Through Wales in the Footsteps of William Gilpin: Illustrated Travel Accounts by Early French Tourists, 1768–1810

ABSTRACT Taking the development of picturesque tourism in Wales since the publication of William Gilpin’s Observations on the River Wye (1782) as point of departure, this article examines three Anglophone illustrated travel accounts by French tourists during the Romantic period, focusing on the co-occurrence of text and images as they may confirm, destabilize, or even contradict each other. The diachronic approach to these early illustrated travel accounts uncovers the adaptation of aesthetic ideas and ideals across national borders and their subsequent influence on interpretations and representations of Wales. The article shows how French tourists utilized different aspects of the picturesque to demonstrate their aesthetic education or political affiliations, or to criticize social injustices.

accounts by continental Europeans have been identified for the period 1700-1770; between 1771 and 1815 the number of extant accounts in print or manuscript more than quadrupled, rising to thirty-three (Accounts of Travel). Taking inspiration from William Gilpin's illustrated travelogue, Observations on the River Wye (1782), French travelers were among the first who not only described their journeys through Wales, but also provided illustrations.
Despite the overabundance of historical textual evidence of Romantic travel writing about Wales, contemporary critical analyses of the Home Tour disproportionately focus on Scotland and Ireland (Constantine,"Beauty Spot" 580). Moreover, discounting the case of the Home Tour in general and Wales in particular, John Urry has argued that "scenic tourism" which demonstrated "a much more private and passionate experience of beauty and the sublime" only came to the forefront in the nineteenth century (6). However, owing to an opportune combination of Welsh cultural distinctiveness and attention-grabbing mountain terrain, the accounts under observation in this article demonstrate that Wales played a key role in the emergence of emotionally driven picturesque tourism as early as the Romantic period. Similarly, intermediality in postmodern and contemporary forms of writing receives sustained critical attention, but the same cannot be said for illustrated travelogues dating from the Romantic period. Instead, a focused discussion of the interplay between travelled terrain, narrative, and visual representations in Romantic travel narratives is missing to date. Nevertheless, it can be argued that French exiles and emigrants in particular contributed to the dissemination of picturesque aesthetics outside Britain. They represent the first non-domestic writers to produce illustrated travel accounts modelled on Gilpin's Observations on the River Wye (1782), one of the foundational texts of picturesque tourism and travel writing. The French writers' conversion of Welsh surroundings into illustrated narratives subsequently expose an intermedial relationship between travelled terrain, text, and image and additionally reflect the transnational spread and transformation of picturesque aesthetics and ideas during the early Romantic period. In this regard, their accounts also highlight that the term "Home Tour" is an oxymoronic misnomer because it presupposes the Welsh travelees' as well as the French travelers' alignment with an Anglocentric, catch-all British identity. Focusing on the illustrated travelogues by Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg, Armand-Louis-Bon Maudet, Comte de Penhouët, and Louis Simond, this article discusses how these three travelers used the picturesque to further their personal agendas. Whereas the immigrant Loutherbourg utilized the picturesque to demonstrate his "arrival" among the social and artistic elite in London, the exile Penhouët exploits Gilpin's aesthetics to proclaim his political affiliation with the deposed ancien régime. In contrast to his compatriots, Simond finally adapted the picturesque to serve as a tool of social critique rather than an aesthetic measuring tape for Welsh landscapes.
The dawn of the Home Tour: historical contributions by Welsh landscape artists and English writers during the eighteenth century Since the sixteenth century, undertaking the Grand Tour formed a popular and socially prestigious staple of the cultural education of the British gentry and aristocracy (Chaney). In contrast, the emergence of the Home Tour during the eighteenth century was in part the result of aspirations of the middling orders to social class and economic capital, because, as Murray Pittock has shown, "'Celtic' tourism was cheaper and more middlebrow than its aristocratic predecessors" (39). That being said, the Home Tour of the British Isles did not exclusively attract domestic tourists, but also represented a prestigious social script for continental European visitors which enabled them to explore British, and particularly Welsh, surroundings in a socially acceptable fashion. In addition, the beaten paths of the Home Tour further guaranteed safe travel as they tended to lead along the main transport routes. This mimicking of British domestic tourism can be observed in the illustrated travel narratives published by three Frenchmen, Loutherbourg, Penhouët, and Simond, who explored Wales between 1786 and 1811 by following the main roads through the country. Their travel accounts also reflect the great aesthetic influence of Observations on the River Wye, although they adapt Gilpin's ideas on the picturesque to serve their own, vastly differing purposes of self-presentation before their readers. Adding to the discussion of continental tourists in Britain during this period, Benjamin Colbert also draws attention to the rise in translations of "such narratives into English for a British market" as these "reverse ethnologies" enabled "the British to see themselves as a travelling nation characterized by an 'insular cosmopolitanism'" (Introd. 7). Among his examples of translated travelogues, Colbert lists the French traveler Louis Simond. Simond's account, however, complicates the matter as the original text was written in English for the benefit of his American friends (Simond ix). 3 Similarly, Loutherbourg and Penhouët did not require translation, as they were intended and published for an Anglophone market from the outset. 4 The Home Tour also reflected changing ideas and definitions of Britain and Britishness owing to a heightened rivalry with France (Colley). Relating to this reappraisal of homeland Britain, early touristic explorations of Wales are in no small part a result of the Anglocentric re-evaluation of the Welsh mountains and their occupants in the British imagination over the course of the eighteenth century. Noting the concentration of political, economic, and artistic power in and around London, Prys Morgan argues that tourism responded especially to "the political need for the English to build up a Britain-wide solidarity with the Scots and the Welsh, the better to fight the interminable wars with France" (274). Similarly, Peter Lord signposts how the Welsh tour emerged from this new set of ideas: "In Wales, an ancient people occupied a mountain landscape in a visible if faint reflection of the Rousseau-esque natural condition of Man. Or so the image was constructed in the eighteenth-century game of ideas, a fantasy" (27).
In a comparative study of historical developments of cultural perceptions of landscape in Europe, Dóra Drexler argues that civil liberal perceptions of landscape developed in England around the mid eighteenth century and had "developed to modern liberalism" by the end of the century, whilst similar concepts emerged only much later in France, Germany, and Hungary (90). Particularly in eighteenth-century England, landscapes "were important markers of social status," with the formal landscape park denoting gentility and landownership (Williamson 113). It is in this philosophical thaw that natural landscapes first took on notions of a newly emerging social order. As part of these social recalibrations, English notions of liberty took notice of the Celtic Revival and Wales first emerges as a positively connoted location in literature and poetry 100). During this period, Thomas Gray's ode "The Bard" (1757) or Celtomaniac responses to the publication of Ossian (1763) exonerated "the Welsh as [an] intellectually stimulating" subject (Davies 337). As a response to such Celticizing literary outputs, Evan Evans (1731-1788), also known under his bardic name Ieuan Brydydd Hir or Ieuan Fardd, published "Wales's best riposte to Macpherson's Ossian in the form of Some Specimens of the Antient Welsh Bards" only a year later (B. M. Jenkins 72). In this he had answered the call of "polite society [who] wanted a Welsh Ossian" (B. M. Jenkins 188). Among the London Welsh, and particularly within the intellectual circle attached to the Morris brothers from Anglesey, it was hoped that Evan's translations proved that the Welsh were able to offer the genuine article whereas "Macpherson's emotive style and romantic-subplots … seemed rather undignified to those with a sterner conception of bardic duties" (Constantine, "Ossian" 68). Despite such heightened intellectual interest, Wales still held little appeal as an actual travel destination owing to its notoriously poor infrastructure. Until the creation of the first turnpike trusts in Wales in the 1750s and 1760s, much of the country remained comparatively inaccessible. According to Prys Morgan, the Monmouthshire MP Valentine Morris informed Parliament that "there were no roads in his country, but that [people] travelled in ditches" (275). This gross lack of well-maintained and safe roads is reflected in the dearth of travel accounts from before 1770, at which point improved transportation links had been established in north and south Wales (G. H. Jenkins 297). It was therefore partly thanks to its previous relative remoteness that Wales, with its paternalistic outlook and comparatively unshakable hierarchical structures, "had come to symbolise a particular social ideal which seemed critically threatened" at a time when areas of England were experiencing food riots and other violent altercations (Solkin 102).
This improvement of the road network made Wales accessible to painters, who followed their literary compatriots in aestheticizing the travelled landscapes. Marking the bicentenary of Richard Wilson's death, David Solkin, then director of the Tate Gallery, celebrated the Welsh artist's important contribution to the development of British landscape painting with the 1982 landmark exhibition, "Richard Wilson: The Landscape of Reaction." In an in-depth study of Wilson's work, Solkin sheds light particularly on the significance of his Italianate Welsh landscape paintings as the first of their kind by a native artist, and their genesis in relation to philosophical and political developments in Britain at the time. Wilson's Welsh landscape paintings, predominantly depicting scenes in Caernarvonshire and Merionethshire, first exhibited to great acclaim to a London audience in the 1760s, represented exactly the literary and philosophical ideas of tranquil Wales "as a type of gentleman's utopia" (98). Nevertheless, intellectual interest in the Welsh specificity of his works beyond the biographical element and the identification of specific locations appears to have declined quickly. As Solkin notes, by the end of the eighteenth century "the tastes of bourgeois and patrician viewers … mov[ed] away from an art that demanded intellectual understanding towards one which catered more to individual sensibilities" (105). The move away from an intellectual occupation with Wales towards a more inwardly directed engagement independent of cultural specificity occurs at the height of sentimentality, and influenced the quality of picturesque travel literature about Wales throughout the Romantic period.
Following these developments in British literature and landscape painting, Snowdonia, signifying a British equivalent to the foreign Swiss Alps, transitioned from a site of terror to a location offering artistic stimulation for polite tourists to refine their tastes and sharpen their mental faculties. They achieved this by recording their journeys in the shape of travel narratives and drawings (Solkin 86;Austin 629). The aestheticization of a sublime Welsh wilderness was not restricted to Snowdonia, but also applied to the more thoroughly cultivated valleys in the south as is evidenced in the written accounts of Anglophone travelers to Wales. In this regard, C. S. Matheson argues that "Just as the Wye Valley, Wales, is the birthplace of British domestic tourism, so the region is a nursery of the British travel guide" (50-51). Arising from the general popularization of the diverse Welsh landscapes, Gilpin's illustrated travelogue Observations on the River Wye forms a vital link in the genesis of Anglophone travel writing as he methodically combines aesthetic landscape images and language. In addition, the lack of Welsh coastal description in Observations arguably represents a semiotic gap for the French travelers where prototypical Welsh landscapes are concerned. As Gilpin did not elaborate on the picturesqueness of the Welsh coast, the three French travelers discussed in this article did not have a ready-made model and, as a result, their descriptions of the Welsh coast are next to nonexistent. 5 Gilpin's Observations should be regarded as an intermedial product; he methodically links text and images in such a way that their co-occurrence turns them into a deliberate extension of each other. Irina Rajewsky defines such a case of "media combination" as a particular type of intermediality: the result or the very process of combining at least two conventionally distinct media or medial forms of articulation [which] are each present in their own materiality and contribute to the constitution and signification of the entire product in their own specific way. Thus, for this category, intermediality is a communicative-semiotic concept. (51) It has long been recognized that Gilpin did not invent the picturesque, but he combined a series of previously diffuse aesthetics already strongly resonant with late-eighteenth-century British tourists as well as with Loutherbourg, Penhouët, and Simond from France, whose illustrated travelogues demonstrate a latent existence of similar ideas in continental Europe (Clark; Spector; Lord; Marshall). According to Gilpin, for a landscape to be considered picturesque, it must follow "the rules of picturesque beauty" that are "free from the formality of lines" (1-2). In this, he reacts specifically against "[t]he angular, and formal works of Vauban, and Cohorn," i.e. neoclassical architecture with its rigid and often perpendicular lines (51). 6 In contrast, in picturesque landscapes the horizontal curvature and undulating lines of meandering rivers intersect with the vertical orientation of cliffs, trees, and ruins (7). In addition to promoting curved and crooked lines, Gilpin also identifies four ornamental components for picturesque views; a picturesque landscape contains broken ground in a variety of colors, occasional wooded elements, rocks, and an assortment of buildings in various states of decline (10)(11)(12)(13)(14). 7 With these clear guidelines at hand, it becomes apparent that Gilpin's picturesque aesthetics, with their "regimented views and formalist principles," represent a prescriptive, instead of a descriptive mode of observation (Colbert,Introd. 4). In other words, Gilpin's rulebook not only declared which objects were worthy of aesthetic study, but already implied how they were to be interpreted by the observant tourist.
To underline his aesthetic rules, Gilpin included exemplary landscape drawings in his travelogue which precisely match his textual narrative. About Dinefwr Castle, he writes: The scenery around Dinevawr-castle is very beautiful, consisting of a rich profusion of wood and lawn; but what particularly recommends it is, the great variety of ground. I know few places where a painter might study the inequalities of a surface with more advantage. … The woods which adorn these beautiful scenes about Dinevawr-castle, and which form themselves into many pleasing groups, consist chiefly of the finest oak; some of them of large Spanish chesnuts [sic]. There are a few, and but a few, young plantations.
The picturesque scenes which this place affords are numerous. Wherever the castle appears, and it appears almost everywhere, a landscape purely picturesque is generally presented. The ground is so beautifully disposed, that it is almost impossible to have bad composition. At the same time, the opposite side of the vale often appears as a background, and makes a pleasing distance. emphasis added) Adhering strictly to his own rule-book, Gilpin narrates the view as a compilation of the previously identified painterly requisites, namely ruined structures, broken ground, and wooded elements. The accompanying illustration subsequently translates the prose into landscape drawing: in the middle distance, the ruined castle perches on top of a cliff; in the foreground, rocky ledges rise in irregular forms to the right and left of the castle; and, for side screens, trees in partial view fringe the oval picture frame, itself signifying the shape of a Claude glass. A mountain range and the overcast sky represent the backdrop of the scene. In focusing on the purely aesthetic composition of the view, Gilpin's text and image thus act as intermedial extensions of each other as well as of the travelled Welsh landscape. Providing later itinerants with a template for the production of their own picturesque travelogues, Gilpin influenced subsequent interpretations of Wales as a picturesque travel destination in his selection of particular travel sites and subject matter.
As Gabriele Rippl argues, "media and art forms cannot be analyzed in isolation and instead have to be discussed against the backdrop of their medial networks" (1). Picturesque principles had already been established by 1750 as part of the English landscape movement, mostly associated with the then newly created landscape gardens surrounding the great estates (Clark 146). During that decade, the geometric arrangements of the walled formal gardens of the gentry and aristocracy began to fall out of fashion (Williamson 73). While these newly created gardens recreated the idealized landscapes of classical painters such as Salvator Rosa or Claude Lorrain, they did not emulate naturalist landscapes free from human intervention . Instead, picturesque gardens "were contrived not only to appeal to the eye but also to the emotions. They contained scenes which were intended to excite the imagination and produce sensations of grandeur, melancholy, gaiety and sublimity" (Clark 146). As the language reserved for describing both these new landscape gardens and the later picturesque travel accounts shows, these "scenes" were indebted to eighteenth-century developments in British theatre, particularly regarding the proscenium stage. Focusing on the semantic fields employed in picturesque writing, David Marshall observes that "the terms 'scene' and 'scenery' implied a theatrical perspective from the outset." Subsequently, the picturesque considers nature as "a series of living tableaux" (414).
Gilpin's contribution to the identification of picturesque views was therefore to leave the shaped garden and subject the terrain beyond its boundaries to the aesthetic gaze of a theatre-goer with a predilection for landscape painting. The scenic frame is provided by elements in the landscape, such as trees, cliffs, or a natural "backdrop," such as mountains, together with the actual frame of the picture. The Wye Valley, taking center stage in Gilpin's Observations, contains these "framing" elements in abundance and thus signifies a prototypical picturesque landscape. So influential was the theatrical outlook of picturesque aesthetics that the concept of scenery still informed Anglophone travel writing as late as the 1830s (Ackerman 75). In this respect, Guido Isekenmeier concludes that "a descriptive literary passage might work towards a transformation of a historically situated visual culture encompassing both an aesthetic mentality (the picturesque) and a social practice accompanying it (landscape tourism)" (338).
To help find properly framed locations and subsequently transform the three-dimensional stage-like landscape into the two-dimensional surface of the drawn image, picturesque travelers were encouraged to use a Claude Glass (Spector 89). This object was a curved oval or round black mirror bound up in a protective case no larger than a small book which made it convenient for travelling. The images reflected on the surface of the Claude glass were reminiscent of the color quality in the landscape paintings by the popular French artist Claude Lorrain (Marshall 420). Indicating the usefulness of the Claude glass, all the illustrations in Gilpin's account have an oval frame, thus supporting the argument that deliberate framing and compositional layout of visual representations of landscapes derive from a tradition of copied patterns and blurred boundaries between nature and art (Ackerman 86;Marshall 427).
Owing to the intermedial combination of visual and verbal clues, Observations on the River Wye serves as a manual for aesthetic evaluations of travelled sites. While the illustrations help the reader recognize picturesque settings, the representational quality of the drawings is bolstered by descriptions infused with a painter's vocabulary. In a survey of the historical relations between landscape representations in different media, Sarah Hill demonstrates that although "landscape, writing, and photography have traditionally been separated," they did not evolve independently. Instead, landscape writing and photography belong to a larger medial network as they are historically indebted to painterly aesthetics, particularly "the dictates of the Romantic tradition in painting" which, in their turn, derive from cultural constructs of landscape at specific points in (Hill). Forcing landscape, image, and language into mutual co-presence, Gilpin subsequently executes an ekphrastic transformation of the travelled sites: "[Nature] is an admirable colourist; and can harmonize her tints with infinite variety, and inimitable beauty" (18). The intermedial quality of Gilpin's travel account increases further by intersecting the imagist properties in the prose with extracts from sitespecific poems by William Mason, Thomas Warton, or Edmund Spenser. The figurative and subsequently suggestive language of poetry thus conveys the improvement of nature's beauty by human interference (31, 60, 64). The picturesque traveler consequently blurs medial boundaries in identifying, drawing, and describing locations that arrange these four elements in accordance with the dressed proscenium theatre stage (Ackerman 82).
Following the appreciation of Welsh scenery in the fine arts in England during the second half of the eighteenth century, Gilpin stresses that the picturesque qualities of the Welsh landscapes under his observation are inherently painterly, that is, they possess artistic qualities by natural default. Illustrated travelogues therefore not only expose the kinship between landscapes and image as fabricated objects, but also tie them to the language of the traveler, all three categories constituting ekphrastic transformations of each other. The following examples of illustrated travel literature by French itinerants during the Romantic period demonstrate the semiotic co-dependency between the objective of travel and the subsequent interpretation and representation of Wales at the time. In addition, the illustrated travel accounts reflect the travel of ideas over time and space. They either quote Gilpin or indirectly allude to his Observations by combining the semantic fields theatre and painting with landscape in addition to juxtaposing the textual level with a set of stylistically distinct images that break with the earlier idealized landscapes promulgated by the (neo-)classical tradition (Novotny 67). Therefore, recognizing landscape as a concept and cultural construct helps us to understand the historical germination process that led to the evaluation and representation of Welsh landscapes as prototypically picturesque, first by home tourists, with French travelers eventually embracing them during the final third of the eighteenth century.
Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg: The Romantic and Picturesque Scenery of England and Wales (1805) Originally from Alsace, the feted French landscape and marine painter Philippe-Jacques de Loutherbourg (1740Loutherbourg ( -1812 fled from Paris to London in 1771 in the wake of a sex scandal; he had assaulted his pregnant wife, Barbe Burlat, "so seriously that a blow to her belly had produced a miscarriage," and then stole her jewelry to pay for his escape to England before he could be apprehended and answer to a French court (McCalman, "Conquering Academy" 80-81). Shortly after his arrival, he found work as theatre set designer for David Garrick and revolutionized British stage design, quickly becoming Britain's best-paid scenographer (McCalman, "Spectres of Quackery" 343; "Virtual Infernal"). In 1786 and again in 1800, Loutherbourg toured England and Wales and eventually published an illustrated account of his journeys in 1805, the colored engravings of which were jointly executed by William Picket and John Clark (Joppien 294). Loutherbourg's book depicts the best established and most iconic of tourist sites in Wales and his representation of Welsh landscape clearly reflects Gilpin's picturesque aesthetics as he "treated architecture in a primarily pictorial manner" rather than producing documentary and architecturally faithful drawings (Joppien 294). In addition, Loutherbourg does not represent travel as a linear process. The published account of his journey features a collection of short narrative vignettes in parallel texts in English and French complemented by an illustration; consequently, the reader encounters self-contained Welsh scenes rather than a linear travel narrative. As a result, the focus shifts from a continuous terrain with gradually changing vistas to isolated snapshot impressions akin to individual stage sets. Like beads on a string, Loutherbourg's intermittent Welsh sites form a sequential narrative by way of the steady utterance of Welsh names in conjunction with the consistently picturesque style of the drawings.
In an appraisal of a rediscovered Tintern Abbey painting based on an ink drawing that also served as the basis for a later book illustration, Rudiger Joppien stresses that Loutherbourg's "approach to the monument is highly imaginative to suit his pictorial intention" (295). 8 Joppien further situates the drawing in Romantic Britain during which the ruin developed something of a cult following, so much so that illustrations of Tintern Abbey formed a staple ingredient in Welsh guidebooks (295). In highlighting these intertextual relations, Joppien demonstrates that Tintern Abbey evolved from a ruined building into a semiotic marker not only for a social script in the shape of tourism in Wales, but also for the picturesque itself. However, his analysis remains firmly within the semiotic realm of the visual arts, thus neglecting the key intermedial aspect of the picturesque movement in which Loutherbourg translates the painterly qualities of landscape into image and language alike: Few objects in Great Britain can display more attractions to the admirer of picturesque beauty than Tintern Abbey, whether it be approached by land or by water. It stands in a deep, narrow, well wooded valley, through which the Wye rolls his streams; and as you sail up the river from Chepstow, a variety of attractive prospects open to the view, till you are brought close to the foot of this venerable pile; while if you proceed to it from Persfield [sic], the transition from the airy groves and open lawns of that delightful spot, to the gloomy which you descend to the abbey, is particularly striking and has an enchanting effect. (Emphasis added) Loutherbourg's narrative overtly marks Tintern Abbey as a picturesque object and so prevents any debate about alternative aesthetic classifications. In her discussion of touristic exploration of British ruins, Emmy McEvoy highlights this semiotic interplay: "The presence of a ruin could affect a traveller's sense of everything around it, living people included, as testimonies from Wales, in particular, show" (132). She further points out that "the approach to the ruin and the way that it relates to the surrounding landscape" forms a central motif in the journals of Romantic tourists (145). In the same way, Loutherbourg's description of the approach to the ruin is not so much exemplary, but rather shows the conventionality of his narrative as he switches between the horizontal lines of the winding river and the vertical lines of the rising cliffs on its flanks. This passage clearly shows that Loutherbourg had thoroughly adopted a Gilpinesque style of narrative as he dresses his text with the principle ornaments: rocks, ground, ruins, and trees.
The accompanying illustration, simply entitled "Tintern Abbey," then translates the narrative into the requisite image with the same compositional ingredients. In her study of changing attitudes towards English landscapes in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, Ann Bermingham highlights that artists took alternative directions … in responding to the picturesque. One approach involved the mechanical picturesque-the arrangements of gypsies, beggars, cart horses, and donkeys before ruined cottages in overgrown rustic landscapes; the second involved natural-looking landscapes to represent that they would … operate upon the senses and sensibilities just like the scenes themselves. (73) However, where Loutherbourg and his fellow-countrymen are concerned, as will be shown later, they combined these two directions to further their own agendas. In preparing his original sketch of the site for print, Loutherbourg appears to have taken further inspiration from Gilpin's own visit to Tintern, as it also portrays a poor old woman shuffling away from the artist's eye and towards the ruins. As her back is turned to the observer of the scene, any individualizing features are obscured and she stands indiscriminately for the whole of the aged female peasantry of Wales. In the earlier Observations, Gilpin recalls a stop at Tintern Abbey in which he provides the only detailed narrative in the whole account of meeting with a local resident, a destitute woman who "could scarce crawl; shuffling along her palsied limbs, and meagre, contracted body, by the help of two sticks" (36). This character sketch is then followed up with a grotesque description of her dwelling in which he labors the point that the life of the "wretched inhabitant" is "wretchedness" and the only furniture inside her "miserable habitation" is "a wretched bedstead" (35-37). Gilpin shows little interest in the woman as a recognizable individual with a name and life story, but dehumanizes her as a Gothic specter. In this, he distances himself socially from the old woman and creates a distinct hierarchy between himself as a representative of the English middling orders and the indigent peasant who has found shelter in this "Gothic pile" (32). That Loutherbourg added the old woman to his drawing as an afterthought or as a deliberate throwback to Gilpin becomes apparent when comparing the print to the earlier versions as discussed by Joppien. In the original sketch, presumably created during his first tour of Wales in 1786, Loutherbourg captured no people or animals and only focused on the ivy-covered ruin (Joppien 299). Over the following years, he adapted the sketch for his painting "Philosopher in a Moonlit Churchyard" (alternatively named "Visitor to a Moonlit Churchyard"). 9 Finished in 1790, this painting shows a young man in a grey billowing robe contemplating a fresco of the Ascension of Christ and so "reflects Loutherbourg's intense preoccupation with religion at this period" (Joppien 298). However, by the time of Loutherbourg's final rendition of Tintern, both in text and image, the religious overtones of the earlier painting have disappeared again. Instead the reader/viewer is left with one of many standardized, if not to say commercialized, views of a favorite travelling destination among polite tourists, complete with picturesque poor country folk who lack the classical beauty of the Philosopher/ Visitor.
Throughout the travelogue, Loutherbourg demonstrates his own class identity and separates it from the described and displayed Welsh peasantry. For example, near Llanrwst, he is repulsed by two peasants, a father and daughter, whose clay-walled cottage reminds him of James Cook's descriptions of mud huts in the south Pacific. Above all else, the large layout of the book, the parallel French and English texts, and the full-color aquatints mark Loutherbourg's The Romantic and Picturesque Scenery as a commercial publication aimed at an upmarket readership. His narrative and images of Wales show inoffensive, stereotypical representations of ramshackle cottages, quaint Welsh country folk and seemingly untamed landscape for the leisurely perusal by a polite audience. His privileged readers/viewers do not have to suffer the indignity of living in clay-walled cottages like that near Llanrwst or in the very impoverished and strained circumstances depicted in the highly romanticized pictures of the lives of the contemporary Welsh peasantry. Writing about highly popular and fashionable travel destinations across Wales in a Gilpinesque form and using mass-produced and, therefore, relatively easily disseminated images, Loutherbourg engaged in the Romantic equivalent of what has of late become known as "Instagrammability." In this, the shared image, complete with a string of hashtags en lieux of a clichéd narrative, not only turns into "a symbol of reality and user experience as a traveler," but it also (re-)produces the travel destination as a prestigious object (Fatanti and Suyadnya 1090). On the surface, The Romantic and Picturesque Scenery demonstrates his accomplishment as an artist together with his English language skills. More importantly, however, just as Instagram "users can also use [the website] as promotion channel" (Fatanti and Suyadnya 1093), Loutherbourg's illustrated travelogue promoted this French immigrant's ideological and aesthetic integration into the polite classes of British society at the dawn of the Napoleonic wars.
Armand-Louis-Bon Maudet, Comte de Penhouët: Describing a Tour through Part of South Wales (1797) A decade after Loutherbourg's first journey, the exiled Breton naval officer Armand-Louis-Bon Maudet, Comte de Penhouët (1764-1839) set out from London on a pedestrian tour in June 1796 for the simple reason that he was intrigued "by the name of Garden, which is generally given to the Southern part of Wales" (i). The internal structure of the account suggests that over the course of three weeks Penhouët sent a string of letters and sitespecific sketches to an unidentified female correspondent in London. Owing to the anonymity of the lady, it remains unclear, however, whether or not these letters and the addressee are a narrative device in line with the general popularity and frequent use of the epistolary genre throughout the eighteenth century (D'Ezio 121; Edwards 168). Fictionalized or not, Penhouët appears generally knowledgeable about Welsh history and culture, but he also gladly depends on a (non-?)fictional travel companion from Bath to provide additional information (2). The series of letters presents polite conversation between an exiled, staunchly royalist French nobleman (Levot 48) and an English lady friend in London, the power dynamic being particularly striking as the male foreigner appears to enjoy a greater freedom of movement than the native female correspondent. Consequently, Penhouët's illustrated letters serve a twofold purpose for the addressee. Firstly, they allow the lady, whose movements appear confined to London, to travel vicariously with the exiled Frenchman while he is on the road. Secondly, having proven the journey to be a safe and character-building exercise, the collected letters and simple drawings will enable her to retrace the journey in person at a later point (Penhouët 2).
Although Penhouët's poorly reproduced amateur sketches possess a primitive style, they share a similar ideology with the high-quality illustrations produced by the professional artist Loutherbourg. Firstly, despite lacking artistic skill, Penhouët clearly executed the drawings with an aesthetic intent, having previously "read a work intitled [sic], An Essay on Landscape Painting" (6). Secondly, Penhouët's south Wales is a thoroughly populated terrain. As is the case with Loutherbourg's illustrations, each of Penhouët's drawings contains small figures of rustic peasants at work or curious tourists pointing at various objects. The illustrations prove Jonas Larsen's argument that "Gazing is not merely seeing, but involves the cognitive work of interpreting, evaluating, drawing comparisons and making mental connections between signs and their referents, and capturing representative signs" (247). Penhouët's arrangement of the tourists and the Welsh peasantry conforms to the ideological, meaning-making undercurrent in the text. With "an appetite for heights, distances and historical anecdote," the picturesque tourist is a mobile examiner and judge of the travelled country who makes the reader complicit in the act of gazing by looking together into the distance of the sketched landscape whilst identifying "non-visual, or at least non-pictorial information" (Gage 569).
The storyline of an attentive, knowledgeable tourist uncovering a landscape for its inhabitants is strikingly captured in the representation of the Llandeilo Valley both in the text and in the related image on the frontispiece into which Penhouët has inserted himself together with his travel companion. Overlooking the valley during a moment of rest, he ponders: [W]e frequently stopped to observe [the river's] infinite windings through the middle of the valley in which it flows: it seems often to regret the progress it has made, and bends back almost upon itself … At the distance of two miles from the town is one of the finest views imagination can figure; the beautiful and the picturesque are there united … Walking on gently and pleasantly we arrived at an elevation a mile distant from Llangadoc, where we rested a little, and remarked how beautifully situated a Summerhouse would be in this spot … . (50) Penhouët makes clear that he is informed of distances between individual locations as he and his travel companion make an effort to stop and observe the covered terrain. The use of his drawing for the Llandeilo Valley as the frontispiece thus sets the tone for the entire illustrated account: Wales and its people open themselves up to the scrutinizing gaze of Royalist, anti-liberal travelers. 10 In this, Penhouët's desired Welsh summer residence echoes the lost ancestral home in Brittany as well as the royal chateaux of the Loire Valley, many of which were either greatly damaged or lost following the French Revolution. As Hill points out, "One of the problems with landscape is that, like ideology, it masks its status as a construction, inviting us to interpret it as a natural given." Penhouët's combination of drawings, travel narrative, and quotations from French poetry mirror Gilpin's use of poetry in Observations and further indicate that the picturesque is not restricted to aesthetic idealism, but may also be subverted to demonstrate the traveler's political outlook. He uses his descriptions of south Wales landscapes such as the Llandeilo Valley to map his own strongly anti-revolutionary proclivities onto the terrain. By hinting at regrettable developments undertaken by the anthropomorphic river at the bottom of the valley, he signals his loyalty to the ancien régime and verbalizes his profound sense of loss of personal power and access to his landed possessions under the old order. Penhouët's re-imagination of Llandeilo Valley as an idealized version of pre-revolutionary France becomes all the more pronounced when taking into account his previous encounter with the indigents of Neath Abbey: Enough of the church is still standing to give an idea of its form and beauty … but the most entire and best preserved part is the adjacent convent: it were to be wished that it were less so, for the cells of it serve as a retreat to an innumerable gang of mendicants, whose figures are hideous beyond all that can be imagined … As soon as I entered into one of the vaulted outer parts, several women came out of holes that communicated with it; they surrounded me, and the further I advanced, the more the troop augmented: they carried almost all of them infants on their backs, and the tone of voice in which they begged of us could be compared only to that of those women who headed the rebels at Paris … [I]dleness is the great cause of their continuing in this state of misery. (38) Penhouët's encounter of indigents living in the ruins of Neath Abbey appears as a deliberate throw-back to Gilpin similar to the above discussion of the case of Loutherbourg's "Tintern Abbey" illustration. However, whereas Gilpin's encounter reveals his classist attitude, Penhouët overtly voices his political resentment against the lower orders when he monsters the indigents. The demanding clamor of the beggar women reminds Penhouët of the Parisian women's march on Versailles, which had originated over the scarcity of bread and which came to symbolize the beginning breakdown of the ancien régime. Underscoring their narrated monstrosity, Penhouët's sketch no. 18 shows one of the barefooted, unwashed, and ragged "Inhabitants of Ruins near Neath" with her child, thrusting her hand in an uncouth, demanding gesture at the viewer. 11 Neither in his narrative nor his sketch does Penhouët show any sympathy for mother and child, but presents their poverty as an insult to his noble birth and presumed natural station in life which had been taken from him by similarly situated women in his native France. Both in text and image, the beggar women represent an affront to Penhouët's aesthetic senses and he can only recoil from them in anger, if not fear. Furthermore, sketch no. 18 has a sister image in the unnumbered portrait of an industrious and wholesome "Welsh Country Wench," obviously happy with her station in life. 12 As picturesque, sartorial signifiers of her class, she is presented barefoot and dressed in the style of female Welsh peasants at the end of the eighteenth century, complete with the mannish hat and a woven shawl draped around her shoulders. Unlike her sister from Neath, however, she demurely averts her gaze away from the viewer and carries a bread basket on her arm, instead of a hungry infant.
The reactionary, anti-revolutionary ideology conveyed by these two portraits and the descriptions of Penhouët's encounters with the Welsh peasantry are further supported by the frequent quotations from poems by the royalist Jacques Delille as Penhouët chiefly selects passages that "generally convey a sense of loss and sorrow" (Edwards 168). 13 In expressing his wish to establish a summer residence in the idealized, reactionary landscape of the Llandeilo Valley in conjunction with his expression of anger against the begging women at Neath Abbey, Penhouët demonstrates that the picturesque is not limited to the expression of one's aesthetic idealism. Instead, the picturesque equally lends itself to the dissemination of reactionary political messages by disguising them as an innocuous illustrated account of the socially acceptable script of the British Home Tour.
Louis Simond: Journal of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain, during the Years 1810 to 1811 (1815) Although Loutherbourg and Penhouët were early continental European tourists, their writings chiefly addressed Anglophone Britons. Loutherbourg's account includes a French parallel text side by side with his English descriptions, but his publication through a London distributor primarily targeted a readership in Britain. The same holds true for Penhouët, who not only wrote exclusively in English to an English friend, but opted too for a London printer. Although these early published accounts by French travelers in Wales indicate a certain linguistic and gender imbalance, polite tourism at the end of the eighteenth century did not constitute an exclusively Anglophone male domain. As just one example, Amélie de Suffren (1765-1817), another refugee from the French Revolution like Penhouët, published the eight-part series Voyage pittoresque dans le midi et le nord du pays de Galles (1802) following her tour of Wales at around the turn of the century. Suffren's Voyage pittoresque is most likely the earliest published illustrated account of a Welsh journey written entirely in French. In contrast to her male compatriots, she engraved and colored all forty-eight images herself and accompanied each view with social, economic, or historical commentary. More importantly, however, Suffren's publication mainly targeted non-British audiences and so caused her to make concessions in its artistic and written content. As a result, an advertisement in the French periodical press defamiliarizes her illustrations by describing them as executed "dans le style anglais." Furthermore, it states that her work contributes to "un genre neuf" (Landon 93). Whereas for a British readership illustrated travel accounts formed a well-established category of writing, for a French readership around 1800 the intermedial co-occurrence of Suffren's native voice with stylistically foreign images still constituted a novelty.
Following these earlier cases of French travel in Wales and the delayed reception of picturesque aesthetics in France, the French merchant and amateur artist Louis Simond (1767Simond ( -1831 and his English wife set out on an extended tour of the British Isles in 1810. During the two years of travelling through England, Wales, and Scotland, Simond kept a diary in which he chronicled not only his and his wife's movements, but also shared his many ideas "on the constitution, the commerce, the finances, and the politics of Great Britain" (xi). Originally his diary was intended for "the friends he had left in America" (ix). It was not only for this reason that Simond kept the journal in English, but also "because the things and persons the traveller saw were best described in the language of the country [i.e. the USA], which is become familiar to him by long habit" (x). His Journal of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain (1815) clearly shows how the picturesque had not only leapt across the Channel, but also across the Atlantic. Despite having lived and worked in New York since 1792 before his return to Europe (Sizer 116), Simond clearly employs picturesque aesthetics to produce his own account, albeit departing in some other significant ways from Gilpin's original model. Nevertheless, the journal reveals how, by 1810, the tour of Wales had become thoroughly standardized and commercialized: "Wales and the Wye are visited by all tourists … each with his Gilpin or his Cambrian Guide in his hand, and each, no doubt, writing a journal. This is rather ridiculous and discouraging" (209). On the one hand, by keeping his own illustrated diary, Simond clearly participates in a key practice of polite travel, but on the other, he also rejects Gilpin's categorization of some travel destinations in south Wales. Instead, his value judgment of the Wye Valley shows Simond more as a follower of Uvedale Price's distinction between the sublime and the beautiful, in which the picturesque carries elements of both to varying degrees, as he scoffs there is "nothing wild, or, properly speaking, picturesque, but all highly beautiful" about the Wye Valley (Price 1: 38ff.; Simond 209,210). In other words, for Simond, the well-groomed Wye Valley did not offer enough rough patches that would have created an overall picturesque effect (cf. Price 1: 49).
Despite Simond's long residence in the United States and the fact that the original diary is in English, the finished text had been paradoxically "intended chiefly for the benefit of [his] country-men," and "was fully prepared for publication in French" (Simond v). With this French audience in mind, Simond added socio-cultural and historical information where supplementary commentary on the original text was necessary; for the English publication, these post-journey embellishments then result in the peculiar situation of "having only to translate [into English] the extended remarks" (vi). Such circular transgressions between intended audiences and their respective languages lead to a high level of authorial self-awareness in the narrative. Owing to the particularities of Simond's French-American biography, Colbert stresses that his "hybrid identity exerts manifold pressures on his claim to represent France" under Napoleon; instead he "self-consciously represents a France that is no more," namely the France of "republican aspirations" ("Britain" 77). Thus, feigning shortage of linguistic prowess, Simond plays a trick on his Anglophone audience as he raises pre-emptive defenses against potentially offensive opinions: "I am perfectly aware of the double danger to which a foreigner, offering to the English public an account of England, written in the English language, exposes himself" (Journal 1: vi).
Whereas he recognizes the instability of meaning between the English and French versions of his writing, Simond exempts his illustrations from this sort of unintended representational imperfection, although the semiosis underlying the drawings is as fundamentally unstable as in the translated texts. Not only does the distribution of the images in relation to their corresponding passages in the text vary greatly between the English and French editions, but the aquatints were also executed by two different artists, John Clark and B. Tiringer. 14 While the differences between the parallel images may be minute, they are by no means negligible. Adapting Simond's drawings for print, Clark's and Tiringer's versions retain the picturesque aesthetics underlying the choice of subject and composition in the originals. However, the discrepancies between each aquatint and their respective placement in relation to the text produce competing representations of the same Welsh subjects. In the English version, Clark's aquatint of a "Welch Shepherd" shows no readily available link with the surrounding text other than a rural theme. 15 Simond inserts the full-length portrait between the description of the journey to St. Asaph at the end of one day followed on the next by an impassioned discussion of the poor living conditions of the laboring classes, inadequate poverty relief and the exploitation of workers in an unregulated market (220-21). Clark's shepherd is an unkempt elderly man standing on an open country road, seemingly challenging the reader's gaze with his tired eyes and knitted eyebrows. In contrast, the removal and resulting decontextualization of Tiringer's parallel image, "Berger du pays de Galles," from the Welsh travel section and its subsequent use as a frontispiece for the first volume obfuscates Simond's social criticism. Whilst retaining his elderly appearance, Tiringer's shepherd does not appear tired or frail. He is caught on a country road in mid-pace, walking towards the reader-viewer; instead of a suspicious look, he returns a calm, open gaze. This much bolder version of the Welsh shepherd captures Price's argument that the ungroomed appearance of non-leisurely travelling people is picturesque (1: 63), but the illustration also loses some of its emotive potential as its placement outside the narrative dissociates the portrayed subject from Simond's written defense of the disempowered and displaced working classes. Clark's and Tiringer's renditions of Simond's shepherd either as a frail object of pity or of rustic curiosity both follow picturesque aesthetics. However, they also reflect Simond's significantly different attitude towards signifiers of poverty in contrast to Gilpin. In contrast to the aforementioned episode describing Gilpin's horror at encountering a destitute woman living in the ruins of Tintern Abbey, Simond generally finds Welsh women "uncommonly good-looking" (213) and he underlines this impression with the illustration of a multitasking, barefoot, but comely "Welch Girl," walking along a country road while knitting and balancing a milk jug on her head. 16 What is more, he even grows suspicious of the few encounters with signs of destitution during his own tour: Labourers have often several miles to walk to and from their work, which is so much out of their labour, or out of their rest. This has lowered a little my ideas of universal felicity, which the appearance of this country encourages one to form. There are then, it seems, obscure corners, where the poor are swept out of the way, as the dust on the walks of the rich, in a heap out of their sight … . (222, emphasis added) Criticizing the deliberate gentrification of towns and the subsequent displacement of workers, Simond anticipates John Ruskin's later scorn of "the kind of person who has no pleasure in sights of this kind, but … would thrust all poverty and misery out of his way" in his analysis of the various types of picturesque tourists emphasis added). In contrast to Gilpin's exploitative portrayal of destitution, which marks him as representative of what Ruskin identified as the "lower picturesque," Simond's dignified handling falls under the category of the "high picturesque" as he demonstrates his sympathy for the Welsh population and the plight of laborers in both text and images (Ruskin 10,14). Notwithstanding significant differences between the engravings in the English and French editions, Simond's illustrated diary departs from previous idealizations of Wales as timeless pastoral utopia, reflecting the author's sustained interest in the lived realities of the people encountered on the road. His awareness of the cultural distinctiveness of Wales therefore enables him to adopt the picturesque in order to criticize social inequalities. He thus departs from Gilpin's original idea of refining one's taste by gazing at a passive and culturally obscure Welsh landscape. Simond's reluctance to exploit poverty for shock entertainment, but instead generate compassion for the disenfranchised members of society, indicates a decided departure from Gilpin's "romantic gaze" and the onset of an "anthropological gaze" in the French responses to Wales during the later Romantic period (Urry 19,20).

Conclusion: post-Romantic routes of the picturesque in Europe
From the early Romantic period onwards, representations of Wales in illustrated travel accounts by French visitors transformed the mountainous terrain from a pre-modern rural idyll into a place very much rooted in the present by adapting picturesque aesthetics to fit with their own ideologies. In addition, the intermedial quality of these illustrated accounts reveals how these French tourists strategically adapted foreign travelled surroundings into texts and parallel images as part of revealing their ideologies to an increasingly international readership. Where Loutherbourg strictly followed Gilpin's promotion of capturing theatrical landscapes in text and image, Penhouët stressed the politically reactionary strand of the picturesque by politicizing presumably pre-modern and timeless rural landscapes in line with his loyalty for the ancien régime. Finally, Simond's illustrated account shows a decisive departure from Gilpin: he seizes on Price's categorical differentiation between the sublime, the beautiful, and the picturesque, and shows sympathy for the plight of the impoverished where Gilpin sensationalized and dehumanized them.
With the end of the Napoleonic Wars and the subsequent termination of the Continental Blockade in 1814, which had made travel "difficult and dangerous during the course of the conflict" (Edwards 164), the number of European tourists who travelled across the Channel rose significantly. Whereas the Accounts of Travel database identifies only forty records by European travelers dating from before 1814, the following hundred years show over 200 individual travel accounts. Despite this greater influx of travelers from continental Europe in the post-Romantic period, the picturesque remained very much a French phenomenon. While more than half of the identified records are written in German, only about ten per cent of them contain any illustrations, most of which are technical, architectural, or geological drawings (Accounts of Travel; Fischer and Fritzon 90). It took until 1871 before the first aesthetically illustrated account of a journey through Wales appeared in a popular German periodical, written by Wilhelm Heine and chronicling his pedestrian tour of Snowdonia. However, Heine's invocations of picturesque Welsh settings remain superficial and do not match Gilpin's earlier precision. Instead, Heine broadly equates the picturesque with a rural, largely unpeopled, mountain landscape without providing distinguishing features that would allow the reader to identify specific settings. The use of stock images of popular travel destinations in Wales as visual support for clichéd descriptions is only fitting.
By the time German speakers linked picturesque aesthetics with illustrated accounts of their journeys through rural Wales, French travel writing in the post-Romantic period had found inspiration in the industrial districts. When the writer Louis Simonin and the artist Jean-Baptiste Durand-Brager travelled through south Wales together in 1862, they did appreciate the rural scenery preserved between Swansea and Merthyr Tydfil (337), but the general effect of heavy industry on the towns and their inhabitants significantly shifted the focus of their picturesque aesthetics. Their joint representation of the population and industry of south Wales in text and corresponding images retains Gilpin's propagation of undulating and broken lines. However, these lines no longer belong to crumbling castles, rushing waterfalls, and wretched beggar women, but instead relate to the Vivian Copper works, industrial canals, and female colliery workers 343,348). As demonstrated above, during the Romantic period Anglophone French visitors followed in Gilpin's tracks, demonstrating their own aesthetic prowess in front of a polite British readership. While Simonin and Durand-Brager retained their awe before towering, albeit industrial structures, in contrast to their Romantic compatriots, they addressed a Francophone readership at home in France. Owing to this shift in projected audience, Wales no longer represents the timeless utopian, rural idyll of Wilson's paintings or the pre-modern Celtic defiant genius in Gray's "The Bard." Instead, post-Romantic travelers such as Simonin and Durand-Brager crafted a dark, industrial picturesque aesthetic, turning Wales into a warning for France whose national industrial output continuously lagged behind British industry (Lévy-Leboyer and Lescure 160). Instead of emulating the refined taste of previous polite travelers, their illustrated account offers socially critical commentary. They describe the harsh living-conditions in the industrial valleys of Wales, deliberately de-romanticize Britannia Celtica, as well as demonstrate an outright hostility towards the Welsh language as a sign of retrograde stubbornness and insubordination, something the Welsh share with their cousins in Brittany . However, similar to Louis Simond's journey through Wales in 1810, by linking highly emotive language with images of the poor and destitute, Simonin and Durand-Brager caution their French readers against the downsides of what they perceive as sluggish government in conjunction with unregulated enterprise (343). Delivered from the original practice of identifying theatrical, seemingly timeless scenery, post-Romantic French travelers applied picturesque aesthetics to industrial settings and so transformed a bucolic and reactionary Wales into a dystopian vision and subsequent warning for France in its ongoing modernization and industrialization.