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

Harvest In This Neighbourhood. I Used To Have Great Pleasure In

Driving Between The Fields Of Wheat, Oats, And Barley; But The

Crop Has Been Entirely Ruined By The Rain, And Nothing Is Now To

Be Seen On The Ground But The Tarnished Straw, And The Rotten

Spoils Of The Husbandman's Labour. The Ground Scarce Affords

Subsistence To A Few Flocks Of Meagre Sheep, That Crop The

Stubble, And The Intervening Grass; Each Flock Under The

Protection Of Its Shepherd, With His Crook And Dogs, Who Lies

Every Night In The Midst Of The Fold, In A Little Thatched

Travelling Lodge, Mounted On A Wheel-Carriage. Here He Passes The

Night, In Order To Defend His Flock From The Wolves, Which Are

Sometimes, Especially In Winter, Very Bold And Desperate.

Two Days Ago We Made An Excursion With Mrs. B-- And Capt. L-- To

The Village Of Samers, On The Paris Road, About Three Leagues 

From Boulogne. Here Is A Venerable Abbey Of Benedictines, Well

Endowed, With Large Agreeable Gardens Prettily Laid Out. The

Monks Are Well Lodged, And Well Entertained. Tho' Restricted From

Flesh Meals By The Rules Of Their Order, They Are Allowed To Eat

Wild Duck And Teal, As A Species Of Fish; And When They Long For

A Good Bouillon, Or A Partridge, Or Pullet, They Have Nothing To

Do But To Say They Are Out Of Order. In That Case The Appetite Of

The Patient Is Indulged In His Own Apartment. Their Church Is

Elegantly Contrived, But Kept In A Very Dirty Condition. The

Greatest Curiosity I Saw In This Place Was An English Boy, About

Eight Or Nine Years Old, Whom His Father Had Sent Hither To Learn

The French Language. In Less Than Eight Weeks, He Was Become

Captain Of The Boys Of The Place, Spoke French Perfectly Well,

And Had Almost Forgot His Mother Tongue. But To Return To The

People Of Boulogne.

The Burghers Here, As In Other Places, Consist Of Merchants,

Shop-Keepers, And Artisans. Some Of The Merchants Have Got

Fortunes, By Fitting Out Privateers During The War. A Great Many

Single Ships Were Taken From The English, Notwithstanding The

Good Look-Out Of Our Cruisers, Who Were So Alert, That The

Privateers From This Coast Were Often Taken In Four Hours After

They Sailed From The French Harbour; And There Is Hardly A

Captain Of An Armateur In Boulogne, Who Has Not Been Prisoner In

England Five Or Six Times In The Course Of The War. They Were

Fitted Out At A Very Small Expence, And Used To Run Over In The

Night To The Coast Of England, Where They Hovered As English

Fishing Smacks, Until They Kidnapped Some Coaster, With Which

They Made The Best Of Their Way Across The Channel. If They Fell

In With A British Cruiser, They Surrendered Without Resistance:

The Captain Was Soon Exchanged, And The Loss Of The Proprietor

Was Not Great: If They Brought Their Prize Safe Into Harbour,

The Advantage Was Considerable. In Time Of Peace The Merchants Of

Boulogne Deal In Wine Brandies, And Oil, Imported From The South,

And Export Fish, With The Manufactures Of France, To Portugal,

And Other Countries; But The Trade Is Not Great. Here Are Two Or

Three Considerable Houses Of Wine Merchants From Britain, Who

Deal In Bourdeaux Wine, With Which They Supply London And Other

Parts Of England, Scotland, And Ireland. The Fishery Of Mackarel

And Herring Is So Considerable On This Coast, That It Is Said To

Yield Annually Eight Or Nine Hundred Thousand Livres, About

Thirty-Five Thousand Pounds Sterling.

The Shop-Keepers Here Drive A Considerable Traffic With The

English Smugglers, Whose Cutters Are Almost The Only Vessels One

Sees In The Harbour Of Boulogne, If We Except About A Dozen Of

Those Flat-Bottomed Boats, Which Raised Such Alarms In England,

In The Course Of The War. Indeed They Seem To Be Good For Nothing

Else, And Perhaps They Were Built For This Purpose Only. The

Smugglers From The Coast Of Kent And Sussex Pay English Gold For 

Great Quantities Of French Brandy, Tea, Coffee, And Small Wine,

Which They Run From This Country. They Likewise Buy Glass

Trinkets, Toys, And Coloured Prints, Which Sell In England, For

No Other Reason, But That They Come From France, As They May Be

Had As Cheap, And Much Better Finished, Of Our Own Manufacture.

They Likewise Take Off Ribbons, Laces, Linen, And Cambrics;

Though This Branch Of Trade Is Chiefly In The Hands Of Traders

That Come From London And Make Their Purchases At Dunkirk, Where

They Pay No Duties. It Is Certainly Worth While For Any Traveller

To Lay In A Stock Of Linen Either At Dunkirk Or Boulogne; The

Difference Of The Price At These Two Places Is Not Great. Even

Here I Have Made A Provision Of Shirts For One Half Of The Money

They Would Have Cost In London. Undoubtedly The Practice Of

Smuggling Is Very Detrimental To The Fair Trader, And Carries

Considerable Sums Of Money Out Of The Kingdom, To Enrich Our

Rivals And Enemies. The Custom-House Officers Are Very Watchful,

And Make A Great Number Of Seizures: Nevertheless, The Smugglers

Find Their Account In Continuing This Contraband Commerce; And

Are Said To Indemnify Themselves, If They Save One Cargo Out Of

Three. After All, The Best Way To Prevent Smuggling, Is To Lower

The Duties Upon The Commodities Which Are Thus Introduced. I Have

Been Told, That The Revenue Upon Tea Has Encreased Ever Since The

Duty Upon It Was Diminished. By The Bye, The Tea Smuggled On The

Coast Of Sussex Is Most Execrable Stuff. While I Stayed At

Hastings, For The Conveniency Of Bathing, I Must Have Changed My

Breakfast, If I Had Not Luckily Brought Tea With Me From London:

Yet We Have As Good Tea At Boulogne For Nine Livres A Pound, As

That Which Sells At Fourteen Shillings At London.

The Bourgeois Of This Place Seem To Live At Their Ease, Probably

In Consequence Of Their Trade With The English. Their Houses

Consist Of The Ground-Floor, One Story Above, And Garrets. In

Those Which Are Well Furnished, You See Pier-Glasses And Marble

Slabs; But The Chairs Are Either Paultry Things, Made With Straw

Bottoms, Which Cost About A Shilling A-Piece, Or Old-Fashioned,

High-Backed Seats Of Needle-Work, Stuffed, Very Clumsy And

Incommodious. The Tables Are Square Fir Boards, That Stand On

Edge In A Corner, Except When They Are Used, And Then They Are

Set Upon Cross Legs That Open And Shut Occasionally. The King Of

France Dines Off A Board Of This Kind. Here Is Plenty Of Table-Linen

However. The Poorest Tradesman In Boulogne Has A Napkin On

Every Cover, And Silver Forks With Four Prongs, Which Are Used

With The Right Hand, There Being Very Little Occasion For Knives;

For The Meat Is Boiled Or Roasted To Rags. The French Beds Are So

High, That Sometimes One Is Obliged To Mount Them By The Help Of

Steps; And This Is Also The Case In Flanders. They Very Seldom

Use Feather-Beds; But They Lie Upon A Paillasse, Or Bag Of Straw,

Over Which Are Laid Two, And Sometimes Three Mattrasses. Their

Testers Are High And Old-Fashioned, And Their Curtains Generally

Of Thin Bays, Red, Or Green, Laced With Taudry Yellow, In

Imitation Of Gold. In Some Houses, However, One Meets With

Furniture Of Stamped Linen; But There Is No Such Thing As A 

Carpet To Be Seen, And The Floors Are In A Very Dirty Condition.

They Have Not Even The Implements Of Cleanliness In This Country.

Every Chamber Is Furnished With An Armoire, Or Clothes-Press, And

A Chest Of Drawers, Of Very Clumsy Workmanship. Every Thing Shews

A Deficiency In The Mechanic Arts. There Is Not A Door, Nor A

Window, That Shuts Close. The Hinges, Locks, And Latches, Are Of

Iron, Coarsely Made, And Ill Contrived. The Very Chimnies Are

Built So Open, That They Admit Both Rain And Sun, And All Of Them

Smoke Intolerably. If There Is No Cleanliness Among These People,

Much Less Shall We Find Delicacy, Which Is The Cleanliness Of The

Mind. Indeed They Are Utter Strangers To What We Call Common

Decency; And I Could Give You Some High-Flavoured Instances, At

Which Even A Native Of Edinburgh Would Stop His Nose. There Are

Certain Mortifying Views Of Human Nature, Which Undoubtedly Ought

To Be Concealed As Much As Possible, In Order To Prevent Giving

Offence: And Nothing Can Be More Absurd, Than To Plead The

Difference Of Custom In Different Countries, In Defence Of These

Usages Which Cannot Fail Giving Disgust To The Organs And Senses

Of All Mankind. Will Custom Exempt From The Imputation Of Gross

Indecency A French Lady, Who Shifts Her Frowsy Smock In Presence

Of A Male Visitant, And Talks To Him Of Her Lavement, Her

Medecine, And Her Bidet! An Italian Signora Makes No Scruple Of

Telling You, She Is Such A Day To Begin A Course Of Physic For

The Pox. The Celebrated Reformer Of The Italian Comedy Introduces

A Child Befouling Itself, On The Stage, Oe, No Ti Senti? Bisogna

Desfassarlo, (Fa Cenno Che Sentesi Mal Odore). I Have Known A

Lady Handed To The House Of Office By Her Admirer, Who Stood At

The Door, And Entertained Her With Bons Mots All The Time She Was

Within. But I Should Be Glad To Know, Whether It Is Possible For

A Fine Lady To Speak And Act In This Manner, Without Exciting

Ideas To Her Own Disadvantage In The Mind Of Every Man Who Has

Any Imagination Left, And Enjoys The Entire Use Of His Senses,

Howsoever She May Be Authorised By The Customs Of Her Country?

There Is Nothing So Vile Or Repugnant To Nature, But You May

Plead Prescription For It, In The Customs Of Some Nation Or

Other. A Parisian Likes Mortified Flesh: A Native Of Legiboli

Will Not Taste His Fish Till It Is Quite Putrefied: The Civilized

Inhabitants Of Kamschatka Get Drunk With The Urine Of Their

Guests, Whom They Have Already Intoxicated: The Nova Zemblans

Make Merry On Train-Oil: The Groenlanders Eat In The Same Dish

With Their Dogs: The Caffres, At The Cape Of Good Hope, Piss Upon

Those Whom They Delight To Honour, And Feast Upon A Sheep's

Intestines With Their Contents, As The Greatest Dainty That Can

Be Presented. A True-Bred Frenchman Dips His Fingers, Imbrowned

With Snuff, Into His Plate Filled With Ragout: Between Every

Three Mouthfuls, He Produces