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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

For the first time, this day we had a very severe frost in the morning, but with the aid of the sun, which shone bright and warm, we enjoyed one of the finest days I ever saw. I sat and chatted with the coachman, or rather with Monsieur le Voiturier. I led the conversation to the past and present state of France, and the character of Napoleon, and immediately he, who till this moment appeared to be as meek and gentle as a lamb, became the most eloquent and energetic man I have seen. It is quite wonderful, how the feelings of the people, added to their habits of extolling their own efforts, and those of Bonaparte, supply them with language. They are on this subject all orators. He declared, that Paris was sold by Marmont and others, but that we English do not understand what the Parisians mean when they say that Paris was sold. They do not mean that any one was paid for betraying his trust by receiving a bribe, but that Marmont and others having become very rich under Bonaparte, desired to spend their fortunes in peace, and had, therefore, deserted their master. He said that Bonaparte erred only in having too many things to do at once; but that if he had either relinquished the Spanish war for a while, or not gone to Moscow, no human power would have been a match for him, and even we in England would have felt this. He seemed to think, that it was an easy thing for Bonaparte to have equipped as good a navy as ours. He was quite insensible to the argument, that it was first necessary to have commerce, which nourishes our mariners, from among whom we have our fighting seamen. He said, that though this was a work of years for others, it would have been nothing for Napoleon: In short, he venerates the man, and says, that till the day when he left Paris, he was the greatest of men. He says, he knows well that there is still a strong party favourable to him among the military; yet that if they can once be set down at their own firesides, they will never wish to quit them, but that the danger will be, while they remain together in great bodies.

To-day we saw several soldiers wounded, and returning to their homes in carts; they were fierce swarthy looking fellows, but very merry, and travelled singing all the way. To-morrow we expect to be at Nevers. At Cosne, the only objects of curiosity to the traveller are the manufactories of cutlery and ship anchors. The cutlery seems as good as any we have seen, but far inferior to even our inferior English cutlery: It is also dear. Thousands of boxes, with cutlery, were, immediately on our arrival at the inn, presented to us. Their great deficiency is in steel, for their best goods are nearly as highly polished as in England. We bought here some very pretty little toys for children, made of small coloured beads. We start to-morrow at six.——Distance about 19 miles to Cosne.

* * *

This day's journey (the 12th), was the most fatiguing and the least interesting we have had. The country between Cosne and Nevers is, with the exception of one or two fine views from the heights on the road, the poorest, and, though well cultivated, has the least pretensions to beauty of any we have seen, particularly in the vicinity of Pouilly. It seems also to be nearly as poor as it is ugly. The soil is gravelly, with a mixture of chalk, and there occurs what I have not yet elsewhere seen, a great deal of fallow land, and even some common. The face of the country is considerably diversified by old wood, but we have only seen one plantation of young trees since we left Paris. The instruments of agriculture and carriage the same as before mentioned. The farm horses good. There seems a scarcity of milk, but this may be from the winter having set in. At the inn here I met with a young officer, who although only (to appearance) 17 or 18, had been in the Spanish war, at Moscow, and half over the world. He struck his forehead, when he said, [4]"Nous n'avons plus la guerre." There were at the inn here a number of officers and soldiers of the cavalry. Their horses are not to be compared with ours, either in size or beauty, and those of their officers are not so good, by any means, as the horses of our men in the guards.—— Distance, 34 miles—to Nevers.

* * *

We went to walk in the town this morning, the 13th. The description of one French town on the Sunday will serve for all which we have seen. They are every day sufficiently filthy, but on Sunday, from the concourse of people, more than commonly so. They never have a pavement to fly to for clean walking, and for safety from the carriages. If you are near a shop, a lane, or entry when a carriage comes along, you may fly in, if not, you must trust to the civility of the coachman, who, if polite, will only splash you all over. On Sundays, their markets are held the same as on other days, and nearly all the shops had their doors open, but their windows shut. Thus they cheat the Devil, and, as they think, render sufficient homage to him who hath said, on that day "thou shalt do no manner of work." Yet while all this is going on, the churches are open, and those who are inclined go in, and take a minute, a quarter, half an hour, or an hour's devotion, as they think fit. We entered the nearest of these churches, and saw, what is always to be seen in them, a great deal, at least, of the outward shew of religion, and something in a few individuals of the congregation which looked like real devotion. After church, we went to the convent of St Mary, and were all admitted, both ladies and gentlemen. The nuns there are not, by any means, strictly confined; they are of that description who go abroad and attend the sick. Their pensioners (chiefly children from four to sixteen) are allowed to go and see their friends; and they were all presented to us. They are taught to read, write, work, &c. and are well fed and clothed. This convent was very neat and clean. The building formed a complete square, and the ground in the interior was very beautifully laid out as a garden. The cloisters were ornamented with pots of roses and carnations in full bloom, with the care of which the young pensioners amused themselves. They have a very pretty small chapel, over the outer door of which is written, [5]"Grand silence;" and over the inner this inscription; whose menacing promises is so ill suited to the spirit and temper of its conclusion: "Ah, que ce maison est terrible, c'est la maison de Dieu, et la porte du ciel." The holy sisters were of all ages, and many of them pretty—one, the handsomest woman I have seen in France.

The ladies are just returned from a longer walk, and report the town to be ugly, and the streets insufferably dirty. Its manufactures are china, glass, and enamelled goods; toys of glass beads, and little trifles. The shopkeepers are, as in every town we have been at, perfect Jews, devoid of any thing like principle in buying and selling. We are every day learning more and more how to overcome our scruples with regard to beating them down. They always expect it, and only laugh at those who do not practise it.

* * *

This day we left Nevers at six in the morning. It appears to be a large town, when viewed from the bridge over which we crossed; but it is far from being a fine town in the interior. The streets are, like all French streets, narrow, and the houses have a look of antiquity, and a want of all repair; nothing like comfort, neatness, or tidiness, in any one of them. This is a melancholy desideratum in France, a want for which nothing can compensate. The road this day conducted us through a finer district than we have observed on this side of Paris; more especially between Nevers and St Pierre, where we have travelled through a richer and more beautiful country than we have yet seen. No longer the sand, and gravel, and chalk, which we have long been accustomed to, but a dark rich soil over a bed of freestone. Here also all the land is well enclosed. I have not yet been able to find the reason of this sudden change in the manner of preserving the fields: The face of the country is also more generally wooded; but from the necessity the French are under of cutting down whatever wood they find near the towns for their fires, all the fine trees are ruined in appearance, by their branches being lopped off: The effect of this on the appearance of the country is very sad.—Still we find a want of that agreeable alternation of hill and dale, of the enclosed meadows, and wooded vallies; of the broad and beautiful rivers and the small winding streams, which, as the finest features in their native landscape, have become necessary to a Scotch or an English eye.

The dress of the women is here different from what we have elsewhere seen: the peasants' wives wearing large gipsey straw hats, very much turned up behind and before; the men have still the immense broad-brimmed black felt affairs, more like umbrellas than Christian hats. At the inn here, I saw a number of wounded soldiers returning to their homes; one of them, I observed, had his feet outside of his shoes. On entering into conversation with him, he told me that his toes had been nearly frozen off, but that he expected to get them healed: poor fellow, he was not above twenty. He told me that all the young conscripts were delighted to return to their homes, and that only the old veterans were friends to the war.—I hope this may be true, but I doubt it. The country here shows that the winter is not so far advanced; many of the trees are still green; the roads had become heavy with the rain that has fallen; we have had two days hard frost, but to-day the weather is mild, and the air moist. We were recommended to the Hotel des Allies here, but preferred stopping at the first good-looking inn we found, as in great towns things are very dear at the houses of great resort; we have had a very good supper and tolerable lodgings for 18 francs.

To-morrow, we set out at seven.—We find our way of travelling tedious; but I think in summer it would be by far the best. Our three horses seldom take less than 10, sometimes 13 hours to their day's journey, of from 28 to 32 miles; but our carriage is large and roomy; and had we any thing like comfort at our inns, as at home, we should find the travelling very pleasant. The greatest annoyance arises from your having always to choose from the two evils, of being either shamefully imposed upon, or of having to bargain before-hand for the price of your entertainment.

* * *

It was near eight o'clock this morning, the 16th, before we got under weigh, and according to our coachman's account, we had been delayed by the horses being too much fatigued the night before. He continued to proceed so slowly, that we only reached Varrenes at four o'clock, a distance of 22 miles from Moulins, where we had last slept. Moulins is the finest town we have seen since we left Paris. The streets are there wider, and the houses, though old and black, are on a much better plan, and in better repair than any we have passed through; there is also somewhat of neatness and cleanliness about them. It is famous for its cutlery, and has a small manufacture of silk stockings; we saw some of the cutlery very neat and highly polished in some parts, but coarse and ill finished in others. The variety of shapes which the French give their knives is very amusing.

The road between Moulins and Varrenes is through a much prettier country than we have seen since we left Paris; there is more wood, with occasional variety of orchards and vineyards and corn fields. The ploughing, is here carried on by bullocks, and these are also used in the carts. All the country is enclosed, and the lands well dressed. The wheat is not nearly so far advanced here, which must arise from its being more lately sowed, for the winter is only commencing; many of the trees are still in fall leaf.

We cannot well judge of any change of climate, as we have just had a change from hard frost to thaw; but every thing has the appearance of a milder atmosphere. I enquired into the reason of the want of hedges hitherto, and their abundance here, and was told, that it arose from the greater subdivision of property as well as from the number of cows: that every man almost had his little piece of land, and his cow, pigs, hens, &c. and that they could not afford to have herds. The yoke of the bullocks here, is not, as in India, and in England, placed on the neck and shoulders, but on the forehead and horns: this, though to appearance the most irksome to the poor animals, is said here to be the way in which they work best. The sheep are very small, and of a long-legged and poor kind: the hogs are the poorest I have ever seen; they are as like the sheep as possible, though with longer legs, and resembling greyhounds in the drawn-up belly and long slender snout; they seem content with wondrous little, and keep about the road sides, picking up any thing but wholesome food.

The cottages on the road, and in the small towns, are generally very dirty, and inhabited by a very motley and promiscuous set of beings; the men, women, children, indeed pigs, fowls, &c. all huddled together. The pigs here appear so well accustomed to a cordial welcome in the houses, that when by chance excluded, you see them impatiently rapping at the door with their snouts.

* * *

We left Varrenes this morning, at six o'clock, and entered on a new country, which presented to us a greater variety of scenery. The road between Varrenes and St Martin D'Estreaux is almost all the way among the hills, which are often covered to the top with wood. After travelling for so long a time through a country which was almost uniformly flat, our sensations were delightful in again approaching something like a hilly district. The roads we found extremely bad, and although we have had rain, I do not think that their condition is to be ascribed to the weather. They want repair, and appear to have been insufficient in their metal from the first. We were obliged here to have a fourth horse, which our coachman ordered and paid for; he went with us as far as Droiturier, and then left us. We made out 28 miles of bad road, between six in the morning and four in the evening. The hilly country throughout is extremely well cultivated, and the soil apparently pretty good. France has indeed shewn a different face from what an Englishman would expect, after such a draining of men and money.

In our route to-day, the country became very interesting, the swelling hills were beautiful, and the first clear stream we have seen in France winded through a wooded valley, along whose side we travelled. Many little cottages were scattered up and down in the green intervals of the woods, or crept up the brows of the hills; and after the monotonous plains we had passed, the whole scene was truly delightful. At the inn at La Palisse, I met with a very pleasant French lady, who strongly advised me to avoid Montpellier, as the winds there are very sharp in winter; she said two friends of her's had been sent from it on account of complaints contracted there. She recommended Nice.

* * *

(Thursday, 17th.)—The road to-day was through ranges of hills, and, for the latter part of it, we were obliged to have a fourth horse. The road very heavy in most places, and in some wretchedly ill-paved, with stones of unequal size, and not squared. From the top of these hills the view of the several vallies through which we passed was very beautiful, though certainly not equal in beauty to Devonshire, or to some parts of Perthshire, and other of the more fertile districts in Scotland: the soil far from good, and the crops of wheat thin;—yet there is not an atom of the soil lying waste, the hills being cultivated up to the summit. The cultivation is still managed by oxen, as is the carriage of farm produce, and all kinds of cart-work. They have had a sad mortality among the cattle about St Germain L'Epinasse; and all things appear to have been affected by this disaster, for we found the milk, butter, fowls, grain, every thing very dear indeed. In France, when a disease seizes the cattle, parties of soldiers are sent to prevent the people from selling their cattle, or sending them to other parts of the country. One of these parties (a small troop of dragoons) we met on the road.

On our route to-day, we crossed the Loire at a pretty large and busy town, called Roanne. The river here is very large, but has only a wooden bridge over it: there are some fine arches, forming the commencement of a most magnificent new stone bridge, the work of Napoleon; the work had the appearance of having been some time interrupted. Alas, that the good King cannot continue such works!

Here, for the first time, we saw coals, and in great quantity; the boats on which they are carried, are long, square flat-bottomed boxes. Although in a mountainous country, and with a poor soil, the houses of the peasants were here much better than any we have seen, though a good deal out of repair; they are high and comfortable, having many of them two flats, and all with windows. We saw a number of fields in which the people were turning up and dressing the soil with spades: This, and indeed many other things in this mountainous part of the country, reminded me of parts of the Highlands of Scotland, and the island of St Helena. But it would not be easy to conceive yourself transported to those parts of the world, when here you every now and then encounter a peasant in a cocked hat, with a red velvet coat, or with blue velvet breeches: this proclaims us near Lyons, the country of silks and velvets. The climate is very delightful at present; during a great part of to-day, I sat on the box with Monsieur le Voiturier, who is now become so attached to us, that I think he will go with us to our journey's end. He is a most excellent, sober and discreet man, and has given us no trouble, and ample satisfaction. To-day, we passed two very pretty clear streams. The country seats are numerous here, but none of those that we have yet seen are fine; they are either like the very old English manor-houses, or if of a later date, are like large manufactories; a mass of regular windows, and all in ruinous condition; nothing like fine architecture have we yet met with. To-morrow we start again at six, and hope to sleep within four leagues of Lyons.—— Distance 34 miles—to St Simphorien de Lay.

* * *

This morning, we set off, as usual, at six, and only made out in five hours a distance of 16 miles, arriving at the small town of Tarrare, which is beautifully situated in the bosom of the hills. This difficulty in travelling is occasioned by the road being extremely precipitous. It winds, however, for several miles very beautifully through the valley, by the banks of a clear stream; and the hills which rise on each side, are in many places cultivated to the top, while others are richly wooded: towards the bases they slope into meadows, which are now as green as in the middle of summer, and where the cows are grazing by the water-side. The air is warm and pleasant, the sky unclouded, and the light of a glorious sun renders every object gay and beautiful. This valley is, I think, much more beautiful than any part of France we have yet seen. Through the passes in the hills, we have had some very fine peeps at the country to which we are travelling. Every inch of the ground on these mountains is turned to good account; as the grass, from the soil and exposure, is very scanty, the peasants make use of the same method of irrigating as at St Helena. Where there is found a spring of water, they form large reservoirs into which it is received, and from these reservoirs they lead off small channels, which overflow the field, and give an artificial moisture to the soil. The houses of the peasants are still excellent, but there appears a great want of cattle. The fields are ploughed with oxen, very small and lean; we had two of them to assist us on the way from St Simphorien to Pain Bouchain.

At Tarrare, I am sorry to say, we found a want of almost every comfort. It is a pretty large town, neater in exterior appearance than any we have seen, but very dirty within; it is famous for its muslins and calicoes.——All this day we have had nothing but constant ascending and descending; the country occasionally very fine, and always well cultivated. The ploughs here are very small and ill made; they have no wheels, and are drawn by oxen. Some of the valleys in our route to-day would be beyond any thing beautiful, if varied with a few of those fine trees, which we are accustomed to meet with every day in England and Scotland; but the manner in which the French trees are cut, clipped, and hacked, renders them very disgusting to our eyes. I have not seen one truly fine tree since we left Paris, about the environs of which there are a few. There is also a great scarcity of gentlemen's seats, of castles and other buildings, and of gardens of every kind. France, one would suppose, ought to be the country of flowers; but not one flower garden have we yet seen.——Distance about 31 miles—to the Half-way-House, between Arras and Salvagny.

* * *

(Saturday, 18th.)—We left the inn at the half-way village, whose name I forgot to ask, between Arras and Salvagny, at six this morning, and arrived at Lyons at half-past ten. On the subject of to-day's route very little can be said. The first part of it conducted over a long succession of very steep hills, for about four miles, after which we descended through a fine varied country to the city of Lyons.—— Distance, 16 miles to Lyons.

Lyons is certainly a fine town, although, like Paris, it has only a few fine public buildings, among a number of very old and ruinous-looking houses. It is chiefly owing to the ideas of riches and commerce with which both of these towns are connected, that we would call them fine, for they have neither fine streets nor fine ranges of houses. I need not mention, that Lyons is the place of manufacture for all kinds of silks, velvets, ribbons, fringes, &c. But here, as at many manufactories, things bought by retail are as dear, or even dearer, than at Paris. The ladies of our party had built castles in the air all the way to Lyons; but they found every thing dearer than at Paris, and almost as dear as in England.

Now that I have seen a little of the manners and dress of the people in the two largest towns in France, I may hazard a few observations on these subjects. I think it is chiefly among the lower ranks that the superior politeness of the French is apparent. Although you still find out the ruffians and banditti who have figured on the stage under Napoleon, yet the greater, by far the greater number, are mild, cheerful, and obliging. A common Frenchman, in the street, if asked the way to a place, will generally either point it out very clearly, or say, "Allow me to accompany you, Sir." Among the higher ranks of society you will find many obliging people; but you will also discover many whose situation alone can sanction your calling them gentlemen. There appears, moreover, in France, to be a sort of blending together of the high and low ranks of society, which has a bad effect on the more polite, without at all bettering the manners of the more uncivilized. To discover who are gentlemen, and who are not, without previously knowing something of them, or at least entering into conversation, is very difficult. In England, all the middling ranks dress so well, that you are puzzled to find out the gentleman. In France, they dress so ill in the higher ranks, that you cannot distinguish them from the lower. One is often induced to think, that those must be gentlemen who wear orders and ribbons at their buttons, but, alas! almost every one in France at the present day has one of these ribbons. In the dress of the women there is still less to be found that points out the distinction of their ranks. To my eye, they are all wretchedly ill dressed, for they wear the same dark and dirty-looking calicoes which our Scotch maid-servants wear only on week days. This gives to their dress an air of meanness; but here the English ought to consider, that these cotton goods are in France highly valued, and very dear, from their scarcity. Over these dresses they wear (at present) small imitation shawls, of wool, silk, or cotton. They have very short petticoats, and shew very neat legs and ankles, but covered only with coarse cotton stockings, seldom very white; often with black worsted stockings. I have not seen one handsomely dressed woman as yet in France; the best had always an air of shabbiness about her, which no milliner's daughter at home would shew. They are said to dress much more gaily in the evening. When we mix a little more in French society, we shall be able to judge of this.

This want of elegance and richness in dress, is, I think, one of the marks of poverty in France. I have mentioned before the ruinous appearance of the villages and houses. The excessive numbers of beggars is another. The French themselves say that there is a great want of money in France; they affirm that there is no scarcity of men, and that with more money the French could have fought for many years to come. They certainly are the vainest people in the universe; they have often told me, that could Bonaparte have continued his blockade of the Continental trade a few months more, England would have been undone. They sometimes confess, that they would have been rather at a loss for Coffee, Sugar, and Cotton, had we continued our war with the Americans, who were their carriers. The want of the first of these articles would annoy any country, but in France they cannot live without it: in England they might.

* * *

This day, Monday the 20th, we left Lyons at one o'clock in the forenoon, travelling in most unfavourable weather, and through almost impassable streets. The situation of Lyons is beautiful; the site of the town is at the conflux of the Soane and the Rhone; a fine ridge of hills rises behind the city; the innumerable houses which are scattered up and down the heights, the fine variety of wood and cultivation, and the little villages which you discern at a distance in the vallies, give it the appearance of a romantic, yet populous and delightful neighbourhood.

We were not able to see much of the interior of the town; but in passing once or twice through the principal streets, and more particularly in leaving the town, we had a good view of the public buildings. Many of them are very fine, and the whole town has an appearance of wealth, the effect of commerce. But a better idea of the wealth is given, by the innumerable loads of goods of different kinds, which you meet with on the roads in the vicinity of this favoured city, on the Paris and Marseilles sides of the town. The roads are completely ploughed up at this season of the year, and almost impassable. The waggoners are even a more independent set of men than with us in England; they keep their waggons in the very middle of the road, and will not move for the highest nobleman in the land; this, however, is contrary to the police regulations. The land carriage here is almost entirety managed by mules. These are from 13 to 14 hands high, and surpass in figure and limb anything I could have imagined of the sons and daughters of asses. The price of these animals varies from L.10 to L.40, according to size and temper. They are found of all colours; but white, grey, and bay are the most uncommon. Our journey this day was only as far as Vienne, a pretty large village, or it might be called a town. We entered it at night, and the rain pouring down upon us. These are two very great evils in French travelling; for either of them puts you into the hands of the innkeepers, who conceive, that at night, and in such weather, you must have lodging speedily, at any price. At the first inn we came to, we met with a reception, (which, to those accustomed to the polite and grateful expression, with which in arriving at an English inn, you are received by the attentive host or hostess), was altogether singular. The landlady declared, with the voice and action of a virago, that at this time of night, the highest guests in the land should not enter her roof upon any terms. The landlord, on the contrary, behaved with great politeness, entreated not to take offence at his wife's uncommon appearance. "C'est seulement un tete chaud, Monsieur, mais faites moi l'honeur d'y entrer." We accordingly did so; and this was the signal for the commencement of a scene in the interior of the inn, which was probably never equalled in the annals of matrimonial dissension. The landlady first gave a kind of prefatory yell, which was only a prelude of war-whoop, introductory to that which was to follow. She then began to tear her hair in handfuls; and kept alternately brandishing knives, forks, pots, logs of wood, in short, whatever her hand fell upon in the course of her fury, at her poor passive help-mate, who appeared to consider the storm with a nonchalance, which evidently could only have been produced by very long experience; while he kept saying to us all the time, [6]"Soyez tranquille, Monsieur; ce n'est rien que cela." At length he commenced getting ready our supper, and I entered into conversation with a very great man, the mayor of the village, who, adorned with a splendid order at his breast, was quietly bargaining for his supper. Nothing more completely astonishes an Englishman than this extraordinary mixture of all ranks of society, which takes place at the kitchen fire of a French inn. You will there see, not only sitting, but familiarly conversing together, officers and gentlemen, coachmen, waggoners, and all classes of people, each addressing the other as Monsieur. The mayor here, being, to all appearance, a most communicative fellow, was easily got on the politics of the day. I began by enumerating the blessings of peace, and by extolling the character of the present King, in all of which he seemed to join with heart and soul. He told me how Bonaparte treated the mayors of the different towns,—how he would raise them up at all hours of the night,—how he forced them to seize on grain wherever it was found. In short, he abused him in the vilest terms. I put in an observation or two in his favour, when suddenly my friend whispered me,—"Sir, to be frank with you, he was the greatest man ever lived, and the best ruler for France." I encouraged him a little, by assenting to all he said, and I found him a staunch friend of Napoleon, anxious for his return: I have no doubt, that time-serving gentlemen like these, would wish for nothing more. It appeared to me, that his highness, the mayor, was in very high spirits, either from wine, or that it was his nature—however, "In vino veritas."——Distance, nineteen miles to Vienne.

* * *

We had a miserable lodging at this vile inn, (Hotel du Parc at Vienne.) We left it with pleasure, this morning, (Tuesday the 21st), although the weather continued most unfavourable; yet any thing was better than remaining in such a house. The day continued to rain without intermission; and we made out with difficulty about 30 miles, to St Vallier. The country through which we passed to-day, is the most bare and barren we have seen, particularly when we approached St Vallier. The soil, a deep gravel, producing nothing but grapes, and a wretched scanty crop of wheat. The grapes, however, are here the finest for wine in France. It is here that the famous wines of Cote Rotie and Hermitage are made. To the very summits of the hills, you see this wretched looking soil enclosed with stone dykes, and laid out in vineyards. We tasted some of the grapes here, and though out of season, we found them very fine; they were of a small black kind called Seeran.

The woman at the inn here, was sent for from the church, to see whether she would receive us on our terms of 18 francs, which is what we now always pay; having asked 20, we settled with her, and she went back to her devotions. We have now had three days of continued rain, which renders travelling very uncomfortable, and the roads most wretched. We still rise every morning at five, and are on the road at six. The air is mild, but very damp. The honey of Narbonne, got at Lyons, is the finest in France. I forgot to mention, that at Lyons we tried the experiment of going to the table d'hote. We ought not, however, to form the opinion of a good table d'hote from the one of the Hotel du Parc. It was mostly composed of what are here called Pensionaires; people who dine there constantly, paying a smaller sum than the common rate of three francs. The company was, therefore, rather low, and the table scantily provided; but I should think, that for gentlemen travellers, a table d'hote, where a good one is held, would be the best manner of dining.——Distance 30 miles to St Vallier.

* * *

Wednesday, the 22d.—We left St Vallier at half past six in the morning, and only reached St Valence, a distance of 23 miles, by five o'clock. This delay was occasioned by the heavy fall of rain during these four last days, and by there being no bridge over the Isere, within four or five miles of Valence. The former bridge, (a most beautiful one, though only of wood), had been burnt down, by General Augereau to intercept the progress of the Austrians. The French appear to hate Augereau as much as Marmont; they say he was a traitor to Napoleon, to whom he owed every thing. The country through which we passed to-day, was as plain and uninteresting as yesterday's, though still all cultivated. Nothing but vines on the hills, and the plains almost bare—still gravelly. We found the Isere much swollen by the rain. The contrivance for carrying over the carts and carriages, is exceedingly simple and beautiful: Three very high trees are formed into a triangle, such as we raise for weighing coals. One of these is placed on each side of the river, and a rope passes over a groove at the top, and is fixed down at each side of the river; to this rope that crosses the river is attached a block and pulley, and to this pulley is fixed the rope of the boat. The stream tries by its rapidity to carry the boat down; the rope across prevents this; and it therefore slides across, with a regular though rapid motion.

It appears to me that we are getting into a poorer country in every respect; for the inns are worse, the food worse, the roads worse, &c. There seems a want of poultry as well as butcher meat. Mutton here is very poor. Our inn to-night is the best we have seen since we left Lyons; it is at the Golden Cross, outside the town of Valence, and is neatly kept and well served. The waiter here had served in the army for six years. He says, there are indeed many of the soldiers who wish for war; but that he really believes there are as many who wish for peace: I have little faith in this. We observed this morning a large party of men returning from the galleys, having passed the time of their imprisonment. They were all uniformly dressed in red flannel clothes and small woollen caps, and attended by gens-d'armes.——Distance 23 miles—to St Valence.

* * *

Thursday, the 23d.—We left St Valence well enough pleased with our lodging at the Golden Cross. It is, however, an exception to the bad set of inns we have lately been at. In the kitchen here, which I entered from curiosity, as the ladies went up stairs to the parlour, I found, as usual, a most extraordinary mixture of company. I listened, without joining at all in the conversation. The theme of discourse was a report that had been circulated, that all the young troops were to hold themselves in readiness again to take up arms. The only foundation I could find for this report was, that a drum had been beat for some reason or other that evening. This was a good opportunity of attending to the state of the public feeling here;—all and every one seemed delighted at the thoughts of war, provided it was with the Austrians. One man (a shopkeeper to appearance), said, that his son, a trumpeter, when he heard the drum, leapt from his seat, and, dancing about the room, exclaimed, [7]"La guerre! la guerre!" On the route this morning, we met with a small party of five or six soldiers returning to their homes; two of them had lost their right arms, and two others were lamed for life. They all agreed that they would never have wished for peace; and that even in their present miserable state they would fight. They were very fine stout fellows, about 40 years of age; but they had the looks of ruffians when narrowly examined.

In the same inn the hostler, who had only fought one year, was as anxious for a continuation of peace as the others were for war. The wife of one of these soldiers gave a most lamentable description of the horrors of the last campaign, and ended by praying for a continuation of the peace.

At a little village near Montelimart (our lodging place to-night), we were accosted in very bad English by a good-looking young Frenchman, who, from our appearance, knew us to be English. He told us that he had been four years a prisoner at Plymouth; he complained of bad treatment, and abused both the English and England very liberally, saying that France was a much finer country. Poor fellow! in a prison-ship at Plymouth he had formed his opinion of England. He gave us some good hints about the price of provisions in this part of the country. Wine (the vin ordinaire) is here at six sous, or three-pence the bottle. I had been very much astonished (on ordering some wine for the soldiers in the morning), to find that I had only ten sous to pay for each bottle.

The country through which we passed to-day is rather more interesting, with a considerable variety of hill and dale, wood and water, but the soil is still a miserable gravel. Both to-day and yesterday we observed that the fields on each side of the road were planted with clumsy cropt trees, somewhat like fruit-trees. We could not make out what these were until to-day, when we learnt that they were mulberry trees, and that this was a silk country. The trees are of the size of our orchard trees; their branches, under the thickness of an inch, are all lopped off, and from the wounds thus made, spring up the tender young branches which produce the leaves. The trees have a most unnatural appearance from this cause. Under these the fields here are ploughed for a most wretched crop of wheat. The ploughs miserably constructed, but with wheels.

This part of the country abounds with mule, which are used in carriages, carts, waggons, ploughs, &c. These animals are of a remarkable size here. The roads, ever since we left Lyons, excepting where we met with a hundred or two hundred yards of pavement, have been uniformly bad. To-day, however, we made out about 33 miles between six and five o'clock. This town of Montelimart is celebrated for one manufacture only, viz. a sort of cake made of almonds and white sugar, called Nagaux. This article is sent from this place all over France!——— Distance 33 miles—to Montelimart.

* * *

Our journey to-day (Friday the 24th) though rather more rapid, was not by any means comfortable. The country hereabout has a great want of milk and butter;—not a cow to be seen. The soil is still to appearance wretchedly poor, yet it gives a rich produce, in grapes, figs, olives, and mulberry leaves, for the silk worms. The wine (vin ordinaire) sells here at six sous the bottle; it is poor in quality, yet by no means unpalatable. The roads continue as bad as ever, rather worse indeed, for the thin creamy mud has become thick doughy clay.

We did not arrive at Orange till half past five, but were fortunate in finding a civil reception at the Palais Royal, the first inn on entering the town. We met with no adventures to-day of any kind. The language of the people has now become completely unintelligible; it is a Patois of the most horrible nature. Many of the better sort of people among the peasants, are able to speak French with you, but where they have only their own dialect, you are completely at a loss. I had conceived, that there would be no more difference between French and Patois, than between the better and the lower dialects of Scotch and English; but the very words are here changed: A carter asked the landlord with whom we were conversing, for a [8]"Peetso morcel du bosse,"—"petit morceau du bois." The landlord, a respectable-looking man, gave us a good deal of news regarding the state of the country. He says, that the people in the south are all anxious for peace, and that those in France, who wish for war, are those who have nothing else to live on; that nobody with a house over his back, and a little money, desires to have war again.

The people here seem to amuse themselves with a perpetual variety of reports. The story to-day is, that Alexander has declared his intention of sending 60,000 men to Poland, to take possession of that country for himself; and that Talleyrand would not hear of such a thing. The villages that we passed to-day have a greater appearance of desolation than any we have yet seen. Scarce a house which does not seem to be tumbling to pieces, and those which we were unlucky enough to enter, were as dirty and uncomfortable inside as they appeared without. On entering the town, or rather at a little distance from the town of Orange, we saw a beautiful triumphal arch, said to have been raised to commemorate the victories of Marius over the Cimbri. The evening was too gloomy for us to observe in what state of preservation the sculpture is now, but the architecture is very grand. To-morrow we breakfast at Avignon. But alas, the weather will not permit of our visiting Vaucluse.——Distance 39 miles—to Orange.

* * *

Saturday, the 25th.—We left Orange at half past six. Our road to-day lay through the same species of country, to which we have been condemned for four days, producing vines, olives, and mulberries; the soil is to all appearance a most wretched one for corn—gravel and stones. The roads have, ever since our leaving Lyons, been very bad. After breakfast at Avignon, we proceeded to see the ruins of the church of Notre Dame. There are now remaining but very few vestiges of a church; the ground formerly enclosed by the church, is now formed into a fruit garden, and a country house has been built on the ruins. The owner of this house wishes to let it, and hearing that a friend of ours was in need of a house, he offered it to him for two hundred a-year. The house was such as one could procure near London for about L.80, and such as we ought to have in France for L.20. But the French do really think, that the English will give any sum they ask, and that every individual is a kind of animated bag of money.

The owner of the house was, to appearance, a broken-down gentleman; he had been ordered to Marseilles by his physician for an affection of the lungs; yet he strongly recommended the climate of Avignon. For my own part, I think the situation is too low and windy to be healthy. The town is one of the cleanest we have seen, and there are some excellent houses in it; of the rent we could not well judge from the account of this gentleman. We went through his garden, and were by him shewn the spot under which the tomb of Laura is now situated. A small cypress tree had been planted by the owner of the garden to mark the spot. He had heard the story of Laura, and recollected many particulars of it; but still he had not been at the pains to have the spot cleared, and the tomb exposed to view. To any one who was acquainted with the story of Petrarch, or who had perused his impassioned effusions, the dilapidation of this church, and the barbarous concealment of Laura's tomb, were most mortifying circumstances. But, neither the memory of Laura, nor of the brave Crillon, whose tomb is also here, had any effect in averting the progress of the revolutionary barbarians. The tomb of Crillon is now only to be distinguished by the vestiges of some warlike embellishments in the wall opposite which it was situated. There is a large space now empty in the midst of these ornaments, from which a large marble slab had lately been taken out. On this slab, the owner of the garden said, an inscription, commemorating the virtues of Crillon, had been engraved. A small stone, with his arms very beautifully engraved, was shewn us in the garden. I could not leave the garden without stealing a branch from the cypress which shaded Laura's tomb.

Through this garden runs the rivulet of Vaucluse. Its course is through the town of Avignon; where we remained for three hours, and then continued our journey; but the day was far advanced, and by the evening we only arrived at a wretched, little inn called Bonpas. We were here told that we could have no lodging. Luckily for us the moon was up, and very clear; we therefore pushed on for Orgon, which, although said in the post-book to be two posts and a half from Bonpas, we reached in about an hour and a half. On our arrival we were fortunate enough to find lodging; and had scarcely seated ourselves in our parlour, when the people told us, that last night the mail had been robbed, and both the postillion and conducteur killed on the spot,——Distance 42 miles—to Orgon.

* * *

Sunday, the 26th,—We left Orgon, as usual, at six o'clock, and travelled before breakfast to Font Royal, a distance of 11 miles. Here the unfortunate conducteur of the mail was lying desperately wounded; the surgeon, however, expected him to live. The postmaster here was not well satisfied with the conduct of the soldiers or gens-d'armes who attended the mail. The robbers were only four in number, and the attendants, viz. the postillion, conducteur and gens-d'armes, he thought, ought to have been a match for them. The robbers were frightened off while searching for the money, and fled without taking any thing of consequence.

It is a very bad arrangement which they have in France, of sending large sums of money in gold and silver by the mail; for it holds out a much stronger inducement than would otherwise be given to the robbers. The mail, in France, is a very heavy coach, and has only three horses. The roads to-day were worse than any we have yet passed; and the country, for the first part of our journey, is as dull and insipid as it is possible to conceive. The soil most wretched, but still producing great riches in olives, grapes, figs, and mulberries. The grapes are delightful, even now when almost out of season, and the wine made from them is very fine. Within a mile or two of Aix, (from the top of a steep descent over a very barren, and bleak hill), you are delighted with the most complete change in the scene: In a moment, an extensive valley, highly cultivated, opens on the view. It is divided into a beautiful variety of vineyards, wheat fields, gardens, plantations of olives and figs, and is enclosed by hedge-rows of almond and mulberry trees. Round the valley rise a succession of romantic hills, covered with woods, and forming a fine conclusion to the view. It was altogether an enchanting picture. If this is the case in winter, what must it be in summer? The town of Aix, situated in this valley, is, as far as we have seen, the cleanest, neatest, and most comfortable-looking town in France—we are as yet all delighted with it; but when we shall have seen it for a day or two, I shall be better able to give an account of it.——Distance 33 miles—to Aix.



CHAPTER II.

RESIDENCE AT AIX, AND JOURNEY TO BOURDEAUX.

MONDAY, the 27th.—Having been employed the whole day in searching for furnished lodgings, I had no time to ride about and see the town. I shall describe it afterwards.—I saw, however, a little of the manners of some ranks of French society.

After this, I went into the best coffeehouse in the town here, and sat down to read the newspapers. I found in it people of all descriptions—several of a most unprepossessing appearance, and others really like gentlemen. One of the best dressed of these last, decorated with the white cockade and other insignia, and having several rings of precious stones on his fingers, a watch, with a beautiful assortment of seals and other trinkets, was playing at Polish drafts, with an officer, also apparently a gentleman. I entered into conversation with him; and was surprised at his almost immediately offering me his watch, trinkets, and rings for sale. Still I thought this might arise from French manners: I had not a doubt he was a gentleman.—How great was my surprise, when a gentleman from the other side of the room called him by name, and bid him bring a cup of coffee and a glass of liqueur—My friend was one of the waiters of the coffeehouse. Such is the mixture of French society—such is the effect of citizenship.

Our landlord, Mr A——, keeps a retail shop for toys, perfumery, cutlery, and all manner of articles. I did not think that we had given him any encouragement on our fist arrival; but he is now become a pest to us: he honours us with his company at all hours, and comes and seats himself with our other acquaintances, of whatever rank they may be. I have been forced at last to be rude to him, in never asking him to sit down when any one is with us. The physician shakes him by the hand—so does the banker. When I had purchased my horse, our banker spoke to a little mean-looking body, a paper-maker, to buy some corn and hay for it. I was astonished when the banker ended his speech by an affectionate[9] "Adieu, a revoir a souper." I am told, however, that this mixture of ranks, and this condescension on the part of superiors, is only practised at times, and to serve a purpose; and that, although the nobleman will sit down in the kitchen of an inn, and converse familiarly with the servants there, and though he will sit down in a shop, and prattle with the Bourgeoise, yet he keeps his place most proudly in society, inviting and receiving only his equals and superiors. The familiarity of all ranks with their own servants is most disgusting; but, from their poverty, the higher classes must condescend.

Yesterday evening, I had an interesting conversation with Mr L. B. an intelligent and well informed man, of good family, eminent in his profession, and high in the opinion of all the society here; he is a devoted royalist. Among other interesting anecdotes which he related, I can only recollect these:

Bonaparte had got into some scrape at Toulon, where he was well known as a bad and troublesome character; he was arrested, and put under a guard commanded by a near relation of Mr L. B. Barras, then at the height of his power in Paris, not knowing what to do with some of his royalist enemies, sent for Bonaparte, and proposed to him to collect a body of troops, and to fire on the royalists. Jourdan, and many other officers were applied to, but refused so base an employment. Bonaparte willingly accepted it—acquitted himself to Barras's satisfaction, and Barras then offered him the command in Italy, provided he would marry his cast-off mistress, Madame Beauharnois. To this Bonaparte consented. Bonaparte's mother had been, about this time, turned out of the Marseilles Theatre, on account of her bad character; for it was well known, that she subsisted herself and one of her daughters on the beauty of her other daughter. Shortly after Bonaparte's appointment to the Italian army, the same magistrate (the Mayor of Marseilles), who had formerly turned out Madame Bonaparte, perceived her again seated in one of the front boxes; he went up to her, and turned her out. She immediately wrote to her son, and the poor mayor was dismissed. This anecdote is, I find, mentioned by Goldsmith, who refers, in proof of its truth, to the newspapers of the time, in which the conduct, and sentence of the mayor are fully discussed.

Bonaparte, extremely dissipated himself, would yet often correct any propensities of that kind in his relations. Pauline, the Princess Borghese, had formed an attachment for a very handsome young Florentine; he was one night suddenly surprised by Bonaparte's emissaries, put into a carriage, and removed to a great distance, with orders not to return.

One of Bonaparte's relations had formed an attachment to Junot, who was one of the handsomest men in France; Junot was immediately after sent to Portugal, and upon his defeats there, he was disgraced publicly by Bonaparte, and killed himself, it was believed, in a fit of despair.

The Princess Borghese, though vain, fond of dress, of extravagance, and of pleasure of every sort, whether honest or otherwise, has yet a good heart. A cousin of Mr L. B.'s was ordered to join the Garde d'Honneur: One of the last and most cruel acts of Bonaparte, was the constitution of this corps, which was meant to receive the young men of noble or rich families. The mother and relations of this young man were inconsolable, and the sum of money which would have been required as a ransom, was more than they could give; for Bonaparte, well knowing that the better families would rather pay than allow of their sons serving in his guard, had made the price of ransom immense. In their distress, they applied to Mr L. B., who had been at one time of service to the Princess Borghese in his legal capacity, and he paid a visit to the Princess. She received him most kindly, but told him that Bonaparte strictly forbade her interfering in military matters; that she would willingly apply for the situation of a prefect for Mr L. B. but could be of no service to his relation. She was, however, at last prevailed on; she wrote most warmly to her friends, and in three or four days the young man was sent back to his happy family.

The French here date Bonaparte's downfall from the time when he first determined on attacking the power of the Pope. They say that this attack and the Spanish War, were both contrary to the advice of Talleyrand. In a conversation which took place between the Emperor Alexander and Napoleon, Alexander represented his own power as superior to Napoleon's, because he had no Pope to, controul him; and Bonaparte then replied, that "he would shew him and the world that the Pope was nobody."

Our conversation turned on the difference between the penal codes of France and England. The French code, as revised, and, in many parts, formed by Napoleon, is much more mild than ours. There are not more than twelve crimes for which the punishment is death. In England, according to Blackstone, there are 160 crimes punished by death; on these subjects, I shall afterwards write more fully when I haws received more information. Mr L. B. related a curious anecdote, from which the abolition of torture is said to have been determined.

A judge, who had long represented the folly of this method of trial, without any success, had recourse to the following stratagem:—Be went into the stable at night, and having taken away two of his own horses, he had them removed to distance. In the morning his coachman came trembling to inform him of the theft. He immediately had him confined. He was put to the torture, and, unable to bear the agony, he said that he had stolen the horses. The judge immediately wrote to the King, and informed him, that he himself had removed the horses. The man was pardoned, and the judge settled a large pension on him. The subject of the torture was considered, and the result was its abolition.

I found that the opinions as to some parts of their criminal jurisprudence in France, were the same as are entertained on the same subject in England. Mr L. B., who has had occasion professionally to attend many criminal trials, is of opinion, that in this country, terrible punishments ought to be avoided, or at least performed in private. It is generally thought, that the horror of these punishments deters the robber and murderer, and has a good effect on the multitude; but I am afraid, said Mr L. B., that the multitude compassionate the sufferer, and think the laws unjust: and experience shews, that punishments, however horrid, do not deter the hardened criminal. My father, said he, filled the situation of judge in his native city. A very young man, son of his baker, was convicted before the court, and condemned to die, for robbery with murder. After sentence, my father visited him, and asked him how he had been led to commit such a crime? Since I was a child, said the boy, I have always been a thief. When at school, I stole from my school-fellows,—when brought home, I stole from my father and mother. I have long wished to rob on the high-way; the fear of death did not prevent me. The worst kind of death is the rack, but by going to see every execution, I have learnt to laugh even at the rack. When young, it alarmed me, but habit has done away its terrors.

Mr L. B. is certainly a man of gentlemanly manners, and of much general information. He is received at Aix in the first society of the old nobility; and was, I afterwards found, reckoned a model of good breeding, and yet, (which, in the present condition of French manners, is by no means uncommon), I have frequently witnessed him, in general company, introducing topics, and employing expressions, which, in our country, would not have been tolerated for a moment, but must have been considered an outrage to the established forms of good breeding.

The day after our conversation with Mr L. B. we received a visit from the daughter of a Scotch friend, who is married to one of the first counsellors here. We returned home with her to hear some music. We were received in a very neat and very handsomely furnished house. The mother and daughter appeared to us polite and elegant women. But I was astonished to observe, seated on a sofa near them, a young man, whose costume, contrasted with the ease and confidence of his manners, gave me no small surprise. He wore an old torn great coat, a Belcher handkerchief about his neck, a pair of, worn-out military trowsers, stockings which had once been white, and shoes down in the heel. What my astonishment to find this shabby looking object was a brother of the counsellor's, and a correct model of the morning costume of the French noblemen!

From Mr L. B. I learnt, that the worst land in Provence, when well cultivated, produces only three for one. The common produce of tolerably good ground, is from five to seven for one. The greatest produce known in Provence is ten for one. But for this, the best soils are weeded, and plenty of manure used. Our banker's account of the soil here is more favourable; but I am doubtful whether he is a farmer. Mr L. B. has a farm, and superintends it himself.

I had the good fortune to attend a trial, which had excited much interest here. In the conscription which immediately preceded the downfall of Bonaparte, it appears, that the most horrid acts of violence and tyranny had been committed. People of all ranks, and of all ages, had been forced at the point of the bayonet to join the army. Near Marseilles, the gens-d'armes, in one of the villages, after exercising all kinds of cruelty, had collected together a number of the peasantry, and were leading them to be butchered. The peasants, in Provence, are naturally bold and free. The party contrived to escape, and all but one man hid themselves in the woods. This poor fellow was conducted alone; his hands in irons. His comrades lay in wait for the party who were carrying him away, and in the attempt to deliver him, three of the gens-d'armes were killed. The unfortunate conscript was only released to die of his wounds. Three of his comrades were seized, and indicted to stand trial for the murder of the gens-d'armes.

I judged this a most favourable opportunity of ascertaining the public feeling, and attended the trial accordingly. The court was a special one, for this is one of the subjects which Bonaparte did not trust to a jury. It was composed of five civil and three military members. The forms of proceeding were the same as I have fully noticed in a subsequent chapter,—the same minute interrogations were made to the unhappy prisoners—the same contest took place between these and the Judges. One was acquitted, and the other two found guilty of "meurtre volontaire, mais sans premeditation."—Voluntary, but unpremeditated murder. These two were condemned to labour for life, but a respite was granted, and an appeal made to the King in their behalf. I was not disappointed in the ebullitions of public feeling which many of the incidents of the trial called forth. Mr L. B. and another young advocate pleaded very well. They both touched, though rather slightly, on the state of the country; but it was left to Mr Ayeau, the most celebrated pleader in criminal trials, and a zealous royalist, to develope the real condition of France, at the time of this last conscription. His speech was short, but I think it was the most energetic, and the most eloquent I ever heard. He began in an extraordinary manner, which at once shewed the scope of his argument, and secured him the attention of every one present—"Gentlemen, if that pest of society, from whom it has pleased God to release us, was a usurper and a tyrant, it was lawful to resist him. If Louis the XVIII. was our legitimate prince, it was lawful to fight for him." He then shewed, in a most ingenious argument, that the prisoners at the bar had done no more than this. Some parts of his speech were exceedingly beautiful. He ended by saying, that "he dared the Judges to condemn to death those who would have died for "Louis le desire."—It is generally thought here, that they will all be pardoned.

The situation of the town of Aix, and the scenery in the valley, is truly beautiful. It is now the middle of December, yet the air is even warmer, I think, than with us in summer. We sit with open windows, and when we walk, the heat of the sun is even oppressive. The flowers in the little gardens in the valley are in full bloom; and the other day we found the blue scented violet, and observed the strawberries in blossom. The fields are quite green, and the woods still retain their variegated foliage. When the mistral (a species of north-west wind, peculiar to this climate), blows, it is certainly cold; but since our arrival, we have only twice experienced this chilling interruption to the general beauty and serenity of our weather. The scenery in the interior of the hills which surround the valley, is very romantic; and the little grassy paths which lead through them, are so dry, that our party have had several delightful expeditions into the hills. Many of our French friends, although probably themselves no admirers of the country, profess themselves so fond of English society, that they insist upon accompanying us; and it is curious to witness the artificial French manners, and the noisy volubility of French, tongues introduced into those retired and beautiful scenes, which, in our own country, we associate with the simplicity and innocence of rural life.

Amidst these peaceful and amusing occupations, the easy tenor of our lives gliding on from day to day, interrupted by no variety of event, except the entertaining differences occasioned by foreign manners and a foreign country; we were surprised one morning by the entrance of our landlord, who came into our parlour with a face full of anxiety, and informed us, that Napoleon had landed at Cannes from Elba, and had already, with five hundred men, succeeded in reaching Grace. Mr L. B. soon came in and confirmed the report. Although certainly considerably alarmed at this event, especially as the greater portion of our party was composed of ladies, I could not help feeling, that we were fortunate in having an opportunity thus offered of ascertaining the state of public opinion, and the true nature of the political sentiments of that part of the country in which we are at present residing; for we are here at Aix, within twenty-five miles of the small town where Napoleon has landed.

I shall first detail the circumstances under which this singular event took place; afterwards attempt to give some idea of the effects produced by it on the multitude. On the 1st of March 1815, Napoleon landed near Cannes, in the gulf of Juan. His first step was, to dispatch his Aide-de-Camp, Casabianca, with another officer and 25 men, to ask admittance into the Fort of Antibes; admitted into the Fort, they demanded its surrender to Bonaparte. The Governor paraded his garrison, and having made them swear allegiance to their Sovereign, he secured the rebels. Casabianca leaped from the wall and broke his back. In the meantime, Napoleon, finding his first scheme fail, marched straight to Grace, with between 700 and 800 men. He there encamped with his small force on the plain before the town, and summoned the mayor to furnish rations for his men; to which the mayor replied; that he acknowledged no orders from any authority except Louis XVIII. This conduct was the more worthy of praise, as the poor mayor had not a soldier to support him. The Emperor then attempted to have printed a proclamation in writing, signed by him, and counter-signed by General Bertrand, in which, among other rhodomontades, he tells the good people of France, that he comes at the call of the French nation, who, he knew, could not suffer themselves to be ruled by the Prince Regent of England, in the person of Louis XVIII.—The printer refused to print it. Napoleon proceeded from Grace to Digne, from Digne to Sisteron, and from Sisteron to Gap, where he slept on the 6th of March. In all the villages, he endeavoured, apparently without success, to inflame the minds of the people, and strengthen, by recruits, his small body of troops. He has, as yet, got no one to join him; but, on the other hand, he has met with no resistance. This day, the 8th, he must meet with three thousand men, commanded by General Marchand. It is thought, that if these prove true to their allegiance, he will make good his way to Lyons; but if, on the contrary, they oppose him, he is ruined. The commotion excited in Aix, by this news, is not to be conceived. The hatred and detestation in which Bonaparte is held here, becomes, I think, more apparent as the danger is more imminent. With a very few exceptions, all ranks of people express these sentiments. The national guard were immediately under arms, and entreated their commanding officer and the civil authorities, to permit them to go in pursuit of the ex-Emperor. Unfortunately the chiefs were not well agreed on the measures which ought to be adopted. From the excessive sang froid with which Massena conducted himself, I should not be surprised if there were some truth in the report which was current here, that he had intelligence of the whole scheme, and kept back, in order that he might join Bonaparte. The first and second day, nothing was done; on the 3d, the 83d regiment was dispatched in pursuit from Marseilles. I accompanied them for four miles, during which, they had made two short halts. I had an opportunity of talking with a number of the men: they were certainly liberal in their abuse of the ex-Emperor; but several of them remarked, that it was a hard thing to make them fight against each other. The French here are all of opinion, that the troops of the line are not to be trusted. Like all other soldiers, they long for war, and as they would be more likely to have war Under Napoleon, than under Louis XVIII. I have little doubt they would join him. On the first news, the whole society of Aix were in the deepest affliction—the men agitated and disturbed—the women and children weeping. Each hour these feelings changed, for every hour there was some new report. The French believe every thing, and though each report belied the other, I saw no difference in the credit attached to them. There is no newspaper published in Aix, and the prefect, who is a person much suspected, has taken no steps to give the public correct information, but allows them to grope, in the dark; they have invented accordingly the most ridiculous stories, converting hundreds into thousands, and a few fishing boats and other small craft, into first a squadron of Neapolitans, and then a fleet of English ships. This report of the English ships is, I am sorry to say, still current, and the English are looked on with an evil eye by the lower orders. Even among our more liberal friends, there were some who asked me, what interest the English could have in letting him escape? After some cool reasoning, however, they acknowledged the folly of this story. The King is universally blamed for employing, in the most responsible situations, the Generals attached to Napoleon. The populace declare, that Soult, the Minister of War, is at the bottom of this attempt. Now, that one can reason on the matter, and that the impression of the magnanimity which dictated the conduct of the allied Powers to Napoleon, is somewhat diminished, it must be allowed, that there is some sense in the remark, that it was folly to dismiss him to Elba, with all the appointment, "pomp, and circumstance" of a little Sovereign, instead of confining him in a prison, or leaving him no head to plan mischief. The people affirm here, that this was done purposely by the English, to keep France in continual trouble.

15th.—All possibility of continuing this little Journal is precluded by the alarming progress of Napoleon, and the consequent necessity of taking immediate steps for our departure from this country. The ex-Emperor is every day making rapid strides to the capital; and we have to-day intelligence that it is believed the troops in Lyons are disaffected. I have now given up all hope, for I see plainly that every thing is arranged—not a blow has been struck. The soldiers have every where joined him, and there cannot be a doubt that he will reign in France. He may not, indeed, reign long; for it is to be hoped that the English will not shut their eyes, or be deceived by the fabricated reports of the journals—It is to be hoped that the allied Powers are better acquainted with the character of Napoleon than the too-good Louis XVIII. In the mean time, it is high time for us to be off; and I think we shall take the route of Bourdeaux. This unfortunate town (Aix), is now a melancholy spectacle; for all the thinking part believe that the cause of the Bourbons is lost. Our poor landlord, a violent royalist, has just been with us. He affirms that he could have predicted all this; for when he sold the white cockades to the military, they often said, [10]"Eh bien; c'est bon pour le moment, mais cela ne durera pas long temps."—Poor man, he is in perfect agony, and his wife weeps all day long. If all the people of France thought as well as those at Aix, Napoleon would have little chance of success; but alas, I am much afraid he will find more friends than enemies.

The whole town is still in the greatest confusion. The national guard, amongst whom were many of our friends, were not allowed to march till the seventh day after the landing of Napoleon. By day-break, we were awoke by the music of the military bands, and saw, from the windows, the different companies, headed by their officers, many of whose faces were familiar to us, march out, seemingly in great spirits. It was a melancholy sight to us. There was something in our own situation; placed in a country already involved in civil commotion, finding our poor French friends, whose life seemed before this to be nothing but one continued scene of amusement, now weeping for the loss of their sons and husbands and brothers, who had marched to intercept Napoleon, and involved in uncomfortable uncertainty as to our future plans, which for some time made every thing appear gloomy and distressing. The interval between the 8th and the 12th has been occupied by a constant succession of favourable and unfavourable reports; gloomy conjectures and fearful forebodings, have, however, with most people here, formed the prevailing tone of public opinion. The report which was, a few days ago, circulated here, that the escape of the ex-Emperor was a premeditated plan, invented and executed by the English, gains ground every day. It is completely credited by the lower classes here; and such is the enmity against the English, that we are now obliged to give up our country walks, rather than encounter the menacing looks and insulting speeches of the lower orders. To-day is the 8th, and we are in a state of the most extreme anxiety, waiting for the arrival of a courier. In this unfortunate country, owing to the imperfection of the system of posts, public news travel very slowly; and in proportion to the scarcity of accurate information, is the perplexing variety of unfounded reports. The prefect of Aix has just been here to tell us that as yet there appears to be nothing decided; but that upon the whole, things look favourably for the Bourbons. Bonaparte, he informs us, slept at Gape on Sunday, and dispatched from that town three couriers with different proclamations. Not a man joined him, and it is said he left Gape enraged by the coolness of his reception. In the course of the day, another mail from Gape has arrived, but still brings no intelligence, which looks as if this unfortunate business would be speedily decided. Monsieur has arrived at Lyons, and intends, we hear, to proceed to Grenoble. Last night it was quite impossible for us to sleep. The crowds in the streets, and the confusion of the mob who parade all night, expecting the arrival of a new courier, creates a continual uproar. During the night, we heard our poor landlady weeping; and we found out next morning that her husband had been called off in the night to join the national guard, which had marched in pursuit of the ex-Emperor.

Friday, the 10th.—Still no decisive intelligence has arrived. Every thing, it is said, looks well, but there is a mystery and stillness about the town to-day which alarms us.

Saturday, the 11th.—We have this day received from Mr L. B., who marched with the national guard, a very interesting letter from Sisteron. The crisis, which will determine the result of this last daring adventure of the ex-Emperor, seems to be fast approaching. Our friend tells us all as yet looks well. Bonaparte is surrounded and hemmed in to the space of two leagues by troops marching from all sides. These, however, how strong soever they may be, appear to maintain a suspicious kind of inaction, and he continues his progress towards Grenoble. Every thing depends on the conduct of the troops there, under General Marchand. Their force is such, that if they continue firm, his project is ruined. On the contrary, if their allegiance to the Bourbons is but pretended, and if their attachment to their old commander should revive, it is to be dreaded that this impulse will have an irresistible effect upon the troops; and if Marchand's division joins him, all is irretrievably lost: He will be at the head of a force sufficient to enable him to dictate terms to Lyons, and the pernicious example of so great a body of troops will poison the allegiance of the rest of the army.

Sunday, the 12th.—Our fears have been prophetic. We have heard again from Mr L. B. This letter is most melancholy; Marchand's corps have joined the ex-Emperor, and he is on his march to Lyons, the second town in the kingdom, with a force every day increasing. It is absolutely necessary now to form some decided plan for leaving this devoted country. Whether it will be better to embark from Marseilles or to travel across the country to Bourdeaux, is the question upon which we have not yet sufficient information to decide. We expect to hear to-morrow of an engagement between the troops commanded by the Prince D'Artois at Lyons, and the force which has joined Napoleon. Every moment which we now remain in this kingdom is time foolishly thrown away. Bonaparte may have friends in the sea-port towns; the organization of this last scheme may be, and indeed every hour proves, that it has been deeper than we at first imagined, and the possibility of escape may in a moment be entirely precluded.

Monday, the 13th.—This has been a day of much agitation; a courier has arrived, and the intelligence he brings is as bad as possible. Every thing is lost. The Count d'Artois harangued his troops, and the answer they made, was a universal shout of Vive l'Empereur. The Prince has been obliged to return to Paris; Bonaparte has entered Lyons without the slightest opposition, and is now on his march to the capital. We have just been informed, that the Duc d'Angouleme is expected here this evening or to-morrow. The guarde nationale has been paraded upon the Cours, and a proclamation, exhorting them to continue faithful to the King, read aloud to the soldiers. We hear them rapturously shouting Vive le Roi; and they are now marching through the streets to the national air of Henrie Quatre. Every house has displayed the white flag from its windows.

Thursday, the 16th.—We have determined now to run the risk of travelling across the country to Bourdeaux, trusting to embark from that town for England. I have visited Marseilles, and find that there are no vessels in that port; and in the present uncertain state of Italy, it would be hazardous attempting to reach Nice. Bonaparte, we hear, is near Paris, and is expected to enter that capital without opposition; but we now receive no intelligence whose accuracy can be relied on, as the couriers have been stopt, and all regular intercourse discontinued. The preparations, for the arrival of the Duc d'Angouleme, continued till this morning; and in the evening we witnessed his entry into Aix: It was an affecting sight. At the gate of the town, he got out of his carriage, mounted on horseback, and rode twice along the Cours, followed by his suite. The common people, who were assembled on each side of the street, shouted Vive le Roi, Vivent les Bourbons, apparently with enthusiasm. The attention of the Duke seemed to be chiefly directed to the regiments of the line, which were drawn up on the Cours. As he rode along, he leant down and seemed to speak familiarly to the common soldiers; but the troops remained sullen and silent. No cries of loyalty were heard amongst them—not a single murmur of applause. They did not even salute the Duke as he past, but continued perfectly still and silent. In the midst of this, we could hear the sobs of the women in the crowd, and of the ladies, who waved their handkerchiefs from the windows. As he came near the balcony where we and our English friends were assembled, we strained our voices with repeated cries of Vive le Roi. He heard us, looked up, and bowed; and afterwards, with that grateful politeness, the characteristic of the older school of French manners, he sent one of his attendants to say, that he had distinguished the English, and felt flattered by the interest they took in his affairs. Although it was positively asserted by our French friends here, that Marseilles was in the greatest confusion; and that on account of the prevalence of the report of the English having favoured the escape of Bonaparte, all our countrymen were liable to be insulted; I yet found the town perfectly tranquil. Massena, I heard, had sent for some troops from Toulon; and the 3000 national guards employ themselves night and day, in shouting Vive le Roi. We shall leave Aix to-morrow morning, taking the route to Bourdeaux.

Friday, the 17th of April.—Our leaving Aix this morning was really melancholy. French friends, hearing of our approaching departure, flocked in to bid us farewell. They were in miserably low spirits, deploring the state of their unhappy country, weeping over the fate of their sons and husbands, who had marched with the national guard in pursuit of the ex-Emperor; and full of fears as to the calamities this might bring upon them. You are happy English, said they, and are returning to a loyal and secure country, and you leave us exposed to all the calamities of a civil war.

After a long day's journey, we have at last arrived at Orgon, at seven in the evening. There has been little travelling on the road to-day. The country has nearly the same aspect as in November last. The only difference is, that the almond trees are in full blossom, and some few other trees, such as willows, &c. in leaf; the wheat is about half a foot to a foot high: The day was delightfully mild; and as we drove along, we met numberless groups of peasants who lined the road, and were anxiously waiting for their Prince passing by. The road was strewed with lilies, and the young girls had their laps filled with flowers as we passed. As we past, they knew us to be English, and shouted Vive le Roi.

We are now in Languedoc, but as yet I cannot say that it equals, or at all justifies Mrs Radcliffe's description: Flat and insipid plains of vignoble or wheat. However, there is here, as every where in France, no want of cultivation. Napoleon had commenced, and nearly finished, a very fine quay and buttresses between the two bridges of boats. That man had always grand, though seldom good views. The walls of the inn here were covered with a mixture of "Vive le Roi!" and "Vive Napoleon!" this last mostly scratched out. National guards in every town demanded our passport. These men and the gens-d'armes are running about in every direction. No courier from Paris arrived here these three days. This looks ill. The houses are better in appearance than in Provence. The country very productive: Potatoes the finest I have seen in France.——Distance 34 miles.