ments of La Favorite; its rare porcelain and Chinese treasures, worthy of a place in the South Kensington Museum; and the Valley of the Mourg, not far behind the valleys of many parts of Switzerland in loveliness. These are within reach of the active pedestrian, and are the almost daily promenades of handsome equipages of every description. Concerts, balls, and a French company in one of the most beautiful theatres in the world, present increased attractions for other hours of the day or night: and the tables, a fruitful source of revenue, have votaries, whose constancy and perseverance appear to chide the indifference of every respectable passion under the sun. Of course our readers know all this. They have had a surfeit of Russian countesses, who have broken the bank; of German princes, whom the bank has broken: and of gentlemen, who only proved that they have been possessed of brains by blowing them out. I have no idea of stopping on my way “to point a moral or adorn a tale,” unless I can find something a little less hackneyed than the reverses of Garcia, or the successes of a Viennese banker. There is this to be said for the mildest of visitors: that if all these pleasures are thrown away upon him, he can still find a few trifles, on which to spend his loose florins, in the shops and bazaars which adorn each side of the Park. He will find at all hours a few loiterers like himself, too idle or too virtuous to partake of the “cakes and ale” so plenteously provided: and may be supplied, at very little expense, with piquant anecdotes, and delicate satire, upon all his friends, and very nearly all his acquaintance, male or female.
But as if the ordinary attractions of this charming place had been found insufficient, the energetic management of M. Benazet, and above all of his coadjutor and secretary, M. Whei, determined upon making their favourite watering-place the Newmarket of the Continent. They have succeeded with this difference, that while an English race-course invariably bears about it the marks of business in its pleasures, whatever they may be, the Continental idea of a day’s racing is pre-eminently an absence of anything connected with mental labour.
In this country there may be present the prevailing characteristic of the district, be it dirt, or drink, or intemperance of any kind, be it vulgarity, obscenity, or the most unmeaning of exhibitions; and that will be the part of the pageant which is called the pleasure of the day; but the racing will unquestionably be so mixed up with business, as to assume a different appearance from its original intention. You may have your notion of a jour de fête gratified; but it will be by a man with a red coat and cocked hat, or a performing pony, or a performing donkey, or a minstrel, or a band of minstrels, or a gentleman who breaks stones with his knuckles, or Aunt Sally, or a wooden doll in your hat and a black eye from a hard-boiled egg. The race in this country (or any pleasure derivable from it, I should say) is always “to the strong.” There’s a dust, and a noise, and a crowd, and a conglomeration of evils round about the turf, which veils its natural aspect, and will always prevent any but the highest or the lowest from deriving much pleasure from its pursuit.
Not so at Baden-Baden. There’s no Tattersall’s, unless half-a-dozen English gentlemen (legs are not yet introduced, it being an institution of late growth), three Frenchmen, a German baron who rides, and a gentleman jockey of questionable antecedents, in front of the Conversazions Haus, or elsewhere, can be considered “a ring.” “Where there’s lying, there’s laying,” as the partridge said to her mate; and the converse of the proposition is nearly true. It’s a comfort to see a race where there’s neither the one nor the other. Naturally, in this country, four days’ racing is a question of four days’ business, and no more. Not so at Baden-Baden. Four days’ racing includes fourteen days’ pleasure. It has many advantages. It allows the visitor to satisfy his curiosity by a day at the course, and two in the town, if he pleases; after which he may make way for others, whose longings may be gratified in a similar manner. Or, if the traveller be so enamoured of his first day’s racing, which is not impossible, it will compel him, in return, to participate in the other excitements of Baden, until the course is complete.
The road to the village of Iffezheim was full of every description of vehicle. Smiling faces peeped from beneath every variety of hat that the most fertile imagination can conceive. This is saying much, but not too much. I hope the women do not intend to rest their claims for admiration upon the external decoration of their heads, now that crinoline is gone at Vienna. About six or seven miles of dust, post-horns, and cracking of whips, brought us near to our journey’s end. As we said, there was plenty of variety, but we missed the neat English mail phaeton, the open britska, and the compact brougham, with its mysterious occupants, and its neatly-stepping, well-bred horses. A dogcart, of curious invention, here and there, overtook us, and two young women and one young man not apparently of great value, had ventured their necks upon their skill in equitation. The heavy travelling carriage, or landau style, with its yellow jackets, big boots, and glazed hats, was much in the ascendent. One admirably appointed drag we saw. But it was clear that neither Mr. Villebois, nor Captain Bastard, nor the Duke was the workman. As we neared the course the plot thickened.
Royalty was at hand. The King and Queen of Prussia, the Grand-Duke of Baden, and all the members of the Court, and aristocracy of the neighbourhood had come to see and to be seen. It was clear that everything had been done to render their visit a source of pleasure to themselves and their people.
On entering the course the beauty of the scene, and the utter absence of noise or crowd, cannot fail to impress the Englishman most favourably. The flat on which the stands have been built, and the course formed, is most beautifully situated between fine woods of great extent on the one side, and lovely hills crowned with foliage, and sloping away gradually into the distant mountains of the Black Forest. Here and there nestling between them lie, partially disclosed, towns or villages, overhung by the ruined châteaux of a now
