Romance of student life abroad

Front matter

ROMANCE

STUDEIT LIEE ABROAD.

BY c,

Chapter I. Pagb

A first adventure. — Calais. — A new acquaintance. — Mr. Philip Belcher. — His theory of travel. — He proffers good advice. — He gives an account of himself. — Story of Louis Herbois. — New visions. — New prospects. — New anticipations. . . 17

Chapter II

surprise. — A discussion. — The diligence. — Capitaine Duclos. — Entertaining women. — Beautiful hamlets. — Fantastic graveyards. — Images of the Virgin. — Signs over the different Hotels. — Donkeys. — Dinner en rouU. — Partridge recites poetry. — Scone at the Inn. — The bougies. — Partridge turns sympathizer. — Hotel Sauvage. — Hotel des Gentilhommes. — We xii Contents.

PAOB

enter Paris.— We look about.— Visit to the Student's Quarter. — Monsieur Battz. — The Mademoiselle Battz.— Our new set. — *' Walking" the hospital. — The young English doctor. — His peculiarities. — Man and woman discussed 56

CHAPTEK III.

Clements illustrates. — Students in Paris. — Students in Germany. — The distinction. — Habits of the former. — The Story of Ludwig Bernhardi 76

CHAPTEK IV.

Kambles over Paris. — Charbon and fagot venders. — Jacques Tourneau. — The gardens. — Hotel dea Invalides. — Old soldier with two wooden legs. — The chapel. — Old soldiers at prayers. — The melancholy officer. — Light and shadow. — Incident in the chapel. — Children playing. — Little Annie. — Her grandmother. — French delicacy. — An affecting scene. . . . 102

CHAPTEE V.

Students' nonsense. — After dinner. — Our company. — Daloney. — Franz Von Herberg.— Jacob Wahlen. — The two Englishmen. — Vincent. — A good shot. — The picture Franz cannot paint. — Putting two things together.— The new hat.— The juggler.— A dangerous suggestion. — National characteristics. — We visit r^ O N T E N T S . 3tiii

PAOX an artist's room. — Its appearance. — The wrong painting. — The whole party struck with horror. — We beg for an explanation Ill

CHAPTER VI.

Life not a particular form of body, but body a particular form of life. — Story of the Terrible Picture. — Vincent feels unsettled. — His invitation.— Champagne. — Pipes. — Meerschaums and segars in requisition 121

CHAPTER VII.

Vincent proposes to tell a story. — He makes an inquiry in advance. — It is answered. — He requests the company not to be impertinent. — He tells the story of the Water-carrier. — The company break up in fine spirits. — Nobody thinks of the terrible picture 13?

CHAPTER VIII.

[ornings at la Morgue.— Melancholy sights. — The pale woman. — Young girls. — Young men. — The little child in search of " Mamma." — The old man. — Leave Paris. — Return in the summer. — Jardin des Plants. — Pi<rtridge proposes a remarkable enterprise. — We attend at the rendezvous. — The strange apxiv Contents.

pearance. — An hour of suspense. — Partridge explains. — Story

of the Fair Mystery 173

CHAPTER IX.

Changes. — The rue Copeau abandoned. — A haunted house. — The Italian. — He refuses to enlighten us. — Vincent reads a letter. — A melancholy Jacques. — An account of New York society. — The Italian discourses about physicians. — He will go to America. — He tells a strange story of a dead man on the Boulevard. — The dispersion 205

CHAPTER X.

New quarters. — Franz Von Herberg. — Rue de la Chaussee d' Antin. — Our opposite neighbours. — The backgammon players. — The two grisettes. — Mother and idiot son. — Shopkeeper's family. — People of fashion. — French economy. — What Franz tried to paint. — Our Lady of Lorette. — Old mendicant. — His death. — A serious discussion. — Franz is in doubt. — Ch:(nii)aux's. . 21(5

CHAPTER XI.

The cafe. — A character. — The gar§on is puzzled. — He wears a permanent shrug. — He is in despair. — We proceed to his assistance and discover an acquaintance. — Wilcox gives an account of his efforts to keep from starving. — New m.ethod

Contents. xv

PAOB

of dining. — Wilcox on his travels. — He reaches Lyons. — He attempts to go to Marseilles. — He gets into trouble, and then into prison. — Meets with fresh misfortunes. — Is at last set at liberty. — A funeral scene. — Death. — Mourners. — The artificial and the natural 224

CHAPTER XII.

Almost ut the end. — We tire of fashionable quarters. — Partridge returns. — We prepare to leave Paris. — Franz's new painting. — Partridge is inquisitive. — The story is demanded. — It is insisted on. — It is told. — Story of Marie Laforet.

CHAPTER XIII.

Preface for conclusion. — Author and literary friend. — A mistake which cannot be corrected. — Publisher shakes his head. — A compromise 258

ROMANCE OF STUDENT LIFE ABROAD,

CHAPTER I.

A FIRST ADVENTURE.

We intended — Partridge and myself — to go directly from Liverpool to Paris. It is what most youth decide to do when they find themselves for the first time on European soil. But we reconsidered the matter. After enjoying with a keen relish the comforts of an English inn for twenty-four hours, we concluded to make a tour of Great Britain and Ireland, before settling down to study.

This was several years ago. It is hardly prudent to count back how many. On second thoughts, I resolve to do it : I now say, vnth. accuracy, it was sixteen years.

At that period a voyage across the Atlantic was a thing to be remembered for a life-time. Lasting friendships were formed, and often what w^ere more significant than friendships; for many were the vows to which Neptune was the witness, and frequent their interchange, on the decks of our magnificent packet-ships, those fine nights,

'* "While overhead the moon

Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course "

In short, it was like a charming visit of a month at the mansion of some hospitable friend, whose abode is filled with a large and congenial company. How all this is changed ! The idea of wooing and winning a lovely maiden on board of a steamer, while the engines, impelled by

" Tartarean snlphur and strange fire,"

beat time to your protestations with their clack — clatter — clank ! Alas, the friendly mansion is converted into a noisy hotel, and the visit of a month reduced to a stay of ten days.

On the other side of the ocean, the mail-coach and diligence were in their glory, while at almost every turn of the road one encountered the post-chaise or caleche of the private traveller. I mention this by way of parenthesis, and proceed to remark that, after making our proposed excursion through England, Ireland, and Scotland, and as we were about to cross the Channel from Dover, my companion missed his portmanteau and was obliged to go back to London in search of it ; while I, eager to get into France, passed over to Calais, promising to wait for him there.

I shall give no account of my friend's exploits in pursuit of his lost luggage — I shall not even tell whether he found it or not. I am to speak of this, my first adventure into France, and how I fared at Calais. The landing and getting through the custom-house, the examination of passports and so forth, diverted me for a few hours. The aspect of every thing around — to me new and peculiar — ^made the following day pass cheerfully enough. On the third, I attempted a drive on the road to St. Omer, and returned covered with dust, without seeing a single object to interest me. It was now with difficulty that I could occupy the time. As a last resource, I took to inspecting the different faces which daily presented themselves at the Hotel de Meurice, where one could see a great variety of features, belonging to almost every country, age, sex, and condition. But I tired of this presently, so that when the fifth day brought with it one of those disagreeable storms peculiar to the coast — ^half drizzle, half sleet and rain — it found me weary of the amusement of attending on new arrivals and departures, and of the nameless petty doings by which time, in a bustling hotel, is attempted to be frittered away. A misty, dreary, damp, offensive day ! An out-and-out tempest, a thorough right down drenching rain, would have been in agreeable contrast with the previous hot, dusty, sunny weather; but this — it seemed absolutely intolerable ! I was, besides, in no particular condition to be pleased. I was neither setting out upon a tour, nor returning from one, but had been interrupted in my progress and forced, with loss of my companion, to a stand-still at this most unmteresting spot. 1 came down, and with a bad grace, to order breakfast.

" Garden, Cafe — oeufs a la coque — biftek — rotie — ^vite !" I was about repeating this in a louder tone, for the waiter seemed engrossed with something more important than attending to my wants. Avhen I heard a quiet voice behind me —

" Gar^on, Cafe — oeufs a la coque — biftek — rotie — vite !" I turned angrily upon the speaker, doubtful of the design of this repetition of my order.

The reader ^\^J1 perceive that my breakfast was a substantial one ; indeed, such a breakfast as an American, who had not so far lost himself in " European society" as to forget his appetite, would be very likely to call for. The idea that I was watched, doubtless made me a little suspicious, or sensitive, or irritable ; at any rate, I turned, as I have said, angrily upon the speaker. He was a slightly made, elderly man, at least fifty, with pleasant features, a calm appearance, and quiet manners — a person evidently at home with the w^orld. I recollected at the same moment, that the stranger had been at the hotel ever since my arrival there, although I had not, from his unobtrusive habit, given him more than a passing notice. His appearance at once dispelled the frown which I had brought to bear upon him ;

but when he answered my stare with a respectful yet half familiar bow, I could have sworn that it came from an old acquaintance. I need not say that I returned the salutation cordially. At the same time my new friend rose, came towards me, and held out his hand.

" I am quite sure," he said, " that you are an American — perhaps a New Englander ; I am both ; why, then, should not countrymen beguile an unpleasant day in company 1 Excuse me — I did hear your order just now, and as it suited my own taste, I proposed to myself that we should breakfast together; — we may trust to Francois; he has been here, to my knowledge, more than twenty years, and pleases every body."

I pressed the hand of my new acquaintance — acknowledged myself to be from New Hampshire — gave my name, and received in return — " Philip Belcher."

We sat down to the same table, and very soon Francois appeared wdth a well-served breakfast.

" Pray," said I, " what can one do to relieve the monotony of this mtolerable place "? If the country about were agreeable — nay, if it were bearable ! but as it is, I repeat, what is to be done V

" Done !" said Mr. Belcher, rather sharply, " a hundred things! Put on your Mackintosh and overshoes; come with me to the Courtgain, and see the fishermen putting to sea, their boats towed out by their wives and daughters ; a sight, I will be bound, you have not beheld, although you may have coursed Europe over, and been at Calais half a dozen times."

Mr. Belcher proceeded in this vein, detailing many things that could be seen to advantage even in Calais ; but as he suggested nothing which interested me so much as he himself did, I had the boldness to tell him so, and that my curiosity was excited to know more of him.

"Tliere is nothing in my history that can amuse a stranger ; indeed, it is without incident or marvel. To be sure, I am alone in the world, but I have never been afflicted or suffered misfortune, within my recollection. My parents died when I was very young ; my father and mother were both only children ; a small property which the former left was carefully invested, and faithfully nursed during my minority, by a scrupulous and honest attorney, in no way connected with us, but whom my father named as executor in his will, and my guardian. Ill health prevented my getting on at school. I cannot say that I was an invalid, but my constitution was delicate and my temperament nervous. I tried to make some progress in the study of a profession, under my excellent guardian, but was forced to give it up as too trying to my nerves. The excitement of a courtroom I could not endure for a day, much less for a lifetime. Before I was twenty -five, my income had so much increased that I could afford to travel. T have gained in this way my

.health, which, however, would become impaired should I return to a sedentary life ; so, as a matter of necessity, I have wandered about the world. You see, my story is soon told."

I found Mr. Belcher was not in the habit of talking about himself, and I liked him the better for it. Without pressing for a more particular account, I led the conversation to treat of the different countries he had visited, referring, by the way, to some principal objects of attraction. Here I touched an idiosyncrasy of my new acquaintance.

" I never formed," he said, " any distinct ' plan' of travel. I never ' did' Paris in eight days, nor the gallery of the Louvre in half an hour, as they have been done by an acquaintance. I never opened a guide-book in my life ; I never employed a commissioiiere, a valet, a courier, a cicerone, or a dragoman. My pleasure has been to let the remarkable, the beautiful, the interesting, burst u^^on me without introduction, and I have found my account in it. I have quitted the Val d'Arno, turned off from the Lake of Como, passed to the other side of Lake Leman and its romantic castles, pursuing my way, regardless of these well-worn attractions, while I beheld rarer — at least less familiar scenes, and enjoyed with zest what was fresh nnd unhackneyed. No everlasting ' route' — no mercenary and dishonest landlords — no troops of travellers, travelling that they may become ' travelled' — but, in place of all this, I saw every thing naturally — the country in its simplicity — the inhabitants in their simplicity — while, I trust, I have preserved my own simplicity. Indeed, I rather prefer what your tourist calls an ' uninteresting region.' "

" For that reason," I remarked, pleasantly, " you have come here to Calais to spend a few weeks ; you must enjoy the barren sand-plain which extends all the way from this to St. Omer. How picturesque are those pollards scattered along the road, with here and there a superannuated old windmill, looking like an ogre with three arms and no legs ! then, to relieve the dreariness of the place, you have multitudes of miserable cabins, grouped into more miserable villages, to say nothing of the chateaux of dingy red, in which painters of the brick-dust school so much delight. Really, Mr. Belcher, you will have a capital field here !"

My new acquaintance shook his head a little seriously, as if deprecating further pleasantry.

" You are like the rest of them, I fear," he remarked, " a surface traveller ; at least you will force me to believe so if you go on in this way. To me there is no place unworthy of observation — no spot which does not challenge my attention. You are young, and have much before you. Take the advice of an old and, I trust, not an ill-natured traveller. Preserve the romantic in your heart, and you will never miss it by the wayside, no matter what you encounter, or how dull and disagreeable it may seem to another. But come," he continued, " I will not scold you ; the storm threatens to last the morning ; if you wish, I will help to make away with part of it, by recounting a little adventure which happened to me hard by those very pollards which you are pleased to abuse so freely."

It is needless to add that I joyfully assented to the proposal, and was soon seated in Mr. Belcher's room before a cheerful fire — for he had managed even in Calais to procure one — when he commenced as follows :

"I think it was during the first season I was on the Continent that I visited St. Omer. After spending a day or two in that place, I concluded to walk to Calais, and set out one morning accordingly.

" The weather was fine ; but after I had been a few hours on the road, the wind began to blow directly in my face, and soon enveloped me in a cloud of sand from which there seemed no escape, and which threatened actually to suffocate me. To avoid this I left the highway, but keeping what I supposed to be in the general direction of the road, I struck out into the adjacent fields. There was nothing for a considerable distance to repay me for this detour^ except that I was thus rid of the sand. The country was barren and unin\dting, the cottages little better than hovels, and the whole scene distasteful. But I pushed on, not a whit discouraged ; indeed, my spirits rose as the prospect darkened,

and like a valiant general invading a country for the purpose of conquering a peace, I resolved in some way to force an adventure before I reached Calais. I trudged along for hours, stopping occasionally for a draught of sour wine and a bit of bread. I made no mquiry about the main road, for I preferred to know nothing of it. hi this way I proceeded, until it was almost night, when I spied, some half a mile distant, a cluster of trees surrounding a small tenement. I turned at once toward the spot, and coming up to it, found a cottage not differing in size or structure from those I had seen on the way, except that it appeared even more antiquated. It was, however, in perfect repair, and finely shaded by a variety of handsome trees, and flanked on one side by a neat garden. The door stood open and I entered. There was no one in the room. I called, but received no answer. I strayed out into the garden and walked through it. At the lower end was a small enclosure covered over at the top as if to protect it from the weather, and fenced on each side with open wire-work, looking through which, I beheld a small grave, overspread with mosses, and strewed with fresh-gathered white flowers. It bore no name or inscription, except the following simple but pathetic line :

Surprised by the appearance of fresh flowers upon a tomb which had been so long closed over its occupant, T turned, hoping to find some ex^^lanation of the mystery in wliat I might see elsewhere. But there was nothing near to attract one's attention, nor was any person within sight.

" After taking a ghmce around, I went back to the cottage, and walking in, sat down to wait the arrival of the occupants. In a few minutes, I heard voices from the side of the house opposite the garden, and soon two persons, of the peasant class, evidently husband and wife, came in. The man w^as strong and robust, with the erect form and martial appearance acquired only by military service, and which the weight of nearly sixty years had not seemed to impair. His countenance was frank and manly, and his step firm. The woman appeared a few years younger, while the air of happy contentment which beamed in her face, put the ordinary encroachments of time at defiance. Altogether, I had never seen a couple so fitted to attract observation and interest. They both stopped short on seeing me.

" I hastened to explain my situation, as that of a belated traveller, attracted by the sight of the cottage ; and told them I was both hungry and tired, and desirous of the hospitality of their roof I was made welcome at once.

" Louis Herbois, for that was his name, gave me a bluff, soldierly greeting, while Agathe, his wife, smiled her acquiescence. Supper was soon laid ; I ate with a sharpened appetite, which evidently charmed my host, who encouraged me at intervals, as I began to flag.

" Supper concluded, I was glad to accept the offer of a bed, for I was exhausted with fatigue.

" I had been so engrossed with the repast, that curiosity was for the time susj^ended, and it was not again in action until I had said good-night to my entertainers, and found myself in the room where I was to sleep. This was an apartment of moderate size ; the furniture was old and common, but neither dilapidated nor out of order; the bed was neatly covered ; around the room were scattered several books of interest, and in one corner was a neat writing-desk, of antiquated appearance, with silver mounting, and handsomely inlaid ; while some small articles of considerable value placed on a table in another corner, indicated at least occasional denizens very different from the peasant and his wife. Yet this could not be a rural resort for any fomily belonging to the town. There were but two other apartments in the house, and these were occupied. Nevertheless, I reasoned, these things can never have been brought here by the worthy people I have encountered ; and then — the little grave in the garden ? who has watched the tomb for so many years, preserving the moss so green and the flow^ers so fresh — cherishing an affection which has triumphed over time? How intense, how sacred, how strange must be such devotion ! I decided that some persons besides those I had seen were concerned, m some way, in the history of the little dwelling, and with this conclusion 1 retired ; and so, bemg fatigued by my day's travel, I soon fell asleep.

" I awoke about sunrise. Going to the window, I put aside the curtain, and looked out mto the garden. Louis Herbois and his wife were there, renewmg the garlands with fresh flowers, and watering the moss which was spread over the grave. It must be their own child, thought I, and yet — no — I will step out and ask them, and pat an end to the mystery. I met the good people coming in : they inquired if I had rested well, and said that breakfast would soon be ready. ' You do not forget your little one,' I said to the old fellow, at the same time pointing towards the enclosure. 'Monsieur mistakes,' replied he, crossing himself devoutly. ' Some dear friend, I suppose V He looked at me earnestly : ' On voit bien, Monsieur, que vous etes un homme comme il font. After you have breakfasted, you shall hear the story. ' Ah, there is, then, a story,' said 1 to myself, as I followed Louis Herbois into the cottage, where Agathe had preceded us, and sat down to an excellent breakfast. When it was concluded I asked for the promised narration. ' Let me see,' said Louis, ' Agathe, how long have we been married V Agathe, matron as she was, actually blushed at the question, yet answered readily, without stopping to compute the time. ' Yes — true — very well ;' resumed Louis. ' You must know, Monsieur, that my father was a soldier, and enrolled me, at an early age, in the same company with himself. Having been detailed, soon after, on service to one of the provinces, I was so severely wounded that I was thought to be permanently unfitted for duty, and was honourably dismissed with a life pension. Owing to the care and skill of a famous surgeon who attended me, and whom I was fortunate enough to interest, I was at last cured of my wounds, and very soon after I wandered away here, for no better reason, I believe, than that Agathe was in the neighbourhood ; for we had known each other from the time we were children. Very soon she and I were married, and we took this little place, and were as blessed as possible.

" ' In the mean time, great changes were going on at Paris. The revolution had begun, and soon swept every thing before it. But it did not matter with us. We rose with the bh'ds, and went to rest with the sun, and no two could have been happier : am I not right, Agathe V The old lady put her hand affectionately upon the shoulder of her husband, but said nothing. 'And we have never ceased being happy, we are always happy ; are we not, Agathe V The tears stood in Agathe' s eyes, and Louis Herbois went on. ' Well, the revolution was nothing to me ; they were mad with it, and killed the king, and slew each other, until our dear Paris became a bedlam — still, as

I said, it was nothing to me. To be sure, I went occasionally to Calais, where I heard a new language in every body's mouth, and much talk of Les hommes suspects, Mandats cVarrets, with shouts of A has les aristocrates, and Vive la Rejmblique — but I did not trouble myself about any of it ; Agathe and I worked together in the field, and in the garden, and in the house — always together — always happy. One morning we went out to prune our vines ; the door of the house was open, just as you found it yesterday ; why should we ever shut the door 1 we were honest, and feared nobody ; we stood — Agathe here on this side holding the vine ; I, with my knife, on the other side, bending over to lop a sprout from it ; when down came two young people — lad and lass — upon us, as fast as they could run, out of breath — agitated — and as frightened as two wood-pigeons. The young man flew to me, and, catchmg hold of my arm, begged me, ^owr Vamour de D'leu, to secrete his wife somewhere — anywhere — out of the reach of the gens-d''armes who were pursuing them. I felt in ill-humour, for I had cut my finger just then ; besides, I did not relish the mention of the gens-d''armes : so I replied plainly, that I would have nothing to do with persons who were suspects. Why should I thrust my own neck into the trap? they had better go about their business, and not trouble poor people. Bah ! such a speech was not like Louis Herbois ! but out it came. Heaven knows how, and no sooner had I finished than up rims the young creature, and, seizing my moustache, she cries, " My brave fellow, hie away, and crop off all this; none but men have a right to it; God grant you were not born in France ; no Frenchman could give such an answer to a man imploring protection for his wife.

Look at my husband — did he ask aid for himself? Do you think he would turn you off m this way, had you sought his assistance to save Aerf pointing to Agathe, who stood trembling all the while like an aspen. " Ah ! you have made a mistake — I see you repent — be quick; what will you do with us f And she held me tight by the moustache until I should answer, while the husband stared upon me in a sort of breathless agony. I took another look at the little creature, while she kept fast hold of me, and saw that she was eh Men ! I see you understand me,' said Louis, interrupting himself, as he glanced towards his wife. ' My heart knocked loud enough, believe me, and there the little thing stood, her hand, as I was telling you, clenched fast ui my moustache — ha ! ha ! ha ! — and looking so full into my eyes, mth her own clear bright blue gazers. " Mon Dieu — mon Bleu ! Agathe, we must help these pauvres enfansP " You are a Frenchman — I thought so," cried the little one, letting go my moustache and clapping her hands. " Oh ! hasten, hasten, or we are lost !" " All in good time," said I, " for—" " No, no," interrupted she, " they are almost upon us : in a moment we may be captured, and then, Albert, oh ! Albert, what will become of you ?" So saymg, she threw her arms about her husband, and clung to him as if nothing should part them. " Voila Men les femmes ; to the devil with my caution ; come with me, and I will put you m a place where the whole Directory shall not find you, unless they pull my cottage down stone by stone." I hurried them to the house and hid them in a private closet which, following out my soldier-like propensities, I had constructed in one end of the room, in a marvellously curious way. Not a soul but Agathe knew of it, and I disliked to give up the secret ; but I hurried the young people in, and arranged the place, and went back to the vines and cut away harder than ever. In two minutes, up rode three dragoons with drawn swords, as fine-looking troopers as one would ask for. I saw them reconnoitre the cottage, then, spymg me, they came towards us at a gallop. " What have you done with the Comte and Comtesse de Choissy T said the leading horseman. " You had better hold your tongue," I retorted, " than be clattering away at random. What the devil do I know of the Comte and Comtesse de Choissy, as you call them ?" "Look you," said the dragoon, laying his hand on my shoulder, " the persons I seek are escaped prisoners ; they were seen to come m the direction of this cottage ; our captain watched them with his glass, and he swears