There are three modes of travelling in France: by diligence; by post
chaise; in your own carriage. The diligence is the cheapest, but it is
a method of conveyance quite out of the question for those who travel
for recreation, or in search of information.
The traveller is exposed to the inconveniences attendant on a journey
of two hundred miles in a vast unwieldy machine, less comfortable than
an English waggon, which travels all night, and makes no stoppages
except to change horses. Those who wish to make a trip to Paris and its
environs will do best to take their own carriage from England.
[Sidenote: MODE OF TRAVELLING IN FRANCE]
It will be found, even including the expense of the packet, that this
is a cheaper plan than to hire a carriage at Calais. But as it was
my intention to extend my tour beyond Paris, to penetrate through La
Vendée as far as Bordeaux, it became necessary I should provide myself
with a strong carriage, capable of passing over horrible and neglected
country roads. I therefore resolved upon procuring a carriage at Calais.
This was a Post-chaise or Cabriolet, which runs on two wheels and is
very light and convenient, having, besides plenty of room for two
persons and their luggage, a number of pockets for almost every kind of
article, and on each side a pillow for the ease of the traveller while
sleeping. It opens in front, and is so constructed as to give complete
shelter in bad weather.
When the carriage is secured it is important to be provided with a
sufficient sum of money to carry you to your journey’s end. A letter of
credit is more advantageous than English bank-notes or guineas.
The former are not of that value they were at the commencement of the
Republic; and the exportation of guineas being unlawful, no honest
Englishman should carry them out of his country. A guinea is not worth
five sous more now in France than in England.
A device has lately been discovered and employed in France for raising
money to repair the high roads. It consists in the erection of
Barrières, at which every carriage must pay a toll. These Barrières
are stationed at irregular distances, at some I have paid eighteen,
at others only three sous. In former times a Cabriolet might run the
thirty-four posts between Calais and Paris (each post containing
two leagues, six miles) for two hundred and thirteen livres, ten
sous, exclusive of the hire of the carriage. But now the number of
Barrières and the exactions of the postillions considerably augment the
expenditure. Although the postillions legally can only demand fifteen
sous per post, it is customary _never_ to give them less than
thirty and frequently fifty to sixty sous.
I am sorry to say that several of our dashing British sparks have
corrupted postillions on the road by their improvident donations.
Hence during the whole of my route between Calais and Paris, I never
found one of the fellows satisfied with thirty sous for a single
post, and I was always teased out of more. This is trifling to men
who can afford to throw away many thousand pounds during a six weeks’
visit to Paris, but to a plain animal like myself, it is a matter of
serious consequence. This remark I have often had occasion to make in
Switzerland, when that delightful but now wretched country was the
favourite resort of our gentry. They were so prodigal of their money,
that I have often heard the Swiss declare “Les Anglais sont de braves
gens, mais ils sont fous.” Nor is there any rational motive for such
extravagance. Such persons are often accused of being emissaries of Mr.
Pitt, despatched to France to illustrate the wealth of Great Britain
and to prove we understand the art of becoming rich in the midst of war
and alarms.
The French, for the greater part, laugh at all such folly, and say
that the English are doing their best to refund the products of that
commerce which Mr. Pitt had completely wrested from them.
French people are keen and artful, and though they receive such
squanderers with bows and smiles, they secretly despise their folly.
These truths I write reluctantly, because whatever is disreputable to
our nation’s character wounds me to the quick.
I make these observations from no desire to deprive the poor
postillions of any advantage they may derive from the folly of
travelling Englishmen, but because this system has extended to the inns
on the road and to the hotels and shops in Paris and is severely felt
by persons of inferior fortune and sober disposition.
It is an established principle in France that in travelling you pay for
as many horses as there are people, not excepting servants.
[Sidenote: JOURNEY TO AMIENS]
But this regulation is not always rigidly adhered to The postmasters
in general seldom put on more than three horses, even for four
persons. They are civil and obliging men, and I have often found their
conversation interesting and instructive.
The service of posting is well managed, and for good order, regularity,
and promptness, excels any other part of Europe.
This must by no means be ascribed to the effects of the Revolution,
for it was projected and executed under the ancient _régime_,
and since the establishment of the Republic the best part of the
establishment, _i.e._, the excellent roads, have been utterly
neglected, and in many cases almost destroyed, notwithstanding the
enormous charges at the Barrières, for the ostensible purpose of
keeping them in good order.
The traveller has nothing whatever to apprehend from highway robbers or
footpads, and this I attribute to the number of Gens d’armes, extremely
well mounted, who are continually riding along the roads to ensure the
safety of travellers.