Chapter XI (3)

7th.—Yesterday, Sir Henry Halford called and told me that when Lords Aylesbury, Winchilsea, and the Archbishop of Canterbury came to propose John Willis, the Queen, by the advice of the Prince, to whom she sent at Sir Henry’s request, answered that she and all the family had taken a solemn oath by which they promised the King that they never would admit J. Willis to attend him again, and that from the information given in 1804, during his Majesty’s last illness, the Privy Council had declared that the King’s objections were not without a foundation, in consequence of which the then Ministers (Lord Sidmouth’s Administration) had sent Simmons, a new person. Her Majesty, however, to prove that she had no personal prejudice against J. Willis, and did not wish to exclude any advice which might be supposed beneficial to the King, consented that a consultation might be held, at which J. Willis, with the addition of Drs. Simmons and Munro, might be present. This was held at Sir H. Halford’s, and last night the answers were given. Princess Mary told me this morning they only recommended acting as circumstances might require, and suggested nothing new. The King was dreadfully ill last night; and Willis even said they never attended one so ill, except a gentleman who died within forty-eight hours after. Yesterday, amidst much incoherent matter, he said, on a sudden: “The King is dying;” but then went on to other ravings. This was told me last night by Miss Goldsworthy. He is grown exceedingly thin, and scarcely takes any nourishment.

14th.—The King has been nearly in the same state in which he was a week ago. He takes more nourishment, but his mind is in as bad a state as ever; and the worse the more food he takes. The Queen’s Council answered that for _the present_ they would not insist on J. Willis being admitted. They seem to have a notion of a right to _more_ than giving _advice_. The Prince spent his birthday (the 12th) here. He came the day before, and stayed till the 13th. He rode out with Princesses Sophia and Augusta in the morning, and afterwards came to Frogmore, where the Queen was with Princesses Elizabeth and Mary, and the Duke of Clarence; and I was with her. The Duke of Cumberland came with the Prince. We sat long at luncheon, and the Prince was very attentive. The Duchess of York came to dinner, and all the Dukes were there, except the Duke of Sussex, who is ill. I was with Princess Sophia one evening, and twice with Princess Augusta. It seems the King has made no will, but it is thought he has made two or three memorandums. The Prince has informed his sisters that he means, in case of the King’s death, to have their incomes increased, and to give them apartments at St. James’s, as also to keep a table for them.

I went almost every morning to Frogmore with the Queen and Princesses Elizabeth and Mary. The Queen read Rogers’s “Pleasures of Memory” and Cowper’s “Task,” and planted little oaks and geraniums.

19th.—The King’s bodily health seems to be improved, but his mind remains in as bad a state as ever. The Queen’s Council (which seems to be very despotically inclined) insisted on bark being given him. The Prince spent the Duke of York’s birthday here, as did all the family. Was every morning with the Queen, except Saturday and Sunday, and she read Cowper’s “Task.”

26th.—The King is certainly rather better; for he sleeps, takes nourishment, is not always so violent, and sometimes talks a little rationally, at least within the last three days. Great apprehensions have been entertained for the Duke of Sussex; and, though better, he is thought to be in a very bad way. All the family met to spend the Duke of Clarence’s birthday (the 21st) here. I was with the Queen and Princesses Mary and Elizabeth most mornings at Frogmore. The Queen read Cowper and Cicero’s “Letters,” and took me with her in the little carriage, drawn by a pony.

September 3.—There seems to be little if any difference in the state of the King. On Saturday the Queen’s Council presented a petition, signed by all but Lord Winchilsea and the Bishop of York, requesting that her Majesty would send for Simmons. Her reply was that she had _promised_ the King he should neither have Simmons nor Willis. Lord Winchilsea wanted John Willis. I was every morning with the Queen and Princesses Elizabeth and Mary at Frogmore, except Saturday and Sunday. The Queen read Cicero’s “Epistles.” I was also with Princesses Augusta and Sophia.

9th.—Still the same uncomfortable state, and certainly no amendment. I was with the Queen and Princesses as usual.

Yesterday, the 8th, was the fiftieth anniversary of the Queen’s wedding-day. The Duke and Duchess of York, Duke of Clarence, and Duke of Kent, dined with her. The Prince was prevented by business: he is just returned from Lord Hertford’s.

16th.—Heberden and the other physicians quarrelling; the former thinking the King better. It does not appear that there is any improvement. I was not out much with the Queen this week. Looked over a manuscript of English history for Princess Elizabeth. Went to Princess Augusta, &c.

Nothing very remarkable happened here in the last three months of 1811. The King rather recovered his bodily health, but his mind remained the same. No one allowed to speak to him but John Willis. The Queen began to have small parties in her own drawing-room, consisting of the ladies and gentlemen in waiting, on the week-days; on the Sundays only her lady of the bedchamber and myself. On Christmas evening the Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Walsingham. The Prince fell down at Oatlands, and hurt his foot and hand, which confined him a long while, and he took too much laudanum.

[1812.]

On the 18th of February the Regency Act expired, and the Prince of Wales became unfettered by Parliament, but continued the same Ministers in office, and only wrote a letter to the Duke of York, desiring he would offer to Lord Grey to join this Administration, and to communicate the same to Lord Grenville. They refused to join, and those of his former friends to whom the vacant Garters were offered, refused them, as they did all places and honours. Lord Cholmondeley alone accepted a place. Lord Hertford was made Chamberlain; and his son, Lord Yarmouth, Vice-Chamberlain. Scandal very busy about the Prince and Lady Hertford. Ten thousand pounds a year was added by Parliament to the Queen’s income, and 3000_l._ to each of the Princesses, on which they were to have an establishment of their own. They appointed one lady each: Princess Augusta, Miss C. Onslow, getting for her the title of Lady; Princess Elizabeth, the Dowager Lady Rosslyn; Princess Mary, Lady Isabella Thynne; and Princess Sophia, Lady Mary Powlett. They at the same time announced to the Queen their intention of sometimes making visits to their brothers. They also took servants, and ordered carriages for themselves. The Queen began to see a little more company, but only those belonging to her, or very intimate friends. I asked leave to go to Town, and into Essex and Suffolk for seven weeks, to return for the Queen’s birthday. I went on Monday, the 30th of March, and stayed a week in Town, four days with Lady Nepean, at Fulham, and on the 10th went to Lord St. Vincent’s, at Rochetts, where I dined and slept that night. The next day I went on to Harwich (dining at Colchester), and stayed two days at Mrs. Deane’s, at Harwich. I went from thence on the 14th to Dr. Norgate’s, at Ashfield, in Suffolk, and stayed a week there. On the 21st I went to Bury, where I dined at Miss Norgate’s, and from thence came to Halsted, and slept at Mrs. Urquhart’s. Next day arrived at Rochetts, and stayed there till the 9th of May, when I came to Town. On the 11th, Bellingham shot Mr. Perceval. I returned to Windsor on the 18th, and on the following evening was at the Queen’s party. Princess Charlotte of Wales, the Duchess of York, and Princess Sophia of Gloucester there.

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ANECDOTES.

[THE following anecdotes are selected from a large number, recorded by Miss Knight mostly at the end of her journals. They were either written from her own personal knowledge, or picked up by her in society, and set down at the time in her note-books. They are of unequal interest, and if not all new, are, at all events, authentic.]

* * * * *

Mr. Boswell being asked by Burke why he put so many absurdities into his Life of Dr. Johnson, replied: “You, sir, have been guilty of greater absurdities.” The other defied him to point them out. “Do you remember,” asked Boswell, “when you said in Parliament, ‘We have the best of Kings and the most grateful people?’” Burke replied, “You have reason.”

* * * * *

Boswell was asked by the King how he would ever get through his work on Dr. Johnson. “Sire,” said he, “I have a more difficult task than that—how to call the unfortunate grandson of James II., whose adventures in Scotland I propose to narrate.” “Why,” replied the King, “call him the unfortunate grandson of James II.”[126]

* * * * *

Mrs. Piozzi says she has been punished, like a vagabond, by hard labour and a month’s confinement; and nine times in her life she has suffered the same fate.

* * * * *

Lord Nelson says, that when he was seventeen years of age, he won 300_l._ at a gaming-table; but he was so shocked on reflecting that, had he lost them, he should not have known how to pay them, that from that time to this he has never played again.

* * * * *

When Admiral Nelson’s arm was cut off, the surgeon asked if he should not embalm it, to send it to England to be buried; but he said, “Throw it into the hammock with the brave fellow that was killed beside me”—a common seaman.

* * * * *

As we were going in the Admiral’s barge the other day, looking at the ships and talking of the victory (of the Nile), Sir William Hamilton could not be pacified for the French calling it a drawn battle: “Nay, it was a drawn battle,” said the Admiral, “for they drew the blanks and we the prizes.”

* * * * *

The Queen of Naples desired to have a portrait of Nelson. Little Prince Leopold said he would get a copy, and stand continually opposite to it, saying, “Dear Nelson, teach me to become like you.”

* * * * *

Captain Troubridge wrote to condole with Captain Darby, of the _Bellerophon_, for his wounds and the number of people killed in his ship; but added, that had his sufferings been fifty times as much, _he_ had rather have been in his place than have borne the anguish he felt from running aground and being kept out of the action; that he had found great difficulty in keeping from shooting himself; and that he even then frequently shed tears. Captain Darby and Captain Gould, who was present when he received the letter, both wept.

* * * * *

The estate of Bronté, near Mount Etna, so called from one of the Cyclops, was given by the King to Lord Nelson. It is a Dukedom, with estates valued at between two and three thousand pounds sterling per annum. His Majesty also presented him with a sword set with diamonds which had belonged to his father, the King of Spain, accompanied by a letter, saying, that as this was the sword with which his father had conquered Naples, it ought to belong to Lord Nelson, who had recovered that kingdom. Every officer who came in with good news received a present from the Queen, of greater or less value, according to the circumstances and his rank in our service. She also gave some very valuable jewels to Lady Hamilton. The Order of St. Ferdinand was instituted by the King for the recovery of his Italian States, and crosses were bestowed upon our officers, and upon the Neapolitan Ministers, and others attached to the Court who had followed the Royal Family to Palermo. A Neapolitan one day remarked that this Order had not been conferred on a single Sicilian. A gentleman of the island being present, and thinking this was said in an invidious manner, replied, “His Majesty is perfectly right to give his new Order to the few Neapolitans who have remained faithful. Had he given it to us, it must have been to every inhabitant of the island, for all have been true to him.” The Sicilians certainly did show great loyalty, and were delighted with the presence of their sovereign, but it must also be remembered that they had a deep-rooted and hereditary dislike to the French. They always spoke with pride of the Sicilian Vespers, and would at any time have been ready to repeat them. Similar feelings prevailed in Sardinia and Malta, without any historical motive, but there is an independence in the character of islanders which is not easily overcome, unless biased by commercial speculations.

* * * * *

The Turkish squadron, commanded by Cadir Bey, came to Palermo (1799), with two other ships of the line beside his own, under the orders of a Vice and a Rear-Admiral, and a frigate called the _Eagle of the Sea_, the Captain of which was a young man related to the Grand Seignior, whom the Turks called “the mad Prince,” because he was very romantic. I recollect that one day, while walking in the garden, he happened to see my little dog, which he took up in his arms, and recited some verses to it, apparently with great affection. There was a Greek, who kept a coffee-house at Palermo, and served as interpreter to the Turkish officers, but he could not exactly translate these verses, and all I could learn was that they were “extempore.” He then told me that the Prince had desired him to say that one day, as he was riding along the shore of the Bosphorus, a spirited horse threw him into the sea, when a dog jumped in after and saved him; for which reason he had imposed on himself the duty of paying a compliment in verse to those animals whenever he found a proper opportunity for so doing. A beautiful fête was given at the palace for the recovery of the kingdom of Naples, in the name of Prince Leopold, who was then about nine years of age. His tutor and the Queen made all the arrangements, and the former composed a very pretty cantata on the occasion. The Turkish Admiral went in the carriage with us; the Vice and Rear-Admirals, with the Captain of the _Eagle of the Sea_, in another, but we could not persuade the latter to put on a caftan like the others. He insisted on going in his short dress and trousers, with bare arms and ankles, declaring that it was disrespectful to appear before the Queen in “a great coat;” just as we should think it wrong to wear a shawl in the presence of their Majesties. His turban was adorned with fine jewels. His dress was of purple silk, richly embroidered with silver, and his slippers of the same colour, which exclusively belongs to members of the imperial family. His linen was remarkably fine, and beautifully washed; his trousers were equally _recherché_, and without doubt he was the model of a Constantinopolitan dandy.

After the performance of the concert there was a magnificent firework, representing the blowing up of _L’Orient_ at the battle of the Nile. The Turks were delighted with this compliment to our navy, but the Russians did not appear equally well pleased. The gardens were beautifully illuminated.

* * * * *

The Honourable Samuel Barrington, the younger son of an Irish Peer, was sent into the Navy in his extreme youth, and at an early age was made a post-captain. He was one of those very few persons who have many friends and scarcely one enemy. He was not brilliant in understanding, and his appearance was plain, but his heart was excellent. He loved his friends, was charitable and humane to an extensive circle, and constantly kind and liberal to his family.

He was a good officer, and of the right school. Not ambitious, neither was he eager after fame. He wished to do his duty, and he did it well. If he had ambition in any the slightest degree, it was to get on in the service without making use of the powerful interest of his brother, who was for many years in the Ministry; and for this purpose he endeavoured to have his ship better manned, to get under weigh sooner, be sooner out of dock, &c. &c., than other people. It is not impossible that his rank in life was often of service to him on these occasions, but it was not his intention to avail himself of that advantage. He was a father to his officers and seamen, and was so generally liked in the Navy, that it was remarked that no company of sea-officers ever met without drinking his health.

When he was an Admiral he never desired to be a commander-in-chief, for he did not like responsibility, and he was envious of no man. He spent his fortune in hospitality and acts of charity, avoiding all ostentation, not only because he had no taste for it, but because he would not hurt the feelings of his brother officers by living in a manner which those of more limited incomes could not have imitated without distressing themselves.[127] He was never violent in politics, and hatred seemed banished from his nature. I believe Admiral Barrington to have been a sincere Christian.

His conduct at Santa Lucia, both in taking the island and afterwards in defending it against the infinitely superior force of D’Estaing, was greatly applauded. In answer to the haughty letter in which the French commander exhorted him to give up a place which he could not defend against such inequality of force, he only returned him his letter, crossed over with two long scratches of his pen, and defeated him completely.

Admiral Barrington was desired by my mother to be her executor and my guardian, with the two Admirals Drake, in case she died before I was of age. But though he survived my mother, her life was mercifully spared to me for many years after that period; and he died before my return to England, after a long illness, which kept him chiefly at Bath during the last years of his existence.

* * * * *

I remember a young officer of the French Navy saying one day: “I should like to be an English Peer until I reached thirty-five. I would then be a Marshal of France till fifty, and afterwards come to Rome, be a Cardinal, and never die.” The same officer, looking at the fine picture of the “Magdalen,” by Guido, exclaimed: “Oh, what a lovely picture! I have always liked Magdalens in every stage of their existence.”

* * * * *

Signor Balbi was surprised to find that there was no Burgundy left in his cellar, when he wanted to place some before a party of friends who were dining with him at his country villa. “Ah!” said he, “it must have been that Englishman, Lord Fortrose, who has been staying here some days with my wife, that has drank it. Ah! I never thought of my wine.”

* * * * *

The Bishop of Parma said, that in that climate they had “nove mesi d’inverno, e tre d’inferno.”

* * * * *

It often happened in Genoa that, when any one was building, or repairing his house, his opposite neighbour, if he thought it so high as to be inconvenient to himself, or disagreeable for any other reason, had it fired at with musket-shot, or at least pelted with stones. This occurred, whilst we were there, to the house of Signor Negroni.

* * * * *

The Archbishop of Genoa hearing an Abbé say that the earth moved round the sun, told him he was astonished at his impiety in flatly contradicting the Scriptures, which say, “Terra autem stat.”

* * * * *

Madame de Staël, daughter of M. Necker, being at a ball with a lady, daughter of the late M. de Guichen, Lieutenant-General of the Marine, for whom she was in mourning, kept tormenting the latter to dance. The lady replied that she could not dance while she was in mourning for her father; but Madame de Staël still importuned her, until she said: “Consider, madam, if you had had the misfortune to lose your father, could you think of dancing so soon?” “Oh!” returned the other, with a haughty air, “there is such a difference between fathers and fathers.” “True, madam,” replied her companion, “there is a great difference. My father served his king and his country during sixty years—yours in a fortnight has ruined both.”

* * * * *

Two Frenchmen of the lowest order, talking of the present condition of their country as they were crossing the Rhône, one of them said it was delightful to be equal to the nobility and gentry. “True,” replied the other, “it would have been pleasant to have been upon an equality with them while they were something; but now we have brought them down and ruined them, I do not see what we have gained by being equal to them.”

* * * * *

The Princess of Monaco stayed here a few days after the Prince’s departure, in the hope that the revolution aimed at by the aristocratic party would take place. When she received an express from the Prince, she wept bitterly while she read his letter, and then immediately ordered post-horses and set off, exclaiming: “Adieu, mon palais! adieu, mes honneurs! Je ne suis plus rien.”

* * * * *

The Corsicans having lately heard that they were to be restored to Genoa, represented to the Government that, rather than be given to their former masters, they begged that France would bestow them on the person to whom Louis XI. formerly gave the Genoese. During the reign of that monarch the Genoese sent Ambassadors to his Court, with instructions to place the republic under the protection of France. “Les Gênois,” said they, “se donnent à votre Majesté.” “Et moi,” answered the King, “je les donne au diable.”

A Venetian, being asked by a German where his countrymen got their lion with wings, replied: “We caught him in the same forest where you found your two-headed eagle.”

* * * * *

Linnæus hated Buffon. He used to say that Buffon’s eloquence would mislead the world so as to make it believe his lies. One day, being at dinner with the mother of the present King of Sweden (Gustavus III.), at her country-house at Drottningholm, he saw a portrait of himself and one of Buffon in the room. He rose from table, and begged she would take away one or the other, for he would not have his portrait in such company. When very old, he used to go out herborising with several hundred students of the University of Upsal. He had a trumpet with him, by which the signal was given to call his scholars around him when he found any plant particularly curious. They also brought to him all that they had collected, which he classified and explained to them, sitting down upon the grass. He was simple in his habits and behaviour. He could speak French very well, but would not, because he hated the nation. He also spoke German, and a little English. He was much beloved. When the funeral service was performed over him, the man who had been gardener for twenty years of the botanical nursery he had established, came and strewed his grave with boughs of cypress—which Linnæus had introduced into Sweden—and with the most curious exotics in the garden.

* * * * *

The Piedmontese called all the Genoese “Bacciacini,” that being a common name at Genoa. When they met any of the inhabitants of that city in the streets of Turin, they plagued them by calling out: “Bacciacini, dom, dom, dom”—imitating the sound of the great bell for assembling the Consiglietto.

* * * * *

An Italian at Vienna was telling a lady how long he had been travelling, and pronouncing French according to the manner of his nation, he said: “J’ai été un _âne_ à Paris et un _âne_ à Rome.” “Mon cher Abbé,” replied the lady, “il paraît que vous avez été un âne partout.”

* * * * *

M. Lageswärd said, in the presence of Baron de Wrangel, that the latter had the reputation in Sweden of being very fertile in point of gallantry. “Why, no, indeed, my dear friend,” answered the Baron; “I have really been very constant; but consider, when a man has been making love near sixty-five years, how many mistresses he must necessarily have had.”

* * * * *

Signor Michel Angelo Cambiaso, who was long a prelate in Rome, said that in that city two things are eternal—the women and the friendships.

* * * * *

A few years since a Russian lady of high rank—who had escaped from her own country, either on account of her being acquainted with some circumstances relative to the death of the late Emperor (Peter III.), or because she had some right to the crown by inheritance—stayed a few months in Italy, and the Grand-Duke of Tuscany told her he would answer for her safety so long as she remained at Florence, but that he would not advise her to trust to any Russian. Count Orloff, however, became intimately acquainted with her, and paid great court to her, till at last he persuaded her to partake of an entertainment on board the Russian fleet, at that time anchored off Leghorn. Notwithstanding the advice of many persons, she went on board, and has never since been heard of. It is supposed that she was thrown into the sea. Count Orloff despatched a messenger to his imperial accomplice as soon as he had secured his prisoner.[128]

* * * * *

When Lord Bruce and Mr. Brand were at Paris, arms and liveries had been abolished about three weeks. The people came and stared at the coronet on Lord Bruce’s carriage, and at the motto, “Fuimus.” Luckily, said Mr. B., none of the Dames de la Halle understood Latin. The populace looked at the Ambassadress’s footmen in livery as the most extraordinary sight in the world, though so short a time had elapsed since they had been accustomed to see everybody’s servants dressed after that fashion.

* * * * *

Mr. B. going to make a visit at Cambridge to Prince William, son of the Duke of Gloucester, saw a fiddle on the table, and, taking it up, asked the tutor if his Royal Highness played. “Not much,” said the other; “only God save his uncle, and such little things.”

* * * * *

Signor Stefano Lassagna said the war of ’46 spoiled all the etiquette of Genoese society. Formerly the gentlemen behaved much more politely to the ladies, and he himself remembered the time when Prince Doria walked beside the chair of Madame Morando with his hat off, in a great fall of snow, though he had his own chair following behind.

* * * * *

A general reform having been instituted at Genoa in the signs of inns and taverns, no saints or foreign sovereigns were to be allowed. The man who kept the “Santa Marta” being ordered to take down that sign, put up “Albergo Imperiale” in its stead. He was then told that the Emperor did not rule in Genoa, and so he next stuck up the arms of the republic, with the motto “Libertas,” and he calls his inn “La Libertà.”

* * * * *

Prince Chigi, who was condemned to perpetual imprisonment for attempting to poison Cardinal Carandini, resided at Genoa, and went by his own name. He paid a visit to Signor Bernardo Pallavicini, brother of the Doge, and was lodged at the “Santa Marta” (La Libertà). His servants cooked for him in his own apartments. Mr. Devonport, who had rooms near his, complained of the noise of scraping pots and dishes, and was answered by the people of the house that they had made the same objections, but had been told that the Prince had hired the rooms and would cook as he pleased.

* * * * *

Signora Marina Spinola having arranged to marry her daughter to the son of Signor Dominico Serra, said she did not mention the circumstance to her till all was settled, because the young man is agreeable; but had he been ugly, she would have told her at once, to accustom her to the idea. One Sunday the bridegroom went with his father and mother and all their family, even to nephews and nieces, to visit the bride, Signora Spinola having also invited her relations to be present on the occasion. The visitors arrived about half-past five, when the young lady was to kiss the hand of her future mother-in-law, which the latter was to endeavour to prevent: however, she succeeded very dexterously in doing it. Signora Serra went away early, but left the sposo, telling Signora Spinola that he would stay till she sent him away. This puzzled Signora Spinola, but she arranged the matter with Signor Cheeco Viale, who, at half-past seven, told the young man it was time to walk home. All the time of the visit the latter sat on a sofa beside the young lady, talking to her on indifferent subjects. The next day Signora Spinola, her husband, and a friend, went to return the visit of Signora Serra, when the latter requested her to charge herself with the care of providing the marriage outfit—which is always furnished by the parents of the bridegroom—excusing herself on the plea of ill health and the absence of her daughter. She added, that she intended to spend as much as she had done for the daughter of Prince Doria, who was married to another of her sons. Signora Spinola at first demurred to spending another person’s money, but finally accepted the commission. In the contract it was to be inserted that the marriage should take place before September, and the Serra family wished it to be in June. The young man was to be dispensed from the ancient custom of watching to meet the young lady whenever she went out with her mother, and he was to be allowed now and then to visit at the house. They were to live with Signora Spinola for a year and a half, or two years, until a house could be fitted up for them.

* * * * *

The King and Queen of Naples were wonderfully pleased with Rome, though they had taken a prejudice against it. They were magnificently treated at the Pontine Marshes at the Pope’s expense. The carriage of the gold plate, provisions, &c., alone cost 150 crowns, and the dinner itself not less than 600 crowns. When General Acton met the King on the frontier, he asked if his Majesty would take any refreshment, but the King declined, saying that he had eaten enough for three days. At Rome they invented a conversation, supposed to have taken place between the Pope, the King and Queen of Naples, General Acton, and the Queen’s Confessor. The Pope says, “Io concedo tutto;” the King, “Io voglio tutto quel che vuole la Regina;” the Queen, “Io voglio tutto;” Acton, “Io rubo tutto;” the Confessor, “Io assolvo tutto;” and the Devil, in a corner of the picture, “Io porto via tutti.”

* * * * *

The marriage contract of Signora Costanza Falconieri and Count Onesti was signed on Thursday, the 31st of May. There were twenty-four Cardinals present, chiefly creations of this Pope, the four prelates in the principal charges that lead to the red hat—that is, the Governor, the Maggiordomo, the Auditore della Camera, and the Treasurer, but as the latter was already a Cardinal, he could not sign the contract, and therefore deputed Monsignor Doria to do so in his place. Twenty-two o’clock (six P.M.) was the hour, and Signora Mobilia had the candles lighted, that the ceremony might be more imposing. * * * Early on the morning of Monday, June 4, the sposa, accompanied by her mother and grandmother, &c. &c., went to the Vatican, where the Pope said mass in the Chapel Sestina. After hearing a second mass, he married his nephew and the young lady, making an exhortation twenty-two minutes in length. He began by giving good advice to the sposa, and then addressed the sposo, and afterwards himself, saying that it was in that place (the Sestine Chapel) he was first married to the Church, and lamenting the many errors he had committed since he was Pope, notwithstanding his most ardent desires for the good of the Church. There were no ladies present but those of the family, many of whom were of all conditions. After the ceremony they went down to the Maggiordomo’s apartments, where a collation had been prepared, and then proceeded to the church of San Marcello, in the Corso, to pay their devotions in the chapel of the Beata Giulia Falconieri, an ancestor of the family, and a considerable saint. They next made their devotions at the little church of the Bergamaschi, in the Piazza Colonna, and thence repaired to the house of the sposo, Palazzo Braschi, where they all remained an hour and a half, and afterwards dined at the Palazzo Falconieri. The Senatress told the sposa she gave her joy on her wedding, and also on the presents she had received. “I had not so many when I married the Pope’s nephew; but then,” added she, “_I_ did not want them.” An Abbé, standing at Count Braschi Onesti’s door when they came home from the marriage, exclaimed: “What a fine breed of horses he has brought with him from Cesena!” They were so enraged at this speech that they had him arrested and sent to prison. The Prince Borghese presented Count Onesti with a pair of fine horses. Some said that the latter asked for them, and others that he offered to buy them, but that the Prince answered they were for his own use. However, he understood the Count’s meaning, and sent them off to the Maggiordomo.

* * * * *

François Joachim de Pierre de Bernis was of an old family of gentle blood, whose hereditary estate was near Pont St. Esprit, in Languedoc. He had great taste and talent for Anacreontic poetry. His compositions were lively and elegant, but rather too highly coloured, and by no means instructive for youthful readers. It was, no doubt, the error of the times and of the nation. He was of a short stature, and I do not think that either his features or person could ever have been remarkable for beauty, and yet he was universally known in his youth as “le joli petit abbé,” and “l’aimable abbé.” His mind was very liberal, and his temper generous and disinterested, but he seems to have been always somewhat too indiscriminate, or too tolerant, in the choice of his acquaintance. His circumstances were limited, so that during his early years he was often subjected to great pecuniary embarrassments; but he was always cheerful, always the gentleman, and always well received. He established the necessary proofs of ancestry for becoming a Canon of the Noble Chapter of St. Jean de Lion, of which he wore the cross to the last day of his life, with more pleasure than any other of his numerous decorations, for the consciousness of birth made his other honours sit easy on him. He gained the favour of Madame de Pompadour by his verses and the charms of his society, for no one ever said more amiable things in fewer words, or more to the purpose. She was not, however, his only friend, or the sole cause of his promotion, as it has been often reported. A memoir he wrote on the dispute be tween the Jesuits and Parliament pleased the King (Louis XV.), and, besides, he was generally popular, and had great and powerful protectors, through whom he was sent Minister to Venice. While he was there, the husband of the beautiful Princess de Rohan died. The Princess and he had long been attached to each other, and he knew that she would propose to marry him, but he felt that he would be regarded as too much her inferior with respect to rank and fortune to make a graceful figure in the world. He therefore took priest’s orders when he heard that the Prince was so ill that the next courier might bring tidings of his death. This does not sound well; but it did not forfeit him the friendship of the Princess, for, when she died, she left him her whole fortune, which he nobly gave up to the Rohans, merely reserving for himself a ring, on which was a Moor’s head, and this he wore until his death in remembrance of her. At his return from Venice he was made Prime Minister, but was soon displaced by the Choiseul party, when he was created a Cardinal, but exiled to one of his abbeys; subsequently he was allowed to live at his archbishopric of Alby. Restored to some degree of favour when Louis XVI. ascended the throne, he was appointed Minister Plenipotentiary of His Most Christian Majesty at the Court of Rome, whither he had gone for the Conclave of Ganganelli. There he shone with the greatest splendour. His revenues were enormous, and he expended them most generously. Indeed, his liberality to his own countrymen, his hospitality to the natives and to travellers, his charity to the poor, and his beneficence to his own family, were only limited by his income. He never wished to save, but could not bear the idea of debt. His house and table were sumptuous, his conversation lively and animated, his manners polished, his expressions guarded, and his behaviour dignified and correct.

We had letters of recommendation to Cardinal de Bernis when we first went to Rome, and were intimately acquainted with him and his family, particularly with his amiable niece, the Marchioness du Puy-Montbrun, and his adopted nephew and coadjutor, M. de Bernis, who was afterwards his successor. The Cardinal was dismissed from his post at Rome, on refusing to take the oath exacted by the Revolutionists, and deprived of his benefices in France. He had a pension, however, from Spain, and received into his house at Rome, where he continued to reside, Mesdames Adelaide and Victoire, the sisters of Louis XVI. He bore his change of fortune with dignity and temper, and died about eighteen months before the French took possession of Rome. He left behind him a poem on religion, which he gave orders to have printed after his death; and Memoirs of the most active period of his life, intended only for the gratification of his own family, with positive instructions that they should never be made public. The following lines were written by a lady of Alby, to be placed beneath two small medallions, representing the Cardinal and his nephew, the coadjutor:

Alby! tes deux prélats au temple de Mémoire
Attesteront du ciel la plus rare faveur;
Quand il eut fait l’un pour la gloire,
Il fit l’autre pour ton bonheur.

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When the Cardinal de Bernis was to receive the red hat, he knew that eight days afterwards he would be exiled from the Court. He was then Prime Minister. The morning he was to go to the King he got up at two, and wrote till eight, when he went to the palace and received the hat, and addressed complimentary discourses to all the Royal Family. He then returned to his own house, and had five tables set out for company, consisting of all the Ministers and clergy. After dinner the King sent for him to the Council, which he left late at night, and went home and wrote till two in the morning. The pomp with which he was surrounded was immensely magnificent—all the royal carriages attending him. The Duke of Fitzjames, who was standing with him at the entrance of his house, remarked: “Quel beau jour pour vous, Monseigneur!” “C’est plutôt un beau parapluie,” replied the Cardinal; but the Duke being ignorant of his approaching downfall did not understand him. The Cardinal said, he remarked, while he was pronouncing his discourses, that the courtiers were endeavouring to find expressions that they could lay hold of, to bring up against him afterwards. Eight days later he was exiled to his abbey of Visurenne, where for the space of one year he was not permitted to see any one but the members of his own family. During the two following years he was allowed to see company, and then sent to his archbishopric of Alby. The greatest demonstrations of joy, such as the ringing of bells, the firing of guns, troops drawn up to salute, &c., were exhibited all along his journey through Languedoc. While at Visurenne he used to dress in grey, lined with red, with a white hat and a red riband round it, like a shepherd.

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After the Cardinal de Bernis was recalled from exile he went to Paris, and happened to be in company with the Duchess de Grammont, sister of M. de Choiseul, who was then Minister. She took occasion to introduce the subject of exile, and said it must be the most disagreeable thing in the world. “Madam,” replied the Cardinal, “it is the most disagreeable thing possible when you are expecting it, but the most agreeable when it is over.”

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The Venetian Ambassador wrote the other day to the Vicegerent (substitute of the Cardinal-Vicar), requesting him to make inquiries about a young couple who had run away from Venice, and who, the Senate informed him, were concealed in Rome. The Vicegerent sent back the Ambassador’s letter with these words at the bottom of it: “Si burla di me il Signore Ambasciadore” (Monsieur l’Ambassadeur se moque de moi). The latter again wrote to the Vicegerent, and more urgently than before, but received only the same answer. Whereupon he called in person upon the prelate, who told him that the young couple were in the palace at Venice.

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The Count d’Artois carried his little son, the Duke d’Angoulême, to see the young Dauphin. The child, expecting to see something extraordinary, looked disappointed, and exclaimed: “Mon papa, comme il est petit!” “Tu le trouveras un jour beaucoup trop grand,” replied the Count.

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The Père Procureur of the Order of Doctrinaires came to make us a visit, and said that he was trying to get the founder of his order canonised, provided it did not cost too much. He had already expended six hundred crowns on the congregations before whom the question has to be laid. These are composed of prelates, heads of orders, and cardinals; but he believes the last do not receive anything. Every congregation costs a hundred and fifty crowns in chocolate; the lawyer gets twenty more for his carriage and other expenses; and the rest goes in _mancias_ to the servants. The Prelate Promoter of the Faith is usually styled “Avvocato del Diavolo,” his business being to raise objections to the proposed saint. The present candidate for canonisation is of an ancient family of Avignon. His brother was a “chef d’escadre,” and he himself was in the army of Henri IV. At that time he used to make verses to the ladies, and was a man of the world; but he afterwards turned abbé, and founded an order for the instruction of children. His name was César de Busse. They are now trying to prove his virtues to “an heroic degree,” and afterwards they will come to his miracles, without which he cannot be beatified. It is somewhat difficult to find proofs of these, but they hope to succeed, provided the order in France find money enough; but there seems to be some reluctance to spend much for these purposes. Connected with this, the Père Procureur related to us an anecdote of one of the Boromeo family, who told us his son need not give himself so much trouble, for they would never try to make a saint of him, as his uncle’s canonisation had already ruined them. The feast of a beatified saint is not observed by the Church in general, but only by his own order.

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When Marshal Richelieu went to Bordeaux he was tired out with harangues from all sorts of people. At last they told him that the Gardien of the Capucins wanted to address him, but the Marshal vowed he would hear no more. Being prevailed on, however, by the people about him not to mortify the poor man, he said he would receive him provided his discourse were brief. The Capucin, then entering, said: “Monsieur le Maréchal, nous vous souhaitons autant de bien dans l’autre monde que vous en avez eu dans celui-ci.”

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When Marshal Villars was going to give battle to the allied army, he looked at his troops, whose uniforms had become very shabby, and said to them, pointing to the new regimentals of the enemy: “Habillez-vous, mes amis.”

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The harlequin at the Comédie Italienne at Paris called for a seat, and they brought him a chair. “Non, non,” said he, “ce siége n’est pas assez long. Je voudrais m’appuyer. Donnez-moi un autre siége: donnez-moi un siége comme celui de Port-Mahon.”

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A Neapolitan Prince, being on his death-bed, sent for his confessor, and, after making a long confession, he said there was one thing he had omitted because he had not courage to tell it. After much difficulty and many exhortations, the friar prevailed upon him to impart the secret. “Father,” said he, “I can never hope to be saved, for I have fought a duel.” The confessor reproved him in suitable terms, but added, that his repentance would ensure his pardon. “Oh, father!” exclaimed the Prince, “there were aggravating circumstances. The dispute was occasioned by my saying that Tasso was superior to Ariosto, and we fought three times on that account.” “It was very improper, to be sure,” replied the friar, “to have risked your own life and that of a fellow-creature for so slight a reason, but you may hope to be forgiven.” “It is impossible, father,” persisted the Prince, “for though I disputed so vehemently, I have never read a line of either Tasso or Ariosto.”

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When the Archduke Maximilian was at Paris, he went to see the Cabinet du Roi. M. de Buffon was there to receive him, and presented his Imperial Highness with a copy of his works, elegantly bound; but the Archduke said, he could not think of robbing him. He went likewise to the Ecole Militaire, where the young gentlemen were going to be put through their exercises for his amusement, but he said he did not wish to fatigue them. The Parisians called him the “Archi-bête d’Autriche.”

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When Pope Lambertini went to see the Opera House fitted up for the cantata which the Duke de Nivernois gave on the birth of the present King of France (Louis XVI.), the prelate who was in attendance wanted to take off the “stola,” thinking! that it was not decent so sacred a habit should appear in a theatre, but the Pope prevented him, calling him a “minchione” (a blockhead). Somebody wrote over the door, “Indulgenza pleniaria.”

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When the Bishop of Derry was at Rome, he refused to help a French gentleman at Cardinal de Bernis’ table to some olives, saying he “would not give the olive to France.” The Marquis de Fortia replied, “And yet it is the duty of your profession to do so, milord.”

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On the road from Naples to Rome the Cavaliere Lascaris was much annoyed at the slow pace the postilion went. He called out to him several times to go quicker, but the man always excused himself by abusing the Pope for keeping such bad roads. On reaching the end of the stage the Cavalier caned him handsomely; and, that the people around might not take the postilion’s part, he went on saying what a rascal he was to abuse his sovereign, such a good prince, too, &c. &c. The other then protested that he did not mean the present Pope, he meant Pope Rezzonico. “Worse and worse,” cried the Cavalier, “for he was a saint. I must beat you all the more.”

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When the Duke of Arcas was sent by the King of Spain to congratulate the King and Queen of Naples on the birth of their eldest child, Ganganelli, who was then Pope, knew that the Duke had received instructions from his sovereign to press for the extinction of the Order of Jesuits. He resolved, therefore, to give the envoy no opportunity of addressing him on the subject. The Spanish Ambassador at Rome mentioned to the Pope’s confidant, Padre Bontempi, that he hoped his Holiness would treat the Duke with distinguished civility, as he was charged with a special mission. To which the Padre replied, that he could assure him the Duke should be received in a manner that would fully content him. When he arrived, the Pope was staying at the Castle Gandolpho, and he sent the Maestro di Camera and the Maggiordomo to receive the Duke at the door, the greatest compliment that can be shown even to a sovereign. The Pope was standing when he entered the room, and when he was about to kneel to kiss the feet of his Holiness, the latter prevented him, took him in his arms and embraced him, and seated him on a sofa beside himself. As the Duke made some difficulty about this, he said, “Do not look upon me as the Pope, but as a friar.” He then conversed with the envoy on various subjects, and kept up the conversation for half an hour, without allowing him the slightest opportunity to speak upon his real business. Padre Bontempi, according to previous arrangement, having made a sign that it was dinner-time, the Pope said that he had already observed that he was only a friar, and he lived like one, dining at twelve o’clock, but the Maggiordomo would take care of him (the Ambassador), though probably he would not fare so well as at the court of other sovereigns. He then rose, accompanied the Duke to the door, and as he was going out, said, “Remember me to Carluccio” (so he called the King of Spain), “and tell him that I am a man of honour, and will keep my promise to him, but he must give me time enough.” The Ambassador then took his leave, enchanted with his reception.

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As Mr. Hewetson was putting up a bust in the Pantheon one day, three persons who had taken refuge in the church offered to help him. One of them said he had done nothing wrong, but the corporal of the sbirri owed him a grudge; and another declared that he was an honest man, he had never stolen anything, he had only killed a man. When any one here is taken up for a crime, the judge asks him his name, and some have been cunning enough to reply, “Chiesa” (Church). The judge then says, “I have taken an oath that I would never attempt anything against the Church, and therefore, as that is your name, you must go before the tribunal of Ecclesiastical Immunities.” The man is accordingly sent there, and soon afterwards returned to the judge, with a message, telling him that he may do what he pleases, he will not offend the Church. But if the prisoner persists in saying that his name is Chiesa, the judge will have nothing to do with him, and again refers him to the tribunal, and so the affair drags on for ever. No man, besides, is ever condemned to death unless he confesses his crime, but the torture is applied to extort the confession. One poor wretch made a likeness of the gallows, and stuck it on his foot, that he might remember in the midst of his sufferings that it was worse to be hanged. Many outlaws are living at Ostia, but all for homicide and assassination. They would think it a disgrace to their society to allow a robber to live amongst them.

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