After All, The Ground Is Too Scanty For The Number Of Families
Which Are Crouded On It.
You desire to know the state of the arts and sciences at Nice;
which, indeed, is almost a total blank.
I know not what men of
talents this place may have formerly produced; but at present, it
seems to be consecrated to the reign of dulness and superstition.
It is very surprising, to see a people established between two
enlightened nations, so devoid of taste and literature. Here are
no tolerable pictures, busts, statues, nor edifices: the very
ornaments of the churches are wretchedly conceived, and worse
executed. They have no public, nor private libraries that afford
any thing worth perusing. There is not even a bookseller in Nice.
Though they value themselves upon their being natives of Italy,
they are unacquainted with music. The few that play upon
instruments, attend only to the execution. They have no genius
nor taste, nor any knowledge of harmony and composition. Among
the French, a Nissard piques himself on being Provencal; but in
Florence, Milan, or Rome, he claims the honour of being born a
native of Italy. The people of condition here speak both
languages equally well; or, rather, equally ill; for they use a
low, uncouth phraseology; and their pronunciation is extremely
vitious. Their vernacular tongue is what they call Patois; though
in so calling it, they do it injustice. - Patois, from the Latin
word patavinitas, means no more than a provincial accent, or
dialect.
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