Near Vienne the country of silk-worms begins, every tree almost being a mulberry; and on the steep hills, which inclose the channel of the Rhone during two days journey from this town, the celebrated Cote-Roti wine is chiefly produced. The vineyards are in the highest state of cultivation; and, as in Burgundy also, the nature and position of the soil seem to operate as a forcing-wall upon the vines, which had, at this early season, made immense shoots from their knotty close-pruned stumps. Here I frequently observed the industrious expedient practised in many parts of Valencia and Catalonia. On the steepest parts of the hills, terraces above terraces, of loose stones, are built to secure and consolidate the scanty portion of earth which would otherwise be washed away from the roots of their vines by the first winter storm; and not a spot is neglected, however unpromising and difficult of access, where a barrow-full of mould can be raked together, and increased by hand-carriage. One cannot witness such industry without wishing that it could procure more of the comforts of life; but here, as in Burgundy, the exertions of the inhabitants seem hardly repaid by a bare subsistence, if one may judge by the general appearance of their houses and persons. Those travellers who have not yet learned to button themselves up in total indifference, will find, that the interest and pleasure derived from a tour depend on nothing more than on the apparent well-being of those whom they see around them. It is this circumstance which, viewed in the mind's eye, throws a perpetual sunshine over the fine scenes of Tuscany and Catalonia, and lends a charm even to the flat uninteresting corn-fields of Picardy. The absence of it, on the contrary, disfigures the finest scenes in the south of Italy, and causes Naples, the most delightful spot on earth, perhaps, for situation and climate, to dwell on the recollection like a whited sepulchre, a gilded lazar-house of helpless and incurable wretchedness. A Roman beggar, glaring at you from the arches of a ruined temple, like one of Salvator Rosa's Radicals, with a look at once abject and ferocious, may be, perhaps, a characteristic accompaniment to the scene; but the active, erect walk, the frank countenance, and cheerful salutation of a peasant of the Val d'Arno, leave a more pleasing recollection on the mind, as connected with the ideas of comfort, manliness, and independence.

About five miles from Vienne, we ascended a steep hill to the left, leaving on the opposite side of the Rhone a well-wooded chateau, belonging to a Mons. d'Arangues; which forms a good accompaniment to the view of Mont Pilate. By the road side was a very primitive mill, near which we saw a woman sifting corn as we walked up the hill. The corn is laid in the circular trough, and ground by a stone revolving round the shaft in the centre; which is probably worked by an ass. Such little circumstances as these frequently remind us more strongly of the change of place, than the difference of language and costume, which we are prepared to witness in the different provinces of a wide empire. Nothing, for instance, forms a stronger or more distinct feature in one's recollections of the south of France, than the enormous remises which are annexed to every paltry inn on the road from Lyons to the southward, and which serve both as warehouse and stable to the hosts of stout Provencal carriers, who travel with wine, oil, and merchandise to the interior. The remise at Vienne was sixty feet square, without compartment; its roof-timbers were worthy of Westminster Hall, and for its folding doors

"The gates wide open stood, That with extended wings a banner'd host, Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through, With horse and chariots ranked in loose array; So wide they stood!"

Independent of the uses to which these capacious buildings are properly applied, they furnish the most agreeable place for rest and refreshment, during the heat of the day, being, as the traveller will frequently experience, the coolest and the sweetest place belonging to the inn.

During the rest of our day's journey, nothing occurred worthy of attention, until the descent into Peage de Rousillon, where we slept. Here the Rhone, of which we had lost sight, again appears winding through the broad rich valley which opens at the foot of the hill; and Mont Pilate also, after you have lost sight of it for the last seven or eight miles, and expect to see it behind you, again makes its appearance at a distance seemingly undiminished. So difficult is it to judge of the real bearings of objects in this clear air, which in fact is less favourable to the display of the grander features of nature, than our own misty Ossianic climate.

Our inn at Peage de Rousillon, although the only place in the neighbourhood at which we could have slept in any comfort, somewhat resembled, in its general style, those recorded in Don Quixote, and afforded similar adventures. In the midst of our supper, (which was by no means a bad one of the kind), in burst a fat German woman in a transport of fury, who thought herself ill-used in the allotment of the rooms; squabbling in a very discordant key with the landlady, who followed her "blaspheming an octave higher." Both were apparently viragos of the first order, and the keen encounter of their wits was so loud, that we turned a deaf ear to the German's appeal, and insisted on their choosing another field of battle. Battle however was the order of the day, or rather night, for both myself and my servant were roused in the middle of the night to put a stop to a drunken quarrel on the staircase, which we effected by ordering down stairs the Maritornes, who proved the bone of contention. The Hotel du Grand Monarque, is evidently on a par with that class of inns in our English country towns, which bear the royal badge of the George and Dragon, through some fatality attendant on high names and dignities.

From Peage de Rousillon to St. Vallier, you traverse eighteen miles of flat road, only enlivened by the hills to the right of the Rhone, which, becoming gradually more rocky and abrupt, meet at length with a corresponding barrier on the left, and enclose the river in a narrow valley. Just beyond its entrance, which we had distinguished from above Peage de Rousillon, stands the town of St. Vallier, where the conducteur intended that we should breakfast. The Hotel de Poste is a most dismal hole indeed, in every respect, and no appearance of any other inn: but soon after we learnt by experience, that wherever there is a cafe of tolerable appearance, it affords a much better chance for breakfast than any inn of the same rank. Neatness is the more the trade of the cafetier, and his notions of breakfast much more English, than those of the inn-keeper, who is usually put completely out of his way by our habits.

"Eh! Messieurs," said a well-dressed bourgeoise, who saw us sauntering about near the door of her shop, "vous irez sans doute voir notre beau chateau: il fut donne par Jean de Poitiers au premier Seigneur de St. Vallier, et il a descendu jusqu'a Mons. de St. Vallier l'actuel proprietaire." Nothing could be more acceptable to idle wanderers than this information, and off we set at a round pace up a most filthy street, according to our directions; our heads full of crenelles, pont-levis, donjon, fosse, and the proper etceteras. I am not sure that we did not half expect to meet M. de St. Vallier himself, (a good baronial name) cap-a-pie at the barbacan gate, his lance in rest, and his visor down, like Sir Boucicault, or the Lord de Roye, or the doughtiest of Froissart's heroes. A long white-washed mud wall, with green folding gates, began somewhat to cool our Gothic enthusiasm—. "Perhaps the portcullis was destroyed at the Revolution." A bell hung at the gate. "Pshaw, it ought at least to have been a bugle-horn." When we had rung, instead of sounding a blast, not a dwarf, but a slipshod dirty girl, not much bigger, opened the door cautiously. "Il ne faut pas entrer: Monsieur ne permet personne de voir le chateau." We made involuntarily two steps forward; when lo! the end of a modern house, with a pea-green door and sash windows, and a shrubbery of lilacs interspersed with Lombardy poplars, blasted our sight. No longer ambitious of pursuing the lord of St. Vallier in flank, we hoped at least that a front view of his castle from the road to Avignon might afford some remains of feudal splendour. Off we set accordingly, and emerging from the dirty town as quickly as possible, beheld on turning round!—a large modern front, in the full smile of complacent ugliness, with a Grecian portico, not of masonry, but of red and yellow paint a la Lyonnaise; the whole edifice quite worthy of the Hermitage du Mont d'Or. The two short round towers on the sides might have been originally Gothic; but if really so, they had been most effectually disguised by white-washing, and new tiled tops, which very much resembled Grimaldi's red cap and his whited face. In front of the windows, instead of the sweeping lawns and dark avenues of which Mrs. Ratcliffe is so liberal, stood a large close-pruned vineyard, inclosed by a high white wall; at one end of which, and facing the front of his red and yellow chateau, M. de St. Vallier had built a red and yellow summer-house, with green shutters, to keep it in countenance. Very much diverted at our ludicrous disappointment, we sauntered along the road, which followed the course of the Rhone. At two miles distance, just where the river winds with a broad and rapid sweep into a woody gorge, with one blue mountain peeping over it, a black venerable old ruin, with turret and watch-tower, and every thing to render it complete, stood cresting an abrupt rock which hung over the river. Nothing, said I, shall persuade me that this castle is not the genuine gift of John of Poitiers, and the real object of our search. Down we sat at all events to sketch it, and meeting by good fortune a communicative young officer on the road, we learnt that this castle, called[12] Chateau la Serve, had in reality been the residence of the lords of St. Vallier; that many years ago it had been reduced by an accidental fire to its present state, and was finally wrested from the family at the Revolution. Of the present Chateau St. Vallier, and the estate annexed, they have remained in uninterrupted possession; and all admirers of the Gothic must rejoice that the ruin has been purchased by the commune of La Serve: for, standing as it does within view of the new chateau, no doubt it would have been brought to the state of that delectable domicile by the aid of the trowel and paint-brush.

[Footnote 12: Vide Cooke's Views.]

From La Serve to Tain, the same style of country continues, without much alteration. The utmost exertions of the inhabitants seem necessary to struggle against the stony ungenial nature of the soil; and a black storm which was rolling to the right over Mont Pilate, appeared to menace the scanty crops of vines which their labour had produced. In every hamlet we heard the bells ringing, and saw the poor peasants crowding to the church to put up prayers against the coming hail, which at this season of the year is peculiarly fatal. If this be a superstition, it is surely not a contemptible or uninteresting one to witness: nor can one wonder at the influence gained over peasants thus instructed to associate Heaven with their daily hopes and fears. To our great satisfaction, after two or three vivid flashes of lightning, the clouds broke away to the north-west, and a light rain fell partially, more beneficial to the parched vineyards than hurtful to the hay, which even at this early season was in great forwardness in most places. On the whole, I should say that the district lying fifty miles south of Lyons, is a month more early than our own in point of climate and productions.

At Tain, the Rhone forces for itself a narrow passage into the vale of Valence, from among the rugged skirts of Mont Pilate, leaving on the one side Tain, and on the other Tournon; both backed by strong heights, which seem to guard the entrance of the defile. The situation of Tournon is striking, and very much corresponds with the ideas which one forms of a strong baronial hold upon the Rhine. A large portion of the precipitous hill which commands it, is connected with the town by a broken line of grim old walls and towers, which betoken the former importance of this position. Its castle, a building of a heavy conventual style of architecture, and standing on a fortified terrace, formerly belonged to the Prince de Soubisc, but is now converted, as we were informed, into a prison. To this purpose it is well adapted, as a leap from one of the round towers which breast the river at the angles of its terrace, would be fatal; and the character of despotism impressed on its walls seems to say, that in former times its uses were not very different. The resemblance indeed which it bears to the Chateau d'Amboise on the Loire, the scene of the Duke de Guise's murder, may possibly assist its effect on the imagination.

On issuing from this gloomy but not uninteresting spot, the eye opens upon an extensive prospect, rich in many of those features which we find scattered through the works of Claude and Salvator. To the right, the hills which hung[13] over the road to Tain, recede into a long perspective, terminated in the distance by a ruined castle on a pyramidical rock, near Valence; and the Rhone, following the same direction, winds away from the road in a slower and wider current than before. To the left, the outskirts of the Dauphine Alps form a singularly wild and fantastic barrier, sometimes rising in abrupt pinnacles, and sometimes rent as if by an earthquake into precipices of some thousand feet of sheer perpendicular descent. The vale inclosed between these rough walls, and in the centre of which the Isere unites itself to the Rhone, appears a perfect garden in point of richness, cheerfulness, and high cultivation. We crossed the Isere, a strong and rapid stream, by a ferry, for our Itineraire, with its usual accuracy, forgot to mention that the bridge of which it speaks was broken down by Augereau on the advance of the Austrians. Within two or three miles of Valence, a rising ground, fringed with scattered oak underwood, affords a more distinct and striking semicircular view of the mountains to the left; and glimpses of others yet more distant, bordering an immense plain, through which the Rhone takes its course towards Avignon.

[Footnote 13: Vide Cooke's Views.]

As we approached Valence, the ancient Civitas Valentinorum, we again observed the ruined castle which we had at first remarked, called Chateau Crussol. It stands on a conical cliff on the opposite side of the river, overlooking the town at about two cannon-shots distance. On inquiring into the history of this eagle's nest, we found that it had been in days of yore the fortress of a petty free-booting chieftain, who kept the inhabitants of Valence in a perpetual state of war and annoyance; a history which almost appears fabricated to suit its appearance and character. It bears a very strong resemblance, in point of situation, to the ruin within a mile of Massa di Carrara; which the tradition of the peasants assigns as the abode of Castruccio Castracani, the scourge of the Pisans. Seeing it relieved by a gleam of sunshine from a dark evening cloud behind it, we could fancy, without any great effort of imagination, that, like the bed-ridden Giant Pope in honest John Bunyan, it was grinning a ghastly smile of envy at the prosperity which it could no longer interrupt. Or, if this idea should seem extravagant, at least the two opposite neighbours present as lively a personification as stone and mortar can afford, of their respective inhabitants; the town of Valence flourishing in industrious cheerfulness, and the castle domineering, savage, poverty-stricken, and formed only for purposes of plunder and mischief.

In the suburbs of Valence we found an excellent inn, called the Croix d'Or, worthy to be recommended both for comfort, civility, and fair charges. A walk into the town of Valence itself has very little in it to repay the traveller, with the exception of the Champ de Mars, a sort of public garden bordering on the Rhone. Certainly no place ever united such a degree of dirt and closeness to so smiling an exterior. Its old Gothic walls still remain, and the streets therefore are probably built on the same scale as in those times when they crowded together for security against feudal aggressors.

May 9.—To Loriol five miles. The road passes through a country as beautiful and diversified as before, seldom deviating above a mile or two from the course of the river: corn and hay-fields, the latter fit for cutting, mulberry, almond, and fig-trees, cover every inch of ground. About a mile before we reached Loriol, and just after passing a small town called Livron, we crossed the Drome, over a noble bridge of three arches, constructed of a rough sort of whitish marble, and reminding us somewhat of a reduced section of the Strand bridge. Its massy solidity is not misplaced, as a view up the mountain glen to the left of it convinced us. Though the river was at this time low, the immense extent of dry beds of gravel showed what its volume and force must be when swoln by rain; and the cluster of gloomy mountains which close the valley from whence it issues, seem the perpetual abode of storms. In one of them I recognised the Montagne de Midi, whose form is so remarkably perpendicular when seen from Tain; and altogether, I have no idea of forms more wild and extraordinary upon so large a scale. The rocks of St. Michel, in Savoy, near St. Jean de Maurienne, are a miniature resemblance of them; but a better idea as to size and wildness, may be formed by those who recollect the mountains of Nant Francon, in Wales, and can imagine them not yet settled into place, after the first confusion of the Titanic war.

"Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam Scilicet, atque Ossa frondosum involvere Olympum; Ter pater exstructos dejecit fulmine montes."

The view is worth several hours of an artist's time, and its effect is considerably increased by a solitary tower, resembling a moss-trooper's abode, which stands in the middle distance. It is called, as we understood, the Chateau de Crest, and is the relic of a state prison. On passing a corner of rising ground this wild valley disappears, and the same rich and cheerful country as has been already described recommences. The same unbroken rocky barrier bounds the Rhone on the right, while in front numberless peaks of very distant mountains become visible over the plain through which its windings are traced.

The neat-looking inn at Loriol probably affords better breakfasts than the cafe, which, in spite of its neat outside, is dirty and imposing, an exception to the usual rule.

To Montelimart fifteen miles: the first three we walked, and rested on a rising ground, commanding in each direction a long day's journey through this fine district. Our walk perhaps made us relish the more a bottle of the vin du pays, which Derbieres, a little village a mile or two farther on, afforded; but I have no doubt that worse is sold in Paris at seven or eight francs a bottle, under the name of pink champagne: it is at least worth the while of any thirsty traveller to try the experiment, if it were merely for the sake of the civil old landlady of the little inn. We could obtain no information from her respecting the history of a singular ruin on the opposite side of the river, excepting that it was called Chateau Crucis, and about seven hundred years ago was an abbey. Somewhat beyond this black pile stand two or three pyramidical rocks, projecting from the general line of hills, the same probably which the French Itineraire mentions as commanding a celebrated view, and exhibiting in themselves a geological curiosity. I doubt, however, whether any person would do well to cross the Rhone to explore them, upon the mere credit of that wise octavo.

Montelimart is a large old town, the ancient fortifications of which, as of Valence, remain in perfect preservation. The approach to it from Loriol gives by no means so favourable an idea of it as it deserves; and to estimate its beauties fully, it is necessary to visit the citadel, now used as a prison, which stands on a height above the town.[14] The view which it commands is uniformly mountainous in the back grounds, and flat and rich in its nearer details; but the finest part of it is towards the east. The snowy Alps near Grenoble, and the line of mountains from whence the Drome issues, and at whose foot Chateau Grignan is situated, are its prominent features; and the little farm-houses and tufts of trees in the rich pasture grounds which intervene, seem disposed by the hand of a painter.

[Footnote 14: Vide Cooke's Views.]

Not to omit the luxuries of the palate as well as those of the eye, it is worth while to procure at Montelimart a wedge or two of the nogaux, or almond-cakes, which Miss Plumptre so particularly recommends. The genuine sort is as glutinous as pitch, and made in moulds, from whence it is cut like portable soup; and the makers at Montelimart, like the rusk-bakers of Kidderminster, have, I understand, refused a large sum for the receipt. Another of the good things of Provence, to which Miss Plumptre's Tour introduced us, was the confiture de menage, or fruit boiled up with grape juice instead of sugar. This is a preserve which you meet with in most of the commonest inns, but which is so easily made and little esteemed, that they do not bring it without a particular order. It is very much like asking for treacle at an English inn; nevertheless I, for my part, felt obliged to the fair tourist for an information which has served to mend many a bad breakfast; and a bad breakfast, as the world doth know, is the stumbling-block, or the grumbling-stock, of most Englishmen, travelled or untravelled.

The inn at Montelimart is excellent; but Madame must not be left to make her own charges. We should, however, have parted from her in good humour, had not her avarice affected persons less able to help themselves. The poor maid, who appeared jaded to the bone, confessed that her mistress detained half her etrennes, and I have reason to believe that she spoke truth.

To the classical ground of Chateau Grignan, which we visited next day, I shall devote a separate chapter.



CHAP. V.

CHATEAU GRIGNAN.

MAY 10.—This was the day of the greatest interest and fatigue which we had as yet passed; and moreover afforded us a tolerably accurate idea, at the risk of our bones, of the nature of French crossroads. Having understood that the road from Montelimart to Grignan was inaccessible to four-wheeled carriages, we set off at four in the morning in a patache, the most genteel description of one-horse chair which the town afforded. Let no one imagine that a patache bears that relation to a cabriolet which a dennet does to a tilbury; for ours, at least, would in England have been called a very sorry higgler's cart. The inside accommodations were so arranged, that we sat back to back, and nearly neck and heels together, after swarming up a sort of dresser or sounding-board in the rear, which afforded the most practicable entrance. "Mais montez, montez, Messieurs, vous y serez parfaitement bien," quoth our civil conducteur, haranguing, handing, and shoving at the same time. The alacrity with which he and his merry little dog Carlin did the honours of the vehicle, and the stout active appearance of the horse (to say nothing of the whim of the moment, and the fine morning), reconciled us to a mode of conveyance no better than that which calves enjoy in a butcher's cart; and for the first few miles we forgot even the want of springs.

After travelling a league or two, the road began to wind into the outskirts of the range of mountains which we had first seen from Tain, and reminded us, in its general features, of some of the most sequestered parts of South Wales. The soil is generally poor, but derives an appearance of verdure and cheerfulness from the large walnut and mulberry-trees which shade the road, and the stunted oak copses through which it occasionally winds. We passed an extensive pile of building, of a character which we had not before observed, consisting of a number of small awkwardly-contrived rooms, without any uniformity, piled like so many inhabited buttresses against the outside and inside of a circular wall. This, it seems, is the property and habitation of one person, a M. Dilateau; but it certainly has more the appearance of the residence of a whole Birkbeck colony, each back-settler established in his own nook, amid the contents of his travelling waggon. A little farther, on the summit of a bare rocky ridge to the left, stands a castle of a more Gothic character, but equally uncouth and comfortless. It was demolished, as we understood, at the time of the Revolution; but in its best days must have been but a wretched residence, as no trace remains within many hundred yards of it, of any soil where tree or garden could have stood. To the genuine admirers of Mad. de Sevigne, however, even these cheerless mountain holds present an interesting object, as having been peopled by the honest country families whose ceremonious visits to Grignan afforded her many a good-natured laugh.[15] Or to treat the Chateau Race-du-fort (for such we understood to be the name of this last castle) with more respect, we may fancy its proprietor sallying forth, like old Hardyknute, at the head of his armed sons and servants, to join the seven hundred country gentlemen who volunteered their services, with the Count de Grignan at their head, in besieging the rebellious town of Orange.

[Footnote 15: "See Mad. de S.'s Letters."]

We found it necessary, both from common consideration for the patache-horse, and our own necks, to walk up the two miles of steep ascent, which occur after passing this last castle. On the top of the hill all vegetation appears to cease, excepting a few shrubby dwarf firs, and a profusion of aromatic plants, such as juniper, lavender, southernwood, and wild thyme, which delight in the stony hot-bed afforded by the interstices of disjointed rocks. The view from the high table of ground to which we climbed at length fully repaid our exertions, and may be almost compared, for extent and beauty, to those from the church of Fourvieres, and the Montagne de Rochepot. Towards the north we surveyed not only the valleys of Montelimart and the Drome, but nearly the whole of the route of the three preceding days, bordered on the one side by the abrupt and lofty mountains, from which the latter river takes its source, and on the other by the steep banks of the Rhone. On proceeding a little farther, over a road which consisted of the native rock in all its native inequality, we caught sight of the Comtat Grignan, and the great plain of Avignon, into which that district opens in a south-western direction, flanked on the east by a colossal Alp, called Mont Ventou, on whose long ridge traces of snow were still visible. In the centre of the Comtat, [16]Chateau Grignan is easily distinguished by the grandeur of its outline and proportions, and the tall insulated rock on which it stands, somewhat resembling that on which Windsor Castle is situated, though inferior in size. Its effect is somewhat heightened by several other smaller crags at different distances, which thrust themselves through the scanty stratum of soil, each crowned with a solitary tower, or little fortalice. In the feudal days of the Adhemars, ancestors of the Grignan family, who possessed the whole of the Comtat, these were probably the peel-houses, or outposts, of the old Chateau, in the quarter from which it would have been most exposed to attack. The Chateau Race-du-fort was, in all likelihood, also the key of the mountain glen leading to the hill which we were descending, and formed the line of communication with Montelimart, which was formerly included in the family territory. The records on this subject trace the foundation of the lordship of Grignan up to the days of Charlemagne, who is said to have created Adhemar,[17] one of his paladins, Duke of Genoa, as a reward for having re-conquered Corsica from the Saracens. Adhemar having fallen in a second expedition against the same enemy, his children divided his possessions: the elder remaining Duke of Genoa, another possessing the towns of St. Paul de Trois Chateau et Mondragon; and a third, the sovereignty of Orange. A fourth possessed the town of Monteil, called after him Monteil Adhemar, or Montelimart; and in 1160, the emperor Frederic I. granted to Gerard Adhemar de Monteil, his descendant and heir, the investiture of Grignan, with many sovereign rights, such as that of coining money. It was to this noble family that the Count de Grignan, whose third wife was the daughter of Madame de Sevigne, traced his blood and inheritance in a direct line.

[Footnote 16: Vide Cooke's Views.]

[Footnote 17: "Je me rejouis, avec M. de Grignan, de la beaute de sa terrasse; s'il en est content, les ducs de Genes, ses grands peres, l'auraient ete; son gout est meilleur que celui de ce temps-la; * * * * * ces vieux lits sont dignes des Adhemars."—Mad. de Sevigne.]

As we reached the level of the plain, and approached the castle, its commanding height and structure seemed completely to justify Mad. de S.'s expression to her daughter, "Votre chateau vraiment royal." Few subjects certainly ever had such a residence as this; which, though reduced to a mere shell by the ravages of the Revolution, still seems to bespeak the hospitable and chivalrous character of its former possessor. It rises from a terrace of more than a hundred feet in height, partly composed of masonry, and partly of the solid rock. The town of Grignan, piled tier above tier, occupies a considerable declivity at the foot of this terrace, and communicates with the castle by a road which winds round the ascent, and terminates in a massy gateway.

On entering the town, we were directed to the Bons Enfans, kept by a man of the name of Peyrol; which, contrary to the expectations we had naturally formed of an inn not much frequented, provided us with a breakfast, which even the editor of honest Blackwood would delight to describe in all its minutiae, for it was quite Scotch in variety and excellence, and served up with great cleanliness. It may be well to remark, that as far as I could judge from the appearance of the rooms, a family might spend two or three days here without sacrificing their comfort to their curiosity, and would be as well off as at the Quatre Nations at Massa, or the Tre Maschere at Caffagiolo, the models of little country inns. Our host, we found, was entrusted with the privilege of showing the castle by the Count de Muy, in whose family he had been a servant; and he accordingly accompanied us in our visit thither. On gaining the level of the terrace, we found the wind, which had been imperceptible in the town, blowing with such force, as to account for[18] Mad. de Sevigne's fears lest her daughter should be carried away from her "belle terrasse" by the force of the Bise. Persons travelling to the south of France for the sake of health, should be particularly on their guard against this violent and piercing wind, as well as that called the Mistral; both of which are occasionally prevalent in this country at most seasons of the year, and render warm clothing adviseable. I shall quote, as illustrative of the power with which the Bise blows, an extract from a letter by an intelligent traveller, written previous to the destruction of Chateau Grignan: "En faisant le tour du Chateau, je remarquais avec surprise que les vitres du cote du nord etaient presque toutes brisees, tandis que celles des autres faces etaient entieres. On me dit, que c'etait la Bise qui les cassait; cela me parut incroyable; je parlai a d'autres personnes, qui me firent la meme reponse: et je fus enfin force de le croire. La Bise y souffle avec une telle violence, qu'elle enleve le gravier de la terrasse, et le lance jusqu'au second etage, avec assez de force pour casser les vitres." From the violence of the Bise wind this morning, and my subsequent experience of its force at Beaucaire, I have but little difficulty in believing this account; and conceive that the danger of yielding to the occasional temptation of heat, and wearing light clothing, cannot be too strongly insisted on in this country. Persons, indeed, who have not visited the south of France, connect its very name with the idea of uniform mildness; but in reality, its caprices render it, without proper caution, a more dangerous climate than our own.

[Footnote 18: "L'air de Grignan me fait peur pour vous; me fait trembler; je crains qu'il n'emporte, ma chere enfant, qu'il ne l'epuise, qu'il ne la desseche—."

"Voila le vent, le tourbillon, l'ouragan, les diables dechaines qui veulent emporter votre chateau; quel ebranlement universel! quelle furie! quelle frayeur repandue partout!"—Mad. de Sevigne.]

On advancing to the balustrades of what appeared a projecting part of the terrace, we were surprised to find that it formed one of the towers of the lofty church of Grignan, on the top of which, as on a massy buttress, we were standing. A trap-door, formed by a moveable paving stone, admitted us upon the leads of the church, which are secured from the effects of weather by the additional casing which the terrace affords. Its interior communicates with the lower rooms of the castle by a passage, terminating in a stone gallery, where from its height above the body of the church, the family could hear mass unperceived, as in a private oratory. The establishment of this church, founded entirely at the private expense of the Count de Grignan's ancestors, was very rich, and consisted of a deanery, twenty-one canonries, and a numerous and well-appointed choir. From its lofty proportions, I should suppose that the internal decorations had also been costly; but much mischief, we were informed, had been done to it during the time of the Revolution by the same troop of brigands which burnt the castle, and which consisted of the refuse of the neighbouring towns, countenanced by the revolutionary committee of Orange. With a natural aversion to every thing noble, these ragamuffins directed their outrages particularly against the statue of the founder of the church, whose grim black trunk stands in the vestibule, deprived of its head. One almost regrets that the figure did not possess the miraculous power of revenge which the corpse of Campeador[19] exerted when the Jew plucked his beard, and fall headlong of its own accord into the thick of its assailants. The remains of Mad. de Sevigne, and of the Grignan family, however, were safe from their violence, as the adherents of the castle had taken the precaution of changing the position of the flat black stone inscribed with the name of the former, which marked the entrance of the family vault; and which has since been restored to its original place. The inscription on this stone, which stands, a little to the right of the communion-table, is simply, "Cy git Marie de Rabutin Chautal, Marquise de Sevigne;" the date of her death, April 14, 1696, annexed. Such a name, in truth, does not need the assistance of owl-winged cherubs, brawny Fames, and blubbering Cupids, those frequent appendages of departed vanity and selfishness; which would have been probably as repugnant to the wishes of the good marchioness, as inconsistent with her simple and unassuming character.

[Footnote 19: See Southey's translation of the Cid.]

To return to the subject of the revolution, as it affected Chateau Grignan. Miss Plumptre, a writer of much research and general accuracy, and whose book would furnish twenty gentlemen-tourists with good materials, has, I believe, been misled as to one circumstance, the disinterment of Mad. de Sevigne, which, as far we could ascertain by inquiry, never took place from causes to which I have just alluded. The silk wrapping-gown, the expression of the features, and the respect with which the brigands beheld the corpse, are circumstances which Miss Plumptre's French informant appears to have accumulated, "pour faire une sensation;" and, had they taken place, our communicative guide, who was rather given to the melting mood, would have dwelt on them for the same purpose. They appear, however, to know nothing about the matter at Grignan, a place which Miss P. acknowledges herself never to have visited.

The work of destruction was more complete in the castle than in the church. The Count de Muy, whose family had become possessed by purchase of this splendid pile of building, inhabited it for half the year, doing extensive good, if one may trust the partial account of his old servant, and maintaining a mode of living which would have done honour to a legitimate descendant of the Adhemars. Eighty-four lits de maitre, and servants' beds in proportion, were made up, we understood, during a visit paid to the count by the present king, then Count of Provence. These hospitable doings, however, were not to last long. The revolutionists broke into the castle, and having pillaged it of whatever they could turn to any use, burnt the remainder of the furniture, pictures, &c., in the market-place, to the amount of 20,000 francs. One fellow, now residing at Montelimart, had the good taste to select for his share the dressing-glass and writing-table known as those of Mad. de Sevigne. The castle, which they set on fire, continued burning for two or three days: yet such was the solidity and goodness of the masonry, that an imposing mass still remains, sufficient to give an idea of what it must have once been.

"Qualem te dicam bonam Antehac fuisse, tales cum sint reliquiae!"

As the terrace remains uninjured, and many of the walls are still perfect, the castle might be rendered again habitable at a comparatively reasonable expense. But the Count de Muy is seventy, has no children, and has lost 25,000 pounds per annum by the revolution; a combination of circumstances not very favourable to the spirit of improvement. "C'est la," said Peyrol, pointing out a small house at the foot of the terrace, "c'est la que demeure l'homme d'affaires de M. le Comte; il y vient tous les ans pour peu de jours; moi je lui fais son petit morceau; et souvent je le vois se promener sur cette belle terrasse, les larmes aux yeux; c'est que Monsieur aimait passionnement ce beau chateau. Ah, mon Dieu! ca me fait pleurer; moi qui ai tout perdu; ma place, mon bon maitre, et puis je gagne le pain ici avec beaucoup de peine: cette pauvre ville est abimee; nous avons perdu tous nos droits, notre bailliage, notre cour de justice, tout, tout—" &c. Our host had apparently imbibed all his master's enthusiastic respect for the house of Grignan; for, finding that we had purposely deviated from our route to behold the residence of Mad. de Sevigne, his delight and loquacity appeared to know no bounds. The space of years, and the succession of owners from the time of the good Marquise and her son-in-law, to that of his own master, seemed to have no place in his mind. He had her letters by heart, I believe, for he quoted them with great volubility and correctness, a-propos to almost every question which we asked; and seemed fairly to have worked himself, by their perusal, into the idea that he had seen and waited on her. "C'est ici qu'elle dormait; voila le cabinet ou elle ecrivait ses lettres; c'est ici qu'elle prisait ses belles idees." Nothing indeed could be more delightful, or more calculated to inspire fine ideas, than the situation of the ruined boudoir into which he conducted us at these words. It occupies one floor of a turret, about fifteen feet in diameter, and opens into the shell of a large bedchamber. Its large croisees, which look out in three directions, command an extensive bird's eye view of the Comtat Grignan, surmounted by the long Alpine ridge of Mont Ventou, and an amphitheatre of other smaller mountains: and enough remained of both apartments to give a full idea of the lightness and airiness of their situation, and of their former magnificence.

The walls, on which some gilding still remained, the stone window-frames, and the chimney-pieces, were still entire. From the door, we looked out into the long gallery[20] built by the Count de Grignan, and communicating with different suites of handsome rooms, or at least their remains. We explored them as far as was consistent with safety, and descended to the "belle terrasse," now over-run with weeds and lizards, in order to take[21] another survey of the castle, and form a general idea of the parts which we had separately visited. Though built at different periods of time, each part is in itself regular and handsome. The two grand fronts are the north and west, the former of which is represented in Mr. Cooke's first engraving of Grignan. The eastern part, facing Mont Ventou, is in a more ornamental style of architecture, somewhat resembling that of the inside square of the Louvre.[22] The southern part, affording a view of Mad. de Sevigne's window, and of the collegiate church founded by the family, is represented in the second engraving, the subject of which was sketched on the road to La Palud, whither we were bound for the night. In our way thither, we made a short detour, accompanied by our host, to the Roche Courbiere, a natural excavation on the rock, within sight of the terrace, and to the left of the road. This cool retreat, it may be recollected, was discovered and chosen by Mad. de Sevigne, as a sort of summer pavilion; and was embellished by the Count de Grignan with a marble table, benches of stone, and a stone bason, which collected the filterings of a spring that took its source from this cavern. I have since seen a drawing made previous to the Revolution, which confirms Peyrol's account. Even this modest hermitage, however, was not spared by the systematic spite of the brigands who destroyed the castle. Only one stone bench remains; the table and bason are demolished, and the spring now oozes over the damp floor as it did in a state of nature. On returning from this spot to the road, we crossed an open common field on the south side of the castle, planted with corn, and apparently of a better quality than the land in its vicinity. "Voila le jardin," said our guide; "c'etoit la ou il y avoit de ces belles figues, ces beaux melons, ce delicieux. Muscat dont Madame parle." The fine trees, which marked the limits of the garden, have all been cut down and burnt, with the exception of a row of old elms on the western side, forming part of the avenue which flanked the mail, or ball-alley, a constant appendage in days of old to the seats of French noblemen. The turf of the mail is even and soft still, and the wall on both sides tolerably perfect—"And now, Messieurs," said mine host, "you may tell your countrymen, that you have walked in the actual steps of the Marquise. C'est ici qu'elle jouoit au mail avec cette parfaite grace—et M. le Comte aussi—ah! c'etoit un plaisir de les voir." We hardly knew whether to laugh at, or be interested by the comical Quixotism of this man, who I verily believe had, by dint of residence on the spot, and thumbing constantly a dirty old edition of Madame's letters, worked himself up to the notion that he had witnessed the scenes which he described. We were induced, in the course of our walk, to inquire somewhat into his own history, which appeared rather a melancholy one, though common enough in the times through which he had lived. About a week after the pillage and destruction of Chateau Grignan, he was denounced as a royalist, and immured in the prison of Orange, in company with several gentlemen of the neighbourhood, acquaintances of his master. By means of a friend in the town, (for they were not all devils at Orange, as he emphatically assured us), he was enabled to procure a few common necessaries, to improve the scanty prison allowance of some of the more infirm; but his charitable labour soon ceased, for all were successively dispatched by the guillotine in a short space of time. In the course of three months, 378 persons perished by decree of the miscreants composing the Revolutionary tribunal at Orange, whose names were Fauvette, Fonrosac, Meilleraye, Boisjavelle, Viotte, and Benoit Carat, the greffier. One of their first victims was an aged nun of the Simiane family, canoness of the convent of Bollene, accused of being a counter-revolutionist; so lame and infirm, that her executioners were forced to carry her to the scaffold. Madame d'Ozanne, Marquise de Torignan, aged ninety-one, and her grand-daughter, a lovely young woman of twenty-two, perished in the same massacre. The personal beauty of the latter, which was much celebrated in the neighbourhood, had interested one of the brigands of Orange in her fate, who promised to exert his influence with the council of five, to save the life of the grandmother, on condition of receiving the hand of Mademoiselle d'Ozanne. The poor girl overcame her horror and reluctance for the sake of her aged relative, and promised to marry this man on condition of his success in the promised application. The life, however, of so formidable a conspirator as a superannuated and dying woman, was too great a favour to be granted even to a friend; and the only boon which he could obtain was the promise of Mademoiselle d'Ozanne's life, in consideration of her becoming his wife. "Eh bien! il faut mourir ensemble;" was her answer without a moment's deliberation, and next day, accordingly, both the relatives perished on the same scaffold. Poor Peyrol himself, after expecting the fatal Allons for many a morning, was at length relieved from his apprehensions by the fall of Robespierre, and obtained his release, on condition of serving in the army. After fighting for four years, with a cordial detestation of the cause in which he was engaged, he was disabled for the time by a severe wound, and obtained leave to return to Grignan, where he settled in the little inn; but the most severe blow of all was yet in store for him; for his wife died not long after, leaving him with five children. "Ainsi vous voyez, Monsieur, que j'ai connu le malheur. Au reste, Mons. de Muy m'a donne la clef de ce chateau, et cela me vaut quelque chose; car il y a du monde qui viennent quelquefois le voir." Then, relapsing into his habitual strain of complaint, he ended with, "Oh mon pauvre cher maitre! ce beau, ce grand chateau! ah, j'ai tout perdu!" One bright moment, however, as he exultingly remarked, occurred during his compulsory service in the army; for it so chanced that he was one of the guard on duty during the execution of his former oppressor, Fauvette. "Moi a mon tour je l'accompagnois a cet echafaud ou il m'auroit envoye; il avoit la mine triste, un fleur de jasmin a la bouche; ma foi, ca ne sentoit pas bon pour lui."

Such is an exact transcript of our communicative host's conversation, which, notwithstanding the suspicion with which I regard the prattle of foreign guides, seemed to me not so much a well-conned lesson, as the genuine overflowing of such a disposition as honest Thady M'Quirk's. His interest in the persons and events of which he spoke, appeared as warm and genuine as his naivete was amusing and we took leave of him with a strong feeling of good will towards himself and his little clean inn.

[Footnote 20: Eighty feet by twenty-four, according to a measurement made previous to the burning of the castle.]

[Footnote 21: Pour entrer au vestibule (says the same letter which I quoted before, written before the Revolution) on monte par un escalier, car les appartemens sont tous au premier. Il y a quatre beaux salons, qui s'appellent la salle du roi, la salle de la reine, la salle des eveques, et la galerie: le reste de la maison, qui est vaste, est distribuee en divers appartemens, dont chacun est compose d'une chambre a coucher, un grand cabinet, et un cabinet a toilette.]

[Footnote 22: Vide Cooke's Views.]

It is as needless to apologize for devoting a whole chapter to local circumstances connected with Madame de Sevigne's life, as it would be to detail the well-known social virtues which have erected this amiable and unpretending woman into a sort of household deity in the eyes of so large a class of persons, while the Lauzuns, the Montespans, and other gay and brilliant favourites of that period, are only recollected with disgust.



CHAP. VI.

ORANGE—AVIGNON.

OUR road to La Palud lay along the rocky vale first discovered from the heights above Chateau Grignan, which in fact is not so much a vale as a high plateau of ground enclosed between hills, like many parts of Castille. To the latter country, indeed, the Comtat Grignan bears a striking resemblance in the characteristic features which prevail through the greater part of it. The insulated grey rocks have forced themselves through the starved soil, like projecting bones; the parched fields are more full of pebbles than corn; and the stunted evergreen oaks, with their diminutive tough leaves of a dingy grey, though well enough adapted to the inhospitable ground in which they grow, present an appearance quite repugnant to our English ideas of verdure and vegetation. The immediate neighbourhood of Chateau Grignan, indeed, seems tolerably fertile, but it is difficult nevertheless to conceive from whence the adequate supplies for the Count's immense table were procured, or how the feudal contributions of such a country could have supported in earlier days the number of castles and towers, whose ruins we saw on the summits of every detached rock. These, from their resemblance to the "antiguas obras de Moros," which the muleteers used to point out, presented another feature strongly reviving my Spanish recollections. In the days of romance, this country must have been the Utopia of Troubadours, where each might in the compass of a short walk have taken morning draught, breakfast, nooning, dinner, and supper, at the strong holds of different barons. The first of these fortalices, called Chamaret le Maigre, presents a striking landmark from the town of Grignan; but, on a nearer approach, consists of little more than a tall slender tower upon an insulated rock; the rest is in ruins. At a short distance beyond this spot stands Montsegur, a little old fortified town upon a hill, which, from its name and appearance, may have been one of those cradles of civil liberty, where the "bon homme Jacques" first found refuge from his haughty feudal oppressors. A ruin of a more lordly description close to it, is called, as we understood, the Chateau Beaume: but the number of less important ruins, which occurred in this day's journey, is too great to admit of a particular description. A turn to the right between a couple of commanding heights, brought us out of this barren country into the wide and fertile plain of the Rhone, and under the walls of St. Paul de Trois Chateaux, the ancient Augusta Tricastinorum. From the respectable appearance of this town, we conceived ourselves in the high road to La Palud, and likely to be soon indemnified by dinner and rest, for the joltings of the day; but our driver, instead of taking the proper direction, lost himself in a series of inextricable cross roads, which terminated in a quagmire. In this slough of despond the unfortunate patache, from which we had descended, might have stuck for ever, but for the assistance of two shepherds, as wild in their attire, and as civil, as Don Quixote's friendly goatherds. By dint of their exertions and those of the floundering and groaning horse, the vehicle, which was too deeply imbedded in the muddy ruts to dread an overturn, was dragged out by main force; the driver sometimes wringing his hands in King Cambysses' vein, and sometimes strenuously applying his shoulder to the wheel. A franc or two dismissed our bare-legged friends grinning to their very earrings, and we pursued our road without further interruption, quite satisfied with this specimen of the loamy fatness of the soil. From the experience of this day, I certainly should recommend no one to make the detour to Grignan in a wheeled carriage of any sort. An active person might accomplish on foot, before breakfast, the whole distance from Montelimart to Grignan, and might reach St. Paul de Trois Chateaux, or perhaps La Palud, by night; but even lady travellers would find less fatigue in hiring saddle-horses and mules from Montelimart, than in being bumped at the rate of two miles and a half per hour, over roads which frequently seem a jumble of unhewn paving-stones. We afterwards understood that there was a direct road from Grignan to Orange, which would have saved us some distance, and could not have been worse than that which we travelled this evening.

At La Palud we found the servants and voiture established in the second inn, the name of which I forget. The accommodations, however, were decent and comfortable, and the charges moderate: and, on the whole, the appearance of this inn was nearly, or quite as good as that of the Hotel d'Angouleme. The people of the latter house, to which the servants were originally directed, concluding that they had positive orders to await us there, persisted in demanding a price for every thing which more than doubled any charge yet attempted; an instance of pertinacious rascality which it is not amiss to mention, and which would have diverted us by its very absurdity, had we not been too tired to find amusement in any thing but supper and beds. In the course of this day and the next, we heard, for the first time, the Provencal patois, which seems a bad compound of French, Spanish, and Italian, with an original gibberish of their own. As far, indeed, as a slight and partial observation enables me to judge, I have been much struck by a similarity which the inhabitants of the Mediterranean coast bear to each other in language and character, a similarity so great, as to lead one to suppose them descended from the same original stock. The same savage originality of manner, (accompanied frequently by much good-humour and civility), the same extravagance of gesture, which seems the overflow of bodily vigour and animal spirits, the same red cap, and lastly, the same villainous compound of languages, mixed up in discordant cadences and terminations, appear to distinguish the inhabitants of Provence, Languedoc, Naples, and Genoa, and last and noblest of all, the Catalans.

May 11.—To Orange eighteen miles, through the same rich and extensive plain, from which the barrier of hills that accompanied us before, receded to a considerable distance; but which is still interrupted and broken occasionally by rocks of the wildest and most abrupt shape possible, with the addition in general of a frowning castle in ruins. The little towns of Montdragon[23] and Mornas, which we passed this morning, are each situated under heights of this description. The castle of the former, of which a plate is given in Mr. Cooke's work, I think even superior to that of Caerphilly, in South Wales, in the "awsome eyriness," as a Scotsman would express it, with which its detached masses are grouped. The castle of Mornas is not so remarkable, but the rocks on which it stands are very striking; for if they have any inclination out of the perpendicular, it is rather towards than from the road. It is indeed impossible, when you stand under the shade of this lofty barrier, and look up to the clouds drifting over it, to fancy that it is not in the act of toppling down upon your head. We had not as yet emerged from the land of castles, for, as in yesterday's route, almost every little town possessed some vestige of ancient fortification, a silent testimony to the peaceful virtues of "the good old days." The heat of the weather at this comparatively early season of the year, induced us to congratulate ourselves that we had not chosen a month, or even a fortnight later, for our excursion, particularly as the mulberry-trees, which in this thrifty country form almost the only shade, were beginning to lose their covering of leaves. Every where we met women and children carrying ladders, shaped exactly like those used by cocks and hens in roosting, or perched high in trees, stripping them for the food of the silk-worms. The natural gracefulness of the mulberry foliage is entirely destroyed by the unmerciful pruning and pollarding which it undergoes in this country, in order to concentrate it for gathering. Very little fruit, and that small and tasteless, is produced from these cabbage-cut trees; a circumstance which I mention to prevent disappointment, since, no doubt, many a gentle traveller may indulge, as I confess to have done, the luxurious hope of feasting on this fruit in perfection under every hedge-row in Provence. Another month would have rendered the heat of the country insufferable, and stript it of much of its beauty, by reducing to bunches of bare poles those trees which still continued to afford verdure and finish to the prospect.

[Footnote 23: Vide Cooke's Views.]

Within a few miles of Orange we crossed the river Aigues by a handsome stone bridge, commanding a magnificent view of Mont Ventou. This mountain seems the most conspicuous landmark in the part of France which we were traversing, continuing visible as it does for two or three days journey with very little alteration of outline. To judge from its situation on the map, it could not be less than twenty-five or thirty miles from the place where we stood, though from the deception caused by its enormous length and height, and not uncommon in mountain scenery, it appeared accessible in a walk of two or three hours. I well remember, as an instance illustrative of this deception, the surprise of a Berkshire servant at Capel Curig, when informed that he really could not take an evening's walk to the top of Snowdon after littering up his horses, and return to supper. The effect in question is increased, and rather to the detriment of picturesque beauty, by the less hazy atmosphere of southern countries; but I never recollect so strong an instance of it, as in the view of Mont Ventou of which I am speaking. I was struck also by its great similarity to drawings which I had seen of AEtna from the Catanian coast, as well its outline, as the manner in which it rises from a cluster of satellite hills into the borders of the snowy region. Several scattered snow-ridges were visible near its top, contrasting curiously with the effect of the sun's rays reflected from its sides, which, instead of Campbell's picturesque "cliffs of shadowy tint" appeared a red-hot stony mass, and might be fancied by a slight effort of imagination, into AEtna covered with an eruption of burning cinders.

The approach to the celebrated arch of Orange, commemorating Marius's victory over the Cimbri, is marked by an avenue of Lombardy poplars which line the high road. The classical and sombre stone pine, which gives so striking an effect to the tomb of the Scipios (as it is styled) near Tarragona, would have been more in character as an accompaniment to this proud monument also; but since the days of [24] Alpheus and his red silk stockings, the taste for quelque chose de gentil has constantly poisoned those classical associations of which the French are so fond. The grave Patavinian is still designated by the tom-tit appellation of Tite Live; and the majestic arch, whose history would have been so well illustrated by his lost annals, is tricked out with a poplar avenue, like a summer-house on Clapham-common.

[Footnote 24: See the Spectator.]

The townsmen of Orange, however, deserve credit for the substantial style in which they have repaired one end of it, to prevent farther dilapidation, and for the manner in which the road is diverted from it on both sides in a handsome sweep, leaving a green space in the middle, in which the arch stands. We returned to it immediately after breakfast, and our second impressions were fully equal to the first. As[25] a work of art, it is certainly worthy of one of the proudest places in the Campo Vaccino, though of course its effect is more striking in the neighbourhood[26] of the victory which it commemorates. The bas relief on the side facing Orange, would not be unworthy of a place between the well-known statues of Dacian captives, which ornament the arch of Constantine. Different as were their respective aeras, the stern thoughtful dignity of the barbarian chiefs, and the spirit which animates

"The fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe,"

as represented in the battle of Marius, appear to have been conceived by the same powerful mind, and embodied by the same master hand. The same chastened energy and unaffected greatness of design which characterizes the poetry of Milton, the painting of Michael Angelo, and the music of Handel, is conspicuous in both. The bas relief which I have mentioned forms the principal ornament of the arch; but the trophies, the rostra, &c. which appear in other parts, are in a style of simple and soldier-like grandeur corresponding with its character and the achievement which it commemorates. I do not pretend to consider this monument as comparable on the whole to the arch of Constantine; but still it is of a very different school of art from that which produced the arch of Severus. On the bas relief representing Marius's victory, one might fancy the most high born and athletic of Achilles's Myrmidons in the full "tug of war;" whereas the swarms of crawling pigmies which burlesque the triumph of Severus might be supposed the original Myrmidon rabble, just hatched, as the fable reports, from their native ant-hills, and basking in the sun like so many tadpoles.

[Footnote 25: Vide Cooke's Views.]

[Footnote 26: Marius's victory is said to have been gained near Aix (Aquae Seaetiae).]

The Roman colony of Orange, to judge from the relative positions of the arch and circus, must have been very considerable, and have occupied a far larger space than the present town. The arch stands detached from its entrance, as I mentioned, on the Lyons' side, and the circus at the extreme end, in the direction of Avignon; yet the former we may suppose to have joined on to the ancient town, and the latter to have stood in the same central position which the Colosseum occupied in Rome. Of the circus nothing now remains but the chord of the semicircle, or, to express it more familiarly, the straight line of the D figure, in which it was built. As far as I could guess, from pacing the length of this enormous wall, encumbered and buttressed as it was by dirty shops, it is in length nearly or quite a hundred yards, and of a height proportionate. The point of view from which it appears to the most advantage, is on the road to Avignon, about two or three furlongs out of the town. When viewed in this direction, it stands with a commanding air of a grim old Roman ghost among a group of men of the present day; forming, by its blackness and colossal scale of proportions, a striking contrast to every thing around it, and overtopping houses, church-tower, and every thing near, excepting a circular hill at the foot of which it stands. The latter is marked as the position of the ancient Roman citadel by the remains of tower and wall, half imbedded in turf, which surround it: and one veteran bastion still stands firm and unbroken, in a position facing the Circus, its companion through the silent and ruinous lapse of so many centuries. Without the affectation of decrying well-known and celebrated monuments of antiquity, or the wish to put any thing really in comparison with the ruins of ancient Rome, I must still own, that the unexpected view which I caught of the citadel and Circus from this position, realized more strongly to my mind the august conceptions so well expressed in Childe Harold, than any view in Rome itself, hardly excepting the Colosseum.

O'er each mouldering tower Dim with the mist of years, grey flits the shade of power.

The stanza concluding with these lines involuntarily occurs to the mind, while viewing Orange in the direction of which I now speak; and the lofty visions of the noble author, which are, perhaps, too over-wrought and ideal to harmonize with the sober contemplations of the closet, seem in this spot to assume "a local habitation and a name." Undoubtedly they ought to do so more particularly at Rome, and would so in every instance, but that much of the effect of the "Eternal City" is lost from the deserved eminence in which we know it to stand, and the consequent familiarity which we have acquired with it through the works of Piranesi and innumerable other artists. Thus its very celebrity lessens its effect, as the commendations bestowed on a celebrated beauty frequently occasion disappointment. The on admire ici of the well-bound Itineraire, the elaborate descriptions of Vasi, and the Ecco Signore of your obliging cicerone, produce the same effect upon the mind, which the mistaken attentions of Koah, the South Sea priest, did on the stomach of Captain Cook. The meat was good, but honest Koah spoiled its relish by proffering it ready chewed; and in the same manner, the effect of what is really most admirable in nature and art is weakened by the impertinent obtrusion of ready-made ecstasies. It is no reflection on human perverseness to say, that every one has his own way of admiring, and loves to feel and observe for himself; as well as to chew with his own teeth. For my own part, I never could appreciate the stupendous beauties of Rome as I wished, until I managed to abstract myself from the notion that I was come to admire as thousands had done before, and from the recollection of the unclassical comforts of the excellent inn in the Piazza di Spagna. An English letter, or newspaper, is an excellent preparative for this purpose; and when once absorbed in the train of thought which it creates, the sudden transition to the mighty scenes before you, produces by contrast the effect which it ought to do.

I have been led into these observations, to account for the reason why Orange struck me so much; a place of which I had heard and read little or nothing. No attentive and intelligent cicerone anticipated our reflections in this place; nor did the creature-comforts of a good inn debase our Roman reveries, though we could well have pardoned their so doing. Madame Ran, of the Croix Blanche, was as mean and dirty as the hole in which she lived; and looked as malevolent as Canidia, Erichtho, or any other classical witch; and as to the inhabitants of Orange, though the revolutionary anecdotes which we have heard of them at Grignan might create some prejudice to their disadvantage, I think, in truth, that I never beheld a more squalid, uncivilized, ferocious-looking people. A grin of savage curiosity, or a cannibal scowl, seems almost universally to disfigure features which are none of the best or cleanest; and their whole appearance is as direct a contrast as can well be imagined, to the hale, honest Norman, or le franc Picard, as he is proverbially styled. We turned our backs upon them with pleasure, after casting back one lingering look at the noble old Circus; and soon found ourselves in the centre of the extensive plain in which Avignon stands. The forwardness of the climate, and the skilful system of irrigation pursued here, afforded us, at this early time of the year, the spectacle of hay-making in many places. An English farmer might be shocked by the rudeness of the method here pursued, the hay being mostly carried in sail-cloth sheets, and turned with large wooden forks. With respect to the former practice, I have nothing to say; but, having attentively observed their method of using these forks, I am confident that they are better adapted to the purpose of turning the hay than our heavy prongs of ash and iron. They are at once lighter in hand, and, from the length of their teeth, they take up a larger portion of hay at once; and must therefore be well calculated for making the most of the fine weather, which, in our climate, cannot always be calculated upon, and occasions a scarcity of working hands.

At three or four miles from Avignon, and before any other part of the town becomes visible,[27] the legate's palace appears conspicuously

Rising with its tiara of proud towers At airy distance, with majestic motion;

and a more splendid Gothic building, both as to outline and dimensions, cannot be imagined. On a nearer approach, a long and wide reach of the Rhone, winding round the base of this noble pile, and reflecting its figure in a deep mirror, adds greatly to its effect. In Mr. Cooke's work, the palace is represented nearly in this direction, from a point somewhat diverging to the right of the road, so as to introduce a broken Gothic bridge, and a part of the Roche Don, or Roche Notre Dame (for I believe it bears both names). The rest of the town of Avignon, placed as it is on a low level, affords no striking coup d'oeil, from the direction in which we approached it: the ancient walls, however, which inclose its whole circumference, unbroken and perfect, and beautifully crenated in every part, are a very remarkable feature. I know but of one other instance of this continuity of Gothic wall, which occurs at Valencia; but the fortifications of the Spanish town, though they far exceed those of Avignon in dimensions and strength, fall as short of them in beauty. We had a full opportunity of examining the merits of the latter, as the police had unaccountably thought fit to shut up all the entrances to the town but one or two; which obliged us, on arriving at the foot of the walls, to add two miles more to our day's journey before we could reach their interior. We found the Hotel de l'Europe, kept by the widow Pierron, a superior inn in every respect, both in the comfort and liberality of the establishment, and the cleanliness of the servants.

[Footnote 27: Vide Cooke's Views.]



CHAP. VII.

AVIGNON—MURDER OF BRUNE—HOSPITAL DES FOUS—MISSION OF 1819.

ON the opposite side of the square in which our inn was situated, stands the Hotel du Palais Royal, the scene of Brune's assassination. The account which M. Jouey gives in the Hermite en Provence, of this horrible transaction, corresponds as nearly as possible with the particulars which we heard upon the spot. Being summoned on the restoration of Louis to answer the charge of treason, and having stopped with his escort at Avignon for the purpose of changing horses and refreshing himself, the marshal was recognized by the populace as one of the supposed murderers of the Princess de Lamballe. A ferocious mob soon assembled at the door of the hotel, broke in by force, and after deliberately shooting him, dragged the body to the adjoining bridge, and with every mark of contumely threw it into the Rhone. Such is the brief outline of the murder of a defenceless man, on a charge which, whether true or not, should have rested between God and his conscience. Jouey may indeed be pardoned for commenting and enlarging on this story, though the simple facts address themselves more strongly to the mind, than when dressed up with stage effect, and must be better adapted to produce the impression probably desired by that author. In the detestable ruffians who disgraced the good cause of loyalty on this occasion, we recognize the same black and fiery blood which flowed in the veins of the Marseillois assassins of 1793, and of the fanatics of Nismes: and whose ebullitions render them equally hateful as friends or enemies. There are many strange historical discoveries which would surprise me more than to learn that the Moorish blood remained in this part of France unextirpated by the victories of Charles Martel;[28] for to a person who knows them only by report and casual observation, the tout ensemble of its inhabitants seems to differ totally from that of the Gascon and the Basque; names which, like the name of Norman, convey to the mind an image of frankness and gallantry.

[Footnote 28: "Cette memorable bataille, sur laquelle nous n'avons aucun detail, nous sauva du joug des Arabes, et fut le terme de leur grandeur. Depuis ce revers, ils tenterent encore de penetrer dans la France; ils s'emparerent meme d'Avignon; mais Charles Martel les defit de nouveau, reprit cette ville, leur enleva Narbonne, et leur ota pour jamais l'esperance dont ils s'etaient flattes si longtemps."—Florian's Precis Historique sur les Maures.]

On the morning after our arrival, we ascended first of all the Roche Don, a hill enclosed within the walls of the town, and backing the ruined palace of the legate; being desirous, as in Lyons, to begin our survey from a point which might serve as a general key to the whole, and instruct us in the bearings of different objects. From this elevated spot, situated at the north-western extremity of the city, we looked to the east, north, and south, over a plain as rich in verdure and cultivation as the finest parts of Lombardy; to which the stately towers of the palace, and the clustering spires and battlemented walls of Avignon form a fine foreground. The distant hills, at the foot of which Vaucluse is situated, form the eastern boundary of this plain; and are succeeded and overtopped to the northward by a chain of the Dauphine Alps, among which the long sweeping mass of Mont Ventou predominates. From the latter quarter the Rhone is traced winding up in a wide and rapid current, till it reaches the highly cultivated islands at the foot of Mont Don, and pursues its course with increased grandeur towards the southward. The neighbourhood of its junction with the Durance is marked in this quarter by a barrier of mountains of less height than those above-mentioned, but more abrupt and wild in their forms, at whose foot appear casual glimpses of the two rivers, winding like narrow silver threads into the horizon. "Vous avez passe ce diantre de Rhone," says Madame de Sevigne, "si fier, si orgueilleux, si turbulent; il faut le marier avec la Durance quand elle est en furie; ah le bon menage!" The good people of Lyons have, however, settled this point otherwise by their inscriptions and statues in the Hotel de Ville, which certify this river-god as already married to the Saone: the Durance, therefore, can hold no higher rank than that of his termagant mistress, while the gentle, even, beneficent character of her rival, and the priority of her claims, suit much better with the title of wife. If it be permitted me to quote Mad. de Sevigne once more, I should remark, that the broken Gothic bridge beneath our feet, which forms so picturesque an object in every point of view, is the same against the piers of which Mad. de Grignan was nearly lost.[29] It formerly connected the Roche Don with the heights on the western side of the Rhone, up which the road to Nismes winds near Fort Villeneuve; and is well worthy of a nearer survey as an architectural relic. The few arches which remain have the same bold span and elegant lightness of design so remarkable in the celebrated Pont y Prydd in South Wales; and the piers, which appear slight at a distance, are nevertheless solid and well adapted to the nature of the Rhone, whose current they cut like the sharp bow of a canoe. Its remarkable narrowness, which hardly allows two horses to pass abreast, and the ancient guard-house in the centre, secured by gates on both sides, carry the mind strongly back to those days of distrust and violence, which have by some been called "the good old times:"—

"Ego me nunc denique natum Gratulor."

[Footnote 29: As late as 1688, Louis XIV. seized on the territory of Avignon in consequence of disagreements with Innocent XI., and the Count de Grignan held the city as his viceroy for two subsequent years. Mad. de Sevigne, in her letters written at this period of time, congratulates her daughter (whose boat was nearly overset against the piers of this identical bridge), on the dignity of the situation conferred on the count, and the more solid advantages which might accrue from it.

"Vous prenez, ma chere fille, (says she) une fort honnete resolution d'aller a votre terre d'Avignon, voir des gens qui vous donnent de si bon coeur ce qu'ils donnoient au vicelegat."—June, 1689.

"Quelle difference de la vie que vous faites a Avignon, toute a la grande, toute brillante, toute dissipee, avec celle que nous faisons ici!"—Les Rochers. June, 1689.

"Toutes vos descriptions nous ont divertis au dernier point; nous sommes charmes, comme vous, de la douceur de l'air, de la noble antiquite des eglises honorees comme vous dites, de la presence et de la residence de tant de Papes, &c. &c."—June 26, 1689.]

At the period when the territory of Avignon was styled by the kings of France the "derriere du Pape," from the convenient posture in which it lay for their correction, one may fancy the same scenes to have taken place on a larger scale, which are described as occurring at the bridge of Kennaquhair, the same struggle between secular and monastic authority, the same sullen important bridgeward, and the same forcible arguments employed by wandering troops of jackmen to effect a passage. In Mr. Cooke's first view of the legate's palace, this bridge appears projecting from the part of the Roche Don where we stood, a spot marked with two round buildings, like small Martello towers. The window marked by two birds flying directly over it, and second from the highest in the same tower, has acquired a bloody notoriety. From this giddy height, as we were informed by an inhabitant whom we met, the half-murdered victims of revolutionary massacre were thrown, to put an end to their sufferings: and their remains heaped up for a time in the square building which stands below, originally erected for the purpose of an ice-house.

Having familiarized ourselves with the leading features of Avignon and its vicinity, as viewed from this commanding point, we descended into the town to take a more particular survey.

Rhetor comes Heliodorus, Graecorum longe doctissimus.

To translate Horace freely, our companion was a rhetorician, or talker by profession, and the most learned of his class in extraordinary legends and fabrications; in other respects an useful civil fellow, with an Irish brogue, which his service in the French army had not been able to eradicate, or even weaken, and the established cicerone of the place. To account satisfactorily for his wooden leg and French uniform, he anticipated our inquiries by informing us, that he had been crippled by a shipwreck on the French coast, and through the recommendation of his friends the Duchess of Westmoreland and Countess of Devonshire, patronized by Louis, "who allowed him this uniform coat to wear, and two males a-day." In England, one would not have borne the sight of such a lying varlet another instant, but I must confess that the mere sound of our own language in a foreign town, disarmed our indignation, and we bore with the fellow, whom we found not unamusing, and from his local knowledge, serviceable. A very small degree of merit indeed suffices to open one's heart towards a fellow-countryman in a strange land; a truth no doubt known and acted on by knights of industry, matrimonial speculators, and

"Broken dandies lately on their travels."

The legate's palace is now divided into barracks and a prison, and the nakedness of its appearance upon a nearer view make its lofty proportions more striking. We were expressing to each other our wonder at its size, when our guide interrupted us with an original observation of his own:—"The reason of its size, sir, is quite clare. The pope, you see, always went about with such a hape of monks—and of nuns—and of all them kind of people, that the big number of rooms which you see could hardly hold them any how." After all, if the annals of former times have been truly written, the Milesian's account of this merry menage might be nearer the truth than he knew or suspected.

The Papal Chapel exhibits now but few remains of its former probable grandeur, its inside having been defaced with the most persevering animosity during the Revolution, and presenting little more than a damp bare shell, filled with the broken remains of monumental figures. Headless popes and crippled cardinals lie together in heaps, mingled in a manner which will render it impossible to restore to each his proper allotment of limbs, when the projected repairs of the chapel are put in execution. One tomb, broken up and shattered to pieces more than the rest, was pointed out by the old woman as the sepulchre of La belle Laure, an honour which, for aught I know, may be claimed by a tomb in every church of Avignon. An assertion apparently still more apocryphal, however, is that one of the small side chapels was built by Constantine.

The interior of Avignon affords a much more agreeable promenade than that of Lyons, from the superior cleanliness of its inhabitants, and the moderate height of the houses. These circumstances tend to disperse the combinations of ill smell, and purify the thick, vapid, flagging air which is felt so perceptibly at Lyons. It may, perhaps, be beneath the dignity of a printed book to enumerate such circumstances as these, but they occupy in fact a high place in the scale of human comfort; and, joined to the cheapness of the necessaries of life, (which we inferred from the price of two or three articles of consumption,) must have their weight in rendering Avignon a desirable place of banishment. Banishment, I say; for I have no better name by which to express a prolonged residence abroad, especially in cases where the mind has lost its power of deriving amusement from trifles.

With the exception of its fine walls, its Gothic bridge, and the legate's palace, Avignon possesses in itself no remarkable architectural feature, or fine combination of buildings. Its churches are numerous; but no one remarkable above the rest, as far at least as external appearance is concerned; and we had not time for a very minute internal survey. The Hopital des Fous, however, is an establishment well calculated to gratify the laudable curiosity of the humane; and to judge from all we witnessed, may perhaps exhibit points of internal regulation worthy the attention of professional men. Nothing indeed can exceed the quiet, orderly behaviour of the patients there confined, whom we found walking about at perfect liberty in a square court planted with trees. Many of them wore a certain air of content and satisfaction which could not be mistaken, and all seemed much gratified by the notice of the mild sensible ecclesiastic who accompanied us, and who presides over the establishment. No coercion, as we understood from him, is used, save restriction from walking with their fellow patients, and the restraint of handcuffs, when rendered necessary in cases of violent conduct. I particularly observed also, that he had never any occasion to exert that command of the eye, on which so much stress is laid as a means of intimidation, but passed all their little follies off with a smile, in which we were frequently inclined to join. One poor patient accosted us with high titles of nobility, dwelling on the peculiar pleasure he experienced from our visit; another, an old man of a very venerable appearance, called our attention to a dirty stone which he held in his hand, affirming it to be a piece of Henri Quatre's identical foot: but none were troublesome or obtrusive, and most appeared to be deriving as much enjoyment from their own little vagaries as their melancholy state would admit of.[30] Their apartments, built round the square, are neat and airy, each furnished with a bed, dressing table, and a few plain utensils. In one large room are a row of hot and cold baths, which are frequently and regularly used; and nothing, the good priest said, has been found to produce so desirable an effect on the mind and body as this custom. The rank of the patients is various; the poorer sort are supported by voluntary contributions; and many persons in the higher ranks are also placed here at their own expense, or that of their friends. Among others, there is a general who became deranged, as we were assured, on hearing of the abdication of his patron Napoleon; the most unequivocal instance of misplaced fidelity, which I have ever heard. How this poor man contrives to agree with the partizan of Henry IV., I am at a loss to make out: and he was not then visible to answer for himself. At the time of the Revolution, the estates belonging to the hospital were confiscated; and the establishment itself would have been abolished, had not one of the members of the council at Avignon observed, half in jest, that they might possibly be one day glad themselves of such a retreat. It is now, as I mentioned, maintained by private donations, and by the salaries paid for the accommodation of the richer patients. The only objects of taste belonging to the institution are a fine altar-piece attributed to Murillo, and an ivory crucifix carved by Jean Guillermin, in 1659. The latter is not above two feet in length; but the manner in which every muscle and vein indicate suffering, and the mingled expression of pain and resignation in the countenance, place it on the footing of a statue; and I could hardly have supposed that a small piece of ivory-carving could do such justice to a sacred subject. The worthy priest dwelt, with great exultation, on the precautions he had taken to secure this favourite relic from revolutionary pillage, slightly alluding to the circumstance of having been forced to fly for his life to Italy, as a matter of minor importance to himself.