morning was delicious; the vapours were still low, but the genial beams
of the sun dissipated them shortly. The luxury of a fine morning at
that hour is very great, and has the additional charm of singularity
to me, as I sit up in melancholy solitude too late at night to be in
the habit of tasting the dews of the morning. Crossed the Tiber over
the Ponte Felice, the boundary of Latium. We soon got amongst the
hills, very beautifully covered to their summits with brushwood and
forest trees. At Terni we took _calèches_ to see the cascade.
We first went to the top; in our way we passed the little village
Papigno, which in ’86 was very near demolished by an earthquake;
there were three shocks, which successively destroyed the houses and
church. From the top of the Monte del Marmore the fall is very grand;
it is reckoned the grandest in Europe and scarcely yields to that of
Niagara in America.[49] Caius[50] Dentatus, a Roman Consul, increased
the cataract by turning the waters from the country of Rieti into the
Lake Luco, by which the mass of water in the Velino was increased. We
saw several rainbows in the spray. The Velino like the Anio has the
property of incrustation, vulgarly called _petrifying water_. All
the roots of the trees are petrified by this deposition of selenite.
The Velino is very rapid. Just above the fall there is a ferry; two
intrepid _Cappuccini_ would cross when the flood was roaring;
they paid the forfeit of their lives for their temerity. The stream
impelled the fragile bark to the brink, and they were dashed to pieces
speedily; their cowls, rosary, and patron saint could not save them.
We went to the foot of the mountain to look up at the cascade, a
magnificent sight. We rode upon _somarelli_ through a delicious
grove of orange and lemon trees, and afterwards through a small wood
filled with nightingales. I was enchanted: the melody of the birds,
the tranquillity and perfume of the air, and the beauty of all the
objects around, suspended for a moment my habitual discontent, and
I felt even happy. We dined in a little wood of myrtle and ilex,
but when we assembled together the illusion of happiness vanished.
How far preferable is solitude to the society of those who are too
nearly connected to be objects of indifference. Love or hatred must be
bestowed upon habitual inmates! Alas! Alas! Would it were true what
I say in public, that my heart is shut to social affections. Every
occasion that calls forth _épanchement_ proves the _besoin_ I
have to belong to something that I can cherish. Mr. Hodges[51] travels
with us as far as Florence. He is a good-tempered, gentlemanlike man,
and full of readiness to do any little services; were he odious, I
should rejoice at the society of a _tiers_.
[Sidenote: ST. FRANCIS]
The road from thence begins to ascend the Apennines, and
oxen were hired at La Strettura. The travellers dined
at Spoleto, and crossed the river Trevi, ‘the ancient
Clitumnus,’ where ‘there is a singular temple, very
perfect, upon the margin of the rivulet; it is not in the
purest taste and is probably a fabric erected in the lower
ages.’ They reached Foligno late that evening.
_Monday, 17th June._--The morning was so rainy that I imprudently
indulged in a prolonged nap, which threw us back on our journey. The
road lay through a rich and highly cultivated country, neither hilly
nor flat, abounding in trees. Assisi, the birthplace of the celebrated
St. Francis, whose fame is confined to the legend that records his
miracles, etc. At the age of 25 he, by his eloquence and example,
induced multitudes voluntarily to renounce the enjoyments of life and
enter a system of abstinence and self-denial in every shape. All the
mendicant orders owe their origin to him, as Franciscan is the generic
term for Capuchins, Carmelites, Carthusians, etc. There is a new church
built over his humble dwelling. We crossed a torrent over a very steep
bridge.
We reached this place (Perugia) very late. I had a letter to Mr.
Molloy, an Irish priest at St. Augustin: he was of use in showing me
the town. This was the birthplace of Pietro di Perugino, more known
by the works of his disciples than from his own merits. The town is
adorned by his first and finest works. In the Convent of St. Augustin
many paintings, but in a hard, stiff manner. Four heads in crayons,
by _Raphael_, charmingly executed. They preserve a letter from
Pietro di Perugino, written to the Prior of the Convent, begging him to
send him some grain: the writing is execrable, which tempted a wag to
write:--
Fu restaurator della pittura
Ma guastator della scrittura.
A fine view from the church of St. Peter’s out of the city walls. The
town is situated upon a very steep hill, and is exposed to the fury of
the winds.
_Tuesday, 18th._--The road from Perugia to the Lake[52] very
rough; the jolts were insufferable.
A very fatiguing journey of 9 hours brought us to Comania, which is
composed of a few scattered houses at the foot of Cortona. Cortona
is _en l’air_, at the top of a high, bleak, black, desolate
hill composed of schistos interspersed with sandstone and mica.
Cortona is one of the most ancient towns in Etruria; there are still
slight remains of the Etruscan walls. We set off from Comania upon
_somarelli_. Our entry was in a grotesque style, a drunken
_cicerone_ conducted us to a mad _chanoine_.
[Sidenote: CELARI]
Aforesaid _chanoine_, Celari, is the master academician of
Etruscan antiquities; he himself is the rarest and greatest curiosity
in the collection. In person he resembled Gil Perez,[53] but was
inferior in _charms_. His dress was characteristic of the oddity
of the wearer; a triangular hat squatted as flat upon his head as a
Prussian soldier’s and about as greasy and rusty, under which a cotton
night-cap vied in colour with it, jointly setting off the features of
a jaundiced, paralytic visage; his head tottering from disease and
imbecility. The rest of his person in unison with his upper story;
a dropsical paunch gave him an uncouth waddle, his scabby hands
disgusting from their leprous indication. A more disgusting assemblage
I never met with before in a single object. He showed nothing
remarkable but a bronze vase found in a sepulchre, a curious bas-relief
round the rim. When I escaped from his clutches, I went to a very
learned and civil advocate who has many chosen antiquities. A pretty
Cupid in terra cotta, a shield embossed with figures, elephants’ tusks
found at Trasimene probably Carthaginian, a medal of Porsena, etc., etc.
We were too late to see anything in the cathedral. I believe Pietro di
Cortona was disgusted with his native city, and preferred painting for
Roman palaces.
Very late when we set off in the morn. Road rough and uncomfortable.
We arrived at Arezzo at 12. I was in an agony for two hours and half
after my arrival, as my children did not come. I fancied every terrible
accident in the catalogue of travelling disasters, and had got into a
post _calèche_, _alone_, to set off and meet them, when, God
be praised, just as I was getting out of the town I met their carriage
and found them safe and well.
We could only reach St. Giovanni at night, June 19th; a most wretched
inn, one scarcely ever frequented but by pedestrians with their wallets
slung across their shoulders. The country to Florence through the
famous Val d’Arno very charming. Reached that beautiful tho’ gloomy
town on the 20th. The Tuscan heavy, massy, grand style of architecture
spreads a solemnity over the buildings, and the streets are not so
filled as those of Naples and Rome. I went in the eve. with Ly. E.
Foster and Ly. Hervey to the Opera. David[54] sang.
I saw there for the first time the celebrated Baron d’Armfeldt.[55] He
was the _ami de cœur_ of the late King of Sweden.[56] Immediately
on his being wounded in the ball room he sent for d’Armfeldt, who was
not apprised of the assassination till he saw his friend and sovereign
weltering in his blood. The King said, ‘You, my friend, have been
wounded too often to be shocked at this, but it is hard upon a man who
never turned from an enemy to be wounded in the back.’ He attended his
last moments, and received every testimony of his regard and affection.
The ---- was strongly attached to him; this rendered him obnoxious to
the Regent, who has exiled him by giving him credentials to all the
Italian states, with a Chargé d’affaires who is a spy upon his actions.
He wears the silver sword embroidered upon his coat under the order,
a badge the most flattering, as it is a testimony of good conduct
and popularity. To be entitled to it a man must have the unanimous
approbation of the whole army; a single soldier’s objecting invalidates
the choice of the others. He must have carried and raised a siege,
and won a battle; not above two men in Sweden possess it. His manners
are mild and gentle, his person is like a soprano. He seems to be a
great favourite with the Herveys.[57] T. P.[58] is here. D’Armfeldt is
_toujours en fonction_, as the eternal Princess of Sweden[59] is
frisking about.
[Sidenote: D’ARMFELDT]
_21st._--I went with my friend Mr. Brand to see the Gallery, but
I was not in spirits to enjoy anything. I have received letters giving
me a melancholy account of my poor father’s illness. He wishes me to
return and see him. I am perplexed about my children. The weather is
too hot for them to travel; the youngest has not had the smallpox;
besides that, I like to have a pledge for my return. The Cascines very
pleasant of evenings. Ly. Elizabeth wishes Mr. Pelham to escort her and
the Duchess home. I think it is a bad thing for him, as he imputes his
late long illness entirely to the worry he suffered from both of them
in conducting them from Lausanne to Florence. I shall advise him to
refuse, and persuade him to go quietly with Swinburne, who will consult
his whims, and he, of course, not be impelled to consult the whimseys
of two capricious ladies.
_22nd._--Staid at home the whole morning to write. Dined at Ld.
Hervey’s. D’Armfeldt and Prince Augustus at dinner there. The latter
is in a fidget to get to England, as Ly. Augusta is gone, and scandal
says is with child. Went in the evening to Mme. d’Albany.[60] She is
a Princess Stolberg, widow of the late Pretender; she lives in a state
of dubious intimacy with Alfieri, the great Sophocles of Italy. She
is lively and good-humoured. She told us some curious anecdotes about
Gaston,[61] the head of the Royalist party. She is anxious for the
restoration of the King, as she has lost immensely, indeed all that she
possesses; yet she does not fall into the violent strain of invective
she might be allowed to feel.
_Sunday, 23rd._--I went to the Annunziata to see the fresco upon
the cloister walls by _Andrea del Sarto_, ‘Madonna del Sacco,’ a
fine picture, well grouped and coloured. In the evening Mr. Pelham set
off with Swinburne for Genoa to Turin. Notwithstanding Lord Hervey’s
enmity towards Manfredini,[62] I availed myself of my letters to him,
and the ceremony of a formal introduction to the Grand Duchess was
waived; in consequence of which, as there was a chariot race at which
their Royal Highnesses were present,[63] I went into their splendid
box and was graciously received. The Grand Duchess is an unfortunate
little being, both in figure and understanding; she is crooked,
lame, and unhealthy. Being designed for a cloister, her education
was neglected. Her extreme ugliness made her hateful to her mother,
the Queen of Naples, but upon the death of an elder sister who was
destined to be Empress the next succeeded to that rank, and this little
wretch took _her_ intended place of Grand Duchess. When Leopold,
seeing how frightful she was, offered to send her back, the Grand Duke
refused, saying he could not mortify her so much. Her good nature has
conquered his disgust; her being with child has probably helped. He
rarely visits her apartment; but Manfredini compels him. The Grand Duke
is reserved and cold, his manner not near so good as his brother the
Emperor. The chariot race is a stupid sport; the form of the cars is
antique.
[Sidenote: GRAND DUCHESS OF TUSCANY]
_24th._--The Portuguese Minister, M. de Lima, gave us a breakfast,
that we might see the ceremony of the Grand Duke receiving homage from
his subjects. I should like to have heard the deputies from Siena say,
‘Soumise par force’--_galanterie de certaine part_ which I could
easily dispense with. Nothing more distressing than that species of
admiration that keeps one in a fever to bear, from the coarseness and
indelicacy of the manner. In the evening went to Prince Augustus’ with
Ly. Elizabeth to see the horse races--a stupid and a cruel sight. Went
with Ly. H. to see the pretty opera of _I Due Gobbi_.
I asked d’Armfeldt why he wore the white handkerchief tied round
his arm: I asked the meaning. When Gustavus made the revolution of
1772 he expected a popular insurrection, and he desired all those
who were his friends to take their handkerchiefs and fasten them on
their left arms; most everyone present did. An awful moment followed
after his declaring his intention of effecting a total change in the
Constitution, such as by levying taxes, abridging the power of the
aristocracy, and enlarging his own prerogative. He finished by saying,
‘I am either your prisoner or your King.’ A dead silence ensued. A
lieutenant and grey corporal exclaimed, ‘Le Suédois est loyal. Oui,
Sire, vous êtes le Roi’; the assembly applauded, and the revolution was
confirmed. After the acclamations had subsided, he enjoined a solemn
silence, ordered them to kneel, and uttered an extempore prayer of
thanksgiving for the great event. Hugh Elliot by a mad freak extricated
him out of a _mauvais pas_. He was at Gottenburg with a small
force, defenceless walls, and 6000 Danes approaching to make him
prisoner. Elliot, in his zeal, called out and told the Prince of Hesse
that unless he immediately withdrew his forces, he should in the name
of Great Britain declare war, send off couriers to bring a fleet to
bombard Copenhagen, and others to fetch 30,000 Prussians. This foolish
braggadocio frightened the poor Danes, and they slunk away.
The revolution is censured as being a direct violation of those oaths
the King took at his coronation. The whole power was lodged in the four
estates, Nobles, Citizens, Clergy, Peasantry. The kingly power was a
nullity; the Sovereign a phantom. The late King was in the early part
of his life in Paris, and Vergennes was supposed to have planned for
him the Revolution. Russia harassed him by perpetual wars; contrary to
her own practice, she espoused in his dominions the cause of liberty.
Rasoumoffsky was very active in aiding the malcontents, and, being
detected in bribing many who had leading voices in the Diet, he was
ordered to quit Stockholm immediately. Upon his objecting, he was told
that unless he went within twenty-four hours he should be _made_
to go on board an English vessel.
[Sidenote: FLORENCE]
D’Armfeldt told me a good many _traits de chevalerie_ of Sir
Sidney Smith, alias Charles XII., who is now at Constantinople. If
d’Armfeldt’s stories may be relied on, his case is certainly a hard
one, but he speaks imprudently in accusing the Regent in the manner he
does. He evidently is in greater favour with the Court of Russia than a
loyal Swede ought to be.
_25th._--I passed the morning with Fontana.[64] He is a remarkable
man, but below his reputation. The news is that the Royalists have been
defeated with great loss. The English have taken Tobago. The Comte
d’Artois is returned to Ham; he was not allowed to land in England,
as he could not be protected against his creditors. Dined at Lord
Hervey’s: Prince Augustus, etc. I preferred the quiet of my own room to
going to the Opera.
_26th._--I went to the Museum. Fontana appointed me at ten.
The institution was founded by the Grand Duke Leopold, and placed
under the direction of Fontana. Thirty-eight rooms are filled with
objects in every branch of Natural History, Philosophy, Physics,
etc. The anatomical preparations in wax are very beautiful. The
small representations of the ravages of the plague at Messina are
admirably executed; the artist must have had a considerable portion of
_sombre_ in his imagination.
I asked the real history of the tarantula, whether he thought there was
any foundation for the stories they tell in Calabria of its producing
such violent irritation that motion, such as dancing, relieves the
patient. He says such a malady exists, and is ascribed to the sting,
whereas it proceeds from the imagination of young people. Those who
suffer chiefly are adolescents, just at the period when the passions
begin to develop themselves and agitate the frame. Those who believe in
the reality of the disease tell the story of an incredulous bishop who,
resolved to convince the people of the absurdity of the story, exposed
his arm to the stings of five of these animals; the consequence was
that the bishop suffered like a layman, and the tambourine was called
to his relief to assist him cutting capers. Whether this dignified
prelate was imposed upon, or whether he thought the superstition
too valuable to eradicate, must remain a secret between him and his
confessor.
Bishop Burnet records a similar anecdote of Lord Lanesborough, who upon
the death of Prince George of Denmark requested an audience of Queen
Anne. He obtained it, and advised her Majesty to dissipate her chagrin
by _dancing_, as he had always found _that_ to be a sovereign
remedy against bodily and mental affliction.
Fontana has made numberless experiments upon the poison of a viper.
It is a glutinous mass in which he has never discovered the noxious
ingredient; taken into the stomach, it is not prejudicial, it only
acts upon the nerves. He has published in several quarto volumes
his opinions on the subject. He entered into a long philosophical
dissertation on the vital principle. He has worms or eels in which life
is suspended, but he can bring them to existence. They came in diseased
corn from the Morea. He has drawn conclusions from his experiments
which prove too much for the Church to allow him to publish. He is an
apostle in the cause of atheism and democracy, hence it is not likely
he will make the world happier or wiser.
[Sidenote: AFFAIRS IN FRANCE]
In the evening I went to Lady Hervey’s instead of the Opera. D’Armfeldt
was, as usual, the hero of the conversation and of his own story. He
begs compassion so much that one is tempted to withhold it. The Regent,
by this post, has withdrawn 1800_l._ of his appointments; but why
does he expect favours of a man whom he accuses of an intention to
poison the young King? He told several stories that prove him _dans
les bons principes_ for a soldier; he thinks every _bullet has
its billet_. He told of a young man skulking from fear behind an
ammunition waggon, yet killed by a random shot. He made great use of
this to encourage his men not to flinch.
News of a bloody battle near Quesnoy: 6000 French killed 4,000
Austrians.[65] How dreadful! This conflict will not close until Europe
is deluged with blood and society destroyed. The trial of Orleans,
or, as he ridiculously styles himself, Egalité, is about: the chief
accusation against him is his having voted for the King’s death. Bad
as that was, yet he did _poignard à la gorge_. Lyons is in revolt
against the Convention. The poor Royalists have been defeated in
Brittany.
_27th June._--This fatal day seven years gave me, in the bloom
and innocence of fifteen, to the power of a being who has made me
execrate my life since it has belonged to him. Despair often prompts
me to a remedy within my reach. ‘To enjoy is to obey,’ to be wretched
is to disobey; if Providence interposes not for my relief, may I not
seek it? Nature is assisted to relieve us in our diseases--why not
to terminate those of the mind? My mind is worked up to a state of
savage exaltation, and impels me to act with fury that proceeds more
from passion and deep despair than I can in calmer moments justify.
Oftentimes in the gloom of midnight I feel a desire to curtail my
grief, and but for an unaccountable shudder that creeps over me, ere
this the deed of rashness would be executed. I shall leave nothing
behind that I can regret. My children are yet too young to attach me to
existence, and Heaven knows I have no close, no tender ties besides.
Oh, pardon the audacity of the thought!
_28th June._--In the evening, Ly. Spencer, Duchess, and Ly.
Bessborough arrived. They came the Perugia road: rather discomposed at
finding T. P. gone, but it certainly was wise in him to decline the
embarrassment of a tedious, troublesome journey with them. I went to
the Opera; it was the last night of the Pergola.[66]
_29th._--Drew dined with _me_. He seems half discontented
with his new friends. Supped with Ly. B. Three hundred cannon
are playing upon Valenciennes. St. Leger is with the D. of York,
and besieging it with the allied army. Marat has declared to the
Convention that Gaston is advancing to Paris; there are three Royal
armies, and more than half France has declared itself in a state of
counter-revolution. But these are but flying reports.
_30th June, Sunday._--Dined at Ld. Hervey’s: he appeared much
agitated, probably at the prospect of his removal from this place,
as it will be impossible for Ministers to allow him to remain after
his behaviour to the Grand Duke. In those letters which he wrote
remonstrating against the exportation of grain from Tuscany to France
he calls the Grand Duke a fool and Manfredini a knave. I went to the
Opera with Lady B. and supped with her. She is much improved in
her walking; but what cures may not be received from this delicious
climate! She is to pass the summer at Lucca Baths.
[Sidenote: D’ARMFELDT]
_1st July._--Lady Shelley has promised to take care of my
children; her husband, Dr. Stuart, is a very good physician. Ly.
Ann[67] is still invisible, at least to men. She is a frolicsome Irish
widow bewitched, very pretty, very foolish, and very debauched. The
French fleet is in force at Toulon: where is Ld. Hood? The Jacobin Club
here is in full exultation at the bad news from the allies.
Armfeldt told us that Anckarström, as he was conducting him to
execution, implored his pardon, saying he should die contented if
he could obtain that, as he was the person most injured, for in his
sovereign he lost a friend and a benefactor. The King refused to hear
the name of his murderer. Armfeldt had the command of an army in a
campaign against the Russians, in which service the King accompanied
him and shared the hardships of the common soldiers. There was a
victory obtained by the Swedes _upon the ice_. Dangers of every
sort surrounded them; the sun was very ardent and the ice was cracking
beneath the surface. The Swedes had a great advantage, their horses
being shod; the Russians had not taken the same precaution. Armfeldt
said that the King’s aide-de-camps, unless they died of the plague or
indigestion, need not fear death; they hid themselves in the moment
of peril. The King would never settle a plan for retreat, as he would
not allow it possible that he could be defeated. Such courage as
this is often ruinous to the country whose monarch is brave. Portugal
smarted from Sebastian’s[68] impetuosity; in vain his old generals
remonstrated, he listened to his ardour. On his landing at Ceuta,
the musicians, instead of striking up a cheerful air to encourage
the soldiers, played a solemn dirge: in superstitious times what a
_contretemps_! Besides this melancholy portent, he stumbled on a
corpse as he got out of his ship.
A fine ball in the evening at Lord Hervey’s: Mme. d’Albany introduced
me to Alfieri. I took a final leave of d’Armfeldt. I was sorry to bid a
farewell to my friends, but a very few months will bring us together, I
hope. La Flotte, the French Minister, was not invited to the ball: this
is a very marked insult at a neutral Court.
_July 2nd, Tuesday._--I parted from my children this morning at
eleven. I have left them comfortable, established in a good house with
proper attendants, and Dr. Stuart and an Italian physician, Gianetti,
to take care of them. The day was delicious, ardent sun, deep blue sky,
everybody was gasping from the heat; I alone as cold as marble, but
inwardly warmed by the glowing sun.
[Sidenote: CROSSING THE APENNINES]
Prato is the first post, a pretty little town; put me in mind of
La Bonneville in Savoy. It is situated at the foot of a range of
calcareous hills forming the sides of a crater of considerable
extent. We continued in this plain till we reached Pistoja. The heat
being too intense to remain in the carriage, we stopped two hours at
Pistoja. Two miles from Pistoja we began ascending the high chain of
Apennines, which runs across Italy and divides it from Cisalpine Gaul,
or Lombardy. About half-way up the hill to the first post we stopped
to look back upon the valley. Florence, Pistoja, Prato, the Umbrino
meandering in the plain until it reaches the sea at Leghorn, made a
lovely _coup d’œil_. The project was to travel all night, but my
face pained me so much that by an extraordinary degree of complaisance
I was allowed to stop at St. Marcello, a delightful little inn.