Volume 1 — JOURNAL OF ELIZABETH LADY HOLLAND (continued 2)

We dined at the post-house within 300 yards of the top of the mountain which we had been crawling up all day. The summit is the boundary of Tuscany and the frontier of the Modenese State. We began descending this side of the mountains; much more beautiful than the other, springs of very clear, cool water afford a delicious draught to the exhausted, weary traveller. Torrents and cascades tumbling from the heights between thick groves of pines down the sides of the mountains till they reach the torrent in the valley, which is there called the Scoltenna, but soon after changes its name and becomes the Panaro. Snow is still lying in the crevices of the mountain; the rays of the setting sun produce a pretty effect upon the white masses intermingled with woods and sharp rocks. The chaussée in these States as fine as any in Europe; indeed, except those in the Austrian dominions, I believe no roads can be compared to those of Italy. The peasants work in their agricultural toils armed—a sad memento of the terrors of those times when such things were necessary. How dreadful that the most useful members of the community were exposed, whilst labouring for the benefit of mankind, to outrages that demanded self-defence!

At Barigazzo, a small volcano like Pietra Mala. A flame issues from the ground and burns without having anything to feed on, till extinguished either by a high wind or by water; it is used to burn lime. Muscovite is found in large quantities in this mountain. To the S.-E. of the village, upon the top of the mountain, a large lake, called Lago Santo, because blessed by the Bishop of Lucca; it has most miraculous properties. The night was heavenly: the splendour of the stars above and the millions spangled upon the surface of the earth formed by the Luccioli, produced a glittering scene that dazzled the eye; to add to the brilliancy, a black cloud, distant in the horizon, emitted flashes of bright lightning. The vivacity of the light almost too much. Such must have been the splendour surrounding the God of Thunder when he showed himself dans tous ses atours to the astonished eyes of the curious Semele. We travelled all night and reached Modena at 5 o’clock in the morning.

THE PLAINS OF LOMBARDY

Thursday, 4th July.—I already feel the difference between the heat of Lombardy and the refreshing breezes of Florence. I am just going to see the Guercinos at the Palace. L’homme propose, Dieu dispose, the custode was eating, drinking, or sleeping; I could not gain admittance. Arrived at Parma about 6 o’clock. Slept there. I saw Parma last October. The ‘St. Jerome,’ the ‘Madonna della Scodella,’ the ceiling of a dome in a church, are some of the finest of Correggio.

Marat has resumed his functions in the Convention. We crossed a dozen ferries in the night, and reached Placentia soon after daybreak.

5th July.—Saw the Ducal Palace, the equestrian statue, Cathedral, and St. Augustin. Alberoni was a native of this city. Crossed the Po at the gates of the town. Very near meeting with an ugly accident in getting out of the boat; the banks were steep, the mud very deep, the carriage rolled considerably back into the water. Our cook we were obliged to pass as a Swiss, Frenchmen being refused admittance into the Milanese. Rice plantations and deep sands to Lodi. Arrived at Milan at 12 o’clock. The Palmerstons, Sir Benjamin Thompson,[69] and Sir C. Blagden here.

Saturday, 6th.—The heat unbearable; close suffocating feel, like a hot day in England. Miss Carter and Sir Benjamin dined with me. After dinner, instead of the custom of the country to take the siesta, I took a long-winded discourse from Sir Benjamin upon politics, happiness, morality, etc. He thinks Dumouriez was bribed by the Austrians throughout his career. Saw my old acquaintance Csse. Maxe. Her present cavaliere servente is her husband’s brother, and her husband is the bon ami of his elder brother’s wife, the Marchesina di Litta. One must learn not to stare at these connections in Italy; they are not uncommon.

7th July, Sunday.—Left Milan at 10 o’clock. We intend, if the Grand St. Bernard is free of snow and French, to cross it, and get by that route into Switzerland. Crossed the Ticino at Buffalora; it was very low compared to the floods of last year. Found letters pressing us to stop at Château de Masin in the valley of D’Aost on our way to the mountain. We shall there find the Trevors, T. P., and Swinburne. We slept at Vercelli, for though it was not late when we arrived, yet it was too far to Masin to attempt to reach it by their supper hour.

8th.—Set off at 4 o’clock in the morning, changed horses at Germano, and those horses conveyed us hither. This antique structure is a baronial castle upon the summit of a high, isolated rock, overlooking a rich plain in which the Dora Baltea meanders fantastically. To the north is the entrance into the valley D’Aost, backed by the Alps, among which is St. Bernard. To the east the Plain of Lombardy, with a distant view of Milan. Villages, towns, lakes, rivers, hills, and all the beauties of nature and art may be discovered from the lofty towers of this venerable abode. This castle has undergone many sieges from the French; before the introduction of gunpowder it was impregnable, and even since its use it has held out. In 1554 Maréchal de Biron received just under my bedchamber window the wound which made him a cripple for life. The old walls in many places are loaded with the cannon balls which have been poured by volleys into them. The room we dine in is vaulted and bomb proof; the ceiling and cornices are decorated by the arms of Masin quartered with those of the greatest families. I saw those of Austria in several escutcheons.

CHÂTEAU DE MASIN

The Count Masin is a well-bred man of a certain age, hospitable, and doing with dignity the honours of his house, where plenty and luxury are united. He is proud of his high descent and alliances. He showed me amongst the armorial bearings a stirrup with the motto ‘Ferme toi.’ An ancestor of his in battle lost all his weapons, desperate he took his stirrups and assaulted his antagonist, and his sovereign Lord in honour of the achievement allowed him to take the quartering as an emblem of his courage.

In the evening we drove about the alleys; high, clipped hedges on each side defended us from the evening breeze, which in this high spot is more than a breeze generally, but was this evening insufferably hot, more from a stagnation in the air than from the positive degree of heat. The doubts increase about the passage of the St. Bernard; at all events we intend going to Aost. In the evening the letters from Turin arrived. I had a letter from Ld. Henry,[70] and he writes out of spirits; complains of solitude. He dislikes his appointment to Stockholm. A courier saw Mayence in flames on the 27th June; if it has fallen it will facilitate our journey up the Rhine.

We retired early to our rooms. My apartment was curious and magnificent. It consisted of a bedroom, a dressing-room, a receiving-room, besides accommodation near for my valet-de-chambre and my maid. The bedroom is a bastion, which makes inside a delightful circular room; a balcony goes round it, and from the spot where I was this minute, from it down to the fosse, is upwards of 100 feet. A private door opens upon a spiral staircase, which carries one to the porte-de-secours. I dismissed my maid, and sat me down to write, read, and think. The wind rose and made a most furious noise in my chimney, and in the vaulted rooms beneath. I could not help thinking that if an ancestor of Masin’s were to appear and tell me some horrid tale of his unburied bones rotting in a dungeon in the towers of the castle, a more hideous noise and crash would not usher him in than what I have heard. In the midst of this reflection I perceived upon the large glass on the left of me, and which stands opposite to the doors of a long suite of apartments, all open, a glimmering light, and I heard at the same moment a noise from the rooms. I am no coward with respect to supernatural appearances, but I was out of spirits, and the solitude of my situation apart from the rest of the family contributed at that moment to give me a qualm. I looked at the glass, and perceived the light stronger and some white drapery flowing behind it. Pour le coup I trembled and hid my face. A minute brought Swinburne with a night taper, in his dressing gown, to my sight. I laughed at my fears. He came from Mrs. Trevor, who was ill, to get some camphor julep from me. I locked my door and was courageous enough to go to bed without rousing anybody.

Tuesday, 9th.—We were to have gone this morning, but our journey is deferred. Passed the day pleasantly enough. Trevor went to Turin to meet General Grenville. Mrs. Trevor crosses the mountain. We shall, if it is possible for any of us to go across.

VAL D’AOST

How much I detest the prospect of a residence in England, even though it be but for a few weeks; country, climate, manners, everything is odious to me. Il faudra se résoudre à souffrir. Patience, pazienza. Left the hospitable castle early in the morning. We descended the steep hill, upon which rises majestically the castle, into the plain towards Ivrea, an ancient fortified town distant only five miles from Masin. The walls are now repairing, and the whole is getting into a state of defence with the utmost expedition. The King of Sardinia is now making a progress through this part of his dominions. This costs him 25,000l. in useless pomp, and he receives a subsidy from England of 200,000l. To the right a castle, very picturesque in its situation, called Mont’alto; the hill upon which it stands is composed of calcareous earth from whence the lime used in the country is drawn.

We entered the Val d’Aost at a narrow pass at the Pont St. Martin, an old bridge across the Dora. The weather was delicious, the change of the climate very perceptible already. We dined at Donnaz, a small village placed in an excavation of the rock, supposed by some to be a work of the Romans. Our whole party met at dinner. Trevor defers his return to Turin until he has seen us all well over the mountain, as his interposition may be necessary to get us mules. Fort le Bard, about half a mile from Donnaz, a strong mountain pass, assisted by art. Nature has given it a rapid river and mountains; Vauban, ramparts and cannon. The mode of training the vines is singular. They are trailed upon a treillage horizontally placed upon stone pillars; they are from 4 to 5 feet and even higher from the ground. It is admirably adapted for catching the warmth of the sun. The valley is at the widest half a mile, but it is generally narrower. The oxen are very fine, and the manner of yoking them is very picturesque. We went on six miles beyond where their party slept to Chatillon, where M. Regis gave us very good accommodation in his house, and his company. He is a friend of Masin, or rather a dependant. On the road I got out at Monjovet, celebrated for fine steatites and garnets imbedded in quartz; I obtained a few specimens.

The Piedmontese army are upon the Petit St. Bernard; the French are at the foot of it by the Isère. Each army has not more than 3000 men. The troops are very sickly, the hardships they have encountered are incredible; the barracks are absolutely upon the top of the mountain, a post which is not much benefited by the climate of August. Numbers are in the hospital at Aost, and we are alarmed by hearing of an epidemical disorder being among them.

Thursday.—Though the Trevors were six miles behind me, they were diligent enough to pass me before even I was out of my bed. The road from Chatillon lies by the Dora. The Dora Baltea is a rapid torrent, which runs into the Po near Turin. The Isère rises on the French side of the mountain, and finds its way into the Rhône. The Dora comes raving with great impetuosity and swiftness—a just emblem of time, that rushes forward and never is retarded. It gave me the vapours to think of the many misspent hours I have irretrievably lost. Half my time is spent in making resolutions to amend, but the precious moments escape when to begin, for as some ancient poet says, ‘He that leaves for to-morrow that may be done to-day is like the countryman waiting upon the banks of the river to cross when the waters have run by and left it dry.’ About five miles before we reached Aost we caught a magnificent view of Mont Blanc; the whiteness of it was dazzling.

MT. ST. BERNARD

Aost or the Cité, as it is called here, is an ugly town. We are lodged at the Baron d’Aviso’s. I have this instant heard that the distemper is contagious, and that the master of this house is dying of the epidemical fever. The intelligence is not pleasant, but I rejoice at my children being out of the way. I am kept up from the melancholy that surrounds me; the bell never ceases its doleful knell of death, the muffled drums announce under my window a funeral, and the stir in the room below where I sleep is a proof that the poor invalid is still alive, though probably in anguish. We are advised against going out of the house, a precaution that probably is very necessary. Mrs. Trevor fears we may be obliged to pass another day here.

Friday.—The whole morning in making arrangements about mules; at last the Commandant gave an order, and we have obtained some. The price they ask is exorbitant, 70 louis for our carriages, both of which are very light—one at least is. I have stolen some of the Baron’s specimens of minerals; my conscience smites me almost for the plunder. At six in the evening we set off for St. Remy. My journey there was not pleasant as to my monture, for my own saddle was broken, and I was, after shifting from pack saddles, etc., obliged to submit to be chucked upon a sack of wheat on a bête-de-somme. The muleteer considered me as a bale of goods entrusted to his care to convey without damage, and so far thought of me, but not the least as to my ease or comfort. As much as I could see of the scenery by daylight very beautiful. La Cluse very pretty, but we did not reach St. Remy till twelve o’clock, all tired and cold, and such an inn! But it did shelter us from the bleak wind, and that was a point gained.

We set off at half-past five o’clock to cross the famous mountain of St. Bernard. It has only been used by travellers since the Mont Cenis has been shut up by the neighbourhood of the French. I went in a chaise à porteurs. Our carriages were dismounted and placed by piecemeal on mules. We began ascending from St. Remy. The mountains are from their base bare and without much vegetation, the road so embarrassed with snow that I thought it impracticable for the mules to bring the carriage. Just above St. Remy there is a forest of larches, which the inhabitants preserve with the most religious care, as their own safety is interested in its preservation, for it protects them from the avalanches or chûte des neiges, so fatal in these countries. The path is very narrow and rugged; here and there immense blocks of granite intercept the passage, difficult to be clambered over, but no precipices to terrify and make the head giddy. Little torrents running down like cascades, the snow in many places very soft, yielding readily to the pressure of the men’s feet.

In about three hours from St. Remy I reached the Convent. The plain on which it stands is about two acres in extent; a black-looking lake adjoining it was frozen. Eternal snows surround this peaceful, melancholy dwelling, but the warmest charity issues from the bosom of its inmates. Distress is claim enough to rouse them to every action of spirited humanity. On a rock close to the lake stood a temple to Jupiter, dedicated, some say, by Hannibal in his passage across the mountain. Numbers of ex-voto are found here, a proof that it was considered as a perilous pass by the ancients. It is the highest habitation in the old world. It is 1246 toises[71] above the level of the sea. A strong sense of active benevolence can alone induce men to abandon the charms of the habitable world for this triste séjour. The clavandier or steward of the Convent offered us every refreshment. I accepted willingly some strong wine, and wrapped myself in eiderdown for a couple of hours. The fine dogs known for their sagacity in seeking the bewildered traveller lost under a mass of snow were not at home; they were ranging over the mountain.

MT. ST. BERNARD

I turned my back on Italy with regret. The men carried me backwards down the mountain. The snow on this side very deep, and they waded through it with great labour; they often fell, but I was neither hurt nor frightened. My intrepidity is more owing to an indifference about life than to natural courage. I have nothing to love, so life is not to me invaluable. Half-way we stopped to look at the melancholy receptacle for the bodies of those who perish on the mountains. There is only one body; it has been exposed for a year, but the rarefaction of the air was such that the putrefaction has not commenced. It was shrivelled, but the features were perfectly distinguishable. The sun set. We reached St. Pierre, a small village dependent on the monastery we had just quitted. I lodged in the house of a curé at Liddès, where I slept, who had formerly been a monk in the upper region, but growing infirm he was rewarded with half-freezing. He said he lived a happier life among the community than in solitude. The small house he has is pretty and fantastically covered with some creeping plant over the walls. Early in the morning I was awakened by the melody of the birds and the fragrance of the plants; the sun shone into my bed by 5 o’clock.

On the 14th, early in the morning, I set off. The carriages were put upon the wheels, but the baggage was conveyed on mules. The roads exceed anything I ever beheld in point of danger. A narrow corniche without a garde-fou, upon the brink of a precipice of many hundred feet; in some places I am sure the fall would have been 1500 perpendicular feet.

The Drance gushes with the violence and noise of a torrent in the valley. Orsières is the first village; the houses are made of wood with immense high treillages to dry beans upon them. The next village was Sembrancher; about half a mile on this side of it the view is delicious—I was quite enraptured. We got close to the Drance, whose roar whitened its waters. We crossed it frequently; one of the bridges was very old and weak; they persuaded me to get out and walk over it. The valley is evidently opened by violence, as the angles of the mountains on each side correspond exactly. The sublimity of the scenery among these mountains inspires one with a notion of the grandeur of our world, but this thought is still dissipated on a starlight night, for then we behold what a speck we are in the creation—a twinkling orb like them.

We dined at Martigny, the capital of the Valois, a dirty town abounding in loathsome objects, crétins and bugs. The much celebrated cascade of the Pisse Vache was in full beauty, but even so it is much inferior to Tivoli and Terni. The Rhône is very fine and the adjacent country beautiful; we crossed it over an old Roman Bridge at St. Maurice. Just on this side of the bridge the Berne bear announced our arrival into its territory.

Upon my coming into Bex I met Prince Hatzfeldt and my tiresome Scotch lover, Mr. Douglas. We supped together at the inn, where I had a pretty terrace to walk upon out of my bedroom.

Early in the morning, Tuesday, 16th, I set off in a char-a-bande [sic] to see the salines of Bex. My compagnon de voyage was, as usual, ill-disposed and sulky, and spared me the torment of his company. I went into a subterranean gallery perforated for 3000 feet under the mountain; the smell of the lamps made me sick, and I was obliged to return without seeing the cylinder which is the film (?) of rock salt. The salt springs are fully impregnated with the saline matter.

LOST FRIENDS

Left Bex at one o’clock. Dined at Vevey. Hodges came out to meet us; he brought me a packet of letters. My father continues ill, but less dangerously so than by my former letters. The last time I was in Vevey the Guiches dined with us in a pavilion belonging to the Count St. Leger. Ludlow’s[72] house is on the skirts of the town; the little rampart round it formerly planted with swivels is still to be seen. He lived in perpetual dread of being taken by the Royalist party; he was often fired at. I felt melancholy at the sight of Lausanne now, deserted by all the cheerful band who had assisted in making me pass cheerfully some of the pleasantest hours of my uncomfortable life. Gibbon’s house is abandoned; he is in England. Poor Ly. Sheffield’s apartment will never again contain her; she is no more. Mde. de Juigné is again no more. All my friends are living in obscure poverty, or have fallen in the field of battle. The English here are the Cholmondeleys, the old Duchess of Ancaster, Ld. Morpeth, his friend who travels with him, and various other English, and the son of an Irish bishop.

The events in Paris are still disgusting and bloody. Biron[73] is impeached; the charge is having conducted the war with insouciance. Those who know him say his disposition is to do everything so, but he is humane and gentlemanlike. He preserved all Lady Rivers’ goods, etc., when he entered Nice. Lord Beauchamp, now Lord Yarmouth,[74] is at Frankfort upon some political mission; hopes are entertained that it is to adjust a general Congress for the termination of these horrid scenes. Ld. Porchester is made an earl, as a reward for deserting Mr. Fox, whose party is breaking up apace; some quit him from opinion, but most for the loaves and fishes which are promised to them for their desertion. Mr. Fox’s debts are to be paid by a subscription among his friends; he is to have an annuity of 3000l. per annum. As he is not popular, people think it a mean transaction, but formerly it was proposed as an honourable one. Ld. Cholmondeley tells me that party runs very high in England, disgustingly so.

I have heard that my dear children are well; Lady Shelley has written me a satisfactory account of them. I went to Mde. Cerjat’s. She is very unhappy about her sons; one is besieging Valenciennes. From her gardens we saw across the lake to Evian, where the detested tricolor flag is flying on the tree of liberty; we heard the drums distinctly.

18th, Thursday.—A small dinner at home, Hodges, etc. In the evening I went to the poor Duchess’s, who has not, I fear, many weeks to languish. Lord Morpeth[75] is clever, very handsome, and very captivating. I see the Cholmondeleys[76] are trying to catch him for Miss L.; he appears indisposed to the project. He is evidently le mieux possible with Mde. A. If I were addicted to coquetry I believe I could easily become her rival, but I never possessed a particle of the vanity necessary to such a character, nor is there anything in my eyes flattering in such proceedings. A pretty young woman is always sure of as many lovers as she chooses, but to me there would be more humiliation than glory in such a train.

MARAT’S DEATH

I dined at the Cholmondeleys; went to Casanova’s ball, and amused myself the few days I passed at Lausanne. Marat has been assassinated by a young woman of the name of Charlotte Corday. She obtained admittance whilst he was in the bath and pleaded for some of the deputies, who are in prison; she approached him, drew a poniard, and stabbed him to the heart. She was immediately seized, and the Convention are employed in devising new tortures for her. This death will occasion some change in their measures, as Marat was an intrepid villain who had attached a party to himself.

The news from Valenciennes is dreadful: in an escalade attempted by the allies 6000 men perished.[77]

La Fayette is still at Magdebourg.[78] His confinement seems both hard and unjust. The following lines are written by Lord Camelford:—

Poor La Fayette, it overdoes his errors. I believe he was compelled to go beyond his wishes, for as Dr. Johnson somewhere says, ‘However faction finds a man, it seldom leaves him honest.’

Dumouriez[79] went to England; immediately upon his arrival he informed Ld. Grenville, and begged to know whether he might be permitted to remain. Ld. G. told him he applied to the wrong person, as Mr. Dundas was the proper one to address, but he would venture to assure him permission would not be granted, and implied the sooner he went the better.

I was extremely irritated to find a few miles from Lausanne that Mr. Douglas had followed me. I knew that a timely check might rid me of his company for the journey. I therefore stopped the carriage, spoke to him with cold civility, and gave him a message to Ly. C., as I would not allow him to suppose I could imagine that he meant to join me in travelling. He looked embarrassed, took the rebuff, and returned back.

The Convention have satisfied themselves with ye guillotine for Charlotte Corday. She behaved with the utmost intrepidity to the last sad scene. Women have appeared at the Bar of the Convention begging their infants might take the name of Marat, adding that they renounced any other évangile than his works, all creeds but the Constitution! Great reports of the success of the Royalist army; it is said to be within sixteen leagues of Paris, but I confess, for one, that I am incredulous, as the stories about it vary so much. Nantes was in counter-revolution for thirty-six hours; Lyons is hostile to the Convention, but the inhabitants are arrant Republicans. I believe General Ferraris will defeat my wish of seeing the siege of Valenciennes, as he will take it before I get thither.

STATE OF FRANCE

Slept at Avenches. There is a curious mosaic pavement, a vestige of it belonging to the Romans. Ld. Northampton[80] has lived here for fifteen years. The old town stood a mile further eastward. Some inscriptions besides the tesselated pavement still remain, but the corroding effect of time, and the still more destructive hand of man, have left little to prove its former splendour.

24th July.—Set off at half-past seven o’clock. Just before we entered the town of Morat we passed the chapel which contains the bones of the Burgundians who fell on this spot in 1476; which finally closed the long contests between the Swiss and the Duke of Burgundy. The awful sight of these remains at once raises melancholy and pleasing thoughts, for here were doomed to fall by the folly of a tyrant several thousands of our species, and here also the courage arising from a true spirit of liberty secured the independence of this country.

Charles the Bold was defeated at Grandson and at Morat. At this place he lost the famous diamond, known since by the name of the Sancy diamond. It was found on the field of battle by a Swiss soldier, who sold it to a priest for a florin, who sold it again for half a crown. It then fell into the hands of Antony, King of Portugal, and from him the Baron of Sancy obtained it. This diamond afterwards served as a pledge for a sum of money lent by the Swiss to Henry III. of France.[81]

We came here (Berne) at about two o’clock. This is the neatest, dullest, coldest town I ever knew. I am sitting in a south room on the 24th of July, and I protest I am half frozen. This is the capital of the canton, and is a far more magnificent city than might be expected in a territory whose extent does not exceed much an English county. It is situated on a hill, round which the Aar winds its course, and protects the town from sudden surprise: it might easily be destroyed by a bombardment from the surrounding hills that command it. The streets are wide, clean, and well paved. The houses, like those in dear, dear Italy, built on arcades, an admirable convenience for the foot passengers in the rains of winter or the heats of summer. I think it must fill the mind of a true John Bull with envy to see the town of a province like this, or a small capital like Turin, surrounded with public walks, extensive avenues, and magnificent approaches, whilst their own metropolis can be approached only by shabby, narrow turnpike roads. Ld. and Ly. Robert Fitzgerald live in the faubourgs; I shall call upon them, and then pay my respects to the bears. I suffer pain from the intense cold.

Leaving Berne at 9 o’clock on Thursday, July 25, the travellers took the road to Hindelbank. Of the country Lady Webster records:—

The soil continues the same; hills covered with firs and forest trees, rich pasture, clean farming. As wood is more plentiful than stone, houses are principally built of it; the projecting roofs are useful for barns and outhouses, but for habitations of human creatures they must be unwholesome by excluding the rays of the sun, and confining the smoke of the wood fires. Every step that approaches me to England lowers my spirits. Oh! how I abhor the thoughts of living in that country. No friends, few relations!

THE SWISS CHARACTER

We slept at a little village the name of which I cannot write. Set off at an early hour. The small Swiss inns are delightful, so convenient, so well furnished with excellent provisions. The people are passively civil, which is all one requires; they have neither the cold neglect of a French inn, the indifference and clamour of an Italian one, or the insupportable officiousness of an English one. The Swiss have more junketing parties than any other people. Arrive at any hour, day or night, and one finds the inns crammed and the people stuffing their bellies.

We dined at Lutzburgh;[82] at the top of an isolated hill there is an old castle, which commands the town. This route is better calculated to please the farmer and the quiet landscape painter than the mineralogist or poet. The country is flat and rich, and the scenes are pleasing and tranquil: not a study for the pencil of a Salvator. About a mile from Lutzburgh we entered the canton of Lucerne. The line of demarcation between the Catholic and Protestant canton is more strongly marked by the manners and habitations of the peasants, than by any fictitious boundary prescribed by law. Poverty, dirt, and misery are the visible attendants of the former, a manifest and glaring contrast to the characteristics of the latter, where wealth, cleanliness and ease abounds. The politician must explain the causes of this melancholy difference between the adjoining countries.

The road led past Mellingen to Baden, where they passed the night. ‘M. Barthelémy, formerly Secretary to the Embassy in London and now Minister from France to the Swiss Cantons, resides at this melancholy place.’

On July 27th they crossed the Rhine at Kaiserstuhl and went on to Laufen.

Sunday, 28th.—Schaffhausen is a melancholy, triste town. The tinkling of the bells of the church close to my room and the abominable psalmody distracted my ears and shattered my nerves. I got up many hours sooner than I intended, as rest was unattainable. I like rather the bells of convents; there is something cheerful in Catholicism, but these dull Protestants make religion frightful in their way of following it. The nasal melody of these devout Schaffhauseners, who are at this moment screaming themselves hoarse to chant the praises of God, would have met with little mercy if the heathen mythology were in force, as Apollo would have dispatched their discordant souls to the regions below. We went to the proper place to see the famous cataracts; they are tremendous, the noise is more powerful than artillery could make, I believe. I think the fall is about 100 feet. The river does not recover its stillness for some time after the chute ruffles its waters.

RIVAL STREAMS

Monday, 29th.—Set off at 5 o’clock, and bid adieu to the clean cottages and bold, craggy mountains of Switzerland. We were advised against the Basle road, as it approaches so very near the French frontier that we might unwillingly have seen some skirmishes. Here the dwellings of the inhabitants resemble those of Lincolnshire, mud walls, and the inhabitants as filthy as the ground they tread on. The circle of Swabia is reckoned to be a fertile and well-cultivated country and its population proves that its peasantry are well fed. The hills are well covered with fir and oak, the remains of the old Hercynian Forest that once overspread this part of Germany from the Danube to the Rhine. The wild boar and the wolf are the only savage animals that inhabit these regions. The clearing of the forest has very much influenced the climate of Italy; Kirwan thinks by its destruction Lombardy is become warmer. We crossed a ridge of sand hills; on the top of them I observed the rills of water to run in different directions, forming small rivulets to the north and south sides. These continue their course from their original direction. A lively imagination might fancy their lamentations at the impossibility of their ever meeting again in their native country. ‘I go,’ says the northern drop, ‘to join the slow-flowing Danube, and quench the thirst of the heavy-paced, mechanical German, the proud, independent, but crushed Hungarian, and the lazy, ignorant, slavish Turk. In my way I shall wash the walls of Vienna, Presburg, and Belgrade, and then in company with the waters of Poland and of Russia will try to live in harmony with the waters of the Euxine Sea.’ ‘And I,’ says the merry southern drop, ‘will rush on to the rapid Rhine, wash the coast of the brave and hardy Swiss, will then avoid the once cheerful Frenchmen, and frisk down to the North Sea,’ and, if he is of my mind, will avoid the chalky coast of England.

Arrived at midnight at Pallingen; I slept in a billiard room, a meuble neither ornamental, comfortable, nor useful.

Tuesday, 30th.—Hechingen, the first post from where we slept, the seat of the King of Prussia’s family, the Counts of Hohenzollern. They possess a small principality, the revenues of which are 7000l. per annum, yet the great Frederick was descended from a younger branch of this petty prince. A lively Frenchman said, ‘Parbleu, voilà un cadet qui a fait fortune.’ The castle stands upon a high and steep hill. They tell a story of one of its princes seeing from its terrace the rich country of Würtemberg, and saying, ‘What an addition would the petit canton of Würtemberg be to the territory of Hohenzollern.’ We dined there. Just entering Tübingen the country pretty: woods inclining to a valley, watered by a little rill. Tübingen appears to have been new built, but still in that terrible taste which prevails all over Lower Germany. Black beams placed crossways and the interstices filled up with plaster, high roofs, gable ends, and two or three stories of garret windows in the roof; the whole gives a mean appearance and disfigures a town as much as the style of English architecture, though this has the superiority, as the houses have the advantage of being spacious. A filthy, disgusting practice prevails here, that of placing the dunghills precisely in front of their houses. In the towns they are in a line with the bench before the house, on which they sit smoking and regaling themselves after dinner; in the villages, they are in the middle of the streets, and it requires some skill in the postillions to steer safely between them. Beyond Tübingen a noble forest of immense extent, part of the Hercynian; it is full of fine oaks. I cannot make myself in the least understood in the language of which Pope says:—

I cannot connect two words so as to form the simplest sentence. We reached Stuttgart at 12 o’clock at night.

Lord Mulgrave passed in his way to Milan: some official business carries him. Custine is sent to the Abbey [sic], which is the first step towards the scaffold.[83] Mayence fell on ye 25th.

31st July.—A Scotch gentleman of the name of Stuart, brother to Mrs. Hippisley, showed me everything to be seen. The Academy, a noble institution for young military. The Duke[84] was very extravagant formerly, but he has adopted many salutary reforms. The palace is very grand: it was made in his days of splendour. He has now abandoned this place and Louisbourg[85] and lives totally at Hohenheim, a château upon which he has also spent immense sums. His cruelty is checked by his Duchess, a good woman; but his marriage with her was a mésalliance.

FALL OF MAYENCE

Mayence surrendered upon capitulation: ye 22nd the Prussians marched in. They endeavoured to persuade the Elector to return, but he was afraid to trust himself among his loyal subjects. Beauharnais had a bloody battle with the army of observation. He was trying to succour Mayence: victory was wavering for some hours, but he did not attain his object, consequently was defeated. We slept at Louisbourg about twelve miles from Stuttgart; the palace and gardens are sumptuous, the Opera house is the largest in Europe. Here in former times Vestris and Noverre tripped upon the light fantastic toe to the admiration and gawky imitation of the clumsy German. To-morrow we shall reach Heidelberg.

1st August, Thursday.—Left Louisbourg at 6 o’clock. Heilbronn, a free Imperial city, very dull, and declining; the Neckar runs by it. Open corn country. I did not visit the Tun, so extolled for its size; I passed a most restless night on account of the myriads of little white bugs. Got to Mannheim at 12. The whole town is animated, a garrison in the town of 6000 men, bodies of troops passing through, couriers coming and going. All too evidently proves the vicinity to the seat of war, but though a little alarming, yet one feels hurried on by an interesting curiosity. The town is beautiful; large stone buildings, fine wide streets, and all the objects cheerful and pleasing. The Gallery contains many fine pictures, some charming Murillos; and good Flemish artists have contributed. The Cabinet has some beautiful specimens of mineralogy. At Valenciennes poor Tollemache[86] was killed in the trenches. He is Ly. Bridget’s only son; a spent bomb struck against his bowels and he expired the next day. We go to-morrow to Mayence, which I expect to find a heap of ruins.

Saturday, Mannheim, 3rd August.—I have been reading the sommation and articles of capitulation of Valenciennes. The allies have accorded the garrison in it to return to France but to be considered prisoners of war, with a promise that they will not serve until they have been regularly exchanged for other prisoners.[87] It is very unlikely that they should abide by this convention, and, to say the truth, were I the Government of France they should not. Lord Yarmouth told me a trait of French légèreté that amused me. After the D. of York’s sommation there was a parley, during which many people came out of the town. The first intimation the Duke had that the terms were accepted was by the director of the Theatre coming to ask what piece H.R.H. would order the next day.

THE SEAT OF WAR

We left Mannheim at 10. The Elector’s carriage went out of the same gate with us; it was going to Turkheim to bring the King of Prussia here. Turkheim is the capital of the States of the unlucky Count of Leiningen who was seized in his palace by the Patriots, who keep him as a hostage for Camus, Beurnonville, and the other deputies delivered by Dumouriez to the Austrians. The road is all alive; troops, recruits, baggage waggons, ammunition waggons, sick and wounded, stragglers, cavalry, all proclaim the direful din of arms is at hand. At Worms we were forced to stop; three long hours have we already waited, not a horse to be had. The Cathedral is a large, ugly brick edifice, in which a few months ago 3000 patriots lodged. During their predatory excursion they levied hard contributions upon the townspeople to the amount of 12,000 florins.

4th August, Sunday.—Quitted Oppenheim at 6. Followed the course of the Rhine: the roads almost destroyed by the quantity of heavy artillery that had passed to the siege of Mayence. A long file of ammunition waggons looked very pretty at a distance. I was gratified with sight of pontoons to make a bridge. I shall become very skilful in military tactics if I remain amidst the clangour of war. A mile from Mayence upon the road a small fascine battery to prevent succour getting to the city. The faubourgs totally destroyed, not a house with a roof on it. Cortheim is a complete ruin; out of 180 houses and two churches not a vestige except the stones remain. The works at Cassel, the other faubourg, are surprising. They were raised by the French, who seemed as if they meant to fix there, as they had begun to face the works with stone. A thick abattis remains all round the fortifications still. The town is very much damaged: the Cathedral is almost a heap of ruins, the front tower remains tottering without an atom of roof. The Electoral Palace is converted into a hospital where many victims to the folly and ambition of their employers are languishing. La Favorita, a maison de plaisance of the Elector, is razed to the ground. We drove to Cortheim. It was a melancholy sight; scorched walls, fields of self-sown corn grown up with weeds, unpruned vines trampled by cavalry, a houseless town, and every symptom of desolation and solitude. During the siege the French devoured horseflesh, and have consumed so many that they are really scarce; we can get none to go on with. I talked with an émigré, who seems well acquainted with many of my friends. His prejudices are absurd; he is as violent against the first Assembly as he is against the atrocious Convention.

5th of August, Frankfort.—The bridge of boats out of Mayence would frighten a timid person to cross with frisky horses; ours did not answer that description. We took the voiturins to Frankfort. We met a troop of French prisoners, who looked more as if they were going to take possession of the city than of its prisons. I sat up very late from downright low spirits. I cannot bear up whenever I am alone; there is a desponding feel that steals over my mind and prevents me from occupying myself in any way. ‘La mort ne vient jamais à propos,’ someone says; I want to die, but I do not, and I shall die (most likely) when I could dispense with it. The Maison Rouge, a vast pile of buildings. The whole town has a bourgeois air about it. It has not suffered by the French. I do not care if it does or not. Custine only took one million of florins: they can bear much more squeezing. It is said that the English fleet is at length in the Mediterranean: I have heard the report so often that I doubt the truth of it.

KÖNIGSTEIN

6th August, Frankfort.—Obliged to stay dinner, as horses were out of the question for some hours. The common route is by Hattersheim, but we were advised to go by Königstein, as the other had been destroyed to retard the progress of the French. The road we went was dreadful; several times I thought the carriage would have been overset. Obliged to sleep at this place (Königstein) for the old reason—want of horses. This place has been destroyed by military rage; the houses are burnt and gutted. The French maintained themselves here two months against the allies, and then only yielded to famine. It was quite touching to see some of the hoary sons of St. Francis lamenting over the ruins of their solitary cells, their untenanted convent, and degraded altars. The hill upon which the fortress stands is isolated, and commands a fine view of the plain of the Rhine. The French surrendered to the Russians. The common people detest their old masters, and long for the return of their democratic friends, whose principles are captivating to the lower classes: every man enjoys the prospect of placing his humble cot on a level with the proud palace, forgetting that the equality can only be maintained by lowering the palace to the cot. My companion in a paroxysm threw the book I was reading at my head, after having first torn it out of my hands.

7th August.—Set off at 7 from Königstein; the road insufferably bad. Austrian soldiers marching from Linz into Brabant. One poor fellow was lying on the ground roaring from the torture of a colic. I gave him money, and as we were going the same road had him placed upon the second carriage, that took him on till we overtook a baggage waggon: he was a poor Croat not twenty years old. Slept at Montabaur.

8th August.—Passed through a noble forest of enormous extent. Coblentz is charmingly situated upon the Rhine. We crossed the river on a pont volant. The émigrés are no longer allowed to remain in the town; this foyer of counter-revolution is at present very dull and democratic. Just out of the town we crossed the Moselle, which there falls into the Rhine. We followed the course of the Rhine to Bonn, the country rich and populous. Just before we entered Bonn, I was delighted at the sight of a very magnificent ruin of a baronial castle, with a high tower, upon a solitary rock. We slept at Bonn, which is now the residence of the Elector of Cologne, who is the uncle of the Emperor.

9th August.—Stopped at Cologne, an ugly, dirty town; everything looked black, houses, water, faces, trees. Road to Donningen[88] deep sand and bad. Three miles from Dusseldorf crossed the Rhine, which is very wide and begins to lose its transparency, on a pont volant. The gates of Dusseldorf were shut, and we were compelled to take refuge under a very comfortless roof; I lay upon the floor a prey to every sort of vermin, bugs, spiders, earwigs—filthy. I never was really annoyed at any gîte before this.

10th August.—The gallery contains some excellent pictures.[89] Rubens, Vanderwerfs, and some Italian masters. Twenty-five Vanderwerfs. Small cabinet pictures his finished, detailed style suits, but he fails when he attempts history pictures. His pendant to Raphael’s ‘St. John’ shows that he did not understand effect; the figure of Magdalen looks like a carving in ivory, and the hair like a flaxen wig. A game piece by Sneiders, a single figure in it done by Rubens, a chef d’œuvre. In general a picture painted by different hands either fails in harmony or in composition, but not this one, as each are perfect. Sneiders’ high finishing forced Rubens to give more force and less glare. This picture makes one regret that Rubens had not always some reason to paint in this energetic style. Two fine Boths. Fine Berghem. The ‘Charlatan,’ by Gerard Dow, a charmingly executed Dutch picture, as fine as the celebrated ‘Femme Hydropique,’ by the same hand, at Turin. The evening was rainy, and the weather very unpromising, but the whim was to go on, and on we went to Furth. When we arrived there were no beds; I and my maid sat up in a small room, and Sir G. and the servants slept as they could in the carriages.

DUSSELDORF

Sunday.—In the road to Juliers there are works upon the road made by the French whilst they were in possession of this country. Juliers is an ugly town belonging to the Elector of Bavaria. At Aix-la-Chapelle heard the melancholy tale of the Queen’s being sent to the Conciergerie. Unhappy woman! there is little hope of peace for her in this life. Gaston continues successful in Brittany. He appears to rise by magic, suddenly he advances at the head of thousands, and then as suddenly they dissolve into air. It is a pity the emigrants are not sent to succour him, but I confess I begin to fear the liberal, generous, and gallant Englishman looks at France with a mercantile, suspicious eye. Slept at Aix-la-Chapelle.

12th August.—The road to Maestricht in a shocking state. The town surrounded by works thrown up by the French when they besieged it under Miranda, early in the year, while Dumouriez invaded Holland. During the siege the émigrés worked the guns, and were as brave as this nation have always been. The besiegers gave up the attack. The strength of the town is prodigious. It was the work of Crehorne [sic], a great military tactician; it now belongs to the Dutch, always garrisoned by 8000 or 10,000 men. It is a pretty town, large, well built, and paved. Dined at Maestricht, and should have reached St. Trond, but want of horses compelled us to stop at Tongres.

13th.—Straight long avenues and fertile country. Stopped at Louvain. In the courtyard saw English carriages, belonging to some young men who are going to Italy, Mr. Amherst, Beauclerk, and Cornewall. Near this town were fought the battles that expelled the patriots from Flanders—Neerwinden and Louvain.

Bruxelles.—Found a budget of letters, from T. P. and my father. Ld. H.[90] talks of coming to meet me; he can be absent from the Hague only by stealth. Wrong as it will be, my inclination would get the better of my reason if I had the measure to decide upon, but as I have not, it must take its chance; only I do not think he can arrive before I go. My children are perfectly well. Everything in this town is as it was nine years ago, when I, a little harmless innocent, used to meander among the groves of this delicious park. My father lived a year at this pretty place when I was a very young performer in life. I went to see the desolation made a few days ago by a dreadful accident in the suburb. Some ammunition waggons, to the amount of eight in number, suddenly blew up. The explosion was fatal to 100 persons; a gentleman, lady, child, and three servants were travelling past, and must have perished, as no vestige of them or their equipage remains.

Madame de Balbi very friendly to me; all the beau-monde of Paris assembled here. Ld. Elgin[91] is the Minister here; he is bien fat, civil like a Scotchman, but on the whole I liked him better than I expected. Poor Ld. H. has a great prejudice against him. A gossiping man, a Mr. Merrick, told me the scandal of London. He says Carlo Dolce is annoyed at the violence of Mrs. Potiphar’s passion for him: she is vehement even in public.

COUNT FERSEN

M. de Fersen, the lover of the unhappy Queen, came to see me. He is tall and stately, and has the pretension in his manner of a favourite: au reste, his devoted attachment to the Queen, even more in her prison, makes him interesting. On the 6th of October he disguised himself as a démocrate, and cried out with the mob, ‘Vive la nation,’ merely that he might keep close to her carriage and protect her from any personal violence. He planned their flight from Paris to Varennes and rode postillion to the immense berlin; had his advice been followed the whole family would have been safe.

I called upon Madame Ferraris; she thought me grown since Vienna. Her husband is with the Duke of York. She says the Duke submits to the advice of his generals very readily, but there are two different stories upon that subject. I dined with Ld. Elgin, etc., and passed my time pleasantly among the French.

Tuesday, 20th.—I rose in the morning fully persuaded that I should sleep at Bruges. Ld. Elgin (who I have grown to like) very good-humouredly did his utmost to facilitate my wish of seeing Valenciennes. He gave us quantities of passports, and very sullenly we set off. Saw A. St. Leger. He came over, as have done many English, Mr. Windham, etc., to see the armies.

21st. Mons.—Passed over the plain where the dreadful battle of Jemappes was fought, which obtained to Dumouriez the full possession of Flanders. The plain is covered with newly made graves; no skeletons, except those of a few horses were stretched about. The whole country covered with waggons and ammunition. The feeding and clothing of a great army requires skill and combination, to the full as much as leading it on to combat. Just out of Quievrain we entered part of old France. The corn was standing, and did not appear to be in the least damaged. About a league from Valenciennes lies the wonderful machinery that destroyed it, a magnificent park of artillery, with immense magazines of balls, etc., guarded by a small party of Austrians encamped. A pretty sight enough.

Valenciennes is in a deplorable state, many streets are quite uninhabitable; scarcely a house standing that has not been shattered by bombs. The streets are choked up with rubbish; beams of houses half-burnt lying across. The quarter of the town through which we passed first is the most destroyed; it was the part nearest to the globes of compression.[92] The concussion occasioned by their explosion finished what forty-two days incessant fire had begun. The city walls and ramparts are crumbling from the shattering made in them with ball. We were shown very exactly by an intelligent officer the military posts, and the chief occurrences at them. The French went into the fossée when they abandoned the hornwork; the allies pursued them. The panic created by the explosion of the globes of compression made the assault very little perilous. The danger was when the French recovered themselves and found that all the mischief was done, they might have blown up the hornwork, as by some oversight the besiegers had not undermined them there. Sir John Shelley served as a volunteer, and gained himself credit by his gallantry. In the camp of Famars, close by, is a rude monument erected in honour of Dampierre, the citizen general, who was killed. It consists of the tree of liberty decorated with military trophies. If his fame does not survive the effigies, it will be but short-lived, as they are withering already.

VALENCIENNES

The loss of bourgeoisie in the town during the siege is calculated at about 2,500 men, women, and children. Thousands were crammed into the vaults of the general hospital, and guards posted to prevent them from going out that they might not by their complaints and sufferings dispose the active bourgeoisie and the garrison to yield. The house I am now in is above two-thirds of it untenable; the walls are perforated with balls and bombs, and there is not from top to bottom a whole pane of glass in the house. The appearance of the inhabitants denotes what they must have suffered from famine, confinement, terror, and the whole accompanying train of diseases. Yet they regret the Carmagnols, and would to-morrow assist their return. Mr. Hobart and Mr. Meyrick joined us at dinner; they brought news of an engagement at Tourcoing, for the Duke of York was getting on to Ypres without suspecting he could meet with any impediment from the Camp de la Madeleine, but he found to his cost that he was interrupted. His vanguard, composed of Dutch, were attacked and forced to replier; the detachment of Guards sent to reinforce them were defeated with the loss of 200; Colonel Bosville was killed, and many others wounded.

Whilst I was walking on the ramparts at Valenciennes, an Austrian grenadier intended to make a well-turned compliment by wishing I was his wife for the sake of a fine race of grenadiers. I received a similar compliment from one of his description at Prague. Mr. Hobart laughed mightily at the Swager’s gallantry. When I look at the scenes around and reflect that it is the deed of man to man, how far more cruel does he appear than the lion or the tiger. We saw smoke from Le Quesnoy; as it was invested we concluded it was a bombardment, but as the trenches are not yet opened it could not be, therefore it must have been the French employed in burning their suburbs! Prince Coburg is before it.

22nd.—Quitted Valenciennes at 3 o’clock. All the villages partake of the ruinous ravage of war. About a league is the superb ci-devant Abbaye de Vicoing, which alternately belonged to the allies and the French; there are breastworks and embrasures in many parts round it. It serves now as a garnison for Austrian hussars. Very near it are the Baths of St. Amand, near which the English were unwarily surprised and beat unmercifully from a masked battery. Every cottage that fronts the road has its walls perforated for muskets. Poor wretched people! What a condition is theirs! friend or foe must be equally to be dreaded by them.

The road between St. Amand and Tournay was covered with baggage waggons and troops. In the dark, about 8 o’clock, I had an alarm that produced a sensation of terror far beyond any power of description to express. Just upon the plain where the battle of Fontenoy was fought, I saw about a quarter of a mile before me ten or twelve horsemen gallop across the road and range themselves under the trees of the avenue. They came from the French side of the road, and in the dusk and indistinct manner in which I saw them more than satisfied me that they were French hussars. I gave myself up for lost, and in an agony of silent despair hid my head. We approached, when, lo!—my hussars proved to be gleaners. The immense bulk of them on the horizon and their quiet motion, aided by imagination, made me see an enemy instead of a harmless band of suffering countrywomen. When we reached Tournay we found the inn full of English soldiers. Lord Huntley in the house very dangerously ill.

MOVEMENTS OF THE ALLIES

It is very true that the nearer one approaches the scene of action intelligence becomes more imperfect and contradictory. Every other man we met gave us a different account; some said the D. of York was at Ypres, others that he was at Furnes, and yet it is possible that he has been at neither place. We met the Dutch troops who ran away on the 18th; they are going to garrison towns, as they cannot be trusted in the lines. At Menin I saw Colonel Doyle walking upon the Grande Place. He has a deep wound in his arm and a contusion on his knee. An old Dutch acquaintance of Pierrôt’s[93] caressed him, the greffier Fagel’s son, a great friend of Ld. Henry’s. The officers advised us against going on to Ypres, as a severe cannonade had been heard that way the whole morning, but we must either have returned or gone on: I felt queer, not to say frightened. We passed within two miles of the French lines, and that is the distance for half a dozen desperate hussars to gallop to plunder. We met a Mr. Lodge, an Englishman; he has just left Furnes, near which the armies are encamped, but he reported that they were filing off to lay siege to Dunkirk. I hear the Cabinet of Vienna are displeased at the D. of York’s terms of capitulation for Valenciennes, especially as he gave up two of the deputies who had voted for the King’s death, and the troops, they say, so far from abiding by their engagement of not serving again, are hurrying down towards Dunkirk. At Ypres the Austrians brought in twelve French prisoners, chiefly lads from 14 to 20; one of them was quite a stripling, he had been a button-maker at Lyons, but was forced to serve as a Volunteer. It is astonishing when we see their troops how it is they contrive to fight so well, against the bravest and best disciplined armies in the world. From Ypres the road to Furnes is within 100 yards of the French territory. We went close to the advanced Dutch pickets; their disposition to run away did not allow me to rely much upon their protection. At Rousbrugge, a small village, whilst we were in it, the drum beat to arms for an outpost being driven in, and the alarm spread of the enemy. In an instant all the soldiers turned out; a fine regiment called Loudohn Verts [sic].

At Furnes the town was so full that I was obliged to sit in the carriage in the middle of the Grande Place, and had no prospect of other shelter for the night. Fortunately, however, a charitable old woman who kept a little tallow-chandler’s shop agreed to let me pass the night in a little sandy parlour, that literally had no other furniture than a walnut great chair and a cupboard decorated with Delft cups. There was a bedroom, but to keep my companion from becoming outrageously discontented I yielded it to him, and lay upon blankets, etc. upon the floor. The room was really so small that when I was extended my maid could not sit in the great chair; she therefore passed the night in the carriage.

The evening was very agitating: we heard very plainly the roaring of the cannon at Dunkirk; couriers were perpetually arriving with some intelligence. The whole day had been passed in attempting to dislodge the French from a wood just before the town. The news came of the death of General Dalton and Col. Elde. At night I mounted the belfry of the church; the light from the cannon at Dunkirk was very strong, no less than five villages near it were in a blaze, the horizon was deeply dyed with a mixture of deep red flames and smoke. I never passed a more wretched night; the idea of the bloody tragedy near, the recollection of the haggard countenances of the dying soldiers, and the possibility, even probability, that many of my friends were expiring, made me so nervous that I could not obtain a wink of sleep. I got up unrefreshed and weary both in mind and body.

THE BRITISH CAMP

Major Doyle and all the officers I have seen express themselves with discontent at the prospect of the campaign; they think the measure of acting without the Austrians very injudicious.[94] They much doubt the practicability of the capture of Dunkirk. With the utmost difficulty we procured a vehicle, and with as much we waded through the deep black sand to the British camp. The distance was about six miles in all. The road is a high, narrow chaussée with the dunes between it and the sea. The first encampment is that of the artillery, prettily placed on each side of the canal. Thirteen dead horses lay stretched upon the road, victims of the engagement of the day before; we were obliged to stop till they were dragged away, to let the carriage pass. It was just thereabouts where Dalton fell; he was endeavouring to take a well-defended redoubt. The English camp is making; they only took the ground yesterday. I slept in the tent of Capt. Cerjat, of the Blues. I went to see the corpse of Dalton: he was lying on his side with one pale hand upon his head and the other upon his bosom, great expression of placid benignity on his countenance.

The Duke of York, on hearing of my arrival, sent to beg me to go to his tent and dine with him at headquarters. I saw poor Malbrouk, who was looking mighty well. I dined with the Duke; I felt odd being the only female among such a party of men. All the staff dined with him. The place we dined in was a large grange; his own tent he kept for his private use. He is highly incensed against the D. of Richmond[95] for not sending the ordnance, and to complete his vexation the artillery officers at Ostend have sent down the canals the carriages in one vessel, and the cannons in another, so that they do not arrive together. His language of censure is unqualified, and he is never much disposed to praise the D. of Richmond. After dinner I attended with H.R.H. the funeral of Col. Elde: it is an affecting sight. I was at first startled at the firing in platoons over the grave, but after the first discharge I did not mind it. There was another English officer buried, but I was low-spirited and would not go.

The Duke bid St. Leger show me the different camps, and sent me in one of his light cabriolets. In the course of the drive we were overtaken by the chaplain, who galloped and called as fast and as loud as he could. It was to make us return, for we had passed by several hundred yards the spot where a Hanoverian vedette had been killed by a shell, a proof that we were within reach of danger. We returned as fast as we could, and were grateful to him for his friendly interposition. We got out and walked upon the dunes, but were speedily recalled, as the vedette advised me not to venture, the French riflemen being such excellent shots that I might be aimed at. I should not have dreaded French cruelty to a woman, had I not the melancholy instance of the poor Queen.

DUKE OF YORK’S KINDNESS

I went and sat some hours with the Duke in his tent; M. de Bouillé was there. I heard a pattering noise, like rain, upon the canvas of the tent, but the eagerness of M. de Langereau to tell news soon destroyed that tranquil belief, for he came out of breath to say that the outposts were fighting, and were driven in, and a general attack might be expected. The Duke, who knew perfectly well what was going on, but had prudently and considerately concealed it from me, was quite angry at his indiscretion. I was panic-struck, and fairly clung to the Duke for comfort: I have wondered since how he could endure my tiresomeness. Whenever an officer whispered him and he gave an order I was in a tremor, upon which he said nothing should be done but openly, and he really gave his orders in a way that I might hear distinctly. He asked me to give the watchword, which I declined, and he with great gallantry gave Elizabeth and Success, or something to that purpose. The firing continued, and to prevent me listening to every volley, he ordered his band to strike up; they played till I went. He sent me an escort of several light dragoons; I reached Furnes safely some hours after midnight.[96]

Dover, 1st December, 1793.—Occupation and vexation prevented me from keeping anything like a journal during the whole of my stay in this odious country. I shall collect from memory all I can, whilst I sit watching the weathercock, for we are detained here by adverse winds and waves.

From Furnes we went to Ostend; we embarked with Messrs. Hobart and Meyrick, and had a good passage of about twenty hours. Arrived at Grenier’s Hotel on the 1st of September, and from thence went to my father’s at Windsor. I had the happiness of finding him better, tolerably cheerful, but very weak. After staying a few days with him, I went to my little friends at Bignor,[97] all well, and happy to see me. From thence I went to Stanmer, where I was received with cordiality; Mr. Pelham was there, and of course enchanted at seeing me.

From thence I went across the country to Battle, that detested spot where I had languished in solitude and discontent the best years of my life. I lodged at the Deanery, as I had a superstitious feeling as to passing another night within the same walls which confined me so long. I saw without a particle of satisfaction all the well-known objects, and felt restless until I got out of the place, for I felt half afraid of being detained by some accident. I found Sheffield Place dreary without my old friend; her corner and chair was occupied by her old favourite, Gibbon. The whole family were affected at seeing me; towards evening we grew more comfortable.

Gibbon came out with some of his very tedious witticisms. His joke was that Lady Beauchamp[98] was the most unfortunate woman alive. She was for a day or two wife to the most profligate man in the world, for she was Lady Rochester; she then was wife to a traitor; and was finally become an old German Countess, declared mistress to the King—the Countess of Yarmouth.[99] All these changes arose from Lord Yarmouth finding a difficulty in the choice of a second title upon his father’s being made a Marquis.

IN ENGLAND

I went to Brightelmstone; the Prince chose to combler me with every attention and civility. He gave me breakfast in his tent to show me his regiment, of which he is extremely vain. In London I passed all my mornings and evenings with the Duchess of Devonshire. In the morning we attended chemical lectures from Higgins, and in the evening I passed my time at Devonshire House.

I went to Court with Lady George Cavendish. The Queen spoke very crossly when she heard I was going to return to Florence. The King talked about Dunkirk and his son. I dined with Burke at Lady Elliot’s. He was full of delight at the capture of Toulon, and burst forth in a grand strain of eloquence at the prospect of our having again the Cocarde blanche and the standard of royalty raised in one of the chief cities of France. He said the allies were annoyed from a little fort still held by the Republicans, but that once taken they should become masters of the country. This fort was called the Heights of St. Anne’s. ‘Aye,’ said he, ‘St. Anne’s is always in the way,’ alluding to Mr. Fox’s opposition to the war, and his residence being at St. Anne’s Hill, near Windsor.

I heard from Lord Henry, very miserable at not being able to catch me anywhere on my return, but ordered to repair immediately to Stockholm.

Lord Sheffield consulted me about marrying. I recommended him to marry Lucy Pelham; he begged me to sound T. P., who appeared much pleased at the possibility of such an event.[100] I think it will happen. Our parties at Devonshire House were delightfully pleasant. Lady Melbourne[101] is uncommonly sensible and amusing, though she often puts me in mind of Madame de Merteuil in the Liaisons dangereuses. The Duke of Bedford is attached to her; he is quite brutal from the brusquerie of his manner. He is magnificently generous to his younger brothers, and indeed to all who are in distress. He is decidedly with Mr. Fox, a circumstance that displeases the staunch courtiers. Mr. Grey is the bien aimé of the Duchess; he is a fractious, exigeant lover. Sheridan has lost his lovely wife. We made friends; he did behave abominably to me without any question two years ago. I lived also a good deal with the Duchess of Gordon; supped with her, and went to the play. I was really very much admired, improved in my manner, and a sort of fashion and novelty by coming from abroad.

SIR GILBERT ELLIOT

My old acquaintance Sir Gilbert Elliot[102] is appointed joint Commissioner with Lord Hood and General O’Hara for arranging all civil concerns at Toulon and any other towns that may offer to put themselves under ye protection of the English or allies.[103] This Commission has occasioned much discussion. It is an event to engage the attention of the public, for the surrender of Toulon and the fleet in the harbour gave the allies the entire command of the Mediterranean, and it was the first place in which the standard of royalty has been raised: for at Valenciennes and other places that had been taken by force of arms, there were no declarations in favour of any party or description of that in France.

Sir Gilbert’s former connection with Mr. Fox exposes him to some animadversion upon this occasion, for though I think myself that every person ought to show a readiness to resist innovation, to which Mr. Fox seems disposed to incline, yet such a disposition would be manifested with equal, if not more effect by a disinterested support of Ministers, than adding to that zeal the encumbrance of office. Fox’s friends impute wholly to Sir Gilbert the rupture of the Whig party, as he used the D. of Portland’s name in supporting an opinion that went against Fox; from whence the schism sprung. The D. of Portland assured Mr. Fox that Sir G. was not warranted by his consent to quote what he did. Sir Gilbert, on the other hand, declares that he was expressly desired to do so by the Duke. That there is a lie somewhere is certain, but whether it is from the Duke or Sir Gilbert is only known to themselves. Sir G.’s enemies say that it most probably is in him, as the D. of Portland had his eldest son, Ld. Titchfield, in the House, who had several times spoken the opinions of his father from written instructions, and that in a point of so much importance he would again have been employed in preference to Sir Gilbert, who had no other connection with the D. of Portland than that of belonging to the party as an adherent of Mr. Fox’s; and also that it was so advantageous to Sir Gilbert to usurp the post of delegate from the D. of Portland, as it gave him a weight in the House, and entitled him to a grateful recompense from Ministers, in being the first to announce the disapprobation of the D. of Portland to the scanty Opposition, a point very material to them towards obtaining the public opinion, both in and out of doors. Thus has the celebrated Whig party ended to the ruin of Mr. Fox, and probably to the disadvantage of the country.

MR. GREY

Grey is a man of violent temper and unbounded ambition. His connections were Ministerial, but on his return from abroad both parties entertained hopes of him. His uncle, Sir Harry, is a rich, old, positive, singular man, leads a retired life, but was always eager upon politics, particularly against the Coalition—an infamous thing, by-the-bye. His father, Sir Charles Grey,[104] is attached to Government as a military man, and is intimately connected with Col. Barré and Ld. Lansdown, who at that time supported the Ministry. Grey was elected whilst abroad, therefore not pledged to any particular party. The fashion was to be in Opposition; the Prince of Wales belonged to it, and he then was not disliked; all the beauty and wit of London were on that side, and the seduction of Devonshire House prevailed. Besides, Pitt’s manner displeased him on his first speech, whereas Fox was all conciliation and encouragement. Grey’s talents were never fairly tried till the question about the Regency; the speeches he had made before were prepared declamations. He had shown his powers of debating. Fox’s illness prevented him from attending so constantly as he would otherwise have done, and Grey was frequently obliged to enter the lists with Pitt, and on that occasion he showed the strength of his understanding and his powers as a Parliamentary speaker. Notwithstanding this great success, Grey was not generally popular; his manner was supercilious, and like his rival Pitt, they both considered their abilities so transcendent that they seemed to despise experience, and treated their elders with contempt and sarcasm. Grey had often shown his ambition and impatient temper; he grew every day more violent against Pitt, and in 1791 he brought forward his plan of Parliamentary reform, conceiving it to be a measure that would be more peculiarly distressing to Pitt than any other he could bring forward.[105]

Grey had contracted a great friendship with Lord Lauderdale, who is one of those active, bustling spirits that will rather engage in perils, and even mischiefs, than remain in a state of insipid tranquillity. At a dinner at Lord Lauderdale’s, after having drunk a considerable quantity of wine, a sort of roll of enlistment was signed, by which they pledged themselves to bring forward the reform of Parliament. Lord Lauderdale, Grey, Maitland, Francis, Courtenay, Piggott, and others were of the party. This was the origin of the Friends of the People or Association. Two or three attempts had been made for a reform; ye first was by Lord Auckland, but his apostacy put an end to it. This society was previously formed upon the same plan as that in which Pitt took such a conspicuous line in the beginning of his political life, at the Thatched House.

Grey was to make the motion for reform in the House of Commons, and was weak and sanguine enough to imagine he was to have the same success; but the times were different. Ye Administration was strong and popular, and the extravagance of French patriots had alarmed all English ones, and Pitt became as popular in resisting Grey’s motion for reform as he had been some years before in proposing one himself. Pitt, who knows what is called the people of England—a very different thing from knowing mankind—better than anybody, did not rest here, but determined to crush his rival by sounding a general alarm and issuing a proclamation, which indirectly was levelled at Grey and the Friends of the People. Grey was alarmed and vexed at the failure of this scheme and the loss of popularity. Fox was professedly kept out of all concern in this wild project, under a false and foolish idea, that if it failed he would not be involved in any disgrace that might attend its failure. However, when the motion was made and the discussion upon the Proclamation was brought forward, Grey and his friends were so over-powered in the House, that they were obliged to fly to Fox for protection, and some of them, particularly Erskine and Sheridan, excused themselves from any bad intention by saying they had professed no more than Fox had done on other occasions, and were unfair enough to say that though he had not signed his name with them, he had done more, for he had pledged himself to the public to support their principles.

These debates and those which followed upon the progress of the French Revolution and its effects on the minds of men in England, increased the schism in the Whig party, which Pitt endeavoured to take advantage of by proposing a coalition. Ld. Loughborough and Dundas were the principal negotiators.

LEAVES ENGLAND

William Wyndham, by dint of frequent applications to Ld. Egremont to get him a foreign employment, is named to Florence, in lieu of Ld. Hervey. Frederick Hervey[106] is very unhappy at the suddenness and mystery of the proceedings, and has set off to travel by day and night to Florence. He is with us at this moment, and to the full as impatient for a change of wind. I left town on the 29th of November, on Friday. Although I was going to my children, yet I own I felt some severe pangs at leaving behind me many to whom I am most sincerely attached.

30th.—Dined at Canterbury; Captain Thomas dined with us. Got late to Dover. We hear so much of French privateers that we have sent off an express to Admiral Peyton for a cutter to protect us.

Sailed on Monday, 2nd December, bad wind and bad day. Towards night the sea grew rough and I grew frightened. After a blowing passage, we got safe to Ostend in fifteen hours.

Tuesday, 3rd December.—Tormented by the impertinence and exactions of the people at the Douane. Set off at five in the evening, a winter night, for Bruges, which we reached with difficulty very late at night.

Wednesday.—We dined at Ghent, arrived at Bruxelles at three o’clock in the morning, cold and uncomfortable, and unnecessarily made to travel at these hours. We could get no other accommodations but the same bad ones we had before at the Belle Vue.

Thursday.—This place is crowded with people of my acquaintance, the Cholmondeleys, etc. She is in a low state, and really affected by the death of the Duchess,[107] who died at Lausanne. I passed the evening there. Lord Yarmouth gave us some curious details about the French prisoners; 4000 are marched into Hungary to work in the mines. He declaimed against the obstinacy of the French who will not accede to any cartel, although the Austrians have offered three French in exchange for one Austrian.

The hatred between the soldiery is so great that in the hospitals the sick will not share their food, or lie in the same room. He thinks Toulon quite untenable. I went to supper at Ld. Elgin’s. Nobody would credit that W. Wyndham was appointed Minister to Florence; ‘Comment donc, ce petit polisson, ce petit Jacobin.’ He passed last winter here, and belonged to the Jacobin Club at Paris, and was very much slighted here. Ld. Elgin frankly told me he doubted my story, it was impossible that such a man could be employed.

I had a long conversation with Ld. Malmesbury,[108] who is going to Ath to meet the D. of York. I desired him to deliver my message, which was from T. P., to say that he would obey his instructions in Parliament, what to say about Dunkirk, etc. Ld. M.’s private opinion is that the Duke’s friends ought to be silent, and leave Ministry to fight for their own measures, as they alone can be responsible. Whether the proposal originated with the Duke or at home is not material for his public character. I saw Ld. Darnley,[109] he is less farouche than he was. He has married Miss Bourke [sic]. I asked him how the Dss. of G. let him escape her; he said he was naturally obstinate, and the pains she took to prevent his marrying hastened it. He is going to Berlin with Ld. M.

LORD MALMESBURY’S MISSION

Barnave is executed; I am disposed to be sorry, as he latterly showed great humanity about the Queen. When condemned he spoke like a philosopher, ‘Citoyens, la Revolution tue les hommes, mais la postérité les jugera’; but he died like a coward, he scuffled when they tried to fasten him to the fatal plank. Ld. Moira is sailed to take the command of the army.[110] Lord Howe is out, and probably gone very far to the westward, as a frigate was brought in that had been taken off Ushant. Ld. Malmesbury thinks he shall not succeed in his attempts to obtain La Fayette’s release. He has no instructions whatever from Ministry, and all must be done through his own influence. The Duchess of Devonshire suggested the measure to him: she did not intend writing a letter herself to the Empress of Russia to beg her interference on behalf of the poor captive, but all will be fruitless. I went in the evening to the Baron de Breteuil’s.[111] He is in excellent spirits, and very sanguine about Lord Moira’s expedition. He praises d’Hervilly, who is the chief instigator of the scheme.

Saturday.—I had a narrow escape of being burnt in my bed last night. A very strong smell of burning made me uneasy, and I examined the room; upon taking up some of the floor we discovered that the beams near the hearth were burnt to cinders.

I dined at Ld. Elgin’s. Just as the dinner ended Ld. Malmesbury returned from Ath with Lord Herbert.[112] I went and passed the evening in Ld. M.’s apartments; I wrote by a messenger just going off. It was odd enough that Ld. Herbert sat tête-à-tête with me from 8 to 12. He joined with me in lamenting the Duke’s unpopularity, which he ascribes partly to his ungracious manners, and partly to the bad character of many who are about him. He is the first man I have yet seen who seems to speak with candour about French armies, neither with extravagant praise or censure: that they may be hated is fair, but no military man can despise them.

Sunday.—Wrote letters home and saw company; dined at the Cholmondeleys—very dull. Saw Prince Coburg at the play—a heavy hero. Supped at Mde. de Balbi’s.

Monday.—Left Bruxelles. Slept the first night at St. Trond. Ld. Darnley passed through and left me a letter from T. P.: there is no official news of Lord Howe’s successes. The pavé is intolerably rough; I could not hold a book to read in the carriage.

Saturday, 14th, Remagen.—Set off at 8 o’clock. Six hundred Carmagnol prisoners had slept in the town, and quitted it about the time we did. I never beheld more miserable objects; many of them were boys of fifteen and sixteen years old, crying from cold and nakedness, walking upon the hard flints barefooted; others, sick and wounded, were huddled upon each other in small carts. I tried to convey them some money, but the impitoyable Austrian corporal took all for himself. Reached Coblentz to dine; uncommonly well lodged at the Hôtel de Trèves. This place, which was enlivened a year ago by the residence of the Prince and all Versailles, is now tranquil, even to dulness. The situation of the town is pretty, and the fortress of Ebrenstein[113] is finely placed.

A GERMAN ROAD

15th.—My early exertions seldom succeed: I was up in time to rouse the lark. It was scarcely light when we got into the carriages, but by the laziness of the people at the pont volant we did not leave the city until 9 o’clock. Unfortunately, in quitting the town we took the road to Nassau. I verily believe since the Creation no four-wheeled carriage ever went upon such a road, unless Pluto conveyed his reluctant bride in his infernal car, for it seems to lead to his dominions only. The country is ugly; the want of population, so unlike every other part of Germany, is remarkable. Since I saw the Sussex downs I have seen nothing more disconsolate. Upon a bare hill an immense flock of sheep were feeding; they relieved the eye from the hopeless sterility around. The breed of sheep is remarkably small; they are even less than those in Wales, and it equals the Welsh mutton in flavour. After many hairbreadth escapes we at length re-entered the habitations of men: we descended a very steep hill upon a narrow road, which was very slippery nor had it the protection of a garde-fou, till we came to a smart little town, charmingly situated upon the Lahn and surrounded by fantastically shaped hills covered to the summit either with vines, or what in summer must form thick foliage.

Just entering Nassau there are ruins of two such picturesque castles! How I longed for a pencil to sketch their mouldering walls ere the rude blast of winter shall destroy their antique forms! Perhaps they may have been the residence of a haughty baron with a proud line of ancestry enough to make Dan Prior say:—

But, alas! with the heroes he commemorates they are gone by. Their ruined walls scarcely afford a shelter to a wretched goatherd and his shaggy flock.

The night of the 15th was spent at Neustadt, and from thence the road lay by Schwalbach to Mayence.

17th.—We determined to go on to Mannheim without resting, but I believe the lot of rash determinations is to be controverted, for before we reached Oppenheim, ye first post, the spring of my carriage snapped, and I bumped into the town in that delabré’d state. That place is now the Quartier-Général of some Prussian officer. There are stores in abundance, and a bridge of pontoons across the river for the facility of transporting the troops. We tied up the springs and got to Worms.

18th.—Reached Mannheim early in the day. The fortifications are put in the most trim state, the embrasures cut sharp and neat, the walls new-faced, and the ditches filled. The prettiest toy in grown life is the whole apparatus of military preparations, and I am not astonished at all young sovereigns liking war. If they have any sense, the evil is soon manifested, and they get cured by it. The Palatines have made an alteration in their dress: the crinières to the helmets were formerly white, but at the siege of Mayence when they worked in the trenches at night the white betrayed them to the enemy. Sir Benjamin[114] has certainly adopted many saving schemes in his system, but he has dressed the Bavarian officers like paupers.

19th.—So fatigued from the roughness of the roads that I lay down till dinner. The news from Toulon (if true) is very bad. The French beat the allies in a sortie, killed many English, and made prisoners of General O’Hara[115] and the Spanish Lieut.-Colonel. Poor O’Hara will end his merry life under the guillotine, as the savages will retaliate upon him the murder of one of the deputies from the Convention or army commissioner taken in Toulon. Ld. Moira and the emigrants are waiting at Jersey. It is yet a secret where the descent is to be made in France. People are grumbling at Ld. Howe’s inactivity. The garrison of Landau, so far from intending to capitulate, replied to the summons, “Que les Français ne cèdent jamais.”

Met Mr. Nott, whom I formerly knew in Switzerland. He came with an Irish Lord Longford; they are going to pass the winter at Neufchâtel.

Brucksal, 21st.—The roads extremely bad from Heidelberg. It was merely perverseness that made us come on them, for we knew the road to Heilbronn to be good.

THE ARMY OF CONDE

22nd.—Met 800 Austrians, fine strong men, though rather, for Germans, undersized. The interesting and brave little army of Condé have done wonders, but they are compelled to go into winter cantonments. Three hundred gentlemen fell in the course of two months, and nine out of one family are wounded. The Duc de Bourbon distinguished himself, and his son, the Duc d’Enghien, proved himself a worthy descendant of the grand Condé. Alas, what strange vicissitudes in their fortunes! Reached the post before Stuttgart early.

23rd.—Detained at Stuttgart: the horses were all employed with the army. The Duke of Würtemberg died since I was last here. His successor[116] is wrangling with his excellent widow about jewels, etc. The late Duke’s life would, if it were written, make an extraordinary romance. His amours were numerous, and to make them notorious he made the ladies who had received his homage appear at his Court in blue shoes. Mr. Stuart read me some letters he has received from France. The situation of the English at Nancy is quite deplorable. They were much frightened about a month ago; there was an alarm about the French; the inhabitants ran off. The finest old hock might have been purchased for four florins a bottle.

23rd.—Left Stuttgart with the intention of reaching Ulm at night; rather an arduous undertaking in December, without a moon, and the distance of four and a half German posts. We travelled on prosperously until eleven o’clock, when I proposed stopping, as I suffered much pain from my chest in consequence of a blow, and it was sore from a blister Farquhar had put on. But the fates were adverse and such good fortune as rest was not my lot. Even though we could not get post-horses, we set off with those belonging to some peasants, poor wretched animals exhausted by the labour of the day; it was really cruel to drag them out of their wretched shed, but it was as hard almost upon me. The consequence was that they could hardly get on; those to the servants’ carriage fell from weakness every five yards. At the top of a bleak hill l’essieu of our chaise, from a violent jolt, was broken. All hopes of advancing were useless, so we adopted the only method of getting on: we got into the servants’ carriage and left Josephe with the broken vehicle, and got on with the other as well as we could to Ulm. A smart frost came on, and the road, which was before soft mud, became a hard incrustation of ice. Got to Ulm at seven in the morning.