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 Cotè 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 Seeràn.
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'hôte. We ought not, however, to form the opinion of a good table d'hôte 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'hôte, 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.