My conductor hither, who is a friend of Mad. de T____, and esteemed “bien
instruit,” was much surprized when I told him that the population and
size of London exceeded that of Paris—­that we had good fruit, and better
vegetables than were to be found in many parts of France.   I saw that he
suspected my veracity, and there is always on these occasions such a
decided and impenetrable incredulity in a Frenchman as precludes all
hopes of convincing him.   He listens with a sort of self-sufficient
complacence which tells you he does not consider your assertions as any
thing more than the exaggerations of national vanity, but that his
politeness does not allow him to contradict you.   I know nothing more
disgustingly impertinent than his ignorance, which intrenches itself
behind the forms of civility, and, affecting to decline controversy,
assumes the merit of forbearance and moderation:  yet this must have been
often observed by every one who has lived much in French society:  for the
first emotion of a Frenchman, on hearing any thing which tends to place
another country on an equality with France, is doubt—­this doubt is
instantly reinforced by vanity—­and, in a few seconds, he is perfectly
satisfied that the thing is impossible.

One must be captious indeed to object to this, did it arise from that patriotic feeling so common in the English; but here it is all vanity, downright vanity:  a Frenchman must have his country and his mistress admired, though he does not often care much for either one or the other.  I have been in various parts of France in the most critical periods of the revolution—­I have conversed with people of all parties and of all ranks—­and I assert, that I have never yet met but with one man who had a grain of real patriotism.  If the Athenian law were adopted which doomed all to death who should be indifferent to the public welfare in a time of danger, I fear there would be a woeful depopulation here, even among the loudest champions of democracy.

It is not thirty miles from Amiens to Peronne, yet a journey of thirty miles is not now to be undertaken inconsiderately; the horses are so much worked, and so ill fed, that few perform such a distance without rest and management.  If you wish to take others, and continue your route, you cannot, or if you wait while your own horses are refreshed, as a reward for your humanity you get starved yourself.  Bread being very scarce, no family can get more than sufficient for its own consumption, and those who travel without first supplying themselves, do it at the risk of finding none on the road.

Peronne is chiefly remarkable in history for never having been taken, and for a tower where Louis XI. was confined for a short time, after being outwitted in a manner somewhat surprizing for a Monarch who piqued himself on his talents for intrigue, by Charles le Temeraire, Duke of Burgundy.  It modern reputation, arises from its election of the Abbe Maury for its representative, and for entertaining political principles every way analogous to such a choice.