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

One Of Our English Artists Expressed Himself, They Are All Of A

Flutter. As For The Treasures, Which Are Shewn On Certain Days To

The Populace Gratis, They Are Contained In A Number Of Presses,

Or Armoires, And, If The Stones Are Genuine, They Must Be

Inestimable: But This I Cannot Believe. Indeed I Have Been Told,

That What They Shew As Diamonds Are No More Than Composition:

Nevertheless, Exclusive Of These, There Are Some Rough Stones Of

Great Value, And Many Curiosities Worth Seeing. The Monk That

Shewed Them Was The Very Image Of Our Friend Hamilton, Both In

His Looks And Manner.

I Have One Thing Very Extraordinary To Observe Of The French

Auberges, Which Seems To Be A Remarkable Deviation From The

General Character Of The Nation. The Landlords, Hostesses, And

Servants Of The Inns Upon The Road, Have Not The Least Dash Of

Complaisance In Their Behaviour To Strangers. Instead Of Coming

To The Door, To Receive You As In England, They Take No Manner Of

Notice Of You; But Leave You To Find Or Enquire Your Way Into The

Kitchen, And There You Must Ask Several Times For A Chamber,

Before They Seem Willing To Conduct You Up Stairs. In General,

You Are Served With The Appearance Of The Most Mortifying

Indifference, At The Very Time They Are Laying Schemes For

Fleecing You Of Your Money. It Is A Very Odd Contrast Between

France And England; In The Former All The People Are Complaisant

But The Publicans; In The Latter There Is Hardly Any Complaisance

But Among The Publicans. When I Said All The People In France, I

Ought Also To Except Those Vermin Who Examine The Baggage Of

Travellers In Different Parts Of The Kingdom. Although Our

Portmanteaus Were Sealed With Lead, And We Were Provided

With A Passe-Avant From The Douane, Our Coach Was Searched

At The Gate Of Paris By Which We Entered; And The Women Were

Obliged To Get Out, And Stand In The Open Street, Till This

Operation Was Performed.

I Had Desired A Friend To Provide Lodgings For Me At Paris, In

The Fauxbourg St. Germain; And Accordingly We Found Ourselves

Accommodated At The Hotel De Montmorency, With A First Floor,

Which Costs Me Ten Livres A Day. I Should Have Put Up With It Had

It Been Less Polite; But As I Have Only A Few Days To Stay In

This Place, And Some Visits To Receive, I Am Not Sorry That My

Friend Has Exceeded His Commission. I Have Been Guilty Of Another

Piece Of Extravagance In Hiring A Carosse De Remise, For Which I

Pay Twelve Livres A Day. Besides The Article Of Visiting, I Could

Not Leave Paris, Without Carrying My Wife And The Girls To See

The Most Remarkable Places In And About This Capital, Such As The

Luxemburg, The Palais-Royal, The Thuilleries, The Louvre, The

Invalids, The Gobelins, &C. Together With Versailles, Trianon,

Marli, Meudon, And Choissi; And Therefore, I Thought The

Difference In Point Of Expence Would Not Be Great, Between A

Carosse De Remise And A Hackney Coach. The First Are Extremely 

Elegant, If Not Too Much Ornamented, The Last Are Very Shabby And

Disagreeable. Nothing Gives Me Such Chagrin, As The Necessity I

Am Under To Hire A Valet De Place, As My Own Servant Does Not

Speak The Language. You Cannot Conceive With What Eagerness And

Dexterity Those Rascally Valets Exert Themselves In Pillaging

Strangers. There Is Always One Ready In Waiting On Your Arrival,

Who Begins By Assisting Your Own Servant To Unload Your Baggage,

And Interests Himself In Your Affairs With Such Artful

Officiousness, That You Will Find It Difficult To Shake Him Off,

Even Though You Are Determined Beforehand Against Hiring Any Such

Domestic. He Produces Recommendations From His Former Masters,

And The People Of The House Vouch For His Honesty.

The Truth Is, Those Fellows Are Very Handy, Useful, And Obliging;

And So Far Honest, That They Will Not Steal In The Usual Way. You

May Safely Trust One Of Them To Bring You A Hundred Loui'dores

From Your Banker; But They Fleece You Without Mercy In Every

Other Article Of Expence. They Lay All Your Tradesmen Under

Contribution; Your Taylor, Barber, Mantua-Maker, Milliner,

Perfumer, Shoe-Maker, Mercer, Jeweller, Hatter, Traiteur, And

Wine-Merchant: Even The Bourgeois Who Owns Your Coach Pays Him

Twenty Sols Per Day. His Wages Amount To Twice As Much, So That I

Imagine The Fellow That Serves Me, Makes Above Ten Shillings A

Day, Besides His Victuals, Which, By The Bye, He Has No Right To

Demand. Living At Paris, To The Best Of My Recollection, Is Very

Near Twice As Dear As It Was Fifteen Years Ago; And, Indeed, This

Is The Case In London; A Circumstance That Must Be Undoubtedly

Owing To An Increase Of Taxes; For I Don't Find That In The

Articles Of Eating And Drinking, The French People Are More

Luxurious Than They Were Heretofore. I Am Told The Entrees, Or

Duties, Payed Upon Provision Imported Into Paris, Are Very Heavy.

All Manner Of Butcher's Meat And Poultry Are Extremely Good In

This Place. The Beef Is Excellent. The Wine, Which Is Generally

Drank, Is A Very Thin Kind Of Burgundy. I Can By No Means Relish

Their Cookery; But One Breakfasts Deliciously Upon Their Petit

Pains And Their Pales Of Butter, Which Last Is Exquisite.

The Common People, And Even The Bourgeois Of Paris Live, At This

Season, Chiefly On Bread And Grapes, Which Is Undoubtedly Very

Wholsome Fare. If The Same Simplicity Of Diet Prevailed In

England, We Should Certainly Undersell The French At All Foreign

Markets For They Are Very Slothful With All Their Vivacity And

The Great Number Of Their Holidays Not Only Encourages This Lazy

Disposition, But Actually Robs Them Of One Half Of What Their

Labour Would Otherwise Produce; So That, If Our Common People

Were Not So Expensive In Their Living, That Is, In Their Eating

And Drinking, Labour Might Be Afforded Cheaper In England Than In

France. There Are Three Young Lusty Hussies, Nieces Or Daughters

Of A Blacksmith, That Lives Just Opposite To My Windows, Who Do

Nothing From Morning Till Night. They Eat Grapes And Bread From 

Seven Till Nine, From Nine Till Twelve They Dress Their Hair, And

Are All The Afternoon Gaping At The Window To View Passengers. I

Don't Perceive That They Give Themselves The Trouble Either To

Make Their Beds, Or Clean Their Apartment. The Same Spirit Of

Idleness And Dissipation I Have Observed In Every Part Of France,

And Among Every Class Of People.

Every Object Seems To Have Shrunk In Its Dimensions Since I Was

Last In Paris. The Louvre, The Palais-Royal, The Bridges, And The

River Seine, By No Means Answer The Ideas I Had Formed Of Them

From My Former Observation. When The Memory Is Not Very Correct,

The Imagination Always Betrays Her Into Such Extravagances. When

I First Revisited My Own Country, After An Absence Of Fifteen

Years, I Found Every Thing Diminished In The Same Manner, And I

Could Scarce Believe My Own Eyes.

Notwithstanding The Gay Disposition Of The French, Their Houses

Are All Gloomy. In Spite Of All The Ornaments That Have Been

Lavished On Versailles, It Is A Dismal Habitation. The Apartments

Are Dark, Ill-Furnished, Dirty, And Unprincely. Take The Castle,

Chapel, And Garden All Together, They Make A Most Fantastic

Composition Of Magnificence And Littleness, Taste, And Foppery.

After All, It Is In England Only, Where We Must Look For Cheerful

Apartments, Gay Furniture, Neatness, And Convenience. There Is A

Strange Incongruity In The French Genius. With All Their

Volatility, Prattle, And Fondness For Bons Mots, They Delight In

A Species Of Drawling, Melancholy, Church Music. Their Most

Favourite Dramatic Pieces Are Almost Without Incident; And The

Dialogue Of Their Comedies Consists Of Moral, Insipid

Apophthegms, Intirely Destitute Of Wit Or Repartee. I Know What

I Hazard By This Opinion Among The Implicit Admirers Of Lully,

Racine, And Moliere.

I Don't Talk Of The Busts, The Statues, And Pictures Which Abound

At Versailles, And Other Places In And About Paris, Particularly

The Great Collection Of Capital Pieces In The Palais-Royal,

Belonging To The Duke Of Orleans. I Have Neither Capacity, Nor

Inclination, To Give A Critique On These Chef D'oeuvres, Which

Indeed Would Take Up A Whole Volume. I Have Seen This Great

Magazine Of Painting Three Times, With Astonishment; But I Should

Have Been Better Pleased, If There Had Not Been Half The Number:

One Is Bewildered In Such A Profusion, As Not To Know Where To

Begin, And Hurried Away Before There Is Time To Consider One

Piece With Any Sort Of Deliberation. Besides, The Rooms Are All

Dark, And A Great Many Of The Pictures Hang In A Bad Light. As

For Trianon, Marli, And Choissi, They Are No More Than Pigeon-Houses,

In Respect To Palaces; And, Notwithstanding The

Extravagant Eulogiums Which You Have Heard Of The French King's 

Houses, I Will Venture To Affirm That The King Of England Is

Better, I Mean More Comfortably, Lodged. I Ought, However, To

Except Fontainebleau, Which I Have Not Seen.

The City Of Paris Is Said To Be Five Leagues, Or Fifteen Miles,

In Circumference; And If It Is Really So, It Must Be Much More

Populous Than London; For The Streets Are Very Narrow, And The

Houses Very High, With A Different Family On Every Floor. But I

Have Measured The Best Plans Of These Two Royal Cities, And Am

Certain That Paris Does Not Take Up Near So Much Ground As

London And Westminster Occupy; And I Suspect The Number Of Its

Inhabitants Is Also Exaggerated By Those Who Say It Amounts To

Eight Hundred Thousand, That Is Two Hundred Thousand More Than

Are Contained In The Bills Of Mortality. The Hotels Of The French

Noblesse, At Paris, Take Up A Great Deal Of Room, With Their

Courtyards And Gardens; And So Do Their Convents And Churches. It

Must Be Owned, Indeed, That Their Streets Are Wonderfully Crouded

With People And Carriages.

The French Begin To Imitate The English, But Only In Such

Particulars As Render Them Worthy Of Imitation. When I Was Last

At Paris, No Person Of Any Condition,

Male Or Female, Appeared, But In Full Dress, Even When Obliged To

Come Out Early In The Morning, And There Was Not Such A Thing To

Be Seen As A Perruque