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'■■' /^■'> •^'/?^ PILGRIMAGE IN EUROPE AND AMERICA, LEADING TO THE DISCOVERY OF THE SOURCES OF THE MISSISSIPPI AND BLOODY RIVER; WITH A DESCRIPTION OF THE WHOLE COURSE OF THE FORMER, AND OF THE OHIO. By J. C. BELTRAMI, Esq. FORMERLY JUDGE OF A ROYAL COURT IN THE EX-KINGDOM OF ITALY. I? i IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: PRINTED FOR HUNT AND CLARKE, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 1828. ^ ■i" 'i^^^S^I^MBBII^ LONDON: PRINTED BY C. H. RBYNELL, BROAD STREET, GOLDEN SQUARE. ^mmm' i-J,^.- •*% I J % DEDICATION. TO THE FAIR SEX. Oh Women !^This name alone makes the most sweet and profound i-ipression on a noble soul. But it is said that your feelings are not high enough to elevate it. This is either one more calumny urged against you by those who are jealous of your superiority, and unworthy of your possession; or an injustice on the part of contemptible sophists, who decide on your merits without taste or talent to appreciate them. And it becomes all who are able, and who would not justly lay themselves open to the charge of ungenerous if not treacherous conduct, to defend you against such gross injustice. 'M IV DEDICATION. No one is ignorant that it was a woman who prevented the commission of that atrocious crime to which a mighty monarch was instigated by the counsels of cruel man against the people of God-that, by the noble devotion and tender mediation of the Sabine women, Tatius and Romulus were enabled to fix the foundations of that state whose growing por er and splendour at length rendered her mistress of the world —that by Lucretia and Virginia the I(o- nians, in two instances, recovered their liberty,— and that by Volumnia and Ve- turia they were extricated from the aw- ful vengeance of a formidable and justly irritated warrior. Tell your insolent de- tractors, moreover, that the women of Sparta trained the heroes of Thermopyl^ and Plateae; and to the women alone of mo- dern Greece we must ascribe the revival of ancient heroism on that favourite and classic soil, while the men have frequently exhibited, and indeed are still exhibiting, instances of rapacity, intrigue, and merely selfish ambition. Had the Greeks but imitated the example of their disinterested !,. I>£DrCATfON-. they wo:, ;; , ;:r::' "''^^»' «--'^^.) t.-nt whon/the Eu^; :r!r"^" "- offer to then as a Sova'eT'p ^ '" "°" another itrdiffeS '' '"^T'^' '^ -'"i'ar in despot Z"!; ■ T""' ^"' had first th t ieTr'!' *'^' — °f e.„perors and kL,s t' th' ''' """'^ of Christianity, by as oi, .' P"*"" ^'S*"' *'al bed anrf . "^ " ^° '''e nup- the civih.atio„^ ibv^V"' "^""P^-- deriving its existeneftL^^'P^' '^- and virtue anH fi '^"'ale sense -anoth^p^Cronh'^^^^^^^^ ^-n, the virtuous exer tLr fr^^ power of woman. TeJl 1,? "\"'"S vain and envious babbles tZT'"' ^^''' of ^njou who roused tho^'r^^'''--^ roused thn degraded mind ii 1; (I J. *■» w^i^win VI DEDICATION. of Charles VII to the dignity becoming a powerful monarch, preserving thus the House of Valois from the loss of a throne, and France from the disgrace of subjection to a foreign power; — that the beautiful and expressive eyes of the unfortunate G6neve, expressive at once of all the purity of her love and innocence, animated the valour and nerved the arm of her generous cham- pion Ariodantes ; and that it was a woman who made a hero even of a Don Quixote. But enough, I trust, has been advanced to convince the most incredulous of the ele- vation of your sentiments and affections, and of the powerful effects which they produce on ours. It is objected that you are not qua- lified to govern; and cardinal Mazarine, adopting a maxim which is derived merely from the arrogance of man, adds, by way of displaying his wit on the subject, that a woman is always in danger of being go- verned by lovers incapable of governing even a brood of chickens. The fairest and best authenticated pages of history, of every age, give a direct contradiction to all .\ 4 I 1 • DEDICATION. vii such ignorant or perverse judges. Did they possess the Jeast spark of ingenuous- ness or openness to conviction, you might with just and effective indignation recall to their recollection the governments of Semiramis and Zenobia, of PJacidia and Pulcheria, of Theodolinda and Yolante, of Margaret of Denmark and Blanche of Cas^ tile, of Elizabeth and Anne of England of Margaret of Valois and Jeane d'AIbret, of Christina and Catherine Alexiowina, of Ca- thenne of Anhaltzerbes and Maria Theresa Even if we call to mind the female favour^ ites of sovereignty, we perceive many who have distinguished themselves only by acts of merit and kindness, as the Sorels and Shores the de la Valli^res and Maintenons ; to the talents and wisdom of Aspasia Pericles was principally indebted for the glory which at- tended his government; and it was in Donna Marina that Cortes found the most able and the most faithful of his advisers : whereas, of the other sex, perhaps scarcely a single favourite is to be found who was not the author or abettor of much crime and misery. Besides, women have almost invariably I ,\ > • I .1 via DEDICATION'. governed through the instrumentality of attractive and generous sentiments, men almost always by force and despotism ; and by despotism and force alone it is that they have often usurped on your na- tural rights. An illustrious sage of the present day, Jeremy Bentham, by asso- ciating you, in his plans of government, in the public deliberations, as members of the grand national family, capable of thus contributing to the safety and happiness of the empire, has completed the confusion of your base detractors, and helped to hasten the time when the admiring world will do justice to your distributive wisdom. To you, moreover, it might be remarked, letters are indebted for nearly all that is gentle, amiable, and pathetic, and for a morality at once simple and sublime. Sap- pho, the two Corinnas, Hyppolyte Torella, Anne Dacier, Marie de Sevigne, Madame de Stael, and numberless others, will live, to- gether with renown, in future ages; and, by the elegance of her pen and the strength of her mind. Lady Montague, after having struggled with energy and constancy against r g-^i.r, ' B— DEDICATION. IX f J the ignorance and prejudices of universities and physicians, against popular obstinacy and baleful superstitions, succeeded at length in conferring on her species that signal and invaluable benefit — an immortal one — the practice of inoculation. Hippa- tia at Alexandria, and Agnesi at Bologna, and numerous others in various countries, have proved that women are as competent to teach the sciences as to learn them ; and in a woman, in the celebrated Anna Com- nena, history found its most valuable sup- port in a barbarous age, in that of the Cru- sades, when men were devoted wholly to the gratification of their avarice or cruelty, their perfidy or ambition. I have spoken of literary women whose loss has naturally and deeply excited the regret of an admiring world. Mortal however as they were, death has b}' no means destroyed all that was valuable which belonged to them. Their virtues and their glory have left behind them a spirit of noble emulation, inducing a number of others to follow the same illus- trious career and with equal success. While writing the present page, my attention and tk.i-'M I 1 I X DEDICATION. admiration are both strongly raised by a work before me, which alone would be suf- ficient to establish a literary reputation of no common order: its title is "The Rival Houses of York and Lancaster/' &c. by Miss Emma Roberts. And Miss Edgeworth, Lady Morgan, Mrs Austin, and numerous others whom I cor'd mention, contribute in conjunction with this admirable authoress to exhibit in a striking light the genius and information possessed by the ladies, gene- rally so well educated, of the British em- pire. In the productions of your pen, it must farther be observed, are rarely to be found that pedantry and presumption, that ex- travagance and superciliousness, by which the works of what are called the learned are almost constantly oft'ending against good sense and good manners. Wer : we inchned to take a view of the history of the Fine Arts, we might enumerate a long catalogue of admirable productions from the female pencil, chisel and graver. I will however merely remark, that women engaged in this occupation have almost uni- formly attained excellence; that whatever Is delicate and brilliant seems naturally to '•<»»■*(■•■ »* — i.mi"'« -^-» ir in iiiiiwilMH DEDICATION. XI > demand the assistance of your hand and mind ; as it is from the melody of your voice that music has derived its heavenly accents. But to the elevation of your sentiments, the depth of your wisdom, and the elasti- city of your minds, you join a greatness of soul which men have rarely imitated. So- phonisba, stronger than the cowardly ingra- titude of Massinissa and the barbarous ambition of Scipio, by her magnanimous resolution, established for ever the glory of your sex and the disgrace of ours. The history of Apponina exhibits a devoted- ness of conjugal love of which the records of man appear to me to furnish no resem- blance. It is from a sentiment of honor, rather than of superstition, that the women of Malabar immolate themselves on the ashes of their husbands. Men, in reference to their wives, frequently display a spectacle completely in contrast: thus, Henry the Eighth had scarcely delivered one over to the executioner, before he was married to another. The wife of Hoaitsang, the last emperor of the dynasty of Gengis-Khan of China, disdaining to witness the fall of her fcv^. ] ;•^ Xll DEDICATION. husband and the triumph of the usurper, devoted herself to death; and forty others of his women followed her courageous ex- ample of fidelity and devotion. In the sublime qualities which shone in the wife of the unfortunate Charles I of England, the world may clearly distinguish the daughter of Henry the Great. The wives of the Landgrave Philip the magnani- mous, and of the grand chancellor Trevor, controlled the most violent of human pas- sions — ambition, love, and jealousy — and offered them up in sacrifice to domestic tranquillity and the repose of the state : and Josephine Beauharnois, with an equally generous devotedness, consecrated to the hopes of France the silence of her strongest and sweetest affections, and the loss of the greatest throne on the globe ; and raised her- self to the elevation from which Napoleon began to descend by that very event ; which was as disgraceful to him and to men, as it was glorious for his wife and for women. In short, there is nothing more great and noble than the sacrifice which women often make of their beauty and their youth, of their t "^^ / i DEDICATION. 3(111 I high rank and tenderest afFections, to con- secrate themselves solely to the succour of the miserable; permitting nothing to in- duce them to swerve from their stern path of virtue and self-devotion, neither the sight of pain which almost rends their heart- strings, nor the circumstance of squalidness and disgust which are torture to their deli- cacy. The infirmities and sufferings of hu- manity are always mitigated, charity always appears with more effective influence and with diviner lustre, wherever the cares and attentions of lovely woman preside over and mingle with public institutions of be- neficence. The hospitals of France are gratifying and noble proofs of the truth of this observation. The arrogance of man has denominated you the rveak sex ; yet your hands have often wielded the weapons of war with suc- cess, and under your conduct armies have been led to glory. The history would be long of the various heroines who have in the succession of ages distinguished themselves in the fields of military fame. It will be suflBcient to remark, that the Amazons of XIV DEDICATION. J Homer are no fabulous characters, as they were also celebrated by Herodotus and other writers of grave authority. It is un- questionable that the women of the tribe of Tiniar assisted in obtaining the triumphs of the armies of Abubeker and Omar, in which Selima avenged the death of her general and her husband, at the siege and capture of Damascus, by the blood of its commander; and every reader is aware that in the days of chivalry the military exploits of women eclipsed even those of men. The heroic achievements of Joan of Arc, although an eminent writer has disgraced himself by ex- posing them to ridicule, constitute one of the most amazing and best authenticated passages of the history of the fourteenth century. The house of York encountered one of the bravest and most determined de- fenders of that of Lancaster in Margaret of Anjou ; and, not long since, the kings of Java appointed women only as guards of their palace. The undaunted valour of Artemisia at the battle of Salamis occa- sioned the king of Persia to remark, that women had fought like men, and men like V, DEDICATION. XV ^omen. The heroines of Ariosto and Tasso are formed completely on the historical models. Finally, your heart is the abode, and the only abode, of genuine friendship. History >s also m this respect full of your merits, and hands down to immortality the friendship of Naomi, and Ruth, and various others; ^''hile, m the long series of ages, for in- stances of the friendship of men we must have recourse to fable, in which alone a.e to be found the blazoned attachments of Orestes and Pylades, of Theseus and Peri- thous, and various others equally splendid and fict.t.ous/ne«*. The friendship of man >s an absolute chimera, as mj^ own melan- choly experience has abundantly proved. 1 cor Rousseau exclaimed, « I absolutely hunger for a friend ;" and this hunger in fac-t destroyed him. I have presented you, my lovely friends, with the suggestions and displays of his- tory on the sublimity of your heart and mmd; but who can, with adequate elo- quence and effect, eulogise all the vir- tues of your sex, as our actual observa- 'V^.•' n• .^^.^. V XVI DEDICATION. I: tion every day discovers them exhibited, and with more poweriul attraction from their being displayed under the most beau- tiful and fascinating forms ! Who can cal- culate or limit their influence on our sex, or would withdraw himself from that gentle but almost omnipotent power which, in spite of our despotic tendenc"*3s, you obtain and so admirably exercise over our minds! You govern your husbands by polite and tender attentions, your children by af- fectionate endearments, your friends by all the propriety of conduct and all the liberality of kindness, your domestics by candour and dignified indulgence. You resemble the rose, which has been the theme of poets in every age, but which still has never exhausted their poetic fer- vour on the subject of its delicious fra- grance, colour, and beauty. The flattering language of poetry is not my aim ; I will join my voice with that of the philosophers, and repeat, after the illustrious Franklin, that you are the basis of social happiness, and the palladium of public morals ; that to the attractions of beauty and grace you \*' ''1 ^ ■>--. 1.1 DEDICATION. ^vii know how to add the irresistible strength of reason, and can enforce its dictates by the charms of gentleness; that from you we iearn to polish our manners and reoulate our characters. You will, besides, p^ennit n^e to observe, that it has ever been and still IS a favourite study with me to exa- mine i„ the countenance, the characters of those ,n whose society I find myself; and I may truly say that it is in the ai.i- mated and sincere countenances of women alone that I ever find the genuine physiog- nomy of the soul; while 1 read nothing but dissimulation in the face of man, who, in proportion as he can conceal the expression of his feelings by a vizor of brass, is deemed so much the more entitled to distinction and power, and better qualified and more likely to preside over the destinies of mankind. Jiut It IS objected by weak cavillers, that you have many faults. And who, it may be asked, is with<.ut then, .' Human na- ture IS incompatible with perfection. The greater part of your faults however origi- nates in oui-selves. Irritated by our ingrati- tude and inconstancy, shocked by our iu- b r i XVIII DKUICA'l'lON'. h discretion and perfidy, exasperated by our injustice, borne down by our tyranny, and surrounded by every species of snare and seduction, the sole subject for astonish- ment is, that you can still preserve that caution which enables you to display before us such a variety of virtues; that you can, after so many provocations and oppressions, retain sufficient generosity to impart so many charms and consolations to our exis- tence ; that there are still, notwithstanding the unfavourable circumstances that sur- round you, incomparably more good mo- thers, good daughters, good wives, than there are good fathers, sons, and husbands. There have been men, and even cele- brated philosophers, who have held that the love of women is inconsistent with the love of wisdom, and that the genuine sase will therefore avoid it. I shall cer- tainly not engage in vain and wordy ar- gument against so savage a doctrine, Avith any of the votaries of Aristotle's Lyceum or Zeno's Portico, and still less with the followers of Antisthenes. 1 will do what is, in fact, far better. Instead of being so UFDICA TION. XIX % ranked among the sage, I will prefer being classed among the simple, and will love you with the purest respect and the most dura- ble aftection. The Magi and Mahomet formed a far juster apprccij tion of your worth than these gloomy and bilious cynics. They place you in the list of refined beati- tudes reserved for the elect when called to inhabit the celestial regions. And in this they have shown the wisdom of their policy; for, had they withheld this attraction, few Mussuhnen would have aspired to attain those regions, and their paradise would be in fact a desert. You ought to be in every place, like that Providence of which you are the fair and lovely image. Where you are not, man becomes a savage, and fre- quently a monster. I know not why you have been ex- cluded from the eminent literary asso- ciations — the luminous assemblages of science, which are at present diffusing knowledge over both the new and the old world ! Were ladies admitted into them, I am perfectly convinced that they would w, t i x\ Di'.uiCA'riov. exhibit much more politeness and much Jess presumption, and that instruction would proceed from them with more powerful charms and more brilliant success. Judg- ing from my small experience in the society of well-informed and educated women, and in the circle of scholastic or scientific men, I acknowledge that I have found as much amenity and captivating sense in the for- mer, as I have observed of heaviness and hardness ir the latter. And, is not every species of terrestrial knowledge derived to the human race from woman? The acquisition indeed cost us a paradise; but, in fulfilment of the arrangements of divine wisdom and power, even this loss prepared the way, by the instrumentality of another woman, for another and superior paradise, infinitely more delightful and sub- lime than that we lost ; while the certain, however slow, advances of philosophy and civilization lead some persons to the hope of even an actual (though long-distant) restoration of paradise on earth. Finally, in the history both of civilized and savage na- tions, we find that the sacred fire, the light i DI'.DICA TION. \\l and Jifc and soul of the world, has ever been entrusted to the guardianship of wonmn. And it is to a vvonum— to Mrs Leigh— that, even in our own times, it has been reserved to make one of the most important diseo- veries— the cure for stammering, and im- pednnents in speech,— a discovery wliicii, up to the present moment, the learned of all ages had vainly endeavoured to effect. But it is time, my fair, and I may be excused for saying, my heavenly friends, to draw to a conclusion. In order to your excelling in every respect all other inhabitants of this earthly globe, nothing is wanting but the abo- lition of those barbarous Salique and Ripuarian laws which still exist as a bar- ner to your rights and education ; the termmation of that disgraceful tyranny by which men have impeded the wings of your imagination and the energies of your understanding ;— nothing, in short, but that you should be left unfettered and free to your own exertions. The noble elevation oi your sentiments, your unbounded influ- ence over the mind of man, and the supc- 1 XXll DKDICA riON. tr a riority of your sex, in various respects, to ours, would then be clear and uncjiiestion- able to all. The language in which 1 liave addressed you is not that of fulsome adulation, but of sincere devotion. Indeed, if you conde- scend to look through the work here pre- sented to you, you will perceive that my character is inconsistent with feigned at- tachments and servile professions. In op- posing the calumnies which have assailed you, and proclaiming your various and splendid virtues, I have followed the im- pulse of my conscience, and rendered ho- mage to the cause of justice ; and while thus necessarily engaged in contemplating the interesting combination which your character presents of sublime virtues and tender affections, it was impossible for me not to find in you the worthy patrons to whom I might consecrate my melancholy Pilgrimage; and not to become sensibly aware of the honour I should derive from your protection of the weak efforts of my pen. These pages in reality may pecu- liarly, by their nature, be regarded as I I DKUICATION. Will belonging to you, and thus cominii; within the scope of your kind protection. To you, and for you, were the letters of which they consist, written ; and by you they may l)c truly said to have been inspired. They may, indeed, for the greater part, be justly considered as a monument of the high respect and veneration which I shall ever entertain for you, as that ex(|ui- site and admirable work, ." Che, per mostrarsi sommo, il Ciel si f^o." J.C. 15. London, 1827. ^PW* ■iq^ "TfT' -'■'' u \ 1^ wm m i TO THE READER. I HAVE been tola that a Preface is indispen- sable, even though it should contain nothing but enigmas, mysteries, and darkness. I must therefore fulfil this duty, and the rather, as I speak somewhat too clearly, and always coram et palam. Travellers in general publish their works in compliance with the desires and soli- citations of friends, Meceenases, savants, &c. With respect to myself, however, a poor un- connected pilgrim, possessing neither friends nor Mec^nases, and on whom savants would disdain to look even with an eye of pity, 1 acknowledge that I publish merely because, in the first place, I find a pleasure in doing so; ■p H^^WW^*^^ XXVI ruEFACt;. I and, secondly, because I am desirous, by my feeble efforts, of presenting to my country, (which has been justly denominated a great l>rison of the human understanding,) a consoling recollection of those high attempts and glorious achievements by which her children have very often astonished every country and every age ; — a recollection of that energy of soul and mind which she has often seen restored in the midst of storms and brutalization, by means of which the Foreigner and Despotism, Irreligion and Avarice, have conspired incessantly to de- stroy her liberty and her glory, and to extin- guish those remains of Roman blood which still circulate in some generous souls ! Unfortunate country ! — destined to revive always from its ashes! — having no palladium but its own ge- nius, which that classic land conceals in its own bowels, to preserve it, like an affectionate parent, from proscriptions and Vandalism — genius, which sees itself condemned either to silence or forget- fulness, as soon as 't dares to show itself! Poor Italy! which all Europe is compelled to ac- knowledge as the mater alma, and against PREFACE. XXVll ^ whkh all Europe conspires with a parricidal hand! Travelling for discovery and research is now the fashion of the day, and everything is planned and prepared conformably. With regard to myself, the object of my wandering was relief from my afflictions : 1 had no gui" ^ice but that of chance; and, like the ass in the fable, quietly gave myself up to be directed only by my des- tiny; and if your stock of patience be suffi- cient to induce you to follow me in my course, you will uniformly find a perfect uncertainty pervade our route as to lodgings and repasts, arrivals and departures. Let not the reader expect to find in the fol- lowing publication a regular work ; he will, I trust, rather regard it as the result of my obser- vance of a precept of Pythagoras, which incul- cates the reviewing and writing down every night whatever has occupied the eyes and the mind during the day. I present him with nothing but what falls naturally under my observation in my rambles over the old and the new world — a compilation of fortuitous rnwfTaiiMiirT XXVlll PKEFACE. ^1 ■A i J I i ■ ■ i incidents — a microcosm exhibiting my thoughts and feelings, th3 movement of my soul sympa- thizing with or repulsing the thousand various objects I met with; and this is a farther evi- dence of the expediency of explaining myself a little in a preface, in order that I may enable the reader to seize the spirit cf such conflicts, and to understand my wayward fancies. Should you occasionally think that you have found anything new or interesting, to chance or destiny alone will you be indebted for it ; the only merit I can per- sonally claim being that of a good walker, with some resolution to undertake, some constancy to persevere, some fortitude to endure suffering, and some intrepidity to confront danger. I show you men and things precisely as they appear to myself, and form my judgment of them to the best of my ability. It is very easily conceivable that I may have been deceived ; for, In order to see and judge correctly, more time is requisite to examine, reflect, and compare, than a solitary excursionist can enjoy. But my intention is good ; my endeavours after truth and correctness have been invariable ; PREFACE. xxix and it is only the desire of obtaining instruction that calls forth my observations. I sometimes avail myself of the aid of history to let both the reader and myself know where we are, enabling us thus to proceed with a step of firmer confidence, and for the sake of deriving from it various useful reflections on the diffe- rence between periods past and present, and on the causes of the good and evil presented to our notice; thus precluding the reader from the necessity of blindly following me, and also, perhaps, from losing his patience and ceasing to follow me at all. I permit it occasionally to speak freely, but never pervert or intentionally misapply it. The only connection between my own pen and history, is by the simple narration of what history had not previously met with, or what had escaped its notice, or been noticed by it incorrectly. I allow myself to entertain and to state an opinion ; but I pretend not to decide, and still less, I hope, to dictate. I endeavour to abstain as much as possible from any in- fringement of the important precept-not to seek for inductions which sound reason rejects, in iiiin%i^ihiii*atfii^Bfc^i.M \^\ I XXX PREFACE. order to establish or recommend a favourite theory; and I trust I shall not frequently be found annoying with ' ^ " Quel sentenziar che 1' animii ti schianta." T express myself, I suspect, throughout these pages, with too little caution and restraint ; the reason of which is, that the policy of the Neu- trais of Greece, and of the Deputies of the centre, is far from being mine. 1 have no particular tact at changing white into black ; by this ha- bit of frankness and directness, I also spare you the trouble of surmising instead of ascertaining my meaning. I hope, however, that you will on no occasion find me breaking through those moral restraints which are established by di- vine and human laws, and by the forms and usages of civilized society ; you will, on the contrary, perceive me sometimes silent where many may be too curiously desirous of e.vpla- 7iation and detail. I may be considered as adopting the philo- sophy of Democritus, of which a small degree of attention will show that I have considerable PREi'ACE. XXXI need, in order to cheer and exhilirate my mind ; and my reader will himself probably derive some advantage from the circumstancr • it is an antidote to the monotony of the usual tran-tran of "Travels." You will yawn less; and the sincere reader, even though he should find something that may pique him, win perhaps laugh with me, for it is the laugh of a moun- taineer, that is, an innocent one. With respect to my style, it is no easy matter to characterize it. It is, I conceive, just such as might be expected from a man whose situa- tion, circumstances, and trains of thoughts, are frequently changed twice or thrice in the course of a single page ; of a man, compelled to descend, and sometimes with no little speed and even precipitation, from the mountain to the plain, from the sublime to the sordid, from opulence to squalidness, from the most refined civilization to the most complete savageism ; sometimes to pass from tragedy to comedy, from history to romance, from science to empiricism : to turn occasionally from men to brutes, (or from brutes to men,) from sincerity to hypocrisy, from virtue XXXll PREFACE. li ii 1 I I Vt ftf to vice, from religion to the Jesuits, from the most elevated inhabitants of heaven to the meanest creatures upon earth. My subjects indeed constituting a species of pot-pourri, the style may naturally be expected to correspond with their diversity. With respect to the discovery of the sources of the Mississippi, the Achilles of my c.vploits, the buckler on which my conscious pride often reposes with delight, I have, in the following pages, merely re-cast my narrative of it, so as to introduce it in its place, in the course of events which occurred from my quitting my cottage-residence to my reaching the mouths of the Great River ; where, for the moment, I leave my reader. The publication of £. discovery so important could properly admit of no delay. I disdained, moreover, to interpose, as many others did, the Atlantic between my pen and the grand scene of the drama. I determined, on the contrary, to show the observing world that I neither feared the presence of the Mseviuses, who were already exhibiting the disgusting and bitter I'KKl'ACJ... XXXIII scowls of envy ; or that of those who might be fleemed my competent judges; though their countenances were already calculated to inspire apprehension, beings not totally unmarked by those jealous feelings which our infirm nature finds it so difficult to repress. I published my narrative in the presence of the Hero of the piece himself, on the very spot where he reigns in all his majesty and influence, at New Orleans. The present account will probably be more free from indications of haste than my former one ; the substance, the facts, and what may be called the episodes, are strictly the same, and wdl, I trust, ever remain incontestable. I say incontestable; for, in addition to the evidence which the narrative itself supplies obviously to the most cursory reader, in connection with a thousand concomitant and collateral circum- stances, a slight notice of the manner in which the Discovert^ has been received will assist in proving to the utmost satisfaction of the public the truth of statements which I have advanced with the most perfect confidence. I should have considered the flattering testi- i c XXXIV PKKFACK. !!i i nioiiiuls wliich, h\ spite of the malicious efforts of certain Zoiluses, were conferred on my book by numerous ladies and gentlemen of New Or- leans, as mere customary compliments, as nothing- more than the result of courteous and kind feelinijs, had they not been confirmed in a triumphant manner by the public ])apers, and by the official commendations which the gover- nor, the legislative bodies, the mayor and autho- rities, have condescended to bestow on me. On my return from Mexico, T/ic Qwiincrcial Advertiser of New York published, with com- ments full of noble and indignant eloquence, the miserable ])erfidy with which at Philadelphia (ihe country of Major Long) all the copies had been concealed that, at the time I left New Or- leans, I had sent tliithcr for distribution through the diiVerent eastern states. Other journals, as well as the governor, [)rofessors, and literary so- cieties of that city, (New York,) honourably conquering the national jealousy which, in similar circumstances, it is difficult not to feel, and perhaps more so to conceal, have been by no means sparing of their praises. One document PUKIACK. -WW r possess which I deem truly precious and inva- luable : it is a letter from the great patriarch of American liberty, theCincinnatiis of Monticello, in which he has condescended to recompense my struggling efforts and my poor pen by his inestimable praise. Such a man as Thomas Jefferson condescending to read our productions, is itself an honourable distinction, and might well urge us to engage in other enterprises, however painful and arduous. 1 consider time as having now pronounced its judgment on my cause. The Americans have had sufficient oppor- tunity to bring me to my trial ; and many would unquestionably have done so with eagerness and joy, had they not apprehended that the morti- fying verification of my accuracy and triumph would have merely aggravated the torments of their envv. It is only in Europe that the idea has been entertained of being able to unsettle this res- Judicata, and this in the Rtvuc Ennjdopedujuc alone, I believe. But, as the author of the article (Mous. L.) assigns no grounds for his Pyrrhonism, we are justified in concluding J \ '•' T ^ ./ i XXXVI TUKFACK. I y\ him to have been influenced by the idea, natural enough, that it was impossible for a solitary wan- derer to accomplish what numerous expeditions, abounding in all the means and resources that could be supplied by a mighty nation, had attempted in vain. I conceive myself to be the more authorized to soothe my pride with this flattering argumentation, from the difficulty of supposing that a journalist reposing on the sofas and in the boudoirs of Paris, should call in ques- tion what the journalists of America have never assailed, (though with every temptation to urge them to the attack, as of course it could not be particularly pleasant for them that foreigners should have the honour of first pointing out the beauties and wonders of their own coun- try ;) and should controvert statements which, with every motive to refute them, have never been in the slightest degree impeached even by those who had anticipated me on the route leading to this discovery, and the places ex- plored by whom I have accurately pointed out, noticing particularly the objects, efforts, and results of their expeditions. As a farther "^-a, rU£lACE. xxxvu corroboration tlmt the criticism of Mom. L. is founded in prejudice, it may be observed that the conductors of the same hterary work liave themselves voUmtarily admitted, in a subse- quent article, that thcij had acted towards mc rather with scveriti/ ; and, with the most commendable ingenuousness, they have published the letter in which I took the liberty of commenting to them on the unnecessary alacrity of their collea^nie's attack upon me. At the end of this Preface I shall present the reader with this letter, accom- panied by the article with which they intro- duced it. It has been a little mutilated from the original, but is yet c\rp/icativc enough. It must however be admitted, that statements of new or important discoveries are in general only reluctantly credited; more particularly when the author is one who has not secured a reputation with the world, and from whom such discoveries therefore are too readily deemed not only astonishing but incredible. The world, like harlequin, too frequently judges by the name alone of an author, and declines the trouble of reading or hearing the claims of ws. i 'it I , 'iiif^^-l "■'- ■■^^w 11^ i' m ' t i ' -»i>»- -fci*. .--..AV — -• ■inii»ii^iii rii I XXXVlll PRE I" ACE. one unknown or in obscurity. The account of Thibet, of China, ^c. from the little travelling tradesman, Marco Polo, was long treated merely with derision. When Columbus offered his services, talents and enterprise, for the benefit of mankind, the universal question was, luho is this Columbus'^ and he was compelled to travel nearly through all Europe before he could gain credit with any one for being able to do what he actually did. Thus also the Protestants for a long period refused to adopt the philosophical accuracy of the Gregorian Calendar, because, instead of being the production of a Catholic Pope, it was not presented to them under the protecting and favourite name of a Wickliffe, a Hiiss, or a Luther. If the " Discovery of the Sources of the Mis- sissippi" had appeared under a powerful and fashionable banner, inste.ul of that now unap- preciated and unfashionable one of unhappy Italy; and under a fortunate high-sounding name, instead of one altered by the times and preyed on by the librarians of the Animali Parlanti of the Abbate Casti, you would PllKFACE. XXXIX probably have heard a blast of no common strength from all the trumpets of fame, — all the bells of the universe uniting their peals in never-ending praises. Then even my uninteresting and insipid narratives would have been models of eloquence and profound investigation ; my com- mon-place remarks, conceptions indicating high originalitij and genius; my insignificant diffi- culties and suiferings would have equalled the self-devotion of a Curtius or a Codrus ; my petty dangers would have rivalled the labours of Hercules; my simple Indians would have been as formidable as the horrid Cyclops ; some Titan or Micromegas would probably have readily presented itself to the willing imagina- tion; and panthers, tigers, and lions, would perhaps have been ever raging and devouring around me. On my return to Europe, my name would have been the first exhibited in the list of ''fashionable arrivals.'" The most high publishers, would have requested the distinguished honor of my acquaintance My saloon would have resounded, and my niantel- n ^^ ■i^ I lllljj > *i m .l ^- ■•••., f ! xl J* H El" ACE. ih piece glittered with the titles of marquis, count, &c. ; and in the public streets and squares, and at the grand galas of wealth and nobility, I should have been p-^mted out as the ivomlcrfiU traveller, the grand discoverer, like the mighty lion from the desert, or the immense elephant from the wilds of Ethiopia! Oh, how delightful to be in possession of a canon- ized name — it is sufficient alone to effect the most astonishing miracles! How inestimable the advantage of belonging to a great and mighty nation! The dazzled and awe-struck world considers such a nation as a sublunary firmament, and the separate individuals com- ])osingit as so many splendid stars ; and the pre- judice advancing in strength, at last excites the belief that each of these individuals is capable of prodigies. Witness, in evidence of this asser- tion, the .... But we will quote no particular instances, lest our doing so might lay us open to the charge of indiscretion or illiberality. I present myself before my readers without any such powerful attractions and defences ; without H4au-jiitt«sfc*l*.Sk:ittov.i«4^ 3Ek.r,.-— ■Miim.-i PREFACE. xli shield or patron, without talisman or inniUet. If, notwithstanding- this destitution, you should find in the course of the following pages thac I have actually performed what is worthy of some commendation, this will be one evidence more to prove, that an independent man, with an in- dependent soul, is sufficient for himself, and may safely rely on his own energies and efforts. It is time however to quit these unimportant digressions ; and you will permit me to request your serious attention, for a moment, to a point of essential consequence in reference to the whole of my ** Pilgrimage," — a point on which I am particularly interested, as it respects my duty to God, to society, and to myself. Pachimerus relates that a certain Bramin, when questioned respecting his religious opi- nions, expressed himself in the following man- mer : — " I have observed all religious sects bitterly denouncing each other for imposture. I have observed the whole body of the Magi disputing with fury on the first principle and the final consummation. I have interrogated xlii VllEl'ACE. s;i I w i < them all ; and in each of these chiefs of religi- ous factions I have found only an inflexible obstinacy in his own opinions, and an arrogant contempt and implacable hostility towards every other. I resolved to follow none of them. These learned doctors, in their search for truth, re- semble a woman who wants to introduce her lover into the house by the back-doc/, but is unable to find the key. Mankind, in their thoughtless pursuits and researches, may be compared to a person who climbs up a tree for the sake of a little honey, which he has no sooner swallowed than he is attacked and de- voured by the serpents around him." — Such was the language of an Oriental unbeliever ; and I conceive that Bossuet, in Europe, was nearly of the same opinion with his brother priest in India, when he remarked that the Gospel had been so disfigured by its pretended followers, that were Jesus Christ to appear again on earth, he would be unable to recognise it. Much, however, as I respect the wisdom of their reflections, I am not precisely of the PRE FACE. xliii same opinion as these Bramins. I venerate the religion of my fathers; nor will I ever incur the character of an apostate, who frequently changes his track rather than his religion ; but I consider equally as pure as my own, the in- cense offered to the Deity by any of my fellow men, in whatever forms and modes it may be presented, provided that the intention be holy, or innocent. Having made this declaration, I must entreat the reader to observe and to believe, that when- ever I speak on the subject of sects, it is merely to describe to him what passes under my obser- vation in the course of my pi^omenades ; that I exhibit to him only what may be considered as theix forum eiienuim, simply in the character of ?)i promeneur who is curious to notice and become acquainted with everything before him ; and that I never take upon me the part of a contro- versialist on the subject of their dogmas. God alone is competent to search the heart : man can only take cognizance of actions, of what is visi- ble and unquestionable ; and far be it from me to arrogate the right of damning to inquisitorial ^i« ■ tl I I «i%^l*T' nil xliv PREFACE. H y flames, or flames of hell, those who difler in opinion from myself; as far likewise am I from thinking- it necessary that others should consider my creed as the exclusive road to paradise. I have other things to do than to harass and perplex my brain w^ith my,steries. I know what occurred even to St Augustin himself, in con- sequence of his daring to plunge into their un- fathomable chaos. And indeed I cannot help thinking (for which I doubt not he would readily excuse me,) that he well deserved the lesson he received from the little boy ; for, a man of his superior mind ought certainly to have known that whatever is mysterious must necessarily be inexplicable. It is incumbent upon us to act with respect to mysteries as we do with re- spect to the prescriptions of physicians : we must believe in them implicitly and blindly ; and whether the pill be gilded or not, we must swallow it without either comment or hesitation. I am even of opinion that when a man embraces a particular religion, he ought to respect the arti- cles of faith which it presents to him. For my -v£i PREFACE. xlv in m Id to id It l- own, I take them as I do money, bona fide, with- out weighing or examining them ; and 1 consider them as false only when they are injurious to good morals and society. Had all the world entertained such sentiments as these, Chris- tianity would have escaped the mortal blows which religious controversies have inflicted on it, from the imprudent persecution against Arius to the recent, and still more imprudent, one against Robert Taylor. It will always be a matter of difficulty to direct the attention of the world effectively to the true morality of the Gospel, while there are so many controversialists and so few philoso- phers. It is this spiritual discord, this dogmatic mania, which converts almost every word of revelation into a subject of biblical war ; it is on this Babel that the Jesuits expect to be able to re-establish their plan of universal domination. Skilful imitators of all preceding impostors, they have ever borne in mind that this was the system which conferred on the Mahometans almost the whole of Asia and of Africa, and which at length opened for them the w. xlvi I'HEI ACjr gates of Constantinople and of a conM., wherever we meet with me- morials of the grand evils which have afflicted humanity, we find these evils associated with the history of superstition and religious perfidy. It " "°' "'"'^ft"-^ surprising that, in a course of a promcmde not certainly particularly short I should have frequently have had to meet with the history of the Jesuits. I frankly indeed confess, that wherever I have found memorials recording the baleful effects of their hypocrisy, ambition, and atrocious crimes, I have uniformly pointed them out to notice and censure ; because no genuine Christian either should or can pass with indifference over monuments which remind the traveller of the ir- retrievable calamities of nations and of kings, and "f I i pue:i.ack. ^^,j. the ruins of the religion of our fathers. I deemed it only an indispensable duty to raise my warning voice, in order to the utmost of my feeble means to guard religion, kings, and people, against the horrible pl^igues with which that parricidal band again daringly menaces them. Let us for a moment call to mind (in order to prevent the dreadful return of such events) the fierce dissensions and hostilities which this sect has so frequently excited and cherished between sovereigns and subjects, and the humiliations and catastrophes in which they have eventually involved both. Such, for in- stance, as the celebrated bkedhig of Philip III ,- the conspiracies of the Cousins in France' or the Nitards m Spain ; of the Garnetl and Oldcorns in England ; of the Malagridas in Portugal ; of the Damtrims and others in Poland and Russia, and elsewhere ; and the assassinations of so many monarchs and private individuals ! Let us call to mind the igno- miny with which these deadly foes both of huma- nity and of the Gospel have covered nations I * xlviii IMIFIACI' . i\ the most civilized, and kings, even those deno- minated ifiost Christian and most Cat/tolic; con- verting them, for their selfish and sacrilegions purposes, into ferocious brutes and even monsters! Finally, let us call to our recollection that veil of mourning and of shame which was thrown over true religion and posterity by the massacre of St Bartholomew, ([)receded and followed by a variety of others ;) and never let us forget the revolting impudence of Father Daniel, who passed a panegyric on this deed of infamy, re- cording, with the jocularity of a demon, " that the king had played his part in the piece to admi- ration!" Charles IX was the unhappy monarch whom the Jesuits trained to so atrocious a crime ; and after making a dreadful instrument of him in his youth, they thus gibbeted him to everlasting infamy in history. Let Charles X then beware of his danger; for, in the lan- guage of Seneca, *' bis piieri, in jiivcntutc et in senectutc.'' Let him ever be on his guard against such diabolical seduction and such in- delible disgrace! I cannot help adding with regret in this place, that at Rome, through the n PHLFACr,. xlix at once highly powerful and deplorable influ- ence of this sect, no shame was felt in cano- nizing that butchery— as they had before blessed the assassin dagger of the Pazzis, of the Clements, and blessed afterwards that of the llavaillacs;— at Rome, where it lias since been seen, in the death of Clement XIV, that the Jesuits do not spare the Popes any more than they do religion, nations, and kings. The ministers of governments themselves, who, by one of those extraordinary contradic- tions on which the affairs of the world seem to hinge, now afford them refuge and protection under the same thrones which crushed them in the last century, would do well not to forget the dreadful struggles which a great number of their predecessors were compelled to maintain against the intrigues and plots, both spiritual and temporal, of this pernicious Order : Richelieu acknowledges that he had more to contend with from '' those ciirseclJesuitsr than from the hos- tility of all the cabinets of Europe, (and a cardinal may be trusted in such a case ;)— they would act wisely to " hang about their necks, (I \) ''\\ ""PG^S!* / / i i1 1 IMtEl'ACK. and write upon their hearts," as a " study" well adapted to the circumstances of the times, what a Jesuit had the audacity to reply to the Duke of Lerma — " I'ou ought rather to tremble before us, who have, every day, your God in our hands, and your kings and queens at our feet." Let nations, ministers, and kings, and even those who are sincerely anxious for religion itself, ever retain in mind a circumstance as important as it appears singular; a circum- stance which has been actually lost sight of at least has never been sufficiently considered : which is this, — that Paul the Third himself appears to have discovered or predicted what these worthy brethren of Loyola even then looked forward to the attainment of. In the Bull for their institution, he ordained t/iat there should never be more than sixty of them. The parliament of Paris, I think in the year 156 J, forbade them to bear the modest name of Jesuits ; and fully knowing, even at that early period, how to appreciate them, placed them under the authority of bishops, to keep them, I ima- gine, in due subordination. How many good V, I'REFACF. )i (its ; iod, ider nia- >ood prophecies are here ! But liow many infractions too of bulls and of laws ! We ought, however, now to have done with this subject, -aid I am, in truth, not a little weary of it myself; for nothing is more disgust- ing than to speak of persons thus mischievous and depraved. But here is still one thing more that I cannot help whispering in my reader's ear ; which I offer him as a Imnie bouclie, in grateful return for his patience in perusing me. The ministers and kings of the present day, good souls, are such perfect simpletons as actually to think the Jesuits the palladium of their exis- tence and their power ; forgetting, or perhaps having never known, (for they appear as ignorant of history as they are imbecile in policy,) that these crafty foes were waging a dreadful war against the kings of Spain and Portugal in America, whilst they were at the same time their confessors in Europe. Besides, when these monks rose to the honour of being Man- darins in China, the native Mandarins of that immense empire saw immediately that they were in imminent danger of becoming monks themselves ; and a Aloimt Cass i tin would not long r y . wma OBIS ■PV" I: lii PREFACE. m S '^ have been wanting for the poor emperor. For- tunately, however, the government of that country was wise enough to expel the intru- ders in good time; the only method of dis- persing the storms with which they are always endeavouring to overwhelm people and em- pires. Japan had previously given an example of this wise and decisive policy, and Russia has lately followed it. It is, therefore, only the nations which pretend to superior civilization, that are so blind (or so barbarous) as still to nourish those venomous reptiles in their bosoms ! And what is more astonishing, is to see England, that mirror of freedom, sagacity, and prudence, permitting — perhaps under an absurd and cul- pable idea of legislative toleration — these in- cendiaries to fix their destructive establish- ments among a fanatic people, whose calamities are already too great and aggravated. It may indeed be truly said that, notwithstanding our having received so many valuable lessons, we have learnt Jiothing, and forgotten noth'mg...Jiv\t there are some secrets in the private machiavel- ian code of every cabinet, which a profane eye is not permitted to penetrate. PHEl-'ACi!:. liii I have moreover, in the following pages, oc- casionally noticed abuses and corruption in the ministers of the sanctuary in general, when I have met with cases which have particularly hurt my feelings; because I am naturally desirous of sparing my religion the loss with which they menace it, in America and in Europe, of sixty or seventy millions more of believers; and also of sparing humanity the calamities which ever attend religious revolutions. Though I never fail also to poi;it out and commend the virtues of those good ministers whom I am so happy as to meet with. Abuses and corruptions have raised a sublime temple for St Peter, and for the ad- mirers of what is astonishing and grand ; have erected duchies and principalities to provide for nepotism ; but nothing can compensate for the evil they have done to the church of Jesus Christ and to the cause of Christianity. The ministers of the sanctuary of the present day, unhappily seem too much guided by the same principle al Pretextatus in a former period, who said, " If you will make me bishop of Rome, I will turn Christian." With respect to governments, I must declare m ij i / and, previously to the reader's entering upon the *' Pilgrimage" itself, it seemed indispensable to acquaint him in some degree with the feelings, character, and objects of the P'Igrim. You will perhaps also remark that the preface is partly repeated in the work, and the work in the preface. This I do not myself consider to be a fault. I have acted like Rossini, whom I regard as the only philosophical composer of the day. That able writer, by expressing the piece in the overture, and the overture in the piece, attracts the audience alternately to each, connects in a wonderful degree harmony with sense, and disposes reason to fraternise with sympathy. From such an accord philosophy derives a safer judgment and a firmer confi- dence. To conclude : I have done everything for the best. I have endeavoured to employ as use- fully as I was able a period of calamity Happy shall I think myself, if the public should consider me as having in some degree fulfilled the precept of Plato. ** Noti aibi soli se natum homo meminerit, sed pat rice, sed suis.'" Reader, farewell ! I rilOM THE REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. (Vol. IV, Part 32, No. 95, page 611.) EXTUACT UE.EaUED TO ,M PAO. XXXVII OF THE lOUi (lOING PUEFACr,. New York, Aug. 31, 1R2G. nedamation. Discovcri/ of an ancient Mciican Manuscript. Letter to the Editors of the Iteviie Encyclopcdique. OBSERVATio.v.-The following letter, which we have received from Mr Beltrami, should, we think, be given to the reader entire. We shall introduce it therefore with the commendations which he bestows on our work, because we could not suppress them without some danger of misrepresenting our correspondent's ideas. We have been somewhat severe in our judgment of Mr Beltrami's work. On the Discovery of the Sources of the Mississippi. (See Rev. Encycl No, XXTX, p. 575.) ■r-*- ■"Wt m Ixvi EXTRACT FROM THE His vindication of that work, and the new observations which he has made on the same subject, cannot fail of exciting con- siderable interest, which is an additional motive for our publishing the whole of his letter, though it was not written for that pur- pose. We accept with gratitude the offer Mr Beltrami makes us at the close of his letter, and the materials which he may send us shall be employed agreeably to his request. / Gentlemen, The article 7i/^^67rt in your first volume of the present year (see XXIX, p. 595.) has suggested to me the idea of announcing to you the fortu- nate discovery of a manuscript which I extri- cated from an old convent in one of the interior provinces of Mexico. It is, I imagine, unique of its kind, and certainly one of the most rare and interesting. It is the Gospel, or a Gospel, copied from the dictation of the first conquis- tadores monks, translated into the Mexican lan- guage by that Montezuma who was the only member of his family that escaped from the \i'. REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. Ixvii massacres of the conquest, and who, whether sin- cerely or otherwise, adopted the Catholic faith. It is a large folio volume, written with exquisite neatness and beauty, on Maguay or Agave papy- rus, equal to parchment in polish, and superior to the ancient papyrus in suppleness. I regard it as a highly valuable monument of the ancient Mexican language, which may enable the learned, by comparing it with manuscripts in the Oriental languages, to develope that which has hitherto been concealed in darkness,-~the origin of the people of those immense territories. What I have the honour of now stating to you, Gentle- men, is by no means a romance, as you chose to designate my Discovery of the Sources of the Mississippi; which, nevertheless, no one has yet ventured to contradict, not even in the United States, where the Discovery failed not to excite a malignant feeling of envy, which I consider ra- ther as a favourable indication ; and you must see that I shew myself throughout proudly con- scious of the truth of what I have announced. But if the circumstance of being a man of science is indispensable to any onc',s engaging in the career H ' i'' a ^-TTxr 'mm' I'' Ixviii EXTRACT FROM THE / of discoveries, yet chance alone may account for my being able to present to the literary republic a valuable acquisition in my manuscript, and new prodigies of man and nature in the minerals, plants, fossils, and other curious and instructive articles which I have collected at different places in the course of my transatlantic rambles ; as I have by chance presented to the world the dis- covery of the sources, and a description of the whole course of the mightiest, the most w^on- derful, the most important river of the earth. Since however I have incidentally touched, Gentlemen, on the criticism which you have bestowed on my humble performance, I must entreat you to indulge me with the delay of a moment ; in the first place to thank you for your politeness in noticing it, and the honorable dis- tinction which you have conferred upon it ; and in the next place to give you my sincere opinion both of my book and of myself. - I am so well aware of my incompetence as an author that, notwithstanding the unequivocal commendations with which all the journals, the inhabitants, and the magistrates of New f REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. Ixix Orlean-. have honoured the publication of my book, I never for an instant ceased to think that I was rather a successful prorneneur than an able writer; and 1 abandoned it to its fate, without assistance or a Mecaenas, and set oif for Mexico. But, if I feel myself free from presumption with respect to what I have written, I acknowledge that I feel a lofty consciousness of what I have done; nor can I help thinking that I shall ever retain an elevating and proud recollection of my enterprise. The certain knowledge that I have, trium- phantly I may say, passed what proved the 7ie plus ultra limits to numerous and powerful expe- ditions, forcing them to disgraceful retreat; and of having by my own unassisted means over- come difficulties, privations, and dangers, to which others would scarcely be found to expose themselves;— this certainty fully compensates me for the absence of all literary and scientific merit ; and whenever it may please destiny to set me in the track of discoveries, I will never turn back in order to lay in a stock of science. I will pursue my regular course of describing whatever I meet with new or admirable upon f^' l.^?3Cr Ixx EXTRACT l-ROM THE ) earth, however unqualified I may be to read the great volume of the heavens. This is what I did even in my notes in Mexico, on the summit of lofty mountains, where I saw flowing from their unknown sources the waters of the Rio Grande, which loses itself at San-Blas in the Pacific Ocean; and those of the Santander which, at its discharges into the Atlantic, witnessed lately the landing and the extinction of the last shoot* of Mexican despotism. You have upbraided me with no little harsh- ness on my ignorance of astronomy. This however was totally unnecessary, for I admit it myself in my book, and with a frankness and ingenuousness which probably few of my readers would have strength of mind to imitate. This admission indeed is one of the points of my work for which I thought I might expect the applause of well-constituted minds, more par- ticularly at a period when presumption and falsehood are of more frequent occurrence than truth and modesty. Besides, I had no instru- ments. * Itiubidc. REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. Ixxi My performance exhibits in every part of it marks of the precipitation with v^^hich it was written ; but it presents also an instance of acti- vity and promptitude by no means common. I was convinced that there was no time to be un- necessarily lost on a work relating, like mine, to such a discovery ; more especially as the feelings of jealousy, whose hostile murmurs were already heard, would have eagerly laid hold of any un- favourable circumstances occurring, through the author's procrastination, to depreciate or abuse it. The public, moreover, appeared not a little impa- tient for the result of " the mountain in labour; " and I considered also that it was of importance to unfold without delay the entire course (which was equally unknown) of this great river, at a moment when the tide of colonization flows westward with impetuous rapidity, and when the unfortunate stranger might be able to find a happy existence, from the immense resources which the vast valley fertilized by its waters, and the large tributary streams which run into It, present to internal navigation, and of course to agriculture, arts, and commerce. I accord- i! '^ ^ If IlL Ixxii EXTRACT FROM THE ingly did so, — I will venture to say, with some exactness : and the course of those tribu- tary rivers is likewise usefully pointed out in the work. I can assure you that I have presented to the public only what I have seen. Tmagi- natmi has had nothing to do with my statcmeuts. If I have occasionally had recourse to it, it has been merely for the purpose of finding comparisons which I considered illustrative and useful : and the real forms and dimensions of ob- jects do not differ from my descriptions, except just so far as to prevent their appearing insipid and monotonous. The circumstance, indeed, of my having ventured, at a great expense and so far from my resources, to print my work on the very scene, as I may call it, of the action, in the very presence of my inexorable judges, and without soliciting either subscriptions or patrons, is I conceive an important proof of sincerity, disinterestedness, and independence, which are rather exotic among so many makers of travels, charts, and indeed of books in general. You point out to me as a model Mr Hum- ■'m •KmrnaiLSiTaiSi: REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. Ixxi'* boldt. He is unquestionably a truly great one: yet I am induced to think that, with all the preparatory stores, all the treasures of knowledge which he is in possession of, this distinguished savant would not h^y^ pushed on a single step beyond the spot where I left my friend Major Long, and where I abandoned myself, entirely alone, in savage and almost impenetrable territories, to ferocious beasts and still more ferocious men. There is a very considerable difference between illustrating tracts of country which have been long disco- vered, in every district of which are to be found monks with sumptuous fare,— who subdue both territories and inhabitants in a far more masterly style than Napoleon did with his army of invincihles,—^xi^ discovering regions totally unknown, surrounded by all the horrors of terrific solitude. Altro 6 il parlar di morte, altro e il morire. Moreover, Mr Humboldt travelled under the protection and favour of mandamientos del rey, del consejo, de los vireyes, capitanes gles, alcaldes, f a n R Ixxiv EXTRACT FROM THE 'I 111 ; , I cabildos, frailes, curas, &c., borne on the wings of fame, which everywhere distinguishes with honour his name and talents ; while I, a poor solitary pilgrim, and an obscure person- age, had nothing but my scrip, my Latiiiy and my constancy, and yet made my way through doors and roads, in the midst of dangers, obstacles and inhospitality. But to return : this discovery, it has been both said and pub- lished in honour of me, is one of the most inte- resting, if we consider it as pointing out the exact and entire course of the Great River, and the names of the rivers which are discharged into it. The enterprise, if we regard the num- berless points and circumstances likely, in the pursuit of it, to daunt the courage and de- stroy the means of a solitary promeneur who adopts this method to employ as inoffensively as possible a period of proscriptions and cala- mities, is one of the most daring. My book presents some things entirely new, others calcu- lated to rectify various errors and enlarge our knowledge of man and of nature, and almost all of them adapted to the gratification of curiosity. fi *• f i REVUE ENCYCLOPEDIQUE. Ixxv If the Revue Encyclopedique could find no other merits than those which it has deemed worthy of its accessit, its parsimony may be justified. But why, Gentlemen, harass me by painful, nay humiliating, suggestions, implications and reticences? " Did Mr Beltrami see clearly V &c. What proof do you possess to the contrary, that you exhibit me in such a light to the public ? Facts are v(3ry different things from points of literature and science. The matter in question between us does not relate to theories, systems, and opinions ; and if the opponent of stated facts cannot bring forward facts, or at least probabilities, in support of his opposition, he ought, I conceive, to withdraw it, especially when all the parts of a work are in harmony with a variety of testimonials all concurring in corroboration of it. I may more reasonably ask, whether you have actually had the pa- tience to read my book, in order to judge of it ? At the very moment when, in a solitary retreat neur New Orleans, on the bank of the Great River, I was arranging my detached notes, (which were many of them written on scraps of ill ■IP" I 'I Ixxvi EXTRACT, ETC ; (' bark,) the Editor of the Argus was incessantly publishing threatening anticipative paragraphs against my poor forthcoming book. However, after having read it, he passed on it an eulo- gium. I cannot help entertaining a desire that the same cause may produce in you the same effects. I desire it merely for the sake of en- joying the entire esteem of the members of that great universal literary tribunal, which I venerate as perhaps the most enlightened and liberal in the world. If the discovery of the sources of the Mississippi had been owir^ to a Frenchman or an Englishman, the first announcement of it would have been repeated by echoes from every point of the compass ; but it appears to be regarded as of no value, because made by a man who belongs to an unfortunate and dena- tionalized people. Beltrami. 1 i I / :;■( t< / *»*H.^.a-,*; 'i^V V *-^,- /:. ^f * < X . t **' s ..y/- ^^'U tp: I • ■ > ■ ■■ . — ,1 i !ji <^ih '* V'' "'-•' t'*'^ "*'■» O'ruMt/ fi^jtlH :■■ I 1 -^ , ..... .... ,.:... J •J s 'A: .$■■ .J ^ .■/■^ ("•/•4 • ^ l' l'' *4V » * 4.1 » * I ; • t • » i* * • » I* * 4 * ■'*> . ■i'k % . . i • t t * • t 4^ « i * t I « » I I i ti ■■('.a ' 'i 1 r • > •'-1 ,'>.r.'i.*ft* *i*»w ^ *""* ^ ^♦«^. h,„^ Ji*:/; Vi- * •^^n-^ r.r . w . r . w ' . ' . '. rr : ... • ■^ •»".'> ' . ' . ' . • > ■I ' . »'!/•• ■ ' / • . .. ., ;; ^i\ ♦ \V>Va*^ »'■ u» ,1. •*"•••♦♦••'• ii: t !» V'i i»' I, ■ "' I • It: > < ,» « • a 1 1 . •: :♦' J ««t *k 4 , * '*■•'• : '. « < .1 » 1 * ' ;• .» J ,, i» ' ■.♦ « '!i " :rifi •v '■ ■• » ,v. ',♦ ■> ♦ .' *: :^.-. \ /I { S€iiWE2''zimj Yiri'j .^p ^'i4-Af^ fy r^sv/t\^>-A f IW-^ .'-*'«'■»'''■*"• ■■ t -i l! r ■ : L /■'./ / 1 1 1 •mMNbC' I I" l i r i firTunr i MW » I •K mi ' fn /•'/,. / -z r.ll,;,,//,.y ,..,. ! ' . I ■.'•.•' .•'If i, .' « (•-•,//■,/ ,■ V/.f ' i M i j,,u| i j | HBH i '. i / J ^v/V/ r '/' /■/^J /•////(' ' )* \i ^4 f A'^ to JUnth-i'-rn It i!/' LETTER I. ■f, Leghorn, November 25, 1821. MY DEAR COUNTESS, I HAVE just received your letter of the lOtli instant. I expected it ; for I can calculate on the constancy of your friendship, and on the generosity of your heart. You ask me why I quitted the Marches so abruptly, and what is the cause of this mysterious resolution. A place, my dear Madam, where I have lost so much, and wliere I am continually encountered by melancholy recollections ; a place in which my oppressors, — after a course of odious persecutions,* such as despotism alone could dictate, — still pursue me into my rural * I was sent into exile without trial, at a time when a recent fracture of the right thigh rendered it scarcely pos- sible for me to support myself on crutches. VOL. I. JJ '*1; i I « _ i' ."^ ■ M3i. ■/^.'Ji^,^"- J I:" I' 111 I ' Ji i 1 T,' .mmuar PAPAL GOVKRNMEVT. retreat with calumnies, and surround me with snares, converting even my hoursehold gods into spies ; — a place where the er.ors of youth are daily punished as atrocious crimes, and all distinctions of virtue and vice obliterated ; — sucli a place offers nothing to a man of honour and feeling but shame and suffering. I condemn myself without regret to a volun- tary exile, to escape from the horror with which this scene of injustice and of calamity has long filled me ; and I shall seek, in a planless pilgrimage, and in the lessons of philosophy and experience, relief from the afflictions which oppress my heart, and refreshment for my spirit, dej^raded and depressed by tyranny. As for the suddenness of my disappearance, you, my dear Countess, who know that I hate leave-takings, ought not to be astonished at it; and under suoh circumstances, and in such a country, it might be imprudent to fulfil all the duties of civility. You are very good to wish for a narrative of my travels; but now that everybody travels, — now that we go round the world with less difficulty than the Romans cross- ed from Calais to Dover, — travelling has sunk to the familiar ease of a morning's ramble. I shall therefore talk to you only of my rambles. You will be surprised, perhaps, that I should presume to take you up from your own door. f . ^ 4 t'ii ri ASTRA. 5. I I and begin by pointing out to you, even there, objects of interest still new to you. If it is true of all men that they run after -what is distant, and neglect what is near, it is true to the greatest possible degree of Italians ; who, from being always vandalized, and parcelled out into colonial fractions, often forget that they belong to that classic land which exhibits, at every step, traces of its ancient greatness; they become indiHerent to those works which the v/hole world still comes to admire and to study ; and end by abhorring the country which brought them forth to be slaves, and by detesting her beauties and her wonders, which have attracted the avarice, the rapacity, and the tyranny, of the stranger. But let us return to my wanderings. I am happy to begin them near you ; but who knows where they will end ? Pray for me, my dear Madam, and for our unfortunate country, where we are not even permitted to sigh over her destiny. On arriving at Sforza Costa, I told the postil- lion to take the road to Fiastra, the remains of whose abbey appear to justify the great cele- brity bestowed on it in the chronicles of the middle ages. I like the sight of ancient abbeys, because it recalls the time when monks were, what they no longer are, — the guardians of -" ' ,y' if rRIHSAOLIA. Jl sfi; H t letters, and the encouragers of arts and of agriculture. From Fiastra I proceeded to Urbisaglia, which I had never seen, though only seven miles from home. The ruins which are found thickly scattered throughout this neighbourhood present a grand spectacle of remarkable antiquities, and prove that the inhabitants had some ground for the pretension that their city was Urbs alia — another Rome. It is still easy to discover that its circumference was of great extent, and its edifices vast and magnificent. I did not find any of that peculiar style of building, emphati- cally called Cyclopean, which would lead us to date its existence from ages of remote and almost fabulous antiquity ; but fine fragments of a reticular form leave no doubt that this city existed in the best times of the Roman republic. I think, my dear Madam, this is all as new to you as it was to me ; and as it will be to foreigners, who usually only pass through the Marches to visit the antiquities of Nazareth, that is to say, the Santa-Casa of Lorettu ; for- getting that they are traversing the Picenum. I returned into the high road, and took the direction of Tolentino, whence that lovely and delightful river, the Chiento, accompanies the traveller to Serravalle. If he occasionally loses sight of it, it is only that it may break upon him i • .MiUHAVALLK. 5 \ again under some new and delightful aspect; sometimes as a rapid and softly murmuring stream ; sometimes as a foaming and brawling cascade ; sometimes as a tranquil and crystal mirror, reflecting the wild and romantic scenery of the surrounding mountains, which seem to assume another existence in the abyss below ; sometimes winding amid the lovely distance which the eye and the mind seize with eager- ness, and quit with regret. At Serravallc I wished for your company at a wild boar-hunt on the heights of the Appenines. It aflbrded me great amusement for the two days I passed among the good inhabitants, who pay me the kindest attentions whenever I pass that way. But it is too fatiguing for a lady ; so that, if you please, we will pass on to a more interesting subject, — the sources of the Chiento. This river, whose windings and whose beau- ties arrest your attention at every step through the valley, animates the labours of the inhabi- tants, and enriches the whole tract of plains which it waters from the gorges of Tolentino to the sea. Its waters are, through the whole of its course, exquisitely limpid and salubrious ; its fish are the trouts of the Sybarites ; nothing can surpass the refreshing coolness, the soft and lovely graces, which it diffuses over all its shores. vii I J-l 1 1 \ i •1 i! i TT G TlIK ClUFATO. m m ( * 1 1 f Can you explain to me why such a river is con- demned to neglect and obhvion, not only by travellers, but even by geographers, and by the inhabitants of the Picenum, although it is the principal river of that celebrated region, as I can convince you in two words ? The Tronto has its source in the country called by the ancients Preguntinuni, and, lower down, divided the Picenum from the iVIaruccini. The Esio or Esinum rises in liumbria, and, from Yesi to the sea, divided Gallia Senonia from the Picenum. These were, therefore, the two frontier rivers of the Picenum; whereas the Chiento, from its source to its mouth, flows through the heart of that district, dividing it at nearly equal distances from the Maruccini and the Senones. You must now, my dear Madam, ascend with me to its source, which is not far off. After climbing a steep and rugged ascent for about a mile, you suddenly emerge from the deep gulph of the valley upon that vast table-land called the Col Fiorito. Here you might fancy yourself in the beautiful plains of Lombardy, if, after an ascent of thirty miles, you could forget that you were upon the highest lands of the Appenincs, which separate Humbria from the Picenum. The middle of this table-land is of a concave I ! the I i COL FioniTo. 7 form, and receives all the waters which flow from the summits of the siirrouncling mountains. I am of opinion, and I think every appearance justifies it, that, before the Romans conquered the Picenum, the plain of the Col Fiorito was a lake ; and that that enterprising^ people soon saw the necessity of drainin*^ it, to secure a passage by the shortest and easiest way to the regions beyond the Appenines. This they accomplished by constructing an aqueduct through which the enclosed and stagnant waters might flow into the valley of Serravalle. These waters, and this aqueduct, which is unquestionably Roman, form the sources of the Chiento. It is the more important to illustrate this river and its source, since they awaken conjectures on a very interesting point of the history of the remotest antiquity. It appears unquestionable that the Liburnici, or Liburnians, crossed over from lUyrium into Italy by the Adriatic, before the Pelasgi came from Greece into Etruria by way of the Mediterranean. The place of their landing is still in dispute among antiquarians ; but the aspect of the beautiful tract of country along the valley of the Chiento must have been more attractive than a golden fleece to adventurers who left an ungenial climate and rugged mountains in search of a kindlier sky and soil. These circumstances lead me to think that they landed at the mouth of this river; and i i\ n ^i\ '%i IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 'iS 1.0 I.I Uii |28 |2.5 150 *"^ H^H 11-25 i 1.4 Ife^ ♦V^ '/ Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 4' > «,>^. ^«. "^•^***^'m^^^- if I « !■< ; i 8 COL FIORITO. the ruins of ancient cities at Urbisaglia and near Civita Nova, whose origin may perhaps be attributed to them, tend to strengthen this con- jecture. Perhaps, indeed, it was from their ships that the little coasting vessels of the Romans took the name Liburnicae. You will recollect that Pliny perished in his Libumica under the hot ashes of Vesuvius, near Stabia. But we must go on, my dear Countess. The smiling Col Florito (so called from the flowers with which it is enamelled as soon as the snow disappears from its surface) the Chiento, its sources, our Picenum, the Romans, the Liburni- ans, and their Liburnicae, have delayed us rather too long. ** Delectant cecinisse paterna." I shall not have to reproach myself with pedantry if a word or two of Latin now and then slips from my pen in writing to you; I may sometimes be enabled, by this means, to indulge my laziness by expressing in two words of a dead language what would employ perhaps ten of a living one. I shall not give you the detail of an accident by which my neck was nearly broken ; but I must just tell you to profit by my experience, and not to forget to make the postilion put the drag on the wheel whenever you go down the first descent to Casa Nuova. We have seen the streams which flow from FOLIGNO. 1, I the eastern sides of the Appenines into the Adriatic. We must now survey those which arise on the western side, and, joining the Tiber, empty themselves into the Mediterranean. The first we meet with on our descent are those which arise in the little lake en the western extremity of the Col Fiorito ; these are the eastern sources of the Topino, called by the Romans Tinnia; its northern sources are in the direction of Nocera ; the waters of the baths form, indeed, a part of them. It is these eastern sources which set in motion the many- coloured paper-mills of the valley leading to Foligno, whose varied, striking, and grotesque features keep the traveller in a state of con- tinual extacy and wonder. They deserve all the illustration that poetry or painting can bestow, yet nobody mentions them. Every time I go through Foligno, I am aston- ished that no geographer, no traveller, that I know of, speaks of it as one of the most inter- esting points of ancient Italy. Here is the great Trivium, which led into Etriiria by the Via Quintia, into the Emilia by the Flaminia, forming one continued line of road from Rome to the bridge of Augustus at Rimini, and by the Via Picena into Picenum and Gallia Senonia. Foligno is also remarkable for being near the confluence of the Topino and the famous Clitumnus, whose wondrous waters H 1^ i J i'^ i i\. i t 10 Sl'ELLO. purified and whitened the victims offered in hecatombs to the deities and to the manes of the Romans. " Hinc albi, Clitumne, gregcs, et maxima taurus Victima socpc, tuo perfusi fluminc sacro." We come next to Spello, or Hyspellium, a town which is now nothing, but which no Italian heart can contemplate without feeling anguish at the image it presents of hapless Italy, destined to be always vandalized and desolated, both by the stranger and by her own children — by friend and foe. Alas ! it is too true — " Quod riv,.i Barbari, fecerunt Barberini." The English, who pass through this place in great numbers, and whose truly national spirit (perhaps a little too much so) revolts at the bare idea of everything anti-national and barbarian, do not perhaps suspect that all these ruins of ancient and modern edifices are chiefly the work of two Italians and popes. Thus did Clement VII and Pius III revenge themselves on this unfortunate town, which they called rebellious because it desired some dimi- nution of the evils under which it groaned. Thus did the monuments of ancient Rome (though without the pretext of rebellion) fall under the pontifical scythe, to furnish materials for build- ing the palaces of the Sardanapali of Nepotism ; ASSISI. 11 or to be converted into churches, where the devotion of the faithful is subjected to a constant distraction from the ever-present recollections of the idol-worship to which the place was con- secrated. I had several times gone by this road, and had never ascended to Assisi. This is a disgrace to an Italian, and ^ now determined to wipe it out. The occasion was most auspicious ; it was the very day on which they were celebrating the birth of the seraphic saint, the fourth of Octo- ber. To see the cradle of the son of Bernardoni, and of the daughter of Mateucci, who have made so much noise in the world, both during their lives and since their deaths, was not a matter of indifference to a curious observer like me ; and I had reason to be fully satisfied with my reso- lution. Immediately on my arrival I was introduced to a great number of the relations of Santa Clara and Saint Francis. Everybody indeed has pretensions on this score ; and whether among relations or friends of relations, among monks or friends of monks, the whole talk is of Saint Francis and Santa Clara; just as it is of Saint Gennaro at Naples, of Saint Antonio at Padua, and of Saint Gaudenzio at Novara. They forget the Creator for the creature, and mingle idol- atry with Christianity. The church of Saint Francis, tinum in trimim / '1 >1 j h ST FllANCIS D ASaiSI. et irinum in unum — that is to say, three churches one above another — which form altogether what is called the church of Saint Francis d'Assisi, is really worthy to be visited. The architecture is by lapo; the paintings are by our most ancient artists ; Giotto and Cimabue have there surpassed even their high reputation. The con- vent is magnificent, but the deep substructures upon which all its weight rests, upon a plane of great inclinr.tion, are still more so, and of a truly Roman character. It is a work worthy of the great pontiff who built it — that pontiff, with whose history the number five is combined in so singular a manner — who built five bridges, five houses of charity, and five fountains ; who raised five obelisks, cut five streets in Rome, and five roads in the country; reigned five years, left five millions in the papal treasury, and was called Sextus the Fifth. He belonged, as you know, to the order of Saint Francis, and had been prior of this convent. You have doubtless heard of the disputes which have lately occupied the court of Rome, concerning a skeleton which these monks have recently discovered, and which they want to pass off as the body of Saint Francis. They solicited a decision by which the sacred college might confirm the pretensions of this holy dis- covery, according to their wishes and views ; but it was thought imprudent to canonize shape- ST FRANCIS D ASSIST. 13 ites [me, lave to fhey lege Idis- |ws; ipe- less bones, the rather as it had been whispered that some one had been indiscreet enough to discover that it was a female skeleton, and that if canonized at all, it must be a Saint FranceA*. Be that as it may, we will examine with the eyes of common sense, history, and philosophy, whose these remains probably were; for the antiquarians of your circle would cry out at my negligence, if I did not try to tear off at least a fragment of the veil which covers their origin. I was told that a medal with the head of Minerva was found in the coffin containing the skeleton : it is therefore Roman. Your antiquaries will be contented — but the monks will not. If this medal, which has disappeared, was really f*. and, it may be conjectured that the Helen for whom the monks, the antiquarians, and the women contend, was either a Propraetor of the Assisium of the Romans (whose emblem was Minerva) or perhaps some priestess of that goddess. But as the court of Rome, by ab- staining from pronouncing in favour of the monks, has left the consciences of the faithful at liberty to adore these relics or not, the reverend fathers have placed them under an altar of the middle church, and will not fail to find customers among these good people, who listen to them open-mouthed. They have even begun already to make them work a few miracles under the rose. n i w f. 14 ST FUANi;lS DASSISI. "I. Si , M 1 I The monks at the Lower Assisi, that is to say, of Santa Maria degli Angeli, have set themselves up on this matter against the monks of the Upper Assisi, and even go the length of saying publicly, that it is an impudent imposture. What philo- ■;ophical monks ! It is, hov. ever, surmised by some, that they have constituted themselves opposUioftj only because the ikeleton was not found in their convent, and that there is a little jalousie de inkier between the upper and the lower monks ; not to mention the hatred which the friars minors have always borne to the con- ventual friars, from the time the latter thought fit to discard the strict observancCy the cowl, and the frock, to go well-shod, and well-dressed, and to live in comfort and plenty. If you are ever tempted, my dear Madam, by my description, to go to see Saint Francis d'Assisi, do not forget to visit also the little con- vent of Saint Damiano, at two short miles from the town. Here Saint Francis dictated the monastic rule to Santa Clara, and they shew you her breviary, and the crucifix which often kept up long conversations with her. In like manner, at Santa Maria degli Angeli, they shew you the places where the seraphic saint preached to the swallows ; where he made him- self a wife of snow ; where he rolled himself in the bushes to escape from the temptations which MONTE ASIMO. 15 lam, incis con- from the Ishew I often like they saint him- klf ii^ ^hich even his wife of snow had not succeeded in de- livering him from ; where he received the stig- mata, and the privilege of forgiving all sorts of sins, venial, mortal, and mortalississimi. Saint Francis and Santa Clara might be truly repre- sented as remarkable and even venerable per- sonages, for they both did holy and extraordinary acts ; but the monks give them an air of buf- foonery and of traffic. I shall not take up your time with an account of the f(&te of the anniversary ; for you know, as well as I, that all our religious festivals begin with theatrical music, and finish with a luxu- rious dinner. Hitherto I have spoken only of the sacred Assisi ; I must now say something of the profane. The view from the fortress situated on Monte Asimo, which overlooks the town, the plains, the hills, and the valleys, which surround it, is perhaps one of the most astonishing in the world. ' The view towards the south-east, as far as the point where the beautiful valley of Foligno conceals Spoleto in its tortuous windings ; and towards the north-west, to where the Clitumnus and the Topino, united to the Isi, discharge themselves into the Tiber, is so diversified, that the most skilful painter would find it dif- ficult to give any idea of its beauties. The U'i m IG MONTE ASIMO '.'. ', I I I Appenincs, which rise like an insupemblc bar- rier on the east and north, produce an effect on the eye and on the imagination so extraordi- nary, that it is easier to feel than to explain it ; and the mountain of Viterbo on the west, which appears like a great isolated pyramid, forms a new and striking feature in the landscape. The remains of an ancient temple in the great square still preserve plinths, columns, capitals ; an architrave, a frieze, a pediment, and a peris- tyle, of the best times of the fine arts in Rome ; — of the richest and the most graceful style of architecture. It is said to have been consecrated to Minerva. Antiquarians are like physicians; when they cannot explain a thing, they plunge into an ocean of conjectures, without lead or compiass, and decide the question at their pleasure. Proceed- ing on this plan, they have christened the temple at Assisi a temple of Minerva. They have consulted as oracles the holes of the nails which supported the brazen letters forming the votive inscription upon the frieze of the pediment. This system has been frequently found to be delusive, in Latium, at Paestum, in Greece, in Languedoc, and elsewhere ; but it is adhered to because it enables the most ignorant man to assume airs of learning. As I am neither an antiquarian nor a savant, and have no other THE TIHKlt. 17 erva. they ocean and ceed- jmple have nails ig the iment. to be lece, in red to an to Iher an other '-i^ guide than history, I shall make but one obser- vation, and that a short one ; — that the ancients rarely used the Corinthian order in a building consecrated to so austere a goddess as Minerva ; and that this temple, built in the style and taste of the times of the emperors, whose devotion to celestial divinities was not very ardent, might possibly be consecrated to the apotheosis of some terrestrial goddess. The luxuriance of the orna- ments favours this conjecture. Such is the style of the buildings elsewhere found consecrated to Livia, Faustina, Plotina, and even to Lais. At all events, the Philippines now adore within its walls their holy founder and the Virgin. But let us proceed. At the bridge of the Tiber I was strongly tempted to leave my carriage and my SanchoPan^a, and to ascend that celebrated river to its source, which, to the astonishment of strangers, and the shame of Italians, remains yet unknown. But in a country where a gentleman is always exposed to moles- tation from petty tyrants and their satellites, from the moment he deviates from, the line surveillee by gendarmes ; where the purest in- tentions are easily misrepresented ; where any desire for information subjects him to the charge of philosophisme ; it is impossible to attempt any of those undertakings which re- quire,, at least, tranquillity and security, and VOL. I. c I II? 1« PlUlKilA. V. r- ' s perhaps the aid of the local authorities. Geo- graphy must therefore be left, like everything else, in doubt and darkness. I shall not detain you at Perugia, which you know, and everybody knows, both from what it contains really grand and astonishing, and from the wonders and fables antiquarians relate of it. I must however tell you, that I never can visit it without going to see the Arch of Augus- tus, and the chefs d'oeuvres of the master of the great Rafaelle (though the finest of them, which was taken away by the French, is not yet restored;) or without offering my tribute of veneration to the antiquity of its origin, which is placed in the times of Noah. An antiquarian informs us, that the patriarch landed from the arc on the right bank of the Tiber, just at the spot where the bridge now stands, and that he built the town on an ascent now called la Valle di Giano, which, he says, was the name the ancients gave to Noah. At Passignano I ate, for the first time, some good fish. I paid my usual visit to my friend the antiquarian, from whom I always get some amusement, if not instruction. He showed me some antiques, many of which are not antiques, mats qui doivent fHre, as he says, because they are found on the field of the famous battle between the Romans and Carthaginians. My OSSAVA. 10 poor antiquarian is shaking with ague thirteen months of the year, but he would not quit this spot for all the gold or all the health in the world. He consoles himself for its modern insalubrity by the thoujifht of its ancient gran- deur " at the time when Annius Faunigena reigned there, who gave the nymph Agilla in marriage to Trasimeno, who gave his name to the celebrated lake," &c. &c. When one wants to get away from painful thoughts, one suffers one- self to be amused, or even talked to sleep, by fables. Here I am at Ossaya ; let me stop to breathe. Yes, my dear Countess, I breathe freely, as soon as I set my foot on this happy land. But what can be the motive so strong as to drive us with feelings of indignation and impatience from the country of our birth ? It is the desire to escape the intolerance, the abuses, and the tyranny, of a despotic government. What is the cause of that delightful presentiment of sympathy and confi- dence with which we enter a foreign country ? It is the tolerance, the justice, the beneficence of a paternal government. Such were the feelings with which I quitted the States of the Church ; such were those with which I entered Tuscany. What a contrast between the government of priests, and that of Leopold, or of Ferdinand, his successor and imitator ; between the well- digested laws of a sovereign who loves his people, ru r ■■>«W-<»«i-foi,. •«»«.l..-. ^mum' l OLw mi 2U OSSAYA. i ^ • and the capricious will of a troop of satraps, who are ignorant of the domestic affections, and regard the people only as slaves ! What a con- trast between the lot of the Tuscans and our owai ! Although this government is not yet subjected to the salutary check of the three powers, Fer- dinand's dispositions are in such perfect accord- ance with the rights and the wishes of his people, that here all is harmony, tranquillity, and con- fidence. The example of the people of Tuscany gives the lie to those who delight in calumniating the Italians, and representing them as intractable in their character, and inordinate in their demands; who affirm that we must be crushed, to prevent our attaining a dangerous pre-eminence; thus disguising under a mask their meditated plan of universal tyranny. Ferdinand is of a differ- ent opinion, though every means has been re- sorted to, to make him believe what the calum- niators believe not themselves. His court is composed entirely of Italians. He walks about in the town and in the country among his sub- jects, often quite alone, like a. father in the midst of affectionate children. He believes in the tes- timony borne by history to the firmness and generosity of Italian hearts, and repels the calumny of their tyrants, of Vienna and of Rome, "that they would bite the hand that should as- OSSAYA. 21 ips, and hon- our ;cted Fer- cord- iople, L con- r gives ngthe able in nands; >revent , thus L plan differ- leen re- calum- ;ourt is s about as sub- ^e midst the tes- [ess and ,els the ,f Home, lould as- sist in raising them." This calumny is the more gross, since they have given such striking and recent proof of their fidelity and gratitude to Napoleon, though he was neither the object of their choice, nor, entirely, of their approbation or affection ; — a fidelity and gratitude maintained in the most heroic manner by all classes — soldiers, citizens, and magistrates ; even when the magis- trates, citizens, and soldiers of other countries, who were much more deeply indebted to him, had already deserted or betrayed him ; and when we were excited to revolt by offers of indepeml ence, and by promises of constitutions. It was only when he himself dropped the curtain of the great drama atFontainbleau, that the Italians thought themselves freed from their oaths. Such pretexts only render more glaring the designs of the Jesuits, and others, against the liberties of Italy and of Europe, which they are intended to conceal. But I forget, my dear Ma- dam, that it is a letter I am writing, and that you do not like declamation, particularly when it can do no good. Let us then resume our ram- ble ; and, indeed, temptations to do so are not few in charming and lovely Tuscany. We may traverse it, length and breadth, without obsta- cles, without danger, without the hideous pre- sence of the police, which is the nuisance and the torment of other countries. %% I i i. J">'^ w f' & 22 CORTUNA. If ever you revisit Tuscany, do not neglect to ascend to Cortona : you will find a great deal truly worthy of your attention, which will fully compensate you for the labour of the ascent, which is only two miles in length, but tremen- dous, and indeed dangerous, if you do not harness oxen to your carriage, and take the precaution to let down the prop behind. Whether this city be really the ancient Cori- tum (which was indisputably upon the Tyrrhene sea) or not, signifies little. At all events, the fragments of Cyclopean walls, which are still standing, are surprising vestiges of the remotest antiquity ; and will probably bear witness, as long as the world lasts, that Cortona was one of the earliest cities of Italy. The Cortona of modern times is perhaps yet more remarkable. The cathedral is a museum of superb paintings and sculptures, ancient and modern. The Na- tivity, by Pietro di Cortona, is one of the highest efforts of Italian art. Go to see the collection of antiques at the Etruscan academy, an insti- tution celebrated in the annals of archaeology ; those of the Casa Venuti, and of signor Coltel- lini ; the galleries of the Tomasi, the Passerini, and the collection of engravings of the excellent cavaliere Mancini. You will find the courtesy, the hospitality, and the kindness, of these gentlemen equal to •v-v THE CHIANA. 23 eat 2nt, len- less tion ;3ori- hene , the still lotest is, as jne of na of table. tings Na- lighest [ection insti- >iogy ; Joltel- jserini, Icellent itality, lual to the nobility of mind and of birth for which they a,re distinguished. If you mention my name, they will perhaps honour me by recollect- ing it with kindness ; while I, on my part, shall ever remember with the liveliest gratitude the thousand civilities which they have bestowed on me every time I have passed through their city or visited their delightful villas. At Castiglione I struck into a cross road, with a view of meeting the great road which the grand duke has lately cut f'-om Arezzo to Sienna. I was led to take this resolution by my desire of visiting my dear little friend Averardo, at the college Tolomei. I therefore made my arrange- ments and set out. The plain lying between Castiglione and the opposite hills of Lucignano, about fourteen miles in breadth from the north-east to the south-west, is called the Chiana, which extends for about thirty miles from the south-east to the north- west, from Chiusi to Arezzo. It appears that this vast tract of country was formerly a lagune formed by the confluence of the waters from the surrounding mountains, and that in the time of the Romans this vast body of water had no other outlet than by the Tiber. It was to the sudden descent of these waters that they attributed those inundations with which they were occasionally visited by the n i.'! W 'i^ >; il'''*'i •'^'^wmtm^ :(;| n ^ I i fi ,'i ;i:i 24 THE CHI AX A. rising of the Tiber. In the reign of Tiberius a project was talked of for cutting an outlet for the waters of the Claeius or Chiana towards Etruria; that is to say, into the Arno. This project, in after ages, occupied the attention of the court of Rome,- but encountered great opposition; first from the republic of Florence, and afterwards from its dukes. At length it was agreed between the two governments to carry off the waters of this great reservoir on both sides ; and means were taken so to regulate them as to avoid the inun- dations which would be the consequence of a more abundant discharge on one side than on the other. They now flow into the Tiber by way of Chiusi, and into the Arno below Arezzo ; and two regulator-bridges measure the passage of the volume of water, which has been calculated to fall in equal weight on each side, so as to avoid the overflow of the Tiber and of the Arno respec- tively. You have seen the regulator-bridge built by the celebrated Fontana to prevent the waters of the vallies of Rieti and of Piediluco from pouring themselves too abundantly, by the Vellino and the great cascade of Terni, into the Nera. From what you have seen there, you can form some idea of the bridges of Chiana, as also of the profound knowledge of hydraulics which characterizes these different works, by means of which the level necessary to fix tlic THE CHI AN A. 26 ICO Ithe Ithe rou as ilics by the equal distribution of the waters has been calcu- lated. They are indeed works of the greaV-.,t talent, and particularly honourable to tiie en- gineers Viviani and Cassini, Ferroni and Fantoni, and may afford much instruction to the students of that art. The Medici were the first who converted the redeemed lands into magnificent farms. Leopold imitated their example with ardour ; and Ferdi- nand has continued to improve them to an astonishing degree, and has converted a part of them into the richest patrimony of the order of Saint Stephen. But as good government encourages improvement, indirectly as well as directly, by the security and protection it affords to the people, and by the consequent stimulus it gives to industry, the inhabitants of Cortona, Castiglione, Arezzo, Sienna, Chiusi, &c. have undertaken considerable works on their own account, and have drained a large extent of land. These marshy regions, which were the abodes of nothing but frogs and toads, are become, under the auspices of good princes, one con- tinued garden ; an exhaustless source of public and private wealth, and a healthy and cheerful district. Agriculture, like everything else, has felt the fostering influence of the mild and pa- ternal government of Leopold. What have our popes done in the Pontine ■Si. i 2G THE CHI AN A. ' * I marshes? Nothing, except consume the re- venues of the state — extort money from the people — commit a fraudulent bankruptcy with paper money ; and all to create a few farms for their nspheivs ; men so incapable of preserving their .ill-acquired property, that they have suf- fered them to sink into their former state. Ji'st as I had crossed the Chiana in a wretched boat and by a very difficult passage, I saw a carriage approaching, as humble as my own. The postillion told me it was the grand duke, who was inspecting his farms, accompanied only by his farming steward. I stopped, alighted, and expressed my respect for him. He conde- scended to receive my homage with the greatest kindness. I was deeply touched by the sight of this excellent prince ; he saw it, and showed me that he felt it. He saluted me with grace and dignity, and wished me a prosperous journey. I could not help wishing that some of those who have so malignantly misrepresented my sentiments with regard to legitimacy were pre- sent at this rencontre. They would have read in my countenance and gestures my sincere vene- ration for true legitimacy — that legitimacy which is derived not merely from the hereditary rights, but from the fulfilment of those duties which a prince owes to his subjects. The plan of the new road which the grand \- J- ny re- in e- ich ts, .1 a ind I SIKNNA. 27 duke has cut through the rock, over mountains and in very difficult places, is well laid, but very badly executed. Before long the cost of repairing it will very nearly equal the whole expense of the cutting the gravel, the under- ground work, and the bridges. The good duke has been cheated by men who, both from grati- tude and from delicacy, ought to have felt the greatest anxiety to fulfil their engagements. Louis XIV was right in saying that, when he conferred a favour, he made a hundred men dis- contented and one ungrateful. As I approached Sienna, which by that road is only forty miles from Castiglione, I met a great throng of men, women, and children, who were hastily escaping from the earthquake, several shocks of which had already been felt there. I was told that the governor, count Bianchi, was at his country house, five or six miles from the high road. I determined to go and pay him a visit. It was dusk ; the postil- lion lost his way, in a country intersected by hills, ravines, and torrents. We found ourselves in a place impassable for horses, and the ap- proach of night added to our difficulties. With the help of two pair of oxen, and by supporting the carriage with our shoulders over the preci- pices which would have overturned it, we just managed to reach the end of this short but \i II I M is' 4. i 28 SI£NNA. rugged pilgrimage. The count and countess ex- claimed aloud when they saw me approach their house by so unusual a way, and could hardly imagine how I could have got along. Their as- tonishment reminded me of that of our friend monsignor Ugolini, when he saw me arrive at Frusinone with the vehicle in which I had crossed those terrible mountains from the Lago Fucino and the island of Sora ; he asked me if my carriage was aeronautic. After the usual compli- ments, I related my little adventure with all the comedy I could put into it, for the diversion of their delightful children, who laughed heartily at seeing my Sancho Panca with his face em- broidered by the thorns and brambles, and my own toilet in a most deplorable condition. I staid t^vo days, enjoying the society of this chaiiiiing family, and the beauties of their villa, and proceeded to Sienna, which I found still agitated by the shocks of the earthquake ; and from thence to the country house of the college at Santa Colomba, where the pupils were gone to spend the hunting season. You can better imagine than I can describe the delight with which I saw Averardo, and the emotion with which I quitted him, after staying eight days with him and his young companions, and their reverend preceptors, who loaded me with at- tentions. \^ \ SIENNA. 29 i I returned to Sienna, where I wished to drink once more of the waters of Fontc Branda. I could not resist staying a few days, in spite of the earthquake, which seemed determined to hurry me, by repeated shocks, from the country, " Ove il bel tratto e il bel parlar si gode," and where the fair sex is fairer than in any other spot in the world. Yes, my dear Countess, I regard wo.nen everywhere as creatures ap- proaching the divine nature ; and the friendship, veneration, and gratitude, I feel for that bene- ficent and generous sex, which has more than once defended me with noble courage against the malice of my own, will accompany me to the other side of the Styx ; yet I must con- fess, that the attic graces, the gentle eloquence, and the simple-hearted kindness, of the women of Sienna give them a superiority, in my eyes, over the women of any other country I am ac- quainted with. I speak in generals ; for if I were called upon to particularise, you know, my dear Madam, to whom I should award the apple. I arrived on the 2nd at the modern Athens, where the fine arts, literature, science, and civil- ization, arose in renovated life and splendour; whence they spread over the rest of Europe, which the barbarians had ravaged and brutified ; whence they travelled into all other parts of the < ■ ''.''I \t ■ if iTr'i 30 SIF.WA. r lit! world, even into America, which was first opened to the reception of European arts by Americus Vesputius. Florence might justly be called a vast pantheon of illustrious and cele- brated men of every kind. Every time I approach this proud and beautiful queen of the Arno, I feel my heart swell with Italian pride. But this time, my dear friend, I approached it on the anniversary of that fatal day, which will ever be a day of mourning to me ; and not all the glories of my country could remove from my spirits the weight which oppressed them. And the memo- rials of that celebrated family which, to the shame of Italian indolence, an Englishman, the enlightened Roscoe, ha? illustrated with so much grace and erudition ; those memorials, which I formerly regarded with pride and pleasure, now only added to my grief, by recalling the loss we have sustained: — I say we — for you, I, her friends, and all who could :^ppreciate the purest and most heroic virtue, are common sufferers. I found the countess of Albany still inconsolable. She called her "her behoved daughter." I only stopped at Florence long enough to have the consolation of seeing Virginia and Eleonora, who are at the house of education of Santa Agata, and of tracing in them the liveliest resemblance to the most perfect model of wife, mother; friend, and of every Christian virtue. 1 I'lSTOJA. 31 Pistoja is full of great recollections. To me it is less interesting as the scene of the defeat and death of Catiline, or as the cradle of the dreadful factions of the Bianchi and Nevi, than as the spot where two illustrious bishops, Ippolito and Ricci, proposed — and where Leopold embraced — leforms equally beneficial to religion and to the state ; reforms which the wise Ferdinand has in some respects pursued, and which are one source of the happiness of his subjects. Priests are here more like what they ought to be than in any other country. The number of monks has been greatly diminished ; a part of the revenues has been taken away from the convents in which, here as elsewhere, the votaries of abstinence, celibacy, and poverty, wallowed in luxury and licentiousness, and has been given to the paro- chial clergy, who are the true and efficient pas- tors of a Christian people. A purer and simpler form of worship has been substituted for ceremo- nies bordering on idolatry, and favourable to the grossest superstition. The ritual has acquired a sacred dignity by being purified from worldly pomp. The pontifical authority has not been directly attacked, but its abuses have been as much as possible corrected; and it has been up to this time successfully resisted in a point on v/hioh all the rest of Italy, France, Spain, and great part of Germany, have yielded to it. There i mi ' I 32 IT.SCIA. J'' are no Jesuits, or at least they are not autho- rized. But how can Tuscany hope to escape them ? So long as that terrible sect has any existence, it will find means to insinuate itself, per fas (tilt nefas, into every part of the globe. The Jesuits are like the locusts of Africa, which emigrate to ravage other parts of the world. I know one in Tuscany, who is the more danger- ous from not being a Tuscan, and unhappily he is about the court. The inquisition has not. yet been able to strike root again. In short, though Tuscany is the birth-place of the prince of political imposture, the beloved instructor of all potentates in whatever is most hostile to morality, humanity, and religion, yet there, much less than elsewhere — " A diventar col Macchiavel si vede, Ad onta de' Mattel, Giovanni e Marchi, Ragion di Stato i dogmi della fede." The baths of Montecatino were already de- serted. In the season they abound in agreeable society, and sometimes in curious anecdotes. I have great pleasure in recalling Pescia to your remembrance. Surrounded by beautiful hills, fertile plains, and mountains broken into every variety of wild and picturesque forms, it presents to the eye and to the imagination of the painter an inexhaustible succession of new and ^i PISA. 33 de- ible to tiful into ;,it [the ind touching pictures. The inhabitants are remark- able for their industry, wealth, and refinemeiit. It is, moreover, the country of one of the greatest living ornaments of Italian literature — Sismondo Sismondi. Lucca you are well acquainted with, as well as with its agreeable inhabitants, their magnifi- cent villas, and their Volto Santo. But there is a wide difference between the government of this branch of the Bourbons of France and Spain, and that of the Tuscan branch of the house of Austria. Let us, therefore, hasten once more into Tuscany, and pause a moment at Pisa. I doubt if this city ever was — certainly it is very far from being now — the " Vltupero delle genti." This epithet was the offspring of Florentine jealousy, and is repeated only because whatever is the production of a great poet becomes the fashion. But history, which bears witness to the ancient glory of Pisa and its sons, to the long series of their exploits by sea and by land, ought to wipe it from the memory of man as a flagrant injustice. Florence would never have possessed that precious bequest of the wisdom of Justinian, the Pandects, nor her numerous rare manuscripts, nor the two superb porphyry columns of St John, nor many other of her rare VOL. I. D mm 34 PISA. foreign treasures, had not the Pisans acquired them by their valour in distant regions ; which, at that period, no other nation of Europe (with the exception of the Venetians and the Genoese) ventured to explore. Even the earth which covers their Campo Santo is a striking proof of the wealth and power to which this little corner of Italy had then attained, since, even in the infancy of the arts of navigation, its fleets were considerable enough to transport from Jerusalem a quantity of that earth sufficient to fill this vast enclosure. You know they ascribed to it the power of working miracles, by instantly consuming the bodies interred in it. It was, perhaps, impregnated with lime. At all events it has now lost its virtue. The university and other institutions of Pisa, as celebrated as they are useful, recall other illustrious passages of her history. The intrigues of the council which deposed Gregory XII and Benedict XIII, in order to place on the pontifical throne Alex- ander V, (who was in no respect better than they), furnish us with an instructive lesson of another sort : they shew that ambition and corruption have almost invariably been substi- tuted for the humility and the purity of which our divine Saviour left an example on earth, and which he recommended to his disciples and vicars as the rules of their conduct. i\ -'tV risA. 35 icil lex- lian of md jti- lich md ind Modem Pisa is equally worthy of notice. Rich in precious remains of all ages, and in every depertment of science and literature, she offers a wide field to curiosity, and abundant means of information. Amenity, poHteness, and taste, characterize the inhabitants of the town ; and the heartiness with which they offer hospi- tality renders it more grateful. The Casa Mas- tiani may be called the convent of St Bernard of Pisa. A respectable stranger finds ready admit- tance there, witho :t those childish formalities, those mortifying hesitations, which elsewhere destroy the grace and the obligation of the favour, and w ound the pride of a man who feels his own dignity. A place at their table is offered, with- out etiquette and without ostentation, to all who have the happiness of being acquainted with this excellent family. I once more revisited, and with ever encreas- ing admiration, the cathedral, the font, the leaning tower, and the famous Campo Santo, where the infant productions of the Italian pencil promised the glories of its maturity. At length, my dear Countess, I am arrived at the place from which I write, and at the end of my first ramble, — not at the end of my first letter. But be not alarmed, I am not far from it. The road from Pisa to Leghorn, though mo- AV »• !» ¥} I % H i !H 4 ^•«..*i*w*'- »!■ 36 LEGHORN. \H notonous, suggests many important reflections on the rise and fall of empires, and the capri- cious vicissitudes of human life. At the time the sea was swallowing up Hu- mana in the Penthapolis, on the Adriatic ; Ostia Laurentum in Latium, on the Mediterranean; at the mouth of the Arno (which was anciently only a mile from Pisa) it was preparing the ground upon which the delightful city of Leghorn was one day to be built. This ground now extends over a tract of thirteen miles which, no longer ago than the time of Lucan, was all covered by the sea. To convince you of this fact 1 must inflict a little more Latin upon you, my dear Madam, " Hinc Tyrrhena vado, frangentis sequora Pisse." It appears from this line that the waves then actually beat against the walls of that city. Meditations on matters of fact like these might perhaps be not less useful to the youth of Italy than the speculative meditations of the Jesuits. Leghorn is much improved since I saw it ; but for people who are i at connected with trade it will soon become dull, especially as nothing is acted at the theatre but bad comedies. In the theatres of Italy, if there is no singing, one falls asleep. Alfieri undoubtedly wrote tragedies well calculated to awaken us, but we LEGHORN. 37 then city, light Italy ts. it; with |ly as jdies. fging, Tote it we must content ourselves with reading them ; for our actors, who will never be worthy of the name till they are educated frr their profession, as in France and England, have the art of imbuing everything they act with a narcotic quality : and as they are in general grossly ignorant of their art ; and as the difhculty is in the direct ratio of the exc Hence of the thing to be repre- sented, the better a play is, the more utterly they spoil it. A packet which has been established between this port and Marseilles, suggested to me the wish to try it; but I thought of Bartolomeo Colleoni, who, when the senate of Venice gave him his choice of a command by sea or by land, replied, "That he liked horses which carry their bridles on their heads, better than those which carry them on their tails." Besides, my mercurial temper can ill brook confinement in these woode.i prisons ; and the sight of sea and sky alone cannot satisfy the greedy eyes of a wanderer so curious as I am. I have not the least ambition to give a new theory of the phosphoric light of the sea, nor to break my neck with 'ooking at the mountains in Saturn and the moon. You ask me, my dear Madam, where my rambles are to ead : my object in undertaking them I have already explained to you at the ft Hi m II ^•^m,u-',-^mimM^ 38 Ll^GllOIlN. beginning of this letter ; but as for their termi- nation, — that can be decided only by the event. You will know it as soon as I know it myself. You wish too, perliaps, to know the road I mean to take when I leave Leghorn. I can tell you nothing about it. A man who has no other project than to go, never knows whither he is going. But I shaU let you know from time to time what places I arrive at ; for the past may be told, if one chooses, though the future cannot. And to you I shall always tell it with pleasure, were it only for the sake of recalling to you my friendship, aid begging for a continuation of yours. P. S. Till you hear farther, have the good- ness to send your letters hither to the following address. I I I t m J K(JIIOKN. 39 ^ing LETTER II December 21 thy 1821. T}iE history of free institutions, and of their beneficial effects, affords the best lesson to nations, and to kings; to the sincere and zealous heads of religion, and to their flocks. Permit me therefore, my dear Countess, to detain you a moment longer at Leghorn, which, considered under this point of view, suggests some very useful reflections. Leghorn, not more than two hundred and fifty years ago, was a wretched village, built upon — or rather planted in — a tract of land, which had just emerged from the Mediterranean, and which, surrounded as it was by marshes, might be con- sidered almost as an island floating between sea and land. During the time of the wars between the Italian republics, after it had fallen alter- nately under the dominion of the Pisans and the Florentines, the Medici got possession of i ri^ ! 40 LEGHORN. i'-'J' 1 ' i Leghorn, together with all the rest of Tuscany, and constituted it a free port ; — the first free port known in the Mediterranean. It was subse- quently raised to a iiigh pitch of prosperity by the wise and tolerant government of Leopold. After erecting Leghorn into a sort of republic, over which he retained little more than a pater- nal control, he made a law that all foreigners, of whatever nation or religion, who came to settle there, should be considered as citizens of Tuscany, and have an equal claim to the privi- leges and honours of the city. He did not enact laws for the purpose of imposing on the simplicity and credulity of the multitude, as is so often done elsewhere, but in order to secure to his subjects, and to all who trusted to his sincerity, security and prompt justice. On one occasion a Jew was appointed by a plurality of voices to the office of municipal judge. The priests, who are the eternal ene- mies of everything liberal, refused him the place in the religious ceremonies to which he was entitled in virtue of the dignity he enjoyed, and addressed a remonstrance to the sovereign. The grand duke, however, decided that the presence of a virtuous Jew did not profane the temple of that God who is equally the God of the people of Israel ; that the privilege contested could never become liable to abuse and scandal, since ••-^.y PISA. 41 a man called by his fellow-citizens to the high and sacred office of judge v/as the nearest repre- sentative of the divine power on earth ; that the magistrate for the lime being enjoyed this pri- vilege as a matter of right, and was at perfect liberty to exercise it or not, at his pleasure. The Jew, whose moderation and prudence were equal to the imprudence and bigotry of his opponents, and who had no other ambition than that of being an honest man, wrote to the priests that he very willingly resigned his ceremonial seat, being perfectly satisfied with that to which the public confidence had raised him. He continued to exercise his important functions with probity and impartiality, in spite of the intolerance of those who had shewn how little they were under the influence of the spirit of Christianity. The house of God ought to be open to all who bear his image, and none but Catholics close it against Jews. . I took the way back to Pisa, and, as you will readily believe, I revisited the Campo Santo (where the Vergognosa always detains me to contemplate her with fresh sentiments of admi- ration), — the tower which appears to threaten destruction to the passenger, — the cathedral — perhaps the first model of that style which formed the connecting link between the Roman and the Gothic architecture ; a style so original. .>! i'4 Hi < •X ^ u 1 42 lMSi\. ■1 f ii • 4.[ (kl. SO grotesque, and yet so imposing ! I can never pass the tower of Ugolino without being touched by his fate, and by the deplorable recollection that it was a minister of the most benevolent of religions, and an archbishop, who threw into the shade all the other crimes imputed to him by the horrible atrocity of the punishment he inflicted on this celebrated partisan, and on his innocent children. But we must leave Tuscany, which I can never do without regret. — The abode of a good prince, whom I revere as truly ** God's vicegerent upon earth;" of a virtuous people, whose kind, gentle, and polished manners, seem to retain some traces of antique urbanity, attract ones steps, and ones sympathy. I left behind me objects associated with many and affecting recollections. I had breathed freely as I entered Tuscany, and I sighed at quitting it. But my destiny led me onwards. I left it with benedictions on the country, its inhabitants, and its benevolent rulers. If my life is prolong d beyond the middle of the term allotted to man, I shall, I hope, revisit this happy land, and perhaps pass the last days of my mortal pilgrimage there. The country between Pisa and Carrara is quite as fertile and beautiful as Tuscany. The agriculture is equally perfect and flourishing. You can hardly persuade yourself you have ih, » I '1 CARRARA. 43 passed into another territory, until the aspect of lofty and rugged mountains, ^ f deep and gloomy gorges, remind you that you are approaching the spot whose precious marble has repeopled the Avorld, not only with the heroes and illustrious men of all ages, but with a much larger propor- tion of obscure or mischievous persons. Carrara deserves that every traveller should visit it, and that volumes should be written to commemorate and illustrate its wonderful features. Neverthe- less it is little visited, and little talked of. As I am only a rambler and not a savant, and as I write nothing of higher pretension than letters, I shall leave to geologists the task of describing it scientifically, and shall only tell you what most struck me. The narrow defile through which you enter the region of these living rocks, which are trans- ported to all parts of the world, is most romantic and striking. A valley, or, more correctly speak- ing, an immense amphitheatre, formed by moun- tains of the most awful and threatening character, which close it in on every side, and have no other outlet than the winding path by which you enter, seems to be separated by inaccessible barriers from all the rest of the world. You can see nothing but sky and rocks ; and a little rivulet whose murmurs are in harmony with the pensive and tranquil melanchv^ly inspired 1 4 . r 1. ti^:-,}-^ ^'.W*-**"'. If ■•(.J 44 CAUKAHA. by the scene, and whose crystal waters add a double brilliancy to the glittering fragments of syenite, mica, and epidote, scattered along its snow-white bed. You hear nothing but the confused sound of the various echoes which meet and rebound from rock to rock, produced either by the blasting of the quarries, the loud strokes of the hammers, or the hoarse and distant voices of the miners ; or by the terrific noise of large masses of marble which are riven off, and hurled down the precipices into the abyss beneath. These blocks are transported upon a sort of sledge, with four small wheels, which, as well as their axles, are of the most massive construction. Twenty or thirty pair of oxen are frequently necessary to draw them to the seashore, which is three miles from the town. I scrambled like a goat over these mountains, in search of traces of the quarries which were worked in the time of Pliny, and I had the satis- faction of thinking that I succeeded. It is evi- dent that a vast quantity of marble has been extracted, and the blackish veins which appear on the surface lead to the conjecture that these quarries were abandoned on account of the ad- mixture of h^toTQgeneous matter. I w^s here .i*eminded of the mighty disputes which have occupied, and still occupy, a num- f .-^ CARRAi''A. 4o ber of archolseogists as to the quality and origin of the marble of the Apollo di Belvedere, the Laocoon, and other statues of high antiquity. As I have never been at Pares, I cannot venture upon any comparisons, but it is certain that there is a very strong resemblance between the marble of these two statues (which I have examined a thousand times) and that of Carrara; chiefly in the similarity of their grain, in their micaceous particles, their polish, and their whiteness. But tliere are other circumstances which afford very strong presumption in favour of the Cararists. It is unquestionable that the marble of which Agrippa built the Pantheon was taken from Carrara, and the marble of the statues in ques- tion very closely resembles that of the Pantheon. The quarries of Carrara were known to the Romans long before the time of Agrippa. They were all confounded under the common appella- tion of Luni, which was at that time the only city of any celebrity in the district. This whole region was indeed little known in the time of the Romans. It was called by the Etruscans the country of Cariara. These circumstances lead to the conclusion, that the marble of the Apollo and of the Laocoon might not improbably be from Carrara. At all events, this marble is not inferior to that of Paros ; nor are the works pro- 'i '■ ^f ^ I npfnp" pwT- A 40 CARIIAIIA. .'* duced in it by Canova and Thorwaldsen inferior to those of antiquity. The town is a school of stuclii, among which those of Fontana, of Bartolini, and anotlier sculptor, whose name I have forgotten, are most distinguished. You are surrounded by labourers in the art, and by marble counts and marquises — men who derive their titles from these quar- ries, and support them by the lucrative trade in the produce of them. When we find vanity thus drawing food even from the entrails of the earth, we may well conclude that to preach against it is to preach to the desert. The terraces of earth which rise one above another, and have enabled the industry of man to maintain a successful struggle against the ste- rility and the rapid declivity of the mountains towards the sea ; the vines, the olives, the orange- trees, and the fruit trees of every kind, which cloth their steeps and barren sides with a luxu- riant and wonderful vegetation, offer to the eye appearances the most new and enchanting, and to the mind, matter for admiration and reflec- tion. Little country-houses, scattered about at intervals, add to the interest and beauty of this extraordinary scene. Carrara would probably grow into a town of greater importance, and would eventually extend down to the sea, and thus become a powerful I f SAU/A\A 47 rival to Leghorn, if it were possible to construct a port on this shore. But the Magra washes down such a quantity of sand from the moun- tains with its rapid waters, that it choaks up the bay into which it falls ; and thus renders vain all the efforts of the inhabitants to free t'\t » i- selves from that commercial dependence in which the Livornese arc glad to keep them. I shall not detain you long at Sarzana. You must only admire those pretty country-houses scattered on the lovely hills which rise above the town towards the north. We must, however, give a few moments to the memory of a pope who was the patron of litera- ture, and the founder of the library of the Vatican, and who laid the first stone of tha;, august edifice which grew under succeeding popes, and em- ployed the genius of Bramante and of Michael Angelo. He is, however, fatally celebrated for having stained the chair of St Peter with the blood of numerous citizens, who fell victims to his suspicions. His crimes received their punish- ment even in this world, for his life was, from that time, one of disquiet and unhappiness, and soon closed amid the teirors of a murderer's death- bed. I speak of Nicholas V, who was born at Sarzana. At the distance of a mile from this town you reach the Magra, whose left bank, and the right ih m 1^ ¥ bank of the Tiber, bounded the country which the ancients called Etruria. It is a beautiful river, but very dangerous to ford, from the vio- lence of its current. Its w^aters are, like those of the Tiber, always turbid. This is a curious coincidence. It seems as if these two rivers formed, by the very colour of their waters, a perpetual line of demarcation around that region which is the chosen residence of peace, and that they guard the confines of Etruria as her pecu- liar domain. Rome and Liguria were always restless and troubled districts in ancient, as they are in modern, times. We are now, my dear Madam, in the territory of the king of Sardinia, which indeed I was noi. long in perceiving. My passport has already been twice demanded by gendarmes. Two or three miles farther is Spezzia, where it was demanded again. As these gentlemen gave me truce for the time they went to dinner, I deter- mined to nvail myself of it for the purpose of seeing this classic ground, so interesting both for wha it has been, for what it was designed to be, "^Tid for what it actually is. I retraced my steps in the direction of the Magra, to the spot where the great road quits the seashore and takes its course inland, about a mile and a half from the town of Spezzia. Ruins of ancient buildings are here scattered •iiif. sA LUNI. 49 he ts jut la. ^ about the country, apparently of the style of the times of the Roman emperors. They are doubtless the remains of the ancient Luni ; perhaps rebuilt by one of the emperors. Some antiquarians have placed the site of this city on the left bank, and near the mouth, of the Magra, that is to say, inEtruria; whilst Pliny, Pom- ponius Mela, and Ptolemy, place it on the territory of the Ligurians. Besides these im- portant authorities, circumstances conspire to give weight to the conjecture that it was built on the spot I have pointed out ; a spot whence it would command the whole of the famous gulf of Spezzia, and consequently the only advanta- geous situation for a great city lilte Luni. This gulf, which is about eighteen miles in circumference, is indented by several little bays, which form so many small harbours ; it is partly closed at its mouth by a delightful island, which defends it from the Libeccio, the only wind which could command it. It is perhaps the safest and most beautiful port which nature ever formed, and would naturally be preferred by the ancients to the mouths of the Magra, (which they always regarded as unnavigable) for the site of a city of such importance as Luni appears to have been, even in times of the remotest antiquity. The gulf of Spezzia, and the ruins I have just VOL. I. E papimipiPPiP" 50 LUNI. ! I I i I A-> ■^l . 'li mentioned, seem to be precisely the Luni and the port celebrated by Silius. " Tunc quos a nweis exegit Luna metallis, Insignis porta, quo non spatiotior alter Innrrnercii cepisse rates, et claudere pontum." I must detain you a little longer at Luni and Spezzia, for there is not perhaps a single ancient city whose origin and destruction, whose situ- ation and extent, are shrouded in thicker darkness than that of Luni ; nor is there perhaps a spot in the world more worthy of observation than the gulf. Many writers of antiquity speak of Luni as a great city, and of its port as the first in the world ; which adds to the probability of the conjecture, that this great port was what is now called the gulf of Spezzia, and that Luni was built in this gulf, and on the spot I have already described. It was called Cariara by the Etrus- cans, Selenes by the Greeks, and Luni by the Romans; all which names signify ihe moon. But we are in total ignorance as to the name of its founder, or the cause of its appellation. The ruins which are now found there are evidently of a date greatly posterior to its origin, and, as I have already mentioned, are of the time of one of the Roman emperors, who probably rebuilt it. We must, therefore, abandon all hope of know- i li:' LUNI. 51 as )ne it. )W- ing anything about its origin ; nor is there any satisfactory information to be obtained even as to its destruction. Favio degli Uberti, a story-teller of the four- teenth century, affirms, that it was razed to the ground by an emperor (he does not say which or when) who took this means of burying under its ruins his guilty wife and her seducer. Another fabler, whom, from courtesy to foreigners, I shall not name, the rather as he is still living, relates the final catastrophe of this town with more talent, but with still less probability. He says, that Lothnor, king of Denmark, having sent his son Bier at the head of the superfluous population of his country to seek his fortune elsewhere, the young prince was joined by his tutor Hastings, and many adventurous knights, eager for com- bat and for rapine. It was one of those bands of barbarians who were afterwards called Nor- This romancer makes them attempt mans. several daring enterprises on the sea shore ; and after making them ravage the Vermandois, Brittany, Neustria, Voitou, Aquitaine, and even the powerful Lutecia, embarks them for the Mediterranean, and sends them to Rome to get their chief crowned, like Charlemagne, by another Leo IH. On the way, however, he lets loose all the winds against their fleet, and casts them upon unknown lands ; but happily affords them shelter in a very safe and deep bay, on the 1^ ^ ■U » * '' n shores of which they see a great city, which they believe to be Rome, although it is neither on the Tiber, nor twenty miles distant from the sea. The enterprising writer, to give warmth and .interest to the affair, then arms the inha- bitants of this unexpected Rome at the sight and approach of his fleet ; he lands his heroes, and introduces them into the town by a strata- gem, — too long for a letter, which already threatens not to be very short, — makes them raze the city to the very foundations, although they had obtained all they wanted, viz. entrance, without resistance. Nothing more is said about coronation or empire — but perhaps they had found out by this time that it was not Rome. Our author once more ships his Normans ; after which we do not know what became of them. Here is a glorious expedition for you, and a satisfactory account of the destruction of Luni ! — for this Rome (on the seashore) was, according to our author, Luni. It is a pity to spoil so pretty a story ; but unfortunately, Lucan ex- pressly says that, even in his time, Luni was no longer standing. " Aruns incoluit desertae msenia Lunoe." After all this discussion we are pretty nearly where we were. Let us leave Luni then and her destiny, whatever it might be, and turn our attention to the gulf of Spezzia. SPEZZIA. j3 \\ SO ex- is no iarly and our We may view it under two aspects ; what it was intended to be made, and what it now is. The former is one of the most gigantic designs of man ; the latter, one of the most delightful and beautiful works of nature. Napoleon, among the mighty projects of his universal genius, had intended to rescue the gulf of Spezzia from that obscurity in which all the glories of a nation, to whom a national exis- tence has been denied for centuries, must be buried. He intended to make it a port, an arsenal, a maritime bulwark ; perhaps the first m the world. His plans were fully borne out by the advantages and resources which nature has lavished upon this place. On the summit of the island, which closes a large pait of the entrance to the gulf, and over- looks it in the most extraordinary manner, a fortress, to be named Juno, was to command the gulf and the sea ; another fortress, which he intended to build on the highest of those moun- tains which surround the gulf like a great basin, was to command both sea and land, and was to be called Jupiter. Other fortresses, named after the inferior gods, were to guard the different issues which were to meet .in this officina of Vulcan, Mars, and Neptune. These names, and this distribution of them, were perhaps the type of what Jupiter and Juno were in the I h M il: m^m 54 SP£ZZ1A. iH id heaven of antiquity, and of what Napoleon and his wife were likely to become on earth. The small bays which are separated by penin- sulas jutting out into the gulf, and wliich afford shelter from every storm, were to be converted into naval arsenals. Impregnable barriers were to defend the entrance to them, and canals cut across these peninsulas were to afford means of internal communication between them. Porto Venere, at the extremity of the gulf on the west ; Porto Erice, at the other extremity on the east ; were designed as two great military out-posts. These, on emergencies, were to be reinforced from the grand dep6t behind the new city, which was to be built on a great plateau above the present town. It was with this view that Napoleon had already cut two magnificent roads, which led by an easy passage from the centre to the two great centimlles en vedette. These two roads are still in existence ; that of Porto Venere is in very good condition. I have given you but a slight sketch of the great picture, to avoid confusion and prolixity, but from what I have said you may imagine the rest. This maritime Colossus would eventually have enabled Napoleon to command the whole Medi- terranean, and to keep watch over all the islands in it. Combining this with other naval establish- . .^-l i i uJl lM U lW t'W " SPEZZIA. 65 the pity, the lave ledi- inds lish- ments, restored or enlarged, — at Toulon, Roche- fort, Brest, Cherbourg, Boulogne, Dunkirk, Ant- werp, Venice, &c., — he would eventually have created a very formidable, if not preponderant naval force. The English, who do not sleep when their national interests are at stake, saw clearly the impending danger : they were perfectly right to conspire with all the means, all the persever- ance, and all the energy they are distinguished for, against the hydra-power which threatened them ; the only power which could make them, and did make them, tremble. But it would have suited better with their character as admirers of the great, the generous, and the sublime, to shew respect and delicacy towards the great man of this and of future ages — the mighty genius, who was one of nature's most wondrous works. We must, however, throw the blame, not on the English nation, buton afew of her unworthy sons. Let us now continue our ramble, but alone, and at an easy sauntering pace. I dismissed my servant (with the tears in his eyes) and my car- riage ; for, a man who wanders about to the right and left, by sea and land, without knowing whither his fate may lead him, cannot be en- cumbered with these appendages. I have hired three mules, one for myself, one for my baggage — which is that of a wandering student — and one for my guide. I was so beau- It ^ M n vH m u Itf V 'i 'J "l^'ti 1/ u '■ M 5G SPEZZIA. tifully mounted, and my whole equipment was in such admirable keeping, that although I had parted with my Sancho Pan ; h} [:•; who fanned the burning embers, at the time when she thought all means lawful for breaking that continental alliance which threatened her ruin, she may yet find reason to repent. The Jesuits are more dangerous and more powerful than Napoleon, whose arms were those of physical force, and not of Machiavelian policy. Their whispers are more awful than all the drums and trumpets of the grande armU. Though they have no field of battle, their legions are everywhere, and act with invisible agency. It is not impossible that they may have Arruotinos even in the cabinet of St James's. They have telegraphs and signals, by sea and land, unknown, unsuspected, by any but themselves, and more exact than those of the most jealous, vigilant, and intelligent cabinet. They have hieroglyphics and other mute languages, more eloquent than even that of Fouch6, who could make Buona- parte's snuff-box tell a tale. Their various movements of the cross, the most sacred passages of the ceremonial of their liturgy, — as, for in- stance, that which was the signal to the assassins of Giuliano de Medici, — have all some hidden meaning. In a word, their police is like provi- dence, it is everywhere and we see it not ; and in the confessional alone they have perhaps an instrument of greater force, and more terrible MONTE NOTTE. 71 Q in- iins len )vi- md an Ible incendiary machinery^ than the rulers of the sea possess at Portsmouth, Plymouth, Chatham, or Woolwich. Money they can always command, and will perhaps turn the guineas of England against herself. England ought to remember that the J( suits have not forgotten, and never will forget, that they once reigned more despotically there than in any other country ; and that the wealth of her clergy is a tempting bait to men so grasping and so ambitious. But let us leave the Jesuits, my dear Countess, and ramble over the beautiful hills which crown the city, the views from which, both by sea and land, are most varied and touching to a man who sees intus et extra. The mountains of Montenotte which lie before us, afford ample matter for meditation. The Italians regard this as the first, or at least the chief, entrance by which what they then thought liberty found its way into their country. How- ever cruelly these hopes have been deceived, the battle of Montenotte must always be celebrated. There it was that Rampon, 'with a handful of brave men, not only resisted the enemy, but preserved himself for other exploits which render him worthy of a distinguished place in a gallery of heroes. m The house in which Pius VII lodged is held reat veneration, as is also his memory. t 1 I h f. ; P" 72 SAVON A. ■nm r ; F i In many respects he deserved it, for his life was one continued course of virtue in action, and of constancy in suffering. These are double merits in a pope, if what Lambertini says with his usual frankness, be true, ** that he never had so severe a struggle to maintain with every passion, as from the time he became the successor of the humble and lowly fisherman." But the resuscitation of the perverse and pernicious disciples of Loyola, at the instigation too of heretics, is a crime of the deepest dye, both against heaven and earth. Whatever be the dwelling-place of his spirit, the day will come when the works of these his chil- dren will fill him with repentance and remorse. From Savona to Nice, Napoleon had cut a great road, like that from Savona to Genoa, and from Genoa to Spezzia — like those from Savona to Alexandria, those over the Simplon, Mont Geneve, Mont Cenis, &c. But the Austrians do not like it. It recalls to them the not very agreeable scenes in which they were the actors in these mountains, gorges, and plains. Un- doubtedly they must have an antipathy to such a road, and the king of Sardinia prudently lets it go to ruin, because — *' ahisi nous voidons et ordonnonsy It is, however, still possible to go, well or ill, in a carriage as far as Albenga. But roads, excavations, and bridges, worthy of ancient Rome, scientific institutions, establish- SAVOXA. 7;} ments for the encouragement of education, industry, and philanthropy, all are going to destruction since the blessed restoration. What painful reflections weigh upon the heart of an Italian when he has the courage to dwell upon the fate of his country ! He is com- pelled to acknowledge that the best, or rather the least bad, of all the sovereigns who have ruled in Italy, was a barbarian, Theodoric. He revived agriculture and manufactures ; the fields were covered with harvests, the towns rose into fresh importance ; commerce increased the sources of national prosperity and happiness, by exchanging the superfluous produce for foreign merchandize. Though an Arian himself, he maintained the Catholic religion in all its liberty and prerogatives ; and celebrated as he was for his valour in the field, he was yet more so for the wisdom of his government. All his noble and generous qualities were entirely his own ; his errors were the work of his courtiers ; to their jealousy and ambition Boethius and Symmachus were sacrificed. Such as he was, we should be well contented if the sovereigns of our days would imitate this barbarian prince. Let them fear, not new roads, but their own tyranny. Let them not listen to their courtiers, to those men *' who have learnt nothing and forgotten nothing;" let them gather round them men r f V iwv-jSte- :.^- J 74 UN ALE. b #i I* ^' whose opinions are drawn, not from the sources of fanaticism and of personal interest, but from experience ; from a knowledg^e of men and of events, and from an enlarged and enlightened humanity. But whither am I leading you, my dear Madam ? Declamation again — and as use- less as before. Let us set out afresh, and seek diversion from these heavy and chimerical thoughts, in admiring the beautiful district of Vado, which, in Pliny's time, was a marsh. Let us view the romantic and grotesque scenes of Spotorno and of Noli, and rest for a few moments at Finale. At this delightful spot I will tell you a pathetic tale, which I am sure will call forth your tender and generous sympathy. I heard it from the master of the house in which 1 lodged here, and I am the better inclined to relate it as it is not long, and may serve to set right some points in history. The gentleman in question is a Corsican, de- scended from the celebrated San Pietro Ornano ; one of the most valiant and inexorable avengers of the enormities committed by the Genoese upon his country in the sixteenth century. This Ornano, after many struggles and ex- ploits, absented himself for the purpose of going in quest of succours, without which it was become impossible to make farther resistance. FINALE. 75 Meanwhile his wife suffered herself to be gained over to the interests of the Genoese, whose countrywoman she was. Her object was, how- ever, only the innocent and noble one of saving her husband by a pacification. He returned — reproached her, like a Spartan, with her treach- ery, and pronounced sentence of death upon her. Vannina made no resistance ; she did not inter- cede for a life which her husband's displeasure and his unjust suspicions had ubbed of all value ; but, as a last proof of love, she entreated to die by his hand. In a transport of mingled tenderness and fury, he pressed her with one hand to his bosom, and with the other plunged a dagger into her heart. San Pietro, pursued incessantly by the Genoese, fell into an ambus- cade, and perished under the sword of Vannina's brother, who cried aloud, •* My sister is avenged." " Yes," replied San Pietro, ** my blood ought to atone for her death," and expired. Recover yourself after this tragedy, my dear Countess, and let us continue our walk. From Finale on the sea to Finale inland, we pass through a valley of orange trees, two miles in length. Olive trees and thickets of shrubs clothe the sides of this romantic and picturesque gorge. It is a fairy glen, and the company of a pretty woman made me feel all the power of its en- chantment. i\ * *■"%. m^m^twny'^. »w."ji|i(»iui« w ' (Hmmwm**^ m 76 ONEGLIA. a The valley which opens behind Loano is lovely and cheerful ; but the village stands almost upon the sandy and arid shore. Albenga is an ancient and considerable town. It is, I think, the Albitaunum of Pliny and of Ptolemy ; and the inhabitants of these moun- tains were called Ingannii Ligures. The long resistance made by the French to the Austrians, who attacked them by land, and to the English, who harassed them from the sea, entitles this line of hills to a place in history. Cervo is similarly distinguished; but above all Oneglia, where, after a victory for which the Piedmontese troops made them pay dearly, the French behaved with a moderation the more astonishing, as it was at that period wholly unknown in the interior of France, then torn by all the horrors of Jacobinism. As I had sent my baggage from Oneglia to Nice by sea, and sauntered carelessly along on horseback, I often struck into cross roads, both for the sake of enjoying the awful spectacle of the precipices which yawn under one's feet up to the very beach, and of escaping fiom the annoying impression which the abandonment of a gigantic enterprize, like that of the magnificent high road, makes upon my mind. However small my own conceptions may be, 1 am de- lighted with whatever is great in others. m MONACO. 77 Napoleon was endowed with a genius which enabled him to grasp at everything ; and it was precisely the immensity and the universality of his projects that wrecked the whole. Had he been content to achieve and acquire less, he might have settled the policy of Europe, and have transmitted the most glorious name to the remotest posterity. Ventimiglia is remarkable for being the spot which the ancient geographers (who called it Albinimium) regarded as the commencement of the Appenines ; whereas modern geographers trace them from the mountains of St Giacomo, near Millesimo, and call these the maritime Alps. It was at Ventimiglia that the troops of enfranchised France first set foot on Italian ground, on the 6th of April 1794. Spinola, who was governor of the place, attempted to dispute the passage, but it was a ludicrous attempt at re- sistance. It was from the summit of these rocks that BuoL parte first shewed his soldiers this beautiful and unfortunate country, always the bait to foreign cupidity. Monaco, a delightful little place, is a princi- pality belonging to a lineal descendant of the Grimaldi family. It has recently been the scene of a disgraceful infraction of treaties, and of the social compact. Some of the unfortunate men who were implicated in the late Piedmon- !' 78 VILLA-FJIANCA. ) .', tese revolution were wrecked on these shores by a dreadful tempest. A body of the king's troops stationed in Monaco demanded them. The people of Monaco refused to surrender them ; they pleaded the rights of nations, the laws of humanity, and the respect due to another state. The Piedmontese officer, however, seized them, and carried them off by force. The prince, who was at Paris, claimed them, and his claim was even backed by the mediation of the court of France. In spite of this they were condemned to death. Still more prf;ssing claims were then urged, upon which the barbarians, in order to have some gratification of their brutal and cruel fury, dragged these unfortunate men under the gal- lows, where their hearts were wrung by the hor- rid spectacle of the execution of some of their brethren in opinion, and in calamity. After this dreadful scene, they were led to the con- fines of the state, where the gendarmes de- graded them from the dignity of citizen by a kick, formally decreed, and declared them perpe- tual exiles from their country. — Poor Italy! Villa- Franca, which is the anti-chamber to Nice, is also its arsenal. There is a fine artificial basin; and the one formed by nature is v^i finer and more vast, and is very secure. The new town of Nice is delightful ; the old is old. Its port is just nov/ very flourishing. On i| : (• ijaidiitt^i*^''** ~ NICE. 79 account of some commercial differences with France (about which you and I care very little) all the vessels of the United States put in here, instead of going to Marseilles and Toulon. I saw about a dozen in the harbour ; they were magnificent ships. So much has been said about the medicinal climate of Nice, that it is useless to repeat it here. In winter, accordingly, it is one great hospital, and you meet consumptive faces at every turn. In the hotel where I lodged there were two batteries of coughers, who gave me no quarter by day or night. There was no escape, for the coughing was universal, — at table, at the coffee-house, in private parties ; and happy was it if coughing was all. The environs of Nice are generally beautiful ; but a frost last year des- troyed all the orange and lemon trees, &c., so that they are now very melancholy. In short, Nice is altogether a t?^ii;te place. Nothing in it is gay but the police, and that, to my infinite annoyance and torment, I found lively enough. I am out of patience when I think of it. Let us hasten away, my dear Madam. We are now at the bridge of the Var. Gen- darmes at the entrance of the territory of Pied- mont, — gendarmes again on leaving it at the French frontier ; the latter appear a little more civil, but they are gendarmes, at the best. \ } t, J t i ; i ■ d] I j. ■ CANNES. At the custom-house my things were all tinned topsy-turvy, notwithstanding that I had em- ployed le Jin mot. I wished to stop a few minutes to recall upon the spot some of those events which rendered this bridge so famous during the late war ; but the gentlemen of the custom-house understand no language but of the financial sort, — at least they will answer to no other ; and as for the gendarmes, they don't lend themselves very readily to interrogations. They assume the right of inflicting them in great abundance on others, but they are not equally willing to receive them. We must therefore content ourselves with taking the facts as history chooses to give them to us, and con- tinue our route. Antibes is a pretty little town, fortified by Vauban. It has a harbour, but this is always choked up by the sand washed down by the Var. At Cannes I saw the spot where the reign of the hundred days began. From the second day the people flocked together in crowds, and opened that triumphant march which conducted the emperor from the island of Elba to Paris. He smiled scornfully, with his own peculiar expression, at the refusal of the governor of Antibes to open the gates to him. He did not want to have them opened, for his way lay for- -^ n TiiiillilBlwiiA'i*^'**-*^- FREJUS. 81 wards and rot backwards ; and it would have been an absurd loss of time, under such circum- stances, to enter the town. We must leave him, my dear Countess, to continue that onward career which he pursued so gloriously. If ever I reach Waterloo we shall have the grief to see him take another course. I say the grief, for though he did not do all he might have done, I cannot help feeling the liveliest mtert st in so great a man ; an mterest which no change of fortune can destroy. The mountain you cross in going from Cannes to Frejus is a curious episode. From the most fertile, luxuriant country, you suddenly pass into a region so wild, barren, and cold, that you appear to have flitted iu a dream from Cannes to Siberia. At Frejus there are many remains of antiquity, in that bad style of architecture which marks the decline of the Roman empire, and, with it, of the arts. What belongs to modern times interested me much more; not the town, for that is dirty and ugly, but the spot where the EightefMh of Brumaire landed ; and, in its train, so many other events, which for sixteen years astonished the whole world, and will still more astonish posterity. There is nothing in- teresting between Frejus and Toulon; let us therefore hasten to that celebrated city, that VOL. I. Ot \M /, great arsenal, the cradle of the glory of the Prisoner of St Helena. On descending Mont Farrone I catch sight of Toulon. I must pause to contemplate the theatre of the bloody catastrophe which filled it with mourning in 1793. The Marseillois, who fled from the horrors their revolt against the republic had drawn upon their city, spread alarm among the Tou- lonois, who, fearing that they should share the same fate, delivered their town and themselves to the enemy ; — that is to say, to the English, Spaniards, Neapolitr.ns, and Piedmontese. The republicans hastened to reconquer it, and united all their forces on the mountains which enclose this grand naval bulwark on the north-west. The allies and the Toulonois on their side pre- pared to oppose them with all the means of resistance in their power. Conceive, then, this devoted city surrounded by volcanoes; — on the land side a number of formidable batteries and redoubts, attacking; — on the sea side, four fortresses, about a hundred ships of the line, frigates, corvettes, &c. besides batteries and redoubts, defending : — conceive all these vo- mitories of tire and destruction opening at once, as they did on the 14th of November 1793, kmdled by the rancour of civil war, or the fury of exasperated foes. i i « !' I h\ roll ION H.'i 4 I Such is tlic fearful spectacle which presented itself to my imagination as I looked from the top of this hill over the whole extent of the scene of action. 1 am sure that you feel as I did then. But when \ thought of the victorious and vengeful French rushing into the town ; — of the conquered allies hastily abandoning it to its dreadful fate, and retreating in disorder to their vessels, wliat a picture of horror rose before my eyes ! 1 saw the unhappy Toidonois — some running in crowds, with their wives and children, to seek on board the ships that refuge which they could not find ; others falling under the swords of the republicans, or perishing in the sea, in their attempts to escape in small boats which sunk under the rush of the multitude, or were overset in the tumult. This terrible tragedy lasted for three days and three nights, and, to add to the horror of the scene, the flames of this great arsenal, of the city, and of the sea, wrapped in one universal conflagration, illuminated the carnage, and en- hanced the terror. I say of the sea, for more than fifty blazing vessels scattered over its sur- face, and their awful reflections in the water, gave it the appearance rather of the devouring elementthan of its antagonist. This victory cost France dear, — what a loss, at a moment when she stood so much in need of all her naval i'orce ! _, F... puf^rat^wn^ 84 TOULON. Hi ,,' %r fell The English lost nothing but what they could not carry away; but, such were the mean of destruction they employed, that they left nothing. I rather think they did not very severely regret their general-in-chief, although a brave soldier. At that time generals sprung up like mushrooms, in England as well as on the continent. The plan of the attack was prepared by Bonaparte, then a lieutenant-colonel of artillery, of twenty-four years of age. General Dugom- mier adopted it implicitly. Napoleon also, in a great measure, directed the execution of it, by the superior management of his batteries, which mowed down the enemy in all directions. His success was so raj^id, and so complete, that the most experienced officers could not avoid re- echoing the opinion of the governor of the Ecole Militaire of Brienne — " Napoleon Bonaparte, a Corsican by birth and by character, will one day make a distinguished figure, if circumsta.ices favour him." But you wish to know the present state of Toulon. It is still a pretty town, and Napoleon had enlarged the arsenal. At the restoration, above forty ships of all classes were lying there. There was one vessel of the line, carrying one hundred and thirty guns ; two, one hundred and twenty, &c. This was a tempting morsel to the maritime gounnandise of the English : but they . / /, TOULON. 85 are not singular in this ; any nation, under the same circumstances, would have had as good an appetite as England. But it appeared that the allies, whose attention began to be awakened to England and her preponderating power, opposed her views. I believe, however, she managed after all to get a little slice. Toulon will also be memorable in history as the spot whence the same little lieutenant- colonel of artillery, — who five years before, had so greatly contributed to wrest it from the hands of the enemy, — embarked in 1798 as general- in -chief, and as a victorious hero. He put to sea with a formidable armament, in total silence as to his destination, which was not known till the fame of his exploits in Egypt by land, and those of the English by sea, reached Europe. Here also he landed in 1800, as a conqueror, but almost alone. The prophecy of the gover- nor of the school at Brienne had been accom- plished. Sic transit gloria mundi! May the peace he now enjoys be as profound as the agitation his genius caused in the world was extraordinary ! It is time that we rest from this long and often fatiguing ramble. An revoir — my dear Madam ; where I know not ; but in all times and places, I hope, with the sinccrest and most con- stant friendship. f ^ jlv LETTEK Toulount, 'SOt/i December 1821. 1 AiiKi VED at this town, my dear Madam, almost without being- sensible of my progress, so en- chanted was I with the beauty of the road from Marseilles to Toulouse. The landscape is so rich, the climate so mild, tlie scattered remains of venerable antiquity so numerous, that I could sometimes have thought myself in Italy, if I had now and then seen the face of a friend ; and if powerful recollections had not often carried me back to it, and weighed heavily upon every step that added to the dis- tance. The great canal of Languedoc also reminds me of my absence ; for in Italy wc have no work of this kind comi)arable to it, although the canals of Brenta and of Milan were the 5>rand and i\\v first livdraulic models that the .MAUSi;iLLJ:.S. 87 arts and sciences oH'ered to Europe and (China excepted) to the whole world. But you wish to share the pleasure of this ramble, my dear Conntess. 1 will indulge your desire as far as it is in my power ; but there is a wide difference between the sketches of my pen, the feeble interi)reter of what I see and feel, and the sublime pictures which nature, history, and the fine arts offer at every step, in forms and colours, gradations and transitions, of the most striking effect. Let us begin then from Marseilles, which you have seen only in the date of the preceding letter. There is not a country in the world which does not pretend to high antiquity, nor one which has not its antiquarians ; even the old country gossip relates, that the first house in the village was built by her ancestors, and that they enjoyed the first place at church, and in the processions, till the ''parvenus'' came and usurped it, encroaching with their financial claims, upon those of a legitimate descent, as pure and as clear as the waters of a brook. Europe, Asia, and Africa dispute the honour of possessing the spot which was the terrestrial Paradise ; the cold Scotch even maintain (as I have been told,) that the site of their capital, im- properly called Edi)ih\xx^^\\, was the garden of E(le}i ; and soon, I suppose, it will be found in America. Vou will not, therefore, be astonished ■p^ ,/ i *•', 88 MAIiSEILI.KS. that the people of Marseilles believe (lovely as is their country,) that they inhabit the beautiful valley, from which the great first crime, (though committed only by Eve and a serpent,) arose and spread its baleful influence over the whole inno- cent race. They have no difficulty even in show- ing you the precise spot where the tree which produced the great mystery of the incarnation and redemption was planted. But if Marseilles be venerable for the sacred soil o which it stands, it is not less so for the ant ^uity with which they invest it. The Marseillois instead of haying recourse to Janus, or any such fabled hero, as their founder, do better ; they cover the origin of their town in the profound and impenetrable obscurity of the earliest ages, and avoid all dis- pute by plunging their adversaries into utter darkness. They allow that their town may have been inhabited by Lydians, Tyrians, Pho- cians, &c. ; but only as merchants, who visited it for the purposes of commerce, and regard them all as long posterior to its foundation. So much for ancient Marseilles ; the modern is a delightful, rich, and commercial town ; its envi- rons are really gardens of Eden. Not to destroy the pleasing effect of the picture, I shall pass over in silence the horrors which were com- mitted here during the revolution, both by the Royalists, whose head-quarters it was, and by -wi'iaiiiiiiMf B"^' ■'Xi MARSEILLES. 89 = «1 the Jacobins, who were urged by revenge to the most frightful excessess. The harbour is a great parallelogram, which art has rendered safe and commodious ; but the entrance, beset with sand- banks, bristling with rocks, and blocked up with little islands, is exceedingly dangerous. Two fri- gates were built for the Turks in its dock-yards! a singular circumstance at a time when they have declared a cruel and exterminating war against Christians ; but by no means astonishing, if it is decided that religion and humanity must be silent before policy and interest. There is nothing in Marseilles which can fix the attention of a lover of the arts : Puget, of this town, whom they have endeavoured to raise into notice, as the Michael Angelo of France, is neither a good painter nor a good sculptor, nor a good architect. Mansard, who was also born here, has been the Boromino of the place. The Museum is a cellar, the gloom and false lights of which would destroy the effect of the thirty or forty pictures it contains, if they were good. The Borelli villa, a mile from the town, is the only place where any choice specimen of the Italian or Flemish schools is to be seen. At the theatre, a noble building, they performed the Figaro of Rossini. Heaven forgive the French when they try to get beyond their comedies ! In these they far excel the Italians and most other t ■■\ I 90 ;VIA11SE1LJ.ES. ii . ' ') w I nations — but \\\\cn they sing, and sing operas of Rossini's once more, heaven pardon them! Their cli'bs, or " Casini" of the Phocians and the Messieurs (that is to say, Democrats and Aristocrats) are only for men. The women never appear, except at large assemblies, at the houses of the prefect, the mayor, the consuls, &c. They are fine women, but not usually pretty. The village girls, however, are very pretty, and know how to make the most of their beauty. Their picturesque head-dresses add much to the effect of their complexions, and suit their fresh and happy countenances. The Poissardes are not without merits of their own, but they are of the Transteverine cast. The inhabitants of' Pro- vence, of which Marseilles is the metropolis, are in France what the Neapolitans are in Italy, and have often been subject to the same princes. The products of the soil correspond almost en- tirely with those of Naples ; you know them well, my dear Madam ; besides, we do not go about to sec almonds and apricots, apples and tigs ; and the Gcorgophili have said so much about them, that there is nothing left for me to say, except that a terrible hail-storm cut them all off last year ; fig-trees and apples, apricots and ahuonds, olives and oranges — so let us con- tinue our ramble. From Marseilles to Aix the country is fine, itii,-itifatJI^JItu>^' Al\. 91 ■»^, ,; T but tlu' road bad, and, like many other things, neglected since the restoration. Aix is cal- culated to amuse a stranger for two or three days. Its avenues, its walks, its houses, are handsome. The sessions of the department of the Mouths of the Rhone are iield there ; and those of the Jesuits, who have planted a great cross in the widest and most frequented of the public walks. What was their design in install- ing so sacred a symbol in a place so profane, I cannot tell, but it is said, that the steps which surround the pedestal on which it is placed, are often the nocturnal resort of crime and infamy. Aix has an university and several colleges. That of the Jesuits, judiciously placed in a secluded spot out of the town, is exceedingly large, and already contains three hundred pupils or neophites. The reverend father at the head of it, talked much of what is amiss in other French colleges, which are not under the management of the Jesuits, but gave me no particulars of his own ; he showed me nothing but courts, gardens, and the exterior of two buildings. I soon relieved him from a visit which was eviden*^iy troublesome, and I thought appeared to embarrass him somewhat. M. de Marlian has bequeathed to the town a rich library; but it seems that nobody uses it, and that it is under tlie direction of the librarian of the abbato CastiV Anunali Parhmti — judging at least by h '' >-> 92 AVIGNON. I'l the dust and disorder that reigned there. The gates of the cathedral are admirably carved by some Italian, whose name I could not learn : they are of cedar, and it is thought from Leba- non ; — so let it be. The fountain of mineral waters, which gives celebrity to these baths, springs still from the centre of the temple which Ca.^s Sextus Calvinus built with the town, on the spot where he gained a great victory over the Gauls. It is a fine remnant of antiquity. At the theatre I had the pleasure of witnessing three extraordi- nary proceedings : Frenchmen singing Italian — young students of the university hissing — and gendarmes turning them out ! In crossing the Duran,"'e we enter the cele- brated district where justice and religion were so ofven compelled to bow before the ambition and thunders of the Vatican — the province v/hich the pojie usurped by a crusade, from that very family which had contributed so many heroes to those earlier crusades, with which papal policy ravaged Europe and the Holy Land. Avignon belonged to the counts of Toulouse, and to punish them for not thinking as the court of Rome thought, Gregory IX took it into his possession. Ray- mond VII was a good and orthodox Catholic, nevertheless the pope despoiled him like the rest, to punish him for his father's courage in opposing the scandals and abuses which dis- \ H VAUCLUSE. 93 graced the Christian name. Observe, my dear Countess, that to cleanse his soul from the offences of his ancestors, this prince Raymond was obliged, besides the cession of Avignon, to pay vast sums to priests and monks ; and was at length absolved from the sins he never had committed! Thus do men profane and disgrace a religion so pure and so holy, both in its prin- ciples and in its object! This province was afterwards ceded to Clement VI hj Joan of Naples, who had a title to it as countess of Provence. Clement promised her 80,000 gold florins, but he only paid her by nis absolution of the murder of her husband. We are now at the town of Avignon ; but, with Petrarch and Laura in our hearts, let us leave it at present, and visit Vaucluse. I found the road very long and very bad ; perhaps it appeared to me the worse from my impatience to reach this famous spot. The description which has been given of Vaucluse is a romance, and I account for it thus : — M. Guerin wanted to draw the at- tention of strangers, and to make money by his book. The abb^; de Sades dilated on a place immortalised by Laura, whom he called his relation, and who was perhaps, after all, only the ideal creation of an excited imagination. As for M. Delille, when the object was to write ** /V/?///t'.v," thorns and rocks became groves and E ■ " 1 ■, ' !■ J '..f S I! Jii M 94 VAi ( 1.1 si:. roses; and I'ctiarch, in wliat lie said of it, wished to appear what he never was, and what poets and courtiers never can be, — a lover and a philoso))her. "The enchantinjv rardens of Vancliise!" — Tliere arc none, — and there never can liave been any in a place where all is mountainous, precipi- tous, barren, and terrific ; where all is so crag'^y, that it would be impossible even to make the artificial flower-beds of the Genoese, or the little squares of earth that my father granted his children in their infancy, to amuse them and draw their attention from dolls, which injure the mind. " The fine trees !"' — There is only one, — a laurel tree, which, as the inhabitants tell us, claims a legitimate descent from the branches of that tree — the emblem of the flame with which the poet, ambitious of the honours of the capi- tol, burnt till his death, from the mere affecta- tion of burning. " The flowers," whose " lovely hues " he celebrated, were perhaps flowers of the cactus, the only production of the interstices of these rocks. " In the shade ! " — ^probably of the rocks which jut out on every side. " This soli- tude !"' — In the midst of the gossip of a feudatory village there is less than in a great town ; and there can be no "coolness" (except in winter) where the children amuse themselves with roast- ing eggs in the sun. And if the cellar that I was vw '■ i VArc'i.rsK. 95 shown, was the much vaunted " omtto " in whicli he composed, there is every reason to believe that the muses fear neither dami^ nor toads. I have begun, my dear Countess, by saymg what truth and criticism require ; but do not consider our ramble to Vaucluse divested of interest, or of admirable and astonishing- objects. The valley which leads to it (called first the valley of Chateau-neuf, afterwards of Belle-isle, from a charming little manufactming town,* environed by the Sorgue), is a true Tempc! The little vale Just above Belle-isle, winding aniidst the terrible mountains, which rise round Vaucluse like great perpendicular walls, and form an insurmountable barrier around it, ofl'ers views of a wild picturesque character, and leads you at the same time in the midst of little meadows, which the running waters of the Sorgue cover with an ever-green carpet. The Sorgue commences at the place where the valley ceases ; under the giant rock, \\ hich seems to fix the confines of the world, and stands out boldly to the eye of the observer, who looks in vain for the summit. A cave or abyss, whose depth, hidden in the bowels of the earth, has never been ascertained, pours forth calmly and without agitation, an enormous volume of water, which instantly acquires an inconceival)le ra- pidity, as if impelled by an invisi))le force, and . m^mmmmmm 9G VAUCLUSK. dashes itself with violence against the rocks, which are scattered in an inclined pla^e of about a quarter of a mile, until all its agitated and foaming waters repose (if we may so express it) in one common bed, and resume a calm almost equal to that which they lost on emerging from the gulph. The Sorgue might easily be made navigable, from Vaucluse to the point below Avignon, where it falls into the Rhone. It is a river which contributes to many manufactures, and sheds abundance in the plains of Venais, Orange, and Avignon, which it waters. This little spot, Vaucluse, has also its antiquities, and I think very interesting ones. The remains of a superb aqueduct are to be seen there ; the interior of which is formed of a cement, the levigation of which would make one suppose it an encaustum, if it were not so solid ; the polish, on the other hand, would make it pass for marble, if it were not so adhesive to the touch. This aqueduct must have been formed to convey these salubrious waters to some con- siderable tow^n, where those of the environs were probably bad and unwholesome: this reflec- tion will perhaps induce me to seek elsewhere its continuation and object. Amongst the square stones of which the church is composed, some are to be seen carved into the symbolical figures of antiquity. Seneca says, that the Romans I i sre ire ns VAUCLUSK 97 erected temples to springs and rivers as to bene- ficent divinities. The pure, limpid, medicinal waters of Vaucluse well deserved their venera- tion, and these sculptured stones are no doubt proofs of it ; the remains perhaps of some tem- ple which was consecrated to them. Vaucluse, my dear Madam, by reminding us of the occasional residence, during six years, of the illustrious Italian who rescued litera- ture and science from the darkness of past ages, and polished our language from the rough- ness and harshness with which pedants still strove to invest it, — Vaucluse penetrates the soul of an Italian who is truly an Italian, with sweet emo- tions, and with profound respect. I leave it with regret, but I must follow my guide — my fate. If you visit it, forget not that I have been there. I took cross roads and proceeded to Orange, which the conquerors of the Gauls embel- lished with superb edifices. The remains of an amphitheatre, of a circus, of temples, basins, and aqueducts, attest that the Romans had made this place a considerable town ; and the tri- umphal arch, which Marius built on the spot where he gained a great victory, in his first campaign against the Cimbri, has not perhaps an equal amongst the four so much admired in the forum (now worthily styled the Campo Vaccine) at Rome. I doubt even whether the one which VOL. 1 H \i % [( .^t. U 'i f I F f t , ■ i 98 AVKiVON. ^>!: :/ m goes by Constantine's name, though adorned with trophies snatched by a profane hand from that of Trajan, can be compared to it for the liglit- ness and elegance of its architecture. Though I sometimes laugh at the antiqua- rians, I frequently slide into the character my- self; especially when I meet with what is good and true. I went, therefore, to Carpentras to see more antiquities, but I found nothing antique, except some men nearly a hundred years old, still robust, hearty, and agreeable ; but a novelty which an ass procured me, rewarded my excur- sion. — The animal was on a balcony on the fourth story, while it was on the level of the ground at the back of the house. Whether the said house had a good foundation or not, I cannot tell; but supported up to the fourth story, it would be diffi- cult for it to fall. The ass was of the softer sex, and amused herself with braying, probably to express her affection for her lover, who was down in the street. Piron would have allegorised this kidicrous scene ; I can do no better than relate it. But let us return ^o Avignon. The country is beautiful, but the town is gloomy like its inhabitants ; they bear the traces of that prejudice and superstition with which the sacerdotal government long agitated the hearts and minds of their f[xthers, and of tlic ferocious passions which the revohition pro- m I II IK UliONK 90 IS JS i duccd, and which paltry fanatics still encourage among them. Its Vatican is no more than a skeleton of past grandeur, and there is not even a vestige of that ecumenical throne which, from this little town, ruled over the whole Catholic world ; but its situation, the solidity with which it is built, and the thickness of its walls, still show that the pontiffs and their legates inhabited what were at once palaces and fortresses ; and, in fact; the anti-pope, Benedict XIII, held out here a long time against the combined forces of the marshal Boucecaut, and the cardinal Villeneuve. The church, which was formerly of the Celes- tins, is a master-piece of Gothic architecture ; and its portico is a model of sublime simplicity and of majestic harmony; qualities we should seek in vain amongst the crowded ornaments which disfigure the cathedrals of Sienna and of Orvieto. This venerable building is now con- verted into a stable, a smithy, and the v/ashing ground of the Hotel des Invalides. The Rhone, which at Avignon displays all its beauty and all its grandeur; the imposing re- mains of an ancient stone bridge ; the length of the new one, which extends over the two arms of the river, and the island which they form in the middle; the beautiful avenues which sur- round the town and the towers which flank its proud walls, are all most striking objects .'. A HPI' IE? 100 ST UF.MV. The museum does honour to the science and patriotism of monsieur Calvet, who bequeathed it to the city; some fine specimens of ancient glass are to be seen there, such as I did not meet with even at the museum at Hercula- neum. In a word, my dear Madam, I passed two days at Avignon, not without gaining some information, and in the midst of objects worthy of admiration ; 1 should perhaps have passed a third, but Avignon is the place where that hateful crime, the cruel and barbarous murder of marshal Brun, was committed ; and it so chanced that I lodged in the chamber in which he was stabbed, and slept in the bed upon which he fell. I set off hastily, with a mind filled with horror, and I shudder every time that the thought comes across me. It is difficult to find a town which produces only disgusting associations : Avignon is then unique in its kind. We cross the Durance again, my dear Coun- tess, but lower down, and re-enter Provence, in order to visit St Remy, a charming little village, which in the time of the Romans was the town of Glanum. The mausoleum which Marius erected in honour of the memory and exploits of his two nephews, who perished there, con- querors of the Cimbri, is a superb monument of its kind. Those which remain in Latium and Magna Grsecia are not to be compared to it. ^ I Ul m i >t. ,J< t ii »» ■^w t% ST IlLMV. 101 The pyramid of Caius Sextus at the gate of St Paul at Rome, the only ancient unmutilatecl mausoleum which Italy possesses, is far inferior ; and no judgment can be formed of that of Adrian, which the Barbcrini have metamorphosed into a castle of St Angelo. The mausoleum of St Ilemy is therefore the finest ancient mausoleum with which [ am acquainted. Near it may he found the remains of an arch, which is still striking, though the French burharhii demolish- ed it in great part, in order to employ the mate- rials in building a convent, which the revolution destroyed in its turn. The existence of a triumphal arch by the side of a mausoleum is not easily accounted for ; there is every reason, therefore, to suppose that it was intended to grant the honours of a triumph to the mortal remains of the two heroes before they were entombed ; and the position of the two monu- ments, which are in the same style, of the same stone, and of the same order, confirms the con- jecture. The stone quarries, half a mile higher up, from which these monuments and the town of Glanum were built, still show marks of the axe with which the ancients probably extracted, without the aid of gunpowder, those prodigious masses of stone, which still astonish travellers at Cortona, at Alatri, at Veroli, at Ferentino, &c. This is a new discovery to me, and I .i! IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) / ^ .vV ^ 4i «?£, 1.0 I.I ■ 45 [56 B 3.2 iiiji t^ IIIIIM 1.8 1.25 1.4 1.6 •4 6" ^ V] <^ /a >> Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN <>TREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716)872-4503 "9) lo ^ 0^ ^ r*, Is.. i! M ^ 102 ST UEMY. one that 1 had in vain sought in the ancient quarries at Carrara ; I was dehghted with it. You remember, my dear Madam, that we have seen the remains of an ancient aqueduct at Vaucluse; I found the continuation of it at St Remy, which is more than twenty miles distant. The same construction, the same form, the same kind of masonry, the same cement — identify it. This aqueduct then must have crossed the Durance by a bridge, above or under its bed, to bear to a distance the wholesome waters of the Sorgue ; nor does it terminate at St Remy : we shall find it much farther off. As the in- habitants have no suspicion of it, and entirely forget that they possess these fine remains, look for them, if you should go there, at the north- west of the village on the road to Avignon, where it crosses some kitchen gardens, in the direction from north to south-east ; but, in the first place, you ought to see it at the fountain of Vaucluse- A craggy mountain occupies the left of the ro?r! all the way to Terrascone. I suspected that my aqueduct must follow me in this direc- tion, resting against the mountain. In order to examine, I left the carriage (which I had hired to be absolutely at my disposal), and I found the aqueduct, at intervals, at the foot of the mountain, and still bearing the same marks of identity. Near Terrascone this mountainous BKAUCAIRE. 103 ridge makes a bend to tlie south, and the aque- duct takes the same direction, continuing still at its feet. Here then we must leave it; but we shall see it again after having visited two little towns which the Rhone separates, and embel- lishes in its magnificent course. Terrascone hr^s a church which the inhabitants boast of, but m my opinion tVare is nothing remarkable except one good painting, which nobody boasts of. The body of St Martha, who died at Ephesus, has descended, nobody knows how, into this town and church, where it performs many miracles ; that indeed is no wonder, for nobody comes such a journey for nothing. A pier built out into the middle of the Rhone, upon which the two rows of boats, which form the bridge from this place to Beaucaire on the right of the river, meet, is a very bold and difficult work. Beaucaire is a town much more important, and more interesting than Terrascone. The place in which the fair is held (which is considered one of the greatest fairs in the world) is spacious, beau- tiful, and cheerful; and the tufted avenues which surround it, .provide a very salutary shelter from the burning sun. The foundations of its ruined castle are the remains of the ancient Uger- num ; remains of a reticular form, new to me, and very extraordinary. From the towers of this PI -I' «!?■ ' .1 104 BEALCAIHK. I U castle we behold a beautiful part of the vast em- pire of the Rhone; a most magnificent spectacle. To hunt for antiquities I set off on the road to Nismes, the ancient Aurelian way, of which there are still some remains, and I found by chance a triangular arch, of the most simple, and consequently of the most beautiful, Gothic style. After having ruminated on its form, and on the history of the country, I allowed myself to make my conjectures, and I offer them to you, such as they are. I think that it may have been built by Charles Martel, when, returning from Languedoc, conqueror of the Saracens, he re- assembled his troops 9^ Beaucaire, where he repassed the Rhone ; an^: that the three sides of the arch may represent the three roads which united at this place, and by which his victorious armies crossed the river. The building is in very good preservation, and will still resist the attacks of many ages, if the barbarini content themselves with having turned it into a chapel, like the Pan- theon. It is unique in its kind, and yet, I think, nobody ever mentions it. The great canal, which the Rhone supplies at Beaucaire, by means of a lock, — a more than Roman woik, — is one of the grand vestiges of the imperial government, which are so frequently met with, and which, bongre, malgriy will cause it to be remembered with admiration, ** 'per omnia scecula sceculorum,'' ■? AllLKS. 105 By means of it Uie most safe and easy naviga- tion is established through great part of lower Languedoc. After my exploits on the right of this river, let us pass, my dear Madam, to the left, like Charles Martel ; but instead of ascending, we will descend, to Aries. This town, perhaps the most ancient in France, was the capital of the Gauls, and was called by Caesar, Arelatum. If I except Rome, I have no where found so many scattered remains of ancient grandeur as here : I have taken the liberty to christen it ** The Ceme- tery of Antiquities." Fragments of columns, friezes, capitals, pediments, metopes, triglyphs, &c. &c. &c., are scattered about in all directions. There is also an Egyptian obelisk, the only one that I know of out of Italy. The ruins of a temple, and of a basilicon, show that the Ro- mans here exerted their architectural genius to the utmost. Lastly, its Elysian fields, where inscriptions and crosses show that Pagans and Christians have mingled their ashes; the vast extent of its theatre and of its amphitheatre ; the yet colossal remains in its environs, which speak the same pathetic language as the ruins of Memphis, attest, and will long continue to do so, that Aries was one of the most important towns in the Roman empire ; and that even before their conquests, it was perhaps second only to Rome. 100 ARLES. By rt curious coincidence, like Rome, it flourished in a marshy place ; like her, it commanded the sea, though placed on a river ; like Rome, it was compelled to bring its water from a distance ; for the aqueduct of Vaucluse, which we left at the foot of Mount Dragon, extended to this place. Aries at this time is, as I have already said, no more than a cemetery of ancient ruins ; a dismal, unwholesome, deserted town, where the muddy water repels the hps; and better they will never have, I suppose, till other Romans, or another Napoleon arise to build new aqueducts. I passed two days there, experiencing emotions of oppo- Ate kinds ; and I thought I might have been obliged to pass many more, by a singubr acci- dent, which I will relate, as the denouement is not far from the beginning. The evening that I arrived I went to their theatre, which is modern and bad, while the actors are altogether antique. I sooi perceived that a great many inquisitive looks were upon me, and that the commissary of police with his gen- darmes were in motion and taking their posts. I suspected immediately that the description of my person had deceived them in some way, and I bethought myself of encouraging them in their mistake, by way of a litile diversion. I played the part of an embarrassed man ; they thinking all the time that the bird was in the net, and, as / ARLES. 107 iir g i [ could see by their countenances and gestures, reckonirg, some upon the promised reward, and some on promotion. I strongly suspect that the marklial de logis of the gendarmes thought the epaulette was already on his shoulder. But it was time to put an end to all this, as I was become the principal sight in the theatre. I rose with a re- solute air ; they suffered me to pass the door of the pit, but they closed the door into the street. I asked what they meant ? They demanded my passport : I replied that only swindlers kept one about them ; that if they chose to see mine, they must come with me to the hotel. The commissary followed with six gendarmes, I showed him papers, as many as he pleased, and in the meantime I told him my mind about this disgraceful i* i;nner of annoying strangers. He was crest-fallen, and excused himself by showing me a paper in which the description of . a certain colonel, the head of a conspiracy which took place lately at Besani^on, corresponded in some particulars with mine ; and thus the cur- tain fell, at the hotel, on the farce which had commenced at the theatre, and which the day after was the theme of conversation in all the little parlours at Aries. This town contains also a modern building worthy of the rambler's attention. It is the town-house built by Mansard, and less a la %:'\ 108 (AM AUG UK JMamanl than any other production of liis genius I have seen. The vaulted roof of his court of justice is very bold ; and a good room, correctly proportioned, contains many curiosities, ancient and modern. In leaving the bridge of boats on the Rhone, we leavo Provence and enter Languedoc, which we have already touched at Beaucaire. Caniargue, an island formed by the Rhone, between Provence and Languedoc, is considered the most ^ertile tract in all France ; it is seven leagues long, and finishes where the two branches of the Rhone, which form it, unite and flow into the Mediterranean. Thus have I passed by its grave, as by its cradle, which is at la Fnrca, a mountain of the ridge of St Gothard, the paient of the Ticino, the Danube, the Rhine, and, as some pretend, also of the Adige. We leave Provence then, my dear Countess, but before we advance to Languedoc, we must throw a glance over the whole of this interesting country, that we may afterwards be better able to appreciate it in detail. This province made part of Gallia Braccata ; from which distinction we may infer that the rest of Gaul was inbraccata ; and consequently that the ** sans culottes" are of greater antiquity than the Romans ! This province was comprised under Gallia NISMf-.S. 109 Narbonncnsis, by the Romans, wlio, according to Caesar and Livy, considered it of much impor- tance, and who have left many traces of their attention to it, and of their magnificence, llono- riiis, who fell from weakness, while the empire expired from old age, yielded it to the Visigoths; Charles Martel took possession of it under pre- tence of driving out the Saracens. Charle- magne made it the appanage of his son the " Debonnaire," who, instead of being " honj' was a bigot and a fool. Tlis governors revolted like his children, and taking advantage of the discord of this bad race, made themselves first counts and afterwards sovereigns, more powerful even than the kings of France, of whom they were formerly the dependants. The religious war, or war of the Albigeois, shook their authority, as we have already seen, at Avignon ; and Languedoc, with all the domains of the counts of Toulouse, re- turned to its former subjection to France, under Philip the Bold ; since which time they have undergone no other changes than those effected by the revolution and restoration. We are now able to travel through this country with more satisfaction and improvement : to shorten the matter let us begin from Nismes. The amphitheatre of Nismes, if we consider the gigantic stones of which it is composed, and the art with which they are joined without cement, is superior to the amphitheatres of Rome, i'^j >«k no NISMFS. m of Verona, of Pcra, and of Aries ; l)ut its archi- tecture is in a style of Doric, rather coarse and heavy than simple and characteristic. All this fjreat mass is imposing, but the eye does not repose on the several parts, as on those of the Arena of Verona. The house called *• Quarr^e," which is in reality a parallelogram, is a bjJoN, unique of its kind ; although some profane hand, by opening- windows in it, has struck so many mortal blows at its uniform and harmonious beauty. What an absurd mania this, of consecrating to modern worship monuments of other times, which will always remind us of ancient religions, and thus produce a ludicrous confusion of devotion and veneration ! For myself, I frankly confess that in entering this temple I thought only of what it had been; of the apotheosis of Caius and Lucius, which was there celebrated, in the pre- sence of Augustus, their grandfather; I did not even ask to what saint or virgin the moderns con- secrated the place ; this would have produced a confusion of religious associations, which I do not like. The great tower, if it be true that it was a light-house, would lead to the conjecture that the sea, in the time of the Romans, advanced much farther into the land than at present. It is possi- ble, however, that this tower might be a kind of telegraph, to communicate with the interior. Be PONT DV (iAIin. Ill that as it may, it is a rare and curious monument ; while the remains of the temple of Diana are equally remarkable for their beauty. Nismes is the museum of antiquity, as Aries is its cemetery. The new town, which encloses the old, is charming, and even in some parts magnificent ; and its trade in silks, which is vcy active, is a great source of wealth. At the theatre they performed ** The Vestal." Poor Spontini ! The Romans of those days, too, in tunics of satin em- broidered with gold ! I ought perhaps to say a word on tlie horrors committed against the Pro- testants in this town in 1815, to celebrate the restoration and the triumph of religion ; but the subject is too painful, and a rambler is not an historian. I am the more willingly silent, because the indignation that I felt in seeing Trestaillon, the chief executioner of this terrible tragedy, walking about the town, to the disgrace of justice and humanity, would perhaps induce me to pass the limits that a man who writes only rambles and letters ought to assign to himself. Let us then leave Nismes, and go to view the famous Pont du Gard. We alight at an inn a mile and a half from the bridge, which is situated in a solitary place, well calculated to heighten the effect of this great exhi- bition of human industry. The antiquarians will turn up their noses at me when they hear that, 112 I'ONT DU (iAIlI). instead of going first to the bridge, I went out to hunt. 1 found a troop of young men ready to set off, they talked of rabbits, woodcocks, &c. ; they pressed me with so much kindness, that the love of the chase conquered my love for antiquities. That day I was wholly a sportsman, and, if my modesty allows me to say so, not without glory. I saw the bridge, however, when I could not see the game, and I suppose I sometimes fired at both, for it was frequently before my eyes as well as before my imagination. This would be some apology, unless I had to plead before antiquarians ; I have committed in their eyes a crimen lesa:, (^r., which will for ever exclude me from their sect. Let us see the Pont du Gard, nevertheless. It is twenty miles from Nismes, at the bottom of a valley which ornaments it on every side with all that is most lovely, pathetic, im- pressive, and varied in nature. As soon as it breaks upon our sight, we stop and wonder; when we draw nearer, we wonder and stop. We see Roman genius and art under their sub- limest aspect, and one of the most magnificent monuments of Roman greatness. I am almost tempted to forgive the ancients for the cruel slavery to which they condemned their prisoners of war, when I see the structures to which this barbarous custom gave rise ; structures which adorned the reigns even of the most stupid and f PONT DV OAUD. 113 5t most ferocious of their monarchs. Witness the draining of the lake Fucino by Claudius, the Domits aurca of Nero, kc. &c. The Pont du Gard has three tiers of arches, which surmount one another with lightness and boldness, so that they seem to elude the sight; and the harmony of the whole is so perfect, that one forgets that examination of details which usually fixes the eye on what is most worthy of notice. The enormous and truly Cyclopean blocks which compose this great work, are joined together without cement or mortar, and the work is so perfect that, in some places, a pin cannot penetrate the interstices. Vanvitelli should have visited it before he built his bridge at Matalone. This bridge, like that of Matalone, connects two aqueducts ; that is to say, the aqueduct which terminates in this valley, from the north, with that which begins at the south side, and continues to Nismes. It was to Nismes that this great aqueduct paid the tribute of refreshing waters, which it carried from a limpid, bubbling spring, rising sixty miles from that city, in the mountains of User. At the same time, therefore, that you are astonished by the bridge of the Gard, you are borne, in imagination, to an im- mense appendage to this great work, an acces- sory far greater than its principal; the most VOL. I. I • f V 1 ( I t 1 ' ) 1 t 4 1 i ■\ 114 PONT DU CJARD. prodigious extent perhaps of aqueduct that is known. You would have probably wished that nothing might happen to interrupt the pleasing emotions which this great work, its situation, its purpose, its accessory, &c., inspire in a well-disposed mind ; but contrast is wanted in everything, and the barbarini have kindly provided it even at the Pont du Gard ; they have destroyed much of its imposing appearance by building against it a new bridge over the Gard, which flows from this charming valley. They have also vandalized it on the north side, in order that new and old might be the more perfectly mingled ; but they can \\2ixd\Y fraternise whilst the new is so bad. I have exhausted all the resources of my trea- sury to give you an idea of the Pont du Gard. May they at least suffice to call forth yours, which are so vast and so profound ! I have even made an effort to reinstate myself in the good graces of the antiquaries. Accept, and prevail on them to accept, my intentions — and now let us return to Nismes. I know your turn of mind, my dear Madam, and I know that something is yet wanting to fill the chasm which your exact method of seeing and reasoning finds with respect to this water, con- ducted from such a distance to Nismes. I guess your difliculty : you ask if they still drink the H XISiNIKS. 115 ess the I water of the aqueduct at Nismes, or if there is any other water equally good ? In this latter case, you naturally conclude that it was useless for the ancients to bring it so far. Yes, my dear Countess, there is excellent water, perhaps better than that of the ancients, which the aque- duct brings no longer ; but the water which is now drank at Nismes is a natural production of modern times ; and it was the cardinal Richelieu who first made it serviceable to the public. At the spot where it springs out of the rocks, at the foot of the mountain on which is placed the ** Turris magna," and near the temple of Diana, he planted some beautiful gardens, through which this plentiful spring winds into a great canal, which afterwards supplies the town with water, animates all its manufactures, and flows through the fertile plains which extend on the south-east in the direction of the sea. Napo- leon had already projected a canal which was to join that of Beaucaire, and the waters of this spring were to supply it. If you visit it, you will also see an enchanting shrine of the nymphs, at the place where this great treasure of nature first appeared for the assistance of mortals. A great temple should have been built on this spot, and the ancients would not have neglected to do so : the moderns would not have forgotten it either, if they had hoped to propitiate any di- vinity who would serve the purposes of the % ( < I IIG LUNKL. Loyolistes, and of so many other sacrilegious traffickers in the religion of our divine Saviour. Nismes is so favoured by nature, that agri- culture and the arts cannot fail to prosper in a remarkable manner. Why should intolerance and the ultra wickedness of men pour out the contents of Pandora's box on so delightful a spot ? Is this, too, all for the best ? It is a strange ** best." I quit Nismes, and am going to drink a glass of wine to your health at Lunel. Yes, my dear Countess, it is very good : Your health! Another — The health of our friends! A third — Heaven bless our poor Italy! I should like a fourth, to the antiquaries, but they frown upv.n me — besides, I had better stop, for I have some fear of what happened to the German who was too eager to pay his respects to the excellent wine of Monte Fiascone ; by constant repetition of ** II est — // est — vraiment il est,"" he drank so much that he burst ; and his servant, who understood Latin, wrote this curious epitaph upon him, which time has not effaced from his tomb in the cathedral of that place : — " Est, Est, Est ; et propter nimium est, dominus mens mor- tuus est." At Lunel there is also a navigable canal, which terminates in that of Beaucaire, whose end we shall see by and by. This is also one of the consequences of the Usurpation. Whether words give value to things or not, I cannot tell, (since I am no metaphysician ;) but MONTPELLIEK. 117 i I if ever things should happen to give value to words, I believe such usurpations will be worth more than certain legitimacies. I have found at Lunel another good thing, and somewhat extra- ordinary; a priest who did not preach jesuitically ; that is to say, who preached pure morality ! I am very much pleased with Lunel. At Montpellier I can oifer the antiquaries nothing but lance cs, emetics, cathartics, &c : if, indeed, they think them antiques. Mont- pellier, although called Mons Pessulanus, exists only within the last ten centuiies, which is nothing for an antiquarian. It sprung (if we may use such a phrase) from the ruins of Maguellon, which was situated upon marshy ground, and at last swallowed up, perhaps at the time of some earthquake. We, who like modern things as well as ancient, may as well stop here a day. Firstly, a very good hotel, and not dear. The town (which in the heart of it is a mere nest of Jews, and offers nothing remarkable, except a few good paintings in its cathedral) is sur- rounded by great esplanades and beautiful walks, which render its appearance from without ex- ceedingly pleasing. What is called the Peyron is, at the same time, a handsome square and a pretty public garden, commanding the town from a raised walk on the west. An aqueduct, which extends to a distance, and, having crossed a deep valley, unites the Peyron with a mountain from m I \ ' . ■r . ■» "imnir'nir ■ ■vHI i I I I ]18 MONTPELLIEK. which it is supplied with water, is more than a mere accident in the great picture which this spot presents ; it is a very striking object of itself. It would even be a modern master-piece that antiquity might envy, if its architect, and those who superintended the building, had taken the trouble to borrow some lessons from the Pont du Gard, which is only forty or fifty miles from it. This aqueduct conducts the water into a hidden reservoir, whence it is thrown in a cas- cade over artificial rocks into a basin; by the columns which surround, and the dome which covers it, they probably meant to suggest the idea of a temple ; but, loaded with absurd orna- ments, and quite out of keeping, it is only a specimen of harlequin architecture. Rich Corin- thian placed upon rocks ! Modern Rome gave the first example of this kind of violation of rules, in its famous Fountain of Trevi. The students of this place, who are, like the students of every- where else, amusing rogues when they are not mischievous, diverted me exceedingly with a sort of masquerade, in which they represented to admiration a character, which very likely they will one day assume, — the quack ; and drew teeth already exceedingly well. The most amusing part of the business was to see some of them suffer their own teeth to be taken out in good earnest, to make the farce more perfect. This university still enjoys a great reputation for the M V CETTL. 110 I study of medicine and surgery. It possesses a physico-anatomical museum : if it is not as rich as those of Florence and of Bologna, it is no fault of these professors, for they never fail to dissect all the bodies they can procure from the ce- metery, or from anywhere else, to furnish models of all the physical incidents of our mortal career. Human nature is ceriainly a fine thing ! Before we are born we are condemned to be torn in pieces, both during our lives and after our deaths ; and at last, come the flames of hell, or of purgatory, or limbo ; and all for an apple which we have fiot eaten. At Montpellier is a theatre, where there is singing, quite in the French taste ; and a canal of the same illegitimate construction noticed above. The situation of the town of Cette is most curious and interesting; it is built at the foot of a mountain, or rather a rock, which rises by itself on a little neck of marshy ground, separat- ing the sea from the morass of Thau, and joining the continent only by marshes and sands, on the south-west at Agde, and on the north-east by those of Aiguez-mortes. There is no\\r a dyke through the morass of Thau, by means of which there is a convenient communication w^ith this city in the direction of Frontignan ; and it is to the great Colbert, rather than to the great Louis XIV, that this dyke, and also the maritime establishment, are to be ascribed. Next to Mar- W^i««9^B«> m 120 A(ii)i;. scilles, this is the most commercial port of the province. All the exports and imports of east Languedoc, and of a great part of west Provence, are made at Cette; at which place, passing through lake Thau, terminates the canal of Beaucaire and Montpellier, on the north-east; and on the south-west the grand canal of Lan- guedoc, which we shall soon trace from its beginning to its termination. MountcQ in an ass, — a method of conveyance adapted to the wUd and desert road into which inclination led me, — I went from this town to Agde, by the neck of land which, I have already told you, divides the sea from lake Thau. The contrast of the sea roaring on my left, with the stillness of the lake stagnating on my right — the beast I rode upon, who went on six legs when mine were extended — the shells that I picked up without the trouble of dismounting — my guide, and his noble expressions of scorn at my booty, which fell first on one side and then on the other — all this amused me so much, that, if ever I return through this country, I shall not fail to repeat this favourite excursion. Agde (with the antiquaries' good leave) was the place of all Languedoc that I was most eager to see, although it contains no antiquities. Here begins the great canal, on the Mediterra- nean side. In order that you may explore it with additional pleasure, I will first give you '■\i^\in....i.t. audi:. 121 some preliminary notions, which will unfold to you the back-ground of the scene which is about to open upon you. That part of Langue- doc which we cross between Agde and Toulouse, in a line almost due east and west, is (if we may use the expression) cmbatded between the Ce- vennes and the Pyrenees, which make it one great cradle, with a knoll rising almost in the middle. The only real obstacle then to a canal of communication between the Garonne and lake Thau, and consequently between the Medi- terranean and the ocean, was this little hill ; and the ditficulty was not such that all its governors did not see the possibility of its being overcome. The Romans, who had not much to gain from a commimication with the ocean, and who were not skilful in canals, had no temptation to do it; the two first races of the French kings never re- mained in peaceful possession of the country. The crusades, and after them the inquisition, found sufficient employment for the counts of Toulouse. The barons and the bishops, the court of Rome and the empire, left no leisure to the earlier kings of the third race. Francis I, engaged with Charles V, only thought of it ; and the murderous poignard, armed by that sectarian fury which has so often sprinkled with blood thrones, towns, and even altars, (and will stain them again,) cut short at once the precious life m 122 DEZIEUS. M :»; and the projects of the great Henry. Richelieu talked of it, only that the world might talk more of him. It was, then, reserved for Colbert to commence and carry on this great work, and to Napoleon to bring it to perfection. Now, my dear Countess, if you are com- plaisant enough to follow me, I am going to show you the course of the canal ; but I will be brief, both because its wonders are far beyond the reach of my description, and because this letter is already not a short one. Agde is a town only because it is, like Toulouse, an en- trepot for everything that ascends or descends by way of the canal, forming at this spot a great basin ; it communicates by different cuts with the Herault, which runs into the sea four or five miles south of Agde, and with the lake Thau, which v*e have just seen. There is a third cut, by means of which it communicates \vith anotner canal which runs inland, and all these three water-courses are on different levels. We must stop long enough at B^ziers, which is on the summit of a delightful hill, to mount to the top of the cathedral, a fine Gothic building, from whence we may behold a charm- ing country, admirably diversified with moun- tains and plains, with sheep-walks and vallies : it is esteemed one of the most fertile in Langue- doc. It was here that, previous to the intro- ^ — :„ naumtammimr. liEZIEIlS. 123* duction of indigo, the pastel, wliich gave the same colour, was successfully cultivated : hav- ing reduced it to a paste, they worked it into little cakes, which are called in the language of the district cocagnes. From this rich produce came the common saying, "c'est une cocagne," as applied to anything producing abundance and wealt'\ At Bt'ziers it has been necessary to make high causeways, to prevent inundations of the Orbe from obstructing the course of the c'xnal ; this is a difficult work. The view of the boats, as they climb a high hill by means of eight locks, one above another, produces an ex- traordinary and picturesque eflPect. Five or six miles from hence is a mountain called le Co- lombier, which would have forced the canal to take a winding course, more difficult and ex- pensive than the operation of cutting a way for it through its centre ; they have therefore bored it, and boats pass through a tunnel in the rock, one hundred and thirty-five toises long, five wide, and four and a half high ; the horses which tow the boats pass through it also on lateral shelves. You can conceive, my dear Madam, the effect which such a tunnel must produce on a man of any imagination. It is now called the Moun- tain of Malpas. Here the canal flows for six miles through a straight narrow channel of a most extraordinary appearance, rendered yet V «i 124 CAUCASSOM-: I ■ » i more striking by tlie whiteness of the rock in which it is cut through the whole of this part of its course. Near Salleles a branch of the great canal cut by Napoleon proceeds to join the canal of Nar- bonne, which dates from the Romans, and which terminates in the sea at Narbonne, at the mouth, I think, of the Aude. I say / think, because, to my regret, I have seen neither Nar- bonne, nor the canal, nor the mouth of the Aude, — a river which we shall find higher up. At Rcpondre, at Somaille, and elsewhere, there are aqueducts, that is to say, bridges, by means of which the canal crosses the torrents, rivers, ravines, tScc, all bold and difficult works; but those of Pont Rouge, and of Fresquel, are truly amazing: and here I must stop you a moment, to notice a cirjumstance which is neces- sary to form a general idea of this great canal . The contractor (whom I will name in proper time and place) liked ** douceurs," as most con- tractors do, and threatened all the towns and villages which would not find '* grease for his palms" that the canal should not pass near their walls. The town of Carcassone thought 100,000 livres rather too large a douceur, in consequence of which the contractor gave the canal a very inconvenient bend, through a desert three miles, from Carcassone. It remained for an usurper to repair the injustice; and it was he who, by a Xj^^-^ 1 11} IK .A fARTF.I.NAUDAIlY 12^ new cut, six miles in length, brought the canal to Carcassone : the great works of Pont Rouge, and of Fresquel, also originated with him. The undertaking is truly great, but the execution is poor : the moderns have not yet learned the art of soldering the junctions of large stones as the ancients did it, and these two aqueducts, in spite of their magnificent and massive appearance, lose much of their water. Carcassone, a very active town both in ma- nufactures and agriculture, and one of the keys of the Pyrenees, well deserved this act of sovereign munificence. The Aude descends to Carcassone from the Pyrenees, and flows for more than thirty miles parallel to the canal. It ■was at first intended to make the canal flow into this river; but an Italian engineer showed the absurdity of expecting to convert a torrent into a navigable stream, and the plan was abandoned . Let us proceed ; at Castelnaudary the vessels, having ascended a slight elevation by four great locks, enter a superb basin, which is an ornament to the town, and a supply, in case of need, to the lower part of the canal : there is a walk all round it on a magnificent terrace, paved with large flags. But Narrouse is the most interesting part of the canal ; it is the summit of the great knoll, which was the grand obstacle to the undertaking ; this is two mil^js from Castelnaudary. ' '1 i I t> i. .'i I 12G IIKVF.I,. You think perhaps that the engineer, havinj; found out how to cut his canal, and having arrived, by the help of his locks, at this eleva- tion, might shout in triumph; on the contrary, it was precisely here that the grand dilficulty of rendering the canal navigable presented it- self; the difficulty, that is to say, of finding at this commanding point water enough to feed the two parts — that towards the ocean, and that towards the Mediterranean; and exactly here there was none. It was therefore necessary to bring it from a distant spot amidst the Cevennes, and to conduct it to the regulator basin at the Narrouse, by an artificial water-course, which, from its commencement in the Montague Noire, to its termination in the basin, goes through an extent of about thirty-five miles. If you wish to see what is best worth admiring in this ac- cessary work, have the goodness to follow me ; we will be expeditious, though cold, bad roads, frequent steep flights of stairs, and my curiosity always restless in confinement, made me often ** ride St Francis's horse." After five hours hasty march, I arrived at Revel, a charming little town, queen of the valley of this name, niched in amongst the Cevennes. Two miles from it on the right we cross a small mountain, and reach the famous basin of St Ferriol. This basin is formed by building a dam completely across the little J M "^ ■\.i...i* HASIX of ST ILUIUOL. 127 1 valley of Vaudrefiille. It is thus formed into a lake, of three or four miles in circumference, into which flow the waters of the Montague Noire, and some others ; and, that they may not be dissipated, care has been taken to direct them through a central bed in the lake ; this lake is the "corps de reserve" in case of a drought. In order to proportion the supply of water to the demand, cocks have been made at the back of the dyke, under a deep and massy arch. To these the waters of the reservoir are conducted by pipes as long as the thickness of the dam, and when they are opened, the waters flow, by the water-course which 1 before mentioned, into the basin, which supplies the great canal in both directions. I have explained to you the object, and some of the details, of the reservoir of St Fer- riol ; but it would be impossible for me to describe to you at once all the great and astonishing features of the work. You may easily imagine, that to sustain this little sea amidst the mountains, and to resist the enor- mous pressure of this great volume of water, — its rocking and its waves, — this dyke, and the embankment which strengthens it, are both on a prodigious scale. And man has brought this great spectacle of his industry to a place where nature seemed already prepared to deck it with h I 128 SOURESE. •' Ji ■ \r every variety of beauty — ^gay, pathetic, and romantic. The collhge of Sorrese is only three miles off; I went to see it. It is a college which has always done honour to France, even when it belonged to the Benedictines; but it could not fail of gaining a high reputation all over Europe under the direction of M. Ferlus, whom vast erudition, and a morality as pure as it is benignant, dis- tinguish amongst the wise and learned of France. Eminent professors, some of them Italians, assist him with their zeal and superior endowments. He did not behave like the Jesuit at Aix, — he told me and showed me everything. Virtue and true merit need no concealment; and upright men are free from the restraint and embarrass- ment of hypocrites. The place is magnificent ; its situation and fine park afibrd the solitude so necessary for study ; the air is physically and morally pure ; for a re- tired village, in a valley of the mountains, is safe frominfection, and from dangerous pleasures. The classes are well arranged, and order and disci- pline reign, without prejudice and without seve- rity. Dancing, fencing, riding, swimming, games of skill and strength, exercise the body ; the maxims of sound morality, and the pure doctrines of the gospel, form the mind. Drawing, paint- ing, music, &c., add to the graces and ornaments of life. Colleges, where the objects of study ij. ^viA. SOUllESK. 129 I I •4 are numerous, and such as to qualify the pupils for the universities, and the polytechnic schools. A Frenchman cannot here learn dead and foreign languages before he is acquainted with his own. This should be rigorously ob- served everywhere, and especially in Italy, where we are taught Latin — often very bad Latin, and which, at best, serves only for con- versation with the dead, — while we are led to neglect that beautiful si which delights all the living : they want to make us priests from our cradle ; and the first thmg they make us read is the Brf^viary. In this college every religion, pro- vided it is the Christian, has its ministers and its chapel ; and no pupil is allowed to speak of his peculiar faith. The students are about five hundred — from almost all nations — American and European. This alone is sufficient to jus- tify its celebrity. All within its walls are laymen, and there are even many married men, which is an advantage, because education has less to fear from the usual temptations of celi- bacy, and more to hope from an instructor who is the father of a family. At Sorrese, as at the Ptolomei at Sienna, I could not praise a quality which I think most essential in a college, — cleanliness of body, which has great influence in promoting that of the mind. I wish a long life to this institution; but I fear much for M. 1 1 1 VOL. I, K 130 SORRESE. Ferlus. The Jesuits have already established themselves at Castres, ten miles from Sorrese, and fortify themselves there as they do every- where else; and, from a threat which escaped from the reverend vector of Aix, it appears that their object is to overthrow every institution which is not Jesuitical. M. Ferlus and his son- in- law do not believe it, but they will not be long before they make the discovery. The proverb is very true, that **standers~by see most of the game. From Sorrese, my dear Madam, do not turn your eyes to the west and north, but follow the example of the ancients, who even after death had their faces turned to the east, which they deemed the source of consolation and of happiness, as of light and life. You would be struck by the me- lancholy spectacle of the massacre which de- luged these unhappy regions with blood; you would see Ambition in a sacerdotal cloak, armed with the crucifix and the poniard, murdering its thousand victims, imder the pretence of sacri- ficing them to that religion whose maxims it profanes, whose precepts it has broken: — you would see the cardinal of St Ange St Dominic you would see, lastly, the cradle rf that monster who has kindled fires around the stake all over the world, and perverted the gospel — the cradle of the Inquisition, and, in NARROUSK. 131 in consequence, the tomb of the pure and holy religion of the Saviour ! There it was that the Albigeois were sacri- ficed to the bigotry and the d -^potism of the court of Rome. All these distressing recollections, and the reflections which they suggest on the past and the future, depressed me morally and physi- cally, — I had hardly • rength left to continue my journey. I must, nevertheless, return to the canal. Come, my dear Countess, let us pass on to the valley of Pepoul, where I would point out to you the touching contrast of its beauties with the perspective of ice which the northern slope of the Pyrenees presents, if I had a mind sufficiently free, and a more animated pen. Before we leave Narrouse, I must tell you one thing more — nay, two, — or perhaps three. That portion of the canal which is level at the summit of the knoll, is the distributive point of the whole, and is contained between two locks, m such a manner that when water is to be supplied on the Mediterranean side, the lock of Mont Serrat is opened, and that of Medicin, when it is to be supplied to the side towards the ocean. The basin, in which the channel from St Ferriol terminates, is in the centre ; and, to avoid an overflow, they con- :m u TOULOUSF. trived means of admitting only that quantity or volume of water which may be necessary. The number of locks from the top of this knoll to Agde is, according to some, seventy-two, and, according to others, forty-five ; to the Garonne, which flows on for about two hundred miles before its waters reach the level of the ocean, twenty-nine or twenty-six. I could have recti- fied this discordance, but I was so intent upon admiring, that I forgot to count them. This is a negligence not quite excusable in a man who rambles as an observer, and still less in those whose dut}'^ it is to know them exactly. I should perhaps lu^ve more to say about it, but my head grows heavy, and it is time to leave Narrouse. Let us open the lock of Medicin, and descend towards the ocean. I will only stop you to say, that the country from Narrouse to Toulouse is much finer, and the lands more fertile, than from Narrouse to Agde. Now let us proceed to the spot where the canal ends in the Garonne, a mile and a half below Toulouse. The canal ends (to us who descend) in two large and magnificent basins ; two little ports, one for the boats which are going down, the other for those which enter from the Garonne. A great lock forms the entrance, supported on a large half-moon- shaped exterior mound, which protects it against the current and the over- i.WMIMlPi m TOULOUSK. 133 il flowings of the river. Another canal, which comes down from the town, and facilitates the commerce of upper Garonne, flows into it be- tween the two basins; and there a magnificent bridge crosses it, on which Lucas has carved a fine allegorical bas-relief. All the goods which come down the canal are unloaded, and trans- ferred to other vessels fit for the navigation of the river. I should like to have gone down the rivjr in one of them to Bordeaux, but they are not tempting ; the voyage is two slow, and the season not at present propitious. At the Garonne they began to cut the canal ; there tiie first stone was laid in the year 1007, and it reached Agde in 1080; parts of it were navigable in 1672, the whole in IG82. The medal which was deposited with the first stone, bore on one side the likeness of the king; and they addressed him, in the language with which he was occasionally flattered, as Undarum Tcrraque jiotem atquc arbiter orhis : on the other side was the town of Toulouse and the canal, with a more rational inscription — E.vpectata din popidis com- mercia pandit. There is also an inscription in large characters, in which only one name deservedly figures — that of Colbert. I should have copied it, for the sake of the homage to his merit, but it is rather too long for a man who has little patience with flatteries and flatterers. When I think of the f ''% ■,:l li t}) \) I ';' 134 Touj.ousi:. unjust wars of Louis XIV; the power of his mis- tresses ; the vices of his court ; and the revoca- tion of the edict of Nantes, — I see nothing but prostitution, disgrace, despotism, and perfidious policy, in his reign. Why do we say the '* si^cle de Louis XIVT instead of ''Louis XIY du 17'""*' sihckV He did nothing for his sihdc, and the Slide, by giving great men to France, did every- thing for him. It was, in truth, the men of science and I'^tters who conferred honour on him and on France ; not he who conferred it upon France or upon them. If he some- times patronised them, it was because they wrote verses to his honour; because they ap- peared to forget that he was a man, and a weak man, and attempted to raise him to the rank of a divinity. Louis XI V considered this canal only as one means of showing the grandeur of his domi- nion. Colbert calculated upon it as a method of promoting commerce, and retrieving France from the wretched condition into which so much extravagance had plunged her. To Louis be- longs all the evil that was done during his reign ; for the small proportion of good, France is indebted to his miniscers ; and to Colbert she owes the canal of Languedoc. It now remains that you should learn the name of the illustrious architect who conceived this great work. A certain Riquet figures as such in the inscrip- / TO u LOU si:. 135 tion of which I have spoken; and this is quite en rbgle, since he put it up himself. He did not compose it, however, for he knew nothing of Latin ; and two monks, to whom he read it, declared that it was sham ^ul for the author of such an undertaking not to be able to read. I will illustrate this point, and set it in its true light, in a very few words. M. Riquet was the coUer-'or of the taxes at Bezi^rs, rich, as tax-gatherers always are, in countries where favour and interest are the sole controllers of public functionaries. He was inti- mate with a M. Andreossi, an engineer and mathematician, already well known in these parts. The possibility of cutting this canal had long been discussed ; but the plans of Benean, of Louis de Foix, of Bernard Aribal, of Jean le Maire, and of many others, had already either excited ridicule, or been opposed on account of their impracticability. Andreossi drew one, and showed it to the tax-collector, who, in- triguing and powerful, by means of the ** irre- sistible arguments" of D. Basil in Figaro, contrived to get it accepted at court, obtained a decree for its execution, and, for himself, the eligible post of contractor- general of this great undertaking. Andreossi, a foreigner, without patronage and without resources, was obliged to be contented with putting himself under the I hi ■cl f'i li 13G TOULOUSE auspices of the rich financier, whom this triumph had puffed up to such a degree, that his friends feared he would die the death of the frog in the fable : while the humble executor of the great plan, who was the general overseer of the work from beginning to end, was forgotten. A man, who could scarcely scrawl a figure, thus gained *he honour of sculptured inscriptions, was trumpeted by fame, and became, I think, baron of Bonrcpos, that is to say, of a cottage in which his father and mother used to repose after the labours and toils of the day. But merit, which often breaks forth and makes a way for itself through all the intrigues and injustice which obstruct its path, was not long in becoming- known. Andreossi was recognised as the sole author and executor of the great plan; and there is not, I believe, a sensible Frenchman (even among the heirs of M. le Baron) who does not believe that the honour appertained to him alone. This was so universally known, that they tried to Frenchify his name, by changing the final i into a 3/; but in vain they style him M. Andreossy. In spite of them all, he will always be the Sigtior Francesco Andreossi, of the Lake of Como. Poor Italians! You cannot even keep your own names from foreign invasion ! Besides, everybody knows that, at this time, the French were not as far ndvanced in the fine arts and rOU LOUSE. 137 the sciences as they now are ; and that the Italians had already constructed the Louvre, the Hotel des Invalides, the Mazarin and Conti palaces, &c., at Paris; canals in Sweden, Den- mark, Holland, and England; and that their genius then extended over Europe, as widely as the sovereignty of strangers has since extended over their country, the Helen of Europe. The bell rings for dinner, my dear Madam ; you will not be displeased that 1 quit you, and leave you a little repose, after having dragged you over ruins and mountains, taken you a-hunting, and made you trot on a donkey. To tell the truth, I am a little fatigued myself. Let us rest then ; I, that I may set off again on my journey with the same ardour, and you, that you may follow me with the same patience. ih P. S. I forgot to remark to you, my dear Madam, that Napoleon opened a direct com- munication from the British channel to the Atlantic at Bourdeaux, by means of the canal of Beaucaire, and of that which connects the Seine and the Saone. I will give you a sketch of this great inland navigation in two lines. I may make some slight errors, for I have no work under my eye by which to assist or cor- rect my memory ; but I shall not essentially mislead you. I!' h ! 138 rOl'LOUSK. From Havre, in the clianncl, the boats ascend the Seine, nearly as far as Auxerre, where a canal, which terminates near Chalons, connects the Seine with the Saone. The latter river flows into the Rhone at the bridge of Perachc, tvo miles below Lyons. You have already seen where the canal of Beaucaire communicates with the Rhone and the grand canal of Langue- doc, and where that canal communicates with the Garonne ; and you know that the Garonne flows into the Atlantic at Bourdeaux. I forgot also to tell you, that the whole length of the canal is about one hundred and sixty miles. ■ . i' , i i , . >i •>,vvJ nd ) a cts ws vo leii tes le- ith ne th ty LKTTEll IV. Paris, 2Sth of Fchruan/ 1822. Hkuk I am for the third time at Paris, my dear Countess, and each time I have been astonished at great events of a new aspect. — Sic cral in fatis. When Jupiter consulted the fates about Hector and Achilles, he found that the hero of Troy must fall before the hero of Greece, and that there was no help for it, though the former was his special favourite; from that moment Apollo, the tutelary genius of the Trojan, abandoned him to his fate. It seems, there- fore, upon the authority of Homer himself, that there is a predestination which gods themselves cannot resist: we must no longer wonder then that Napoleon and Paris have fallen before united Europe, as continental Europe had pre- viously bent beneath France and Napoleon. It 140 rour^ousK. M has been said a thousand times, and wc repeat it once more, — that if some Frenchmen, unvvortliy of tlie name, had not betrayed Napoleon, if Paris had added her eflbrts to liis genius, both would yet remain to astonish the world ; but it was written in tlie book of destiny, whieh controls the beginning, the progress, and end of all that exists, that there should be traitors and ungrate- ful Frenchmen ; that Paris should think only of securing the riches which she had acquired as head of the empire ; and that the emperor himself should be the Theodore of Elba, and in progress of time the prisoner of St Helena ! Surely Pangloss is right in saying "that there is necessity in all things." But let us leave Homer and the Pha- risees to contest this point with the philosophers and theologians who rnay be disposed to dispute it; let us, in the meantime, commence our fourth ramble, beginning (of course) from the spot where we concluded our third. Toulouse is a large town ; it even pretends to rank next to Paris in size, but assuredly not so in beauty ; for if we except its environs, which are pleasant, the whole town is gloomy and bad, and the pavement is worse than the bed of Procrustes. Its antiquity is involved in obscurity by the conjectures of antiquarians ; but it was certainly a town of importance in the time of the Romans, under the name of "Tolosa Colonia," or "Civitas I I I i""/ .^1 TOIJLOUSK. 141 Tolosiiticnsis." It figures much in the decline of tlie llonian Empire, and under the earlier races of the French kings. Under the counts of Toulouse it attained, at first, a degree of eminence equal to Paris ; but the religious wars, and the inquisition (of which it was the principal seat,) afterwards rendered it a theatre of blood and desolation. Under the third race it fell into the hands of the nobles, the capitouh, and the liomnics de rohc, whose vanity suffered the town, well situated for commerce, to languish in idleness, while they employed themselves only in chicanery and intrigue, and in maintaining futile distinctions. It raised its head under the fourth race, that is to say, under the usurpation ; and what did the restoration do for it ? The restoration excited new contending factions in the place, and closed the manufactories which the continental system had opened. No vestiges of antiquity are to be found at Toulouse, at least I could find none. In- tolerance has perhaps obliterated all she con- sidered profane. The revolution, on the other hand, has dealt as mercilessly with the church of St Dominic, as he did with the town and the whole province of Languedoc ; fortunately for the Catholics, his body is kept at Bologna, or they would probably have lost that as well as his church. La Dorado is a superb church. A 'y'\ m: mmm J 42 rOULOlSE. -V m '. V\! virgin which it contains, sculptured by a certain Ltikc, is in great esteem, and works many mi- racles; its ostensible origin being a miracle also. It is reported to be the work of St Luke, whereas history (I do not know what history by the by) and even our Bolognese, in their famous sanctuary of the Madonna di St Lucca, give him credit only for being a painter. If anybody will enroll him as an architect, we shall then have three Michael Angelos, one at Florence, one at Marseilles, and one in Paradise. La Dorade has lost his right to the name ; for this image, from some accident or other, is not gilt ; it is as black as our Lady of Loretto, who has a good excuse for her complexion, having been long exposed to the burning suns of Palestine before she came to Italy. I cannot, however, find any pretext for the blackness of la Dorade. Either of them would be the pride of the negroes, but we white men like better what is clearer to the eye. It is really a pity that the church of the Corde- liers has been converted into a magazine for forage. It is a fine structure of mixed architec- ture, Gothic and modern : caprice is sometimes admissible ^n a man of inventive genius, if he have taste. The church of St Saturnin would be grand and majestic, if it were not so heavy and dark : it is one link of the historical chain of architectural >.'':,» TOULOUSE. 143 I anomalies, all the offspring of the middle ages, but interesting and instructive from their origi- nality. This church has been so fortunate as to preserve thirty bodies of saints, amongst whom are no less than seven apostles. The sacristan told me their names, but St Peter struck me as a disputed point between Tou- louse and Rome, which has also her St Peter under the magnificent ** confessione" in the great temple of the Vatican. At Toulouse they have also a capitol, but dis- regarding the etymology, they have built it in a bottom. The Jupiters who presided at this sub- lime inauguration, were, nevertheless, ambitious extollere caput; for the great desire of the in- habitants of Toulouse, was to be captious or municipal magistrates, and, in consequence, nobles. Amongst the busts and statues, which ornamented this oblong hall before the revolu- tion, there was one, and only one, which deserved a place there. Guess it, dear Madam ; it was that of a woman — of Clemence d'Isaure, who bequeathed the greatest part of her pro- perty to this town, for the institution of an annual f&te early in May, at which four prizes are awarded for proficiency in literature; — a wild rose, a heartsease, a violet, and a pink, wrought in gold, silver gilt, and silver; the cere- mony is called the festival of the floral games. mil 144 TOULOUSE. ^ui ! I: There is a museum at Toulouse, but tlic only good pictures renew the painful recollection of the remorseless rapacity with which the French, like their neighbours, have plundered Italy. Amongst the marbles, an infant Hercules stran- gling a serpent in each hand is striking, both from the beaut;/ of the workmanship, and from the place where it was found, the Jesuits' college. They considered it perhaps as the emblem of what they aspired, and do still aspire, to become. But I have forgotten to notice a painting which, if not by its physical, at least by its moral effect, is calculated to inspire strong interest, and many profitable reflections — profitable indeed to all, but especially to rulers. In this painting, Ray- mond VI, count of Toulouse, to escape from the excommunication and crusade which Inno- cent III had directed against him, submits to the greatest of all ignominy ; to be beaten with rods, naked, at the gate of the church of St Giles, in presence of twenty archbishops, and an immense concourse of people. It would be a good pendant to that of Henry IV of Suabia, waiting with bare feet, and a cord round his neck, for two days in the cloister of Canossa, for the absolution of Gregory VII ; or to that of Frederic Barbarossa, stripped of his regalia, and holding the stirrup for Alexander IV, in the great square at Venice. «,«..^.»..*iiK*&.*««»-*^^ MONTAUBAN. 145 to th Toulouse is remarkable as the key of the Pyrenees, and also for its great arsenal, its great mills (one of which has twenty grind- stones, and another twenty-four) and for its fine bridge over the Garonne, from the middle of which the eye commands a charming land- scape. I have been on the ground of the battle of Toulouse. This battle is so much the more honourable to Wellington and the English, as they found, in marshal Soult and his little army, a bone somewhat hard of digestion. Without resource and without hope of assistance, threat- ened by many enemies in his rear, he retreated — but he could not be subdued. Montauban does not pretend to higher anti- quity than the middle ages. It appears to have been built in the twelfth century, by Alphonso count of Toulouse. Whether it was the country of Ariosto's Signor di Montalbano, or not, I cannot determine ; but if it was, and he had seen it, he would have sung its praises along with those of his hero. There would have been a little anachronism indeed in making Rinaldo cotemporary with the foundation of the town ; but, **poetis quidlibet," you know; — that is no such great matter. It is a charming city ; the walks which have been made on the banks of the Tarn (which divides the town between Lan- VOL. I. L m UG MONTAUliAN. guedoc and Quercy) have a charming effect, en- hancing the beauty of the view from the bridge, as well as affording delight to those who walk in them. The waters of this river, flowing from the Cevennes amongst the Albigeois, have often been stained with human blood — the blood of cou- rageous men, who, daring to attack the luxury and corruption of the clergy, endeavoured to reform them, and lead them, in the footsteps of Arnaud de Brescia, to the orthodoxy of the gospel. But in spit-^ of the horrors perpetrated here, under Louis VIII and Louis XIII, against the Albigeois and the Huguenots, it is still the part of the kingdom where the Protestants are the most numerous : at Montauban there are two evangelical colleges. If the Jesuits could have their way, we and our posterity should see much Christian blood spilt again to extinguish this importunate light. Within the walls of their colleges they are already training their recruits ; and fathers of families, blinded by the fanaticism which the incendiaries of Japan and la Plata well know how to inspire, are unconsciously preparing their sons to be the scourge of their country, of humanity, and of Christian morality. The Greeks and Romans lent all their aid to the cultivation of mind, body, and soul, in their children, to fit them for becoming the valiant defenders of their coun- AGEN. 147 try, to make them good citizens, and inspire them with generous sentiments : now, on the contrary, throughout all continental Europe, education, by the crooked policy of govern- ments, is made subservient to the views and interests of despotism, temporal and spiritual ; and of this education the Jesuits are the guar- dians. We are unhappy enough ; it might be supposed that we could not be more so ; but this is an error. If the Jesuits continue to rule for a few years more over the institutions and the consciences of men, posterity will be far worse off than we are. But let us continue our ram- ble, dear Madam. The cathedral of Montauban is a beautiful building, in which Monsieur Cotte has shown himself far superior to Manzard and Puget. If ever you should visit this place, you will see it to greater advantage than you could now, for you will find it em_bellished by walks which are now scarcely marked out. At Agen I went hunting rabbits ; it is won- derful to see the ferret hunt these animals, burrowing into the ground to drive them out of their holes, and expose them to the dogs or to the gun of the sportsman ; and never were there more skilful ferrets than the three who hunted with us. This amusement has made me almost forget that Agen was the ancient, and very ancient Aginnum Nitiobrigum, and that there should certainly be some remains of U 1 v i 48 GASCOXY. Ih antiquity. Here is another mortal offence against antiquarians. Near Aiquillon, we cross the Garonne at the point where the Lot falls into it, and we arrive in the province now called Gascony, among the Vasques, or Basques, who, during the decline of the Roman empire, took possession of this country. The Romans called it Aquitania, the etymology of which may perhaps be Aquam- tentnSy from the quantity of rivers, ponds, and marshes, which it contains. Charlemagne sub- dued it; but, under the feeble administration of his successors, this district, like Provence and Languedoc, became the property of its deputed governors. It afterwards came into the posses- sion of the kings of England, and was restored to France by Charles VII. We are now, then, amongst this singular people, whose eccentricity, drollery, and wit, are well known ; the only race in France perhaps, who, like the Jews and the Genoese, still preserve the characteristics of their fathers from the remotest antiquity ; they are still the Biturigi and the Vibisii whom Caesar found there. We travel but slowly, dear Countess ; and the circuitous route which I have taken to arrive at this place (Paris) is of itself long enough. We will notice only what we find most interesting, for fear our ramble should become a tedious itinerary. At Langon I embarked in a steam-boat, i^yZwmL.. THE GAUONNK. 149 which sets off every morning for Bordeaux. The charming banks of the Garonne would have ab- sorbed my attention during the whole of this little voyage (of twenty-six miles) if the me- chanism of the boat, and its effects, which had long excited my curiosity, had not kept me fully employed ; nor were the accompaniments of the trip by any means wanting in interest. Three or four most original Gascons en- livened the party, and the varieties of which it was composed were exceedingly singular. Gay fellows, who were at once Parisian and Gascon ; little upstarts of the ** nouveau re- gime," who gave great offence to antique pe- rukes of the ** ancien regime ;" jolly compa- nions, with their songs and declamations against the element on which we were gliding so swiftly and safely; speculators, turning the four quar- ters of the globe to account; politicians, parti- tioning it ; Dulcineas, setting it on fire with languishing glances; here a sick lady, and an ** aimable" offering salts and consomme ; there a lady quite well, but wishing to be better ; Englishmen examining the moon in bright sun- shine, and making almanacks; on one side singing and whistling, on another yawning and snoring; priests praying, sailors swearing; a German who spoke French, and a Frenchman who spoke German, I myself endeavouring to speak both languages, and the trio making the I f( t Rli J •»^< z^".-7.:^,^« 150 noHDKArx most h;innonious jargon iiv tlu» world : ;ilto- }»<*tluM* it was <|uito uniqiu', ami I ondoavour to recall the idra, wIumi 1 want a good lanj^ii to dispel painl'id thoughts. IT (liraudi had been there, he would jierhaps have eoneeived the drollest of all the eomedies which his brilliant pen has produced. In I*' ranee, whether by land or by water, you always travel nuMrily, and soujetiines agreeably. Vou everywhere nu'ct with clean hotels and jji^ood tables, and in ge- neral with amusing and well-behaved company. Since we have touched upon steam, let us stoj) a moment or two on dry ground, to resist the foreigners who woidd lay violent hands even on the genius of us poor Jtalians, and enrich themselves with our spoils. 1^'rcnch, luiglish, and Americans, dispute with each other the merit of the discovery of the application ot" steam. It belongs to none of these nations ; — it is due to an Italian, (liovanni liranca, who lived in Rome as early as the year l()'29. If his ex- periments produced no brilliant results, it was because, instead of encouragement, he encount- ered the Inquisition ; and it was reserved for a free people, like the Americans or the English, to perfect what they had learnt from us. Vou may inform the antiquaries, my dear Madam, that there are antiquities at Bordeaux, (their ancient Burdigale) but that you have not patience, nor I time, to spend upon fragments ^: ll(HII)l,Ali\ \r>\ {){' old wallN, wliilKt ihvw urc iiKxIcni iliiii^H lu'Mer wortli our attcDtion. hordriiiix, on \\\v. s\{\v. next tlu; («:ii-oinic (wliicli loriiiH it into u cr(>s(;(>nt) is niii^niticrnt ; in the interior it: is very nt;ly. licin^ intcr- s|n!rsr(l with walks ;uid avenues, it, is not so re^^ular as IMarseilles, hut it is newer and liandsoiner ; tlu^ general efi'ect of the " (juartic^r i\v la (!oni^'die" is nia^nili(.'ent; it is a sort of" isolated paralleloj^ranj, hut its defects strike the eye the moment yon stop to examine. 1'lio fa^'ade is too long tor its width, and, com- manding a large s([nare, as it does, it should have a |)edinjent; small arcades, njirrow por- ticoes, and a top story ii la Mtnisardi , that is to say, between the roof and the corn.ce, arc not at all suited to a grand and splendid building. The interior of the theatre is super!), if show and a profusion of ornaments arc sufficient to gratily the observer; but he will look in vain for the beautiful harmony on which the eye loves to repose. Why great pillars, where there are neither porticoes nor boxes to support? And wily do these boxes interfere with the pil- lars, and project like pulpits, while boxes, columns, and ornaments, all impede the voice of the actor ? Monsieur Louis, however, may boast of an extraordinary production ; for his theatre is neither ancient nor modern, neither French nor Italian. The architect has committed \ 4 i\ U\ sipssp^ 152 no II I) K A I' X ■A anotlirr fault,- almost a crinu', — in the form of the house ; he lias deprived the publie of a great deal ofspaee, and the proprietor in consecjuenee of a great deal of money. INIonsieur Louis is, I think, also the architect of the famous tower of (^orduan, the great light-house which rears its head at the mouth of the CJaronnc ; I have not seen it, but 1 am told it is wonderful. On a rock, and in the middle of the water, (always provided they do not adopt the Corinthian style,) architects may be allowed to disregard rules a little, and give scope to their fancy ; but in a great town, and for a building which is to serve at once as an useful structure, an ornament, and a model, they are bound to conform to the rules of their art, which are all founded in mathema- tical principles and relations, like those of music. At the exchange you stand in a large square, protected from wind and from rain, from cold and from heat ; it is a very convenient and singular building. But why such a grand prin- cipal, and such paltry accessories? Why the Colossus of Rhodes with pigmies for supporters? It is the Microm^ga of Voltaire, with the uisects he found on the Baltic, and which still infest the earth. Porticoes low, narrow, dark, and blocked up,^ — tippling houses, — a staircase with- out proportion or exact gradation, — very small rooms and conventual doors ; — in order to have a MOKDI'lAdX lO.'i little more space to let. If any one would learii to build an exchange, let him look at that of Ancona, so ^^rand though small, and so ma^ni- lieent though simple. A mercantile town always smells of trade, as a panwim does of his work- shop or his counter. 'I'hus we find the front rotmis of the theatre at Bordeaux all let off for clubs or private diversions, instead of beiuf^ ap- propriated, as they ouj^ht to !)e, to the amuse- ment of the com[)any between the acts. The spectators must either sit still and yawn in their boxes, or leave the house in search of diversion. The members of the club have permission to enter ; and as I had had the honour to be intro- duced there, I might have enjoyed the same privilege; but the stranger and the subscri})ers are not the public. At Bordeaux there are some churches very well worth seeing, and a museum containing some beautiful paintings; there is also a public library, where I endeavoured in vain, for four days, to gain admittance, tried in vain for four hours to find a book which was there, and was at length driven away by a librarian who wanted to go to dinner at an hour when nobody dines ; that is to say, at the dinner time of the ancien regime; it would undoubtedly be a profanation for him to dine at the same hour as the philoso- phcs. Heaven bless him! But the illustrious sons of Bordeaux — Montesquieu and Mon- I Iv ; S < I mmmm 154 nORDKAl'X. > taignc — would not bless him, if they could raise their heads from the tomb. The stone bridge which crosses the Garor . c at this place, uniting Bordeaux with the fau- bourg of Chapeau rouge, is truly astonishing: it is built upon twenty buttresses and eighteen arches ; a bold and difficult undertaking, from the depth of the river, and the force of the cur- rent ascending or descending with the tide. The work had been in contemplation through many a reign, but this also was left to do honour to that of Napoleon. It is in vain to attempt to conceal the traces of him and his works ; they will always appear. If his s' ^ssors wish to show themselves, if not greater, yet better than he, the way is easy ; let them do the good which he (/id not, though he could and ought to have done it : wisdom and moderation will be productive of more good than his genius united with his ambition ; but as long as they do only mischief, they do but add, by contrast, to the effect of what he achieved worthy of renown. This bridge is not yet finished, but perhaps it soon will be. I have been making a devout pilgrimage to the chateau de la Brede, fifteen miles from Bordeaux, the birth place of that great lumi- nary who has thrown light on the legislation of the whole world since the seventeenth ceiUijry. It is said that Homer had no mo- dels; it is dilKcult to believe that his divine works thus sprung out of chaos ; but it is certain that Montesquieu was his own original, and the only legislator, after the Evangelists, for the whole human race. " Mankind had lost their rights," said Voltaire ; " Montesquieu dis- covered and restored them." You may imagine, dear Madam, with what sentiments of respect and adoration I saluted the sanctuary! With what e' notion the sight of the chamber, the fur- niture, the ink- stand, the pen of this apostle of truth and justice, affected my heart! The sight of this sublime solitude, of these venerable trees, which perhaps fostered and refreshed his genius ! Had it not been for the irresistible aversion with which I turn from everything bordering upon superstition or affectation, I could have kissed these sacred relics. But what object, think you, disturbed the fervour of my adoration, — the sympathy with which my heart was touched ? The sight of terrible dungeons, in which the victims of feudal tyranny were per- mitted to languish. I will not suppose that Montesquieu used them as they had been used by his ancestors; but not to have destroyed them — not to have sacrificed them to that phi- lanthropy which he proclaimed to the world ; — this, I confess, has weakened the idea which I had formed of his generosity. I am more and more forced into the conviction, that man is i II \ imsmm mm. mt 15G BORDEAUX. I >•' i born with a thirst for despotic power. Look at children ; if you allow them to follow their natural bent, they suffer nothing to oppose their will, and beat their nurse at the very mo- ment she gives them the support of existence. Education corrects, but does not destroy. Human weakness is rarely proof against the prestiges of ambition and pride ; and but rarely are the same sentiments in the heart as on the lips ur the pen. I returned to Bordeaux full of gloomy thoughts. What follows is not more gay ; but the reflections which the subject gives rise to may prove useful. After pondering on the vices whir;h are born with us, and accom- pany us through life, it is a fit season to muse upon death. Let me conduct you to a memorare 7wvisshna iua — a burial place. La Chartreuse of Bordeaux has been converted into a cemetery, which (if it were anything but a cemetery) I should call superb. The eye here suggests only the pomp of man : to be reminded of his nothingness, you must have recourse to meditation, and ask yourself what there is be- neath these vain monuments, and these epitaphs vainer still, telling only what the inmate has not been, instead of what he now is. Flattery, thou pest ! With life all delusion ought to end, yet flattery would spoil us after our death ! Let us turn our eyes, dear Madam, from these altars, raised and decked by falsehood and by pride ; mmst^^ BORDEAUX. 157 let us turn to the humble tombs where piety and truth are allowed to appear. Here we learn more, and find rest for our hearts. A young girl was weeping bitterly over one of these ; she was offering a tribute of love and respect to the virtues of her mother, and scattering flowers on the tomb. At a little distance, a woman, three children, and some aged persons, were kneeling and mingling their tears and prayers. It was the widow, the or- phans, and the afflicted, who offered this tri- bute of gratitude and grief to the memory of their benefactor. A man of a noble air was bending over a simple urn, his forehead rested on his right hand, and he was motionless in grief. It was easy to see that his heart was torn, for he shed no tears .... he excited my compassion .... but I durst not disturb him : I know how sweet it is to converse with the dead! .... I passed on ; a secret, uncontrolable im- pulse brought me back to the spot; I ap- proached, but he did not perceive me. Alas ! I read, "To Friendship". ... I understood his affliction and the tomb but too well ; I could no longer resist. ... I leant also on that sacred urn. At last we addressed one another ; and in what language! .... We consoled each other. We would fain have remained, but night stole upon our melancholy thoughts and we were com- pelled to go. We left the cemetery together ; immm mmmmmMmm 158 BORDEAUX. h$\ and the sweetest sympathy united our hearts. During the few days that I afterwards spent at Bordeaux, we were inseparable ; my sympathy hovers over him still, and will ever continue to do so. But let us leave the cemetery, and make a sudden bound into the midst of the Carnival, and in Lent. The most brilliant part of the Carnival at Bor- deaux begins on the first day of Lent, and lasts till the third, inclusively. During these three days all is bustle and joviality. The first day the obsequies of the carnival begin, and on the second they carry him in procession to Chantan, two miles from the town, where they bury him. The third is full of follies of the same kind. Masked processions of all ranks and classes, an immense concourse of people on horseback, in carriages, and on foot, all flock to this spot ; all the taverns, inns, and country houses in the neighbourhood resound, not with cries of sorrow, but with songs and shouts of merriment ; great feasts are the offerings consecrated to his manes ; and the choice wines of the country, the tears shed on his tomb. I wept my share, with more than fifty companions ; we did not weep amiss ; and this time, I believe, we surpassed the ladies, who on all other occasions are better weepers than men ; they, however, performed their part pretty well even on this. With this noisy appendix to the Carnival, I began to fancy my- -^\\ -■^•' -tf';,'- - - miitMsmmi-isi^sm^' BLAYE. 159 self at the carnavolone at Milan, which is also held during the two or three first days of Lent. 1 have done right to remind you of the ** tiovis- s'lma*' before tiie Carnival ; for, as you see, the day of ashes is lost at Bordeaux. I turn with regret from this beautiful town, which will soon become more lovely still. The chateau Trompette, which was to it what the Bastille v/as to Paris, has been demolished, and beautiful walks are already marked out on its site. I wish Bordeaux much happiness, better architects, and mayors more true to their country than the one who delivered it to the English in 1814. I wish repose to the wounded soul of the friend that I leave there ; but I know by experience that, when the treasure of friendship is lost, there is no hope of peace till it is found once more in Elysium. I am sorry to conclude the chapter of Bordeaux with tidings ominous to the constitutional government of Spain. I leave the Duke San Carlos there. It is said that he is en vedette. I descended the Garonne to Blaye. The view, at the point where the Dordogne, which flows through the Angoumais, falls into the Ga- ronne, and where these two magnificent streams are united under the name of the Gironde, is grand and striking. Lower down on the left bank is Pouillac, which I have only seen from the top of the fortress of Blaye. It was from this place N IGO HOCHEFORT. [f. |1 1 that the duchess of Angoul^me embarked en heroine during the ** hundred days." The part of Guyenne and of Saintonge crossed by the diligence, before it enters the province of Aunis, is the land of plenty and rural beauty, without any large or fine towns. I come now to Roche- fort in Aunis; this is likewise a spot which suggests meditation. The sic transit gloria mundi here presents itself in its full force ; it seems that Napoleon's star was clouded whenever he embarked from France, and shone only when he ^^wembarked. The humble shores of Fr^jus and of Cannes re- ceived him like a triumphant conqueror, though he came as a fugitive ; and when he first landed in France from his paternal roof at Ajaccio, we may almost say that he was attended by the high destiny which awaited him. On the other hand, when he embarked from Toulon, he was fortunate only in escaping from the fate which overtook the unhappy Kleber; when he em- barked from Boulogne, he prepared that confla- gration, which raged behind him till he hastened to Austria to extinguish it ; when he embarked from Rochefort, he was dragged to a rock, where vultures preyed on the vitals of this second Prometheus, who, like the first, had brought fire upon the earth. It was at Roche- fort that, after deliberating for a week, after refusing the pressing entreaties of brave and .,^,.;iisi&i&.'.'iv.'. ROCHEFORT. IGl faithful sailors, who would have conducted him across the Atlantic, he decided upon giving himself up to the English. He expected, like Themistocles, to find a Darius ; and he would have found one in the Prince Regent, if the minister who was at the head of affairs had not been the agent of continental jealousy and ferocity, rather than the interpreter of the generous feeling of his country. Yes ! If Napoleon had been in the hands of the English people, and not in those of the cabinet, his noble confidence would not have been betrayed. Whenever I embark, I am, with some slight difference in persons and things, like Napoleon : — I am undone, — for the sea kills me ; when I land again, I triumph, after my fashion, for I return to new life! Rochefort is also a great arsenal ; its port is the Charante, which has been rendered by art sufficiently deep for ships of war of all classes to be launched in it. **Le Due d'Artois," which is still on the stocks, is built to carry one hundred and thirty-two guns. The mouth of the Charante is only five miles from this place; — forts and batteries guard the entrance, and palisadoes enclose it; but all this did not prevent English fire-ships, in the last war, from spreading destruction and terror in this great naval establishment. Beware of the sea, when VOL. M r-ir--i 9 R iggmgmmM 162 IlOCllEFORT. E' •I you are at war with the English ! They are as nimble as the ferret when it pounces upon the poor rabbits. The town is neat and pretty, with a palace and royal gardens ; fine avenues surround it, but the air is pestilential, and the water still more infected. Why should such an important dock be built in such a filthy spot? When it was planned, it was, perhaps, intended to drain the marshes around it. If so, Louis XIV must have consulted his mistresses' favourites instead of engineers, for it is evident that the marsh is so much below the level of the sea, that even Napoleon (whose engineers understood their bu- siness, and were appointed without the help of mistresses) was compelled to abandon the pro- ject. What is still more extraordinary is, that the good and unfortunate Louis XVI was per- suaded to found here, at an enormous expense, a military hospital worthy of a great capital ; as if the patient could breathe better air in this hos- pital than that which was destroying them in the town. On the contrary, it is much worse in an isolated spot in the middle of a bog, where they have not even the benefit of the small cor- rective to the atmosphere afforded by the fires of the town ; and everybody knows what sort of air is inhaled in a fever hospital. Why was it not built two or three miles from the town, on «iswii*«-a*'*" I UOCIIKLLK. 163 los- in in iere for- ires tof Is it on those charming hills where the north wind often drives away the miasma exhaled from the marshes? One would think the whole was devised, by a combination of physicians and apothecaries, to create a demand for prescrip- tions and drugs. I think Rochefort, from the time of its foundation, must have cost France more victims than all Napoleon's battles up to the time of his ambitious enterprizes in Russia and Spain. Now, my dear Madam, let us set out for Rochelle. We are still in a district of sorrowful story, and I feel that my letter is becoming a Jeremiade; but how can one pass with indilFerence through a country which reads *' a great moral lesson" to the reflecting passenger, and, by the horrors of the crimes, which each step recalls to our minds, teaches us the better to appreciate those virtues and sentiments which we ought to cherish ? I fear your comments — you think I have missed my vocation, and that I ought to have been a missionary. By no means, my dear Countess ; I say only what I think, with- out consulting its policy. I should, therefore, have made the worst missionary in the whole world. In entering upon the district of la Rochelle, a flat and marshy tract which offers no object of interest to the eye of the curious, other horrors, not entirely unconnected with those committed r'' I mmmm ik 164 UOCHELLE. ' ■■'' i ii! upon the poor Albigeois, present themselves to the memory, in the shape of religious wars. This country recalls to you the massacres of Cabrieres and Merindol, of Vasi, of Roen, &c., and that of St Barth^lerai ; massacres which excite such a hatred of intolerance, as ages to come will never efface. It recalls to you the assassination of Anne de Bourg, of admiral Coligni, and of so many others ; the gibbets and faggots, the plunderings and burnings, which overspread France, in defiance of faith and of treaties. It recalls to you a duke of Guise, who wrote word that ** all must be killed ;" a Gre- gory, who granted the requisite dispensation for a marriage, to lull the suspicions of the Hugue- nots, and by that means to facilitate the dire conspiracy to murder them all at the same day and hour; a dispensation which a more con- scientious Pius had uniformly refused, and which all canonical laws imperiously forbid. Why must it also recall what I wish to forget, and to pass over in silence ; — a monster of that sex, which in history, ancient and modern, shines with so many gentle, amiable, generous, virtues? And this monster, dear Madam, for the shame of Italy, bore a name often dear to her, and yet dearer to you, to me, and to our friends: — Rochelle, in a word, calls to mind more than a million of victims sacrificed by fanaticism in France alone, for the honour of the I ■jt^,MiU^' ' m ROCHELLE. 165 true faith. With such recollections I entered the bloody theatre of those wars of which religion was never the cause, and always the pretext. This town, the refuge and stronghold of the oppreoocd Huguenots, (hunted like beasts of prey,) is one of the great historical monuments of their dreadful sufferings, and of the courage with which they repelled their assailants. I lodgeu in the house, now an inn, which re- ceived Jeanne d'Albret, queen of Navarre, when, in 1568, she took refuge in these walls, with her son, (afterwards Henry IV,) the prince of Cond^, admiral Coligni, and many more of the proscribed, who fled from the sword of the In- quisition. Something still remains of the mole which Richelieu constructed in 1682, to cut off all communication between the town and the sea, (by means of which the inhabitants received constant supplies from the English,) and thus to subdue by famine a courage against which arms had so often proved vain. This great work, which, if I may use the expression, enchained the sea and the besieged, shows the enterprising and resolute spirit of this powerful minister. La Rochelle is still strongly defended by double ramparts and ditches. Its harbour is a very fine basin, which the phenomenon of the tides, so much talked of and so little explained, fills and empties periodically every six hours ; ,11 .s^J {y- BPIWBiiPPP""*' I GO I, A vKxnfei;. ' '! f/ \'\ its entrance is a good deal obstructed, and, in part, by the remains of Richelieu's great mole. The armoury is spacious, and rich in all sorts of destructive instruments. The whole forms a pretty little town of modern date, upon the ruins of an old castle which had been built to oppose the incursions of the Normans. Let us leave La Rochelle, and pray to heaven that no more Clements and Ravaillacs may arise in France, or elsewhere, to renew these persecutions and murders. At Marons the Sevre divides Aunis from the province which in the French revolution made so much noise, and very ofte'i seemed from a distance a giant, while it is, in fact, but a pigmy. We enter upon La Vendee, which is properly only lower Poitou ; why it is called Vendee, I cannot imagine, unless from the little river Vendie, which w^aters a part of ii. I have endeavoured to ascertain what it was that facili- tated the astonishing resistance made here to the republican armies ; whether I have succeeded or not, I cannot tell ; but you shall hear all I saw, knew, and thought about it, on the spot. La Vendee, if you consider its progress in civilization, is the poorest and weakest province of France ; the richest and strongest, if you reckon only its natural advantages. Before the revolution, it might have been called the Arcadia of France, had it not been inhabited by priests, - i._I _£. !it«fairiifiai»i^.i.~date- l.A VENDUE. 167 too much like those of modern times, and by nobles who were worthy of the darkest period of the middle ages. Its population was a race of shei)herds, as robust as they were simple and rude, and as brave as they were ignorant and uncivilized ; and a country interspersed with meadows and brush-wood, thick woods and plains, hills and vallies ; guarded by the ocean on the west, by the Loire on the north ; having neither great roads nor towns, nor even large villages ; abounding in pasturage and cattle, in grain, pulse, fruits and fine water, — was sure to be a stronghold to its inhabitants, and a dan- gerous labyrinth to the stranger. So much is this the case, that it has always been necessary to resort to negociation when La Vendee was to be subjugated. Perhaps you ask why and wherefore they have so often and so furiously rebelled. The wherefore they did not know themselves, and some of them do not know yet ; but the why was intelligible enough — their priest or their seigneur bid them rebel. Having no ideas beyond their own field, the church, and the ** chateau," they consulted no other oracles than those of the two divinities, the priest and the feudal lord. Having no middle class, (nothing between vas- salage and these super-human personages,) not knowing how to read, write, or speak for them- 168 LA VtNDfei;. selves, they spoke and were informed solely through the medium of their masters. With nothing French but their wretched patois, which is about aa much Turkish as French, they hardly knev' that they belonged to France, and some of them perhaps did not know that such a country existed. They were informed that there was a king, (a divinity of a higher order than their lords and priests) — that mon- sters were about to destroy him ; and this was probably all they were taught to believe. A levy of troops for the republican army alarmed them ; they were told that they would become the assistants, perhaps the victims, of these monsters, which was true; and at length the assassination of that good monarch, (and al- most all his family,) who might be reproached with some faults, but had committed no crimes, was the grand spring which excited them to action, and completed the exasperation and horror which already filled their minds. It was gunpowder thrown upon a raging fire. With excitements so powerful, acting upon the little understanding they were permitted to exer- cise ; and comprehending as much of the revolu- tion, of the opinions and the wants which gave rise to it, as the natives of Thibet comprehend of their Grand Lama, — it is not astonishing that the people of La Vendee gave themselves up Miiim&- I, A VENDUE. 1G9 to revolt and resistance. The excesses which followed were the natural result of the revenge and ferocity which distinguish the heart of "the most noble of creatures." Here you have, my dear Madam, the brief historical sketch, and still briefer reflections, which I made in passing through LaVend(^'e. But its inhabitants, though a little spoiled by civilization learnt in such a school, are still the best people in the world, though in some places they are looked upon as cannibals. It is matter of astonishment, that their commander-in-chief, Chatelineau, who was a waggoner, should so often have led them to victory, even in pitched battles ; (though this is but one illustration of the common remark, that men are formed by circumstances.) It is still more astonishing that France, torn and deso- lated by her own children, — by the royalists on the south and west, and by the republicans on the east, in the centre, and in the north, — assailed by formidable foreign armies, which hemmed her in by sea and land, — could resist at once so many external forces, and internal horrors, combined to destroy her. Nor were these the sole causes of her sufferings : millions of money were employed, (foreign, as I suspect,) to pay the butchers of both parties. Jacobin as well as royalist ; a too frequent concomitant of the sub- sidies granted by foreign powers to blind and furious faction. Ii ■ii I I. g i \ > r .! 1 170 BOURBON- VENDUE. §1 We may now, my clear Countess, pass over La Vendee with a few words, for I have already done my best to show it to you such as it once was ; we will now and then stop a few moments to make some slight observations on what it has since become, and now is. Napoleon intersected it with good roads ; constructed ports and bridges ; built towns and villages ; he made it a fine department, and he caused its capital to rise into sudden existence, by one of those strokes of magic so familiar to him. He called it Napoleonville, and I knew it only by this name, as I had seen it on the map. When I reached Bourbon- Vendee, I asked, very innocently, for Napoleonville ; — the people all laughed in my face ; of course I thought this the fault of my French, so I tried again with all the skill I could muster, and with every kind of circumlocution, to make myself better under- stood : in fact they understood me well enough. " Sir," said the master of the hotel (or, as they call him, the bourgeois,) with his powdered hair, his pigtail, and his impertinent tone, — ''Sir, you are there already : we do not choose to be laughed at." You, who know me, can guess what sort of an answer I made, and how I turned my back on him ; but you do not know what was the consequence. Some of their gendarmes did me the honou)' to inform me that the commissary ol'tlie police wanted to speak to ' I, yt 1 ■ «^ 1 ;i^A^ii«ifi.j.... UOUUBON-VENDfeE. 171 to me, and they were even obliging enough to accompany me thither. 1 cut the matter short. I saw a map hanging up in the room, and I bid him observe that in this map, as well as in my own, the town was called Napoleonville, and not Bourbon- Vendee ; that when it was thought proper to re-baptise a place, the maps should be re-baptised also ; and that they were annoying me for a fault entirely their own. I let drop a word or two more about giving information of their proceedings and abuse of power, and then I turned my back upon them also, after my fashion. I was half inclined to go and complain to the prefet ; but I thought it was better to turn the thing into ridicule against the inn- keeper of the old regime, and the police of the new ; so I contented myself with a walk through Bourbon- Vendee^ alias Napoleonville, or, before this last alias, R^che-sur-Yon. Napoleon, as it seems by the Ime streets and the handsome square which he had laid out, intended to make it a very fine town. Its situation on the flattened summit of a beautiful hill in the centre of La Vendee, intersected by the high roads, which cross from north to south, and from east to west, and watered by the Yon, which flows through the lovely surrounding plains, — all these favourable circumstances, united to the industry and civilization which had already arisen there, 172 NANTKS. could not fail of rendering it a place of political and commercial importance. Napoleon had discovered the only method of permanently subjecting these people, and had succeeded even in attaching them to himself. Now ali its new works are suspended, and the old are going to ruin. Having seen what La Vend^'c was and is, we may now, if you please, my dear Madam, go and drink cider at Nantes in Bretagne. Here we are then at the Armorica of Caesar, the little Bretagne, peopled by the fugitives from the great Bretagne (Britain) when the Anglo- Saxons subjugated it. This province has been successively in the hands of independent counts, — of Charlemagne, — of governors under his suc- cessors, — of petty kings, — of the English, — and of dukes ; until at length Anne, daughter of the last of these dukes, brought it in marriage to the crown of France, to which it now belongs, and is one of its richest provinces. Nantes is one of the most important, perhaps the most important of its towns, though Brest and Rennes have each their pretensions, — the one as the greatest station of the French navy, and the other as the most central and ancient capital of the province, and the former seat of its parliament. Nantes is the ancient Condivienum, inhabited by the Nannetes, and one of the most flourishing l^iMw9M> NANTJ'.S. 173 commercial towns of modem France. The Loire and the Ezdre, which unite tliere, divide the lower part of the town into three islands, which are connected by magnificent bridges ; the upper part of the town rises gradually on a charming hill, crowned by other hills at the back. It carries on trade with all parts of the world; that trade even which human nature loathes, and law forbids, — the trade in negroes. The tide, which affects the waters of the Loire much above the town, brings ships up from the ocean ; the larger ones stop at Paim- boeuf, near the mouth of the river, — a great entrepdt for the commerce of Nantes. Its cathedral is a superb building in the Gothic style, the more beautiful and majestic for being simple and light. If its height be out of propor- tion, it is perhaps because the English, who built it, were driven away before it was wholly completed ; the fault is, that it is too high for its length, and too short for its height. Behind the cathedral is a large square, shaded by rows of thick trees, and extending on the south as far as the banks of the Loire, and on the north to the new canal communicating with the Vilaine, which flows through Rennes, and falls also into the ocean. Another canal was to be cut from the Vilaine across Normandy to the channel, but it seems that all these great pro- ' i i h •t V Li n. L i '111 V !74 NANTES. I 1 N : iJ jects are abandoned, since the fall of the little man of great genius ! We meet him at every turn ; it is impossible to help exclaiming, " Why did not he know how to reign?" He would have been a second Missus a Deo. In short, dear Madam, Nantes is a superb town, and, seen from a little eminence on the left bank of the Loire (that is, from south to north,) it affords one of the finest views that ever was beheld. I will not disgust you with a recital of the horrors which that wretch Carrier, — one of those monsters who disgraced human nature, the re- volution, and France, — committed at Nantes : if T did, I should destroy the pleasing effect of the sketch which I have just presented to your ima- gination; suffice it to say, that, in one single month he sacrificed more than 18,000 victims — men, women, children, and aged people; and as scaffolds and executioners were insufficient to glut his savage fury, to complete the horrible carnage, he took pattern from Nero, and re- newed, on the banks of the Loire, what the Carrier of antiquity executed against his mother at Baia. Let us throw a thick veil over the memory of these tigers, their victims, and the French revolution ; and pray heaven to send us another Clement XIV before the Jesuits have time to prepare a second. I would have ascended the Loire, but I found the 1 the j us i ive 1 1 ANGF.llS. 175 ind nothing but barges used for the conveyance of goods, and this everlasting sort of navigation did not tempt me. Between Nantes and Angers the country is fine, and well cultivated ; but as the Loire is entirely out of sight, the road loses that charm which the windings of a fine river never fail to afford to the eye of a wanderer seeking variety. I should certainly have found the road very mo- notonous, if the society of two agreeable and sprightly ladies had not enlivened it. They are good specimens of the ladies of Angers ; I saw some very pretty women there, but I doubt whether there are many so interesting as my fellow travellers. The society of woman is a fifth element to me, when she is what she should be — that is, like yourself, my dear Madam. Angers has nothing remarkable beyond what I have already described, except the view of the Mayenne. From the centre of the bridge, and from the top of the cathedral, you see it fall into the Loire, about four miles to the south of the town, and w\nd northward through a beautiful valley, whose sinuosities and distance were lost in the mists of evening. There is also a beau- tiful promenade, which extends to a hill behind the town ; and a fine royal coUege, which can only be seen by permission from the pf^efef, and consequently I had not time to inspect it. A ill V 1 I mm wm^m 176 ANGERS. 1'^ 111 til m Jesuitical precaution this : these gentlemen have a passion for secresy. In the cathedral, which is pure Gothic, is a consecrated wafer, the subject of a wonderful miracle. The canon Berenger had no faith in the real presence. One day, when he was cele- brating high mass (a day, probably, when he was a little more incredulous than usual,) at the moment of consummating the sacrament, he felt something in his mouth more solid and sub- stantial than a wafer usually is ; he took it out, opened his eyes (which I suppose he shut to aid the illusion) and saw the blood starting from every print of his teeth ; the miracle was pro- claimed, and all France flocked to adore the wondrous host. It is solemnly commemorated every year, not on the day when it pleased Heaven to work the miracle, (why, the sacristan could not tell me,) but at the F^te Dieu. The sacristan also informed me, that the Host dis- appeared during the revolution, and returned when it was over: I wished to see it, but he could not show it. Angers is the capital of Anjou. It was inhabited at the time of the Romans by the Andegravi, and subsequently (with few exceptions) shared the vicissitudes of Bretagne. From Angers to Saumur the Loire is often in sight, and I felt as if I breathed the more freely ; I ^mmm>r^^ SAUMLR. 177 of le |iy of lin but poor Berton was very near giving me a taate of the air of the prison in this town. I was in Saiimur the very night that he made his bungling attempt at a revolution. It was one of the few times in my life when I saw that a man might lose his head by deserving it. He stopped, with two or three of the unhappy wretches who followed him, at a little bridge, two miles from the town, and sent to ask the mayor's leave (or something like it) to enter. It was natural enough that the mayor should not accede to this polite request; and that it would give him time to reflect, to enquire into the enemy's resources, and to put himself in a pos- ture of defence, all which accordingly happened. He went to them and desired them to march off, which they did. Here, then, are the gendarmes making a general search in all the hotels. I am an Ita- lian, — which is sufficient to excite suspicion; and that is natural enough also; — for, as every- body knows that our situation is very bad, and everybody feels that we must wish to make it better, people never meet with an Italian, but they take it for granted that he is a revolutionary refugee. Besides, they are very well aware that the stranger has shorn us to the quick ; (these gentlemen, the gendarmes, have very likely had some share themselves;) and, as we are con- \ ^K 1 VOL. I. N i ■ 178 SAUMUR. '1 i sequently all very poor, they do not expect to find such crack-brains as myself, emptying their pockets to get old stones to shew to insatiable antiquarians, and running about to see things of which we liave such store at home — fine towns, fine country, fine rivers, fine women, miraculous hosts, dead saints, &c. The fact is, dear lady, I was well accompanied to the house of the sous prefct ; and it required all the eloquence of my frankness, my conscience, and my papers, to keep me from being handed over to the castle ** until further orders :" now the castle is worth seeing, it is true, but I did not wish to see it in this way. I am not oft'ended either with the sous "prefet or the gendarmes, for the circum- stances were urgent, and their situation difficult. On the contrary, I am pleased with them for doing me the honour to profess that they were convinced of my being an honest man. I i\ope they were not mistaken; what do you think, my dear Madam ? This Berton is one of the wretches who forge chains for despotism, and its pernicious satel- lites, to bind upon men. Saturn devoured his offspring; these men devour the liberty they affect to produce. Saumur is a charming little town on the left bank of the ever beautiful Loire. Its miHtary school is a grand and splendid establishment, •(; JOUIIS. 17U left |ary mi. s ■? instituted principally by ** the Little Corporal." It contains specimens of all the regiments which compose the French army, and of course the finest of each. On a single parade they can show you speci- mens of all the different armed bodies of this vast kingdom. The pupils, after having finished their course of studies and tactics, return to their respective regiments, with the office of teachers. I left Saumur with the misery of knowing that many of its inhabitants, and of these pupils, were compromised by Berton — God forgive him ! On the road to Tours I met the commandant- general of that place, who was going to Saumur with his suite. I need only say that Tours is the capital of Tourraine, the garden of France, to give you an idea that it is a pretty town ; it fully corres- ponds, indeed, with the loveliness of its pro- vince; just as Florence does to Tuscany, the garden of Italy. It seems that the beauty of Tourraine has the same attractions for the English as that of Tuscany, for they choose it as a place of residence : I saw great numbers of them. I should have liked to question them a little about the resemblance of these two pro- vinces, and about the character of the inhabi- tants of Tourraine, who seem agreable people; di ■ s \ 180 TOUKS. but, as you know, there is too much ceremony required to get acquainted with an Englishman ; and a man always in a hurry, and running about the world like myself, has neither time nor patience for empty formalities ; besides, these gentlemen, for the most part, see nothing, and think of nothing, but themselves and their own country. This is a sort of patriotism which I respect; and if I do not like the cabinet of St James's, and still less its premier, I cordially esteem the English, as a sensible, firm, enterpris- ing, consistent, and brave people; with some abatement of personal and national pride, and with a little more affability towards well-bred strangers, they would be better still, and I should like them much more. ; Tours is of great antiquity. Under the em- perors it was called Civitas Turonornm. It is also one of the prettiest of modern French towns. It is a model of beauty, like its cathe- dral — of which the portico, the great window above it in the form of a rose, carved in the most delicate tracery, and the two towers, are master- pieces of the grandest style of Gothic architec- ture. The main street, which begins from the magnificent bridge over the Loire, intersects the whole town from north to south, and terminates in a great avenue, which leads from the Porte I em- TO u lis. 181 (le BourdeaiLv in a straight line to the river Char. The coup d'oeil is as beautiful as it is grand, and the Rue Royale is truly worthy of its name. The situation of this place is so lovely, and the air so inspiring, that Louis XI hoped to experience its soothing influence on his sombre and corroding temper, — the curse of all tyrants. He built a palace here, but the revolution, which had ** Destruction " for her motto, razed it from its foundation, as she did also the celebrated abbey of Marmontiers, of which this holy monarch was abbot. The materials of these two great structures now figure in walls of houses which have been recently built in the town. All things considered, perhaps, it is " all for the best." During the wars, or rather the dissensions of the French with their kings, Tours was com- monly the seat of the anti-par liajnent (for they had their anti-parliaments, as we had our anti-popes.) The illegitimate parliament held there in 1591, condemned without scruple the bulls which the very legitimate Gregory XIV had the effrontery to fulminate against Henry IV, for the benefit of his dearly beloved king of Spain, who modestly aspired to the crown of France, as the Bourbons, with more success, afterwards aspired to the kingdom of Spain. It is a strange history this of popes and of kings — It- { < ^1 \&2 lU.Ols. or rather of///////. 1 do not mitlerstand how our poiititis, with all tlicir passions and tlicir vices, pretend to represent Christ upon earth. 1 shouhl liave hked to visit the residence of the Mag^dalen of France, the chateau de la Valli^re, which now belongs to an Englishman. I gave up the project, however, for one some- times exposes oneself to humiliations by apply- ing to an Englishman with whom one is not (in their own phrase) "accpiainted." I is a sanc- tuary, nevertheless, in which [ Si.ould have liked to say a *• pater." There is a fine view from the top of a terrace at the chateau d'Amboise; the chateau in which the simpleton Charles VI II (who entered Italy only to make a parade, and take his turn in ravag- ing it a little) was born, and died. Like many other kings he had better not have been born, that he might not have died with the opprobrium of having done a great deal of harm, and no good. The view from the castle, however, is charming, and the glorious Loire is the most beautiful feature of the scene. The chateau of Blois is grand, and its gardens are very beautiful. There, in the time of the league, the States were held; and there Henri de Guise, and the cardinal Louis, his brother, expiated with their blood the frightful mas- sacres which they planned and perpetrated at I ,w OHI.I'.ANS. I Ha St Bartlu'lemi, ai»cl ou otlicr occasions. Tlicy were, however, but two victims tlic more of religious intolerance, and their murder was only one additional pang to iumianity. Henry MI, who was accused of this murder, soon fol- lowed them, killed by a Christian, a Catholic and a monk! Ahifssus (ihji.ssum 'divochI ; and they are, 1 fear, opened afresh under our feet. Let us leave this scene of gloomy associations, dear Madam, and |)roceed to Orleans. But whither shall we Hy from the horrors of superstition, of fanaticism, and of that monster policy, the prompter of all the blackest crimes? You no sooner enter Orleans than you are distressed by the sight of the statue of its cele- brated heroine in the square. It reminds you of her unhappy fate, and calls upon you to admire her patriotism, (which was her real in- spiration,) her exploits, and the intrepidity with which she braved the mean vengeance wreaked upon her by her infamous judges, because she had saved her country and the honour of the French arms. Orleans is an ancient town ; li: is even sup- posed to be more ancient than the Aureliana civitas in the time of the Romans. It is said that the Druids delivered oracles here, and found it a very profitable trade. This trade is, we find, very ancient, as well as very i PP" 184 ORL£A\\S. (•: '! modern. The town is not beautiful, but i* con- tains a fine cathedral, \7liich is Gothic, though built in the reign of a king by no means a Goth, viz. Henry IV. There was a Gothic mania in France, and Bernini was the first who strove to correct it. The two towers of this cathedral are so very pretty, that, like those of Florence, they should be kept in a case and shown like jewels. Amongst the relics which this place formerly possessed, there were two most precious and extraordinary — some of the Virgin's milk, and some of our Saviour's blood, both quite fresh, and not at all coagulated ; a miracle which it could not be difficult for such relics to work; I only wc ider they had not power enough to escape the revolution, which put an end to so many others. Perhaps the people of Orlea.Ts had rendered themselves unworthy of such an honour by some grievous sin. It was a mortal one, doubtless, to make cannon of two bronze statues, representing the Pucelle of Orleans and Charles VII, and of a great bronze cross support- ing a pelican. These cannon afterwards fell into the hands of the Chouans. The holy Virgin had already shewn, in Italy, that she did not like to stay in impure places. In a little village of Friuli I was told that a wooden Virgin, which was unworthily worshipped by the inhabitants, sent expressly for the Goths P \ J-i 1 j LA Di:AUCE. 185 h to carry her off; liking better to fall into the hands of barbarians than to be profaned by Christians. The good people now adore the empty niche, in the hope that the virgin, for- getting the past, and witnessing the repentance they show for the sins of their fathers, will one day return to her deserted place. If, how- ever, the Goths burnt it, which is possible, they may long wait in vain. I took the liberty, there- fore, to suggest to them that they had better make another, and make her of stone, that she might not so easily desert. The syndic of the village did me the honour to say, that my plan was a reasonable one ; but, he added, the cm^e liked the niche better than the Virgin. To come back to the bronze figures which were melted: they formerly decorated the bridge which unites the town of Orleans to the faux- bourg on the other side of the Loire. Fjom Orleans to Paris you traverse la B^auce, a rich but monotonous plain, about sixty miles in length ; you reach Paris in the night, pretty well tired by a bad diligence and a road not over smooth, and harassed bv the custom-houseofficers and the gendarmes. I had been moreover an- noyed by two ladies, who were, I suppose, going to seek their fortunes in the metropolis, and dis- gusted me during the whole journey by the for- wardness of their manners: there was no escape, for one was in the inside and the other in the I I.' . . f if '&«" %. Frankfort on the Maine, Mai/ VM/i, 1822. My fifth ramble, dear Madam, has been the most prosperous and agreeable. I set out accompa- nied by two of your letters which awaited me at Paris, and on arriving here I found that v'hich you did me the honour to write me on the first instant. It followed my traces, and, perhaps, went in quest of me on its way ; but how is it possible to find me, when T know not in the morning where I shall find myself at night? It guessed my destination, however, better than I could have done : it came and waited for me here, and by anticipating my arrival, prepared an agreeable surprise for me. With all my heart I thank this sweet letter, so nobly inspired by the cares and t ympathies of friendship. It is in vain that we attempt to hide ourselves, 188 I' \ HIS, to be ijj^nurant of wliat passes in our own hearts, or to keep sileiiee : when our liappiness or misery are onee dcereed l)y fate, they will find us out wherever we are. My ereed is, that I'rovidenee has seatterod pain and pleasure on llie earth in e(pial proj)or(i()ns, and that we are more or less liappy or miserable aeeordini;- as destiny eon- duets us more or less in tlu> way of the one or of the other. May she be ever thus propitious to me ! She will be so, while she leads me in the traek of your letters, so lonu;^ as it pleases Providenee to lunuber them anionic the pleasures whieh soothe my unhappy existence. 1 am extremely flattered by the desire you express, that I would continue to relate the course of my wanderings to you, and especially by your complaining that I hurry you alung. 1 thought, and still think, that 1 strolled slowly- enough, and stopped oftener and longer than I ought. In writing to a reader like yourself, dear Madam, it is sufficient to suggest ; — your own mind and history w^ill do the rest. The limits of a letter, and my own Inziness, forbid long narratives ; and brevity, which ought to govern the pen of a rambler, permits only light and sketchy touches. Be })repared, there- fore, my dear Countess, for more slight and hasty descriptions, and let us set out again on another i PAULS. 189 still more rapid excursion. You will fare all the better; you will have no time to hacmiuiicc, and we shall , vor.. I, f) /, — —■ mmmm 194 PA HIS. I- and the philosopher, the moralist and the politi- cian, the architect and the painter. I frequently went to the theatre, where the public does not sit in judgment on the actors, but the actors on the public ; where the occu- pants of the pit ought to be seated in the boxes, and those of the boxes in the pit ; for the pit is in general most respectably filled, while the boxes are in a great measure occupied by cour- tezans and idle fools. I went to the chamber of deputies, where the interests and welfare of the public serve as a pretext to the adherents of old and pernicious institutions, to gratify their private enmities, and to pursue their private advantage; where two opposite parties, while they wage war on each other, carry on a still more destructive hostility to the charter with which the restored govern- ment affected to unite them ; and a third main- tains that selfish and hypocritical neutrality which the Greeks condemned to public execra- tion. I visited the churches, especially those of St Eustache and les Petits Peres, where the Jesuits, (who have begun again exactly where they left off,) true to their character of mor- tal enemies of kings and of people, sow tares and discord, instead of preaching the morality 4)' m\ i 'fm^ % of the ire )r- res PEUK LA CHAISE. 10.- j,n^n. and peace of the gospel ; where the darmes, always the .scabcllum of desi)otisin, and whose numbers a mistaken policy is continu- ally encreasinj^ together with the power of the Jesuits, do the honors of the house of God with muskets and bayonets, hand-cutts and poKccttcs. — I frequented the burial-grounds, the places most congenial to the present frame of my mind, and in which the French now ap- pear to the greatest advantage. The cemetery which is now profaned by the name of Pcre de la Chaise, would be the most imposing, and even the most aftecting spectacle of its kind, if it were not surpassed by that of Bologna in simplicity and true pathos, and if in- scriptions, too characteristically Frcncli, did not interrupt the deep and tranquil melancholy with which so venerable a spot inspires a susceptible mind ; — a spot which contains the remains of Abelard and Heloise ! But hatred and malignity have pursued heir victims even in the grave The hand of power has torn away the monument which filial and conjugal piety had raised to the memory of Marshal Ney. It was feared, per- haps, that it would awaken sentiments of in- dignation at the miserable end of the brave dcs braves. But history cannot be silenced or obli- terated. Why is the cemetery called by the odious .1 IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) (./ A4 .V^, I/.. i/.. ^ s \ 1.0 t^i 1^^ 112 IHII. I.I 125 2.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 J4 < 6" ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 872-4503 > 196 MORFONTATNE. ', i name of P^re de la Chaise ? It destroys all the venerable charm of the place. A spot in which men of all professions of faith repose together in peace, ought not to recall the memory of the author of the decree for the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, or the intrigues and conspi- racies which he organized, and which covered France with lett?rs de cachet. His name ought to be inscribed on Mont- Rouge, where these scenes were revived, and effaced from this place sacred to tranquillity and repose ! This name would excite fear and irritation even in the Elysian fields. That borne by this spot, before Louis XIV bartered it for the complaisance and indulgence of his confessor, was admirably suited to it. It was called le Mont de St Louis. If this had been another Napoleonville, it would, ere this, have been re-baptized. I revisited some of the environs of this capital ; for I feel an actual want of occasional excursions into the country. I went to see the monotonous Versailles, because one must go to see it ; — St Cloud, because I like to contemplate the vestiges of the eighteenth of Brumaire even in the works of nature. But the most delightful ex- cursion to my eye and my heart, was that to Morfontaine, where water, hill and valley, have been brought into admirable subjection by the good taste and the money of Joseph Bonaparte ; MONTAI AUTRE. 197 and thence to Ermenonville, where the Girar- din family converted a wild and unpromising waste into a spot of the most touching beauty. A solita»*y island, surrounded by vast and ve- nerable forests, and by melancholy swans, en- closes a most precious deposit — the remains of Jean-Jaqucs, who died here. Weeping willows hang their ever-mournful branches around his tomb. This touching place exhibits a striking contrast to the bustle and the disgusting gaiety of the Tuileries. I know, my dear Countess, that you wish to ask me some que^ tions about Montmartre, but you feel a repugnance to the subject. This was my case when I ascended the tower of that Te- legraph. I have the same reluctance; yet, since I had gone so far, I could not resist my desire to ascertain the celebrated positions which the French occupied, and which, formidable as they were, they abandoned on the 31st of March 1814, — capitulated, — and suffered the allied ar- mies to enter Paris. They had much less reason to despcir of the fortunes of their country than Emilius had at Cannae ; but the French con- sul was no Roman ; and while the sale of this defection was going on at Montmartre, le Renard boiteiLv was bargaining for that of his docile Patres conscripti in the capital. Paris was too rich and luxurious to feel any desire to imitate ft i . ! 198 ST OUEX. the brave youth of the Polytechnic school, who performed prodigies of valour worthy to be re- corded in a bright page of history. Paris fell ; and the fall of Paris, the senate, and the army, necessarily involved that of their mighty chief. Had it not been for treason and perfidy, he would still have given Blucher and the Aus- trians some good lessons in tactics ; he had even prepared one which would have led them far enough from Paris ; if indeed he had allowed them time to make good their retreat. Lastly, I went to St Ouen. You imagine, perhaps, that I went to sec he spot on which the boon of liberty was conferred upon the French ; or to see the new chateau which is building for the new Duke of Bordeaux. No, my dear Countess ; the first will soon end in nothing; the second is well adapted to its pur- pose — it is a child's baby-house. The porter, who is dressed in the old bag-wig style, would be much more appropriately employed as the gaoler of one of the prisons of the Inquisition. He ^lightens one from the gate by his hideous countenance and brutal manners. I went to St Ouen, for the sole purpose of admiring Mr Ternaux's Cashmirian sheep, and his private manufactory of shawls from their wool. I say private, for it is only a little workshop which he has established in his country-house for his ST OUEX. 199 m own amusement, and for experiments. With great kindness he granted me access to every- thing, and without the slightest reserve or jea- lousy. This is very rare among manufacturers, and especially in establishments devoted to new undertakings. It is true that he had nothing to fear from a man who knows as much of ma- nufactures as Adam did of the trade of a tailor ; but this he could not know, for I had no other introduction to him than my own confiaence in his high reputation for politeness. I quitted this great capital on the 1st instant. I perceived that I am beginning to grow old, for I experienced none of those emotions which are often inseparable from a departure from this labyrinth of pleasures, adventures, and all the offspring of the corruption of the human heart ; where life is more living than in any other place. The chambers being closed, I left the Parisians seriously and intently occupied by the Zodiac of Dendera. It was downright rebellion against the laws of bon-toti not to talk about it — at all times, and m all places, cl tort et (I travers. One man of quality, of whom I civilly enquired for his health, replied in a fit of abstraction, " that he thought it un objet d'ancien culte.'" Another very sensible man called to invite mc S1 '3!**-' r 200 MEAUX. |1T lir to a breakfast given in consequence of a wager he had won from a man who had the presump- tion to maintain that it was ufi signe astro- nomique. A lady, of whom I was taking leave, begged me to postpone my departure till the question was decided, for that it was still wie pierre conjccturale. I set out, notwithstanding, being credibly assured by my hair-dresser, that it was ?ijoujou (Tantiquaire. The Parisians were also a good deal puzzled to choose a picture, in the exhibition of this year, deserving the prize. None such was to be found ; not even Vernet's Tempest, which has consider- able merit, but is very far below the station to which a certain national lianaticism would cla- morously raise it. The road from Paris to Meaux is a continued transition from one delightful scene to another. The forest of Bendy, belonging to the Duke of Orleans (whose prudent mother had the address to preserve all his property through the tremen- dous storms of the revolution) is a grateful and salutary refreshment to the spirits, wearied by the bustle and whirl of the resort of all Europe. The Marne, which divides Meaux, and the smiling hilk which surround it, present the eye of the approaching traveller with enchant- ing valleys and distances. Its cathedral, a I N> >v I'^-JK.- '^•'^. ,■■,■.,. MONTMlllAIL. 201 magnificent Gothic structure, rises majestically in the midst of this beautiful pic ure. At Meaux I saw the great works carrying on upon the canal of Ourk, which was begun by Napoleon, like that of St Denis and St Maure, and will soon supply all Paris with excellent water, facilitate the communication between Brie and Champagne and the capital, and give activity to many considerable manufactories. Meaux is associated with great events in the religious wars of France. Here it was that the Protestants first began to preach ; here it was also that Clotaire caused the body of the miser- able Brunnehaud to be torn in pieces : both were led by ambition to the commission of a thousand atrocious c imes. The valley of la Fert^, which extends nearly from Meaux to Montmirail, watered by the Marne, and skirted by thickets, could scarcely be adequately represented by the pencil of Claude. At Montmirail I heard an enthusiastic de- scription of the battle fought there between Napoleon and the allies in 1814. In this place that treachery first began to shew itself, which gained strength at Craonne, broke out openly at Montmartre, and ended near Fontainbleau. But for the mercenary manoeuvres which con- spired to ruin him, Napoleon, with a handful of ' i.*; a rrSxssa*" :*" m^rimmmtf ii^M ua^in ->iV^'-r^- 202 MONTMIRAIL. it: 6 i i brave men, might yet have driven out the hosts of conquering invaders. So mighty was; the influence of his genius, both from its own native resources, and from the courage which he had the art of rekindling even in the wreck of his armies, when he had to contend against the defection of all Europe; — the defection of the kings, princes, dukes, and marshals, whom he had created; — the defection which extended to his ovm family, when the wretched Murat imi- tated Bernadotte, and joined the coalition ! It was in this French campaign, and chiefly at Champaubert, Chateau Thierry, Vouchamps, Montereau, Montmirail, &c., that Napoleon dis- played the energy, the firmness, and the superi- ority, of a great genius ; end gave a lasting rei)ly to those who affirmed that he could only conquer m masses. But we must moralize a little, and ask whence arose all these misfortunes conspiring to ruin him ? From despotism, my dear Madam, always most fatal in the end to its possessor. By his despotism he disgusted his friends, exasperated his enemies, and damped that enthusiasm which had been excited by the name of liberty, and had enabled France to perform so many prodigies. By his despotism he alienated all minds from his cause ; men thought only of delivering them- selves from the present evil, and looked forward X BAU-LE-DIJC. 203 to the future with hope. They were deceived ; — but the new despots may be deceived in their turn ; and it is precisely because they feel this, that they have called to their assistance antfcls of darlniess, (more powerful, in my opinion, than the genius of Napoleon,) in order to blind the rising generation, first as to their designs, and next as to their actions. But we have made too long a halt, my dear Countess, at this little village of Montmirail. It is time for us to proceed on our ramble. The Marne adorns Chalons with the same charms as Meaux. Chalons is a pretty little town. Fine umbrageous walks and a public park render it a delightful summer residence. The towers of its cathedral are beautiful speci- mens of architecture. St Didier is a place of great activity, and has quite the air of a little dock-yard, from the boat and raft-building constantly going on there. A prodigious quantity of wood, cut in the immense forests surrounding the town, is conveyed by the Marne to Paris. Bar-le-duc was a frontier town of France until Lorraine was exchanged for a portion of Italy, which, ever since the fall of the Roman empire, has served to glut the avarice, ambition, and tyranny, of the stranger. It is a pretty little town, and the valley leading to it would remind V '^m I:' ' Ills. J i ill I, I I n i 204 NANCV. one of Thermopylae, were it less smiling and deliglUfM!. Toiil, a fortified town on the Moselle, which descends from the Vosges, belonged before the revolution to one of those seignorial bishops who refused to recognise kings as their sove- reigns, while they preached to others the divine right of kings. Nancy was the brilliant little capital of Lorraine; nevertheless, Messire Francois must have willingly exchanged it for Florence. The revolution has destroyed the ancient tombs of its former dukes ; new tombs are now con- structed for the reception of bones which, although confounded by insolent demagogues in the same earth with vulgar remains, are easily distinguished by their superior lustre. They are picked out without the slightest hesitation or difficulty. The tomb of king Stanislaus, who obtained a charitable apanage in Lorraine, when driven from his kingdom of Poland, was perfectly respected. So powerful is the effect of the memory of virtuous princes in restraining even the blind fury of a mob ! The mausoleum which contains these venerable jcmains inspires admiration, rather for the sublime qualities of the hero it recalls, than for the talents of the sculptor. A Cena a fresco in the refectory of the Corde- ■??,! M l.rNF'.VILLK. 205 Hers exhibits the same features and character of countenance in the figures, tlie same folds and pattern of tlie table-ch)th, as are to be found in the celebrated dtiu which immortahzed the name of Leonardo in tlie convent delle Grazie at Milan. This picture may i)erhaps (;xcite dis- putes in the rejuiblic of the fine arts : the long residence of da '^inci in France, where he died, and the touches of the figures, which happily have not yet been restored by M. Laurent, lead to the conjecture that he repeated this extraor- dinary work. This would be a pretty little discovery. At Luneville, on the Meurthe, which also takes its source in the Vosges, we find the ruins of the noble castle and the delightful gardens with which the good Stanislaus embellished the town in which he consoled himself for his past misfortunes by the company and conversation of men of letters. He had rendered Luneville the Athens of Lorraine, the abode of the arts, of study, of beneficence and friendship. The tragical accident which accelerated his death, was a calamity to his people, and a grief to all Europe, which admired his virtues and his philosophy. If kings really wish for good maxims, let them bear in mind those bequeathed to them by Stanislaus. They are admirable, and ought to ;. I H 200 iiiVKVir.r.F. f' I i ., bo worn round the neck of every monarcli, as salutary relics worthy of the most ardent devotion. When his ])artisans wished to replace him on the throne of l*oland by force of arms : '• No," replied he, " my friends, if my throne must be cemented by the blood of my subjects, I had rather renounce it for ever." When compelled to fly a second time by the fickleness and turbulence of the Poles, he took refuge in Prussia, which oftered him assistance in the recovery of his crown. Upon this occa- sion he said to his daughter, " Our misfortunes are great only in the eyes of ambition, which can conceive of none more overwhelming than the loss of a crown. Shall I stretch out my hand to regain it ? No ; it is better to await the decrees of Providence, and to endeavour to attain to a perfect conviction of the emptiness and nothingness of all below." But kings, such as those we are now blessed with, would laugh at Stanislaus and at his maxims, and would assure me, (if they ever vouchsafed a word to an insignificant mortal like myself,) that the goodness, and what they would call the weakness, of Stanislaus, were precisely what ruined him. As a man, and as a prince of Lorraine, he was the happiest man and the happiest prince in the world. Let our ,« ^y^l^lUi .^i*^'^i' \ shew ies of mtion !, but lilding ion by n their is per- i bore, itercst- een for ; V and eded in d form the art bed : — ars the id with 1 an air e is de- 3 tomb, t indif- quered, ;ar with broken on the Hove, or STUASBUUG, 201) Genius, fixes his eyes upon him, and reverses his torch. On the steps is France ; her air is not sufficiently noble or interesting, and her counte- nance is deficient in expression, grace, and majesty : with one hand she tries to detain the marshal, and with the other to repulse Death, who is on the left of the tomb ; while Death, with the hour-glass in his hand, tells the hero that his doom is sealed, and beckons him to the tomb, which he holds open : this part of the composition is sublime. On the other side of the sarcophagus is a figure of Hercules, whose deep and manly grief is in striking contrast with that of France, which is, as it ought to be, more lively and expressive, but is in some points rather too mankrce. Altogether it is a grand and interesting composition, and atones for many faults of the chisel : but the conception, beauti- ful as it is, has one fault — it is too sublime for a tomb. Some of the churches in Strasburg are divided by partition-walls, and one roof thus shelters the followers of two different modes of worship. Catholics occupy one half, and Calvinists the other. This singular alliance delighted me much. It seems that the Deity has placed one such ex- ample before our eyes, and says to his creatures, ** Since you all acknowledge me as the creator, the preserver, the ruler, and the supreme judge VOL. r. p 1 \ % II nt ' '**'**^'*i*''m6Mmiitm.iMi 'iaiai^sm%A. i If i 210 STIIASBUIIG. rf f 1 ( I !>•' I of the universe, for once, at least, unite in com- mon adoration of me, and cease to hate and to persecute each other in my name. You are all equally my children, and if your intentions are pure, it signifies little whether the form of your worship be uniform or not." Such, at least, were the heavenly words which seemed to fall upon my ear as I entered one of these singular churches ; and I felt my heart warmed with equal sympathy towards Catholics and Protes- tants. Would thet it might produce the same effect or the hearts of the Jesuits ! But I talk nonsense ; it is not religion they are solicitous about, their objects are far different. You, my friend, are well aware of this ; indeed I think everybody is. Ambitious men and despots think they can turn these men to account : but the day will come when, if things go on as the reverend fathers desire, their patrons and employers will find themselves in a curious mistake. They are fools indeed who imagine that Jesuits labour for others. Strasburg has a university and other useful and charitable institutions. The great hospital is really an affecting sight : the assiduities of art and benevolence are there bestowed with equal liberality on Catholics and Protestants. The cathedral is a wonderful monument of human industry, ft is a Gothic building, re- ]ic l to sail , are your east, . fall ^ular with rotes- same 1 talk citous ►u, my think think eday erend rs will are ur for useful [ospital of art equal ent of ,g, re- f I STRASBUIU;. 211 markable for its antiquity, size, and majestic beauty. The tower has, I think, no parallel in the world. It might have excited the astonish- ment and jealousy of Greece or Rome in the best times of their fine arts. 1 have reason to flatter myself I climbed it higher than anybody had done before me, for I got beyond the region of those inscriptions by which travellers endeavour to transmit their names to posterity. As I consder myself nothing better than a rambler, I have no such ambition. This is a pity, for I was thus deprived of the opportunity of leaving the traces of my discovery of a new world. I was on this tower at a most extraordinary and disastrous moment. Just as I was coming down, a lady, who was walking on the great terrace over the roof of the church, threw herself headlong to the ground ; I saw her execute her dreadful resolution, and I could hardly resist the natural and almost involuntary impulse to precipitate myself after her from the top of the tower, as if I could have flown and snatched her from this terrific fate. The watchmen, v/ho are constantly stationed on this spot, ran instantly to her assistance, but in vain. My blood runs co!d whenever I think of the spectacle then before my eyes — I cannot describe it — she was a beloved wife, and the mother of five children. » ir *,,-v'-, "'''^*'**«WP'**i^iaifefewi*ii«./ 'iitisiiuiiLmf. 212 STUASBUKG. ''I ■! She had long been the prey of a secret and cor- roding grief. I saw no more : I hastily quitted the town with the most heart-rending emotions, nor have I ever been able to get rid of the gloomy and melancholy impressions left by that horrible day. While I write a cold shiver runs through every limb. I must quit my pen, my dear Madam, and seek refreshment and repose abroad. A walk along the smiling and solitary banks of the Maine has soothed my spirits. I resume my pen with fresh pleasure. At a league's distance from Strasburg, we cross the Rhine and take leave of France, at a point in which everything would invite us to linger and to wander farther within her boun- daries, if the Revolution and the Restoration had not sown division and paralyzed the energies of society. But you reproach me, my dear Countess, and justly, with hurrying you through France, without telling you anything about the French. You are weary of stones, ancient and modern ; mountains and plains; hills and vallies; pic- tures from the hand of nature and of art ; gen- darmes and Jesuits : nothing certainly can be moic melancholy or more disgusting than the latter, and even the other topics are dull enough I f ...'^.nuL^^oMii iMmmkim^ fss, Ice, Ich. |rn; )ic- ten- be itbe ugh STRASBURG. 213 in the long run. But national character is a very difficult and a very delicate subject. I will touch upon it, since you desire it, but my disquisition will be neither long nor satisfactory. But few years ago, the French, in my opinion, still answered to Caesar's description of the Gauls, — prompt in resolution, ardent in fight, impetuous in attack, and easily discouraged : of late, however, they seem to me rather changed. Though still kind-hearted and frank, or educated with dispositions fitted to render them so, I observe nevertheless in their present air a certain reserve, seriousness and disquiet, which render them less open, less agreeable, and more pensive than formerly. I cannot pro- nounce decidedly on the causes ; but it may well be imagined that all those great and extra- ordinary revolutions, which have followed so closely upon each other during the last thirty years, must have produced some changes in their character ; for whatever Tasso may say, it is institutions and political vicissitudes, rather than climate or country, which " Simili a se gli abitator producono," to use the words of the poet in an inverse sense. May I hazard a farther guess at the principal causes of the change? This is another difficult and delicate point ; but, if I may judge by appear- i m ■if^m^Atma^-m^:^.^ -■ Xi^ii-itsi^. 214 STUASIU'UCi. ances, the idea of having done so much and accomplished nothing, is deeply mortifying to the national vanity. They cannot but remember that they have descended from a station of glory and power, without obtaining that compensation from independence, tranquillity, and political securities, which they expected ; and it appears to me that pride, vexation, and shame, alter- nately influence thoir temper and their manners. That national vanity which formerly impressed upon their lips the eternal chez ?ioiis, is no longer so eloquent as it was, either among themselves or with foreigners. On this occasion they appeared to me less legef's than the inhabitants of other countries have always been accustomed to consider them; but even if they were as much so as ever, the policy of the government must be not the less circumspect and prudent. The mobility of a people is the more dangerous when, in such a moral situation as I have described, they are agitated by the idea, or the suspicion, that they are deceived by the tortuous conduct of a govern- ment which they had accepted as the best alter- native. A country, too, swarming with young- men of a new character, who have sucked in the principles of the revolution from their birth, and the major y of whom lead a life of idleness ; — a country, whose population yearly increases ^^lifM^^^Mi sruAsnuuG, 215 1 ;ss ling Ithe md Lses half a million, while its resourses are consider- ably diminished, — is a subject for deep reflec- tion, especially when it is the scene of intestine discord and religious intolerance. How, my dear Countess — you wish also to hear something about the king? You wish then to see me under bolt and bar. Remember what the inquisition of state at Venice said, — *'Pauca de Deo, nihil cle Principe.'' It will be so much the wo se for you — you will be bound in conscience to pay me a charitable visit. The king is a good sovt of man ; I sincerely believe it. He would act better if he acted alone. The good he does is his own ; the evil originates with others. But surrounded, like his predecessors, with errors and darkness ; besieged by the importunate desires and passions of his companions in misfortune, who take advantage of his good nature, and by the Sejani of France and Spain, who mislead and deceive him; in- fluenced by a foreign policy, which can never be the true policy of France ; this unlucky king finds himself in a most unfavourable situation, and he would rather, I think, be Stanislaus Leckzinsky than Louis XVHI. The great bridge which Napoleon built over the Rhine, to unite the road from France to that of Germany — from Strasburg to Kell, was very large, though built of wood. It was indeed. t f n t\ •i» ^mmf i *tm s^0'j,e^»M- MiMtsum^. F' I I'; ■»•%. F-.ki »' r.J>»ui"i¥^, J^ .g. "^ Pi; 222 MANHEIM. ■ i ,j of many sovereigns ; and the last dowager of Carlsrulie, Stephanie Beauharnois, who is its solitary occupant, may change her apartment as often as her gown. The confluence of the Neckar and the Rhine adds to the beauty of the country round this delightful town. There is an island lying in the midst of these beautiful waters, which Ca- lypso might claim for its beauty, and Pomona or Ceres for its fertility. Manheim is the scene of the tragedy acted by Sandt. The inhabitants appear to have la- mented his death much more than that of his victim. He is remembered with the feelings inspired by a young man, whom some regard as a madman, and others as a hero. Perhaps, as the assassin of the good Henry IV was almost canonized, people may think themselves jus- tified in extolling the murderer of Kotzebue. Bad example, particularly when it receives the weight of priestly authority, is dangerously powerful. Heidelberg was formerly the residence of the counts Palatine, but when it was burned and devastated by the French, in 1694, they fixed their residence at Manheim. The ruins of their palace, situated on a hill commanding the town and winding valley of the Neckar, in the midst of fairy gardens, afford a singularly :ii^^M''^i^^>*>''»^'^^' WEINHEIM, 223 ■V h ly le Id Id )f romantic picture. The Italian chisel may still be traced in its ornaments ; and its architec- ture, although bizarre, and contrary to all received laws, astonishes the spectator ; the eye reposes upon the whole with considerable satis- faction. A Frenchman has, for ten years, been paying enthusiastic worship to these venerable ruins. He has made a collection of drawings of them, which he intends to get ehoTaved ; his intention is prais:eworthy enough; but if the graver is faithful to his pencil, I am afraid we shall have a new illustration of the fable of the mountain and the mouse. Heidelberg is the seat of one of the most eminent universities of Germany, resorted to by students of all countries. Two nephews of the present Grand Seignor are now there ; — two sons, that is to say, of his wife's sister. At Weinheim, the delightful environs of which are all sacred to Bacchus, we quit the territory of the Grand Duke of Baden. It was enriched with Constance, Swetzingen, Manheim, Hei- delberg, &c. out of the spoils of Napoleon, pro- bably at the intercession of the elder dowager, mother of the empress of Russia. It is im- possible to quit this little state without regret. Its magnificent forests and lovely rural sce- nery are not vulgarized and profaned by the tawdry embellishments of luxury and vanity, as I N \ 'U , •;•;> P i:,5, f I n Ph'- 224 DARMSTADT. I? .■■ '5 1 is the case in some places where even nature becomes insipid, if not disgusting. The pure and salubrious air is free from fogs, and en- hances every charm c»f this terrestrial paradise. Inhabited by a people of the most amiable and excellent character, governed by a repre- sentative government, by a prince of unshaken honour and fidelity, it is the land of tranquillity, and of that just and equal liberty to which alone men ought to aspire. Those who aim at too much defeat their own wishes ; like the Guelphs, who wanted to unite the whole of Italy under one government, without considering the Apennines, by which nature has clearly divided it into two ; nor of the immense difficulties which passions and interests would have opposed to the choice of a single capital. In short, my dear Countess, this is the place I should choose as an asylum, if I could bear to renounce my country. At Darmstadt, the capital of the Grand Duchy of Hesse-Darmstadt, I was surprised at finding a company of actors, whose melodious and excellent singing made me enjoy, as in a trance, the sweet illusion of being in one of the best theatres of Italy. For a moment, I could almost have taken the principal actress for our charming Dogliani. I had already come to the conclusion, at Carlsruhe, that the German stage .JiS&tmaMti. ri;-4««ift^. la DARMSTADT. 225 is far superior in music to the French, which is sometimes paradise to the eyes, but always hell to the ears. I was confirmed in this opinion at Darmstadt. The duke has great taste for music. He encourages the actors by his attention and applause : nor does his 'brdness for this art render him negligent Oi others. His palace, which is plain and unostentatious, contains some excellent Italian paintings, and a very choice museum of natural history, especially in all that relates to the family of the polypi. Here is a covered place cVarmeSy the timber- work in the roof of which is interlaced (if I may use the expression) in so magical a manner, that it appears to be self-sustained. The suniptuous Casino of the nobles, in which the congress meets, is also deserving of notice. The new town is handsome and cheerful, as are its gardens and suburbs. These people and their ruler also enjoy the happiness of a government founded on the basis of the three powers ; a basis pointed out even by Cicero as the best means of establishing a firm and durable republic. This reform has already introduced order into the finances, and has placed them on the same footing as those of the neighbouring states of VOL. I. Q n w ■ iammi m im i B!*mm'^mmmm t .. T M nil 22C MEN TZ. I; ik< '! f '' 1 I ( M Wurtemberg, Bavaria, and Baden, whose sove- reign} had set the example as if by common accord. They have wisely anticipated the revolution which all men are meditating, and which oppres- sive measures, by retarding, will serve but to mature. They have at the same time emanci- pated themselves from a powerful influence which might very likely have enslaved them as it has done so many monarchs before them, and renew the history of Sigismond, Charles V, and Ferdinand II. The most striking object at Mentz, excepting the fortifications, is the view of the Rhine ; it is very varied, and affords a wonderfully fine distant prospect. The curiosity of Mentz how- ever is its garrison, composed of the troops of Prussia, Austria, and Hesse-Dai mstadt, who shared it among them when the Confederation of the Rhine, like the rest of the world, made the most of its defection from its protector. One might be tempted to suspect that the members of the Holy Alliance, though saints, are not wholly free from suspicion of each other. History too reminded me, in her severe and eloquent lan- guage, that this place, which is now become the bulwark of legitimacy, is the very spot where Boniface authorized the usurpation of a throne MEXTZ. 227 le in favour of the very illegitimate Pepin ; an usur- pation which pope Zacharias confirmed in con- sideration of receiving the exarchate of Ravenna and Pentapolis. Kings and popes make and mar legitimacy at their w^ill and pleasure. They give it as a tonic to the sick whom it is their interest to keep alive, but as a powerful depletive to ^hose who are upon their condemned list. It is like the sacred vessels which none but priests, and those whom they privilege, may touch : anathema sit, if the profane vulgar lay a finger on it. Boniface was an Englishman ; it appears therefore that Englishmen were not quite such strict maintainers of legitimacy then as they are now. Mayence, Mentz, Maintz, or, if your antiqua- rians choose, Maguntia, is an ancient city, but I know not at this moment whence to derive its origin. It was the capital of the electorate of that name, and is of considerable size. It contains handsome palaces, beautiful fountains, and fine walks ; and its cathedral is a noble specimen of Gothic architecture. The Chapter of Mentz is the most celebrated for its aristocracy in all Germany. Even princes are members of it, nor can any one be admitted to a seat in it unless he be born a canon — that is to say, unless he come of a privileged family. It signifies little m m -?i>i i' i^i r ii » i t- i i i> ji i m i i i m 'M'' IkM'f'. u 223 MF.XTZ. • I I' f-i: oil ' i- whether he be good or bad ; whether he can read and write, or not. Anybody can read the service for AI. le Cluino'mc ; and the vices and debaucheries of the great are only lively, engag- ing, fashionable sallies. It was necessary that these canons should be exalted personages ; for as our pope is taken from the body of the sacred college, so the chief metropolitan, and first elector of the empire, was taken from this chapter, and took prece- dence immediately after the king of the Romans, or, in other words, the emperor of Germany. It is not necessary to be a priest in order to be a canon of Mentz ; indeed, it would be ma- nifestly useless, for if a man is born a canon, he must of course be in priests' orders before he is born, after the fashion of the family of Aaron. From Mentz I ascended the Maine, which at that point flows into the Rhine on its right bank. The boat was not splendid, but the country all the way was most agreeable. I shall stop two or three days longer in this de- lightful town, and shall then pursue my way ; — what way, I know not ; for, as I am independent of everything but the laws, divine and human : I do not choose to make myself the slave of plans — which, moreover, are constantly subject to be thwarted and baffled : I like to leave my- self open to chances and surprises. t I '- ffliiSBf^n jfe5ISIt/\l). '2S.i him on every side, conNpired to oppose iu liiin. If the retreat ol' Zeiiophoii was not :i fable, — as liis hero was an aJKI (»IM . of ICnro|H\ is oru; iusturn'o of the a(lvimt5i(jj(;H it K'iipcd. lie liiiH |ii-()l)iil>ly ;i ^'ood dciil to i'v.nr from |)oliti(,'al cliaiip^rs; nnd (here arc pcrliapH otluMs yet more Nt.al>l(! than lie. Tlir (!iilli(' 1^ - ' .« .,1! 238 COBLEXTZ. those times, from the first act of the reign of Frederick II. He made the nobles swear to coin no more counterfeit money, not to rob on the highway, &c. What a pest must such chiefs have been to their vassals ! The vine which yields the delicious wine called Rhine-wine, clothes all the hills, and even the rocks, which rise from either side of the river from Bingen to Coblentz. In my opinion, this is the best and most wholesome wine in the world. The German who replied to the Mussul- man that he found his one wife too much for him to manage, and that he liked a plurality of bottles better than a plurality of wives, was probably from this district. Those who do not like to make the passage from Mentz to Coblentz in the boat, may equally enjoy all the enchanting scenery of the Rhine by the road which Napoleon cut on its banks, across the mountains and rocks, rivers and morasses, which obstructed this great under- taking. Let us go on to Coblentz, dear Madam. This city belonged to the elector of Treves. It was added to France at the time of the revo- lution, and Prussia has taken it to herself by way of healing her past wounds at the expense of the Restoration. It is now become a perfect school of fortifica- tion. You will ask me for what end ? — I have Ill m "r p «iWi > EMS. 239 lay the by Inse ica- lave no idea. It can hardly be with a view of making a rampart against the attacks of foreign powers ; for, as it is situated on a slip of land wedged in between two or three different states, and might of course easily be cut off from all resources, fortifications would be a mere drain of men and money to Prussia in time of war, and would offer a very tempting bait to the enemy. The point of land on which the city stands is a peninsula, of great natural strength, formed by the confluence of the Moselle and the Rhine, which add to the strength of its artificial means of defence. Would that sovereigns and their subjects would fortify themselves by means of mutual good faith and confidence ! This was the sentiment which rendered the armies of Greece and Rome moving fortresses. I spent two days at the baths of Ems. They are situated in a perfect well, and have all the disadvantages, and none of the advantages, of mountainous country. They are notwithstand- ing extremely frequented on account of the astonishing effects of their waters. While I was there, a lady, who had long given up all hope of becoming a mother, found her wishes realized almost as soon as she arrived, and was even persuaded she should bear a son. These baths are perhaps the sanctuary of Aracceli of Ger- many, and this a true miracle del Banibino. I stopped at Neuwied for the purpose of ■Hl^??''^ n ,0 i\ , » m 'SS y '( :' !■ ;?i I. ! It 240 XF.IJWIED. knowing, or rather, I should say, of seeing, the Moravian brethren. They regard Huss as a martyr, and Martin V as an assassin. They cannot reconcile themselves to the circumstance of his having burnt the great reformer alive, although furnished with a solemn safe-conduct ; nor could I persuade them that there are cases in which nothing is inviolable to sovereigns, and that reasons of state and of religion take prece- dence of all others. The austerity of their manners is much soft- ened. That community of goods, which made one great patriarchal family ot the whole body, exists no longer ; and my pocket suffered for my high opinion of their good faith and probity in the sale of their merchandize. I found them more rapacious than Jews or Catholics. in proportion as the head gains, my dear Countess, the heart loses. This is a truth which strikes one particularly in travelling ; and when I ruminate on the notes I have made in various establishments for education, it appears to me that the youth of the present age are formed rather with a view to personal ad- vantages than to enlarged and generous sen- timents. The prince who bore the title of Neuwied, and was formerly its immediate sovereign, has been, like many others, mediatized. He is the happier for the change. He is enabled the THE RHINE. 241 dear truth and lC in •ears are ad- sen- ried, has is the the better to perform the duties of domestic Ufe, and the people revere him as a good citizen. His gardens on the banks of the Rhine are delightful, and his exotic cabinet of natural history is rich in animals which his brother collected in America, especially in the Mediter- ranean parts of Brazil. On the opposite side of the river is seen a mausoleum raised to general Hoche, on the spot where, like Epaminondas and the great Gusta- vus, he perished in the arms of victory. Andernach is, in my opinion, the point at which the Rhine is seen in its greatest beauty. The most varied scenes fade into the distance, and recall that extraordinary one at the theatre of Caserta, when at the time of the eruptions of Mount Vesuvius the back of the stage is thrown open, and that magnificent and tremendous spectacle, at a distance of twenty miles, pre- sents itself to the eyes of the spectators. Ruins scattered here and there form most striking inci- dents in the picture ; such are the different objects which form the middle scene ; mountains jutting out, one behind another, are exactly the side- scenes ; and the boats moving along the surface of the water are the actors. I was really in extacy. An old convent in the island of Frauenwort recalls the history of the unfortunate Hildegonda. On the opposite side of the Rhine are seen the VOL. r. H m-m-mX. I \ 1 242 THE RHINE. remains of the castle whence the disconsolate Rolando, whom she thought killed in the cru- sades, incessantly reproached her with her pre- cipitation in taking the veil, and whence he beheld her committed to the tomb. This was the termination of her long sufferings. II piu bel del suoi d) (ii il giorno estremo. Lower down on both shores the celebrated Seven Mountains seem to have clustered round this mighty stream, as if to form a crown worthy of its deity. At this point the allied sovereigns have erected a monument in commemoration of their glorious passage of the Rhine in 1814. It never occurred to them, apparently, that they thus recall to the mind of the spectator the many occasions on which the French passed it to their shame. Nothing blinds princes so much as flattery. The king of Prussia transported the univer- sity to Bonn, on account of the tumults which hiid taken place in it, and which made him think it expedient to get rid of it from the inte- rior of his dominions, and to place it between the fortresses of Cologne and Coblentz, under the guardianship of a regiment of cavalry, and of the orthodoxy of the people of this district. BOXN' 243 ver- Ihich him Inte- een ider ilry, this The magnificent palace which was formerly the residence of the electors of Cologne, seems to have been built on purpose for this establish- ment. It is exactly fitted for it. A magistrate, intrusted with the discipline of the university, is empowered to prevent and to punish the poetical licences of the students : the excellent order which prevails, and the learning and talents of its professors, seem to promise it great celebrity. One thing struck me as remark- ably useful : in many of the sciences theory goes hand in hand with practice ; for the pro- fessor goes with his scholars directly from his school and his lectures, to the sensible demon- stration of the facts he has expounded, in clinical halls established hard by. Before the Reformation the Germans went into Italy to study what are called the faculties, the sciences, literature, everything in short belong- ing to the higher branches of education. Bologna, in particular, was greatly resorted to by them, as well as by students from all the north of Europe, who were attracted by the great celebrity of that university and of Italy. Now Germany is independent of Italy, and of the whole world, in literature, science, &c. The Reformation diffused light ; and the dukes of Saxony, Frederick the Great, and Joseph II, civilization. For the last half century Germany has swarmed with men of learninof. ,..# "■^^^-^■'^■■'iiAiifiifc:. iifh r j^^i^:- 244 BONN. Napoleon taught the Germans to fight and to combine as a nation. Even the nobles blush to remember what they were, and the whole people are no longer machines or mercenaries : they are valiant soldiers, and frequently pro- found thinkers. The revolution is said to be ended in France ; how true that may be, I know not ; but in Germany it is only beginning ; nor will all the efforts of the Holy Alliance arrest its progress. Germany may pomt to her youth with as much pride as Cornelia did to her sons; let us hope they will be more successful. If I had the presumption to give advice, I would recommend their princes to give them good in- stitutions, rather than surround them with fortifi- cations and dragoons. The time will come when they would find the wisdom of this course. Instead of allying themselves with the supporters of Ultramontane policy, let them ally themselves with their own subjects. In the love of the latter they will find living ramparts in time of need ; from the perfidy of the former they will find, as Henry VII of Luxemburg did, poison even in the sacred elements. Let them recollect what the emperors promised their people at their election, before the despotism of Charles V broke through the formula of the oath. The elector of Bonn, or of Cologne, was one of the ecclesiastical electors, like those of Treves : .iBi„ri,-;.iii'«»n,^ BONN. 245 one reves and of Mentz, whom the newly-elected em- peror always called ** his dearlif beloved nephews,'' though they were generally three times his own age. I only remark this circumstance as one in- stance of the strange, extravagant, and often ludicrous character of the forms of courts. The number of electors was at first limited to seven, and the reason for this number is as singular as the epithet Nephews. Charles IV, the author of the famous golden bull, wished to con- secrate its creation or confirmation by some sacred number. Seven was accordingly chosen, on account of the seven gifts of the holy spirit, the seven agonies of Christ, the seven rejoicings of the Virgin, the seven branches of the mystical candlestick, the seven mortal sins, &c. Towards the end of the last century, however, the number was encreased to nine ; what was the peculiar recommendation of this number, I have not learned. They are now reduced to No. 0, by far the most convenient, and, in my opinion, the most sacred number for this purpose. Elections are now dispensed with ; and by way of marking the commencement of a new era of independence, the present emperor, who was Francis II, is nov/ Francis I ; so that any future historian who attempts to rectify chro- nology, subverted by all-subverting ambition and policy, must call the husband of Maria Theresa, ■f ,\mt r- '***«a*«M«Mi»,*#;. I" I tn n ^ w ii — »w<»w K 1/ i ^il * i , tl 'i II 24(; IU)NN. reigned under tlie name of Francis I, who Isancis 0. In the terrible struggle with Napoleon the sovereigns have been the only gainers. The Germans, who made such generous and devoted cH'orts to support it — especially the Prussians — remain precisely as they were. They have not forgotten however that the promises solemnly made them have been violated. But we have lost sight of the city of Bonn, my dear Countess. Let us return to it a minute. I am led back by a very curious cir- cumstance. 1 was introduced to Dr Walcher, and was taken to see a woman for whom he had made a new nose, after the original one had been entirely corroded by cancer. The piece of flesh with which he performed this extraordinary opera- tion was taken out of her right arm. It is really a wonder of art, and forms a sort of revolution in surgery, which has hitherto taken away, but never added. If we have a cancer* the surgeons cut away the diseased part, and often a considerable portion of the so\md with it. If we break a leg or a thigh, for expedition's sake, or perhaps by way of experiment, they cut it off. If our tooth aches, they pull it out, and happy are we if they pull the right ; in short, we are always sure to be losers by surgery COLOGNE. 247 as well as by medicine. Here, on the contrary, is a part of the body restored, — a nose too! Surely after this Dr Walcher deserve^ a temple more than ever Esculapius did, who, with all his herbs, 1 am convinced, never made a nose. The lady, it is true, has lost something ; but what is a little bit more or less in an arm, com- pared to a whole nose? Let us go on to Cologne. The journey from Bonn to Cologne is more agreeable by land than by water. When the surrounding country becomes flat, a river loses all its charms. Cologne is an immense city. It was sancti- fied by the presence of innumerable abbeys, convents, colleges, relics, miracles, and true believers; and was of course a rich mine to priests and monks. These gentlemen have not been great gainers by the Restoration, which they worked so hard to bring about. The king of Prussia has found it extremely convenient to leave them in the state to which Napoleon had reduced them; of course they grumble most delightfully both at the Restoration and at the Restored ; — and really they have reason, for in a change which they invoked as they would a second Messiah, they have lost a prince whom Pius VII proclaimed the Restorer of the church, and gained a most determined heretic. They have, however, still the body of St fJ -r-*- i'i 2 IS ( ()|,0(.N I . Trsula, and hrr iIoviMi tlioiisan*! vir^niis, IVIy ,i;ui(li* assuii'ilmr tlu'y wcw all luMliu'lly ^rnuinr; l)ut as (ho (JtTiuaus aii' iviuh'ivd ralhrr sow. towards thr cabiiH't of St Jamrs's by the dis- appointincnts of the Restoration, tlu\si> h^n^lisli virt;:ins arc no longiM- in j^rcai riuiurst in(Jorn»any. The only prrson who gains by tluMn is the sacris- tan, who gvts a l*cw I'rcdcrics IVoni strangers by opening the door of the eiiureh (kept constantly shut) around which these venerable reniaius are suspended. The bodies of the Magi add something to the reduced income of the cathedral. A heretic, who has six iVancs to throw away or ints, may always see them ; but they are shut to a pious Catholic who lias nothing to otl'er but ins devotion. Their identity is established beyond a doubt, by a Latin manuscript which I saw, and which, having an episcopal seal attached to it, cannot of course be apocryphal. It is to be regretted, however, that it is still doubtful whether the three venerable men, who visited the infant Jesus at Bethlehem, were Magi or kings, — a point which, as you know, my dear Madam, has caused much discussion among ecclesiastical historians. Some even go so far as to assert, that they were neither the one nor the other ; but such people are clearly convicted moilicn' Juki. For my own <'OI,<)(iNK,. 24!) |)iirl, I iniisl conlV'ss, tliut I am ii('(|uuii)t<'(| with IK) other (Mclcsiiistical hiHtory thiiii that, which the rcvciiMul lather, rector of l\\v, college of Soinaschi, iiia me hrarii, and which instructed IIS to h(;lieve whatever our priests tohl us. The only observation I shall permit myself, therefore, on this important sufijcct, is, that tlu! reverend ^entlenuiii of the cathedral of(N)lo^nc appear to think it a sacred oblif^ation to reim- burse thes' three kings, or Maj^i, out of the pockets of stranpfcrs, for all they e.\[)ended in the gold, myrrh, and incense, which they offered to our Lord. It s impossible on any other supj)osi- tion to account for the charge of six francs to see the outsidcs of boxes, — for one is not permitted to know what they enclose. You ])robably wish to know how they succeeded in collecting the three bodies, seeing that one was an African, another a Persian, and the third 1 know not of what country. The manuscript informs us, that these three sacred bodies were transported by St Helena from Persia to Con- stantinople; — (you are so well versed in history of all sorts, that you doubtless know whether St Helena ever travelled into Persia) ; — that the Crusaders presented them to the archbishop of Milan, — which may be true enough ; and that from Milan they travelled to Cologne, nobody knows how: but there is no doubt about '■■^'ttiiamtsmmmm w n . iiiiiiijii w .jf„ iiiir'H ''■iff:' I,. ri i If n h, 250 COLOGNi:. the fact. From whatever place, or by whatever means, they came, one thing seems clear, that it was their destiny to travel both during their lives and after their deaths. Their travels re- commenced in these latter times, for the canons took them about to escape the dangers of the Revolution. They now repose in peace under the auspices of the Restoration, and make more money than any merchant in Cologne. The king of Prussia has fortified this city like- wise : 1 wish he may not meet with the same fate as the king of Sardinia at the treaty of Cherasco in 179G, when general Bonaparte took away all hi^ fortresses with the dash of a pen, — or of the emperor of Austria at the battle of Marengo, when the First Consul took them by dozens without giving him breathing time. The lovers of the fine arts must not forget to see the Martyrdom of St Peter, whom Rubens has represented crucified with the head down- wards, in the most difficult and astonishing manner. What a picture ! It is brought back from Paris and placed in the church of the same name. I intended to continue my route along the Rhine, and to see Holland before I crossed over to England; but the heat, which was insupport- able, although at fifty-one degrees of latitude, and we were only in June, discouraged me, particu- i?t "'*' nis ick the to kt- md ;u- JUlLLEllS 251 larly as my health was not good. 1 therefore shaped my course towards Belgium. I felt great regret at taking leave of an excellent Saxon family, with whom I had travelled very agreeably from Mentz. Another Prussian fortress at Juilliers, — and the work of fortification is still going on. Had it not been for one of his latest faults — that of leaving his best troops imprisoned at Hamburg, Dantzic, &c., — Napoleon would per- haps have obtained more decisive victories at Lutzen and Dresden, would not have lost the battle of Leipsic, and, by stopping the progress of the enemy on the banks of the Rhine, would have gained time to unite his forces, and thus have obtained an honourable peace, or have prepared for fresh exploits. This is a striking lesson, and has obviously not been lost upon the principal actors in the drama, who are all building fortresses. But why are they arming themselves thus ? This is a question / do not choose to answer, but which must be answered in time. History, and observation of the ordinary effects of the wilful- ness of kings, teach us that nations are often on the verge of slavery when they make an indiscreet display of their vehement desire for freedom . It was tyranny alone, and not fear of foreign m |r >1^ ll il 1 ( '■**»i»/iu*^tMmm0it'. •A^ [ ^fl m '■4 15 !> 252 AIX-LA-CHAPELLE. invasion, which reared the castles of Naples, Rome, Sienna, Florence, Milan, Turin, &c. The king of Prussia has refused his subjects the constitution which he distinctly promised them as the reward of the heroic efforts they made to replace him firmly on his throne ; he may well therefore have to build fortresses. He has had the miserable bad taste to become the very humble servant of the Holy Alliance, and the enemy of his people. This is not taking the highest or the safest political ground. I took a few baths at Aquisgrana, or Aix-la- Chapelle, which has suffered greatly in the opinion of travellers by the exorbitant charges of its inhabitants at the time of the convention of the three great monarchs. This is a very small local evil, in return for the very great general benefit they confirmed upon legitimacy and upon all Europe. The tomb of Charlemagne is as simple and unpretending as he whose ashes it covers was heroic and illustrious. Nothing now remains of his sword, buckler, &c., which have been dispersed since Otho HI took them, with a profane hand, from this cathedral. It is conso- latory however to find that Aix-la-Chapelle still possesses one of the Virgin's gowns, the swaddling clothes of the infant Jesus, the sear- cloth which enveloped his body after death, ARDENNES. 253 and the napkin which received the bloody head of St John. The satisfaction we must all ' feel at this circumstance, is indeed some- what alloyed by their being kept from every eye under triple lock; they are shown to the faithful only once in seven years, and even then from the top of the tower, which is much higher than the body of the cathedral — itself by no means of inconsider?ible height. It is important to observe that the napkin, which wrapped the head of St John, may serve to determine a serious dispute among historians and painters, who insist on putting it on a dish. In the public palace, in which the emperors were crowned before the religious wars, is the picture representing the Congress which Maria Theresa won over, — and with it the empire, — from the claims and influence of France ; her handsome Kaunitz figures as the principal person in it. All recollection of that great congress which established the Holy Alliance, and thus gave peace and happiness, as they assure us, to the whole world, seems to have vanished. The road through the Ardennes is skirted with pastures, copses, and valleys, which furnish full employment to the eye and the imagination of the traveller. It leads him most agreeably to Li^ge, lii f 11^ v* '■mamummmm''^--KgHii '% .-"?> I hi 254 MF.OF.. 1/ ti ' t now the frontier town of the kingdom of the Netherlands. The continental system had raised the manu- factures of this town to a high pitch of perfec- tion, and greatly enriched its inhabitants. It is now in a very declining state, and finds out that it cried "Wo/f" without reflection, and in mere imitation of its neighbours. There is a very fine manufacture of arms, and a great cannon foundry, on the banks of the Meuse. It is, I suppose, for the sake of keeping them em.ployed, that the government surrounds the city with forts and ramparts. One is led "^o imagine that in Germany, as else- where, sovereigns are afraid of losing what they have acquired ill, and govern worse. At Li^ge we quit Germany and enter the Low Countries. I take leave of the ffood Germans with regret ; I already began to get attached to them. The Germans I have met with in the course of this and the preceding ramble are kind- hearted, calm, obliging, well informed, and eager for information ; industrious, simple and sincere. Their temper is mild and humane, their opinions are liberal ; nor would they now sell themselves, as they formerly did, to combat the rising liberties of America: but there is nothing violent or fero- cious in the resolution they appear to have ^ger jre. Ions ties |ro- lave lUlUSSELS. 255 taken with one accord — no longer to be the Germans of former days. I wish their calmness and moderation might serve as a model to the people of other countries, who are too ardent and impetuous in their wishes and designs. Their success would be the more certain in the end. In Germany we do not meet with that revolting display of vindictive passions or of religious intolerance which we are still con- demned to mourn over throughout a great part of Europe. The bitterness and rage of perse- cution are unknown. Yes, my dear Madam, I repeat, the Germans are the only civilized peo- ple who preserve some vestiges of patriarchal manners. It is with the liveliest satisfaction that t avail myself of this occasion of paying my humble tribute of esteem and admiration to this excellent people ; I wish them, with all my heart, the happiness they deserve. There is nothing remarkable in Louvaine, except a great university without students, a great canal without commerce, and a great cathedral without a steeple or a bishop. Those however who are fond of shapeless masses and architectural extravagancies, may go to look at the Town Hall. Although Brussels is a town of great import- ance, adorned with magnificent buildings and delightful walks, cheerful from its general air of ,1 -I' \k i^i>mii^tmMii^iMt.-v,^iS* tf umU ' » lit ' . tn'm'^Kmimimf K h: ' * 25G WATERLOO. comfort and from the amusements with which it abounds, rich in manufactures and in the pro- duce of its soil, and interesting from the poh- tical changes with which it is so largely asso- ciated, yet my mind was so absorbed by that last and greatest event which changed the face of Europe — perhaps of the whole world, — that I approached it only as an accessory to the principal object of my curiosity — Waterloo. Grouchy remained inactive in the rear, four leagues from the field of battle ; — perhaps in- deed the Prussians had intercepted the dis- patches which ordered him to advance. We must try to believe that this was the case. Ney, on the left, from obstinately persisting in obeying the orders he had received, more effectually served the king who sentenced him to be shot, than the emperor who had cieated him marshal, duke, and prince. Soult, at the head of the right wing, observing Bliicher advancing to- wards him, vainly urged to an immediate retreat *' cette tete obstinSe,'' which, invariably rebellious to every opinion contrary to his own, resisted even the evidence of demonstration. Napoleon declared that he was determined to brave, by a daring movement, both treachery and the enemy. He advanced rapidly with his guards upon Wellington's centre, hoping to break his line ; but the latter, opening his formidable cross mm^ ting ore to him dof to- reat ious sted lleon ya my. pon ne ; ross M'ATERLOO. 257 batteries at a judicious and well calculated distance, and presenting fresh troops advanta- geously posted behind a hill, successfully re- pulsed him, till he was supported on his left by the arrival of Bliicher, who fell upon the right of Napoleon, and thus disconcerted his whole plan of attack. He was then enabled to reinforce his right, which had given way, to strengthen his centre, and with one powerful combined attack carry all the French lines. The latter, surprised at the news of Grouchy's absence, and over- powered by the junction of two powerful ene- mies, offered farther resistance, only to render the enemy's victory still more glorious, and to exhibit to Europe the remains of French bravery. My cicerone, who was one of the guides of the French army, and who would give you any account of the battle you liked for your money, frankly said, that everybody had fought bravely in that great Carrousel. But desperate would have been the situation of the English, had they been unsuccessful. The vast forest in their rear might perhaps have afforded them a momentary concealment; but when dispersed, they must eventually have fallen, in detail, into the hands of the con- querors, and the materiel of the army must have been completely destroyed. This imprudence, as it is called, on the part of VOL. I. s T^m W A rK.Kl.Dl). li I) Wellington, is regarded by the partisans of Napoleon as a proof that he advanced with some confidenee of" success ; but unprejudiced people will admit that the English and Wellington fought like heroes, bravely and fairly ; for the English on the field of battle are very different from the English of the cabinet of St James : and history, without indulging illiberal con- jectures unworthy of her pen, will proclaim this day's fi^'hting, and this victory, as the greatest and most important military exploit recorded in its pages. The battles and victories of the Greeks over the Persians, and those of the Ro- mans over the Carthaginians, were productive only of partial consequences ; but the battle and victory of Waterloo shook the whole world, and still influences the opinions and passions which agitate the two hemispheres. The partisans of Napoleon still console themselves with the ifs and bids ; but fate admits of no ifo or bids ; the career of this extraordinary man was closed, — and he fell. Fate decreed that Toulon should be the cradle of his extraordinary political and military renown, and Waterloo its grave. It was also the will of fate that we should be spectators of both. Let us meditate on the subject, and draw useful lessons from it : but glory, which, when ooce obtained, fate itself can no longer withhold, will be his to the end of time. CJIIKNT. •250 of ifs the len )ld. < What may be considered as a sint ^^here was fought the famous battle of Jema|)pe. One more observation, my dear Countess, — it Hows naturally from my [)en ; — Soult seemed destined to give Wellington a great deal of trouble : at Toulouse, but for the diffi- cult and dangerous circumstances in which he w. s placed by the invasion of the allies; at Waterloo, had his advice been taken, he would probably have cast considerable shade over the military glory of the hero of Albion. I quit Waterloo with a mind plunged in meditation on the fall of empires and of kings. I arrived at Ghent, the residence of the ancient earls of Flanders ; embellished by the dukes of Burgundy ; and the [)lace fixed upon by Austria for the capital of the domain which she inherited from the daughter of Charles le Temcraire. This city still retains the traces of its ancient splendour. Intersected by canals supplied by the Scheldt, the Live, and the Lys, every merchant can ship the goods from his own warehouse to Antwerp, Lille, Bruges, Brus- sels, Ostend, and the ocean ; and a number of swing bridges admirably facilitate the passage of the inhabitants and of the vessels. They ■f ■Ai«»(g« 260 GMKNT. are not often opened since the last partition of these countries, nor from the period tliat the influence of England over this kingdom has de- pressed its manufactories and commerce. This was to be expected. The great bell of the town-hall is a curiosity worth seeing. Though pierced with bullets, it still retains its tone, and contributes its portion to the harmony of the Carillon as well as the other forty-seven. This was a trifling punish- ment inflicted upon it from the citadel by the Austrians, when in 1792 it sounded the signal of revolt to the inhabitants, who vainly exclaimed against the violation of their privileges. Ringing, even for mass, would be forbidden throughout Italy, if the bells were so impertinent, or the people so unreasonable. Ghent has also rendered itself memorable by the asylum it afforded to the family of the Bour- bons during the hundred days. Here we enter upon the country of those painters who have bequeathed us works of such infinite variety ; some the most majestic and pathetic ; others the most simple, amusing, and comic. It was in this city that I learned the origin of the Bigumes. They are an establishment of women, who differ in no respect from what we understand by that appellation ; but the history and details .jssjaiair.*''!'' ANTWERP. 2G1 connected with them are too long for a letter ; and on the subject of women it is difticult to be brief. We will resume it by the fire-side, if my return is written in the book of fate. The fortifications, docks, quays, and arsenals, by means of which Napoleon had rendered Antwerp a place of great importance and strength, have been sacrificed to the owuipo^ teuce of the English : this also was to be expected. Such neighbours are not pleasant, and people don't give kings and kingdoms for nothing. The English knew not how to pay themselves out of the little Nassau, which has neither docks nor arsenals, for the crown which they gave the prince of Orange ; and it was but reasonable that Holland and the Low Countries should pay something for so good a king. I don't speak ironically, my dear Countess ; he is really an excellent prince. If things are not yet exactly as one could wish, the reason is, that this kingdom, composed of Holland, a part of Belgium, and Flanders, whose respective inte- rests are completely opposed to each other, has not yet been able to assume an uniform and har- monious course. It is, I believe, in political economy as in chemistry — the amalgamation of opposite sub- stances is effected through the medium of a neutral substance. The king acts as the neu- ■■r-** h i 2G2 A\ rWKIil'. tralizing principle to the heterogeneous parts of Ills kingdom ; and in time things will go on better, and to tlie satisfaction of all parties. What still remains of Napoleon at Antwerp, as the quays and basins upon the Scheldt, kc, will extort an admission from impartial persons, that he has done too much good to deserve the ill that is said of him ; but posterity will never forgive him for not having effected the great political regeneration which it was in his power to accomplish ; and for having himself, in a great measure, marked out the path which has con- ducted many of his successors to the despotism with which they now oppress their people ; for his memory is still cherished for all he did attractive to ambition. He had studied what the Romans did in Greece, in Africa, and in Asia ; but he ill calcu- lated on the ditference of times ; and those who imitate only what is bad in his conduct, calculate still worse. Rubens exists at Antwerp in all his grandeur in his almost incomparable pictures. They have imparted a character of divine glory to this town, which deplored his death, and possesses the mortal remains of his immortalized hand. And the works of Matsys, Frank, Jordaens, Vos, X'^enius, Vandyke, &c., together with the most celebrated sculptors of the Flemish school, have ■i infr'Hr *^- d HKUCFS. 263 converted many of its churches into superl) gfiUeries and museums. One «,neat advantage of the Catholic religion is the encouragement it offers to the fine arts, in the re})rcsentation of the innumerable subjects of our religious worship ; but this does not lead to heaven, any more than the pomp of our ritual ceremonies, which exert more influence over the senses than over the soul, and which have a closer connection with vanity in the creature, than with humility towards the Creator. Whenever I have visited the temples of the Iconoclasts, I have been convinced that their devotion is much less divided than ours between celestial and sublunary divinities, and that mo- tives purely spiritual conducted them thither with respect and decorum. The cathedral and its tower are two of the most magnificent ind surprising edifices. The thunderbolts of heaven destroyed the church of the Jesuits a short time before those of the Vatican annihilated their society. This circumstance suggests the spontaneous reflec- tion, that Clement XIV, and the sovereigns his contemporaries, were perhaps the true interpre- ters of the divine will. It is a singular incident. Bruges, anciently a city of great splendour, and the residence of the dukes of Flanders, is also remarkable for its beautiful pictures, and ■i^ f^; r I'l I: III V f ■ ^i> k «i«>vMr«^ 264 OSTEM). f^- Ki for the productions of the best statuaries ; and the painted windows of its magnificent cathedral appeared to me superior to those of Arezzo, which are the most beautiful I have seen in all Italy. It possesses a very precious and unique deposit— the blood which Joseph of Arimathea took from the wounds of Jesus with a sponge ; even the sponge has been preserved from the injuries of eighteen centuries. I went to Ostend by the beautiful and spacious canal, and in the passage barge, which is a bijou in its kind. It was from the district around this that the descendants of the ancient Veneti extended their empire to the British isles ; the same Veneti who peopled the marshes of that Rial to which has been the great school of navigation, and which is now decaying amid the mud, and under the ruins of its ancient grandeur. This is a striking coinci- dence, which induces the belief that these people were destined to rule over the maritime world. But for the dikes formed by Napoleon, Ostend would have been swallowed up by the ocean during the frightful tempests which occasioned so many ravages last winter. It is true that he filled Europe with his ambi- tion ; but it is equally true that he filled it with useful monuments of his genius, grandeur of conception, and munificence. We shall see what those who have succeeded him will leave to w4!timi»i. I i : 26G OSTKND. which may at least protect the maritime places from a continental invasion : from the sea they have nothings to fear whilst they continue the faithful allies of England, and submit to the dictates of her policy. It is natural, — because the English ought not to permit those continental governments over which they have any influence, to oppose land fortresses to those floating ones in which they sail over seas, gulfs, and bays, with unobstructed course, as for the pleasure of taking the air, like Venetians in their gon-* dolas. We are continually inveighing against the English and their selfishness ; but let us be candid. If we were shut up in their island, like them, and placed in their peculiar political situation, we should perhaps act as they do : and as their cabinet has expended immense treasures in making great blunders, it is now particularly the dictate of prudence to protect themselves against a continental ascendancy. The enormous debt, — (the still existing consequence of the co?i- tinoital si/stem,) the general peace, — the rumoured war in Turkey, where alone it would be dangerous to them ; — all these circumstances would place England on the very verge of ruin, did she not endeavour to prevent such a crisis by every possible means, and by now and then sowing the seeds of discord on the continent, to shake OSIKXI). 267 its strength, its tranquillity, its industry, and its commerce. *' Liberal institutions," said their very amiable minister at the congress of Vienna, ** are adapted only to England, and even there . . . ." It seems, therefore, that those who expect to obtain any upon the continent, either from the influence or the assistance of the cabinet of St James's, may wait much longer than the Hebrews waited for the promised land, for which they are still waiting, as well as for their Messiah ; unless these institu- tions should happen to favour its political views. With regard to the continent, the English seem to think, — and to wear the sentiment en- graven upon their hearts, — what the ministers of Charles of Anjou induced that king to think with regard to Conradin, when the Frangipane, to whom he had fled for refuge, sold him to his ambition: ''Mors Conrudini vitaCaroli; vitaCon- radini mors CaroUy I am sorry to confess it, but, in the situation in which they are placed, they are forced to regard this unhappy maxim as the palladium of their political and commer- cial existence. I do not undertake to say that it is their intention to act upon it a la letti^e; but I think they consider it as the grand principle for the regulation of their conduct. And indeed, if the continent conspires against them, they must in self-defence conspire against the continent. m\ if. 3.'! . '^'^^^^^■■Jki.^tit^^ttllmmmktiMiuiihUi^^^ w>twi'i w iiii^^F| y 26B OSTEND. f h *^ But it is said, *' they excite the people, and carry fire and sword among them." Half- measures in politics are good for nothing, my dear Countess. It is usual to look to the end without considering the means ; and if you glance over the pages of history, you will see that the reaction of the English on the continent has invariably been terrible. The reason for this, I think, is, that being obliged to leave behind them, or upon the sea, the whole of their principal force, they are compelled to take advantage of every possible means of warfare by land. Besides, reflection upon the means frequently consumes the time necessary to the success of an enter- prize, and turns against oneself the very evils intended for one's enemies. Politics, my dear Madam, before I am aware of it ! — but perhaps I have already caught the epidemic of the country. Very likely ; for here nothing is read, nothing is talked of, but politics. Perhaps, however, I naturally fall into these observations for the purpose of telling you that I come not here " houche Mante;''' and to un- deceive you, if the good people at home have made you believe what they have believed, or feigned to believe, themselves. I forgive them for having unjustly persecuted me ; for it is the fate of ministers, as well as of kings, to be deceived by knaves, who are irritated by the 1 OSTENI). 269 presence of good men ; but I am, and sball be, wounded to the quick for ever, at having been suspected of being simple enough to fall into the trap. In short, I have indulged a little in political remarks to convince you that I am not quite unacquainted with the English, and that I can judge of them without suffering myself to be influenced, on the one hand, by unfounded pre- judices, which sometimes induce us to viondemn the nation for individuals, or individuals for the nation, and to mistake the English for the cabinet of St James's ; or, on the other, by those flattering appearances by which they sometimes endeavour to dazzle us. To be frank with you, my dear Countess, when I read the work which, two years ago, so eloquently described the tyranny of the several despots of our unhappy Italy, I thought I discovered the artifices of a policy which guilt and shame stimulated to the formation of new plots, rather than the expres- sion of a generous mind ; and the state of vacillation in which the continent then was, and the circumstance that France was also, nearly at that time, enlightensd by a ray from the same source, increased my suspicions. But let us go on to the close of our ramble. At the distance of two miles from Ostend is the sluice of Stythen. It was constructed to stem the fury of the ocean, which formerly ,'4 • i\ .; ^ 1 1 iiiidmiiiniiiii iriiiTinir>w«iairi,iriim,.i '^^iimmuMiiiiii^ii , .. .^^^^je,,j»|j||qiaiij^ •270 LON J)OX . rolled its waves as far as Bruges. It is a work of much labour and difficulty, and the best undertaken by the Austrians in the part of Flanders which belonged to them. It was com- pleted by Napoleon. I quitted Ostend in an English packet, and entered the stately Thames. To describe it to you in all its majesty, in all its grandeur; to exhibit to you the numerous ships, steam vessels, and vessels of every size and form, some sailing up, and others down; the towns, villages, and delightful pleasure- grounds which adorn, and the arsenals and docks which animate its banks ; to paint the vast floating forests of innumerable masts which, rising above the dark smoke that covers Lon- don as with a perpetual veil, seem to pierce and tower above the clouds ; — would require the pencil of a great painter ; I have not the pre- sumption even to attempt it. I shall only give a slight sketch, which your lively and fertile imagination will paint to you' more vividly than all the eloquence of astonishment and admi- ration. We arrived after a passage of twenty- six hours, which is considered a remarkably short one. You have the goodness to enquire concerning my health. The physical often depends upon the mental state. You know the situation of % my mind. I require some days' repose and so- litude, which I shall try to find in the tranquil- lity of some rural retreat. You inform me of the engagement which your niece has thought it her duty to break off, () la Gordiome. I deserve this additional proof of your confidence and friendship, from the lively interest I take in whatever is connected with your happiness or with that of all your amiable family. I will therefore express my sentiments on the subject with all the sincerity for which you are disposed to give me credit. Your niece has acted wisely in declining a marriage which was not the choice of her heart. She has thus given a fresh proof of a strong and independent spirit, superior to the seductions of vanity, appearance, and fumily alliance, and will avoid the unhappy conse- quences of a forced union. And you, my dear Madam, who are so judi- cious and prudent, will commend her. But she is censured for not having expressed her determination sooner. We yield, for a time, to importunity; we may sometimes be too feeble to resist the means employed to divert us from reflection ; but eventually the eloquence of the affections and the empire of the heart dispel every illusion, and our spirit triumphs over its oppressors. Marriao-e is a step which cannot %. |1 li wm^m iJi ^ h 272 LONDON. be retraced, and a determination which should not be taken without serious reflection : but we are still in tempore habili whilst the hand has not yet signed the important contract, which, al- though intended to effect the happiness of so- ciety, is often productive of the most dreadful of its evils. Express my congratulations to your niece, if she really thinks herself released from an un- happy engagement, and forget not to remember me to your family, to your friendp, and to that respectable orphan family which will ever be dear to me. ■ .-tserfiwi-jr,-"' . mmim - ii if it )e LETTER VII. London, September lOth, 1822. I HAVE received your dear and welcome letters of July and August. Compliments again — you wish to spoil me then ! 1 will accept what you are good enough to say honourable to my heart, but the rest I must refuse ; I will not contract debts I shall never be able to discharge. The world is but too apt to presume upon indulgence and partial blindness. Check therefore, my dear Countess, a generosity which might render me a greater bore than I am ; but I shall always covet a place in the good opinion of a lady who is so good a judge of mankind, and whose merits command my respect and admiration. The contents of your letters are the more de- lightful, since they not only divert me by their wit and talent, but console me for the pains VOL. I. T l j W»pili ■' ...■ - . - ' *■ "f »-0mml'm 274 LONDON. \i'. of absence from all I love and value in Italy. One can never forget one's country, and it is re- freshing to be transported back to it by the sweet illusions of a valued correspondence. I thank you for the kind and friendly wishes you pour out with so much warmth and cordia- lity, and for the salutary counsels with which you seek to soothe my afflicted heart. Time, my dear Madam, may weaken senti- ments which are the oftspring of the passions, but has no power over those which have grown out of admiration for virtue — those which I feel will, I am persuaded, attend me to the end of my mortal career. There are, however, griefs which are dear to the sufferer, and which he would rather perpetuate than remove. Good and evil form the links of the chain of life; it depends on us to render it more or less unhappy according to the idea we form of the one or the other. I believe the contrast to be necessary to beings constituted as we are. Since you wish me to continue to associate you with me in my rambles, you must now arm yourself with a double store of indulgence, for my pen is, I think, arrived at the most diffi- cult point of its undertaking. Never did I find it so reluctant to obey my dictates. The num- ber, the variety, the vastness, of the objects by which I am surrounded, arrest it every moment. ite )W je, Ind I J.ONDON. 275 It is bewildered in the chaos, and fears lest it should lose itself. It makes a thousand essays, and all in vain. It is like the bird which longs to extend its flight beyond the bounds of space and of ocean, but dares not spread so venturous a wing. You see then, my dear Countess, that, far from borrowing from my imagination, I can- not even describe what strikes my senses. You accused me of silence in your letter of July, and you repeat these flattering reproaches in your last. I did not choose to take up your time with myself, who am but a little accessory to the main object, — my rambles. I waited, therefore, till I could tell you something about London, and the English people ; and, in order to be competent to that task, I wished to pene- trate a little into this great opaque body, to arrange my confused thoughts, to discern the true appearance of objects, to unravel and dis- tinguish things, before I came to any opinion about them, or attempted to guide yours. But the moment I pause before one object, a thou- sand others crowd around me and distract my attention, so that I continually leave off without having even made a beginning. I return to the charge, but always in vain. I then give up all hope of details, and aim only to give a sketch of the general effect; but my pen falls pointless before this immense and complicated mass, like 'I 1 .'ti'-\ ,1 H 'l > 'I ll a 5 ll ^ I ('• f^ il 27(1 LONDON. l)oi» (Quixote's sword lu'loit' i\\v wiiidmillH. Then I (hink I dcsciy si |>i|4">y ;it ;i distance; this a|>|H» ■■'•*'"i 278 LONDON. ..1 1!^ I .1 t. or of a prince of .he blood. I see the universe around me, and yet in no place on earth, not in the most secluded cottage in Italy, is one so solitary, so isolated, as in London. I fancy I see the most perfect unifornity, but I find the most astonishing contrasts. The men, the cus- toms, the fashions, and the cojivenances, of to-day are not those of yesterday, nor can one guess what the morrow may bring forth. You try to distinguish yourself from the vulgar by uniform politeness, and by the observance of strict and regular decorum towards society ; you pass for a person of maiivais ton : to escape from this imputation- — the horror of all Englishmen — you must display contradictions without number, and run into extravagancies the most extrava- gant. After all this, my dear Madam, how can I reply to the confidence, the eagerness, with which you ask my opinion of England ? How can I give you even the slightest idea of this extraordinary country ? Many of our travellers talk of it, a tort et a travers, often with a dogmatical and conceited air of raillery. This is mere presumption and prejudice. It is talking of navigation without knowing even the compass ; it is making a shew of esprit at the expense of all good sense ; it is at- tempting to walk boldly in the midst of darkness. The people who built the tower of Babel I.ONDON. 270 a 84,000 feet, some inches, and a few lines high, certainly built a very high tower ; nor can one wonder that the god of the Hebrews confounded the audacity of that ungrateful family (as un- grateful as favourites always are) whom he had saved from the general destruction wherewith he savv' fit in his wisdom to renew the human race — whether for good or evil I know not; — the Talmud declares that the first race was much the best. — Homer certainly displayed wonder- ful efforts of imagination in the creation of gods and heroes, unworthy either of heaven or of earth ; and the invention of the loves, the com- bats, and the truly magical enchantments, of Tasso and of Ariosto, is not little surprising. — Those prodigious men who separated the waters and enabled countless armies to pass dry-shod through the sea; — those learned persons who make the stars move, or stop, or fall, at their pleasure ; who ramble over the valleys and hills and adamantine mountains of the moon, who open the earth to give plarc to the sea, drive back rivers to their sour es, and do eternal violence to mother Nature ; — those who guiae the course of the planets and bring them down to take a walk upon earth; — Joshua, who made the sun stand still, and others who have made it quicken its pace ; — last, but not least, the Jesuits, who make everything proceed or halt at their bidding; i"3 -ttt ^PHII ■iwwiwcp^pifiwwiwpwpillllllllii^^ 280 LONDON. I: M,! • U — are all unquestionably very wonderful persons, and have done great and strange things ; but I would take any odds that, with all their genius, their calculations, their telescopes, their magic, and their humbug, they would be excessively puzzled to give an exact idea of London, and st^U more of England and the English. I think, dear Lady, I have said enough to con- vince you of my incompetency to satisfy your curiosity as you desire and deserve. It is the more difficult to me, because the English language it- self presents almost insurmountable barriers to the acquisition of any knowledge of the counti y. When we have learnt a little of it on the con- tinent, we think we know enough f()r the neces- sary intercourse of life; we read it, and we fancy we understp.nd it ; we come here, hear it spoken, and it is worse than Con-cifi-ci?t-nois ; — we cannot understand a single word. If you speak it as you read it, it is a charming jargon ; your mouth and eyes are thrown into the most beautiful grimaces ; every limb of your body is convulsed in the struggle to pronounce all these con- sonants, these strings of monosyllables. You give utterance to sounds which come from your stomach like volcanic eructations, shaking your whole frame like an electric shock, and, by sympathy, those of all who have the patience to listen to you. f forgive the English from the J.ONDON 281 bottom of my heart, if sometimes they cannot refrain from laughing at the novelty of this exhi- bition. Often indeed I anticipate them, and laugh myself, to encourage them to. give vent to a convulsion which, if repressed, might do them harm. Another difficulty presents itself to my poor pen. The English, though they by no means spare each other, are not very well pleased if foreigners take the liberty to criticise them ; and true good -breeding forbids us to say any- thing in a man's house which he would not like to hear. What you say is true enough, — that they are not remarkably delicate when they speak of us ; that they lay down the law to the right and left without being very nice whether *heir assertions are founded in truth or not : lady Morgan carried this so far, that she even scandalized her own countrymen. But when I pretended to study law, the first rule I learned in the Institutii, is, adduccrc hicotivcniats non est solvere avgumentum. I ought not there- fore to imitate them ; nor have I any desire to share the reproaches which the British Aspasia, and others of the same class, who have fallen foul of the poor Italians, have drawn upon them- selves. But let us have done with this, mj dear Madam, and make our bargain. i i 1 i ^mmm^'fmmmmmmmi^^'i'miiiWI^^ r'. ': i n \ 282 LONDON. We will set out on our rambles about London ; but I will stop you only at the most remarkable objects, and even upon them we will cast only our physical eye. If any observation or reflection, *' not in the bond," should occasionally escape me, it will be by mere sudden accident, or by one of those apropos which it is impossible to resist. In these cases, if there is anything piquant, keep it to yourself; for otherwise some rattle of your acquaintance may tell it to the travelling English, and thus procure me the honour of an auto da fh from the cabinet of St James's, or from those ridiculous coxcombs who fancy themselves fallen from heaven, like Mahomet's half-moon, to enlighten the be- nighted world out of England, and imagine that foreigners are to come here only to admire, and to go away open-mouthed with wonder. We will begin with antiquities. But here I am sorry again for our antiquarians, who have been fasting so long. There are none in Lon- don : the fragments of walls, which are shewn with great devotion, do not appear to belong- to any of the different styles of building which characterise the different stages of Roman ma- sonry, from the conquest of the island until its final abandonment. Everybody knows that a number of authors I ive m- la- lits )rs i affirm that, before the Roman conquest, there was a city where London now stands, and that they say it was calied Civitas Trinobantum, or at least that Csesar called it so ; but a great many people do not know that these gentlemen are in a great degree mistaken. If you take London in a mass, when you wish to fix in your mind the spot on which this Civitas, or rather this camp of the Trinobanti, stood before the Roman con- quest, you will fall into the common error. You must therefore divide London in two parts as the Thames divides it; — London on the right, in Surrey, and London on the left, in Middlesex ; and as Surrey, before the time of Caesar, was inhabited by the Regii, you must confine your- self to that part of London which is in Middlesex when you wish to ascertain the exact spot on which the Romans found what they called, first Civitas Trinobantum, and afterwards Colo- nia Augusta — a name common to so many of their colonial cities. The Trinobanti inhabited Middlesex : this province, or county, was so called by the Anglo-Saxons, in consequence of its being the centre of the Heptarchy, or seven provinces which they had conquered from the Britons. In this slight sketch of the site of London, I do not pretend to inform you of a point of his- ^♦» m I flfS I f^mm^ LONDON. tory, which, iVom the extent of your historical knowledge, I am sure is familiar to you, but only to settle it accurately ; for, in geography as well as in politics, it is necessary to know well where we are, if we would speak to the purpose, and profit by what we hear. I don't know whether you can congratulate me on my clearness, for there is a great difference between understanding oneself, and making one- self understood; but you will guess my meaning. I should not dare to write thus off-hand on subjects so complicated and sv; various, if I were not addressing a lady whose intelligence will supply the deficiency I feel of time and mate- rials for ruminating attentively, and explaining myself precisely. I have already told you that I do but suggest, and that you must do the rest. Now we must see a little of modern London : I say a little, for if we launch upon this ocean, without marking out our course, we shall infal- libly be lost. Long details would fatigue your patience, and my pen is gi'own more than usually lazy, for never did the hand that guides it feel so completely crippled as in England. Besides, the desire to be brief gives me no quarter ; it haunts me incessantly, and rigorously forbids all lengthy descriptions. Good writing does not consist in telling everything, — LONDON. 285 something is to be left to the imagination of the reader. The not doing this, is the fault of Fenelon's divine Telcmachus. London, my dear Madam, taken as a whole, is vast rather than grand. It is not a city — it is a province covered with buildings, and con- tains nearly as many inhabitants as the whole of Tuscany. Every time that I retrace my walks over a spot I have already traversed, 1 find new houses and streets sprung out of the earth as if by enchantment, and the materials and prepara- tions which one sees in every direction shew that it will become a vast forest of houses, as the Thames is already a forest of masts ; I say a forest, because, in a city like a world, it is im- possible to observe a regular and equal form; and old buildings, or those raised by trade alone, which, with its narrow views and sordid calculations, cares very little about rules of art, or beauty of design or of situation, cannot be like the modern, or those dictated by the taste and the wants of people who are already possessed of wealth and independence, and have therefore leisure to attend to the conveniences and decorations of life. But one sometimes meets with beautiful bits, which arrest the eye and extort the admiration of the stranger, in spite of all the irregularities he may find in them. These indeed are only relative ; for, in criticising i-\ 1 i < |t jqg; ' |a| ■, If'".-- ¥■■ *f««teL- ■* l,« ^1 I i ■I \ 28G LONDOX. the architecture of a people, one ought to take into consideration their habits, chmate, local peculiarities, and even their manners. The me- tropolis of England is like her gardens ; — there is something of everything in it ; it is the favourite empire of variety and of caprice, and there is space for the display of all. I doubt whether such a city as Thebes, with its hundred gates, and its hundred thousand men ready to go out in arms to meet any assailant, ever had existence among the ancients ; but certainly the moderns see such a one realized in London. I tlrink we had better stop here, my dear Countess. You wished to see London, — and I have shewn it to you. But you say that you would have seen it better in a microcosm than in anything I have yet told you. To speak the truth, I think that is the best way of seeing it, so difficult is it to describe it in any other way. You may perhaps think these are mere pretexts to cover my laziness. No, Madam ; to satisfy you, I would conduct you through the air, into the moon, wherever you will, if I had the magic of astronomers, or the HippogrifF of Astolfo. Since you are peremptory, therefore, I must comply. I cannot stand a reproach from such lovely lips ; keep that delightful smile, and I will do my best. But take notice, T shall want the whole armoury of your graces, and fi 5^1 ST PAUI, S. 287 I your eloquence, and your reason, to defend me against the English ; for, as I have already told you, they give no quarter to an unhappy foreigner who lets fall an observation which annoys them. It is true some of them are very reasonable, but, generally speaking, their vehe- ment patriotism naturally leads them to fall with resistless vengeance upon any lapsus lingucc which derogates from that sort of pretension to hifaUibUitij, that unconquerable pride, which is the dark spot in the English nation. Don't receive as oracles what I present, either materially to your eyes, or morally to your judg- ment ; I have no presumptuous confidence in my own powers — regard what I say merely as the genuine naif expression of my own views and opinions on men and things. Since I have had nothing ancient for you worthy the notice of our antiquarians, to com- pensate them a little, I will make you travel ci t antique for a few minutes. I shall take you then, like^he Greeks and Romans, in the first place, to prostrate yourself before the Deity in the principal temple of the town you are visiting ; and St Paul's is the great temple, the wonder of London. It is ind-^ea a wonder. You must enter it by one of the side doors, because it thus presents itself in all its interior majesty. Advance, looking straight before yoii, I'l mmmm ill 'r\ . » , I !fN \\ i1 ri i I (! 288 ST PAl!L S. till you get to the star in the middle of the pavement, which is directly under the lantern of the great dome above it ; keep your eyes in the direction of the two side doors ; — now raise them up to the sides of the dome, and you will think it still very majestic and grand ; but do not turn them towards the nave ; you will break the charm in a moment — you will fall from heaven to earth. Those aisles are wholly out of keeping with so grand a temple; they are more like narrow galleries or mere passages. Neither must you raise your eyes quite over- head ; if you do, you will see a grand cupola with little windows, and small and dirty panes, which tend to diminish the little light that penetrates ; while dark and gloomy paintings contribute to destroy its grandeur and its in- ternal elevation. What is the good of painting the history of St Paul where nobody can see it, and where, even if one's eyes could reach it, one would be afflicted with that terrible crick in the neck which Michael Angelo fixed upon himself for life, by holding back his head to paint the ceiling of the Sistine chapel? It would have been better to distribute this history through a series of large pictures, and to hang them along these miserable aisles, so as, at least, to make them serve as galleries. You will ask me what is the form of this sr i'AUi,.s. 281J Is church. I shoiihl be puzzlccl to toll you : it is neither a Greek cross nor a Latin one : the three aisles aresuiHeient to exeliule it from tlie former class. It cannot be of the latter, since the upper part of the shaft is almost as long as the lower ; and at the foot the architect has placed two excrescences, like the ])ocket-h()oj)s of our grandmothers, which would destroy the Latin form, even if the head and shaft were in due proportion. But you will not easily guess the motive for these two extraordinary protu- berances. I must explain it to you : — it is for the purpose of displaying a facade much larger than the body of the church. It was probably discovered too late that it was disproportionately narrow, and that the extreme smallness of the three aisles rendered it a perfect monster as con- sidered with relation to the rules of art. The expedient of these excrescences was therefore hit upon to support an immense facade, which conceals all the defects of the building from the gaping multitude. This is an architectural fraud. But let us survey the interior before we look at the outside or ascend the cupola, — the trolus, or truUum, — if our antiquarians like. The church is too long for its width, or, if you will, extremely narrow for its length. The middle aisle is so low and mean that it is im- ible to believe the maunificent cupola which possii ipoi ^ VOL. 1. \ A2^ VVj IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) /. ^ /- fA LO I.I 12.5 l^|28 ir |50 "^ il •a O 12.2 ': h^ 12.0 1.8 1.25 1.4 1 1.6 ^ 6" — ► v] o 7 Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 (716) 873-4503 't'^^ ^^' ^ 290 ST PAUL S. towers so proudly to the skies, was intended to form part of the same building. As to the side aisles, the less we say of them the better ; they are a disgrace to the church. Then the pillars! they are t.o low, that the height from the top of the capital to the centre of the roof is greater than that from the ground to the top of the capital. The same disproportion exists between the concave sides of the dome and the gallery which runs round its interior; the architrave, frieze, and cornice, are equally out of proportion ; and the upper windows, resting upon perfectly useless attics, which common sense and the most uninstructed eye reject as superfluous, contri- bute by their mean appearance to detract from the grandeur of a structure certainly the second in the modern style in the world. If you turn away from the spot at the side entrance from which I first introduced you to it, your eye is instantly shocked, and can find no place on which to repose. Architecture is like music — one note out of its place is sufficient to destroy the harmony of the whole. The main entrance is very judiciously kept shut; the im- pression the eye would receive at the first glance from this point would destroy the effect even of what is fine in the building, and would render the cheat of the grand facade too glaring to escape notice. Let us now ascend the cupola. Seen from the terraces above the roof of the of ler I to la. he ST PAUL S. nave, it is as colossal as it is majestic from within. But why was the colonnade which sur- rounds it blocked up with eight massy pillars ? They are not wanted for strength, as it has only to support the spherical part of the dome, which, par parenthhe, is of wood. They answer no purpose but to prevent your walking round under the gallery formed by the colonnade, and to render the windows ridiculously narrow. The coup d'ceil from the gallery of the lantern is no doubt very attractive to your curiosity ; so it was to mine, — and i ccordingly I went thrice to satisfy it, but in vain. The coal smoke covered London and its environs with its impe- netrable veil. Let us now descend and survey the outside of this great mass. Its exterior would present to the ordinary spectator a magnificent, grand, and striking whole, if shabby houses did not obstruct the view of it everywhere, except under its very walls. But the critical observer, without being very fastidious, would perhaps think that those projections which cover the two side doors, and which appear to me like little observatories, are vicious and discordant excrescences ; that the facade is enormous in proportion to its little por- tico and its little columns ; that the pediment, the centre of which is too low for so large a facade, has a defective termination at each end, to make mn \i Wl- t- m :r^ iiltm- ■KflW! \s \l ' { 1; i- ^ ■!,[ i 292 ST PAUL S. room for two heavy and squat towers, in about as good keeping as those with which the Barberini have defaced the venerable Pantheon of Agrippa, out of devotion to that new divinity in whose name they rebaptized it. There is another great defect — the greatest, I think, and therefore I have saved it to the last. The architect has placed the Composite order upon the Corinthian : this is a complete revolution in architecture ; it is worse than putting the Corinthian on the rocks of the fountain of Montpellier. In short, my dear Madam, these n nerous contrasts between the great and the little, the sublime and the mean, the arbitrary and the regular, the ponderous and the light, prove that Wren was often a timid, and always a fanciful architect ; and, judging from the defective dimensions, one is tempted to think that he was not very well versed in the laws of pressure, and knew not how to take advantage of the concentric force which results from them. It is in the structures of antiquity, the great models of Palladio, Michael Angelo, Vignola, &c. that we must study their magical effects. Sir Christopher Wren had however considerable merits ; one of the greatest, is the care with which he superintended the masonry, which is a perfect model. This church cost twenty-four or twenty-five millionsof francs. The English government ought ■five ght to spend as much more to clear away all the houses which block it up on every side, and make a great square, so that it might at least be possible to see it; to open a grand street exactly opposite to the fai^ade, which is now hidden in a corner ; and to substitute a large statue of queen Anne for the very small one, which is lost by the side of such a colossal building. England has now good architects, who having studied in Greece and in Italy, could construct an accessory work which would add much to the majesty and grandeur of the principal. It is to be hoped that if they surround the square with porticos, they will not take as models the heavy ones with which Bernini de- corated the piazza of St Peter at Rome. St Paul's is not however the metropolitan church of England. Canterbury cathedral has the supremacy over all the churches of the reigning religion, as its archbishop has over all the clergy. St Paul's is rather the Pantheon, in which the nation records the virtues and the exploits of her illustrious citizens, and her own gratitude. St Paul's has greatly delayed our walk : you must get on horseback, my dear Madam, like the English ladies, and ride, as they do, full trot or gallop ; for we must make haste. .>«^ -^ m~ i ri i B i >i i aw 0mmm»m n w*«>- ' w^ 294 THE BANK. t) 'U THE KXClIA\(iL. 295 were a Papist, though it was founded by one of the most fanatical of that sect which had excited them to these acts of violence. In the interior it is vast and grand, anci decorated with well executed carvings. It is very interesting from the great air of business and bustle which pre- vails in it ; and from the idea it suggests, that it is the seat of the riches and the poverty of England, interwoven in an inexplicable manner. Her debt now amounts to above eight hundred millions sterling, which bears a yearly interest of more than thirty millions ; yet she enjoys un- bounded credit, which is only diminished by occasional feverish crises. A state, which ow>^s only to itself, requires nothing but confidence and the circulation of commerce to support it ; but there is no safety for those states which are in debt to foreigners ; as the king of Naples will find, when, after selling his finances to Rothschild, and his subjects to Austria, he closes the scene with a bankruptcy. There is nothing to admire at the Exchange, except an old portico of great lightness and beauty. There is something to marvel at ; viz. to see the statue of Charles II set up as an object of veneration in the centre of the great quadrangle : a prince, whose reign was only rendered tolerable by the restramts put upon his bad and mischievous propensities. It might ■|!, r\ 21)G THE iMOM'iMEN r. f i M I' 'ii ■) > truly liave been said of him, tliat he " had learnt nothing- and forgotten nothing." Tiie heavy and massy tower which surmounts this building, seems to threaten to crush all be- neath it. The Monument, erected in memory of the ter- rible fire of 1G6(), which consumed thirteen thou- sand houses, would be the most beautiful of all modern columns, if the one in bronze erected on the Place Vend6me by Napoleon did not exist ; the beauty of which, nn less than the exploits it records, proves that he was something more than a '* brigand edtraorduialre.'' I cannot help remarking that he was great precisely in that particular in which his detractors are very iitiie. He found means to calm and silence the tumult and rage of party in most difficult times, when the minds of men were perhaps more excited and feverish, and political opinions more oscillating and violent, than they are at this moment. The king's palaces (which, as I have already told you, are mere houses) — the public galleries and museums — are not at all surprising, espe- cially to you, who are well acquainted with everything in Italy, and who saw the capital of France at the time it was the universal museum. The collection of antique sculptures is, 1 think, inferior to some private collections at Rome, the SOMl'.HSET HOUSE. 297 former Giustiani and the present Lodovisi collec- tions, although it has been enriched by the fragments of marbles wh.ich lord Elgin and other Englishmen have barbarously torn from those venerable monuments on which time had not dared to lay his hand, and which ought to have served as eternal models to the admiring world. The galleries of lords Grosvenor, Rad stock, and Stafford, are, for private collections, very valuable and well selected, and bear witness to their taste as well as to their wealth. The library of lord Spencer, for the number, value, and chronological series of the first edi- tions which issued from the press, is the finest in the world. At the house of M. Alessandri, at Florence, I saw that which the marquis Delci collected in Germany, and bequeathed to his native city; this is perhaps second to lord Spencer's, but I doubt whether it can be com- pared to it. The whole body of building which surrounds the great square of Somerset-house, is magnifi- cent, and very regular, considering the numerous alterations it has undergone since St Mary's church gave place to it. A passage which descends to the Thames, leads to underground buildings of solid and difficult workmanship; and the terrace which overlooks the river is beautiful and extremely pleasant. It was the '■> f;! form their name denotes, or in that of a parallel- ogram, in the midst of which are gardens beau- tifully laid out, and planted with trees, shrubs, and flowers. The shrubberies take off" somewhat from the majesty and grandeur which areas so vast, surrounded by the best houses in Lon- don, would otherwise have. What is lost in magnificence is however gained in refreshing beauty ; the eyes of the inhabitants rest agree- ably on the verdant carpets and varied thickets, which present the most enchanting and attrac- tive view from their windows. They alone have the right of entering within the magnificent iror> railing which surrounds them ; a right for which they pay very dearly. Some of these gardens are decorated with equestrian statues of kings, many of whom never mounted a horse en hero, and still less v;;j Romain ; there are others standing, or sitting under the shade of lime- trees, who owe the honours of the chisel rather to flattery than to their own merits. They are however remarkably well placed. They are half hidden in the shrubberies, and serve admirably to amuse the children who play around them. The English are much better lodged than we, more comfortably, and with more attention to cleanliness ; but our useless and incommodious palaces are not to be found in London. Even the house of the saviour of Europe, and of al! 'Hi' I \.\ !;• ^v*^ MV-MHOIji £»s: ■iiw.*mgtej>> ;i 304 THE PARKS. legitimate sovereigns, is as modest as himself. It has liowever one very rare advantage, — from its windov/s he sees himself in the character of a young and athletic hero, — a colossal Achilles ; and what heightens the delight is, that it was the ladies of England who worked this wondrous metamorphosis, and saluted him with this deli- cate piece of flattery. They have thus comme- morated his victories at Salamanca, Vittoria, Toulouse, and Waterloo. The parks, which are the great public prome- nades, are rather fields (in which cows take the precedency of all competitors) than parks ; but happily the English cows forget they have horns, and do not assume the right of walking about the streets, and marching into the coftee-houses, as the goats do at Rome. The field-like cha- racter of these parks is a proof of the good taste of the English, who do not think it necessary to torture and mangle nature as the French and Italians do, to force her into regularities which she abhors. They correct her according to that beau ideal which she is said to have made the peculiar inheritance of her highest ivork, man; but they do not deform her. There are clumps of trees and thickets which break the line of these'large fields, and afford shade for repose and meditation; but they are scattered about without any appearance of |^a»Mta ^'ii«*ii«-.JSi»*' HYDE PARK. 305 lich brd are of f ' art or design. If you extend your walk a little farther you get into Kensington gardens, where you may take your choice, and have alleys and walks d, la Fraucaise, or d, ritalienne. Pieces of water, delightful to a solitary wanderer whose heart is open to natural beauty, meet the eye at every turn. The roads around and across these parks are the rendezvous of all the fashionable equipages of London. It would be an utterly hopeless task to attempt to describe the immense con- course of them ; it is perfectly amazing. The equestrian ladies trotting and galloping in all directions, like Amazons, managing their horses with that grace and address which are quite peculiar to Englishwomen, and for which they are indebted to their masculine and untrammelled education, add greatly to the beauty of the spectacle, which is more striking, varied, and amusing here than in any other place in the world. And then their dress, a la Lodoiska, or a laChristbie! I assure you it is perfectly en- chanting! Sometimes, in spite of myself, I can- not detach my eyes or my heart from them ; so that you must imagine my heart wrapped in a dress a la Christine. Yes, my dear Countess, if I were married, and married to a woman I loved, (which does not often happen to us Italians,) I would make an agreement with her about her VOL. r. X V \' ;3!£: f^ :t? i. I ■ I till 306 IIVDE PARK. toilet. One week she should dress to please herself, and another to please me ; and during 7712/ iveeky I should never let her pull off' my Christine; she must wear it on horseback and on foot, at church or at balls, by day and night. I should make her some gallant present the day she adorned herself with it, and sulk all the day she put it off". You laugh at my folly ? — so much the better ; it is a proof that I have led you a little out of the dullness of a walk iiiter miwos. Even I am a little the gayer for it. I find it absolutely necessary now and then to turn my back on the terrible clatter of the town, to quiet the vibrations of the tympanum, to repose my eyes on lovely nature, and to give myself up awhile to that gentle melancholy which, ever since the period of our common loss, has been my faithful companion, but which assumes its most tender and touching character in the country. But we must leave Hyde park, my dear Madam, and once more enter the noisy town. I must now take you to a very different scene, from the beautiful abode of cows and deer, and to very different objects from the British Penthesileas. Prepare yourself for the gloom and severity of Gothic walls — for monuments — many of them lying ones — and for the good and the wicked of past ages. ^S^^^V^'^TT-y ■:y'^K'-»x^WII^.. MKST.MINS'I r,l{ AliBKV ;j()7 Westminster Abbey is the finest specimen of Gothic architecture in London, and one of the most ancient in Christendom ; it is not inferior to the best we have in Italy, or to any of those wc have seen in France, or the Low Countries. Though it is too narrow, and the line of the building is broken by incongruous and vicious excrescences, its general effect is imposing, and commands our veneration. The northern gate is grand, though too low ; the eye is arrested by it, and returns to it with satisfaction. The building in its present state is not pi rely Gothic, for, from the time of king Egbert downwards, it has sustained various alterations and additions under different kings and by different architects. Henry VII added a chapel, which is a sort of tail, superb in its kind, though of a mixed and fantastic arc' itecture ; very light, though rich and loaded with extravagancies. It contains the ashes of that powerful sovereign, who reposes here from his avarice and his tyranny. Wren added ears to the abbey, in the form of two towers, so near to each other that they may shake hands a CAngluise; they are neither Go- thic, nor ancient, nor modern. He made his facade a bishop, crowning it with a mitre, which is worthy to keep company with the towers. Others, whose names I cannot celebrate as they deserve, have destroyed the Gothic majesty of i :• >i; » 308 WESTMINSTER ABBEY. this august monument of twelve or thirteen centuries, by daubing its simple and venerable roof with gilding. It is evident the English have a superabundance of gold, or they would not waste it so profanely. This church seems in danger of sharing the fate of those antique sta- tues, which modern sculptors are so pertina- ciously bent on restorifig ; they end in being neither one thinj^ nor another. Michael Angelo alone could attempt this with success, as the Faun in the Florentine gallery proves. The unfortunate Mary Stuart is also buried in Henry the Seventh's chapel. Opposite to her, in the other little aisle, lies her rival and mur- derer Elizabeth. What a strange con.bination ! Why not separate two objects so discordant, the union of which cannot fail to awaken a painful contradiction in the feelings of the spec- tator ? In Edward the Confessor's chapel, and in seve- ral others, there are an abundance of great monu- ments of little kings; and, as elsewhere, epitaphs which exalt to the skies men whom the Creator called into existence only to scourge the earth ; men whose bodies the posthumous judgments of Egypt would have condemned to the birds of prey, rather than to honourable sepulture. I hoped, in a philosophical and judicious country like England, I should have seen less of WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 309 lious 5S of this. There are also a great number of courte- sans, under hig;h-sounding names, whose ashes are mingled with those of kings and princes. This was however the natural consequence of Henry the Seventh's command, that all persons of the royal family should be buried in the chapels-royal, — for what is so truly royal as a king's mistress ? Poor James II was excluded : there is neither a monument, nor the least vestige of his exist- ence ; though a man who had the rare virtue ** to lose three kingdoms for a mass," was surely better intitled to a place than most. Henry IV of France was more lucky ; he gained a great kingdom by a mass, though, to say the truth, his sword had something to do in the affair. Shakspeare, Newton, and the two Pitts, as might be expected, have places in this national Pantheon. Ministers and poets follow naturally enough in the train of kings ; but a philosopher like Newton would seem more in his place any- where else ; at St Paul's, for instance, which belongs to the city, and which is consecrated to the renown of illustrious citizens. The valiant Nelson has no better monument here, than a waxen statue ; its countenance is calculated to inspire pity, rather than the veneration which is due to his high reputation. I should have great satisfaction in hearing he was made into candles. f 1 \ ■*\ '-^ :i I } infl- I i» r e :i\() WKST.MIN.S'J'KK AllHLV. We might compose a litany of the inscriptions to illustrious men, and another of those to ** the illustrious obscure ;" but this would be a long tosk, and not very interesting to you or to me. There is one thing extremely precious to the sight, viz. the identical stone on which Jacob rested his head when he saw the angels going up and down a ladder to heaven, very much such a one as, c/iez 7ious, people use for the pur- pose of gathering apples and cherries. What is still more curious is, that the antiquarian who ex- plained the thing to us with the most immoveable gravity, was angry with me because I laughed. The cloister which adjoins the church proves the grandeur and magnificence of the ancient abbey. The doorway unites the beauty of the finest, boldest, and simplest style of Gothic to the majesty of its venerable age. This bit, in my opir ion, is very superior to any- thing in the church, which has too many fanciful devices about it. It has moreover the great advantage of not being harkijuimzed. Let people restore as much as they like, but let them keep their hands from deforming these venerable antiquities ; all their additions are so much inappropriate lumber. How would you like, my dear Countess, to have two wooden posts stuck up, without any regard to proportionate dis- tance in your beautiful parterre at la Cimarella ' It"' ! the 1 HOUSE OF COMMOXS. 311 Well, the two towers of Westminster abbey are just as shocking to me; and that mitre is the most childish and ridiculous thing that ever was devised, whether we look to the common sense of the thing, or to the architecture. God knows how much all these improvement.s cost the parliament which sanctioned them ; but, be the sum what it may, if 1 were a member of the present parliament, I would vote as much to pull them down again. At the beginning of this ramble I gave a slight and cursory view of the moral i natter of which an English parliament is composed. Let us now go and look at the material part, — the wood and stone. Let us go, if it were only for the sake of seeing that famous place in which kings have so often laughed at the pride of their subjects ; in which subjects have humbled the arrogant pretensions of kings ; — the place where Cromwell gave the first bad example of solemnly prostituting the divine to the popular law ; and of perpetrating judicial regicide ; where he showed the way which general Bonaparte followed on the eighteenth of Brumaire. Let us go to the spot in which the Sibylline oracles, the Mosaic and Decemviral tables, the magic of Chaldees and Persians, the wisdom of the seven sages of Greece, the temporal and spiritual power of popes and councils, and that much more sub- I i \ \ 'm. ;n2 llorSF. OK COMMONS. 'h 'i'i ,1 ■ 1"' stantial power than any that popes or councils possess — the dominion of the sea ; the Machia- velisni of all the Machiavels of all ages and countries ; the suppleness of Italy ; the haughti- ness of Spain ; the high spirit of France ; the firmness of Germany, and the xaHg-froid of England, arc to be found concentrated ; the quintessence of all systems of policy, exotic and indigenous, past, present, and to come; — such at least is the opinion I have conceived of it. This is the congress of congresses; the first assembly of the world, ancient or modern, — if we consider it with reference to the etfect of its deliberations. After all this, you doubtlessly expect to be ushered into nothing less splendid than the dojuus aurca of Nero ; — you will be sadly dis- appointed : I have nothing better to shew you t'-ian the domus Ugnca of our Patriarchs. The place in which the Commons sit is a hall, or rather a room, as small and humble as the matters therein discussed are great and im- portant. The speaker, or president of the chamber, with his robe and big wig, in the midst of these gentlemen, who are :o perfectly at home, cuts about the same figure as the fat magistrate in the play of the Fete de la Rose, in the midst of the simple villagers. If he is placed there in that costume to represent the ji afcrfii, :«v*a5^a^ aa^."^ U'ESTMINSTLU IIAI.L aiy throne, the people, or both, it seems that the English nation pique themselves very little on the dignity of externals — for which I admire them. The house or chamber of Lords is larger, and not so plain; but tlus powerful nobility, the only aristocratic body in the world which has the real political and moral strength necessary to hold the reins on monarchy on the one hand, and democracy on the other — this truly haute noblesse, is very fur from appearing with that humiliating state, that disdainful distance with which the nobility of every other country disgust and insult the people. The only part of this building worthy of notice, is Westminster Pall. It is an immense hall, probably the largest in the world, and would be a perfect wonder if it were a little larger. In the course of upwards of seven cen- turies and a half, since William Rufus built it, it has undergone many alterations, but it still preserves a fine character of Gothic grandeur ; and its roof, which derives all its strength from the skilful application of the theory of pressure, is a master-piece of bold and difficult carpentry. The fetes on the coronation of the kings of Eng- land, are celebrated ii* this hall. You wish me to give you some idea of the fine speeches which are delivered in the two i I i m :U4 (a'll.DllALI.. hou^srs of ]);\rlianuMit: — tliry arc fine, precisely as you say, because they ol'teu defcud tlie pri- vileges and Ihe liberties of the nation, but it is impossible lor nie to give you any abstract of those I heard. I perfectly understand any l^lnolish I read, but none whatever that [ hear; — my cort/d fi/ifi/xifti is not yet familiarized witii this awkward pronunciation. In Italy, or in I'ranee, if you do not hear or understand a speech, you can at least say you have seen it ; for you know by our gesticulations when we mean to express esteem and tenderness, or when we arc .giving vent to hatred and contempt, hut in iMigland, whether they court you or storm at you, whether they praise you or abuse you,- — their countenance, tone of voice, and ges- ture, are the same. «SV///.v (/c hoc. And now let us go and see another building which passes for Ciothic, although it is no such thing. 1 shew it you because it is the Hotel dc Ville, the hall of othee of the King of the City ; for, as you doubtless know, the mayor of London is, in some sort, the real sovereign if/tra muros; that is to say, of all that large part of London which is called t/ic City; and the people, or rather the trades, are his immediate electors, totally independent of the influence of parliament, nobility, ministers, king, and even clergy ; which (• n I 1)11 A I.I .'il i Ins*, rinz nous, would appear yet more oxtraor- (lindry and smprisin^^ tlian all \\\v rest. (iuildliiill, tlu' ])uildii)^^ in (piostion, was pL>r- haps (lotliic before the ^reat Hre of IfJflO, hut now it is neither (Jothie nor inock'rn. It is an arehiteetiiral iniscclldnca. The eleelions of the mayor, inend)ers of parliament for the city, and other ])ul)lie ollieers, are carried on in its lar^c hall. rhey are all chosen by the j)eople, who consider them as their a«jfents and deputies, and who are in fact the true sovoreij^ns of the city. The name (luildhall sii>niiies the hall of the associated bodies of the trades. This is a faith- ful ima<;e of the first |)atriarchal <»overnrnents. It is an example of the |)ower dele^^ated by the great family to the most sni>acious and experienced of their body; but it has this important advan- tage over the primitive institution — the oiKccrs are changed every year, that they may not be spoiled by ambition and by jiower. The authority and privileges of the mayor are very considerable. It would be worth while to describe them to you at length, for some of them are very curious and interesting ; some are even extravagant : but I should be writing you a volume instead of a letter, and this already be- gins to exceed all reasonable bounds. I will only tell you, then, that he has a right to forbid the king to enter the city without his jicr- \i I ^ 4 k. '■ 316 THE LORD MAYOR. mission; to expel, and even to punish every soldier or officer of the king's troops, who dares to show himself in uniform and with arms within the jurisdiction of the city. At the king's coronation, the office of chief butler during the whole ceremony devolves on him, and he receives a present as matter of right. At the king's death he becomes the first officer of the kingdom, and consequently has a place in the privy council ; he is thus the person who fills the interregna, &c. &c. Like the king, he has his royal residence, called the Mansion-house, which, as a building, is perhaps more royal than the king's. He has his sceptre and other regalia, his officers of the palace, his retinue, carriages, services of plate, state-dinners, &c. &c. He has his own courts of justice, and is supreme judge in many weighty and important matters. His entrance into office, or his coronation, is quite regal, and sometimes the king himself is present en bour- geois, at the coronation feaistof this bomgeois king. I say bourgeois king, since he is that, and can be nothing more ; the nobility and aristocracy of the land have nothing to do with city affairs, and hold them in sovereign contempt. He en- tertains — always as king of the city — all foreign sovereigns; and, to convince you he does not starve them when he invites them to dinner, I J.l CTTY FEAST. 317 ( will just tell you that the one he gave to the Allied Sovereigns in 1814, cost him, cr rather the city, 500,000 francs. Much has been said about the feasts of Epulons and Vitellius, but I doubt whether they ever gave one comparable to this. The English are usually very frugal in their eating, but when they set about feasting they do it in earnest. It appears that this was always one of the national traits ; for at a dinner given by Richard II, thirty oxen and more than three hundred sheep we, j killed, not to men- tion other viands ; and at the coronation dinner of the present king, 7,442 lbs. of beef, 7,133 of veal, 2,474 of mutton, more than 3000 head of poultry, about 9000 eggs, &c. &c. were digested. Imagine, after this, the quantity and quality of the wines ; for the English delight in anabun- dance of them yet more than of eatables. You will think perhaps that all these privi- leges, these immunities, and this sovereignty of the people of the city of London ; this pomp, prerogative, and dignity of their annual king, are frequently mere empty theatrical shows. No, my dear Madam, nothing is more real and substantial. The slightest infringement of them would kindle a blaze through the whole city. Nor would it end there, for all England is more or less interested in the privileges of a city which is the centre of the business of the '■ ( fl n f I 318 (il'ILDllAl.L. three kingdoms. And the English generally are not people to let their charters be eaten by the mice, like that of St Oiien. But the lord mayor, and all he has brought in his train have led me far from my subject — (Juildhall. Let us return to it a moment, to have done with it. The hall, as 1 have already told you, is very spacious, but contains nothing remarkable, ex- cept Gog and Magog, two colossal statues of wood, representing, as I am told, a Saxon and a British giant, — probably the descendants of the Gog and Magog of the Hebrews ; and four monuments, which the gratitude of the city has erected to the two Pitts, Bcckford, who was twice mayor, and Nelson. That of lord Chatham is so loaded with em- blems, with inappropriate and misplaced attri- butes, that the ridiculous adulation conveyed by these accessories greatly diminishes that feeling of veneration with which one would otherwise contemplate a statesman, who ex- pired while pleading the cause of wisdom and generosity, — the cause of the liberty of the colo- nies — against which ignorance and obstinacy long and vainly struggled. That of his son does not excite the same feelings. Ic is impossible to forget the different characters which this wily politician assumed durino- the French Revolution— all different, but (iUll,UllAi-L. 319 -y all sanguinary. The scul])tor seems to have been of my way of thinking, for the figures are totally without design and without expression, and seem to have been conceived and executed in disgust. The country ought h'lwever to be much obliged to him for his England, which he has modestly crowned and sceptred a;^ queen of the Ocean, and mounted '' /' iftg/uLse upon a sea-horse. The monument to Nelson exhibits a very pretty back view of a figure, who aj)pears ex- tremely busy in transmitting to posterity, .slih veteruw, on stone, the naval victories of the hero. Had I been in her place 1 would have omitted "Copenhagen:" and, since she had com- pleted the word "Trafalgar," and with it of course her whole task, she might surely have turned her head a moment to shew the curious specta- tor what Muse or other fair lady of his acquaint- ance he was contemplating. Of all the thou- sands of statues I have seen, this is the oidy one which ever hid her flice from me. I have there- fore great doubts as to her beauty ; for pretty faces like to be seen, let them be as modest as they may. And what is the use of this endless inscription ! The ancients said a great deal about their minor gods, by way of putting them, but when they spoke of Jupiter, his bare name was su^Hcient. Now, as Nelson is certainly the ) : -J<*>*«ft«*il»,: i-^'t-'- - 1 ,-: I I !;■ 320 GUILDHALL. Jupiter of sailors, a " Here lies Nelson," would be the roblest epitaph he could receive. A great name is the most eloquent of all inscrip- tions. Let anybody try to write an epitaph for Napoleon which will produce a more powerful eifect than the single word — Napoleon. When I read the inscriptions of the English I lose sight of their national gravity. The monument to Beckford is the most simple, and consequently the best. Those two women (I do not know who they are, by the by) sit very gracefully on his tomb, and weep very prettily, and very much in earnest, and their sorrow is justified by the physiognomy of this excellent magistrate, which is truly that of an honest man. But, as I must object, I will con- fess I should have been better pleased if the sculptor had represented him, either wholly as a plain John Bull, or wholly as a magnificent and serenissimo lord mayor; those robes, that ermine, those semi-royal decorations of the iron age, accord very ill with those Yorkshire breeches, that Northumbrian waistcoat, that or- thodox wig, the modest raiment of the golden age ; or, as he has given him a toga of such ex- traordinary dimensions, he might at least have made it cover these undignified garments. There are certain aspects of nature which the fine arts do not permit, still less harlequin combinations GUILDHALL. 321 of them : an artist ought to feel whatever de- tracts from the dignity of his subject. Let us now conclude the chapter on monuments. The English are liberal, even to profusion, in these proofs of gratitude and admiration towards their distinguished men. — You have already seen Pitt and Nelson at Westminster abbey ; the latter has another and a finer monument in St Paul's. Let us lismiss Guildhall. — All the rest of the building is used for public offices, municipal meetings, and the city courts of justice : they contain nothing remarkable. Are you not thoroughly tired, my dear Madam? I should be, if I had not been talking to you. As I am but a poor villager, and of course have not a carriage in my suite ; and as I do not like contests with the hackney coachmen, who have no tariff with foreigners but their own good plea- sure, and of course cheat as much as they can, I generally go on foot. I am accompanied by a servant, who is a very good German, but a very bad laquah de 'place ; knows London about as well as I know it myself, and of course often makes me double my distance by his immense dttours. You would laugh to see my vivacity engaged in a conflict with his phlegm and obstinacy; happily the walking is exceedingly good on the trottoirs of London. A few steps more, and we VOL. 1. Y 111 ST MARTINS CIIUUCH. I I' will rest. We will just take a look at the Thames from Blackfriars bridge : the view on Waterloo and Westminster bridges is more beau- tiful, but this is more central and varied. You will think that I reserved this as the bo/me douche, the gayest, and the most striking. You are quite mistaken ; not, however, more than I was myself. It is the meanest and gloomiest view in all London : without quays, and bordered only by barrack-looking buildings, and by manufactories, the smoke from which blackens heaven and earth, — it is more like the haunt of Cyclops than of Naiads. St Paul's itself, which would be seen here to the greatest advantage, is almost totally eclipsed by that smoking veil, and appears incongruously mag- nificent contrasted with the surrounding build- ings. One moment more, to shew you the finest portico in London — perhaps the finest modern portico in the world, certainly the finest I ever saw; — I mean that of the church of St Martin in the Fields. It combines the rarest lightness, elegance, and majesty ; it is rich, but not loaded with ornament. But what is the use of that steeple which rises behind the pediment, and destroys its beautiful harmony? When archi- tects know not where to put a part of their 4 '■%•%' ST PAUL, COVEXT GARDEX. 323 projected building, they had much better leave it on paper, than find a place for it at the expense of the beauty of the whole. St Martin's parish, without this steeole, would have had four or five thousand pounds the more in its treasury, — (probably this is exactly the consideration which moved the architect to build it — }, and the most beautiful portico, perhaps, modern or ancient. It is also a great pity that it was built upon a plane of great inclination, and in a lane in which the view of it is com- pletely obstructed by wretched houses. The portico of St Paul, Covent-garden, of a simple Tuscan, is striking and grand. But, in England, if there is a fine thing, there must be some monstrosity close to it. Under this portico, by the side of the great door, which is beautiful in its design and in its propor- tions, the architect has put two very small prison doors ; can you guess for what reason ? In order to have the pleasure of expatiating in another deformity ; — to have more space to open two windows, of a monstrous and discordant height : and for fear the stones of which the portico and the church are built, should be wetted, a Chinese cornice is stuck on, which juts out from this beautiful building like an umbrella. I meant to take you to the portico of St U f MC ml ! 'i. r. \ Il i — "iwi m » >' ' ! !'i 1 i. 324 ST GEORGE, HANOVER SQUARE. George, Hanover Square, but it is not worth the additional trouble. The pediment is too heavy and flattened ; the peristyle is too narrow, and is flanked by two large and totally useless pillars, at its side entrances, to render it yet nar- rower, and to obstruct, or at least encumber, the passage. I shall therefore take my leave of you at St Paul's and St Martin's, whence we will start for another ramble. Meanwhile, ruminate a little upon this. I have given you so hasty a sketch of men and things, that I fear you will find more confusion of ideas than justness of observation ; more frankness than prudence ; more to fatigue than to interest you. You think perhaps that after this long letter my perplexities are somewhat abated, and that I have found the clue to all i wanted. On the contrary, when I think how much of this great cosmorama I have still to shew you, subjects rush to my mind in such a crowd and tumult, that I am oppressed by the difficulty of arranging and explaining them, and the perplexity encreases to such a degree as to stupify me. In the continental salons you may find abundance of people who lay down the law very volubly and grandly about England. Let them come here, let them distinguish and reflect, and they will see what a problem they have to unriddle. This island produces the same «"<« «»'t < il' W>- a*H LONDON'. 325 effect on the understanding of the traveller as Circe's did on his countenance. He becomes not less bHe in the one than in the other, though in a different manner. Vale! I ! iiil i '■■» . 'I r 11 -fii ^ '■'* '"j" LETTER Vlll. London, February 20th, 1822. At the very moment I was about to rejoin you to continue our walk through London, I re- ceived your welcome letter, dated the 25th of last month. I think I must apply to you what you have kindly been willing to believe of me ; — it is yojr lively and creative imagination which enables you to form magnificent pictures out of the few slight strokes which I have the honour *o offer you upon what I meet with here and there in my excursions : the more so, as the reflections you find in them are but the moral corollaries which naturally flow from the de- scription of physical or material objects. Con- tinue to avail yourself of such resources, and I '' •Un ' mY^ ^« ■ ^ ' * "',i:i^tim: LONDOW^. 327 you will have found the means of rendering my letters more supportable, and of sparing your own patience. . . This is the magic of the cultivated mind ; and my poor pen will also derive encouragement from it, in the perplexity into which it is some-' times thrown. I sail on still, my dear Countess, in this Archipelago of rocks : it is marvellous that I did not strike upon them in my last ; how I may escape them in this 1 know not. But though I should surmount the difficulties which present themselves in crowds before my eyes and to my pen, to the confusion of both ; though I should be able to acquit myself tolerably of this thorny task, how shall I avoid the conse- quences which it may produce ? How shall I steer clear of all that may displease the proud and fastidious English? Certainly I am not governed by prepossession or prejudice, and still less by bad intentions. You know my frank- ness — you have often done me the honour to con- fess that I am dispassionate. You know that I am incapable of making white black ; but at the same time I am not much given to make black white ; and it would be better to be silent than to offer you such servile observations; — to carry about a bag of indulgences to distribute to all who are rich enough to buy them. I cannot h 328 TEA (iAllDEN. help repeating, but without reproach, that it is you who have forced me to enter tliese formid- able lists. I am not, as you know, easily intimidated, but " ilCiel me la inandi bitona.'' Under all circumstances I implore the aid of my fair Amazons, the valiant Penthesileas, the generous, sweet, and engaging Lodowiskas of England : aided by this noble and powerful phalanx, I can fear nothing ; and the legions of our intrepid Clelias, commanded by a chief like you, would be no slight support. Those who ventured to attack me with such auxiliaries would find they had no easy game to play. Let me therefore prove myself worthy of them, that they may not defend an unjust cause. You may find perhaps in this ramble, as in all the others, some want of judgment, of discrimination, and too much frankness; but neither malice, par- tiality, nor fanaticism. I will begin this eighth excursion with a sight entirely new, and somewhat strange to us both — a boxing-match. I was admiring the varied, enchanting, and delicious landscape up the Thames, from the centre of Vauxhall bridge, when I saw on the other side, on the right of the river, a place of great resort ; they told me it was a large tavern : this was precisely what I wanted to see. I lH)XlN(i-MATCIl. 329 could hardly resolve to quit the bridge and the Thames ; but at length 1 yielded to curiosity, and went there. It was a holiday : the garden and the rooms were filled with at least two thousand people ; yet, closing my eyes, I could have believed myself in a church ; I heard no noise but the trampling of the feet of those who came in or went out ; and you know that, from the peculiar spring of the English in walking, their tread is not very loud. There were men sitting in the midst of women, and women surrounded by men, all completely absorbed in their glass of beer or cup of tea. This incredible silence would not perhaps have ended so soon, had not two young men interrupted it by a few words c'' defiance. They went out with their seconds, without the slightest disturbance in the com- pany. Curious as I am to see everything, it was in my vocation to follow them, which I did. Not seeing any arms, I thought I had gone in vain ; but I soon perceived that it was by blows with the fist that the vanquished was to be overthrown, and the conqueror crowned. The most perfect quiet prevailed over the voices and countenances of the numerous specta- tors of the combat ; nothing was heard but the fall of the tremendous blows; and I perceived that my astonishment and the feelings which 1 l^ ^ i:r ItU ti^ '^\ 'immmmmmm. . /*^ j« ,i,ii ') 330 no X INC -MATCH. could not conceal at the sight of these dis- figured countenances, which every blow ren- dered more terrible, was regarded as indecorous and offensive. The seconds stopped them, from time to time, to give them rest and recruit their strength, after which they set them on as they would have done bull dogs, yet without the slightest change in their immoveable manner, or profound silence. What cold-hearted beings, my dear Countess ! What sombre dispositions ! History paints them as the most cruel of men. Far less would one fear the fury which is ex- cited by some generous sentiment: indeed, without this sa^ig froid how could the cabinet of St James's have sown devastation and destruc- tion through Portugal, Spain, and Russia ; have renewed the carnage in India ; have protected, with hearts steeled to religion and humanity, the Turks against the Christians, and made everything bend to its own political ends? — But let us return to the boxing-match. A distinguished nobleman, who appeared to understand the thing well, assured me that there was perhaps not a sing: e Englishman who once, at least, in his life hi a not received a broken nose, black eye, or a fractured rib, in this glo- rious manner. Both parties have enough of it in this generous duel, and he who gets the least is conqueror. VAL'XIIA l.J . 331 Their distigured countenances are trophies here, though we should regard them as a lasting disgrace. The young men were conducted home in triumph, both the conqueror and the con- quered : but the one walked with a downcast lo( k, whilst the other displayed his jfist to whoever was willing to encounter it ; — as Achilles did his sword, still reeking with the blood of Hector, to the Trojans. You will be surprised, my dear Madam, with this mode of deciding an affair of honour; — ^I am not so at all. Every country has its prejudices and its peculiar views : are not these, for instance, the pugilistic combats of the Ro- mans ? (for the comfort of our antiquaries) and were they not so barbarous as even to compel men to fight with wild beasts, and to consider such a sight as fashionable and amusing ? And are we less barbarous, who, like butchers, slaughter each other at the altar of honour ? I am not even surprised at their sang froidy for it is either the effect of climate, or of character rendered imperturbable by education ; nor could I venture to decide whether it is allied more to vice than to virtue : I can only say, that I consider it more active in the former than in the latter. Let us now go to Vauxhall, to divert our thoughts a little by a scene more agreeable. iii ) .. h I i< lit mma ti iw '•""•"■*'- ' M" 'y^ r. 332 KNGLISII SOCIETY. The spectacle is altogether grand, varied, and novel; it is far superior to the Tivoii of Paris, if we except the saloons ; the gardens are splen- did; the illuminations have a striking effect, although, when minutely examined, they are paltry. There is an immense concourse of per- sons, and a variety of amusements, consisting of eating, drinking, and English singing ; but in the midst of them all the Englishman never forgets himself; and the follies and confusion which are seen in similar places in Italy and France, exist not here. An inquisitive stranger spends his five shillings at Vauxhall very satis- factorily, especially the first time. The difficulties of describing high life are great ; but it is necessary to give you some idea of it. Fashionable society in England, although composed of the same elements as that of other nations, differs widely in its combinations : an air of affability may generally be found at fashionable places of resort ; a certain ease of manner bordering on quiet nonchalance ; a supe- riority to forms and civilities, which savours rather of pride than liberality. The English, both high and low, must be sovereigns every- where ; to them, any restraint, or conformity to the rules of politeness, is humiliation and slavery; thus I observed, one evening, the prince royal of Denmark received no more respect than such an S s ENGLISH SOCIETY. 333 IM obscure individual as myself : on the contrary, perhaps more attention is paid to a humble person, who regards it as a mark of their polite- ness, than to one of more importance, who might receive it as the mere performance of a duty ; for the English like nothing in society which has the appearance of duh/. I fear the poor prince must have fancied he read in this English pride the recollection of the burnings and devastations with which these gentlemen twice visited his arsenals and capital during the last war. It is a good moral lesson for those who suffer them- selves to be blinded by prosperity, and gulled by the flattery of courtiers. When people of fashion meet by invitation at a private residence, they are then truly high, and sufficiently genants. Before appearing there, it is prudent to study the code of local etiquette, and even the received polite extravagancies ; (some of which are to be found everywhere) otherwise one might commit a dreadful offence while performing an act of politeness, — an act, at least, sanctioned and recognised as such in every other country. Great dignity and decorum pervade English society : if little inconsistencies occasionally appear, we must not be prudish about them ; for without some inconsistency and extravagance, no Englishman could get his bi'evet as (111 hon-Um. ! I . -^A • I m Vj liiil 334 ENGLISH SOCIETY. All this appears natural in the English, edu- cated in these habits, and born to hereditary con- tradiction and eccentricity ; and in them it h[ s often a certain grace and attraction, as indica- ting originality. Nothing, however, is so pitiable and disgusting as the foreigners who affect to imitate them ; they are neither men nor monkies, neither black nor white, but the most ridiculous and insufferable race of beings in the world. Do you imagine, my dear Madam, that I shall return thus metamorphosed? I think not. It is said that man is the image of God ; if there were no other likeness of him than these intoler- able creatures, I should soon become an Atheist. If ever it should happen that one of these fades is introduced to you, expel him quickly from your society, before he drives away men of sense, and contaminates the rest. Wherever they appear, they ought to be surrounded with a cordon smiitaire; particularly if they belong to our southern regions, where the climate renders men more pliant, and consequently more suscep- tible of good and evil, and where they become disgusting, when they add the vices and defects of other nations to their own. The English travel to improve themselves, and they succeed ; we travel to make ourselves ridiculous, or at least this is generally the consequence. The reason appears to me to be, that tlie youth of ENGLISH SOCIETY. 335 Erj^land are generally better educated than our own. The object of English education is solidity and principle ; our governments, which accommo- date themselves very little to any other principles than their own, form the Italians to vanity, volatility, and to the seducing pomp of appear- ances. Such are the moral and secret powers which combine with that physical and threaten- ing force displayed by our rulers to aid their projects of reigning despotically over a corrupt people. If we have always had men eminent for literature and science, great artists, and heroes, it is that such minds are constantly gene- rated by the secret, inexplicable influence of this classic land of letters, science, laws, philo- sophy, and heroism. The stranger may come and rob us of our wealth, destroy our knowledge, and corrupt our virtues, and spread ignorance, misery, and moral degradation through the land ; but, in spite of all his efforts, he will always trace some re- mains of the Mons Sacer and of the Capitol among us. Italy is ** the true Arabian bird;" she is con- stantly reviving from her ashes. But let us return to the chapter on English society : it is a subject which teems with more important con- sequences than might be imagined. Here, as in other places, are to be found dan- i ! ll •'I- 336 ENGLISH SOCIETY. >1 dies and coxcombs, but they are less coxcomb- ical and less insipid than elsewhere. Through all their frivolity one always perceives some- thing of the English gravity; and this is easily accounted for. There is perhaps hardly a single young Englishman whose predominant design is not that of taking some share in public busi- ness, or who does not aspire to be somebody in the Great Family, either to gratify his personal ambition, or his national pride, or to qualify himself to become the supporter of her glories and her liberty. You must be sensible that a young man under the influence of such feelings must naturally contract a less frivolous air and conduct than our young men of family, who are formed to nothing but frivolity, and are actually forced upon all the vices and absurdities which idleness engenders. The middling classes in England are almost on a level with the highest in the splendour, profusion, and order of their establishments, and not unfrequently exceed them in etiquette, formality, and haughty reserve. Napoleon, as you probably know, was one day much pleased at hearing that the king of Bavaria walked without parade, and even alone, through the pub- lic walks, the markets, &c. It was suggested that he might do the same. ** Yes," answered he, ** if I could, like him, trace my dynasty through ■ ENGLISH SOCIETY. 337 ten centuries. The middle classes in England appear to believe that the simplicity and ease which add distinction to families established on the solid foundation of time, ancient renown, and public opinion, might be prejudicial to those who, in the absence of intrinsic and recognized claims to consideration, must keep up their im- portance by external appearances. But there is perhaps another motive which acts tacitly, but imperiously. The word liberty has too often given birth to licentiousness, and even with us, when we have been weak enough to believe for a moment that we possessed it, such freedoms have glided into society as were offensive and almost insupport- able : there are traces of them still. It is, in my opinion, the fear lest the same cause should produce the same effect in a country truly free, which has naturally led the English to obviate it, by sacrificing ease and simplicity to that etiquette and formality which all have judged necessary ; and a certain degree of morgue must be the immediate consequence of all osten- tation. I must repeat, my dear Countess, that it would be the extreme of boldness in any one to attempt to decide on all that strikes the eye in this universal emporium, which is truly the new world of the old world. An Englishman him- VOL. I. z m w 33S KXHI.ISH SOCIETV. self would, I imagine, be puzzled, were he asked to define exactly what he sees others do, and what he daily does himself, and it would be the height of presumption on the part of a new comer and an untravelled mountaineer, like my- self. I therefore beg that you will consider all I send you from this mcomprelicmible cou/itnj as mere inductions from appearances ; and in order to calm your doubts upon wha, I cannot ex- plain satisfactorily, and your curiosity concerning what I cannot explain at all, I must offer another reflection which I have drawn from my slight observations during my short residence in Eng- land. By this means you may be enabled to explain for yourself, should you visit this coun- try, what no one will ever be able to explain to you. The secret is not difficult, and it will rarely mislead you. When anything perfectly incomprehensible presents itself to your observation, if it ap- pears extravagant and absurd, set it down as the offspring of custom, which in no part of the world, I believe, has so powerful an empire as in England; if it is only new to you, believe without hesitation that it has been dictated by good sense, the influence of which over the English is even more powerful than that of custom ; and, in this latter case, if you will give yourself the trouble of reflecting on ^^ ! he 5 do, id be new my- er all \vij as order t ex- irning loiher slight I Eng- )led to , coun- xplaia it will ensible it ap- dovvn 10 part rful an to you, been which ul than if you ting on CLLBS. 339 whatever you see singular and novel, you will find that this is the key to it, though it miglit not perhaps have occurred to you at first. Let us now continue our walk, and visit the caaini. The casinos, here called clubs, are social esta- blishments, agreeable, instructive, and indeed indispensable in a country like England. Ob- servatciirs who consider them slightly, may at first imagine them the offspring of prejudice, an exclusive spirit and pride, but on reflection they will see their wisdom. In England, to preserve the state of society from a debasing mixture, one of the most necessary precautions is to sepa- rate well-educated and well-bred people from those who are not so. Englishmen in their own houses are literally kings ; they maintain their private sovereignty in its full force, and are not unfrequently selfish and imperious, but as soon as they are in the streets they become obedient subjects to the sovereignty of the people ; and all ranks are perfectly equal. It is only by means of those splendid equipages, which prove the pomp of opulence, by the ostentation of those liveries, those gilt canes, those bands and a'lguil- lettes, which distinguish the different ranks of the nobility, that they procure that degree of respect which custom, yet more sovereign than the people, rarely refuses to them. This places them for an instant above the specu- -•(: U m 340 CLUUS. lativc iradesman, wlio submits to the humilia- tion of bowing at the door of their carriages in the hope of extracting money from their pockets ; but he becomes equally proud as soon as he has realized a good fortune and rendered himself independent : you will therefore see, that public coHee-houses on the footing of ours would hardly be practicable in England. The freedom of access would bring together every rank; and a good coat, which here is worn by rich and [)oor, by honest men and swindlers, would expose a gentleman to incidents not only disagreeable, but troublesome and inconvenient. It wonld not be impossible that, at the moment you were quietly taking your cup of coffee, or your breakfast, a pickpocket might come np to you in order to pilfer, or a sans calotte, in hand- some trowsers, put his feet upon your table, rock your chair, sing or whistle in your ear, bite or cut his nails in your presence, or even (your pardon, Countess,) adjust his hair with his " pockct-cwnh.'' It is also by no means unlikely that he might call on you to exercise your power oi sclf-dtfcncc after the fashion of his country, if you betrayed the slightest disgust or resent- ment. You see therefore, that the institution of clubs is founded in reflection, and is really necessary ; consequently they are almost as nu- merous as our coffee-houses. In whatever land I'KIIIODICA I. I'U JU.ICATIONS. 341 I he may be, a traveller ou«^ht to be astonished at nothing, and still less to give an opinior. before he has maturely refleeted on the cir- cumstances of the country in which he is : in England he mu^t be more guarded than in any other. In these clubs everything is well conceived, and well arranged. All that rcorards the con- venience and comfort of English life — all that order, decency, and dignity require, are there. The attendance is ready and precise, and the most hrill'KDit cleanliness is united to solid elegance. There are rooms for study, where you find a choice library — all the newspapers, pamphlets, and periodical publications. There are other rooms for conversation. You find baths and dressing-rooms ; and, if necessary, excellent cookery. Such is the one to which I have had the honour of an introduction, the Travellers'^ Club, and the names of the members of which it is composed, place it in a most distinguished rank. I have just mentioned the newspapers, pamph- lets, and periodical publications, &c. These are among the greatest benefits society derives from the liberty of the press. These censors, much more useful and efficient than those of antiquity, are the true aegis both of the king and the people. If some lift up their voices against all infringe- » t , ^. M .342 I'KUIODU Al.S. nuMits on tlic liluMty of tlu' subject, others o|>|u)se all attacks on the |)icro<;a(ivc of ihe crown. St> thai i»ll, while thi'y flislinLCuish nionarciiy iVoni repiihlie and repnUlic IVoni nio- narciiy, unite tiicir ellorts to do ^'ood, and op- j)ose each otlu>r in order to prevent the iiarni each respectively nii«;ht do. The newspapers and periodical works of li)i(M..s. 3M world is a speculation ; and on llu; other hand, it sonielinu's ija|)|)('ns that some iniioreseen event trips up the heels of the plot, and that the de- eeiver and the deceived change places. The servant !. .)ks into them for a master, the master for a servant ; the artist is there made known to the amatenr ; the sho|)keepcr, the tailor, the shoemaker, cvc. iiave reeonrse to them for pur- chasers, and the latter find in them prodii^ious choice of all they believe to be best of the kind they want to purchase. They contain adver- tisements of the public amusements ; the luxu- ries, the fashions, the conveniencies of life. There philanthropy finds the charitable institu- tions ; and national ])ride all those which can encrease its knowlcdfj^e and its ^lory. They even announce all large j)arties, great rlinncrs and assemblies, public or private ; the names of all /wrsofKtiii's or others who were [)resent ; nor is this so insignificant as one might at first ima- gine : these are facts from which ])oliticians and speculators of various kinds draw important inferences. Lastly, my dear Madam, we may find a husband or a wife, and what is more, a good one. I know a very respectable couple who came together in this extraordinary manner, and it would be difficult to find a marriage among those which are brought about with so many schemes, entreaties, and calculations, ¥ 344 PERIODICALS. T more happy than theirs. They call themselves the couple of chance and happiness. Nothing escapes the English journalists. In England, therefore, people who read nothing but the newspapers may be well informed, or at least, may have a general idea of what is passing in the world ; and this is no trifle. Now as every body in England can read — and all who can read, read tLo newspapers — the inference seems to be, that there cannot be a blockhead in the whole country. But even if a man be unable to read, he must learn from the reading and conversation of others, that he is a free citizen ; that he is answerable only to the laws and to public opinion for his actions ; that he may be called upon to be the judge of his fellow citi- zens ; that he has a voice in the election of his own judges, and in that of the representatives of the nation ; that if he is an honest man, his rights are equal to those of any member of the commu- nity. A man who fully understands these rights, who knows for certain that he cannot incur the smallest debt without hazard of imprisonment, nor commit a crime without the risk of being hanged, may remain a brute, but never ^fool. The periodical journals, pamphlets, reviews, &c. are the mirrors which reflect the progress of the human mind, the discoveries in science, philosophy, political economy, and literature. ■*i!l PEKIODICALS. 345 Like our Academy of la Crusca, when it was good for anything-, they sift everything that comes out of the press, but they care very little as to whether the words are Cruscauti or not. The great end of their criticism is to correct ideas ; the object of their efforts, to recall both kings and subjects to the principles of equity, moderation, and harmony, which combine to form the grand union, the true social compact ; and confirm the happiness, while they guard the dignity, of the monarch and of the nation. In short, they are great literary, scientific, and political repertories or manuals, where the minds both of people and kings may find all that is requisite for private or for public life. Oh, my dear Countess, what are the miserable journals of the Continent when compared to those of England ? Those base parasites of des- potism — ■ ' ', nee contemnere siste. But if the liberty of the press is a great ad- vantage to the public, it is also a good specu- lation for the government. The tax imposesd on printers brings in enormous sums. I have seen the report this year made to the House of Commons, and I believe the tax on newspapers alone produced more than ten mil- f •m ,»M ' "BIL ' * 'J ' il " *" 346 PERIODICALS. it' (I } h lions of francs. Besides, by dint of reading what is permitted to be publicly printed, one is led to express ones opinions on all that regards the government, and thus the public treasury is saved the expense of domestic spies. By this species of economy, ministers are enabled to pay more liberally thtir emissaries on the continent, and to give them the power of making such an appearance as may procure them admittance into the highest societij, and at the courts, in which they swarm ; while, at the same time, by this liberal concession, they sometimes pro- cure means and pretexts for doing as they like in other particulars. Thus you see, a thing which is an object of unqualified dread to our governments, is one of the most valuable re- sources of that of England. Its liberality yields it great pecuniary profit, and a perfect knowledge of what is passing in England and elsewhere. The proprietors of newspapers amass consi- derable fortunes, and, in my opinion, deserve all they acquire. It is impossible to pay too highly those diligent sentinels of the out-posts of the nation ; these courageous and formidable ene- mies of despotism and of anarchy ; these Catos, who repress licentiousness, vice, and public abuses. If we reflect on all they do, we shall find that the English journalist realizes the alle- PUBLISHEKS. 347 gory of the twelve labours of Hercules. They want nothing but a rather more careful and decorous selection of matter. There is another class of men in England who, if not so useful, are no less formidable, and play as important a part in the literary world as the newspaper writers. It is the class of publishers. While they foster literature by their speculations, they con- tribute much to fulfil the '* ridcndo castiaat mores," to defend public liberty, and to promote the spread of knowledge and civilization. It is true that, as they possess the sole power of bringing any book whatever into notice, they tyrannize a little over the poor authors ; but they buy everything, and authors sell them every- thing " brodo c acino,'" as the Tuscans say. It often happens that, dazzled by great names, they pay dear for trifling works ; and, as in England everything is a matter of trade, and knowledge of the right employment of ones articles of commerce is the great secret of making money, it frequently happens that more is gained by what is suppressed than by what is published. This is easily understood, my dear Madam; they have their eyes and their purse everywhere, and scent out and obtain whatever they find will answer their purpose. They seize, for instance, upon MSS. which may amuse the public at the I il 1 % :v I ' '; f }« ' I ^i 348 LAWYERS AND PHYSICIANS. expense of some well-known individuals, dis- cover some great magazine of important secrets, &c. &c. &c. Those who are interested in destroy- ing or suppressing them, do not hesitate to make great sacrifices ; (as there is money for every- thing in England) ; and thus the publisher gets a considerable sum merely /or doin4 P JHJ."J I >i; 1 . i • 1' 350 ENGLISH LAW. proverbs of Nicius Erythcus. lie says that there are three classes of men who never observe themselves what they prescribe to others. " No one," says he, " less observes the laws than the man of law, yet he is always advising them : no one is less careful of that regimen which he de- clares essential to health than the physician, who is always declaiming on his own system : no one fears remorse or the stings of conscience less than the priest, and yet these are always some of the principal ingredients of his sermons." There is another class very formidable in England, perhaps indeed the most formidable of all ; — this is the judicial class. I am not suffici- ently initiated into the mysteries of Themis to dare to penetrate into the interior of the sanctuary of the laws of a foreign country; and were 1 even high ])riest, it would demand years, rather than three months, only to pass over the thres- hold of her temple, in a country so extraordinary, and which has sufl'ered so many revolutions, as England ; and which has, 1 believe, no other really fundamental laws than those of its political constitution. But judging from what I see as a mere spectator of their system of law, urnvrittcn and written , or comimm and statute, they appear to have found the necessity for creating a court of equity, as a court of appeal from the sentences of the courts of law, which are dependant on KN(.1.1SH LAW. 351 a •n nto )f ;s it ; and certainly it does appear that much is left to the arbitrary will of the judi(cs, and that there is an eternal labyrinth of procedure for the parties. This is, of course, the paradise of law- yers, but the hell of their poor clients ; who, under such a system of legislation, may easily enough become St Bartholomews. Why not give a uniform and harmonious character and course to the whole body of English laws, as Napoleon did to those of France, which were a perfect chaos? How is it that, in a country so enlightened, people are not convinced that all systems founded on this antiquated maxim, — " Inveterata consuc- tudo pro lege cwstoditiir ; hoc est jus quod a moribus constitutum est,'' are in turn the offspring and the parents of prejudice? For almost everything moral " crescit eundo i' what is physical alone is rusted and worn out by age. — I cannot guess ; unless it be that the English fear that their country, by becoming too i)erfect, may become monotonous ; and that the legislators, and still more the lawyers, prefer a variety, which ensures them ahvays something to do. See what they have done with the code of Justinian! Not daring to destroy it entirely, they have so de- faced it by their commentaries, that they have rendered it a perfect monster ; robbing you in one country of what it gives you in another, in which it is differently interpreted, and turn- I'' 1 352 ENGLISH y\HI.STOCRACy. 11 i (Bi ! I ing the whole world topsy-turvy; whilst poor Tribonian believed he had so corrected and arranged this grand repertory of laws, as to pro- vide against every incident that could arise in civil society. A gentleman told me that their courts of justice are better conducted than those of Italy, as he knows that intrigue, court-favour, and despotic influence are not so frequent. This is an assertion, nnd not an argument; and though grieved at the contrast, I congratulate him on the happiness of England. As far as I have been able to form an opinion (and this is my principal object) the judges sit with due decorum ; at least they do not sleep in court, as they do in France, and, to my great surprise, even in the Court of Cassation. But it appears to me that our courts — ( requiescant. ) — displayed much more dignity than I have seen elsewhere. The judicial order was, without question, the best institution which the Usurper gave us; but this was not a financial law, and the Restora* tion must of course anathematize it. Amongst the great number of moral powers which exist in England, there is one which might seem more formidable than all those of a physical nature, we have observed during this excur- sion ; I mean the Aristocracy. But even this exhibits so much contrast, that at the very ENGLISH ARISroCllACV. 353 moment you think your judgment decided, various conflicting opinions arise to suspend and baffle it. I have never seen an aristocracy more aristo- cratic than that of England. When we look at the institutions, ar^l tl e general face of society in this country, at the distinctions and the pri- vileges of some and the exclusion of others ; the poverty of one son, and the immense wealth of another; the manners and customs of the English ; all appear to be founded on the most aristocra- tical principles. What the nobility find in the aristocratical character of the laws, the ignoble find in the aristocracy of their own hearts ; for, generally speaking, even the cobbler is eager to perpetuate the splendour of his family in his eldest son, in spite of justice and paternal affec- tion : in short, every class in England is radi- cally aristocratic. The high-born, and still more the man who would give the world he were so ; the land- owner and the tenant, the wealthy merchant and the humble shopkeeper, the artist and ar- tisan, the lower classes and the rabble, are all kept rigorously distinct by the aristocratical spirit and pretensions. You will occasionally see merit, esteem, (seldom love,) and other cir- cumstances or qualities, bring together indivi- duals of the different classes, but they would ^l i ff VOL. I. A A 4 I Hi! i( , ■I * t k ! 354 AKISTOCKACY ANU DKMOCRACV. >\ i: a never unite of themselves; and nothing can destroy that moral force, which raises an insu- perable barrier between them. Even the radi- cals in this respect are eminently aristocratic, and if they succeed in any of their revolutionary projects, I do not believe they would ever inter- fere with that aristocratical hierarchy which seems to be nationalized in the manners, cus- toms, and opinions of the English. I have had the good fortune of being admitted into so- ciety of all, or nearly all classes, and I have remarked that etiquette and precedence are ob- served in so rigorous a manner, as could only arise from inveterate and habitual aristocracy of feeling and opinion. In the most humble cot- tages, every one takes the place assigned him by his respective class, and with a suitable de- portment. At first, like other inconsiderate people, I smiled at this, but on closer observa- tion my admiration was excited. In short. Madam, an English house, whether of the great or of the humble, may be considered as the most venerated sanctuary of aristocracy, and the English as its most pious devotees. But, on the other hand, if we quit their homes, and lose sight for an instant of their in- stitutions, their privileges, their prospective views for a posterity who may be the splendid representatives of their sepulchral dust, we shall ARISTOCllACY AND DEMOCUACV. 355 in- Itive idid Ihall find that all is democracy in England. You have already seen how widely extended are the rights of an English citizen. But besides this, every man feels that talents and enlightened industry give him a right to these honourable distinc- tions, and that illustrious rank, which elsewhere is granted only to vanity, pride of birth, or favouritism. Every post and office of the state is open to him, — even that of prime minister, — to whatever class he may belong, provided he possesses merit, and stands high in public oj)inion — the supreme power in England, before which even the king himself must bend. The Englishman is entirely free in his choice of the career he may wish to follow. Even his father would not venture to control his inclinations; he would confine himself to paternal remonstrances, if he tho^^ght them dishonourable. What I have already told you in my former letters concerning the city of London, would nearly apply to all the towns of England ; each one has its petty king, its petty ministry, its judges, its privileges, &c., its peculiar institu- tions, which constitute it a small independent state, are essentially democratic. And even the great, when they aspire to conciliate the favour of the nation, are under the necessity of laying aside their hauteur, and of mingling with \ 35G AlllSTOCUACY AND DEMOCllACV. I the multitude, and of winning their suffrage by soft and insinuating flattery, or by certain irre- sistible (triiiuneuts. In public meetings you will sometimes see them cringing servilely to one whom they would not deign to notice in a sanc- tuary of aristocracy. In these meetings too, and even at dinners given on public occasions, you see the first nobility, the greatest names and the oldest blood of England — the man of litera- ture, the landowner, the farmer, the wealthy merchant, the tradesman, the artist and artisan, the clergyman, the magistrate, the member of parliament, (and it is notimusual to see a prince of the royal blood among them,) all assembled for some patriotic or national object, without other distinction than that which the inferior classes are habitually disposed to grant to the superior; without other precedence than the place which the aristocracy in general retains as the privilege of rank, and which every one acknowledges either from habit or respect; — a precedence and distinction, which appear to me doubly neces- sary, to preserve that decorum in the public assemblies of a people truly free, which must ex- clude everything like disorder and sansculottisme ; and to admonish man never to forget who he is, and in what situation he is placed. Factious equality appears to me as intolerable as absolute power, and a certain arrogant familiarity as rft^J*^ »-1lil^'" ARISTOCRACY AND DKMOCRACY. 357 disgusting as haughtiness and disdain : at least, in me, they produce the same effect. Lastly, the king is equally liable to be summoned before the civil tribunals, as the humblest of his subjects; and a lord, whoever he may be, or even a prince of the blood royal, is not secure in the possession of the horse on which he rides, if he has debts which he cannot or will not pay. To conclude, then, this subject of our remarks : — it must be admitted that, if we consider these two great antagonizing powers of the social ma- chine of England; viz. the aristocracy and de- mocracy, in their leading relations, active and re-active, we might be pretty nearly warranted in the conclusion that the latter predominates ; and a farther observation, if careful and precise, would tend to confirm this opinion. I offer you such an opinion as I have been able to form for myself. Having seen that the Englishman is an aris- tocrat in his domestic circles, and a democrat amongst his fellow citizens, I have tried to follow him from his own fireside to the forum, in order to obtain the most exact knowledge of the various stages of this sudden and extraordi- nary metamorphosis. The result is, that he appears to me more democratic in public than 1!V M U \ 358 AIlISTOCRACy AND DEMOCRACY. i !i i I aristocratic in private, though that is saying a great deal. I wished also to observe him at the threshold of his own door ; there he is an amphi- bious animal; he finds himself between these two great rivals, who quarrel for him and embar- rass him beyond expression ; and one step either forward or backward decides his character, and changes as it were his nature : but I have observed that on these occasions he generally leans more to the side of democracy than to that of aristocracy. I have been treated with a degree of haughty reserve, in a house, by a man who of- fered me his arm as soon as he quitted it. I have also observed that an Englishman shows more cordiality and less affectation in his voluntary condescensions than in his observance of the etiquette of fashionable society. Afier all this, let the ladies and gentlemen of our salons, I repeat, sit in judgment on the English without having seen them in their own country. As for me, though I have not had much experience of them, I venture at your request to tell you what I think about them, though I declare that as yet I know nothing about the matter. If you wish however, I will continue ; though I shall always make you play at gatta cieca, that is to say. 1 shall always make you giope in the dark ; and it must depend upon mch [uest ighl the inue; \gatta you [upon ARISTOCRACY AND DEMOCRACY. 359 your own sagacity to obtain correct ideas from my confused and rambling observations. Follow me therefore with your wonted heroic patience ; I must still dwell upon this important and difficult subject, upon the relations and consequences of English aristocracy and demo- cracy. If we consider only the formidable aspect of the English aristocracy, and reflect on the illi- beral principles which the English ministry has professed for many years, we should be led to believe that a Henry the Seventh or Eighth might now effect what would have been exe- cuted during the reigns of Charles I, Charles II, and James II, had it not been for the resistance of the sects opposed to the Anglican and Catho- lic churches. For we have seen what could be done by one man of genius, intrepidity and en- terprize, though at first without any physical force at his command, even at ,.ie very time so many potentates were assembled in Congress to dispute the prize of those victories which had relegated him to the island of Elba, On the other hand, it would be difficult to find a people more discontented with their condition than the lower ranks in England. Burthened with taxes, oppressed, mortified by the oligar- chical distinctions of rank, by the insolent pomp of the great, who, even in churches, sit in pews i r |i: ■nmwBiiiMisnwan 3()() I'Ol.niCM, CONDinON Ol- KNCLANI). >i: 1 II more sj)lcM(li(l than the altar ol" i\\v Divinity, — • it would seem tliat a Wat Tyler nnp()rt it to avoid that social amalgamation which scorns heterogeneous to them, and which ncitlier suits their pride, their manners, nor their habits. I$ut they arc not the less attached to it because it forms a line of demarcation between their independence, and the pretensions of a court which might rashly venture to invade it: they value it still more as opposed to that ty- ranny which would deprive them of their em[)ire " at home," where they are truly sove- reigns, and lessen the large [)roportion of power and influence which they actually possess in the government. Of the two absolute powers by whom they are threatened, the nobles, if compelled to cliuse between them, would lean rather to the side of the people, while restrained from too great licence, than to that of the king; for their immense riches, and their great influ- ence over the middling classes, (that is, over the farmers, shopkeepers, and men of business,) would render it easy for them, under any cir- cumstances, to conciliate the people ; whilst, on the other hand, it is very difficult to come to any terms with that tyranny which invades the rights of all classes without mercy. In the second place, tlierc is perhaps no na- tion so decidedly loyal as the English. I know not exactly why they are so ; but though per- haps it is only from habit, sooner would they 362 POPULAR TUMULTS. >i: ' '\i %\ i I I ! renounce their tea and their calomel, — a thing next to impossible, since the one is become the habitual ingredient of their life, and the other of their death, — than give up their ** God save the King." The reigning king, I believe, they love from affection to his good-natured character. The English, they must have opposition ; and it is this resistance, this force of moral pressure^ which supports the great social edifice. They always come forward readily, whenever they covet their glorious epithet of ** the generous nation." Their popular tumults are nothing. On the continent one imagines, indeed is taught to imagine them, giants ; but they are in fact mere pigmies. When the English are with- out enemies abroad, they think or pretend to think they have them at home ; and above all, if they fancy themselves starving ; I say fancy themselves starving, because the poorest Eng- lishman has always bread and potatoes to eat, and very often roast beef and tea. Then the notion of their sovereignty gets into their heads, and its apostles are more powerful here than anywhere else, because they act more under the cloak of the law and the appearance of solicitude for the common weal, than in any other country of the old world ; they then begin to abuse what till then had ''^^r^'^^Ss^mf^m^^^^fl^r^mn^^. POPULAR TUMULTS. 3C3 appeared all right, and as it should be ; then come cries for reform, public meetings. &c. The good man, John Bull, does not always know himself what he wishes, nor what others would have him wish ; and it is not quite impossible that he may sometimes farther, without intend- ing it, the views of an intriguing ministry, who move him like a puppet by those secret springs which the cabinet of St James's knows so well how to put in action wherever its policy may dictate. But when these scenes, pushed a little too far, begin to make him tremble for the safety of his country, this same John Bull recollects that he is an Englishman — that he will be only an Englishman. Awakened from his dream by that good sense, which the publicity of all the transactions of government and the liberty of the press have fostered in him from his cradle — ex- cited by that patriotism, which is at once the soul and the strength of the English nation — struck with shame and horror at the idea that these disorders and intestine divisions may make him the tool of the ambition cf foreigners, he pro- nounces, with his national energy, some big words — such as G — d — ; strikes his capacious belly with his right hand, as if thus swearing on the altar of his divinity, that he would nev n lay himself open to foreign enemies ; and returns, with renewed affection, to hh " God save the ;i II /i u \ > 304 POl'ULAU lUMl'l/rs. K' I i king:" he once more whitewashes the parlia- ment, the administration, the magistracy, &c. ; — recognizes his happiness in the possession of so many privileges, so much independence, so much equality in the eyes of the law, so much liberty, and so large a portion of the sovereignty of the nation ; and then comes, " Glee — Sons of freedom," Sec. SiC. This national pride at once soothes his irritated feelings, and calms his gloomy forebodings ; he puts his sword into the scabbard; — or, to speak more correctly, his fist into his breeches pccket; — and once more makes heaven and earth resound with " Rule Britannia :" he returns, with the sub- mission of the Prodigal Son, to his habitual ce- remonies, to his respect for precedency, even to humble bows, to those very aristocratical nobles whom, an instant before, he would have knocked down and degraded below his aristocratical self: for do not fear, my dear Madam, that any English- man, however democratical he may be, will ever forget his own aristocratical claims. You see then that the political convulsions of this island, about which so much noise is made on the con- tinent, are after all mere smoke — a ministerial plaything — or perhaps sometimes the eruptions of their only volcano — Brandy. Time may however bring on other commo- tions, which will be really terrible : and it will LOUD t'ASTLr.UEA(in. 3G5 have been England herself who has re-opened the crater on the continent, if we may believe what I heard at Savona. It is true however that Britain, in common with all Europe, has been delivered from one of the two mortal enemies of public liberty ; — lord Castlereagh is dead ; and consequently Metter- nich has lost his right hand. lie will however look around and easily find another ; and until this volcano be extinguished so effectually as never to be rekindled, the continent will be con- tinually in flames ; its burning ashes may very possibly be carried even into England by the fatal winds of Jesuitism, preceded and accom- panied by the terrible war- word of the Liguc, " II f ant tout bruler, tout detruirey A new minister has no light task in retrieving the faults this unfortunate man has committed, not only in England, but on the continent ; still the evil is not without remedy. Wise measures may yet avert that intense oppression which threatens, I will not say the political liberty — that exists no longer, — but even the natural rights of the noblest work of the Creator. England, in all the great transactions which have accompanied and followed this blessed Res- toration, has thought only of the sovereigns; — will she now do something for the people ? We arc not so unreasonable as these illustrious personages at the congress of Vienna, who each w J. r t> '■i'! I "11 ^\^\mnmmmmm !• 366 SECTS. Jl ^=1 1 ■ II ! i II M / ,1 S' '1' I wanted to usurp a larger portion of the map than he could grasp, and which tlie Usurper was on the point of distributing to them in form. We are far more moderate ; we only ask that she will take back the gift she gave us ; — that she will take back the Jesuits. Our sovereigns are always exclaiming against the Carbonari ; and wherefore ? Let them re- member that this sect, which they would now drown in its own blood, is their own work ; — • that when they organised it in Sicily, and sent it forth upon the continent to reconquer the kingdom of Naples for Ferdinand, they promised to reward its members with a constitutioji ; and that they now only demand a fulfilment of that promise. We shall see what the demands of the Jesuits will be : — may their history be recol- lected ! But Apropos of sects : I now remember that, in one of your letters, you beg that I will endeavour to give you some idea of those which exist in England. You ask too much; it is impossible to give you an idea of them ; it is difficult, and even dangerous, to say a word to you on the subject. I shall confine myself to pointing them out to you. Those who are called Philanthropists, are all included, I believe, (with different ceremonies,) under the common name of Freemasons. Political Economists and Utilitarians, as they are called, from the doctrine of public utility they profess, I {I UELFOIOUS SECTS. 367 IS is to to all emanate from what is called the school of Bentham ; with some dift'erence as to principle, but all tending toward the same end — reforms useful to the whole family of the human race. I cannot conduct you into the sanctuary of their mysteries; I know not even the road which leads to t^iem : in this short time I have hardly been able to understand even the tortuous streets of Lon- don sufficiently to avoid those bye-ways which my good German wanted me to take. However, I believe a great deal of good of them ; for. the illustrious name by which they are distinguished promises at once wisdom, benevolence, and ex- tensive knowledge. He is honourably singular for having done justice to the female sex ; for having thought them capable and worthy to give an opinion on the business and the welfare of that social community of which they are, in my opinion, the brightest ornament. The religious sects are innumerable : all here- sies, ancient and modern, are here propagated and supported by new proselytes and new hiero- phants. Conformists and Non-conformists, Trin- itarians, and Unitarians, Deists and Non-deists, Quakers, Jumpers, Singers, Barkers, &c. are so numerous, and their opinions so varied and ex- travagant, that many among them hardly know to which their fanciful doctrines belong. It would hardly be an exaggeration to say, that ' 1 It * •V i I 'i f 11- ii li :SS, I mil "■■Pili'iwiBWI^MI 368 RELIGIOUS SECTS. i. I !i '''1 >' il ?! (I ;■ J 1 1 i I f If each house has its own peculiar sect. The cabinet of St James's belongs to all, and to none, like most other cabinets, from the time of the Druids downwards : but it is always necessary to have one to entrench oneself in upon occasion : there is therefore one predominant sect, called the Church of England ; and though there is a strong leaven of Ultramontanism in it, it is in fact far the least EngUah of the whole. v I am told there are also Quietists ; so much the better for the Jesuits. To use the not very spiritual language of our provefbistcs, they will find the nuptial bed ready prepared for spiritual marriages ; and may the more easily revive the sect of Jcsuitcssc, like those of Ghent, whom Urban VIII suppressed as scandalous and intru- sive. Why did he not suppress the seducers rather than the seduced 1 This is only a fresh proof that it is always the weakest who loses his cause. In short, the reverend father Lignori, who has lately been canonized, would do well to return for a short time into this world, — one of the easiest miracles one can expect from a saint, — in order to rectify his Istoria delle Eresie. Here he would find all the materials to his hand. What, my dear Madam, is not this enough ? I thought I had said too much already ; — would you have me actually go into all their churches, their chapels, their meetings, &c. ? Consider t QUAKKIIS. :joo luch very will ritual e the horn ntru- liiccrs fresh shis nori, well one cm a resic. hand. I ould ehes, isider ti? what a host I shall raise up against me. And then, persecuted by all these sectarians, — by the Jesuits, the Priests, the Holy Alliance, and lastly, by the English, for some little truths you have compelled me to say of all them — where shall I turn for refuge ? I might fly for shelter to your Cimarella ; where your talents, your eloquence, your influence, and your powerful friends, may protect me ; but recollect there is no safety in a country of priests for those who dare to say to them what our Lord says to all his followers : " llcgmim mcum iwn cat tic hoc niiuith.'" Money and patronage will accommodate matters of every kind ; reverend gentlemen will kindly pro- cure you absolution and dispensation for any- thing ; but never will they forgive these cria/c opinions concerning the virtues of humility, charity, and Christian piety. However, Madam, if you will have it so, let us enter some of the churches, chapels, or meetings of these secta- rians. Let us begin with the Quakers. I have made them several fruitless visits ; every time I have been to their meetings, neither man nor woman was moved by the holy spirit, and the most profound silence was all that rewarded my curiosity. I ventured to ask one of their elders why they refused any exterior form of devotion to the Deity, and whether, like the Jews, they^ awaited the coming of a Messiah to pay him the ** ' i I !♦ %, VOL. r. IJ FJ "^nt 370 ANAUAI'TIS'IS. . i ' 'I It 'vi' 111 homage of taking otf their hats intlic temple. " Do you know the reply of St Augustin ?" said he : ** a man asked him what was the best mode of praying to God : Love him, answered he, and pray to him as you please." He added, that this was the doctrine Fox had preached under the two great trees of Long Island in America. I saw that he knew more about the matter than 1 did, and I dropped the argument ; indeed he did not give me time to continue it, for, in order to convince me effectually, he turned his back to me and walked away. I shall never become a true believer in his politeness, but 1 like his St Augustin well enough; and his brethren, with whose profession of faith I shall not concern myself, are entitled to the admiration and esteem of the public, by the ex- ample of the purest morals, simple and modest manners, and industry. They give the most convincing proof of their love of God, by their edifying performance of the virtue which is most acceptable to him — charity. I am assured that a Quaker beggar is never seen, and they all live in comfort, by means of the mutual assistance they afford each other. Their benevolence extends to all other sects, while there is no example of a Quaker being obliged to make his distresses known to any but his brethren. This is truly evangelical. An Anabaptist told me that they baptized MtTIIODlSTS. 371 "Do \ he: ode of [I pray ras the I great hat he and 1 rive me nee mo walked r in his nough ; f faith I to the the ex- modest e most 3y their is most red that all live sistance er sects, er being any but baptized those only who were able to have a clioice on tlie subject ; that they chose to know wliiit they were about, and wlicn and how it was done, and went away laughing at my ignorance. I think he was right, for the primitive church baptized only adults, some not till the age of fifty ; but he might have been more civil. He was, I conjecture, a tailor or a baker, like those two great prophets John of Haerlem and John of Leyden. The sect of the Methodists is, just now, the most successful in gaining converts, and is of course an object of jealousy to the others, par- ticularly to the Church of England. I asked one of them what he meant by luwonditiomil elec- tion/, ivresidihle grace, Jhud persevenmce, 7ieio birth, &c. &c. He answered that he could not explain these terms, but that he did everything from impulse and for the best, and left the rest to God, with whom he could always reconcile himself. If this is the case with the sect in general, it appears that they read Dr Pangloss more than Wesley or Whitfield ; nor is it aston- ishing that they are an increasing sect, for these are very convenient maxims. This spiritual medicine must have a wonder- ful effect in freeing them from anxiety, and thus prolonging their lives ; very different from the corporeal one of the Afet/iodists of antiquity, ! 1^ 372 I'NIVKUSALISTS. who killed oft' pcojjlc with great celerity with their strictum and la.vwu ; — the weapons with which they combated the Empirics and the Dogmatists. I am delighted with the doctrine of the II ni- versalists ; they have extricated man from the terrors of Satan's bonfire and pitchfork. Our Lord, after his resurrection, went to annihilate limbo, whatever some theologians may say to the contrary ; the Reformers have put an end to pur- gatory, and now the Universalists have abolished hell. Heaven bless them ! They say that God is love, that he is good to all, and that his mercies extend over all his works ; that it is impossible that, after having sent his Son to save them in this world, he can delight in tormenting them merci- lessly in another; in short, they contend for universal Rcduration. I must confess, however, that this word appals me. Uhj restoration, is meant happuicss, it would be better to explain it by some other term ; for the word rcstoratioi is ominous, and grates upon our ears, ever since it was used by lord Castlereagh and his friends, and has introduced so many misfortunes among us. Where then, dear Madam, arc we to go after death, since the Jesuits in their turn have destroyed paradise ? They are continually preaching that there is no longer a paradise, &c. I confess I am quite at a loss to imagine. How- ever, let us endeavour to act well in this world, — h their which latists. e II ni- )m the . Our lihilate y to the to pur- >olished God is mercies possible 11 ill this 1 merci- end for owever, at ion, is plain it ation is since it friends, s among re to go iirn have itinually lise, &c. How- kvorld, — • SANDER M A N I A N ,S . 373 or at least to avoid doing ill, — and leave futurity to God. In the meanwhile I will pray, with a doctor of the church, that the affections, sen- timents, and opinions of men, may be in har- mony eventually with the principles of our divine Saviour, and that all men may become Christians by the influence of Christianity, rather than from motives of interest and ambi- tion alone ; that thus heaven may commence on earth. The sect of the Sandermanians, I must con- fess to you, tempted me a little. Those holy kisses, which the brethren and sisters inter- change so abundantly in their love-feasts, and on other occasions, are but too seductive, and must, I should think, gain many proselytes. If they really believe in a .spiritual paradise in this w^orld, they do right to introduce this as one of its delights. I think kisses were also part of the mysticism of the beautiful madame Guyon ; if so, it is not surprising that the archbishop of Cambray, amiable and mild as he was, should have been one of her zealous supporten. • per- haps it was through jealousy that Bossact ac- cused him to the pope. The ceremony of kissing has however great antiquity and autho- rity on its side; it was the ordin'< y salutation amongst the ancients, ])y whom it was called colomhatiou . The Arabs introduced the same It I 11 ^^ !1 'i W ^i U I 374 SWEDEM30RGIANS. L mode of salutation into Spain, whence it soon crept into France. Montaigne says, that it would have been a mark of impoliteness on the part of a lady not to kiss a gentleman who paid her a visit ; and Erasmus greatly praised the custom which prevailed in England in his time of frequent kisses in their ceremonious inter- course; and in a long essay on th's subject, he concludes by saying, that the custom of kissing prevailed in every house he entered. I am sorry to say that this is no longer the case, at least I have not the happiness of enjoying any remains of the fashion. The Superlnpsarians run their heads into the chaos which preceded the creation of the Morld. They hold that God had decreed the transgres- sion of Adam from all eternity, so that it was impossible for our poor first parent to avoid the fatal catastrophe , This strange doctrine seems to lead directly to the conclusion, that God pre- ordamed the creation of man for the mere plea- sure of tormenting him, as the abbe Grecourt said in his critique on Milton's " Paradise Lost." " En rlmntant I'univcrs perdu pour une ponimc, Et Dicu, pour le damncr, crcant Ic premier homme." The Swedenborgians, however, appear to me the most singular of all, and our holy mother church has very little to thank them for. They 3 it soon , that it ss on the who paid lised the his time us inter- bject, he 3f kissing am sorry at least I y remains 5 into the he Morld. ;ransgres- lat it was avoid the ine seems God pre- lere plea- Grecourt ise Lost." umc, homme," )ear to me ly mother VY They 1 \i SWEDENBOllGIANS. 375 make their founder hold long conversations witli angels, and indeed hold them themselves, in their gardens, chambers, dining-rooms, kc. ; they have built a New Jerusalem, just as easily as you would build a castle in the air ; and they hold that the destruction of the world by lire, or the end of the world, signifies nothing but the destruction and end of the Catholic Church. Happily the date of this event is not ascertained, and there is some little reason to believe these prophets are mad. I should be sorry to see that wonder of all the wonders of the world, St Peter's at Rome, destroyed by these new Van- dals. And, to be sure of their mark, they would of course begin the work at the Vatican, as the head quarters of him whom they regard as Anti-christ. There are a vast number of sects, differing only on slight points of doctrine or discipline, sprung from the three grand branches of Luther, Calvin, and Arminius. But I have no intention of entering into their forum internum, and still less into their gossip. I have enough and too much on my hands with my own credo and my own conscience, and a rambler has nothing to do with things that do not come under his own mate- rial observation ; he cannot pretend to penetrate deeply into opinions, whether political or religious. I shall therefore close this chapter witii that I' :i 11 ( V ' ' u,»uaaKL: 376 CHURCH OF EXdLANP. sect which partakes of the nature and doctrine of so many others, and which exhibits so much more of the forum cvtcniiun than any other, that it comes more within the province of a material observer like myself. It is also more in keeping with so thoroughly English a letter — I mean the Church of England. This church, which is also called the Episco- palian, is compounded of Calvinism, Luther- anism, Arminianism, and Catholicism. I think some political physician extracted from each of these sects whatever was necessary for a recipe, intended to act as a sedative on the convulsive affections of priests, people, and kings. I am ciuite of his opinion, that where there is a throne there must be bishops. Their pretensions rest on the same basis — divine right, divine origin, &c. I think also that under a monarchy ail hierarchies ought to have one visible ruling head. The Church of England is this head — but though she predominates, she does not arrogate to herself, as ours does, the exclusive right to paradise. She allows others to hope for it too, and very prudently — for millions of souls would not endure patiently to be damned by an inferior force ; she therefore allows to others a partici- pation in the blessings of Heaven, and contents herself with appropriating the humbler advan- tage of this earth, ficr [)ricsts, like most of i if octrine 3 much er, that natcrial :eeping mean Episco- Liither- I think each of recipe, vulsive I am throne ns rest ^in.&c. archies d — but rrosfate ight to 30, and idd not inferior )artici- 3ntents ad van- lost of I f H CHURCH OF ENGLAND. 377 their cloth, appear to follow the maxim Dum vivi- miis vivamus, and consequently care more about their own interests and those of the throne, — which protects them, that it may be protected by them, — than about the welfare of souls: it may however happen that the souls may care about the priests, since they are too rich, and the nati- onal treasury with so enormous a debt is too poor. The ministers of all other sects may enjoy in common with their flocks the utmost freedom of CLnscience, but they are absolutely excluded from all ecclesiastical benefices; though, if we are to believe a pamphlet just published, the annual income of the Church of England amounts to more than eight millions sterling, which is as much, or perhaps more, than it costs the whole continent for clergy. Really this appears rather too much for scru- pulous men, who deserted our religion on the pretext, among a thousand others, that it Jiad departed too widely from evangelical poverty and humil'ty ; and who simplified their form of wor- ship, — apparently that they might have the less to do ; and, to say the truth, they do not seem to do much. Rarely do the sheep behold their shepherd except on a Sunday. The deans occasionally visit their parishes, to dine, as BossLiot said, under the fhodeof tlie belfvi) ; that is to say, at the expense of the curates or trustees. I \ II i 1 y I . \ ^m ywpiWwiWiWiffliiPiimiPf , I I r 378 C;llUUC'll OK ENGLAND. The bishops write an annual sermon, wliich they are often too old, too unwell, or too much occu- pied in the House of Lords or at Coi:rt, to read to the people. There are occasional instances of bishops who preach on a Sunday; this answers two good purposes ; first, the decorous and pious renown so acquired, and next, the addition of some rich living to the bishopric. This cunudatio muuerum is pushed with us as far as it will go. We have the happiness and advan- tage of seeing in one and the same individual the possessor of a cardinalate, a bishopric, two or three abbeys in Portugal, Spain, Italy, ana I be- lieve even in Turkey, and the East; of some dozen livings simple and not simple; of a governor- ship, a place in the ministry, a fourth share of some enterprize in favour of which he has used his influence, or in which he has assisted some favourite, &c. &c. Sometimes we see him pass at one step from the purple to the condition of a layman, or even to the marriage altar, that he may not lose an inheritance which is worth more than the purple, the mass, and all that belongs to it. All this we have under our eyes in full life and beauty, in the person of a prince of Naples. The aichbishop of Canterbury, or, in his absence, he of Y(jrk, has indeed a great deal to do, both as primate of all England, and as the RELIGIOUS SECTS. 379 person upon whom it devolves to preach a touching sermon on the occasion of the king's coronation. This is no easy task, when one considers that he has to instil the duties of a sovereiirn into the new monarch ; and that a man must be a miracle both of reason and rhetoric to fix the attention of one whose eyes are dazzled with the crown and the sceptre, and the brilliant pomp around him, and who must needs be more than usually under the dominion of the vanities of this world. At such a moment it appears almost a hopeless enterprize to talk of duties to subjects, when the hearts of the Lord's anointed, seldom very capacious, are too fully occupied by courtiers intriguing for places, and by ladies aspiring to be the Maintenons and Pompadours of a new reign, to leave the smallest corner vacant for anything so inconsiderable as the interests of a whole nation. You know what the body of Pius VI exhi- bited on dissection: he had nothing but his nephews and a certain niece in his heart, the Pontine marshes in his head ; and as for his sub- jects — you know where they were found .... 1 shall close the article sects by four lines which appear to me to contain very sound no- tions on the subject of religion and priests. I found them in an old book wdiich the rats were devouring in a broker's stall. I am told the i; ^ •' a i; ,' 380 UELIGIOUS SECTS. 1^1 lines halt liorribly, and the rhymes are no rhymes ; but as you and I are not bound to be versed in English prosody, we will attend only to the sense, and forget the metre. " Natural relinfion was easy, Hrst, and plain ; Tales made it mystery, ofF'rings made it gain; Sacrifices and shows were at lenp-th prepared, The priests ate roast-meat, and the people starved." An English rector, who, though very rich and living in great style, is sincere and in earnest, confessed to me that there are some abuses, and that the terrestrial paradise to which they have the sole entrance, is rather too good. He told me moreover, that the government ought mostcarefully to guard against any political crisis, for that the various religious sects are all ar- rayed against the church, and would certainly encrease the confusion ; especially the more pu- ritanical ones, who, said he, generally regarded bishops as despots over the consciences of the people, — as speculators in the gospel, as Luculluses rather than apostles. I think how- ever he mistakes a part for the whole : his fears for the nation at large ought to be confined to the clergy of the Church of England. In case any religious struggle w^ere to arise, there might very likely be some falcidia of the riches of the priests ; but it is idle to imagine that this implies any danger to the state. On UELKilOUS SECTS. 381 ^ the contrary, the great diversity of religious sects is, in my opinion, the great Palladium of English liberty. They exercise a constant survcithuice over each other, and their mutual emulation as to manners and conduct has a great influence on the national morality. Where there are no sects, the benefit of good example is nearly lost; for each sectarian na- turally seeks to distinguish himself from others, and to convince them of the excellence of his doctrine, by an edifying appearance of sobriety and devotion, which may secure at once admi- ration and proselytes to his own sect. The outward life is the only model we can have — the inward is known to the Divinity alone ; Deus scrutator cordium, liomo autem actioinou. Every additional sect is thus an additional bul- wark against the corruption of manners, or of liberal opinions, which would be more to be dreaded in this opulent country than in any other, were it not for the austere vigilance of these public censors, and their influence in stemming the torrent of vice and ambition. Every innovator in religion, provided he does but found his system on the basis of Christian morality, ought to be considered as a man who has merited well of his country ; as an addi- tional guardian of the rights and \\hci lies of the people. Statues ought to be erected to lady Id , it \ Huntingdon and lady Erskinc, two sybils of the last century, whose piety, talents, and |)erha})s charms, gave new, and I believe extremely de- vout sectaries, to England. Intolerance is the really dangerous enemy, and the one against which every Englishman ought to be upon his guard ; — that monster who consigns our bodies to temporal, and our souls to eternal fire, while it j)roclaims that God is merciful ! — in mockery, as one would think, of God and man! Any sect which arises with the maxims of in- tolerance in its creed, ought to be regarded as the enemy of the Christian religion, of the liberty of the people, the prosperity of kings, and the happiness of mankind, and ought to be dealt with accordingly. The emperor of Japan was of my opinion, — or rather I am of his — that there can never be too many sects in a kingdom. But we ought to bear in mind what happened to him, that we may shun those dangers which, but for a fortunate discovery, would have deluged that peaceful land with blood, as they already had the East and West Indies, Mexico, and Peru, and under circumstances of yet more infa- mous perfidy. Some Jesuit missionaries landed in Japan, and asked permission to exercise their religion there. " You are welcome," said the good monarch; CATHOLICS. 383 " vvc have twelve relij^ions, now we shall hnve thirteen; there can never be too many." The reverend fathers, by way of be -.2. ^ ^%^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) .^/ /.Q .^*'^'%''' o^ #1> ^ 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716) 8/3-4S03 %^ O^ Willi" m> wi — .i..-'''"V "VitykiLi;* •■ II m , ? !l I'll,, t! M 384 CATHOLICS. Europe to carry through this enterprize. Holland being then at variance with Portugal, both as to her religious opinions and her Indian interests, lost no time in letting the emperor know what a poisonous plant hi.3 generosity had suffered to t-ike root in his country. A certain Moro, one of the principal agents of the Jesuits, was then seized, convicted, and legally burnt. The Ca- tholic proselytes took arms, and a terrible civil war followed ; but all the Catholics were at length exterminated. In return for this signal service, the Dutch obtained the exclusive commerce of the Japanese islands, on the express condition that they should exhibit none of the outward signs of Christianity. Such is the estimation in which the Jesuits have everywhere caused Christianity and Christians to be held ; and such the respect they have shewn for the rights of kings and of people ! It is the remembrance of their intolerance, their cruelty, their religion, and political perfidy ; it is all that they still meditate hostile to the tran- quillity of the human race, which makes the parliament of England fear the influence of Ca- tholicism in public affairs, and leads her to commit gross injustice towards the poor Irish Catholics. In short, my dear Madam, intolerance is so horrible in t'\e eyes of the true sages of the Ai \ |S^v^^-^;i.^-.;3iiK^.^^g.^-'.?^'-^.;^1^ hould anity. have stians have It their it tran- the f Ca- er to Irish ;s CATHOLICS. church, that the primate of England, the highly- respected archbishop Sutton, far from pretend- ing to infallibilUi/y seems to admit what other philosophers had already advanced, viz. that sectarianism and error are inseparable ; and con- sequently that each sect is bound to pardon the errors of its neighbours. I give you his own words with singular pleasure, because they are truly worthy of the head of an Evangelical church, and deserve to be handed down, as an example of wisdom and moderation, to all succeeding generations. It would not be amiss to have them placarded upon the walls of the Vatican, Mont-rouge, and of the cabinets of the Holy Alliance. ** However we might lament what we conceived to be the errors of Protestant dis- senters, it was to be recollected that the Bible was the fountain of their religious belief as well as that of the established church, and was, or might be, in the hand of every member of the empire ; and it was to be recollected also, that the best of interpretations were but the interpretations of men, and that the best of men were liable to error." If queen Mary had had a Sutton instead of a Gardiner, as her counsellor, she would not have sacrificed thousands of her subjects to furies more infernal than herself, — Pius IV and the bigots, who kindled the fires of the Inquisi- tion, and lengthened out the horrors of hopeless ,: St- ir'' I? * I i k VOL. I. C C 1% k i\f '/,' 380 CATHOLICS. imprisonment. If Laud had been actuated by a spirit like his, he would have saved his country the disgrace of a parricide, and himself a death on the scaffold. Let us conclude this melancholj'^ theme by reminding the Jesuits of the words which the good emperor Yonchin addressed to their prede- cessors : — ** What would you saj^ if we came into your country, under pretext of trading, to tell your people that your religion is bad, and that they must embrace ours ?" Let the emperors and kings of the present day recollect that the Jesuits have awaked, like serpents .a spring, more venomous than ever. They openly profess the same principles so admirably expressed by one of our good Italian sovereigns. Somebody was suggesting to him the necessity of adapting his ideas a little to the changes in political edu- cation and opinions, brought about by thirty years of revolution : — " What do you talk of?" replied he; ** I have been asleep all these years, and I wake only to re-assert my rights and make up for lost time." Indeed he probably learnt this useful lesson from the Jesuits lord Castle- reagh placed about him in Sardinia, at the same time that he sent others on a similar errand to Sicily. Remember, I once more entreat you, that I pretend to give you nothing but the most super- ficial view of the remarkable sects of England, \ DV A NT A C. I.S ( ) I S KCT A R 1 A N I SM . 387 :itry eath 3 by 1 the rede- einto o tell i that perors at the ipring, profess jed by lebody apting .1 edu- thirty k of?" years, make learnt astle- same and to that I super- igland, or of their moral and political influence. 1 do not affect to judge more than the apparent cha- racters of men and things. I seek the visible hand of Providence in all I see, but I never touch upon the mysteries of re- ligion except to adore them without examina'' jn or question . ' ' /n Deo vivimus, maci^mur et .sianus, is my motto, as that of the ancients was. " Jupiter est quodcumque vitles, quocumquc moveris." For on many points our religion is, at bottom, that of the wise and enlightened men of an- tiquity. One more observation on the multiplicity of sects. Their number appears to me advanta- geous not only to manners, morals, and good government, but to every branch of public eco- nomy and national industry. Arts, sciences, manufactures, commerce, agri- culture, in fact every kind of bodily and mental labour, is improved by the emulation which ani- mates different sects, when free, as in England, to exercise their worship and their rights. See what those countries whence intolerance has driven them, have lost, and what those have gained to which they have been invited by tole- ration. Nor are examples of this to be found in modern times alone. Ancient history fur- nishes some even more striking. I 'I 388 ADVANTAGES OF SECTARIANISM. Tyre, so long as political and religious opinions were free within her walls, was the richest and most flourishing city in the world. As soon as tyranny sought to coerce them, she fell. Alex- andria was the emporium of the commerce of the whole world while she permitted the Persians to adore their Mythra, the Arabs their chaos, the Egyptians their rats and cows, the Hebrews their calf and their ark, the Greeks their Bac- chus and Zeus, the Romans their Jupiter and Stercutius, w ithout molestation. It became a desart when such men as Cyril succeeded in stirring up intolerance, and turning it even against such a being as the lovely and learned Hypatia. Rome was never so powerful as when Augustus closed the temple of Janus and opened those of all the divinities in the world. She has been degraded and miserable ever since she became* the seat of priestly despotism and bigotry. But it is time to rest a little, dear Madam. High and low society, high and low aristocracy, pov/ers of all sorts and degrees, sectarians and non-sectarians (the Catholics and members of the Church of England don't like that title,) John Bull, and his fistic battles, &c. &c. have led my pen over wide and slippery ground. Neverthe- less, I can't allow you to indulge the hope that we have done with London, still less with Eng- land and the English — they are inexhaustible. vSsnUKasii i^^m II pinions 3st and 30on as Alex- 3 of the sians to LOS, the [ebrews lir Bac- iter and icame a ;eded in 1 against Hypatia. Lugustus those of las been 5 became ry- Madam. istocracy, rians and mbers of ;le,) John e led my feverthe- lope that /ith Eng- laustible. JEM'S. 389 But, whatever I may find to say hereafter, for the present I will have oone. Even if I had ?. mind to go on, I could not ; for a Jew, who has besieged me for three davs, is now at my door, and declares that he will not go awa^* without an audience. He insists on buying all my old clothes. I observe that the Jews of London call all clothes from the continent old clothes, and those on the continent return the compliment upon everything brought from England. I protested to him that I brought everything new from Paris ; but this was all in vain ; he was only the more clamorous ; Paris, he said, was a mere village : in London I must wear Lon- don clothes, if I did not mean to be hooted. I should never have believed that a Jew could become so violently English. Contrary to all my declarations, you see, I am setting out on a fresh chace ; but the Jews came and thrust themselves under my pen whether I would or not : they will complete our review of sects. — It will also be a means of tiring out my Jew, and deterring him from coming again to insult my Parisian wardrobe, and to attack my seraphic purse. It is impossible to look in their extraordinary countenances without being led into reflec- tions on the history of this singular people. They have no country, and they are of every I'- \ i^ ^i 390 .ii:ws. .1:1 i' ii I H ■ 1 -.1 *l 1 country. Tliey acknowlcdj^c no nation, yet they belong to all. They are said to be scat- tered like exiles and captives over the whole world, yet they are, in some sort, the masters of the whole world, at least they enchain it by their traffic and their loans. It is said, that ever since the time of Antiochus Sidetes, that is to say, one hundred and fifty years before the Christian era, they have been forbidden to coin money, and that even before that time they coined but little, and that little very bad (not- withstanding all the fine Jewish coins an Aquari- ans shew you), and yet they possess a large portion of all the gold and precious stones in the world. The apostles, and the prophets be- fore them, predicted their total destruction ; but, if they were all collected into one society, they would form the most numerous, wealthy, and powerful nation in the world ; and not only have they escaped the apostles and prophets who put an end to them so easily, but they have survived all their successive conquerors. We see no remains of the ancient Assyrians, Medes, or Persians, nor of the ancient Greeks, nor, unhappily for Italy, even of the ancient Ro- mans : the characteristic traces of these people are lost, they are confounded with Goths, Visi- goths, Vandals, &c. But the Jews, who have been the prey and the scorn of many of these JEWS. 391 celebrated nations, arc more powerful now than ever they were, if we calculate in detail all the force and the wealth they possess over the whole surface of the earth. It is said, that if they still exist among other nations, they are branded with the mark of their reprobation, deprived of poli- tical liberty, fallen from the promises made to their fathers, driven from the promised land, &c. But it should seem that a people must possess a country before they cap. be banished from it ; and when did they ever possess the promised iand ? Are they more wretched, or more de- graded than their fathers, who sold their own brethren, and usurped their inheritance by all sorts of knavery ; carried on every kind of il- licit and monstrous traffic, even of their own wives, and who never achieved anything ad- mirable except walking dry-shod through the Red Sea ? Do they enjoy less liberty than mil- lions of Christians, especially in England, where they can imprison their Christian debtors ? Are they more accursed than we, whom our priests condemn to be burnt in this world and in the next ? If we may be permitted to judge from facts, and not from words or prejudices, we shall be led to conclude that their oracles are more nearly verified than our prophecies. They were told that all nations should give place to them ; and most of these nations exist (• I ii: 1 ( I 302 JKWS. no longer. They werr told that tlicy should rule over the whole world — in some respects they do. Christians and Mussulmans consider them as the vilest of creatures ; yet both Christians and Mussulmans derive their religion from Judaism. In short, I am lost in astonishment when I think of this scattered and yet powerful people, and of the prejudices concerning them by which we are blinded. 'Tis strange too that they detest the unclean animal, and are in all countries the most unclean animals to be found. My servant tells me my Jew is gone, grumbling so as to give hopes that he will come no more. I have gained my cause, and very pleasantly, by chatting a little longer with you. I hope soon to resume our walk. ft W—WH n '11 fl i.i LETTER IX. Liverpool, October 27 tk, 1822. My debut in this city was very delightful, dear Madam ; I began to like it before I knew any- thing of it, for here I found your dear letter of the 23rd September. And so you have fallen into the hands of phy- sicians, with their armoury of lancets, blisters, leeches, and all the dangerous suite of these officers of health, as they are by courtesy called. I thank you for not letting me know that this butchery was going on until your valiant nature had already triumphed over all these satellites of death. I should have been dreadfully frightened if I had known of it while they were en flagrant (IHit. You are very lucky, after being attacked and torn to pieces thus, to have come off with only a little weakness. You have had a great escape. !| '1! f i I J: ■ii I. M il 11 394 PHYSICIANS. for whicli heaven be praised. Hut learn from experience to be wiser in future, and to make a better resistance before you come to an engage- ment with that for)NidahU' power which is become the curse of the nations which it blinds or leads captive by its systematic and high- sounding phrases. It is very true that the in- terior as well as the exterior of the human body sometimes wants ablution; but to upset the whole physical system, to attenuate and lay prostrate all the vital powers, is to consume and destroy rather than to purify. Always recollect the grand aphorism of Galen, — it ought to take precedence of all sys 3ms, in great diseases as well as in small, and contains the best precepts for the restoration of our machine imder all the ills it is liable to. Munda, munda, munda et refice. This is a precept dictated by nature, and within the comprehension of the most limited under- standing. Recollect what their munia for bleed- ing has cost us ; to that we owe the irreparable loss which we shall ever bewail. For myself, physically speaking, I am very well. I like to hear medical men talk, as persons of general information, but I never come to closer quarters with them. Morally — you know \> .VA (ION Al. I'M K.lll DICES. aoj how f am. The crt'cct cannot cease while the cause remains in full activity. The general aspect of England, so extraordinarily rural, sweet and touching, is delightfully congenial with a malady of the mind: one is beguiled into fancying one finds real solace and relief in its loveliness ; but it is the syren's song. I cannot refuse the kind things you say to me ork my seventh ramble, as I regard all of them as due entirely to my subject. I am very glad to see that you and our friends are cured of some of those prejudices which occasionally render us a little unjust towards this country and people. It is always better to judge individuals by nations than nations by individuals. The individual Englishman does not, in all cases, recommend his country ; and the English- man who travels without having learnt to curb his national pride, and his prejudices against everything which is not English, — the English- man who transports himself at one leap from his village, his cottage, his ** country seat" or his " mansion," to the continent, without being a little purged of that austere and rough aristo- cracy which, as I have told you, rigidly sepa- rates all classes in England, and makes him live for years and years as great a stranger to his next neighbour as we are to the inhabitants of Kam- \i HH'I r ■ I, h / N^ iW;!iiiirti(ii1^g'igj_ 456 ENGLISH MANNERS. m m i in what is due to yourself and in your own respect, and will gain nothing in their hearts. If they excite you to talk, which often hap- pens, and listen to you playing with their fingers, looking at their feet, or with their eyes raised in contemplation, or repeating an insig- nificant " yes," as if entranced, — tranchez in- stantly — even though you should not be come to a stop — don't wait for so much as a comma : — you will be listened to with more respect in future. When they speak to you e.v cathedra , don't assent to all they say immediately. They don't like dispute, but they greatly like discus- sion, and often even contradiction ; but take care to conclude reasonably, otherwise you will fall into disgrace with their good sense, their correct judgment, which hardly ever forsakes them and always watches you. If you wish to pass for a gentleman — for a man du hon ton — do not (but this I do not give you as a positive pre- cept) be very punctual to your engagements ; take care always to be waited for at an appoint- ment; sometimes forget what you have pro- mised ; afiect occasionally the etourdi, the sme- moriatOy the scapato. If you are invited to dinner, make your hosts wait a little (if they ivill wait, that is) ; don't go to evening parties till the hour when we, in our villages, have already dreamt ENGLISH MANNEllS. 457 over all the loves of Pastor Fido, all the fairies of Benevento, &c. &c. ; vsrhen our cows and cocks begin to announce the return of day. If you go to the theatre, even if there be the most hea- venly overture, or the most attractive debut,— never mind ; you must by no means go before the middle of the first act ; not before the second, if you would be taken for a baronet ; if you don't go till the end, you have a good chance of pas- sing for a lord. Don't forget when you go in, to relate some pretty little speech or anecdote, which you have just heard in such or such a fashionable party, though you very likely come from no other place than your own humble and unfashionable lodging. At a ball, even if you have been engaged for five or six days for a quadrille, always take care to have to be called ; if you have to be sought for in some of the rooms where dancing is not going on, it will be better still. I have a thousand other memoranda for the use of such of my particular friends as intend to come to England ; but they would form a volume, and not a letter, and this letter has other duties to fulfil, long as it already is. I shall therefore confine myself to two or three of the most important directions. Do not be too ready to imagine, that you may go and ask a dinner en ami, as we do. This is too patriarchal, and is offensive to English aris- «% 458 ENGLISH MANNERS. • tocracy. — -Item. Never go, unless upon a written invitation : verba volant in England more rapidly than in any other place, in the midst of this in- cessant, confused movement of public and pri- vate business, passions, amusements, &c. Don't be very eager to pay many visits : the English are too busy ; they have not time to re- ceive you : and even when you do go, don't always ask to see them. Their amiable foot- men — creatures a good deal like the Swiss at the Vatican — are delighted, — at the summit of their glory and happiness, — when they can an- swer you in their insolent manner — "He is not at home" — " She is not at home, I rather think." Give them your card, and turn your back in- stantly, as I do. But, above all, do not forget to rap at the door just as our mischievous boys do. Here, m,y dear Madam, you have a list of in- structions ; not the most noble perhaps, — but just and necessary. If you conform to the exactness, the punctuality, the simplicity of our fathers, you will pass for a provincial, a vulgarian, a plat ; and this is exactly what happens to me ; for, as you know, I never could make myself an " e.v- quisite ; " and still less can 1 attempt it now that I begin to look back a little on my youth. But let us proceed. An English well-furnished house deserves a paragraph to itself. Their cleanliness and neat- ENGLISH .SCENERY. 459 I a ness are above all praise ; everywhere, from the cellar to the garret—among the poor as well as among the rich. So striking is this national virtue, that an august foreign sovereign thought that the English government had given the whole island a thorough scouring, on purpose to astonish him. All conveniences, small and great, are prepared and arranged with an art, an intelligence, a good taste, quite peculiar. This, too, suggests some meditation concerning a people, who have created so many wants for themselves. What would be their situation, if the means of supplying all their wants were cut off? It is also reported of the sovereign just alluded to, that he asked where were the people ; so little did the dress and appearance of every- body he saw, strike him as indicating that rank. And this is true still, in a great degree. The country of England is adorned with all that is grand and romantic ; — touching and cap- tivating to the imagination. The trees, which are untouched by the knife of the pruner, except to clear away the dead or noxious parts, and which imbibe plenteous juices from this moist atmosphere, raise their leafy heads to the clouds, and afford coolness and shade to the weary labourer, and refreshing beauty to the spectator. Meadows, fields, and streams, upon which art and nature have la- 460 ENGLISH ANIMALS. !•[ i( vished their cares, arrest the steps of the tra- veller, and awaken the sweetest and most soothing emotions. The English must have hearts of a stern mould, and at the same time under perfect subjection to their will, if, in the midst of so many objects calculated to excite the tenderest feelings, they are never softened, as they pretend, except legitimately. They are stronger and more valiant than the god of strength and valour himself; for Hercules, who subdued everything else, could not resist the charms of lole and Dejanira, heightened by their native groves. But, to avoid doing them the injustice of believing that they have no feeling at all, I must beg to be incredr^ous on this head. Then the animals ! — They are among the won- ders of this extraordinary country. Here are dogs which lead children and blind people ; — drag loaded trucks, and, at the same time trans- act the business of the baker, the butcher, &c. at the doors of their customers, which they find at all hours and in all weathers, without the help of a directory ; and beg alms for the poor with a bag in their mouths, in so interesting a manner, that it is impossible to refuse them. One, to whom I gave something every day, used to run to meet me with the strongest expression of joy and gratitude, as soon as he saw me at the end JOHN BULL. 4G1 of the street. What a lesson for ungrateful man! Iw the country, the shepherds give them their orders, and they conduct their flocks better than a Macedonian or a Roman general led their co- horts. The horses, instead of being led, lead the coachman drunk or asleep ; though full of vigour and spirit, they are gentle as lambs ; they are tamed and disciplined for every sort of work ; their beauty defies the painter's art, and Atalanta would vainly match her speed against theirs. The English were right in passing se- vere laws against those who maltreat these engaging and noble beasts. In England you may approach cows, oxen, and mules, without danger. There are no ferocious beasts. In short, everything m this country touches your heart and fires your ima- gination—except the human animal who some- times repels the one and freezes the other. But apropos of the bovine race. It occurs to me that I have very often talked to you of a certain John Bull, without ever introducing him to your acquaintance. You have perhaps taken him for a bull; -well, you were not very far beside the mark. He is an animal who, like the bull, naturally stiff, clumsy and tranquil, becomes active, light and ferocious, when irri- tated ; like him, he is constant in his habits and obstinate in his temper ; like him, laborious. 462 JOHN lU'LI. - i 1 and neither fiery nor indolent. He plants him- self opposite to you, like his prototype, stares at you with no very kind expression ; ruminates continually, and never explains himself. It is the perfectly English Enp^lishman whom I have the honour to introduce to you in this fictitious personage ; or at least this is, I think, what the English mean when they talk of John Bull. Perhaps too, calculating the vast power they now exercise over the whole earth, since ** the trident of Neptune is the sceptre of the world," they think they may claim some resemblance to that majestic bull who carried ofi:' the sister of Agenor, the beautiful Europa. But I must say that the English bull has not as yet the soft eyes or the divine graces of the disguised god. We have just seen John Bull under an alle- gory rather physical than moral ; let us now contemplate him under this aspect. The unsophisticated John Bull, like many others, is never satisfied with the present, he always looks back to " the good old times." He talks to you of nothing but histories of Alfred, and of Magna Charta, of the restitu- tion of violated rights ; in short, of all that relates to his country, as it ivas. Neverthe- less, he is very well pleased to be told that his country has reached a pitch of greatness and power which his good forefathers could not even ll JOHN BUI.r-. 4G3 IS e s e have dreamt of; and tlie name of Waterloo, modern as it is, always excites a little compla- cent smile. In his h(»nc, and in all that depends upon him, his habits are his sublunary divini- ties. Woe to his wife if she set before him a dinner without a pudding, a ** joint," (probably roast beef) and some home-brewed ale. Port wine is his sacred beverage ; he regards all who do not like it as a species of infidels. lie would give all the sofas and ottomans in the world for his old chair by the fire-side, nor would ho give up his accustomed seat at the tavern or the public-house for all the salous or thea- tres in Europe. His coat must be in the fashion he has worn it all his life, and always of English cloth ; he thinks it infamous to buy French ma- nufactures. He would not wear fashionable pantaloons or boots for all the world ; nor would he give his old walking-stick for bamboos, black rods, or batons. He always drinks out of a pewter pot, — sicut volucrc pnorc.s- ; — to drink out of a glass is a bad habit. He is a great lover of the Gothic, and would give up the most delight- ful situation and the best contrived plan, for the sake of restoring an old house and building in the Gothic style. He thinks himself prodigi- ously cunning, and he is very distrustful ; but he is easily duped by anybody who will talk his language, adopt his habits and his prejudices. 404 JOHN lUJI.I, lie always tliinks he is right, and he is often wrong ; but to convince him of tliis is not an easy task. He is always abusing the govern- ment, England, and the English ; hut, on emer- gency, he would give all he is worth in the world for the glory of the government, England, and the English. He is irascible and violent, but rarely vindictive. He goes to church, and d — s all who do not ; but ne is neither supersti- tious, nor, (tufond, intolerant, and is very far in- deed from being the humble servant of the parson ; on the contrary, he regularly quarrels with him about tithes, kc. &c. Though very punctual in his engagements, he never chooses to pay without a dispute, to shew that he will not be cheated. He is a Tory from habit, a Whig from inclination ; an aristocrat from vanity, a de- mocrat from principle. He is, I think, rather avaricious from temper, and generous from pride. He cordially detests all foreign manners, and often foreigners ; he never approaches them but from curiosity — as a sight. Everything French he regards with sovereign contempt ; and unfor- tunately his ** d — d French " includes all the continent of Europe; — he regards them all as fiddlers and dancers. To sum up all, John Bull appears to me to have more good than bad in his composition, which is rare enough in men of any country. h„ . ^■■. m.»^ mm'0^'^* Cr.lMATK. 405 English he is, and English he will be. lie was born John Bull, and so he will die. Such is his love even for the name, that it gives circulation to a newspaper which nothing else could circu- late, and which he himself confesses to be often insufferably disgusting, even to the most ortho- dox Anglomaniac. There is much exaggeration in what is said of the common people of England. 1 have never experienced the least inconvenience nor received the slightest insult from them, although I have often mixed among those whom the aristocracy- are pleased to call the rabble, on very critical occasions and in very awkward places. It is true that I always had my eyes about me, and my fists clenched; and my countenance and the elasticity of my movements give a favourable opinion, I be- lieve, of my bodily powers. But the newspapers are continually filled with accounts of the most atrocious crimes. Newspapers are not famous for truth; but in such cases we must believe them. There is also much exaggeration in what is said of the climate. Although in lat. 51-j, it is very temperate, according to the report of foreigners who have passed many winters heie ; nor do I find it at all hot in summer. The sky is occasionally very gloomy, but the coal smoke has a great deal to do with this. You have now, my dear Countess, all that / VOL. r. H }I 466 GEND AllMES. % I hcwe thought I have seen or known of England. Whether I have seen aright I cannot tell — that I have thoroughly known is impossible. It was absolutely incumbent on me to tell you some- thing about this new world, and that is all I affect to have accomplished. I must add, that one rambles about as freely as a bird in the air or a fish in the sea. One may chance to meet an eagle or a shark — in other words, a robber or a swindler ; but on the part of the government, no obstacles, no vexa- tions, no demands, either for passports or any- thing else, and, God be praised, no gend'armes. These pretorians, who unite all the faults of an insolent soldiery to the cunning and treachery of sbirri, arc without comparison the invention the most humiliating to the human race. Ty- ranny is not content with being fe/t ; she will be seen under the hideous form of these torches of absolutism. She delights in blasting with their presence even those places to which one goes to seek some diversion in the resources of the human intellect, or some consolation in converse with the Deity : the theatre and the church are thus poisoned with the presence of this trinity of despotism, — I say trinity, because, except in happy Tuscany, all Italy is at the mercy of the sovereigns, the Jesuits, and the gendarmes. They are like the fiend who beset St Anthony, the ENGLISHWOMEN. 467 I hermit, on every side and in every manner. One is condemned to meet them everywhere, and their inquisitorial looks torture the soul as well as the eyes, exciting throbs of burning indigna- tion in the brave and generous heart, and palj^i- tations of alarm in the timid. They are the living torture of the human race. To form any accurate judgment of the present state of the world, of its great concerns and re- lations, a man ought certainly to visit England ; but, at the age of reason and experience, when he can know with accuracy, admire with discri- mination, repulse with energy, and judge with impartiality. A young man, upon whom all impressions act as upon wax, and who is often deserted by his power of reflection, might return to his country more ridiculous than well-informed — insufferable to others and to himself. A man of volatile cha- racter runs the same risk : I know many who SiT disgusting and despicable. But you look displeased, my dear Countess, and indeed you have some reason. " You have told me a little of all sort of thir i':^, extremely difficult to describe or to expkaj, ' say you, *' and have said not one word on what vou must surely have seen clearly enough — the fair sex of England." It would certrJ ly have been a high crime to forget them ; but no, my dear Madam, I only wished to separate these lovely creatures ■•^Sppifri^fe.*"^* "^^mmimmm^^fimii 468 ENGLISHWOMEN. *) from the multitude ; 1 wished you to see tliem clearly in a distinguished place. I reserved them for you as a boiuie bouclic; — and truly it is a sweet and dainty one. All great artists have made us adore the por- traits of beautiful women, sometimes of their mistresses, under the character of goddesses, vir- gins, or saints. We know pretty nearly who were the two Venuses of Titian, the Virgins of Sassoferrato, and of Andrea del Sarto, the Saints of Carlo Dolce and Bronzino, the Venus of Canova, cS:c. ^c. Raphael's mistress was not painted only as La Fornarina. The female divi- nities of Praxiteles and Lycippus, of Apelles and Zeuxis, were simply the most beautiful women of Greece ; Campaspes, Phrynes, and Laises ; and Cicero said, '* Deos en facie novimus qua pictores et Jictorcs voluenuit.'' Since this is the case, why may I not adore the originals rather than the portraits? This often happens to me, indeed, in England : one meets with physiognomies here which really bear the impress of divinity to such a degree, that I cannot help fixing eyes of de- votion upon them ; I call myself to order, but in vain ; that delicate complexion, that alabaster skin, that small mouth, those rosy lips, those dove-like eyes, quel biomlo cri/ie della Dea cU Cipro, that sweet expression, that palicolor which is so extremely touching ; — so many charms, are stronger than all my severity. — Yes, my dear ENGLISHWOMEN. 409 Madam, it is certainly true that England pos- sesses a great number of pretty women, and their modest and timid air, when it does not amount to coldness,— which it too often does — renders them yet more interesting. Art combines with nature to complete the bd iikal. Their dress is elegant, and exquisitely neat ; and if it were less varied as to colour, and more light, less rich and more simple, it would, in my opinion, be yet more becoming. Some of their dresses, which have a little air of nation- ality and of caprice, are very attractive to me, and I admire them more in deshabille than in full dress. The education of Englishwomen is carried to a high pitch ; nowhere are women so well in- formed. They also shine with a thousand sub- ordinate accomplishments— too many perhaps ; so that in general they are profound in nothing. The thing in which they excel all othci women is equitation. They ride much better than the men, who, in my opinion, have no very knightly or equestrian air with their salhcendi or pecu- liar way of rising in the stirrup. If this tends to spare fatigue, as they say, it may be very well to adopt it on a long journey ; but, for a ride in town, it seems to me as useless as it is grace- less and abrupt. They also surpass the men in all the qualities which distinguish the social being : their manners are infinitely better, and, 470 KNtiLISIlWOAlKN S tl in general, science apart, llicy are as well in- formed as the men. After this picture, which is really sincerely given, you will think 1 have forsworn celibacy. On my faith, dear Madam, this is the country for a man to be strongly tempted in, the mt)re so, as 1 heartily agree with what has been said by somebody, that a Frenchwoman is best for gal- lantry, an Italian for love and friendship, and an Englishwoman for household duties. 1 think that tliis is also the place to look for an Epponina ; for the character of EnglishwonKni is masculine and resolute, and they pique themselves on a sort of conjugal heroism, which is the more noble and virtuous, as it is not always either deserved or requited. You wish to know, too, whether the women are more or less discreet than those of Italy. This is too delicate a point, and one nowise within the competency of a rambler, still less one of my principles. I like to see and to observe countries and their inhabitants generally, but my scrutiny never crosses the sacred threshold of another's door, nor violates the confidence of hospitality. Moreover, 1 abhor all those odious and invidious comparisons. I therefore wil- lingly resign this task to those, male or female, who make Italy the subject on which to display their cleverness ; wdio basely assail women with indiscreet, indecent, and calumnious expres- _..^^ - DEPAllTURF, FOR AMERICA 471 sions. I should be ashamed to imitate them. All I can tell you is, that Englishwomen are very prudent ; — and tliat is great praise ; for weakness i • human, prudence divine. I am now arrived at the close of my ninth ramble, my excellent friend ; the last, for the present, from litis ivor/d : to-morrow, the 3rd of Nov'v3mber, I eml)ark for the ol/tcr, to follow the guidance of my destiny. The western breezes will, T hope, waft you some news of me ; but I know not whence ; — whether from my own hand, or whether from that of another, who will tell you that I am become food for fishes, or have fallen under some other stroke of predestination. At my return, if that also is written in the great book, you shall read my adventures more at length, if you have the patience ; but if the mi- racle of Jonah be renewed in my person, I pro- mise to write you a letter from the whale's belly. You will ask me, perhaps, what has led me to form this determination. I ask you, in re- turn, why I should stagnate in London or Paris, in which a man, who has any weaknesses must always be a loser, a man of reflection must ex- perience continued disgust. What is to be gained by travelling in Europe, where everything is antiquated and despotic ? In Asia or in Africa, where all is barbarism and slavery ? Bereft of the only consolation which soothed my unhappy existence — the noblest and the purest friend- t !| «>«n««»(*»«l"M»»»««^" ,*^ !• U 472 DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA. ship, — it is only by the acquisition of knowledge and of experience that I cau hope to mitigate the lonely weariness of old age. The sight and the study of people, in whom the virtues which enabled them to triumph over European oppres- sion are yet in all their freshness, are best cal- culated to fill the mind with useful ideas, and to form the heart to philosophy and resignation. While the bodily powers remain unimpaired, it is right to turn them to account. Continue to love our incomparable friend in her children, whom she loved so tenderly. This is the most acceptable offering to her ashes, and will secure to you the respect of all who can feel the duties of friendship. Let us once more unite our tears of sorrow and of re- verence for her memory. Do you, my dear Madam, and your friends, sometimes recollect Yours, &c. P. S. Your letters will reach me more readily, if you send them to Messrs Baring and Co. London. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. LONDON : PRINTED BY C. H. REYNKM,, ISROAI) STREET, OOLDEN SQUARE. i knowledge to mitigate e sight and 'tues which ean oppres- re best cal- ideas, and resignation, mpaired, it lie friend in 3 tenderly, ing to her spect of all ip. Let us and of re- our friends, rs, &c. ore readily, ig and Co. E. LDEN SQLARK.