FEBRUARY 3, 1796: Rose early; difficult to get breakfast; get it at last; excellent coffee, and very coarse brown bread, but, as it happens, I like brown bread. Walked out to see the lions; none to see. Mass celebrating in the church; many people present, especially women; went into divers coffee-houses; plenty of coffee, but no papers. No bread in two of the coffee-houses; but pastry; singular enough! Dinner; and here, as matter of curiosity, follows our bill of fare, which proves clearly that France is in a starving situation: An excellent soup; a dish of fish, fresh from the harbour; a fore-quarter of delicate small mutton, like the Welsh; a superb turkey, and a pair of ducks roasted; pastry, cheese, and fruit after dinner, with wine ad libitum, but still the pain bis; provoked with the Frenchmen grumbling at the bread; made a saying: Vive le pain bis et la liberté! I forgot the vegetables, which were excellent; very glad to see such unequivocal proofs of famine. Went to the Comedie in the evening; a neat theatre, and a very tolerable company; 20 performers in the orchestra; house full; several officers, very fine looking fellows; the audience just as gay as if there was no such thing as war and brown bread in the world. Supper just like our dinner, with wine, &c. NB. Finances. The Louis worth 5,000 livres, or about 200 times its value in assignats; the six-franc-piece in proportion. My bill per diem, for such entertainment as abovementioned, is six francs, (five shillings) and my crimson damask bed 20 sols, or ten pence; coffee in the morning 12 sols, or sixpence; so that I am starving in the manner I have described, for the enormous sum of £0 6S 4d a day! Sad! Sad! Paid for my seat at the theatre, in the box next to that of the Municipalité, 80 livres in assignats, or about fourpence sterling. Be it remembered, I lodge at the principal hotel in Havre, and I doubt not but I might retrench, perhaps one-half, by changing my situation; but hang saving.
FEBRUARY 4, 1796: A swindler in the hotel; wishes to take me in; wants to travel with me to Paris; says he is an American , and calls me Captain; is sure he has seen me somewhere. Tell him perhaps it was in Spain. "A close man, but warm;" it won't do. He tries his wily arts on an old Frenchman, and, to my great surprise, tricks him of about one guinea. The Frenchman finds it out, and is in a rage; going to beat the aventurier, who is forced to refund. This is our first adventure. My friend was no American, which I very soon found out; for "there is no halting before cripples," as poor Richard says.
FEBRUARY 5, 1796: A new arrangement with my landlord; I now pay 5s a day for everything, including my crimson damask bed; walk out; every third man a soldier, or with something of the military costume about him. In the evening the Comedie; Blaise and Babet, and the Rigueurs du Cloitre, a revolutionary piece; applauses and honourable mention. I can account for the favourable reception of the latter piece, but the former is as great a favourite, though the fable is as simple as possible. Two lovers fall out about a nosegay and a ribbon, and, after squabbling through two acts, are reconciled at last, and marry. The sentiments and music are pretty and pastoral, but what puzzles me is, to reconcile the impression which the piece, such as I have described it, seemed to make on the audience, with the sanguinary and ferocious character attributed to the French.
FEBRUARY 6, 1796: It is very singular, but I have had several occasions already to observe, that there is more difficulty in passing silver than paper. I have seen money refused where assignats have been taken currently. This is a phenomenon I cannot understand, especially, when the depreciation is considered. The republican silver is received with great suspicion. People have got it into their heads that it is adulterated, but, even so, surely it is worth, intrinsically, more than a bit of paper. So it is, however, that assignats are more current. The Comedie again. The Marseillaise Hymn sung every night, and the verse, "Tremblez Tyrans," always received with applause. The behaviour of the young men extremely decorous and proper, very unlike the riotous and drunken exhibitions I have been witness to in other countries. The women ugly, and some most grotesque head-dresses. Supper, as usual, excellent; the servants at the hotel remarkably civil, attentive, and humble, which I mention, because I have been so often tormented with blockheads arguing against liberty and equality as subversive of all subordination. I have nowhere met with more respectful attendance than here, nor better entertainment, and all for five shillings a day.
FEBRUARY 7, 1796. SUNDAY: I was curious to observe how this day would be kept in France. I believe nobody worked; the shops were half open, half shut, as I have seen them on holidays in other countries; everybody walking the streets. A vessel from Boston was wrecked last night within 20 yards of the Basin, and an unfortunate French woman lost, with two little children. She had fled to America early in the Revolution, and was now returning to her husband on the restoration of tranquillity. God Almighty help him! She might have been saved alone, but preferred to perish with her infants: it is too horrible to think of. Oh, my babies, my babies, if your little bodies were sunk in the Ocean, what should I do? But you are safe, thank God! Well! No more of that. Comedie again; a house quite full, being Sunday; Mad. Rousselois principal singer; just such another in person, age, manner, and voice, as the late Mrs Kennedy, but a much better actress.
FEBRUARY 8, 1796: An arrangement for Paris at last. An American has a hired coach, a very good one, and we, viz. D’Aucourt, my fellow-traveller, and I , are to pay one louis a piece for our seats, and bear two-thirds of the travelling expenses, post horses, &c. This is very comfortable, cheaper, and much better, than any public carriage. We are to set off early on Wednesday; I have now waited eight days on my companion, who, by-the-by, does not improve on acquaintance; he is as proud as Lucifer, and as mean as avarice can make him. I foresee that we shall not live long together at Paris, but at first he will be absolutely necessary to me. "Damn it, and sink it, and rot it for me," that I cannot speak French. "Rues they call them here." "Oh that I had given that time to the tongues that I have spent in fencing and bear-baiting." Well, " ‘tis but in vain," &c. With God’s blessing, my little boys shall speak French. Comedie in the evening as usual.
FEBRUARY 9, 1796: My lover, the swindler, has been too cunning for us; he has engaged the fourth place in the coach, so we shall have the pleasure of his company on to Paris. He certainly has some designs on our pockets, but I hope he will find himself defeated. Wrote to my family and to Dr Reynolds of Philadelphia, and gave the letters to Capt Baron. Tired of Havre, which is dreadfully monotonous, and D’Aucourt’s peevishness, proceeding partly from ill health, makes him not the pleasantest company in the world. Got our passports; engaged post horses, &c. I do not bear the separation from my family well, yet I certainly do not wish them at present in France. If I can make out my brother Matthew, I shall be better off. Poop PP I shall never meet with such another agreeable companion in a post-chaise. Well, hang sorrow! But I am dreadfully low-spirited: "Croaker is a rhyme for joker." "Poor Dick!" Comedie as usual; sad trash this evening; a boy of 15 in love and married; introduced to his spouse by his nurse; confined to his room by his papa, and let out in order to be married; much fitter to peg a top or play marbles; yet the audience did not seem to feel any incongruity, though, to heighten the absurdity, his lover was Madame Rousselois, a fat woman of 40. It was excessively ridiculous to see her and the "Amoureux de quinze aus" together, and to hear her singing "Lindor a su me plaire." She was easily pleased – The dresses at the theatre of Havre are handsomer and better appointed than I have seen anywhere, except at London, which is wonderful, considering it is but a small seaport town, and more so, when one reflects on the price of admission. I suspect the Government must assist them, or I am sure they could not live on the receipts; if so, it is an additional trait in the resemblance of character between the French and Athenians, which is most striking.
FEBRUARY 10, 1796: Up at five o’clock; a choice carriage lined with blue velvet; five horses; a French postillion, a most grotesque figure – cocked hat and jacket, two great wisps of straw tied on his thighs, and a pair of jack-boots, as big as two American churns. "Their horses, (chevauxes they call them) ben’t quite so nimble as our’n." Set off for Paris; Huzza! The country flat and amazingly populous; the houses of the peasantry scattered as thick as they can lie, about a mean between an English cottage and an Irish cabin, or hovel; but if the house be inferior, there is an appearance in the spot of ground about, far beyond what I have seen in England. Every cottage stands in the middle of a parallelogram of perhaps an acre or two, which is planted with trees, and I suppose includes their potagerie, &c; the quantity of wood thus scattered over the face of the country is immense, and has a beautiful effect; every foot of ground seems to me under cultivation, so there will be no starving, please God, this year. France, D’Aucourt says, in a good year, grows one third more than she consumes. No enclosures, but all the country open; excepting that circumstance, not unlike Yorkshire, which I look upon as the finest part of England; an orchard to every cottage, besides rows of apples trees, without intermission, by the road side. Why might it not be so in other countries, whose climate differs but very little from that of Normandy? Think of this. The country still flat as a bowling green, but as interesting as much wood and the most perfect cultivation can make it. Again and again delighted with the prospect of the abundant harvest which a few months will produce. No streams nor meadows, but all tilled; roads excellent. Arrive at Rouen at two hours after nightfall; a beautiful approach to the town through a noble avenue of trees, I believe, "for it was so dark, Hal, thou couldst not see they hand." Lodge at the Hotel d’Egalité.
FEBRUARY 11, 1796: Set off at ten o’clock. A hill immediately over Rouen of immense height, and so steep that the road is cut in traverses. When at the top, a most magnificent prospect to look back over Normandy, with Rouen at your feet, and the Seine winding beautifully through the landscape. The face of the country pretty much as yesterday, except that the cottages are not so much detached, but rather collected in small hamlets; a mean appearance, and far inferior in all respects. The little plantations around the cottages set them off and hide all defects; but here they are grouped together and completely exposed; yet still they are far beyond the cottages I have been used to see. Very few towns, and those of a sombre appearance; the manufacturing towns of England beyond all comparison superior. The beauty of France is in the country. Pass two or three chateaux, which are very thinly scattered; all shut up and deserted, their masters having been either guillotined, or being now on the right (viz. the wrong) bank of the Rhine. In general they are in a bad taste; no improvements around them, as in England, but built close on the road, and generally a dirty little hamlet annexed, the wretched habitation of the slaves of the feudal system. Well! All those things are past and gone, just as if they had never been. I can see the genius of the French noblesse was not adapted to the country. In England, I suppose the seats of the gentry, in the same kind of country, would be as one hundred to one. Pass a beautiful valley, with a stream, the first I have seen, winding through it, and mount a second hill almost as high as that above Rouen. Table land cultivated as before, that is to say, without one foot of ground wasted. To my utter astonishment, a large flock of sheep! What, sheep in France! I suppose they must have swam over from England! Another flock – another: "They sear mine eyeballs." I could wish John Bull were here for one half hour, just to look at the fields of wheat that I am passing. It is impossible to conceive higher cultivation: I have seen nothing of a corn country like it in England. The road this day but middling. Sleep at Magny.
FEBRUARY 12, 1796: A most blistering bill for supper, &c. In great indignation, and the more so, because I could not scold in French. Passion is eloquent, but all my figure of speech were lost on the landlord. If this extortion resulted from any scarcity, I would submit in silence; but it is downright villainy. Well! " ‘Tis but in vain," literally. Set off in a very ill humour, but soon reconciled to my losses by the smiling appearance of the country. Still flat, and richly cultivated. Breakfast at Pontoise. The serenity of my temper, which I had just recovered, ruffled completely by a second bill. "Landlords have flinty hearts; no tears can move them." This comes of riding in fine carriages, with velvet linings! We are downright Milords Anglais, and they certainly make us pay for our titles. Several vineyards, the first I have met with. An uninterrupted succession of corn, vines, and orchards, as far as the eye can reach, rich and riant beyond description. I see now clearly that John Bull will be able to starve France. St Denys – the building for washing the royal linen turned into an arsenal, and a palace into a barrack for the Gendarmie: a church, with the inscription – Le peuple Francais reconnait l’etre Suprême, et l’immortalité de l’ame – Groscaillou – Several windmills turning, as if they were grinding corn, but, to be sure, they have none to grind: an artful fetch to deceive the worthy Mr Bull, and make him believe there is still some bread in France. In sight of Paris at last. Huzza! Huzza!
I have now travelled 150 miles in France, and I do not think I have seen 150 acres uncultivated: the very orchards are under grain. All the mills I have seen were at work, and all the chateaux shut up, without exception.
Paris
– stop at the
Hotel des Etrangers, Rue Vivienne,
a magnificent house, but, I foresee, as dear as the devil; my apartment in the third story very handsomely furnished, &c. for 50 francs per month, and so in proportion for a shorter time; much cheaper than the Adelphi and other hotels in London; but I will not stay here for all that – I must get into private lodgings. At six o’clock, dinner with D’Aucourt at the
Restaurateur’s
in the
Maison Egalité,
formerly the Palais Royal, which is within 50 yards of our hotel. The bill of fare printed, as large as a play bill, with the price of everything marked. I am ashamed to say so much on the subject of eating, but I have been so often bored with the famine in France, that it is, in some degree, necessary to dwell upon it. Our dinner was a soup, roast fowl, fried carp, salads of two kinds, a bottle of Burgundy, coffee after dinner, and a glass of liqueur, with excellent bread – (I forgot, we had cauliflower’s and sauce,) – and our bill for the whole, wine and all, 1,500 livres, in asignats, which, at the present rate, (the Louis being 6,500 livres,) is exactly 4s 7.1d sterling. What would I have given to have had PP with me! Indeed we would have discussed another bottle of the Burgundy, or, by’r Lady, some two or three –
"The rogue has given me medicines to make me love him: Yes! I have drank medicines."
I wish to God our bill of fare was posted on the Royal Exchange, for John Bull’s edification. I do not think he would dine much better for the money, even at the London Tavern, especially if he drank such Burgundy as we did. The saloon in which we dined was magnificent, illuminated with patent lamps, and looking glasses of immense size; the company of a fashionable appearance of opulence and luxury. Walked round the Palais Royal, but too dark to see anything. Ascend a shop kept by JB Louvet. Coffee houses all full as they can hold, but did not go into one of them. D’Aucourt grumbling at the appearance of things not being half so brilliant as formerly: believe he is fibbing a little. Bed!
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