Leading the Blind Read Online Free Page A

Sentimental Journey , still marked as ‘Sterne’s Room’. Also singled out is that which was occupied by Sir Walter Scott.
    Murray describes the sights of the town and gives something of its history, then goes on to tell us, should the traveller wish to make a romantic pilgrimage, that ‘Lady Hamilton (Nelson’s Emma) died here in great misery. Her remains, refused a resting place in consecrated ground, were interred in a timber-yard, about 20 yards beyond the Port de Calais.’
    Should the traveller be tempted to take a day’s trip down the coast to Boulogne he will find a quarter of the population to be English. The town is within eight hours of London, Murray says, and has become ‘one of the chief British colonies abroad; and, by a singular reciprocity, on the very spot whence Napoleon proposed the invasion of our shores, his intended victims have quietly taken possession and settled themselves down. The town is enriched by English money; warmed, lighted, and smoked by English coal; English signs and advertisements decorate every other shop door, inn, tavern, and lodging house; and almost every third person you meet is either a countryman or speaking our language; while the outskirts of the town are enlivened by villas and country houses, somewhat in the style and taste of those on the opposite side of the Channel. There are at least 120 boarding schools for youth of both sexes, many of them under English managers.’
    Thackeray in Vanity Fair gives a further view of English travellers on the Continent, those among them who have ‘swindled in all the capitals of Europe. The respect in those happy days of 1817–18 was very great for the wealth and honour of Britons. They had not then learned, as I am told, to haggle for bargains with the pertinacity which now distinguishes them. The great cities of Europe had not been as yet open to the enterprise of our rascals. And whereas there is now hardly a town of France or Italy in which you shall not see some noble countryman of our own, with that happy swagger and insolence of demeanour which we carry everywhere, swindling inn-landlords, passing fictitious cheques upon credulous bankers, robbing coachmakers of their carriages, goldsmiths of their trinkets, easy travellers of their money at cards – even libraries of their books: thirty years ago you needed but to be a Milor Anglais, travelling in a private carriage, and credit was at your hand wherever you chose to seek it, and gentlemen, instead of cheating, were cheated.’
    If our traveller at Calais was already regretting his departure from home the pier jutting out from the shore gave an occasional view of the white cliffs of England. This must have been a tantalizing sight to those who were also exiles, ‘fugitives from creditors, or compelled from other causes,’ hints Murray, ‘to leave their homes: a numerous class both here and at Boulogne. There are many of our countrymen besides, who reside merely for the purpose of economising; so that the place is half Anglicised, and our language generally spoken.’
    Murray also mentions the local fishermen and their wives, who dress in picturesque costume and occupy their own quarter of the town, where the streets, ‘are draped with nets hung out from the fronts of the houses to dry, and in dress and manners they are distinct from the rest of the inhabitants, speaking a peculiar patois, and rarely intermarrying with the other townsfolk. They are an industrious and very hardworking race, especially the women, and very religious: the perils and vicissitudes of their hard life reminding them more nearly than other classes of their dependence on Providence.’
    According to Baedeker, the men’s wives are called matelottes , and ‘exercise unlimited sway on shore, whilst the sea is the undisputed domain of their husbands’.
    During a pause in his solitary walk along the seafront, or while sitting in the