LETTER XVII. Geneva. MY DEAR HAVE you courage to renew the journey with me, and after traversing for three wearisome days a level country with little to relieve the eye, to cross the precipitous and rugged mountains of the Jura, to get a view of this charming lake, and the sublime and romantic scenes that lie beyond? Happily, you may accomplish the journey without the fatigue it occasioned us, for we have been exposed throughout the whole, with the exception of the last day, to the heat of a burning sun, whose rays I never felt so intensely hot before. But before we leave Sens, where the repairs of our carriage were accomplished with much greater expedition than we had anticipated, I must conduct you to the cathedral, for it is one of the most ancient in France, the first stone of it having been laid, according to tradition, for I presume there are no written documents which convey the information, by the proto-martyr Stephen. It is, as you may suppose, from its high antiquity, a most venerable structure. The front is spacious and imposing, and adorned with various sculptures. In surveying it we had the advantage of the moon; and in the deep solemnity of mind which the view of it inspired, I was fully prepared to accede to all that Mr. Walter Scott has so elegantly said on the subject of moonlight visits to such structures: "If thou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, Go visit it by the pale moonlight." &c. We repaired to the cathedral again in the morning. The interior is extremely spacious, and the style of architecture plain. It struck me as very much resembling Notre Dame in Paris, and it is said to be equal to it in its dimensions. In the nave of the church are two remarkably fine painted windows; at the altar is a most exquisite piece of sculpture, representing the murder of the first Archbishop of Sens; and there is also a monument erected to the memory of the Dauphin, the father of the present king, which deserves the notice of the traveller. While strolling about the church, we were accosted by a curious little man, who invited us to see the relicks. We accepted of his invitation, and being shewn into the vestry, were gratified with a sight of a piece of the true cross, le veretable croix, as he affirmed, and also a morsel of the Redeemer's robe. The piece of wood was preserved in a glass cross, tipped with silver, and for that precious fragment he said they were indebted to the generosity of Charlemagne. Besides these, he shewed us the robe of the Dauphin, and that of Thomas Becket, who was murdered at Canterbury. That haughty prelate fled to this country from the vengeance of his incensed monarch, and was here received with great marks of attention by the Pope. They celebrate his martyrdom annually with great pomp in this cathedral, and upon these occasions, the robe in question bears an important part in the ceremony. From Sens our route lay through the province of Champagne, so justly celebrated for its wines. Through the whole of that day's journey we had the Yonne more or less in view, and the highly cultivated state of the country presented a succession of pleasing prospects to the eye, and awakened still more pleasing sensations in the mind. The vintage promises well this year, but the last it almost entirely failed, in consequence of which the price of wine is higher than usual; notwithstanding this, however, we drank burgundy at three francs and a half, and champagne at five francs per bottle. Auxerre, through which we passed about noon, is delightfully situated on a gentle declivity, and is watered by the Yonne. It is the principal town of the department of that name, and being favourably placed for commerce, carries on a considerable trade with the capital and the surrounding provinces, in timber and in wines. Its cathedral is one of the finest we have yet seen on the continent, excepting only that at Rouen. The style of architecture is gothie; and it possesses a rich profusion of painted glass. Some of its windows are extremely fine. It stands on a commanding eminence, and is seen to great advantage from the surrounding country. In this church our attention was arrested by a wooden monument, to the memory of the late unfortunate royal family of France. It was painted, or rather daubed, in imitation of marble. We at first imagined that it was only a temporary thing, a model, perhaps, of one to be erected on the spot; but we were told that it had been there three years. I never saw so contemptible a thing in the meanest country church in England. I hope, for the sake of their own feelings, that none of the present royal family will ever visit this cathedral, or that this rubbish will be removed before they come. If this were a fair specimen of the loyalty of the people of France generally, as we are led to suppose it is of the people of Auxerre, one could not well draw the conclusion, that the throne of the Bourbons rested on a rock. They call it a monument to the memory of the unfortunate royal family; but it stands, a monument of their own meanness, a disgrace to the cathedral, and an insult to the sufferings it records. We were glad to hear our landlady at Auxerre talk of the mountains, and inform us that on their account we must have six horses. We were weary of a level country, which, however beautiful, soon becomes uninteresting and insipid—and were impatient to obtain a glimpse of those romantic beauties, which had lured us so far beyond our original design. We would fain have reached Dijon that night, but we found it utterly impossible, and were obliged at the close of the day to halt at a poor little country place, Vermanton, and put up with such accommodation as its only inn afforded. The obliging manner of our hostess, a fine, active, sprightly woman, and the civility of her maids, soon reconciled us to our entertainment, which was not of the most luxurious kind. The situation of the place was extremely rural. We had not, indeed, seen any of the mountains of which our landlady had said so much, but gentle undulations of country every where surrounded us, and presented a grateful variety to the eye. The simplicity of a country village reigned throughout the place. The evening was tranquil and serene, and the song of the nightingale was sweet. I walked out to enjoy the delightful calm of nature, and felt the force of those exquisitely beautiful lines of our great poet: Now came still evening on, and twilight grey Silence accompanied: for beast and bird, They to their grassy couch, these to their nests, H |