot think of Farmer George without abhorrence; and I never feel more warmly to my own land than when I see the stars and stripes, and remember what our empire might ha^'C been. ORIGNY 99 The hawker's Httle book, which I purchased, was a curious mixture. Side by side with the flippant, rowdy nonsense of the Paris music-halls there were many pastoral pieces, not without a touch of poetry, I thought, and instinct with the brave independence of the poorer class in France. There you might read how the wood-cutter gloried in his axe, and the gardener scorned to be ashamed of his spade. It was not very well written, this poetry of labor, but the pluck of the sentiment redeemed what was weak or wordy in the expres- sion. The martial and the patriotic pieces, on the other hand, were tearful, womanish produc- tions one and all. The poet had passed under the Caudine Forks; he sang for an army visiting the tomb of its old renown, with arms reversed; and sang not of victory, but of death. There was a number in the hawker's collection called Consents Frangais, which may rank among the most dissua- sive war-lyrics on record. It would not be pos- sible to fight at all in such a spirit. The bravest conscript would turn pale if such a ditty were struck up beside him on i\w morning of battle; loo AN INLAND VOYAGE and whole regiments would pile their arms to its tune. If Fletcher of Saltoun is in the right about the influence of national songs, you would say France was come to a poor pass. But the thing will work its own cure, and a sound-hearted and courageous people weary at length of snivelling over their disasters. Already Paul Deroulede has written some manly military verses. There is not much of the trumpet note in them, perhaps, to stir a man's heart in his bosom ; they lack the lyrical elation, and move slowly ; but they are written in a grave, honourable, stoical spirit, which should carry soldiers far in a good cause. One feels as if one would like to trust Deroulede with some- thing. It will be happy if he can so far inoculate his fellow-countrymen that they may be trusted with their own future. And, in the meantime, here is an antidote to " French Conscripts " and much other doleful versification. We had left the boats over night in the custody of one whom we shall call Carnival. I did not properly catch his name, and perhaps that was not ORIGNY loi unfortunate for him, as I am not in a position to hand him down with honour to posterity. To this person's premises we strolled in the course of the day, and found quite a little deputation inspect- ing the canoes. There was a stout gentleman with a knowledge of the river, which he seemed eager to impart. There was a very elegant young gentleman in a black coat, with a smattering of English, who led the talk at once to the Oxford and Cambridge boat race. And then there were three handsome girls from fifteen to twenty; and an old gentleman in a blouse, with no teeth to speak of, and a strong country accent. Quite the pick of Origny, I should suppose. The Cigarette had some mysteries to perform with his rigging in the coach-house; so I was left to do the parade single-handed. I found myself very much of a hero whether I would or not. The girls were full of little shudderings over the dangers of our journey. And I thought it would be ungallant not to take my cue from the ladies. My mishap of yesterday, told in an off- hand way, produced a deep sensation. It was I02 AN INLAND VOYAGE Othello over again, with no less than three Des- demonas and a sprinkling of sympathetic senators in the background. Never were the canoes more flattered, or flattered more adroitly. "It is like a violin," cried one of the girls in an ecstasv. " I thank you for the word, mademoiselle," said I. " All the more since there are people who call out to nie that it is like a coffin." " Oh ! but it is really like a violin. It is finished like a violin," she went on. And polished like a violin," added a senator. One has only to stretch the cords," concluded another, " and then tum-tumty-tum " ; he imitated the result with spirit. Was not this a graceful little ovation? Where this people finds the secret of its pretty speeches I cannot imagine, unless the secret should be no other than a sincere desire to please. But then no disgrace is attached in France to saying a thing neatly; whereas in England, to talk like a book is to give in one's resignation to society. The old gentleman in the blouse stole into the (( a ORIGNY 103 coach-house, and somewhat irrelevantly informed the Cigarette that he was the father of the three girls and four more; quite an exploit for a Frenchman. *' You are very fortunate," answered the Cigar- ette politely. And the old gentleman, having apparently gained his point, stole away again. We all got very friendly together. The girls proposed to start with us on the morrow, if you please. And, jesting apart, every one was anxious to know the hour of our departure. Now, when you are going to crawl into your canoe from a bad launch, a crowd, however friendly, is undesirable, and so we told them not before twelve, and men- tally determined to be off by ten at latest. Towards evening we went abroad again to post some letters. • It was cool and pleasant; the long village was quite empty, except for one or two urchins who followed us as they might have fol- low^ed a menagerie; the hills and the tree-tops looked in from all sides through the clear air, and the bells were chiming for yet another service. I04 AN INLAND VOYAGE Suddenly we sighted the three girls, standing, with a fourth sister, in front of a shop on the wide selvage of the roadway. We had been very merry with them a little while ago, to be sure. But what was the etiquette of Origny? Had it been a country road, of course we should have spoken to them; but here, under the eyes of all the gossips, ought we to do even as much as bow ? I consulted the Cigarette. " Look/' said he. I looked. There were the four girls on the same spot; but now^ four backs were turned to us, very upright and conscious. Corporal Modesty had given the word of command, and the well-dis- ciplined picket had gone right-about-face like a single person. They maintained this formation all the while we were in sight ; but we heard them tittering among themselves, and the girl whom we had not met laughed with open mouth, and even looked over her shoulder at the enemy. I wonder was it altogether modesty after all, or in part a sort of country provocation? As we were returning to the inn we beheld some- ORIGNY 105 thing floating' in the ample field of golden evening sky, above the chalk cliffs and the trees that grow along their summit. It was too high up, too large, and too steady for a kite; and, as it was dark, it could not be a star. For, although a star were as black as ink and as rugged as a walnut, so amply does the sun bathe heaven with radiance that it would sparkle like a point of light for us, The village was dotted with people with their heads in air; and the children were in a bustle all along the street and far up the straight road that climbs the hill, where we could still see them running in loose knots. It was a balloon, we learned, which had left St. Quentin at half-past five that evening. Mighty composedly the ma- jority of the grown people took it. But we were English, and were soon running up the hill with the best. Being travellers ourselves in a small wav, we would fain have seen these other travellers alight. The spectacle was over by the time we gained the top of the hill. All the gold had withered out of the sky, and the balloon had disappeared. io6 AN INLAND VOYAGE Whither? I ask myself; caught up into the seventh heaven? or come safely to land some- where in that blue, uneven distance, into which the roadway dipped and melted before our eyes? Probably the aeronauts were already warming themselves at a farm chimney, for they say it is cold in these unhomely regions of the air. The night fell swiftly. Roadside trees and disappointed sightseers, returning through the meadows, stood out in black against a margin of low, red sunset. It was cheerfuller to face the other way, and so down the hill we went, with a full moon, the colour of a melon, swinging high above the wooded valley, and the white cliffs behind us faintly red- dened by the fire of the chalk-kilns. The lamps were lighted, and the salads were being made in Origny Sainte-Benoite by the river. ORIGNY SAINTE-BENOITE THE COMPANY AT TABLE ALTHOUGH we came late for dinner, the f % company at table treated ns to sparkling wine. " That is how we are in France," said one. " Those who sit down with us are our friends." And the rest applauded. They were three altogether, and an odd trio to pass the Sunday with. Two of them were guests like ourselves, both men of the north. One ruddy, and of a full habit of body, with copious black hair and beard, the intrepid hunter of France, w^ho thought nothing so small, not even a lark or a minnow, but he might vindicate his prowess by its capture. For such a great, healthy man, his hair flourishing like Samson's, his arteries running buckets of red blood, to boast of these infinitesimal exploits, pro- duced a feeling of disproportion in the world, as io8 AN INLAND VOYAGE when a steam-hammer is set to cracking nuts. The other was a quiet, subdued person, blond, and lymphatic, and sad, with something the look of a Dane : '' Tristes fetes de Danois ! " as Gaston Lafenestre used to say. I must not let that name go by without a word for the best of all good fellows, now gone down into the dust. We shall never again see Gaston in his forest costume, — he was Gaston with all the world, in affection, not in disrespect, — nor hear him wake the echoes of Fontainebleau with the woodland horn. Never* again shall his kind smile put peace among all races of artistic men, and make the Englishman at home in France. Never more shall the sheep, who were not more innocent at heart than he, sit all unconsciously for his industrious pencil. He died too early, at the very moment when he was beginning to put forth fresh sprouts and blossom into something worthy of himself ; and yet none who knew him will think he lived in vain. I never knew a man so little, for whom yet I had so much affection; and I find it a good test of others, how much they had ORIGNY 109 learned to understand and value him. His was, indeed, a good influence in life while he was still among us ; he had a fresh laugh ; it did you good to see him ; and, however sad he may have been at heart, he always bore a bold and cheerful coun- tenance and took fortune's worst as it were the showers of spring. But now his mother sits alone by the side of Fontainebleau woods, where he gathered mushrooms in his hardy and penurious youth. Many of his pictures found their way across the Channel ; besides those which were stolen, when a dastardly Yankee left him alone in London with two English pence, and, perhaps, twice as many words of English. If any one who reads these lines should have a scene of sheep, in the manner of Jacques, with this fine creature's signature, let him tell himself that one of the kindest and brav- est of men has lent a hand to decorate his lodging. There m.ay be better pictures in the National Gal- lery; but not a painter among the generations had a better heart. Precious in the sight of the Lord of humanity, the Psaims tell us, is the death no AN INLAND VOYAGE of his saints. It had need to be precious; for it is very costly, when, by a stroke, a mother is left desolate, and the peace-maker and peace-looker of a whole society is laid in the ground with Caesar and the Twelve Apostles. There is something lacking among the oaks of Fontainebleau ; and when the dessert comes in at Barbizon, people look to the door for a figure that IS gone. The third of our companions at Origny was no less a person than the landlady's husband; not properly the landlord, since he worked himself in a factory during the day, and came to his own house at evening as a guest ; a man worn to skin and bone by perpetual excitement, with baldish head, sharp features, and swift, shining eyes. On Saturday, describing some paltry adventure at a duck hunt, he broke a plate into a score of frag- ments. Whenever he made a remark he would look all round the table with his chin raised and a spark of green light in either eye, seeking ap- proval. His wife appeared now and again in the doorway of the room, where she was superintend- ORIGNY ■ in « ing dinner, with a '' Henri, yon forget yonrself," or a " Henri, yon can snrely talk without making such a noise." Indeed, that was what the honest fellow could not do. On the most trifling matter his eyes kindled, his fist visited the table, and his voice rolled abroad in changeful thunder. "I never saw such a petard of a man; I think the devil was in him. He had two favourite expres- sions, " It is logical," or illogical, as the case might be; and this other thrown out with a cer- tain bravado, as a man might unfurl a banner, at the beginning of many a long and sonorous story: "I am a proletarian, you see." Indeed, we saw it very well. God forbid that ever I should find him handling a gun in Paris streets. That will not be a good moment for the general public. I thought his two phrases very much repre- sented the good and evil of his class, and, to some extent, of his country. It is a strong thing to say what one is, and not be ashamed of it; even although it be in doubtful taste to repeat the statement too often in one evening. I should not 112 AN INLAND VOYAGE admire it in a duke, of course ; but as times go the trait is honourable in a workman. On the other hand, it is not at all a strong thing to put one's reliance upon logic; and our own logic particu- larly, for it is generally wrong. We never know Avhere we are to end if once we begin following words or doctors. There is an upright stock in a man's own heart that is trustier than any syllogism ; and the eyes, and the sympathies, and appetites know a thing or two that have never yet been stated in controversy. Reasons are as plentiful as blackberries ; and, like fisticuffs, they serve im- partially with all sides. Doctrines do not stand or fall by their proofs and are only logical in so far as they are cleverly put. An able controver- sialist no more than an able general demonstrates the justice of his cause. But France is all gone wandering after one or two big words ; it will take some time before they can be satisfied that they are no more than words, however big ; and, when once that is done, they will perhaps find logic less diverting. The conversation opened with details of tlie ORIGNY 113 clay's shooting. When all the sportsmen of a village shoot over the village territory pro indi- Z'iso, it is plain that many questions of etiquette and priority must arise. " Here now," cried the landlord, brandishing a plate, " here is a field of beet-root. Well. Here am I, then. I advance, do I not? Eh hien ! sacristi" ] and the statement, waxing louder, rolls off into a reverberation of oaths, the speaker glar- ing about for sympathy, and everybody nodding his head to him in the name of peace. The ruddy Northman told some tales of his own prowess in keeping order : notably one of a Alarquis. " Alarquis," I said, *' if you take another step I fire upon you. You have committed a dirtiness, Marc[uis." Whereupon, it appeared, the Alarquis touched his cap and withdrew. The landlord applauded noisily. *' It was well done." he said. "' He did all that he could. He admitted he was wrong." And then oath upon oath. He was no marquis-lo\'er, either, but he 8 114 AN INLAND VOYAGE had a sense of justice in him, this proletarimi host of ours. From the matter of hunting, the talk veered into a general comparison of Paris and the coun- try. The proletarian beat the table like a drum in praise of Paris. "What is Paris? Paris is the cream of France. There are no Parisians ; it is you, and I, and everybody who are Parisians. A man has eighty chances per cent to get on in the world in Paris." And he drew a vivid sketch of the workman in a den no bigger than a dog- hutch, making articles that were to go all over the world. "Eh hien, qiioi, c'est magniUque, ga! " cried he. The sad Northman interfered in praise of a peasant's life; he thought Paris bad for men and women. " Centralisation," said he But the landlord was at his throat in a moment. It was all logical, he showed him, and all mag- nificent. " What a spectacle ! What a glance for an eye!" And the dishes reeled upon the table under a cannonade of blows. Seeking to make peace, I threw in a word in ORIGNY 115 praise of the liberty of opinion in France. I could hardly have shot more amiss. There was an in- stant silence and a great wagging of significant heads. They did not fancy the subject, it was plain, but they gave me to understand that the sad Northman was a martyr on account of his views. "Ask him a bit," said they. ''Just ask him." '' Yes, sir," said he in his quiet way, answering me, although I had not spoken, " I am afraid there is less liberty of opinion in France than you may imagine." And with that he dropped his eyes and seemed to consider the subject at an end. Our curiosity was mightily excited at this. How% or why, or when was this lymphatic bagman mar- tyred? We concluded at once it was on some religious question, and brushed up our memories of the Inquisition, which were principally drawn from Poe's horrid story, and the sermon in Tris- tram Shandy, I believe. On the morrow we had an opportunity of going further into the question; for when we rose very ii6 AN INLAND VOYAGE early to avoid a sympathising deputation at our departure, we found the hero up before us. He was breaking his fast on white wine and raw" onions, in order to keep up the character of mar- tyr, I conclude. We had a long conversation, and made out what we wanted in spite of his reserve. But here was a truly curious circum- stance. It seems possible for two Scotchmen and a Frenchman to discuss during a long half-hour, and each nationality have a different idea in view throughout. It was not till the very end that we discovered his heresy had been political, or that he suspected our mistake. The terms and spirit in which he spoke of his political beliefs were, in our eyes, suited to religious beliefs. And vice versa. Nothing could be more characteristic of the two countries. Politics are the religion of France; as Nanty Ewart would have said, ''A d d bad religion," while we, at home, keep most of our bitterness for all differences about a hymn-book or a Hebrew word which, perhaps, neither of the parties can translate. And perhaps the miscon- ORIGNY 117 ception is typical of many others that may never be cleared up; not only between people of differ- ent race, but between those of different sex. As for our friend's martyrdom, he was a Com- munist, or perhaps only a Communard, which is a very different thing, and had lost one or more situations in consequence. I think he had also been rejected in marriage; but perhaps he had a sentimental way of considering business which deceived me. He w^as a mild, gentle creature, anyway, and I hope he has got a better situation and married a more suitable wife since then. DOWN THE OISE TO MOY CARNIVAL notoriously cheated us at first. Finding us easy in our ways, he regretted having let us off so cheaply, and, taking me aside, told me a cock-and-bull story, with the moral of another five francs for the narrator. The thing was palpably absurd ; but I paid up, and at once dropped all friendliness of manner and kept him in his place as an inferior, with freez- ing British dignity. He saw in a moment that he had gone too far and killed a willing horse; his face fell ; I am sure he would have refunded if he could only have thought of a decent pretext. He wished me to drink with him, but I would none of his drinks. He grew pathetically tender in his professions, but I walked beside him in silence or answered him in stately courtesies, and, DOWN THE OISE 119 when we got to the landing-place, passed the word in English slang to the Cigarette. In spite of the false scent we had thrown out the day before, there must have been fifty people about the bridge. We were as pleasant as w'e <:ould be with all but Carnival. We said good- bye, shaking hands with the old gentleman who knew the river and the young gentleman who had a smattering of English, but never a word for Carnival. Poor Carnival, here was a humilia- tion. He who had been so much identified with the canoes, who had given orders in our name, who had shown off the boats and even the boat- men like a private exhibition of his own, to be now so publicly shamed by the lions of his cara- van ! I never saw anybody look more crestfallen than he. He hung in the background, coming timidly forward ever and again as he thought he saw some symptom of a relenting humour, and falling hurriedly back when he encountered a cold stare. Let us hope it will be a lesson to him. I would not have mentioned Carnival's pecca- I20 AN INLAND VOYAGE dillo had not the thing been so uncommon in France. This, for instance, was the only case of dishonesty or even sharp practice in our whole voyage. We talk very much about our honesty in England. It is a good rule to be on your guard wherever you hear great professions about a very little piece of virtue. If the English could only hear how they are spoken of abroad, they might confine themselves for awhile to remedy- ing the fact, and perhaps even when that was done, give us fewer of their airs. The young ladies, the graces of Origny. were not present at our start ; but when we got round to the second bridge, behold, it was black with sight-seers ! We were loudly cheered, and for a good way below young lads and lasses ran along the bank, still cheering. What with current and paddling, we were flashing along like swallows. It was no joke to keep up with us upon the woody shore. But the girls picked up their skirts, as if they were sure they had good ankles, and fol- lowed until their breath was out. The last to weary were the tliree graces and a couple of com- . DOWN THE OlSE 121 panions; and just as they, too, had had enough, the foremost of the three leaped upon a tree- stump and kissed her hand to the canoeists. Not Diana herself, although this was more of a Venus, after all, could have done a graceful thing more gracefully. " Come back again ! " she cried ; and all the others echoed her ; and the hills about Origny repeated the words, '' Come back." But the river had us round an angle in a twinkling, and we were alone with the green trees and run- ning water. Come back? There is no coming back, young ladies, on the impetuous stream of life. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, The ploughman from the sun his season takes. And we must all set our pocket watches by the clock of fate. There is a headlong, forthright tide, that bears away man with his fancies like straw, and runs fast in time and space. It is full of curves like this, your winding river of the Oise ; and lingers and returns in pleasant pastorals; and yet, rightly thought upon, never returns at all. For though it should revisit the same acre of 122 AN INLAND VOYAGE meadow in the same hour, it will have made an ample sweep between whiles; many little streams W'ill have fallen in ; many exhalations risen towards the sun; and even although it were the same acre, it \^ill not be the same river Oise. And thus, O graces of Origny, although the wandering fortune of my life should carry me back again to where you await death's whistle by the river, that will not be the old I who walks the street; and those wives and mothers, say, will those be you? There was never any mistake about the Oise, as a matter of fact. In these upper reaches it was still in a prodigious hurry for the sea. It ran so fast and merrily, through all the windings of its channel, that I strained my thumb fighting with the rapids, and had to paddle all the rest of the way with one hand turned up. Sometimes it had to serve mills; and being still a little river, ran very dry and shallow in the meanwhile. We had to put our legs out of the boat, and shove ourselves off the sand of the bottom with our feet. And still it went on its way singing among the poplars, and making a green valley in the DOWN THE OISE 123 world. After a good \\oman, and a good book, and tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river. I forgave it its attempt on my life; which was, after all, one part owing to the unruly winds of heaven that had blown down the tree, one part to my own mismanagement, and only a third part to the river itself, and that not out of malice, but from its great preoccupation over its own business of getting to the sea. A difficult business, too ; for the detours it had to make are not to be counted. The geographers seem to have given up the attempt ; for I found no map repre- sent the infinite contortion of its course. A fact will say more than any of them. After we had been some hours, three, if I mistake not, flitting by the trees at this smooth, breakneck gallop, when we came upon a hamlet and asked where we were, we had got no further than four kilometres (say two miles and a half) from Origny. If it were not for the honour of the thing (in the Scotch saying), we might almost as well have been stand- ing still. We lunched on a meadow inside a parallelogram 124 AN INLAND VOYAGE of poplars. The leaves danced and prattled in the wind all round about us. The river hurried on meanwhile, and seemed to chide at our delay. Little we cared. The river knew where it was going; not so we; the less our hurry, where we found good quarters, and a pleasant theatre for a pipe. At that hour stock-brokers were shout- ing in Paris Bourse for two or three per cent; but we minded them as little as the sliding stream, and sacrificed a hecatomb of minutes to the gods of tobacco and digestion. Hurry is the resource of the faithless. Where a man can trust his own heart, and those of his friends, to-mor- row is as good as to-day. And if he die in the meanwhile, why, then, there he dies, anc the ques- tion is solved. We had to take to the canal in the course of the afternoon; because where it crossed the river there was, not a bridge, but a siphon. If it had not been for an excited fellow on the bank we should have paddled right into the siphon, and thenceforward not paddled any more. We met a man, a gentleman, on the tow-path, who was DOWN THE orSE 125 much interested in our cruise. And I was wit- ness to a strange seizure of lying suffered by the Cigarette; who, because his knife came from Nor- way, narrated all sorts of adventures in that country, where he has never been. He was quite feverish at the end, and pleaded demoniacal possession. Moy (pronounce Moy) was a pleasant little village, gathered round a chateau in a moat. The air was perfumed with hemp from neighbouring fields. At the Golden Sheep we found excellent entertainment. German shells from the siege of La Fere, Niirnberg figures, gold-fish in a bowl, and all manner of knick-knacks, embellished the public room. The landlady was a stout, plain, short-sighted, motherly body, with something not far short of a genius for cookery. She had a guess of her excellence herself. After every dish was sent in, she would come and look on at the dinner for awhile, with puckered, blinking eyes. " C'est hon, nest-ce pas ? " she would say ; and, when she had received a proper answer, she dis- appeared into the kitchen. That common French 126 AN INLAND VOYAGE dish, partridge and cabbages, became a new thing in my eyes at the Golden Sheep ; and many sub- sequent dinners have bitterly disappointed me in consequence. Sweet was our rest in the Golden Sheep at Moy. LA fe;re of cursed memory WE lingered in Moy a good part of the day, for we were fond of being philo- sophical, and scorned long journeys and early starts on principle. The place, more- over, invited to repose. People in elaborate shoot- ing-costumes sallied from the chateau with guns and game-bags ; and this was a pleasure in itself, to remain behind while these elegant pleasure- seekers took the first of the morning. In this way all the world may be an aristocrat, and play the duke among marquises, and the reigning monarch among dukes, if he will only outvie them in tran- quillity. x\n imperturbable demeanour comes from perfect patience. Quiet minds cannot be perplexed or frightened, but go on in fortune or misfortune at their own private pace, like a clock during a thunder-storm. 128 AN INLAND VOYAGE We made a very short day of it to La Fere; but the dusk was fahing and a small rain had begun before we stowed the boats. La Fere is a fortified town in a plain, and has two belts of rampart. Between the first and the second ex- tends a region of waste land and cultivated patches. Here and there along the wayside were posters forbidding trespass in the name of mili- tary engineering. At last a second gateway ad- mitted us to the town itself. Lighted windows looked gladsome, whiffs of comfortable cookery came abroad upon the air. The town was full of the military reserve, out for the French Autumn manoeuvres, and the reservists walked speedily and wore their formidable great-coats. It was a fine night to be within doors over dinner, and hear the rain upon the windows. The Cigarette and I could not sufficiently con- gratulate each other on the prospect, for we had been told there was a capital inn at La Fere. Such a dinner as we were going to eat ! such beds as we were to sleep in ! and all the while the rain raining on houseless folk over all the poplared LA FERE 129 country-side. It made our mouths water. The inn bore the name of some woodland animal, stag, or hart, or hind, I forget which. But I shall never forget how spacious and how eminently habitable it looked as we drew near. The carriage entry was lighted up, not by intention, but from the mere superfluity of fire and candle in the house. A rattle of many dishes came to our ears; we sighted a great field of tablecloth; the kitchen glowed like a forge and smelt like a garden of things to eat. Into this, the inmost shrine and physiological heart of a hostelry, with all its furnaces in action and all its dressers charged with viands, you are now to suppose us making our triumphal entry, a pair of damp rag-and-bone men, each with a limp india-rubber bag upon his arm. I do not believe I have a sound view of that kitchen; I saw it through a sort of glory, but it seemed to me crowded with the snowy caps of cookmen, who all turned round from their saucepans and looked at us with surprise. There was no doubt about the landlady, however; there she was, heading ijo AN INLAND VOYAGE her army, a flushed, angry woman, full of affairs. Her I asked politely — too politely, thinks the Cigarette — if we could have beds, she surveying us coldly from head to foot. " You will find beds in the suburb," she re- marked. " We are too busy for the like of you." If we could make an entrance, change our clothes, and order a bottle of wine, I felt sure we could put things right; so said I, "If we can- not sleep, we may at least dine," — and was for depositing my bag. What a terrible convulsion of nature was that which followed in the landlady's face! She made a run at us and stamped her foot. "Out with you, — out of the door!" she screeched. '' Sortcz! sortez! sortcz par la parte!" I do not know how it happened, but next mo- ment we were out in the rain and darkness, and I was cursing before the carriage entry like a disap- pointed mendicant. Where were the boating-men of Belgium? where the judge and his good wines? and where the graces of Origny? Black, black LA F£RE 131 was the night after the fireht kitchen, but what was that to the blackness in our heart?. This was not the first time that I have been refused a lodging. Often and often have I planned what I should do if such a misadventure happened to me again. And nothing is easier to plan. But to put in execution, with the heart boiling at the indignity? Try it; try it only once, and tell me what you did. It is all very fine to talk about tramps and morality. Six hours of police surveillance (such as I have had) or one brutal rejection from an inn door change your views upon the subject like a course of lectures. As long as you keep in the upper regions, with all the world bowing to you as you go, social arrangements have a very hand- some air; but once get under the wheels and you wish society were at the devil. I will give most respectable men a fortnight of such a life, and then I will offer them twopence for what remains of their morality. For my part, when I was turned out of the Stag, or the Hind, or whatever it was, I would have set the temple of Diana on fire if it had been handy. 132 AN INLAND VOYAGE There was no crime complete enough to express my disapproval of human institutions. As for the Cigarette, I never knew a man so altered. " We have been taken for pedlars again," said he. " Good God, what it must be to be a pedlar in reality ! " He particularised a complaint for every joint in the landlady's body. Timon was a phi- lanthropist alongside of him. And then, when he was at the top of his maledictory bent, he would suddenly break away and begin whimperingly to commiserate the poor. " I hope to God," he said, — and I trust the prayer was answered, — " that I shall never be uncivil to a pedlar." Was this the imperturbable Cigarette f This, this was he. Oh, change beyond report, thought, or belief! Meantime the heaven wept upon our heads ; and the windows grew brighter as the night increased in darkness. We trudged in and out of La Fere streets ; we saw shops, and private houses where people were copiously dining; we saw stables where carters' nags had plenty of fodder and clean straw ; we saw no end of reservists, who were very sorry for themselves this wet night, I doubt not, LA FERE 133 and yearned for their country homes ; but had they not each man his place in La Fere barracks? And we, what had we? There seemed to be no other inn in the whole town. People gave us directions, which we fol- lowed as best we could, generally with the effect of bringing us out again upon the scene of our disgrace. We were very sad people indeed, by the time we had gone all over La Fere; and the Cigarette had already made up his mind to lie under a poplar and sup off a loaf of bread. But right at the other end, the house next the town- gate was full of light and bustle. '' Basin, auber- giste, loge a pied," was the sign. '' A la Croix de Malte." There were we received. The room was full of noisy reservists drinking and smoking ; and we were very glad indeed when the drums and bugles began to go about the streets, and one and all had to snatch shakoes and be off for the barracks. Bazin was a tall man, running to fat; soft- spoken, with a delicate, gentle face. We asked him to share our wine ; but he excused himself, 134 AN INLAND VOYAGE having pledged reservists all day long. This was a very different type of the workman-innkeeper from the bawling, disputatious fellow at Origny. He also loved Paris, where he had worked as a decorative painter in his youth. There were such opportunities for self-instruction there, he said. And if any one has read Zola's description of the workman's marriage party visiting the Louvre they would do well to have heard Bazin by way of antidote. He had delighted in the museums in his vouth. " One sees there little miracles of work," he said ; '' that is what makes a good workman ; it kindles a spark." We asked him how he man- aged in La Fere. » " I am married," he said, '' and I have my pretty children. But frankly, it is no life at all. From morning to night I pledge a pack of good-enough fellows who know nothing." It faired as the night went on, and the moon came out of the clouds. We sat in front of the door, talking softly with Bazin. At the guard- house opposite the guard was being for ever turned out, as trains of field artillery kept clanking in out LA F£RE 135 of the night or patrols of horsemen trotted by in their cloaks. Madame Bazin came out after awhile ; she was tired with her day's work, I sup- pose; and she nestled up to her husband and laid her head upon his breast. He had his arm about her and kept gently patting her on the shoul- der. I think Bazin was right, and he w'as really married. Of how few people can the same be said ! Little did the Bazins know how much they served us. We were charged for candles, for food and drink, and for the beds we slept in. But there was nothing in the bill for the husband's pleasant talk; nor for the pretty spectacle of their married life. And there was yet another item uncharged. For these people's politeness really set us up again in our own esteem. We had a thirst for considera- tion ; the sense of insult was still hot in our spirits ; and civil usage seemed to restore us to our position in the world. How little we pay our way in life! Although we have our purses continually in our hand, the better part of service goes still unrewarded. But 136 AN INLAND VOYAGE I like to fancy that a grateful spirit gives as good as it gets. Perhaps the Bazins knew how much I liked them? perhaps they, also, were healed of some slights by the thanks that I gave them in mv manner? DOWN THE OISE THROUGH THE GOLDEN VALLEY BELOW La Fere the river runs through a piece of open pastoral country; green, opulent, loved by breeders; called the Golden Valley. In wide sweeps, and with a swift and equable gallop, the ceaseless stream of water visits and makes green the fields. Kine, and horses, and little humourous donkeys browse together in the meadows, and come down in troops to the river- side to drink. They make a strange feature in the landscape; above all when startled, and you see them galloping to and fro, with their incongruous forms and faces. It gives a feeling as of great, unfenced pampas, and the herds of wandering nations. There were hills in the distance upon either hand; and on one side, the river some- times bordered on the wooded spurs of Coucy and St. Gobain. - . .. _^_ ijS AN INLAND VOYAGE The artillery were practising at La Fere; and soon the cannon of heaven joined in that loud play. Two continents of cloud met and exchanged salvos overhead; while all round the horizon we could see sunshine and clear air upon the hills. What with the guns and the thunder, the herds were all frightened in the Golden Valley. We could see them tossing their heads, and running to and fro in timorous indecision; and when they had made up their minds, and the donkey followed the horse, and the cow was after the donkey, we could hear their hoofs thundering abroad over the meadows. It had a martial sound, like cavalry charges. And altogether, as far as the ears are concerned, we had a very rousing battle piece performed for our amusement. At last, the guns and the thunder dropped off; the sun shone on the wet meadows; the air was scented with the breath of rejoicing trees and grass ; and the river kept tmweariedly carrying us on at its best pace. There was a manufacturing district about Chauny; and after that the banks grew so high that they hid the adjacent country, and we DOWN THE OISE 139 could see nothing but clay sides, and one willow after another. Only here and there we passed by a village or a ferry, and some wondering child upon the bank would stare after us until we turned the corner. I dare say we continued to paddle in that child's dreams for many a night after. Sun and shower alternated like day and night, making the hours longer by their variety. When the showers were heavy I could feel each drop striking through my jersey to my warm skin; and the accumulation of small shocks put me nearly beside myself. I decided I should buy a mackintosh at Noyon. It is nothing to get wet; but the misery of these individual pricks of cold all over my body at the same instant of time made me flail the water with my paddle like a madman. The Cigarette was greatly amused by these ebulli- tions. It gave him something else to look at besides clay banks and willows. All the time the river stole away like a thief in straight places, or swung round corners with an eddy; the willows nodded and were undermined all day long; the clay banks tumbled in; the Oise, I40 AN INLAND VOYAGE which had been so many centuries making the Golden Valley, seemed to have changed its fancy and be bent upon undoing its performance. What a number of things a river does by simply following Gravitv in the innocence of its heart ! NOYON CATHEDRAL NOYON stands about a mile from the river, in a little plain surrounded by wooded hills, and entirely covers an eminence with its tile roofs, surmounted by a long, straight-backed cathedral ,with two stiff towers. As we got into the town, the tile roofs seemed to tumble up-hill one upon another, in the oddest dis- order ; but for all their scrambling they did not attain above the knees of the cathedral, which stood, upright and solemn, over all. As the streets drew near to this presiding genius, through the market-place under the Hotel de Ville, they grew emptier and more composed. Blank walls and shuttered windows were turned to the great edifice, and grass grew on the white causeway. " Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." The Hotel du 142 AN INLAND VOYAGE Nord, nevertheless, lights its secular tapers within a stone-cast of the church ; and we had the superb east end before our eyes all morning from the window of our bedroom. I have seldom looked on the east end of a church with more complete sympathy. As it flanges out in three wide terraces, and settles down broadly on the earth, it looks like the poop of some great old battle-ship. Hol- low-backed buttresses carry vases, which figure for the stern lanterns. There is a roll in the ground, and the towers just appear above the pitch of the roof, as though the good ship were bow- ing lazily over an Atlantic swell. At any moment it might be a hundred feet away from you, climb- ing the next billow. At any moment a window might open, and some old admiral thrust forth a cocked hat and proceed to take an observation. The old admirals sail the sea no longer; the old ships of battle are all broken up, and live only in pictures; but this, that was a church before ever they were thought upon, is still a church, and makes as brave an appearance by the Oise. The cathedral and the river are probably the two oldest things NOYON CATHEDRAL 143 for miles around ; and certainly they have both a grand old age. The Sacristan took us to the top of one of the towers, and showed us the five bells hanging in their loft. From above the town was a tessellated pavement of roofs and gardens ; the old line of rampart was plainly traceable; and the Sacristan pointed out to us, far across the plain, in a bit of gleaming sky between two clouds, the towers of Chateau Coucv. I find I never weary of great churches. It is my favourite kind of mountain scenery. Man- kind was never so happily inspired as when it made a cathedral : a thing as single and specious as a statue to the first glance, and yet, on examina- tion, as lively and interesting as a forest in detail. The height of spires cannot be taken by trigonome- try; they measure absurdly short, but how tall they are to the admiring eye! And where we have so many elegant proportions, growing one out of the other, and all together into one, it seems as if proportion transcended itself and became something different and more imposing. I could 144 AN INLAND VOYAGE never fathom how a man dares to lift up his voice to preach in a cathedral. What is he to say that will not be an anti-climax? For though I have heard a considerable variety of sermons, I never yet heard one that was so expressive as a cathedral. 'T is the best preacher itself, and preaches day and night; not only telling you of man's art and as- pirations in the past, but convicting your own soul of ardent sympathies; or rather, like all good preachers, it sets you preaching to yourself, — and every man is his own doctor of divinity in the last resort. As I sat outside of the hotel in the course of the afternoon, the sweet, groaning thunder of the organ floated out of the church like a summons. I was not averse, liking the theatre so well, to sit out an act or two of the play, but I could never rightly make out the nature of the service I beheld. Four or five priests and as many choristers were singing Miserere before the high altar when I went in. There was no congregation but a few old women on chairs and old men kneeling on the pavement. After awhile a long train of young girls, walk- NOYON CATHEDRAL 145 ing two and two, each with a hghted taper in her hand, and all dressed in black with a white veil, came from behind the altar and began to descend the nave; the four first carrying a Virgin and Child upon a table. The priests and choristers arose from their knees and followed after, singing '' x\ve Mary " as they went. In this order they made the circuit of the cathedral, passing twice before me where I leaned against a pillar. The priest who seemed of most consequence was a strange, down-looking old man. He kept mum- bling prayers with his lips ; but, as he looked upon me darkling, it did not seem as if prayer were uppermost in his heart. Two others, who bore the burden of the chant, were stout, brutal, mili- tar3'-looking men of forty, with bold, over-fed eyes ; they sang with some lustiness, and trolled forth " Ave Mary " like a garrison catch. The little girls were timid and grave. As they footed slowly up the aisle, each one took a moment's glance at the Englishman ; and the big nun who played mar- shal fairlv stared him out of countenance. As for the choristers, from first to last they misbehaved xo 146 AN INLAND VOYAGE as only boys can misbehave, and cruelly marred the performance with their antics. I understood a great deal of the spirit of what went on. Indeed, it would be difficult not to under- stand the Miserere, which I take to be the com- position of an atheist. If it ever be a good thing to take such despondency to heart, the Miserere is the right music and a cathedral a fit scene. So far I am at one with the Catholics, — an odd name for them, after all ! But why, in God's name, these holiday choristers? why these priests who steal wandering looks about the congregation while they feign to be at prayer? why this fat. nun, who rudely arranges her procession and shakes delin- quent virgins by the elbow ? why this spitting, and snuffing, and forgetting of keys, and the thousand and one little misadventures that disturb a frame o*f mind, laboriously edified with chants and organ- ings? In any play-house reverend fathers may see what can be done with a little art, and how, to move high sentiments, it is necessary to drill the supernumeraries and have every stool in its proper place. NOYON CATHEDRAL 147 One other circumstance distressed me. I could bear a Miserere myself, having had a good deal of open-air exercise of late; but I wished the old people somewhere else. It was neither the right sort of music nor the right sort of divinity for men and women who have come through most accidents by this time, and probably have an opin- ion of their own upon the tragic element in life. A person up in years can generally do his own Miserere for himself; although I notice that such an one often prefers Jubilate Deo for his ordinary singing. On the whole, the most religious exercise for the aged is probably to recall their own ex- perience; so many friends dead, so many hopes disappointed, so many slips and stumbles, and withal so many bright days and smiling provi- dences; there is surely the matter of a very elo- quent sermon in all this. On the whole I was greatly solemnised. In the little pictorial map of our whole Inland Voyage, which my fancy still preserves, and sometimes unrolls for the amusement of odd moments, Noyon cathedral figures on a most preposterous 148 AN INLAND VOYAGE scale, and must be nearly as large as the depart- ment. I can still see the faces of the priests as if they were at my elbow, and hear Ave Maria, or a pro nobis sounding through the church. All Noyon is blotted out for me by these superior memories ; and I do not care to say more about the place. It was but a stack of brown roofs at the best, where I believe people live very reputably in a quiet way; but the shadow of the church falls upon it when the sun is low, and the five bells are heard in all quarters, telling that the organ has begun. If ever I join the church of Rome I shall stipulate to be Bishop of Noyon on the Oise. i DOWN THE OISE TO C0MPI£GNE THE most patient people grow weary at last with being continually wetted with rain; except, of course, in the Scotch Highlands, where there are not enough fine in- tervals to point the difference. That was like to be our case the day we left Noyon. I remember nothing of the voyage; it was nothing but clay banks, and willows, and rain; incessant, pitiless, beating rain; until we stopped to lunch at a little inn at Pimprez, where the canal ran very near the river. We were so sadly drenched that the land- lady lit a few sticks in the chimney for our comfort ; there we sat in a steam of vapour lamenting our concerns. The husband donned a game-bag and strode out to shoot; the wife sat in a far corner watching us. I think we were worth looking at. We grumbled over the misfortune of La Fere; we ISO AN INLAND VOYAGE forecast other La Feres in the future, — although things went better with the Cigarette for spokes- man ; he had more aplomb altogether than I ; and a dull, positive way of approaching a landlady that carried off the india-rubber bags. Talking of La Fere put us talking of the reservists. " Reservery," said he, " seems a pretty mean way to spend One's autumn holiday." " About as mean," returned I, dejectedly, " as canoeing." *' These gentlemen travel for their pleasure ? " asked the landlady, with unconscious irony. It was too much. The scales fell from our eyes. Another wet day, it was determined, and we put the boats into the train. The weather took the hint. That was our last wetting. The afternoon faired up ; grand clouds still voyaged in the sky, but now singly, and with a depth of blue around their path; and a sunset, in the daintiest rose and gold, inaugurated a thick night of stars and a month of unbroken weather. At the same time, the river began to give us a better outlook into the country. The banks were DOWN THE OISE 151 not so high, the willows disappeared from along the margin, and pleasant hills stood all along its course and marked their profile on the sky. In a little while the canal, coming to its last lock, began to discharge its water houses on the Oise; so that we had no lack of company to fear. Here were all our old friends ; the Deo Gratias of Conde and the Four Sons of Aymon journeyed cheerily down the stream along with us; we ex- changed water-side pleasantries with the steersman perched among the lumber, or the driver hoarse with bawling to his horses ; and the children came and looked over the side as we paddled by. We had never known . all this while how much we missed them : but it gave us a fillip to see the smoke from their chimneys. x\ little below this junction we made another meeting of yet more account. For there we were joined by the Aisne, already a far-travelled river and fresh out of Champagne. Here ended the adolescence of the Oise; this w-as his marriage day; thenceforward he had a stately, brimming march, conscious of his own dignity and sundry 152 AN INLAND VOYAGE dams. He became a tranquil feature in the scene. The trees and towns saw themselves in him, as in a mirror. He carried the canoes lightly on his broad breast; there was no need to work hard against an eddy, but idleness became the order of the day, and mere straightforward dipping of the paddle, now on this side, now on that, without intelligence or effort. Truly we were coming into halcyon weather upon all accounts, and were floated towards the sea like gentlemen. We made Compiegne as the sun was going down : a fine profile of a town above the river. Over the bridge a regiment was parading to the drum. People loitered on the quay, some fishing, some looking idly at the stream. And as the two boats shot in along the water, we could see them point- ing them out and speaking one to another. We landed at a floating lavatory, where the washer- women were still beating the clothes. AT COMPIEGNE WE put lip at a big, bustling hotel in Compiegne, where nobody observed our presence. Reservery and general militarismus (as the Ger- mans call it) was rampant. A camp of conical white tents without the town looked like a leaf out of a picture Bible ; sword-belts decorated the walls of the cafes, and the streets kept sounding all day long with military music. It was not possible to be an Englishman and avoid a feeling of elation; for the men who followed the drums were small and walked shabbily. Each man inclined at his own angle, and jolted to his own convenience as he went. There was nothing of the superb gait with which a regiment of tall Highlanders moves behind its music, solemn and inevitable, like a natural phenomenon. Who, that has seen it, can forget the drum-major pacing in front, the drum- 154 AN INLAND VOYAGE mers' tiger-skins, the pipers' swinging plaids, the strange, elastic rhythm of the whole regiment foot- ing it in time, and the bang of the drum when the brasses cease, and the shrill pipes taking up the martial story in their place? A girl at school in France began to describe one of our regiments on parade to her French school- mates, and as she went on, she told me the recollec- tion grew so vivid, she became so proud to be the countrywoman of such soldiers, and so sorry to be in another country, that her voice failed her and she burst into tears. I have never forgotten that girl, and I think she very nearly deserves a statue. To call her a young lady, with all its niminy as- sociations, would be to offer her an insult. She may rest assured of one thing, although she never should marry a heroic general, never see any great or immediate result of her life, she will not have lived in vain for her native land. But though French soldiers show to ill-advan- tage on parade, on the march they are gay, alert, and willing, like a troop of fox-hunters. I re- member once seeing a comyany pass through the iv. AT COMPIEGNE 155 forest of Fontainebleau, on the Chailly road, be- tween the Bas Breau and the Reine Blanche. One fellow walked a little before the rest, and sang a loud, audacious marching song. The rest be- stirred their feet, and even swung their muskets in time. A young officer on horseback had hard ado to keep his countenance at the words. You never saw anything so cheerful and spon- taneous as their gait; school-boys do not look more eagerly at hare and hounds; and you would have thought it impossible to tire such willing marchers. My great delight in Compiegne was the town hall. I doted upon the town hall. It is a monu- ment of Gothic insecurity, all turreted, and gar- goyled, and slashed, and bedizened with half a score of architectural fancies. Some of the niches are gilt and painted ; and in a great square panel in the centre, in black relief on a gilt ground, Louis XII. rides upon a pacing horse, with hand on hip, and head thrown back. There is royal arrogance in every line of him; the stirrupped foot projects insolently from the frame; the eye 156 AN INLAND VOYAGE is hard and proud; the very horse seems to be treading with gratification over prostrate serfs, and to have the breath of the trumpet in his nostrils. So rides for ever, on the front of the town hall, the good King Louis XII., the father of his people. Over the king's head, in the tall centre turret, appears the dial of a clock; and high above that, three little mechanical figures, each one with a hammer in his hand, whose business it is to chime out the hours, and halves, and quarters for the burgesses of Compiegne. The centre figure has a gilt breastplate; the two others wear gilt trunk- hose; and they all three have elegant, flapping hats like cavaliers. As the quarter approaches they turn their heads and look knowingly one to the other; and then, kling go the three hammers on three little bells below. The hour follows, deep and sonorous, from the interior of the tower; and the gilded gentlemen rest from their labours with contentment. I had a great deal of healthy pleasure from their manoeuvres, and took good care to miss as AT COMPIEGNE 157 few performances as possible; and I found that even the Cigarette, while he pretended to despise my enthusiasm, was more or less a devotee him- self. There is something highly absurd in the exposition of such toys to the outrages of winter on a housetop. They would be more in keeping in a glass case before a Nitrnberg clock. Above all, at night, when the children are abed, and even grown people are snoring under quilts, does it not seem impertinent to leave these gingerbread figures winking and tinkling to the stars and the rolling moon ? The gargoyles may fitly enough twist their ape-like heads; fitly enough may the potentate bestride his charger, like a centurion in an old German print of the Via Dolorosa; but the toys should be put away in a box among some cotton, until the sun rises, and the children are abroad again to be amused. In Compiegne post-office a great packet of letters awaited us ; and the authorities were, for this occa- sion only, so polite as to hand them over upon application. In some way, our journey may be said to end 158 AN INLAND VOYAGE with this letter-bag at Compiegne. The spell was broken. We had partly come home from that moment. No one should have any correspondence on a journey ; it is bad enough to have to write ; but the receipt of letters is the death of all holiday feeling. " Out of my country and myself I go." I wish to take a dive among new conditions for awhile, as into another element. I have nothing to do with my friends or my affections for the time; when I came away, I left my heart at home in a desk, or sent it forward with portmanteau to await me at my destination. After my journey is over, I shall not fail to read your admirable letters with the attention they deserve. But I have paid all this money, look you, and paddled all these strokes, for no other purpose than to be abroad; and yet you keep me at home with your perpetual com- munications. You tug the string, and I feel that I am a tethered bird. You pursue me all over Europe with the little vexations that I came away to avoid. There is no discharge in the war of life, AT COMPIEGNE 159 I am well aware ; but shall there not be so much as a week's furlough? We were up by six, the day we were to leave. They had taken so little note of us that I hardly thought they w^ould have condescended on a bill. But they did, w^ith some smart particulars, too; and we paid in a civilised manner to an uninter- ested clerk, and went out of that hotel, with the india-rubber bags, unremarked. No one cared to know about us. It is not possible to rise before a village ; but Compiegne was so grown a town that it took its ease in the morning; and we were up and away while it was still in dressing-gown and slippers. The streets were left to people wash- ing door-steps; nobody was in full dress but the cavaliers upon the town hall ; they were all washed with dew, spruce in their gilding, and full of intelligence and a sense of professional responsi- bility. Kling went they on the bells for the half- past six, as we went by. I took it kind of then'! to make me this parting compliment; they never were in better form, not even at noon upon a Sunday. i6o AN INLAND VOYAGE There was no one to see us off but the early washerwomen, — early and late, — who were al- ready beating the linen in their floating lavatory on the river. They were very merry and matutinal in their w^ays ; plunged their arms boldly in, and seemed not to feel the shock. It would be dispir- iting to me, this early beginning and first cold dabble of a most dispiriting day's work. But I believe they would have been as unwilling to change days w4th us as we could be to change with them. They crowded to the door to watch us paddle away into the thin sunny mists upon the river; and shouted heartily after us till we were through the bridge. CHANGED TIMES THERE is a sense in which those mists never rose from off our journey; and from that time forth they he very densely in my note-book. As long as the Oise was a small, rural river it took us near by people's doors, and we could hold a conversation with natives in the riparian fields. But now that it had grown so wide, the life along shore passed us by at a distance. It was the same difference as between a great public highway and a country by-path that wanders in and out of cottage gardens. We now lay in towns, where nobody troubled us with questions ; we had floated into civilised life, where people pass with- out salutation. In sparsely inhabited places we make all we can of each encounter ; but when it comes to a city, we keep to ourselves, and never speak unless we ha\'e trodden on a man's toes. In these waters we were no longer strange birds. II i62 AN INLAND VOYAGE and nobody supposed we had travelled farther than from the last town. I remember, when we came into L'Isle Adam, for instance, how we met dozens of pleasure-boats outing it for the afternoon, and there was nothing to distinguish the true voyager from the amateur, except, perhaps, the filthy con- dition of my sail. The company in one boat actu- ally thought they recognised me for a neighbour. Was there ever anything more wounding? All the romance had come down to that. Now, on the upper Oise, where nothing sailed, as a general thing, but fish, a pair of canoeists could not be thus vulgarly explained away; we were strange and picturesque intruders; and out of people's wonder sprang a sort of light and passing intimacy all along our route. There is nothing but tit for tat in this world, though sometimes it be a little difficult to trace : for the scores are older than we ourselves, and there has never yet been a set- tling-day since things were. You get entertain- ment pretty much in proportion as you give. As long as we were a sort of odd wanderers, to be stared at and followed like a quack doctor or a CHANGED TIMES 163 caravan, we had no want of amusement in return ; but as soon as we sank into commonplace our- selves, all whom we met were similarly disen- chanted. And here is one reason of a dozen why the world is dull to dull persons. In our earlier adventures there was generally something to do, and that quickened us. Even the . showers of rain had a revivifying effect, and shook up the brain from torpor. But now, when the river no longer ran in a proper sense, only glided sea- ward with an even, outright, but imperceptible speed, and when the sky smiled upon us day after day without variety, we began to slip into that golden doze of the mind which follows upon much exercise in the open air. I have stupefied myself in this way more than once: indeed, I dearly love the feeling; but I never had it to the same degree * as when paddling down the Oise. It was the apotheosis of stupidity. We ceased reading entirely. Sometimes, when I found a new paper, I took a particular pleasure in reading a single number of the current novel ; but I never could bear more than three instalments ; i64 AN INLAND VOYAGE and even the second was a disappointment. As soon as the tale became in any way perspicuous, it lost all merit in my eyes; only a single scene, or, as is the way with these feiiilletons, half a scene, without antecedent or consequence, like a piece of a dream, had the knack of fixing my inter- est. The less I saw of the novel the better I liked it : a pregnant reflection. But for the most part, as I said, we neither of us read anything in the world, and employed the very little while we were awake between bed and dinner in poring upon maps. I have always been fond of maps, and can voyage in an atlas with the greatest enjo}mient. The names of places are singularly inviting; the contour of coasts and rivers is enthralling to the eye ; and to hit in a map upon some place you have heard of before makes history a new pos- session. But we thumbed our charts, on those evenings, with the blankest unconcern. We cared not a fraction for this place or that. We stared at the sheet as children listen to their rattle, and read the names of towns or villages to forget them again at once. We had no romance in the CHANGED TIMES 165 matter; there was nobody so fancy-free. If yon had taken the maps away while we were stndying them most intently, it is a fair bet whether we might not have continued to study the table with the same delight. About one thing we were mightily taken up, and that was eating. I think I made a god of my belly. I remember dwelling in imagination upon this or that dish till my mouth watered; and long before we got in for the night my appetite was a clamant, instant annoyance. Sometimes we pad- dled alongside for awhile and whetted each other with gastronomical fancies as we went. Cake and sherry, a homely refection, but not within reach upon the Oise, trotted through my head for many a mile; and once, as we were approaching Ver- berie, the Cigarette brought my heart into my mouth by the suggestion of oyster patties arid Sauterne. ;::: : I suppose none of us recognise the great part that is played in life by eating and drinking. The appetite is so imperious that we can stomach the least interesting viands, and pass off a dinner hour i66 AN INLAND VOYAGE thankfully enough on bread and water; just as there are men who must read something, if it were only Bradshaw's Guide. But there is a romance about the matter, after all. Probably the table has more devotees than love; and I am sure that food is much more generally entertaining than scenery. Do you give in, as Walt Whitman would say, that you are any the less immortal for that? The true materialism is to be ashamed of what we are. To detect the flavour of an olive is no less a piece of human perfection than to find beauty in the colours of the sunset. Canoeing was easy work. To dip the paddle at the proper inclination, now right, now left ; to keep the head down stream ; to empty the little pool that gathered in the lap of the apron; to screw up the eyes against the glittering sparkles of sun upon the water; or now and again to pass below the whistling tow-rope of the Deo Gratlas of Conde, or Four Sons of Aymon, — there was not much art in that; certain sillv muscles man- aged it between sleep and waking; and meanwhile the brain had a whole holiday, and went to sleep. CHANGED TIMES 167 We took in at a glance the larger features of the scene, and beheld, with half an eye, bloused fishers and dabbling washerwomen on the bank. Now and again we might be half wakened by some church spire, by a leaping fish, or by a trail of river grass that clung about the paddle and had to be plucked off and thrown away. But these lumi- nous intervals were only partially luminous, A little more of us was called into action, but never the whole. The central bureau of nerves, what in some moods we call Ourselves, enjoyed its holiday without disturbance, like a Government Office. The great wheels of intelligence turned idly in the head, like fly-wheels, grinding no grist. I have gone on for half an hour at a time, counting my strokes and forgetting the hundreds. I flatter my- self the beasts that perish could not underbid that, as a low form of consciousness. And what a pleas- ure it was! What a hearty, tolerant temper did it bring about ! There is nothing captious about a man who has attained to this, the one possible apotheosis in life, the Apotheosis of Stupidity ; and he begins to feel dignified and longevous like a tree, i68 AN INLAND VOYAGE There was one odd piece of practical meta- physics which accompanied what I may call the depth, if I must not call it the intensity, of my abstraction. What philosophers call vie and not me, ego and non ego, preoccupied me whether I would or no. There was less me and more not me than I was accustomed to expect. I looked on upon somebody else, who managed the pad- dling; I was aware of somebody else's feet against the stretcher ; my own body seemed to have no more intimate relation to me than the canoe, or the river, or the river banks. Nor this alone: something inside my mind, a part of my brain, a province of my proper being, had thrown off alle- giance and set up for itself, or perhaps for the somebody else who did the paddling. I had dwindled into quite a little thing in a corner of myself. I was isolated in my own skull. Thoughts presented themselves unbidden ; they were not my thoughts, they were plainly some one else's; and I considered them like a part of the landscape. I take it, in short, that I was about as near Nirvana as Avould be convenient in practical life; and, if CHANGED TIMES 169 this be so, I make the niuldliists my sincere compliments ; 't is an agreeable state, not very consistent with mental brilliancy, not exactly prof- itable in a money point of view, l)ut very calm, golden, and incurious, and one that sets a man superior to alarms. It may be best figured by supposing . yourself to get dead drunk, and yet keep sober to enjoy it. I have a notion that open- air labourers must spend a large portion of their days in this ecstatic stupor, which explains their high composure and endurance. A pity to go to the expense of laudanum when here is a better paradise for nothing ! This frame of mind was the great exploit of our voyage, take it all in all. It was the farthest piece of travel accomplished. Indeed, it lies so far from beaten paths of language that I despair of getting the reader into sympathy with the smiling, com- placent idiocy of my condition; when ideas came and went like motes in a sunbeam ; when trees and church spires along the bank surged up from time to time into my notice, like solid objects through a rolling cloud-land ; when the rhythmical swish lyo AN INLAND VOYAGE of boat and paddle in the water became a cradle- song to lull my thoughts asleep; when a piece of mud on the deck was sometimes an intolerable eye- sore, and sometimes quite a companion for me, and the object of pleased consideration; and all the time, with the river running and the shores changing upon either hand, I kept counting my strokes and forgetting the hundreds, the happiest animal in France. DOWN THE OISE CHURCH INTERIORS WE made our first stage below Compiegne to Pont Sainte-Maxence. I was abroad a little after six the next morning. The air was biting and smelt of frost. In an open place a score of women wrangled together over the day's market; and the noise of their negotia- tion sounded thin and querulous, like that of sparrows on a winter's morning. The rare pas- sengers blew into their hands, and shuffled in their wooden shoes to set the blood agog. The streets were full of icy shadow, although the chimneys were smoking overhead in golden sun- shine. If you wake early enough at this season of the year, you may get up in December to break your fast in June. I found my way to the church, for there is always something to see about a church, whether 172 AN INLAND VOYAGE living worshippers or dead men's tombs; you find there the deadHest earnest, and the hollowest de- ceit; and even v^here it is not a piece of history, it M^ill be certain to leak out some contemporary gossip. It was scarcely so cold in the church as it was without, but it looked colder. The white nave was positively arctic to the eye; and the tawdriness of a continental altar looked more for- lorn than usual in the solitude and the bleak air. Two priests sat in the chancel reading and wait- ing penitents ; and out in the nave one very old woman was engaged in her devotions. It was a wonder how she was able to pass her beads when healthy young people were breathing in their palms and slapping their chest; but though this concerned me, I was yet more dispirited by the nature of her exercises. She went from chair to chair, from altar to altar, circumnavigating the church. To each shrine she dedicated an equal number of beads and an equal length of time. Like a prudent capitalist with a somew^hat cyni- cal view of the commercial prospect, she desired to place her supplications in a great variety of DOWN THE OISE 173 heavenly securities. She would risk nothing on the credit of any single intercessor. Out of the whole company of saints and angels, not one but was to suppose himself her champion elect against the Great Assizes ! I could only think of it as a dull, transparent juggler}^ based upon uncon- scious unbelief. She was as dead an old woman as ever I saw; no more than bone and parchment, curiously put together. Her eyes, with which she interrogated mine, were \'acant of sense. It depends on wdiat you call seeing, whether you might not call her blind. Perhaps she had known love : perhaps borne children, suckled them, and given them pet names. But now^ that was all gone by, and had left her neither happier nor waser ; and the best she could do wnth her mornings was to come up here into the cold church and juggle for a slice of heaven. It was not without a gulp that I es- caped into the streets and the keen morning air. Morning? why, how^ tired of it she would be before night! and if she did not sleep, how^ then? It is fortunate that not many of us are brought 174 AN INLAND VOYAGE up publicly to justify our lives at the bar of threescore years and ten ; fortunate that such a number are knocked opportunely on the head in what they call the flower of their years, and go away to suffer for their follies in private some- where else. Otherwise, between sick children and discontented old folk, we might be put out of all conceit of life. I had need of all my cerebral hygiene during that day's paddle: the old devotee stuck in m}" throat sorely. But I was soon in the seventh heaven of stupidity; and knew nothing but that somebody was paddling a canoe, while I was counting his strokes and forgetting the hundreds, I used sometimes to be afraid I should remem- ber the hundreds; which would have made a toil of a pleasure ; but the terror was chimerical, thev went out of my mind by enchantment, and I knew no more than the man in the moon about . my only occupation. At Creil, where we stopped to lunch, we left the canoes in another floating lavatory, which, as it was high noon, was packed with washer- DOWN THE OISE 175 women, red-handed and loud-voiced ; and tliey and their broad jokes are about all I remember of the place. I could look up my history books, if you were very anxious, and tell you a date or two; for it "figured rather largely in the Eng- lish wars. But I prefer to mention a girls' board- ing-school, which had an interest for us because it was a girls' boarding-school, and because we imagined we had rather an interest for it. At least, there were the girls about the garden; and here were we on the river; and there was more than one handkerchief waved as we went by. It caused quite a stir in my heart; and yet how we should have wearied and despised each other, these girls and I, if we had been introduced at a croquet party! But this is a fashion I love: to kiss the hand or wave a handkerchief to people I shall never see again, to play with pos- sibility, and knock in a peg for fancy to hang upon. It gives the traveller a jog, reminds him that he is not a traveller everywhere, and that his journey is no more than a siesta by the way on the real march of life. 176 AN INLAND VOYAGE The church at Creil was a nondescript place in the inside, splashed with gaudy lights from the windows, and picked out with medallions of the Dolorous Way. But there was one oddity, in the way of an ex z'oto, which pleased me hugely : a faithful model of a canal boat, swung from the vault, with a written aspiration that God should conduct the Saint Nicholas of Creil to a good haven. The thing was neatly executed, and would have made the delight of a party of boys on the water-side. But what tickled me was the gravity of the peril to be conjured. You might hang up the model of a sea-going ship, and welcome: one that is to plough a furrow round the world, and visit the tropic or the frosty poles, runs dangers that are well worth a candle and a mass. But the Saint XicJwlas of Creil, which was to be tugged for some ten years by patient draught horses, in a weedy canal, with the poplars chat- tering overhead, and the skipper whistling at the tiller; which was to do all its errands in green inland places, and never got out of sight of a village belfry in all its cruising; why, you would DOWN THE OISE 177 have thought if anything could be done without the intervention of Providence, it would be that! But perhaps the skipper was a humourist: or perhaps a prophet, reminding people of the seri- ousness of life by this preposterous token. At Creil, as at Noyon, St. Joseph seemed a favourite saint on the score of punctuality. Day and hour can be specified; and grateful people do not fail to specify them on a votive tablet, when prayers have been punctually and neatly answered. AMienever time is a consideration, St. Joseph is the proper intermediary. I took a sort of pleasure in observing the vogue he had in France, for the good man plays a very small part in my religion at home. Yet I could not help fearing that, where the saint is so much commended for exactitude, he will be expected to be very grateful for his tablet. This is foolishness to us Protestants; and not of great importance anyway. Whether people's gratitude for the good gifts that come to them be wisely conceived or dutifully expressed is a secondary matter, after all, so long as they feel 12 lyS AN INLAND VOYAGE gratitude. The true ignorance is when a man does not know that he has received a good gift, or begins to imagine that he has got it for him- self. The self-made man is the funniest wind- bag after all ! There is a marked difference between decreeing light in chaos, and lighting the gas in a metropolitan back-parlour with a box of patent matches ; and, do what we will, there is always something made to our hand, if it were only our fingers. But there was something worse than foolish- ness placarded in Creil Church. The Association of the Living Rosary (of which I had never pre- viously heard) is responsible for that. This as- sociation was founded, according to the printed advertisement, by a brief of Pope Gregory Six- teenth, on the 17th of January, 1832: according to a coloured bas-relief, it seems to have been founded, some time or other, by the Virgin giv- ing one rosary to St. Dominic, and the Infant Saviour giving another to St. Catherine of Sienna. Pope Gregory is not so imposing, but he is nearer hand. I could not distinctly make out whether the DOWN THE OISE 179 association was entirely devotional, or had an eye to good works ; at least it is highly organised : the names of fourteen matrons and misses were filled in for each week of the month as associates, with one other, generally a married woman, at the top for Zclatricc, the choragus of the band. Indulgences, plenary and partial, follow on the performance of the duties of the association. " The partial indulgences are attached to the reci- tation of the rosary." On '' the recitation of the required dizainc,'' a partial indulgence promptly follows. When people serve the kingdom of Heaven with a pass-book in their hands, I should always be afraid lest they should carry the same commercial spirit into their dealings with their fellow-men, which w^ould make a sad and sordid business of this life. There is one more article, however, of happier import. " All these indulgences," it appeared, " are applicable to souls in purgatory." For God's sake, ye ladies of Creil, apply them all to the souls in purgatory without delay! Burns would take no hire for his last songs, preferring tg i8o AN INLAND VOYAGE serve his country out of unmixed love. Suppose you were to imitate the exciseman, mesdames, and even if the souls in purgatory were not greatly bettered, some souls in Creil upon the Oise would find themselves none the worse either here or hereafter. I cannot help wondering, as I transcribe these notes, whether a Protestant born and bred is in a fit state to understand these signs, and do them what justice they deserve; and I cannot help an- swering that he is not. They cannot look so merely ugly and mean to the faithful as they do to me. I see that as clearly as a proposition in Euclid. For these believers are neither weak nor wicked. They can put up their tablet commend- ing St. Joseph for his despatch as if he were still a village carpenter ; they can '' recite the required disaine/' and metaphorically pocket the indulgences as if they had done a job for heaven ; and then they can go out and look down unabashed upon this wonderful river flowing by, and up without confusion at the pin-point stars, which are them- selves great worlds full of flowing ri^'ers greater DOWN THE OISE i8i than the Oise. I see it as plainly, I say, as a proposition in Euclid, that my Protestant mind has missed the point, and that there goes with these deformities some higher and more religious spirit than I dream. I wonder if other people would make the same allowances for me? Like the ladies of Creil, hav- ing recited my rosary of toleration, I look for my indulgence on the spot. PRECY AND THE MARIONETTES WE made Precy about sundown. The plain is rich with tufts of poplar. In a wide, luminous curve the Oise lay under the hillside. A faint mist began to rise and confound the different distances together. There was not a sound audible but that of the sheep-bells in some meadows by the river, and the creaking of a cart down the long road that descends the hill. The villas in their gardens, the shops along the street, all seemed to have been deserted the day before; and I felt inclined to walk discreetly as one feels in a silent forest. All of a sudden we came round a corner, and there, in a little green round the church, was a bevy of girls in Parisian .costumes playing croquet. Their laughter and the hollow sound of ball and mallet made a cheery stir in the neighbourhood; and the look of these slim figures, all corseted and ribboned, produced PRECY 183 an answerable disturbance in our hearts. We were within sniff of Paris, it seemed. And here were females of our own species playing croquet, just as if Precy had been a place in real life instead of a stage in the fairyland of travel. For, to be frank, the peasant-woman is scarcely to be counted as a woman at all, and after having passed by such a succession of people in petti- coats digging, and hoeing, and making dinner, this company of coquettes under arms made quite a surprising feature in the landscape, and con- vinced us at once of being fallible males. The inn at Precy is the worst inn in France. Not even in Scotland have I found worse fare. It was kept by a brother and sister, neither of whom was out of their teens. The sister, so to speak, prepared a meal for us; and the brother, who had been tippling, came in and brought with him a tipsy butcher, to entertain us as we ate. We found pieces of loo-warm pork among the salad, and pieces of unknown yielding substance in the ragout. The butcher entertained us with pictures of Parisian life, with which he professed i84 AN INLAND VOYAGE himself well acquainted; the brother sitting the while on the edge of the billiard table, toppling precariously, and sucking the stump of a cigar. In the midst of these diversions bang went a drum past the house, and a hoarse voice began issuing a proclamation. It was a man with marionettes announcing a performance for that evening. He had set up his caravan and lighted his candles on another part of the girls' croquet green, under one of those open sheds which are so common in France to shelter markets; and he and his wife, by the time we strolled up there, were trying to keep order with the audience. It was the most absurd contention. The show- people had set out a certain number of benches ; and all who sat upon them were to pay a couple of sous for the accommodation. They were always quite full — a bumper house — as long as noth- ing was going forward ; but let the show-woman appear with an eye to a collection, and at the first rattle of the tambourine the audience slipped off the seats and stood round on the outside, with their hands in their pockets. It certainly would PRECY 185 have tried an angel's temper. The showman roared from the proseenium ; he had been all over France, and nowhere, nowhere, '' not even on the borders of Germany," had he met with such misconduct. Such thie^'es, and rogues, and rascals as he called them ! And now and again the wife issued on another round, and added her shrill quota to the tirade. I remarked here, as elsewhere, how far more copious is the female mind in the material of insult. The audience laughed in high good-humour over the man's declamations ; but they bridled and cried aloud under the woman's pungent sallies. She picked out the sore points. She had the honour of the village at her mercy. Voices answered her an- grily out of the crowd, and received a smarting retort for their trouble. A couple of old ladies beside me, wdio had duly paid for their seats, waxed very red and indignant, and discoursed to each other audibly about the impudence of these mountebanks ; but as soon as the show'-woman caught a whisper of this she was down upon them w^ith a swoop; if mesdames could persuade i86 AN INLAND VOYAGE their neighbours to act with common honesty, the mountebanks, she assured them, would be poHte enough; mesdames had probably had their bowl of soup, and, perhaps, a glass of wine that even- ing; the mountebanks, also, had a taste for soup, and did not choose to have their little earnings stolen from them before their eyes. Once, things came as far as a brief personal encounter between the showman and some lads, in which the former went down as readily as one of his own mari- onettes to a peal of jeering laughter. I was a good deal astonished at this scene, be- cause I am pretty well acquainted with the ways of French strollers, more or less artistic; and have always found them singularly pleasing. Any stroller must be dear to the right-thinking heart; if it were only as a living protest against offices and the mercantile spirit, and as something to re- mind us that life is not by necessity the kind of thing we generally make it. Even a German band, if you see it leaving town in the early morning for a campaign in country places, among trees and meadows, has a romantic flavour for the imagina- PRECY 187 tion. There is nobody under thirty so dead but his heart will stir a little at sight of a gipsies' camp. "We are not cotton-spinners all"; or, at least, not all through. There is some life in humanity yet ; and youth will now and again find a brave word to say in dispraise of riches, and throw up a situation to go strolling with a knapsack. An Englishman has always special facilities for intercourse with French gymnasts ; for England is the natural home of gymnasts. This or that fellow, in his tights and spangles, is sure to know a word or two of English, to have drunk English aif-n-aff, and, perhaps, performed in an English music hall. He is a countryman of mine by pro- fession. He leaps like the Belgian boating-men to the notion that I must be an athlete myself. But the gymnast is not my favourite; he has little or no tincture of the artist in his composi- tion; his soul is small and pedestrian, for the most part, since his profession makes no call upon it, and does not accustom him to high ideas. But if a man is only so much of an actor that he can i88 AN INLAND VOYAGE stumble through a farce, he is made free of a new order of thoughts. He has something else to think about beside the money-box. He has a pride of his own, and, what is of far more im- portance, he has an aim before him that he can never quite attain. He has gone upon a pilgrim- age that will last him his life long, because there is no end to it short of perfection. He will bet- ter himself a little day by day; or, even if he has given up the attempt, he will always remem- ber that once upon a time he had conceived this high ideal, that once upon a time he fell in love with a star. '' 'T is better to have loved and lost." Although the moon should have nothing to say to Endymion, although he should settle down with Audrey and feed pigs, do you not think he would move with a better grace and cherish higher thoughts to the end? The louts he meets at church never had a fancy above Audrey's snood; but there is a reminiscence in Endymion' s heart that, like a spice, keeps it fresh and haughty. To be even one of the outskirters of art leaves a fine stamp on a man's countenance. I remem- PRKCY 189 l)er once dining w ith a party in the inn at Chateau Landon. Most of them were unmistakable bag- men; others well-to-do peasantry; but there w^as one young fellow^ in a blouse, whose face stood out from among the rest surprisingly. It looked more finished; more of the spirit looked out through it; it had a living, expressive air, and you could see that his eyes took things in. My companion and I wondered greatly who and what he could be. It was fair time in Chateau Landon, and when we went along to the booths we had our question answered; for there was our friend busily fiddling for the peasants to caper to. He was a w'andering violinist. A troop of strollers once came to the inn where I was staying, in the department of Seine et Marne. There w^ere a father and mother; two daughters, brazen, blowsy hussies, who sang and acted, without an idea of how to set about either; and a dark young man, like a tutor, a recalcitrant house-painter, who sang and acted not amiss. The mother was the genius of the party, so far as genius can be spoken of with regard to such a I90 AN INLAND VOYAGE pack of incompetent humbugs ; and her husband could not find words to express his admiration for her comic countryman. '' You should see my old woman," said he, and nodded his beery counte- nance. One night they performed in the stable- yard with flaring lamps : a wretched exhibition , coldly looked upon by a village audience. Next night, as soon as the lamps were lighted, there came a plump of rain, and they had to sweep away their baggage as fast as possible, and make off to the barn, where they harboured, cold, wet, and supperless. In the morning a dear friend of mine, who has as warm a heart for strollers as I have myself, made a little collection, and sent it by my hands to comfort them for their disap- pointment. I gave it to the father; he thanked me cordially, and we drank a cup together in the kitchen, talking of roads and audiences, and hard times. When I was going, up got my old stroller, and off with his hat. " I am afraid," said he, '' that Monsieur will think me altogether a beggar; but I have another demand to make upon him." I PRECY 191 began to hate him on the spot. " We play again to-night," he went on. " Of course I shall re- fuse to accept any more money from Monsieur and his friends, who have been already so liberal. But our programme of to-night is something truly creditable ; and I cling to the idea that Monsieur will honour us with his presence." And then, with a shrug and a smile : " Monsieur understands, — the vanity of an artist ! " Save the mark ! The vanity of an artist ! That is the kind of thing that reconciles me to life: a ragged, tippling, in- competent old rogue, with the manners of a gen- tleman and the vanity of an artist, to keep up his self-respect! But the man after my own heart is M. de Vauversin. It is nearly two years since I saw^ him first, and indeed I hope I may see him often again. Here is his first programme as I found it on the breakfast-table, and have kept it ever since as a relic of bright days : " Mesdames et Messieurs, "Mademoiselle Ferrario etM.de Vauversin auront Thon- neur de chanter ce soir les morceaux suivants. 192 AN INLAND VOYAGE "Mademoiselle Ferrario chantera — Mignon — Oiseaux Legers — France — Des Frangais dorment la — le chateau bleu — Ou voulez-vous aller ? "M.de Vauversin — Madame Fontaine et M. Robinet — Les plongeurs a cheval — Le Mari mecontent — Tais-toi, gamin — Mon voisin I'original — Heureux comme ca — comme on est trompe." They made a stage at one end of the salle-d- manger. And what a sight it was to see M. de Vauversin, with a cigarette in his mouth, twang- ing a guitar, and following Mademoiselle Ferra- rio' s eyes with the obedient, kindly look of a dog! The entertainment wound up with a tom- bola, or auction of lottery tickets : an admirable amusement, with all the excitement of gambling, and no hope of gain to make you ashamed of your eagerness ; for there, all is loss ; you make haste to be out of pocket; it is a competition who shall lose most money for the benefit of AI. de Vauversin and Mademoiselle Ferrario. M. de Vauversin is a small man, with a great head of black hair, a vivacious and engaging air, and a smile that would be delightful if he had better teeth. He was once an actor in the Chate- PRECY 193 let; but he contracted a nervous affection from the heat and glare of the foot-hghts, which un- fitted him for the stage. At this crisis Made- moiselle Ferrario, otherwise Mademoiselle Rita of the Alcazar, agreed to share his wandering for- tunes. " I could never forget the generosity of that lady," said he. He wears trousers so tight that it has long been a problem to all who knew him how^ he manages to get in and out of them. He sketches a little in water-colours, he writes verses ; he is the most patient of fishermen, and spent long days at the bottom of the inn-garden fruitlessly dabbling a line in the clear river. You should hear him recounting his experiences over a bottle of wine; such a pleasant vein of talk as he has, with a ready smile at his own mishaps, and every now^ and then a sudden grav- ity, like a man who should hear the surf roar while he was telling the perils of the deep. For it was no longer ago than last night, perhaps, that the receipts only amounted to a franc and a half to cover three francs of railway fare and two of board and lodging. The ]\Iaire, a man worth a 194 AN INLAND VOYAGE million of money, sat in the front seat, repeatedly applauding Mademoiselle Ferrario, and yet gave no more than three sous the whole evening. Local authorities look with such an evil eye upon the strolling artist. Alas! I know it well, who have been myself taken for one, and pitilessly incar- cerated on the strength of the misapprehension. Once, M. de Vauversin visited a commissary of police for permission to sing. The commissary, who was smoking at his ease, politely doffed his hat upon the singer's entrance. " Mr. Commissary," he began, '* I am an artist." And on went the commissary's hat again. No courtesy for the companions of Apollo ! " They are as degraded as that," said M. de Vauversin, with a sweep of his cigarette. But what pleased me most was one outbreak of his, when we had been talking all the evening of the rubs, indignities, and pinchings of his wan- dering life. Some one said it would be better to have a million of money down, and Mademoiselle Ferrario admitted that she would prefer that mightily. " E/i hioi, nioi non ; — not I," cried PRECY 195 De Vauversin, striking the table with his hand. " If any one is a failure in the world, is it not I ? I had an art, in which I have done things well, — as well as some, better, perhaps, than others; and now it is closed against me. I must go about the country gathering coppers and singing nonsense. Do you think I regret my life? Do you think I would rather be a fat burgess, like a calf? Not I ! I have had moments wdien I have been ap- plauded on the boards : I think nothing of that ; but I have known in my own mind sometimes, when I had not a clap from the whole house, that I had found a true intonation, or an exact and speaking gesture; and then, messieurs, I have known w^hat pleasure was, what it was to do a thing well, what it was to be an artist. And to know what art is, is to have an interest for ever, such as no burgess can find in his petty concerns. Tenez, messieurs, je vais vous le dire, — it is like a religion." Such, making some allowance for the tricks of memory and the inaccuracies of translation, was the profession of faith of M. de Vauversin I 196 AN INLAND VOYAGE have given him his own name, lest any other wanderer should come across him, with his guitar and cigarette, and Mademoiselle Ferrario; for should not all the world delight to honour this unfortunate and loyal follow^er of the Muses? May Apollo send him rhymes hitherto undreamed of; may the river be no longer scanty of her silver fishes to his lure; may the cold not pinch him on long winter rides, nor the village jack-in- office affront him with unseemly manners ; and may he never miss Mademoiselle Ferrario from his side, to follow^ with his dutiful eyes and ac- company on the guitar! The marionettes made a very dismal entertain- ment. They performed a piece called Pyramiis and Thisbc, in five mortal acts, and all written in Alexandrines fully as long as the performers. One marionette was the king; another the wicked counsellor; a third, credited with exceptional beauty, represented Thisbe; and then there were guards, and obdurate fathers, and walking gen- tlemen. Nothing particular took place during the two or three acts that I sat out ; but you will PRECY 197 be pleased to learn that the unities were properly respected, and the whole piece, with one excep- tion, moved in harmony with classical rules. That exception was the comic countryman, a lean mario- nette in wooden shoes, who spoke in prose and in a broad patois much appreciated by the audi- ence. He took unconstitutional liberties with the person of his sovereign ; kicked his fellow-mario- nettes in the mouth with his wooden shoes, and whenever none of the versifying suitors were about, made love to Thisbe on his own account in comic prose. This fellow's evolutions, and the little prologue, in which the showman made a humourous eulo- gium of his troop, praising their indifference to applause and hisses, and their single devotion to their art, were the only circumstances in the whole affair that you could fancy would so much as raise a smile. But the villagers of Precy seemed de- lighted. Indeed, so long as a thing is an exhibi- tion, and you pay to see it, it is nearly certain to amuse. If we were charged so much a head for sunsets, or if God sent round a drum before the 198 AN INLAND VOYAGE hawthorns came in flower, what work should we not make about their beauty ! But these things, like good companions, stupid people early cease to observe; and the Abstract Bagman tittups past in his spring gig, and is positively not aware of the flowers along the lane, or the scenery of the weather overhead. BACK TO THE WORLD OF the next two days' sail little remains in my mind, and nothing whatever in my note-book. The river streamed on steadily through pleasant river-side landscapes. Washerwomen in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified the green banks ; and the rela- tion of the two colours was like that of the flower and the leaf in the forget-me-not. A symphony in forget-me-not ; I think Theophile Gautier might thus have characterised that two days' panorama. The sky was blue and cloudless ; and the sliding surface of the river held up, in smooth places, a mirror to the heaven and the shores. The washer- women hailed us laughingly; and the noise of trees and water made an accompaniment to our dozing thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream. The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of the river, held the mind in chain. It seemed now 200 AN INLAND VOYAGE so sure of its end, so strong and easy in its gait, like a grown man full of determination. The surf was roaring for it on the sands of Havre. For my own part slipping along this moving thorough- fare in my fiddle-case of a canoe. I also w^as be- ginning to grow aweary for m}- ocean. To the civilised man there must come, sooner or later, a desire for civilisation. I was weary of dipping the paddle : I was weary of living on the skirts of life ; I wished to be in the thick of it once more ; I wished to get to work ; I wished to meet people who understood my own speech, and could meet with me on equal terms, as a man, and no longer as a curiosity. And so a letter at Pontoise decided us, and we drew up our keels for the last time out of that river of Oise that had faithfully piloted them, through rain and sunshine, for so long. For so many miles had this fleet and footless beast of burthen charioted our fortunes that we turned our back upon it with a sense of separation. We had a lone: detour out of the world, but now we were back in the familiar places, where life itself makes BACK TO THE WORLD 201 all the running, and we are carried to meet adven- ture without a stroke of the paddle. Now we were to return, like the voyager in the play, and see what rearrangements fortune had perfected the while in our surroundings ; what surprises stood ready-made for us at home ; and whither and how far the world had voyaged in our absence. You may paddle all day long; but it is when you come back at nightfall, and look in at the familiar room, that you find Love or Death awaiting you beside 1:he stove; and the most beautiful adventures are not those we go to seek. EPILOGUE TO "AN INLAND VOYAGE " EPILOGUE TO -AN INLAND VOYAGE" THE country where they journeyed, that green, breezy valley of the Loing, is one very attractive to cheerful and solitary people. The weather was superb; all night it thundered and lightened, and the rain fell in sheets ; by day, the heavens were cloudless, the sun fervent, the air vigorous and pure. They walked separate : the Cigarette plodding behind with some philosophy, the lean Arethiisa posting on ahead. Thus each enjoyed his own reflections by the way ; each had perhaps time to tire of them before he met his comrade at the designated inn ; and the pleasures of society and solitude combined to fill the day. The Arethusa carried in his knapsack the works of Charles of Orleans, and em- ployed some of the hours of travel in the concoc- Originally published in " Across the Plains." 2o6 AN INLAND VOYAGE tion of English roundels. In this path, he must thus have preceded Mr. Lang, Mr. Dobson, Mr. Henley, and all contemporary roundeleers ; but for good reasons, he will be the last to publish the result. The Cigarette walked burthened with a volume of Michelet. And both these books, it will be seen, played a part in the subsequent adventure. The Arethusa was unwisely dressed. He is no precisian in attire; but by all accounts, he was never so ill-inspired as on that tramp; having set forth indeed, upon a moment's notice, from the most unfashionable spot in Europe, Barbizon. On his head, he wore a smoking-cap of Indian work, the gold lace pitifully frayed and tarnished. A flannel shirt of an agreeable dark hue, which the satirical called black; a light tweed coat made by a good English tailor ; ready-made cheap linen trousers and leathern gaiters completed his array. In person, he is exceptionally lean; and his face is not like those of happier mortals, a certificate. For years he could not pass a frontier or visit a bank without suspicion; the police everywhere, but in his native city, looked askance upon him; EPILOGUE 207 and (though I am sure it will not be credited) he is actually denied admittance to the casino of Monte Carlo. If you will imagine him, dressed as above, stooping under his knapsack, walking nearly five miles an hour with the folds of the ready-made trousers fluttering about his spindle shanks, and still looking eagerly round him as if in terror of pursuit — the figure, when realised, is far from reassuring. When Villon journeyed (perhaps by the same pleasant valley) to his exile at Roussillon, I wonder if he had not something of the same appearance. Something of the same preoccupation he had beyond a doubt, for he too must have tinkered verses as he walked, wdth more success than his successor. And if he had any- thing like the same inspiring weather, the same nights of uproar, men in armour rolling and re- sounding down the stairs of heaven, the rain hiss- ing on the village streets, the wild bull's-eye of the storm flashing all night long into the bare inn-chamber — the same sweet return of day, the same unfathomable blue of noon, the same high- coloured, halcyon eves — and above all if he had 2o8 AN INLAND VOYAGE anything like as good a comrade, anything hke as keen a reUsh for what he saw, and what he ate, and the rivers that he bathed in, and the rubbish that he wrote, I would exchange estates to-day with the poor exile, and count myself a gainer. But there was another point of similarity be- tween the two journeys, for which the Arethusa was to pay dear : both were gone upon in days of incomplete security. It was not long after the Franco-Prussian war. Swiftly as men for- get, that country-side was still alive with tales of uhlans, and outlying sentries, and hairbreadth 'scapes from the ignominious cord, and pleasant momentary friendships between invader and in- vaded. A year, at the most two years later, you might have tramped all that country over and not heard one anecdote. And a year or two later, you « would — if you were a rather ill-looking young man in nondescript array — have gone your rounds in greater safety ; for along with more interesting matter, the Prussian spy would have somewhat faded from men's imaginations. For all that, our voyager had got beyond Cha- EPILOGUE 209 teau Renard before he was conscious of arousing wonder. On the road between that place and Chatillon-sur-Loing, however, he encountered a rural postman ; they fell together in talk, and spoke of a variety of subjects ; but through one and all, the postman was still visibly preoccupied, and his eyes were faithful to the Arcthiisa's knap- sack. At last, with mysterious roguishness, he inquired what it contained, and on being an- swered, shook his head with kindly incredulity. ''Noil/' said he, '' non, votis avez des portraits/' And then with a languishing appeal, " Voyons, show me the portraits ! " It was some little while before the Arethusa, with a shout of laughter, rec- ognised his drift. By portraits he meant indecent photographs; and in the Arethusa. an austere and rising author, he thought to have identified a porno- graphic colporteur. When countryfolk in France have made up their minds as to a person's calling, argument is fruitless. Along all the rest of the way, the postman piped and fluted meltingly to get a sight of the collection; now he would upbraid, now he would reason — " Voyoiis, I will tell no- 14 2IO AN INLAND VOYAGE body " ; then he tried corruption, and insisted on paying for a glass of wine; and, at last, when their ways separated — " Nonf said he, '" cc n'est pas hien de voire part. O non, ce n'est pas Men/' And shaking his head with quite a sentimental sense of injury, he departed unrefreshed. On certain little difficulties encountered by the Arethusa at Chatillon-sur-Loing, I have not space to dwell ; another Chatillon, of grislier memory, looms too near at hand. But the next day, in a certain hamlet called La Jussiere, he stopped to drink a glass of syrup in a very poor, bare drinking- shop. The hostess, a comely woman, suckling a child, examined the traveller with kindly and pity- ing eyes. " You are not of this department? " she asked. The Arethusa told her he was English. "Ah!" she said, surprised. "We have no Eng- lish. We have many Italians, however, and they do very well ; they do not complain of the people of hereabouts. An Englishman may do very well also; it will be something new." Here was a dark saying, over which the Arethusa pondered as he drank his grenadine; but when he rose and EPILOGUE 211 asked what was to pay, the hght came upon him in a flash. " , pour vous," repUed the landlady, " a halfpenny!" Pour vous? By heaven, she took him for a beggar ! He paid his halfpenny, feeling that it were ungracious to correct her. But when he was forth again upon the road, he became vexed in spirit. The conscience is no gentleman, he' is a rabbinical fellow ; and his conscience told him he had stolen the syrup. That night the travellers slept in Gien; the next day they passed the river and set forth (severally, as their custom was) on a short stage through the green plain upon the Berry side, to Chatillon-sur-Loire. It was the first day of the shooting; and the air rang with the report of fire- arms and the admiring^ cries of sportsmen. Over- head the birds were in consternation, wheeling in clouds, settling and re-arising. And yet with all this bustle on either hand, the road itself lay soli- tary. The Arethtisa smoked a pipe beside a mile- stone, and I remember he laid down very exactly all he was to do at Chatillon : how he was to enjoy a cold plunge, to change his shirt, and to await 212 AN INLAND VOYAGE the Cigarette's arrival, in sublime inaction, by the margin of the Loire. Fired by these ideas, he pushed the more rapidly forward, and came, early in the afternoon and in a breathing heat, to the entering-in of that ill-fated town. Childe Roland to the dark tower came. A polite gendarme threw his shadow on the path. ''*' Monsieur est voyageiirf " he asked. And the Arethusa, strong in his innocence, for- getful of his vile attire, replied — I had almost said with gaiety : '' So it would appear." '' His papers are in order? " said the gendarme. And when the Arethusa with a slight change of voice, admitted he had none, he w^as informed (politely enough) that he must appear before the Commissary. The Commissary sat at a table in his bedroom, stripped to the shirt and trousers, but still copi- ously perspiring ; and when he turned upon the prisoner a large meaningless countenance, that was (like Bardolph's) " all whelks and bubuckles," the dullest might have been prepared for grief. Here ^va.s a stupid man, sleepy with the heat and EPILOGUE 213 fretful at the interruption, whom neither appeal nor argument could reach. The Commissary. You have no papers? The Arethusa. Not here. The Commissary. Why? The Arethusa. I have left them behind in my valise. The Commissary. You know, however, that it is forbidden to circulate without papers? The Arethusa. Pardon me: I am convinced of the contrary. I am here on my rights as an English subject by international treaty. The Commissary (with scorn). You call yourself an Englishman? The Arethusa. I do. The Commissary. Humph. — What is your trade ? The Arethusa. I am a Scotch Advocate. The Commissary (with singular annoyance). A Scotch advocate! Do you then pretend to sup- port yourself by that in this department? The Arethusa modestly disclaimed the preten- sion. The Commissary had scored a point. 214 AN INLAND VOYAGE The Commissary. Why, then, do you travel? The Arethusa. I travel for pleasure. The Commissary (pointing to the knapsack, and zvith sublime incredulity) . Avec ga? Voyez- vous, je suis un homme intelligent ! (With that? Look here, I am a person of intelligence!) The culprit remaining silent under this home thrust, the Commissary relished his triumph for awhile, and then demanded (like the postman, but with what different expectations!) to see the con- tents of the knapsack. And here the Arethusa, not yet sufficiently awake to his position, fell into a grave mistake. There was little or no furniture in the room except the Commissary's chair and table; and to facilitate matters, the Arethusa (with all the innocence on earth) leant the knapsack on a corner of the bed. The Commissary fairly bounded from his seat; his face and neck flushed past purple, almost into blue ; and he screamed to lay the desecrating object on the floor. The knapsack proved to contain a change of shirts, of shoes, of socks, and of linen trousers, a small dressing-case, a piece of soap in one of EPILOGUE 215 the shoes, two volumes of the Collection Jannet lettered Poesies de Charles d'Orleans, a map, and a version book containing divers notes in prose and the remarkable English roundels of the voy- ager, still to this day unpublished : the Commis- sary of Chatillon is the only living man who has clapped an eye on these artistic trifles. He turned the assortment over with a contumelious finger; it was plain from his daintiness that he regarded the Arethusa and all his belongings as the very temple of infection. Still there was nothing sus- picious about the map, nothing really criminal except the roundels ; as for Charles of Orleans, to the ignorant mind of the prisoner, he seemed as good as a certificate; and it was supposed the farce was nearly over. The inquisitor resumed his seat. The Commissary (after a pause). Eh hien, je vais vous dire ce que vous etes. Vous etes alle- mand et vous venez chanter a la foire. (Well, then, I will tell you what you are. You are a German and have come to sing at the fair.) The Arethusa. Would you like to hear me 2i6 AN INLAND VOYAGE sing? I believe I could convince you of the contrary. The Commissary. Pas de plaisanterie, mon- sieur ! The Arethusa. Well, sir, oblige me at least by looking at this book. Here, I open it w^ith my eyes shut. Read one of these songs — read this, one — and tell me, you who are a man of intel- ligence, if it would be possible to sing it at a fair? The Commissary {critically) . Mais oui. Tres hien. The Arethusa. Comment, monsieur ! What! But you do not observe it is antique. It is diffi- cult to understand, even for you and me; but for the audience at a fair, it would be meaningless. The Commissary {taking a pen). Eniin, it faut en Unir. What is your name? The Arethusa {speaking with the swallowing vivacity of the English). -Robert-Louis-Stev'ns'n. The Commissary {aghast). He! Quoif The Arethusa {perceiving and improving his advantage). Rob'rt-Lou's-Stev'ns'n. EPILOGUE 217 The Commissary {after several conflicts with his pen). Eh hien, il font se passer dii noni. Ca ne s'ecrit pas. (Well, we must do without the name: it is unspellable.) The above is a rough summary of this moment- ous conversation, in which I have been chiefly careful to preserve the plums of the Commissary ; but the remainder of the scene, perhaps because of his rising anger, has left but little definite in the memory of the Arethiisa. The Commissary was not, I think, a practised literary man; no sooner, at least, had he taken pen in hand and embarked on the composition of the proces-verhal, than he became distinctly more uncivil and began to show a predilection for that simplest of all forms of repartee: " You lie! " Several times the Arethiisa let it pass, and then suddenly flared up, refused to accept more insults or to answer fur- ther questions, defied the Commissary to do his worst, and promised him, if he did, tliat he should bitterly repent it. Perhaps if he had worn this proud front from the first, instead of beginning with a sense of entertainment and then going on 2i8 AN INLAND VOYAGE to argue, the thing might have turned otherwise; for even at this eleventh hour the Commissary was visibly staggered. But it was too late; he had been challenged ; the proces-verbal was begun ; and he again squared his elbows over his writing, and the Arcthusa was led forth a prisoner. A step or two down the hot road stood the gendarmerie. Thither w^as our unfortunate con- ducted, and there he was bidden to empty forth the contents of his pockets. A handkerchief, a pen, a pencil, a pipe and tobacco, matches, and some ten francs of change: that was all. Not a file, not a cipher, not a scrap of writing whether to identify or to condemn. The very gendarme was appalled before such destitution. " I regret," he said, " that I arrested you, for I see that you are no z'oyouJ' And he promised him every indulgence. The Arethttsa, thus encouraged, asked for his pipe. That he was told was impossible, but if he chewed, he might have some tobacco. He did not chew, however, and asked instead to have his handkerchief. EPILOGUE 219 " Non," said the gendarme. "' Nous avons eu des histoires de gens qui sc sont pendiis." (No, we have had histories of people who hanged themselves.) *' What," cried the Arcthusa. " And is it for that you refuse me my handkerchief? But see how much more easily I could hang myself in my trousers ! " The man was struck by the novelty of the idea; but he stuck to his colours, and only continued to repeat vague offers of service. " At least," said the Arethusa, " be sure that you arrest my comrade; he will follow me ere- long on the same road, and you can tell him by the sack upon his shoulders." This promised, the prisoner was led round into the back court of the building, a cellar door was opened, he was motioned down the stair, and bolts grated and chains clanged behind his descending person. The philosophic and still more the imaginative mind is apt to suppose itself prepared for any mor- tal accident. Prison, among other ills, was one that 220 AN INLAND VOYAGE had been often faced by the undaunted Arefhusa. Even as he went down the stairs, he was telHng himself that here w^as a famous occasion for a roundel, and that like the committed linnets of the tuneful cavalier, he too would make his prison musical. I will tell the truth at once : the roundel was never written, or it should be printed in this place, to raise a smile. Two reasons interfered: the first moral, the second physical. It is one of the curiosities of human nature, that although all men are liars, they can none of them bear to be told so of themselves. To get and take the lie with equanimity is a stretch be- yond the stoic; and the Arethiisa, who had been surfeited upon that insult, was blazing inwardly with a white heat of smothered wrath. But the physical had also its part. The cellar in which he w^as confined was some feet underground, and it was only lighted by an unglazed, narrow aper- ture high up in the wall and smothered in the leaves of a green vine. The walls were of naked masonry, the floor of bare earth ; by way of fur- niture there was an earthenware basin, a water- EPILOGUE 221 jug, and a wooden bedstead with a blue-grey cloak for bedding. To be taken from the hot air of a summer's afternoon, the reverberation of the road and the stir of rapid exercise, and plunged into the gloom and damp of this receptacle for vaga- bonds, struck an instant chill upon the Arethusa's blood. Now see in how small a matter a hard- ship may consist : the floor was exceedingly un- even underfoot, with the very spade-marks, I suppose, of the labourers who dug the foundations of the barrack; and what with the poor twilight and the irregular surface, walking was impos- sible. The caged author resisted for a good while; but the chill of the place struck deeper and deeper ; and at length, with such reluctance as you may fancy, he was driven to climb upon the bed and wrap himself in the public covering. There, then, he lay upon the verge of shivering, plunged in semi-darkness, wound in a garment whose touch he dreaded like the plague, and (in a spirit far removed from resignation) telling the roll of the insults he had just received. These are not circumstances favourable to the muse. 222 AN INLAND VOYAGE Meantime (to look at the upper surface where the sun was still shining and the guns of sports- men were still noisy through the tufted plain) the Cigarette was drawing near at his more philo- sophic pace. In those days of liberty and health he was the constant partner of the Arethusa, and had ample opportunity to share in that gentle- man's disfavour with the police. Many a bitter bowl had he partaken of with that disastrous com- rade. He was himself a man born to float easily through life, his face and manner artfully recom- mending him to all. There was but one suspi- cious circumstance he could not carry off, and that was his companion. He will not readily for- get the Commissary in what is ironically called the free town of Frankfort-on-the-Main ;• nor the Franco-Belgian frontier ; nor the inn at La Fere ; last, but not least, he is pretty certain to remem- ber Chatillon-sur-Loire. At the town entry, the gendarme culled him like a wayside flower; and a moment later, two per- sons, in a high state of surprise, were confronted in the Commissary's office. For if the Cigarette EPILOGUE 223 was surprised to be arrested, the Commissary was no less taken aback by the appearance and appointments of his captive. Here was a man about whom there could be no mistake : a man of an unquestionable and unassailable manner, in apple-pie order, dressed not with neatness merely but elegance, ready with his passport, at a word, and well supplied with money : a man the Com- missary would have doffed his hat to on chance upon the highway; and this beau cavalier un- blushingly claimed the Arethusa for his comrade! The conclusion of the interview was foregone; of its humours, I remember only one. "Baronet?" demanded the magistrate, glancing up from the passport. " Alors, monsieur, z'ous efes le fils d'uu baron?'' And when the Cigarette (his one mis- take throughout the interview) denied the soft impeachment, '' Alors;' from the Commissary, '' ce nest pas votre passcport ! ^' But these were in- effectual thunders ; he never dreamed of laying hands upon the Cigarette ; presently he fell into a mood of unrestrained admiration, gloating over the contents of the knapsack, commending our 224 AN INLAND VOYAGE friend's tailor. Ah, what an honoured guest was the Commissary entertaining ! what suitable clothes he wore for the warm weather ! what beautiful maps, what an attractive work of history he car- ried in his knapsack! You are to understand there was now but one point of difference be- tween them : what was to be done with the Arcthusaf the Cigarette demanding his release, the Commissar}^ still claiming him as the dun- geon's own. Now it chanced that the Cigarette had passed some years of his life in Egypt, where he had made acquaintance with two very bad things, cholera morbus and pashas ; and in the eye of the Commissary, as he fingered the volume of Michelet, it seemed to our traveller there was something Turkish. I pass over this lightly; it is highly possible there was some misunderstand- ing, highly possible that the Commissary (charmed \Y\i\\ his visitor) supposed the attraction to be mutual and took for an act of growing friend- ship what the Cigarette himself regarded as a bribe. And at any rate, was there ever a bribe more singular than an odd volume of Alichelet's EPILOGUE 225 history ? The work was promised him for the morrow, before our departure ; and presently after, either because he had his price, or to show that he was not the man to be behind in friendly ofifices — ''Eh bien/' he said, '' je suppose quil faiit lacker voire camarade.'" And he tore up that feast of humour, the unfinished proces-verhal. i\h, if he had only torn up instead the Arethiisas roundels! There were many works burnt at Alex- andria, there are many treasured in the British Museum, that I could better spare than the proces- verhal of Chatillon. Poor bubuckled Commis- sary ! I begin to be sorry that he never had his Michelet : perceiving in him fine human traits, a broad-based stupidity, a gusto in his magisterial functions, a taste for letters, a ready admiration for the admirable. And if he did not admire the Arethiisa, he was not alone in that. To the imprisoned one, shivering under the pub- lic covering, there came suddenly a noise of bolts and chains. He sprang to his feet, ready to welcome a companion in calamity ; and instead of that, the door was flung wide, the friendl}- gen- 15 226 AN INLAND VOYAGE darme appeared above in the strong daylight, and with a magnificent gesture (being probably a stu- dent of the drama) — " Vous etes litre! " he said. None too soon for the AretJmsa. I doubt if he had been half an hour imprisoned ; but by the watch in a man's brain (which was the only watch he carried) he should have been eight times longer; and he passed forth with ecstasy up the cellar stairs into the healing warmth of the afternoon sun; and the breath of the earth came as sweet as a cow's into his nostril ; and he heard again (and could have laughed for pleasure) the con- cord of delicate noises that we call the hum of life. And here it might be thought that my history ended ; but not so, this was an act-drop and not the curtain. Upon what follow^ed in front of the barrack, since there was a lady in the case, I scruple to expatiate. The wife of the Marechal- des-logis was a handsome woman, and yet the Arethnsa was not sorry to be gone from her society. Something of her image, cool as a peach on that hot afternoon, still lingers in his memory : vet more of her conversation. " You have there EPILOGUE 227 a very fine parlour," said the poor gentleman. — "Ah," said Madame la ]\Iarechale (des-logis), *' you are very well acquainted with such par- lours ! " And you should have seen with what a hard and scornful eye she measured the vagabond before her ! I do not think he ever hated the Com- missary ; but before that interview was at an end, he hated Madame la ]\Iarechale. His passion (as I am led to understand by one who was present) stood confessed in a burning eye, a pale cheek, and a trembling utterance; Madame meanwhile tast- ing the joys of the matador, goading him with barbed words and staring him coldly down. It was certainly good to be away from this lady, and better still to sit down to an excellent dinner in the inn. Here, too, the despised trav- ellers scraped acquaintance w^ith their next neigh- bour, a gentleman of these parts, returned from the day's sport, who had the good taste to find pleasure in their society. The dinner at an end, the gentleman proposed the acquaintance should be ripened in the cofe. The cafe was crowded with sportsmen con- 228 AN INLAND VOYAGE clamantly explaining to each other and the world the smallness of their bags. About the centre of the room, the Cigarette and the Arethusa sat with their new acquaintance; a trio very well pleased, for the travellers (after their late experience) were greedy of consideration, and their sportsman re- joiced in a pair of patient listeners. Suddenly the glass door flew open with a crash ; the Marechal- des-logis appeared in the interval, gorgeously belted and befrogged, entered without salutation, strode up the room with a clang of spurs and weapons, and disappeared through a door at the far end. Close at his heels followed the Arethusa' s gendarme of the afternoon, imitating, with a nice shade of difference, the imperial bearing of his chief; only, as he passed, he struck lightly with his open hand on the shoulder of his late captive, and with that ringing, dramatic utterance of which he had the secret — " Suives! " said he. The arrest of the members, the oath of the Tennis Court, the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Mark Antony's oration, all the brave scenes of history, I conceive as having been EPILOGUE 229 not unlike that evening in the cafe at Chatillon. Terror breathed upon the assembly. A moment later, when the Arcthusa had followed his re- captors into the farther part of the house, the Cigarette found himself alone with his coffee in a ring- of empty chairs and tables, all the lusty sportsmen huddled into corners, all their clamor- ous voices hushed in whispering, all their eyes shooting at him furtively as at a leper. And the Aretlmsa? Well, he had a long, some- times a trying, interview in the back kitchen. The Marechal-des-logis, who was a very handsome man, and I believe both intelligent and honest, had no clear opinion on the case. He thought the Commissary had done wrong, but he did not wish to get his subordinates into trouble ; and he pro- posed this, that, and the other, to all of which the Aretlmsa (with a growing sense of his position) demurred. '' In short," suggested the Arethusa, " you want to wash your hands of further responsibility? \^'ell, then, let me go to Paris." The Alarechal-des-logis looked at his watch. 230 AN INLAND VOYAGE " You may leave/' said he, " by the ten o'clock train for Paris." And at noon the next day the travellers were telling their misadventure in the dining-room at Siron's. NOTES Page 2, Line 8. — sheet. The rope attached to the lower edge of a sail to regulate its angle to the wind. 12. — crank. Easily upset. 3, 15. — heady. Exciting, stirring. 4, 19. — sanded. Having sand sprinkled on the floor, a common custom in some European countries. 22. — tricolour. In red. yellow, and black, the national col- ours of Belgium; more familiarly applied to the red, white and blue of the French national ensign. 5, 2. — bagman. Commercial traveller. 19. — barnacled. Wearing spectacles. Barnacles are small, round, shell fish which attach themselves to rocks or the bot- toms of ships so that the source of the allusion here is easy to see. 6, 14. — Miss Howe or Miss Harlowe. Characters in Rich- ardson's novel. Clarissa Harlowe, published in 1748. 18. — The divine huntress. Diana, the moon goddess, whose favourite diversion was hunting. 20. — Anthony. Saint Anthony, the founder of asceticism (251-350). According to legend he was tempted by the devil disguised in various shapes. 23. — gymnosophist. One of a sect of Hindu philosophers who lived a solitary life, renounced all pleasures, and gave themselves up to mystical contemplation. 9, 2. — "C'est vite, mais c'est long." It is quick but it is long. 8. — dingy. (Pron. ding gi). A small boat. 11, 22. — lee shore. A shore toward which the wind blows and hence dangerous to a ship close in. 12, 8. — junk. Piece. 13. — a la papier. With the paper on. 13, 4. — loo-warm. Luke-warm. 14, 15. — sterlings. Piles driven round the piers of a bridge for protection or support; also written s-tarli7igs. 22. — trepanned. Made a surgical incision into their skulls. ^3> '>u 232 NOTES 17, 5. — AUee Verte. Green alley; the "green water-lane" alluded to on page 14. 12. — estaminet. Cafe. 14. — round. Direct, plain. 18, 23. — French Huguenots. French protestants who, be- cause of religious persecution, came to England in great num- bers after the revocation of the edict of Nantes in 1685. 20, 5. — "entre freres." Between brothers. 8-9. — "En Angleterre," etc. In England you use sliding- seats, don't you? 11-12. — "voyez-vous. nous sommes serieux." You see, we are serious. 22, 13-14. — Mammon, etc. From Milton's Paradise Lost, Bk. I, 11. 679-680. 24, 22. — drive the coursers of the sun against Apollo. Com- pete with Apollo in driving the steeds of the sun. An illusion to the myth of Phaethon who attempted to drive the horses of the sun through the sky and lost his life in the attempt. 27, 5. — Murray. Murray's guidebooks are almost as well known as Baedeker's. 22. — KnoUed to church and sat at good men's feasts. An echo from Shakespeare's, As You Like It, II, vii, 121-122. 9. — he is cast . . . into noisome dungeons. Cf. Epilogue for an account of just such an experience. 28, 14. — Grand Cerf. Great stag. 29, 15. — coenacula. Banquets; from the Latin ccenaculum, meaning supper-room. 32, 3. — Drake. Sir Francis Drake, famous English voyager The first Englishman to circumnavigate the Globe, 1540- 1596. 39, 11. — Hainaulters. Hainault is a province of Belgium. 41, 12. — "trousered," Coloured, a translation of the French culotte. 21. — sabots. Clumsy wooden shoes worn generally by the peasants in certain parts of Europe. 42, 1. — amphora. A large jar or vase. 11. — franc. A silver coin worth about twenty cents. 13. — brave. Fine, handsome. 44, 1. — corporalities. Bodily punishments. 10. — Jove. The supreme god of the ancient Greeks. — Olympian. Dwelling in Olympus, the mythical abode of the ancient gods. 13. — hinds. Farm labourers. N OT KS 233 46, 3. — hold. A fortified tower or place of defence in the middle ages. 47, 8. — auberge. Inn. 49, 5. — bread-berry. Sugared toast moistened with hot water, 7. — swipes. Weak, thin beer. 18. — hedge. Rustic, poor, mean. 50, 6. — Lucretian maxim. Lucretius was a Roman poet and philosopher, B. C. 96-55. 51, 21. — Landau. A kind of open, four-wheeled carriage. 52, 1. — Moliere's farce. Les Precieuses Ridicules, "The Pedantic Ladies." Moliere was a famous French comic dram- atist, 1022-1673. 9. — cock-boats. Small boats or tenders. 14. — tilt cart. A cart with a tilt, or cover. 53, 9. — KSpi. A round-topped cap with a visor. 54, 11. — galette. A kind of fiat, round cake, somewhat like a cookie. 56, 21. — sou. A bronze coin worth about a cent. 60, 3-4. — "Voila de I'eau pour vous debarbouiller." There is*some water for you to wash your face in. 11. — Waterloo crackers. Fire crackers. 12. — Austerlitz. A village in Austria, the scene of a great victory by the French under Napoleon I over the Austrians and Russians in 1805. 61, 5. — Kilometre. About two-thirds of a mile. 63, 22. — Reformation. The great religious reform move- ment which began early in the sixteenth century and resulted in the formation of the various Protestant churches. 64, 10. — Heine. Heinrich, Celebrated German lyric poet and critic, 1797-1856. — Merlin. A famous magician figuring in the legends of King Arthur and the Round Table. Of. Tennyson's Idylls of the King. 65, 13. — mackintosh. Rain coat. 18. — jeremiads. Complaints; an allusion to the Lamenta- tions of Jeremiah in the Old Testament. 69, 13. — reveille. The signal, usually by bugle, rousing the soldiers to the day's duties. 23. — round. Military guard going to relieve sentinels, 70, 21. — Alma. A battle in the Crimean War in 1854. — Spicheren. Speichern, a village in Alsace-Lorraine, the scene of a battle in the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. 234 NOTES 23. — tuck. Flourish or beat. 72, 16. — Juge de Paix. Justice of the Peace. 73, 1.— churlish. Rude, ill-bred. 76, 12. — jerkin. Literally a short, close-fitting jacket; here simply coat. — Archangel tar. Archangel, Russia, is famous for export- ing tar. 14. — parterre. Ornamental arrangement of flower pots or beds. 17. — Loch Caron. A Scottish lake. 77, 19. — junk. A kind of Chinese boat. 81, 6. — makes a hit. Is successful in a business venture. 82, 11. — canaletti. Canal people; a word coined by Steven- son. 14 — Cependant. Yet. 83, 9. — Mr. Moens. An English writer of travels. 85, 15. — colza. A kind of rape: grown for forage for sheep and also for the oil which is crushed from the seeds. 86, 21. — Pan. In ancient m}i:hology a god of flocks, pas- tures and forests, said to have invented the ''syrinx" or pan- pipes, an instrument consisting of a number of tubes, hr reeds, of various lengths, each producing a note of different pitch. 87, 6. — Centaur. A mythological being, half man, half horse. 20.— moil. Toil. 89, 22. — Burns, Robert. Famous Scottish poet, 1759-1796. To a Mountain Daisy is one of his best-known poems. 90, 12. — "Come away. Death." For the song see Shakes- peare's Twelfth Night, II, iv, 52-67. 97, 10. — "0 France, mes amours." Oh, France, my loves; a song probably alluding to the loss of the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine in the war with Germany in 1870. 91, 3. — heritors. The property holders in a Scottish parish. 98, 1-2. — "Les Malheurs de la France." The woes of France. Another song alluding to the unsuccessful war with Germany. 3. — Fontainebleau. A forest about forty miles from Paris, whose neighborhood is much frequented by artists. Steven- son made manv visits to Barbizon and Grez, the best-known villages of the neighborhood, and at Grez met his future wife. In A Chronicle of Friendships i\Ir. Will H. Low gives a delight- ful account of the life there during Stevenson's time; see also Stevenson's "Fontainebleau," in Across the Plains. NOTES 235 10-15. — The humiliation of their arms, etc. The terms im- posed on the French were burdensome and humiliating and led to great bitterness of feeling toward the Germans which sur- vives down to the present day. The feeling of the French in regard to the cession of Alsace and Lorraine is well brought out in Daudet's La Derniere Classe. 98, 14. — the Empire. The government of France at the time of the Franco-Prussian war in 1870 was an empire. The war was brought on in large measure by the bad judgment of the Emperor Napoleon III, and the overwhelming defeat of France was due also in large measure to his incapacity. 19. — Farmer George. George III, King of England during the American Revolution, so called because of his simple tastes. 99, 4. — pastoral pieces. Songs dealing with country life. 15. — Caudine Forks, The scene of a famous victory of the Sammites over the Romans in 321 b. c, after which the entire Roman army surrendered. 18. — Conscrits Francais. French conscripts, or soldiers who are forced into service. 100, 1. — pile their arms. Throw down their arms; surren- der. 3. — Fletcher of Saltoun. A Scottish politician and political writer, 1653-1716. 8. — Paul Deroulede. French poet and politician, 1846- 102, 1. — Othello. The chief character of Shakespeare's tragedy of the same name. — Desdemona. The chief female character in Shakespeare's Othello. She falls in love with Othello while listening to his tales of his adventures, afterwards marries him, and is murdered by him in a fit of jealousy. 104, 3. — Selvage. Edge. 108, 4. — "Tristes tetes de Danois." Sad Danish faces. — Gaston Lafenestre. A young French painter who lived in Barbizon with his mother at the time Stevenson visited there. See A Chronicle of Friendships, by Will H. Low. 109, 17. — Jacques. Charles Emiie Jacques, French engraver and painter, 1813-1894; his paintings deal mostly with farm and animal life. 110, 8. — Barbizon. A village on the edge of the forest of Fontainebleau, famous as a resort of artists. While his cousin R. A. M. Stevenson w^as living there Stevenson frequently vis- ited him. See A Chronicle of Friendships, by Will H. Low. 113, 2. — pro indiviso. Undivided, common to all. 236 NO.TES 7.— "Eh bien! Sacristi." Well, thunder! 114, 13. — "Eh bien! quoi, c'est magnifique, 5a!" Well, what! That is fine! 115, 19. — Inquisition. A tribunal for the examination and punishment of heretics, established under Pope Innocent III, 1198-1216, and active in persecution until comparatively recent times. 20. — Poe's horrid story. The Pit and the Pendulum. — Tristram Shandy. A work of fiction by the English novel- ist and humorist, Laurence Sterne, 1713-1768. 116, 19. — Nanty Ewart. A character in Scott's Redgauntlet. 117, 4. — Communist. One who believes in communism, a system by which all property is owned by the community in- stead of the individual. 5. — Communard. A supporter of the Commune, an insur- rectionary government which had possession of Paris for a time after the war with Prussia in 1871. 124, 10. — hecatomb. In ancient times the sacrifice of a hun- dred animals to a divinity; used loosely in the sense of sacrifice. 19. — siphon. A tube carrying the water of the river under the canal. 125, 21. — "C'est bon, n'est-ce pas?" It is good isn't it? 132, 7. — Timon. An Athenian misanthrope, subject of a tragedy by Shakespeare. 133, 13. — Bazin, aubergiste, loge a pied. Bazin, inn-keeper, puts up travellers. 14. — A la Croix de Malte. At the Maltese Cross. 19. — Shakoes. A kind of military cap. 134, 7.— Zola. Emile, French novelist, 1840-1902. 8. — Louvre. The great museum of fine arts in Paris. 137, 13. — pampas. The great treeless plains of South America. 138, 3. — salvos. Simultaneous discharges; generally of cannon. 141, 12.— Hotel de Ville. Town hall. 15-17. — "Put off thy shoes," etc. Cf. Exodus, III. 5. 17.— Hotel du Nord. Northern Hotel. 143, 3. — Sacristan. A church officer in charge of the sacred vessels used in various services such as communion. 5. — tessellated. Made of small blocks. 144, 20. — Miserere. A musical setting of the fifty-first psalm, often sung in Catholic churches. 145, 7. — "Ave Mary," A hymn to the Virgin Mary. N O T E S 237 18. — catch. A song in which several singers take up the air at intervals; a round. 147, 11. — Jubilate Deo, Rejoice in God, a musical setting of the one hundredth psalm. 148, 3-4. — Ave Maria, ora pro nobis. Hail Mary, pray for us. 151, 7. — Deo Gratias. Thanks to God. 15.— fillip. Thrill. 152, 9. — halcyon. The kingfisher, which was supposed by the ancients to nest at sea. During the nesting period the sea was believed to remain calm: hence the word has come to mean peaceful, calm. 154, 14. — niminy. Short for niminy-piminy; affected. 155, 15. — gargoyled. Decorated with gargoyles or fan- tastically carved spouts for conducting the rain from the roof gutters. 157, 14. — centurion. A Roman military officer of minor rank. 15. — Via Dolorosa. The road at Jerusalem leading from the Mount of Olives to Golgotha over which Christ passed on his way to be crucified. 164, 4. — feuilletons. Fly sheets. 165, 14. — sherry. A Spanish wine. 19. — Sauterne. A French w^hite w'ine. 166, 3. — Bradshaw's Guide. An Enghsh railroad guide. 7.— Walt Whitman. American poet. 1819-1892. 168, 22. — Nirvana. According to Buddhism, a state of beati- fic freedom of the soul from w^orldly evils, by annihilation or absorption into the divine. 173, 5. — Great Assizes. Last Judgment. 176, 5. — ex voto. Votive offering. 178, 16. — brief. An official letter or announcement. 179, 6. — choragus. In the classic Greek theatre the leader of the chorus; here, leader. 7. — Indulgences. Remissions of punishment for sins 11. — dizaine. A group of ten prayers. 180, 2. — exciseman. Burns was at one time exciseman, an official whose duty it is to inspect and rate articles liable to duty. 14. — Euclid. A famous Greek geometrician who lived about 300 B. C. ]\Iodern geometry is based on his work. 183, 22. — ragout. Stew. 184, 6. — marionettes. Puppets moved by the hands or by strings. 238 NOTES 17. — sou. A penny. 18. — bumper house. Full or crowded house. 185, 2. — proscenium. The front of the stage. 187, 14. — afE-n-afE. A mixture of two malt liquors, gener- ally ale and porter, 188, 13. — '"Tis better to have loved and lost." An echo from In Memoriam, by Tennyson, 1809-1892. 14-15. — Although the moon, etc. An allusion to the ancient myth of the love of Diana, the moon goddess, for Endymion, the shepherd boy. 16. — Audrey. A country girl in Shakespeare's As You Like It; here used as a general term for any country girl. 19. — snood. Hair ribbon. 189, 16. — department. In France a pohtical division of the country for purposes of local government and representation in the national legislature. — et. And. 191 21—23 1 ' _ ' > — Ladies and Gentlemen, Mademoiselle Ferrario ' ■ -' and Monsieur de Vauversin will have the honor of singing this evening the following selections. Mademoiselle Ferrario will sing — Mignon — -Light-winged Birds — France — Frenchmen sleep there — The Blue Castle — Where will You Go? Monsieur de Vauversin — Madame Fontaine and Monsieur Robi- net — The Divers on Horseback — The Discontented Husband — Be Quiet Boy — My Neighbour the Crank — As Happy as that — How We Are Deceived. 8. — salle-a-manger. Dining-room. 23. — Chatelet. A well-known theatre in Paris. 193, 5. — Alcazar. A Paris theatre. 194, 14. — Apollo. In ancient mythology, the god presiding over the fine arts. 195, 19. — Tenez, messieurs, je vais vous le dire. Wait, gentle- men, I am going to tell you. 196, 5. — the Muses. The goddesses who presided over the various arts and sciences. 17. — Alexandrines. A form of verse consisting in English poetry of twelve syllables. The second of the following lines from Pope's Essay on Criticism is an example of the Alexan- drine : A needless Alexandrine ends the song, That like a wounded snake, drags its slow length along. N O ^r E S 239 197. 1. — unities. In classic drama the unities of time, place and action had to be observed: that is, the action must take place the same day, in the same place, and everything not bearing directly on the plot must be excluded. 6. — patois. Dialect. 199, 9. — Theophile Gautier. French critic, poet and novel- ist, 1811-1872. 201, 8-12. — but it is when, etc. When shortly after this cruise Stevenson visited his cousin, R. A. M. Stevenson, in Grez, near the forest of Fontainebleau, he met there Mrs. Osbourne, who later became his wife. 205, 15. — Charles of Orleans. A powerful duke and poet; for many years a patron of literature, 1391-1465. Cf. Ste- venson's essay "Charles of Orleans" in Familiar Studies of Men and Books. 206, 1." — roundel. A short poem having a peculiar and set arrangement of lines. 6. — Michlet. Jules, an eminent French historian, 1798-1874. 8. — The Arethusa was unwisely dressed. Stevenson was always carelessly dressed. 207, 2. — casino of Monte Carlo. The famous gambling resort. 9. — Villon. Fran9ois, French lyric poet, 1431-1463. A man of most dissolute character; condemned to be hanged for robbery, his sentence was commuted to banishment. Cf. Stevenson's essay, "Fran9ois Villon," in Familiar Studies of Men and Books. 208, 10. — Franco-Prussian war. From July 19, 1870, to Janu- ary 28, 1871, ending in the complete defeat of France. 12. — Uhlans. A kind of lancers who figured conspicuously in the Prussian army during the Franco-Prussian war. 209, 11. — Non . . . non, vous avez des portraits. No, no, you have some pictures. 12. — voyons. Let us see. 17. — pornographic colporteur. Hawker of obscenities 210, 3-4. — Non. . . . ce n'est pas bien, etc. No, it isn't good of you. 23. — grenadine. A fruit syrup drunk mixed with water. 212, 5-6. — Childe Roland to the dark tower came. A scrap from an old ballad now lost, a few lines of which are sung by Edgar in Shakespeare's King Lear, III, iv, 187-190; later sug- gested to Browning the subject of a wierd and obscure poem which he called by the same name. 240 NOTES 16. — Commissary. Police justice. 21. — Bardolph, A character in Shakespeare's Henry IV, Henry V, and Merry Wives of Windsor; a dissolute, worthless fellow. 215, 3. — version book. Note bookv 216, 3. — Pas de plaisanterie. No joking. 11. — Mais oui. Tres bien. Yes, indeed. Very well. 17-18. — Enfin, il faut en finir. Well, it is necessary to end the matter. 21.— He! Quoi? Eh, what? 217, 13. — procss-verbal. Official report. 218, 8. — gendarmerie. Lock up, jail. 17. — voyou. Blackguard. 223, 10.— beau cavalier. Fine gentleman. 15. — Alors, monsieur, vous etes le fils d'un baron. Then, sir, you are the son of a baron. 18-19. — Alors . . . ce n'est pas votre passeport. Then this isn't your passport. 224, 13. — pashas. Pasha is a Turkish title of high rank. 225, 5-6. — Eh bien, etc. Well, I suppose your comrade must be released. 9. — Alexandria. In ancient times a famous centre of learn- ing and seat of a university. According to tradition the uni- versity library full of priceless treasures was burned by the Saracens in 641. 226, 3. — Vous etes libre. You are free. 18. — Marechal-des-logis. A French military officer corre- sponding somewhat to our quarter-master. 227, 12. — matador. The man whose business it is to give the finishing stroke to the bull at a bull fight. 228, 10. — befrogged. Ornamented. 19. — suivez. Follow. 20. — The arrest of the members. In 1629 several of the Eng- lish Parliamentary leaders who had led the opposition to the policies of King Charles I were arrested, imprisoned, and fined. — the oath of the Tennis Court. The oath to form a con- stitution sworn in the hall of the tennis court at Versailles, by the representatives of the "third estate," June 20, 1789. This was one of the most important steps toward the French revo- lution. • 22. — Mark Antony's oration. The funeral address over the body of Julius Csesar. Cf. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, III, ii, 42-261. NOTES 241 230, o. — Siron's. An inn at Barbizon, a popular resort of artists. For an interesting description of the place and a de- lightful account of the life there in Stevenson's time, see A Chronicle of Friendships, by Will H. Low; see also Stevenson's "Fontainebleau" in Across the Plaina. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Robert Lewis Balfour Stevenson/ or as he is better known to the world, Robert Louis Stevenson, was born in Edin- burgh, November 13, 1850. He was a deHcate child. "Many winters I never crossed the threshold; but used to lie on my face on the nursery floor, chalking or painting in water-colours the pictures in the illustrated newspapers, or sit up in bed, with a little shawl pinned about my shoulders, to play with bricks or whatnot." In another place he speaks of lying awake nights harassed by "a hacking, exhausting cough and praying for sleep or morning from the bottom of my shaken little body." That he survived childhood was probably due to the loving care of his nurse, Alison Cunning- ham, a devoted Scotch woman who watched over and tended him as if he had been her own child. But if she sacrificed much to him, few nurses were ever more richly rewarded for their devotion. Stevenson dedicated to her A Child's Garden of Verses, sent her copies of all his books, and wrote to her oc- casionally throughout his life. Ill health necessarily made his schooling irregular. He attended various schools and had many tutors, but he attracted more attention by the charm of his personality than because of his scholarship. One of his instructors said of him : " He was without exception the most delightful boy I ever knew; full of fun, full of tender feeling; ready for his lessons, ready for a story, ready for fun." At an early age he showed a fondness for reading and writing. He liked to extemporise doggerel rhymes, and was always starting magazines for which he wrote boyish tales of blood and thunder. His father, Thomas Stevenson, engineer to the Board of Northern Lights, and a man of considerable scientific attain- 1 About 1873 Stevenson wrote to a friend: "After several years of feeble and ineffectual endeavor with regard to my third initial (a thing I loathe), I have been led to put myself out of reach of such accident in the future by taking my first two names in full." The change of spelling to "Louis" was made when he was about eighteen years old, but he con- tinued to pronounce his name as if spelled " Lewis." 243 244 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH ments, wished him to follow the family profession, and the boy's work in the University of Edinburgh was largely di- rected with that object in view. He also had some practical experience in light-house building; but though he enjoyed the outdoor life he took no interest in the details of the real business. Early in 1871 he informed his father of his distaste for engineering, and asked to be allowed to follow literature. Bitter as was Thomas Stevenson's disappointment he did not oppose the boy, but merely stipulated that he should prepare for the bar, in order to have a profession in case he failed in lit- erature. This he did, and was admitted to the bar in 1875, but he made no serious attempt to practice his profession. Having turned his face definitely toward literature, Steven- son read with avidity and laboured incessantly to learn to write. He says of himself: "All through my boyhood and youth I was known and pointed out for the pattern of an idler; and yet I was always busy on my own private end, which was to learn to write. I kept always two books in my pocket, one to read, one to write in. As I walked, my mind was busy fitting what I saw with appropriate words; when I sat by the roadside, I would either read, or a pencil and a penny version- book would be in my hand, to note down the features of the scene or commemorate some halting stanzas. Thus I lived with words And what I thus wrote was for no ul- terior use; it was written consciously for practice. It was not so much that I wished to be an author (though I wished that too), as that I had vowed that I would learn to write." ^ His first published work was The Pentland Rising, which ap- peared in 1866. This boyish production attracted no atten- tion from the public, however, and it was not until 1874 that his literary career really began. In that year Ordered South, the essay on Victor Hugo's Romances and several less important articles appeared in various magazines. During the next two years his work consisted of essays and an occasional poem con- tributed to the magazines. Strangely enough, he gave no evi- dence at this time of his later ability to write fiction. It was not until 1877 that his first story, A Lodging for the Night, ap- peared; but from that time fiction began to take the place of the essays that had previously formed the chief part of his literary work. His first book, An Inland Voyage, was published in 1878, and the same year was notable for the publication of ^Memories and Portraits, p. 122. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 245 his first two serials: The New Arabian Nights and Picturesque N^otes on Edinburgh. During the early years of his authorship Stevenson began the habit of travelling, which he continued throughout life. In 1874 he visited Paris where his cousin, R. A. M. Stevenson was studying painting, and during the next four or five years he never failed to make one or more visits to some part of France. The canoe trip with his friend, Sir Walter Simpson, in the au- tumn of 1876 supplied the material for An Inland Voyage which appeared in book form two years later, and the journey through the Cevennes is 1878 resulted in Travels with a Don- key, which came out in 1879. During these years Stevenson made frequent visits to Barbizon and Grez, picturesque vil- lages on the edge of the forest of Fontainebleau, and fre- quented especially by artists. Here he became a favourite in a little circle of painters and sculptors, and at Grez he first met Mrs. Osbourne, the lady who afterward became his wife. Mrs. Osbourne was an American woman whose married life had not been happy, and who had gone to France to educate her children. At the time Stevenson met her she was studying painting. Stevenson soon became deeply interested in her, but as she had not then obtained a divorce, he was obliged to defer his hopes of marriage. The following year she returned to America. Some months later news of Mrs. Osbourne's illness so distressed Stevenson that he took passage for New York, whence he went directly to San Francisco where Mrs. Osbourne then lived. It was a long and wearisome journey to a man of Stevenson's delicate health, and he reached San Francisco in a state of exhaustion. Receiving good news of Mrs. Osbourne, he went down into the Coast Range Mountains beyond Monte- rey and camped out in the hope of building up his strength. Here he was found in a state of collapse by a couple of ranch- men, and nursed back to partial recovery. The next few months he led a lonely and precarious existence. He could find nothing to do; remittances from abroad failed to reach him, and his own slender stock of money gave out. He at length fell seriously ill, but while in this condition he was taken in hand by Mrs. Osbourne, who had now obtained a divorce, and was nursed back to health. In May, 1880, he was mar- ried, and after a honeymoon spent in the mountains north of San Francisco he returned to Scotland with his wife and step- son. His health was far from being restored, however, and the remainder of his life was a constant struggle against disease. 246 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH Through the anxiety and illness of the last two years Steven- son's pen had not been idle. While in California he finished and sent to London for publication The Pavilion on the Links, a story which he had begun in England, The Amateur Emigrant, an account of his experiences while crossing the ocean, and several magazine articles. During the next two years Stevenson spent his winters in Davos Platz in the Swiss Alps and his summers in the Scottish Highlands. His health continued to be uncertain and pre- vented regularity of work, yet he accomplished a great deal, and his reputation in the literary world steadily grew. In 1881 Virginihus Puerisque appeared in book form, and the same year he wrote Thrawn Janet, The Merry Men, The Body Snatcher, Treasure Island, part of the poems afterwards pub- lished as A Child's Garden of Verses, and a number of less important contributions to periodicals. The following year Familiar Studies of Men and Books and the New Arabian Nights made their first appearance in book form; and the same year Stevenson wrote Silverado Squatters, an account of his honeymoon in the mountains north of San Francisco. Most of the next year was spent in the South of France, where he enjoyed improved health and was able to write steadily. He began Prince Otto, wrote The Black Arrow, which appeared as a serial, and The Treasure of Franchard. This year (1883) was noteworthy for the appearance of Treasure Island in book form. It had attracted little attention as a serial, but on its pub- lication as a book it became very popular and had a large sale. In the summer of 1884 Stevenson returned to England where he remained during the next three years. For a time he be- came much interested in play writing. Several years before he had written Deacon Brodie, in collaboration with W. E. Hen- ley, and the play had been acted a number of times. They now wrote together Beau Austin and Admiral Guinea, and in the following spring completed an English version of Macaire. These plays were subsequently acted, but without success, and Ste enson never seriously resumed dramatic writing. These last years in England were among the happiest in Stevenson's life and form an important period in the development of his art. Turning from dramatic writing Stevenson wrote in col- laboration with his wife the second series of Neiv Arabian Nights, began St. Ives and Kidnapped, and completed Prince Otto, which began to appear as a serial in the spring of 1885. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 247 A Child's Garden of Verses also appeared the same spring. His greatest literary feat of this period, however, was The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Originating in a dream it took such hold of the author that he wrote the story out at a fever heat. It was published in January 1886, and had an enormous sale in both England and the United Sates. This book was shortly afterward followed by Kidnapped. These two books following each other so closely, so utterly different in character and yet each a masterpiece of its kind, placed Stevenson in the front rank of English letters. Had he pro- duced nothing further his title to a high place in literature would have been assured. But though his art was developing, his health failed to im- prove. When, therefore, his father died in the spring of 1887, Stevenson felt free to go to America in the hope of restoring his health. On arriving in New York he found that his literary fame had preceded him, and he soon established profitable literary connections. The next six months he spent at Sara- nac. New York, in the Adirondacks. There he began The Master of Ballantrae, The Fables, and in collaboration with Lloyd Osbourne, The Wrong Box, and did considerable writing lor the magazines. In May the following year he went to California, whither Mrs. Stevenson had preceded him on a visit, and here in fulfilment of a long-cherished longing for a sea cruise he chartered a schooner for a voyage in the Pacific. In June, 1888, he sailed for the Marquesas, never again to return. For the next three years Stevenson cruised up and down the Pacific, visiting the Marquesas, the Hawaiian Islands, Tahiti, Samoa, and the Gilberts, studying the natives, and observing and enjoying the strange and beautiful effects of sea and sky. They were golden days, and in his South Seas he has left a de- lightful account of his voyages in and about these enchanted waters of the Pacific, He resumed work on the Master oj Bal- lantrae, and finished it at Honolulu, where he spent a few months in 1889. In December of the same year he arrived in Apia, in the Samoan Islands, took a house, and set to»work to collect materials for the chapters on Samoa which were to be put into his book on the South Seas. He was so pleased with the place, however, that he bought a tract of land about two miles out of Apia, built a large and comfortable house, and set- tled there. He named the place Vailima (five waters), from a stream with four tributaries which ran across his property. Here in a delightful climate, enjoying the comfort and ease that 248 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH his literary labours had brought him he spent the remaining three and a half years of his lite. In his Life of Robert Louis Stevenson Mr. Balfour, who lived at Vailima during the last two and a half years of Stevenson's life, writes as follows of the manner of life there: '' Stevenson^s ordinary manner of life was this: He would get up at six, or perhaps earlier, and begin work. From my bed in the cottage I commanded a view of his verandah, often and often I have waked in the chill early dawn to see through the window the house with the mass of Vaea towering behind it: in the midst there would be the one spot of bright light where Tusitala,^ the only other person awake of all the household, was already at his labours. Down below, the monontonous beating of the surf could be heard; above, through the chill air, there rang the repeated call of the manulao, 'the bird of dawn' — a succession of clear phrases recalling with a difference the notes at once of the thrush and of the blackbird. The sky brightened; the lamp was extinguished; the household oegan to stir; and about half-past six a light breakfast was taken to the master. He continued to work by himself, chiefly making notes, until Mrs. Strong, her housekeeping finished, was able to begin his writing, generally soon after eight. Then they worked till nearly noon, when the whole household met for the first time at a substantial meal of two or three courses in the large hall. " Afterward there would be talk, or reading aloud, or a game of piquet; a bowl of kava was always made early in the after- noon and, having been served once, was then left in the veran- dah. When Austin Strong was at Vailima, his "Uncle Louis" would at some time during the day give him a history lesson, and also began to teach him French; for the boy's education was undertaken by the household at large. Later in the afternoon there might follow a visit to Apia, or a ride, or a stroll into the woods or about the plantation, or a game of croquet or tennis, until close upon six o'clock, when the dinner was strved. Then followed a round game at cards, or reading, or talk as before, or music, if there were any visitor in the house able to play the piano or sing, for in the end Stevenson had altogether given up the practice of his flute Soon after eight on an ordinary night the members of the household had generally dispersed to their rooms, to go to bed at what hour they chose. lit was by this name, meaning the teller of tales, that Stevenson was known to the natives in Samoa. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 249 The master of the house used, I think, to do most of his reading at these times, but usually he was in bed soon alter ten, if not actually before. " His own favourite exercise was riding, and though for the dozen years before he came to the Pacific he had probably never mounted a horse, he was an excellent rider " I have called this the ordinary mode of life, but it was sub- ject to endless variations. If Stevenson were in a hot fit of work with a story just begun, or some new episode just intro- duced, he could do nothing and think of nothing else, and toiled all day long; for if there were no interruptions and no other pressing business, he would at such times return to his labours for all the afternoon and evening. On the other hand, if he were ailing or disinclined for writing, he would stop work some time before luncheon," Mr. Osbourne, Stevenson's step-son, who also was at Vailima with him, writes: "He was consulted on every imaginable subject: Government chiefs and rebels consulted him with regard to policy; political letters were brought to him to read and criticise; his native following was so widely divided in party that he was often kept better informed on current events than any one person in the same country. Old gentlemen would arrive in stately procession with squealing pigs for the 'chief -house of wisdom,' and would beg advice on the capitation tax or some such subject of the hour; an armed party would come from across the islands with gifts, and a request that Tusitala would take charge of the funds of the village and buy roof-iron for a proposed church. Parties would come to hear the latest news of the proposed disarming of the country, or to arrange a private audience with one of the officials; and poor war-worn chieftains, whose only anxiety was to join the winning side, and who wished to consult with Tusitala as to which that might be." Here he finished The Wrecker and The Ebb Tide, begun some time before, wrote the Beach of Falesa, The Foot Note to His^ tory and David Balfour, began *S^. Ives and Weir of Hermiston, and wrote besides numerous articles for the periodicals. His death came suddenly. In Lloyd Osbourne 's words: "He wrote hard all that morning of the last day; his half- finished book, Hermiston, he judged the best he had ever written, and the sense of successful effort made him buoyant and happy as nothing else could. In the afternoon the mail fell to be answered; not business correspondence — for this 250 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH was left till later — but replies to the long, kindly letters of dis- tant friends, received but two days since, and still bright in memory. ''At sunset he came downstairs; rallied his wife about the forebodings she could not shake off; talked of^a lecturing tour to America that he was eager to make 'as he was now so well,' and played a game at cards with her to drive away her melan- choly. He said he was hungry, begged her assistance to help him make a salad for the evening meal, and to enhance the little feast he brought up a bottle of old burgundy from the cellar. He was helping his wife on the verandah, and gaily talking, when suddenly he put both hands to his head and cried out, 'What's that?' Then he asked quickly, 'Do I look strange?' Even as he did so he fell on his knees beside her. He was helped into the great hall, between his wife and his body-servant, Sosimo, losing consciousness instantly, as he lay back in the arm-chair that had once been his grand- father's. . . . "The dying man lay back in the chair, breathing heavily, his family about him frenzied with grief as they realised all hope was past. The dozen and more Samoans that formed part of the little clan of which he was chief sat in a wide semi-circle on the floor, their reverent, troubled, sorrow-stricken faces all fixed upon their dying master. . , A narrow bed was brought into the centre of the room; the Master was gently laid upon it, his head supported by a rest, the gift of Shelley's son. Slower and slower grew his respiration, wider the intervals between the long, deep breaths. ... "He died at ten minutes past eight on Monday evening the 3d of December, 1894, in the forty-fifth year of his age." And so after a literary career of hardly twenty years, when he had only just come to be recognised as one of those rare geniuses who are sent from time to time to lighten a little the burdens of mankind with words of wisdom and beauty, in the full bloom of his literary maturity, with rich promise for the future, he was taken away from the sight of rhen. He was buried the day after his death on the summit of the little mountain of Vaea which rose near his own home. The coffin containing his body was borne to the top of the moun- tain by a body of powerful Samoans, and he was laid to rest on a spot that looked far out over the summer seas he loved so well. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 251 On a tablet on his tombstone have been placed the words of his own Requiem: "Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. "This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be ; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. And the hunter home from the hill." NOV 30 ui^ Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: May 2009 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111 One copy del. to Cat. Div. Do 1 1>^1Vf