A Frenchman's Walk in Ireland by The Chevalier De Latocnaye

Preface by John Stevenson

The long preface is usually as great a fault as is the long speech of the chairman who introduces a lecturer. Yet there are cases in which its appearance may be justifiable. This is surely one of these. Here, out of the dust of a hundred and twenty years, is haled a Frenchman who has a story to tell of a tramp through Ireland; and the people of the twentieth century to whom the story makes appeal will wish to know something of the tale and how it comes to be told, before they lend their ears.
Of the man himself there is little known beyond what he reveals in his books. There are three of these—Les Causes de la Revolution de France, et les efforts de la Noblesse pour en arrêter les Progres, Promenade d'un Français dans la Grande Bretagne, Promenade d'un Français dans L'Irlande.' All are in French. A second edition of Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne was printed at Brunswick in 1801. From scattered statements in his books, it appears that De Latocnaye was a Breton, an officer, a Royalist; and that he was one of the thousands of his countrymen who sought shelter in England from the fury of the Revolutionists. He arrived at London on December 29, 1792, knowing, at that time, not a word of the English language.
He credits himself with a 'genius for observation,' and, tiring of idle life in London, he formed the resolution, or accepted the suggestion, to travel through England and Scotland with the intention to write a book containing his impressions of these countries and to publish it by subscription. His credentials made it easy for him to obtain, from persons of high social standing in London, letters of introduction or recommendation to wealthy residents throughout Great Britain. To these he was indebted for the hospitality which enabled him to carry out his purpose. In the execution of his project, he zigzagged across England and Scotland, making copious notes by the way. In Scotland he seems to have made numerous friends, for he stayed in it for the greater part of two years, receiving much assistance from Lord Dreghorn in the editing of jokes and correction of the proofs of his Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne, which was published at Edinburgh in 1797. Here he learned something of broad Scotch, which tongue he delighted to use, later, in Ireland, to the mystification of impertinent questioners. Partly because the country travelled was anciently settled and not remarkably different from France, and partly, it may be, because of the friendly editing of Lord Dreghorn, the Promenade dans la Grande Bretagne is not nearly so interesting as is the story of the tramp through Ireland. While in Scotland, came news of the sad fate of those who took part in the disastrous expedition to Quiberon, and De Latocnaye voyaged to London in a salmon boat to see his friends and, as he says, 'to be free to mourn with, and to console, the relatives of the lost.' But, the excitement over, and the causes which sent him out of France being still operative, he felt the need for giving opportunity to his 'genius for observation,' and, happily for us, he accepted the suggestion to travel through Ireland on foot, and published, by subscription, his observations on the country and its people. Before leaving England, he seems to have made the acquaintance of a wealthy Irishman, Mr. Burton Conyngham, who encouraged him in his plans, gave him many letters of introduction to the nobility and gentry of Ireland, and procured similar letters in his favour from others, including Lord Camden, Lord Lieutenant.
Just at the beginning of his Irish journey he had the misfortune to lose, by death, his friend and patron, and for a moment he hesitated. But he had nothing to do—had youth and good spirits for his possession, and he decided to trust Providence and proceed.
An Amenhotep may lead the troops of Egypt to victory over Syria, Mesopotamia and Nubia, with consequences vastly important to Amenhotep and Egypt and the subjected peoples; and the story of the conquests leaves us cold. But, out of a tomb of his time we take a string of beads or a child's doll, and we touch hands with the old Egyptians at once. And so, if our exile had heavily recorded only the important matters of trade and political economy of Ireland of his time, it would have been wise to let him sleep quietly in the dust of the years.
But it is the beads and the doll that he places in our hands. Travelling on foot over the island, east, south, west, north, his whole baggage in his pockets, in two silk stockings from which he had cut the feet, or in a handkerchief slung en sautoir on the end of a combined sword-stick and umbrella, which he said 'made the girls laugh.' he got to the very heart of Irish life. At the end of nearly every day's journey he was able to find rest in very comfortable quarters, so many were his letters of introduction and so well did the majority of the recipients maintain the reputation of Ireland for hospitality. In six months, he says, he was only six times at an inn. But sometimes refuge failed. He encountered fleas in a miserable eating-house recommended by a priest—going from the house of a marquis, who could not or would not find him a bed, he spends the night in a beggar-woman's cabin in company with half a dozen nearly naked children, a pig, a dog, a cat, two hens, and a duck.
He has his troubles and vexations, for not everyone to whom he is introduced is willing to take him at face value. Hurt and indignant, he cries out on the narrow souls who wound the heart of the exile. Bankers are singled out for special condemnation—they, he says, think of nothing but getting of gain. He resents patronage, and very sharply punishes any attempt to exploit him—witness his handling of a certain Doctor Maunsell, inventor of a new way of growing potatoes, who immodestly wishes to make the author a sounder of his praise. The sorrows of France are heavy on his soul. But with all the pressure of saddening thoughts—of France's woes—personal loss—wounded dignity, he is, in the main, merry-hearted, giving way readily, as he says, 'to that native gaiety, which is the only good thing that adverse circumstances have been unable to take from me.'
In the north-east he enters the troubled area, and has a great deal to say about unrest and its causes. But neither of the great parties in conflict over Ireland at this moment will find him entirely on its side. He is all for the Irish against their detractors, bursts out again and again in generous defence of them against the men who mock them, laugh at their misery, and call them savages. He has an interview with one of the United Irishmen, and thinks that he has little to complain of. Who would touch the best of humanity in the Three Kingdoms should know the Merchants of London, the Lawyers of Edinburgh, and the Landlords of Ireland. He praises the Government for its kindness and moderation—sees the old religious and political prejudices weakening daily, and dares to hope that in twelve to fifteen years they will have entirely ceased to exist. If only the Government will continue its present policy of moderation—if England will really let Ireland share the advantages of living under the beneficent laws by which she, herself, is governed, she will acquire the love of four millions of subjects—Ireland will be flourishing and happy—as much respected by the neighbouring peoples as, formerly, she has been misunderstood and misjudged. Alas, that the vision has not been realised!
A word about the author's style. He has none. A well-educated man, at home in the highest circles of society, and doubtless a brilliant conversationalist, he is evidently unaccustomed to writing. His long paragraphs are characterised by imperfect relation of parts; the continuity of thought expression is frequently broken by the intrusion of an unimportant associated idea, to the detriment of sense. Therefore, in the rendering, it has been necessary, at times, to convey what he intended to say rather than what is actually set down. His book completed, he saw its faults—many of them due, as he explains, to the fact that the printer knew not a word of French (the work was printed in Dublin) and that he, unaccustomed to book-making when correcting proofs, 'read what should have been written for what was really written,' and he earnestly requests his readers to do the same, not merely with respect to nomenclature, but also to style and subject-matter.
He has a weakness for using the swear words of the country of his sojourn, and uses them unnecessarily and, at least once in the story, unwarrantably, in the case of the innkeeper at Dungarvan, who was also apothecary. Second-hand matter, in the form of stories 'lifted' from Irish authors, or antiquarian information inserted out of compliment to his friend General Vallencey, has been omitted as of no interest to the reader of to-day; and certain little sallies in the French manner, innocent enough, but which in English print might wear the air of indecencies, have been modified or suppressed. For the rest, the translation is as literal as a care for readability in English will allow.