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 _cote 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 Caesar 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.