From the Thames to the Tiber

CHAPTER I

London: Its teeming millions of population: Its commercial aspect: Leaving Victoria Station for New Haven: On the Boat: New found friends: Landing at Dieppe: Leaving for Paris: Rouen, its Cathedral, etc.

We had settled to have a holiday—not a mere pic-nic, not a week-end at Blackpool, or a tour of a few days in the Isle of Man—but a real first-class, out-and-out trip.  Where then is it to be?  Why, to Rome and back, came the reply.  From St. Paul’s in London, the largest city in the world, to St. Peter’s in Rome, one of the great cities of the ancient world.

“To Rome!” my friends said in astonishment.

“Yes! to Rome.”  There seems to be magic in the very word.  Rome—The Eternal City.  The city of the seven hills.  The city of which St. Paul was proud to be a citizen.  See Acts, chapter 22, verse 25.  “Is it lawful for you to scourge a man that is a Roman, uncondemned?” verse 28.  “Then the Chief Captain came and said unto him.  Tell me, art thou a Roman?”  He said, “Yes.”

Rome stands for power.  Her proud eagles once swept their wings over almost the then known world.  Rome stands for antiquity, greatness, wealth, splendour, conquest and colonization, liberty, law, self control, prowess, skill.  But, alas!  It also stands for cruelty, luxury, strife, war, humiliation, decay, decline.

This is the objective really of our holiday.  Now it is settled, ways and means, and the route, etc., are but details.  Packing!  Well, I am a poor hand at packing.  I think it must be a gift to be able to pack well.  I think a good packer must be born, not made.  If I pack, sure as fate, the things I want first are at the bottom of the trunk.  My dear little wife, to whom I owe much for packing and general comfort during the tour, and, indeed, I owe to her well-kept journal, much that assists me to make this record of our holiday.

On the 25th September, 1907, we found ourselves en route for London, followed by the good wishes and prayers of loved ones left behind, also of the many friends we knew had kind thoughts of us.  We reached London about 6 p.m., and were soon snug and comfortable in “The Manchester Hotel.”  We had no time and no special wish just now to see London.  London cannot be seen in a day or two.  Its magnitude bewilders, having a population of about 7,000,000, and for its teeming millions, there is need of bread, milk, beef, clothes, work, etc.  We cannot understand at a glance what it means.  In London we have the largest breweries, distilleries, and sugar refineries in the Kingdom; also many metal manufacturers and machine makers, including: plate, jewellery, watches, brass works, and all kinds of tin and zinc works; large printing and publishing houses; also, as you know, large millinery and tailoring establishments; cabinet-making on a most extensive scale, leather-working, coopering, coach-building, ship-building, hat-making, extensive chemical works, soap manufacturing and dye works; also dock labourers, ’bus drivers, cab drivers, tram guards and drivers, railway men and engine drivers, policemen, postmen, ministers of religion, there being over 3,000 churches in this great city, and many other means of living besides the few I have mentioned.  Then there are its hotels, as “The Manchester Hotel” where we are staying, “The Midland Grand,” “Grand Hotel,” Trafalgar Square, “The Victoria Hotel” in Northumberland Avenue.  Many more offering accommodation to the tens of thousands of visitors to this great city from all lands.  We cannot refrain from mentioning the religious aspect of the city.  We have our noble Cathedral, St. Paul’s, always worth a visit, if only for its monuments and torn banners, and its choral service; then we have “Spurgeon’s Tabernacle”; “The City Temple,” where once ministered that mighty man of God, Dr. J. Parker; also Wesley’s Church; City Road West London Mission, and many others I cannot describe.

Its theatres on all hands, who claim their votaries by tens of thousands nightly.  The underground electric railways give to the city traveller and visitor an idea of the vastness and importance of the City.  However, it was no part of my intention when I began this record to describe London, so I will content myself with saying we only spent one night in the city on our outward journey.

Many of my readers will be quite familiar with the streets, shops, bazaars and churches of this great hive of human life, human industry, and human skill.  A good night’s rest and we rose refreshed for our journey, now it is to Paris.  We had very little difficulty in re-packing our valise and trunk, settling our account and calling to our rescue a porter.  We were soon in train at Snow Hill for Victoria, arriving at this latter place in time to catch “The Continental” for New Haven and Dieppe.  It is not an easy matter even with a porter to guide you, to find out amidst such a labyrinth of platforms and stair-cases to find the train you want, and to get a comfortable seat.  We managed, however, ultimately to reach the right platform and to find a seat in a comfortable compartment.  We noticed our fellow passengers, by label on their luggage, were also going to foreign fields and to Continental cities.  The morning was a lovely autumn morning.  As we steamed out of Victoria Station we got a sight of the lovely landscape, the morning sun was shining in great brilliance.  We passed villages of importance, and towns in rapid succession.  Lewes was a stopping place not far from New Haven.  We did not stay long at this station, just long enough for the railway officials to satisfy themselves we were all furnished with tickets for the Continent.  After leaving Lewes, we were in New Haven in about half-an-hour.

New Haven is about 56 miles from London.  A pretty place, lying at the foot of the white chalk cliffs.  It has a population of about 3,000.  It is, however, an important place, as the mail packets for the cities of Europe leave here twice daily.  Our train ran us very close up to the landing stage, and the securing our luggage and getting it conveyed from train to steamer was only the work of about ten minutes, and was managed without the least difficulty.  The weather continued all we could desire, and it seemed quite clear we were going to have a calm sea and a pleasant voyage across channel.  We got very nice seats on the boat; we found our fellow-passengers on the whole most agreeable, polite, and, indeed, friendly; were we not all on pleasure bent, and should we not now, on the wide ocean, show to others respect.  We strolled the deck of our pretty little vessel, she was a beauty, and behaved so well, we had not the least fear of that terrible disease that afflicts so many who sail the seas, I mean what the French call mal-de-mer—“the sickness of the sea.”  We had hardly lost sight of the white cliffs of dear, old England, when our thoughts went back to home, and to loved ones.  Then we began to think of refreshments.  We found a menu that filled us with hopefulness that an agreeable meal at least might be obtained.  We went to the buffet and found we could get a real good English dinner.  This we had and enjoyed it heartily; I considered it excellent, and my wife, who is a connoisseur in the cookery line, declared she was well satisfied.

A newly-married couple joined us.  We found they were on their honeymoon.  A very happy couple apparently.  In our hearts we wished that their lives might be as smooth as the sea we were now crossing.  We became quite friends before we got half way across the channel.  I had my Kodak with me, so I must take a snap-shot or two of the happy pair; then I and my wife must submit to the same process.  So the time passed pleasantly, and in about three hours we were landing on the shores of France at Dieppe.

Our little ship, as if in a hurry to serve us, was quickly up at the landing stage, and we were safe on shore with our baggage, en route for the Custom House.  We soon found out we were in a foreign land, because a foreign tongue was spoken, and although I am able to parley vous un peu, I could not hold conversation with a Frenchman, he speaks so quickly.  I, however, could ask a simple question in French and also give a simple answer to a question, and this was of immense value to me during this tour.  Our trunks duly examined, and free, we had a short time to look round Dieppe.

On our strolling about a little, waiting for our train, we saw a little of this rather important French town and watering place.  It has a population of about 20,000; it lies in a hollow so to speak; the white chalk hills surround it; the quays are substantially built of solid masonry.  Dieppe seems to have an old castle, quite out-of-date, as a defence; there is also a citadel of modern construction; a small light-house, about 40-feet high, stands by the entrance of the town.  We learned that a large number of French people come to Dieppe for the summer and autumn holidays.  There are some works for the labouring classes, such as: ivory works, one of the most famous in Europe; also there are some works in horn, in bone, some in lace, some sugar refineries, a little ship-building, and the fishing industry is fairly prominent; a good supply of herring and mackerel is sent daily to Paris; also there are extensive oyster beds, which are a source of profit to the inhabitants.  We boarded the train about 4 o’clock p.m., and leaving Dieppe and the sea behind us, we steamed away at a rapid rate towards Paris.  We passed some lovely country, rich in fruit and foliage; some most beautiful Chalets, with grounds like fairyland; also, we saw the working-class home, apparently very poor, no windows and little furniture; they seem to live out of doors, and eat very much fruit and vegetables; they appear, however, healthy and strong.  We saw some one or two cemeteries, and so near we could see very strange archways of flowers or wood, or marble over the graves, and very large crucifix’s.

We had left our new found friends at Dieppe, so now we were more alone to enjoy each others company, and to speak of the scenery and places as we passed them.  In about an hour-and-an-half we reached Rouen.  A very large and important railway station.  Here we stayed a little while, and we could see the town was large and important.  It was formerly the capital of the province of Normandy.  It is one of the best commercial centres in France.  It has been called the Manchester of France on account of its great cotton manufactories, producing goods to the value of 80,000,000 francs annually.  It has also manufactories of hosiery, silk and wool fabrics, hardware and machinery.  It is an important sea-port, as it has a harbour that can receive steamers of 600 tons.  It has a population of about 150,000.  The Cathedral of Notre Dame, built between 1207 and 1210, is a fine Gothic building.  The spire is nearly 500 feet high.  In this old Cathedral rests the remains of Rollo, first Duke of Normandy, and his son William.

M. B. Edwards, in a poem, says of this old-world Cathedral:—

CHAPTER II

Arrival in Paris: Our Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York”: Visit to the Louvre: The Cathedral of Notre Dame: The Church of St. Geniveve: The Pantheon: Bloody Bartholomew: Its awful massacre.

Our stay in Rouen was of the briefest, so we were soon full steam ahead for Paris, and Rouen was left behind.  We crossed some wonderful bridges of the rivers, or river; I think we crossed the Seine several times.

On approaching the suburbs of Paris, we saw large villas and larger mansions, surrounded with luxuriant foliage; indeed, the whole landscape is charming.  Soon we found the train rattling over points and crossings, and into Gare de Lazare.  So we are in Paris; the city of gaiety, the city of beauty, the goal of pleasure seekers from all parts of the world; a city, it is said by Victor Hugo, combines in itself—Athens, Rome, Jerusalem—such is the city we have just entered, and which is to be our home for two or three days.  The distance from the station to our Hotel—“Hotel Londres and New York,” 15, Place du Havre, is so short that our luggage was conveyed by porter, without a cab; we just walked across the square, and we were in the Hotel.  I had, however, a difficulty on hand with the porter.  My idea of remuneration for porter’s services were by no means up-to-date for Paris; I thought a franc for ten minutes’ service ample.  He, evidently, did not think so, as he showed himself highly dissatisfied, and expressed himself in language (happily I understood but little of) anything but polite.  I told the Hotel Manager how I had acted, and he went and sent him away.

When in Paris, if you are in doubt as to your exact position, and want direction (in England you would say, “ask a policeman”), in France—pardon, monsieur, Quel est le chemin pour le madoline.  If you put on side, he won’t notice you; if you offer him a tip, he will probably take you for a spy, and arrest you as an anarchist.  The lifting of the hat and the word “monsieur” is an open sesame which appeals to all Frenchmen, and smooths away many difficulties; it transforms the haughty policeman into the politest of bobbies; the frowning hotel-keeper into the most jovial of hosts; and the cross-grained custom house official into a most agreeable acquaintance.  You must avoid whistling while in Paris; the Scotchman says, “Ye mauna whustle on the Sabbath”; this saying must be applied to every day of the week in Paris; nothing is so irritating to a Frenchman, except perhaps the sight of a British tourist, arrayed in white flannels, marching in their grand Cathedrals, or even one of their ordinary Churches, with a cigarette in his mouth.  The untravelled man soon finds out the difference between an English and a Continental City, and habits of the people.

We were shown to our rooms, which we found clean and comfortable; the Hotel is all we could desire.  A porter, at the entrance, speaks fairly good English.  We soon had a good square meal, in the shape of table-de-hote, which we were quite ready for and enjoyed; plenty of fruit on the tables, grapes, oranges, apples and peaches.  After satisfying the inner man, we strolled into the lounge or writing-room, which we found most convenient and pleasant—writing material, newspapers and bills of concerts, plays, etc.; also, here I could enjoy my pull at the weed.  We were not late in retiring to rest; rest we could, but not sleep for a time; I thought, O! restless Paris!  The only time that is quiet from tram, ’bus and cab seems to be from about 1 a.m. to 3 a.m.; after this early hour, wagons begin to lumber past, farmers from the country, I think, with produce which must be in the market early.  We slept, however, a few hours, rising fairly early for dejeuner, we were able to enjoy a cup of coffee made in Paris; coffee here is perfect; roll and butter, fish, eggs, etc.  Breakfast over we engaged a cab, a taxi-cab, and we drove round some parts of this wonderful city; we went by some parts of the banks of the river Seine, and here there are literally miles of quays, and the river is spanned by fifteen bridges, some of them of great strength and beauty.

The Louvre was one of the places we visited.  No one would think of going to Paris without seeing this vast pile of buildings; no less than sixty acres, I learned, in the very heart of the city was taken up by this building.  It stands to-day as it has stood for more than an hundred years, with its grand facades, pavillions and colonnades, and its splendid halls, saloons and galleries, as a proud monument to the ancient Royalty of France.  It was the home of Henry III., till civil war drove him from his capital, and he perished at St. Cloud by the assassin’s knife.  Here for a time Henry of Navarre had his abode.  It is now a museum or a series of grand museums; miles of the most wonderful paintings, choice sculptures, Assyrian, Egyptian, Greek and Roman antiquities, bronzes, historic relics from far off lands, and from different races, engravings and models—indeed, it is a great storehouse of art.  During the war with Germany, the Communists set fire to one of the wings and the library of 90,000 volumes and many rare manuscripts were destroyed.

It is said that on the night of the 23rd of May, a troop of Germans had entered the city and made their way so far, they ordered the porter or door-keeper of the Louvre to pour petroleum into the different rooms, and on his refusal, they imprisoned him and his wife in his own lodge, and then at once set fire to the place.  Next day the French troops arrived in time to release him from his sad plight, and also to arrest the flames in their destructive work.

The Cathedral of Notre Dame, of course, came in for a visit.  It stands, we are told, on the site on which the Roman conqerors erected a temple to Jupiter.  This Cathedral is a marvel of architectural beauty.  As you gaze you wonder at the skill of the architect, and also of sculpture, for there are in marble and stone fanciful scenes from bible history portrayed—the Kings of Judah; a colossal image of the Virgin Mother; Adam and Eve.  There are many pointed arches and stained windows glistening in the sun’s rays.  Two massive towers rising to the height of 200 feet.  The interior is in keeping with the exterior, only, if possible, richer and finer; the length is about 400 feet, and the breadth about 150.  It has stood in its beauty on this spot during the last 600 years.

One of the Chapels of this Cathedral contains, they tell us, some wonderful relics.  For instance, “a part of the crown of thorns with which our Saviour was crowned in mockery”; also the sponge and winding sheet used at His death.  Kings and princes of the Roman Catholic persuasion have vied with each other in the costliness of their offering at this sacred shrine—cups, gold cups, silver cups, vases, candlesticks, crosses in gold and silver, some studded with diamonds, and all kinds of precious stones.  There are curiosities and art treasures in abundance within the precincts of this holy place.  It must have been a proud day for Napoleon when he came to be crowned in this great Cathedral, heralded by Popes, Marshalls and sword-bearers.  Bearers bore his train amidst the most brilliant assembly of this, or any other land.

Another notable building we visited after the Cathedral of Notre Dame, I think more interesting in its way—what was at one time the Church of St. Geniveve—now it is known as the Pantheon.  It stands upon an elevation, and its magnificent dome can be seen from almost all parts of the city.  It rises to a height of 267 feet.  The funds to build it with, we are told, were provided by lottery at the time of Louis XV.  Its approach is very attractive, being by a stately portico, and by a triumphal progress.  The grand car, upon which the Sarcophagus containing the body of Voltaire was laid, was drawn by twelve white horses to the Pantheon.  It is said that 100,000 people joined in the procession.  Rousseau and Marat were buried with similar honours; but we are told, that so fickle is the populace, that six months after, the body of one of them was removed and buried in a common sewer.  Our guide was not shy in showing us the very sad effects of the German shells.  The large dome was shot through by their cannon balls, and, but for the timely help of the troops from Versailles, very likely this noble building would have shared the same fate as many others did.

Opposite the grand collonade, near the Louvre, is the Church of St. Germain, with its strange gable, buttresses and gargoyles.  From the belfry of this Church, it is said, “rang out the tocsin,” which was the signal for the massacre of St. Bartholomew, on the 24th of August, 1572.  At the dead of night—fit time for such awful deeds of blood and murder—at the sound of this tocsin the courtly butchers went forth to their work of slaughter, armed and shouting “for God and the King.”  They forced the dwellings of the Christians.  Six thousand of these assassins, wielding the weapons of the brigand and the soldier, ran about in the wildest fury, murdering without mercy or distinction of sex, or suffering, or age.  Many of these fiends in human form ran shouting “kill the heretic, kill the heretic!  Death to the Huguenots—Kill!  Kill!!”

That day the human seemed to be turned into the fiend.  It is said there perished in Paris alone, over 15,000 Christian Martyrs, and in the provinces more than as many more.  The sun of that beautiful sabbath shone with its pure light upon the desolate and dishonoured homes of the victims of this terrible massacre; and the air, which should have been hushed from sound until the psalm of praise woke it, bore upon its midnight billows the yell of fierce blasphemers flushed and drunk with murder.  Says one, “Unhappy, Paris, thou hast suffered many things since that unhappy time.”

There are many interesting Churches in this gay city, but I must refrain from dwelling upon their beauty and utility.

CHAPTER III

Paris: Palace de Concorde: Champs Elysees: The Bois de Boulogne: The extensive Boulevards: The River Seine, etc.: Leaving Paris: Arrive at Dijon: Our Hotel: Dijon, its Churches, etc.: Our journey to Chambery, etc.

The Place de la Concorde.  Here we were pointed out was a place where a terrible struggle took place between the Germans and the French in 1871.  The work of devastation and ruin was only too apparent.  We drove to the Champs Elysees.  This is a most lovely place, with a broad avenue a mile long, with trees on each side of all sorts, and grass lawns and flower beds in the greatest profusion.  Here wander carelessly the gay crowds, or sit in beautiful little cafes under the spreading branches of the trees.  In the groves around the children are swarming, shouting, and playing.  We noticed there was the ever-loved of children, “The Punch and Judy,” also with stalls with toys, gingerbread, etc., etc.

When the darkness gathers and the numerous and brilliant gas jets are lighted, stretching for the distance of more than a mile, and music and song float on the air, the scene is very fascinating.  It is said, that along this broad avenue, in 1871, Paris with suppressed rage—watched the last of the German army disappear.  Our jarvey then drove us to the Bois de Boulogne, which is not far from here.  This is a grand promenade for chariots and horses, a little like our Rotten Row, in London.  There are here to be seen lakes, islands, caverns, artificial mounds, avenues, and, indeed, everything to make a most charming retreat from the busy city life.  The Champ de Mars is another of the open spaces.  Napoleon, before the famous battle of Waterloo, held his last review of the grand army of France here.  Again, in 1852, 60,000 soldiers were brought together on the occasion of the distribution of eagles to the different regiments, also several Arabs, in native costume, as representative of the vanquished Algerian tribes.  And here again, sad to say, in 1871, the Germans levelled their dreadful “mitrailleuse” and shot down, in their helplessness, many of the French.  We can hardly leave Paris without saying further that the boulevards of Paris are a great boon and joy to the city.  Whatever may be thought or said of the career of Napoleon III., in fourteen years he spent £60,000,000 in building seventy miles of streets and two hundred boulevards, eight churches, eighty schools, twelve wonderful bridges, and planted fifty thousand trees.  All added ultimately to the wealth as well as the attractions of the city.  To describe the streets is a task I shall not attempt.  They are called Rue—as Rue Lafitte, Rue de la Chausse, Rue de la Victorie, Rue St. Dennis.  The numerous places and things in and around Paris that call for remarks are legion, but I must forbear, only to give one passing reference to the river Seine and its many bridges.  Pont Notre Dame or the bridge of Our Lady, dates from the fifteenth century; a bridge of later date, we were told, was made of wood, and fell into the river taking sixty houses with it.  This is a fine bridge built of solid masonry.  The Pont d’Arcole is a suspension bridge for foot passengers only.  The Pont Neuf was built by Henry IV.  There is a bronze horse on the bridge which was cast in Tuscany.  On its way to Paris, the vessel bringing it was wrecked off the Norman coast, and lay for a year at the bottom of the sea.  It was ultimately fished up and brought to its present position.  And now I must leave, for a time at least, any further reference to Paris, only to say we settled our account at the Hotel and drove off to Gare-de-Lyon to catch the train at 10.25 for Dijon.  Our driver was a very interesting sort of Frenchman, and tried to explain and show us places and things, but we were little the better for his attempts to enlighten us.  We reached the station early, and were soon steaming away through France, and as we did so, we came to the conclusion it was as fair a land as e’er we had set eyes on; miles of lovely lawns; hedges cut and trimmed as if by a barber; the poplar trees rising in rows, long and even, all in order and beauty; then the rivers here and there rolling along, between grassy banks, and the lovely fat looking cattle browsing or sleeping in soft sunshine; cosy cottages, almost buried in bowers of roses; quaint old world villages, with red-tiled cottages; and stately churches with ivy covered towers, made one think of the poet who sang:—