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

Married The Heiress Of Monaco, Whose Name Was Grimaldi. The

Harbour Is Well Sheltered From The Wind; But Has Not Water

Sufficient To Admit Vessels Of Any Great Burthen. Towards The

North, The King Of Sardinia's Territories Extend To Within A Mile

Of The Gate; But The Prince Of Monaco Can Go Upon His Own Ground

Along Shore About Five Or Six Miles To The Eastward, As Far As

Menton, Another Small Town, Which Also Belongs To Him, And Is

Situated On The Seaside. His Revenues Are Computed At A Million

Of French Livres, Amounting To Something More Than Forty Thousand

Pounds Sterling: But, The Principality Of Monaco, Consisting Of

Three Small Towns, And An Inconsiderable Tract Of Barren Rock, Is

Not Worth Above Seven Thousand A Year; The Rest Arises From His

French Estate. This Consists Partly Of The Dutchy Of Matignon,

And Partly Of The Dutchy Of Valentinois, Which Last Was Given To

The Ancestors Of This Prince Of Monaco, In The Year 1640, By The

French King, To Make Up The Loss Of Some Lands In The Kingdom Of

Naples, Which Were Confiscated When He Expelled The Spanish

Garrison From Monaco, And Threw Himself Into The Arms Of France:

So That He Is Duke Of Valentinois As Well As Of Matignon, In That

Kingdom. He Lives Almost Constantly In France; And Has Taken The

Name And Arms Of Grimaldi.

The Genoese Territories Begin At Ventimiglia, Another Town Lying

On The Coast, At The Distance Of Twenty Miles From Nice, A

Circumstance From Which It Borrows The Name. Having Passed The

Towns Of Monaco, Menton, Ventimiglia, And Several Other Places Of

Less Consequence That Lie Along This Coast, We Turned The Point 

Of St. Martin With A Favourable Breeze, And Might Have Proceeded

Twenty Miles Further Before Night: But The Women Began To Be

Sick, As Well As Afraid At The Roughness Of The Water; Mr. R-- Was

So Discomposed, That He Privately Desired The Patron To Put

Ashore At St. Remo, On Pretence That We Should Not Find A

Tolerable Auberge In Any Other Place Between This And Noli, Which

Was At The Distance Of Forty Miles. We Accordingly Landed, And

Were Conducted To The Poste, Which Our Gondeliere Assured Us Was

The Best Auberge In The Whole Riviera Of Genoa. We Ascended By A

Dark, Narrow, Steep Stair, Into A Kind Of Public Room, With A

Long Table And Benches, So Dirty And Miserable, That It Would

Disgrace The Worst Hedge Ale-House In England. Not A Soul

Appeared To Receive Us. This Is A Ceremony One Must Not Expect To

Meet With In France; Far Less In Italy. Our Patron Going Into The

Kitchen, Asked A Servant If The Company Could Have Lodging In The

House; And Was Answered, "He Could Not Tell: The Patron Was Not

At Home." When He Desired To Know Where The Patron Was, The Other

Answered, "He Was Gone To Take The Air." E Andato A Passeggiare.

In The Mean Time, We Were Obliged To Sit In The Common Room Among

Watermen And Muleteers. At Length The Landlord Arrived, And Gave

Us To Understand, That He Could Accommodate Us With Chambers. In

That Where I Lay, There Was Just Room For Two Beds, Without

Curtains Or Bedstead, An Old Rotten Table Covered With Dried

Figs, And A Couple Of Crazy Chairs. The Walls Had Been Once

White-Washed: But Were Now Hung With Cobwebs, And Speckled With

Dirt Of All Sorts; And I Believe The Brick-Floor Had Not Been

Swept For Half A Century. We Supped In An Outward Room Suitable

In All Respects To The Chamber, And Fared Villainously. The

Provision Was Very Ill-Dressed, And Served Up In The Most

Slovenly Manner. You Must Not Expect Cleanliness Or Conveniency

Of Any Kind In This Country. For This Accommodation I Payed As

Much As If I Had Been Elegantly Entertained In The Best Auberge

Of France Or Italy.

Next Day, The Wind Was So High That We Could Not Prosecute Our

Voyage, So That We Were Obliged To Pass Other Four And Twenty

Hours In This Comfortable Situation. Luckily Mr. R-- Found Two

Acquaintances In The Place; One A Franciscan Monk, A Jolly

Fellow; And The Other A Maestro Di Capella, Who Sent A Spinnet To

The Inn, And Entertained Us Agreeably With His Voice And

Performance, In Both Of Which Accomplishments He Excelled. The

Padre Was Very Good Humoured, And Favoured Us With A Letter Of

Recommendation To A Friend Of His, A Professor In The University

Of Pisa. You Would Laugh To See The Hyperbolical Terms In Which

He Mentioned Your Humble Servant; But Italy Is The Native Country

Of Hyperbole.

St. Remo Is A Pretty Considerable Town, Well-Built Upon The

Declivity Of A Gently Rising Hill, And Has A Harbour Capable Of

Receiving Small Vessels, A Good Number Of Which Are Built Upon 

The Beach: But Ships Of Any Burden Are Obliged To Anchor In The

Bay, Which Is Far From Being Secure. The People Of St. Remo Form

A Small Republic, Which Is Subject To Genoa.

They Enjoyed Particular Privileges, Till The Year 1753, When In

Consequence Of A New Gabelle Upon Salt, They Revolted: But This

Effort In Behalf Of Liberty Did Not Succeed. They Were Soon

Reduced By The Genoese, Who Deprived Them Of All Their

Privileges, And Built A Fort By The Sea-Side, Which Serves The

Double Purpose Of Defending The Harbour And Over-Awing The Town.

The Garrison At Present Does Not Exceed Two Hundred Men. The

Inhabitants Are Said To Have Lately Sent A Deputation To

Ratisbon, To Crave The Protection Of The Diet Of The Empire.

There Is Very Little Plain Ground In This Neighbourhood; But The

Hills Are Covered With Oranges, Lemons, Pomegranates, And Olives,

Which Produce A Considerable Traffic In Fine Fruit And Excellent

Oil. The Women Of St. Remo Are Much More Handsome And Better

Tempered Than Those Of Provence. They Have In General Good Eyes,

With Open Ingenuous Countenances. Their Dress, Though Remarkable,

I Cannot Describe: But Upon The Whole, They Put Me In Mind Of

Some Portraits I Have Seen, Representing The Females Of Georgia

And Mingrelia.

On The Third Day, The Wind Being Abated, Though Still

Unfavourable, We Reimbarked And Rowed Along Shore, Passing By

Porto-Mauricio, And Oneglia; Then Turning The Promontory Called

Capo Di Melle, We Proceeded By Albenga, Finale, And Many Other

Places Of Inferior Note. Portomauricio Is Seated On A Rock Washed

By The Sea, But Indifferently Fortified, With An Inconsiderable

Harbour, Which None But Very Small Vessels Can Enter. About Two

Miles To The Eastward Is Oneglia, A Small Town With

Fortifications, Lying Along The Open Beach, And Belonging To The

King Of Sardinia. This Small Territory Abounds With Olive-Trees,

Which Produce A Considerable Quantity Of Oil, Counted The Best Of

The Whole Riviera. Albenga Is A Small Town, The See Of A Bishop,

Suffragan To The Archbishop Of Genoa. It Lies Upon The Sea, And

The Country Produces A Great Quantity Of Hemp. Finale Is The

Capital Of A Marquisate Belonging To The Genoese, Which Has Been

The Source Of Much Trouble To The Republic; And Indeed Was The

Sole Cause Of Their Rupture With The King Of Sardinia And The

House Of Austria In The Year 1745. The Town Is Pretty Well Built;

But The Harbour Is Shallow, Open, And Unsafe; Nevertheless, They

Built A Good Number Of Tartans And Other Vessels On The Beach And

The Neighbouring Country Abounds With Oil And Fruit, Particularly

With Those Excellent Apples Called Pomi Carli, Which I Have

Mentioned In A Former Letter.

In The Evening We Reached The Capo Di Noli, Counted Very 

Dangerous In Blowing Weather. It Is A Very High Perpendicular

Rock Or Mountain Washed By The Sea, Which Has Eaten Into It In

Divers Places, So As To Form A Great Number Of Caverns. It

Extends About A Couple Of Miles, And In Some Parts Is Indented

Into Little Creeks Or Bays, Where There Is A Narrow Margin Of

Sandy Beach Between It And The Water. When The Wind Is High, No

Feluca Will Attempt To Pass It; Even In A Moderate Breeze, The

Waves Dashing Against The Rocks And Caverns, Which Echo With The

Sound, Make Such An Awful Noise, And At The Same Time Occasion

Such A Rough Sea, As One Cannot Hear, And See, And Feel, Without

A Secret Horror.

On This Side Of The Cape, There Is A Beautiful Strand Cultivated

Like A Garden; The Plantations Extend To The Very Tops Of The

Hills, Interspersed With Villages, Castles, Churches, And Villas.

Indeed The Whole Riviera Is Ornamented In The Same Manner, Except

In Such Places As Admit Of No Building Nor  Cultivation.

Having Passed The Cape, We Followed The Winding Of The Coast,

Into A Small Bay, And Arrived At The Town Of Noli, Where We

Proposed To Pass The Night. You Will Be Surprised That We Did Not

Go Ashore Sooner, In Order To Take Some Refreshment; But The

Truth Is, We Had A Provision Of Ham, Tongues, Roasted Pullets,

Cheese, Bread, Wine, And Fruit, In The Feluca, Where We Every Day

Enjoyed A Slight Repast About One Or Two O'clock In The

Afternoon. This I Mention As A Necessary Piece Of Information To

Those Who May Be Inclined To Follow The Same Route. We Likewise

Found It Convenient To Lay In Store Of L'eau De Vie, Or Brandy,

For The Use Of The Rowers, Who Always Expect To Share Your

Comforts.  On A Meagre Day, However, Those Ragamuffins Will

Rather Die Of Hunger Than Suffer The Least Morsel Of Flesh-Meat

To Enter Their Mouths. I Have Frequently Tried The Experiment, By

Pressing Them To Eat Something Gras, On A Friday Or Saturday: But

They Always Declined It With Marks Of Abhorrence, Crying, Dio Me

Ne Libere! God Deliver Me From It! Or Some Other Words To That

Effect. I Moreover Observed, That Not One Of Those Fellows Ever

Swore An Oath, Or Spoke An Indecent Word. They Would By No Means

Put To Sea, Of A Morning, Before They Had Heard Mass; And When

The Wind Was Unfavourable, They Always Set Out With A Hymn To The

Blessed Virgin, Or St. Elmo, Keeping Time With Their Oars As They

Sung. I Have Indeed Remarked All Over This Country, That A Man

Who Transgresses The Institutions Of The Church In These Small

Matters, Is Much More Infamous Than One Who Has Committed The

Most Flagrant