Chapter 13

The adjoining part of the vale of the Durance is called the district of the Cheval Blanc, and, like its namesake, the vale of White Horse in Berks, is celebrated for its fertility. To Lambesc twelve miles. For six or seven miles the road follows the course of the Durance, which, to judge from the extent of its stony shoals, must be a tremendous stream at high water, and deserving the termagant appellations which Mad. de Sevigne bestowed upon it. The back of the rocks of Orgon, which we traversed during the first mile, and on which the convent stands, is very singular, and resembling more a mass of strange petrifactions than any regular stratum. At Senas, we saw the ruins of a handsome house belonging to a M. de B. to whom his property has been restored since the Revolution; but the gentleman was disgusted at the woods having been cut down and sent to Toulon for ship-building, and resides entirely at Aix. An English squire in M. de B.'s case would have rebuilt his ruined mansion, and raised a belt of young forest trees in a very few years. For some miles during this stage the face of the country was interesting and rich in cultivation, with a ruined castle or two, which form striking features; but on turning to the right up a long hill which led to Lambesc, and leaving the vale of the Durance behind us, backed by its high barrier of table-shaped mountains, the country became very monotonous. It is on a higher level, and though tolerably fertile, is deficient in verdure, the olive being almost the only tree met with. Lambesc, like Orgon, which it much exceeds in size, has an air of faded gentility and desertion, and its fine public fountains tell a tale of better days. In this town the states of Provence were convened annually in the reign of Louis XIV.; and it possessed also many of the privileges of a capital in the days of the counts of Provence, but at present it is celebrated for nothing but the growth of the best Provence oil. This is no small distinction in the _almanac des gourmands_, as there is no article in which it is so difficult to hit the critical taste of a Provencal. I have seen them often make hideous faces at the twang of oil which a Spaniard would abuse, and an Englishman admire, for its tastelessness. A Provencal lady, with the knowing air of a _bonne menagere_, told us, that no traveller could meet with really good oil, for that the ordinary sort which we ignorantly thought excellent, was made from heaps of olives laid to ferment in order to increase the quantity of produce. The best (which answers, I suppose, to the Cayenne pepper sent in presents) is made by the proprietors in small quantities for their own use, from the natural runnings of choice fresh-picked olives, like cold drawn castor oil, and has a greenish tinge; and this the good lady assured us was the only true thing.

No more, when ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise;

more particularly in matters relating to the palate. We walked to see the house where the Count de Grignan resided in state, during his official visits to Lambese: like many other dilapidated mansions in the place, it bears the marks of fallen greatness. There is a handsome stone gateway belonging to it, decorated with a carved coat of arms supported by lions; but the house, like the poor Palazzo Foscari at Venice, is tenanted only by a nest of squalid families. The Hotel du Bras d'Or is a plain, comfortable country inn, civil and reasonable.

CHAP. X.

AIX--MARSEILLES.

MAY 22.--To Aix sixteen miles. Though the country during the first part of the stage is hilly without any romantic character, and rather unpromising, the difference of climate was already apparent from the strong and brilliant colours of the very hedge flowers, of which we observed an endless variety. After passing St. Canat, the first post, the country improves a little, and the [48]mountain under which Aix is situated begins to thrust its lofty head above the intervening line of hills. In proceeding a little further, we caught a distant glimpse of the Etang de Berre to the west, and presently distinguished Aix in a deep vale under our feet, into which the descent is long and steep. A cart escorted by five gens d'armes, in which we saw a priest and another person quietly ensconced, and exposed to a burning sun, was toiling up the hill on a very different errand from ours. We were surprised to see a grave character in so equivocal a situation, but found on inquiry that he had benevolently offered his assistance in escorting a woman on her journey to Arles, where she was to be executed for a murder. The circumstances under which it had been committed, struck us as more atrocious than common. About seven years before, this person, in concert with her husband, who was since dead, invited an old lady, their friend and patroness, and godmother to one of their children, to walk and eat grapes in their vineyard. Watching their opportunity, they cut her throat, buried her on the spot, and possessed themselves of her property, with which they removed from the neighbourhood of Arles, where the murder was committed.

[Footnote 48: According to Sanson's excellent Atlas, the French part of which was laid down from measurement, in the reign of Louis XIV., this mountain is the Mont St. Victoire, near which Marius gained his celebrated victory over the Cimbri. The field of battle is fixed by history as near Aquae Sextiae.--(_Aix_.)]

Arles and its environs, it seems, are a sort of French Lancashire in point of brutal ferocity, and are celebrated for murders as much as for pork sausages; not that I mean to connect the two things together, as in the well-known nursery tale.

The Hotel des Princes at Aix is justly to be praised for cleanliness and excellent accommodations; but Madame Alary is too well aware of its merits to lose by them. It is somewhat ridiculous to pay, in this fine fruit country, three francs for a small coffee-saucer of marmalade, with which we were charged as a separate item in the breakfast; and those therefore who intend staying a couple of days at this inn, should make their bargain first.

Mons. Gibelin, a physician residing in the Rue Italienne at Aix, possesses, and obligingly allows to be shown, some good pictures, including original portraits of Mad. de Sevigne and her daughter. Finding him from home, and the house shut up, we extended our walk further into the town, which, in point of airy streets and cleanliness, deserves to hold a very high rank indeed among French cities. The houses are generally stately, regular, and well built, and give you the idea both of former and of present gentility and opulence. It is in some degree cooled by several fine fountains, a circumstance of no small importance at this season of the year, for the effects of the "beau soleil de Provence" began to exceed even my recollections of Naples. Speaking merely at hazard on the subject, I should doubt whether any place in the south of France is better adapted for the cure of pulmonary complaints than Aix. It stands on the side of a rising ground, facing a delightfully well-watered and fertile valley to the south-west, and sheltered from the piercing winds, so prevalent in Provence at some seasons, by a mountainous barrier which rises to the north and north-east. Its situation is thus at once sheltered, airy, and cheerful, and does the greatest honour to the taste of King Rene[49] in selecting it for his capital.

[Footnote 49: For an account of the curious ceremonies and processions instituted by this monarch, see Miss Plumptre, under the heads of "Leis Razcassetos," "Lou Juec des Diables," &c. I cannot say but that the enumeration reminds me of the merry court of Old King Cole, with his fiddlers three, his tailors three, and the long list of et ceteras detailed in the well-known song.]

To Marseilles sixteen miles. At the end of a mile and a half, the road ascends a hill to the south, marked by a clump of stone pines, which commands the best view of Aix and its environs. The vale running up to the right under Mont St. Victoire deserves particular mention, as uniting the highest degree of beauty and verdure with a certain wildness of feature; and would give a fair idea of the best parts of Italian scenery to a person not desirous of crossing the Alps. After taking leave of this valley, which better deserves to be called the garden of Provence than any other district I have yet seen, the face of the country is less pleasing, but in some places more singular and original. The first few miles were dull enough, it is true; and to add to our pleasure intensely hot, and destitute of any sort of shade. It was therefore with no small satisfaction that we stopped for a few minutes under a grove of tall old trees which overshadowed the road, with a fountain spouting up in the midst, which completely altered the atmosphere. No palm island in the deserts of Arabia was ever more welcome than this cool spot, which belonged, we understood, to the adjoining Chateau Albertas. Whoever was the planner of it, he has discovered more true taste and gentlemanly feeling than if he had built the finest possible entrance or lodge as a mere tribute to self-love: and were pride alone consulted as a motive, nothing leaves so striking a recollection on the minds of strangers, or so strongly disposes them to inquire the name of the proprietor of a spot, as an elegant proof of attention to their convenience, like the one in question.

Having traversed a second interval of dry parched country, we crossed another pleasant valley, in which is situated the Chateau Simiane. This seat, visible about a mile to the left, was the residence of Pauline de Grignan, wife of the Marquis de Simiane; who is said to have inherited much of the talent and liveliness of her grandmother and mother. Her verses beginning with

"Lorsque j'etois encore cette jeune Pauline," &c.

jesting on the annoyance of a lawsuit in which she had to defend her title to the Grignan estates, are still on record. After passing the Chateau Simiane, the country became wild and singular in parts. We particularly remarked a small village built round the base of one of those castellated rocks which abound in the neighbourhood of Beaucaire, as also a singular defile near the post-house of La Pin. The high gray rocks which inclose this spot appear as if seared to the quick with drought, and for some distance leave room only for the road and a narrow riband-shaped line of rich cultivated ground of a few yards in breadth; which is again succeeded by a small village, whose houses completely block up the defile. From this point you creep and wind gradually to the hill called La Viste, from which we were instructed to expect the most celebrated view of Marseilles. It fully equals all that can be said of it; and, though inferior to the bays of Naples and Genoa, possesses features which strongly remind one of both. On reaching a wood of stone pines on the summit of the hill, the bay of Marseilles bursts on you all at once, in an immense sheet of bright blue, studded with sunny islands, among which the Chateau d'If, a little spot fortified to the teeth, and commanding the entrance of the inner port, is most conspicuous. On advancing a little further, the shores of the bay are seen lengthening themselves into a half moon, one horn of which is formed by a line of mountains of no remarkable outline, and the other by a more lofty chain, communicating with Mont St. Baume and Mont Victoire, and the out-post of which is formed by a lofty and barren cape jutting into the sea at the back of Marseilles. The town itself possesses no remarkable feature from this point, except the fort of Notre Dame de la Garde, which crowns and commands it at the top of a lofty hill; but its environs, which rise in an amphitheatre from the sea to the adjoining mountains, are one perpetual succession of white villas, vineyards, orange, lemon and fruit-tree groves, and every thing in short which can enrich and enliven a prospect. Too much certainly is not said by the French of this celebrated Viste, which deserves at least a quarter of an hour's attention; and there are one or two decent cabarets on the top of it, the resort of the Marseillois for cool air and refreshment, where the horses can be baited while a survey or a sketch is taken.

After the descent of this hill, nothing worth notice occurs, till you have passed a long and uninteresting suburb, and enter Marseilles by the Cours, the first effect of which is striking, as it runs in a straight line dividing the town into two parts. We turned off to the right, towards the stately quarter which Vernet has represented in his celebrated view from the inner harbour; and took up our abode at the Hotel de Beauveau, which we found in every way deserving the rank which it holds among the number of excellent hotels in this place. We rose soon after day-light the next morning, to walk to the fort and signal post of Notre Dame de la Garde, the most conspicuous object in a distant view of Marseilles, and which we had observed rearing its flag-staff at the end of almost every vista of street, like the castle of St. Elmo at Naples. In our walk we picked up a species of locust, the sauterelle of this country, of a pale, dirty brown, and somewhat more than three inches in length. Thanks to the great cleanliness of the Hotel de Beauveau, this was the first insect which we had as yet met with at Marseilles. In a climate, indeed, of a certain degree of heat, perpetual scouring and sweeping becomes absolutely necessary in all comfortable establishments, and these little evils are more completely eradicated than in those places where they are less natural. The simple precaution of shutting the windows before candles are brought, is commonly sufficient to keep off the mosquitos; and as for the scorpions, this formidable bug-bear exists only in the imaginations of travelling ladies, in glass jars at apothecaries' shops, and occasionally in the poorer houses of the old town, where the dirt and rubbish afford it a shelter.

On ascending the hill of Notre Dame de la Garde, we found reason to approve our choice of it as a point of general survey. It commands not only the whole bay, but also the flat space of land encircled by mountains, in which Marseilles is enclosed as between hot walls, and the town itself lies like a map under it. As a point, however, for a general sketch, I should prefer the island of Ratoneau, which possesses sufficient elevation for all purposes of the picturesque, and brings in the sea and the Chateau d'If as a front ground, grouping at the same time the masses of building of Marseilles better than a mere bird's eye view would do.

The chapel of this fort, like that of Notre Dame de Fourvieres at Lyons, possesses a great reputation for sanctity, and much resembles it also in its steep ascent, which one would suppose that some austere monk had in both cases contrived as a penance to short breathed devotees. The same hosts of beggars also besiege both places, of all ranks and pretensions, from those who stand silent in a white sheet for drapery, to those who obstreperously exhibit their want of any drapery at all. The chapel is hung with little pictures, dedicated to the Virgin by the honest sailors and peasants, and representing different providential escapes: the wretched daubing of which is somewhat atoned for by the good feeling which placed them there. One of them represents the Virgin appearing to a ship in a storm, with a visage and demeanor which might as well accompany a flying mermaid; another describes a man run over by a cart, and preserved unhurt by a similar interference; a third, the recovery from a sick bed, and the joy of the friends on the occasion, whose countenances not a little reminded us of our grim friends Damon and Holofernes. Some offerings of a better and richer description were pillaged at the time of the Revolution.

We descended from this airy situation down a range of streets as precipitous as the roof of a house, the slope of which probably counteracts the effect of heat, and prevents the stagnation of air in the crowded situations of the old town: Marseilles is said to be healthy in consequence; and the generally active and fine appearance of its population confirms it. The heat, however, to judge from a comparison with Naples at the hottest season of the year, must be tremendous. It struck on us at nine in the morning, on re-entering the town, like the air from the mouth of an oven; and the herds of poor goats who compose the walking dairies of Marseilles and the environs, dead asleep on the trottoirs, formed, with a few strolling Turks, almost all the out-of-doors population in the principal streets. We had no objection whatever to imitate the general practice, and to sit still in a cool room for the rest of the morning, reserving ourselves for an evening's walk on the quay. I have as yet seen no place where a promenade of this sort is so fraught with little circumstances of amusement, or where such a variety of different ideas can be taken in by the eyes alone.

"Greeks, Romans, Yankeedoodles, and Hindoos,"

and more nations than could be described in a whole stanza of names, may be found clustering in knots, or lounging under the awnings of their different coffee-houses; while new detachments of fresh-men are seen continually landing, with lank staring quarantine faces, and elbowed in every direction by the busy Marseillois, whose curiosity is too much deadened by continual importations, to be excited by the newest or strangest costume. In short, the memorable political masquerade which was got up so awkwardly by Anacharsis Clootz and his friends from the Fauxbourg St. Antoine, might here be represented almost every day in the week by real and genuine actors, in every possible variety.

May 24.--I cannot say much for the old cathedral; and as far as I can collect from the conversation of a scientific Englishman, who has dropt his watch into one of the boiling vats, while minuting some process, the great soap manufactory of this place offers nothing very different from other places of the same sort. Our morning's walk was therefore confined principally to the Cours, the shade of whose spreading trees, and the profusion of fine bouquets and cheerful faces in the flower-market at one end of it, render it a most agreeable promenade. The pleasure of lounging, which in the spirit-stirring climate, and among the busy faces of England is the offspring of conceit, becomes in such places as this, and to an unoccupied person, a real and physical satisfaction, and we much preferred it to the lions of Marseilles, which are not many. In the evening we explored the western side of the bay, and the low reef of rocks opposite to the Lazaretto, which may someday or other be known by the name of Alfieri's[50] seat, as he has described it in his life with sufficient accuracy to mark the spot. It commands one of the best and most cheerful views of Marseilles, including several features of the prospect afforded from the Viste, but of course on a lower elevation.

[Footnote 50: Vide Cooke's Views.]

CHAP. XI.

OLLIOULES--TOULON.

MAY 23.--From Marseilles to Cujes twenty-four miles. From the views which we had from the Viste and Notre Dame de la Garde, we were prepared to expect much from the nearer acquaintance with the environs of Marseilles, which the first seven or eight miles would afford us. In this case, however, as in Campbell's mountain,

"'Twas distance lent enchantment to the View;"

for that which as a distant whole presented a scene of the highest beauty, and the richest cultivation, was nothing better in detail than a drive between stone walls. I have always thought that the ostentation of riches, or of those things which they will procure, was not a subject of vanity so common in France as in England; but there is a medium in all things, and it would be as well if the Marseillois and their countrymen of Lyons, had a little of that social and respectable pride, which induces every cit of Hampstead or Clapham to set off his little box to the best advantage. They seem to prefer the philosophical sulkiness which Shakspeare's Iden describes himself as enjoying between four garden walls.[51] On passing Aubagne, however, the valley of Gemenos makes ample amends to the eye, uniting the verdure and wild character of a Swiss vale, to the rich productions of Provence. After about three miles, the road narrows to a mere cleft in the hills, which we threaded for several miles, emerging at last upon the green bason of ground on which Cujes stands. Here, for the first time, we saw capers, with a profusion of every sort of esculent vegetable, which the inhabitants cultivate with great assiduity, losing not an inch of ground. To such a pitch, indeed, does their laudable economy proceed, that every inhabitant of Cujes keeps a pet dunghill before his house, fearing no doubt to lose sight of it; and in this wilderness of sweets the good women sat basking and gossiping with great satisfaction.

[Footnote 51: See Second Part of Henry VI. Act 4.]

At Cujes we breakfasted in the same salle-a-manger with an agreeable old Marseillois and his wife, who confirmed Peyrol's account of the bloody revolutionary committee at Orange, and added circumstances which, at this distance of time, seemed still fresh in their minds. The latter had been confined four months in the prison at L'Isle, near Avignon, from which detachments of persons were daily sent to be tried at Orange, none of whom returned. Among the sufferers were a Mad. Vidou, a superannuated widow of ninety, who was guillotined in company with her son, an amiable and respectable man, and was unconscious of her fate till the last. Forty nuns of the convent of Bollene were also among the prisoners, accused of a plot to bring about a counter-revolution, and four had been already guillotined on this charge when the fall of Robespierre took place. Three of this lady's friends had been reported as emigrants, and lost their property, merely from not having been at home when the commissaires made their visit. The wife of one of these offered to recall him in ten minutes, if necessary: "Non, Citoyenne, c'est egal;" and he was accordingly enrolled and treated as an emigrant, though he never had been absent a single day from his home. In a nation where almost every person of a certain age has such incidents as these burnt into his recollection, it is not wonderful that the general character should somewhat alter, and that the lively thoughtless Frenchmen of Sterne should become nearly an obsolete race. It may be perhaps a fanciful idea to trace to the same source the nature of a Frenchman's vanity, which has generally more reference to mental qualities, than to those goods of which fortune or the will of a despot may deprive him in an instant. "Bene vixit qui bene latuit" should seem the motto of the bulk of the nation.

The first part of the road from Cujes to Toulon traverses great inequalities of ground, affording very odd bird's eye glimpses of the sea through little chasms in the line of cliffs to the right. Beausset, through which we passed, is as filthy a town as Cujes, and the country as beautifully cultivated, and as rich in flowers, fruit, and corn; it is difficult, indeed, to find animal and vegetable nature more strongly contrasted. If I may be allowed to parody the words of a noble poet--

"They are brown as the dunghills whereon they decline, "And all, save the dwelling of man, is divine."