The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

The Princess Charlotte.
Sir Tho^s Lawrence pinx^t
J. A. Vinter, lith.
Day & Son, Lith^rs. to the Queen

AUTOBIOGRAPHY
OF
MISS CORNELIA KNIGHT,

LADY COMPANION TO THE

PRINCESS CHARLOTTE OF WALES.

WITH EXTRACTS FROM HER JOURNALS AND ANECDOTE BOOKS.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

THIRD EDITION.

LONDON:

W. H. ALLEN AND CO., 7, LEADENHALL STREET.

MDCCCLXI.

INTRODUCTION.

A book of this kind scarcely needs a sponsor. It carries the impression of its authenticity on every page. A few words, however, may be said about the circumstances of its publication. In the expectation that I should find in them materials for an interesting work, the papers from which these volumes have been compiled were given to me, some years ago, by the family into whose hands they passed on Miss Knight’s death. On examining them, I found that they consisted of a considerable number of journal-books, the dates of which covered more than half a century, and an unfinished autobiographical memoir, written principally on loose sheets of paper. The latter had obviously been commenced at a very late period of life, and had been interrupted by death. The Journals, however, supplied all that was needed to complete the Memoir to the very end of the writer’s life. Indeed, the continuous Memoir had been written from the Diaries, with only occasional additions supplied by the recollection of the writer, and was, in many places, little more than a transcript of them.

As I had no doubt that the Autobiography had been written with a view to publication, after, if not before, the author’s death, I felt that in giving it to the world I should only be carrying out the intentions which, had she lived, Miss Knight would herself have fulfilled. And, on consideration, I could see nothing to be deprecated in the fulfilment of those intentions. It is true that a very considerable portion of the manuscript related to the private concerns of the Royal Family of England. But, even if the publications of Madame D’Arblay, Lady Charlotte Campbell, Lord Malmesbury, the Duke of Buckingham, and others, had not rendered all scruples on this score almost an over-refinement of delicacy, it was to be considered that nearly half a century had passed since the principal events recorded by Miss Knight had occurred, and that really those events, however private and domestic in their origin, had grown into legitimate history, and might properly be so treated. Indeed, it might fairly be questioned whether they could ever be considered as anything else. For, although I cannot subscribe to the doctrine that there is one Family in England which has no private history (such being the penalty exacted for its greatness), it is sometimes in the very nature of things that privacy is impossible, and that the affairs of royalty, whatsoever may be their delicacy, become public history before they are a day old. And it is so notorious that this was especially the case during the years of the Regency and the early part of the reign of George IV., that if it were not that the literary tendencies of the age are towards premature revelations, indicating a total disregard of the sanctity of domestic life, and that any kind of protest against it may do some good, I should have thought it altogether a work of supererogation to say a word in defence of the publication of such a Memoir as this.

Moreover, these volumes, though not the least interesting, are perhaps the most harmless of their class. Miss Knight was no retailer of prurient scandal or frivolous gossip; she had too good a heart to delight in the one, and too good a head to indulge in the other. Some, therefore, may think that she neglected her opportunities, and that her Memoirs are wanting in piquancy of revelation and vivacity of style. But it appears to me that the very simplicity of the narrative greatly increases its value. There is such an entire absence of everything like effort to produce effect, that the reader is irresistibly impressed with the conviction that he has before him the inornate truth, and that he may confide in every statement of the narrator.

Whilst, therefore, I had no scruples on the score of publication, I had, on the other hand, a very strong impression that by publishing these papers, and thus contributing an important addition to existing materials of history illustrative of the reign of George III. and the Regency, I should render a service to Literature and to Truth. But my time was engrossed by other occupations, and I know not when these volumes might have been prepared for the press if it had not been for assistance very cordially rendered by my friend, Mr. James Hutton, of whose intimate acquaintance with the social history of England in the Georgian era no better proof could be afforded than that which speaks out from his interesting volume on English Life “A Hundred Years Ago.” To him, indeed, is to be assigned any praise that may be due for the editing of these volumes, for his, in a much higher degree than mine, have been the intelligence, the industry, and the care bestowed upon them.

The story of Miss Knight’s life is soon told. The daughter of Admiral Sir Joseph Knight, an officer of well-deserved reputation, she was born about the year 1757. Her childish years appear to have been spent in London, where she received an excellent education, and made the acquaintance, as a girl, of Johnson, Goldsmith, Burke, Reynolds, and other celebrities of the age. In 1775, Sir Joseph Knight died; and shortly afterwards, Lady Knight, being in straitened circumstances, and having failed to obtain a pension from the Crown, turned her back upon England, and, taking Cornelia with her, travelled through France, and finally fixed her residence in Italy.

During a space of some twenty years after their departure from England, they appear to have oscillated between Rome and Naples, mixing in the best society of those cities, and seeing much both of the political and prelatical sides of Italian life. That in spite of these environments, Cornelia Knight remained both a good Protestant and a loyal Englishwoman we have the best possible proof in her Memoirs and Journals. Living in a revolutionary period, she had a hatred of revolutions, and was a Tory and a Bourbonite in every pulse of her heart.

At Naples, Lady Knight and her daughter became the familiar friends of Sir William and Lady Hamilton; and when, after the victory of the Nile, Nelson sailed into the Bay and delivered the Royal Family from the dangers which beset them, it was only consistent with the general kindliness of the hero’s nature that he should have taken a deep personal interest in the welfare of the widow and daughter of a brother officer. In return, Miss Knight celebrated his victories in patriotic verse, and was called by the naval officers of the time “Nelson’s poet laureate.”

In 1799, Lady Knight died, at Palermo, and Cornelia, in fulfilment of her mother’s dying injunctions, placed herself under the protection of the Hamiltons. In the following year she accompanied them and Lord Nelson to England—being then about forty-two years of age.

In England she found many friends, with whom she had first become acquainted on the Continent, and the circle was soon widened, including in it some of the most distinguished persons of the age. In this society she did not move merely on sufferance. Miss Knight enjoyed at this time considerable reputation as a lady of extensive learning and manifold accomplishments. She had written some books, which, being in the stately classical style, hit the taste of the age;[^[1]] and she was celebrated for her extensive acquaintance with ancient and modern languages. Being a person of high principle, of a blameless life, and altogether a gentlewoman, it was not strange that, possessing also those intellectual gifts, and having numerous influential friends, she should have recommended herself, or been recommended by others, to the favourable notice of the Royal Family of England. Among her friends was Mr. Pitt, whose opinion it was that the education of the young Princess Charlotte of Wales could be entrusted to no fitter person.

Other arrangements were made for the early instruction of the Princess; but Miss Knight had been marked out for a Court life, and in 1806 she became one of the attachées of Queen Charlotte, and took up her residence at Windsor.

There she remained during a period of about seven years, at the end of which, having been included in some new arrangements which were being made for the household of the Princess Charlotte, then growing into womanhood, she left the Court of the Queen (who never forgave her for the desertion) and settled at Warwick House, which was then the domicile of the young Princess, adjoining the residence of her father.

Here Miss Knight sojourned, in attendance upon the Princess, until the eventful July of 1814. The papers had called her, and she is still called in contemporary memoirs, the governess of the Princess Charlotte. But she repudiated this title, and claimed her right official nomenclature of “lady companion” to the Princess. That she had a difficult part to play at Warwick House is certain; that she did not pass the ordeal unscathed is not surprising. Her conduct in the trying circumstances in which she was thrown appears to have been straightforward and honourable; but the Prince Regent, not understanding it at the time, resented it, and Miss Knight was dismissed.

Throughout the year 1815 and the early part of 1816, Miss Knight resided principally in London. In the spring of the latter year she went abroad, and the record of the next twenty years is one of almost continuous wandering. In France, Italy, and Germany she spent the greater part of her remaining life. The restoration of the Bourbons made Paris a point of attraction to her, and there she appears to have been greatly esteemed by the Royal Family, especially by Charles X., who had a high opinion of her learning, and was wont to ask her, after any interval of absence from his capital, what new language she had learnt. In Germany she spent some time at the Court of Würtemberg, and also at that of the petty principality of Hesse-Homburg—both of which were connected by marriage with our own Royal Family. And so her wanderings were continued into the year 1837, in the December of which she died, after a short illness, at Paris, in the eighty-first year of her age.

In her later years she devoted herself more to Society than to Literature, and she gave nothing to the world beyond a few fugitive pieces. But she seems to have contemplated some more extended works, of which some fragments remain among her papers. These are principally chapters of Italian or German romances, suggested by the scenes of her travels. But it appears to me that the very qualities which impart so much value to her narration of facts incapacitated her for the achievement of success as a writer of fiction. She was, in truth, anything but an imaginative person. The works which she published have little in them to attract the present generation, but in that respect they do not differ much from the writings of most of her contemporaries. No one reads “Dinarbas” now-a-days; but is “Rasselas” a popular work with the rising generation?

But even by her own generation it is probable that Miss Knight herself was held in greater esteem than her works. Madame Piozzi called her the “far-famed Cornelia Knight.” Everybody, indeed, knew her. There was scarcely a city of any note in Southern Europe in which she was not well known—and to know was to esteem and admire her for all her fine qualities of head and heart. How many friends she had, and in how many parts of the world, these volumes pleasantly indicate; and, although they are remarkably free from every kind of egotism, it is impossible not to gather from them that Miss Ellis Cornelia Knight was an amiable and accomplished person, of high principles and a blameless way of life, worthy to be held in remembrance as a bright exemplar of that best of all womanhood, an English gentlewoman.

J. W. KAYE.

Norwood. Whitsuntide, 1861.

CONTENTS TO VOL. I.

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

APPENDIX.

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MISS KNIGHT.

CHAPTER I.

PARENTAGE OF MISS KNIGHT—ANECDOTES OF HER FATHER—HER EARLY DAYS—EDUCATION—SOCIETY—SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS—BURKE—GOLDSMITH—BARETTI—ANECDOTE OF DR. JOHNSON—DEATH OF ADMIRAL KNIGHT.

My ancestors, on my father’s side, lost a very considerable landed property from their attachment to the cause of royalty, during the unfortunate reign of Charles the First. My grandfather had a trifling employment in Cornwall, where my father, his youngest son, was born. The latter entered the naval service of the Crown at the age of fourteen, on board a ship of war, commanded by his brother. He had previously received a good education, and had attained as much classical knowledge as could be expected at so early a period of life; and what is very remarkable, though constantly and almost exclusively engaged in the duties of his profession, he never forgot his Greek and Latin.[^[2]]

That singular character, Wortley Montagu,[^[3]] was on board my uncle’s ship, and, of course, became much acquainted with my father, insomuch that when my uncle was appointed to the command of another ship, and took his brother with him, Montagu would stay no longer, and suddenly disappeared. This was the commencement of his wanderings, as I was told by an old gentleman who had been his tutor, and who was struck by my resemblance to my father at nearly the same age as that at which he had known him.

During half a century my father served his king and country with unremitting zeal and attachment. He was present at most of the memorable sieges and engagements of his time, and died at the age of sixty-six, a rear-admiral of the white squadron and a knight.

Unassuming, disinterested, and possessing the nicest sense of honour, he never received a reprimand from a superior officer, and never injured the character of one under his command by a complaint to the Board of Admiralty. Strict in the performance of his own duty, he exacted the same from others. He was known to be kind, as well as just; he was beloved, and he was obeyed.

When very young, he had married a lady, by whom he had a son and two daughters. His son died a captain in the army before my father married his second wife, my mother, a lady of an Essex family, whose crest was a tortoise, while that of my father was an eagle on a spray. This contrast of the slow and the swift is not more remarkable than that of the histories of the two families. As the ancestor of my father, Sir Joseph Knight, lost his estates in Cheshire and part of Whittleby Forest on account of his supporting the cause of Charles the First, so Sir Anthony Dean,[^[4]] one of my mother’s family, a warm partisan of the Commonwealth, having exchanged one of his Essex estates with Colonel Sparrow for Hyde Park, was deprived of the latter at the Restoration, and without receiving what he had given up, was obliged to relinquish the property belonging to government.

My mother was, however, no friend of revolutions; and her principles in that respect perfectly agreed with those of my father. She had great quickness of perception, wit, and vivacity, a happy facility in conversation, and a singular frankness of temper. I never knew any one who better combined economy with the most disinterested generosity, or the most affectionate warmth of heart with the keenest satirical penetration. She was feared by some, but loved by many. She had read much, but having lost her mother at her birth, and having been brought up in the country at a time when education had not made general progress, she was resolved that I should not labour under the same disadvantage, and her ideas on the subject were very extensive. Had I possessed half her acuteness of mind, firmness of character, and buoyancy of spirits, there is nothing that I might not have attained, from the pains that she took with my education.

The first event which I can recollect was the return of my father from the West Indies, where he had been left for some time after the conclusion of peace, with the command at the Havannah, until that place was restored to Spain by the new treaty. I remember being carried up the ship’s side, when I was taken by my mother to Portsmouth to meet him. The height of the ship and the waves of the sea left a strong impression on my mind.

My father liked the Spaniards, as I afterwards heard him say, and as my mother used to tell me in later times. He was friendly and kind to them, and they are not forgetful of benefits, nor, alas! of injuries.

One of the Judges of the Havannah, hearing Captain Knight called by his christian as well as his family name at a dinner-party, sprang from his chair and flew into my father’s arms, calling him his preserver, his benefactor. It seems, that when this Spaniard was very young, and on his first voyage to the West Indies, he had been taken prisoner by an English ship of war, on board of which my father was a lieutenant. Seeing the distress and fright of the youth, who, having just left his parents, loaded with valuable gifts, relics, and keepsakes, trembled for his treasures, and who, having been used to every comfort at home, was wretched in his present situation, my father gave him up his own cabin, took care of his property, and made him perfectly easy and happy.

Remembering all this with the most grateful feeling, the Spaniard, then in one of the highest offices of the Havannah, pressed my father to come to his house, and offered him every attention; but he declined it, for, as he said, he knew the man would want him to accept valuable presents, and he might offend him by refusing. He, indeed, constantly refused what might be called remuneration of any kind; and was of opinion that no man in a public situation could be just or independent unless he kept clear of such obligations.

On the day of my completing my fifth year I was taken to the school of Mesdames Thompets, four sisters from Switzerland, to which I was to go as a parlour day-boarder, three times a week, for the purpose of learning to dance and to speak French. This was certainly no hard injunction, and I had some young friends there; but it was long a great distress to me, and I dreaded the three unfortunate days to a degree not to be described.

On the intermediate days I had masters at home. One of these was M. Petitpierre, who had been a pastor of the Swiss church of Neufchatel, and had been dismissed by the synod of that place for having preached a doctrine which was not approved. He, it seems, pleaded that he had only, when ordained, promised to interpret the Scriptures to the best of his knowledge and comprehension; but the heads of his Church said that his doctrine, which implied the non-eternity of punishments, might not be dangerous for themselves, who were enlightened men, but would be greatly so for their wives and servants.

Frederick, King of Prussia, as in some measure sovereign of Neufchatel, interfered in behalf of Petitpierre, but without success; and he is said to have finished by remarking, “Eh bien! si messieurs de Neufchatel veulent être damnés à toute éternité, ainsi soit-il!”

M. Petitpierre had a great number of scholars in London, and was certainly an excellent master. He taught me French, Latin, the elements of Greek, and of the mathematics, with geography and history. He was a man of great simplicity of manners, and I had a sincere regard for him. He was the protector and comforter of all the Swiss who wanted his assistance, and generally esteemed by those who were settled in our country.

At length, the sister of one of those, who had chiefly caused his banishment, happened to be in great difficulties, from which he extricated her; and she wrote to her brother, saying that the man whom the synod had exiled was the guardian angel of his countrymen and countrywomen in England.

Petitpierre was, in consequence of this, and, perhaps, other letters of similar import, recalled to Neufchatel, by a solemn deputation of the synod, to his brother’s house. He went and paid a visit to his friends, but did not settle in his native country till after the death of his wife.

The too famous Marat was a Swiss physician, and used to visit at the school. All that I can recollect of him were his person and countenance, which were very repulsive.

The dancing-master was Novere, brother of the celebrated ballet-master of that name. It is, I believe, impossible for any one to have been a more proper instructor—graceful without affectation, a good time-ist, and, I believe, a good domestic character in private life. As he had many scholars—he and Gallini being the dancing-masters the most in fashion—he made some money, and bought, as he said, “an estate for himself and his ancestors.”

Sir Joshua Reynolds was, during my childhood, the painter in fashion, and his house was the resort of the men of letters most known at that time. He had living with him an unmarried sister (Miss Frances Reynolds), for whom my mother had a real friendship. She was an amiable woman, very simple in her manner, but possessed of much information and talent, for which I do not think every one did her justice, on account of the singular naïveté which was her characteristic quality, or defect, for it often gave her the appearance of want of knowledge. She was a good painter and musician, and I have seen some of her poetical compositions, which have appeared to me very pleasing, and in good taste.

I used often to pass the day with her, when she would give me instructions in drawing, and as I was very intimate with her younger niece,[^[5]] we used to pass much time in rooms where the portraits of most of the celebrated beauties, men of letters, and politicians of the time, were exposed to view.

Sir Joshua Reynolds was a very popular person. All seemed satisfied with their portraits, and he had the art of rendering the costume picturesque, without departing from the mode of the time so as to make the resemblance less striking. There was in his paintings a fascination which still, in great measure, prevails, though many are faded; and the drawing was always correct. I believe he was good, friendly, and benevolent in a high degree. His pronunciation was tinctured with the Devonshire accent; his features were coarse, and his outward appearance slovenly, but his mind was certainly not inelegant, and the graces which he did not himself possess he could confer on his pictures. Sir Joshua loved high company, and wished his house to be considered as a Lyceum. In this he had Rubens and Vandyke in view. He was, indeed, surrounded by the wits and men of learning, and their society was harmonised by the goodness of his disposition, and the purity of his sister’s character and manners.

Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Baretti, Langton,[^[6]] Beauclerk,[^[7]] and Mrs. Montagu, were often his guests. As President of the Royal Academy, the speeches of Sir Joshua Reynolds were admired for the style, though probably not for the matter of them. He was, I suppose, assisted by his literary friends, and more particularly by Johnson. Michael Angelo was his idol. Sir Joshua had been at Rome while young, but before he left England he had painted several portraits of sea officers, friends of Lord Edgecombe, which portraits are, I imagine, still to be seen at that most beautiful place Mount Edgecombe. I recollect seeing at Devonport the portrait of an old lady of ninety, of the same date, and I think it is one of his best performances. The colours, too, had not faded, as in many of his later works.

I recollect being delighted with the conversation of Mr. Burke, amused by the buffoonery of Goldsmith, and disgusted with the satirical madness of manner of Baretti,[^[8]] whose work, entitled “Frusta Literaria,” had, I believe, been the principal cause of his leaving Piedmont. He was, however, a great favourite in this society, and was warmly supported when he had to take his trial for having stabbed a man who insulted him one night in the street. He was acquitted, because it was considered to have been done in self-defence. Being a foreigner, he was probably more frightened than he might have been had he known our country better, and he used, therefore, a weapon not common with us, though it might be in Piedmont. I was then a child; but I remember being so shocked at his shaking hands with me, that I said to my mother at night, “Did I ever think I should shake hands with a murderer!” It is certain that Baretti was a man of great learning and information.

Goldsmith was, I feel sure, very good-natured, and though neither his features, person, nor manners had anything of grace to recommend them, his countenance, as far as I can recollect, was honest and open, and in his behaviour there was something easy and natural, removed from vulgarity no less than from affectation. His buffoonery, of which I have spoken, was a sort of childish playfulness, such as drinking off a glass of water reversed on the table without spilling a drop, and similar tricks. On some occasion—I forget what—he was told that he must wear a silk coat, and he purchased one second-hand, which had been a nobleman’s, without observing that there was visible on the breast a mark showing where a star had been. He was beloved, and his death was truly lamented.

The observations of so young a child as I then was can be of no consequence, but of all these personages the one whom I liked best was Mr. Burke, perhaps because he condescended to notice me. Of Mrs. Montagu,[^[9]] all that I can remember is that she called me “a stupid child,” because I did not find out the puzzle of a gold ring which she wore.

As to Johnson, he was always kind to me, but he was very intimate at our house, had a high opinion of my father, and conversed willingly with my mother, who never failed to contradict him when she was not of his way of thinking, and yet never received from him a disagreeable reply.

An elderly lady, named Williams,[^[10]] who had been a friend of his wife, lived with him. Though blind, and suffering very much from a pain in the head, she acted as his housekeeper, and managed all the affairs of his domestic life. Born in a respectable station, she had been well educated, but had no fortune. She had high principles, great strength of mind, and a sound judgment. Her manners were perfectly good, and her taste in literature correct. She was of a Welsh family, and had lost her sight irrecoverably when a young woman; but it was wonderful to see how little trouble she gave; she worked well, and even made her own gowns. My mother had a great regard for her, and she often passed the day with us.

I remember going with Mrs. Williams and Mr. and Mrs. Hoole to see the tragedy of “Cyrus,” written by Mr. Hoole,[^[11]] in imitation of the “Ciro” of Metastasio, Mrs. Yates taking the part of Mandane.[^[12]]

The King of Denmark[^[13]] was at that time on a visit to England, and gave a masquerade ball at the Opera House, for which, of course, everybody was anxious to get tickets. In the epilogue to “Cyrus,” amongst other satirical strokes, as usual, on the habits and customs of the times, were the following lines:

With us what griefs from ills domestic rise,

When now a beau, and now a monkey dies!

In this our iron age, still harder lot,

A masquerade—no tickets to be got!

On the following morning, after the first hearing of this epilogue, tickets were left at the door of Mrs. Yates.

This, I have been told, was the first masquerade given in London after the death of George the Second, who was very fond of them, and seldom missed them at the theatre. George the Third did not approve of an amusement which he thought might lead to much that was wrong. He did not, however, refuse his brother-in-law, though he endeavoured to persuade him to give a fête of another description, and all he could afterwards do was not to encourage masquerades by his presence.

To return to Mr. Hoole. I was captivated by his translation of Tasso’s “Jerusalem,” which certainly has great merit. To translate from Italian into any other language is more than difficult; whereas the Italians can translate any author, not only of the dead but of the living languages, with the greatest facility, and with a correctness delightfully intelligible to the readers of their own country—an advantage also enjoyed by the Germans in a high degree.

When I first knew Dr. Johnson, I was a little afraid of his deep tone of voice and great wig; but when I had reached my seventh or eighth year, I was accustomed to all this, and felt grateful for his indulgence.

He was introduced to George the Fourth, then a child, in the library at St. James’s. He asked the young prince some questions about his studies, and when he took leave of him, said, “God bless you, sir! and make you as good a man and as great a king as your father.”

The ideas of Johnson on social order were carried so far, that when he wanted to send for his favourite cat he would not order his servant, who was a negro, to procure it, saying that it was not good to employ human beings in the service of animals; he therefore went himself on the errand. When I went abroad, Dr. Johnson gave me his blessing, and exhorted me not to become a Roman Catholic, adding, that “if I extended my belief, I might at length turn Turk.” I was insensible of the goodness of the advice, because I knew it to be unnecessary, and was therefore hurt at the supposition. Indeed, I still think, that if Dr. Johnson had possessed as much discrimination of character as learning, he would rather have advised me to remember I was a Christian, and never allow vanity or the love of pleasure to lead me into follies unworthy of that sacred character. I should have felt that I wanted such advice, and, probably, should have often thought of it, at least with gratitude.

Johnson was a sincere lover of equal justice, and though feeling great respect for the distinctions of rank and lawful authority, he was far from being servile, or what is called a courtier.

He had a great respect for men who served their country by sea or land, and was heard to say that, let a man be ever so distinguished for rank or abilities, he could not help thinking that he must, when in company with an officer of long and splendid services, feel himself his inferior.

He was very curious to see the manner of living and the discipline on board a ship of war, and when my father was appointed to the command of the Ramilies, of seventy-four guns, and to sail with the command of a squadron for Gibraltar, at the time when a war with Spain was expected, Johnson went to Portsmouth, and passed a week on board with my father. He inquired into everything, made himself very agreeable to the officers, and was much pleased with his visit.

When he was conveyed on shore, the young officer whom my father had sent to accompany him, asked if he had any further commands. “Sir,” said Johnson, “have the goodness to thank the commodore and all the officers for their kindness to me, and tell Mr. ——, the first lieutenant, that I beg he will leave off the practice of swearing.”

The young man, willing, if possible, to justify, or at least excuse, his superior, replied that, unfortunately, there was no making the sailors do their duty without using strong language, and that his Majesty’s service required it. “Then, pray, sir,” answered Johnson, “tell Mr. —— that I beseech him not to use one oath more than is absolutely required for the service of his Majesty.”

Among the persons of talent whom we knew, I must not forget Gainsborough. He might be said to be self-taught. I have heard my mother, who knew all about Essex and Suffolk people, say that his father kept a shop, and he was obliged to pink shrouds, &c. Every spare moment he gave to drawing. He studied every tree in the counties in which he lived, and was never out of England. Had he studied in Italy, he would not only have been the first of English painters, but probably would have formed a school in this country. His genius was very great. His landscapes are Nature itself, and his portraits, though perhaps not so fascinating as those of Sir Joshua, were correct likenesses. He had an almost equal talent for music as for painting, and I never saw an artist who had less presumption or vanity.

My father sailed for Gibraltar with a convoy of troops for that garrison; but, peace being settled, he brought back others in exchange. On his return, he was ordered to pay off the ships of war then at Chatham, and afterwards appointed to the command of the Ocean, of ninety guns, a guard-ship at Plymouth.

Thither we removed, and had a house in the square of what was then called Plymouth Dock. Admiral Spry commanded the fleet there; but as he was in Parliament, and often absent, my father, who was senior officer, had the duty of commander to perform during three-fourths of the year. Spry had an estate in Cornwall, and was a great friend of my father, in whom he placed the highest confidence, otherwise I do not believe that he would have made such frequent and long absences, for he was a sensible man and a good officer, though not fond of being confined to a seaport.

Whatever was duty was preferred by my father to every other consideration; and he not only took the greatest pains to acquit himself of that which was his portion at Plymouth, but was most hospitable and kind to the officers under his command, and to all the foreigners who either came on service or were recommended to him on visits of pleasure or curiosity. Among the latter were several Russian noblemen, and the Duc de Guignes, the French ambassador at our Court.

It was my father who despatched a frigate, under the command of Captain Macbride, to convey the unfortunate Queen Matilda[^[14]] from Copenhagen to Germany; and on that occasion he acted with a dignity similar to that shown by our minister Sir Robert Keith; for he would not allow any of the Danish noblemen to hand the Queen into the barge, saying, “No, gentlemen, her Majesty is now under the protection of England.”

Sir Edward Hughes, Captain Barrington, Captain Fielding, and other officers commanding guard-ships, were constantly at our house. Captain Vandeput, who commanded a frigate, hearing that my father had a girl who was learning Italian, lent me his library, during a long cruise. It consisted of several books in that language, as well as in French.

I had a few lessons in Greek from the chaplain of the dockyard; but, in most respects, I had not here much assistance in continuing my studies; and from the circumstances in which we were placed, I was thrown more into society than was expedient at so early a period of my life; but, at the time, I was, of course, pleased with it to a certain degree, though I can now remember little that was interesting during our residence at Devonport.

No man, I think, was more generally beloved than Captain Barrington. His eldest brother, Lord Barrington, was long Secretary to the War Department, and had considerable influence; but Captain Barrington, who was unassuming and unambitious, seemed never to avail himself of this circumstance, unless by being the first to get his ship out of dock, or any other exigency of service, not perhaps being even conscious that his situation in life gained him this advantage with the persons on whom the business depended.

He was an enemy to all ostentation, kept a good table on board his ship, but without magnificence, that he might not hurt the feelings of his brother officers, who were not in circumstances as easy as his own. He was very charitable, and he paid for all the letters which came to the seamen under his command. It was remarked that there never was a dinner at which eight or ten sea officers were assembled without Barrington’s health being drunk.

One of his lieutenants, Mr. Blenkett, had been long known to my mother. He had wit and talent, knowledge of the world, and literary acquirements. When abroad, he used to correspond with my mother, and his letters were very amusing.

Bath was at that time a very fashionable place, and Mr. B., having leave of absence for two or three weeks, sent to my mother from thence the following lines, which he had composed doubtless in imitation of the “Bath Guide:”[^[15]]

Miss Dolly Dapperlove to Miss Biddy Blossom.

I am all in a flurry! would you think it, my dear,

That sweet little creature, Bob Jervis, is here?

There is no alteration, except that he’s older,

And has got a small beard, which makes him look bolder.

He’s so smiling and nice, so neat and so trim,

That the ladies can look at no mortal but him;

When he enters the rooms the girls giggle and flirt,

While my hero, Bob Jervis, remains quite unhurt;

For he knows that his figure must charm every fair,

And to conquer their hearts he need only appear.

So ladies no longer your charms try in vain,

’Tis for me that Bob Jervis has come back again.

These lines were inserted in a newspaper, and they were the portrait of a Mr. D——, chaplain to one of the guard-ships, who was also on leave of absence at Bath. He was a very little man, and a great dandy. The officers made a great joke of his attention to his person and dress; and one evening at the Assembly, when he was about to dance with a very tall young lady, Captain M—— ran and pushed him a stool, desiring him to mount on it. He took all this very good naturedly, and, notwithstanding this little weakness in his character, he was a man of learning and taste in literature.

On our return to town, my father asked for the Newfoundland command; but received a very flattering letter from Lord Sandwich, First Lord of the Admiralty, implying that he deserved everything, but that the appointment was already promised. He was already in a very indifferent state of health, and lived but a few months after he was promoted to the rank of Rear-Admiral of the White. He died at Harwich, whither he had gone that he might have sea-bathing, and was interred in the family vault of my mother in the Chapel Royal, where I have since erected an humble monument to his memory and to that of my mother. His last meal consisted of a little fruit and a glass of wine, which I gave him, and which he drank to the health of his king, “wishing him out of all his trouble,” for the American business was then the theme of all politicians.

After this he begged my mother to read to him “The Sermon on the Mount”—a part of Scripture which he particularly loved. While she was reading, he expired. Nearly all the inhabitants of Harwich followed him to the grave, and many wore mourning for some days.

After this irreparable loss, we passed the winter in London. My mother applied for a pension, and a memorial of my father’s services, which she presented to the king at St. James’s, was drawn up by Dr. Johnson. It was graciously received, but Lord Sandwich having observed that she was not in absolute want, the request was not granted.

My mother, then finding that she could not live in London with that propriety which she had at heart, made up her mind to go abroad, with the intention of remaining three years on the Continent—a plan very congenial to my own wishes. She offered to take my sister with us, but she preferred remaining in England with a very amiable woman, an old friend of my mother. This lady was the widow of a clergyman, and my sister had already passed some years with her to finish her education, as she was not more than twelve years old when my father married for the second time. She afterwards married the Rev. Maurice Mosely, and died without children.

My mother’s first cousin, Sir Philip Staples, was at that time Secretary to the Admiralty. He was a man of talent and information, fond of the arts, and agreeable in society; but, for some years, we had seen little of him, on account of a dispute between a sister who lived with him and my mother. He was always on good terms with my father, and was present at the opening of his will.

CHAPTER II.

PARIS—LALANDE AND BOSCOVICH—TOULOUSE—ARCHBISHOP DE BRIENNE—HIS CHARACTER AND CONDUCT—THE EMPEROR JOSEPH II.—FLORAL GAMES—A PHILOSOPHICAL KNIGHT OF MALTA.

In the spring of 1776,[^[16]] we embarked at Dover for Calais, and arrived at Paris with letters for Lord Stormont (but he was absent), for Colonel St. Paul (secretary of embassy), &c., and for Lalande and Boscovich, two famous scientific men.

The Faubourg St. Germain was at that time the part of the town to which all strangers resorted. I was struck with the contrast between London and Paris. The houses, of which there are so many, particularly in that part of the town, entre cour et jardin, appeared to me to be immense—a Swiss porter with a splendid costume at every door, and carriages sweeping in and out with gold coronets, and coachmen driving with bag-wigs. The ladies full dressed in the morning; gentlemen walking with bags and with swords; and children in dress-coats skipping over the kennels I had seen in the country towns; but in Paris they were not trusted to walk in the bustle of the streets.

We went to see everything during the fortnight of our stay at Paris that could well be seen, and were often accompanied by the astronomer royal, M. de Lalande, for whom Dr. Shepherd, an old friend of my mother, who was Professor of Astronomy at Cambridge, had given her a letter.

M. de Lalande was a man of great scientific knowledge, and had also published a “Voyage d’Italie,” of which it is said that when he asked a Venetian senator how he liked it, the answer was, “Monsieur de Lalande nous désirons tous que vous fassiez un second voyage.” It is so long since I read it, and when I did I was very young, and did not know Italy, that I cannot say whether the skilful evasion was or was not a fair criticism; but it is probable that Lalande, like many others of all nations, was not just to a country which is so much visited and so little known—from whom, however, I am happy to except Eustace.[^[17]]

To return to Lalande. I must do him the justice to say that I do not recollect his making any remark, or using any expression, which might denote a disrespect for religion, though he had the reputation, unfortunately, of being an atheist. I think it difficult, if not impossible, that an astronomer should be one, but I have heard that, when delivering a lecture on this science, he happened to say, “Providence directed so and so,” and that he corrected himself, adding, “I beg pardon; I mean Nature.” However this may have been, I believe it is certain that, having been brought up at a college of Jesuits, he wished to become one of that order, but was prevented by his father, for which many years after he expressed some regret. “For,” said he, “if I had become a Jesuit, I should have had better health, deeper knowledge, and some religion.”

Boscovich was an ex-Jesuit, a Dalmatian of the city of Ragusa, so famous for its men of learning and science. He was not only a good mathematician and astronomer, but also a good Latin poet; he had the talent, which many others of his countrymen have possessed, of composing with great facility extempore verses in Latin.

Two lines of his epigram on the planets may be thus translated:

’Twixt Mars and Venus as this globe was hurled,

’Tis plain that love and war must rule the world.

In the present time (1835), I should change or correct it thus:

So Boscovich has sung, but now ’tis plain,

That fear of war and love of money reign.

There was something so natural and good natured in his manner it was impossible not to like him. On his first visit to us, as he was going away he mistook the door, and opened that of an inner room. Finding his mistake, he said to my mother, “No doubt you have heard that the Jesuits are capable of all that is bad, but do not think I was going to commit a robbery.”[^[18]] He composed an extempore distich in verse, and I am sorry I did not ask him to write it down.

His place at Paris was “Inspecteur de l’Optique de la Marine,” a place created for him by his friend M. de Vergennes, then Prime Minister. He lived there in the best society, and was generally esteemed.

On the second Sunday after our arrival at Paris we went to see the court and gardens of Versailles, and took our stand among many others in the great gallery to see the King and Queen and their attendants pass to their chapel.

I was not so much struck with the beauty of Marie Antoinette as with the gracefulness of her person, and the very pleasing smile with which her salutation was accompanied, for she noticed us as she passed. Louis XVI. appeared grave and rather melancholy.

We saw the Comte and Comtesse d’Artois at dinner, and it was impossible not to be charmed with the liveliness and elegance of figure which characterised Charles X., who was then a “winged Mercury,” and whose open-hearted, benevolent countenance still retains a charm which neither years nor misfortunes can ever destroy.

At the door, talking to some one of her acquaintance, stood the Princesse de Lamballe, handsome and distinguished in her appearance. How painful it is to recur to scenes which recal to the mind the dreadful events which occurred a few years afterwards.

We left Paris for Toulouse, taking the road of Orleans and Limoges, a long and tiresome journey, with little interesting or picturesque.

Montauban I thought prettily situated, and it put me in mind of Rinaldo, Bradamante, and other personages with whom Ariosto had made me acquainted.

At length, after six days’ posting, we reached the Palladian City, as Toulouse was called in old times, and it still, in some measure, deserved the appellation, as it could boast of three academies—des Sciences, des Beaux Arts, and des Belles Lettres—the last of which is so well known by the name of les Jeux Floraux.

We spent the winter in this capital of Languedoc, were well lodged, and had no want of society. At that time many of the first families of the province went rarely to Paris. They had large and handsome houses at Toulouse, where they spent the winter, as they spent the summer on their estates. There was no Chambre des Pairs or des Députés to take them to the metropolis, and unless they had employment at Court, or business to call them thither, they preferred remaining where they were both honoured and valued.

Toulouse was an archbishopric, and also at that time the seat of one of those Courts of Justice now abolished, which were called Parliaments.

That of Toulouse had the reputation of being corrupt and prejudiced, an accusation which in many respects was unfair. The affair of Calas, whose father was executed for supposed murder, had made a great noise. The liberals and philosophers had taken it up warmly; but, after all the inquiries we could make of unprejudiced persons, we never could decide whether the sentence was just or unjust.

From the time of the wars of the Albigenses, religious intolerance has unfortunately been prevalent on both sides of the question, and has been constantly productive of bloodshed and discord. The Protestants were violent Calvinists, and many of their antagonists bigoted Jansenists. The first, on account of their republican ideas, were often supported by the revolutionary party, which was then forming, and making great progress.

The high clergy were very tolerant, very charitable, and very delightful in society; perhaps not always sufficiently strict to the rules of that exact morality which is expected in the profession to which they were devoted. But it may be said of many of its members, who were afterwards victims of their loyalty and principles, what the celebrated Duke of Marlborough said of himself, “that he could more easily die a martyr than live a saint.”

In this number we cannot include M. de Brienne, who was at that time Archbishop of Toulouse. It was not his fate to die a martyr. He became Archbishop of Sens and Prime Minister; but his success in that post did not come up to the expectations which had been formed from his talents in the administration of his diocese and in society. He had a sensible countenance, an active person, and great facility of expression. By all accounts his quickness of comprehension was such as hardly to give time to others to explain themselves, for he seemed to understand every subject more clearly than the person whom it chiefly concerned.

It was said that Louis XVI. would not allow Monsieur de Brienne to be Archbishop of Paris on account of his connexion with a certain lady, and that the archbishop parodied on this occasion a song in the “Chasse d’Henri Quatre:”

Si le roi Louis

Voulait me donner

Paris, sa grande ville,

Et qu’il me fallût quitter

L’amour de ma mie—

Je dirais au roi Louis:

Reprenez votre Paris,

J’aime mieux ma mie, o gué!

J’aime mieux ma mie.

Whether Monsieur de Brienne said or sang these lines, I know not; but I have heard he had no taste for music, for, being at the Sistine Chapel at Rome in the Holy Week, he had allowed that the singing was very fine; on which a friend said to him, “I see you begin to like music.” He is reported to have answered, “No, I cannot go so far; but I can now comprehend that a person may be fond of music without being either a fool or a madman.” It is a pity he did not write more, for his preface to the “Memoir of Monsieur de Brienne,” who was a page of Louis XIV., is very good, and the style excellent.

He visited his diocese every year, but did not remain long at a time. He was there while we were at Toulouse to receive the Emperor of Germany, Joseph II., who travelled in the most unostentatious manner, under the title of Count Falkenstein. At his departure he thanked the archbishop for his hospitality, but declined his offer of accompanying him to the next place whither he was going, saying, “I cannot think of taking you from a city where your duty requires your presence.”

The emperor knew very well what he was saying, and the archbishop answered with a bow.[^[19]]

In one of the little towns of Languedoc through which Joseph passed, a lady of the place heard some one complain that the “empereur n’a point de cortége,” on which she wrote the following lines:

La bienfaisance le précède

La modeste vertu se tient à son côté.

A la vertu l’humanité succède,

Et la marche finit par l’immortalité.

To which she annexed the title of “Cortége de l’Empereur.” I believe the original history of “The Maid and the Magpie,” which has given occasion to such pretty operas, was a circumstance that happened at Toulouse. A lady missed her jewels, and knowing that it was impossible that any one but her own maid could have entered the room at the time, the poor girl was imprisoned, tried, and executed. The jewels were afterwards found on the roof of the house, and a magpie was discovered to have been the thief. In one of the chapels of the cathedral there was always a lamp burning for the repose of her soul, on this account, and the family of the lady used to pray there.

The inhabitants of Toulouse had a taste for poetry, and many agreeable compositions in different kinds of metre were often read at the academy of the “Jeux Floraux,” an institution which is said to have owed its commencement to a lady named Clémence Isaure, of whose history, unfortunately, nothing more is known, to the great annoyance of whichever academician has the task of pronouncing an eulogium on this their benefactress, as is done regularly once a year. The prizes distributed on these occasions for the best compositions are flowers, in silver gilt (vermeil), appropriated to each different species of poetry. This institution dates from the early times of the Troubadours. The patois of Languedoc is an offspring of their language, and in some respects it resembles the Spanish.

One of these discourses, at the Floral Games, was read by the Chevalier d’A——, a knight of Malta, and a man of some little taste in literature. He was excessively lively, though not young; and he had many Italian books. We were not at the ceremony of pronouncing his vows, which took place while we were at Toulouse; but he told us that when he rose from this awful renunciation of the world, the first person he saw was Lady L——, a person very different in appearance from most of her countrywomen, for, though an Irishwoman, she was remarkably plain. “My first thought,” added the Chevalier d’A——, “then was, ‘Well, if all women are like Lady L——, there will be no great sacrifice in renouncing them.’” There was a convent of ladies, of the Order of Malta, which he took us to see. It was built in an elegant style of Italian architecture, and the ladies received us with great politeness. This Order dated from the time of the Crusades; and they had to make the same proofs of gentle blood for the same number of generations as the knights.

CHAPTER III.

MONTPELLIER—THE ARCHBISHOP OF NARBONNE—LIBERAL VIEWS OF COMMERCIAL POLICY—SOCIETY AT MONTPELLIER—DEPARTURE FOR ITALY.

About the middle of November we left Toulouse. The weather was lovely, with a clear frosty sunshine. We embarked on a large boat belonging to the province, in company with the “Inspecteur des Travaux,” who was on his way to Montpellier, to make his annual report to the Assembly of the States. The canal of Languedoc, one of the greatest benefits which France derived from the reign of Louis XIV., and which forms an inland communication between the ocean and the Mediterranean, is really interesting. In one place it passes through a mountain, by an excavation some eighty fathoms in length, and in another goes over a bridge, under which flows a river. We halted every night, and slept in the boat, as there were three rooms, while the men-servants slept on shore. At Béziers, which is situated on a considerable eminence, it is reported that there is in every house a chamber, called “La Camerette,” reserved for the mad members of the family, there being always at least one in that condition. The inhabitants of this town are said to be the liveliest people in France, and it is probably that circumstance which gave rise to this ridiculous story. My mother’s carriage having been sent on before us to this place, we now pursued our journey by land, and proceeded by the high road to Montpellier, a city very famous for the purity of its air, and on that account the resort of strangers in search of a better climate than their own. Hence it has given its name to so many places in England as a recommendation of the air. “Mais tout passe, tout lasse, et tout casse!” Montpellier is no longer in fashion, though its situation remains the same, its air is as good as ever, and the same medicinal virtues reside in its waters. It has, not unhappily, been called a “magazine of houses,” for the streets are neither wide nor regular, though the houses are generally good, and some of them very handsome, particularly in what was called “la Grande Rue.”

We were present at the opening of the Assembly of the States on the 27th. It was held in a great hall in the Hôtel de Ville. At the upper end was a throne, under a canopy of crimson velvet. Long benches were ranged on each side, and parallel rows in front below, with a table covered with green cloth. The galleries and the rest of the hall were filled with spectators. First entered the Archbishop of Narbonne, at the head of the clergy; the bishops, in their violet robes, covered with fine lace; and the “grands vicaires” representing the prelates who were absent, in black cassocks. They took their places on the right hand of the throne, which was occupied by the Comte de Périgord as soon as he came in, followed by the barons and by the gentlemen who acted as representatives of the absent nobles. The count and barons were robed in black velvet mantles lined with gold stuff, hats with long feathers hanging over them, and their hair dressed with two queues. The barons took their places on the left, and below sat the “tiers état,” consisting of deputies from the towns. The “greffiers” and lawyers were at the table. On the left hand of the count, and above the barons, sat the intendant of the province, M. de St. Priest, and two treasurers of France, in black, with black caps, surmounted by a tuft. A greffier having read the commission which the Count de Périgord, as commandant of the province, had received from the king to hold the States, the count made a speech, complimenting the intendant, the barons, and the bishops, and particularly the Archbishop of Narbonne, whom he characterised as “a prelate who supported the interests of the people at court without flattery, and the interests of the court with the people without ostentation.” The Assembly now became very attentive, for the archbishop was to speak, and his eloquence was much admired. He began his discourse[^[20]] by dwelling on the utility of commerce, in all nations and ages, towards the civilisation of mankind. Industry was the only true road to improvement. In old times it was through commerce and industry that the Phœnicians and their colonists, the Carthaginians, had risen to eminence. The Romans, indeed, disdained to acquire riches except by conquest, but they protected and encouraged commercial pursuits in their tributary provinces, and by this policy supported their state, and enabled themselves to pursue their astonishing career. And when the Roman empire was overthrown by the Goths, a small number of fugitives settled on the little islands in the bosom of the Adriatic, and a flourishing republic arose out of this refuge for a few unfortunate exiles. But this republic fell into insignificancy, because the people became ashamed of the honourable industry of their ancestors, and preferred an inglorious pomp and idleness. The example, however, had not been lost upon England and Holland, as witness the flourishing state of the English navy, and the tranquil riches and peaceful security of the Dutch in the midst of powerful and envious nations. The speaker then lamented that France, which possessed so many and such superior advantages, situated between two seas, in the centre of Europe, under the most favourable sky, and inhabited by a people of the most active disposition, was yet by no means so commercial as she ought to be. Louis XIV., he said, would have afforded encouragement to the commerce of his kingdom, had he not been hurried away by an ill-judged ambition, and thus compelled to leave that essential duty to the care of his minister, the great Colbert. That statesman, however, signally erred in laying restraints upon commerce, for it would have been far better to have suffered the trifling inconveniences resulting from certain commodities leaving the country and being useful to foreign nations, than to renounce the great advantages which arise from the communication of new discoveries and inventions, or from superior perfection in those already made. Instead, therefore, of laying the restraint he intended upon abuses, Colbert fostered the worst of all, monopoly. The archbishop then reverted to the unhappy fanaticism which had driven so many industrious citizens to seek refuge in the open and liberal arms of England and Holland, which nations were amply repaid for their generosity by the stimulus given to their commerce, and the improvements introduced into all useful arts, by those grateful exiles. Louis XV. had proper views on these subjects, but was prevented from carrying them into execution by the troubles of the times and the narrow-mindedness of his ministers. Under the present government, however, everything might be hoped for from the known good disposition of the king towards his people, and especially in this province, where his Majesty’s gracious intentions were so well understood and seconded, &c. &c.

At the close of this speech, which had a very good effect, the governor, the intendant, and the treasurers, as commissaries for the king, left the Assembly, and were accompanied to the door by the archbishop and bishops, who then returned to their seats, the archbishop occupying the throne. The hour of the next meeting having been fixed, mass was said by the archbishop’s almoner, and served by his grace’s footmen in livery. The prelates, the intendant, the treasurers, and barons afterwards dined with the governor in their robes, with their hats on, which, however, they took off while they stood up to drink the health of the king, the queen, and the royal family. We went to see this ceremony, which was called “le Dîner du Roi.” At six we went dressed to the governor’s, who received the visits of the ladies, and afterwards to Mme. l’Intendante’s, where a supper was laid out for all who chose to stay.

On the 2nd of December the Assembly met, that the king’s commissaries might ask for the “don gratuit” from the province. The demand was made by the intendant, in what struck me as being a very authoritative style. The Archbishop of Narbonne replied in a manner equally pathetic and spirited. He lamented that, at a season dedicated to joy and festivity, the misfortunes of the province should cast a cloud over the public cheerfulness. He remarked, that after a long and severe winter the distress of the inhabitants had not been mitigated by a genial spring and summer, in the happiest country as to situation that could be imagined, inhabited by a people endowed with the most industrious activity, and enjoying a climate which drew so many illustrious strangers from less favoured lands. He pointed out in the most lively colours the losses sustained by the province from the frosts, which had destroyed nearly all the vines, and from the failure of a most promising harvest. Nor could the unhappy people hope for any alleviation of their distress while subjected to such heavy imposts. It was dreadful, he said, to find, after fifteen years of peace, that the taxes were still the same as in time of war, though it was right to expect that they should be taken off. The province was, therefore, in no state to give any further testimony of duty than what they had already afforded. Then, with respect to commerce, if the unhappy laws, dictated by rigour rather than by prudence, were allowed to prevail, Languedoc would be utterly ruined, as the manufacturers, deprived of all power of extending their views, would necessarily give up all emulation and desire of improvement. He then observed that, although the neglect of public statutes was injurious to a country, even that perhaps was a less evil than the observance of pernicious ones. As an example, he mentioned the manufacturers of woollen cloths, who, perceiving that the dyes of France were inferior to the texture while the reverse was the case in the Levant, had acquired and introduced into this province the beautiful hue which is in use among those nations. This, strictly speaking, was contrary to law, but it had been of infinite benefit to France.

This archbishop was of a commanding figure, and had a fine open countenance. By birth he was an Irishman, being brother to Lord Dillon, but he was brought up in France, and, while still very young, was present at the battle of Fontenoy. Subsequently he went into the Church, and became possessed of great benefices and considerable influence. He belonged to that class of prelates called “Evêques Administrateurs,” but he was liberal-minded and charitable. At a later period he behaved in a very proper and dignified manner, when the revolution broke out, and at length retired to England, where he died at an advanced age in 1803 or 1804. We were introduced to him at Montpellier, and he invited us to dinner, when his conversation was lively and agreeable, intermixed with sallies of wit and pleasantry in the best taste.

The Comte de Périgord was a truly worthy man; and, what is singular, was free from the prejudice at that time general in France in favour of America. He could not bear the idea of being at peace with England, and yet supporting rebels against their sovereign. The Comtesse de Périgord was dead. She was a beautiful woman, and Louis XV. fell in love with her, which made her persuade her husband to leave the Court. He never knew her reason till the king gave him the distinguished post he still held in 1777, at the same time telling him that he owed it to the virtue of his wife, for that he could not bear it should be supposed that so worthy a nobleman had left the Court in disgrace. When we were at Montpellier an English gentleman, named Langlais, was staying with the count, which compelled the latter to enter his deceased wife’s dressing-room, as it was occupied by his guest. Though several years had passed since her death, he had never before ventured to look into it. His suppers were splendid, attended by guards, and his liveries magnificent. His parties were also very pleasant and cheerful. It is painful to add, that this excellent man, who was equally loyal to his king and beneficent to the poor, was uncle of the Bishop of Autun, M. de Talleyrand. The Comte de Périgord was not possessed of such brilliant talents as his nephew, but was distinguished rather for plain sense and rectitude of principles. In person he was dignified and elegant. I have since become acquainted with his descendants, and I must add that they have inherited his virtues.

The intendant, M. de St. Priest, and the treasurers also had parties, at which my mother usually played whist, while I sat by her side at the corner of the table, finding plenty of idlers to chat with, for which I sometimes received from my mother very proper lectures. It might be said to be my first entrance into the world; and, excepting two or three of my fellow-countrywomen, there were no young unmarried women at these parties, as it was not the custom in France. We supped once with the treasurer of the province. His house was not large, but well furnished, and the supper, I remember, was thought to be remarkably fine, with respect both to the eye and the palate. The place of treasurer gave nobility, and of course the treasurers were rich, expensive, and not in the list of “good company,” though visited by everybody at these seasons. I believe the post was always purchased.

To the honour of Montpellier it must be observed, that, although there were many Calvinists in the place, there was not that dissension and hatred between the followers of the two religions that always existed at Nismes, and evident proofs of this were given during the revolution. I am sorry to say that M. de St. Etienne, who was a pastor here, did not do credit to his cloth in this respect, for he was very violent, and worthy to have belonged to Cromwell’s Independents. But many Roman Catholic priests were saved by the Protestant inhabitants of Montpellier. I remember we were much struck by the showy dress and variegated plume of feathers worn by a young woman at a concert at which we were present, and we were told that she was the wife of a Protestant minister—in fact, of M. de St. Etienne himself.

It was not without regret that we quitted Montpellier on the 13th of December, and arrived the same afternoon at Nismes. Here we inspected the various Roman remains, under the guidance of M. Séguier, the naturalist and antiquary, and on the 16th we reached Marseilles. At this seaport we were detained by the bad weather until the 29th of January (1777), when we embarked on board a “Senau,” which my mother had hired to convey us to Civita Vecchia, as we had been told at Montpellier that that was the quickest mode of conveyance, and that probably we should not be above a day or two on our passage. We started with a fine north-west wind, which shifted in the course of the evening to the east, and we were obliged to put back and run into La Ciotat, a safe little port, seven leagues distant from Marseilles by the road. It was late in the evening of the 3rd of February before our captain would again venture out to sea, but next day we were glad to run for shelter into Toulon Roads. Fortunately, we happened to be acquainted with two French naval officers who were stationed there, and who showed us every attention. The command of ships in the French navy did not depend on rank in the service as with us. An “enseigne de vaisseau” might command a sloop, but they had many more steps, and were longer in getting on than our officers at that time. In general, the French navy was composed of men of fashion, belonging to the highest families, and great interest was required to support them in the service. They had, by a recent order, destroyed the places of commissioners, and all was in the hands of sea officers, by which change many abuses were stopped, and their navy was in a much better condition than it had been for many years, or perhaps ever before.

We remained at Toulon until the 10th, when we made another attempt to reach the Italian shores, but on the following afternoon again found ourselves in our old lodgings. As the wind continued very high and unfavourable, we stayed here till the 17th, and on the previous day went to a “piquenique” at a little country-house not far from the town. We were about fifty in number, of whom fifteen were ladies. We dined early, and afterwards danced. Most of the company were of the first families of Provence, all good humoured and well bred. Their dancing was excellent, and their cheerfulness unwearied.

At last we got fairly under weigh, and were within eight leagues of Civita Vecchia on the 19th, when a contrary wind sprang up, and we were miserably tossed about all night, the weather very bad, the people praying to St. Anthony, and the ship under little government. Late in the afternoon of the 20th we succeeded in landing at a wretched little place in Tuscany, belonging to the King of Naples, in what was called “i Presidj di Toscana.” Its name was Santo Stefano, a small village, with a castle and an insignificant garrison to keep off ships coming from the Levant. Next day, the 21st, we went on shore, but could find no house where we could get a bed. We were afraid to sleep on board, because we heard that the Moorish pirates sometimes came here and cut vessels out of the harbour. We were, therefore, very anxious to get away, and having received flowers, salads, and civil messages from the governor, we at length summoned up courage to call upon him and inquire if there were any means of reaching Rome, for we were still fifteen leagues by sea from Civita Vecchia.

The governor, an elderly man named Latil, a Provençal, was very obliging, but kept his hands in a muff, and apologised for not having called upon us, because he had unfortunately caught a complaint in his hands which rendered him unfit for society. He told us we must go by Orbitello, the capital of the Presidj, and there procure horses for our journey. A Walloon officer, who happened to be at the governor’s, obligingly offered to accompany us, and accordingly, in the afternoon of the 28th, we embarked in a small felucca, another following in tow with our carriage. We rowed about three miles, when we arrived at a neck of land, and were taken ashore on the men’s shoulders, the carriage being put into a cart with all our baggage. We walked across this sandy neck of land to the Lake of Orbitello, where we embarked as before, and happily arrived at the town, situated in the midst of the lake, and much resembling a fish in water.

Captain Sougnez, the Walloon officer, offered us the use of his house, but we went to the inn, which was not a very bad one, considering the unfrequented situation of the place. The beds had muslin curtains, but there were no glass windows in the room, only shutters, and the adjoining apartment was a great hall, which served as the public ball-room every night during Carnival. As far as I recollect, the price of entrance was the value of twopence; the company consisting of all ranks of people, but chiefly of soldiers and their wives. They danced till three or four in the morning, but neither intoxication nor indecorum of any kind appeared amongst them.

On the 1st of March the officers of the garrison invited us to a ball. They danced minuets for five hours of the time. The manners of the ladies were quiet and proper, though not elegant, and their dress no very happy imitation of the French. On the following day we went to see a comedy, entitled “Il Napolitano a Parigi,” acted in a barn by soldiers. The sergeants and corporals, for distinction, acted the female parts, and hid their moustaches as well as they could. They looked oddly, but they really were good comedians.

The four horses which we had been obliged to send for from Viterbo having at length arrived, we were enabled to resume our journey on the 7th, accompanied by Captain Sougnez, who was so good as to give us his protection for the first day’s journey. We finally reached Rome late in the afternoon of the 9th of March, on the fortieth day after our departure from Marseilles, and engaged apartments in the Piazza di Spagna.

CHAPTER IV.

ROME—CARDINAL DE BERNIS—ROMAN SOCIETY—ROMAN MORALS—ANECDOTES OF CARDINAL DE BERNIS, M. DE CHOISEUL, THE DUC DE CRILLON, AND OTHERS.

During the first two years after our departure from England, I attended so little to political occurrences that they found no place in my journal; yet it was an eventful period, for although war with France had not commenced, the assistance given by the French to the Americans, then in arms against our Government, rendered it inevitable. While we were at Marseilles the news arrived of Lord Cornwallis being made prisoner; and while at Toulon great preparations were making for the war with England, which was then imminent, and which soon afterwards broke out. There, however, we heard no illiberal remarks against England.

At the time of year when we arrived in Rome that city was full of strangers. Amongst others, there were the Prince of Saxe-Gotha, Mr., Mrs., and Miss J. Pitt, Mr. and Mrs. Swinbourne, Sir Thomas Gascoyne, Sir Francis and Miss Holbourn, Mr. Henderson, Lord Lewisham, Justice Welsh and his daughter, Lord Duncannon, Comte Dillon, Comte Edouard Dillon, and Mr. T. Dillon, Chevalier Jerningham, Mr. and Mrs. O’Reilly, Sir Robert and Lady Smith, Lady Euphemia Stewart, Lady Margaret Gordon, Mr. Stuart Mackenzie and Lady Betty, Mrs. Gibbs and Miss Stevens, Sir William Molesworth, Mr. Rooke, Mr. Perry, the Rev. Mr. Sherlocke, Mr. and Mrs. Petty, Mr. and Mrs. Craddock Hartopp, Mrs. Chantrey, Mr. and Mrs. Gore, Miss and Miss Emily Gore, Sir Carnaby and Mrs. Haggerstone, the Bishop of Derry, Mrs. and Miss Louisa Hervey, Mr. Curzon, Mr. Slade, Sir Edward Hales and son, the Abbé Preston, &c. &c.

We had letters to several persons, and more particularly to Cardinal de Bernis,[^[21]] the French ambassador, who at that time had his amiable niece, the Marquise du Puy-Montbrun, and her married daughter of sixteen, the Vicomtesse de Bernis, with her husband and his brother, the Abbé de Bernis, staying in his house. From his rank, influence, and fortune, the Cardinal de Bernis made the most splendid figure at Rome. He was then about sixty-two years of age, and still more celebrated for his writings and the elegance of his manners than for having been prime minister of France. He inhabited the Palazzo de Carolis, a very considerable building, opposite the church of San Marcello, on the Corso. We were invited there to a conversazione, which began at half-past seven, or one hour of the night, according to the Italian dial. At this period of the year twenty-four o’clock is at about half-past six; it is never earlier than five or later than eight, but it is regulated by the sunset. The “conversazioni di prima sera” were without cards, while those of “seconda sera,” at which cards were played, began at two hours of night, and the company were all assembled by three; that is, about half-past nine. After passing through the hall of the Palazzo de Carolis, filled with servants in livery, and the first ante-room, filled with attendants of a higher order, we found the cardinal in one of the first rooms, which was called the “Stanza dei Boccetti,” on account of a sort of billiard-table at which he used to play, where the balls are thrown by the hand (similar tables were in all the great houses in Rome). We passed on through a suite of fine rooms, and in the farthest, which is a noble gallery, with columns of “giallo antico,” we found the Marquise du Puy-Montbrun, some ladies, and many gentlemen. Ices, lemonades, &c., were served, but no cards. A few nights afterwards we were introduced by the marchioness to the Princess Santa Croce at her conversazione, which was one of those “di seconda sera,” where some people played, but more looked on.

The Palazzo Santa Croce was full of fine pictures, and the company numerous, though, owing to the size of most of the fine houses at Rome, there was never any crowding at an assembly; for the Roman nobility, the corps diplomatique, and strangers who were well recommended, could alone be admitted to the conversazioni; and at the most forty ladies were to be seen there, the nobility not being numerous, and as the old ladies did not go, and no unmarried ones, unless engaged or on the point of becoming nuns, the men were in much greater strength; for, besides the heads of families, the younger brothers, cardinals, prelates, officers, &c., amounted to a considerable number. People began to come about nine, and went away about half-past eleven.[^[22]]

When a lady went to a conversazione, her servants called out “Torcie!” and two servants of the house would come down, each with a torch, to light her up the stairs. Sometimes at very great assemblies, or at a fête, the court and the whole staircase were as light as day with torches placed everywhere. At such times they were not called for. Great order was observed to prevent all confusion of carriages, which drove in at one gate and out at another, generally through a colonnade, or at least a covered portico. When any particular occasion rendered it necessary, from fear of a crowd, soldiers were stationed to regulate the approach to the house, and to keep the coachmen in order. The master or mistress of the house always remained near the door, and the groom of the chambers announced the visitor, who had been before announced to him through the different rooms by the footmen, valets, &c., according to their several degrees. Everybody was full-dressed, and this formality of entrance saved people from trouble, who otherwise would not know whither to go, or where to find the person to whom they were going.

Great propriety of manner, with much wit and cheerfulness, characterised the Roman society. The ladies sat still till they engaged in cards, and the men stood round and chatted with them, or sat down beside them if there was a vacant chair. The system of regularity prevailed to such an extent at Rome, that the ladies usually went to the same part of the room, and almost to the same chair, so that it was very easy for their acquaintance to find them. The Romans, more than any people I have ever known, followed the maxim of never interfering with the habits and customs, the pleasures, or even the prejudices of others. “Live and let live” was their practice no less than their principle, and this had a happy influence in staying the progress of scandal, which was certainly less prevalent at Rome than in most places.

I cannot deny that the custom of having “cavalieri serventi” was pretty general. Some ladies went alone, some with their husbands, and some with their brothers-in-law; but these were comparatively few. Yet I firmly believe that many of those intimacies, which are so much criticised in other countries, were perfectly innocent, and it was very usual to go into company attended by two, sometimes by three, gentlemen. Very respectable young women did this, and it was certainly the safest way. These made her party at cards; and when she left the assembly she wished them “good night,” and went home with her husband. Light characters were thought ill of at Rome, as they are everywhere, though they were not so much pulled to pieces. Women never went together to parties unless for the purpose of a presentation or a masquerade: if a lady was invited to a dinner party, her husband also was asked.

But what I particularly admired in the society there was, that character was so justly estimated. The Romans had wonderful tact and penetration in discovering and appreciating the merit of their fellow-citizens, and also of strangers whom they had an opportunity of knowing, either personally, or from their works or actions. They weighed everything, and their judgment was very correct.

The theatres were open only during Carnival, that is to say, between Christmas and Easter. No women were allowed to appear upon the stage. All conversazioni, except those of old ladies or of cardinals, were suspended during Carnival, unless on a Friday, when there was no opera. For the first four nights it was the custom that everybody should go dressed, and even those who had boxes of their own liked, on these occasions, to go to the ambassadors’ boxes, where they were more in sight, and certainly had the best view. The Governor of Rome had the middle box on the second tier, which was counted the best, and the ambassadors of France and Spain were on each side of him, the other ambassadors following. These and the governor were alone permitted to have lights in their boxes, and for the first four nights the latter used to send ices and biscuits round to all the boxes of the three lower tiers—there were, in all, six tiers—beginning with the corps diplomatique.

We frequently accompanied Madame du Puy-Montbrun, and the society in our box usually consisted of the old Prince of Palestrine, the Abbé de Bernis, and the Chevalier du Theil, “un savant très caustique,” whom the Court of France had sent to examine certain manuscripts in the Vatican, and who lived at Cardinal de Bernis’. We had also occasional visitors from the corps diplomatique. Madame du Puy-Montbrun was correct and serious, handsome, sensible, and only thirty-six. I was very young and very animated, but vainly would any of the gay prelates or young travellers have endeavoured to effect a comfortable entrée. Madame du P. was reserved, and the old prince and the chevalier were immovable, and the only prelate who was not old but very agreeable, was Monsignor la Somaglia, belonging to a noble family of Parma. He was a man of elegant learning and manners, but by the gay was accused of too much devotion.

I shall here insert a few anecdotes and bons mots which I collected during our lengthened residence in Rome.

M. de Choiseul, when he was ambassador of France at Rome, used to say there were only two ways of managing the Italians, “danaro o bastone.”[^[23]] One day he addressed the Pope (Lambertini), at an audience, in such an authoritative tone, that his holiness rose from his chair, and said, “Mi faccia la finezza di mettersi quà, signor ambasciadore.”[^[24]] This same Pope once asked a lady how she liked Rome, and whether she had seen all the ceremonies, &c. She answered that she had seen everything except a “sedia vacante;”[^[25]] whereupon the Pope got up directly from his chair, and said, “There is one, madam.”

A cardinal, in conversation with a prelate whose whole study was how to obtain promotion, happened to remark that he himself had very good health. “Ah,” said the other, “how do you manage that? For my part, I am always ailing.” “Why,” replied the cardinal, “the reason is, that I wear my hat on my head, but you have it in your heart.”

The Abbé G., who is said to be the son of a shoemaker, was one day complaining that he could not go to the Constable Colonna’s because his carriage was not ready; a bystander remarked, that he was not surprised, for, as the Abbé’s father was dead, his shoes might probably want mending, and that consequently he could not walk. A very elegant Grand Vicaire once asked a physician from what stock this Abbé G. was derived. The physician took him into a shoemaker’s shop, and striking his hand on the block—in French called “souche”—upon which they cut the leather, he answered, “Voici, monsieur, la souche dont sort la famille de l’abbé.”

The French farmers-general adopted many ingenious contrivances for advancing their fortunes. A certain chancellor of France having lost a dog of which he was very fond, one of these individuals procured another very like it, and dressing himself up in a wig and gown like that worn by the chancellor, he accustomed the animal to take sweetmeats from his hand, but to fly at every one else. Having sufficiently trained him, he carried him to the chancellor, and declared that he had found the dog that was lost. The chancellor was delighted, and an acquaintance was thus formed which largely contributed to the advancement of the dog-trainer. Another of this worthy’s schemes was to serve mass to Cardinal de Fleury, and instead of the usual wine to give him Madeira or Malaga.

The Cardinal de Bernis remarked to M. le Duc de Crillon that his head was filled with poetry, and that he remembered all the agreeable poets he had read forty years ago as if it were yesterday. “Your eminence has only to remember yourself,” said the duke. “That is the very one I would choose to forget,” replied the cardinal. The Spanish ambassador once asked this same duke of what country he was; for, said he, “you are a lieutenant-general in the service of Spain, a lieutenant-general in the service of France, and an Avignonese duke.” “Sir,” answered M. de Crillon, “I am everywhere a subject of the Pope; I am a Frenchman at Madrid, and a Spaniard at Paris.”

The Marchesa Lepri received company four days after her husband’s death. The Abbé de Bernis went, among others, and found her in bed, suffering from a cold, with her hair full dressed, and nothing over it, and reposing on the pillow. The bed was in the middle of the room, and without curtains. The ambassadress of Bologna was one of the guests, and many gentlemen were there.

M. Amelot, they say, was advised by his friends to retire, and ask for a dukedom. He did so, and received for answer: “Ce n’est pas la saison pour faire du camelot (Duc Amelot).”

The Duc de Crillon, of whom I have already made mention, asked of the Bishop of Mirepoix a benefice for his brother. The bishop refused, saying, “Sir, I repent of having given him the last one, for he was not a Grand Vicaire, as you pretended that he was; and,” added he, “vous êtes un imposteur, et le Pape le sait.” The duke, angry at being called an impostor, replied, “Monseigneur, vous êtes un sot, et Dieu le sait.”

Cardinal de Bernis once observed that he wondered how any person could fear death, for, said he, “ce n’est rien de fort difficile, car je vois que chacun s’en tire.”

CHAPTER V.

RESIDENCE AT ROME—CEREMONY AT ST. PETER’S—MIDSUMMER MADNESS—ANECDOTE OF M. CLERMONT—THE AMBASSADOR AND THE ACTRESS—POPE GANGANELLI.

On the 28th of June, 1780, being St. Peter’s-eve, we went to a house near the bridge of St. Angelo to see the Constable Colonna conveying the tribute-horse, which was annually presented to the Pope by the King of Naples. The procession commenced with the Pope’s light horse, sent to escort the constable. Then came the servants of several cardinals and princes in their liveries, in attendance upon some of their gentlemen on horseback with black mantles. The constable’s were the last, with their mantles turned back with gold stuff. Next followed the horse, richly caparisoned, the present—a silver flower—being carried on his back. Behind the animal came the constable, preceded by his pages in lilac and silver, and by his first gentlemen. He was dressed in light brown, with a mantle, and was mounted on a beautiful horse: he himself was a pretty figure. His state carriages followed him. The first was a chariot, which belonged to his uncle, Cardinal Pamfili, when he was nuncio in France, and the second one was a coach, richly ornamented, belonging to the King of Naples, whom he represented as ambassador; the rest were of various colours, but all drawn by fine horses. When they arrived at St. Peter’s, the guns of St. Angelo were fired, and after them a volley of musketry. We entered St. Peter’s a few minutes before the Pope came in to receive the constable. He was carried on men’s shoulders down the body of the church, attended by the cardinals. The horse was then brought in and led up to the altar, when he received a slight tap with a wand, and immediately knelt down, and the Pope gave him his benediction. The statue of St. Peter was dressed in gold stuff, with a ring on its finger, rare jewels on its breast, and a tiara on its head. Large candle-sticks with lighted tapers were placed in front, and a guard of soldiers stationed to check the indiscreet devotion of the saint’s votaries; but the black face and hands of the statue had a comical effect. The church was hung with crimson velvet and gold, the great altar finely arranged, and festoons of artificial flowers hung round the silver lamps that surrounded it. The throne of the Pope was set out for next day’s mass, and the whole building in perfect “fiocchi.”[^[26]] The constable returned in his state coach, drawn by six horses.

During the great heats of July, 1781, many people went mad. Amongst others, a bricklayer, in his madness, killed a priest near St. Pietro in Vincoli, and then went to his work. His master, observing that his hands were bloody, told him he looked as if he had been killing somebody. He said, so he had; that he had just killed a priest. On this his master, being frightened, gave him some money, and advised him to run away. He went towards the Coliseo, where he killed, at one stroke, a very beautiful woman, then broke in two places the arm of another woman who was walking with her, and wounded a priest who came to her assistance. In short, they say he killed, or wounded, seven persons. He was at last secured, and thrown into prison. Many other madmen have tried to fight, but people were put on their guard, and precautions taken to prevent any violence. One of the madmen, meeting the Pope in St. Peter’s, said he would confess to him, and tell him all the evils the poor experienced from bad bread and dear oil. Another beat the statue of St. Peter; it was reported he had beaten that of Pasquin. Four barbers, also, counterfeited madness, but were taken up, and two of them sent to the galleys for ten years, and the others sentenced to be hanged.

A story is told of M. Clermont, ambassador of France at the Court of Naples, that he became very attentive to an actress known as “La Balduzzi.” M. de Bièvre, calling upon him one morning, found him in his garden gathering flowers. So he asked him what he was doing; when the ambassador replied that he was gathering “garofolis” for the Balduzzi. “Ah, monsieur,” exclaimed the other, “gare aux folies!” This M. de Bièvre complained one day that Colonel Chrysti was very tiresome. “He is a very honest man,” remarked a gentleman who was present, “he is a Swiss.” “Eh bien, donc,” cries M. de Bièvre, “il faut le mettre à la porte.”

Mr. Jenkins, our banker, having remarked that he didn’t know what Mr. Pigot would think of the race on the Corso, he who had been so celebrated on the turf: “Well,” said Mr. Hodges, “he can now be celebrated on the pavé.”

When Pope Ganganelli died, who had made a great favourite of Padre Buontempi, a monk of his own order, some one put an umbrella up over Pasquin’s statue, with a writing, “E finito il buon tempo.” At another time, a wag wrote on this statue, in answer to the question, “Che fa Roma?” “Opera di misericordia. Veste i Gnudi ed arrichisce gli Onesti.”[^[27]] Gnudi was the name of a person who came from Cesena with Don Luigi Onesti, the Pope’s nephew, and was previously in the greatest poverty. In the chapel, too, of the new sacristy, where an inscription testified that it was built in consequence of the vota publica, a paper was affixed with these lines:

Publica! mentiris, non publica vota fuêre,

Sed tumidi capitis vota fuêre tui.

His Holiness was so much offended, that it was said he would have put the author to death for his impertinence, if he could have found him. The Italians used to say of the Pope’s arms, in which were stars, an eagle, and the wind blowing on fleurs-de-lys: “L’Aquila è andata in Germania, i Gigli in Francia, le Stelle sono tornate nel cielo, e non gli è rimasto altro che il Vento.”[^[28]]

The Cavalier Guglielmi, about this time, asked the Cardinal Secretary-of-State to promote his brother to a better post. The cardinal, taking snuff, replied, negligently, with the common proverb, “Chi sta bene, non si muova.” The cavalier took no immediate notice of this answer, but after a little while, imitating the cardinal’s action, he said: “Vostra eminenza, mi ricordo, era nunzio a Bruxelles, e stava bene, ma voleva qualche cosa di più, e fu fatto nunzio a Napoli; stava benone, ma voleva qualche cosa di più, e fu fatto cardinale; stava ottimamente, ma voleva qualche cosa di più, e fu fatto segretario di stato; vedo chi sta a maraviglia, ma chi sa se ancora non vuole qualche cosa di più.”[^[29]] The cardinal felt the rebuke, and gave the desired post to Cavalier Guglielmi’s brother.

It was also some time in the year 1781 that I became acquainted with the following instance of gratitude on the part of a Turk, and which was then of quite recent occurrence. The commander of a merchantman of Leghorn was taken by an Algerine corsair, after making a gallant defence. He was carried to Algiers, and exposed for sale in the market-place, where he was soon observed by a Turkish merchant, who bought him immediately, without further inquiry. While he remained between hope and fear of his future situation, the Turk asked him whether he knew him. He replied that he could not recollect ever having seen him. The Turk then said: “I have not bought you for your harm, but for your good. I am the man you took prisoner some years since, and whom you treated with such humanity, and afterwards set at liberty. I mean, therefore, to make you free, and will give you a ship larger than that you have lost, and will freight it with corn, which is here at a very low price. And when you return to Leghorn you will make what profit you can upon it, only restoring to me the original price of the corn; all the rest, together with the ship, is at your service.” The grateful and generous Turk fulfilled his promise; and the man returned to Leghorn, and disposed of his cargo to great advantage.

Mr. Jenkins told us of a curious affair that happened at Urbino. The governor of that town, Monsignor Lucchesini, whose power was almost absolute, being offended with the nobility of the place because they had beaten one of his servants, searched through the records for some obsolete law with which he could plague them. He found an obsolete ordinance, which forbade the nobility of Urbino to stir out at night without carrying torches, which all Italians have a great aversion to doing. So he insisted upon this law being put in force, and, when they refused to obey, he ordered the barigel[^[30]] to compel them to do so. That officer, however, told him that he dared not act against all the principal families of the town; but the prelate still remained obstinate. Whereupon all the families of the nobility assembled, and agreed to go with their torches to the door of a lady’s house, whom monsignor visited every evening by stealth. Accordingly, they posted themselves at the door just at the time he usually went away, and he had the pleasure of being escorted home in the full light of all their torches.

One day in September, as the Pope was talking to his nephew, he observed that he made no answer, and asked him the reason. The latter made signs that there was somebody listening at the door. The Pope instantly got up, went to the door, and, flinging aside the curtain, found there Monsignor di Spagna, whom, it is said, he beat pretty handsomely for his impertinent curiosity—others, however, deny the latter part of the story.

On the 23rd of December, 1783, we met the Emperor Joseph II. at the Princess Santa Croce’s conversazione. His Majesty was travelling incognito as Count Falkenstein. As we entered the grand apartment we saw him standing near the door with Cardinal de Bernis by his side, and surrounded by all the men in the room, which was very full. He was in a plain uniform, blue with red lappels, and had much the look of a military man. His figure was good, and his eyes very fine. We had not, however, a good opportunity of observing him, as the apartment was so crowded in the part where he stood. The cardinal told him who we were, and he made us very polite bows, after which we went off in search of seats. The emperor talked a good deal to those near him, and stayed about half an hour, but he had been there some time before we entered, and had made a previous visit to the Princess Doria.

His Majesty had arrived that morning from Florence a little before noon, without having given any notice to the Pope. About one, his Holiness was sitting with Don Luigi, his nephew, and the Bailli Antinori, his familiar friend, and finding that he had still some time to spare before his usual hour for going out, he went into his closet to write a letter. Just then a favourite valet-de-chambre ran into the room, and told Don Luigi that Cardinal Hertzan, the emperor’s representative, was ascending the staircase, and demanded an immediate audience. Greatly agitated by this announcement, Don Luigi knocked at the door, and informed Pius VI., who was not less disconcerted. Presently, the valet again hurried in, and said that the emperor also was there. Don Luigi thereupon told his uncle, who threw open his closet door just as the emperor and the cardinal entered the apartment through the opposite door. When his imperial visitor rose to take leave, Pius VI. conducted him through the apartments of the Countess Matilda into St. Peter’s. The Pope then proposed that they should offer up a prayer together, and invited the emperor to kneel by his side on a prie-Dieu, with two cushions, but the latter flung aside the one intended for himself, and knelt down on the bare floor. “Then,” said Pius, “I, too, must kneel on the floor: I cannot take this place.” “You may do as you please,” replied the emperor, “but I always kneel so.” He made a very short prayer, and, wishing the Pope good morning, went to see the Museum, and at four o’clock dined with Cardinal Hertzan, at whose house he had alighted.[^[31]]

On the following day he dined with one of the generals who accompanied him, at a lodging-house in the Piazza di Spagna, and, according to his usual custom, sent down a large fish from the table to the mistress of the house. As he was going away, an immense number of the populace, who had collected round the door, began to cry aloud, “Viva l’imperadore!” “Viva Cesare!” His Majesty stopped a moment, and made them a sign to be quiet, and then jumped into his carriage and drove off. In the evening the emperor was present at the Duchess Bracciano’s, and afterwards at Princess Altieri’s, who had lighted up her house, of which he complained, as he does not permit the slightest ceremony, not even torches on the staircase.

On Christmas-day, Joseph II. and Gustavus III., King of Sweden, who had arrived at a late hour of the previous evening, attended high mass at St. Peter’s. The behaviour of the emperor was particularly decorous, without any affectation or hypocrisy. The king at first hesitated about kneeling, and asked the emperor what he should do. “Do as I do,” replied Joseph. “But I am not of your communion,” rejoined the other. “Well,” resumed the emperor, “believe what you will, but as you came here of your own choice, you should act so as not to scandalise others.” Gustavus took the hint, and knelt down.

The next evening we went to Cardinal de Bernis’, who had illuminated his house, and was to give a concert in honour of the King of Sweden. The day before he invited the emperor, who said that, if the concert were given as a compliment to the king, he would certainly come, as he had no objection to partake of fêtes, provided they were not offered to himself. But, he added, if his eminence sent a single torch to him on the stairs, he should instantly retire. There was a vast deal of company assembled on the occasion, and it was remarked that it was like the East Indies—all heat and diamonds.

About seven o’clock the King of Sweden, who was travelling under the title of the Comte de Haga, came in, followed by two gentlemen. The Princess Santa Croce[^[32]] took him by the hand, and introduced him to everybody in the room. His Majesty was dressed in a satin coat, wearing his order, &c.; but there was nothing remarkable in his figure or address, except an air of levity and affectation. Very different in this from the emperor, of the perfect ease and propriety of whose conduct too much cannot be said in praise. The latter talks to all around him with the utmost politeness, but carefully avoids giving any trouble to others, and never suffers any one to take liberties with himself. A Roman gentleman went up to him at Cardinal de Bernis’, and said that he had the honour of being acquainted with his Majesty. “What majesty?” asked the emperor, looking around. “There is no majesty here.” “Oh!” insisted the gentleman, “my family is too much attached to the House of Austria for me not to know that I must address you as your Majesty.” “If you speak to the Comte de Falkenstein,” said Joseph, “he will answer you. But if you speak to the emperor, it is taking a great liberty to address him first.” At this concert his Majesty stayed rather less than an hour, and heard Marchesi[^[33]] sing one song, after which he ran off in great haste.

The King of Sweden, however, remained to supper, and did not leave till two in the morning. He had also dined at the cardinal’s, and professed himself wholly attached to the Court of France. At supper his Majesty was seen to scratch his head with his fork, and also with his knife, and afterwards to go on eating with them. Before his departure from Rome for Naples, the emperor had a very satisfactory interview with the Pope, who appeared more cheerful afterwards. It is said that his Holiness reminded his Majesty that his ancestors had more than once been indebted for their crown to the See of Rome. The emperor’s munificence was much spoken of. He gave five hundred sequins to the mistress of the lodging-house in the Piazza di Spagna where he used to sleep, and bestowed upon her husband an employment in the Milan post-office. At the Museum he left fifty sequins, and a similar sum at the library, &c., and scattered a great deal of money among the populace. On one occasion the emperor asked several questions of a footman, who answered him readily, in ignorance of his rank, and so much pleased his Majesty that, on leaving the man, he gave him three sequins for his company. At another time he sent for a dish of coffee from the coffee-house, and laid a baiócco[^[34]] and a half on the saucer to pay for it, but gave a sequin to the boy who brought it. In this respect he was very different to the King of Sweden, of whom it was said:

Il Conte de Haga tutto vede, e niente paga.[^[35]]

As he was returning from Naples, the postilions contrived to upset his imperial Majesty’s carriage; whereupon he gave each of them three sequins to comfort them under their mishap. Everybody agreed that Joseph II. had conducted himself so as to win the hearts of all Rome, and this without the slightest derogation to his own dignity. Several anecdotes were told of his Majesty, illustrating his kindly disposition and dry humour. When he was attending mass at St. Peter’s, some one remarked that Cardinal Orsini had so bad a voice that he could not intone the Gospel. “Se non intona,”[^[36]] replied the emperor, “non stuona.” Seeing the Pope’s niece seated near the door, he asked her, “Lei sta quà per mangiar il prossimo?”[^[37]] As she did not appear to understand him, he added, “Perchè prende il fiato di tutti quelli che entrano.”[^[38]]

At the Duchess Bracciano’s the emperor was standing in the middle of the room, engaged in general conversation, when some ladies who had followed him and the King of Sweden about everywhere, again came up to him. He took a snuff-box out of the Venetian ambassador’s hand, and showed them the lid; on it was painted the portrait of the Grand Signor. At Vienna his Majesty used to dismiss all the soldiers from the palace at ten o’clock. Not a single sentinel was stationed in the imperial apartments. Even at the camp he had never more than two guards, and those he chiefly employed as messengers. In driving about the streets of his capital he was attended by only one servant, and not unfrequently he accompanied ladies in their private carriages. If he happened to be unwell, he would invite every evening four or five ladies of the first distinction to keep him company. A horse was always kept ready saddled, so that if he heard of a fire he was almost immediately upon the spot. While at Rome, his Majesty went to see the caves of the Capucins, where human bones and skulls were arranged in a very fanciful manner. Looking round him, he asked: “What will these good people do at the day of judgment, now that you have mixed their bones so?” An old Capucin, who was kneeling close by, and who, though at prayer, overheard the emperor, made this reply: “Ci pensa chi l’ha fatti.” One day the emperor, while walking about the Villa Medici, inquired of the guarda-roba what he meant to do with his children. The man answered, that he intended to bring two of them up as priests, if they would study. The emperor then said that their studying was of no great consequence, for, if they could barely read and write, they might hope to become prelates, cardinals, the Pope himself.

His majesty entertained a very poor opinion of the Roman clergy. On his return to Vienna, after his first journey into Italy, his mother, the Empress Maria Theresa, asked him to give her some account of Rome. “I can do it in a few words,” he replied: “great luxury, little religion, and much ignorance.” While visiting the hospital of Santo Spirito, the emperor remarked that it was a great expense. “Yes,” said a bystander; “but your Majesty is at a still greater expense for the maintenance of three hundred thousand soldiers.” “You may add sixty thousand to that number,” replied Joseph; “but the money is all spent in the State, and, by keeping up so large an army, I save the lives of many of my subjects, who would otherwise perish in the wars my powerful neighbours would raise up against me if I were not so well prepared.” He was out hunting one day with the King of Naples, when the latter expressed a wish to see Count Falkenstein at the head of a hundred thousand men. “Well,” answered the other, “if you like, I will send a hundred thousand of my troops here, and come and command them.” Upon this the king exclaimed, in the lazzaroni dialect, which he generally used: “Malora, ci vuoi assassinar.”

When the Emperor Joseph was at Florence, he thought to give the fourth son of the Grand-Duke of Tuscany the colonelcy of a regiment that was just then vacant, and called to him to approach, in the presence of his father and mother. Taking a paper out of his pocket, he said that he had just returned from Rome, and brought him a brief from the Pope for a cardinal’s hat. The boy, who was not eleven years of age, reddened with indignation, and presently burst into tears. The emperor then embraced him, and told him it was a colonel’s commission, whereupon the little prince danced about the room with the greatest delight, much to the satisfaction of his uncle.[^[39]]

At Milan, a poor woman petitioned the emperor on behalf of her husband, who had been kept in prison seventeen months by order of Count Belgiojoso, for having killed a hare on his estate. The same evening his Majesty happened to meet the count in company, and telling him he was sorry to hear that he preferred his game to the good of his fellow-creatures, ordered him to set the man at liberty immediately, and make his family amends for the sufferings they had sustained through his absence, by giving them a florin a day for the time the poor fellow was in prison. “And,” continued the emperor, “to avoid all temptation to play the tyrant, do away with your game preserves.”

There was much ill-natured gossiping this year on the subject of the Countess of Albany[^[40]] and Count Alfieri. The moment the countess heard that the Pretender was lying at the point of death, she forwarded the news to Cardinal York,[^[41]] at Frascati, who instantly hastened to Florence to see his brother. On his return to Rome, he spoke only a few cold words to the countess, but informed the Pope that it was his brother’s wish that his wife should either dismiss Count Alfieri and return to him, or go into a convent. The countess thereupon wrote a letter to the Pope, in which she cleared her own character, and declared that if Count Alfieri’s visiting her gave his Holiness any displeasure, she was quite sure she could prevail upon that gentleman to leave Rome. The Pope replied that he approved of her conduct, and had no doubt of its correctness, but as the cardinal disapproved of the count’s visit to her house, it might be as well to request his absence, taking care, however, to do it in such a manner as not to offend him, or any other gentleman who visited her. The cardinal, it is said, told every postilion on the road from Florence to Rome the bad opinion he had of his sister-in-law and Count Alfieri, and he held the same discourse with all the shabby people about Frascati. It was generally believed that the Grand-Duchess of Tuscany was the originator of all this disturbance, from jealousy of her husband, who was partial to the cause of the unfortunate lady. The count informed the Countess de Château-Dauphin that he had good reason to believe that the Pretender meant to have him assassinated. He afterwards consented to quit Rome for a time, and travelled through France to England.

The countess’s mother, the Princess de Stolberg, arrived in Rome soon after this with her youngest daughter, a chanoinesse. The cardinal offered them apartments in his house at Frascati, which they declined, but they consented to dine with him one day when he came into the town. In April, 1784, through the mediation of the King of Sweden and Baron Sparr, articles of separation were agreed upon and signed by the count and countess, the former fully vindicating his wife’s reputation. She entered very fully with us into the details of the sufferings she had undergone during the twelve years of her married life. The count, she said, was constantly and madly drunk, and seldom had a moment of reason. He was ever talking about his restoration, or abusing the French and the Pope. He was equally covetous and extravagant. His own table was always sumptuously provided, but he would grudge the countess a little mutton broth in the morning. She acknowledged he had one good quality—he never betrayed a secret, and never disclosed who had belonged to his party until after their death; nor would he ever listen to any ill-natured things said of people. He once crossed over into England after the rebellion, and was in London, but he never would mention in what year;[^[42]] the countess, however, was pretty sure that it was in the year after the rebellion. She spoke of him with great calmness and compassion, and thought, drinking apart, that he was a less despicable character than Cardinal York.

About this time I gathered some anecdotes about preachers. The Marquis de Montreuil told me of a preacher who, in the year of the Jubilee (1775), exhorted the people to repentance in such forcible terms, that a woman stood up on a chair and confessed publicly all her sins. A moment afterwards, a man got up and declared that she was his wife, and a very good woman, but she was a little mad, so they must not believe what she had said. Several other women at the same time made public confession, and were sent by the cardinal-vicar to religious houses, where they were clothed and fed for some months.

The Cardinal de Bernis gave me two anecdotes of missionary preachers in Languedoc. One of them said to his hearers that they were not ashamed to live in the mud of their sins, but were ashamed to confess them publicly. If it were not so, why did they not hide their heads in the mud in token of repentance? It so happened that they were just then standing in a very muddy place, and in obedience to the preacher they all plunged their heads into the mire, standing with begrimed faces to hear the remainder of his discourse. The other missionary used to carry a death’s head about with him, which he dressed up in the cap and ornaments then in fashion among ladies of rank. This skull he would throw down on the floor of the pulpit, and talk to it, answering himself in a low voice, to imitate that of a woman. “Qui êtes-vous?” “Je suis une marquise.” “Êtes-vous dame de la cour?” “Oui, monsieur, je suis dame de la reine.” “Où êtes-vous?” “Dans l’enfer, monsieur.” “Et pourquoi cela?” To this last question he used to give answers that embodied satirical allusions to the doings of the most celebrated women of fashion.

One of the missionaries, at that time preaching at Santa Maria, in Trastevere, also took a death’s head about with him, which he tossed up and down like a ball. When the Duke de Bracciano opened the box which he had held for the missions, in the garb of a penitent, he found scarcely any money in it, but plenty of bits of wood, buttons, &c. &c. At first he flew into a violent passion, thinking it to be an impertinence levelled at himself personally, but he was soon pacified on discovering that all the other gentlemen employed in the same business had been treated in a similar manner.

The Duke of Parma used frequently to clothe himself in a friar’s robe and live ascetically. One day he remarked to the duchess that her head-dress was not becoming. “Oh!” said she, “è bello e buono per un frate.” For her part she spent much of her time in hunting, and loved to wear man’s attire. The Emperor of Austria told the duchess, his sister, if she would come to Rome while he and the King of Sweden were there, they might have great luck at a game much played at Vienna, in which the best hand consists of two kings and a card called “la matta” (the fool).

The King of Sweden remained in Rome till the middle of April, 1784. The night before he set out for Naples he presented the Cardinal de Bernis with a snuff-box, on which was his portrait, set in brilliants, valued at sixty thousand livres.[^[43]] He also gave one to the Chevalier de Bernis, estimated at fifteen thousand livres, and a similar one to the major-domo, besides leaving five hundred sequins for the cardinal’s servants. A few days before his majesty’s departure, he was received at the Arcadia by the name of Anaxander, and verses were composed in his honour, after the fashion known as a Corona, the last line of each piece being the first of the following one. Most of these effusions referred chiefly to Queen Christina, the great patroness of the Arcadia, but some of them also eulogised the king, and alluded to his assumed name as King of Men. I don’t think his Majesty understood these allusions, for he told me in the evening that his name was “Anaxamandre.” He seemed, however, much gratified by the compliments paid to him, but remarked that he did not deserve them. What he had done, he added, might make some figure in history, but not in poetry.

The King of Sweden also presented to the Pope three caskets, containing Swedish medals, ninety of which were of gold and one hundred and fifty of silver. His Holiness made a handsome return by a present of two large mosaics and two pieces of tapestry, besides some prints by Piranesi. One of the mosaics alone was worth more than the whole of the Swedish medals, but the king set down on a piece of paper the cost of his own and the Pope’s presents, and made out that the latter was not worth half as much as the former.

One night, at Monsignor de Bayane’s, an air balloon[^[44]] was sent up to gratify his Swedish Majesty, whose arms were painted upon it, with the motto: “Ce n’est pas un conte.” The king amused himself with making all kinds of ridiculous experiments with Naples biscuits, in concert with the Princess Santa Croce.

Being at supper once with the King and Queen of Naples, the latter asked Gustavus a number of questions about his revolution (in 1772), which he answered in monosyllables, with evident reluctance. At last she inquired what the Queen of Sweden was doing all that time. “Why,” said he, “she remained shut up in her own room, awaiting the event. What have women to do with political affairs?” However, he kissed the queen one evening as he was taking leave of her, in the presence of the king, her husband, who exclaimed: “Malora! in faccia mia!”

About this time I made the acquaintance of Lieutenant Koehler, General Elliott’s aide-de-camp during the siege of Gibraltar. He said that the general used to rise every morning at four, but scarcely ever went to bed before twelve or one, and even then was continually awakened to hear the reports from the different batteries of every circumstance that happened in the enemy’s camp. While the floating batteries were burning, he exclaimed: “They will make us pay for them; for they have a hundred thousand witnesses to prove that it was we who set them on fire.” As he walked up and down, watching the conflagration, he caught himself humming one of his favourite airs: “Le matelot brûle au milieu des flots.”

While General Elliott was planning the great sortie that destroyed the Spanish works, he did not speak of it to any one. But when he had arranged and decided upon every part of the manœuvre, he sent for the commanding officers, and explained his intentions to them, appointing each to a particular duty. He then ordered all the suttling-houses to be closed, in order that the men might be quite sober, and even when they were under arms he kept them waiting for four hours, so that if any of them should happen to have been drinking they might have time to recover from the effects. He then said he should accompany them to the gate, but no one knew that he meant to go any further, though his aide-de-camp had observed that his great-coat—which he wore with a belt, and called his “kitchen fire”—stuck out more than was usual over his ordinary small sword. But when he arrived at the gate he threw off his coat, and ordered some one to carry it home, and it was then seen that he had his fighting sword on, slung by a belt over his shoulder. As the path was exceedingly difficult, many of the soldiers offered their arm to steady him, but he told them that they would have enough to do to take care of themselves, and so contented himself with leaning on his aide-de-camp’s shoulder. When they reached the Spanish lines he exclaimed: “We have had a run for it, but it has been the right way.”

After having completely destroyed the enemy’s works, he walked with the slowest pace and most majestic demeanour. If any man happened to be wounded, the general always inquired closely into the circumstances of the case, and severely rebuked any officer who did not take good care of the lives of his men. If any man was killed, he always asked if he had left a wife or family, and made it his business that they should be provided for. Every morning he visited the hospital, to see that it was kept perfectly clean, and the patients properly attended to. The first lemons in his garden were always sent there, and whatever else was likely to contribute to the comfort of the sick and wounded.

Whenever he wanted to propose some new scheme which he had designed in his own mind, General Elliott used to go to the persons to whose department it belonged, and mention the matter to them as if asking their opinion. By degrees he would insinuate his own idea into their heads, and then applaud them for it, as if it were their own, and invite them to carry it out immediately. They would thus set about the performance with greater alacrity, and the general never claimed any merit for his original idea, but generously relinquished the credit to others. He likewise banished all libertinism and dissipation from the garrison, setting himself a good moral example, as he did of activity and industry. At the same time, he was particularly attentive to procure for his officers every comfort in his power, and his own table[^[45]] was remarkably elegant and agreeable. At dessert he always had vast quantities of natural flowers, and in the spring, when he gave the grand dinners after reviewing the regiments, he used to raise columns of hoops covered with canvas, all wreathed round with natural flowers. He had a good library, and passed a portion of every evening in reading the works of ancient authors, particularly Cæsar’s Commentaries.

In the early part of the siege there was a great dearth of firewood, until a violent storm drove towards them almost an entire forest, which the Spaniards had cut down. The garrison was occupied for three days in getting it in, and when this supply was nearly exhausted, some old fire-ships sent against them by the enemy were secured, which lasted them for the rest of the time.

An officer was walking one day in his garden, which was a very beautiful one, and had been of great service to the men, and he thought with sorrow how soon everything in it must perish from want of water. He was a remarkably devout man, and began praying for rain. Suddenly a shell from the enemy flew over his head, and struck the rock at a few yards’ distance. Instantly a plentiful stream of water gushed forth, which sufficed for the entire garrison, and never failed them.

At another time, General Elliott was walking in his own garden with two of his aides-de-camp. It was a few nights before the affair of the floating batteries, and a little after midnight. He was conversing with his companions about these expected ships, wondering where they would be moored, and calculating the means of destroying them, when a ball of fire sprang from behind a certain part of the rock and fell into the sea. Raising his hand with characteristic vivacity, he exclaimed, like a Roman of the ancient times, “I accept the omen.” It was afterwards ascertained that the spot where the meteor first appeared was the site of the batteries that destroyed the ships, and that the spot where it fell was the exact part of the bay in which those ships were moored.

The general encouraged the country people to bring in provisions, by telling them to sell their things as dear as they could. In consequence of which, they would run any risk to supply the garrison. He used to say that it made his heart ache to see the great dinners that were carried to the batteries for the officers, while the children were dying of hunger in the streets. To set an example of abstinence, he himself lived for several days on six ounces of rice per diem.

The following parody on the old song of The Vicar of Bray was a great favourite with the general:

And this is law I will maintain,

My tune it ne’er shall alter,

That whosoe’er is King of Spain,

We will keep Gibraltar.[^[46]]