A tour through some parts of France, Switzerland, Savoy, Germany and Belgium, during the summer and autumn of 1814

In Short

This travelogue serves as a time capsule, capturing Europe in the immediate wake of the 1814 peace. The author traverses France, Switzerland, Savoy, Germany, and Belgium, recording the physical scars of conflict, the shifting social moods of the populace, and the distinct cultural landscapes of each region. Written with the unpretentious curiosity of an educated gentleman, the book endures as a primary window into a pivotal moment when the grand tour was reborn, balancing historical commentary with the mundane, often humorous, realities of early nineteenth-century travel.

The Story

The narrative begins with a departure from London, fueled by the newfound possibility of continental travel. The author crosses the Channel to France, where he immediately encounters the logistical absurdities of customs, passports, and the persistent, often humorous, friction between English and French sensibilities. Upon arriving in Paris, he finds a city struggling to reconcile its revolutionary past with a fragile new order, noting that while the police are efficient, the atmosphere is marked by a pervasive, lingering caution.

As the journey progresses, the author moves through the French provinces, observing the stark contrast between the natural beauty of the landscape and the lingering physical destruction left by recent military campaigns. He visits sites of battle where the earth is already mending, though the local inhabitants remain divided in their loyalties. His path takes him into Switzerland, which offers a respite of order and natural splendor. Here, the focus shifts to the mountain cultures of Savoy and the serene, industrious atmosphere of cities like Geneva and Berne. He finds himself participating in local festivals, observing the simplicity of peasant life, and comparing the different social structures of the various cantons.

Throughout the journey, the author’s interactions with fellow travelers and locals provide an ongoing dialogue about the state of Europe. He notes the lingering influence of French customs in territories like Belgium and the Rhine, yet observes a growing resentment toward the French government’s past heavy-handedness. His curiosity leads him to explore urban centers like Frankfort, where he is struck by the opulence of the merchant class and the distinct differences in governance and religious observance.

The arc of the tour is essentially one of observation; there is no singular climax, but rather an accumulation of impressions that solidify his perspective on European stability. He concludes his tour by circling back through the Netherlands and northern France, eventually finding himself in Calais. His final crossing back to Dover provides a reflective bookend to the journey. By the time he returns to England, his initial curiosity has been replaced by a grounded, comparative understanding of his own country’s strengths and the precarious, complex state of the nations he visited. He leaves the reader with a sense of a world that is profoundly changed, yet still grappling with the monumental task of rebuilding a lasting peace.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author sets out from London, crossing the Channel to Calais, where he experiences the typical inconveniences of early travel—from the extortionate boatmen to the disarray of customs. His initial tone is lighthearted, acknowledging that the pleasure of reaching a comfortable inn often outweighs the indignities of the journey.

Paris and the scars of war In Paris, the narrative takes a more reflective turn as the author analyzes the city's mood. He balances his admiration for the city's landmarks with observations about its police state, noting the lingering anxiety of a people who have spent years under the surveillance of Napoleon’s regime.

Mountains and morality The passage into Switzerland and Savoy introduces the reader to a different rhythm of life. The author documents the rural festivals and the "primitive simplicity" of the mountain people, contrasting these vignettes with his philosophical musings on the nature of government and social order.

The commercial heart of Germany As the author enters the German states, the focus shifts to the prosperity and industry of cities like Frankfort. He observes the wealth of the merchant class and the cultural differences that define the region, marking these cities as bastions of stability compared to the more volatile regions he traversed earlier.

Returning home The tour concludes with a journey through Belgium and a return to the French coast. He notes the lingering bitterness in some areas regarding the departure of the French, and finally, he returns to England, framing his home country in a new, more appreciative light.

The People

The author, Richard Boyle Bernard, acts as our steady, observational anchor. He is a man of his time—refined, appreciative of comfort, and deeply invested in the political stability of his home nation. He seeks not to change the world but to understand it, often using the locals he encounters as mirrors to reflect his own identity.

The French people, as described, are complex and varied; they range from the polite, loquacious companions he meets on his travels to the weary, cautious citizens of Paris. They are portrayed as a people struggling with the loss of their former status and the exhaustion of their resources. In contrast, the Swiss villagers appear as paragons of rural stability, their lives defined by a simple, honest industry that the author finds admirable.

The local authorities and officials he encounters—from police in Paris to the administrators of the Swiss cantons—serve as indicators of the health of their respective states. When he interacts with these figures, he is essentially testing the effectiveness of the local government. Finally, the "fellow travelers" he meets—both English and French—serve as foils, offering alternative perspectives on the war and its aftermath. These figures, whether they are discussing the merits of gaming or the state of the European peace, help the author sharpen his own arguments about the importance of liberty and sound administration.

In Its Own Voice

"I had travelled enough to know, that extortion on such occasions is so general, as not to be peculiarly the characteristic of the inhabitants of any country."

The author notes this after being charged high fees by French boatmen upon his arrival in Calais.

"The various revolutions of the last twenty-five years have doubtless contributed, in no small degree, to diminish much of that gaiety, which formerly distinguished the French from most other nations."

The author reflects on how decades of upheaval have dampened the national spirit of the French people.

"The least observant traveller may soon perceive, by the appearance of a people, whether they are subject to a free or to a despotic government."

He offers this observation while comparing the prosperity of the Bernese to other regions he has visited.

What It's Really About

The central argument of the work is that the security of a nation rests entirely upon the consent and happiness of its people rather than the might of its police or the reach of its military. The author is preoccupied with the transition from the despotism of Napoleon to a state of restored peace. He continually tests the "success" of this transition by looking for signs of commerce, the presence of beggars, the state of the roads, and the general mood of the populace. His observations serve as a case study in how a society recovers from the trauma of war, suggesting that a well-administered state, like those he admires in Switzerland, is the only true foundation for a lasting and prosperous civil society.

Why Read It Today

This book will appeal to those who enjoy the "slow travel" genre—the feeling of being in a carriage moving through the landscape rather than flying over it. It is an honest piece of writing that does not shy away from the author’s own biases, such as his clear preference for the English model of governance or his occasional irritation with French customs.

Reading it today provides a rare, tactile experience of the nineteenth-century European landscape. You will encounter the difficulties of the era: the author’s occasional reliance on lengthy passages of French or Latin, and his occasional bursts of elitism that reflect the period’s class structures. However, these are precisely what make the book valuable. It is not an sanitized history, but a genuine account of a man navigating a world in flux. What stays with the reader is the poignant contrast between the grand, sweeping changes in European politics and the quiet, persistent resilience of the ordinary people—the peasants in Savoy, the merchants in Frankfort, and the shopkeepers in Paris—who were simply trying to rebuild their lives in the shadow of history. It is a contemplative work that invites you to share the author’s perspective as he grapples with the fragile, beautiful reality of a continent starting over.