This day we left Nevers at six in the morning. It appears to be a large town, ...
This day we left Nevers at six in the morning. It appears to be a large town, when viewed from the bridge over which we crossed; but it is far from being a fine town in the interior. The streets are, like all French streets, narrow, and the houses have a look of antiquity, and a want of all repair; nothing like comfort, neatness, or tidiness, in any one of them. This is a melancholy desideratum in France, a want for which nothing can compensate. The road this day conducted us through a finer district than we have observed on this side of Paris; more especially between Nevers and St Pierre, where we have travelled through a richer and more beautiful country than we have yet seen. No longer the sand, and gravel, and chalk, which we have long been accustomed to, but a dark rich soil over a bed of freestone. Here also all the land is well enclosed. I have not yet been able to find the reason of this sudden change in the manner of preserving the fields: The face of the country is also more generally wooded; but from the necessity the French are under of cutting down whatever wood they find near the towns for their fires, all the fine trees are ruined in appearance, by their branches being lopped off: The effect of this on the appearance of the country is very sad.—Still we find a want of that agreeable alternation of hill and dale, of the enclosed meadows, and wooded vallies; of the broad and beautiful rivers and the small winding streams, which, as the finest features in their native landscape, have become necessary to a Scotch or an English eye.
The dress of the women is here different from what we have elsewhere seen: the peasants' wives wearing large gipsey straw hats, very much turned up behind and before; the men have still the immense broad-brimmed black felt affairs, more like umbrellas than Christian hats. At the inn here, I saw a number of wounded soldiers returning to their homes; one of them, I observed, had his feet outside of his shoes. On entering into conversation with him, he told me that his toes had been nearly frozen off, but that he expected to get them healed: poor fellow, he was not above twenty. He told me that all the young conscripts were delighted to return to their homes, and that only the old veterans were friends to the war.—I hope this may be true, but I doubt it. The country here shows that the winter is not so far advanced; many of the trees are still green; the roads had become heavy with the rain that has fallen; we have had two days hard frost, but to-day the weather is mild, and the air moist. We were recommended to the Hotel des Allies here, but preferred stopping at the first good-looking inn we found, as in great towns things are very dear at the houses of great resort; we have had a very good supper and tolerable lodgings for 18 francs.
To-morrow, we set out at seven.—We find our way of travelling tedious; but I think in summer it would be by far the best. Our three horses seldom take less than 10, sometimes 13 hours to their day's journey, of from 28 to 32 miles; but our carriage is large and roomy; and had we any thing like comfort at our inns, as at home, we should find the travelling very pleasant. The greatest annoyance arises from your having always to choose from the two evils, of being either shamefully imposed upon, or of having to bargain before-hand for the price of your entertainment.
The dress of the women is here different from what we have elsewhere seen: the peasants' wives wearing large gipsey straw hats, very much turned up behind and before; the men have still the immense broad-brimmed black felt affairs, more like umbrellas than Christian hats. At the inn here, I saw a number of wounded soldiers returning to their homes; one of them, I observed, had his feet outside of his shoes. On entering into conversation with him, he told me that his toes had been nearly frozen off, but that he expected to get them healed: poor fellow, he was not above twenty. He told me that all the young conscripts were delighted to return to their homes, and that only the old veterans were friends to the war.—I hope this may be true, but I doubt it. The country here shows that the winter is not so far advanced; many of the trees are still green; the roads had become heavy with the rain that has fallen; we have had two days hard frost, but to-day the weather is mild, and the air moist. We were recommended to the Hotel des Allies here, but preferred stopping at the first good-looking inn we found, as in great towns things are very dear at the houses of great resort; we have had a very good supper and tolerable lodgings for 18 francs.
To-morrow, we set out at seven.—We find our way of travelling tedious; but I think in summer it would be by far the best. Our three horses seldom take less than 10, sometimes 13 hours to their day's journey, of from 28 to 32 miles; but our carriage is large and roomy; and had we any thing like comfort at our inns, as at home, we should find the travelling very pleasant. The greatest annoyance arises from your having always to choose from the two evils, of being either shamefully imposed upon, or of having to bargain before-hand for the price of your entertainment.
Dieses Kapitel ist Teil des Buches TRAVELS IN FRANCE, DURING THE YEARS 1814-15.