with Mademoiselle St. Sillery, when she has suddenly challenged me to
run a race, and before I could recover my astonishment, or give her an
answer, has taken to her heels.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XVI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XVII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XVIII.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XIX.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CHAP. XX.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aix, the capital of Provence, is very pleasantly situated in a valley,
surrounded by hills, which give it an air of recluseness, and romantic
retirement, without being so close as to prevent the due circulation of
air. It is surrounded by a wall, but which, from long neglect,
originating perhaps in its inutility, has become dilapidated, and
interests only as an ancient ruin. In the former ages, when France was
subdivided into dutchies and minor kingdoms, and when her neighbours
were more powerful, such walls were a necessary defence to the town: a