Thackeray, William

(1811 -1863)

Information

William Thackeray knew Boulogne well, having stayed there from June to September 1854. In The Newcomers Thackeray’s character, Clive Newcome, writes to a certain Pendennis about Boulogne describing the town as a refuge for Englishmen.

Quotations

When we arrived, we went through a line of ropes to the custom-house, with a crowd of snobs jeering at us on each side; and then were carried off by a bawling commissioner to an hotel, where the Colonel, who speaks French beautifully, you know, told the waiter to get us a petit déjeuner soigné; on which the fellow, grinning, said, a “nice fried sole, sir, — nice mutton-chop, sir,” in regular Temple Bar English; and brought us Harvey sauce with the chops, and the last Bell’s Life to amuse us after our luncheon. I wondered if all the Frenchmen read Bell’s Life, and if all the inns smell so of brandy-and-water! ‘We walked out to see the town, which I dare say you know, and therefore shan’t describe. We saw some good studies of fishwomen with bare legs, and remarked that the soldiers were very dumpy and small.’
The Newcomes, Macmilliam and Co, 1912, p229.


Boulogne was their present abiding-place — refuge of how many thousands of other unfortunate Britons — and to this friendly port I betook myself speedily, having the address of Colonel Newcome. His quarters were in a quiet grass-grown old street of the Old Town. None of the family were at home when I called. There was indeed no servant to answer the bell, but the good-natured French domestic of a neighbouring lodger told me (...) that I should probably find the elder gentleman upon the rampart (...). I strolled along by those pretty old walks and bastions, under the pleasant trees which shadow them, and the grey old gabled houses from which you look down upon the gay new city, and the busy port, and the piers stretching into the shinning sea, dotted with a hundred white sails or black smoking steamers, and bounded by the friendly lines of the bright English shore. There are few prospects more charming than the familiar view from those old French walls — fews places where young children may play, and ruminating old age repose more pleasantly than on those peaceful rampart gardens. The Newcomes, Macmillan and Co, 1912, p771.