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TRAVELS THROUGH THE SOUTH OF FRANCE,

AND

IN THE INTERIOR OF THE PROVINCES

OF

PROVENCE AND LANGUEDOC, IN THE YEARS 1807 AND 1808,

BY A ROUTE NEVER BEFORE PERFORMED, BEING ALONG THE BANKS OF

THE LOIRE, THE ISERE, AND THE GARONNE,

THROUGH THE GREATER PART OF THEIR COURSE.

MADE BY PERMISSION OF THE FRENCH GOVERNMENT.

BY LIEUTENANT-COLONEL PINKNEY, OF THE NORTH AMERICAN NATIVE RANGERS.

_LONDON_:

PRINTED FOR T. PURDAY AND SON, NO. 1, PATERNOSTER-ROW, AND TO BE HAD OF
ALL BOOKSELLERS: BY B. McMILLAN, BOW STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1809.




CONTENTS.


CHAP. I.

_Anxiety to see France--Departure from Baltimore--Singular
Adventures of the Captain--Character--Employment during
the Voyage--Arrival at Liverpool--Stay--Departure for Calais_

CHAP. II.

_Morning View of Port--Arrival and landing--A Day at Calais--French
Market, and Prices of Provisions_

CHAP. III.

_Purchase of a Norman Horse--Visit in the Country--Family of
a French Gentleman--Elegance of French domestic Economy--Dance
on the Green--Return to Calais_

CHAP. IV.

_French Cottages--Ludicrous Exhibition--French Travellers--Chaise
de Poste--Posting in France--Departure from Calais--Beautiful
Vicinity of Boulogne_

CHAP. V.

_Boulogne--Dress of the Inhabitants--The Pier--Theatre--Caution
in the Exchange of Money--Beautiful Landscape, and
Conversation with a French Veteran_--_Character of Mr.
Parker's Hotel_--_Departure, and romantic Road_--_Fête Champetre
in a Village on a Hill at Montreuil_--_Ruined Church and
Convent_,

CHAP. VI.

_Departure from Montreuil_--_French Conscripts_--_Extreme Youth_--_Excellent
Roads_--_Country Labourers_--_Court for the Claims
of Emigrants_--_Abbeville_--_Companion on the Road_--_Amiens_,


CHAP. VII.

_General Character of the Town_--_Public Walk_--_Gardens_--_Half-yearly
Fair_--_Gaining Houses_--_Table d'Hôtes_--_English at
Amiens_--_Expence of Living_,

CHAP. VIII.

_French and English Roads compared_--_Gaiety of French
Labourers_--_Breteuil_--_Apple-trees
in the midst of Corn-fields_--_Beautiful
Scenery_--_Cheap Price of Land in France_--_Clermont_--_Bad
Management of the French Farmers_--_Chantilly_-_Arrival
at Paris_,

CHAP. IX.

_A Week in Paris_--_Objects and Occurrences_--_National Library_--_A
French Rout_--_Fashionable French Supper_--_Conceits_--_Presentation
at Court_--_Audience_,

CHAP. X.

_Departure from Paris for the Loire_--_Breakfast at Palaiseau_--_A
Peasant's Wife_--_Rambouillet_--_Magnificent Chateau_--_French
Curé_--_Chartres_--_Difference of Old French and English
Towns--Subterraneous Church_--_Curious Preservation of
the Dead_--_Angers_--_Arrival at Nantes_,

CHAP. XI.

_Nantes_--_Beautiful Situation_--_Analogy of Architecture with the
Character of its Age_--_Singular Vow of Francis the Second_--_Departure
from Nantes_--_Country between Nantes and Angers_--_Angers_,

CHAP. XII.

_Angers_--_Situation_--_Antiquity and Face of the Town_--_Grand_
_Cathedral_--_Markets_--_Prices of Provisions_--_Public Walks_--_Manners
and Diversions of the Inhabitants--Departure from_
_Angers_--_Country between Angers and Saumur_--_Saumur_,

CHAP.   XIII.

_Tours_--_Situation and general Appearance of it_--_Origin of the
Name of Huguenots_--_Cathedral Church of St. Martin_--_The
Quay_--_Markets_--_Public Walk_--_Classes of
Inhabitants_--_Environs_--_Expences
of Living_--_Departure from Tours_--_Country
between Tours and Amboise_,

CHAP. XIV.

_Lovely Country between Amboise and Blois--Ecures_--_Beautiful
Village_--_French Harvesters--Chousi_--_Village
Inn_--_Blois_--_Situation_--_Church_--_Market_--_Price
of Provisions_,

CHAP. XV.

_Houses in Chalk Hills_--_Magnificent Castle at Chambord_--_Return
from Chambord by Moon-light_--_St. Laurence on the
Waters_,

CHAP. XVI.

_Comparative Estimate of French and English Country Inns--Tremendous
Hail Storm_--_Country Masquerade_--_La Charité_--_Beauty
and Luxuriance of its Environs_--_Nevers_--_Fille-de-Chambre_--_Lovely
Country between Nevers and Moulins_-_Treading
Corn_--_Moulins_--_Price of Provisions_

CHAP. XVII.

_Country between Moulins and Rouane_--_Bresle_--_Account of the
Provinces of the Nivernois and Bourbonnois_--_Climate_--_Face
of the Country_--_Soil_--_Natural Produce_--_Agricultural Produce_--_Kitchen
Garden--French Yeomen--Landlords_--_Price
of Land_--_Leases_--_General Character of the French Provincial
Farmers_

CHAP. XVIII.

_Lyons_--_Town-Hall_--_Hotel de Dieu_--_Manufactories_--_Price of
Provisions_--_State of Society_--_Hospitality to Strangers_--_Manners_--_Mode
of Living_--_Departure_--_Vienne_--_French Lovers_


CHAP. XIX.

_Avignon_--_Situation_--_Climate_--_Streets and Houses_--_Public
Buildings_--_Palace_--_Cathedral_--_Petrarch and Laura_--_Society
at Avignon--Ladies_--_Public Walks-_--_Prices of Provisions_--_Markets_


CHAP. XX.

_Departure from Avignon_--_Olive and Mulberry Fields_--_Orgon_--_St.
Canat_--_French Divorces_--_Inn at St.
Canat_--_Aix_--_Situation_--_Cathedral_--_Society_--_Provisions_--_Price
of Land--Marseilles_--_Conclusion_




A

TOUR,

&c. &c.




CHAP. I.

_Anxiety to see France--Departure from Baltimore--Singular
Adventures of the Captain--Character--Employment during
the Voyage--Arrival at Liverpool--Stay--Departure for Calais._


FROM my earliest life I had most anxiously wished to visit France--a
country which, in arts and science, and in eminent men, both of former
ages and of the present times, stands in the foremost rank of civilized
nations. What a man wishes anxiously, he seldom fails, at one period or
other, to accomplish. An opportunity at length occurred--the situation
of my private affairs, as well as of my public duties, admitted of my
absence.

I embarked at Baltimore for Liverpool in the month of April, 1807. The
vessel, which was a mere trader, and which had likewise some connexions
at Calais, was to sail for Liverpool in the first instance, and thence,
after the accomplishment of some private affairs, was to pass to Calais,
and thence home. I do not profess to understand the business of
merchants; but I must express my admiration at the ingenuity with which
they defy and elude the laws of all countries. I suppose, however, that
this is considered as perfectly consistent with mercantile honour. Every
trader has a morality of his own; and without any intention of
depreciating the mercantile class, so far I must be allowed to say, that
the merchants are not very strict in their morality. Trade may improve
the wealth of a nation, but it most certainly does not improve their
morals.

The Captain with whom I sailed was a true character. Captain Eliab
Jones, as he related his history to me, was the son of a very
respectable clergyman in the West of England. His mother died when he
was a boy about twelve years of age, leaving his father with a very
large family. The father married again. Young Eliab either actually was,
or fancifully believed himself to be, ill-treated by his step-mother.
Under this real or imaginary suffering he eloped from his father's
house; and making the best of his way for a sea-port, bound himself
apprentice to the master of a coasting vessel. In this manner he
continued to work, to use his own expressions, like a galley-slave for
five years, when he obtained the situation of mate of an Indiaman. He
progressively rose, till he happened unfortunately to quarrel with his
Captain, which induced him to quit the service of the Company. In the
course of his voyages to India, and in the Indian seas, he made what he
thought an important discovery relative to the southern whale fishery:
he communicated it to a mercantile house upon his return, and was
employed by them in the speculation. He now, however, became unfortunate
for the first time: his ship was wrecked off the island of Olaheite, and
the crew and himself compelled to remain for two or three years on that
barbarous but beautiful island.

Such is the outline of Captain Eliab's adventures, with the detail of
which he amused me during our voyage. His character, however, deserves
some mention. If there is an honest man under the canopy of Heaven, it
was Captain Eliab; but his honesty was so plain and downright, so simple
and unqualified, that I know not how to describe it than by the plain
terms, that he was a strictly just and upright man. He had a sense of
honour--a natural feeling of what was right--which seemed extraordinary,
when compared with the irregular course of his life. Had he passed
through every stage of education, had he been formed from his childhood
to manhood under the anxious supervision of the most exemplary parents,
he could not have been more strict. I most sincerely hope, that it will
be hereafter my fortune to meet with this estimable man, and to
enumerate him amongst my friends. I must conclude this brief character
of him by one additional trait. A more pious Christian, but without
presbyterianism, did not exist than Captain Eliab. He attributed all his
good fortune to the blessing of Providence; and if any man was an
example that virtue, even in this life, has its reward, it was Captain
Eliab. In dangers common to many, he had repeatedly almost alone
escaped.

I had no other companion but the worthy Captain: I was his only
passenger, and we passed much of our time in the reading of his voyages,
of which he had kept an ample journal. His education having been rude
and imperfect, the style of his writing was more forcible than pure or
correct. I thought his account so interesting, and in many points so
important, that I endeavoured to persuade him to give it to the public;
and to induce him to it, offered to assist him, during our voyage, in
putting it into form. The worthy man accepted my offer, but I found that
I had undertaken a work to which I was unequal. I laboured, however,
incessantly, and before our arrival had completed so much of it, as to
induce the Captain to put it into the hands of a bookseller, by whom, as
I have since understood, it was transferred into the hands of a literary
gentleman to complete. In some misfortune the manuscript has been lost;
and the Captain being in America, there is probably an end of it for
ever. All I can now say is, that the public have sustained an important
loss.

In this employment our voyage, upon my part at least, passed
unperceived, and I was at Liverpool, before I was well sensible that I
had left America. Nothing is more tedious than a sea voyage, age, to
those whose minds, are intent only upon their passage. In travelling by
land, the mind is recreated by variety, and relieved by the novelty of
the successive objects which pass before it; but in a voyage by sea, it
is inconceivable how wearisome are the sameness and uniformity, which,
day after day, meet the eye. When I could not otherwise occupy my mind,
I endeavoured to force myself into a doze, that I might have a chance of
a dream. One of the best rules of philosophy is, that happiness is an
art--a science--a habit and quality of mind, which self-management may
in a great degree command and procure. Experience has taught me that
this is true. I had made many sea voyages before this, and therefore had
repeated proofs of the observation of Lord Bacon, that, of all human
progresses, nothing is so barren of all possibility of remark as a
voyage by sea; nothing, therefore, is so irksome, to a mind of any
vigour or activity. If a man, by long habit, has obtained the knack of
retiring into himself--of putting all his faculties to perfect rest, and
becoming like the mast of the vessel--a sea voyage may suit him; but to
those who cannot sleep in an hammock eighteen hours out of the
twenty-four, I would recommend any thing but travel by sea. Cato, as his
Aphorisms inform us, never repented but of two things; and the one was,
that he went a journey by sea when he might have gone it by land.

The sight of land, after a long voyage, is delightful in the extreme;
and I experienced the truth of another remark, that it might be smelt as
we approached, even when beyond our sight. I do not know to what to
compare its peculiar odour, but the sensations very much resemble those
which are excited by the freshness of the country, after leaving a
thick-built and smoky city. The sea air is infinitely more sharp than
the land air; and as you approach the land, and compare the two, you
discover the greater humidity of the one. The sea air, however, has one
most extraordinary quality--it removes a cough or cold almost
instantaneously. The temperance, moreover, which it compels in those who
cannot eat sea provisions, is very conducive to health.

We reached Liverpool without any accident; and as the Captain's business
was of a nature which would necessarily detain him for some days, I
availed myself of the opportunity, and visited the British metropolis.
No city has been more improved within a short period than London. When I
saw it before, which was in my earlier days, there were innumerable
narrow streets, and miserable alleys, where there are now squares, or
long and broad streets, reaching from one end of the town to the other:
I observed this particularly, in the long street which extends from
Charing Cross to the Parliament Houses. In England, both government and
people concur in this improvement.

From London, finding I had sufficient time, I visited Canterbury, and
thence Dover. If I were to fix in England, it should be in Canterbury.
The country is rich and delightful; and the society, consisting chiefly
of those attached to the cathedral church, and to such of their families
as have fixed there, elegant, and well informed, I have heard, and I
believe it, that Salisbury and Canterbury are the two most elegant
towns, in this respect, in England, and that many wealthy foreigners
have in consequence made them their residence.

Dover is an horrible place--a nest of fishermen and smugglers: a noble
beach is hampered by rope-works, and all the filth attendant upon them.
I never saw an excellent and beautiful natural situation so miserably
spoilt.

The Captain being ready, and my necessary papers procured, I joined, and
having set sail, we were alternately tossed and becalmed for nearly
three weeks, and almost daily in sight of land. Some of the spring winds
in the English seas are very violent. A favourable breeze at length
sprung up, and we flew before the wind. "If this continues," said our
Captain, "we shall reach Calais before daylight." This was at sunset;
and we had been so driven to sea by a contrary wind on the preceding
day, that neither the coast of England nor France were visible. From
Dover to Calais the voyage is frequently made in four hours.

Several observations very forcibly struck me in the course of my
passage, one of which I must be allowed to mention. I had repeatedly
heard, and now knew from experience, the immense superiority of the
English commerce over that of France and every nation in the world; but
till I had made this voyage, I never had a sufficient conception of the
degree of this superiority. I have no hesitation to say, that for one
French vessel there were two hundred English. The English fleet has
literally swept the seas of all the ships of their enemies; and a French
ship is so rare, as to be noted in a journal across the Atlantic, as a
kind of phenomenon. A curious question here suggests itself--Will the
English Government be so enabled to avail themselves of this maritime
superiority, as to counterweigh against the continental predominance of
the French Emperor?--Can the Continent be reconquered at sea?--Will the
French Emperor exchange the kingdoms of Europe for West India Colonies;
or is he too well instructed in the actual worth of these Colonies, to
purchase them at any price?--These questions are important, and an
answer to them might illustrate the fate of Europe, and the probable
termination of the war.

I must not omit one advice to travellers by sea. The biscuit in a long
voyage becomes uneatable, and flower will not keep. I was advised by a
friend, as a remedy against this inconvenience, to take a large store of
what are called gingerbread nuts, made without yeast, and hotly spiced.
I kept them close in a tin cannister, and carefully excluded the air. I
found them most fully to answer the purpose: they were very little
injured when I reached Liverpool, and, I believe, would have sustained
no damage whatever, if I had as carefully excluded the air as at first.




CHAP. II.

_Morning View of Port--Arrival and landing--A Day at Calais.--French
Market, and Prices of Provisions._


THE Master's prediction proved true, and indeed in a shorter time than
he had expected. An unusual bustle on the deck awakened me about
midnight; and as my anxious curiosity would not suffer me to remain in
my hammock, I was shortly upon deck, and was told in answer to my
inquiries, that a fine breeze had sprung up to the south-west, and that
we should reach the port of our destination by day-break. This
intelligence, added to the fineness of the night, which was still clear,
would have induced me to remain above, but by a violent blow from one of
the ropes, I was soon given to understand that it was prudent for me to
retire. The crew and ship seemed each to partake of the bustle and
agitation of each other; the masts bent, the timbers cracked, and ropes
flew about in all directions.

It may be imagined, that though returning to my hammock, I did not
return to my repose. I lay in all the restlessness of expectation till
day-break, when the Captain summoned me upon deck by the grateful
intelligence that we were entering the port of Calais. Hurrying upon
deck, I beheld a spectacle which immediately dispelled all the uneasy
sensations attendant upon a sleepless night. It was one of the finest
mornings of the latter end of June; the sun had not risen, but the
heavens were already painted with his ascending glories. I repeated in a
kind of poetical rapture the inimitable metaphoric epithet of the Poet
of Nature; an epithet preserved so faithfully, and therefore with so
much genius, by his English translator, Pope. The rosy-fingered morn,
indeed, appeared in all her plenitude of natural beauty; and the Sun,
that he might not long lose the sight of his lovely spouse, followed her
steps very shortly, and exhibited himself just surmounting the hills to
the east of Calais.

The sea was unruffled, and we were sailing towards the pier with full
sail, and a gentle morning breeze. The land and town, at first faint,
became gradually more distinct and enlarged, till we at length saw the
people on shore hurrying down to the pier, so as to be present at our
anchoring and debarkation. The French in general are much earlier risers
than either the Americans or the English; and by the time we were off
the pier, about seven in the morning, half of the town of Calais were
out to receive and welcome us. The French, moreover, as on every
occasion of my intercourse with them I found them afterwards, appeared
to me to be equally prominently different from all nations in another
quality--a prompt and social nature, a natural benevolence, or habitual
civility, which leads them instinctively, and not unfrequently
impertinently, into acts of kindness and consideration. Let a stranger
land at an English or an American port, and he is truly a stranger; his
inquiries will scarcely obtain a civil answer; and any appearance of
strangeness and embarrassment will only bring the boys at his heels. On
the other hand, let him land in any French port, and almost every one
who shall meet him will salute him with the complacency of hospitality;
his inquiries, indeed, will not be answered, because the person of whom
he shall make them, will accompany him to the inn, or other object of
his question.

I have frequently heard, and still more frequently read, that the
English nation were characteristically the most good-natured people in
the world, and that the Americans, as descendants from the same stock,
had not lost this virtue of the parent tree. I give no credit to the
justice of this observation. Experience has convinced me, that neither
the English nor the Americans deserve it as a national distinction. The
French are, beyond all manner of doubt, the most good-humoured people on
the surface of the earth; if we understand at least by the term,
_good-humour_ those minor courtesies, those considerate kindnesses,
those cursory attentions, which, though they cost little to the giver,
are not the less valuable to the receiver; which soften the asperities
of life, and by their frequent occurrence, and the constant necessity in
which we stand of them, have an aggregate, if not an individual
importance. The English, perhaps, as nationally possessing the more
solid virtues, may be the best friends, and the most generous
benefactors; but as friendship, in this more exalted acceptation of it,
is rare, and beneficence almost miraculous, it is a serious question
with me, which is the most useful being in society--the light
good-humoured Frenchman, or the slow meditating Englishman?

There was the usual bustle, as to who should be the bearers of our
luggage; a thousand ragged figures, more resembling scarecrows than
human beings, seized them from the hands of each other, and we might
have bid our property a last farewell perhaps, had it not been for the
ill-humour of our Captain. He laid about him with more vigour than
mercy, and in a manner which surprised me, either that he should
venture, or that even the miserable objects before us should bear. Had
he exerted his hands and his oar in a similar manner either in England
or in America, he would have been compelled to vindicate his assumed
superiority by his superior manhood. Here every one fled before him, and
yielded him as much submission and obedience, as if he had been the
prefect himself.

The French seem to have no idea of the art of pugilism, and with the
sole exception of the military, no point of honour which renders them
impatient under any merited personal castigation. They take a blow with
great _sang froid_. Whether from good humour, or cowardice; whether that
they thought they deserved it, or that they feared to resent it, the
single arm of our Captain chastised a whole rabble of them, and they
made a lane for as many of us as chose to land, accompanied by such
porters as we had ourselves selected. Three or four of them, however,
were still importuning us to permit them to show us to an inn; but as we
had already made our selection in this point likewise, our Captain
returned them no answer, but by a rough mimickry of their address and
gesticulation.

After our luggage had undergone the customary examination by the
officers of the customs, in the execution of which office a liberal fee
procured us much civility, we were informed that it was necessary to
present ourselves before the Commissary, for that so many Englishmen had
obtained admission as Americans, that the French government had found it
necessary to have recourse to an unusual strictness, and that the
Commissary had it in orders not to suffer any one to proceed till after
the most rigid inquiry into his passport and business.

Accordingly, having seen our luggage into a wheel-barrow, which the
Captain insisted should accompany us, we waited upon the Commissary, but
were not fortunate enough to find him at his office. A little dirty boy
informed us, that Mons. Mangouit had gone out to visit a neighbour, but
that if we would wait till twelve o'clock (it was now about nine), we
should infallibly see him, and have our business duly dispatched. The
office in which we were to wait for this Mons. Mangouit for three hours,
was about five feet in length by three in width, very dirty, without a
chair, and in every respect resembling a cobler's stall in one of the
most obscure streets of London. Mons. Commissary's inkstand was a
coffee-cup without an handle, and his book of entries a quire of dirty
writing-paper. This did not give us much idea either of the personal
consequence of Mons. Mangouit, or of the grandeur of the Republic.

The boy was sent out to summon his master, as a preferable way to our
waiting till twelve o'clock. Monsieur at length made his appearance; a
little, mean-looking man, with a very dirty shirt, a well-powdered head,
a smirking, bowing coxcomb. He informed us with many apologies,
unnecessary at least in a public officer, that he was under the
necessity of doing his duty; that his duty was to examine us according
to some queries transmitted to him; but that we appeared gentlemen, true
Americans, and not English spies.

After a long harangue, in which the little gentleman appeared very much
pleased with himself, he concluded by demanding our passport, upon sight
of which he declared himself satisfied, and promised to make us out
others for passing into the interior. We were desired to call for these
in the evening, or he would himself do us the honour to wait upon us
with them at our hotel. Considering the latter as a kind of
self-invitation to dine with us, we mentioned our dinner hour, and other
_et ceteras_. Mons. Mangouit smiled his acquiescence, and we left him,
in the hopes that he would at least change his linen.

Upon leaving the Commissary, our wheel-barrow was again put in motion,
and accompanied us to Dessein's. This hotel still maintains its
reputation and its name. After seeing almost all France, we had no
hesitation in pronouncing it to be the only inn which could enter into
any reasonable comparison with any of the respectable taverns either of
England or America. In no country but in America and England, have they
any idea of that first of comforts to the wearied traveller, a clean and
housewife-like bed. I speak from woeful experience, when I advise every
traveller to consider a pair of sheets and a counterpane as necessary a
part of his luggage as a change of shirts. He will travel but few miles
from Calais, before he will understand the necessity of this admonition.

We ordered an early dinner, and sallied forth to see the town. It has
nothing, however, to distinguish it from other provincial towns, or
rather sea-ports, of the second order. It has been compared to Dover,
but I think rather resembles Folkstone. The streets are irregular, the
houses old and lofty, and the pavement the most execrable that can be
imagined. There was certainly more bustle and activity than is usual in
an English or in an American town of the same rank; and this appeared to
us the more surprising, as we could see no object for all this hurry and
loquacity. To judge by appearance, the people of Calais had no other
more important business than to make their remarks upon us as we passed
their doors or shops. There was no shipping in the harbour, and even the
stock in the shops had every appearance of having remained long, and
having to remain longer in its fixed repose.

Being the market-day, we had the curiosity to inquire the price of
several articles of provision, and to compare them with those of their
neighbours on the opposite side of the channel. The market was well
stocked; there was an incredible quantity of poultry, lamb, butter,
eggs, and herbs. A couple of fowls were three livres, at a time that
they were seven or eight shillings in London; a young goose, two livres
twelve sous (2_s._ 2_d._). Lamb was sold as in England, by the quarter
or side, and was about sixpence English money per pound; beef about
fourpence halfpenny, and mutton (not very good) fourpence. Upon the
whole, the money price of every thing appeared about one-half cheaper
than in England; but whether this difference is not in some degree
compensated in England by the superiority of quality, is what I cannot
exactly decide. The beef was certainly not so good as that to which I
had been accustomed in London; but, on the other hand, in the progress
of my journey, the mutton and lamb, when I could get it dressed to my
wishes, appeared sweeter. The short feed gives it the taste of Welsh
mutton, but the consumption of it is scarcely sufficient to encourage
the feeders. The manner, moreover, in which these meats are employed and
served in French cooking, is such as not to encourage the feeder to any
superior care. Lean meat answers the purposes of _bouillé_ as well as
the fat meat, and it is of little concern what that joint is which is
only to be boiled down to its very fibres. The old proverb, that God
sent meats, and the d--- l cooks, is verified in every kitchen in France.

We returned to Quillac's to dinner, which, according to our orders, was
composed in the English style, except a French dish or two for Mons.
Mangouit. This gentleman now appeared altogether as full-dressed as he
had before been in full dishabille. We exchanged much conversation on
Calais and England, and a word or two respecting the French Emperor. He
appeared much better informed than we had previously concluded from his
coxcomical exterior. He seemed indeed quite another man.

He accompanied us after dinner to the comedy: the theatre is within the
circuit of the inn. The performers were not intolerable, and the piece,
which was what they call a proverb (a fable constructed so as to give a
ludicrous verification or contradiction to an old saying), was amusing.
I thought I had some obscure recollection of a face amongst the female
performers, and learned afterwards, that it was one of the maids of the
inn; a lively brisk girl, and a volunteer, from her love of the drama.
In this period of war between England and France, Calais has not the
honour of a dramatic corps to herself, but occasionally participates in
one belonging to the district.

The play being over very early, we finished the evening in our own
style, a proceeding we had cause to repent the following day, as the
_Cote rolie_ did not agree with us so well as old Port. I suffered so
much from the consequent relaxation, that I never repeated the occasion.
It produced still another effect; it removed my previous admiration of
French sobriety. There is little merit, I should think, in abstaining
from such a constant use of medicine.




CHAP. III.

_Purchase of a Norman Horse--Visit in the Country--Family of
a French Gentleman--Elegance of French domestic Economy--Dance
on the Green--Return to Calais._


NOTWITHSTANDING the merited reprobation to be met with in every
traveller, of French beds and French chamberlains, we had no cause to
complain of our accommodation in this respect at Dessein's. This house,
though it has changed masters, is conducted as well as formerly, and
there was nothing in it, which could have made the most determined lover
of ease repent his having crossed the Channel.

After our breakfast on the morning following our arrival, I began to
consider with myself on the most suitable way of executing my
purpose--of seeing France and Frenchmen, the scenery and manners, to the
best advantage. I called in my landlord to my consultation; and having
explained my peculiar views, was advised by him to purchase a Norman
horse, one of which he happened to have in his stables; a circumstance
which perhaps suggested the advice. Be this as it may, I adopted his
recommendation, and I had no cause to repent it. The bargain was struck
upon the spot; and for twenty-seven Louis I became master of a horse,
upon whom, taking into the computation crossroads and occasional
deviations, I performed a journey not less than two thousand miles; and
in the whole of this course, without a stumble sufficient to shake me
from my seat. The Norman horses are low and thick, and like all of this
make, very steady, sure, and strong. They will make a stage of thirty
miles without a bait, and will eat the coarsest food. From some
indications of former habits about my own horse, I was several times led
to conclude, that he had been more accustomed to feed about the lanes,
and live on his wits, as it were, than in any settled habitation, either
meadow or stable. I never had a brute companion to which I took a
greater fancy.

Having a letter to a gentleman resident about two miles from Calais, I
had occasion to inquire the way of a very pretty peasant girl whom I
overtook on the road, just above the town. The way was by a path over
the fields: the young peasant was going to some house a mile or two
beyond the object of my destination, and, as I have reason to believe,
not exactly in the same line. Finding me a stranger, however, she
accompanied me, without hesitation, up a narrow cross-road, that she
might put me into the foot-path; and when we had come to it, finding
some difficulty in giving intelligibly a complex direction, she
concluded by saying she would go that way herself. I was too pleased
with my companion to decline her civility. I learned in the course of
my walk that she was the daughter of a small farmer: the farm was small
indeed, being about half an arpent, or acre. She had been to Calais to
take some butter, and had the same journey three mornings in the week.
Her father had one cow of his own, and rented two others, for each of
which he paid a Louis annually. The two latter fed by the road-sides.
Her father earned twenty sols a day as a labourer, and had a small
pension from the Government, as a veteran and wounded soldier. Upon this
little they seemed, according to her answers, to live very comfortably,
not to say substantially. Poultry, chesnuts, milk, and dried fruit,
formed their daily support. "We never buy meat," said she, "because we
can raise more poultry than we can sell."

The country around Calais has so exact a resemblance to that of the
opposite coast, as to appear almost a counterpart, and as if the sea had
worked itself a channel, and thus divided a broad and lofty hill. It is
not, however, quite so barren and cheerless as in the immediate
precincts of Dover. Vegetation, what there was of it, seemed stronger,
and trees grow nearer to the cliffs. There were likewise many flowers
which I had never seen about Dover and the Kentish coast. But on the
whole, the country was so similar that I in vain looked around me for
something to note.

The gentleman to whom I had brought a letter of introduction was at
Paris; but I saw his son, to whom I was therefore compelled to introduce
myself. The young man lamented much that his father was from home, and
that he could not receive me in a manner which was suitable to a
gentleman of my appearance; the friend of Mr. Pinckney, who was the
beloved friend of his father. All these things are matter of course to
all Frenchmen, who are never at a loss for civility and terms of
endearment. A young English gentleman of the same age with this youth
(about nineteen), would either have affronted you by his sulky reserve,
or compelled you as a matter of charity to leave him, to release him
from blushing and stammering. On the other hand, young Tantuis and
myself were intimates in the moment after our first introduction.

Upon entering the house, and a parlour opening upon a lawn in the back
part, I was introduced to Mademoiselle his sister, a beautiful girl, a
year, or perhaps more, younger than her brother. She rose from an
English piano as I entered, whilst her brother introduced me with a
preamble, which he rolled off his tongue in a moment. A refreshment of
fruit, capillaire, and a sweet wine, of which I knew not the name, was
shortly placed before me, and the young people conversed with me about
England and Calais, and whatever I told them of my own concerns, with
as much ease and apparent interest, as if we had been born and lived in
the same village.

Mademoiselle informed me, that the people in Calais had no character at
all; that they were fishermen and smugglers, which last business they
carried on in war as well as in peace, and had no reputation either for
honesty or industry; that she had no visiting society at Calais, and
never went to the town but on household business; that the price of
every thing had doubled within four years, but that the late plenty, and
the successes of the Emperor, were bringing every thing to their former
standard; that her father payed very moderate taxes; her brother stated
about five Louis annually; but they differed in this point. The house
was of that size and order, which in England would have paid at least
thirty pounds, and added to this was a domain of between sixty and
seventy arpents.

The dinner, whether in compliment to me, or that things have now all
taken this turn in France, was in substance so completely English, and
served up in a manner so English, as almost to call forth an exclamation
of surprise. When we enter a new country, we so fully expect to find
every thing new, as to be surprised at almost any necessary coincidence.
This characteristic difference is very rapidly wearing off in every
kingdom in Europe. A couple of fowls, a rice-pudding, and a small chine,
composed our dinner. It was served in a pretty kind of china, and with
silver forks. The cloth was removed as in England, and the table covered
with dried fruits, confectionary, and coffee; a tall silver epergne
supporting small bottles of capillaire, and sweetmeats in cut glass. The
fruits were in plates very tastily painted in landscape by Mademoiselle;
and at the top and bottom of the table was a silver image of Vertumnus
and Pomona, of the same height with the epergne in the centre. The
covering of the table was a fine deep green cloth, spotted with the
simple flower called the double daisy.

I am the more particular in this description, as the dinner was thus
served, and the table thus appointed, without any apparent preparation,
as if it was all in their due and daily course. Indeed, I have had
occasion frequently to observe, that the French ladies infinitely excel
those of every other nation in these minor elegancies; in a cheap and
tasteful simplicity, and in giving a value to indifferent things by a
manner peculiar to themselves. Mademoiselle left us after the first cup
of coffee, saying, that she had heard that it was a custom in England,
that gentlemen should have their own conversation after dinner. I
endeavoured to turn off a compliment in the French style upon this
observation, but felt extremely awkward, upon foundering in the middle
of it, for want of more familiar acquaintance with the language.
Monsieur, her brother, perceived my embarrassment, and becoming my
interpreter, helped me out of it with much good-humour, and with some
dexterity. I resolved, however, another time, never to tilt with a
French lady in compliment.

Being alone with the young man, I made some inquiries upon subjects upon
which I wanted information, and found him at once communicative and
intelligent. The agriculture of the country about Calais appears to be
wretched. The soil is in general very good, except where the substratum
of chalk, or marle, rises too near the surface, which is the case
immediately on the cliffs. The course of the crops is bad
indeed--fallow, rye, oats. In some land it is fallow, wheat, and barley.
In no farm, however, is the fallow laid aside; it is considered as
indispensable for wheat, and on poor lands for rye. The produce, reduced
to English Winchester measure, is about nineteen bushels of wheat, and
twenty-three or twenty-four of barley. Besides the fallow, they manure
for wheat. The manure in the immediate vicinity of Calais is the dung of
the stable-keepers and the filth of that town. The rent of the land
around Calais, within the daily market of the town, is as high as sixty
livres; but beyond the circuit of the town, is about twenty livres
(sixteen shillings). Since the settlement of the Government, the price
of land has risen; twenty Louis an acre is now the average price in the
purchase of a large farm. There are no tithes, but a small rate for the
officiating minister. Labourers earn thirty sous per day (about
fifteen-pence English), and women, in picking stones, &c. half that
sum. Rents, since the Revolution, are all in money; but there are some
instances of personal service, and which are held to be legal even under
the present state of things, provided they relate to husbandry, and not
to any servitude or attendance upon the person of the landlord. Upon the
whole, I found that the Revolution had much improved the condition of
the farmers, having relieved them from feudal tenures and lay-tithes. Oh
the other hand, some of the proprietors, even in the neighbourhood of
Calais, had lost nearly the whole of the rents, under the interpretation
of the law respecting what were to be considered as feudal impositions.
The Commissioners acting under these laws had determined all old rents
to come under this description, and had thus rendered the tenants under
lease proprietors of the lands.

The young lady who had left as returned towards evening, and by her
heightened colour, and a small parcel in her hand, appeared to have
walked some distance. Her brother, doubtless from a sympathetic nature,
guessed in an instant the object of her walk. "You have been to Calais,"
said he. "Yes," replied she, with the lovely smile of kindness; "I
thought that Monsieur would like some tea after the manner of his
countrymen, and having only coffee in the house, I walked to Calais to
procure some." I again felt the want of French loquacity and readiness.
My heart was more eloquent than my tongue. I rose, and involuntarily
took and pressed the hand of the sweet girl. Who will now say that the
French are not characteristically a good-humoured people, and that a
lovely French girl is not an angel? I thought so at the time, and though
my heart has now cooled, I think so still. I feel even no common
inclination to, describe this young French beauty, but that I will not
do her the injustice to copy off an image which remains more faithfully
and warmly imprinted on my memory.

The house, as I have mentioned, opened behind on a lawn, with which the
drawing-room was even, so that its doors and windows opened immediately
upon it. This lawn could not be less than four or five English acres in
extent, and was girded entirely around by a circle of lofty trees from
within, and an ancient sea-stone wall, very thick and high, from
without. The trunks of the trees and the wall were hid by a thick copse
or shrubbery of laurels, myrtles, cedars, and other similar shrubs, so
as to render the enclosed lawn the most beautiful and sequestered spot I
had ever seen. On the further extremity from the house was an avenue
from the lawn to the garden, which was likewise spacious, and surrounded
by a continuation of the same wall. In the further corner of the latter
was a summer-house, erected on the top of the wall, so as to look over
it on the fields and the distant sea.

Tea was here served up to us in a manner neither French nor English, but
partaking of both. Plates of cold chicken, slices of chine, cakes,
sweetmeats, and the whitest bread, composed a kind of mixed repast,
between the English tea and the French supper. The good-humour and
vivacity of my young friends, and the prospect from the windows, which
was as extensive as beautiful, rendered it a refreshment peculiarly
cheering to the spirits of a traveller.

Before the conclusion of it, I had another specimen of French manners
and French benevolence. A party of young ladies were announced as
visitors, and followed immediately the servant who conducted them.
Speaking all at once, they informed Mademoiselle T----, that they had
learned the arrival of her English friend (so they did me the honour to
call me), and knowing her father was at Paris, had hurried off to assist
her in giving Monsieur a due welcome. They mentioned several other
names, which were coming with the same friendly purpose; a piece of
information, which caused the young Monsieur T---- to make me a hasty
bow, and leave me with the ladies. He returned in a short time, and the
sound of fiddles tuning below on the lawn, rendered any explanation
unnecessary. We immediately descended; the promised ladies, and their
partners, soon made their appearance; and the merry dance on the green
began. As the stranger of the company, I had of course the honour of
leading Mademoiselle T----. In the course of the dance other visitors
appeared, who formed themselves into cotillions and reels; and the lawn
being at length well filled, the evening delightful, and the moon risen
in all her full glory, the whole formed a scene truly picturesque.

After an evening, or rather a night, thus protracted to a late hour, I
returned to Calais; and was accompanied to the immediate adjacency by
one of the parties, consisting of two ladies and a gentleman. I was
assailed by many kind importunities to repeat my visit; but as I
intended to leave Calais on the morrow, I made my best possible
excuses.




CHAP. IV.

_French Cottages.--Ludicrous exhibition.--French Travellers--Chaise
de Poste.--Posting in France.--Departure from Calais.--Beautiful
Vicinity of Boulogne._


TWO days were amply sufficient to see all that Calais has to exhibit.
After the first novelty is over, no place can please, except either by
its intrinsic beauty, or the happy effect of habit. Calais, has no such
intrinsic charms, and I was not disposed to try the result of the
latter. I accordingly resolved to proceed on my road; but as the heat
was excessive, deferred it till the evening.

The exercise of the preceding night had produced an unpleasant ferment
in my blood, attended by an external feeling of feverish heat, and
checked perspiration. Every traveller should be, in a degree, his own
physician. I had recourse to a dip in the sea, and found immediate
relief. Nothing, indeed, is so instantaneous a remedy, either for
violent fatigue, or any of the other effects following unusual exercise,
as this simple specific. After a ride of sixty or seventy miles through
the most dusty roads, and under the hottest sun of a southern
Midsummer, I have been restored to my morning freshness by the cold
bath.

By the buildings which I observed to be going forward, I was led to a
conclusion that Calais is a flourishing town; but I confess I saw no
means to which I could attribute this prosperity. There was no
appearance of commerce, and very little of industry. One circumstance
was truly unaccountable to me. Though there were two or three ships
laying unrigged, but otherwise sound, and in the best navigable
condition, there was a building-yard, in which two new vessels were on
the stock. These vessels, indeed, were of no considerable tonnage; but I
confess myself at a loss to guess their object.

About a mile from Calais, is a beautiful avenue of the finest walnut and
chesnut trees I have ever seen in France. They stand upon common land,
and, of course, are public property. In the proper season of the year,
the people of Calais repair hither for their evening dance; and such is
the force of custom, the fruit remains untouched, and reserved for these
occasions. Every one then takes what he pleases, but carries nothing
home beyond what may suffice for his consumption on the way.

In my walk thither I passed several cottages, and entered some. The
inhabitants seemed happy, and to possess some substantial comforts. The
greater part of these cottages had a walnut or chestnut tree before
them, around which was a rustic seat, and which, as overshadowed by the
broad branches and luxuriant foliage, composed a very pleasing image.
The manner in which the sod was partially worn under most of them,
explained their nightly purpose; or if there could yet be any doubt, the
flute and fiddle, pendant in almost every house, spoke a still more
intelligible language.

I entered no house so poor, and met with no inhabitant so inhospitable,
as not to receive the offer either of milk, or some sort of wine; and
every one seemed to take a refusal as if they had solicited, and had not
obtained, an act of kindness. If the French are not the most hospitable
people in the world, they have at least the art of appearing so. I speak
here only of the peasantry, and from first impressions.

The rent of one of these cottages, of two floors and two rooms on each,
is thirty-five livres. They have generally a small garden, and about one
hundred yards of common land between the road and the house, on which
grows the indispensable walnut or chestnut tree. The windows are glazed,
but the glass is usually taken out in summer. The walls are generally
sea-stone, but are clothed with grape vines, or other shrubs, which,
curling around the casements, render them shady and picturesque. The
bread is made of wheat meal, but in some cottages consisted of thin
cakes without leven, and made of buck-wheat. Their common beverage is a
weak wine, sweet and pleasant to the taste. In some houses it very
nearly resembled the good metheglin, very common in the northern
counties of England. Eggs, bacon, poultry, and vegetables, seemed in
great plenty, and, as I understood, composed the dinners of the
peasantry twice a week at least. I was surprised at this evident
abundance in a class in which I should not have expected it. Something
of it, I fear, must be imputed to the extraordinary profits of the
smuggling which is carried on along the coast.

I was pleased to see, that even the horrible Revolution had not banished
all religion from Calais. I understood that the church was well
attended, and that high mass was as much honoured as hitherto. Every one
spoke of the Revolution with execration, and of the Emperor with
satisfaction. Bonaparte has certainly gained the hearts of the French
people by administering to their national vanity.

Returning home from my walk, I was witness to a singular exhibition in
the streets. A crowd had collected around a narrow elevated stage,
which, at a distant view, led me to expect the appearance, of my friend
Punch. I was not altogether deceived: it was a kind of Bartholomew
drama, in which the parts were performed by puppets. It differed only
from what I had seen in England by the wit of the speakers, and a kind
of design, connexion, and uniformity in the fable. The name of it, as
announced by the manager, was, The Convention of Kings against France
and Bonaparte.

The puppets, who each spoke in their turn, were, the King of England,
the King of Naples, the Emperor of Austria, the Pope, and the Grand
Signor. The dialogue was indescribably ridiculous. The piece opened with
a council, in which the King of England entreated all his brother
sovereigns to declare war against France and the French Emperor, and
proceeded to assign some ludicrous reasons as applicable to each. "My
contribution to the grand alliance," concludes his Majesty, "shall be in
money; both because I have more Louis to spare, and because the best
advantage of a rich nation is, that it can purchase others to light its
battles!" The Grand Signor approves the proposal, and throws down his
cimeter. "I will give my cimeter," says he; "but being a prophet as well
as a sovereign, and having such a family of wives, I deem it unseemly to
use it myself. Let England take it, and give it to any one who will use
it manfully." The Pope, in his turn, gives his blessing. "If the war
should succeed, you will have to thank my benediction for the victory;
if it should fail, it will be from the efficacy of the blessing that a
man of you will be saved alive." The Emperor then asks what is the
amount of England's contribution; and his British Majesty throws him a
purse. His Imperial Majesty, after feeling the weight, takes up the
cimeter of the Grand Signor, and retires. The drama then proceeds to the
representation of the different battles of Bonaparte, in all of which it
gave him the victory, &c.

After a light dinner, in which with some difficulty I procured fish, and
with still more had it dressed in the English mode, I mounted my horse,
and proceeded on my journey in the road to Boulogne. I had now my first
trial of my Norman horse; he fully answered my expectations, and almost
my wishes. He had a leisurely lounging walk, which seemed well suited to
an observant traveller. It is well known of Erasmus, that he wrote the
best of his works, and made a whole course of the Classics, on
horseback; and I have no doubt but that I could have both read and
written on the back of my Norman. To make up, however, for this
tardiness, he was a good-humoured, patient, and sure-footed beast; but
would stretch out his neck now and then to get a passing bite of the
wheat which grew by the road side. I wished to get on to Boulogne to
sleep, and therefore tried all his paces; but found his trotting
scarcely tolerable by human feeling.

The road from Calais, for the first twelve miles, is open and hilly. On
each side of the main way is a smaller road, which is the summer, as the
other is the winter one. The day being very fine, and not too warm, I
enjoyed myself much. I passed many fields in which the country people
were making hay: they seemed very merry. The fellow who loaded the cart
had a cocked hat, and by his erectness I should have thought to have
been a soldier, but that every one who passed me had nearly the same
air, and the same hat. Some of the hay-makers called to me, but in such
barbarous _patois_, that I could make nothing of them. One company of
them, saluting me from a distance, deputed a girl to make known their
wishes. Seeing her to be young, and expecting her to be handsome, I
checked my horse; but a nearer view correcting my error, and exhibiting
her only a coarse masculine wench, I pushed forwards, without waiting
her embassy. The peasant women of France work so hard, as to lose every
appearance of youth in the face, whilst they retain it in the person;
and it is therefore no uncommon thing to see the person of a Venus, and
the face of an old monkey. I passed by a set of these labourers sitting
under a tree, and taking that repast which, in the North of England, is
called "fours," from being usually taken by harvest labourers at that
time of the day. The party consisted of about a dozen women and girls,
and but one man. I was invited to drink some of their wine, and being by
the road side, could not refuse. My horse was led under the tree: I was
compelled to dismount, and to share their repast, such as it was. Some
money which I offered was refused. I made my choice amongst one of my
entertainers, and could do no less than salute her. This produced great
noise and merriment, and gave free reins to French levity and coquetry;
in a word, I was obliged to salute them all. My favourite and first
choice gave me her hand on my departure: she might have sat for Prior's
Nut-Brown Maid.

The main purpose of my journey being rather to see the manners of the
people, than the brick and mortar of the towns, I had formed a
resolution to seek the necessary refreshment as seldom as possible at
inns, and as often as possible in the houses of the humbler farmers, and
the better kind of peasantry. About fifteen miles from Calais my horse
and myself were looking out for something of this kind, and one shortly
appeared about three hundred yards on the left side of the road. It was
a cottage in the midst of a garden, and the whole surrounded by an
hedge, which looked delightfully green and refreshing. The garden was
all in flower and bloom. The walls of the cottage were robed in the same
livery of Nature. I had seen such cottages in Kent and in Devonshire,
but in no other part of the world. The inhabitants were simple people,
small farmers, having about ten or fifteen acres of land. Some grass was
immediately cut for my horse, and the coffee which I produced from my
pocket was speedily set before me, with cakes, wine, some meat, and
cheese, the French peasantry having no idea of what we call tea.
Throwing the windows up, so as to enjoy the scenery and freshness of the
garden; sitting upon one chair, and resting a leg upon the other;
alternately pouring out my coffee, and reading a pocket-edition of
Thomson's Seasons, I enjoyed one of those moments which give a zest to
life; I felt happy, and in peace and in love with all around me.

Proceeding upon my journey, two miles on the Calais side of Boulogne I
fell in with an overturned chaise, which the postillion was trying to
raise. The vehicle was a _chaise de poste_, the ordinary travelling
carriage of the country, and a thing in a civilized country wretched
beyond conception. It was drawn by three horses, one in the shafts, and
one on each side. The postillion had ridden on the one on the driving
side; he was a little punch fellow, and in a pair of boots like
fire-buckets. The travellers consisted of an old French lady and
gentleman; Madame in a high crimped cap, and stiff long whalebone stays.
Monsieur informed me very courteously of the cause of the accident,
whilst Madame alternately curtsied to me and menaced and scolded the
postillion. The French postillions, indeed, are the most intolerable set
of beings. They never hesitate to get off their horses, suffer them to
go forwards, and follow them very leisurely behind. I saw several
instances in which they had suffered the traces to twist round the
horses' legs, so that on descending an hill, their escape with life must
be a miracle.

I shall briefly observe, now I am upon this subject, that posting is
nearly as dear in France as in England. A post in France is six miles,
and one shilling and threepence is charged for each horse, and
sevenpence for the driver. The price, therefore, for two horses would be
three shillings and a penny; but whatever number of persons there may
be, a horse is charged for each. The postillions, moreover, expect at
least double of what the book of regulations allows them, as matter of
right.

I reached Boulogne about sunset, and was much pleased with its vicinity.
On each side of the road, and at different distances, from two hundred
yards to a mile, were groves of trees, in which were situated some
ancient chateaux. Many of them were indeed in ruin from the effects of
the Revolution. Upon entering the town, I inquired the way to the Hotel
d'Angleterre, which is kept by an Englishman of the name of Parker,
Bonaparte having specially exempted him from the edicts respecting
aliens. I had a good supper, but an indifferent bed, and the close
situation rendered the heat of the night still more oppressive. Mr.
Parker himself was absent, and had left the management with a French
young woman, who would not suffer me to write uninterrupted, and seemed
to take much offence that I did not invite her to take her seat at the
supper table. I believe I was the only male traveller in the inn; and
flattery, and even substantial gallantry, is so necessary and so natural
to French women, that they look to it as their due, and conceive
themselves injured when it is withholden.




CHAP. V.

_Boulogne--Dress of the Inhabitants--The Pier--Theatre--Caution
in the Exchange of Money--Beautiful Landscape, and
Conversation With a French Veteran--Character of Mr. Parker's
Hotel--Departure, and romantic Road--Fête Champetre
in a Village on a hill at Montreuil--Ruined Church and Convent._


I had heard so bad a report of Boulogne, as to be agreeably surprised
when I found it so little deserving it. I spent the greater part of a
day in it with much pleasure, and but that I wished to get to Paris,
should have continued longer.

Boulogne is very agreeably situated, and the views from the high grounds
on each side are delightful. The landscape from the ramparts is not to
be exceeded, but is not seen to advantage except when there is high
water in the river. There is an evident mixture of strangers and natives
amongst the inhabitants. There are many resident English, who have been
nationalized by express edict, or the construction of the law. I heard
it casually mentioned, that these were not the most respectable class of
inhabitants, though many of them are rich, and all of them are active.
The English and French women, whom I met with in the streets, were each
dressed in their peculiar fashion; the English women as they dress in
the country towns of England; the French without hats, with close caps,
and cloaks down to the feet. This fashion I found to be peculiar to
Boulogne and its promenade. The town is, upon the whole, clean, lively,
brisk, and flourishing; the houses are in good repair, and many others
were building.

I walked down to the pier, and my conclusion was, that the English
Ministry were mad when they attempted any thing against Boulogne. The
harbour appeared to me impregnable. I must confess, however, that the
French appeared to me equally mad, in expecting any thing from their
flotilla. Three English frigates would sink the whole force at Boulogne
in the open sea. The French seem to know this; yet, to amuse the
populace, and to play upon the fears of the English Ministry, the farce
is kept up, and daily reports are made by the Commandant of the state of
the flotilla. There is a delightful walk on the beach, which is a flat
strand of firm sand, as far as the tide reaches. In the summer evenings
when the tide serves, this is the favourite promenade this is likewise
the parade, as the soldiers are occasionally here exercised.

There is a tolerable theatre, but the dramatic corps are not
stationary. They were not in the town whilst I was there, so that I can
speak of their merits only by report. One of the actresses was highly
spoken of, and had indeed reached the reward of her eminence; having
been called to the Parisian stage. Bonaparte is notoriously, perhaps
politically, attached to the drama, and is no sooner informed of any
good performer on a provincial stage, than he issues his command for his
appearance and engagement at Paris.

The principal church at Boulogne is a good and respectable structure,
and I learned with much satisfaction and some surprise, that on the
Sabbath at least it was crowded. The people of Boulogne execrate the
Revolution, and avert from all mention and memory of it, and not without
reason, as their environs have been in some degree spoiled by its
excesses. Several miles on the road from Boulogne, those sad monuments
of the popular phrensy, ruined chateaux, and churches converted into
stables or granaries, force the memory back upon those melancholy times,
when the property and religion of a nation became the but of bandits and
atheists. May the world itself perish, before such an era shall return
or become general!

I had received from an American house in London some bills on a
mercantile house at Boulogne; a very convenient method, and which I
would therefore recommend to other travellers, as they hereby save very
considerably, such bills being usually given at some advantage in
favour of those who purchase them by coin. Bills on Boulogne, Bourdeaux,
and Havre, are always to be had of the American brokers, either in
London or in New York. One advantage in this exchange is, that bills may
be had of any date, in which case you may suit the occasions, and put
the discount into your own pocket. My bill on Boulogne was for 3000
francs, about 130_l._ English. I received it in Louis d'ors and écus. In
the progress of my journey, several of the Louis were refused, as
deficient in weight, and I was advised in future never to take a Louis
without seeing that it was weight. The French coin is indeed in a very
bad state, which here, as elsewhere, is attributed to the Jews.

On the Paris side of Boulogne is a landscape and walk of most exquisite
beauty. The river, after some smaller meanders, takes a wide reach
through a beautiful vale, and shortly after flows into the sea through
two hills, which open as it were to receive it. I walked along the banks
to have a better view, and got into converse with a soldier, who had
been in the battle of Marengo. He gave me a very lively account of the
conduct of that extraordinary man, the French Emperor, in this grand
event of his life. His expression was, that he looked over the battle as
if looking upon a chess-board: that he made it a rule never to engage
personally, till he saw the whole plan of the battle in execution; that
he would then ride alternately to each division, and encourage them by
fighting awhile with them: that he visited all the sick and wounded
soldiers the day after the battle, inquired into the nature of their
wound, where and how it was received; and if there were any
circumstances of peculiar merit or peculiar distress, noted it down, and
invariably acted upon this memorandum: that he punished adultery in a
soldier's wife, if they were both in the camp, by the death of the
woman; if the offending was not in the field, and therefore not within
the reach of a court-martial, the soldier had a divorce on simple proof
of the offence before any mayor or magistrate. I demanded of this
veteran, pointing to the flotilla, when the Emperor intended to invade
England? He perceived the smile which accompanied this question, and
instantaneously, with a fierce look of suspicion and resolution,
demanded of me my passport. Though the abruptness of his conduct
startled me, I could not but regard him with some admiration. A long,
thin, spare figure of 55, was so sensible of the honour of his country,
as to take fire even at a jest at it as at a personal insult. It is to
this spirit that France owes half her victories.

As soon as the heat of the day had declined, having satisfied my
curiosity as to Boulogne, I called for my bill and my horse, intending
to get on to Montreuil, where I had fixed upon sleeping. My bill was
extravagant to a degree; a circumstance I imputed to the want of some
due attentions to Madame. These kind of people have always the revenge
in their own hands. As I did not see Mr. Parker, I know not whether to
recommend his inn or not. He has some excellent Burgundy, but the
charges are high, the attendance not good, and the situation in summer
close and stifling. Madame, however, is a very pretty woman, and seems a
very good-humoured one, if her expectations are answered. She is a true
French woman, however, and expects gallantry even from a weary
traveller.

I found the road improve much as I advanced; the country became more
enclosed, and bore a strong resemblance to the most cultivated parts of
England. The cherry trees standing in the midst of the corn had a very
pretty effect; the fields had the appearance of gardens, and some of the
gardens had the wildness of the field. The season was evidently more
advanced than in England; there were more fruits and flowers, and the
bloom was more bossy and luxuriant. Several smaller roads led from the
main road, and the spires of the village churches, as seen in the side
landscape, rising above the tops of the trees, invited the fancy to
combine some rural images, and weave itself at least an imaginary
Arcadia. The persons I met or overtook upon the road were not altogether
in unison with what I must call the romance of the scene. Every carter
drove his vehicle in a cocked-hat, and the women had all wooden shoes.
Boys and girls of twelve years old were in rags, which very ill covered
them. Nor was there any of the briskness visible on a high road in
England. A single cart, and a waggon, were all the vehicles that I saw
between Boulogne and Abbeville. In England, in the same space, I should
have seen a dozen, or score.

Not being pressed for time, the beauty of a scene at some little
distance from the road-side tempted me to enter into a bye-lane, and
take a nearer view of it. A village church, embosomed in a chesnut wood,
just rose above the trees on the top of a hill; the setting sun was on
its casements, and the foliage of the wood was burnished by the golden
reflection. The distant hum of the village green was just audible; but
not so the French horn, which echoed in full melody through the groves.
Having rode about half a mile through a narrow sequestered lane, which
strongly reminded me of the half-green and half-trodden bye-roads in
Warwickshire, I came to the bottom of the hill, on the brow and summit
of which the village and church were situated. I now saw whence the
sound of the horn proceeded. On the left of the road was an ancient
chateau situated in a park, or very extensive meadow, and ornamented as
well by some venerable trees, as by a circular fence of flowering
shrubs, guarded on the outside by a paling on a raised mound. The park
or meadow having been newly mown, had an air at once ornamented and
natural. A party of ladies were collected under a patch of trees
situated in the middle of the lawn. I stopt at the gate to look at
them, thinking myself unperceived: but in the same moment the gate was
opened to me by a gentleman and two ladies, who were walking the round.
An explanation was now necessary, and was accordingly given. The
gentleman informed me upon his part, that the chateau belonged to Mons.
St. Quentin, a Member of the French Senate, and a Judge of the District;
that he had a party of friends with him upon the occasion of his lady's
birth-day, and that they were about to begin dancing; that Mons. St.
Quentin would highly congratulate himself on my accidental arrival. One
of the ladies, having previously apologized and left us, had seemingly
explained to Mons. St. Quentin the main circumstance belonging to me,
for he now appeared, and repeated the invitation in his own person. The
ladies added their kind importunities. I dismounted, gave my horse to a
servant in waiting, and joined this happy and elegant party, for such it
really was.

I had now, for the first time, an opportunity of forming an opinion of
French beauty, the assemblage of ladies being very numerous, and all of
them most elegantly dressed. Travelling, and the imitative arts, have
given a most surprising uniformity to all the fashions of dress and
ornament; and, whatever may be said to the contrary, there is a very
slight difference between the scenes of a French and English polite
assembly. If any thing, however, be distinguishable, it is more in
degree than in substance. The French fashions, as I saw them here,
differed in no other point from what I had seen in London, but in
degree. The ladies were certainly more exposed about the necks, and
their hair was dressed with more fancy; but the form was in almost every
thing the same. The most elegant novelty was a hat, which doubled up
like a fan, so that the ladies carried it in their hands. There were
more coloured than white muslins; a variety which had a pretty effect
amongst the trees and flowers. The same observation applies to the
gentlemen. Their dresses were made as in England; but the pattern of the
cloth, or some appendage to it, was different. One gentleman, habited in
a grass-coloured silk coat, had very much the appearance of Beau
Mordecai in the farce: the ladies, however, seemed to admire him, and in
some conversation with him I found him, in despite of his coat, a very
well-informed man. There were likewise three or four fancy dresses; a
Dian, a wood-nymph, and a sweet girl playing upon a lute, habited
according to a picture of Calypso by David. On the whole, there was
certainly more fancy, more taste, and more elegance, than in an English
party of the same description; though there were not so many handsome
women as would have been the proportion of such an assembly in England.

A table was spread handsomely and substantially under a very large and
lofty marquee. The outside was very prettily painted for the
occasion--Venus commemorating her birth from the ocean. The French
manage these things infinitely better than any other nation in the
world. It was necessary, however, for the justice of the compliment,
that the Venus should be a likeness of Madame St. Quentin, who was
neither very young nor very handsome. The painter, however, got out of
the scrape very well.

A small party accompanied me into the village, which was lively, and had
some very neat houses. The peasantry, both men and women, had hats of
straw; a manufactory which Mons. St. Quentin had introduced. A boy was
reading at a cottage-door. I had the curiosity to see the book. It was a
volume of Marmontel. His mother came out, invited us into the house, and
in the course of some conversation, produced some drawings by this
youth; they were very simple, and very masterly. The ladies purchased
them at a good price. He had attained this excellence without a master,
and Mons. St. Quentin, as we were informed, had been so pleased with
him, as to take him into his house. His temper and manners, however,
were not in unison with his taste, and his benefactor had been compelled
to restore him to his mother, but still intended to send him to study at
Paris. The boy's countenance was a direct lie to Lavater; his air was
heavy, and absolutely without intelligence. Mons. St. Quentin had
dismissed him his house on account of a very malignant sally of passion:
a horse having thrown him by accident, the young demon took a knife from
his pocket, and deliberately stabbed him three several times. Such was a
peasant boy, now seemingly enveloped in the interesting simplicity of
Marmontel. How inconsistent is what is called character!

I had a sweet ride for the remaining way to Montreuil by moon-light,
accompanied by two gentlemen on horseback, who lived in that town. They
related to me many melancholy incidents during the revolutionary period.
Montreuil was formerly distributed into five parishes, and had five
churches; but the people doubtless thinking that five was too many for
the religion of the town, destroyed the other four, and sold the best
part of the materials. Accordingly, when I entered the town, my eye was
caught by a noble ruin, which upon inquiry I found to be the church of
Notre Dame. This ruin is beautiful beyond description. The pillars which
remain are noble, and the capitals and carving rich to a degree. It is
astonishing to me that any reasonable beings, the inhabitants of a town,
could thus destroy its chief ornament; but in the madness of the
revolutionary fanatics, the sun itself would have been plucked from
Heaven, if they could have reached it. I was sincerely happy to learn
that religion had returned, and that there was a general inclination to
subscribe for the repair, or rather rebuilding, of Notre Dame.

My friends took leave of me after recommending to me an inn kept by two
sisters, the name of which I have forgotten. They were so handsome as to
resemble English women, and what is very uncommon in this class of
people in France, were totally without rouge. Whilst my supper was
preparing, I had a moon-light walk round the town. The situation of it
is at once commanding and beautiful. The ruins of a chateau, seen under
the light of the moon, improved the scenery, and was another memento of
the execrable Revolution. There are a number of pretty houses, and some
of them substantial. One of them belonged to one of the gentlemen who
accompanied me from Mons. St. Quentin's, and was his present residence,
being all that remained to him of a noble property in the vicinity. This
property had been sold by the nation, and the recovery of it had become
impossible, though the gentleman was in tolerable favour with the
government. Bonaparte had answered one of this gentleman's memorials by
subscribing it with a sentence in his own writing: "We cannot
re-purchase the nation." This gentleman spoke highly, but perhaps
unjustly, of the vigour of Bonaparte's government, of his inflexible
love of justice, and his personal attention to the administration. I
compelled him, however, to acknowledge, that in his own immediate
concerns, the justice of the French Chief was not proof against his
passions. I mentioned the Duke of Enghien; the gentleman pushed on his
horse, and begged me to say no more of the matter.

Upon my return I had an excellent supper, and what was still more
welcome, a bed which reminded me of those at an English coffee-house.




CHAP. VI.

_Departure from Montreuil--French Conscripts--Extreme Youth--Excellent
Roads--Country Labourers--Court for the Claims
of Emigrants--Abbeville--Companion on the Road--Amiens._


AS I wished to reach Paris as soon as possible, I had ordered the
chambermaid to call me at an early hour in the morning; but was awakened
previous to the appointed time by some still earlier travellers--a very
numerous detachment of conscripts, who were on their march for the
central _depôt_ of the department. The greater part of them were boys,
and were merry and noisy in a manner characteristic of the French youth.
Seeing me at the window, one of them struck up a very lively
_reveillée_, and was immediately joined by others who composed their
marching band. They were attended, and their baggage carried, by a
peculiar kind of cart--a platform erected on wheels, and on which they
ascended when fatigued. The vehicles were prepared, the horses
harnessed, and the young conscripts impatiently waiting for the word to
march.

When I came down into the inn-yard, no one was stirring in the house
except the ostler, who, upon my mentioning the component items of my
entertainment, very fairly, as I thought, reckoned them up, and received
the amount, taking care to remind me of the chambermaid. Having with
some difficulty likewise procured from him a glass of milk, I mounted my
horse, and followed the conscripts, who, with drum and fife, were
merrily but regularly marching before me. The regularity of the march
continued only till they got beyond the town, and down the hill, when
the music ceased, the ranks broke, and every one walked or ran as he
pleased. As they were somewhat too noisy for a meditating traveller, I
put my horse to his mettle, and soon left them at a convenient distance.

I must cursorily observe, that the main circumstance which struck me in
this detachment, was the extreme youth of the major part. I saw not a
man amongst them, and some of them had an air the most perfectly
childish. Bonaparte is said to prefer these young recruits. No army in
Europe would have admitted them, with the exception of the French.

The road was truly excellent, though hilly, and indeed so continued till
within a few miles of Abbeville. The present Emperor acts so far upon
the system of the ancient monarchy, and considers the goodness of the
highways as the most important and most immediate object of the
administration; accordingly, the roads in France are still better than
under the Bourbons, as Bonaparte sees every thing with his own eyes.
Nothing, indeed, is wanting to quick travelling in France, but English
drivers and English carriages. How would a mail-coach roll upon such a
road! The French postillions, and even the French horses, such as I met
on the road, have a kind of activity without progress--the postillions
are very active in cracking their whips over their heads, and the horses
shuffle about without mending their pace.

I passed several country labourers, men and women, going to their daily
toil. I was informed by one of them, that he worked in the hay-field,
and earned six-and-thirty sous (1_s._ 6_d._) a day; that the wages for
mowers were fifty sous (2_s._ 1_d._), and two bottles of wine or cyder;
that his wife had fourteen sous and her food; and boys and children old
enough to rake, from six to twelve sous. He paid 25 livres annually for
the rent of his cottage. When he had to support himself, he breakfasted
on bread, and a glass or more of strong wine or brandy; dined on bread
and cheese, and supped on bread and an apple. He wore leather shoes,
except in wet weather, when he wore _sabots_, which cost about twelve
sous per pair.

I passed more _chateaux_ in ruins, and others shut up and forsaken. Some
of them were very prettily situated, in patches of trees and amidst
corn-fields. Several, as I understood, belonged to emigrants, whom
Bonaparte had recalled by name, but who had not as yet returned. I
learned with some satisfaction, that some shew of justice was still
necessary. Where the property of the emigrants is unsold, and still in
the hands of the nation, the emigrated proprietor is not totally without
a chance of restitution. If he can come forwards, and prove, in a court
established for the purpose, that he has merely been absent; that his
absence was not without sufficient reasons; that he has not taken up
arms against France; and finally, had returned as soon as he possessed
the means--under these circumstances, the lands are restored. Even his
children may succeed where himself shall fail. Upon proof of infancy at
the time of emigration, and that they have at no time borne arms against
the empire, the lands are not unfrequently decreed to them, even when
the father's claim has been rejected.

I reached Bernay to breakfast, and, for the first time in France, met
with a surly host and a sour hostess. The bread being stale, salt, and
bitter, I desired it to be changed. The host obeyed, so far as to carry
it out of the room and bring it in again. It was in vain, however, that
I insisted upon the identity, till I desired him to bring what he had
removed, and to compare it with what he had brought. He then flatly told
me, that I must either have that or none; that it was as good bread as
any in France, and that he intended to eat it for his own breakfast.
His wife came in, hearing my raised voice, and maintained her husband's
assertions very stoutly. For the sake of peace, I found it necessary to
submit. He is a true hero who can support a contest with a man and his
wife. The girl who waited on me seemed made of kinder materials. She
laughed with much archness when I shewed her the bread, and its vigorous
resistance to the edge of my knife. She was born in Musilius, and told
me, with true French coquetry, that her sisters were as handsome as
herself. She mentioned some English name (that of a valet, I suppose),
and asked me if I knew him in London. If I should hereafter meet him, I
was to remind him of Bernay. The charges, contrary to my expectations,
were as moderate as the breakfast was indifferent; and the host did me
the honour to wish me good morning. The hostess, however, was inflexibly
sour, and saw me depart without a word, or even a salutation.

I had a most unpleasant ride to Abbeville, the heat of the day being
extreme, and the road totally without any shelter. I imagined, however,
that the heat was less oppressive than heat of the same intensity in
England; but I know not whether this difference was any thing but
imaginary. In foreign countries, we are so much upon the hunt for
novelty, and so well predisposed to find it, that in things not strongly
nor immediately the objects of sense, our impressions are not altogether
to be trusted.

Abbeville, which I reached in good time for the _table d'hôte_, which is
held on every market-day, is a populous but a most unpleasant town. The
inhabitants are stated to exceed 22,000; but I do not conceive that they
can amount to one half of that number. The town has a most ruinous
appearance, from the circumstance of many of the houses being built with
wood; and by the forms of the windows and the doors, some of them must
be very ancient. There are two or three manufactories of cloth, but none
of them were in a flourishing condition. I went to visit that of
Vanrobais, established by Louis XIV. and which still continues, though
in ruins. The buildings are upon a very large scale; but too much was
attempted for them to execute any thing in a workmanlike manner. There
are different buildings for every different branch of the manufacture. I
cannot but think, however, that they would have succeeded better if they
had consulted the principle of the sub-division of labour. A man who is
both a weaver and a spinner, will certainly not be both as good a weaver
and as good a spinner, as another who is only a spinner or only a
weaver: he will not have the same dexterity, and therefore will not do
the same work. No business is done so well as that which is the sole
object of attention. I saw likewise a manufactory of carpets, which
seemed more flourishing. In the cloth manufactory, the earnings of the
working manufacturers are about 36 sous per diem (1_s._ 6_d._): in the
carpet manufactories, somewhat more. The cloths, as far as I am a
judge, seemed to me even to exceed those of England; but the carpets
are much inferior. From some unaccountable reason, however, the cloths
were much dearer than English broad cloth of the same quality. Whence
does this happen, in a country where provisions are so much cheaper?
Perhaps from that neglect of the sub-division of labour which I have
above noticed.

Abbeville, like all the other principal towns through which I passed,
bore melancholy marks of the Revolution. The handsome church which stood
in the market-place is in ruins--scarcely a stone remains on the top of
another. Many of the best houses were shut up, and others of the same
description, evidently inhabited by people for whom they were not built.
In many of them, one room only was inhabited; and in others, the second
and third floors turned into granaries. Indeed, along the whole road
from Abbeville to Paris, are innumerable _chateaux_, which are now only
the cells of beggars, or of the lowest kind of peasantry.

An officer who was going to Amiens, joined company with me on the road
to Pequigny, and, like every Frenchman of this class, became
communicative almost in the same instant in which we had exchanged
salutes. I found, however, that he knew nothing, except in his own
profession; and I very strongly suspect, that he even here gave me some
details of battles in which he had never been, or at least he made two
or three geographical mistakes, for which I cannot otherwise account. He
made no scruple of moving the Rhine a few degrees easterly; and
constructed a bridge over the Adige without the help of the mason. I
have not unfrequently, indeed, been surprized at the unaccountable
ignorance betrayed by this class of men. It is to be hoped, that in
another age this will pass away. My companion, however, had a
good-humour which compensated for his ignorance; he alternately talked,
sung, and dismounted from his horse to speak to every peasant girl who
met us on the road; he seemed at home with every one, and made the time
pass agreeably enough. He sung, at my request, the Marseillois, and sung
it with such emphasis, energy, and attitude, as to make me sincerely
repent the having called forth such a deafening exhibition of his
powers. Though one or two travellers passed us whilst he was thus
exhibiting, my gentleman was not in the slightest degree discomposed,
but continued his song, his attitudes, and his grimaces, as if he were
in the midst of a wood.

After a very long journey, in which my little Norman had performed to
admiration, I reached Amiens about eight o'clock, on the sweetest summer
evening imaginable. The aspect of Amiens, as it is approached by the
road, resembles Canterbury--the cathedral rising above the town--the
town, as it were, gathering around it as its parent and protector. My
companion would not leave me till he had seen me to the inn, the _Hotel
d'Angleterre_, when he took a farewell of me as if we had been intimate
for years, and I have no doubt, thought no more of me after he had
turned the corner of the street. These attentions, however, are not the
less pleasing, and answer their purpose as well as if they were more
permanent. Having ordered my supper, and seen my horse duly provided
for, I walked through the town, which is clean, lively, and in many
respects resembling towns of the third rate in England. I visited the
cathedral, which pleased me much; but has been so often described, that
I deem it unnecessary to say more of it. It was built by the English in
the time of Henry VI. and the regency of the Duke of Bedford, and has
much of the national taste of that people, and those times. Though
strictly Gothic, it is light, and very tastefully ornamented: it
infinitely exceeds any cathedral in England, with the exception of
Westminster Abbey. I went to see likewise the _Chateau d'Eau_, the
machine for supplying Amiens with water. There is nothing more than
common in it, and the purpose would be answered better by pipes and a
steam-engine. It excited one observation which I have since frequently
made--that the French, with all their parade of science and ostentation
of institutions, are still a century behind England in real practical
knowledge. My Tour in France has at least taught me one lesson--never to
be deceived by high-sounding names and pompous designations. I have not
visited their schools for nothing. The French talk; the English act. A
steady plodding Englishman will build an house, while a Frenchman is
laying down rules for it. There is more of this idle pedantry in France
than in any country on the face of the globe: every thing is done with
science, and nothing with knowledge.

Walking through the market-place, my attention was taken by an unusual
bustle--the erecting of scaffolds, booths, and other similar
preparations. I learned, upon inquiry, that the half-yearly fair was to
be held on the following day; a piece of information which confirmed my
previous intention of passing that day at Amiens.

Upon returning to the inn, I had a supper as comfortable as any I had
ever sat down to, even in England. The landlord, at my particular
request, took his seat with me at table. He complained bitterly of the
oppression of the taxes, and more particularly of their uncertainty,
which was so indeterminate, according to his assertions, that the
collectors took what they pleased, and employed their offices as means
of favour, or to gratify their personal piques. One of the collectors of
Amiens, it seems, was likewise an inn-keeper, who availed himself of the
power of his office to harass his rival. There is no appeal, as long as
the collector is faithful to the government, and pays in what he
receives. The manner in which defaulters are treated, is peculiar to
the French government. If the sum assessed be not paid within the
appointed time, a soldier is billeted at the house of the defaulter, and
another is daily added till the arrear be cleared. The greater part of
the taxes have been imposed during the strong days of the Revolution;
and as they are sufficiently productive, and the present government have
not the odium of their first institution, they are suffered to continue
upon their old foundation--that is to say, upon an infinite number of
successive decrees, many of which contradict each other. No one,
therefore, knows exactly what he has to pay, and any one may be made to
pay according to the caprice of the collector.




CHAP. VII.

_General Character of the Town--Public Walk--Gardens--Half-yearly
Fair--Gaming Houses--Table d'Hôtes--English at
Amiens--Expence of Living._


THE noise of the people collecting for the fair, and the consequent
bustle of the inn, awoke me at an early hour in the morning; and after a
breakfast which reminded me of England, I sallied forth to see the town
and the lions. A vast multitude of people had assembled from the
surrounding country, and were collected around the several booths. The
day was fine, the bells were ringing, and the music playing; every one
was dressed in their holiday clothes, and every one seemed to have a
happy and careless face, suitable to the festivity of the occasion.

Amiens is most delightfully situated, the country around being highly
cultivated. It is, in every respect, one of the cleanest towns in
France; and the frequent visits and long residence of Englishmen, have
produced a very sensible alteration in the manner of living amongst the
inhabitants. Though some of the houses are very ancient, and the streets
are narrow, it has not the ruinous nor close appearance of the other
towns on the Paris road. It has been lately newly paved; and there is
something, of the nature of a parish-rate for keeping it clean, and in
summer for watering the streets.

Though Amiens has suffered very considerably by the war, it has still,
in appearance at least, an extensive trade. The manufactures are of the
same kind as those at Abbeville. Besides their cloths, however, they
work up a considerable quantity of camblets, callimancoes, and baizes,
chiefly red and spotted, for domestic consumption. They were in great
distress for wool, and could procure none but by land-carriage from
Spain, Portugal, and Flanders. Upon examining two or three of their
articles, I thought them very dear, but very good. I visited two or
three of their manufactories, and upon inquiring for others, was
informed that they had been shut up. The effect of the war had been, to
raise prices to double their former rate: every one expressed an anxious
wish for peace, and imputed the continuance of the war to the English
Ministry.

The general character of the people of Amiens is, that they are lively,
good-humoured, and less infected by the revolutionary contagion than any
town in France: as many of them as I had an opportunity of conversing
with, spoke with due detestation of jacobinism, and with an equal wise
submission to the present order of things. Besides the native
inhabitants, there are many foreign residents, and some English. As
these are in general in good circumstances, they have usually the best
houses in the town, and live in the substantial style of their
respective countries. The English denizens very well understand that
they are constantly under the eye of the French government, and its
spies: they live, therefore, as much as possible in public; and in their
balls, and dinners, and entertainments, have a due mixture of French
visitants. Several of them avoid this restraint by passing for
Americans; but the detection of this deception is most severely
punished. The English have contrived, however, to procure both the good
will and the good word of the people of Amiens, and even the French
government seems to regard them with peculiar favour.

Every considerable town in France has its public walk, and Amiens has
one or more of singular beauty; but being situated in an unenclosed
country, and amongst corn-fields, its private walks are still more
frequented than its ancient promenade. I was informed that the English
had brought these private walks into general fashion, and I considered
it as an additional proof of their good sense and natural taste.

The multitude of people assembled from every part of the province, gave
me an opportunity of seeing the national costume of the peasantry. The
habits of the men did not appear to me so various, and so novel, as
those of the women. The greater part of the former had three-cocked
hats, some of straw, some of pasteboard, and some of beaver; jackets,
red, yellow, and blue; and breeches of the same fancy colours. The women
were dressed in a variety both of shape and colour, which defies all
description. When seen from a distance, the assembly had a very
picturesque appearance: the sun shining on the various colours, gave
them the appearance of so many flowers. The general features of the fair
did not differ much from the fairs in England and America. There were
two streets completely filled with booths: the market-place was occupied
with shows, and temporary theatres. I observed, however, two or three
peculiar national amusements; one of them called the _Mats de Cocagne_,
the other the _Mats de Beaupré_. The _Mats de Cocagne_ are long poles,
some of them thirty feet in height, well greased, and erected
perpendicularly. At the top of them is suspended by a string, a watch, a
shirt, or other similar articles, which become the prize of the
fortunate adventurer who can ascend and reach them. A few sous are paid
to the proprietor of the _mat_, for the chance of gaining the prize; it
is the fault, therefore, of the proprietor, if the _mat_ be not so well
greased as to render the ascent almost impossible. I saw many fruitless
attempts made: one fellow had nearly gained the top, and was within
reach of the prize; he stretched his hand out to take it, and having by
this act diminished his hold, came down with the most frightful
rapidity. The crowd laughed; and another adventurer, nothing dismayed,
succeeded him in the attempt, and in the failure. The prize, however,
was at length obtained; but the adventurer, I should think, had not much
cause to congratulate himself on his good luck. His descent was of a
rapidity which caused the blood to gush out of his mouth and his nose,
and for some time, at least, frightened the multitude from repeating the
same sport.

The _Mats de Beaupré_ are upon the same principle; they are soaped
poles, laid horizontally, but very high from the ground. At the further
extremity of them are the same prizes, and which are gained upon the
same condition--the men to walk over, the women to scramble over them in
any manner which they might deem best. To break the violence of the
fall, the ground immediately under the poles was thickly laid with
straw. Several women, and innumerable girls, made an attempt to gain the
prize at these _Mats de Beaupré_, and in the course of their efforts had
some tumbles, which much delighted the mob. Indeed, this kind of sport
seemed peculiarly intended for the females: the men seemed to prefer the
_Cocagnes_.

The chief enjoyment of the multitude, however, seemed to be dancing.
Several scaffolds, with benches rising one above another, were erected
in every part of the town: these were the orchestras, which, as far as I
saw, were supported by the voluntary contributions of the companies
which danced to their music. A subscription was always made after every
dance, and each dancer subscribed a sous. The ladies, I believe, were
excused by the payment of their partners. The dancing was excellent, and
the music by no means contemptible.

The shows were much of the same kind as those in Bartholomew fair, in
London, and which travel from town to town during the summer in America.
The mountebanks and merry-andrews appeared more dexterous and more
humorous. One of the former seeing me, entreated the crowd to make way
for me; and when I turned my back, "Nay, my good friend," said he, "do
not mistake me. I have no intention of asking you for the money which
you owe to me for your last cure; you are very welcome to it. I delight
in doing good. I am paid sufficiently by your recovery. If you choose,
however, to remember, my young man"--The merry-andrew was here at my
side, and I deemed it most prudent to drop a few sous into his cap, and
effect my escape. The crowd understood the jest, and laughed heartily.
One of them, however, of more decent appearance, made me a very pleasing
apology, repeating at the same time a French proverb--that a pope and a
mountebank were above all law.

Amongst the commodities exhibited for sale, I was agreeably surprised to
find two or more booths well supplied with English and French books;
and my surprise was still greater, to find that the former had many
purchasers. I took up several of them, and found them to be English
Gazetteers, Tours in England, Wales, Scotland; Travels in America,
Dictionaries, and Grammars. From some cause or other, the English seem
in particular favour in and about Amiens, and Lord Cornwallis is still
remembered with respect and affection.

There, were other booths which excited less pleasing reflections; these
were the temporary gaming tables, the admission to which was from six to
twelve sous. I had the curiosity to enter one of them: it was already
full. One party was at eager play, and others were waiting to succeed
them. I could make nothing of the game, only that it was one of chance,
and that the winnings and losings were determined in every three casts.
I saw a decent young man take off and stake his neckcloth: fortune
favoured him, and he had the uncommon fortitude to retire, and play no
more. There was another booth of rather a singular kind--a temporary
pawnbroker's, and who appeared to have a good brisk trade.

My attention, however, was more peculiarly attracted by a marquee, open
on all sides, and with an elevated floor: a chair, covered with green
velvet, was here placed, and occupied by a man of much apparent gravity.
I found, upon inquiry, that this was the president, judge, or
magistrate of the fair; that he was elected by votes of the
booth-holders, and determined all disputes on the spot; that his
authority was supported by the police, and his sentence enforced by the
municipality. He was a portly man, wore a three-cocked hat, and an old
scarlet cloak, which had served the same purpose time out of mind.

I returned to my hotel to dinner; and being informed that there was a
_table d'hôte_, and that it would be very numerously attended, I
preferred it to dining in my own apartment, and at the appointed hour
took my seat. The company was indeed numerous--men, women, girls, and
children; officers of the army, exhibitors of wild beasts, actors and
actresses of the booth-theatres. A separate table was set for the
officers of the army. I had here a specimen of the manners of the French
revolutionary officers. A party of them, to the number of fifteen or
twenty, had already placed themselves at table, when the commandant, or
at least a superior officer, entered the room. They all immediately got
up to make room for him, and handed him a chair in a manner the most
servile and fawning. "I hope I disturb no one," said he, at the same
time throwing himself into the chair, but not offering to move his hat.
He continued during the whole of the dinner the same disgusting
superiority, and the subordinate officers several times called out
silence to the adjoining table, that they might better hear the vapid
remarks of their commander. The waiters, and even the whole _table
d'hôte_ seemed in great awe of these military gentlemen; and one fellow
excused himself for leaving a plate before me by hastily alleging that
the commander was looking around him for something. I was still more
disgusted by one of the officers rising, and proposing this important
gentleman's health to both tables; and my surprise was greater by
recognizing, in the tone of this proposal, the barbarous twang of an
Irishman. Some of the French regiments are half filled with these Irish
renegades. I cannot speak of them with any patience, as I cannot
conceive any voluntary degradation more contemptible, than that of
passing from any thing British or American into any thing French or
Italian. I have a respect for the Irish in the German service; they are
still members of a people like themselves. I say not this in contempt of
the French themselves, but of the English or Irish become French.

In the evening I went to one of the theatres, accompanied by an English
physician, with whom I dined at the _table d'hôte_. This gentleman came
into France after the peace of Amiens, and was of course included in the
number detained by the French Emperor. Having some friends in the
Institute, they had drawn up a memorial in his favour, in which they
represented him, and very justly, as a man of science, who had come into
France to compare the English and French system of medicine, and whose
researches had already excited much interest and inquiry amongst the
French physicians. This memorial being delivered into the hands of the
Emperor himself, was subscribed by him in the following words: "Let him
remain in France during the war, on his parole that he will not leave
the French territories, and will have no correspondence with England."

The performance at the theatre was too contemptible for mention, and in
the pantomime, or rather spectacle, became latterly so indelicate, that
I found it necessary to withdraw. I should hope that the performances
are not always of the same character: perhaps something must be allowed
for the occasion. The French, however, have no idea of humour as
separated from indecencies. In this respect they might take a very
useful lesson from the English. The English excel in pantomime as much
as the French in comedy.

Dr. M---- returned to supper with me, and gave me some useful
information. Every trace of the Revolution is rapidly vanishing at
Amiens. Religion has resumed her influence: the cathedral is very well
attended, but auricular confession is not usual. The clergy of Amiens,
however, are very poor, having lost all their immense possessions, and
having nothing but the national stipend. The cathedral had been repaired
by public subscription. The poor are sent to the armies. There were no
imposts but those paid to the government.

Amiens is still a very cheap town for permanent residence, though the
war has very seriously affected it. A good house may be rented for
thirty pounds per annum, the taxes upon the mere house being about a
Louis. Mutton seldom exceeds threepence English money per pound, and
beef is usually somewhat cheaper. Poultry of all kinds is in great
plenty, and cheap: fowls, ducks, &c. about two shillings per couple. A
horse at livery, half a Louis per week; two horses, all expences
included, a Louis and two livres. Board and lodging in a genteel house,
five-and-twenty Louis annually. Dr. M---- agreed with me, that for three
hundred a year, a family might keep their carriage and live in comfort,
in Amiens and its neighbourhood. I must not forget another observation;
the towns in France are cheaper than the villages. The consumption of
meat in the latter is not sufficient to induce the butchers to kill
often; the market, therefore, is very ill supplied, and consequently the
prices are dear. A few miles from a principal town, you cannot have a
leg of mutton without paying for the whole sheep.

A stranger may live at an inn at Amiens for about five shillings,
English money, a day. The wine is good, and very cheap; and a daily
ordinary, or _table d'hôte_, is kept at the _Hotel d'Angleterre_.
Breakfast is charged one livre, dinner three, and supper one: half a
livre for coffee, and two livres for lodging; but if you remain a week,
ten livres for the whole time. The hotels, of which there are two, are
as good as those of Paris, and lodgings are far more reasonable. A
_restaurateur_ has very lately set up in a very grand style, but the
population of the town will scarcely support him. The company at the
_table d'hôte_ usually consists of officers, of whom there is always a
multitude in the neighbourhood of Amiens. Some of them, as I was
informed, are very pleasant agreeable men; whilst others are ruffians,
and have the manners of jacobins.




CHAP. VIII.

_French and English Roads compared--Gaiety of French
Labourers--Breteuil--Apple-trees in the midst of Corn-fields--Beautiful
Scenery--Cheap Price of Land in France--Clermont--Bad Management
of the French Farmers--Chantilly--Arrival at Paris._


I left Amiens early on the following morning, intending to reach
Clermont in good time.

The roads now became very indifferent, but the scenery was much
improved. I could not but compare the prospect of a French road with one
of the great roads of England. It is impossible to travel a mile on an
English road without meeting or overtaking every species of vehicle. The
imagination of a traveller, if as susceptible as a traveller's
imagination should be, has thus a constant food for its exercise; it
accompanies these several groups to their home or destination, and calls
before its view the busy market, the quiet village, the blazing hearth,
the returning husband, and the welcoming wife. No man is fit for a
traveller who cannot while away his time in such creations of his
fancy. I pity the traveller from my heart, who in a barren or uniform
road, has no other occupation but to count the mile-stones, and find
every mile as long as the three preceding. Let such men become drivers
to stage-coaches, but let them not degrade the name of travellers by
assuming it to themselves.

On a French road, there is more necessity than objects for this exercise
of the imagination. A French road is like a garden in the old French
style. It is seldom either more or less than a straight line ruled from
one end of the kingdom to the other. There are no angles, no curvatures,
no hedges; one league is the exact counterpart of another; instead of
hedges, are railings, and which are generally in a condition to give the
country not only a naked, but even a slovenly, ruinous appearance.
Imagine a road made over an heath, and each side of it fenced off by a
railing of old hurdles, and you will have no imperfect idea of a French
great road. Within a mile, indeed, of the neighbourhood of a principal
town, the prospect usually varies and improves. The road is then planted
on each side, and becomes a beautiful avenue through lofty and shady
trees. This description, however, will only apply to the great roads.
Some of the cross and country roads, as I shall hereafter have occasion
to mention, not only equal, but greatly exceed, even the English roads,
in natural beauty and scenery.

In the course of the road between Amiens and Clermont, I had again too
frequent opportunity to remark the slovenly management of the French
farmers, as compared with those of England, and even with those of
America. In America, the farmers are not without a very sufficient
excuse. The scarcity of hands, the impossibility of procuring labourers
at any price, compel an American farmer to get in his harvest as he can,
to collect the crop of one field hastily, and then fly to another. In
France there is no such excuse, and therefore there should be no such
slovenly waste. Yet in some of the hay-fields which I passed, at least
one-fifth _of_ the crop was lying scattered on the roads and in the
fields. The excuse was, that the cattle would eat it, and that they
might as well have it one way as another. It would be folly to say any
thing as to such an argument; yet in these very fields the labour was so
plentiful and minute, that the greater part of the crop was carried from
the fields on the shoulders of the labourers, men, women, and boys. It
is difficult to reconcile such inconsistencies.

In such of the fields as I saw carts, the most severe labour seemed to
be allotted to the share of the women. They were the pitchers, and
performed this labour with a very heavy, and as it appeared to me, a
very awkward fork. Whilst the women were performing this task, two or
three fellows, raw-boned, and nearly six feet high, were either very
leisurely raking, or perhaps laying at their full length under the
new-made stacks. In other fields I saw more pleasing groups. At the
sound of a horn like the English harvest horn, the pitchers, the
loaders, and every labourer on the spot, left their work, and collected
around some tree or hay-cock, to receive their noon refreshment. The
indispensable fiddle was never wanting. Even the horses, loosened from
the carts, and suffered to feed at liberty, seemed to partake in the
general merriment, and looked with erect ears at the fiddler and his
dancing group. When, the hour allotted to this relaxation expired, the
labourers were again called to the several duties by the summons of the
same horn, which was now sounded from the top of the loaded cart, as it
had before been sounded under the tree or hay-cock. I had forgotten to
mention, that the tree or hay-cock, the appointed place of refreshment,
was distinguished by pennants of different coloured ribbons attached to
a stick as a flag-staff, and which waving in the wind, under a beautiful
midsummer sky, had an effect peculiarly pleasing. As I saw the same
spectacle in several fields, I believe it to be national.

Breteuil, which I reached in time for a late breakfast, is a very paltry
town; the houses are all built in the ancient style, and bear an
unfavourable resemblance to English farm-houses; their gable-ends are
turned to the streets, and the chimneys are nearly as large as the
roofs. There was no appearance of business, not even of a brisk retail,
or of a lively thoroughfare. A crowd collected around us as I entered
the inn, as if a decent stranger, travelling on horseback, were a
miracle in that part of the country.

Whatever, however, was wanting in the town, was more than made up by the
surrounding country, which becomes very beautiful in the immediate
environs of Breteuil. For the five or six miles beyond the town, towards
Clermont, the scenery is enchanting. The vines, which here commence,
were in bloom, the road fringed with orchards, and even the corn-fields
hedged round with apple-trees. In the middle of every field was an elm
or a chesnut, which by the luxuriance of its foliage seemed planted in
other ages. On each side of the road, moreover, at the distance of a
mile or a league, were the towers of village churches rising from amidst
similar groves, whilst a chateau perhaps crowned the hill, and completed
the landscape. Bye-paths, and narrow roads, leading to one or other of
these villages, intersected the corn-fields in every direction; and as
the corn was full-grown and yellow, and the day beautifully serene,
nothing could be more grateful than this prospect. The heart of man
seems peculiarly formed to relish the beauties of Nature, and to feel
the bounties of Providence. What artificial beauty can equal that of a
corn-field? What emotion is so lively, and so fully pervades every
feeling, as that excited by the cornucopia of Nature, and the flowery
plenty of the approaching harvest?

The same scenery continues with little variation to Clermont, the
country improving, and the roads becoming worse. In this interval,
however, I passed several chateaux in ruins, and several farms and
houses, on which were affixed notices that they were to be let or sold.
On inquiring the rent and purchase of one of them, I found it to be so
cheap, that could I have reconciled myself to French manners, and
promised myself any suitable assistance from French labourers, I should
have seriously thought of making a purchase. An estate of eleven hundred
acres, seven hundred of which were in culture, the remainder wood and
heath, was offered for sale for 8000 Louis. The mansion-house was indeed
in ruin beyond the possibility of repair, but the land, under proper
cultivation, would have paid twenty-five per cent. on the
purchase-money. The main point of such purchases, however, is contained
in these words: Under proper cultivation. Nothing is so absurd as the
expectation of a foreign purchaser, and particularly of a gentleman,
that he will be able to transfer the improved system of cultivation of
his own country into a kingdom at least a century behind the former. As
far us his own manual labour goes, as far as he will take the plough,
the harrow, and the broadcast himself, so far may he procure the
execution of his own ideas. But it is in vain to endeavour to infuse
this knowledge or this practice into French labourers; you might as well
put a pen in the hand of a Hottentot, and expect him to write his name.
The ill success of half the foreign purchasers must be imputed to this
oversight. An American or an Englishman passes over a French or German
farm, and sees land of the most productive powers reduced to sterility
by slovenly management. A suggestion immediately arises in his mind--how
much might this land be made to produce under a more intelligent
cultivation? Full of this idea he perhaps inquires the price, and
finding it about one-tenth of what such land would cost in England,
immediately makes his purchase, settles, and begins his operations. Here
his eyes are soon opened. He must send to England for all his
implements; and even then his French labourers neither can or will learn
the use of them. An English ploughman becomes necessary; the English
ploughman accordingly comes, but shortly becomes miserable amongst
French habits and French fellow-labourers.

In this manner have failed innumerable attempts of this kind within my
own knowledge. It is impossible to transplant the whole of the system of
one country into another. The English or the American farmer may
emigrate and settle in France, and bring over his English plough and
English habits, but he will still find a French soil, a French climate,
French markets, and French labourers. The course of his crops will be
disturbed by the necessity of some subservience to the peculiar wants of
the country and the demands of the market. He cannot, for example,
persevere in his turnips, where he can find no cattle to eat them, no
purchasers for his cattle, and where, from the openness of the climate
in winter, the crop must necessarily rot before he can consume it. For
the same reason, his clover cultivation becomes as useless. To say all
in a word, I know not how an English or an American farmer could make a
favourable purchase in France, though the French Government should come
forward with its protection. The habits of the country have become so
accommodated to its agriculture, that they each mutually support the
other, and a more improved system can only be introduced in the
proportion in which these national habits can be fundamentally changed.
But such changes must necessarily be gradual and slow, and must not be
reckoned upon by an individual.

I found myself so indisposed at Clermont, that I retired very early to
my bed. My complaint was a giddiness in the head, brought on by riding
in the sun. Every country has its peculiar medicine as well as its
religion, and in every country there are certain family receipts,
certain homely prescriptions, which, from their experienced efficacy,
merit more attention than a member of the faculty would be inclined to
give them. My host at Clermont accordingly became my physician, and by
his advice I bathed my feet in warm water, and getting into bed between
the blankets, after drinking about a quart of cold spring-water, I can
only say that the remedy had its full effect. After a violent
perspiration in the night I fell into a sound sleep, and awoke in the
morning in such complete health and spirits, as to ride to Chantilly to
breakfast.

Throughout the morning's journey, the scenery was very nearly similar to
what I had previously passed, except that it was richer and more varied
with habitations. The peasantry, moreover, were occupied in the same
manner in getting in their hay-harvest, which, from reasons that I
cannot comprehend, seemed more backward as I approached to the
metropolis. This may partly, indeed, be owing to what will appear a very
extraordinary cause--the excellence of the climate. The French farmer
can trust the skies; he sees a cloudless sky in the night, and has no
fear that its serenity will be shortly disturbed. He is a total stranger
to that vicissitude of sunshine, rain, and tempest, which in a moment
confounds all the labours of the English husbandmen. The same sun that
shines to-day will shine to-morrow. In this happy confidence he stacks
his hay in small cocks in the field where it grows, and only carries it
away at his leisure. His manner of carrying is as slovenly as all his
other management. Annette carries an apron-full, Jeannette an
handkerchief-full, and Lubin a barrow-full. Some of it is packed in
sheets and blankets. Some of this hay was very bad in quality, and as
crops, still worse in quantity. Being too much exposed to the sun, it
was little better than so much coarse straw. Being merely thrown
together, without being trodden, when carried into the hay-loft, it
loses whatever fragrance it may have hitherto retained. I do not think
an English horse would eat it.

Chantilly totally disappointed my expectations. The dæmon of anarchy has
here raised a superb trophy on a monument of ruins. The principal
building has been demolished for the sake of the materials; the stables,
and that part of the ancient establishment denominated Le petit Chateau,
are all that remain. I was informed by the people of the inn, that the
whole had been purchased in the revolutionary period by a petty
provincial builder, who had no sooner completed his installments, than
he began the demolition of the building, and the cutting down the trees
in the grounds. Buonaparte, fortunately for Chantilly, became Chief
Consul before the whole was destroyed; Chantilly was then re-purchased,
and is now the property of the Government.

The road now began to have some appearance of an approach to the capital
of the kingdom. I could not however but still observe, that there were
but few carriages compared to what I had seen within a similar distance
of London, and even of New York. The several vehicles were mostly
constructed in the same manner as vehicles of the same distinction in
England. The charette, or cart in common use, was the only exception on
the favourable side. This vehicle seemed to me so well adapted to its
purpose, as to merit a particular description.

The charette, then, consists principally of two parts--the carriage, and
the body. The carriage part is very simple, being composed of two long
shafts of wood, about twenty feet in length, connected together by cross
bars, so as to form the bed, and on which boards are laid, as the
occasion may require. In the same manner the sides, a front, and back,
may be added at pleasure. The axle and wheels are in the usual place and
form. Upon this carriage is fixed the moveable body, consisting of a
similar frame-work of two shafts connected by cross bars. This body
moves upon an axletree, and extending some feet beyond the carriage
behind, it is let down with ease to receive its load, which the body
moving, as before described, on a pivot, or axle, is easily purchased up
from before.

Nearly half way between Chantilly and Paris, I passed a handsome chateau
to the right, which is now occupied as a school. This establishment was
commenced by an Englishman, in the short interval of the peace of
Amiens, and he was upon the point of making a rapid fortune, when in
common with the other Englishmen at that time in France, he was ordered
to Verdun. His school now passed to his French usher, who continuing to
conduct it upon the same plan, that is, with the order and intelligence
common in every English school, has increased its reputation, and reaps
his merited reward by general encouragement. The rate of the boarders at
this academy may serve to illustrate the comparative cheapness of every
thing in France. The boarders are provided with classic instruction of
every kind, as likewise the most eminent masters in all the fine arts,
and personal accomplishments, to which is to be added clothes, at forty
guineas per annum. An English or American school on the same plan, and
conducted in the same style, could not be less than double, if not
triple the above-mentioned sum.

I reached Paris at an early hour in the afternoon, and having letters
for Mr. Younge, the confidential secretary to Mr. Armstrong, immediately
waited upon him, that his information might assist me as to finding
suitable apartments. Lodgings in Paris are infinitely more expensive
than in London, and with not one-half the comfort. I did not find Mr.
Younge at his house; but upon hearing my name, his Lady received me as
an expected friend, and relieved me from the necessity of further
search, by informing me that Mr. Younge had expected me, and provided
apartments for me in his own house. I shall have future occasion to
mention, that the beautiful Lady of this Gentleman was a Frenchwoman,
and that he had been about six months married to her when I arrived in
Paris. She was the niece of the celebrated Lally Tolendal, and had all
the elegance, beauty, and dignity which seems characteristic of that
family. I never saw a woman, whose perfect beauty excited in me at first
sight such a mixed emotion of wonder, awe, and pleasure.




CHAP. IX.

_A Week in Paris--Objects and Occurrences--National Library--A
French Route--Fashionable French Supper--Conceits--Presentation
at Court--Audience._


AS my purpose in visiting France was not to see Paris, I resolved to
make my stay in this gay capital as short as possible. I entered it on
the Tuesday afternoon, and determined to leave it and pursue my journey
into the provinces on the following Monday. I had therefore little time
to see the singularities of this celebrated metropolis; but I made the
best of this time, and had the advantage of Mr. Younge's knowledge and
guidance.

There is no place in the world, perhaps, more distinguished for literary
eminence, in every part of art and science, than Paris. The literary
institutions of Paris, therefore, were the objects of my first visit.
Every capital has its theatres, public gardens, and palaces; but Paris
alone has its public libraries on a scale of equal utility and
magnificence. In Paris alone, science seems to be considered as an
object of importance to mankind, and therefore as a suitable object for
the protection of Government. In Paris alone, to say all in a word, the
poorest student, the most ragged philosopher, has all the treasures of
princes at his command; the National Library opens at his call, and the
most expensive books are delivered for his use.

On the morning following my arrival, Mr. Younge accompanied me to the
National Library. On entering it, we ascended a most superb staircase
painted by Pellegrine, by which we were led to the library on the first
floor. It consists of a suite of spacious and magnificent apartments,
extending round three sides of a quadrangle. The books are ranged around
the sides, according to the order of the respective subjects, and are
said to amount to nearly half a million. Each division has an attending
librarian, of whom every one may require the book he wishes, and which
is immediately delivered to him. Being themselves gentlemen, there is no
apprehension that they will accept any pecuniary remuneration; but there
is likewise a strict order that no money shall be given to any of the
inferior attendants. There are tables and chairs in numbers, and nothing
seemed neglected, which could conduce even to the comfort of the
readers.

The most complete department of the library is that of the manuscripts.
This collection amounts to nearly fifty thousand volumes, and amongst
them innumerable letters, and even treatises, by the early kings of
France. A manuscript is shewn as written by Louis the Fourteenth: it is
entitled, "Memoirs of his own Time, written by the King himself." I much
doubt, however, the authenticity of this production. Louis the
Fourteenth had other more immediate concerns than writing the history of
France. France is full of these literary forgeries. Every king of
France, if the titles of books may be received as a proof of their
authenticity, has not only written his life, but written it like a
philosopher and historian, candidly confessing his errors and abusing
his ministers.

The second floor of the building contains the genealogies of the French
families. They are deposited in boxes, which are labelled with the
several family names. They are considered as public records, and are
only producible in the courts of justice, in order to determine the
titles to real property. No one is allowed to copy them except by the
most special permission, which is never granted but to histriographers
of established name and reputation. The cabinet of antiques is stated to
be very rich, and, to judge by appearances, is not inferior to its
reputation. The collection was made by Caylus. It chiefly consists of
vases, busts, and articles of domestic use amongst the Romans. The
greater part of them have been already copied as models, in the
ornamenting of furniture, by the Parisian artists. This fashion indeed
is carried almost to a mania. Every thing must be Greek and Roman
without any reference to Nature or propriety. For example, what could
be so absurd as the natural realization of some of these capricious
ornaments? What lady would chose to sleep in a bed, up the pillars of
which serpents were crawling? Yet is such realization the only criterion
of taste and propriety.

The cabinet of engravings detained us nearly two hours. The portfeuilles
containing the prints are distributed into twelve classes. Some of these
divisions invited us to a minute inspection. Such was the class
containing the French fashions from the age of Clovis to Louis the
Sixteenth. In another class was the costume of every nation in the
world; in a third, portraits of eminent persons of all ages and nations;
and in a fourth, a collection of prints relating to public festivals,
cavalcades, tournaments, coronations, royal funerals, &c. France is the
only kingdom in the world which possesses a treasure like this, and
which knows how to estimate it at its proper value.

From the National Library we drove to the Athenée, a library and lecture
institution, supported by voluntary subscription. It is much of the same
nature as an institution of a similar kind in London, termed the British
Institute; but the French Athenæum has infinitely the advantage. The
subscription is cheaper, being about four Louis annually, and the
lectures are more elegant, if not more scientific. There are usually
three lectures daily; the first on sciences, and the other two on
belles lettres. The lecture on science is considered as very able, but
those on the belles lettres were merely suited, as I understood, to
French frivolity. The rooms were so full as to render our stay
unpleasant, and we thereby lost an anatomy lecture, which was about to
commence. I should not forget to mention, that all the Parisian journals
and magazines, and many of the German periodical works, were lying on
the tables, and the library seemed altogether as complete as it was
comfortable. The subscribers are numerous, and the institution itself in
fashion. How long it will so last, no one will venture to predict.

The library of the Pantheon and that of the Institute finished our
morning's occupation. They are both on the same scale and nearly on the
same general plan as the National Library. The library of the Institute,
however, is only open to foreigners and the members of the Institute.
The Institute holds its sitting every month, and, according to all
report, is then frivolous enough. I had not an opportunity of being
present at one of these sittings, but from what I heard, I did not much
regret my disappointment.

We returned home to dress for dinner. Mr. Younge informed, me, that he
expected a very large party in the evening, chiefly French, and as his
lady herself was a French woman, and had arranged her domestic
establishment accordingly, I felt some curiosity.

About eight, or nearer nine, Mr. Younge and myself, with two or three
other of the dinner company, were summoned up to the drawing-room. The
summons itself had something peculiar. The doors of the parlour, which
were folding, were thrown open, and two female attendants, dressed like
vestals, and holding torches of white wax, summoned us by a low curtsey,
and preceded us up the great staircase to the doors of the anti-chamber,
where they made another salutation, and took their station on each side.
The anti-chamber was filled with servants, who were seated on benches
fixed to the wall, but who did not rise on our entry. Some of them were
even playing at cards, others at dominos, and all of them seemed
perfectly at their ease. The anti-chamber opened by an arched door-way
into an handsome room, lighted by a chandelier of the most brilliant cut
glass; the pannels of the room were very tastily painted, and the
glasses on each side very large, and in magnificent frames. The further
extremity of this room opened by folding doors into the principal
drawing-room, where the company were collected. It was brilliantly
lighted, as well by patent lamps, as by a chandelier in the middle. The
furniture had a resemblance to what I had seen in fashionable houses in
England. The carpet was of red baize with a Turkish border, and figured
in the middle like an harlequin's jacket. The principal novelty was a
blue ribbon which divided the room lengthways, the one side of it being
for the dancers, the other for the card-players. The ribbon was
supported at proper distances by white staves, similar to those of the
court ushers.

The ball had little to distinguish it from the balls of England and
America, except that the ladies danced with infinitely more skill, and
therefore with more grace. The fashionable French dancing is exactly
that of our operas. They are all figurantes, and care not what they
exhibit, so as they exhibit their skill. I could not but figure to
myself the confusion of an English girl, were she even present at a
French assembly. Yet so powerful is habit, that not only did the ladies
seem insensible, but even the gentlemen, such as did not dance, regarded
them with indifference.

Cotillons and waltzes were the only dances of the evening. The waltzes
were danced in couples, twenty or thirty at a time. The measure was
quick, and all the parties seemed animated. I cannot say that I saw any
thing indecorous in the embraces of the ladies and their partners,
except in the mere act itself; but the waltz will never become a current
fashion in England or America.

There is no precedency in a French assembly except amongst the Military.
This is managed with much delicacy. Every group is thrown as much as
possible into a circle. The tables are all circular, and cotillons are
chiefly preferred from having this quality.

I did not join the card-players; there were about half a dozen tables,
and the several parties appeared to play very high. When the game, or a
certain number of games were over, the parties rose from their seats,
and bowing to any whom they saw near them, invited them to succeed them
in their seats. These invitations were sometimes accepted, but more
frequently declined. The division of the drawing-room set apart for the
card-players served rather as a promenade for the company who did not
dance; they here ranged themselves in a line along the ribbon, and
criticised the several dancers. Some of these spectators seemed most
egregious fops. One of them, with the exception of his linen, was
dressed completely in purple silk or satin, and another in a
rose-coloured silk coat, with white satin waistcoat and small clothes,
and white silk stockings. The greater part of the ladies were dressed in
fancy habits from the antique. Some were sphinxes, some vestals, some
Dians, half a dozen Minervas, and a score of Junos and Cleopatras. One
girl was pointed out to me as being perfectly _á l'Anglaise_. Her hair,
perfectly undressed, was combed off her forehead, and hung down her back
in its full length behind. She reminded me only of a school-boy playing
without his hat.

We were summoned to the supper table about three in the morning. This
repast was a perfect English dinner. Soup, fish, poultry and ragouts,
succeeded each other in almost endless variety. A fruit-basket was
served round by the servants together with the bread-basket, and a small
case of liqueurs was placed at every third plate. Some of these were
contained in glass figures of Cupids, in which case, in order to get at
the liqueur, it was necessary to break off a small globule affixed to
the breast of the figure. The French confectioners are more ingenious
than delicate in these contrivances; but the French ladies seem better
pleased with such conceit in proportion to their intelligible
references. Some of these naked Cupids, which were perfect in all their
parts, were handed from the gentlemen to the ladies, and from the ladies
to each other, and as freely examined and criticised, as if they had
been paintings of birds. The gentlemen, upon their parts, were equally
as facetious upon the naked Venuses; and a Swan affixed to a Leda, was
the lucky source of innumerable pleasant questions and answers. Every
thing, in a word, is tolerated which can in any way be passed into an
equivoque. Their conversation in this respect resembles their dress--no
matter how thin that covering may be, so that there be one.

So much for a French assembly or fashionable rout, which certainly
excells an English one in elegance and fancy, as much as it falls short
of it in substantial mirth. The French, it must be confessed, infinitely
excell every other nation in all things connected with spectacle, and
more or less this spectacle pervades all their parties. They dance, they
converse, they sing, for exhibition, and as if they were on the stage.
Their conversation, therefore, has frequently more wit than interest,
and their dancing more vanity than mirth. They seem in both respects to
want that happy carelessness which pleases by being pleased. A
Frenchwoman is a figurante even in her chit-chat.

It may be expected that I did not omit to visit the theatres. Mr. Younge
accompanied me successively to nearly all of them--two or three in an
evening. Upon this subject, however, I shall say nothing, as every book
of travels has so fully described some or other of them, that nothing in
fact is further required.

I had resolved not to leave Paris without seeing the Emperor, and being
informed that he was to hold an audience on the following day, I applied
to Mr. Younge to procure my formal introduction. With this purpose we
waited upon General Armstrong, who sent my name to the Grand Chamberlain
with the necessary formalities. This formality is a certificate under
the hand of the Ambassador; that the person soliciting the introduction
has been introduced at his own Court, or that, according to the best
knowledge of the Ambassador, he is not a Merchant--a _Negociant actuel_.
It may be briefly observed, however, that the French Negotiant answers
better to the English Mechanic, than to the honorable appellation,
Merchant.--General Armstrong promised me a very interesting spectacle in
the Imperial audience. "It's the most splendid Court in Europe," said
he: "the Court of London, and even of Vienna, will not bear a comparison
with it." Every one agreed in the justice of this remark, and my
curiosity was strongly excited.

On the appointed day, about three o'clock, Mr. Younge accompanied me to
the Palace, where we were immediately conducted to a splendid saloon,
which is termed the Ambassadors' hall. Refreshments were here handed
round to the company, which was very numerous, and amongst them many
German Princes in their grand court dress. The conversation became very
general; those who had seen Bonaparte describing him to those who were
about to be introduced. Every one agreed that he was the most
extraordinary man that Europe had produced in many centuries, and that
even his appearance was in no slight degree indicative of his character.
"He possesses an eye," said one gentleman, "in which Lavater might have
understood an hero." Mr. Younge confirmed this observation, and prepared
me to regard him with more than common attention.

The doors of the saloon were at length thrown open, and some of the
officers of the Grand Chamberlain, with white wands and embroidered
robes and scarfs, bowing low to the company, invited us, by waving their
staves, to follow them up the grand staircase. Every one now arranged
themselves, in pairs, behind their respective Ambassadors, and followed
the ushers in procession, according to the precedence of their
respective countries, the Imperial, Spanish, and Neapolitan Ambassadors
forming the van. The staircase was lined on both sides with grenadiers
of the Legion of Honour, most of whom, privates as well as officers,
were arrayed in the order. The officers, as we passed, exchanged salutes
with the Ambassadors; and as the Imperial Ambassador, who led the
procession, reached the door of the anti-chamber, two trumpeters on each
side played a congratulatory flourish. The ushers who had led us so far,
now took their stations on each side the door, and others, in more
splendid habits, succeeded them in the office of conducting us.

We now entered the anti-chamber, in which was stationed the regular
guard of the palace. We were here saluted both by privates and officers,
the Imperial Guard being considered as part of the household. From the
anti-chamber we passed onwards through nearly a dozen most splendid
apartments, and at length reached the presence-chamber.

My eyes were instantly in search of the Emperor, who was at the farther
extremity, surrounded by a numerous circle of officers and counsellors.
The circle opened on our arrival, and withdrew behind the Emperor. The
whole of our company now ranged themselves, the Ambassadors in front,
and their several countrymen behind their respective Ministers.

Bonaparte now advanced to the Imperial Ambassador, with whom, when
present, he always begins the audience. I had now an opportunity to
regard him attentively. His person is below the middle size, but well
composed; his features regular, but in their _tout ensemble_ stern and
commanding; his complexion sallow, and his general mien military. He was
dressed very splendidly in purple velvet, the coat and waistcoat
embroidered with gold bees, and with the grand star of the Legion of
Honour worked into the coat.

He passed no one without notice, and to all the Ambassadors he spoke
once or twice. When he reached General Armstrong, he asked him, whether
America could not live, without foreign commerce as well as France? and
then added, without waiting for his answer, "There is one nation in the
world which must be taught by experience, that her Merchants are not
necessary to the existence of all other nations, and that she cannot
hold us all in commercial slavery: England is only sensible in her
compters."

The audience took up little less than two hours, after which the Emperor
withdrew into an adjoining apartment; and the company departed in the
same order, and with the same appendages, as upon their entrance.




CHAP. X.

_Departure from Paris for the Loire--Breakfast at Palaiseau--A
Peasant's Wife--Rambouillet--Magnificent Chateau--French
Curé--Chartres--Difference of Old French and English
Towns--Subterraneous Church--Curious Preservation of
the Dead--Angers--Arrival at Nantes._


ON my first arrival at Paris, I had intended to remain there only till
the following week; but the kind importunities of Mr. Younge and his
family, induced me to consent to prolong my stay for some days, and an
arrangement was at length made, which caused me most cheerfully to
protract it still further. This arrangement was, that if I would remain
in Paris till after the National Fêtes, Mr. Younge, his lady, and her
niece, Mademoiselle St. Sillery, would form a travelling party, and
accompany me in my tour along the banks of the Loire, and thence along
the Southern Coast. As I had no other purpose but to see France, its
scenery and its manners, nothing could possibly have fallen out more
correspondent with my wishes. I shall here cursorily mention, that
Mademoiselle St. Sillery, with the single exception of her aunt, was the
handsomest woman I had yet seen in France.

If I pass over the National Fêtes, it is because they differed nothing
from those which preceded them, and which have been minutely detailed by
every Traveller who has written his Tour. These national spectacles have
nothing in them which rewards the trouble of pressing through the mob to
see them. It consisted of nothing but a succession of buffooneries and
fire-works. The fire-works were magnificent--all the other sports
contemptible. In a word, I was so anxious to leave Paris, and to get
into the woods and fields, that the bustle around me scarcely attracted
my attention.

At length, the morning of the 28th of July arrived, and after all due
preparations, I had the long wished-for pleasure of seeing Mr. Younge's
coach at the door, with its travelling appendages. Mr. Younge preferring
to accompany me on horseback, the coach was left to the ladies. In this
manner we left Paris at six o'clock on a lovely summer's morning, and in
less than half an hour were three miles on the road to Chartres, which
we hoped to reach to sleep.

I had again occasion to observe, how much the environs of Paris differed
from those of London. Scarcely had we reached our first stage (about
seven miles), before every appendage of a metropolitan city had
disappeared. With the single exception of the road, which still
continued worthy of a great nation, the scenery and objects were as
retired as in the most remote corner of England. This absence of
commercial traffic has, however, one advantage--it adds much to the
beauty and romance of the country. In England, the manners, habits, and
dress of the capital, pervade to the remotest angle of the kingdom:
there is little variety in passing from London to Penzance. On the other
hand, in France, every Province has still its characteristic dress and
manners; and you get but a few miles from Paris, before you find
yourself amongst a new order of beings.

We breakfasted at Palaiseau, a beautiful village, about twelve miles
from Paris. The inn being dirty, and having no appearance of being in a
situation to accommodate us to our wishes, Mr. Younge ordered the coach
to drive to a small cottage at the further end of the village. Our party
here dismounted; a small trunk, containing a breakfast equipage, was
taken from the coach, and the table was covered in an instant. The woman
of the house had been a servant of Mrs. Younge's, and married from the
family; her husband was a petty farmer, and was out in his fields.
Nothing could persuade Susette to sit in the presence of our ladies; but
she was talkative in the extreme, and seemed to be much attached to Mrs.
Younge, playing as it were with her hair as she waited behind her chair.
To Mr. Younge's questions, whether she was happy, and how she liked her
new state, she replied very carelessly, that her husband was as good as
husbands usually are; that, indeed, he had an affair with another
woman; but that he was gay, and not jealous, and therefore that she
overlooked it. Whilst she was saying this, the latch of the door was
raised, and a sturdy young peasant made his appearance; but seeing an
unexpected company, drew back in some confusion. Mr. Younge cast a
significant look at the ladies and Susette, whose looks explained that
they were not without foundation. Such are the morals, or rather the
manners, of the lower order of French wives. Gallantry is, in fact, as
much in fashion, and as generally prevalent through all orders, as in
the most corrupt æra of the monarchy--perhaps, indeed, more so; as
religion, though manifestly reviving, has not yet recovered its former
vigour.

Having remounted our horses, and the ladies re-ascended into their
coach, we continued our journey through a country continually changing.
My observations on the road, undeceived me in a point of some
importance. I had hitherto believed France to have been an open country,
almost totally without enclosures, except the pales and ditches
necessary to distinguish properties. This opinion had been confirmed by
the appearances of the road from Calais to Paris. It was now, however,
totally done away, as the country on each side of me was as thickly
enclosed, as any of the most cultivated counties in England. Hereafter,
let no traveller assert that France is a country of open fields;
three-fourths of the kingdom is enclosed, even to the most minute
divisions. The enclosures, indeed, have not the neatness of those of
England; the hedges are rough and open, and there are few gates, and no
stiles. The French farmers, however, have already began to adopt much of
the English system in the management of their farms. According to the
information of Mr. Younge, many of the emigrés having returned to
France, have given some valuable instructions to the people in these
important points; France is accordingly much better cultivated than
hitherto.

Mr. Younge had the politeness to answer my questions respecting the
country through which we were passing, in the utmost possible detail;
and as he himself had traversed France in all directions, and was not
without some purpose of future settlement, his information was accurate
and valuable. He gave me to understand that, with the single exception
of the good enclosures, nothing could be so miserable as the system of
agriculture along the whole road from Paris to Mans. The general quality
of the soil is light and sandy, and exactly suited to the English system
of alternate crops of corn and roots; yet on such a soil, the common
course is no other than, fallow, wheat, barley, for nine years
successively; after which the land is pared and burnt, and then suffered
to be a fallow in weeds for another year, when the same course is
recommenced. "Under such management," continued Mr. Younge, "you will
not be surprised that the average produce of the province of Bretagne
does not exceed twelve bushels of wheat, and eighteen of barley. Turnips
they have no idea of; and as the proportion of cattle is very small, the
land is necessarily still farther impoverished from want of manure. The
rents are about 18 livres, or 15_s._ English; the price in purchase from
15_l._ to 18_l._ English. The size of the farms is generally about 80
acres English; they are usually held from year to year, but there are
some leases. Having got rid of tithes, and the taxes being very
moderate," said Mr. Younge, "the price of land in France, both as to
rent or purchase, is certainly very moderate; and if we could but import
English or American workmen, or bring the French labourers to English or
American habits, no good farmer would hesitate a moment as to settlement
in France. But the French labourers are obstinate in proportion to their
ignorance, and without exception are the most ignorant workmen in the
world. Nothing is to be done with them; and though the Emperor has
issued a decree, by which foreigners settling with a view to agriculture
or manufactures, and giving security that they will not leave the
kingdom, may become denizens, I must still hesitate as to recommending a
foreigner to seek a French naturalization."

In this conversation, after a long but not wearisome journey, we reached
Rambouillet. The trunk was again brought from the coach, and a table
furnished with knives, spoons, and clean linen--a kind of essentials
seldom to be seen in a French inn, and more particularly in such inns as
we had reason to expect at some of our stages, in the course of our long
tour. A servant had likewise been sent before, so that a tolerable
dinner was already in a state of preparation. Being informed, however,
that we had an hour still good, Mr. Younge and Mademoiselle St. Sillery
insisted upon taking me to see the celebrated chateau in which Francis
the First, breathed his last.

Nothing can be more miserable, nothing more calculated to inspire
melancholy, than the situation and approach to this immense and most
disproportioned building. It is situated in a park, in the midst of
woods and waters, and most unaccountably, the very lowest ground in a
park of two thousand acres is chosen for its site. The approach to it
from the village is by a long avenue, planted on both sides by double
and treble rows of lofty trees, the tops of which are so broad and thick
as almost to meet each other. This avenue opens into a lawn, in the
centre of which is the chateau. It is an heavy and vast structure,
entirely of brick, and with the turrets, arches, and corners,
characteristic of the Gothic order. The property of it belongs at
present to the Nation, that is to say, it was not sold amongst the
other, confiscated estates; something of an Imperial establishment,
therefore, is resident in the chateau, consisting of a company of
soldiers, with two officers, and an housekeeper. One of the officers had
the politeness to become our guide, and to lead us from room to room,
explaining as he went whatever seemed to excite our attention.

Louis the Fourteenth held his court in this castle for some years; and
from respect to his memory, the apartment in which he slept and held his
levee, is still retained in the same condition in which it was left by
that Monarch. This chamber is a room nearly thirty yards in length by
eighteen in width, and lofty in proportion: the windows like those of a
church. On the further extremity is a raised floor, where stands the
royal bed of purple velvet and gold, lined with white satin painted in a
very superior style. The colours, both of the painting and the velvet,
still remain; and two pieces of coarse linen are shewed as the royal
sheets. The counterpane is of red velvet, embroidered as it were with
white lace, and with a deep gold fringe round the edges: this is
likewise lined with white satin, and marked at the corners with a crown
and fleur de lys. On each side of the bed are the portraits of Louis the
Fourteenth and Fifteenth, of Philip the Fourth of Spain, and of his
Queen. The portrait of Louis the Fourteenth more peculiarly attracted my
attention, having been mentioned by several historians to be the best
existing likeness of that celebrated Monarch. If Louis resembled his
picture, he was much handsomer than he is described to have been by the
memoir-writers of his age: his countenance has an air of much
haughtiness and self-confidence, but without any mixture of ill-humour.
The chief peculiarity in his habit was a deep lace ruff, and a doublet
of light blue, very nearly resembling the jacket of the English light
cavalry. This portrait was taken when the King was in his twenty-eighth
year, and therefore is probably a far more correct resemblance than
those which were taken at a more advanced period--so true is the
assertion, of the poet, that old men are all alike.

Immediately over that line of the apartment where the raised floor
terminates, is a gilded rod extending along the ceiling. When the King
held his court at Rambouillet, a curtain only separated his chamber and
the levee-room. In the latter room are several portraits of the Peers of
France during the reign of Louis the Fifteenth, with those of some
Spanish Grandees.

We visited several other rooms, all of them magnificently furnished, and
all the furniture apparently of the same æra. The grand saloon appeared
to me to be the largest room I had ever seen; the floor is of white
marble, as are likewise two ranges of Corinthian pillars on each side of
the apartment. Its height, however, is not proportioned to its length, a
defect which, added to its narrowness, gives it the air of a gallery
rather than of a banquetting-room.

We had not time enough to walk over the gardens; but, from a cursory
view of them, did not much regret our loss. They appeared spacious
enough; but so divided and intersected into plots, borders, narrow and
broad walks, terraces, and flowerbeds in the shape of stars, as to
resemble any thing but what would be called a garden in England and
America. This style of gardening was introduced into France by Le Notre,
and some centuries must yet pass away before the French gardeners will
acquire a more correct taste. What would not English taste have effected
with the capabilities of Rambouillet? A park of two thousand acres in
front, and a forest of nearly thirty thousand behind--all this, in the
hands of Frenchmen, is thrown away; the park is but a meadow, and the
forest a neglected wood.

Upon our return to dinner, we found the _Curé_ of the village in rapid
conversation with Madame. The appearance of our equipage, consisting of
four horses in the coach, and three riding horses, had attracted him to
the inn; and Madame, having seen him, had invited him to join us at
dinner. He was a pleasant little man, and related to us many traditional
anecdotes of Louis the Fourteenth. This King was notoriously one of the
most gallant of the race of Capet. "Whilst resident at Rambouillet,"
said the Curé, "being one day hunting, and separated from his suite, he
fell in with two young girls, the daughters of the better kind of French
farmers. The girls were nutting in the forest, and perfectly strangers
to the King's person. Louis entered into conversation with them, and--"

The good Curé's narrative was here interrupted by dinner, much to the
disappointment of Mademoiselle St. Sillery, who entreated him to resume
his narrative upon the disappearance of the first dish. "I should think,
Angela," said Mrs. Younge, "that Monsieur Curé would continue it to more
advantage in the coach. The gentleman has informed me," continued she,
addressing herself to Mr. Younge, "that he has some business at
Chartres; and thinking it would add much to our general pleasure, I have
invited him to take the spare seat in our carriage." Mr. Younge could do
no less than second this invitation, and our party was thus reinforced
by the addition of a little gossiping French Curé.

Monsieur Guygny, the name of this gentleman, was not however so much a
Curé, as to be deficient in gallantry to the ladies, and Mademoiselle
St. Sillery, as I thought, seemed to consider him as a valuable
acquisition to our travelling suite; she re-ascended the coach with
increased spirit, and the good Curé followed with true French agility.
Thus is it with French manners. Upon inquiry from Mr. Younge I learnt,
that not one of the party had ever seen or heard of Monsieur Guygny
before they had now met at Rambouillet.

I felt some curiosity as to the interrupted narrative, even in despite
of the evident frivolity of the narrator. The arrangement of the party
in the coach compelled me to hear it at second hand, and I found it less
frivolous than I had anticipated: it was an amour between the King and a
peasant's daughter, in which the King conducted himself in a manner as
little excusable in a monarch, as in a more humble individual. The amour
was at length discovered by the pregnancy of the unfortunate girl, who
believed herself married to the King in the character of an officer of
his suite, and who, upon discovering the deception, died of shame and
grief. Her tomb is said to be still extant, and to be distinguished by a
fleur de lys impressed on it by command of the King. The story is said
to be well founded: be this as it may, our ladies seemed to have
received it as gospel.

We readied Chartres by sunset. Nothing could be more delightful than the
approach to the town, which is situated upon the knoll of an hill, the
houses intermixed with trees, and the wetting sun gilding the spires of
the churches and convent. The town is divided into two parts by a small
river; the further part was situated upon the ascent, the other part
upon the banks of the river. On each side of the town are hills, covered
with woods, from the midst of which were visible the gilded spires of
convents and churches, whilst the intervening plains were covered with
corn-fields. The peasantry, as we passed them, seemed clean, well-fed,
and happy; we saw several groups of them enjoying themselves in the
evening dance. Our carriage was overtaken by them more than once; they
presented flowers and fruits to our ladies, and refused any return. Some
of the younger women, though sun-burnt, were handsome; and many of them,
from their fanciful dresses, resembled the cottagers as exhibited on the
stage. The men, on the other hand, were a most ugly race of beings,
diminutive in size, and with the features of an old baboon. Mr. Younge,
indeed, in some degree accounted for this, by the information that the
best men had been taken for the armies.

Having taken our tea, and seen the necessary preparation for our beds,
our ladies changed their dresses, and, attended by the Curé, sallied
forth to the evening promenade still customary in all the French towns.
Mr. Younge and myself availed ourselves of this opportunity to visit the
curiosities of the town.

I have frequently had occasion to remark, that the old French towns have
a very prominent distinction. The inland towns of England, be their
antiquity what it may, retain but little of their ancient form; from the
necessary effects of a brisk trade, the several houses have so often
changed owners, and the owners have usually been so substantial in
their circumstances, that there is scarcely a house, perhaps, but what
in twenty years has been rebuilt from its fundamental stone. It is not
the same with the houses in the old towns of France. A French
tradesman's house is like his stocking--he never thinks that he wants a
new one, as long as he can in any way darn his old one; he never thinks
of building a new wall, as long as he can patch his old one; he repairs
his house piece-meal as it falls down: the repairs, therefore, are
always made so as to match the breach. In this manner the original form
of the house is preserved for some centuries, and, as philosophers say
of the human body, retains its identity, though every atom of it may
have been changed.

It is thus with Chartres, one of the most ancient towns in France, which
in every house bears evident proofs of its antiquity, the streets being
in straight lines, and the houses dark, large, but full of small rooms.
The town, as I have before said, is divided into two parts, by the river
Eure, and thence, according to the French historians, was called
_Autricum_ by the Romans. It is surrounded by a wall, and has nine
gates, the greater part of them of stone, and of a very ancient
architecture; they are all surmounted by a figure of the Holy Virgin,
the former patroness of the city. The cathedral church, if the
traditional accounts may be believed, was formerly a temple of the
Druids, dedicated to the _Virgo Paritura_; and though this antiquity
may be fairly disputed, the structure is evidently of the most remote
ages. According to the actual records, it was burnt by lightning in the
year of our Lord 1020, and was then rebuilt upon its ancient
foundations, and according to its former form, by Fulbert, at that time
the Bishop. It is thus, in every respect, the most ancient monument in
France, and is well deserving of being visited by travellers. We were
lost in astonishment as we descended from the upper church into a
subterraneous one, extending under the whole space of the one above it,
and having corresponding walls, choir, and even stalls. The bishops,
chapter, and principal persons of the city, are here buried.

From the cathedral church, we were conducted to the other curiosities of
the city, one of which is well worthy of mention. This is a cave or
vault in the parish church of St. André. Upon descending it, our guide
removed successively the covers of six coffins, and desired us to
examine the bodies. They consisted of four men and two women; the faces,
arms, and breasts were naked, and had all the freshness as if dead only
the preceding day. One of the men had the mark of a wound under his left
breast; it seemed as if made by a pointed sword or pike, and was florid,
red, and fresh. "These persons," said our guide, "as you may see by the
inscriptions, have been buried from fifty to an hundred years; the
wounded man was the Mayor of the town about sixty years since, and was
wounded in an affray, of which wound he died." Upon receiving this
information, I had the curiosity to examine the vault more accurately:
it was walled all around, paved with stones closely cemented, and was
evidently more than commonly dry.

We remained at Chartres the whole of the following day; and on the
morning of the next, still accompanied by the Curé, continued our
journey to Le Mans, where we likewise remained a day, and thence
proceeded for Angers. As our projected Tour along the Loire was to
commence at Nantes, we were eager to gain that city, and indeed scarcely
made use of our eyes, however invited, till we reached it.

Mr. Younge and myself had an hour's walk over Angers; but as we saw it
more in detail as we descended the Loire, in the progress of our future
Tour, I shall say nothing of it in this place.

Throughout the greater part of this road, as well as of that from Angers
to Nantes, nothing could be more delightful than the scenery on both
sides, and nothing better than the roads. From La Fleche to Angers, and
thence to Ancennis, the country is a complete garden. The hills were
covered with vines; every wood had its chateau, and every village its
church. The peasantry were clean and happy, the children cheerful and
healthy-looking, and the greater part of the younger women spirited and
handsome. There was a great plenty of fruit; and as we passed through
the villages, it was invariably brought to us, and almost as invariably
any pecuniary return refused with a retreating curtsey. One sweet girl,
a young peasant, with eyes and complexion which would be esteemed
handsome even in Philadelphia, having made Mr. Younge and myself an
offering of this kind, replied very prettily to our offer of money, that
the women of La Fleche never sold either grapes or water; as much as to
say, that the one was as plentiful as the other. Some of these young
girls were dressed not only neatly, but tastily. Straw hats are the
manufacture of the province; few of them, therefore, but had a straw
bonnet, and few of these bonnets were without ribbons or flowers.

We were most unexpectedly detained at Chantoce by an accident to our
coach, which was three days before it was repaired. We the less,
however, regretted our disappointment, as it rained incessantly, with
thunder and lightning, throughout the whole of this time. The weather
having cleared, our coach being repaired, and our spirits being
renovated by the increased elasticity of the air, the preceding heat
having been almost intolerable, we resumed our progress, and at length
reached Nantes on or about the evening of the 1st of August.




CHAP. XI.

_Nantes--Beautiful Situation--Analogy of Architecture with the
Character of its Age--Singular Vow of Francis the Second--Departure
from Nantes--Country between Nantes and Angers--Angers._


THE plan of our Tour was, to descend the Loire from Nantes, and thence
traversing its banks through nearly two-thirds of its course, cross it
by La Charité, and continue our journey in the first place for
Languedoc, and thence across that delightful province into Provence, and
along the shores of the Mediterranean. Chance in some degree varied our
original design; but it will be seen in the sequel, that we executed
more of it than we had any reason to anticipate. A traveller in France
cannot reckon upon either his road, or his arrival, with as much
certainty as in England. Some of the cross roads are absolutely
impassable; and the French gentry of late have become so fond of jaunts
of pleasure, that if a travelling family should visit them in passing,
they will have great difficulty to get away without some addition to
their party, and some consequent variation from their projected road.

We remained at Nantes three days, during which time I had leisure enough
to visit the town and the neighbourhood.

Nantes is one of the most ancient cities in France; it is the
_Condivunum_ of the Romans, and the _Civitas Namnetum_ of Cæsar. It is
mentioned by several Latin writers as a town of moat considerable
population under the Roman prefects; and there is every appearance, in
several parts of the city, that it has declined much from its original
importance. It is still, however, in every respect, a noble city, and,
unlike most commercial cities, is as beautifully as it is advantageously
situated. It is built on the ascent and summit of an hill, at the foot
of which is the Loire, almost as broad, and ten times more beautiful,
than the Thames. In the middle of the stream, opposite the town, are
several islets, on which are houses and gardens, and which, as seen by
the setting sun, about which time there are dancing parties, and
marquees ornamented with ribbons, have a most pleasing effect. The town,
however, has one defect, which the French want the art or the industry
to remove: the Loire is so very shallow near the town, that vessels of
any magnitude are obliged to unload at some miles above it. This is a
commercial inconvenience, which is not compensated by one of the finest
quays in Europe, extending nearly a mile in length, and covered with
buildings almost approaching to palaces. If Spain, as the proverb says,
have bridges where there is no water, I have seen repeated instances in
France where there are quays without trade. This is not, however, the
case with Nantes: it has still a brisk interior commerce, and the number
of new houses are sufficient proofs that its inhabitants increase in
opulence.

Nantes was the residence and the burying place of the ancient Dukes of
Bretagne; in the town and neighbourhood, therefore, are many of the
relics of these early sovereigns. On an hill to the eastward is the
castle in which these princes used to hold their court: it is still
entire, though built nearly nine hundred years ago; and the repairs
having been made in the character of the original structure, it remains
a most perfect specimen of the architecture of the age in which it was
built. One room, the hall or banquetting-room, as in all Gothic castles,
is of an immense size, and lofty in proportion. The ornaments likewise
partake of the character of the age; they are chiefly carved angels,
croziers, and other sacred appendages. A remark here struck me very
forcibly, that many curious conclusions as to the characters, manners,
and even of the detail of domestic economy of men in the early ages,
might be deduced from the remains of their architecture. I have read
very curious and detailed histories founded only on the figures on
medals; the early history of Greece, and that of the lower empire of
Rome, have scarcely a better foundation. Now, why may not the same use
be made of architecture? Is not the religion of our ancestors legible in
the very ornaments of their house? Are not their excessive ignorance
and credulity equally visible in the griffins, sphinxes, dragons,
mermaids, and chimeras, which are so frequently carved in Gothic roofs,
and which are so absurdly mistaken for angels and devils? The analogy
might be extended much farther.

The monument of Francis the Second, Duke of Bretagne, and father to Anne
of Bretagne, the Queen of France, is one of the most magnificent of the
kind in France, and from this circumstance, I suppose, has been suffered
to survive the Revolution undefaced. This monument was the work of
Michael Colomb, and is one of those works of art which, like the Apollo
Belvidere, is sufficient of itself to immortalize its artist. The
figures are a curious mixture of the wives and children of the deceased
Duke, with angels, cherubs, &c.; but this was the taste of the age, and
must not be imputed to Michael Colomb. The heart of Anne is likewise
buried in a silver urn in the same vault. The inscription on the tomb
relates a vow made by Francis to the Holy Virgin, that if he should
obtain a child by his second marriage, he would dedicate a golden image
to the Virgin. The prince obtained the child, and the image was made and
dedicated.

It would be an injustice, in this account of Nantes, not to mention the
inn called the Hotel of Henry the Fourth. It is one of the largest and
most magnificently furnished in Europe. It makes up 60 beds, and can
take in 100 horses, and an equal proportion of servants. The rooms are
let very cheap, considering their quality: two neat rooms may be had for
four shillings a day; and a traveller may live very comfortably in the
house, and be provided with every thing, for about two guineas per week.
Horses are charged at the rate of two shillings only for a day and
night. And one thing which ought not to be forgotten, the beds are made,
and ladies are attended, by female servants, all of whom are neat, and
many of them very pretty girls. The contrary practice, which is almost
universal in France, is one of the most unpleasant circumstances to a
man educated in old English habits; for my own part, I never could
divest myself of my first disgust, at the sight of a huge, bearded,
raw-boned fellow, having access to the chamber at all hours, and making
the beds, and removing any of the usual appendages of a chamber, in the
presence of the ladies.

Having seen enough of Nantes, and exchanged our coach for a kind of open
barouche, particularly adapted for the French cross roads, being very
narrow, and composed entirely of cane, with removable wheels, so as to
take to pieces in an instant, we resumed the line of our Tour, and took
the road along the Loire for Ancennis.

It was a beautiful morning, and there being a fair at Mauves, a village
on the road, nothing could be more gay than our journey at its
commencement. I have forgotten to mention, that Mr. Younge and myself,
at the proposal of the ladies, had sent our horses forwards, and
therefore had taken our seats in the landau. The conversation of the
ladies was so pleasing and so intelligent, that hereafter I adopted this
proposal as often as it was offered, and as seldom as possible had
recourse to my horse.

Mauves, which was our first stage, is most romantically situated on a
hill, which forms one of the banks of the Loire. The country about it,
in the richness of its woods, and the verdure of its meadows, most
strongly reminded me of England; but I know of no scenery in England,
which together with this richness and variety of woodland and meadow,
has such a beautiful river as the Loire to complete it in all the
qualities of landscape. On each side of this river, from Nantes, are
hills, which are wooded to the summit, and there are very few of these
wood-tufted hills, which have not their castle or ruined tower. In some
of these ancient buildings, there was scarcely any thing remaining but
the two towers which guarded the grand portal; but others, being more
durably constructed, were still habitable, though still retaining their
ancient forms. I have frequently had occasion to observe, that the
French gentry, in making their repairs, invariably follow the style of
the building; whether through natural taste, or because they repair by
piece-meal, and therefore do only what is wanted, I know not. But there
is one necessary consequence from this practice, which is, that the
remains of antiquity are more perfect in France than in any other
kingdom in Europe. From Mauves to Oudon, where we dined, the country is
still very thickly wooded and inclosed; the properties evidently very
small, and therefore innumerable cottages and small gardens. These
cottages usually consist of only one floor, divided into two rooms, and
a shed behind. They were generally situated in orchards, and fronted the
Loire. They had invariably one or two large trees, which are decorated
with ribbons at sunset, as the signal for the dance, which is invariably
observed in this part of France. Some of the peasant girls, which came
out to us with fruit, were very handsome, though brown. The children,
which were in great numbers, looked healthy, but were very scantily
clad. None of them had more than a shift and a petticoat, and some of
them girls of ten or twelve years of age, only a shift, tied round the
waist by a coloured girdle. As seen at some distance, they reminded me
very forcibly of the figures in landscape pictures.

We remained at Oudon till near sunset, when we resumed our road to
Ancennis, where we intended to sleep. As this was only a distance of
seven miles, we took it very leisurely, sometimes riding, and sometimes
walking. The evening was as beautiful as is usual in the southern parts
of Europe at this season of the year. The road was most romantically
recluse, and so serpentine as never to be visible beyond an hundred
yards. The nightingales were singing in the adjoining woods. The road,
moreover, was bordered on each side by lofty hedges, intermingled with
fruit-trees, and even vines in full bearing. At every half mile, a cross
road, branching from the main one, led into the recesses of the country,
or to some castle or villa on the high grounds which overlook the river.
At some of these bye-ways were very curious inscriptions, painted on
narrow boards affixed to a tree. Such were, "The way to 'My Heart's
Content' is half a league up this road, and then turn to the right, and
keep on till you reach it." And another: "The way to 'Love's Hermitage'
is up this lane, till you come to the cherry-tree by the side of a
chalk-pit, where there is another direction." Mademoiselle Sillery
informed me, that these kind of inscriptions were characteristic of the
banks of the Loire. "The inhabitants along the whole of the course of
this river," said she, "have the reputation, from time immemorial, of
being all native poets; and the reputation, like some prophecies, has
perhaps been the means of realizing itself. You do not perhaps know,
that the Loire is called in the provinces the River of Love; and
doubtless its beautiful banks, its green meadows, and its woody
recesses, have what the musicians would call a symphony of tone with
that passion." I have translated this sentence verbally from my
note-book, as it may give some idea of Mademoiselle Sillery. If ever
figure was formed to inspire the passion of which she spoke, it was
this lady. Many days and years must pass over before I forget our walk
on the green road from Oudon to Ancennis--one of the sweetest, softest
scenes in France.

We entered the forest of Ancennis as the sun was setting. This forest is
celebrated in every ancient French ballad, as being the haunt of
fairies, and the scene of the ancient archery of the provinces of
Bretagne and Anjou. The road through it was over a green turf, in which
the marks of a wheel were scarcely visible The forest on each side was
very thick. At short intervals, narrow footpaths struck into the wood.
Our carriage had been sent before to Ancennis, and we were walking
merrily on, when the well-known sound of the French horn arrested our
steps and attention. Mademoiselle Sillery immediately guessed it to
proceed from a company of archers; and in a few moments her conjecture
was verified by the appearance of two ladies and a gentleman, who issued
from one of the narrow paths. The ladies, who were merely running from
the gentleman, were very tastily habited in the favourite French dress
after the Dian of David; whilst the blue silk jacket and hunting cap of
the gentleman gave him the appearance of a groom about to ride a race.
Our appearance necessarily took their attention; and after an exchange
of salutes, but in which no names were mentioned on either side, they
invited us to accompany them to their party, who were refreshing
themselves in an adjoining dell. "We have had a party at archery," said
one of them, "and Madame St. Amande has won the silver bugle and bow.
The party is now at supper, after which we go to the chateau to dance.
Perhaps you will not suffer us to repent having met you by refusing to
accompany us." Mademoiselle Sillery was very eager to accept this
invitation, and looked rather blank when Mrs. Younge declined it, as she
wished to proceed on her road as quickly as possible. "You will at least
accompany us, merely to see the party."--"By all means," said
Mademoiselle Sillery. "I must really regret that I cannot," said Mrs.
Younge. "If it must be so," resumed the lady who was inviting us, "let
us exchange tokens, and we may meet again." This proposal, so perfectly
new to me, was accepted: the fair archers gave our ladies their pearl
crescents, which had the appearance of being of considerable value.
Madame Younge returned something which I did not see: Mademoiselle
Sillery gave a silver Cupid, which had served her for an essence-bottle.
The gentleman then shaking hands with us, and the ladies embracing each
other, we parted mutually satisfied. "Who are these ladies?" demanded I.
"You know them as well as we do," replied Mademoiselle Sillery. "And is
it thus," said I, "that you receive all strangers
indiscriminately?"--"Yes," replied she; "all strangers of a certain
condition. Where they are evidently of our own rank, we know of no
reserve. Indeed, why should we? It is to general advantage to be
pleased, and to please each other."--"But you embraced them, as if you
really felt an affection for them."--"And I did feel that affection for
them," said she, "as long as I was with them. I would have done them
every service in my power, and would even have made sacrifices to serve
them."--"And yet if you were to see them again, you would perhaps not
know them."--"Very possibly," replied she. "But I can see no reason why
every affection should be necessarily permanent. We never pretend to
permanence. We are certainly transient, but not insincere."

In this conversation we reached Ancennis, a village on a green,
surrounded by forests. Some of the cottages, as we saw them by
moon-light, seemed most delightfully situated, and the village had
altogether that air of quietness and of rural retreat, which
characterizes the scenery of the Loire. Our horses having preceded us by
an hour or more, every thing was prepared for us when we reached our
inn. A turkey had been put down to roast, and I entered the kitchen in
time to prevent its being spoilt by French cookery. Mademoiselle Sillery
had the table provided in an instant with silver forks and table-linen.
Had a Parisian seen a table thus set out at Ancennis, without knowing
that we had brought all these requisites with us, he would not have
credited his senses. The inns in France along the banks of the Loire,
are less deficient in substantial comforts than in these ornamental
appendages. Poultry is every where cheap, and in great plenty; but a
French inn-keeper has no idea of a table-cloth, and still less of a
clean one. He will give you food and a feather-bed, but you must provide
yourselves with sheets and table-cloths. Our accommodations, with
respect to lodging for the night, were not altogether so uncomfortable:
the house had indeed two floors, but there were no stairs; so that we
had to ascend by a ladder, and that not the best of its kind. There
being, moreover, but two rooms, the one occupied by the landlord, his
wife, and two grown girls, there was some difficulty as to the disposal
of Mademoiselle Sillery and myself. It was at length arranged, that all
the females in the house should sleep in one room, and all the males in
another. When I came to take possession of my bed, I found that Mrs.
Younge had contrived to exempt her husband from this arrangement: he was
now sleeping by the side of the handsomest woman in France, whilst I was
lying at one end of a dirty room, the other being occupied by the
snoring landlord. Fatigue, however, according to the proverb, is better
than a bed of down; I accordingly soon fell asleep, and Mademoiselle
Sillery was not absent from my dreams. I should not forget to mention,
as another specimen of French manners, that I learned from this lady on
the following day, that she had slept with her sister and her husband.
Such are French manners.

On the following morning, induced by the example of the landlord, and by
the beauty of the rising sun, I rose early, and accompanied by my host,
walked into the fields round the village. The environs of Ancennis
appeared to me extremely beautiful; whether from the mere effect of
novelty, or that they really were so, I know not. Some of the neater
cottages were situated in gardens very carefully cultivated, and so much
in the style of England, that, but for some characteristic frivolities,
I could scarcely believe myself in France. In every garden, or orchard,
I invariably observed one tree distinguished above the rest; it had
usually a seat around its trunk, and where its top was large enough, a
railed seat, or what is called in America a look-out, amongst its
branches. I had the curiosity to ascend to some of these, for the garden
gates were invariably only latched, and small pieces of wood were nailed
to the trunk, so as to assist the ascent of the women. The branches,
which formed the look-out, were carved with the names of the village
beauties, and in one of the seats I found a French novel, and a very
pretty paper work-box. I saw enough to conclude, that Ancennis was not
without the characteristic French elegance; and I must once for all say,
that the manners of Marmontel are founded in nature, and that the
daughters of the yeomanry and humbler farmers in France have an
elegance, a vivacity, and a pleasantry, which is no where to be found
out of France.

On my return I found Mademoiselle Sillery at the breakfast table; and in
answer to her inquiries as to the object of my walk, informed her of my
observations. She replied, that they were very well founded, and added a
reason for it which seemed to me very satisfactory. "The French girls,"
said she, "all at least who learn to read, are formed to this elegance
and softness by the very elements of their education; their class-book
is Marmontel, and La Belle Assemblée, the last, one of the prettiest
novels in France. They are thus taught love with their letters, and they
improve in gallantry as they improve in reading; and I will venture to
say," continued this elegant girl, "that by this method of instruction
we make a great earned where there is a love-story at the end of it."

We shortly afterwards resumed our progress, and passed through a country
of the same kind as on the preceding day, alternate hill and valley. The
Arno, as described by the Tuscan poets, for I have never seen it, must
bear a strong resemblance to the Loire from Ancennis to Angers; nothing
can be more beautiful than the natural distribution of lawn, wood, hill
and valley, whilst the river, which borders this scenery, is ever giving
it a new form by its serpentine shape. The favourite images in the
landscapes of the ancient painters here meet the eye almost every
league: cattle resting under the shade, and attentively eyeing the
river, whilst the country around is of a nature and character, which the
fancy of a poet would select for the haunt of Dian and her huntresses.
The peasantry, as many of them as we met, seemed to have that life and
spirits the sure result of comfort; if they were not invariably well
clothed, they seemed at least sufficiently so for the climate of the
province. The younger women had dark complexions and shining black eyes;
their shapes were generally good, and their air and vivacity, even in
the lowest ranks, such as peculiarly characterize the French people. If
addressed, they were rather obliging than respectful, and had all of
them a compliment on their tongues' end. It was not indeed easy to get
rid of them with a mere word or question. I must add, however, that I am
here describing their manner towards Mr. Younge and myself. Towards the
ladies it was somewhat different. When Madame or Mademoiselle spoke to
them, they seemed modest and respectful in the extreme; to the latter,
indeed, they were more familiar, and many of them, on giving the adieu
after a ten minutes' conversation, very prettily embraced her, gently
putting their arms round her neck, and kissing the left shoulder; a form
of salutation very common in the French provinces. In a word, the more I
saw of the French character, the more did I wish that the more weighty
and valuable qualities of the English and American character, their
honesty and their sincerity, were accompanied by the gentleness, the
grace, the affectionate benevolence, which characterise the French
manners.

Ingrande, where we dined, is the last town of the province of Bretagne,
on the Loire, and thenceforwards we had entered Anjou. It is a town of
above three hundred houses, built round the base of a sandy hillock, the
church being on the hill. The houses are intermingled with trees, and
the country very prettily planted. It is not to be expected that the
habitations in such a town could be any thing better than cottages; but
they were tolerably clean, and not very ruinous.

We had now passed through the province of Bretagne as it lies along the
Loire, and it is but justice to say, that in point of natural scenery,
in the wildness and tranquillity which constitute what I should term the
romance of landscape, it exceeds every thing in Europe. Along the banks
of the Loire, France has meadows, the verdure of which will not sink in
comparison with those of England. Along the banks of the Loire,
moreover, France has woodlands, and lawns, and an, intermixture of wood
and water, and of every possible variety of surface, which no country in
the world but France can produce. The Loire is perhaps the only river in
Europe which is bordered by hills and hillocks, and which, in so long a
course, so seldom passes through a mere dead level. Accordingly, from
the earliest times of the French monarchy, the rising grounds of the
Loire have been selected for the sites of castles, monasteries, abbeys,
and chateaux, and as the possessors have superadded Art to Nature, this
natural beauty of the grounds has been improving from age to age. The
Monks have been immemorially celebrated for their skill as well in the
choice of situations as in their improvement of natural advantages;
their leisure, and their taste, improved by learning, have naturally
been employed on the scenes of their residence, on their vineyards and
their gardens. Innumerable are the still remaining vestiges of their
taste and of their industry, and I have a most sincere satisfaction in
thus doing them justice; in thus bearing my testimony, that, so far from
being the drones of the land, there is no part of a province which they
possessed, but what they have improved. The scenery along the Loire has
a character which I should think could not be found in any other
kingdom, and on any other river. Towns, windmills, steeples, ancient
castles and abbeys still entire, and others with nothing remaining but
their lofty walls; hills covered with vines, and alternate woods and
corn-fields--altogether form a landscape, or rather a chain of
landscapes, which remind one of a poem, and successively refresh,
delight, animate, and exalt the imagination. Is there any one oppressed
with grief for the loss of friends, or what is still more poignantly
felt, for their ingratitude and unkindness? Let him traverse the banks
of the Loire; let him appeal from man to Nature, from a world of passion
and vice, to scenes of groves, meads, and flowers. His must be no common
sorrow who would not forget it on the banks of the Loire.



After a short rest at Chantoce, a village of the same rank and
character with Mauves, we arrived at Angers, where we proposed to remain
till the following Monday, having arrived there on the Thursday evening.
We had scarcely reached the inn, before a gentleman of the name of Mons.
de Corseult, to whom we had sent forwards our letters from Nantes,
addressed himself to us, and insisted that we should continue our
journey to his house, about half a mile on the other side of the town.
The ladies at length acceded to this proposal, on the condition that our
horses, servants, &c. should be sent back to the inn, and that ourselves
only should be the visitors of Mons. de Corseult.




CHAP. XII.

_Angers--Situation--Antiquity and Face of the Town--Grand
Cathedral--Markets--Prices of Provisions--Public Walks--Manners
and Diversions of the Inhabitants--Departure from
Angers--Country between Angers and Saumur--Saumur._


WE had intended to have reposed ourselves at Angers, but Mons. de
Corseult, having been very lately married, had his house daily full of
visitors, and as we were strangers, parties were daily made for us.
Whatever time I could steal from this unintermitting round, I employed
in walks to the town, and in the neighbourhood. Mr. Younge generally
accompanied me, but I was sometimes fortunate enough to be honoured with
Mademoiselle St. Sillery, an happiness of which I should have been more
sensible, had it not usually tempted the intrusion of some coxcomb, who
converted a tour of information into a mere lounge of levity and
senseless gallantry. How miserable would have been an English girl, of
the beauty and wit of this young lady, with such gallants! Or is it with
ladies as with the poet in Don Quixotte--are love and flattery sweet,
though they may come from a fool and a madman? I should hope not, or at
least with Mademoiselle St. Sillery.

In despite, however, of these intrusions, we had two or three pleasant
walks through Angers, in which the curiosity of Mademoiselle was of much
use to me. He must be less than a man, who could be wearied even by the
most minute interrogations of an handsome woman. Mademoiselle St.
Sillery, as if resolved to be ignorant of nothing, put the most endless
questions to those who accompanied us about the town; and with true
French gallantry, the answers even exceeded the questions. I had little
to do but to look and to listen.



Angers is situated in a plain, which, in the distance being fringed with
wood, and being very fertile in corn and meadow, wants nothing of the
richness and beauty which seem to characterize this part of the
province. It is parted into two by a river called the Mayenne, which is
a small branch of the Loire, and again falls into the main river about
five miles from the town. The French, like the Dutch, seemed to be
peculiarly attached to this kind of site, having a river run through
their towns, one half being built on one side, and one on the other. The
water of the Mayenne is so harsh, that it cannot be drunk or used for
cookery, and were it not for the proximity of the Loire, and some
aqueducts, Angers, though built on a river, must necessarily become
desolate for want of water. The same improvidence is visible in many
towns in France, and still more in Holland.

The walls round this city were built by King John of England, and though
six centuries, have elapsed, are still nearly entire. Part of them were
indeed demolished by Louis the Eighth, but they were restored in their
original form by his successor, and remain a proof of the durable style
of building of that Age (1230). The castle of Angers was built at the
same time. It is situated on a rock which overhangs the river, and
though now in decay, has still a very striking appearance. The walls are
lofty and broad, the towers numerous, and the fosses deep. They are cut
out of the solid rock, and must have required long and ingenious labour.



The cathedral of Anjou, the inner part of which exactly resembles
Westminster Hall, is chiefly celebrated for containing the monument of
Margaret of Anjou, the queen of Henry the Sixth of England. This woman
was in every respect a perfect heroine, and worthy of her illustrious
father, René, King of Sicily. She was taken prisoner in the battle of
Tewkesbury, and immediately committed, to the Tower, from which she was
ransomed by Louis the Eleventh, of France. This King, however, who was
never known to forget himself, and act otherwise than selfishly, had a
very different motive than humanity for this apparent generosity: having
gained possession of the person of Margaret, he immediately rendered her
his own prisoner, and caused her father to be informed that if he wished
to ransom her, he must give up all his hereditary rights to the duchies
of Anjou and Lorrain. So tenderly did René love his daughter, that he
made the sacrifice without hesitation. The history of this princess, as
collected from the French memoirs, has an air rather of romance than of
real history. Though the English historians all concur in her praise,
they seem to know very little of her. A remark here suggested itself:
that the best of the English historians seem totally to have overlooked
all the French records, and to have confined themselves to the writers
of their own country.



The general appearance of Angers does not correspond with the
magnificence of its walls, its castle, and its cathedral. Its size is
respectable; there are six parish churches, besides monasteries and
chapters, and the inhabitants are estimated at 50,000. The streets,
however, are very narrow, and the houses mean, low, and huddled: there
is the less excuse for this, as ground is plentiful and cheap; there is
scarcely a good house inhabited within the walls. The towns in France
differ in this respect very considerably from those in England: in a
principal town in England you will invariably find a considerable number
of good houses, where retired merchants and tradesmen live in the ease
and elegance of private gentlemen. There is nothing of this kind in the
French towns. Every house is a shop, a warehouse, a magazine, or a
lodging house. I do not believe that there is one merchant of
independent fortune now resident within the walk of Angers. This,
indeed, may perhaps arise from the difference in the general character
of the two kingdoms: in England, and even in America, there are few
tradesmen long resident in a town, without having obtained a sufficiency
to retire; whilst the French towns being comparatively poor, and their
trade comparatively insignificant, the French tradesman can seldom do
more than obtain a scanty subsistence by his business. In all the best
French towns, the tradesmen have more the air of chandlers than of great
dealers. There are absolutely no interior towns in France like Norwich,
Manchester, and Birmingham. In some of their principal manufacturing
places, there may indeed be one or two principal men and respectable
houses; but neither these men nor their houses are of such number and
quality, as to give any dignity or beauty to their towns beyond mere
places of trade. The French accordingly, judging from what they see at
home, have a very contemptible idea of the term merchant; and if a
foreign traveller of this class should wish to be admitted into good
company, let him pass by any other name than that of a marchand or
negociant. To say all in a word, this class of foreigners are
specifically excluded from admission at court.



I visited the market, which in Angers, and I believe throughout France,
is held on Sunday. This is one of the circumstances from which a
foreigner would be very apt to form a wrong estimate of the French
character, which now, whatever it might be, is decidedly religious. But
the Roman Catholics have ever considered Sunday as at once a day of
festivity and a holiday; they have no scruple, therefore, to sing and
dance, and to hold their markets on this day; all they abstain from is
the heavier kind of work--labour in the fields and warehouses. A French
town, therefore, is never so gay as on a Sunday. I inquired the prices
of provisions. Beef and mutton are about 2_d._ per pound; a fowl 5_d._;
and turkies, when in season, from 18_d._ to 2_s_.; bread is about
1-1/2_d._ a pound; and vegetables, greens, &c. cheap to a degree. A good
house in Angers about six Louis per year, and a mansion fit for a prince
(for there are some of them, but without inhabitants) from forty to
fifty Louis, including from thirty to forty acres of land without the
walls. I have no doubt but that any one might live at Angers on 250
Louis per annum, as well as in England for four times the amount. And
were I to live in France, I know no place I should prefer to the
environs of this town. The climate, in this part of France, is
delightful beyond description. The high vault of heaven is clad in
ethereal blue, and the sun sets with a glory which is inconceivable to
those who have only lived in more northerly regions; for week after week
this weather never varies, the rains come on at once, and then cease
till the following season. The tempests which raise the fogs from the
ocean have no influence here, and they are strangers likewise to that
hot moisture which produces the pestilential fevers in England and
America. There are sometimes indeed heavy thunder storms, when the
clouds burst, and pour down torrents of rain: but the storm ceases in a
few minutes, and the heavens, under the influence of a powerful sun,
resume their beauty and serenity.

The soil in the neighbourhood of Angers (I speak still with reference to
its aptitude for the residence of a foreigner, for I confess this dream
hung very strongly on my imagination) is fertile to a degree, and as far
as I could understand, is very cheap. Every house, as I have before
said, without the walls, has its garden, and all kind of fruits and
vegetables were in the greatest plenty. The fences around the gardens of
the villages were very fantastically interwoven with the wreaths of the
vine, which would sometimes creep up the trunk of a tree, and sometimes
hang over the casements. Nothing can be more delightful than the vine
when flourishing in all this unbridled wildness of its natural
luxuriance, and as if justly sensible of its beauty, the French
cottagers convert it to the double purpose of ornament or utility.
Whilst travelling along, my spirits frequently felt the cheering
influence of the united images of natural beauty and of human happiness.
Often have I seen the weary labourer sitting under a sunny wall, his
head shaded by the luxuriant branches of the vine, the purple fruit of
which furnished him with his simple meal. Bread and fruit is the
constant summer dinner of the peasantry of the Loire. Upon this subject,
the general plenty of the country, I should not have forgotten to
mention, that in the proper season partridges and hares are in great
plenty, and being fed on the heath lands of Bretagne and Anjou, are said
to have the best flavour. An Englishman will scarcely believe, that
whilst he is paying 12_s._ a couple for fowls, half a guinea for a
turkey, seven shillings for a goose, &c. &c.: whilst such I say are the
market prices in London, the dearest price in the market of Angers is
10_d._ a couple for fowls, a shilling a couple for ducks, 1_s._ 6_d._
for a goose. As to the quality of these provisions, the veal and the
mutton being fed in the meadows on the Loire, are entirely as good as in
England; but the beef, not being in general use except for soups and
stews, is of a very inferior kind. Wood is the only article which is
dear; but an Englishman in this country would doubtless rise above the
prejudices around him, and burn coal, of which there is a great plenty
in every part of France.

I must not take leave of Angers without mentioning, that it was a
favourite station of the Romans, who, like the monks, always consulted
natural beauty in the site of the towns and permanent encampments. Many
remnants of this people are still visible: some of the arches of an
aqueduct are yet entire, and without a guide speak their own origin.

Accompanied by Mr. Younge and Monsieur de Corseult, I visited the
Caserne and the National School. The Caserne was formerly a Riding
School of general reputation, and is one of the most superb buildings
of the kind in the world. Peter the Great of Russia was here instructed
in the equestrian art, and many other illustrious men are on its list of
scholars. The National School has nothing worthy of peculiar remark.
Angers before the Revolution was celebrated as a seat of literature: its
university, founded in 1246, was only inferior to that of Paris; and its
Academy of Belles Lettres, founded in 1685, was the first after that of
the Nation. The chapel of the university is now a gallery for paintings.
The professors of these literary institutions have very competent
salaries: the sciences taught are Mathematics, Medicine, Natural and
Experimental Philosophy, and the Fine Arts. The best quality, however,
of these institutions is that the instructions, such as they are, are
gratuitous; the doors are open to all who choose to enter them; those
only who can afford it are expected to pay.

Angers, being so near La Vendée, suffered much by the Chouans, and still
retains many melancholy traces of the siege which it had to maintain.
The people, with feelings which are better conceived than expressed,
spoke with great reluctance on their past sufferings: there seems indeed
one great maxim at present current in France, and this is to forget the
past as if it had never happened. A foreigner is sure to offend, who
interrogates them upon any thing connected with the horrible
Revolution.

Nothing can be more delightful than the environs of Angers, whether for
those who walk or ride. The country is thickly enclosed, and on each
side of the river varied with hill and dale, with woodland and meadow.
The villages and small towns along the whole bank of the Loire are
numerous, and invariably picturesque and beautiful. In the vicinity of
Angers the vineyards are very frequent, and cover the hills, and even
the valleys, with their luxuriance; nothing can be more beautiful than
the natural festoons which are formed by their long branches as they
project over the road, and when the grapes are ripe, the landscape wants
nothing of perfect beauty. The peasantry, the Vignerons as they are
called, live in the midst of their vineyards: their habitations are
usually excavated out of the rocks and small hillocks on which they grow
their vines, and as these hillocks are usually composed of strata of
chalk, the cottages are dry and comfortable. Some of them, as seen from
the road, being covered even over their doors by the vine branches, had
the appearance of so many nests, and as many of them as had two stories,
were picturesque in the extreme. Upon the whole, the condition of the
peasantry in this part of France is very comfortable: they are
temperate, unceasingly gay, and sufficiently clad; their wants are few,
and therefore their labour, added to the fertility of the soil, is
sufficient to satisfy them. They repine not for luxuries of which they
can have no notion.

We took leave of Monsieur de Corseult on the Wednesday instead of the
Monday, but he insisted upon accompanying us on horseback half way to
Saumur, where we proposed sleeping. The ladies could not but accept this
obliging offer, and the information which Mons. de Corseult was enabled
to give us, rendered his society equally agreeable to Mr. Younge and
myself. We learned from this gentleman, that though Anjou is reputed to
have a great proportion of heath and barren land, it does not yield to
any province in France either for beauty or fertility. As much of it as
lays along the Loire, I have already had occasion to describe, and what
we were now passing through was not a whit behind it. Every village was
most romantically situated; some in orchards, some in fenced gardens,
some in corn-fields, and others in vales and in recesses on each side of
the road. The corn being ripe, added much to the beauty of the
landscape. In some fields the reapers were at work, and the harvest was
going on with true French gaiety. Sometimes we would see them dancing in
the field; sometimes sitting round some central tree sporting and
gamboling with the women and girls. I never saw a scene in England which
could enter into comparison with a French harvest. I was sorry, however,
to see that the women had more than their due share of the labour; they
reaped, bound, and loaded. Some of the elder women were accordingly very
coarse, but the girls were spirited, and pleasing. They nodded to us
whenever we caught their eyes, and if we stopt our horses, would come to
us, at whatever distance, as if to satisfy our inquiries.

We happened to pass an estate which was for sale, and the house being at
hand, inquired the price and particulars. There were six hundred acres
of land, a good house, and the purchase-money was five thousand pounds
English. Four hundred acres were arable, the other wood and heath. In
England, the price of such an estate would have been at least twenty
thousand pounds. The land, though stony, was good, and under the hands
of a tolerable farmer, might have cleared the purchase-money in five
years. There was a trout stream and fish-ponds, and the whole country
was even infested with game. The chateau itself would certainly have
required some repairs; it was large and rambling, and seemed to have
more wood than brick. The land, however, was richly worth the money four
times over.

We reached Saumur very late in the evening; it is a small, but very
pretty town, on the southern bank of the Loire. There are here two
bridges over the river; the one from the northern shore to an island in
the middle of the river; the other from the island to the southern
shore. Saumur was formerly a fortified city, and though the
fortifications are now neglected and in perfect ruin, it still maintains
its rank as a military town, and the names of travellers are formally
required, and formally registered. The inn at which we put up was very
comfortable; but the beds were so scented with lavender as to prevent me
from sleeping. Here likewise, I had the happiness of being again waited
upon by females. A young woman, the daughter of the landlord, not only
lighted me to my room, but took her seat at the window, and retained it
till she saw that I was in bed. The French women have none of that
bashful modesty which characterises the women of England and America.
Before getting into bed I was about to close a door, which I perceived
half open at the extremity of the room opposite to that occupied by my
bed; but Felice prevented me, by informing me that her sister and
herself were to sleep there, and as a further proof, shewing me the bed.
"Then I must leave my own chamber-door open," said I. "Certainly," said
she, "if you are not afraid of my sister and me: I have only to see if
Madame and Mademoiselle are in want of any thing, and then I shall come
to bed." "Where does Mademoiselle sleep?" said I. "In the same chamber
with Monsieur and Madame; it is a double-bedded room, on the first
floor, fronting the road; you might have observed the casements of it
shaded with the barberry tree. But you seem curious as to Mademoiselle.
Perhaps there is a _petite affaire_ of the heart between you. Well,
Heaven bless Monsieur, and may you dream that you are walking with your
love in the corn-fields!" Saying this, the sprightly girl left me with
the characteristic trip of French gaiety. I had the curiosity to remain
awake till her sister and herself passed through my chamber to their
own. The girls laughed as they went through the room, and had not even
the modesty (for so I must call it) to close their own door. It remained
a third part open during the whole night; and as they talked in bed,
they prevented my sleep. One of these young women might be twenty; the
other, though tall, could not be more than fourteen.

I rose early in the morning with the purpose of a walk in the fields
around the town, and finding Felice was going to fetch some milk from a
village about half a mile distant, I accompanied her. It is needless to
say that she played off all the coquetries which are natural to French
girls in whatever station. By dint of frequent questions, however, I
collected from her some useful information. I had adopted it as a rule,
to obtain information on three points in every French town or village
where I might happen to stop--the price of provisions, the price of
land, and the price of house-rent. The price of provisions at Saumur, as
I learned from this girl, was very cheap: beef, not very good, that is,
not very fat, about 1-1/2_d._ (English) per pound; mutton and veal about
2_d._;--two fowls 8_d._; two ducks 10_d._; geese and turkies from 1_s._
6_d._ to 2_s._ 6_d._.;--fuel, as much as would serve three fires for the
year, about 5_l._;--a house of two stories and garrets, two rooms in
front and two in back in each story, such being the manner in which they
are built, a passage running through the middle, and the rooms being on
each side--such a house, resembling an English parsonage, about five
Louis a year; or with a garden, paddock, and orchard, about eight
Louis;--butter 8_d._ per pound; cheese 4_d._; and milk a halfpenny a
quart. According to the best estimate I could make, a family,
consisting of a man, his wife, three or four children, two
maid-servants, a man-servant, and three horses, might be easily kept at
Saumur, and in its neighbourhood, for about 100_l._ a year. I am fully
persuaded that I am rather over than under the mark. The country
immediately about Saumur is as lively and beautiful as the town itself.
It chiefly consists of corn-fields studded with groves, or rather tufts
of trees, and divided by green fences, in which were pear and
apple-trees in full bearing. The fields near the town had paths around
them and across them, where the towns-folk, as I understood from my
informer, were accustomed to walk in the evening and which, the corn
being ripe and high, were pleasantly recluse. Felice and myself crossed
three or four of them, and if I may judge from the little scrupulosity
with which she ran amongst the corn, the proprietors of the lands must
gain little from their fields being the customary promenade of their
townsmen. One thing, however, I have observed peculiar to the
landholders in France--that wherever the free use of their property can
contribute in any thing to the enjoyment of others; wherever their
fields, or even their parks and gardens, lie convenient for a promenade,
those fields, parks, and gardens, are thrown open, and whatever they
contain, flowers, fruits, and seats, are all at the public disposal. A
Frenchman never thinks of stopping up a bye-path, because it passes
within half a mile of his window; a Frenchman never thinks of raising
the height of his own wall, in order to interrupt the prospect of his
neighbour. One quality, in a few words, pervades all the actions, all
the words, and all the thoughts of a Frenchman--a general benevolence,
an anxious kindness, which is daily making sacrifices to oblige and even
assist others.

Upon my return to the inn, I found Mademoiselle at the breakfast table,
which was set in a back room fronting a very pleasant garden. She
rallied me pleasantly enough, but as I thought with an air of pique,
upon my morning walk and my fair companion, and Felice happening to
enter the room, asked her how she should like a foreign husband. "Very
well, Mademoiselle," replied the girl with great innocence, "after I had
taught him to talk in French: and I believe you are of the same opinion,
Mademoiselle," added she with more pertness. Mademoiselle, with true
French dexterity, here dropt a cup on the floor, and thus saved the
necessity of reply, and furnished an excuse for the confusion into which
the girl's impertinence had evidently thrown her. Shall I confess that
my vanity was gratified, but I will defy any one to travel through
France, without becoming something of a coxcomb.

Having resumed our journey, we proceeded merrily, under a cheering sun
refreshed by a morning breeze, on the road for Tours, through les Trois
Volets, and Langes. The road was still along the banks of the Loire,
and continued on the southern side till we reached Chousay, a very sweet
village, about twelve miles from Saumur. We had here a repast of bread,
grapes, and a sweet wine peculiar to the country, but the name of which
I have not noted; and though together with our servants we drank nearly
four quart bottles, and ate a good quantity of grapes and bread, our
reckoning did not exceed seven francs. Nothing indeed surprised me so
much as the uncommon cheapness in this country. The country to Chousay
had a very near resemblance to what we had passed through the preceding
day, except that it was more hilly, and the hills being clothed in
vines, more beautiful. On some of these hills, moreover, amidst groves
or tufts of trees, and lawns extending down the declivity, were some
very pretty chateaus, which being white and clean, looked gay and
animated. The landscape, indeed, seemed to improve upon us as we
advanced; every mile was as charming as the preceding, but every mile
began to have a new character. Sometimes the river ran through a plain
in which the peasants were gathering in their harvest, to the very brink
of the water. Sometimes, the banks on each side were covered with
forests, from the centre of which were visible steeples, villas,
windmills, and abbeys. At Chousay, I saw the cleanly way in which the
Vignerons of the Loire bruise their grapes. In Spain and Portugal, they
are put into a mash tub, and the juice is trodden from them by the bare
feet of men, women, and girls hired for the purpose: here the practise
is to use a wooden pestle. The grapes being collected and picked, are
put into a large vat, where they are bruised in the manner I have
mentioned, and are thence carried to the press. The vintage had not
indeed as yet begun, but I saw the process performed on a small quantity
of grapes, which had been ripened in a garden. Every vineyard
proprietor, besides his stock-fruit, has some peculiar species of grape
from which he makes the wine for his own use and that of his immediate
friends: these grapes are very carefully picked and culled, and none but
the soundest and best are thrown into the tub. The wine thus made is
infinitely superior to the stock-wine for sale: when old, it is not
inferior to Hock, and I believe is frequently sold as such by the
foreign purchasers.

Our next post was Planchoury, a small village, which we reached about
six o'clock in the evening, and where we agreed to remain for the night,
that our horses might have a rest, which they seemed to require. Our inn
here was a farm-house. We had for our supper a couple of roasted fowls,
and a dish which I had never seen before, some new wheat boiled with
pepper and salt. It was so savoury, and I have reason to believe so
wholesome, that I have frequently taken it since. I can say from
experience, that it is a powerful sudorific, and very efficacious in a
cold. I must not forget to mention that I slept on some straw, in a kind
of hay-oft, and to the best of my memory never slept more delightfully.
When I opened my razor case on the following morning, I found a paper,
upon unrolling of which I found a ringlet of hair, with the word Felice
on the envelope. Once for all, the French women can think of nothing but
gallantry, and live for nothing but love. Sweet girl, I will keep thy
ringlet, and when weary of the world, will remember thee, and
acknowledge that life may still have a charm.

We remained at Planchoury till the noon of the following day, when we
resumed our journey, with the intention of dining at Tours. From
Planchoury throughout the whole way to Tours, the scenery exceeded all
the powers of description. The Loire rolled its lovely stream through
groves, meads, and flowers. On both sides was a border of meadow clad in
the richest green, varied sometimes by hills which hung over the river,
the sides of these hills robed in all the rich livery of the ripening
grape, and the towers and battlements of castles just surmounting the
woods in which they were embosomed. How delightful must it be to wander
in a summer's evening along these lovely banks, far from the din of the
distant world, and where the deep tranquillity is only interrupted by
the song of the nightingale, the whistle of the swain returning from
labour, or the carol of the milkmaid as she is filling her pail. Surely
man was formed most peculiarly to relish the charms of Nature. Would
Heaven grant me my fondest wish, it would be to wander with * * * * on
the banks of the Loire. How sweetly, and even justly, did Felice
express the true image of love, when she wished me the golden
dream,--that I was wandering with my love in the corn-fields of Saumur.

We passed through Langeais, a small town, celebrated for its melons,
with which it supplies Paris, and all France. This town was known to the
Romans, by whom it was called Alingavia. We stopped to examine its
castle, which is celebrated in the history of France, as the scene of
the marriage of Charles the Eighth and Anne of Bretagne. The castle, as
may be expected, is now in ruins; but enough remains of it, to prove its
former magnificence. It frowns with much sublimity over the subject
land. I never remember to have passed through a more lovely country,
more varied scenery, abounding in vines, corn, meadow, wood, and water,
than the whole of the road between Saumur and Tours. Well might Queen
Mary of Scotland exclaim, when leaving the vines and flowers of France
for her Scotch kingdom, "Dear, delightful land, must I indeed leave
thee! Gay, lovely France, shall I never see thee more!"

We reached Tours somewhat later than we expected. According to our
previous arrangement, we were to stay there only the whole of the
following day, but we again broke our resolution, and extended our time
from one day to three. I envy not that man's heart who can travel France
by his watch.




CHAP. XIII.

_Tours--Situation and general Appearance of it--Origin of the
Name of Huguenots--Cathedral Church of St. Martin--The
Quay--Markets--Public Walk--Classes of Inhabitants--Environs--Expences
of Living--Departure from Tours--Country
between Tours and Amboise._


WE remained at Tours three days, and though nearly the whole of this
time was occupied in an unceasing walk over the town and environs, I was
still unwearied, and my subject still unexhausted.

Nothing can be more charming than the situation of this town. Imagine a
plain between two rivers, the Loire and the Cher, and this plain
subdivided into compartments of every variety of cultivated land,
corn-fields studded with fruit-trees, and a range of hills in the
distance covered with vineyards to their top, whilst every eminence has
its villa, or abbey, or ruined tower. The cities in France, at least
those on the Loire, have all somewhat of a rural character; this may be
imputed to their comparative want of that trade and manufactures, which
in England, and even in America, convert every thing in the vicinity of
a town into store-yards. In France, trade has more room than she can
well fill, and therefore has no occasion to trespass beyond her limits.
There are few towns but have larger quays than their actual commerce
requires, and still fewer but what have more manufactories than they
have capitals to keep them in work.

The general appearance of Tours, when first entered by a traveller, is
brisk, gay, and clean; a great part of it having been burnt down during
the reign of the unfortunate Louis, nearly the whole of the main street
was laid out and rebuilt at the expence of that Monarch. What before was
close and narrow, was then widened and rendered pervious to a direct
current of air. The houses are built of a white stone, so as to give
this part of the town a perfect resemblance to Bath. Some of them,
moreover, are spacious and elegant, and all of them neat, and with every
external appearance of comfort. The tradesmen have every appearance of
being in more substantial circumstances than is usual with the French
provincial dealers; their houses, therefore, are neat and in good
repair, the windows are not patched with paper, the wood-work is fresh
painted, and the pavement kept clean.

The name of the Huguenots, a party which so fatally divided France
during three reigns, originated in one of the gates of this city, which
is called the Hugon gate, from Hugo, an ancient count of Tours. In the
popular superstition and nursery tales of the country, this Hugo is
converted into a being somewhat between a fairy and a fiend, and even
the illustrious De Thou has not disdained to make mention of this
circumstance: "_Cæsaro duni_," says this celebrated historian, "_Hugo
Rex celebratur, qui noctu Pomæria civitatis obequitare, et obvios
homines pulsare et rapere dicitur_." Be this as it may, the party of the
Huguenots, according to Davila, having originated in this city, they
were thence called Huguenots, as a term of derision and reproach.

We visited the cathedral, which, with more decency than in England, is
open at all hours of the day, and is not exhibited for money. There
might be some excuse for this, where any of the subjects of exhibition
are portable, and such as might be carried away. But who would feel any
disposition to pilfer the wig of Sir Cloudesley Shovel, or the hat of
General Monk, in Westminster Abbey? Why, therefore, is not this
disgraceful practice thrown aside? Why is a nation converted into a
puppet-show? The English Minister would doubtless be ashamed to bring
the returns of these exhibitions amongst the ways and means of the year;
yet it is effectually the same to suffer these taxes to be taken as the
prices for seeing the public buildings of the nation. There is nothing
of this kind in America, or in any other kingdom in the world. The
cathedral of Tours has nothing to distinguish it except its antiquity,
two beautiful towers, and a library of most valuable manuscripts.
Amongst these there is a copy of the Pentateuch, written in the
alphabet of the country, upwards of eleven hundred years ago. There is
likewise a copy of the four Evangelists, written in Saxon letters, in
the beginning of the fifth century, about fifty years after Constantine
declared Christianity to be the religion of the Roman Empire. Next to
the cathedral, St. Martin's church is usually shewn to strangers. It is
the largest church in France, but very dark, damp, and built in a very
bad taste. The tomb of St. Martin, whom tradition reports to be buried
here, is behind the great Altar; it is of black marble, and though very
simple, is very striking. The ancient kings of France used to come to
this tomb previous to any of their important expeditions, and after
having made the usual prayers of intercession used to take away the
mantle of the Saint as the banner under which they were to fight: this
mantle still remains.

The quay is broad, brisk, and clean. Even the French merchants seem
never to lose sight of the union of pleasure and profit: their quays are
terraces, and serve them as well for promenades as for business. One
reason, however, for the superiority of the French over the English
quays, may be, that the French Government consider these quays as public
and national works, and therefore puts them, I believe, under the same
system of management as the roads. What Government does, and does with
attention, will be done well, because Government consults for the
general good; whilst individual proprietors are only actuated by their
own immediate interest. If the wharfs and quays on the Thames had been
laid out by the English Government, would they have so totally defaced
and degraded the banks of that noble river?

There is an excellent market for provisions; I had not the opportunity
of seeing it on the market day, but was informed in answer to my
inquiries, that every article was plentiful, and very cheap. Wood, which
is so dear in every other part of France, is here very cheap, the
country being overspread with forests, and the river furnishing a ready
transportation. Houses are good and cheap: the rent of a house
consisting of a ground floor, two stories above, and attics, the windows
in front of each floor being from six to eight, with coach-house,
stables, garden and orchards, is about 20_l._ English money, the taxes
from 1_l._ 10_s._ to 2_l._, and parish rates about 10_s._ annually. I
should not forget to mention, that the gardens are large, sometimes two
or three acres, encompassed with high walls, and well planted with
fruit-trees, and particularly wall-fruit. In the back part of these
gardens are usually gates opening into the fields, which I have before
mentioned have walks around and across them, and are the common
promenade of all who choose to use them. In the season of harvest or
vintage, nothing can be more charming than these walks; the French
gaiety and simplicity, not to say puerility, is then seen in all its
perfection; it is then a common sport amongst the ladies and the
gallants of the town to chase each other amongst the standing corn, and
as they endeavour to keep to the furrows, which are too narrow for their
feet, the chace is generally terminated by the fall of the runners, the
one over the other. The interest of the farmers cannot but suffer by
these frolics; but as they participate in the enjoyment, for every one
may salute a lady whom he finds in the corn, there is no complaint, and
indeed care is taken to do as little mischief as possible. In the summer
evenings these fields are almost the sole promenade; and the Mall, or
public walk of the town is entirely deserted. On Sundays, however, the
Mall has its turn, and all the beauty of the province, and the fashion
of the town, may be seen walking up and down this beautiful avenue,
being nearly a mile and half in length, and planted on both sides with
ranges of elms apparently almost as ancient as the town. The magistrates
are so careful of this ornament of their town, that they suffer no one
to walk there after rain, and penalties are imposed on every species of
nuisance or abuse.

The society of Tours is infinitely beyond that of any other provincial
town in France. I have already mentioned, that there are some excellent
houses within the city, and they are in great numbers in the immediate
vicinity. Tours, in this respect, resembles Canterbury or Salisbury, in
England. It is the favourite retreat of such advocates as have made
fortunes in their profession. The noblesse of the province have their
balls and assemblies almost weekly during the summer months; and even
in the winter, Tours is by many preferred to Paris. It would be an
unpardonable omission, whilst I am upon this subject, not to notice the
uncommon beauty of the younger women; a beauty, the effect of which is
much raised by their vivacity, and unwearied gaiety. Love and gallantry
seem the main business of the town, and whilst we were there, we were
amused with two or three stories of infidelities on all sides. There is
a very pretty custom at their balls: if a lady accepts a partner, she
presents him, if in summer, with a flower; if in winter, with a ribbon
of what she has adopted as her colour. Every unmarried lady has a colour
which she has adopted as her own, and which she always wears on some
part of her dress.

Tours was formerly celebrated for its silk manufactory, and enough of it
still remains to invite and to gratify the curiosity of a traveller. The
attention of the French Government is now unintermittingly occupied in
efforts to raise the manufactures of the kingdom, but whilst the war
makes such large demands, trade must necessarily be cramped. The
manufactories, however, still continue to work, and produce some
beautiful flowered damasks, and brilliant stuffs. The weavers for the
most part work at their own houses, and have so much by the piece, the
silk being furnished them by their employers. The prices vary with the
pattern and quality of the work; two livres per day is the average of
what can be earned by the weavers. The women weave as well as the men,
and their earnings may be estimated at about one half. Upon the whole,
however, these manufactures are in a very drooping condition, and are
scarcely visible to a foreign visitant, unless the immediate object of
his inquiry. There is likewise a ribbon manufactory, but the ribbons are
very inferior to those of England. About 1000 persons may be employed in
these two manufactories.

We visited the castle of Plessis les Tours, which is not more than a
mile from the city. This chateau was built by that execrable tyrant,
Louis the Eleventh, was his constant residence during his life-time, and
the scene of his horrible death. This monarch is one of those whom all
concur in mentioning with execration; Richard of England has found
apologists in this ingenious age, but no one has come forward to defend
the memory of the French Tiberius. The castle is built of brick, and is
very pleasantly situated, being surrounded by woods. In the chapel is a
portrait of Louis the Eleventh; he is painted as in the act of saluting
the Virgin Mary, and our Saviour as an infant. His features are harsh,
and something of the tyrant is legible even through the adulation of the
painter. The castle, though built about 1450, is still perfect in all
its parts, and has some large apartments.

I believe I have already mentioned, that when I had occasion to stop in
any town, which I thought had a _primâ facie_ appearance of being a
place of pleasant residence or settlement for a foreigner, the main
object of my inquiries went to ascertain all those points which were
necessary to determine this question. Of all the cities which I had yet
seen, Tours appeared to me the best adapted for such a residence. The
country is delightful and healthy, the society good, and every necessary
article of life plentiful and cheap. Beef, veal, and mutton, are to be
had in great plenty, and the two latter excellent. Poultry is equally
plentiful and cheap. Fuel, to those who have horses, amounts almost to
nothing; house-rent likewise very reasonable. Land in purchase about
15_l._ per acre, one with another--wood, heath, and arable. In the
immediate neighbourhood of the town the meadow land is dear. I believe I
have now mentioned every thing. Young persons would find Tours a
delightful residence, as there is a never-ceasing course of balls and
parties. A carriage may be kept cheaply; in a word, I would venture
positively to say, that for 250_l._ English money annually, a family
might live at Tours in plenty and elegance; but let them not have
English or American servants.

Having seen enough of Tours, we resumed our journey after our breakfast
on the third day, proposing to go no farther on that day than Amboise,
a distance short of twenty miles. Every traveller must have observed,
that the exhilaration of the animal spirits is never greater than after
an interval of fatigue succeeded by sufficient repose. A spirited horse,
for example, will perform his second stage, after a sufficient bait,
with more animation than his first: it is the same with travellers, or
at least I must assert it of myself. My satisfaction is always greater
in the progress, than in the commencement of a journey. There is a
dilatoriness, a _vis inertiæ_, which hangs on me on my first departure,
and which does not pass away, till worked off by the fermentation of the
blood and spirits.

The whole party, and myself amongst the number, left Tours in this
enviable state of spirits; the sun shone brightly, but a refreshing
breeze, and intervals of the road well shaded, softened an heat, which
might otherwise have been oppressive. Mr. Younge and myself rode on each
side of the carriage, and travelling slowly, as our proposed day's
journey was short, enjoyed at once the scenes of nature, and the
conversation of these lovely women.

"The next village we shall come to," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery,
"will be a singularity. Unless we were with you, you might perhaps pass
through it without seeing it. You might pass through the midst of three
or four hundred inhabitants without seeing either house, man, woman, or
child."

"You are speaking of Mont Louis," said Mr. Younge.

"Yes," replied Mademoiselle, "but I will not anticipate Monsieur's
gratification by more fully informing him."

Mr. Younge, in the course of this conversation, gave me some important
information with respect to the climate of this part of France. I have
entered it in my note book as nearly as possible in his own words, and
therefore shall give it as such.

"If an American, an English, or a Swedish gentleman, wished to settle in
France," said he, "I would recommend above all provinces either
Tourraine or the Limosin. What the country is as to natural beauty, and
as to fertility of soil, you may see through every league; it is that
mixture of the wild and of the cultivated, of the field, of the wood, of
the vineyard, and of the garden, which is not to be equalled in Europe,
and which has rendered this part of France the favourite of painters and
poets from time immemorial. Here the Troubadours have built their fairy
castles, have settled their magicians, and bound their ladies in
enchanted gardens; and even the popular superstition of the country
seems to have taken its tone and colour from the images around.
Tourraine, and all the country on the banks of the Loire, has a kind of
popular mythology of its own; it is the land of fairies and elfins, and
there is scarcely a glen, a grove, or a shady recess, but what has its
tale belonging to it. What one of the French poets has said of the
Seine, may be said with more truth of the Loire--all its women are
queens, and all its young men poets. If Mademoiselle St. Sillery were
speaking," continued he, smiling at this young lady, "she would say,
that love reigned triumphant amidst the charms of Nature.

"The climate exactly corresponds to this singular beauty of the country.
In many years there is no such thing as snow, and frosts are not
frequent, and never severe. The rainy weather comes usually at once, and
is confined to the spring. There are no fogs and vapours as is usual in
the northern kingdom: the spring is a continuance of such weather as is
seen in England about the middle of May. The harvest begins about the
latter end of June, but is sometimes so late as the middle of July; it
continues a month. The vent de bize is very rare in these provinces. The
great heats are from the middle of July to the middle of August During
this time, the climate of Touraine certainly exceeds any thing that is
common in England. The heaths are covered with thyme, lavender,
rosemary, and the juniper-tree: nothing can be more delightful than the
scent of them, when the wind blows over them. The hedges are every where
interspersed with flowers; there are blossoms of some kind or other
throughout the year. I must not, however, disguise from you, that there
are some drawbacks from this excellence: the countries south of the
Loire are subject to violent storms of rain and hail, and the latter
particularly is occasionally so violent, as to beat down and destroy all
the corn and vintage on which it may fall. These hail-storms, however,
at least in this excessive degree, are not very frequent; they sometimes
do not occur once in five years. Some years ago, they were more frequent
than they are at present: they used to come on at that time with a
violence which swept every thing before them, even destroying the
cattle, and it is said that even men have been killed by these
hail-stones. Such storms, however, are now considered as natural
phenomena.

"The plenty of these provinces, I speak of Touraine and Anjou, is such
as might be expected from their climate, and the fertility of the soil.
I am persuaded, that a family or an individual might live at one-fourth
of the expence which it would cost them either in England or in America.
Bread is cheaper by two-thirds, and meat of all kinds is about
one-fourth of the London market. Land, both in rent and purchase, is
likewise infinitely cheaper than in England, and if managed with any
skill, would replace its purchase-money in seven years. The French
farmers, for want of capital, leave half their land totally
uncultivated, and the other half is most scandalously neglected. An
English farmer would instantaneously double or quadruple the produce of
the province. The government, moreover, admits foreigners of any country
as denizens, under the condition that they shall apply themselves to
agriculture or manufactures. I am not, however, certain that
agriculture is included in this permission, but I am inclined to believe
that it is comprehended in it. Of one thing I am sure, that the
government would not refuse its protection, and if required, its special
licence, to any foreign agriculturist, who should be desirous of
purchasing and settling."

In this and similar conversation we reached Mont Louis, and it exactly
answered the description which the ladles had given of it. We were in
the midst of the village and its inhabitants before we saw it. Imagine a
number of sandy hills on each side of the road, and the sides of them
scooped out into houses or rather caves, and you have a sufficient idea
of this French village, containing some hundreds of inhabitants. The
hills being hollowed out on the further extremity from the road, a
traveller might certainly pass through it, without perceiving any thing
of it. This style is even carried where there is not the same natural
advantage of a hill to hollow out. The village extends into the plain,
which is likewise dug out into subterraneous houses, and which are only
visible by the smoke issuing from the chimnies. I could not understand
the convenience or necessity for these kind of habitations. The ground,
indeed, being chalky, is at once dry and easily dug, but on the other
hand, the country so abounds in wood and clay, that a very little
industry, and a very little expence, might have provided these living
human beings with something better than a grave. Mademoiselle St.
Sillery, however, made a remark which I must not pass over. "You must
not," said this lady, "necessarily infer the misery of our peasantry,
because you see them in such unfit habitations. When you compare the
French poor, with the poor in your own country, you must take all
circumstances with you. When you see the French peasantry so ill lodged,
and so scantily clad, you must bring into your view at the same time the
difference of the climate. Here, the same sun which now shines upon us,
shines on us the whole year round; our rains are short, and all confined
to their season; we know nothing of the northern damps: a piece of
muslin or fine linen hung in one of those caves for six months, would be
dry and unsullied when removed. Those caves, moreover, bad as they are,
belong to their inhabitants; the property is their own. Can your
peasantry say the same? Believe me, Monsieur, there are many very happy,
aye and very lovely faces, under those turf dwellings."

We reached Amboise in good time, and as we intended leaving it on the
following morning, Mr. Younge and myself walked over the town, in the
interval between dinner and tea. The ladies reserved themselves for the
promenade, which in the provincial towns usually begins at seven, and
continues till nine.

Amboise, like all the towns on the Loire, is very pleasantly situated,
but has nothing in its structure to recommend it to particular notice.
It consists of two streets and a chateau. Before the Revolution it was
very singularly divided into two parishes and two churches: all
gentlemen, all military officers, all landed proprietors who possessed
honorary fiefs, and all strangers who were temporary residents, were
considered as belonging to one parish, and the people and the bourgeois
were attached to the other. The Revolution has annihilated these absurd
distinctions, and every one now belongs to the parish in which he
resides, or has property.

We visited the chateau, or castle, which is indeed well worthy of the
particular attention of travellers. It is built upon a lofty and craggy
rock, and overhangs the Loire, which flows at the bottom; the side on
the Loire is perpendicular, and of great height, so as to render it
almost inaccessible. This vast structure was not all the work of one
time, or of one author. The present castle was built upon the ruins of
one which was destroyed by the Normans in the year 882, but having gone
into decay, was repaired and enlarged by Francis the First and Charles
the Eighth. The latter prince was born in this castle, and during his
whole reign it was the constant summer residence of the court. The most
remarkable part of this structure is what is called the oratory of Louis
the Wicked; it is at a great depth beneath the foundation of the castle,
and the descent to it is by spiral or well-stairs. It is literally
nothing more than a dungeon, on a platform, in which is a prostrate
statue representing the dead body of our Lord, as taken from the Cross,
covered with streaks of blood, and the skin in welts, as if fresh from
the scourge. According to the tradition of the neighbourhood, this was
the daily scene of the private devotions of Louis the Eleventh; and the
character of the place and of the images around, have certainly some
symphony with the known disposition of that monarch. No one, even in the
horrible Revolution, has disturbed these relics; it is still exhibited
as the tyrant's dungeon, and no one enters or leaves it without feeling
a renewed idea of the character of that execrable monster.

The conspiracy of Amboise having originated in this city, the walls and
dungeons of the castle still retain some relics of the ferocious
cruelties exercised by the triumphant party of the Guises. Spikes,
nails, and short iron gibbets and chains, are still shewn on the walls,
on which were suspended the bodies of the prisoners who fell into their
hands. How difficult is it to reconcile such ferocity to the known
greatness of the Duke of Guise; but religious fury has no limits, and a
true enthusiast comforts himself that he tortures the body to save the
soul. Thank Heaven, that the days of such infuriate zeal are over: but
Heaven forbid that we should pass to the other extreme. Great as may be
the evils of bigotry, the mischief of religious indifference, or in
other words, of no religion at all, would be infinitely greater. The
one may affect the world as a storm, the other is a perpetual
pestilence, beneath the influence of which every thing that is generous
and noble, morals, and even private honor, must fall to the ground.




CHAP. XIV.

_Lovely Country between Amboise and Blois--Ecures--Beautiful
Village--French Harvesters--Chousi--Village Inn--Blois--
Situation--Church--Market--Price of Provisions._


ON the following morning we resumed our journey for Blois, a distance of
thirty miles, which we proposed to reach the same day.

The country for some leagues very nearly resembled that through which we
had passed on the preceding day, except that it was more thickly spread
with houses, and better cultivated. Windmills are very frequent along
the whole line of the Loire, the wheat of the country being ground in
the vicinity of the river, so as to be more convenient for
transportation. These mills are beautifully situated on the hills and
rising grounds, and add much to the cheerfulness of the scenery. The
road, moreover, was as various as it was beautiful. Sometimes it passed
through open fields, in which the peasantry were at work to get in their
harvest. Upon sight of our horses, the labourers, male and female,
ceased from their work, and ran up to the carriage: some of the younger
women would then present us with some wheat, barley, or whatever was
the subject of their labour, accompanying it with rustic salutations,
and more frequently declining than accepting any pecuniary return. This
conduct of the French peasantry is a perfect contrast to what a
traveller must frequently meet in America, and still more frequently in
England. Amongst the inferior classes in England and America, to be a
stranger is to be a subject for insult. So much I must say in justice
for the French of the very lowest condition, that I never received any
thing like an insult, and that they no sooner understood me to be a
stranger, than they were officious in their attentions and information.

I enquired of Mr. Younge what were the wages of the labourers in this
part of France. "Their wages," said he, "are very different according to
the season. In harvest-time, they have as much as 36 sols, about 1_s._
6_d._ English money. The average daily wages of the year may amount to
24 sols, or a shilling English; they are allowed moreover, three pints
of the wine of the country. Their condition is upon the whole very
comfortable: the greater part of them have a cow, and a small slip of
land. There is a great deal of common land along the whole course of the
Loire, and the farmers have a practice of exchanging with the poor. The
poor, for example, in many districts, have a right of commonage, during
a certain number of days, over all the common fields; the farmers having
possession of these lands, and finding it inconvenient to be subject to
this participation, frequently buy it off, and in exchange assign an
acre or more to every collage in the parish. These cottages are let to
the labourers for life at a mere nominal rent, and are continued to
their families, as long as they remain honest and industrious. There is
indeed no such thing as parochial taxes for the relief of the poor, as
in England, but distress seldom happens without being immediately
relieved."

"In what manner," said I, "do the French poor live?"

"Very cheaply, and yet all things considered, very sufficiently. You,
who have lived almost the whole of your life in northern climates, can
scarcely form any idea, what a very different kind of sustenance is
required in a southern one. In Ireland, however, how many robust bodies
are solely nourished on milk and potatoes: now chesnuts and grapes, and
turnips and onions in France, are what potatoes are in Ireland. The
breakfast of our labourers usually consists of bread and fruit, his
dinner of bread and an onion, his supper of bread, milk, and chesnuts.
Sometimes a pound of meat may be boiled with the onion, and a bouillé is
thus made, which with management will go through the week. The climate
is such as to require no expence in fuel, and very little in clothes."

In this conversation we reached Ecures, a village situated on a plain,
which in its verdure, and in the fanciful disposition of some trees and
groves, reminded me very strongly of an English park. This similitude
was increased by a house on the further extremity of the village: it was
situated in a lawn, and entirely girt around by walnut trees except
where it fronted the road, upon which it opened by a neat palisadoed
gate. I have no doubt, though I had no means of verifying my opinion,
that the possessor of this estate had been in England. The lawn was
freshly mown, and the flowers, the fresh-painted seats, the windows
extending from the ceiling to the ground, and even the circumstance of
the poultry being kept on the common, and prevented by a net-work from
getting on the lawn--all these were so perfectly in the English taste,
that I offered Mr. Younge any wager that the possessor had travelled.
"He is most probably a returned emigrant," said Mr. Younge; "it is
inconceivable how much this description of men have done for France. The
government, indeed, begins to understand their value, and the list of
the proscribed is daily diminishing."

From Ecures to Chousi the country varies very considerably. The road is
very good, but occasionally sandy. To make up for this heaviness, it is
picturesque to a degree. The fields on each side are so small as to give
them a peculiar air of snugness, and to suggest the idea to a traveller,
how delightful would be a fancy-cottage in such a situation. For my own
part, I was continually building in my imagination. These fields were
well enclosed with thick high hedges, and ornamented with hedge-rows of
chesnut and walnut trees. There were scarcely any of them but what had a
foot-path on the side of the road; in others there were bye-paths which
led from the road into the country, sometimes to a village, the chimnies
only of which were visible; at other times to a chateau, the gilded
pinnacle of which shone afar from some distant hill. I observed several
fields of flax and hemp, and we passed several cottages, in the gardens
of which the flax flourished in great perfection, Mr. Younge informed
me, that every peasant grew a sufficient quantity for his own use, and
the females of his family worked them up into a strong, but decent
looking linen. "This is another circumstance," said he, "which you must
not forget in your comparison between the poor of France and other
kingdoms. The French peasantry, and particularly the women, have more
ingenuity than the English or American poor; they universally make every
thing that is connected with their own clothes. Their beds, blankets,
coats, and linen of all kind, are of the manufacture of their own
families. The produce of the man's labour goes clear to the purchase of
food: the labour of his wife and daughters, and even a small portion of
their labour, is sufficient to clothe him and to provide him with his
bed."

We passed several groups of villagers reposing themselves under the
shade: I should not indeed say reposing, for they were romping,
running, and conversing with all the characteristic merriment of the
country. They saluted us respectfully as we passed them. In one of these
groups was a flageolet-player; he was piping merrily, his comrades
accompanying the tune with motions of their hands and neck. "Confess,"
said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "that we are a happy people: these poor
creatures have been at their labour since sunrise, and yet this is the
way they repose themselves." "Are they never wearied?" said I. "Never so
much so, but what they can sing and dance: their good-humour seems to
hold them in the stead of the more robust nerves of the north. Even
labour itself is not felt where the mind takes its share of the weight."

"You are a philosopher," said Mr. Younge to her, smiling.

"I am a Frenchwoman," replied she, "and would not change my cheerful
flow of spirits for all the philosophy and wisdom in the universe.
Nothing can make me unhappy whilst the sun shines."

I know not whether I have before mentioned, that a great quantity of
maize is cultivated in this part of the kingdom. The roofs of the
cottages were covered with it drying in the sun; the ears are of a
bright golden yellow, and in the cottage gardens it had a beautiful
effect. I observed moreover a very striking difference between the
system of cultivating the flax in England and in France. In England the
richest land only is chosen, in France every soil indiscriminately. The
result of this difference is, that the flax in France is infinitely
finer than in England, a circumstance which may account for the
superiority of their lawns and cambrics.

We reached Chousi to an early dinner. The woman of the house apologised
that she had no suitable room for so large a company, "but her husband
and sons were gathering apples in the orchard, and if we would dine
there, we should find it cheerful enough." We readily adopted this
proposal, and had a very pleasant dinner under an apple tree.
Mademoiselle and myself had agreed to divide between us the office of
purveyor to the party. It was my part to see that the meat or poultry
was not over-boiled, over-hashed, or over-roasted, and it was her's to
arrange the table with the linen and plate which we brought with us. It
is inconceivable how much comfort, and even elegance, resulted from this
arrangement.

Mr. Younge and myself being engaged in an argument of some warmth, in
which Mrs. Younge had taken part, Mademoiselle St. Sillery had given us
the slip, and the carriage being ready, I had to seek her. After much
trouble I found her engaged in a childish sport with some boys and
girls, the children of the landlord: the game answered to what is known
in America by the name of hide and seek, and Mademoiselle St. Sillery,
when I found her, was concealed in a _saw-pit_. I have mentioned, I
believe, that this young lady was about twenty years of age; an elegant,
fashionable girl, and as far removed from a romp and a hoyden as it is
possible to conceive; yet was this young lady of fashion now engaged in
the most puerile play, and even seemed disappointed when she was called
from it. Such is the French levity, that sooner than not be in motion,
the gravest and most dignified of them would join in an hunt after a
butterfly. I have frequently been walking, with all possible gravity,
with Mademoiselle St. Sillery, when she has suddenly challenged me to
run a race, and before I could recover my astonishment, or give her an
answer, has taken to her heels.

We reached Blois rather late; we had intended to have staid there only
the night, but as it was too late to see the town, and the following
morning was showery, we remained there the whole day, and very
pleasantly passed the afternoon in walking over the town, and informing
ourselves of its curiosities. The situation of Blois is as agreeable as
that of all the other principal towns on the Loire. The main part of it
is built upon an hill which descends by a gentle declivity to the Loire;
the remaining part of it is a suburb on the opposite side of the river,
to which it is joined by a bridge resembling that at Kew, in England.
From the hill on which the town stands is a beautiful view of a rich
and lovely country, and there is certainly not a town in France or in
Europe, with the exception of Tours and Toulouse, which can command such
a delightful landscape. It appeared, perhaps, more agreeable to us as we
saw it after it had been freshened by the morning rain. The structure of
the town does not correspond with the beauty of its site. The streets
are narrow, and the houses low. There are some of the houses, however,
which are very respectable, and evidently the habitation of a superior
class of inhabitants. They reminded me much of what are common in the
county towns of England.

But the boast and ornament of Blois is its chateau, or castle. We
employed some hours in going over it, and I shall therefore describe it
with some fullness.

The situation of it is extremely commanding, and therefore very
beautiful. It is built upon a rock which overhangs the Loire, all the
castles upon this river being built with the evident purpose of
controuling and commanding the navigation. What first struck us very
forcibly was the variety and evident dissimilarity of the several parts.
This circumstance was explained to us by our guide, who informed us that
the castle was the work of several princes. The eastern and southern
fronts were built by Louis the Twelfth about the year 1520, the northern
front was the work of Francis the First, and the western side of
Gaston, duke of Orleans. Every part accordingly has a different
character. What is built by Louis the Twelfth is heavy, dark, and
gothic, with small rooms, and pointed arches. The work of Francis the
First is a curious specimen of the Gothic architecture in its progress,
perhaps in its very act of transit, into the Greek and Roman orders; and
what has been done by Gaston, bears the character of the magnificent
mind and bold genius of that great prince. This comparison of three
different styles, on the same spot, gave me much satisfaction.

The rooms, as I have said, such as were built by Louis the Twelfth, are
small, and those by Francis spacious, lofty, and boldly vaulted. Nothing
astonished me more than the minor ornaments on the points of the arches;
they were so grossly, so vulgarly indecent, that I was fearful the
ladies might observe me as I looked at them: but such was the taste of
the age. Others of the ornaments were less objectionable: they consisted
of the devices of the several princes who had resided there.

We were shewn the chamber in which the celebrated Duke of Guise was
assassinated, and the guide pointed out the spot on which he fell. A
small chamber, or rather anti-chamber, leads to a larger apartment: the
Duke had passed through the door of this anti-chamber, and was opening
the further door which leads into the larger apartment, when he was
assassinated by order of Henry the Third. His body was immediately
dragged into the larger apartment, and the king came to view it. "How
great a man was that!" said he, pointing to his prostrate body.
Historians are still divided on the quality of this act, whether it is
to be considered as a just execution, or as a cowardly assassination.
Considering the necessary falsehood, and breach of faith, under which it
must have been perpetrated, the moralist can have no hesitation to
execrate it as a murder.

We passed from this part of the castle to the tower at the western
extremity, called La Tour de chateau Regnaud, and so called, because a
seigniory of that name, though distant twenty-one miles, is visible from
its summit. The Cardinal of Guise, being seized on the same day in which
his brother was assassinated, was imprisoned in this castle, and after
passing a night in the dungeons, was executed on the day following. The
dungeons are the most horrible holes which it is possible to conceive:
the descent to them entirely indisposed us from going down. Imagine a
dark gloomy room, itself a horrible dungeon, and in the centre of the
floor a round hole of the size and shape of those on the paved footpaths
in the streets in London for shooting coals into the cellars. Such is
the descent to these dungeons: and in such a place did the great and
proud Cardinal of Guise terminate a life of turmoil and ambition.

We next visited the Salle des Etats, or the States-hall, so called
because the States General were there assembled by Henry the Third: it
is a large and lofty room, but the part of it which chiefly attracts the
attention of travellers is the fire-place, where the bodies of the
Guises were reduced to ashes on the day following their murder. It is
not however easy to conceive, why vengeance should be carried so far.

The western front of the castle, which was built by Gaston, Duke of
Orleans, is in every respect worthy of that great prince, and of the
architect employed by him, the illustrious Mansard. This architect
laboured three years upon this front, and having already spent three
hundred and thirty thousand livres, informed the prince, that it would
require one hundred thousand more to render it habitable. The prince,
however eager both to encourage the artist and to have the work
finished, could not muster up the money, which in that age was an
immense sum: the front, therefore, was left in the state in which it now
remains. It is as much to the credit of the Duke as to that of the
architect, that this noble front constituted his pride, and that he felt
the value of this work of Mansard.

The gardens of the castle are worthy of the structure to which they are
attached: Henry the Fourth divided them by a gallery into the upper and
lower gardens, but nothing now remains of this gallery but the ruins.
The garden itself is now sold or let to private persons.

Blois has several other buildings which are worthy of the attention of a
leisurely traveller: amongst these is the college, which formerly
belonged to the Jesuits, and which is at present a national school. The
church attached to the college combines every order of architecture:
there are two splendid monuments, moreover, the one to Gaston Duke of
Orleans, the other to a daughter of this prince. The courts, likewise,
in which the police is administered, are not unworthy of a cursory
attention; they are very ancient, having been built by the former Counts
of Blois.

We were shewn likewise the aqueducts: the waters rise from a deep
subterraneous spring, and are conveyed in a channel cut in a rock. This
channel is said to be of Roman construction, and from its characteristic
boldness, and even greatness, it most probably is so. Whence is it, that
this people communicated their characteristic energy even to trifles.
The channel of the aqueduct empties itself into a reservoir adjoining
the city walls, whence they are distributed in pipes through all
quarters of the city.




CHAP. XV.

_Houses in Chalk Hills--Magnificent Castle at Chambord--Return
from Chambord by Moon-light--St. Laurence on the
Waters._


ON the following morning we resumed our journey. The country continued
very similar to that through which we had previously past, except that
it was more populous, and there were a greater number of chateaus. On
some parts of the road, the chalk hills on the side of the river
presented a very curious spectacle: smoke issued out of an hundred vents
on the sides and summits, and gave them the appearance of so many
volcanoes. The fact was, that the descent fronting the river was scooped
into houses or rather caves for the peasantry, and the roof was cut
upwards for the chimney. I was informed by Mr. Younge, that the other
circumstances of these houses and their inhabitants did not correspond
with the implied poverty in their construction. "The fronts of these
cottages," said he, "are very picturesque; they have casements, and the
walls are deeply shaded and embossed with vines. These caverns are in
some places in rows one above another. They are not all of them the
property of those who live in them: some of them are constructed at the
expence of the farmers, and are let out at a yearly hire of four or
five livres. The fronts are masonry: the small gardens which you see
above, belong to these cottagers; many of them have moreover a cow,
which they feed in the lanes and woods. Altogether, their condition is
more comfortable than you would imagine."

As the distance between Blois and Orleans was too much for one day, we
had divided it into two, and arranged it so as to comprehend Chambord in
the first. This route indeed was considerably out of our direct way, but
Mr. and Mrs. Younge resolved that I should see Chambord, and would hear
of no excuses.

In pursuance of this plan we turned out of the main road, and entered a
narrow one, which by its recluseness and solitude seemed to lead us into
the recesses of the country. Nothing can be more beautiful than these
bye-roads both in France and England. On the highways, and in the
vicinity or route of central and populous towns, the spirit of
improvement, and the caprice of wealth, too frequently destroy the
scenes of nature: the artist in fashion is set at work, and the field
and the meadow is supplanted by the park, the lawn, and the measured
avenue. In the bye-lanes, on the contrary, the country is generally left
in its natural rudeness, and therefore in its natural beauty: no one
thinks of improving the house, orchard, and fields of his tenant; no one
cares whether his gates are painted, or his hedges are trim and even.
The bye-road, therefore, has always been my favourite haunt; and if
ever I should make a pedestrian tour through Europe, I should go in a
track very different from any who have gone before.

The scenery in this cross-road to Chambord, as to its general character,
was exactly what I had anticipated; recluse and romantic to the most
extreme degree. The fields were small, and thickly enclosed; nothing
could be more beautiful than the shocks of corn as seen through the
thick foliage of the hedges. "How pleasant," said Mademoiselle to me,
"would be a walk by sunset under those hedge-rows." I agreed in the
observation, and repeat it as conveying an idea of the character of the
scenery. The gates and stiles to these several fields seemed as if they
had been made by Robinson Crusoe: there is nothing in America more rough
and aukward. We passed several cottages very delightfully situated, and
without a single exception covered with grapes. The gradual approach to
them had something which spoke both to the imagination and the feelings.
Imagine the carriage driving very slowly onwards, when you suddenly hear
a sweet female voice carrolling away in all the wildness of nature, and
this without knowing whence it comes. On a sudden, coming nearer the
bottom of the hill, you see on one side of the road a cottage chimney,
peeping as it were from a tuft of trees in a dell, and immediately
afterwards, coming in front, behold a girl picking grapes for the press,
and chearfully singing over her toil. There are few of these cottages
but what have a garden fronting the road, and some of these gardens, in
the season of fruit and flowers, are inimitably beautiful. Where is it
that I have read, that a Frenchman has no idea of gardening? Nothing can
be more false: the French peasants infinitely excell the English of the
same order in the knowledge and practice of this embellishment.

Nothing can be more obscure, more melancholy, than the situation of
Chambord; it is literally buried in woods, and the building, immense as
it is, is not visible till you are within some hundred yards of it. The
woods are not merely on one side, but entirely surround it, leaving only
a park in front, through the midst of which slowly flows a narrow river.
The day was overclouded, and I think I never beheld a more melancholy
scene.

The style of building is strictly Gothic, and the architecture,
considering the order, is very good. It was built by Francis the First,
who, on his return from Spain, commanded the ancient chateau of the
Counts of Blois to be destroyed, and built this in its place. He is said
to have employed eighteen hundred workmen for twelve years, and even
then it was left unfinished. It is moated and walled round, and has
every appendage of the Gothic castle, innumerable towers and turrets,
drawbridges and portals. If seated upon an hill, it would be impossible
to conceive a finer object.

The apartments correspond with its external magnitude; they are large
and spacious, but the effect of them is destroyed by what is very common
in old Gothic buildings; cross-beams from one side of the room to the
other. There is a silly story, that Catherine of Medicis had them so
placed by the advice of an astrologer, who having cast her nativity
discovered that she was in danger of perishing by the fall of an house.
The great Marshal Saxe lived and died in this chateau: the room in which
he breathed his last, is still shewn with great veneration. There is a
tradition that he was killed in a duel by the Prince of Conti, and that
his death was concealed. The Marshal lived here in great state; he had a
regiment of 1500 horse, the barracks of which are in the immediate
vicinity of the castle. The apartments which he occupied are in very
good taste; the ceilings are arched, and the proportions are excellent.
In one of the rooms is an admirable picture of Louis the Fourteenth on
horseback. The spiral staircase is a contrivance which it is impossible
to explain; it is so managed, as to contain two distinct staircases in
one, so that people may go up and down at the same time, without seeing
each other. The apartments are said to exceed twelve hundred.

This castle was the favourite residence of Francis the First, and it was
here that he so magnificently received and entertained the Emperor
Charles the Fifth. Francis the First was in every respect a true French
Knight; gallant, magnificent, and religious in the extreme. There was
formerly a pane of glass in one of the windows of this chateau, on which
Francis the First had written the two following lines;

  Toute Femme varie,
  Mal Habil qui s'y fie.

This glass is now lost, and I transcribe the verses from a detailed
description of this chateau published at Paris. The castle has been
deserted since the death of Louis the Fourteenth. This monarch used
occasionally to hunt in its forests, but never made it a permanent
residence.

We proposed to sleep at St. Laurence on the Waters, a beautiful village
on the high road to Orleans, and distant about twelve miles from
Chambord. It was evening before we left the castle, and the moon, though
not at the full, had risen, before we had performed the half our road.
Nothing could be more picturesque than the scenery, as now half
illuminated and half shaded. The cottage gardens looked like so many
fairy scenes. The peasant girls looking out of their windows, as they
were going to bed, added much to our mirth; and more particularly, as
our carriage was on a level with their windows. Whether the moon suited
their complexions better than the sun, or that they were different
individuals from those we had passed in the morning, I know not, but so
much I can say, that they appeared to me more delicate and beautiful.
One girl had the face of an angel: it is still imprinted on my mind, and
were I a painter, I could exhibit a most perfect resemblance of her, by
transferring the copy from my imagination to the canvass. There are some
faces which it is impossible to forget.

We passed a group of gipsies: they were seated under a broad branching
oak by the road-side; there were twenty or more of them collected in a
circle, in the midst of which was a fire, and a pot boiling. "These
people," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "are realising the wish of our
good King Henry the Fourth: he wished that every peasant in France might
have a fire in his chimney, and a fowl in his pot:--- and fowls must be
very scarce, when these good folks are in want of them."

"Whence is it," said I, "that such notorious thieves are tolerated."

"From the humanity," said Mr. Younge, "which prevails from an indistinct
reference to their origin. They are generally considered as the refugees
from some persecution in their native land: they have fled from towns
and cities to the shelter of woods and fields. On the continent they are
almost universally called Bohemians, and regarded as the descendants of
those unfortunate exiles, who were driven out of that kingdom in the
religious wars. By others, they have been considered as descendants
from the Jews expelled from Syria and Judæa under the Roman emperors. In
short, every tradition concurs in representing them as having their
origin in some persecution."

"But whatever this original stock must have been," said I, "it must
doubtless have long since perished, even in its posterity. Their
unsettled life is very unsuitable to keeping up their generation."

Mr. Younge suggested, that the species had been supported by subsequent
additions; that it was a standing receptacle for all vagabonds and
beggars: "but there is something in the true gipsey," said he, "which I
cannot but consider as characteristic of a certain definite origin. They
are all tall, raw-boned, and with raven locks; and though like the Jews
of different countries they may have national traits, these traits are
never sufficient to merge a certain essential character; they seem
chiefly only minor differences added to others more strong and
indelible."

We reached St. Laurence rather late, but were fortunate enough to
procure a good supper, two fowls being killed for the purpose. The
night, from some cause or other, was so chill, that we found it
necessary to have a fire, and being in excellent spirits, we sate up
late and talked merrily.

On the following morning we continued our progress. The scenery had so
great a resemblance to the road of the preceding day, that I saw nothing
worthy of detailed remark. The country was rich in views and in
fertility. The agriculture, as far as I could judge of it, is very
slovenly: the wheat is mowed, and gathered in by hand and in small
carts. The labourers, however, appeared in tolerable good condition, and
what cottages we passed by the road side, had every appearance of much
comfort, and some substance. I must not forget to mention that I saw no
cottage without a slip of land, and in many parts of the road, on the
waste by its side, were single fruit trees railed round, which as I
understood from Mr. Younge were the property of labourers, whose
cottages were perhaps removed a league from their trees. These trees,
which were in full bearing, are so much respected by the usage of the
country, that they are never invaded. I was pleased with this trait of
general honesty and confidence: it is common in America, but not in
England.

We passed several chateaus in meadows and lawns by the road side: some
of them were altogether in the ancient style, and so truly
characteristic of the French country house, as to merit a more detailed
description.

In the ordinary construction of a French chateau, there is a greater
consumption of wood than brick, and no sparing of ground. It is usually
a rambling building, with a body, wings, and again wings upon those
wings; and flanked on each side with a pigeon-house, stables, and barns,
the pigeon-house being on the right, and the barns and stables on the
left. The decorations are infinitely beneath contempt; painted
weathercocks and copper turrets, and even the paint apparently as
ancient as the chateau. The windows are numerous, but even in the best
chateaus there is strange neglect as to the broken glass; sometimes they
are left as broken, but more frequently patched with paper, coloured
silk, or even stuffed with linen. The upper tier of windows, even in the
front of the house, is usually ornamented with the clothes of the family
hanging out to dry, a piece of slovenliness and ill-taste for which
there can assuredly be no excuse in the country where there is surely
room enough for this part of household business. Upon the whole, the
appearance of a French chateau, in the old style, resembles one of those
deserted houses which are sometimes seen in England, where the plaister
has been peeled or is peeling off, and where every boy that passes
throws his stone at the windows.

The pleasure grounds attached to the chateau, very exactly correspond
with its style: the chateau is usually built in the worst possible site
of the whole estate. It generally stands in some meadow or lawn, and
precisely in that part of it which is the natural drain of the whole,
and where, if there were no house, there would necessarily be an
horse-pond. A grand avenue, planted on each side with noble trees, leads
up to the house, but is usually so overgrown with moss and weeds, as to
convey a most uncomfortable feeling of cold, dampness, and desolation.
The grass of the lawn is equally foul, and every thing of dirt and
rubbish is collected under the windows in front. The gardens behind are
in the same execrable state: gravel-walks over-run with moss and weeds;
flower beds ornamented with statues of leaden Floras, painted Mercurys,
and Dians with milk-pails. Every yard almost salutes you with some
similar absurdity. The hedges are shaped into peacocks, and not
unfrequently into ladies and gentlemen dancing a minuet. Pillars of
cypress, and pyramids of yew, terminate almost every walk, and if there
is an hollow in the garden, it is formed into a muddy pond, in which
half a dozen nymphs in stone, are about to plunge. The ill-taste of
these statues is not the worst; they are grossly indecent: nothing is
reserved, nothing is concealed; and yet the master of the house will not
hesitate to exhibit these to his female visitors, and what is worse, his
female visitors will look at them with a pleasant smile. Once for all,
there is no such thing as decency, as it is understood in other
kingdoms, to be found in France. Nature is the fashion of the day, and
according to the French philosophy, the passions are the best index to
what is natural. With a very few exceptions, the French women act up to
this doctrine, and are as natural as any one could wish them.

We passed through many pretty villages, and amongst them Clery, where
Louis the Eleventh was buried. We visited the tomb of that memorable
tyrant: it is of white marble, and the taste of it is good. The King is
represented as kneeling, and in the attitude of addressing his prayers
to the Virgin. The church of Clery was built by this King, and it was
his express wish that he should be interred in it. The monument was
raised by Louis the Thirteenth. It contains likewise the heart of
Charles the Eighth, and the body of Charlotte of Savoy, the wife of
Louis the Eleventh. This monument has been much defaced, the hatred of
the tyrant extending to his remains.

Clery was formerly a place of pilgrimage for the devout of all Europe.
There is an absurd story of a great bell in the church, which was said
to toll of itself, whenever any one, being in danger of any mischief by
sea or land, made a vow to the Holy Virgin, that if he escaped, he would
make a pilgrimage to Clery. The tolling of the bell was the acceptance
of the vow on the part of the Virgin. What a pity, that credulity should
injure the cause of true religion!

We passed over the bridge of Mesmion, where Francis Duke of Guise was
assassinated. There is an ancient abbey of the Order of St. Benedict in
this village: The vineyards in this district were beautiful, and
apparently fertile to a degree. They are said * * * *.

We reached Orleans to dinner, and whilst it was preparing had a walk
round the town. The ladies reserved themselves for the promenade, as we
intended to remain till the following morning.

Orleans has a very near resemblance to Tours, though the latter town is
certainly better built, and preferable in situation; Orleans, however,
is situated very beautifully. The country is uneven and diversified, and
the fields have the air of pleasure grounds, except in the luxuriant
wildness of the hedges, and the frequent intermixture of orchard and
fruit trees. As seen from the road, the aspect of Orleans is extremely
picturesque: it reminded me strongly of some towns I had seen in the
interior of England.

The interior of the town does not altogether correspond with the beauty
of the country in which it stands: some of the streets are narrow, the
houses old, and most execrably built. The principal street is in no way
inferior to that of Tours: it is terminated by a noble bridge, which has
lately been repaired from the ruinous state in which it was left by the
Chouans. The Grand Place is spacious, and has an air of magnificence.
The cathedral is worth peculiar attention: the first stone of it was
laid in the year 1287, but it was not finished till the year 1567. The
party of the Huguenots, having seized Orleans, destroyed a considerable
part of the cathedral; but Henry the Fourth, having visited the town,
caused it to be rebuilt. The chapels surrounding the altar are
wainscotted with oak, and the pannels are deeply cut into
representations of the histories of the New Testament. The
representation of our blessed Saviour on the cross, and the figures of
St. John and others of the Apostles, are very masterly. They are the
work of Baptiste Tubi, an Italian sculptor who sought refuge in France.

The two towers built at the western extremity by Louis the Fifteenth,
are generally known and celebrated; by some they have been considered as
too highly ornamented, but their effect is great. Perhaps the ornaments
may indeed lose their own effect by being attached to a building which,
by exciting stronger emotions, necessarily merges the less. The prospect
from the summit of these towers exceeds all powers of description. The
country seems one boundless garden covered with vineyards, the richness
of which at this season of the year must be seen to be understood. No
description can convey it with force to the imagination.

The Maid of Orleans, and the history of the times connected with her,
are too well known to render any detail of interest;--suffice it
therefore to say, that there are still several relics of her, and that
her memory is still held in veneration. In the Hotel de Ville is a
portrait of her at full length: her face is extremely beautiful, a long
oval, and has an air of melancholy grandeur which appeals forcibly to
the heart. She wears on her head a cap, or rather a bonnet, in which is
a white plume; her hair is auburn, and flows loosely down her back. Her
neck is ornamented with a necklace, surmounted by a small collar. Her
dress is what is termed a Vandyke robe; it fits closely, and is
scolloped round the neck, arms, and at the bottom. She holds a sword in
her hand. This picture is confirmed by its resemblance to her figure in
a monument in the main street. Charles the Seventh and the Maid of
Orleans are here represented kneeling before the body of our Saviour, as
it lies in the lap of the Virgin Mary. The King is bare-headed, his
helmet lying by him. The Maid of Orleans is opposite to him, her eyes
attentively fixed on Heaven. This monument was executed by the command
of Charles the Seventh, in the year 1458, and is therefore most probably
a correct representation both of the figure of the King himself and of
the Maid of Orleans.

We attended the ladies in the evening to the promenade, or to the
parade, as it has now become the fashion to call it, since France, and
every thing in France, has taken a military turn. I was much pleased
with the beauty of the ladies, and still more with a modesty and simple
elegance in their dress, which I had not expected. But I have observed
more than once, that the fashions of the capital have improved as they
have travelled downwards into the provinces. They lose their excess, or
what we should call in wine, their rawness and their freshness. The
bosom which was naked in Paris has here at least some covering, and
there is even some appearance of petticoats. The colours, as being
adapted to the season, purple and straw, I thought elegant. There were
two or three of the younger ladies in the dresses of bacchanals; they
were certainly tasty, but they did not please me.

We left Orleans at an early hour on the following day. The scenery
continued to improve as we advanced farther on the banks of the Loire.
For several miles it was so highly cultivated, and so naturally
beautiful, as to resemble a continued garden: the houses and chateaus
became neater, and every thing had an air of sprightliness and gaiety,
which might have animated even Despair itself. We observed that the
fields were even infested with game; they rose in the stubbles as we
passed along, and any one might have shot them from the road. Though
there are no game-laws in France, there is a decency and moderation in
the lower orders which answers the same purpose. No one presumes to
shoot game except on land of which he is the proprietor or tenant.

I know not whether I have before remarked, that almost every chateau has
a certain number of fish-ponds, and a certain quantity of woodland, and
that these are considered as such necessary appendages, that an house
is scarcely regarded as habitable without them. The table of a French
gentleman is almost solely supplied from his land. Having a plenty of
poultry, fish, and rabbits, he gives very little trouble to his butcher.
Hence in many of the villages meat is not to be had, and even in large
towns the supply bears a very small proportion to what would seem to be
the natural demand of the population.

Of all the provinces of France, those which compose the department of
the Loire are the richest, and best cultivated; and if any foreigner
would wish to fix his residence in France, let it be on the banks of
this river.--Fish, as I have said before, is cheap and plentiful, and
fowls about one-fourth of the price in England. The climate, not so
southerly as to be intolerably hot, nor so northerly as to be
continually humid, is perhaps the most healthy and pleasant in the
world--the sun shines day after day in a sky of etherial blue; the
spring is relieved by frequent intervals of sun, and the summer by
breezes. The evening, in loveliness and serenity, exceeds all powers of
description. The windows may be left safely open during the night; and
night after night have I laid in my bed, and watched the course of the
moon ascending in the fretted vault. Society, moreover, in this part of
the kingdom, is always within the reach of those who can afford to keep
it, and the expences of the best company are very trifling. I have
mentioned, I believe, that an establishment of two men servants, a
gardener, three maids, a family of from four to six in number, and a
carriage with two horses, might with great ease be kept in the French
provinces on an annual income from 250_l._ to 300_l._ per annum.

One distinction of French and English visiting I must not omit. In
England, if any one come from any distance to visit the family of a
friend, he of course takes his dinner, and perhaps his supper, but is
then expected to return home. Unless he is a brother or uncle, and not
even always then, he must not expect to have a bed. To remain day after
day for a week or a fortnight, would be considered as an outrage. On the
other hand, in France, a family no sooner comes to its chateau for the
summer (for since the Revolution this has become the fashion), than
preparation is immediately made for parties of visitors. Every day
brings some one, who is never suffered to go, as long as he can be
detained. Every chateau thus becomes a pleasant assemblage, and in
riding, walking, and fishing, nothing can pass more agreeably than a
French summer in the country. As we passed along, we met several of
these parties in their morning rides; they invariably addressed us, and
very frequently invited us to their houses, though perfectly strangers
to us. The mode of living in these country residences differs very
little from what is common in the same rank of life in England. The
breakfast consists of tea, coffee, fruits, and cold meat. The dinner is
usually at two o'clock, and is served up as in England. The French
however have not as yet imitated the English habit of sitting at table.
Coffee in a saloon or pavilion, fronting the garden and lawn,
immediately follows the dinner: this consumes about two hours. The
company then divide into parties, and walk. They return about eight
o'clock to tea. After tea they dance till supper. Supper is all gaiety
and gallantry, and the latter perhaps of a kind, which in England would
not be deemed very innocent. The champagne then goes round, and the
ladies drink as much as the gentlemen, that is to say, enough to
exhilarate, not to overwhelm the animal spirits. A French woman with
three or four glasses of wine in her head, would certainly make an
English one stare; but France is the land of love, and it is an
universal maxim that life is insipid without it.

We slept in a village, of which I have not noted the name: the ladies,
as usual, were huddled in one room, and Mr. Younge, as usual, was not
excluded from their party. For my own part I can sleep any where, and I
slept this night in the kitchen. The landlord, from civility, insisted
on having the honour of sleeping in the opposite corner. I very
willingly acceded to his request, and having made up a cheerful fire, we
composed ourselves in two chairs. The landlady seemed very indignant
that her husband should desert her bed: she was sure that Monsieur was
not afraid of remaining by himself. Her husband, she added, had a
rheumatism, and the night air might injure him. I was resolved, however,
for once to do mischief, or perhaps to do good, so said nothing, and the
husband was accordingly obliged to abide by his offer, and remain in the
kitchen.




CHAP. XVI.

_Comparative Estimate of French and English Country Inns--Tremendous
Hail Storm--Country Masquerade--La Charité--Beauty
and Luxuriance of its Environs--Nevers--Fille-de-Chambre--Lovely
Country between Nevers and Moulins--Treading
Corn--Moulins--Price of Provisions._


WE were two more days on our journey to La Charité: the scenery
continued the same, except that the surface became more level. On both
sides of the Loire, however, there was that appearance of plenty and of
happiness, of the bounty of Nature and of the cheerful labour of man,
which inspirits the heart of the beholder. The painters have very justly
adopted it as a maxim, that no landscape is perfect, in which there are
not the appendages of life and motion. The truth is, that man, as a
being formed for society, is never so much interested as by man, and it
is hence a maxim of feeling, as well as of moral duty, that nothing is
foreign to him as an individual which is connected with him in nature.

In this part of our journey we saw more of French inns of all degrees
than we had hitherto experienced. I believe I have already mentioned,
that a very wrong idea prevails as to their comparative merit. In
substantial provision and accommodation, the French inns are not a whit
inferior to English of the same degree; but they are inferior to them in
all the minor appendages. In point of eating and drinking the French
inns infinitely exceed the English: their provisions are of a better
kind, and are much cheaper: we scarcely slept any where, where we could
not procure fowls of all kinds, eggs and wine. It is too true, indeed,
that their mode of cooking is not very well suited to an English palate;
but a very little trouble will remedy this inconvenience. The French
cooks are infinitely obliging in this respect--they will take your
instructions, and thank you for the honor done them. The dinner,
moreover, when served up, will consist of an infinite variety, and that
without materially swelling the bill. Add to this the dessert, of which
an English inn-keeper, except in the most expensive hotels, has not a
single idea. In France, on the other hand, in the poorest inns, in the
most ordinary hedge ale-house, you will have a dessert of every fruit in
season, and always tastily and even elegantly served. The wine,
likewise, is infinitely better than what is met with on the roads in
England. In the article of beds, with a very few exceptions, the French
inns exceed the English: if a traveller carry his sheets with him, he is
always secure of an excellent hair mattrass, or if he prefer it, a clean
feather-bed. On the other side, the French inns are certainly inferior
to the English in their apartments. The bed-room is too often the
dining-room. The walls are merely whitewashed, or covered with some
execrable pictures. There are no such things as curtains, or at least
they are never considered as necessary. There is neither soap, water,
nor towel, to cleanse yourself when you rise in the morning. A Frenchman
has no idea of washing himself before he breakfasts. The furniture,
also, is always in the worst possible condition. We were often puzzled
to contrive a tolerable table: the one in most common use is composed of
planks laid across two stools or benches. The chairs are usually of oak,
with perpendicular backs. There are no bells; and the attendants are
more frequently male than female, though this practice is gradually
going out of vogue. There is a great change moreover, of late years, in
the civility of the landlords--they will now acknowledge their
obligations to you, and not, as formerly, treat you as intruders.

To sum up the comparison between a French and English provincial inn,
the expences for the same kind of treatment, allowing only for the
necessary national differences, are about one-fourth of what they would
be in England. In the course of our tour, we were repeatedly detained
for days together at some of the inns on the road, and our whole suite,
amounting to seven in number, never cost us more than at the rate of an
English guinea a day. In England I am confident it would have been four
times the sum.

The last post but one before we reached La Charité, we were overtaken by
a tremendous shower of hail, a calamity, for such it is, which too
frequently afflicts this part of France. The hail-tones were at least as
large as nuts: some trees were at hand, under which we drove for
shelter. Had we been in an open exposed road, I have no doubt but that
the horses must have been hurt. I was informed, that these storms are
sometimes so violent as to kill the lambs, and even to wound in a very
dangerous manner the larger cattle. They usually happen about the end of
the spring and the summer.

We passed some very pretty peasant girls, dressed in bodices laced
crossways with ribbon. They informed us that they were the daughters of
a small farmer, and were going to a neighbouring chateau to dance at the
birth-day of one of the ladies of the family. Mr. Younge complimented
them on their beauty; they smiled with more grace than seemed to belong
to their station. Our ladies at this instant came up; the young peasants
made a curtsey, which instantly betrayed their secret to Mrs. Younge and
Mademoiselle St. Sillery. "Where is the masque?" said the latter. "In
the Chateau de Thiery," replied one of them, "about a fourth part of a
league through this gateway; perhaps, if you are going only to the next
post, you will join us. Papa and Mamma will be honored by your company."
The invitation was declined with many thanks to the charming girls. It
is needless to add, that they were young ladies habited as peasants,
and that there was a masque at the chateau. This kind of entertainment
is very common in this part of France.

We reached La Charité in such good time, that we resolved to push on for
Nevers. I had a walk round the town whilst our coffee was preparing. The
interior of the town does not merit a word; the streets are narrow, the
houses low and dark, and this too in a country where the Loire rolls its
beautiful stream through meadows and plains, and where ground is
plentiful and cheap. I can readily account for the narrow streets in
capital cities, where locality has an artificial value, and where the
competition is necessarily great. But whence are the streets thus
huddled together, and the air thus carefully excluded, where there is no
such want of ground or value of building lots? It must here originate
purely in that execrable taste which characterized the early ages.

The environs of the town, the fields, the meadows, the gently rising
hills, and the recluse vallies, compensate for the vile interior: Nature
here reigns in all her loveliness, and a poet, a painter, even any one
of ordinary feeling, could not see her without delight and admiration.
There are innumerable nightingales in the woods at a small distance from
the town. If the French noblesse had the taste of the English, the
vicinity of La Charité would be covered with villas.

We took our coffee on a kind of raised mound, at the extremity of a
garden, which overhung the Loire. A lofty and spreading tree
overshadowed us, and stretched its branches over the river. In the fork,
formed where the trunk first divides into the greater branches, was a
railed seat and table. The view from hence over the meadow on the
opposite bank, was gay and picturesque. The peasant girls were milking
their cows and singing with their usual merriment. Parties of the
townsmen were playing at golf; others were romping, running, walking,
with all the thoughtless erility of the French character. I never
enjoyed an hour more sensibly. The evening was delightful, and all
around seemed gay and happy.

Our journey to Nevers was partly by moon-light. The road exceeds all
powers of description. It was frequently bordered by hedges of flowering
shrubs, and such cottages as we passed seemed sufficient for the
climate. Why might not Marmontel have lived in such a cottage? thought
I, as I rode by more than one of them. This spot of France certainly
excells every part of the world. Even the clay and chalk-pits are
verdant: the sides are covered with shrubs which are raised with
difficulty even in the hot-houses of England.

Our inn at Nevers, the Grand Napoleon, had nothing to correspond with
its sounding title; our bed-chambers, however, were pleasantly situated,
and for once since we had left Orleans, we had each of us his own
apartment. The fille-de-chambre too was handsome and cleanly-looking,
but somewhat more loquacious than a weary traveller required. She
endeavoured to bring me into a conversation on the subject of
Mademoiselle St. Sillery's beauty. The familiar impertinence of these
girls must be seen to be understood. One maxim is universal in
France--that difference of rank has no place between a man and a woman.
A fille-de-chambre is on a perfect footing of equality with a marshal of
France, and will address, and converse with him as such. They enter your
room without knocking, stay as long as they like, and will remain whilst
you are undressing. If you exhibit any modest unwillingness, they laugh
at you, and perhaps two or three of them will come in to rally Monsieur.
I must do them the justice, however, to add, that though their raillery
will be sometimes broad enough, it is never verbally indelicate. There
is less of this in the lower ranks in France than in England. The
decencies are observed in word, however violated in fact.

Nevers is a pleasant town, and very agreeably situated on the
declivities of an hill, at the bottom of which flows the Loire. On the
summit of the hill is what remains of the palace of the ancient Counts;
it has of course suffered much from time, but enough still remains to
bear testimony to its original magnificence. We visited some of the
apartments. The tapestry, though nearly three centuries old, still
retains in a great degree the original brilliancy of its colours: the
figures are monstrous, but the general effect is magnificent. There is a
portrait of Madame de Montespan, the second acknowledged mistress of
Louis the Fourteenth. According to the fashion of the age, her hair
floats down her shoulders. She is habited in a loose robe, and has one
leg half naked. Her face has the French character; it is long, but
beautiful: its principal expression seemed to me voluptuousness, with
something of the haughty beauty. It is well known that her temper was
violent in the extreme, and perhaps the knowledge of this circumstance
might have impressed me with an idea which I have imputed to the
expression of the picture.

The cathedral of Nevers is one of the most ancient in France. About one
hundred years since, in digging a vault, a body was discovered enveloped
in a long robe; some very old coins were found in the coffin, and the
habit in which the body was wrapped was of itself of the most ancient
fashion. According to the French antiquaries, this was the body of one
of the ancient dukes of Nevers. There are many other antiquities in the
town, but I do not find that I have noted them, except that they exist
in sufficient numbers to establish the ancient origin of this capital of
the Nivernois.

Nothing can be more picturesque than the country between Nevers and
Moulins. Natural beauty, and the life and activity of cultivation,
unite to render it the most complete succession of landscape in France.
The road is gravel, and excellent to a degree. It is bordered by
magnificent trees, but which have been so planted, as to procure shade
without excluding air; the road, therefore, is at once shady and dry.
The chesnut trees, which are numerous in this part of the Bourbonnois,
in beauty at least, infinitely exceed the British oaks: they have a
bossy foliage, which reminds one of the Corinthian volutes. The French
peasantry are not insensible of this beauty--wherever there was a tree
of this kind of more than common luxuriance in its foliage, a seat was
made around the trunk, and the turf mowed and ornamented, so as to shew
that it was the scene of the village sports. Though England has many
delightful villages, and rustic greens, France beats it hollow in rural
scenery; and I believe I have before mentioned, that the French
peasantry equally exceed the English peasantry in the taste and rustic
elegance with which they ornament their little domains. On the great
scale, perhaps, taste is better understood in England than in France,
but as far as Nature leads, the sensibility of the French peasant gives
him the advantage. Some of the gardens in the provinces of France are
delightful.

We passed several fields in which the farming labourers were treading
out their corn; indeed the country all around was one universal scene of
gaiety and activity in the exercise of this labour. The manner in which
it is done is, I believe, peculiar to France. Three or four layers of
corn, wheat, barley, or pease, are laid upon some dry part of the field,
generally under the central tree; the horses and mules are then driven
upon it and round it in all directions, a woman being in the centre like
a pivot, and holding the reins: the horses are driven by little girls.
The corn thrashed out is cleared away by the men, others winnow it,
others heap it, others supply fresh layers. Every one seems happy and
noisy, the women and girls singing, the men occasionally resting from
their labour to pay their gallant attentions. The scene is so animated
as to inspirit the beholder. It is evident, however, that this cheap
method of getting up their harvest, is only practicable in countries
where the climate is settled: even in this province they are sometimes
surprised with a shower, but as the sun immediately bursts out with
renewed fervour, every thing is soon put to rights. In Languedoc, as I
understood, they have no barns whatever, and therefore this practice is
universal. The wheat was not very heavy, it resembled barley rather than
wheat; the average crop about sixteen English bushels. Nothing is so
vexatious as the French measures; I do not understand them yet, though I
have inquired of every one.

Moulins somewhat disappointed my expectation. It is indeed, beautifully
situated, in the midst of a rising and variegated country, with meadows,
corn-fields, hills, and woods, to which may be added the river Allier,
a stream so recluse and pretty, and so bordered with beautiful grounds,
as to give the idea of a park. These grounds, moreover, are laid out as
if for the pleasure of the inhabitants: the meadows and corn-fields are
intersected by paths in every direction; and fruit-trees are in great
number, and to all appearance are common property. There is something
very interesting in these characteristics of simple benevolence; they
recall the idea of the primæval ages. I have an indistinct memory of a
beautiful passage in Ovid, which describes the Golden Age. I am writing,
however, without the aid or presence of books, and therefore must refer
the classical reader to the original.

The interior of the town does not merit description: the streets are
narrow, the houses dark, and built in the worst possible style. The
architect has carried the idea of a city into the country: there is the
same economy of ground and light, and the same efforts for huddling and
comprehending as much brick and mortar as possible in the least possible
space. Its origin was in the fourteenth century. The Dukes of Bourbon
selected it as a place of residence during the season of the chace, and
having built a castle in the neighbourhood, their suite and descendants
shortly founded a town. This, indeed, was the usual origin of most of
the provincial towns in Europe; they followed the castle or the chateau
of the Baron. As seen in the fields and meadows in the vicinity of the
town, Moulins has a very agreeable appearance. The river, and the
beautiful scenery around it, compensate for its disagreeable interior;
and some trees being intermixed with the buildings of the town give an
air of gaiety and the picturesque to the town itself.

The market-place is only worthy of mention as introducing the price of
provisions. Moulins is as cheap as Tours: beef, and mutton, and veal,
are plentiful; vegetables scarcely cost any thing, and fuel is very
moderate. Fruit is so cheap as scarcely to be sold, and very good; eggs
two dozen for an English sixpence; poultry abundant, and about sixpence
a fowl. A good house, such a one as is usually inhabited by the lawyer,
the apothecary, or a gentleman of five or six hundred per annum, in the
country towns in England, is at Moulins from twelve to fourteen pounds
per year, including garden and paddock.

Our inn at Moulins, however, was horrible: our beds would have
frightened any one but an experienced traveller.




CHAP. XVII.

_Country between Moulins and Rouane--Bresle--Account of the
Provinces of the Nivernois and Bourbonnois--Climate--Face
of the Country--Soil--Natural Produce--Agricultural
Produce--Kitchen Garden--French Yeomen--Landlords--Price
of Land--Leases--General Character of the French Provincial
Farmers._


ON the following day we left Moulins for Lyons. The distance between the
two places exceeds an hundred miles; we distributed, therefore, our
journey into three days, making Rouane on the Loire, and Bresle, our
intermediate sleeping places.

Between Moulins and Rouane, that is to say, during the whole of our
first day's journey, the country is a succession of hills and valleys,
of open and inclosed, of fields and of woodland, which render it to the
eyes of a northern traveller the most lovely country in the world. In
proportion, however, as the country becomes mere fertile, the roads
become worse. We had got now into roads comparatively very bad, but
still not so bad as in England and America. The beauty of the scenery,
however, compensated for this defect of the roads. We met many waggons,
the hind wheels of which were higher than those in front. This is one of
the few things in which the French farmers exhibit more knowledge than
the English. These wheels of the waggons were shod with wood instead of
iron. We passed several vineyards, in which the vines were trained by
maples, and festooned from tree to tree. They looked fanciful and
picturesque. The vines of this country, however, are said to yield
better in quantity than in quality. They produce much, but the wine is
bad, and not fit for exportation.

In every hedge we passed were medlars, plumbs, cherries, and maples with
vines trained to them. This abundance of fruit gives an air of great
plenty, and likewise much improves the beauty of the country. The French
fruit of almost every kind exceeds the English. An exception must be
made with respect to apples, which are better in England than in any
country in the world. But the grapes, the plumbs, the pears, the
peaches, the nectarines, and the cherries of France, have not their
equal all the world over. They are of course cheap in proportion to
their abundance. The health of the peasantry may perhaps in good part be
imputed to this vegetable abundance. It is a constant maxim with
physicians, that those countries are most healthy, where from an
ordinary laxative diet, the body is always kept open. Half the diseases
in the world originate in obstructions.

Rouane is a considerable town on the Loire; it is very ancient in its
origin, and its appearance corresponds with its antiquity. It is chiefly
used as an entrepôt for all the merchandize, corn, wine, &c. which is
sent down the Loire. It is accordingly a place of infinite bustle, and
in despite of the river, is very dirty. He must be more fastidious than
belongs to a traveller, who cannot excuse this necessary appendage of
trade, and particularly in a town on the Loire, where a walk of ten
minutes will carry him from the narrow streets into one of the sweetest
countries under Heaven. Even the necessary filth of commerce cannot
destroy, or scarcely deface the beauty of the country.

Our inn at Rouane was execrable beyond measure. Without any regard to
decency, we were introduced into a sleeping room with three beds, and
informed that Monsieur and Madame Younge were to sleep in one,
Mademoiselle St. Sillery in another, and myself in the third. It was not
without difficulty that I could procure another arrangement. The beds,
moreover, were without pillows.

From Rouane to Bresle the country assumes a mountainous form, and the
road is bordered with chesnut trees. We had got now into the district of
mulberries, and we passed innumerable trees of them. Like other
fruit-trees, they grow wild, in the middle of fields, hedge-rows, and by
the road side. A stranger travelling in France is led to conclude, that
there is no such thing as property in fruit. Every one may certainly
gather as much as he chuses for his own immediate use. The peasants of
this part of the province are land proprietors; some of them possess
twelve or fourteen acres, others an hill, others a garden or a single
field. They appeared poor but comfortable. They raise a great quantity
of poultry and pigs, and reminded me very forcibly of the Negroes in the
West India Islands--a hard-working, happy, and cheerful race. I should
not, perhaps, omit to mention, that the houses of the peasants were very
different from any that I had yet seen. For the most part, they are
square, white, and with flat roofs. They are almost totally without
glass in the windows; but the climate is generally so dry and
delightful, that glass perhaps would rather be an annoyance. We are apt
to attach ideas of comfort or misery according to circumstances
peculiarly belonging to ourselves. Tell an English peasant that a
Frenchman has neither glass to his windows, nor sheets to his bed, and
he will conclude him to be miserable in the extreme. On the other hand,
tell a French peasant, that an English rustic never tastes a glass of
wine once in seven years, and he will equally pity the Englishman.

Bresle is one of those villages which impress a traveller with a strong
idea of the beauty of the country, and of the state of the comfort of
its inhabitants. It is broad, clean, and most charmingly situated. On
every side of it rises a wall of mountains, covered to their very
summits with vines, and interspersed with the cottages of the Vignerons.
The river Tardine flows through the valley. This is what is termed a
mountain river, being in summer a brook, and in winter a torrent. In the
year 1715 it rose so high as to sweep away half the town: the
inhabitants were surprised in their beds, and many of them were drowned.
The river, when we passed, had no appearance of being capable of this
tremendous force: it resembled a little brook, in which a shallow stream
of very transparent water rolled over a bed of gravel. "How happy might
an hermit be," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "in a cottage on the side
of one of those hills! There is a wood for him to walk in, and a brook
to encourage him, by its soft murmurs, to sleep." I agreed in the
observation which exactly characterizes the scenery.

Our inn at this town was in the midst of a garden, covered with fruits
and flowers. Our beds reminded me of England, except that again there
were no pillows, and absolutely nothing in the chamber but a bed. Every
thing, however, was delightfully clean; and as I lay in my bed, I was
serenaded by a nightingale.

The road between Moulins and Lyons is certainly the most picturesque
part of France; every league presented me with something to admire, and
to note. My observations were accordingly so numerous, that I have
deemed it necessary to arrange them in some form, and to present them in
a kind of connected picture. Mr. Younge had the kindness to answer all
my questions as far as his own knowledge went; and where he was at a
loss himself, seized the first opportunity of inquiry from others. In
France, this is more practicable than it would be in any other country.
The French of all classes, as I have repeatedly had occasion to observe,
are unwearied in their acts of kindness; they offer their minor services
with sincerity, and you cannot oblige them more than by accepting them,
nor disappoint them more than by declining them. They have nothing of
the surliness of the Englishman. It would be considered as the most
savage brutality to hesitate in, and more particularly to refuse with
rudeness, any possible satisfaction to a stranger. To be a stranger is
to be a visitor, and to be a visitor is to have a claim to the most
extreme hospitality and attention. I can never enough praise the French
people for their indiscriminate, their natural, their totally
uninterested and spontaneous benevolence.

I wish to convey a clear idea of this garden of France: I shall
therefore give my observations in full under the heads of, its climate,
its produce, its agriculture, and the manners of its provincial
inhabitants.

The climate of the departments of the Nievre and the Allier, which
include the provinces of the Nivernois and Bourbonnois, is the most
delightful under Heaven, being at once most healthy, and such as to
animate and inspirit the senses and the imagination: it is an endless
succession of the most lovely skins, without any interruption, except by
those rains which are necessary to nourish and fertilize. The winters
are mild, without fogs, and with sufficient sunshine to render fires
almost unnecessary. The springs answer to the ordinary weather of May in
other kingdoms. The summer and autumn--with the exception of hail and
thunder, which are certainly violent, but not frequent--are not
characterized by those heavy humid heats, which are so pestilential in
some parts of South America: they are light, elastic, and cheering. The
windows of the bed-chambers, as I have before mentioned, are almost all
without glass; or, if they have them, it is for show rather than for
use: the universal custom is, to sleep with them open. It is nothing
uncommon to have the swallows flying into your chamber, and awakening
you by early dawn with their twittering. When these windows open into
gardens, nothing can be more pleasant: the purity of the air, the
splendor of the stars, the singing of nightingales, and the perfume of
flowers, all concur to charm the senses; and I never remember to have
enjoyed sweeter slumbers, and pleasanter hours, than whilst in this part
of France.

In March and April, the ground is covered with flowers; and many which
are solely confined to the gardens and hot-houses in England, may be
seen in the fields and hedge-rows. The colours are perhaps not
altogether so brilliant as in more humid climates, but be they what they
may, they, give the country an appearance of a fairy land. Pease are in
common use on every table in March, and every kind of culinary vegetable
is equally forward. The meadows are covered with violets, and the
gardens with roses: the banks by the side of the road seem one continued
bed of cowslips. In plain words, Spring here indeed seems to hold her
throne, and to reign in all that vernal sweetness and loveliness which
is imputed to her by the poets.

The health of the inhabitants corresponds with the excellence of the
climate. Gouts, rheumatisms, and even colds, are very rare, and fevers
not frequent. The most common complaint is a dysentery, towards the
latter end of the autumn.

The face of the country throughout the two departments of the Nievre and
the Allier, is what has been above described--an uninterrupted
succession of rich landscape, in which every thing is united which
constitutes the picturesque. The country sometimes rises into hills, and
even mountains; none of which are so barren but to have vineyards, or
gardens, to their very summits. In many of them, where the surface is
common property, the peasantry, in order to make the most of its
superficial area, have dug it into terraces, on which each of them has
his vineyard, or garden for herbs, corn, and fruits. The industry of the
French peasantry is not exceeded in any part of the world: wherever they
possess a spot of land, they improve it to its utmost possible capacity.
Under this careful cultivation, there is in reality no such thing in
France as a sterile mountain. If there be no natural soil, they will
carry some thither.

There are numerous woods and forests in these departments. The wood
being interspersed amongst the hills and valleys, contribute much to the
beauty of the scenery: the same circumstance contributes more, perhaps,
to the comfort of the inhabitants. Fuel, so dear in almost every other
part of France, is here cheap to an extraordinary degree. Coal is
likewise found at some depth from the surface; but, of course, no use is
made of it. The French woods are more luxuriant, and generally composed
of more beautiful trees than those in England and in America. The
chesnut-tree, so common in France, is perhaps unrivalled in its richness
of foliage. The underwood, moreover, is less ragged and troublesome.
Nothing can be more delightful than an evening walk in a French wood.

The soil of the department of the Allier is rather light: on the hills
it is calcareous; in the vales it is a white calcareous loam, the
surface of which is a most fertilizing manure of marl and clay. The
hills, therefore, are peculiarly adapted for vines, which they produce
in great quantities; and when on favourable sites, that is to say, with
respect to the sun, the quality of the wine corresponds with the
quantity. In this province, perhaps, there is a less proportion of waste
land than in any other department in France. The people are industrious,
and the soil is fruitful. There are certainly some wastes, which, under
proper cultivation, might be rendered fertile. I passed over many of
these, when an idea naturally arose in my mind, what a different
appearance they would assume under English or American management. But
the bad management of the French farmers is no derogation from the just
praise of its rich soil.

The natural and agricultural produce is such, as to render these
provinces worthy of their characteristic designation--they are truly the
garden of France. The most beautiful shrubs are common in the woods and
hedges: not a month in the year but one or other of them are in full
flower and foliage. The botanist might be weary before he had concluded
his task. To a northern traveller, nothing appears more astonishing than
the garden-like air of the fields in France: he will see in the woods
and forests, what he has been hitherto accustomed to see only in
hot-houses. The natural history of these provinces would be an
inexhaustible subject: the cursory traveller can only describe
generally.

Wheat, barley, oats, grasses, roots, and vines, are the staple
agricultural produce. The wheat is certainly not so heavy as that in
England, but the barley is not inferior to any barley in the world. The
French farmers calculate upon reaping about sevenfold; if they sow one
bushel, they reap, between six and seven. Potatoes have likewise, of
late years, become an article of field-culture and general consumption
in every department of France, and particularly in those of the Loire,
the Allier, and the Nievre. Every city is supplied with them almost in
as much abundance as the cities of England and America. Where wheat is
scarce, the peasantry substitute them as bread. To say all in a word,
they have of late years got into general consumption; though before the
Revolution they were scarcely known.

The kitchen-garden in the French provinces is by no means so
contemptible as it has been described by some travellers. In this
respect they have done the French great injustice. I will venture to
assert, on the other hand, that nothing is cultivated in the
kitchen-gardens of England and America, but what, either by the aid of a
better climate, or of more careful and assiduous culture, is brought to
more perfection, and produced in greater plenty, in the kitchen-gardens
of France. I have already mentioned potatoes, which are cultivated both
in the garden and in the field: artichokes and asparagus are in great
plenty, and comparatively most surprisingly cheap--as many may be bought
for a penny in France as for a shilling in England. The environs of
Lyons are celebrated for their excellent artichokes; they are carefully
conveyed in great quantities to the tables of the rich all over the
kingdom. Pease, beans, turnips, carrots, and onions, are equally
plentifully cultivated, equally good, and equally cheap.

I have frequently had occasion to speak of the slovenly agriculture of
the French farmers, and I am sorry to have to add, that the fertility of
the provinces of Nivernois and the Bourbonnois, is rather to be imputed
to the felicity of their soil and climate than to their cultivation.
There is certainly a vast proportion of waste land in these provinces,
which only remains waste, because the French landlords and farmers want
the knowledge to bring it into cultivation. Many hundreds of acres are
let at about twelve sols (sixpence) per acre, and would be sold at about
a Louis d'or, which in three years, under English management, would be
richly worth thirty pounds. What a country would this be to purchase in,
if with himself an Englishman or an American could transport his own
labourers and ideas. But nothing is to be done without assistance.

Many of the French landlords retain a great portion of their estates in
their own hands, and cultivate it with more knowledge and with more
liberality than their farmers. A gentleman, farming his own lands, is
always useful to the country, if not to himself. He may improve his
lands beyond their worth--he may ruin himself, therefore, but the
country is proportionately benefitted by having so many good acres where
it had before so many bad. Some of the restored Emigrants have most
peculiarly benefitted France, by bringing into it English improvements.
I have more than once had occasion to remark, that this change is
visible in many parts of the kingdom, and will produce in time still
more important effects.

The price of land is by two-thirds cheaper than in England, I am
speaking now of the Nivernois and Bourboranois. It is generally about
eighteen or twenty years purchase of the rent. If the rent be about
300_l_. English for about five hundred acres of land--half arable, a
fourth forest, and a fourth waste--the purchase will be about 5500
guineas. The very same estate in any part of England would be about
15,000. But in England the forest and waste would be brought into
cultivation. The forest is here little better than a waste, and the
waste is turned to as little purpose as if it were the wild sea beach.

The farms in the Nivernois are very small; the farmers are by natural
consequence poor. They have neither the spirit nor the means of
improvement. They are in fact but a richer kind of peasantry. Those
writers have surely never lived in the country, who urge the national
utility of small farms. The immediate consequences of small farms are
an overflow of population, and such a division and sub-division of
sustenance, as to reduce the poor to the lowest possible point of
sustenance. Population, within certain limits, may doubtless constitute
the strength of a nation; but who will contend, that a nation of
beggars, a nation overflowing with a starved miserable superfluity, is
in a condition of enviable strength?

There are few or no leases in these provinces, and this is doubtless one
of the reasons why agriculture has remained where it now is for these
four or five last centuries. The common course of the crops is wheat,
barley, fallow; or beans, barley, and wheat, and fallow. In some of the
provinces, it is wheat, fallow, and wheat, fallow, in endless
succession.

I do not understand enough of the vine culture to give any opinion as to
the French vineyards, but by all that I have observed, I must fully
assent to the generally received opinion, that the vine is better
understood in France than in Portugal, and that wines are, in fact, the
natural staple in France. It is the peculiar excellence of the vine,
that it does not require fertile land. It will most flourish where
nothing but itself will take root. How happy therefore is it for France,
that she can thus turn her barrens into this most productive culture,
and make her mountains, as it were, smile.

If an Englishman or an American were inclined to give a trial to a
settlement in France, I would certainly advise them to fix on one of
these central departments. They will find a soil and climate such as I
have described, and which I think has not its equal in the world. They
will find land cheap; and as it may be improved, and even the cheap
price is rated according to its present rent, they will find this
cheapness to be actually ten times as cheap as it appears. They will
find, moreover, cheerful neighbours, a people polished in their manners
from the lowest to the highest, and naturally gay and benevolent.




CHAP. XVIII.

_Lyons--Town-Hall-Hotel de Dieu--Manufactories--Price of
Provisions--State of Society--Hospitality to Strangers--Manners--Mode of
Living--Departure--Vienne--French Lovers._


WE reached Lyons in the evening of the third day after we left Moulins.
We remained there two days, and employed nearly the whole of the time in
walks over the city and environs. I adopted this practice as the
invariable rule on the whole course of my tour--to have certain points
where we might repose, and thence take a view both of the place itself,
and a retrospect of what we had passed.

Nothing can be more delightful to the eye than the situation of Lyons.
Situated on the confluence of two of the most lovely rivers in the
world, the Rhone and the Saone, and distributed, as it were, on hills
and dales, with lawn, corn-fields, woods and vineyards interposed, and
gardens, trees, &c. intermixed with the houses, it has a liveliness, an
animation, an air of cleanness, and rurality, which seldom belong to a
populous city. The distant Alps, moreover, rising in the back ground,
add magnificence to beauty. Beyond all possibility of doubt, Lyons is
unrivalled in the loveliness of its situation. The approach to it is
like the avenue to fairy-land.

The horrible ravage of the Revolution has much defaced this town. La
Place de Belle Cour was once the finest square which any provincial town
in Europe could boast. It was composed of the most magnificent houses,
the habitations of such of the nobility as were accustomed to make Lyons
their winter or summer residence. That demon, in the human shape, Collot
d'Herbois, being sent to Lyons as one of the Jacobin Commissioners, by
one and the same decree condemned the houses to be razed to the ground,
and their possessors to be guillotined. A century will pass before Lyons
will recover itself from this Jacobin purgation. In this square was
formerly an equestrian statue of Louis the Fourteenth, adorned on the
sides of the pedestal with bronze figures of the Rhone and the Saone.
This statue is destroyed, but the bronze figures remain.

The town-hall of Lyons is in every respect worthy of the city. It is in
the form of a parallelogram, with wings on each side of the front, each
wing being nearly one hundred and fifty yards in length. The middle of
the wings are crowned with cupolas, and the gates have all Ionic
pillars. The walls and ceilings are covered with paintings. There are
several inscriptions in honour of the Emperor Napoleon; but as these
have been already noted in other books of travels, I deem it unnecessary
to say more of them. But the best praise of Lyons is in its institutions
for charity, in its hospitals, and in its schools. In no city in the
world have they so great a proportion to the actual population and
magnitude of the town. They are equal to the support of one eighth part
of the inhabitants. The Hotel Dieu is in fact a palace built for the
sick poor. The rooms are lofty, with cupolas, and all of them very
carefully ventilated. The beds are clean to an extreme degree, as was
likewise every utensil in the kitchen, and the kitchen itself. The
nursing, feeding, &c. of the sick is performed by a religious society of
about one hundred men, and the same number of women, who devote
themselves to that purpose. The men are habited in black; the women in
the dress of nuns. This charity is open to all nations; to be an
admissible object, nothing further is necessary than to stand in need of
its assistance. This is true charity.

The cathedral is beautifully situated by the river: it is dedicated to
St. John, and is built in the ancient Gothic style. The clock is a great
favourite with the inhabitants. It is ornamented by a cock, which is
contrived so as to crow every hour. Before the Revolution, the church of
Lyons was the richest in France, or Europe. All the canons were counts,
and were not admissible, till they had proved sixteen quarters of
nobility. They wore a gold cross of eight rays. Since the Revolution,
the cathedral has fallen into decay; but it is to be hoped that, for the
honour of the town, it will be repaired.

Lyons has two theatres, Le Grand, and Le Petit Spectacle. Neither of
them deserve any more than a bare mention. The performers had so little
reputation, that we had no wish to visit either of them.

The manufactories of Lyons, being confined in their supply to the home
market, are not in the same flourishing state as formerly. They still
continue, however, to work up a vast quantity of silk, and on the return
of peace, would doubtless recover somewhat of their former prosperity.
Some years since, the silk stockings alone worked up at Lyons, were
estimated at 1500 pair daily. The workmen are unhappily not paid in
proportion to their industry. They commence their day's labour at an
unusual hour in the morning, and continue it in the night, yet are
unable to earn enough to live in plenty.

Lyons appeared to me, from the cursory information which I could obtain,
to be as cheap as any town in France. Provisions of all kinds were in
great plenty, and were the best of their kind. There are three kinds of
bread--the white bread, meal bread, and black or rye bread. The latter
is in most use amongst the weavers. It is very cheap, but the measures
differ so much in this part of France, that I could not reduce them to
English pounds, except by a rough estimate. The best wheaten bread is
about one-third or rather more of the price that it is in England; beef
and mutton in great plenty, and proportionately cheap; a very large
turkey for about two shillings and sixpence, English money. Pit coal is
in common use in almost every house in Lyons: it is dug in the immediate
neighbourhood, and is very cheap. The best land in the province may be
had for about fifteen pounds (English) per acre in purchase. In the
neighbourhood of Lyons, the land lets high, and therefore sells
proportionately. Vegetables are of course in the greatest possible
plenty, and fruit so cheap and so abundant, as to be sold only by the
poorest people. Whoever is particularly fond of a dessert, let him seek
it in France: for a livre he may set out a table, which in London would
take him at least a Louis.

Lyons has given birth to many celebrated men. Amongst them was De Lanzy,
the celebrated mathematician, and friend of Maupertuis. He lived to such
an extreme age as to survive his memory and faculties; but when so
insensible as to know no one about him, Maupertuis suddenly asked him
what was the square of 12, and he readily replied, 144, and died, as it
is said, almost in the same moment. This illustrious genius was as
simple as he was learned. His character, as given amongst the history
of the French literati, is very amiable--of great learning, of extreme
industry, simple and amiable to a degree, and invariably benevolent and
good-tempered. He was yet more distinguished by his charities than by
his learning. The learned Thon likewise was a native of this town.

The society at Lyons very much resembles that of Paris; it is divided
into two classes--those in trade, _i. e._ merchants, and those out of
trade; the military, gentry, &c. The military, though many of them are
certainly of rather an humble origin, are characterized by elegant
manners, by great politeness, and by a gallantry towards the ladies
which would have done honour to the old court. It gave me great
satisfaction to hear this character of them. I should put no value on
any society in which the ladies did not hold their due place and perform
their due parts, and this is never the case, except where they are
properly respected. Gallantry has the same effect upon the manners which
Ovid attributes to learning--"_Emollit mores nec sinit esse feros_."

A stranger at Lyons, who makes the city his temporary residence, is
received with the greatest hospitality into all the parties of the town;
he requires nothing but an introduction to one of them; and even if he
should be without that, an unequivocal appearance of respectability
would answer the same end. The fashionable world at Lyons, however, are
not accustomed to give dinners; they have no notion of that substantial
hospitality which characterizes England. Their suppers however are very
elegant: they have always fish, and sometimes soup, roasted poultry, and
in the proper season, game--pease, cauliflowers, and asparagus, almost
the whole year round. The sparkling Champagne then goes round, and
French wit, French vivacity, and French gallantry, are seen in
perfection. There is certainly nothing in England equal to the French
supper. It is usually served in a saloon, but the company make no
hesitation, in the intervals of conversation and of eating, to visit
every room in the house. Every room is accordingly lighted and prepared
for this purpose; the beds thrust into cupboards and corners, and the
whole house rendered a splendid promenade, most brilliantly lighted with
glass chandeliers and lustres. This blaze of light is further increased
by reflection from the large glasses and mirrors which are found in
every room. In England, the glasses are pitiful to a degree. In France,
even in the inns, they reach in one undivided plate from the top of the
room to the bottom. The French furniture moreover is infinitely more
magnificent than in England. Curtains, chair-covers, &c. are all of
silk, and the chairs fashioned according to the designs of artists. The
French music too, such as attends on their parties, exceeds that of
England; in a few words, a party in France is a spectacle; it is
arranged with art; and where there is much art, there will always be
some taste.

In the neighbourhood of Lyons are numerous chateaus, most delightfully
situated, with lawns, pleasure-grounds, gardens, and green-houses, in
the English taste. In the summer season, public breakfasts are almost
daily given by one or other of the possessors. Marquees are then erected
on the lawn, and all the military bands in the town attend. The day is
consumed in dancing, which is often protracted so late in the night, as
almost to trespass on the day following. These kind of parties are
perhaps too favourable for intrigue, to suit English or American
manners, but they are certainly delightful in a degree, and recall to
one's fancy the images of poetry.

The French ladies, as I believe I have before mentioned, are fond of
habiting themselves as harvesters: they frequently visit the farmers
thus _incog._ and hire themselves for the day. Though the farmer knows
them, it is the established custom that he should favour the sport by
pretending ignorance, and treating them in every respect as if they were
what they seemed. This is another means of indulging that general
disposition to gallantry which characterizes a Frenchwoman. They must
have lovers of all degrees and qualities; for vanity is at the bottom of
this assumed humility.

Lodging at Lyons, in which I include board, is extremely cheap: for
about thirty pounds per annum you may board in the first houses, and I
was informed that every one is welcome but Italians. The French have an
extreme contempt for Italians. A house at Lyons may likewise be hired
very cheap. The pleasantest houses, however, are situated out of the
town; and I have no doubt, but that such an house as would cost in
England one hundred per annum, might be hired in the environs of Lyons,
in the loveliest country in the world, by the sides of the Rhone and the
Saone, and with a view of the Alps, for about twenty-five Louis annual
rent. Every house has a garden, and many of them mulberry orchards, a
wood, and pleasure-grounds.

We left Lyons on the morning of the third day after our arrival, much
pleased with our stay, and with the general appearance of the city and
the inhabitants. Avignon was the next main point of our destination. As
the distance between Lyons and Avignon is about 120 miles, we
distributed our journey into three divisions, and as many days.

Lyons is connected by a stone bridge with the beautiful village La
Guillotiere; it consists of twenty arches, and is upwards of 1200 feet
in length. I believe I have before observed, that the provincial
bridges, as well as the roads in France, are infinitely superior to any
thing of the kind in England, and that the cause of this superiority is,
that they are under the controul and supervision of the government.
Every thing connected with the facility of general access is considered
as of public concern, and therefore as an object of government. In
England, the roads are made and mended by the vicinity. In France, this
business belongs to the state and to the administration of the province.

For many miles from Lyons, the road continued very various, occasionally
hill and dale, bordered by hedges, in which were flowers and flowering
shrubs, that perfumed the air very delightfully. It is not uncommon to
find even orange trees in the open fields: the very air of the country
seemed different from any through which I had before passed. There were
many of the fields planted with mulberry trees; I observed that this
tree seemed to flourish best where nothing else would grow--on stony and
gravelly soils. This indeed seems to be the common excellence of the
mulberry and the vine, that they may be both cultivated on lands which
would otherwise be barren.

We passed several flower-mills on the river Gere; a beautiful stream,
occasionally very thickly wooded, and passing in a channel, which, as
seen from the road, has any appearance but that of a level. The smaller
rivers in France, like the bye lanes, are infinitely more beautiful than
the larger; the water, passing over a bed of gravel, is limpid and
transparent to a degree, and the grounds through which they roll, being
left in their natural rudeness, have a character of wildness, romance,
and picturesque, which is not to be found in the greater navigable
streams. An evening stroll along their banks, would favour the
imagination of a poet. I feel some surprize, that a greater proportion
of the writers of France are not their descriptive poets.

The Gere is animated by numerous flower-mills; there are likewise many
paper-mills. They chiefly pleased me by their lovely situation.
Mademoiselle St. Sillery repeatedly sung a line of a French song, "O
that I were a miller's maid." It is but justice to this lady to say,
that she possessed a sensibility to the charms of Nature, which is
seldom found in tempers so apparently thoughtless.

As we passed several cottages by the road-side, we saw the peasant girls
spinning; some of them were working in silk, others in cotton. They all
seemed happy, gay, and noisy; and where there were one or two of them
together, seemed to interrupt their labour by playing with each other.
It is impossible that a people of this kind can feel their labour. Some
of them, moreover, were really handsome.

We reached Vienne to a late dinner, and resolved to remain there for the
night. Our inn had nothing to recommend it but its situation. Our dinner
however was plentiful, and what is not very common, was very well
dressed. The vegetables would not have disgraced an hotel in London.
Potatoes are becoming as common in France as in England, and the greens
of all sorts are to the full as good. "Confess," said Mr. Younge, "that
you would not have dined better in London, and the price will be about
one-fourth." "And confess," said Mademoiselle St. Sillery, "that in
London you would not have had such an accompaniment to your dinner, such
a lovely sky, and a garden so luxuriant in flowers." The windows were
open, and looked backwards into the garden, which was certainly
beautiful and luxuriant to a degree. On the other side of the hedge,
which was at the further extremity, some one was playing on the
flageolet: the tune was simple and sweet, and perfectly in unison with
the scene. "Who is it," demanded I, "that plays so well?" "Some one who
has been at the wars," said Madame Younge. "The French boys in the army,
if they signalize themselves by any act of bravery, have sometimes one
year's leave of absence given them as a reward. This is some fifer who
has obtained this leave."

We had coffee, as is still the custom in the provinces, immediately
after dinner; it was brought in by a sweet girl, who blushed and smiled
most charmingly as she fell over the corner of a chair. Her father
afterwards related her simple history in brief. She was the belle in
Vienne, and was courted by two or three of her own condition, but was
inflexibly attached to a young conscript. "You will doubtless hear him
before you depart," continued the landlord, "for he is almost always
behind that garden hedge, playing on his flageolet."--The lover it seems
was the young fifer. Mademoiselle St. Sillery now became very restless.
"You wish to see this gentleman," said Mrs. Younge to her, smiling.
Mademoiselle made no other answer than by beckoning to me, and in the
same moment putting on her bonnet. I could do no less than accompany
her. We went into the garden, and thence over a rough stile into the
fields. Much to our disappointment, Corydon was not to be seen. "I am
sure he must be a gentleman, by his taste and delicacy," said
Mademoiselle.

We had not time to see much of the town, nor did it appear much to
deserve it. It is certainly very prettily situated on the Gere and the
Rhone, and is surrounded by hills, which give it pleasantness and
effect. It seemed to us to be comparatively a busy and thriving town--I
say comparatively, for as compared with the towns of England or America,
its trade was contemptible. There are two or three hardware
manufactories, where the steel is said to be well tempered. The town is
of great antiquity, and carries its age in its face. The streets are
irregular; the houses dark; one room in almost every house is very
large, and all the others most inconveniently small. This is the
invariable characteristic of the house architecture of towns of a
certain age.

I understood from inquiry, that, with the exception of wood for fuel,
every thing was very reasonable in Vienne. Provisions were in great
plenty, and very cheap. The town, as I have said, is dull, but the
environs, the fields, and the gardens, delightful.

On the following day we continued our journey, and having sent our
horses forward, took our seats in the carriage with the ladies. The
young conscript seemed to fill the head of Mademoiselle St. Sillery.
"These kind of adventures," said she, "are not so romantic in France as
they would be in England, and more particularly since the conscription
makes no distinction of ranks. It is reckoned an honour, or at least no
disgrace, to be a private in the conscripts. It is incredible, how great
a number of gentlemen fill the ranks of the French army. A foreigner
cannot conceive it."

Mr. Younge confirmed this remark, and imputed much of the success of the
French arms to the spirit of honour and emulation which resulted from
this constitution. "Every conscript," said he, "indeed every French
soldier, knows that all the dignities of the army are open to him, and
he may one day be himself a General, if he can render himself prominent.
The chevaliers, moreover, are not only animated by a gallant spirit
themselves, but they infuse it into the army, and give it a character
and self-esteem, the effect of which is truly wonderful."

We passed through some pleasant villages, and amongst these Condrieux,
which is celebrated in France for its excellent wine: it is thick and
sweet, and resembles Tent. The price is high, and as usual in the wine
countries, none that is good is to be had on the spot. The country about
this village was rugged, uneven, but wild and picturesque; it resembled
no part that I had before seen. The fields were still planted with
mulberry trees, and the hedges (for the country is thickly enclosed),
were perfumed with scented shrubs. We saw some women driving oxen carts.
One of them was a tall, and as far as good features went, a good-looking
girl, but her fate sun-burnt, and her legs naked. She handled the whip
moreover with great strength, and apparently with little temper. She
returned our smile as we passed her, but bowed her body to the ladies.
"Is it possible," said I, "that there can be any gentleness in that
creature?" "If by gentleness you mean a taste for gallantry, and an
expectation of it as her right," replied Mr. Younge, "she has it as much
as any Parisian belle. In France, indeed, gallantry is like water; it is
considered as a thing of common right; it is as unnatural to withhold it
as it is natural to receive it. If you were to meet that lady in a
village walk, she would think herself very ill treated, if you had not a
compliment on your tongue, and at least the appearance of a sentiment in
your heart."

Several waggons of the country passed us; their construction was
awkward to a degree. The French are very far behind the English in the
ingenuity of the lower order of their artisans. A French watchmaker
usually exceeds an English one; but a French blacksmith, a French
carpenter, are as infinitely inferior. The things in common use are
execrable: not a window that shuts close, not a door that fits; every
thing clumsy, rough hewn, and as if made by Robinson Crusoe and his man
Friday.

We reached St. Valier to sleep. It is a small town, but prettily
situated, and the environs fertile, highly cultivated, and naturally
beautiful. The landlord of the inn was a true Boniface; he had nothing
of the Frenchman but his civility to the ladies. In assisting Mrs.
Younge from the carriage, he contrived it so awkwardly that he fell on
his back, and pulled the lady upon him; the matter, however, was a mere
trifle to a Frenchwoman, and had no other effect but to raise her
colour. If there are any ladies in a carriage, it is the invariable
privilege of the French hosts that they hand them from their seats.
Boniface, however, compensated his personal awkwardness by setting
before us an excellent supper; indeed, the farther we travelled, the
cheaper and the better became our fare. The hostess was likewise a true
character: she made some observations so free, and even indelicate, in
the hearing of the ladies, as in some degree confounded me. But modesty
is certainly no part of the virtues of a Frenchwoman.

My bed-chamber was scented with orange trees which occupied one end of
the room. The hostess herself came up to wish me good night, and to
express her compassion for Mademoiselle St. Sillery and me, because
truly, not being married together, we were obliged to sleep separate,
though so near each other. It came very strongly into my mind, that she
had been making a similar observation to Mademoiselle. The French women
certainly talk with a freedom which would startle an English or American
female. With the greatest possible _sang froid_ they will seat
themselves on the side of the bed, and remain in conversation with you
till they have fairly seen you in. They seem indeed to consider this
office as a matter of course. They enter your chamber at all times with
equal freedom; and if there happen to be two or more filles-de-chambre,
they will very coolly seat themselves and converse together. There is
indeed but one invariable rule in France, and that is, that a
fille-de-chambre is company for an emperor.

Being very tired, I had slept sounder than usual, when I was called by
the landlady, accompanied by Mademoiselle St. Sillery. The latter indeed
remained at the door of the apartment, but the good-humoured boisterous
landlady awoke me with some violence by a toss of the clothes. "Rise,
Monsieur," said she, "and attend your mistress through the town; she
wants a walk. Shame upon a chevalier to sleep, whilst so much beauty is
awake!" I have translated literally, that I may give an idea of that
tone of compliment, and even of language, which characterizes the French
men and women, in speaking to or of each other. Mademoiselle St.
Sillery, in the course of our journey, was as warmly complimented for
her beauty by the women as by the gentlemen. One woman in particular,
and an elderly one, embraced her with a kind of rapture, saying at the
same time, that she was as lovely as an angel. This extravagance of the
women towards each other is peculiar to France, or at least I have never
seen it elsewhere.

As the morning was delightful, we resolved, much to the discontent of
the landlady, to reach Thein to breakfast. The horses were accordingly
ordered, and after much reluctance, and some grumbling, we procured
them, and departed.

The road was continually on the ascent, and in every mile opened the
most lovely prospects. The trees in this part of France are uncommonly
beautiful; and where there are any meadows, as along the banks of the
rivers, they are adorned with the sweetest flowers, which here grow
wild, and attain a more than garden-sweetness and brilliancy. The birds,
moreover, were singing merrily, and all Nature seemed animate and gay. I
felt truly happy, and Mademoiselle St. Sillery was in such life and
spirits, that it was not without difficulty that we detained her in her
seat.

Thein, where we breakfasted, was the Teyna of the Romans: it is
delightfully situated at the bottom of an hill, called the Hermitage,
and celebrated over all Europe and the world for its rich wines. The
soil on which these vineyards grow is a very light loam, supported by a
pan of granite, in which it resembles what is denominated in England the
Norfolk soil. Another hill on the opposite side of the river produces
the wine called the _côte rotie_. The average yearly produce is nearly
one thousand hogsheads, and the price of the wine on the spot, in
retail, is about 3_s._ 6_d._ English money the bottle. From the window
of the apartment in which we breakfasted, we had a view of the town of
Tournon, and the ruins of an old castle, which very pleasantly invited
our imagination into former times.

Proceeding on our journey, ourselves, our horses, and our carriage, were
all transported over the river in a boat, which instead of being ferried
over by men, was dragged over by a pulley and rope on the opposite side.
I should imagine that this method is not very safe, but it certainly
saves labour and trouble; and it is impossible to build a bridge over a
river like the Rhone and the Isere. This river is very rapid, but not
very clear. Its banks are rocky, hilly, and occasionally open into the
most beautiful scenery which it is possible for poet or painter to
conceive. The Isere was well known to the ancients.

We dined at Valence, which is delightfully situated in a plain six or
eight miles in breadth. It was well known to the Romans by the name of
Valentia, and is supposed to have been so called from its healthy scite,
or, according to other writers, from the military strength of its
situation. The rocks in its vicinity gave it an air of great wildness,
and there are many popular stories as to its former inhabitants. The
town however has nothing but its scite to recommend it. The streets are
narrow, without air, and therefore very dirty. There is a church of the
most remote antiquity: I had not leisure to examine it, but its external
appearance corresponded with its reputed age. It was evidently built by
the Romans, but has been so much altered, that it is difficult to say
whether its original destination was a theatre or a temple. In the Roman
ages, theatres were national works, and therefore corresponded with the
characteristic greatness of the empire, and every thing which belonged
to it. What play-house in Europe would survive two thousand years! This
single reflection appears to me to put the comparative greatness of the
Romans in a most striking point of view. They built, indeed, for
posterity, and their architecture had the character of their writing--it
passed unhurt down the stream of time.

The inn-keeper at Valence amused us much by his empty pomposity. He was
a complete character, but civility made no part of his qualities. His
dinner however was excellent and possible humour on the following day.
Mrs. Younge replied very smartly to some questions of her husband. This
lady had a true affection, and I will take upon me to say, that the
fidelity of Mr. Younge was such as to merit it.

Our road to Montelimart, our first or second stage (I really forget
which) was lined on each side with chesnut and mulberry trees. We passed
many vineyards, and innumerable orchards. For mile succeeding to mile it
was more like a garden than an open country. The fields, wherever there
was the least moisture, were covered with flowers; the hedges of the
vineyards breathed forth a most delightful odour; there was every thing
to cheer the heart and to refresh the senses. Some of the cottages which
we passed were delightfully situated: they invariably, however, whether
good or bad, were without glass to their windows; and the climate is so
dry and so mild, that they sleep with them thus exposed.

Montelimart is situated in a plain, which is covered with corn and
vineyards; and being here and there studded with tufts of chesnut trees,
has a rural and pleasing appearance. It is built on the bank of a small
river which runs from the Rhone, is a walled town, and has usually a
tolerably strong garrison. It has the same character, however, as all
the other towns on the Rhone--the streets are narrow, and the houses
low. In plain words, the town is execrable, but its scite delightful.

From Montelimart to where we slept, the name of which I have not noted,
the country improved in beauty; but we passed many peasant women, who
certainly were not so beautiful as the country. Their costume reminded
me very forcibly of Dutch toys--very broad-brimmed straw hats, and
petticoats not reaching to the knees. Add to this, naked legs, &c. Our
ladies smiled at my astonishment, and I smiled too, when I reflected to
what feelings and to what ideas people might be reduced by habit. In the
West Indies, a white lady feels no reluctance, no modest confusion, at
the sight of the nakedness of her male slave; and Madame Younge and
Mademoiselle St. Sillery, certainly the most modest women in France,
only smiled at my surprise, when these short petticoated women passed
me. So it is with custom. Time was, that many things startled me, which
I can now see or hear without wonder. But nothing, I hope, will ever
eradicate that modesty which is inseparable from a reflecting mind, and
which acts as a barrier against inordinate passions.

The peasantry in this part of the country seemed very poor, though
contented and happy. Many of them were employed on a labour for which
their pay must have been very small--picking stones from the fields, and
dung from the roads. The dung is dried and burned, and is said to be an
healthy fuel to those who use it.

On the following day we dined at Orange, but did not remain long enough
to examine the town, which was well worthy of minute attention.
Mademoiselle St. Sillery was seized with the symptoms of an
indisposition, which happily passed away, but whilst it lasted, left us
no inclination for any other employment but to assist and console her,
and to press forwards to Avignon, to procure medical assistance.
Fortunately, it turned out to be nothing but a mere dizziness resulting
from exposure to the sun.

Under these circumstances we reached Avignon on the evening of the
fourth day after leaving Lyons; and whether the fear of the physician
had any effect, so much is certain, that Mademoiselle seemed to have
completed her recovery almost in the same instant in which the
battlements of the city saluted her eyes.




CHAP. XIX.

_Avignon--Situation--Climate--Streets and Houses--Public
Buildings--Palace--Cathedral--Petrarch and Laura--Society
at Avignon--Ladies--Public Walks--Prices of
Provisions--Markets._


WHEN we left Angers, we had ordered our letters to be addressed for us
at Avignon. I was daily in expectation of receiving one of a very
important nature, and General Armstrong, who was in the habit of a state
correspondence with Marseilles, and was allowed for that purpose an
extra post, had promised to dispatch it for me to Avignon, as soon as it
should reach him. This circumstance delayed us for some days at Avignon;
but I believe none of us regretted a delay, which gave us time to see
and to survey this celebrated city and its neighbourhood.

The situation of this city is in a plain, equally fertile and beautiful,
about fifteen miles in breadth and ten in length. On the south and east
it is circled by a chain of mountains. The plain is divided into
cultivated fields, in which are grown wheat, barley, saffron, silk, and
madder. The cultivation is so clean and exact, as to give the grounds
the appearance of a garden. As the French farms are usually on a small
scale, they are invariably kept cleaner than those in England and
America. Not a weed is suffered to remain on the ground. The French want
nothing but a more enlarged knowledge and a greater capital, to rival
the English husbandmen. They have the same industry, and take perhaps
more pride in the appearance of their fields. This detailed attention
greatly improves the face of the country; for miles succeeding miles it
has the air of a series of parks and gardens. The English mansion is
alone wanting to complete the beauty of the scenery. From the high
ground in the city nothing can be finer than the prospect over the plain
and surrounding country. The Rhone is there seen rolling its animated
through meadows covered with olive trees, and at the foot of hills
invested with vineyards. The ruined arches of the old bridge carry the
imagination back into the ancient history of the town. On the opposite
side of the Rhone are the sunny plains of Laguedoc, which, when
refreshed by the wind, breathe odours and perfumes from a thousand wild
herbs and flowers. Mont Ventoux, in the province of Dauphiny, closes the
prospect to the North: its high summit covered with snow, whilst its
sides are robed in all the charms of vegetable nature. On the east are
the abrupt rocks and precipices of Vaucluse, distant about five leagues,
and which complete, as it were, the garden wall around Avignon and its
territory.

The climate of Avignon, though so strangely inveighed against by
Petrarch, is at once healthy and salubrious. There are certainly very
rapid transitions from extreme heat to extreme cold, but from this very
circumstance neither the intensity of the heat nor of the cold, is of
sufficient duration to be injurious to health or pleasure. The air,
except in actual rain, is always dry, and the sky is an etherial Italian
blue, scarcely ever obscured by a cloud. When the rains come on they are
very violent, but fall at once. The sun then bursts out, and the face of
Nature appears more gay, animated and splendid than before. I do not
remember, that amongst all the pictures of the great masters, I have
ever seen a landscape in which a southern country was represented after
one of these showers. Homer has described it with equal force and
beauty, in one of his similies: but as the book is not before me, I must
refer to the memory of the classic reader.

There is one heavy detraction, however, from the excellence of the
Avignonese climate. This is the wind denominated the Vent de Bize. The
peculiar situation of Avignon, at the mouth of a long avenue of
mountains, gives rise to this wind: it collects in the narrow channel of
the mountains, and bursts, as from the mouth of a barrel, on the town
and plain. Its violence certainly exceeds what is common in European
climates, but it is considered as healthy, and it very rarely does any
considerable damage. Augustus Cæsar was so persuaded of its salutary
character, that he deified it, as it were, by raising an altar to it
under the name of the Circian wind. The winters of Avignon, however,
are sometimes rendered by it most distressingly cold. The Rhone is
frequently covered with ice sufficiently strong to support loaded carts,
and the olive trees sometimes perish to their roots.

Avignon is surrounded by walls built by successive Popes; they still
remain in perfect beauty and preservation, and much augment,
particularly in a distant view, the beauty of the town. They are
composed of free-stone, are flanked at regular distances with square
towers, and surmounted with battlements. The public walks are round the
foot of this wall. The alleys fronting the river, and which are bordered
by noble elms, are the summer promenade--here all the fashion of the
city assemble in the evening, and walk, and sport, and romp on the
banks. In the winter, the public walk is on the opposite side. The
fields likewise have their share, and the environs being naturally
beautiful, the spectacle on a summer's evening is gay and delightful in
the extreme.

The interior of the city is ill built: the streets are narrow and
irregular, and the pavement is most troublesomely rough. There is not a
lamp, except at the houses of the better kind of people; the funds of
the town are still good, but they are all expended on the roads, public
walks, and dinners. The necessity of a constant attention to paving and
lighting, never enters into the heads of a French town-administration;
they seem to think that the whole business is done when the town is
once paved. From the nature of the climate, however, the streets are
necessarily clean. A hot drying sun, and frequent driving winds, remove
or consume all the ordinary rubbish; or if anything be left, the winter
torrent of the Rhone, rising above its bed, sweeps it all before it.
Avignon, therefore, is naturally a clean city. The police, moreover, is
very commendably attentive, to the price of provisions, and to the
cleanliness of the markets.

I had the curiosity to enter some of the houses, and found them to
correspond with what I have before described as constituting the
character of house-architecture in the thirteenth and fourteenth
centuries. They had one large room, and all the others small; a great
waste of timber and work in their construction; the walls being built as
thick as if intended for fortifications, and the beams being large
timber trees. Our ancestors thought they could never build too
substantially.

The palace, the former residence of the Papal Legates, is well worthy of
being visited: it was founded by Benedict the Twelfth but is better
known as the subject of the elegant invective of Petrarch. The arsenal
still remains, containing 4000 stand of arms and as these instruments of
war are ranged according to their respective æras, the spectacle is
interesting, and to antiquaries may be instructive. The papal chair,
from respect to its antiquity, still remains, but the pannels of the
state rooms, which were composed of polished cedar, have disappeared.
The most curious parts of the palace, however, are the subterraneous
passages, the entrance to which is usually through some part of the
pillars; perfectly imperceptible till pointed out by the guide.
According to the tradition of the town, these passages have been the
scene of many a deed of darkness. A statue of Hercules was found on the
scite of the palace, and buried by Pope Urban, that the figure of a
Heathen Deity might not disgrace a papal town.

The cathedral still retains many of its ancient decorations, and amongst
these, the monument of Pope John, who died in the year 1384. In the year
1759, the body was taken up to be removed, when it was found entire, and
with some of the vestments retaining their original colour. The first
wrapper round the body was a robe of purple silk, which was then
enveloped in black velvet embroidered in gold and pearls; the hands had
white satin gloves, and were crossed over the breast. The above
description is exhibited in writing to all travellers. The monument of
Benedict the Twelfth is likewise here. This Pope was as remarkable for
his integrity of life and simplicity of manners, as for his humility.
There are many illustrious men who lie buried beneath the cathedral, but
as I could give little account of them but their names, I shall pass
them over.

We next visited the convent of St. Claire, where Petrarch first beheld
his mistress. From respect to the poet, or to his mistress, this convent
has survived the fury of the times, and is still entire. The description
of the first meeting of Laura and Petrarch is perhaps the best, because
the most simple and unlaboured part of his works.--"It was on one of the
lovely mornings of the spring of the year, the morning of April 6th,
1327, that being at matins in the convent of St. Claire, I first beheld
my Laura. Her robe was green embroidered with violets. Her features, her
air, her deportment, announced something which did not belong to mortal.
Her figure was graceful beyond the imagination of a poet--her eyes
beamed with tenderness, and her eye-brows were black as ebony. Her
golden ringlets, interwoven by the fingers of Love, played upon
shoulders whiter than snow. Her neck, in its harmony and proportion, was
a model for painters; and her complexion breathed that life and soul
which no painters can give When she opened her mouth, you saw the beauty
of pearls, and the sweetness of the morning rose. The mildness of her
look, the modesty of her gait, the soft harmony of her voice, must be
seen and felt to be conceived. Gaiety and gentleness breathed around
her, and these so pure and happily attempered, as to render love a
virtue, and admiration a kind of divine tribute."

Our curiosity naturally passed from the convent of St. Claire to the
church of the Cordeliers, where Laura is reputed to have reposed in
peace. Her tomb is in a small chapel, dark, damp, and even noisome: it
is indicated only by a flat unadorned stone. The inscription, which is
in Gothic letters, is rendered illegible by time. The congenial nature
of Francis the First of France caused the tomb to be opened, and a
leaden box was found, containing some bones, and a copy of verses, the
subject of which was the attachment of the two lovers. Petrarch, with
all his conceits, which are sometimes as cold as the snows on Mount
Ventoux, well merits his reputation. His verses are polished, and his
thoughts almost always elegant and poetical. He must not be judged, on
the point of a correct taste, with those who followed him. He was the
first, as it were, in the field; he is to be considered as an original
poet in a dark age; or, according to his own beautiful comparison, as a
nightingale singing through the thick foliage of the beech tree.
Petrarch was truly an original; I know no one to whom he can be
compared. He has no resemblance to any English, French, or Italian. He
has more ease, more elegance, and a more poetic vein than Prior; he
resembles Cowley in his conceits, and Waller in his grace and sweetness.
He possesses, moreover, one quality in common with the Classic poets of
Italy--that he never has, and perhaps never will be, sufficiently
translated. No translation can give the elegant neatness of his
language. He is simple, tender, and sweet as his own Laura: time has
stampt his reputation, and posterity will receive him to her last
limit.

We next visited the convent of the Celestins, which was founded by
Charles the Sixth of France, and in its architecture and dimensions is
worthy of a royal founder. The piety of the early ages has done more to
ornament the kingdoms of Europe than either public or private
magnificence. If we would become properly sensible how much we owe to
the early ages, let us divest a kingdom of what has been built by our
ancestors; let us pull down the churches, the convents, and the temples,
and what shall we leave?--The present town-administration of Avignon
extends a very commendable attention to its several public buildings,
the consequence of which is, that the town flourishes, and is much
visited both by travellers and distant residents.

Avignon, however, is chiefly celebrated for its hospitals, the liberal
foundation and endowment of which have originated, perhaps in the
misfortunes of the city, and in the sympathy which is usually felt for
evils which we ourselves have experienced. Avignon has suffered as much
as Florence itself by the plague. In the year 1334 the city was almost
depopulated by this dreadful pestilence. It was in the nature of a dry
leprosy; the skin peeled off in white scales, and the body wasted till
the disease reached the vitals. In fourteen years afterwards the city
was again attacked, and the beautiful Laura became its victim. It is
stated to have swept off upwards of one hundred thousand inhabitants.
The reigning pope contrived to escape the contagion by shutting himself
up in his palace, carefully excluding the air, and heating the rooms.
Another period of fourteen years elapsed, and the plague again made its
appearance, and nearly twenty thousand people, including a dozen
cardinals and an hundred bishops, fell its victims. Of late years, there
has fortunately been no appearance of this horrible disease. It was at
the time imputed to an extraordinary drought, attended by an uncommon
heat and stillness of the air, which, being without motion, and confined
as it were in a narrow channel, became putrid and pestilential. The vent
de bize is perhaps a greater blessing to this country than it has been
imagined.

Avignon, with the above exceptions, would be a delightful place of
residence to a foreigner, and particularly if his circumstances
permitted him to live in an extended society. It constitutes, as it
were, a little kingdom in itself, and the inhabitants have clearly and
distinctly a character, and peculiar manners belonging to themselves.

We visited the public walks of the town every evening during our stay,
and as the weather was delightful, and there was a division of soldiers
with their bands of music on the spot, they were always thronged, and
always gay and animated to a degree.

The Avignonese ladies appeared to me very beautiful, and whether it was
fancy or reality, I thought I could trace in many of them the features
which Petrarch has assigned to Laura. I no doubt whatever, but that the
recorded loves of these accomplished persons have a very strong
influence on the character of the town. If I should have an Avignonese
for a mistress, I should most certainly expect to find in her some of
the characteristic traits of Laura. It must not, indeed, be concealed,
that these ladies have not the reputation of being virtuous in the
extreme: to say the truth, they are considered as dissolute, and as
having little restraint even in their married conduct. I cannot say this
of them from any thing which I observed myself--to me they appeared gay,
tender and interesting.

In speaking of ladies, it would be unpardonable to omit something of
their dress. The ladies of Avignon follow the Paris fashions, but have
too much natural elegance to adopt them in extremes. On the evening
parade, they were habited in silk robes, which in their form resembled
collegiate gowns, and being of the gayest colours, gave the public walk
a resemblance to a flower-garden. Lace caps were the only covering of
their heads. The necks were not so exposed as at Paris, but were open as
is usual in. England and America in full dress. The gown was likewise
silk, embroidered in silver, gold, or worked flowers. The shoes of
velvet, with silver or gold clasps. The terms were naked almost up to
the shoulders, indeed almost indecently so. Being strangers, we were of
course objects of curiosity; when our eyes, however, met those of the
gazers, they invariably saluted us with a friendly smile. Mademoiselle
St. Sillery was much distressed that she had no dress so tasty as those
of the ladies. We could not at last persuade her to accompany us. This
young lady, with all her charms, and she possessed as many as ever fell
to the lot of woman, had certainly her share of vanity--an assertion,
however, which I should not have the presumption to make, if she had not
herself most frequently acknowledged it.

Every thing connected with household economy is extremely cheap at
Avignon; a circumstance which must be imputed as much to the moderation
of the inhabitants as to the plenty of the country. An Avignonese family
seems to have no idea of a dinner in common with an Englishman or an
American. A couple of over-roasted fowls will be meat enough for a party
of a dozen. The most common dish is, I believe, a fowl stewed down into
soup, with rice, highly seasoned. It is certainly very savoury, only
that according to French cookery, too much is made of the fowl.

The Avignonese, whilst under the papal jurisdiction, bore a general
reputation for the utmost profligacy both of principles and conduct.
This character has now passed away, and, with the exception of what is
termed gallantry, the Avignonese seem a gay, moral, and harmless people.
The poetry of Petrarch is perhaps too much read, and it is impossible
to read him without inspiring a warmth of feeling and imagination, which
is not very friendly to a correct virtue. Plato would certainly have
banished him from his republic, and the Avignonese would do well to keep
him out of their schools and houses. They will catch his ardour, who
want his moral sense and religious principles.

We took our leave of Avignon, much delighted with the town and its
inhabitants, and, as I have before said, I saw many figures which
recalled most forcibly to my imagination the Laura of Petrarch. It may
be perhaps said, that every one has an image of his own fancy, which he
assigns to Laura, and that from the general description of the poet, it
is impossible to collect any thing of the personal lineaments of his
mistress. This is very true; but it is equally so, that the ladies of
Avignon appear to have certain characteristic features, and that many of
them possess that soft, sweet, and supreme beauty, which inspired
Petrarch to sing in strains, which still sound melodious in the ears of
his posterity.

Avignon is the capital of the department of Vaucluse, the department
being so named rather from the celebrity of the poet, than from its
local relations.




CHAP. XX.

_Departure from Avignon--Olive and Mulberry Fields--Orgon--St.
Canat--French Divorces--Inn at St.
Canat--Air--Situation--Cathedral--Society--Provisions--Price
of Land--Marseilles--Conclusion._


THE letters which I had expected reached me at Avignon, and the result
of their perusal was the information, that my presence was necessary in
America. I have not, however, contracted so much of the impertinence of
a Frenchman by my tour in France, as to trouble the reader of my Notes
with my domestic affairs. Suffice it therefore to say, that some family
occurrences, of which I obtained some previous information, required my
immediate departure from France, and that in consequence I resolved to
embark at Marseilles.

With this resolution, therefore, I left Avignon for Marseilles, a
distance of about seventy miles. We divided it therefore into two days;
arranging so as to reach St. Canat on the first night, and Marseilles on
the second.

The road to Orgon, where we dined, presented us with a great variety of
scenery, though the surface was rather level. All the country was
covered with olive and mulberry trees, and innumerable fruit-trees grew
up wild in the fields, as likewise flowering shrubs in the hedges. The
climate of this part of France is so delightful, that every thing here
grows spontaneously which is raised only by the most laborious exertions
in northern countries. The cottages which we passed on the road were
picturesque to a degree: they were usually thatched, and vines or
barberry trees, or honey-suckles, entirely enveloped the walls or
casements. The peasantry, moreover, though without stockings, appeared
happy; the women were singing, and the men, in the intervals of their
work, playing with true French frivolity. We saw many women working in
the fields: the French women are invariably industrious and active. It
may be supposed that this labour and exposure to a southern sun is not
very favourable to beauty. Accordingly, we saw few good-looking damsels,
but many with good shapes and good eyes. How is it, that the French, so
generally gallant, can suffer their women to take the fork and hoe, and
work so laboriously in the fields?

Orgon had nothing which merits even mention; I believe, however, it was
well known to the ancients, and is mentioned in some of the Latin
itineraries. A convent, very picturesquely situated, is now converted
into a manufacturing establishment. The town is surrounded by
chalk-hills and quarries, from which is dug a free-stone, of the most
delicate white. The town, on the whole, had an air of rusticity and
recluseness which might have delighted a romantic imagination.

Between Orgon and St. Canat we travelled in a road occasionally bordered
by almond trees. The country on each side was rather barren, but being
an intermixture of rock and plain and being moreover new to us, it did
not appear tedious or uninteresting. We passed several houses of the
better sort, some in ruins, others evidently inhabited by a class of
people for whom they were not intended. This is one of the effects of
the Revolution. Where the proprietor emigrated, or was assassinated, the
nearest tenant moved into the mansion-house, and if he distinguished
himself by a violent and patriotic jacobinism, his possession, for a
mere trifle to the national fund, was converted into a right. In this
manner innumerable low ruffians have obtained the estates and houses of
their lords; but, faithful to their old habits and early origin, they
abuse only what they possess; live in the stables, and convert the
castle into a barn, a granary, a brew-house, a manufactory, or sometimes
dilapidate it brick by brick, as their convenience may require.

The inn at St. Canat will be long remembered by me, for the unusual
circumstance of a most hearty welcome from a good-humoured host, a
widower, and his two daughters. The eldest was the most beautiful
brunette I have ever seen. She was as coquettish as if educated in
Paris, and as easy, as familiar, as inclined to gallantry, as this
description of ladies, in France at least, universally are. She had been
married during the æra of jacobinism, and had divorced her husband,
_because they could not agree_. "He was so triste, and withal very
jealous, which was the more absurd, because he was old."--This young
woman was tall, elegant, and with the most fascinating features; her age
might be about four and twenty; her teeth were the whitest in the world,
and her smile was a paradise of sweets. She had the fault, however, of
all the French filles--a most invincible loquacity, and would not move
from the chamber till repeatedly admonished to call me early in the
morning.

I was awoke in the morning by a sweet-toned lark, which rising in the
ethereal vault of Heaven, made his watch-tower, as the poet calls it,
ring with his matin song. I know nothing more pleasing to a traveller
than to pass a night at one of these provincial inns, provided he gets a
good bed and clean blankets. The moon shines through his casement with a
soft and clear splendor unparalleled in humid climates; and in the
morning he is awoke by the singing of birds, whilst his senses are
hailed by the perfume of flowers and by the freshness of a pure æther.

Having resumed our journey, we reached Aix at an early hour on the
following day, and passed an hour very pleasantly in walking over the
town and neighbourhood.

Aix, the capital of Provence, is very pleasantly situated in a valley,
surrounded by hills, which give it an air of recluseness, and romantic
retirement, without being so close as to prevent the due circulation of
air. It is surrounded by a wall, but which, from long neglect,
originating perhaps in its inutility, has become dilapidated, and
interests only as an ancient ruin. In the former ages, when France was
subdivided into dutchies and minor kingdoms, and when her neighbours
were more powerful, such walls were a necessary defence to the town: a
change in manners and government has now rendered them useless, and in
few centuries they will wholly disappear all over Europe. The interior
of the town very well corresponds with the importance of its first
aspect. It is well paved, the houses are all fronted with white stone,
and the air being clear, it always looks clean and sprightly. Many of
them, moreover, have balconies, and some of them are upon a scale, both
outside and inside, which is not excelled by Bath in England. Aix is
almost the only town next to Tours, in which an English gentleman could
fix a comfortable residence. The society is good, and to a stranger of
genteel appearance, perfectly accessible either with or without
introduction.

The cathedral of Aix is an immense edifice; the architecture is the
oldest Gothic, and has all the strength, the substance, and I was going
to add, all the tastelessness which characterizes that Order. The front
is ornamented with figures of saints, prophets, and angels, grouped
together in a manner the most absurd, and executed as if by the hands of
a working bricklayer. The grand portal, however is very striking. On the
side of the great altar is the magnificent tomb of the Counts of
Provence; the figures here, however, are as ridiculous as the style
itself is grand. The Gothic architects had better ideas of proportion
than of delicacy or beauty; they seldom err on the former point, whilst
their execution in the latter is contemptible in the extreme. Our
Saviour, and the Virgin Mary, have always enough to do on every tomb in
France; they are invariably introduced together, sometimes in a manner
and with circumstances, which really shock any one of common piety.
Several pictures, and some ancient jewellery, which have survived the
Revolution, are still shewn to all strangers: amongst them is a golden
rose, which Pope Innocent the Fourth gave to one of the Counts of
Provence six hundred years since.

There are two or three other churches and convents, but which have
suffered so much by the execrable Revolution, as to have little left
that is worthy of remark. The piety of the inhabitants of Aix, however,
saved the greater part of the pictures and jewellery; and with still
more piety, have returned them to the churches.

The promenade, or public walk, equals, if not excells, any thing of the
kind in Europe--it consists of three alleys, shaded by four rows of most
noble elms, in the middle of a wide street, the houses on each side
being on the most magnificent scale, and inhabited by the first people
of the city and province. There were several parties walking there even
at the early hour in the morning when we saw it, and I understood upon
enquiry, that in the evening it is exceedingly thronged both with
walkers and carriages.

I did not omit to make my usual enquiries, as to the prices of land,
provisions, and the state of society, for a foreigner who should select
it as a place of residence. The following was the result: Land within a
few miles of Aix, is very reasonable; in a large purchase it will not
exceed five or six pounds (English money) per acre. In rating French and
English purchases, there is one considerable point of difference:
English estates are usually mentioned as being worth so many years
purchase, in which the purchase is rated according to the rent, and the
rent is considered as being the annual value of the land. In France,
where there is scarcely such a thing as an annual pecuniary rent equal
to the annual value of the land, the price must be estimated by the
acre. In large purchases, therefore, as I have said before, land is very
cheap: in small purchases it is very dear. The difference indeed is
surprising, but must be imputed to the strong repugnance of the small
proprietors to part with their paternal lands.

In the town there are some very handsome houses: a palace almost, with a
garden of some acres, an orchard, and land enough for four horses and
three cows, may be hired for about thirty pounds per annum.

Provisions of all kinds are in the greatest possible plenty: fish is to
be had in great abundance, and the best quality; meat is likewise very
reasonable, and tolerably good; bread is about a penny English by the
pound; and vegetables, as in other provincial towns, so cheap as
scarcely to be worth selling.

The baths of Aix are very celebrated, and the town is much visited by
valetudinarians: they are chiefly recommended in scorbutic humours,
colds, rheumatisms, palsies, and consumptions. The waters are warm, and
have in fact no taste but that of warm water.

Upon the whole, Aix is most delightfully situated, and the environs are
beyond conception rural and beautiful. They are a succession of
vineyards relieved by groves, meadows and fields. I did not leave them
without regret. The carriage drove slowly, but even under these
circumstances we repeatedly stopt it.

We reached Marseilles without further occurrence; and as a ship was
ready there, after two or three days spent in the company of my friends,
who very kindly refused to leave me, I took my departure, and left a
kingdom which I have since never ceased to think.

THE END.