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

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Very Magnificent Edifice, Adorned On All Sides With Trophies And

Battles In Basso Relievo. The Ornaments Of The Architecture, And

The Sculpture, Are Wonderfully Elegant For The Time In Which It

Was Erected; And The Whole Is Surprisingly Well Preserved,

Considering Its Great Antiquity. It Seems To Me To Be As Entire

And Perfect As The Arch Of Septimius Severus At Rome. Next Day We

Passed Two Very Impetuous Streams, The Drome And The Isere. The

First, Which Very Much Resembles The Var, We Forded: But The

Isere We Crossed In A Boat, Which As Well As That Upon The

Durance, Is Managed By The Traille, A Moveable Or Running Pulley,

On A Rope Stretched Between Two Wooden Machines Erected On The

Opposite Sides Of The River. The Contrivance Is Simple And

Effectual, And The Passage Equally Safe And Expeditious. The

Boatman Has Nothing To Do, But By Means Of A Long Massy Rudder,

To Keep The Head Obliquely To The Stream, The Force Of Which

Pushes The Boat Along, The Block To Which It Is Fixed Sliding

Upon The Rope From One Side To The Other. All These Rivers Take

Their Rise From The Mountains, Which Are Continued Through

Provence And Dauphine, And Fall Into The Rhone: And All Of Them,

When Swelled By Sudden Rains, Overflow The Flat Country. Although

Dauphine Affords Little Or No Oil, It Produces Excellent Wines,

Particularly Those Of Hermitage And Cote-Roti. The First Of These

Is Sold On The Spot For Three Livres The Bottle, And The Other

For Two. The Country Likewise Yields A Considerable Quantity Of

Corn, And A Good Deal Of Grass. It Is Well Watered With Streams,

And Agreeably Shaded With Wood. The Weather Was Pleasant, And We

Had A Continued Song Of Nightingales From Aix To Fontainebleau.

 

 

 

I Cannot Pretend To Specify The Antiquities Of Vienne, Antiently

Called Vienna Allobrogum. It Was A Roman Colony, And A

Considerable City, Which The Antients Spared No Pains And Expence

To Embellish. It Is Still A Large Town, Standing Among Several 

Part 7 Letter 39 ( Boulogne, May 23, 1765..) Pg 309

Hills On The Banks Of The Rhone, Though All Its Former Splendor

Is Eclipsed, Its Commerce Decayed, And Most Of Its Antiquities

Are Buried In Ruins. The Church Of Notre Dame De La Vie Was

Undoubtedly A Temple. On The Left Of The Road, As You Enter It,

By The Gate Of Avignon, There Is A Handsome Obelisk, Or Rather

Pyramid, About Thirty Feet High, Raised Upon A Vault Supported By

Four Pillars Of The Tuscan Order. It Is Certainly A Roman Work,

And Montfaucon Supposes It To Be A Tomb, As He Perceived An

Oblong Stone Jetting Out From The Middle Of The Vault, In Which

The Ashes Of The Defunct Were Probably Contained. The Story Of

Pontius Pilate, Who Is Said To Have Ended His Days In This Place,

Is A Fable. On The Seventh Day Of Our Journey From Aix, We

Arrived At Lyons, Where I Shall Take My Leave Of You For The

Present, Being With Great Truth--Yours, Etc.

 

 

Part 7 Letter 40 ( Boulogne, June 13, 1765.) Pg 310

Dear Sir,--I Am At Last In A Situation To Indulge My View With A

Sight Of Britain, After An Absence Of Two Years; And Indeed You

Cannot Imagine What Pleasure I Feel While I Survey The White

Cliffs Of Dover, At This Distance. Not That I Am At All Affected

By The Nescia Qua Dulcedine Natalis Soli, Of Horace. That Seems

To Be A Kind Of Fanaticism Founded On The Prejudices Of

Education, Which Induces A Laplander To Place The Terrestrial

Paradise Among The Snows Of Norway, And A Swiss To Prefer The

Barren Mountains Of Solleure To The Fruitful Plains Of Lombardy.

I Am Attached To My Country, Because It Is The Land Of Liberty,

Cleanliness, And Convenience: But I Love It Still More Tenderly,

As The Scene Of All My Interesting Connexions; As The Habitation

Of My Friends, For Whose Conversation, Correspondence, And

Esteem, I Wish Alone To Live.

 

 

 

Our Journey Hither From Lyons Produced Neither Accident Nor

Adventure Worth Notice; But Abundance Of Little Vexations, Which

May Be Termed The Plagues Of Posting. At Lyons, Where We Stayed

Only A Few Days, I Found A Return-Coach, Which I Hired To Paris

For Six Loui'dores. It Was A Fine Roomy Carriage, Elegantly

Furnished, And Made For Travelling; So Strong And Solid In All

Its Parts, That There Was No Danger Of Its Being Shaken To

Pieces By The Roughness Of The Road: But Its Weight And Solidity

Occasioned So Much Friction Between The Wheels And The Axle-Tree,

That We Ran The Risque Of Being Set On Fire Three Or Four Times A

Day. Upon A Just Comparison Of All Circumstances Posting Is Much

More Easy, Convenient, And Reasonable In England Than In France. 

Part 7 Letter 40 ( Boulogne, June 13, 1765.) Pg 311

The English Carriages, Horses, Harness, And Roads Are Much

Better; And The Postilions More Obliging And Alert. The Reason Is

Plain And Obvious. If I Am Ill-Used At The Post-House In England,

I Can Be Accommodated Elsewhere. The Publicans On The Road Are

Sensible Of This, And Therefore They Vie With Each Other In

Giving Satisfaction To Travellers. But In France, Where The Post

Is Monopolized, The Post-Masters And Postilions, Knowing That The

Traveller Depends Intirely Upon Them, Are The More Negligent And

Remiss In Their Duty, As Well As The More Encouraged To Insolence

And Imposition. Indeed The Stranger Seems To Be Left Intirely At

The Mercy Of Those Fellows, Except In Large Towns, Where He May

Have Recourse To The Magistrate Or Commanding Officer. The Post

Stands Very Often By Itself In A Lone Country Situation, Or In A

Paultry Village, Where The Post-Master Is The Principal

Inhabitant; And In Such A Case, If You Should Be Ill-Treated, By

Being Supplied With Bad Horses; If You Should Be Delayed On

Frivolous Pretences, In Order To Extort Money; If The Postilions

Should Drive At A Waggon Pace, With A View To Provoke Your

Impatience; Or Should You In Any Shape Be Insulted By Them Or

Their Masters; And I Know Not Any Redress You Can Have, Except By

A Formal Complaint To The Comptroller Of The Posts, Who Is

Generally One Of The Ministers Of State, And Pays Little Or No

Regard To Any Such Representations. I Know An English Gentleman,

The Brother Of An Earl, Who Wrote A Letter Of Complaint To The

Duc De Villars, Governor Of Provence, Against The Post-Master Of

Antibes, Who Had Insulted And Imposed Upon Him. The Duke Answered

His Letter, Promising To Take Order That The Grievance Should Be

Redressed; And Never Thought Of It After. Another Great

Inconvenience Which Attends Posting In France, Is That If You Are

Retarded By Any Accident, You Cannot In Many Parts Of The Kingdom

Find A Lodging, Without Perhaps Travelling Two Or Three Posts

Farther Than You Would Choose To Go, To The Prejudice Of Your

Health, And Even The Hazard Of Your Life; Whereas On Any Part Of

The Post-Road In England, You Will Meet With Tolerable

Accommodation At Every Stage. Through The Whole South Of France,

Except In Large Cities, The Inns Are Cold, Damp, Dark, Dismal,

And Dirty; The Landlords Equally Disobliging And Rapacious; The

Servants Aukward, Sluttish, And Slothful; And The Postilions

Lazy, Lounging, Greedy, And Impertinent. If You Chide Them For

Lingering, They Will Continue To Delay You The Longer: If You

Chastise Them With Sword, Cane, Cudgel, Or Horse-Whip, They Will

Either Disappear Entirely, And Leave You Without Resource; Or

They Will Find Means To Take Vengeance By Overturning Your

Carriage. The Best Method I Know Of Travelling With Any Degree Of

Comfort, Is To Allow Yourself To Become The Dupe Of Imposition,

And Stimulate Their Endeavours By Extraordinary Gratifications. I

Laid Down A Resolution (And Kept It) To Give No More Than Four

And Twenty Sols Per Post Between The Two Postilions; But I Am Now

Persuaded That For Three-Pence A Post More, I Should Have Been

Much Better Served, And Should Have Performed The Journey With

Much Greater Pleasure. We Met With No Adventures Upon The Road

Worth Reciting. The First Day We Were Retarded About Two Hours By

The Dutchess D--Lle, And Her Son The Duc De R--F--T, Who By

Virtue Of An Order From The Minister, Had Anticipated All The 

Part 7 Letter 40 ( Boulogne, June 13, 1765.) Pg 312

Horses At The Post. They Accosted My Servant, And Asked If His

Master Was A Lord? He Thought Proper To Answer In The

Affirmative, Upon Which The Duke Declared That He Must Certainly

Be Of French Extraction, Inasmuch As He Observed The Lilies Of

France In His Arms On The Coach. This Young Nobleman Spoke A

Little English. He Asked Whence We Had Come; And Understanding We

Had Been In Italy, Desired To Know Whether The Man Liked France

Or Italy Best? Upon His Giving France The Preference, He Clapped

Him On The Shoulder, And Said He Was A Lad Of Good Taste. The

Dutchess Asked If Her Son Spoke English Well, And Seemed Mightily

Pleased When My Man Assured Her He Did. They Were Much More Free

And Condescending With My Servant Than With Myself; For, Though

We Saluted Them In Passing, And Were Even Supposed To Be Persons

Of Quality, They Did Not Open Their Lips, While We Stood Close By

Them At The Inn-Door, Till Their Horses Were Changed. They Were

Going To Geneva; And Their Equipage Consisted Of Three Coaches

And Six, With Five Domestics A-Horseback. The Dutchess Was A

Tall, Thin, Raw-Boned Woman, With Her Head Close Shaved. This

Delay Obliged Us To Lie Two Posts Short Of Macon, At A Solitary

Auberge Called Maison Blanche, Which Had Nothing White About