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Travels in England in 1782

C >> Charles P. Moritz >> Travels in England in 1782



Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell & Company edition by David Price,
email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk




TRAVELS IN ENGLAND IN 1782




INTRODUCTION



Charles P. Moritz's "Travels, chiefly on foot, through several parts
of England in 1782, described in Letters to a Friend," were
translated from the German by a lady, and published in 1795. John
Pinkerton included them in the second volume of his Collection of
Voyages and Travels.

The writer of this account of England as it was about a hundred
years ago, and seven years before the French Revolution, was a young
Prussian clergyman, simply religious, calmly enthusiastic for the
freer forms of citizenship, which he found in England and contrasted
with the military system of Berlin. The touch of his times was upon
him, with some of the feeling that caused Frenchmen, after the first
outbreak of the Revolution, to hail Englishmen as "their forerunners
in the glorious race." He had learnt English at home, and read
Milton, whose name was inscribed then in German literature on the
banners of the free.

In 1782 Charles Moritz came to England with little in his purse and
"Paradise Lost" in his pocket, which he meant to read in the Land of
Milton. He came ready to admire, and enthusiasm adds some colour to
his earliest impressions; but when they were coloured again by hard
experience, the quiet living sympathy remained. There is nothing
small in the young Pastor Moritz, we feel a noble nature in his true
simplicity of character.

He stayed seven weeks with us, three of them in London. He
travelled on foot to Richmond, Windsor, Oxford, Birmingham, and
Matlock, with some experience of a stage coach on the way back; and
when, in dread of being hurled from his perch on the top as the
coach flew down hill, he tried a safer berth among the luggage in
the basket, he had further experience. It was like that of Hood's
old lady, in the same place of inviting shelter, who, when she crept
out, had only breath enough left to murmur, "Oh, them boxes!"

Pastor Moritz's experience of inns was such as he hardly could pick
up in these days of the free use of the feet. But in those days
everybody who was anybody rode. And even now, there might be cold
welcome to a shabby-looking pedestrian without a knapsack. Pastor
Moritz had his Milton in one pocket and his change of linen in the
other. From some inns he was turned away as a tramp, and in others
he found cold comfort. Yet he could be proud of a bit of practical
wisdom drawn by himself out of the "Vicar of Wakefield," that taught
him to conciliate the innkeeper by drinking with him; and the more
the innkeeper drank of the ale ordered the better, because Pastor
Moritz did not like it, and it did not like him. He also felt
experienced in the ways of the world when, having taken example from
the manners of a bar-maid, if he drank in a full room he did not
omit to say, "Your healths, gentlemen all."

Fielding's Parson Adams, with his AEschylus in his pocket, and
Parson Moritz with his Milton, have points of likeness that bear
strong witness to Fielding's power of entering into the spirit of a
true and gentle nature. After the first touches of enthusiastic
sentiment, that represent real freshness of enjoyment, there is no
reaction to excess in opposite extreme. The young foot traveller
settles down to simple truth, retains his faith in English
character, and reports ill-usage without a word of bitterness.

The great charm of this book is its unconscious expression of the
writer's character. His simple truthfulness presents to us of 1886
as much of the England of 1782 as he was able to see with eyes full
of intelligence and a heart full of kindness. He heard Burke speak
on the death of his friend and patron Lord Rockingham, with sudden
rebuke to an indolent and inattentive house. He heard young Pitt,
and saw how he could fix, boy as he looked, every man's attention.


"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as others see us!
It wad frae many a blunder free us,
And foolish notion."


And when the power is so friendly as that of the Pastor Moritz, we
may, if wise, know ourselves better than from a thousand satires,
but if foolish we may let all run into self-praise.

H. M.



CHAPTER I.



On the Thames, 31st May.

At length, my dearest Gedike, I find myself safely landed on the
happy shores of that country, a sight of which has, for many years,
been my most earnest wish; and whither I have so often in
imagination transported myself. A few hours ago the green hills of
England yet swam imperfectly before our eyes, scarcely perceptible
in the distant horizon: they now unfold themselves on either side,
forming as it were a double amphitheatre. The sun bursts through
the clouds, and gilds alternately the shrubs and meadows on the
distant shores, and we now espy the tops of two masts of ships just
peeping above the surface of the deep. What an awful warning to
adventurous men! We now sail close by those very sands (the
Goodwin) where so many unfortunate persons have found their graves.

The shores now regularly draw nearer to each other: the danger of
the voyage is over; and the season for enjoyment, unembittered by
cares, commences. How do we feel ourselves, we, who have long been
wandering as it were, in a boundless space, on having once more
gained prospects that are not without limits! I should imagine our
sensations as somewhat like those of the traveller who traverses the
immeasurable deserts of America, when fortunately he obtains a hut
wherein to shelter himself; in those moments he certainly enjoys
himself; nor does he then complain of its being too small. It is
indeed the lot of man to be always circumscribed to a narrow space,
even when he wanders over the most extensive regions; even when the
huge sea envelops him all around, and wraps him close to its bosom,
in the act, as it were, of swallowing him up in a moment: still he
is separated from all the circumjacent immensity of space only by
one small part, or insignificant portion of that immensity.

That portion of this space, which I now see surrounding me, is a
most delightful selection from the whole of beautiful nature. Here
is the Thames full of large and small ships and boats, dispersed
here and there, which are either sailing on with us, or lying at
anchor; and there the hills on either side, clad with so soft and
mild a green, as I have nowhere else ever seen equalled. The
charming banks of the Elbe, which I so lately quitted, are as much
surpassed by these shores as autumn is by spring! I see everywhere
nothing but fertile and cultivated lands; and those living hedges
which in England more than in any other country, form the boundaries
of the green cornfields, and give to the whole of the distant
country the appearance of a large and majestic garden. The neat
villages and small towns with sundry intermediate country seats,
suggest ideas of prosperity and opulence which is not possible to
describe.

The prospect towards Gravesend is particularly beautiful. It is a
clever little town, built on the side of a hill; about which there
lie hill and dale and meadows, and arable land, intermixed with
pleasure grounds and country seats; all diversified in the most
agreeable manner. On one of the highest of these hills near
Gravesend stands a windmill, which is a very good object, as you see
it at some distance, as well as part of the country around it, on
the windings of the Thames. But as few human pleasures are ever
complete and perfect, we too, amidst the pleasing contemplation of
all these beauties, found ourselves exposed on the quarter-deck to
uncommonly cold and piercing weather. An unintermitting violent
shower of rain has driven me into the cabin, where I am now
endeavouring to divert a gloomy hour by giving you the description
of a pleasing one.



CHAPTER II.



London, 2nd June.

This morning those of us who were fellow passengers together in the
great cabin, being six in number, requested to be set on shore in a
boat, a little before the vessel got to Dartford, which is still
sixteen miles from London. This expedient is generally adopted,
instead of going up the Thames, towards London, where on account of
the astonishing number of ships, which are always more crowded
together the nearer you approach the city, it frequently requires
many days before a ship can finish her passage. He therefore who
wishes to lose no time unnecessarily, and wishes also to avoid other
inconveniences, such as frequent stoppages, and perhaps, some
alarming dashings against other ships, prefers travelling those few
miles by land in a post-chaise, which is not very expensive,
especially when three join together, as three passengers pay no more
than one. This indulgence is allowed by act of parliament.

As we left the vessel we were honoured with a general huzza, or in
the English phrase with three cheers, echoed from the German sailors
of our ship. This nautical style of bidding their friends farewell
our Germans have learned from the English. The cliff where we
landed was white and chalky, and as the distance was not great, nor
other means of conveyance at hand, we resolved to go on foot to
Dartford: immediately on landing we had a pretty steep hill to
climb, and that gained, we arrived at the first English village,
where an uncommon neatness in the structure of the houses, which in
general are built with red bricks and flat roofs, struck me with a
pleasing surprise, especially when I compared them with the long,
rambling, inconvenient, and singularly mean cottages of our
peasants. We now continued our way through the different villages,
each furnished with his staff, and thus exhibited no remote
resemblance of a caravan. Some few people who met us seemed to
stare at us, struck, perhaps, by the singularity of our dress, or
the peculiarity of our manner of travelling. On our route we passed
a wood where a troop of gipsies had taken up their abode around a
fire under a tree. The country, as we continued to advance, became
more and more beautiful. Naturally, perhaps, the earth is
everywhere pretty much alike, but how different is it rendered by
art! How different is that on which I now tread from ours, and
every other spot I have ever seen. The soil is rich even to
exuberance, the verdure of the trees and hedges, in short the whole
of this paradisaical region is without a parallel! The roads too
are incomparable; I am astonished how they have got them so firm and
solid; every step I took I felt, and was conscious it was English
ground on which I trod.

We breakfasted at Dartford. Here, for the first time, I saw an
English soldier, in his red uniform, his hair cut short and combed
back on his forehead, so as to afford a full view of his fine,
broad, manly face. Here too I first saw (what I deemed a true
English fight) in the street, two boys boxing.

Our little party now separated, and got into two post-chaises, each
of which hold three persons, though it must be owned three cannot
sit quite so commodiously in these chaises as two: the hire of a
post-chaise is a shilling for every English mile. They may be
compared to our extra posts, because they are to be had at all
times. But these carriages are very neat and lightly built, so that
you hardly perceive their motion as they roll along these firm
smooth roads; they have windows in front, and on both sides. The
horses are generally good, and the postillions particularly smart
and active, and always ride on a full trot. The one we had wore his
hair cut short, a round hat, and a brown jacket of tolerable fine
cloth, with a nosegay in his bosom. Now and then, when he drove
very hard, he looked round, and with a smile seemed to solicit our
approbation. A thousand charming spots, and beautiful landscapes,
on which my eye would long have dwelt with rapture, were now rapidly
passed with the speed of an arrow.

Our road appeared to be undulatory, and our journey, like the
journey of life, seemed to be a pretty regular alternation of up
hill and down, and here and there it was diversified with copses and
woods; the majestic Thames every now and then, like a little forest
of masts, rising to our view, and anon losing itself among the
delightful towns and villages. The amazing large signs which at the
entrance of villages hang in the middle of the street, being
fastened to large beams, which are extended across the street from
one house to another opposite to it, particularly struck me; these
sign-posts have the appearance of gates or of gateways, for which I
at first took them, but the whole apparatus, unnecessarily large as
it seems to be, is intended for nothing more than to tell the
inquisitive traveller that there is an inn. At length, stunned as
it were by this constant rapid succession of interesting objects to
engage our attention, we arrived at Greenwich nearly in a state of
stupefaction.

The Prospect of London.

We first descried it enveloped in a thick smoke or fog. St. Paul's
arose like some huge mountain above the enormous mass of smaller
buildings. The Monument, a very lofty column, erected in memory of
the great fire of London, exhibited to us, perhaps, chiefly on
account of its immense height, apparently so disproportioned to its
other dimensions (for it actually struck us as resembling rather a
slender mast, towering up in immeasurable height into the clouds,
than as that it really is, a stately obelisk) an unusual and
singular appearance. Still we went on, and drew nearer and nearer
with amazing velocity, and the surrounding objects became every
moment more distinct. Westminster Abbey, the Tower, a steeple, one
church, and then another, presented themselves to our view; and we
could now plainly distinguish the high round chimneys on the tops of
the houses, which yet seemed to us to form an innumerable number of
smaller spires, or steeples.

The road from Greenwich to London is actually busier and far more
alive than the most frequented streets in Berlin. At every step we
met people on horseback, in carriages, and foot passengers; and
everywhere also, and on each side of the road, well-built and noble
houses, whilst all along, at proper distances, the road was lined
with lamp-posts. One thing, in particular, struck and surprised me
not a little. This was the number of people we met riding and
walking with spectacles on, among whom were many who appeared stout,
healthy, and young. We were stopped at least three times at
barriers or gates, here called turnpikes, to pay a duty or toll
which, however small, as being generally paid in their copper
coinage, in the end amounted to some shillings.

At length we arrived at the magnificent bridge of Westminster. The
prospect from this bridge alone seems to afford one the epitome of a
journey, or a voyage in miniature, as containing something of
everything that mostly occurs on a journey. It is a little
assemblage of contrasts and contrarieties. In contrast to the
round, modern, and majestic cathedral of St. Paul's on your right,
the venerable, old-fashioned, and hugely noble, long abbey of
Westminster, with its enormous pointed roof, rises on the left.
Down the Thames to the right you see Blackfriar's Bridge, which does
not yield much, if at all, in beauty to that of Westminster; on the
left bank of the Thames are delightful terraces, planted with trees,
and those new tasteful buildings called the Adelphi. On the Thames
itself are countless swarms of little boats passing and repassing,
many with one mast and one sail, and many with none, in which
persons of all ranks are carried over. Thus there is hardly less
stir and bustle on this river, than there is in some of its own
London's crowded streets. Here, indeed, you no longer see great
ships, for they come no farther than London Bridge

We now drove into the city by Charing Cross, and along the Strand,
to those very Adelphi Buildings which had just afforded us so
charming a prospect on Westminster Bridge.

My two travelling companions, both in the ship and the post-chaise,
were two young Englishmen, who living in this part of the town,
obligingly offered me any assistance and services in their power,
and in particular, to procure me a lodging the same day in their
neighbourhood.

In the streets through which we passed, I must own the houses in
general struck me as if they were dark and gloomy, and yet at the
same time they also struck me as prodigiously great and majestic.
At that moment, I could not in my own mind compare the external view
of London with that of any other city I had ever before seen. But I
remember (and surely it is singular) that about five years ago, on
my first entrance into Leipzig, I had the very same sensations I now
felt. It is possible that the high houses, by which the streets at
Leipzig are partly darkened, the great number of shops, and the
crowd of people, such as till then I had never seen, might have some
faint resemblance with the scene now surrounding me in London.

There are everywhere leading from the Strand to the Thames, some
well-built, lesser, or subordinate streets, of which the Adelphi
Buildings are now by far the foremost. One district in this
neighbourhood goes by the name of York Buildings, and in this lies
George Street, where my two travelling companions lived. There
reigns in those smaller streets towards the Thames so pleasing a
calm, compared to the tumult and bustle of people, and carriages,
and horses, that are constantly going up and down the Strand, that
in going into one of them you can hardly help fancying yourself
removed at a distance from the noise of the city, even whilst the
noisiest part of it is still so near at hand.

It might be about ten or eleven o'clock when we arrived here. After
the two Englishmen had first given me some breakfast at their
lodgings, which consisted of tea and bread and butter, they went
about with me themselves, in their own neighbourhood, in search of
an apartment, which they at length procured for me for sixteen
shillings a week, at the house of a tailor's widow who lived
opposite to them. It was very fortunate, on other accounts, that
they went with me, for equipped as I was, having neither brought
clean linen nor change of clothes from my trunk, I might perhaps
have found it difficult to obtain good lodgings.

It was a very uncommon but pleasing sensation I experienced on being
now, for the first time in my life, entirely among Englishmen:
among people whose language was foreign, their manners foreign, and
in a foreign climate, with whom, notwithstanding, I could converse
as familiarly as though we had been educated together from our
infancy. It is certainly an inestimable advantage to understand the
language of the country through which you travel. I did not at
first give the people I was with any reason to suspect I could speak
English, but I soon found that the more I spoke, the more attention
and regard I met with. I now occupy a large room in front on the
ground floor, which has a carpet and mats, and is very neatly
furnished; the chairs are covered with leather, and the tables are
of mahogany. Adjoining to this I have another large room. I may do
just as I please, and keep my own tea, coffee, bread and butter, for
which purpose my landlady has given me a cupboard in my room, which
locks up.

The family consists of the mistress of the house, her maid, and her
two sons, Jacky and Jerry; singular abbreviations for John and
Jeremiah. The eldest, Jacky, about twelve years old, is a very
lively boy, and often entertains me in the most pleasing manner by
relating to me his different employments at school, and afterwards
desiring me in my turn to relate to him all manner of things about
Germany. He repeats his amo, amas, amavi, in the same singing tone
as our common school-boys. As I happened once when he was by, to
hum a lively tune, he stared at me with surprise, and then reminded
me it was Sunday; and so, that I might not forfeit his good opinion
by any appearance of levity, I gave him to understand that, in the
hurry of my journey, I had forgotten the day. He has already shown
me St. James's Park, which is not far from hence; and now let me
give you some description of the renowned

St. James's Park.

The park is nothing more than a semicircle, formed of an alley of
trees, which enclose a large green area in the middle of which is a
marshy pond.

The cows feed on this green turf, and their milk is sold here on the
spot, quite new.

In all the alleys or walks there are benches, where you may rest
yourself. When you come through the Horse Guards (which is provided
with several passages) into the park, on the right hand is St.
James's Palace, or the king's place of residence, one of the meanest
public buildings in London. At the lower end, quite at the
extremity, is the queen's palace, a handsome and modern building,
but very much resembling a private house. As for the rest, there
are generally everywhere about St. James's Park very good houses,
which is a great addition to it. There is also before the
semicircle of the trees just mentioned a large vacant space, where
the soldiers are exercised.

How little this famous park is to be compared with our park at
Berlin, I need not mention. And yet one cannot but form a high idea
of St. James's Park and other public places in London; this arises,
perhaps, from their having been oftener mentioned in romances and
other books than ours have. Even the squares and streets of London
are more noted and better known than many of our principal towns.

But what again greatly compensates for the mediocrity of this park,
is the astonishing number of people who, towards evening in fine
weather, resort here; our finest walks are never so full even in the
midst of summer. The exquisite pleasure of mixing freely with such
a concourse of people, who are for the most part well-dressed and
handsome, I have experienced this evening for the first time.

Before I went to the park I took another walk with my little Jacky,
which did not cost me much fatigue and yet was most uncommonly
interesting. I went down the little street in which I live, to the
Thames nearly at the end of it, towards the left, a few steps led me
to a singularly pretty terrace, planted with trees, on the very
brink of the river.

Here I had the most delightful prospect you can possibly imagine.
Before me was the Thames with all its windings, and the stately
arches of its bridges; Westminster with its venerable abbey to the
right, to the left again London, with St. Paul's, seemed to wind all
along the windings of the Thames, and on the other side of the water
lay Southwark, which is now also considered as part of London.
Thus, from this single spot, I could nearly at one view see the
whole city, at least that side of it towards the Thames. Not far
from hence, in this charming quarter of the town, lived the renowned
Garrick. Depend upon it I shall often visit this delightful walk
during my stay in London.

To-day my two Englishmen carried me to a neighbouring tavern, or
rather an eating-house, where we paid a shilling each for some roast
meat and a salad, giving at the same time nearly half as much to the
waiter, and yet this is reckoned a cheap house, and a cheap style of
living. But I believe, for the future, I shall pretty often dine at
home; I have already begun this evening with my supper. I am now
sitting by the fire in my own room in London. The day is nearly at
an end, the first I have spent in England, and I hardly know whether
I ought to call it only one day, when I reflect what a quick and
varied succession of new and striking ideas have, in so short a
time, passed in my mind.



CHAPTER III.



London, 5th June.

At length, dearest Gedike, I am again settled, as I have now got my
trunk and all my things from the ship, which arrived only yesterday.
Not wishing to have it taken to the Custom House, which occasions a
great deal of trouble, I was obliged to give a douceur to the
officers, and those who came on board the ship to search it. Having
pacified, as I thought, one of them with a couple of shillings,
another came forward and protested against the delivery of the trunk
upon trust till I had given him as much. To him succeeded a third,
so that it cost me six shillings, which I willingly paid, because it
would have cost me still more at the Custom House.

By the side of the Thames were several porters, one of whom took my
huge heavy trunk on his shoulders with astonishing ease, and carried
it till I met a hackney coach. This I hired for two shillings,
immediately put the trunk into it, accompanying it myself without
paying anything extra for my own seat. This is a great advantage in
the English hackney coaches, that you are allowed to take with you
whatever you please, for you thus save at least one half of what you
must pay to a porter, and besides go with it yourself, and are
better accommodated. The observations and the expressions of the
common people here have often struck me as peculiar. They are
generally laconic, but always much in earnest and significant. When
I came home, my landlady kindly recommended it to the coachman not
to ask more than was just, as I was a foreigner; to which he
answered, "Nay, if he were not a foreigner I should not overcharge
him."

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