1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 7

The rest of the day proved highly agreeable to all. With the abbey church of St. Germain, they began what Dr. Boxborough termed their "chronological survey" of Parisian history and culture. Built by the Frankish king Childebert in 558, he told them, St. Germain was erected over the ruins of a former Roman temple to Isis and still housed the remains of most of the ancient French kings. As George and the others walked through the quiet nave they almost felt they'd entered a portal to a thousand years in the past. The ceiling of the vault was painted with yellow stars on a dark blue field, and seemed to extend far higher through an illusion of the arches. But there were many signs too of recent violence. Boxborough called their eyes to the sconces ransacked of their precious statues, paintings whitewashed over, and sundry other traces of the angry Revolutionists.

"Under the Ancien Regime many abbeys housed great wealth," he explained, "wealth often tithed off the backs of hard-working peasants, to furnish gold and silver vessels, sumptuous robes, diamond-studded crosses. One can have little surprise, perhaps, at the pillage of so many Church properties."

The bistro afterwards was superior as advertised, and it was here that the young travelers first tasted the savory dish of cassoulet: fine saucissons in a thick sauce with beans and pork or duck on the bone. The doctor also informed them, maintaining his stream of commentary even through the meal, of the peculiar and recent origin of the word "bistro."

"It is a loanword of the Russian language," he told them, "and dates from a mere two years agone. The Cossacks, bivouacked as they were on the very Champs Elysee, naturally swelled the tables of the boulevard cafes and other purveyors of fare. The word itself roughly corresponds to our phrase 'make haste!,' and thus indicates the rather slight degree of patience the occupying soldiery showed their hosts!" He chuckled at his own anecdote, with such jollity that the young men couldn't help but join in. George, for his part, was starting to wonder if there were any thing in this world the good doctor did not know.

They finished their day's excursion with a short walk along one of the boulevards, sampling in passing some of the cornucopia of entertainments on offer. After depositing the doctor at his lodging in the Rue Louis le Grand, they returned to their own hotel. Robert, Hugh, and Tobias went up to their rooms straightaway, quite fagged from all the walking. George, however, chose to linger in the foyer until his friends were safely out of hearing. He then bounded nonchalantly over to the concierge's desk, where he inquired in much earnestness if there were any letters for him. The concierge, impressed at George's seeming apparition from thin air, assured him he'd received no communiqués, but would make certain any new dispatches be despatched to the chambre of milord. Having to be satisfied with this, George thanked the man and retired to his own quarters.

The young gentleman was in such an agitation over the post on one sole account: he had not yet received even a single missive from Susan – his Susan, he dared to hope – to whom he had so diligently given the address of their Paris hotel, expecting to be greeted by at least two letters, even three. His chagrin at her silence from the Low Countries was, therefore, not inconsiderable. Back in his room he paced up and down, restless despite his natural fatigue. In the end he resolved not to write anything new and to be patient another few days. The important thing was to ensure she was safely proceeding on her tour, everything on schedule, and still able to reach Rome at the same time as his own party. With these thoughts and more flitting around his mind George bedded down for his first night in the French capital.

Dr. Boxborough met them the following morning after breakfast, and they proceeded out through the city much as they had the previous day. This time they went directly in the carriage, as the doctor recommended they make their way to the Palais de Justice with all possible celerity. The sun was bright on this clear morning, and the four tourists took the opportunity again to admire the Parisian citizens and buildings passing by in all their elegance. Trundling southeast they could only get a glimpse of the Louvre on their right, but their esteemed guide told them not to worry on that score: he had budgeted a considerable allowance of time for the grounds and collection of that eminent Home of the Muses. Hugh happened to glance at the other side of the street and gasped.