DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.16516#0049
PUNCH'S GUIDE TO THE WATERING PLACES.
Well, you have quaffed a bottle of Mr. Lowe's very excellent St. Julien,
and you start with Punch for your philosophic and most
veracious guide to see the marvels of the city. Fassing
BOULOGNE-SUR-MER.
This marine city stands in proud opposition (almost) to Dover, being
■^sry fortunately separated from that cinque port by the British Channel.
On serene days, the chalk cliffs, ingeniously representing the national along the Port, your admiration is excited by the pi ctyesque
debt of England, may be seen from Boulogne heights by the naked eve ; costume of the fishwomen, who have m the most faithful
which, however, receives additional strength, if decently clothed with a manner, copied the dress of Miss _ Kelly, _as frequently
■telescope. The inhabitants of Boulogne, with an elaborate desire to culti-
vate the acquaintance of the English, have advanced a pier so far into the
channel, that if the advance were only met with corresponding; enthusiasm
'by the people of Dover, there would be a wooden union between t\e two
countries. Their enthusiasm is, of course, in every way repressed by the
Steam Navigation Companies, who, with a fine patriotism, charge the
highest possible fares, for the noble purpose of keeping Englishmen at
home, that they may spend their money in their own country. This pur-
pose has met with the highest success for the present season, 1842.
On arriving at Boulogne, the visitor will be immediately struck with the
affability and amiable curiosity displayed by our " natural enemies." Set-
ting his foot upon the pier, the visitor observes his path defined for him
by two ropes, leading from the vessel to the hospitable door of a mansion,
not particularly remarkable for
architectural magnificence, but re-
commended by the urbanity to be
found (with a pen in its hand)
within. To this abode you are
urged by something wearing a
cocked hat and a sword—cocked
hats and swords ruling and direct-
ing all things in France, You
enter the mansion; and should
you carry (it being night) a comb and tooth-brush, such implements are
minutely inspected by another cocked hat and sword, and returned to
you with a direction to pass on. You next present yourself to a gentle-
man, who in the blandest manner makes the following inquiries, writing
down your response to each :—
" What is your name ? "—" Your age ? "—" Where do you put up ? "
—" What money have you in your pocket ? "—" Does your mother
know you have left England?"—"How is your aunt?"—"Have you
had the small pox?"—"Do you take your brandy cold without?"—
and other household and pleasingly familiar interrogatives; your
-answers to which are carefully deposited with the archives of the town,
and will one day make part and parcel of the history of France. Leaving
this inquiring gentleman, you are immediately introduced, through a back
door, to the city of Boulogne. Should you however appear, to the eye of
.another cocked hat and sword, to have a contraband look, you are turned
into an inner room, and are from head to foot rubbed down by the half-
military (and certainly) half-
civil hand of France.
Having been well sham-
pooed for smuggled goods,
you are next requested to
open your mouth, that it
may be seen you have
neither pig-tail nor pig-
iron concealed there; both
articles bearing the heaviest
duty. Many quids have,
from time to time, been
seized in this way, and sold
by the government to the
towns-people, with other
contraband articles. Should your wife accompany you, the partner of
your bosom maybe restored to your arms with many bobbins broken;
the female officers (without cocked hats and swords) asserting the right of
search with very little respect for the English flannel and linen trade.
Escaped from the Custom House, you are immediately impressed with
a sense of the large hospitality of Boulogne; a complete pack of cards, held
by fifty-two different hands,
being presented to you, ac-
companied with the loudest
and most pressing invitations
to take up your abode under
all the fifty-two roofs. Others
cautiously invite you to pro-
ceed to Paris ; you are, how-
ever, come to enjoy yourself
at Boulogne, and taking three steps from the Custom House, you find
yourself comfortably seated in—The Bedford.
worn by her in domestic dramas at the late English Opera
House. These women have one extraordinary peculiarity
— truthfulness. They always deal at a fixed price ; never,
in any instance, consenting to take one sous less than their
original demand. The prolonged melodious note with
which some of them cry " oysters " is not among the least
attractions of the city. As a stranger, you may think it
the voice of a cockatoo, whereas, it is in reality, " natives''
cried in French—
" Des Huitre—e—e—e—e—e—e—e—e_e—e—s ! "
Proceeding from the Port, you enter Crown-street, which
the Boulognais, however, with a pardonable prejudice
insist upon calling Rue de l'Ecu. This is the Bond-street
of Boulogne, where the English air themselves at least
once a morning. Here are many magnificent repositories,
called, by the natives, boutiques; and it affords no small
consolation to the Briton exiled, it may be, for four-and-twenty hours
from London, to read in the various windows the following soul-cheering
intelligence :—
"emglishe spokn heare."
On your right is the Cafe Vermont, a splendid establishment, where La
Jeune France may be seen playing tcarte over four-sous beer at ten in
the morning. Journeying onward, to your left is a magnificent evidence
of the encouragement of English literature by the French nation, the
dreadful impositions committed by Messrs. Murray, Longman and Co,,
Colburn, Bentley, &c, being beautifully rebuked by Messieurs Baudry
and Galignani ; those spirited publishers issuing, as may be seen in their
agent's, (M. Watel's) windows—
" lady blessikgton—only 4s. ! "—
whereas her ladyship is generally at a guinea and a half in London. The
effect of this dissemination of British literature is such, that even French
children have every requisite command of the English language ; we
having frequently met with the merest urchins who, without hesitation,
and with the purest accent, have said—
" Give me a sous ! "
Wending our way along the street, we glance through the windows of
the Hotel du Nord, and, in knives and forks
laid for fifty, with serviettes folded after the
imperial cocked hat, see the strongest illus-
tration of human hope—ten, perhaps, may dine. ,
We now approach the source of much of f
the harmony of Boulogne—the music and
piano-warehouse of the enterprising and
obliging Solis ; not yet, we trust, forgotten by
those who, a quarter of a century ago,
enjoyed his artless strains at the Surrey. This
is a magnificent repository. Here melody
may be hired by the month or quarter ; and
young ladies assisted up the gamut with all
possible celerity by the proprietor To
Solis foreign masters are much indebted.
Into how many respectable circles has
he introduced Herz ? And then, how
courteously putteth he off galopade3
upon young ladies—how pleasingly he
iusinuateth a love-song (" the very last
as is out") into the bosoms of families !
We are therefore glad to see him with
that sunny look, gazing on the poultry in his opposite neighbour's win-
dows, and may be selecting to himself the greatest goose—(and there
are none greater in all Boulogne, which is saying much for Mr. Wood,
the poulterer)—for his Sunday's dinner!
If you proceed in a direct line you will, after a time, find yourself
Vol. 3.
2—2
Well, you have quaffed a bottle of Mr. Lowe's very excellent St. Julien,
and you start with Punch for your philosophic and most
veracious guide to see the marvels of the city. Fassing
BOULOGNE-SUR-MER.
This marine city stands in proud opposition (almost) to Dover, being
■^sry fortunately separated from that cinque port by the British Channel.
On serene days, the chalk cliffs, ingeniously representing the national along the Port, your admiration is excited by the pi ctyesque
debt of England, may be seen from Boulogne heights by the naked eve ; costume of the fishwomen, who have m the most faithful
which, however, receives additional strength, if decently clothed with a manner, copied the dress of Miss _ Kelly, _as frequently
■telescope. The inhabitants of Boulogne, with an elaborate desire to culti-
vate the acquaintance of the English, have advanced a pier so far into the
channel, that if the advance were only met with corresponding; enthusiasm
'by the people of Dover, there would be a wooden union between t\e two
countries. Their enthusiasm is, of course, in every way repressed by the
Steam Navigation Companies, who, with a fine patriotism, charge the
highest possible fares, for the noble purpose of keeping Englishmen at
home, that they may spend their money in their own country. This pur-
pose has met with the highest success for the present season, 1842.
On arriving at Boulogne, the visitor will be immediately struck with the
affability and amiable curiosity displayed by our " natural enemies." Set-
ting his foot upon the pier, the visitor observes his path defined for him
by two ropes, leading from the vessel to the hospitable door of a mansion,
not particularly remarkable for
architectural magnificence, but re-
commended by the urbanity to be
found (with a pen in its hand)
within. To this abode you are
urged by something wearing a
cocked hat and a sword—cocked
hats and swords ruling and direct-
ing all things in France, You
enter the mansion; and should
you carry (it being night) a comb and tooth-brush, such implements are
minutely inspected by another cocked hat and sword, and returned to
you with a direction to pass on. You next present yourself to a gentle-
man, who in the blandest manner makes the following inquiries, writing
down your response to each :—
" What is your name ? "—" Your age ? "—" Where do you put up ? "
—" What money have you in your pocket ? "—" Does your mother
know you have left England?"—"How is your aunt?"—"Have you
had the small pox?"—"Do you take your brandy cold without?"—
and other household and pleasingly familiar interrogatives; your
-answers to which are carefully deposited with the archives of the town,
and will one day make part and parcel of the history of France. Leaving
this inquiring gentleman, you are immediately introduced, through a back
door, to the city of Boulogne. Should you however appear, to the eye of
.another cocked hat and sword, to have a contraband look, you are turned
into an inner room, and are from head to foot rubbed down by the half-
military (and certainly) half-
civil hand of France.
Having been well sham-
pooed for smuggled goods,
you are next requested to
open your mouth, that it
may be seen you have
neither pig-tail nor pig-
iron concealed there; both
articles bearing the heaviest
duty. Many quids have,
from time to time, been
seized in this way, and sold
by the government to the
towns-people, with other
contraband articles. Should your wife accompany you, the partner of
your bosom maybe restored to your arms with many bobbins broken;
the female officers (without cocked hats and swords) asserting the right of
search with very little respect for the English flannel and linen trade.
Escaped from the Custom House, you are immediately impressed with
a sense of the large hospitality of Boulogne; a complete pack of cards, held
by fifty-two different hands,
being presented to you, ac-
companied with the loudest
and most pressing invitations
to take up your abode under
all the fifty-two roofs. Others
cautiously invite you to pro-
ceed to Paris ; you are, how-
ever, come to enjoy yourself
at Boulogne, and taking three steps from the Custom House, you find
yourself comfortably seated in—The Bedford.
worn by her in domestic dramas at the late English Opera
House. These women have one extraordinary peculiarity
— truthfulness. They always deal at a fixed price ; never,
in any instance, consenting to take one sous less than their
original demand. The prolonged melodious note with
which some of them cry " oysters " is not among the least
attractions of the city. As a stranger, you may think it
the voice of a cockatoo, whereas, it is in reality, " natives''
cried in French—
" Des Huitre—e—e—e—e—e—e—e—e_e—e—s ! "
Proceeding from the Port, you enter Crown-street, which
the Boulognais, however, with a pardonable prejudice
insist upon calling Rue de l'Ecu. This is the Bond-street
of Boulogne, where the English air themselves at least
once a morning. Here are many magnificent repositories,
called, by the natives, boutiques; and it affords no small
consolation to the Briton exiled, it may be, for four-and-twenty hours
from London, to read in the various windows the following soul-cheering
intelligence :—
"emglishe spokn heare."
On your right is the Cafe Vermont, a splendid establishment, where La
Jeune France may be seen playing tcarte over four-sous beer at ten in
the morning. Journeying onward, to your left is a magnificent evidence
of the encouragement of English literature by the French nation, the
dreadful impositions committed by Messrs. Murray, Longman and Co,,
Colburn, Bentley, &c, being beautifully rebuked by Messieurs Baudry
and Galignani ; those spirited publishers issuing, as may be seen in their
agent's, (M. Watel's) windows—
" lady blessikgton—only 4s. ! "—
whereas her ladyship is generally at a guinea and a half in London. The
effect of this dissemination of British literature is such, that even French
children have every requisite command of the English language ; we
having frequently met with the merest urchins who, without hesitation,
and with the purest accent, have said—
" Give me a sous ! "
Wending our way along the street, we glance through the windows of
the Hotel du Nord, and, in knives and forks
laid for fifty, with serviettes folded after the
imperial cocked hat, see the strongest illus-
tration of human hope—ten, perhaps, may dine. ,
We now approach the source of much of f
the harmony of Boulogne—the music and
piano-warehouse of the enterprising and
obliging Solis ; not yet, we trust, forgotten by
those who, a quarter of a century ago,
enjoyed his artless strains at the Surrey. This
is a magnificent repository. Here melody
may be hired by the month or quarter ; and
young ladies assisted up the gamut with all
possible celerity by the proprietor To
Solis foreign masters are much indebted.
Into how many respectable circles has
he introduced Herz ? And then, how
courteously putteth he off galopade3
upon young ladies—how pleasingly he
iusinuateth a love-song (" the very last
as is out") into the bosoms of families !
We are therefore glad to see him with
that sunny look, gazing on the poultry in his opposite neighbour's win-
dows, and may be selecting to himself the greatest goose—(and there
are none greater in all Boulogne, which is saying much for Mr. Wood,
the poulterer)—for his Sunday's dinner!
If you proceed in a direct line you will, after a time, find yourself
Vol. 3.
2—2