1816: the Grandest Tour

France: Chapter 11

Over the next several days the Hamilton party continued its active pace through Paris. Indeed, the itinerary of each day was so packed that for the valets, Dick and Isaac, their first Sunday off came as a blessing.

Rather than sit and rot in the crowded city, Dick suggested they seek out fresher climes. They settled on the hill of Montmartre, for its sweeping views of both town and countryside, and hired a cabriolet to take them north.

"Mr. George says they'll return to see this hill," said Dick as they rattled through the calm streets. "But I doubt they will."

"Why's that?" said Isaac.

"Nothing there quite old enough to attract the Master Doctor, ha! Ha!"

Isaac nodded with a grin. Dick had a point about the mad old scholar, but all the same Isaac found Boxborough endearing.

The house blocks thinned and soon they were in almost open country. Taking the place of tenements and sewage-filled streets were windmills and quaint farmhouses. Vineyards were common here, and rows of knobbly grapevines stretched all the way up the hillside.

At the top of the hill they got out and resolved to walk back down at their own pace. The weather was chilly but clear, and both men had brought jackets thick enough to stand the wind. Admiring the view of Paris and the surrounding country, Dick let out a sigh.

Isaac looked up.

"This was their last stand against the Russians, I've heard," said Dick. "This here hill."

"Two years ago, you mean?"

"Aye." Dick shook his head softly. "It always puzzles me... why a man goes off to fight, if he ain't poor."

Isaac wasn't sure what his companion was getting at.

"Most of them are, though, aren't they?" he said. "Poor I mean."

The older man didn't reply.

"I've seen plenty of war myself, lad," Dick said at last. "Too much; far too much. But come, let's walk down."

They started their descent. Isaac was impressed at how still and quiet the area was, though just a mile or two north of the great city. Here and there a rustle would sound in the vines. The young man squinted at each noise, then at last spotted the source in the undergrowth: a fleet, brown rabbit. A hawk was soaring overhead, looking for just this kind of prey. They passed a man in a cart with two oxen hauling produce. They tipped their hats to him as they overtook his slow animals.

"When we reach the bottom," said Dick, "what say we take another cab to the Boulevard du Temple?" "Good cafes there, and plenty to see."

Isaac said it would suit him perfectly.

Closer into town the two men found another cabriolet. This one drove them in about twenty minutes to the boulevard in question. As they stepped down, Isaac saw immediately what Dick had meant by 'plenty to see.' Dominating the street was a row of tall theatre buildings, which advertised their names in gaudy, bold letters: the 'Gaieté,' the 'Ambigu,' and so on. On either side of the boulevard, entertaining a shuffling crowd of hundreds, were dozens of street performers both human and beast. Dogs made back-flips, jumped through hoops, and in general looked very clever. Monkeys didn't have to do much but amble around in little costumes to earn uproarious laughter, and coins for their handlers. The human spectacle, as usual, was heavy on tumblers, jugglers, and acrobats – but here and there Isaac caught sight of a few tents, in front of which the barker invited onlookers to witness some fantastic display of human ugliness – or beauty.