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 tête 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.