I was hesitating between these two roads when one of the travellers
who was temporarily occupying my compartment decided me. He was
going to Bourg, where he frequently had business. He was going
by way of Lyons; therefore, Lyons was the better way.

I resolved to travel by the same route. I slept at Lyons, and
on the morrow by ten in the morning I was at Bourg.

A paper published in the second capital of the kingdom met my
eye. It contained a spiteful article about me. Lyons has never
forgiven me since 1833, I believe, some twenty-four years ago,
for asserting that it was not a literary city. Alas! I have in
1857 the same opinion of Lyons as I had in 1833. I do not easily
change my opinion. There is another city in France that is almost
as bitter against me as Lyons, that is Rouen. Rouen has hissed
all my plays, including Count Hermann.

One day a Neapolitan boasted to me that he had hissed Rossini
and Malibran, "The Barbiere" and "Desdemona."

"That must be true," I answered him, "for Rossini and Malibran
on their side boast of having been hissed by Neapolitans."

So I boast that the Rouenese have hissed me. Nevertheless, meeting
a full-blooded Rouenese one day I resolved to discover why I had
been hissed at Rouen. I like to understand these little things.

My Rouenese informed me: "We hiss you because we are down on you."

Why not? Rouen was down on Joan of Arc. Nevertheless it could