Travels Through France And Italy, Tobias Smollett [love novels in english .TXT] 📗

Part 7 Letter 12 ( Nice, December 6, 1763.) Pg 128

Green Pease. Provence Is A Pleasant Country, Well Cultivated; But

The Inns Are Not So Good Here As In Languedoc, And Few Of Them

Are Provided With A Certain Convenience Which An English

Traveller Can Very Ill Dispense With. Those You Find Are

Generally On The Tops Of Houses, Exceedingly Nasty; And So Much

Exposed To The Weather, That A Valetudinarian Cannot Use Them

Without Hazard Of His Life. At Nismes In Languedoc, Where We

Found The Temple Of Cloacina In A Most Shocking Condition, The

Servant-Maid Told Me Her Mistress Had Caused It To Be Made On

Purpose For The English Travellers; But Now She Was Very Sorry

For What She Had Done, As All The French Who Frequented Her

House, Instead Of Using The Seat, Left Their Offerings On The

Floor, Which She Was Obliged To Have Cleaned Three Or Four Times

A Day. This Is A Degree Of Beastliness, Which Would Appear

Detestable Even In The Capital Of North-Britain. On The Fourth

Day Of Our Pilgrimage, We Lay In The Suburbs Of Aix, But Did Not

Enter The City, Which I Had A Great Curiosity To See. The

Villainous Asthma Baulked Me Of That Satisfaction. I Was Pinched

With The Cold, And Impatient To Reach A Warmer Climate. Our Next

Stage Was At A Paltry Village, Where We Were Poorly Entertained.

I Looked So Ill In The Morning, That The Good Woman Of The House,

Who Was Big With Child, Took Me By The Hand At Parting, And Even

Shed Tears, Praying Fervently That God Would Restore Me To My

Health. This Was The Only Instance Of Sympathy, Compassion, Or

Goodness Of Heart, That I Had Met With Among The Publicans Of

France. Indeed At Valencia, Our Landlady, Understanding I Was

Travelling To Montpellier For My Health Would Have Dissuaded Me

From Going Thither; And Exhorted Me, In Particular, To Beware Of

The Physicians, Who Were All A Pack Of Assassins. She Advised Me

To Eat Fricassees Of Chickens, And White Meat, And To Take A Good

Bouillon Every Morning.

 

 

 

A Bouillon Is An Universal Remedy Among The Good People Of

France; Insomuch, That They Have No Idea Of Any Person's Dying,

After Having Swallowed Un Bon Bouillon. One Of The English

Gentlemen, Who Were Robbed And Murdered About Thirty Years Ago

Between Calais And Boulogne, Being Brought To The Post-House Of

Boulogne With Some Signs Of Life, This Remedy Was Immediately

Administered. "What Surprises Me Greatly, (Said The Post-Master,

Speaking Of This Melancholy Story To A Friend Of Mine, Two Years

After It Happened) I Made An Excellent Bouillon, And Poured It

Down His Throat With My Own Hands, And Yet He Did Not Recover."

Now, In All Probability, This Bouillon It Was That Stopped His

Breath. When I Was A Very Young Man, I Remember To Have Seen A

Person Suffocated By Such Impertinent Officiousness. A Young Man

Of Uncommon Parts And Erudition, Very Well Esteemed At The

University Of G--Ow Was Found Early One Morning In A Subterranean

Vault Among The Ruins Of An Old Archiepiscopal Palace, With His

Throat Cut From Ear To Ear. Being Conveyed To A Public-House In

The Neighbourhood, He Made Signs For Pen, Ink, And Paper, And In

All Probability Would Have Explained The Cause Of This Terrible

Catastrophe, When An Old Woman, Seeing The Windpipe, Which Was 

Part 7 Letter 12 ( Nice, December 6, 1763.) Pg 129

Cut, Sticking Out Of The Wound, And Mistaking It For The Gullet,

By Way Of Giving Him A Cordial To Support His Spirits, Poured

Into It, Through A Small Funnel, A Glass Of Burnt Brandy, Which

Strangled

Him In The Tenth Part Of A Minute. The Gash Was So Hideous, And

Formed By So Many Repeated Strokes Of A Razor, That The Surgeons

Believed He Could Not Possibly Be The Perpetrator Himself;

Nevertheless This Was Certainly The Case.

 

 

 

At Brignolles, Where We Dined, I Was Obliged To Quarrel With The

Landlady, And Threaten To Leave Her House, Before She Would

Indulge Us With Any Sort Of Flesh-Meat. It Was Meagre Day, And

She Had Made Her Provision Accordingly. She Even Hinted Some

Dissatisfaction At Having Heretics In Her House: But, As I Was

Not Disposed To Eat Stinking Fish, With Ragouts Of Eggs And

Onions, I Insisted Upon A Leg Of Mutton, And A Brace Of Fine

Partridges, Which I Found In The Larder. Next Day, When We Set

Out In The Morning From Luc, It Blew A North-Westerly Wind So

Extremely Cold And Biting, That Even A Flannel Wrapper Could Not

Keep Me Tolerably Warm In The Coach. Whether The Cold Had Put Our

Coachman In A Bad Humour, Or He Had Some Other Cause Of

Resentment Against Himself, I Know Not; But We Had Not Gone Above

A Quarter Of A Mile, When He Drove The Carriage Full Against The

Corner Of A Garden Wall, And Broke The Axle-Tree, So That We Were

Obliged To Return To The Inn On Foot, And Wait A Whole Day, Until

A New Piece Could Be Made And Adjusted. The Wind That Blew, Is

Called Maestral, In The Provencial Dialect, And Indeed Is The

Severest That Ever I Felt. At This Inn, We Met With A Young

French Officer Who Had Been A Prisoner In England, And Spoke Our

Language Pretty Well. He Told Me, That Such A Wind Did Not Blow

Above Twice Or Three Times In A Winter, And Was Never Of Long

Continuance, That In General, The Weather Was Very Mild And

Agreeable During The Winter Months; That Living Was Very Cheap In

This Part Of Provence, Which Afforded Great Plenty Of Game. Here,

Too, I Found A Young Irish Recollet, In His Way From Rome To His

Own Country. He Complained, That He Was Almost Starved By The

Inhospitable Disposition Of The French People; And That The

Regular Clergy, In Particular, Had Treated Him With The Most

Cruel Disdain. I Relieved His Necessities, And Gave Him A Letter

To A Gentleman Of His Own Country At Montpellier.

 

 

 

When I Rose In The Morning, And Opened A Window That Looked Into

The Garden, I Thought Myself Either In A Dream, Or Bewitched. All

The Trees Were Cloathed With Snow, And All The Country Covered At

Least A Foot Thick. "This Cannot Be The South Of France, (Said I

To Myself) It Must Be The Highlands Of Scotland!" At A Wretched

Town Called Muy, Where We Dined, I Had A Warm Dispute With Our

Landlord, Which, However, Did Not Terminate To My Satisfaction. I

Sent On The Mules Before, To The Next Stage, Resolving To Take

Post-Horses, And Bespoke Them Accordingly Of The Aubergiste, Who 

Part 7 Letter 12 ( Nice, December 6, 1763.) Pg 130

Was, At The Same Time, Inn-Keeper And Post-Master. We Were

Ushered Into The Common Eating-Room, And Had A Very Indifferent

Dinner; After Which, I Sent A Loui'dore To Be Changed, In Order

To Pay The Reckoning. The Landlord, Instead Of Giving The Full

Change, Deducted Three Livres A Head For Dinner, And Sent In The

Rest Of The Money By My Servant. Provoked More At His Ill

Manners, Than At His Extortion, I Ferreted Him Out Of A Bed-Chamber,

Where He Had Concealed Himself, And Obliged Him To

Restore The Full Change, From Which I Paid Him At The Rate Of Two

Livres A Head. He Refused To Take The Money, Which I Threw Down

On The Table; And The Horses Being Ready, Stepped Into The Coach,

Ordering The Postillions To Drive On. Here I Had Certainly

Reckoned Without My Host. The Fellows Declared They Would Not

Budge, Until I Should Pay Their Master; And As I Threatened Them

With Manual Chastisement, They Alighted, And Disappeared In A

Twinkling. I Was Now So Incensed, That Though I Could Hardly

Breathe; Though The Afternoon Was Far Advanced, And The Street

Covered With Wet Snow, I Walked To The Consul Of The Town, And

Made My Complaint In Form. This Magistrate, Who Seemed To Be A

Taylor, Accompanied Me To The Inn, Where By This Time The Whole

Town Was Assembled, And Endeavoured To Persuade Me To Compromise

The Affair. I Said, As He Was The Magistrate, I Would Stand To

His Award. He Answered, "That He Would Not Presume To Determine

What I Was To Pay." I Have Already Paid Him A Reasonable Price

For His Dinner, (Said I) And Now I Demand Post-Horses According

To The King's Ordonnance. The Aubergiste Said The Horses Were

Ready, But The Guides Were Run Away; And He Could Not Find Others

To Go In Their Place. I Argued With Great Vehemence, Offering To

Leave A Loui'dore For The Poor Of The Parish, Provided The Consul

Would Oblige The Rascal To Do His Duty. The Consul Shrugged Up

His Shoulders, And Declared It Was Not In His Power. This Was A

Lie, But I Perceived He Had No Mind To Disoblige The Publican. If

The Mules Had Not Been Sent Away, I Should Certainly Have Not

Only Payed What I Thought Proper, But Corrected The Landlord Into

The Bargain, For His Insolence And Extortion; But Now I Was

Entirely At His Mercy, And As The Consul Continued To Exhort Me

In Very Humble Terms, To Comply With His Demands, I Thought

Proper To Acquiesce. Then The Postillions Immediately Appeared:

The Crowd Seemed To Exult In The Triumph Of The Aubergiste; And I

Was Obliged To Travel In The Night, In Very Severe Weather, After

All The Fatigue And Mortification I Had Undergone.

 

 

 

We Lay At Frejus, Which Was The Forum Julianum Of The Antients,

And Still Boasts Of Some Remains Of Antiquity; Particularly The

Ruins Of An Amphitheatre, And An Aqueduct. The First We Passed In

The Dark, And Next Morning The Weather Was So Cold That I Could

Not Walk Abroad To See It. The Town Is At Present Very

Inconsiderable, And Indeed In A Ruinous Condition. Nevertheless,

We Were Very Well Lodged At The Post-House, And Treated With More

Politeness Than We Had Met With In Any Other Part Of France.

 

 

Part 7 Letter 12 ( Nice, December 6, 1763.) Pg 131