Travels Through France And Italy by Tobias Smollett (beautiful books to read .txt) 📖

Secret, Is Sent To

The Gallies For Life. The Salt Comes Chiefly From Sardinia, And

Is Stored Up In The King's Magazine From Whence It Is Exported To 

Part 7 Letter 21 (Nice, November 10, 1764.) Pg 185

Piedmont, And Other Parts Of His Inland Dominions. And Here It

May Not Be Amiss To Observe, That Sardinia Produces Very Good

Horses, Well-Shaped, Though Small; Strong, Hardy, Full Of Mettle,

And Easily Fed. The Whole County Of Nice Is Said To Yield The

King Half A Million Of Livres, About Twenty-Five Thousand Pounds

Sterling, Arising From A Small Donative Made By Every Town And

Village: For The Lands Pay No Tax, Or Imposition, But The Tithes

To The Church. His Revenue Then Flows From The Gabelle On Salt

And Wine, And These Free-Gifts; So That We May Strike Off One

Fifth Of The Sum At Which The Whole Is Estimated; And Conclude,

That The King Draws From The County At Nice, About Four Hundred

Thousand Livres, Or Twenty Thousand Pounds Sterling. That His

Revenues From Nice Are Not Great, Appears From The Smallness Of

The Appointments Allowed To His Officers. The President Has About

Three Hundred Pounds Per Annum; And The Intendant About Two. The

Pay Of The Commandant Does Not Exceed Three Hundred And Fifty

Pounds: But He Has Certain Privileges Called The Tour Du Baton,

Some Of Which A Man Of Spirit Would Not Insist Upon. He Who

Commands At Present, Having No Estate Of His Own, Enjoys A Small

Commandery, Which Being Added To His Appointments At Nice, Make

The Whole Amount To About Five Hundred Pounds Sterling.

 

 

 

If We May Believe The Politicians Of Nice, The King Of Sardinia's

Whole Revenue Does Not Fall Short Of Twenty Millions Of

Piedmontese Livres, Being Above One Million Of Our Money. It Must

Be Owned, That There Is No Country In Christendom Less Taxed Than

That Of Nice; And As The Soil Produces The Necessaries Of Life,

The Inhabitants, With A Little Industry, Might Renew The Golden

Age In This Happy Climate, Among Their Groves, Woods, And

Mountains, Beautified With Fountains, Brooks, Rivers, Torrents,

And Cascades. In The Midst Of These Pastoral Advantages, The

Peasants Are Poor And Miserable. They Have No Stock To Begin The

World With. They Have No Leases Of The Lands They Cultivate; But

Entirely Depend, From Year To Year, On The Pleasure Of The

Arbitrary Landholder, Who May Turn Them Out At A Minute's

Warning; And They Are Oppressed By The Mendicant Friars And

Parish Priests, Who Rob Them Of The Best Fruits Of Their Labour:

After All, The Ground Is Too Scanty For The Number Of Families

Which Are Crouded On It.

 

 

 

You Desire To Know The State Of The Arts And Sciences At Nice;

Which, Indeed, Is Almost A Total Blank. I Know Not What Men Of

Talents This Place May Have Formerly Produced; But At Present, It

Seems To Be Consecrated To The Reign Of Dulness And Superstition.

It Is Very Surprising, To See A People Established Between Two

Enlightened Nations, So Devoid Of Taste And Literature. Here Are

No Tolerable Pictures, Busts, Statues, Nor Edifices: The Very

Ornaments Of The Churches Are Wretchedly Conceived, And Worse

Executed. They Have No Public, Nor Private Libraries That Afford

Any Thing Worth Perusing. There Is Not Even A Bookseller In Nice. 

Part 7 Letter 21 (Nice, November 10, 1764.) Pg 186

Though They Value Themselves Upon Their Being Natives Of Italy,

They Are Unacquainted With Music. The Few That Play Upon

Instruments, Attend Only To The Execution. They Have No Genius

Nor Taste, Nor Any Knowledge Of Harmony And Composition. Among

The French, A Nissard Piques Himself On Being Provencal; But In

Florence, Milan, Or Rome, He Claims The Honour Of Being Born A

Native Of Italy. The People Of Condition Here Speak Both

Languages Equally Well; Or, Rather, Equally Ill; For They Use A

Low, Uncouth Phraseology; And Their Pronunciation Is Extremely

Vitious. Their Vernacular Tongue Is What They Call Patois; Though

In So Calling It, They Do It Injustice.--Patois, From The Latin

Word Patavinitas, Means No More Than A Provincial Accent, Or

Dialect. It Takes Its Name From Patavium, Or Padua, Which Was The

Birthplace Of Livy, Who, With All His Merit As A Writer, Has

Admitted Into His History, Some Provincial Expressions Of His Own

Country. The Patois, Or Native Tongue Of Nice, Is No Other Than

The Ancient Provencal, From Which The Italian, Spanish And

French Languages, Have Been Formed. This Is The Language That

Rose Upon The Ruins Of The Latin Tongue, After The Irruptions Of

The Goths, Vandals, Huns, And Burgundians, By Whom The Roman

Empire Was Destroyed. It Was Spoke All Over Italy, Spain, And The

Southern Parts Of France, Until The Thirteenth Century, When The

Italians Began To Polish It Into The Language Which They Now Call

Their Own: The Spaniards And French, Likewise, Improved It Into

Their Respective Tongues. From Its Great Affinity To The Latin,

It Was Called Romance, A Name Which The Spaniards Still Give To

Their Own Language. As The First Legends Of Knight-Errantry Were

Written In Provencal, All Subsequent Performances Of The Same

Kind, Have Derived From It The Name Of Romance; And As Those

Annals Of Chivalry Contained Extravagant Adventures Of Knights,

Giants, And Necromancers, Every Improbable Story Or Fiction Is To

This Day Called A Romance. Mr. Walpole, In His Catalogue Of Royal

And Noble Authors, Has Produced Two Sonnets In The Antient

Provencal, Written By Our King Richard I. Surnamed Coeur De Lion;

And Voltaire, In His Historical Tracts, Has Favoured The World

With Some Specimens Of The Same Language. The Patois Of Nice,

Must, Without Doubt, Have Undergone Changes And Corruptions In

The Course Of So Many Ages, Especially As No Pains Have Been

Taken To Preserve Its Original Purity, Either In Orthography Or

Pronunciation. It Is Neglected, As The Language Of The Vulgar:

And Scarce Any-Body Here Knows Either Its Origin Or Constitution.

I Have In Vain Endeavoured To Procure Some Pieces In The Antient

Provencal, That I Might Compare Them With The Modern Patois: But

I Can Find No Person To Give Me The Least Information On The

Subject. The Shades Of Ignorance, Sloth, And Stupidity, Are

Impenetrable. Almost Every Word Of The Patois May Still Be Found

In The Italian, Spanish, And French Languages, With A Small

Change In The Pronunciation. Cavallo, Signifying A Horse In

Italian And Spanish Is Called Cavao; Maison, The French Word For

A House, Is Changed Into Maion; Aqua, Which Means Water In

Spanish, The Nissards Call Daigua. To Express, What A Slop Is

Here! They Say Acco Fa Lac Aqui, Which Is A Sentence Composed Of

Two Italian Words, One French, And One Spanish. This Is Nearly

The Proportion In Which These Three Languages Will Be Found 

Part 7 Letter 21 (Nice, November 10, 1764.) Pg 187

Mingled In The Patois Of Nice; Which, With Some Variation,

Extends Over All Provence, Languedoc, And Gascony. I Will Now

Treat You With Two Or Three Stanzas Of A Canzon, Or Hymn, In This

Language, To The Virgin Mary, Which Was Lately Printed At Nice.

 

 

 

1

 

 

 

Vierge, Maire De Dieu,

Nuostro Buono Avocado,

Embel Car Uvostre Sieu,

En Fenestro Adourado,

Jeu Vous Saludi,

E Demandi En Socours;

E Sense Autre Preludi,

Canti Lous Uvostre Honours.

 

 

 

Virgin, Mother Of God,

Our Good Advocate,

With Your Dear Son,

In Fenestro Adored,

I Salute You,

And Ask His Assistance;

And Without Further Prelude,

I Sing Your Honours.

 

 

 

[Fenestro Is The Name Of A Place In This Neighbourhood, Where

There Is A Supposed Miraculous Sanctuary, Or Chapel, Of The

Virgin Mary.]

 

 

 

2.

 

 

 

Qu'ario De Paradis!

Que Maesta Divine!

Salamon Es D'advis,

Giugiar De Uvostro Mino;

Vous Dis Plus Bello:

E Lou Dis Ben Soven

De Toutoi Lei Femello,

E Non S'engano Ren.

 

 

 

Part 7 Letter 21 (Nice, November 10, 1764.) Pg 188

What Air Of Paradise!

What Majesty Divine!

Solomon Is Of Opinion,

To Judge Of Your Appearance;

Says You Are The Fairest

And It Is Often Said

Of All Females,

And We Are Not All Deceived.

 

 

 

3.

 

 

 

Qu'ario De Paradis!

Que Maesta Divine!

La Bellezzo Eblovis;

La Bonta L'ueigl Raffino.

Sias Couronado;

Tenes Lou Monde En Man

Sus Del Trono Assettado,

Riges Lou Avostre Enfan.

 

 

 

What Air Of Paradise!

What Majesty Divine!

The Beauty Dazzles;

The Goodness Purifies The Eye:

You Are Crowned:

You Hold The World In Your Hand:

Seated On The Throne,

You Support Your Child.

 

 

 

You See I Have Not Chosen This Canzon For The Beauty And Elegance

Of Thought And Expression; But Give It You As The Only Printed

Specimen I Could Find Of The Modern Provencal. If You Have Any

Curiosity To Be Further Acquainted With The Patois, I Will

Endeavour To Procure You Satisfaction. Meanwhile, I Am, In Plain

English,--Dear Sir, Ever Yours.

 

 

 

 

Part 7 Letter 22 (Nice, November 10, 1764.) Pg 189

Dear Sir,--I Had Once Thoughts Of Writing A Complete Natural

History Of This Town And County: But I Found Myself Altogether

Unequal To The Task. I Have Neither Health, Strength, Nor

Opportunity To Make Proper Collections Of The Mineral, Vegetable,

And Animal Productions. I Am Not Much Conversant With These

Branches Of Natural Philosophy. I Have No Books To Direct My

Inquiries. I Can Find