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 Charite, 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 Charite 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 Charite 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 primaeval 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 entrepot 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.