Travels Through France And Italy by Tobias Smollett (fastest ebook reader .txt) 📕

Country.

The Air Of Boulogne Is Cold And Moist, And, I Believe, Of

Consequence Unhealthy. Last Winter The Frost, Which Continued Six

Weeks In London, Lasted Here Eight Weeks Without Intermission;

And The Cold Was So Intense, That, In The Garden Of The

Capuchins, It Split The Bark Of Several Elms From Top To Bottom.

On Our Arrival Here We Found All Kinds Of Fruit More Backward

Than In England. The Frost, In Its Progress To Britain, Is Much

Weakened In Crossing The Sea. The Atmosphere, Impregnated With

Saline Particles, Resists The Operation Of Freezing. Hence, In

Severe Winters, All Places Near The Sea-Side Are Less Cold Than

More Inland Districts. This Is The Reason Why The Winter Is Often

More Mild At Edinburgh Than At London. A Very Great Degree Of

Cold Is Required To Freeze Salt Water. Indeed It Will Not Freeze

At All, Until It Has Deposited All Its Salt. It Is Now Generally

Allowed Among Philosophers, That Water Is No More Than Ice Thawed

By Heat, Either Solar, Or Subterranean, Or Both; And That This

Heat Being Expelled, It Would Return To Its Natural Consistence.

This Being The Case, Nothing Else Is Required For The Freezing Of

Water, Than A Certain Degree Of Cold, Which May Be Generated By

The Help Of Salt, Or Spirit Of Nitre, Even Under The Line. I

Would Propose, Therefore, That An Apparatus Of This Sort Should

Be Provided In Every Ship That Goes To Sea; And In Case There

Should Be A Deficiency Of Fresh Water On Board, The Seawater May

Be Rendered Potable, By Being First Converted Into Ice.

The Air Of Boulogne Is Not Only Loaded With A Great Evaporation

From The Sea, Increased By Strong Gales Of Wind From The West And

South-West, Which Blow Almost Continually During The Greatest

Part Of The Year; But It Is Also Subject To Putrid Vapours,

Arising From The Low Marshy Ground In The Neighbourhood Of The

Harbour, Which Is Every Tide Overflowed With Seawater. This May

Be One Cause Of The Scrofula And Rickets, Which Are Two

Prevailing Disorders Among The Children In Boulogne. But I

Believe The Former Is More Owing To The Water Used In The Lower

Town, Which Is Very Hard And Unwholsome. It Curdles With Soap,

Gives A Red Colour To The Meat That Is Boiled In It, And, When

Drank By Strangers, Never Fails To Occasion Pains In The Stomach

And Bowels; Nay, Sometimes Produces Dysenteries. In All

Appearance It Is Impregnated With Nitre, If Not With Something

More Mischievous: We Know That Mundic, Or Pyrites, Very Often

Contains A Proportion Of Arsenic, Mixed With Sulphur, Vitriol,

And Mercury. Perhaps It Partakes Of The Acid Of Some Coal Mine;

For There Are Coal Works In This District. There Is A Well Of 

Purging Water Within A Quarter Of A Mile Of The Upper Town, To

Which The Inhabitants Resort In The Morning, As The People Of

London Go To The Dog-And-Duck, In St. George's Fields. There Is

Likewise A Fountain Of Excellent Water, Hard By The Cathedral, In

The Upper Town, From Whence I Am Daily Supplied At A Small

Expence. Some Modern Chemists Affirm, That No Saline Chalybeate

Waters Can Exist, Except In The Neighbourhood Of Coal Damps; And

That Nothing Can Be More Mild, And Gentle, And Friendly To The

Constitution, Than The Said Damps: But I Know That The Place

Where I Was Bred Stands Upon A Zonic Of Coal; That The Water

Which The Inhabitants Generally Use Is Hard And Brackish; And

That The People Are Remarkably Subject To The King's Evil And

Consumption. These I Would Impute To The Bad Water, Impregnated

With The Vitriol And Brine Of Coal, As There Is Nothing In The

Constitution Of The Air That Should Render Such Distempers

Endemial. That The Air Of Boulogne Encourages Putrefaction,

Appears From The Effect It Has Upon Butcher's Meat, Which, Though

The Season Is Remarkably Cold, We Can Hardly Keep Four-And-Twenty

Hours In The Coolest Part Of The House.

Living Here Is Pretty Reasonable; And The Markets Are Tolerably

Supplied. The Beef Is Neither Fat Nor Firm; But Very Good For

Soup, Which Is The Only Use The French Make Of It. The Veal Is

Not So White, Nor So Well Fed, As The English Veal; But It Is

More Juicy, And Better Tasted. The Mutton And Pork Are Very Good.

We Buy Our Poultry Alive, And Fatten Them At Home. Here Are

Excellent Turkies, And No Want Of Game: The Hares, In Particular,

Are Very Large, Juicy, And High-Flavoured. The Best Part Of The

Fish Caught On This Coast Is Sent Post To Paris, In Chasse-Marines,

By A Company Of Contractors, Like Those Of Hastings In

Sussex. Nevertheless, We Have Excellent Soles, Skaite, Flounders

And Whitings, And Sometimes Mackarel. The Oysters Are Very Large,

Coarse, And Rank. There Is Very Little Fish Caught On The French

Coast, Because The Shallows Run A Great Way From The Shore; And

The Fish Live Chiefly In Deep Water: For This Reason The

Fishermen Go A Great Way Out To Sea, Sometimes Even As Far As The

Coast Of England. Notwithstanding All The Haste The Contractors

Can Make, Their Fish In The Summer Is Very Often Spoiled Before

It Arrives At Paris; And This Is Not To Be Wondered At,

Considering The Length Of The Way, Which Is Near One Hundred And

Fifty Miles. At Best It Must Be In Such A Mortified Condition,

That No Other People, Except The Negroes On The Coast Of Guinea,

Would Feed Upon It.

The Wine Commonly Drank At Boulogne Comes From Auxerre, Is Very

Small And Meagre, And May Be Had From Five To Eight Sols A

Bottle; That Is, From Two-Pence Halfpenny To Fourpence. The

French Inhabitants Drink No Good Wine; Nor Is There Any To Be

Had, Unless You Have Recourse To The British Wine-Merchants Here

Established, Who Deal In Bourdeaux Wines, Brought Hither By Sea 

For The London Market. I Have Very Good Claret From A Friend, At

The Rate Of Fifteen-Pence Sterling A Bottle; And Excellent Small

Beer As Reasonable As In England. I Don't Believe There Is A Drop

Of Generous Burgundy In The Place; And The Aubergistes Impose

Upon Us Shamefully, When They Charge It At Two Livres A Bottle.

There Is A Small White Wine, Called Preniac, Which Is Very

Agreeable And Very Cheap. All The Brandy Which I Have Seen In

Boulogne Is New, Fiery, And Still-Burnt. This Is The Trash Which

The Smugglers Import Into England: They Have It For About Ten-Pence

A Gallon. Butcher's Meat Is Sold For Five Sols, Or Two-Pence

Halfpenny A Pound, And The Pound Here Consists Of Eighteen

Ounces. I Have A Young Turkey For Thirty Sols; A Hare For Four-And-Twenty;

A Couple Of Chickens For Twenty Sols, And A Couple Of

Good Soles For The Same Price. Before We Left England, We Were

Told That There Was No Fruit In Boulogne; But We Have Found

Ourselves Agreeably Disappointed In This Particular. The Place Is

Well Supplied With Strawberries, Cherries, Gooseberries,

Corinths, Peaches, Apricots, And Excellent Pears. I Have Eaten

More Fruit This Season, Than I Have Done For Several Years. There

Are Many Well-Cultivated Gardens In The Skirts Of The Town;

Particularly One Belonging To Our Friend Mrs. B--, Where We Often

Drink Tea In A Charming Summer-House Built On A Rising Ground,

Which Commands A Delightful Prospect Of The Sea. We Have Many

Obligations To This Good Lady, Who Is A Kind Neighbour, An

Obliging Friend, And A Most Agreeable Companion: She Speaks

English Prettily, And Is Greatly Attached To The People And The

Customs Of Our Nation. They Use Wood For Their Common Fewel,

Though, If I Were To Live At Boulogne, I Would Mix It With Coal,

Which This Country Affords. Both The Wood And The Coal Are

Reasonable Enough. I Am Certain That A Man May Keep House In

Boulogne For About One Half Of What It Will Cost Him In London;

And This Is Said To Be One Of The Dearest Places In France.

The Adjacent Country Is Very Agreeable, Diversified With Hill And

Dale, Corn-Fields, Woods, And Meadows. There Is A Forest Of A

Considerable Extent, That Begins About A Short League From The

Upper Town: It Belongs To The King, And The Wood Is Farmed To

Different Individuals.

In Point Of Agriculture, The People In This Neighbourhood Seem To

Have Profited By The Example Of The English. Since I Was Last In

France, Fifteen Years Ago, A Good Number Of Inclosures And

Plantations Have Been Made In The English Fashion. There Is A

Good Many Tolerable Country-Houses, Within A Few Miles Of

Boulogne; But Mostly Empty. I Was Offered A Compleat House, With

A Garden Of Four Acres Well Laid Out, And Two Fields For Grass Or

Hay, About A Mile From The Town, For Four Hundred Livres, About

Seventeen Pounds A Year: It Is Partly Furnished, Stands In An

Agreeable Situation, With A Fine Prospect Of The Sea, And Was 

Lately Occupied By A Scotch Nobleman, Who Is In The Service Of

France.

To Judge From Appearance, The People Of Boulogne Are Descended

From The Flemings, Who Formerly Possessed This Country; For, A

Great Many Of The Present Inhabitants Have Fine Skins, Fair Hair,

And Florid Complexions; Very Different From The Natives Of France

In General, Who Are Distinguished By Black Hair, Brown Skins, And

Swarthy Faces. The People Of The Boulonnois Enjoy Some

Extraordinary Privileges, And, In Particular, Are Exempted From

The Gabelle Or Duties Upon Salt: How They Deserved This Mark Of

Favour, I Do Not Know; But They Seem To Have A Spirit Of

Independence Among Them, Are Very Ferocious, And Much Addicted To

Revenge. Many Barbarous Murders Are Committed, Both In The Town

And Country; And The Peasants, From Motives Of Envy And

Resentment, Frequently Set Their Neighbours' Houses On Fire.

Several Instances Of This Kind Have Happened In The Course Of The

Last Year. The Interruption Which Is Given, In Arbitrary

Governments, To The Administration Of Justice, By The

Interposition Of The Great, Has Always A Bad Effect Upon The

Morals Of The Common People. The Peasants Too Are Often Rendered

Desperate And Savage, By The Misery They Suffer From The

Oppression And Tyranny Of Their Landlords. In This Neighbourhood

The Labouring People Are Ill Lodged And Wretchedly Fed; And They

Have No Idea Of Cleanliness. There Is A Substantial Burgher In

The High Town, Who Was Some Years Ago