Itinerary of Provence and the Rhone Made During the Year 1819 — A Closer Reading

A Practical Companion for Travelers

Hughes explicitly designed his volume as a companion for those visiting the region, aiming to answer "plain and practical questions which suggest themselves during an actual journey." He avoids compiling from known historical references, instead focusing on what a traveler needs: where to find good accommodation, which parts can be passed over rapidly, and where to guard against imposition. The preface states his intent to help those with limited time "form the necessary calculations as to what is to be seen and done." This utilitarian approach is evident throughout, as he notes the best points of view and specifies the subjects of illustrations for collectors. The work thus functions as both a record and a guidebook, blending personal observation with actionable advice.

Recurring Images of Religious Zeal

A striking feature of the excerpts is the extended account of a religious mission in Avignon, where Hughes describes missionaries working from "four in the morning to eight or nine at night." He notes the preference given to unexpected penitents—"dissipated young coxcombs, disabled soldiers, dragoon officers with fierce mustaches"—over the habitually devout, a practice he excuses by the need to "recover these lost sheep." The narrative includes ceremonies designed "for the purpose of striking the senses of the lower orders," such as general communions attended by civil and military authorities. Hughes's tone is analytical, weighing the missionaries' motives against potential spiritual vanity, and he reproduces local reports of parish rivalries with a hint of irony.

Movement Between Urban and Rural Scenes

The itinerary's structure creates a rhythm of contrasts: from the "central and bustling part of Paris" to the quiet château of Grignan, from the crowded churches of Avignon to the open landscapes of the Rhône valley. Hughes notes the shift in atmosphere as he travels, recording both the ferocity of women quarreling for seats at a mission and the serene pilgrimage to Madame de Sévigné's dwelling. The journey is punctuated by historical sites—the Pont du Gard, the prison of the Man in the Iron Mask on the Isle of St. Marguerite—but Hughes often lingers on the present scene: the behavior of locals, the quality of roads, the availability of provisions. This alternation between the practical and the reflective gives the text a layered texture.

The Authorial Voice and Its Limits

Hughes writes in the first person, occasionally addressing the reader directly, as when he imagines "no one ever yet left an hotel in a central and bustling part of Paris without feeling the faculty of observation." His voice is that of an educated Oxonian—a poet, draughtsman, and scholar—but he restrains himself from excessive literary flourish. The excerpts show him quoting a French townsman's account of mission crowds, then adding his own commentary in parentheses: "(Perhaps, as a townsman, he is unwilling to be more particular)." This self-awareness suggests a careful editor of his own impressions. However, the available text is incomplete; the full work may contain more personal reflections or digressions not captured here.

Readers approaching this itinerary should expect a hybrid work: part travelogue, part practical handbook, with occasional forays into social observation. Hughes's attention to detail—whether in describing a mission's logistics or a landscape's best viewpoint—makes the text a valuable primary source for early nineteenth-century travel in southern France. The structure rewards sequential reading, as each chapter builds on the last, but the work also functions as a reference to be consulted for specific locations.

Flipping through John Hughes’s Itinerary, I felt that same patient, unhurried attention to passing landscapes and quiet roads. Years later, that feeling returned while reading From Edinburgh to India & Burmah — Reading Companion. Both are not grand adventures but gentle reckonings with distance, one journey in Provence, another across farther seas. We each carry our own memory of a place, changed by the walking.