SD1510. Diary Entry of Thomas Carlyle
As published in The Brownings’ Correspondence, 17, 273.
Chelsea
[25 September 1851]
Up accordingly on Thursday morning, in unutterable flurry and tumult of humour,—phenomena on the Thames, all dreamlike, one spectralism chasing another; to the station in good time; found the Brownings just arriving, which seemed a good omen. Fare to Paris, 22s., wonderful; thither and back ‘by return ticket’ was but 1l. 12s. according to this route—such had been the effect on prices of this ‘Glass Palace,’ and the crowds attracted towards it. Browning with wife and child and maid; then I; then an empty seat for cloaks and baskets; lastly, at the opposite end from me, a hard-faced, honest Englishman or Scotchman, all in grey and with a grey cap, who looked rather ostrich-like, but proved very harmless and quiet: this was the loading of our carriage,—and so away we went, Browning talking very loud and with vivacity, I silent rather, tending towards many thoughts. To Reigate the country was more or less known to me. Beautiful enough, still green, the grey cool light resting on it, occasionally broken by bursts of autumn sun. Some half-score miles from Brighton our road diverges to the left; we make for ‘Newhaven,’ the mouth of a small sea-canal, divided from Brighton by a pretty range of chalk hills. Chalk everywhere showing itself, grass very fine and green; fringings of wood not in too great quantity; all neat, all trim, a pretty enough bit of English country, all English in character. Newhaven, a new place, rising fast as ‘haven’ to the railways: our big solitary inn, the main building in it; other dwelling-houses, coal-wharves, &c., chiefly on the opposite side of the channel—a channel of green, clear sea-water, hardly wider than a river: everything in a state of English trimness, and pleasant to look upon in the grey wind while we had nothing to do but smoke. Browning managed everything for me; indeed there was as yet nothing to manage. Our company numerous, but not quite a crowd; mostly French: operations (as to luggage, steamer, &c.) all orderly and quiet. At length, perhaps about half-past one p.m., we got fairly under way.—I should have said, a man with religious tracts, French, German, English, came on board; I took from him in all the three kinds (which served me well as waste paper); many refused, some (chiefly of the English) with anger and contempt. On the deck were benches each with a back and hood covered with well-painted canvas, impenetrable to rain or wind; these proved very useful by and by. Steward’s assistants enough; especially one little French boy, in fine blue clothes and cap, who was most industrious among his country-women; bigger French gawky (very stupid-looking fellow this) tried to be useful too, but couldn’t much.
Our friends, especially our French friends, were full of bustle, full of noise at starting; but so soon as we had cleared the little channel of Newhaven, and got into the sea or British Channel, all this abated, sank into the general sordid torpor of sea-sickness, with its miserable noises, ‘Hoahah—hotch!’ and hardly any other amid the rattling of the wind and sea. A sorry phasis of humanity. Browning was sick, lay in one of the bench-tents horizontal, his wife, &c., below; I was not absolutely sick, but had to lie quite quiet, and without comfort, save in one cigar, for seven or eight hours of blustering, spraying, and occasional rain. Amused myself with French faces, and the successive prostration of the same—prostration into doleful silence, then evanition into utter darkness under some bench-tent whence was heard only the ‘Hoahhah-hotch!’ of vanquished despair. Pretty enough were several of them, not perfectly like gentlemen any one of them:—indeed that character of face I found of the utmost rarity in French generally. ‘Bourgeois,’ in clean clothes, if civil, rather noisy manner. One handsome man of forty, olive complexion, black big eyes and beard, velvet cap without brim, stood long wrapped in copious blue cloak, and talked near me; at length sank silent and vanished. Other, of brown hair and beard, head wrapt in shawl, rather silent from the first, protruded his under lip in sick disgust, and vanished a little sooner. Third, of big figure, blind and with spectacles, strikingly reminded me of Jeffrey of Cierthon (‘Robin Jeffrey,’ long since dead): he sat by the gunwale, spoke little, in preparation for the worst, and staid there. Inside the tent-benches all was ‘Hoahoh—hotch!’ and more sordid groaning and vomiting. Blankets were procurable if you made interest. Many once elegant Frenchmen lay wrapt in blankets, huddled into any corner with their heads hid. We had some sharp brief showers: darkness fell; nothing but the clank of the paddles, raving of the sea, and ‘Hoah-oh-ho-ahh!’ Our Scotch ostrich friend stood long afoot, hard as stick; at length he too disappeared in the darkness, and we heard him asking about ‘Dipe’ (Dieppe) whether it was not yet near. Hard black elderly man came to smoke on the gunwale seat, near me; Captain forbade, stopped him; long foolish controversy in consequence;—this was in daylight, and the ostrich had assisted: now it was only ‘Dipe?’ in the seventh or eighth hour from starting. At length lighthouses appeared, and soon the lighthouse at the end of Dieppe pier; and we bounded into smooth water, into a broad basin, and saw houses and lamps all round it. Towards nine p.m. by English time:—put your watch forward a quarter of an hour, for that is French time which you have to do with now.
Hôtel de l’Europe, near the landing place, proved to be a second-rate hotel; but we got beds, a sitting-room, and towards 10 p.m. some very bad cold tea, and colder coffee. Browning was out in the douane: we had all passed our persons through it, guided in by a rope-barrier, and shown our passports; now Browning was passing our luggage; brought it all in safe about half-past ten; and we could address ourselves to desired repose. …
Text: Last Words of Thomas Carlyle (London, 1892), pp. 151–155.
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