Travels in France during the years 1814-1815 by Patrick Fraser Tytler (beach read book .txt) 📖

DURING THE YEARS

1814-15.

comprising a

RESIDENCE AT PARIS DURING THE STAY OF THE ALLIED ARMIES,

and

AT AIX,

AT THE PERIOD OF THE LANDING OF

BONAPARTE.

———

IN TWO VOLUMES.

SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND ENLARGED.

EDINBURGH:

printed for macredie, skelly, and muckersy, 52. prince's street;
longman, hurst. rees, orme, and brown; black,
parry, and co. t. underwood, london;
and j. cumming, dublin.

———

1816.

JOURNEY TO AIX.

It was thought advisable, by the gentleman who is now about to commence his journal, to avoid making many remarks on the state of the country, or the manners of the inhabitants, until he should have remained fixed for a few months in France. In no country is it so difficult as there, to obtain information regarding the most interesting points, whether commerce, manufactures, agriculture, manners, or religion; and this arises from the multitude of people of all descriptions, who are willing, and who at least appear able, to afford you information. Strange paradox. A Frenchman makes it a rule, never to refuse information on any subject when it is demanded of him; and although he may, in fact, never have directed his attention to the matter in question, and may not possess the slightest information, he will yet descant most plausibly, and then seeking some opportunity of bidding you good day, he will fly off with the velocity of an arrow, leaving you astonished at the talent displayed: But sit down and analyse what he has said, and you will commonly find it the most thorough trifling—"vox et prœterea nihil." This observation, however, I mean only to apply to the information which a traveller obtains en passant; for there are undoubtedly to be found in France, men of eminent talents and of solid information; but these you can only pick out from the mass of common acquaintances, by dint of perseverance, and by the assistance of time. The result of the observations collected during a residence of five months at Aix, in Provence, will be given at the end of the following Journal.

As our present journey was undertaken principally for the benefit of my health, it was necessary that we should travel slowly, and take occasional rests. After our journey from Dieppe to the capital, we remained five days in Paris for this purpose. The first part of this book having conducted the reader by another route to Paris, and given a better description of that city than I am able to supply, I have not thought it necessary to insert the details of our journey thither; I shall content myself with remarking, that we had already gained considerable experience in French travelling, and were pretty well prepared to commence our journey toward the south.—On the 7th of November, therefore, we arranged matters for our departure with the voiturier, or carriage-hirer, who agrees to carry us (six in number), with all our baggage, which weighs nearly four cwt. to Lyons, a distance of 330 miles, for the sum of 630 francs, or, at our exchange, nearly L.30. As this bargain was made for us by Mr B——, a French gentleman, it may afford a good standard for this style of travelling.

We travel at the rate of 10 or 12 leagues a-day; and for invalids or persons wishing to see the country, this is by far the most pleasant, as well as the most economical way. There are two other methods of travelling, namely, en poste, which, though rapid, is very expensive; the charge being, at least a horse, often more, for each person, and very little baggage being taken; and the other is in a diligence, which, as it travels night and day, would not do for us. The carriage we now have is a large and commodious coach, very neat and clean, and we have three good strong horses. Our journey has as yet been varied by very little incident. The amusement derived from travelling in a foreign country, and becoming gradually familiarised to foreign manners,—the contrast between the style of travelling here, and that which you are accustomed to in England,—the amusing groupes of the villagers, who flock out of their houses, to see the English pass,—the grotesque and ludicrous figures of the French beggars, who, in the most unbounded variety of costume, surround the carriage the moment we stop,—and the solemn taciturnity of Monsieur Roger, our coachman, who is an extraordinary exception to the general vivacity of his nation; these are the only circumstances which serve at present to exhilarate our spirits, and to remove the tedium of French travelling.

Between Paris and Montargis, as we travelled during the day, we had a good opportunity of seeing the country. But we passed through it, to be sure, at an unfavourable season of the year. The vines were all withered, and their last leaves falling off. The elm, oak, and maple, were almost bare. There is not much fine wood in that part of the country through which we passed; and on the side of the road, there were many wild and sad looking swamps, with nothing but willow and poplars docked off for the twigs. The chief produce seems to be in grapes and wheat; the wheat here is further advanced than between Dieppe and Paris. The cows are of the same kind, the horses smaller, weaker, and yet dearer than those of Normandy; the agricultural instruments are massy and awkward; their ploughing is, however, very neat and regular, though not deep; their plough here has wheels, and seems easily managed; they harrow the land most effectually, having sometimes 10 or 12 horses in succession, each drawing a separate harrow over the same ground. The farm-horses, though very poor to an English eye, are fortunately much better than the horses for travelling. The stacks of grain, though rarely seen, are very neatly built. We left the grand road at Fontainbleau, and took the route by Nevers to Lyons. We have found it hitherto by no means equal to the other. No stone causeway in the middle, and at this time of the year, I should fear it is always as we found it, very heavy and dirty.

Our journey hitherto has not allowed of our mixing much among or conversing with the people; but still we cannot but be struck with the dissimilarity of manners from those of our own country. The French are not now uniformly, found the same merry, careless, polite, and sociable people they were before the revolution; but we may trust that they are gradually improving; and although one can easily distinguish among the lower ranks, the fierce uncivilized ruffians, who have been raised from their original insignificance by Napoleon to work his own ends, yet the real peasantry of the country are generally polite.

At the inns, the valets and ostlers were for the most part old soldiers who had marched under Napoleon; they seemed happy, or at least always expressed themselves happy, at being allowed to return to their homes: one of them was particularly eloquent in describing the horrors of the last few months; he concluded by saying, "that had things gone on in this way for a few months longer, Napoleon must have made the women march." They affirm, however, that there is a party favourable to Bonaparte, consisting of those whose trade is war, and who have lived by his continuance on the throne; but that this party is not strong, and little to be feared: Would that this were true! When we were in Paris, there were a number of caricatures ridiculing the Bourbons; but these miserable squibs are no test of the public feeling. Napoleon certainly has done much for Paris; the marks of his magnificence are there every where to be seen; but the further we travel, the more are we convinced that he has done littler for the interior of the country.

There is about every town and village an air of desolation; most of the houses seem to have wanted repairs for a long time. The inns must strike every English traveller, as being of a kind entirely new to him. They are like great old castles half furnished. The dirty chimneys suit but ill with the marble chimney-pieces, and the gilded chairs and mirrors, plundered in the revolution; the tables from which you eat are of ill polished common wood; the linen coarse though clean. The cutlery, where they have any, is very bad; but in many of the inns, trusting, no doubt, to the well known expedition of French fingers, they put down only forks to dinner.

We left Montargis at seven in the morning, and travelled very slowly indeed. At five o'clock, after a very tedious journey, we arrived at Briare, a distance of only 27 miles from Montargis. The landlord here was the most talkative, and the most impudent fellow I ever saw. Although demanding the most unreasonable terms, he would not let us leave his house; at last he said that he would agree to our terms, namely, 18 francs for our supper and beds: It is best to call it supper in France, as this is their own phrase for a meal taken at night.

The road between Montargis and Briare, though not of hard mettle and without causeway, is yet level and in good condition. The country, except in the immediate vicinity of Briare, is flat and uninteresting; no inclosures; the soil of a gravelly nature, mixed in some parts with chalk. It seems, from the stubble of last year and the young wheat of this, to be very poor indeed. There is here an odd species of wheat cultivation, in which the grain, like our potatoes, is seen growing on the tops of high separate ridges. It struck me that the deep hollows left between each ridge, might be intended to keep the water. The instruments of agriculture are quite the same as we have seen all along. Almost all of the peasants whom we saw to-day wore cocked hats, and had splendid military tails; we supposed, at first that they had all marched. There are great numbers of soldiers returning to their homes, pale, broken down and wearied. Some of them very polite, many of them rough and ruffian-looking enough. About Briare, there are innumerable vineyards, and yet we had very bad grapes; but that was our landlord's fault, not that of the vines.

The rooms at this inn (Au Grand Dauphin), smoke like the devil, or rather like his abode. It is a wretched place; the inn opposite, called La Poste, is said to be better. The weather is now as cold here (10th of November), as I have ever felt it in winter at home, and it is a more piercing and searching cold.

We had last night a good deal of rain. The weather is completely broken up, and we are at least three weeks or a month later than we ought to have been.

We have arrived at Cosne to-night, (the 11th), after a journey through a country better wooded, more varied, and upon the whole, finer than we have seen yet on this side of Paris, though certainly not so beautiful as Normandy. The road is pretty good, though not paved, excepting in small deep vallies. It lies along-side of the river Loire, and on each side, there are well cultivated fields, chiefly of wheat, but interspersed with vineyards.

For the first time, this day we had a very severe frost in the morning, but with the aid of the sun, which shone bright and warm, we enjoyed one of the finest days I ever saw. I sat and chatted with the coachman, or rather with Monsieur le Voiturier. I led the conversation to the