NAPLES—THE KING AND QUEEN—NISMES—VIENNE—THE EMBASSY PROM TIPPOO
SAHIB—GENOA—ROME—THE REVOLUTION AND THE PAPACY—ARRIVAL OF THE FRENCH
TROOPS.
WE left Rome on the 2nd of May, 1785, and reached Naples in the
afternoon of the 5th. The dress of the common people was very slight,
though very often exceedingly picturesque. The women wore their hair in
the style of antique statues, and none of them had any stays. Ladies
even of the highest rank went about with only a ribbon tied round their
head, and seemed by no means scrupulous as to etiquette. Many of them
kept running footmen, but these were very dirty. A black petticoat and a
mantle that covered the whole figure were generally worn by all women,
except those of the lowest orders.
A few days after our arrival we witnessed the funeral of an infant. The
corpse was dressed in red and silver, and laid upon an immense and
magnificent bier borne by eight young men, in fancy costumes, with
plumes of feathers on their heads to represent angels, but much more
resembling stage figurants. Two persons walked in front, carrying gold
vases filled with flowers. The priests were in their usual place, and
last of all came the coffin, decorated with yellow and silver.
Refreshments were handed round at the house, and sugar-plums thrown out
of the window into the street, as it is considered a matter for
rejoicing that the child should have died before it could have committed
sin.
We were presented to the queen by the Duchess d’Andria. Her Majesty
stood beside a great table in a large room, and with only two candles
lighted. She asked us two or three common-place questions, and then made
us a civil curtsey, whereupon we took our leave. Her Majesty was not at
all well dressed, nor was she at all graceful. She is said to have a
fine hand and arm, which she leaned upon the table. She spoke to us in
French. Many other ladies were presented at the same time, the duchess
calling their names in order from a list she held in her hand.
The queen used to be subject to fits of devotion, at which times she
stuck short prayers and pious ejaculations inside of her stays, and
occasionally swallowed them. The king used to pass our house on his way
to the lake where he caught the gulls that he sold to the fish-dealers.
He weighed the birds with his own hands, and was very careful to be paid
in good money.
We remained at Naples till the latter part of May, 1786, when we
proceeded to Marseilles in a small sailing vessel. On our arrival at
that port the custom-house officers came on board, and were very
troublesome, though we had nothing contrary to their laws. It was
impossible, indeed, not to remark a change in the manners of the French
since we last resided in that country. The revolutionary spirit had made
great progress during the few years that had elapsed, though it had not
yet reached its acme. Injurious reflections were just beginning to be
cast upon Marie Antoinette, and all sorts of reports were being spread
abroad of a character to bring the “haute société” into discredit.
After staying a few days at Marseilles we went for a week to Avignon,
and thence to Nismes, where we remained for nearly a year. The larger
portion of the inhabitants were Calvinists, but the bishop was kind and
liberal to all who stood in need of his assistance, and never omitted to
send invitations to the higher order of Protestant gentlemen.
Individuals, however, of the two persuasions were not equally tolerant.
If a Catholic were invited to dine with a Protestant on Friday or
Saturday, he was certain not to find anything he could eat; and if a
Protestant happened to dine with a Catholic on a fast day, there was
never anything but fish and vegetables. Nevertheless, the society of
Nismes was very agreeable, and there were good families residing in the
neighbourhood who were very sociable.
In the following spring we removed to Vienne, with which we were so well
pleased that we resided there until the beginning of May, 1789.[48] An
embassy from Tippoo Sahib passed through Vienne in July, 1788, on its
way from Marseilles to Paris. The ambassadors consisted of a warrior
dressed in white, said to be the king’s son-in-law, with his two sons
who were learning French, and of a man of letters and a man of law. They
travelled only from eleven to four, fearing the cold of the morning and
evening. The whole town turned out to see them. The warrior laughed much
on seeing abbés and ladies standing together, and said that the latter
took a great liberty in touching persons who were sacred. He was also
much grieved for the women who were not married, and thought they were
not fairly treated.
From Vienne we descended the Rhône to Avignon, and thence proceeded by
way of Aix to Toulon. The country was filled with soldiers, and the
townspeople were breaking out into riots by reason of the heavy taxes
and the high price of bread. We were detained at Toulon several days
waiting for a French felucca from Antibes, as there was a nest of
Barbary corsairs among the Iles d’Hyères which rendered Italian vessels
unsafe. As it was, we crept along the coast, and landed at Nice, Frejus,
and Savona,[49] being greatly delayed by contrary winds. However, on the
eighteenth day after our departure from Toulon, we reached Genoa in
safety. Society was then on a very magnificent footing in that
aristocratic republic. Both men and women of the higher classes were
familiar with both French and Italian, though they generally used the
Genoese dialect. Many of them were also well acquainted with English,
and, as in other parts of Italy, most of the men were good classical
scholars. They were not, perhaps, so fond of music and painting as in
the south, and yet the noble pictures in their churches and palaces bore
evidence to the taste of the nation for the latter art.
All the nobility dressed in black, the men invariably, and the ladies
when at the Doge’s palace and the large parties called the “Quarante.”
It was considered their court dress, and was rarely worn for mourning.
Indeed, it was the custom for the nobles to mention in their wills that
they desired no mourning should be worn for them. The assemblies derived
their name of “quarante” from their having been originally given by
forty of the principal families in succession. There were not nearly so
many families of distinction when we were at Genoa, but these parties
were nevertheless very splendid, the houses being brilliantly
illuminated within and without, and sumptuously adorned with choice
tapestry and costly furniture. The nobility seldom gave grand dinners,
but when they did it was in the very best style. They were for the most
part engaged in commerce, and very keen in business matters.
I remember that after one of their great dinners a servant, who was
carrying coffee round, let the tray fall, and broke a very valuable
service of china. The master of the house took no further notice of the
accident than to tell the man to bring some more coffee. One of the
guests, who came from another part of Italy, remarked how patiently he
bore this loss, although he had been so angry only the day before
because his people were burning two small candles, instead of one, in
the office. The host smiled, and said: “O! questa è altra cosa: qui si
spende, là si guadagna.”[50]
It was a rare circumstance for Genoese noblemen to enter a foreign
service, nor was the military profession generally held in high regard.
One evening I was sitting by a lady at one of the parties of the
“quarante,” when a young officer came up and spoke to my companion.
After conversing a little while he moved away again, when she whispered
to, me: “Though he is in uniform, I can assure you that he is a
gentleman.” Very few of the Genoese noblemen cared to enter the army,
but many Corsican noblemen still remained in the service, though that
island no longer belonged to the Republic. The generalissimo, or rather
the secretary-at-war, was a senator, and wore the black “toga” of his
order. I saw him once review the troops in that dress, with a very fine
lace braid. He sat in an arm-chair at a table, with pens, ink, and paper
before him—his secretaries standing by the side of the table—while the
soldiers were performing their military evolutions.
With respect to the naval service, however, it was very different—the
frigates and galleys being commanded by young men of the highest
families. For the same reason that the Genoese nobles would not serve in
the army, they refused to be sent as ministers to foreign
courts—ambassadors they had none. Every noble was “a sovereign,” and as
such could not be a servant, even of the government, so simple citizens,
or gentlemen from provincial towns, were employed as envoys of the
republic.
There was one inconvenience, of a singular kind, which we never quite
got over. The money of many different countries was current in Genoa,
but changed in value every week. This at first puzzled us not a little,
but a gentleman of our acquaintance afterwards used to call upon us
every Saturday at noon, and tell us the rates of exchange for the
following week. Still it was a matter of some trouble in paying a bill
to calculate the different values of Austrian, Papal, Piedmontese,
Tuscan, and French coins, all of which were mixed together in the money
we received from our banker. The coin of the Republic was rare, and much
sought after.[51]
We liked Genoa much, but were compelled to leave it when the intrigues
of the revolutionary government of France rendered this city an
undesirable residence for English families. On our way to Rome we stayed
a few days at Parma, the sovereign of which was greatly beloved by his
subjects, for, it was said, he had never refused a petition, and never
imposed a new tax. There was no appearance of poverty in his states, and
I never saw a more happy people. How he and his country were treated by
the French republicans is matter of history. Both Parma and Piacenza
were free cities.
A few years after this visit I became acquainted with a regular canon of
the great church of Piacenza, and who, according to custom, had his own
confessional box. One day, after the French occupation of the country,
he entered the church, with the intention of taking his own seat, but
was surprised at not finding the confessional in its proper place. After
looking about for it in all directions, he found it in a gallery lying
on its side, and on the top of it the dead body of a French soldier,
which three surgeons, or surgeon’s mates, of that army were busily
skinning. Horrified at the sight, he asked the meaning of this ghastly
proceeding, and was told that some scientific men had discovered that
the human skin made excellent leather. It had, therefore, been ordered
that all dead bodies should be skinned, for the purpose of providing
boots and shoes for the soldiers.
From the Duchy of Parma we proceeded to Bologna, and thence to Florence,
which we greatly admired. The Tuscans, of all classes, appeared to me to
be a very polished people, as if still retaining traces of their early
civilisation. The peasants were far superior in every respect to those
of other countries, and fewer crimes were at that time committed in
Tuscany than in any other part of Europe.
On the 30th of April, 1791, we once more found ourselves in Rome.
The two French princesses, Madame Adelaide and Madame Victoire, aunts of
Louis XVI., were lodged at Cardinal de Bernis’. The cardinal having
declined to take the oath of allegiance to the republic, was no longer
ambassador; but he still kept up his Friday evenings’ conversazioni, at
which the princesses appeared, and were very courteous and affable.
Madame Adelaide still retained traces of that beauty which had
distinguished her in her youth, and there was great vivacity in her
manner, and in the expression of her countenance. Madame Victoire had
also an agreeable face, much good sense, and great sweetness of temper.
Their dress, and that of their suite, were old-fashioned, but
unostentatious. The jewels they brought with them had been sold, one by
one, to afford assistance to the poor émigrés who applied to the
princesses in their distress. They were highly respected by the Romans;
not only by the higher orders, but by the common people, who had a
horror of the French revolution, and no great partiality for that nation
in general.
It was in January, 1793,[52] that the revolutionary propagandism first
came into actual collision with the Pope’s government. A Frenchman named
Basville, who had been secretary to Lafayette in America, had been sent
from Paris to induce Pius VI. to acknowledge the republic, and permit
the republican arms and three-coloured cockades to be publicly displayed
in Rome. The Pope, however, resolutely refused to recognise any
government in France but that of the king.
The students at the French Academy, who were nearly all democratical,
then took down the statue of Louis XIV., the founder of that
institution, and gave a banquet in honour of the occasion. Every one
present wore a red cap on his head, or had a small one suspended from a
ribbon round his neck.
On the 12th of January, Major Flotte arrived from Naples, and went
straight to the Cardinal Secretary-of-State, whom he informed that his
orders were to give the Pope only twenty-four hours to decide whether he
would, or would not, recognise the republic; and that if his Holiness
did not, within that space of time, allow the republican insignia to be
put up, it would be considered as equivalent to a declaration of war.
The Pope desired the Cardinal Secretary-of-State to intimate to M.
Flotte that his resolution was already taken, and that if the republican
insignia were placed up anywhere in public, he would not be answerable
for the insults his countrymen might receive from the Roman people. On
being told this, M. Flotte replied in a loud voice, that if any insults
were offered, five hundred thousand Frenchmen would come to avenge them,
and would leave not a single stone upon another.
In the afternoon of the following day a great crowd assembled in the
Corso near the Academy of France, and after it was dark set fire to it.
For some hours they promenaded the streets, shouting “Viva il Papa!”
“Viva la Santa Chiesa!” We opened our windows to look at the people as
they walked past in a very orderly manner. They looked up, and in a
cheerful tone desired us to cry “Viva il Papa!”[53] which we did very
willingly, and added “Viva mille anni!” for which they applauded us. One
of them, however, a well-dressed young man, said, with an air of
drollery, “But will you cry ‘Viva la Santa Chiesa?’” “Vivan tutte le
Chiese!” cried I; to which he replied, “Brava! bravissima!”
Early in the afternoon of the 14th, Basville and Flotte drove out of the
French Academy with republican cockades in their hats, and in those of
the coachman and footman. Basville’s little boy was in the carriage with
them, and kept waving out of the window a three-coloured flag, while
they shouted to the people, “Romani, viva la libertà!” “Giù la cocarda!”
was the only reply they received. But as they would neither take the
cockades out of their own hats, nor allow the coachman to remove his,
the crowd became furious, and ordered the driver to turn the horses’
heads homewards.
A pistol being fired from the carriage, whether by Flotte or Basville
was never known, the people threw a volley of stones at them, and
pursued them to the house where Basville was staying. The latter
received a mortal wound, after having slightly wounded some of the
populace. Flotte jumped out of a window when the mob rushed into the
house, and took refuge with an old Roman marchioness. The furniture was
broken into fragments and flung into the streets, but nothing whatever
was stolen. Basville’s wife and child fell upon their knees and begged
for their lives, upon which the people turned away in disgust, and
indignantly asked, “If they thought they were going to hurt women and
children?” Flotte and Madame Basville were afterwards sent off by night
to Naples, the Pope giving each of them forty-five crowns to pay their
travelling expenses.
In the course of the next few days it was estimated that nearly three
thousand Frenchmen fled from Rome, some in carriages, others on
horseback, and others, again, on foot. Basville died of the injuries he
had received, and among his papers was found an unfinished treatise in
his handwriting, the object of which was to prove that the monarchical
form of government was the only one suited to the French nation.
For several days after this disturbance the people used to stop all
carriages in the streets, and make their inmates cry “Viva il Papa!”
Among others, they stopped that of Prince Augustus,[54] but some
dragoons rode up, and told them it was a son of the King of England. The
prince, however, said that he would very willingly cry “Viva il Papa!”
to which they responded with “Viva il Rè d’Inghilterra!” A few houses
were attacked, and some windows broken, but order was soon restored,
beyond an attempt to attack the Ghetto, the Jews’ quarter, which was
prevented by the soldiers, assisted by several noblemen of influence.
The mob went first to St. Peter’s, and asked for the Pope’s benediction,
before proceeding to vent their fury upon the Jews; and this gave time
for the adoption of measures of repression.
It is not my intention, however, to write a history of the political
events which occurred during our residence at Rome. We remained there
unmolested until the occupation of that city by the French troops under
General Berthier in February, 1798, when with some difficulty we
effected our escape to Naples.
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