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Travels Through France And Italy


By

Tobias Smollett





INTRODUCTION

By

Thomas Seccombe

I

Many pens have been burnished this year of grace for the purpose of
celebrating with befitting honour the second centenary of the birth of
Henry Fielding; but it is more than doubtful if, when the right date
occurs in March 1921, anything like the same alacrity will be shown to
commemorate one who was for many years, and by such judges as Scott,
Hazlitt, and Charles Dickens, considered Fielding's complement and
absolute co-equal (to say the least) in literary achievement.
Smollett's fame, indeed, seems to have fallen upon an unprosperous
curve. The coarseness of his fortunate rival is condoned, while his is
condemned without appeal. Smollett's value is assessed without
discrimination at that of his least worthy productions, and the
historical value of his work as a prime modeller of all kinds of new
literary material is overlooked. Consider for a moment as not wholly
unworthy of attention his mere versatility as a man of letters. Apart
from Roderick Random and its successors, which gave him a European
fame, he wrote a standard history, and a standard version of Don
Quixote (both of which held their ground against all comers for over a
century). He created both satirical and romantic types, he wrote two
fine-spirited lyrics, and launched the best Review and most popular
magazine of his day. He was the centre of a literary group, the founder
to some extent of a school of professional writers, of which strange
and novel class, after the "Great Cham of Literature," as he called Dr.
Johnson, he affords one of the first satisfactory specimens upon a
fairly large scale. He is, indeed, a more satisfactory, because a more
independent, example of the new species than the Great Cham himself.
The late Professor Beljame has shown us how the milieu was created in
which, with no subvention, whether from a patron, a theatre, a
political paymaster, a prosperous newspaper or a fashionable
subscription-list, an independent writer of the mid-eighteenth century,
provided that he was competent, could begin to extort something more
than a bare subsistence from the reluctant coffers of the London
booksellers. For the purpose of such a demonstration no better
illustration could possibly be found, I think, than the career of Dr.
Tobias Smollett. And yet, curiously enough, in the collection of
critical monographs so well known under the generic title of "English
Men of Letters"--a series, by the way, which includes Nathaniel
Hawthorne and Maria Edgeworth--no room or place has hitherto been found
for Smollett any more than for Ben Jonson, both of them, surely,
considerable Men of Letters in the very strictest and most
representative sense of the term. Both Jonson and Smollett were to an
unusual extent centres of the literary life of their time; and if the
great Ben had his tribe of imitators and adulators, Dr. Toby also had
his clan of sub-authors, delineated for us by a master hand in the
pages of Humphry Clinker. To make Fielding the centre-piece of a group
reflecting the literature of his day would be an artistic
impossibility. It would be perfectly easy in the case of Smollett, who
was descried by critics from afar as a Colossus bestriding the summit
of the contemporary Parnassus.

Whatever there may be of truth in these observations upon the eclipse
of a once magical name applies with double force to that one of all
Smollett's books which has sunk farthest in popular disesteem. Modern
editors have gone to the length of excommunicating Smollett's Travels
altogether from the fellowship of his Collective Works.  Critic has
followed critic in denouncing the book as that of a "splenetic"
invalid. And yet it is a book for which all English readers have cause
to be grateful, not only as a document on Smollett and his times, not
only as being in a sense the raison d'etre of the Sentimental Journey,
and the precursor in a very special sense of Humphry Clinker, but also
as being intrinsically an uncommonly readable book, and even, I venture
to assert, in many respects one of Smollett's best. Portions of the
work exhibit literary quality of a high order: as a whole it represents
a valuable because a rather uncommon view, and as a literary record of
travel it is distinguished by a very exceptional veracity.

I am not prepared to define the differentia of a really first-rate book
of travel. Sympathy is important; but not indispensable, or Smollett
would be ruled out of court at once. Scientific knowledge, keen
observation, or intuitive power of discrimination go far. To enlist our
curiosity or enthusiasm or to excite our wonder are even stronger
recommendations. Charm of personal manner, power of will,
anthropological interest, self-effacement in view of some great
objects--all these qualities have made travel-books live. One knows
pretty nearly the books that one is prepared to re-read in this
department of literature. Marco Polo, Herodotus, a few sections in
Hakluyt, Dampier and Defoe, the early travellers in Palestine,
Commodore Byron's Travels, Curzon and Lane, Doughty's Arabia Deserta,
Mungo Park, Dubois, Livingstone's Missionary Travels, something of
Borrow (fact or fable), Hudson and Cunninghame Graham, Bent, Bates and
Wallace, The Crossing of Greenland, Eothen, the meanderings of
Modestine, The Path to Rome, and all, or almost all, of E. F. Knight. I
have run through most of them at one breath, and the sum total would
not bend a moderately stout bookshelf. How many high-sounding works on
the other hand, are already worse than dead, or, should we say, better
dead? The case of Smollett's Travels, there is good reason to hope, is
only one of suspended animation.

To come to surer ground, it is a fact worth noting that each of the
four great prose masters of the third quarter of the eighteenth century
tried his hand at a personal record of travel. Fielding came first in
1754 with his Journal of a Voyage to Lisbon. Twelve years later was
published Smollett's Travels through France and Italy. Then, in 1768,
Sterne's Sentimental Journey; followed in 1775 by Johnson's Journey to
the Hebrides. Each of the four--in which beneath the apparel of the man
of letters we can discern respectively the characteristics of police
magistrate, surgeon, confessor, and moralist--enjoyed a fair amount of
popularity in its day. Fielding's Journal had perhaps the least
immediate success of the four. Sterne's Journey unquestionably had the
most. The tenant of "Shandy Hall," as was customary in the first heyday
of "Anglomania," went to Paris to ratify his successes, and the
resounding triumph of his naughtiness there, by a reflex action,
secured the vote of London. Posterity has fully sanctioned this
particular "judicium Paridis." The Sentimental Journey is a book sui
generis, and in the reliable kind of popularity, which takes concrete
form in successive reprints, it has far eclipsed its eighteenth-century
rivals. The fine literary aroma which pervades every line of this small
masterpiece is not the predominant characteristic of the Great Cham's
Journey. Nevertheless, and in spite of the malignity of the "Ossianite"
press, it fully justified the assumption of the booksellers that it
would prove a "sound" book. It is full of sensible observations, and is
written in Johnson's most scholarly, balanced, and dignified style. Few
can read it without a sense of being repaid, if only by the portentous
sentence in which the author celebrates his arrival at the shores of
Loch Ness, where he reposes upon "a bank such as a writer of romance
might have delighted to feign," and reflects that a "uniformity of
barrenness can afford very little amusement to the traveller; that it
is easy to sit at home and conceive rocks and heath and waterfalls; and
that these journeys are useless labours, which neither impregnate the
imagination nor enlarge the understanding." Fielding's contribution to
geography has far less solidity and importance, but it discovers to not
a few readers an unfeigned charm that is not to be found in the pages
of either Sterne or Johnson. A thoughtless fragment suffices to show
the writer in his true colours as one of the most delightful fellows in
our literature, and to convey just unmistakably to all good men and
true the rare and priceless sense of human fellowship.

There remain the Travels through France and Italy, by T. Smollett,
M.D., and though these may not exhibit the marmoreal glamour of
Johnson, or the intimate fascination of Fielding, or the essential
literary quality which permeates the subtle dialogue and artful
vignette of Sterne, yet I shall endeavour to show, not without some
hope of success among the fair-minded, that the Travels before us are
fully deserving of a place, and that not the least significant, in the
quartette.

The temporary eclipse of their fame I attribute, first to the studious
depreciation of Sterne and Walpole, and secondly to a refinement of
snobbishness on the part of the travelling crowd, who have an uneasy
consciousness that to listen to common sense, such as Smollett's, in
matters of connoisseurship, is tantamount to confessing oneself a
Galilean of the outermost court. In this connection, too, the itinerant
divine gave the travelling doctor a very nasty fall. Meeting the latter
at Turin, just as Smollett was about to turn his face homewards, in
March 1765, Sterne wrote of him, in the famous Journey of 1768, thus:

"The learned Smelfungus travelled from Boulogne to Paris, from Paris to
Rome, and so on, but he set out with the spleen and jaundice, and every
object he passed by was discoloured or distorted. He wrote an account
of them, but 'twas nothing but the account of his miserable feelings."
"I met Smelfungus," he wrote later on, "in the grand portico of the
Pantheon--he was just coming out of it. ''Tis nothing but a huge
cockpit,' said he--'I wish you had said nothing worse of the Venus de
Medici,' replied I--for in passing through Florence, I had heard he had
fallen foul upon the goddess, and used her worse than a common
strumpet, without the least provocation in nature. I popp'd upon
Smelfungus again at Turin, in his return home, and a sad tale of
sorrowful adventures had he to tell, 'wherein he spoke of moving
accidents by flood and field, and of the cannibals which each other
eat, the Anthropophagi'; he had been flayed alive, and bedevil'd, and
used worse than St. Bartholomew, at every stage he had come at. 'I'll
tell it,' cried Smelfungus, 'to the world.' 'You had better tell it,'
said I, 'to your physician.'"

To counteract the ill effects of "spleen and jaundice" and exhibit the
spirit of genteel humour and universal benevolence in which a man of
sensibility encountered the discomforts of the road, the incorrigible
parson Laurence brought out his own Sentimental Journey. Another effect
of Smollett's book was to whet his own appetite for recording the
adventures of the open road. So that but for Travels through France and
Italy we might have had neither a Sentimental Journey nor a Humphry
Clinker. If all the admirers of these two books would but bestir
themselves and look into the matter, I am sure that Sterne's only too
clever assault would be relegated to its proper place and assessed at
its right value as a mere boutade. The borrowed contempt of Horace
Walpole and the coterie of superficial dilettanti, from which
Smollett's book has somehow never wholly recovered, could then easily
be outflanked and the Travels might well be in reasonable expectation
of coming by their own again.


II

In the meantime let us look a little more closely into the special and
somewhat exceptional conditions under which the Travel Letters of
Smollett were produced. Smollett, as we have seen, was one of the first
professional men of all work in letters upon a considerable scale who
subsisted entirely upon the earnings of his own pen. He had no
extraneous means of support. He had neither patron, pension, property,
nor endowment, inherited or acquired. Yet he took upon himself the
burden of a large establishment, he spent money freely, and he prided
himself upon the fact that he, Tobias Smollett, who came up to London
without a stiver in his pocket, was in ten years' time in a position to
enact the part of patron upon a considerable scale to the crowd of
inferior denizens of Grub Street. Like most people whose social
ambitions are in advance of their time, Smollett suffered considerably
on account of these novel aspirations of his. In the present day he
would have had his motor car and his house on Hindhead, a seat in
Parliament and a brief from the Nation to boot as a Member for
Humanity. Voltaire was the only figure in the eighteenth century even
to approach such a flattering position, and he was for many years a
refugee from his own land. Smollett was energetic and ambitious enough
to start in rather a grand way, with a large house, a carriage,
menservants, and the rest. His wife was a fine lady, a "Creole" beauty
who had a small dot of her own; but, on the other hand, her income was
very precarious, and she herself somewhat of a silly and an incapable
in the eyes of Smollett's old Scotch friends. But to maintain such a
position--to keep the bailiffs from the door from year's end to year's
end--was a truly Herculean task in days when a newspaper "rate" of
remuneration or a well-wearing copyright did not so much as exist, and
when Reviews sweated their writers at the rate of a guinea per sheet of
thirty-two pages. Smollett was continually having recourse to loans. He
produced the eight (or six or seven) hundred a year he required by
sheer hard writing, turning out his History of England, his Voltaire,
and his Universal History by means of long spells of almost incessant
labour at ruinous cost to his health. On the top of all this cruel
compiling he undertook to run a Review (The Critical), a magazine (The
British), and a weekly political organ (The Briton). A charge of
defamation for a paragraph in the nature of what would now be
considered a very mild and pertinent piece of public criticism against
a faineant admiral led to imprisonment in the King's Bench Prison, plus
a fine of £100. Then came a quarrel with an old friend, Wilkes--not the
least vexatious result of that forlorn championship of Bute's
government in The Briton. And finally, in part, obviously, as a
consequence of all this nervous breakdown, a succession of severe
catarrhs, premonitory in his case of consumption, the serious illness
of the wife he adored, and the death of his darling, the "little Boss"
of former years, now on the verge of womanhood. To a man of his
extraordinarily strong affections such a series of ills was too
overwhelming. He resolved to break up his establishment at Chelsea, and
to seek a remedy in flight from present evils to a foreign residence.
Dickens went to hibernate on the Riviera upon a somewhat similar
pretext, though fortunately without the same cause, as far as his
health was concerned.

Now note another very characteristic feature of these Travel Letters.
Smollett went abroad not for pleasure, but virtually of necessity. Not
only were circumstances at home proving rather too much for him, but
also, like Stevenson, he was specifically "ordered South" by his
physicians, and he went with the deliberate intention of making as much
money as possible out of his Travel papers. In his case he wrote long
letters on the spot to his medical and other friends at home. When he
got back in the summer of 1765 one of his first cares was to put the
Letters together. It had always been his intention carefully to revise
them for the press. But when he got back to London he found so many
other tasks awaiting him that were so far more pressing, that this part
of his purpose was but very imperfectly carried out. The Letters
appeared pretty much as he wrote them. Their social and documentary
value is thereby considerably enhanced, for they were nearly all
written close down to the facts. The original intention had been to go
to Montpellier, which was still, I suppose, the most popular health
resort in Southern Europe. The peace of 1763 opened the way. And this
brings us to another feature of distinction in regard to Smollett's
Travels. Typical Briton, perfervid Protestant of Britain's most
Protestant period, and insular enrage though he doubtless was, Smollett
had knocked about the world a good deal and had also seen something of
the continent of Europe. He was not prepared to see everything couleur
de rose now. His was quite unlike the frame of mind of the ordinary
holiday-seeker, who, partly from a voluntary optimism, and partly from
the change of food and habit, the exhilaration caused by novel
surroundings, and timidity at the unaccustomed sounds he hears in his
ears, is determined to be pleased with everything. Very temperamental
was Smollett, and his frame of mind at the time was that of one
determined to be pleased with nothing. We know little enough about
Smollett intime. Only the other day I learned that the majority of
so-called Smollett portraits are not presentments of the novelist at
all, but ingeniously altered plates of George Washington. An
interesting confirmation of this is to be found in the recently
published Letters of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe to Robert Chambers.
"Smollett wore black cloaths--a tall man--and extreamly handsome. No
picture of him is known to be extant--all that have been foisted on the
public as such his relations disclaim--this I know from my aunt Mrs.
Smollett, who was the wife of his nephew, and resided with him at
Bath." But one thing we do know, and in these same letters, if
confirmation had been needed, we observe the statement repeated,
namely, that Smollett was very peevish. A sardonic, satirical, and
indeed decidedly gloomy mood or temper had become so habitual in him as
to transform the man. Originally gay and debonnair, his native
character had been so overlaid that when he first returned to Scotland
in 1755 his own mother could not recognise him until he "gave over
glooming" and put on his old bright smile. [A pleasant story of the
Doctor's mother is given in the same Letters to R. Chambers (1904). She
is described as an ill-natured-looking woman with a high nose, but not
a bad temper, and very fond of the cards. One evening an Edinburgh
bailie (who was a tallow chandler) paid her a visit. "Come awa',
bailie," said she, "and tak' a trick at the cards." "Troth madam, I hae
nae siller!" "Then let us play for a pound of candles."] His was
certainly a nervous, irritable, and rather censorious temper. Like Mr.
Brattle, in The Vicar of Bulhampton, he was thinking always of the evil
things that had been done to him. With the pawky and philosophic Scots
of his own day (Robertson, Hume, Adam Smith, and "Jupiter" Carlyle) he
had little in common, but with the sour and mistrustful James Mill or
the cross and querulous Carlyle of a later date he had, it seems to me,
a good deal. What, however, we attribute in their case to bile or
liver, a consecrated usage prescribes that we must, in the case of
Smollett, accredit more particularly to the spleen. Whether dyspeptic
or "splenetic," this was not the sort of man to see things through a
veil of pleasant self-generated illusion. He felt under no obligation
whatever to regard the Grand Tour as a privilege of social distinction,
or its discomforts as things to be discreetly ignored in relating his
experience to the stay-at-home public. He was not the sort of man that
the Tourist Agencies of to-day would select to frame their
advertisements. As an advocatus diaboli on the subject of Travel he
would have done well enough. And yet we must not infer that the magic
of travel is altogether eliminated from his pages. This is by no means
the case: witness his intense enthusiasm at Nimes, on sight of the
Maison Carree or the Pont du Gard; the passage describing his entry
into the Eternal City; [Ours "was the road by which so many heroes
returned with conquest to their country, by which so many kings were
led captive to Rome, and by which the ambassadors of so many kingdoms
and States approached the seat of Empire, to deprecate the wrath, to
sollicit the friendship, or sue for the protection of the Roman
people."] or the enviable account of the alfresco meals which the party
discussed in their coach as described in Letter VIII.

As to whether Smollett and his party of five were exceptionally
unfortunate in their road-faring experiences must be left an open
question at the tribunal of public opinion. In cold blood, in one of
his later letters, he summarised his Continental experience after this
wise: inns, cold, damp, dark, dismal, dirty; landlords equally
disobliging and rapacious; servants awkward, sluttish, and slothful;
postillions lazy, lounging, greedy, and impertinent. With this last
class of delinquents after much experience he was bound to admit the
following dilemma:--If you chide them for lingering, they will contrive
to delay you the longer. If you chastise them with sword, cane, cudgel,
or horsewhip (he defines the correctives, you may perceive, but leaves
the expletives to our imagination) they will either disappear entirely,
and leave you without resource, or they will find means to take
vengeance by overturning your carriage. The only course remaining would
be to allow oneself to become the dupe of imposition by tipping the
postillions an amount slightly in excess of the authorized
gratification. He admits that in England once, between the Devizes and
Bristol, he found this plan productive of the happiest results. It was
unfortunate that, upon this occasion, the lack of means or slenderness
of margin for incidental expenses should have debarred him from having
recourse to a similar expedient. For threepence a post more, as
Smollett himself avows, he would probably have performed the journey
with much greater pleasure and satisfaction. But the situation is
instructive. It reveals to us the disadvantage under which the novelist
was continually labouring, that of appearing to travel as an English
Milord, en grand seigneur, and yet having at every point to do it "on
the cheap." He avoided the common conveyance or diligence, and insisted
on travelling post and in a berline; but he could not bring himself to
exceed the five-sou pourboire for the postillions. He would have meat
upon maigre days, yet objected to paying double for it. He held aloof
from the thirty-sou table d'hote, and would have been content to pay
three francs a head for a dinner a part, but his worst passions were
roused when he was asked to pay not three, but four. Now Smollett
himself was acutely conscious of the false position. He was by nature
anything but a curmudgeon. On the contrary, he was, if I interpret him
at all aright, a high-minded, open-hearted, generous type of man. Like
a majority, perhaps, of the really open-handed he shared one trait with
the closefisted and even with the very mean rich. He would rather give
away a crown than be cheated of a farthing. Smollett himself had little
of the traditional Scottish thriftiness about him, but the people among
whom he was going--the Languedocians and Ligurians--were notorious for
their nearness in money matters. The result of all this could hardly
fail to exacerbate Smollett's mood and to aggravate the testiness which
was due primarily to the bitterness of his struggle with the world,
and, secondarily, to the complaints which that struggle engendered. One
capital consequence, however, and one which specially concerns us, was
that we get this unrivalled picture of the seamy side of foreign
travel--a side rarely presented with anything like Smollett's skill to
the student of the grand siecle of the Grand Tour. The rubs, the rods,
the crosses of the road could, in fact, hardly be presented to us more
graphically or magisterially than they are in some of these chapters.
Like Prior, Fielding, Shenstone, and Dickens, Smollett was a
connoisseur in inns and innkeepers. He knew good food and he knew good
value, and he had a mighty keen eye for a rogue. There may, it is true,
have been something in his manner which provoked them to exhibit their
worst side to him. It is a common fate with angry men. The trials to
which he was subjected were momentarily very severe, but, as we shall
see in the event, they proved a highly salutary discipline to him.

To sum up, then, Smollett's Travels were written hastily and vigorously
by an expert man of letters. They were written ad vivum, as it were,
not from worked-up notes or embellished recollections. They were
written expressly for money down. They were written rather en noir than
couleur de rose by an experienced, and, we might almost perhaps say, a
disillusioned traveller, and not by a naif or a niais. The statement
that they were to a certain extent the work of an invalid is, of
course, true, and explains much. The majority of his correspondents
were of the medical profession, all of them were members of a group
with whom he was very intimate, and the letters were by his special
direction to be passed round among them. [We do not know precisely who
all these correspondents of Smollett were, but most of them were
evidently doctors and among them, without a doubt, John Armstrong,
William Hunter, George Macaulay, and above all John Moore, himself an
authority on European travel, Governor on the Grand Tour of the Duke of
Hamilton (Son of "the beautiful Duchess"), author of Zeluco, and father
of the famous soldier. Smollett's old chum, Dr. W. Smellie, died 5th
March 1763.] In the circumstances (bearing in mind that it was his
original intention to prune the letters considerably before
publication) it was only natural that he should say a good deal about
the state of his health. His letters would have been unsatisfying to
these good people had he not referred frequently and at some length to
his spirits and to his symptoms, an improvement in which was the
primary object of his journey and his two years' sojourn in the South.
Readers who linger over the diary of Fielding's dropsy and Mrs.
Fielding's toothache are inconsistent in denouncing the luxury of
detail with which Smollett discusses the matter of his imposthume.

What I claim for the present work is that, in the first place, to any
one interested in Smollett's personality it supplies an unrivalled key.
It is, moreover, the work of a scholar, an observer of human nature,
and, by election, a satirist of no mean order. It gives us some
characteristic social vignettes, some portraits of the road of an
unsurpassed freshness and clearness. It contains some historical and
geographical observations worthy of one of the shrewdest and most
sagacious publicists of the day. It is interesting to the etymologist
for the important share it has taken in naturalising useful foreign
words into our speech. It includes (as we shall have occasion to
observe) a respectable quantum of wisdom fit to become proverbial, and
several passages of admirable literary quality. In point of date
(1763-65) it is fortunate, for the writer just escaped being one of a
crowd. On the whole, I maintain that it is more than equal in interest
to the Journey to the Hebrides, and that it deserves a very
considerable proportion of the praise that has hitherto been lavished
too indiscriminately upon the Voyage to Lisbon. On the force of this
claim the reader is invited to constitute himself judge after a fair
perusal of the following pages. I shall attempt only to point the way
to a satisfactory verdict, no longer in the spirit of an advocate, but
by means of a few illustrations and, more occasionally, amplifications
of what Smollett has to tell us.


III

As was the case with Fielding many years earlier, Smollett was almost
broken down with sedentary toil, when early in June 1763 with his wife,
two young ladies ("the two girls") to whom she acted as chaperon, and a
faithful servant of twelve years' standing, who in the spirit of a
Scots retainer of the olden time refused to leave his master (a good
testimonial this, by the way, to a temper usually accredited with such
a splenetic sourness), he crossed the straits of Dover to see what a
change of climate and surroundings could do for him.

On other grounds than those of health he was glad to shake the dust of
Britain from his feet. He speaks himself of being traduced by malice,
persecuted by faction, abandoned by false patrons, complaints which
will remind the reader, perhaps, of George Borrow's "Jeremiad," to the
effect that he had been beslavered by the venomous foam of every
sycophantic lacquey and unscrupulous renegade in the three kingdoms.
But Smollett's griefs were more serious than what an unkind reviewer
could inflict. He had been fined and imprisoned for defamation. He had
been grossly caricatured as a creature of Bute, the North British
favourite of George III., whose tenure of the premiership occasioned
riots and almost excited a revolution in the metropolis. Yet after
incurring all this unpopularity at a time when the populace of London
was more inflamed against Scotsmen than it has ever been before or
since, and having laboured severely at a paper in the ministerial
interest and thereby aroused the enmity of his old friend John Wilkes,
Smollett had been unceremoniously thrown over by his own chief, Lord
Bute, on the ground that his paper did more to invite attack than to
repel it. Lastly, he and his wife had suffered a cruel bereavement in
the loss of their only child, and it was partly to supply a change from
the scene of this abiding sorrow, that the present journey was
undertaken.

The first stages and incidents of the expedition were not exactly
propitious. The Dover Road was a byword for its charges; the Via Alba
might have been paved with the silver wrung from reluctant and
indignant passengers. Smollett characterized the chambers as cold and
comfortless, the beds as "paultry" (with "frowsy," a favourite word),
the cookery as execrable, wine poison, attendance bad, publicans
insolent, and bills extortion, concluding with the grand climax that
there was not a drop of tolerable malt liquor to be had from London to
Dover. Smollett finds a good deal to be said for the designation of "a
den of thieves" as applied to that famous port (where, as a German lady
of much later date once complained, they "boot ze Bible in ze bedroom,
but ze devil in ze bill"), and he grizzles lamentably over the seven
guineas, apart from extras, which he had to pay for transport in a
Folkestone cutter to Boulogne Mouth.

Having once arrived at Boulogne, Smollett settled down regularly to his
work as descriptive reporter, and the letters that he wrote to his
friendly circle at home fall naturally into four groups. The first
Letters from II. to V. describe with Hogarthian point, prejudice and
pungency, the town and people of Boulogne. The second group, Letters
VI.-XII., deal with the journey from Boulogne to Nice by way of Paris,
Lyon, Nimes, and Montpellier. The third group, Letters XIII.-XXIV., is
devoted to a more detailed and particular delineation of Nice and the
Nicois. The fourth, Letters XXV.-XLI., describes the Italian expedition
and the return journey to Boulogne en route for England, where the
party arrive safe home in July 1765.

Smollett's account of Boulogne is excellent reading, it forms an apt
introduction to the narrative of his journey, it familiarises us with
the milieu, and reveals to us in Smollett a man of experience who is
both resolute and capable of getting below the surface of things. An
English possession for a short period in the reign of the Great Harry,
Boulogne has rarely been less in touch with England than it was at the
time of Smollett's visit. Even then, however, there were three small
colonies, respectively, of English nuns, English Jesuits, and English
Jacobites. Apart from these and the English girls in French seminaries
it was estimated ten years after Smollett's sojourn there that there
were twenty-four English families in residence. The locality has of
course always been a haunting place for the wandering tribes of
English. Many well-known men have lived or died here both native and
English. Adam Smith must have been there very soon after Smollett. So
must Dr. John Moore and Charles Churchill, one of the enemies provoked
by the Briton, who went to Boulogne to meet his friend Wilkes and died
there in 1764. Philip Thicknesse the traveller and friend of
Gainsborough died there in 1770. After long search for a place to end
his days in Thomas Campbell bought a house in Boulogne and died there,
a few months later, in 1844. The house is still to be seen, Rue St.
Jean, within the old walls; it has undergone no change, and in 1900 a
marble tablet was put up to record the fact that Campbell lived and
died there. The other founder of the University of London, Brougham, by
a singular coincidence was also closely associated with Boulogne.
[Among the occupants of the English cemetery will be found the names of
Sir Harris Nicolas, Basil Montagu, Smithson Pennant, Sir William
Ouseley, Sir William Hamilton, and Sir C. M. Carmichael. And among
other literary celebrities connected with the place, apart from Dickens
(who gave his impressions of the place in Household Words, November
1854) we should include in a brief list, Charles Lever, Horace Smith,
Wilkie Collins, Mrs. Henry Wood, Professor York Powell, the Marquis of
Steyne (Lord Seymour), Mrs. Jordan, Clark Russell, and Sir Conan Doyle.
There are also memorable associations with Lola Montes, Heinrich Heine,
Becky Sharpe, and above all Colonel Newcome. My first care in the place
was to discover the rampart where the Colonel used to parade with
little Clive. Among the native luminaries are Daunou, Duchenne de
Boulogne, one of the foremost physiologists of the last century, an
immediate predecessor of Charcot in knowledge of the nervous system,
Aug. Mariette, the Egyptologist, Aug. Angellier, the biographer of
Burns, Sainte-Beuve, Prof. Morel, and "credibly," Godfrey de Bouillon,
of whom Charles Lamb wrote "poor old Godfrey, he must be getting very
old now." The great Lesage died here in 1747.] The antiquaries still
dispute about Gessoriacum, Godfrey de Bouillon, and Charlemagne's Tour.
Smollett is only fair in justifying for the town, the older portions of
which have a strong medieval suggestion, a standard of comparison
slightly more distinguished than Wapping. He never lets us forget that
he is a scholar of antiquity, a man of education and a speculative
philosopher. Hence his references to Celsus and Hippocrates and his
ingenious etymologies of wheatear and samphire, more ingenious in the
second case than sound. Smollett's field of observation had been wide
and his fund of exact information was unusually large. At Edinburgh he
had studied medicine under Monro and John Gordon, in company with such
able and distinguished men as William Hunter, Cullen, Pitcairn,
Gregory, and Armstrong--and the two last mentioned were among his
present correspondents. As naval surgeon at Carthagena he had undergone
experience such as few literary men can claim, and subsequently as
compiler, reviewer, party journalist, historian, translator,
statistician, and lexicographer, he had gained an amount of
miscellaneous information such as falls to the lot of very few minds of
his order of intelligence. He had recently directed the compilation of
a large Universal Geography or Gazetteer, the Carton or Vivien de St.
Martin if those days--hence his glib references to the manners and
customs of Laplanders, Caffres, Kamskatchans, and other recondite types
of breeding. His imaginative faculty was under the control of an
exceptionally strong and retentive memory. One may venture to say,
indeed, without danger of exaggeration that his testimonials as regards
habitual accuracy of statement have seldom been exceeded. Despite the
doctor's unflattering portraits of Frenchmen, M. Babeau admits that his
book is one written by an observer of facts, and a man whose
statements, whenever they can be tested, are for the most part
"singularly exact." Mr. W. J. Prouse, whose knowledge of the Riviera
district is perhaps almost unequalled out of France, makes this very
remarkable statement. "After reading all that has been written by very
clever people about Nice in modern times, one would probably find that
for exact precision of statement, Smollett was still the most
trustworthy guide," a view which is strikingly borne out by Mr. E.
Schuyler, who further points out Smollett's shrewd foresight in regard
to the possibilities of the Cornice road, and of Cannes and San Remo as
sanatoria." Frankly there is nothing to be seen which he does not
recognise." And even higher testimonies have been paid to Smollett's
topographical accuracy by recent historians of Nice and its
neighbourhood.

The value which Smollett put upon accuracy in the smallest matters of
detail is evinced by the corrections which he made in the margin of a
copy of the 1766 edition of the Travels. These corrections, which are
all in Smollett's own and unmistakably neat handwriting, may be divided
into four categories. In the first place come a number of verbal
emendations. Phrases are turned, inverted and improved by the skilful
"twist of the pen" which becomes a second nature to the trained
corrector of proofs; there are moreover a few topographical corrigenda,
suggested by an improved knowledge of the localities, mostly in the
neighbourhood of Pisa and Leghorn, where there is no doubt that these
corrections were made upon the occasion of Smollett's second visit to
Italy in 1770. [Some not unimportant errata were overlooked. Thus
Smollett's representation of the droit d'aubaine as a monstrous and
intolerable grievance is of course an exaggeration. (See Sentimental
Journey; J. Hill Burton, The Scot Abroad, 1881, p. 135; and Luchaire,
Instit. de France.) On his homeward journey he indicates that he
travelled from Beaune to Chalons and so by way of Auxerre to Dijon. The
right order is Chalons, Beaune, Dijon, Auxerre. As further examples of
the zeal with which Smollett regarded exactitude in the record of facts
we have his diurnal register of weather during his stay at Nice and the
picture of him scrupulously measuring the ruins at Cimiez with
packthread.] In the second place come a number of English renderings of
the citations from Latin, French, and Italian authors. Most of these
from the Latin are examples of Smollett's own skill in English verse
making. Thirdly come one or two significant admissions of overboldness
in matters of criticism, as where he retracts his censure of Raphael's
Parnassus in Letter XXXIII. Fourthly, and these are of the greatest
importance, come some very interesting additional notes upon the
buildings of Pisa, upon Sir John Hawkwood's tomb at Florence, and upon
the congenial though recondite subject of antique Roman hygiene. [Cf.
the Dinner in the manner of the Ancients in Peregrine Pickle, (xliv.)
and Letters IX. to XL in Humphry Clinker.]

After Smollett's death his books were for the most part sold for the
benefit of his widow. No use was made of his corrigenda. For twenty
years or so the Travels were esteemed and referred to, but as time went
on, owing to the sneers of the fine gentlemen of letters, such as
Walpole and Sterne, they were by degrees disparaged and fell more or
less into neglect. They were reprinted, it is true, either in
collective editions of Smollett or in various collections of travels;
[For instance in Baldwin's edition of 1778; in the 17th vol. of Mayor's
Collection of Voyages and Travels, published by Richard Phillips in
twenty-eight vols., 1809; and in an abbreviated form in John Hamilton
Moore's New and Complete Collection of Voyages and Travels (folio, Vol.
11. 938-970).] but they were not edited with any care, and as is
inevitable in such cases errors crept in, blunders were repeated, and
the text slightly but gradually deteriorated. In the last century
Smollett's own copy of the Travels bearing the manuscript corrections
that he had made in 1770, was discovered in the possession of the
Telfer family and eventually came into the British Museum. The second
volume, which affords admirable specimens of Smollett's neatly written
marginalia, has been exhibited in a show-case in the King's Library.

The corrections that Smollett purposed to make in the Travels are now
for the second time embodied in a printed edition of the text. At the
same time the text has been collated with the original edition of 1766,
and the whole has been carefully revised. The old spelling has been, as
far as possible, restored. Smollett was punctilious in such matters,
and what with his histories, his translations, his periodicals, and his
other compilations, he probably revised more proof-matter for press
than any other writer of his time. His practice as regards orthography
is, therefore, of some interest as representing what was in all
probability deemed to be the most enlightened convention of the day.

To return now to the Doctor's immediate contemplation of Boulogne, a
city described in the Itineraries as containing rien de remarquable.
The story of the Capuchin [On page 21. A Capuchin of the same stripe is
in Pickle, ch. Ill. sq.] is very racy of Smollett, while the vignette
of the shepherd at the beginning of Letter V. affords a first-rate
illustration of his terseness. Appreciate the keen and minute
observation concentrated into the pages that follow, [Especially on p.
34 to p. 40.] commencing with the shrewd and economic remarks upon
smuggling, and ending with the lively description of a Boulonnais
banquet, very amusing, very French, very life-like, and very
Smollettian. In Letter V. the Doctor again is very much himself. A
little provocation and he bristles and stabs all round. He mounts the
hygienic horse and proceeds from the lack of implements of cleanliness
to the lack of common decency, and "high flavoured instances, at which
even a native of Edinburgh would stop his nose." [This recalls
Johnson's first walk up the High Street, Edinburgh, on Bozzy's arm. "It
was a dusky night: I could not prevent his being assailed by the
evening effluvia of Edinburgh. . . . As we marched along he grumbled in
my ear, 'I smell you in the dark!'"] And then lest the southrons should
escape we have a reference to the "beastly habit of drinking from a
tankard in which perhaps a dozen filthy mouths have slabbered as is the
custom in England." With all his coarsenesses this blunt Scot was a
pioneer and fugleman of the niceties. Between times most nations are
gibbetted in this slashing epistle. The ingenious boasting of the
French is well hit off in the observation of the chevalier that the
English doubtless drank every day to the health of the Marquise de
Pompadour. The implication reminded Smollett of a narrow escape from a
duello (an institution he reprobates with the utmost trenchancy in this
book) at Ghent in 1749 with a Frenchman who affirmed that Marlborough's
battles were purposely lost by the French generals in order to mortify
Mme. de Maintenon. Two incidents of some importance to Smollett
occurred during the three months' sojourn at Boulogne. Through the
intervention of the English Ambassador at Paris (the Earl of Hertford)
he got back his books, which had been impounded by the Customs as
likely to contain matter prejudicial to the state or religion of
France, and had them sent south by shipboard to Bordeaux. Secondly, he
encountered General Paterson, a friendly Scot in the Sardinian service,
who confirmed what an English physician had told Smollett to the effect
that the climate of Nice was infinitely preferable to that of
Montpellier "with respect to disorders of the breast." Smollett now
hires a berline and four horses for fourteen louis, and sets out with
rather a heavy heart for Paris. It is problematic, he assures his good
friend Dr. Moore, whether he will ever return. "My health is very
precarious."


IV

The rapid journey to Paris by way of Montreuil, Amiens, and Clermont,
about one hundred and fifty-six miles from Boulogne, the last
thirty-six over a paved road, was favourable to superficial observation
and the normal corollary of epigram. Smollett was much impressed by the
mortifying indifference of the French innkeepers to their clients. "It
is a very odd contrast between France and England. In the former all
the people are complaisant but the publicans; in the latter there is
hardly any complaisance but among the publicans." [In regard to two
exceptional instances of politeness on the part of innkeepers, Smollett
attributes one case to dementia, the other, at Lerici, to mental shock,
caused by a recent earthquake.] Idleness and dissipation confront the
traveller, not such a good judge, perhaps, as was Arthur Young
four-and-twenty years later. "Every object seems to have shrunk in its
dimensions since I was last in Paris." Smollett was an older man by
fifteen years since he visited the French capital in the first flush of
his success as an author. The dirt and gloom of French apartments, even
at Versailles, offend his English standard of comfort. "After all, it
is in England only where we must look for cheerful apartments, gay
furniture, neatness, and convenience. There is a strange incongruity in
the French genius. With all their volatility, prattle, and fondness for
bons mots they delight in a species of drawling, melancholy, church
music. Their most favourite dramatic pieces are almost without
incident, and the dialogue of their comedies consists of moral insipid
apophthegms, entirely destitute of wit or repartee." While amusing
himself with the sights of Paris, Smollett drew up that caustic
delineation of the French character which as a study in calculated
depreciation has rarely been surpassed. He conceives the Frenchman
entirely as a petit-maitre, and his view, though far removed from
Chesterfield's, is not incompatible with that of many of his cleverest
contemporaries, including Sterne. He conceives of the typical Frenchman
as regulating his life in accordance with the claims of impertinent
curiosity and foppery, gallantry and gluttony. Thus:

"If a Frenchman is capable of real friendship, it must certainly be the
most disagreeable present he can possibly make to a man of a true
English character. You know, madam, we are naturally taciturn, soon
tired of impertinence, and much subject to fits of disgust. Your French
friend intrudes upon you at all hours; he stuns you with his loquacity;
he teases you with impertinent questions about your domestic and
private affairs; he attempts to meddle in all your concerns, and forces
his advice upon you with the most unwearied importunity; he asks the
price of everything you wear, and, so sure as you tell him, undervalues
it without hesitation; he affirms it is in a bad taste, ill contrived,
ill made; that you have been imposed upon both with respect to the
fashion and the price; that the marquis of this, or the countess of
that, has one that is perfectly elegant, quite in the bon ton, and yet
it cost her little more than you gave for a thing that nobody would
wear.

"If a Frenchman is admitted into your family, and distinguished by
repeated marks of your friendship and regard, the first return he makes
for your civilities is to make love to your wife, if she is handsome;
if not, to your sister, or daughter, or niece. If he suffers a repulse
from your wife, or attempts in vain to debauch your sister, or your
daughter, or your niece, he will, rather than not play the traitor with
his gallantry, make his addresses to your grandmother; and ten to one
but in one shape or another he will find means to ruin the peace of a
family in which he has been so kindly entertained. What he cannot
accomplish by dint of compliment and personal attendance, he will
endeavour to effect by reinforcing these with billets-doux, songs, and
verses, of which he always makes a provision for such purposes. If he
is detected in these efforts of treachery, and reproached with his
ingratitude, he impudently declares that what he had done was no more
than simple gallantry, considered in France as an indispensable duty on
every man who pretended to good breeding. Nay, he will even affirm that
his endeavours to corrupt your wife, or deflower your daughter, were
the most genuine proofs he could give of his particular regard for your
family.

"If there were five hundred dishes at table, a Frenchman will eat of
all of them, and then complain he has no appetite--this I have several
times remarked. A friend of mine gained a considerable wager upon an
experiment of this kind; the petit-maitre ate of fourteen different
plates, besides the dessert, then disparaged the cook, declaring he was
no better than a marmiton, or turnspit."

The gross unfairness, no less than the consummate cleverness, of this
caricature compels us to remember that this was written in the most
insular period of our manners, and during a brief lull in a century of
almost incessant mutual hostility between the two nations. Aristocrats
like Walpole, Gibbon, and Chesterfield could regard France from a
cosmopolitan point of view, as leading the comite of nations. But to
sturdy and true-born patriots, such as Hogarth and Smollett, reciprocal
politeness appeared as grotesque as an exchange of amenities would be
between a cormorant and an ape. Consequently, it was no doubt with a
sense of positive relief to his feelings that Smollett could bring
himself to sum up the whole matter thus. "A Frenchman lays out his
whole revenue upon taudry suits of cloaths, or in furnishing a
magnificent repas of fifty or a hundred dishes, one-half of which are
not eatable or intended to be eaten. His wardrobe goes to the fripier,
his dishes to the dogs, and himself to the devil."

These trenchant passages were written partly, it may be imagined, to
suit the English taste of the day. In that object they must have
succeeded, for they were frequently transcribed into contemporary
periodicals. In extenuation of Smollett's honesty of purpose, however,
it may be urged that he was always a thoroughgoing patriot, [Witness
his violently anti-French play, the Reprisal of 1757.] and that, coming
from a Calvinistic country where a measure of Tartufism was a necessary
condition of respectability, he reproduces the common English error of
ignoring how apt a Frenchman is to conceal a number of his best
qualities. Two other considerations deserve attention. The
race-portrait was in Smollett's day at the very height of its
disreputable reign. Secondly, we must remember how very profoundly
French character has been modified since 1763, and more especially in
consequence of the cataclysms of 1789 and 1870.

Smollett's vis comica is conspicuous in the account of the coiffure of
the period and of the superstitious reverence which a Frenchman of that
day paid to his hair. In tracing the origin of this superstition he
exhibits casually his historical learning. The crine profuso and barba
demissa of the reges crinitos, as the Merovingians were called, are
often referred to by ancient chroniclers. Long hair was identified with
right of succession, as a mark of royal race, and the maintenance of
ancient tradition. A tondu signified a slave, and even under the
Carolingians to shave a prince meant to affirm his exclusion from the
succession.


V

A general improvement in English roads, roadside inns, and methods of
conveyance commenced about 1715. The continental roads lagged behind,
until when Arthur Young wrote in 1788-89 they had got badly into
arrears. The pace of locomotion between Rome and England changed very
little in effect from the days of Julius Caesar to those of George III.
It has been said with point that Trajan and Sir Robert Peel, travelling
both at their utmost speed achieved the distance between Rome and
London in an almost precisely similar space of time. Smollett decided
to travel post between Paris and Lyons, and he found that the journey
lasted full five days and cost upwards of thirty guineas. [One of the
earliest printed road books in existence gives the posts between Paris
and Lyons. This tiny duodecimo, dated 1500, and more than worth its
weight in gold has just been acquired by the British Museum. On the old
Roman routes, see Arnold's Lectures on Modern History, 1842.] Of roads
there was a choice between two. The shorter route by Nevers and Moulins
amounted to just about three hundred English miles. The longer route by
Auxerre and Dijon, which Smollett preferred extended to three hundred
and thirty miles. The two roads diverged after passing Fontainebleau,
the shorter by Nemours and the longer by Moret. The first road was the
smoother, but apart from the chance of seeing the Vendange the route de
Burgoyne was far the more picturesque. Smollett's portraiture of the
peasantry in the less cultivated regions prepares the mind for Young's
famous description of those "gaunt emblems of famine." In Burgundy the
Doctor says, "I saw a peasant ploughing the ground with a jackass, a
lean cow, and a he-goat yoked together." His vignette of the fantastic
petit-maitre at Sens, and his own abominable rudeness, is worthy of the
master hand that drew the poor debtor Jackson in the Marshalsea in
Roderick Random.

His frank avowal of ill temper at the time deprives our entertainment
of the unamiable tinge of which it would otherwise have partaken. "The
truth is, I was that day more than usually peevish, from the bad
weather as well as from the dread of a fit of asthma, with which I was
threatened. And I daresay my appearance seemed as uncouth to him as his
travelling dress appeared to me. I had a grey, mourning frock under a
wide greatcoat, a bob-wig without powder, a very large laced hat, and a
meagre, wrinkled, discontented countenance."

From Lyons the traveller secured a return berline going back to Avignon
with three mules and a voiturier named Joseph. Joseph, though he turned
out to be an ex-criminal, proved himself the one Frenchman upon whose
fidelity and good service Smollett could look back with unfeigned
satisfaction. The sight of a skeleton dangling from a gibbet near
Valence surprised from this droll knave an ejaculation and a story,
from which it appeared only too evident that he had been first the
comrade and then the executioner of one of the most notorious brigands
of the century. The story as told by Smollett does not wholly agree
with the best authenticated particulars. The Dick Turpin of eighteenth
century France, Mandrin has engendered almost as many fables as his
English congener. [See Maignien's Bibliographie des Ecrits relatifs a
Mandrin.] As far as I have been able to discover, the great freebooter
was born at St. Etienne in May 1724. His father having been killed in a
coining affair, Mandrin swore to revenge him. He deserted from the army
accordingly, and got together a gang of contrebandiers, at the head of
which his career in Savoy and Dauphine almost resembles that of one of
the famous guerilla chieftains described in Hardman's Peninsular Scenes
and Sketches. Captured eventually, owing to the treachery of a comrade,
he was put to death on the wheel at Valence on 26th May 1755. Five
comrades were thrown into jail with him; and one of these obtained his
pardon on condition of acting as Mandrin's executioner. Alas, poor
Joseph!

Three experiences Smollett had at this season which may well fall to
the lot of road-farers in France right down to the present day. He was
poisoned with garlic, surfeited with demi-roasted small birds, and
astonished at the solid fare of the poorest looking travellers. The
summer weather, romantic scenery, and occasional picnics, which
Smollett would have liked to repeat every summer under the arches of
the Pont du Gard--the monument of antiquity which of all, excepting
only the Maison Carree at Nimes, most excited his enthusiastic
admiration, all contributed to put him into an abnormally cheerful and
convalescent humour. . . .

Smollett now bent his steps southwards to Montpellier. His baggage had
gone in advance. He was uncertain as yet whether to make Montpellier or
Nice his headquarters in the South. Like Toulouse and Tours, and Turin,
Montpellier was for a period a Mecca to English health and pleasure
seekers abroad. A city of no great antiquity, but celebrated from the
twelfth century for its schools of Law and Physic, it had been
incorporated definitely with France since 1382, and its name recurs in
French history both as the home of famous men in great number and as,
before and after the brief pre-eminence of La Rochelle, the rival of
Nimes as capital of Protestantism in the South. Evelyn, Burnet, the two
Youngs, Edward and Arthur, and Sterne have all left us an impression of
the city. Prevented by snow from crossing the Mont Cenis, John Locke
spent two winters there in the days of Charles II. (1675-77), and may
have pondered a good many of the problems of Toleration on a soil under
which the heated lava of religious strife was still unmistakeable. And
Smollett must almost have jostled en route against the celebrated
author of The Wealth of Nations, who set out with his pupil for
Toulouse in February 1764. A letter to Hume speaks of the number of
English in the neighbourhood just a month later. Lomenie de Brienne was
then in residence as archbishop. In the following November, Adam Smith
and his charge paid a visit to Montpellier to witness a pageant and
memorial, as it was supposed, of a freedom that was gone for ever, the
opening of the States of Languedoc. Antiquaries and philosophers went
to moralise on the spectacle in the spirit in which Freeman went to
Andorra, Byron to the site of Troy, or De Tocqueville to America. It
was there that the great economist met Horne Tooke.

Smollett's more practical and immediate object in making this
pilgrimage was to interview the great lung specialist, known locally to
his admiring compatriots as the Boerhaave of Montpellier, Dr. Fizes.
The medical school of Montpellier was much in evidence during the third
quarter of the eighteenth century, and for the history of its various
branches there are extant numerous Memoires pour Servir, by Prunelle,
Astruc, and others. Smollett was only just in time to consult the
reigning oracle, for the "illustrious" Dr. Fizes died in the following
year. He gives us a very unfavourable picture of this "great lanthorn
of medicine," who, notwithstanding his prodigious age, his stoop, and
his wealth, could still scramble up two pairs for a fee of six livres.
More than is the case with most medical patients, however, should we
suspect Smollett of being unduly captious. The point as to how far his
sketch of the French doctor and his diagnosis was a true one, and how
far a mere caricature, due to ill health and prejudice, has always
piqued my curiosity. But how to resolve a question involving so many
problems not of ordinary therapeutic but of historical medicine! In
this difficulty I bethought me most fortunately of consulting an
authority probably without a rival in this special branch of medical
history, Dr. Norman Moore, who with his accustomed generosity has given
me the following most instructive diagnosis of the whole situation.

"I have read Smollett's account of his illness as it appears in several
passages in his travels and in the statement which he drew up for
Professor 'F.' at Montpellier.

"Smollett speaks of his pulmonic disorder, his 'asthmatical disorder,'
and uses other expressions which show that his lungs were affected. In
his statement he mentions that he has cough, shortness of breath,
wasting, a purulent expectoration, loss of appetite at times, loss of
strength, fever, a rapid pulse, intervals of slight improvement and
subsequent exacerbations.

"This shortness of breath, he says, has steadily increased. This group
of symptoms makes it certain that he had tuberculosis of the lungs, in
other words, was slowly progressing in consumption.

"His darting pains in his side were due to the pleurisy which always
occurs in such an illness.

"His account shows also the absence of hopelessness which is a
characteristic state of mind in patients with pulmonary tuberculosis.

"I do not think that the opinion of the Montpellier professor deserves
Smollett's condemnation. It seems to me both careful and sensible and
contains all the knowledge of its time. Smollett, with an inconsistency
not uncommon in patients who feel that they have a serious disease,
would not go in person to the Professor, for he felt that from his
appearance the Professor would be sure to tell him he had consumption.
He half hoped for some other view of the written case in spite of its
explicit statements, and when Professor F-- wrote that the patient had
tubercles in his lungs, this was displeasing to poor Smollett, who had
hoped against hope to receive--some other opinion than the only
possible one, viz., that he undoubtedly had a consumption certain to
prove fatal."

The cruel truth was not to be evaded. Smollett had tuberculosis, though
not probably of the most virulent kind, as he managed to survive
another seven years, and those for the most part years of unremitting
labour. He probably gained much by substituting Nice for Montpellier as
a place to winter in, for although the climate of Montpellier is clear
and bright in the highest degree, the cold is both piercing and
treacherous. Days are frequent during the winter in which one may stand
warmly wrapped in the brilliant sun and feel the protection of a
greatcoat no more than that of a piece of gauze against the icy and
penetrating blast that comes from "the roof of France."

Unable to take the direct route by Arles as at present, the
eastward-bound traveller from Montpellier in 1764 had to make a
northerly detour. The first stone bridge up the Rhone was at Avignon,
but there was a bridge of boats connecting Beaucaire with Tarascon.
Thence, in no very placable mood, Smollett set out in mid-November by
way of Orgon [Aix], Brignolles and le Muy, striking the Mediterranean
at Frejus. En route he was inveigled into a controversy of unwonted
bitterness with an innkeeper at le Muy. The scene is conjured up for us
with an almost disconcerting actuality; no single detail of the
author's discomfiture is omitted. The episode is post-Flaubertian in
its impersonal detachment, or, as Coleridge first said, "aloofness." On
crossing the Var, the sunny climate, the romantic outline of the
Esterelles, the charms of the "neat village" of Cannes, and the first
prospect of Nice began gradually and happily to effect a slight
mitigation in our patient's humour. Smollett was indubitably one of the
pioneers of the Promenade des Anglais. Long before the days of "Dr.
Antonio" or Lord Brougham, he described for his countrymen the almost
incredible dolcezza of the sunlit coast from Antibes to Lerici. But how
much better than the barren triumph of being the unconscious fugleman
of so glittering a popularity must have been the sense of being one of
the first that ever burst from our rude island upon that secluded
little Piedmontese town, as it then was, of not above twelve thousand
souls, with its wonderful situation, noble perspective and unparalleled
climate. Well might our travel-tost doctor exclaim, "When I stand on
the rampart and look around I can scarce help thinking myself
enchanted." It was truly a garden of Armida for a native of one of the
dampest corners of North Britain.

"Forty or fifty years ago, before the great transformation took place
on the French Riviera, when Nizza, Villafranca, and Mentone were
antique Italian towns, and when it was one of the eccentricities of
Lord Brougham, to like Cannes, all that sea-board was a delightful
land. Only a hundred years ago Arthur Young had trouble to get an old
woman and a donkey to carry his portmanteau from Cannes to Antibes. I
can myself remember Cannes in 1853, a small fishing village with a
quiet beach, and Mentone, a walled town with mediaeval gates and a
castle, a few humble villas and the old Posta to give supper to any
passing traveller. It was one of the loveliest bits of Italy, and the
road from Nizza to Genoa was one long procession for four days of
glorious scenery, historic remnants, Italian colour, and picturesque
ports. From the Esterelles to San Remo this has all been ruined by the
horde of northern barbarians who have made a sort of Trouville,
Brighton, or Biarritz, with American hotels and Parisian boulevards on
every headland and bay. First came the half underground railway, a long
tunnel with lucid intervals, which destroyed the road by blocking up
its finest views and making it practically useless. Then miles of
unsightly caravanserais high walls, pompous villas, and Parisian
grandes rues crushed out every trace of Italy, of history, and
pictorial charm." So writes Mr. Frederic Harrison of this delectable
coast, [In the Daily Chronicle, 15th March 1898.] as it was, at a
period within his own recollection--a period at which it is hardly
fanciful to suppose men living who might just have remembered Smollett,
as he was in his last days, when he returned to die on the Riviera di
Levante in the autumn of 1771. Travel had then still some of the
elements of romance. Rapidity has changed all that. The trouble is that
although we can transport our bodies so much more rapidly than Smollett
could, our understanding travels at the same old pace as before. And in
the meantime railway and tourist agencies have made of modern travel a
kind of mental postcard album, with grand hotels on one side, hotel
menus on the other, and a faint aroma of continental trains haunting,
between the leaves as it were. Our real knowledge is still limited to
the country we have walked over, and we must not approach the country
we would appreciate faster than a man may drive a horse or propel a
bicycle; or we shall lose the all-important sense of artistic approach.
Even to cross the channel by time-table is fatal to that romantic
spirit (indispensable to the true magic of travel) which a slow
adjustment of the mind to a new social atmosphere and a new historical
environment alone can induce. Ruskin, the last exponent of the Grand
Tour, said truly that the benefit of travel varies inversely in
proportion to its speed. The cheap rapidity which has made our villes
de plaisir and cotes d'azur what they are, has made unwieldy boroughs
of suburban villages, and what the rail has done for a radius of a
dozen miles, the motor is rapidly doing for one of a score. So are we
sped! But we are to discuss not the psychology of travel, but the
immediate causes and circumstances of Smollett's arrival upon the
territory of Nice.


VI

Smollett did not interpret the ground-plan of the history of Nice
particularly well. Its colonisation from Massilia, its long connection
with Provence, its occupation by Saracens, its stormy connection with
the house of Anjou, and its close fidelity to the house of Savoy made
no appeal to his admiration. The most important event in its recent
history, no doubt, was the capture of the city by the French under
Catinat in 1706 (Louis XIV. being especially exasperated against what
he regarded as the treachery of Victor Amadeus), and the razing to the
ground of its famous citadel. The city henceforth lost a good deal of
its civic dignity, and its morale was conspicuously impaired. In the
war of the Austrian succession an English fleet under Admiral Matthews
was told off to defend the territory of the Nicois against the
attentions of Toulon. This was the first close contact experienced
between England and Nice, but the impressions formed were mutually
favourable. The inhabitants were enthusiastic about the unaccustomed
English plan of paying in full for all supplies demanded. The British
officers were no less delighted with the climate of Nice, the fame of
which they carried to their northern homes. It was both directly and
indirectly through one of these officers that the claims of Nice as a
sanatorium came to be put so plainly before Smollett. [Losing its
prestige as a ville forte, Nice was henceforth rapidly to gain the new
character of a ville de plaisir. In 1763, says one of the city's
historians, Smollett, the famous historian and novelist, visited Nice.
"Arriving here shattered in health and depressed in spirits, under the
genial influence of the climate he soon found himself a new man. His
notes on the country, its gardens, its orange groves, its climate
without a winter, are pleasant and just and would seem to have been
written yesterday instead of more than a hundred years ago. . . . His
memory is preserved in the street nomenclature of the place; one of the
thoroughfares still bears the appellation of Rue Smollett." (James
Nash, The Guide to Nice, 1884, p. 110.)]

Among other celebrated residents at Nice during the period of
Smollett's visit were Edward Augustus, Duke of York, the brother of
George III., who died at Monaco a few years later, and Andre Massena, a
native of the city, then a lad of six.

Before he left Montpellier Smollett indulged in two more seemingly
irresistible tirades against French folly: one against their persistent
hero-worship of such a stuffed doll as Louis le Grand, and the second
in ridicule of the immemorial French panacea, a bouillon. Now he gets
to Nice he feels a return of the craving to take a hand's turn at
depreciatory satire upon the nation of which a contemporary hand was
just tracing the deservedly better-known delineation, commencing

  Gay sprightly land of mirth and social ease,
  Pleas'd with thyself, whom all the world can please. . . .

Such inveteracy (like Dr. Johnson's against Swift) was not unnaturally
suspected by friends in England of having some personal motive. In his
fifteenth letter home, therefore, Smollett is assiduous in disclaiming
anything of the kind. He begins by attempting an amende honorable, but
before he has got well away from his exordium he insensibly and most
characteristically diverges into the more congenial path of censure,
and expands indeed into one of his most eloquent passages--a
disquisition upon the French punctilio (conceived upon lines somewhat
similar to Mercutio's address to Benvolio), to which is appended a
satire on the duello as practised in France, which glows and burns with
a radiation of good sense, racy of Smollett at his best.

To eighteenth century lovers the discussion on duelling will recall
similar talks between Boswell and Johnson, or that between the
lieutenant and Tom in the Seventh Book of Tom Jones, but, more
particularly, the sermon delivered by Johnson on this subject a propos
of General Oglethorpe's story of how he avoided a duel with Prince
Eugene in 1716. "We were sitting in company at table, whence the Prince
took up a glass of wine and by a fillip made some of it fly in
Oglethorpe's face. Here was a nice dilemma. To have challenged him
instantly might have fixed a quarrelsome character upon the young
soldier: to have taken no notice of it might have been counted as
cowardice. Oglethorpe, therefore, keeping his eye on the Prince, and
smiling all the time, as if he took what His Highness had done in jest,
said, "Mon Prince" (I forget the French words he used), "that's a good
joke; but we do it much better in England," and threw a whole glass of
wine in the Prince's face. An old general who sat by said, "Il a bien
fait, mon Prince, vous l'avez commence," and thus all ended in good
humour."

In Letter XIII. Smollett settles down to give his correspondents a
detailed description of the territory and people of Nice. At one time
it was his intention to essay yet another branch of authorship and to
produce a monograph on the natural history, antiquities, and topography
of the town as the capital of this still unfamiliar littoral; with the
late-born modesty of experience, however, he recoils from a task to
which he does not feel his opportunities altogether adequate. [See p.
152.] A quarter of Smollett's original material would embarrass a
"Guide"-builder of more recent pattern.

Whenever he got near a coast line Smollett could not refrain from
expressing decided views. If he had lived at the present day he would
infallibly have been a naval expert, better informed than most and more
trenchant than all; but recognizably one of the species, artist in
words and amateur of ocean-strategy. [Smollett had, of course, been
surgeon's mate on H.M.S. Cumberland, 1740-41.] His first curiosity at
Nice was raised concerning the port, the harbour, the galleys moored
within the mole, and the naval policy of his Sardinian Majesty. His
advice to Victor Amadeus was no doubt as excellent and as unregarded as
the advice of naval experts generally is. Of more interest to us is his
account of the slave-galleys. Among the miserable slaves whom "a
British subject cannot behold without horror and compassion," he
observes a Piedmontese count in Turkish attire, reminding the reader of
one of Dumas' stories of a count among the forcats. To learn that there
were always volunteer oarsmen among these poor outcasts is to reflect
bitterly upon the average happiness of mankind. As to whether they wore
much worse off than common seamen in the British navy of the period
(who were only in name volunteers and had often no hope of discharge
until they were worn out) under such commanders as Oakum or Whiffle [In
Roderick Random.] is another question. For confirmation of Smollett's
account in matters of detail the reader may turn to Aleman's Guzman
d'Afarache, which contains a first-hand description of the life on
board a Mediterranean slave galley, to Archenholtz's Tableau d'Italie
of 1788, to Stirling Maxwell's Don John of Austria (1883, i. 95), and
more pertinently to passages in the Life of a Galley Slave by Jean
Marteilhe (edited by Miss Betham-Edwards in 1895). After serving in the
docks at Dunkirk, Marteilhe, as a confirmed protestant, makes the
journey in the chain-gang to Marseilles, and is only released after
many delays in consequence of the personal interest and intervention of
Queen Anne. If at the peace of Utrecht in 1713 we had only been as
tender about the case of our poor Catalan allies! Nice at that juncture
had just been returned by France to the safe-keeping of Savoy, so that
in order to escape from French territory, Marteilhe sailed for Nice in
a tartane, and not feeling too safe even there, hurried thence by
Smollett's subsequent route across the Col di Tende. Many Europeans
were serving at this time in the Turkish or Algerine galleys. But the
most pitiable of all the galley slaves were those of the knights of St.
John of Malta. "Figure to yourself," wrote Jacob Houblon [The Houblon
Family, 1907 ii. 78. The accounts in Evelyn and Goldsmith are probably
familiar to the reader.] about this year, "six or seven hundred dirty
half-naked Turks in a small vessel chained to the oars, from which they
are not allowed to stir, fed upon nothing but bad biscuit and water,
and beat about on the most trifling occasion by their most inhuman
masters, who are certainly more Turks than their slaves."

After several digressions, one touching the ancient Cemenelion, a
subject upon which the Jonathan Oldbucks of Provence without exception
are unconscionably tedious, Smollett settles down to a capable
historical summary preparatory to setting his palette for a picture of
the Nissards "as they are." He was, as we are aware, no court painter,
and the cheerful colours certainly do not predominate. The noblesse for
all their exclusiveness cannot escape his censure. He can see that they
are poor (they are unable to boast more than two coaches among their
whole number), and he feels sure that they are depraved. He attributes
both vices unhesitatingly to their idleness and to their religion. In
their singularly unemotional and coolly comparative outlook upon
religion, how infinitely nearer were Fielding and Smollett than their
greatest successors, Dickens and Thackeray, to the modern critic who
observes that there is "at present not a single credible established
religion in existence." To Smollett Catholicism conjures up nothing so
vividly as the mask of comedy, while his native Calvinism stands for
the corresponding mask of tragedy. [Walpole's dictum that Life was a
comedy to those who think, a tragedy for those who feel, was of later
date than this excellent mot of Smollett's.] Religion in the sunny
spaces of the South is a "never-failing fund of pastime." The mass (of
which he tells a story that reminds us of Lever's Micky Free) is just a
mechanism invented by clever rogues for an elaborate system of petty
larceny. And what a ferocious vein of cynicism underlies his strictures
upon the perverted gallantry of the Mariolaters at Florence, or those
on the two old Catholics rubbing their ancient gums against St. Peter's
toe for toothache at Rome. The recurring emblems of crosses and gibbets
simply shock him as mementoes of the Bagne.

At Rome he compares a presentment of St. Laurence to "a barbecued pig."
"What a pity it is," he complains, "that the labours of painting should
have been employed on such shocking objects of the martyrology,"
floggings, nailings, and unnailings... "Peter writhing on the cross,
Stephen battered with stones, Sebastian stuck full of arrows,
Bartholomew flayed alive," and so on. His remarks upon the famous Pieta
of Michael Angelo are frank to the point of brutality. The right of
sanctuary and its "infamous prerogative," unheard of in England since
the days of Henry VII., were still capable of affording a lesson to the
Scot abroad. "I saw a fellow who had three days before murdered his
wife in the last month of pregnancy, taking the air with great
composure and serenity, on the steps of a church in Florence."
Smollett, it is clear, for all his philosophy, was no degenerate
representative of the blind, unreasoning seventeenth-century
detestation of "Popery and wooden shoes."

Smollett is one of the first to describe a "conversazione," and in
illustration of the decadence of Italian manners, it is natural that he
should have a good deal to tell us about the Cicisbeatura. His account
of the cicisbeo and his duties, whether in Nice, Florence, or Rome, is
certainly one of the most interesting that we have. Before Smollett and
his almost contemporary travel correspondent, Samuel Sharp, it would
probably be hard to find any mention of the cicisbeo in England, though
the word was consecrated by Sheridan a few years later. Most of the
"classic" accounts of the usage such as those by Mme. de Stael,
Stendhal, Parini, Byron and his biographers date from very much later,
when the institution was long past its prime if not actually moribund.
Now Smollett saw it at the very height of its perfection and at a time
when our decorous protestant curiosity on such themes was as lively as
Lady Mary Montagu had found it in the case of fair Circassians and
Turkish harems just thirty years previously. [A cicisbeo was a dangler.
Hence the word came to be applied punningly to the bow depending from a
clouded cane or ornamental crook. In sixteenth-century Spain, home of
the sedan and the caballero galante, the original term was bracciere.
In Venice the form was cavaliere servente. For a good note on the
subject, see Sismondi's Italian Republics, ed. William Boulting, 1907,
p. 793.] Like so much in the shapes and customs of Italy the
cicisbeatura was in its origin partly Gothic and partly Oriental. It
combined the chivalry of northern friendship with the refined passion
of the South for the seclusion of women. As an experiment in protest
against the insipidity which is too often an accompaniment of conjugal
intercourse the institution might well seem to deserve a more tolerant
and impartial investigation than it has yet received at the hands of
our sociologists. A survival so picturesque could hardly be expected to
outlive the bracing air of the nineteenth century. The north wind blew
and by 1840 the cicisbeatura was a thing of the past.

Freed from the necessity of a systematic delineation Smollett rambles
about Nice, its length and breadth, with a stone in his pouch, and
wherever a cockshy is available he takes full advantage of it. He
describes the ghetto (p. 171), the police arrangements of the place
which he finds in the main highly efficient, and the cruel punishment
of the strappado. The garrucha or strappado and the garrotes, combined
with the water-torture and the rack, represented the survival of the
fittest in the natural selection of torments concerning which the Holy
Office in Italy and Spain had such a vast experience. The strappado as
described by Smollett, however, is a more severe form of torture even
than that practised by the Inquisition, and we can only hope that his
description of its brutality is highly coloured. [See the extremely
learned disquisition on the whole subject in Dr. H. C. Lea's History of
the Inquisition in Spain, 1907, vol. iii. book vi chap. vii.] Smollett
must have enjoyed himself vastly in the market at Nice. He gives an
elaborate and epicurean account of his commissariat during the
successive seasons of his sojourn in the neighbourhood. He was not one
of these who live solely "below the diaphragm"; but he understood food
well and writes about it with a catholic gusto and relish (156-165). He
laments the rarity of small birds on the Riviera, and gives a highly
comic account of the chasse of this species of gibier. He has a good
deal to say about the sardine and tunny fishery, about the fruit and
scent traffic, and about the wine industry; and he gives us a graphic
sketch of the silkworm culture, which it is interesting to compare with
that given by Locke in 1677. He has something to say upon the general
agriculture, and more especially upon the olive and oil industry. Some
remarks upon the numerous "mummeries" and festas of the inhabitants
lead him into a long digression upon the feriae of the Romans. It is
evident from this that the box of books which he shipped by way of
Bordeaux must have been plentifully supplied with classical literature,
for, as he remarks with unaffected horror, such a thing as a bookseller
had not been so much as heard of in Nice. Well may he have expatiated
upon the total lack of taste among the inhabitants! In dealing with the
trade, revenue, and other administrative details Smollett shows himself
the expert compiler and statistician a London journalist in large
practice credits himself with becoming by the mere exercise of his
vocation. In dealing with the patois of the country he reveals the
curiosity of the trained scholar and linguist. Climate had always been
one of his hobbies, and on learning that none of the local
practitioners was in a position to exact a larger fee than sixpence
from his patients (quantum mutatus the Nice physician of 1907!) he felt
that he owed it to himself to make this the subject of an independent
investigation. He kept a register of the weather during the whole of
his stay, and his remarks upon the subject are still of historical
interest, although with Teysseire's minutely exact Monograph on the
Climatology of Nice (1881) at his disposal and innumerable commentaries
thereon by specialists, the inquirer of to-day would hardly go to
Smollett for his data. Then, as now, it is curious to find the rumour
current that the climate of Nice was sadly deteriorating. "Nothing to
what it was before the war!" as the grumbler from the South was once
betrayed into saying of the August moon. Smollett's esprit chagrin was
nonplussed at first to find material for complaint against a climate in
which he admits that there was less rain and less wind than in any
other part of the world that he knew. In these unwonted circumstances
he is constrained to fall back on the hard water and the plague of
cousins or gnats as affording him the legitimate grievance, in whose
absence the warrior soul of the author of the Ode to Independence could
never be content.


VII

For his autumn holiday in 1764 Smollett decided on a jaunt to Florence
and Rome, returning to Nice for the winter; and he decided to travel as
far as Leghorn by sea. There was choice between several kinds of small
craft which plied along the coast, and their names recur with cheerful
frequency in the pages of Marryat and other depictors of the
Mediterranean. There was the felucca, an open boat with a tilt over the
stern large enough to freight a post-chaise, and propelled by ten to
twelve stout mariners. To commission such a boat to Genoa, a distance
of a hundred miles, cost four louis. As alternative, there was the
tartane, a sailing vessel with a lateen sail. Addison sailed from
Marseilles to Genoa in a tartane in December 1699: a storm arose, and
the patron alarmed the passengers by confessing his sins (and such
sins!) loudly to a Capuchin friar who happened to be aboard. Smollett
finally decided on a gondola, with four rowers and a steersman, for
which he had to pay nine sequins (4 1/2 louis). After adventures off
Monaco, San Remo, Noli, and elsewhere, the party are glad to make the
famous phones on the Torre della Lanterna, of which banker Rogers sings
in his mediocre verse:

  Thy pharos Genoa first displayed itself
  Burning in stillness on its rocky seat;
  That guiding star so oft the only one,
  When those now glowing in the azure vault
  Are dark and silent

Smollett's description of Genoa is decidedly more interesting. He
arrived at a moment specially propitious to so sardonic an observer,
for the Republic had fallen on evil times, having escaped from the
clutches of Austria in 1746 by means of a popular riot, during which
the aristocracy considerately looked the other way, only to fall into
an even more embarrassed and unheroic position vis-a-vis of so
diminutive an opponent as Corsica. The whole story is a curious
prototype of the nineteenth century imbroglio between Spain and Cuba.
Of commonplaces about the palaces fruitful of verbiage in Addison and
Gray, who says with perfect truth, "I should make you sick of marble
were I to tell you how it is lavished here," Smollett is sparing
enough, though he evidently regards the inherited inclination of
Genoese noblemen to build beyond their means as an amiable weakness.
His description of the proud old Genoese nobleman, who lives in marble
and feeds on scraps, is not unsympathetic, and suggests that the
"deceipt of the Ligurians," which Virgil censures in the line

  Haud Ligurum extremus, dum fallere fata sinebant

may possibly have been of this Balderstonian variety. But Smollett had
little room in his economy for such vapouring speculations. He was as
unsentimental a critic as Sydney Smith or Sir Leslie Stephen. He wants
to know the assets of a place more than its associations. Facts,
figures, trade and revenue returns are the data his shrewd mind
requires to feed on. He has a keen eye for harbours suitable for an
English frigate to lie up in, and can hardly rest until his sagacity
has collected material for a political horoscope.

Smollett's remarks upon the mysterious dispensations of Providence in
regard to Genoa and the retreat of the Austrians are charged to the
full with his saturnine spirit. His suspicions were probably well
founded. Ever since 1685 Genoa had been the more or less humiliated
satellite of France, and her once famous Bank had been bled pretty
extensively by both belligerents. The Senate was helpless before the
Austrian engineers in 1745, and the emancipation of the city was due
wholly to a popular emeute. She had relapsed again into a completely
enervated condition. Smollett thought she would have been happier under
British protection. But it is a vicious alternative for a nation to
choose a big protector. It was characteristic of the Republic that from
1790 to 1798 its "policy" was to remain neutral. The crisis in regard
to Corsica came immediately after Smollett's visit, when in 1765, under
their 154th doge Francesco Maria Rovere, the Genoese offered to abandon
the island to the patriots under Paoli, reserving only the possession
of the two loyal coast-towns of Bonifazio and Calvi. [See Boswell's
Corsica, 1766-8.] At Paoli's instance these conciliatory terms were
refused. Genoa, in desperation and next door to bankruptcy, resolved to
sell her rights as suzerain to France, and the compact was concluded by
a treaty signed at Versailles in 1768. Paoli was finally defeated at
Ponte Novo on 9th May 1769, and fled to England. On 15th August the
edict of "Reunion" between France and Corsica was promulgated. On the
same day Napoleon Buonaparte was born at Ajaccio.

After a week at Genoa Smollett proceeded along the coast to Lerici.
There, being tired of the sea, the party disembarked, and proceeded by
chaise from Sarzano to Cercio in Modenese territory, and so into
Tuscany, then under the suzerainty of Austria. His description of Pisa
is of an almost sunny gaiety and good humour. Italy, through this
portal, was capable of casting a spell even upon a traveller so
case-hardened as Smollett. The very churches at Pisa are "tolerably
ornamented." The Campo Santo and Tower fall in no way short of their
reputation, while the brass gates so far excel theirs that Smollett
could have stood a whole day to examine and admire them. These agremens
may be attributable in some measure to "a very good inn."  In stating
that galleys were built in the town, Smollett seems to have fallen a
victim, for once, to guide-book information. Evelyn mentions that
galleys were built there in his time, but that was more than a hundred
years before. The slips and dock had long been abandoned, as Smollett
is careful to point out in his manuscript notes, now in the British
Museum. He also explains with superfluous caution that the Duomo of
Pisa is not entirely Gothic. Once arrived in the capital of Tuscany,
after admitting that Florence is a noble city, our traveller is anxious
to avoid the hackneyed ecstasies and threadbare commonplaces, derived
in those days from Vasari through Keysler and other German
commentators, whose genius Smollett is inclined to discover rather "in
the back than in the brain."

The two pass-words for a would-be connoisseur, according to Goldsmith,
were to praise Perugino, and to say that such and such a work would
have been much better had the painter devoted more time and study to
it. With these alternatives at hand one might pass with credit through
any famous continental collection. Smollett aspired to more
independence of thought and opinion, though we perceive at every turn
how completely the Protestant prejudice of his "moment" and "milieu"
had obtained dominion over him. To his perception monks do not chant or
intone, they bawl and bellow their litanies. Flagellants are hired
peasants who pad themselves to repletion with women's bodices. The
image of the Virgin Mary is bejewelled, hooped, painted, patched,
curled, and frizzled in the very extremity of the fashion. No
particular attention is paid by the mob to the Crucified One, but as
soon as his lady-mother appeared on the shoulders of four lusty friars
the whole populace fall upon their knees in the dirt. We have some
characteristic criticism and observation of the Florentine nobles, the
opera, the improvisatori, [For details as to the eighteenth-century
improvisatore and commedia delle arte the reader is referred to
Symonds's Carlo Gozzi. See also the Travel Papers of Mrs. Piozzi;
Walpole's Letters to Sir Horace Mann, and Doran's Mann and Manners at
the Court of Florence. (Vide Appendix A, p. 345)] the buildings, and
the cicisbei. Smollett nearly always gives substantial value to his
notes, however casual, for he has an historian's eye, and knows the
symptoms for which the inquirer who comes after is likely to make
inquisition.

Smollett's observations upon the state of Florence in Letters XXVII and
XXVIII are by no means devoid of value. The direct rule of the Medici
had come to an end in 1737, and Tuscany (which with the exception of
the interlude of 1798-1814 remained in Austrian hands down to 1860) was
in 1764 governed by the Prince de Craon, viceroy of the Empress Maria
Theresa. Florence was, indeed, on the threshold of the sweeping
administrative reforms instituted by Peter Leopold, the archduke for
whom Smollett relates that they were preparing the Pitti Palace at the
time of his stay. This Prince governed the country as Grand Duke from
1765 to 1790, when he succeeded his brother as Emperor, and left a name
in history as the ill-fated Leopold. Few more active exponents of
paternal reform are known to history. But the Grand Duke had to deal
with a people such as Smollett describes. Conservative to the core,
subservient to their religious directors, the "stupid party" in
Florence proved themselves clever enough to retard the process of
enlightenment by methods at which even Smollett himself might have
stood amazed. The traveller touches an interesting source of biography
when he refers to the Englishman called Acton, formerly an East India
Company captain, now commander of the Emperor's Tuscan Navy, consisting
of "a few frigates." This worthy was the old commodore whom Gibbon
visited in retirement at Leghorn. The commodore was brother of Gibbon's
friend, Dr. Acton, who was settled at Besancon, where his noted son,
afterwards Sir John Acton, was born in 1736. Following in the footsteps
of his uncle the commodore, who became a Catholic, Smollett tells us,
and was promoted Admiral of Tuscany, John Acton entered the Tuscan
Marine in 1775.

[Sir John Acton's subsequent career belongs to history. His origin made
him an expert on naval affairs, and in 1776 he obtained some credit for
an expedition which he commanded against the Barbary pirates. In 1778
Maria Carolina of Naples visited her brother Leopold at Florence, and
was impressed by Acton's ugliness and reputation for exceptional
efficiency. Her favourite minister, Prince Caramanico, persuaded the
Grand Duke, Leopold, to permit Acton to exchange into the Neapolitan
service, and reorganize the navy of the southern kingdom. This actually
came to pass, and, moreover, Acton played his cards so well that he
soon engrossed the ministries of War and Finance, and after the death
of Caracciolo, the elder, also that of Foreign Affairs. Sir William
Hamilton had a high opinion of the" General," soon to become
Field-Marshal. He took a strong part in resistance to revolutionary
propaganda, caused to be built the ships which assisted Nelson in 1795,
and proved himself one of the most capable bureaucrats of the time. But
the French proved too strong, and Napoleon was the cause of his
disgrace in 1804. In that year, by special dispensation from the Pope,
he married his niece, and retired to Palermo, where he died on 12th
August 1811.]

Let loose in the Uffizi Gallery Smollett shocked his sensitive
contemporaries by his freedom from those sham ecstasies which have too
often dogged the footsteps of the virtuosi. Like Scott or Mark Twain at
a later date Smollett was perfectly ready to admire anything he could
understand; but he expressly disclaims pretensions to the nice
discernment and delicate sensibility of the connoisseur. He would never
have asked to be left alone with the Venus de Medicis as a modern
art-critic is related to have asked to be left alone with the Venus of
Rokeby. He would have been at a loss to understand the state of mind of
the eminent actor who thought the situation demanded that he should be
positively bereft of breath at first sight of the Apollo Belvedere, and
panting to regain it, convulsively clutched at the arm of his
companion, with difficulty articulating, "I breathe." Smollett refused
to be hypnotized by the famous Venus discovered at Hadrian's villa,
brought from Tivoli in 1680, and then in the height of its renown; the
form he admired, but condemned the face and the posture. Personally I
disagree with Smollett, though the balance of cultivated opinion has
since come round to his side. The guilt of Smollett lay in criticizing
what was above criticism, as the contents of the Tribuna were then held
to be. And in defence of this point of view it may at least be said
that the Uffizi was then, with the exception of the Vatican, the only
gallery of first-rate importance open to the travelling public on the
Grand Tour. Founded by Cosimo I, built originally by George Vasari, and
greatly enlarged by Francis I, who succeeded to the Grand Duchy in
1574, the gallery owed most perhaps to the Cardinal, afterwards
Ferdinand I, who constructed the Tribuna, and to Cardinal Leopold, an
omnivorous collector, who died in 1675. But all the Medici princes
added to the rarities in the various cabinets, drawing largely upon the
Villa Medici at Rome for this purpose, and the last of them, John
Gaston (1723-1737), was one of the most liberal as regards the freedom
of access which he allowed to his accumulated treasures. Among the
distinguished antiquaries who acted as curators and cicerones were
Sebastiano Bianchi, Antonio Cocchi, Raymond Cocchi, Joseph Bianchi, J.
B. Pelli, the Abbe Lanzi, and Zacchiroli. The last three all wrote
elaborate descriptions of the Gallery during the last decades of the
eighteenth century. There was unhappily an epidemic of dishonesty among
the custodians of gems at this period, and, like the notorious Raspe,
who fled from Cassel in 1775, and turned some of his old employers to
ridicule in his Baron Munchausen, Joseph Bianchi was convicted first of
robbing his cabinet and then attempting to set it on fire, for which
exploit the "learned and judicious Bianchi," as Smollett called him in
his first edition, was sent to prison for life. The Arrotino which
Smollett so greatly admired, and which the delusive Bianchi declared to
be a representation of the Augur Attus Naevius, is now described as "A
Scythian whetting his knife to flay Marsyas."

Kinglake has an amusingly cynical passage on the impossibility of
approaching the sacred shrines of the Holy Land in a fittingly
reverential mood. Exactly the same difficulty is experienced in
approaching the sacred shrines of art. Enthusiasm about great artistic
productions, though we may readily understand it to be justifiable, is
by no means so easily communicable. How many people possessing a real
claim to culture have felt themselves puzzled by their insensibility
before some great masterpiece! Conditions may be easily imagined in
which the inducement to affect an ecstasy becomes so strong as to prove
overpowering. Many years ago at Florence the loiterers in the Tribuna
were startled by the sudden rush into the place of a little man whose
literary fame gave him high claims to intuitive taste. He placed
himself with high clasped hand before the chief attraction in that room
of treasures. "There," he murmured, "is the Venus de Medicis, and here
I must stay--for ever and for ever." He had scarcely uttered these
words, each more deeply and solemnly than the preceding, when an
acquaintance entered, and the enthusiast, making a hasty inquiry if
Lady So-and-So had arrived, left the room not to return again that
morning. Before the same statue another distinguished countryman used
to pass an hour daily. His acquaintance respected his raptures and kept
aloof; but a young lady, whose attention was attracted by sounds that
did not seem expressive of admiration, ventured to approach, and found
the poet sunk in profound, but not silent, slumber. From such
absurdities as these, or of the enthusiast who went into raptures about
the head of the Elgin Ilissos (which is unfortunately a headless
trunk), we are happily spared in the pages of Smollett. In him complete
absence of gush is accompanied by an independent judgement, for which
it may quite safely be claimed that good taste is in the ascendant in
the majority of cases.

From Florence Smollett set out in October 1764 for Siena, a distance of
forty-two miles, in a good travelling coach; he slept there, and next
day, seven and a half miles farther on, at Boon Convento, hard by
Montepulciano, now justly celebrated for its wine, he had the amusing
adventure with the hostler which gave occasion for his vivid portrait
of an Italian uffiziale, and also to that irresistible impulse to cane
the insolent hostler, from the ill consequences of which he was only
saved by the underling's precipitate flight. The night was spent at
Radicofani, five and twenty miles farther on. A clever postilion
diversified the route to Viterbo, another forty-three miles. The party
was now within sixteen leagues, or ten hours, of Rome. The road from
Radicofani was notoriously bad all the way, but Smollett was too
excited or too impatient to pay much attention to it. "You may guess
what I felt at first sight of the city of Rome."

"When you arrive at Rome," he says later, in somewhat more accustomed
vein, "you receive cards from all your country folk in that city. They
expect to have the visit returned next day, when they give orders not
to be at home, and you never speak to one another in the sequel. This
is a refinement in hospitality and politeness which the English have
invented by the strength of their own genius without any assistance
either from France, Italy, or Lapland." It is needless to recapitulate
Smollett's views of Rome. Every one has his own, and a passing
traveller's annotations are just about as nourishing to the imagination
as a bibliographer's note on the Bible. Smollett speaks in the main
judiciously of the Castle of St. Angelo, the Piazza and the interior of
St. Peter's, the Pincian, the Forum, the Coliseum, the Baths of
Caracalla, and the other famous sights of successive ages. On Roman
habits and pastimes and the gullibility of the English cognoscente he
speaks with more spice of authority. Upon the whole he is decidedly
modest about his virtuoso vein, and when we reflect upon the way in
which standards change and idols are shifted from one pedestal to
another, it seems a pity that such modesty has not more votaries. In
Smollett's time we must remember that Hellenic and primitive art,
whether antique or medieval, were unknown or unappreciated. The
reigning models of taste in ancient sculpture were copies of
fourth-century originals, Hellenistic or later productions. Hence
Smollett's ecstasies over the Laocoon, the Niobe, and the Dying
Gladiator. Greek art of the best period was hardly known in authentic
examples; antiques so fine as the Torso of Hercules were rare. But
while his failures show the danger of dogmatism in art criticism,
Smollett is careful to disclaim all pretensions to the nice discernment
of the real connoisseur. In cases where good sense and sincere
utterance are all that is necessary he is seldom far wrong. Take the
following description for example:--

"You need not doubt but that I went to the church of St. Peter in
Montorio, to view the celebrated Transfiguration by Raphael, which, if
it was mine, I would cut in two parts. The three figures in the air
attract the eye so strongly that little or no attention is paid to
those below on the mountain. I apprehend that the nature of the subject
does not admit of that keeping and dependence which ought to be
maintained in the disposition of the lights and shadows in a picture.
The groups seem to be entirely independent of each other. The
extraordinary merit of this piece, I imagine, consists not only in the
expression of divinity on the face of Christ, but also in the
surprising lightness of the figure that hovers like a beautiful
exhalation in the air."

Smollett's remarks about the "Last Judgement" of Michael Angelo, (that
it confuses the eye as a number of people speaking at once confounds
the ear; and that while single figures are splendid, the whole together
resembles a mere mob, without subordination, keeping, or repose) will
probably be re-echoed by a large proportion of the sightseers who gaze
upon it yearly. But his description of the "Transfiguration" displays
an amount of taste and judgement which is far from being so widely
distributed. For purposes of reproduction at the present day, I may
remind the reader that the picture is ordinarily "cut in two." and the
nether portion is commonly attributed to Raphael's pupils, while the
"beautiful exhalation," as Smollett so felicitously terms it, is
attributed exclusively to the master when at the zenith of his powers.
His general verdict upon Michael Angelo and Raphael has much in it that
appeals to a modern taste. Of Raphael, as a whole, he concludes that
the master possesses the serenity of Virgil, but lacks the fire of
Homer; and before leaving this same Letter XXXIII, in which Smollett
ventures so many independent critical judgements, I am tempted to cite
yet another example of his capacity for acute yet sympathetic
appreciation.
 "In the Palazzo Altieri I admired a picture, by Carlo Maratti,
representing a saint calling down lightning from heaven to destroy
blasphemers. It was the figure of the saint I admired, merely as a
portrait. The execution of the other parts was tame enough; perhaps
they were purposely kept down in order to preserve the importance of
the principal figure. I imagine Salvator Rosa would have made a
different disposition on the same subject--that amidst the darkness of
a tempest he would have illuminated the blasphemer with the flash of
lightning by which he was destroyed. This would have thrown a dismal
gleam upon his countenance, distorted by the horror of his situation as
well as by the effects of the fire, and rendered the whole scene
dreadfully picturesque."

Smollett confuses historical and aesthetic grandeur. What appeals to
him most is a monument of a whole past civilization, such as the Pont
du Gard. His views of art, too, as well as his views of life, are
profoundly influenced by his early training as a surgeon. He is not
inclined by temperament to be sanguine. His gaze is often fixed, like
that of a doctor, upon the end of life; and of art, as of nature, he
takes a decidedly pathological view. Yet, upon the whole, far from
deriding his artistic impressions, I think we shall be inclined rather
to applaud them, as well for their sanity as for their undoubted
sincerity.

For the return journey to Florence Smollett selected the alternative
route by Narni, Terni, Spoleto, Foligno, Perugia, and Arezzo, and, by
his own account, no traveller ever suffered quite so much as he did
from "dirt," "vermin," "poison," and imposture. At Foligno, where
Goethe also, in his travels a score of years or so later, had an
amusing adventure, Smollett was put into a room recently occupied by a
wild beast (bestia), but the bestia turned out on investigation to be
no more or no less than an "English heretic." The food was so filthy
that it might have turned the stomach of a muleteer; their coach was
nearly shattered to pieces; frozen with cold and nearly devoured by
rats. Mrs. Smollett wept in silence with horror and fatigue; and the
bugs gave the Doctor a whooping-cough. If Smollett anticipated a
violent death from exhaustion and chagrin in consequence of these
tortures he was completely disappointed. His health was never
better,--so much so that he felt constrained in fairness to drink to
the health of the Roman banker who had recommended this nefarious
route. [See the Doctor's remarks at the end of Letter XXXV.] By
Florence and Lerici he retraced his steps to Nice early in 1765, and
then after a brief jaunt to Turin (where he met Sterne) and back by the
Col di Tende, he turned his face definitely homewards. The journey home
confirmed his liking for Pisa, and gives an opening for an amusing
description of the Britisher abroad (Letter XXXV). We can almost
overhear Thackeray, or the author of Eothen, touching this same topic
in Letter XLI. "When two natives of any other country chance to meet
abroad, they run into each other's embrace like old friends, even
though they have never heard of one another till that moment; whereas
two Englishmen in the same situation maintain a mutual reserve and
diffidence, and keep without the sphere of each other's attraction,
like two bodies endowed with a repulsive power." Letter XXXVI gives
opportunity for some discerning remarks on French taxation. Having
given the French king a bit of excellent advice (that he should abolish
the fermiers generaux), Smollett proceeds, in 1765, to a forecast of
probabilities which is deeply significant and amazingly shrewd. The
fragment known as Smollett's Dying Prophecy of 1771 has often been
discredited. Yet the substance of it is fairly adumbrated here in the
passage beginning, "There are undoubtedly many marks of relaxation in
the reins of French government," written fully six years previously.
After a pleasing description of Grasse, "famous for its pomatum,
gloves, wash-balls, perfumes, and toilette boxes lined with bergamot,"
the homeward traveller crossed the French frontier at Antibes, and in
Letter XXXIX at Marseille, he compares the galley slaves of France with
those of Savoy. At Bath where he had gone to set up a practice,
Smollett once astonished the faculty by "proving" in a pamphlet that
the therapeutic properties of the waters had been prodigiously
exaggerated. So, now, in the south of France he did not hesitate to
pronounce solemnly that "all fermented liquors are pernicious to the
human constitution." Elsewhere he comments upon the immeasurable
appetite of the French for bread. The Frenchman will recall the story
of the peasant-persecuting baron whom Louis XII. provided with a
luxurious feast, which the lack of bread made uneatable; he may not
have heard a story told me in Liege at the Hotel Charlemagne of the
Belgian who sought to conciliate his French neighbour by remarking, "Je
vois que vous etes Français, monsieur, parceque vous mangez beaucoup de
pain," and the Frenchman's retort, "Je vois que vous etes lye monsieur,
parceque vous mangez beaucoup de tout!" From Frejus Smollett proceeds
to Toulon, repeating the old epigram that "the king of France is
greater at Toulon than at Versailles." The weather is so pleasant that
the travellers enjoy a continual concert of "nightingales" from Vienne
to Fontainebleau. The "douche" of Aix-les-Bains having been explained,
Smollett and his party proceeded agreeably to Avignon, where by one of
the strange coincidences of travel he met his old voiturier Joseph "so
embrowned by the sun that he might have passed for an Iroquois." In
spite of Joseph's testimonial the "plagues of posting" are still in the
ascendant, and Smollett is once more generous of good advice. Above
all, he adjures us when travelling never to omit to carry a hammer and
nails, a crowbar, an iron pin or two, a large knife, and a bladder of
grease. Why not a lynch pin, which we were so carefully instructed how
to inquire about in Murray's Conversation for Travellers?

But-the history of his troublous travels is drawing to an end. From
Lyons the route is plain through Macon, Chalons, Dijon, Auxerre, Sells,
and Fontainebleau--the whole itinerary almost exactly anticipates that
of Talfourd's Vacation Tour one hundred and ten years later, except
that on the outward journey Talfourd sailed down the Rhone.

Smollett's old mental grievances and sores have been shifted and to
some extent, let us hope, dissipated by his strenuous journeyings, and
in June 1765, after an absence of two years, he is once more enabled to
write,

"You cannot imagine what pleasure I feel while I survey the white
cliffs of Dover at this distance [from Boulogne]. Not that I am at all
affected by the nescio qua dulcedine natalis soli of Horace.

"That seems to be a kind of fanaticism, founded on the prejudices of
education, which induces a Laplander to place the terrestrial paradise
among the snows of Norway, and a Swiss to prefer the barren mountains
of Soleure to the fruitful plains of Lombardy. I am attached to my
country, because it is the land of liberty, cleanliness, and
convenience; but I love it still more tenderly, as the scene of all my
interesting connections, as the habitation of my friends, for whose
conversation, correspondence, and esteem I wish alone to live."

For the time being it cannot be doubted that the hardships Smollett had
to undergo on his Italian journey, by sea and land, and the violent
passions by which he was agitated owing to the conduct of refractory
postilions and extortionate innkeepers, contributed positively to brace
up and invigorate his constitution. He spoke of himself indeed as
"mended by ill-treatment" not unlike Tavernier, the famous
traveller,--said to have been radically cured of the gout by a Turkish
aga in Egypt, who gave him the bastinado because he would not look at
the head of the bashaw of Cairo. But Fizes was right after all in his
swan-prescription, for poor Smollett's cure was anything but a radical
one. His health soon collapsed under the dreary round of incessant
labour at Chelsea. His literary faculty was still maturing and
developing. His genius was mellowing, and a later work might have
eclipsed Clinker. But it was not to be. He had a severe relapse in the
winter. In 1770 he had once more to take refuge from overwork on the
sunny coast he had done so much to popularize among his countrymen, and
it was near Leghorn that he died on 17th September 1771.

  ANNO AETATIS 51.
  EHEV!  QVAM PROCVL A PATRIA!
  PROPE LIBVRNI PORTVM, IN ITALIA
  JACET SEPVLTVS.

  THOMAS SECCOMBE. ACTON, May 1907.



LETTER I

BOULOGNE SUR MER, June 23, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--You laid your commands upon me at parting, to communicate
from time to time the observations I should make in the course of my
travels and it was an injunction I received with pleasure. In
gratifying your curiosity, I shall find some amusement to beguile the
tedious hours, which, without some such employment, would be rendered
insupportable by distemper and disquiet.

You knew, and pitied my situation, traduced by malice, persecuted by
faction, abandoned by false patrons, and overwhelmed by the sense of a
domestic calamity, which it was not in the power of fortune to repair.

You know with what eagerness I fled from my country as a scene of
illiberal dispute, and incredible infatuation, where a few worthless
incendiaries had, by dint of perfidious calumnies and atrocious abuse,
kindled up a flame which threatened all the horrors of civil dissension.

I packed up my little family in a hired coach, and attended by my
trusty servant, who had lived with me a dozen of years, and now refused
to leave me, took the road to Dover, in my way to the South of France,
where I hoped the mildness of the climate would prove favourable to the
weak state of my lungs.

You advised me to have recourse again to the Bath waters, from the use
of which I had received great benefit the preceding winter: but I had
many inducements to leave England. My wife earnestly begged I would
convey her from a country where every object served to nourish her
grief: I was in hopes that a succession of new scenes would engage her
attention, and gradually call off her mind from a series of painful
reflections; and I imagined the change of air, and a journey of near a
thousand miles, would have a happy effect upon my own constitution.
But, as the summer was already advanced, and the heat too excessive for
travelling in warm climates, I proposed staying at Boulogne till the
beginning of autumn, and in the mean time to bathe in the sea, with a
view to strengthen and prepare my body for the fatigues of such a long
journey.

A man who travels with a family of five persons, must lay his account
with a number of mortifications; and some of these I have already
happily overcome. Though I was well acquainted with the road to Dover,
and made allowances accordingly, I could not help being chagrined at
the bad accommodation and impudent imposition to which I was exposed.
These I found the more disagreeable, as we were detained a day
extraordinary on the road, in consequence of my wife's being indisposed.

I need not tell you this is the worst road in England with respect to
the conveniences of travelling, and must certainly impress foreigners
with an unfavourable opinion of the nation in general. The chambers are
in general cold and comfortless, the beds paultry, the cookery
execrable, the wine poison, the attendance bad, the publicans insolent,
and the bills extortion; there is not a drop of tolerable malt liquor
to be had from London to Dover.

Every landlord and every waiter harangued upon the knavery of a
publican in Canterbury, who had charged the French ambassador forty
pounds for a supper that was not worth forty shillings. They talked
much of honesty and conscience; but when they produced their own bills,
they appeared to be all of the same family and complexion. If it was a
reproach upon the English nation, that an innkeeper should pillage
strangers at that rate; it is a greater scandal, that the same fellow
should be able to keep his house still open. I own, I think it would be
for the honour of the kingdom to reform the abuses of this road; and in
particular to improve the avenue to London by the way of Kent-Street,
which is a most disgraceful entrance to such an opulent city. A
foreigner, in passing through this beggarly and ruinous suburb,
conceives such an idea of misery and meanness, as all the wealth and
magnificence of London and Westminster are afterwards unable to
destroy. A friend of mine, who brought a Parisian from Dover in his own
post-chaise, contrived to enter Southwark after it was dark, that his
friend might not perceive the nakedness of this quarter. The stranger
was much pleased with the great number of shops full of merchandize,
lighted up to the best advantage. He was astonished at the display of
riches in Lombard-Street and Cheapside. The badness of the pavement
made him find the streets twice as long as they were. They alighted in
Upper Brook-Street by Grosvenor-Square; and when his conductor told him
they were then about the middle of London, the Frenchman declared, with
marks of infinite surprize, that London was very near as long as Paris.

On my arrival at Dover I payed off my coachman, who went away with a
heavy heart. He wanted much to cross the sea, and endeavoured to
persuade me to carry the coach and horses to the other side. If I had
been resolved to set out immediately for the South, perhaps I should
have taken his advice. If I had retained him at the rate of twenty
guineas per month, which was the price he demanded, and begun my
journey without hesitation, I should travel more agreeably than I can
expect to do in the carriages of this  country; and the difference of
the expence would be a mere trifle. I would advise every man who
travels through France to bring his own vehicle along with him, or at
least to purchase one at Calais or Boulogne, where second-hand berlins
and chaises may be generally had at reasonable rates. I have been
offered a very good berlin for thirty guineas: but before I make the
purchase, I must be better informed touching the different methods of
travelling in this country.

Dover is commonly termed a den of thieves; and I am afraid it is not
altogether without reason, it has acquired this appellation. The people
are said to live by piracy in time of war; and by smuggling and
fleecing strangers in time of peace: but I will do them the justice to
say, they make no distinction between foreigners and natives. Without
all doubt a man cannot be much worse lodged and worse treated in any
part of Europe; nor will he in any other place meet with more flagrant
instances of fraud, imposition, and brutality. One would imagine they
had formed a general conspiracy against all those who either go to, or
return from the continent. About five years ago, in my passage from
Flushing to Dover, the master of the packet-boat brought-to all of a
sudden off the South Foreland, although the wind was as favourable as
it could blow. He was immediately boarded by a customhouse boat, the
officer of which appeared to be his friend. He then gave the passengers
to understand, that as it was low water, the ship could not go into the
harbour; but that the boat would carry them ashore with their baggage.

The custom-house officer demanded a guinea for this service, and the
bargain was made. Before we quitted the ship, we were obliged to
gratify the cabin-boy for his attendance, and to give drink-money to
the sailors. The boat was run aground on the open beach; but we could
not get ashore without the assistance of three or four fellows, who
insisted upon being paid for their trouble. Every parcel and bundle, as
it was landed, was snatched up by a separate porter: one ran away with
a hat-box, another with a wig-box, a third with a couple of shirts tied
up in a handkerchief, and two were employed in carrying a small
portmanteau that did not weigh forty pounds. All our things were
hurried to the custom-house to be searched, and the searcher was paid
for disordering our cloaths: from thence they were removed to the inn,
where the porters demanded half-a-crown each for their labour. It was
in vain to expostulate; they surrounded the house like a pack of hungry
bounds, and raised such a clamour, that we were fain to comply. After
we had undergone all this imposition, we were visited by the master of
the packet, who, having taken our fares, and wished us joy of our happy
arrival in England, expressed his hope that we would remember the poor
master, whose wages were very small, and who chiefly depended upon the
generosity of the passengers. I own I was shocked at his meanness, and
could not help telling him so. I told him, I could not conceive what
title he had to any such gratification: he had sixteen passengers, who
paid a guinea each, on the supposition that every person should have a
bed; but there were no more than eight beds in the cabin, and each of
these was occupied before I came on board; so that if we had been
detained at sea a whole week by contrary winds and bad weather, one
half of the passengers must have slept upon the boards, howsoever their
health might have suffered from this want of accommodation.
Notwithstanding this check, he was so very abject and importunate, that
we gave him a crown a-piece, and he retired.

The first thing I did when I arrived at Dover this last time, was to
send for the master of a packet-boat, and agree with him to carry us to
Boulogne at once, by which means I saved the expence of travelling by
land from Calais to this last place, a journey of four-and-twenty
miles. The hire of a vessel from Dover to Boulogne is precisely the
same as from Dover to Calais, five guineas; but this skipper demanded
eight, and, as I did not know the fare, I agreed to give him six. We
embarked between six and seven in the evening, and found ourselves in a
most wretched hovel, on board what is called a Folkstone cutter. The
cabin was so small that a dog could hardly turn in it, and the beds put
me in mind of the holes described in some catacombs, in which the
bodies of the dead were deposited, being thrust in with the feet
foremost; there was no getting into them but end-ways, and indeed they
seemed so dirty, that nothing but extreme necessity could have obliged
me to use them. We sat up all night in a most uncomfortable situation,
tossed about by the sea, cold, arid cramped and weary, and languishing
for want of sleep. At three in the morning the master came down, and
told us we were just off the harbour of Boulogne; but the wind blowing
off shore, he could not possibly enter, and therefore advised us to go
ashore in the boat. I went upon deck to view the coast, when he pointed
to the place where he said Boulogne stood, declaring at the same time
we were within a short mile of the harbour's mouth. The morning was
cold and raw, and I knew myself extremely subject to catch cold;
nevertheless we were all so impatient to be ashore, that I resolved to
take his advice. The boat was already hoisted out, and we went on board
of it, after I had paid the captain and gratified his crew. We had
scarce parted from the ship, when we perceived a boat coming towards us
from the shore; and the master gave us to understand, it was coming to
carry us into the harbour. When I objected to the trouble of shifting
from one boat to another in the open sea, which (by the bye) was a
little rough; he said it was a privilege which the watermen of Boulogne
had, to carry all passengers ashore, and that this privilege he durst
not venture to infringe. This was no time nor place to remonstrate. The
French boat came alongside half filled with water, and we were handed
from the one to the other. We were then obliged to lie upon our oars,
till the captain's boat went on board and returned from the ship with a
packet of letters. We were afterwards rowed a long league, in a rough
sea, against wind and tide, before we reached the harbour, where we
landed, benumbed with cold, and the women excessively sick: from our
landing-place we were obliged to walk very near a mile to the inn where
we purposed to lodge, attended by six or seven men and women,
bare-legged, carrying our baggage. This boat cost me a guinea, besides
paying exorbitantly the people who carried our things; so that the
inhabitants of Dover and of Boulogne seem to be of the same kidney, and
indeed they understand one another perfectly well. It was our honest
captain who made the signal for the shore-boat before I went upon deck;
by which means he not only gratified his friends, the watermen of
Boulogne, but also saved about fifteen shillings portage, which he must
have paid had he gone into the harbour; and thus he found himself at
liberty to return to Dover, which he reached in four hours. I mention
these circumstances as a warning to other passengers. When a man hires
a packet-boat from Dover to Calais or Boulogne, let him remember that
the stated price is five guineas; and let him insist upon being carried
into the harbour in the ship, without paying the least regard to the
representations of the master, who is generally a little dirty knave.
When he tells you it is low water, or the wind is in your teeth, you
may say you will stay on board till it is high water, or till the wind
comes favourable. If he sees you are resolute, he will find means to
bring his ship into the harbour, or at least to convince you, without a
possibility of your being deceived, that it is not in his power. After
all, the fellow himself was a loser by his finesse; if he had gone into
the harbour, he would have had another fare immediately back to Dover,
for there was a Scotch gentleman at the inn waiting for such an
opportunity.

Knowing my own weak constitution, I took it for granted this morning's
adventure would cost me a fit of illness; and what added to my chagrin,
when we arrived at the inn, all the beds were occupied; so that we were
obliged to sit in a cold kitchen above two hours, until some of the
lodgers should get up. This was such a bad specimen of French
accommodation, that my wife could not help regretting even the inns of
Rochester, Sittingbourn, and Canterbury: bad as they are, they
certainly have the advantage, when compared with the execrable auberges
of this country, where one finds nothing but dirt and imposition. One
would imagine the French were still at war with the English, for they
pillage them without mercy.

Among the strangers at this inn where we lodged, there was a gentleman
of the faculty, just returned from Italy. Understanding that I intended
to winter in the South of France, on account of a pulmonic disorder, he
strongly recommended the climate of Nice in Provence, which, indeed, I
had often heard extolled; and I am almost resolved to go thither, not
only for the sake of the air, but also for its situation on the
Mediterranean, where I can have the benefit of bathing; and from whence
there is a short cut by sea to Italy, should I find it necessary to try
the air of Naples.

After having been ill accommodated three days at our inn, we have at
last found commodious lodgings, by means of Mrs. B-, a very agreeable
French lady, to whom we were recommended by her husband, who is my
countryman, and at present resident in London. For three guineas a
month we have the greatest part of a house tolerably furnished; four
bed-chambers on the first floor, a large parlour below, a kitchen, and
the use of a cellar.

These, I own, are frivolous incidents, scarce worth committing to
paper; but they may serve to introduce observations of more
consequence; and in the mean time I know nothing will be indifferent to
you, that concerns--Your humble servant.



LETTER II

BOULOGNE SUR MER, July 15, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--The custom-house officers at Boulogne, though as alert, are
rather more civil than those on your side of the water. I brought no
plate along with me, but a dozen and a half of spoons, and a dozen
teaspoons: the first being found in one of our portmanteaus, when they
were examined at the bureau, cost me seventeen livres entree; the
others being luckily in my servant's pocket, escaped duty free. All
wrought silver imported into France, pays at the rate of so much per
mark: therefore those who have any quantity of plate, will do well to
leave it behind them, unless they can confide in the dexterity of the
shipmasters; some of whom will undertake to land it without the
ceremony of examination. The ordonnances of France are so unfavourable
to strangers, that they oblige them to pay at the rate of five per
cent. for all the bed and table linen which they bring into the
kingdom, even though it has been used. When my trunks arrived in a ship
from the river Thames, I underwent this ordeal: but what gives me more
vexation, my books have been stopped at the bureau; and will be sent to
Amiens at my expence, to be examined by the chambre syndicale; lest
they should contain something prejudicial to the state, or to the
religion of the country. This is a species of oppression which one
would not expect to meet with in France, which piques itself on its
politeness and hospitality: but the truth is, I know no country in
which strangers are worse treated with respect to their essential
concerns. If a foreigner dies in France, the king seizes all his
effects, even though his heir should be upon the spot; and this tyranny
is called the droit d'aubaine founded at first upon the supposition,
that all the estate of foreigners residing in France was acquired in
that kingdom, and that, therefore, it would be unjust to convey it to
another country. If an English protestant goes to France for the
benefit of his health, attended by his wife or his son, or both, and
dies with effects in the house to the amount of a thousand guineas, the
king seizes the whole, the family is left destitute, and the body of
the deceased is denied christian burial. The Swiss, by capitulation,
are exempted from this despotism, and so are the Scots, in consequence
of an ancient alliance between the two nations. The same droit
d'aubaine is exacted by some of the princes in Germany: but it is a
great discouragement to commerce, and prejudices every country where it
is exercised, to ten times the value of what it brings into the coffers
of the sovereign.

I am exceedingly mortified at the detention of my books, which not only
deprives me of an amusement which I can very ill dispense with; but, in
all probability, will expose me to sundry other inconveniencies. I must
be at the expence of sending them sixty miles to be examined, and run
the risque of their being condemned; and, in the mean time, I may lose
the opportunity of sending them with my heavy baggage by sea to
Bourdeaux, to be sent up the Garonne to Tholouse, and from thence
transmitted through the canal of Languedoc to Cette, which is a
sea-port on the Mediterranean, about three or four leagues from
Montpelier.

For the recovery of my books, I had recourse to the advice of my
landlord, Mons. B--. He is a handsome young fellow, about twenty-five
years of age, and keeps house with two maiden sisters, who are
professed devotees. The brother is a little libertine, good natured and
obliging; but a true Frenchman in vanity, which is undoubtedly the
ruling passion of this volatile people. He has an inconsiderable place
under the government, in consequence of which he is permitted to wear a
sword, a privilege which he does not fail to use. He is likewise
receiver of the tythes of the clergy in this district, an office that
gives him a command of money, and he, moreover, deals in the wine
trade. When I came to his house, he made a parade of all these
advantages: he displayed his bags of money, and some old gold which his
father had left him. He described his chateau in the country; dropped
hints of the fortunes that were settled upon mademoiselles his sisters;
boasted of his connexions at court; and assured me it was not for my
money that he let his lodgings, but altogether with a view to enjoy the
pleasure of my company. The truth, when stript of all embellishments,
is this: the sieur B-- is the son of an honest bourgeois lately dead,
who left him the house, with some stock in trade, a little money, and a
paltry farm: his sisters have about three thousand livres (not quite
140 L) apiece; the brother's places are worth about fifty pounds a
year, and his connexions at court are confined to a commis or clerk in
the secretary's office, with whom he corresponds by virtue of his
employment. My landlord piques himself upon his gallantry and success
with the fair-sex: he keeps a fille de joye, and makes no secret of his
amours. He told miss C-- the other day, in broken English, that, in the
course of the last year, he had made six bastards. He owned, at the
same time, he had sent them all to the hospital; but, now his father is
dead, he would himself take care of his future productions. This,
however, was no better than a gasconade. Yesterday the house was in a
hot alarm, on account of a new windfall of this kind: the sisters were
in tears; the brother was visited by the cure of the parish; the lady
in the straw (a sempstress) sent him the bantling in a basket, and he
transmitted it by the carriers to the Enfans trouves at Paris.

But to return from this digression: Mr. B-- advised me to send a
requete or petition to the chancellor of France, that I might obtain an
order to have my books examined on the spot, by the president of
Boulogne, or the procureur du roy, or the sub-delegate of the
intendance. He recommended an advocat of his acquaintance to draw up
the memoire, and introduced him accordingly; telling me at the same
time, in private, that if he was not a drunkard, he would be at the
head of his profession. He had indeed all the outward signs of a sot; a
sleepy eye, a rubicund face, and carbuncled nose. He seemed to be a
little out at elbows, had marvellous foul linen, and his breeches were
not very sound: but he assumed an air of importance, was very
courteous, and very solemn. I asked him if he did not sometimes divert
himself with the muse: he smiled, and promised, in a whisper, to shew
me some chansonettes de sa facon. Meanwhile he composed the requete in
my name, which was very pompous, very tedious, and very abject. Such a
stile might perhaps be necessary in a native of France; but I did not
think it was at all suitable to a subject of Great-Britain. I thanked
him for the trouble he had taken, as he would receive no other
gratification; but when my landlord proposed to send the memoire to his
correspondent at Paris, to be delivered to the chancellor, I told him I
had changed my mind, and would apply to the English ambassador. I have
accordingly taken the liberty to address myself to the earl of H--; and
at the same time I have presumed to write to the duchess of D--, who is
now at Paris, to entreat her grace's advice and interposition. What
effect these applications may have, I know not: but the sieur B--
shakes his head, and has told my servant, in confidence, that I am
mistaken if I think the English ambassador is as great a man at Paris
as the chancellor of France.

I ought to make an apology for troubling you with such an
unentertaining detail, and consider that the detention of my books must
be a matter of very little consequence to any body, but to--Your
affectionate humble servant.

LETTER III

BOULOGNE, August 15, 1763.

SIR--I am much obliged to you for your kind enquiries after my health,
which has been lately in a very declining condition. In consequence of
a cold, caught a few days after my arrival in France, I was seized with
a violent cough, attended with a fever, and stitches in my breast,
which tormented me all night long without ceasing. At the same time I
had a great discharge by expectoration, and such a dejection of spirits
as I never felt before. In this situation I took a step which may
appear to have been desperate. I knew there was no imposthume in my
lungs, and I supposed the stitches were spasmodical. I was sensible
that all my complaints were originally derived from relaxation. I
therefore hired a chaise, and going to the beach, about a league from
the town, plunged into the sea without hesitation. By this desperate
remedy, I got a fresh cold in my head: but my stitches and fever
vanished the very first day; and by a daily repetition of the bath, I
have diminished my cough, strengthened my body, and recovered my
spirits. I believe I should have tried the same experiment, even if
there had been an abscess in my lungs, though such practice would have
been contrary to all the rules of medicine: but I am not one of those
who implicitly believe in all the dogmata of physic. I saw one of the
guides at Bath, the stoutest fellow among them, who recovered from the
last stage of a consumption, by going into the king's bath, contrary to
the express injunction of his doctor. He said, if he must die, the
sooner the better, as he had nothing left for his subsistence. Instead
of immediate death, he found instant case, and continued mending every
day, till his health was entirely re-established. I myself drank the
waters of Bath, and bathed, in diametrical opposition to the opinion of
some physicians there settled, and found myself better every day,
notwithstanding their unfavourable prognostic. If I had been of the
rigid fibre, full of blood, subject to inflammation, I should have
followed a different course. Our acquaintance, doctor C--, while he
actually spit up matter, and rode out every day for his life, led his
horse to water, at the pond in Hyde-Park, one cold frosty morning, and
the beast, which happened to be of a hot constitution, plunged himself
and his master over head and ears in the water. The poor doctor
hastened home, half dead with fear, and was put to bed in the
apprehension of a new imposthume; instead of which, he found himself
exceedingly recruited in his spirits, and his appetite much mended. I
advised him to take the hint, and go into the cold bath every morning;
but he did not chuse to run any risque. How cold water comes to be such
a bugbear, I know not: if I am not mistaken, Hippocrates recommends
immersion in cold water for the gout; and Celsus expressly says, in
omni tussi utilis est natatio: in every cough swimming is of service.

I have conversed with a physician of this place, a sensible man, who
assured me he was reduced to meer skin and bone by a cough and hectic
fever, when he ordered a bath to be made in his own house, and dipped
himself in cold water every morning. He at the same time left off
drinking and swallowing any liquid that was warm. He is now strong and
lusty, and even in winter has no other cover than a single sheet. His
notions about the warm drink were a little whimsical: he imagined it
relaxed the tone of the stomach; and this would undoubtedly be the case
if it was drank in large quantities, warmer than the natural
temperature of the blood. He alledged the example of the inhabitants of
the Ladrone islands, who never taste any thing that is not cold, and
are remarkably healthy. But to balance this argument I mentioned the
Chinese, who scarce drink any thing but warm tea; and the Laplanders,
who drink nothing but warm water; yet the people of both these nations
are remarkably strong, healthy, and long-lived.

You desire to know the fate of my books. My lord H--d is not yet come
to France; but my letter was transmitted to him from Paris; and his
lordship, with that generous humanity which is peculiar to his
character, has done me the honour to assure me, under his own hand,
that he has directed Mr. N--lle, our resident at Paris, to apply for an
order that my books may be restored.

I have met with another piece of good fortune, in being introduced to
general Paterson and his lady, in their way to England from Nice, where
the general has been many years commandant for the king of Sardinia.
You must have heard of this gentleman, who has not only eminently
distinguished himself, by his courage and conduct as an officer; but
also by his probity and humanity in the exercise, of his office, and by
his remarkable hospitality to all strangers, especially the subjects of
Great-Britain, whose occasions called them to the place where he
commanded. Being pretty far advanced in years, he begged leave to
resign, that he might spend the evening of his days in his own country;
and his Sardinian majesty granted his request with regret, after having
honoured him with very particular marks of approbation and esteem. The
general talks so favourably of the climate of Nice, with respect to
disorders of the breast, that I am now determined to go thither. It
would have been happy for me had he continued in his government. I
think myself still very fortunate, in having obtained of him a letter
of recommendation to the English consul at Nice, together with
directions how to travel through the South of France. I propose to
begin my journey some time next month, when the weather will be
temperate to the southward; and in the wine countries I shall have the
pleasure of seeing the vintage, which is always a season of festivity
among all ranks of people.

You have been very much mis-informed, by the person who compared
Boulogne to Wapping: he did a manifest injustice to this place which is
a large agreeable town, with broad open streets, excellently paved; and
the houses are of stone, well built and commodious. The number of
inhabitants may amount to sixteen thousand. You know this was generally
supposed to be the portus Itius, and Gessoriacum of the antients:
though it is now believed that the portus Itius, from whence Caesar
sailed to Britain, is a place called Whitsand, about half way between
this place and Calais. Boulogne is the capital of the Boulonnois, a
district extending about twelve leagues, ruled by a governor
independent of the governor of Picardy; of which province, however,
this country forms a part. The present governor is the duc d'Aumout.
The town of Boulogne is the see of a bishop suffragan of Rheims, whose
revenue amounts to about four-and-twenty thousand livres, or one
thousand pounds sterling. It is also the seat of a seneschal's court,
from whence an appeal lies to the parliament of Paris; and thither all
condemned criminals are sent, to have their sentence confirmed or
reversed. Here is likewise a bailiwick, and a court of admiralty. The
military jurisdiction of the city belongs to a commandant appointed by
the king, a sort of sinecure bestowed upon some old officer. His
appointments are very inconsiderable: he resides in the Upper Town, and
his garrison at present consists of a few hundreds of invalids.

Boulogne is divided into the Upper and Lower Towns. The former is a
kind of citadel, about a short mile in circumference, situated on a
rising ground, surrounded by a high wall and rampart, planted with rows
of trees, which form a delightful walk. It commands a fine view of the
country and Lower Town; and in clear weather the coast of England, from
Dover to Folkstone, appears so plain, that one would imagine it was
within four or five leagues of the French shore. The Upper Town was
formerly fortified with outworks, which are now in ruins. Here is a
square, a town-house, the cathedral, and two or three convents of nuns;
in one of which there are several English girls, sent hither for their
education. The smallness of the expence encourages parents to send
their children abroad to these seminaries, where they learn scarce any
thing that is useful but the French language; but they never fail to
imbibe prejudices against the protestant religion, and generally return
enthusiastic converts to the religion of Rome. This conversion always
generates a contempt for, and often an aversion to, their own country.
Indeed it cannot reasonably be expected that people of weak minds,
addicted to superstition, should either love or esteem those whom they
are taught to consider as reprobated heretics. Ten pounds a year is the
usual pension in these convents; but I have been informed by a French
lady who had her education in one of them, that nothing can be more
wretched than their entertainment.

The civil magistracy of Boulogne consists of a mayor and echevins; and
this is the case in almost all the towns of France.

The Lower Town is continued from the gate of the Upper Town, down the
slope of a hill, as far as the harbour, stretching on both sides to a
large extent, and is much more considerable than the Upper, with
respect to the beauty of the streets, the convenience of the houses,
and the number and wealth of the inhabitants. These, however, are all
merchants, or bourgeoise, for the noblesse or gentry live all together
in the Upper Town, and never mix with the others. The harbour of
Boulogne is at the mouth of the small river, or rather rivulet Liane,
which is so shallow, that the children wade through it at low water. As
the tide makes, the sea flows in, and forms a pretty extensive harbour,
which, however, admits nothing but small vessels. It is contracted at
the mouth by two stone jetties or piers, which seem to have been
constructed by some engineer, very little acquainted with this branch
of his profession; for they are carried out in such a manner, as to
collect a bank of sand just at the entrance of the harbour. The road is
very open and unsafe, and the surf very high when the wind blows from
the sea. There is no fortification near the harbour, except a paltry
fort mounting about twenty guns, built in the last war by the prince de
Cruy, upon a rock about a league to the eastward of Boulogne. It
appears to be situated in such a manner, that it can neither offend,
nor be offended. If the depth of water would admit a forty or fifty gun
ship to lie within cannon-shot of it, I apprehend it might be silenced
in half an hour; but, in all probability, there will be no vestiges of
it at the next rupture between the two crowns. It is surrounded every
day by the sea, at high water; and when it blows a fresh gale towards
the shore, the waves break over the top of it, to the terror and
astonishment of the garrison, who have been often heard crying
piteously for assistance. I am persuaded, that it will one day
disappear in the twinkling of an eye. The neighbourhood of this fort,
which is a smooth sandy beach, I have chosen for my bathing place. The
road to it is agreeable and romantic, lying through pleasant
cornfields, skirted by open downs, where there is a rabbit warren, and
great plenty of the birds so much admired at Tunbridge under the name
of wheat-ears. By the bye, this is a pleasant corruption of white-a-se,
the translation of their French name cul-blanc, taken from their colour
for they are actually white towards the tail.

Upon the top of a high rock, which overlooks the harbour, are the
remains of an old fortification, which is indiscriminately called, Tour
d'ordre, and Julius Caesar's fort. The original tower was a light-house
built by Claudius Caesar, denominated Turris ardens, from the fire
burned in it; and this the French have corrupted into Tour d'ordre; but
no vestiges of this Roman work remain; what we now see, are the ruins
of a castle built by Charlemagne. I know of no other antiquity at
Boulogne, except an old vault in the Upper Town, now used as a
magazine, which is said to be part of an antient temple dedicated to
Isis.

On the other side of the harbour, opposite to the Lower Town, there is
a house built, at a considerable expence, by a general officer, who
lost his life in the late war. Never was situation more inconvenient,
unpleasant, and unhealthy. It stands on the edge of an ugly morass
formed by the stagnant water left by the tide in its retreat: the very
walks of the garden are so moist, that, in the driest weather, no
person can make a tour of it, without danger of the rheumatism.
Besides, the house is altogether inaccessible, except at low water, and
even then the carriage must cross the harbour, the wheels up to the
axle-tree in mud: nay, the tide rushes in so fast, that unless you
seize the time to a minute, you will be in danger of perishing. The
apartments of this house are elegantly fitted up, but very small; and
the garden, notwithstanding its unfavourable situation, affords a great
quantity of good fruit. The ooze, impregnated with sea salt, produces,
on this side of the harbour, an incredible quantity of the finest
samphire I ever saw. The French call it passe-pierre; and I suspect its
English name is a corruption of sang-pierre. It is generally found on
the faces of bare rocks that overhang the sea, by the spray of which it
is nourished. As it grew upon a naked rock, without any appearance of
soil, it might be naturally enough called sang du pierre, or
sangpierre, blood of the rock; and hence the name samphire. On the same
side of the harbour there is another new house, neatly built, belonging
to a gentleman who has obtained a grant from the king of some ground
which was always overflowed at high water. He has raised dykes at a
considerable expence, to exclude the tide, and if he can bring his
project to bear, he will not only gain a good estate for himself, but
also improve the harbour, by increasing the depth at high-water.

In the Lower Town of Boulogne there are several religious houses,
particularly a seminary, a convent of Cordeliers, and another of
Capuchins. This last, having fallen to decay, was some years ago
repaired, chiefly by the charity of British travellers, collected by
father Graeme, a native of North-Britain, who had been an officer in
the army of king James II. and is said to have turned monk of this
mendicant order, by way of voluntary penance, for having killed his
friend in a duel. Be that as it may, he was a well-bred, sensible man,
of a very exemplary life and conversation; and his memory is much
revered in this place. Being superior of the convent, he caused the
British arms to be put up in the church, as a mark of gratitude for the
benefactions received from our nation. I often walk in the garden of
the convent, the walls of which are washed by the sea at high-water. At
the bottom of the garden is a little private grove, separated from it
by a high wall, with a door of communication; and hither the Capuchins
retire, when they are disposed for contemplation. About two years ago,
this place was said to be converted to a very different use. There was
among the monks one pere Charles, a lusty friar, of whom the people
tell strange stories. Some young women of the town were seen mounting
over the wall, by a ladder of ropes, in the dusk of the evening; and
there was an unusual crop of bastards that season. In short, pere
Charles and his companions gave such scandal, that the whole fraternity
was changed; and now the nest is occupied by another flight of these
birds of passage. If one of our privateers had kidnapped a Capuchin
during the war, and exhibited him, in his habit, as a shew in London,
he would have proved a good prize to the captors; for I know not a more
uncouth and grotesque animal, than an old Capuchin in the habit of his
order. A friend of mine (a Swiss officer) told me, that a peasant in
his country used to weep bitterly, whenever a certain Capuchin mounted
the pulpit to hold forth to the people. The good father took notice of
this man, and believed he was touched by the finger of the Lord. He
exhorted him to encourage these accessions of grace, and at the same
time to be of good comfort, as having received such marks of the divine
favour. The man still continued to weep, as before, every time the monk
preached; and at last the Capuchin insisted upon knowing what it was,
in his discourse or appearance, that made such an impression upon his
heart "Ah, father! (cried the peasant) I never see you but I think of a
venerable goat, which I lost at Easter. We were bred up together in the
same family. He was the very picture of your reverence--one would swear
you were brothers. Poor Baudouin! he died of a fall--rest his soul! I
would willingly pay for a couple of masses to pray him out of
purgatory."

Among other public edifices at Boulogne, there is an hospital, or
workhouse, which seems to be established upon a very good foundation.
It maintains several hundreds of poor people, who are kept constantly
at work, according to their age and abilities, in making thread, all
sorts of lace, a kind of catgut, and in knitting stockings. It is under
the direction of the bishop; and the see is at present filled by a
prelate of great piety and benevolence, though a little inclining to
bigotry and fanaticism. The churches in this town are but indifferently
built, and poorly ornamented. There is not one picture in the place
worth looking at, nor indeed does there seem to be the least taste for
the liberal arts.

In my next, I shall endeavour to satisfy you in the other articles you
desire to know. Mean-while, I am ever--Yours.



LETTER IV

BOULOGNE, September 1, 1763.

SIR,--I am infinitely obliged to D. H-- for the favourable manner in
which he has mentioned me to the earl of H-- I have at last recovered
my books, by virtue of a particular order to the director of the
douane, procured by the application of the English resident to the
French ministry. I am now preparing for my long journey; but, before I
leave this place, I shall send you the packet I mentioned, by Meriton.
Mean-while I must fulfil my promise in communicating the observations I
have had occasion to make upon this town and country.

The air of Boulogne is cold and moist, and, I believe, of consequence
unhealthy. Last winter the frost, which continued six weeks in London,
lasted here eight weeks without intermission; and the cold was so
intense, that, in the garden of the Capuchins, it split the bark of
several elms from top to bottom. On our arrival here we found all kinds
of fruit more backward than in England. The frost, in its progress to
Britain, is much weakened in crossing the sea. The atmosphere,
impregnated with saline particles, resists the operation of freezing.
Hence, in severe winters, all places near the sea-side are less cold
than more inland districts. This is the reason why the winter is often
more mild at Edinburgh than at London. A very great degree of cold is
required to freeze salt water. Indeed it will not freeze at all, until
it has deposited all its salt. It is now generally allowed among
philosophers, that water is no more than ice thawed by heat, either
solar, or subterranean, or both; and that this heat being expelled, it
would return to its natural consistence. This being the case, nothing
else is required for the freezing of water, than a certain degree of
cold, which may be generated by the help of salt, or spirit of nitre,
even under the line. I would propose, therefore, that an apparatus of
this sort should be provided in every ship that goes to sea; and in
case there should be a deficiency of fresh water on board, the seawater
may be rendered potable, by being first converted into ice.

The air of Boulogne is not only loaded with a great evaporation from
the sea, increased by strong gales of wind from the West and
South-West, which blow almost continually during the greatest part of
the year; but it is also subject to putrid vapours, arising from the
low marshy ground in the neighbourhood of the harbour, which is every
tide overflowed with seawater. This may be one cause of the scrofula
and rickets, which are two prevailing disorders among the children in
Boulogne. But I believe the former is more owing to the water used in
the Lower Town, which is very hard and unwholsome. It curdles with
soap, gives a red colour to the meat that is boiled in it, and, when
drank by strangers, never fails to occasion pains in the stomach and
bowels; nay, sometimes produces dysenteries. In all appearance it is
impregnated with nitre, if not with something more mischievous: we know
that mundic, or pyrites, very often contains a proportion of arsenic,
mixed with sulphur, vitriol, and mercury. Perhaps it partakes of the
acid of some coal mine; for there are coal works in this district.
There is a well of purging water within a quarter of a mile of the
Upper Town, to which the inhabitants resort in the morning, as the
people of London go to the Dog-and-duck, in St. George's fields. There
is likewise a fountain of excellent water, hard by the cathedral, in
the Upper Town, from whence I am daily supplied at a small expence.
Some modern chemists affirm, that no saline chalybeate waters can
exist, except in the neighbourhood of coal damps; and that nothing can
be more mild, and gentle, and friendly to the constitution, than the
said damps: but I know that the place where I was bred stands upon a
zonic of coal; that the water which the inhabitants generally use is
hard and brackish; and that the people are remarkably subject to the
king's evil and consumption. These I would impute to the bad water,
impregnated with the vitriol and brine of coal, as there is nothing in
the constitution of the air that should render such distempers
endemial. That the air of Boulogne encourages putrefaction, appears
from the effect it has upon butcher's meat, which, though the season is
remarkably cold, we can hardly keep four-and-twenty hours in the
coolest part of the house.

Living here is pretty reasonable; and the markets are tolerably
supplied. The beef is neither fat nor firm; but very good for soup,
which is the only use the French make of it. The veal is not so white,
nor so well fed, as the English veal; but it is more juicy, and better
tasted. The mutton and pork are very good. We buy our poultry alive,
and fatten them at home. Here are excellent turkies, and no want of
game: the hares, in particular, are very large, juicy, and
high-flavoured. The best part of the fish caught on this coast is sent
post to Paris, in chasse-marines, by a company of contractors, like
those of Hastings in Sussex. Nevertheless, we have excellent soles,
skaite, flounders and whitings, and sometimes mackarel. The oysters are
very large, coarse, and rank. There is very little fish caught on the
French coast, because the shallows run a great way from the shore; and
the fish live chiefly in deep water: for this reason the fishermen go a
great way out to sea, sometimes even as far as the coast of England.
Notwithstanding all the haste the contractors can make, their fish in
the summer is very often spoiled before it arrives at Paris; and this
is not to be wondered at, considering the length of the way, which is
near one hundred and fifty miles. At best it must be in such a
mortified condition, that no other people, except the negroes on the
coast of Guinea, would feed upon it.

The wine commonly drank at Boulogne comes from Auxerre, is very small
and meagre, and may be had from five to eight sols a bottle; that is,
from two-pence halfpenny to fourpence. The French inhabitants drink no
good wine; nor is there any to be had, unless you have recourse to the
British wine-merchants here established, who deal in Bourdeaux wines,
brought hither by sea for the London market. I have very good claret
from a friend, at the rate of fifteen-pence sterling a bottle; and
excellent small beer as reasonable as in England. I don't believe there
is a drop of generous Burgundy in the place; and the aubergistes impose
upon us shamefully, when they charge it at two livres a bottle. There
is a small white wine, called preniac, which is very agreeable and very
cheap. All the brandy which I have seen in Boulogne is new, fiery, and
still-burnt. This is the trash which the smugglers import into England:
they have it for about ten-pence a gallon. Butcher's meat is sold for
five sols, or two-pence halfpenny a pound, and the pound here consists
of eighteen ounces. I have a young turkey for thirty sols; a hare for
four-and-twenty; a couple of chickens for twenty sols, and a couple of
good soles for the same price. Before we left England, we were told
that there was no fruit in Boulogne; but we have found ourselves
agreeably disappointed in this particular. The place is well supplied
with strawberries, cherries, gooseberries, corinths, peaches, apricots,
and excellent pears. I have eaten more fruit this season, than I have
done for several years. There are many well-cultivated gardens in the
skirts of the town; particularly one belonging to our friend Mrs. B--,
where we often drink tea in a charming summer-house built on a rising
ground, which commands a delightful prospect of the sea. We have many
obligations to this good lady, who is a kind neighbour, an obliging
friend, and a most agreeable companion: she speaks English prettily,
and is greatly attached to the people and the customs of our nation.
They use wood for their common fewel, though, if I were to live at
Boulogne, I would mix it with coal, which this country affords. Both
the wood and the coal are reasonable enough. I am certain that a man
may keep house in Boulogne for about one half of what it will cost him
in London; and this is said to be one of the dearest places in France.

The adjacent country is very agreeable, diversified with hill and dale,
corn-fields, woods, and meadows. There is a forest of a considerable
extent, that begins about a short league from the Upper Town: it
belongs to the king, and the wood is farmed to different individuals.

In point of agriculture, the people in this neighbourhood seem to have
profited by the example of the English. Since I was last in France,
fifteen years ago, a good number of inclosures and plantations have
been made in the English fashion. There is a good many tolerable
country-houses, within a few miles of Boulogne; but mostly empty. I was
offered a compleat house, with a garden of four acres well laid out,
and two fields for grass or hay, about a mile from the town, for four
hundred livres, about seventeen pounds a year: it is partly furnished,
stands in an agreeable situation, with a fine prospect of the sea, and
was lately occupied by a Scotch nobleman, who is in the service of
France.

To judge from appearance, the people of Boulogne are descended from the
Flemings, who formerly possessed this country; for, a great many of the
present inhabitants have fine skins, fair hair, and florid complexions;
very different from the natives of France in general, who are
distinguished by black hair, brown skins, and swarthy faces. The people
of the Boulonnois enjoy some extraordinary privileges, and, in
particular, are exempted from the gabelle or duties upon salt: how they
deserved this mark of favour, I do not know; but they seem to have a
spirit of independence among them, are very ferocious, and much
addicted to revenge. Many barbarous murders are committed, both in the
town and country; and the peasants, from motives of envy and
resentment, frequently set their neighbours' houses on fire. Several
instances of this kind have happened in the course of the last year.
The interruption which is given, in arbitrary governments, to the
administration of justice, by the interposition of the great, has
always a bad effect upon the morals of the common people. The peasants
too are often rendered desperate and savage, by the misery they suffer
from the oppression and tyranny of their landlords. In this
neighbourhood the labouring people are ill lodged and wretchedly fed;
and they have no idea of cleanliness. There is a substantial burgher in
the High Town, who was some years ago convicted of a most barbarous
murder. He received sentence to be broke alive upon the wheel; but was
pardoned by the interposition of the governor of the county, and
carries on his business as usual in the face of the whole community. A
furious abbe, being refused orders by the bishop, on account of his
irregular life, took an opportunity to stab the prelate with a knife,
one Sunday, as he walked out of the cathedral. The good bishop desired
he might be permitted to escape; but it was thought proper to punish,
with the utmost severity, such an atrocious attempt. He was accordingly
apprehended, and, though the wound was not mortal, condemned to be
broke. When this dreadful sentence was executed, he cried out, that it
was hard he should undergo such torments, for having wounded a
worthless priest, by whom he had been injured, while such-a-one (naming
the burgher mentioned above) lived in ease and security, after having
brutally murdered a poor man, and a helpless woman big with child, who
had not given him the least provocation.

The inhabitants of Boulogne may be divided into three classes; the
noblesse or gentry, the burghers, and the canaille. I don't mention the
clergy, and the people belonging to the law, because I shall
occasionally trouble you with my thoughts upon the religion and
ecclesiastics of this country; and as for the lawyers, exclusive of
their profession, they may be considered as belonging to one or other
of these divisions. The noblesse are vain, proud, poor, and slothful.
Very few of them have above six thousand livres a year, which may
amount to about two hundred and fifty pounds sterling; and many of them
have not half this revenue. I think there is one heiress, said to be
worth one hundred thousand livres, about four thousand two hundred
pounds; but then her jewels, her cloaths, and even her linen, are
reckoned part of this fortune. The noblesse have not the common sense
to reside at their houses in the country, where, by farming their own
grounds, they might live at a small expence, and improve their estates
at the same time. They allow their country houses to go to decay, and
their gardens and fields to waste; and reside in dark holes in the
Upper Town of Boulogne without light, air, or convenience. There they
starve within doors, that they may have wherewithal to purchase fine
cloaths, and appear dressed once a day in the church, or on the
rampart. They have no education, no taste for reading, no housewifery,
nor indeed any earthly occupation, but that of dressing their hair, and
adorning their bodies. They hate walking, and would never go abroad, if
they were not stimulated by the vanity of being seen. I ought to except
indeed those who turn devotees, and spend the greatest part of their
time with the priest, either at church or in their own houses. Other
amusements they have none in this place, except private parties of
card-playing, which are far from being expensive. Nothing can be more
parsimonious than the oeconomy of these people: they live upon soupe
and bouille, fish and sallad: they never think of giving dinners, or
entertaining their friends; they even save the expence of coffee and
tea, though both are very cheap at Boulogne. They presume that every
person drinks coffee at home, immediately after dinner, which is always
over by one o'clock; and, in lieu of tea in the afternoon, they treat
with a glass of sherbet, or capillaire. In a word, I know not a more
insignificant set of mortals than the noblesse of Boulogne; helpless in
themselves, and useless to the community; without dignity, sense, or
sentiment; contemptible from pride. and ridiculous from vanity. They
pretend to be jealous of their rank, and will entertain no
correspondence with the merchants, whom they term plebeians. They
likewise keep at a great distance from strangers, on pretence of a
delicacy in the article of punctilio: but, as I am informed, this
stateliness is in a great measure affected, in order to conceal their
poverty, which would appear to greater disadvantage, if they admitted
of a more familiar communication. Considering the vivacity of the
French people, one would imagine they could not possibly lead such an
insipid life, altogether unanimated by society, or diversion. True it
is, the only profane diversions of this place are a puppet-show and a
mountebank; but then their religion affords a perpetual comedy. Their
high masses, their feasts, their processions, their pilgrimages,
confessions, images, tapers, robes, incense, benedictions, spectacles,
representations, and innumerable ceremonies, which revolve almost
incessantly, furnish a variety of entertainment from one end of the
year to the other. If superstition implies fear, never was a word more
misapplied than it is to the mummery of the religion of Rome. The
people are so far from being impressed with awe and religious terror by
this sort of machinery, that it amuses their imaginations in the most
agreeable manner, and keeps them always in good humour. A Roman
catholic longs as impatiently for the festival of St. Suaire, or St.
Croix, or St. Veronique, as a schoolboy in England for the
representation of punch and the devil; and there is generally as much
laughing at one farce as at the other. Even when the descent from the
cross is acted, in the holy week, with all the circumstances that ought
naturally to inspire the gravest sentiments, if you cast your eyes
among the multitude that croud the place, you will not discover one
melancholy face: all is prattling, tittering, or laughing; and ten to
one but you perceive a number of them employed in hissing the female
who personates the Virgin Mary. And here it may not be amiss to
observe, that the Roman catholics, not content with the infinite number
of saints who really existed, have not only personified the cross, but
made two female saints out of a piece of linen. Veronique, or Veronica,
is no other than a corruption of vera icon, or vera effigies, said to
be the exact representation of our Saviour's face, impressed upon a
piece of linen, with which he wiped the sweat from his forehead in his
way to the place of crucifixion. The same is worshipped under the name
of St. Suaire, from the Latin word sudarium. This same handkerchief is
said to have had three folds, on every one of which was the impression:
one of these remains at Jerusalem, a second was brought to Rome, and a
third was conveyed to Spain. Baronius says, there is a very antient
history of the sancta facies in the Vatican. Tillemont, however, looks
upon the whole as a fable. Some suppose Veronica to be the same with
St. Haemorrhoissa, the patroness of those who are afflicted with the
piles, who make their joint invocations to her and St. Fiacre, the son
of a Scotch king, who lived and died a hermit in France. The troops of
Henry V. of England are said to have pillaged the chapel of this
Highland saint; who, in revenge, assisted his countrymen, in the French
service, to defeat the English at Bauge, and afterwards afflicted Henry
with the piles, of which he died. This prince complained, that he was
not only plagued by the living Scots, but even persecuted by those who
were dead.

I know not whether I may be allowed to compare the Romish religion to
comedy, and Calvinism to tragedy. The first amuses the senses, and
excites ideas of mirth and good-humour; the other, like tragedy, deals
in the passions of terror and pity. Step into a conventicle of
dissenters, you will, ten to one, hear the minister holding forth upon
the sufferings of Christ, or the torments of hell, and see many marks
of religious horror in the faces of the hearers. This is perhaps one
reason why the reformation did not succeed in France, among a volatile,
giddy, unthinking people, shocked at the mortified appearances of the
Calvinists; and accounts for its rapid progress among nations of a more
melancholy turn of character and complexion: for, in the conversion of
the multitude, reason is generally out of the question. Even the
penance imposed upon the catholics is little more than mock
mortification: a murderer is often quit with his confessor for saying
three prayers extraordinary; and these easy terms, on which absolution
is obtained, certainly encourage the repetition of the most enormous
crimes. The pomp and ceremonies of this religion, together with the
great number of holidays they observe, howsoever they may keep up the
spirits of the commonalty, and help to diminish the sense of their own
misery, must certainly, at the same time, produce a frivolous taste for
frippery and shew, and encourage a habit of idleness, to which I, in a
great measure, ascribe the extreme poverty of the lower people. Very
near half of their time, which might he profitably employed in the
exercise of industry, is lost to themselves and the community, in
attendance upon the different exhibitions of religious mummery.

But as this letter has already run to an unconscionable length, I shall
defer, till another occasion, what I have further to say on the people
of this place, and in the mean time assure you, that I am always--Yours
affectionately.



LETTER V

BOULOGNE, September 12, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--My stay in this place now draws towards a period. 'Till
within these few days I have continued bathing, with some advantage to
my health, though the season has been cold and wet, and disagreeable.
There was a fine prospect of a plentiful harvest in this neighbourhood.
I used to have great pleasure in driving between the fields of wheat,
oats, and barley; but the crop has been entirely ruined by the rain,
and nothing is now to be seen on the ground but the tarnished straw,
and the rotten spoils of the husbandman's labour. The ground scarce
affords subsistence to a few flocks of meagre sheep, that crop the
stubble, and the intervening grass; each flock under the protection of
its shepherd, with his crook and dogs, who lies every night in the
midst of the fold, in a little thatched travelling lodge, mounted on a
wheel-carriage. Here he passes the night, in order to defend his flock
from the wolves, which are sometimes, especially in winter, very bold
and desperate.

Two days ago we made an excursion with Mrs. B-- and Capt. L-- to the
village of Samers, on the Paris road, about three leagues from
Boulogne. Here is a venerable abbey of Benedictines, well endowed, with
large agreeable gardens prettily laid out. The monks are well lodged,
and well entertained. Tho' restricted from flesh meals by the rules of
their order, they are allowed to eat wild duck and teal, as a species
of fish; and when they long for a good bouillon, or a partridge, or
pullet, they have nothing to do but to say they are out of order. In
that case the appetite of the patient is indulged in his own apartment.
Their church is elegantly contrived, but kept in a very dirty
condition. The greatest curiosity I saw in this place was an English
boy, about eight or nine years old, whom his father had sent hither to
learn the French language. In less than eight weeks, he was become
captain of the boys of the place, spoke French perfectly well, and had
almost forgot his mother tongue. But to return to the people of
Boulogne.

The burghers here, as in other places, consist of merchants,
shop-keepers, and artisans. Some of the merchants have got fortunes, by
fitting out privateers during the war. A great many single ships were
taken from the English, notwithstanding the good look-out of our
cruisers, who were so alert, that the privateers from this coast were
often taken in four hours after they sailed from the French harbour;
and there is hardly a captain of an armateur in Boulogne, who has not
been prisoner in England five or six times in the course of the war.
They were fitted out at a very small expence, and used to run over in
the night to the coast of England, where they hovered as English
fishing smacks, until they kidnapped some coaster, with which they made
the best of their way across the Channel. If they fell in with a
British cruiser, they surrendered without resistance: the captain was
soon exchanged, and the loss of the proprietor was not great: if they
brought their prize safe into harbour, the advantage was considerable.
In time of peace the merchants of Boulogne deal in wine brandies, and
oil, imported from the South, and export fish, with the manufactures of
France, to Portugal, and other countries; but the trade is not great.
Here are two or three considerable houses of wine merchants from
Britain, who deal in Bourdeaux wine, with which they supply London and
other parts of England, Scotland, and Ireland. The fishery of mackarel
and herring is so considerable on this coast, that it is said to yield
annually eight or nine hundred thousand livres, about thirty-five
thousand pounds sterling.

The shop-keepers here drive a considerable traffic with the English
smugglers, whose cutters are almost the only vessels one sees in the
harbour of Boulogne, if we except about a dozen of those flat-bottomed
boats, which raised such alarms in England, in the course of the war.
Indeed they seem to be good for nothing else, and perhaps they were
built for this purpose only. The smugglers from the coast of Kent and
Sussex pay English gold for great quantities of French brandy, tea,
coffee, and small wine, which they run from this country. They likewise
buy glass trinkets, toys, and coloured prints, which sell in England,
for no other reason, but that they come from France, as they may be had
as cheap, and much better finished, of our own manufacture. They
likewise take off ribbons, laces, linen, and cambrics; though this
branch of trade is chiefly in the hands of traders that come from
London and make their purchases at Dunkirk, where they pay no duties.
It is certainly worth while for any traveller to lay in a stock of
linen either at Dunkirk or Boulogne; the difference of the price at
these two places is not great. Even here I have made a provision of
shirts for one half of the money they would have cost in London.
Undoubtedly the practice of smuggling is very detrimental to the fair
trader, and carries considerable sums of money out of the kingdom, to
enrich our rivals and enemies. The custom-house officers are very
watchful, and make a great number of seizures: nevertheless, the
smugglers find their account in continuing this contraband commerce;
and are said to indemnify themselves, if they save one cargo out of
three. After all, the best way to prevent smuggling, is to lower the
duties upon the commodities which are thus introduced. I have been
told, that the revenue upon tea has encreased ever since the duty upon
it was diminished. By the bye, the tea smuggled on the coast of Sussex
is most execrable stuff. While I stayed at Hastings, for the
conveniency of bathing, I must have changed my breakfast, if I had not
luckily brought tea with me from London: yet we have as good tea at
Boulogne for nine livres a pound, as that which sells at fourteen
shillings at London.

The bourgeois of this place seem to live at their ease, probably in
consequence of their trade with the English. Their houses consist of
the ground-floor, one story above, and garrets. In those which are well
furnished, you see pier-glasses and marble slabs; but the chairs are
either paultry things, made with straw bottoms, which cost about a
shilling a-piece, or old-fashioned, high-backed seats of needle-work,
stuffed, very clumsy and incommodious. The tables are square fir
boards, that stand on edge in a corner, except when they are used, and
then they are set upon cross legs that open and shut occasionally. The
king of France dines off a board of this kind. Here is plenty of
table-linen however. The poorest tradesman in Boulogne has a napkin on
every cover, and silver forks with four prongs, which are used with the
right hand, there being very little occasion for knives; for the meat
is boiled or roasted to rags. The French beds are so high, that
sometimes one is obliged to mount them by the help of steps; and this
is also the case in Flanders. They very seldom use feather-beds; but
they lie upon a paillasse, or bag of straw, over which are laid two,
and sometimes three mattrasses. Their testers are high and
old-fashioned, and their curtains generally of thin bays, red, or
green, laced with taudry yellow, in imitation of gold. In some houses,
however, one meets with furniture of stamped linen; but there is no
such thing as a carpet to be seen, and the floors are in a very dirty
condition. They have not even the implements of cleanliness in this
country. Every chamber is furnished with an armoire, or clothes-press,
and a chest of drawers, of very clumsy workmanship. Every thing shews a
deficiency in the mechanic arts. There is not a door, nor a window,
that shuts close. The hinges, locks, and latches, are of iron, coarsely
made, and ill contrived. The very chimnies are built so open, that they
admit both rain and sun, and all of them smoke intolerably. If there is
no cleanliness among these people, much less shall we find delicacy,
which is the cleanliness of the mind. Indeed they are utter strangers
to what we call common decency; and I could give you some
high-flavoured instances, at which even a native of Edinburgh would
stop his nose. There are certain mortifying views of human nature,
which undoubtedly ought to be concealed as much as possible, in order
to prevent giving offence: and nothing can be more absurd, than to
plead the difference of custom in different countries, in defence of
these usages which cannot fail giving disgust to the organs and senses
of all mankind. Will custom exempt from the imputation of gross
indecency a French lady, who shifts her frowsy smock in presence of a
male visitant, and talks to him of her lavement, her medecine, and her
bidet! An Italian signora makes no scruple of telling you, she is such
a day to begin a course of physic for the pox. The celebrated reformer
of the Italian comedy introduces a child befouling itself, on the
stage, OE, NO TI SENTI? BISOGNA DESFASSARLO, (fa cenno che sentesi mal
odore). I have known a lady handed to the house of office by her
admirer, who stood at the door, and entertained her with bons mots all
the time she was within. But I should be glad to know, whether it is
possible for a fine lady to speak and act in this manner, without
exciting ideas to her own disadvantage in the mind of every man who has
any imagination left, and enjoys the entire use of his senses,
howsoever she may be authorised by the customs of her country? There is
nothing so vile or repugnant to nature, but you may plead prescription
for it, in the customs of some nation or other. A Parisian likes
mortified flesh: a native of Legiboli will not taste his fish till it
is quite putrefied: the civilized inhabitants of Kamschatka get drunk
with the urine of their guests, whom they have already intoxicated: the
Nova Zemblans make merry on train-oil: the Groenlanders eat in the same
dish with their dogs: the Caffres, at the Cape of Good Hope, piss upon
those whom they delight to honour, and feast upon a sheep's intestines
with their contents, as the greatest dainty that can be presented. A
true-bred Frenchman dips his fingers, imbrowned with snuff, into his
plate filled with ragout: between every three mouthfuls, he produces
his snuff-box, and takes a fresh pinch, with the most graceful
gesticulations; then he displays his handkerchief, which may be termed
the flag of abomination, and, in the use of both, scatters his favours
among those who have the happiness to sit near him. It must be owned,
however, that a Frenchman will not drink out of a tankard, in which,
perhaps, a dozen of filthy mouths have flabbered, as is the custom in
England. Here every individual has his own gobelet, which stands before
him, and he helps himself occasionally with wine or water, or both,
which likewise stand upon the table. But I know no custom more beastly
than that of using water-glasses, in which polite company spirt, and
squirt, and spue the filthy scourings of their gums, under the eyes of
each other. I knew a lover cured of his passion, by seeing this nasty
cascade discharged from the mouth of his mistress. I don't doubt but I
shall live to see the day, when the hospitable custom of the antient
Aegyptians will be revived; then a conveniency will be placed behind
every chair in company, with a proper provision of waste paper, that
individuals may make themselves easy without parting company. I insist
upon it, that this practice would not be more indelicate than that
which is now in use. What then, you will say, must a man sit with his
chops and fingers up to the ears and knuckles in grease? No; let those
who cannot eat without defiling themselves, step into another room,
provided with basons and towels: but I think it would be better to
institute schools, where youth may learn to eat their victuals, without
daubing themselves, or giving offence to the eyes of one another.

The bourgeois of Boulogne have commonly soup and bouilli at noon, and a
roast, with a sallad, for supper; and at all their meals there is a
dessert of fruit. This indeed is the practice all over France. On
meagre days they eat fish, omelettes, fried beans, fricassees of eggs
and onions, and burnt cream. The tea which they drink in the afternoon
is rather boiled than infused; it is sweetened all together with coarse
sugar, and drank with an equal quantity of boiled milk.

We had the honour to be entertained the other day by our landlord, Mr.
B--, who spared no cost on this banquet, exhibited for the glory of
France. He had invited a newmarried couple, together with the husband's
mother and the lady's father, who was one of the noblesse of Montreuil,
his name Mons. L--y. There were likewise some merchants of the town,
and Mons. B--'s uncle, a facetious little man, who had served in the
English navy, and was as big and as round as a hogshead; we were
likewise favoured with the company of father K--, a native of Ireland,
who is vicaire or curate of the parish; and among the guests was Mons.
L--y's son, a pretty boy, about thirteen or fourteen years of age. The
repas served up in three services, or courses, with entrees and hors
d'oeuvres, exclusive of the fruit, consisted of about twenty dishes,
extremely well dressed by the rotisseur, who is the best cook I ever
knew, in France, or elsewhere; but the plates were not presented with
much order. Our young ladies did not seem to be much used to do the
honours of the table. The most extraordinary circumstance that I
observed on this occasion--as, that all the French who were present ate
of every dish that appeared; and I am told, that if there had been an
hundred articles more, they would have had a trial of each. This is
what they call doing justice to the founder. Mons. L--y was placed at
the head of the table and indeed he was the oracle and orator of the
company; tall, thin, and weather-beaten, not unlike the picture of Don
Quixote after he had lost his teeth. He had been garde du corps, or
life-guardman at Versailles; and by virtue of this office he was
perfectly well acquainted with the persons of the king and the dauphin,
with the characters of the ministers and grandees, and, in a word, with
all the secrets of state, on which he held forth with equal solemnity
and elocution. He exclaimed against the jesuits, and the farmers of the
revenue, who, he said, had ruined France. Then, addressing himself to
me, asked, if the English did not every day drink to the health of
madame la marquise? I did not at first comprehend his meaning; but
answered in general, that the English were not deficient in
complaisance for the ladies. "Ah! (cried he) she is the best friend
they have in the world. If it had not been for her, they would not have
such reason to boast of the advantages of the war." I told him the only
conquest which the French had made in the war, was atchieved by one of
her generals: I meant the taking of Mahon. But I did not choose to
prosecute the discourse, remembering that in the year 1749, I had like
to have had an affair with a Frenchman at Ghent, who affirmed, that all
the battles gained by the great duke of Marlborough were purposely lost
by the French generals, in order to bring the schemes of madame de
Maintenon into disgrace. This is no bad resource for the national
vanity of these people: though, in general, they are really persuaded,
that theirs is the richest, the bravest, the happiest, and the most
powerful nation under the sun; and therefore, without some such cause,
they must be invincible. By the bye, the common people here still
frighten their wayward children with the name of Marlborough. Mr. B--'s
son, who was nursed at a peasant's house, happening one day, after he
was brought home, to be in disgrace with his father, who threatened to
correct him, the child ran for protection to his mother, crying,
"Faites sortir ce vilaine Malbroug," "Turn out that rogue Marlborough."
It is amazing to hear a sensible Frenchman assert, that the revenues of
France amount to four hundred millions of livres, about twenty millions
sterling, clear of all incumbrances, when in fact their clear revenue
is not much above ten. Without all doubt they have reason to inveigh
against the fermiers generaux, who oppress the people in raising the
taxes, not above two-thirds of which are brought into the king's
coffers: the rest enriches themselves, and enables them to bribe high
for the protection of the great, which is the only support they have
against the remonstrances of the states and parliaments, and the
suggestions of common sense; which will ever demonstrate this to be, of
all others, the most pernicious method of supplying the necessities of
government.

Mons. L--y seasoned the severity of his political apothegms with
intermediate sallies of mirth and gallantry. He ogled the venerable
gentlewoman his commere, who sat by him. He looked, sighed, and
languished, sung tender songs, and kissed the old lady's hand with all
the ardour of a youthful admirer. I unfortunately congratulated him on
having such a pretty young gentleman to his son. He answered, sighing,
that the boy had talents, but did not put them to a proper use--"Long
before I attained his age (said he) I had finished my rhetoric."
Captain B--, who had eaten himself black in the face, and, with the
napkin under his chin, was no bad representation of Sancho Panza in the
suds, with the dishclout about his neck, when the duke's scullions
insisted upon shaving him; this sea-wit, turning to the boy, with a
waggish leer, "I suppose (said he) you don't understand the figure of
amplification so well as Monsieur your father." At that instant, one of
the nieces, who knew her uncle to be very ticklish, touched him under
the short ribs, on which the little man attempted to spring up, but
lost the centre of gravity. He overturned his own plate in the lap of
the person that sat next to him, and falling obliquely upon his own
chair, both tumbled down upon the floor together, to the great
discomposure of the whole company; for the poor man would have been
actually strangled, had not his nephew loosed his stock with great
expedition. Matters being once more adjusted, and the captain condoled
on his disaster, Mons. L--y took it in his head to read his son a
lecture upon filial obedience. This was mingled with some sharp
reproof, which the boy took so ill that he retired. The old lady
observed that he had been too severe: her daughter-in-law, who was very
pretty, said her brother had given him too much reason; hinting, at the
same time, that he was addicted to some terrible vices; upon which
several individuals repeated the interjection, ah! ah! "Yes (said Mons.
L--y, with a rueful aspect) the boy has a pernicious turn for gaming:
in one afternoon he lost, at billiards, such a sum as gives me horror
to think of it." "Fifty sols in one afternoon," (cried the sister).
"Fifty sols! (exclaimed the mother-in-law, with marks of astonishment)
that's too much--that's too much!--he's to blame-- he's to blame! but
youth, you know, Mons. L--y--ah! vive la jeunesse!"--"et l'amour!"
cried the father, wiping his eyes, squeezing her hand, and looking
tenderly upon her. Mr. B-- took this opportunity to bring in the young
gentleman, who was admitted into favour, and received a second
exhortation. Thus harmony was restored, and the entertainment concluded
with fruit, coffee, and liqueurs.

When a bourgeois of Boulogne takes the air, he goes in a one-horse
chaise, which is here called cabriolet, and hires it for half-a-crown a
day. There are also travelling chaises, which hold four persons, two
seated with their faces to the horses, and two behind their backs; but
those vehicles are all very ill made, and extremely inconvenient. The
way of riding most used in this place is on assback. You will see every
day, in the skirts of the town, a great number of females thus mounted,
with the feet on either side occasionally, according as the wind blows,
so that sometimes the right and sometimes the left hand guides the
beast: but in other parts of France, as well as in Italy, the ladies
sit on horseback with their legs astride, and are provided with drawers
for that purpose.

When I said the French people were kept in good humour by the fopperies
of their religion, I did not mean that there were no gloomy spirits
among them. There will be fanatics in religion, while there are people
of a saturnine disposition, and melancholy turn of mind. The character
of a devotee, which is hardly known in England, is very common here.
You see them walking to and from church at all hours, in their hoods
and long camblet cloaks, with a slow pace, demure aspect, and downcast
eye. Those who are poor become very troublesome to the monks, with
their scruples and cases of conscience: you may see them on their
knees, at the confessional, every hour in the day. The rich devotee has
her favourite confessor, whom she consults and regales in private, at
her own house; and this spiritual director generally governs the whole
family. For my part I never knew a fanatic that was not an hypocrite at
bottom. Their pretensions to superior sanctity, and an absolute
conquest over all the passions, which human reason was never yet able
to subdue, introduce a habit of dissimulation, which, like all other
habits, is confirmed by use, till at length they become adepts in the
art and science of hypocrisy. Enthusiasm and hypocrisy are by no means
incompatible. The wildest fanatics I ever knew, were real sensualists
in their way of living, and cunning cheats in their dealings with
mankind.

Among the lower class of people at Boulogne, those who take the lead,
are the sea-faring men, who live in one quarter, divided into classes,
and registered for the service of the king. They are hardy and
raw-boned, exercise the trade of fishermen and boatmen, and propagate
like rabbits. They have put themselves under the protection of a
miraculous image of the Virgin Mary, which is kept in one of their
churches, and every year carried in procession. According to the
legend, this image was carried off, with other pillage, by the English,
when they took Boulogne, in the reign of Henry VIII. The lady, rather
than reside in England, where she found a great many heretics, trusted
herself alone in an open boat, and crossed the sea to the road of
Boulogne, where she was seen waiting for a pilot. Accordingly a boat
put off to her assistance, and brought her safe into the harbour: since
which time she has continued to patronize the watermen of Boulogne. At
present she is very black and very ugly, besides being cruelly
mutilated in different parts of her body, which I suppose have been
amputated, and converted into tobacco-stoppers; but once a year she is
dressed in very rich attire, and carried in procession, with a silver
boat, provided at the expence of the sailors. That vanity which
characterises the French extends even to the canaille. The lowest
creature among them is sure to have her ear-rings and golden cross
hanging about her neck. Indeed this last is an implement of
superstition as well as of dress, without which no female appears. The
common people here, as in all countries where they live poorly and
dirtily, are hard-featured, and of very brown, or rather tawny
complexions. As they seldom eat meat, their juices are destitute of
that animal oil which gives a plumpness and smoothness to the skin, and
defends those fine capillaries from the injuries of the weather, which
would otherwise coalesce, or be shrunk up, so as to impede the
circulation on the external surface of the body. As for the dirt, it
undoubtedly blocks up the pores of the skin, and disorders the
perspiration; consequently must contribute to the scurvy, itch, and
other cutaneous distempers.

In the quarter of the matelots at Boulogne, there is a number of poor
Canadians, who were removed from the island of St. John, in the gulph
of St. Laurence, when it was reduced by the English. These people are
maintained at the expence of the king, who allows them soldier's pay,
that is five sols, or two-pence halfpenny a day; or rather three sols
and ammunition bread. How the soldiers contrive to subsist upon this
wretched allowance, I cannot comprehend: but, it must be owned, that
those invalids who do duty at Boulogne betray no marks of want. They
are hale and stout, neatly and decently cloathed, and on the whole look
better than the pensioners of Chelsea.

About three weeks ago I was favoured with a visit by one Mr. M--, an
English gentleman, who seems far gone in a consumption. He passed the
last winter at Nismes in Languedoc, and found himself much better in
the beginning of summer, when he embarked at Cette, and returned by sea
to England. He soon relapsed, however, and (as he imagines) in
consequence of a cold caught at sea. He told me, his intention was to
try the South again, and even to go as far as Italy. I advised him to
make trial of the air of Nice, where I myself proposed to reside. He
seemed to relish my advice, and proceeded towards Paris in his own
carriage.

I shall to-morrow ship my great chests on board of a ship bound to
Bourdeaux; they are directed, and recommended to the care of a merchant
of that place, who will forward them by Thoulouse, and the canal of
Languedoc, to his correspondent at Cette, which is the sea-port of
Montpellier. The charge of their conveyance to Bourdeaux does not
exceed one guinea. They consist of two very large chests and a trunk,
about a thousand pounds weight; and the expence of transporting them
from Bourdeaux to Cette, will not exceed thirty livres. They are
already sealed with lead at the customhouse, that they may be exempted
from further visitation. This is a precaution which every traveller
takes, both by sea and land: he must likewise provide himself with a
passe-avant at the bureau, otherwise he may be stopped, and rummaged at
every town through which he passes. I have hired a berline and four
horses to Paris, for fourteen loui'dores; two of which the voiturier is
obliged to pay for a permission from the farmers of the poste; for
every thing is farmed in this country; and if you hire a carriage, as I
have done, you must pay twelve livres, or half-a-guinea, for every
person that travels in it. The common coach between Calais and Paris,
is such a vehicle as no man would use, who has any regard to his own
case and convenience and it travels at the pace of an English waggon.

In ten days I shall set out on my journey; and I shall leave Boulogne
with regret. I have been happy in the acquaintance of Mrs. B--, and a
few British families in the place; and it was my good fortune to meet
here with two honest gentlemen, whom I had formerly known in Paris, as
well as with some of my countrymen, officers in the service of France.
My next will be from Paris. Remember me to our friends at A--'s. I am a
little heavy-hearted at the prospect of removing to such a distance
from you. It is a moot point whether I shall ever return. My health is
very precarious. Adieu.



LETTER VI

PARIS, October 12, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--Of our journey from Boulogne I have little to say. The
weather was favourable, and the roads were in tolerable order. We found
good accommodation at Montreuil and Amiens; but in every other place
where we stopped, we met with abundance of dirt, and the most flagrant
imposition. I shall not pretend to describe the cities of Abbeville and
Amiens, which we saw only en passant; nor take up your time with an
account of the stables and palace of Chantilly, belonging to the prince
of Conde, which we visited the last day of our journey; nor shall I
detain you with a detail of the Trefors de St. Denis, which, together
with the tombs in the abbey church, afforded us some amusement while
our dinner was getting ready. All these particulars are mentioned in
twenty different books of tours, travels, and directions, which you
have often perused. I shall only observe, that the abbey church is the
lightest piece of Gothic architecture I have seen, and the air within
seems perfectly free from that damp and moisture, so perceivable in all
our old cathedrals. This must be owing to the nature of its situation.
There are some fine marble statues that adorn the tombs of certain
individuals here interred; but they are mostly in the French taste,
which is quite contrary to the simplicity of the antients. Their
attitudes are affected, unnatural, and desultory; and their draperies
fantastic; or, as one of our English artists expressed himself, they
are all of a flutter. As for the treasures, which are shewn on certain
days to the populace gratis, they are contained in a number of presses,
or armoires, and, if the stones are genuine, they must be inestimable:
but this I cannot believe. Indeed I have been told, that what they shew
as diamonds are no more than composition: nevertheless, exclusive of
these, there are some rough stones of great value, and many curiosities
worth seeing. The monk that shewed them was the very image of our
friend Hamilton, both in his looks and manner.

I have one thing very extraordinary to observe of the French auberges,
which seems to be a remarkable deviation from the general character of
the nation. The landlords, hostesses, and servants of the inns upon the
road, have not the least dash of complaisance in their behaviour to
strangers. Instead of coming to the door, to receive you as in England,
they take no manner of notice of you; but leave you to find or enquire
your way into the kitchen, and there you must ask several times for a
chamber, before they seem willing to conduct you up stairs. In general,
you are served with the appearance of the most mortifying indifference,
at the very time they are laying schemes for fleecing you of your
money. It is a very odd contrast between France and England; in the
former all the people are complaisant but the publicans; in the latter
there is hardly any complaisance but among the publicans. When I said
all the people in France, I ought also to except those vermin who
examine the baggage of travellers in different parts of the kingdom.
Although our portmanteaus were sealed with lead, and we were provided
with a passe-avant from the douane, our coach was searched at the gate
of Paris by which we entered; and the women were obliged to get out,
and stand in the open street, till this operation was performed.

I had desired a friend to provide lodgings for me at Paris, in the
Fauxbourg St. Germain; and accordingly we found ourselves accommodated
at the Hotel de Montmorency, with a first floor, which costs me ten
livres a day. I should have put up with it had it been less polite; but
as I have only a few days to stay in this place, and some visits to
receive, I am not sorry that my friend has exceeded his commission. I
have been guilty of another piece of extravagance in hiring a carosse
de remise, for which I pay twelve livres a day. Besides the article of
visiting, I could not leave Paris, without carrying my wife and the
girls to see the most remarkable places in and about this capital, such
as the Luxemburg, the Palais-Royal, the Thuilleries, the Louvre, the
Invalids, the Gobelins, &c. together with Versailles, Trianon, Marli,
Meudon, and Choissi; and therefore, I thought the difference in point
of expence would not be great, between a carosse de remise and a
hackney coach. The first are extremely elegant, if not too much
ornamented, the last are very shabby and disagreeable. Nothing gives me
such chagrin, as the necessity I am under to hire a valet de place, as
my own servant does not speak the language. You cannot conceive with
what eagerness and dexterity those rascally valets exert themselves in
pillaging strangers. There is always one ready in waiting on your
arrival, who begins by assisting your own servant to unload your
baggage, and interests himself in your affairs with such artful
officiousness, that you will find it difficult to shake him off, even
though you are determined beforehand against hiring any such domestic.
He produces recommendations from his former masters, and the people of
the house vouch for his honesty.

The truth is, those fellows are very handy, useful, and obliging; and
so far honest, that they will not steal in the usual way. You may
safely trust one of them to bring you a hundred loui'dores from your
banker; but they fleece you without mercy in every other article of
expence. They lay all your tradesmen under contribution; your taylor,
barber, mantua-maker, milliner, perfumer, shoe-maker, mercer, jeweller,
hatter, traiteur, and wine-merchant: even the bourgeois who owns your
coach pays him twenty sols per day. His wages amount to twice as much,
so that I imagine the fellow that serves me, makes above ten shillings
a day, besides his victuals, which, by the bye, he has no right to
demand. Living at Paris, to the best of my recollection, is very near
twice as dear as it was fifteen years ago; and, indeed, this is the
case in London; a circumstance that must be undoubtedly owing to an
increase of taxes; for I don't find that in the articles of eating and
drinking, the French people are more luxurious than they were
heretofore. I am told the entrees, or duties, payed upon provision
imported into Paris, are very heavy. All manner of butcher's meat and
poultry are extremely good in this place. The beef is excellent. The
wine, which is generally drank, is a very thin kind of Burgundy. I can
by no means relish their cookery; but one breakfasts deliciously upon
their petit pains and their pales of butter, which last is exquisite.

The common people, and even the bourgeois of Paris live, at this
season, chiefly on bread and grapes, which is undoubtedly very wholsome
fare. If the same simplicity of diet prevailed in England, we should
certainly undersell the French at all foreign markets for they are very
slothful with all their vivacity and the great number of their holidays
not only encourages this lazy disposition, but actually robs them of
one half of what their labour would otherwise produce; so that, if our
common people were not so expensive in their living, that is, in their
eating and drinking, labour might be afforded cheaper in England than
in France. There are three young lusty hussies, nieces or daughters of
a blacksmith, that lives just opposite to my windows, who do nothing
from morning till night. They eat grapes and bread from seven till
nine, from nine till twelve they dress their hair, and are all the
afternoon gaping at the window to view passengers. I don't perceive
that they give themselves the trouble either to make their beds, or
clean their apartment. The same spirit of idleness and dissipation I
have observed in every part of France, and among every class of people.

Every object seems to have shrunk in its dimensions since I was last in
Paris. The Louvre, the Palais-Royal, the bridges, and the river Seine,
by no means answer the ideas I had formed of them from my former
observation. When the memory is not very correct, the imagination
always betrays her into such extravagances. When I first revisited my
own country, after an absence of fifteen years, I found every thing
diminished in the same manner, and I could scarce believe my own eyes.

Notwithstanding the gay disposition of the French, their houses are all
gloomy. In spite of all the ornaments that have been lavished on
Versailles, it is a dismal habitation. The apartments are dark,
ill-furnished, dirty, and unprincely. Take the castle, chapel, and
garden all together, they make a most fantastic composition of
magnificence and littleness, taste, and foppery. After all, it is in
England only, where we must look for cheerful apartments, gay
furniture, neatness, and convenience. There is a strange incongruity in
the French genius. With all their volatility, prattle, and fondness for
bons mots, they delight in a species of drawling, melancholy, church
music. Their most favourite dramatic pieces are almost without
incident; and the dialogue of their comedies consists of moral, insipid
apophthegms, intirely destitute of wit or repartee. I know what I
hazard by this opinion among the implicit admirers of Lully, Racine,
and Moliere.

I don't talk of the busts, the statues, and pictures which abound at
Versailles, and other places in and about Paris, particularly the great
collection of capital pieces in the Palais-royal, belonging to the duke
of Orleans. I have neither capacity, nor inclination, to give a
critique on these chef d'oeuvres, which indeed would take up a whole
volume. I have seen this great magazine of painting three times, with
astonishment; but I should have been better pleased, if there had not
been half the number: one is bewildered in such a profusion, as not to
know where to begin, and hurried away before there is time to consider
one piece with any sort of deliberation. Besides, the rooms are all
dark, and a great many of the pictures hang in a bad light. As for
Trianon, Marli, and Choissi, they are no more than pigeon-houses, in
respect to palaces; and, notwithstanding the extravagant eulogiums
which you have heard of the French king's houses, I will venture to
affirm that the king of England is better, I mean more comfortably,
lodged. I ought, however, to except Fontainebleau, which I have not
seen.

The city of Paris is said to be five leagues, or fifteen miles, in
circumference; and if it is really so, it must be much more populous
than London; for the streets are very narrow, and the houses very high,
with a different family on every floor. But I have measured the best
plans of these two royal cities, and am certain that Paris does not
take up near so much ground as London and Westminster occupy; and I
suspect the number of its inhabitants is also exaggerated by those who
say it amounts to eight hundred thousand, that is two hundred thousand
more than are contained in the bills of mortality. The hotels of the
French noblesse, at Paris, take up a great deal of room, with their
courtyards and gardens; and so do their convents and churches. It must
be owned, indeed, that their streets are wonderfully crouded with
people and carriages.

The French begin to imitate the English, but only in such particulars
as render them worthy of imitation. When I was last at Paris, no person
of any condition, male or female, appeared, but in full dress, even
when obliged to come out early in the morning, and there was not such a
thing to be seen as a perruque ronde; but at present I see a number of
frocks and scratches in a morning, in the streets of this metropolis.
They have set up a petite poste, on the plan of our penny-post, with
some improvements; and I am told there is a scheme on foot for
supplying every house with water, by leaden pipes, from the river
Seine. They have even adopted our practice of the cold bath, which is
taken very conveniently, in wooden houses, erected on the side of the
river, the water of which is let in and out occasionally, by cocks
fixed in the sides of the bath. There are different rooms for the
different sexes: the accommodations are good, and the expence is a
trifle. The tapestry of the Gobelins is brought to an amazing degree of
perfection; and I am surprised that this furniture is not more in
fashion among the great, who alone are able to purchase it. It would be
a most elegant and magnificent ornament, which would always nobly
distinguish their apartments from those, of an inferior rank; and in
this they would run no risk of being rivalled by the bourgeois. At the
village of Chaillot, in the neighbourhood of Paris, they make beautiful
carpets and screen-work; and this is the more extraordinary, as there
are hardly any carpets used in this kingdom. In almost all the
lodging-houses, the floors are of brick, and have no other kind of
cleaning, than that of being sprinkled with water, and swept once a
day. These brick floors, the stone stairs, the want of wainscotting in
the rooms, and the thick party-walls of stone, are, however, good
preservatives against fire, which seldom does any damage in this city.
Instead of wainscotting, the walls are covered with tapestry or damask.
The beds in general are very good, and well ornamented, with testers
and curtains.

Twenty years ago the river Seine, within a mile of Paris, was as
solitary as if it had run through a desert. At present the banks of it
are adorned with a number of elegant houses and plantations, as far as
Marli. I need not mention the machine at this place for raising water,
because I know you are well acquainted with its construction; nor shall
I say any thing more of the city of Paris, but that there is a new
square, built upon an elegant plan, at the end of the garden of the
Thuilleries: it is called Place de Louis XV. and, in the middle of it,
there is a good equestrian statue of the reigning king.

You have often heard that Louis XIV. frequently regretted, that his
country did not afford gravel for the walks of his gardens, which are
covered with a white, loose sand, very disagreeable both to the eyes
and feet of those who walk upon it; but this is a vulgar mistake. There
is plenty of gravel on the road between Paris and Versailles, as well
as in many other parts of this kingdom; but the French, who are all for
glare and glitter, think the other is more gay and agreeable: one would
imagine they did not feel the burning reflexion from the white sand,
which in summer is almost intolerable.

In the character of the French, considered as a people, there are
undoubtedly many circumstances truly ridiculous. You know the
fashionable people, who go a hunting, are equipped with their jack
boots, bag wigs, swords and pistols: but I saw the other day a scene
still more grotesque. On the road to Choissi, a fiacre, or
hackney-coach, stopped, and out came five or six men, armed with
musquets, who took post, each behind a separate tree. I asked our
servant who they were imagining they might be archers, or footpads of
justice, in pursuit of some malefactor. But guess my surprise, when the
fellow told me, they were gentlemen a la chasse. They were in fact come
out from Paris, in this equipage, to take the diversion of
hare-hunting; that is, of shooting from behind a tree at the hares that
chanced to pass. Indeed, if they had nothing more in view, but to
destroy the game, this was a very effectual method; for the hares are
in such plenty in this neighbourhood, that I have seen a dozen
together, in the same field. I think this way of hunting, in a coach or
chariot, might be properly adopted at London, in favour of those
aldermen of the city, who are too unwieldy to follow the hounds a
horseback.

The French, however, with all their absurdities, preserve a certain
ascendancy over us, which is very disgraceful to our nation; and this
appears in nothing more than in the article of dress. We are contented
to be thought their apes in fashion; but, in fact, we are slaves to
their taylors, mantua-makers, barbers, and other tradesmen. One would
be apt to imagine that our own tradesmen had joined them in a
combination against us. When the natives of France come to London, they
appear in all public places, with cloaths made according to the fashion
of their own country, and this fashion is generally admired by the
English. Why, therefore, don't we follow it implicitly? No, we pique
ourselves upon a most ridiculous deviation from the very modes we
admire, and please ourselves with thinking this deviation is a mark of
our spirit and liberty. But, we have not spirit enough to persist in
this deviation, when we visit their country: otherwise, perhaps, they
would come to admire and follow our example: for, certainly, in point
of true taste, the fashions of both countries are equally absurd. At
present, the skirts of the English descend from the fifth rib to the
calf of the leg, and give the coat the form of a Jewish gaberdine; and
our hats seem to be modelled after that which Pistol wears upon the
stage. In France, the haunch buttons and pocketholes are within half a
foot of the coat's extremity: their hats look as if they had been pared
round the brims, and the crown is covered with a kind of cordage,
which, in my opinion, produces a very beggarly effect. In every other
circumstance of dress, male and female, the contrast between the two
nations, appears equally glaring. What is the consequence? when an
Englishman comes to Paris, he cannot appear until he has undergone a
total metamorphosis. At his first arrival he finds it necessary to send
for the taylor, perruquier, hatter, shoemaker, and every other
tradesman concerned in the equipment of the human body. He must even
change his buckles, and the form of his ruffles; and, though at the
risque of his life, suit his cloaths to the mode of the season. For
example, though the weather should be never so cold, he must wear his
habit d'ete, or demi-saison. Without presuming to put on a warm dress
before the day which fashion has fixed for that purpose; and neither
old age nor infirmity will excuse a man for wearing his hat upon his
head, either at home or abroad. Females are (if possible) still more
subject to the caprices of fashion; and as the articles of their dress
are more manifold, it is enough to make a man's heart ake to see his
wife surrounded by a multitude of cotturieres, milliners, and
tire-women. All her sacks and negligees must be altered and new
trimmed. She must have new caps, new laces, new shoes, and her hair new
cut. She must have her taffaties for the summer, her flowered silks for
the spring and autumn, her sattins and damasks for winter. The good
man, who used to wear the beau drop d'Angleterre, quite plain all the
year round, with a long bob, or tye perriwig, must here provide himself
with a camblet suit trimmed with silver for spring and autumn, with
silk cloaths for summer, and cloth laced with gold, or velvet for
winter; and he must wear his bag-wig a la pigeon. This variety of dress
is absolutely indispensible for all those who pretend to any rank above
the meer bourgeois. On his return to his own country, all this frippery
is useless. He cannot appear in London until he has undergone another
thorough metamorphosis; so that he will have some reason to think, that
the tradesmen of Paris and London have combined to lay him under
contribution: and they, no doubt, are the directors who regulate the
fashions in both capitals; the English, however, in a subordinate
capacity: for the puppets of their making will not pass at Paris, nor
indeed in any other part of Europe; whereas a French petit maitre is
reckoned a complete figure every where, London not excepted. Since it
is so much the humour of the English at present to run abroad, I wish
they had anti-gallican spirit enough to produce themselves in their own
genuine English dress, and treat the French modes with the same
philosophical contempt, which was shewn by an honest gentleman,
distinguished by the name of Wig-Middleton. That unshaken patriot still
appears in the same kind of scratch perriwig, skimming-dish hat, and
slit sleeve, which were worn five-and-twenty years ago, and has
invariably persisted in this garb, in defiance of all the revolutions
of the mode. I remember a student in the temple, who, after a long and
learned investigation of the to kalon, or beautiful, had resolution
enough to let his beard grow, and wore it in all public places, until
his heir at law applied for a commission of lunacy against him; then he
submitted to the razor, rather than run any risque of being found non
compos.

Before I conclude, I must tell you, that the most reputable
shop-keepers and tradesmen of Paris think it no disgrace to practise
the most shameful imposition. I myself know an instance of one of the
most creditable marchands in this capital, who demanded six francs an
ell for some lutestring, laying his hand upon his breast at the same
time, and declaring en conscience, that it had cost him within three
sols of the money. Yet in less than three minutes, he sold it for four
and a half, and when the buyer upbraided him with his former
declaration, he shrugged up his shoulders, saying, il faut marchander.
I don't mention this as a particular instance. The same mean
disingenuity is universal all over France, as I have been informed by
several persons of veracity.

The next letter you have from me will probably be dated at Nismes, or
Montpellier. Mean-while, I am ever--Yours.



LETTER VII

To MRS. M--. PARIS, October, 12, 1763.

MADAM,--I shall be much pleased if the remarks I have made on the
characters of the French people, can afford you the satisfaction you
require. With respect to the ladies I can only judge from their
exteriors: but, indeed, these are so characteristic, that one can
hardly judge amiss; unless we suppose that a woman of taste and
sentiment may be so overruled by the absurdity of what is called
fashion, as to reject reason, and disguise nature, in order to become
ridiculous or frightful. That this may be the case with some
individuals, is very possible. I have known it happen in our own
country, where the follies of the French are adopted and exhibited in
the most aukward imitation: but the general prevalence of those
preposterous modes, is a plain proof that there is a general want of
taste, and a general depravity of nature. I shall not pretend to
describe the particulars of a French lady's dress. These you are much
better acquainted with than I can pretend to be: but this I will be
bold to affirm, that France is the general reservoir from which all the
absurdities of false taste, luxury, and extravagance have overflowed
the different kingdoms and states of Europe. The springs that fill this
reservoir, are no other than vanity and ignorance. It would be
superfluous to attempt proving from the nature of things, from the
first principles and use of dress, as well as from the consideration of
natural beauty, and the practice of the ancients, who certainly
understood it as well as the connoisseurs of these days, that nothing
can be more monstrous, inconvenient, and contemptible, than the fashion
of modern drapery. You yourself are well aware of all its defects, and
have often ridiculed them in my hearing. I shall only mention one
particular of dress essential to the fashion in this country, which
seems to me to carry human affectation to the very farthest verge of
folly and extravagance; that is, the manner in which the faces of the
ladies are primed and painted. When the Indian chiefs were in England
every body ridiculed their preposterous method of painting their cheeks
and eye-lids; but this ridicule was wrong placed. Those critics ought
to have considered, that the Indians do not use paint to make
themselves agreeable; but in order to be the more terrible to their
enemies. It is generally supposed, I think, that your sex make use of
fard and vermillion for very different purposes; namely, to help a bad
or faded complexion, to heighten the graces, or conceal the defects of
nature, as well as the ravages of time. I shall not enquire at present,
whether it is just and honest to impose in this manner on mankind: if
it is not honest, it may be allowed to be artful and politic, and
shews, at least, a desire of being agreeable. But to lay it on as the
fashion in France prescribes to all the ladies of condition, who indeed
cannot appear without this badge of distinction, is to disguise
themselves in such a manner, as to render them odious and detestable to
every spectator, who has the least relish left for nature and
propriety. As for the fard or white, with which their necks and
shoulders are plaistered, it may be in some measure excusable, as their
skins are naturally brown, or sallow; but the rouge, which is daubed on
their faces, from the chin up to the eyes, without the least art or
dexterity, not only destroys all distinction of features, but renders
the aspect really frightful, or at best conveys nothing but ideas of
disgust and aversion. You know, that without this horrible masque no
married lady is admitted at court, or in any polite assembly; and that
it is a mark of distinction which no bourgeoise dare assume. Ladies of
fashion only have the privilege of exposing themselves in these
ungracious colours. As their faces are concealed under a false
complexion, so their heads are covered with a vast load of false hair,
which is frizzled on the forehead, so as exactly to resemble the wooly
heads of the Guinea negroes. As to the natural hue of it, this is a
matter of no consequence, for powder makes every head of hair of the
same colour; and no woman appears in this country, from the moment she
rises till night, without being compleatly whitened. Powder or meal was
first used in Europe by the Poles, to conceal their scald heads; but
the present fashion of using it, as well as the modish method of
dressing the hair, must have been borrowed from the Hottentots, who
grease their wooly heads with mutton suet and then paste it over with
the powder called buchu. In like manner, the hair of our fine ladies is
frizzled into the appearance of negroes wool, and stiffened with an
abominable paste of hog's grease, tallow, and white powder. The present
fashion, therefore, of painting the face, and adorning the head,
adopted by the beau monde in France, is taken from those two polite
nations the Chickesaws of America and the Hottentots of Africa. On the
whole, when I see one of those fine creatures sailing along, in her
taudry robes of silk and gauze, frilled, and flounced, and furbelowed,
with her false locks, her false jewels, her paint, her patches, and
perfumes; I cannot help looking upon her as the vilest piece of
sophistication that art ever produced.

This hideous masque of painting, though destructive of all beauty, is,
however, favourable to natural homeliness and deformity. It accustoms
the eyes of the other sex, and in time reconciles them to frightfull
objects; it disables them from perceiving any distinction of features
between woman and woman; and, by reducing all faces to a level, gives
every female an equal chance for an admirer; being in this particular
analogous to the practice of the antient Lacedemonians, who were
obliged to chuse their helpmates in the dark. In what manner the
insides of their heads are furnished, I would not presume to judge from
the conversation of a very few to whom I have had access: but from the
nature of their education, which I have heard described, and the
natural vivacity of their tempers, I should expect neither sense,
sentiment, nor discretion. From the nursery they are allowed, and even
encouraged, to say every thing that comes uppermost; by which means
they acquire a volubility of tongue, and a set of phrases, which
constitutes what is called polite conversation. At the same time they
obtain an absolute conquest over all sense of shame, or rather, they
avoid acquiring this troublesome sensation; for it is certainly no
innate idea. Those who have not governesses at home, are sent, for a
few years, to a convent, where they lay in a fund of superstition that
serves them for life: but I never heard they had the least opportunity
of cultivating the mind, of exercising the powers of reason, or of
imbibing a taste for letters, or any rational or useful accomplishment.
After being taught to prattle, to dance and play at cards, they are
deemed sufficiently qualified to appear in the grand monde, and to
perform all the duties of that high rank and station in life. In
mentioning cards, I ought to observe, that they learn to play not
barely for amusement, but also with a view to advantage; and, indeed,
you seldom meet with a native of France, whether male or female, who is
not a compleat gamester, well versed in all the subtleties and finesses
of the art. This is likewise the case all over Italy. A lady of a great
house in Piedmont, having four sons, makes no scruple to declare, that
the first shall represent the family, the second enter into the army,
the third into the church, and that she will breed the fourth a
gamester. These noble adventurers devote themselves in a particular
manner to the entertainment of travellers from our country, because the
English are supposed to be full of money, rash, incautious, and utterly
ignorant of play. But such a sharper is most dangerous, when he hunts
in couple with a female. I have known a French count and his wife, who
found means to lay the most wary under contribution. He was smooth,
supple, officious, and attentive: she was young, handsome,
unprincipled, and artful. If the Englishman marked for prey was found
upon his guard against the designs of the husband, then madam plied him
on the side of gallantry. She displayed all the attractions of her
person. She sung, danced, ogled, sighed, complimented, and complained.
If he was insensible to all her charms, she flattered his vanity, and
piqued his pride, by extolling the wealth and generosity of the
English; and if he proved deaf to all these insinuations she, as her
last stake, endeavoured to interest his humanity and compassion. She
expatiated, with tears in her eyes, on the cruelty and indifference of
her great relations; represented that her husband was no more than the
cadet of a noble family--, that his provision was by no means suitable.
either to the dignity of his rank, or the generosity of his
disposition: that he had a law-suit of great consequence depending,
which had drained all his finances; and, finally, that they should be
both ruined, if they could not find some generous friend, who would
accommodate them with a sum of money to bring the cause to a
determination. Those who are not actuated by such scandalous motives,
become gamesters from meer habit, and, having nothing more solid to
engage their thoughts, or employ their time, consume the best part of
their lives, in this worst of all dissipation. I am not ignorant that
there are exceptions from this general rule: I know that France has
produced a Maintenon, a Sevigine, a Scuderi, a Dacier, and a Chatelet;
but I would no more deduce the general character of the French ladies
from these examples, than I would call a field of hemp a flower-garden.
because there might be in it a few lillies or renunculas planted by the
hand of accident.

Woman has been defined a weaker man; but in this country the men are,
in my opinion, more ridiculous and insignificant than the women. They
certainly are more disagreeable to a rational enquirer, because they
are more troublesome. Of all the coxcombs on the face of the earth, a
French petit maitre is the most impertinent: and they are all petit
maitres from the marquis who glitters in lace and embroidery, to the
garcon barbier covered with meal, who struts with his hair in a long
queue, and his hat under his arm. I have already observed, that vanity
is the great and universal mover among all ranks and degrees of people
in this nation; and as they take no pains to conceal or controul it,
they are hurried by it into the most ridiculous and indeed intolerable
extravagance.

When I talk of the French nation, I must again except a great number of
individuals, from the general censure. Though I have a hearty contempt
for the ignorance, folly, and presumption which characterise the
generality, I cannot but respect the talents of many great men, who
have eminently distinguished themselves in every art and science: these
I shall always revere and esteem as creatures of a superior species,
produced, for the wise purposes of providence, among the refuse of
mankind. It would be absurd to conclude that the Welch or Highlanders
are a gigantic people, because those mountains may have produced a few
individuals near seven feet high. It would be equally absurd to suppose
the French are a nation of philosophers, because France has given birth
to a Des Cartes, a Maupertuis, a Reaumur, and a Buffon.

I shall not even deny, that the French are by no means deficient in
natural capacity; but they are at the same time remarkable for a
natural levity, which hinders their youth from cultivating that
capacity. This is reinforced by the most preposterous education, and
the example of a giddy people, engaged in the most frivolous pursuits.
A Frenchman is by some Jesuit, or other monk, taught to read his mother
tongue, and to say his prayers in a language he does not understand. He
learns to dance and to fence, by the masters of those noble sciences.
He becomes a compleat connoisseur in dressing hair, and in adorning his
own person, under the hands and instructions of his barber and valet de
chambre. If he learns to play upon the flute or the fiddle, he is
altogether irresistible. But he piques himself upon being polished
above the natives of any other country by his conversation with the
fair sex. In the course of this communication, with which he is
indulged from his tender years, he learns like a parrot, by rote, the
whole circle of French compliments, which you know are a set of phrases
ridiculous even to a proverb; and these he throws out indiscriminately
to all women, without distinction in the exercise of that kind of
address, which is here distinguished by the name of gallantry: it is no
more than his making love to every woman who will give him the hearing.
It is an exercise, by the repetition of which he becomes very pert,
very familiar, and very impertinent. Modesty, or diffidence, I have
already said, is utterly unknown among them, and therefore I wonder
there should be a term to express it in their language.

If I was obliged to define politeness, I should call it, the art of
making one's self agreeable. I think it an art that necessarily implies
a sense of decorum, and a delicacy of sentiment. These are qualities,
of which (as far as I have been able to observe) a Frenchman has no
idea; therefore he never can be deemed polite, except by those persons
among whom they are as little understood. His first aim is to adorn his
own person with what he calls fine cloaths, that is the frippery of the
fashion. It is no wonder that the heart of a female, unimproved by
reason, and untinctured with natural good sense, should flutter at the
sight of such a gaudy thing, among the number of her admirers: this
impression is enforced by fustian compliments, which her own vanity
interprets in a literal sense, and still more confirmed by the
assiduous attention of the gallant, who, indeed, has nothing else to
mind. A Frenchman in consequence of his mingling with the females from
his infancy, not only becomes acquainted with all their customs and
humours; but grows wonderfully alert in performing a thousand little
offices, which are overlooked by other men, whose time hath been spent
in making more valuable acquisitions. He enters, without ceremony, a
lady's bed-chamber, while she is in bed, reaches her whatever she
wants, airs her shift, and helps to put it on. He attends at her
toilette, regulates the distribution of her patches, and advises where
to lay on the paint. If he visits her when she is dressed, and
perceives the least impropriety in her coeffure, he insists upon
adjusting it with his own hands: if he sees a curl, or even a single
hair amiss, he produces his comb, his scissars, and pomatum, and sets
it to rights with the dexterity of a professed friseur. He 'squires her
to every place she visits, either on business, or pleasure; and, by
dedicating his whole time to her, renders himself necessary to her
occasions. This I take to be the most agreeable side of his character:
let us view him on the quarter of impertinence. A Frenchman pries into
all your secrets with the most impudent and importunate curiosity, and
then discloses them without remorse. If you are indisposed, he
questions you about the symptoms of your disorder, with more freedom
than your physician would presume to use; very often in the grossest
terms. He then proposes his remedy (for they are all quacks), he
prepares it without your knowledge, and worries you with solicitation
to take it, without paying the least regard to the opinion of those
whom you have chosen to take care of your health. Let you be ever so
ill, or averse to company, he forces himself at all times into your
bed-chamber, and if it is necessary to give him a peremptory refusal,
he is affronted. I have known one of those petit maitres insist upon
paying regular visits twice a day to a poor gentleman who was
delirious; and he conversed with him on different subjects, till he was
in his last agonies. This attendance is not the effect of attachment,
or regard, but of sheer vanity, that he may afterwards boast of his
charity and humane disposition: though, of all the people I have ever
known, I think the French are the least capable of feeling for the
distresses of their fellow creatures. Their hearts are not susceptible
of deep impressions; and, such is their levity, that the imagination
has not time to brood long over any disagreeable idea, or sensation. As
a Frenchman piques himself on his gallantry, he no sooner makes a
conquest of a female's heart, than he exposes her character, for the
gratification of his vanity. Nay, if he should miscarry in his schemes,
he will forge letters and stories, to the ruin of the lady's
reputation. This is a species of perfidy which one would think should
render them odious and detestable to the whole sex; but the case is
otherwise. I beg your pardon, Madam; but women are never better
pleased, than when they see one another exposed; and every individual
has such confidence in her own superior charms and discretion, that she
thinks she can fix the most volatile, and reform the most treacherous
lover.

If a Frenchman is admitted into your family, and distinguished by
repeated marks of your friendship and regard, the first return he makes
for your civilities is to make love to your wife, if she is handsome;
if not, to your sister, or daughter, or niece. If he suffers a repulse
from your wife, or attempts in vain to debauch your sister, or your
daughter, or your niece, he will, rather than not play the traitor with
his gallantry, make his addresses to your grandmother; and ten to one,
but in one shape or another, he will find means to ruin the peace of a
family, in which he has been so kindly entertained. What he cannot
accomplish by dint of compliment, and personal attendance, he will
endeavour to effect, by reinforcing these with billets-doux, songs, and
verses, of which he always makes a provision for such purposes. If he
is detected in these efforts of treachery, and reproached with his
ingratitude, he impudently declares, that what he had done was no more
than simple gallantry, considered in France as an indispensible duty on
every man who pretended to good breeding. Nay, he will even affirm,
that his endeavours to corrupt your wife, or your daughter, were the
most genuine proofs he could give of his particular regard for your
family.

If a Frenchman is capable of real friendship, it must certainly be the
most disagreeable present he can possibly make to a man of a true
English character, You know, Madam, we are naturally taciturn, soon
tired of impertinence, and much subject to fits of disgust. Your French
friend intrudes upon you at all hours: he stuns you with his loquacity:
he teases you with impertinent questions about your domestic and
private affairs: he attempts to meddle in all your concerns; and forces
his advice upon you with the most unwearied importunity: he asks the
price of every thing you wear, and, so sure as you tell him undervalues
it, without hesitation: he affirms it is in a bad taste, ill-contrived,
ill-made; that you have been imposed upon both with respect to the
fashion and the price; that the marquise of this, or the countess of
that, has one that is perfectly elegant, quite in the bon ton, and yet
it cost her little more than you gave for a thing that nobody would
wear.

If there were five hundred dishes at table, a Frenchman will eat of all
of them, and then complain he has no appetite. This I have several
times remarked. A friend of mine gained a considerable wager upon an
experiment of this kind: the petit maitre ate of fourteen different
plats, besides the dessert; then disparaged the cook, declaring he was
no better than a marmiton, or turnspit.

The French have the most ridiculous fondness for their hair, and this I
believe they inherit from their remote ancestors. The first race of
French kings were distinguished by their long hair, and certainly the
people of this country consider it as an indispensible ornament. A
Frenchman will sooner part with his religion than with his hair, which,
indeed, no consideration will induce him to forego. I know a gentleman
afflicted with a continual head-ach, and a defluxion on his eyes, who
was told by his physician that the best chance he had for being cured,
would be to have his head close shaved, and bathed every day in cold
water. "How (cried he) cut my hair? Mr. Doctor, your most humble
servant!" He dismissed his physician, lost his eye-sight, and almost
his senses, and is now led about with his hair in a bag, and a piece of
green silk hanging like a screen before his face. Count Saxe, and other
military writers have demonstrated the absurdity of a soldier's wearing
a long head of hair; nevertheless, every soldier in this country wears
a long queue, which makes a delicate mark on his white cloathing; and
this ridiculous foppery has descended even to the lowest class of
people. The decrotteur, who cleans your shoes at the corner of the Pont
Neuf, has a tail of this kind hanging down to his rump, and even the
peasant who drives an ass loaded with dung, wears his hair en queue,
though, perhaps, he has neither shirt nor breeches. This is the
ornament upon which he bestows much time and pains, and in the
exhibition of which he finds full gratification for his vanity.
Considering the harsh features of the common people in this country,
their diminutive stature, their grimaces, and that long appendage, they
have no small resemblance to large baboons walking upright; and perhaps
this similitude has helped to entail upon them the ridicule of their
neighbours.

A French friend tires out your patience with long visits; and, far from
taking the most palpable hints to withdraw, when he perceives you
uneasy he observes you are low-spirited, and therefore he will keep you
company. This perseverance shews that he must either be void of
penetration, or that his disposition must be truly diabolical. Rather
than be tormented with such a fiend, a man had better turn him out of
doors, even though at the hazard of being run thro' the body.

The French are generally counted insincere, and taxed with want of
generosity. But I think these reproaches are not well founded.
High-flown professions of friendship and attachment constitute the
language of common compliment in this country, and are never supposed
to be understood in the literal acceptation of the words; and, if their
acts of generosity are but very rare, we ought to ascribe that rarity,
not so much to a deficiency of generous sentiments, as to their vanity
and ostentation, which engrossing all their funds, utterly disable them
from exerting the virtues of beneficence. Vanity, indeed, predominates
among all ranks, to such a degree, that they are the greatest egotists
in the world; and the most insignificant individual talks in company
with the same conceit and arrogance, as a person of the greatest
importance. Neither conscious poverty nor disgrace will restrain him in
the least either from assuming his full share of the conversation, or
making big addresses to the finest lady, whom he has the smallest
opportunity to approach: nor is he restrained by any other
consideration whatsoever. It is all one to him whether he himself has a
wife of his own, or the lady a husband; whether she is designed for the
cloister, or pre-ingaged to his best friend and benefactor. He takes it
for granted that his addresses cannot but be acceptable; and, if he
meets with a repulse, he condemns her taste; but never doubts his own
qualifications.

I have a great many things to say of their military character, and
their punctilios of honour, which last are equally absurd and
pernicious; but as this letter has run to an unconscionable length, I
shall defer them till another opportunity. Mean-while, I have the
honour to be, with very particular esteem--Madam, Your most obedient
servant.



LETTER VIII

To MR. M--

LYONS, October 19, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--I was favoured with yours at Paris, and look upon your
reproaches as the proof of your friendship. The truth is, I considered
all the letters I have hitherto written on the subject of my travels,
as written to your society in general, though they have been addressed
to one individual of it; and if they contain any thing that can either
amuse or inform, I desire that henceforth all I send may be freely
perused by all the members.

With respect to my health, about which you so kindly enquire, I have
nothing new to communicate. I had reason to think that my bathing in
the sea at Boulogne  produced a good effect, in strengthening my
relaxed fibres. You know how subject I was to colds in England; that I
could not stir abroad after sun-set, nor expose myself to the smallest
damp, nor walk till the least moisture appeared on my skin, without
being laid up for ten days or a fortnight. At Paris, however, I went
out every day, with my hat under my arm, though the weather was wet and
cold: I walked in the garden at Versailles even after it was dark, with
my head uncovered, on a cold evening, when the ground was far from
being dry: nay, at Marli, I sauntered above a mile through damp alleys,
and wet grass: and from none of these risques did I feel the least
inconvenience.

In one of our excursions we visited the manufacture for porcelain,
which the king of France has established at the village of St. Cloud,
on the road to Versailles, and which is, indeed, a noble monument of
his munificence. It is a very large building, both commodious and
magnificent, where a great number of artists are employed, and where
this elegant superfluity is carried to as great perfection as it ever
was at Dresden. Yet, after all, I know not whether the porcelain made
at Chelsea may not vie with the productions either of Dresden, or St.
Cloud. If it falls short of either, it is not in the design, painting,
enamel, or other ornaments, but only in the composition of the metal,
and the method of managing it in the furnace. Our porcelain seems to be
a partial vitrification of levigated flint and fine pipe clay, mixed
together in a certain proportion; and if the pieces are not removed
from the fire in the very critical moment, they will be either too
little, or too much vitrified. In the first case, I apprehend they will
not acquire a proper degree of cohesion; they will be apt to be
corroded, discoloured, and to crumble, like the first essays that were
made at Chelsea; in the second case, they will be little better than
imperfect glass.

There are three methods of travelling from Paris to Lyons, which, by
the shortest road is a journey of about three hundred and sixty miles.
One is by the diligence, or stagecoach, which performs it in five days;
and every passenger pays one hundred livres, in consideration of which,
he not only has a seat in the carriage, but is maintained on the road.
The inconveniences attending this way of travelling are these. You are
crouded into the carriage, to the number of eight persons, so as to sit
very uneasy, and sometimes run the risque of being stifled among very
indifferent company. You are hurried out of bed, at four, three, nay
often at two o'clock in the morning. You are obliged to eat in the
French way, which is very disagreeable to an English palate; and, at
Chalons, you must embark upon the Saone in a boat, which conveys you to
Lyons, so that the two last days of your journey are by water. All
these were insurmountable objections to me, who am in such a bad state
of health, troubled with an asthmatic cough, spitting, slow fever, and
restlessness, which demands a continual change of place, as well as
free air, and room for motion. I was this day visited by two young
gentlemen, sons of Mr. Guastaldi, late minister from Genoa at London. I
had seen them at Paris, at the house of the dutchess of Douglas. They
came hither, with their conductor, in the diligence, and assured me,
that nothing could be more disagreeable than their situation in that
carriage.

Another way of travelling in this country is to hire a coach and four
horses; and this method I was inclined to take: but when I went to the
bureau, where alone these voitures are to be had, I was given to
understand, that it would cost me six-and-twenty guineas, and travel so
slow that I should be ten days upon the road. These carriages are let
by the same persons who farm the diligence; and for this they have an
exclusive privilege, which makes them very saucy and insolent. When I
mentioned my servant, they gave me to understand, that I must pay two
loui'dores more for his seat upon the coach box. As I could not relish
these terms, nor brook the thoughts of being so long upon the road, I
had recourse to the third method, which is going post.

In England you know I should have had nothing to do, but to hire a
couple of post-chaises from stage to stage, with two horses in each;
but here the case is quite otherwise. The post is farmed from the king,
who lays travellers under contribution for his own benefit, and has
published a set of oppressive ordonnances, which no stranger nor native
dares transgress. The postmaster finds nothing but horses and guides:
the carriage you yourself must provide. If there are four persons
within the carriage, you are obliged to have six horses, and two
postillions; and if your servant sits on the outside, either before or
behind, you must pay for a seventh. You pay double for the first stage
from Paris, and twice double for passing through Fontainbleau when the
court is there, as well as at coming to Lyons, and at leaving this
city. These are called royal posts, and are undoubtedly a scandalous
imposition.

There are two post roads from Paris to Lyons, one of sixty-five posts,
by the way of Moulins; the other of fifty-nine, by the way of Dijon in
Burgundy. This last I chose, partly to save sixty livres, and partly to
see the wine harvest of Burgundy, which, I was told, was a season of
mirth and jollity among all ranks of people. I hired a very good coach
for ten loui'dores to Lyons, and set out from Paris on the thirteenth
instant, with six horses, two postillions, and my own servant on
horseback. We made no stop at Fontainbleau, though the court was there;
but lay at Moret, which is one stage further, a very paltry little town
where, however, we found good accommodation.

I shall not pretend to describe the castle or palace of Fontainbleau,
of which I had only a glimpse in passing; but the forest, in the middle
of which it stands, is a noble chace of great extent, beautifully wild
and romantic, well stored with game of all sorts, and abounding with
excellent timber. It put me in mind of the New Forest in Hampshire; but
the hills, rocks, and mountains, with which it is diversified, render
it more agreeable.

The people of this country dine at noon, and travellers always find an
ordinary prepared at every auberge, or public-house, on the road. Here
they sit down promiscuously, and dine at so much a head. The usual
price is thirty sols for dinner, and forty for supper, including
lodging; for this moderate expence they have two courses and a dessert.
If you eat in your own apartment, you pay, instead of forty sols,
three, and in some places, four livres ahead. I and my family could not
well dispense with our tea and toast in the morning, and had no stomach
to eat at noon. For my own part, I hate French cookery, and abominate
garlick, with which all their ragouts, in this part of the country, are
highly seasoned: we therefore formed a different plan of living upon
the road. Before we left Paris, we laid in a stock of tea, chocolate,
cured neats' tongues, and saucissons, or Bologna sausages, both of
which we found in great perfection in that capital, where, indeed,
there are excellent provisions of all sorts. About ten in the morning
we stopped to breakfast at some auberge, where we always found bread,
butter, and milk. In the mean time, we ordered a poulard or two to be
roasted, and these, wrapped in a napkin, were put into the boot of the
coach, together with bread, wine, and water. About two or three in the
afternoon, while the horses were changing, we laid a cloth upon our
knees, and producing our store, with a few earthen plates, discussed
our short meal without further ceremony. This was followed by a dessert
of grapes and other fruit, which we had also provided. I must own I
found these transient refreshments much more agreeable than any regular
meal I ate upon the road. The wine commonly used in Burgundy is so weak
and thin, that you would not drink it in England. The very best which
they sell at Dijon, the capital of the province, for three livres a
bottle, is in strength, and even in flavour, greatly inferior to what I
have drank in London. I believe all the first growth is either consumed
in the houses of the noblesse, or sent abroad to foreign markets. I
have drank excellent Burgundy at Brussels for a florin a bottle; that
is, little more than twenty pence sterling.

The country from the forest of Fontainbleau to the Lyonnois, through
which we passed, is rather agreeable than fertile, being part of
Champagne and the dutchy of Burgundy, watered by three pleasant
pastoral rivers, the Seine, the Yonne, and the Saone. The flat country
is laid out chiefly for corn; but produces more rye than wheat. Almost
all the ground seems to be ploughed up, so that there is little or
nothing lying fallow. There are very few inclosures, scarce any meadow
ground, and, so far as I could observe, a great scarcity of cattle. We
sometimes found it very difficult  to procure half a pint of milk for
our tea. In Burgundy I saw a peasant ploughing the ground with a
jack-ass, a lean cow, and a he-goat, yoked together. It is generally
observed, that a great number of black cattle are bred and fed on the
mountains of Burgundy, which are the highest lands in France; but I saw
very few. The peasants in France are so wretchedly poor, and so much
oppressed by their landlords, that they cannot afford to inclose their
grounds, or give a proper respite to their lands; or to stock their
farms with a sufficient number of black cattle to produce the necessary
manure, without which agriculture can never be carried to any degree of
perfection. Indeed, whatever efforts a few individuals may make for the
benefit of their own estates, husbandry in France will never be
generally improved, until the farmer is free and independent.

From the frequency of towns and villages, I should imagine this country
is very populous; yet it must be owned, that the towns are in general
thinly inhabited. I saw a good number of country seats and plantations
near the banks of the rivers, on each side; and a great many convents,
sweetly situated, on rising grounds, where the air is most pure, and
the prospect most agreeable. It is surprising to see how happy the
founders of those religious houses have been in their choice of
situations, all the world over.

In passing through this country, I was very much struck with the sight
of large ripe clusters of grapes, entwined with the briars and thorns
of common hedges on the wayside. The mountains of Burgundy are covered
with vines from the bottom to the top, and seem to be raised by nature
on purpose to extend the surface, and to expose it the more
advantageously to the rays of the sun. The vandange was but just begun,
and the people were employed in gathering the grapes; but I saw no
signs of festivity among them. Perhaps their joy was a little damped by
the bad prospect of their harvest; for they complained that the weather
had been so unfavourable as to hinder the grapes from ripening. I
thought, indeed, there was something uncomfortable in seeing the
vintage thus retarded till the beginning of winter: for, in some parts,
I found the weather extremely cold; particularly at a place called
Maison-neuve, where we lay, there was a hard frost, and in the morning
the pools were covered with a thick crust of ice. My personal
adventures on the road were such as will not bear a recital. They
consisted of petty disputes with landladies, post-masters, and
postillions. The highways seem to be perfectly safe. We did not find
that any robberies were ever committed, although we did not see one of
the marechaussee from Paris to Lyons. You know the marechaussee are a
body of troopers well mounted, maintained in France as safe-guards to
the public roads. It is a reproach upon England that some such patrol
is not appointed for the protection of travellers.

At Sens in Champagne, my servant, who had rode on before to bespeak
fresh horses, told me, that the domestic of another company had been
provided before him, altho' it was not his turn, as he had arrived
later at the post. Provoked at this partiality, I resolved to chide the
post-master, and accordingly addressed myself to a person who stood at
the door of the auberge. He was a jolly figure, fat and fair, dressed
in an odd kind of garb, with a gold laced cap on his head, and a
cambric handkerchief pinned to his middle. The sight of such a
fantastic petit maitre, in the character of a post-master, increased my
spleen. I called to him with an air of authority, mixed with
indignation, and when he came up to the coach, asked in a peremptory
tone, if he did not understand the king's ordonnance concerning the
regulation of the posts? He laid his hand upon his breast; but before
he could make any answer, I pulled out the post-book, and began to
read, with great vociferation, the article which orders, that the
traveller who comes first shall be first served. By this time the fresh
horses being put to the carriage, and the postillions mounted, the
coach set off all of a sudden, with uncommon speed. I imagined the
post-master had given the fellows a signal to be gone, and, in this
persuasion, thrusting my head out at the window, I bestowed some
epithets upon him, which must have sounded very harsh in the ears of a
Frenchman. We stopped for a refreshment at a little town called
Joigne-ville, where (by the bye) I was scandalously imposed upon, and
even abused by a virago of a landlady; then proceeding to the next
stage, I was given to understand we could not be supplied with fresh
horses. Here I perceived at the door of the inn, the same person whom I
had reproached at Sens. He came up to the coach, and told me, that
notwithstanding what the guides had said, I should have fresh horses in
a few minutes. I imagined he was master both of this house and the
auberge at Sens, between which he passed and repassed occasionally; and
that he was now desirous of making me amends for the affront he had put
upon me at the other place. Observing that one of the trunks behind was
a little displaced, he assisted my servant in adjusting it: then he
entered into conversation with me, and gave me to understand, that in a
post-chaise, which we had passed, was an English gentleman on his
return from Italy. I wanted to know who he was, and when he said he
could not tell, I asked him, in a very abrupt manner, why he had not
enquired of his servant. He shrugged up his shoulders, and retired to
the inn door. Having waited about half an hour, I beckoned to him, and
when he approached, upbraided him with having told me that I should be
supplied with fresh horses in a few minutes: he seemed shocked, and
answered, that he thought he had reason for what he said, observing,
that it was as disagreeable to him as to me to wait for a relay. As it
began to rain, I pulled up the glass in his face, and he withdrew again
to the door, seemingly ruffled at my deportment. In a little time the
horses arrived, and three of them were immediately put to a very
handsome post-chaise, into which he stepped, and set out, accompanied
by a man in a rich livery on horseback. Astonished at this
circumstance, I asked the hostler who he was, and he replied, that he
was a man of fashion (un seigneur) who lived in the neighbourhood of
Auxerre. I was much mortified to find that I had treated a nobleman so
scurvily, and scolded my own people for not having more penetration
than myself. I dare say he did not fail to descant upon the brutal
behaviour of the Englishman; and that my mistake served with him to
confirm the national reproach of bluntness, and ill breeding, under
which we lie in this country. The truth is, I was that day more than
usually peevish, from the bad weather, as well as from the dread of a
fit of the asthma, with which I was threatened: and I dare say my
appearance seemed as uncouth to him, as his travelling dress appeared
to me. I had a grey mourning frock under a wide great coat, a bob wig
without powder, a very large laced hat, and a meagre, wrinkled,
discontented countenance.

The fourth night of our journey we lay at Macon, and the next day
passed through the Lyonnois, which is a fine country, full of towns,
villages, and gentlemen's houses. In passing through the Maconnois, we
saw a great many fields of Indian corn, which grows to the height of
six or seven feet: it is made into flour for the use of the common
people, and goes by the name of Turkey wheat. Here likewise, as well as
in Dauphine, they raise a vast quantity of very large pompions, with
the contents of which they thicken their soup and ragouts.

As we travelled only while the sun was up, on account of my ill health,
and the post horses in France are in bad order, we seldom exceeded
twenty leagues a day.

I was directed to a lodging-house at Lyons, which being full they
shewed us to a tavern, where I was led up three pair of stairs, to an
apartment consisting of three paltry chambers, for which the people
demanded twelve livres a day: for dinner and supper they asked
thirty-two, besides three livres for my servant; so that my daily
expence would have amounted to about forty-seven livres, exclusive of
breakfast and coffee in the afternoon. I was so provoked at this
extortion, that, without answering one word, I drove to another
auberge, where I now am, and pay at the rate of two-and-thirty livres a
day, for which I am very badly lodged, and but very indifferently
entertained. I mention these circumstances to give you an idea of the
imposition to which strangers are subject in this country. It must be
owned, however, that in the article of eating, I might save half the
money by going to the public ordinary; but this is a scheme of
oeconomy, which (exclusive of other disagreeable circumstances) neither
my own health, nor that of my wife permits me to embrace. My journey
from Paris to Lyons, including the hire of the coach, and all expences
on the road, has cost me, within a few shillings, forty loui'dores.
From Paris our baggage (though not plombe) was not once examined till
we arrived in this city, at the gate of which we were questioned by one
of the searchers, who, being tipt with half a crown, allowed us to
proceed without further enquiry.

I purposed to stay in Lyons until I should receive some letters I
expected from London, to be forwarded by my banker at Paris: but the
enormous expence of living in this manner has determined me to set out
in a day or two for Montpellier, although that place is a good way out
of the road to Nice. My reasons for taking that route I shall
communicate in my next. Mean-while, I am ever,-- Dear Sir, Your
affectionate and obliged humble servant.



LETTER IX

MONTPELLIER, November 5, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--The city of Lyons has been so often and so circumstantially
described, that I cannot pretend to say any thing new on the subject.
Indeed, I know very little of it, but what I have read in books; as I
had but one day to make a tour of the streets, squares, and other
remarkable places. The bridge over the Rhone seems to be so slightly
built, that I should imagine it would be one day carried away by that
rapid river; especially as the arches are so small, that, after great
rains they are sometimes bouchees, or stopped up; that is, they do not
admit a sufficient passage for the encreased body of the water. In
order to remedy this dangerous defect, in some measure, they found an
artist some years ago, who has removed a middle pier, and thrown two
arches into one. This alteration they looked upon as a masterpiece in
architecture, though there is many a common mason in England, who would
have undertaken and performed the work, without valuing himself much
upon the enterprize. This bridge, as well as that of St. Esprit, is
built, not in a strait line across the river, but with a curve, which
forms a convexity to oppose the current. Such a bend is certainly
calculated for the better resisting the general impetuosity of the
stream, and has no bad effect to the eye.

Lyons is a great, populous, and flourishing city but I am surprised to
find it is counted a healthy place, and that the air of it is esteemed
favourable to pulmonic disorders. It is situated on the confluence of
two large rivers, from which there must be a great evaporation, as well
as from the low marshy grounds, which these rivers often overflow. This
must render the air moist, frouzy, and even putrid, if it was not well
ventilated by winds from the mountains of Swisserland; and in the
latter end of autumn, it must be subject to fogs. The morning we set
out from thence, the whole city and adjacent plains were covered with
so thick a fog, that we could not distinguish from the coach the head
of the foremost mule that drew it. Lyons is said to be very hot in
summer, and very cold in winter; therefore I imagine must abound with
inflammatory and intermittent disorders in the spring and fall of the
year.

My reasons for going to Montpellier, which is out of the strait road to
Nice, were these. Having no acquaintance nor correspondents in the
South of France, I had desired my credit might be sent to the same
house to which my heavy baggage was consigned. I expected to find my
baggage at Cette, which is the sea-port of Montpellier; and there I
also hoped to find a vessel, in which I might be transported by sea to
Nice, without further trouble. I longed to try what effect the boasted
air of Montpellier would have upon my constitution; and I had a great
desire to see the famous monuments of antiquity in and about the
ancient city of Nismes, which is about eight leagues short of
Montpellier.

At the inn where we lodged, I found a return berline, belonging to
Avignon, with three mules, which are the animals commonly used for
carriages in this country. This I hired for five loui'dores. The coach
was large, commodious, and well-fitted; the mules were strong and in
good order; and the driver, whose name was Joseph, appeared to be a
sober, sagacious, intelligent fellow, perfectly well acquainted with
every place in the South of France. He told me he was owner of the
coach, but I afterwards learned, he was no other than a hired servant.
I likewise detected him in some knavery, in the course of our journey;
and plainly perceived he had a fellow-feeling with the inn-keepers on
the road; but, in other respects, he was very obliging, serviceable,
and even entertaining. There are some knavish practices of this kind,
at which a traveller will do well to shut his eyes, for his own ease
and convenience. He will be lucky if he has to do with a sensible
knave, like Joseph, who understood his interest too well to be guilty
of very flagrant pieces of imposition.

A man, impatient to be at his journey's end, will find this a most
disagreeable way of travelling. In summer it must be quite intolerable.
The mules are very sure, but very slow. The journey seldom exceeds
eight leagues, about four and twenty miles a day: and as those people
have certain fixed stages, you are sometimes obliged to rise in a
morning before day; a circumstance very grievous to persons in ill
health. These inconveniences, however, were over-balanced by other
agreemens. We no, sooner quitted Lyons, than we got into summer
weather, and travelling through a most romantic country, along the
banks of the Rhone, had opportunities (from the slowness of our pace)
to contemplate its beauties at leisure.

The rapidity of the Rhone is, in a great measure, owing to its being
confined within steep banks on each side. These are formed almost
through its whole course, by a double chain of mountains, which rise
with all abrupt ascent from both banks of the river. The mountains are
covered with vineyards, interspersed with small summer-houses, and in
many places they are crowned with churches, chapels, and convents,
which add greatly to the romantic beauty of the prospect. The highroad,
as far as Avignon, lies along the side of the river, which runs almost
in a straight line, and affords great convenience for inland commerce.
Travellers, bound to the southern parts of France, generally embark in
the diligence at Lyons, and glide down this river with great velocity,
passing a great number of towns and villages on each side, where they
find ordinaries every day at dinner and supper. In good weather, there
is no danger in this method of travelling, 'till you come to the Pont
St. Esprit, where the stream runs through the arches with such
rapidity, that the boat is sometimes overset. But those passengers who
are under any apprehension are landed above-bridge, and taken in again,
after the boat has passed, just in the same manner as at London Bridge.
The boats that go up the river are drawn against the stream by oxen,
which swim through one of the arches of this bridge, the driver sitting
between the horns of the foremost beast. We set out from Lyons early on
Monday morning, and as a robbery had been a few days before committed
in that neighbourhood, I ordered my servant to load my musquetoon with
a charge of eight balls. By the bye, this piece did not fail to attract
the curiosity and admiration of the people in every place through which
we passed. The carriage no sooner halted, than a crowd immediately
surrounded the man to view the blunderbuss, which they dignified with
the title of petit canon. At Nuys in Burgundy, he fired it in the air,
and the whole mob dispersed, and scampered off like a flock of sheep.
In our journey hither, we generally set out in a morning at eight
o'clock, and travelled 'till noon, when the mules were put up and
rested a couple of hours. During this halt, Joseph went to dinner, and
we went to breakfast, after which we ordered provision for our
refreshment in the coach, which we took about three or four in the
afternoon, halting for that purpose, by the side of some transparent
brook, which afforded excellent water to mix with our wine. In this
country I was almost poisoned with garlic, which they mix in their
ragouts, and all their sauces; nay, the smell of it perfumes the very
chambers, as well as every person you approach. I was also very sick of
been ficas, grives, or thrushes, and other little birds, which are
served up twice a day at all ordinaries on the road. They make their
appearance in vine-leaves, and are always half raw, in which condition
the French choose to eat them, rather than run the risque of losing the
juice by over-roasting.

The peasants on the South of France are poorly clad, and look as if
they were half-starved, diminutive, swarthy, and meagre; and yet the
common people who travel, live luxuriously on the road. Every carrier
and mule-driver has two meals a day, consisting each of a couple of
courses and a dessert, with tolerable small wine. That which is called
hermitage, and grows in this province of Dauphine, is sold on the spot
for three livres a bottle. The common draught, which you have at meals
in this country, is remarkably strong, though in flavour much inferior
to that of Burgundy. The accommodation is tolerable, though they demand
(even in this cheap country) the exorbitant price of four livres a head
for every meal, of those who choose to eat in their own apartments. I
insisted, however, upon paying them with three, which they received,
though not without murmuring and seeming discontented. In this journey,
we found plenty of good mutton, pork, poultry, and game, including the
red partridge, which is near twice as big as the partridge of England.
Their hares are likewise surprisingly large and juicy. We saw great
flocks of black turkeys feeding in the fields, but no black cattle; and
milk was so scarce, that sometimes we were obliged to drink our tea
without it.

One day perceiving a meadow on the side of the road, full of a flower
which I took to be the crocus, I desired my servant to alight and pull
some of them. He delivered the musquetoon to Joseph, who began to
tamper with it, and off it went with a prodigious report, augmented by
an eccho from the mountains that skirted the road. The mules were so
frightened, that they went off at the gallop; and Joseph, for some
minutes, could neither manage the reins, nor open his mouth. At length
he recollected himself, and the cattle were stopt, by the assistance of
the servant, to whom he delivered the musquetoon, with a significant
shake of the head. Then alighting from the box, he examined the heads
of his three mules, and kissed each of them in his turn. Finding they
had received no damage, he came up to the coach, with a pale visage and
staring eyes, and said it was God's mercy he had not killed his beasts.
I answered, that it was a greater mercy he had not killed his
passengers; for the muzzle of the piece might have been directed our
way as well as any other, and in that case Joseph might have been
hanged for murder. "I had as good be hanged (said he) for murder, as be
ruined by the loss of my cattle." This adventure made such an
impression upon him, that he recounted it to every person we met; nor
would he ever touch the blunderbuss from that day. I was often diverted
with the conversation of this fellow, who was very arch and very
communicative. Every afternoon, he used to stand upon the foot-board,
at the side of the coach, and discourse with us an hour together.
Passing by the gibbet of Valencia, which stands very near the
high-road, we saw one body hanging quite naked, and another lying
broken on the wheel. I recollected, that Mandrin had suffered in this
place, and calling to Joseph to mount the foot-board, asked if he had
ever seen that famous adventurer. At mention of the name of Mandrin,
the tear started in Joseph's eye, he discharged a deep sigh, or rather
groan, and told me he was his dear friend. I was a little startled at
this declaration; however, I concealed my thoughts, and began to ask
questions about the character and exploits of a man who had made such
noise in the world.

He told me, Mandrin was a native of Valencia, of mean extraction: that
he had served as a soldier in the army, and afterwards acted as
maltotier, or tax-gatherer: that at length he turned contrebandier, or
smuggler, and by his superior qualities, raised himself to the command
of a formidable gang, consisting of five hundred persons well armed
with carbines and pistols. He had fifty horses for his troopers, and
three hundred mules for the carriage of his merchandize. His
head-quarters were in Savoy: but he made incursions into Dauphine, and
set the marechaussee at defiance. He maintained several bloody
skirmishes with these troopers, as well as with other regular
detachments, and in all those actions signalized himself by his courage
and conduct. Coming up at one time with fifty of the marechaussee who
were in quest of him, he told them very calmly, he had occasion for
their horses and acoutrements, and desired them to dismount. At that
instant his gang appeared, and the troopers complied with his request,
without making the least opposition. Joseph said he was as generous as
he was brave, and never molested travellers, nor did the least injury
to the poor; but, on the contrary, relieved them very often. He used to
oblige the gentlemen in the country to take his merchandize, his
tobacco, brandy, and muslins, at his own price; and, in the same
manner, he laid the open towns under contribution. When he had no
merchandize, he borrowed money off them upon the credit of what he
should bring when he was better provided. He was at last betrayed, by
his wench, to the colonel of a French regiment, who went with a
detachment in the night to the place where he lay in Savoy, and
surprized him in a wood-house, while his people were absent in
different parts of the country. For this intrusion, the court of France
made an apology to the king of Sardinia, in whose territories he was
taken. Mandrin being conveyed to Valencia, his native place, was for
some time permitted to go abroad, under a strong guard, with chains
upon his legs; and here he conversed freely with all sorts of people,
flattering himself with the hopes of a pardon, in which, however, he
was disappointed. An order came from court to bring him to his trial,
when he was found guilty, and condemned to be broke on the wheel.
Joseph said he drank a bottle of wine with him the night before his
execution. He bore his fate with great resolution, observing that if
the letter which he had written to the King had been delivered, he
certainly should have obtained his Majesty's pardon. His executioner
was one of his own gang, who was pardoned on condition of performing
this office. You know, that criminals broke upon the wheel are first
strangled, unless the sentence imports, that they shall be broke alive.
As Mandrin had not been guilty of cruelty in the course of his
delinquency, he was indulged with this favour. Speaking to the
executioner, whom he had formerly commanded, "Joseph (dit il), je ne
veux pas que tu me touche, jusqu'a ce que je sois roid mort," "Joseph,"
said he, "thou shalt not touch me till I am quite dead."--Our driver
had no sooner pronounced these words, than I was struck with a
suspicion, that he himself was the executioner of his friend Mandrin.
On that suspicion, I exclaimed, "Ah! ah! Joseph!" The fellow blushed up
to the eyes, and said, Oui, son nom etoit Joseph aussi bien que le
mien, "Yes, he was called Joseph, as I am." I did not think proper to
prosecute the inquiry; but did not much relish the nature of Joseph's
connexions. The truth is, he had very much the looks of a ruffian;
though, I must own, his behaviour was very obliging and submissive.

On the fifth day of our journey, in the morning, we passed the famous
bridge at St. Esprit, which to be sure is a great curiosity, from its
length, and the number of its arches: but these arches are too small:
the passage above is too narrow; and the whole appears to be too
slight, considering the force and impetuosity of the river. It is not
comparable to the bridge at Westminster, either for beauty or solidity.
Here we entered Languedoc, and were stopped to have our baggage
examined; but the searcher, being tipped with a three-livre piece,
allowed it to pass. Before we leave Dauphine, I must observe, that I
was not a little surprized to see figs and chestnuts growing in the
open fields, at the discretion of every passenger. It was this day I
saw the famous Pont du Garde; but as I cannot possibly include, in this
letter, a description of that beautiful bridge, and of the other
antiquities belonging to Nismes, I will defer it till the next
opportunity, being, in the mean time, with equal truth and
affection,--Dear Sir, Your obliged humble Servant.



LETTER X

MONTPELLIER, November 10, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--By the Pont St. Esprit we entered the province of Languedoc,
and breakfasted at Bagniole, which is a little paltry town; from
whence, however, there is an excellent road through a mountain, made at
a great expence, and extending about four leagues. About five in the
afternoon, I had the first glimpse of the famous Pont du Garde, which
stands on the right hand, about the distance of a league from the
post-road to Nismes, and about three leagues from that city. I would
not willingly pass for a false enthusiast in taste; but I cannot help
observing, that from the first distant view of this noble monument,
till we came near enough to see it perfectly, I felt the strongest
emotions of impatience that I had ever known; and obliged our driver to
put his mules to the full gallop, in the apprehension that it would be
dark before we reached the place. I expected to find the building, in
some measure, ruinous; but was agreeably disappointed, to see it look
as fresh as the bridge at Westminster. The climate is either so pure
and dry, or the free-stone, with which it is built, so hard, that the
very angles of them remain as acute as if they had been cut last year.
Indeed, some large stones have dropped out of the arches; but the whole
is admirably preserved, and presents the eye with a piece of
architecture, so unaffectedly elegant, so simple, and majestic, that I
will defy the most phlegmatic and stupid spectator to behold it without
admiration. It was raised in the Augustan age, by the Roman colony of
Nismes, to convey a stream of water between two mountains, for the use
of that city. It stands over the river Gardon, which is a beautiful
pastoral stream, brawling among rocks, which form a number of pretty
natural cascades, and overshadowed on each side with trees and shrubs,
which greatly add to the rural beauties of the scene. It rises in the
Cevennes, and the sand of it produces gold, as we learn from Mr.
Reaumur, in his essay on this subject, inserted in the French Memoirs,
for the year 1718. If I lived at Nismes, or Avignon (which last city is
within four short leagues of it) I should take pleasure in forming
parties to come hither, in summer, to dine under one of the arches of
the Pont du Garde, on a cold collation.

This work consists of three bridges, or tire of arches, one above
another; the first of six, the second of eleven, and the third of
thirty-six. The height, comprehending the aqueduct on the top, amounts
to 174 feet three inches: the length between the two mountains, which
it unites, extends to 723. The order of architecture is the Tuscan, but
the symmetry of it is inconceivable. By scooping the bases of the
pilasters, of the second tire of arches, they had made a passage for
foot-travellers: but though the antients far excelled us in beauty,
they certainly fell short of the moderns in point of conveniency. The
citizens of Avignon have, in this particular, improved the Roman work
with a new bridge, by apposition, constructed on the same plan with
that of the lower tire of arches, of which indeed it seems to be a
part, affording a broad and commodious passage over the river, to
horses and carriages of all kinds. The aqueduct, for the continuance of
which this superb work was raised, conveyed a stream of sweet water
from the fountain of Eure, near the city of Uzes, and extended near six
leagues in length.

In approaching Nismes, you see the ruins of a Roman tower, built on the
summit of a hill, which over-looks the city. It seems to have been
intended, at first, as a watch, or signal-tower, though, in the sequel,
it was used as a fortress: what remains of it, is about ninety feet
high; the architecture of the Doric order. I no sooner alighted at the
inn, than I was presented with a pamphlet, containing an account of
Nismes and its antiquities, which every stranger buys. There are
persons too who attend in order to shew the town, and you will always
be accosted by some shabby antiquarian, who presents you with medals
for sale, assuring you they are genuine antiques, and were dug out of
the ruins of the Roman temple and baths. All those fellows are cheats;
and they have often laid under contribution raw English travellers, who
had more money than discretion. To such they sell the vilest and most
common trash: but when they meet with a connoisseur, they produce some
medals which are really valuable and curious.

Nismes, antiently called Nemausis, was originally a colony of Romans,
settled by Augustus Caesar, after the battle of Actium. It is still of
considerable extent, and said to contain twelve thousand families; but
the number seems, by this account, to be greatly exaggerated. Certain
it is, the city must have been formerly very extensive, as appears from
the circuit of the antient walls, the remains of which are still to be
seen. Its present size is not one third of its former extent. Its
temples, baths, statues, towers, basilica, and amphitheatre, prove it
to have been a city of great opulence and magnificence. At present, the
remains of these antiquities are all that make it respectable or
remarkable; though here are manufactures of silk and wool, carried on
with good success. The water necessary for these works is supplied by a
source at the foot of the rock, upon which the tower is placed; and
here were discovered the ruins of Roman baths, which had been formed
and adorned with equal taste and magnificence. Among the rubbish they
found a vast profusion of columns, vases, capitals, cornices,
inscriptions, medals, statues, and among other things, the finger of a
colossal statue in bronze, which, according to the rules of proportion,
must have been fifteen feet high. From these particulars, it appears
that the edifices must have been spacious and magnificent. Part of a
tesselated pavement still remains. The antient pavement of the bath is
still intire; all the rubbish has been cleared away; and the baths, in
a great measure, restored on the old plan, though they are not at
present used for any thing but ornament. The water is collected into
two vast reservoirs, and a canal built and lined with hewn stone. There
are three handsome bridges thrown over this vast canal. It contains a
great body of excellent water, which by pipes and other small branching
canals, traverses the town, and is converted to many different purposes
of oeconomy and manufacture. Between the Roman bath and these great
canals, the ground is agreeably laid out in pleasure-walks. for the
recreation of the inhabitants. Here are likewise ornaments of
architecture, which savour much more of French foppery, than of the
simplicity and greatness of the antients. It is very surprizing, that
this fountain should produce such a great body of water, as fills the
basin of the source, the Roman basin, two large deep canals three
hundred feet in length, two vast basins that make part of the great
canal, which is eighteen hundred feet long, eighteen feet deep, and
forty-eight feet broad. When I saw it, there was in it about eight or
nine feet of water, transparent as crystal. It must be observed,
however, for the honour of French cleanliness, that in the Roman basin,
through which this noble stream of water passes, I perceived two
washerwomen at work upon children's clouts and dirty linnen. Surprized,
and much disgusted at this filthy phaenomenon, I asked by what means,
and by whose permission, those dirty hags had got down into the basin,
in order to contaminate the water at its fountain-head; and understood
they belonged to the commandant of the place, who had keys of the
subterranean passage.

Fronting the Roman baths are the ruins of an antient temple, which,
according to tradition, was dedicated to Diana: but it has been
observed by connoisseurs, that all the antient temples of this goddess
were of the Ionic order; whereas, this is partly Corinthian, and partly
composite. It is about seventy foot long, and six and thirty in
breadth, arched above, and built of large blocks of stone, exactly
joined together without any cement. The walls are still standing, with
three great tabernacles at the further end, fronting the entrance. On
each side, there are niches in the intercolumniation of the walls,
together with pedestals and shafts of pillars, cornices, and an
entablature, which indicate the former magnificence of the building. It
was destroyed during the civil war that raged in the reign of Henry
III. of France.

It is amazing, that the successive irruptions of barbarous nations, of
Goths, Vandals, and Moors; of fanatic croisards, still more sanguinary
and illiberal than those Barbarians, should have spared this temple, as
well as two other still more noble monuments of architecture, that to
this day adorn the city of Nismes: I mean the amphitheatre and the
edifice, called Maison Carree--The former of these is counted the
finest monument of the kind, now extant; and was built in the reign of
Antoninus Pius, who contributed a large sum of money towards its
erection. It is of an oval figure, one thousand and eighty feet in
circumference, capacious enough to hold twenty thousand spectators. The
architecture is of the Tuscan order, sixty feet high, composed of two
open galleries, built one over another, consisting each of threescore
arcades. The entrance into the arena was by four great gates, with
porticos; and the seats, of which there were thirty, rising one above
another, consisted of great blocks of stone, many of which still
remain. Over the north gate, appear two bulls, in alto-relievo,
extremely well executed, emblems which, according to the custom of the
Romans, signified that the amphitheatre was erected at the expence of
the people. There are in other parts of it some work in bas-relief, and
heads or busts but indifferently carved. It stands in the lower part of
the town, and strikes the spectator with awe and veneration. The
external architecture is almost intire in its whole circuit; but the
arena is filled up with houses--This amphitheatre was fortified as a
citadel by the Visigoths, in the beginning of the sixth century. They
raised within it a castle, two towers of which are still extant; and
they surrounded it with a broad and deep fossee, which was filled up in
the thirteenth century. In all the subsequent wars to which this city
was exposed, it served as the last resort of the citizens, and
sustained a great number of successive attacks; so that its
preservation is almost miraculous. It is likely, however, to suffer
much more from the Gothic avarice of its own citizens, some of whom are
mutilating it every day, for the sake of the stones, which they employ
in their own private buildings. It is surprizing, that the King's
authority has not been exerted to put an end to such sacrilegious
violation.

If the amphitheatre strikes you with an idea of greatness, the Maison
Carree enchants you with the most exquisite beauties of architecture
and sculpture. This is an edifice, supposed formerly to have been
erected by Adrian, who actually built a basilica in this city, though
no vestiges of it remain: but the following inscription, which was
discovered on the front of it, plainly proves, that it was built by the
inhabitants of Nismes, in honour of Caius and Lucius Caesar, the
grandchildren of Augustus by his daughter Julia, the wife of Agrippa.

  C. CAESARI. AVGVSTI. F. COS.
  L CAESARI. AVGMI. F. COS.
  DESIGNATO.
  PRINCIPIBVS IVVENTUTIS.

To Caius and Lucius Caesar, sons of Augustus, consuls elect, Princes of
the Roman youth.

This beautiful edifice, which stands upon a pediment six feet high, is
eighty-two feet long, thirty-five broad, and thirty-seven high, without
reckoning the pediment. The body of it is adorned with twenty columns
engaged in the wall, and the peristyle, which is open, with ten
detached pillars that support the entablature. They are all of the
Corinthian order, fluted and embellished with capitals of the most
exquisite sculpture, the frize and cornice are much admired, and the
foliage is esteemed inimitable. The proportions of the building are so
happily united, as to give it an air of majesty and grandeur, which the
most indifferent spectator cannot behold without emotion. A man needs
not be a connoisseur in architecture, to enjoy these beauties. They are
indeed so exquisite that you may return to them every day with a fresh
appetite for seven years together. What renders them the more curious,
they are still entire, and very little affected, either by the ravages
of time, or the havoc of war. Cardinal Alberoni declared, that it was a
jewel that deserved a cover of gold to preserve it from external
injuries. An Italian painter, perceiving a small part of the roof
repaired by modern French masonry, tore his hair, and exclaimed in a
rage, "Zounds! what do I see? harlequin's hat on the head of Augustus!"

Without all doubt it is ravishingly beautiful. The whole world cannot
parallel it; and I am astonished to see it standing entire, like the
effects of inchantment, after such a succession of ages, every one more
barbarous than another. The history of the antiquities of Nismes takes
notice of a grotesque statue, representing two female bodies and legs,
united under the head of an old man; but, as it does not inform us
where it is kept, I did not see it.

The whole country of Languedoc is shaded with olive trees, the fruit of
which begins to ripen, and appears as black as sloes; those they pickle
are pulled green, and steeped for some time in a lye made of quick lime
or wood ashes, which extracts the bitter taste, and makes the fruit
tender. Without this preparation it is not eatable. Under the olive and
fig trees, they plant corn and vines, so that there is not an inch of
ground unlaboured: but here are no open fields, meadows, or cattle to
be seen. The ground is overloaded; and the produce of it crowded to
such a degree, as to have a bad effect upon the eye, impressing the
traveller with the ideas of indigence and rapacity. The heat in summer
is so excessive, that cattle would find no green forage, every blade of
grass being parched up and destroyed. The weather was extremely hot
when we entered Montpellier, and put up at the Cheval Blanc, counted
the best auberge in the place, tho' in fact it is a most wretched
hovel, the habitation of darkness, dirt, and imposition. Here I was
obliged to pay four livres a meal for every person in my family, and
two livres at night for every bed, though all in the same room: one
would imagine that the further we advance to the southward the living
is the dearer, though in fact every article of housekeeping is cheaper
in Languedoc than many other provinces of France. This imposition is
owing to the concourse of English who come hither, and, like simple
birds of passage, allow themselves to be plucked by the people of the
country, who know their weak side, and make their attacks accordingly.
They affect to believe, that all the travellers of our country are
grand seigneurs, immensely rich and incredibly generous; and we are
silly enough to encourage this opinion, by submitting quietly to the
most ridiculous extortion, as well as by committing acts of the most
absurd extravagance. This folly of the English, together with a
concourse of people from different quarters, who come hither for the
re-establishment of their health, has rendered Montpellier one of the
dearest places in the South of France. The city, which is but small,
stands upon a rising ground fronting the Mediterranean, which is about
three leagues to the southward: on the other side is an agreeable
plain, extending about the same distance towards the mountains of the
Cevennes. The town is reckoned well built, and what the French call
bien percee; yet the streets are in general narrow, and the houses
dark. The air is counted salutary in catarrhous consumptions, from its
dryness and elasticity: but too sharp in cases of pulmonary imposthumes.

It was at Montpellier that we saw for the first time any signs of that
gaiety and mirth for which the people of this country are celebrated.
In all other places through which we passed since our departure from
Lyons, we saw nothing but marks of poverty and chagrin. We entered
Montpellier on a Sunday, when the people were all dressed in their best
apparel. The streets were crowded; and a great number of the better
sort of both sexes sat upon stone seats at their doors, conversing with
great mirth and familiarity. These conversations lasted the greatest
part of the night; and many of them were improved with musick both
vocal and instrumental: next day we were visited by the English
residing in the place, who always pay this mark of respect to new
comers. They consist of four or five families, among whom I could pass
the winter very agreeably, if the state of my health and other reasons
did not call me away.

Mr. L-- had arrived two days before me, troubled with the same
asthmatic disorder, under which I have laboured so long. He told me he
had been in quest of me ever since he left England. Upon comparing
notes, I found he had stopped at the door of a country inn in Picardy,
and drank a glass of wine and water, while I was at dinner up stairs;
nay, he had even spoke to my servant, and asked who was his master, and
the man, not knowing him, replied, he was a gentleman from Chelsea. He
had walked by the door of the house where I lodged at Paris, twenty
times, while I was in that city; and the very day before he arrived at
Montpellier, he had passed our coach on the road.

The garrison of this city consists of two battalions, one of which is
the Irish regiment of Berwick, commanded by lieutenant colonel Tents, a
gentleman with whom we contracted an acquaintance at Boulogne. He
treats us with great politeness, and indeed does every thing in his
power to make the place agreeable to us. The duke of Fitz-James, the
governor, is expected here in a little time. We have already a
tolerable concert twice a week; there will be a comedy in the winter;
and the states of Provence assemble in January, so that Montpellier
will be extremely gay and brilliant. These very circumstances would
determine me to leave it. I have not health to enjoy these pleasures: I
cannot bear a croud of company such as pours in upon us unexpectedly at
all hours; and I foresee, that in staying at Montpellier, I should be
led into an expence, which I can ill afford. I have therefore forwarded
the letter I received from general P--n, to Mr. B--d, our consul at
Nice, signifying my intention of going thither, and explaining the kind
of accommodation I would choose to have at that place.

The day after our arrival, I procured tolerable lodgings in the High
Street, for which I pay fifty sols, something more than two shillings
per day; and I am furnished with two meals a day by a traiteur for ten
livres: but he finds neither the wine nor the dessert; and indeed we
are but indifferently served. Those families who reside here find their
account in keeping house. Every traveller who comes to this, or any
other, town in France with a design to stay longer than a day or two,
ought to write beforehand to his correspondent to procure furnished
lodgings, to which he may be driven immediately, without being under
the necessity of lying in an execrable inn; for all the inns of this
country are execrable.

My baggage is not yet arrived by the canal of Languedoc; but that gives
me no disturbance, as it is consigned to the care of Mr. Ray, an
English merchant and banker of this place; a gentleman of great probity
and worth, from whom I have received repeated marks of uncommon
friendship and hospitality.

The next time you hear of me will be from Nice: mean-while, I remain
always,--Dear Sir, Your affectionate humble servant.



LETTER XI

MONTPELLIER, November 12.

DEAR DOCTOR--I flattered myself with the hope of much amusement during
my short stay at Montpellier.--The University, the Botanical Garden,
the State of Physic in this part of the world, and the information I
received of a curious collection of manuscripts, among which I hoped to
find something for our friend Dr. H--r; all these particulars promised
a rich fund of entertainment, which, however, I cannot enjoy.

A few days after my arrival, it began to rain with a southerly wind,
and continued without ceasing the best part of a week, leaving the air
so loaded with vapours, that there was no walking after sun-set;
without being wetted by the dew almost to the skin. I have always found
a cold and damp atmosphere the most unfavourable of any to my
constitution. My asthmatical disorder. which had not given me much
disturbance since I left Boulogne, became now very troublesome,
attended with fever, cough spitting, and lowness of spirits; and I
wasted visibly every day. I was favoured with the advice of Dr.
Fitzmaurice, a very worthy sensible physician settled in this place:
but I had the curiosity to know the opinion of the celebrated professor
F--, who is the Boerhaave of Montpellier. The account I had of his
private character and personal deportment, from some English people to
whom he was well known, left me no desire to converse with him: but I
resolved to consult with him on paper. This great lanthorn of medicine
is become very rich and very insolent; and in proportion as his wealth
increases, he is said to grow the more rapacious. He piques himself
upon being very slovenly, very blunt, and very unmannerly; and perhaps
to these qualifications be owes his reputation rather than to any
superior skill in medicine. I have known them succeed in our own
country; and seen a doctor's parts estimated by his brutality and
presumption.

F-- is in his person and address not unlike our old acquaintance Dr.
Sm--ie; he stoops much, dodges along, and affects to speak the Patois,
which is a corruption of the old Provencial tongue, spoken by the
vulgar in Languedoc and Provence. Notwithstanding his great age and
great wealth, he will still scramble up two pair of stairs for a fee of
six livres; and without a fee he will give his advice to no person
whatsoever.

He is said to have great practice in the venereal branch and to be
frequented by persons of both sexes infected with this distemper, not
only from every part of France, but also from Spain, Italy, Germany,
and England. I need say nothing of the Montpellier method of cure,
which is well known at London; but I have some reason to think the
great professor F--, has, like the famous Mrs. Mapp, the bone-setter,
cured many patients that were never diseased.

Be that as it may, I sent my valet de place, who was his townsman and
acquaintance, to his house, with the following case, and a loui'dore.

Annum aetatis, post quadragesimum, tertium, Temperamentum humidum,
crassum, pituitarepletum, catarrhis saepissime profligatum. Catarrhus,
febre, anxietate et dyspnoea, nunquam non comitatus. Irritatio
membranae piuitariae trachaealis, tussim initio aridam, siliquosam,
deinde vero excreationem copiosam excitat: sputum albumini ovi
simillimum.

Accedente febre, urina pallida, limpida: ad akmen flagrante, colorem
rubrum, subflavum induit: coctione peracta, sedimentum lateritium
deponit.

Appetitus raro deest: digestio segnior sed secura, non autem sine ructu
perfecta. Alvus plerumque stipata: excretio intestinalis minima,
ratione ingestorum habita. Pulsus frequens, vacillans, exilis,
quandoquidem etiam intermittens.

Febre una extincta, non deficit altera. Aliaque et eadem statim
nascitur. Aer paulo frigidior, vel humidior, vestimentum inusitatum
indutum; exercitatio paulullum nimia; ambulatio, equitatio, in quovis
vehiculo jactatio; haec omnia novos motus suscitant. Systema nervosum
maxime irritabile, organos patitur. Ostiola in cute hiantia, materiei
perspirabili, exitum praebentia, clauduntur. Materies obstructa
cumulatur; sanguine aliisque humoribus circumagitur: fit plethora.
Natura opprimi nolens, excessus huius expulsionem conatur. Febris nova
accenditur. Pars oneris, in membranam trachaealem laxatam ac
debilitatam transfertur. Glandulae pituitariae turgentes bronchia
comprimunt. Liber aeri transitus negatur: hinc respiratio difficilis.
Hac vero translatione febris minuitur: interdiu remittitur. Dyspnoea
autem aliaque symptomata vere hypochondriaca, recedere nolunt. Vespere
febris exacerbatur. Calor, inquietudo, anxietas et asthma, per noctem
grassantur. Ita quotidie res agitur, donec. Vis vitae paulatim crisim
efficit. Seminis joctura, sive in somniis effusi, seu in gremio veneris
ejaculati, inter causas horum malorum nec non numeretur.

Quibusdam abhinc annis, exercitationibus juvenilibus subito remissis,
in vitam sedentariam lapsum. Animo in studia severiora converso, fibre
gradatim laxabantur. Inter legendum, et scribendum inclinato corpore in
pectus malum, ruebat. Morbo ingruenti affectio scorbutica auxilium
tulit. Invasio prima nimium aspernata. Venientibus hostibus non
occursum. Cunctando res non restituta. Remedia convenientia stomachus
perhorrescebat. Gravescente dyspnoea phlebotomia frustra tentata.
Sanguinis missione vis vitae diminuta: fiebat pulsitis debilior,
respiratio difficilior. In pejus ruunt omnia. Febris anomala in
febriculam continuam mutata. Dyspnoea confirmata. Fibrarum compages
soluta. Valetudo penitus eversa.

His agitatus furiis, aeger ad mare provolat: in fluctus se precipitem,
dat: periculum factum spem non fefellit: decies iteratum, felix
faustumque evasit. Elater novus fibris conciliatur. Febricula fugatur.
Acris dyspnoea solvitur. Beneficium dextra ripa partum, sinistra
perditum. Superficie corporis, aquae marine frigore et pondere,
compressa et contracta, interstitia fibrarum occluduntur: particulis
incrementi novis partes abrasas reficientibus, locus non datur.
Nutritio corporis, via pristina clausa, qua data porta ruit: in
membranam pulmonum, minus firmatam facile fertur, et glandulis per
sputum rejicitur.

Hieme pluviosa, regnante dolores renovantur; tametsi tempore sereno
equitatio profuit. Aestate morbus vix ullum progrediebatur. Autumno,
valetudine plus declinata, thermis Bathoniensibus solatium haud frustra
quaesitum. Aqua ista mire medicata, externe aeque ac interne adhibita,
malis levamen attulit. Hiems altera, frigida, horrida, diuturna,
innocua tamen successit. Vere novo casus atrox diras procellas animo
immisit: toto corpore, tota mente tumultuatur. Patria relicta,
tristitia, sollecitudo, indignatio, et saevissima recordatio sequuntur.
Inimici priores furore inveterato revertuntur. Rediit febris hectica:
rediit asthma cum anxietate, tusse et dolore lateris lancinanti.

Desperatis denique rebus, iterum ad mare, veluti ad anceps remedium
recurritur. Balneum hoc semper benignum. Dolor statim avolat. Tertio
die febris, retrocessit. Immersio quotidiana antemeridiana, ad vices
quinquaginta repetita, symptomata graviora subjugavit.-- Manet vero
tabes pituitaria: manet temperamentum in catarrhos proclive. Corpus
macrescit. Vires delabuntur.

The professor's eyes sparkled at sight of the fee; and he desired the
servant to call next morning for his opinion of the case, which
accordingly I received in these words:

"On voit par cette relation que monsieur le consultant dont on n'a pas
juge a propos de dire l'age, mais qui nous paroit etre adulte et d'un
age passablement avance, a ete sujet cy devant a des rhumes frequens
accompagnes de fievre; on ne detaille point (aucune epoque), on parle
dans la relation d'asthme auquel il a ete sujet, de scorbut ou
affection scorbutique dont on ne dit pas les symptomes. On nous fait
scavoir qu'il s'est bien trouve de l'immersion dans l'eau de la mer, et
des eaux de Bath.

"On dit a present qu'il a une fievre pituitaire sans dire depuis
combien de temps. Qu'il lui reste toujours son temperament enclin aux
catharres. Que le corps maigrit, et que les forces se perdent. On ne
dit point s'il y a des exacerbations dans cette fievre ou non, si le
malade a appetit ou non, s'il tousse ou non, s'il crache ou non, en un
mot on n'entre dans aucun detail sur ces objets, sur quoi le conseil
soussigne estime que monsieur le consultant est en fievre lente, et que
vraisemblable le poumon souffre de quelque tubercules qui peut-etre
sont en fonte, ce que nous aurions determine si dans la relation on
avoit marque les qualites de crachats.

"La cause fonchere de cette maladie doit etre imputee a une lymphe
epaisse et acrimonieuse, qui donne occasion a des tubercules au pomon,
qui etant mis on fonte fournissent au sang des particules acres et le
rendent tout acrimonieux.

"Les vues que l'on doit avoir dans ce cas sent de procurer des bonnes
digestions (quoique dans la relation ou ne dit pas un mot sur les
digestions) de jetter un douce detrempe dans la masse du sang, d'en
ebasser l'acrimonie et de l'adoucir, de diviser fort doucement a
lymphe, et de deterger le poumon, lui procurant meme du calme suppose
que la toux l'inquiete, quoique cependant on ne dit pas un mot sur la
toux dans la relation. C'est pourquoi on le purgera avec 3 onces de
manne, dissoutes dans un verre de decoction de 3 dragmes de polypode de
chesne, on passera ensuite a des bouillons qui seront faits avec un
petit poulet, la chair, le sang, le coeur et le foye d'une tortue de
grandeur mediocre c'est a dire du poid de 8 a 12 onces avec sa
coquille, une poignee de chicoree amere de jardin, et une pincee de
feuilles de lierre terrestre vertes on seches. Ayant pris ces bouillons
15 matins on se purgera comme auparavant, pour en venir a des bouillons
qui seront faits avec la moitie d'un mou de veau, une poignee de
pimprenelle de jardin, et une dragme de racine d'angelique concassee.

Ayant pris ces bouillons 15 matins, on se purgera somme auparavant pour
en venir an lait d'anesse que l'on prendra le matin a jeun, a la dose
de 12 a 16 onces y ajoutant un cuilleree de sucre rape, on prendra ce
lait le matin a jeun observant de prendre pendant son usage de deux
jours l'un un moment avant le lait un bolus fait avec 15 grains de
craye de Braincon en poudre fine, 20 grains de corail prepare, 8 grains
d'antihectique de poterius, et ce qu'il faut de syrop de lierre
terrestre, mais les jour on ou ne prendra pas le bolus on prendra un
moment avant le lait 3 on 4 gouttes de bon baume de Canada detrempees
dans un demi cuilleree de syrop de lierre terrestre. Si le corps
maigrit de plus en plus, je suis d'avis que pendant l'usage du lait
d'anesse on soupe tous les soirs avec une soupe au lait de vache.

"On continuera l'usage du lait d'anesse tant, que le malade pourra le
supporter, ne le purgeant que par necessite et toujours avec la
medecine ordonnee.

"Au reste, si monsieur le consultant ne passe les nuits bien calmes, il
prendra chaque soir a l'heure de sommeil six grains des pilules de
cynoglosse, dent il augmentera la dose d'un grain de plus toutes les
fois que la dose du jour precedent, n'aura pas ete suffisante pour lui
faire passer la nuit bien calme.

"Si les malade tousse il usera soit de jour soit de nuit par petites
cuillerees a casse d'un looch, qui sera fait avec un once de syrop de
violat et un dragme de blanc de baleine.

"Si les crachats sent epais et qu'il crache difficilement, en ce cas il
prendra une ou deux fois le jour, demi dragme de blanc de baleine
reduit on poudre avec un pen de sucre candit qu'il avalera avec une
cuilleree d'eau.

"Enfin il doit observer un bon regime de vivre, c'est pourquoi il fera
toujours gras et seulement en soupes, bouilli et roti, il ne mangera
pas les herbes des soupes, et on salera peu son pot, il se privera du
beuf, cochon, chair noir, oiseaux d'eau, ragouts, fritures,
patisseries, alimens sales, epices, vinaigres, salades, fruits, cruds,
et autres crudites, alimens grossiers, ou de difficille digestion, la
boisson sera de l'eau tant soit peu rougee de bon vin au diner
seulement, et il ne prendra a souper qu'une soupe.

  Delibere a MONTPELLIER
  le 11 Novembre.
  F--.
  Professeur en l'universite honoraire.

Receu vingt et quatre livres.

I thought it was a little extraordinary that a learned professor should
reply in his mother tongue, to a case put in Latin: but I was much more
surprised, as you will also be, at reading his answer, from which I was
obliged to conclude, either that he did not understand Latin; or that
he had not taken the trouble to read my memoire. I shall not make any
remarks upon the stile of his prescription, replete as it is with a
disgusting repetition of low expressions: but I could not but, in
justice to myself, point out to him the passages in my case which he
had overlooked. Accordingly, having marked them with letters, I sent it
back, with the following billet.

"Apparement Mons. F-- n'a pas donne beaucoup d'attention au memoire de
ma sante que j'ai on l'honneur de lui presenter-- 'Monsieur le
consultant (dit il) dont on n'a pas juge it propos de dire
l'age.'--Mais on voit dans le memoire a No. 1. 'Annum aetatis post
quadragesimum tertium.'

"Mr. F-- dit que 'je n'ai pas marque aucune epoque. Mais a No. 2 du
memoire il trouvera ces mots. 'Quibusdam abbinc annis.' J'ai meme
detaille le progres de la maladie pour trois ans consecutifs.

"Mons. F-- observe, 'On no dit point s'il y a des exacerbations dans
cette fievre ou non.' Qu'il. Regarde la lettre B, il verra, Vespere
febris exacerbatur. Calor, inquietudo, anxietas et asthma per noctem
grassantur.'

"Mons. F-- remarque, 'On ne dit point si le malade a appetit ou non,
s'il tousse ou non, s'il crache ou non, en un mot on n'entre dans aucun
detail sur ces objets.' Mais on voit toutes ces circonstances
detaillees dans la memoire a lettre A, 'Irritatio membranae trachaealis
tussim, initio aridam, siliquosam, deinde vero excreationem copiosam
excitat. Sputum albumini ovi simillimum. Appetitus raro deest. Digestio
segnior sed secura.'

"Mons. F-- observe encore, 'qu'on ne dit pas un mot sur la toux dans la
relation.' Mais j'ai dit encore a No. 3 de memoire, 'rediit febris
hectica; rediit asthma cum anxietate, tusse et dolore lateris
lancinante.'

"Au reste, je ne puis pas me persuader qu'il y ait des tubercules au
poumon, parce que j'ai ne jamais crache de pus, ni autre chose que de
la pituite qui a beaucoup de ressemblance au blanc des oeufs. Sputum
albumini ovi simillimum. Il me paroit done que ma maladie doit son
origine a la suspension de l'exercice du corps, au grand attachement
d'esprit, et a une vie sedentaire qui a relache le sisteme fibreux; et
qu'a present on pent l'appeller tubes pituitaria, non tubes purulenta.
J'espere que Mons. Faura la bonte de faire revision du memoire, et de
m'en dire encore son sentiment."

Considering the nature of the case, you see I could not treat him more
civilly. I desired the servant to ask when he should return for an
answer, and whether he expected another fee. He desired him to come
next morning, and, as the fellow assured me, gave him to understand,
that whatever monsieur might solicit, should be for his (the servant's)
advantage. In all probability he did not expect another gratification,
to which, indeed, he had no title. Mons. F-- was undoubtedly much
mortified to find himself detected in such flagrant instances of
unjustifiable negligence, arid like all other persons in the same
ungracious dilemma, instead of justifying himself by reason or
argument, had recourse to recrimination. In the paper which he sent me
next day, he insisted in general that he had carefully perused the case
(which you will perceive was a self-evident untruth); he said the
theory it contained was idle; that he was sure it could not be written
by a physician; that, with respect to the disorder, he was still of the
same opinion; and adhered to his former prescription; but if I had any
doubts I might come to his house, and he would resolve them.

I wrapt up twelve livres in the following note, and sent it to his
house.

"C'est ne pas sans raison que monsieur F-- jouit d'une si grande
reputation. Je n'ai plus de doutes, graces a Dieu et a monsieur F--e. "
"It is not without reason that monsieur Fizes enjoys such a large share
of reputation. I have no doubts remaining; thank Heaven and monsieur
Fizes."

To this I received for answer. "Monsieur n'a plus de doutes: j'en suis
charme. Receu douze livres. F--, &c." "Sir, you have no doubts
remaining; I am very glad of it. Received twelve livres. Fizes, &c."

Instead of keeping his promise to the valet, he put the money in his
pocket; and the fellow returned in a rage, exclaiming that he was un
gros cheval de carosse, a great coach-horse.

I shall make no other comment upon the medicines, and the regimen which
this great Doctor prescribed; but that he certainly mistook the case:
that upon the supposition I actually laboured under a purulent
discharge from the lungs, his remedies savour strongly of the old
woman; and that there is a total blank with respect to the article of
exercise, which you know is so essential in all pulmonary disorders.
But after having perused my remarks upon his first prescription, he
could not possibly suppose that I had tubercules, and was spitting up
pus; therefore his persisting in recommending the same medicines he had
prescribed on that supposition, was a flagrant absurdity.--If, for
example, there was no vomica in the lungs; and the business was to
attenuate the lymph, what could be more preposterous than to advise the
chalk of Briancon, coral, antihecticum poterii, and the balm of Canada?
As for the turtle-soupe, it is a good restorative and balsamic; but, I
apprehend, will tend to thicken rather than attenuate the phlegm. He
mentions not a syllable of the air, though it is universally allowed,
that the climate of Montpellier is pernicious to ulcerated lungs; and
here I cannot help recounting a small adventure which our doctor had
with a son of Mr. O--d, merchant in the city of London. I had it from
Mrs. St--e who was on the spot. The young gentleman, being consumptive,
consulted Mr. F--, who continued visiting and prescribing for him a
whole month. At length, perceiving that he grew daily worse, "Doctor
(said he) I take your prescriptions punctually; but, instead of being
the better for them, I have now not an hour's remission from the fever
in the four-and-twenty.--I cannot conceive the meaning of it." F--, who
perceived he had not long to live, told him the reason was very plain:
the air of Montpellier was too sharp for his lungs, which required a
softer climate. "Then you're a sordid villain (cried the young man) for
allowing me to stay here till my constitution is irretrievable." He set
out immediately for Tholouse, and in a few weeks died in the
neighbourhood of that city.

I observe that the physicians in this country pay no regard to the
state of the solids in chronical disorders, that exercise and the cold
bath are never prescribed, that they seem to think the scurvy is
entirely an English disease; and that, in all appearance, they often
confound the symptoms of it, with those of the venereal distemper.
Perhaps I may be more particular on this subject in a subsequent
letter. In the mean time, I am ever,-- Dear Sir, Yours sincerely.



LETTER XII

NICE, December 6, 1763.

DEAR SIR,--The inhabitants of Montpellier are sociable, gay, and
good-tempered. They have a spirit of commerce, and have erected several
considerable manufactures, in the neighbourhood of the city. People
assemble every day to take the air on the esplanade, where there is a
very good walk, just without the gate of the citadel: but, on the other
side of the town, there is another still more agreeable, called the
peirou, from whence there is a prospect of the Mediterranean on one
side, and of the Cevennes on the other. Here is a good equestrian
statue of Louis XIV, fronting one gate of the city, which is built in
form of a triumphal arch, in honour of the same monarch. Immediately
under the pierou is the physic garden, and near it an arcade just
finished for an aqueduct, to convey a stream of water to the upper
parts of the city. Perhaps I should have thought this a neat piece of
work, if I had not seen the Pont du Garde: but, after having viewed the
Roman arches, I could not look upon this but with pity and contempt. It
is a wonder how the architect could be so fantastically modern, having
such a noble model, as it were, before his eyes.

There are many protestants at this place, as well as at Nismes, and
they are no longer molested on the score of religion. They have their
conventicles in the country, where they assemble privately for worship.
These are well known; and detachments are sent out every Sunday to
intercept them; but the officer has always private directions to take
another route. Whether this indulgence comes from the wisdom and lenity
of the government, or is purchased with money of the commanding
officer, I cannot determine: but certain it is, the laws of France
punish capitally every protestant minister convicted of having
performed the functions of his ministry in this kingdom; and one was
hanged about two years ago, in the neighbourhood of Montauban.

The markets in Montpellier are well supplied with fish, poultry,
butcher's meat, and game, at reasonable rates. The wine of the country
is strong and harsh, and never drank, but when mixed with water.
Burgundy is dear, and so is the sweet wine of Frontignan, though made
in the neighbourhood of Cette. You know it is famous all over Europe,
and so are the liqueurs, or drams of various sorts, compounded and
distilled at Montpellier. Cette is the sea-port, about four leagues
from that city: but the canal of Languedoc comes up within a mile of
it; and is indeed a great curiosity: a work in all respects worthy of a
Colbert, under whose auspices it was finished. When I find such a
general tribute of respect and veneration paid to the memory of that
great man, I am astonished to see so few monuments of public utility
left by other ministers. One would imagine, that even the desire of
praise would prompt a much greater number to exert themselves for the
glory and advantage of their country; yet in my opinion, the French
have been ungrateful to Colbert, in the same proportion as they have
over-rated the character of his master. Through all France one meets
with statues and triumphal arches erected to Louis XIV, in consequence
of his victories; by which, likewise, he acquired the title of Louis le
Grand. But how were those victories obtained? Not by any personal merit
of Louis. It was Colbert who improved his finances, and enabled him to
pay his army. It was Louvois that provided all the necessaries of war.
It was a Conde, a Turenne, a Luxemburg, a Vendome, who fought his
battles; and his first conquests, for which he was deified by the pen
of adulation, were obtained almost without bloodshed, over weak,
dispirited, divided, and defenceless nations. It was Colbert that
improved the marine, instituted manufactures, encouraged commerce,
undertook works of public utility, and patronized the arts and
sciences. But Louis (you will say) had the merit of choosing and
supporting those ministers, and those generals. I answer, no. He found
Colbert and Louvois already chosen: he found Conde and Turenne in the
very zenith of military reputation. Luxemburg was Conde's pupil; and
Vendome, a prince of the blood, who at first obtained the command of
armies in consequence of his high birth, and happened to turn out a man
of genius. The same Louis had the sagacity to revoke the edict of
Nantz; to entrust his armies to a Tallard, a Villeroy, and a Marsin. He
had the humanity to ravage the country, burn the towns, and massacre
the people of the Palatinate. He had the patriotism to impoverish and
depopulate his own kingdom, in order to prosecute schemes of the most
lawless ambition. He had the Consolation to beg a peace from those he
had provoked to war by the most outrageous insolence; and he had the
glory to espouse Mrs. Maintenon in her old age, the widow of the
buffoon Scarron. Without all doubt, it was from irony he acquired the
title le Grand.

Having received a favourable answer from Mr. B--, the English consul at
Nice, and recommended the care of my heavy baggage to Mr. Ray, who
undertook to send it by sea from Cette to Villefranche, I hired a coach
and mules for seven loui'dores, and set out from Montpellier on the
13th of November, the weather being agreeable, though the air was cold
and frosty. In other respects there were no signs of winter: the olives
were now ripe, and appeared on each side of the road as black as sloes;
and the corn was already half a foot high. On the second day of our
journey, we passed the Rhone on a bridge of boats at Buccaire, and lay
on the other side at Tarrascone. Next day we put up at a wretched place
called Orgon, where, however, we were regaled with an excellent supper;
and among other delicacies, with a dish of green pease. Provence is a
pleasant country, well cultivated; but the inns are not so good here as
in Languedoc, and few of them are provided with a certain convenience
which an English traveller can very ill dispense with. Those you find
are generally on the tops of houses, exceedingly nasty; and so much
exposed to the weather, that a valetudinarian cannot use them without
hazard of his life. At Nismes in Languedoc, where we found the Temple
of Cloacina in a most shocking condition, the servant-maid told me her
mistress had caused it to be made on purpose for the English
travellers; but now she was very sorry for what she had done, as all
the French who frequented her house, instead of using the seat, left
their offerings on the floor, which she was obliged to have cleaned
three or four times a day. This is a degree of beastliness, which would
appear detestable even in the capital of North-Britain. On the fourth
day of our pilgrimage, we lay in the suburbs of Aix, but did not enter
the city, which I had a great curiosity to see. The villainous asthma
baulked me of that satisfaction. I was pinched with the cold, and
impatient to reach a warmer climate. Our next stage was at a paltry
village, where we were poorly entertained. I looked so ill in the
morning, that the good woman of the house, who was big with child, took
me by the hand at parting, and even shed tears, praying fervently that
God would restore me to my health. This was the only instance of
sympathy, compassion, or goodness of heart, that I had met with among
the publicans of France. Indeed at Valencia, our landlady,
understanding I was travelling to Montpellier for my health would have
dissuaded me from going thither; and exhorted me, in particular, to
beware of the physicians, who were all a pack of assassins. She advised
me to eat fricassees of chickens, and white meat, and to take a good
bouillon every morning.

A bouillon is an universal remedy among the good people of France;
insomuch, that they have no idea of any person's dying, after having
swallowed un bon bouillon. One of the English gentlemen, who were
robbed and murdered about thirty years ago between Calais and Boulogne,
being brought to the post-house of Boulogne with some signs of life,
this remedy was immediately administered. "What surprises me greatly,
(said the post-master, speaking of this melancholy story to a friend of
mine, two years after it happened) I made an excellent bouillon, and
poured it down his throat with my own hands, and yet he did not
recover." Now, in all probability, this bouillon it was that stopped
his breath. When I was a very young man, I remember to have seen a
person suffocated by such impertinent officiousness. A young man of
uncommon parts and erudition, very well esteemed at the university of
G--ow was found early one morning in a subterranean vault among the
ruins of an old archiepiscopal palace, with his throat cut from ear to
ear. Being conveyed to a public-house in the neighbourhood, he made
signs for pen, ink, and paper, and in all probability would have
explained the cause of this terrible catastrophe, when an old woman,
seeing the windpipe, which was cut, sticking out of the wound, and
mistaking it for the gullet, by way of giving him a cordial to support
his spirits, poured into it, through a small funnel, a glass of burnt
brandy, which strangled him in the tenth part of a minute. The gash was
so hideous, and formed by so many repeated strokes of a razor, that the
surgeons believed he could not possibly be the perpetrator himself;
nevertheless this was certainly the case.

At Brignolles, where we dined, I was obliged to quarrel with the
landlady, and threaten to leave her house, before she would indulge us
with any sort of flesh-meat. It was meagre day, and she had made her
provision accordingly. She even hinted some dissatisfaction at having
heretics in her house: but, as I was not disposed to eat stinking fish,
with ragouts of eggs and onions, I insisted upon a leg of mutton, and a
brace of fine partridges, which I found in the larder. Next day, when
we set out in the morning from Luc, it blew a north-westerly wind so
extremely cold and biting, that even a flannel wrapper could not keep
me tolerably warm in the coach. Whether the cold had put our coachman
in a bad humour, or he had some other cause of resentment against
himself, I know not; but we had not gone above a quarter of a mile,
when he drove the carriage full against the corner of a garden wall,
and broke the axle-tree, so that we were obliged to return to the inn
on foot, and wait a whole day, until a new piece could be made and
adjusted. The wind that blew, is called Maestral, in the Provencial
dialect, and indeed is the severest that ever I felt. At this inn, we
met with a young French officer who had been a prisoner in England, and
spoke our language pretty well. He told me, that such a wind did not
blow above twice or three times in a winter, and was never of long
continuance, that in general, the weather was very mild and agreeable
during the winter months; that living was very cheap in this part of
Provence, which afforded great plenty of game. Here, too, I found a
young Irish recollet, in his way from Rome to his own country. He
complained, that he was almost starved by the inhospitable disposition
of the French people; and that the regular clergy, in particular, had
treated him with the most cruel disdain. I relieved his necessities,
and gave him a letter to a gentleman of his own country at Montpellier.

When I rose in the morning, and opened a window that looked into the
garden, I thought myself either in a dream, or bewitched. All the trees
were cloathed with snow, and all the country covered at least a foot
thick. "This cannot be the south of France, (said I to myself) it must
be the Highlands of Scotland!" At a wretched town called Muy, where we
dined, I had a warm dispute with our landlord, which, however, did not
terminate to my satisfaction. I sent on the mules before, to the next
stage, resolving to take post-horses, and bespoke them accordingly of
the aubergiste, who was, at the same time, inn-keeper and post-master.
We were ushered into the common eating-room, and had a very indifferent
dinner; after which, I sent a loui'dore to be changed, in order to pay
the reckoning. The landlord, instead of giving the full change,
deducted three livres a head for dinner, and sent in the rest of the
money by my servant. Provoked more at his ill manners, than at his
extortion, I ferreted him out of a bed-chamber, where he had concealed
himself, and obliged him to restore the full change, from which I paid
him at the rate of two livres a head. He refused to take the money,
which I threw down on the table; and the horses being ready, stepped
into the coach, ordering the postillions to drive on. Here I had
certainly reckoned without my host. The fellows declared they would not
budge, until I should pay their master; and as I threatened them with
manual chastisement, they alighted, and disappeared in a twinkling. I
was now so incensed, that though I could hardly breathe; though the
afternoon was far advanced, and the street covered with wet snow, I
walked to the consul of the town, and made my complaint in form. This
magistrate, who seemed to be a taylor, accompanied me to the inn, where
by this time the whole town was assembled, and endeavoured to persuade
me to compromise the affair. I said, as he was the magistrate, I would
stand to his award. He answered, "that he would not presume to
determine what I was to pay." I have already paid him a reasonable
price for his dinner, (said I) and now I demand post-horses according
to the king's ordonnance. The aubergiste said the horses were ready,
but the guides were run away; and he could not find others to go in
their place. I argued with great vehemence, offering to leave a
loui'dore for the poor of the parish, provided the consul would oblige
the rascal to do his duty. The consul shrugged up his shoulders, and
declared it was not in his power. This was a lie, but I perceived he
had no mind to disoblige the publican. If the mules had not been sent
away, I should certainly have not only payed what I thought proper, but
corrected the landlord into the bargain, for his insolence and
extortion; but now I was entirely at his mercy, and as the consul
continued to exhort me in very humble terms, to comply with his
demands, I thought proper to acquiesce. Then the postillions
immediately appeared: the crowd seemed to exult in the triumph of the
aubergiste; and I was obliged to travel in the night, in very severe
weather, after all the fatigue and mortification I had undergone.

We lay at Frejus, which was the Forum Julianum of the antients, and
still boasts of some remains of antiquity; particularly the ruins of an
amphitheatre, and an aqueduct. The first we passed in the dark, and
next morning the weather was so cold that I could not walk abroad to
see it. The town is at present very inconsiderable, and indeed in a
ruinous condition. Nevertheless, we were very well lodged at the
post-house, and treated with more politeness than we had met with in
any other part of France.

As we had a very high mountain to ascend in the morning, I ordered the
mules on before to the next post, and hired six horses for the coach.
At the east end of Frejus, we saw close to the road on our left-hand,
the arcades of the antient aqueduct, and the ruins of some Roman
edifices, which seemed to have been temples. There was nothing striking
in the architecture of the aqueduct. The arches are small and low,
without either grace or ornament, and seem to have been calculated for
mere utility.

The mountain of Esterelles, which is eight miles over, was formerly
frequented by a gang of desperate banditti, who are now happily
exterminated: the road is very good, but in some places very steep and
bordered by precipices. The mountain is covered with pines, and the
laurus cerasus, the fruit of which being now ripe, made a most romantic
appearance through the snow that lay upon the branches. The cherries
were so large that I at first mistook them for dwarf oranges. I think
they are counted poisonous in England, but here the people eat them
without hesitation. In the middle of the mountain is the post-house,
where we dined in a room so cold, that the bare remembrance of it makes
my teeth chatter. After dinner I chanced to look into another chamber
that fronted the south, where the sun shone; and opening a window
perceived, within a yard of my hand, a large tree loaded with oranges,
many of which were ripe. You may judge what my astonishment was to find
Winter in all his rigour reigning on one side of the house, and Summer
in all her glory on the other. Certain it is, the middle of this
mountain seemed to be the boundary of the cold weather. As we proceeded
slowly in the afternoon we were quite enchanted. This side of the hill
is a natural plantation of the most agreeable ever-greens, pines, firs,
laurel, cypress, sweet myrtle, tamarisc, box, and juniper, interspersed
with sweet marjoram, lavender, thyme, wild thyme, and sage. On the
right-hand the ground shoots up into agreeable cones, between which you
have delightful vistas of the Mediterranean, which washes the foot of
the rock; and between two divisions of the mountains, there is a bottom
watered by a charming stream, which greatly adds to the rural beauties
of the scene.

This night we passed at Cannes, a little fishing town, agreeably
situated on the beach of the sea, and in the same place lodged Monsieur
Nadeau d'Etrueil, the unfortunate French governor of Guadeloupe,
condemned to be imprisoned for life in one of the isles Marguerite,
which lie within a mile of this coast.

Next day we journeyed by the way of Antibes, a small maritime town,
tolerably well fortified; and passing the little river Loup, over a
stone-bridge, arrived about noon at the village of St. Laurent, the
extremity of France, where we passed the Var, after our baggage had
undergone examination. From Cannes to this village the road lies along
the sea-side; and sure nothing can be more delightful. Though in the
morning there was a frost upon the ground, the sun was as warm as it is
in May in England. The sea was quite smooth, and the beach formed of
white polished pebbles; on the left-hand the country was covered with
green olives, and the side of the road planted with large trees of
sweet myrtle growing wild like the hawthorns in England. From Antibes
we had the first view of Nice, lying on the opposite side of the bay,
and making a very agreeable appearance. The author of the Grand Tour
says, that from Antibes to Nice the roads are very bad, through rugged
mountains bordered with precipices On the left, and by the sea to the
right; whereas, in fact, there is neither precipice nor mountain near
it.

The Var, which divides the county of Nice from Provence, is no other
than a torrent fed chiefly by the snow that melts on the maritime Alps,
from which it takes its origin. In the summer it is swelled to a
dangerous height, and this is also the case after heavy rains: but at
present the middle of it is quite dry, and the water divided into two
or three narrow streams, which, however, are both deep and rapid. This
river has been absurdly enough by some supposed the Rubicon, in all
probability from the description of that river in the Pharsalia of
Lucan, who makes it the boundary betwixt Gaul and Italy--

                         --et Gallica certus
  Limes ab Ausoniis disterminat arva colonis.

  A sure Frontier that parts the Gallic plains
  From the rich meadows of th' Ansonian swains.

whereas, in fact, the Rubicon, now called Pisatello, runs between
Ravenna and Rimini.--But to return to the Var. At the village of St.
Laurent, famous for its Muscadine wines, there is a set of guides
always in attendance to conduct you in your passage over the river. Six
of those fellows, tucked up above the middle, with long poles in their
hands, took charge of our coach, and by many windings guided it safe to
the opposite shore. Indeed there was no occasion for any; but it is a
sort of a perquisite, and I did not choose to run any risque, how small
soever it might be, for the sake of saving half a crown, with which
they were satisfied. If you do not gratify the searchers at St. Laurent
with the same sum, they will rummage your trunks, and turn all your
cloaths topsy turvy. And here, once for all, I would advise every
traveller who consults his own case and convenience, to be liberal of
his money to all that sort of people; and even to wink at the
imposition of aubergistes on the road, unless it be very flagrant. So
sure as you enter into disputes with them, you will be put to a great
deal of trouble, and fret yourself to no manner of purpose. I have
travelled with oeconomists in England, who declared they would rather
give away a crown than allow themselves to be cheated of a farthing.
This is a good maxim, but requires a great share of resolution and
self-denial to put it in practice. In one excursion of about two
hundred miles my fellow-traveller was in a passion, and of consequence
very bad company from one end of the journey to the other. He was
incessantly scolding either at landlords, landladies, waiters,
hostlers, or postilions. We had bad horses, and bad chaises; set out
from every stage with the curses of the people; and at this expence I
saved about ten shillings in the whole journey. For such a paltry
consideration, he was contented to be miserable himself, and to make
every other person unhappy with whom he had any concern. When I came
last from Bath it rained so hard, that the postilion who drove the
chaise was wet to the skin before we had gone a couple of miles. When
we arrived at the Devises, I gave him two shillings instead of one, out
of pure compassion. The consequence of this liberality was, that in the
next stage we seemed rather to fly than to travel upon solid ground. I
continued my bounty to the second driver, and indeed through the whole
journey, and found myself accommodated in a very different manner from
what I had experienced before. I had elegant chaises, with excellent
horses; and the postilions of their own accord used such diligence,
that although the roads were broken by the rain, I travelled at the
rate of twelve miles an hour; and my extraordinary expence from Bath to
London, amounted precisely to six shillings.

The river Var falls into the Mediterranean a little below St. Laurent,
about four miles to the westward of Nice. Within the memory of persons
now living, there have been three wooden bridges thrown over it, and as
often destroyed in consequence of the jealousy subsisting between the
kings of France and Sardinia; this river being the boundary of their
dominions on the side of Provence. However, this is a consideration
that ought not to interfere with the other advantages that would accrue
to both kingdoms from such a convenience. If there was a bridge over
the Var, and a post-road made from Nice to Genoa, I am very confident
that all those strangers who now pass the Alps in their way to and from
Italy, would choose this road as infinitely more safe, commodious, and
agreeable. This would also be the case with all those who hire felucas
from Marseilles or Antibes, and expose themselves to the dangers and
inconveniences of travelling by sea in an open boat.

In the afternoon we arrived at Nice, where we found Mr. M--e, the
English gentleman whom I had seen at Boulogne, and advised to come
hither. He had followed my advice, and reached Nice about a month
before my arrival, with his lady, child, and an old gouvernante. He had
travelled with his own post-chaise and horses, and is now lodged just
without one of the gates of the city, in the house of the count de
V--n, for which he pays five loui'dores a month. I could hire one much
better in the neighbourhood of London, for the same money. Unless you
will submit to this extortion, and hire a whole house for a length of
time, you will find no ready-furnished lodgings at Nice. After having
stewed a week in a paltry inn, I have taken a ground floor for ten
months at the rate of four hundred livres a year, that is twenty pounds
sterling, for the Piedmontese livre is about an English shilling. The
apartments are large, lofty, and commodious enough, with two small
gardens, in which there is plenty of sallad, and a great number of
oranges and lemons: but as it required some time to provide furniture,
our consul Mr. B--d, one of the best natured and most friendly men in
the world, has lent me his lodgings, which are charmingly situated by
the sea-side, and open upon a terrace, that runs parallel to the beach,
forming part of the town wall. Mr. B--d himself lives at Villa Franca,
which is divided from Nice by a single mountain, on the top of which
there is a small fort, called the castle of Montalban. Immediately
after our arrival we were visited by one Mr. de Martines, a most
agreeable young fellow, a lieutenant in the Swiss regiment, which is
here in garrison. He is a Protestant, extremely fond of our nation, and
understands our language tolerably well. He was particularly
recommended to our acquaintance by general P-- and his lady; we are
happy in his conversation; find him wonderfully obliging, and extremely
serviceable on many occasions. We have likewise made acquaintance with
some other individuals, particularly with Mr. St. Pierre, junior, who
is a considerable merchant, and consul for Naples. He is a well-bred,
sensible young man, speaks English, is an excellent performer on the
lute and mandolin, and has a pretty collection of books. In a word, I
hope we shall pass the winter agreeably enough, especially if Mr. M--e
should hold out; but I am afraid he is too far gone in a consumption to
recover. He spent the last winter at Nismes, and consulted F-- at
Montpellier. I was impatient to see the prescription, and found it
almost verbatim the same he had sent to me; although I am persuaded
there is a very essential difference between our disorders. Mr. M--e
has been long afflicted with violent spasms, colliquative sweats,
prostration of appetite, and a disorder in his bowels. He is likewise
jaundiced all over, and I am confident his liver is unsound. He tried
the tortoise soup, which he said in a fortnight stuffed him up with
phlegm. This gentleman has got a smattering of physic, and I am afraid
tampers with his own constitution, by means of Brookes's Practice of
Physic, and some dispensatories, which he is continually poring over. I
beg pardon for this tedious epistle, and am--Very sincerely, dear Sir,
Your affectionate, humble servant.



LETTER XIII

NICE, January 15, 1764.

DEAR SIR,--I am at last settled at Nice, and have leisure to give you
some account of this very remarkable place. The county of Nice extends
about fourscore miles in length, and in some places it is thirty miles
broad. It contains several small towns, and a great number of villages;
all of which, this capital excepted, are situated among mountains, the
most extensive plain of the whole country being this where I now am, in
the neighbourhood of Nice. The length of it does not exceed two miles,
nor is the breadth of it, in any part, above one. It is bounded by the
Mediterranean on the south. From the sea-shore, the maritime Alps begin
with hills of a gentle ascent, rising into mountains that form a sweep
or amphitheatre ending at Montalban, which overhangs the town of Villa
Franca. On the west side of this mountain, and in the eastern extremity
of the amphitheatre, stands the city of Nice, wedged in between a steep
rock and the little river Paglion, which descends from the mountains,
and washing the town-walls on the west side, falls into the sea, after
having filled some canals for the use of the inhabitants. There is a
stone-bridge of three arches over it, by which those who come from
Provence enter the city. The channel of it is very broad, but generally
dry in many places; the water (as in the Var) dividing itself into
several small streams. The Paglion being fed by melted snow and rain in
the mountains, is quite dry in summer; but it is sometimes swelled by
sudden rains to a very formidable torrent. This was the case in the
year 1744, when the French and Spanish armies attacked eighteen
Piedmontese battalions, which were posted on the side of Montalban. The
assailants were repulsed with the loss of four thousand men, some
hundreds of whom perished in repassing the Paglion, which had swelled
to a surprising degree during the battle, in consequence of a heavy
continued rain. This rain was of great service to the Piedmontese, as
it prevented one half of the enemy from passing the river to sustain
the other. Five hundred were taken prisoners: but the Piedmontese,
foreseeing they should be surrounded next day by the French, who had
penetrated behind them, by a pass in the mountains, retired in the
night. Being received on board the English Fleet, which lay at Villa
Franca, they were conveyed to Oneglia. In examining the bodies of those
that were killed in the battle, the inhabitants of Nice perceived, that
a great number of the Spanish soldiers were circumcised; a
circumstance, from which they concluded, that a great many Jews engage
in the service of his Catholic majesty. I am of a different opinion.
The Jews are the least of any people that I know, addicted to a
military life. I rather imagine they were of the Moorish race, who have
subsisted in Spain, since the expulsion of their brethren; and though
they conform externally to the rites of the Catholic religion, still
retain in private their attachment to the law of Mahomet.

The city of Nice is built in form of an irregular isosceles triangle,
the base of which fronts the sea.  On the west side it is surrounded by
a wall and rampart; on the east, it is over-hung by a rock, on which we
see the ruins of an old castle, which, before the invention of
artillery, was counted impregnable. It was taken and dismantled by
marechal Catinat, in the time of Victor Amadaeus, the father of his
Sardinian majesty. It was afterwards finally demolished by the duke of
Berwick towards the latter end of queen Anne's war. To repair it would
be a very unnecessary expence, as it is commanded by Montalban, and
several other eminences.

The town of Nice is altogether indefensible, and therefore without
fortifications. There are only two iron guns upon a bastion that fronts
the beach; and here the French had formed a considerable battery
against the English cruisers, in the war of 1744, when the Mareschal
Duke de Belleisle had his headquarters at Nice. This little town,
situated in the bay of Antibes, is almost equidistant from Marseilles,
Turin, and Genoa, the first and last being about thirty leagues from
hence by sea; and the capital of Piedmont at the same distance to the
northward, over the mountains. It lies exactly opposite to Capo di
Ferro, on the coast of Barbary; and, the islands of Sardinia and
Corsica are laid down about two degrees to the eastward, almost exactly
in a line with Genoa. This little town, hardly a mile in circumference,
is said to contain twelve thousand inhabitants. The streets are narrow;
the houses are built of stone, and the windows in general are fitted
with paper instead of glass. This expedient would not answer in a
country subject to rain and storms; but here, where there is very
little of either, the paper lozenges answer tolerably well. The
bourgeois, however, begin to have their houses sashed with glass.
Between the town-wall and the sea, the fishermen haul up their boats
upon the open beach; but on the other side of the rock, where the
castle stood, is the port or harbour of Nice, upon which some money has
been expended. It is a small basin, defended to seaward by a mole of
free-stone, which is much better contrived than executed: for the sea
has already made three breaches in it; and in all probability, in
another winter, the extremity of it will be carried quite away. It
would require the talents of a very skilful architect to lay the
foundation of a good mole, on an open beach like this; exposed to the
swell of the whole Mediterranean, without any island or rock in the
offing, to break the force of the waves. Besides, the shore is bold,
and the bottom foul. There are seventeen feet of water in the basin,
sufficient to float vessels of one hundred and fifty ton; and this is
chiefly supplied by a small stream of very fine water; another great
convenience for shipping. On the side of the mole, there is a constant
guard of soldiers, and a battery of seven cannon, pointing to the sea.
On the other side, there is a curious manufacture for twisting or
reeling silk; a tavern, a coffee-house, and several other buildings,
for the convenience of the sea-faring people. Without the harbour, is a
lazarette, where persons coming from infected places, are obliged to
perform quarantine. The harbour has been declared a free-port, and it
is generally full of tartans, polacres, and other small vessels, that
come from Sardinia, Ivica, Italy, and Spain, loaded with salt, wine,
and other commodities; but here is no trade of any great consequence.

The city of Nice is provided with a senate, which administers justice
under the auspices of an avocat-general, sent hither by the king. The
internal oeconomy of the town is managed by four consuls; one for the
noblesse, another for the merchants, a third for the bourgeois, and a
fourth for the peasants. These are chosen annually from the
town-council. They keep the streets and markets in order, and
superintend the public works. There is also an intendant, who takes
care of his majesty's revenue: but there is a discretionary power
lodged in the person of the commandant, who is always an officer of
rank in the service, and has under his immediate command the regiment
which is here in garrison. That which is here now is a Swiss battalion,
of which the king has five or six in his service. There is likewise a
regiment of militia, which is exercised once a year. But of all these
particulars, I shall speak more fully on another occasion.

When I stand upon the rampart, and look round me, I can scarce help
thinking myself inchanted. The small extent of country which I see, is
all cultivated like a garden. Indeed, the plain presents nothing but
gardens, full of green trees, loaded with oranges, lemons, citrons, and
bergamots, which make a delightful appearance. If you examine them more
nearly, you will find plantations of green pease ready to gather; all
sorts of sallading, and pot-herbs, in perfection; and plats of roses,
carnations, ranunculas, anemonies, and daffodils, blowing in full
glory, with such beauty, vigour, and perfume, as no flower in England
ever exhibited.

I must tell you, that presents of carnations are sent from hence, in
the winter, to Turin and Paris; nay, sometimes as far as London, by the
post. They are packed up in a wooden box, without any sort of
preparation, one pressed upon another: the person who receives them,
cuts off a little bit of the stalk, and steeps them for two hours in
vinegar and water, when they recover their full bloom and beauty. Then
he places them in water-bottles, in an apartment where they are
screened from the severities of the weather; and they will continue
fresh and unfaded the best part of a month.

Amidst the plantations in the neighbourhood of Nice, appear a vast
number of white bastides, or country-houses, which make a dazzling
shew. Some few of these are good villas, belonging to the noblesse of
this county; and even some of the bourgeois are provided with pretty
lodgeable cassines; but in general, they are the habitations of the
peasants, and contain nothing but misery and vermin. They are all built
square; and, being whitened with lime or plaister, contribute greatly
to the richness of the view. The hills are shaded to the tops with
olive-trees, which are always green; and those hills are over-topped by
more distant mountains, covered with snow. When I turn myself towards
the sea, the view is bounded by the horizon; yet in a clear morning,
one can perceive the high lands of Corsica. On the right hand, it is
terminated by Antibes, and the mountain of Esterelles, which I
described in my last. As for the weather, you will conclude, from what
I have said of the oranges, flowers, etc. that it must be wonderfully
mild and serene: but of the climate, I shall speak hereafter. Let me
only observe, en passant, that the houses in general have no chimnies,
but in their kitchens; and that many people, even of condition, at
Nice, have no fire in their chambers, during the whole winter. When the
weather happens to be a little more sharp than usual, they warm their
apartments with a brasiere or pan of charcoal.

Though Nice itself retains few marks of antient splendor, there are
considerable monuments of antiquity in its neighbourhood. About two
short miles from the town, upon the summit of a pretty high hill, we
find the ruins of the antient city Cemenelion, now called Cimia, which
was once the metropolis of the Maritime Alps, and the scat of a Roman
president. With respect to situation, nothing could be more agreeable
or salubrious. It stood upon the gentle ascent and summit of a hill,
fronting the Mediterranean; from the shore of which, it is distant
about half a league; and, on the other side, it overlooked a bottom, or
narrow vale, through which the Paglion (antiently called Paulo) runs
towards the walls of Nice. It was inhabited by a people, whom Ptolomy
and Pliny call the Vedantij: but these were undoubtedly mixed with a
Roman colony, as appears by the monuments which still remain; I mean
the ruins of an amphitheatre, a temple of Apollo, baths, aqueducts,
sepulchral, and other stones, with inscriptions, and a great number of
medals which the peasants have found by accident, in digging and
labouring the vineyards and cornfields, which now cover the ground
where the city stood.

Touching this city, very little is to be learned from the antient
historians: but that it was the seat of a Roman praeses, is proved by
the two following inscriptions, which are still extant.

  P. AELIO. SEVERINO.
  V. E. P.
  PRAESIDI. OPTIMO.
  ORDO. CEMEN.
  PATRONO.

By the Senate of Cemenelion, Dedicated to His Excellency P. Aelius
Severinus, the best of Governors and Patrons.

This is now in the possession of the count de Gubernatis, who has a
country-house upon the spot. The other, found near the same place, is
in praise of the praeses Marcus Aurelius Masculus.

  M. AVRELIO. MASCVLO.
  V. E.
  OB. EXIMIAM. PRAESIDATVS
  EIVS. INTEGRITATEM. ET
  EGREGIAM. AD OMNES HOMINES
  MANSVETVDINEM. ET. VRGENTIS
  ANNONAE. SINCERAM. PRAEBITIONEM.
  AC. MVNIFICENTIAM. ET. QVOD. AQVAE
  VSVM. VETVSTATE. LAPSVM. REQVI-
  SITVM. AC. REPERTVM. SAECVLI
  FELICITATE. CVRSVI. PRISTINO
  REDDIDERIT.
  COLLEG. III.
  QVIB. EX. SCC. P. EST
  PATRONO. DIGNISS.

Inscribed by the three corporations under the authority of the Senate,
to their most worthy Patron, His Excellency M. Aurelius Masculus, in
testimony of their gratitude for the blessings of his incorruptible
administration, his wonderful affability to all without Distinction,
his generous Distribution of Corn in time of Dearth, his munificence in
repairing the ruinous aqueduct, in searching for, discovering and
restoring the water to its former course for the Benefit of the
Community.

This president well deserved such a mark of respect from a people whom
he had assisted in two such essential articles, as their corn and their
water. You know the praeses of a Roman province had the jus sigendi
clavi, the right to drive a nail in the Kalendar, the privilege of
wearing the latus clavus, or broad studs on his garment, the gladius,
infula, praetexta, purpura & annulus aureus, the Sword, Diadem, purple
Robe, and gold Ring, he had his vasa, vehicula, apparitores, Scipio
eburneus, & sella curulis, Kettledrums, [I know the kettledrum is a
modern invention; but the vasa militari modo conclamata was something
analogous.] Chariots, Pursuivants, ivory staff, and chair of state.

I shall give you one more sepulchral inscription on a marble, which is
now placed over the gate of the church belonging to the convent of St.
Pont, a venerable building, which stands at the bottom of the hill,
fronting the north side of the town of Nice. This St. Pont, or Pontius,
was a Roman convert to Christianity, who suffered martyrdom at
Cemenelion in the year 261, during the reigns of the emperors Valerian
and Gallienus. The legends recount some ridiculous miracles wrought in
favour of this saint, both before and after his death. Charles V.
emperor of Germany and king of Spain, caused this monastery to be built
on the spot where Pontius suffered decapitation. But to return to the
inscription: it appears in these words.

  M. M. A.
  FLAVIAE. BASILLAE. CONIVG. CARISSIM.
  DOM. ROMA. MIRAE. ERGA. MARITUM. AMORIS.
  ADQ. CASTITAT. FAEMINAE. QVAE. VIXIT
  ANN. XXXV. M. III. DIEB. XII. AVRELIVS
  RHODISMANVS. AVG. LIB. COMMEM. ALP.
  MART. ET. AVRELIA, ROMVLA. FILII.
  IMPATIENTISSIM. DOLOR. EIVS. ADFLICTI
  ADQ. DESOLATI. CARISSIM. AC MERENT. FERET.
  FEC. ET. DED,

Freely consecrated by Aurelius Rhodismanus, the Emperor's Freedman, to
the much honoured memory of his dear Consort Flavia Aurelia of Rome, a
woman equally distinguished by her unblemished Virtue and conjugal
affection. His children Martial and Aurelia Romula deeply affected and
distressed by the Violence of his Grief, erected and dedicated a
monument to their dear deserving Parent.  [I don't pretend to translate
these inscriptions literally, because I am doubtful about the meaning
of some abbreviations.]

The amphitheatre of Cemenelion is but very small, compared to that of
Nismes. The arena is ploughed up, and bears corn: some of the seats
remain, and part of two opposite porticos; but all the columns, and the
external facade of the building, are taken away so that it is
impossible to judge of the architecture, all we can perceive is, that
it was built in an oval form. About one hundred paces from the
amphitheatre stood an antient temple, supposed to have been dedicated
to Apollo. The original roof is demolished, as well as the portico; the
vestiges of which may still be traced. The part called the Basilica,
and about one half of the Cella Sanctior, remain, and are converted
into the dwelling-house and stable of the peasant who takes care of the
count de Gubernatis's garden, in which this monument stands. In the
Cella Sanctior, I found a lean cow, a he-goat, and a jack-ass; the very
same conjunction of animals which I had seen drawing a plough in
Burgundy. Several mutilated statues have been dug up from the ruins of
this temple; and a great number of medals have been found in the
different vineyards which now occupy the space upon which stood the
antient city of Cemenelion. These were of gold, silver, and brass. Many
of them were presented to Charles Emanuel I. duke of Savoy. The prince
of Monaco has a good number of them in his collection; and the rest are
in private hands. The peasants, in digging, have likewise found many
urns, lachrymatories, and sepulchral stones, with epitaphs, which are
now dispersed among different convents and private houses. All this
ground is a rich mine of antiquities, which, if properly worked, would
produce a great number of valuable curiosities. Just by the temple of
Apollo were the ruins of a bath, composed of great blocks of marble,
which have been taken away for the purposes of modern building. In all
probability, many other noble monuments of this city have been
dilapidated by the same barbarous oeconomy. There are some subterranean
vaults, through which the water was conducted to this bath, still
extant in the garden of the count de Gubernatis. Of the aqueduct that
conveyed water to the town, I can say very little, but that it was
scooped through a mountain: that this subterranean passage was
discovered some years ago, by removing the rubbish which choaked it up:
that the people penetrating a considerable way, by the help of lighted
torches, found a very plentiful stream of water flowing in an aqueduct,
as high as an ordinary man, arched over head, and lined with a sort of
cement. They could not, however, trace this stream to its source; and
it is again stopped up with earth and rubbish. There is not a soul in
this country, who has either spirit or understanding to conduct an
inquiry of this kind. Hard by the amphitheatre is a convent of
Recollets, built in a very romantic situation, on the brink of a
precipice. On one side of their garden, they ascend to a kind of
esplanade, which they say was part of the citadel of Cemenelion. They
have planted it with cypress-trees, and flowering-shrubs. One of the
monks told me, that it is vaulted below, as they can plainly perceive
by the sound of their instruments used in houghing the ground. A very
small expence would bring the secrets of this cavern to light. They
have nothing to do, but to make a breach in the wall, which appears
uncovered towards the garden.

The city of Cemenelion was first sacked by the Longobards, who made an
irruption into Provence, under their king Alboinus, about the middle of
the sixth century. It was afterwards totally destroyed by the Saracens,
who, at different times, ravaged this whole coast. The remains of the
people are supposed to have changed their habitation, and formed a
coalition with the inhabitants of Nice.

What further I have to say of Nice, you shall know in good time; at
present, I have nothing to add, but what you very well know, that I am
always your affectionate humble servant.



LETTER, XIV

NICE, January 20, 1764.

DEAR SIR,--Last Sunday I crossed Montalban on horseback, with some
Swiss officers, on a visit to our consul, Mr. B--d, who lives at Ville
Franche, about half a league from Nice. It is a small town, built upon
the side of a rock, at the bottom of the harbour, which is a fine
basin, surrounded with hills on every side, except to the south, where
it lies open to the sea. If there was a small island in the mouth of
it, to break off the force of the waves, when the wind is southerly, it
would be one of the finest harbours in the world; for the ground is
exceeding good for anchorage: there is a sufficient depth of water, and
room enough for the whole navy of England. On the right hand, as you
enter the port, there is an elegant fanal, or lighthouse, kept in good
repair: but in all the charts of this coast which I have seen, this
lanthorn is laid down to the westward of the harbour; an error equally
absurd and dangerous, as it may mislead the navigator, and induce him
to run his ship among the rocks, to the eastward of the lighthouse,
where it would undoubtedly perish. Opposite to the mouth of the harbour
is the fort, which can be of no service, but in defending the shipping
and the town by sea; for, by land, it is commanded by Montalban, and
all the hills in the neighbourhood. In the war of 1744, it was taken
and retaken. At present, it is in tolerable good repair. On the left of
the fort, is the basin for the gallies, with a kind of dock, in which
they are built, and occasionally laid up to be refitted. This basin is
formed by a pretty stone mole; and here his Sardinian majesty's two
gallies lie perfectly secure, moored with their sterns close to the
jette. I went on board one of these vessels, and saw about two hundred
miserable wretches, chained to the banks on which they sit and row,
when the galley is at sea. This is a sight which a British subject,
sensible of the blessing he enjoys, cannot behold without horror and
compassion. Not but that if we consider the nature of the case, with
coolness and deliberation, we must acknowledge the justice, and even
sagacity, of employing for the service of the public, those malefactors
who have forfeited their title to the privileges of the community.
Among the slaves at Ville Franche is a Piedmontese count, condemned to
the gallies for life, in consequence of having been convicted of
forgery. He is permitted to live on shore; and gets money by employing
the other slaves to knit stockings for sale. He appears always in the
Turkish habit, and is in a fair way of raising a better fortune than
that which he has forfeited.

It is a great pity, however, and a manifest outrage against the law of
nations, as well as of humanity, to mix with those banditti, the
Moorish and Turkish prisoners who are taken in the prosecution of open
war. It is certainly no justification of this barbarous practice, that
the Christian prisoners are treated as cruelly at Tunis and Algiers. It
would be for the honour of Christendom, to set an example of generosity
to the Turks; and, if they would not follow it, to join their naval
forces, and extirpate at once those nests of pirates, who have so long
infested the Mediterranean. Certainly, nothing can be more shameful,
than the treaties which France and the Maritime Powers have concluded
with those barbarians. They supply them with artillery, arms, and
ammunition, to disturb their neighbours. They even pay them a sort of
tribute, under the denomination of presents; and often put up with
insults tamely, for the sordid consideration of a little gain in the
way of commerce. They know that Spain, Sardinia, and almost all the
Catholic powers in the Mediterranean, Adriatic, and Levant, are at
perpetual war with those Mahometans; that while Algiers, Tunis, and
Sallee, maintain armed cruisers at sea, those Christian powers will not
run the risque of trading in their own bottoms, but rather employ as
carriers the maritime nations, who are at peace with the infidels. It
is for our share of this advantage, that we cultivate the piratical
States of Barbary, and meanly purchase passports of them, thus
acknowledging them masters of the Mediterranean.

The Sardinian gallies are mounted each with five-and-twenty oars, and
six guns, six-pounders, of a side, and a large piece of artillery
amidships, pointing ahead, which (so far as I am able to judge) can
never be used point-blank, without demolishing the head or prow of the
galley. The accommodation on board for the officers is wretched. There
is a paltry cabin in the poop for the commander; but all the other
officers lie below the slaves, in a dungeon, where they have neither
light, air, nor any degree of quiet; half suffocated by the heat of the
place; tormented by fleas, bugs, and lice; and disturbed by the
incessant noise over head. The slaves lie upon the naked banks, without
any other covering than a tilt. This, however, is no great hardship, in
a climate where there is scarce any winter. They are fed with a very
scanty allowance of bread, and about fourteen beans a day and twice a
week they have a little rice, or cheese, but most of them, while they
are in harbour knit stockings, or do some other kind of work, which
enables them to make some addition to this wretched allowance. When
they happen to be at sea in bad weather, their situation is truly
deplorable. Every wave breaks over the vessel, and not only keeps them
continually wet, but comes with such force, that they are dashed
against the banks with surprising violence: sometimes their limbs are
broke, and sometimes their brains dashed out. It is impossible (they
say) to keep such a number of desperate people under any regular
command, without exercising such severities as must shock humanity. It
is almost equally impossible to maintain any tolerable degree of
cleanliness, where such a number of wretches are crouded together
without conveniences, or even the necessaries of life. They are ordered
twice a week to strip, clean, and bathe themselves in the sea: but,
notwithstanding all the precautions of discipline, they swarm with
vermin, and the vessel smells like an hospital, or crouded jail. They
seem, nevertheless, quite insensible of their misery, like so many
convicts in Newgate: they laugh and sing, and swear, and get drunk when
they can. When you enter by the stern, you are welcomed by a band of
music selected from the slaves; and these expect a gratification. If
you walk forwards, you must take care of your pockets. You will be
accosted by one or other of the slaves, with a brush and blacking-ball
for cleaning your shoes; and if you undergo this operation, it is ten
to one but your pocket is picked. If you decline his service, and keep
aloof, you will find it almost impossible to avoid a colony of vermin,
which these fellows have a very dexterous method of conveying to
strangers. Some of the Turkish prisoners, whose ransom or exchange is
expected, are allowed to go ashore, under proper inspection; and those
forcats, who have served the best part of the time for which they were
condemned, are employed in public works, under a guard of soldiers. At
the harbour of Nice, they are hired by ship-masters to bring ballast,
and have a small proportion of what they earn, for their own use: the
rest belongs to the king. They are distinguished by an iron shackle
about one of their legs. The road from Nice to Ville Franche is scarce
passable on horseback: a circumstance the more extraordinary, as those
slaves, in the space of two or three months, might even make it fit for
a carriage, and the king would not be one farthing out of pocket, for
they are quite idle the greatest part of the year.

The gallies go to sea only in the summer. In tempestuous weather, they
could not live out of port. Indeed, they are good for nothing but in
smooth water during a calm; when, by dint of rowing, they make good
way. The king of Sardinia is so sensible of their inutility, that he
intends to let his gallies rot; and, in lieu of them, has purchased two
large frigates in England, one of fifty, and another of thirty guns,
which are now in the harbour of Ville Franche. He has also procured an
English officer, one Mr. A--, who is second in command on board of one
of them, and has the title of captain consulteur, that is, instructor
to the first captain, the marquis de M--i, who knows as little of
seamanship as I do of Arabic.

The king, it is said, intends to have two or three more frigates, and
then he will be more than a match for the Barbary corsairs, provided
care be taken to man his fleet in a proper manner: but this will never
be done, unless he invites foreigners into his service, officers as
well as seamen; for his own dominions produce neither at present. If he
is really determined to make the most of the maritime situation of his
dominions, as well as of his alliance with Great-Britain, he ought to
supply his ships with English mariners, and put a British commander at
the head of his fleet. He ought to erect magazines and docks at Villa
Franca; or if there is not conveniency for building, he may at least
have pits and wharfs for heaving down and careening; and these ought to
be under the direction of Englishmen, who best understand all the
particulars of marine oeconomy. Without all doubt, he will not be able
to engage foreigners, without giving them liberal appointments; and
their being engaged in his service will give umbrage to his own
subjects: but, when the business is to establish a maritime power,
these considerations ought to be sacrificed to reasons of public
utility. Nothing can be more absurd and unreasonable, than the murmurs
of the Piedmontese officers at the preferment of foreigners, who
execute those things for the advantage of their country, of which they
know themselves incapable. When Mr. P--n was first promoted in the
service of his Sardinian majesty, he met with great opposition, and
numberless mortifications, from the jealousy of the Piedmontese
officers, and was obliged to hazard his life in many rencounters with
them, before they would be quiet. Being a man of uncommon spirit, he
never suffered the least insult or affront to pass unchastised. He had
repeated opportunities of signalizing his valour against the Turks; and
by dint of extraordinary merit, and long services not only attained the
chief command of the gallies, with the rank of lieutenant-general, but
also acquired a very considerable share of the king's favour, and was
appointed commandant of Nice. His Sardinian majesty found his account
more ways than one, in thus promoting Mr. P--n. He made the acquisition
of an excellent officer, of tried courage and fidelity, by whose advice
he conducted his marine affairs. This gentleman was perfectly well
esteemed at the court of London. In the war of 1744, he lived in the
utmost harmony with the British admirals who commanded our fleet in the
Mediterranean. In consequence of this good understanding, a thousand
occasional services were performed by the English ships, for the
benefit of his master, which otherwise could not have been done,
without a formal application to our ministry; in which case, the
opportunities would have been lost. I know our admirals had general
orders and instructions, to cooperate in all things with his Sardinian
majesty; but I know, also, by experience, how little these general
instructions avail, when the admiral is not cordially interested in the
service. Were the king of Sardinia at present engaged with England in a
new war against France, and a British squadron stationed upon this
coast, as formerly, he would find a great difference in this
particular. He should therefore carefully avoid having at Nice a
Savoyard commandant, utterly ignorant of sea affairs; unacquainted with
the true interest of his master; proud, and arbitrary; reserved to
strangers, from a prejudice of national jealousy; and particularly
averse to the English.

With respect to the antient name of Villa Franca, there is a dispute
among antiquarians. It is not at all mentioned in the Itinerarium of
Antoninus, unless it is meant as the port of Nice. But it is more
surprising, that the accurate Strabo, in describing this coast,
mentions no such harbour. Some people imagine it is the Portus Herculis
Monaeci. But this is undoubtedly what is now called Monaco; the harbour
of which exactly tallies with what Strabo says of the Portus Monaeci--
neque magnas, neque multas capit naves, It holds but a few vessels and
those of small burthen. Ptolomy, indeed, seems to mention it under the
name of Herculis Portus, different from the Portus Monaeci. His words
are these: post vari ostium ad Ligustrium mare, massiliensium, sunt
Nicaea, Herculis Portus, Trophaea Augusti, Monaeci Portus, Beyond the
mouth of the Var upon the Ligurian Coast, the Marsilian Colonies are
Nice, Port Hercules, Trophaea and Monaco. In that case, Hercules was
worshipped both here and at Monaco, and gave his name to both places.
But on this subject, I shall perhaps speak more fully in another
letter, after I have seen the Trophaea Augusti, now called Tourbia, and
the town of Monaco, which last is about three leagues from Nice. Here I
cannot help taking notice of the following elegant description from the
Pharsalia, which seems to have been intended for this very harbour.

  Finis et Hesperiae promoto milite varus,
  Quaque sub Herculeo sacratus numine Portus
  Urget rupe cava Pelagus, non Corus in illum
  Jus habet, aut Zephirus, solus sua littora turbat
  Circius, et tuta prohibet statione Monaeci.

  The Troops advanc'd as far
  As flows th' Hesperian Boundary, the Var;
  And where the mountain scoop'd by nature's hands,
  The spacious Port of Hercules, expands;

  Here the tall ships at anchor safe remain
  Tho' Zephyr blows, or Caurus sweeps the Plain;
  The Southern Blast alone disturbs the Bay;
  And to Monaco's safer Port obstructs the way.

The present town of Villa Franca was built and settled in the
thirteenth century, by order of Charles II. king of the Sicilies, and
count of Provence, in order to defend the harbour from the descents of
the Saracens, who at that time infested the coast. The inhabitants were
removed hither from another town, situated on the top of a mountain in
the neighbourhood, which those pirates had destroyed. Some ruins of the
old town are still extant. In order to secure the harbour still more
effectually, Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, built the fort in the
beginning of the last century, together with the mole where the gallies
are moored. As I said before, Ville Franche is built on the face of a
barren rock, washed by the sea; and there is not an acre of plain
ground within a mile of it. In summer, the reflexion of the sun from
the rocks must make it intolerably hot; for even at this time of the
year, I walked myself into a profuse sweat, by going about a quarter of
a mile to see the gallies.

Pray remember me to our friends at A--'s, and believe me to be ever
yours.



LETTER XV

NICE, January 3, 1764.

MADAM,--In your favour which I received by Mr. M--l, you remind me of
my promise, to communicate the remarks I have still to make on the
French nation; and at the same time you signify your opinion, that I am
too severe in my former observations. You even hint a suspicion, that
this severity is owing to some personal cause of resentment; but, I
protest, I have no particular cause of animosity against any individual
of that country. I have neither obligation to, nor quarrel with, any
subject of France; and when I meet with a Frenchman worthy of my
esteem, I can receive him into my friendship with as much cordiality,
as I could feel for any fellow-citizen of the same merit. I even
respect the nation, for the number of great men it has produced in all
arts and sciences. I respect the French officers, in particular, for
their gallantry and valour; and especially for that generous humanity
which they exercise towards their enemies, even amidst the horrors of
war. This liberal spirit is the only circumstance of antient chivalry,
which I think was worth preserving. It had formerly flourished in
England, but was almost extinguished in a succession of civil wars,
which are always productive of cruelty and rancour. It was Henry IV. of
France, (a real knight errant) who revived it in Europe. He possessed
that greatness of mind, which can forgive injuries of the deepest dye:
and as he had also the faculty of distinguishing characters, he found
his account, in favouring with his friendship and confidence, some of
those who had opposed him in the field with the most inveterate
perseverance. I know not whether he did more service to mankind in
general, by reviving the practice of treating his prisoners with
generosity, than he prejudiced his own country by patronizing the
absurd and pernicious custom of duelling, and establishing a punto,
founded in diametrical opposition to common sense and humanity.

I have often heard it observed, that a French officer is generally an
agreeable companion when he is turned of fifty. Without all doubt, by
that time, the fire of his vivacity, which makes him so troublesome in
his youth, will be considerably abated, and in other respects, he must
be improved by his experience. But there is a fundamental error in the
first principles of his education, which time rather confirms than
removes. Early prejudices are for the most part converted into habits
of thinking; and accordingly you will find the old officers in the
French service more bigotted than their juniors, to the punctilios of
false honour.

A lad of a good family no sooner enters into the service, than he
thinks it incumbent upon him to shew his courage in a rencontre. His
natural vivacity prompts him to hazard in company every thing that
comes uppermost, without any respect to his seniors or betters; and ten
to one but he says something, which he finds it necessary to maintain
with his sword. The old officer, instead of checking his petulance,
either by rebuke or silent disapprobation, seems to be pleased with his
impertinence, and encourages every sally of his presumption. Should a
quarrel ensue, and the parties go out, he makes no efforts to
compromise the dispute; but sits with a pleasing expectation to learn
the issue of the rencontre. If the young man is wounded, he kisses him
with transport, extols his bravery, puts him into the hands of the
surgeon, and visits him with great tenderness every day, until he is
cured. If he is killed on the spot, he shrugs up his shoulders--says,
quelle dommage! c'etoit un amiable enfant! ah, patience! What pity! he
was a fine Boy! It can't be helpt! and in three hours the defunct is
forgotten. You know, in France, duels are forbid, on pain of death: but
this law is easily evaded. The person insulted walks out; the
antagonist understands the hint, and follows him into the street, where
they justle as if by accident, draw their swords, and one of them is
either killed or disabled, before any effectual means can be used to
part them. Whatever may be the issue of the combat, the magistrate
takes no cognizance of it; at least, it is interpreted into an
accidental rencounter, and no penalty is incurred on either side. Thus
the purpose of the law is entirely defeated, by a most ridiculous and
cruel connivance. The meerest trifles in conversation, a rash word, a
distant hint, even a look or smile of contempt, is sufficient to
produce one of these combats; but injuries of a deeper dye, such as
terms of reproach, the lie direct, a blow, or even the menace of a
blow, must be discussed with more formality. In any of these cases, the
parties agree to meet in the dominions of another prince, where they
can murder each other, without fear of punishment. An officer who is
struck, or even threatened with a blow must not be quiet, until he
either kills his antagonist, or loses his own life. A friend of mine,
(a Nissard) who was in the service of France, told me, that some years
ago, one of their captains, in the heat of passion, struck his
lieutenant. They fought immediately: the lieutenant was wounded and
disarmed. As it was an affront that could not be made up, he no sooner
recovered of his wounds, than he called out the captain a second time.
In a word, they fought five times before the combat proved decisive at
last, the lieutenant was left dead on the spot. This was an event which
sufficiently proved the absurdity of the punctilio that gave rise to
it. The poor gentleman who was insulted, and outraged by the brutality
of the aggressor, found himself under the necessity of giving him a
further occasion to take away his life. Another adventure of the same
kind happened a few years ago in this place. A French officer having
threatened to strike another, a formal challenge ensued; and it being
agreed that they should fight until one of them dropped, each provided
himself with a couple of pioneers to dig his grave on the spot. They
engaged just without one of the gates of Nice, in presence of a great
number of spectators, and fought with surprising fury, until the ground
was drenched with their blood. At length one of them stumbled, and
fell; upon which the other, who found himself mortally wounded,
advancing, and dropping his point, said, "Je te donne ce que tu m'as
ote." "I'll give thee that which thou hast taken from me." So saying,
he dropped dead upon the field. The other, who had been the person
insulted, was so dangerously wounded that he could not rise. Some of
the spectators carried him forthwith to the beach, and putting him into
a boat, conveyed him by sea to Antibes. The body of his antagonist was
denied Christian burial, as he died without absolution, and every body
allowed that his soul went to hell: but the gentlemen of the army
declared, that he died like a man of honour. Should a man be never so
well inclined to make atonement in a peaceable manner, for an insult
given in the heat of passion, or in the fury of intoxication, it cannot
be received. Even an involuntary trespass from ignorance, or absence of
mind, must be cleansed with blood. A certain noble lord, of our
country, when he was yet a commoner, on his travels, involved himself
in a dilemma of this sort, at the court of Lorrain. He had been riding
out, and strolling along a public walk, in a brown study, with his
horse-whip in his hand, perceived a caterpillar crawling on the back of
a marquis, who chanced to be before him. He never thought of the petit
maitre; but lifting up his whip, in order to kill the insect, laid it
across his shoulders with a crack, that alarmed all the company in the
walk. The marquis's sword was produced in a moment, and the aggressor
in great hazard of his life, as he had no weapon of defence. He was no
sooner waked from his reverie, than he begged pardon, and offered to
make all proper concessions for what he had done through mere
inadvertency. The marquis would have admitted his excuses, had there
been any precedent of such an affront being washed away without blood.
A conclave of honour was immediately assembled; and after long
disputes, they agreed, that an involuntary offence, especially from
such a kind of man, d'un tel homme, might be attoned by concessions.
That you may have some idea of the small beginning, from which many
gigantic quarrels arise, I shall recount one that lately happened at
Lyons, as I had it from the mouth of a person who was an ear and eye
witness of the transaction. Two Frenchmen, at a public ordinary,
stunned the rest of the company with their loquacity. At length, one of
them, with a supercilious air, asked the other's name. "I never tell my
name, (said he) but in a whisper." "You may have very good reasons for
keeping it secret," replied the first. "I will tell you," (resumed the
other): with these words he rose; and going round to him, pronounced,
loud enough to be heard by the whole company, "Je m'appelle Pierre
Paysan; et vous etes un impertinent." "My name is Peter Peasant, and
you are an impertinent fellow." So saying, he walked out: the
interrogator followed him into the street, where they justled, drew
their swords, and engaged. He who asked the question was run through
the body; but his relations were so powerful, that the victor was
obliged to fly his country, was tried and condemned in his absence; his
goods were confiscated; his wife broke her heart; his children were
reduced to beggary; and he himself is now starving in exile. In England
we have not yet adopted all the implacability of the punctilio. A
gentleman may be insulted even with a blow, and survive, after having
once hazarded his life against the aggressor. The laws of honour in our
country do not oblige him either to slay the person from whom he
received the injury, or even to fight to the last drop of his own
blood. One finds no examples of duels among the Romans, who were
certainly as brave and as delicate in their notions of honour as the
French. Cornelius Nepos tells us, that a famous Athenian general,
having a dispute with his colleague, who was of Sparta, a man of a
fiery disposition, this last lifted up his cane to strike him. Had this
happened to a French petit maitre, death must have ensued: but mark
what followed--The Athenian, far from resenting the outrage, in what is
now called a gentlemanlike manner, said, "Do, strike if you please; but
hear me." He never dreamed of cutting the Lacedemonian's throat; but
bore with his passionate temper, as the infirmity of a friend who had a
thousand good qualities to overbalance that defect.

I need not expatiate upon the folly and the mischief which are
countenanced and promoted by the modern practice of duelling. I need
not give examples of friends who have murdered each other, in obedience
to this savage custom, even while their hearts were melting with mutual
tenderness; nor will I particularize the instances which I myself know,
of whole families ruined, of women and children made widows and
orphans, of parents deprived of only sons, and of valuable lives lost
to the community, by duels, which had been produced by one unguarded
expression, uttered without intention of offence, in the heat of
dispute and altercation. I shall not insist upon the hardship of a
worthy man's being obliged to devote himself to death, because it is
his misfortune to be insulted by a brute, a bully, a drunkard, or a
madman: neither will I enlarge upon this side of the absurdity, which
indeed amounts to a contradiction in terms; I mean the dilemma to which
a gentleman in the army is reduced, when he receives an affront: if he
does not challenge and fight his antagonist, he is broke with infamy by
a court-martial; if he fights and kills him, he is tried by the civil
power, convicted of murder, and, if the royal mercy does not interpose,
he is infallibly hanged: all this, exclusive of the risque of his own
life in the duel, and his conscience being burthened with the blood of
a man, whom perhaps he has sacrificed to a false punctilio, even
contrary to his own judgment. These are reflections which I know your
own good sense will suggest, but I will make bold to propose a remedy
for this gigantic evil, which seems to gain ground everyday: let a
court be instituted for taking cognizance of all breaches of honour,
with power to punish by fine, pillory, sentence of infamy, outlawry,
and exile, by virtue of an act of parliament made for this purpose; and
all persons insulted, shall have recourse to this tribunal: let every
man who seeks personal reparation with sword, pistol, or other
instrument of death, be declared infamous, and banished the kingdom:
let every man, convicted of having used a sword or pistol, or other
mortal weapon, against another, either in duel or rencountre,
occasioned by any previous quarrel, be subject to the same penalties:
if any man is killed in a duel, let his body be hanged upon a public
gibbet, for a certain time, and then given to the surgeons: let his
antagonist be hanged as a murderer, and dissected also; and some mark
of infamy be set on the memory of both. I apprehend such regulations
would put an effectual stop to the practice of duelling, which nothing
but the fear of infamy can support; for I am persuaded, that no being,
capable of reflection, would prosecute the trade of assassination at
the risque of his own life, if this hazard was at the same time
reinforced by the certain prospect of infamy and ruin. Every person of
sentiment would in that case allow, that an officer, who in a duel robs
a deserving woman of her husband, a number of children of their father,
a family of its support, and the community of a fellow-citizen, has as
little merit to plead from exposing his own person, as a highwayman, or
housebreaker, who every day risques his life to rob or plunder that
which is not of half the importance to society. I think it was from the
Buccaneers of America, that the English have learned to abolish one
solecism in the practice of duelling: those adventurers decided their
personal quarrels with pistols; and this improvement has been adopted
in Great Britain with good success; though in France, and other parts
of the continent, it is looked upon as a proof of their barbarity. It
is, however, the only circumstance of duelling, which savours of common
sense, as it puts all mankind upon a level, the old with the young, the
weak with the strong, the unwieldy with the nimble, and the man who
knows not how to hold a sword with the spadassin, who has practised
fencing from the cradle. What glory is there in a man's vanquishing an
adversary over whom he has a manifest advantage? To abide the issue of
a combat in this case, does not even require that moderate share of
resolution which nature has indulged to her common children.
Accordingly, we have seen many instances of a coward's provoking a man
of honour to battle. In the reign of our second Charles, when duels
flourished in all their absurdity, and the seconds fought while their
principals were engaged, Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, not content with
having debauched the countess of Shrewsbury and publishing her shame,
took all opportunities of provoking the earl to single combat, hoping
he should have an easy conquest, his lordship being a puny little
creature, quiet, inoffensive, and every way unfit for such personal
contests. He ridiculed him on all occasions; and at last declared in
public company, that there was no glory in cuckolding Shrewsbury, who
had not spirit to resent the injury. This was an insult which could not
be overlooked. The earl sent him a challenge; and they agreed to fight,
at Barns-Elms, in presence of two gentlemen, whom they chose for their
seconds. All the four engaged at the same time; the first thrust was
fatal to the earl of Shrewsbury; and his friend killed the duke's
second at the same instant. Buckingham, elated with his exploit, set
out immediately for the earl's seat at Cliefden, where he lay with his
wife, after having boasted of the murder of her husband, whose blood he
shewed her upon his sword, as a trophy of his prowess. But this very
duke of Buckingham was little better than a poltroon at bottom. When
the gallant earl of Ossory challenged him to fight in Chelsea fields,
he crossed the water to Battersea, where he pretended to wait for his
lordship; and then complained to the house of lords, that Ossory had
given him the rendezvous, and did not keep his appointment. He knew the
house would interpose in the quarrel, and he was not disappointed.
Their lordships obliged them both to give their word of honour, that
their quarrel should have no other consequences.

I ought to make an apology for having troubled a lady with so many
observations on a subject so unsuitable to the softness of the fair
sex; but I know you cannot be indifferent to any thing that so nearly
affects the interests of humanity, which I can safely aver have alone
suggested every thing which has been said by, Madam, Your very humble
servant.



LETTER XVI

NICE, May 2, 1764.

DEAR DOCTOR,--A few days ago, I rode out with two gentlemen of this
country, to see a stream of water which was formerly conveyed in an
aqueduct to the antient city of Cemenelion, from whence this place is
distant about a mile, though separated by abrupt rocks and deep
hollows, which last are here honoured with the name of vallies. The
water, which is exquisitely cool, and light and pure, gushes from the
middle of a rock by a hole which leads to a subterranean aqueduct
carried through the middle of the mountain. This is a Roman work, and
the more I considered it, appeared the more stupendous. A peasant who
lives upon the spot told us, he had entered by this hole at eight in
the morning, and advanced so far, that it was four in the afternoon
before he came out. He said he walked in the water, through a regular
canal formed of a hard stone, lined with a kind of cement, and vaulted
overhead; but so high in most parts he could stand upright, yet in
others, the bed of the canal was so filled with earth and stones, that
he was obliged to stoop in passing. He said that there were air-holes
at certain distances (and indeed I saw one of these not far from the
present issue) that there were some openings and stone seats on the
sides, and here and there figures of men formed of stone, with hammers
and working tools in their hands. I am apt to believe the fellow
romanced a little, in order to render his adventure the more
marvellous: but I am certainly informed, that several persons have
entered this passage, and proceeded a considerable way by the light of
torches, without arriving at the source, which (if we may believe the
tradition of the country) is at the distance of eight leagues from this
opening; but this is altogether incredible. The stream is now called la
fontaine de muraille, and is carefully conducted by different branches
into the adjacent vineyards and gardens, for watering the ground. On
the side of the same mountain, more southerly, at the distance of half
a mile, there is another still more copious discharge of the same kind
of water, called la source du temple. It was conveyed through the same
kind of passage, and put to the same use as the other; and I should
imagine they are both from the same source, which, though hitherto
undiscovered, must be at a considerable distance, as the mountain is
continued for several leagues to the westward, without exhibiting the
least signs of water in any other part. But, exclusive of the
subterranean conduits, both these streams must have been conveyed
through aqueducts extending from hence to Cemenelion over steep rocks
and deep ravines, at a prodigious expence. The water from this source
du temple, issues from a stone building which covers the passage in the
rock. It serves to turn several olive, corn, and paper mills, being
conveyed through a modern aqueduct raised upon paultry arcades at the
expence of the public, and afterwards is branched off in very small
streams, for the benefit of this parched and barren country. The Romans
were so used to bathing, that they could not exist without a great
quantity of water; and this, I imagine, is one reason that induced them
to spare no labour and expence in bringing it from a distance, when
they had not plenty of it at home. But, besides this motive, they had
another: they were so nice and delicate in their taste of water, that
they took great pains to supply themselves with the purest and lightest
from afar, for drinking and culinary uses, even while they had plenty
of an inferior sort for their bath, and other domestic purposes. There
are springs of good water on the spot where Cemenelion stood: but there
is a hardness in all well-water, which quality is deposited in running
a long course, especially, if exposed to the influence of the sun and
air. The Romans, therefore, had good reason to soften and meliorate
this element, by conveying it a good length of way in open aqueducts.
What was used in the baths of Cemenelion, they probably brought in
leaden pipes, some of which have been dug up very lately by accident.
You must know, I made a second excursion to these antient ruins, and
measured the arena of the amphitheatre with packthread. It is an oval
figure; the longest diameter extending to about one hundred and
thirteen feet, and the shortest to eighty-eight; but I will not answer
for the exactness of the measurement. In the center of it, there was a
square stone, with an iron ring, to which I suppose the wild beasts
were tied, to prevent their springing upon the spectators. Some of the
seats remain, the two opposite entrances, consisting each of one large
gate, and two lateral smaller doors, arched: there is also a
considerable portion of the external wall; but no columns, or other
ornaments of architecture. Hard by, in the garden of the count de
Gubernatis, I saw the remains of a bath, fronting the portal of the
temple, which I have described in a former letter; and here were some
shafts of marble pillars, particularly a capital of the Corinthian
order beautifully cut, of white alabaster. Here the count found a large
quantity of fine marble, which he has converted to various uses; and
some mutilated statues, bronze as well as marble. The peasant shewed me
some brass and silver medals, which he has picked up at different times
in labouring the ground; together with several oblong beads of coloured
glass, which were used as ear-rings by the Roman ladies; and a small
seal of agate, very much defaced. Two of the medals were of Maximian
and Gallienus; the rest were so consumed, that I could not read the
legend. You know, that on public occasions, such as games, and certain
sacrifices, handfuls of medals were thrown among the people; a
practice, which accounts for the great number which have been already
found in this district. I saw some subterranean passages, which seemed
to have been common sewers; and a great number of old walls still
standing along the brink of a precipice, which overhangs the Paglion.
The peasants tell me, that they never dig above a yard in depth,
without finding vaults or cavities. All the vineyards and
garden-grounds, for a considerable extent, are vaulted underneath; and
all the ground that produces their grapes, fruit, and garden-stuff, is
no more than the crumpled lime and rubbish of old Roman buildings,
mixed with manure brought from Nice. This antient town commanded a most
noble prospect of the sea; but is altogether inaccessible by any kind
of wheel carriage. If you make shift to climb to it on horseback, you
cannot descend to the plain again, without running the risk of breaking
your neck.

About seven or eight miles on the other side of Nice, are the remains
of another Roman monument which has greatly suffered from the barbarity
of successive ages. It was a trophy erected by the senate of Rome, in
honour of Augustus Caesar, when he had totally subdued all the
ferocious nations of these Maritime Alps; such as the Trumpilini
Camuni, Vennontes, Isnarci, Breuni, etc. It stands upon the top of a
mountain which overlooks the town of Monaco, and now exhibits the
appearance of an old ruined tower. There is a description of what it
was, in an Italian manuscript, by which it appears to have been a
beautiful edifice of two stories, adorned with columns and trophies in
alto-relievo, with a statue of Augustus Caesar on the top. On one of
the sides was an inscription, some words of which are still legible,
upon the fragment of a marble found close to the old building: but the
whole is preserved in Pliny, who gives it, in these words, lib. iii.
cap. 20.

  IMPERATORI CAESARI DIVI. F. AVG. PONT.
  MAX. IMP. XIV. TRIBVNIC. POTEST. XVIII.
  S. P. Q. R.
  QVODEIVSDVCTV, AVSPICIISQ. GENIES ALPINAE OMNES,
  QVAE A MARI SVPERO AD INFERVM PERTINEBANT, SVB
  IMPERIVM PO. RO. SUNT REDAC. GENTES ALPINAE DEVICTAE.
  TRVMPILINI CAMVNI, VENNONETES, ISNARCI, BREVNI,
  NAVNES, FOCVNATES, VINDELICORVM GENTES QVATVOR,
  CONSVANETES, VIRVCINATES, LICATES, CATENATES, ABI-
  SONTES, RVGVSCI, SVANETES, CALVCONES, BRIXENTES,
  LEPONTII, VIBERI, NANTVATES, SEDVNI, VERAGRI,
  SALASSI, ACITAVONES MEDVLLI, VCINI, CATVRIGES,
  BRIGIANI, SOGIVNTII, NEMALONES, EDENETES,
  ESVBIANI, VEAMINI, GALLITAE, TRIVLLATI,
  ECTINI, VERGVNNI, EGVITVRI. NEMENTVRI,
  ORATELLI, NERVSCI, VELAVNI, SVETRI.

This Trophy is erected by the Senate and People of Rome to the Emperor
Caesar Augustus, son of the divine Julius, in the fourteenth year of
his imperial Dignity, and in the eighteenth of his Tribunician Power,
because under his command and auspices all the nations of the Alps from
the Adriatic to the Tuscanian Sea, were reduced under the Dominion of
Rome. The Alpine nations subdued were the Trumpelini, etc.

Pliny, however, is mistaken in placing this inscription on a trophy
near the Augusta praetoria, now called Aosta, in Piedmont: where,
indeed, there is a triumphal arch, but no inscription. This noble
monument of antiquity was first of all destroyed by fire; and
afterwards, in Gothic times, converted into a kind of fortification.
The marbles belonging to it were either employed in adorning the church
of the adjoining village, which is still called Turbia, a corruption of
Trophaea; [This was formerly a considerable town called Villa Martis,
and pretends to the honour of having given birth to Aulus Helvius, who
succeeded Commodus as emperor of Rome, by the name of Pertinax which he
acquired from his obstinate refusal of that dignity, when it was forced
upon him by the senate. You know this man, though of very low birth,
possessed many excellent qualities, and was basely murdered by the
praetorian guards, at the instigation of Didius Tulianus. For my part,
I could never read without emotion, that celebrated eulogium of the
senate who exclaimed after his death, Pertinace, imperante, securi
viximus neminem timuimus, patre pio, patre senatus, patre omnium,
honorum, We lived secure and were afraid of nothing under the
Government of Pertinax, our affectionate Father, Father of the Senate,
Father to all the children of Virtue.] or converted into tomb-stones,
or carried off to be preserved in one or two churches of Nice. At
present, the work has the appearance of a ruinous watch-tower, with
Gothic battlements; and as such stands undistinguished by those who
travel by sea from hence to Genoa, and other ports of Italy. I think I
have now described all the antiquities in the neighbourhood of Nice,
except some catacombs or caverns, dug in a rock at St. Hospice, which
Busching, in his geography, has described as a strong town and seaport,
though in fact, there is not the least vestige either of town or
village. It is a point of land almost opposite to the tower of Turbia,
with the mountains of which it forms a bay, where there is a great and
curious fishery of the tunny fish, farmed of the king of Sardinia. Upon
this point there is a watch-tower still kept in repair, to give notice
to the people in the neighbourhood, in case any Barbary corsairs should
appear on the coast. The catacombs were in all probability dug, in
former times, as places of retreat for the inhabitants upon sudden
descents of the Saracens, who greatly infested these seas for several
successive centuries. Many curious persons have entered them and
proceeded a considerable way by torch-light, without arriving at the
further extremity; and the tradition of the country is, that they reach
as far as the ancient city of Cemenelion; but this is an idle
supposition, almost as ridiculous as that which ascribes them to the
labour and ingenuity of the fairies: they consist of narrow
subterranean passages, vaulted with stone and lined with cement. Here
and there one finds detached apartments like small chambers, where I
suppose the people remained concealed till the danger was over.
Diodorus Siculus tells us, that the antient inhabitants of this country
usually lived under ground. "Ligures in terra cubant ut plurimum;
plures ad cava, saxa speluncasque ab natura factas ubi tegantur corpora
divertunt," "The Ligurians mostly lie on the bare ground; many of them
lodge in bare Caves and Caverns where they are sheltered from the
inclemency of the weather." This was likewise the custom of the
Troglodytae, a people bordering upon Aethiopia who, according to
Aelian, lived in subterranean caverns; from whence, indeed they took
their name trogli, signifying a cavern; and Virgil, in his Georgics,
thus describes the Sarmatae,

  Ipsi in defossis specubus, secura sub alta
  Ocia agunt terra.--

  In Subterranean Caves secure they lie
  Nor heed the transient seasons as they fly.

These are dry subjects; but such as the country affords. If we have not
white paper, we must snow with brown. Even that which I am now
scrawling may be useful, if, not entertaining: it is therefore the more
confidently offered by--Dear Sir, Yours affectionately.



LETTER XVII

NICE, July 2, 1764.

DEAR SIR,--Nice was originally a colony from Marseilles. You know the
Phocians (if we may believe Justin and Polybius) settled in Gaul, and
built Marseilles, during the reign of Tarquinius Priscus at Rome. This
city flourished to such a degree, that long before the Romans were in a
condition to extend their dominion, it sent forth colonies, and
established them along the coast of Liguria. Of these, Nice, or Nicaea,
was one of the most remarkable; so called, in all probability, from the
Greek word Nike, signifying Victoria, in consequence of some important
victory obtained over the Salii and Ligures, who were the antient
inhabitants of this country. Nice, with its mother city, being in the
sequel subdued by the Romans, fell afterwards successively under the
dominion of the Goths, Burgundians, and Franks, the kings of Arles, and
the kings of Naples, as counts of Provence. In the year one thousand
three hundred and eighty-eight, the city and county of Nice being but
ill protected by the family of Durazzo, voluntarily surrendered
themselves to Amadaeus, surnamed the Red, duke of Savoy; and since that
period, they have continued as part of that potentate's dominions,
except at such times as they have been over-run and possessed by the
power of France, which hath always been a troublesome neighbour to this
country. The castle was begun by the Arragonian counts of Provence, and
afterwards enlarged by several successive dukes of Savoy, so as to be
deemed impregnable, until the modern method of besieging began to take
place. A fruitless attempt was made upon it in the year one thousand
five hundred and forty-three, by the French and Turks in conjunction:
but it was reduced several times after that period, and is now in
ruins. The celebrated engineer Vauban, being commanded by Louis XIV to
give in a plan for fortifying Nice, proposed, that the river Paglion
should be turned into a new channel, so as to surround the town to the
north, and fall into the harbour; that where the Paglion now runs to
the westward of the city walls, there should be a deep ditch to be
filled with sea-water; and that a fortress should be built to the
westward of this fosse. These particulars might be executed at no very
great expence; but, I apprehend, they would be ineffectual, as the town
is commanded by every hill in the neighbourhood; and the exhalations
from stagnating sea-water would infallibly render the air unwholesome.
Notwithstanding the undoubted antiquity of Nice, very few monuments of
that antiquity now remain. The inhabitants say, they were either
destroyed by the Saracens in their successive descents upon the coast,
by the barbarous nations in their repeated incursions, or used in
fortifying the castle, as well as in building other edifices. The city
of Cemenelion, however, was subject to the same disasters, and even
entirely ruined, nevertheless, we still find remains of its antient
splendor. There have been likewise a few stones found at Nice, with
antient inscriptions; but there is nothing of this kind standing,
unless we give the name of antiquity to a marble cross on the road to
Provence, about half a mile from the city. It stands upon a pretty high
pedestal with steps, under a pretty stone cupola or dome, supported by
four Ionic pillars, on the spot where Charles V. emperor of Germany,
Francis I. of France, and pope Paul II. agreed to have a conference, in
order to determine all their disputes. The emperor came hither by sea,
with a powerful fleet, and the French king by land, at the head of a
numerous army. All the endeavours of his holiness, however, could not
effect a peace; but they agreed to a truce of ten years. Mezerai
affirms, that these two great princes never saw one another on this
occasion; and that this shyness was owing to the management of the
pope, whose private designs might have been frustrated, had they come
to a personal interview. In the front of the colonade, there is a small
stone, with an inscription in Latin, which is so high, and so much
defaced, that I cannot read it.

In the sixteenth century there was a college erected at Nice, by
Emanuel Philibert, duke of Savoy, for granting degrees to students of
law; and in the year one thousand six hundred and fourteen, Charles
Emanuel I. instituted the senate of Nice; consisting of a president,
and a certain number of senators, who are distinguished by their purple
robes, and other ensigns of authority. They administer justice, having
the power of life and death, not only through the whole county of Nice,
but causes are evoked from Oneglia, and some other places, to their
tribunal, which is the dernier ressort, from whence there is no appeal.
The commandant, however, by virtue of his military power and
unrestricted authority, takes upon him to punish individuals by
imprisonment, corporal pains, and banishment, without consulting the
senate, or indeed, observing any form of trial. The only redress
against any unjust exercise of this absolute power, is by complaint to
the king; and you know, what chance a poor man has for being redressed
in this manner.

With respect to religion, I may safely say, that here superstition
reigns under the darkest shades of ignorance and prejudice. I think
there are ten convents and three nunneries within and without the walls
of Nice; and among them all, I never could hear of one man who had made
any tolerable advances in any kind of human learning. All ecclesiastics
are exempted from any exertion of civil power, being under the
immediate protection and authority of the bishop, or his vicar. The
bishop of Nice is suffragan of the archbishop of Ambrun in France; and
the revenues of the see amount to between five and six hundred pounds
sterling. We have likewise an office of the inquisition, though I do
not hear that it presumes to execute any acts of jurisdiction, without
the king's special permission. All the churches are sanctuaries for all
kinds of criminals, except those guilty of high treason; and the
priests are extremely jealous of their privileges in this particular.
They receive, with open arms, murderers, robbers, smugglers, fraudulent
bankrupts, and felons of every denomination; and never give them up,
until after having stipulated for their lives and liberty. I need not
enlarge upon the pernicious consequences of this infamous prerogative,
calculated to raise and extend the power and influence of the Roman
church, on the ruins of morality and good order. I saw a fellow, who
had three days before murdered his wife in the last month of pregnancy,
taking the air with great composure and serenity, on the steps of a
church in Florence; and nothing is more common, than to see the most
execrable villains diverting themselves in the cloysters of some
convents at Rome.

Nice abounds with noblesse, marquisses, counts, and barons. Of these,
three or four families are really respectable: the rest are novi
homines, sprung from Bourgeois, who have saved a little money by their
different occupations, and raised themselves to the rank of noblesse by
purchase. One is descended from an avocat; another from an apothecary;
a third from a retailer of wine, a fourth from a dealer in anchovies;
and I am told, there is actually a count at Villefranche, whose father
sold macaroni in the streets. A man in this country may buy a
marquisate, or a county, for the value of three or four hundred pounds
sterling, and the title follows the fief; but he may purchase lettres
de noblesse for about thirty or forty guineas. In Savoy, there are six
hundred families of noblesse; the greater part of which have not above
one hundred crowns a year to maintain their dignity. In the mountains
of Piedmont, and even in this country of Nice, there are some
representatives of very antient and noble families, reduced to the
condition of common peasants; but they still retain the antient pride
of their houses, and boast of the noble blood that runs in their veins.
A gentleman told me, that in travelling through the mountains, he was
obliged to pass a night in the cottage of one of these rusticated
nobles, who called to his son in the evening, "Chevalier, as-tu donne a
manger aux cochons?" "Have you fed the Hogs, Sir Knight?" This,
however, is not the case with the noblesse of Nice. Two or three of
them have about four or five hundred a year: the rest, in general, may
have about one hundred pistoles, arising from the silk, oil, wine, and
oranges, produced in their small plantations, where they have also
country houses. Some few of these are well built, commodious, and
situated; but, for the most part, they are miserable enough. Our
noblesse, notwithstanding their origin, and the cheap rate at which
their titles have been obtained, are nevertheless extremely tenacious
of their privileges, very delicate in maintaining the etiquette, and
keep at a very stately distance from the Bourgeoisie. How they live in
their families, I do not choose to enquire; but, in public, Madame
appears in her robe of gold, or silver stuff, with her powder and
frisure, her perfumes, her paint and her patches; while Monsieur Le
Comte struts about in his lace and embroidery. Rouge and fard are more
peculiarly necessary in this country, where the complexion and skin are
naturally swarthy and yellow. I have likewise observed, that most of
the females are pot-bellied; a circumstance owing, I believe, to the
great quantity of vegetable trash which they eat. All the horses,
mules, asses, and cattle, which feed upon grass, have the same
distension. This kind of food produces such acid juices in the stomach,
as excite a perpetual sense of hunger. I have been often amazed at the
voracious appetites of these people. You must not expect that I should
describe the tables and the hospitality of our Nissard gentry. Our
consul, who is a very honest man, told me, he had lived four and thirty
years in the country, without having once eat or drank in any of their
houses.

The noblesse of Nice cannot leave the country without express leave
from the king; and this leave, when obtained, is for a limited time,
which they dare not exceed, on pain of incurring his majesty's
displeasure. They must, therefore, endeavour to find amusements at
home; and this, I apprehend, would be no easy task for people of an
active spirit or restless disposition. True it is, the religion of the
country supplies a never-failing fund of pastime to those who have any
relish for devotion; and this is here a prevailing taste. We have had
transient visits of a puppet-shew, strolling musicians, and
rope-dancers; but they did not like their quarters, and decamped
without beat of drum. In the summer, about eight or nine at night, part
of the noblesse may be seen assembled in a place called the Pare; which
is, indeed, a sort of a street formed by a row of very paltry houses on
one side, and on the other, by part of the town-wall, which screens it
from a prospect of the sea, the only object that could render it
agreeable. Here you may perceive the noblesse stretched in pairs upon
logs of wood, like so many seals upon the rocks by moon-light, each
dame with her cicisbeo: for, you must understand, this Italian fashion
prevails at Nice among all ranks of people; and there is not such a
passion as jealousy known. The husband and the cicisbeo live together
as sworn brothers; and the wife and the mistress embrace each other
with marks of the warmest affection. I do not choose to enter into
particulars. I cannot open the scandalous chronicle of Nice, without
hazard of contamination. With respect to delicacy and decorum, you may
peruse dean Swift's description of the Yahoos, and then you will have
some idea of the porcheria, that distinguishes the gallantry of Nice.
But the Pare is not the only place of public resort for our noblesse in
a summer's evening. Just without one of our gates, you will find them
seated in ditches on the highway side, serenaded with the croaking of
frogs, and the bells and braying of mules and asses continually passing
in a perpetual cloud of dust. Besides these amusements, there is a
public conversazione every evening at the commandant's house called the
Government, where those noble personages play at cards for farthings.
In carnival time, there is also, at this same government, a ball twice
or thrice a week, carried on by subscription. At this assembly every
person, without distinction, is permitted to dance in masquerade: but,
after dancing, they are obliged to unmask, and if Bourgeois, to retire.
No individual can give a ball, without obtaining a permission and guard
of the commandant; and then his house is open to all masques, without
distinction, who are provided with tickets, which tickets are sold by
the commandant's secretary, at five sols a-piece, and delivered to the
guard at the door. If I have a mind to entertain my particular friends,
I cannot have more than a couple of violins; and, in that case, it is
called a conversazione.

Though the king of Sardinia takes all opportunities to distinguish the
subjects of Great-Britain with particular marks of respect, I have seen
enough to be convinced, that our nation is looked upon with an evil eye
by the people of Nice; and this arises partly from religious
prejudices, and partly from envy, occasioned by a ridiculous notion of
our superior wealth. For my own part, I owe them nothing on the score
of civilities; and therefore, I shall say nothing more on the subject,
lest I should be tempted to deviate from that temperance and
impartiality which I would fain hope have hitherto characterised the
remarks of,-- Dear Sir, your faithful, humble servant.



LETTER XVIII

NICE, September 2, 1764.

DEAR DOCTOR,--I wrote in May to Mr. B-- at Geneva, and gave him what
information he desired to have, touching the conveniences of Nice. I
shall now enter into the same detail, for the benefit of such of your
friends or patients, as may have occasion to try this climate.

The journey from Calais to Nice, of four persons in a coach, or two
post-chaises, with a servant on horseback, travelling post, may be
performed with ease, for about one hundred and twenty pounds, including
every expence. Either at Calais or at Paris, you will always find a
travelling coach or berline, which you may buy for thirty or forty
guineas, and this will serve very well to reconvey you to your own
country.

In the town of Nice, you will find no ready-furnished lodgings for a
whole family. Just without one of the gates, there are two houses to be
let, ready-furnished, for about five loui'dores per month. As for the
country houses in this neighbourhood, they are damp in winter, and
generally without chimnies; and in summer they are rendered
uninhabitable by the heat and the vermin. If you hire a tenement in
Nice, you must take it for a year certain; and this will cost you about
twenty pounds sterling. For this price, I have a ground floor paved
with brick, consisting of a kitchen, two large halls, a couple of good
rooms with chimnies, three large closets that serve for bed-chambers,
and dressing-rooms, a butler's room, and three apartments for servants,
lumber or stores, to which we ascend by narrow wooden stairs. I have
likewise two small gardens, well stocked with oranges, lemons, peaches,
figs, grapes, corinths, sallad, and pot-herbs. It is supplied with a
draw-well of good water, and there is another in the vestibule of the
house, which is cool, large, and magnificent. You may hire furniture
for such a tenement for about two guineas a month: but I chose rather
to buy what was necessary; and this cost me about sixty pounds. I
suppose it will fetch me about half the money when I leave the place.
It is very difficult to find a tolerable cook at Nice. A common maid,
who serves the people of the country, for three or four livres a month,
will not live with an English family under eight or ten. They are all
slovenly, slothful, and unconscionable cheats. The markets at Nice are
tolerably well supplied. Their beef, which comes from Piedmont, is
pretty good, and we have it all the year. In the winter we have
likewise excellent pork, and delicate lamb; but the mutton is
indifferent. Piedmont, also, affords us delicious capons, fed with
maize; and this country produces excellent turkeys, but very few geese.
Chickens and pullets are extremely meagre. I have tried to fatten them,
without success. In summer they are subject to the pip, and die in
great numbers. Autumn and winter are the seasons for game; hares,
partridges, quails, wild-pigeons, woodcocks, snipes, thrushes,
beccaficas, and ortolans. Wild-boar is sometimes found in the
mountains: it has a delicious taste, not unlike that of the wild hog in
Jamaica; and would make an excellent barbecue, about the beginning of
winter, when it is in good case: but, when meagre, the head only is
presented at tables. Pheasants are very scarce. As for the heath-game,
I never saw but one cock, which my servant bought in the market, and
brought home; but the commandant's cook came into my kitchen, and
carried it of, after it was half plucked, saying, his master had
company to dinner. The hares are large, plump, and juicy. The
partridges are generally of the red sort; large as pullets, and of a
good flavour: there are also some grey partridges in the mountains; and
another sort of a white colour, that weigh four or five pounds each.
Beccaficas are smaller than sparrows, but very fat, and they are
generally eaten half raw. The best way of dressing them is to stuff
them into a roll, scooped of it's crum; to baste them well with butter,
and roast them, until they are brown and crisp. The ortolans are kept
in cages, and crammed, until they die of fat, then eaten as dainties.
The thrush is presented with the trail, because the bird feeds on
olives. They may as well eat the trail of a sheep, because it feeds on
the aromatic herbs of the mountain. In the summer, we have beef, veal,
and mutton, chicken, and ducks; which last are very fat, and very
flabby. All the meat is tough in this season, because the excessive
heat, and great number of flies, will not admit of its being kept any
time after it is killed. Butter and milk, though not very delicate, we
have all the year. Our tea and fine sugar come from Marseilles, at a
very reasonable price.

Nice is not without variety of fish; though they are not counted so
good in their kinds as those of the ocean. Soals, and flat-fish in
general, are scarce. Here are some mullets, both grey and red. We
sometimes see the dory, which is called St Pierre; with rock-fish,
bonita, and mackarel. The gurnard appears pretty often; and there is
plenty of a kind of large whiting, which eats pretty well; but has not
the delicacy of that which is caught on our coast. One of the best fish
of this country, is called Le Loup, about two or three pounds in
weight; white, firm, and well-flavoured. Another, no-way inferior to
it, is the Moustel, about the same size; of a dark-grey colour, and
short, blunt snout; growing thinner and flatter from the shoulders
downwards, so as to resemble a soal at the tail. This cannot be the
mustela of the antients, which is supposed to be the sea lamprey. Here
too are found the vyvre, or, as we call it, weaver; remarkable for its
long, sharp spines, so dangerous to the fingers of the fishermen. We
have abundance of the saepia, or cuttle-fish, of which the people in
this country make a delicate ragout; as also of the polype de mer,
which is an ugly animal, with long feelers, like tails, which they
often wind about the legs of the fishermen. They are stewed with
onions, and eat something like cow-heel. The market sometimes affords
the ecrivisse de mer, which is a lobster without claws, of a sweetish
taste; and there are a few rock oysters, very small and very rank.
Sometimes the fishermen find under water, pieces of a very hard cement,
like plaister of Paris, which contain a kind of muscle, called la
datte, from its resemblance to a date. These petrifactions are commonly
of a triangular form and may weigh about twelve or fifteen pounds each
and one of them may contain a dozen of these muscles which have nothing
extraordinary in the taste or flavour, though extremely curious, as
found alive and juicy, in the heart of a rock, almost as hard as
marble, without any visible communication with the air or water. I take
it for granted, however, that the inclosing cement is porous, and
admits the finer parts of the surrounding fluid. In order to reach the
muscles, this cement must be broke with large hammers; and it may be
truly said, the kernal is not worth the trouble of cracking the shell.
[These are found in great plenty at Ancona and other parts of the
Adriatic, where they go by the name of Bollani, as we are informed by
Keysler.] Among the fish of this country, there is a very ugly animal
of the eel species, which might pass for a serpent: it is of a dusky,
black colour, marked with spots of yellow, about eighteen inches, or
two feet long. The Italians call it murena; but whether it is the fish
which had the same name among the antient Romans, I cannot pretend to
determine. The antient murena was counted a great delicacy, and was
kept in ponds for extraordinary occasions. Julius Caesar borrowed six
thousand for one entertainment: but I imagined this was the river
lamprey. The murena of this country is in no esteem, and only eaten by
the poor people.

Craw-fish and trout are rarely found in the rivers among the mountains.
The sword-fish is much esteemed in Nice, and called l'empereur, about
six or seven feet long: but I have never seen it. [Since I wrote the
above letter, I have eaten several times of this fish, which is as
white as the finest veal, and extremely delicate. The emperor
associates with the tunny fish, and is always taken in their company.]
They are very scarce; and when taken, are generally concealed, because
the head belongs to the commandant, who has likewise the privilege of
buying the best fish at a very low price. For which reason, the choice
pieces are concealed by the fishermen, and sent privately to Piedmont
or Genoa. But, the chief fisheries on this coast are of the sardines,
anchovies, and tunny. These are taken in small quantities all the year;
but spring and summer is the season when they mostly abound. In June
and July, a fleet of about fifty fishing-boats puts to sea every
evening about eight o'clock, and catches anchovies in immense
quantities. One small boat sometimes takes in one night twenty-five
rup, amounting to six hundred weight; but it must be observed, that the
pound here, as well as in other parts of Italy, consists but of twelve
ounces. Anchovies, besides their making a considerable article in the
commerce of Nice, are a great resource in all families. The noblesse
and burgeois sup on sallad and anchovies, which are eaten on all their
meagre days. The fishermen and mariners all along this coast have
scarce any other food but dry bread, with a few pickled anchovies; and
when the fish is eaten, they rub their crusts with the brine. Nothing
can be more delicious than fresh anchovies fried in oil: I prefer them
to the smelts of the Thames. I need not mention, that the sardines and
anchovies are caught in nets; salted, barrelled, and exported into all
the different kingdoms and states of Europe. The sardines, however, are
largest and fattest in the month of September. A company of adventurers
have farmed the tunny-fishery of the king, for six years; a monopoly,
for which they pay about three thousand pounds sterling. They are at a
very considerable expence for nets, boats, and attendance. Their nets
are disposed in a very curious manner across the small bay of St.
Hospice, in this neighbourhood, where the fish chiefly resort. They are
never removed, except in the winter, and when they want repair: but
there are avenues for the fish to enter, and pass, from one inclosure
to another. There is a man in a boat, who constantly keeps watch. When
he perceives they are fairly entered, he has a method for shutting all
the passes, and confining the fish to one apartment of the net, which
is lifted up into the boat, until the prisoners are taken and secured.
The tunny-fish generally runs from fifty to one hundred weight; but
some of them are much larger. They are immediately gutted, boiled, and
cut in slices. The guts and head afford oil: the slices are partly
dried, to be eaten occasionally with oil and vinegar, or barrelled up
in oil, to be exported. It is counted a delicacy in Italy and Piedmont,
and tastes not unlike sturgeon. The famous pickle of the ancients,
called garum, was made of the gills and blood of the tunny, or thynnus.
There is a much more considerable fishery of it in Sardinia, where it
is said to employ four hundred persons; but this belongs to the duc de
St. Pierre. In the neighbourhood of Villa Franca, there are people
always employed in fishing for coral and sponge, which grow adhering to
the rocks under water. Their methods do not favour much of ingenuity.
For the coral, they lower down a swab, composed of what is called
spunyarn on board our ships of war, hanging in distinct threads, and
sunk by means of a great weight, which, striking against the coral in
its descent, disengages it from the rocks; and some of the pieces being
intangled among the threads of the swab, are brought up with it above
water. The sponge is got by means of a cross-stick, fitted with hooks,
which being lowered down, fastens upon it, and tears it from the rocks.
In some parts of the Adriatic and Archipelago, these substances are
gathered by divers, who can remain five minutes below water. But I will
not detain you one minute longer; though I must observe, that there is
plenty of fine samphire growing along all these rocks, neglected and
unknown.--Adieu.



LETTER XIX

NICE, October 10, 1764.

DEAR SIR,--Before I tell you the price of provisions at Nice, it will
be necessary to say something of the money. The gold coin of Sardinia
consists of the doppia di savoia, value twenty-four livres Piedmontese,
about the size of a loui'dore; and the mezzo doppia, or piece of twelve
livres. In silver, there is the scudo of six livres, the mezzo scudo of
three; and the quarto, or pezza di trenta soldi: but all these are very
scarce. We seldom see any gold and silver coin, but the loui'dore, and
the six, and three-livre Pieces of France; a sure sign that the French
suffer by their contraband commerce with the Nissards. The coin chiefly
used at market is a piece of copper silvered, that passes for seven
sols and a half; another of the same sort, valued two sols and a half.
They have on one side the impression of the king's head; and on the
other, the arms of Savoy, with a ducal crown, inscribed with his name
and titles. There are of genuine copper, pieces of one sol, stamped on
one side with a cross fleuree; and on the reverse, with the king's
cypher and crown, inscribed as the others: finally, there is another
small copper piece, called piccalon, the sixth part of a sol, with a
plain cross, and on the reverse, a slip-knot surmounted with a crown;
the legend as above. The impression and legend on the gold and silver
coins, are the same as those on the pieces of seven sols and a half.
The livre of Piedmont consists of twenty sols, and is very near of the
same value as an English shilling: ten sols, therefore, are equal to
six-pence sterling. Butcher's meat in general sells at Nice for three
sols a pound; and veal is something dearer: but then there are but
twelve ounces in the pound, which being allowed for, sixteen ounces,
come for something less than twopence halfpenny English. Fish commonly
sells for four sols the twelve ounces, or five for the English pound;
and these five are equivalent to three-pence of our money: but
sometimes we are obliged to pay five, and even six sols for the
Piedmontese pound of fish. A turkey that would sell for five or six
shillings at the London market, costs me but three at Nice. I can buy a
good capon for thirty sols, or eighteen-pence; and the same price I pay
for a brace of partridges, or a good hare. I can have a woodcock for
twenty-four sols; but the pigeons are dearer than in London. Rabbits
are very rare; and there is scarce a goose to be seen in the whole
county of Nice. Wild-ducks and teal are sometimes to be had in the
winter; and now I am speaking of sea-fowl, it may not be amiss to tell
you what I know of the halcyon, or king's-fisher. It is a bird, though
very rare in this country about the size of a pigeon; the body brown,
and the belly white: by a wonderful instinct it makes its nest upon the
surface of the sea, and lays its eggs in the month of November, when
the Mediterranean is always calm and smooth as a mill-pond. The people
about here call them martinets, because they begin to hatch about
Martinmass. Their nests are sometimes seen floating near the shore, and
generally become the prize of the boys, who are very alert in catching
them.

You know all sea-birds are allowed by the church of Rome to be eaten on
meagre days, as a kind of fish; and the monks especially do not fail to
make use of this permission. Sea turtle, or tortoises, are often found
at sea by the mariners, in these latitudes: but they are not the green
sort, so much in request among the aldermen of London. All the
Mediterranean turtle are of the kind called loggerhead, which in the
West-Indies are eaten by none but hungry seamen, negroes, and the
lowest class of people. One of these, weighing about two hundred
pounds, was lately brought on shore by the fishermen of Nice, who found
it floating asleep on the surface of the sea. The whole town was
alarmed at sight of such a monster, the nature of which they could not
comprehend. However, the monks, called minims, of St. Francesco di
Paolo, guided by a sure instinct, marked it as their prey, and
surrounded it accordingly. The friars of other convents, not quite so
hungry, crowding down to the beach, declared it should not be eaten;
dropped some hints about the possibility of its being something
praeternatural and diabolical, and even proposed exorcisms and
aspersions with holy water. The populace were divided according to
their attachment to this, or that convent: a mighty clamour arose; and
the police, in order to remove the cause of their contention, ordered
the tortoise to be recommitted to the waves; a sentence which the
Franciscans saw executed, not without sighs and lamentation. The
land-turtle, or terrapin, is much better known at Nice, as being a
native of this country; yet the best are brought from the island of
Sardinia. The soup or bouillon of this animal is always prescribed here
as a great restorative to consumptive patients. The bread of Nice is
very indifferent, and I am persuaded very unwholesome. The flour is
generally musty, and not quite free of sand. This is either owing to
the particles of the mill-stone rubbed off in grinding, or to what
adheres to the corn itself, in being threshed upon the common ground;
for there are no threshing-floors in this country. I shall now take
notice of the vegetables of Nice. In the winter, we have green pease,
asparagus, artichoaks, cauliflower, beans, French beans, celery, and
endive; cabbage, coleworts, radishes, turnips, carrots, betteraves,
sorrel lettuce, onions, garlic, and chalot. We have potatoes from the
mountains, mushrooms, champignons, and truffles. Piedmont affords white
truffles, counted the most delicious in the world: they sell for about
three livres the pound. The fruits of this season are pickled olives,
oranges, lemons, citrons, citronelles, dried figs, grapes, apples,
pears, almonds, chestnuts, walnuts, filberts, medlars, pomegranates,
and a fruit called azerolles, [The Italians call them Lazerruoli.]
about the size of a nutmeg, of an oblong shape, red colour, and
agreeable acid taste. I might likewise add the cherry of the Laurus
cerasus, which is sold in the market; very beautiful to the eye, but
insipid to the palate. In summer we have all those vegetables in
perfection. There is also a kind of small courge, or gourd, of which
the people of the country make a very savoury ragout, with the help of
eggs, cheese, and fresh anchovies. Another is made of the badenjean,
which the Spaniards call berengena: [This fruit is called Melanzana in
Italy and is much esteemed by the Jews in Leghorn. Perhaps Melanzana is
a corruption of Malamsana.] it is much eaten in Spain and the Levant,
as well as by the Moors in Barbary. It is about the size and shape of a
hen's egg, inclosed in a cup like an acorn; when ripe, of a faint
purple colour. It grows on a stalk about a foot high, with long spines
or prickles. The people here have different ways of slicing and
dressing it, by broiling, boiling, and stewing, with other ingredients:
but it is at best an insipid dish. There are some caperbushes in this
neighbourhood, which grow wild in holes of garden walls, and require no
sort of cultivation: in one or two gardens, there are palm-trees; but
the dates never ripen. In my register of the weather, I have marked the
seasons of the principal fruits in this country. In May we have
strawberries, which continue in season two or three months. These are
of the wood kind; very grateful, and of a good flavour; but the
scarlets and hautboys are not known at Nice. In the beginning of June,
and even sooner, the cherries begin to be ripe. They are a kind of
bleeding hearts; large, fleshy, and high flavoured, though rather too
luscious. I have likewise seen a few of those we call Kentish cherries
which are much more cool, acid, and agreeable, especially in this hot
climate. The cherries are succeeded by the apricots and peaches, which
are all standards, and of consequence better flavoured than what we
call wall-fruit. The trees, as well as almonds, grow and bear without
care and cultivation, and may be seen in the open fields about Nice,
but without proper culture, the fruit degenerates. The best peaches I
have seen at Nice are the amberges, of a yellow hue, and oblong shape,
about the size of a small lemon. Their consistence is much more solid
than that of our English peaches, and their taste more delicious.
Several trees of this kind I have in my own garden. Here is likewise
plenty of other sorts; but no nectarines. We have little choice of
plumbs. Neither do I admire the pears or apples of this country: but
the most agreeable apples I ever tasted, come from Final, and are
called pomi carli. The greatest fault I find with most fruits in this
climate, is, that they are too sweet and luscious, and want that
agreeable acid which is so cooling and so grateful in a hot country.
This, too, is the case with our grapes, of which there is great plenty
and variety, plump and juicy, and large as plumbs. Nature, however, has
not neglected to provide other agreeable vegetable juices to cool the
human body. During the whole summer, we have plenty of musk melons. I
can buy one as large as my head for the value of an English penny: but
one of the best and largest, weighing ten or twelve pounds, I can have
for twelve sols, or about eight-pence sterling. From Antibes and
Sardinia, we have another fruit called a watermelon, which is well
known in Jamaica, and some of our other colonies. Those from Antibes
are about the size of an ordinary bomb-shell: but the Sardinian and
Jamaica watermelons are four times as large. The skin is green, smooth,
and thin. The inside is a purple pulp, studded with broad, flat, black
seeds, and impregnated with a juice the most cool, delicate, and
refreshing, that can well be conceived. One would imagine the pulp
itself dissolved in the stomach; for you may eat of it until you are
filled up to the tongue, without feeling the least inconvenience. It is
so friendly to the constitution, that in ardent inflammatory fevers, it
is drank as the best emulsion. At Genoa, Florence, and Rome, it is sold
in the streets, ready cut in slices; and the porters, sweating under
their burthens, buy, and eat them as they pass. A porter of London
quenches his thirst with a draught of strong beer: a porter of Rome, or
Naples, refreshes himself with a slice of water-melon, or a glass of
iced-water. The one costs three half-pence; the last, half a
farthing--which of them is most effectual? I am sure the men are
equally pleased. It is commonly remarked, that beer strengthens as well
as refreshes. But the porters of Constantinople, who never drink any
thing stronger than water, and eat very little animal food, will lift
and carry heavier burthens than any other porters in the known world.
If we may believe the most respectable travellers, a Turk will carry a
load of seven hundred weight, which is more (I believe) than any
English porter ever attempted to carry any length of way.

Among the refreshments of these warm countries, I ought not to forget
mentioning the sorbettes, which are sold in coffee-houses, and places
of public resort. They are iced froth, made with juice of oranges,
apricots, or peaches; very agreeable to the palate, and so extremely
cold, that I was afraid to swallow them in this hot country, until I
found from information and experience, that they may be taken in
moderation, without any bad consequence.

Another considerable article in house-keeping is wine, which we have
here good and reasonable. The wine of Tavelle in Languedoc is very near
as good as Burgundy, and may be had at Nice, at the rate of six-pence a
bottle. The sweet wine of St. Laurent, counted equal to that of
Frontignan, costs about eight or nine-pence a quart: pretty good Malaga
may be had for half the money. Those who make their own wine choose the
grapes from different vineyards, and have them picked, pressed, and
fermented at home.

That which is made by the peasants, both red and white, is generally
genuine: but the wine-merchants of Nice brew and balderdash, and even
mix it with pigeons dung and quick-lime. It cannot be supposed, that a
stranger and sojourner should buy his own grapes, and make his own
provision of wine: but he may buy it by recommendation from the
peasants, for about eighteen or twenty livres the charge, consisting of
eleven rup five pounds; in other words, of two hundred and eighty
pounds of this country, so as to bring it for something less than
three-pence a quart. The Nice wine, when mixed with water, makes an
agreeable beverage. There is an inferior sort for servants drank by the
common people, which in the cabaret does not cost above a penny a
bottle. The people here are not so nice as the English, in the
management of their wine. It is kept in flacons, or large flasks,
without corks, having a little oil at top. It is not deemed the worse
for having been opened a day or two before; and they expose it to the
hot sun, and all kinds of weather, without hesitation. Certain it is,
this treatment has little or no effect upon its taste, flavour, and
transparency.

The brandy of Nice is very indifferent: and the liqueurs are so
sweetened with coarse sugar, that they scarce retain the taste or
flavour of any other ingredient.

The last article of domestic oeconomy which I shall mention is fuel, or
wood for firing, which I buy for eleven sols (a little more than
six-pence halfpenny) a quintal, consisting of one hundred and fifty
pound Nice weight. The best, which is of oak, comes from Sardinia. The
common sort is olive, which being cut with the sap in it, ought to be
laid in during the summer; otherwise, it will make a very uncomfortable
fire. In my kitchen and two chambers, I burned fifteen thousand weight
of wood in four weeks, exclusive of charcoal for the kitchen stoves,
and of pine-tops for lighting the fires. These last are as large as
pineapples, which they greatly resemble in shape, and to which, indeed,
they give their name; and being full of turpentine, make a wonderful
blaze. For the same purpose, the people of these countries use the
sarments, or cuttings of the vines, which they sell made up in small
fascines. This great consumption of wood is owing to the large fires
used in roasting pieces of beef, and joints, in the English manner. The
roasts of this country seldom exceed two or three pounds of meat; and
their other plats are made over stove holes. But it is now high time to
conduct you from the kitchen, where you have been too long detained
by--Your humble servant.

P.S.--I have mentioned the prices of almost all the articles in
house-keeping, as they are paid by the English: but exclusive of
butcher's meat, I am certain the natives do not pay so much by thirty
per cent. Their imposition on us, is not only a proof of their own
villany and hatred, but a scandal on their government; which ought to
interfere in favour of the subjects of a nation, to which they are so
much bound in point of policy, as well as gratitude.




LETTER XX

NICE, October 22, 1764.

SIR,--As I have nothing else to do, but to satisfy my own curiosity,
and that of my friends, I obey your injunctions with pleasure; though
not without some apprehension that my inquiries will afford you very
little entertainment. The place where I am is of very little importance
or consequence as a state or community; neither is there any thing
curious or interesting in the character or oeconomy of its inhabitants.

There are some few merchants in Nice, said to be in good circumstances.
I know one of them, who deals to a considerable extent, and goes twice
a year to London to attend the sales of the East-India company. He buys
up a very large quantity of muslins, and other Indian goods, and
freights a ship in the river to transport them to Villa Franca. Some of
these are sent to Swisserland; but, I believe, the greater part is
smuggled into France, by virtue of counterfeit stamps, which are here
used without any ceremony. Indeed, the chief commerce of this place is
a contraband traffick carried on to the disadvantage of France; and I
am told, that the farmers of the Levant company in that kingdom find
their account in conniving at it. Certain it is, a great quantity of
merchandize is brought hither every week by mules from Turin and other
parts in Piedmont, and afterwards conveyed to the other side of the
Var, either by land or water. The mules of Piedmont are exceeding
strong and hardy. One of them will carry a burthen of near six hundred
weight. They are easily nourished, and require no other respite from
their labour, but the night's repose. They are the only carriage that
can be used in crossing the mountains, being very sure-footed: and it
is observed that in choosing their steps, they always march upon the
brink of the precipice. You must let them take their own way, otherwise
you will be in danger of losing your life; for they are obstinate, even
to desperation. It is very dangerous for a person on horseback to meet
those animals: they have such an aversion to horses, that they will
attack them with incredible fury, so as even to tear them and their
riders in pieces; and the best method for avoiding this fate, is to
clap spurs to your beast, and seek your safety in flight. I have been
more than once obliged to fly before them. They always give you
warning, by raising a hideous braying as soon as they perceive the
horse at a distance. The mules of Provence are not so mischievous,
because they are more used to the sight and society of horses: but
those of Piedmont are by far the largest and the strongest I have seen.

Some very feasible schemes for improving the commerce of Nice have been
presented to the ministry of Turin; but hitherto without success. The
English import annually between two and three thousand bales of raw
silk, the growth of Piedmont; and this declaration would be held legal
evidence. In some parts of France, the cure of the parish, on All
Souls' day, which is called le jour des morts, says a libera domine for
two sols, at every grave in the burying-ground, for the release of the
soul whose body is there interred.

The artisans of Nice are very lazy, very needy, very aukward, and void
of all ingenuity. The price of their labour is very near as high as at
London or Paris. Rather than work for moderate profit, arising from
constant employment, which would comfortably maintain them and their
families, they choose to starve at home, to lounge about the ramparts,
bask themselves in the sun, or play at bowls in the streets from
morning 'till night.

The lowest class of people consists of fishermen, day labourers,
porters, and peasants: these last are distributed chiefly in the small
cassines in the neighbourhood of the city, and are said to amount to
twelve thousand. They are employed in labouring the ground, and have
all the outward signs of extreme misery. They are all diminutive,
meagre, withered, dirty, and half naked; in their complexions, not
barely swarthy, but as black as Moors; and I believe many of them are
descendants of that people. They are very hard favoured; and their
women in general have the coarsest features I have ever seen: it must
be owned, however, they have the finest teeth in the world. The
nourishment of those poor creatures consists of the refuse of the
garden, very coarse bread, a kind of meal called polenta, made of
Indian corn, which is very nourishing and agreeable, and a little oil;
but even in these particulars, they seem to be stinted to very scanty
meals. I have known a peasant feed his family with the skins of boiled
beans. Their hogs are much better fed than their children. 'Tis pity
they have no cows, which would yield milk, butter, and cheese, for the
sustenance of their families. With all this wretchedness, one of these
peasants will not work in your garden for less than eighteen sols,
about eleven pence sterling, per diem; and then he does not half the
work of an English labourer. If there is fruit in it, or any thing he
can convey, he will infallibly steal it, if you do not keep a very
watchful eye over him. All the common people are thieves and beggars;
and I believe this is always the case with people who are extremely
indigent and miserable. In other respects, they are seldom guilty of
excesses. They are remarkably respectful and submissive to their
superiors. The populace of Nice are very quiet and orderly. They are
little addicted to drunkenness. I have never heard of one riot since I
lived among them; and murder and robbery are altogether unknown. A man
may walk alone over the county of Nice, at midnight, without danger of
insult. The police is very well regulated. No man is permitted to wear
a pistol or dagger' on pain of being sent to the gallies. I am
informed, that both murder and robbery are very frequent in some parts
of Piedmont. Even here, when the peasants quarrel in their cups, (which
very seldom happens) they draw their knives, and the one infallibly
stabs the other. To such extremities, however, they never proceed,
except when there is a woman in the case; and mutual jealousy
co-operates with the liquor they have drank, to inflame their passions.
In Nice, the common people retire to their lodgings at eight o'clock in
winter, and nine in summer. Every person found in the streets after
these hours, is apprehended by the patrole; and, if he cannot give a
good account of himself, sent to prison. At nine in winter, and ten in
summer, there is a curfew-bell rung, warning the people to put out
their lights, and go to bed. This is a very necessary precaution in
towns subject to conflagrations; but of small use in Nice, where there
is very little combustible in the houses.

The punishments inflicted upon malefactors and delinquents at Nice are
hanging for capital crimes; slavery on board the gallies for a limited
term, or for life, according to the nature of the transgression;
flagellation, and the strappado. This last is performed, by hoisting up
the criminal by his hands tied behind his back, on a pulley about two
stories high; from whence, the rope being suddenly slackened, he falls
to within a yard or two of the ground, where he is stopped with a
violent shock arising from the weight of his body, and the velocity of
his descent, which generally dislocates his shoulders, with incredible
pain. This dreadful execution is sometimes repeated in a few minutes on
the same delinquent; so that the very ligaments are tore from his
joints, and his arms are rendered useless for life.

The poverty of the people in this country, as well as in the South of
France, may be conjectured from the appearance of their domestic
animals. The draughthorses, mules, and asses, of the peasants, are so
meagre, as to excite compassion. There is not a dog to be seen in
tolerable case; and the cats are so many emblems of famine, frightfully
thin, and dangerously rapacious. I wonder the dogs and they do not
devour young children. Another proof of that indigence which reigns
among the common people, is this: you may pass through the whole South
of France, as well as the county of Nice, where there is no want of
groves, woods, and plantations, without hearing the song of blackbird,
thrush, linnet, gold-finch, or any other bird whatsoever. All is silent
and solitary. The poor birds are destroyed, or driven for refuge, into
other countries, by the savage persecution of the people, who spare no
pains to kill, and catch them for their own subsistence. Scarce a
sparrow, red-breast, tomtit, or wren, can 'scape the guns and snares of
those indefatigable fowlers. Even the noblesse make parties to go a la
chasse, a-hunting; that is, to kill those little birds, which they eat
as gibier, or game.

The great poverty of the people here, is owing to their religion. Half
of their time is lost in observing the great number of festivals; and
half of their substance is given to mendicant friars and parish
priests. But if the church occasions their indigence, it likewise, in
some measure, alleviates the horrors of it, by amusing them with shows,
processions, and even those very feasts, which afford a recess from
labour, in a country where the climate disposes them to idleness. If
the peasants in the neighbourhood of any chapel dedicated to a saint,
whose day is to be celebrated, have a mind to make a festin, in other
words, a fair, they apply to the commandant of Nice for a license,
which costs them about a French crown. This being obtained, they
assemble after service, men and women, in their best apparel, and dance
to the musick of fiddles, and pipe and tabor, or rather pipe and drum.
There are hucksters' stands, with pedlary ware and knick-knacks for
presents; cakes and bread, liqueurs and wine; and thither generally
resort all the company of Nice. I have seen our whole noblesse at one
of these festins, kept on the highway in summer, mingled with an
immense crowd of peasants, mules, and asses, covered with dust, and
sweating at every pore with the excessive heat of the weather. I should
be much puzzled to tell whence their enjoyment arises on such
occasions; or to explain their motives for going thither, unless they
are prescribed it for pennance, as a fore-taste of purgatory.

Now I am speaking of religious institutions, I cannot help observing,
that the antient Romans were still more superstitious than the modern
Italians; and that the number of their religious feasts, sacrifices,
fasts, and holidays, was even greater than those of the Christian
church of Rome. They had their festi and profesti, their feriae
stativae, and conceptivae, their fixed and moveable feasts; their
esuriales, or fasting days, and their precidaneae, or vigils. The
agonales were celebrated in January; the carmentales, in January and
February; the lupercales and matronales, in March; the megalesia in
April; the floralia, in May; and the matralia in June. They had their
saturnalia, robigalia, venalia, vertumnalia, fornacalia, palilia, and
laralia, their latinae, their paganales, their sementinae, their
compitales, and their imperativae; such as the novemdalia, instituted
by the senate, on account of a supposed shower of stones. Besides,
every private family had a number of feriae, kept either by way of
rejoicing for some benefit, or mourning for some calamity. Every time
it thundered, the day was kept holy. Every ninth day was a holiday,
thence called nundinae quasi novendinae. There was the dies
denominalis, which was the fourth of the kalends; nones and ides of
every month, over and above the anniversary of every great defeat which
the republic had sustained, particularly the dies alliensis, or
fifteenth of the kalends of December, on which the Romans were totally
defeated by the Gauls and Veientes; as Lucan says--et damnata diu
Romanis allia fastis, and Allia in Rome's Calendar condemn'd. The vast
variety of their deities, said to amount to thirty thousand, with their
respective rites of adoration, could not fail to introduce such a
number of ceremonies, shews, sacrifices, lustrations, and public
processions, as must have employed the people almost constantly from
one end of the year to the other. This continual dissipation must have
been a great enemy to industry; and the people must have been idle and
effeminate. I think it would be no difficult matter to prove, that
there is very little difference, in point of character, between the
antient and modern inhabitants of Rome; and that the great figure which
this empire made of old, was not so much owing to the intrinsic virtue
of its citizens, as to the barbarism, ignorance, and imbecility of the
nations they subdued. Instances of public and private virtue I find as
frequent and as striking in the history of other nations, as in the
annals of antient Rome; and now that the kingdoms and states of Europe
are pretty equally enlightened, and ballanced in the scale of political
power, I am of opinion, that if the most fortunate generals of the
Roman commonwealth were again placed at the head of the very armies
they once commanded, instead of extending their conquests over all
Europe and Asia, they would hardly be able to subdue, and retain under
their dominion, all the petty republics that subsist in Italy.

But I am tired with writing; and I believe you will be tired with
reading this long letter notwithstanding all your prepossession in
favour of--Your very humble servant.



LETTER XXI

NICE, November 10, 1764.

DEAR DOCTOR,--In my enquiries about the revenues of Nice, I am obliged
to trust to the information of the inhabitants, who are much given to
exaggerate. They tell me, the revenues of this town amount to one
hundred thousand livres, or five thousand pounds sterling; of which I
would strike off at least one fourth, as an addition of their own
vanity: perhaps, if we deduct a third, it will be nearer the truth.
For, I cannot find out any other funds they have, but the butchery and
the bakery, which they farm at so much a year to the best bidder; and
the droits d'entree, or duties upon provision brought into the city;
but these are very small. The king is said to draw from Nice one
hundred thousand livres annually, arising from a free-gift, amounting
to seven hundred pounds sterling, in lieu of the taille, from which
this town and county are exempted; an inconsiderable duty upon wine
sold in public-houses; and the droits du port. These last consist of
anchorage, paid by all vessels in proportion to their tonnage, when
they enter the harbours of Nice and Villa Franca. Besides, all foreign
vessels, under a certain stipulated burthen, that pass between the
island of Sardinia and this coast, are obliged, in going to the
eastward, to enter; and pay a certain regulated imposition, on pain of
being taken and made prize. The prince of Monaco exacts a talliage of
the same kind; and both he and the king of Sardinia maintain armed
cruisers to assert this prerogative; from which, however, the English
and French are exempted by treaty, in consequence of having paid a sum
of money at once. In all probability, it was originally given as a
consideration for maintaining lights on the shore, for the benefit of
navigators, like the toll paid for passing the Sound in the Baltic.
[Upon further inquiry I find it was given in consideration of being
protected from the Corsairs by the naval force of the Duke of Savoy and
Prince of Monaco.] The fanal, or lanthorn, to the eastward of Villa
Franca, is kept in good repair, and still lighted in the winter. The
toll, however, is a very troublesome tax upon feluccas, and other small
craft, which are greatly retarded in their voyages, and often lose the
benefit of a fair wind, by being obliged to run inshore, and enter
those harbours. The tobacco the king manufactures at his own expence,
and sells for his own profit, at a very high price; and every person
convicted of selling this commodity in secret, is sent to the gallies
for life. The salt comes chiefly from Sardinia, and is stored up in the
king's magazine from whence it is exported to Piedmont, and other parts
of his inland dominions. And here it may not be amiss to observe, that
Sardinia produces very good horses, well-shaped, though small; strong,
hardy, full of mettle, and easily fed. The whole county of Nice is said
to yield the king half a million of livres, about twenty-five thousand
pounds sterling, arising from a small donative made by every town and
village: for the lands pay no tax, or imposition, but the tithes to the
church. His revenue then flows from the gabelle on salt and wine, and
these free-gifts; so that we may strike off one fifth of the sum at
which the whole is estimated; and conclude, that the king draws from
the county at Nice, about four hundred thousand livres, or twenty
thousand pounds sterling. That his revenues from Nice are not great,
appears from the smallness of the appointments allowed to his officers.
The president has about three hundred pounds per annum; and the
intendant about two. The pay of the commandant does not exceed three
hundred and fifty pounds: but he has certain privileges called the tour
du baton, some of which a man of spirit would not insist upon. He who
commands at present, having no estate of his own, enjoys a small
commandery, which being added to his appointments at Nice, make the
whole amount to about five hundred pounds sterling.

If we may believe the politicians of Nice, the king of Sardinia's whole
revenue does not fall short of twenty millions of Piedmontese livres,
being above one million of our money. It must be owned, that there is
no country in Christendom less taxed than that of Nice; and as the soil
produces the necessaries of life, the inhabitants, with a little
industry, might renew the golden age in this happy climate, among their
groves, woods, and mountains, beautified with fountains, brooks,
rivers, torrents, and cascades. In the midst of these pastoral
advantages, the peasants are poor and miserable. They have no stock to
begin the world with. They have no leases of the lands they cultivate;
but entirely depend, from year to year, on the pleasure of the
arbitrary landholder, who may turn them out at a minute's warning; and
they are oppressed by the mendicant friars and parish priests, who rob
them of the best fruits of their labour: after all, the ground is too
scanty for the number of families which are crouded on it.

You desire to know the state of the arts and sciences at Nice; which,
indeed, is almost a total blank. I know not what men of talents this
place may have formerly produced; but at present, it seems to be
consecrated to the reign of dulness and superstition. It is very
surprising, to see a people established between two enlightened
nations, so devoid of taste and literature. Here are no tolerable
pictures, busts, statues, nor edifices: the very ornaments of the
churches are wretchedly conceived, and worse executed. They have no
public, nor private libraries that afford any thing worth perusing.
There is not even a bookseller in Nice. Though they value themselves
upon their being natives of Italy, they are unacquainted with music.
The few that play upon instruments, attend only to the execution. They
have no genius nor taste, nor any knowledge of harmony and composition.
Among the French, a Nissard piques himself on being Provencal; but in
Florence, Milan, or Rome, he claims the honour of being born a native
of Italy. The people of condition here speak both languages equally
well; or, rather, equally ill; for they use a low, uncouth phraseology;
and their pronunciation is extremely vitious. Their vernacular tongue
is what they call Patois; though in so calling it, they do it
injustice.--Patois, from the Latin word patavinitas, means no more than
a provincial accent, or dialect. It takes its name from Patavium, or
Padua, which was the birthplace of Livy, who, with all his merit as a
writer, has admitted into his history, some provincial expressions of
his own country. The Patois, or native tongue of Nice, is no other than
the ancient Provencal, from which the Italian, Spanish and French
languages, have been formed. This is the language that rose upon the
ruins of the Latin tongue, after the irruptions of the Goths, Vandals,
Huns, and Burgundians, by whom the Roman empire was destroyed. It was
spoke all over Italy, Spain, and the southern parts of France, until
the thirteenth century, when the Italians began to polish it into the
language which they now call their own: The Spaniards and French,
likewise, improved it into their respective tongues. From its great
affinity to the Latin, it was called Romance, a name which the
Spaniards still give to their own language. As the first legends of
knight-errantry were written in Provencal, all subsequent performances
of the same kind, have derived from it the name of romance; and as
those annals of chivalry contained extravagant adventures of knights,
giants, and necromancers, every improbable story or fiction is to this
day called a romance. Mr. Walpole, in his Catalogue of royal and noble
Authors, has produced two sonnets in the antient Provencal, written by
our king Richard I. surnamed Coeur de Lion; and Voltaire, in his
Historical Tracts, has favoured the world with some specimens of the
same language. The Patois of Nice, must, without doubt, have undergone
changes and corruptions in the course of so many ages, especially as no
pains have been taken to preserve its original purity, either in
orthography or pronunciation. It is neglected, as the language of the
vulgar: and scarce any-body here knows either its origin or
constitution. I have in vain endeavoured to procure some pieces in the
antient Provencal, that I might compare them with the modern Patois:
but I can find no person to give me the least information on the
subject. The shades of ignorance, sloth, and stupidity, are
impenetrable. Almost every word of the Patois may still be found in the
Italian, Spanish, and French languages, with a small change in the
pronunciation. Cavallo, signifying a horse in Italian and Spanish is
called cavao; maison, the French word for a house, is changed into
maion; aqua, which means water in Spanish, the Nissards call daigua. To
express, what a slop is here! they say acco fa lac aqui, which is a
sentence composed of two Italian words, one French, and one Spanish.
This is nearly the proportion in which these three languages will be
found mingled in the Patois of Nice; which, with some variation,
extends over all Provence, Languedoc, and Gascony. I will now treat you
with two or three stanzas of a canzon, or hymn, in this language, to
the Virgin Mary, which was lately printed at Nice.

  1

  Vierge, maire de Dieu,
  Nuostro buono avocado,
  Embel car uvostre sieu,
  En Fenestro adourado,
  Jeu vous saludi,
  E demandi en socours;
  E sense autre preludi,
  Canti lous uvostre honours.

  Virgin, mother of God,
  our good advocate,
  With your dear son,
  In Fenestro adored,
  I salute you,
  And ask his assistance;
  And without further prelude,
  I sing your honours.

[Fenestro is the name of a place in this neighbourhood, where there is
a supposed miraculous sanctuary, or chapel, of the Virgin Mary.]

  2.

  Qu'ario de Paradis!
  Que maesta divine!
  Salamon es d'advis,
  Giugiar de uvostro mino;
  Vous dis plus bello:
  E lou dis ben soven
  De toutoi lei femello,
  E non s'engano ren.

  What air of Paradise!
  What majesty divine!
  Solomon is of opinion,
  To judge of your appearance;
  Says you are the fairest
  And it is often said
  Of all females,
  And we are not all deceived.

  3.

  Qu'ario de Paradis!
  Que maesta divine!
  La bellezzo eblovis;
  La bonta l'ueigl raffino.
  Sias couronado;
  Tenes lou monde en man
  Sus del trono assettado,
  Riges lou avostre enfan.

  What air of Paradise!
  What majesty divine!
  The beauty dazzles;
  The goodness purifies the eye:
  You are crowned:
  You hold the world in your hand:
  Seated on the throne,
  You support your child.

You see I have not chosen this canzon for the beauty and elegance of
thought and expression; but give it you as the only printed specimen I
could find of the modern Provencal. If you have any curiosity to be
further acquainted with the Patois, I will endeavour to procure you
satisfaction. Meanwhile, I am, in plain English,--Dear Sir, Ever yours.



LETTER XXII

NICE, November 10, 1764.

DEAR SIR,--I had once thoughts of writing a complete natural history of
this town and county: but I found myself altogether unequal to the
task. I have neither health, strength, nor opportunity to make proper
collections of the mineral, vegetable, and animal productions. I am not
much conversant with these branches of natural philosophy. I have no
books to direct my inquiries. I can find no person capable of giving me
the least information or assistance; and I am strangely puzzled by the
barbarous names they give to many different species, the descriptions
of which I have read under other appelations; and which, as I have
never seen them before, I cannot pretend to distinguish by the eye. You
must therefore be contented with such imperfect intelligence as my
opportunities can afford.

The useful arts practised at Nice, are these, gardening and
agriculture, with their consequences, the making of wine, oil, and
cordage; the rearing of silk-worms, with the subsequent management and
manufacture of that production; and the fishing, which I have already
described.

Nothing can be more unpromising than the natural soil of this
territory, except in a very few narrow bottoms, where there is a stiff
clay, which when carefully watered, yields tolerable pasturage. In
every other part, the soil consists of a light sand mingled with
pebbles, which serves well enough for the culture of vines and olives:
but the ground laid out for kitchen herbs, as well as for other fruit
must be manured with great care and attention. They have no black
cattle to afford such compost as our farmers use in England. The dung
of mules and asses, which are their only beasts of burthen, is of very
little value for this purpose; and the natural sterility of their
ground requires something highly impregnated with nitre and volatile
salts. They have recourse therefore to pigeons' dung and ordure, which
fully answer their expectations. Every peasant opens, at one corner of
his wall, a public house of office for the reception of passengers; and
in the town of Nice, every  tenement is provided with one of these
receptacles, the contents of which are carefully preserved for sale.
The peasant comes with his asses and casks to carry it off before day,
and pays for it according to its quality, which he examines and
investigates, by the taste and flavour. The jakes of a protestant
family, who eat gras every day, bears a much higher price than the
privy of a good catholic who lives maigre one half of the year. The
vaults belonging to the convent of Minims are not worth emptying.

The ground here is not delved with spades as in England, but laboured
with a broad, sharp hough, having a short horizontal handle; and the
climate is so hot and dry in the summer, that the plants must be
watered every morning and evening, especially where it is not shaded by
trees. It is surprising to see how the productions of the earth are
crouded together. One would imagine they would rob one another of
nourishment; and moreover be stifled for want of air; and doubtless
this is in some measure the case. Olive and other fruit trees are
planted in rows very close to each other. These are connected by vines,
and the interstices, between the rows, are filled with corn. The
gardens that supply the town with sallad and pot-herbs, lye all on the
side of Provence, by the highway. They are surrounded with high
stone-walls, or ditches, planted with a kind of cane or large reed,
which answers many purposes in this country. The leaves of it afford
sustenance to the asses, and the canes not only serve as fences to the
inclosures; but are used to prop the vines and pease, and to build
habitations for the silkworms: they are formed into arbours, and wore
as walking-staves. All these gardens are watered by little rills that
come from the mountains, particularly, by the small branches of the two
sources which I have described in a former letter, as issuing from the
two sides of a mountain, under the names of Fontaine de Muraille, and
Fontaine du Temple.

In the neighbourhood of Nice, they raise a considerable quantity of
hemp, the largest and strongest I ever saw. Part of this, when dressed,
is exported to other countries; and part is manufactured into cordage.
However profitable it may be to the grower, it is certainly a great
nuisance in the summer. When taken out of the pits, where it has been
put to rot, the stench it raises is quite insupportable; and must
undoubtedly be unwholesome.

There is such a want of land in this neighbourhood, that terraces are
built over one another with loose stones, on the faces of bare rocks,
and these being covered with earth and manured, are planted with
olives, vines, and corn. The same shift was practised all over
Palestine, which was rocky and barren, and much more populous than the
county of Nice.

Notwithstanding the small extent of this territory, there are some
pleasant meadows in the skirts of Nice, that produce excellent clover;
and the corn which is sown in open fields, where it has the full
benefit of the soil, sun, and air, grows to a surprizing height. I have
seen rye seven or eight feet high. All vegetables have a wonderful
growth in this climate. Besides wheat, rye, barley, and oats, this
country produces a good deal of Meliga, or Turkish wheat, which is what
we call Indian corn. I have, in a former letter, observed that the meal
of this grain goes by the name polenta, and makes excellent
hasty-pudding, being very nourishing, and counted an admirable
pectoral. The pods and stalks are used for fuel: and the leaves are
much preferable to common straw, for making paillasses.

The pease and beans in the garden appear in the winter like beautiful
plantations of young trees in blossom; and perfume the air. Myrtle,
sweet-briar, sweet-marjoram, sage, thyme, lavender, rosemary, with many
other aromatic herbs and flowers, which with us require the most
careful cultivation, are here found wild in the mountains.

It is not many years since the Nissards learned the culture of
silk-worms, of their neighbours the Piedmontese; and hitherto the
progress they have made is not very considerable: the whole county of
Nice produces about one hundred and thirty-three bales of three hundred
pounds each, amounting in value to four hundred thousand livres.

In the beginning of April, when the mulberry-leaves, begin to put
forth, the eggs or grains that produce the silk-worm, are hatched. The
grains are washed in wine, and those that swim on the top, are thrown
away as good for nothing. The rest being deposited in small bags of
linen, are worn by women in their bosoms, until the worms begin to
appear: then they are placed in shallow wooden boxes, covered with a
piece of white paper, cut into little holes, through which the worms
ascend as they are hatched, to feed on the young mulberry-leaves, of
which there is a layer above the paper. These boxes are kept for warmth
between two mattrasses, and visited every day. Fresh leaves are laid
in, and the worms that feed are removed successively to the other place
prepared for their reception. This is an habitation, consisting of two
or three stories, about twenty inches from each other, raised upon four
wooden posts. The floors are made of canes, and strewed with fresh
mulberry-leaves: the corner posts, and other occasional props, for
sustaining the different floors, are covered with a coat of loose
heath, which is twisted round the wood. The worms when hatched are laid
upon the floors; and here you may see them in all the different stages
(if moulting or casting the slough, a change which they undergo three
times successively before they begin to work. The silk-worm is an
animal of such acute and delicate sensations, that too much care cannot
be taken to keep its habitation clean, and to refresh it from time to
time with pure air. I have seen them languish and die in scores, in
consequence of an accidental bad smell. The soiled leaves, and the
filth which they necessarily produce, should be carefully shifted every
day; and it would not be amiss to purify the air sometimes with fumes
of vinegar, rose, or orange-flower water. These niceties, however, are
but little observed. They commonly lie in heaps as thick as shrimps in
a plate, some feeding on the leaves, some new hatched, some intranced
in the agonies of casting their skin, sonic languishing, and some
actually dead, with a litter of half-eaten faded leaves about them, in
a close room, crouded with women and children, not at all remarkable
for their cleanliness. I am assured by some persons of credit, that if
they are touched, or even approached, by a woman in her catamenia, they
infallibly expire. This, however, must be understood of those females
whose skins have naturally a very rank flavour, which is generally
heightened at such periods. The mulberry-leaves used in this country
are of the tree which bears a small white fruit not larger than a
damascene. They are planted on purpose, and the leaves are sold at so
much a pound. By the middle of June all the mulberry-trees are
stripped; but new leaves succeed, and in a few weeks, they are cloathed
again with fresh verdure. In about ten days after the last moulting,
the silk-worm climbs upon the props of his house, and choosing a
situation among the heath, begins to spin in a most curious manner,
until he is quite inclosed,   and the cocon or pod of silk, about the
size of a pigeon's egg, which he has produced remains suspended by
several filaments. It is no unusual to see double cocons, spun by two
worms included under a common cover. There must be an infinite number
of worms to yield any considerable quantity of silk. One ounce of eggs
or grains produces, four rup, or one hundred Nice pounds of cocons; and
one rup, or twenty-five pounds of cocons, if they are rich, gives three
pounds of raw silk; that is, twelve pounds of silk are got from one
ounce of grains, which ounce of grains its produced by as many worms as
are inclosed in one pound, or twelve ounces of cocons. In preserving
the cocons for breed, you must choose an equal number of males and
females; and these are very easily distinguished by the shape of the
cocons; that which contains the male is sharp, and the other obtuse, at
the two ends. In ten or twelve days after the cocon is finished, the
worm makes its way through it, in the form of a very ugly, unwieldy,
aukward butterfly, and as the different sexes are placed by one another
on paper or linen, they immediately engender. The female lays her eggs,
which are carefully preserved; but neither she nor her mate takes any
nourishment, and in eight or ten days after they quit the cocons, they
generally die. The silk of these cocons cannot be wound, because the
animals in piercing through them, have destroyed the continuity of the
filaments. It is therefore, first boiled, and then picked and carded
like wool, and being afterwards spun, is used in the coarser stuffs of
the silk manufacture. The other cocons, which yield the best silk, are
managed in a different manner. Before the inclosed worm has time to
penetrate, the silk is reeled off with equal care and ingenuity. A
handful of the cocons are thrown away into a kettle of boiling water,
which not only kills the animal, but dissolves the glutinous substance
by which the fine filaments of the silk cohere or stick together, so
that they are easily wound off, without breaking. Six or seven of these
small filaments being joined together are passed over a kind of
twisting iron, and fixed to the wheel, which one girl turns, while
another, with her hands in the boiling water, disentangles the threads,
joins them when they chance to break, and supplies fresh cocons with
admirable dexterity and dispatch. There is a manufacture of this kind
just without one of the gates of Nice, where forty or fifty of these
wheels are worked together, and give employment for some weeks to
double the number of young women. Those who manage the pods that float
in the boiling water must be very alert, otherwise they will scald
their fingers. The smell that comes from the boiling cocons is
extremely offensive. Hard by the harbour, there is a very curious mill
for twisting the silk, which goes by water. There is in the town of
Nice, a well regulated hospital for poor orphans of both sexes, where
above one hundred of them are employed in dressing, dyeing, spinning,
and weaving the silk. In the villages of Provence, you see the poor
women in the streets spinning raw silk upon distaves: but here the same
instrument is only used for spinning hemp and flax; which last,
however, is not of the growth of Nice--But lest I should spin this
letter to a tedious length, I will now wind up my bottom, and bid you
heartily farewell.



LETTER XXIII

NICE, December 19, 1764.

SIR,--In my last, I gave you a succinct account of the silkworm, and
the management of that curious insect in this country. I shall now
proceed to describe the methods of making wine and oil.

The vintage begins in September. The grapes being chosen and carefully
picked, are put into a large vat, where they are pressed by a man's
naked feet, and the juices drawn off by a cock below. When no more is
procured by this operation, the bruised grapes are put into the press,
and yield still more liquor. The juice obtained by this double
pressure, being put in casks, with their bungs open, begins to ferment
and discharge its impurities at the openings. The waste occasioned by
this discharge, is constantly supplied with fresh wine, so that the
casks are always full. The fermentation continues for twelve, fifteen,
or twenty days, according to the strength and vigour of the grape. In
about a month, the wine is fit for drinking. When the grapes are of a
bad, meagre kind, the wine dealers mix the juice with pigeons'-dung or
quick-lime, in order to give it a spirit which nature has denied: but
this is a very mischievous adulteration.

The process for oil-making is equally simple. The best olives are those
that grow wild; but the quantity of them is very inconsiderable. Olives
begin to ripen and drop in the beginning of November: but some remain
on the trees till February, and even till April, and these are counted
the most valuable. When the olives are gathered, they must be
manufactured immediately, before they fade and grow wrinkled, otherwise
they will produce bad oil. They are first of all ground into a paste by
a mill-stone set edge-ways in a circular stone-trough, the wheel being
turned by water.

This paste is put into trails or circular cases made of grass woven,
having a round hole at top and bottom; when filled they resemble in
shape our Cheshire cheeses. A number of these placed one upon another,
are put in a press, and being squeezed, the oil with all its
impurities, runs into a receptacle below fixed in the ground. From
hence it is laded into a wooden vat, half filled with water. The sordes
or dirt falls to the bottom; the oil swims a-top; and being skimmed
off, is barrelled up in small oblong casks. What remains in the vat, is
thrown into a large stone cistern with water, and after being often
stirred, and standing twelve or fourteen days, yields a coarser oil
used for lamps and manufactures. After these processes, they extract an
oil still more coarse and fetid from the refuse of the whole.
Sometimes, in order to make the olives grind the more easily into a
paste, and part with more oil, they are mixed with a little hot water:
but the oil thus procured is apt to grow rancid. The very finest,
called virgin oil, is made chiefly of green olives, and sold at a very
high price, because a great quantity is required to produce a very
little oil. Even the stuff that is left after all these operations,
consisting of the dried pulp, is sold for fuel, and used in brasieres
for warming apartments which have no chimney.

I have now specified all the manufactures of Nice which are worth
mentioning. True it is, there is some coarse paper made in this
neighbourhood; there are also people here who dress skins and make
leather for the use of the inhabitants: but this business is very ill
performed: the gloves and shoes are generally rotten as they come from
the hands of the maker. Carpenter's, joiner's, and blacksmith's work is
very coarsely and clumsily done. There are no chairs to be had at Nice,
but crazy things made of a few sticks, with rush bottoms, which are
sold for twelve livres a dozen. Nothing can be more contemptible than
the hard-ware made in this place, such as knives, scissors, and
candle-snuffers. All utensils in brass and copper are very ill made and
finished. The silver-smiths make nothing but spoons, forks, paultry
rings, and crosses for the necks of the women.

The houses are built of a ragged stone dug from the mountains, and the
interstices are filled with rubble; so that the walls would appear very
ugly, if they were not covered with plaister, which has a good effect.
They generally consist of three stories, and are covered with tiles.
The apartments of the better sort are large and lofty, the floors paved
with brick, the roofs covered with a thick coat of stucco, and the
walls whitewashed. People of distinction hang their chambers with
damask, striped silk, painted cloths, tapestry, or printed linnen. All
the doors, as well as the windows, consist of folding leaves. As there
is no wainscot in the rooms, which are divided by stone partitions and
the floors and cieling are covered with brick and stucco, fires are of
much less dreadful consequence here than in our country. Wainscot would
afford harbour for bugs: besides, white walls have a better effect in
this hot climate. The beds commonly used in this place, and all over
Italy, consist of a paillasse, with one or two mattrasses, laid upon
planks, supported by two wooden benches. Instead of curtains there is a
couziniere or mosquito net, made of a kind of gauze, that opens and
contracts occasionally, and incloses the place where you lie: persons
of condition, however, have also bedsteads and curtains; but these last
are never used in the summer.

In these countries, people of all ranks dine exactly at noon; and this
is the time I seize in winter, for making my daily tour of the streets
and ramparts, which at all other hours of the day are crowded with men,
women, children and beasts of burthen. The rampart is the common road
for carriages of all kinds. I think there are two private coaches in
Nice, besides that of the commandant: but there are sedan chairs, which
may be had at a reasonable rate. When I bathed in the summer, I paid
thirty sols, equal to eighteen-pence, for being carried to and from the
bathing place, which was a mile from my own house.

Now I am speaking of bathing, it may not be amiss to inform you that
though there is a fine open beach, extending several miles to the
westward of Nice, those who cannot swim ought to bathe with great
precaution, as the sea is very deep, and the descent very abrupt from
within a yard or two of the water's edge. The people here were much
surprised when I began to bathe in the beginning of May. They thought
it very strange, that a man seemingly consumptive should plunge into
the sea, especially when the weather was so cold; and some of the
doctors prognosticated immediate death. But, when it was perceived that
I grew better in consequence of the bath, some of the Swiss officers
tried the same experiment, and in a few days, our example was followed
by several inhabitants of Nice. There is, however, no convenience for
this operation, from the benefit of which the fair sex must be intirely
excluded, unless they lay aside all regard to decorum; for the shore is
always lined with fishing-boats, and crouded with people. If a lady
should be at the expence of having a tent pitched on the beach where
she might put on and of her bathing-dress, she could not pretend to go
into the sea without proper attendants; nor could she possibly plunge
headlong into the water, which is the most effectual, and least
dangerous way of bathing. All that she can do is to have the sea-water
brought into her house, and make use of a bathing-tub, which may be
made according to her own, or physician's direction.

What further I have to say of this climate and country, you shall have
in my next; and then you will be released from a subject, which I am
afraid has been but too circumstantially handled by-- Sir, Your very
humble servant.



LETTER XXIV

NICE, January 4, 1765.

DEAR SIR.,--The constitution of this climate may be pretty well
ascertained, from the inclosed register of the weather, which I kept
with all possible care and attention. From a perusal of it, you will
see that there is less rain and wind at Nice, than in any other part of
the world that I know; and such is the serenity of the air, that you
see nothing above your head for several months together, but a charming
blue expanse, without cloud or speck. Whatever clouds may be formed by
evaporation of the sea, they seldom or never hover over this small
territory; but, in all probability, are attracted by the mountains that
surround it, and there fall in rain or snow: as for those that gather
from other quarters, I suppose their progress hitherward is obstructed
by those very Alps, which rise one over another, to an extent of many
leagues. This air being dry, pure, heavy, and elastic, must be
agreeable to the constitution of those who labour under disorders
arising from weak nerves, obstructed perspiration, relaxed fibres, a
viscidity of lymph, and a languid circulation. In other respects, it
encourages the scurvy, the atmosphere being undoubtedly impregnated
with sea-salt. Ever since my arrival at Nice, I have had a scorbutical
eruption on my right hand, which diminishes and increases according to
the state of my health. One day last summer, when there was a strong
breeze from the sea, the surface of our bodies was covered with a salt
brine, very perceptible to the taste; my gums, as well as those of
another person in my family, began to swell, and grow painful, though
this had never happened before; and I was seized with violent pains in
the joints of my knees. I was then at a country-house fronting the sea,
and particularly exposed to the marine air. The swelling of our gums
subsided as the wind fell: but what was very remarkable, the
scurvy-spot on my hand disappeared, and did not return for a whole
month. It is affirmed that sea-salt will dissolve, and render the blood
so fluid, that it will exude through the coats of the vessels. Perhaps
the sea-scurvy is a partial dissolution of it, by that mineral absorbed
from the air by the lymphatics on the surface of the body, and by those
of the lungs in respiration. Certain it is, in the last stages of the
sea-scurvy, the blood often bursts from the pores; and this phaenomenon
is imputed to a high degree of putrefaction: sure enough it is attended
with putrefaction. We know that a certain quantity of salt is required
to preserve the animal juices from going putrid: but, how a greater
quantity should produce putrefaction, I leave to wiser heads to
explain. Many people here have scorbutical complaints, though their
teeth are not affected. They are subject to eruptions on the skin,
putrid gums, pains in the bones, lassitude, indigestion, and low
spirits; but the reigning distemper is a marasmus, or consumption,
which proceeds gradually, without any pulmonary complaint, the
complexion growing more and more florid, 'till the very last scene of
the tragedy. This I would impute to the effects of a very dry, saline
atmosphere, upon a thin habit, in which there is an extraordinary waste
by perspiration. The air is remarkably salt in this district, because
the mountains that hem it in, prevent its communication with the
circumambient atmosphere, in which the saline particles would otherwise
be diffused; and there is no rain, nor dew, to precipitate or dissolve
them. Such an air as I have described, should have no bad effect upon a
moist, phlegmatic constitution, such as mine; and yet it must be owned,
I have been visibly wasting since I came hither, though this decay I
considered as the progress of the tabes which began in England. But the
air of Nice has had a still more sensible effect upon Mr. Sch--z, who
laboured under nervous complaints to such a degree, that life was a
burthen to him. He had also a fixed pain in his breast, for which
complaint he had formerly tried the air of Naples, where he resided
some considerable time, and in a great measure recovered: but, this
returning with weakness, faintness, low spirits, and entire loss of
appetite, he was advised to come hither; and the success of his journey
has greatly exceeded his expectation. Though the weather has been
remarkably bad for this climate, he has enjoyed perfect health. Since
he arrived at Nice, the pain in his breast has vanished; he eats
heartily, sleeps well, is in high spirits, and so strong, that he is
never off his legs in the day-time. He can walk to the Var and back
again, before dinner; and he has climbed to the tops of all the
mountains in this neighbourhood. I never saw before such sudden and
happy effects from the change of air. I must also acknowledge, that
ever since my arrival at Nice, I have breathed more freely than I had
done for some years, and my spirits have been more alert. The father of
my housekeeper, who was a dancing-master, had been so afflicted with an
asthmatic disorder, that he could not live in France, Spain, or Italy;
but found the air of Nice so agreeable to his lungs, that he was
enabled to exercise his profession for above twenty years, and died
last spring turned of seventy. Another advantage I have reaped from
this climate is my being, in a great measure, delivered from a slow
fever which used to hang about me, and render life a burthen. Neither
am I so apt to catch cold as I used to be in England and France; and
the colds I do catch are not of the same continuance and consequence,
as those to which I was formerly subject. The air of Nice is so dry,
that in summer, and even in winter, (except ill wet weather) you may
pass the evening, and indeed the whole night, sub Dio, without feeling
the least dew or moisture; and as for fogs, they are never seen in this
district. In summer, the air is cooled by a regular sea-breeze blowing
from the cast, like that of the West-Indies. It begins in the forenoon,
and increases with the heat of the day. It dies away about six or
seven; and immediately after sun-set is succeeded by an agreeable
land-breeze from the mountains. The sea-breeze from the eastward,
however, is not so constant here, as in the West-Indies between the
tropicks, because the sun, which produces it, is not so powerful. This
country lies nearer the region of variable winds, and is surrounded by
mountains, capes, and straights, which often influence the constitution
and current of the air. About the winter solstice, the people of Nice
expect wind and rain, which generally lasts, with intervals, 'till the
beginning of February: but even during this, their worst weather, the
sun breaks out occasionally, and you may take the air either a-foot or
on horseback every day; for the moisture is immediately absorbed by the
earth, which is naturally dry. They likewise lay their account with
being visited by showers of rain and gusts of wind in April. A week's
rain in the middle of August makes them happy. It not only refreshes
the parched ground, and plumps up the grapes and other fruit, but it
cools the air and assuages the beets, which then begin to grow very
troublesome; but the rainy season is about the autumnal equinox, or
rather something later. It continues about twelve days or a fortnight,
and is extremely welcome to the natives of this country. This rainy
season is often delayed 'till the latter end of November, and sometimes
'till the month of December; in which case, the rest of the winter is
generally dry. The heavy rains in this country generally come with a
south-west wind, which was the creberque procellis Africus, the stormy
southwest, of the antients. It is here called Lebeche, a corruption of
Lybicus: it generally blows high for a day or two, and rolls the
Mediterranean before it in huge waves, that often enter the town of
Nice. It likewise drives before it all the clouds which had been formed
above the surface of the Mediterranean. These being expended in rain,
fair weather naturally ensues. For this reason, the Nissards observe le
lebeche racommode le tems, the Lebeche settles the weather. During the
rains of this season, however, the winds have been variable. From the
sixteenth of November, 'till the fourth of January, we have had two and
twenty days of heavy rain: a very extraordinary visitation in this
country: but the seasons seem to be more irregular than formerly, all
over Europe. In the month of July, the mercury in Fahrenheit's
thermometer, rose to eighty-four at Rome, the highest degree at which
it was ever known in that country; and the very next day, the Sabine
mountains were covered with snow. The same phaemomenon happened on the
eleventh of August, and the thirtieth of September. The consequence of
these sudden variations of weather, was this: putrid fevers were less
frequent than usual; but the sudden cheek of perspiration from the
cold, produced colds, inflammatory sore throats, and the rheumatism. I
know instances of some English valetudinarians, who have passed the
winter at Aix, on the supposition that there was little or no
difference between that air and the climate of Nice: but this is a very
great mistake, which may be attended with fatal consequences. Aix is
altogether exposed to the north and north-west winds, which blow as
cold in Provence, as ever I felt them on the mountains of Scotland:
whereas Nice is entirely screened from these winds by the Maritime
Alps, which form an amphitheatre, to the land-side, around this little
territory: but another incontestible proof of the mildness of this
climate, is deduced from the oranges, lemons, citrons, roses,
narcissus's, july-flowers, and jonquils, which ripen and blow in the
middle of winter. I have described the agreeable side of this climate;
and now I will point out its inconveniences. In the winter, but
especially in the spring, the sun is so hot, that one can hardly take
exercise of any sort abroad, without being thrown into a breathing
sweat; and the wind at this season is so cold and piercing, that it
often produces a mischievous effect on the pores thus opened. If the
heat rarifies the blood and juices, while the cold air constringes the
fibres, and obstructs the perspiration, inflammatory disorders must
ensue. Accordingly, the people are then subject to colds, pleurisies,
peripneumonies, and ardent fevers. An old count advised me to stay
within doors in March, car alors les humeurs commencent a se remuer,
for then the humours begin to be in motion. During the heats of summer,
some few persons of gross habits have, in consequence of violent
exercise and excess, been seized with putrid fevers, attended with
exanthemata, erisipelatous, and miliary eruptions, which commonly prove
fatal: but the people in general are healthy, even those that take very
little exercise: a strong presumption in favour of the climate! As to
medicine, I know nothing of the practice of the Nice physicians. Here
are eleven in all; but four or five make shift to live by the
profession. They receive, by way of fee, ten sols (an English
six-pence) a visit, and this is but ill paid: so you may guess whether
they are in a condition to support the dignity of physic; and whether
any man, of a liberal education, would bury himself at Nice on such
terms. I am acquainted with an Italian physician settled at Villa
Franca, a very good sort of a man, who practises for a certain salary,
raised by annual contribution among the better sort of people; and an
allowance from the king, for visiting the sick belonging to the
garrison and the gallies. The whole may amount to near thirty pounds.

Among the inconveniences of this climate, the vermin form no
inconsiderable article. Vipers and snakes are found in the mountains.
Our gardens swarm with lizzards; and there are some few scorpions; but
as yet I have seen but one of this species. In summer, notwithstanding
all the care and precautions we can take, we are pestered with
incredible swarms of flies, fleas, and bugs; but the gnats, or couzins,
are more intolerable than all the rest. In the day-time, it is
impossible to keep the flies out of your mouth, nostrils, eyes, and
ears. They croud into your milk, tea, chocolate, soup, wine, and water:
they soil your sugar, contaminate your victuals, and devour your fruit;
they cover and defile your furniture, floors, cielings, and indeed your
whole body. As soon as candles are lighted, the couzins begin to buz
about your ears in myriads, and torment you with their stings, so that
you have no rest nor respite 'till you get into bed, where you are
secured by your mosquito-net. This inclosure is very disagreeable in
hot weather; and very inconvenient to those, who, like me, are subject
to a cough and spitting. It is moreover ineffectual; for some of those
cursed insects insinuate themselves within it, almost every night; and
half a dozen of them are sufficient to disturb you 'till morning. This
is a plague that continues all the year; but in summer it is
intolerable. During this season, likewise, the moths are so
mischievous, that it requires the utmost care to preserve woollen
cloths from being destroyed. From the month of May, 'till the beginning
of October, the heat is so violent, that you cannot stir abroad after
six in the morning 'till eight at night, so that you are entirely
deprived of the benefit of exercise: There is no shaded walk in, or
near the town; and there is neither coach nor chaise to hire, unless
you travel post. Indeed, there is no road fit for any wheel carriage,
but the common highway to the Var, in which you are scorched by the
reflexion of the sun from the sand and stones, and at the same time
half stifled with dust. If you ride out in the cool of the evening, you
will have the disadvantage of returning in the dark.

Among the demerits of Nice, I must also mention the water which is used
in the city. It is drawn from wells; and for the most part so hard,
that it curdles with soap. There are many fountains and streams in the
neighbourhood, that afford excellent water, which, at no great charge,
might be conveyed into the town, so as to form conduits in all the
public streets: but the inhabitants are either destitute of public
spirit, or cannot afford the expense. [General Paterson delivered a
Plan to the King of Sardinia for supplying Nice with excellent water
for so small an expence as one livre a house per annum; but the
inhabitants remonstrated against it as an intolerable Imposition.] I
have a draw-well in my porch, and another in my garden, which supply
tolerable water for culinary uses; but what we drink, is fetched from a
well belonging to a convent of Dominicans in this neighbourhood. Our
linnen is washed in the river Paglion; and when that is dry, in the
brook called Limpia, which runs into the harbour.

In mentioning the water of this neighbourhood, I ought not to omit the
baths of Rocabiliare, a small town among the mountains, about five and
twenty miles from Nice. There are three sources, each warmer than the
other; the warmest being nearly equal to the heat of the king's bath at
Bath in Somersetshire, as far as I can judge from information. I have
perused a Latin manuscript, which treats of these baths at Rocabiliare,
written by the duke of Savoy's first physician about sixty years ago.
He talks much of the sulphur and the nitre which they contain; but I
apprehend their efficacy is owing to the same volatile vitriolic
principle, which characterises the waters at Bath. They are attenuating
and deobstruent, consequently of service in disorders arising from a
languid circulation, a viscidity of the juices, a lax fibre, and
obstructed viscera. The road from hence to Rocabiliare is in some parts
very dangerous, lying along the brink of precipices, impassable to any
other carriage but a mule. The town itself affords bad lodging and
accommodation, and little or no society. The waters are at the distance
of a mile and a half from the town: there are no baths nor shelter, nor
any sort of convenience for those that drink them; and the best part of
their efficacy is lost, unless they are drank at the fountain-head. If
these objections were in some measure removed, I would advise
valetudinarians, who come hither for the benefit of this climate, to
pass the heats of summer at Rocabiliare, which being situated among
mountains, enjoys a cool temperate air all the summer. This would be a
salutary respite from the salt air of Nice, to those who labour under
scorbutical complaints; and they would return with fresh vigour and
spirits, to pass the winter in this place, where no severity of weather
is known. Last June, when I found myself so ill at my cassine, I had
determined to go to Rocabiliare, and even to erect a hut at the spring,
for my own convenience. A gentleman of Nice undertook to procure me a
tolerable lodging in the house of the cure, who was his relation. He
assured me, there was no want of fresh butter, good poultry, excellent
veal, and delicate trout; and that the articles of living might be had
at Rocabiliare for half the price we paid at Nice: but finding myself
grow better immediately on my return from the cassine to my own house,
I would not put myself to the trouble and expence of a further removal.

I think I have now communicated all the particulars relating to Nice,
that are worth knowing; and perhaps many more than you desired to know:
but, in such cases, I would rather be thought prolix and
unentertaining, than deficient in that regard and attention with which
I am very sincerely,--Your friend and servant.



LETTER XXV

NICE, January 1, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--It was in deference to your opinion, reinforced by my own
inclination, and the repeated advice of other friends, that I resolved
upon my late excursion to Italy. I could plainly perceive from the
anxious solicitude, and pressing exhortations contained in all the
letters I had lately received from my correspondents in Britain, that
you had all despaired of my recovery. You advised me to make a
pilgrimage among the Alps, and the advice was good. In scrambling among
those mountains, I should have benefited by the exercise, and at the
same time have breathed a cool, pure, salubrious air, which, in all
probability, would have expelled the slow fever arising in a great
measure from the heat of this climate. But, I wanted a companion and
fellow traveller, whose conversation and society could alleviate the
horrors of solitude. Besides, I was not strong enough to encounter the
want of conveniences, and even of necessaries to which I must have been
exposed in the course of such an expedition. My worthy friend Dr. A--
earnestly intreated me to try the effect of a sea-voyage, which you
know has been found of wonderful efficacy in consumptive cases. After
some deliberation, I resolved upon the scheme, which I have now happily
executed. I had a most eager curiosity to see the antiquities of
Florence and Rome: I longed impatiently to view those wonderful
edifices, statues, and pictures, which I had so often admired in prints
and descriptions. I felt an enthusiastic ardor to tread that very
classical ground which had been the scene of so many great
atchievements; and I could not bear the thought of returning to England
from the very skirts of Italy, without having penetrated to the capital
of that renowned country. With regard to my health, I knew I could
manage matters so as to enjoy all the benefits that could be expected
from the united energy of a voyage by sea, a journey by land, and a
change of climate.

Rome is betwixt four and five hundred miles distant from Nice, and one
half of the way I was resolved to travel by water. Indeed there is no
other way of going from hence to Genoa, unless you take a mule, and
clamber along the mountains at the rate of two miles an hour, and at
the risque of breaking your neck every minute. The Apennine mountains,
which are no other than a continuation of the maritime Alps, form an
almost continued precipice from Villefranche to Lerici, which is almost
forty-five miles on the other side of Genoa; and as they are generally
washed by the sea, there is no beach or shore, consequently the road is
carried along the face of the rocks, except at certain small intervals,
which are occupied by towns and villages. But, as there is a road for
mules and foot passengers, it might certainly be enlarged and improved
so as to render it practicable by chaises and other wheel-carriages,
and a toll might be exacted, which in a little time would defray the
expence: for certainly no person who travels to Italy, from England,
Holland, France, or Spain, would make a troublesome circuit to pass the
Alps by the way of Savoy and Piedmont, if he could have the convenience
of going post by the way of Aix, Antibes, and Nice, along the side of
the Mediterranean, and through the Riviera of Genoa, which from the sea
affords the most agreeable and amazing prospect I ever beheld. What
pity it is, they cannot restore the celebrated Via Aurelia, mentioned
in the Itinerarium of Antoninus, which extended from Rome by the way of
Genoa, and through this country as far as Arles upon the Rhone. It was
said to have been made by the emperor Marcus Aurelius; and some of the
vestiges of it are still to be seen in Provence. The truth is, the
nobility of Genoa, who are all merchants, from a low, selfish, and
absurd policy, take all methods to keep their subjects of the Riviera
in poverty and dependence. With this view, they carefully avoid all
steps towards rendering that country accessible by land; and at the
same time discourage their trade by sea, lest it should interfere with
the commerce of their capital, in which they themselves are personally
concerned.

Those who either will not or cannot bear the sea, and are equally
averse to riding, may be carried in a common chair, provided with a
foot-board, on men's shoulders: this is the way of travelling practised
by the ladies of Nice, in crossing the mountains to Turin; but it is
very tedious and expensive, as the men must be often relieved.

The most agreeable carriage from here to Genoa, is a feluca, or open
boat, rowed by ten or twelve stout mariners. Though none of these boats
belong to Nice, they are to be found every day in our harbour, waiting
for a fare to Genoa; and they are seen passing and repassing
continually, with merchandize or passengers, between Marseilles,
Antibes, and the Genoese territories. A feluca is large enough to take
in a post-chaise; and there is a tilt over the stern sheets, where the
passengers sit, to protect them from the rain: between the seats one
person may lie commodiously upon a mattress, which is commonly supplied
by the patron. A man in good health may put up with any thing; but I
would advise every valetudinarian who travels this way, to provide his
own chaise, mattrass, and bedlinnen, otherwise he will pass his time
very uncomfortably. If you go as a simple passenger in a feluca, you
pay about a loui'dore for your place, and you must be intirely under
the direction of the patron, who, while he can bear the sea, will
prosecute his voyage by night as well as by day, and expose you to many
other inconveniencies: but for eight zequines, or four loui'dores, you
can have a whole feluca to yourself, from Nice to Genoa, and the master
shall be obliged to put a-shore every evening. If you would have it
still more at your command, you may hire it at so much per day, and in
that case, go on shore as often, and stay as long as you please. This
is the method I should take, were I to make the voyage again; for I am
persuaded I should find it very near as cheap, and much more agreeable
than any other.

The distance between this place and Genoa, when measured on the carte,
does not exceed ninety miles: but the people of the felucas insist upon
its being one hundred and twenty. If they creep along shore round the
bottoms of all the bays, this computation may be true: but, except when
the sea is rough, they stretch directly from one head-land to another,
and even when the wind is contrary, provided the gale is not fresh,
they perform the voyage in two days and a half, by dint of rowing: when
the wind is favourable, they will sail it easily in fourteen hours.

A man who has nothing but expedition in view, may go with the courier,
who has always a light boat well manned, and will be glad to
accommodate a traveller for a reasonable gratification. I know an
English gentleman who always travels with the courier in Italy, both by
sea and land. In posting by land, he is always sure of having part of a
good calash, and the best horses that can be found; and as the expence
of both is defrayed by the public, it costs him nothing but a present
to his companion, which does not amount to one fourth part of the
expence he would incur by travelling alone. These opportunities may be
had every week in all the towns of Italy.

For my own part, I hired a gondola from hence to Genoa. This is a boat
smaller than a feluca, rowed by four men, and steered by the patron;
but the price was nine zequines, rather more than I should have payed
for a feluca of ten oars. I was assured that being very light, it would
make great way; and the master was particularly recommended to me, as
an honest man and an able mariner. I was accompanied in this voyage by
my wife and Miss C--, together with one Mr. R--, a native of Nice, whom
I treated with the jaunt, in hopes that as he was acquainted with the
customs of the country, and the different ways of travelling in it, he
would save us much trouble, and some expence: but I was much
disappointed. Some persons at Nice offered to lay wagers that he would
return by himself from Italy; but they were also disappointed.

We embarked in the beginning of September, attended by one servant. The
heats, which render travelling dangerous in Italy, begin to abate at
this season. The weather was extremely agreeable; and if I had
postponed my voyage a little longer, I foresaw that I should not be
able to return before winter: in which case I might have found the sea
too rough, and the weather too cold for a voyage of one hundred and
thirty-five miles in an open boat.

Having therefore provided myself with a proper pass, signed and sealed
by our consul, as well as with letters of recommendation from him to
the English consuls at Genoa and Leghorn, a precaution which I would
advise all travellers to take, in case of meeting with accidents on the
road, we went on board about ten in the morning, stopped about half an
hour at a friend's country-house in the bay of St. Hospice, and about
noon entered the harbour of Monaco, where the patron was obliged to pay
toll, according to the regulation which I have explained in a former
letter. This small town, containing about eight or nine hundred souls,
besides the garrison, is built on a rock which projects into the sea,
and makes a very romantic appearance. The prince's palace stands in the
most conspicuous part, with a walk of trees before it. The apartments
are elegantly furnished, and adorned with some good pictures. The
fortifications are in good repair, and the place is garrisoned by two
French battalions. The present prince of Monaco is a Frenchman, son of
the duke Matignon who married the heiress of Monaco, whose name was
Grimaldi. The harbour is well sheltered from the wind; but has not
water sufficient to admit vessels of any great burthen. Towards the
north, the king of Sardinia's territories extend to within a mile of
the gate; but the prince of Monaco can go upon his own ground along
shore about five or six miles to the eastward, as far as Menton,
another small town, which also belongs to him, and is situated on the
seaside. His revenues are computed at a million of French livres,
amounting to something more than forty thousand pounds sterling: but,
the principality of Monaco, consisting of three small towns, and an
inconsiderable tract of barren rock, is not worth above seven thousand
a year; the rest arises from his French estate. This consists partly of
the dutchy of Matignon, and partly of the dutchy of Valentinois, which
last was given to the ancestors of this prince of Monaco, in the year
1640, by the French king, to make up the loss of some lands in the
kingdom of Naples, which were confiscated when he expelled the Spanish
garrison from Monaco, and threw himself into the arms of France: so
that he is duke of Valentinois as well as of Matignon, in that kingdom.
He lives almost constantly in France; and has taken the name and arms
of Grimaldi.

The Genoese territories begin at Ventimiglia, another town lying on the
coast, at the distance of twenty miles from Nice, a circumstance from
which it borrows the name. Having passed the towns of Monaco, Menton,
Ventimiglia, and several other places of less consequence that lie
along this coast, we turned the point of St. Martin with a favourable
breeze, and might have proceeded twenty miles further before night: but
the women began to be sick, as well as afraid at the roughness of the
water; Mr. R-- was so discomposed, that he privately desired the patron
to put ashore at St. Remo, on pretence that we should not find a
tolerable auberge in any other place between this and Noli, which was
at the distance of forty miles. We accordingly landed, and were
conducted to the poste, which our gondeliere assured us was the best
auberge in the whole Riviera of Genoa. We ascended by a dark, narrow,
steep stair, into a kind of public room, with a long table and benches,
so dirty and miserable, that it would disgrace the worst hedge
ale-house in England. Not a soul appeared to receive us. This is a
ceremony one must not expect to meet with in France; far less in Italy.
Our patron going into the kitchen, asked a servant if the company could
have lodging in the house; and was answered, "he could not tell: the
patron was not at home." When he desired to know where the patron was,
the other answered, "he was gone to take the air." E andato a
passeggiare. In the mean time, we were obliged to sit in the common
room among watermen and muleteers. At length the landlord arrived, and
gave us to understand, that he could accommodate us with chambers. In
that where I lay, there was just room for two beds, without curtains or
bedstead, an old rotten table covered with dried figs, and a couple of
crazy chairs. The walls had been once white-washed: but were now hung
with cobwebs, and speckled with dirt of all sorts; and I believe the
brick-floor had not been swept for half a century. We supped in an
outward room suitable in all respects to the chamber, and fared
villainously. The provision was very ill-dressed, and served up in the
most slovenly manner. You must not expect cleanliness or conveniency of
any kind in this country. For this accommodation I payed as much as if
I had been elegantly entertained in the best auberge of France or Italy.

Next day, the wind was so high that we could not prosecute our voyage,
so that we were obliged to pass other four and twenty hours in this
comfortable situation. Luckily Mr. R-- found two acquaintances in the
place; one a Franciscan monk, a jolly fellow; and the other a maestro
di capella, who sent a spinnet to the inn, and entertained us agreeably
with his voice and performance, in both of which accomplishments he
excelled. The padre was very good humoured, and favoured us with a
letter of recommendation to a friend of his, a professor in the
university of Pisa. You would laugh to see the hyperbolical terms in
which he mentioned your humble servant; but Italy is the native country
of hyperbole.

St. Remo is a pretty considerable town, well-built upon the declivity
of a gently rising hill, and has a harbour capable of receiving small
vessels, a good number of which are built upon the beach: but ships of
any burden are obliged to anchor in the bay, which is far from being
secure. The people of St. Remo form a small republic, which is subject
to Genoa.

They enjoyed particular privileges, till the year 1753, when in
consequence of a new gabelle upon salt, they revolted: but this effort
in behalf of liberty did not succeed. They were soon reduced by the
Genoese, who deprived them of all their privileges, and built a fort by
the sea-side, which serves the double purpose of defending the harbour
and over-awing the town. The garrison at present does not exceed two
hundred men. The inhabitants are said to have lately sent a deputation
to Ratisbon, to crave the protection of the diet of the empire. There
is very little plain ground in this neighbourhood; but the hills are
covered with oranges, lemons, pomegranates, and olives, which produce a
considerable traffic in fine fruit and excellent oil. The women of St.
Remo are much more handsome and better tempered than those of Provence.
They have in general good eyes, with open ingenuous countenances. Their
dress, though remarkable, I cannot describe: but upon the whole, they
put me in mind of some portraits I have seen, representing the females
of Georgia and Mingrelia.

On the third day, the wind being abated, though still unfavourable, we
reimbarked and rowed along shore, passing by Porto-mauricio, and
Oneglia; then turning the promontory called Capo di Melle, we proceeded
by Albenga, Finale, and many other places of inferior note.
Portomauricio is seated on a rock washed by the sea, but indifferently
fortified, with an inconsiderable harbour, which none but very small
vessels can enter. About two miles to the eastward is Oneglia, a small
town with fortifications, lying along the open beach, and belonging to
the king of Sardinia. This small territory abounds with olive-trees,
which produce a considerable quantity of oil, counted the best of the
whole Riviera. Albenga is a small town, the see of a bishop, suffragan
to the archbishop of Genoa. It lies upon the sea, and the country
produces a great quantity of hemp. Finale is the capital of a
marquisate belonging to the Genoese, which has been the source of much
trouble to the republic; and indeed was the sole cause of their rupture
with the king of Sardinia and the house of Austria in the year 1745.
The town is pretty well built; but the harbour is shallow, open, and
unsafe; nevertheless, they built a good number of tartans and other
vessels on the beach and the neighbouring country abounds with oil and
fruit, particularly with those excellent apples called pomi carli,
which I have mentioned in a former letter.

In the evening we reached the Capo di Noli, counted very dangerous in
blowing weather. It is a very high perpendicular rock or mountain
washed by the sea, which has eaten into it in divers places, so as to
form a great number of caverns. It extends about a couple of miles, and
in some parts is indented into little creeks or bays, where there is a
narrow margin of sandy beach between it and the water. When the wind is
high, no feluca will attempt to pass it; even in a moderate breeze, the
waves dashing against the rocks and caverns, which echo with the sound,
make such an awful noise, and at the same time occasion such a rough
sea, as one cannot hear, and see, and feel, without a secret horror.

On this side of the Cape, there is a beautiful strand cultivated like a
garden; the plantations extend to the very tops of the hills,
interspersed with villages, castles, churches, and villas. Indeed the
whole Riviera is ornamented in the same manner, except in such places
as admit of no building nor  cultivation.

Having passed the Cape, we followed the winding of the coast, into a
small bay, and arrived at the town of Noli, where we proposed to pass
the night. You will be surprised that we did not go ashore sooner, in
order to take some refreshment; but the truth is, we had a provision of
ham, tongues, roasted pullets, cheese, bread, wine, and fruit, in the
feluca, where we every day enjoyed a slight repast about one or two
o'clock in the afternoon. This I mention as a necessary piece of
information to those who may be inclined to follow the same route. We
likewise found it convenient to lay in store of l'eau de vie, or
brandy, for the use of the rowers, who always expect to share your
comforts.  On a meagre day, however, those ragamuffins will rather die
of hunger than suffer the least morsel of flesh-meat to enter their
mouths. I have frequently tried the experiment, by pressing them to eat
something gras, on a Friday or Saturday: but they always declined it
with marks of abhorrence, crying, Dio me ne libere! God deliver me from
it! or some other words to that effect. I moreover observed, that not
one of those fellows ever swore an oath, or spoke an indecent word.
They would by no means put to sea, of a morning, before they had heard
mass; and when the wind was unfavourable, they always set out with a
hymn to the Blessed Virgin, or St. Elmo, keeping time with their oars
as they sung. I have indeed remarked all over this country, that a man
who transgresses the institutions of the church in these small matters,
is much more infamous than one who has committed the most flagrant
crimes against nature and morality. A murderer, adulterer, or s--m--te,
will obtain easy absolution from the church, and even find favour with
society; but a man who eats a pidgeon on a Saturday, without express
licence, is avoided and abhorred, as a monster of reprobation. I have
conversed with several intelligent persons on the subject; and have
reason to believe, that a delinquent of this sort is considered as a
luke-warm catholic, little better than a heretic; and of all crimes
they look upon heresy as the most damnable.

Noli is a small republic of fishermen subject to Genoa; but very
tenacious of their privileges. The town stands on the beach, tolerably
well built, defended by a castle situated on a rock above it; and the
harbour is of little consequence. The auberge was such as made us
regret even the inn we had left at St. Remo. After a very odd kind of
supper, which I cannot pretend to describe, we retired to our repose:
but I had not been in bed five minutes, when I felt something crawling
on different parts of my body, and taking a light to examine, perceived
above a dozen large bugs. You must know I have the same kind of
antipathy to these vermin, that some persons have to a cat or breast of
veal. I started up immediately, and wrapping myself in a great coat,
sick as I was, laid down in the outer room upon a chest, where I
continued till morning.

One would imagine that in a mountainous country like this, there should
be plenty of goats; and indeed, we saw many flocks of them feeding
among the rocks, yet we could not procure half a pint of milk for our
tea, if we had given the weight of it in gold. The people here have no
idea of using milk, and when you ask them for it, they stand gaping
with a foolish face of surprise, which is exceedingly provoking. It is
amazing that instinct does not teach the peasants to feed their
children with goat's milk, so much more nourishing and agreeable than
the wretched sustenance on which they live. Next day we rowed by Vado
and Savona, which last is a large town, with a strong citadel, and a
harbour, which was formerly capable of receiving large ships: but it
fell a sacrifice to the jealousy of the Genoese, who have partly
choaked it up, on pretence that it should not afford shelter to the
ships of war belonging to those states which might be at enmity with
the republic.

Then we passed Albifola, Sestri di Ponente, Novi, Voltri, and a great
number of villages, villas, and magnificent palaces belonging to the
Genoese nobility, which form almost a continued chain of buildings
along the strand for thirty miles.

About five in the afternoon, we skirted the fine suburbs of St. Pietro
d' Arena, and arrived at Genoa, which makes a dazzling appearance when
viewed from the sea, rising like an amphitheatre in a circular form
from the water's edge, a considerable way up the mountains, and
surrounded on the land side by a double wall, the most exterior of
which is said to extend fifteen miles in circuit. The first object that
strikes your eye at a distance, is a very elegant pharos, or
lighthouse, built on the projection of a rock on the west side of the
harbour, so very high, that, in a clear day, you may see it at the
distance of thirty miles. Turning the light-house point, you find
yourself close to the mole, which forms the harbour of Genoa. It is
built at a great expence from each side of the bay, so as to form in
the sea two long magnificent jettes. At the extremity of each is
another smaller lanthorn. These moles are both provided with
brass-cannon, and between them is the entrance into the harbour. But
this is still so wide as to admit a great sea, which, when the wind
blows hard from south and south-west, is very troublesome to the
shipping. Within the mole there is a smaller harbour or wet dock,
called Darsena, for the gallies of the republic. We passed through a
considerable number of ships and vessels lying at anchor, and landing
at the water-gate, repaired to an inn called La Croix de Malthe in the
neighbourhood of the harbour. Here we met with such good entertainment
as prepossessed us in favour of the interior parts of Italy, and
contributed with other motives to detain us some days in this city. But
I have detained you so long, that I believe you wish I may proceed no
farther; and therefore I take my leave for the present, being very
sincerely-- Yours.



LETTER XXVI

NICE, January 15, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--It is not without reason that Genoa is called La superba.
The city itself is very stately; and the nobles are very proud. Some
few of them may be proud of their wealth: but, in general, their
fortunes are very small. My friend Mr. R-- assured me that many Genoese
noblemen had fortunes of half a million of livres per annum: but the
truth is, the whole revenue of the state does not exceed this sum; and
the livre of Genoa is but about nine pence sterling. There are about
half a dozen of their nobles who have ten thousand a year: but the
majority have not above a twentieth part of that sum. They live with
great parsimony in their families; and wear nothing but black in
public; so that their expences are but small. If a Genoese nobleman
gives an entertainment once a quarter, he is said to live upon the
fragments all the rest of the year. I was told that one of them lately
treated his friends, and left the entertainment to the care of his son,
who ordered a dish of fish that cost a zechine, which is equal to about
ten shillings sterling. The old gentleman no sooner saw it appear on
the table, than unable to suppress his concern, he burst into tears,
and exclaimed, Ah Figliuolo indegno! Siamo in Rovina! Siamo in
precipizio! Ah, Prodigal! ruined! undone!

I think the pride or ostentation of the Italians in general takes a
more laudable turn than that of other nations. A Frenchman lays out his
whole revenue upon tawdry suits of cloaths, or in furnishing a
magnificent repas of fifty or a hundred dishes, one half of which are
not eatable nor intended to be eaten. His wardrobe goes to the fripier;
his dishes to the dogs, and himself to the devil, and after his decease
no vestige of him remains. A Genoese, on the other hand, keeps himself
and his family at short allowance, that he may save money to build
palaces and churches, which remain to after-ages so many monuments of
his taste, piety, and munificence; and in the mean time give employment
and bread to the poor and industrious. There are some Genoese nobles
who have each five or six elegant palaces magnificently furnished,
either in the city, or in different parts of the Riviera. The two
streets called Strada Balbi and Strada Nuova, are continued double
ranges of palaces adorned with gardens and fountains: but their being
painted on the outside has, in my opinion, a poor effect.

The commerce of this city is, at present, not very considerable; yet it
has the face of business. The streets are crowded with people; the
shops are well furnished; and the markets abound with all sorts of
excellent provision. The wine made in this neighbourhood is, however,
very indifferent; and all that is consumed must be bought at the public
cantine, where it is sold for the benefit of the state. Their bread is
the whitest and the best I have tasted any where; and the beef, which
they have from Piedmont, is juicy and delicious. The expence of eating
in Italy is nearly the same as in France, about three shillings a head
for every meal. The state of Genoa is very poor, and their bank of St.
George has received such rude shocks, first from the revolt of the
Corsicans, and afterwards from the misfortunes of the city, when it was
taken by the Austrians in the war of 1745, that it still continues to
languish without any near prospect of its credit being restored.
Nothing shews the weakness of their state, more than their having
recourse to the assistance of France to put a stop to the progress of
Paoli in Corsica; for after all that has been said of the gallantry and
courage of Paoli and his islanders, I am very credibly informed that
they might be very easily suppressed, if the Genoese had either vigour
in the council or resolution in the field.

True it is, they made a noble effort in expelling the Austrians who had
taken possession of their city; but this effort was the effect of
oppression and despair, and if I may believe the insinuations of some
politicians in this part of the world, the Genoese would not have
succeeded in that attempt, if they had not previously purchased with a
large sum of money the connivance of the only person who could defeat
the enterprize. For my own part, I can scarce entertain thoughts so
prejudicial to the character of human nature, as to suppose a man
capable of sacrificing to such a consideration, the duty he owed his
prince, as well as all regard to the lives of his soldiers, even those
who lay sick in hospitals, and who, being dragged forth, were miserably
butchered by the furious populace. There is one more presumption of his
innocence, he still retains the favour of his sovereign, who could not
well be supposed to share in the booty. "There are mysteries in
politics which were never dreamed of in our philosophy, Horatio!" The
possession of Genoa might have proved a troublesome bone of contention,
which it might be convenient to lose by accident. Certain it is, when
the Austrians returned after their expulsion, in order to retake the
city, the engineer, being questioned by the general, declared he would
take the place in fifteen days, on pain of losing his head; and in four
days after this declaration the Austrians retired. This anecdote I
learned from a worthy gentleman of this country, who had it from the
engineer's own mouth. Perhaps it was the will of heaven. You see how
favourably, providence has interposed in behalf of the reigning empress
of Russia, first in removing her husband: secondly in ordaining the
assassination of prince Ivan, for which the perpetrators have been so
liberally rewarded; it even seems determined to shorten the life of her
own son, the only surviving rival from whom she had any thing to fear.

The Genoese have now thrown themselves into the arms of France for
protection: I know not whether it would not have been a greater mark of
sagacity to cultivate the friendship of England, with which they carry
on an advantageous commerce. While the English are masters of the
Mediterranean, they will always have it in their power to do incredible
damage all along the Riviera, to ruin the Genoese trade by sea, and
even to annoy the capital; for notwithstanding all the pains they have
taken to fortify the mole and the city, I am greatly deceived if it is
not still exposed to the danger, not only of a bombardment, but even of
a cannonade. I am even sanguine enough to think a resolute commander
might, with a strong squadron, sail directly into the harbour, without
sustaining much damage, notwithstanding all the cannon of the place,
which are said to amount to near five hundred. I have seen a cannonade
of above four hundred pieces of artillery, besides bombs and cohorns,
maintained for many hours, without doing much mischief.

During the last siege of Genoa, the French auxiliaries were obliged to
wait at Monaco, until a gale of wind had driven the English squadron
off the coast, and then they went along shore in small vessels at the
imminent risque of being taken by the British cruisers. By land I
apprehend their march would be altogether impracticable, if the king of
Sardinia had any interest to oppose it. He might either guard the
passes, or break up the road in twenty different places, so as to
render it altogether impassable. Here it may not be amiss to observe,
that when Don Philip advanced from Nice with his army to Genoa, he was
obliged to march so close to the shore, that in above fifty different
places, the English ships might have rendered the road altogether
impassable. The path, which runs generally along the face of a
precipice washed by the sea, is so narrow that two men on horseback can
hardly pass each other; and the road itself so rugged, slippery, and
dangerous, that the troopers were obliged to dismount, and lead their
horses one by one. On the other hand, baron de Leutrum, who was at the
head of a large body of Piedmontese troops, had it in his power to
block up the passes of the mountains, and even to destroy this road in
such a manner, that the enemy could not possibly advance. Why these
precautions were not taken, I do not pretend to explain: neither can I
tell you wherefore the prince of Monaco, who is a subject and partizan
of France, was indulged with a neutrality for his town, which served as
a refreshing-place, a safe port, and an intermediate post for the
French succours sent from Marseilles to Genoa. This I will only venture
to affirm, that the success and advantage of great alliances are often
sacrificed to low, partial, selfish, and sordid considerations. The
town of Monaco is commanded by every heighth in its neighbourhood; and
might be laid in ashes by a bomb-ketch in four hours by sea.

I was fortunate enough to be recommended to a lady in Genoa, who
treated us with great politeness and hospitality. She introduced me to
an abbate, a man of letters, whose conversation was extremely
agreeable. He already knew me by reputation, and offered to make me
known to some of the first persons in the republic, with whom he lived
in intimacy. The lady is one of the most intelligent and best-bred
persons I have known in any country. We assisted at her conversazione,
which was numerous. She pressed us to pass the winter at Genoa; and
indeed I was almost persuaded: but I had attachments at Nice, from
which I could not easily disengage myself.

The few days we staved at Genoa were employed in visiting the most
remarkable churches and palaces. In some of the churches, particularly
that of the Annunciata, I found a profusion of ornaments, which had
more magnificence than taste. There is a great number of pictures; but
very few of them are capital pieces. I had heard much of the ponte
Carignano, which did not at all answer my expectation. It is a bridge
that unites two eminences which form the higher part of the city, and
the houses in the bottom below do not rise so high as the springing of
its arches. There is nothing at all curious in its construction, nor
any way remarkable, except the heighth of the piers from which the
arches are sprung. Hard by the bridge there is an elegant church, from
the top of which you have a very rich and extensive prospect of the
city, the sea and the adjacent country, which looks like a continent of
groves and villas. The only remarkable circumstance about the
cathedral, which is Gothic and gloomy, is the chapel where the
pretended bones of John the Baptist are deposited, and in which thirty
silver lamps are continually burning. I had a curiosity to see the
palaces of Durazzo and Doria, but it required more trouble to procure
admission than I was willing to give myself: as for the arsenal, and
the rostrum of an ancient galley which was found by accident in
dragging the harbour, I postponed seeing them till my return.

Having here provided myself with letters of credit for Florence and
Rome, I hired the same boat which had brought us hither, to carry us
forward to Lerici, which is a small town about half way between Genoa
and Leghorn, where travellers, who are tired of the sea, take
post-chaises to continue their route by land to Pisa and Florence. I
payed three loui'dores for this voyage of about fifty miles; though I
might have had a feluca for less money. When you land on the wharf at
Genoa, you are plied by the feluca men just as you are plied by the
watermen at Hungerford-stairs in London. They are always ready to set
off at a minute's warning for Lerici, Leghorn, Nice, Antibes,
Marseilles, and every part of the Riviera.

The wind being still unfavourable, though the weather was delightful,
we rowed along shore, passing by several pretty towns, villages, and a
vast number of cassines, or little white houses, scattered among woods
of olive-trees, that cover the hills; and these are the habitations of
the velvet and damask weavers. Turning Capo Fino we entered a bay,
where stand the towns of Porto Fino, Lavagna, and Sestri di Levante, at
which last we took up our night's lodging. The house was tolerable, and
we had no great reason to complain of the beds: but, the weather being
hot, there was a very offensive smell, which proceeded from some skins
of beasts new killed, that were spread to dry on an outhouse in the
yard. Our landlord was a butcher, and had very much the looks of an
assassin. His wife was a great masculine virago, who had all the air of
having frequented the slaughter-house. Instead of being welcomed with
looks of complaisance, we were admitted with a sort of gloomy
condescension, which seemed to say, "We don't much like your company;
but, however, you shall have a night's lodging in favour of the patron
of the gondola, who is our acquaintance." In short, we had a very bad
supper, miserably dressed, passed a very disagreeable night, and payed
a very extravagant bill in the morning, without being thanked for our
custom. I was very glad to get out of the house with my throat uncut.

Sestri di Levante is a little town pleasantly situated on the seaside;
but has not the conveniency of a harbour. The fish taken here is mostly
carried to Genoa. This is likewise the market for their oil, and the
paste called macaroni, of which they make a good quantity.

Next day, we skirted a very barren coast, consisting of almost
perpendicular rocks, on the faces of which, however, we saw many
peasants' houses and hanging terraces for vines, made by dint of
incredible labour. In the afternoon, we entered by the Porti di Venere
into the bay, or gulf of Spetia or Spezza, which was the Portus Lunae
of the ancients. This bay, at the mouth of which lies the island
Palmaria, forms a most noble and secure harbour, capacious enough to
contain all the navies in Christendom. The entrance on one side is
defended by a small fort built above the town of Porto Venere, which is
a very poor place. Farther in there is a battery of about twenty guns;
and on the right hand, opposite to Porto Venere, is a block-house,
founded on a rock in the sea. At the bottom of the bay is the town of
Spetia on the left, and on the right that of Lerici, defended by a
castle of very little strength or consequence. The whole bay is
surrounded with plantations of olives and oranges, and makes a very
delightful appearance. In case of a war, this would be an admirable
station for a British squadron, as it lies so near Genoa and Leghorn;
and has a double entrance, by means of which the cruisers could sail in
and out continually, which way soever the wind might chance to sit. I
am sure the fortifications would give very little disturbance.

At the post-house in Lerici, the accommodation is intolerable. We were
almost poisoned at supper. I found the place where I was to lie so
close and confined, that I could not breathe in it, and therefore lay
all night in an outward room upon four chairs, with a leather
portmanteau for my pillow. For this entertainment I payed very near a
loui'dore. Such bad accommodation is the less excusable, as the fellow
has a great deal of business, this being a great thoroughfare for
travellers going into Italy, or returning from thence.

I might have saved some money by prosecuting my voyage directly by sea
to Leghorn: but, by this time, we were all heartily tired of the water,
the business then was to travel by land to Florence, by the way of
Pisa, which is seven posts distant from Lerici. Those who have not
their own carriage must either hire chaises to perform the whole
journey, or travel by way of cambiatura, which is that of changing the
chaises every post, as the custom is in England. In this case the great
inconvenience arises from your being obliged to shift your baggage
every post. The chaise or calesse of this country, is a wretched
machine with two wheels, as uneasy as a common cart, being indeed no
other than what we should call in England a very ill-contrived
one-horse chair, narrow, naked, shattered and shabby. For this vehicle
and two horses you pay at the rate of eight paoli a stage, or four
shillings sterling; and the postilion expects two paoli for his
gratification: so that every eight miles cost about five shillings, and
four only, if you travel in your own carriage, as in that case you pay
no more than at the rate of three paoli a horse.

About three miles from Lerici, we crossed the Magra, which appeared as
a rivulet almost dry, and in half a mile farther arrived at Sarzana, a
small town at the extremity of the Genoese territories, where we
changed horses. Then entering the principalities of Massa and Carrara,
belonging to the duke of Modena, we passed Lavenza, which seems to be a
decayed fort with a small garrison, and dined at Massa, which is an
agreeable little town, where the old dutchess of Modena resides.
Notwithstanding all the expedition we could make, it was dark before we
passed the Cerchio, which is an inconsiderable stream in the
neighbourhood of Pisa, where we arrived about eight in the evening.

The country from Sarzana to the frontiers of Tuscany is a narrow plain,
bounded on the right by the sea, and on the left by the Apennine
mountains. It is well cultivated and inclosed, consisting of
meadow-ground, corn fields, plantations of olives; and the trees that
form the hedge-rows serve as so many props to the vines, which are
twisted round them, and continued from one to another. After entering
the dominions of Tuscany, we travelled through a noble forest of
oak-trees of a considerable extent, which would have appeared much more
agreeable, had we not been benighted and apprehensive of robbers. The
last post but one in this days journey, is at the little town of
Viareggio, a kind of sea-port on the Mediterranean, belonging to Lucia.
The roads are indifferent, and the accommodation is execrable. I was
glad to find myself housed in a very good inn at Pisa, where I promised
myself a good night's rest, and was not disappointed. I heartily wish
you the same pleasure, and am very sincerely--Yours.



LETTER XXVII

NICE, January 28, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--Pisa is a fine old city that strikes you with the same
veneration you would feel at sight of an antient temple which bears the
marks of decay, without being absolutely dilapidated. The houses are
well built, the streets open, straight, and well paved; the shops well
furnished; and the markets well supplied: there are some elegant
palaces, designed by great masters. The churches are built with taste,
and tolerably ornamented. There is a beautiful wharf of freestone on
each side of the river Arno, which runs through the city, and three
bridges thrown over it, of which that in the middle is of marble, a
pretty piece of architecture: but the number of inhabitants is very
inconsiderable; and this very circumstance gives it an air of majestic
solitude, which is far from being unpleasant to a man of a
contemplative turn of mind. For my part, I cannot bear the tumult of a
populous commercial city; and the solitude that reigns in Pisa would
with me be a strong motive to choose it as a place of residence. Not
that this would be the only inducement for living at Pisa. Here is some
good company, and even a few men of taste and learning. The people in
general are counted sociable and polite; and there is great plenty of
provisions, at a very reasonable rate. At some distance from the more
frequented parts of the city, a man may hire a large house for thirty
crowns a year: but near the center, you cannot have good lodgings,
ready furnished, for less than a scudo (about five shillings) a day.
The air in summer is reckoned unwholesome by the exhalations arising
from stagnant water in the neighbourhood of the city, which stands in
the midst of a fertile plain, low and marshy: yet these marshes have
been considerably drained, and the air is much meliorated. As for the
Arno, it is no longer navigated by vessels of any burthen. The
university of Pisa is very much decayed; and except the little business
occasioned by the emperor's gallies, which are built in this town,
[This is a mistake. No gallies have been built here for a great many
years, and the dock is now converted into stables for the Grand Duke's
Horse Guards.] I know of no commerce it carried on: perhaps the
inhabitants live on the produce of the country, which consists of corn,
wine, and cattle. They are supplied with excellent water for drinking,
by an aqueduct consisting of above five thousand arches, begun by
Cosmo, and finished by Ferdinand I. Grand-dukes of Tuscany; it conveys
the water from the mountains at the distance of five miles. This noble
city, formerly the capital of a flourishing and powerful republic,
which contained above one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants,
within its walls, is now so desolate that grass grows in the open
streets; and the number of its people do not exceed sixteen thousand.

You need not doubt but I visited the Campanile, or hanging-tower, which
is a beautiful cylinder of eight stories, each adorned with a round of
columns, rising one above another. It stands by the cathedral, and
inclines so far on one side from the perpendicular, that in dropping a
plummet from the top, which is one hundred and eighty-eight feet high,
it falls sixteen feet from the base. For my part, I should never have
dreamed that this inclination proceeded from any other cause, than an
accidental subsidence of the foundation on this side, if some
connoisseurs had not taken great pains to prove it was done on purpose
by the architect. Any person who has eyes may see that the pillars on
that side are considerably sunk; and this is the case with the very
threshold of the door by which you enter. I think it would have been a
very preposterous ambition in the architects, to show how far they
could deviate from the perpendicular in this construction; because in
that particular any common mason could have rivalled them; [All the
world knows that a Building with such Inclination may be carried up
till a line drawn from the Centre of Gravity falls without the
Circumference of the Base.] and if they really intended it as a
specimen of their art, they should have shortened the pilasters on that
side, so as to exhibit them intire, without the appearance of sinking.
These leaning towers are not unfrequent in Italy; there is one at
Bologna, another at Venice, a third betwixt Venice and Ferrara, and a
fourth at Ravenna; and the inclination in all of them has been supposed
owing to the foundations giving way on one side only.

In the cathedral, which is a large Gothic pile, [This Edifice is not
absolutely Gothic. It was built in the Twelfth Century after the Design
of a Greek Architect from Constantinople, where by that time the art
was much degenerated. The Pillars of Granite are mostly from the
Islands of Ebba and Giglia on the coast of Tuscany, where those
quarries were worked by the antient Romans. The Giullo, and the verde
antico are very beautiful species of marble, yellow and green; the
first, antiently called marmor numidicum, came from Africa; the other
was found (according to Strabo) on the mons Taygetus in Lacedemonia:
but, at present, neither the one nor the other is to be had except
among the ruins of antiquity.] there is a great number of massy pillars
of porphyry, granite, jasper, giullo, and verde antico, together with
some good pictures and statues: but the greatest curiosity is that of
the brass-gates, designed and executed by John of Bologna,
representing, embossed in different compartments, the history of the
Old and New Testament. I was so charmed with this work, that I could
have stood a whole day to examine and admire it. In the Baptisterium,
which stands opposite to this front, there are some beautiful marbles,
particularly the font, and a pulpit, supported by the statues of
different animals.

Between the cathedral and this building, about one hundred paces on one
side, is the famous burying-ground, called Campo Santo, from its being
covered with earth brought from Jerusalem. It is an oblong square,
surrounded by a very high wall, and always kept shut. Within-side there
is a spacious corridore round the whole space, which is a noble walk
for a contemplative philosopher. It is paved chiefly with flat
grave-stones: the walls are painted in fresco by Ghiotto, Giottino,
Stefano, Bennoti, Bufalmaco, and some others of his cotemporaries and
disciples, who flourished immediately after the restoration of
painting. The subjects are taken from the Bible. Though the manner is
dry, the drawing incorrect, the design generally lame, and the
colouring unnatural; yet there is merit in the expression: and the
whole remains as a curious monument of the efforts made by this noble
art immediately after her revival. [The History of Job by Giotto is
much admired.] Here are some deceptions in perspective equally
ingenious and pleasing; particularly the figures of certain animals,
which exhibit exactly the same appearance, from whatever different
points of view they are seen. One division of the burying-ground
consists of a particular compost, which in nine days consumes the dead
bodies to the bones: in all probability, it is no other than common
earth mixed with quick-lime. At one corner of the corridore, there are
the pictures of three bodies represented in the three different stages
of putrefaction which they undergo when laid in this composition. At
the end of the three first days, the body is bloated and swelled, and
the features are enlarged and distorted to such a degree, as fills the
spectator with horror. At the sixth day, the swelling is subsided, and
all the muscular flesh hangs loosened from the bones: at the ninth,
nothing but the skeleton remains. There is a small neat chapel at one
end of the Campo Santo, with some tombs, on one of which is a beautiful
bust by Buona Roti. [Here is a sumptuous cenotaph erected by Pope
Gregory XIII. to the memory of his brother Giovanni Buoncampagni. It is
called the Monumentum Gregorianum, of a violet-coloured marble from
Scravezza in this neighbourhood, adorned with a couple of columns of
Touchstone, and two beautiful spherical plates of Alabaster.] At the
other end of the corridore, there is a range of antient sepulchral
stones ornamented with basso-relievo brought hither from different
parts by the Pisan Fleets in the course of their expeditions. I was
struck with the figure of a woman lying dead on a tomb-stone, covered
with a piece of thin drapery, so delicately cut as to shew all the
flexures of the attitude, and even all the swellings and sinuosities of
the muscles. Instead of stone, it looks like a sheet of wet linen. [One
of these antiquities representing the Hunting of Meleager was converted
into a coffin for the Countess Beatrice, mother of the famous Countess
Mathilda; it is now fixed to the outside of the church wall just by one
of the doors, and is a very elegant piece of sculpture. Near the same
place is a fine pillar of Porphyry supporting the figure of a Lion, and
a kind of urn which seems to be a Sarcophagus, though an inscription
round the Base declares it is a Talentum in which the antient Pisans
measured the Census or Tax which they payed to Augustus: but in what
metal or specie this Census was payed we are left to divine. There are
likewise in the Campo Santo two antique Latin edicts of the Pisan
Senate injoining the citizens to go into mourning for the Death of
Caius and Lucius Caesar the Sons of Agrippa, and heirs declared of the
Emperor. Fronting this Cemetery, on the other side of the Piazza of the
Dome, is a large, elegant Hospital in which the sick are conveniently
and comfortably lodged, entertained, and attended.]

For four zechines I hired a return-coach and four from Pisa to
Florence. This road, which lies along the Arno, is very good; and the
country is delightful, variegated with hill and vale, wood and water,
meadows and corn-fields, planted and inclosed like the counties of
Middlesex and Hampshire; with this difference, however, that all the
trees in this tract were covered with vines, and the ripe clusters
black and white, hung down from every bough in a most luxuriant and
romantic abundance. The vines in this country are not planted in rows,
and propped with sticks, as in France and the county of Nice, but twine
around the hedge-row trees, which they almost quite cover with their
foliage and fruit. The branches of the vine are extended from tree to
tree, exhibiting beautiful festoons of real leaves, tendrils, and
swelling clusters a foot long. By this oeconomy the ground of the
inclosure is spared for corn, grass, or any other production. The trees
commonly planted for the purpose of sustaining the vines, are maple,
elm, and aller, with which last the banks of the Arno abound. [It would
have been still more for the advantage of the Country and the Prospect,
if instead of these they had planted fruit trees for the purpose.] This
river, which is very inconsiderable with respect to the quantity of
water, would be a charming pastoral stream, if it was transparent; but
it is always muddy and discoloured. About ten or a dozen miles below
Florence, there are some marble quarries on the side of it, from whence
the blocks are conveyed in boats, when there is water enough in the
river to float them, that is after heavy rains, or the melting of the
snow upon the mountains of Umbria, being part of the Apennines, from
whence it takes its rise.

Florence is a noble city, that still retains all the marks of a
majestic capital, such as piazzas, palaces, fountains, bridges,
statues, and arcades. I need not tell you that the churches here are
magnificent, and adorned not only with pillars of oriental granite,
porphyry, Jasper, verde antico, and other precious stones; but also
with capital pieces of painting by the most eminent masters. Several of
these churches, however, stand without fronts, for want of money to
complete the plans. It may also appear superfluous to mention my having
viewed the famous gallery of antiquities, the chapel of St. Lorenzo,
the palace of Pitti, the cathedral, the baptisterium, Ponte de Trinita,
with its statues, the triumphal arch, and every thing which is commonly
visited in this metropolis. But all these objects having been
circumstantially described by twenty different authors of travels, I
shall not trouble you with a repetition of trite observations.

That part of the city which stands on each side of the river, makes a
very elegant appearance, to which the four bridges and the stone-quay
between them, contribute in a great measure. I lodged at the widow
Vanini's, an English house delightfully situated in this quarter. The
landlady, who is herself a native of England, we found very obliging.
The lodging-rooms are comfortable; and the entertainment is good and
reasonable. There is a considerable number of fashionable people at
Florence, and many of them in good circumstances. They affect a gaiety
in their dress, equipage, and conversation; but stand very much on
their punctilio with strangers; and will not, without great reluctance,
admit into their assemblies any lady of another country, whose noblesse
is not ascertained by a title. This reserve is in some measure
excusable among a people who are extremely ignorant of foreign customs,
and who know that in their own country, every person, even the most
insignificant, who has any pretensions to family, either inherits, or
assumes the title of principe, conte, or marchese.

With all their pride, however, the nobles of Florence are humble enough
to enter into partnership with shop-keepers, and even to sell wine by
retail. It is an undoubted fact, that in every palace or great house in
this city, there is a little window fronting the street, provided with
an iron-knocker, and over it hangs an empty flask, by way of sign-post.
Thither you send your servant to buy a bottle of wine. He knocks at the
little wicket, which is opened immediately by a domestic, who supplies
him with what he wants, and receives the money like the waiter of any
other cabaret. It is pretty extraordinary, that it should not be deemed
a disparagement in a nobleman to sell half a pound of figs, or a palm
of ribbon or tape, or to take money for a flask of sour wine; and yet
be counted infamous to match his daughter in the family of a person who
has distinguished himself in any one of the learned professions.

Though Florence be tolerably populous, there seems to be very little
trade of any kind in it: but the inhabitants flatter themselves with
the prospect of reaping great advantage from the residence of one of
the arch-dukes, for whose reception they are now repairing the palace
of Pitti. I know not what the revenues of Tuscany may amount to, since
the succession of the princes of Lorraine; but, under the last dukes of
the Medici family, they were said to produce two millions of crowns,
equal to five hundred thousand pounds sterling. These arose from a very
heavy tax upon land and houses, the portions of maidens, and suits at
law, besides the duties upon traffick, a severe gabelle upon the
necessaries of life, and a toll upon every eatable entered into this
capital. If we may believe Leti, the grand duke was then able to raise
and maintain an army of forty thousand infantry, and three thousand
horse; with twelve gallies, two galeasses, and twenty ships of war. I
question if Tuscany can maintain at present above one half of such an
armament. He that now commands the emperor's navy, consisting of a few
frigates, is an Englishman, called Acton, who was heretofore captain of
a ship in our East India company's service. He has lately embraced the
catholic religion, and been created admiral of Tuscany.

There is a tolerable opera in Florence for the entertainment of the
best company, though they do not seem very attentive to the musick.
Italy is certainly the native country of this art; and yet, I do not
find the people in general either more musically inclined, or better
provided with ears than their neighbours. Here is also a wretched troop
of comedians for the burgeois, and lower class of people: but what
seems most to suit the taste of all ranks, is the exhibition of church
pageantry. I had occasion to see a procession, where all the noblesse
of the city attended in their coaches, which filled the whole length of
the great street called the Corso. It was the anniversary of a
charitable institution in favour of poor maidens, a certain number of
whom are portioned every year. About two hundred of these virgins
walked in procession, two and two together, cloathed in violet-coloured
wide gowns, with white veils on their heads, and made a very classical
appearance. They were preceded and followed by an irregular mob of
penitents in sack-cloth, with lighted tapers, and monks carrying
crucifixes, bawling and bellowing the litanies: but the great object
was a figure of the Virgin Mary, as big as the life, standing within a
gilt frame, dressed in a gold stuff, with a large hoop, a great
quantity of false jewels, her face painted and patched, and her hair
frizzled and curled in the very extremity of the fashion. Very little
regard had been paid to the image of our Saviour on the cross; but when
his lady-mother appeared on the shoulders of three or four lusty
friars, the whole populace fell upon their knees in the dirt. This
extraordinary veneration paid to the Virgin, must have been derived
originally from the French, who pique themselves on their gallantry to
the fair sex.

Amidst all the scenery of the Roman catholic religion, I have never yet
seen any of the spectators affected at heart, or discover the least
signs of fanaticism. The very disciplinants, who scourge themselves in
the Holy-week, are generally peasants or parties hired for the purpose.
Those of the confrairies, who have an ambition to distinguish
themselves on such occasions, take care to secure their backs from the
smart, by means of secret armour, either women's boddice, or quilted
jackets. The confrairies are fraternities of devotees, who inlist
themselves under the banners of particular saints. On days of
procession they appear in a body dressed as penitents and masked, and
distinguished by crosses on their habits. There is scarce an
individual, whether noble or plebeian, who does not belong to one of
these associations, which may be compared to the FreeMasons,
Gregoreans, and Antigallicans of England.

Just without one of the gates of Florence, there is a triumphal arch
erected on occasion of the late emperor's making his public entry, when
he succeeded to the dukedom of Tuscany: and herein the summer evenings,
the quality resort to take the air in their coaches. Every carriage
stops, and forms a little separate conversazione. The ladies sit
within, and the cicisbei stand on the foot-boards, on each side of the
coach, entertaining them with their discourse. It would be no
unpleasant inquiry to trace this sort of gallantry to its original, and
investigate all its progress. The Italians, having been accused of
jealousy, were resolved to wipe off the reproach, and, seeking to avoid
it for the future, have run into the other extreme. I know it is
generally supposed that the custom of choosing cicisbei, was calculated
to prevent the extinction of families, which would otherwise often
happen in consequence of marriages founded upon interest, without any
mutual affection in the contracting parties. How far this political
consideration may have weighed against the jealous and vindictive
temper of the Italians, I will not pretend to judge: but, certain it
is, every married lady in this country has her cicisbeo, or servente,
who attends her every where, and on all occasions; and upon whose
privileges the husband dares not encroach, without incurring the
censure and ridicule of the whole community. For my part, I would
rather be condemned for life to the gallies, than exercise the office
of a cicisbeo, exposed to the intolerable caprices and dangerous
resentment of an Italian virago. I pretend not to judge of the national
character, from my own observation: but, if the portraits drawn by
Goldoni in his Comedies are taken from nature, I would not hesitate to
pronounce the Italian women the most haughty, insolent, capricious, and
revengeful females on the face of the earth. Indeed their resentments
are so cruelly implacable, and contain such a mixture of perfidy, that,
in my opinion, they are very unfit subjects for comedy, whose province
it is, rather to ridicule folly than to stigmatize such atrocious vice.

You have often heard it said, that the purity of the Italian is to be
found in the lingua Toscana, and bocca Romana. Certain it is, the
pronunciation of the Tuscans is disagreeably guttural: the letters C
and G they pronounce with an aspiration, which hurts the ear of an
Englishman; and is I think rather rougher than that of the X, in
Spanish. It sounds as if the speaker had lost his palate. I really
imagined the first man I heard speak in Pisa, had met with that
misfortune in the course of his amours.

One of the greatest curiosities you meet with in Italy, is the
Improvisatore; such is the name given to certain individuals, who have
the surprising talent of reciting verses extempore, on any subject you
propose. Mr. Corvesi, my landlord, has a son, a Franciscan friar, who
is a great genius in this way.

When the subject is given, his brother tunes his violin to accompany
him, and he begins to rehearse in recitative, with wonderful fluency
and precision. Thus he will, at a minute's warning, recite two or three
hundred verses, well turned, and well adapted, and generally mingled
with an elegant compliment to the company. The Italians are so fond of
poetry, that many of them, have the best part of Ariosto, Tasso, and
Petrarch, by heart; and these are the great sources from which the
Improvisatori draw their rhimes, cadence, and turns of expression. But,
lest you should think there is neither rhime nor reason in protracting
this tedious epistle, I shall conclude it with the old burden of my
song, that I am always--Your affectionate humble servant.



LETTER XXVIII

NICE, February 5, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--Your entertaining letter of the fifth of last month, was a
very charitable and a very agreeable donation: but your suspicion is
groundless. I assure you, upon my honour, I have no share whatever in
any of the disputes which agitate the public: nor do I know any thing
of your political transactions, except what I casually see in one of
your newspapers, with the perusal of which I am sometimes favoured by
our consul at Villefranche. You insist upon my being more particular in
my remarks on what I saw at Florence, and I shall obey the injunction.
The famous gallery which contains the antiquities, is the third story
of a noble stone-edifice, built in the form of the Greek Pi, the upper
part fronting the river Arno, and one of the legs adjoining to the
ducal-palace, where the courts of justice are held. As the house of
Medici had for some centuries resided in the palace of Pitti, situated
on the other side of the river, a full mile from these tribunals, the
architect Vasari, who planned the new edifice, at the same time
contrived a corridore, or covered passage, extending from the palace of
Pitti along one of the bridges, to the gallery of curiosities, through
which the grand-duke passed unseen, when he was disposed either to
amuse himself with his antiquities, or to assist at his courts of
judicature: but there is nothing very extraordinary either in the
contrivance or execution of this corridore.

If I resided in Florence I would give something extraordinary for
permission to walk every day in the gallery, which I should much prefer
to the Lycaeum, the groves of Academus, or any porch or philosophical
alley in Athens or in Rome. Here by viewing the statues and busts
ranged on each side, I should become acquainted with the faces of all
the remarkable personages, male and female, of antiquity, and even be
able to trace their different characters from the expression of their
features. This collection is a most excellent commentary upon the Roman
historians, particularly Suetonius and Dion Cassius. There was one
circumstance that struck me in viewing the busts of Caracalla, both
here and in the Capitol at Rome; there was a certain ferocity in the
eyes, which seemed to contradict the sweetness of the other features,
and remarkably justified the epithet Caracuyl, by which he was
distinguished by the antient inhabitants of North-Britain. In the
language of the Highlanders caracuyl signifies cruel eye, as we are
given to understand by the ingenious editor of Fingal, who seems to
think that Caracalla is no other than the Celtic word, adapted to the
pronunciation of the Romans: but the truth is, Caracalla was the name
of a Gaulish vestment, which this prince affected to wear; and hence he
derived that surname. The Caracuyl of the Britons, is the same as the
upodra idon of the Greeks, which Homer has so often applied to his
Scolding Heroes. I like the Bacchanalian, chiefly for the fine drapery.
The wind, occasioned by her motion, seems to have swelled and raised it
from the parts of the body which it covers. There is another gay
Bacchanalian, in the attitude of dancing, crowned with ivy, holding in
her right hand a bunch of grapes, and in her left the thyrsus. The head
of the celebrated Flora is very beautiful: the groupe of Cupid and
Psyche, however, did not give me all the pleasure I expected from it.

Of all the marbles that appear in the open gallery, the following are
those I most admire. Leda with the Swan; as for Jupiter, in this
transformation, he has much the appearance of a goose. I have not seen
any thing tamer; but the sculptor has admirably shewn his art in
representing Leda's hand partly hid among the feathers, which are so
lightly touched off, that the very shape of the fingers are seen
underneath. The statue of a youth, supposed to be Ganymede, is compared
by the connoisseurs to the celebrated Venus, and as far as I can judge,
not without reason: it is however, rather agreeable than striking, and
will please a connoisseur much more than a common spectator. I know not
whether it is my regard to the faculty that inhances the value of the
noted Esculapius, who appears with a venerable beard of delicate
workmanship. He is larger than the life, cloathed in a magnificent
pallium, his left arm resting on a knotted staff, round which the snake
is twined according to Ovid.

Hunc modo serpentem baculum qui nexibus ambit Perspice--

Behold the snake his mystic Rod intwine.

He has in his hand the fascia herbarum, and the crepidae on his feet.
There is a wild-boar represented lying on one side, which I admire as a
master-piece. The savageness of his appearance is finely contrasted
with the case and indolence of the attitude. Were I to meet with a
living boar lying with the same expression, I should be tempted to
stroke his bristles. Here is an elegant bust of Antinous, the favourite
of Adrian; and a beautiful head of Alexander the Great, turned on one
side, with an expression of languishment and anxiety in his
countenance. The virtuosi are not agreed about the circumstance in
which he is represented; whether fainting with the loss of blood which
he suffered in his adventure at Oxydrace; or languishing with the fever
contracted by bathing in the Cydnus; or finally complaining to his
father Jove, that there were no other worlds for him to conquer. The
kneeling Narcissus is a striking figure, and the expression admirable.
The two Bacchi are perfectly well executed; but (to my shame be it
spoken) I prefer to the antique that which is the work of Michael
Angelo Buonaroti, concerning which the story is told which you well
know. The artist having been blamed by some pretended connoisseurs, for
not imitating the manner of the ancients, is said to have privately
finished this Bacchus, and buried it, after having broke off an arm,
which he kept as a voucher. The statue, being dug up by accident, was
allowed by the best judges, to be a perfect antique; upon which
Buonaroti produced the arm, and claimed his own work. Bianchi looks
upon this as a fable; but owns that Vasari tells such another of a
child cut in marble by the same artist, which being carried to Rome,
and kept for some time under ground, was dug up as an antique, and sold
for a great deal of money. I was likewise attracted by the Morpheus in
touchstone, which is described by Addison, who, by the bye,
notwithstanding all his taste, has been convicted by Bianchi of several
gross blunders in his account of this gallery.

With respect to the famous Venus Pontia, commonly called de Medicis,
which was found at Tivoli, and is kept in a separate apartment called
the Tribuna, I believe I ought to be intirely silent, or at least
conceal my real sentiments, which will otherwise appear equally absurd
and presumptuous. It must be want of taste that prevents my feeling
that enthusiastic admiration with which others are inspired at sight of
this statue: a statue which in reputation equals that of Cupid by
Praxiteles, which brought such a concourse of strangers of old to the
little town of Thespiae. I cannot help thinking that there is no beauty
in the features of Venus; and that the attitude is aukward and out of
character. It is a bad plea to urge that the antients and we differ in
the ideas of beauty. We know the contrary, from their medals, busts,
and historians. Without all doubt, the limbs and proportions of this
statue are elegantly formed, and accurately designed, according to the
nicest rules of symmetry and proportion; and the back parts especially
are executed so happily, as to excite the admiration of the most
indifferent spectator. One cannot help thinking it is the very Venus of
Cnidos by Praxiteles, which Lucian describes. "Hercle quanta dorsi
concinnitas! ut exuberantes lumbi amplexantes manus implent! quam scite
circumductae clunium pulpae in se rotundantur, neque tenues nimis ipsis
ossibus adstrictae, neque in immensam effusae Pinguedinem!" That the
statue thus described was not the Venus de Medicis, would appear from
the Greek inscription on the base, KLEOMENIS APPOLLODOROI ATHINAIOS
EPOESEI. Cleomenes filius Apollodori fecit; did we not know that this
inscription is counted spurious, and that instead of EPOESEI, it should
be EPOIESE. This, however, is but a frivolous objection, as we have
seen many inscriptions undoubtedly antique, in which the orthography is
false, either from the ignorance or carelessness of the sculptor.
Others suppose, not without reason, that this statue is a
representation of the famous Phryne, the courtesan of Athens, who at
the celebration of the Eleusinian games, exhibited herself coming out
of the bath, naked, to the eyes of the whole Athenian people. I was
much pleased with the dancing faun; and still better with the Lotti, or
wrestlers, the attitudes of which are beautifully contrived to shew the
different turns of the limbs, and the swelling of the muscles: but,
what pleased me best of all the statues in the Tribuna was the
Arrotino, commonly called the Whetter, and generally supposed to
represent a slave, who in the act of whetting a knife, overhears the
conspiracy of Catiline. You know he is represented on one knee; and
certain it is, I never saw such an expression of anxious attention, as
appears in his countenance.  But it is not mingled with any marks of
surprise, such as could not fail to lay hold on a man who overhears by
accident a conspiracy against the state. The marquis de Maffei has
justly observed that Sallust, in his very circumstantial detail of that
conspiracy, makes no mention of any such discovery. Neither does it
appear that the figure is in the act of whetting, the stone which he
holds in one hand being rough and unequal no ways resembling a
whetstone. Others alledge it represents Milico, the freedman of
Scaevinus, who conspired against the life of Nero, and gave his
poignard to be whetted to Milico, who presented it to the emperor, with
an account of the conspiracy: but the attitude and expression will by
no means admit of this interpretation. Bianchi, [This antiquarian is
now imprisoned for Life, for having robbed the Gallery and then set it
on fire.] who shows the gallery, thinks the statue represents the augur
Attius Navius, who cut a stone with a knife, at the command of
Tarquinius Priscus. This conjecture seems to be confirmed by a
medallion of Antoninus Pius, inserted by Vaillant among his Numismata
Prestantiora, on which is delineated nearly such a figure as this in
question, with the following legend. "Attius Navius genuflexus ante
Tarquinium Priscum cotem cultro discidit." He owns indeed that in the
statue, the augur is not distinguished either by his habit or emblems;
and he might have added, neither is the stone a cotes. For my own part,
I think neither of these three opinions is satisfactory, though the
last is very ingenious. Perhaps the figure allude to a private
incident, which never was recorded in any history. Among the great
number of pictures in this Tribuna, I was most charmed with the Venus
by Titian, which has a sweetness of expression and tenderness of
colouring, not to be described. In this apartment, they reckon three
hundred pieces, the greatest part by the best masters, particularly by
Raphael, in the three manners by which he distinguished himself at
different periods of his life. As for the celebrated statue of the
hermaphrodite, which we find in another room, I give the sculptor
credit for his ingenuity in mingling the sexes in the composition; but
it is, at best, no other than a monster in nature, which I never had
any pleasure in viewing: nor, indeed, do I think there was much talent
required in representing a figure with the head and breasts of a woman,
and all the other parts of the body masculine. There is such a
profusion of curiosities in this celebrated musaeum; statues, busts,
pictures, medals, tables inlaid in the way of marquetry, cabinets
adorned with precious stones, jewels of all sorts, mathematical
instruments, antient arms and military machines, that the imagination
is bewildered, and a stranger of a visionary turn, would be apt to
fancy himself in a palace of the fairies, raised and adorned by the
power of inchantment.

In one of the detached apartments, I saw the antependium of the altar,
designed for the famous chapel of St. Lorenzo. It is a curious piece of
architecture, inlaid with coloured marble and precious stones, so as to
represent an infinite variety of natural objects. It is adorned with
some crystal pillars, with capitals of beaten gold. The second story of
the building is occupied by a great number of artists employed in this
very curious work of marquetry, representing figures with gems and
different kinds of coloured marble, for the use of the emperor. The
Italians call it pietre commesse, a sort of inlaying with stones,
analogous to the fineering of cabinets in wood. It is peculiar to
Florence, and seems to be still more curious than the Mosaic work,
which the Romans have brought to great perfection.

The cathedral of Florence is a great Gothic building, encrusted on the
outside with marble; it is remarkable for nothing but its cupola, which
is said to have been copied by the architect of St. Peter's at Rome,
and for its size, which is much greater than that of any other church
in Christendom.  [In this cathedral is the Tomb of Johannes Acutus
Anglus, which a man would naturally interpret as John Sharp; but his
name was really Hawkwood, which the Italians have corrupted into Acut.
He was a celebrated General or Condottiere who arrived in Italy at the
head of four thousand soldiers of fortune, mostly Englishmen who had
served with him in the army of King Edward III., and were dismissed at
the Peace of Bontigny. Hawkwood greatly distinguished himself in Italy
by his valour and conduct, and died a very old man in the Florentine
service. He was the son of a Tanner in Essex, and had been put
apprentice to a Taylor.] The baptistery, which stands by it, was an
antient temple, said to be dedicated to Mars. There are some good
statues of marble within; and one or two of bronze on the outside of
the doors; but it is chiefly celebrated for the embossed work of its
brass gates, by Lorenzo Ghiberti, which Buonaroti used to say, deserved
to be made the gates of Paradise. I viewed them with pleasure: but
still I retained a greater veneration for those of Pisa, which I had
first admired: a preference which either arises from want of taste, or
from the charm of novelty, by which the former were recommended to my
attention. Those who would have a particular detail of every thing
worth seeing at Florence, comprehending churches, libraries, palaces,
tombs, statues, pictures, fountains, bridge, etc. may consult Keysler,
who is so laboriously circumstantial in his descriptions, that I never
could peruse them, without suffering the headache, and recollecting the
old observation, that the German genius lies more in the back than in
the brain.

I was much disappointed in the chapel of St. Lorenzo. Notwithstanding
the great profusion of granite, porphyry, jasper, verde antico,
lapis-lazuli, and other precious stones, representing figures in the
way of marquetry, I think the whole has a gloomy effect. These pietre
commesse are better calculated for cabinets, than for ornaments to
great buildings, which ought to be large masses proportioned to the
greatness of the edifice. The compartments are so small, that they
produce no effect in giving the first impression when one enters the
place; except to give an air of littleness to the whole, just as if a
grand saloon was covered with pictures painted in miniature. If they
have as little regard to proportion and perspective, when they paint
the dome, which is not yet finished, this chapel will, in my opinion,
remain a monument of ill taste and extravagance.

The court of the palace of Pitti is formed by three sides of an elegant
square, with arcades all round, like the palace of Holyrood house at
Edinburgh; and the rustic work, which constitutes the lower part of the
building, gives it an air of strength and magnificence. In this court,
there is a fine fountain, in which the water trickles down from above;
and here is also an admirable antique statue of Hercules, inscribed
LUSIPPOI ERGON, the work of Lysippus.

The apartments of this palace are generally small, and many of them
dark. Among the paintings the most remarkable is the Madonna de la
Seggiola, by Raphael, counted one of the best coloured pieces of that
great master. If I was allowed to find fault with the performance, I
should pronounce it defective in dignity and sentiment. It is the
expression of a peasant rather than of the mother of God. She exhibits
the fondness and joy of a young woman towards her firstborn son,
without that rapture of admiration which we expect to find in the
Virgin Mary, while she contemplates, in the fruit of her own womb, the
Saviour of mankind. In other respects, it is a fine figure, gay,
agreeable, and very expressive of maternal tenderness; and the bambino
is extremely beautiful. There was an English painter employed in
copying this picture, and what he had done was executed with great
success. I am one of those who think it very possible to imitate the
best pieces in such a manner, that even the connoisseurs shall not be
able to distinguish the original from the copy. After all, I do not set
up for a judge in these matters, and very likely I may incur the
ridicule of the virtuosi for the remarks I have made: but I am used to
speak my mind freely on all subjects that fall under the cognizance of
my senses; though I must as freely own, there is something more than
common sense required to discover and distinguish the more delicate
beauties of painting. I can safely say, however, that without any
daubing at all, I am, very sincerely--Your affectionate humble servant.



LETTER XXIX

NICE, February 20, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--Having seen all the curiosities of Florence, and hired a
good travelling coach for seven weeks, at the price of seven zequines,
something less than three guineas and a half, we set out post for Rome,
by the way of Sienna, where we lay the first night. The country through
which we passed is mountainous but agreeable. Of Sienna I can say
nothing from my own observation, but that we were indifferently lodged
in a house that stunk like a privy, and fared wretchedly at supper. The
city is large and well built: the inhabitants pique themselves upon
their politeness, and the purity of their dialect. Certain it is, some
strangers reside in this place on purpose to learn the best
pronunciation of the Italian tongue. The Mosaic pavement of their
duomo, or cathedral, has been much admired; as well as the history of
Aeneas Sylvius, afterwards pope Pius II., painted on the walls of the
library, partly by Pietro Perugino, and partly by his pupil Raphael
D'Urbino.

Next day, at Buon Convento, where the emperor Henry VII. was poisoned
by a friar with the sacramental wafer, I refused to give money to the
hostler, who in revenge put two young unbroke stone-horses in the
traces next to the coach, which became so unruly, that before we had
gone a quarter of a mile, they and the postilion were rolling in the
dust. In this situation they made such efforts to disengage themselves,
and kicked with such violence, that I imagined the carriage and all our
trunks would have been beaten in pieces. We leaped out of the coach,
however, without sustaining any personal damage, except the fright; nor
was any hurt done to the vehicle. But the horses were terribly bruised,
and almost strangled, before they could be disengaged. Exasperated at
the villany of the hostler, I resolved to make a complaint to the
uffiziale or magistrate of the place. I found him wrapped in an old,
greasy, ragged, great-coat, sitting in a wretched apartment, without
either glass, paper, or boards in the windows; and there was no sort of
furniture but a couple of broken chairs and a miserable truckle-bed. He
looked pale, and meagre, and had more the air of a half-starved
prisoner than of a magistrate. Having heard my complaint, he came forth
into a kind of outward room or bellfrey, and rung a great bell with his
own hand. In consequence of this signal, the postmaster came up stairs,
and I suppose he was the first man in the place, for the uffiziale
stood before him cap-in-hand, and with great marks of humble respect
repeated the complaint I had made. This man assured me, with an air of
conscious importance, that he himself had ordered the hostler to supply
me with those very horses, which were the best in his stable; and that
the misfortune which happened was owing to the misconduct of the
fore-postilion, who did not keep the fore-horses to a proper speed
proportioned to the mettle of the other two. As he took the affair upon
himself, and I perceived had an ascendancy over the magistrate, I
contented myself with saying, I was certain the two horses had been put
to the coach on purpose, either to hurt or frighten us; and that since
I could not have justice here I would make a formal complaint to the
British minister at Florence. In passing through the street to the
coach, which was by this time furnished with fresh horses, I met the
hostler, and would have caned him heartily; but perceiving my
intention, he took to his heels and vanished. Of all the people I have
ever seen, the hostlers, postilions, and other fellows hanging about
the post-houses in Italy, are the most greedy, impertinent, and
provoking. Happy are those travellers who have phlegm enough to
disregard their insolence and importunity: for this is not so
disagreeable as their revenge is dangerous. An English gentleman at
Florence told me, that one of those fellows, whom he had struck for his
impertinence, flew at him with a long knife, and he could hardly keep
him at sword's point. All of them wear such knives, and are very apt to
use them on the slightest provocation. But their open attacks are not
so formidable as their premeditated schemes of revenge; in the
prosecution of which the Italians are equally treacherous and cruel.

This night we passed at a place called Radicofani, a village and fort,
situated on the top of a very high mountain. The inn stands still lower
than the town. It was built at the expence of the last grand-duke of
Tuscany; is very large, very cold, and uncomfortable. One would imagine
it was contrived for coolness, though situated so high, that even in
the midst of summer, a traveller would be glad to have a fire in his
chamber. But few, or none of them have fireplaces, and there is not a
bed with curtains or tester in the house. All the adjacent country is
naked and barren. On the third day we entered the pope's territories,
some parts of which are delightful. Having passed Aqua-Pendente, a
beggarly town, situated on the top of a rock, from whence there is a
romantic cascade of water, which gives it the name, we travelled along
the side of the lake Bolsena, a beautiful piece of water about thirty
miles in circuit, with two islands in the middle, the banks covered
with noble plantations of oak and cypress. The town of Bolsena standing
near the ruins of the antient Volsinium, which was the birth-place of
Sejanus, is a paultry village; and Montefiascone, famous for its wine,
is a poor, decayed town in this neighbourhood, situated on the side of
a hill, which, according to the author of the Grand Tour, the only
directory I had along with me, is supposed to be the Soracte of the
ancients. If we may believe Horace, Soracte was visible from Rome: for,
in his ninth ode, addressed to Thaliarchus, he says,

  Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum
  Soracte--

  You see how deeply wreathed with snow
  Soracte lifts his hoary head,

but, in order to see Montefiascone, his eyesight must have penetrated
through the Mons Cyminus, at the foot of which now stands the city of
Viterbo. Pliny tells us, that Soracte was not far from Rome, haud
procul ab urbe Roma; but Montefiascone is fifty miles from this city.
And Desprez, in his notes upon Horace, says it is now called Monte S.
Oreste. Addison tells us he passed by it in the Campania. I could not
without indignation reflect upon the bigotry of Mathilda, who gave this
fine country to the see of Rome, under the dominion of which no country
was ever known to prosper.

About half way between Montefiascone and Viterbo, one of our
fore-wheels flew off, together with a large splinter of the axle-tree;
and if one of the postilions had not by great accident been a
remarkably ingenious fellow, we should have been put to the greatest
inconvenience, as there was no town, or even house, within several
miles. I mention this circumstance, by way of warning to other
travellers, that they may provide themselves with a hammer and nails, a
spare iron-pin or two, a large knife, and bladder of grease, to be used
occasionally in case of such misfortune.

The mountain of Viterbo is covered with beautiful plantations and
villas belonging to the Roman nobility, who come hither to make the
villegiatura in summer. Of the city of Viterbo I shall say nothing, but
that it is the capital of that country which Mathilda gave to the Roman
see. The place is well built, adorned with public fountains, and a
great number of churches and convents; yet far from being populous, the
whole number of inhabitants, not exceeding fifteen thousand. The
post-house is one of the worst inns I ever entered.

After having passed this mountain, the Cyminus of the antients, we
skirted part of the lake, which is now called de Vico, and whose banks
afford the most agreeable rural prospects of hill and vale, wood, glade
and water, shade and sun-shine. A few other very inconsiderable places
we passed, and descended into the Campania of Rome, which is almost a
desert. The view of this country in its present situation, cannot but
produce emotions of pity and indignation in the mind of every person
who retains any idea of its antient cultivation and fertility. It is
nothing but a naked withered down, desolate and dreary, almost without
inclosure, corn-field, hedge, tree, shrub, house, hut, or habitation;
exhibiting here and there the ruins of an antient castellum, tomb, or
temple, and in some places the remains of a Roman via. I had heard much
of these antient pavements, and was greatly disappointed when I saw
them. The Via Cassia or Cymina is paved with broad, solid,
flint-stones, which must have greatly incommoded the feet of horses
that travelled upon it as well as endangered the lives of the riders
from the slipperiness of the pavement: besides, it is so narrow that
two modern carriages could not pass one another upon it, without the
most imminent hazard of being overturned. I am still of opinion that we
excel the ancient Romans in understanding the conveniences of life.

The Grand Tour says, that within four miles of Rome you see a tomb on
the roadside, said to be that of Nero, with sculpture in basso-relievo
at both ends. I did see such a thing more like a common grave-stone,
than the tomb of an emperor. But we are informed by Suetonius, that the
dead body of Nero, who slew himself at the villa of his freedman, was
by the care of his two nurses and his concubine Atta, removed to the
sepulchre of the Gens Domitia, immediately within the Porta del Popolo,
on your left hand as you enter Rome, precisely on the spot where now
stands the church of S. Maria del Popolo. His tomb was even
distinguished by an epitaph, which has been preserved by Gruterus.
Giacomo Alberici tells us very gravely in his History of the Church,
that a great number of devils, who guarded the bones of this wicked
emperor, took possession, in the shape of black ravens, of a
walnut-tree, which grew upon the spot; from whence they insulted every
passenger, until pope Paschal II., in consequence of a solemn fast and
a revelation, went thither in procession with his court and cardinals,
cut down the tree, and burned it to ashes, which, with the bones of
Nero, were thrown into the Tyber: then he consecrated an altar on the
place, where afterwards the church was built. You may guess what I felt
at first sight of the city of Rome, which, notwithstanding all the
calamities it has undergone, still maintains an august and imperial
appearance. It stands on the farther side of the Tyber, which we
crossed at the Ponte Molle, formerly called Pons Milvius, about two
miles from the gate by which we entered. This bridge was built by
Aemilius Censor, whose name it originally bore. It was the road by
which so many heroes returned with conquest to their country; by which
so many kings were led captive to Rome; and by which the ambassadors of
so many kingdoms and states approached the seat of empire, to deprecate
the wrath, to sollicit the friendship, or sue for the protection of the
Roman people. It is likewise famous for the defeat and death of
Maxentius, who was here overcome by Constantine the Great. The space
between the bridge and Porta del Popolo, on the right-hand, which is
now taken up with gardens and villas, was part of the antient Campus
Martius, where the comitiae were held; and where the Roman people
inured themselves to all manner of exercises: it was adorned with
porticos, temples, theatres, baths, circi, basilicae, obelisks,
columns, statues, and groves. Authors differ in their opinions about
the extent of it; but as they all agree that it contained the Pantheon,
the Circus Agonis, now the Piazza Navona, the Bustum and Mausoleum
Augusti, great part of the modern city must be built upon the ancient
Campus Martius. The highway that leads from the bridge to the city, is
part of the Via Flaminia, which extended as far as Rimini; and is well
paved, like a modern street. Nothing of the antient bridge remains but
the piles; nor is there any thing in the structure of this, or of the
other five Roman bridges over the Tyber, that deserves attention. I
have not seen any bridge in France or Italy, comparable to that of
Westminster either in beauty, magnificence, or solidity; and when the
bridge at Black-Friars is finished, it will be such a monument of
architecture as all the world cannot parallel. As for the Tyber, it is,
in comparison with the Thames, no more than an inconsiderable stream,
foul, deep, and rapid. It is navigable by small boats, barks, and
lighters; and, for the conveniency of loading and unloading them, there
is a handsome quay by the new custom-house, at the Porto di Ripetta,
provided with stairs of each side, and adorned with an elegant
fountain, that yields abundance of excellent water.

We are told that the bed of this river has been considerably raised by
the rubbish of old Rome, and this is the reason usually given for its
being so apt to overflow its banks. A citizen of Rome told me, that a
friend of his lately digging to lay the foundation of a new house in
the lower part of the city, near the bank of the river, discovered the
pavement of an antient street, at the depth of thirty-nine feet from
the present surface of the earth. He therefore concluded that modern
Rome is near forty feet higher in this place, than the site of the
antient city, and that the bed of the river is raised in proportion;
but this is altogether incredible. Had the bed of the Tyber been
antiently forty feet lower at Rome, than it is at present, there must
have been a fall or cataract in it immediately above this tract, as it
is not pretended that the bed of it is raised in any part above the
city; otherwise such an elevation would have obstructed its course, and
then it would have overflowed the whole Campania. There is nothing
extraordinary in its present overflowings: they frequently happened of
old, and did great mischief to the antient city. Appian, Dio, and other
historians, describe an inundation of the Tiber immediately after the
death of Julius Caesar, which inundation was occasioned by the sudden
melting of a great quantity of snow upon the Apennines. This calamity
is recorded by Horace in his ode to Augustus.

  Vidimus flavum Tiberim retortis
  Littore Etrusco violenter undis,
  Ire dejectum monumenta regis,
  Templaque Vestae:
  Iliae dum se nimium querenti,
  Jactat ultorem; vagus et sinistra
  Labitur ripa, Jove non probante
  Uxorius Amnis.

Livy expressly says, "Ita abundavit Tiberis, ut Ludi Apollinares, circo
inundato, extra portam Collinam ad aedem Erycinae Veneris parati sint,"
"There was such an inundation of the Tiber that, the Circus being
overflowed, the Ludi Appollinares were exhibited without the gate
Collina, hard by the temple of Venus Erycina." To this custom of
transferring the Ludi Appollinares to another place where the Tyber had
overflowed the Circus Maximus, Ovid alludes in his Fasti.

  Altera gramineo spectabis equiriacampo
  Quem Tiberis curvis in latus urget aquis,
  Qui tamen ejecta si forte tenebitur unda,
  Coelius accipiet pulverulentus equos.

  Another race thy view shall entertain
  Where bending Tiber skirts the grassy plain;
  Or should his vagrant stream that plain o'erflow,
  The Caelian hill the dusty course will show.

The Porta del Popolo (formerly, Flaminia,) by which we entered Rome, is
an elegant piece of architecture, adorned with marble columns and
statues, executed after the design of Buonaroti. Within-side you find
yourself in a noble piazza, from whence three of the principal streets
of Rome are detached. It is adorned with the famous Aegyptian obelisk,
brought hither from the Circus Maximus, and set up by the architect
Dominico Fontana in the pontificate of Sixtus V. Here is likewise a
beautiful fountain designed by the same artist; and at the beginning of
the two principal streets, are two very elegant churches fronting each
other. Such an august entrance cannot fail to impress a stranger with a
sublime idea of this venerable city.

Having given our names at the gate, we repaired to the dogana, or
custom-house, where our trunks and carriage were searched; and here we
were surrounded by a number of servitori de piazza, offering their
services with the most disagreeable importunity. Though I told them
several times I had no occasion for any, three of them took possession
of the coach, one mounting before and two of them behind; and thus we
proceeded to the Piazza d'Espagna, where the person lived to whose
house I was directed. Strangers that come to Rome seldom put up at
public inns, but go directly to lodging houses, of which there is great
plenty in this quarter. The Piazza d'Espagna is open, airy, and
pleasantly situated in a high part of the city immediately under the
Colla Pinciana, and adorned with two fine fountains. Here most of the
English reside: the apartments are generally commodious and well
furnished; and the lodgers are well supplied with provisions and all
necessaries of life. But, if I studied oeconomy, I would choose another
part of the town than the Piazza d'Espagna, which is, besides, at a
great distance from the antiquities. For a decent first floor and two
bed-chambers on the second, I payed no more than a scudo (five
shillings) per day. Our table was plentifully furnished by the landlord
for two and thirty pauls, being equal to sixteen shillings. I hired a
town-coach at the rate of fourteen pauls, or seven shillings a day; and
a servitore di piazza for three pauls, or eighteen-pence. The coachman
has also an allowance of two pauls a day. The provisions at Rome are
reasonable and good, the vitella mongana, however, which is the most
delicate veal I ever tasted, is very dear, being sold for two pauls, or
a shilling, the pound. Here are the rich wines of Montepulciano,
Montefiascone, and Monte di Dragone; but what we commonly drink at
meals is that of Orvieto, a small white wine, of an agreeable flavour.
Strangers are generally advised to employ an antiquarian to instruct
them in all the curiosities of Rome; and this is a necessary expence,
when a person wants to become a connoisseur in painting, statuary, and
architecture. For my own part I had no such ambition. I longed to view
the remains of antiquity by which this metropolis is distinguished; and
to contemplate the originals of many pictures and statues, which I had
admired in prints and descriptions. I therefore chose a servant, who
was recommended to me as a sober, intelligent fellow, acquainted with
these matters: at the same time I furnished myself with maps and plans
of antient and modern Rome, together with the little manual, called,
Itinerario istruttivo per ritrovare con facilita tutte le magnificenze
di Roma e di alcune citta', e castelli suburbani. But I found still
more satisfaction in perusing the book in three volumes, intitled, Roma
antica, e moderna, which contains a description of everything
remarkable in and about the city, illustrated with a great number of
copper-plates, and many curious historical annotations. This directory
cost me a zequine; but a hundred zequines will not purchase all the
books and prints which have been published at Rome on these subjects.
Of these the most celebrated are the plates of Piranesi, who is not
only an ingenious architect and engraver, but also a learned
antiquarian; though he is apt to run riot in his conjectures; and with
regard to the arts of antient Rome, has broached some doctrines, which
he will find it very difficult to maintain. Our young gentlemen who go
to Rome will do well to be upon their guard against a set of sharpers,
(some of them of our own country,) who deal in pictures and antiques,
and very often impose upon the uninformed stranger, by selling him
trash, as the productions of the most celebrated artists. The English
are more than any other foreigners exposed to this imposition. They are
supposed to have more money to throw away; and therefore a greater
number of snares are laid for them. This opinion of their superior
wealth they take a pride in confirming, by launching out into all
manner of unnecessary expence: but, what is still more dangerous, the
moment they set foot in Italy, they are seized with the ambition of
becoming connoisseurs in painting, musick, statuary, and architecture;
and the adventurers of this country do not fail to flatter this
weakness for their own advantage. I have seen in different parts of
Italy, a number of raw boys, whom Britain seemed to have poured forth
on purpose to bring her national character into contempt, ignorant,
petulant, rash, and profligate, without any knowledge or experience of
their own, without any director to improve their understanding, or
superintend their conduct. One engages in play with an infamous
gamester, and is stripped perhaps in the very first partie: another is
pillaged by an antiquated cantatrice; a third is bubbled by a knavish
antiquarian; and a fourth is laid under contribution by a dealer in
pictures. Some turn fiddlers, and pretend to compose: but all of them
talk familiarly of the arts, and return finished connoisseurs and
coxcombs, to their own country. The most remarkable phaenomenon of this
kind, which I have seen, is a boy of seventy-two, now actually
travelling through Italy, for improvement, under the auspices of
another boy of twenty-two. When you arrive at Rome, you receive cards
from all your country-folks in that city: they expect to have the visit
returned next day, when they give orders not to be at home; and you
never speak to one another in the sequel. This is a refinement in
hospitality and politeness, which the English have invented by the
strength of their own genius, without any assistance either from
France, Italy, or Lapland. No Englishman above the degree of a painter
or cicerone frequents any coffee-house at Rome; and as there are no
public diversions, except in carnival-time, the only chance you have of
seeing your compatriots is either in visiting the curiosities, or at a
conversazione. The Italians are very scrupulous in admitting
foreigners, except those who are introduced as people of quality: but
if there happens to be any English lady of fashion at Rome, she
generally keeps an assembly, to which the British subjects resort. In
my next, I shall communicate, without ceremony or affectation, what
further remarks I have made at Rome, without any pretence, however, to
the character of a connoisseur, which, without all doubt, would fit
very aukwardly upon,--Dear Sir, Your Friend and Servant.



LETTER XXX

NICE, February 28, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--Nothing can be more agreeable to the eyes of a stranger,
especially in the heats of summer, than the great number of public
fountains that appear in every part of Rome, embellished with all the
ornaments of sculpture, and pouring forth prodigious quantities of
cool, delicious water, brought in aqueducts from different lakes,
rivers, and sources, at a considerable distance from the city. These
works are the remains of the munificence and industry of the antient
Romans, who were extremely delicate in the article of water: but,
however, great applause is also due to those beneficent popes who have
been at the expence of restoring and repairing those noble channels of
health, pleasure, and convenience. This great plenty of water,
nevertheless, has not induced the Romans to be cleanly. Their streets,
and even their palaces, are disgraced with filth. The noble Piazza
Navona, is adorned with three or four fountains, one of which is
perhaps the most magnificent in Europe, and all of them discharge vast
streams of water: but, notwithstanding this provision, the piazza is
almost as dirty, as West Smithfield, where the cattle are sold in
London. The corridores, arcades, and even staircases of their most
elegant palaces, are depositories of nastiness, and indeed in summer
smell as strong as spirit of hartshorn. I have a great notion that
their ancestors were not much more cleanly. If we consider that the
city and suburbs of Rome, in the reign of Claudius, contained about
seven millions of inhabitants, a number equal at least to the sum total
of all the souls in England; that great part of antient Rome was
allotted to temples, porticos, basilicae, theatres, thermae, circi,
public and private walks and gardens, where very few, if any, of this
great number lodged; that by far the greater part of those inhabitants
were slaves and poor people, who did not enjoy the conveniencies of
life; and that the use of linen was scarce known; we must naturally
conclude they were strangely crouded together, and that in general they
were a very frowzy generation. That they were crouded together appears
from the height of their houses, which the poet Rutilius compared to
towers made for scaling heaven. In order to remedy this inconvenience,
Augustus Caesar published a decree, that for the future no houses
should be built above seventy feet high, which, at a moderate
computation, might make six stories. But what seems to prove, beyond
all dispute, that the antient Romans were dirty creatures, are these
two particulars. Vespasian laid a tax upon urine and ordure, on
pretence of being at a great expence in clearing the streets from such
nuisances; an imposition which amounted to about fourteen pence a year
for every individual; and when Heliogabalus ordered all the cobwebs of
the city and suburbs to be collected, they were found to weigh ten
thousand pounds. This was intended as a demonstration of the great
number of inhabitants; but it was a proof of their dirt, rather than of
their populosity. I might likewise add, the delicate custom of taking
vomits at each other's houses, when they were invited to dinner, or
supper, that they might prepare their stomachs for gormandizing; a
beastly proof of their nastiness as well as gluttony. Horace, in his
description of the banquet of Nasiedenus, says, when the canopy, under
which they sat, fell down, it brought along with it as much dirt as is
raised by a hard gale of wind in dry weather.

                --trahentia pulveris atri,
  Quantum non aquilo Campanis excitat agris.

  Such clouds of dust revolving in its train
  As Boreas whirls along the level plain.

I might observe, that the streets were often encumbered with the
putrefying carcasses of criminals, who had been dragged through them by
the heels, and precipitated from the Scalae Gemoniae, or Tarpeian rock,
before they were thrown into the Tyber, which was the general
receptacle of the cloaca maxima and all the filth of Rome: besides, the
bodies of all those who made away with themselves, without sufficient
cause; of such as were condemned for sacrilege, or killed by thunder,
were left unburned and unburied, to rot above ground.

I believe the moderns retain more of the customs of antient Romans,
than is generally imagined. When I first saw the infants at the enfans
trouves in Paris, so swathed with bandages, that the very sight of them
made my eyes water, I little dreamed, that the prescription of the
antients could be pleaded for this custom, equally shocking and absurd:
but in the Capitol at Rome, I met with the antique statue of a child
swaddled exactly in the same manner; rolled up like an Aegyptian mummy
from the feet. The circulation of the blood, in such a case, must be
obstructed on the whole surface of the body; and nothing be at liberty
but the head, which is the only part of the child that ought to be
confined. Is it not surprising that common sense should not point out,
even to the most ignorant, that those accursed bandages must heat the
tender infant into a fever; must hinder the action of the muscles, and
the play of the joints, so necessary to health and nutrition; and that
while the refluent blood is obstructed in the veins, which run on the
surface of the body, the arteries, which lie deep, without the reach of
compression, are continually pouring their contents into the head,
where the blood meets with no resistance? The vessels of the brain are
naturally lax, and the very sutures of the skull are yet unclosed. What
are the consequences of this cruel swaddling? the limbs are wasted; the
joints grow rickety; the brain is compressed, and a hydrocephalus, with
a great head and sore eyes, ensues. I take this abominable practice to
be one great cause of the bandy legs, diminutive bodies, and large
heads, so frequent in the south of France, and in Italy.

I was no less surprised to find the modern fashion of curling the hair,
borrowed in a great measure from the coxcombs and coquettes of
antiquity. I saw a bust of Nero in the gallery at Florence, the hair
represented in rows of buckles, like that of a French petit-maitre,
conformable to the picture drawn of him by Suetonius. Circa cultum adeo
pudendum, ut coman semper in gradus formatam peregrinatione achaica,
etiam pene verticem sumpserit, So very finical in his dress, that he
wore his hair in the Greek fashion, curled in rows almost to the crown
of his head. I was very sorry however to find that this foppery came
from Greece. As for Otho, he wore a galericulum, or tour, on account of
thin hair, propter raritatem capillorum. He had no right to imitate the
example of Julius Caesar, who concealed his bald head with a wreath of
laurel. But there is a bust in the Capitol of Julia Pia, the second
wife of Septimius Severus, with a moveable peruke, dressed exactly in
the fashionable mode, with this difference, that there is no part of it
frizzled; nor is there any appearance of pomatum and powder. These
improvements the beau-monde have borrowed from the natives of the Cape
of Good Hope.

Modern Rome does not cover more than one-third of the space within the
walls; and those parts that were most frequented of old are now
intirely abandoned. From the Capitol to the Coliseo, including the
Forum Romanum and Boarium, there is nothing intire but one or two
churches, built with the fragments of ancient edifices. You descend
from the Capitol between the remaining pillars of two temples, the
pedestals and part of the shafts sunk in the rubbish: then passing
through the triumphal arch of Septimius Severus, you proceed along the
foot of Mons Palatinus, which stands on your right hand, quite covered
with the ruins of the antient palace belonging to the Roman emperors,
and at the foot of it, there are some beautiful detached pillars still
standing. On the left you see the remains of the Templum Pacis, which
seems to have been the largest and most magnificent of all the temples
in Rome. It was built and dedicated by the emperor Vespasian, who
brought into it all the treasure and precious vessels which he found in
the temple of Jerusalem. The columns of the portico he removed from
Nero's golden house, which he levelled with the ground. This temple was
likewise famous for its library, mentioned by Aulus Gellius, Further
on, is the arch of Constantine on the right, a most noble piece of
architecture, almost entire; with the remains of the Meta Sudans before
it; and fronting you, the noble ruins of that vast amphitheatre, called
the Colossaeum, now Coliseo, which has been dismantled and dilapidated
by the Gothic popes and princes of modern Rome, to build and adorn
their paultry palaces. Behind the amphitheatre were the thermae of the
same emperor Titus Vespasian. In the same quarter was the Circus
Maximus; and the whole space from hence on both sides, to the walls of
Rome, comprehending above twice as much ground as the modern city, is
almost covered with the monuments of antiquity. I suppose there is more
concealed below ground than appears above. The miserable houses, and
even garden-walls of the peasants in this district, are built with
these precious materials. I mean shafts and capitals of marble columns,
heads, arms, legs, and mutilated trunks of statues. What pity it is
that among all the remains of antiquity, at Rome, there is not one
lodging-house remaining. I should be glad to know how the senators of
Rome were lodged. I want to be better informed touching the cava
aedium, the focus, the ara deorum penatum, the conclavia, triclinia,
and caenationes; the atria where the women resided, and employed
themselves in the woolen manufacture; the praetoria, which were so
spacious as to become a nuisance in the reign of Augustus; and the
Xysta, which were shady walks between two porticos, where the men
exercised themselves in the winter. I am disgusted by the modern taste
of architecture, though I am no judge of the art. The churches and
palaces of these days are crowded with pretty ornaments, which distract
the eye, and by breaking the design into a variety of little parts,
destroy the effect of the whole. Every door and window has its separate
ornaments, its moulding, frize, cornice, and tympanum; then there is
such an assemblage of useless festoons, pillars, pilasters, with their
architraves, entablatures, and I know not what, that nothing great or
uniform remains to fill the view; and we in vain look for that
simplicity of grandeur, those large masses of light and shadow, and the
inexpressible EUSUINOPTON, which characterise the edifices of the
antients. A great edifice, to have its full effect, ought to be isole,
or detached from all others, with a large space around it: but the
palaces of Rome, and indeed of all the other cities of Italy, which I
have seen, are so engaged among other mean houses, that their beauty
and magnificence are in a great measure concealed. Even those which
face open streets and piazzas are only clear in front. The other
apartments are darkened by the vicinity of ordinary houses; and their
views are confined by dirty and disagreeable objects. Within the court
there is generally a noble colonnade all round, and an open corridore
above, but the stairs are usually narrow, steep, and high, the want of
sash-windows, the dullness of their small glass lozenges, the dusty
brick floors, and the crimson hangings laced with gold, contribute to
give a gloomy air to their apartments; I might add to these causes, a
number of Pictures executed on melancholy subjects, antique mutilated
statues, busts, basso relieves, urns, and sepulchral stones, with which
their rooms are adorned. It must be owned, however, there are some
exceptions to this general rule. The villa of cardinal Alexander Albani
is light, gay, and airy; yet the rooms are too small, and too much
decorated with carving and gilding, which is a kind of gingerbread
work. The apartments of one of the princes Borghese are furnished in
the English taste; and in the palazzo di colonna connestabile, there is
a saloon, or gallery, which, for the proportions, lights, furniture,
and ornaments, is the most noble, elegant, and agreeable apartment I
ever saw.

It is diverting to hear all Italian expatiate upon the greatness of
modern Rome. He will tell you there are above three hundred palaces in
the city; that there is scarce a Roman prince, whose revenue does not
exceed two hundred thousand crowns; and that Rome produces not only the
most learned men, but also the most refined politicians in the
universe. To one of them talking in this strain, I replied, that
instead of three hundred palaces, the number did not exceed fourscore;
that I had been informed, on good authority, there were not six
individuals in Rome who had so much as forty thousand crowns a year,
about ten thousand pounds sterling; and that to say their princes were
so rich, and their politicians so refined, was, in effect, a severe
satire upon them, for not employing their wealth and their talents for
the advantage of their country. I asked why their cardinals and princes
did not invite and encourage industrious people to settle and cultivate
the Campania of Rome, which is a desert? why they did not raise a
subscription to drain the marshes in the neighbourhood of the city, and
thus meliorate the air, which is rendered extremely unwholsome in the
summer, by putrid exhalations from those morasses? I demanded of him,
why they did not contribute their wealth, and exert their political
refinements, in augmenting their forces by sea and land, for the
defence of their country, introducing commerce and manufactures, and in
giving some consequence to their state, which was no more than a mite
in the political scale of Europe? I expressed a desire to know what
became of all those sums of money, inasmuch as there was hardly any
circulation of gold and silver in Rome, and the very bankers, on whom
strangers have their credit, make interest to pay their tradesmen's
bills with paper notes of the bank of Spirito Santo? And now I am upon
this subject, it may not be amiss to observe that I was strangely
misled by all the books consulted about the current coin of Italy. In
Tuscany, and the Ecclesiastical State, one sees nothing but zequines in
gold, and pieces of two paoli, one paolo, and half a paolo, in silver.
Besides these, there is a copper coin at Rome, called bajocco and mezzo
bajocco. Ten bajocchi make a paolo: ten paoli make a scudo, which is an
imaginary piece: two scudi make a zequine; and a French loui'dore is
worth two zequines and two paoli.

Rome has nothing to fear from the catholic powers, who respect it with
a superstitious veneration as the metropolitan seat of their religion:
but the popes will do well to avoid misunderstandings with the maritime
protestant states, especially the English, who being masters of the
Mediterranean, and in possession of Minorca, have it in their power at
all times, to land a body of troops within four leagues of Rome, and to
take the city, without opposition. Rome is surrounded with an old wall,
but altogether incapable of defence. Or if it was, the circuit of the
walls is so extensive, that it would require a garrison of twenty
thousand men. The only appearance of a fortification in this city, is
the castle of St. Angelo, situated on the further bank of the Tyber, to
which there is access by a handsome bridge: but this castle, which was
formerly the moles Adriani, could not hold out half a day against a
battery of ten pieces of cannon properly directed. It was an expedient
left to the invention of the modern Romans, to convert an ancient tomb
into a citadel. It could only serve as a temporary retreat for the pope
in times of popular commotion, and on other sudden emergencies; as it
happened in the case of pope Clement VII. when the troops of the
emperor took the city by assault; and this only, while he resided at
the Vatican, from whence there is a covered gallery continued to the
castle: it can never serve this purpose again, while the pontiff lives
on Monte Cavallo, which is at the other end of the city. The castle of
St. Angelo, howsoever ridiculous as a fortress, appears respectable as
a noble monument of antiquity, and though standing in a low situation,
is one of the first objects that strike the eye of a stranger
approaching Rome. On the opposite side of the river, are the wretched
remains of the Mausoleum Augusti, which was still more magnificent.
Part of the walls is standing, and the terraces are converted into
garden-ground. In viewing these ruins, I remembered Virgil's pathetic
description of Marcellus, who was here intombed.

  Quantos ille virum, magnum mavortis ad urbem.
  Campus aget gemitus, vel que Tyberine, videbis
  Funera, cum tumulum, preter labere recentem.

  Along his Banks what Groans shall Tyber hear,
  When the fresh tomb and funeral pomp appear!

The beautiful poem of Ovid de Consolatione ad Liviam, written after the
ashes of Augustus and his nephew Marcellus, of Germanicus, Agrippa, and
Drusus, were deposited in this mausoleum, concludes with these lines,
which are extremely tender:

  Claudite jam Parcae nimium reserata sepulchra;
  Claudite, plus justo, jam domus ista patet!

  Ah! shut these yawning Tombs, ye sister Fates!
  Too long unclos'd have stood those dreary Gates!

What the author said of the monument, you will be tempted to say of
this letter, which I shall therefore close in the old stile, assuring
you that I ever am,--Yours most affectionately.



LETTER XXXI

NICE, March 5, 1765

DEAR SIR,--In my last I gave you my opinion freely of the modern
palaces of Italy. I shall now hazard my thoughts upon the gardens of
this country, which the inhabitants extol with all the hyperboles of
admiration and applause. I must acknowledge however, I have not seen
the famous villas at Frascati and Tivoli, which are celebrated for
their gardens and waterworks. I intended to visit these places; but was
prevented by an unexpected change of weather, which deterred me from
going to the country. On the last day of September the mountains of
Palestrina were covered with snow; and the air became so cold at Rome,
that I was forced to put on my winter cloaths. This objection
continued, till I found it necessary to set out on my return to
Florence. But I have seen the gardens of the Poggio Imperiale, and the
Palazzo de Pitti at Florence, and those of the Vatican, of the pope's
palace on Monte Cavallo, of the Villa Ludovisia, Medicea, and Pinciana,
at Rome; so that I think I have some right to judge of the Italian
taste in gardening. Among those I have mentioned, that of the Villa
Pinciana, is the most remarkable, and the most extensive, including a
space of three miles in circuit, hard by the walls of Rome, containing
a variety of situations high and low, which favour all the natural
embellishments one would expect to meet with in a garden, and exhibit a
diversity of noble views of the city and adjacent country.

In a fine extensive garden or park, an Englishman expects to see a
number of groves and glades, intermixed with an agreeable negligence,
which seems to be the effect of nature and accident. He looks for shady
walks encrusted with gravel; for open lawns covered with verdure as
smooth as velvet, but much more lively and agreeable; for ponds,
canals, basins, cascades, and running streams of water; for clumps of
trees, woods, and wildernesses, cut into delightful alleys, perfumed
with honeysuckle and sweet-briar, and resounding with the mingled
melody of all the singing birds of heaven: he looks for plats of
flowers in different parts to refresh the sense, and please the fancy;
for arbours, grottos, hermitages, temples, and alcoves, to shelter him
from the sun, and afford him means of contemplation and repose; and he
expects to find the hedges, groves, and walks, and lawns kept with the
utmost order and propriety. He who loves the beauties of simple nature,
and the charms of neatness will seek for them in vain amidst the groves
of Italy. In the garden of the Villa Pinciana, there is a plantation of
four hundred pines, which the Italians view with rapture and
admiration: there is likewise a long walk, of trees extending from the
garden-gate to the palace; and plenty of shade, with alleys and hedges
in different parts of the ground: but the groves are neglected; the
walks are laid with nothing but common mould or sand, black and dusty;
the hedges are tall, thin and shabby; the trees stunted; the open
ground, brown and parched, has scarce any appearance of verdure. The
flat, regular alleys of evergreens are cut into fantastic figures; the
flower gardens embellished with thin cyphers and flourished figures in
box, while the flowers grow in rows of earthen-pots, and the ground
appears as dusky as if it was covered with the cinders of a
blacksmith's forge. The water, of which there is great plenty, instead
of being collected in large pieces, or conveyed in little rivulets and
streams to refresh the thirsty soil, or managed so as to form agreeable
cascades, is squirted from fountains in different parts of the garden,
through tubes little bigger than common glyster-pipes. It must be owned
indeed that the fountains have their merit in the way of sculpture and
architecture; and that here is a great number of statues which merit
attention: but they serve only to encumber the ground, and destroy that
effect of rural simplicity, which our gardens are designed to produce.
In a word, here we see a variety of walks and groves and fountains, a
wood of four hundred pines, a paddock with a few meagre deer, a
flower-garden, an aviary, a grotto, and a fish-pond; and in spite of
all these particulars, it is, in my opinion, a very contemptible
garden, when compared to that of Stowe in Buckinghamshire, or even to
those of Kensington and Richmond. The Italians understand, because they
study, the excellencies of art; but they have no idea of the beauties
of nature. This Villa Pinciana, which belongs to the Borghese family,
would make a complete academy for painting and sculpture, especially
for the study of antient marbles; for, exclusive of the statues and
busts in the garden, and the vast collection in the different
apartments, almost the whole outside of the house is covered with
curious pieces in basso and alto relievo. The most masterly is that of
Curtius on horseback, leaping into the gulph or opening of the earth,
which is said to have closed on receiving this sacrifice. Among the
exhibitions of art within the house, I was much struck with a Bacchus,
and the death of Meleager, represented on an antient sepulchre. There
is also an admirable statue of Silenus, with the infant Bacchus in his
arms; a most beautiful gladiator; a curious Moor of black marble, with
a shirt of white alabaster; a finely proportioned bull of black marble
also, standing upon a table of alabaster; a black gipsey with a head,
hands, and feet of brass; and the famous hermaphrodite, which vies with
that of Florence: though the most curious circumstance of this article,
is the mattrass executed and placed by Bernini, with such art and
dexterity, that to the view, it rivals the softness of wool, and seems
to retain the marks of pressure, according to the figure of the
superincumbent statue. Let us likewise own, for the honour of the
moderns, that the same artist has produced two fine statues, which we
find among the ornaments of this villa, namely, a David with his sling
in the attitude of throwing the stone at the giant Goliah; and a Daphne
changing into laurel at the approach of Apollo. On the base of this
figure, are the two following elegant lines, written by pope Urban
VIII. in his younger years.

  Quisquis amans sequitur fugitivae gaudia formae,
  Fronde manus implet, baccas vel carpit amaras.

  Who pants for fleeting Beauty, vain pursuit!
  Shall barren Leaves obtain, or bitter fruit.

I ought not to forget two exquisite antique statues of Venus, the
weeping slave, and the youth pulling a thorn out of his foot.

I do not pretend to give a methodical detail of the curiosities of
Rome: they have been already described by different authors, who were
much better qualified than I am for the talk: but you shall have what
observations I made on the most remarkable objects, without method,
just as they occur to my remembrance; and I protest the remarks are all
my own: so that if they deserve any commendation, I claim all the
merit; and if they are impertinent, I must be contented to bear all the
blame.

The piazza of St. Peter's church is altogether sublime. The double
colonnade on each side extending in a semi-circular sweep, the
stupendous Aegyptian obelisk, the two fountains, the portico, and the
admirable facade of the church, form such an assemblage of magnificent
objects, as cannot fail to impress the mind with awe and admiration:
but the church would have produced a still greater effect, had it been
detached entirely from the buildings of the Vatican, It would then have
been a master-piece of architecture, complete in all its parts, intire
and perfect: whereas, at present, it is no more than a beautiful member
attached to a vast undigested and irregular pile of building. As to the
architecture of this famous temple, I shall say nothing; neither do I
pretend to describe the internal ornaments. The great picture of Mosaic
work, and that of St. Peter's bark tossed by the tempest, which appear
over the gate of the church, though rude in comparison with modern
pieces, are nevertheless great curiosities, when considered as the work
of Giotto, who flourished in the beginning of the fourteenth century.
His master was Cimabue, who learned painting and architecture of the
Grecian artists, who came from Constantinople, and first revived these
arts in Italy. But, to return to St. Peter's, I was not at all pleased
with the famous statue of the dead Christ in his mother's lap, by
Michael Angelo. The figure of Christ is as much emaciated, as if he had
died of a consumption: besides, there is something indelicate, not to
say indecent, in the attitude and design of a man's body, stark naked,
lying upon the knees of a woman. Here are some good pictures, I should
rather say copies of good pictures, done in Mosaic to great perfection;
particularly a St. Sebastian by Domenichino, and Michael the Archangel,
from a painting of Guido Rheni. I am extremely fond of all this
artist's pieces. There is a tenderness and delicacy in his manner; and
his figures are all exquisitely beautiful, though his expression is
often erroneous, and his attitudes are always affected and unnatural.
In this very piece the archangel has all the air of a French
dancing-master; and I have seen a Madonna by the same hand, I think it
is in the Palazzo di Barberini, in which, though the figures are
enchanting, the Virgin is represented holding up the drapery of the
infant, with the ridiculous affectation of a singer on the stage of our
Italian opera. The Mosaic work, though brought to a wonderful degree of
improvement, and admirably calculated for churches, the dampness of
which is pernicious to the colours of the pallet, I will not yet
compare to the productions of the pencil. The glassyness (if I may be
allowed the expression) of the surface, throws, in my opinion, a false
light on some parts of the picture; and when you approach it, the
joinings of the pieces look like so many cracks on painted canvas.
Besides, this method is extremely tedious and expensive. I went to see
the artists at work, in a house that stands near the church, where I
was much pleased with the ingenuity of the process; and not a little
surprized at the great number of different colours and tints, which are
kept in separate drawers, marked with numbers as far as seventeen
thousand. For a single head done in Mosaic, they asked me fifty
zequines. But to return to the church. The altar of St. Peter's choir,
notwithstanding all the ornaments which have been lavished upon it, is
no more than a heap of puerile finery, better adapted to an Indian
pagod, than to a temple built upon the principles of the Greek
architecture. The four colossal figures that support the chair, are
both clumsy and disproportioned. The drapery of statues, whether in
brass or stone, when thrown into large masses, appears hard and
unpleasant to the eye and for that reason the antients always imitated
wet linen, which exhibiting the shape of the limbs underneath, and
hanging in a multiplicity of wet folds, gives an air of lightness,
softness, and ductility to the whole.

These two statues weigh 116,257 pounds, and as they sustain nothing but
a chair, are out of all proportion, inasmuch as the supporters ought to
be suitable to the things supported. Here are four giants holding up
the old wooden chair of the apostle Peter, if we may believe the book
De Identitate Cathedrae Romanae, Of the Identity of the Roman Chair.
The implements of popish superstition; such as relicks of pretended
saints, ill-proportioned spires and bellfreys, and the nauseous
repetition of the figure of the cross, which is in itself a very mean
and disagreeable object, only fit for the prisons of condemned
criminals, have contributed to introduce a vitious taste into the
external architecture, as well as in the internal ornaments of our
temples. All churches are built in the figure of a cross, which
effectually prevents the eye from taking in the scope of the building,
either without side or within; consequently robs the edifice of its
proper effect. The palace of the Escurial in Spain is laid out in the
shape of a gridiron, because the convent was built in consequence of a
vow to St. Laurence, who was broiled like a barbecued pig. What pity it
is, that the labours of painting should have been so much employed on
the shocking subjects of the martyrology. Besides numberless pictures
of the flagellation, crucifixion, and descent from the cross, we have
Judith with the head of Holofernes, Herodias with the head of John the
Baptist, Jael assassinating Sisera in his sleep, Peter writhing on the
cross, Stephen battered with stones, Sebastian stuck full of arrows,
Laurence frying upon the coals, Bartholomew flaed alive, and a hundred
other pictures equally frightful, which can only serve to fill the mind
with gloomy ideas, and encourage a spirit of religious fanaticism,
which has always been attended with mischievous consequences to the
community where it reigned.

The tribune of the great altar, consisting of four wreathed brass
pillars, gilt, supporting a canopy, is doubtless very magnificent, if
not over-charged with sculpture, fluting, foliage, festoons, and
figures of boys and angels, which, with the hundred and twenty-two
lamps of silver, continually burning below, serve rather to dazzle the
eyes, and kindle the devotion of the ignorant vulgar, than to excite
the admiration of a judicious observer.

There is nothing, I believe, in this famous structure, so worthy of
applause, as the admirable symmetry and proportion of its parts.
Notwithstanding all the carving, gilding, basso relievos, medallions,
urns, statues, columns, and pictures with which it abounds, it does
not, on the whole, appear over-crouded with ornaments. When you first
enter, your eye is filled so equally and regularly, that nothing
appears stupendous; and the church seems considerably smaller than it
really is. The statues of children, that support the founts of holy
water when observed from the door, seem to be of the natural size; but
as you draw near, you perceive they are gigantic. In the same manner,
the figures of the doves, with olive branches in their beaks, which are
represented on the wall, appear to be within your reach; but as you
approach them, they recede to a considerable height, as if they had
flown upwards to avoid being taken.

I was much disappointed at sight of the Pantheon, which, after all that
has been said of it, looks like a huge cockpit, open at top. The
portico which Agrippa added to the building, is undoubtedly very noble,
though, in my opinion, it corresponds but ill with the simplicity of
the edifice. With all my veneration for the antients, I cannot see in
what the beauty of the rotunda consists. It is no more than a plain
unpierced cylinder, or circular wall, with two fillets and a cornice,
having a vaulted roof or cupola, open in the centre. I mean the
original building, without considering the vestibule of Agrippa. Within
side it has much the air of a mausoleum. It was this appearance which,
in all probability, suggested the thought to Boniface IV. to transport
hither eight and twenty cart-loads of old rotten bones, dug from
different burying-places, and then dedicate it as a church to the
blessed Virgin and all the holy martyrs. I am not one of those who
think it is well lighted by the hole at the top, which is about nine
and twenty feet in diameter, although the author of the Grand Tour
calls it but nine. The same author says, there is a descent of eleven
steps to go into it; that it is a hundred and forty-four feet in
heighth, and as many in breadth; that it was covered with copper,
which, with the brass nails of the portico, pope Urban VIII. took away,
and converted into the four wreathed pillars that support the canopy of
the high altar in the church of St. Peter, &c. The truth is, before the
time of pope Alexander VII. the earth was so raised as to cover part of
the temple, and there was a descent of some steps into the porch: but
that pontiff ordered the ground to be pared away to the very pedestal
or base of the portico, which is now even with the street, so that
there is no descent whatsoever. The height is two hundred palmi, and
the breadth two hundred and eighteen; which, reckoning fife palmi at
nine inches, will bring the height to one hundred and fifty, and the
breadth to one hundred and sixty-three feet six inches. It was not any
covering of copper which pope Urban VIII. removed, but large brass
beams, which supported the roof of the portico. They weighed 186,392
pounds; and afforded metal enough not only for the pillars in St.
Peter's church, but also for several pieces of artillery that are now
in the castle of St. Angelo. What is more extraordinary, the gilding of
those columns is said to have cost forty thousand golden crowns: sure
money was never worse laid out. Urban VIII. likewise added two bellfrey
towers to the rotunda; and I wonder he did not cover the central hole
with glass, as it must be very inconvenient and disagreeable to those
who go to church below, to be exposed to the rain in wet weather, which
must also render it very damp and unwholesome. I visited it several
times, and each time it looked more and more gloomy and sepulchral.

The magnificence of the Romans was not so conspicuous in their temples,
as in their theatres, amphitheatres, circusses, naumachia, aqueducts,
triumphal arches, porticoes, basilicae, but especially their thermae,
or bathing-places. A great number of their temples were small and
inconsiderable; not one of them was comparable either for size or
magnificence, to the modern church of St. Peter of the Vatican. The
famous temple of Jupiter Capitolinus was neither half so long, nor half
so broad: it was but two hundred feet in length, and one hundred and
eighty-five in breadth; whereas the length of St. Peter's extends to
six hundred and thirty-eight feet, and the breadth to above five
hundred. It is very near twice as large as the temple of Jupiter
Olympius in Greece, which was counted one of the seven wonders of the
world. But I shall take another opportunity to explain myself further
on the antiquities of this city; a subject, upon which I am disposed to
be (perhaps impertinently) circumstantial. When I begin to run riot,
you should cheek me with the freedom of a friend. The most distant hint
will be sufficient to,--Dear Sir, Yours assuredly.



LETTER XXXII

NICE, March 10, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--The Colossaeum or amphitheatre built by Flavius Vespasian,
is the most stupendous work of the kind which antiquity can produce.
Near one half of the external circuit still remains, consisting of four
tire of arcades, adorned with columns of four orders, Doric, Ionic,
Corinthian, and Composite. The height and extent of it may be guessed
from the number of spectators it contained, amounting to one hundred
thousand; and yet, according to Fontana's mensuration, it could not
contain above thirty-four thousand persons sitting, allowing a foot and
an half for each person: for the circuit of the whole building did not
exceed one thousand five hundred and sixty feet. The amphitheatre at
Verona is one thousand two hundred and ninety feet in circumference;
and that of Nismes, one thousand and eighty. The Colossaeum was built
by Vespasian, who employed thirty thousand Jewish slaves in the work;
but finished and dedicated by his son Titus, who, on the first day of
its being opened, produced fifty thousand wild beasts, which were all
killed in the arena. The Romans were undoubtedly a barbarous people,
who delighted in horrible spectacles. They viewed with pleasure the
dead bodies of criminals dragged through the streets, or thrown down
the Scalae Gemoniae and Tarpeian rock, for their contemplation. Their
rostra were generally adorned with the heads of some remarkable
citizens, like Temple-Bar, at London. They even bore the sight of
Tully's head fixed upon that very rostrum where he had so often
ravished their ears with all the charms of eloquence, in pleading the
cause of innocence and public virtue. They took delight in seeing their
fellow-creatures torn in pieces by wild beasts, in the amphitheatre.
They shouted with applause when they saw a poor dwarf or slave killed
by his adversary; but their transports were altogether extravagant,
when the devoted captives were obliged to fight in troops, till one
side was entirely butchered by the other. Nero produced four hundred
senators, and six hundred of the equestrian order, as gladiators in the
public arena: even the women fought with wild beasts, as well as with
each other, and drenched the amphitheatres with their blood. Tacitus
says, "Sed faeminarum illustrium, senatorumque filiorum plures per
arenam faedati sunt," "But many sons of Senators, and even Matrons of
the first Rank, exposed themselves in this vile exercise." The
execrable custom of sacrificing captives or slaves at the tombs of
their masters and great men, which is still preserved among the negroes
of Africa, obtained also among the antients, Greeks as well as Romans.
I could never, without horror and indignation, read that passage in the
twenty-third book of the Iliad, which describes twelve valiant Trojan
captives sacrificed by the inhuman Achilles at the tomb of his friend
Patroclus.

  Dodeka men Troon megathumon uias eathlous
  Tous ama pantas pur eathiei.

  Twelve generous Trojans slaughtered in their Bloom,
  With thy lov'd Corse the Fire shall now consume.

Even Virgil makes his pious Hero sacrifice eight Italian youths to the
manes of Pallas. It is not at all clear to me, that a people is the
more brave, the more they are accustomed to bloodshed in their public
entertainments. True bravery is not savage but humane. Some of this
sanguinary spirit is inherited by the inhabitants of a certain island
that shall be nameless--but, mum for that. You will naturally suppose
that the Coliseo was ruined by the barbarians who sacked the city of
Rome: in effect, they robbed it of its ornaments and valuable
materials; but it was reserved for the Goths and Vandals of modern
Rome, to dismantle the edifice, and reduce it to its present ruinous
condition. One part of it was demolished by pope Paul II. that he might
employ the stones of it in building the palace of St. Mark. It was
afterwards dilapidated for the same purposes, by the cardinals Riarius
and Farnese, which last assumed the tiara under the name of Paul III.
Notwithstanding these injuries, there is enough standing to convey a
very sublime idea of ancient magnificence.

The Circi and Naumachia, if considered as buildings and artificial
basins, are admirable; but if examined as areae intended for horse and
chariot races, and artificial seas for exhibiting naval engagements,
they seem to prove that the antient Romans were but indifferently
skilled and exercised either in horsemanship or naval armaments. The
inclosure of the emperor Caracalla's circus is still standing, and
scarce affords breathing room for an English hunter. The Circus
Maximus, by far the largest in Rome, was not so long as the Mall; and I
will venture to affirm, that St. James's Park would make a much more
ample and convenient scene for those diversions. I imagine an old Roman
would be very much surprised to see an English race on the course at
New-Market. The Circus Maximus was but three hundred yards in breadth.
A good part of this was taken up by the spina, or middle space, adorned
with temples, statues, and two great obelisks; as well as by the
euripus, or canal, made by order of Julius Caesar, to contain
crocodiles, and other aquatic animals, which were killed occasionally.
This was so large, that Heliogabalus, having filled it with excellent
wine, exhibited naval engagements in it, for the amusement of the
people. It surrounded three sides of the square, so that the whole
extent of the race did not much exceed an English mile; and when Probus
was at the expence of filling the plain of it with fir-trees to form a
wood for the chace of wild beasts, I question much if this forest was
more extensive than the plantation in St. James's Park, on the south
side of the canal: now I leave you to judge what ridicule a king of
England would incur by converting this part of the park into a chace
for any species of animals which are counted game in our country.

The Roman emperors seemed more disposed to elevate and surprize, than
to conduct the public diversions according to the rules of reason and
propriety. One would imagine, it was with this view they instituted
their naumachia, or naval engagements, performed by half a dozen small
gallies of a side in an artificial basin of fresh water. These gallies
I suppose were not so large as common fishing-smacks, for they were
moved by two, three, and four oars of a side according to their
different rates, biremes, triremes, and quadriremes. I know this is a
knotty point not yet determined; and that some antiquarians believe the
Roman gallies had different tires or decks of oars; but this is a
notion very ill supported, and quite contrary to all the figures of
them that are preserved on antient coins and medals. Suetonius in the
reign of Domitian, speaking of these naumachia, says, "Edidit navales
pugnas, pene justarum classium, effosso, et circumducto juxta Tyberim
lacu, atque inter maximas imbres prospectavit," "He exhibited naval
engagements of almost intire fleets, in an artificial Lake formed for
the purpose hard by the Tyber, and viewed them in the midst of
excessive Rains." This artificial lake was not larger than the piece of
water in Hyde-Park; and yet the historian says, it was almost large
enough for real or intire fleets. How would a British sailor relish an
advertisement that a mock engagement between two squadrons of men of
war would be exhibited on such a day in the Serpentine river? or that
the ships of the line taken from the enemy would be carried in
procession from Hyde-Park-Corner to Tower-wharf? Certain it is,
Lucullus, in one of his triumphs, had one hundred and ten ships of war
(naves longas) carried through the streets of Rome. Nothing can give a
more contemptible idea of their naval power, than this testimony of
their historians, who declare that their seamen or mariners were formed
by exercising small row-boats in an inclosed pool of fresh water. Had
they not the sea within a few miles of them, and the river Tyber
running through their capital! even this would have been much more
proper for exercising their watermen, than a pond of still-water, not
much larger than a cold-bath. I do believe in my conscience that half a
dozen English frigates would have been able to defeat both the
contending fleets at the famous battle of Actium, which has been so
much celebrated in the annals of antiquity, as an event that decided
the fate of empire.

It would employ me a whole month to describe the thermae or baths, the
vast ruins of which are still to be seen within the walls of Rome, like
the remains of so many separate citadels. The thermae Dioclesianae
might be termed an august academy for the use and instruction of the
Roman people. The pinacotheca of this building was a complete musaeum
of all the curiosities of art and nature; and there were public schools
for all the sciences. If I may judge by my eye, however, the thermae
Antonianae built by Caracalla, were still more extensive and
magnificent; they contained cells sufficient for two thousand three
hundred persons to bathe at one time, without being seen by one
another. They were adorned with all the charms of painting,
architecture, and sculpture. The pipes for convoying the water were of
silver. Many of the lavacra were of precious marble, illuminated by
lamps of chrystal. Among the statues, were found the famous Toro, and
Hercole Farnese.

Bathing was certainly necessary to health and cleanliness in a hot
country like Italy, especially before the use of linen was known: but
these purposes would have been much better answered by plunging into
the Tyber, than by using the warm bath in the thermae, which became
altogether a point of luxury borrowed from the effeminate Asiatics, and
tended to debilitate the fibres already too much relaxed by the heat of
the climate. True it is, they had baths of cool water for the summer:
but in general they used it milk-warm, and often perfumed: they
likewise indulged in vapour-baths, in order to enjoy a pleasing
relaxation, which they likewise improved with odoriferous ointments.

The thermae consisted of a great variety of parts and conveniences; the
natationes, or swimming places; the portici, where people amused
themselves in walking, conversing, and disputing together, as Cicero
says, In porticibus deambulantes disputabant; the basilicae, where the
bathers assembled, before they entered, and after they came out of the
bath; the atria, or ample courts, adorned with noble colonnades of
Numidian marble and oriental granite; the ephibia, where the young men
inured themselves to wrestling and other exercises; the frigidaria, or
places kept cool by a constant draught of air, promoted by the
disposition and number of the windows; the calidaria, where the water
was warmed for the baths; the platanones, or delightful groves of
sycamore; the stadia, for the performances of the athletae; the
exedrae, or resting-places, provided with seats for those that were
weary; the palestrae, where every one chose that exercise which pleased
him best; the gymnasia, where poets, orators, and philosophers recited
their works, and harangued for diversion; the eleotesia, where the
fragrant oils and ointments were kept for the use of the bathers; and
the conisteria, where the wrestlers were smeared with sand before they
engaged. Of the thermae in Rome, some were mercenary, and some opened
gratis. Marcus Agrippa, when he was edile, opened one hundred and
seventy private baths, for the use of the people. In the public baths,
where money was taken, each person paid a quadrans, about the value of
our halfpenny, as Juvenal observes,

  Caedere Sylvano porcum, quadrante lavari.

  The victim Pig to God Sylvanus slay,
  And for the public Bath a farthing pay.

But after the hour of bathing was past, it sometimes cost a great deal
more, according to Martial,

  Balnea post decimam, lasso centumque petuntur
  Quadrantes--

  The bathing hour is past, the waiter tir'd;
  An hundred Farthings now will be requir'd.

Though there was no distinction in the places between the first
patrician and the lowest plebeian, yet the nobility used their own
silver and gold plate, for washing, eating, and drinking in the bath,
together with towels of the finest linen. They likewise made use of the
instrument called strigil, which was a kind of flesh-brush; a custom to
which Persius alludes in this line,

  I puer, et strigiles Crispini ad balnea defer.

  Here, Boy, this Brush to Crispin's Bagnio bear.

The common people contented themselves with sponges. The bathing time
was from noon till the evening, when the Romans ate their principal
meal. Notice was given by a bell, or some such instrument, when the
baths were opened, as we learn from Juvenal,

  Redde Pilam, sonat Aes thermarum, ludere pergis?
  Virgine vis sola lotus abdire domum.

  Leave off; the Bath Bell rings--what, still play on?
  Perhaps the maid in private rubs you down.

There were separate places for the two sexes; and indeed there were
baths opened for the use of women only, at the expence of Agrippina,
the mother of Nero, and some other matrons of the first quality. The
use of bathing was become so habitual to the constitutions of the
Romans, that Galen, in his book De Sanitate tuenda, mentions a certain
philosopher, who, if he intermitted but one day in his bathing, was
certainly attacked with a fever. In order to preserve decorum in the
baths, a set of laws and regulations were published, and the thermae
were put under the inspection of a censor, who was generally one of the
first senators in Rome. Agrippa left his gardens and baths, which stood
near the pantheon, to the Roman people: among the statues that adorned
them was that of a youth naked, as going into the bath, so elegantly
formed by the hand of Lysippus, that Tiberius, being struck with the
beauty of it, ordered it to be transferred into his own palace: but the
populace raised such a clamour against him, that he was fain to have it
reconveyed to its former place. These noble baths were restored by
Adrian, as we read in Spartian; but at present no part of them remains.

With respect to the present state of the old aqueducts, I can give you
very little satisfaction. I only saw the ruins of that which conveyed
the aqua Claudia, near the Porta Maggiore, and the Piazza of the
Lateran. You know there were fourteen of those antient aqueducts, some
of which brought water to Rome from the distance of forty miles. The
channels of them were large enough to admit a man armed on horseback;
and therefore when Rome was besieged by the Goths, who had cut off the
water, Belisarius fortified them with works to prevent the enemy from
entering the city by those conveyances. After that period, I suppose
the antient aqueducts continued dry, and were suffered to run to ruins.
Without all doubt, the Romans were greatly obliged to those
benefactors, who raised such stupendous works for the benefit, as well
as the embellishment of their city: but it might have been supplied
with the same water through pipes at one hundredth part of the expence;
and in that case the enemy would not have found it such an easy matter
to cut it off. Those popes who have provided the modern city so
plentifully with excellent water, are much to be commended for the care
and expence, they have bestowed in restoring the streams called acqua
Virgine, acqua Felice, and acqua Paolina, which afford such abundance
of water as would plentifully supply a much larger city than modern
Rome.

It is no wonder that M. Agrippa, the son-in-law, friend, and favourite
of Augustus, should at the same time have been the idol of the people,
considering how surprisingly he exerted himself for the emolument,
convenience, and pleasure of his fellow-citizens. It was he who first
conducted this acqua Virgine to Rome: he formed seven hundred
reservoirs in the city; erected one hundred and five fountains; one
hundred and thirty castella, or conduits, which works he adorned with
three hundred statues, and four hundred pillars of marble, in the space
of one year. He also brought into Rome, the aqua Julia, and restored
the aqueduct of the aqua Marzia, which had fallen to decay. I have
already observed the great number of baths which he opened for the
people, and the magnificent thermae, with spacious gardens, which he
bequeathed to them as a legacy. But these benefactions, great and
munificent as they seem to be, were not the most important services he
performed for the city of Rome. The common-sewers were first made by
order of Tarquinius Priscus, not so much with a view to cleanliness, as
by way of subterranean drains to the Velabrum, and in order to carry
off the stagnant water, which remained in the lower parts, after heavy
rains. The different branches of these channels united at the Forum,
from whence by the cloaca Maxima, their contents were conveyed into the
Tyber. This great cloaca was the work of Tarquinius Superbus. Other
sewers were added by Marcus Cato, and Valerius Flaccus, the censors.
All these drains having been choaked up and ruinous, were cleared and
restored by Marcus Agrippa, who likewise undermined the whole city with
canals of the same kind, for carrying of the filth; he strengthened and
enlarged the cloaca maxima, so as to make it capable of receiving a
large cart loaded with hay; and directed seven streams of water into
these subterranean passages, in order to keep them always clean and
open. If, notwithstanding all these conveniences, Vespasian was put to
great expence in removing the ordure from the public streets, we have
certainly a right to conclude that the antient Romans were not more
cleanly than the modern Italians.

After the mausolea of Augustus, and Adrian, which I have already
mentioned, the most remarkable antient sepulchres at Rome, are those of
Caius Cestius, and Cecilia Metella. The first, which stands by the
Porta di S. Paolo, is a beautiful pyramid, one hundred and twenty feet
high, still preserved intire, having a vaulted chamber within-side,
adorned with some ancient painting, which is now almost effaced. The
building is of brick, but eased with marble. This Caius Cestius had
been consul, was very rich, and acted as one of the seven Epulones, who
superintended the feasts of the gods, called Lectisternia, and
Pervigilia. He bequeathed his whole fortune to his friend M. Agrippa,
who was so generous as to give it up to the relations of the testator.
The monument of Cecilia Metella, commonly called Capo di Bove, is
without the walls on the Via Appia. This lady was daughter of Metellus
Creticus, and wife to Crassus, who erected this noble monument to her
memory. It consisted of two orders, or stories, the first of which was
a square of hewn stone: the second was a circular tower, having a
cornice, adorned with ox heads in basso relievo, a circumstance from
which it takes the name of Capo di Bove. The ox was supposed to be a
most grateful sacrifice to the gods. Pliny, speaking of bulls and oxen,
says,

  Hinc victimae optimae et laudatissima deorum placatio.

They were accounted the best Victims and most agreeable to appease the
anger of the Gods.

This tower was surmounted by a noble cupola or dome, enriched with all
the ornaments of architecture. The door of the building was of brass;
and within-side the ashes of Cecilia were deposited in a fluted marble
urn, of curious workmanship, which is still kept in the Palazzo
Farnese. At present the surface of the ground is raised so much as to
cover the first order of the edifice: what we see is no more than the
round tower, without the dome and its ornaments; and the following
inscription still remains near the top, facing the Via Appia.

  CAECILLAE
  Q. CRETICI F.
  METELLAE
  CRASSI.

To Caecilia Metella, Daughter of Q. Criticus: wife of Crassus.

Now we are talking of sepulchral inscriptions, I shall conclude this
letter with the copy of a very singular will, made by Favonius
Jocundus, who died in Portugal, by which will the precise situation of
the famous temple of Sylvanus is ascertained.

"Jocundi. Ego gallus Favonius Jocundus P. Favoni F. qui bello contra
Viriatum Succubui, Jocundum et Prudentem filios, e me et Quintia Fabia
conjuge mea ortos, et Bonorum Jocundi Patris mei, et eorum, quae mihi
ipsi acquisivi haeredes relinquo; hac tamen conditione, ut ab urbe
Romana huc veniant, et ossa hic mea, intra quinquennium exportent, et
via latina condant in sepulchro, jussu meo condito, et mea voluntate;
in quo velim neminem mecum, neque servum, neque libertum inseri; et
velim ossa quorumcunque sepulchro statim meo eruantur, et jura
Romanorum serventur, in sepulchris ritu majorum retinendis, juxta
volantatem testatoris; et si secus fecerint, nisi legittimae oriantur
causae, velim ea omnia, quae filijs meis relinquo, pro reparando templo
dei Sylvani, quod sub viminali monte est, attribui; manesque mei a
Pont. max; a flaminibus dialibus, qui in capitolio sunt, opem
implorent, ad liberorum meorum impietatem ulciscendam; teneanturque
sacerdotes dei Silvani, me in urbem referre, et sepulchro me meo
condere. Volo quoque vernas qui domi meae sunt, omnes a praetore urbano
liberos, cum matribus dimitti, singulisque libram argenti puri, et
vestem unam dori. In Lusitania. In agro VIII. Cal Quintilis, bello
viriatino."

I, Gallus Favonius Jocundus, son of P. Favonius, dying in the war
against Viriatus, declare my sons Jocundus and Prudens, by my wife
Quintia Fabia, joint Heirs of my Estate, real and personal; on
condition, however, that they come hither within a time of five years
from this my last will, and transport my remains to Rome to be
deposited in my Sepulchre built in the via latina by my own order and
Direction: and it is my will that neither slave nor freedman shall be
interred with me in the said tomb; that if any such there be, they
shall be removed, and the Roman law obeyed, in preserving in the
antient Form the sepulchre according to the will of the Testator. If
they act otherwise without just cause, it is my will that the whole
estate, which I now bequeathe to my children, shall be applied to the
Reparation of the Temple of the God Sylvanus, at the foot of Mount
Viminalis; and that my Manes [The Manes were an order of Gods supposed
to take cognisance of such injuries.] I shall implore the assistance of
the Pontifex maximus, and the Flaminisdiales in the Capitol, to avenge
the Impiety of my children; and the priests of Sylvanus shall engage to
bring my remains to Rome and see them decently deposited in my own
Sepulchre. It is also my will that all my domestic slaves shall be
declared free by the city Praetor, and dismissed with their mothers,
after having received each, a suit of cloaths, and a pound weight of
pure silver from my heirs and Executors.--At my farm in Lusitania, July
25. During the Viriatin war.

My paper scarce affords room to assure you that I am ever,--Dear Sir,
Your faithful, etc.



LETTER XXXIII

NICE, March 30, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--YOU must not imagine I saw one half of the valuable pictures
and statues of Rome; there is such a vast number of both in this
capital, that I might have spent a whole year in taking even a
transient view of them; and, after all, some of them would have been
overlooked. The most celebrated pieces, however, I have seen; and
therefore my curiosity is satisfied. Perhaps, if I had the nice
discernment and delicate sensibility of a true connoisseur, this
superficial glimpse would have served only to whet my appetite, and to
detain me the whole winter at Rome. In my progress through the Vatican,
I was much pleased with the School of Athens, by Raphael, a piece which
hath suffered from the dampness of the air. The four boys attending to
the demonstration of the mathematician are admirably varied in the
expression. Mr. Webb's criticism on this artist is certainly just. He
was perhaps the best ethic painter that ever the world produced. No man
ever expressed the sentiments so happily, in visage, attitude, and
gesture: but he seems to have had too much phlegm to strike off the
grand passions, or reach the sublime parts of painting. He has the
serenity of Virgil, but wants the fire of Homer. There is nothing in
his Parnassus which struck me, but the ludicrous impropriety of
Apollo's playing upon a fiddle, for the entertainment of the nine
muses. [Upon better information I must retract this censure; in as
much, as I find there was really a Musical Instrument among the
antients of this Figure, as appears by a small statue in Bronze, to be
still seen in the Florentine Collection.]

The Last Judgment, by Buonaroti, in the chapel of Sixtus IV. produced
to my eye the same sort of confusion, that perplexes my ear at a grand
concert, consisting of a great variety of instruments: or rather, when
a number of people are talking all at once. I was pleased with the
strength of expression, exhibited in single figures, and separate
groupes: but, the whole together is a mere mob, without subordination,
keeping, or repose. A painter ought to avoid all subjects that require
a multiplicity of groupes and figures; because it is not in the power
of that art to unite a great number in one point of view, so as to
maintain that dependence which they ought to have upon one another.
Michael Angelo, with all his skill in anatomy, his correctness of
design, his grand composition, his fire, and force of expression, seems
to have had very little idea of grace. One would imagine he had chosen
his kings, heroes, cardinals, and prelates, from among the facchini of
Rome: that he really drew his Jesus on the Cross, from the agonies of
some vulgar assassin expiring on the wheel; and that the originals of
his Bambini, with their mothers, were literally found in a stable. In
the Sala Regia, from whence the Sistian chapel is detached, we see,
among other exploits of catholic heroes, a representation of the
massacre of the protestants in Paris, Tholouse, and other parts of
France, on the eve of St. Bartholomew, thus described in the
Descrizione di Roma, "Nella prima pittura, esprime Georgio Vasari
l'istoria del Coligni, grand' amiraglio, di Francia, che come capo de
ribelli, e degl'ugonotti, fu ucciso; e nell'altra vicina, la strage
fatta in Parigi, e nel regno, de rebelli, e degl'Ugonotti." "In the
first picture, George Vasari represents the history of Coligni, high
admiral of France, who was slain as head of the rebels and huegonots;
and in another near it, the slaughter that was made of the rebels and
huegonots in Paris and other parts of the kingdom." Thus the court of
Rome hath employed their artists to celebrate and perpetuate, as a
meritorious action, the most perfidious, cruel, and infamous massacre,
that ever disgraced the annals of any nation.

I need not mention the two equestrian statues of Constantine the Great,
and Charlemagne, which stand at opposite ends of the great portico of
St. Peter's church; because there is nothing in them which particularly
engaged my attention. The sleeping Cleopatra, as you enter the court of
the Belvedere, in the Vatican, is much admired; but I was better
pleased with the Apollo, which I take to be the most beautiful statue
that ever was formed. The Nile, which lies in the open court,
surmounted with the little children, has infinite merit; but is much
damaged, and altogether neglected. Whether it is the same described in
Pliny, as having been placed by Vespasian in the Temple of Peace, I do
not know. The sixteen children playing about it, denoted the swelling
of the Nile, which never rose above sixteen cubits. As for the famous
groupe of Laocoon, it surpassed my expectation. It was not without
reason that Buonaroti called it a portentous work; and Pliny has done
it no more than justice in saying it is the most excellent piece that
ever was cut in marble; and yet the famous Fulvius Ursini is of opinion
that this is not the same statue which Pliny described. His reasons,
mentioned by Montfaucon, are these. The statues described by Pliny were
of one stone; but these are not. Antonioli, the antiquary, has in his
Possession, pieces of Laocoon's snakes, which were found in the ground,
where the baths of Titus actually stood, agreeable to Pliny, who says
these statues were placed in the buildings of Titus. Be that as it may,
the work which we now see does honour to antiquity. As you have seen
innumerable copies and casts of it, in marble, plaister, copper, lead,
drawings, and prints, and read the description of it in Keysler, and
twenty other books of travels, I shall say nothing more on the subject;
but that neither they nor I, nor any other person, could say too much
in its praise. It is not of one piece indeed. In that particular Pliny
himself might be mistaken. "Opus omnibus et picturae, et statuariae
artis praeponendum. Ex uno lapide eum et Liberos draconumque mirabiles
nexus de consilii sententia fecere succubi artifices." "A work
preferable to all the other Efforts of Painting and Statuary. The most
excellent artists joined their Talents in making the Father and his
Sons, together with the admirable Twinings of the Serpents, of one
Block." Buonaroti discovered the joinings, though they were so artfully
concealed as to be before invisible. This amazing groupe is the work of
three Rhodian sculptors, called Agesander, Polydore, and Athenodorus,
and was found in the thermae of Titus Vespasian, still supposing it to
be the true antique. As for the torso, or mutilated trunk of a statue,
which is called the school of Michael Angelo, I had not time to
consider it attentively; nor taste enough to perceive its beauties at
first sight. The famous horses on Monte Cavallo, before the pope's
palace, which are said to have been made in emulation, by Phidias and
Praxiteles, I have seen, and likewise those in the front of the
Capitol, with the statues of Castor and Pollux; but what pleased me
infinitely more than all of them together, is the equestrian statue of
Corinthian brass, standing in the middle of this Piazza (I mean at the
Capitol) said to represent the emperor Marcus Aurelius. Others suppose
it was intended for Lucius Verus; a third set of antiquaries contend
for Lucius Septimius Severus; and a fourth, for Constantine, because it
stood in the Piazza of the Lateran palace, built by that emperor, from
whence pope Paul III. caused it to be removed to the Capitol. I
considered the trophy of Marius as a very curious piece of sculpture,
and admired the two sphinxes at the bottom of the stairs leading to
this Piazza, as the only good specimens of design I have ever seen from
Aegypt: for the two idols of that country, which stand in the ground
floor of the Musaeum of the Capitol, and indeed all the Aegyptian
statues in the Camera Aegyptiaca of this very building, are such
monstrous misrepresentations of nature, that they never could have
obtained a place among the statues of Rome, except as curiosities of
foreign superstition, or on account of the materials, as they are
generally of basaltes, porphyry, or oriental granite.

At the farther end of the court of this Musaeum, fronting the entrance,
is a handsome fountain, with the statue of a river-god reclining on his
urn; this is no other than the famous Marforio, so called from its
having been found in Martis Fore. It is remarkable only as being the
conveyance of the answers to the satires which are found pasted upon
Pasquin, another mutilated statue, standing at the corner of a street.

The marble coffin, supposed to have contained the ashes of Alexander
Severus, which we find in one of these apartments, is a curious
antique, valuable for its sculpture in basso relievo, especially for
the figures on the cover, representilig that emperor and his mother
Julia Mammea.

I was sorry I had not time to consider the antient plan of Rome,
disposed in six classes, on the stair-case of this Musaeum, which was
brought hither from a temple that stood in the Forum Boarium, now
called Campo vaccine.

It would be ridiculous in me to enter into a detail of the vast
collection of marbles, basso relievos, inscriptions, urns, busts, and
statues, which are placed in the upper apartments of this edifice. I
saw them but once, and then I was struck with the following
particulars. A bacchanalian drunk; a Jupiter and Leda, at least equal
to that in the gallery at Florence; an old praesica, or hired mourner,
very much resembling those wrinkled hags still employed in Ireland, and
in the Highlands of Scotland, to sing the coronach at funerals, in
praise of the deceased; the famous Antinous, an elegant figure, which
Pousin studied as canon or rule of symmetry; the two fauns; and above
all the mirmillone, or dying gladiator; the attitude of the body, the
expression of the countenance, the elegance of the limbs, and the
swelling of the muscles, in this statue, are universally admired; but
the execution of the back is incredibly delicate. The course of the
muscles called longissimi dorsi, are so naturally marked and tenderly
executed, that the marble actually emulates the softness of the flesh;
and you may count all the spines of the vertebrae, raising up the skin
as in the living body; yet this statue, with all its merit, seems
inferior to the celebrated dying gladiator of Ctesilas, as described by
Pliny, who says the expression of it was such, as appears altogether
incredible. In the court, on the opposite side of the Capitol, there is
an admirable statue of a lion devouring an horse, which was found by
the gate of Ostia, near the pyramid of Caius Cestius; and here on the
left hand, under a colonade, is what they call the Columna Rostrata,
erected in honour of Caius Duilius, who first triumphed over the
Carthaginians by sea. But this is a modern pillar, with the old
inscription, which is so defaced as not to be legible. Among the
pictures in the gallery and saloon above, what pleased me most was the
Bacchus and Ariadne of Guido Rheni; and the wolf suckling Romulus and
Remus, by Rubens. The court of the Palazzo Farnese is surrounded with
antique statues, among which the most celebrated are, the Flora, with a
most delicate drapery; the gladiator, with a dead boy over his
shoulder; the Hercules, with the spoils of the Nemean lion, but that
which the connoisseurs justly esteem above all the rest is Hercules, by
Glycon, which you know as well as I do, by the great reputation it has
acquired. This admirable statue having been found without the legs,
these were supplied by Gulielmo de la Porta so happily, that when
afterwards the original limbs were discovered, Michael Angelo preferred
those of the modern artist, both in grace and proportion; and they have
been retained accordingly. In a little house, or shed, behind the
court, is preserved the wonderful group of Dirce, commonly called the
Toro Farnese, which was brought hither from the thermae Caracallae.
There is such spirit, ferocity, and indignant resistance expressed in
the bull, to whose horns Dirce is tied by the hair, that I have never
seen anything like it, either upon canvass, or in stone. The statues of
the two brothers endeavouring to throw him into the sea are beautiful
figures, finely contrasted; and the rope, which one of them holds in a
sort of loose coil, is so surprisingly chizzelled, that one can hardly
believe it is of stone. As for Dirce herself, she seems to be but a
subaltern character; there is a dog upon his hind legs barking at the
bull, which is much admired. This amazing groupe was cut out of one
stone, by Appollonius and Tauriscus, two sculptors of Rhodes; and is
mentioned by Pliny in the thirty-sixth book of his Natural History. All
the precious monuments of art, which have come down to us from
antiquity, are the productions of Greek artists. The Romans had taste
enough to admire the arts of Greece, as plainly appears by the great
collections they made of their statues and pictures, as well as by
adopting their architecture and musick: but I do not remember to have
read of any Roman who made a great figure either as a painter or a
statuary. It is not enough to say those professions were not honourable
in Rome, because painting, sculpture, and musick, even rhetoric,
physic, and philosophy were practised and taught by slaves. The arts
were always honoured and revered at Rome, even when the professors of
them happened to be slaves by the accidents and iniquity of fortune.
The business of painting and statuary was so profitable, that in a free
republic, like that of Rome, they must have been greedily embraced by a
great number of individuals: but, in all probability, the Roman soil
produced no extraordinary genius for those arts. Like the English of
this day, they made a figure in poetry, history, and ethics; but the
excellence of painting, sculpture, architecture, and music, they never
could attain. In the Palazzo Picchini I saw three beautiful figures,
the celebrated statues of Meleager, the boar, and dog; together with a
wolf, of excellent workmanship. The celebrated statue of Moses, by
Michael Angelo, in the church of St. Peter in Vincula, I beheld with
pleasure; as well as that of Christ, by the same hand, in the Church of
S. Maria sopra Minerva. The right foot, covered with bronze, gilt, is
much kissed by the devotees. I suppose it is looked upon as a specific
for the toothache; for, I saw a cavalier, in years, and an old woman
successively rub their gums upon it, with the appearance of the most
painful perseverance.

You need not doubt but that I went to the church of St. Peter in
Montorio, to view the celebrated Transfiguration, by Raphael, which, if
it was mine, I would cut in two parts. The three figures in the air
attract the eye so strongly, that little or no attention is payed to
those below on the mountain. I apprehend that the nature of the subject
does not admit of that keeping and dependence, which ought to be
maintained in the disposition of the lights and shadows in a picture.
The groupes seem to be intirely independent of each other. The
extraordinary merit of this piece, I imagine, consists, not only in the
expression of divinity on the face of Christ; but also in the
surprising lightness of the figure, that hovers like a beautiful
exhalation in the air. In the church of St. Luke, I was not at all
struck by the picture of that saint, drawing the portrait of the Virgin
Mary, although it is admired as one of the best pieces of Raphael.
Indeed it made so little impression upon me, that I do not even
remember the disposition of the figures. The altar-piece, by Andrea
Sacchi, in the church of St. Romauldus, would have more merit, if the
figure of the saint himself had more consequence, and was represented
in a stronger light. In the Palazzo Borghese, I chiefly admired the
following pieces: a Venus with two nymphs; and another with Cupid, both
by Titian: an excellent Roman Piety, by Leonardo da Vinci; and the
celebrated Muse, by Dominechino, which is a fine, jolly, buxom figure.
At the palace of Colorina Connestabile, I was charmed with the
Herodias, by Guido Rheni; a young Christ; and a Madonna, by Raphael;
and four landscapes, two by Claude Lorraine, and the other two, by
Salvator Rosa. In the palazetto, or summerhouse belonging to the
Palazzo Rospigliosi, I had the satisfaction of contemplating the Aurora
of Guido, the colours of which still remain in high perfection,
notwithstanding the common report that the piece is spoiled by the
dampness of the apartment. The print of this picture, by Freij, with
all its merit, conveys but an imperfect idea of the beauty of the
original. In the Palazzo Barberini, there is a great collection of
marbles and pictures: among the first, I was attracted by a beautiful
statue of Venus; a sleeping faun, of curious workmanship; a charming
Bacchus, lying on an antient sculpture, and the famous Narcissus. Of
the pictures, what gave me most pleasure was the Magdalen of Guido,
infinitely superior to that by Le Brun in the church of the Carmelites
at Paris; the Virgin, by Titian; a Madonna, by Raphael, but not
comparable to that which is in the Palazzo de Pitti, at Florence; and
the death of Germanicus, by Poussin, which I take to be one of the best
pieces in this great collection. In the Palazzo Falconeri there is a
beautiful St. Cecilia, by Guercino; a holy family, by Raphael; and a
fine expressive figure of St. Peter weeping, by Dominechino. In the
Palazzo Altieri, I admired a picture, by Carlo Maratti, representing a
saint calling down lightning from heaven to destroy blasphemers. It was
the figure of the saint I admired, merely as a portrait. The execution
of the other parts was tame enough: perhaps they were purposely kept
down, in order to preserve the importance of the principal figure. I
imagine Salvator Rosa would have made a different disposition on the
same subject: that amidst the darkness of a tempest, he would have
illuminated the blasphemer with the flash of lightning by which he was
destroyed: this would have thrown a dismal gleam upon his countenance,
distorted by the horror of his situation as well as by the effects of
the fire; and rendered the whole scene dreadfully picturesque. In the
same palace, I saw the famous holy family, by Corregio, which he left
unfinished, and no other artist would undertake to supply; for what
reason I know not. Here too is a judgment of Paris, by Titian, which is
reckoned a very valuable piece. In the Palazzo Odescalchi, there is a
holy family, by Buonaroti, and another by Raphael, both counted
excellent, though in very different stiles, extremely characteristic of
those two great rival artists.

If I was silly enough to make a parade, I might mention some hundreds
more of marbles and pictures, which I really saw at Rome; and even eke
out that number with a huge list of those I did not see: but whatever
vanity I may have, it has not taken this turn; and I assure you, upon
my word and honour, I have described nothing but what actually fell
under my own observation. As for my critical remarks, I am afraid you
will think them too superficial and capricious to belong to any other
person but--Your humble servant.



LETTER XXXIV

NICE, April 2, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--I have nothing to communicate touching the library of the
Vatican, which, with respect to the apartments and their ornaments, is
undoubtedly magnificent. The number of books it contains does not
exceed forty thousand volumes, which are all concealed from the view,
and locked up in presses: as for the manuscripts, I saw none but such
as are commonly presented to strangers of our nation; some very old
copies of Virgil and Terence; two or three Missals, curiously
illuminated; the book De Septem Sacramentis, written in Latin by Henry
VIII. against Luther; and some of that prince's love letters to Anne
Boleyn. I likewise visited the Libreria Casanatense, belonging to the
convent of the church called S. Maria Sopra Minerva. I had a
recommendation to the principal librarian, a Dominican friar, who
received me very politely, and regaled me with a sight of several
curious MSS. of the classics.

Having satisfied my curiosity at Rome, I prepared for my departure, and
as the road between Radicofani and Montefiascone is very stony and
disagreeable, I asked the banker Barazzi, if there was not a better way
of returning to Florence, expressing a desire at the same time to see
the cascade of Terni. He assured me that the road by Terni was forty
miles shorter than the other, much more safe and easy, and accommodated
with exceeding good auberges. Had I taken the trouble to cast my eyes
upon the map, I must have seen, that the road by Terni, instead of
being forty miles shorter, was much longer than the other: but this was
not the only mistake of Signiore Barazzi. Great part of this way lies
over steep mountains, or along the side of precipices, which render
travelling in a carriage exceeding tedious, dreadful, and dangerous;
and as for the public houses, they are in all respects the most
execrable that ever I entered. I will venture to say that a common
prisoner in the Marshalsea or King's-Bench is more cleanly and
commodiously lodged than we were in many places on this road. The
houses are abominably nasty, and generally destitute of provision: when
eatables were found, we were almost poisoned by their cookery: their
beds were without curtains or bedstead, and their windows without
glass; and for this sort of entertainment we payed as much as if we had
been genteelly lodged, and sumptuously treated. I repeat it again; of
all the people I ever knew, the Italians are the most villainously
rapacious. The first day, having passed Civita Castellana, a small town
standing on the top of a hill, we put up at what was called an
excellent inn, where cardinals, prelates, and princes, often lodged.
Being meagre day, there was nothing but bread, eggs, and anchovies, in
the house. I went to bed without supper, and lay in a pallet, where I
was half devoured by vermin. Next day, our road, in some places, lay
along precipices, which over-hang the Nera or Nar, celebrated in
antiquity for its white foam, and the sulphureous quality of its waters.

  Sulfurea nar albus aqua, fontesque velini.

  Sulphureous nar, and the Velinian streams.

It is a small, but rapid stream, which runs not far from hence, into
the Tyber. Passing Utricoli, near the ruins of the ancient Ocriculum,
and the romantic town of Narni, situated on the top of a mountain, in
the neighbourhood of which is still seen standing one arch of the
stupendous bridge built by Augustus Caesar, we arrived at Terni, and
hiring a couple of chaises before dinner, went to see the famous
Cascata delle Marmore, which is at the distance of three miles. We
ascended a steep mountain by a narrow road formed for a considerable
way along the brink of a precipice, at the bottom of which brawls the
furious river Nera, after having received the Velino. This last is the
stream which, running from the Lago delle Marmore, forms the cascade by
falling over a precipice about one hundred and sixty feet high. Such a
body of water rushing down the mountain; the smoak, vapour, and thick
white mist which it raises; the double rainbow which these particles
continually exhibit while the sun shines; the deafening sound of the
cataract; the vicinity of a great number of other stupendous rocks and
precipices, with the dashing, boiling, and foaming of the two rivers
below, produce altogether an object of tremendous sublimity: yet great
part of its effect is lost, for want of a proper point of view, from
which it might be contemplated. The cascade would appear much more
astonishing, were it not in some measure eclipsed by the superior
height of the neighbouring mountains. You have not a front perspective;
but are obliged to view it obliquely on one side, standing upon the
brink of a precipice, which cannot be approached without horror. This
station might be rendered much more accessible, and altogether secure,
for the expence of four or five zequines; and a small tax might be
levied for the purpose from travellers by the aubergiste at Terni, who
lets his calasses for half a zequine a piece to those that are curious
to see this phaenomenon. Besides the two postilions whom I payed for
this excursion, at the rate of one stage in posting, there was a fellow
who posted himself behind one of the chaises, by way of going to point
out the different views of the cascade; and his demand amounted to four
or five pauls. To give you an idea of the extortion of those villainous
publicans, I must tell you that for a dinner and supper, which even
hunger could not tempt us to eat, and a night's lodging in three
truckle beds, I paid eighty pauls, amounting to forty shillings
sterling. You ask me why I submitted to such imposition? I will tell
you--I have more than once in my travels made a formal complaint of the
exorbitancy of a publican, to the magistrate of the place; but I never
received any satisfaction, and have lost abundance of time. Had I
proceeded to manual correction, I should have alarmed and terrified the
women: had I peremptorily refused to pay the sum total, the landlord,
who was the post-master, would not have supplied me with horses to
proceed on my journey. I tried the experiment at Muy in France, where I
put myself into a violent passion, had abundance of trouble, was
detained till it was almost night, and after all found myself obliged
to submit, furnishing at the same time matter of infinite triumph to
the mob, which had surrounded the coach, and interested themselves
warmly in favour of their townsman. If some young patriot, in good
health and spirits, would take the trouble as often as he is imposed
upon by the road in travelling, to have recourse to the fountain-head,
and prefer a regular complaint to the comptroller of the posts, either
in France or Italy, he would have ample satisfaction, and do great
service to the community. Terni is an agreeable town, pretty well
built, and situated in a pleasant valley, between two branches of the
river Nera, whence it was called by the antients, Interamna. Here is an
agreeable piazza, where stands a church that was of old a heathen
temple. There are some valuable paintings in the church. The people are
said to be very civil, and provisions to be extremely cheap. It was the
birthplace of the emperor Tacitus, as well as of the historian of the
same name. In our journey from hence to Spoleto, we passed over a high
mountain, (called, from its height, Somma) where it was necessary to
have two additional horses to the carriage, and the road winds along a
precipice. which is equally dangerous and dreadful. We passed through
part of Spoleto, the capital of Umbria, which is a pretty large city.
Of this, however, I give no other account from my own observation, but
that I saw at a distance the famous Gothic aqueduct of brick: this is
mentioned by Addison as a structure, which, for the height of its
arches, is not equalled by any thing in Europe. The road from hence to
Foligno, where we lay, is kept in good order, and lies through a
delightful plain, laid out into beautiful inclosures, abounding with
wine, oil, corn, and cattle, and watered by the pastoral streams of the
famous river Clitumnus, which takes its rise in three or four separate
rivulets issuing from a rock near the highway. On the right-hand, we
saw several towns situated on rising grounds, and among the rest, that
of Assissio, famous for the birth of St. Francis, whose body, being
here deposited, occasions a concourse of pilgrims. We met a Roman
princess going thither with a grand retinue, in consequence of a vow
she had made for the re-establishment of her health. Foligno, the
Fulginium of the antients, is a small town, not unpleasant, lying in
the midst of mulberry plantations, vineyards, and corn-fields, and
built on both sides of the little river Topino. In choosing our beds at
the inn, I perceived one chamber locked, and desired it might be
opened; upon which the cameriere declared with some reluctance,
"Besogna dire a su' eccellenza; poco fa, che una bestia e morta in
questa camera, e non e ancora lustrata," "Your Excellency must know
that a filthy Beast died lately in that Chamber, and it is not yet
purified and put in order." When I enquired what beast it was, he
replied, "Un'eretico Inglese," "An English heretic." I suppose he would
not have made so free with our country and religion, if he had not
taken us for German catholics, as we afterwards learned from Mr. R--i.
Next day, we crossed the Tyber, over a handsome bridge, and in mounting
the steep hill upon which the city of Perugia stands, our horses being
exhausted, were dragged backwards by the weight of the carriage to the
very edge of a precipice, where, happily for us, a man passing that
way, placed a large stone behind one of the wheels, which stopped their
motion, otherwise we should have been all dashed in pieces. We had
another ugly hill to ascend within the city, which was more difficult
and dangerous than the other: but the postilions, and the other beasts
made such efforts, that we mounted without the least stop, to the
summit, where we found ourselves in a large piazza, where the horses
are always changed. There being no relays at the post, we were obliged
to stay the whole day and night at Perugia, which is a considerable
city, built upon the acclivity of a hill, adorned with some elegant
fountains, and several handsome churches, containing some valuable
pictures by Guido, Raphael, and his master Pietro Perugino, who was a
native of this place. The next stage is on the banks of the lake, which
was the Thrasimene of the antients, a beautiful piece of water, above
thirty miles in circumference, having three islands, abounding with
excellent fish: upon a peninsula of it, there is a town and castle. It
was in this neighbourhood where the consul Flaminius was totally
defeated with great slaughter by Hannibal. From Perugia to Florence,
the posts are all double, and the road is so bad that we never could
travel above eight and twenty miles a day. We were often obliged to
quit the carriage, and walk up steep mountains; and the way in general
was so unequal and stony, that we were jolted even to the danger of our
lives. I never felt any sort of exercise or fatigue so intolerable; and
I did not fail to bestow an hundred benedictions per diem upon the
banker Barazzi, by whose advice we had taken this road; yet there was
no remedy but patience. If the coach had not been incredibly strong, it
must have been shattered to pieces. The fifth night we passed at a
place called Camoccia, a miserable cabaret, where we were fain to cook
our own supper, and lay in a musty chamber, which had never known a
fire, and indeed had no fire-place, and where we ran the risque of
being devoured by rats. Next day one of the irons of the coach gave way
at Arezzo, where we were detained two hours before it could be
accommodated. I might have taken this opportunity to view the remains
of the antient Etruscan amphitheatre, and the temple of Hercules,
described by the cavalier Lorenzo Guazzesi, as standing in the
neighbourhood of this place: but the blacksmith assured me his work
would be finished in a few minutes; and as I had nothing so much at
heart as the speedy accomplishment of this disagreeable journey, I
chose to suppress my curiosity, rather than be the occasion of a
moment's delay. But all the nights we had hitherto passed were
comfortable in comparison to this, which we suffered at a small
village, the name of which I do not remember. The house was dismal and
dirty beyond all description; the bed-cloaths filthy enough to turn the
stomach of a muleteer; and the victuals cooked in such a manner, that
even a Hottentot could not have beheld them without loathing. We had
sheets of our own, which were spread upon a mattrass, and here I took
my repose wrapped in a greatcoat, if that could be called repose which
was interrupted by the innumerable stings of vermin. In the morning, I
was seized with a dangerous fit of hooping-cough, which terrified my
wife, alarmed my people, and brought the whole community into the
house. I had undergone just such another at Paris, about a year before.
This forenoon, one of our coach wheels flew off in the neighbourhood of
Ancisa, a small town, where we were detained above two hours by this
accident; a delay which was productive of much disappointment, danger,
vexation, and fatigue. There being no horses at the last post, we were
obliged to wait until those which brought us thither were sufficiently
refreshed to proceed. Understanding that all the gates of Florence are
shut at six, except two that are kept open for the accommodation of
travellers; and that to reach the nearest of these gates, it was
necessary to pass the river Arno in a ferry-boat, which could not
transport the carriage; I determined to send my servant before with a
light chaise to enter the nearest gate before it was shut, and provide
a coach to come and take us up at the side of the river, where we
should be obliged to pass in the boat: for I could not bear the
thoughts of lying another night in a common cabaret. Here, however,
another difficulty occurred. There was but one chaise, and a dragoon
officer, in the imperial troops, insisted upon his having bespoke it
for himself and his servant. A long dispute ensued, which had like to
have produced a quarrel: but at length I accommodated matters, by
telling the officer that he should have a place in it gratis, and his
servant might ride a-horse-back. He accepted the offer without
hesitation; but, in the mean time, we set out in the coach before them,
and having proceeded about a couple of miles, the road was so deep from
a heavy rain, and the beasts were so fatigued, that they could not
proceed. The postilions scourging the poor animals with great
barbarity, they made an effort, and pulled the coach to the brink of a
precipice, or rather a kind of hollow-way, which might be about seven
or eight feet lower than the road. Here my wife and I leaped out, and
stood under the rain up to the ancles in mud; while the postilions
still exercising their whips, one of the fore-horses fairly tumbled
down the descent, arid hung by the neck, so that he was almost
strangled before he could be disengaged from the traces, by the
assistance of some foot travellers that happened to pass. While we
remained in this dilemma, the chaise, with the officer and my servant,
coming up, we exchanged places; my wife and I proceeded in the chaise,
and left them with Miss C-- and Mr. R--, to follow in the coach. The
road from hence to Florence is nothing but a succession of steep
mountains, paved and conducted in such a manner, that one would imagine
the design had been to render it impracticable by any sort of
wheel-carriage. Notwithstanding all our endeavours, I found it would be
impossible to enter Florence before the gates were shut. I flattered
and threatened the driver by turns: but the fellow, who had been
remarkably civil at first, grew sullen and impertinent. He told me I
must not think of reaching Florence: that the boat would not take the
carriage on board; and that from the other side, I must walk five miles
before I should reach the gate that was open: but he would carry me to
an excellent osteria, where I should be entertained and lodged like a
prince. I was now convinced that he had lingered on purpose to serve
this inn-keeper; and I took it for granted that what he told me of the
distance between the ferry and the gate was a lie. It was eight o'clock
when we arrived at his inn. I alighted with my wife to view the
chambers, desiring he would not put up his horses. Finding it was a
villainous house, we came forth, and, by this time, the horses were put
up. I asked the fellow how he durst presume to contradict my orders,
and commanded him to put them to the chaise. He asked in his turn if I
was mad? If I thought I and the lady had strength and courage enough to
walk five miles in the dark, through a road which we did not know, and
which was broke up by a continued rain of two days? I told him he was
an impertinent rascal, and as he still hesitated, I collared him with
one hand, and shook my cane over his head with the other. It was the
only weapon I had, either offensive or defensive; for I had left my
sword, and musquetoon in the coach. At length the fellow obeyed, though
with great reluctance, cracking many severe jokes upon us in the mean
time, and being joined in his raillery by the inn-keeper, who had all
the external marks of a ruffian. The house stood in a solitary
situation, and not a soul appeared but these two miscreants, so that
they might have murdered us without fear of detection. "You do not like
the apartments? (said one) to be sure they were not fitted up for
persons of your rank and quality!" "You will be glad of a worse
chamber, (continued the other) before you get to bed." "If you walk to
Florence tonight, you will sleep so sound, that the fleas will not
disturb you." "Take care you do not take up your night's lodging in the
middle of the road, or in the ditch of the city-wall." I fired inwardly
at these sarcasms, to which, however, I made no reply; and my wife was
almost dead with fear. In the road from hence to the boat, we met with
an ill-looking fellow, who offered his service to conduct us into the
city, and such was our situation, that I was fain to accept his
proposal, especially as we had two small boxes in the chaise by
accident, containing some caps and laces belonging to my wife, I still
hoped the postilion had exaggerated in the distance between the boat
and the city gate, and was confirmed in this opinion by the ferryman,
who said we had not above half a league to walk. Behold us then in this
expedition; myself wrapped up in a very heavy greatcoat, and my cane in
my hand. I did not imagine I could have walked a couple of miles in
this equipage, had my life been depending; my wife a delicate creature,
who had scarce ever walked a mile in her life; and the ragamuffin
before us with our boxes under his arm. The night was dark and wet; the
road slippery and dirty; not a soul was seen, nor a sound was heard:
all was silent, dreary, and horrible. I laid my account with a violent
fit of illness from the cold I should infallibly catch, if I escaped
assassination, the fears of which were the more troublesome as I had no
weapon to defend our lives. While I laboured under the weight of my
greatcoat which made the streams of sweat flow down my face and
shoulders, I was plunging in the mud, up to the mid-leg at every step;
and at the same time obliged to support my wife, who wept in silence,
half dead with terror and fatigue. To crown our vexation, our conductor
walked so fast, that he was often out of sight, and I imagined he had
run away with the boxes. All I could do on these occasions, was to
hollow as loud as I could, and swear horribly that I would blow his
brains out. I did not know but these oaths and menaces might keep other
rogues in awe. In this manner did we travel three long miles, making
almost an intire circuit of the city-wall, without seeing the face of a
human creature, and at length reached the gate, where we were examined
by the guard, and allowed to pass, after they had told us it was a long
mile from thence to the house of Vanini, where we proposed to lodge. No
matter, being now fairly within the city, I plucked up my spirits, and
performed the rest of the journey with such ease, that I am persuaded,
I could have walked at the same pace all night long, without being very
much fatigued. It was near ten at night, when we entered the auberge in
such a draggled and miserable condition, that Mrs. Vanini almost
fainted at sight of us, on the supposition that we had met with some
terrible disaster, and that the rest of the company were killed. My
wife and I were immediately accommodated with dry stockings and shoes,
a warm apartment, and a good supper, which I ate with great
satisfaction, arising not only from our having happily survived the
adventure, but also from a conviction that my strength and constitution
were wonderfully repaired: not but that I still expected a severe cold,
attended with a terrible fit of the asthma: but in this I was luckily
disappointed. I now for the first time drank to the health of my
physician Barazzi, fully persuaded that the hardships and violent
exercise I underwent by following his advice, had greatly contributed
to the re-establishment of my health. In this particular, I imitate the
gratitude of Tavernier, who was radically cured of the gout by a
Turkish aga in Aegypt, who gave him the bastinado, because he would not
look at the head of the bashaw of Cairo, which the aga had in a bag, to
be presented to the grand signior at Constantinople.

I did not expect to see the rest of our company that night, as I never
doubted but they would stay with the coach at the inn on the other side
of the Arno: but at mid-night we were joined by Miss C-- and Mr. R--,
who had left the carriage at the inn, under the auspices of the captain
and my servant, and followed our foot-steps by walking from the
ferry-boat to Florence, conducted by one of the boatmen. Mr. R-- seemed
to be much ruffled and chagrined; but, as he did not think proper to
explain the cause, he had no right to expect that I should give him
satisfaction for some insult he had received from my servant. They had
been exposed to a variety of disagreeable adventures from the
impracticability of the road. The coach had been several times in the
most imminent hazard of being lost with all our baggage; and at one
place, it was necessary to hire a dozen of oxen, and as many men, to
disengage it from the holes into which it had run. It was in the
confusion of these adventures, that the captain and his valet, Mr. R--
and my servant, had like to have gone all by the ears together. The
peace was with difficulty preserved by the interposition of Miss C--,
who suffered incredibly from cold and wet, terror, vexation, and
fatigue: yet happily no bad consequence ensued. The coach and baggage
were brought safely into Florence next morning, when all of us found
ourselves well refreshed, and in good spirits. I am afraid this is not
the case with you, who must by this time be quite jaded with this long
epistle, which shall therefore be closed without further ceremony
by,--Yours always.



LETTER XXXV

NICE, March 20, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--The season being far advanced, and the weather growing
boisterous, I made but a short stay at Florence, and set out for Pisa,
with full resolution to take the nearest road to Lerici, where we
proposed to hire a felucca for Genoa. I had a great desire to see
Leghorn and Lucca; but the dread of a winter's voyage by sea in an open
boat effectually restrained my curiosity. To avoid the trouble of
having our baggage shifted every post, I hired two chaises to Pisa for
a couple of zequines, and there we arrived in safety about seven in the
evening, though not without fear of the consequence, as the calesses
were quite open, and it rained all the way. I must own I was so sick of
the wretched accommodation one meets with in every part of Italy,
except the great cities, so averse to the sea at this season, and so
fond of the city of Pisa, that I should certainly have stayed here the
winter, had not I been separated from my books and papers, as well as
from other conveniencies and connexions which I had at Nice; and
foreseen that the thoughts of performing the same disagreeable voyage
in the spring would imbitter my whole winter's enjoyment. I again hired
two calesses for Lerici, proposing to lie at Sarzana, three miles short
of that place, where we were told we should find comfortable lodging,
and to embark next day without halting. When we departed in the
morning, it rained very hard, and the Cerchio, which the chaises had
formerly passed, almost without wetting the wheels, was now swelled to
a mighty river, broad and deep and rapid. It was with great difficulty
I could persuade my wife to enter the boat; for it blew a storm, and
she had seen it in coming over from the other side hurried down a
considerable way by the rapidity of the current, notwithstanding all
the efforts of the watermen. Near two hours were spent in transporting
us with our chaises. The road between this and Pietra Santa was
rendered almost impassable. When we arrived at Massa, it began to grow
dark, and the post-master assured us that the road to Sarzana was
overflowed in such a manner as not to be passed even in the day-time,
without imminent danger. We therefore took up our lodging for the night
at this house, which was in all respects one of the worst we had yet
entered. Next day, we found the Magra as large and violent as the
Cerchio: however, we passed it without any accident, and in the
afternoon arrived at Lerici. There we were immediately besieged by a
number of patrons of feluccas, from among whom I chose a Spaniard,
partly because he looked like an honest man, and produced an ample
certificate, signed by an English gentleman; and partly, because he was
not an Italian; for, by this time, I had imbibed a strong prejudice
against the common people of that country. We embarked in the morning
before day, with a gale that made us run the lee-gunwale in the water;
but, when we pretended to turn the point of Porto Venere, we found the
wind full in our teeth, and were obliged to return to our quarters,
where we had been shamefully fleeced by the landlord, who,
nevertheless, was not such an exorbitant knave as the post-master,
whose house I would advise all travellers to avoid. Here, indeed, I had
occasion to see an instance of prudence and oeconomy, which I should
certainly imitate, if ever I had occasion to travel this way by myself.
An Englishman, who had hired a felucca from Antibes to Leghorn, was put
in here by stress of weather; but being aware of the extortion of
innkeepers, and the bad accommodation in their houses, he slept on
board on his own mattrasses; and there likewise he had all his
conveniencies for eating. He sent his servant on shore occasionally to
buy provision, and see it cooked according to his direction in some
public house; and had his meals regularly in the felucca. This evening
he came ashore to stretch his legs, and took a solitary walk on the
beach, avoiding us with great care, although he knew we were English;
his valet who was abundantly communicative, told my servant, that in
coming through France, his master had travelled three days in company
with two other English gentlemen, whom he met upon the road, and in all
that time he never spoke a word to either, yet in other respects, he
was a good man, mild, charitable, and humane. This is a character truly
British. At five o'clock in the morning we put to sea again, and though
the wind was contrary, made shift to reach the town of Sestri di
Levante, where we were most graciously received by the publican butcher
and his family. The house was in much better order than before; the
people were much more obliging; we passed a very tolerable night, and
had a very reasonable bill to pay in the morning. I cannot account for
this favourable change any other way, than by ascribing it to the
effects of a terrible storm, which had two days before torn up a great
number of their olive-trees by the roots, and done such damage as
terrified them into humility and submission. Next day, the water being
delightful, we arrived by one o'clock in the afternoon at Genoa. Here I
made another bargain with our patron Antonio, to carry us to Nice. He
had been hitherto remarkably obliging, and seemingly modest. He spoke
Latin fluently, and was tinctured with the sciences. I began to imagine
he was a person of a good family, who had met with misfortunes in life,
and respected him accordingly: but I afterwards found him mercenary,
mean, and rapacious. The wind being still contrary, when we departed
from Genoa, we could get no further than Finale, where we lodged in a
very dismal habitation, which was recommended to us as the best auberge
in the place. What rendered it the more uncomfortable, the night was
cold, and there was not a fire-place in the house, except in the
kitchen. The beds (if they deserved that name) were so shockingly
nasty, that we could not have used them, had not a friend of Mr. R--
supplied us with mattrasses, sheets, and coverlets; for our own sheets
were on board the felucca, which was anchored at a distance from the
shore. Our fare was equally wretched: the master of the house was a
surly assassin, and his cameriere or waiter, stark-staring mad. Our
situation was at the same time shocking and ridiculous. Mr. R--
quarrelled over night with the master, who swore in broken French to my
man, that he had a good mind to poniard that impertinent Piedmontese.
In the morning, before day, Mr. R--, coming into my chamber, gave me to
understand that he had been insulted by the landlord, who demanded six
and thirty livres for our supper and lodging. Incensed at the rascal's
presumption, I assured him I would make him take half the money, and a
good beating into the bargain. He replied, that he would have saved me
the trouble of beating him, had not the cameriere, who was a very
sensible fellow, assured him the padrone was out of his senses, and if
roughly handled, might commit some extravagance. Though I was
exceedingly ruffled, I could not help laughing at the mad cameriere's
palming himself upon R--y, as a sensible fellow, and transferring the
charge of madness upon his master, who seemed to be much more knave
than fool. While Mr. R-- went to mass, I desired the cameriere to bid
his master bring the bill, and to tell him that if it was not
reasonable, I would carry him before the commandant. In the mean time I
armed myself with my sword in one hand and my cane in the other. The
inn-keeper immediately entered, pale and staring, and when I demanded
his bill, he told me, with a profound reverence that he should be
satisfied with whatever I myself thought proper to give. Surprised at
this moderation, I asked if he should be content with twelve livres,
and he answered, "Contentissimo," with another prostration. Then he
made an apology for the bad accommodation of his house, and complained,
that the reproaches of the other gentleman, whom he was pleased to call
my majorduomo, had almost turned his brain. When he quitted the room,
his cameriere, laying hold of his master's last words, pointed to his
own forehead, and said, he had informed the gentleman over night that
his patron was mad. This day we were by a high wind in the afternoon,
driven for shelter into Porto Mauritio, where we found the post-house
even worse than that of Finale; and what rendered it more shocking was
a girl quite covered with the confluent smallpox, who lay in a room
through which it was necessary to pass to the other chambers, and who
smelled so strong as to perfume the whole house. We were but fifteen
miles from St. Remo, where I knew the auberge was tolerable, and
thither I resolved to travel by land. I accordingly ordered five mules
to travel post, and a very ridiculous cavalcade we formed, the women
being obliged to use common saddles; for in this country even the
ladies sit astride. The road lay along one continued precipice, and was
so difficult, that the beasts never could exceed a walking pace. In
some places we were obliged to alight. Seven hours were spent in
travelling fifteen short miles: at length we arrived at our old
lodgings in St. Remo, which we found white-washed, and in great order.
We supped pretty comfortably; slept well; and had no reason to complain
of imposition in paying the bill. This was not the case in the article
of the mules, for which I was obliged to pay fifty livres, according to
the regulation of the posts. The postmaster, who came along with us,
had the effrontery to tell me, that if I had hired the mules to carry
me and my company to St. Remo, in the way of common travelling, they
would have cost me but fifteen livres; but as I demanded post-horses, I
must submit to the regulations. This is a distinction the more absurd,
as the road is of such a nature as renders it impossible to travel
faster in one way than in another; nor indeed is there the least
difference either in the carriage or convenience, between travelling
post and journey riding. A publican might with the same reason charge
me three livres a pound for whiting, and if questioned about the
imposition, reply, that if I had asked for fish I should have had the
same whiting for the fifth part of the money: but that he made a wide
difference between selling it as fish, and selling it as whiting. Our
felucca came round from Porto Mauritio in the night, and embarking next
morning, we arrived at Nice about four in the afternoon.

Thus have I given you a circumstantial detail of my Italian expedition,
during which I was exposed to a great number of hardships, which I
thought my weakened constitution could not have bore; as well as to
violent fits of passion, chequered, however, with transports of a more
agreeable nature; insomuch that I may say I was for two months
continually agitated either in mind or body, and very often in both at
the same time. As my disorder at first arose from a sedentary life,
producing a relaxation of the fibres, which naturally brought on a
listlessness, indolence, and dejection of the spirits, I am convinced
that this hard exercise of mind and body, co-operated with the change
of air and objects, to brace up the relaxed constitution, and promote a
more vigorous circulation of the juices, which had long languished even
almost to stagnation. For some years, I had been as subject to colds as
a delicate woman new delivered. If I ventured to go abroad when there
was the least moisture either in the air, or upon the ground, I was
sure to be laid up a fortnight with a cough and asthma. But, in this
journey, I suffered cold and rain, and stood, and walked in the wet,
heated myself with exercise, and sweated violently, without feeling the
least disorder; but, on the contrary, felt myself growing stronger
every day in the midst of these excesses. Since my return to Nice, it
has rained the best part of two months, to the astonishment of all the
people in the country; yet during all that time I have enjoyed good
health and spirits. On Christmas-Eve, I went to the cathedral at
midnight, to hear high mass celebrated by the new bishop of Nice, in
pontificalibus, and stood near two hours uncovered in a cold gallery,
without having any cause in the sequel to repent of my curiosity. In a
word, I am now so well that I no longer despair of seeing you and the
rest of my friends in England; a pleasure which is eagerly desired
by,--Dear Sir, Your affectionate humble Servant.



LETTER XXXVI

NICE, March 23, 1766.

DEAR SIR,--You ask whether I think the French people are more taxed
than the English; but I apprehend, the question would be more apropos
if you asked whether the French taxes are more insupportable than the
English; for, in comparing burthens, we ought always to consider the
strength of the shoulders that bear them. I know no better way of
estimating the strength, than by examining the face of the country, and
observing the appearance of the common people, who constitute the bulk
of every nation. When I, therefore, see the country of England smiling
with cultivation; the grounds exhibiting all the perfection of
agriculture, parcelled out into beautiful inclosures, cornfields, hay
and pasture, woodland and common, when I see her meadows well stocked
with black cattle, her downs covered with sheep; when I view her teams
of horses and oxen, large and strong, fat and sleek; when I see her
farm-houses the habitations of plenty, cleanliness, and convenience;
and her peasants well fed, well lodged, well cloathed, tall and stout,
and hale and jolly; I cannot help concluding that the people are well
able to bear those impositions which the public necessities have
rendered necessary. On the other hand, when I perceive such signs of
poverty, misery and dirt, among the commonalty of France, their
unfenced fields dug up in despair, without the intervention of meadow
or fallow ground, without cattle to furnish manure, without horses to
execute the plans of agriculture; their farm-houses mean, their
furniture wretched, their apparel beggarly; themselves and their beasts
the images of famine; I cannot help thinking they groan under
oppression, either from their landlords, or their government; probably
from both.

The principal impositions of the French government are these: first,
the taille, payed by all the commons, except those that are privileged:
secondly, the capitation, from which no persons (not even the nobles)
are excepted: thirdly, the tenths and twentieths, called Dixiemes and
Vingtiemes, which every body pays. This tax was originally levied as an
occasional aid in times of war, and other emergencies; but by degrees
is become a standing revenue even in time of peace. All the money
arising from these impositions goes directly to the king's treasury;
and must undoubtedly amount to a very great sum. Besides these, he has
the revenue of the farms, consisting of the droits d'aydes, or excise
on wine, brandy, &c. of the custom-house duties; of the gabelle,
comprehending that most oppressive obligation on individuals to take a
certain quantity of salt at the price which the farmers shall please to
fix; of the exclusive privilege to sell tobacco; of the droits de
controlle, insinuation, centieme denier, franchiefs, aubeine, echange
et contre-echange arising from the acts of voluntary jurisdiction, as
well as certain law-suits. These farms are said to bring into the
king's coffers above one hundred and twenty millions of livres yearly,
amounting to near five millions sterling: but the poor people are said
to pay about a third more than this sum, which the farmers retain to
enrich themselves, and bribe the great for their protection; which
protection of the great is the true reason why this most iniquitous,
oppressive, and absurd method of levying money is not laid aside. Over
and above those articles I have mentioned, the French king draws
considerable sums from his clergy, under the denomination of dons
gratuits, or free-gifts; as well as from the subsidies given by the
pays d'etats such as Provence, Languedoc, and Bretagne, which are
exempted from the taille. The whole revenue of the French king amounts
to between twelve and thirteen millions sterling. These are great
resources for the king: but they will always keep the people miserable,
and effectually prevent them from making such improvements as might
turn their lands to the best advantage. But besides being eased in the
article of taxes, there is something else required to make them exert
themselves for the benefit of their country. They must be free in their
persons, secure in their property, indulged with reasonable leases, and
effectually protected by law from the insolence and oppression of their
superiors.

Great as the French king's resources may appear, they are hardly
sufficient to defray the enormous expence of his government. About two
millions sterling per annum of his revenue are said to be anticipated
for paying the interest of the public debts; and the rest is found
inadequate to the charge of a prodigious standing army, a double
frontier of fortified towns and the extravagant appointments of
ambassadors, generals, governors, intendants, commandants, and other
officers of the crown, all of whom affect a pomp, which is equally
ridiculous and prodigal. A French general in the field is always
attended by thirty or forty cooks; and thinks it is incumbent upon him,
for the glory of France, to give a hundred dishes every day at his
table. When don Philip, and the marechal duke de Belleisle, had their
quarters at Nice, there were fifty scullions constantly employed in the
great square in plucking poultry. This absurd luxury infects their
whole army. Even the commissaries keep open table; and nothing is seen
but prodigality and profusion. The king of Sardinia proceeds upon
another plan. His troops are better cloathed, better payed, and better
fed than those of France. The commandant of Nice has about four hundred
a year of appointments, which enable him to live decently, and even to
entertain strangers. On the other hand, the commandant of Antibes,
which is in all respects more inconsiderable than Nice, has from the
French king above five times the sum to support the glory of his
monarch, which all the sensible part of mankind treat with ridicule and
contempt. But the finances of France are so ill managed, that many of
their commandants, and other officers, have not been able to draw their
appointments these two years. In vain they complain and remonstrate.
When they grow troublesome they are removed. How then must they support
the glory of France? How, but by oppressing the poor people. The
treasurer makes use of their money for his own benefit. The king knows
it; he knows his officers, thus defrauded, fleece and oppress his
people: but he thinks proper to wink at these abuses. That government
may be said to be weak and tottering which finds itself obliged to
connive at such proceedings. The king of France, in order to give
strength and stability to his administration, ought to have sense to
adopt a sage plan of oeconomy, and vigour of mind sufficient to execute
it in all its parts, with the most rigorous exactness. He ought to have
courage enough to find fault, and even to punish the delinquents, of
what quality soever they may be: and the first act of reformation ought
to be a total abolition of all the farms. There are, undoubtedly, many
marks of relaxation in the reins of the French government, and, in all
probability, the subjects of France will be the first to take advantage
of it. There is at present a violent fermentation of different
principles among them, which under the reign of a very weak prince, or
during a long minority, may produce a great change in the constitution.
In proportion to the progress of reason and philosophy, which have made
great advances in this kingdom, superstition loses ground; antient
prejudices give way; a spirit of freedom takes the ascendant. All the
learned laity of France detest the hierarchy as a plan of despotism,
founded on imposture and usurpation. The protestants, who are very
numerous in southern parts, abhor it with all the rancour of religious
fanaticism. Many of the commons, enriched by commerce and manufacture,
grow impatient of those odious distinctions, which exclude them from
the honours and privileges due to their importance in the commonwealth;
and all the parliaments, or tribunals of justice in the kingdom, seem
bent upon asserting their rights and independence in the face of the
king's prerogative, and even at the expence of his power and authority.
Should any prince therefore be seduced by evil counsellors, or misled
by his own bigotry, to take some arbitrary step, that may be extremely
disagreeable to all those communities, without having spirit to exert
the violence of his power for the support of his measures, he will
become equally detested and despised; and the influence of the commons
will insensibly encroach upon the pretensions of the crown. But if in
the time of a minority, the power of the government should be divided
among different competitors for the regency, the parliaments and people
will find it still more easy to acquire and ascertain the liberty at
which they aspire, because they will have the balance of power in their
hands, and be able to make either scale preponderate. I could say a
great deal more upon this subject; and I have some remarks to make
relating to the methods which might be taken in the case of a fresh
rupture with France, for making a vigorous impression on that kingdom.
But these I in list defer till another occasion, having neither room
nor leisure at present to add any thing, but that I am, with great
truth,--Dear Sir, Your very humble Servant.



LETTER XXXVII

NICE, April 2, 1765.

DEAR DOCTOR,--As I have now passed a second winter at Nice I think
myself qualified to make some further remarks on this climate. During
the heats of last summer, I flattered myself with the prospect of the
fine weather I should enjoy in the winter; but neither I, nor any
person in this country, could foresee the rainy weather that prevailed
from the middle of November, till the twentieth of March. In this short
period of four months, we have had fifty-six days of rain, which I take
to be a greater quantity than generally falls during the six worst
months of the year in the county of Middlesex, especially as it was,
for the most part, a heavy, continued rain. The south winds generally
predominate in the wet season at Nice: but this winter the rain was
accompanied with every wind that blows, except the south; though the
most frequent were those that came from the east and north quarters.
Notwithstanding these great rains, such as were never known before at
Nice in the memory of man, the intermediate days of fair weather were
delightful, and the ground seemed perfectly dry. The air itself was
perfectly free from moisture. Though I live upon a ground floor,
surrounded on three sides by a garden, I could not perceive the least
damp, either on the floors, or the furniture; neither was I much
incommoded by the asthma, which used always to harass me most in wet
weather. In a word, I passed the winter here much more comfortably than
I expected. About the vernal equinox, however, I caught a violent cold,
which was attended with a difficulty of breathing, and as the sun
advances towards the tropic, I find myself still more subject to
rheums. As the heat increases, the humours of the body are rarefied,
and, of consequence, the pores of the skin are opened; while the east
wind sweeping over the Alps and Apennines, covered with snow, continues
surprisingly sharp and penetrating. Even the people of the country, who
enjoy good health, are afraid of exposing themselves to the air at this
season, the intemperature of which may last till the middle of May,
when all the snow on the mountains will probably be melted: then the
air will become mild and balmy, till, in the progress of summer, it
grows disagreeably hot, and the strong evaporation from the sea makes
it so saline, as to be unhealthy for those who have a scorbutical
habit. When the sea-breeze is high, this evaporation is so great as to
cover the surface of the body with a kind of volatile brine, as I
plainly perceived last summer. I am more and more convinced that this
climate is unfavourable for the scurvy. Were I obliged to pass my life
in it, I would endeavour to find a country retreat among the mountains,
at some distance from the sea, where I might enjoy a cool air, free
from this impregnation, unmolested by those flies, gnats, and other
vermin which render the lower parts almost uninhabitable. To this place
I would retire in the month of June, and there continue till the
beginning of October, when I would return to my habitation in Nice,
where the winter is remarkably mild and agreeable. In March and April
however, I would not advise a valetudinarian to go forth, without
taking precaution against the cold. An agreeable summer retreat may be
found on the other side of the Var, at, or near the town of Grasse,
which is pleasantly situated on the ascent of a hill in Provence, about
seven English miles from Nice. This place is famous for its pomatum,
gloves, wash-balls, perfumes, and toilette-boxes, lined with bergamot.
I am told it affords good lodging, and is well supplied with provisions.

We are now preparing for our journey to England, from the exercise of
which I promise myself much benefit: a journey extremely agreeable, not
only on that account, but also because it will restore me to the
company of my friends, and remove me from a place where I leave nothing
but the air which I can possibly regret.

The only friendships I have contracted at Nice are with strangers, who,
like myself, only sojourn here for a season. I now find by experience,
it is great folly to buy furniture, unless one is resolved to settle
here for some years. The Nissards assured me, with great confidence,
that I should always be able to sell it for a very little loss; whereas
I find myself obliged to part with it for about one-third of what it
cost. I have sent for a coach to Aix, and as soon as it arrives, shall
take my departure; so that the next letter you receive from me will be
dated at some place on the road. I purpose to take Antibes, Toulon,
Marseilles, Aix, Avignon, and Orange, in my way: places which I have
not yet seen; and where, perhaps, I shall find something for your
amusement, which will always be a consideration of some weight
with,--Dear Sir, Yours.



LETTER XXXVIII

To DR. S-- AT NICE

TURIN, March 18, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--Turin is about thirty leagues from Nice, the greater part of
the way lying over frightful mountains covered with snow. The
difficulty of the road, however, reaches no farther than Coni, from
whence there is an open highway through a fine plain country, as far as
the capital of Piedmont, and the traveller is accommodated with chaise
and horses to proceed either post, or by cambiatura, as in other parts
of Italy. There are only two ways of performing the journey over the
mountains from Nice; one is to ride a mule-back, and the other to be
carried in a chair. The former I chose, and set out with my servant on
the seventh day of February at two in the afternoon. I was hardly clear
of Nice, when it began to rain so hard that in less than an hour the
mud was half a foot deep in many parts of the road. This was the only
inconvenience we suffered, the way being in other respects practicable
enough; for there is but one small hill to cross on this side of the
village of L'Escarene, where we arrived about six in the evening. The
ground in this neighbourhood is tolerably cultivated, and the mountains
are planted to the tops with olive trees. The accommodation here is so
very bad, that I had no inclination to be a-bed longer than was
absolutely necessary for refreshment; and therefore I proceeded on my
journey at two in the morning, conducted by a guide, whom I hired for
this purpose at the rate of three livres a day. Having ascended one
side, and descended the other, of the mountain called Braus, which took
up four hours, though the road is not bad, we at six reached the
village of Sospello, which is agreeably situated in a small valley,
surrounded by prodigious high and barren mountains. This little plain
is pretty fertile, and being watered by a pleasant stream, forms a
delightful contrast with the hideous rocks that surround it. Having
reposed myself and my mules two hours at this place, we continued our
journey over the second mountain, called Brovis, which is rather more
considerable than the first, and in four hours arrived at La Giandola,
a tolerable inn situated betwixt the high road and a small river, about
a gunshot from the town of Brieglie, which we leave on the right. As we
jogged along in the grey of the morning, I was a little startled at two
figures which I saw before me, and began to put my pistols in order. It
must be observed that these mountains are infested with contrabandiers,
a set of smuggling peasants, very bold and desperate, who make a
traffic of selling tobacco, salt, and other merchandize, which have not
payed duty, and sometimes lay travellers under contribution. I did not
doubt but there was a gang of these free-booters at hand; but as no
more than two persons appeared, I resolved to let them know we were
prepared for defence, and fired one of my pistols, in hope that the
report of it, echoed from the surrounding rocks, would produce a proper
effect: but, the mountains and roads being entirely covered with snow
to a considerable depth, there was little or no reverberation, and the
sound was not louder than that of a pop-gun, although the piece
contained a good charge of powder. Nevertheless, it did not fail to
engage the attention of the strangers, one of whom immediately wheeled
to the left about, and being by this time very near me, gave me an
opportunity of contemplating his whole person. He was very tall,
meagre, and yellow, with a long hooked nose, and small twinkling eyes.
His head was eased in a woollen night-cap, over which he wore a flapped
hat; he had a silk handkerchief about his neck, and his mouth was
furnished with a short wooden pipe, from which he discharged wreathing
clouds of tobacco-smoke. He was wrapped in a kind of capot of green
bays, lined with wolf-skin, had a pair of monstrous boots, quilted on
the inside with cotton, was almost covered with dirt, and rode a mule
so low that his long legs hung dangling within six inches of the
ground. This grotesque figure was so much more ludicrous than terrible,
that I could not help laughing; when, taking his pipe out of his mouth,
he very politely accosted me by name. You may easily guess I was
exceedingly surprised at such an address on the top of the mountain
Brovis: but he forthwith put an end to it too, by discovering himself
to be the marquis M--, whom I had the honour to be acquainted with at
Nice. After having rallied him upon his equipage, he gave me to
understand he had set out from Nice the morning of the same day that I
departed; that he was going to Turin, and that he had sent one of his
servants before him to Coni with his baggage. Knowing him to be an
agreeable companion, I was glad of this encounter, and we resolved to
travel the rest of the way together. We dined at La Giandola, and in
the afternoon rode along the little river Roida, which runs in a bottom
between frightful precipices, and in several places forms natural
cascades, the noise of which had well-nigh deprived us of the sense of
hearing; after a winding course among these mountains, it discharges
itself into the Mediterranean at Vintimiglia, in the territory of
Genoa. As the snow did not lie on these mountains, when we cracked our
whips, there was such a repercussion of the sound as is altogether
inconceivable. We passed by the village of Saorgio, situated on an
eminence, where there is a small fortress which commands the whole
pass, and in five hours arrived at our inn, on this side the Col de
Tende, where we took up our quarters, but had very little reason to
boast of our entertainment. Our greatest difficulty, however, consisted
in pulling off the marquis's boots, which were of the kind called
Seafarot, by this time so loaded with dirt on the outside, and so
swelled with the rain within, that he could neither drag them after him
as he walked, nor disencumber his legs of them, without such violence
as seemed almost sufficient to tear him limb from limb. In a word, we
were obliged to tie a rope about his heel, and all the people in the
house assisting to pull, the poor marquis was drawn from one end of the
apartment to the other before the boot would give way: at last his legs
were happily disengaged, and the machines carefully dried and stuffed
for next day's journey.

We took our departure from hence at three in the morning, and at four,
began to mount the Col de Tende, which is by far the highest mountain
in the whole journey: it was now quite covered with snow, which at the
top of it was near twenty feet thick. Half way up, there are quarters
for a detachment of soldiers, posted here to prevent smuggling, and an
inn called La Ca, which in the language of the country signifies the
house. At this place, we hired six men to assist us in ascending the
mountain, each of them provided with a kind of hough to break the ice,
and make a sort of steps for the mules. When we were near the top,
however, we were obliged to alight, and climb the mountain supported
each by two of those men, called Coulants who walk upon the snow with
great firmness and security. We were followed by the mules, and though
they are very sure-footed animals, and were frost-shod for the
occasion, they stumbled and fell very often; the ice being so hard that
the sharp-headed nails in their shoes could not penetrate. Having
reached the top of this mountain, from whence there is no prospect but
of other rocks and mountains, we prepared for descending on the other
side by the Leze, which is an occasional sledge made of two pieces of
wood, carried up by the Coulants for this purpose. I did not much
relish this kind of carriage, especially as the mountain was very
steep, and covered with such a thick fog that we could hardly see two
or three yards before us. Nevertheless, our guides were so confident,
and my companion, who had passed the same way on other occasions, was
so secure, that I ventured to place myself on this machine, one of the
coulants standing behind me, and the other sitting before, as the
conductor, with his feet paddling among the snow, in order to moderate
the velocity of its descent. Thus accommodated, we descended the
mountain with such rapidity, that in an hour we reached Limon, which is
the native place of almost all the muleteers who transport merchandize
from Nice to Coni and Turin. Here we waited full two hours for the
mules, which travelled with the servants by the common road. To each of
the coulants we paid forty sols, which are nearly equal to two
shillings sterling. Leaving Limon, we were in two hours quite
disengaged from the gorges of the mountains, which are partly covered
with wood and pasturage, though altogether inaccessible, except in
summer; but from the foot of the Col de Tende, the road lies through a
plain all the way to Turin. We took six hours to travel from the inn
where we had lodged over the mountain to Limon, and five hours from
thence to Coni. Here we found our baggage, which we had sent off by the
carriers one day before we departed from Nice; and here we dismissed
our guides, together with the mules. In winter, you have a mule for
this whole journey at the rate of twenty livres; and the guides are
payed at the rate of two livres a day, reckoning six days, three for
the journey to Coni, and three for their return to Nice. We set out so
early in the morning in order to avoid the inconveniencies and dangers
that attend the passage of this mountain. The first of these arises
from your meeting with long strings of loaded mules in a slippery road,
the breadth of which does not exceed a foot and an half. As it is
altogether impossible for two mules to pass each other in such a narrow
path, the muleteers have made doublings or elbows in different parts,
and when the troops of mules meet, the least numerous is obliged to
turn off into one of these doublings, and there halt until the others
are past. Travellers, in order to avoid this disagreeable delay, which
is the more vexatious, considering the excessive cold, begin the ascent
of the mountain early in the morning before the mules quit their inns.
But the great danger of travelling here when the sun is up, proceeds
from what they call the Valanches. These are balls of snow detached
from the mountains which over-top the road, either by the heat of the
sun, or the humidity of the weather. A piece of snow thus loosened from
the rock, though perhaps not above three or four feet in diameter,
increases sometimes in its descent to such a degree, as to become two
hundred paces in length, and rolls down with such rapidity, that the
traveller is crushed to death before he can make three steps on the
road. These dreadful heaps drag every thing along with them in their
descent. They tear up huge trees by the roots, and if they chance to
fall upon a house, demolish it to the foundation. Accidents of this
nature seldom happen in the winter while the weather is dry; and yet
scarce a year passes in which some mules and their drivers do not
perish by the valanches. At Coni we found the countess C-- from Nice,
who had made the same journey in a chair, carried by porters. This is
no other than a common elbow-chair of wood, with a straw bottom,
covered above with waxed cloth, to protect the traveller from the rain
or snow, and provided with a foot-board upon which the feet rest.

It is carried like a sedan-chair; and for this purpose six or eight
porters are employed at the rate of three or four livres a head per
day, according to the season, allowing three days for their return. Of
these six men, two are between the poles carrying like common chairmen,
and each of these is supported by the other two, one at each hand: but
as those in the middle sustain the greatest burthen, they are relieved
by the others in a regular rotation. In descending the mountain, they
carry the poles on their shoulders, and in that case, four men are
employed, one at each end.

At Coni, you may have a chaise to go with the same horses to Turin, for
which you pay fifteen livres, and are a day and a half on the way. You
may post it, however, in one day, and then the price is seven livres
ten sols per post, and ten sols to the postilion. The method we took
was that of cambiatura. This is a chaise with horses shifted at the
same stages that are used in posting: but as it is supposed to move
slower, we pay but five livres per post, and ten sols to the postilion.
In order to quicken its pace, we gave ten sols extraordinary to each
postilion, and for this gratification, he drove us even faster than the
post. The chaises are like those of Italy, and will take on near two
hundred weight of baggage.

Coni is situated between two small streams, and though neither very
large nor populous, is considerable for the strength of its
fortifications. It is honoured with the title of the Maiden-Fortress,
because though several times besieged, it was never taken. The prince
of Conti invested it in the war of 1744; but he was obliged to raise
the siege, after having given battle to the king of Sardinia. The place
was gallantly defended by the baron Leutrum, a German protestant, the
best general in the Sardinian service: but what contributed most to the
miscarriage of the enemy, was a long tract of heavy rains, which
destroyed all their works, and rendered their advances impracticable.

I need not tell you that Piedmont is one of the most fertile and
agreeable countries in Europe, and this the most agreeable part of all
Piedmont, though it now appeared to disadvantage from the rigorous
season of the year: I shall only observe that we passed through
Sabellian, which is a considerable town, and arrived in the evening at
Turin. We entered this fine city by the gate of Nice, and passing
through the elegant Piazza di San Carlo, took up our quarters at the
Bona Fama, which stands at one corner of the great square, called La
Piazza Castel.

Were I even disposed to give a description of Turin, I should be
obliged to postpone it till another opportunity, having no room at
present to say any thing more, but that I am always--Yours.



LETTER XXXIX

AIX EN PROVENCE, May 10, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--I am thus far on my way to England. I had resolved to leave
Nice, without having the least dispute with any one native of the
place; but I found it impossible to keep this resolution. My landlord,
Mr. C--, a man of fashion, with whose family we had always lived in
friendship, was so reasonable as to expect I should give him up the
house and garden, though they were to be paid for till Michaelmas, and
peremptorily declared I should not be permitted to sub-let them to any
other person. He had of his own accord assured me more than once that
he would take my furniture off my hands, and trusting to this
assurance, I had lost the opportunity, of disposing it to advantage:
but, when the time of my departure drew near, he refused to take it, at
the same time insisting upon having the key of the house and garden, as
well as on being paid the whole rent directly, though it would not be
due till the middle of September. I was so exasperated at this
treatment from a man whom I had cultivated with particular respect,
that I determined to contest it at law: but the affair was accommodated
by the mediation of a father of the Minims, a friend to both, and a
merchant of Nice, who charged himself with the care of the house and
furniture. A stranger must conduct himself with the utmost
circumspection to be able to live among these people without being the
dupe of imposition.

I had sent to Aix for a coach and four horses, which I hired at the
rate of eighteen French livres a day, being equal to fifteen shillings
and nine-pence sterling. The river Var was so swelled by the melting of
the snow on the mountains, as to be impassable by any wheel-carriage;
and, therefore, the coach remained at Antibes, to which we went by
water, the distance being about nine or ten miles. This is the
Antipolis of the antients, said to have been built like Nice, by a
colony from Marseilles. In all probability, however, it was later than
the foundation of Nice, and took its name from its being situated
directly opposite to that city. Pliny says it was famous for its
tunny-fishery; and to this circumstance Martial alludes in the
following lines

  Antipolitani, fateor, sum filia thynni.
  Essem si Scombri non tibi missa forem.

  I'm spawned from Tunny of Antibes, 'tis true.
  Right Scomber had I been, I ne'er had come to you.

The famous pickle Garum was made from the Thynnus or Tunny as well as
from the Scomber, but that from the Scomber was counted the most
delicate. Commentators, however, are not agreed about the Scomber or
Scombrus. Some suppose it was the Herring or Sprat; others believe it
was the mackarel; after all, perhaps it was the Anchovy, which I do not
find distinguished by any other Latin name: for the Encrasicolus is a
Greek appellation altogether generical. Those who would be further
informed about the Garum and the Scomber may consult Caelius Apicius de
recogninaria, cum notis, variorum.

At present, Antibes is the frontier of France towards Italy, pretty
strongly fortified, and garrisoned by a battalion of soldiers. The town
is small and inconsiderable: but the basin of the harbour is surrounded
to seaward by a curious bulwark founded upon piles driven in the water,
consisting of a wall, ramparts, casemates, and quay. Vessels lie very
safe in this harbour; but there is not water at the entrance of it to
admit of ships of any burthen. The shallows run so far off from the
coast, that a ship of force cannot lie near enough to batter the town;
but it was bombarded in the late war. Its chief strength by land
consists in a small quadrangular fort detached from the body of the
place, which, in a particular manner, commands the entrance of the
harbour. The wall of the town built in the sea has embrasures and
salient angles, on which a great number of cannon may be mounted.

I think the adjacent country is much more pleasant than that on the
side of Nice; and there is certainly no essential difference in the
climate. The ground here is not so encumbered; it is laid out in
agreeable inclosures, with intervals of open fields, and the mountains
rise with an easy ascent at a much greater distance from the sea, than
on the other side of the bay. Besides, here are charming rides along
the beach, which is smooth and firm. When we passed in the last week of
April, the corn was in the ear; the cherries were almost ripe; and the
figs had begun to blacken. I had embarked my heavy baggage on board a
London ship, which happened to be at Nice, ready to sail: as for our
small trunks or portmanteaus, which we carried along with us, they were
examined at Antibes; but the ceremony was performed very superficially,
in consequence of tipping the searcher with half-a-crown, which is a
wonderful conciliator at all the bureaus in this country.

We lay at Cannes, a neat village, charmingly situated on the beach of
the Mediterranean, exactly opposite to the isles Marguerites, where
state-prisoners are confined. As there are some good houses in this
place, I would rather live here for the sake of the mild climate, than
either at Antibes or Nice. Here you are not cooped up within walls, nor
crowded with soldiers and people: but are already in the country, enjoy
a fine air, and are well supplied with all sorts of fish.

The mountains of Esterelles, which in one of my former letters I
described as a most romantic and noble plantation of ever-greens,
trees, shrubs, and aromatic plants, is at present quite desolate. Last
summer, some execrable villains set fire to the pines, when the wind
was high. It continued burning for several months, and the
conflagration extended above ten leagues, consuming an incredible
quantity of timber. The ground is now naked on each side of the road,
or occupied by the black trunks of the trees, which have been scorched
without falling. They stand as so many monuments of the judgment of
heaven, filling the mind with horror and compassion. I could hardly
refrain from shedding tears at this dismal spectacle, when I recalled
the idea of what it was about eighteen months ago.

As we stayed all night at Frejus, I had an opportunity of viewing the
amphitheatre at leisure. As near as I can judge by the eye, it is of
the same dimensions with that of Nismes; but shockingly dilapidated.
The stone seats rising from the arena are still extant, and the cells
under them, where the wild beasts were kept. There are likewise the
remains of two galleries one over another; and two vomitoria or great
gateways at opposite sides of the arena, which is now a fine green,
with a road through the middle of it: but all the external architecture
and the ornaments are demolished. The most intire part of the wall now
constitutes part of a monastery, the monks of which, I am told, have
helped to destroy the amphitheatre, by removing the stones for their
own purposes of building. In the neighbourhood of this amphitheatre,
which stands without the walls, are the vestiges of an old edifice,
said to have been the palace where the imperator or president resided:
for it was a Roman colony, much favoured by Julius Caesar, who gave it
the name of Forum Julii, and Civitas Forojuliensis. In all probability,
it was he who built the amphitheatre, and brought hither the water ten
leagues from the river of Ciagne, by means of an aqueduct, some arcades
of which are still standing on the other side of the town. A great
number of statues were found in this place, together with antient
inscriptions, which have been published by different authors. I need
not tell you that Julius Agricola, the father-in-law of Tacitus, the
historian, was a native of Frejus, which is now a very poor
inconsiderable place. From hence the country opens to the left, forming
an extensive plain between the sea and the mountains, which are a
continuation of the Alps, that stretches through Provence and Dauphine.
This plain watered with pleasant streams, and varied with vineyards,
corn-fields, and meadow-ground, afforded a most agreeable prospect to
our eyes, which were accustomed to the sight of scorching sands, rugged
rocks, and abrupt mountains in the neighbourhood of Nice. Although this
has much the appearance of a corn-country, I am told it does not
produce enough for the consumption of its inhabitants, who are obliged
to have annual supplies from abroad, imported at Marseilles. A
Frenchman, at an average, eats three times the quantity of bread that
satisfies a native of England, and indeed it is undoubtedly the staff
of his life. I am therefore surprised that the Provencaux do not
convert part of their vineyards into corn-fields: for they may boast of
their wine as they please; but that which is drank by the common
people, not only here, but also in all the wine countries of France, is
neither so strong, nourishing, nor (in my opinion) so pleasant to the
taste as the small-beer of England. It must be owned that all the
peasants who have wine for their ordinary drink are of a diminutive
size, in comparison of those who use milk, beer, or even water; and it
is a constant observation, that when there is a scarcity of wine, the
common people are always more healthy, than in those seasons when it
abounds. The longer I live, the more I am convinced that wine, and all
fermented liquors, are pernicious to the human constitution; and that
for the preservation of health, and exhilaration of the spirits, there
is no beverage comparable to simple water. Between Luc and Toulon, the
country is delightfully parcelled out into inclosures. Here is plenty
of rich pasturage for black cattle, and a greater number of pure
streams and rivulets than I have observed in any other parts of France.

Toulon is a considerable place, even exclusive of the basin, docks, and
arsenal, which indeed are such as justify the remark made by a stranger
when he viewed them. "The king of France (said he) is greater at Toulon
than at Versailles." The quay, the jetties, the docks, and magazines,
are contrived and executed with precision, order, solidity, and
magnificence. I counted fourteen ships of the line lying unrigged in
the basin, besides the Tonant of eighty guns, which was in dock
repairing, and a new frigate on the stocks. I was credibly informed
that in the last war, the king of France was so ill-served with cannon
for his navy, that in every action there was scarce a ship which had
not several pieces burst. These accidents did great damage, and
discouraged the French mariners to such a degree, that they became more
afraid of their own guns than of those of the English. There are now at
Toulon above two thousand pieces of iron cannon unfit for service. This
is an undeniable proof of the weakness and neglect of the French
administration: but a more suprizing proof of their imbecility, is the
state of the fortifications that defend the entrance of this very
harbour. I have some reason to think that they trusted for its security
entirely to our opinion that it must be inaccessible. Capt. E--, of one
of our frigates, lately entered the harbour with a contrary wind, which
by obliging him to tack, afforded an opportunity of sounding the whole
breadth and length of the passage. He came in without a pilot, and made
a pretence of buying cordage, or some other stores; but the French
officers were much chagrined at the boldness of his enterprize. They
alleged that he came for no other reason but to sound the channel; and
that he had an engineer aboard, who made drawings of the land and the
forts, their bearings and distances. In all probability, these
suspicions were communicated to the ministry; for an order immediately
arrived, that no stranger should be admitted into the docks and arsenal.

Part of the road from hence to Marseilles lies through a vast mountain,
which resembles that of Estrelles; but is not so well covered with
wood, though it has the advantage of an agreeable stream running
through the bottom.

I was much pleased with Marseilles, which is indeed a noble city,
large, populous, and flourishing. The streets of what is called the new
Town are open, airy and spacious; the houses well built, and even
magnificent. The harbour is an oval basin, surrounded on every side
either by the buildings or the land, so that the shipping lies
perfectly secure; and here is generally an incredible number of
vessels. On the city side, there is a semi-circular quay of free-stone,
which extends thirteen hundred paces; and the space between this and
the houses that front it, is continually filled with a surprising crowd
of people. The gallies, to the number of eight or nine, are moored with
their sterns to one part of the wharf, and the slaves are permitted to
work for their own benefit at their respective occupations, in little
shops or booths, which they rent for a trifle. There you see tradesmen
of all kinds sitting at work, chained by one foot, shoe-makers,
taylors, silversmiths, watch and clock-makers, barbers,
stocking-weavers, jewellers, pattern-drawers, scriveners, booksellers,
cutlers, and all manner of shop-keepers. They pay about two sols a day
to the king for this indulgence; live well and look jolly; and can
afford to sell their goods and labour much cheaper than other dealers
and tradesmen. At night, however, they are obliged to lie aboard.
Notwithstanding the great face of business at Marseilles, their trade
is greatly on the decline; and their merchants are failing every day.
This decay of commerce is in a great measure owing to the English, who,
at the peace, poured in such a quantity of European merchandize into
Martinique and Guadalupe, that when the merchants of Marseilles sent
over their cargoes, they found the markets overstocked, and were
obliged to sell for a considerable loss. Besides, the French colonists
had such a stock of sugars, coffee, and other commodities lying by them
during the war, that upon the first notice of peace, they shipped them
off in great quantities for Marseilles. I am told that the produce of
the islands is at present cheaper here than where it grows; and on the
other hand the merchandize of this country sells for less money at
Martinique than in Provence.

A single person, who travels in this country, may live at a reasonable
rate in these towns, by eating at the public ordinaries: but I would
advise all families that come hither to make any stay, to take
furnished lodgings as soon as they can: for the expence of living at an
hotel is enormous. I was obliged to pay at Marseilles four livres a
head for every meal, and half that price for my servant, and was
charged six livres a day besides for the apartment, so that our daily
expence, including breakfast and a valet de place, amounted to two
loui'dores. The same imposition prevails all over the south of France,
though it is generally supposed to be the cheapest and most plentiful
part of the kingdom. Without all doubt, it must be owing to the folly
and extravagance of English travellers, who have allowed themselves to
be fleeced without wincing, until this extortion is become authorized
by custom. It is very disagreeable riding in the avenues of Marseilles,
because you are confined in a dusty high road, crouded with carriages
and beasts of burden, between two white walls, the reflection from
which, while the sun shines, is intolerable. But in this neighbourhood
there is a vast number of pleasant country-houses, called Bastides,
said to amount to twelve thousand, some of which may be rented ready
furnished at a very reasonable price. Marseilles is a gay city, and the
inhabitants indulge themselves in a variety of amusements. They have
assemblies, a concert spirituel, and a comedy. Here is also a spacious
cours, or walk shaded with trees, to which in the evening there is a
great resort of well-dressed people.

Marseilles being a free port, there is a bureau about half a league
from the city on the road to Aix, where all carriages undergo
examination; and if any thing contraband is found, the vehicle,
baggage, and even the horses are confiscated. We escaped this
disagreeable ceremony by the sagacity of our driver. Of his own accord,
he declared at the bureau, that we had bought a pound of coffee and
some sugar at Marseilles, and were ready to pay the duty, which
amounted to about ten sols. They took the money, gave him a receipt,
and let the carriage pass, without further question.

I proposed to stay one night only at Aix: but Mr. A--r, who is here,
had found such benefit from drinking the waters, that I was persuaded
to make trial of them for eight or ten days. I have accordingly taken
private lodgings, and drank them at the fountain-head, not without
finding considerable benefit. In my next I shall say something further
of these waters, though I am afraid they will not prove a source of
much entertainment. It will be sufficient for me to find them
contribute in any degree to the health of--Dear Sir, Yours assuredly.



LETTER XL

BOULOGNE, May 23, 1765.

DEAR DOCTOR,--I found three English families at Aix, with whom I could
have passed my time very agreeably but the society is now dissolved.
Mr. S--re and his lady left the place in a few days after we arrived.
Mr. A--r and lady Betty are gone to Geneva; and Mr. G--r with his
family remains at Aix. This gentleman, who laboured under a most
dreadful nervous asthma, has obtained such relief from this climate,
that he intends to stay another year in the place: and Mr. A--r found
surprizing benefit from drinking the waters, for a scorbutical
complaint. As I was incommoded by both these disorders, I could not but
in justice to myself, try the united efforts of the air and the waters;
especially as this consideration was re-inforced by the kind and
pressing exhortations of Mr. A--r and lady Betty, which I could not in
gratitude resist.

Aix, the capital of Provence, is a large city, watered by the small
river Are. It was a Roman colony, said to be founded by Caius Sextus
Calvinus, above a century before the birth of Christ. From the source
of mineral water here found, added to the consul's name, it was called
Aquae Sextiae. It was here that Marius, the conqueror of the Teutones,
fixed his headquarters, and embellished the place with temples,
aqueducts, and thermae, of which, however, nothing now remains. The
city, as it now stands, is well built, though the streets in general
are narrow, and kept in a very dirty condition. But it has a noble
cours planted with double rows of tall trees, and adorned with three or
four fine fountains, the middlemost of which discharges hot water
supplied from the source of the baths. On each side there is a row of
elegant houses, inhabited chiefly by the noblesse, of which there is
here a considerable number. The parliament, which is held at Aix,
brings hither a great resort of people; and as many of the inhabitants
are persons of fashion, they are well bred, gay, and sociable. The duc
de Villars, who is governor of the province, resides on the spot, and
keeps an open assembly, where strangers are admitted without reserve,
and made very welcome, if they will engage in play, which is the sole
occupation of the whole company. Some of our English people complain,
that when they were presented to him, they met with a very cold
reception. The French, as well as other foreigners, have no idea of a
man of family and fashion, without the title of duke, count, marquis,
or lord, and where an English gentleman is introduced by the simple
expression of monsieur tel, Mr. Suchathing, they think he is some
plebeian, unworthy of any particular attention.

Aix is situated in a bottom, almost surrounded by hills, which,
however, do not screen it from the Bize, or north wind, that blows
extremely sharp in the winter and spring, rendering the air almost
insupportably cold, and very dangerous to those who have some kinds of
pulmonary complaints, such as tubercules, abscesses, or spitting of
blood. Lord H--, who passed part of last winter in this place,
afflicted with some of these symptoms, grew worse every day while he
continued at Aix: but, he no sooner removed to Marseilles, than all his
complaints abated; such a difference there is in the air of these two
places, though the distance between them does not exceed ten or twelve
miles. But the air of Marseilles, though much more mild than that of
Aix in the winter is not near so warm as the climate of Nice, where we
find in plenty such flowers, fruit, and vegetables, even in the
severest season, as will not grow and ripen, either at Marseilles or
Toulon.

If the air of Aix is disagreeably cold in the winter, it is rendered
quite insufferable in the summer, from excessive heat, occasioned by
the reflexion from the rocks and mountains, which at the same time
obstruct the circulation of air: for it must be observed, that the same
mountains which serve as funnels and canals, to collect and discharge
the keen blasts of winter, will provide screens to intercept intirely
the faint breezes of summer. Aix, though pretty well provided with
butcher's meat, is very ill supplied with potherbs; and they have no
poultry but what comes at a vast distance from the Lionnois. They say
their want of roots, cabbage, cauliflower, etc. is owing to a scarcity
of water: but the truth is, they are very bad gardeners. Their oil is
good and cheap: their wine is indifferent: but their chief care seems
employed on the culture of silk, the staple of Provence, which is every
where shaded with plantations of mulberry trees, for the nourishment of
the worms. Notwithstanding the boasted cheapness of every article of
housekeeping, in the south of France, I am persuaded a family may live
for less money at York, Durham, Hereford, and in many other cities of
England than at Aix in Provence; keep a more plentiful table; and be
much more comfortably situated in all respects. I found lodging and
provision at Aix fifty per cent dearer than at Montpellier, which is
counted the dearest place in Languedoc.

The baths of Aix, so famous in antiquity, were quite demolished by the
irruptions of the barbarians. The very source of the water was lost,
till the beginning of the present century (I think the year 1704), when
it was discovered by accident, in digging for the foundation of a
house, at the foot of a hill, just without the city wall. Near the same
place was found a small stone altar, with the figure of a Priapus, and
some letters in capitals, which the antiquarians have differently
interpreted. From this figure, it was supposed that the waters were
efficacious in cases of barrenness. It was a long time, however, before
any person would venture to use them internally, as it did not appear
that they had ever been drank by the antients. On their re-appearance,
they were chiefly used for baths to horses, and other beasts which had
the mange, and other cutaneous eruptions. At length poor people began
to bathe in them for the same disorders, and received such benefit from
them, as attracted the attention of more curious inquirers. A very
superficial and imperfect analysis was made and published, with a few
remarkable histories of the cures they had performed, by three
different physicians of those days; and those little treatises, I
suppose, encouraged valetudinarians to drink them without ceremony.
They were found serviceable in the gout, the gravel, scurvy, dropsy,
palsy, indigestion, asthma, and consumption; and their fame soon
extended itself all over Languedoc, Gascony, Dauphine, and Provence.
The magistrates, with a view to render them more useful and commodious,
have raised a plain building, in which there are a couple of private
baths, with a bedchamber adjoining to each, where individuals may use
them both internally and externally, for a moderate expence. These
baths are paved with marble, and supplied with water each by a large
brass cock, which you can turn at pleasure. At one end of this edifice,
there is an octagon, open at top, having a bason, with a stone pillar
in the middle, which discharges water from the same source, all round,
by eight small brass cocks; and hither people of all ranks come of a
morning, with their glasses, to drink the water, or wash their sores,
or subject their contracted limbs to the stream. This last operation,
called the douche, however, is more effectually undergone in the
private bath, where the stream is much more powerful. The natural
warmth of this water, as nearly as I can judge from recollection, is
about the same degree of temperature with that in the Queen's Bath, at
Bath in Somersetshire. It is perfectly transparent, sparkling in the
glass, light and agreeable to the taste, and may be drank without any
preparation, to the quantity of three or four pints at a time. There
are many people at Aix who swallow fourteen half pint glasses every
morning, during the season, which is in the month of May, though it may
be taken with equal benefit all the year round. It has no sensible
operation but by urine, an effect which pure water would produce, if
drank in the same quantity.

If we may believe those who have published their experiments, this
water produces neither agitation, cloud, or change of colour, when
mixed with acids, alkalies, tincture of galls, syrup of violets, or
solution of silver. The residue, after boiling, evaporation, and
filtration, affords a very small proportion of purging salt, and
calcarious earth, which last ferments with strong acids. As I had
neither hydrometer nor thermometer to ascertain the weight and warmth
of this water; nor time to procure the proper utensils, to make the
preparations, and repeat the experiments necessary to exhibit a
complete analysis, I did not pretend to enter upon this process; but
contented myself with drinking, bathing, and using the douche, which
perfectly answered my expectation, having, in eight days, almost cured
an ugly scorbutic tetter, which had for some time deprived me of the
use of my right hand. I observed that the water, when used externally,
left always a kind of oily appearance on the skin: that when, we boiled
it at home, in an earthen pot, the steams smelled like those of
sulphur, and even affected my lungs in the same manner: but the bath
itself smelled strong of a lime-kiln. The water, after standing all
night in a bottle, yielded a remarkably vinous taste and odour,
something analogous to that of dulcified spirit of nitre. Whether the
active particles consist of a volatile vitriol, or a very fine
petroleum, or a mixture of both, I shall not pretend to determine: but
the best way I know of discovering whether it is really impregnated
with a vitriolic principle, too subtil and fugitive for the usual
operations of chymistry, is to place bottles, filled with wine, in the
bath, or adjacent room, which wine, if there is really a volatile acid,
in any considerable quantity, will be pricked in eight and forty hours.

Having ordered our coach to be refitted, and provided with fresh
horses, as well as with another postilion, in consequence of which
improvements, I payed at the rate of a loui'dore per diem to Lyons and
back again, we departed from Aix, and the second day of our journey
passing the Durance in a boat, lay at Avignon. This river, the Druentia
of the antients, is a considerable stream, extremely rapid, which
descends from the mountains, and discharges itself in the Rhone. After
violent rains it extends its channel, so as to be impassable, and often
overflows the country to a great extent. In the middle of a plain,
betwixt Orgon and this river, we met the coach in which we had
travelled eighteen months before, from Lyons to Montpellier, conducted
by our old driver Joseph, who no sooner recognized my servant at a
distance, by his musquetoon, than he came running towards our carriage,
and seizing my hand, even shed tears of joy. Joseph had been travelling
through Spain, and was so imbrowned by the sun, that he might have
passed for an Iroquois. I was much pleased with the marks of gratitude
which the poor fellow expressed towards his benefactors. He had some
private conversation with our voiturier, whose name was Claude, to whom
he gave such a favourable character of us, as in all probability
induced him to be wonderfully obliging during the whole journey.

You know Avignon is a large city belonging to the pope. It was the
Avenio Cavarum of the antients, and changed masters several times,
belonging successively to the Romans, Burgundians, Franks, the kingdom
of Arles, the counts of Provence, and the sovereigns of Naples. It was
sold in the fourteenth century, by queen Jane I. of Naples, to Pope
Clement VI. for the sum of eighty thousand florins, and since that
period has continued under the dominion of the see of Rome. Not but
that when the duc de Crequi, the French ambassador, was insulted at
Rome in the year 1662, the parliament of Provence passed an arret,
declaring the city of Avignon, and the county Venaiss in part of the
ancient domain of Provence; and therefore reunited it to the crown of
France, which accordingly took possession; though it was afterwards
restored to the Roman see at the peace of Pisa. The pope, however,
holds it by a precarious title, at the mercy of the French king, who
may one day be induced to resume it, upon payment of the original
purchase-money. As a succession of popes resided here for the space of
seventy years, the city could not fail to be adorned with a great
number of magnificent churches and convents, which are richly
embellished with painting, sculpture, shrines, reliques, and tombs.
Among the last, is that of the celebrated Laura, whom Petrarch has
immortalized by his poetry, and for whom Francis I. of France took the
trouble to write an epitaph. Avignon is governed by a vice-legate from
the pope, and the police of the city is regulated by the consuls.

It is a large place, situated in a fruitful plain, surrounded by high
walls built of hewn stone, which on the west side are washed by the
Rhone. Here was a noble bridge over the river, but it is now in ruins.
On the other side, a branch of the Sorgue runs through part of the
city. This is the river anciently called Sulga, formed by the famous
fountain of Vaucluse in this neighbourhood, where the poet Petrarch
resided. It is a charming transparent stream, abounding with excellent
trout and craw-fish. We passed over it on a stone bridge, in our way to
Orange, the Arausio Cavarum of the Romans, still distinguished by some
noble monuments of antiquity. These consist of a circus, an aqueduct, a
temple, and a triumphal arch, which last was erected in honour of Caius
Marius, and Luctatius Catulus, after the great victory they obtained in
this country over the Cimbri and Teutones. It is a very magnificent
edifice, adorned on all sides with trophies and battles in basso
relievo. The ornaments of the architecture, and the sculpture, are
wonderfully elegant for the time in which it was erected; and the whole
is surprisingly well preserved, considering its great antiquity. It
seems to me to be as entire and perfect as the arch of Septimius
Severus at Rome. Next day we passed two very impetuous streams, the
Drome and the Isere. The first, which very much resembles the Var, we
forded: but the Isere we crossed in a boat, which as well as that upon
the Durance, is managed by the traille, a moveable or running pulley,
on a rope stretched between two wooden machines erected on the opposite
sides of the river. The contrivance is simple and effectual, and the
passage equally safe and expeditious. The boatman has nothing to do,
but by means of a long massy rudder, to keep the head obliquely to the
stream, the force of which pushes the boat along, the block to which it
is fixed sliding upon the rope from one side to the other. All these
rivers take their rise from the mountains, which are continued through
Provence and Dauphine, and fall into the Rhone: and all of them, when
swelled by sudden rains, overflow the flat country. Although Dauphine
affords little or no oil, it produces excellent wines, particularly
those of Hermitage and Cote-roti. The first of these is sold on the
spot for three livres the bottle, and the other for two. The country
likewise yields a considerable quantity of corn, and a good deal of
grass. It is well watered with streams, and agreeably shaded with wood.
The weather was pleasant, and we had a continued song of nightingales
from Aix to Fontainebleau.

I cannot pretend to specify the antiquities of Vienne, antiently called
Vienna Allobrogum. It was a Roman colony, and a considerable city,
which the antients spared no pains and expence to embellish. It is
still a large town, standing among several hills on the banks of the
Rhone, though all its former splendor is eclipsed, its commerce
decayed, and most of its antiquities are buried in ruins. The church of
Notre Dame de la Vie was undoubtedly a temple. On the left of the road,
as you enter it, by the gate of Avignon, there is a handsome obelisk,
or rather pyramid, about thirty feet high, raised upon a vault
supported by four pillars of the Tuscan order. It is certainly a Roman
work, and Montfaucon supposes it to be a tomb, as he perceived an
oblong stone jetting out from the middle of the vault, in which the
ashes of the defunct were probably contained. The story of Pontius
Pilate, who is said to have ended his days in this place, is a fable.
On the seventh day of our journey from Aix, we arrived at Lyons, where
I shall take my leave of you for the present, being with great
truth--Yours, etc.



LETTER XLI

BOULOGNE, June 13, 1765.

DEAR SIR,--I am at last in a situation to indulge my view with a sight
of Britain, after an absence of two years; and indeed you cannot
imagine what pleasure I feel while I survey the white cliffs of Dover,
at this distance. Not that I am at all affected by the nescia qua
dulcedine natalis soli, of Horace. That seems to be a kind of
fanaticism founded on the prejudices of education, which induces a
Laplander to place the terrestrial paradise among the snows of Norway,
and a Swiss to prefer the barren mountains of Solleure to the fruitful
plains of Lombardy. I am attached to my country, because it is the land
of liberty, cleanliness, and convenience: but I love it still more
tenderly, as the scene of all my interesting connexions; as the
habitation of my friends, for whose conversation, correspondence, and
esteem, I wish alone to live.

Our journey hither from Lyons produced neither accident nor adventure
worth notice; but abundance of little vexations, which may be termed
the Plagues of Posting. At Lyons, where we stayed only a few days, I
found a return-coach, which I hired to Paris for six loui'dores. It was
a fine roomy carriage, elegantly furnished, and made for travelling; so
strong and solid in all its parts, that there was no danger of its
being shaken to pieces by the roughness of the road: but its weight and
solidity occasioned so much friction between the wheels and the
axle-tree, that we ran the risque of being set on fire three or four
times a day. Upon a just comparison of all circumstances posting is
much more easy, convenient, and reasonable in England than in France.
The English carriages, horses, harness, and roads are much better; and
the postilions more obliging and alert. The reason is plain and
obvious. If I am ill-used at the post-house in England, I can be
accommodated elsewhere. The publicans on the road are sensible of this,
and therefore they vie with each other in giving satisfaction to
travellers. But in France, where the post is monopolized, the
post-masters and postilions, knowing that the traveller depends
intirely upon them, are the more negligent and remiss in their duty, as
well as the more encouraged to insolence and imposition. Indeed the
stranger seems to be left intirely at the mercy of those fellows,
except in large towns, where he may have recourse to the magistrate or
commanding officer. The post stands very often by itself in a lone
country situation, or in a paultry village, where the post-master is
the principal inhabitant; and in such a case, if you should be
ill-treated, by being supplied with bad horses; if you should be
delayed on frivolous pretences, in order to extort money; if the
postilions should drive at a waggon pace, with a view to provoke your
impatience; or should you in any shape be insulted by them or their
masters; and I know not any redress you can have, except by a formal
complaint to the comptroller of the posts, who is generally one of the
ministers of state, and pays little or no regard to any such
representations. I know an English gentleman, the brother of an earl,
who wrote a letter of complaint to the Duc de Villars, governor of
Provence, against the post-master of Antibes, who had insulted and
imposed upon him. The duke answered his letter, promising to take order
that the grievance should be redressed; and never thought of it after.
Another great inconvenience which attends posting in France, is that if
you are retarded by any accident, you cannot in many parts of the
kingdom find a lodging, without perhaps travelling two or three posts
farther than you would choose to go, to the prejudice of your health,
and even the hazard of your life; whereas on any part of the post-road
in England, you will meet with tolerable accommodation at every stage.
Through the whole south of France, except in large cities, the inns are
cold, damp, dark, dismal, and dirty; the landlords equally disobliging
and rapacious; the servants aukward, sluttish, and slothful; and the
postilions lazy, lounging, greedy, and impertinent. If you chide them
for lingering, they will continue to delay you the longer: if you
chastise them with sword, cane, cudgel, or horse-whip, they will either
disappear entirely, and leave you without resource; or they will find
means to take vengeance by overturning your carriage. The best method I
know of travelling with any degree of comfort, is to allow yourself to
become the dupe of imposition, and stimulate their endeavours by
extraordinary gratifications. I laid down a resolution (and kept it) to
give no more than four and twenty sols per post between the two
postilions; but I am now persuaded that for three-pence a post more, I
should have been much better served, and should have performed the
journey with much greater pleasure. We met with no adventures upon the
road worth reciting. The first day we were retarded about two hours by
the dutchess D--lle, and her son the duc de R--f--t, who by virtue of
an order from the minister, had anticipated all the horses at the post.
They accosted my servant, and asked if his master was a lord? He
thought proper to answer in the affirmative, upon which the duke
declared that he must certainly be of French extraction, inasmuch as he
observed the lilies of France in his arms on the coach. This young
nobleman spoke a little English. He asked whence we had come; and
understanding we had been in Italy, desired to know whether the man
liked France or Italy best? Upon his giving France the preference, he
clapped him on the shoulder, and said he was a lad of good taste. The
dutchess asked if her son spoke English well, and seemed mightily
pleased when my man assured her he did. They were much more free and
condescending with my servant than with myself; for, though we saluted
them in passing, and were even supposed to be persons of quality, they
did not open their lips, while we stood close by them at the inn-door,
till their horses were changed. They were going to Geneva; and their
equipage consisted of three coaches and six, with five domestics
a-horseback. The dutchess was a tall, thin, raw-boned woman, with her
head close shaved. This delay obliged us to lie two posts short of
Macon, at a solitary auberge called Maison Blanche, which had nothing
white about it, but the name. The Lionnois is one of the most agreeable
and best-cultivated countries I ever beheld, diversified with hill,
dale, wood, and water, laid out in extensive corn-fields and rich
meadows, well stocked with black cattle, and adorned with a surprising
number of towns, villages, villas, and convents, generally situated on
the brows of gently swelling hills, so that they appear to the greatest
advantage. What contributes in a great measure to the beauty of this,
and the Maconnois, is the charming pastoral Soame, which from the city
of Chalons winds its silent course so smooth and gentle, that one can
scarce discern which way its current flows. It is this placid
appearance that tempts so many people to bathe in it at Lions, where a
good number of individuals are drowned every summer: whereas there is
no instance of any persons thus perishing in the Rhone, the rapidity of
it deterring every body from bathing in its stream. Next night we
passed at Beaune where we found nothing good but the wine, for which we
paid forty sols the bottle. At Chalons our axle-tree took fire; an
accident which detained us so long, that it was ten before we arrived
at Auxerre, where we lay. In all probability we must have lodged in the
coach, had not we been content to take four horses, and pay for six,
two posts successively. The alternative was, either to proceed with
four on those terms, or stay till the other horses should come in and
be refreshed. In such an emergency, I would advise the traveller to put
up with the four, and he will find the postilions so much upon their
mettle, that those stages will be performed sooner than the others in
which you have the full complement.

There was an English gentleman laid up at Auxerre with a broken arm, to
whom I sent my compliments, with offers of service; but his servant
told my man that he did not choose to see any company, and had no
occasion for my service. This sort of reserve seems peculiar to the
English disposition. When two natives of any other country chance to
meet abroad, they run into each other's embrace like old friends, even
though they have never heard of one another till that moment; whereas
two Englishmen in the same situation maintain a mutual reserve and
diffidence, and keep without the sphere of each other's attraction,
like two bodies endowed with a repulsive power. We only stopped to
change horses at Dijon, the capital of Burgundy, which is a venerable
old city; but we passed part of a day at Sens, and visited a
manufacture of that stuff we call Manchester velvet, which is here made
and dyed to great perfection, under the direction of English workmen,
who have been seduced from their own country. At Fontainebleau, we went
to see the palace, or as it is called, the castle, which though an
irregular pile of building, affords a great deal of lodging, and
contains some very noble apartments, particularly the hall of audience,
with the king's and queen's chambers, upon which the ornaments of
carving and gilding are lavished with profusion rather than propriety.
Here are some rich parterres of flower-garden, and a noble orangerie,
which, however, we did not greatly admire, after having lived among the
natural orange groves of Italy. Hitherto we had enjoyed fine summer
weather, and I found myself so well, that I imagined my health was
intirely restored: but betwixt Fontainebleau and Paris, we were
overtaken by a black storm of rain, sleet, and hail, which seemed to
reinstate winter in all its rigour; for the cold weather continues to
this day. There was no resisting this attack. I caught cold
immediately; and this was reinforced at Paris, where I stayed but three
days. The same man, (Pascal Sellier, rue Guenegaud, fauxbourg St.
Germain) who owned the coach that brought us from Lyons, supplied me
with a returned berline to Boulogne, for six loui'dores, and we came
hither by easy journeys. The first night we lodged at Breteuil, where
we found an elegant inn, and very good accommodation. But the next we
were forced to take up our quarters, at the house where we had formerly
passed a very disagreeable night at Abbeville. I am now in tolerable
lodging, where I shall remain a few weeks, merely for the sake of a
little repose; then I shall gladly tempt that invidious straight which
still divides you from--Yours, &c.



APPENDIX A

A Short List of Works, mainly on Travel in France and Italy during the
Eighteenth Century, referred to in connection with the Introduction.

ADDISON, JOSEPH. Remarks on Several Parts of Italy. London, 1705.

ANCONE, ALESSANDRO D'. Saggio di una bibliografia ragionata dei Viaggi
in Italia. 1895.

ANDREWS, Dr. JOHN. Letters to a Young Gentleman in setting out for
France. London, 1784.

ARCHENHOLTZ, J. W. VON. Tableau de l'Angleterre et de l'Italie. 3 vols.
Gotha, 1788.

ARDOUIN-DUMAZET Voyage en France. Treizieme serie. La Provence
Maritime. Paris, 1898.

ASTRUC, JEAN. Memoires pour servir a l'histoire de la Faculte de
Medicine de Montpellier, 1767.

BABEAU, ANTOINE. Voyageurs en France. Paris, 1885.

BALLY, L. E. Souvenirs de Nice. 1860.

BARETTI, G. M. Account of the Manners and Customs of Italy. 2 vols.
London, 1770.

BASTIDE, CHARLES. John Locke. Ses theories politiques en Angleterre.
Paris, 1907.

BECKFORD, WILLIAM. Italy, Spain, and Portugal. By the author of
"Vathek." London, 1834; new ed. 1840.

BERCHTOLD, LEOPOLD. An Essay to direct the Inquiries of Patriotic
Travellers. 2 vols. London, 1789.

BOULOGNE-SUR-MER et la region Boulonnaise. Ouvrage offert par la ville
aux membres de l'Association Francaise. 2 vols.  1899.

BRETON DE LA MARTINIERE, J. Voyage en Piemont. Paris, 1803.

BROSSES, CHARLES DE. Lettres familieres ecrites d'Italie. 1740.

BURTON, JOHN HILL. The Scot Abroad. 2 vols. Edinburgh. 1864.

CASANOVA DE SEINGALT, JACQUES. Memoires ecrits par lui-meme. 6 vols.
Bruxelles, 1879.

CLEMENT, PIERRE. L'Italie en 1671. Paris, 1867. 12mo.

COOTE'S NEW GEOGRAPHICAL DICTIONARY. 2 vols., folio, 1739.

CRAIG, G. DUNCAN. Mie jour; or Provencal Legend, Life, Language, and
Literature. London, 1877.

DAVIS, Dr. I. B. Ancient and Modern History of Nice. London, 1807.

DEJOB, C. Madame de Stael et l'Italie. Paris, 1890.

DEMPSTER, C. L. H. The Maritime Alps and their Sea-Board. London, 1885.

DORAN, DR. JOHN. Mann and Manners at the Court of Florence. London,
1876.

DRAMARD, E. Bibliographie du Boulonnais, Calaisis, etc. Paris, 1869.

DUTENS, L. Itineraire des Routes. First edition, 1775.

EVELYN, JOHN. Diary, edited by H. B. Wheatley. 4 vols. London, 1879.

FERBER, G. G. Travels through Italy, translated by R. E. Raspe. London,
1776.

FODERE, FRANCOIS EMILE. Voyage aux Alpes Maritimes. 2 vols. Paris, 1821.

FORSYTH, JOSEPH. Remarks on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, during an
Excursion in Italy in the year 1802 and 1803. London, 1812; 4th
Edition, 1835.

GARDNER, EDMUND G. The Story of Florence. London, 1900.

GERMAIN, M. A. Histoire de la Commune de Montpellier. 3 vols.
Montpellier, 1853.

GIOFFREDO, PIETRO. Storia delle Alpi Marittime . . . libri xxvi. Ed.
Gazzera. 1836.

GOETHE. Autobiography, Tour in Italy, Miscellaneous Travels, and
Wilhelm Meister's Travels (Bohn).

GROSLEY, PIERRE JEAN. Nouveaux Memoires sur l'Italie. London, 1764. New
Observations on Italy. Translated by Thomas Nugent. 1769.

HARE, AUGUSTUS J. C. The Rivieras. 1897.

HILLARD, G. S. Six Months in Italy. Boston, 1853; 7th edition, 1863.

JEFFERYS, THOMAS. Description of the Maritime Parts of France. With
Maps. 1761.

JOANNE, ADOLPHE. Provence, Alpes Maritimes. Paris, 1881 (Bibliog., p.
xxvii).

JONES (of Nayland), WILLIAM. Observations in a Journey to Paris.
London, 1777.

KOTZEBUE, A. F. F. VON. Travels through Italy in 1804 and 1805. 4 vols.
London, 1807.

LALANDE, J. J. DE. Voyage en Italie. 6 vols. 12mo. 1768.

LEE, EDWIN. Nice et son climat. Paris, 1863.

LENOTRE, G. Paris revolutionnaire. Paris, 1895.

LENTHERIC, CHARLES. La Provence Maritime, ancienne et moderne. Paris,
1880. Les voies antiques de la Region du Rhone. Avignon, 1882.

LUCHAIRE, A. Hist. des Instit. Monarchiques de la France. 2 vols. 1891.

MAUGHAM, H. N. The Book of Italian Travel. London, 1903.

MERCIER, M. New Pictures of Paris. London, 1800.

METRIVIER, H. Monaco et ses Princes. 2 vols. 1862.

MILLINGEN, J. G. Sketches of Ancient and Modern Boulogne. London, 1826.

MONTAIGNE, MICHEL DE. Journal du Voyage en Italie (Querlon). Rome, 1774.

MONTESQUIEU, CHARLES DE SECONDAT, BARON DE. Voyages. Bordeaux, 1894.

MONTFAUCON. Travels of the Learned Dr. Montfaucon from Paris through
Italy. London, 1712.

MOORE, DR. JOHN. A View of Society and Manners in France (2 vols.,
1779), and in Italy (2 vols., 1781)

NASH, JAMES. Guide to Nice, 1884.

NORTHALL, JOHN. Travels through Italy. London, 1766.

NUGENT, THOMAS. The Grand Tour. 3rd edition. 4 vols. 1778.

PALLIARI, LEA. Notices historiques sur le comte et la ville de Nice.
Nice, 1875.

PETHERICK, E, A. Catalogue of the York Gate Library. An Index to the
Literature of Geography. London, 1881.

PIOZZI, HESTER LYNCH. Observations and Reflections made in the course
of a Journey through France, Italy, and Germany. In 2 vols. London,
1789.

RAE, JOHN. Life of Adam Smith. London, 1885.

RICHARD, L'ABBE. Description historique et critique de l'Italie. 6
vols. Paris, 1768.

RICHARDERIE, BOUCHER DE LA. Bibliotheque des voyages. Paris, 1808.

RIGBY, DR. Letters from France in 1789, edited by Lady Eastlake.
London, 1880.

ROSE, WILLIAM STEWART. Letters from the North of Italy to Henry Hallam.
2 vols. 1819.

ROUX, JOSEPH. Statistique des Alpes Maritimes. 2 vols. 1863.

RUFFINI, GIOVANNI, D. Doctor Antonio; a Tale. Paris, 1855.

SAYOUS, A. Le Dix-huitieme siecle a l'etranger. 2 vols. Paris, 1861.

SECCOMBE, THOMAS. Smollett's Travels, edited with bibliographical note,
etc. By Thomas Seccombe (Works, Constable's Edition, vol. xi.). 1900.

SHARP, SAMUEL. Letters from Italy. London, 1769.

SHERLOCK, MARTIN. Letters from an English Traveller. (New English
version.) 2 vols. 1802.

SMOLLETT, T. Travels through France and Italy. 2 vols. London, 1766.

SPALDING, WILLIAM. Italy and the Italian Islands. 3 vols. London, 1841.

STAEL, MME. DE. Corinne, ou l'Italie. 1807.

STARKE, MARIANA. Letters from Italy, 1792-1798. 9 vols. 1800. Travels
on the Continent for the use of Travellers. 1800, 1820, 1824, etc.

STENDHAL. Rome, Naples, and Florence, in 1817. London, 1818.

STERNE, LAURENCE. A Sentimental Journey through France and Italy. By
Mr. Yorick. 2 vols. London, 1768.

STOLBERZ, COUNT F. L. ZU. Travels through Germany, Switzerland, Italy,
etc. Translated by Thomas Holcroft. 1796.

TAINE, HENRI. Voyage en Italie. 1866.

TALBOT, SIR R. Letters on the French Nation. London, 2 vols.1771, 12mo.

TEYSSEIRE, T. Monographie sur le climat de Nice. 1881.

THICKNESSE, PHILIP. Useful Hints to those who make the Tour of France
in a Series of Letters. London, 1768. A year's Journey through France,
etc. 2, vols. 1777.

TISSERAND, E. Chronique de Provence . . . de la cite de Nice, etc. 2
vols. Nice, 1862.

TWINING FAMILY PAPERS. London, 1887.

VIOLLET, PAUL. Hist. des Instit. polit. et administratifs de la France.
2 vols. Paris, 1890-98.

WHATLEY, STEPHEN. The Travels and Adventures of J. Massey. Translated
from the French. 1743.

WILLIAMS, C. THEODORE. The Climate of the South of France. 1869.

WINCKELMANN, J. J. Lettres familieres. Amsterdam, 1781. Reflections on
the Painting and Sculpture of the Greeks. Translated by H. Fuseli.
London, 1765. Voyage en Italie de J. J. Barthelemy . . . avec des
morceaux inedits de Winckelmann. 1801.

YOUNG, ARTHUR. Travels in France during 1787, 1788, 1789, edited by M.
Betham-Edwards. 1889.

YOUNG, EDWARD. Sa vie et ses oeuvres, par W. Thomas. Paris, 1901.

APPENDIX B

Short Notes on one or two unfamiliar Words which Smollett helped to
domesticate in England.

Berline. Swift and Chesterfield both use this for a heavy coach. The
most famous berline was that used in the flight to Varennes. The name
came from Brandenburg in the time of Frederick William.

Bize. Smollett's spelling of bise--the cutting N.N.E. wind which makes
Geneva so beautiful, but intolerable in the winter.

Brasiere=brasero. A tray for hot charcoal used for warming rooms at
Nice. Smollett practically introduced this word. Dried olives were
often used as fuel.

Calesse, calash, caleche. A low two-wheeled carriage of light
construction, with a movable folding hood; hence applied to a hood
bonnet as in Mrs. Gaskell's Cranford.

Cassine. Latin casa, cassa, cassina; the Italian cassina, A small
detached house in the fields, often whitewashed and of mean appearance.
Smollett uses the word as an equivalent for summer cottage. Cf. bastide
as used by Dumas. Cabane has practically replaced cassine in modern
French. See Letter XXIV.

Cambiatura. The system of changing chaises every post, common in
England, but unusual abroad except in Tuscany.

Cicisbeo. The word is used by Lady Mary Montagu in her Letters (1718)
as cecisbeo. Smollett's best account is in Letter XVII. See
Introduction, p. xliii.

Conversazione. Gray uses the word for assembly in 1710, but Smollett, I
believe, is about the first Englishman to define it properly.

Corinth. This was still used as a variant of currant, though adherence
to it was probably rather pedantic on Smollett's part (cf. his use of
"hough" for hoe). Boswell uses the modern form.

Corridore. This word was used by Evelyn, and the correct modern
spelling given by Johnson in 1753; but Smollett as often adheres to the
old form.

Douche. Italian doccia. Smollett is perhaps the first writer to explain
the word and assign to it the now familiar French form (Letter XL).

Feluca. An Arab word to denote a coasting boat, oar or sail propelled.
Nelson and Marryat write felucca. It was large enough to accommodate a
post-chaise (Letter XXV).

Gabelle. Supposed to be derived from the Arabic kabala, the irksome tax
on salt, from which few provinces in France were altogether free, swept
away in 1790. Smollett describes the exaction in San Remo.

Garum. Used by Smollett for the rich fish sauce of the ancients,
equivalent to a saumure, perhaps, in modern French cookery. In the
Middle Ages the word is used both for a condiment and a beverage.

Improvisatore. A performer in the Commedia delle Arte, of which
Smollett gives a brief admiring account in his description of Florence
(Letter XXVII). For details of the various elements, the doti,
generici, lazzi, etc., see Carlo Gozzi.

Liqueur. First used by Pope. "An affected, contemptible expression"
(Johnson).

Macaroni. "The paste called macaroni" (Letter XXVI) was seen by
Smollett in the neighbourhood of its origin near Genoa, which city
formed the chief market.

Maestral. An old form of mistral, the very dry wind from the N.N.W.,
described by Smollett as the coldest he ever experienced.

Patois. See Letter XXII. ad fin.

Pietre commesse. A sort of inlaying with stones, analogous to the
fineering of cabinets in wood (Letter XXVIII). Used by Evelyn in 1644.

Polenta. A meal ground from maize, which makes a good "pectoral"
(Letter XXII).

Pomi carli. The most agreeable apples Smollett tasted, stated to come
from the marquisate of Final, sold by the Emperor Charles VI. to the
Genoese.

Preniac. A small white wine, mentioned in Letter IV., from Boulogne, as
agreeable and very cheap.

Seafarot boots. Jack-boots or wading boots, worn by a Marquis of Savoy,
and removed by means of a tug-of-war team and a rope coiled round the
heel (see Letter XXVIII).

Sporcherie. With respect to delicacy and decorum you may peruse Dean
Swift's description of the Yahoos, and then you will have some idea of
the sporcherie that distinguishes the gallantry of Nice (Letter XVII).
Ital. sporcheria, sporcizia.

Strappado or corda. Performed by hoisting the criminal by his hands
tied behind his back and dropping him suddenly "with incredible pain"
(Letter XX). See Introduction, p. xliv, and Christie, Etienne Dolet,
1899, P. 231.

Tartane. From Italian tartana, Arabic taridha; a similar word being
used in Valencia and Grand Canary for a two-wheeled open cart. One of
the commonest craft on the Mediterranean (cf. the topo of the
Adriatic). For different types see Larousse's Nouveau Dictionnaire.

Tip. To "tip the wink" is found in Addison's Tatler (No. 86), but "to
tip" in the sense of to gratify is not common before Smollett, who uses
it more than once or twice in this sense (cf. Roderick Random, chap.
xiv. ad fin.)

Valanches. For avalanches (dangers from to travellers, see Letter
XXXVIII).

Villeggiatura. An early adaptation by Smollett of the Italian word for
country retirement (Letter XXIX).


APPENDIX C

Currency of Savoy in the time of Smollett.

  Ten bajocci=one paolo (6d.).
  Ten paoli=one scudo (six livres or about 5s.).
  Two scudi=one zequin.
  Two zequin=one louid'or.

Afterword.--I should be ungrateful were I not to create an epilogue for
the express purpose of thanking M. Morel, H. S Spencer  Scott, Dr.
Norman Moore, W. P. Courtney, G. Whale, D. S. MacColl, Walter Sichel
(there may be others), who have supplied hints for my annotations, and
I should like further, if one might inscribe such a trifle, to inscribe
this to that difficult critic, Mr. Arthur Vincent, who, when I told him
I was about it, gave expression to the cordial regret that so well
hidden a treasure of our literature (as he regarded the Travels) was to
be "vulgarised."