A Year's Journey through France and Part of Spain, Volume 1 (1777) — Background and Themes

The Traveller's Temper as a Filter

Thicknesse explicitly ties the reliability of travel writing to the author's emotional state. He confesses that his own earlier letters suffered from chagrin at not being rated according to his own estimation. He argues that objects animate or inanimate appear differently to those disturbed by ill health, ill treatment, or wounded pride. This metacommentary on the genre sets his work apart from straightforward guidebooks. He even imagines Smollett revising his own travels if restored to health and good temper, suggesting that anger distorts judgment more than ignorance does.

Practicalities and Impositions on the Road

Thicknesse peppers his letters with concrete details about money, inns, and transportation. In Barcelona, he recounts a tense episode with bank bills and a cashier who is conveniently sick. He learns a Spanish proverb about Barcelona being good if the purse is good, and translates its sense rather than its words. His contrast with Sir Thomas Gascoyne—who travels with two coaches, two sets of horses, and a train of servants—highlights the gap between wealthy and modest travelers. Thicknesse himself travels like a Spaniard, with one footman who always walks, and notes that both of Sir Thomas's coaches broke down before reaching Valencia.

Descriptive Economy in City and Landscape

When Thicknesse describes Barcelona, he does so in a few brisk sentences: a good city, a fine mole, a noble citadel, and Monjuïc fort on a high hill commanding town and harbor. The plain is encircled by a semi-circular range of hills adorned with country houses and villages. He notes that the Inquisition has lost much of its former power but still keeps an awe upon all who live within its reach. This blend of topographical observation with institutional commentary is typical of his method—he moves from the visual to the social without lingering.

Voice and Self-Presentation Through Anecdote

Thicknesse's epistolary voice is conversational and self-deprecating. He tells of teaching his children a Spanish proverb he does not exactly agree to, and of singing while setting off for Montserrat despite recent misfortunes. His postscript about Sir Thomas's polite message and the subsequent letter from Mr. Swinburne reveals a network of correspondence and courtesy among English travelers abroad. The closing remark that he had religion but a bad one in that country, while Sir Thomas had every advantage of religion and fortune, underscores Thicknesse's awareness of his own marginal position as a Protestant in Catholic Spain.

Thicknesse's letters reward readers who attend to his shifts in tone—from irritable to wry, from practical to philosophical. The self-critique in the opening letter invites us to weigh his judgments against his admitted biases. His eye for the telling detail, whether a broken coach or a delayed bank payment, makes the journey feel immediate and particular. Approach this volume as a conversation with a candid, sometimes cranky, companion rather than a neutral itinerary.

Thicknesse grumbled through French inns with a traveler’s honest weariness, yet his letters kept a fondness for the road’s small absurdities. Reading A Year’s Journey again, I thought of another old companion, In Château Land — Edition Insights, where stone walls hold quieter secrets, and both books seem to nod at each other across centuries, sharing that patient, half-smiling patience with place.