Fagan, pinx.

Walker E. Cockerell, ph. sc.

Elizabeth Lady Holland.

THE JOURNAL
OF
ELIZABETH LADY HOLLAND

(1791–1811)

EDITED BY

THE EARL OF ILCHESTER

WITH PORTRAITS

IN TWO VOLUMES

Vol. I. 1791–1799

LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.

39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA
1908

All rights reserved

PREFATORY NOTE

I have not considered it necessary to include an extended preface in these volumes. The requisite words of explanation have been given in the short introductory sketch of Lady Holland’s career, which follows. I should like, however, to express my gratitude to Sir Augustus Webster for the assistance he has given me on matters connected with his family history, and for the anecdotes of his great-grandmother’s life at Battle. My thanks are also due to Mr. Walter Sichel for allowing me to use certain material relating to Sheridan which he has collected for his forthcoming work.

Ilchester.

September, 1908.

INTRODUCTION

Fame is notoriously fickle. Her methods are many and varied, and all do not receive a like treatment at her hands. The names of those who have done the most, by laborious and scientific pursuits, alike injurious to their health and happiness, to smooth the thorny paths of their fellow-creatures, are perhaps allowed to lapse into utter oblivion. While others, whose claim to immortality rests on a more slender base, are celebrated among their posterity. Lady Holland’s claim to renown rests upon the later years of her life. She is known to the readers of memoirs and historical biographies of her time as the domineering leader of the Whig circle; as a lady whose social talents and literary accomplishments drew to her house the wits, the politicians, and the cognoscenti of the day. She is known as the hostess who dared to give orders to such guests as Macaulay and Sydney Smith, and, what is more, expected and exacted implicit obedience. As yet, however, little has been written of her earlier years, and on these her Journal will throw much light. It is a record of the years of her unhappy marriage to Sir Godfrey Webster; and after her marriage with Lord Holland the narrative is continued with more or less regularity until 1814.

The chief point which at once strikes home in reading the account of her younger days is an entire absence of any system of education, to use the words in their modern application. Everything she learnt was due to her own exertions. She did not receive the benefit of any course of early teaching to prepare her to meet on equal terms the brightest stars of a period which will compare favourably with any other in the annals of this country for genius and understanding. ‘My principles were of my own finding, both religious and moral, for I never was instructed in abstract or practical religion, and as soon as I could think at all chance directed my studies.... Happily for me, I devoured books, and a desire for information became my ruling passion.’ Her own words thus describe how she gained the general knowledge which was subsequently of such use to her. Lectures on geology, courses of chemistry with the savants whom she met on her travels, and hours of careful reading snatched whenever practicable, seem to have been the solace and the recreation of those early years of her married life. By her own efforts she thus became fitted, with the aid of undoubted beauty and a natural liveliness of disposition, to take her place in Whig society, into which her marriage with Lord Holland had thrown her. Without the same opportunities, her salon in later days succeeded and far surpassed in interest that presided over by the beautiful Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. Thus said Charles Greville: ‘Tho’ everybody who goes there finds something to abuse or to ridicule in the mistress of the house, or its ways, all continue to go. All like it more or less; and whenever, by the death of either, it shall come to an end, a vacuum will be made in society which nothing can supply. It is the house of all Europe; the world will suffer by the loss; and it may be said with truth that it will “eclipse the gaiety of nations.”’ But her sway over her associates was the rule of fear, not of love; and with age the imperiousness of her demeanour to her intimates grew more marked. Each one of her visitors was liable to become a target for the venom of her wit or the sharpness of her tongue.

But was it solely her exertions which, like a magnet, drew that distinguished coterie to the old house in Kensington? In this we think that fame has in some degree erred. Let praise be given where praise is due. The genial presence of Lord Holland, with his endearing personality, his sympathetic nature, and his ever-engrossing flow of anecdote, was at least of equal value in attracting those guests as were the fascinations of his wife. ‘I would not go to heaven with Lady Holland, but I could go to hell with his Lordship,’ said Ugo Foscolo; and the sentiment was echoed in the hearts of many others, who had not the strength of character to tear themselves from their accustomed haunts.

Elizabeth Vassall was born on March 25, 1771. She was an only child, the daughter of Richard Vassall, of Jamaica. Owing to a similarity in the Christian names, the Vassall pedigree is somewhat difficult to trace with any certainty. It appears, however, that they were descended from one of two brothers, John and William, who went to America from England and are mentioned in the first Massachusetts Charter of 1629. The latter of these brothers went to Barbadoes in 1650, and purchased large estates there. Ticknor, in reply to Lady Holland, who had just told him that New England was originally populated with convicts, mentioned a house in Cambridge, Massachusetts, built by a member of her family, and a marble monument to one of them in King’s Chapel, Boston. Florentius Vassall, her grandfather, was born in 1710, and married Mary, daughter of Colonel John Foster, of Jamaica. By her he seems to have had two sons and two daughters, the second of whom, Richard, succeeded to the property upon his father’s death in 1779. Richard was born in 1731–2, and married Mary, daughter of Thomas Clark, of New York. They lived almost entirely in England, and after her husband’s death in 1795, Mrs. Vassall married Sir Gilbert Affleck, second Baronet, of Dalham Hall, Suffolk. She died in 1835, at the age of eighty-six. Florentius Vassall’s will contained a most stringent proviso that whoever succeeded to the estates should take the name of Vassall immediately after their Christian names. By its terms Elizabeth succeeded to the whole of the West Indian property, chiefly situated in Jamaica, at her father’s death. This amounted in 1800 to about 7000l. a year, but after the suppression of the slave trade it deteriorated greatly in value, and was of little account at the time of her death.

In 1786, at the age of fifteen, Elizabeth was married to Sir Godfrey Webster, of Battle Abbey, in Sussex. It was a mariage de convenance, and one which would probably appeal to all parties except the young lady. Her parents would doubtless welcome the alliance to a member of an old and respected English county family; while the money which was to come to her at her father’s death would be of much service to her husband. The Websters came originally from Derbyshire, but had settled near Waltham, in Essex. Sir Thomas Webster, who was created a baronet in 1703, was the purchaser of Battle Abbey. He sat as member for Colchester for many years, and married Jane, daughter of Edward Cheek, of Sandford Orcas, Somerset. He died in 1751, and was succeeded by his eldest son, Whistler, who married Martha Nairne, daughter of the Dean of Battle. Upon his death, without surviving issue, in 1779, the property and title went to his brother, Godfrey, who died the following year, leaving by his wife, Elizabeth, daughter of Gilbert Cooper, of Lockington, co. Derby, a son, Godfrey, and a daughter, Elizabeth, who married Thomas Chaplin. Sir Godfrey was born in 1748, and was thus nearly twenty-three years older than the child he married. He was for some years member for Seaford, and at the time of his death sat for Wareham. Battle Abbey was tenanted by his aunt, the widow of Sir Whistler Webster (she lived till 1810), and the Websters were therefore obliged to take up their residence in a small house close by. The old lady did little or nothing to keep up the place, and everything was falling into a state of ruin and disrepair. Elizabeth seems to have looked on her as a kind of usurper of her rights, and as the dispositions and tastes of the two ladies were diametrically opposed to one another, a constant friction between them developed into open warfare. At one time the young lady used to send across to the Abbey in the mornings to inquire ‘If the old hag was dead yet.’ At others she would set about devising ghostly apparitions, rattling of chains, and other eerie noises calculated to frighten the old woman, who, contrary to her desires, appears to have thriven on these petty annoyances, and more than once was able to turn the tables on her persecutor.

On one occasion a dozen or more people were introduced into the Abbey after dark and distributed about the house. At a given time each commenced a kind of drumming noise in turn increasing and decreasing in intensity. After the din had gone on for some time, and no notice was taken, the jokers came out of their hiding places only to find that Lady Webster had left the house with her servants and taken the keys with her. There they had to remain till morning!

Another day, a crowd of panic-stricken countrypeople, with carts and horses, fleeing from the coast, bringing intelligence of a French landing, invaded the Abbey. These were in reality led by friends of Elizabeth, many of them in disguise. The old lady gave them all as much food and drink as they wanted, and sent them away to tell the French that she would treat them in like fashion when they came, and that there she would be found until the day of her death.

To a young and pretty woman, blessed with buoyant spirits, of an age to realise the pleasures of life, and with every wish to enjoy them to the full, this quiet country life must soon have become irksome. Even with everything in her favour she might naturally have desired to see more of the world than she was likely to find in the green fields of Sussex, varied by an occasional visit to London. But circumstanced as she was, with a husband more than double her age, and without the occupation and cares of a large establishment to manage, her fancies and desires were sure to wander further afield. She longed to leave Battle, ‘that detested spot where I had languished in solitude and discontent the best years of my life,’ and she implored her husband to take her abroad after the birth of her son. Their eldest, Godfrey Vassall, was born in 1789, and another, who died soon after, was born the following year.

Though a member of Parliament, Sir Godfrey had no keen desire for political life; in fact, he had lost his seat in 1790. Nor did he care for society, but his tastes and interests led him to prefer a residence in England; and the racket of the Continent, with its endless journeys and discomforts, had no attraction whatever for him. He did not care for the pictures and works of art in Italy as much as for the pleasures of the country gentleman of the day. He was immensely popular in the county, perhaps partly on account of his liberality and extravagance, which, combined with his gambling propensities, greatly helped to dissipate the large sum of ready money to which he had succeeded. He also took an active part in all local matters of business. These interests, however, he consented temporarily to relinquish, and in compliance with his wife’s constant entreaties they set off abroad in the spring of 1791.

It will be unnecessary here to go at length into their travels, as the Journal deals closely with their progress. Another son, Henry, was born in February 1793; a daughter, Harriet, in June 1794; and another boy, who died soon after his birth, in October 1795. Sir Godfrey was sometimes with his wife abroad, sometimes in England, their final separation taking place in the spring of 1795.

All this time the relations between husband and wife were becoming more and more strained. Everything appears to have been perfectly amicable between them until 1792, when, in a letter to Thomas Pelham, Lady Webster mentions that his behaviour to her seems to have undergone a sudden change, owing, she thought, to money difficulties which were troubling him. It is impossible to say what was the true explanation of the reasons for this change. Her various friends were certainly a trial to Sir Godfrey’s jealous disposition, but beyond a foolish levity of conduct consequent upon youth, her flirtations do not seem to have been of a very dangerous nature. Their correspondence, however, continued without break until her return to England in June 1796. Disparity in ages and a complete absence of any similarity of interests was in all probability the base from which the rift first sprang; and, once the edges were parted asunder, an infinity of foolish misunderstandings and trivial annoyances would too surely have assisted the widening of the gulf.

Faults there were, and material faults too, on both sides. Sir Godfrey’s indifference to her tastes, his gloomy and at times sullen disposition, his violence of temper, his fits of depression which were the ultimate cause of his unhappy end, and his love of gambling and dissipation, cannot have nurtured, and, in fact, speedily blasted a youthful affection which might have flourished in a more congenial soil. He can never have properly fathomed the character and temperament of the girl to whom he was united. Had he married a nonentity, who was ready to sit at home and trace out a colourless existence, obedient to his beck and call, all might have been well. But his wife was not one of these. She was essentially a woman of action. Her ambitions could not be confined to any particular groove, and her spirit would not allow her to stoop to a position of dependence. Her increasing knowledge of the world and its ways taught her to believe herself a victim to her fortune, and, regarding her husband as the cause, her respect for him became diminished and the recollection of the kindly side of his nature was swallowed up in her grievances. Thus it is that her references to him in her Journal are tinged with even more than a feeling of dislike. Throughout her life she was accustomed to speak out her thoughts with an almost brutal frankness, and her allusions to Sir Godfrey in these pages are sometimes inclined to be hysterical and perhaps more severe than circumstances always merited.

For he too had much to contend with. Once abroad, the memory of her unhappy life in Sussex recurred with double force, and the possibility of a return to England, even for a few months, became a nightmare. She loved the bright sun and blue skies more dearly from the contrast of her gloomy recollections of the northern climate, and a growing taste for art and literature fanned her reluctance to undergo again the thraldom of an existence at home. Here was indeed an unpleasant position for a man whose whole interests were centred in England. Was he to leave his wife continually alone in a strange country to follow her own devices, or was he at all risks to assert his authority and take her back with him by force? It was a situation which was likely to have but one ending.

In her solitude she craved for someone to love and cherish her, and one whom she might love in return. ‘I strive to repress, but often feel a strong desire to be dependent upon another for happiness’; but it was not till 1794 that the ‘other’ appeared upon the scene. Devoted friends she had had, but none had touched her heart before she met Lord Holland.

Henry Richard, third Lord Holland, was born in November 1773. His father, Stephen, second Lord Holland, died the year after his son’s birth, and his mother, a daughter of John, first Earl of Upper Ossory, only lived until 1778. He was brought up by his uncles, Charles James Fox and Lord Ossory; while his only sister, Caroline Fox, five years his senior, remained under the charge of their aunt, Lady Warwick, and their great-aunt, the Duchess of Bedford. He had been educated at Eton and Christ Church, Oxford, and went abroad in 1791. He spent some time in Spain, and in the course of his travels arrived at Florence in February 1794. There he made Lady Webster’s acquaintance; friendship ripened into mutual attachment, and both before and after Sir Godfrey’s departure for England in 1795 much of his time was spent with her. In April 1796 Lady Webster started for home from Florence, accompanied by Lord Holland, and reached England in June. She met Sir Godfrey at his house in Albemarle Street, but shortly after took rooms in Brompton Row, and went to live there. In November a son was born—Lord Holland’s—christened Charles Richard Fox.

Sir Godfrey had taken into consideration the question of a divorce as early as July 1796, but was not actually prevailed upon to commence proceedings until the following January. In those days this necessitated a case before the Civil Court and also an Act of Parliament. There is no need to go into the transactions further than is necessary to throw light on the allusions in the Journal. Though he was the injured person, and was therefore justified in making his own terms, Sir Godfrey’s conduct throughout the negotiations shows an indecision of purpose, almost verging at times upon insanity. At one moment he would refuse to go on with the proceedings at all; at the next he would state that he still adored Lady Webster, and for her sake would only be too ready to expedite matters, and would not even sue for damages. At another he wished to fight a duel with Lord Holland, not for running away with his wife, but because he had offered to buy a picture of her, by Romney, which belonged to Sir Godfrey. The case finally came up before Lord Kenyon in the Civil Court at the end of February, with a condition attached that Lady Webster should give up her whole fortune to Sir Godfrey for his life, keeping only 800l. a year for her own use; besides a claim of 10,000l. damages against Lord Holland, which was modified by the jury into 6000l. This settlement the judge described during the negotiations as iniquitous. But Sir Godfrey seemed prepared to drop the case unless he obtained these terms; and as there seemed to be little chance of securing the recognition of the court, a bond was given to him, signed by the Duke of Bedford, Charles Ellis, Sir Gilbert Affleck, and Lord Holland, guaranteeing that these conditions should be religiously observed, if he continued the proceedings. This was accepted, and though minor difficulties arose as to the payment of past debts, &c., the divorce was successfully carried through the courts and both Houses of Parliament.

In April 1796 Lady Webster wrote to Sir Godfrey announcing the death of their daughter, Harriet, who had been born in June 1794. In her letter she stated that the child had sickened of measles at Modena, and had died of convulsions consequent upon that disease. In all this there was not one word of truth. Harriet, who afterwards married Admiral Sir Fleetwood Pellew, was perfectly well all the time, but was concealed by her mother, in order to avoid being deprived of all her children whenever the time for the inevitable rupture with her husband arrived. The girl was handed over to the custody of an English nurse, Sarah Brown, and was brought safely back to England some time later. It was not until 1799 that Lady Holland, as she was then, determined to restore her to her father. In the Journal she mentions that scruples, and the fear of involving Lord Holland in difficulties on her behalf, had led her to decide to pursue this course. She allows that she was very loath to make the sacrifice, and it is probable that the knowledge that Sir Godfrey had somehow received information of something being wrong had more to do with her determination than anything else. At the time he had no inkling that everything was not as she had stated. Shortly after the divorce, however, facts were brought to his notice which led him to take action. A commission was appointed to investigate into the whole circumstances, and the grave, we believe, was actually opened; for so thoroughly had the matter been arranged in the first instance that a mock funeral had taken place, and a kid had been buried in the coffin instead of the child. Fear of discovery would therefore have influenced her wish to make a clean breast of the deception, before it was too late.

After Sir Godfrey’s death Lady Holland made a vigorous effort to gain access to her children. Her request to be allowed to see them was refused, as Sir Godfrey’s brother-in-law, Mr. Chaplin, stated that he had been expressly enjoined, in the event of the former’s death, to see that the children had no communication with their mother. The matter was taken before the courts in 1801, but the judge’s award does not seem to have given her any satisfaction.

After their marriage the Hollands remained in England until 1802, when they were compelled by the unsatisfactory state of their son Charles’s health to winter abroad. It was during these five years that Lady Holland laid the groundwork of those distinguished gatherings for which Holland House was, in after years, so justly famed. We have already seen that the subsequent glories of their salon were as much due to Lord Holland as to his wife; but in the early days of their marriage her personality, her beauty, and the brilliancy of her conversational powers undoubtedly attracted many of the men of culture and learning by whom they were surrounded. Feminine society was almost wanting in that circle. She received much kindness from members of Lord Holland’s family, but with this exception and that of a few of her former friends, the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Bessborough, and others, she was nowhere received in society. To a woman of her ambitions this treatment cannot but have been very galling, though it was only what she had to expect; and perhaps to this fact may be traced some part of that bitterness of manner with which her name is so generally associated.

She possessed to the full the gift of drawing out her guests. Conversation never flagged at her table, and however diverse were the sentiments of those who met under her roof, they felt that they were there able to fraternise on neutral ground. Especially as she grew older her desire to rule grew stronger, and her opinion on any subject was not to be lightly contradicted. ‘Elle est toute assertion, mais quand on demande la preuve, c’est là son secret,’ said Talleyrand; and it was characteristic of the means she employed to state a fact or clinch an argument. Her methods of government were essentially tyrannical. Macaulay thus describes his first visit to Holland House: ‘The centurion did not keep his soldiers in better order than she kept her guests. It is to one, “Go,” and he goeth; and to another, “Do this,” and it is done’; and numerous are the records left by her contemporaries of the insults and abuse from which the habitués were never immune. Yet within that cold exterior, with all her arrogance of demeanour and harshness of speech, beat as warm a heart as ever beat in woman’s breast. To her dependents she was kindness itself, her old friends were never forgotten, and many a struggling writer had reason to bless the assistance she bestowed on his efforts unasked.

Her views on religion were indefinite, and her belief in the principles of Christianity was probably not deeply seated. Atheism, however, she would not tolerate, and Allen’s allusions in her presence to his disbelief in the Godhead would always receive instant reproof. Superstitious she was, to a certain degree, but she seems to have thrown off many of her fancies later in life. ‘She died with perfect composure, and though consciously within the very shadow of death for three whole days before she crossed the dark threshold, she expressed neither fear nor anxiety, and exhibited a tranquillity of mind by no means general at the time’ (Rogers and his Contemporaries). Yet to the end she was never entirely free from fears of her own health, and her dread of storms, and especially thunder, was almost ludicrous. Macaulay relates how she would even have her rooms shut up in broad daylight and the candles lit, to prevent her from seeing the lightning, which she dreaded so much.

In politics she was by no means an extremist, and especially before she had tasted the sweets of office her influence over Lord Holland tended to restrain him from the more advanced principles of Whiggism which he sometimes affected. Her views were essentially those of a partisan, both in public and in private. No exertion was too great for her, if it was to assist a friend in need or to further any scheme which she considered worthy of support. Her admiration for Napoleon and her efforts to improve his situation when in exile are well known, yet her personal intercourse with her hero was limited to two or three words in one short audience. She revelled in intrigue, and her desire to have a hand in all that was taking place led her at times to assume a more active part than was consistent with her own professions or advantageous to her husband’s position in the party.

Her reputation has always been that of an imperious, downright woman, who said just what she thought, without reference to the feelings of her hearers. So it is with her writings. Her likes and dislikes were very marked, and led her into extremes which are reflected in the delineations of the characters of her contemporaries. The task of editing her Journal has on this account been a matter of some difficulty. To have eliminated all passages in which her political bias or personal feelings of dislike are apparent would be to destroy the value of her chronicle, and would create a fictitious impression of her real disposition and way of speaking. Bearing in mind these peculiarities, therefore, it has been thought fit to retain more of her critical observations than would otherwise have been kept. Some passages, however, have been necessarily omitted and others have been somewhat softened, where it has been found possible to do so. It has also been attempted to point out any inaccuracies wherever they appear in the text, which has been altered as little as possible. Her sentences are sometimes involved, and it seems difficult to credit her with a complete command of the English language—an attainment which her contemporaries relate that she was fond of boasting she possessed.

After nearly two years, spent chiefly in Spain, the Hollands returned to England in 1805. The following year, after Fox’s death, Lord Holland was included in Lord Grenville’s Ministry as Lord Privy Seal. They went again to Spain in 1808, and returned in August 1809. The narrative of these journeys has been omitted from these pages, and is reserved for publication at some future date, should it be considered to be of sufficient interest. The Journal closes in 1814, but as nothing of particular interest is recorded during the last few years, that portion has been omitted. We need not therefore concern ourselves here with Lady Holland’s later career, as it does not come within the scope of these volumes. Suffice it to say that Lord Holland died in 1840, and that after his death Lady Holland moved to their little house in South Street, taking with her Dr. Allen, who died two years later. Lady Holland died in 1845, and was buried at Millbrook, in Bedfordshire.

The Journal has never been revised in any way, and is therefore full of slips and omissions, which are now corrected. The original spelling and punctuation has not been retained, as it is unreliable and often varies, especially in the proper names, except in a few cases where the particular form was in vogue at the time. Abbreviations remain as they appear in the manuscript. In a few places names have been purposely omitted, but in most cases a blank signifies that the word is illegible, or has not been filled in by the writer. Certain sentences also are somewhat obscure from the difficulty which has been experienced in deciphering the handwriting; these have been made as clear as possible. Some passages in the earlier portion, relating to the travels abroad, have been curtailed, and the sequence of the narrative retained by means of editorial notes. Most of the descriptions of collections in Italy have also been left out, except in a few cases where Lady Webster’s remarks are of interest in showing her own appreciation of various well-known works of art and the opinions of men of learning of the day upon them. Extracts from books which she had read are also omitted; though in many cases the titles of the books she read and her critical remarks upon the contents are retained. By these it is possible to form some opinion of her special tastes in literature, and discover by what stages she was able to prepare herself to become the leader of Whig society.

LIST OF PLATES TO VOLUME I.

JOURNAL OF ELIZABETH LADY HOLLAND

In June 1791 I left England and went to Paris. During my stay the King and Royal family escaped to Varennes, but were brought back. I attended the debates in the National Assembly; I heard Robespierre and Maury[1] speak. The Jacobin Club was then in embryo. I wanted to hear a speech, and the Vicomte de Noailles during dinner promised that he would gratify me by making one. He accordingly took me to the box, and went into the Tribune and began an oration upon some subject trivial in itself, but made important by the vehemence of his manner. The Wyndhams[2] joined me at Paris; Mr. Pelham[3] was also there, and several other English.

Towards July I went by the way of Dijon through the Jura Mountains to Lausanne. I lived for three months at Mon Repos, a spot celebrated as having been the residence of Voltaire and the scene of much theatrical festivity; it was there he composed and represented many of his chefs d’œuvre, Zaïre, I believe, among the number.[4] My society was composed of a mixture of French and English to the utter exclusion of the Swiss.

Gibbon had for several years withdrawn himself from the turbulence and neglect of his own capital to share the quiet and enjoy the adulation of the inhabitants of the Pays de Vaud. He was treated by them more as a prince than as an equal. Whenever he honoured their goutées with his presence every person rose upon his entrance, and none thought of resuming their chairs till he was seated. His whim arranged and deranged all parties. All, in short, were subservient to his wishes; those once known, everything was adapted to them. The Sheffields,[5] Trevors, Mr. Pelham, Duc de Guines,[6] Mde. de Juigné, and Castries. I knew Tissot.[7] Having my residence at Lausanne I made frequent excursions. I went through Geneva to the Valley of Chamouny, saw the glaciers; and at a small village in the road stopped to look at General Phiffer’s model of Mt. Blanc; it was curious but inferior to that at Lucerne. Our party to Chamouny consisted of the Sheffields, Mr. Pelham, and some others whose names I have forgotten.[8]

SWITZERLAND

Soon after my return to Lausanne I made a tour through Berne to Lucerne. I was too great a coward to go upon the lake, therefore I only saw the views from the bridge and the high ground near the town, as I was too indolent to ascend Mount Pilate. The spot so celebrated by the heroic and incredible exploits of Guillaume Tell I only knew by drawings, as it is not to be seen but by going to the Lac des Quatre Cantons. Phiffer’s model of the whole of Switzerland is wonderful; it is an exact representation of every object, lakes, mts., rivers. Such representation of countries would be useful for military posts. I returned by Soleure, Neuchâtel, and Fribourg and Vevey to Lausanne.

Towards the middle or end of September I began a journey to Nice. I stopped at Geneva a day or two, and went with the Messrs. Calandrin to see Ferney; it was in a desolate, ruined state, and showed few marks of taste or comfort. We followed the Rhône to L’Écluse, where soon after that it loses itself for some miles underground. The road is beautiful. Annecy, where Rousseau lived, I believe we passed. Lyons is a magnificent city, two fine rivers and broad, well-built quays with sumptuous houses. The manufacturers complained of the revolutionary spirit which deprived them of orders and workmen.

From thence I followed the Rhône to the Pont St. Esprit. The bridge is singular and ingenious. The rapidity of the river had thrown down the preceding bridges owing to a strong current rushing with violence against the piers: to obviate this the architect made the bridge of this form. It has succeeded, and the building is permanent. The Pont de Gard is a magnificent remnant of Roman grandeur; it fulfilled the double purpose of bridge and aqueduct. Orange, on account of massacres at Avignon, we could not see. There are fine remains of triumphal arches and other military trophies, raised to the honour of Marius, who there defeated the formidable host of Northern barbarians, the Teutons and Cimbri, though upon recollection I think he fought them in the present Venetian territory. Upon the road there are vestiges of triumphal buildings, erected in the Middle Ages, if one may judge by the clumsy taste. At Nismes, the amphitheatre and Maison Carrée. The latter is beautiful, and being the first specimen of Grecian architecture I had ever seen I was delighted with the richness and proportion of the edifice. The amphitheatre is small, and disfigured by the filth and closeness of the adjacent houses. Like St. Paul’s in London, it is impossible to judge of its magnitude or graceful structure, as no exterior view can be obtained.

Marseilles is charmingly situated; fine town, a forest of shipping, busy quays; and the liveliness of the pretty Bastides, all white upon the surrounding hills, is delightful. This was the first view I had of the Mediterranean. The deep blueness of its waters and the constant fulness of its shores struck me with increasing admiration, as I always thought the variation of the tide was a defect; for pleasing as variety is, uniformity is preferable to such change as the tide produces—mud and stench.

NICE

Aix is a pleasing town. Crossed the Esterelles, a high ridge of granite mts.; the passage was infested by banditti, and we were obliged to take some maréchaussées to protect us. We passed without alarm or interruption. Fréjus, the See of Fénelon, well deserves all the disapprobation he bestows on it. Antibes, a gay pretty town; crossed at Gué the torrent Var, and 4 miles after reached Nice. Some antiquaries have supposed that the Var was the celebrated Rubicon, which once passed was so fatal to the liberties of Rome.

I was left alone[9] at twenty years old in a foreign country without a relation or any real friend, yet some of the least miserable, I might add the most happy hours, of my life were passed there. I lived with great discretion, even to prudery. I never admitted any male visitors (except to numerous dinners), either in the morning or evening, with the exception only of two—Dr. Drew, and a grave married man, a Mr. Cowper. Drew used to spend the whole eve. with me, and give me lectures on chemistry, natural history, philosophy, etc., etc. I made frequent excursions about the neighbourhood, to Monaco, Villa Franca, Monte Cavo, La Grotte de Chateauville, the convent of St. Pons, old Cemenelium, etc.

In Feb. 1792 the Duncannons,[10] Dowr. Lady Spencer, Dss. of Devonshire, came to Nice: my friendship begun there. I saw a Maltese galley with some wretched Turkish slaves at the oar. The English society was too numerous to be pleasant. I lived with a few only,—Dss. of Ancaster, Ly. Rivers, Messrs. Ellis, Wallace, Cowper, etc. C. Ellis[11] was a very old friend of mine; we were brought up for many years absolutely together. As I had experienced such very cruel usage from the unequal and ofttimes frantic temper of the man to whom I had the calamity to be united, it was the wish of my mother, Lady Pelham, Ly. Shelburne, and those I most respected, that I should never venture myself in a journey alone with him, therefore as Mr. Ellis was going part of the journey we meant to make, he joined our party. We also conveyed an emigrant of the name of Beauval, an excellent, ingenious young man.

Sunday, May the 6th, 1792.—Left Nice for Turin. We took the road across the Col de Tende. Just above the Convent of St. Pons, we crossed the torrent Paglione, from whence I took a farewell look at the lovely plain of Nice. We dined at L’Escaleine, a small village prettily situated in the mts. We wound for many hours the numberless traverses of a steep and lofty mt., and at night reached Sospello, a tolerable gîte.

7th.—Still among mts. Dined at Grandolla. Wretched inn at Tende—no accommodation; only one room for us all.

On ye 8th the carriages were dismounted and carried over the Col de Tende upon mules: I went over in a chaise à porteurs, so did my child.

TURIN

Snow was melting very fast, and made the footing for the mules and guides very insecure. We stopped at a small house at Borgo Limone as one of the carriages was broken in getting it off the mule’s back.

11th.—Arrived at Turin. Ly. Duncannon and Dss. were already arrived. In the evening I went to Trevor’s:[12] he was the English Minister. A celebrated performer on the violin attempted to render by sound the story of Werter; the imagination must have supplied greatly to assist the effect. All that I could understand was the scene where he shoots himself; the twang of the catgut made a crash, which made one start, so it had that effect in common with the report of a pistol. During my stay at Turin I attended chemical lectures at Bonvoisin’s; had I been able to apply more I might under his care have advanced considerably in information. Cte. Masin gave me a very fine dinner. Before dinner he sent for one of the Professors, who exhibited the cruel experiment upon a frog to prove animal electricity.

I went one morning with Ly. D., Dss. Devonshire, etc., to La Venesia to be presented to the Prince and Princesse de Piémont.[13] She is in person like her brother the King of France. Since the downfall of the clergy in France she has constantly worn the dress of a Sœur grise. They are both bigoted and superstitious. I had many pleasant parties to Montcalieri, La Superga, the Colline, etc. The Vallentin is a singular old château on the banks of the Po. It was built by Christina, Dsse. de Savoie, one of the daughters of Henry IV. of France. I made acquaintance for the first time with Mde. de Balbi.[14] Previous to my leaving Turin we were surprised by the arrival of Ly. Malmesbury[15] and G. Ellis.[16]

We left Turin on ye 10th June, 1792; our route was to Verona, and to see Lago Maggiore in our way. We went to Arona that we might cross the Ticino at Sesto, as there was a flood at Buffalora, the usual ferry. Slept first night at Vercelli. After wading through very deep water for a mile or two, caused by the overflowing of the lake, we reached, on ye 12th, Arona, a small town charmingly situated on the lake. The next day I summoned up courage and went upon the lake to see the Borromean Islands. Just above the town of Arona stands the colossal statue of St. Charles Borromeo, executed in 1650 by his family; it exceeds 100 ft. in height, allowing 64 for the figure and 46 for the pedestal. This lake is longer than that of Geneva. The islands are beautiful. The Isola Bella is the enchanted spot, on which the fairy palace and gardens stand. Since the days of Circe and Armida nothing has equalled the magic land, and little worthy of detention would be an Ulysses and Rinaldo who could repine at seclusion in such a voluptuous abode. The Palace is on an eminence, and pastures and terraces descend from it to the water. Some of the apartments are made like grottoes and are brought to the margin of the lake: without exaggeration it is a spot apparently made by magic art. Prince Augustus[17] was seeing the Palace. I there met with him for the first time. He is handsome and well-bred.

1792 PAVIA AND MANTUA

13th.—Left Arona; crossed the Ticino and arrived very late at Milan. The heat in the plains of Lombardy in the summer is intense; the thermometer varied from 92 to 96 degrees Fahrenheit. The Litta family live with princely splendour. The Csse. Maxe, celebrated in the annals of European gallantry, was very civil, and showed me all that was worthy of notice. Padre Pini, an old Barnabite monk, gave me many good specimens, especially of his Adularia, a species of felspar he has discovered. I went over to Pavia to see the celebrated Spallanzani:[18] he is the great friend of Bonnet of Geneva, and he is the man who has made some filthy experiments upon digestion.

Pavia is a curious old town, formerly the capital of the Lombard Kings, and in more modern times the scene of the disaster of the French army, and the captivity of its monarch. Francis ye 1st here became prisoner to the unfeeling, politic Charles V. The Cathedral is a specimen of very early Gothic, misshapen and clumsy. The Po and Ticino join near the city. Great preparations among the emigrants of Coblentz for marching into France.

22nd June.—Left Milan for Dresden. We skirted Lodi, famous for its cheeses and deep sands. A violent thunderstorm came on at Pizzighettone, where I stopped; and notwithstanding abuse and threats I was resolved to stay and not risk my life and my child’s with hot horses near a deep river during a heavy storm.

23rd.—Got to Mantua. The waters of the Mincio being suffered to stagnate, the wells about Mantua are unwholesome and bad. The Palais du T. [sic] is a pretty villa belonging to the ancient Princes of Gonzaga. The walls are painted in fresco by Giulio Romano, the best of Raphael’s scholars: the subject represents the ‘Battle of the Giants.’ I looked around in vain for a beech tree under whose wide spreading branches a Tityrus was wont to recline and amuse his little lambkins with the soft notes of his pipe in the days of the Mantuan Bard. Tho’ Vergil was born, one might doubt much if he was bred, here; he seems to have described the pastoral manners of some happier soil of Italy.

The party reached Verona on the 24th. ‘The town is handsome; the bridge over the Adige very fine. The Corso is very noble.’ They left again two days later, and at Ala entered the Tyrol.

The entrance is through a narrow gorge, apparently opened by an earthquake, and probably widened by the deep and rapid course of the Adige. The mts. are not very high till Mt. Baldo, which does not exceed a 1000 ft. Between Ala and Roveredo we passed among rocks that have suffered some great convulsion; at a distance they resemble the ruins of a demolished city. A calcareous mountain stood where the road now passes; probably in one tremendous night when all the elements were waging war, the loud rolling thunder and the forked lightning darting upon this ill-fated spot, the earth trembled with the shock and the side of the mountain was split and broken into a thousand pieces. The falling of the mt., tho’ no history records the event, does not appear to have happened at an early period. The fragments are still sharp and angular. Owing to a fair at Trent we were forced to remain at Roveredo. Since the league of Cambray Roveredo is no longer in the possession of the Venetians.

1792 INNSPRUCK

27th.—The road from thence is through a tolerably well cultivated country of vines and mulberries, thro’ which the Adige moves along irregularly, sometimes slowly, at other times rapidly. The road in many places is very narrow with a precipice to the river undefended by a parapet. Monr. de Calonne was overturned into the river, and but for the assistance of Messrs. Wallace and Ellis, in the year ’91, must have been drowned.

After passing Neumarck, the travellers arrived at Brixen on the 28th.

Brixen is prettily situated in a very fertile vale; vines and corn appear in abundance. The hills are cultivated and a more genial soil is the consequence. The churches and castles built on the tops of craggy rocks along this valley are singularly romantic. The valley is extremely populous, and the younger part of the inhabitants have extremely pretty faces.

At Innspruck we were compelled to remain two nights, as we had not the plea of being Aulic Counsellors or Ambassadors. It is a paltry restriction on travellers that they must consent, unless privileged, to remain eight and forty hours in Austrian territory—a sort of tax that one must spend money in their dominions. In the principal church there is a magnificent tomb erected to the memory of the Emperor Maximilian, grandfather to Charles V. He was a complying, weak Prince, of whom Abbé Raynal says in his Mémoires Historiques ‘Il n’inspirait point de reconnaissance, quoiqu’il accordat presque tout qu’on lui demandait: on sentait qu’il ne cherchait pas à obliger, mais qu’il ne savait pas refuser.’ Near the town is a castle, the residence of the Archduchess, Governor of the Tyrol; the arsenal contains a curious collection of different suits of armour, which belonged to some of the most celebrated of warriors. I went to a German play, the pantomime of which, tho’ a deep tragedy, diverted me much, tho’ I did not comprehend a word of the dialogue.

2nd July.—Took the road to Munich. Immediately on leaving the town began ascending; slept at Wallensee, prettily situated among the mts., near a small lake. The change of temperature was sensible: thermometer in the morning at Innspruck was 75, at Wallensee fell to 59.

3rd July.—Large clumps of the spruce fir dotted over rich plains and fertile hills, with a noble view of the mts. we were quitting, made a view not altogether insipid.

The approach to Munich is not imposing; it denotes little of the magnificence of a capital. The town is large and irregular; the houses are more substantial and imposing than magnificent; many are thatched, and those that are not have high roofs, gable ends, and garret windows. I was labouring under such low spirits, that the prejudice I felt against Munich was owing to the unhappiness I endured there.

Count Rumford,[19] an American of the name of Benjamin Thompson, was the Prime Minister of Bavaria. He has made some excellent reforms in the governt. of that country, and created many beneficial institutions for the poor. He was very civil, and showed me with a degree of minuteness, with which I could have dispensed, all his hospitals, manufactures, etc. I was compelled to see what I did not wish, his beloved, a Mde. Nogarolla.

Went from Munich to Ratisbon. Here I first hailed the Danube, a mighty stream, the prince of rivers. I purchased a gun and pair of pistols of the famous Kerkenrüyter to make a present to Mr. Pelham. The maker told me he had sold to Col. Lennox the identical pair he used against the Duke of York. It was scarcely fair to use such sure weapons.

LORD HENRY SPENCER

Reached Dresden in ye night of the 21st. We found a numerous society of English, Lord H. Spencer,[20] Mr. Robt. Markham, Mr. Elliot,[21] English Minister, Ct. Stopford, and afterwards Lds. Boringdon and Granville Leveson-Gower. Ld. Henry was there on his way to Vienna, whither he was to carry the compliment upon the accession of the Emperor. He was then Secretary at the Hague under Ld. Auckland. His abilities were spoken highly of; at Eton he was known as a poet in the Microcosm.[22] His shyness embarrassed him, and rendered his manner awkward. He was very witty, and possessed a superabundant stock of irony. In short, he became ardently in love with me, and he was the first man who had ever produced the slightest emotion in my heart.

I was received at Dresden with a degree of distinction that was highly flattering. I would not go to Court; the Princesses sent a civil, reproachful message, and begged me to see them en particulier at one of their villas. I went, and an embarrassing circumstance occurred. The Prince Antony, by some mistake, took me for Ld. Henry’s wife, complimented him upon my beauty, agréments, etc., and concluded by saying, ‘I see by your admiration and love for her you are worthy to possess her.’ This said before ten people was too painful to bear. Had I been very accessible to vanity on the score of person, I could not have resisted the flattery I everywhere met with: dinners, fêtes, etc., given to me; invitations sent to people on purpose to meet ‘La charmante Miladi’; my dress copied, my manner studied.

The 2nd of August, 1792.—Very pleasant supper at the French Minister’s, Baron de Montesquieu. The Duke of Brunswick’s Manifesto filled everybody with astonishment and alarm for the lives and liberties of the Royal family.[23] This rash and violent diatribe against the Parisians was a precursor of an invasion of France. Seventeen thousand of the Provincial troops were to be assembled on ye 14th July at Paris, and it was said that if the Prussians, etc., advanced into the country, that the King would be conveyed to Blois; then troops are supposed to be already destined to that service, and the Parisians are already jealous of them.

In England, the Association of the Friends of the People alarm the steady, and the example of France terrifies even the moderate innovators.[24] The Association was formed without the participation of Mr. Fox;[25] he never was consulted about it. On the contrary the Association seemed determined against all advice, but most particularly against his. Thinking people apprehend more from the superabundant loyalty of the country than from its Democracy. There are to be Addresses from all parts of the Kingdom, thanking the King for his Proclamation and professing attachment to his Person and Governt. Extremes are dangerous.

THE FRIENDS OF THE PEOPLE

Left Dresden in September; went by Prague to Vienna. I was much pleased with my residence there; I was fêted enough to gratify the most unbounded vanity. I went to Court; a separate private introduction to the Emperor and Empress. Sir Robert Keith was the English Minister. The Countess Thuron was the lady who went about with me. Made an excursion to Presburg, the capital of Hungary. Ld. Henry was there. We parted on September the 25th or 26th, not later.

From Vienna we went to Venice by the road of Gratz, thro’ Styria and Carinthia. On our arrival at Venice Mr. Ellis was dangerously ill of a putrid fever. He recovered by the care of a Jew doctor. We stayed a short time after his recovery; went by way of Mantua to Parma. From thence to Bologna and Florence. Mr. Ellis left us at Florence to return to England. We went on by the road of Radicofani to Rome (where we staid only two nights), then to Naples, which we reached about the 2nd week in October.

As soon as I was a little rested after my journey I began to see the wonderful environs, both of natural and artificial curiosities. The English society was composed of many of my friends; the Palmerstons,[26] Miss Carter, Sr. Charles Blagden, Dss. of Ancaster, Ly. Plymouth with whom I became intimate. Soon came the Bessboroughs (the old Father died), Ly. Spencer, Dss. of Devonshire, Ly. E. Foster, Mr. Pelham. In January the French fleet came and menaced Naples with a bombardment.[27] They were moored in front of my house on the Chiaia. I was brought to bed of my son Henry, on ye 10th Feb., 1793. I made my grossesse a pretext for staying at home in the evening. I went out every morning to see the objects most worthy of notice, and the evening I always passed with friends who came to see me, Drew, Mr. Pelham, and Italinski,[28] a Russian who grew much attached to my society.

ROAD TO PAESTUM

March 22nd.—We set off for Paestum. Our party consisted of the Palmerstons, Miss Carter, a Mr. Poor (a very eccentric man), and Mr. Pelham. About two miles from Pompeia the country begins to be pretty, and we got more amongst the Apennines. The road is excellent, it being made by ye King to go to a chasse of his at Eboli. La Cava and Vietri are charmingly situated in their different styles; the first has all the beauties of social life, small neat cottages interspersed amongst vineyards, olives, and myrtles, upon the side of a hill inclining towards a small torrent. The whiteness of the houses contrasted with the verdure of spring vegetation in the foreground, and the boldness of the scraggy rocks behind make a lovely picture and fill the mind with pleasing sensations at the sight of comfort and tranquillity, a lot that rarely befalls the peasantry of France and England. There is an aqueduct traditionally called Abelard’s bridge; why, the learned must determine, for I never knew that victim to love left his native France. Vietri is situated upon a rock above the sea, into which it abruptly ends; it commands a noble view of the bay of Salerno. With a glass from hence one may discern the temples of Paestum on the opposite coast. Salerno is a pretty little town upon the edge of the sea; the detail of the country is charming. On the right side of the bay is Amalfi, remarkable for being the spot where the Justinian Code was discovered. The Cathedral at Salerno is curious; in it are many sarcophagi brought by Robert Guiscard from Paestum, and various columns of fine marble and granite, which are placed to form a corridor in the court of the Cathedral, but being of different sizes the whole has an awkward appearance. From Salerno ye country is less interesting; excepting a few Baronial castles perched upon the tops of scraggy, isolated rocks there is little worthy of notice.

At Eboli we were obliged to change our carriages for smaller ones on account of the roads, which to Paestum were called abominable. We crossed ye Sele in a ferry; it is a torrent frequently impassable. Here the wretched inhabitants by their emaciated and squalid looks indicated the beginning of the malaria. Their habitations were such that one could easier imagine oneself in Siberia than in delightful Italy! Delicious country! as their homes, if they deserve such an epithet, were an exact counterpart of a Tartar hut. Circular mud walls raised about three feet from the ground, thatched with reeds forming a conical summit; the only aperture a door, which answered ye double purpose of admitting the wretched owners and letting out the smoke, which was very abundant from a fire lighted in the centre of the hut. But even in this disconsolate dwelling there was an attempt to drive away the melancholy which disease and penury must naturally inspire, for on one of the poles which supported the roof and came across the interior of the dwelling there hung a guitar. I persuaded one of the peasants to strike it: I immediately perceived an illumination of joy upon the haggard countenances of his auditors. Happy instrument! to suspend for a moment the sensation of misery, and banish by its tones the anguish of want from the breasts of the forlorn inmates. As we approached Paestum the dreariness of the country quite oppressive; plains filled with buffaloes, the most hideous of animals, stagnant ditches, and stinted myrtles, were all the objects that met the eye.

PAESTUM

Paestum itself is situated in a plain about a mile from the sea, dedicated to Neptune and built by ye Phoenicians about 250 years after the foundation of Rome; 500 years before Christ. Near the amphitheatre (which is much ruined) is the remains of a building with fluted columns nearly as large as those of the temples, more upright marks still existing of their bases; the capitals much worked in extraordinary designs. Parts of the frieze lying about; figures of men from 24 to 30 inches high worked on the frieze between the triglyphs. The stone of this building is more of the colour of grey limestone, and appears less porous than that of which the temples are built, that is a stone formed by incrustation of water. Paestum formerly was famous for roses, the sweetness of which is celebrated by several of the Latin poets; now alas! brambles and malaria have extinguished the fragrance of ye rose.

Our accommodation was but indifferent: I slept upon a table, the repelling points of which rather annoyed my limbs and would have convinced Boscovitch,[29] had he been in my place, of the existence of hard matter. However, I tried to sleep, tho’ its ancient inhabitants, ye Sybarites, would not have rested, if the story is true that one of them complained that a curled rose leaf destroyed their rest. The first view I had of ye temples was in ye dusk of ye evening; their appearance was majestic, but precisely what I had conceived them to be from the drawings I had seen. They are the only remains in Italy of early Grecian architecture. The Doric, to my taste, is too uneven. The columns are squat and clumsy. The inhabitants are savage and ignorant.

Fix’d like a plant on his peculiar spot,

To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot,

seems exactly their state. The cicerone assured us that in one of the temples there was a prodigious treasure inaccessible to men, as the Devil kept guard over it.

We saw the temples again in the morning, and then proceeded to Salerno, where we slept. I walked upon the terrace before my window and enjoyed the beauty of the night; the moon shone bright, which added to the lulling sound of the waves filled me with every pleasing and melancholy recollection. Tho’ separated by land and sea from some objects too dearly cherished, yet I was tranquil. Prudence satisfied me that all was for the best. I could not help casting an anxious thought towards my dear father stretched upon a bed of sickness, perhaps to rise no more, but the reflection of never having done anything that could disturb his peace, or render his last moments painful from my misconduct, was a relief that God grant my children may feel when they think of me in a similar situation.

Delicious as Salerno is, yet like all the goods of this life it is counterbalanced by a portion of evil, as half the year it is untenable on account of the malaria. We dined in the Temple of Isis at Pompeia, on which day I completed my 22nd year; so old and yet so silly.

On ye 1st of April, 1793, we set off for Beneventum, Lady Plymouth,[30] Italinski, Mr. Pelham, and Mr. Swinburne. Aversa is the first town of any consequence. The polichinello of the Neapolitan stage, which resembles the harlequin of the Italian, derives its origin from this town, and the dialect of this place belongs to him, as the Bergamesque does to the harlequin—which harlequin is, bye the bye, a burlesque on Charles Quint. Arienzo is the next town, only remarkable for the strange costume of the women, their dress being only two aprons tied behind and before, which leaves a considerable aperture on each side equally unpleasant and indecent. The country is a dead flat to within three miles of Arpaia.

AN ITALIAN MÉNAGE

Between Arienzo and Arpaia is the valley which is supposed to have been the scene of the disgrace of the Romans, when they were compelled by the Samnites to pass under ye yoke. The weather towards evening grew bad, and we could not get out and examine the defiles with the attention and accuracy Italinski required. The Marchese Pacca, to whom we were recommended, received us with that hearty kind of hospitality, which unfortunately for the good fellowship of society is totally banished from our would be refined country. His time, himself, and all he possessed, were at our disposal. The interior of an Italian ménage I only knew from buffa opera; it is worth seeing. Himself, his old palace, his antiquated volantes, his equipages, his stubborn mules, all were sights. The old Marchesa was also delightful, not to the eye, for she was hideous, nor to the ear, for she squalled, nor to the nose, for she was an Italian; yet, from her unbounded desire of pleasing, the tout ensemble created more agreeable sensations than many more accomplished could have inspired, as there is something infinitely gratifying to our predominant sentiment of self-love to see another solicitous to please, even tho’ the attempt should prove unsuccessful. Fruitless as it was, the goodwill supplied the failure.

In consequence of the birth of a son to the Empress there was a brilliant appartamente at the Queen’s.[31] I went with joy.

1st May.—The whole proceeding was conducted with the utmost magnificence.

The post of ye 2nd brought the melancholy news of the death of one of my warmest friends, poor Ly. Sheffield! She loved me most tenderly, nor did the great disparity of years prevent me from returning with cordiality her affection.

On ye fourth of May I went to see the celebrated miracle of the liquefaction of the blood of St. Januarius.[32] The Duc de Sangro, in whose house we saw the miracle, gave us afterward a ball. The composition of the material puzzles the chemists. The miracle, such as it is, requires the vigour and warmth of a young hand to reduce it from its concrete state to fluidity.

Sunday, 5th May.—Prince Esterhazy, the Imperial Ambassador, gave a splendid fête in honour of the young Archduke. The King, Queen, and Prince Royal were present: the Queen came and sat by me the greater part of the evening. She is lively and entertaining in conversation. It was whispered about the room that the atrocious Marseillais were marching upon Paris to destroy the Queen.

6th May.—Rode out as usual; a very pretty retired ride towards the Camaldoli.

7th.—Infamously bad weather, which made us delay our project of passing the day at Baia. We therefore confined ourselves within hail (?) of land, and dined at Pollio’s villa upon Posilippo. We rowed by the side of the charming Colline. The whole detail of the country is delightful; the bright green of the vine contrasted with the brilliant yellow of the tufa produces the most pleasing effect. Pollio’s villa is on the East side of the Colline, from whence it commanded a fine view of the chain of Apennines with the high point of St. Angelo lowering above, the towns of Pompeia, Stabia, the promontory of Minerva, and the whole of the bay including an oblique view of Capri. We attempted to row round Nisida, but a threatening storm prevented us. We rowed to the Porto Pavone, a lovely little harbour formed like a peacock’s tail, which figure gave rise to the name. We dined at Pollio’s villa during a violent thunderstorm. I conquered my fears and behaved with great intrepidity.

BAIA

The next day we embarked at Pozzuoli for Baia. At Pozzuoli, a tolerable statue of Tiberius, ornamented with bas-reliefs representing 14 cities destroyed by an earthquake and restored by him; monster as he was he could sometimes be betrayed into a good action. We passed Mons Gaurus, on which grew the Falernian wine so much praised by Horace, who either did not know what good wine was or the quality of the grape has changed, as the wine it now yields has no claim to encomium. The next summit is Monte Nuovo, raised by a terrible earthquake and eruption out of the Lucrine Lake within the space of 24 hours; its elevation destroyed a small town situated on its banks. The crater of Monte Nuovo gives one a very good notion of a volcano: the hill composed of light volcanic ashes which will soon become compact enough to be called tufa. We passed by Nero’s baths and villa.

On landing at Baia, the first object is the Temple of Venus, an octagon building; above it is a circular building dedicated to Mercury and another to Diana, of which only half remains, like the section of a building in architectural drawing. In the centre it had a cupola not unlike the form of the Pantheon. The present castle of Baia is upon the spot where Julius Caesar had a villa. Every atom of this once favoured spot was either highly decorated with fine gardens, fountains, porches, and terraces, or adorned with luxurious villas. Marius was reproached in the Senate for living in a spot so much the seat of pleasure. Sylla, Cicero, Lucullus, Pompey, Caesar, Hortensius, all had villas. The baths of Nero are between Baia and the Lucrine Lakes; the heat of the water is so great that an egg is boiled in two minutes. The sand under the sea is so heated that one could not with convenience hold it for any time. This all proves the vicinity of that powerful agent so destructive to this beautiful country: hourly may one expect some dreadful explosion that may perhaps lay the very spot I am now on many hundreds of feet below its present level, or raise it to the height of Vesuvius. The sea was rough, and the periodical storm came on an hour later than the preceding day. It is singular the degree of accuracy with which the people foretell the approach of bad weather, and even the duration of it. We returned by land. We passed the ruins of Cicero’s academic villa. How grand it must have been in its days of splendour. Atticus procured from Greece the pictures and statues; that they must have been excellent one cannot doubt, both from his fine taste and the facility with which he could obtain the finest subjects.

We went next day from Pozzuoli to Misenum: Lady Spencer declined going from a reason which I did not know till afterwards, or it doubtless would have operated in retaining me, viz., the length of the sea excursion, and the probability of a storm. The sea was very rough, and I, of course, was very nervous. We passed through pieces of what are called Caligula’s Bridge, but more likely to have been a mole beyond which he carried a bridge of boats over which he rode to fulfil a prophecy, which was, “That it was as unlikely that he should come to the Empire, as that he should ride across the Bay of Baia on horseback.”

PLINY’S DEATH

We landed at Bacoli, a place which receives its name from the oxen brought by Hercules from Geryon, King of Spain. Bacoli in Greek (if I spell it right) signifies ox stall. Remains are shewn of a tomb of Agrippina, Nero’s mother, but antiquaries say it has a stronger resemblance to a theatre than to a sepulchre. We wandered amidst the Elysian fields, but saw no blessed souls. All my gloomy cogitations at the prospect of futurity, brought to my mind by the fiction of poets, vanished at the sight of present danger, and the lowering black clouds menaced a fierce storm. Nor was the threat in vain, for shortly it was followed by the severest thunder, lightning, rain, and hail I had ever witnessed. We crossed the Stygian Lake in the height of it, and Charon might have expected some passengers for his infernal wherry. We landed and dined upon the ruins of Misenum close to the port. It was from this spot Pliny the elder beheld the burst of smoke from the mountain, and even felt the cinders. What a magnificent but dreadful sight it must have been. Unfortunately curiosity impelled him to approach the yawning volcano; he endeavoured to land at Herculaneum, but was prevented by the smoke and ashes, he tried Pompeia, and from thence went to his friend Pomponius at Stabia, near which he was overwhelmed and suffocated by the cinders. Near Misenum Tiberius breathed out his gloomy soul.

The next day we made an excursion into the country on horseback to see the Convent of the Camaldoli. Unfortunately the late hours of Devonshire House are transferred to the Chiaia, so we did not begin our expedition till six o’clock; when just as we arrived at the Convent the last fiery rays sank behind the promontory of Circe. What a view lay stretched at our feet! Objects that would rouse torpor itself, and call forth the energy of the poet, philosopher, painter, historian. The Campania Felix backed by the bold ridge of Apennines, with the Lake of Patria, Linternum, etc., the distant islands of Ponza and Ventotene, the nearer ones of Ischia and Procida, Baia, Misenum, Capri, and Cape Minerva. I cannot enumerate all the grand and pleasing objects. We exhausted the patience of two planets; the sun first shunned us, and then palefaced Cynthia left us, before we got home.

I never in my life experienced the degree of happiness enjoyed: it was the gratification of mind and sense. The weather was delicious, truly Italian, the night serene, with just enough air to waft the fragrance of the orange flower, then in blossom. Through the leaves of the trees we caught glimpses of the trembling moonbeams on the glassy surface of the bay; all objects conspired to soothe my mind and the sensations I felt were those of ecstatic rapture. I was so happy that when I reached my bedroom, I dismissed my maid, and sat up the whole night looking from my window upon the sea.

This frolick was unusually absurd, as I was to go early with ye D. of Devonshire, etc. to dine at Belvedere[33] with the King. I was ready at seven, but ill and faint, and obliged to eat diavoloni to keep alive. We arrived too late: the King waited an hour. The King was very pleasant and conversable; he shewed us the whole manufactory, the mechanical part I did not much comprehend. He was so gallant to me that they joked and said I should be sent to Calabria, the common way the Queen takes to remove her rivals, tho’ she allows him to people his own colony of manufacturers. Before we quitted him he insisted on our promising to dine at Carditello, and the Sunday after at St. Leucio to see the wedding. From the Belvedere we went to the English garden, which is very beautiful from being in many respects unlike one. There is one of the prettiest thoughts for an ornament I ever saw; a large building representing ancient baths, supposed to have been dug out from a stratum of tufa which covered them. It is done with the best taste and judgment possible, and is as complete a thing as can be. I returned home at night more dead than alive from fatigue.

1793 VESUVIUS

The next day after, we went to the mountain. I invited poor Italinski. I would not go higher than the Cross, that is, I would go no further than my mule could carry me; the others went to the running lava. We all wrote our names at the Hermitage, a retreat inhabited by a man clothed in a holy garb,[34] but whom report says is not sanctified in his deeds; many rendezvous are kept in his neat, trim cell, and but for his paying he would be expelled from his nominal solitude.

Saturday was the last morning I passed in Naples. I quitted those scenes of tranquil pleasure and harmless gratification with unfeigned regret. But ah me! what can please or cheer one who has no hope of happiness in life. Solitude and amusement from external objects is all I hope for: home is the abyss of misery! I am but as a zero in society, attached to none, belonging to none I esteem. We passed the evening at Caserta with the Hamiltons; their house was not large enough to hold us all, and I lodged in Hackhert’s[35] house. Mullady sang Nina, Paisiello’s music; her vile discordant screaming took off the whole effect of his simple melody.

On Sunday morning we went to the Belvedere to see the ceremony of the St. Leucio marriages;[36] as I went with the Duchess I was, of course, too late. They were over. The King as soon as he heard of our arrival came and met us upon the perron, and conducted us upstairs, where we found the Queen: her coming was an unexpected condescension on her part. The sight of the manufacturers enjoying the Festival was very pretty and gratifying. A thousand people were enjoying themselves among their families in their gala clothes, dining under the prettiest rustic arcades ornamented in the best possible taste: this number all fed, even existing, by the bounty of the King, and each pouring out the sincerest benediction upon him for his bounty. I wished this picture of happiness of his own creation might excite the disposition to extend the blessings of ease and security by encouraging industry in Calabria and other parts of his dominions, where the wretched peasant is ferocious from ignorance and sloth. He conversed with them with familiarity, and enquired into their family details, all of which he seemed perfectly acquainted with; scandal says their establishment answers the double purpose of seraglio and nursery. The Queen was, as she always is, very conversable and clever, but appears to have a most impetuous temper. We dined at 12, a very good dinner, all off his own farm; the wines were from his vineyard. The evening was not tedious, tho’ long; she brought all her children to us and shewed off their talents. At night the Court was illuminated, and the happy colonists danced tarantulas. We stayed till the Queen withdrew about 10 o’clock. She was very flattering in her compliments to me, and shook my hand with cordiality; her reason for liking me that I had been at Vienna and knew many of her old friends.

A ROYAL FARM

The next day we dined at Carditello with the King; it is a small hunting palace in the centre of his farm. The dinner was served upon a table of Merlin’s construction. No servants attend, but by pulling a bell your plate is pulled down and a clean one sent up; so with the dishes, and all you ask for. In short, it is exactly like a trap-door at a theatre. He showed us all his cows, hogs, and pigs, and his breed of stallions. He occasionally favours ladies with a sight of a strange operation to be performed upon them before women; but this we escaped. His carriages conveyed us to Capua, where we found our own. The Devonshires went on to Rome. Some arrangements required my return to Naples; Lady Plymouth drove me in her phaeton home.

The evening previous to my quitting Naples, 22nd May, I walked in the Villa Reale after supper with Ly. Plymouth, Ld. Berwick,[37] and Italinski. The latter was much dejected at my approaching absence, and I really was affected by his sorrow, as he is not a man to say lightly things he does not feel. He said when I went he should imitate Mark Antony, who after his defeat retired to Alexandria and wrote Timoleon [sic] over his door, thereby declaring he was become a misanthrope. I was sorry at leaving Ly. P., because, tho’ I am not very prudent, I think she is less so, and I might have kept her out of the scrape she is on the brink of falling into, for Ld. Berwick remains the whole summer. Lord Palmerston, comically enough, calls them ‘Cymon and Iphigenia,’ for till their attachment began Ld. B. was never heard to speak: love roused him.

On the 23rd the Websters left Naples for Capua, ‘the antidote to all pleasure at present from its filth and dulness,’ and continuing their journey crossed the River Garigliano.

The gayest scenes until Mola di Gaeta, the verdure, the festoons of vines hanging between the trees, with the glow of a crimson sun sinking into the Mediterranean. Upon my arrival at Mola I dined, and in the evening was tempted by the beauty of the moon to row upon the sea within the bay for a short time. Early in the morning, by seven, I was again in the boat, and examined the extensive remains of Cicero’s Formian Villa. The bath is the principal object; it is beautiful. It is in a covered recess dans le fond d’un beau salon, with columns on each side: adjoining to it there are many rooms, high and narrow, and very like those at Pompeia. The fishponds are large.

I did not go to Gaeta, distant about three miles: I regretted the impracticability of the disposition of him who invariably checks all I wish to do. There are still preserved unburied the bones of the Connétable de Bourbon, his adherents not venturing to inter in consecrated ground one who had perished in a sacrilegious act. He was killed in 1527, in the assault of Rome. Benvenuto Cellini in his entertaining Life of Himself assumes the honour of marking him with his scoppietto and killing him, but this glory rests upon his own assertion. There are few characters in history more deserving of compassion and indulgence than this high-spirited and unfortunate Constable. The caresses and revenge of Louisa de Savoie offended and urged him to be a traitor; the one he rejected (?), the other he resisted. Thus he became her victim beyond her wishes, for by deserting his country and adding infamy to his name, he deprived her of her hopes of making him yield to her desires.

At the extremity of Mola, in a vineyard, they show a circular tower, which is called the tomb of Cicero. Beyond it are many sepulchral monuments on each side of the road, which is made on the Appian Way. The ancients always placed their tombs on the highway, whence the common inscription ‘Siste viator.’

JOURNEY TO ROME

Fondi and Terracina were the next places of interest on the road.

The Turks under Barbarossa made a descent on Fondi. The prize they coveted was the haughty beauty Julia di Gonzaga, wife of the Count of Fondi. She escaped their designs by hiding amongst the rocks; in revenge they pillaged and burnt the town, in 1534. From Fondi we soon reached Terracina, the ancient Anxur. The situation is remarkably gay and pleasing. The town is close upon the sea; just above it rises an abrupt rock on which are the ruins of a Gothic palace forming a very picturesque view. The islands appear very close. Ponza is the largest and most celebrated.

Stopped at Gensano to make Mrs. Hippisley[38] and her sister, Mde. Ciciaporcia, a visit. The road from Gensano to l’Aricia is most beautiful, through thick woods of chestnut trees, rich in foliage, and fine ilexes of an immense bulk. The freshness and luxuriance of the spring in Italy is far beyond anything we can have a notion of in England.

Just at the Villa Barberini we met Jenkins,[39] who came to meet me to beg I would dine with the Devonshires, etc., at his villa at Castel Gondolfo. The Villa Barberini stands upon the site of Domitian’s villa, the remains of which are very great. Porticoes extending above a mile, and substructions of three different rows serving as a terrace to those above. The Lago di Albano is excessively pretty: it is formed very evidently in the crater of a sunken volcano. Ly. Duncannon ill, and obliged to stay at Jenkins’. Got to Rome rather late. Very good lodgings at the English tailor’s in the Piazza di Spagna. Mr. Hippisley came as soon as I arrived, and we walked about the streets. I became impatient for daylight, and was so full of curiosity that I got no sleep the whole night. I could only think of the moonlight peeps I had enjoyed of the Coliseum, so stately, so awfully majestic.

On Sunday morning, 26th of May, I arose with alacrity, and under the ciceroneship of old Morrison began my course of virtu. The first place was the Colonna Palace.... Raphael, ‘Holy Trinity,’ for a church at Perugia, mentioned in his life. Its pendant, the Gaspar Poussin, is preferable to it in every respect. P. Veronese, ‘Venus and Cupid,’ in his very best manner.... Salvator Rosa, ‘St. John in the Wilderness.’ The idea is taken from Raffaelle’s at Florence: the face is very ugly and mean, the whole figure mean. Naked figures ought to elevate the subject and give an idea of sublimity beyond any drapery. This St. John looks like a man stripped of his clothes.

We dined with the Palmerstons. In the evening Morrison took us to the top of the Capitol that we might have an idea of the topography of the city and adjacent country. The view from thence is very grand.

VILLA BORGHESE

May 28th.—Went to see some drawings in the possession of a Mr. Greaves, a person who accompanied Messrs. Berners and Tilson in their expedition into Greece, Asia Minor, and Egypt. The drawings are most accurately executed, and are assured to be faithful portraits. It was the opinion of those gentlemen after minute examination that the Pyramids are works of art, and not huge masses of rock polished and shaped into their present form. They met a young man of the name of Browne,[40] who flatters himself that he has discovered the long-sought for Temple of Jupiter Ammon, situated in an oasis in the dusts of Libya. He describes it as an oblong building like the cell of a temple, ornamented inside with bas-reliefs of ram’s horns and the other attributes of that Divinity. The remains inspire no idea either of richness or badness. Cambyses was the last who attempted to explore the sandy deserts in search of this splendid shrine; he and his army perished in the enterprise. Mr. Browne is now at Alexandria learning Arabic.

Mr. Hippisley dined with us and brought Count della Walsh, an earl made by James III., the Palmerstons, etc. The same dreadful derangement. I shall soon become mad myself if I much longer witness his paroxysms. All human miseries must have a termination; this consoles, tho’ at 22, it is a melancholy consolation. I am almost choked, suffocated by my sorrow, I have sobbed myself sick, I must to bed.

The Villa Borghese is a most delicious spot just out of the city gates. The gardens are crowded with buildings. The saloon is about the size of that at Blenheim, fitted up recently in excellent taste, excepting that gold tissue curtains are put in the niches behind the statues. In this Hall is the famous bas-relief of the Dancing Hours. The Borghese vase is here; the form is beautiful, but the sculpture is but moderate. The Gladiator is the finest statue in Rome: his exertion is well contrasted to the grace and composure of a pensive Muse, who is placed near him.... It would be impossible to enumerate half or even a tenth part of the different objects of my admiration.

The Devonshires are arrived, Ly. Bessborough ill, very ill. I met there Santa Croce;[41] she is a singular woman of her age, as she even possesses still some remains of beauty. She has contrived to attach to her, without any share of cleverness, many distinguished men, Florida Blanca, Bernis, Azara, etc. She was instrumental in assisting the Pope to become pontiff. She speaks abominable French, and to this day calls Bernis ‘Ma chère Cardinal.’

The Vatican.—First court built by Bramante, reviver of architecture in Italy; the appearance too light. The museum is too extensive to detail, and one is so over-powered by the beauties of perfection that there is no leisure for accurate observation, especially the first six times of going. The Laocoon is terribly fine. Some have objected that he appears more occupied by his own sufferings than in those of his children, but the only expression is that of a man writhing in the last agonies of a painful death. It is one of the finest specimens of the Greek school whilst at its best, supposed about Alexander’s time. His pursuits in the East left Greece in peace, and the arts flourished. The Apollo deserves its reputation. It was found at Hadrian’s villa at Antium. The Nile with 16 boys, very fine. Paris, with a Phrygian bonnet on, reckoned very like me. There is in the gallery at Florence a bust of Livia which is reckoned to bear a most striking resemblance to me.[42]...

CARDINAL BERNIS

I dined with the Senator, upon the Capitol, in his palace. He is a Rezzonico, nephew to the late Pope. Papal nepotism is suspicious. He possesses a fine portrait of the late Pope,[43] done by Mengs; it will bear comparison with many of the old pictures. The gold-flowered curtain which forms the background is a tour-de-force to show his skill in making a bad thing not spoil a good one, but it offends the eye, and like most difficult things surprizes without pleasing. I went often to see old Bernis,[44] a veteran in the school of political intrigue and love. He is a phenomenon, for age has not impaired his faculties or misfortune subdued his liveliness. He lodges the Mesdames, aunts of the unfortunate Louis XVI. Madame Victoire[45] is so strikingly like him that it makes one start, and a paralytic affection, keeping her head perpetually moving, fills me with painful sensations. I declined going into any society, that my time might not be too much taken up, but I went occasionally to the Santa Croce’s. Prince Augustus, a pleasing young man, very like the Prince of Wales. Lady Augusta Murray had just ensnared him: she is reported to be with child.[46] The Royalists have got Nantes, it is said.

My evening walks were delicious, wandering over the scenes of classical events.

Vatican.—Went to see the pictures. Loggia di Raphaello. History of Old and New Testament, executed by his scholars from his designs. ‘Lot’s wife turned into a pillar of salt, finely conceived: her whole figure is a dead white,’ which sufficiently tells the story. A Dutch painter would have made her a pillar of salt.

The Stanze were occupied after the assault of Rome by Bourbon’s soldiers, and they treated the walls as they would have treated those of the commonest barracks. On them may now be seen holes in which they placed hooks to suspend their kettles, and the trace of smoke is even visible. In the garden of the Vatican the Pope takes the only exercise he can with decency; he rides early in the morning on a little ambling mule. The extent of the building is prodigious; I have heard the number of rooms called 7000, if not more.

Borghese Palace.—The best collection of Old Masters in Rome. ‘Virgin in the clouds’: the best Tintoret in Rome. Leonardo da Vinci, known generally by his swarthy hue, sharp chins, high cheek bones, and drawn-up mouths. ‘Adoration of the Shepherds,’ James Bassano, good picture; he understood both perspective and colouring. Titian sent his son to study under him; his green drapery remarkably fine. There is always something homely and disgusting in his compositions. A ‘Last Supper’ by him offends from unpardonable anachronisms, as it generally consists of pickled herrings or Dutch cheese.... Titian, ‘Holy Family’: fine, sober light. Modern artists are too fond of contrasting their lights. The light of the sun being yellow, all objects illuminated by it ought to partake of its hue. A fine Andrea del Sarto, a very favourite painter of mine; his outline is so soft and his expression exquisite.... The good pictures are so numerous that it would require pages to enumerate them all.

The Doria Palace, very fine mansion, and very full of fine pictures.

ROMAN COLLECTIONS

4th June, 1793.—Villa Ludovici, on the Pincian Hill. The collection consists chiefly of marbles.... Mars reposing, I admired extremely, though it is not in the purest manner. The figure represents the action (if it is not an Irishism) so well of being perfectly at rest. A group called Papyrius and his mother. The expression of inquisitiveness in the mother is admirable; curiosity with a tender sort of maternal authority is happily united. The expression of Papyrius is deficient. Pætus and Arria, so called: a beautiful, expiring, languid figure: the action of the man turning his head is well conceived. A fine ceiling by Guercino.

Farnesina.—The ceiling of the hall is painted by Raphael, but having suffered very much the ground or sky was painted by Carlo Marat in order to give greater effect to the figures, in which it is supposed that he has succeeded, but the contours of many of the figures have suffered in the attempt. It represents the story of Cupid and Psyche. Nothing can exceed the composition and variety of expression in most of the groups. This ceiling and that at the Farnese would warrant a decision that Raphael and A. Carracci are the first masters at Rome.

Capitol.—In the court there are many fragments of statues. A statue of Julius Cæsar in the military dress. A group of a lion devouring a horse; the flesh appears in the act of being drawn by the teeth of the lion from the ribs. The countenance of the horse is deficient; it does not express the anguish he should feel. A beautiful bronze statue of the Boy picking out the thorn in his foot; a simple action, very justly expressed. The Wolf belonging to the Capitol, which Cicero mentions among the ominous portents as being struck by lightning when the Republic was in danger. The traces are still visible of the lightning upon it. Hecuba, very fine, the exact portrait of a withered scold....

A fine collection of pictures. ‘The Sibyll,’ of Guercino, the composition is not simple, the drapery clumsy. ‘Fortune,’ by Guido, pretty subject, prettily treated, the colouring very feeble. ‘St. Sebastian,’ by the same, and with the same defect; the countenance placid and beautiful. An old witch, by Salvator Rosa, which might be mistaken for a portrait of Lady Knight.[47]

In all the collections much escapes me, as I am always accompanied by one whose impetuosity compels me to hasten from objects I would willingly contemplate, and whose violence of temper throws me into agitations that prevent me distinguishing the objects when they are before me. Much as I endure now, yet it is infinitely more bearable than formerly; experience and a better knowledge of the world makes me laugh at menaces that used to terrify me out of my senses. These threats have been again and again held out; they follow the slightest difference of opinion between us.

The present reigning grievance is the being from home, and my determined love for being abroad. The truth is I suspect some great derangement in his affairs, as his means are not proportioned to his expenses. Lady Palmerston, who abhors him and sees his conduct to me, is remarkable for speaking well, even to a fault, of everybody; she says that there are three people in the world who prove that the common saying of, ‘None are so bad but have some portion of good,’ is not true. The charming trio are Mrs. North, Duchess of Marlborough, and Sir G. Webster.

TIVOLI

I set off alone with old Morrison to see Tivoli. I was to join Ly. Bessborough, etc., there. Saw the ruins of Zenobia’s villa; Adrian’s villa, which must have been the grandest work in his dominions; the Temple of Vesta, which is in the garden of the inn; the cavern of Neptune. In the morning early I set off upon a somarello to see the Cascatelle. The villa of Mæcenas is a picturesque object above them, but the present Pope is doing all to destroy it, as it is to be converted into a gunpowder manufactory. A beautiful group of cypresses in the gardens of Este.

I have omitted making notes of more than half the things I saw, Pantheon, Castle of St. Angelo, etc., etc., without end.

On the 14th of June, 1793, we quitted Rome: our route was to Florence. The Perugia road is not furnished with post horses, we therefore went with vetturini, a very slow, wearisome mode of conveyance, but not without its advantages in a pretty country. We crossed the Tiber on the Milvian Bridge,[48] on which the ambassadors from the Allobroges (Savoy) were arrested; and their papers seized discovered the Catiline conspiracy. The Campagna on this side of Rome exhibits much variety of hill and dale, but it is wretchedly cultivated. In ancient times it was well shaded with groves and forests; towers and tombs and various remains of Roman buildings are seen here. We crossed a bridge about nine miles from Rome built upon a stratum of lava. We then ascended the crater of a very large volcano, descended into it, and traversed it, by an old house thrown down about five years ago by an earthquake. On the right of the road to Monte Rosa are seen the remains of the Æmilian Way, made by Paulus Æmilius after his conquest of Greece, about 150 years before the Christian era. Soracte we left greatly to the right; it appears an isolated mountain in a plain.

About sunset I got out and walked: delicious evening. I partook of the serenity around, tho’ my heart felt the want of some object to open itself into; for in spite of my cold maxims of solitary comforts, I often detect my wishes wandering to some imaginary happiness. I strive to repress, but often feel, a strong desire to be dependent upon another for happiness; but circumstanced as I am the thought must be checked and selfish independence alone encouraged. The want of passion in my constitution will always save me from the calamity of letting my heart run away with my reason, but what will be my resource if both head and heart accord in their choice? Hitherto the only foible I have been drawn into was of too short a duration to be alarming; besides absence interposed and drew me from a danger I might have fallen into then, but could not now. A revolution has happened in my whole system; my opinions are more formed, and tho’ I am conscious they retain still a portion of absurdity, yet I have adopted some that will be useful.

SUNSET EFFECTS

We met an Abbé with his pupils, who advised us to take some water from the neighbouring town, as the spring was famous for excellent water. Nepe, the name of the town, showed itself through some trees; a fine ruined tower covered with thick ivy peeped thro’ the festoons of vines, a pretty foreground to the picturesque ruin. The tower is part of a castle built by the Farnese family, now fallen into decay. The wealth of that house has sunk into the Spanish branch of Bourbon; the vixen Princess of Parma conveyed it by her marriage with Philip V. It is at present vested in the King of Naples. A modern aqueduct, not unlike the Pont du Gard. Charming view up the bed of a river, in which there are large spacious caverns grown over with rich foliage. The contrast of the luxurious verdure of the leaves with the bright yellow of the soil produced a charming effect. This lovely prospect was terminated by Soracte, rising majestically behind some tall elms; the purple tinge from the last rays of the sinking sun was strongly dyed upon it. The whole Western horizon glowed with its lustre—a more glorious sight nature never yielded to the eye of man. I remember, one evening at Dresden, being enraptured by the beauty of a pretty circumstance of the two lights. One fine evening in August upon the bridge we walked to enjoy the freshness: from the West the last rays of the sun were darting upon the water, to which it had imparted its glowing tints; on the other side the moon had risen from a pink cloud and her pale, silvery light was beaming upon the glassy surface of the Elbe. There could not be a more beautiful combination of lights.

Arrived at Civita Castellana at about nine o’clock. It is situated on a steep rock, inaccessible on three sides. It is by some supposed to have been the ancient city of Veii in Etruria. Alexander VI. built a palace, which has more the appearance of a fortress than a habitation in peaceful times.

I got up at half-past five to examine the bridge and castle. The morning was delicious; the vapours were still low, but the genial beams of the sun dissipated them shortly. The luxury of a fine morning at that hour is very great, and has the additional charm of singularity to me, as I sit up in melancholy solitude too late at night to be in the habit of tasting the dews of the morning. Crossed the Tiber over the Ponte Felice, the boundary of Latium. We soon got amongst the hills, very beautifully covered to their summits with brushwood and forest trees. At Terni we took calèches to see the cascade. We first went to the top; in our way we passed the little village Papigno, which in ’86 was very near demolished by an earthquake; there were three shocks, which successively destroyed the houses and church. From the top of the Monte del Marmore the fall is very grand; it is reckoned the grandest in Europe and scarcely yields to that of Niagara in America.[49] Caius[50] Dentatus, a Roman Consul, increased the cataract by turning the waters from the country of Rieti into the Lake Luco, by which the mass of water in the Velino was increased. We saw several rainbows in the spray. The Velino like the Anio has the property of incrustation, vulgarly called petrifying water. All the roots of the trees are petrified by this deposition of selenite. The Velino is very rapid. Just above the fall there is a ferry; two intrepid Cappuccini would cross when the flood was roaring; they paid the forfeit of their lives for their temerity. The stream impelled the fragile bark to the brink, and they were dashed to pieces speedily; their cowls, rosary, and patron saint could not save them. We went to the foot of the mountain to look up at the cascade, a magnificent sight. We rode upon somarelli through a delicious grove of orange and lemon trees, and afterwards through a small wood filled with nightingales. I was enchanted: the melody of the birds, the tranquillity and perfume of the air, and the beauty of all the objects around, suspended for a moment my habitual discontent, and I felt even happy. We dined in a little wood of myrtle and ilex, but when we assembled together the illusion of happiness vanished. How far preferable is solitude to the society of those who are too nearly connected to be objects of indifference. Love or hatred must be bestowed upon habitual inmates! Alas! Alas! Would it were true what I say in public, that my heart is shut to social affections. Every occasion that calls forth épanchement proves the besoin I have to belong to something that I can cherish. Mr. Hodges[51] travels with us as far as Florence. He is a good-tempered, gentlemanlike man, and full of readiness to do any little services; were he odious, I should rejoice at the society of a tiers.

ST. FRANCIS

The road from thence begins to ascend the Apennines, and oxen were hired at La Strettura. The travellers dined at Spoleto, and crossed the river Trevi, ‘the ancient Clitumnus,’ where ‘there is a singular temple, very perfect, upon the margin of the rivulet; it is not in the purest taste and is probably a fabric erected in the lower ages.’ They reached Foligno late that evening.

Monday, 17th June.—The morning was so rainy that I imprudently indulged in a prolonged nap, which threw us back on our journey. The road lay through a rich and highly cultivated country, neither hilly nor flat, abounding in trees. Assisi, the birthplace of the celebrated St. Francis, whose fame is confined to the legend that records his miracles, etc. At the age of 25 he, by his eloquence and example, induced multitudes voluntarily to renounce the enjoyments of life and enter a system of abstinence and self-denial in every shape. All the mendicant orders owe their origin to him, as Franciscan is the generic term for Capuchins, Carmelites, Carthusians, etc. There is a new church built over his humble dwelling. We crossed a torrent over a very steep bridge.

We reached this place (Perugia) very late. I had a letter to Mr. Molloy, an Irish priest at St. Augustin: he was of use in showing me the town. This was the birthplace of Pietro di Perugino, more known by the works of his disciples than from his own merits. The town is adorned by his first and finest works. In the Convent of St. Augustin many paintings, but in a hard, stiff manner. Four heads in crayons, by Raphael, charmingly executed. They preserve a letter from Pietro di Perugino, written to the Prior of the Convent, begging him to send him some grain: the writing is execrable, which tempted a wag to write:—

Fu restaurator della pittura

Ma guastator della scrittura.

A fine view from the church of St. Peter’s out of the city walls. The town is situated upon a very steep hill, and is exposed to the fury of the winds.

Tuesday, 18th.—The road from Perugia to the Lake[52] very rough; the jolts were insufferable.

A very fatiguing journey of 9 hours brought us to Comania, which is composed of a few scattered houses at the foot of Cortona. Cortona is en l’air, at the top of a high, bleak, black, desolate hill composed of schistos interspersed with sandstone and mica. Cortona is one of the most ancient towns in Etruria; there are still slight remains of the Etruscan walls. We set off from Comania upon somarelli. Our entry was in a grotesque style, a drunken cicerone conducted us to a mad chanoine.

CELARI

Aforesaid chanoine, Celari, is the master academician of Etruscan antiquities; he himself is the rarest and greatest curiosity in the collection. In person he resembled Gil Perez,[53] but was inferior in charms. His dress was characteristic of the oddity of the wearer; a triangular hat squatted as flat upon his head as a Prussian soldier’s and about as greasy and rusty, under which a cotton night-cap vied in colour with it, jointly setting off the features of a jaundiced, paralytic visage; his head tottering from disease and imbecility. The rest of his person in unison with his upper story; a dropsical paunch gave him an uncouth waddle, his scabby hands disgusting from their leprous indication. A more disgusting assemblage I never met with before in a single object. He showed nothing remarkable but a bronze vase found in a sepulchre, a curious bas-relief round the rim. When I escaped from his clutches, I went to a very learned and civil advocate who has many chosen antiquities. A pretty Cupid in terra cotta, a shield embossed with figures, elephants’ tusks found at Trasimene probably Carthaginian, a medal of Porsena, etc., etc.

We were too late to see anything in the cathedral. I believe Pietro di Cortona was disgusted with his native city, and preferred painting for Roman palaces.

Very late when we set off in the morn. Road rough and uncomfortable. We arrived at Arezzo at 12. I was in an agony for two hours and half after my arrival, as my children did not come. I fancied every terrible accident in the catalogue of travelling disasters, and had got into a post calèche, alone, to set off and meet them, when, God be praised, just as I was getting out of the town I met their carriage and found them safe and well.

We could only reach St. Giovanni at night, June 19th; a most wretched inn, one scarcely ever frequented but by pedestrians with their wallets slung across their shoulders. The country to Florence through the famous Val d’Arno very charming. Reached that beautiful tho’ gloomy town on the 20th. The Tuscan heavy, massy, grand style of architecture spreads a solemnity over the buildings, and the streets are not so filled as those of Naples and Rome. I went in the eve. with Ly. E. Foster and Ly. Hervey to the Opera. David[54] sang.

I saw there for the first time the celebrated Baron d’Armfeldt.[55] He was the ami de cœur of the late King of Sweden.[56] Immediately on his being wounded in the ball room he sent for d’Armfeldt, who was not apprised of the assassination till he saw his friend and sovereign weltering in his blood. The King said, ‘You, my friend, have been wounded too often to be shocked at this, but it is hard upon a man who never turned from an enemy to be wounded in the back.’ He attended his last moments, and received every testimony of his regard and affection. The —— was strongly attached to him; this rendered him obnoxious to the Regent, who has exiled him by giving him credentials to all the Italian states, with a Chargé d’affaires who is a spy upon his actions. He wears the silver sword embroidered upon his coat under the order, a badge the most flattering, as it is a testimony of good conduct and popularity. To be entitled to it a man must have the unanimous approbation of the whole army; a single soldier’s objecting invalidates the choice of the others. He must have carried and raised a siege, and won a battle; not above two men in Sweden possess it. His manners are mild and gentle, his person is like a soprano. He seems to be a great favourite with the Herveys.[57] T. P.[58] is here. D’Armfeldt is toujours en fonction, as the eternal Princess of Sweden[59] is frisking about.

D’ARMFELDT

21st.—I went with my friend Mr. Brand to see the Gallery, but I was not in spirits to enjoy anything. I have received letters giving me a melancholy account of my poor father’s illness. He wishes me to return and see him. I am perplexed about my children. The weather is too hot for them to travel; the youngest has not had the smallpox; besides that, I like to have a pledge for my return. The Cascines very pleasant of evenings. Ly. Elizabeth wishes Mr. Pelham to escort her and the Duchess home. I think it is a bad thing for him, as he imputes his late long illness entirely to the worry he suffered from both of them in conducting them from Lausanne to Florence. I shall advise him to refuse, and persuade him to go quietly with Swinburne, who will consult his whims, and he, of course, not be impelled to consult the whimseys of two capricious ladies.

22nd.—Staid at home the whole morning to write. Dined at Ld. Hervey’s. D’Armfeldt and Prince Augustus at dinner there. The latter is in a fidget to get to England, as Ly. Augusta is gone, and scandal says is with child. Went in the evening to Mme. d’Albany.[60] She is a Princess Stolberg, widow of the late Pretender; she lives in a state of dubious intimacy with Alfieri, the great Sophocles of Italy. She is lively and good-humoured. She told us some curious anecdotes about Gaston,[61] the head of the Royalist party. She is anxious for the restoration of the King, as she has lost immensely, indeed all that she possesses; yet she does not fall into the violent strain of invective she might be allowed to feel.

Sunday, 23rd.—I went to the Annunziata to see the fresco upon the cloister walls by Andrea del Sarto, ‘Madonna del Sacco,’ a fine picture, well grouped and coloured. In the evening Mr. Pelham set off with Swinburne for Genoa to Turin. Notwithstanding Lord Hervey’s enmity towards Manfredini,[62] I availed myself of my letters to him, and the ceremony of a formal introduction to the Grand Duchess was waived; in consequence of which, as there was a chariot race at which their Royal Highnesses were present,[63] I went into their splendid box and was graciously received. The Grand Duchess is an unfortunate little being, both in figure and understanding; she is crooked, lame, and unhealthy. Being designed for a cloister, her education was neglected. Her extreme ugliness made her hateful to her mother, the Queen of Naples, but upon the death of an elder sister who was destined to be Empress the next succeeded to that rank, and this little wretch took her intended place of Grand Duchess. When Leopold, seeing how frightful she was, offered to send her back, the Grand Duke refused, saying he could not mortify her so much. Her good nature has conquered his disgust; her being with child has probably helped. He rarely visits her apartment; but Manfredini compels him. The Grand Duke is reserved and cold, his manner not near so good as his brother the Emperor. The chariot race is a stupid sport; the form of the cars is antique.

GRAND DUCHESS OF TUSCANY

24th.—The Portuguese Minister, M. de Lima, gave us a breakfast, that we might see the ceremony of the Grand Duke receiving homage from his subjects. I should like to have heard the deputies from Siena say, ‘Soumise par force’—galanterie de certaine part which I could easily dispense with. Nothing more distressing than that species of admiration that keeps one in a fever to bear, from the coarseness and indelicacy of the manner. In the evening went to Prince Augustus’ with Ly. Elizabeth to see the horse races—a stupid and a cruel sight. Went with Ly. H. to see the pretty opera of I Due Gobbi.

I asked d’Armfeldt why he wore the white handkerchief tied round his arm: I asked the meaning. When Gustavus made the revolution of 1772 he expected a popular insurrection, and he desired all those who were his friends to take their handkerchiefs and fasten them on their left arms; most everyone present did. An awful moment followed after his declaring his intention of effecting a total change in the Constitution, such as by levying taxes, abridging the power of the aristocracy, and enlarging his own prerogative. He finished by saying, ‘I am either your prisoner or your King.’ A dead silence ensued. A lieutenant and grey corporal exclaimed, ‘Le Suédois est loyal. Oui, Sire, vous êtes le Roi’; the assembly applauded, and the revolution was confirmed. After the acclamations had subsided, he enjoined a solemn silence, ordered them to kneel, and uttered an extempore prayer of thanksgiving for the great event. Hugh Elliot by a mad freak extricated him out of a mauvais pas. He was at Gottenburg with a small force, defenceless walls, and 6000 Danes approaching to make him prisoner. Elliot, in his zeal, called out and told the Prince of Hesse that unless he immediately withdrew his forces, he should in the name of Great Britain declare war, send off couriers to bring a fleet to bombard Copenhagen, and others to fetch 30,000 Prussians. This foolish braggadocio frightened the poor Danes, and they slunk away.

The revolution is censured as being a direct violation of those oaths the King took at his coronation. The whole power was lodged in the four estates, Nobles, Citizens, Clergy, Peasantry. The kingly power was a nullity; the Sovereign a phantom. The late King was in the early part of his life in Paris, and Vergennes was supposed to have planned for him the Revolution. Russia harassed him by perpetual wars; contrary to her own practice, she espoused in his dominions the cause of liberty. Rasoumoffsky was very active in aiding the malcontents, and, being detected in bribing many who had leading voices in the Diet, he was ordered to quit Stockholm immediately. Upon his objecting, he was told that unless he went within twenty-four hours he should be made to go on board an English vessel.

FLORENCE

D’Armfeldt told me a good many traits de chevalerie of Sir Sidney Smith, alias Charles XII., who is now at Constantinople. If d’Armfeldt’s stories may be relied on, his case is certainly a hard one, but he speaks imprudently in accusing the Regent in the manner he does. He evidently is in greater favour with the Court of Russia than a loyal Swede ought to be.

25th.—I passed the morning with Fontana.[64] He is a remarkable man, but below his reputation. The news is that the Royalists have been defeated with great loss. The English have taken Tobago. The Comte d’Artois is returned to Ham; he was not allowed to land in England, as he could not be protected against his creditors. Dined at Lord Hervey’s: Prince Augustus, etc. I preferred the quiet of my own room to going to the Opera.

26th.—I went to the Museum. Fontana appointed me at ten. The institution was founded by the Grand Duke Leopold, and placed under the direction of Fontana. Thirty-eight rooms are filled with objects in every branch of Natural History, Philosophy, Physics, etc. The anatomical preparations in wax are very beautiful. The small representations of the ravages of the plague at Messina are admirably executed; the artist must have had a considerable portion of sombre in his imagination.

I asked the real history of the tarantula, whether he thought there was any foundation for the stories they tell in Calabria of its producing such violent irritation that motion, such as dancing, relieves the patient. He says such a malady exists, and is ascribed to the sting, whereas it proceeds from the imagination of young people. Those who suffer chiefly are adolescents, just at the period when the passions begin to develop themselves and agitate the frame. Those who believe in the reality of the disease tell the story of an incredulous bishop who, resolved to convince the people of the absurdity of the story, exposed his arm to the stings of five of these animals; the consequence was that the bishop suffered like a layman, and the tambourine was called to his relief to assist him cutting capers. Whether this dignified prelate was imposed upon, or whether he thought the superstition too valuable to eradicate, must remain a secret between him and his confessor.

Bishop Burnet records a similar anecdote of Lord Lanesborough, who upon the death of Prince George of Denmark requested an audience of Queen Anne. He obtained it, and advised her Majesty to dissipate her chagrin by dancing, as he had always found that to be a sovereign remedy against bodily and mental affliction.

Fontana has made numberless experiments upon the poison of a viper. It is a glutinous mass in which he has never discovered the noxious ingredient; taken into the stomach, it is not prejudicial, it only acts upon the nerves. He has published in several quarto volumes his opinions on the subject. He entered into a long philosophical dissertation on the vital principle. He has worms or eels in which life is suspended, but he can bring them to existence. They came in diseased corn from the Morea. He has drawn conclusions from his experiments which prove too much for the Church to allow him to publish. He is an apostle in the cause of atheism and democracy, hence it is not likely he will make the world happier or wiser.

AFFAIRS IN FRANCE

In the evening I went to Lady Hervey’s instead of the Opera. D’Armfeldt was, as usual, the hero of the conversation and of his own story. He begs compassion so much that one is tempted to withhold it. The Regent, by this post, has withdrawn 1800l. of his appointments; but why does he expect favours of a man whom he accuses of an intention to poison the young King? He told several stories that prove him dans les bons principes for a soldier; he thinks every bullet has its billet. He told of a young man skulking from fear behind an ammunition waggon, yet killed by a random shot. He made great use of this to encourage his men not to flinch.

News of a bloody battle near Quesnoy: 6000 French killed 4,000 Austrians.[65] How dreadful! This conflict will not close until Europe is deluged with blood and society destroyed. The trial of Orleans, or, as he ridiculously styles himself, Egalité, is about: the chief accusation against him is his having voted for the King’s death. Bad as that was, yet he did poignard à la gorge. Lyons is in revolt against the Convention. The poor Royalists have been defeated in Brittany.

27th June.—This fatal day seven years gave me, in the bloom and innocence of fifteen, to the power of a being who has made me execrate my life since it has belonged to him. Despair often prompts me to a remedy within my reach. ‘To enjoy is to obey,’ to be wretched is to disobey; if Providence interposes not for my relief, may I not seek it? Nature is assisted to relieve us in our diseases—why not to terminate those of the mind? My mind is worked up to a state of savage exaltation, and impels me to act with fury that proceeds more from passion and deep despair than I can in calmer moments justify. Oftentimes in the gloom of midnight I feel a desire to curtail my grief, and but for an unaccountable shudder that creeps over me, ere this the deed of rashness would be executed. I shall leave nothing behind that I can regret. My children are yet too young to attach me to existence, and Heaven knows I have no close, no tender ties besides. Oh, pardon the audacity of the thought!

28th June.—In the evening, Ly. Spencer, Duchess, and Ly. Bessborough arrived. They came the Perugia road: rather discomposed at finding T. P. gone, but it certainly was wise in him to decline the embarrassment of a tedious, troublesome journey with them. I went to the Opera; it was the last night of the Pergola.[66]

29th.—Drew dined with me. He seems half discontented with his new friends. Supped with Ly. B. Three hundred cannon are playing upon Valenciennes. St. Leger is with the D. of York, and besieging it with the allied army. Marat has declared to the Convention that Gaston is advancing to Paris; there are three Royal armies, and more than half France has declared itself in a state of counter-revolution. But these are but flying reports.

30th June, Sunday.—Dined at Ld. Hervey’s: he appeared much agitated, probably at the prospect of his removal from this place, as it will be impossible for Ministers to allow him to remain after his behaviour to the Grand Duke. In those letters which he wrote remonstrating against the exportation of grain from Tuscany to France he calls the Grand Duke a fool and Manfredini a knave. I went to the Opera with Lady B. and supped with her. She is much improved in her walking; but what cures may not be received from this delicious climate! She is to pass the summer at Lucca Baths.

D’ARMFELDT

1st July.—Lady Shelley has promised to take care of my children; her husband, Dr. Stuart, is a very good physician. Ly. Ann[67] is still invisible, at least to men. She is a frolicsome Irish widow bewitched, very pretty, very foolish, and very debauched. The French fleet is in force at Toulon: where is Ld. Hood? The Jacobin Club here is in full exultation at the bad news from the allies.

Armfeldt told us that Anckarström, as he was conducting him to execution, implored his pardon, saying he should die contented if he could obtain that, as he was the person most injured, for in his sovereign he lost a friend and a benefactor. The King refused to hear the name of his murderer. Armfeldt had the command of an army in a campaign against the Russians, in which service the King accompanied him and shared the hardships of the common soldiers. There was a victory obtained by the Swedes upon the ice. Dangers of every sort surrounded them; the sun was very ardent and the ice was cracking beneath the surface. The Swedes had a great advantage, their horses being shod; the Russians had not taken the same precaution. Armfeldt said that the King’s aide-de-camps, unless they died of the plague or indigestion, need not fear death; they hid themselves in the moment of peril. The King would never settle a plan for retreat, as he would not allow it possible that he could be defeated. Such courage as this is often ruinous to the country whose monarch is brave. Portugal smarted from Sebastian’s[68] impetuosity; in vain his old generals remonstrated, he listened to his ardour. On his landing at Ceuta, the musicians, instead of striking up a cheerful air to encourage the soldiers, played a solemn dirge: in superstitious times what a contretemps! Besides this melancholy portent, he stumbled on a corpse as he got out of his ship.

A fine ball in the evening at Lord Hervey’s: Mme. d’Albany introduced me to Alfieri. I took a final leave of d’Armfeldt. I was sorry to bid a farewell to my friends, but a very few months will bring us together, I hope. La Flotte, the French Minister, was not invited to the ball: this is a very marked insult at a neutral Court.

July 2nd, Tuesday.—I parted from my children this morning at eleven. I have left them comfortable, established in a good house with proper attendants, and Dr. Stuart and an Italian physician, Gianetti, to take care of them. The day was delicious, ardent sun, deep blue sky, everybody was gasping from the heat; I alone as cold as marble, but inwardly warmed by the glowing sun.

CROSSING THE APENNINES

Prato is the first post, a pretty little town; put me in mind of La Bonneville in Savoy. It is situated at the foot of a range of calcareous hills forming the sides of a crater of considerable extent. We continued in this plain till we reached Pistoja. The heat being too intense to remain in the carriage, we stopped two hours at Pistoja. Two miles from Pistoja we began ascending the high chain of Apennines, which runs across Italy and divides it from Cisalpine Gaul, or Lombardy. About half-way up the hill to the first post we stopped to look back upon the valley. Florence, Pistoja, Prato, the Umbrino meandering in the plain until it reaches the sea at Leghorn, made a lovely coup d’œil. The project was to travel all night, but my face pained me so much that by an extraordinary degree of complaisance I was allowed to stop at St. Marcello, a delightful little inn.

Wednesday, July 3rd.—I was enchanted with the prettiness of the environs of the inn: just opposite my window there is a steep verdant bank shaded by tall cypress. The hills above are studded with chestnut, ilex, beech, the wild cherry, and vast assemblage of pretty trees. Passed through a neat town, to which our inn was a suburb. Kept ascending for miles. A magnificent torrent roaring at our feet and the sharp pinnacles of the Apennines springing above our heads. The industry of the inhabitants is manifested by their cultivating every little spot that is accessible to the foot of man, and success warrants their enterprise, as the production is abundant, and the walls prop up the little field.

These mountains must have afforded a secure asylum to those numerous predatory bands which infested this delightful country in former days; the bold robber might bid defiance to the vigilance of the Holy Brother. Indeed, the wretched state of society about the Middle Ages must have rendered travelling a service of danger, from the perpetual wars between each petty State, the burdensome jurisdiction of the barons, and the outrages committed by outlaws.

We dined at the post-house within 300 yards of the top of the mountain which we had been crawling up all day. The summit is the boundary of Tuscany and the frontier of the Modenese State. We began descending this side of the mountains; much more beautiful than the other, springs of very clear, cool water afford a delicious draught to the exhausted, weary traveller. Torrents and cascades tumbling from the heights between thick groves of pines down the sides of the mountains till they reach the torrent in the valley, which is there called the Scoltenna, but soon after changes its name and becomes the Panaro. Snow is still lying in the crevices of the mountain; the rays of the setting sun produce a pretty effect upon the white masses intermingled with woods and sharp rocks. The chaussée in these States as fine as any in Europe; indeed, except those in the Austrian dominions, I believe no roads can be compared to those of Italy. The peasants work in their agricultural toils armed—a sad memento of the terrors of those times when such things were necessary. How dreadful that the most useful members of the community were exposed, whilst labouring for the benefit of mankind, to outrages that demanded self-defence!

At Barigazzo, a small volcano like Pietra Mala. A flame issues from the ground and burns without having anything to feed on, till extinguished either by a high wind or by water; it is used to burn lime. Muscovite is found in large quantities in this mountain. To the S.-E. of the village, upon the top of the mountain, a large lake, called Lago Santo, because blessed by the Bishop of Lucca; it has most miraculous properties. The night was heavenly: the splendour of the stars above and the millions spangled upon the surface of the earth formed by the Luccioli, produced a glittering scene that dazzled the eye; to add to the brilliancy, a black cloud, distant in the horizon, emitted flashes of bright lightning. The vivacity of the light almost too much. Such must have been the splendour surrounding the God of Thunder when he showed himself dans tous ses atours to the astonished eyes of the curious Semele. We travelled all night and reached Modena at 5 o’clock in the morning.

THE PLAINS OF LOMBARDY

Thursday, 4th July.—I already feel the difference between the heat of Lombardy and the refreshing breezes of Florence. I am just going to see the Guercinos at the Palace. L’homme propose, Dieu dispose, the custode was eating, drinking, or sleeping; I could not gain admittance. Arrived at Parma about 6 o’clock. Slept there. I saw Parma last October. The ‘St. Jerome,’ the ‘Madonna della Scodella,’ the ceiling of a dome in a church, are some of the finest of Correggio.

Marat has resumed his functions in the Convention. We crossed a dozen ferries in the night, and reached Placentia soon after daybreak.

5th July.—Saw the Ducal Palace, the equestrian statue, Cathedral, and St. Augustin. Alberoni was a native of this city. Crossed the Po at the gates of the town. Very near meeting with an ugly accident in getting out of the boat; the banks were steep, the mud very deep, the carriage rolled considerably back into the water. Our cook we were obliged to pass as a Swiss, Frenchmen being refused admittance into the Milanese. Rice plantations and deep sands to Lodi. Arrived at Milan at 12 o’clock. The Palmerstons, Sir Benjamin Thompson,[69] and Sir C. Blagden here.

Saturday, 6th.—The heat unbearable; close suffocating feel, like a hot day in England. Miss Carter and Sir Benjamin dined with me. After dinner, instead of the custom of the country to take the siesta, I took a long-winded discourse from Sir Benjamin upon politics, happiness, morality, etc. He thinks Dumouriez was bribed by the Austrians throughout his career. Saw my old acquaintance Csse. Maxe. Her present cavaliere servente is her husband’s brother, and her husband is the bon ami of his elder brother’s wife, the Marchesina di Litta. One must learn not to stare at these connections in Italy; they are not uncommon.

7th July, Sunday.—Left Milan at 10 o’clock. We intend, if the Grand St. Bernard is free of snow and French, to cross it, and get by that route into Switzerland. Crossed the Ticino at Buffalora; it was very low compared to the floods of last year. Found letters pressing us to stop at Château de Masin in the valley of D’Aost on our way to the mountain. We shall there find the Trevors, T. P., and Swinburne. We slept at Vercelli, for though it was not late when we arrived, yet it was too far to Masin to attempt to reach it by their supper hour.

8th.—Set off at 4 o’clock in the morning, changed horses at Germano, and those horses conveyed us hither. This antique structure is a baronial castle upon the summit of a high, isolated rock, overlooking a rich plain in which the Dora Baltea meanders fantastically. To the north is the entrance into the valley D’Aost, backed by the Alps, among which is St. Bernard. To the east the Plain of Lombardy, with a distant view of Milan. Villages, towns, lakes, rivers, hills, and all the beauties of nature and art may be discovered from the lofty towers of this venerable abode. This castle has undergone many sieges from the French; before the introduction of gunpowder it was impregnable, and even since its use it has held out. In 1554 Maréchal de Biron received just under my bedchamber window the wound which made him a cripple for life. The old walls in many places are loaded with the cannon balls which have been poured by volleys into them. The room we dine in is vaulted and bomb proof; the ceiling and cornices are decorated by the arms of Masin quartered with those of the greatest families. I saw those of Austria in several escutcheons.

CHÂTEAU DE MASIN

The Count Masin is a well-bred man of a certain age, hospitable, and doing with dignity the honours of his house, where plenty and luxury are united. He is proud of his high descent and alliances. He showed me amongst the armorial bearings a stirrup with the motto ‘Ferme toi.’ An ancestor of his in battle lost all his weapons, desperate he took his stirrups and assaulted his antagonist, and his sovereign Lord in honour of the achievement allowed him to take the quartering as an emblem of his courage.

In the evening we drove about the alleys; high, clipped hedges on each side defended us from the evening breeze, which in this high spot is more than a breeze generally, but was this evening insufferably hot, more from a stagnation in the air than from the positive degree of heat. The doubts increase about the passage of the St. Bernard; at all events we intend going to Aost. In the evening the letters from Turin arrived. I had a letter from Ld. Henry,[70] and he writes out of spirits; complains of solitude. He dislikes his appointment to Stockholm. A courier saw Mayence in flames on the 27th June; if it has fallen it will facilitate our journey up the Rhine.

We retired early to our rooms. My apartment was curious and magnificent. It consisted of a bedroom, a dressing-room, a receiving-room, besides accommodation near for my valet-de-chambre and my maid. The bedroom is a bastion, which makes inside a delightful circular room; a balcony goes round it, and from the spot where I was this minute, from it down to the fosse, is upwards of 100 feet. A private door opens upon a spiral staircase, which carries one to the porte-de-secours. I dismissed my maid, and sat me down to write, read, and think. The wind rose and made a most furious noise in my chimney, and in the vaulted rooms beneath. I could not help thinking that if an ancestor of Masin’s were to appear and tell me some horrid tale of his unburied bones rotting in a dungeon in the towers of the castle, a more hideous noise and crash would not usher him in than what I have heard. In the midst of this reflection I perceived upon the large glass on the left of me, and which stands opposite to the doors of a long suite of apartments, all open, a glimmering light, and I heard at the same moment a noise from the rooms. I am no coward with respect to supernatural appearances, but I was out of spirits, and the solitude of my situation apart from the rest of the family contributed at that moment to give me a qualm. I looked at the glass, and perceived the light stronger and some white drapery flowing behind it. Pour le coup I trembled and hid my face. A minute brought Swinburne with a night taper, in his dressing gown, to my sight. I laughed at my fears. He came from Mrs. Trevor, who was ill, to get some camphor julep from me. I locked my door and was courageous enough to go to bed without rousing anybody.

Tuesday, 9th.—We were to have gone this morning, but our journey is deferred. Passed the day pleasantly enough. Trevor went to Turin to meet General Grenville. Mrs. Trevor crosses the mountain. We shall, if it is possible for any of us to go across.

VAL D’AOST

How much I detest the prospect of a residence in England, even though it be but for a few weeks; country, climate, manners, everything is odious to me. Il faudra se résoudre à souffrir. Patience, pazienza. Left the hospitable castle early in the morning. We descended the steep hill, upon which rises majestically the castle, into the plain towards Ivrea, an ancient fortified town distant only five miles from Masin. The walls are now repairing, and the whole is getting into a state of defence with the utmost expedition. The King of Sardinia is now making a progress through this part of his dominions. This costs him 25,000l. in useless pomp, and he receives a subsidy from England of 200,000l. To the right a castle, very picturesque in its situation, called Mont’alto; the hill upon which it stands is composed of calcareous earth from whence the lime used in the country is drawn.

We entered the Val d’Aost at a narrow pass at the Pont St. Martin, an old bridge across the Dora. The weather was delicious, the change of the climate very perceptible already. We dined at Donnaz, a small village placed in an excavation of the rock, supposed by some to be a work of the Romans. Our whole party met at dinner. Trevor defers his return to Turin until he has seen us all well over the mountain, as his interposition may be necessary to get us mules. Fort le Bard, about half a mile from Donnaz, a strong mountain pass, assisted by art. Nature has given it a rapid river and mountains; Vauban, ramparts and cannon. The mode of training the vines is singular. They are trailed upon a treillage horizontally placed upon stone pillars; they are from 4 to 5 feet and even higher from the ground. It is admirably adapted for catching the warmth of the sun. The valley is at the widest half a mile, but it is generally narrower. The oxen are very fine, and the manner of yoking them is very picturesque. We went on six miles beyond where their party slept to Chatillon, where M. Regis gave us very good accommodation in his house, and his company. He is a friend of Masin, or rather a dependant. On the road I got out at Monjovet, celebrated for fine steatites and garnets imbedded in quartz; I obtained a few specimens.

The Piedmontese army are upon the Petit St. Bernard; the French are at the foot of it by the Isère. Each army has not more than 3000 men. The troops are very sickly, the hardships they have encountered are incredible; the barracks are absolutely upon the top of the mountain, a post which is not much benefited by the climate of August. Numbers are in the hospital at Aost, and we are alarmed by hearing of an epidemical disorder being among them.

Thursday.—Though the Trevors were six miles behind me, they were diligent enough to pass me before even I was out of my bed. The road from Chatillon lies by the Dora. The Dora Baltea is a rapid torrent, which runs into the Po near Turin. The Isère rises on the French side of the mountain, and finds its way into the Rhône. The Dora comes raving with great impetuosity and swiftness—a just emblem of time, that rushes forward and never is retarded. It gave me the vapours to think of the many misspent hours I have irretrievably lost. Half my time is spent in making resolutions to amend, but the precious moments escape when to begin, for as some ancient poet says, ‘He that leaves for to-morrow that may be done to-day is like the countryman waiting upon the banks of the river to cross when the waters have run by and left it dry.’ About five miles before we reached Aost we caught a magnificent view of Mont Blanc; the whiteness of it was dazzling.

MT. ST. BERNARD

Aost or the Cité, as it is called here, is an ugly town. We are lodged at the Baron d’Aviso’s. I have this instant heard that the distemper is contagious, and that the master of this house is dying of the epidemical fever. The intelligence is not pleasant, but I rejoice at my children being out of the way. I am kept up from the melancholy that surrounds me; the bell never ceases its doleful knell of death, the muffled drums announce under my window a funeral, and the stir in the room below where I sleep is a proof that the poor invalid is still alive, though probably in anguish. We are advised against going out of the house, a precaution that probably is very necessary. Mrs. Trevor fears we may be obliged to pass another day here.

Friday.—The whole morning in making arrangements about mules; at last the Commandant gave an order, and we have obtained some. The price they ask is exorbitant, 70 louis for our carriages, both of which are very light—one at least is. I have stolen some of the Baron’s specimens of minerals; my conscience smites me almost for the plunder. At six in the evening we set off for St. Remy. My journey there was not pleasant as to my monture, for my own saddle was broken, and I was, after shifting from pack saddles, etc., obliged to submit to be chucked upon a sack of wheat on a bête-de-somme. The muleteer considered me as a bale of goods entrusted to his care to convey without damage, and so far thought of me, but not the least as to my ease or comfort. As much as I could see of the scenery by daylight very beautiful. La Cluse very pretty, but we did not reach St. Remy till twelve o’clock, all tired and cold, and such an inn! But it did shelter us from the bleak wind, and that was a point gained.

We set off at half-past five o’clock to cross the famous mountain of St. Bernard. It has only been used by travellers since the Mont Cenis has been shut up by the neighbourhood of the French. I went in a chaise à porteurs. Our carriages were dismounted and placed by piecemeal on mules. We began ascending from St. Remy. The mountains are from their base bare and without much vegetation, the road so embarrassed with snow that I thought it impracticable for the mules to bring the carriage. Just above St. Remy there is a forest of larches, which the inhabitants preserve with the most religious care, as their own safety is interested in its preservation, for it protects them from the avalanches or chûte des neiges, so fatal in these countries. The path is very narrow and rugged; here and there immense blocks of granite intercept the passage, difficult to be clambered over, but no precipices to terrify and make the head giddy. Little torrents running down like cascades, the snow in many places very soft, yielding readily to the pressure of the men’s feet.

In about three hours from St. Remy I reached the Convent. The plain on which it stands is about two acres in extent; a black-looking lake adjoining it was frozen. Eternal snows surround this peaceful, melancholy dwelling, but the warmest charity issues from the bosom of its inmates. Distress is claim enough to rouse them to every action of spirited humanity. On a rock close to the lake stood a temple to Jupiter, dedicated, some say, by Hannibal in his passage across the mountain. Numbers of ex-voto are found here, a proof that it was considered as a perilous pass by the ancients. It is the highest habitation in the old world. It is 1246 toises[71] above the level of the sea. A strong sense of active benevolence can alone induce men to abandon the charms of the habitable world for this triste séjour. The clavandier or steward of the Convent offered us every refreshment. I accepted willingly some strong wine, and wrapped myself in eiderdown for a couple of hours. The fine dogs known for their sagacity in seeking the bewildered traveller lost under a mass of snow were not at home; they were ranging over the mountain.

MT. ST. BERNARD

I turned my back on Italy with regret. The men carried me backwards down the mountain. The snow on this side very deep, and they waded through it with great labour; they often fell, but I was neither hurt nor frightened. My intrepidity is more owing to an indifference about life than to natural courage. I have nothing to love, so life is not to me invaluable. Half-way we stopped to look at the melancholy receptacle for the bodies of those who perish on the mountains. There is only one body; it has been exposed for a year, but the rarefaction of the air was such that the putrefaction has not commenced. It was shrivelled, but the features were perfectly distinguishable. The sun set. We reached St. Pierre, a small village dependent on the monastery we had just quitted. I lodged in the house of a curé at Liddès, where I slept, who had formerly been a monk in the upper region, but growing infirm he was rewarded with half-freezing. He said he lived a happier life among the community than in solitude. The small house he has is pretty and fantastically covered with some creeping plant over the walls. Early in the morning I was awakened by the melody of the birds and the fragrance of the plants; the sun shone into my bed by 5 o’clock.

On the 14th, early in the morning, I set off. The carriages were put upon the wheels, but the baggage was conveyed on mules. The roads exceed anything I ever beheld in point of danger. A narrow corniche without a garde-fou, upon the brink of a precipice of many hundred feet; in some places I am sure the fall would have been 1500 perpendicular feet.

The Drance gushes with the violence and noise of a torrent in the valley. Orsières is the first village; the houses are made of wood with immense high treillages to dry beans upon them. The next village was Sembrancher; about half a mile on this side of it the view is delicious—I was quite enraptured. We got close to the Drance, whose roar whitened its waters. We crossed it frequently; one of the bridges was very old and weak; they persuaded me to get out and walk over it. The valley is evidently opened by violence, as the angles of the mountains on each side correspond exactly. The sublimity of the scenery among these mountains inspires one with a notion of the grandeur of our world, but this thought is still dissipated on a starlight night, for then we behold what a speck we are in the creation—a twinkling orb like them.

We dined at Martigny, the capital of the Valois, a dirty town abounding in loathsome objects, crétins and bugs. The much celebrated cascade of the Pisse Vache was in full beauty, but even so it is much inferior to Tivoli and Terni. The Rhône is very fine and the adjacent country beautiful; we crossed it over an old Roman Bridge at St. Maurice. Just on this side of the bridge the Berne bear announced our arrival into its territory.

Upon my coming into Bex I met Prince Hatzfeldt and my tiresome Scotch lover, Mr. Douglas. We supped together at the inn, where I had a pretty terrace to walk upon out of my bedroom.

Early in the morning, Tuesday, 16th, I set off in a char-a-bande [sic] to see the salines of Bex. My compagnon de voyage was, as usual, ill-disposed and sulky, and spared me the torment of his company. I went into a subterranean gallery perforated for 3000 feet under the mountain; the smell of the lamps made me sick, and I was obliged to return without seeing the cylinder which is the film (?) of rock salt. The salt springs are fully impregnated with the saline matter.

LOST FRIENDS

Left Bex at one o’clock. Dined at Vevey. Hodges came out to meet us; he brought me a packet of letters. My father continues ill, but less dangerously so than by my former letters. The last time I was in Vevey the Guiches dined with us in a pavilion belonging to the Count St. Leger. Ludlow’s[72] house is on the skirts of the town; the little rampart round it formerly planted with swivels is still to be seen. He lived in perpetual dread of being taken by the Royalist party; he was often fired at. I felt melancholy at the sight of Lausanne now, deserted by all the cheerful band who had assisted in making me pass cheerfully some of the pleasantest hours of my uncomfortable life. Gibbon’s house is abandoned; he is in England. Poor Ly. Sheffield’s apartment will never again contain her; she is no more. Mde. de Juigné is again no more. All my friends are living in obscure poverty, or have fallen in the field of battle. The English here are the Cholmondeleys, the old Duchess of Ancaster, Ld. Morpeth, his friend who travels with him, and various other English, and the son of an Irish bishop.

The events in Paris are still disgusting and bloody. Biron[73] is impeached; the charge is having conducted the war with insouciance. Those who know him say his disposition is to do everything so, but he is humane and gentlemanlike. He preserved all Lady Rivers’ goods, etc., when he entered Nice. Lord Beauchamp, now Lord Yarmouth,[74] is at Frankfort upon some political mission; hopes are entertained that it is to adjust a general Congress for the termination of these horrid scenes. Ld. Porchester is made an earl, as a reward for deserting Mr. Fox, whose party is breaking up apace; some quit him from opinion, but most for the loaves and fishes which are promised to them for their desertion. Mr. Fox’s debts are to be paid by a subscription among his friends; he is to have an annuity of 3000l. per annum. As he is not popular, people think it a mean transaction, but formerly it was proposed as an honourable one. Ld. Cholmondeley tells me that party runs very high in England, disgustingly so.

I have heard that my dear children are well; Lady Shelley has written me a satisfactory account of them. I went to Mde. Cerjat’s. She is very unhappy about her sons; one is besieging Valenciennes. From her gardens we saw across the lake to Evian, where the detested tricolor flag is flying on the tree of liberty; we heard the drums distinctly.

18th, Thursday.—A small dinner at home, Hodges, etc. In the evening I went to the poor Duchess’s, who has not, I fear, many weeks to languish. Lord Morpeth[75] is clever, very handsome, and very captivating. I see the Cholmondeleys[76] are trying to catch him for Miss L.; he appears indisposed to the project. He is evidently le mieux possible with Mde. A. If I were addicted to coquetry I believe I could easily become her rival, but I never possessed a particle of the vanity necessary to such a character, nor is there anything in my eyes flattering in such proceedings. A pretty young woman is always sure of as many lovers as she chooses, but to me there would be more humiliation than glory in such a train.

MARAT’S DEATH

I dined at the Cholmondeleys; went to Casanova’s ball, and amused myself the few days I passed at Lausanne. Marat has been assassinated by a young woman of the name of Charlotte Corday. She obtained admittance whilst he was in the bath and pleaded for some of the deputies, who are in prison; she approached him, drew a poniard, and stabbed him to the heart. She was immediately seized, and the Convention are employed in devising new tortures for her. This death will occasion some change in their measures, as Marat was an intrepid villain who had attached a party to himself.

The news from Valenciennes is dreadful: in an escalade attempted by the allies 6000 men perished.[77]

La Fayette is still at Magdebourg.[78] His confinement seems both hard and unjust. The following lines are written by Lord Camelford:—

D’un fanatisme aveugle oser braver la ménace,

De ses vils oppresseurs oser punir l’audace,

Oser aimer son Roi, vouloir briser ses fers,

Protéger l’innocence, et dompter les pervers;

Au noirceur de l’intrigue opposer le courage,

La constance à la mort, le mépris à l’outrage.

Favras, ce sont là des crimes aujourd’hui,

Le supplice est pour toi, et le laurier pour lui!

Pour ce pâle tribun, le tyran et l’esclave,

Le chef et le jouet du parti qui le brave.

Conspirateur hardi, timide pour le bien,

Étouffant les remords qui germent dans son sein.

Ce Cromwell sans talents, ce Brutus de la Foire,

Qui par ses crimes au moins se consigne à l’histoire,

Qui sait fouler aux pieds les autels et les lois,

Ensanglanter le trône et le lit de ses Rois;

Par de lâches complots accabler l’innocence.

Ce sont là de nos jours les vertus de la France.

Poor La Fayette, it overdoes his errors. I believe he was compelled to go beyond his wishes, for as Dr. Johnson somewhere says, ‘However faction finds a man, it seldom leaves him honest.’

Dumouriez[79] went to England; immediately upon his arrival he informed Ld. Grenville, and begged to know whether he might be permitted to remain. Ld. G. told him he applied to the wrong person, as Mr. Dundas was the proper one to address, but he would venture to assure him permission would not be granted, and implied the sooner he went the better.

I was extremely irritated to find a few miles from Lausanne that Mr. Douglas had followed me. I knew that a timely check might rid me of his company for the journey. I therefore stopped the carriage, spoke to him with cold civility, and gave him a message to Ly. C., as I would not allow him to suppose I could imagine that he meant to join me in travelling. He looked embarrassed, took the rebuff, and returned back.

The Convention have satisfied themselves with ye guillotine for Charlotte Corday. She behaved with the utmost intrepidity to the last sad scene. Women have appeared at the Bar of the Convention begging their infants might take the name of Marat, adding that they renounced any other évangile than his works, all creeds but the Constitution! Great reports of the success of the Royalist army; it is said to be within sixteen leagues of Paris, but I confess, for one, that I am incredulous, as the stories about it vary so much. Nantes was in counter-revolution for thirty-six hours; Lyons is hostile to the Convention, but the inhabitants are arrant Republicans. I believe General Ferraris will defeat my wish of seeing the siege of Valenciennes, as he will take it before I get thither.

STATE OF FRANCE

Slept at Avenches. There is a curious mosaic pavement, a vestige of it belonging to the Romans. Ld. Northampton[80] has lived here for fifteen years. The old town stood a mile further eastward. Some inscriptions besides the tesselated pavement still remain, but the corroding effect of time, and the still more destructive hand of man, have left little to prove its former splendour.

24th July.—Set off at half-past seven o’clock. Just before we entered the town of Morat we passed the chapel which contains the bones of the Burgundians who fell on this spot in 1476; which finally closed the long contests between the Swiss and the Duke of Burgundy. The awful sight of these remains at once raises melancholy and pleasing thoughts, for here were doomed to fall by the folly of a tyrant several thousands of our species, and here also the courage arising from a true spirit of liberty secured the independence of this country.

Charles the Bold was defeated at Grandson and at Morat. At this place he lost the famous diamond, known since by the name of the Sancy diamond. It was found on the field of battle by a Swiss soldier, who sold it to a priest for a florin, who sold it again for half a crown. It then fell into the hands of Antony, King of Portugal, and from him the Baron of Sancy obtained it. This diamond afterwards served as a pledge for a sum of money lent by the Swiss to Henry III. of France.[81]

We came here (Berne) at about two o’clock. This is the neatest, dullest, coldest town I ever knew. I am sitting in a south room on the 24th of July, and I protest I am half frozen. This is the capital of the canton, and is a far more magnificent city than might be expected in a territory whose extent does not exceed much an English county. It is situated on a hill, round which the Aar winds its course, and protects the town from sudden surprise: it might easily be destroyed by a bombardment from the surrounding hills that command it. The streets are wide, clean, and well paved. The houses, like those in dear, dear Italy, built on arcades, an admirable convenience for the foot passengers in the rains of winter or the heats of summer. I think it must fill the mind of a true John Bull with envy to see the town of a province like this, or a small capital like Turin, surrounded with public walks, extensive avenues, and magnificent approaches, whilst their own metropolis can be approached only by shabby, narrow turnpike roads. Ld. and Ly. Robert Fitzgerald live in the faubourgs; I shall call upon them, and then pay my respects to the bears. I suffer pain from the intense cold.

Leaving Berne at 9 o’clock on Thursday, July 25, the travellers took the road to Hindelbank. Of the country Lady Webster records:—

The soil continues the same; hills covered with firs and forest trees, rich pasture, clean farming. As wood is more plentiful than stone, houses are principally built of it; the projecting roofs are useful for barns and outhouses, but for habitations of human creatures they must be unwholesome by excluding the rays of the sun, and confining the smoke of the wood fires. Every step that approaches me to England lowers my spirits. Oh! how I abhor the thoughts of living in that country. No friends, few relations!

THE SWISS CHARACTER

We slept at a little village the name of which I cannot write. Set off at an early hour. The small Swiss inns are delightful, so convenient, so well furnished with excellent provisions. The people are passively civil, which is all one requires; they have neither the cold neglect of a French inn, the indifference and clamour of an Italian one, or the insupportable officiousness of an English one. The Swiss have more junketing parties than any other people. Arrive at any hour, day or night, and one finds the inns crammed and the people stuffing their bellies.

We dined at Lutzburgh;[82] at the top of an isolated hill there is an old castle, which commands the town. This route is better calculated to please the farmer and the quiet landscape painter than the mineralogist or poet. The country is flat and rich, and the scenes are pleasing and tranquil: not a study for the pencil of a Salvator. About a mile from Lutzburgh we entered the canton of Lucerne. The line of demarcation between the Catholic and Protestant canton is more strongly marked by the manners and habitations of the peasants, than by any fictitious boundary prescribed by law. Poverty, dirt, and misery are the visible attendants of the former, a manifest and glaring contrast to the characteristics of the latter, where wealth, cleanliness and ease abounds. The politician must explain the causes of this melancholy difference between the adjoining countries.

The road led past Mellingen to Baden, where they passed the night. ‘M. Barthelémy, formerly Secretary to the Embassy in London and now Minister from France to the Swiss Cantons, resides at this melancholy place.’

On July 27th they crossed the Rhine at Kaiserstuhl and went on to Laufen.

Sunday, 28th.—Schaffhausen is a melancholy, triste town. The tinkling of the bells of the church close to my room and the abominable psalmody distracted my ears and shattered my nerves. I got up many hours sooner than I intended, as rest was unattainable. I like rather the bells of convents; there is something cheerful in Catholicism, but these dull Protestants make religion frightful in their way of following it. The nasal melody of these devout Schaffhauseners, who are at this moment screaming themselves hoarse to chant the praises of God, would have met with little mercy if the heathen mythology were in force, as Apollo would have dispatched their discordant souls to the regions below. We went to the proper place to see the famous cataracts; they are tremendous, the noise is more powerful than artillery could make, I believe. I think the fall is about 100 feet. The river does not recover its stillness for some time after the chute ruffles its waters.

RIVAL STREAMS

Monday, 29th.—Set off at 5 o’clock, and bid adieu to the clean cottages and bold, craggy mountains of Switzerland. We were advised against the Basle road, as it approaches so very near the French frontier that we might unwillingly have seen some skirmishes. Here the dwellings of the inhabitants resemble those of Lincolnshire, mud walls, and the inhabitants as filthy as the ground they tread on. The circle of Swabia is reckoned to be a fertile and well-cultivated country and its population proves that its peasantry are well fed. The hills are well covered with fir and oak, the remains of the old Hercynian Forest that once overspread this part of Germany from the Danube to the Rhine. The wild boar and the wolf are the only savage animals that inhabit these regions. The clearing of the forest has very much influenced the climate of Italy; Kirwan thinks by its destruction Lombardy is become warmer. We crossed a ridge of sand hills; on the top of them I observed the rills of water to run in different directions, forming small rivulets to the north and south sides. These continue their course from their original direction. A lively imagination might fancy their lamentations at the impossibility of their ever meeting again in their native country. ‘I go,’ says the northern drop, ‘to join the slow-flowing Danube, and quench the thirst of the heavy-paced, mechanical German, the proud, independent, but crushed Hungarian, and the lazy, ignorant, slavish Turk. In my way I shall wash the walls of Vienna, Presburg, and Belgrade, and then in company with the waters of Poland and of Russia will try to live in harmony with the waters of the Euxine Sea.’ ‘And I,’ says the merry southern drop, ‘will rush on to the rapid Rhine, wash the coast of the brave and hardy Swiss, will then avoid the once cheerful Frenchmen, and frisk down to the North Sea,’ and, if he is of my mind, will avoid the chalky coast of England.

Arrived at midnight at Pallingen; I slept in a billiard room, a meuble neither ornamental, comfortable, nor useful.

Tuesday, 30th.—Hechingen, the first post from where we slept, the seat of the King of Prussia’s family, the Counts of Hohenzollern. They possess a small principality, the revenues of which are 7000l. per annum, yet the great Frederick was descended from a younger branch of this petty prince. A lively Frenchman said, ‘Parbleu, voilà un cadet qui a fait fortune.’ The castle stands upon a high and steep hill. They tell a story of one of its princes seeing from its terrace the rich country of Würtemberg, and saying, ‘What an addition would the petit canton of Würtemberg be to the territory of Hohenzollern.’ We dined there. Just entering Tübingen the country pretty: woods inclining to a valley, watered by a little rill. Tübingen appears to have been new built, but still in that terrible taste which prevails all over Lower Germany. Black beams placed crossways and the interstices filled up with plaster, high roofs, gable ends, and two or three stories of garret windows in the roof; the whole gives a mean appearance and disfigures a town as much as the style of English architecture, though this has the superiority, as the houses have the advantage of being spacious. A filthy, disgusting practice prevails here, that of placing the dunghills precisely in front of their houses. In the towns they are in a line with the bench before the house, on which they sit smoking and regaling themselves after dinner; in the villages, they are in the middle of the streets, and it requires some skill in the postillions to steer safely between them. Beyond Tübingen a noble forest of immense extent, part of the Hercynian; it is full of fine oaks. I cannot make myself in the least understood in the language of which Pope says:—

Language which Boreas might to Auster hold,

More rough than forty Germans when they scold.

I cannot connect two words so as to form the simplest sentence. We reached Stuttgart at 12 o’clock at night.

Lord Mulgrave passed in his way to Milan: some official business carries him. Custine is sent to the Abbey [sic], which is the first step towards the scaffold.[83] Mayence fell on ye 25th.

31st July.—A Scotch gentleman of the name of Stuart, brother to Mrs. Hippisley, showed me everything to be seen. The Academy, a noble institution for young military. The Duke[84] was very extravagant formerly, but he has adopted many salutary reforms. The palace is very grand: it was made in his days of splendour. He has now abandoned this place and Louisbourg[85] and lives totally at Hohenheim, a château upon which he has also spent immense sums. His cruelty is checked by his Duchess, a good woman; but his marriage with her was a mésalliance.