There are two coffee-houses in the town, which are numerously resorted to by both the English and the French, notwithstanding an inscription placed over the door of one of them, forbidding any but good patriots to enter. The sign of this coffee-house gave rise lately to a refined piece of affectation:—it was a lion devouring a human body, and so exquisitely susceptible are the feelings of the present reigning party become, that they ordered the man of the house to blot out the body, “it so reminded them of the days of Robespierre.” Accordingly the lion only now is seen. Here I go daily to read the Paris news-papers, and meet not with any interruption. For this privilege it is expected that something be spent: a dish of excellent coffee costs 15 sols, and a glass of liqueur from 20 to 40 sols. Persons of all ranks and professions, officers, soldiers, and their wives, and the people of the town, mingle here promiscuously.
The market-place is spacious and convenient. In the centre of it stands, on a square pedestal, a statue of Liberty, with inscriptions on each side, some parts of which have been recently white-washed, to obliterate them. Among these I could decypher the word “Montagne,” and a few others of analogous signification, which a change of opinion has suddenly expunged from the vocabulary of French patriotism.—The market-day is still Saturday, when patroles of soldiers are sent on all the roads which lead to the town, to prevent forestalling, by compelling the country people to bring all their commodities into the market-place. Besides large heaps of wooden-shoes, the market generally affords some poultry and game, but not much butchers meat, except lean veal, of which I have never seen a want. Fish would be plentiful, were the boats permitted to go to sea; but, from a fear lest they should give information to the English, the fishermen are either interdicted, or subjected to so many difficulties, by being compelled to give security and take soldiers in their boats, that most of them have given up their employment. Of bread I have not since I have been here seen any deficiency; but I have been informed it was once, in the depth of last winter, so scarce, as to occasion a proclamation to be issued, that whoever sold it to a prisoner of war should be punished. We have always been able to procure it for assignats. It is for the most part very brown and coarse, but some whiter and finer is made, and publicly exposed to sale, in spite of the law, ordering only pain d’egalité to be used, which every body laughs at, and nobody thinks proper to enforce. The worst quality of all this bread is a grittiness, being full of small sandy particles, arising from two causes—the softness of the grindstones—and the corn not being sufficiently washed, after the oxen have trodden it out, which is practised here instead of thrashing. This may serve to evince, in how small a degree calculous complaints are generated, by swallowing in our food similar materials to those of which stones and gravel in the human body are composed. The Bretons are remarkably healthy, and, I have been assured, are in general free from those diseases. Neither has any symptom of them been found among the English prisoners.
The prices of all articles in the markets and shops are increasing every day rapidly, owing to the depreciation of assignats. France is nominally dear, but to a man who possesses gold it is at present, perhaps, the cheapest country in the world. Meat is three livres a pound, and tolerable wine eight livres a bottle; but then a guinea will openly fetch 300 livres, and a louis d’or 350; the difference arises from the ignorance of the peasantry in regard to the former, and their consequent dislike to exchange them.
There is yet a little coasting trade carried on here. It was once more considerable, but they never had any foreign commerce. The shops are numerous, but not overstocked with commodities, and the shopkeepers always recommend their goods, not only to us, but to their countrymen, by saying they are “English,” which is too true: they are the spoils of our merchants. I have been well informed, that previously to the war a prejudice in favour of our productions ran so high here, and over all this part of France, that hardly an article of dress and furniture of French manufacture could be sold. You cannot conceive with what avidity those prisoners who are artificers are sought out and employed. You will laugh to be told, that one of the representatives, either Guesno or Guermeur, sent for an English shoemaker to make him a pair of boots, and even prolonged his stay for a day, rather than depart without them. Perhaps a better speculation than to send here a small cargo of our popular manufactures, in a vessel drawing not more than eleven feet, when peace shall be restored, and liberty of exchange unshackled, could not be projected. France will then open her mines of gold and silver. In other words, immense quantities of specie and other valuables, which are at this day buried, will be dug up and brought again into circulation. Some part of these concealments will undoubtedly be lost to their owners; who, after having entombed them, have either been chased from their native soil to return to it no more, or else have paid the debt of nature without communicating their secret. Ages hence their children will turn them up from the bosom of the earth; and, on seeing the effigy of the most unfortunate of kings, will recal to remembrance the most calamitous period of the history of their country.
Nothing surprized me more, on my arrival here, than to see beggars in every part of the town. The French officers at Brest had assured me, that there were no longer any in the republic; the government undertaking to make a provision for those, who might have no ostensible means of subsisting. In consequence of this intelligence, I had dressed up a fine speculation, in favour at least of one change effected by the revolution.—If, said I, the noble and opulent are stripped and have fallen, yet the oppressed and miserable part of the community have emerged from that gulph of wretchedness, into which, under the ancient government, the most numerous class of inhabitants were plunged. The country, which has not in it any citizen so destitute as to want a sufficiency of food and raiment, cannot be so unhappy as we in England are fond of representing it.—What then was my astonishment, on entering Quimper, to find in every street, and in its environs, wretches of both sexes, who, with a livid aspect, and in a faltering voice, solicited of passengers a morsel of bread to appease their hunger, or that of a starving husband, wife, or child! It was in vain to answer me, that these persons, by application to the municipality, might be relieved;—so may all our poor, by applying to the workhouse or parish-officer; but who, nevertheless, will venture to affirm, that we have among us no victims of hunger?—As I advance in my actual observations I gain a knowledge of facts, which lay open the real state of the country, and better enable me to appreciate the condition of the people, and the evils derived from equality incorrectly understood.
The inhabitants of this town formerly consisted, besides the working people, only of petty shopkeepers, and of many of the neighbouring gentry, who, though not nominally rich, were able, in this cheap quarter, to keep town-houses, in which, during the winter, they resided in great plenty and hospitality. These patricians are said to have held the bourgeois at an immeasurable distance, but to have been very charitably disposed towards the wants of the poor. The taste for gaming, which I have spoken of, is not new. It always flourished here; and formerly, during the week of the carnival, and some other seasons of festivity, it was not uncommon to find adventurers here, who had made a journey from Paris to get a pluck at the Noblesse Brétonne.
For two miles around the town I know the country pretty well, having always been fond of walking and making excursions. In these little rambles I keep, however, in the most unfrequented tracks, and always meet with civility from the peasantry, though by the soldiery I have been twice compelled abruptly to return. The parts I have traversed are diversified by hill and dale, and very like the wilds of Devonshire, with a stream dashing through every bottom. There are innumerable copses, but large trees, except firs, are hardly ever seen. The soil is almost universally light and sandy, and abounds in lime-stone. Every cottage has an orchard, but the cyder is not reckoned equal to that of Normandy. I often inspect the labours of the husbandmen, and wish I could talk to them. Except some fine meadows near the town, through which two beautiful streams flow, the ground is chiefly employed to raise corn. The corn-fields are very neatly divided into lands, and their implements of husbandry, particularly their wheeled ploughs, are much superior to what I had expected to find. Nevertheless, either from the lightness of the soil, or want of skill on the part of the cultivators, the crops of wheat are very moderate, not above five or six for one.—They raise a few parsnips, and feed their horses with them to great advantage; but I have not seen one field of turnips, cabbages, or carrots, as a winter stock for cattle, and very little clover. I have not yet conversed with any man, who has the least knowledge of what a succession of crops means: to fallow seems to be the only assistance which they give to worn-out grounds. They testify only ignorance and amazement, when an Englishman explains to them the attention bestowed upon this important part of farming, and a cultivation of artificial grasses among us. Potatoes are yet planted only in gardens and small patches; but the culture of them every day extends, having more than once been recommended by authority. They frequently call it la racine Anglaise, and many of the young people relish the potatoe; but their fathers and mothers, to whom until lately it was a novelty, prefer the most ordinary vegetable to it. It is a very common practice to irrigate not only meadows, but higher lands, which demonstrates an intelligent spirit; the little troughs, which, steal along through almost every field the streams which the bounty of nature has supplied to the country, are well contrived, and answer, as I have observed, effectually. Upon the whole, what I have been able to see and hear of the management of grounds here, notwithstanding the great deficiency I have pointed out, exalts it above the humble opinion which I at first sight formed of it. You know my fondness of agricultural pursuits, and the impediments which have constantly arisen to prevent my indulgence of it.
The cattle are very small and mean, worse, I think, than any breed I ever noticed in the wildest part of North Wales, and certainly inferior to the moor breed of Devonshire and Cornwall. I speak only of countries which I know. Even in the meadows, though better, they are unaccountably small, considering the pasture. The sheep are proportionably diminutive. Admiral Bligh and I had one day the curiosity to put in the scales a hind quarter of lamb, which was purchased in the market for our table, and it weighed, the kidney and a bit of liver included, exactly—thirteen ounces and a half.—At Brest we had remarked the smallness of the meat brought on board, several of the quarters of mutton not weighing more than three or four pounds each. The horses are low and hardy, but, by continual importations from other parts of France, are very superior to the cattle and sheep. The women here ride astride.
The houses of the peasantry are like those I described on my landing. I should oftener enter them were it not for dogs, which are chained close to the doors, by one of which I was seized by the thigh, and bitten through a thick pair of trowsers. Certainly the distresses of the times are greatly felt by all ranks of people in France; but in the cottages I have never seen want. One of the chief articles of the meals of the peasants is a sort of pancake, called crape (I spell like an Englishman) made chiefly of buckwheat flour, and eaten with milk. These people are, indeed, a separate race from the body of the French, and have a language and customs of their own, to which they are tenaciously attached. I much lament that I cannot speak Welch, although so many of my happier days have been passed in Wales. As to French, it is of no more use to me among these natives, at the distance of half a mile from the town, than if I were at Ispahan or Delhi. Almost all the gentry can speak this language. The Bretons and Welsh preserve another resemblance: the latter do not love cwrw (ale) better than the former do brandy. The evening of a market-day here presents as drunken a scene as I ever beheld in England; but these good folks do not appear to be so quarrelsome in their cups as ours generally are.
The diocese of Quimper stands in a district called Cornwall. The truly old British words Pen, and Caer, are affixed to the names of innumerable places in the circumjacent country; and mark the origin of this people, were we to seek no other proofs.