Gautier, Théophile, 1811-1872 -- Travel -- Spain; Spain -- Description and travel; Spain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century
Two or three hours afterwards, the lamps of the Bridge of Bordeaux,
another, although less striking wonder, were gleaming at a distance
which my appetite could have wished considerably shorter, for speed
in travelling is always bought at the expense of the stomach. After
having exhausted all our sticks of chocolate, biscuits, and the
other ordinary provisions for a journey, we began to entertain
slightly cannibal ideas. My companions looked on me with famishing
eyes, and if we had had another stage, we should have renewed the
horrors of the raft of the Medusa, and eaten our braces, the soles
of our boots, and our Gibus hats, besides all the other articles in
request among shipwrecked individuals, who digest this kind of food
in the most satisfactory fashion.
[Illustration: BORDEAUX]
On leaving the diligence, you are assailed by a crowd of porters,
who take possession of your luggage at the rate of twenty to each
pair of boots. This is usual enough, but the most ridiculous
part of the business is the kind of gaolers stationed by the
hotel proprietors, as vedettes, to seize upon the traveller as he
goes along. All these wretches cry themselves hoarse and create
a confusion equal to that of the Tower of Babel, by their long
litanies of praise and abuse. One catches hold of your arm, another
of your leg, a third of the tail of your coat, a fourth of the
button of your paletôt. "Come to the Hotel of Nantes, sir; you
will find everything very comfortable there." "Don't go there,
sir; its real name is the Hotel of Bugs," immediately replies the
representative of a rival establishment. "Hôtel de France," "Hôtel
de Rouen," holla the crew, pursuing you with their vociferations.
"They never clean their saucepans, sir; they cook all their dishes
with lard. The rain comes through into their rooms; you will be
robbed, plundered, assassinated." Each one endeavours to disgust
you with every place but his own, and the band never leaves you
until you enter, definitively, one particular hotel. They then
quarrel among themselves, exchange blows, call each other thieves,
robbers, and other epithets of the like description, and finish by
hastening away in pursuit of fresh prey.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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