Chapter II (2)

_March 16._—Last night I was invited to a supper at the Prussian Minister’s. The company were chiefly Russians; five English were asked, and Lavalette, the French Envoy, and his wife, were also of the party. It has caused great sensation here, as it is said that it was highly improper for a person in that line to invite either Russians or English to meet Lavalette. I did not go, but I have seen him and his wife at a public ball. He is unpowdered, mean, squat, and dirty. She is prettyish, and very becomingly drest, but without much attention to decency. Her arm is quite bare, from the bottom of her sleeve, about an inch below her shoulder, to the top of her glove, about an inch above her elbow. Any exposure one is unused to, offends.

* * * * *

_March 20, Prague._—Left Dresden for Vienna, and slept last night here. The road is very interesting in the commencement of this journey, particularly from Aussig to Leitmaritz, where it winds through a romantic range of hills by the side of the Elbe. After you part from the river, the country becomes in general a dull flat. Prague, as you approach it, has an appearance of grandeur. It is, however, though spacious, a dirty, ill-built town, with very high houses, and very narrow streets. You cannot take a step without being reminded you are in a Roman Catholic country; it is so peopled with Madonnas and saints. I was so fatigued, I remained to-day at the inn (Rothes Haus) where Suwarrow lived three months of the last year. He rose every day at two hours after midnight, dined at eight, and went to bed at three. ‘He is a great bigot and a great hog,’ the waiter told me, of whom I asked two or three questions about him, but was soon obliged to desist. He was afraid I did not understand what was the species of company Suwarrow associated with; and after long seeking a French word to explain it, found out that of _coquette_, which he seemed to think a perfect translation of the coarser expression he had used in German.

* * * * *

_March 22._—Dined and slept at Iglau, a neat-looking town. How much exaggerated is the account I have heard of the discomforts of a German journey. The post-boys are civil, and not in the least importunate. They seldom ask for more than they receive; a simple denial silences them, and what we call in England grumbling, I have never heard in this country. Even the beggars (and in Bohemia they abound) ask with mildness, and desist at the first refusal.

* * * * *

_March 26, Vienna._—Arrived here two days ago, after making in six days a journey usually very much dreaded, without a single inconvenience or the smallest fatigue. I travelled about fifty miles daily, after leaving Prague, and with facility, as the roads are good. I set out usually about seven, and reached my _gîte_ long before dark. Vienna, I fancy, cannot be a healthy residence; the houses are so high, the streets so narrow, and the population so disproportioned to the size of the town. One can walk round the walls in an hour; yet it contains 53,000 inhabitants. The best shops are far inferior to those even in the obscure parts of the city in London. Saw the Comtesse de Wayna, who returned my visit in less than an hour. She is very polite, _empressée_, and conversible; a very handsome woman, and still young.

* * * * *

_March 28._—It grieves me to find travelling contribute so little to the improvement of my mind. A variety of causes operate to prevent the possibility of a woman reaping _much_ benefit from a journey through Germany, unless she totally gives up the world. A certain enlargement of ideas must imperceptibly follow, and she corrects some erroneous notions; but she finds infinite difficulty in making any new acquirements. The multiplicity of visits, not confined to leaving a card, as in London, but real substantial, bodily visits, and the impossibility, without overstepping all the bounds of custom, of associating with any but _noblesse_, may be reckoned among the greatest obstacles. To make travelling subservient to improvement, it must be undertaken on a different plan from my present journey. I believe there is no undertaking whatever, in which the first attempt is not condemned to many gross and obvious imperfections. No foresight, no reflection, no sagacity, and, I had almost said, no advice, can supply the want of experience, even in situations where it appears least necessary. It is a melancholy consideration that we only know how to live, when the chief pleasures of life, those attendant on youth and youthful spirits, are vanished for ever.

Last night I went to an assembly at Lord Minto’s; the only difference between this meeting, and one of the same kind in London, was that here I saw infinitely less beauty, particularly among the men, less elegance of dress, and less of those abstractions of different pairs from the rest of the society, which I must call ‘flirtation,’ spite of the vulgarity of the term. Steibelt[17] played exquisitely on the pianoforte. So interesting a performer I never heard. After he had executed a delightful _capriccio_, he gave some jigs, in which his wife accompanied him on the tambourine; and these miserable trifles, in which he was quite subservient to her playing, and sacrificed himself to cover her little inaccuracies in point of time, were more admired than his scientific delightful compositions. Accompanying a fine pianoforte player on the tambourine is like daubing rouge over a Madonna by Raphael; but it shows a pretty woman to advantage, and suits the frivolous false taste of the age. The preference of all which is either frivolous or exaggerated to what is really excellent grieves me. I blush for my cotemporaries even in the moments when I most profit by their ignorance, and when they mistake my own superficial attainments for real talents.

The coarseness of the German language, and the patchwork made use of to conceal its poverty in some instances, displease me. Its beauties are said to be considerable. More study will lead me to a knowledge of them, but a little suffices to enable one to discover faults.

* * * * *

_March 29._—I walked and drove in the Prater, that great boast of the Germans, who think those who have not seen it, have seen nothing. As far as I went to-day, I was on a straight wide road, shaded with trees, that led through an extensive plain, moderately wooded, and perfectly flat. In summer it must be very pleasant, but a complete flat excludes in my mind all ideas of pre-eminent beauty. I could as soon think in the living countenance that fine colours or features could be beautiful without expression, as that any verdure, any trees, or any river could make amends for the want of inequality of ground.

* * * * *

_April 9._—I must correct my judgment of the Prater. The fashionable alley there is uninteresting; but when the whole is considered as a wood of near eight miles in length, commencing almost _in_ a great city, it acquires respectability.

* * * * *

_April 13._—Before I had been a week here, I had so many engagements I was only embarrassed in the choice of them. The pleasantest hours I have spent were at Lord Minto’s, Prince Schwarzenberg’s, and the Hanoverian Minister’s. There I sat by the famous General Bellegarde, to whom it is said the Archduke Charles is chiefly indebted for his most brilliant successes.[18] He is highly agreeable in conversation, polite, lively, pleasing, the best _ton_ possible, and the most rational way of thinking. They say he is the person most in the confidence of Thugut, the Minister. He is about fifty, and his appearance gives a favourable impression of him. Lord Minto is very pleasing, when he _does_ converse; but, like a ghost, will rarely speak till spoken to, unless to his most intimate friends. He is criticised here for not representing with sufficient dignity, and for confining himself to a small circle, composed chiefly of Poles and French. He is extremely absent. The Empress gives him audiences, and he forgets the day. He accepts invitations to formal dinners, invites company for the same day, and thinks no more of his engagement. A person here painted very happily in one sentence his absence, and his want of those manners in his own house which ought to distinguish him as the master of it, by saying, ‘_Il se fera présenter, quelque jour, chez lui._’ On the whole, he is censured for his conduct in trifles; and of his political career I have heard no opinion, for politics are a subject scrupulously avoided. This is commanded by the laws, and they seem in this point exactly obeyed. Deep regrets for the loss of Joseph the Second are all that ever escapes, which has the most remote tendency that way. Yet many here think that he did much harm as well as good; that his spirit of improvement led him to risk too hasty innovations, and that he was so ardent in his desire _de faire le bien_, he did not give himself leisure _de le bien faire_.

At Prince Schwarzenberg’s I heard Haydn’s famous _Creation_, a very pleasing oratorio, but which I think is applauded here much above its merits. The Duchess of Giovine, authoress of several estimable works which display great learning and uncommon application, has distinguished me in a very gratifying way. I have met likewise with a very amiable woman to whom the Countess Münster recommended me. She is a _Berlinoise_, and the widow of Prince Reuss, but is received in very few of the first circles here, on account of her birth, her father having been a merchant. She was originally a Jewess. I went to Mad. Arnstein’s with her, which I fear was a breach of etiquette, Mad. Arnstein being a banker’s wife, and of the second class of _noblesse_. However, I found there a pleasant society, and an easier _ton_ than in most houses at Vienna. She keeps open house every evening to a few women, and all the best company in Vienna as to men. She is a pretty woman with an excellent address. I supped once at the Prince de Ligne’s, whom I was prepared to fear and admire as a most _aimable roué, plein d’esprit, et de talens_. I have yet seen in him no resemblance to any part of this picture. In general, conversation at Vienna seems to me but meagre; little events are magnified, as in a small town; politics never, and literature very seldom, mentioned.

* * * * *

_April 14._—The Ridotto, a very large fine room, well lighted, most people in their usual dresses—no brilliancy of dress, or whimsicality, or variety of character. Those who masque, merely disguise themselves, without assuming any particular costume.

* * * * *

_April 17._—Breakfasted at Lady Taaffe’s, to see the Emperor pass by to St. Stephen’s, in honour of the citizens of Vienna, who, on the anniversary of this day four years ago, rose _en masse_, and took arms to oppose Buonaparte. The occasion of the fête made it interesting; dazzling it was not, for the Emperor, who is averse to all unnecessary parade, was in a plain coach, without guards or any outward sign of royalty. All the citizens who took arms, marched in a body, with their officers at their head, and military music. The spectators made a most pleasing part of the spectacle; not a beggar, or ragged or dirty person to be seen. All were well clothed, and had the appearance of enjoying habitually the comforts of life. The Emperor is easy of access, and two days in the week may be approached by the meanest of his subjects. He is averse to all pomp, lives in his own family, and is attached to his own wife, which in Germany is a singular thing, as a mistress is almost considered here a necessary part of the establishment of a married man. He appears at the Prater in the plainest carriage, driving the Empress, who scarcely ever leaves him. She is not beautiful, but possesses, I am told, a thousand graces; is highly accomplished; mistress both of the theory and practice of music, and an excellent mineralogist. I dined to-day at Prince Esterhazy’s, one of the greatest among the Hungarian noblemen. He has a million florins a-year, but is greatly in debt. He was not at home, but the Princess is a charming, unaffected, pretty woman about thirty.

* * * * *

_April 20._—Dined at Prince Colloredo’s. His wife, though very civil, could not conceal her joy that I was soon to go to England, because I was to be succeeded by a gold muslin, which I have promised to buy for her. The abundance of pearls and diamonds worn here is absolutely dazzling. I am told they are all entailed.

* * * * *

_April 21._—Passed the evening with the Duchess of Giovine. The oftener we meet, the more I admire the extent of her information, the clearness of her understanding, and the vivacity of her ideas. The learned languages, history ancient and modern, and the various branches of natural philosophy, especially mineralogy, seem familiar to her. She has reflected deeply on education, politics, and manners; and owned to me that she had hoped to have a place about the Empress, which would enable her to direct the education of the Archduchesses.[19] No woman could be more fit for such a situation; but court intrigues, and particularly the influence of the Marquis di Gallo, the Neapolitan Minister, and of the present _grande maîtresse_, prevented it. That the first should oppose her was the more extraordinary, as she is highly favoured by the Queen of Naples. An unhappy marriage, bad health, and a natural taste for mental improvement, all co-operated to promote her present retired and studious life.

* * * * *

_April 25._—A _thé_ at Comtesse Worzell’s, a Polonaise. Lord Douglas, a late arrival, was of the party. He looks like a public singer, and is devoted to music, but is easy and well-bred. Saw the real dress of a Polish nobleman. It is becoming, and is a sort of tunic of two colours, with sleeves puffed at the top, and a girdle. The colours are blue and grey.

* * * * *

_April 26._—The opera of _La Virtu in Cimento_, a charming piece on the canvass of Patient Grizzle; the music by Paer. His wife sings in it remarkably well.

* * * * *

_May 2._—The public walks about Vienna are delicious, particularly the Augarten, where no carriages or horses are admitted, and which, if less a garden _peigné_, would be perfect. I have dined three days this week at the houses of the Ministers. This is no compliment, being a matter of course. There are about forty persons present at these entertainments. The dinners do not appear superlatively good, and would not, I believe, content an English epicure. They all begin at three, end before five; coffee and cards succeed; one retires about six, and, if one chooses, returns at nine to an assembly in the same house.—Among the modes here, I chiefly dislike the use of running footmen. It is so cruel, and so unnecessary. These unhappy people always precede the carriage of their masters in town, and sometimes even to the suburbs. They seldom live above three or four years, and generally die of consumption. Fatigue and disease are painted in their pallid and drawn features; but, like victims, they are crowned with flowers, and adorned with tinsel. Dwarfs as a piece of pageantry also pain me, though I do not well know why.

* * * * *

_May 4._—Drank tea at a house Mad. de —— possesses in the Prater, a delicious little spot; and the moving, animated, and varied spectacle it offers of people of every description and almost of every nation, apparently happy and entertained, is wonderfully amusing—for a few moments. The inhabitants of Vienna may certainly be called the Sybarites of Europe, and their love of diversions proves an obstacle to the cultivation of intellect, art, or science.

* * * * *

_May 7._—Was presented by the Baroness de la Vallaise to the Emperor and Empress. He receives quite alone, she with two ladies of honour; so in fact you merely pay them a morning visit. He has a mild countenance; she has as much gentleness in her expression, with more animation. Both are extremely gracious, and it appears nature, and not art. They place themselves on a level with you, and do not remind you that they descend. She is not handsome, but very pleasing. She was well dressed, in white silk; in her hair, which seems very fine and was dressed with powder, she wore a row of emeralds, each set flat, and surrounded with diamonds. A trimming on the front of her gown, and her necklace and ear-rings, were all of the same kind.

* * * * *

_May 11._—Supped with Mad. Divoff. Cardinal Albani accompanied very well on the pianoforte Mons. ——, a banker, who had passed his youth in Italy, and who sung charmingly. Madame de Kalitschoff, the Russian embassadress, a lively pretty woman, was so impatient for the pattern of my combs, that she pulled them out of my head, without the least reluctance to discompose my toilette, and put them into her own. The women here possess little taste in their dress. The manner in which they mix every colour, not merely in the rainbow, but in all nature, and the variety of showy ornaments they heap on one another, is incredible.

* * * * *

_May 12._—Saw the Hungarian Guard in gala, a most beautiful sight. Seventy-two young men, the flower of the Hungarian nobility, magnificently and tastefully dressed, mounted on white horses, finely shaped and full of spirit. The costume is rich, yet so well fancied that it adds to personal dignity, which most splendid dresses diminish. It is composed of a scarlet vest and trousers, made to the shape, with green belts, scarfs, and yellow half-boots, all richly trimmed and embroidered with silver. A tiger’s skin is fancifully disposed on the back, and covers part of the left arm. A very lofty fur cap, ornamented with green and silver, is completed with a heron’s feather. Upon the whole it is rich, yet not heavy; splendid, yet not gaudy; and while every part is ornamental, none seems to impede the exertion of strength or activity.

* * * * *

_May 13._—Saw Count Lambert’s collection of pictures—an excellent choice. My favourite, a storm and shipwreck by Loutherbourg, much superior to his usual style of colouring, very transparent, beautiful, and expressive. The Etruscan vases are numerous, and he supposes them coeval with the Creation, as he declares them six thousand years old.

* * * * *

_May 14._—Saw the porcelain manufactory. It is said the mass is not so fine as that of Dresden, of which the white is beautifully clear and transparent, somewhat like a plover’s egg. It is, however, eminently beautiful; but the biscuit figures are not in such good taste, nor so well proportioned, as those of Dresden. A _plateau_, designed as a present from the Emperor to the Duchess of York, cannot be enough admired. The biscuit figures in the middle represent the story of Cupid and Psyche. It costs twelve thousand florins.

* * * * *

_May 15._—Went to a breakfast at the Prater. I went at one, hoping the violence of the breakfast would be over, as I do not love sitting long at table. Unfortunately others do. This social meal had begun at twelve, and lasted till three, when dancing began. It is the custom to dance a country-dance and a waltz alternately; but those who only dance the former are treated unfairly; for, as the waltz is the favourite, and there is no reason it should ever finish, a vast deal more time is devoted to it than to the country-dance, which has a stated progress. The waltz is so passionately beloved by the German women, that numbers of all ranks fall a sacrifice to it; and every Carnival is usually fatal to one or two individuals of the first society.

* * * * *

_May 16._—Found the Princess Rosamoffska at home in a delicious country-house, or, as they call it here, garden—very like Richmond. I find her extremely pleasing. She is one of the daughters of Madame de Thune, the Madame de Sévigné of Vienna. Her husband was a _ci-devant_ Russian Minister, and I see she has a large share of the general antipathy to the Emperor. She asked me if I had seen two excellent caricatures of him. In the first he writes with one hand _Ordre_, with the other _Contre-ordre_, while on his forehead is written _Désordre_. In the second, Peter the Great is represented with a torch he appears to have just lighted; Catherine the Second has a pair of snuffers to make it burn still brighter, and poor Paul an—extinguisher. I left Madame Rosamoffska much pleased with her conversation, and the _prévenante_ vivacity of her manners.

* * * * *

I found the following verses on a loose sheet of paper, quite
separate from the journal, and without any date; but if my
Mother made actually, and not merely in imagination, a visit
to the famous shrine at Mariazell—which is in Styria, and some
seventy miles from Vienna—it must have been during this, her
only residence in that city. I am quite ignorant whether she
is here recording an incident in her own travels, or in those
of another; but the description of the scenery in the earlier
lines appears like that of one drawing on her own experience.
The story is a touching one, and may help to remind that there
are other forms of human life besides that highly artificial
one in which at this time the writer was moving.

MARIAZELL.

I joined the crowd that from Vienna streamed
As pious pilgrims to Mariazell,
Where stands the Virgin Mother’s holy shrine;
And trod with them the steep romantic paths
That wound by rushing waters, and through vales
No sunbeams ever pierced. Full many a dale
Seemed by the lofty mountains sternly closed,
Until the narrow path had reached its base,
And then a sharply sudden turn displayed
O’erhanging rocks, young groves, and rivulets,
That sparkling cheered the wanderer’s weary way,
Till at the last the summit’s airy height,
Crowned with its antique cloister, was disclosed.
Chanting their simple hymn the pilgrims rise.
Then long bright tresses are unbound, to float
Like hers—the Magdalen, by Guido drawn—
Denoting penitence, meek humble prayer,
And recklessness of earthly ornament.
I rested by a fountain near the top,
And saw a father, mother, and their son
Slowly ascend the hill. The boy was fair,
The woman calm, courageous, and resigned;
So in her features did I read her soul.
But he who should have been the guide of both,
With looks of helpless, all-confiding love,
Received support from them—for he was blind.
Around his neck a rosary was hung;
His fingers told the tranquillizing beads,
While in a soft and melancholy chaunt
His wife recited the accustomed prayers,
That fell like balm upon his wounded heart.
For the last time the wonder-working stream
Refreshed his weary lips. The days prescribed,
Three anxious days of prayer and hope, were past,
Each altar visited, each vow fulfilled.
Though poor in worldly treasure, they were rich
In purer wealth—a family of love.
Their distant home in green Bohemia lay,
Where a fair daughter in ripe womanhood
Hung like a mother o’er the little band,
Who watched with longing eyes a sire’s return.
Ere darkness fell on him, he sat and sang,
Plying the shuttle with unwearied skill;
And labour, like a ceaseless fountain, flung
Around his rural home the green delight
Of rustic plenty. But, the light withdrawn
From those sad eyes, by slow degrees his day
Became a sleepless night, and poverty
Assailed him like an armèd man. At last
He formed the difficult resolve to save
A pittance for a journey to these shrines.
Then all was spared that nature did not need,
And while the customary fruits were laid
On the loved father’s board, his faithful wife
And cheerful offspring shared the coarsest food:
He knew it not, nor ever would have known,
But for the prying humour of a neighbour.
She told this simple tale, and rose to go.
No ray of light had visited his eyes,
Yet he was half consoled, and pleased to think
He had fulfilled his duty to his children:
And though he had not found the boon he sought,
He was resigned, and blest the will of Heaven.

* * * * *

_May 28._—Dined with the Count de la Gardie, Swedish Minister. The Hanoverian and Prussian Ministers were of the party. The gentlemen, according to the Swedish custom, were called into the ante-room a moment before dinner to drink brandy and eat bread-and-butter. At dinner, the conversation turned on Italy. Count Divoff, a Russian, said, ‘_L’été prochain j’irai en Italie; alors les rois seront tous sur leurs trônes, et l’ordre rétabli_.’ Count Keller, the Prussian Minister, said with an air of _persiflage_—at least, I thought it such—‘_Il est vrai que c’est un espoir auquel il ne faut pas renoncer_.’ One assigned cause for Sir Charles Whitworth’s disgrace with the Court of Russia is curious. The Emperor had given orders no empty carriage should pass a certain part of the palace. Sir Charles, ignorant of this, had left his coach to speak with a workman, and desired it might drive on and meet him at a distance. The sentinel stopped the carriage; the servants insisted on driving on; a scuffle ensued. The Emperor, ever on the watch about trifles, inquired into the cause of the dispute, and, on learning it, ordered the servants to be beat, the horses to be beat, and the coach to be beat (Xerxes lashing the sea!). Sir Charles Whitworth, by way of washing off this stain, ordered his servants to be discharged, his horses to be shot, his carriage, after being broken into a thousand pieces, to be thrown into the river. The Emperor, indignant at this mark of offended pride, insisted on his recall.

* * * * *

_June 4._—At Count Keller’s, the Prussian Minister’s, heard Marchetti, the first woman singer at Berlin. She has a very powerful expression, too powerful, perhaps, except for the stage, and a very brilliant execution, too much ornamented, perhaps, for the generality of her hearers. Her voice has, upon the whole, more strength than sweetness, though it is said some of her low tones resemble Marchesi. Supped with the Princess de Lorraine, once the most beautiful woman of her time. She retains, though past sixty, very splendid remains, and has an uncommon share of grace and dignity. From the pension of 12,000 florins allowed her by the Emperor, she supports several of her friends, relations, and even acquaintances. She gives suppers four times a week, composed of the best society among the emigrants, intermingled with a few Germans and foreigners.

* * * * *

_June 6._—I passed this morning with Mad. de la Gardie, wife to the Swedish Minister. She is very kind to me, and I have at her house that easy ingress and egress which I prefer to formal invitations. We went together to see Füger’s paintings.[20] He is a fine artist, and a sincere enthusiast. I believe he ranks very high in the first class of historical painters. His ‘Death of Virginia’ is a beautiful performance. Her father has just stabbed her; Appius, who is elevated on the tribune from which he had given sentence, remains petrified in the posture into which he had thrown himself from the involuntary motion by which we mechanically attempt to save an object in danger, even when we know and feel our help comes too late. The expression, _ordonnance_, and colouring of this picture are all charming. I also saw his drawings from Klopstock’s _Messiah_—wild, fanciful, expressive. The dream of Judas, suggested by Satan, who appears with his hand on the culprit’s heart, while his guardian angel mournfully retires, particularly struck me; as did the restoration of one of the fallen angels, who has repented, is forgiven, and recovers his pristine dignity and beauty. Füger is a tall, well-looking man, about forty, his countenance is placid, his eye is open, clear, and _attractive_—I mean, invites you to look into it, and to repose your soul on his. I have seen this in but few eyes, and they generally belonged to persons who combined genius with simplicity. After he had explained to me the subjects of his drawings from Klopstock, and regretted I could not understand him in German, he took down an Italian translation of a few favourite cantos, and began to read it to me. Mad. de la Gardie became impatient to go; however he went on. At last she tore me away; but not till Füger put the book into my hand, exclaiming, ‘_Lisez, lisez; cela vous tournera la tête, et vous échauffera le sang_.’ In the evening went to Lady Minto’s and Mad. Arnstein’s.—It is said Cesario, the resident _Chargé d’Affaires_ here from Berlin, had orders from Haugwitz to carry on a negotiation with Thugut without the participation of Keller. Cesario had borrowed from the latter some maps; in returning which he sent him by mistake a letter from Thugut, that discovered their secret intercourse. Keller, enraged, wrote a remonstrance to Haugwitz, which, it is also said, has procured his recall. This story is denied by La Gardie, the friend of Keller, who affirms that Cesario, a confirmed Jacobin, attempted to intrigue, without being authorized by his Court, and is to be himself recalled. Keller, La Gardie, and La Vallaise live much together; Lord Minto extremely apart from all the foreign Ministers. Query, if this is good policy in his Lordship?

* * * * *

_June 7._—On coming home last night from Mad. Arnstein’s, I saw by the light of the moon a poor female peasant with a load of wood at her back, praying before a crucifix, placed on one side of the road under a few trees, with a lighted taper before it. It was a pleasing picture. There labour and poverty forget their care, and there only exists a momentary, but a real and consoling, equality. What can those _soi-disant_ philosophers, who endeavour to extirpate religion from the hearts of men, offer to the poor and the wretched in its place?—Supped at the Prince de Ligne’s.

* * * * *

_June 11._—Various symptoms of peace are observed to-day. Thugut is _rayonnant_ with delight. He has always, it is said, been favourable in his heart to the French, and his estates in France have never been confiscated. The Emperor is supposed to be wholly guided by him. The Empress is averse to this Minister, but, spite of her influence in politics, cannot displace him. The Emperor has done everything within the bounds of decent respect to prevent the Queen of Naples from coming; but cannot succeed.

* * * * *

_June 12._—I forgot to mention having dined in the course of last month with Count Cobenzl, who desired me to make my own party, and devoted a day to showing me his delightful grounds. He is a farmer as well as an embellisher of nature, and has such a cowhouse, &c., as I have never seen in any country. I also dined last month at Dornbach, and saw the villa of Maréchal Lacy, where nature has performed her part in the most exquisite manner, but where art has been impertinently busy. Great are the beauties of both these places; Count Cobenzl’s, however, displays a purity of taste which is not to be found at the Maréchal’s.—Saw this day from the windows of Baroness Spielman the public adoration of the Host by the Emperor and Empress. The procession which appears in honour of this day, the _Fête Dieu_, is the most splendid and brilliant Vienna ever displays. The Emperor and Empress, Grand Duke of Tuscany, Palatine, ladies of the Court in gala dresses, friars of the different Orders, children maintained by charitable institutions, vicars of all the churches with painted banners, German and Hungarian Guards, officers of those regiments who rose _en masse_ to oppose the French, &c. &c., all proceed to church. The Emperor, Empress, &c., go in state coaches, but return on foot, preceded by the Host, to which they kneel for some minutes in different streets. He was dressed in uniform, with the Order of Maria Theresa; she in a silver muslin gown, her hair dressed somewhat _à l’antique_, powdered and ornamented with roses and festoons of pearls. The ceremony would, in my opinion, have been much more impressive with a mixture of martial and religious music.

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_June 15-17._—Three days at Baden, a small town two posts from Vienna, celebrated for its warm sulphureous baths. They appear convenient and well attended. In the largest, men and women of the best society bathe together, and appear very much to enjoy the amusement. The gentlemen are in shirts and trousers; the ladies in their usual white morning dresses, and on their heads caps, handkerchiefs, laces, and ribbons, fancifully and becomingly disposed. It is the triumph of real beauty and freshness, as no rouge can be worn or paint of any kind. The bath opens a vast field for coquetry. A becoming dishabille, graceful attitudes, timidity, languor, and an affectionate confidence in your conductor, may here all be displayed to advantage. The lover leads his mistress, and has perhaps a secret satisfaction in finding himself with her in a new element; for Mad. de Genlis observes, I think with truth, that to those who really love every new situation in company with the beloved has a certain charm. Many of those who have no lovers obtain, however, half a conductor, as every man who is not devoted generally gives each arm to a different lady. The old, the plain, and the neglected sit round on benches, as it is dangerous for women to walk about in the bath without a guide. Spectators are admitted, who view the scene from a little gallery. To them the heat and sulphureous smell is very unpleasant. The situation of this village is agreeable, among hills, which, though minute, are of a romantic character. An _écluse_, in a very wild spot, at about ten minutes’ distance, has been made to receive the wood which has floated on the river from the mountains. It mingles ideas of industry and ingenuity with those of peace and retirement, a contrast that always pleases.

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_June 19._—Dined yesterday at Prince Staremberg’s, where I saw Count ——, just returned from Russia, who told a thousand strange stories of the Emperor’s frivolity, punctilio, and pride. He now fears he shall see the ghost of Catherine (a sublime apparition!); and one night under the influence of this apprehension leaped out of bed, and threw down the chairs and tables in his haste to take shelter in the chimney. The Empress, who slept near his room, terrified at the noise, arose, and not finding the Emperor, called his attendants. They examined the apartments, and discovered the place of his retreat. He was so ashamed of the ridicule he felt conscious of having incurred, that he put the Empress under arrest, with strict orders never to come uncalled into his chamber. Count —— also said it was not allowed to invite half a dozen people to dinner without permission from the police; and if this permission was too often asked, the person became suspected. I mentioned the conversation of yesterday at the Count de la Gardie’s, where I dined to-day. ‘_Ce Monsieur_,’ said he, ‘_fera fortune à Vienne, où c’est la mode de médire de l’Empereur de Russie_.’

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_June 27._—Dined at Maréchal Lacy’s—a large party—his invitation was in the spirit of ancient chivalry, begging ‘_l’honneur de me servir à diner_.’ This delightful old man does the honours of his house perfectly. He seemed quite grieved at parting from me, and pressed my hand most affectionately as he put me into the carriage. In the evening went to see a firework in the Prater. The _emplacement_ is perfectly convenient, the view beautiful, and the representation extremely amusing. Those spectators who choose to pay a florin are seated on a stage, exactly opposite, where there is no crowd, and where they are perfectly at their ease. The difference of colour in the fire, some being perfectly white, and some bright yellow, has a good effect, and there is a degree of perspective obtained, beyond what I thought possible. The performance represented the taking of Genoa, and at one moment displayed a warrior, who waved his sword, and had a noble yet satanic appearance, which reminded one of Milton’s fallen archangel. At the close were a range of trophies, surmounted by a long wreath of laurel, suspended at intervals and formed into festoons by eagles in different postures, who held it in their beaks.

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_June 30._—Dined with Count Erclädy, and in the evening went to a concert at Dr. Franc’s. He is a physician, who is supposed to have great skill in his profession. His son’s wife sings remarkably well, and with some other amateurs performed the opera of _The Horatii and Curiatii_—the words Metastasio’s, the music Cimarosa’s—the former very poetical and affecting, the latter brilliant, pathetic, and expressive. Paer also sung charmingly; he is a _maître de chapelle_, and a very agreeable composer. I find the _noblesse_ can sometimes wave etiquette, and sacrifice their dignity to their amusement, for the auditors were chiefly of the first class.

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_July 1._—Breakfasted with the incomparable Duchess of Giovine, who gave me in the most graceful manner a pair of opal ear-rings and a cross to match. She hoped their colour might be emblematic of the unspotted felicity I should enjoy during the remainder of my life. Dined with Mad. de la Gardie.

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_July 2._—Mrs. —— made many inquiries whether I saw Mad. de la Gardie frequently, and ended by assuring me she was extremely jealous. I am certain she is as far removed from jealousy as he is from giving her cause. Accompanied her this morning to the gallery of Count Truchsess, a valuable collection. There are above eleven hundred pictures, chiefly by Flemish and Dutch masters, some by Germans; among which Füger’s are conspicuous, particularly one of Stratonice and Antiochus, a charming subject, exquisitely treated.

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_July 3-7._—Dined one day at Prince Staremberg’s, whose garden is much admired here, and would be thought very tasteless in England. He is, I see, delighted with a little muddy rivulet, flowing a very short but serpentine way through two heaps of stones piled on each side, and ending to the left in a small pool, with an island in it, about the size and shape of a plate, and to the right in a cascade that falls about ten feet down five or six regular steps. ‘_Cela va toujours_,’ said he triumphantly, ‘_et cela m’a couté trente mille florins_.’ I dined also again with the Arnsteins, who I see hate the Austrian government. She is a Prussian, and, according to the late cant phrase, ‘that accounts for it.’

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_July 8._—Went to see Prince Lichtenstein’s collection of pictures, which fills fourteen rooms. We have no idea of such numerous collections in England. His pictures are chiefly Flemish and Dutch. In these consist the riches of most of the Vienna collections. Pictures by Italian masters are comparatively rare. Van Huysum’s flowers, and Sebold’s extraordinary representations of nature, in which not a hair or pore but is distinct, were to me the greatest novelties. The latter in the course of a long life painted but twelve pictures, all, I believe, heads. His own portrait and that of his daughter, who is still living, are in Prince Lichtenstein’s gallery.

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_July 10._—The nobility here do not disdain any branch of commerce or mercantile speculation, not even usury. Prince Staremberg, Maréchal Kinski, and the Prince de Paer are the chief usurers. The Duchess of Giovine was employed by the Queen of Naples to negotiate a loan of four millions, and had recourse to the latter, who modestly asked twenty per cent. interest, saying to her, ‘_Madame, quant à l’argent, je vous déclare je ne suis pas délicat; je suis tout à fait marchand. Je suis accoutumé à prêter mon argent à 20 pour 100, et je ne puis le faire à moins._’ The great people here also make a practice of selling wine in as small a quantity as five bottles, or a florin’s worth, at a time. Prince Staremberg will even consent to sell a single tree out of his favourite garden, if any one offers a sufficient price for it.

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_July 11._—A ball at Mödling, a water-drinking place, about four miles from Vienna. Went with the Count and Countess Wickenburg. He is Minister for Bavaria, and a friend to peace, as are La Gardie, Keller, and La Vallaise; all, indeed, except Lord Minto. Danced with Ferdinand Count Palffy, director of the mines, an excellent dancer and an agreeable little man, but of too finical and foppish an exterior. Supped with the two Princes of Wurtemburg, _beaux frères_ of our Princess Royal. Conversed much with him who is tall, of a dark complexion, and about five and twenty.

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_July 12._—Received a visit from Count Truchsess. He is averse to peace. He proposes sending his collection to England next year, in order to sell it. Every one at present is anxious to turn a capital of that sort into money, having the fear of the French before their eyes.

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_July 14._—Was presented at Duke Albert’s, where I thought myself in England; his looks and manners so much resemble those of an Englishman of high fashion. He is son to the late King of Poland. Mad. de Menée, a lady who is not related to him, was _grande maîtresse_ to his late wife, lives in his house, and presides at his parties. This is not thought singular here. At the Duke’s, which appears incontestably the pleasantest house at Vienna, saw the Duchess of Riario, his niece—a fine woman, between twenty and thirty, extremely advantageously dressed, with a tolerably handsome face, and great ease, nay, even confidence, of manner.

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_July 18._—Dined at La Gardie’s—read _Les Mères Rivales_ aloud, while she made a _couvre-pied_ for her approaching confinement; her mother worked a cap for the babe, and he sat down to his netting; it was a black shawl for his wife. A fine tall man, a soldier, too, with a very martial appearance, netting a shawl for his wife, amused me—Hercules and Omphale! I leave Vienna to-morrow.

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_Desultory Remarks._—Upon the whole, Vienna is no place of gay dissipation, except in the Carnival. The spectacles are but indifferent, the assemblies but little frequented, there are few concerts and no balls. Married women, or if one happens to be a _chanoinesse_, which confers the same privileges, go about to all places without a companion of their own sex. Those who are of notorious bad character are received in all societies with as much _empressement_ as those of the very best conduct. The few really virtuous women do not make a class apart, but associate indiscriminately, and even form friendships, with those who are most notoriously otherwise. Yet a certain respect is shown to a good character; for, though gallantry is never blamed, a uniform life of virtue is often praised. Attentions are reciprocal between the sexes. The women do not exact homage, and therefore do not receive it. I was seldom more surprised than on being congratulated by a lady on the attentions of a young Pole, who distinguished me particularly on the evening of my first appearance, as in general such congratulations are offered to the man whose homage is suffered, and not to the woman who receives it. Scandal is a vice totally unknown; its most general object among women is here not disgraceful, so hardly ever made a topic, and, when mentioned, spoken of without censure or enlargement. The best feature in the character of the society at Vienna is a universal appearance of good nature. The young Germans do not associate much with women, and, as the various subjects of political information which are necessary to an Englishman are merely matters of speculation under a despotic government, one great motive to study which exists among us is here cut off. Classical knowledge is not thought essential to the education of a gentleman; study, in general, not a favourite pursuit; and reading scarcely considered as an amusement. Consequently the young Austrians do not excel in the art of conversation, nor do they even possess what we call small talk, from mixing so little with women of fashion. They dance and ride, but I believe the variety of sports and exercises which give a graceful exterior, is quite unknown to them. They have little grace, and scarcely any beauty.

Upon the whole, however, I love the German character. Calmness and mildness are its most prominent features. Cruelty is a vice here totally unknown, with all its attendants, roughness, brutality, oaths, loud speech, &c. As to importunity and servility, they are alike banished from the land. The begger asks charity without whining or clamour, and if not immediately relieved, desists without reproach. There arises from this universal calmness of soul a certain dignity more easily felt than described. I would advise every one who has irritable nerves to reside in this country. He will see none of those melancholy objects who awake pity, and hear none of those atrocities which excite horror. Safe under the guardianship of a mild but vigilant police, he may travel over unfrequented heaths at all hours of the night, and may lie down and sleep in full security, without even the precaution of locking his door. He may walk about the streets in any costume without being insulted, and he may carry his whole fortune about him without any danger of losing it by the dishonesty of others. _C’est défendu_ acts in this country with the force the most violent penal laws do not possess in England. At the play a lady said to me, ‘_On ne siffle plus au spectacle; c’est défendu_.’ The general wish for peace is strongly expressed; and as the Emperor has neither men nor money to carry on the war, he must desire it as much as his subjects. Gold is scarcely ever seen. I did not see one piece of coined gold during the four months of my residence at Vienna.

Upon the whole, the facility which strangers who are highly recommended find in establishing themselves in good society, the variety created by the concourse of people from all parts of the world, those points of national character I have already stated, and the extreme beauty of the country, make Vienna a delightful residence. It is also, when compared to London, extremely cheap. A person may live in the same manner as in London, as nearly as the difference of each town will permit, for about one-third of the expense.

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_July 20, Prague._—The road from Vienna here is very agreeably diversified with hills, vineyards, hop grounds, and abundance of corn-fields; but, alas! literally the harvest is plenteous and the labourers few. I scarcely saw a peasant, and in one field reckoned thirteen women at work, with only two men.

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_July 22, Carlsbad._—Two fatiguing days have brought me here. The situation of these baths is charming. A variety of hills, covered to the very top with different species of fir, sweep around and play into one another in every direction. A small river runs at the bottom, and an appearance of dignity, repose, and seclusion is the general expression of the scene.

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_July 23._—Became acquainted with the Countess Brühl, a woman whose character seems to command universal respect, and whose manners please me extremely. I preferred seeing a beautiful country with her to dancing with the gayer part of the society, and was well rewarded for my choice by her conversation. Though I had no recommendation to her, she has offered to introduce me here, and presented me in the same evening to the Princess Radziwill and Duchess of Courland. The former very graciously told me that I was still regretted at Brunswick.

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_July 25-28._—Lived chiefly with an English society composed of Colonel and Mrs. ——, Sir Thomas and Lady ——. Early tea drinking and late supping consumed the evenings; and the mornings were wasted in visits and shopping, with all their tiresome accompaniments. The conversation ran chiefly on the decided superiority of England in all points, and comparisons of different places abroad in point of cheapness, and stale anecdotes of ourselves and of the English world. The improvement small, and the amusement less.

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_August 4, Töplitz._—Remained at Carlsbad till the second. The situation is charming, the _ton_ perfectly easy, the lodgings tolerable, the hours convenient, and the manner of living extremely agreeable. Two days have brought me here. The situation has not the divine romantic beauty of Carlsbad. I have seen no part of it so agreeable as the _Wiese_ where I there lodged, and I much regret the change. Went with the Princess Clary to a _thé_ given in that part of her garden open to the public by the Princess Dolgorouki, a Russian. The _locale_ made it a pleasing fête, but somehow or other I was not amused. In the evening was admitted to the Princess Dolgorouki. As she rose at my entrance I did not perceive her previous situation; and was a little surprised when I saw her throw herself upon a mattress, covered with the same calico as her sofas. There she lay along, dressed in a very dirty, huddled _dishabille_, and wrapped up in a Turkish shawl. The room was small, low, and mean, like most of the lodgings here; but was ornamented with pieces of chintz, calico, and muslin hung round in festoons; the like were suspended from the ceiling; prints, unframed, were hung about in various places; orange-trees were in the four corners, and the stove was veiled with drapery of various kinds. The lady and the room gave me an idea of Bedlam, yet every one admired, and cried out how enchanting her taste. In Germany be extraordinary, grotesque or absurd in a new way, and you will surely be applauded. Conversed chiefly with a wounded officer, the Prince Tour and Taxis, who gave me a horrid account of the fatigues and sufferings of the Austrian army during the last campaign. He was left ten hours on the field of battle, ‘_où je serois mort_,’ added he, ‘_si le caporal de mon régiment n’avoit bouché les trous de mes plaies avec de la terre. J’aurois été heureux de mourir, car cela m’auroit épargné bien des souffrances._’ All seem dissatisfied with the conduct of the war, particularly since Prince Charles resigned the command.

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_August 11._—Long airings with the Princess Clary (to whom Töplitz belongs) fill up my evenings very agreeably. I have been in two of the carriages of the country. The first holds four, of whom two only can be defended from the weather. The second holds eight; it is a long plank covered with a cushion, with a footboard on each side, and on one a sort of narrow resting-place, which at will may serve for your back or arms, as you can turn yourself either way. It has four wheels covered with cases of strong leather to prevent the branches from entangling in them, and is excellent for going through woods and narrow roads. It is heavy to the horses, and requires six in a long drive.

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_August 13._—Went to a _thé_ given by Vicomte Anadia, the Portuguese Minister, and afterwards saw _Le Sauvage_, a very ugly dance, which I mean to take to England, where novelty sometimes supplies the want of every other charm.

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