events, they seem to have found out the secret of perpetual motion, if
we may judge from the experience of the first night we spent in the
town. At half past nine, the principal street, which our hotel
overlooked, began to swarm with heads. The whole population were on the
alert, promenading during the greater part of the night; and such a busy
hum arose from beneath the windows, which the heat obliged us to keep
open, that it was impossible even to think of sleeping till daybreak.
Our accommodations indeed were not of the most tempting sort; for
finding the Hotel du Midi full of travellers, and consequently saucy
and unaccommodating, we had tried the Cheval Blanc, described to us as
the next best hotel; and detestable enough we found it. On stepping
however next morning into a cafe and restaurant in the Place de Comedie,
whose superior appearance had attracted us, we found that M. Pical, the
master of it, was in the habit of letting rooms, and we immediately
removed to his house. Nothing indeed could be more clean and elegant
than its accommodations, or more refreshing after the dusty journey of
the former day, and the nightly bustle of the streets, than its quiet
and coolness, situated as it is in a large area in the suburbs or
boulevards. The salle-a-manger partakes of the same character with the
rest of the house, and the carte contains a list of many more good
things than we were inclined to do justice to. In short, no traveller
can do better than order himself to be driven directly to this house,
which comprises all the advantages of a private residence at a
reasonable charge, with the recommendations of great attention and
civility.
This day, May 16, we attended service at the French Protestant Church,
and were gratified both with spending a morning on the shores of the
Mediterranean in a manner which reminded us of an English Sunday, and
witnessing also the full and respectable attendance of fellow
Protestants. The service was performed in the following order:--1, a
psalm; 2, a general confession of sins; 3, another psalm; 4, a sermon;
5, the commandments and the creed; 6, a long prayer for the sick and
distressed, the king and the royal family; 7, another psalm, and the
blessing. The singing was impressive, not so much from any intrinsic
merit in the performance, as the earnestness in which the whole
congregation joined in it, "singing praises lustily with a good
courage," instead of deputing this branch of religious duty to half a
dozen yawning and jangling charity children, assisted by the clerk and
parish tailor. I believe it is an observation of Dr. Burney, in his
History of Handel's Commemoration, that no sound proceeding from a great
multitude can be discordant. In the present instance, certainly, the
separate voices qualified and softened down each other, so as to produce
a good compound. Of the sermon I cannot speak so favourably, for in
truth it savoured somewhat of the conventicle style. Its theme was
chiefly the raptures which persons experience under the influence of the
Holy Spirit, and it was calculated to discourage all whose imaginations
were not strong enough to assist in working them into this state. The
manner of the preacher was however good, and his delivery fluent; and so
great was the attention of the congregation, that during three quarters
of an hour not a sound interrupted his voice, until, on his pausing to
use his handkerchief, a general chorus of twanging noses took place,
giving a ludicrous effect to what was, in fact, a mark of restraint and
attention.
In the evening we departed for Cette. The road, according to the set
phrase of the French Itineraire, is through a "campagne de plus
agreables;" but our observation showed us only a bleak high common to
the right, and to the left a succession of etangs and sandy flats,
affording a prospect at once desolate and uninteresting. The space
between the etangs and the road is generally marshy; and instead of a
fine blue expanse of sea in motion, the horizon is commonly bounded by a
long white sandy line, over which the sails of the little vessels appear
very oddly. One or two houses erected on these ridges, which border the
etangs, give to the view, if possible, a still more desolate appearance,
being totally unaccompanied by even a tree or a patch of verdure, and
only serve to remind you of the nakedness of the land. Near Frontignan
the prospect improves, as far merely as concerns its fertility; for it
is in the vicinity of this town that the famous Frontignac wine, or to
denominate it more correctly, the Muscat de Frontignan, is made. The
only thing during this evening's route which could be considered as a
feature, was the lofty cape at whose foot Cette stands; a perfect idea
of which, from the side on which we approached it, is given by Vernet's
picture of that port, in the Louvre. A bridge of fifty-one arches,
traversing a series of swampy ground and etangs, connects this
promontory with terra-firma, and crosses the great Languedoc canal,
which communicates at this spot with the sea. A beautiful sunset, which
made the whole expanse of back-water appear of a rose-colour, and which,
I confess, I have seldom seen equalled in England, gave as much richness
to the view as it was capable of receiving. There is naturally but
little in it; and the effect of Vernet's view is derived from accidental
circumstances purposely introduced; so that, on the whole, we wished
that our evening's excursion had been confined to the Place Peyrou. I
should, however, conceive the air of Cette to be much better adapted to
tender lungs than that of Montpelier, as well from the difference of
temperature, perceptible even to a person in sound health, as from the
superior shelter which its situation affords; while the high and exposed
site of Montpelier leaves a doubt whether, in most cases it would not be
more hurtful than salutary. The productions of the neighbourhood of
Cette are also in a more forward condition than those of Montpelier. We
saw hedges of arbor vitae in full flower; and peaches two-thirds grown,
in almost a wild state.
May 17.--We rose at five in the morning, desirous to secure a cool walk
to the Tour des Pilotes, a signal post on the high cape above Cette. The
sun was however prepared for us, and continued to grill us alive from
the first moment; and, after all, the prospect from this station, to
which you climb as if ascending the steep roof of a house, is not of a
nature to repay the exertion. We went to satisfy our consciences that
there was nothing to see, and we saw nothing. The Pyrenees, so far from
being visible near Montpelier, cannot be distinguished even from this
nearer point, excepting, perhaps, on a peculiarly clear day; and no
other feature worth mentioning occurs. The coast presents a bare and
uninhabited appearance, arising partly from the almost total want of
trees. Our perquisitions in the town of Cette itself were more
fortunate, though, by-the-by, it exceeds Lyons itself in dirt and ill
smells. It is a place of considerable trade in proportion to its size,
and is employed chiefly as an entrepot for goods, which may be landed
and reshipped without paying duty: and a walk on the quay affords, in
consequence, considerable varieties of the human face divine, neat as
imported. I recognised a group of Catalan sailors by their brown jackets
embroidered with shreds of gaudy cloth, their red night-caps, and the
redicillas in which their hair was bagged. No race of men with whom I am
at all acquainted bear so marked a character of animation and decision
in every movement of ordinary life as these sturdy provincials, or would
be more remarked by a stranger among a mixed concourse of different
nations. The same exuberance of animal motion which degenerates into
restlessness and buffoonery in the Neapolitan, or the native of
Languedoc, assumes a more dignified character in the Catalan, who is
certainly a gentleman of Nature's own making. One of the crew, a tall
athletic fellow, was holding forth to the rest on some trivial matter
with a varied and graceful action, which might have served as a model to
a painter. The rest were at breakfast; but even their mode of pouring
the wine on their tongues at arm's length, from the long spout of a sort
of glass kettle, had somewhat classical in it, and reminded me of the
recumbent figure in the Herculanean painting, who is drinking in the
same manner. Simple as it may appear, this knack is not to be acquired
without a long apprenticeship, and I was ludicrously reminded of my
abortive efforts to master it by the sight of the party on the quay. It
certainly is adapted for making the most of any liquid, and might have
been adopted during such a scarcity of water as the Hanoverian consul
informed us existed in Cette during the former year. Not a drop of rain
fell for ten months, and water at last became dearer than wine.
On crossing the bridge, we observed a man on one of the piers, spearing
aiguilles de mer, a beautiful silvery fish, of which he had taken
several. They were about two feet long, and of the shape of an eel,
excepting in the form of their long picked heads and jaws, which
correspond exactly with their name. The tunny is also caught in
abundance near this part of the coast; and Vernet has introduced the
fishery, from a lack of picturesque circumstances, into one of his
sea-ports, painted by royal order. No other fish can better deserve this
particular compliment, uniting, as it does, size, flavour, and the
merits of both fish and flesh in a great degree. The "thon marine" is
its plainest and best preparation, and is preferable, with a dish of
salad, to all the high-seasoned dishes which form a Provencal bill of
fare; in short, if our national sirloin obtained knighthood, such a good
lenten substitute as the tunny deserves canonization.[39] I cannot say
so much for the dish, common enough among Frenchmen, which a
well-dressed man, the harlequin to a troop of comedians, was eating in
the salle-a-manger when we entered; viz. a raw artichoke with oil and
vinegar. Sterne, it appears, little knew the extent of the ass's good
taste, when he deprived him of this article in the Tabella Cibaria, "to
see how he would eat a macaroon."
[Footnote 39: A similar dignity was conferred by some heathen poet, I
believe, on the _potnia syke_ (the august, or god-like fig).]
We set off at two o'clock in the day on our return to Montpelier, not a
little envying the horses and mules their cool quarters in the immense
remise. Within a mile of Cette lies the breakwater of rough stones,
which forms a prominent object in the foreground of Vernet's picture,
and serves to ascertain the spot from whence he took his design. At
Villeneuve, where we stopped to bait the horses, we were diverted by a
scene characteristic of the country. A bag had just been found on the
road by the conductor of the Cette diligence, which drove up to the inn
while we were there; and on Durand disowning it, a shabby-looking foot
passenger claimed it, but could not establish his plea by identifying a
single article. In a few seconds every soul in the inn, excepting
ourselves, was assembled to take part in the discussion, and argued the
pro and con with a vehemence of voice and action, which would have made
a stranger believe it was a matter of life and death to each. A female
inside-passenger, with an infant in her arms, which she nearly let drop
in her energies, was the coryphee of this chorus of tongues, which could
be compared to nothing but bees in the act of swarming, or the cackle
which the entrance of a fox causes in a hen-roost. We were no longer
surprised at hearing the peasants whom we met conversing in a tone which
we had mistaken for quarrelling. The French generally, indeed, are fond
of noise and action and emphasis about what does not concern their own
interests a jot, while a London mob indulges an equal degree of
curiosity by silent gaping; but these good folks certainly outdid
anything I ever witnessed in France before. An action for defamation
brought in Languedoc[40] might, with propriety, be worded, "that the
defendant did, with four-and-twenty mouths, four-and-twenty tongues, and
four-and-twenty pair of lungs, vilify and damnify his neighbour's
reputation;" for it is probable that a scolding match could not take
place in the open air of that country, without enlisting volunteer
seconds to that amount on both sides, all equally bawling and violent.
At Nismes, a fellow bellows across the street to offer himself as
cicerone, in a tone which seems intended to warn you of a mad dog at
your heels; and, in general, the lungs of Languedoc appear constructed
on a larger and more discordant scale than is usual, and their
volubility is rather a contradiction to the yea and nay appellation of
the country. A respectable Frenchman informed us, that the peasants of
Languedoc were considered to possess much wit and ingenuity by those who
could understand their patois, which he frankly owned was unintelligible
to himself. Their liveliness and animal exuberance are as strong a
contrast to the immoveable form into which they are swathed when
infants, as the flutter of a butterfly is to its torpidity as a
chrysalis; indeed a fanciful person might be apt to suppose, that on
emerging from their bandages, they indemnify themselves for the previous
constraint by a life of perpetual fidget, and that the same re-action
takes place as in the case of Munchausen's horn, which played for half
an hour of its own accord when unfrozen. To speak seriously, nothing can
be more piteously ridiculous than the state of a poor Languedoc child,
swathed and bandaged into all the rigidity of a mummy, and totally
motionless. Our friend H. declares, that his attention was once drawn
behind a door by a faint cry, and that he there discovered and took down
one of these little teraphims from the hook by which it hung suspended
by a loop, like a young American savage. "C'est la mode du pays," is the
only account of the practice which you get either here or at Nice; and
it is fortunate that they have not still improved on it by a hint from
the black nurses of Barbadoes, who embalm weakly young Creoles in
wrappers lined with assa-foetida, and think it prejudicial to "burst
their cerements" more than once in a fortnight.
[Footnote 40: The word Oc, according to tradition, meant in the old
patois of the country "yes:" hence the original derivation of "Langue
d'Oc."]
After our horses had eaten a pound of honey with their corn, which
honest Durand considered a powerful cordial, we resumed our route, and
reached Montpelier to a late dinner, enjoying in no small degree the
coolness and quiet of Pical's house. It was indeed the love of quiet,
and the dislike to a constant ferment, which drove our landlord from
Nismes to settle in this place. The bigotry and party zeal of the former
town, in truth, appear to have been hardly exaggerated in the accounts
which have reached England, and to exist in such a degree as to render
Nismes an unsafe place for a moderate man, who is owned by neither
party. The spirit of discord and enmity is instilled by the more violent
of both parties into their children as a duty, so that it will probably
descend from generation to generation. Both parties, indeed, might adopt
as a crest and motto a boot-maker's sign in Montpelier, which is
somewhat diverting from its bombast, when merely applied as honest
Crispin meant it. A lion is represented tearing a boot, with the
inscription, "Tu peux me dechirer, mais jamais me decoudre." Construe
it, "You may cut my throat, but not alter me," and it will show the
pleasant state of party spirit at Nismes, if what we heard so near the
scene of action be true. We returned to Nismes on the 18th with
associations not so pleasant as had been created by its beautiful walks
and buildings, and the civility with which our questions were answered
by the inhabitants. We might have seen the country between Montpelier
and Nismes to greater advantage, the dust being somewhat less stifling
than before; but unluckily there was nothing worth seeing. The district
is certainly a garden, but then it is a flat uninteresting kitchen
garden, for the supply of the Lunel brandy merchants, and the rich
Nismes manufacturers, who appear too polite in their tastes to venture
into it. Hardly a single thing that can be called a gentleman's house
occurs, and that not for want of culture or opulence. The case seems to
be this; the people of Nismes, like the Bordelais, are proud of their
elegant and airy city, embellished with classical relics, and uniting
most of the advantages of town and country, and are well satisfied
without the campagne which a rich Lyonnais, carrying on his business in
a close town, considers as his paradise. Although this system of "rus in
urbe" gives but a mean and poor appearance to the environs of a town, it
produces much pleasure and convenience to such resident strangers as can
enjoy the society of Nismes, which, by all accounts, must somewhat
resemble sleeping in Exeter 'Change, the keepers, in the shape of a
strong preventive force of military, on the alert, it is true, and the
bars are well secured, but the beasts only watch their opportunity to
tear each other to pieces. How an Englishman would fare in a public
disturbance is difficult to say. It is probable that the Catholics would
abominate him as a heretic, and the Protestants denounce him as an
anti-Buonapartist, and that he would consequently be thrust from the one
to the other, like a new comer between two roguish school-boys. This,
however, was no concern of ours, as we left Nismes the next morning on
the road to Beaucaire. The old Pharos was the last landmark we took
leave of, as it was the first of which we caught sight. It contrasts
with the Maison Carree as a wild legend of the dark ages would with a
letter of Pliny; and though rough in its fabric, and uncertain in its
history, dwells as strongly on the recollection as that highly-finished
gem.
"The tower by war or tempest bent,
While yet may frown one battlement,
Demands and daunts the stranger's eye,
Each ivied arch and pillar lone
Pleads haughtily for glories gone!"
CHAP. IX.
TARASCON--BEAUCAIRE--ST. REMY--ORGON--LAMBESC.
TO Tarascon 19 miles of road for the most part bad and sandy. I am not
geologist enough to decide with accuracy on the formation of that part
of the banks of the Rhone which we were approaching, but the detached
specimens of rock are of a curious nature. After passing a little
village called St. Vincent, we came to an open plain, bounded in front
by several singular round hills on the summit of one of which, called
the Roche Duclay, was a rock so exactly resembling an old castle in size
and shape, that a nearer inspection alone satisfied us as to its real
nature. There is also a great singularity of outline in the hills which
became soon visible in the distance on the other side of the Rhone, one
or two of which appeared as if they had shells upon their backs.
Beaucaire, with its old castle overhanging the Rhone, soon came in
sight.
"Jeunet encore, etois sortant de page,
Lorsque a Beaucaire ouvrit un grand tournoi.
Maint chevaliers y firent maint exploits,
Dames d'amour animoient leur courage;"