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 first 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.