Observe how warily a man must walk to avoid being insnar’d. Methinks I have writ enough, or at least laziness persuades me so, and therefore with commendations to my friends, &c.
GENERAL HINTS TO STRANGERS WHO TRAVEL THROUGH FRANCE
Philip Thicknesse, the seventh son of the Rector of Farthinghoe in Northamptonshire, was born in 1719. After an abortive start as an apothecary he joined the army, and by 1741 he had reached the rank of captain. By 1766 he had married twice, and each lady brought him about £5,000; in that year he bought the post of Lieutenant-Governor of the Landguard Fort in Suffolk. His second wife was Lady Elizabeth Touchet, daughter of the Earl of Castlehaven, from whom his son inherited the barony of Audley.
Governor Thicknesse appears to have quarrelled with everybody worth knowing in his time, and he spent some time in prison for a libel. He was an untiring traveller and a voluminous writer. Much of his work was ephemeral, but his Bath Guide, his Journey through France and Part of Spain (from which this extract comes), and his Memoirs and Anecdotes of Philip Thicknesse, late Lieut.-Governor of Landguard Fort, and unfortunately father to George Touchet Baron Audley are very well worth reading.
I
IF YOU travel post, when you approach the town, or bourg where you intend to lie, ask the post-boy, which house he recommends as the best, and never go to that, if there is any other.—Be previously informed what other inns there are in the same place. If you go according to the post-boy’s recommendation, the aubergiste gives him two or three livres, which he makes you pay the next morning. I know but one auberge between Marseilles and Paris, where this is not a constant practice, and that is at Vermanton, five leagues from Auxerre, where every English traveller will find a decent landlord, Monsieur la Brunier, à St. Nicolas; good entertainment, and no imposition, and consequently an inn where no post-boy will drive, if he can avoid it.
II
If you take your own horses, they must be provided with head-pieces, and halters; the French stables never furnish any such things; and your servant must take care that the Garçon d’Ecurie does not buckle them so tight, that the horses cannot take a full bite, this being a common practice, to save hay.
III
If the Garçon d’Ecurie does not bring the halters properly rolled up, when he puts your horses to, he ought to have nothing given him, because they are so constantly accustomed to do it, that they cannot forget it, but in hopes you may too.
IV
Direct your servant, not only to see your horses watered, and corn given them, but to stand by while they eat it: this is often necessary in England, and always in France.
V
If you eat at the table d’Hôte, the price is fixed, and you cannot be imposed upon. If you eat in your own chamber, and order your own dinner or supper, it is as necessary to make a previous bargain with your host for it, as it would be to bargain with an itinerant Jew for a gold watch; the conscience and honour of a French Aubergiste, and a travelling Jew, are always to be considered alike; and it is very remarkable, that the Publicans in France, are the only people who receive strangers with a cool indifference! and where this indifference is most shown, there is most reason to be cautious.
VI
Be careful that your sheets are well aired, otherwise you will find them often, not only damp, but perfectly wet.—Frenchmen in general do not consider wet or damp sheets as dangerous, at least I am sure French Aubergistes do not.
VII
Young men who travel into France, with a view of gaining the language, should always eat at the table d’Hôte.—There is generally at these tables an officer, or a priest, and though there may be none but people of a middling degree, they will show every kind of attention and preference to a stranger.
VIII
It is necessary to carry your own pillows with you; in some inns they have them; but in villages, bourgs, &c. none are to be had.
IX
In the wine provinces, at all the table d’Hôtes, they always provide the common wine, as we do small beer; wine is never paid for separately, unless it is of a quality above the vin du Païs; and when you call for better, know the price before you drink it.
X
When fine cambrick handkerchiefs, &c. are given to be washed, take care they are not trimmed round two inches narrower, to make borders to Madame la Blanchisseuse’s night caps: this is a little douceur which they think themselves entitled to, from my lord Anglois, who they are sure is très riche, and consequently ought to be plundered by the poor.
XI
Whenever you want honest information, get it from a French officer or a priest, provided they are on the wrong side of forty; but, in general, avoid all intimacy with either on the right side of thirty.
XII
Where you propose to stay any time, be very cautious with whom you make an acquaintance, as there are always a number of officious forward Frenchmen, and English adventurers, ready to offer you their services, from whom you will find it very difficult to disengage yourself, after you have found more agreeable company. Frenchmen of real fashion are very circumspect, and will not fall in love with you at first sight; but a designing knave will exercise every species of flattery, in order to fix himself upon you for his dinner, or what else he can get, and will be with you before you are up, and after you are in bed.
XIII
Wherever there is any cabinet of curiosities, medals, pictures, &c. to be seen, never make any scruple to send a card, desiring permission to view them; the request is flattering to a Frenchman, and you will never be refused; and besides this, you will in all probability thereby gain a valuable acquaintance. It is generally men of sense and philosophy, who make such collections, and you will find the collector of them, perhaps, the most pleasing part of the cabinet.
XIV
Take it as a maxim, unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians, that whenever you are invited to a supper at Paris, Lyons, or any of the great cities, where a little trifling play commences before supper, GREAT PLAY is intended after supper; and that you are the marked pigeon to be plucked. Always remember Lord Chesterfield’s advice to his son: “If you play with men, know with whom you play; if with women, for what:” and do not think yourself the more secure, because you see at the same table some of your own countrymen, though they are lords or ladies; a London gambler would have no chance in a Parisian party.
XV
Dress is an essential and most important consideration with every body in France. A Frenchman never appears till his hair is well combed and powdered, however slovenly he may be in other respects.—Not being able to submit every day to this ceremony, the servant to a gentleman of fashion at whose house I visited in Marseilles, having forgot my name, described me to his master, as the gentleman whose hair was toujours mal frisé.—Dress is a foolish thing, says Lord Chesterfield; yet it is a more foolish thing not to be well dressed.
XVI
You cannot dine, or visit after dinner, in an undress frock, with or without a bag to your hair: the hair en queüe, or a little cape to your coat, would be considered an unpardonable liberty. Military men have an advantage above all others in