222 Travels in France 



deplorably ignorant: there are districts, he has been informed, 

 where there are olives, and the fruit left rotting under the trees 

 for want of knowing how to make oil. In general, there are no 

 roads and no inns. When a traveller, or other person, goes into 

 the island, he is recommended from convent to convent, or cure 

 to cure, some of whom are at their ease; you are sure to be well 

 entertained — and at no other expense than a trifle to the servants. 

 The plenty of game and wild-fowl great. The horses are small, 

 but excellent; all stallions. One had been known to be rode 

 four-and-twenty hours without drawing bit. I demanded to 

 what could be attributed such a neglected state of the island: 

 to government, I suppose? By no means; government has 

 manifested every disposition to set things on a better footing. 

 It certainly is owing to the feudal rights of the nobility keeping 

 the people in a state of comparative slavery. They are too 

 wretched to have the inducement to industry. Such is the 

 case at present in many other countries besides Sardinia. When 

 I see and hear of the abominable depredations and enormities 

 committed by the French peasants, I detest the democratical 

 principles; when I see or hear of such wastes as are found in 

 Sardinia, I abhor the aristocratical ones. Accompany Mr. Green 

 to view some gardens, which have a luxuriance of vegetation, by 

 means of watering, that makes them objects worth attention; 

 but the great product, and a most valuable one it is, are oranges 

 and lemons; chiefly the former, and a few bergamots for 

 curiosity. We examined the garden of a nobleman, something 

 under two acres of land, that produces 30 louis d'or a-year in 

 oranges only, besides all the crops of common vegetables. The 

 great value of these products, such is the perversity of human 

 life, is the exact reason why such gardens would be detestable to 

 me, if under the economical management of the gentry of Nice. 

 An acre of garden forms an object of some consequence in the 

 income of a nobleman who, in point of fortune, is reckoned in 

 good circumstances if he has £150 to £200 a-year. Thus the 

 garden, which with us is an object of pleasure, is here one of 

 economy and income, circumstances that are incompatible. It 

 is like a well-furnished room in a man's house which he lets to 

 a lodger. — They sell their oranges so strictly that they cannot 

 gather one to eat. A certain momentary and careless con- 

 sumption is a part of the convenience and agreeableness of a 

 garden; a system which thus constrains the consumption 

 destroys all the pleasure. Oranges may certainly be sold with 

 as much propriety as corn or timber, but then let them grow at 



