On the 13th of January 1787 then we quitted Potzdam, strongly impressed
by the beauties of a town apparently fabricated by a modern Cadmus, who,
when all the soldiers that he could _raise_ were fallen in _battle_ for
his amusement, retired with the five that were left, and built a fine
city!
Brandenbourg was our next resting place, and seemed to me to merit
a longer stay in it; I saw an old Runick figure in the street, its
size colossal, and its composition seemed black basalt; but of this
I could obtain no account for want of language, our still recurring
torment.--This place seems fuller of inhabitants than the last; but it
is _so_ melancholy to have no compensation for the fatigues of a tedious
journey! and in these countries information cannot be procured for
travellers that do not mean to reside, present letters, &c.; which task
we have at this season little taste to renew.
Magdebourg makes a respectable appearance at a distance, from the
loftiness of its turrets; one sees them at least four long hours before
the roads which lead to it permit one’s approach; and the towers seem to
retire before one, like Ulysses’s fictitious country raised to deceive
him. Never was I so weary in my life as when we entered Magdebourg,
where, instead of going out to see sights as usual, I desired nothing so
sincerely as a hot supper and soft bed, which the inns of Germany never
fail to afford us in even elegant perfection.
Our linen too, so beautifully, and I will add so unnecessarily fine! The
king of Naples probably never saw such sheets and table-cloths as we have
been comforted with here, not only at Dresden, but every post since.
Magdebourg seems to have almost all its streets united by bridges; the
Elbe divides there into so many branches, and none of them small.
Helmstadt is a little place which affords few images to the mind, and
Brunswick to mere passengers, as we were, seemed to yield none but sad
ones. The houses all of wood, even to prince Ferdinand’s palace, and
painted of a dull olive colour with heavy pensile roofs, giving the town
a melancholy look; but we met with young Englishmen who commended the
society, and said no place could be gayer than Brunswick. This is among
the reports one wishes to be true, and we are led the more willingly to
believe them.
Another delight which I enjoyed at this city was, to find that every
body in it, and every body passing through it, adored the duchess, whose
partial fondness, and tender remembrance of her native country, justly
endears her name to every subject of Great Britain. Her chapel is pretty;
the garden, where they said she always walked two hours every day, put me
in mind of Gray’s-Inn walks twenty or thirty years ago; they were then
very like it.
From these scenes of solitude without retirement, and of age without
antiquity, I was willing enough to be gone; but they would shew me one
curiosity they said, as I seemed to feel particular pleasure in speaking
of their charming duchess. We followed, and were shewn _her coffin!_ all
in silver, finely carved, chased, engraved, what you will. “Before she
is dead!” exclaimed I--“Before she was even married, madam,” replied
our Cicerone; “it is the very finest ever made in Brunswick; we had it
ready for her against she came home to us, and you see the plate left
vacant for her age.” I was glad to drive forward now, and slept at Peina;
which, though in itself a miserable place, exhibits one consolatory sight
for a Christian--the sight of toleration. Here Romanists, Lutherans,
and Calvinists, live all affectionately and quietly together, under the
protection of the bishop of Paderborne; and here I first saw the king
of England’s livery upon the king of England’s servants since I left
home--“And if they _are_ ragged youngsters who wear it,” said I, “they
are my fellow-subjects, and glad am I to see them!”
The villages and churches hereabouts resemble those of Merionethshire,
only that not a mountain rears its head at all--one vast, wide, barren
flat, through which roads that no weather can render better than
barely passable brought us at length to Hanover, which stands, as all
these cities do in the north of Germany, upon an immense plain, with a
thick wood of noble timber trees breaking from time to time the almost
boundless void, and relieving the eye, which is fatigued by extent
without any object to repose upon, in a manner I can with difficulty
comprehend, much less explain; but the sight of a passing waggon, or
distant spire, is a felicity seldom found, though continually sought by
me, while travelling through these wide wasted countries, where no idea
is afforded to the imagination, no image remitted to the mind, but that
of two armies encountering each other, to dispute the plunder of some
place already unable to feed its few inhabitants.
The horses however are exceedingly beautiful; we were offered a pair of
very fine ones for only forty pounds. They would have run such hazards
getting home! “There are two ways to chuse out of,” said I; “if we
purchase them, we shall repent on it every day till we arrive in London;
if we do not, we shall repent on it every day after we get there.” Such
is life! we did not buy the cattle.
The cleanliness of the windows, the manner of paving and lighting the
streets at Hanover, put us in mind a little of some country towns in the
remoter provinces of England; and there seems to be likewise a little
glimpse of British manners, dress, &c. breaking through the common and
natural fashions of the country. This was very pleasing to us, but I
wished the place grander; I do not very well know why, but we had long
counted on comforts here as at home, and I had formed expectations of
something much more magnificent than we found; though the Duke of York’s
residence does give the town an air of cheerfulness it scarce could shew
without that advantage; and here are concerts and balls, and efforts
at being gay, which may probably succeed sometime. How did all the
talk however, and all the pamphlets, and all the lamentations made by
old King George’s new subjects, rush into my mind, when I recollected
the loud, illiberal, and indecent clamours made from the year 1720 to
the year 1750, at least till the alarm given by the Rebellion began to
operate, and open people’s eyes to the virtues of the reigning family!
for till then, no topic had so completely engrossed both press and
conversation, as the misfortunes accruing to _poor_ old England, from
their King’s desire of enriching his Electoral dominions, and feeding his
favourite Hanoverians with their good guineas, making fat the objects
of his partial tenderness with their best treasures--in good time! Such
groundless charges remind one of a story the famous French wit Monsieur
de Menage tells of his mother and her maid, who, having wasted or sold a
pound of butter, laid the theft upon the _cat_, persisting so violently
that it had been all devoured by the rapacious favourite, that Madame de
Menage said, “It’s very well; we will weigh the cat, poor thing! and know
the truth:” The scales were produced, but puss could be found to weigh
only _three quarters_, after all her depredations.