judge from the extent of its stony shoals, must be a tremendous stream
at high water, and deserving the termagant appellations which Mad. de
Sevigne bestowed upon it. The back of the rocks of Orgon, which we
traversed during the first mile, and on which the convent stands, is
very singular, and resembling more a mass of strange petrifactions than
any regular stratum. At Senas, we saw the ruins of a handsome house
belonging to a M. de B. to whom his property has been restored since the
Revolution; but the gentleman was disgusted at the woods having been cut
down and sent to Toulon for ship-building, and resides entirely at Aix.
An English squire in M. de B.'s case would have rebuilt his ruined
mansion, and raised a belt of young forest trees in a very few years.
For some miles during this stage the face of the country was interesting
and rich in cultivation, with a ruined castle or two, which form
striking features; but on turning to the right up a long hill which led
to Lambesc, and leaving the vale of the Durance behind us, backed by its
high barrier of table-shaped mountains, the country became very
monotonous. It is on a higher level, and though tolerably fertile, is
deficient in verdure, the olive being almost the only tree met with.
Lambesc, like Orgon, which it much exceeds in size, has an air of faded
gentility and desertion, and its fine public fountains tell a tale of
better days. In this town the states of Provence were convened annually
in the reign of Louis XIV.; and it possessed also many of the privileges
of a capital in the days of the counts of Provence, but at present it is
celebrated for nothing but the growth of the best Provence oil. This is
no small distinction in the _almanac des gourmands_, as there is no
article in which it is so difficult to hit the critical taste of a
Provencal. I have seen them often make hideous faces at the twang of oil
which a Spaniard would abuse, and an Englishman admire, for its
tastelessness. A Provencal lady, with the knowing air of a _bonne
menagere_, told us, that no traveller could meet with really good oil,
for that the ordinary sort which we ignorantly thought excellent, was
made from heaps of olives laid to ferment in order to increase the
quantity of produce. The best (which answers, I suppose, to the Cayenne
pepper sent in presents) is made by the proprietors in small quantities
for their own use, from the natural runnings of choice fresh-picked
olives, like col