Holidaying in the Countryside

At the port of Calais, two carriages await us. I climb into the coach beside Sarah, while the father, son, and grandson sit facing us. Ann, the maid, has joined the luggage in the second carriage. We set off towards Boulogne-sur-Mer ; John Pusey WINT wishes to pay his respects at the grave of his wife, Eliza. We take the coastal road. The sky seems to bathe in the sea until one can no longer tell where one begins and the other ends. The sunlight casts a singular brilliance over the passing landscapes. The whiteness of the cliffs contrasts sharply with the metallic blue of the sea ; farther away, the towering cliffs of Cap Gris-Nez shimmer with silvery hues. Small fishing ports follow one after another all the way to Boulogne.

The oldest cemetery in Boulogne-sur-Mer

At the entrance to the cemetery, I move away to allow them to honour their beloved departed in complete privacy. About half an hour later, we resume our journey towards Salperwick. They are not as grief-stricken as I had feared. Instead, they share memories, joys, and sorrows. I listen quietly. From time to time, one of them addresses me directly, and I answer as best I can. The heat grows increasingly oppressive. Sarah and I try to fan ourselves with little success. The farther we move away from the coast, the heavier and more suffocating the air becomes. At last, the château appears at the end of the road. We have finally arrived.

Napoléon and Eliza await us before the steps of the manor house. They come forward to welcome their guests. The reunion is warm, though somewhat formal. John Pusey Senior kisses his eldest daughter upon the forehead and offers his son-in-law a firm handshake. Among the younger members of the family, however, the greetings range from enthusiastic embraces between uncle and nephew to cheerful chatter between sisters-in-law. Eliza leads us to our rooms while servants follow behind carrying luggage. The whole house is alive with activity. After quickly refreshing ourselves, we descend once more. Upon the terrace, beneath the shade of ancient trees, a cold meal awaits us. I take great pleasure in observing this family. Far from the prying eyes of polite society, they are free to show affection openly.

The Château de Saubruit once belonged to Napoléon’s father, and he too loses himself in memories of childhood, of his marriage, of his father’s death, and of the sale of all the family possessions. As a boy, he loved lying in the bed where Napoleon I had once slept. His father had given him his name in honour of the great Emperor. The table is soon cleared, tea is served, and conversation begins.

Eliza speaks first :

“Mademoiselle Rose, tell us about your stay in London.”

“What can I say, except that it is time Her Gracious Majesty ordered improvements to the drainage system of that magnificent city of London! And are your sisters far from London this summer?”

“Mary and James ARMSTRONG live in Walbottle in Northumberland. Susan and Robert COOK have taken refuge in Sussex with Frances. They are all far from the current unpleasantness.”

“Father, you forget your granddaughter Ellen. She is about to marry Patrick Beckett BELLEW, son of Captain Francis John. If I remember correctly, my late brother William Shute served under his command.”

“Indeed! It has been eight years since I last saw her. Her mother and stepfather took her away to France, and I received very little news until these past few months, when we began corresponding in order to find her a husband. This Patrick BELLEW comes from a respectable family. It is all for the best.”

“After their marriage, my niece and her husband will settle near us. We shall finally enjoy their company,” adds John Pusey Junior.

“For tomorrow, I propose we explore the region by boat,” declares Napoléon proudly, eager to show off his homeland.

“With pleasure!” exclaims the elder gentleman.

“We shall retire early tonight. We rise at dawn to enjoy the coolness of the morning. On that note, I shall leave you now ; I have instructions to give my servants. Good evening, father-in-law, and good evening to you all.”

Napoléon mounts his horse and rides towards the farms surrounding the estate. Sarah has barely spoken all evening ; she simply let herself drift along with our voices, though her mind was clearly far away from this quiet corner of the French countryside. Young John Pusey disappeared immediately after dinner to court the tenant farmer’s daughter, a charming little blonde with rosy cheeks ripe enough to tempt anyone. A gentle breeze cools us slightly. The sun sinks lower and finally sets upon the water. It is time to return to our rooms. Tomorrow we shall glide through canals flooded with light ; I shall search for the places I visited long ago before taking my leave of my hosts.

I climb the grand staircase once walked upon by the Emperor himself. I would have liked to visit his bedroom, but the couple has claimed it for themselves. A bath awaits me, and I slip with delight into the cool water. Darkness slowly invades the room. It is time for me to sleep. Tomorrow will be soon enough to write my article. Tomorrow… or perhaps the day after.