Chapter VI: Part 6

_November 22nd, 1795._--Set off at one o’clock past midnight from my house, the Mattonaia, to accompany Mrs. W. as far as Bologna, on her way to Turin; Ld. H. went with us. The weather was coldish, but when we got upon the Apennines amidst the snow it was insufferably rigorous. The road was very rough, being spoilt by ye frosts and thaws. We accomplished the journey in twenty-three hours and a half, arrived at the Pellegrino, where Lord Wycombe was waiting to join our party.

[Sidenote: BOLOGNA]

As soon as I had refreshed myself with a few hours’ rest, I visited the Zampieri Palace. It is undoubtedly the best and most valuable collection here, not eked out like the others with trash.[141] ‘St. Peter Weeping,’ by _Guido_, reckoned the first of his works and the most faultless picture in Italy. It is in his strong manner, and in the highest preservation. Two hoary-headed old men, one crying and the other upbraiding, inspire but a small portion of interest, and one is glad to quit this _perfect_ picture to contemplate the work of a more faulty painter, who, however, eludes that censure in this charming composition. Abraham, in compliance with envious old Sarah, dismisses his youthful handmaid Hagar and her son Ishmael: _Guercino_. _Agostin Caracci_ is nowhere so great as in his mellow picture representing the ‘Woman taken in Adultery.’ A lovely little _Guido_, ‘A Heavenly Concert,’ done when he was eighteen....

_25th._--Ld. Holland and Mr. Wyndham set off for Turin. Lord Wycombe, M. Gely, Webby, and myself remained at the Pellegrino. Lord W. dined with me every day, and several learned Bolognese, among them a lady who was reckoned a very good Greek scholar. She wrote an impromptu Greek epigram upon me, but for aught I know it might be as old as Homer.

‘St. Agnes,’ in the chapel of the monastery of that name.[142] It represents the martyrdom of that saint, but fails in the effect that the principal object ought to produce. It is taken at the moment when the executioner is plunging the sword into her bosom; the countenance is insipidly livid, without the dignity of resignation nor the anguish of pain. This group is not enough distinguished, as it falls in with a heap of dead saints. Three women and a child form a pretty group on the right-hand side. The upper part seems a separate composition, and very likely is done by a scholar of Domenichino’s. Ld. Holland read me a passage out of a letter from Charles Fox, from which it appears that he reckons this picture almost the best in Italy, and the masterpiece of Domenichino.

I visited all that was remarkable in the neighbourhood, and saw much more than I did the first time I was there. I read the _Tragedies_ of Crébillon; the horrible subjects affected my imagination, and several nights of restlessness and groundless terror I owe to their perusal. He said to a friend who was lamenting the _sombre_ of his taste, that Corneille had exhausted all historical subjects, that Racine had taken heaven, and _l’enfer seul_ remained to him. Ld. Wycombe left me the day before Ld. Holland returned from Turin. Ld. Bristol,[143] with some wretched dependants, came to my inn; he dined one day with me. He is a clever, bad man. He asked me to let him have a copy of my picture, the one done by Fagan, and belonging to my friend Italinski.[144] I hesitated much, and implied, without giving it, a denial. He told me of Ly. Louisa Hervey’s marriage to Mr. Jenkinson, a son of Ld. Hawkesbury’s.

On our return to Florence we met with some difficulties on account of the deepness of the snow. When we got to Scaricar l’Asino, a small inn used only by the _vetturini_, we found Gely missing; after great anxiety for thirty-six hours on his account, he overtook us at the Maschere.

[Sidenote: A LITERARY COTERIE]

I passed a delightful winter. About three times a week I had dinners, to which I invited Fontana, Fabroni, Don Neri Corsini, Baldelli, Fossombroni, Pignotti, Delfico, Greppi, besides the various English who passed.

Fontana is a man known among the scientific of Europe; his chief work is a treatise upon poisons. His political principles are suspected. He is an intolerant atheist, and is as eager to obtain converts to his own disbelief as bigots are to make proselytes to their belief. Fabroni[145] is a physician, and a sort of rival to Fontana. Don Neri Corsini[146] is the brother of the Prince of that name; he is a pupil of Manfredini, and supporter of the Tuscan neutrality. He is accused of being inclined towards the French faction. Fossombroni[147] is a profound mathematician; he has given in a report full of learning and science in favour of draining some parts of the Val d’Arno. Pignotti[148] is a priggish little Abbé, attached to the House of Corsini; his fables are well known and have much merit. Delfico[149] is a Sicilian; he has written a dissertation upon the Roman law. His conversation strongly savours of the new principles. Greppi[150] is a Milanese. It was of his father that Arthur Young said as a public collector of the revenue the course he took in that country conducted him to wealth and titles, but would in England have brought him to the gallows. He is a lively, mischievous man, full of laughable stories against the governments he has lived under.

The evenings I generally spent at home. Ld. Holland used to read aloud. He read me Larcher’s translation of Herodotus, a good deal of Bayle, and a great variety of English poetry. Madame d’Albany’s society was a pleasant relief from the sameness of the Italians. Alfieri, when he condescended to unbend, was very good company.

_Feb. 9th, 1796._--Set off with all my children, Gely, and accompanied by Ld. H., to Rome, with the intention of seeing Loreto. Slept the first night at Levane, dined the next day at Arezzo. The effects of the recent earthquake were not so apparent as the exaggerated accounts of it at Florence had taught us to expect; the alarm had been great, the injury slight--indeed none but the fright occasioned to some old nuns, who ran out of their convent, glad even to see the world upon such terms. A few walls in the building were split. I went to see the picture of the ‘Martyrdom of St. Donato,’ by a young Aretin called _Benvenuto_,[151] who studies at Rome, and is admired and protected by the old _compère_. The picture is well coloured, but the artist is the most barefaced plagiarist, for not content with taking from pictures, he has pilfered arms, legs, and _torsi_ from half the statues in Rome. Reached Rome 18th. Ly. Plymouth had taken lodgings for me in ye Palazzo Corea (?), Strada Pontifice.

[Sidenote: STATUES IN ROME]

The following day I went with Ly. Plymouth, Amherst, and Ld. H., to see my old acquaintances in the Museum Clementinum. Even since last year there are alterations in the dispositions of the statues. The _Laocoon_ seems even grander than ever. The _Apollo_ is always miraculous, though it may be criticised, but its defects are mere artifices to give more spirit to the attitude, but nevertheless are deviations from correct truth. The legs are allowed to be faulty, if not of modern restoration. The new _Antinous_, discovered by Hamilton, and destined for the D. Braschi’s [_sic_] Palace, is among the finest things in Rome. It is of colossal size, and almost perfect; the restorations are very judicious, particularly the drapery. It is at present at Sposino’s, the sculptor, a man who has made a lasting monument of Ld. Bristol’s bad taste, and the merit of originality of thought is not his. Pitt is represented as the infant Hercules strangling the serpents, the heads of which are the portraits of Mr. Fox and Ld. North, the Coalition; Pitt’s head is of the natural size upon the body of an infant. The whole performance is like some of the uncouth decorations in the middle ages of our English cathedrals. The idea was taken from a caricature. The English artists all to a man refused to execute this puerile conceit. I went with Ly. Plymouth and Amherst to Tivoli; we stayed a couple of days.

St. Peter’s contains a statue I never observed before, but which for beauty is equal to any representation of female perfection; indeed, the effect it produced upon an enraptured artist was such as to demand _drapery_. The sculpture is not remarkable: the artist was Della Porta, a scholar of M. Angelo’s.[152] There is also another female saint whose cold charms roused to passion the imagination of a French artist.

Ld. Macartney came, and Ld. H. and I saw a good deal of him. The first day of March, 1796, I set off to go to Naples, merely to see my friend Italinski. I conveyed Smith, the American, an _ennuyeux_, in my carriage. Slept the first night at Velletri, and the second at Terracina, where both on account of the measles which prevails at Naples, and the want of passports for the French persons with me, I left Gely and my two youngest children and my cook at the pretty inn, and pursued my journey accompanied only by Smith, Hortense, and Webby.

The principal object of my excursion was to see my old friend Italinski, who in consequence of the bad conduct and dismissal of Cte. Golophin was appointed sole Chargé d’Affaires. I had the pleasure of finding him well, and sincerely rejoiced to see me. The four days I passed were totally with him. Ld. Bristol was there dangerously ill. As soon as the physician declared him in danger he sent to Italinski for my picture, adding that though he had refused him a copy, he could not deny a dying man anything. Italinski was embarrassed, but sent the picture. As soon as it came he had it placed upon an easel at the foot of his bed, and round it large _cires d’église_, and for aught I know to the contrary he may still be contemplating my phiz. What makes this freak the more strange is, that it is not from regard to me, as he scarcely knows me, and never manifested much liking to me; probably it reminds him of some woman he once loved, and whose image occupies his mind in his last moments.

[Sidenote: VESUVIUS]

The change in the figure of Vesuvius is very disadvantageous to it in point of beauty. It is now lower than Somma, and the crater is apparently flattened.[153] Torre del Greco presents a curious spectacle, both to the naturalist and ye moralist. The stratum of fresh lava has raised the coast near fifty feet above its former level. The lava is of a peculiar texture, more charged with metallic particles than any of the other strata from Vesuvius, though not equal in specific gravity to that at Ischia. In many places it is still smoking, and the cavities are filled by little beggars who seek warmth there. After a fall of rain the evaporation is curious, for the density of the atmosphere marks the course of the lava. The infatuation of the people is wonderful; they prefer rebuilding upon that spot to accepting lands offered by the King, and not content with that absurdity they add to it by immediately commencing, and I actually saw myself a house just finished, which was built within three inches (for I measured them) of a hole from whence the smoke issued, and upon which I could not bear my hand from the excessive heat. This surely is verifying that curious, novel, and true maxim of Adam Smith’s, that every man believes to a superstitious excess in his own good luck.

The collection of Capo di Monte has undergone various changes in the disposition of the pictures. The Queen sent to desire I would visit her at Caserta, but she told me the measles was in the palace among her children. I therefore declined the honour, on account of exposing Webby to the danger. I dined at Caserta with the Hamiltons. I found _Mullady_ altered, and Sir William seemed more occupied about his own digestion than in admiring the graceful turn of her head. I returned day and night from Naples to Albano, where I found Ld. Holland and Mr. M. waiting for me. The next morning I went to see the lake and the _emissary_. The emissary is an issue from the lake to carry off the superabundant waters. It is perforated through the hill. In the evening we drove through the villas at Frascati, and returned to Rome.

I quitted Rome, and went back to Florence by the Siena road. Nothing very remarkable occurred during my short stay at Florence. I set off from thence on April ye 11th. I bid adieu to that lovely spot, where I enjoyed a degree of happiness for a whole year that was too exquisite to be permanent. Ld. Holland drove me in his phæton the first post to Prato: he returned, and I pursued my journey upon the Modena road.

For some reason, unrelated in the text, Lady Webster seems
to have changed her route. On reaching Bologna, instead of
turning west to Modena, she took the road to Ferrara, which
she reached on April 18th.

[Sidenote: RELICS OF ARIOSTO]

Ferrara is but the skeleton of its former grandeur; it is now deserted and thinly inhabited. The tomb of Ariosto naturally attracted my veneration; it is in the Benedictine convent. The architecture of it is bad, and the bust but moderately executed; it represents him very much in the decline of life. His house, in which his grotto, chair, and inkstand used to be shown, is now pulled down and destroyed by the rapacity of the owner. The public library is small, and contains no books of value. There they preserve the original manuscript of most of the books of the _Orlando_, chair, and inkstand. The manuscript is written by himself, and in the margin there are numberless emendations; thus we discover that those verses that seem so easy and to flow without exertion, are precisely those that have undergone the most alteration. At the bottom of one of the pages I perceived written in pencil:--

Vittorio Alfieri vede e vennerò.
18 Giugno, 1783.

He might venerate, but the harmony he can never imitate.

Early on ye 19th I set off and crossed the Po at Lagoscuro, and from thence got to Rovigo, a dreadful road and two bad _barques_, one over the canal Bianco, and the other across the Adigio. Rovigo, the birthplace of Manfredini, a wretched, straggling town. We reached Padua at night. I have been there before, but I possess a very faint remembrance of the place. I have just heard that the unhappy phantom of royalty, Louis XVIII., has been compelled to quit the Venetian territory. I remained at Padua several days. Miss Bowdler and Lady Herries lodged in the same hotel. Ld. Holland overtook me from Florence.

We went to the monastery of Praia, a rich Benedictine order. The heat of the weather and badness of the road had fatigued us, and we asked permission to enter the sacristy and refresh ourselves. The lay brother, who is the porter, repulsed us with harshness, and refused us admission within the walls, adding that water was the only hospitality afforded by the monks. On my return to Padua I wrote a letter of complaint to the Abbot, who answered it with civility, and promised to reprimand the insolence of the porter.

I went the next evening to see the Villa Quirini, remarkable for possessing some of the oldest Egyptian monuments in Europe if not coeval with the Pyramids at least so Dancarville, the learned antiquary, assured me. He pretends to be so much _au fait_ of them, that he even shows a mark made by a soldier of the army of Cambyses; but the reveries of antiquaries are absurd. The French have broken into the plain of Piémont by way of Nice, and have gained a great victory over the Austrians. Buonaparti [_sic_] is the French commander.

They left Padua on April 24, and took the road to Trieste.

From Trieste we went through Carniola, Carinthia, Styria, by way of Laibach, Marburg, Gratz, and Bruck to Vienna. I stayed a few days only at Vienna, dined at Sir Morton Eden’s,[154] and saw some of my old acquaintances. Met Clairfait,[155] who seems a mild, gentlemanlike man. From Vienna I went to Znaym, Iglau, across the famous field of battle at Kolin, to Prague; from thence to Dresden. The two posts at Aussig and Peterwald were just as bad as they were the last time I went. I met Lady Plymouth at Dresden, and dined with ye Duchess of Cumberland.

From Dresden I went to Berlin; tiresome deep road through sands and thin forests of pines. At Berlin I came in time to see a review. I dined with Ld. Elgin,[156] and at his house I saw the celebrated Pitt diamond,[157] brought from Paris upon sale. Hugh Elliot insisted upon bearing me company to Hamburg. Great difficulty of accommodation at Hamburg: the town so filled with emigrants. Went to see General Dumouriez. I was afraid of crossing the Elbe to Harburg, so went up where it was narrow. Went through Harburg and Stade to Cuxhaven: detained there some days on account of contrary winds.

The 4th of June I quitted Hamburg. Crossed from Cuxhaven to Yarmouth in six days and half. Came straight to London.

An interval of a year here takes place in the Journal,
which Lady Holland, to use her new name, again resumes in
July 1797.

[Sidenote: HER MARRIAGE]

My wretched marriage was annulled by Parliament on the 4th July. On the fifth I signed a deed by which I made over my whole fortune to Sir G. W., for our joint lives, for the insignificant sum of 800_l._ Every mean device, every paltry chicane that could extort money from us was had recourse to.

I was married at Rickmansworth Church by Rev. Mr. Morris to Lord Holland, on July 6th, 1797. Sir Gilbert Affleck,[158] my father-in-law, gave me away. As soon as the ceremony was over we went to Richmond, where I found my mother and my son Henry. They came to this house the next day and stayed a week. I was twenty-six years old. Ld. H. was twenty-three. The difference in age is, alas! two years and eight months--a horrid disparity. All his family behaved to me with the utmost kindness; they came, those in town, and those in the country wrote to me. I went to Bowood in July, where I met with his two aunts, Misses Vernon, and his sister, Miss Fox; they were kind and cordial. In the autumn I went to Margate.

Having a very bad memory, and many odd irregular half-hours, it has occurred to me to assist the one and occupy the others by writing down any events, conversations, anecdotes, etc., that may interest me at the moment; and though my nature is too lazy to allow me to hope that I can act up to anything like a systematic pursuit, yet whilst the fit is upon me to be so employed, I will yield. As I care too little about politics to talk of them, I certainly shall refrain from discussing them upon paper, nevertheless this moment is critical and anxious even to my indifference. The second negotiation is just broken off;[159] hostilities beginning in Italy; Mr. Fox decidedly seceded from Parliament, and the session on the point of opening; fresh taxes, discontents, and the Dutch fleet destroyed.[160] My own individual happiness is so perfect, that I can scarcely figure to myself a blessing that I do not possess--indeed, the having such a companion as I have is, in itself, everything without the accessories of other advantages.

The 14th October (1797), Mr. Fox, D. of Bedford, etc., dined here, and it was then finally concluded among them that none of the shattered remains of their party should attend the meeting of Parliament. As to the measure of secession there are many different opinions as to its expediency; but all their discussions end in the loss of time and temper, for Opposition are too unpopular to have anything left to hope for, and the system of party is obsolete. It seems astonishing to me that amidst the number of very able men who still rally round the standard of Whiggism, not one should have discovered that the temper of the country requires another species of resistance to Administration than the old scheme of a regular Opposition with a Cavendish or a Russell at its head. There is a bigotry in their adherence to their ineffectual principles that borders upon infatuation.

[Sidenote: MR. FOX]

Mr. Fox appears sincerely to rejoice at the prospect of being able to give himself up to those pursuits that amuse and, notwithstanding his powers as a statesman, occupy him most. Literature, and especially the metaphysics of grammar, and the cultivation of his plants, are objects that engage the wonderful activity of his mind. He has lately revived his Greek, and daily gets by heart a given number of lines in Homer. Having seen so little of him, my opinion of him is chiefly taken from public report and the very partial picture drawn by his nephew; however, his very enemies admit that he possesses more estimable qualities as an individual than falls to the share of scarcely any other. Perhaps to a harsh observer his facility might be termed a weakness and his good nature an indolent foible, but if extremes are bad his bent is on the most amiable side. One cannot but regret that such a man is lost to society, for so may his retirement at St. Anne’s be called, and the habits of his life when there. Mrs. Armstead,[161] I understand, possesses still those merits which, when united to the attractions of youth, a degree of beauty, and much celebrity, placed her above her competitors for the glory of ruining and seducing the giddy youth of the day. She has mildness and little rapacity, but those negative merits, when bereft of the other advantages, constitute but an insipid resource in solitude. Besides, as she still retains the immoderate love of expense which her former life led her into, she may almost be called a pernicious connection, as disadvantageous for his comfort as for his reputation; for after all that has passed, fresh pecuniary embarrassments will be discreditable to him. But I have often remarked that very superior men are easier satisfied with respect to the talents of those they live with than men of inferior abilities. Whether it springs from a movement of vanity, that they despair of meeting an equal and are therefore contented with gentle accommodation, or that they are conscious that they have little to learn, I cannot determine, but the fact is certain.

[Sidenote: GENERAL DUMOURIEZ]

I do not mean to compare Dumouriez to Mr. Fox, but nevertheless I was astonished to find, in a visit I made him (last June, ’96), that the partner of his solitude was much the most trifling, insignificant personage I had ever beheld. He was living in a wretched Westphalian hovel or barn near Hamburg, with little money and less estimation, and yet, contrary to what might have been imagined from his inordinate ambition and vanity, happier (I believe) there surrounded by his brood of well-disciplined ducklings than after the battle of Jemappes. I never saw him but once, and that in a way that might have offended a man less vain. Hearing from his relation, Chateauneuf, a bookseller at Hamburg, that he lived in the neighbourhood, I proposed making him a visit, that I might have the satisfaction of seeing one of the most conspicuous characters that had flourished in the Revolution. The motive excused the intrusion, and he was flattered. He is short and fat, and in person very unlike a Frenchman, but the deficiency in figure to prove him one is amply made up the moment he speaks. He is full of vivacity, _esprit_, and _agrément_, expressing himself pointedly and even energetically; and he may be very justly placed among the best specimens that remain of the genuine character of a Frenchman under the Monarchy. His pecuniary circumstances are very narrow--he is going to publish a 4th edition of his works, from which he hopes to obtain a maintenance. I believe he heartily repents the unlucky adherence to the Constitution that causes him to be out of his country, and prevents his rivalling Hoche and Buonaparte, for he could not conceal the envy excited by their glories. He is a man of an enterprising genius and undaunted courage, and would never incur the satire of Mr. Burke’s application of the story of the two generals, one of whom used to say upon a service of danger, ‘Allez, mes amis,’ and the other, ‘Allons, mes amis.’ He would always be for the latter.

The unfortunate La Fayette and his family are just liberated from the dungeons of Olmutz, and mean to embark at Hamburg for that country from whence he imbibed those principles that have since deluged his country with a sea of blood.[162] Whatever his errors might have been by risking such a revolution merely to distinguish himself from the common crowd of courtiers, or to try to practise the theory of virtue and patriotism, his cruel captivity has extinguished rancour even in the breasts of his bitterest enemies. M. de Bouillé,[163] in his Memoirs just published, mentions his intentions as pernicious and his conduct as weak, but never represents him as meaning evil; and upon the whole the impression given is more that of pity than any other. Poor man! his faults are expiated in his sufferings. His character is that of a phlegmatic, cold-hearted man, with much vanity and slender abilities.

His cousin Bouillé is of a very different turn: he is quite the _tête chaude_ of the Royalists, full of that _fougue_ and courage peculiar to his nation. Misfortunes have softened his mind, and he allows his reason to conquer his passion; he is candid and impartial to others and himself. I believe him to be very zealous and honest. I first became acquainted with him amidst the noise and tumult of a camp. In ’93, returning from Italy to spend a few weeks in England, I went from Bruxelles to see Valenciennes, which had just fallen, and in that tour I made a visit to the Duke of York, who was then besieging Dunkirk.[164] After dining at headquarters I attended the funeral of General Dalton, who had been killed the day before on the very spot over which I passed. The melancholy scene and the noise of the artillery discharged upon those occasions quite overcame me, and I declined attending the funeral that followed, of Col. Elde. The D. of York very politely excused himself from returning to headquarters with me, on account of his duty requiring his presence, but gave me to the care of the Marquis de Bouillé, who accompanied me to the Duke’s tent. Our conversation naturally fell upon those events in France in which he had had the greatest share, and he gave me a very interesting narrative of the King’s flight to Varennes, and the whole scheme as conceived by him which he describes in his Memoirs. He finished with tears, showing me his _cordon bleu_, which was part of his ill-fated Sovereign’s wardrobe that had reached Luxembourg, and had been received by the Marquis. He said it was the last and only relic he had of a master from whom he had received favours that demanded his eternal gratitude and tenderness.

[Sidenote: M. DE BOUILLÉ]

I saw him once afterwards at the Drawing-room, and upon my asking him the name of a tall, gaunt, figure in the circle, he smiled at the singularity of a foreigner showing to a native the Prime Minister of the country: for the person was no less than Mr. Pitt himself. There was afterwards a scheme in the city among the West India planters and merchants for giving him a pension on account of his noble behaviour in the islands during the last war. My poor father promised to subscribe, but I left England, and by hearing no more of it I presume the affair dropped.

Just before the departure of Lord M. from Lisle,[165] the Trevors, my old friends, or rather intimate acquaintances, came through France. He is in a sort of way driven from his post of Minister at Turin, as that Court exhibited a curious jumble of bigotry and Jacobinism, which must make a residence there awkward to a punctilious courtier like Trevor. It was rather whimsical that the morning she visited me was the precise one chosen by Mr. Fox to come from St. Anne’s, so the first object that presented itself to her view upon entering the gallery was her old admirer. Save a little blushing and stammering the old lovers conducted themselves very ably. The malicious say _nous autres femmes_ get out of a scrape of that sort with great ease; this instance confirmed the calumny, as she possessed the greatest portion of the _sang froid_ of the two.

Mrs. Trevor’s life has been singularly passed, and the latter part judiciously, circumstanced as she was. She was the daughter of a rich canon, and was married partly for her beauty and a little for her wealth. Soon after her marriage she conceived a most insurmountable disgust towards her husband. She was admired by Mr. F., and, flattered by his preference, allowed great scandal. She detained him one night at Ranelagh, whilst the House was assembled and waiting for him to speak upon a motion he had made: this gave an _éclat_ which perhaps she did not dislike. But the moment came that was to separate her from the fashion of London. Trevor’s foreign missions drew her upon the Continent, where she has remained mostly for these last eighteen years. The first thing she did was to live apart from him, and keep up a love correspondence with him; hence to the world they appeared enamoured of one another. She is a little mad, and parsimony is her chief turn. She is good-natured, and a little clever. Trevor has no judgment and slender talents. His foibles are very harmless, and his whole life has been insipidly good. His _ridicules_ are a love of dress coats, _volantes_, and always speaking French. _Au reste_, he is very like other people, only better.

[Sidenote: LADY HAMPDEN]

His sister-in-law, Lady Hampden,[166] is a woman of a most extraordinary character, and a melancholy proof of how much we depend upon others even for our virtues. Her father was the man who first mentioned the present Queen to Lord Bute, and was employed by him afterwards to arrange the business, and he was, by-the-bye, neglected by the upstart Majesty merely because he knew the obscurity and poverty of her native Court. Ly. H. was his only child, and was extremely young and beautiful when first married. For ten years their marriage was perfectly happy--the old Lord was living; they lived in retirement and were poor. His death gave them riches, and the fond, domestic husband was lost in the dissipated gambler. His house was amongst the first where a faro bank was kept. Unfortunately this has become prevalent, and many hold a share at those houses where every allurement is held out to attract and seduce. It was in this country that a man first dared to deal at faro without a mask, so infamous did they esteem the office upon the Continent.

It would be a curious subject to investigate and write a book upon, to trace back the little points and hazards upon which the fate of the world, its manners and opinions, have depended. Had Carthage triumphed, and Hannibal been a second Alexander, how different in all probability would have been the genius and customs of the world! Commerce would have stifled the glory of arms, and crushed the taste for the fine arts. Their industry would have spread civilisation into the heart of Africa, and that extent of country, now only a barbarous land, might have satisfied the wants of society, and these miserable Northern latitudes might still have been left to their Odins, their Druids, their fogs, and their frosts. What a blessing to have been confined to go no farther north than the Pyrenees! I may be justified in this wish, whilst at the moment of making it I am wrapped up in flannels, and roasting by a fire, to keep my blood in sufficient circulation to carry on the economy of animal life. Another epoch that would have operated even more powerfully upon the character of mankind and their usages was the chance of the battle in France between the Saracens and the Christians.[167] What would have been the effect had the former succeeded? One good would have been certain, the human mind would not have been priest-ridden as it is, and the fear of death would have been checked and not encouraged. The worst part of the Christian dispensation is the terror it inculcates upon a deathbed. The wisest dread it; no person who is strictly brought up in the principles of Christianity can ever thoroughly shake off the fear of dying. The Catholics supply instances of this every day; from infancy to manhood their minds are debased by superstition in every terrific shape. When capable of reflecting they shake off their shackles, and become from bigots atheists. So they live, but in fact the evil is but suspended; a fit of illness throws them back into the bosom of credulity, and like Gresset[168] they die in sackcloth.

The claims of the Romish Church are stronger upon the imagination than those of the more purified sects of Protestants. The priests found it so much to their interests to pervert the understanding, that the love of power made them hold their empire beyond the grave--hence their Purgatory.

[Sidenote: EFFECT OF RELIGIOUS WARS]

The Christian priests, with all their subtlety and policy, from vanity gave the staff out of their own hands. Proud of the praise centred upon them for being the preservers of learning, they weakly taught the laity the valuable treasures they had preserved, and by enlightening them the progress has been such as we see. Had they, like the priests of Egypt, confined all knowledge to their own body, society would still have been dependent upon them, and whilst there was no contention, they might have been a harmless theocracy. Certainly during the middle ages they were serviceable even to the cause of humanity, for those very Crusades eventually benefited Europe. They drew forth many turbulent spirits, who, had they remained at home, would have fallen into intestine broils, and kept up the feudal governments. Whereas, though two-thirds of the vast armies that issued out never returned, yet the one-third that did introduced a taste for foreign productions to which commerce became the consequence, and the manners of every country in Europe by degrees softened and civilised. Yet this good they did was severely bought by the horrors of the religious wars after the Reformation in Germany when Gustavus Adolphus was called in. That embraces a horrid period in the annals of history: it was an awful struggle between reason and bigotry. Fortunately for the advantage (perhaps) of mankind the former conquered to a degree, and but for the absurd excesses which have disgraced morality in this French Revolution, the cause of common sense would have completely succeeded. But we are nearer a relapse into old errors than a reformation.

Had the Saracens been masters of Europe the lot of womankind would have been but indifferent, for it is a very remarkable circumstance that all the institutions in Southern countries are very degrading to the sex. Morally and physically we are treated as beings of an inferior class, and though it is not quite demonstrable that we are supposed to be without a claim to immortality of soul, yet the reward is but trivial, and we are excluded the Paradise of men. On the contrary, the natives of the North hold even the feminine gender in respect, so great is their veneration for us: they fought with us by their sides as tutelary angels, and submitted to the government of a female chief. They called the Sun the greatest luminary, to honour it with a feminine name, and the moon, which is inferior, by a masculine one. This spirit melted into chivalry, and it is to the _preux chevaliers_, the Arthurs, the Orlandos, and the Round Table, that we owe our present situation in society. However, the Saracens were a great and enlightened people, and till lately literature and science have never fairly been grateful for what they owe them, and half the world to this day even confound them with those savages, the Turks. It is true that at first they fought with the sword in one hand and the Alkoran in the other, but once conquerors they cultivated the milder virtues. Where is there a better government than that under the Caliphs in Spain? The University of Granada educated our first _literati_, Friar Bacon, etc. It would be endless to enter into their merits: Andrès,[169] a Spanish Jesuit who lives at Mantua, has written an excellent book in Italian about them.

[Sidenote: HER EDUCATION]

I have had so strange an education, that if I speak freely upon sacred subjects it is not from an affectation of being an _esprit fort_, but positively because I have no prejudices to combat with. 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; for though both my parents were as good and as virtuous people as ever breathed, and I was always an only child, yet I was entirely left, not from system, but from fondness and inactivity, to follow my own bent. Happily for me I devoured books, and a desire for information became my ruling passion. The experiment of leaving a child without guidance or advice is a dangerous one, and ought never to be done; for if parents will not educate it themselves they should seek for those that will; but I do not complain, as perhaps all is for the best in this instance, though I should be _bien autre chose_ if I had been regularly taught. I never had any method in my pursuits, and I was always too greedy to follow a thing with any _suite_. Till lately I did not know the common principles of grammar, and still a boy of ten years old would outdo me.

But I never look back upon the early period of my life, but I turn from the picture with disgust. At fifteen, through caprice and folly, I was thrown into the power of one who was a pompous coxcomb, with youth, beauty, and a good disposition, all to be so squandered! The connection was perdition to me in every way; my heart was good, but accustomed to hear and see everything that was mean and selfish, I tried to shut it to the calls of humanity, and used my reason to teach me to hate mankind. Fortune smiled, and made me ample amends for seven or eight years of suffering, by making me know the most favoured of her sons. At Florence, in 1794, I began to think there were exceptions to my system of misanthropy, and every hour from that period to this (’97), which now sees me the happiest of women, have I continued to wonder and admire the most wonderful union of benevolence, sense, and integrity in the character of the excellent being whose faith is pledged with mine. Either he has imparted some of his goodness to me, or the example of his excellence has drawn out the latent good I had--as certainly I am a better person and a more useful member of society than I was in my years of misery.

_November 1st, ’97._--The peace with Emperor and the Republic is certain, and a _guerre à mort_ between this island and all the vast power of the brave, conquering French. How this country can get out of the _mauvais pas_ it is in remains to be seen. I think it is, from the obstinacy and folly of the Government, lost, and that completely by its own fault.

Le bien nous le faisons, le mal c’est la fortune;
On a toujours raison, le destin toujours tort.

Unjust as mankind is, it can hardly rest the blame of our destruction upon Fortune.

_À propos_ of the simple, philosophical La Fontaine, I either read or heard a touching trait of his simplicity lately. He was wise enough to despise money, and spent all he had from not knowing its value or caring for its production. When reduced to nothing he lived with a friend, who loved him and supplied the very few wants he had. This friend died. One who had known La Fontaine at his house immediately went to invite him to come and live with him. He met La Fontaine on the road to his _château_, and upon hearing the invitation the poet replied ‘J’y allais.’ The _naïveté_ of his reply is very striking: to a mind like his the accepting money was no dependence, he wanted it not for luxuries, but for existence. He paints his own character in his epitaph.

The King has been to see the Dutch prizes. It is supposed that the extreme fuss that has been made about the victory proceeds from some dirty politics of the King’s own, as much less was done for Ld. St. Vincent, and his victory was more brilliant;[170] but Duncan is a relation of Mr. Dundas’s and a Scotchman, and Ld. St. Vincent a member of Ld. Lansdown’s, who though he never voted against the war yet he never did for it, and it was known that his opinion went violently against that of the Court--a crime the paltry Sovereign can never pardon even in the most distinguished. So these rejoicings are meant to mortify him. It is an odd circumstance that Ld. St. Vincent used to sign ‘John Jervis’ for many months after the honour of the earldom had been conferred upon him, and he only ceased using it upon its being noticed from the Ministers. Indeed, some of the new creations might well disgust him of a dignity rendered now so contemptible.

[Sidenote: SIR GILBERT ELLIOT]

Sir Gilbert Elliot was the man I used to esteem the most for integrity and respectability among the Opposition. He is the son of a poor Scotch baronet, who was one of the King’s men. He and his brother were sent to Paris to be educated, and at the college he formed a friendship with the celebrated Mirabeau, and some years afterwards, when Mirabeau was tried for his life in England upon the accusation of having robbed his servant, Sir G. and Mr. Burke appeared in a court of justice to give testimony to his morals. Sir G. married a Miss Amyand (Lady Malmesbury’s sister). He was a sycophant of Burke’s, and during the Regency was as bitter against the poor mad King as his patron. All the papers at that time were drawn up by him, and he is reckoned to be the choicest writer of his own tongue since Addison. At the great crash among the Opposition he is accused of having repeated conversations falsely, and by so doing pledging each division to go further than they intended. Each party tell a different story, but I cannot decide upon the truth of the report. After the great schism Messrs. Windham, Grenville, and Pelham agreed to remain out of office, and they called themselves the ‘Independent Triumvirate.’ Sir G. E., by intrigue and working upon W.’s vanity, persuaded him that his not having a share of responsibility for the measures he supported was cowardly, and worked upon him to go into office in ’94. Sir G. then got the foolish commission to Toulon, and when that affair ended so ill, averse to giving up the emoluments (the full pay of Ambassador) he and Ld. Hood together hit upon that wild scheme of Corsica.

His display of domestic virtues reminded me of a saying of Saint-Foix, who, talking of Lord A. said he was a crafty, hypocritical man, with _mœurs_ in his mouth and sin in his heart, and that his whole system was artificial, that his wife was the same, and that even ‘les petits enfants jouent aussi leurs rôles.’ His wife is a sprightly, prating, gossiping woman, with a large share of vanity and a moderate one of sense. She is the only woman I ever saw that Ld. H. absolutely cannot endure.

The French made a lively sort of epigram against Santerre,[171] the infamous brewer, who became General, and attended Louis XVI. to the scaffold. The sting of it turns upon their popular liquor, ‘La bonne bierre de Mars’:--

Ci-gît le Général Santerre,
Qui n’a de Mars que sa bierre.

The secession of Mr. Fox from his duty in Parliament is a subject of great discontent to the Ministry, a strong proof that it has in part the effect intended. It is believed that if he would attend, this vexatious scheme for Assessed Taxes would be relinquished.

[Sidenote: BOBUS SMITH’S MARRIAGE]

A family event is upon the point of taking place, which surprised us all when we heard of it, a union with Mr. S.[172] and Miss V.[173] In a worldly point of view it is bad, as they will be excessively poor, but the worst part is the great disparity of age; he is twenty-seven, she is thirty-nine, twelve years upon the wrong side. I shall dwell upon his character some time or other; and perhaps hers, though it has few features beyond that of being good-hearted and well disposed.

I am most unusually dull! I heard a _bon mot_ of Mr. Erskine’s that I think is good. He was at dinner sitting between (May 17,’97) Mr. Adam and Mr. Crewe. He was attacking Mr. A. for his constant opposition to Parliamentary reform when in Parliament, and soliciting Mr. C. for his vote for the reform which was then coming on. ‘What company I am in!’ exclaimed Erskine, ‘a _Crewe_ in mutiny, and an _Adam_ with original sin.’ The fleet was in mutiny at the Nore.

About the same time it was decided in a court of justice that an affidavit must have a title. Erskine, while his adversary was pleading for the necessity of the title, wrote in court these lines:--

In times like these when ’tis the vogue
To title every fool and rogue,
Up starts a perjured affidavit
And swears that he must also have it.

Lord Lauderdale dined here and mentioned having just left Ld. Thurlow,[174] whose opinion he had asked about these Triple Assessments;[175] he answered in his usual style of vehemence and imprecation, ‘D--n seize the whole set of them; _I_ look for Bonaparte, and expect redress from him in London at the head of 100,000 men.’

It is _said_ that Mr. Fox’s constituents insisted upon his return to Parliament. He went there on the 13th of December and made an incomparable speech;[176] there are those who still hope the Minister will abandon the scheme, but as it is one of his own he feels the greatest parental fondness for it, and will relinquish it (if he should) with the greatest reluctance. I have just got from Ld. Lauderdale[177] the copy of a curious letter written by Lord Moira to be shown to Mr. Fox. It contains proposals for a motley Administration, but I have not yet read the particulars.

[Sidenote: LORD MOIRA]

Lord M., had he lived in the days of Rochefoucauld, would have been the character to have furnished that excellent observation that ‘La gravité est un mystère du corps pour cacher les defauts de l’esprit,’ as upon the gravity of his deportment and the passive goodness of his morals he has founded a sort of reputation that neither his abilities or his conduct have entitled him to possess. An attachment to his profession, which he imbibed from beholding the military discipline of the Austrians, and a desire of distinguishing himself by entering sooner that he might go to America, are the only brilliant points in his character. _Au reste_, he is a conceited, solemn coxcomb, with as much ambition as the coldness of his disposition allows. Since the unpopularity of the P. of Wales he has been the only man of distinction, either of rank or reputation, who has supported him. He is his adviser, and certainly looks forward to being at the head of affairs in this country after the King’s death, if not before. His farewell speech to the English troops in Holland deserved very severe reprehension, as much for the injudiciousness of inspiring at that moment despondency, and for his vanity in implying that his going was sufficient to cause it. He is a man of veracity, a quality strictly necessary in him. It was his father who said he never used any manure, or allowed his tenants to apply any other than what came from silkworms. There are various other extraordinary stories of his, much in the style.

His politics he conducts so that he may be in power with either side--a shabby mode of proceeding, unless it is founded upon indifference to both sides, and merely to secure safety in commotions; and even then the safety of it is doubtful. Timidity in public life I own I despise, for though I feel very lukewarm it is from the effect of circumstances and reasoning, and not disposition; for were I to indulge my nature my principles are _à la hauteur de la révolution_. I must either be one of the greatest patriots or tyrants that have lived. But I dread adding a spark to the flame already kindled in Ld. H.’s disposition; for every change must be the worse for me, who already possess such unalloyed happiness.

[Sidenote: ‘MONK’ LEWIS]

Mr. Lewis,[178] who is known in the literary world by having written a very popular romance called _The Monk_ in which there are some very pretty verses, has just given to the public a play not totally without merit. He has borrowed very much from the literature of the German, and his imagination, so schooled, is sometimes extravagant and monstrous. It may not be very consistent with chaste taste to admit that the German pleases, yet there are specimens that are sublime and touching, though in general the great affectation there is of simplicity and honour are more revolting than pleasing. The most fascinating part of the new play is perhaps the acting, and the agency of a most graceful female spirit, yet the two last acts may boast of intellectual interest. I saw him to-day for the first time here. He is little in person, rather ugly and shortsighted; upon the whole not engaging, though better than I expected from the picture made of him to me.

Lord Granville L.-Gower is going immediately to Berlin to congratulate the young King upon his accession.[179] It will require the pen and genius of another Mirabeau to describe and detect the intricacies of the intrigues going on there. The monarch is represented to be obstinate, weak, and unfeeling; the second brother, who died two years past, was the one of the whole family most favoured by natural endowments, though he may perhaps only share that reputation in common with all princes who die prematurely. The D. of Brunswick is gone to Berlin, according to report, to govern the King. If obstinacy and folly are as much combined in his character as they say it is, the Duke will find the undertaking as difficult as that he engaged in when he invaded Champagne.