A view of society and manners in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy: with anecdotes relating to some eminent characters. / Written by John Moore, M.D. during his travels through those countries, with His Grace, the present Duke of Hamilton. ; [Three lines of verse from Horace translated by Francis] ; The first volume.

A view of society and manners in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy: with anecdotes relating to some eminent characters. / Written by John Moore, M.D. during his travels through those countries, with His Grace, the present Duke of Hamilton. ; [Three lines of verse from Horace translated by Francis] ; The first volume.

Table of contents

[1]

Title page

TO HIS GRACE DOUGLAS, Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, Marquis of Douglas, &c.

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST NUMBER.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

LETTER I. Reflections on Gaming.

LETTER II. Plan of conduct while abroad.—Agree to correspond by letter.—Servants.—Masters.

LETTER III. Marquis de F—.—colisée.—Characters.

LETTER IV. French manners.

LETTER V. Paris—London—French opinions.—Marquis de F—and Lord M—.

LETTER VI. Loyalty, English, German, Turkish, French.—Le Roi.—Princes of the blood.—Ideas of government.

LETTER VII. Sentiments of Frenchmen concerning the British constitution.

LETTER VIII. French Kings have peculiar reasons to love their subjects.—The three sons of Catharine of Medicis.—Henry IV.—Natural effects of exertion and of sloth on the body, understanding, heart.

LETTER IX. A French lover.

LETTER X. Groundless accusations.—Friendship.—English travellers.

LETTER XI. English prejudices.—Conversation with Mr. B—. Reflections.

LETTER XII. Tragedy of the Siege of Calais.—Bon mot of Duc d'Ayen.—Russia.—Prussia.—France.—Statue of Lewis XV.—Epigrams.

LETTER XIII. Chevalier B—and his lady▪—Madame de M—, her character;—her misfortune.

LETTER XIV. Condition of the common people in France—Unwillingness to censure the King.—French parliaments.—Lawyers indiscriminately ridiculed on the French stage.—Opposition in England.

LETTER XV. Dubois and Fanchon.

LETTER XVI. Mankind do not always act from motives of self-interest—A fine gentleman and a pine-apple.—Supper at the Marquis de F—'s.—Generosity of Mr. B—. Men who calculate.—Men who do not.

LETTER XVII. Different taste of French and English with respect to tragedy.—Le Kain.—Garrick.—French comedy—Comedie Italienne▪ Carlin.—Repartèe of Le Kain.

LETTER XVIII. Pleasure and business.—Lyons.—Geneva.

LETTER XIX. Situation of Geneva—Manners.—Government.—The clergy.—Peculiar customs.—Circles.—Amusements.

LETTER XX. English families at Cologny.—Le jour de I Escalade.—Military establishment.—Political squabbles.—Sentiments of an Englishman.—Of a gentleman of Geneva.

LETTER XXI. King of Arquebusiers.—A procession.—A battle.

LETTER XXII. A Feast.

LETTER XXIII. The garrison and fortifications of Geneva not useless—Standing armies in other countries—The freedom and independance of Geneva of service to the King of Sardinia.

LETTER XXIV. Journey to the Glaciers of Savoy.—Mole.—Cluse.—The Rhone and the Arve.—Sallenche.—Mules—A church.—Conversation with a young peasant in the valley of Chamouni.

LETTER XXV. Montanvert.—The Chamois.—Mount Breven.—Mont Blanc.—The Needles.—The Valley of Ice.—Avalanches.

LETTER XXVI. Account of Glaciers continued.—Theories.

LETTER XXVII. Idiots.—The sentiments of an old soldier.—Guatres.—Journey from Chamouni to the Pays de Vallais.—Martigny.—Sion.

LETTER XXVIII. Road to St. Maurice.—Reflexions on the situation of the Pays de Vallais—Bex.—Aigle.—St. Gingo.—Meillerie.—Evian—Repaille.

LETTER XXIX. Voltaire.

LETTER XXX. Voltaire, Continued.

LETTER XXXI. The education proper for an English Gentleman.

LETTER XXXII. Suicide frequent at Geneva.—Two remarkable instances.

LETTER XXXIII. The pays de Vaud.—Lausanne.—Vevay.—

§

[2]

Title page

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND NUMBER.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

Continuation of LETTER XXXIII. Vevay.—Ludlow.

LETTER XXXIV. Murat.—Swiss peasants.

LETTER XXXV. Bern.

LETTER XXXVI. Religion.—Government.—Troops.

LETTER XXXVII. Soleurre.—Basil.—Judicious remark on the use of language, by a Dutchman.

LETTER XXXVIII. Manners.—Reflections on formality.—The library.—Holbens.—Arsenal—Council-hall—The clock in the Tower.—A head.

LETTER XXXIX. Marechal Contades.—Theatre.—French troops.

LETTER XL. Gothic architecture.—Cathedral of Strasbourg.—A sermon.—A Jewish plot.

LETTER XLI. Karlsruch—The Margrave of Baden Durlach.

LETTER XLII. Manheim.—The Elector.—The court.—A buffoon.

LETTER XLIII. Heidelberg—The same church for the Protestant and Roman Catholic worship.—Parade devotion.

LETTER XLIV. Reflections on the liberty of the press—Comparisons of inconveniencies arising from that cause with those felt under despotic restraint.

LETTER XLV. MENTZ.

LETTER XLVI. Frankfort.—Lutherans unkind to Calvinists.—Psalmody.—Burials.—Jews.

LETTER XLVII. Manners.—Distinction of ranks.—Theatrical entertainments—The German language.—Traineaus.

LETTER XLVIII. Nobility and citizens.—The revenge of a T•baconist—The field of Bergen.

LETTER XLIX. The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt.—Discipline.—The family of Prince George.

LETTER L. Conversation with a foreigner concerning the English nation.

LETTER LI. Inns at Frankfort.—Table d'hôte.—French.—English—German women.

LETTER LII. Collections of paintings.—Cabinets of natural curiosities.—Contrast of character between the French and Germans, illustrated by their postillions.

§

LETTER LIII. Court of Cassel.

LETTER LIV. The Landgrave.—His troops.—The officers—A brilliant action by Marechal Laudohn—French comedy.—Courtiers.

LETTER LV. City of Cassel.—Palaces.—Academy.—Colonade.—Noble cascade at Wasenstein.

LETTER LVI. Journey from Cassel 〈◊〉 Brunswick by Cottingen.—The reigning Duke of Brunswick Wolfenbuttle.—The Dutchess.—Duke Ferdinand.—The Hereditary Prince and Princess.—Prince Leopold and his sister.—Duke Ferdinand's villa.

LETTER LVII. The town of Brunswick.—Saved by Prince Frederick.—Academy at Brunswick—Wolfenbuttle—Salbzdahlen.—Mr. de Westphalen.

LETTER LVIII. German nobility fond of masquerades.—Etiquette.—Prince Leopold goes to Vienna, which awakens his mother's grief for the death of his brothers.

LETTER LIX. Zell.—The Queen of Denmark.—Benevolent conduct of the Princess of Brunswick—Hanover.—The troops.—The military ardour of a corpulent general officer.—Hernhausen.

LETTER LX. The violent passion for literature of a court lady at Brunswick.—Field Marechal Sporken.—George the II.

LETTER LXI. Death of the Queen of Denmark—Magdeburg.—Brandenburg.

LETTER LXII. Potsdam.—Troops in private houses, not in barracks—The palace.—The King's study▪ His wardrobe.—The ruling passion of the late King.

LETTER LXIII. Sans Souci.—The collection of pictures.—The King's taste criticized by a connoisseur.—The new palace.

LETTER LXIV. Reviews at Berlin.

LETTER LXV. Prussian discipline.

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Title page

CONTENTS OF THE THIRD NUMBER.

Translation from the Italian of Ariosto's description of the Gardens in Alcina's inchanted Island.—See the original—Page 256.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

LETTER LXVI. Prussian troops remain in the same garrisons.—The effect of the discipline on the characters of the officers, and of the men.—Reflections.

LETTER LXVII. Sentiments of a Prussian officer on discipline.—Story of an English sailor.

LETTER LXVIII.

LETTER LXIX. The Queen's court.—French manners prevail at Berlin.—Matrimonial felicity.

LETTER LXX. Freedom of discourse at Berlin.—Some touches of the King's character.—Licentious manners.

LETTER LXXI. The licence of the press.

LETTER LXXII. King of Prussia's oeconomy.—Taxes.—The army.—Singular motives for a murder.—An execution.

LETTER LXXIII. Journey to Mecklenburg Strelitz.—The reigning Duke and his sister.—The Dutchy of Mecklenburg—Preparations for entertainments at Sans-Souci.

LETTER LXXIV. Theatrical entertainments.—The tragedy of Oedipus.

LETTER LXXV. The King of Prussia.—His conversation with the Duke of Hamilton.

LETTER LXXVI. The King of Prussia.

LETTER LXXVII. Lord Marechal.—The Hereditary Prince of Prussia.

LETTER LXXVIII. Difficulty of deserting from Prussian garrisons.—The King's valet de chambre.

LETTER LXXIX. Manufactory of porcelaine at Berlin.—Journey to Dresden.—Electoral court.—Museum.—Gallery of pictures.

LETTER LXXX. Sufferings •f Dresden during last war.—Saxon troops.

LETTER LXXXI. Prague.—Piety of the inhabitants.—St. Nepomuc, an Irish priest.—A popular commotion.

LETTER LXXXII. Vienna.—The court.

LETTER LXXXIII. The Countess Thune.—Her character.—The advantages which the English may enjoy at Vienna.—Prince Kaunitz.

LETTER LXXXIV. A character.—Reflections on the English, French, and Germans.

LETTER LXXXV. An entertainment on the top of Mount Calenberg.—A convent of Monks.—Spiritual gallantry.

LETTER LXXXVI. Manners.—A lady's distress.—An indulgent husband.

LETTER LXXXVII. Presburg.—A Hungarian villa.

LETTER LXXXVIII. The palace and gardens of Estherhasie.—The Hungarians.

LETTER LXXXIX. Reflections on gaming.—Effect of great wealth on indolent minds.—English, German, French characters.—Utility of a taste for letters.

LETTER XC. Feast of St. Stephen—Annual ceremony in commemoration of the defeat of the Turks by Sobieski.—Masquerade at Schonbrun.

LETTER XCI. The Emperor.

LETTER XCII. Prince Lichtenstein.—Hunting party.

LETTER XCIII. Austrian army.—Peasants of Bohemia.—Reflections.

LETTER XCIV. Sentiments of an Austrian lady on religion.

LETTER XCV. Idolatry of Roman Catholics.

LETTER XCVI. Sentiments of foreigners on the disputes between Great Britain and her Colonies.—English opinions respecting foreigners—Hints to a young traveller.

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[4]

Title page

Title page

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST NUMBER.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER I. Journey from Vienna to Venice.

LETTER II. The arsenal.—The Bucentaur.—Doge's Marriage.

LETTER III. The island of Murano—Glass manufactory.—Mr. Montague.

LETTER IV. Situation of Venice.—Lagune.—Canals.—Bridges.

LETTER V. Piazza di St. Marco.—Patriarchal church.—Ducal palace.—Broglio.

LETTER VI. Reflections excited by the various objects around St. Mark's square.—On painting.—A connoisseur.

LETTER VII. Origin of Venice.

LETTER VIII. Various changes in the form of government.—Tyrannical conduct of a Doge.—Savage behaviour of the people.—Commerce of Venice.

LETTER IX. New regulations—Foundation of the aristocracy.—Origin of the ceremony of espousing the Sea. New forms of magistracy.

LETTER X. Henry Dandolo.

LETTER XI. New courts.—New magistrates.—Reformation of the Venetian code.—The form of electing the Doge.

LETTER XII. Aristocracy established—Conspiracies—Insurrections.—Ecclesiastical Inquisition.—The College, or Seigniory.

LETTER XIII. Conspiracy against the State, by a Doge.—Singular instance of weakness and vanity in a noble Venetian.—New magistrates to prevent luxury.—Courtesans.

LETTER XIV. Rigour of Venetian laws exemplified in the cases of Antonio Venier, Carlo Zeno, and young Foscari.

LETTER XV. The Council of Ten, and the State Inquisitors. Reflections on these institutions.

LETTER XVI. League of Cambray.—War with the Turkss—Antonio Bragadino.—Battle of Lepanto.—Disputes with the Pope.

LETTER XVII. Marquis of Bedmar's conspiracy.—False accusations—The siege of Candia. The impatience of a Turkish Emperor.—Conclusion of the review of the Venetian Government.

LETTER XVIII. Venetian manners—Opera.—Affectation.—A Duo. Dancers.

LETTER XIX. No military establishment at Venice.—What supplies its place.

LETTER XX. Reflections on the nature of Venetian Government.—Gondoleers.—Citizens.—The Venetian subjects on the Terra Firma.

LETTER XXI. Gallantry.—Cassinos.

LETTER XXII. Character of the Venetians.—Customs and usages.—Influence of fashion in matters of taste.—Prejudice.—The excellence of Italian comic actors.

LETTER XXIII. Departure from Venice.—Padua.—St. Anthony, his tomb and miracles.

LETTER XXIV. Church of St. Justina.—The bodies of St. Matthew and St. Luke.—The university—Beggars.

LETTER XXV. The antiquity of Padua.—The Brenta.—The Po.—The Thames.

LETTER XXVI. Ferrara.—The family of Este.—Ariosto, the Emperor, and his brothers, lodge at an inn, which oversets the understanding of the landlord.—an inscription.

LETTER XXVII. Bologna.—Its government, commerce, palaces.

LETTER XXVIII. The academy of arts and sciences.—Church of St. Petronius.—Dominican convent.—Palaces.—Raphael.—Guido.

LETTER XXIX. Journey from Bologna to Ancona.—The Rubicon.—Julius C•sar.—Pesaro.—Fano.—Claudius Nero.—Asdrubal.—Senegalia.

LETTER XXX. Ancona.—The influence of commerce on the characters of mankind.—The Mole.—The triumphal arch of the Emperor Trajan.

LETTER XXXI. Loretto.—History of the Casa Santa.

LETTER XXXII. Description of the sacred chapel.—The treasury.

§

[5]

Title page

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND NUMBER.

§

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER XXXIII. Pilgrimages to Loretto.—Manufactures.—Confessionals.—Basso Relievos. Zeal of Pilgrims.—Iron grates before the Chapels. Reflections.

LETTER XXXIV. Tolentino—The Apennines.—A hermit.—Umbria.—Spoletto.

LETTER XXXV. Terni.—Narni—Otricoli.—Civita Castellana.—Campania of Rome.

LETTER XXXVI. Rome.—Conversationis.—Cardinal Bernis.—The distress of an Italian Lady.

LETTER XXXVII. Remarks on ancient and modern Rome.—The church of St. Peter's,

LETTER XXXVIII. The ceremony of the Possesso.

LETTER XXXIX. Pantheon.—Coliseum.—Gladiators.

LETTER XL. The Campidoglia.—Forum Romanum.—Jews.

LETTER XLI. Ruins.—Via Sacra.—Tarpeian Rock—Campus Martius.—Various Forums.—Trajan's Column.

LETTER XLII. The beatification of a Saint.

LETTER XLIII. Character of modern Italians.—Observations on human nature in general.—An English officer.—Cause of the frequency of the Crime of murder.

LETTER XLIV. Different kinds of punishment.—Account of an execution.—Souls in purgatory.

LETTER XLV. The usual course with an antiquarian.—An expeditious course, by a young Englishman.—The Villa Borghese.

LETTER XLVI. The morning study of an artist.—Conversation with him on that subject.—An Italian lady and her Confessor.—The Lady's religious scruples and precaution.

LETTER XLVII. Busts and statues of distinguished Romans.—Of Heathen Deities—Passion of the Greeks and Romans for sculpture.—Farnesian Hercules criticised by a Lady.—Remarks on that statue.—On the Flora.—Effect which the •ight of the statues of Laocoon and his sons had on two spectators of opposite characters.—Mr. Lock's Observations on the same group.—The Antinous.—The Apollo.

LETTER XLVIII. The present Pope.—Ganganelli.—A Scotch Presbyterian.

LETTER XLIX. Zeal of Pius VI.—Institution of the Jubilee.—Ceremony of building up the holy door of St. Peter's by the present Pope.—The ceremony of high mass performed by the Pope on Christmas-day—Character of the present Pope.—He is admired by the Roman women.—The Benediction pronounced in the grand area before the church of St. Peter's.

LETTER L. Presented to the Pope.—Reflections on the situation of Sovereigns in general.—The Sovereign Pontiff in particular.

LETTER LI. Modern Romans.—Roman women compared with those of England.—Portrait painting in Italy, and elsewhere.

LETTER LII. Carnival at Rome—Masquerades and other amusements in the Corso.—Horseraces.—Serious Opera.—Great sensibility in a young woman.—Extravagant expression of a Roman Citizen at the Opera.—A Serenade on Christmas morning.—Female performers prohibited on the Theatres at Rome.—Eunuchs substituted.—The effect on the minds of spectators.

LETTER LIII. Journey from Rome to Naples.—Valetri—Otho.—Sermonetta.—Peevish Travellers—Monte Circello.—Piperno.—Fossa Nuova.

LETTER LIV. Terracina.—Via Appia.—Fundi.—Gaeta.—Illustrious French Rebels.—Bourbon.—Minturnae.—Marius.—Hannibal.

LETTER LV. Naples.—Fortress of St. Elmo.—Conversation with a Lady regarding the Carthusians.—Manufactures.—Number of inhabitants.

LETTER LVI. Manners.

LETTER LVII. Respect paid to Kings during their lives.—Freedoms used with their characters after their deaths.—The King of Naples. A game at billiards.—Characters of the King and Queen.

LETTER LVIII. The Neapolitan Nobles.—The Peasants.

LETTER LIX. Citizens.—Lawyers.—Physicians.—Clergy.—Convents.—Lazzaroni.

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[6]

Title page

CONTENTS OF THE THIRD NUMBER.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER LX. Herculaneum.—Portici.—Pompeia.

LETTER LXI. Poetical Rehearsers in the streets of Naples. Street Orators and Historians. Improuvisatories. Signora Corilla. Sensibility of Italians. English Gentlemen of the Ton. A Neapolitan Mountebank.

LETTER LXII. A visit to Mount Vesuvius.

LETTER LXIII. Observations on the pulmonary Consumption.

LETTER LXIV. Neapolitan and English customs and characters criticised and compared, in a conversation between two English Gentlemen.

LETTER LXV. The liquefaction of St. Januarius's blood. Procession, ceremonies, anxiety of the people. Their preposterous abuse of the Saint. Observation of a Roman Catholic.

LETTER LXVI. The Tomb of Virgil. Pausilippo. A Neapolitan Valet. Grotta del Cane. Campi Phlegrei, Solfaterra, Monte Nuova, &c. Puzzoli. Baia. Cum•e.

LETTER LXVII. Palace of Casserta. African slaves. Gardens. Fortifications.

LETTER LXVIII. Character of the Archduchess.—Attend the King and Queen on a visit to four nunneries—Entertainments there—Effect of the climate on the constitution of Nuns and others.

LETTER LXIX. Tivoli.

LETTER LXX. Frescati and Albano. Dialogue between an English and Scotch Gentleman.

LETTER LXXI. Florence.—The English Minister—Grand Duke and Duchess.—Florentines.—Particular species of virtú.

LETTER LXXII. Gallery—Dialogue between an Antiquarian and a young Man concerning the Arrotino.—The Tribuna.—The Gallery of Portraits.

LETTER LXXIII. State of the common people, particularly the peasants in Italy.—Of Roman Catholic Clergy.—Clergy in general.

LETTER LXXIV. Manners. Count Albany.

LETTER LXXV. Cicisbeism.

LETTER LXXVI. The same subject continued

LETTER LXXVII. Commerce.—Jews.—Actors—The Chapel of St Lorenzo.—The rich not envied by the poor.—The Palazzo Pitti.—Observations on the Madonna della Seggiola.

LETTER LXXVIII. A public Discourse by a Protessor at the Academy of Arts at Bologna.—Procession of Corpus Domini.—Modena.—Parma.—Different opinions respecting a famous picture of Corregio.

LETTER LXXIX. Milan. The Cathedral. Museum. Manners.

LETTER LXXX. St. Ambrose. A Procession, Mount Cenis. Modane. Aiguebelle. Hannibal's passage into Italy.

LETTER LXXXI. Journey from Geneva to Besancon.—Observation of a French peasant.—Of an old woman.—Remarks of a French Friseur on the English nation.

LETTER LXXXII. The Marquis de F—

LETTER LXXXIII. Reflections on foreign travel.

§

§

§

§

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[Page]

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, GERMANY, AND ITALY: WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. During his Travels through those Countries, with his Grace, the present Duke of HAMILTON.

Anxious through Seas and Land to search for rest,

Is but laborious idleness at best,

The Mind content at home, is truly blest.

Horace by Francis.

THE FIRST VOLUME.

PHILADELPHIA▪ PRINTED and SOLD by ROBERT BELL, in Third-Street.

MDCCLXXXIII.

[Page]

TO HIS GRACE DOUGLAS, Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, Marquis of Douglas, &c.

MY LORD DUKE,

ALTHOUGH established practice might, on this occasion, justify my holding a language to your Grace which I never before used, yet you have nothing of that kind to fear; it is as inconsistent with my disposition to offer adulation, as it is contrary to yours to desire it.—Nor does this address proceed from a vain belief that the lustre of your Name will dispose the Public to wink at the blemishes of my Performance. The highest titles do not screen even those to whom they belong from contempt, when their personal characters are contemptible; far less can they shelter the dulness or folly of others.

I am prompted to offer this View of Society and Manners to your Grace, by sentiments of the most sincere esteem and attachment; and, exclusive of all considerations of that nature, it is presented with peculiar propriety to you, as no other person has had equal opportunities of knowing how far the objects it comprehends are just, and faithfully drawn from nature.

Some perhaps may imagine, that I should have displayed more prudence in offering this work to a less competent judge; but I am encouraged in my desire of prefixing your Name to these imperfect Sketches, by the fond persuasion that nobody can be more inclined to afford them the indulgence of which I am sensible they stand in so much need.

I have the honour to be, with the most respectful and cordial regard,

Your Grace's Most obedient, and obliged Servant, THE AUTHOR.

[Page]

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST NUMBER.

LETTER I. Reflections on Gaming.—Paris. 9

LETTER II. Plan of conduct while abroad.—Agree to correspond by letter.—Servants.—Masters.—Dated at Paris. 12

LETTER III. Marquis de F—.—Colisée, Colisoeum, or Amphitheatre.—Characters.—at Paris. 13

LETTER IV. French manners.—at Paris. 16

LETTER V. Paris.—London—French opinions.—Marquis de F—and Lord M—. at Paris. 18

LETTER VI. Loyalty, English, German, Turkish, French.—Le Roi.—Princes of the blood.—Ideas of government.—at Paris. 20

LETTER VII. Sentiments of Frenchmen concerning the British constitution. at Paris. 23

LETTER VIII. French Kings have peculiar reasons to love their subjects.—The three sons of Catharine of Medicis.—Henry IV.—Natural [Page]effects of exertion and of sloth on the body, understanding, heart.—at Paris. Page 24

LETTER IX. A French lover.—at Paris. 27

LETTER X. Groundless accusations.—Friendship.—English travellers—— at Paris. 28

LETTER XI. English prejudices.—Conversation with Mr. B—. Reflections. at Paris. 31

LETTER XII Tragedy of the Siege of Calais—Bon mot of Duc d' Ayen.—Russia.—Prussia—France. Statue of Lewis XV.—Epigrams.—at Paris. 34

LETTER XIII. Chevalier B—and his lady.—Madame de M—, her character;—her misfortune. at Paris. 37

LETTER XIV. Condition of the common people in France.—Unwillingness to censure the King.—French parliaments.—Lawyers indiscriminately ridiculed on the French stage.—Opposition in England. at Paris. 39

LETTER XV. Dubois and Fanchon. at Paris 42

LETTER XVI. Mankind do not always act from motives of self-interest.—A fine gentleman and a pine-apple.—Supper at the Marquis de F—'s.—Generosity of Mr. B—. Men who calculate.—Men who do not. at Paris. 46

[Page] LETTER XVII. Different taste of French and English with respect to tragedy.—Le Kain.—Garrick.—French comedy. —Comedie Italienne▪ Carlin.—Repartée of Le Kain. at Paris. 49

LETTER XVIII. Pleasure and business.—Lyons. Geneva. at Geneva. 53

LETTER XIX. Situation of Geneva. Manners. Government. The Clergy. Peculiar customs. Circles. Amusements. at Geneva. 55

LETTER XX. English families at Cologny. Le jour de l'Escalade. Military establishment. Political squabbles. Sentiments of an Englishman. Of a gentleman of Geneva. at Geneva. 58

LETTER XXI. King of Arquebusiers. A procession. A battle. at Geneva. 61

LETTER XXII. A Feast. at Geneva. 63

LETTER XXIII. The garrison and fortifications of Geneva not useless. Standing armies in other countries. The freedom and independence of Geneva of service to the King of Sardinia. at Geneva. 65

LETTER XXIV. Journey to the Glaciers of Savoy. Mole. Cluse. The Rhone and the Arve. Sallenche. Mules. A church. Conversation with a young peasant in the valley of Chamouni. at Geneva. 67

[Page] LETTER XXV. Montanvert. The Chamois. Mount Breven. Mont Blanc. The Needles. The Valley of Ice. Avalanches. at Geneva. 71

LETTER XXVI. Account of Glaciers continued. Theories. at Geneva. 75

LETTER XXVII. Idiots. The sentiments of an old soldier. Guatres. Journey from Chamouni to the Pays de Vallais. Martigny. Sion. at Geneva. 78

LETTER XXVIII. Road to St. Maurice. Reflections on the situation of the Pays de Vallais. Bex. Aigle. St. Gingo. Meillerie. Evian. Ripaille. at Geneva. 81

LETTER XXIX. Voltaire. at Geneva. 85

LETTER XXX. Voltaire, Continued, at Geneva. 89

LETTER XXXI The education proper for an English gentleman. at Geneva. 92

LETTER XXXII. Suicide frequent at Geneva. Two remarkable instances. at Geneva. 97

LETTER XXXIII. The pays de Vaud—. Lausanne.—Vevay.—at Lausanne. 99

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A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

LETTER I. Reflections on Gaming.

PARIS.

I WAS greatly disappointed by your not coming to town as you intended, having been for some time impatient to inform you of what passed between your young friend—and me; I relied till the moment of our departure on having an opportunity of doing this personally, and I seize the first occasion of communicating the whole to you, in the only manner now in my power.

You will remember the uneasiness you once expressed to me on account of that gentleman's propensity to gaming, and of the inconveniencies to which he had been put by some recent losses; you will also remember the resolutions which, in consequence of your request, he formed against play; but you have yet to learn, that he resumed the dice before the month was ended in which he had determined never to touch them more, and concluded one unfortunate night, by throwing away a sum far exceeding any of his former losses.

Ashamed of his weakness, he carefully concealed his misfortune from you, and thereby has been subjected to some distresses of a more mortifying nature than any he had formerly felt.

What shocked him most was a circumstance which will not greatly astonish you—the indifference which many who call themselves his friends showed at his situation, and the coldness with which they excused themselves from making any attempts to relieve [Page] him from his difficulties. Several to whom he had advanced considerable sums in the days of his good fortune, declared a perfect inability of repaying any part of their debt; they told some sad tale of an unforeseen accident, which had put that entirely out of their power for the present; yet one of those unfortunate gentlemen, the same evening that he refused to repay our friend, lost double the sum, every farthing of which he actually paid in ready money.

Mr.—'s expectations from those resources having in a great measure failed, he applied to Mr. P—. in the City, who supplied him with money, at legal interest, sufficient to clear all his debts, for which he has granted him a mortgage on his estate.—While our young friend informed me of all this, he declared, that the remorse he felt on the recollection of his folly was infinitely greater than any pleasure he had ever experienced from winning, or could enjoy from the utmost success. He expressed, at the same time, a strong sense of obligation to you and to me, for our endeavours to wean him from the habit of gaming, regretted that they had not been sooner successful, but was happy to find, that he still had enough left to enable him to live in a decent manner, agreeable to a plan of oeconomy which he has laid down, and to which he is resolved to adhere till the mortgage is relieved. I have now (added he in a solemn manner) formed an ultimate resolution against gaming for the rest of my life; if I ever deviate from this, you have a right to consider me as devoid of manly firmness and truth, unworthy of your friendship, and the weakest of mortals.

Notwithstanding the young gentleman's failure on a former occasion, yet the just reflexions he made on his past conduct, and the determined manner in which he spoke, give me great hopes that he will keep his present resolution.—To him I seemed fully persuaded of this, and ventured to say, that I could scarcely regret his last run of bad luck, which had operated so blessed an effect; for he who has the vigour to disentangle himself from the snares of deep play, at the expence of half his fortune, and with his character entire, may on the whole be esteemed a fortunate man. I therefore insisted strongly on the wisdom of his plan, which I contrasted with the usual determination of those who have been unlucky at play. Without fortitude to retrench their expences, or bear their first misfortunes, they can only bring themselves the length of resolving to renounce gaming as soon as they shall regain what they have lost; and imagining they have still a claim to the money which is now in the pockets of others, because it was once in their own, they throw away their whole fortune in search of an inconsiderable part, and finish by being completely ruined, because they could not support a small inconvenience. I pointed out, how infinitely more honourable it was to depend for repairing his fortune on his own good sense and perseverance, than on the revolutions of chance; which, even if they should be favourable, could [Page] only re-establish him at the expence of others, most probably of those who had no hand in occasioning his losses▪ His inseparable companion—entered while I was in the middle of my harangue. Our friend, who had previously acquainted him with his determination of renouncing gaming, endeavoured to prevail on that gentleman to adopt the same measure, but in vain.—laughed at his proposal, said, he was too easily terrified; that one tolerable run of good fortune would retrieve his affairs; that my fears about ruin were mere bugbears; that the word ruin, like cannon charged with powder, had an alarming sound, but was attended with no danger; that if the worst should happen, I could be but ruined; which was only being in the same situation with some of the most fashionable people in the nation.

He then enumerated many instances of those who lived as well as the wealthiest men in England, and yet every body prono [...]nced them ruined. There is Charles Fox, added he, a man completely ruined; yet beloved by his friends, and admired by his country as much as ever.

To this fine reasoning I replied, That if nobody had been influenced by that gentleman's example, except those who possessed his genius, his turn for play would never have hurt one man in the kingdom; but that those who owed their importance solely to their fortune, ought not to risk it so wantonly as he might do, whose fortune had always been of little importance, when compared with his abilities; and since they could not imit [...] Mr. Fox in the things for which he was so justly applauded▪ they ought not to follow his example in those for which he was as justly condemned; for the same fire which burns a piece of wood to ashes, can only melt a guinea, which still retains its intrinsic value, though his majesty's countenance no longer shines upon it.

—did not seem to relish my argument, and soon after left us; but our young friend seemed confirmed in his resolutions, and gave me fresh assurances, the day on which I left London, that he never would vary.

Knowing the interest you take in his welfare, and the high esteem he has for you, I have thought it right to give you this piece of information which I know will afford you pleasure. His greatest difficulty in adhering to the new adopted plan will be at first; in his present state of mind, the soothings and support of friendship may be of the greatest service.

When your affairs permit you to go to London, I dare say you will take the earliest opportunity of throwing yourself in his way: you will find no difficulty in persuading him to accompany you to the country. Removed for some months from his present companions and usual lounging-places, the influence of his old habits will gradually diminish; and, confirmed by your conversation, small chance will remain of his being sucked into the old system, and again whirled round in the vortex of dissipation and gaming.

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LETTER II. Plan of conduct while abroad.—Agree to correspond by letter.—Servants.—Masters.

PARIS.

YOUR setting our for London immediately on the receipt of my letter, is what might have been expected.—Nothing renders a man so active as an eager desire of doing good; and I might have foreseen, that you would catch at the opportunity with which I furnished you to indulge a ruling passion.

It gives me great satisfaction to know, that our young, friend▪ and you are upon such a confidential footing; and I heartily hope that nothing will interrupt a connexion which must be a source of pleasing reflection to you, and in every way advantageous to him.—I had no doubt that he would readily agree to accompany you to [...] country; but I was not so certain that he might not have found it necessary to accept of your other very friendly proposal.—His refusal is a proof, that he has [...]conciled his mind to his circumstances; and, with those sentiments, I am convinced that he will be able to live within his remaining yearly income with more satisfaction than he enjoyed when he spent five times that s [...]m.—

You insist so much on my writing to you regularly, from the different places where I may reside during my absence from England, that I begin to believe you are in earnest, and shall certainly obey your commands.

I know you do not expect from me a min [...]te account of churches and palaces. However agreeable these may be to the spectator, they generally afford but a slender entertainment when served up in description.

There are countries, some of which I may again visit before my return to England, whose appearance always strikes the eye with delight; but it is difficult to convey a precise idea of their beauties in words. The pencil is a more powerful vehicle than the pen for that purpose; for the landscape is apt to vanish from the mind before the description can be read.

The manners, customs, and characters of the people may probably furnish the chief materials, in the correspondence you exact, with such reflections as may arise from the subject. In these, I apprise you before hand, I shall take what latitude I please: And though the complexion of my letters may most probably receive some tint or shade of colouring from the country where they may be wrote; yet if I take it into my head to insist on the little tricks of an attorney, when you expect to hear of the politics of a prime minister; or, if I tell you a tale about an old woman, when you are impatient for anecdotes of a great general, you must not fret or fall into a passion; for if you do not permit me to write on [Page] what subjects I please, and treat them in my own way, the correspondence you require would become a sad slavery to me, and of consequence no amusement to you.

Whereas, if you leave me free and unrestrained, it will at least form some occupation to myself, may wean me from the habit of lounging, and will afford and excuse, in my own mind, for my leaving those parties of pleasure where people are apt to continue, for [...]ing smiles, and yawning spontaneously, for two or three hours after all relish is fled.

Yet in this dismal condition many remain night after night, because the hour of sleep is not yet arrived;—and what else can they do?

Have you never found yourself in this listless situation? Without any pleasure where you are, without any motive to be gone, you remain in a kind of passive, gaping oyster-state, till the tide of the company moves you to your carriage. And when you recover your reflexion in your bed-chamber, you find you have passed the two last hours in a kind of humming buzzing stupor, without satisfaction, or ideas of any kind.

I thank you for your offer of Dupont. Knowing your regard for him, and his dexterity and intelligence in the science of valetde chambreship, I see the full force of the sacrifice you are willing to make. If I could be so selfish on another occasion as to accept your offer, the good-will I bear to your old friend John would prevent me at present. Dupont, to be sure, is worth twenty of John for that employment; but I can never forget his long attachment, and I am now so habituated to him, that one generally esteemed a more perfect servant would not suit me so well. I think myself benefited even by his deficiencies, which have obliged me to do many things for myself that other people perform by the hands of their servants. Many of our acquaintances seem absolutely incapable of motion, till they have been wound up by their valets. They have no more use of their hands for any office about their own persons, than if they were paralytic. At night they must wait for their servants, before they can undress themselves, and go to bed: In the morning, if the valet happen to be out of the way, the master must remain helpless and sprawling in bed, like a turtle on its back upon the kitchen-table of an alderman.

I remain, &c.

LETTER III. Marquis de F—.—colisée.—Characters.

PARIS.

I Went a few nights since to the Italian Comedy; while I enjoyed the exquisite naivetè sincerity of my old friend Carlin, the Marquis de F—, whom you have seen at London, entered the [Page] box:—He flew to me with all the vi [...]acity of a Frenchman, and with every mark of pleasure and regard. He had ten thousand questions to ask about his friends in England all in one breath, and without waiting for an answer. Mon ther ami, My dear friend, this, ma chere amie, my fair friend, [...]'other; la belle, the handsome, such a one, la charmante, the charming, such another.

Perceiving we disturbed the company, and having no hopes that the Marquis would be more quiet for some time, I proposed leaving the Comedy. He assented immediately:—Vous avez raison: il n'y a personne ici; c'est un desert—You are right: there is nobody here; it is quite a desart—(by the way, the house was very much crowded)—Je suis venu comme vous voyez [...]n polisson;—tout le monde est au Colissée—I am come you see, as an idle man;—every body is at the Colissée—Allons, Come on.—We stepped into his vis-á-vis: He ordered the coachman to drive vite comme tous les diables, to the devil as quick as possible. The horses went as fast as they could, and the Marquis's tongue still faster than they.

When we arrived, I proposed going up to the gallery, where we might see the company below, and converse without interruption. Bon, Agreed, says he, nous nous nicherons dans un co [...]n pour critiquer tout le monde, comme deux diable [...] boiteux, we will stick ourselves in a corner and criticise on all the world like two lame devils.

A lady of a fine shape and majestic air drew my attention: I asked the Marquis if he did not think her remarkably handsome?—Lá, lá, So, so, said he, coldly.—Nous sommes heureusement placés pour elle. C'est un tableau fait pour étre vu de loin We are advantageously placed for her. It is a picture made to be seen at a distance.—I then took notice of the excessive whiteness of her skin.—C'est apparement le gout de son amant d'aujourd'hui, Perhaps it is the taste of her present lover said he; et quand un autre se presenter [...]it qui prefere la couleur de puce, á l'aided'un peu de l'eau chaude, elle seroit aussi son affaire.—if another should offer that preferred a [...]-colour, by the help of a little warm water, she could soon suit him too.

I next observed two ladies dressed a little beyond the extravagance of the mode. Their features betrayed the approach of fifty, in spite of all the art which had evidently been used to conceal that hated age.

At sight of them the Marquis started up. Ah! parblieu, said he, ces deux morceaux d'antiquité sont de mes parents.—Excusez moi pour deux minutes: il faut que je m'approche d'elles, dans le dessein de les fèliciter de leurs appas. Ah! those two pieces of antiquity are my relations.—Excuse me two minutes: I must go and compliment them on their charms. Old ladies, continued he, who have the rage to be thought young, are of all animals the most vindictive when neglected, and I have particular reasons for wishing to remain in their good graces.

He then left me, and having walked round the circle with the ladies, returned and took his seat. I have got myself well out of [Page] the scrape, said he; I told them I was engaged with a Milord, whom I should have the honour of presenting at their house; and I fixed a young officer with them, whose best hopes of promotion depend upon their influence at court, and who dares as soon quit his colours in battle, as forsake these two pieces of old tapestry till they chuse to retire.

A young man very magnificently dressed entered the room: He announced his importance by his a [...]s, his bustle, the loud and decisive tone of his voice. The Marquis told me, it was Mons. le Due de—; that it was indispensably necessary that I should be presented to him; there was no living at Paris without that advantage; adding,—Il est un peau fat, infiniment b [...]te; d'ailleurs le m [...]illeur enfant du monde. He is rather a coxcomb, an infinite blockhead, or else the best creature in the world.

A fine lady next appeared, who seemed to command the admiration of the whole assembly. She floated round the circle of the Colissée surrounded by a cluster of Petits Maitres, Small Masters, whose eyes were fixed on her, and who seemed moved by her motion, like satellites under the influence of their planet. She, on her part, was perfectly serene, and unembarrassed by the attention and the eyes of the spectators.

She smiled to one, nodded to another, shrugged to a third, struck a fourth with her fan, burst into a fit of laughter to a fifth, and whispered in the ear of a sixth. All these, and a thousand tricks more, she ran through with the ease of an actress and the rapidity of a juggler. She seemed fully persuaded that she was the only person present worthy of attention; that it belonged to her to develope her charms, display her graces and airs, and that it was the part of the rest of the company to remain attentive and admiring spectators.

Cette drolesse lá, said the Marquis, est jolie, et pour cette raison on croit qu'elle a de l'esprit: On a même tâché de repeter ses bons mots; [...] ne sont faits que pour sa bouche. Elle est beaucoup plus vaine que sensible, grand soutien pour sa vertu! au reste, elle est dame de qualitè, en favour de laquelle elle possede un gout de hardiesse si heureux, qu'elle [...]ouit du benefice de l'effronterie sans é [...]re effrontée.

That piece of drollery is handsome, and therefore she thinks herself witty: People have even endeavored to repeat her good things; but they were only made for her own mouth. She has more vanity than sensibility which to be sure is a great support for her virtue! as for the rest she is a lady of quality, by virtue of which she possesses so happy a taste for bold behaviour, as to enjoy all the advantages of effrontery, without being affronted.

I was surprized to find all this satire directed against so beautiful a woman, and suspected that the edge of F—'s remarks was sharpened by some recent pique. I was going to rally him on that supposition, when he suddenly started up, saying, Voilà Mons. at—, le meilleur de mes amis.—Il est amiable; on ne peut pas plus.—Il a de l'esprit comme un d [...]mon.—Il [...]aut que vous le connoissiez.[Page]Allons:—Descendons. There is Mons. de—my best friend no one can be more amiable; he is as witty as an angel—You must be acquainted with him. Come let us go down—So saying, he hurried me down stairs, presented mo Mons. de—as un philosophe Anglois, an English philosopher, who understood race-horses better than the great Newton himself, and who had aversion to the game of Whist. Mons. de—received me with open arms, and we were intimate friends in ten minutes. He carried the Marquis and me to sup at his house, where we found a numerous company.

The conversation was cheerful and animated. There were some very ingenious men present, with an admirable mixture of agreeable woman, who remained to the last, and joined in the conversation even when it turned on subjects of literature; upon which occasions English ladies generally imagine it becomes them to remain silent. But here they look their share without scruple or hesitation. Those who understood any thing of the subject delivered their sentiments with great precision, and more grace than the men; those who knew nothing of the matter rallied their own ignorance in such a sprightly manner, as convinced every body, that knowlege is not necessary to render a woman exceedingly agreeable in society.

After passing a most delightful evening, I returned to my lodgings, my head undisturbed with wine, and my spirits unjaded by play.

LETTER IV. French manners.

PARIS.

WE have been a month at Paris; a longer time than was intended at our arrival: yet our departure appears to me at a greater distance now than it did then.

F—has been my most constant companion; he is universally liked, lives in the very best company, and whoever is introduced by him is sure of a favourable reception. I found little or no difficulty in excusing myself from play. The Marquis undertook to make this matter easy; and nothing can be a greater proof of his influence in some of the most fashionable circles, than his being able to introduce a man without a title, and who never games.

He is also intimately acquainted with some of the most eminent men of letters, to whom he has made me known. Many of those, whose works you admire, are received at the houses of the first nobility on the most liberal footing.

You can scarcely believe the influence which this body of men have in the gay and dissipated city of Paris. Their opinions not only determine the merit of works of taste and science, but they have considerable weight on the manners and [...] of people [Page] of rank, of the public in general, and consequently are not without effect on the measures of government. The same thing takes place in some degree in most countries of Europe; but, if I am not mistaken, more at Paris than any where else; because men of letters are here at once united to each other by the various academies, and diffused among private societies, by the manners and general taste of the nation.

As the sentiments and conversation of men of letters influence, to a certain degree, the opinions and the conduct of the fashionable world; the manners of these last have a more obvious effect upon the air, the behaviour, and the conversation of the former, which in general is polite and easy; equally purified from the awkward timidity contracted in retirement, and the disgusting arrogance inspired by university honours, or church dignities. At Paris, the pedants of Moliere are to be seen on the stage only.

In this country, at present, there are many men distinguished by their learning, who at the same time are cheerful and easy i [...] mixed company, unpresuming in argument, and in every respect as well bred as those who have no other pretension.

Politeness and good manners, indeed, may be traced, though in different proportions, through every rank, from the greatest of the nobility to the lowest mechanic. This forms a more remarkable and distinguishing feature in the French national character, than the vivacity, impetuosity, and fickleness▪ for which the ancient as well as the modern inhabitants of this country have been noted.—

It certainly is a very singular phaenomenon, that politeness, which in every other country is confined to people of a certain rank in life, should here pervade every situation and profession. The man in power is courteous to his dependant, the prosperous to the unfortunate, the very beggar who solicits chari [...]y, does it e [...] homme comme il faut; "in a well bred manner;" and if his request be not granted, he is sure, at least, that it will be refused with an appearance of humanity, and not with harshness or insult.

A stranger, quite new and unversed in their language, whose accent is uncouth and ridiculous in the ears of the French, and who can scarcely open his mouth without making a blunder in grammar or idiom, is heard with the most serious attention, and never laughed at, even when he utters the oddest solecism or equivocal expression.

I am afraid, said I, yesterday, to a French gentleman, the phrase which I used just now is not French. Monsieur, replied he, cette expression effectivement n'est pas Francedil;oise, ma [...]s elle mérite bien de l'être. To be sure sir, the expression is not French, but it well deserves to be so.

The most daring deviation from fashion, in the important article of dress, cannot make them forget the laws of good-breeding. When a person appears at the public walks, in clothes made against every law of the mode, upon which the French are supposed [Page] to lay such stress, they do not gaze or sneer at him; they allow him first to pass, as it were, unobserved, and do not till then turn round to indulge the curiosity which his uncommon figure may have excited. I have remarked this instance of delicacy often in the streets in the lowest of the vulgar, or rather of the common people; for there are really very few of the natives of Paris, who can be called vulgar.

There are exceptions to these, as to all general remarks on the manners and character of any nation.

I have heard instances of the military treating postillions and innkeepers with injustice; and the seigneur or intendant oppressing the peasant. Examples of the abuse of power, and insolence of office, are to be met with every where. If they are tolerated, the fault lies in the government.

I have not been speaking of the French government. Their national character is one thing; the nature of their government is a very different matter. But I am convinced there is no country in Europe where royal favour, high birth, and the military profession, could be allowed such privileges as they have in France, and where there would be so few instances of their producing rough and brutal behaviour to inferiors.

LETTER V. Paris—London—French opinions.—Marquis de F—and Lord M—.

PARIS.

A Candid Englishman, of whatever rank in life he may be, must see with indignation, that every thing in this kingdom is arranged for the accommodation of the rich and the powerful; and that little or no regard is paid to the comfort of citizens of an inferior station. This appears in a thousand instances, and strikes the eye immediately on entering Paris.

I think I have seen it somewhere remarked, that the regular and effectual manner in which the city of London is lighted at night, and the raised pavements on the sides of every street, for the security and conveniency of foot-passengers, seem to indicate that the body of the people, as well as the rich and the great, are counted of some importance in the eye of government. Whereas Paris is poorly and partially lighted; and except on the Pont Neuf, New Bridge, and Pont Royal, Royal Bridge, and the keys between them, is not provided with little walks on the sides of the streets, for the accommodation and safety of foot-passengers. They must therefore grope their way as they best can, and skulk behind pillars, or run into shops, to avoid being crushed by the coaches, which are driven as near the wall as the coachman pleases; dispersing the people on foot at their approach, like chaff before the wind.

[Page] It must be acknowledged, that monarchy (for the French do not love to hear it called despotism, and it is needless to quarrel with them about a word) is raised in this country so very high, that it quite loses sight of the bulk of the nation, and pays attention only to a few; who being in exalted stations, come within the Court's sphere of vision.

Le peuple, The people, in France, is a term of reproach.—Un homme du peuple, One of the people, implies a want of both education and manners. Un homme comme il faut, A man of fashion, on the other hand, does not imply a man of sense or principle, but simply a man of birth or fashion; for a man may be homme comme il▪ faut, the man of fashion, and yet be devoid of every quality which adorns human nature.

There is no question that government leaves the middle and inferior ranks of life in some degree unprotected, and exposed to the injustice and insolence of the great; who are considered in this country, as somewhat above the Law, though greatly below the Monarch.

But the polished mildness of French manners, the gay and sociable turn of the nation, the affable and easy conduct of masters to their servants, supply the deficiencies, and correct the errors, of the government, and render the condition of the common people in France, but particularly at Paris, better than in several other countries of Europe; and much more tolerable than it would be, if the national character resembled that of those countries.

I was interrupted by Lord M. who arrived last night. He agreed to dine with us. F—called soon after he was disengaged also, and promised to be of the party.

You know how laborious a thing it is to keep alive a dialogue with my Lord M. The conversation either degenerates into a soliloquy on your part, or expires altogether. I was therefore exceedingly happy with the thoughts of the Marquis's company. He was uncommonly lively; addressed much of his conversation to his Lordship; tried him upon every subject, wine, women, horses, politics, and religion. He then sung Chansons á boire, some drinking Songs, and endeavoured in vain to get my Lord to join in the chorus. Nothing would do.—He admired his clothes, praised his dog, and said a thousand obliging things of the English nation. To no purpose: his Lordship kept up his silence and reserve to the last, and then drove away to the opera.

Ma foi, Upon my word, said the Marquis, as soon as he went out of the room, il a de grands talens pour le silence, ce Milord lá. this Milord has very great talents for silence.

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LETTER VI. Loyalty, English, German, Turkish, French.—Le Roi.—Princes of the blood.—Ideas of government.

PARIS.

IN a former letter, I mentioned good breeding as a striking part of the French national character. Loyalty, or an uncommon fondness for, and attachment to, the persons of their princes is another.

An Englishman, though he views the virtues of his king with a jealous eye during his reign, yet he will do them all justice in the reign of his successor.

A German, while he is silent with respect to the foibles of his prince, admires all his talents much more than he would the same qualities in any other person.

A Turk, or Persian, contemplates his Emperor with fear and reverence, as a superior being, to whose pleasure it is his duty to submit, as to the laws of Nature, and the will of Providence.

But a Frenchman, while he knows that his king is of the same nature, and liable to all the weaknesses of other men; while he enumerates his follies, and laughs as he laments them, is nevertheless attached to him by a sentiment of equal respect and tenderness; a kind of affectionate prejudice, independant of his real character.

Roi * is a word which conveys to the minds of Frenchmen the ideas of benevolence, gratitude, and love; as well as those of power, grandeur, and happiness.

They flock to Versailles every Sunday, behold him with unsated curiosity, and gaze on him with as much satisfaction the twentieth time as the first.

They consider him as their friend, though he does not know their persons; as their protector, though their greatest danger is from an exempt or Lettre de Cachet; The King's Signet; or order for Imprisonment; and as their benefactor, while they are oppressed with taxes.

They magnify into importance his most indifferent actions; they palliate and excuse all his weaknesses; and they▪ impute his errors or crimes, to his ministers or other evil counsellors; who (as they fondly assert) have, for some base purpose, imposed upon his judgment, and perverted the undeviating rectitude of his intentions.

They repeat, with fond applause, every saying of his which [...]eems to indicate the smallest approach to wit, or even bears the mark of ordinary sagacity.

[Page] The most inconsiderable circumstance which relates to the Monarch is of importance: whether he eat much or little at dinner; the coat he wears, the horse on which he rides, all afford matter of conversation in the various societies at Paris, and are the most agreeable subjects of epistolary correspondence with their friends in the provinc [...]s.

If he happens to be a little indisposed, all Paris, all France is alarmed, as if a real calamity was threatened: and to seem interested, or to converse upon any other subject till this has been discussed, would be considered as a proof of unpardonable indifference.

At a review, the troops perform their manoeuvres unheeded by such of the spectators as are within sight of the King. They are all engrossed in contemplation of their Prince.—Avez vous vu le roi?—Tenez—ah!—vuilá le roi.—Le roi rit.—Apparement il est content.—Je suis charmé,—ah, il tousse!—A-t [...]il toussé?—Oui, parbleu! et bien fort.—Je suis au désespoir. Have you seen the King?—Stay there's the King—the King smiles. Perhaps he is contented. I am happy—ah! he coughs did he cough? Yes, and very loud—I am miserable.

At mass, it is the King, not the Priest, who is the object of attention. The Host is elevated; but the people's eyes remain fixed upon the face of their beloved Monarch.

Even the most applauded pieces of the theatre, which in Paris create more emotion than the ceremonies of religion, can with difficulty divide their attention. A smile from the King makes them forget the sorrow of Andromaché, and the wrongs of the [...].

This excessive attachment is not confined to the person of the Monarch, but extends to every branch of the royal family; all of whom, it is imagined in this country, have an hereditary right to every gratification and enjoyment that human nature is capable of receiving. And if any cause, moral or physical, impede or obstruct this, they meet with universal sympathy. The most trivial disappointment or chagrin which befalls them, is considered as more serious and affecting, than the most dreadful calamity which can happen to a private family. It is lamented as if the natural order of things were counteracted, and the amiable Prince, or Princess, deprived, by a cruel phaenomenon, of that supreme degree of happiness, to which their rank in life gives them an undeniable title.

All this regard seems real, and not affected from any motive of interest; at least it must be so with respect to the bulk of the people, who can have no hopes of ever being known to their princes, far less of ever receiving any personal favour from them.

The philosophical idea▪ that Kings have been appointed for public conveniency; that they are accountable to their subjects for mal-administration▪ o [...] [...] continued acts of injustice and oppression; is a doctrine very opposite to the general prejudices of this [Page] nation. If any of their kings were to behave in such an imprudent and outrageous manner as to occasion a revolt, and if the insurgents actually got the better, I question if they would think of new-modelling the government, and limiting the power of the crown, as was done in Britain at the revolution, so as to prevent the like abuses for the future. They never would think of going further, I imagine, than placing another prince of the Bourbon family on the throne, with the [...]ame power that his predecessor had, and then quietly lay down their arms, satisfied with his royal word or declaration to govern with more equity.

The French seem so delighted and dazzled with the lustre of Monarchy, that they cannot bear the thoughts of any qualifying mixture, which might abate its violence, and render its ardour more benign. They chuse to give the splendid machine full play, though it often scorches and threatens to consume themselves and their effects.

They consider the power of the King, from which their servitude proceeds, as if it were their own power. You will hardly believe it; but I am sure of the fact: They are proud of it; they are proud that there is no check or limitation to his authority.

They tell you with exultation, that the king has an army of [...]ear two hundred thousand men in the time of peace. A Frenchm [...]n is as vain of the palaces, fine gardens, number of horses, and all the parapharnalia belonging to the court of the Monarch, as an Englishman can be of his own house, gardens, and equipage.

When they are told of the diffusion of wealth in England, the immense fortunes made by many individuals, the affluence of those of middle rank, the security and easy comfortable situation of the common people, instead of being mortified by the comparison which might naturally occur to their imaginations, they comfort themselves with the reflection, that the court of France is more brilliant than that of Great-Britain, and that the duke of Orleans and the Prince of Co [...]dé have greater revenues than any of the English nobility.

When they hear of the freedom of debate in parliament, of the liberties taken in writing or speaking of the conduct of the king, or measures of government, and the forms to be observed, before those who venture on the most daring abuse of either can be brought to punishment, they seem filled with indignation, and say with an air of triumph, C'est bien autrement che [...] nous: St le Roi de France avoit affaire á ces Messieurs lá il leur enseigneroit á vivre. It would be very different among us: If the King of France had to do with these gentlemen, he would give them a lesson. And then they would proceed to inform you, that parbleu! their minister would give himself no trouble about forms or proofs; that suspicion was sufficient for him, and without more ado he would shut up such impertinent people in the Bastile for many years. And then raising their voices, as if what they said were a proof of the courage or magnanimity of the minister—Ou peut-ê [...]re il feroit condamner ces droles lá aux galères pour la vie. Or perhaps he would condemn these witty genius's to the galleys for life.

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LETTER VII. Sentiments of Frenchmen concerning the British constitution.

PARIS.

IT would be almost superfluous to observe, that there are a great many people in France, who think in a very different manner from that which I have mentioned in my last, and who have just and liberal ideas of the design and nature of government, and proper and manly sentiments of the natural rights of mankind. The writings of Montesquieu are greatly admired: This alone is sufficient to prove it. Many later authors, and the conversation of the philosophical and reasoning people display the same spirit.

What is mentioned in my last letter, however, comprehends the general turn or manner of thinking of the French nation, and evinces how very opposite their sentiments upon the subject of civil government are, to those of our countrymen.

I have heard an Englishman enumerate the advantages of the British constitution to a circle of French Bourgeois, Citizens, and explain to them in what manner the people of their rank of life were protected from the insolence of the courtiers and nobility; that the poorest shop keeper, and lowest tradesman in England, could have immediate redress for any injury done him by the greatest nobleman in the kingdon.

Well, what impression do you think this declamation had upon the French auditory? You will naturally imagine they would admire such a constitution, and wish for the same in France:—Not at all. They sympathized with the great: They seemed to feel for their want of importance. One observed, C'est peu de chose [...] être noble chez vous; It is not worth while to be noble among you; and another, shaking his head, added, Ce n'est pas naturel tout [...]ela. All that is unnatural.

When mention was made that the king of Great Britain could not impose a tax by his own authority; that the consent of parliament, particularly of the house of commons, was necessary, to which assembly people of their rank of life were admitted; they said with some degree of satisfaction, Cependant, c'est assez beau cela. However, that is well enough. But when the English patriot, expecting their complete approbation, continued informing them, that the king himself had not the power to encroach upon the liberty of the meanest of his subjects; that if he or the minister did, damages were recoverable at a court of law, a loud and prolonged DIABLE issued from every mouth. They forgot their own situation, and the security of the people, and turned to their natural bias of sympathy with the king, who they all seemed to think must be the most opressed and injured of mankind.

One of them at last, addressing himself to the English politician, [...]. Tout [...] que je puis vous dire, Monsieur, c'est que votre pauvre Roi est[Page]bien à plaindre. All that I can say, sir, is that your poor King is very much to be pitied. This solicitude of theirs for the happiness and glory of royalty extends in some degree to all crowned heads whatever: But with regard to their own monarch, it seems the reigning and darling passion of their souls, which they carry with them to the grave. A French soldier, who lay covered with wounds on the field of Dettingen, demanded a little before he expired, of an English officer, how the battle was likely to terminate; and being answered, that the British troops had obtained a great victory; Mon pauvre Roi, My poor King! said the dying man, que fera-t-il? what will he do?

For my part, my friend, although I heartily wish his Majesty all public and domestic happiness, yet if the smallest solicitude about either should disturb my dying moments, it will be the strongest proof that my own affairs, spiritual and temporal, your concerns, as well as those of my other private friends, are in a most comfortable situation.

Adieu.

P. S. I have not seen the Marquis for several days. He had informed me, at our very first meeting, th [...] he was paying his court to a young lady of family, at his mother's aesire, who was impatient to see him married. He said, he could refuse his mother nothing, parcequ'elle étoit le meilleur enfant du monde: because she was the best creature in the world. Besides, he said, the young lady was very pretty and agreeable, and he was over head and ears in love with her. He has told me since, that every thing was arranged, and he expected to be in a short time the happiest man in the world, and would have the honour of presenting me to his bride very soon. I shall let you know my opinion of the lady when I see her—But let her be what she will, I am sorry that F—thinks of marrying so early in life; for a frenchman of five-and-twenty, is not quite so sedate an animal as an Englishman of fifteen.

LETTER VIII. French Kings have peculiar reasons to love their subjects.—The three sons of Catharine of Medicis.—Henry IV.—Natural effects of exertion and of sloth on the body, understanding, heart.

PARIS.

THERE is an absolute penury of public news. I have nothing particular to inform you of concerning myself but you hold me to my engagement: So here I am seated to write to you, without having as yet determined upon a subject, in hopes, however, that my pen may gather materials as it moves.

[Page] In whatever light this prejudice in favour of monarchy may appear to the eye of philosophy; and though of all passions the love of a King, merely because he is a King, is perhaps the silliest: yet it surely ought to be considered as meritorious by those who are the objects of it.

No people existing, or who did ever exist, have had so just a claim to the gratitude and affections of their sovereign, as the French. They rejoice in his joy, are grieved at his grief, proud of his power, vain of his accomplishments, indulgent to his failings. They cheerfully yield their own conveniences to his superfluities, and are at all times willing to sacrifice their lives for his glory.

A King, one would imagine, must be a perfect monster of selfishness and insensibility, who did not love such subjects, and who did not bestow some time and attention to promote their happiness: Yet the French nation has not had a Monarch worthy of all this regard since the days of Henry IV. and of all their kings they used him the worst.

Of the three brothers who immediately preceded him, the first was a sickly creature, as feeble in mind as in body; the second, a monster of superstition and cruelty; and the third, after a dawn of some brightness, allowed his meridian to be obscured by the grossest clouds of effeminacy and voluptuousness. Their Italian mother, who governed all the three, seems to have been perfectly unrestrained by any feelings of humanity or of conscience, and solely guided by motives of interest, and the most perfidious policy.

The princes who have succeeded, as well as those who reigned before the fourth Henry, serve as foils which display his bright qualities with double lustre.

Notwithstanding all the inducements which the French kings have to promote the happiness of their subjects, it may be many centuries before they are blessed with one who shall have that passion in such a high degree.

A character in which the great and amiable virtues are so finely blended, is very rarely produced in any nation. How small then must be the chance that this prize shall fall to the individual who is destined for the throne? Henry received an education very different from that which is generally bestowed on kings. His character was formed in the hardy school of adversity: his mind was strengthened by continual exertions of courage and prudence. He was taught humanity by suffering under the rod of tyranny, and experiencing the pangs of the unfortunate. Having frequently stood in need of friends, he knew the value of their attachment, and his heart became capable of friendship.

Difficulties and dangers often strike out particles of genius which otherwise might remain latent and useless, and contribute to the formation of a vigorous character, by animating those sparks of virtue which a life of indolence would have completely extinguished. Those people who from their [...]orliest infancy, have [...]ound [Page] every thing provided for them, who have not much ambition, and consequently are seldom excited to any great exertion of their faculties, generally feel these faculties dwindle and grow weak, for the same reason that a man's arms would become gradually feeble, and at length perfectly useless, if he were to wear them in a scarf for any considerable time.

That the faculties of the understanding, like the sinews of the body, are relaxed by sloth and strengthened by exercise, nobody will doubt. I imagine the same analogy holds in some degree between the body and the qualities of the heart. Benevolence, pity, gratitude, are, I suspect, exceedingly apt to stagnate into a calm, sluggish insensibility in that breast which has not been agitated by real misfortunes.

People do not fully enter into distresses which they never have felt, and which they think they run but a small risk of feeling. Accordingly it has been remarked, that those who have been favoured through life with the smiles of fortune, and whose time has been spent in the amusements of courts, and luxurious indulgences, very often acquire an astonishing insensibility to the misfortunes of others. The character the most perfectly cold of all I ever knew, devoid of friendship, gratitude, and even natural affection, belongs to a person, whose life has been a continued series of fortunate events.

Yet while all their cares are contracted, and all their feelings absorbed, within the compass of their own skin, such people seem often convinced, that they themselves are of the most humane dispositions, and the most extensive benevolence, upon no better foundation, than because they have felt themselves affected by the artful distresses of a romance, and because they could shed a few barren tears at a tragedy.

If to these symptoms of sensibility, they can add, that of having occasionally given a guinea when the contribution has been set a going, or have parted with a little superfluous money to free themselves from importunity, they have then carried benevolence to the utmost length of their idea of that virtue.

They have no notion of any thing beyond this; nor would they make one active exertion, postpone a single party of pleasure, or in any shape interrupt the tranquility of their own idolence, to perform the most essential service (I will not say to a friend, such people can have none) to any of the human race.

There are many exceptions, but in general those persons who are exposed to the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, who have experienced the base indifference of mankind, and have in some degree felt what wretches feel, are endued with the truest sympathy, and enter, with the most lively sensibility, into the situation of the unfortunate▪

Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco,

I feel for other's misery, from my own,

[Page] said Dido, who had been obliged to fly from her country, to AEneas, who had been witness to the destruction of his.

Dido and AEneas!—How in the name of wandering have we got into their company? I could no more have guessed at this, than at the subject of one of Montaigne's Essays from the title. We set out, I believe, with something about France;—but you cannot expect that I should attempt to take up a thread which is left so far behind.

Adieu.

LETTER IX. A French lover.

PARIS.

I Mentioned in my former letter, that my friend F—was on the point of being married. He called at my lodgings a little while ago. His air was so very gay, that I imagined he had some agreeable news to communicate. Me voilá au désespoir, mon cher ami, My dear friend I am quite miserable, said he, with a loud laugh.—You are the merriest man I ever saw in that situation, said I.—He then informed me, that the old Marquis de P. his mistress's father, had waited on his mother, and, after ten thousand apologies and circumlocutions, had given her to understand, that certain things had intervened, which rendered it impossible that he should ever have the honour of being father-in-law to her son; and requested her to inform him, how infinitely uneasy he and all his family were, at an incident which deprived them of the pleasure they had proposed to themselves from that connection. His mother, he said, had endeavoured to discover the incident which has produced this sudden alteration;—but to no purpose.—The old gentleman contented himself with assuring her, that the particulars would be equally disagreeable and superfluous,—and then took his leave, in the most polite and affectionate terms that the French language could furnish him with.

F—told me all this with an air so easy and contented, that I did not well know what to make of it. My dear Marquis, said I, it is fortunate that I have been mistaken; for you must know, I had taken it into my head that you were fond of the lady.—You were in the right, my friend, said he, je l' aimai infiniment. I lov'd her infinitely.—Comment infiniment; How infinitely?—said I, and yet be so merry when you are just going to lose her!

Mais vous autres Anglois, said he, vous avez de id [...]es si bizarres:—aimer infiniment, cela veut dire aimer comme on a [...]me,— [...]out le monde aime ainsi quand il ne se hait pas.—Mais je vous conterai toute l'histoire.

You Englishmen have such strange ideas:—to love a person infinitely means to love as other people do,—as every body does when they do not hate one another.—But I will tell you the whole story.

My mother, added he, who is the best creature in the world, and whom I love with all my soul, told me this marriage would [Page] make her quite happy.—All my uncles and aunts, and cousins, for ten generations, told me the same. I was informed, over and above, that the lady, her father, and all their relations, wished this alliance, with the most obliging earnestness. The girl herself, is tolerably pretty. They will persuade me to marry some time or other, thought I; why not now, as well as at another time? Why should I refuse to do a thing which will please so many people, without being in the smallest degree displeasing to myself?—To be sure, said I, that would have been ill natured. It was lucky, however, that you happened to be perfectly disengaged, and did not prefer any other woman.

You are mistaken, my friend, said he; I preferred many to the lady in question, and one in particular, whose name I will not mention, but whom I love—whom I do love.—Comme on aime, As other people love, said I, interrupting him—.Non, parbleu! added he, with warmth, comme on n'aime pas.—No! as nobody loves. Good Heaven! then, cried I, how could you think of marrying another?—Cela n'empêche rien, That would hinder nothing said the Marquis, coolly;—for I could not marry the other. She had the start of me, and had undergone the ceremony already; and therefore she had no objection to my obliging my mother and relations in this particular, for she is the best-natured woman in the world.

So she appears to be▪ said I.—O, pour cela oui, mon cher, added he, elle est la bonté même. O! as for that, my dear she is goodness itself. However, I am very well pleased, upon the whole, that the affair has gone off without any fault of mine; and though it is possible that it may be brought on at some future period, I shall still be a gainer, parceque un mariage reculé est [...]onjours outant de gagné sur le repentir. because a marriage deferr'd is always so much gain'd from repentance. So saying, he wheeled on his heel, humming,

Non, tu ne le mettras pas, Colin, &c.

No thou shall never put it Colin, &c.

There's the picture of a French lover for you.—I set down the whole scene, as soon as F—left me, and so I leave you to make your own reflexions.

LETTER X. Groundless accusations.—Friendship.—English travellers.

PARIS.

YOU have often heard the French accused of insincerity, and of being warm in professions, but deve [...]d of real friendship.

[Page] Our countrymen, in particular, are led into this opinion, from the manners in general being more obsequious here, than in England. What Frenchmen consider as common good manners, many Englishmen would call flattery, perhaps fawning.

Their language abounds in complimental phrases, which they distribute with wonderful profusion and volubility; but they intend no more by them, than an Englishman means when he subscribes himself your most obedient humble servant, at the conclusion of a letter.

A Frenchman not only means nothing beyond common civility, by the plentiful shower of compliments which he pours on every stranger; but also, he takes it for granted, that the stranger knows that nothing more is meant. These expressions are fully understood by his own countrymen: he imagines all the world are as well informed; and he has not the smallest intention to deceive. But if any man take these expressions in a literal sense, and believes that people are in reality inspired with friendship, or have fallen in love with him at first sight, he will be very much disappointed; especially if he expects strong proofs of either.

Yet he has no right to accuse the French of insincerity, or breach of friendship.—Friendship is intirely out of the question. They never intended to convey any other idea, than that they were willing to receive him on the footing of an acquaintance;—and it was the business of his language-master to have informed him of the real import of their expressions.

If the same words indeed were literally translated into English, and used by one Englishman to another, the person to whom they were addressed, would have good reason to imagine that the other had a particular regard for him, or meant to deceive him; because the established modes of civility and politeness in England do not require such language.

The not making a proper allowance for different modes and usages which accident has established, is one great cause of the unfavourable and harsh sentiments, which the people of the different countries of the world too often harbour against each other.

You may say, perhaps, that this superfluity of compliments which the French make use of, is a proof of the matter in question; that the French have less sincerity than their neighbours. By the same rule we must conclude, that the common people of every nation, who use few complimental phrases in their discourse, have a greater regard to truth, and stronger sentiments of friendship, than those in the middle and higher ranks. but this is what I imagine it would be difficult to prove.

These complimental phrases, which have crept into all modern languages, may, perhaps, be superfluous; or, if you please, absurd: but they are so fully established, that people of the greatest integrity must use them, both in England and in France; with this difference, that a smaller proportion will do in the language of the one country, than in that of the other; but they are indications of friendship in neither.

[Page] Friendship is a plant of slow growth, in every climate. Happy the man who can rear a few, even where he has the most settled residence.

Travellers, passing through foreign countries, seldom take time to cultivate them; if they be presented with some flowers, although of a flimsy texture and quicker growth, they ought to accept of them with thankfulness, and not quarrel with the natives, for choosing to retain the other more valuable plant for their own use.

Of all travellers, the young English nobility and gentry have the least right to find fault with their entertainment while on their tours abroad; for such of them as show a desire of forming a connexion with the inhabitants, by even a moderate degree of attention, are received upon easier terms than the travellers from any other country. But a very considerable number of our countrymen have not the smallest desire of that nature: they seem rather to avoid their society, and accept with reluctance every offer of hospitality.

This happens partly from a prejudice against foreigners of every kind; partly from timidity or natural reserve; and in a great measure from indolence; and an absolute detestation of ceremony and restraint. Besides, they hate to be obliged to speak a language of which they seldom acquire a perfect command.

They frequently, therefore, form societies or clubs of their own, where all ceremony is dismissed, and the greatest ease and latitude allowed in behaviour, dress, and conversation. There they confirm each other in all their prejudices, and with united voice condemn and ridicule the customs and manners of every country but their own.

By this conduct the true purpose of travelling is lost or perverted; and many English travellers remain four or five years abroad, and have seldom, during all this space, been in any company, but that of their own countrymen.

To go to France and Italy, and there converse with none but English people, and merely that you may have it to say that you have been in those countries, is certainly absurd: Nothing can be more so, except to adopt with enthusiasm the fashions, fopperies, taste, and manners of those countries, and transplant them to England, where they never will thrive, a [...]d where they always appear aukward and unnatural.

For after all his efforts of imitation, a travelled Englishman is as different from a Frenchman or an Italian, as an English mastiff is from a monkey or a fox: And if ever that sedate and plain meaning dog should pretend to the gay friskiness of the one, or to the subtilty of the other, we should certainly value him much less than we do.

But I do not imagine that this extreme is by any means so common as the former. It is much more natural to the English character to despise foreigners than to imitate them. A few tawdry examples to the contrary, who return every winter from the continent, are hardly worth mentioning as exceptions.

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LETTER XI. English prejudices.—Conversation with Mr. B—. Reflections.

PARIS.

YOUR acquaintance B—has been in Paris for these three weeks past. I cannot conceive how he has remained so long; for he has a very bad opinion of this nation, and is fraught with the strongest prejudice against French manners in general: He considers all their politesse as impertinence, and receives their civilities as a prelude to the picking of his pocket.

He and I went this forenoon to a review of the foot-guards, by Marshal Biron. There was a crowd; and we could with difficulty get within the circle so as to see conveniently. An old officer of high rank touched some people who stood before us, saying,—Ce [...] deux Messieurs [...]ont des étrangers; These two gentlemen are strangers; upon which they immediately made way, and allowed us to pass.—Don't you think that was very obliging? said I.—Yes, answered he; but, by heavens, it was very unjust.

We returned by the Boulevards, where crowds of citizens, in their holiday dresses, were making merry: the young dancing cotillons, the old beating time to the music, and applauding the dancers—all in a careless oblivion of the past, thoughtless of the future, and totally occupied with the present.—These people seem very happy, said I.—Happy! exclaimed B—; if they had common sense or reflection, they would be miserable. Why so?—Could not the minister, answered he, pick out half a dozen of them, if he pleased, and clap them into the Bicetre?—That is true indeed, said I; that is a catastrophe which, to be sure, may very probably happen, and yet I thought no more of it than they.

We met, a few days after he arrived, at a French house where we had both been invited to dinner. There was an old lady of quality present, next to whom a young officer was seated, who paid her the utmost attention.—He helped her to the dishes she liked, filled her glass with wine or water, and addressed his discourse particularly to her.—What a fool, says B—, does that young fellow make of the poor old woman! If she were my mother, d—n me, if I would not call him to an account for it—

Though B—understands French, and speaks it better than most Englishmen, he had no relish for the conversation, soon left the company, and has refused all invitations to dinner ever since. He generally finds some of our countrymen who dine and pass the evening with him at the Parc Royal.

After the review this day, we continued together, and being both disengaged, I proposed, by way of variety, to dine at the public ordinary of the Hôtel de Bourbon. He did not like this much [Page] at first.—I shall be teased, says he, with their confounded ceremony:—But on my observing that we could not expect much ceremony or politeness at a public ordinary, he agreed to go.

Our entertainment turned out different, however, from my expectations and his wishes: A marked attention was paid us the moment we entered; every body seemed inclined to accommodate us with the best places. They helped us first, and all the company seemed ready to sacrifice every little conveniency and distinction to the strangers: For next to that of a lady, the most respected character at Paris is that of a stranger.

After dinner, B—and I walked into the gardens of the Palais Royal.

There was nothing real in all the fuss those people made about us, says he.

I can't help thinking it something, said I, to be treated with civility and apparent kindness in a foreign country—by strangers who know nothing about us, but that we are Englishmen, and often their enemies.

But their politeness consists in trifles, said he.—In what consists any body's politeness? rejoined I.—The utmost a Frenchman will do for you, added he, is to endeavour to amuse you, and make your time pass agreeably while you remain in his country. And I think that no trifle, answered I.—There are so many sources of uneasiness and vexation in this life, that I cannot help having a good will, and even gratitude, to all those who enable me to forget them:—For such people alleviate my pain, and contribute to my happiness.

But these Frenchmen, rejoined he, do not care a farthing for you in their hearts.—And why should I care a farthing for that? said I.—We have nothing to do with their hearts—You do not expect a friend in every agreeable acquaintance.

But they are an interested set of people; an even those among them who pretend to be your friends,—do it only for some selfish end.

That is only an assertion, said I, but no proof.—If you stood in need of pecuniary assistance, they would not advance you a louis to save you from a jail, continued he.

I hope never to be perfectly ascertained of that, said I;—but if we were to cultivate friendship from the idea of assistance of that nature, it would be doing exactly what you accuse them of: Besides, continued I, the power and opportunity of obliging our acquaintances and friends with great, and, what are called, essential services, seldom occur; but those attentions and courtesies, which smooth the commerce between man and man, and sweeten social life, ar [...] in every body's power, and there are daily and hourly occasions of displaying them,—particularly to strangers.—Curse their courtesies, said he, they are the greatest Boors in nature.—I hate the French.—They are the enemies of England, and a false, deceitful, perfidious—But as we did not come over, interrupted [Page] I, to [...]ight at present, we shall suspend hostilities till a more convenient season; and in the mean time, if you have no objection, let u [...] go to the play.

He agreed to this proposal, and here our conversation ended.

You know B—is as worthy a fellow as lives; and, under a rough address, conceals the best disposition in the world. His manner, I imagine, was originally assumed from a notion, which he has in common with many people, that great politeness, and apparent gentleness of behaviour, are generally accompanied with falsehood and real coldness;—even inhumanity of character.;—as if human nature, like marble, took a polish proportionable to it hardness.

This idea is certainly formed without an accurate examination, and from a superficial view of mankind. As a boorish address is no proof of honesty, so is politeness no indication of the reverse;—and if they are once reduced to an equality in these particulars, it is evident that the latter is preferable in every other respect.

But to return to the French, I am clearly of opinion, that a stranger may fairly avail himself of every conveniency arising from their obliging manners, although he should be convinced that all their assiduity and attention are unconnected with any regard to him, and flow entirely from vanity and self-love. He may perceive that his Parisian friend, while he loads him with civilities, is making a display of his own proficiency in the science of politeness, and endeavouring to thrust himself forward in the good opinion of the company, by yeilding the preference on a thousand trifling occasions:—Though he plainly sees, that all this stooping is with a view to conquer, why should he repine at a victory which is accompanied with so many conveniencies to himself? why quarrel with the motive while he feels the benefit of the effect?

If writers or preachers of morality could, by the force of eloquence, eradicate selfishness from the hearts of men, and make them in reality love their neighbours as themselves, it would be a change devoutly to be wished. But until that blessed event, let us not find fault with those forms and attentions which create a kind of artificial friendship and benevolence, which for many of the purposes of society produce the same effects as the true.

People who love to amuse themselves with play, and have not ready money, are obliged to use counters. You and I, my friend, as long as we cut and shuffle together, shall never have occasion for such a succedaneum;—I am fully persuaded we are provided, on both sides, with sufficient quantity of pure gold.

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LETTER XII. Tragedy of the Siege of Calais.—Bon mot of Duc d'Ayen.—Russia.—Prussia.—France.—Statue of Lewis XV.—Epigrams.

PARIS.

WHEN B—and I went to the play-house, as was mentioned in my last, we found a prodigious crowd of people before the door: We could not get a place till after a considerable struggle. The play was the Siege of Calais, founded on a popular story, which must needs be interesting and flattering to the French nation.

You cannot conceive what pressing and crowding there is every night to see this favourite piece, which has had the same success at Versailles as at Paris.

There are some few critics, however, who assert that it is entirely devoid of merit, and owes its run to the popular nature of the subject, more than to any intrinsic beauty in the verses, which some declare are not even good French.

When it was last acted before the King, it is said, his Majesty, observing that the Duc d'Ayen did not join in applauding, but that he rather shewed some marks of disgust, turned to the Duke and said, Vous n'appl [...]udiss [...]z pas? Vous n'étes pas bon Francedil;ois, Monsieur le Duc:—You do not applaud? You are not a good Frenchman my Lord Duke:—To this the Duke replied.—á Dieu ne plaise que je ne fusse pas meilleur que les vers de la piéce. God forbid that I should not be better French than the verses of this piece.

Obedient to the court in every other particular, the French disregard the decisions pronounced at Versailles in matters of taste. It very often happens that a dramatic piece, which has been acted before the royal family and the court, with the highest applause, it afterwards damned with every circumstance of ignominy at Paris. In all works of genius the Parisians lead the judgment of the courtiers, and dictate to their monarch.

In other cou [...]tries of Europe, it has happened, that some prince of superior talents has, by the brightness of his own genius, enlightened the minds of his subjects and dispelled the clouds of barbarism from his dominions.

Since the commencement of this century a great empire has been improved from a state of gross ignorance, refined by the arts of peace, and instructed in the arts of war, by the vast genius and industry of one of its princes, who laid the foundation of its present power and grandeur.

Another inconsiderable state, with fewer resources, has at a later period, been created a powerful monarchy, by the astonishing efforts, perseverance, and magnanimity of its present king; whose love of knowledge and the arts has drawn some of the [Page] greatest geniuses in Europe to his capital; whence science and taste must gradually flow through his whole dominions, where they were formerly but little cherished.

In these instances, and others which might be enumerated, the princes have been superior in genius to any of their subjects. The throne has been the source whence knowledge and refinement have flowed to the extremities of the nation.

But this has never been the case in France, where it is not the king who polishes the people;—but the people who refine the manners, humanize the heart, and, if it be not perfectly opaque, enlighten the understanding of the king.

Telemaque, and many other works, have been composed with this intention. In many addresses and remonstrances to the throne, excellent precepts and hints are insinuated in an indirect and delicate manner.

By the emphatic applause they bestow on particular passages of the pieces represented at the theatre, they convey to the monarch the sentiments of the nation respecting the measures of his government.

By ascribing qualities to him which he does not possess, they endeavour to excite within his breast a desire to attain them: They try to cajole him into virtue. Considered in this point of view, the design of the equestrian statue which the city of Paris has erected in honour of Lewis XV. may have been suggested from a more generous motive than flattery, to which it is generally imputed. This was begun by Bouchardon; who died when the work was well advanced, and has since been committed to Pigal to be finished.

The horse is placed on a very high pedestal. At the angles, are four figures, standing in the manner of Caryatides, who represent the four virtues, Fortitude, Justice, Prudence, and the love of Peace. All the ornaments are of Bronze.

The two small sides of the pedestal are ornamented with gilded laurels and inscriptions. On the front, towards the Thuilleries, is the following:

LUDOVICO XV. OPTIMO PRINCIPI QUOD AD SCALDUM, MOSAM, RHENUM, VICTOR PACEM ARMIS PACE SUORUM ET EUROPAE FELICITATEM QUAESIVIT.

[Page]

To Louis the XV.

The best of princes, for victorious

At the Scheld, the Ma [...]se and the Rhine

Peace alone was the object of his arms

And in peace

The felicity of his own subjects and of Europe.

The large sides of the pedestal are adorned with trophies and bas reliefs. One represents Lewis giving peace to Europe; the other represents him in a triumphal chariot, crowned by Victory, and conducted by Renown to a people who submit.

When we recollect that the inscription and emblems allude to the conclusion of the war before the last, and what kind of inscriptions are usually put under the statues of kings, we shall not find any thing outrageously flattering in the above; the moral of which is, that the love of peace is one of the greatest virtues a king can possess—The best moral that can be insinuated into the breast of a monarch.

In this work the horse is infinitely more admired, by sculptors and satirists, than the king. But the greatest oversight is, that the whole group, though all the figures are larger than life, have a diminutive appearance in the centre of the vast area in which they are placed.

The wits of Paris could not allow such an opportunity of indulging their vein to escape unimproved. Many epigrams are handed about.—Here are two.

Bouchardon est un animal,

Et son ouvrage fait pitié

Il place les vices á cheval,

Et met les vertus á pied.

Who sees Bouchardon's work, laments to me [...]t

With vice on horse-back, Virtue under feet.

Voilá notre Roi comme il est á Versailles.

Sans foi, sans loi, et sans entrailles.

Behold our king here the same as in Versailles.

Without faith, without law, and without Feeling.

Both are too severe; giving the idea of wicked dispositions, and cruelty of temper, which do not belong to Lewis the Fifteenth; whose real character, in three words, is, that of a good-natured, easy tempered man, sunk in sloth and sensuality.

[Page] I have seen another inscription for the statue handed about; it is in Latin, and very short.

STATUA STATUAE. A STATUE OF A STATUE.

You may imagine that the authors of these would meet with a dreadful punishment, if they were discovered. No danger of that kind is sufficient to restrain the inhabitants of this city, from writing and spreading such pasquinades, which are greatly relished by the whole nation.

Indeed, I imagine there is more of the spirit of revenge, than of good policy, in attempting to repel such humours; which, if they did not get vent in this manner, might break out in a more dangerous shape.

Adieu.

LETTER XIII. Chevalier B—and his lady▪—Madame de M—, her character;—her misfortune.

PARIS.

I Dined yesterday with an equal number of both sexes, at the Chevalier B—'s▪ He is F—'s very intimate friend, and has a charming house within a few leagues of Paris, which the Marquis makes full as much use of as the owner.

The Chevalier has a considerable revenue, which he spends with equal magnificence and oeconomy. He has been married many years to his present lady, a most agreeable woman, with whom he possesses every thing which can make their union happy, except children. They endeavour [...]o forget this disagreeable circumstance, by a constant succession of company; and, which is very singular here, the society entertained by the husband and wife are the same.

F—, though much younger than either, is a great favourite of both; and they are always pleased when he invites a small company of his friends to dine at their house.

The present party had been proposed by Madame de M—, a rich young widow, much admired here; of whom I shall give you a glimpse, en passant, by the way—for do not imagine I undertake to describe the most undescribable of all human beings▪—a fine French lady.

Madame de M—has some wit, more beauty, and a greater share of vivacity than of both:—if there were a fourth degree of comparison, I should place her vanity there. She laughs a great deal, and she is in the right; for her teeth are remarkably fine. She talks very much, and in a loud and decisive tone of voice.— [Page] This is not so judicious, because her sentiments are not so brilliant as her teeth, and her voice is rather harsh.—She is received with attention and respect every where;—that she owes to her rank.—She is liked and followed by the men; this she owes to her beauty. She is not disliked by the women, which is probably owing to her foibles.

This lady is thought to be fond of F—: so, to prevent scandal, she desired me to call at her house, and attend her to the Chevalier's.

I found her at her toilette, in consultation with a general officer and two abbes, concerning a new head dress which she had just invented.—It was smart and fanciful; and, after a few corrections, received the sanction of all those critics. They declared it to be a valuable discovery, and foretold that it would immediately become the general mode of Paris, and do immortal honour to the genius of Madame de M—.

She wheeled from before the mirror, with an air of exultation.—Allons, done, mes enfans—á la gloire,—Come on, my friend—'tis glory calls,—cried she; and was proceeding to give orders for her equipage, when a servant entered, and informed her, that Madame la Comtesse had accepted her invitation, and would certainly do herself the honour of dining with her.

I despair of giving you an idea of the sudden change which this message occasioned in the features of Madame de M—. Had she heard of the death of her father, or her only child, she could not have been more confounded.—Est il possible, Is it possible (said she, with an accent of despair) qu'on puisse etre si b [...]te! to be so stupid!—The servant was called and examined regarding the import of the answer he had brought from Madame la Comtesse.—It was even so—she was assuredly to come.—Fresh exclamations on the part of Madame de M—. Did you send to invite her for this day, said I?—Undoubtedly I did, replied Madame de M—. That could be delayed no longer.—She came to town last Sunday.—I therefore sent her the politest message in the world, begging to have the honour of her company for this day, at dinner; and behold, the horrid woman (with a rudeness, or ignorance of life without example) sends me word she will come.

It is very shocking, indeed, said I, that she should have misunderstood your kindness so prodigiously.—Is it not, said she? Could any mortal have expected so barbarous a return of civility?—She is connected with some of my relations in the country:—when she came to town, I immediately left my name with her porter.—She called next day on me—I had informed my Swiss, that I was always to be out when she came. I was denied accordingly.—Cela est tout simple, et selon les r [...]gles. That is all plain and regular. The woman is twenty years older than I, and we must be insupportable to each other.—She ought to have seen, that my invitation was dictated by politeness only:—the same politeness on her part should have prompted her to send a refusal. In this manner we [Page] might have visited each other▪ dined and supped together, and remained on the most agreeable footing imaginable through the whole course of our lives:—but this instance of grosieretê vulgarity must put an end to all connexion.—Well—there is no remedy:—I must suffer purgatory for this one day. Adieu.—Present my compliments to Madame B—. Inform her of this horrid incident.

Having condoled with Madame de M—on her unmerited misfortune, I took my leave and joined F—, to whom I recounted the sad chance which had deprived us of that lady's company.

He did not appear quite so unhappy as she had on the occasion; but he swore he was convinced that the Countess had accepted the invitation to dinner par, by pure malice; for, to his knowledge, she was acquainted with their party to the Chevalier B—'s, and had certainly seized that opportunity of plaguing Madame de M—, whom she hated.

Without that douceur, he imagined, the dinner would be as great a purgatory to the Countess, as it could possibly be to Madame de M—. How these affectionate friends contrived to pass their time together I know not, but we had a most agreeable party at the Chevalier's—The Marquis entertaining the company with the history of Madame M—'s misfortune, and the loving tete á tete, private conversation between two, which it had occasioned.—This he related with such sprightliness, and described his own grief and disappointment with such a flow of good humour, as in some degree indemnified the company for the lady's absence.

LETTER XIV. Condition of the common people in France—Unwillingness to censure the King.—French parliaments.—Lawyers indiscriminately ridiculed on the French stage.—Opposition in England.

PARIS.

THOUGH the gentleness of French manners qualifies in some degree the severity of the government; as I observed in a former letter, still the condition of the common people is by no means comfortable.

When we consider the prodigious resources of this kingdom; the advantages it enjoys above almost every other country in point of soil, climate, and situation; the industry and ingenuity of the inhabitants, attached by affection to their Kings, and submissive to the laws; we naturally expect that the bulk of the nation should be at their ease, and that poverty should be as little known here as in any country of Europe. I do not speak of that ideal or comparative [Page] poverty, the child of envy and covetousness, which may be felt by the richest citizens of London or Amsterdam; or of the poverty produced in capitals by gaming, luxury, and dissipation: But of that actual poverty, which arises when the laborious part of a nation cannot acquire a competent share of the necessaries of life by their industry.

The two first flow from the vices and extravagance of individuals:—The other from a bad government.

Much of the first may be found in London, where more riches circulate than in any city in Europe; of the last there is little to be seen in the country of England.

The reverse of this is the case in France, where the poorest inhabitants of the capital are often in a better situation [...]an the laborious peasant. The former by administering to the luxuries, or by taking advantage of the follies of the great and the wealthy, may procure a tolerable livelihood, and sometimes make a fortune; while the peasant cannot, without much difficulty, earn a scanty and precarious subsistence.

To have an adequate idea of the wealth of England, we must visit the provinces, and see how the nobility, the gentry, and especially the farmers and country people in general live. The magnificence of the former, and the abundance which prevails among the latter classes, must astonish the natives of any other country in Europe.

To retain a favourable notion of the wealth of France, we must remain in the capital, or visit a few trading or manufacturing towns; but must seldom enter the chateau of the Seigneur, or the hut of the peasant. In the one, we shall find nothing but tawdry furniture, and from the other we shall be scared by penury.

A failure of crops, or a careless administration, may occasion distress and scarcity of bread among the common people at a particular time: But when there is a permanent poverty through various reigns, and for a long tract of years, among the peasantry of such a country as France; this seems to me the surest proof of a careless and consequently an oppressive government. Yet the French very seldom complain of their government, though often of their governors; and never of the King, but always of the minister.

Although the enthusiastic affection which the people of this nation once felt for their present monarch be greatly abated, it is not annihilated. Some of the courtiers indeed, who are supposed to administer to the King's pleasures, are detested. The imprudent ostentatious luxury of the mistress, is publicly execrated; but their censure of the King, even where they think themselves quite safe, never bursts out as it would in some other nations, in violent expressions, such as, Curse his folly,—his weakness, or—his obstinacy.—No: Even their censure of him is intermingled with a kind of affectionate regret.—Naturellement il est bon, He is natureally good, they say.—And when they observe the deplorable anxiety and disgust in his countenance, which are the concomitants of a constitution [Page] jaded by pleasure, and of a mind incapable of application, they cry, Mon Dieu, qu'il est triste!—Il est malheureux lui-même;—comment peut il penser á nous autres? My God, how sad he is!—He is unhappy himself;—how can he think of us.

I am persuaded, that, in spite of the discontent which really subsists at present in France, the King might recover the esteem and affection of his subjects at once by the simple manoeuvre of dismissing his minister, and a few other unpopular characters. A Lettre de cachet, The Signet of the King, ordering them to banishment, or shutting them up in the Bastile, would be considered as a complete revolution of government, and the nation would require no other Bill of Rights than what proceeded from this dreadful instrument of tyranny.

As matters are at present, in my opinion, no body of men in France has, properly speaking, any rights. The princes, the noblesse, and the clergy, have indeed certain privileges which distinguish them in different degrees from their fellow-subjects: but as for rights, they have none; or, which amounts to the same thing, none which can defend them, or which they can defend against the Monarch, whenever he in his royal wisdom chooses to invade or annihilate them.

A Frenchman will tell you, that their parliaments have the right of remonstrating to the throne upon certain occasions.—This is a precious privilege indeed! that common council of London are in possession of this glorious right also, and we all know what it avails. It is like the power of which Owen Glendower boasted—"calling spirits from the vasty deep."—But the misfortune was, that none came in consequence of his call.

The Parliaments of Paris can indeed remonstrate; and have done it with such strength of reasoning and energy of expression, that if eloquence were able to prevail over unlimited power, every grievance would have been redressed.

Some of these remonstrances display not only examples of the most sublime and pathetic eloquence, but also breathe a spirit of freedom which would do honour to a British House of Commons.

The resistance which the members of the parliament of Paris made to the will of the king, does them the greatest honour. Indeed the lawyers in France have displayed more just and manly sentiments of government, and have made a nobler struggle against despotic power, than any set of men in the kingdom. It has therefore often affected me with surprise and indignation, to observe the attempts that are made here to turn this body of men into ridicule.

One of this profession is never introduced on the stage but in a ridiculous character. This may give satisfaction to the prince, whose power they have endeavoured to limit, or to thoughtless slavish courtiers; but ought to be viewed with horror by the nation▪ for whose good the gentlemen of the long- [...]obe have hazarded [Page] so much; for in their opposition to the court, much personal danger was to be feared, and no lucrative advantage to be reaped.

Those who oppose the court measures in our island incur, I thank Heaven, no personal risk on that account.—A member of the British parliament may launch his patriotic bark in the most perfect security:—He may glide down the current of invective, spread all his canvas, catch every gale, and sail for an hour or two upon the edge of treason, without any risk of being sucked into its whirpool. But though he has nothing to fear, it is equally evident that he has nothing to hope from such a voyage. Opposition was formerly considered as a means of getting into power [...] Mais nous avons changé tout cela. But we have changed all that. Let any one recollect the numbers who, with very moderate abilities, have crawled on their knees into office, and compare them with the numbers and success of those who, armed with genius and the artillery of eloquence, attempt the places by storm; if, after this, he joins the assailants, he must either act from other motives than those of self-interest, or betray his ignorance in the calculation of chances.

The security, and even the existence, of the parliament of Paris▪ depending entirely on the pleasure of the King, and having no other weapons, offensive or defensive, but justice, argument, and reason, their fate might have been foreseen—the usual fate of those who have no other artillery to oppose to power:—The members were disgraced, and the parliament abolished. The measure was considered as violent; the exiles were regarded as martyrs; the people were astonished and grieved. At length, recovering from their surprise, they dissipated their sorrow, as they do on all occasions of great calamity,—by some very merry songs.

LETTER XV. Dubois and Fanchon.

PARIS.

MY friend F—called on me a few days since, and as soon as he understood that I had no particular engagement, he insisted that I should drive somewhere into the country, dine tete-á-tete, privately, with him, and return in time for the play.

When we had drove a few miles I perceived a genteel-looking young fellow, dressed in an old uniform. He sat under a tree, on the grass, at a little distance from the road, and amused himself by playing on the violin. As we came nearer we perceived he had a wooden leg, part of which lay in fragments by his side.

What do you there, soldier? said the Marquis.—I am on my way home to my own village, mon officier, my officer, said the soldier.—But, my poor friend, resumed the Marquis, you will be a furious long time before you arrive at your journey's end, if you [Page] have no other carriage besides these, pointing at the fragments of his wooden leg.—I wait for my equipage and all my suite, said the soldier; and I am greatly mistaken if I do not see them this momoment coming down the hill.

We saw a kind of cart, drawn by one horse, in which was a woman, and a peasant who drove the horse.—While they drew near, the soldier told us he had been wounded in Corsica—that his leg had been cut off—that before setting out on that expedition, he had been contracted to a young woman in the neighbourhood—that the marriage had been postponed till his return▪—but when he appeared with a wooden leg, that all the girl's relations had opposed the match—The girl's mother, who was her only surviving parent, when he began his courtship, had always been his friend; but she had died while he was abroad.—

The young woman herself, however, remained constant in her affections, received him with open arms, and had agreed to leave her relations, and accompany him to Paris, from whence they intended to set out in the diligence to the town where he was born, and where his father still lived:—That on the way to Paris his wooden leg had snapped, which had obliged his mistress to leave him, and go to the next village in quest of a cart to carry him thither, where he would remain till such time as the carpenter should renew his leg.—C'est un malheur, concluded the soldier mon officier, bien-tôt reparé—et voici mon amie!—It is a misfortune, very soon repaired—and here comes my mistress.

The girl sprung before the cart, seized the outstretched hand of her lover, and told him with a smile full of affection,—that she had seen an admirable carpenter, who had promised to make a leg that would not break, that it would be ready by to-morrow, and they might resume their journey as soon after as they pleased.

The soldier received his mistress's compliment as it deserved.

She seemed about twenty years of age, a beautiful, fine shaped girl—a Brunette, whose countenance indicated sentiment and vivacity.

You must be much fatigued, my dear, said the Marquis.—On ne se fatigue pas, Monsieur, quand on travaille pour ce qu'on aime, It is not fatiguing to work for the person one loves, replied the girl.—The soldier kissed her hand with a gallant and tender air.—When a woman has fixed her heart upon a man, you see, said the Marquis, turning to me, it is not a leg more or less that will make her change her sentiments.—

Nor was it his legs, said Fanchon, which made any impression on my heart. If they had made a little, however, said the Marquis, you would not have been singular in your way of thinking; but, allons, come, continued he, addressing himself to me.—This girl is quite charming—her lover has the appearance of a brave fellow;—they have but three legs betwixt them, and we have four;—if you have no objection, they shall have the carriage, and we will follow [Page] on foot to the next village, and see what can be done for these lovers.—I never agreed to a proposal with more pleasure in my life.

The soldier began to make difficulties about entering into the vis à vis.—Come, come, friend said the Marquis, I am a Colonel, and it is your duty to obey: Get in without more ado, and your mistress shall follow.

Entrons, mon bon ami, Let us get in my good friend, said the girl, since these gentlemen insist upon doing us so much honour.

A girl like you would do honour to the finest coach in France. Nothing could please me more than to have it in my power to make you happy, said the Marquis.—Laisez moi faire, mon Colonel, Leave it to me to do it Colonel, said the soldier. Je suis heureuse comme une [...]eine, I am as happy as a queeen, said Fanchon.—Away moved the chaise, and the Marquis and I followed.

Voyez vous, combien nous sommes heureux nous autres Francedil;ois á bon marché, Do you see how cheaply we Frenchmen purchase happiness, said the Marquis to me, adding with a smile, le bonheur, á ce qu'on m'a dit, est plus cher en Angleterre. I am told it is dearer in England. But answered I, how long will this last with these poor people?—Ah pour le coup, for the present, said he, voilá une reflexion bien Angloise—Ah! a reflexion perfectly English—that, indeed, is what I cannot tell; neither do I know how long you or I may live; but I fancy it would be great folly to be sorrowful through life, because we do not know how soon misfortunes may come, and because we are quite certain that death is to come at last.

When we arrived at the inn to which we had ordered the postillion to drive, we found the soldier and Fanchon. After having ordered some victuals and wine—Pray, said I to the soldier, how do you propose to maintain your wife and yourself?—One who has contrived to live for five years on soldier's pay, replied he, can have little difficulty for the rest of his life.—I can play tolerably well on the fiddle, added he, and perhaps there is not a village in all France of the size, where there are so many marriages as in that in which we are going to settle—I shall never want employment.—And I, said Fanchon, can weave hair nets and silk purses, and mend stockings. Besides, my uncle has two hundred livres of mine in his hands, and although he is brother-in-law to the Bailiff, and volontiers brutal, of a brutal disposition, yet I will make him pay it every sous—And I, said the soldier, have fifteen livres in my pocket; besides two louis that I lent to a poor farmer to enable him to pay the taxes, and which he will repay me when he is able.

You see, Sir, said Fanchon to me, that we are not objects of compassion—May we not be happy, my good friend (turning to her lover with a look of exquisite tenderness,) if it be not our own fault?—If you are not ma douce amie! my sweet friend! said the soldier with great war [...]th, je serai bien á plain [...]re—I shall be much to be pitied I never [...] a more charming sensation The [Page] tear trembled in the Marquis's eye.—Ma foi, Upon my word, said he to me, c'est une comédie larmoyante this is quite a crying comedy—Then turning to Fanchon, Come hither, my dear, said he, till such time as you can get payment of the two hundred livres, and my friend here recovers his two louis, accept of this from me, putting a purse of louis into her hand—I hope you will continue to love your husband, and to be loved by him.—Let me know from time to time how your affairs go on, and how I can serve you. This will inform you of my name, and where I live. But if ever you do me the pleasure of calling at my house at Paris.—be sure to bring your husband with you; for I would not wish to esteem you less or love you more than I do this moment. Let me see you sometimes; but always bring your husband along with you.—I shall never be afraid to trust her with you, said the soldier:—She shall see you as often as she pleases, without my going with her.

It was by too much venturing (as your serjeant told me) that you lost your leg, my best friend, said Fanchon, with a smile to her lover. Monsieur le Colonel n'est que trop aimable. The Colonel is but too amiable. I shall follow his advice literally, and when I have the honour of waiting on him, you shall always attend me.

Heaven bless you both, my good friends, said the Marquis▪ may he never know what happiness is who attempts to interrupt your felicity!—It shall be my business to find out some employment for you▪ my fellow-soldier, more profitable than playing on the fiddle. In the mean time, stay here till a coach comes, which shall b [...]ing you both this night to Paris; my servant shall provide lodgings for you, and the best surgeon for wooden legs that can be found. When you are properly equipped, let me see you before you go home. Adieu, my honest fellow; be kind to Fanchon: She seems to deserve your love. Adieu, Fanchon; I shall be happy to hear that you are as fond of Dubois two years hence as you are at present. So saying, he shook Dubois by the hand, saluted Fanchon, pushed me into the carriage before him, and away we drove.

As we returned to town, he broke out several times into warm praises of Fanchon's beauty, which inspired me with some suspicion that he might have further views upon her.

I was sufficiently acquainted with his free manner of life, and I had a little before seen him on the point of being married to one woman, after he had arranged every thing, as he called it, with another.

To sati [...]fy myself in this particular, I questioned him in a j [...]cula [...] style on this subject.

No, my friend, said he, Fanchon shall never be attempted by me.—Though I think her exceedingly pretty, and of that kind of beauty too that is most to my taste; yet I am more charmed with her constancy to honest Dubois, than with any other thing [Page] about her:—If she loses that, she will lose her greatest beauty in my eyes. Had she been shackled to a morose, exhausted, jealous fellow, and desired a redress of grievances, the case would have been different; but her heart is fixed upon her old lover Dubois, who seems to be a worthy man, and I dare say will make her happy. If I were inclined to try her, very probably it would be in vain:—The constancy which has stood firm against absence, and a cannon-ball, would not be overturned by the airs, the tinsel, and the jargon of a petit maitre, a dressy gentleman. It gives me pleasure to believe it would not, and I am determined never to make the trial.

F—never appeared so perfectly amiable.

D—called and [...]upped with me the same evening. I was too full of the adventure of Fanchon and Dubois not to mention it to him, with all the particulars of the Marquis's behaviour.—This F—of yours, said he, is an honest fellow. Do—contrive to let us dine with him to-morrow.—By the bye, continued he after a little pause, are not those F—'s originally from England?—I think I have heard of such a name in Yorkshire.

Adieu.

LETTER XVI. Mankind do not always act from motives of self-interest—A fine gentleman and a pine-apple.—Supper at the Marquis de F—'s.—Generosity of Mr. B—. Men who calculate.—Men who do not.

PARIS.

I AM uneasy when I hear people assert, that mankind always act from motives of self-interest. It creates a suspicion that those who maintain this system, judge of others by their own feelings. This conclusion, however, may be as erroneous as the general assertion; for I have heard it maintained (perhaps from affectation) by very disinterested people, who, when pushed, could not support their argument without perverting the received meaning of language.—

Those who perform generous or apparently disinterested actions, say they, are prompted by selfish motives—by the pleasure which they themselves feel.—There are people who have this feeling so strong, that they cannot pass a miserable object without endeavouring to assist him—Such people really relieve themselves when they relieve the wretched.

All this is very true: but is it not a strange assertion, that people are not benevolent, because they cannot be otherwise?

Two men are standing near a fruit-shop in St. James's street. There are some pine-apples within the window, and a poor woman▪ [Page] with an infant crying at her empty breast, without. One of the gentlemen walks in, pays a guinea for a pine-apple, which he calmly devours: while the woman implores him for a penny, to buy her a morsel of bread—and implores in vain: not that this fine gentleman values a penny; but to put his hand in his pocket would give him some trouble;—the distress of the woman gives him none. The other man happens to have a guinea in his pocket also; he gives it to the woman, walks home, and dines on beefsteaks, with his wife and children.

Without doing injustice to the taste of the former, we may believe, that the latter received the higher gratification for his guinea.—You will never convince me, however, that his motive in bestowing it was as selfish as the other's.

Some few days after the adventure I mentioned in my last letter, I met F—and B—at the opera. They had become acquainted with each other at my lodgings two days before, according to B—'s desire—It gave me pleasure to see them on so good a footing.

F—invited us to go home and sit an hour with him before he went to bed;—to which we assented.

The Marquis then told us, we should have the pleasure of seeing Fanchon, in her best gown, and Dubois, with his new leg—for he had ordered his valet to invite them, with two or three of his companions, to a little supper.

While the Marquis was speaking, his coach drove up to the door of the opera—where a well-known lady was at that mo [...] waiting for her carriage.

B—seemed to recollect himself of a sudden, saying, he must be excused from going with us, having an affair of some importance to transact at home.

The Marquis smiled—shook B—by the hand—saying, c'est apparemment qu [...]lque affaire qui regarde la constitution, vivent les Anglois pour l'amour patriotique. I suppose it is something which affects the constitution, Englishmen are remarkable for patriotic love.

When we arrived at the Marquis's, the servants and their guests were assembled in the little garden behind the hotel, and dancing, by moon light, to Dubois's music.

He and Fanchon were invited to a glass of wine in the Marquis's parlour.—The poor fellow's heart swelled at the sight of his benefactor.—He attempted to express his gratitude; but his voice failed, and he could not articulate a word.

Vous n'avez pas á faire à des ingrats, You have not to deal with ungrateful people, Monsieur le Colonel, said Fanchon. My husband, continued she is more affected with your goodness, than he was by the loss of his leg, or the cruelty of my relations.—She then, in a serious manner, with the voice of gratitude, and in the language of Nature, expressed her own and her husband's obligations to the Marquis; and, amongst others, she alluded to [Page] twenty louis which her husband had received de sa part from him that very afternoon.—You intend to make a saint of a sinner, my dear, said the Marquis, and to succeed the better, you invent false miracles. I know nothing of the twenty louis you mention—But I know a great deal; for here they are in my pocket, says Dubois.—The Marquis still insisted they had not come from him.—The soldier then declared, that he had called about one o'clock, to pay his duty to Monsieur de F—; but not finding him at home, he was returning to his lodgings, when, it the street, he observed a gentleman looking at him with attention, who soon accosted him, demanding if his name was not Dubois? If he had not lost his leg at Corsica? and several other questions, which being answered in the affirmative, he slipped twenty louis into his hand, telling him that it would help to furnish his house—Dubois in astonishment had exclaimed—Mon Dieu! voilá encore Monsieur de F—. My God! there is Monsieur de F—again. Upon which the stranger had replied:—Yes, he sends you that, by me: and immediately he turned into another street, and Dubois saw no more of him.

We were all equally surprized at the singularity of this little adventure. On enquiring more particularly about the appearance of the stranger, I was convinced he could be no other than B—. I remembered he had been affected with the story of Dubois when I told it him.

You know B—is not one of those, who allow any emotions of that nature to pass unimproved, or to evaporate in sentiment. He generally puts them to some practical use.—So having met Dubois accidentally in the street, he had made him this small present, in the manner above related; and on his understanding that Dubois and Fanchon were at F—'s, he had declined going, to avoid any explanation on the subject.

Had our friend B—been a man of system, or much reflexion, in his charity, he would have considered, that as the soldier had already been taken good care of, and was under the protection of a generous man, there was no call for his interfering in the business; and he would probably have kept his twenty guineas for some more pressing occasion.

There are men in the world (and very useful and most respectable men no doubt they are,) who examine the pro's and the con's before they decide upon the most indifferent occasion; who are directed in all their actions by propriety, and by the general received notions of duty. They weigh, in the nicest scales, every claim that an acquaintance, a relation, or a friend may have on them; and they endeavour to pay them on demand, as they would a bill of exchange. They calculate their income, and proportion every expence; and hearing it asserted every week from the pulpit, that there is exceeding good interest to be paid one time or other, for the money that is given to the poor, they risk a little every year upon that venture. Their passions, and their affairs [Page] are always in excellent order; they walk through live undisturbed by the misfortunes of others; and when they come to the end of their journey, they are decently interred in a church-yard.

There is another set of men, who never calculate; for they are generally guided by the heart, which never was taught arithmetic, and knows nothing of accounts. Their heads have scarcely a vote in the choice of their acquaintances; and without the consent of the heart, most certainly none in their friendships. They perform acts of benevolence, without recollecting that this is a duty, merely for the pleasure they afford; and perhaps forget them, as they do their own pleasures, when past.

As for little occasional charities, these are as natural to such characters as breathing; and they claim as little merit for the one as for the other, the whole seeming an affair of instinct rather than of reflexion.

That the first of these two classes of men is the most useful to society; that their affairs will be conducted with most circumspection; that they will keep out of many scrapes and difficulties that the others may fall into; and that they are (if you insist upon it very violently) the most virtuous of the two, I shall not dispute: Yet for the soul of me I cannot help preferring the other; for almost all the friends I have ever had in my life, are of the second class.

LETTER XVII. Different taste of French and English with respect to tragedy.—Le Kain.—Garrick.—French comedy—Comedie Italienne▪ Carlin.—Repartèe of Le Kain.

PARIS.

COnsidering the natural gaiety and volatility of the French nation, I have often been surprised at their fondness for tragedy, especially as their tragedies are barren of incident, full of long dialogues, and declamatory speeches;—and modelled according to the strictest code of critical legislation.

The most sprightly and fashionable people of both sexes flock to these entertainments in preference to all others, and listen with unrelaxed gravity and attention. One would imagine that such a serious, correct and uniform amusement, would be more congenial with the phlegm, and saturnine dispositions of the English, than with the gay, volatile temper of the French.

An English audience loves show, bustle, and incident, in their tragedies; and have a mortal aversion to long dialogues and speeches, however fine the sentiments, and however beautiful the language may be.

[Page] In this it would seem, that the two nations had changed characters. Perhaps it would be difficult to account for it in a satisfactory manner. I shall not attempt it. A Frenchman would cut the matter short, by saying that the Paris audience has a more correct and just taste than that of London: that the one could be amused and delighted with poetry and sentiment, while the other could not be kept awake without bustle, guards, processions, trumpets, fighting, and murder.

For my own part, I admire the French Melpomene more in the closet than on the stage. I cannot be reconciled to the French actors of tragedy. Their pompous manner of declaiming seems to me very unnatural. The strut, and superb gestures, and what they call la manière noble, the sublime manner, of their boasted Le Kain, appear, in my eyes, a little outrè, overstrained.

The justness, the dignified simplicity, the energy of Garrick's action, have destroyed my relish for any manner different from his. That exquisite, but concealed art, that magic power, by which he could melt, freeze, terrify the soul, and command the obedient passions as he pleased, we look for in vain, upon our own, or any other stage.

What Horace said of Nature, may be applied with equal justice to that unrivalled actor:

—Juvat, aut impellit ad iram,

Aut ad humum maerore gravi deducit, et angit.

—Pleases or irritates the heart,

Or saddens or torments with painful art.

One of the most difficult things in acting is the player's concealing himself behind the character he assumes: The instant the spectator gets a peep of him, the whole illusion vanishes, and the pleasure is succeeded by disgust.

In Oedipus, Mahomet, and Orosmane, I have always detected Le Kain; but I have seen the English Roscius represent Hamlet, Lear, Richard, without recollecting that there was such a person as David Garrick in the world.

The French tragedians are apt in my opinion to overstep the modesty of nature. Nature is not the criterion by which their merit, is to be tried.—The audience measures them by a more sublime standard, and if they come not up to that, they cannot pass muster.

Natural action, and a natural elocution, they seem to think incompatible with dignity, and imagine that the hero must announce the greatness of his soul by supercilious looks, haughty gestures, and a hollow sounding voice. Such easy familiar dialogue as Hamlet holds with his old school-fellow Horatio, appears to them low, vulgar, and inconsistent with the dignity of tragedy.

[Page] But if simplicity of manners be not inconsistent, in real life, wi [...] genius, and the most exalted greatness of mind, I do not see why [...] actor who represents a hero, should always assume motions and gestures of uncommon dignity, and which we have no reason to think were ever in use in any age, or among any rank of men.

Simplicity of manners, however, is so far from being inconsistent with magnanimity, that the one for the most part accompanies the other. The French have some reason to lean to this opinion; for two of the greatest men their nation ever produced were remarkable for the simplicity of their manners. Henry IV. and Maréchal Turenne were distinguished by that, as well as by their magnanimity and other heroic virtues.

How infinitely superior in real greatness and intrinsic me [...] were those men to the strutting ostentatious Lewis, who was always affecting a greatness he never possessed,—till misfortune humbled his mind to the standard of humanity? Then indeed, throwing away his pageantry and bluster, he assumed true dignity, and for the first time obtained the admiration of the judicious. In the correspondence with de Torcy, Lewis's letters, which it is now certain were written and composed by himself, prove this, and display a soundness of judgment and real greatness of mind which seldom appeared in the meridian of what they call his glory.

What Lewis was (in the height of his prosperity) to Henry i [...] the essential qualities of a King and Hero, such in Le Kain to Garrick as an actor.

The French stage can boast at present of more than one actress who may dispute the laurel of tragedy with Mrs. Yates, or Mrs. Barry.

In comedy, the French actors excel, and can produce at all times a greater number far above mediocrity, than are to be found on the English stage.

The national character and manners of the French give them perhaps advantages in this line; and besides, they have more numerous resources to supply them with actors of every kind. In all the large trading and manufacturing towns, of which there are a great number in France, there are playhouses established. The same thing takes place in most of the frontier towns, and wherever there is a garrison of two or three regiments.

There are companies of French comedians also at the northern courts, in all the large towns of Germany, and at some of the courts in Italy. All of these are academies which educate actors for the Paris stage.

In genteel comedy particularly, I imagine the French actors excel ours. They have in general more the appearance [...] people of fashion. There is not such a difference between the manners and behaviour of the people of the first rank, and those of the middle and lower ranks, in France as in England. Players therefore, who wish to catch the manners of people of high rank and fashion, do not undertake so great a task in the one country as in the other.

[Page] You very seldom meet with an English servant who could pass for man of quality of fashion; and accordingly very few people who have been in that situation ever appear on the English stage: But there are many valets de place temporary valets in Paris so very polite, so completely possessed of all the little etiquettes, ceremonials, fashionable phrases, and usual airs of the beau monde, the fine people, that if they were set off by the ornaments of dress and equipage, they would pass in many of the courts of Europe for men of fashion, trés polis,—bien aimables,—tout à fait comme il faut, et avec in [...]iniment d'esprit; very polite very amiable quite accomplished and infinitely witty; and could be detected only at the court of France, or by such foreigners as have had opportunities of observing, and penetration to distinguish, the genuine ease, and natural politeness which prevail among the people of rank in this country.

In the character of a lively, petulant, genteel pettit maitre small gentleman of fashion, Mollé excels any actor in London.

The superiority of the French in genteel comedy is still more evident with regard to the actresses. Very few English actresses have appeared equal to the parts of Lady Betty Modish, in The Careless Husband, or of Millamant, in The Way of the World. Gross absurdity, extravagant folly and affectation are easily imitated; but the elegant coquetry, the lively, playful, agreeable affectation of these two finely imagined characters, require greater powers. I imagine, however, from the execution I have observed in similar parts, that there are several actresses on the French stage at present who could do them ample justice. Except Mrs. Bar [...]y and Mrs. Abington, I know no actress in England who could give an adequate idea of all that Congreve meant in Millamant.

It is remarkable, that the latter also excels in a character the most perfectly opposite to this, that of an ill taught, aukward, country girl. Perhaps there is no such young lady in France as Congreve's Miss Prue; but if there were many such originals, no actress in that kingdom could give a copy more exquisite than Mrs. Abington's.

In low comedy the French are delightful. I can form no notion of any thing superior to Preville in many of his parts.

The little French operas which are given at the Comedie Italienne are executed in a much more agreeable manner than any thing of the same kind at London. Their balets little musical pieces with dances also are more beautiful:—There is a gentillesse genteelness and legéreté airiness in their manner of representing these little fanciful pieces, which make our singers and dancers appear somewhat aukward and clumsy in the comparison.

As for the Italian pieces, they are now performed only thrice a week, and the French seem to have lost in a great measure their relish for them. Carlin, the celebrated Harlequin, is the only support of these pieces. You are acquainted with the wonderful [Page] naiveté, originality, and comic powers of this man, which make us forget the extravagance of the Italian drama, and which can create objects of unbounded mirth, from a chaos of the most incoherent and absurd materials.

An advantageous figure, a graceful manner, a good voice, a strong mem [...], an accurate judgment, are all required in a player: Sensibility, and the power of expressing the emotions of the heart by the voice and features, are indispensable. It seems therefore unreasonable, not to consider that profession as creditable, in which we expect so many qualities united; while many others are thought respectable, in which we daily see people arrive at eminence without common sense.

This prejudice is still stronger in France than in England. In a company where Mons. le Kain was, mention happened to be made, that the King of France had just granted a pension to a certain superannuated actor. An officer present, fixing his eyes on Le Kain, expressed his indignation at so much being bestowed on a rascally player, while he himself had got nothing. Eh, Monsieur! Then Sir! retorted the actor, comptez vous pour rien la liberté de me parler ainsi? you reckon for nothing the liberty of talking to me in this manner?

LETTER XVIII. Pleasure and business.—Lyons.—Geneva.

GENEVA.

I Found myself so much a hurried during the last week of my stay at Paris, that it was not in my power to write to you. Ten thousan [...] little affairs, which might have been arranged much better, a [...] with more ease, had they been transacted as they occur [...] [...] all crowded, by the slothful demon of procrastination, into [...] last [...] week, and executed in an imperfect manner.

I have often admired, without being able perfectly to imitate, time who have the happy talent of intermingling business with amusement.

Pleasure and business contrast and give a relish to each other, like day and night, the constant vicissitudes of which are far more delightful than an uninterrupted half year of either would be.

To pass life in the most agreeable manner, one ought not to be so much a man of pleasure as to postpone any necessary business; nor so much a man of business as to despise elegant amusement. A proper mixture of both forms a more infallible specific against tedium and fatigue, than a constant regimen of the most pleasant of the two.

As soon as I found the Duke of Hamilton disposed to leave Paris, I made the necessary arrangements for our departure, and a few days after we began our journey.

[Page] Passing through Dijon, Chalons, Macon, and a country delightful to behold, but tedious to describe, we arrived on the fourth day at Lyons.

After Paris, Lyons is the most magnificent town in France, enlivened by industry, enriched by commerce, beautified by wealth, and by its situation, in the middle of a fertile country, and at the confluence of the Saone and the Rhone The numbers of inhabitants are estimated at 200,000. The theatre is accounted the finest in France, and all the luxuries in Paris are to be found at Lyons, though not in equal perfection.

The manners and conversation of merchants and manufacturers have been generally considered as peculiar to themselves. It is very certain that there is a striking difference in these particulars between the inhabitants of all the manufacturing and commercial towns of Britain, and those of Westminster. I could not remark the same difference between the manners and address of the people of Lyons and the courtiers of Versailles itself.

There appeared to me a wonderful similitude between the two. It is probable, however, that a Frenchman would perceive a difference where I could not. A foreigner does not observe the different accents in which an Englishman, a Scotchman, and an Irishman speak English; neither perhaps does he observe any difference between the manners and address of the inhabitants of Bristol. and those of Grosvenor- square, though all these are obvious to a native of England.

After a short stay at Lyons, we proceeded to Geneva, and here we have remained these three weeks, without feeling the smallest inclination to shift the scene. That I should wish to remain here is no way surprising, but it was hardly to be expected that the Duke of Hamilton would have been of the same mind.—Fortunately, however, this is the ca [...]e.—I know no place on the continent to which we could go with any probability of gaining by the change: The opportunities of improvement here are many, the amusements are few in number, and of a moderate kind: The hours glide along very smoothly, and though they are not always quickened by pleasure, they are unretarded by languor, and unruffled by remorse.

As for myself, I have been so very often and so miserably disappoint-in my hopes of happiness by change, that I shall not, without some powerful motive, incline to forego my present state of content, for the change of more exquisite enjoyments in a different place or situation.

I have at length learnt by my own experience (for not one in twenty profits by the experience of others,) that one great source of vexation proceeds from our indulging too sanguine hopes of enjoyment from the blessings we expect, and too much indifference for those we possess. We scorn a thousand sources of satisfaction which we might have had in the interim, and permit o [...]r comfort to be disturbed, and our time to pass unenjoyed, from impatience for some imagined pleasure at a distance, which we may perhaps never obtain, or which, when obtained, may change its nature, and be no longer pleasure. Doctor Young says,

[Page]

The present moment, like a wi [...]e, we shun,

And ne'er enjoy, because it is our own.

The devil thus cheats men both out of the enjoyment of this life and of that which is to come, making us in the first place prefer the pleasures of this life to those of a future state, and then continually prefer future pleasures in this life to these which are present.

The sum of all these apophthegms amounts to this:—We shall certainly; [...] at Geneva till we become more tired of it than at present.

LETTER XIX. Situation of Geneva—Manners.—Government.—The clergy.—Peculiar customs.—Circles.—Amusements.

GENEVA.

THE situation of Geneva is in many respects as happy as the heart of man could desire, or his imagination conceive. The Rhone, rushing out of the noblest lake in Europe, flows through the middle of the city, which is encirled by fertile fields, cultivated by the industry, and adorned by the riches and taste of the inhabitants.

The long ridge of mountains called Mount Jura on the one side, with the Alps, the Glaciers of Savoy, and the snowy head of Mont Blanc on the other, serve as boundaries to the most charmingly variegated landscape that ever delighted the eye.

With these advandtages in point of situation, the citizens of Geneva enjoy freedom untainted by licentiousness, and security unbought by the horrors of war.

The great number of men of letters, who either are natives of the place, or have chosen it for their residence, the decent manners, the easy circumstances, and humane dispositions of the Genevois in general, render this city and its environs a very desirable retreat for people of a philosophic turn of mind, who are contented with moderate and calm enjoyments, have no local attachments or domestic reasons for preferring another country, and who wish in a certain degree to retire from the bustle of the world to a narrower and calmer scene, and there for the rest of their days—

Ducere solicitae jucunda oblivia vitae;

To taste the sweet forgetfulness of care.

As education here is equally cheap and liberal, the citizens of Geneva of both sexes are remarkably well instructed. I do not imagine that any country in the world can produce an equal number of persons (taken without election from all degrees and professions) with minds so much cultivated as the inhabitants of Geneva possess.

[Page] It is not uncommon to find mechanics in the intervals of their labour, amusing themselves with the works of Locke, Montesquieu, Newton, and other productions of the same kind.

When I speak of the cheapness of liberal education, I mean for the natives and citizens only; for strangers now find every thing dear at Geneva. Wherever Englishmen resort, this is the case. If they do not find things dear, they soon make them so.

The democratical nature of their government inspires every citizen with an idea of his own importance: He perceives [...] man in the republic can insult, or even neglect him, with impunity.

It is an excellent circumstance in any government, when the most powerful man in the state has something to fear from the most feeble. This is the case here: The meanest citizen of Geneva is possessed of certain rights, which render him an object deserving the attention of the greatest. Besides, a consciousness of this makes him respect himself; a sentiment, which, within proper bounds, has a tendency to render a man respectable to others.

The general character of human nature forbids us to expect that men will always act from motives of public spirit, without an eye to private interest. The best form of government, therefore, is that in which the interest of individuals is most intimately! lended with the public good.—This may be more perfectly accomplished in a small republic than in a great monarchy.—In the first, men of genius and virtue are discovered and called to offices of trust by the impartial admiration of their fellow-citizens—in the other, the highest places are disposed of by the caprice of the prince, or of his mistress, or of those courtiers, male or female, who are nearest his person, watch the variations of his humour, and know how to seize the smiling moments, and turn them to their own advantage or that of their dependents. Montesquieu says, that a sense of honour produces the same effects in a monarchy, that public spirit or patriotism does in a republic: It must be remembered, however, that the first, according to the modern acceptation of the word, is generally confined to the nobility and gentry; whereas public spirit is a more universal principle, and spreads through all the members of the commonwealth.

As far as I can judge, a spirit of independency and freedom, tempered by sentiments of decency and the love of order, influence, in a most remarkable manner, the minds of the subjects of this happy republic.

Before I knew them, I had formed an opinion, that the people of this place were fanatical, gloomy-minded, and unsociable, as the puritans in England, and the presbyterians in Scotland were, during the civil wars, and the reigns of Charles II. and his brother. In this, however, I find I had conceived a very erroneous notion.

There is not, I may venture to assert, a city in Europe where the minds of the people are less under the influence of superstition [Page] or fanatical enthusiasm than at Geneva, Servetus, were he now alive, would not run the smallest risk of persecution. The present clergy have, I am persuaded, as little the inclination as the power of mo [...]ting any person for speculative opinions. Should the Pope himself ch [...]se this city [...] a retreat, it would be his own fault if he did not [...] in as much security as at the Vatican.

The clergy of Geneva in general are men of sense, learning, and moderation, impressing upon the minds of their hearers the [...]enets of Christianity with all the graces of pulpit eloquence, and illustrating the efficacy of the doctrine by their conduct in life.

The people of every station in this place attend sermons and the public worship with remarkable punctuality. The Sunday is honoured with the most respectful decorum during the hours of divine service; but as soon as that is over all usual amusements commence.

The public walks are crowded by all degrees of people in their best dresses—The different societies, and what they call circles, assemble in the houses and gardens of individuals.—They play at cards and at bowls, and have parties upon the lake with music.

There [...]s one custom universal here, and, as far as I know, peculiar to this place: The parents form societies for their children at a very early period of their lives. These societies consist of ten, a dozen, or more children of the same sex, and nearly of the same age and situation in life.

They assemble once a week in the houses of the different parents, who entertain the company by turns with tea, coffee, biscuits and fruit; and then leave the young assembly to the freedom of their own conversation.

This connection is strictly kept up through life, whatever alterations may take place in the situations or circumstances of the individuals. And although they should afterwards form new or preferable intimacies, they never entirely abandon this society; but to the latest period of their lives continue to pass a few evenings every year with the companions of their youth and their earliest friends.

The richer class of the citizens have country-houses adjacent to the town, where they pass one half of the year. These houses are all of them neat, and some of them splendid. One piece of magnificence they possess in greater perfection then the most superb villa of the greatest lord in any other [...] the world can boast, I mean the prospect which almost all of them command.—The gardens and vineyards of there public;—the Pa [...]s de Vaux;—Geneva with its lake;—innumerable country-seats;—castles, and little towns around the lake;—the vallies of Savoy, and the loftiest mountains of the Alps, all within one sweep of the eye.

Those whose fortunes or employments do not permit them to pass the summer in the country, make frequent parties of pleasure [Page] upon the lake, and dine and spend the evening at some of the villages in the environs, where they amu [...]e themselves with music and dancing,

Sometimes they form themselves into circles consisting of forty or fifty persons, and purchase or hire a house and garden near the town, where they assemble every afternoon during the summer, drink coffee, lemonade, and other refreshing liquors; and amuse themselves with cards, conversation, and playing at bowls; a game very different from that which goes by the same name in England; for here, instead of a smooth level green, they often chuse the roughest and most unequal piece of ground. The player, instead of rolling the bowl, throws it in such a manner, that it rests in the place where it first touches the ground; and if that be a fortunate situation, the next player pitches his bowl directly on his adversary's, so as to make that spring away, while his own fixes itself in the spot from which the other has been dislodged.—Some of the citizens are astonishingly dexterous at this game, which is more complicated and interesting than the English manner of playing.

They generally continue these circle till the dusk of the evening, and the sound of the drum from the ramparts call them [...]o the town; and at that time the gates are shut, after which no person can enter or go out, the officer of the guard not having the power to open them, without an order from the Syndics, which is not to be obtained but on some great emergency.

LETTER XX. English families at Cologny.—Le jour de I Escalade.—Military establishment.—Political squabbles.—Sentiments of an Englishman.—Of a gentleman of Geneva.

GENEVA.

THE mildness of the climate, the sublime beauties of the country, and the agreeable manners of the inhabitants, are not, in my opinion, the greatest attraction of this place.

Upon the same hill▪ in the neighbourhood of Geneva, three English families at present reside, whose society would render any country agreeable.

The house of Mr. N—is a temple of hospitality, good-humour, and friendship.

Near to him lives your acquaintance Mr. U—. He perfectly answers your description, lively, sensible, and obliging; and, I imagine, happier than ever you saw him, having since that time drawn a great prize in the matrimonial lottery.

Their nearest neighbours are the family of Mr. L—. This gentleman, his lady and children, form one of the most pleasing [Page] pictures of domestic felicity I ever beheld. He himself is a man of refined taste, a benevolent mind, and elegant manners.

These three families, who live in the greatest cordiality with the citizens of Geneva, their own countrymen, and one another, render the hill of Cologny the most delightful place perhaps at this moment in the world.

The English gentlemen, who reside in the town, often resort hither, and mix with parties of the best company of Geneva.

I am told, that our young countrymen never were on so friendly and sociable a footing with the citizens of this republic as at present, owing in a great degree to the conciliatory manners of these three families, and to the great popularity of an English nobleman, who has lived with his lady and son in this state for several years.

I formerly mentioned, that all who live in town, must return from their visits in the country at sun set, otherwise they are certain of being shut out;—the Genevois being wonderfully jealous of the external, as well as the internal enemies of their independency.

This jealousy has been transmitted from one generation to another, ever since the attempt made by the Duke of Savoy, in the year 1602, to seize upon the town.

He marched an army, in the middle of a dark night, in the time of peace, to the gates, applied scaling ladders to the ramparts and walls, and having surprised the centinels, several hundreds of a Savoyard soldiers had actually got into the town, and the rest were following, when they were at length discovered by a woman, who gave the alarm.

The Genevois started from their sleep, seized the readiest arms they could find, attacked the assailants with spirit and energy, killed numbers in the street, drove others out of the gate, or tumbled them over the ramparts, and the few who were taken prisoners, they beheaded next morning, without further process or ceremony.

The Genevois annually distinguish the day on which this memorable exploit was performed, as a day of public thanksgiving and rejoicing.

It is called le jour de l'Escalade the day of Scaling the Walls. There is divine worship in all the churches—The clergymen, on this occasion, after sermon, recapitulate all the circumstances of this interesting event; put the audience in mind of the gratitude they owe to divine Providence, and to the valour of their ancestors, which saved them in so remarkable a manner from civil and religious bondage; enumerate the peculiar blessings which they enjoy, and exhort them, in the most pathetic strain, to watch over their liberties, remain steady in their religion, and transmit these, and all their other advantages, unimpaired to their posterity.

The evening of the jour de I'Escalade is spent in visiting, feasting, dancing, and all kinds of diversions: for the Genevo [...]s seldom venture on great festivity, till they have previously performed [Page] formed their religious duties—In this, observing the maxim of the Psalmist,—to join trembling with their mirth.

The State keeps in pay a garrison of six hundred mercenaries, who mount guard and do duty every day. But they do not trust the safety of the republic to these alone. All citizens of Geneva are soldiers. They are exercised several hours, daily, for two months, every summer; during which time they wear their uniforms, and at the end of that period are reviewed by the Syndics.

As they receive no pay, and as the officers are their fellow citizens, it cannot be imagined that these troops will perform the man [...]al exercise and military evolutions, with the exactness of soldiers who have no other occupation, and who are under all the rigour of military discipline.

Nevertheless they make a very respectable figure in the eyes even of disinterested spectators; who are, however, but few in number, the greater part consisting of their own parents, wives, and children. So, I dare swear, there are no troops in the world, who, at a review, are beheld with more approbation than those of Geneva.

Even a stranger of a moderate share of sensibility, who recollects the connexion between the troops and the beholders, who observes the anxiety, the tenderness, the exultation, and various movements of the heart, which appear in the countenances of the spectators, will find it difficult to remain unconcerned;—But sympathising with all around him, he will naturally yield to the pleasing emotions, and at length behold the militia of Geneva with the eyes of a citizen of the republic.

Geneva, like all free states, is exposed to party-rage, and the public harmony is frequently interrupted by political; sq [...]abbles. Without entering into a detail of the particular disputes which agitate them at present, I shall tell you in general, that one part of the citizens are accused of a design of throwing all the power into the hands of a few families, and of establishing a complete aristocracy. The other opposes every measure which is supposed to have that tendency, and by their adversaries are accused of seditious designs.

It is difficult for strangers who reside here any considerable time, to observe a strict neutrality. The English in particular are exceedingly disposed to take part with one side or other; and as the government has not hitherto attempted to bribe them, they generally attach themselves to the opposition.

Walking one afternoon with a young nobleman, who, to a strong taste for natural philosophy, unites the most passionate zeal for civil liberty, we passed near the garden, in which one of those circles which support the pretensions of the magistracy assemble. I proposed joining them. No, said my lord, with indignation; I will not go for a moment into such a society: I consider these men as the enemies of their country, and that place as a focus for consuming freedom.

[Page] Among the citizens themselves, political altercations are carried on with great fire and spirit. A very worthy old gentleman, in whose house I have been often entertained with great hospitality, declaiming warmly against certain measures of the council, asserted, that all those who had promoted them deserved death; and if it depended on him, they should all be hanged, without loss of time. His brother, who was in that predicament, interrupted him, and said, with a tone of voice which seemed to beg for mercy. Good God! brother! surely you would not push your resentment so far; you would not actually hang them? Ou [...] assurement, Yes certainly, replied the patriot, with a determined countenance, et vous, mon trés cher frere, vous seriez le premier pendu pour montrer mon impartialité. and you my dear brother you should be the first hanged to shew my impartiality.

LETTER XXI. King of Arquebusiers.—A procession.—A battle.

GENEVA.

ALTHOUGH this republic has long continued in a [...] peace, and there is no great probability of its being soon engaged in bloody conflict, yet the citizens of Geneva are not the less fond of the pomp of war.

This appears in what they call their military feasts, which are their most favourite amusements, and which they take every opportunity of enjoying.

I was present lately at a very grand entertainment of this kind, which was given by the King of the Arquebufiers upon his accession to the royal dignity.

This envied rank is neither transmitted by hereditary right, nor obtained by election; but gained by skill and real merit.

A war with this state, like the war of Troy, must necessarily consist of a siege. The skilful use of the cannon and arquebuse is therefore thought to be of the greatest importance. During several months every year, a considerable number of the citizens are almost constantly employed in firing at a mark, which is placed at a proper distance.

Any citizen has a right, at a small expence, to make trial of his s [...]ill in this way; and after a due number of trials, the most expert marksman in declared King.

There has not been a coronation of this kind these ten years, his late Majesty having kept peaceable possession of the throne during that period. But this summer, Mr. Moses Maudrier was found to excel in skill every competitor; and was raised to the throne by the unanimous voice of the judges.

[Page] He was attended to his own house from the field of contest by the Syndics, amidst the acclamations of the people. Some time after this, on the day of his feast, a camp was formed on a plain, without the gates of the city.

Here the whole forces of the republic, both horse and foot, were assembled, and divided into two distinct armies. They were to perform a battle in honour of his Majesty, all the combatants having previously studied their parts.

This very ingenious, warlike drama had been composed by one of the reverend ministers, who is said to possess a very extensive military genius.

That the ladies and people of distinction, who were not to be actually engaged, might view the action with the greater ease and safety, a large amphitheatre of seats was prepared for them, at a convenient distance from the field of battle.

Every thing being in readiness, the Syndics, the Council, strangers of distinction, and the relations and favourites of the King, assembled at his Majesty's palace, which is a little snug house, situated in a narrow lane in the lower part of the city. From the palace, the procession set out in the following order:

His Majesty walked first, supported by the two oldest Syndics.

In the next rank was the Duke of Hamilton, with the youngest.

After these, walked Lord St—pe, the Prince Gallitzen,—Mr. Cl—ve, son to Lord Cl—ve; Mr. Gr—lle, son to the late Minister; Mr. St. L—, and many other English gentlemen, who had been invited to the feast.

Next to them came the Council of twenty-five; and the procession was closed by the King's particular friends and relations.

In this order they marched through the city, preceded by a band of music, who played, as you may believe, the most martial tunes they possibly could think of.

When this company came to the field where the troops were drawn up, they were saluted by the officers; and having made a complete circuit of both armies, the King and all his attendants took their seats at the amphitheatre, which had been prepared for that purpose.

The impatience of the troops had been very visible for some time. When the King was seated, their ardour could be no longer, restrained. They called loudly to their officers to lead them to glory.—The signal was given.—They advanced to the attack in the most undaunted manner.—Conscious that they fought under the eyes of their King, the Syndics, of their wives, children, mothers and grandmothers, they disdained the thoughts of retreat.—They stood undisturbed by the thickest fire. They smiled at the roaring of the cannon, and like the horse in Job, they cried among the trumpets, ha, ha!

The ingenious author of the battle had taken care to diversify it with several entertaining incidents.

[Page] An ambuscade was placed by one of the armies, behind some trees, [...]o surprise the enemy.—This succeeded to a miracle, although the ambuscade was posted in the sight of both armies, and all the spectators.

A convoy with provisions, advancing towards one of the armies, was attacked by a detachment from the other; and after a smart skirmish, one half of the waggons were carried away by the assailants:—The other remained with the troops for whom they seemed to have been originally intended.

A wooden bridge was briskly attacked, and as resolutely defended; but at length was trod to pieces by both armies; for, in the fury of the fight, the combatants forgot whether this poor bridge was their friend or their foe. By what means it got into the midst of the battle, I never could conceive; for there was neither river, brook, nor ditch in the whole field.

The cavalry on both sides performed wonders.—It was difficult to determine which of the generals distinguished himself most. They were both dressed in clothes exuberantly covered with lace; for the sumptuary laws were suspended for this day, that the battle might be as magnificent as possible.

As neither of these gallant commanders would consent to the being defeated, the reverend author of the engagement could not make the catastrophe so decisive and affecting as he intended.

While Victory, with equipoised wings, hovered over both armies, a messenger arrived from the town-hall with intelligence that dinner was ready. This news quickly spread among the combatants, and had an effect similar to that which the Sabine women produced when they rushed between their ravishers and their relations.—The warriors of Geneva relented at once; and both armies suspended their animosity, in the contemplation of that which they both loved.—They threw down their arms, shook hands, and were friends.

Thus ended the battle.—I don't know how it will affect you; but it has fatigued me so completely, that I have lost all appetite for the feast, which must therefore be delayed till another post.

LETTER XXII. A Feast.

GENEVA.

THE same company which had attended the King to the field of battle, marched with him in procession from that to the Maison de Ville, Town Hall, where a sumptuous entertainment was prepared.

This was exactly the reverse of a féte champêtre, rural diversion, being held in the town-house, and in the middle of the streets adjacent; where tables were covered, and dinner provided, for several hundreds of the officers and soldiers,

[Page] The King, the Syndics, most of the members of the [...], and all the strangers, dined in the town-hall. The other [...], as well as the outer court, were likewise full of company.

There was much greater havoc at dinner than had been at the battle, and the entertainment in other respects was nearly as warlike.

A kettle drum was placed in the middle of the hall, upon which a martial flourish was performed at every toast. This was immediately answered by the drums and trumpets without the hall, and the cannon of the bastion.

Prosperity to the republic, is a favourite toast:—When this was announced by the first Syndic, all the company stood up with their swords drawn in one hand, and glasses filled with wine in the other.

Having drank the toast, they clashed their swords, a ceremony always performed in ever circle or club where there is a public dinner, as often as this particular toast is named.—It is an old custom, and implies that every man is ready to fight in defence of of the republic.

After we had been about two hours at table, a new ceremony took place, which I expected as little in the middle of a feast. An hundred grenadiers, with their swords drawn, marched with great solemnity into the middle of the hall, for the tables being placed in the form of a horse-shoe, there was vacant space in the middle sufficient to admit them.

They desired permission to give a toast: This being granted, each of the grenadiers, by a well-timed movement, like a motion in the exercise, pulled from his pocket a large water-glass, which being immediately filled with wine, one of the soldiers, in the name of all, drank a health to King Moses the first. His example was followed by his companions and all the company, and was instantly honoured by the sound of the drums, trumpets and artillery.

When the grenadiers had drank this, and a toast or two more, they wheeled about, and marched out of the hall, with the same solemnity with which they had entered, resuming their places at the tables in the street.

Soon after this a man fantastically dressed entered the hall, and distributed among the company some printed sheets which seemed to have come directly from the press.

This proved to be a song made for the occasion, replete with gaiety, wit, and good sense, pointing out, in a humorous strain, the advantages which the citizens of Geneva possessed, and exhorting them to unanimity, industry, and public spirit.—This ditty was sung by the man who brought it, while many of the company joined in the chorus.

When we descended from the town-hall, we found the soldiers intermingled with their officers, still seated at the tables in the streets, and encircled by their wives and children.

[Page] They all arose soon after, and dividing into different companies repaired to the ramparts, the fields, and the gardens, where, with music and dancing, they continued in high glee during the rest of the evening.

The whole exhibition of the day, though no very just representation of the manoeuvres of war, or the elegance of a court entertainment, formed the most lively picture of jollity, mirth, good-humour and cordiality, that I had ever seen.

The inhabitants of a whole city,—of a whole state if you please, united in one scene of good fellowship, like a single family, is surely no common sight.

If this sketch conveys one half of the satisfaction to your mind, which the scene itself afforded mine, you will not think these two long letters tedious.

LETTER XXIII. The garrison and fortifications of Geneva not useless—Standing armies in other countries—The freedom and independance of Geneva of service to the King of Sardinia.

GENEVA.

THERE are some of the citizens of Geneva themselves who deride the little military establishment of the republic, and declare it to be highly ridiculous in such a feeble state to presume that they could defend themselves. The very idea of resistance against Savoy or France, they hold as absurd.

They seem to take pleasure in mortifying their countrymen, assuring them, that in case of an attack, all their [...] would be fruitless, and their garrison unable to stand a siege of ten days.

These politicians declaim against the needless expence of keeping the fortification [...] in repair, and they calculate the money lost, by so many manufacturers being employed in wielding useless firelocks, instead of the tools of their respective professions.

Were I a member of this republic, I should have no patience with these discouraging malcontents, who endeavour to depress the minds of their countrymen, and embitter a source of real enjoyment.

I am convinced that the garrison, small as it is, aided by the zeal of the inhabitants, and regulated by that share of discipline which their situation admits, would be sufficient to secure them from a coupde main, a sudden attack, or any immediate insult, and might enable them to defend the town from the attempts of any one of the neighbouring states, till they should receive succour from some of the others.

Independent of these considerations. the ramparts are most agreeable walks, convenient for the inhabitants, and ornamental to the city.

The exercising and reviewing the militia form an innocent and agreeable spectacle to the women and children, contribute to the health [Page]and amusement of the troops themselves, inspire the inhabitants in general with the pleasing ideas of security and of their own importance.

Upon the whole, I am convinced that the fortifications, and the militia of Geneva, produce more happiness, in these various ways taken together, than could be purchased by all the money they cost, expended in any other manner.

This I imagine is more than can be said in favour of the greater part of the standing armies on the continent of Europe, whose numbers secure the despotism of the prince, whose maintenance is a most severe burthen upon the countries which support them, and whose discipline, instead of exciting pleasing emotions, impresses the mind with horror.

The individuals who compose those armies are miserable, by the tyranny exercised on them, and are themselves the cause of misery to their fellow-citizens by the tyranny they exercise.

But it will be said they defend the nation from foreign enemies.—Alas, could a foreign conqueror occasion more wretchedness than such defenders?—When he who calls himself my protector has stripped me of my property, and deprived me of my freedom, I cannot return him very cordial thanks, when he tells me, that he will defend me from every other robber.

The most solid security which this little republic has for its independency, is founded on the mutual jealousy of its neighbours.

There is no danger of its meeting with the misfortune which has so lately befallen Poland.—Geneva is such an atom of a state as not to be divisible.

It serves, however, as a kind of barrier or alarm-post to the Swiss Cantons, particularly that of Bern, which certainly would not like to see it in the hands either of the King of France or of Sardinia.

The acquisition is not worth the attention of the first; and it is better for the second, that the republic should remain in its present free and independent situation, than that it should revert to his possession, and be subjected to the same government with his other dominions

For no sooner would Geneva be in the possession of Sardinia, than the wealthiest of the citizens would abandon it, and [...]arry their families and riches to Switzerland, Holland, or England.

Trade and manufactures would dwinale with the spirit and independence of the inhabitants; and the flourishing, enlightened, happy city of Geneva, like other towns of Piedmont and Savoy, would become the residence of oppression, superstition, and poverty.

In this situation it could add but little to the King's revenue; whereas, at present, the peasants of his dominions resort in great numbers to Geneva every market day, where they find a ready sale for all the productions of their farms. The land is, on this account, more valuable and the peasants are more at their ease, though the taxes are very high, more than in any other part of Savoy.

This republic, therefore, in its present independent state, is of more use to the King of Sardinia, than if it were his property.

If a wealthy merchant-should purchase a piece of ground from a poor Lord, build a large house, and form beautiful gardens [Page] upon it, keep a number of servants, spend a great part of his revenue in good housekeeping and hospitality, the consumption of his table, and many other articles, being purchased from this Lord's tenants, it is evident that they would become rich, and be able to pay a larger rent to their landlord. This Lord would certainly act against his own interest, if he attempted, by law, chicane, or force, to dispossess the proprietor of the house and gardens.

The free republic of Geneva is to the King of Sardinia, exactly what the supposed rich man would be to the poor Lord.

It affords me satisfaction to perceive, that the stability of this little fabric of freedom, raised by my friends the citizens of Geneva, does not depend on the justice and moderation of the neighbouring powers, or any equivocal support; but is founded on the solid, lasting pillars of their mutual interest.

LETTER XXIV. Journey to the Glaciers of Savoy.—Mole.—Cluse.—The Rhone and the Arve.—Sallenche.—Mules—A church.—Conversation with a young peasant in the valley of Chamouni.

GENEVA.

I Returned a few days since from a journey to the Glaciers of Savoy, the Pays de Vallais, and other places among the Alps.

The wonderful accounts I had heard of the Glaciers had excited my curiosity a good deal, while the air of superiority assumed by some who bad made this boasted tour, piqued my pride still more.

One could hardly mention any thing curious or singular, without being told by some of those travellers, with an air of cool contempt—Dear Sir,—that is pretty well; but, take my word for it, it is nothing to the Glaciers of Savoy.

I determined at last not to take their word for it, and I found some gentlemen of the same way of thinking. The party consisted of the Duke of Hamilton, Mr. U—, Mr. G—, Mr. K—, and myself.

We left Geneva early in the morning of the third of August, and breakfasted at Bonneville, a small town in the duchy of Savoy, situated at the foot of the mole, and on the banks of the river Arve.

The summit of the Mole, as we were told, is about 4600 English feet above the lake of Geneva, at the lower passage of the Rhone, which last is about 1200 feet above the level of the Mediterranean. [Page] For these particulars, I shall take the word of my informer, whatever airs of superiority he may assume on the discovery.

From Bonneville we proceeded to Cluse, by a road tolerably good, and highly entertaining on account of the singularity and variety of landscape to be seen from it. The objects change their appearance every moment as you advance, for the path is continually winding, to humour the position of the mountains, and to gain an access between the rocks, which in some places hang over it in a very threatening manner. The mountains overlook and press so closely upon this little town of Cluse, that when I stood in the principle street, each end of it seemed to be perfectly shut up; and wherever any of the houses had fallen down, the vacancy appeared to the eye, at a moderate distance, to be plugged up in the same manner by a green mountain.

On leaving Cluse, however, we found a well-made road running along the banks of the Arve, and flanked on each side by very high hills, whose opposite sides tally so exactly, as to lead one to imagine they have been torn from each other by some violent convulsion of nature.

In other places one side of this defile is a high perpendicular rock, so very smooth that it seems not to have been torn by nature, but chiselled by art, from top to bottom, while the whole of the side directly opposite is of the most smiling verdure.

The passage between the mountains gradually opens as you advance, and the scene diversifies with a fine luxuriancy of wild landscape.

Before you enter the town of Sallenche, you must cross the Arve, which at this season is much larger than in winter, being swelled by the dissolving snows of the Alps.

This river has its source at the Parish of Argentiere, in the valley of Chamouni, is immediately augmented by torrents from the neighbouring Glaciers, and pours its chill turbid stream into the Rhone, soon after that river issues from the lake of Geneva.

The contrast between those two rivers is very striking, the one being as pure and limpid as the other is foul and muddy. The Rhone seems to scorn the alliance, and keeps as long as possible unmingled with his dirty spouse. Two miles below the place of their junction, a difference and opposition between this ill-sorted couple is still observable; these, however, gradually abate by long [...], till at last, yielding to necessity, and to those unrelenting laws which joined them together, they mix in perfect union, and flow in a common stream to the end of their course.

We passed the night at Sallenche, and the remaining part of our journey not admiting of chaises, they were sent back to Geneva, with orders to the drivers, to go round by the other side of the lake, and meet us at the village of Martigny, in the Pays de Vallais.

We agreed a muleteer at Sallenche, who provided mules to carry us over the mountains to Martigny. It is a good day's journey from Sallenche to Chamouni, not on account of the distance, but [Page] from the difficulty and perplexity of the road, and the steep ascents and descents with which you are teased alternately the whole way.

Some of the mountains are covered with pine, oak, beech, and walnut [...]. These are interspersed with apple, plum, cherry, and other [...] trees, so that we rode a great part of the forenoon in shade.

Besides the refreshing coolness this occasioned, it was most agreeable to me on another account. The road was in some places so exceedingly steep, that I never doubted but some of us were to fall; I therefore reflected with satisfaction, that those trees would probably arrest our course, and hinder us from rolling a great way

But many pathless craggy mountains remained to be traversed after we had lost the protection of the trees. We then had nothing but the sagacity of our mules to trust to. For my own part, I was very soon convinced that it was much safer on all dubious occasions to depend on their's than on my own: For as often as I was presented with a choice of difficulties, and the mule and I were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate than he, I insisted on his taking my track, I never failed to repent it, and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had begun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first.

It is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making their way down such dangerous rocks. They sometimes put their heads over the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious circumspection every possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on that which upon the whole is the best. Having observed this in several instances, I laid the b [...]ible on the neck of my mule, and allowed him to take [...] way, without presuming to controul him in the smallest [...].

This is doub [...]less the best method, and what I recommend to all my friends in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions.

We rested some time, during the sultry heat of the day, at a very pleasingly situated village called Serve; and ascending thence along the steepest and roughest road we had yet seen, we passed by a mountain, wherein, they told us, there is a rich vein of copper, but that the proprietors have left off working it for many years.

As we passed through one little village, I saw many peasants going into a church.—It was some Saint's day.—The poor people must have half ruined themselves by purchasing gold-leaf.—Every thing was gilded.—The virgin was dressed in a new gown of gold paper;—the infant in her arms was equally brilliant, all but the periwig on his head, which was milk-white, and had certainly been fresh powdered that very morning.

I could scarcely refrain from smiling at this ridiculous sight, which the people beheld with as much veneration as they could have shewn, had the originals been present.

[Page] Upon casting up my eyes to the cieling, I [...]aw something more extraordinary still: This was a portrait of God the Father, sitting on a cloud, and dressed like a Pope, with the tiara on his head. Any one must naturally be shocked at this, [...] be not at the same instant moved to laughter at the infinite [...] of the idea.

About six in the evening we arrived at the valley of Chamouni, and found lodgings in a small village called Prieuré. The valley of Chamouni is about six leagues in length, and an English mile in breadth. It in bounded on all sides by very high mountains. Between the intervals of these mountains, on one side of the valley, the vast bodies of snow and ice, which are called Glaciers, descend from Mont Blanc, which is their source.

On one side of the valley, opposite to the Glaciers, stands Breven, a mountain whose ridge is 5300 English feet higher than the valley. Many travellers who have more curiosity, and who think less of fatigue than we, take their first view of the Glaciers from the top of Mount Breven, As there is only the narrow valley between that and the Glaciers, all of which it overlooks, and every other object around, except Mont Blanc, the view from it must be very advantageous and magnificent.

We determined to begin with Montanvert, from which we could walk to the Glaciers, reserving Mount Breven for another day's work, if we should find ourselves so inclined. After an hour's refreshment at our quarters, Mr. K—and I took a walk through the valley.

The chapter of Priests and Canons of Sallenche have the lordship of Chamouni, and draw a revenue from the poor inhabitants; the highest mountains of the Alps, with all their ice and snow, not being sufficient to defend them from rapacity and extortion.

The priest's house is beyond comparison the best in the whole valley. Looking at it, I asked a young man who stood near me, if the priest was rich?

Oui, Monsieur, horriblement,—Yes Sir, horribly,—replied he,— [...]t auss [...] il mange presque tout notre [...], and besides he eats all our corn.

I then asked, if the people of Chamouni wished to get rid of him?

Oui, bien de celui-ci—mais il faut avoir un autre. Yes, of this one but we must have another.

I do not see the absolute necessity of that, said I.—Consider, if you had no priest, you would have more to eat.

The lad stared—then answered with great naïvete—simplicity—Ah, Monsieur, dans ce pays-ci les prêtres s [...]nt tout aussi necessaires que le manger. Ah, Sir, in this place priests are as necessary as provisions.

It is plain, that this clergyman instructs his parishioners very carefully in the principles of religion.—I perceive, that your [Page] soul is in very safe hands, said K—, giving the boy a crown; but here is something to enable you to take care of your body.

In my next I shall endeavour to give you some account of the Glaciers:—At present, I must wish you good night.

LETTER XXV. Montanvert.—The Chamois.—Mount Breven.—Mont Blanc.—The Needles.—The Valley of Ice.—Avalanches.

GENEVA.

WE began pretty early in the morning to ascend Montanvert, from the top of which there is easy access to the Glacier of that name, and to the valley of ice.

Our mules carried us from the inn across the valley, and even for a con [...]iderable way up the mountain; which at length became so exceedingly steep, that we were obliged to dismount and send them back. Mr. U—only, who had been here before, and was accustomed to such expeditions, continued without compunction on his mule till he got to the top, riding fearless over rocks, which a goat or a chamois would have passed with caution.

In this last animal, which is to be found on these mountains only, are blended the different qualities of the goat and the deer.—It is said to have more agility than any other quadruped possessed of the same degree of strength.

After ascending four hours, we gained the summit of Montanvert. The day was remarkably fine, the objects around noble and majestic, but in some respects different from what I had expected.

The valley of Chamouni had disappeared:—Mount Breven seemed to have crept wonderfully near: and if I had not just crossed the plain which separates the two mountains, and is a mile in breadth, I should have concluded that their bases were in contact, and that their distance above was solely owing to the diminution in the size of all mountains towards the summit. Judging from the eye alone, I should have thought it possible to have thrown a stone from the place where I stood to Mount Breven.

There is a chain of mountains behind Montanvert, all covered with snow, which terminate in four distinct rocks, of a great height, having the appearance of narrow pyramids or spires. They are called the Needles; and each has a distinct name.—Mont Blanc, surrounded by Montanvert, Mount Breven▪ the Needles, and other snowy mountains, appears like a giant among pygmies.

The height which we had now attained, was so far on our way up this mountain. I was therefore equally surprised and mortified to find, after an ascent of three thousand feet, that Mont Blanc [Page] seemed as high here as when we were in the valley. Having ascended Montanvert from Chamouni, on [...] on the other side, we found ourselves on a plain, [...] has been aptly compared to that which a stormy [...] would have, if it were suddenly arrested and fixed by a strong [...]. This is called the Valley of Ice. It stretches several leagues behind Montanvert, and is reckoned 2300 feet higher than the valley of Chamouni.

From the highest part of Montanvert we had all the [...] objects under our eye, some of which seemed to obstruct the view of others equally interesting;—the Valley of Ice, the [...], Mont Blanc, with the snowy mountains below, finely [...] with Breven, and the green hills on the opposite side of Chamouni, and the sun in full splendor showing all of them to the greatest advantage.—The whole forms a scene equally sublime and beautiful, far above my power of description, and worthy of the eloquence of that very ingenious gentleman, Mr. Dunning who has so finely illustrated these subjects, in a particular treatise, and given so many examples of both in his parliamentary speeches.

While we remained in contemplation of this scene, some of the company observed, that from the top of one of the Needles the prospect would be still more magnificent, as the eye could stretch over Breven, beyond Geneva, all the way to Mount Jura, and comprehend the Pays de Vallais, and many other mountains and vallies.

This excited the ambition of the Duke of Hamilton. He sprung up, and made towards the Aiguille du Dru, which is the highest of the four Needles. Though he bounded over the ice with the elasticity of a young chamois, it was a considerable time before he could arrive at the foot of the Needle:—for people are greatly deceived as to distances, in those snowy regions.

Should he get near the top, said Mr. G—, looking after him with eagerness, he will swear we have seen nothing—But, I will try to mount as high as he can;—I am not fond of seeing people above me. So saying, he sprung after him.

In a short time we saw them both scrambling up the rock:—The Duke had gained a considerable height, when he was suddenly stopped by a part of the rock which was perfectly impracticable (for his impetuosity had prevented him from choosing the easiest way;) so Mr. G—overtook him.

Here they had time to breathe and cool a little. The one being determined not to be surpassed, the other thought the exploit not worth his while, since the honour must be divided. So like two rival powers, who have exhausted their strength by a fruitless contest, they returned, fatigued and disappointed, to the place from which they had set out.

After a very agreeable repast, on the provisions and wine which our guides had brought from the P [...]ieu [...]é, we passed, by an easy descent, from the green part of Montanvert to the Valley of Ice. [Page] A walk upon this frozen sea is attended with inconveniencies. In some places, the swellings, which have been compared to waves, are forty or fifty feet high: yet, as they are rough, and the ice intermingled with snow, one may walk over them. In other parts, those waves are of a very moderate size, and in some places the surface is quite level.

What renders a passage over this valley still more difficult and dangerous is, the rents in the ice, which are to be met with, whatever direction you follow. These rents are from two to [...] feet wide, and of an amazing depth; reaching from the surface of the valley, through a body of ice many hundred fathoms thick. On throwing down a stone, or any other solid substance, we could hear the hollow murmur of its descent for a very long time, founding like far distant waves breaking upon rocks.

Our guides, emboldened by habit, skipped over these rents without any sign of fear, though they informed us, that they had often seen fresh clefts formed, while they walked on the valley. They added, indeed, for our encouragement, that this was always preceded by a loud continued noise, which gave warning of what was to happen.

It is evident, however, that this warning, though it should always precede the rent, could be of little use to those who had advanced to the middle of the valley; for they neither could know certainly in what direction to run, nor could they have time to get off: and in case the ice should yawn directly under their feet, they must inevitably perish.—But probably few accidents of that kind happen; and this has greater influence, than any reasoning upon the subject.

It is supposed, that the snow and ice at the bottom melting by the warmth of the earth, leave great vacancies, in the form of vaults. These natural arches support for a long time an amazing weight of ice and snow;—for there is a vast distance from the bottom to the surface of this valley.—But the ice beneath continuing to dissolve, and the snow above to increase, the arches must at last give way, which occasions the noise and rents above mentioned. Water, also, which may have fallen from the surface into the clefts, or is lodged by any means in this great mass of snow, will, by its sudden expansion in the act of freezing, occasion new rents at the surface.

We had heard a great deal of the havoc made by avalanches. These are formed of snow driven by the winds against the highest and most protuberant parts of rocks and mountains, where it hardens and adheres sometimes till a prodigious mass is accumulated.

But when these supporters are able to sustain the increasing weight no longer, the avalanche falls at once, hurrying large portions of the loosened rock or mountain along with it;—and rolling from a vast height, with a thundering noise, to the valley, involves in certain destruction all the trees, houses, cattle, and [Page] men, which lie in its way. The greater part of those who have made a journey to the Glaciers have seen one or more of these avalanches in the very act of falling, and have themselves always escaped by miracle.—Just as most people who have made a single voyage by sea, if it were only between Dover and Calais, have met with a storm, and very narrowly escaped shipwreck.

Ac veluti montis Saxum de vertice proeceps

Cum ruit avulsum vento, seu turbidus imber

Proluit, aut annis solvit sublapsa vetustas:

Fertur in abruptum magno mons improbus actu,

Exultatque solo, silvas, armenta, virosque

Involvens secum.

VIRGIL.

As when by age or rains or tempests torn,

A rock from some high precipice is borne;

Trees, herds and swains involving in the sweep,

The mass flies furious from th'aerial steep,

Leaps down the mountain's side with many a bound,

In fiery whirls, and smokes along the ground.

VIRGIL.

All that any of our party can boast is, that during the nights we lay at Chamouni, we frequently heard a noise like distant thunder, which we were told was occasioned by the falling of some of the same avalanches at a few miles distance. And during our excursions, we saw trees destroyed, and tracts of soil torn from the sides of the mountains, over which the avalanches were said to have rolled, two or three years before we passed. These were the narrowest escapes we made—I heartily wish the same good luck to all travellers, whatever account they themselves may choose to give to their friends, when they return.

The Valley of Ice is several leagues in length, and not above a quarter of a league in breath. It divides into branches, which run behind the chain of mountains formerly taken notice of. It appears like a frozen amphitheatre, and is bounded by mountains, in whose clefts columns of crystal, as we were informed, are to be found.—The hoary majesty of Mont Blanc * * * * * * * I was in danger of rising into poetry, when recollecting the story of Icarus, I thought it best not to trust to my own waxen wings.—I beg leave rather to borrow the following lines, which will please you better than any flight of mine, and prevent me from a fall:

[Page]

So Zembla's rocks (the beauteous work of frost)

Rise white in air, and glitter o'er the coast,

Pale suns, unfelt, at distance roll away,

And on th' impassive ice the lightnings play;

Eternal snows the growing mass supply,

Fill the bright mountains, prop th' incumbent sky;

As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears,

The gather'd winter of a thousand years.

Having walked a considerable time on the valley, and being sufficiently regaled with ice, we at length thought of returning to our cottage at Prieuré. Our guides led us down by a shorter and steeper way than that by which we had ascended; and in about two hours after we had begun our descent, we found ourselves at the bottom of the mountain. This rapid manner of descending most people find more severe upon the muscles of the legs and thighs, than even the ascent. For my own part, I was very near exhausted; and as we were still a couple of miles distant from our lodgings, it was with the greatest satisfaction that I saw our obsequious mules in waiting to carry us to our cottage; where having at last arrived, and being assembled in a small room, excluded from the view of icy valleys, crystal hills, and snowy mountains, with nothing before us but humble objects, as cold meat, coarse bread, and poor wine, we contrived to pass an hour before going to bed, in talking over the exploits of the day, and the wonders we had seen.—Whether there is greater pleasure in this, or in viewing the scenes themselves, is a question not yet decided by the casuists.

LETTER XXVI. Account of Glaciers continued.—Theories.

GENEVA.

THERE are five or six different Glaciers, which all terminate upon one side of the valley of Chamouni, within the space of about five leagues.

These are prodigious collections of snow and ice, formed in the intervals or hollows, between the mountains that bound the side of the valley near which Mont Blanc stands.

The snow in those hollows being screened from the influence of the sun, the heat of summer can dissolve only a certain portion of it. These magazines of ice and snow are not formed by what falls directly from the heavens into the intervals.

They are supplied by the snow which falls during winter on the loftiest parts of Mont Blanc; large beds or strata of which slide [Page] down imperceptibly by their own gravity, and finding no resistance [...] these intervals, they form long irregular roots around all the adjacent mountains.

Five of these enter, by five different embouchures, [...], into the valley of Chamouni, and are called Glaciers, on one of which we had been.

At present their surface is from a thousand, to two thousand feet high, above the valley.

Their breadth depends on the wideness of the interval between the mountain [...] in which they are formed.

Viewed from the valley, they have, in my opinion, a much finer effect than from their summit.

The rays of the sun striking with various force on the different parts, according as they are more or less exposed, occasion an unequal dissolution of the ice; and, with the help of a little imagination, give the appearances of columns, arches, and turrets, which are in some places transparent.

A fabric of ice in this taste, two thousand feet high, and three times as broad, with the sun shining full upon it, you must acknowledge to be a very singular piece of architecture.

Our company ascended only the Glacier of Montanvert, which is not the highest, and were contented with a view of the others from the valley; but more curious travellers will surely think it worth their labour, to examine each of them more particularly.

Some people are so fo [...]d of Glaciers, that not satisfied with their present size, they insist positively, that they must necessarily grow larger every year, and they argue the matter thus: The present existence of the Glaciers is a sufficient proof that there has, at some period or other, been a greater quantity of snow formed during the winter, than the heat of the summer has been able to dissolve. [...]ut this disproportion must necessarily increase every year, and, of consequence, the Glaciers, must augment: because, any given quantity of snow and ice remaining through the course of one summer, must increase the cold of the atmosphere around it in some degree; which being reinforced by the snows of the succeeding winter, will resist the dissolving power of the sun more the second summer than the first, and still more the third than the second, and so on.

The conclusion of this reasoning is, that the Glaciers must grow larger by an increasing ratio every year, till the end of time. For this reason, the authors of this theory regret, that they themselves have been sent into the world so soon; because if their birth had been delayed for nine or ten thousand years, they should have seen the Glaciers in much greater glory, Mont Blanc being but a Lilliputian at present, in comparison of what it will be then.

However rational this may appear, objections have nevertheless been suggested, which I am sorry for; because, when a theory is tolerably consistent, well fabricated, and goodly to behold, nothing [Page] can be more vexatious, than to see a plodding officious fellow overthrow the whole structure at once, by a dash of his pen, as Harlequin does a house with a touch of his sword, in a pantomime entertainment.

Such cavillers say, that as the Glaciers augment in size, there must be a greater extent of surface for the sun beams to act upon, and, of consequence, the dissolution will be greater, which must effectually prevent the continual increase contended for.

But the other party extricate themselves from this difficulty by roundly asserting, that the additional cold occasioned by the snow and ice already deposited, has a much greater influence in retarding their dissolution, than the increased surface can have in hastening it: and in confirmation of their system, they tell you, that the oldest inhabitants of Chamouni remember the Glaciers when they were much smaller than at present; and also remember the time when they could walk, from the Valley of ice, to places [...] mountains, by passages which are now quite choaked up with hills of snow, not above fifty years old.

Whether the inhabitants of Chamouni ass [...]rt this from a laudable partiality to the Glaciers, whom they may now consider (on account of their drawing strangers to visit the Valley) as their best neighbours;—or from politeness to the supporters of the above mentioned opinion;—or from real observation. I shall not presume to say.—But I myself have heard several of the old people of Chamouni assert the fact.

The cavillers being thus obliged to relinquish their former objection, attempt, in the next place, to show, that the above theory leads to an absurdity; because, [...]ay they, if the Glaciers go on increasing in bulk ad infinitum, the globe itself would become in process of time a mere appendage to Mont Blanc.

The advocates for the continual augmentation of the Glaciers reply, that as this inconveniency has not already happened, there needs no other refutation of the impious doctrine of certain philosophers, who assert that the world has existed from eternity; and as to the globe's becoming an appendage to the mountain they assure us, that the world will be at an end long before that event can happen. So that those of the most timid natures, and most delicate constitutions, may dismiss their fears on that subject.

For my own part, though I wish well to the Glaciers, and all the inhabitants of Chamouni, having passed some days very pleasantly in their company; I will take no part in this controversy, the merits of which I leave to your own judgment.

[Page]

LETTER XXVII. Idiots.—The sentiments of an old soldier.—Guatres.—Journey from Chamouni to the Pays de Vallais.—Martigny.—Sion.

GENEVA.

THE morning of the day on which we departed from Priecuré. I observed a girl of a very singular appearance sitting before the door of one of the houses. When I spoke to her she made no answer: But an elderly man, who had been a soldier in the king of Sardinia's service, and my acquaintance since the moment of our arrival, informed me, that this girl was an ideot, and had been so from her birth.

He took me to two other houses in the village, in each of which there was one person in the same melancholy situation; and he assured me, that all over the valley of Chamouni, in a family consisting of five or six children, one of them, generally speaking, was a perfect natural.

This was confirmed by some others, to whom I afterwards mentioned it. I was told at the same time, that the parents, so far from considering this as a misfortune, looked upon it as an indication of good luck to the rest of the family, and no unhappiness to the individual, whom they always cherish and protect with the utmost tenderness.

I asked my soldier, if any of his own family were in that situation? Non, Monsieur, No Sir, answered he; et aussi j'ai passé unt vie bien dure, and therefore I have spent a very hard life.

Don't you think these poor creatures very unhappy?

Demands pardon, Monsieur:—Ils sont très heureux—

Pardon me Sir:—They are very happy—

But you would not like to have been born in that state yourself?

Vous croyez donc, Monsieur, que j'aurois été bien attrapé

You think then Sir, I should have been badly off?

Attrapé!—Badly off!—certainly:—don't you think so too?

Poùr cela, non, Monsieur; je n'aurois jamais travaillé.—

Not as for that Sir; I should never have laboured.—

To one who has through life been obliged to work hard for a bare subsistence, labour appears the greatest evil, and perfect idleness the greatest blessing. If this soldier had been brought up in idleness, and had experienced all the horrors and dejection which attend indolent luxury, very possibly would have been of a different opinion.

During this journey, I remarked, that in some particular villages, and for a considerable tract of country, scarcely was there any body to be seen who had that swelling of the throat and neck, [Page] which is thought so general among all the inhabitants of the Alps. In particular, I did not observe any body at Prieuré with this complaint; and, upon enquiry, was informed, that there are many parishes in which not a single person is troubled with it, and that in other places at no great distance it is almost universal.

In the valley of Chamouni there is only one hamlet where it is common; but in the Pays de Vallais, I was told, it is more frequent than in any other place.

As this disease seems to be endemical, it cannot, as has been imagined, proceed from the drinking of water impregnated with snow or ice; for this beverage is common to all the inhabitants of the Alps, and of other mountains.

If the water be in reality the vehicle of this disease, we must suppose it impregnated not only with dissolved ice and snow, but also with some salt, or other substance, possessed of the noxious quality of obstructing the glands of the throat; and we must also suppose, that this noxious substance is to found in no other inhabited place but the Alps.

After one of the inhabitants of Chamouni had enumerated many parishes where there were, and others where there were no Guatres (which is the name they give this swelling,) he concluded by telling me, I should see them in great abundance among the Valai [...]ans, to whose country we were going.—When I told the man, I thought his country people very happy, in being quite free from such an odious disease, which afflicted their poor neighbours—En revenche, said the peasant, nous sommes accablés des impôts;—et dans le pays de Vallais, on ne paye rien. On the other hand we are overloaded with taxes; and in the Vallais they pay nothing.

The devil is in the fellow, exclaimed I.—Were it in your choice, would you accept of Guatres, to get free of taxes?

Trés volontiers, Monsieur;—l'un vaut bien l'autre. Very willingly, Sir, one's as bad as t'other.

Quid causoe est, merita quin illis Jupiter amba [...],

Iratas buccas inflet.

Why should not Jove his angry cheeks distend at these?

You see, my friend, that it is not in courts and capitals alone that men are discontented with their fortunes. The causes of repining are different in different places; but the effect is the same every where.

On the morning of the sixth day, we bid adieu to Prieuré; and having ascended the mountains, which shut up the valley of Chamouni at the end opposite to that by which we had entered, after various windings on a very rugged road, we gradually descended into a hollow of the most dismal appearance.

It is surrounded with high, bare, rugged rocks without trees or verdure of any kind, the bottom being as barren and craggy [Page] as the sides, and the whole forming a most hideous landscape. This dreary valley is of a considerable length, but very narrow. I imagine it would have pleased the fancy of Salvator, who might have been tempted to steal a corner of it for one his pieces, which, when he had enlivened with a murder or two, would have been a master-piece of the Horrible.

Having traversed this, we continued our journey, sometimes ascending, then descending into other vallies whose names I have forgot.—We had a long continued ascent over Mont Noi [...], a very high hill, covered with pine-trees, many of which are above a hundred feet in height. I was obliged to walk on foot most of this road, which is full as steep as any part of that by which we had ascended Montanvert.

We came at length to the pass which separates the King of Sardinia's country from the little republic, called the Pays de Vallais. Across this there is an old thick wall, and a gate, without any guard. This narrow pass continues for several miles.—A few peasants arranged along the upper part of the mountains could, by rolling down stones, destroy a whole army, if [...] attempt to enter into the country by this road.

When you have passed through this long defile, [...] along the side of a high and steep mountain; but is still [...] narrow, that two persons cannot with safety go abreast, [...] passengers are entirely at the mercy of those who may be [...] on the higher parts of the mountain.

From the side of the mountain on which we passed, we could have spoken to the people who inhabited the side of the [...] opposite. But I am convinced it would have taken three or four hours walking, to have gone to them: Because we must, by a long, oblique tour, have first reached the bottom of the cleft between us, and then have ascended to them by another long, fatiguing path, which could not be done in less time than I have mentioned.

Wherever there is a spot of the mountain tolerably fertile, and the slope less formidable than usual, you are almost certain to find a peasant's house. All the houses are built of the fine red pine, which grows near a hand. The carriage of this, even for a short way, upon those very steep mountains, must have been attended with no small difficulty and danger.

These dwellings are raised on wooden props, or pillars, two or three feet above the ground. On the top of each pillar a large flag or broad stone is placed, to obstruct the entrance of rats.—Indeed the situation of these abodes is so very aerial, that they seem almost inaccessible to every animal that has not wings, as well as to rats. The road led us at length to the summit, which is level, and covered with pines for several miles.

Having traversed this, and descended a little on the other side, the lower Vallais opened to our view. Nothing can be imagined more singularly picturesque:—It is of an oval form, about seven leagues in length, and one in breadth, surrounded on all sides by mountains of a stupendous height, the lower parts of which are covered with very rich pasture.—

[Page] The valley itself is fertile in the highest degree, finely cultivated and divided into meadows, gardens, and vineyards. The Rhone flows in beautiful mazes from the one end to the other. Sion, the capital of the Vallais, is situated on the upper extremity, and the town of Martigny on the lower, many villages and detached houses appearing all over the valley between them. The p [...]ospect we had now under our eye formed a striking and agreeable contrast with the scenes we had just left. The distance from [...]his [...] Martigny, which stands near the bottom of the mountain, is [...] six miles. There is one continued descent the whole why, [...] is rendered easy by the roads being thrown in [...] a zig zag directr [...].

After the rugged paths we had been accustomed to, it was, comparatively speaking, rest, to walk down this mountain.—We arrived at Martigny refreshed, and in high spirits.

LETTER XXVIII. Road to St. Maurice.—Reflexions on the situation of the Pays de Vallais—Bex.—Aigle.—St. Gingo.—Meillerie.—Evian—Repaille.

GENEVA.

DURING our journey over the mountains which encircle the lower Vallais. I had often felt an inclination to enter some of the peasants houses, that I might be a witness of the domestic oeconomy of a people which Rousseau has so delightfully described.

Had I been alone, or with a single companion on, I should have pledged them liberally, and made a temporary sacrifice of my reason to the Penates, Houshold Gods, of those happy mountaineers; for, according to him, this is the only payment they will receive for their entertainment: But our company was by far too numerous, and would have put their hospitality to too severe a trial.

After a night's refreshment at Martigny, we looked with some degree of impatience for the cabriolets, which had been ordered to meet us there. We all talked with rapture of the sublime scenes from which we had descended; yet nobody regretted that the rest of the journey was to be performed on plain ground. The cabriolets arriving the same forenoon, we set out by the embouchure, opening, which leads to St. Maurice.

That immense rampart of mountains, which surrounds the Vallais at every other part, is cut through here, which renders that country accessible to the inhabitants of the canton of Bern. This opening has the appearance of a vast and magnificent avenue, on each side of which a row of lofty mountains are placed, instead of trees.

It is some leagues in length. The ground is exceedingly fertile; and perfectly level: Yet if an attack were suspected, this pass [Page] could be easily defended by batteries at the bottom of the mountains on each side. Besides, a river of considerable depth flows along, sometimes on the one side, and sometimes on the other [...]and, by continually crossing the plain, seems to forbid all hostile incroachments.

This little spot, the country of the Vallaisans, which comprehends the valley above described, the mountains that surround it, and stretch on one side all the way to the lake, including three or four towns and many villages, is a district, governed by its own laws and magistrates, in alliance with, but independent of, the Swiss cantons, or any other power.

The religion is popery, and the form of government democratic.—It seems to have been imagined by Nature as a last asylum for that divinity, without whose influence all her other gifts are of small value. Should the rapacious hand of despotism ever crush the rights of mankind, and overturn the altars of FREEDOM, in every other country in Europe, a chosen people may here preserve the true worship, and share her regard with the provinces beyond the Atlantic.

In the middle of the opening above mentioned, about four leagues from Martigny, between two high mountains, and at the side of the Rhone, is situated the little town of St. Maurice, which guards this entrance into the lower Vallais.

Having passed a bridge at this town, which divides the country of the Vallaisans from the canton of Bern, we proceeded to Bex, a village remarkable for its delightful situation, and for the saltworks which are near it. After dinner, we visited these. We entered the largest saline by a passage cut out of the solid rock, of a sufficient height and breadth to allow a man to walk with ease.

Travellers who have the curiosity to explore these gloomy abodes, are previously furnished with lighted lamps or torches, and dressed in a coarse habit, to defend them from the slimy drippings which fall from the roof and sides of the passage.

Upon arriving at the reservoir of salt water, which is about three quarters of a mile from the entrance, I was seized with a nausea, from the disagreeable smell of the place, and returned with all possible expedition to the open air, leaving my companions to push their researches as far as they pleased. They remained a considerable time after me. What satisfaction they received within, I shall not take upon me to determine; but I never saw a set of people make a more melancholy exit;—with their greasy frocks, their torches, their smoky, woe-begone countenances, they put me in mind of a procession of condemned heretics, walking to the flames, at an Auto de Fé at Lisbon.

Having recovered their looks and spirits at the inn at Bex, they assured me, that the curiosities they had seen during their subterraneous progress, particularly after my secession, were more worthy of observation than any thing we had met with since we [Page] had left Geneva; and they all advised me, with affected seriousness, to return and complete the interesting visit which I had left unfinished.

Next morning our company divided, the Duke of Hamilton and Mr. G—chusing to return by Vevay and Lausanne. Mr. U—, Mr. K—, and myself, went by the other side of the lake of Geneva. They took with them the two chaises, and we proceeded on horseback, our road not admitting of wheel-carriages.

We left Bex early in the morning, passing through Aigle, a thriving little town, whose houses are built of a white marble found in the neighbourhood.—The ideas of gloom and wretchedness, as well as of magnificence, had somehow been linked in my mind with this substance.—I don't know whether this has been owing to its being used in tombs and monuments;—or to my having observed, that the houses most profusely ornamented by it are so often the mansions of dulness and discontent.—Whatever gave rise to this connection of ideas, the appearance of the inhabitants of Aigle was well calculated to cure me of the prejudice; for although the meanest houses in this poor little town are built of marble, yet in the course of my life I never beheld less care and more satisfaction in the countenances of any set of people. An appearance of ease and content not only prevails here, but all over Switzerland.

A little beyond Aigle, we crossed the Rhone in boats. It is broader at this ferry, than where it flows from the lake of Geneva. As soon as we arrived on the other side, we were again in the dominions of the Vallaisans, which extend on this side all the way to the lake.

We had a delightful ride to St. Gingo, where we dined, and remained several hours to refresh our horses. Though it was Sunday, there was a fair at this town, to which such a concourse of people had resorted from the Pays de Vallais, the canton of Bern, and from Savoy, that we could not without difficulty find a room to dine in.

The dress of the young Vallaisannes is remarkably picturesque. A little silk hat, fixed on one side of the head, from which a bunch of ribbons hangs negligently, with a jacket very advantageous to the shape, gives them a smart air, and is upon the whole more becoming than the dress of the common people in any country I have yet seen.

A little beyond St. Gingo, we entered the dukedom of Savoy. The road is here cut out of the lofty rocks which rise from the lake of Geneva. It must be passed with caution, being exceedingly narrow, and no fence to prevent the traveller from falling over a very high precipice into the lake, in case his horse should start to one side.

At some places this narrow road is rendered still more dangerous by fragments which have fallen from the mountains above, and [Page] have impaired and almost destroyed the path. At those places we were obliged to dismount, and lead our horses, with great attention, over rubbish and broken rocks, till we gained those parts of the road which were in [...]ire.

The sight of Meillerie brought to my remembrance the charming letters of Rousseau's two lovers. This recollection filled me with a pleasing enthusiasm. I sought with my eyes, and imagined I discovered the identical place where St. Preux sat with his telescope to view the habitation of his beloved Julia.—I traced in my imagination his route, when he sprung from rock to rock after one of her letters, which a sudden gust of wind had snatched from his hands.—I marked the point at which the two lovers embarked to return to Clarence, after an evening visit to those very rocks,—when St. Preux, agonized with tender recollections, and distracted with despair, was tempted to seize his mistress, then the wife of another, and precipitate himself along with her, from the boat headlong into the middle of the lake.

Every circumstance of that pathetic story came fresh into my mind. I felt myself on a kind of classic ground, and experienced that the eloquence of that inimitable writer had given me an interest in the landscape before my eyes, beyond that which its own natural beauties could have effected.

Having left the romantic rocks of Meillerie behind, we descended to a fertile plain, almost on a level with the lake, along which the road runs, flanked with rows of fine tall trees all the way to Evian, an agreeable little town, renowned for its mineral waters. Here we met with many of our Geneva acquaintances of both sexes, who had come, under pre [...]ence of drinking the waters, to amuse themselves in this delightful retreat.

We next proceeded to Tonon, a most religious city, if we may judge by the number of churches and monasteries which it contains. The number of inhabitants are calculated at six or seven thousand, and every seventh person I saw wore the uniform of some religious order. After this, I was not greatly surprised to perceive every symptom of poverty among the lay inhabitants.

Having bespoke supper and beds at this place, we went and visited the convent of Carthu [...]ians at Repaille, which is at a little distance.

It was here that a Duke of Savoy, after a fortunate reign, assumed the character of a hermit, and lived with the fathers a life of piety and mortification, according to some; of voluptuousness and policy, according to others. What we are well assured of is, that he was in a short time elected Pope, by the council of Basil, which dignity he was obliged to relinquish nine years after, having first made very honourable conditions for himself. After this, he spent the remainder of his life with the reputation of great sanctity at Repaille.

Had he been allowed to chuse any part of Europe for his retreat, he could not have found one more agreeable than this which his own dominions furnished.

[Page] The fathers with great politeness shewed us their forest, their gardens, their apartments, and a very elegant new chapel, which is just finished. They then conducted us into the chamber where their Sovereign had lived and died. They talked much of his genius, his benevolence, and his sanctity. We heard them with every mark of acquiescence, and returned to our inn, where tho' we certainly did not faire Ripaille, feast grandly, I'm convinced the fleas did: As Shakespeare's carrier says, there was never a King in Christendom better bit than we were, through the whole night. We paid for our entertainment, such as it was, a very extravagant bill in the morning, and without grudging; for we considered, that we were to leave our host and his family among a swarm of blood-suckers, still more intolerable than fleas.

We arrived the same forenoon at Geneva, having finished a tour in which a greater variety of sublime and interesting objects offer themselves to the contemplation of the traveller, than can be found in any other part of the globe of the same extent.

I am, &c.

LETTER XXIX. Voltaire.

GENEVA.

I AM not surprised that your inquiries of late entirely regard the philosopher of Fern [...]y. This extraordinary person has contrived to excite more curiosity, and to retain the attention of Europe for a longer space of time, than any other man this age has produced monarchs and heroes included.—Even the most trivial anecdote relating to him seems, in some degree, to interest the Public.

Since I have been in this country, I have had frequent opportunities of conversing with him, and still more with those who have lived in intimacy with him for many years; so that, whatever remarks I may send you on this subject, are founded either on my own observation, or on that of the most candid and intelligent of his acquaintance.

He has enemies and admirers here, as he has every where else; and not unfrequently both united in the same person.

The first idea which has presented itself to all who have attempted a description of his person, is that of a skeleton. In as far as this implies excessive leanness, it is just; but it must be remembered, that this skeleton, this mere composition of skin and bone, has a look of more spirit and vivacity, than is generally produced by flesh and blood, however blooming and youthful.

The most piercing eyes I ever beheld are those of Voltaire, now in his eightieth year. His whole countenance is expressive of genius, observation, and extreme sensibility.

[Page] In the morning he has a look of anxiety and discontent; but this gradually wears off, and after dinner he seems cheerful:—yet an air of irony never entirely forsakes his face, but may always be observed lurking in his features, whether he frowns or smiles.

When the weather is favourable, he takes an airing in his coach, with his niece, or with some of his guests, of whom there is always a sufficient number at Ferney. Sometimes he saunters in his gardens; or if the weather does not permit him to go abroad, he employs his leisure hours in playing at chess with Pere Adam; or in receiving the visits of strangers, a continual succession of whom attend at Ferney to catch an opportunity of seeing him; or in dictating and reading letters; for he still retains correspondents in the countries of Europe, who inform him of every remarkable occurrence, and send him every new literary production as soon as it appears.

By far the greater part of his time is spent in his study; and whether he reads himself, or listens to another, he always has a pen in his hand, to take notes, or make remarks.

Composition is his principal amusement. No author who writes for daily bread, no young poet ardent for distinction, is more assiduous with his pen, or more anxious for fresh fame, than the wealthy and applauded Seigneur Lord of Ferney.

He lives in a very hospitable manner, and takes care always to keep a good cook. He has generally two or three visitors from Paris, who stay with him a month or six weeks at a time. When they go, their places are soon supplied; so that there is a constant rotation of society at Ferney. These, with Voltaire's own family, and his visitors from Geneva, compose a company of twelve or fourteen people, who dine daily at his table, whether he appears or not. For when engaged preparing some new production for the press, indisposed or in bad spirits, he does not dine with the company; but satisfies himself with seeing them for a few minutes, either before or after dinner.

All who bring recommendations from his friends, may depend upon being received, if he be not really indisposed.—He often presents himself to the strangers, who assemble almost every afternoon in his antichamber, although they bring no particlar recommendation. But sometimes they are obliged to retire without having their curiosity gratified.

As often as this happens, he is sure of being accused of peevishness; and a thousand ill natured stories are related, perhaps invented, out of revenge, because he is, not in the humour of being exhibited like a dancing-bear on a holiday. It is much less surprising that he sometimes refuses, than that he should comply so often.

In him, this complaisance must proceed solely from a desire to oblige; for Voltaire has been so long accustomed to admiration, that the stare of a few strangers cannot be supposed to afford him much pleasure.

His niece, Madame Denis, does the honours of the table, and entertains the company, when her uncle is not able, or does not choose to appear. She is a well-disposed woman, who behaves with good-humour to every body, and with unremitting attention and tenderness to her uncle.

[Page] The forenoon is not a proper time to visit Voltaire. He cannot bear to have his hours of study interrupted. This alone is sufficient to put him in a bad humour; besides, he is then apt to be querulous, whether he suffers by the infirmities of age or from some accidental cause of chagrin. Whatever is the reason, he is less an optimist at that part of they day than at any other.—It was in the morning, probably, that he remarked,—que c'etoit domage que le quinquina se trouvoit en Amérique, et la fiévre en nos climats, that it was a pity the Bark was found in America, and the fever in Europe;

Those who are invited to supper, have an opportunity of seeing him in the most advantageous point of view. He then exerts himself to entertain the company, and seems as fond of saying, what are called good things, as ever:—and when any lively remark or bon mot comes from another, he is equally delighted, and pays the fullest tribute of applause.—The spirit of mirth gains upon him by indulgence.—When surrounded by his friends, and animated by the presence of women, he seems to enjoy life with all the sensibility of youth. His genius then surmounts the restraints of age and infirmity, and flows along in a fine strain of pleasing, spirited observation, and delicate irony.

He has an excellent talent of adapting his conversation to his company.—The first time the Duke of Hamilton waited on him, he turned the discourse on the ancient alliance between the French and Scotch nations.—Reciting the circumstance of one of his Grace's predecessors having accompanied Mary Queen of Scots, whose heir he at that time was, to the court of France,—he spoke of the heroic characters of his ancestors, the ancient Earls of Douglas—of the great literary reputation of some of his countrymen, then living; and mentioned the names of Hume and Robertson in terms of high approbation.

A short time afterwards, he was visited by two Russian Noblemen, who are now at Geneva. Voltaire talked to them a great deal of their Empress, and the flourishing state of their country—Formerly, said he, your countrymen were guided by ignorant priests,—the arts were unknown, and your lands lay waste;—but now the arts flourish, and the lands are cultivated.—One of the young men replied, That there was still a great proportion of barren land in Russia—At least, said Voltaire, you must admit, that of late your country has been very fertile in laurels.

His dislike to the clergy is well known.—This leads him to join in a very trite topic of abuse with people who have no pretention to that degree of wit which alone could make their railings tolerable.—The conversation happening to turn into this channel, one person said, If you substract pride from priests, nothing will remain.—Vous comptez donc, Monsieur, la gourmandise, pour rien, Then you reckon gluttony for nothing, said Voltaire.

[Page] He approves much more of Marmontel's Art of Poetry, than of any poems of that author's composition. Speaking of these, he said that Marmontel, like Moses, could guide others to the Holy Land, though he was not allowed to enter it himself.

The same allusion, though probably Voltaire did not know it, was long since made by Cowley—

Bacon like Moses led us forth, at last

The barren wilderness he past,

Did on the very border stand

Of the blest promised land,

And from the mountain top of his exalted wit,

Saw it himself, and shewed us it.

Voltaire's unbecoming allusions to the Sacred Writings, and his attempts to turn into ridicule some of the most venerable characters mentioned in them, are notorious.

A certain person, who stammered very much, found means to get himself introduced at Ferney.—He had no other rcommendation than the praises he very liberally bestowed on himself.—When he left the room, Voltaire said, he supposed him to be an avanturier, un imposteur, an adventurer, an imposter.—Madame Denis said, Impostors never stammer:—To which Voltaire replied—Moïse, ne begayoit-il pas? Did not Moses stutter?

You must have heard of the animosity which has long subsisted between Voltaire and Freron the Journalist at Paris. The former was walking one day in his garden with a gentleman from Geneva. A toad crawled across the road before them—The gentleman, to please Voltaire, said, pointing at the toad,—There is a Freron.—What can that poor animal have done to you, replied the Wit, to deserve such a name?

He compared the British nation to a hogshead of their own strong beer; the top of which is froth, the bottom dregs, the middle excellent.

A friend of Voltaire's having recommended to his perusal, a particular system of metaphysics, supported by a train of reasonings, by which the author displayed his own ingenuity and address, without convincing the mind of the reader, or proving any thing besides his own eloquence and sophistry, asked, some time after, the critic's opinion of this performance?

Metaphysical writers, replied Voltaire, are like minuet-dancers; who being dressed to the greatest advantage, make a couple of bows, move through the room in the finest attitudes, display all their graces, are in continual motion without advancing a step, and finish at the identical point from which they set out.

[Page] This, I hope, will satisfy you for the present; in my next, I shall send you what farther particulars I think worth your notice concerning this singular man.—Mean while, I am, &c.

LETTER XXX. Voltaire, Continued.

GENEVA.

CONSIDERED as a master, Voltaire appears in a very amiable light. He is affable, humane, and generous to his tenants and dependants. He loves to see them prosper; and takes part in their private and domestic concerns, with the attention of a partriarch.—He promotes industry and manufactures among them, by every means he can devise: by his care and patronage alone, Ferney, from a wretched village, whose inhabitants were sunk in sloth and poverty, is become a flourishing and commodious little town.

That acrimony, which appears in some of Voltaire's works, seems to be excited only against rival wits, and cotemporary writers, who refuse him that distinguished place on Parnassus, to which his talents entitle him.

If he has been the author of severe satire, he has also been the object of a great deal. Who has been the aggressor, it would be difficult to determine; but it must be confessed, that where he has not been irritated as a writer, he appears a good-humoured man; and, in particular instances, displays a true philanthropy.—The whole of his conduct respecting the Calas family;—his protection of the Sirvens, his patronage of the young lady descended from Corneille, and many examples, which might be mentioned, are all of this nature.

Some people will tell you, that all the bustle he made, on these, and similar occasions, proceeded from vanity; but in my mind, the man who takes pains to justify oppressed innocence, to rouse the indignation of mankind against cruelty, and to relieve indigent merit, is in reality benevolent, however vain he may be of such actions.—Such a man is unquestionably a more useful member of society, than the humblest monk, who has no other plan in life, than the working out his own salvation in a corner.

Voltaire's criticisms on the writings of Shakespear do him no honour; they betray an ignorance of the author, whose works he so rashly condemns. Shakespear's irregularities, and his disregard for the unities of the drama, are obvious to the dullest of modern critics, but Voltaire's national prejudices, and his imperfect knowledge of the language, render him blind to some of the most shining beauties of the English Poet; his remarks, however, though not always candid nor delicate, are for the most part lively.

One evening, at Ferney, the conversation happening to turn on the genius of Shakespear, Voltaire expatiated on the impropriety [Page] and absurdity of introducing low characters and vulgar dialogue into Tragedy; and gave many instances of the English bard's having offended in that particular, even in his most pathetic plays. A gentleman of the company, who is a great admirer of Shakespear, observed, by way of palliation, that though those characters were low, yet they were natural (dans la nature, according to nature, was his expression.) Avec permission, Monsieur, with permission, Sir, replied Voltaire, mon cul est bien dans la nature, et cependant je porte de coulottes, my backside is very right according to nature, yet for all that, I do not go without breeches.

Voltaire had formerly a little theatre at his own house, where dramatic pieces were represented by some of the society who visited there, he himself generally taking some important character; but by all accounts this was not his fort, nature having fitted him for conceiving the sentiments, but not representing the actions of a hero.

Mr. Cramer of Geneva sometimes assisted upon these occasions.—I have often seen that gentleman act at a private theatre in that city with deserved applause. Very few of those who have made acting the study and business of their lives, could have represented the characters in which he appeared, with more judgment and energy.

The celebrated Clairon herself has been proud to tread Voltaire's domestic theatre, and to display at once his genius and her own.

These dramatic entertainments at Ferney, to which many of the inhabitants of Geneva were, from time to time, invited, in all probability increased their desire for such amusements, and gave the hint to a company of French comedians, to come every summer to the neighbourhood.

As the Syndics and Council did not judge it proper to license their acting, this company have erected a theatre at Chatelaine, which is on the French side of the ideal line which separates that kingdom from the territories of the Republic, and about three miles from the ramparts of Geneva.

People come occasionally from Savoy and Switzerland to attend these representations; but the company on which the actors chiefly depend, are the citizens of Geneva. The play begins at three or four in the afternoon, that the spectators may have time to return before the shutting of the gates.

I have been frequently at this theatre. The performers are moderately good, The admired Le Kain, who is now at Ferney, on a visit to Voltaire, sometimes exhibits:—but when I go, my chief inducement is to see Voltaire, who generally attends when Le Kain acts, and when one of his own tragedies is to be represented.

He sits on the stage, and behind the scenes; but so as to be seen by a great part of the audience. He takes as much interest in the representation, as if his own character depended on the performance.

[Page] He seems perfectly chagrined and disgusted when any of the actors commit a mistake; and when he thinks they perform well, never fails to mark his approbation with all the violence of voice and gesture.

He enters into the feigned distresses of the piece with every symtom of real emotion, and even sheds tears with the profusion of a girl present for the first time at a tragedy.

I have sometimes sat near him during the whole entertainment, observing with astonishment such a degree of sensibility in a man of eighty. This great age, one would naturally believe, might have considerably blunted every sensation, particularly those occasioned by the fictitious distresses of the drama, to which he has been habituated from his youth.

The pieces represented having been wrote by himself, is another circumstance which, in my opinion, should naturally tend to prevent their effect on him. Some people indeed assert that this, so far from diminishing, is the real cause of all his sensibility; and they urge as a proof of this assertion, that he attends the theatre only when some of his own pieces are to be acted.

That he should be better pleased to see his own tragedies represented than any others, is natural; but I do not readily comprehend, how he can be more easily moved and deceived, by distresses, which he himself invented. Yet this degree of deception seems necessary to make a man shed tears. While these tears are flowing, he must believe the woes he weeps are real: he must have been so far deceived by the cunning of the scene, as to have forgot that he was in a playhouse. The moment the recollects that the whole is fiction, his sympathy and tears must cease.

I should be glad, however, to see Voltaire present at the representation of some of Corneille or Racine's tragedies, that I might observe whether he would discover more or less sensibility than he has done at his own. We should then be able to ascertain this curious, disputed point, whether his sympathy regarded the piece or the author.

Happy, if this extraordinary man had confined his genius to its native home, to the walks which he muses love, and where he has always been received with distinguished honour, and that he had never deviated from these, into the thorny paths of controversy. For while he attacked the tyrants and oppressors of mankind, and those who have perverted the benevolent nature of Christianity to the most selfish and malignant purposes, it is for ever to be regretted, that he allowed the shafts of his ridicule to glance upon the Christian religion itself.

By persevering in this, he has not only shocked the pious, but even disgusted infidels who accuse him of borrowing from himself, and repeating the same argument in various publications; and seem as tired of the stale sneer against the Christian doctrines, as of the dullest and most tedious sermons in support of them.

[Page] Voltaire's behaviour during sickness has been represented in very opposite lights. I have heard much of his great contrition and repentance, when he had reason to believe his end approching. These stories, had they been true, would have proved, that his infidelity was affectation, and that he was a believer and Christian in his heart.

I own I could never give any credit to such reports; for though I have frequently met with vain young men, who have given themselves airs of free-thinking, while in reality they were even superstitious, yet I never could understand what a man like Voltaire, or any man of common understanding, could propose to himself by such absurd affectation. To pretend to despise what we really revere, and to treat as human, what we believe to be divine, is certainly, of all kinds of hypocrisy, the most unpardonable.

I was at some pains to ascertain this matter; and I have been assured, by those who have lived during many years in familiarity with him, that all these stories are without foundation. They declared, that although he was unwilling to quit the enjoyment of life, and used the means of preserving health, he seemed no way afraid of the consequences of dying. That he never discovered, either in health or sickness, any remorse for the works imputed to him against the Christian religion.—That, on the contrary, he was blinded to such a degree, as to express uneasiness at the thoughts of dying before some of them, in which he was at that time engaged, were finished.

Though this conduct is not to be justified upon any supposition, yet there is more consistency, and, in my opinion, less wickedness in it, if we admit the account which his friends give, than there would be in his writing at once against the established opinions of mankind, the conviction of his own conscience, and the inspirations of the Deity, merely to acquire the applause of a few mistaken infidels.

However erroneous he may have been, I cannot suspect him of such absurdity. On the contrary, I imagine, tha [...] as soon as he is convinced of the truths of Christianity, he will openly avow his opinion, in health as in sickness, uniformly, to his last moment.

LETTER XXXI. The education proper for an English Gentleman.

GENEVA.

IN obedience to your request, I shall give you my opinion freely with regard to Lord—'s scheme of sending his two sons to be educated at Geneva.

The oldest, if I remember right, is not more than nine years of age; and they have advanced no farther in thier education than [Page] being able to read English tolerably well. His lordship's idea [...], that when they shall have acquired a perfect knowledge of the French language, they may be taught Latin through the medium of that language, and pursue any other study that may be thought proper.

I have attended to his Lordship's objections against the public schools in England, and after due consideration, and weighing every circumstance, I remain of opinion, that no country but Great Britain is proper for the education of a British subject, who proposes to pass his life in his own country. The most important point, in my mind, to be secured in the education of a young man of rank of our country, is to make him an Englishman; and this can be done no where so effectually as in England.

He will there acquire those sentiments, that particular taste and turn of mind, which will make him prefer the government, and relish the manners, the diversions, and general way of living, which prevail in England.

He will there acquire that character, which distinguishes Englishmen from the natives of all the other countries of Europe, and which once attained, however it may be afterwards embellished or deformed, can never be entirely effaced.

If if could be proved, that this character is not the most amiable, it does not follow that it is not the most expedient. It is sufficient, that it is upon the whole most approved of in England. For I hold it as indisputable, that the good opinion of a man's countrymen is of more importance to him than that of all the rest of mankind: Indeed, without the first, he very [...]rely can enjoy the other.

It is thought, that, by an early foreign education, all ridiculous English prejudices will be avoided. This may be true;—but other prejudices, perhaps as ridiculous, and much more detrimental, will be formed. The first cannot be attended with many inconveniencies; the second may render the young people unhappy in their own country when they return, and disagreeable to their countrymen all the rest of their lives.

It is true, that the French manners are adopted in almost every country of Europe: they prevail all over Germany and the northern courts. They are gaining ground, though with a slower pace, in Spa [...], and in the Italian states.—This is not the case in England.—The English manners are universal in the provinces, prevail in the capital, and are to be found uncontaminated even at court. In all the countries above mentioned, the body of the people behold this preference to foreign manners with disgust.

But in all those countries, the sentiments of the people are disregarded; whereas, in England, popularity is of real importance; and the higher a man's rank is, the more he will feel the loss of it.

Besides, a prejudice against French manners is not confined to the lower ranks in England:—It is diffused over the whole nation. [Page] Even those who have none of the usual prejudices;—who do all manner of justice to the talents and ingenuity of their neighbours:—who approve of French manners in French people; yet cannot suffer them when grafted on their countrymen. Should an English gentleman think this kind of grafting at all admissible, it will be in some of the lowest classes with whom he is connected, as his taylor, barber, valet de-chambre, o [...] cook;—but never in his friend.

I can scarcely remember an instance of an Englishman of fashion, who has evinced in his dress or style of living a preference to French manners, who did not lose by it in the opinion of his countrymen.

What I have said of French manners is applicable to foreign manners in general, which are all in some degree French, and the particular differences are not distinguished by the English.

The sentiments of the citizens of Geneva are more analogous in many respects to the turn of thinking in England, than to the general opinions in France. Yet a Genevois in London will universally pass for a Frenchman.

An English boy, sent to Geneva at an early period of life, and remaining there six or seven years, if his parents be not along with him, will probably, in the eyes of the English, appear a kind of Frenchman all his life after. This is an inconvenience which ought to be avoided with the greatest attention.

With regard to the objections against public schools, they are in many respects applicable to those of every country. But I freely own, they never appeared to me sufficient to overbalance the advantages which attend that method of education; particularly as it is conducted in English public schools.

I have perceived a certain hardihood and manliness of character in boys who have had a public education, superior to what appears in those of the same age educated privately.

At a public school, though a general attention is paid to the whole, in many particulars each boy is necessitated to decide and act for himself. His reputation among his companions depends solely on his own conduct. This gradually strengthens the mind, inspires firmness and decision, and prevents that wavering imbecility observable in those who have been long accustomed to rely upon the assistance and opinion of others.

The original impressions which sink into the heart and mind, and form the character, never change.—The objects of our attention vary in the different periods of life.—This is sometimes mistaken for a change of character, which in reality remains essentially the same.—He who is reserved, deceitful, cruel, or avaricious, when a boy, will not, in any future period of life, become open, faithful, compassionate, or generous.

The young mind has, at a public school, the best chance of receiving those sentiments which incline the heart to friendship, and correct selfishness. They are drawn in by observation, which is infinitely more powerful than precept.

[Page] A boy perceives, that courage, generosity, gratitude, command the esteem and applause of all his companions. He cherishes these qualities in his own breast, and endeavours to connect himself in friendship with those who possess them.—He sees that meanness of spirit, ingratitude, and perfidy, are the objects of detestation.—He shuns the boys who display any indications of these odious qualities. What is the object of contempt or applause to his school fellows he will endeavour to graft into, or eradicate from, his own character, with ten thousand times more eagerness than that which was applauded and censured by his tutor or parents.

The admonitions of these last have probably lost their effect by frequent repetition; or he may imagine their maxims are only applicable to a former age, and to manners which are obsolete.—But he feels the sentiments of his companions affect his reputation and fame in the most sensible manner.

In all the countries of Europe, England excepted, such a deference is paid to boys of rank at the public schools, that emulation, the chief spur to diligence, is greatly blunted.—The boys in the middle rank of life are depressed by the insolence of their titled companions, which they are not allowed to correct or retaliate.—This has the worst effect on the minds of both, by rendering these more insolent, and those more abject.

The public schools in England disdain this mean partiality; and are, on that account, peculiarly useful [...] boys of high rank and great fortune. These young people are exceedingly apt to imbibe false ideas of their own importance, which in those impartial seminaries will be perfectly ascertained, and the real merit of the youths weighed in juster scales than are generally to be found in a parent's house.

The young peer will be taught by the masters, and still more effectually by his comrades, this most useful of all lessons,—to expect distinction and esteem from personal qualities only; because no other can make him estimable, or even save him from contempt.—He will see a dunce of high rank flogged with as little ceremony as the son of a tailor; and the richest coward kicked about by his companions equally with the poorest poltroon.—He will find that diligence, genius, and spirit, are the true sources of superiority and applause, both within and without the school.

The active principle of emulation, when allowed full play, as in the chief schools in England, operates in various ways, and always with a good effect.—If a boy finds that he falls beneath his companions in literary merit he will endeavour to excel them in intrepidity, or some other accomplishment.—If he be brought to disgrace for neglecting his exercise, he will try to save himself from contempt by the firmness with which he bears his punishment.

The listlessness and indolence to be found so frequently among our young people of rank, are not to be imputed to their education at a public school, which in reality has the greatest tendency to counteract these habits, and often does so, and gives an energy to the mind which remains through life.

[Page] Those wretched qualities creep on afterwards, when the youths become their own masters, and have enfeebled their minds by indulging in all the pleasures which fortune puts in their power, and luxury presents.

Upon the whole, I am clearly of opinion, that the earliest period of every Englishman's education, during which the mind receives the most lasting impressions, ought to be in England.

If, however, the opinion of relations, or any peculiarity in situation, prevents his being educated at home, Geneva should be preferred to any other place. Or if, by some neglect, either of his own or his parents, a young English gentleman of fortune has allowed the first years of youth to fly unimproved, and has attained the age of seventeen or eighteen with little literary knowledge, I know no place where he may have a better chance of recovering what he has lost than in this city.

He may have a choice of men of eminence, in every branch of literature, to assist him in his studies, a great proportion of whom are men of genius, and as amiable in their manners as they are eminent in their particular professions.

He will have constant opportunities of being in company with very ingenious people, whose thoughts and conversation turn upon literary subjects. In such society, a young man will feel the necessity of some degree of study. This will gradually form a taste for knowledge, which may remain through life.

It may also be numbered among the advantages of this place, that there are few objects of dissipation, and hardly any sources of amusement, besides those derived from the natural beauties of the country, and from an intimacy with a people by whose conversation a young man can scarce fail to improve.

P. S. An English nobleman and his lady having taken the resolution of educating their son at Geneva, attended him hither, and have effectually prevented the inconveniencies above mentioned, by remaining with him for seven or eight years.

The hospitality, generosity, and benevolent disposition of his family had acquired them the highest degree of popularity. I saw them leave the place. Their carriage could with difficulty move through the multitude, who were assembled in the streets.—Numbers of the poorer sort, who had been relieved by their secret charity, unable longer to obey the injunctions of their benefactors, proclaimed their gratitude aloud.

The young gentleman was obliged to come out again and again to his old friends and companions, who pressed around the coach to bid them farewel, and express their sorrow for his departure, and their wishes for his prosperity. The eyes of the parents overflowed with tears of happiness; and the whole family carried along with them the affections of the greater part, and the esteem of all the citizens.

[Page]

LETTER XXXII. Suicide frequent at Geneva.—Two remarkable instances.

GENEVA.

SUICIDE is very frequent at Geneva, I am told this has been the case ever since the oldest people in the republic can remember; that there is reason to believe, that it happens oftener here, in proportion to the number of inhabitants, than in England, or in any other country in Europe.

The multiplicity of instances which has occurred since I have been here is astonishing. Two that have happened very lately are remarkable for the peculiar circumstances which accompanied them.

The first was occasioned by a sudden and unaccountable fit of despair, which seized the son of one of the wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the republic. This young gentleman had, in appearance, every reason to be satisfied with his lot. He was handsome, and in the vigour of youth, married to a woman of an excellent character, who had brought him a great fortune, and by whom he was the father of a fine child. In the midst of all these blessings, surrounded by every thing which could inspire a man with an attachment to life, he felt it insupportable, and without any obvious cause of chagrin, determined to destroy himself.

Having passed some hours with his mother, a most valuable woman, and with his wife and child, he left them in apparent good-humour, went into another room, applied the muzzle of a musket to his forehead, thrust back the trigger with his toe, and blew out his brains, in the hearing of the unsuspecting company he had just quitted.

The second instance, is that of a blacksmith, who, taking the same fatal resolution, and not having any convenient instrument at hand, charged an old gun-barrel with a brace of bullets, and putting one end into the fire of his forge, tied a string to the handle of the bellows, by pulling of which he could make them play, while he was at a convenient distance. Kneeling down, he the [...] placed his head near the mouth of the barrel, and moving the bellows by means of the string, they blew up the fire, he keeping his head with astonishing firmness, and horrible deliberation, in that position, till the farther end of the barrel was so heated as to kindle the powder [...] whose explosion instantly drove the bullets through his brains.

Though I knew that this happened literally as I have related, yet there is something so extraordinary, and almost incredible, in the circumstances, that perhaps I should not have mentioned it, had it not been well attested, and known to the inhabitant [...] Geneva, and all the English, who are at present here.

Why suicide is more frequent in Great-Britain and Geneva than elsewhere, would be a matter of curious investigation. For it [Page] appears very extraordinary, that men should be most inclined to kill themselves in countries where the blessings of life are best secured. There must be some strong and peculiar cause for an effect so preposterous.

Before coming here, I was of opinion, that the frequency of suicide in England was occasioned in a great measure by the stormy and unequal climate, which, while it clouds the sky, throws also a gloom over the minds of the natives.—To this cause, foreigners generally add, that of the use of coal, instead of wood, for fuel.

I rested satisfied with some vague theory, built on these taken together: But neither can account for the same effect at Geneva, where coal is not used, and where the climate is the same with that in Switzerland, Savoy, and the neighbouring parts of France, where instances of suicide are certainly much more rare.

Without presuming to decide what are the remote causes of this [...]atal propensity, it appears evident to me, that no reasoning can have the smallest force in preventing it, but what is founded upon the soul's immortality and a future state.—What effect can the common arguments have on a man who does not believe that necessary and important doctrine?—He may be told, that he did not give himself life, therefore he has no right to take it away;—that he is a centinel on a post, and ought to remain till he is relieved;—what is all this to the man who thinks he is never to be questioned for his violence and desertion?

If you attempt to pique this man's pride, by asserting, that it is a greater proof of courage to bear the ills of life, than to flee from them; he will answer you from the Roman history, and ask, Whether Cato, Cassius, and Marcus Brutus, were cowards?

The great legislator of the Jews seems to have been convinced, that no law or argument against suicide could have any influence on the minds of people who were ignorant of the soul's immortality; and therefore, as he did not think it necessary to instruct them in the one (for reasons which the Bishop of Gloucester has unfolded in his treatise on the Divine Legation of Moses,) he also thought it superfluous to give them any express law against the other.

Those philosophers, therefore, who have endeavoured to shake this great and important conviction from the minds of men, have thereby opened a door to suicide as well as to other crimes.—For, whoever reasons against that, without founding upon the doctrine of a future state, will soon see all his arguments overturned.

It must be acknowledged, indeed, that in many cases this question is decided by men's feelings, independent of reasonings of any kind.

Nature has not trusted a matter of so great importance entirely to the fallible reason of man; but has planted in the human breast such a love of life, and horror of death, as seldom can be overcome even by the greatest misfortunes.

[Page] But there is a disease which sometimes affects the body, and afterwards communicates its baneful influence to the mind, over which it hangs such a cloud of horrors as renders life absolutely insupportable. In this dreadful state, every pleasing idea is banished, and all the sources of comfort in life are poisoned.—Neither fortune, honours, friends, nor family, can afford the smallest satisfaction.—Hope, the last pillar of the wretched, falls to the ground—Despair lays hold of the abandoned sufferer—Then all reasoning becomes vain—Even arguments of religion have no weight, and the poor creature embraces death as his only friend, which, as he thinks, may terminate, but cannot augment, his misery.

I am, &c.

P. S. You need not write till you hear from me again, as I think it is probable that we shall have left this place before your letter could arrive.

LETTER XXXIII. The pays de Vaud.—Lausanne.—Vevay.—

LAUSANNE.

THE Duke of Hamilton having a desire to visit some of the German Courts, we bade adieu to our friends at Geneva, and are thus far on our intended journey. It is of peculiar advantage in Germany, above all other countries, to be in company with a man of rank and high title, because it facilitates your reception every where, and supersedes the necessity of recommenaatory letters.

I have met here with my friend B—n, whose company and conversation have retarded our journey, by supplying the chief objects of travelling, if amusement and instruction are to be ranked among them: He is here with the Marquis of Lindsay, a lively, spirited young man;—one of those easy, careless characters, so much beloved by their intimates, and so regardless of the opinion of the rest of mankind.

Since you hold me to my promise of writing so very regularly, you must sometimes expect to receive a letter dated from three or four different places, when either my short stay in one place deprives me of the leisure, or meeting with nothing uncommon in another deprives me of materials for so long a letter as you require.

The road from Geneva to this town is along the side of the lake, through a delightful country, abounding in vineyards, which produce the vin de la co [...]e, coast wine, so much esteemed. All the little towns on the way, Nyon, Rolle, and Morges, are finely situated, neatly built, and inhabited by a thriving and contented people.

Lausanne is the capital of this charming country, which formerly belonged to the Duke of Savoy, but is now under the dominion of the canton of Bern.

However mortifying this may be to the former possessor, it has certainly been a happy dispensation to the inhabitants of the Pays de Vaud,[Page]who are in every respect more at their ease, and in a better situation, than any of the subjects of his Sardinian Majesty.

This city is situated near the lake, and at the distance of about thirty miles from Geneva. As the nobility, from the country, and from some parts of Switzerland, and the families of several officers, who have retired from service, reside here, there is an air of more ease and gaiety (perhaps also more politeness) in the societies at Lausanne, than in those of Geneva; at least this is firmly believed and asserted by all the nobles of this place, who consider themselves as greatly superior to the citizens of Geneva. These, on the other hand, talk a good deal of the poverty, frivolousness, and ignorance of those same nobility, and make no scruple of ranking their own enlightened mechanics above them in every essential quality.

VEVAY.

The road between Lausanne and Vevay is very mountainous; but the mountains are cultivated to the summits, and covered with vines.—This would have been impracticable on account of the steepness, had not the proprietors built strong stone-walls at proper intervals, one above the other, which support the soil, and form little terrasses from the bottom to the top of the mountains.

The Peasants ascend by narrow stairs, and, before they arrive at the ground they are to cultivate, have frequently to mount higher than a mason who is employed in repairing the top of a steeple.

The mountainous nature of this country subjects it to frequent torrents, which, when violent, sweep away vines, soil, and walls in one common destruction. The inhabitants behold the havoc with a steady concern, and, without giving way to the clamorous rage of the French, or sinking into the gloomy despair of the English, think only of the most effectual means of repairing the loss.—As soon as the storm has abated, they begin, with admirable patience and perseverance, to rebuild the walls, to carry fresh earth on hurdles to the top of the mountain, and to spread a new soil wherever the old has been washed away.

Where property is perfectly secure, and men allowed to enjoy the fruits of their own labour, they are capable of efforts unknown in those countries where despotism renders every thing precarious, and where a tyrant reaps what slaves have sown.

THE END OF NUMBER FIRST.

§

BELL's Book-Store, in Third-Street, January 30th, 1783. Number Second of MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS. will be published about three weeks from this Date. Lately published at said BOOK-STORE.

1. The MAN of the WORLD, 3 Vols. Three half Dollars.

2. The MAN of FEELING. One Dollar.

3. EMMA CORBETT, on Love and War, 3 V. 3 half Dollars.

Notes

*

We translate le Roi, by 'the King,' which is by no means equivalent. Le Roi does himself, and makes others do, what he pleases. The King cannot do what he pleases, but does what others please.

↵

§

§

§

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NUMBER SECOND—Price One Dollar.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, GERMANY, AND ITALY: WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. During his Travels through those Countries, with his Grace, The present Duke of HAMILTON.

[Page]

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND NUMBER.

LETTER XXXIII. Continued, Vevay.—Ludlow.—Dated at Vevay. 107

LETTER XXXIV. Murat.—Swiss peasants. at Bern. 108

LETTER XXXV. Bern. 111

LETTER XXXVI. Religion.—Government.—Troops. at Bern. 114

LETTER XXXVII. Soleurre.—Basil.—Judicious remark on the use of language, by a Low-Dutchman. at Basil. 117

LETTER XXXVIII. Manners.—Reflections on formality.—The library.—Holbens.—Arsenal.—Council-hall.—The clock in the tower.—A head. at Basil 118

LETTER XXXIX. Marechal Contades.—Theatre.—French troops. at Strasbourg. 121

LETTER XL. Gothic architecture.—Cathedral of Strasbourg.—A sermon.—A Jewish plot. at Strasbourg. 123

[Page] LETTER XLI. Karlsruch.—The Margrave of Baden Durlach. at Manheim. 126

LETTER XLII. Manheim.—The Elector.—The court.—A buffoon. at Manheim. 129

LETTER XLIII. Heidelberg.—The same church for the Protestant and Roman Catholic worship.—Parade devotion. at Manheim. 131

LETTER XLIV. Reflections on the liberty of the press.—Comparisons of inconveniencies arising from that cause with those felt under despotic restraint. at Manheim. 132

LETTER XLV. Mentz. 134

LETTER XLVI. Frankfort—Lutherans unkind to Calvinists.—Psalmody.—Burials.—Jews. at Frankfort on the Maine. 135

LETTER XLVII. Manners.—Distinction of ranks.—Theatrical entertainments.—The German language—Traineaus. at Frankfort. 139

LETTER XLVIII. Nobility and citizens.—The revenge of a Tobacconist.—The field of Bergen. at Frankfort. 142

LETTER XLIX. The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt.—Discipline.—The family of Prince George. at Frankfort. 145

[Page] LETTER L. Conversation with a foreigner concerning the English nation. Dated at Frankfort. 147

LETTER LI. Inns at Frankfor [...]—Table d'hôte.—French.—English.—German women. at Frankfort. 152

LETTER LII. Collections of paintings—Cabinets of natural curiosities.—Contrast of character between the French and Germans, illustrated by their postillions. at Frankfort. 154

LETTER LIII. Court of Cassel. at Cassel. 157

LETTER LIV. The Landgrave.—His troops.—The officers. A brilliant action by Marechal Laudohn. French comedy. Courtiers. at Cassel. 159

LETTER LV. City of Cassel. Palaces. Academy. Colonade. Noble cascade at Wasenstein. at Cassel. 162

LETTER LVI. Journey from Cassel to Brunswick by Gottingen. The reigning Duke of Brunswick Wolfenbuttle. The Dutchess. Duke Ferdinand. The Hereditary Prince and Princess. Prince Leopold and his sister. Duke Ferdinand's villa. at Brunswick. 165.

LETTER LVII. The town of Brunswick. Saved by Prince Frederick. Academy at Brunswick. Wolfenbuttle. Salbzdahlen. Mr. de Westphalen. at Brunswick. 168

[Page] LETTER LVIII. German nobility fond of masquerades. Etiquette. Prince Leopold goes to Vienna., which awakens his mother's grief for the death of his brothers. at Brunswick. 171

LETTER LIX. Zell. The Queen of Denmark. Benevolent conduct of the Princess of Brunswick. Hanover. The troops. The military ardour of a corpulent general officer. Hernhausen. at Hanover. 173

LETTER LX. The violent passion for literature of a court lady at Brunswick.—Field Marechal Sporken.—George the II. at Hanover. 176

LETTER LXI. Death of the Queen of Denmark—Magdeburg.—Brandenburg. at Potsdam. 179

LETTER LXII. Potsdam.—Troops in private houses, not in barracks.—The palace.—The King's study. His wardrobe.—The ruling passion of the late King. at Potsdam. 181

LETTER LXIII. Sans-Souci.—The collection of pictures.—The King's taste criticized by a connoisseur.—The new palace. at Potsdam 184

LETTER LXIV. Reviews at Berlin. at Berlen. 186

LETTER LXV. Prussian discipline. at Berlin. 189

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A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

Continuation of LETTER XXXIII. Vevay.—Ludlow.

VEVAY.

THIS part of the Pays de Vaud is inhabited by the descendants of those unhappy people, who were driven by the most absurd and cruel persecution from the vallies of Piedmont and Savoy.

I will not assert, that the iniquity of the persecutors has been visited upon their children; but the sufferings and stedfastness of the persecuted seem to be recompensed by the happy situation in which their children of the third and fourth generations are now placed.

Vevay is a pretty little town, containing between three and four thousand inhabitants. It is sweetly situated on a plain, near the head of the lake of Geneva, where the Rhone enters. The mountains behind the town, though exceedingly high, are entirely cultivated, like those on the road from Lausanne.

There is a large village about half-way up the mountain, in a direct line above Vevay, which, viewed from below, seems adhering to the side of the precipice, and has a very singular and romantic appearance.

The principal church is detached from the town, and situated on a hill which overlooks it. From the terrace, or church-yard, there is a view of the Alps, the Rhone, the lake, with towns and [Page] villages on its margin.—Within this church the body of General Ludlow is deposited. That steady republican withdrew from Lausanne to this place, after the assassination of his friend Lisle, who was shot through the heart, as he was going to church, by a ruffian, who had come across the lake for that purpose, and who, amidst the confusion occasioned by the murder, got safe to the boat, and escaped to the Duke of Savoy's territories on the other side, where he was openly protected.—This was a pitiful way of avenging the death of a monarch, who, whether justly or not, had been publicly condemned and executed.

There is a long Latin epitaph on Ludlow's monument, enumerating many circumstances of his life, but omitting the most remarkable of them all. He is called, Patrioe libertatis defensor, at potestatis arbitrarioe propugnator acerrimus, &c.—Defender of the liberty of his country and the boldest opposer of arbitrary power.—But no nearer hint is given of his having been one of King Charles the First's judges, and of his having signed the sentence against that ill fated Prince.

However fond the Swiss in general may be of liberty, and however partial to its assertors, it is presumable that those who protected Ludlow, did not approve of this part of his story, and on that account a particular mention of it was not made on his tomb.

There is no travelling by post through Switzerland; we therefore hired horses at Geneva, to carry us to Basil; from whence we can proceed by post to Strasbourg, which is the route we design to take. We leave Lausanne the day after to-morrow.

LETTER XXXIV. Murat.—Swiss peasants.

BERN.

ON my return from Vevay to Lausanne, I found our friend, Mr. H—y, at the inn, with the Duke of Hamilton. His Grace inclines to remain some time longer at that city; but desired that I might proceed with the carriages and all the servants, except his valet-de-chambre and one footman, to Strasbourg, which I readily agreed to, on his promising to join me there within a few days. H—y, at the same time, made the very agreeable proposal of accompanying me to Strasbourg, where he will remain till our departure from thence, leaving his chaise for the Duke.

We began our journey the following day, and were escorted as far as Payerne by Messrs. B—n and O—n, where we passed a gay evening, and proceeded next morning to the town of Avanche, the capital of Switzerland in Tacitus's time.

Near this town the Helvetians were defeated by Caecina, one of Vitellius's Lieutenants.—Multa hominum millia c [...]sa, multa sub[Page]corona venumdata. Cumque direptis omnibus, Aventicum gentis caput justo agmine peteretur. Taciti Historia, lib. i. cap. 68.

Many thousand men were s [...]ain, many thousands sold into slavery. When the destruction was over, Aventicum the metropolis of the nation was seized by a small body of troops.

No country in the world can be more agreeable to travellers during the summer than Switzerland: For, besides the commodious roads and comfortable inns, some of the most beautiful objects of nature, woods, mountains, lakes, intermingled with fertile fields, vineyards, and scenes of the most perfect cultivation, are here presented to the eye in greater variety, and on a larger scale, than in any other country.

From Avanche we advanced to Murten, or Murat, as it is pronounced by the French, a neat little town, situated upon a rising ground, on the side of the lake of the same name.

The army of Charles Duke of Burgundy, besieging this town, was defeated, with great slaughter, by the Swiss, in the year 1476. Near the road, within a mile of Murat, there is a little building full of human bones, which are said to be those of the Burgundians slain in that battle. As this curious cabinet was erected many years after the battle; it may be supposed, that some of the bones of the victors are here packed up along with those of the vanquished, in order to swell the collection.

There are several inscriptions on the chapel.

DEO OPTIM. MAX. CAROLI INCLITI ET FORTISSIMI BURGUNDIAE DUCIS EXERCITUS MURATUM OBSIDENS AB HELVETIIS CAESUS HOC SUI MONUMENTUM RELIQUIT, 1476.

To God the best and greatest.

The army of the brave and celebrated Charles Duke of Burgundy▪ employed in the siege of Murat, being destroyed by the Helvetians left only this monument of itself. 1476.

[Page] On another side is the following:

SACELLUMQUO RELIQUIASEXERCITUS BURGUNDICIAB HELVETIIS, A. 1476, PIA ANTIQUITAS CONDIDIT. RENOVARIVIISQUE PUBLICIS MUNIRIJUSSERUNTRERUM NUNC DOMINAEREIPUBLICAEBERNENSIS ET FRIBURGENSISANNO 1755.

The tomb in which pious antiquity reposed the remains of the Burgundian army Anno. 1476 the republics of Bern and Friburg, their present rulers, ordered it to be repaired and protected by public highways Anno. 1755.

The borders of the lake of Murat are enriched with gentlemen's houses, and villages in great abundance.

The dress, manners, and persons of the inhabitants of this country indicate a different people from the Genevois, Savoyards, or the inhabitants of the Pays de Vaud.

We dined at Murat, and remained several hours in the town. There was a fair, and a great concourse of people:—The Swiss peasants are the tallest and most robust I have ever seen. Their dress is very particular.—They have little round hats, like those worn by the Dutch skippers.—Their coats and waistcoats are all of a kind of coarse black cloth.—Their breeches are made of coarse linen, something like sailors trowsers; but drawn together in plaits below the knees, and the stockings are of the same stuff with the breeches.

The women wear short jackets, with a great superfluity of buttons. The unmarried women value themselves on the length [...] their hair, which they separate into two divisions, and allow to hang at its full length, braided with ribands in the Ramillie fashion.—After marriage, these tresses are no longer permitted to hang down; but, being twisted round the head in spiral lines, are fixed at the crown with large silver pins. This is the only difference in point of dress which matrimony makes.

Married and unmarried wear straw hats, ornamented with black ribands. So far the women's dress is becoming enough; but they have an aukward manner of fixing their petticoats so high as to leave hardly any waist. This encroachment of the petticoats [Page] upon the waist, with the amazing number they wear, gives a size and importance to the lower and hind part of the body to which it is by no means entitled, and mightily deforms the appearance of the whole person.

The elegant figure of the Venus de Medicis, or of the Duchess of Devonshire, would be impaired, or annihilated, under such a preposterous load of dress.—As we arrived only this afternoon, I can say nothing of Bern. You shall hear more in my, next. Meanwhile, I am, &c.

LETTER XXXV. Bern.

BERN.

BERN is a regular well-built town, with some air of magnificence. The houses are of a fine, white, free-stone, and pretty uniform, particularly in the principal street, where they are all exactly of the same height. There are piazzas on each side, with a walk, raised four feet above the level of the street, very commodious in wet weather.

A small branch of the Aar has been turned into this street, and being confined to a narrow channel in the middle, which has a considerable slope, it runs with great rapidity; and, without being a disagreeable object of itself, is of great service in keeping the street clean.

Another circumstance contributes to render this one of the most cleanly towns in Europe:—Criminals are employed in removing rubbish from the streets and public walks. The more atrocious delinquents are chained to waggons, while those who are condemned for smaller crimes, are employed in sweeping the light rubbish into the rivulet, and throwing the heavier into the carts or waggons, which their more criminal companions are obliged to push or draw along.

These wretches have collars of iron fixed around their necks, with a projecting handle in the form of a hook to each, by which on the slightest offence or mutiny, they may be seized, and are entirely at the command of the guard, whose duty it is to see them perform their work.—People of both sexes are condemned to this labour for months, years, or for life, according to the nature of their crimes.

It is alleged, that over and above the deterring from crimes, which is effected by this, in common with the other methods of punishing, there is the additional advantage, of obliging the criminal to repair by his labour the injury which he has done to the community.

I suspect, however, that this advantage is overbalanced by the bad effects of habituating people to behold the misery of their fellow-creatures, which I imagine gradually hardens the hearts of [Page] the spectators, and renders them less susceptible of the emotions of compassion and pity;—feelings, which, perhaps, of all others, have the best influence upon, and are the most becoming, human nature. Juvenal says,

—mollissima corda

Humano generi dare se natura fatetur,

Quoe lachrymas dedit: hoec nostri pars optima sensus,

Nature which bestow'd tears, confess'd she gave

Softness of heart, the noblest sense we have.

Wherever public executions and punishments are frequent, the common people have been observed to acquire a greater degree of insensibility, and cruelty of disposition, than in places where such scenes seldom occur.—I remember, while I was at Geneva, where executions are very rare, a young man was condemned to be hanged for murder, and there was a general gloom and uneasiness evident in every society for several days before and after the execution.

The public buildings at Bern, as the hospital, the granary, the guard-house, the arsenal, and the churches, are magnificent. There is a very elegant building just completed, with accomodations for many public amusements, such as balls, concerts, and theatrical entertainments. There are also apartments for private societies and assemblies. It was built by a voluntary subscription among the nobility; and no societies, but of the patrician order, are allowed there.

Theatrical entertainments are seldom permitted at Bern; none have as yet been performed at this new theatre.

The walk by the great church was formerly the only public walk, and much admired on account of the view from it, and the peculiarity of its situation, being on a level with the streets on one side, and some hundred feet of perpendicular height above them on the other. But there is now another public walk, at some distance without the town, which has been lately made upon a high bank by the side of the Aar, and is the most magnificent I ever saw belonging to this or any other town. From it there is a commanding view of the river, the town of Bern, the country about it, and the Glaciers of Switzerland.

I have visited the library, where, besides the books, there are a few antiques, and some other curiosities. The small figure of the priest pouring wine between the horns of a bull, is valuable only because it illustrates a passage in Virgil, and has been mentioned by Addison.

An addition was lately made to this library by a collection of English books, magnificently bound, which were sent as a present by an English gentleman; who, though he has thought proper to conceal [Page] his name, has sufficiently discovered his political principles by the nature of the collection, amongst which, I distinguished Milton's works, particularly his prose writings; Algernon Sidney on Government, Locke, Ludlow's Memoirs, Gordon's translation of Tacitus, Addison's works, particularly The Freeholder; Marvel's works, Steel's, &c. They were the largest and finest editions, and might be about the value of 200l.—This gentleman made a present of the same nature to the public library at Geneva.

I happened to open the Glasgow edition of Homer, which I saw here, on a blank page of which was an address in Latin to the Corsican General, Paoli, signed James Boswell. This very elegant book had been sent, I suppose, as a present from Mr. Boswell to his friend the General; and, when that unfortunate chief was obliged to abandon his country, has, with others of his effects, fallen into the hands of the Swiss officer in the French service, who made a present of the Homer to this library.

The arsenal I could not have omitted seeing had I been so inclined, as the Bernois value themselves on the trophies contained in it, and upon the quantity, good condition, and arrangement of the arms.

Nothing interested me so much as the figures of the brave Switzers, who first took arms against tyranny, and that of William Tell, who is represented aiming at the apple on his son's head. I contemplated this with an emotion which was created by the circumstances of the story, not by the workmanship; for, at that moment, I should have beheld with neglect the most exquisite statue that ever was formed of Augustus Caesar.

Surely no characters have so just a claim to the admiration and gratitude of posterity as those who have freed their countrymen from the capricious insolence of tyrants: And whether all the incidents of Tell's story be true or fabulous, the men (whoever they were) who roused and incited their fellow-citizens to throw off the Austrian yoke, deserve to be regarded as patriots, having undoubtedly been actuated by that principle, so dear to every generous heart, the spirit of independence.

" Who with the gen'rous rustics sate,

" On Uri's rock, in close divan,

" And wing'd that arrow sure as fate,

" Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man."

Mr. Addison observes, that there is no great pleasure in visiting arsenals, merely to see a repetition of these magazines of war; yet it is worth while, as it gives an idea of the force of a state, and serves to fix in the mind the most considerable parts of its history.

The arms taken from the Burgundians, in the various battles which established the liberty of Switzerland, are displayed here; also the figure of the General of Bern, who, in the year 1536, [Page] conquered the Pays de Vaud from Charles III. Duke of Savoy:—And, if they have no trophies to shew of a later date, I am convinced it is because they are too poor and too wise to aim at any extension of dominion:—And because all the neighbouring powers are at length become sensible, that the nature of their country, and their personal valour, have rendered the Swiss as unconquerable, as, from political considerations, they are averse to attempt conquests.

LETTER XXXVI. Religion.—Government.—Troops.

BERN.

THE different cantons of Switzerland, though united together by a common bond, and all of a republican form of government, differ in the nature of that form, as well as in religion.

The Roman Catholic religion being favourable to monarchy, one would naturally imagine, that, when adopted by a republic, it would gradually wind up the government to the highest pitch of aristocracy.

The fact nevertheless is, that those cantons, which are in the strongest degree democratical, are of the Popish persuasion; and the most perfect aristocracy of them all is established in this Protestant canton of Bern, which is also indeed the most powerful. In extent of country, and number of inhabitants, it is reckoned nearly equal to all the others taken together.

The nobility of Bern are accused of an extraordinary degree of pride and stateliness. They affect to keep the citizens at a great distance; and it is with difficulty that their wives and daughters will condescend to mix with the mercantile families at balls, assemblies, and such public occasions, where numbers seem essential to the nature of the entertainment; by which means a nobility ball loses in cheerfulness what it retains in dignity, and is often, as I am told, as devoid of amusement as it is solemn.

The whole power of the government, and all the honourable offices of the state, are in the hands of the nobility. As it is not permitted them to trade, they would naturally fall into poverty without this resource: But by the number of places which the nobles enjoy, and to which very considerable pensions are annexed, the poorest of them are enabled to support their families with dignity.

The bailliages, into which the whole canton and the conquered territories are divided, form lucrative and honourable establishment, for the principal families of Bern. The bailiff is governor and judge in his own district, and there is a magnificent chateau, palace in [Page] each for his accommodation. An appeal may be made from all subordinate courts to him; as also from his decision, to the council at Bern.

The nobility of Bern, though born to be judges, are not always instructed in law. It has therefore been thought requisite, to appoint a certain number of persons, as their assessors, who have been bred to the profession. But in case the judge should differ from those assessors, and retain his own opinion in suite of their remonstrances, as nobility has the precedency of law, the decision must be given according to the will of the judge.

This office remains in the hands of the same person [...] the term of six years only. I have been informed, that in some of these bailliages, the governor may live with proper magnificence, and lay up, during the period of his office, two or three thousand pounds, without extortion, or unbecoming parsimony. There is no law against his being afterwards named to another bailliage.

The executive power of the government, with all the lucrative and honourable offices, being thus in the hands of the nobility, it may be imagined, that the middle and lower ranks of people are poor and oppressed.

This, however, is by no means the case; for the citizens, I mean the merchants and trades-people, seem, in general, to enjoy all the comforts and conveniencies of life. And the peasantry is uncommonly wealthy throughout the whole canton of Bern.

The Swiss have no objection to their nobles being their judges, and to the principal offices of government remaining in their hands. They look upon the nobility as their natural superiors, and think, that they and their families ought to be supported with a certain degree of splendor:—But the power of direct taxation is a different question, and must be managed with all possible caution and delicacy.—It is a common cause, and the conduct of the nobles in this particular is watched with very jealous eyes. They are sufficiently aware of this, and use their power with moderation. But lest the nobles should at any time forget, a very good hint is given in a German inscription in the arsenal, implying, That the insolence and rapacity of high rank had brought about the liberty of Switzerland.

A people who have always arms in their hands, and form the only military force of the country, are in no danger of being oppressed and irritated with taxes.

It has been considered by some as a pernicious policy in the Swiss, to allow so many of their inhabitants to serve as mercenaries in the different armies of Europe. There are others, who consider this measure as expedient, or less pernicious in the Swiss cantons, than it would be in any other country.

They who support this opinion, assert, that every part of Switzerland, which is capable of cultivation, is already improved to the highest degree;—that, after retaining a sufficient number of hands to keep it always in this condition, and for the support of [Page] every manufactory, still there remains a surplus of inhabitants, which forms the troops that are allowed to go into foreign services. They add, that these troops only engage for a limited number of years, after the expiration of which, many of them return, with money, to their native country; and all of them, by stipulation, may be recalled by the state on any emergency.—By this means, they retain a numerous and well-disciplined army on foot; which, so far from being a burden, in reality enriches the state;—an advantage which no other people ever possessed.

There is still another motive for this measure, which, though it be not openly avowed, yet, I suspect, has considerable weight: The council are perhaps afraid, that if the young nobility were kept at home, where they could have but few objects to occupy them, they might cabal and spread dissentions in the state; or perhaps, through idleness and ambition, excite dangerous insurrections among the peasants.

For, although the laws are severe against state crimes, and easily put in execution against ordinary offenders, it might be difficult and dangerous to punish a popular young nobleman.

It may on these accounts be thought highly prudent to allow a large proportion of them to exhaust, in some foreign service, the fiery and restless years of youth, which at home might have been spent in faction and dangerous intrigues. Very probably the states would incline to permit the officers to go, while they retained the private men at home; but are under a necessity of allowing the latter also, because without them the officers could not be raised to those distinguished situations in foreign services which are their greatest inducements to leave their own country.

After having served a certain time, almost all of them return to Switzerland. Some, because they are tired of dissipation; others to inherit a paternal estate; and many with pensions from the Princes they have served.—The heat of youth is then most probably over.—They begin to aspire to those offices in their own country to which their birth gives them a claim, and which they now prefer to the lustre of military rank. They wish to support those laws, and that government, which they find so partial to their families; or they desire to pass the remainder of life in ease and retirement on their paternal estates.

It is remarkable, that the Swiss officers, who return from foreign services, particularly that of France, instead of importing French manners to their native mountains and infecting their countrymen with the luxuries and fopperies of that nation, throw off all foreign airs with their uniform, and immediately resume the plain and frugal style of life which prevails in their own country.

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LETTER XXXVII. Soleurre.—Basil.—Judicious remark on the use of language, by a Dutchman.

BASIL.

HAVING, on a former occasion, made a more extensive tour through Switzerland, we determined not to deviate from the direct road to Strasbourg. In pursuance of this resolution, H—y and I, when we left Bern, passed by Soleurre, the capital of the canton of the same name.

Soleurre is an agreeable little town situated on the river Aar. The houses are neatly built, and not inelegant; the meanest of them have a cleanly appearance. The common people seem to be in easier circumstances, and have a greater air of content, than in any Roman Catholic country I have ever visited. The inn where we lodged has the comfortable look of an English one. The French ambassador to the cantons has his residence in this town. One of the churches of Soleurre is the most magnificent modern building in Switzerland.

The arsenal is stored with arms in proportion to the number of inhabitants in the canton; and there are trophies, and other monuments of the valour of their ancestors, as in the arsenal of Bern. In the middle of the hall there are thirteen figures of men in complete armour, representing the thirteen Swiss cantons.

The country between Soleurre and Basil, though very hilly, is beautiful, perhaps the more so on that account; because of the variety of surface and different views it presents. H—y and I had more leisure to admire those fine landscapes than we wished, for the axle-tree of the chaise broke at some miles distance from Basil.

It was the gay season of the vintage—The country was crowded with peasantry of both sexes and every age, all employed in gathering and carrying home the grapes. Our walk for these few miles was agreeable and amusing. In all countries this is the season of joy and festivity, and approaches nearest the exaggerated description which the ancient poets have given of rural happiness. Perhaps there is in reality not so much exaggeration in their description, as alteration in our manners.—For, if the peasants were allowed to enjoy the fruits of their own labour, would not their lives be more delightful than those of any other people?—In spite of poverty and oppression, a happy enthusiasm, a charming madness, and perfect oblivion of care are diffused all over France during the vintage.—Every village is enlivened with music, dancing, and glee;—and were it not for their tattered cloaths and emaciated countenances, one who viewed them in the vintage season, would imagine the country people of France in a situation as enviable as that which, according to the Poets, was formerly enjoyed by the Shepherds of Arcadia.

[Page] The peasantry of this country have not so great a sensibility or expression of joy; and though blessed with health, freedom, and abundance, a composed satisfaction, a kind of phlegmatic good-humour, mark the boundaries of their happiness.

When we arrived at Basil, we went directly to the Three Kings. This inn, in point of situation, is the most agreeable you can well imagine. The Rhone washes its walls, and the windows of a large dining-room look across that noble river to the fertile plains on the opposite side.

I am just returned from that same dinning-room, where H—y and I thought proper to sup.—There were ten or a dozen people at table. I sat next to a genteel-looking man from Strasbourg, with whom I conversed a good deal during supper. He had for his companion a round faced, rosy, plump gentleman from Amsterdam, who did not speak French: but the Strasburg her addressed him from time to time in Low-Dutch, to which the other replied by nods.

When the retreat of the greater part of the company had contracted the little circle which remained, I expressed some regret to my Strasbourg acquaintance that Mr. H—y and I could not speak a little Dutch; or that his friend could not speak French, that we might enjoy the pleasure of his conversation. This was immediately translated to the Dutchman, who heard it with great composure, and then took his pipe from his mouth, and made an answer, which I got our interpreter, with some difficulty, to explain. It was to this effect:—That we ought to console ourselves for the accident of our not understanding each other; for as we had no connection, or dealings in trade together, our conversing could not possibly answer any useful purpose. H—y made a low how to this compliment, saying, that the justness and good sense of that remark had certainly escaped my observation, as he acknowledged it had hitherto done his.

A man that travels, you see, my friend, and takes care to get into good company, is always learning something.—Had I not visited the Three Kings at Basil, I might have conversed all my lifetime without knowing the true use of language.

LETTER XXXVIII. Manners.—Reflections on formality.—The library.—Holbens.—Arsenal—Council-hall—The clock in the Tower.—A head.

BASIL.

THERE has been an interval of three days since I had the conversation with my ingenious acquaintance from Amsterdam. We are assured that the chaise, which has been accommodated with a new axle-tree, will be ready this afternoon. In the interim, I shall write you a few remarks on this town.

[Page] Basil is larger than any town in Switzerland, but not so populous [...] size as Geneva. The inhabitants seem to be uncommonly afraid [...], most of the windows being guarded by iron bars or grates, [...] of convents or prisons.

[...] at the lower end of many windows a kind of wooden box, [...] towards the street, with a round glass, of about half a fo [...]t in [...], in the middle. I was told this was for the conveniency of [...] within; who, without being seen, choose to [...]it at the wind [...]s, and amuse themselves by looking at the passengers;—that they were mostly occupied by the ladies, who are taught to think it indecent to appear at the windows.

The inhabitants of Basil seem to be of a reserved and saturnine disposition; whether it is natural or affected I cannot tell, but the few I conversed with, had something uncommonly serious and formal in their manner. How an unremitting gravity and solemnity of manner in the common affairs of life, comes to be considered as an indication of wisdom, or of extraordinary parts, is what I never could understand.—So many ridiculous things occur every day in this world, that men who are endowed with that degree of sensibility which usually accompanies genius, find it very difficult to maintain a continued gravity. This difficulty is abundantly felt even in the grave and learned professions of law, physic, and divinity; and the individuals who have been most successful in surmounting it, and who never deviate from the solemnity of established forms, have not always been the most distinguished for real knowledge or genius; though they generally are most admired by the multitude, who are very apt to mistake that gravity for wisdom, which proceeds from a literal weight of brain, and m [...]dd [...]ness of understanding. Mistakes of the same kind are frequently made in forming a judgment of books, as well as men. Those which profess a formal design to instruct and reform, and carry on the work methodically till the reader is lulled into repose, have passed for deep and useful performances; while others, replete with original observation and real instruction, have been treated as frivolous, because they are written in a familiar style, and the precepts conveyed in a sprightly and indirect manner.

Works which are composed with the laborious desire of being thought profound, have so very often the misfortune to be dull, that some people have considered the two terms as synonymous; and the men who receive it as a rule, that one set of books are profound because they are du [...]l, may naturally conclude that others are superficial because they are entertaining. With respect to books, however, matters are soon set to rights; those of puffed and false pretensions die neglected, while those of real merit live and flourish. But with regard to the men, the catastrophe is often different; we daily see formal assuming blockheads flourish and enjoy the fruits of their pompous impositions, while many m [...]n of talents who d [...]sdain such arts, live in obscurity, and are neglected—I ask you pardon, I have just recollected that I was giving you some account of Basil.

[Page] The library here is much esteemed.—It is reckoned particularly rich in manuscripts. They showed us one of [...] Greek New Testament, with which you may believe H—y and I were greatly edified. We are told it is above a thousand years old.

At the arsenal is shown, the armour in which Charles Duke of Burgundy was killed. That unfortunate prince has ornamented all the arsenals in Switzerland with trophies.

We visited the hall where the famous Council [...]at so many years, and voted so intrepidly against the Pope. Not satisfied with condemning his conduct, they actually damned him in effigy. A famous painting, in the town-house, is supposed to have been executed under their auspices. In this piece the Devil is represented driving the Pope and several ecclesiastics before him to hell—Why they should suppose the Devil should be so very active against his Holiness, I know no reason.

Here are many pictures of Han [...] Holben's (who was a native of Basil, and the favourite painter of Henry VIII. to whom he was first recommended by Erasmus;) particularly, several portraits of Erasmus, and one sketch of Sir Thomas More's family. Though portraits are in general the most insipid of all kinds of paintings, yet those of such celebrated persons, done by such a painter, are certainly very interesting pieces.

The most admired of all Holben's works, is a suite of small pieces in different compartments, representing the passion and sufferings of our Saviour. In these the colours remain with wonderful vivacity.

We were also conducted to the dismal gallery, upon whose walls, what is called Holben's Death's Dance, is represented. The colours having been long exposed to the air, are now quite faded, which I can scarce think is much to be regretted, for the plan of the piece is so wretched, that the finest execution could hardly prevent it from giving disgust.

A skeleton, which represents Death, leads off, in a dancing attitude, people of both sexes, of all ages, and of every condition▪ from the emperor to the beggar. All of them display the greatest unwillingness to accompany their hideous partner, who, regardless of tears, expostulations, and bribes, draws them along.

You will take notice, that there is a Death for each character, which occasions a nauseous repetition of the same figure; and the reluctance marked by the different people who are forced to this hated minuet is in some accompanied with grimaces so very ridiculous, that one cannot refrain from smiling; which surely is not the effect the painter intended to produce.—If he did, of all the contrivances that ever were thought of to put people in good-humour, his must be allowed the most extraordinary.

To this piece, such as it is, Prior alludes in his ode to the memory of Colonel Villers.

[Page]

Nor aw'd by foresight, nor misled by chance,

Imperious Death directs his [...]h [...]n lance,

Peoples great Henry's tomb, and leads up Holben's dance.

In this city all the clocks are an hour advanced. When it is but one o'clock in all the towns and villages around, it is exactly two at Basil. This singularity is of three or four hundred years standing; and what is as singular as the custom itself, the origin of it is not known. This is plain, by their giving quite different accounts of it.

The most popular story is, that, about four hundred years ago, the city was threatened with an assault by surprise. The enemy was to begin the attack when the large clock of the Tower at one end of the bridge should strike one after midnight. The artist who had the care of the clock, being informed that this was the expected signal, caused the clock to be altered, and it struck two instead of one; so the enemy thinking they were an hour too late, gave up the attempt; and in commemoration of this deliverance, all the clocks in Basil have ever since struck two at one o'clock, and so on.

In case this account of the matter should not be satisfactory, they show, by way of confirmation, a head, which is placed near to this patriotic clock, with the face turned to the road by which the enemy was to have entered. The same head lolls out its tongue every minute, in the most insulting manner possible. This was originally a piece of mechanical wit of the famous clock-maker's who saved the town. He framed it in derision of the enemy, whom he had so dexterously deceived. It has been repaired, renewed, and enabled to thrust out its tongue every minute, for these four hundred years, by the care of the magistrates, who think so excellent a joke cannot be too often repeated.

LETTER XXXIX. Marechal Contades.—Theatre.—French troops.

STRASBOURG.

NOTHING can form a finer contrast with the mountains of Switzerland than the plains of Alsace. From Basil to Strasbourg, is a continued, well cultivated plain, as flat almost as a bowling green. We saw great quantities of tobacco hanging at the peasants doors, as we came along, this herb being plentifully cultivated in these fields.

We have passed some days very agreeably in this town. One can scarcely be at a loss for good company and amusement, in a place where there is a numerous French garrison. Marechal Contades resides here at present, as commander of the troops, and governor [Page] of the province. He lives in a magnificent manner. The English who happen to pass this way, as well as the officers of the garrison, have great reason to praise his hospitality and politeness. After dining at his house, with several English gentlemen, be invited the company to his box at the playhouse. Voltaire's Enfant Prodigue, Prodigal Son, was acted; and for the Petite Piéce, Small Piece, le Francedil;ois á Londres, the Frenchman in London. Our nation is a little bantered, as you know, in the last. The eyes of the spectators were frequently turned towards the Marechal's box, to observe how we bore the raillery. We clapped heartily, and showed the most perfect good-humour. There was indeed no reason to do otherwise. The satire is genteel, and not too severe; and reparation is made for the liberties taken; for in the same piece, all manner of justice is done to the real good qualities belonging to the English national character.

An old French officer, who was in the next box to us, [...] uneasy, and hurt at the peals of laughter which [...] audience at some particular passages: he touched my [...] and assured me that no nation was more respected in [...] the English;—adding, 'Hanc veniam damus, petimusque [...].' This liberty we allow and ask by turns.

It were to be wished that French characters, when [...] the English stage, had been always treated with as [...] and with equal justice; and not so often sacrificed to the [...] and absurd prejudices of the vulgar.

I have seen the greater number of the regiments perform their exercise separately, and there has been one general field-day since I came hither. The French troops are infinitely better clothed, and in all respects better appointed than they were during the last war. For this reformation, I am told they are obliged to the D [...] de Choiseul, who, though now in disgrace, still retains many friends in the army.

There are, besides the French, two German regiments in this garrison. These admit of the discipline of the cane upon every slight occasion, which is never permitted among the French troops. Notwithstanding their being so plentifully provided with those severe flappers to rouse their attention, I could not perceive that the German regiments went through their exercise with more precision or alertness than the French; and any difference would, in my opinion, be dearly purchased at the price of treating one soldier like a spaniel.

Perhaps what improves the hardy and phlegmatic German, would have a contrary effect on the more delicate and lively Frenchman: as the same severity which is requisite to train a pointer, would render a greyhound good for nothing.

After all, I question very much whether this shocking custom is absolutely necessary in the armies of any nation; for, let our martinets, c [...]t-tail-men, say what they please, there is surely some difference between men and dog [...] ▪

[Page] With respect to the French, I am convinced that great severity would break their spirit, and impair that fire and impetuosity in attack, for which they have been distinguished, and which makes French troops more formidable than any other quality they possess.

I must own I was highly pleased with the easy, familiar air, and appearance of good will, with which the French officers in general speak to the common soldiers.—This, I am told, does not diminish the respect and obedience which soldiers owe to their superiors, or that degree of subordination which military discipline exacts. On the contrary, it is asserted, that to these properties, which the French possess in common with other soldiers, they join a kind of grateful attachment and affection.

In some services, the behaviour of the officers to the private soldiers is so morose, severe, and unrelenting, that a man might be led to believe that one of their principal enjoyments was to render the lives of the common men as miserable as possible.

If a certain degree of gentleness, does no harm in the great articles of obedience and subordination, it is surely worth while to pay some attention to the feelings of so large a proportion of mankind, as are by modern policy necessitated to follow a military life. To put their happiness entirely out of the question, in the government of the armies of which they form infinitely the major part, is rather hard treatment of creatures who are of the same species, employed in the same cause, and exposed to the same dangers with their officers.

When I began this, I intended to have told you a few things about Strasbourg, instead of which I have been led out of my way by French and German soldiers.—Digressing is a trick to which I am very subject, and rather than not be indulged in it, I would throw away my pen altogether.

The Duke of Hamilton arrived here exactly at the time he proposed.

LETTER XL. Gothic architecture.—Cathedral of Strasbourg.—A sermon.—A Jewish plot.

STRASBOURG.

THE cathedral of Strasbourg is a very fine building, and never fails to attract the attention of strangers.

Our gothic ancestors, like the Greeks and Romans, built for posterity. Their ideas in architecture, though different from those of the Grecian artists, were vast, sublime, and generous, far superior to the selfish snugness of modern taste, which is generally confined to one or two generations; the plans of our ancestors with a more extensive benevolence embrace distant ages. Many Gothic [Page] buildings still habitable evince this, and ought to inspire sentiments of gratitude to those who have not grudged such labour and expence for the accommodation of their remote posterity.

The number and magnitude of Gothic churches, in the different countries of Europe, form a presumption, that the clergy were not devoid of public spirit in those days; for if the powerful ecclesiastics had then been entirely actuated by motives of self-interest, they would have turned the excessive influence which they had acquired over the minds of their fellow-citizens, to purposes more immediately advantageous to themselves; instead of encouraging them to raise magnificent churches for the use of the public, they might have preached it up as still more meritorious to build fine houses and palaces, for the immediate servants and ambassadors of God.—But we find very few ecclesiastical palaces, in comparison with the number of churches which still remain for the public conveniency. This sufficiently shows the injustice of those indiscriminating satirists, who assert that the clergy in all ages and countries have displayed a spirit equally proud and interested.

No specíes of architecture is better contrived for the dwelling of heavenly pensive contemplation, than the Gothic; it has a powerful tendency to fill the mind with sublime, solemn, and religious sentiments; the antiquity of the Gothic churches contributes to increase that veneration which their for [...] and size inspire. We naturally feel a respect for a fabric into which we know that our forefathers have entered with reverence, and which has stood the assaults of many centuries, and of a thousand storms. That religious melancholy which usually possesses the mind in large Gothic churches, is however considerably counteracted by certain satirical bas reliefs with which the pillars and cornices of this church of Strasbourg was originally ornamented. The vices of the monks are her [...] exposed under the allegorical figure of hogs, asses, monkies, and foxes, which being dressed in monkish habits, perform the most venerable functions of religion. And for the edification of those who do not comprehend allegory, a monk in the robes of his order, is engraved on the pulpit in a most indecent posture, with a nun lying by him.

Upon the whole, the cathedral of Strasbourg is considered by some people as the most impious, and by others as the merriest Gothic church in Christendom. I leave you to solve the problem as you please.—As for me, I am a very unconcerned passenger.

I say nothing of the great clock and its various movements. Though it was an object of admiration when first constructed, it is beheld with indifference by modern artists.

I had the curiosity to ascend the steeple of this cathedral, which is reckoned one of the highest in Europe, its height being 574 feet. You may easily form an idea of the view from it, when I tell you it comprehends the town of Strasbourg, the extensive plains of Alsace, with the Rhine flowing through them. Such views are [Page] not uncommon; They are always agreeable, but do not astonish and elevate the mind, like the wild, irregular, and sublime scenes in Switzerland.

One forenoon as I was sauntering through the streets with some of our countrymen, we were informed that the music of some of the regiments had been ordered to a particular church, where the Count de—, son of Lewis the XVth by Madam de Pompadour, was expected to be at mass.—We all immediately went for the sake of the military music, and found a very numerous and genteel company attending. After having waited a considerable time, it struck twelve, upon which the whole company retired, without hearing the music or mass.—After mid day the ceremony could not have been performed, although the Count had come. Something very important must have intervened to prevent a Frenchman, and one of his character for politeness, from attending on such an occasion. There was however a murmur of disapprobation for this want of attention, and the priest was not applauded, who had hazarded the souls of a whole churchful of people, out of complaisance to one man; for those who imagine that a mass can save souls, must admit that the want of it may be the cause of damnation. Mr. H—y whispered me, In England they would not have had half the complaisance for the king himself, accompanied by all his legitimate children, that these people have shewn to this son of a w—e.

To indemnify myself for this disappointment, I went the same afternoon with a French officer to hear a celebrated preacher. The subject of his discourse was the miserable situation of men who were under the dominion of their passions.—Do you wish for a sample of his discourse?—Here it is:—A slave in the galleys (cried the preacher) is happier, and more free, than a man under the tyranny of his passions; for though the body of the slave is [...]n chains, his mind may be free.—Whereas the wretch who is under the government of his passions, has his mind, his very soul, in chains.—Is his passion lust?—he will sacrifice a faithful servant to gratify it;—David did so.—Is it avarice?—he will betray his master;—Judas did so.—Is he attached to a mistress?—he will murder a saint to please her;—Herod did so.

As we returned from the church, the French officer, who had been for some time in a reverie, said, Ma foi, cet homme parle avec beaucoup d'onction; je vais profiter de son sermon.—Oú est-ce que vous allez? said I.—Je m'en vais chez Nanette, replied he, pour me debarrasser de ma passion dominante. Really, this man preaches very soundly; and I am going to profit from his sermon.—Where are you going? I am going to Nanette to get rid of my prevailing passion.

Among the curiosities of the cathedral, I ought to have mentioned two large bells, which they show to strangers. One is of brass, and weighs ten tons; the other of silver, which they say weighs above two.—They also show a large French horn, whose history is [Page] as follows.—About four hundred years ago, the Jews formed a conspiracy to betray the city, and with this identical horn, they intended to give the enemy notice when to begin the attack.

Is it not amazing that such a number of strange stories have been circulated concerning these same Jews?

The plot, however, was discovered; many of the Jews were burnt alive, the rest were plundered of their money and effects, and banished the town▪ and this horn is [...]ounded twice every night from the battlements of the steeple, in gratitude for the deliverance.

The Jews, as you would expect, deny every circumstance of this story, except the murdering and pillaging their countrymen. They say the whole story was fabricated to furnish a pretext for these robberies and murders, and assert that the steeple of Strasbourg, as has been said of the monument of London, ‘Like a tall bully lifts the head and lies.’

LETTER XLI. Karlsruch—The Margrave of Baden Durlach.

MANHEIM.

ALL the advantages I might propose from the Duke of Hamilton's company, did not prevent my regret at parting from my friend H—y, who set out for Lyons the the same morning on which we left Strasbourg.

Upon crossing the Rhine we entered into the territories of the Margrave of Baden Durlach, which lie along the banks of that river immediately opposite to Alsace.

[...] we were informed that the Margrave and his family were at Karlsruch. Rastade is the capital of this prince's dominions.—The town is but small, and not very populous:—The The Margrave's palace, however, is sufficiently large.—We made only a short stay to examine it, being impatient to get on to Karlsruch.

There is another very magnificent palace at Karlsruch, built in good taste. It was begun many years ago, and has been lately finished by the reigning prince.

The town of Karlsruch is built on a regular plan. It consists of one principal street of above an English mile in length. This street is at a considerable distance in front of the palace, and in a parallel direction with it.

All the other streets go off at different angles from the principal one, in such a manner as whichsoever of them you enter, walking from it, the view is terminated by the front of the palace. The length of these smaller streets is ascertained, none of them being allowed to approach on the spacious area, which is kept clear before the palace.

[Page] The principal street may be extended to any length, and as many additional streets as they please may be built from it, all of which, according to this plan, will have the palace for a termination.

The houses of this town are all as uniform as the streets, being of an equal size and height; so that one would be led to imagine that none of the inhabitants are in any considerable degree richer or poorer than their neighbours. There are indeed a few new houses, more elegant than the others, belonging to some of the officers of the court, built at one side of the palace; but they are not, properly speaking, in the town.

Having announced in the usual form, that we wished to have the honour of paying our court to the Margrave, an officer waited on the Duke of Hamilton and conducted us to the palace

There were at dinner the reigning Prince and Princess;—three of their sons, the eldest of whom is married to a Princess of Hesse Darmstadt.—She with one of her sisters was present, also the Princess Dowager of Bareith, daughter to the Duke of Brunswick; two general officers in the Imperial service, and other ladies and gentlemen, making in all a company of above thirty at table.

The entertainment was splendid.—The Margrave behaved with the politest attention to the Duke of Hamilton, and with affability to every body.

The Princess of Bareith is of a gay, lively, agreeable character. After dinner the Duke [...]ook a view of the different apartments of the palace, and afterwards walked with the Margrave in the gardens till the evening

The same company were at supper; a band of music played during the repast, and the day went off in a more easy, agreeable manner than I could have expected, considering the number of Princes and Princesses.

The Margrave of Baden Durlach is between forty and fifty years of age. He is a man of learning, good sense, and benevolent dispositions. I had heard much, long before I saw him, of his humanity and attention to the well-being of his subjects. This made me view him with a cordial regard, which his rank alone could not have commanded.

He speaks the English language with considerable facility, and is well acquainted with our best authors. Solicitous that his son should enjoy the same advantages, he has engaged Mr. Cramer, a young gentleman from Scotland, of an excellent character, who has been for several years at this court as tutor and companion to the young Prince.

The German Princes are minute observers of form. The same establishment for their household, the same officers in the palace, are to be found here, as in the court of the most powerful monarch in Europe.—The difference lies more in the salaries than in the talents requisite for these places; one Paymaster for the forces has greater emoluments in England, than a Grand Marechal, a [Page] Grand Chamberlain, two Secretaries of State, and half a dozen more of the chief officers of a German court, all taken together.

The Margrave of Baden has body guards who do duty in the palace, foot guards who parade before it; also horse guards and hussars, all of whom are perfectly well equipped and exactly disciplined;—a piece of magnificence which seems to be adopted by this prince, merely in conformity with the custom long established in his country.

He keeps on foot no other troops besides the few which are necessary for this duty at the palace, though his revenue is more considerable, and his finances are in much better order than some Princes in Germany who have little standing armies in constant pay.

He has too just an understanding not to perceive that the greatest army he could possibly maintain, could be no defence to his dominions, situated as they are between the powerful states of France and Austria: And probably his principles and dispositions prevent him from thinking of filling his coffers by hiring his subjects to foreign powers.

If he were so inclined, there is no manner of doubt that he might fell the persons of his subjects as soldiers, or employ them in any other way he should think proper; for he, as well as the other sovereign Princes in Germany, has an unlimited power over his people. If you ask the question, in direct terms, of a German, he will answer in the negative; and will talk of certain rights which the subjects enjoy, and that they can appeal to the great council or general diet of the empire for relief. But after all his ingenuity and distinctions, you find that the barriers which protect the peasant from the power of the prince, are so very weak, that they are hardly worth keeping up, and that the only security the peasant has for his person or property, must proceed from the moderation, good sense, and justice of his sovereign.

Happy would it be for mankind if his unlimited power were always placed in as equitable hands as those of the Margrave of Baden, who employs it entirely for the good of his subjects, by whom he is adored!

This Prince endeavours, by every means [...]e can devise, to introduce industry and manufactures among his people.—There is a considerable number of English tradesmen here, who make Birmingham work, and instruct the inhabitants in that business. He has also engaged many watch-makers from Geneva to settle here, by granting them encouragements and privileges of every kind, and allows no opportunity to slip unimproved, by which he can promote the comfort and happiness of his people: A prince of such a character is certainly a public blessing, and the people are fortunate who are born under his government: But far more fortunate they who are born under a government which can protect them, independent of the virtues, and in spite of the vices, of their sovereign.

[Page] When we left Karlsruch, the Margrave gave orders that we might be allowed to pass by a road lately finished, through a noble forest, several leagues in length. After having traversed this, we fell in with the common posting road, entered the bishop of Spires's territories, passed by the town of that name, proceeded to the Electorate of Palatine, and arrived the same night at Manheim.

All the countries I have mentioned form one rich fertile plain; there are few or no gentlemen's houses to vary the scene; nothing but the palace of the prince and the cottages of the peasants, the gentry living in dependence at court, and the merchants and manufacturers in the towns.

LETTER XLII. Manheim.—The Elector.—The court.—A buffoon.

MANHEIM.

THIS is generally reckoned one of the most beautiful cities in Germany. The streets are all as straight as arrows, being what they call tiré [...]s a [...] cordeau, drawn by a line, and intersect each other at right angles▪ This never fails to please at first, but becomes sooner tiresome than a town built with less regularity. When a man has walked through the town for half a forenoon, his eyes search in vain for variety: the same objects seem to move along with him, as if he had been all the while a shipboard.

They calculate the number of inhabitants at 24,000, including the garrison, which consists of 5000 men. This town has three noble gates, adorned with basso relievos very beautifully executed. The Duke and I walked round the ramparts with ease in the space of an hour. The fortifications are well contrived and in good order, and the town acquires great additional strength from being almost entirely surrounded by the Neckar and the Rhine, and situated in a flat, not commanded by any rising ground. Yet perhaps it would be better that this city were quite open, and without any fortification. An attempt to defend it might prove the destruction of the citizens houses, and the electoral palace. A palace is injudiciously situated when built within a fortified town, because a threat from the enemy to bombard it, might induce the garrison to surrender.

The Electoral palace is a most magnificent structure, situated at the junction of the Rhine and the Neckar.—The cabinet of natural curiosities, and the collection of pictures, are much vaunted. To examine them was amusing enough:—To describe them would, I fear, be a little tedious.

The Elector himself is a man of taste and magnificence, circumstances in his character, which probably afford more pleasure to [Page] himself, and the strangers who pass this way, than to his own subjects. I accompanied the Duke to one of the officers of the court; whose business it is to present strangers.

This gentleman is remarkable for his amazing knowledge in all the mysteries of etiquette. He entertained his Grace with much erudition on this subject.—I never observed the Duke yawn so very much.—When our visit was over, he asserted that it had lasted two hours.—Upon examining his watch, he discovered that he had made a mistake of one hour and forty minutes only.

We were presented the following day to the Elector and the Electress. He was dressed in the uniform of his guards, seems to be on the borders of fifty, and has a sensible manly countenance, which I am told is the true index of his character.

The Hereditary Prince is a young man of knowledge and good sense. He surprised me by talking of the party-disputes and adventures which have happened of late years in England, of which I found him minutely informed.—Many people in Germany have the English news-papers and political pamphlets regularly transmitted to them.

The acrimony and freedom with which the highest characters are treated, astonish and amuse them, and from these they often form very false and extraordinary conclusions with regard to the state of the nation.

As the Elector intends soon to visit Italy, great numbers of officers have come hither to pay their duty to their sovereign before he depart for that country. He is much esteemed by his officers, with whom he lives in a very affable manner. There are generally thirty covers every day at his table for them, and the strangers who happen to be at the court of Manheim.

One day at dinner, a kind of buffoon came into the room. He walked round the table, and conversed in a familiar manner with every body present, the princes not excepted. His observations were followed by loud bursts of applause from all whom he addressed. As he spoke in German, I could not judge of his wit, but stared around with the anxiety of countenance natural to a man who sees a whole company ready to die with laughter at a jest which he cannot comprehend. An old officer, who sat near me, was touched with compassion for my situation, and explained into French some of the most brilliant repartees for my private use.

As this good natured officer did not seem to have a great command of the French language, the whole spirit of the jest was allowed to evaporate during the translation:—At least I could not smell a particle when the process was over. However, as these translations evidently cost him a good deal of trouble, I thought myself obliged to seem delighted with his performance; so I joined in the mirth of the company, and endeavoured to laugh as much as any person at the table.

My interpreter afterwards informed me that this genius was from the Tyrol, that he spoke the German with so peculiar an [Page] accent, that whatever he said never failed to set the whole table in a roar; [...]'est pourquoi, added he, il est en possession d' [...]trer toujours avec le dessert, and for that reason he has the privilege of always entering with the desert.

This is the only example that I know remaining of a court fool or licensed jester; an office formerly in all the courts of Europe.

LETTER XLIII. Heidelberg—The same church for the Protestant and Roman Catholic worship.—Parade devotion.

MANHEIM.

WE made a short jaunt to Heidelberg a few days since. That town is about four leagues from Manheim.

Heidelberg is situated in a hollow on the banks of the Neckar, and is surrounded by charming hills perfectly cultivated.

More cheerful scenes of exuberant fertility are to be seen no where than along the fine chain of hills which begin near this town. The summits of these hills are crowned with trees, and their sides and bottoms are clothed with vines.

The Elector's castle is placed on an eminence, which commands the town, and a view of the valley below; but the castle itself unfortunately is commanded by another eminence too near it, from which this noble building was cannonaded when the whole Palatinate was pillaged and burnt, in consequence of that cruel order of Lewis XIV▪ too literally executed by Turenne.

The particulars of that dismal scene have been transmitted from father to son, and are still spoke of with horror by the peasantry of this country, among whom the French nation is held in detestation to this day.

While we were in the castle we did not omit visiting the renowned Heidelberg [...]un; but as it was perfectly empty, it made but a dull and uninteresting appearance.

The inhabitants of the Palatinate are partly Protestants, and partly Roman Catholics, who live here in harmony with each other. The great church at Heidelberg is divided into two apartments, in one of which the Protestants, and in the other, the Papists, perform public worship:—A singular proof of the moderation and coolness of people's minds with regard to a subject that inflamed them so violently in the days of their ancestors.

We remained only one day at Heidelberg, and returned in the evening to this place. The lives and manners of the inhabitants of this city seem to be as uniform and formal as the streets and buildings. No noise, mobs or bustle; at mid day every thing is as calm and quiet as the streets of London at mid-night. This gives one the notion that the citizens are under the same restraint and discipline with the troops.

[Page] I have seen these last perform their exercise every morning on the parade. I was a good deal surprised to observe, that not only the movements of the soldiers muskets, and the attitudes of their bodies, but also their devotions, were under the direction of the major's cane. The following motions are performed as part of the military manoeuvres every day before the troops are marched to their different guards.

The major flourishes his cane;—the drum gives a single tap, and every man under arms raises his hand to his hat;—at a second stroke on the drum, they take off their hats, and are supposed to pray;—at a third, they finish their petitions, and put their hats on their heads—If any man has the assurance to prolong his prayer a minute longer than the drum indicates, he is punished on the spot, and taught to be less devout for the future.

The ingenious inventor of drum [...] certainly never dreamt of their becoming the regulators of people's piety.—But the modern improvements in the military art are truly wonderful!—and we need not despair, after this, of seeing a whole regiment, by the progress of discipline, so modelled as to eat, drink, and perform other animal functions, uniformly together, at the word of command, as they poise their firelocks.

LETTER XLIV. Reflections on the liberty of the press—Comparisons of inconveniencies arising from that cause with those felt under despotic restraint.

MANHEIM.

HAVING left orders at Geneva to forward all our letters of a certain date to Manheim, and to direct those which should come afterwards, to Frankfort on the Maine, I had the good fortune to receive yours last night.

I feel as much indignation as you possibly can, against those who endeavour to hurt the peace of families by malignant publications, and I enter fully into Lord—'s on so unmerited an attack. Yet I should be heartily sorry to see these evils remedied by any restriction on the freedom of the press; because I am every day more and more convinced that its unrestrained productions, the licentious news-papers themselves not excepted, have conveyed to every corner of Great Britain, along with much impertinence and scurrility, such a regard for the constitution, such a sense of the rights of the subject, and such a degree of general knowledge, as never were so universally diffused over any other nation.

Such a law as your friend proposes might, no doubt, protect individuals from unjust attacks in print: but it would at the same time remove one great means of clearing their innocence, and [Page] making known their wrongs, when injured in a more essential manner. It would limit the right which every Briton has of publicly adressing his countrymen, when he finds himself injured or oppressed by the perversion of law, or the insolence of office.

Examples might be given of men of great integrity being attacked in the most cruel and ungenerous manner by people high in office and guarded by power. Such men had no other means of redress than that of appealing to the candour and good sense of the public, which they used with success.

Every man's observation may suggest to him many kinds of injustice and oppression which the rich, the insidious, or the powerful, can commit in spite of law, or perhaps by the aid of law, against the poor, the unsuspecting, and the friendless.—Many, who can silence conscience and evade law, tremble at the thoughts of their injustice being published; and nothing is, nothing can be, a greater check to the wantonness of power, than the privilege of unfolding private grievances at the bar of the public. For thus the cause of individuals is made a public concern, and the general indignation which their wrongs excite, forms at once one of the severest punishments which can be inflicted on the oppressor, and one of the strongest bulwarks that can be raised in defence of the unprotected.

By this means also the most speedy and effectual alarm is given all over the nation when any great public misconduct happens▪ or upon any appearance of a design against the constitution; and many evils are detected and prevented, which otherwise might have been unobserved, till they had become too strong for remedy. And though this liberty produces much silly advice, and malignant censors without number, it likewise opens the door to some of a different character, who give useful hints to ministers, which would have been lost without the freedom of anonymous publication.

The temporary and partial disorders, which are the consequences of public freedom, have been greatly exaggerated by some people, and represented as more than equivalent to all the advantages resulting from a free government. But if such persons had opportunities of observing the nature of those evils which spring up in absolute governments, they would soon be convinced of their error.

The greatest evil that can arise from the licentiousness which accompanies civil liberty is, that people may rashly take a dislike to liberty herself, from the teasing impertinence and absurdity of some of her real or affected well-wishers; as a man might become less fond of the company of his best friend, if he found him always attended by a snappish cur, which without provocation was always growling and barking.

But to prove the weakness of such conduct, we have only to call to mind that the stream of licentiousness perhaps never rose higher than it did some years since in England.

[Page] And what were the mighty evils that followed?—Many respectable characters were grosly misrepresented in printed publications—Certain daring scribblers evaded the punishment they deserved:—Many windows were broken, and the chariots of a few members of parliament were bespattered with dirt by the mob. What are these frivolous disorders when compared to the gloomy regularity produced by despotism? in which men are obliged to the most painful circumspection in all their actions; are afraid to speak their sentiments on the most common occurrences; suspicious of cherishing government spies in their household servants; distrustful of their own relations and most intimate companions, and at all times exposed to the oppression of men in power, and to insolence of their favourites?—No confusion, in my mind, can be more terrible than the stern disciplined regularity and vaunted police of arbitrary governments, where every heart is depressed by fear, where mankind dare not assume their natural characters, where the free spirit must crouch to the slave in office, where genius must repress her effusions, or like the Egyptian worshippers, offer them in sacrifice to the calves of power; and where the human mind, always in shackle [...], shrinks from every generous effort.

LETTER XLV. MENTZ.

WE left Manheim five or six days ago. It is very easy travelling through this part of Germany, the roads being perfectly good, and the country a continued plain▪ From Basil to within a few miles of Mentz, the posting road does not make even the most gentle ascent; a vast length of country to be all along a perfect level.

By the great numbers of Monks and Friars, of all colours and conditions, that are to be met near this city, we were apprised of our entrance into an ecclesiastical state, while the plump persons and rosy complexions of these Fathers sufficiently proved, that they did not live in the fertile land of Rhenish for nothing.

However good Christians they might be, many of them had much the appearance of paying occasional homage to the ancient heathen deity Bacchus, without being restrained in their worship like the soldiers on the parade at Manheim.—One of them in particular appeared to have just arisen from his devotion.—He moved along in the most unconcerned manner imaginable, without observing any direct course, or regarding whether he went to the right hand or to the left. He muttered to himself as he went.—Does he repeat his pa [...]er noster? our father, said I.—I rather imagine he prays from Horace, replied the Duke,

—Quo me, Bacche, rapis tui

Plenum? Quae nemora, aut quos agor in specus

Velox mente nova?—

O Bacchus, when by Thee possest,

What hallowed Spirit fills my raving breast?

[Page] On both sides of the Rhine the ground here begins to become hilly and irregular, forming banks finely exposed to the sun. Here the best Rhenish wine is produced, and even a very small portion of these exuberant banks is of considerable value. A chain of well-inhabited villages runs along from Mentz, by Bacharach, all the way to Coblentz, where the Rhine is joined by the Moselle.

Bacharach is said to derive its name from an altar of Bacchus (Bacchi Ara) supposed to have been erected by the Romans in gratitude for the quantity and quality of the wine produced in the neighbourhood. A little before we entered Mentz, we passed by the Favorita, a beautiful palace belonging to the Elector, situated where the Rhine is joined by the Maine

Mentz is finely situated, built in an irregular manner, and most plentifully provided with churches. The cathedral is but a gloomy fabric. In this there is what they call a treasury, which contains a number of clumsy jewels, some relics, and a mighty rich wardrobe of priests vestments.

There are some troops in this capital, but I do not think the officers have that smart presumptuous air which generally accompanies men of their profession. They seem conscious that the clergy are their masters; and, I have a notion, are a little out of countenance on that account.

The streets swarm with ecclesiastics, some of them in fine coaches, and attended by a great number of servants▪ I remarked also many genteel airy abbes; who, one could easily see, were the most fashionable people, and gave the ton at this place.

Though it is most evident that in this electorate the clergy have taken exceeding good care of themselves; yet, in justice to them, it must be acknowledged, that the people also seem to be in an easy situation. The peasantry appear to be in a state of far greater abundance than those of France, or even those in the Elector of Manheim's dominions.

I have some desire to see an ecclesiastical court, and would willingly visit this of Mentz; but the Duke of Hamilton, who seems to have no excessive fondness for any court, says▪ a court of clergymen must be more dismal and tedious than any other, and I [...]ear will not be prevailed on to appear at this; in which case we will leave this place to-morrow morning early, without further ceremony.

LETTER XLVI. Frankfort.—Lutherans unkind to Calvinists.—Psalmody.—Burials.—Jews.

FRANKFORT on the MAINE.

WE have been here two weeks.—To form a proper judgment of the genius and manners of any nation, it is necessary to live familiarly with the inhabitants for a considerable time: but a [Page] smaller degree of observation will suffice to give a pretty just idea of the nature of its government. The chilling effects of despotic oppression, or the benign influence of freedom and commerce, strike the eye of the most careless traveller.

The streets of Frankfort are spacious and well-paved; the houses stately, clean, and convenient, the shops well furnished; the dress, the numbers, the air, and general manners of the inhabitants, sufficiently show, without other information, that there is no little despot within their walls, to impoverish them in support of his grandeur, and to put every action of their lives, every movement of their bodies, under restraint by his caprice.

The houses are of brick, but have a better appearance than brick houses in general, owing chiefly to their being covered with a kind of reddish stucco, which is come into use here of late, and, it is believed, will render the buildings more durable. The fronts of many of the finest are also adorned with bas reliefs, of white stucco, in imitation of marble.

These white ornaments, on the red ground, form too strong a contrast, and do not please an eye fond of simplicity. But the Germans, in general, have a taste for showy ornament, in their dress, furniture, and houses. Frankfort is a free imperial city, having a small territory belonging to it, and is governed by its own magistracy.

All religions are tolerated here, under certain restrictions; but Lutheranism is the established faith, as the magistrates are of that communion.

The principal church is in the possession of the Roman Catholics, but no public procession of the host is permitted through the streets. All the ceremonies of their religion are confined to the houses of individuals, or performed within the walls of this church. In it there is a chapel, to which the Emperor is conducted immediately after his election, in order to be crowned by the Elector of Mentz.

The Jews have a synagogue in this city, where they perform their religious rites; but the Calvinists have never been allowed any public house of worship within the territory of Frankfort. They attend divine service at a place called Bockenheim in the county of Hanau, where they have built a church.

This is but unkind treatment; and it seems at first sight, a little extraordinary, that Martin Luther should show more indulgence to his old enemy Lord Peter, and even to Judas Iscariot himself, than to his fellow reformer John Calvin.

Though Frankfort is thought a fine town, and the effect produced by the whole is magnificent, yet there are no buildings in particular worthy of attention. It is expected, however, that all strangers should visit the town house, and see the chamber where the Emperor is elected. And it would be reckoned a great want of curiosity, not to see the famous golden bull which is kept there with the utmost care. A [...]ight of this costs a golden ducat; a [Page] sufficient price for a glance of an old manuscript, which not one person in a hundred can read, and still fewer can understand.

A countryman of ours who expected more amusement for his money, complained loudly of thi [...] as an imposition, and on hearing a German talk of the high price which every thing bore in England, he retorted on him in these words:—Il n'y a rien en Angleterre si cher que votre taureau d'or a Frankfort. There is nothing in England so dear as your golden bull at Frankfort.

There is a custom observed here, which I shall mention on account of its singularity, though I enquired in vain for its origin. Two women appear every day at noon on the battlements of the principal steeple, and play some very solemn airs with trumpets. This music is accompanied by vocal psalmody, performed by four or five men, who always attend the female trumpeters for that purpose.

The people here have a violent taste for psalm-singing. There are a considerable number of men and boys, who have this for their only profession. They are engaged by some families to officiate two or three times a week in the morning, before the master and mistress of the family get out of bed.

When any person in tolerable circumstances dies, a band of these sweet singers assemble in the streets before the house, and chant an hour every day to the corpse, till it is interred. The same band accompanies the funeral, singing hymns all the way.

Funerals are conducted with an unccommon degree of solemnity in this town:—A man clothed in a black cloak, and carrying a crucifix, at the end of a long pole, leads the procession;—A great number of hired mourners in the same dress, and each with a lemon in his hand, march after him:—Then come the singers, followed by the corpse in a hearse; and lastly, the relations in mourning coaches.

The crucifix is carried in this manner at all funerals, whether the deceased has died a Roman Catholic, a Lutheran, or a Calvinist. That this custom should be followed by the two latter, surprised me a good deal. I should have imagined that the Calvinists in particular, whatever they did with the lemons, would never have been able to digest the crucifix.

There is a very considerable number of Calvinists in this place; it is generally thought they are the most industrious. They unquestionably are the richest part of the inhabitants. This may be partly owing to a circumstance that some of them consider as a hardship—their being excluded from any share in the government of the city.—Many of the Calvinist families are descendents of French Protestants, who left their country at the revocation of the edict of Nantz.

There are some villages near Frankfort consisting entirely of French refugees; who, deserting their country at the same time, [...]ave settled here in a cluster. Their descendents speak French in [Page] their common conversation, and retain many of their original customs to this hour. Two or three families now living at Frankfort are of English origin. Their predecessors fled first to Holland, during the persecutions in the reign of Mary, and being afterwards driven out of that country by the cruelty of the Duke of Alva, they at length found an asylum for themselves, and their posterity, in this free imperial city.

The number of Jews in Frankfort is prodigious, considering one dismal inconvenience they are subjected to, being obliged to live all together in a single street built up at one end:—There is a large gate at the other, which is regularly shut at a certain hour of the night, after which no Jews dare appear in the streets; but the whole he [...]d must remain cooped and crowded together, like so many black cattle, till morning.

As this street is narrow, the room allotted for each family small, and as the children of Israel were never remarkable for their cleanliness, and always noted for breeding, the Jews quarter, you will believe, is not the sweetest part of the town. I scarce think they could have been worse lodged in the land of Egypt.

They have several times made offer of considerable sums to the magistrates of Frankfort for liberty to build or purchase another street for their accommodation; but all such proposals have hitherto been rejected

The Jews in Frankfort are obliged to fetch water when a fire happens in any part of the city, and the magistrates in return permit them to choose judges out of their own body for deciding disputes among themselves; but if either party refuses to submit to this, an appeal is open to the magistrates.

They must unquestionably enjoy some great advantages by the trade they carry on, to compensate for such inconvenienci [...]. During the day-time they are allowed the liberty of walking all over the town; a privilege which they improve with equal assiduity and address.

They attack you in the street, ply at the gate of your lodgings, and even glide into your apartments, offering to supply you wi [...]h every commodity you can have occasion for: And if you happen to pass by the entrance of their street, they intreat your custom wi [...]h the violence and vociferation of so many Thames watermen. I was twice at their synagogue.

There is nothing magnificent in their worship; but much apparent zeal and fervour. I saw one of their most important rites performed on two children. It was impossible not to feel compassion for the poor infants, thus cruelly initiated into a community, who had formerly the misfortune of being despised by the Heathens, and now are execrated by all pious Christians.

[Page]

LETTER XLVII. Manners.—Distinction of ranks.—Theatrical entertainments—The German language.—Traineaus.

FRANKFORT on the MAINE.

YOU will be surprised at our remaining so long at a place where there is no court, and few of those entertainments which allure and retain travellers. The truth is, the Duke of Hamilton seems fond of this place; and as for my own part, I have formed an acquaintance with some very worthy people here, whose friendship I shall take every occasion to cultivate.

Society here is divided into Noblesse and the Bourgeois. The first consists, of some noble families from various parts of Germany, who have chosen Frankfort for their residence, and a few original citizens of Frankfort, but who have now obtained the rank of nobility. The citizens who connect themselves with strangers, have made their fortunes by commerce, which some of them still follow.

There is a public assembly for the nobility once a week, at which they drink tea, converse, or play at cards from six to ten. On the other nights the same company meet alternately at each other's houses, and pass the evening in the same manner. None of the Bourgeois families are invited to these parties, but they have assemblies of the same kind among themselves, and often entertain their friends and the strangers with whom they are acquainted, in a very hospitable manner at their tables. The noblemen who reside in Frankfort, and the nobility of all degrees, and▪ of every nation, who accidentally pass through it, cheerfully accept of these invitations to dine with the citizens, but none of the German ladies of quality condescend so far. While their fathers, husbands, and brothers, are entertained at a Bourgeois table, they chuse rather to dine at home by themselves; and they certainly judge wisely, if they prefer a spare diet to good cheer.

The distinction of ranks is observed in Germany, with all the scrupulous precision that a matter of that importance deserves. There is a public concert in this place supported by subscription. One would imagine that the subscribers would take their seats as they entered the room, that those who came earliest would have their choice.—No such matter.—The two first rows are kept for the ladies of quality, and the wives and daughters of the citizens must be contented to sit behind, let them come at what hour, and pay what money they please.—After all, this is not so bad as in an assembly of nobility, where commons are not permitted to sit, even in the lobby, whatever price they may have paid for their seat in parliament.

Since we arrived, the theatre has been opened for the winter, by a troop of German comedians. I was there the first night; [Page] previous to the play, there was a kind of allegorical prologue, intended as a compliment to the magistrates of Frankfort. This was performed by Justice, Wisdom, and Plenty, each of whom appeared in person, with the usual attributes. The last was very properly personated by a large fat woman, big with child. As to the two former, I hope, for the sake of the good people of Frankfort, that they are better represented in the town-council, than they were on the stag [...]. This prologue was concluded by a long harangue pronounced by the plumpest Apollo, I dare venture to say, that ever appeared in the heavens above, or on the earth beneath.

After th [...] the play began, which was a German traslation of the English play of George Barnwell, with considerable alterations. Barnwell is represented as an imprudent young man; but he does not murder his uncle, as in the English play, or commit any gross crime; the German traslator therefore, instead of hanging, only marries him at the end of the piece.

Most of the plays represented on the German stage, are translations from the English or French; for Germany, so fertile in writers in divinity, jurisprudence, medicine, chymistry, and other parts of natural philosophy, has produced few poets till of [...] ▪

I am nova progenies coe [...]o demittitur alto.

Now a new progeny descends from heaven.

and the German muse is now admired all over Europe. Her beauties are felt and applauded by men of genius, even through the medium of a translation, which is a strong proof of her original energy. It must, however, be a great discouragement to German poetry in general, and to the dramatic in particular, that the French language prevails in all the courts, and that French plays are represented there in preference to German.

The native language of the country is treated like a vulgar and provincial dialect, while the French is cultivated as the only proper language for people of fashion.—Children of the first families are instructed in French, before they acquire their mother-tongue, and pains are taken to keep them ignorant of this, that it may not hurt their pronunciation of the other. I have met with people who considered it as an accomplishment to be unable to express themselves in the language of their country, and who have pretended to be more ignorant, in this particular, than they were in reality.

I have been assured by many, who understand the German language well, that it is nervous, copious, most expressive, and capable of all the graces of poetry. The truth of this appears by the works of several late writers, who have endeavoured to check this unnatural prejudice in their countrymen, and to restore the language of their [...]ncestors to its native honours.—But what are the ef [...]rts of good sense, taste, and genius, in opposition to fashion, and the influence of courts?

[Page] Among the winter amusements of this place, traineau parties may be reckoned. These can take place in the time of frost only, and when there is a considerable quantity of snow upon the ground. I had an opportunity of seeing a very splendid entertainment of this kind lately, which was given by some young gentlemen to an equal number of ladies.

A traineau is a machine in the shape of a horse, lion, swan; or in that of a griffin, unicorn, or some other fanciful form, without wheels; but made below like a sledge, for the conveniency of sliding over the snow.

Some are gilded, and otherwise ornamented, according to the whim of the proprietor.—A pole stands up from one side, to which an ensign or flag is fastened, which waves over the heads of those placed on the machine. The lady, wrapped in fur, sits before, and the gentleman stands behind on a board made for that purpose.

The whole is drawn by two horses, which are either conducted by a postillion, or driven by the gentleman.—The horses are gaudily ornamented, and have bells hanging from the trappings which cover them.

This party consisted of about thirty traineaus, each attended by two or three servants on horseback with flambeaux; for this amusement was taken when it began to grow dark.—One traineau took the lead;—the rest followed at a convenient distance in a line, and drove for two or three hours through the principal streets and squares of Frankfort.

The horses go at a brisk trot or canter; the motion of the traineau is easy and agreeable; the bells, ensigns, and torches, make a very gay and showy appearance, which seemed to be much relished by the parties immediately concerned and admired by the spectators.

A few days after this exhibition, as we were preparing to set out for Hanau in a traineau, Mr. S—, brother to Lord S—, arrived at the inn. Though he had travelled for two days and nights, without having been in bed, he was so little fatigued, that he went along with us. Hanau is some leagues distant from Frankfort. We had a full proof of the fine easy motion of the traineau, which, in the time of frost, and when there is a proper quantity of snow on the ground, is certainly the most delightful way of travelling that can possibly be imagined.

Hanau is the residence of the Hereditary Prince of Hesse Cassel. As we entered the town we met the Princess, who is sister-in-law to the King of Denmark. She, with some of the ladies of the court, was taking the air also in a traineau.

Besides the troops of Hanau, two regiments of Hanoverians are there at present. The Hereditary Prince is not on the best terms with his father. He lives here, however, in a state of independency, possessed of the revenues of this country, which is guaranteed [Page] to him by the Kings of Britain, Denmark, and prussia; but there is no intercouse between this little court and that of Hesse Cassel.

After dinner we returned to Frankfort. The Duke prevailed with Mr. S—to remain a longer time at Frankfort than he had intended. He is a sensible young man of spirit and ambition. His grandfather▪ the old Earl of D—, endeavours to seduce him into holy orders, promising him a living of 2000l. a year, which is in the gift of the family. This you will acknowledge to be a temptation which few younger brothers could withstand. Nature, however, seems to have destined this young gentleman for another line in life. My own opinion is, he would rather have the command of a troop of dragoons, than be promoted to the See of Canterbury.

LETTER XLVIII. Nobility and citizens.—The revenge of a T [...]baconist—The field of Bergen.

FRANKFORT.

SOME of the nobility who reside in this city, take every opportunity of pointing out the essential difference that there is, and the distinctions that ought to be made, between their families and those of the Bourgeois, who, though they have, by commerce or some profession equally ignoble, attained great wealth, which enables them to live in a stile of magnificence unbecoming their rank; yet their noble neighbours insinuate, that they always retain a vulgarity of sentiment and manners, unknown to those whose blood has flowed pure through several generations, unmixed with that puddle which stagnates in the veins of plebeians.

The Duke of Hamilton does not seem to have studied natural philosophy with accuracy sufficient to enable him to observe this distinction. He mingles in the societies of the citizens, with as much ease and alacrity, as in those of the nobility, dining with the one, and drinking coffee with the other, in the most impartial manner, and between the two he contrives to amuse himself tolerably well.

The two families with which we are in the greatest degree of intimacy, are those of Mons de Barkhause, and Mons. P. Gogle. The former is a principal person in the magistracy, a man of learning and worth. His lady is of a noble family in the dukedom of Brunswic, a woman of admirable good sense and many accomplishments. She is well acquainted with English and French literature. The French language she speaks like a native, and though she cannot converse in English without difficulty, she understands and relishes the works of some of our best authors.

Mr. Gogle has travelled over the greatest part of Europe, and is equally acquainted with men and books. He has made a plentiful▪ fortune by commerce, and lives in a very agreeable and hospitable manner.

[Page] In these two houses we occasionally meet with the best company of both the classes of society in this place and in one or other when there is no public assembly we generally pass the afternoon.—The former part of the day (a [...]haw having lately dissolved the snow) we often pass in jaunts to the environs of this place, which are very beautiful.

As the Duke of Hamilton and I were riding one day along the banks of the Maine, near the village of Heix, which is in the territories of the Elector of Mentz, we observed a building which seemed to be the residence of some prince, or bishop at least. We were surprised we never had heard it spoken of, as it had a more magnificent appearance than any modern building we had seen since our arrival in Germany. We rode up, and upon entering it, found that the apartments within, though not laid out in the best taste, seemed to correspond, in point of expence, with the external appearance.

We were informed by the workmen, who were employed in finishing these apartments, that this palace belonged to a tobacconist in Frankfort, where he still kept shop, and had accumulated a prodigious fortune by making and selling snuff.

Near to the principal house, there is another great building intended for a work-house, in which tobacco is to be manufactured, with many apartments for the workmen, and vaulted cellars in which the various kinds of snuff are to be kept moist, till sent for inland sale to Frankfort, or shipped on the Maine for foreign markets.

The owner informed us, there were exactly three hundred rooms in both buildings, and the greater number of these belonged to the dwelling house. We did not chuse to puzzle the man by difficult questions, and therefore refrained from enquiring, what use he intended to make of such an amazing number of rooms, which seemed rather contrived as barracks for two or three thousand soldiers, than any other purpose.

On our return to town, we were informed that this person, who is not a native of Frankfort, though he has been many years established there, had applied to the magistrates for liberty to purchase a certain spot of ground, on which he proposed to build a dwelling-house, &c. which cannot be done by any but citizens, without the consent of the council.

This being refused, he bought a little piece of land in the territory of Mentz, immediately beyond that of Frankfort, and on the banks of the Maine; and being highly piqued by the refusal he had met with from the magistrates, he had reared a building greatly larger and more extensive than was necessary, or than he at first had intended, in the full persuasion that the remorse of the magistrates would be in proportion to the size of this fabric.

The tobacconist has already expended fifty thousand pounds on this temple of vengeance, and his wrath against the magistrates seems to be yet unappeased—for he still lavishes his money with a ra [...]cour against th [...]se unfortunate men, that is very unbecoming a [Page] Christian. The inhabitants of Frankfort, while they acknowlege the imprudence of the magistrates, do not applaud the wisdom of their antagonist, in whose brain they assert there must be some apartments as empty as any in the vast structure he is building.

Another day his Grace and I rode to Bergen, a small village which has been rendered eminent by the attempt made there by Prince Ferdinand on the French army in the year 1759.

We were accompanied by the Messrs. de Lessene [...], two gentlemen, now retired from the service, and living at Frankfort, who had been in the action, one a Captain in the Hanoverian army, the other of the same rank in the French.

During the winter of that memorable year, you may remember that the French, with more policy than justice, had seized upon this neutral city, and established their head-quarters here. This was attended by great advantages, securing to them the course of the Maine and Upper Rhine, by which they received supplies from Strasbourg, and all the intermediate cities.

Prince Ferdinand having formed the design of driving them from this advantageous situation, before they could be reinforced, suddenly assembled his army, which was cantoned about Munster, and after three days of forced marches, came in [...]ight of the French army, at that time commanded by the Duke de Broglio, who, having received intelligence of the Prince's scheme had made a very judicious disposition.

On the forenoon of the 13th of April, the Prince began his attack on the right wing of the French army, which occupied the village of Bergen.—This was renewed with great vivacity three several times. The Prince of Isembourg, and about 1500 of the Allies, fell in the action, which was prolonged till the evening; Prince Ferdinand then determining to draw off his troops, made such a disposition as convinced the enemy he intended a general attack next morning—and by this means he accomplished his retreat in the night, without being harrassed by the French.

I have heard officers of great merit assert, that nothing could be more judiciously planned and executed, than this enterprise; the only one of importance, however, in which that great General failed during the whole war.

By this misfortune the allied army were reduced to great difficulties, and the progress of the French, with the continued retreat of the Allies, spread such an alarm over the Electorate of Hanover; that many individuals sent their most valuable effects to S [...]ade, from whence they might be conveyed to England—The affairs of the Allies were soon after re-established by the decisive victory of Minden, which raised the military character of Prince Ferdinand higher than ever; though officers of penetration, who were at both actions, are still of opinion, that his talents were to the full as conspicuous at Bergen, where he was repulsed, as at the glorious field of Minden, by which Hanover and Brunswic were preserved, and the French obliged to abandon almost all Westphalia.

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LETTER XLIX. The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt.—Discipline.—The family of Prince George.

FRANKFORT.

I Returned a few days since from Darmstadt, having accompanied the Duke of Hamilton on a visit which he made to that court.

The reigning Prince of Hesse Darmstadt not being there, we were directed to pay our first visit to the Princess Maximilian, his aunt.—She invited us the same evening to play at cards and sup with her.—There were about ten people at table.—The Princess was gay, affable, and talkative.—The Duke confessed he never had passed an evening so agreeably with an old woman in his life.

Next morning we went to the parade, which is an object of great attention at this place. The prince has a most enthusiastic passion for military manoeuvres and evolutions.—Drilling and exercising his soldiers are his chief amusements, and almost his sole employment. That he may enjoy this in all kinds of weather, and at every season of the year, he has built a room sufficiently capacious to admit 1500 men, to perform their exercise in it all together.

This room is accomodated with sixteen stoves, by which it may be kept at the exact degree of temperature which suits his Highness's constitution.—On the morning that we were present, there was only the ordinary guard, consisting of three hundred men, who having performed their exercises, and marched for an hour up and down this spacious Gymnasium, were divided into parties and detached to their respective posts.

The Darmstadt soldiers are tall, tolerably clothed, and above all things remarkably well powdered. They go through their manoeuvres with that dexterity which may be expected of men who are continually employed in the same action, under the eye of their prince, who is an admirable judge, and severe critic in this part of the military art.

There is no regular fortification round this town; but a very high stone-wall, which is not intended to prevent an enemy from entering, being by no means adequate to such a purpose; but merely designed to hinder the garrison from deserting, to which they are exceedingly inclined; these poor men taking no delight in the warlike amusements which constitute the supreme joy of their sovereign.

Centinels are placed at small distances all round the wall, who are obliged to be exceedingly alert. One soldier gives the words all is well in Germa [...] to his neighbour on the right, who immediately calls the same to the centinel beyond him, and so it goes round till the first soldier receives the words from the left, which he transmits to the right as formerly, and so the call circulates without any intermission through the whole night.

[Page] Every other part of garrison duty is performed with equal exactness, and all neglects as severely punished as if an enemy were at the gates.

The men are seldom more than two nights out of three in bed▪ This, with the attention requisite to keep their clothes and accoutrements clean, is very hard duty, especially at present, when the frost is uncommonly keen, and the ground covered with snow.

There is a small body of cavalry at Darmstadt just now. They are dressed in buff coats, and magnificently accoutred.—These are the horse-guards of the prince.—Few as they are, I never saw so many men together of such a height, in my life, none of them being under six English feet three inches high, and several of them considerably above that enormous stature.

The Prince of Hesse Darmstadt formerly kept a greater number of troops: At present his whole army does not exceed five thousand men. But as the conduct of princes, however judicious it may be, seldom passes uncensured, there are people who blame him for entertaining even this number. They declare, that this prince's finances being in very great disorder, cannot support this establishment; which, though small, may be counted high, considering the extent of his dominions. They insist also upon the loss, which agriculture and manufactures must sustain, by having the stoutest men taken away from these necessary employments, and their strength exhausted in useless parade. For these rigid censors have the assurance to assert, that an army of five thousand men, though burden some to the country, is not sufficient to defend it; that the number is by far too great for amusement, and infinitely too small for any manner of use.

The same day, we dined with the Princess Maximilian, and in the afternoon were presented to Prince George's family. He is brother to the reigning Prince. He happened to be indisposed; but his princess received the Duke with the utmost politeness.

Their two youngest sons and three daughters were at supper. The former are still very young: the latter are well looking, remarkably accomplished, and do much credit to the great pains their mother has bestowed on their education.

Next morning we were invited to breakfast, by the Baron Riedefal, at a pleasant country-house he has near Darmstadt.—His Grace went with him, in a carriage of a very particular construction. The Baron sat on a low seat next the horses, and drove; the Duke in a higher place behind him. Each of these is made for one person only; but behind all, there was a wooden seat, in the shape of a little horse, on which two servants were mounted. The usual posting chaises in this country hold six persons with [...]ase; and people even of the first rank generally have two or three servants in the chaise with them. In point of oeconomy, these carriages are well imagined; and, in the time of frost, not inconvenient; for here travellers take special care to fortify themselves [Page] against cold by cloaks lined with fur. But when it rains hard, two of the company at least must be drenched; for the German chaises are never entirely covered above.

I went with Count Cullemberg in his coach. We passed the forenoon very agreeably at this house, which seems to be advantageously situated; but in its present snowy dress, one can no more judge of the natural complexion of the country, than of that of an actress new painted for the stage.

We dined with Prince George, who was sufficiently recovered to be at table. He is a handsome man, of a soldier-like appearance, and has all the ease and openness of the military character.

His second son, who had been absent for some weeks, arrived while we were at table. He is a fine young man, about eighteen years of age. It was pleasing to observe the satisfaction which this small incident diffused over the faces of father, mother, and the whole family, which formed a groupe worthy the pencil of Greuse.

Do not suspect that I am prejudiced in favour of this family, merely because they belong to a prince.—An appearance of domestic happiness is always agreeable, whether we find them in a palace or a cottage; and the same symptoms of good humour, though they would not have surprized me so much, would have delighted me equally in the family of a peasant.

THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. According to the LONDON EDITION.

LETTER L. Conversation with a foreigner concerning the English nation.

FRANKFORT.

DEAR SIR,

SINCE my return from Darmstadt, the weather has been, so very bad, that I have passed the time mostly at home. That I may obey your injunctions to write regulary at the stated periods. I will send you the substance of a conversation I had within these few days with a foreigner, a man of letters, with whom I am in a considerable degree of intimacy.

This gentleman has never been in England, but he speaks the language a little, understands it very well, and has studied many of our best authors. He said, that he had found in some English books, a solidity of reasoning, and a strength of expression, superior to any thing he had met with elsewhere;—that the English history furnished examples of patriotism and zeal for civil liberty, equal to what was recorded in the Greek or Roman story;—that English poetry displayed a sublimity of thought, and a knowledge of the human heart, which no writings, ancient or modern, could surpass; and in philosophy it was pretty generally [Page] allowed, that the English nation had no rival.—He then mentioned the improvements made by Englishmen in medicine and other arts, their superiority in navigation, commerce, and manufactures; and even hinted something in praise of a few English statesmen. He concluded his panegyric by saying, that these considerations had given him the highest idea of the English nation, and had led him to cultivate the acquaintance of many Englishmen whom he had occasionally met on their travels. But he frankly acknowledged, that his connection with these had not contributed to support the idea he had formed of their nation.

As I had heard sentiments of the same kind insinuated by others, I replied at some length, observing, that if he had lived in the most brilliant period of Roman grandeur, and had accidentally met with a few Romans in Greece or Asia, and had formed his opinion of that illustrious commonwealth from the conduct and conversation of these travellers, his ideas would, in all probability, have been very different from those which the writings of Livy, Caesar, Cicero, and Virgil, had given him of the Roman people:—That the manners and behaviour of the few English he might have met abroad▪ so far from giving him a just view of the character of the whole nation, very possibly had led him to false conclusions with regard to the character of those very individuals. For that I myself had known many young Englishmen who, after having led a dissipated, insignificant kind of life while on their travels, and while the natural objects of their ambition were at a distance, had changed their conduct entirely upon their return, applied to business as eagerly as they had formerly launched into extravagance, and had at length become very useful members of the community.

But, continued I, throwing this consideration out of the question, the real character of a people can only be discovered by living among them on a familiar footing, and for a considerable time. This is necessary before we can form a just idea of any nation; but perhaps more so with respect to the English, than any other: for in no nation are the education, sentiments, and pursuits of those who travel, so different from those of the people who remain at home.

The first class is composed of a few invalids, a great many young men [...]aw from the university, and some idle men of fortune, void of ambition, and incapable of application, who, every now and then, saunter through Europe, because they know not how to employ their time at home.

The second class is made up of younger brothers, who are bred to the army, navy, the law, and other professions;—all who follow commerce, are employed in manufactures, or farming; and, in one word, all who, not being born to independent fortunes, endeavour to remedy that inconveniency by industry, and the cultivation of their talents.

[Page] England is the only country in Europe whose inhabitants never leave it in search of fortune. There are, moderately speaking, twenty Frenchmen in London for every Englishman at Paris. By far the greater part of those Frenchmen travel to get money, and almost all the English to spend it. But we should certainly be led into great errors, by forming an idea of the character of the French nation from that of the French fidlers, dancing-masters, dentists, and valet-de-chambers to be met with in England, or other parts of Europe.

The gentleman acknowledged, that it would be unfair to decide on the French character from that of their fiddlers and dancing-masters; but added, that he did not perceive that the English could reasonably complain, should foreigners form an opinion of their national character from the men of fortune, and rank, who had enjoyed, the most liberal education of their island.

I answered, they certainly would, because young men of high rank and great fortune carry a set of ideas along with them from their infancy, which very often disappoint the purposes of the best education—. Let a child of high rank be brought up with all the care and attention the most judicious parents and masters can give;—let him be told, that personal qualities alone can make him truly respectable;—that the fortuitous circumstances of birth and fortune afford no just foundation for esteem;—that knowledge and virtue are the true sources of honour and happiness;—that idleness produces vice and misery;—that without application he cannot acquire knowledge;—and that without knowledge he will dwindle into insignificance, in spite of rank and fortune:—Let these things be inculcated with all the power of persuasion; let them be illustrated by example, and insinuated by fable and allegory;—yet, do we not daily see the effect of all this counteracted by the insinuations of servants and base sycophants, who give an importance to far different qualities, and preach a much more agreeable doctrine?

They make eternal allusions in all their discourse and behaviour to the great estate the young spark is one day to have, and the great man he must be, independent of any effort of his own▪ They plainly insinuate, if they do not directly say it, that study and application, tho' proper enough for hospital boys, is unnecessary, or perhaps unbecoming a man of fashion. They talk with rapture of the hounds, hunters, and race horses of one great man; of the rich liveries and brilliant equipage of another; and how much both are loved and admired for their liberality to their servants. They tell their young master, that his rank and estate entitles him to have finer hounds, horses, liveries and equipage than either, and to be more liberal to his servants; and consequently a greater man in every respect. This kind of poison, being often poured upon the young sprouts of fortune and quality, gradually blasts the vigour of the plants, and renders all care and cultivation ineffectual.

If we suppose that domestics of another character could be placed about a boy of high rank, and every measure taken to inspire him with other sentiments; he cannot [...] abroad, he cannot go into company[Page]without perceiving his own importance, and the attention that is paid to him. His childish pranks are called spirited actions: his pert speeches are converted into bo [...]mots; witty sayings; and when reproved or punished by his parent or master, ten to one but some obsequious intermedler will tell him that he has suffered great injustice.

The youth, improving all this to the purposes of indolence and vanity, arrives at length at the comfortable persuasion, that study or application of any kind would in him be superfluous;—that he ought only to seek amusement, for at the blessed age of twenty one, distinction, deference, admiration, and all other good things will be added unto him.

A young man on the other hand, who is born to no such expectations, has no sycophants around him to pervert his understanding;—when he behaves improperly, he instantly sees the marks of disapprobation on every countenance:—He daily meets with people who inform him of his faults without ceremony or circumlocution—He perceives that nobody cares for his bad humour or caprice, and very naturally concludes that he had best correct his temper.—He finds that he is apt to be neglected in company, and that the only remedy for this inconveniency will be the rendering himself agreeable.—He loves affluence, distinction and admiration, as well as the rich and great; but becomes fully convinced that he can never obtain even the shadow of them, otherwise than by useful and ornamental acquirements. The truth of those precepts, which is proved by rhetoric and syllogism to the boy of fortune, is experimentally felt by him who has no fortune; and the difference which this makes, is infinite.

So that the son of a gentleman of moderate fortune has a probability of knowing more of the world at the age of sixteen, an [...] of having a juster notion of people's sentiments of him, than a youth of very high rank at a much more advanced age; for it is very difficult for any person to find out that he is despised while he continues to be flattered.

So far, therefore, from being surprised that dissipation, weakness and ignorance, are so prevalent among those who are born to great fortunes and high rank, we ought to be astonished to see so great a number of men of virtue, diligence and genius among them as there is. And if the number be proportionably greater in England than in any other coun [...]ry, which I believe is the case, this must proceed from the impartial discipline of our public schools; and the equitable treatment which boys of the greatest rank receive from their comrades. Sometimes the natural, manly sentiments they acquire from their school companions, serve as an antidote against the childish, sophistical notions with which weak or designing men endeavour to inspire them in future life.

The nature of the British constitution contributes also to form a greater number of men of talents amongst the wealthy and the great, than are to be found in other countries; because it opens a wider field for ambition than any other government;—and ambition excites those exertions which produce talents.

[Page] But, continued I, you must acknowledge that it would be improper to form a judgment of the English genius, by samples taken from me [...] who have greater temptations to indolence, and fewer spurs to application than others.

My disputant still contested the point, and asserted that high birth gave a native dignity and elevation to the mind;—that distinctions and honours were originally introduced into families by eminent abilities and great virtues;—that when a man of illustrious birth came into a company, or even when his name was mentioned, this naturally raised a recollection of the great actions and shining qualities of the eminent person who had first acquired those honour;—that a consciousness of this must naturally stimulate the present possessor to imitate the virtues of his ancestors;—that his degenerating would subject him to the highest degree of censure, as the world could not, without indignation, behold indolence and vice adorned with the rewards of activity and virtue.

I might have disputed this assertion, that honours and titles are always the rewards of virtue; and could have produced abundance of instances of the opposite proposition. But I allowed that they often were so, and that hereditary honours in a family always ought to have, and sometimes had, the effect which he supposed: but th [...]se concessions being made in their fullest latitude, still he would do injustice to the English, by forming a judgment of their na [...]al character from what he had observed of the temper, manners, and genius of those Englishmen with whom he had been acquainted in foreign countries; because three-fourths of them were, in all probabilty, men of fortune, without having family or high birth to boast of; so that they had the greatest inducements to indolence, without possessing the motives to virtuous exertions, which influence people of high rank.

For, though it rarely happened in other countries, it was very common in England for men of all the various professions and trades to accumulate very great fortunes, which, at their death, falling to their sons, these young men without having had a suitable education, immediately set up for gentlemen, and run over Europe in the characters of Milords Anglois, game, purchase pictures, mutilated statues and mistresses, to the astonishment of all beholders: And, conscious of the blot in their escutcheon, they think it is incumbent on them to wash it out, and make up for the impurity of their blood, by plunging deeper into the ocean of extravagance than is necessary for a man of hereditary fashion.

Here our conversation ended, and the gentleman promised that he would abide by the idea he had formed of the English nation from the works of Milton, Locke, and Newton, and the characters of Raleigh, Hambden, and Sidney.

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LETTER LI. Inns at Frankfort.—Table d'hôte.—French.—English—German women.

FRANKFORT.

AMONG the remarkable things in Frankfort the inns may be reckoned. Two in particular, the Emperor and the Red House, for cleanliness, conveniency, and number of apartments, are superior to any I ever saw on the continent, and vie with our most magnificent inns in England.

At these, as at all other inns in Germany and Switzerland, there is an ordinary, at which the strangers may dine and sup. This is called the Table d'Hôte, The landlords table, from the circumstance of the landlord's sitting at the bottom of the table and carving the victuals. The same name for an ordinary is still retained in France, tho' the landlord does not sit at the table, which was the case formerly in that country, and still is the custom in Germany. There are no private lodgings to be had here as in London, nor any hôtels garnie, furnished lodgings, as in Paris. Strangers therefore retain apartments at the inn during the whole time of their residence in any of the towns.

And travellers of every denomination in this country under the rank of sovereign princes, make no scruple of eating occasionally at the table d'Hôte of the inn where they lodge, which custom is universally followed by strangers from every country on the continent of Europe.

Many of our countrymen, however, who despise oeconomy, and hate the company of strangers, prefer eating in their own apartments to the table d'Hôte, or any private table to which they may be invited.

It would be arrogance in any body to dispute the right which every free-born Englishman has to follow his own inclination in this particular. Yet when people wish to avoid the company of strangers, it strikes me, that they might indulge their fancy as completely at home as abroad; and while they continue in that humour, I cannot help thinking that they might save themselves the inconveniency and expence of travelling.

The manners and genius of nations, it is true, are not to be learnt at inns; nor is the most select company to be found at public ordinaries yet a person of observation, and who is fond of the study of character, will sometimes find instruction and entertainment at both. He there sees the inhabitants of the country on a less ceremonious footing than he can elsewhere, and hears the remarks of travellers of every degree.

The first care of a traveller certainly should be, to form an acquaintance and some degree of intimacy with the principal people in every place where he intends to reside;—to accept invitations [Page] to their family parties, and attend their societies;—to entertain them at his apartments, when that can be conveniently done, and endeavour to acquire a just notion of their government, customs, sentiments, and manner of living.—Those who are fond of the study of man, which, with all due deference to the philosophers who prefer that of beasts, birds and butterflies, is also a pardonable amusement, will mix occasionally with all degrees of people, and, when not otherwise engaged, will not scruple to take a seat at the table d'Hôte, the Landlord's table.

It is said that low people are sometimes to be found at these ordinaries. This to be sure is a weighty objection; but then it should be remembered, that it is within the bounds of possibility, that men even engaged in commerce may have liberal minds, and may be able to give as distinct accounts of what is worthy of observation, as if they had been as idle as people of the highest fashion through the whole [...] their lives. A man must have a very turgid idea of his own grandeur, if he cannot submit, in a foreign country, to dine at th [...] table with a person of inferior rank; especially as he will meet, at the same time, with others of equal, or superior rank to himself: For all etiquette of this nature is waved even in Germany at the tables d'Hôtes, the Landlord's tables.

A knowledge of the characters of men, as they appear varied in different situations and countries;—the study of human nature indeed in all its forms and modifications, is highly interesting to the mind, and worthy the attention of the greatest man. This is not to be perfectly attained in courts and palaces. The investigator of nature must visit her in humbler life, and put himself on a level with the men whom he wishes to know.

It is generally found, that those who possess real greatness of mind, never hesitate to overleap the obstacles, and despise the forms, which may stand in the way of their acquiring this useful knowledge.

The most powerful of all arguments against entirely declining to appear at the public table of the inn, is, that in this country it is customary for the ladies themselves, when on a journey, [...] eat there; and my partiality for the table d'Hôte may possibly be owing in some degeee to my having met, at one of them, with two of the handsomest women that I have seen since I have been in this country, which abounds in female beauty.

There is more expression in the countenances of French women, but the ladies in Germany have the advantage in the fairness of their skin and the bloom of their complexion. They have a greater resemblance to English women than to French; yet they differ considerably from them both.—I do not know how to give an idea of the various shades of expression, which, if I mistake not, I can distinguish in the features of the sex in these three countries.

A handsome French woman, besides the ease of her manner▪ has commonly a look of cheerfulness and great vivacity.—She [Page] appears willing to be acquainted with you, and seems to expect that you will address her. The manner of an English woman is not so devoid of restraint; and a stranger, especially if he be a foreigner, may observe a look which borders on disdain in her countenance. Even among the loveliest features, something of a sulky air often appears. While their beauty allures, this in some degree checks that freedom of address which you might use to the Frenchwoman, and interests your vanity more, by giving the idea of the difficulties you have to conquer.

A German beauty, without the smart air of the one, or the reserve of the other, has generally a more placid look than either.

LETTER LII. Collections of paintings.—Cabinets of natural curiosities.—Contrast of character between the French and Germans, illustrated by their postillions.

FRANKFORT.

SEVERAL individuals here are fond of distinguishing themselves by their passion for the fine arts, and strangers are informed, that it is well worth while to visit certain private collections of paintings which are to be seen at Frankfort.

You know I am no connoisseur; and if I were, should not take up your time in describing them, or giving a criticism on their subject. For though I have seen them, you have not; and nothing, in my opinion, can be more unintelligible and tiresome to the Reader, than criticisms on paintings which he has not seen. I shall only observe, that as all these collections have acquired the esteem and approbation of the proprietors, which I presume was the chief end of their creation, they are certainly intitled to respect from every unconcerned spectator—One of them in particular must be very valuable, on account of the prodigious sum of money which the present possessor was offered for it, and which he refused as inadequate to its worth; though the sum offered would have at once made the gentleman easy in his circumstances, which, I am sorry to say, is far from being the case. This anecdote cannot be doubted, for I had it from his own mouth.

It is still more the fashion here to form cabinets of natural curiosities. Besides the repositories of this kind, which are to be seen at the courts of the princes, many individuals all over Germany have Museums in their houses, and strangers cannot pay their court better, than by requesting permission to see them. This would be an easy piece of politeness, if the stranger were allowed to take a view, and walk away when be thought proper. But the misfortune is, that the proprietor attends on these occasions, [Page] and gives the history of every piece of ore, petrifaction, fossil-wood, and monster that is in the collection. And as this lecture is given gratis, he assumes the right of making it as long as he pleases: so that requesting a sight of a private collection of natural curiosities, is a more serious matter than people are aware of.

The Duke of Hamilton has brought himself into a scrape, out of which I imagine it will be difficult to extricate him. Being unacquainted with the trouble which these gentlemen give themselves on such occasions, he has expressed an inclination to three or four virtuosi to see their cabinets. I attended him on his first visitation yesterday.

The gentleman made an unusual exertion to please his Grace. He said, being fully convinced of his taste for natural philosophy▪ in which people of his high rank were never deficient, he would therefore take pleasure to explain every particular in the collection with the greatest deliberation. He had kept himself disengaged the whole forenoon on purpose, and had given orders not to be interrupted.

He then descanted on each particular in the collection, with such minuteness and perseverance, as completely satiated His Grace's curiosity, and gave him such a knowledge of earths, crystals, agates, pyrites, marcasites, petrifactions, metals, semimetals, &c. &c. as will, I dare swear, serve him for the rest of his life.

§

CASSEL.

I began this letter at Frankfort, not suspecting that our departure would be so sudden. But as the day approached on which we had been promised the sight of another cabinet of curiosities, I found the Duke's impatience to be gone increase every moment. So sending our apology to the proprietors of two or three which he had asked permission to visit, we passed one day with Madame de Barkhause's family, and another with Mr. Gogle's, and then bidding a hasty adieu to our other acquaintances at Frankfort, we set out for this place. We slept the first night at Marburg, and on the second, about midnight, arrived at Cassel.

As the ground is quite covered with snow, the roads bad, and the posts long, we were obliged to take six horses for each chaise, which, after all, in some places moved no faster than a couple of hearses. The Duke bore this with wonderful serenity, contemplating the happy evasion he had made from the cabinets at Frankfort. A slave who had escaped from the mines could not have shown greater satisfaction. His good humour remained proof against all the phlegm and obstinacy of the German postillions, of which one who has not travelled in the extremity of the winter, and when the roads are covered with snow, thro' this country, can form no idea.

[Page] The contrast of character between the French and Germans is strongly illustrated in the behaviour of the postillions of the two countries.

A French postillion is generally either laughing, or fretting, or singing, or swearing, all the time he is on the road. If a hill or a bad road oblige him to go slow, he will of a sudden fall a cracking his whip above his head for a quarter of an hour together, without rhyme or reason; for he knows the horses cannot go a bit faster, and he does not intend they should. All this noise and emotion, therefore, means nothing; and proceeds entirely from that abhorrence of quiet which every Frenchman sucks in with his mother's milk.

A German postillion, on the contrary, drives four horses with all possible tranquillity. He neither sings, nor frets, nor laughs: he only smokes:—and when he comes near a narrow defile, he founds his trumpet to prevent any carriage from entering at the other end till he has got through. If you call to him to go faster, he turns about, looks you in the face, takes his pipe from his mouth, and says, Yaw, Mynher;—yaw, yaw; and then proceeds exactly in the same pace as before. He is no way affected whether the road be good or bad: whether it rains, or shines, or snows:—And he seems to be totally regardless of the people whom he drives, and equally callous to their reproach or applause.

He has one object, of which he never loses sight, which is to conduct your chaise and the contents from one post to another, in the manner he thinks best for himself and the horses. And unless his pipe goes out (in which case he strikes his flint and rekindles it,) he seems not to have another idea during the whole journey.

Your best course is to let him take his own way at first, for it will come to that at last.—All your noise and bluster are vain.

Non vultus instantis tyranni

Mente quatit solida, neque Auster

Dux inquieti turbidus Adrioe,

Nec fulminantis magna Jovis manus.

HORACE.

Unshaken hears the Crowd's tumultuous Cries,

And the impetuous Tyrant's angry Brow defies.

Let the loud Winds, that rule the Seas,

Tempestuous their wild Horrors raise;

Let Jove's dread Arm with Thunders rend the spheres,

Beneath the Crush of Worlds undaunted he appears.

FRANCIS.

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LETTER LIII. Court of Cassel.

CASSEL.

THE attention and civilities which are paid to the Duke of Hamilton by this court have induced us to remain longer than we intended at our arrival.

As you seem curious to know how we pass our time, and the stile of living here, I shall give you a sketch of one day, which, with little variation, may give you an idea of all the rest.

We generally employ the morning and forenoon in study. We go to the palace about half an hour before dinner is served, where we find all the officers who have been invited, assembled in a large room.

The Landgrave soon appears, and continues conversing with the company till his consort arrives with the princess Charlotte, and such ladies as they have thought proper to invite.

The company then walk to the dining parlour, where there are about thirty covers every day, and the same number in a room adjoining. The doors being left open between these apartments, the whole forms in a manner but one company. The strangers, and such officers as are not under the rank of colonel, dine at their Highnesses table.

The repast continues about two hours, during which the conversation is carried on with some little appearance of constraint, and rather in a low voice, except when either of their Highnesses speaks to any person seated at a distance.

After dinner the company returns to the room where they first assembled. In this they remain till the Landgrave retires, which he usually does within about a quarter of an hour. Soon after the company separates till seven in the evening, when they again assemble.

The Landgrave plays constantly at Cavaniolle, a kind of lottery, where no address or attention is requisite, and which needs hardly interrupt conversation. It requires about a dozen players to make his party.

The Landgravine plays at Quadrille, and chooses her own party every night.—Other card-tables are set in the adjoining rooms, for the conveniency of any who choose to play. The gaming continues about a couple of hours. The Landgrave then salutes her Highness on both cheeks, and retires to his own apartments, while she and the rest of the company go to supper. At this repast there is less formality, and of consequence more ease and gaiety, than at dinner.

When her Highness rises from table, most part of the company attend her up stairs to a spacious anti chamber, where she remains conversing a few minutes, and then retires.

[Page] These general forms are sometimes varied by a concert in the Landgrave's apartments. There are also certain days of Gala, which are only distinguished by the company's being more numerous, and better dressed, than usual: two circumstances which do not add a vast deal to the pleasure of the entertainment.

During the Carnival, there were two or three masquerades. On these occasions the court assemble about six in the evening, the men being all in Dominos, and the ladies in their usual dress, or with the addition of a few fanciful ornaments, according to the particular taste of each.

They amuse themselves with cards and conversation till the hour of supper. During this interval, a gentleman of the court carries a parcel of tickets in his hat, equal to the number of men in company. These are presented to the ladies, each of whom draws one. Tickets in the same manner are presented to the men, who take one a piece, which they keep till the card playing is finished.

The officer then calls number One, upon which the couple who are possessed of that number come forward, and the gentleman leads the lady into the supper-room, sits by her, and is her partner for the rest of the evening. In the same manner every other Number is called.

After supper, all the company put on their masks. Her Highness is led into the masquerade-room. The rest follow, each lady being handed by her partner. The Landgravine and her partner walk to the upper end of the room.—The next couple stop at a small distance below them;—the third next to the second, and so on till this double file reaches from the top to the bottom of the hall. If there are any supernumeraries, they must retire to the sides.—From this arrangement you expect a country dance:—a minuet however is intended—the music begins, and all the maskers on the floor, consisting of twenty or thirty couple, walk a minuet together. This, which is rather a confused affair, being over, every body sits down, the Landgravine excepted, who generally dances nine or ten minutes successively with as many different gentlemen. She then takes her seat till the rest of the company have danced minuets, which being over, the cotillons and country-dances begin, and continue till four or five in the morning.

Her Highness is a very beautiful woman, graceful in her person, and of a gay and sprightly character. She is in danger of growing corpulent, an inconveniency not uncommon in Germany, but which she endeavours to retard by using a great deal of exercise.

Besides the company who sup at court, the rooms were generally crowded with masks from the town, some of whom are in fancy dresses, and keep themselves concealed all the time. And although those who came from the court are known when they enter the masquerade rooms, many of them slip out afterwards, change their dress, and return to amuse themselves, by teasing their friends in their assumed characters, as is usual at masquerades.

The country-dances are composed of all persons promiscuously, who incline to join in them.—Two women of pleasure, who had come to [Page]pass the Carnival at Cassel in the exercise of their profession, and were well known to many of the officers, danced every masquerade night in the country-dance, which her Highness led down; for the mask annihilates ceremony, puts every body on a footing, and not unfrequently, while it conceals the face most effectually, serves so much the more to discover the real character and inclinations of the wearer.

LETTER LIV. The Landgrave.—His troops.—The officers—A brilliant action by Marechal Laudohn—French comedy.—Courtiers.

CASSEL.

NEXT to the Electors of the Empire, the Landgrave of Hesse Cassel is one of the greatest Princes in Germany; and even of those, the electors of Bohemia, Bavaria, Saxony, and Hanover, only are richer and more powerful than he. His country is in general hilly, with a great deal of wood, but interspersed with fertile valleys and corn fields. The large subsidies this court received from Britain during the two last wars, with what is given in the time of peace, by way of retaining fee, have greatly contributed to the present flourishing state of its finances.

The [...]gning Prince forsook the Protestant faith about twenty years ago, and made a public profession of the Roman Catholic religion, in the lifetime of the late Landgrave, his father. This gave great uneasiness to the old Prince, and alarmed his subjects, who are all Protestants.

The states of the Landgraviate were assembled on this important occasion, and such measures taken as were judged necessary to maintain the religion and constitution of the country, against any future attempts to subvert them. The Hereditary Prince was excluded from all share in the education of his sons, who were put under the tuition of the Princess Mary of Great-Britain, his first wife, living at that time separate from her husband. The eldest son, upon his father's accession to the Landgraviate, was put in possession of the county of Hanau; so that the inhabitants have felt no inconveniency from the change of their Prince's religion. And as he himself has reaped no earthly advantage, either in point of honour or profit, by his conversion, it is presumable, that his Highness's hopes are now limited to the rewards which may await him in another world.

This Prince keeps on foot 16,000 men in time of peace, disciplined according to the Prussian plan, the Landgrave himself having the rank of Field Marshal in the Prussian army. The Prince is fond of exercising them; but not having a house on purpose, as the Prince of Hesse Darmstadt has, he takes that amusement [Page] when the weather is very bad in the dining-room of his palace, where I have frequently seen two or three hundred of the first battalion of guards perform their manoeuvres with all possible dexterity.

The Prince of Saxe-Gotha, brother to the late Princess of Wales, has a regiment in the Landgrave's service, and resides at Cassel.

The person who has the chief management in military affairs, is General Scliven, a man of an exceedingly just and accurate understanding, which he has finely cultivated by reading and reflection.

I have the happiness to be intimately acquainted with many other officers in this service.—An open manner, and undesigning civility, distinguish the German character; qualities which naturally banish reserve, and inspire confidence. And what makes the conversation of these gentlemen still more agreeable and interesting to me, is the justice they seem fond of rendering to the bravery of the British troops with whom they served.

They always mention the names of Granby, Waldgrave, and Kingsley, with the highest encomiums, and speak with affectionate regard of some officers with whom they were more intimately acquainted, particularly Mr. Keith, now at Vienna, and Colonel John Maxwell, whom they applaud as one of the bravest and most active officers that served in the allied army; and seem fond of mentioning instances of the amazing intrepidity of the British grenadiers whom he commanded.

Besides those actually in the Landgrave's service, there are some other persons of note who reside at Cassel. I sometimes pass an afternoon with old General Zastrow, who had the command of the garrison of Schweidnitz, when it was surprised by the Austrian general Laudohn.

If you recollect, that important place had been taken from the Prussians in the year 1757, by Count Nadasti. It was blockaded by the King of Prussia in the winter of that same year, and surrendered to him in spring 1758, after one half of the garrison had fallen in defending the place. In the year 1761, Laudohn retook it almost in sight of the Prussian monarch, by the most brilliant coup-de-main that perhaps ever was struck.

The King's army and Laudohn's were both in the neighbourhood of Schweidnitz. The latter could not attempt a regular siege, while he was watched by such an enterprizing enemy. But observing that the King had moved at a greater distance than usual from the town, and knowing that more than one half of the garrison had been drafted, he resolved on an enterprize as bold as it was sagacious.

One morning early this vigilant commander, taking the advantage of a thick fog, marched his army to the town of Schweidnitz in four divisions. Scaling ladders were applied to the ramparts, [Page] and some of the Austrians had actually entered the town, before they were observed by the centinels.

The garrison, being at last roused, attacked the assailants in a furious manner.—The confusion was increased by the blowing up of a powder magazine, which destroyed great numbers on both sides. The Governor was taken prisoner, fighting sword in hand on the ramparts, and the town surrendered.

This exploit established the reputation of Laudohn, while poor Zastrow, according to the usual fate of the unfortunate, became a prey to the calumny of the unfeeling and ungenerous. He demanded a trial by a court martial.—The King said there was no occasion for that, as he did not accuse him of any crime.—But he did not judge it expedient to employ him in any command after this misfortune.

I have heard the old man relate all the particulars of that affair, and the account he gave has been confirmed to me by officers well informed, and unconnected with him.

A company of French comedians are lately arrived here, which forms a new resource for the court. They remain six weeks, or two months. The Landgrave pays them a stipulated sum for acting twice a week during that time; and they have scarcely any emolument beside; for the inhabitants of Cassel, who are Calvinists, shew no great passion for dramatic entertainments.

The play-house is neat, though small. The front gallery, with a convenient room behind, is appropriated to the court. When the Prince of Princess stands up, whether between the acts, or in the time of the representation, all the audience, pit, box, and gallery, immediately arise, and remain in a standing posture till their sovereign sit down.

Since the arrival of these players, the court has been uncommonly brilliant, and the Gala days more frequent. Yesterday was a very splendid one. I then observed in the drawing-room, two persons, neither of whom is a Hessian, saluting each other with great politeness and apparent regard. A little after, one of them touched my shoulder, and, pointing to the other, whispered in my ear,—Prenez garde, Monsieur, de cet homme; c'est un grand coquin,—Take care of this man sir, he is a great knave.

The other within a few minutes came to me, saying, Croyez vous, Monsieur, que vous puissiez reconnoitre un fou si je vous le montrois?—Le voilá,—Do you think Sir you could know a fool if I was to shew one to you?—There he is, added he, showing the person who had whispered me before.

I have been since told, by those who know both, that each had hit exactly upon the other's character.

This little trait I have mentioned merely on account of its singularity, and to show you how very different the manners of this court, and the sentiments of the courtiers here with regard to each other, are from [...]hose at St. James's.

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LETTER LV. City of Cassel.—Palaces.—Academy.—Colonade.—Noble cascade at Wasenstein.

CASSEL.

THE city of Cassel is situated on the river Fulda. It consists of an old and new town. The former is the largest and most irregular. The new town is well built; and there, as you may believe, the nobility and officers of the court have their houses. The streets are beautiful, but not over-crowded with inhabitants.

Besides the large chateau in the town of Cassel, which is the Landgrave's winter residence, he has several villas and castles in different parts of his dominions. Immediately without the town, there is a very beautiful building, in which he dwells for the most part of the summer. The apartments there are neat and commodious, some of them adorned with antique statues of considerable value.

None of the rooms are spacious enough to admit of exercising any considerable number of the troops within their walls; but his Highness sometimes indulges in this favourite recreation on the top of this villa, which has a flat roof, most convenient for that purpose.

Around this are some noble parks and gardens, with a very complete orangery. There is also a menagerie, with a considerable collection of curious animals. I saw there a very fine lioness, which has lately lost her husband—an elephant—three camels in fine condition, one of them milk-white, the other two grey, and much taller than the elephant;—an African deer, a fierce and lively animal, with a skin beautifully spotted;—a very tall reindeer—several leopards—a bear, and a great variety of monkies.—The collection of birds is still more complete, a great many of which are from the East-Indies.

In the accademy of arts, which is situated in the new town, are some valuable antiques, and other curiosities, among which is a St. John in Mosaic, done after a picture of Raphaël's with the following inscription below it.

IMAGINEM S [...] JOHANNES EX ITALIA ADVENAM IN RARUM RARAE INDUSTRIAE HUMANAE MONUMENTUM HANC COLLOCARI JUSS [...]T FREDERICUS II. HASSIAE LANDGR. A. M. D. CCLXV.

[Page] The Image of Saint John brought from Italy, Frederick II. Land grave of Hesse, ordered to be placed here as a rare monument of extraordinary Human Industry. A. M. D. CCLXV.

But this art of copying paintings in Mosaic work, I understand has of late been brought to a much greater degree of perfection at Rome.

In the vestibule is placed the trunk of a laurel tree, with this inscription on the wall behind it.

QUAE PER OCTO PRINCIPUM CATTORUM AETATIS IN AMAENIS INCLYTI CASSEL. VIRIDARII SPATIAM FLORUIT LAURUS ALT. CIRCITER LIV. LAT. IV. PED. RHENAN. AD TEMPORA HEROUM SERENISS DOMUS HASSIAE CORONIS CINGENDA, SENIO, SED NON IMPROLIS, EMORTUA EST NE VERO TOTA PERIRET ARBOR APOLLINI SACRA TRUNCUM IN MUSEO SERVARI JUSSIT FREDERICUS II. H. L. A. M. D. CCLXIII.

A Laurel which flourished in the agreeable gardens of the celebrated Cassel, during the reigns of eight successive princes, LIV Rhenish feet in height, and IV in breadth. Serving to crown the temples of the heroes of the most serene house of Hesse. It died of old age, yet not without leaving a progeny behind. But to prevent the tree, sacred to Apollo, totally from perishing, Frederick II, Landgrave of Hesse▪ preserved the trunk in this museum. A. M. D. CCLXIII.

They also show a sword, which was consecrated by the Pope, and sent to one of the Princes of this family at his setting out on an expedition to the Holy Land. What havoc this sacred weapon made among the infidels I cannot say.—It has a very venerable appearance for a sword, and yet seems little the worse for wear.

Near the old chateau, and a little to one side, is a colonade of small pillars lately built, and intended as an ornament to the ancient castle, though in a very different style of architecture. The slimness of their form appears the more remarkable on account of their vicinity of this Gothic structure.

[Page] Some time since, a mountebank came to Cassel, who, besides many other wonderful fea [...]s, pretended that he could swallow and digest stones. A Hessian officer walking before the chateau with an English gentleman, who then happened to be at Cassel asked him, What he thought of the fine new colonade?—It is very fine indeed, replied the stranger; but if you wish it to be durable, you ought to take care not to allow the mountebank to walk this way before breakfast.

Nothing in the country of Hesse is more worthy the admiration of travellers, than the Gothic temple and cascade at Wasenstein. There was originally at this place an old building, which was used by the Princes of this family as a kind of hunting house. It is situated near the bottom of a high mountain, and has been enlarged and improved at different times. But the present Landgrave's grandfather, who was a Prince of equal taste and magnificence, formed, upon the face of the mountain opposite to this house, a series of artificial cataracts, cascades, and various kinds of water-works, in the noblest style that can be imagined.

The principal cascades are in the middle, and on each side are stairs of large black stones of a [...]inty texture, brought from a rock at a considerable distance. Each of these stairs consists of eight hundred steps, leading from the bottom to the summit of the mountain; and when the works are allowed to play, the water flowing over them forms two continued chains of smaller cascades. At convenient distances, as you ascend, are four platforms, with a spacious bason in each; also grottos and caves ornamented with shell-work, statues of Naiads, and sea divinities—One grotto in particular, called the grotto of Neptune and Amphitrite, is happily imagined, and well executed.

The water rushes from the summit of this mountain in various shapes:—Sometimes in detached cascades, sometimes in large sheets like broad crystalline mirrors; at one place, it is broken by a rock consisting of huge stones, artificially placed for that purpose.—There are also fountains, which eject the water in columns of five or six inches diameter to a considerable height.

All this must have a very brilliant effect when viewed from the bottom. This sight, however, I did not enjoy; for there has been a continued frost ever since we have been at Cassel; and when I visited Wasenstein, the fields were covered with snow, which did not prevent my going to the top, though it made the ascent by the stairs exceedingly difficult.

On the highest part of the mountain, a Gothic temple is built, and upon the top of that an obelisk, which is crowned by a colossal statue of Hercules leaning on his club, in the attitude of the Farnese Hercules. This figure is of copper, and thirty feet in height. There is a stair-case within the club by which a man may ascend, and have a view of the country from a window at the top.

[Page] Wasenstein, upon the whole, is infinitely the noblest work of the kind I ever saw. I have been assured, there is nothing equal to it in Europe. It has not the air of a modern work, but rather conveys the idea of Roman magnificence.

We think of leaving this within a few days for Brunswick—I shall not close my letter till we get to Gottingen, where we may probably stay a short time.

Adieu.

P. S. The Duke and I took our leave of the Court and our friends yesterday, and actually set out from Cassel this morning; but finding the roads entirely overflowed by the extraordinary swelling of the Fulda, we were obliged to return. A great thaw for some days past dissolving the snow and ice, has occasioned this swelling, and rendered the roads impassible.

After taking leave we could not appear again at court, but dined at one of the messes with the officers.—From this party I am just returned, and finding it uncertain when we may get to Gottingen, I send this to night.

LETTER LVI. Journey from Cassel [...] Brunswick by Cottingen.—The reigning Duke of Brunswick Wolfenbuttle.—The Dutchess.—Duke Ferdinand.—The Hereditary Prince and Princess.—Prince Leopold and his sister.—Duke Ferdinand's villa.

BRUNSWICK.

AS soon as the roads were passable, we left Cassel, and arrived, not without difficulty and some risk, at Munden, a town situated in a vale, where the Fulda, being joined by another river, takes the name of the Weser.

This town seems to run some danger from inundations. The road, for a considerable way before we entered it, and the streets nearest the river, were still overflowed when we passed.

We went on the same night to Gottingen, an exceedingly neat and well built town, situated in a beautiful country. The university founded here by George the Second has a considerable reputation. We made but a short stay at Gottingen, and arrived about a month since at Brunswick.

The Duke of Hamilton had been expected here for some time, and was received by this court with every mark of attention and regard. He was pressed to accept of apartments within the palace which he thought proper to decline. We sleep every night at private lodgings, but may be said to live at court, as we constantly dine, pass the evening, and sup there, except two days in every week that we dine with the Hereditary Prince and Princess at their apartments.

[Page] The family of Brunswick Wolfenbuttle derives not greater lustre from its antiquity, from having given empresses to Germany, and from having a younger branch on the throne of Britain, than from some living characters now belonging to it.

The reigning Duke has that style of conversation, those manners and dispositions, which, in an inferior station of life, would acquire him the character of a sensible, worthy gentleman.

The Duchess is the favourite sister of the King of Prussia. She is fond of study, and particularly addicted to metaphysical inquiries, which, happily, have not shaken but confirmed her belief in Christianity.

The military fame and public character of Duke Ferdinand are known to all Europe.—In private life, he is of a ceremonious politeness, splendid in his manner of living, attentive even to the minutiae of his toilet, and fond of variety and magnificence in dress.

He has lived constantly at his brother's court since the Duke of Hamilton came to Brunswick; but he generally passes the summer in the country.

The Hereditary Prince served under his uncle during the last war, and commanded detached parties of the army with various success. His activity, courage, and thirst of glory, were always conspicuous; but his youthful ardour has been since mellowed by time, study, and reflection; and if he should again appear in the field as a general, it is imagined that he will be as much distinguished for prudence, policy, and judgement, as he ever was for spirit and enterprize. He has at present the rank of Lieutenant-General in the King of Prussia's service, and the command of the garrison at Halberstadt.

I say nothing of his Princess:—Her open cheerful character is well known in England, and her affection for her native country is in no degree diminished by absence.

The Prince Leopold is a very amiable young man. He seems much attached to the Duke of Hamilton, with whom he lives on an intimate and friendly footing.

His sister, the Princess Augusta, is greatly beloved by every body, on account of her obliging temper and excellent disposition.

These illustrious persons always dine and sup together, except two days in the week, as I have already said. With them the officers of the court, and the strangers who are invited, make a company of about twenty or thirty at table.

In the evening the assembly is more numerous. There is a large table for Vingtun, the Dutchess preferring this game, because a great number of people may be engaged in it together. The reigning Duke and Prince Ferdinand always join in this game.

The Hereditary Princess forms a Quadrille party for herself: Her husband never plays at all. The whole is in ended merely for pastime, all kinds of gaming being discouraged. The [Page] Dutchess in particular always puts a very moderate stake on her cards.—A man must have very bad luck to lose above twenty pistoles in an evening; so we are in no danger from gaming while at this court.

One wing of the palace is occupied by the Hereditary Prince's family. He has at present three sons and as many daughters, all of the fair complexion, which distinguishes every branch of the Brunswick line.

A few days ago, I accompanied Prince Leopold and the Duke of Hamilton on a visit to Duke Ferdinand, who was then at his house in the country, about six miles from this place. In that retreat be passes the greatest part of his time. He is fond of gardening, and is now employed in laying out and dressing the ground, in what is called the English taste.

His Serene Highness conducted the Duke round all his park, and shewed him his plans and improvements. The greatest obstacle to the completely beautifying this place, arises from the surface of the country being a dead flat, and incapable of great variety.

The house is surrounded by Fossé, and contains a great number of apartments. The walls of every room are hung with prints, from the roof to within two feet of the floor. Perhaps there is not so complete a collection of framed ones in any private house or palace in the world. While Prince Ferdinand played at Billiards with the Duke of Hamilton, I continued with Prince Leopold examining these prints, and could scarcely recollect a good one that I did not find here.

His Highness said it was equally difficult and expensive to have a collection of good paintings, and nothing could be more paltry than a bad one: he had therefore taken the resolution to adorn his house with what he certainly could have good of its kind; and next to fine pictures, he thought fine prints the most amusing of all ornaments. But, added he, with a smile, every tolerable room is now perfectly covered, and I have lately received a reinforcement of prints from England, which will oblige me to build new apartments to place them in. puisque je suis toujours accoutumê á donner un poste honorable aux Anglois—as it has always been my custom to give an honourable post to the English.

The company had been invited to breakfast; but the repast was a very magnificent dinner, served a little earlier than usual. There were only six persons at table; but the number of attendants might without difficulty have served a company of thirty. The prince, who is always in the utmost degree polite, was on this occasion remarkably affable and gay.

He called toasts after the English custom, and began himself by naming General Conway; he afterwards gave Sir H. Clinton, and continued to toast some British officer as often as it came his turn.—You may believe it afforded me satisfaction to have had an [Page] opportunity of observing a little of the private life of a person who has acted so conspicuous a part on the theatre of Europe.

As he has not returned to the Prussian service, and seems to enjoy rural amusements, and the conversation of a few friends, it is thought he will not again take a part in public affairs, but for the rest of his life repose, in this retreat, on the laurels he gathered in such abundance during the last war.

LETTER LVII. The town of Brunswick.—Saved by Prince Frederick.—Academy at Brunswick—Wolfenbuttle—Salbzdahlen.—Mr. de Westphalen.

BRUNSWICK.

THE town of Brunswick is situated in a plain, on the banks of the Ocker. The houses in general are old, but many new buildings have been erected of late, and the city acquires fresh beauty every day.

Fortifications have been the cause of much calamity to many towns in Germany, having served not to defend them, but rather to attract the vengeance of enemies. For this reason, Cassel, and some other towns, which were formerly fortified, are now dismantled.

But the fortifications at Brunswick were of great utility last war, and on one occasion they saved the town from being pillaged, and afforded Prince Frederick, who is now in the Prussian service, an opportunity of performing an action, which, I imagine, would give him more joy than twenty victories. This happened in the year 1761, soon after the battle of Kirch Denkern, when Duke Ferdinand protected Hanover, not by conducting his army into that country, and defending it directly, as the enemy seemed to expect, and probably wished; but by diversion, attacking with strong detachments, commanded by the Hereditary Prince, their magazines in Hesse, and thus drawing their attention from Hanover to that quarter.

While the Duke lay encamped at Willhemsthall, watching the motions of Broglio's army, the Marechal being greatly superior in numbers, sent a body of 20,000 men under Prince Xavier of Saxony, who took possession of Wolfenbuttle, and soon after invested Brunswick.

Prince Ferdinand, anxious to save his native city, ventured to detach 5000 of his army, small as it was, under his nephew, Frederick, assistest by General Luckener, with orders to harass the enemy, and endeavour to raise the siege. The young Prince, while on his march, sent a soldier with a letter to the Governor, which was wrapped round a bullet, and which the soldier was to [Page] swallow in case of his being taken by the enemy.—He had the good fortune to get safe into the town.—The letter apprised the commander of the garrison of the Prince's approach, and particularised the night and hour when he expected to be at a certain place near the town, requiring him to favour his entrance.

In the middle of the night appointed, the Prince fell suddenly on the enemy's cavalry, who, unsuspicious of his approach, were encamped carelessly within a mile of the town. They were immediately dispersed, and spread such an alarm among the infantry, that they also retreated with considerable loss.

Early in the morning, the young Prince entered Brunswick, amidst the acclamations of his fellow-citizens, whom he had relieved from the horrors of a siege.—The Hereditary Prince having destroyed the French magazines in Hesse, had been recalled by his uncle, and ordered to attempt the relief of Brunswick. While he was advancing with all possible speed, and had got within a few leagues of the town, he received the news of the siege being raised. On his arrival at his father's palace, he found his brother Frederick at table, entertaining the French officers, who had been taken prisoners the preceding night.

The academy of Brunswick has been new-modelled, and the plan of education improved, by the attention, and under the patronage, of the Hereditary Prince. Students now resort to this academy from many parts of Germany; and there are generally some young gentlemen from Britain, who are sent to be educated here.

Such of them as are intended for a military life, will not find so many advantages united at any other place on the continent, as at the academy of Brunswick. They will here be under the protection of a family partial to the British nation;—every branch of science is taught by masters of known abilities;—the young students will see garrison-duty regularly performed, and may, by the interest of the Prince, obtain liberty to attend the reviews of the Prussian troops at Magdeburg and Berlin:—They will have few temptations to expence, in a town where they can see no examples of extravagance,—have few opportunities of dissipation, and none of gross debauchery.

I passed a day lately at Wolfenbuttle, which is also a fortified city, the ancient residence of this family.—The public library here is reckoned one of the most complete in Germany, and contains many curious manuscripts. They showed us some letters of Luther, and other original pieces in that reformer's own handwriting.

Having dined with Colonel Riedesel, who commands a regiment of cavalry in this town, I returned by Saltzdahlen. This is the only palace I ever saw built almost entirely of wood. There are, nevertheless, some very magnificent apartments in it, and a great gallery of pictures, some of which are allowed by the connoisseurs to be excellent. I will not invade the province of [Page] these gentlemen, by presuming to give my opinion of the merits or defects of the pictures, though I have often heard those who are as ignorant as myself, decide upon the interesting subject of painting, in the most dogmatic manner. The terms Contour, Attitude, Casting of Draperies, Charging, Costumé, Passion, Manner, Groupe, Out-line, Chiaro Scuro, Harmony, and Repose, flowed from their tougnes, with a volubility that commanded the admiration of all those who could not discover, that in the liberal use of these terms consisted all those gentlemen's taste and knowledge of the fine arts.

Conscious of my ignorance in the mysteries of connoisseurship. I say nothing of the pictures, and presume only to give my opinion, that the gallery which contains them is a very noble room, being two hundred feet long, fifty broad, and forty high.

In this palace there is also a cabinet of china porcelain, containing, as we were told, seven or eight thousand pieces;—and in another smaller cabinet, we were shown a collection of coarse plates, valuable only on account of their having been painted after designs of Raphaël.

The country about Brunswick is agreeable. I was particularly pleased to see some gentlemen's seats near this town; a sight very rare in Germany, where, if you avoid towns and courts, you may travel over a great extent of country, without perceiving houses for any order of men between the Prince and the Peasant.

I spent yesterday very agreeably fourteen miles from Brunswick, at the house of Mr. de Westphalen. This gentleman attended Duke Ferdinand during the late war in the character of his private secretary; an office which he executed entirely to the satisfaction of that Prince, whose friendship and confidence he still retains.

Mr. de Westphalen has written the history of those memorable campaigns, in which his patron had the command of the allied army, and baffled all the efforts of France in Westphalia. Though this work has been finished long since, the publication has hitherto been delayed for political reasons. It is to appear however at some future period, and is said to be a masterly performance. Indeed, one would naturally suppose this from the remarkable acuteness and sagacity of the author, who was present at the scenes he describes, and knew the secret intentions of the General, whose assistance he has probably had in finishing the work.

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LETTER LVIII. German nobility fond of masquerades.—Etiquette.—Prince Leopold goes to Vienna, which awakens his mother's grief for the death of his brothers.

BRUNSWICK.

WE have had some masquerade balls here of late.—The Court do not go in procession to these as at Cassel.—Those who chuse to attend, go separately when they find it convenient.

There is a gallery in the masquerade room for the reigning family, where they sometimes sit without masks, and amuse themselves by looking at the dancers. But in general they go masked, and mix in an easy and familiar manner with the company.

I am not surprised that the Germans, especially those of high rank, are fond of masquerades, being so much harassed with ceremony and form, and cramped by the distance which birth throws between people who may have a mutual regard for each other. I imagine they are glad to seize every opportunity of assuming the mask and domino▪ that they may taste the pleasures of familiar conversation and social mirth.

In company with the Duke of Hamilton, I once had the honour of dining at the house of a general officer. His sister did the honours of the table; and on the Duke's expressing his surprise that he never had seen her at court, he was told she could not possibly appear there, because she was not noble.

This lady, however, was visited at home by the Sovereign, and every family of distinction, all of whom regretted, that the established custom of their country deprived the court of a person whose character they valued so highly.

The General's rank in the army was a sufficient passport for him but was of no service to his sister; for this etiquette is observed very rigidly with respect to the natives of Germany, though it is greatly relaxed to strangers, particularly the English, who they imagine have less regard for birth and title than any other nation. Public diversions of every kind are now over for sometime, and the court is at present very thin.

Duke Ferdinand resides in the country. The Hereditary Prince went a few days since to Haberstadt, where he will remain at least a month, [...]o prepare the garrison, and his own regiment in particular, for the grand reviews which are soon to take place. Diligence in duty, and application to the disciplining of the forces, are indispensable in this service.

Without these, not all the King's partiality to this Prince, or his consanguinity, could secure to him his uncle's favour for one day, personal talents and vigorous exertion being the sole means of acquiring and retaining the favour of this steady and discerning monarch.

[Page] The Hereditary Princess has left Brunswick, and is gone to Zell, and will remain during the absence of her husband with her sister the Queen of Denmark.

The young Prince, Leopold, has also left the court. He goes directly to Vienna, and it is thought he intends to offer his services to the Emperor. If proper encouragement be given, he will go entirely into the Austrian service. In this case, he will probably, when a war happens, find himself in opposition to his two brothers; a circumstance not much regarded in Germany, where brothers go into different services, with as little hesitation as into different regiments with us.

The strictest friendship has always subsisted between this young man and his sister, who has been crying almost without intermission since he went away.

His mother bears this with more composure, yet her uneasiness is easily perceived. Independent of the absence of her son, she is distressed at the idea of his going into a service, where he may be obliged to act in opposition to her brother, for whom I find she has the greatest affection, as well as the highest admiration.

I was not surprised to hear her speak of him as the greatest man alive; but she extends her elogium to the qualities of his heart, in which she is not joined by the opinion of all the world.—She, however, dwells particularly on this, calling him the worthiest of men, the firmest friend, and the kindest of brothers:—and as she founds her opinion on her own experience alone, she has the greatest reason to think as she does; for, by every account, the King has always behaved with high regard and undeviating tenderness to her.

The departure of Prince Leopold has revived this Princess's affliction for the untimely fate of two of her sons. One died in the Russian camp at the end of the campaign of 1769, in which he had served with great distinction as a volunteer; the other was killed in a skirmish towards the end of the last war; having received a shot in his throat, he died of the wound fifteen days after, much regretted by the army, who had formed a high idea of the rising merit of this gallant youth.

He wrote a letter to his mother in the morning of the day on which he died. In this letter he regrets, that he should be stopped so soon in the course of honour, and laments that he had not been killed in some memorable action, which would have saved his name from oblivion, or in achieving something worthy of the martial spirit of his family. He expresses satisfaction, however, that his memory would at least be dear to some friends, and that he was certain of living in his mother's affections while she should exist. He then declares his gratitude to her for all her care and tenderness, and concludes with these expressions, which I translate as near as I can remember—I wished the Dutchess to repeat them; but it was with difficulty, and eyes overflowing, that she pronounced them once:—My eyes grow dim—I can see no longer—happy to have employed their last light in expressing my duty to my mother.

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LETTER LIX. Zell.—The Queen of Denmark.—Benevolent conduct of the Princess of Brunswick—Hanover.—The troops.—The military ardour of a corpulent general officer.—Hernhausen.

HANOVER.

THE Duke of Hamilton having determined to pay his respects to the Queen of Denmark, before he left this country, chose to make his visit while the Hereditary Princess was with her sister.

I accompanied him to Zell, and next day waited on the Count and Countess Dean, to let them know of the Duke's arrival, and to be informed when we could have the honour of being presented to the Queen. They both belong to the Princess of Brunswick's family, and while I was at breakfast with them, her Royal Highness entered the room, and gave me the information I wanted.

Before dinner, I returned with the Duke to the castle, where we remained till late in the evening. There was a concert of music between dinner and supper, and the Queen seemed in better spirits than could have been expected.

Zell is a small town, without trade or manufactures; the houses are old, and of a mean appearance, yet the high courts of appeal for all the territories of the Electoral House of Brunswick Lunenburg are held here; the inhabitants derive their principal means of subsistence from this circumstance.

This town was severely harassed by the French army at the beginning of the late war, and was afterwards pillaged, in revenge for the supposed infraction of the treaty of Closter-Seven. The Duke de Richlieu had his head quarters here, when Duke Ferdinand re-assembled the troops who had been disarmed, and dispersed, immediately after that convention.

The castle is a stately building, surrounded by a moat, and strongly fortified. It was formerly the residence of the Dukes of Zell, and was repaired lately by order of the King of Great-Britain for the reception of his unfortunate sister. The apartments are spacious and convenient, and now handsomely furnished.

The officers of the Court, the Queen's maids of honour, and other attendants, have a very genteel appearance, and retain the most respectful attachment to their ill-fated mistress. The few days we remained at Zell, were spent entirely at court, where every thing seemed to be arranged in the style of the other small German courts, and nothing wanting to render the Queen's situation as comfortable as circumstances would admit. But by far her greatest consolation is the company and conversation of her sister. Some degree of satisfaction appears in her countenance while the [Page] Princess remains at Zell; but the moment she goes away, the Queen, as we were informed, becomes a prey to dejection and despondency. The Princess exerts herself to prevent this, and devotes to her sister all the time she can spare from the duties she owes to her own family. Unlike those who take the first pretext of breaking connections which can no longer be of advantage, this humane Princess has displayed even more attachment to her sister since her misfortunes, than she ever did while the Queen was in the meridian of her prosperity.

The youth, the agreeable countenance, and obliging manners of the Queen, have conciliated the minds of every one in this country. Though she was in perfect health, and appeared cheerful, yet, convinced that her gaiety was assumed, and the effect of a strong effort, I felt an impression of melancholy, which it was not in my power to overcome all the time we remained at Zell.

From Zell we went to Hanover, and on the evening of our arrival, had the pleasure of hearing Handel's Messiah performed. Some of the best company of this place were assembled on the occasion, and we were here made acquainted with old Field-Marshal Sporken, and other people of distinction. Hanover is a neat, thriving and agreeable city. It has more the air of an English town than any other I have seen in Germany, and the English manners and customs gain ground every day among the inhabitants. The genial influence of freedom has extended from England to this place. Tyranny is not felt, and ease and satisfaction appear in the countenances of the citizens.

This town is regularly fortified, and all the works are in exceeding good order. The troops are sober and regular, and perform every essential part of duty well, though the discipline is not so rigid as in some other parts of Germany. Marshal Sporken, who is the head of the army, is a man of humanity; and though the soldiers are severely punished for real crimes, by the sentence of a court-martial, he does not permit his officers to order them to be caned for trifles. Caprice is too apt to blend itself with this method of punishing, and men of cruel dispositions are prone to indulge this diabolical propensity, under the pretence of zeal for discipline.

The Hanoverian infantry are not so tall as some of the other German troops, owing to this, that nobody is forced into the service, the soldiers are all volunteers; whereas, in other parts of Germany, the Prince picks the stoutest and tallest of the peasants, and obliges them to become soldiers. It is allowed, that in action no troops can behave better than the Hanoverians; and it is certain, that desertion is not so frequent among them as among other German troops, which can only be accounted for by their not being pressed into the service, and their being more gently used when in it.

It is not the mode here at present, to lay so much stress on the tricks of the exercise as formerly. The officers in general seem to despise many minutiae, which are thought of the highest importance in some other services. It is incredible to what a ridiculous length this matter is pushed by some.

[Page] At a certain parade, where the Sovereign himself was present, and many officers assembled, I once saw a corpulent general-officer start suddenly, as if he had seen something preternatural. He immediately waddled towards the ranks with all the expedition of a terrified gander. I could not conceive what had put his Excellency into a commotion so little suitable to his years and habit of body. While all the spectators were a-tiptoe to observe the issue of this phenomenon, he arrived at the ranks, and in great wrath, which probably had been augmented by the heat acquired in his course, he pulled off one of the soldier's hats, which it seems had not been properly cocked, and adjusted it to his mind. Having regulated the military discipline in this important particular, he returned to the Prince's right-hand, with a strut expressive of the highest self approbation.

Two days after our arrival here, I walked to Hernhausen, along a magnificent avenue, as broad, and about double the length of the mall at St▪ James's The house itself has nothing extraordinary in its appearance: but the gardens are as fine as gardens planned in the Dutch taste, and formed on ground perfectly level, can be. The orangery is reck [...] equal to any in Europe. Here is a kind of rural theatre, where plays may be acted during the fine weather. There is a spacious amphitheatre cut out in green seats for the spectators; a stage in the same taste, with rows of trees for side scenes, and a great number of arbours and summer-rooms, surrounded by lofty hedges, for the actors to retire and dress in.

When the theatre is illuminated, which is always done when masquerades are given, it must have a very fine effect. The groves, arbours, and labyrinths, seem admirably calculated for all the purposes of this amusement.

In these gardens are several large reservoirs and fountains, and on one side, a canal above a quarter of a mile in length. I have not seen the famous jet d'eau, as the water-works have not been played off since I came to Hanover. On the whole, we pass our time very agreeably here.

We have dined twice with Baron de Lenth, who has the chief direction of the affairs of this electorate, and at his house have met with the principal inhabitants. I make one of Marshal Sporken's party every night at Whist, and pass most of my time in the society at his house.

The Duke of Hamilton having promised to meet some company at Brunswick by a certain day, we shall set out for that place tomorrow—but have engaged to pay another visit to Hanover before we go to Berlin.—My next therefore will be from Brunswick, or possibly from this place after our return.

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LETTER LX. The violent passion for literature of a court lady at Brunswick.—Field Marechal Sporken.—George the II.

HANOVER.

WE remained a week at Brunswick, and returned to this town about ten days ago. None of the family are there at present, except the Duke and Dutchess, and the young Princess, their daughter.

The character of the Sovereign, at every court, has great influence in forming the taste and manners of courtiers. This must operate with increased force in the little courts of Germany, where the parties are brought nearer to each other, and spend the most part of their time together. The pleasure which the Dutchess of Brunswick takes in study, has made reading very fashionable among the ladies of that court: of this her Royal Highness gave me a curious instance the last time I had the honour of seeing her.

A lady, whose education had been neglected in her youth, and who had arrived at a very ripe age without perceiving any inconveniency from the accident, had obtained, by the interest of some of her relations, a place at the court of Brunswick. She had not been long there, till she perceived that the conversation in the Dutchess's apartments frequently turned on subjects of which she was entirely ignorant, and that those ladies had most of her Royal Highness's ear, who were best acquainted with BOOKS.

She regretted, for the first time, the neglect of her own education; and although she had hitherto considered that kind of knowledge, which is derived from reading, as unbecoming a woman of quality, yet, as it was now fashionable at court, she resolved to study hard, that she might get to the top of the mode as fast as possible.

She mentioned this resolution to the Dutchess, desiring, at the same time, that her Highness would lend her a book to begin. The Dutchess applauded her design, and promised to send her one of the usefullest books in her library—it was a French and German dictionary. Some days after, her Highness enquired how she relished the book. Infinitely, replied this studious lady.—It is the most delightful book I ever saw.—The sentences are all short, and easily understood, and the letters charmingly arranged in ranks, like soldiers on the parade; whereas, in some other books which I have seen, they are mingled together in a confused manner, like a mere mob, so that it is no pleasure to look at them, and very difficult to know what they mean. But I am no longer surprized, added she, at the satisfaction your Royal Highness takes in study.

Since our return to Hanover, we have dined twice at the Palace. There is a household established with officers and servants, and the [Page] guard is regularly mounted, as at the time when the Elector resied here constantly. The liveries of the pages and servants are the same with those worn by the King's domestic servants at St. James's.

Strangers of distinction are entertained at the Palace in a very magnificent manner. The first of the entertainments I saw was given to the Duke of Hamilton, and the other to young Prince George of [...]esse Darmstadt, who arrived here a few days since, with Prince Ernest and Prince Charles of Mecklenburg, brothers to the Queen of Great-Britain, both of whom are in the Hanoverian service.

Most of my time is spent as formerly, at Marshal Sporken's. The conversation of a man of sense, who has been fifty years in the service, and in high rank during a considerable part of that time, which led him into an intimacy with some of the most celebrated characters of the age, you may be sure is highly interesting. It affords me satisfaction to be informed from such authority, of many transactions in the last war, the common accounts of which are often different, and sometimes contradictory. The Marshal's observations are sensible and candid, and his manner of conversing unreserved.

He served with the late Marshal Daun in the allied army, opposed to Marshal Saxe, in the war 1741, and has many curious anecdotes illustrating the characters of some of the commanders who conducted the armies during that memorable period. He has a very high opinion of Duke Ferdinand's military character, and declares, that of all the Generals he ever served under, that Prince seemed to him to have the best talents for conducting an army. He says, that as Prince Ferdinand had seldom held councils of war, or communicated to the Generals of his army, any more of his plans than they were to execute, it was difficult for them to form a just opinion of his capacity, while they remained with the army immediately under his command; but that he (Marshal Sporken) had sometimes commanded a detached army, which obliged the Prince to be more communicative, and afforded the Marshal the strongest proofs of the depth of his judgment. Above all things, he admired the perspicuity of his written instructions.—These, he said, were always accompanied with the most accurate and minute description of the country through which he was [...]o ma [...]ch, every village, rivulet, hollow, wood, or hill on the route, being distinctly particularised, and the most judicious conjectures concerning the enemy's designs added, with directions how to act in various probable emergecies.

Upon the whole, Marshal Sporken seemed convinced that great part of the success of the allies, during the late war in Westphalia, was owing to the foresight, prudence, and sagacity of their General, One memorable event, however, which has been cited as the most striking proof of all these, he imagined was not so much owing to any of them, as to the personal valour of a few regiments, and the [Page] good conduct of some inferior officers. The Marshal added, that his praises of Duke Ferdinand's military abilities did not proceed from private attachment, for he could claim no share in his friendship; on the contrary, a misunderstanding had happened between them, on account of an incident at the siege of Cassel, the particulars of which he recapitulated, and this misunderstanding was of a nature never to be made up.

The liberal, candid sentiments of this venerable m [...]n carry conviction▪ and command esteem. He is respected by people [...] all ranks, and listened to like an oracle. In the society generally to be found at the Marshal's, there are some nearly of his [...], who formed the private parties of George the Second, as [...] as he came to visit his native country. The memory of that [...] is greatly venerated here. I have heard his cotemporaries of this society relate a thousand little anecdotes concerning him, which at once evinced the good dispositions of the King, and their own gratitude. From these accounts it appeared, that he was naturally of a very sociable temper, and entirely laid aside, when [...], the state and reserve which he retained in England, living in that familiar and confidential manner which Princes, as well as peasants, will assume in the company of those they love, and who love them.

Not only the personal friends of that monarch speak of him with regard, the same sentiments prevail among all ranks of people in the Electorate. Nothing does more honour to his character, or can be a less equivocal proof of his equity, than his having governed these subjects, over whom he had an unlimited power, with as much justice and moderation as those whose rights are guarded by law, and a jealous constitution.

The two visits I have made to Hanover, have confirmed the favourable impression I had before received of the Gé man character. One of the most disagreeable circumstances which attend travelling is, being obliged to leave acquaintances after you have discovered their worth, and acquired some degree of their friendship. As the season for the Prussian reviews now approaches, we have already taken leave of our friends, and are to set out to-morrow morning on our return to Brunswick, that after remainining a few days there, we may still get to Potsdam in proper time.

I shall now leave behind me every valuable acquaintance I have acquired since I came to Hanover.—We met, on our last arrival here, with Mr. F—, son of Lord F—. He has been of our parties ever since, and will accompany us to Brunswick and Potsdam.

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LETTER LXI. Death of the Queen of Denmark—Magdeburg.—Brandenburg.

POTSDAM.

ON returning to Brunswick, we found the Hereditary Princess had come from Zell a few days before, having left the Queen of Denmark in perfect health. The Princess resided with her children at Antonettenruche, a villa a few miles from Brunswick. She invited the Duke of Hamilton, Mr. F—, and me, to dine with her the day before we were to set out for Potsdam. That morning I chanced to take a very early walk in the gardens of the palace.—The Duke of Brunswick was there.—He informed me, that an express had arrived with news of the Queen of Denmark's death.

They had received accounts a few days before that she had been seized with a putrid fever.—He said that nobody in the town or court knew of this, except his own family and desired that I would not mention it to the Princess, who, he knew, would be greatly affected; for he intended to send a person, after her company should be gone, who would inform her of this event, with all its circumstances.

When we went, we found the Princess in some anxiety about her sister;—yet rather elated with the accounts she had received that day by the post. She showed us her letters.—They contained a general description of the symptoms, and conveyed some hopes of the Queen's recovery

Unable to bear the idea of her sister's death, she wrested every expression into the most favourable sense, and the company met her wishes, by confirming the interpretation she gave. To me, who knew the truth, this scene was affecting and painful.

As we returned to Brunswick in the evening, we met the gentleman who was commissioned by the Duke to impart the news of the Queen's death to her sister.—We supped the same night at court, and took leave of this illustrious family—The Dutchess gave me a letter to her son, Prince Frederick, at Berlin, which she said would secure me a good reception at that capital.

On coming to the inn, we found a very numerous company, and the whole house refounded with music and dancing. It is customary all over Germany, after a marriage of citizens, to give the wedding feast at an inn. As there was no great chance of our being much refreshed by sleep that night, instead of going to bed, we ordered post-horses, and left Brunswick about three in the morning.

We arrived the same afternoon at Magdeburg. The country all the way is perfectly level. The Dutchy of Magdeburg produces fine cattle, and a considerable quantity of corn, those parts which are not marshy, and over-grown with wood, being very [Page] fertile. I have seen few or no inclosures in this, or any part of Germany, except such as surround the gardens or parks of Princes.

The King of Prussia has a seat in the diet of the empire, as Duke of Magdeburg. The capital, which bears the same name with the dutchy, is a very considerable town, well built and strongly fortified. There are manufactories here of cotton and linen goods, of stockings, gloves, and tobacco; but the principal are those of woollen and silk.

The German woollen cloths, are, in general, much inferior to the English and French. The Prussian officers, however, assert, that the dark blue cloth made here, and in other parts of the King of Prussia's dominions, though coarser, wears better, and has a more decent appearance when long worn, than the finest cloth manufactured in England or France.—Thus much is certain, that the Prussian blue is preferable to any other cloth made in Germany.—The town of Magdeburg is happily situated for trade, having an easy communication with Hamburg by the Elbe, and lying on the road between Upper and Lower Germany. It is also the strongest place belonging to his Prussian Majesty, and where his principal magazines and founderies are established. In time of war it is the repository of whatever he finds necessary to place out of the reach of suden insult.

Places where any extraordinary event has happened, even though they should have nothing else to distinguish them, interest me more than the most flourishing country, or finest town which has never been the scene of any thing memorable. Fancy, awakened by the view of the former, instantly gives shape and features to men we have never seen.—We hear them speak, and see them act; the passions are excited, the mind amused, the houses, the rivers, the fields around supplying the absence of the poet and historian, and restoring with new energy the whole scene to the mind.

While crossing the Elbe at this town with the Duke of Hamilton, I recalled to his memory the dreadful tragedy which was acted here by the Austrian General Tilly, who having taken this town by storm, delivered up the citizens, without distinction of age of sex, to the barbarity and lust of his soldiers. Besides the general massacre, they exhibited such acts of wanton cruelty, as disgrace human nature. We viewed with a lively sympathy, that part of the river where three or four hundred of the inhabitants got over and made their escape:—all that were saved out of twenty thousand citizens!

This sad catastrophe supplied us with conversation for great part of this day's journey. It is unnecessary to comment on an event of this kind to a person of the Dukes sensibility.—Proper reflections arise spontaneously in a well-formed mind from the simple narrative.

The country is well cultivated, and fertile for about two leagues beyond Magdeburg; afterwards it becomes more barren, and within a few leagues of Brandenburg, it is as naked and sandy as the deserts of Arabia.

[Page] Brandenburg, from which the whole Electorate takes its name, is but a small town, divided into Old and New by a river, which separates the fort from both. The principal trade is carried on by some French woollen manufacturers, whom the King has encouraged to reside at this town. The whole number of inhabitants does not amount to more than 1500.

On entering the Prussian garrison towns, you are stopped at the gate; the officer of the guard asks your name, whence you come, whither you are going, and takes your answers down in writing. This is done in the French garrisons also, but not with the same degree of form and accuracy.

When the title of Duke is given, the guard generally turns out under arms. As for Milord, it is a title treated with very little ceremony, either in France or Germany. It is often assumed in foreign countries by those who have no right to it, and given to every Englishman of a decent appearance. But Duke, in Germany, implies a Sovereign, and is more respectable than Prince. Every son of a Duke in this country, is called Prince, although he had as many as old King Priam.

We arrived last night at Potsdam, which important piece of news, you will please to observe, I have taken the earliest opportunity of communicating.

LETTER LXII. Potsdam.—Troops in private houses, not in barracks—The palace.—The King's study▪ His wardrobe.—The ruling passion of the late King.

POTSDAM.

THE day after our arrival here, I waited on the Count Finkenstein, and desired to know when the Duke of Hamilton and I could have the honour of being presented to the King, requesting, at the same time, the liberty of attending at the reviews. I was not a little surprised when this minister told me, that I must write a letter to his Majesty, informing him of that request, and that I should certainly receive an answer the day following. It appeared very singular to write to so great a Prince upon an affair of such small importance; but the Count told me this was the established rule. So I immediately did as I was desired.

Next morning one of the court-servants called for me at the inn, and delivered a sealed letter addressed to me, and signed by the King, importing, that as the court would soon be at Berlin, the minister in waiting there would let the Duke of Hamilton and Mr. Moore know when they might be presented, and that they were very welcome to attend at all the reviews. In the evening we were presented to the Prince and Princess of Prussia, who reside almost constantly at Potsdam.

[Page] He is a tall, stout-made, handsome man, of about thirty-five years of age. The Princess is of the family of Hesse Darmstadt, and has a great resemblance to her aunt, whom we had seen at Carlsruch. We have had the honour of supping with them twice during the few days we have been at Potsdam.

The Prince and all the officers have been employed every morning in preparing for the reviews. Yesterday, for the second time, there were seven thousand men reviewed by the King. The Prince of Prussia's son, a child of six or seven years old, was present on foot with his tutor, and unattended by any officer or servant. They mingled without any mark of distinction among the other spectators.

I mentioned my surprize at this to the tutor. In France, said he, it would be otherwise: the Dauphin, at the age of this child, would be carried to a review in a coach, with a troop of musqueteers to attend him; but here, the King and Prince are equally desirous that their successor should be brought up in a hardy manner, and without any strong impression of his own importance. Sentiments of that kind will come soon enough, in spite of all the pains that can be taken to exclude them.

The troops were drawn up in one line along the summits of some hills. From this situation they descended over very unequal and rough ground, firing in grand divisions all the way, till they came to the plain; where they went through various evolutions. But as we were to set out in a little time for Berlin where the grand reviews of that garrison are to take place, I shall say no more on the subject of reviews till then.

Our mornings, since we came hither, have always been passed with the troops in the field. The forenoons we have spent in looking at every thing curious in the town. The houses are built of a fine white freestone, almost all of them new, and nearly of the f [...]me height. The streets are regular and well paved, and there are some very magnificent public buildings; so that Potsdam has every requisite to form an agreeable town, i [...] by that word is meant the streets, stone-walls, and external appearance. But if a more complex idea be annexed to the word, and if it be thought to comprehend the finishing, furniture, and conveniencies within the houses, in that case Potsdam is a very poor town indeed.

The King having expressed a great inclination to see this town increase, several monied people built houses, partly to pay their court to his Majesty, and partly because, by letting them, they sound they would receive very good interest for their money. But as the town did not augment so quickly as he wished, his Majesty ordered several streets to be built at once, at his own expence. This immediately sunk the value of houses, and the first builders found they had disposed of their money very injudiciously.

Towns generally are formed by degrees, as the inhabitants increase in numbers; and houses are built larger and more commodious as they increase in riches; for men's ideas of conveniency enlarge with their wealth. But here the matter is reversed: the houses are [Page] reared in the first place, in hopes that their fair outsides, like the nymphs of Circe, will allure travellers, and attract inhabitants. Hitherto their power of attraction has not been strong; for few towns are worse inhabited than Potsdam, though the houses are let to merchants and trades-people at very small rents.

I was not a little surprized, while I walked through the town, to see buff-belts, breeches, and waistcoats, hanging to dry from the genteelest looking houses, till I was informed, that each house keeper has two or more soldiers quartered in his house, and their apartments are, for the most part, on the first floor, with windows to the street; which I am told is also the case at Berlin. The King chooses that his soldiers should be quartered with the citizens, rather than in barracks.

This ought to be a sufficient answer to those military gentlemen, who insist on building barracks for the soldiers in Britain, upon the supposition, that our army cannot be well disciplined without them. For it could scarcely be expected, or wished, that the British army were under more rigid discipline than the Prussian.

I imagine the Prussian soldiers are quartered in private houses rather than barracks, from considerations diametrically opposite to those which produce the same effect in England.—The British parliament have always shown an aversion to lodging the military in barracks, and have preferred quartering them in the citizens houses, that a connection and good-will may be cultivated between the soldiers and their fellow citizens; and that the former may not consider themselves as a distinct body of men, with a separate interest from the rest of the community, and whose duty it is implicitly to obey the will of the crown at all times, and upon all occasions.

Whereas here it may not be thought expedient, to lodge great bodies of armed men together in barracks, lest they should, during the night, form combinations destructive of discipline, and dangerous to government. This cannot happen in the day-time, because then the officers are present, and the soldiers are not allowed even to speak to each other when under arms; and while off duty, their time is wholly filled up in cleaning their arms, accoutrements, and clothes, and preparing for the next guard.—I imagine these may be part, at least, of the reasons which induce the King of Prussia to prefer quartering his men in private houses; for in all other respects, lodging them together in barracks would be more convenient, and more agreeable to the genius of his government.

The palace at Potsdam, or what they call the castle, is a very noble building, with magnificent gardens adjacent. I shall not trouble you with a description of either, only it struck me as a thing rather uncommon in a palace, to find the study by far the finest apartment in it. The ornaments of this are of massy silver. The writing desk, the embellishments of the table, and the accommodations for the books, were all in fine taste.

[Page] The person who attended us, asked if we had any desire to see his Majesty's wardrobe?—On being answered in the affirmative, he conducted us to the chamber where the monarch's clothes are deposited; it had a very different appearance from his library. The whole wardrobe consisted of two blue coats, faced with red, the lining of one a little torn;—two yellow waistcoats, a good deal soiled with Spanish snuff;—three pair of yellow breeches, and a suit of blue velvet, embroidered with silver, for grand occasions.

I imagined at first, that the man had got a few of the King's old clothes, and kept them here to amuse stranges; but, upon enquiry, I was assured, that what I have mentioned, with two suits of uniform which he has at Sans-Souci, form the entire wardrobe of the King of Prussia.

Our attendant said, he had never known it more complete. As for the velvet suit, it was about ten years of age, and still enjoyed all the vigour of youth. Indeed, if the moths spared it as much as his Majesty has done, it may last the age of Methusalem.—In the same room, are some standards belonging to the cavalry. Instead of the usual square flag, two or three of these have the figures of eagles in carved silver fixed on a pole.

In the bed chamber where the late King died, at the lower part of the window which looks into the garden, four panes have been removed, and a piece of glass equal in size to all the four supplies their place. We were informed that his l [...]e Majesty's supreme delight through life had been to see his troops exercise, and that he had retained this passion till his last breath.

When he was confined to his room by his last illness, he used to sit and view them through the window, which had been framed in this manner, that he might enjoy these dying contemplations with the greater conveniency. Becoming gradually weaker by the increasing distemper, he could not sit, but was obliged to lie on a couch through the day.

When at any time he was uncommonly languid, they raised his head to the window, and a sight of the men under arms was perceived to operate like a cordial, and revive his spirits.—By frequent repetition, however, even this cordial lost its effect.—His eyes became dim—when his head was raised, he could no longer perceive the soldiers, and he expired.

This was feeling the ruling passion as strong in death as any man ever felt it.

LETTER LXIII. Sans Souci.—The collection of pictures.—The King's taste criticized by a connoisseur.—The new palace.

POTSDAM.

I Have been twice or thrice at Sans-Souci, which is at a small distance from Potsdam. The King lives constantly at the Old Palace, except when some people of very great distinction come [Page] to reside with him for some days, He then receives them at the New Palace, and remains there himself during their stay.

The gallery contains a great collection of paintings, some of them originals, highly esteemed.—The most valuable are of the Flemish school.—Some people who pass for connoisseurs, and for aught I know may be what they pretend, assert, that the King has not a just taste in painting, which appears by his purchasing a great many very indifferent pictures. Whatever may be in that, it is certain, that his Majesty does not give the least importance to the opinion of these connoisseurs; but buys, admires, and avows his admiration of such pieces as appear excellent in his own eyes, without regarding what they or others may think. It has no weight with him, that the piece is said to be by Raphael, Guido, or Corregio. If he see no beauty in it, he says so, and without ceremony perfers the work of a modern or obscure painter.

This is considered by many critics in painting as blasphemy, and shocks them more than any other species of impiety. A painter and great connoisseur whom the King had disgusted, by rejecting some pictures of his recommending, and by purchasing others which he had condemned, said (speaking of the King,) The man imagines, because he can play on the German flute, and has been praised by a parcel of poets and philosophers, and has gained ten or a dozen battles, that therefore he understands painting; but fighting battles is one thing, and a true knowledge of painting is another, and that he will find to his cost.

A few years after the late war, the King of Prussia began to build the new palace of Sans-Souci, which is now completely finished, and is certainly a very noble and splendid work. The office-houses are at a considerable distance, and are joined to the body of the palace by a double colonnade, which has a very grand effect. The front of the palace seems rather crowded, by the great number of statues which are intended to ornament it. These are generally in groups, representing some story from Ovid. This building has a cupola, terminated by a large crown, supported by the three Graces. The Duke of Hamilton observed, that three Prussian grenadiers would have been more suitable. On the ground floor, in the middle, there is a large hall, whose floor, sides, and roof, are all of marble. It is called the grotto, and the ornaments correspond with that name. This room can be agreeable only when the weather is excessively hot. In Italy it would be delightful. The roof of this hall is low, and vaulted, and supports another room in all respects of the same dimensions, only higher. This second room is also lined with beautiful marble. The other apartments are adorned with rich furniture and paintings, all very showy. Many people think them gaudy.—It must be owned, that the gilding is laid on with a very lavish hand.

Opposite to the old palace of Sans-Souci, and immediately without the gardens, Lord Marechal has built a house, where he constantly [Page] resides. You are well acquainted with the amiable character of this nobleman. We waited on him soon after our arrival, and have dined with him several times since. On the front of his house is this inscription:

FREDERICUS II. NOBIS HAEC OTIA FECIT.

Frederick II. Bestowed these pleasures.

Adjoining to this house is a small garden, with a door which communicates with the King's garden of Sans-Souci, so that his Lordship has the full enjoyment of these gardens. The King also has a key to my Lord's little garden, and frequently walks by this passage to visit him.

We set out for Berlin to-morrow.

Adieu.

LETTER LXIV. Reviews at Berlin.

BERLIN.

WE arrived here in the height of the preparation for the reviews. Nothing was to be seen in the streets but soldiers parading, and officers hurrying backwards and forwards. The town looked more like the cantonment of a great army, than the capital of a kingdom in the time of profound peace. The court itself resembled the levee of a General in the field—except the foreign ministers, and a few strangers, every man there (for there were no women) was dressed in a military uniform.

Mr. Harris, the British minister, attended the Duke of Hamilton, the day we were presented to the King. A son of Prince Kaunitz's, and some other strangers, were presented at the same time. The Count Reuse, chamberlain of the court, named each person to his Majesty as he approached.

He conversed a considerable time with the Duke, and spoke a few words to every person who was presented.—His countenance and manner are exceedingly animated.—He seemed that day in very high spirits, and spoke to all his officers in an easy style, and with a kind of gay affability. On their part, they appear before their master with an erect military boldness, free from that cringing address which prevails in many courts, but would not succeed here.

The King was three days at Berlin before the reviews began, and passed some hours every morning in the park, where there were four or five thousand men ordered daily, not to be exercised, but simply that the King might examine the state of each corps in particular: and it is incredible with what accuracy and minute attention he did examine them, the Colonel of the regiment under scrutiny walking along with him, to answer any question, and hear his directions and remarks. By this exactness, he not only [Page] knows the condition of the army in general, but the appearance, degree of discipline, and strength of each regiment.

The whole number reviewed was about thirty-six or thirty-eight thousand, consisting of the garrison of Berlin, and troops from some of the adjacent towns and villages. This army was in the field three mornings successively, and the operations were different each day. I shall endeavour to give you an idea of the plan of the last day's review, which is freshest in my memory.

At break of day, about eight thousand men marched out of Berlin, under the command of a general officer, and took possession of a village, situated on a rising ground, at the distance of two or three miles. About an hour after, the King himself joined the army, which was assembled without the gates. He divided it into three columns. Two general officers took the command of two of them; he himself led the third. The whole marched by three different routes towards the village, where the former detachment had now taken post. In the attack and defence of this village the review consisted.

As the army advanced, they were cannonaded from the village, but could not be supposed to suffer much, because the leader of each column advanced with caution, taking such circuits as exposed the men very little.

At length the three columns met on a large plain near the village, but protected from the batteries by a rising of the ground. Here the King formed the army into two lines. While this was doing, they were perfectly secure; but they could not advance towards the village otherwise than by going over the swell in the ground, and being exposed to all the cannon of enemy. This was to be performed, therefore, with as much expedition as could be consistent with good order. The right wing of the army made the attack. As soon as the signal was given, all the drums and fifes struck up at once. The soldiers advanced with a rapid pace. A numerous train of large field-pieces, placed at proper intervals, advanced with equal velocity, and kept in a line with the front rank. The rapidity with which they were charged and discharged as they advanced was quite astonishing. When the line came within a proper distance of the village, the soldiers began to use their firelocks. In the mean time there was a furious cannonade, and discharge of small shot from the village. The King was between the advancing line and the village during the attack. When they had got very near the hedges, a new battery opened from the village. The King gave a signal, and the first line broke, fell into an artificial confusion, and gave back towards the second line, which opened at several places, and closed again the moment the retreating line had pierced through. The second line then moved to the attack, as the former had done. This also seemed to be repulsed—a retreat was sounded, and the whole wing began to retire. A body of cavalry then appeared from the village, and were advancing to charge the retreating army, but were themselves charged, and driven back, by the cavalry of the right wing.

[Page] A body of hussars pursued also from the village, and harassed the retreating army. These were sometimes repulsed by the soldiers, who turned and fired on them, and sometimes by detached parties of cavalry, which drove them away.

These various operations lasted from five in the morning till noon, when the troops returned to Berlin—It is hardly possible for any words of mine to convey an adequate idea of the perfect manner in which these evolutions were executed. The charges made by the cavalry were praised by the King himself. I had never seen so great a body together, and had no idea that it was possible to charge at full gallop, and keep the ranks and distances so exactly as they did.

Upon the principle, that velocity is equal to weight, they endeavour to compensate for the lightness of the horses by the quickness of their motion. The hussars in the Prussian army are taught, not only to harass a retreating army in detached parties, but to charge like heavy cavalry in a large body▪ The late General Seidlitz, who had the reputation of being the best officer of cavalry in Europe, brought the Prussian dragoons to a wonderful degree of perfection, and it is said that he gained the battle of Rosbach by one brisk charge. Ever since, the King of Prussia has bestowed great attention on his cavalry. They are now habituated to charge in large bodies, and at full speed.

The cuirassiers are the flower of the Prussian army. They are dressed in buff coats, and wear very heavy iron breast-plates, which cover all the fore-part of the body, and have been tried by musket shot before they are delivered to the men. I neglected to mention, that the infantry were ordered to shout as they advanced to the attack on the village, and that this practice is adopted by the Prussians in actual service. The King, as I am informed, is of opinion, that this keeps up the spirits of the men, and prevents them from reflecting on the danger of their situation▪ Their are a greater proportion of drummers in the Prussian service than in most others: a regulation, in all probability founded on the same principle.

The evening after the reviews, there were a concert and supper at Prince Henry's palace. The Queen was present, and the King's brothers, Henry himself, and Ferdinand, with their Princesses; also the Prince and Princess of Prussia, Prince Frederick of Brunswick and his Princess, and a numerous company. I here delivered to Prince Frederick the letter I had brought from his mother, who I found had before apprized him of my intention to go to Berlin.

The King himself was not present. He seldom appears at festivals. All his hours, not employed in business, he spends in reading, or in the society of a few people whom he esteems. The Hereditary Prince of Brunswick is at present the King's most constant companion, a choice which does not more honour to the Prince than to the King's discernment.

Prince Henry's palace is one of the most magnificent buildings in Berlin. No subject af the King of Prussia lives in a more sumptuous manner than this Prince, who keeps a numerous establishment of servants, mostly handsome young men, very richly dressed. The entertainment on this occasion was remarkably splendid.

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LETTER LXV. Prussian discipline.

BERLIN.

THE day after the reviews, the King attended by his nephew, the Prince of Prussia, and the Hereditary Prince of Brunswick, set for Magdeburg, where there is a camp of 15,000 men. He afterwards will proceed to Silesia, and his new acquired dominions in Poland, and is not expected at Potsdam for six weeks at least.

His Majesty makes the same circuit twice every year.—Surely no King in Europe can have such a thorough knowledge of his dominions and subjects as this monarch.—His absence from Berlin has made but little relaxation in the duty, and none in the discipline of the troops. The reviews were scarcely over, when field days began. There are 1500, or 2000 of the troops belonging to this garrison, exercised in the park almost every morning, besides those who appear on the parade for the ordinary guards.

A review, such as that which I endeavoured to describe, is undoubtedly one of the finest shows that can be exhibited: but when a spectator of sensibility reflects on the means by which these poor fellows are brought to this wonderful degree of accuracy, he will pay a severe tax for this splendid exhibition.—The Prussian discipline on a general view is beautiful; in detail it is shocking.

When the young rustic is brought to the regiment, he is at first treated with a degree of gentleness; he is instructed by words only how to walk, and to hold up his head, and to carry his firelock, and he is not punished, though he should not succeed in his earliest attempts:—they allow his natural aukwardness and timidity to wear off by [...]:—they seem cautious of confounding him at the beginning, or driving him to despair, and take care not to pour all the terrors of their discipline upon his astonished senses at once.

When he has been a little familiarised to his new state, he is taught the exercise of the firelock, first alone, and afterwards with two or three of his companions. This is not entrusted to a corporal or serjeant; it is the duty of a subaltern officer. In the park at Berlin, every morning may be seen the Lieutenants of the different regiments exercising with the greatest assiduity, sometimes a single man, at other times three or four together; and now, if the young recruit shows neglect or remissness, his attention is roused by the officer's cane, which is applied with augmenting energy, till he has acquired the full command of his firelock.—He is taught steadiness under arms, and the immobility of a statue:—he is informed, that all his members are to move only at the word of command, and not at his own pleasure;—that speaking, coughing, sneezing, are all unpardonable crimes; and when the poor lad is accomplished to their mind, they give him to understand, [Page] that now it is perfectly known what he can do, and therefore the smallest deficiency will be punished with rigour. And although he should destine every moment of his time, and all his attention, to cleaning his arms, taking care of his clothes, and practising the manual exercise, it is but barely possible for him to escape punishment; and if his Captain happens to be of a capricious or cruel disposition, the ill-fated soldier loses the poor chance of that possibility.

As for the officers, they are not indeed subjected to corporal punishment, but they are obliged to bestow as unremitting attention on duty as the men. The subalterns are almost constantly on guard, or exercising the recruits: the Captain knows, that he will be blamed by his Colonel, and can expect no promotion, if his company be not as perfect as the others: the Colonel entirely loses the King's [...]avour if his regiment should fail in any particular: the General in answerable for the discipline of the brigade, or garrison, under his immediate command. The King will not be satisfied with the General's report on that subject, but must examine every thing himself; so that from his Majesty, down to the common centinel, every individual is alert. And as the King, who is the chief spring and primum mobile of the whole, never relaxes, the faculties of every subordinate person are kept in constant exertion: the consequence of which is, that the Prussian army is the best disciplined, and the readiest for service at a minute's warning, of any now in the world, or perhaps that ever was in it. Other monarchs have attempted to carry discipline to the same degree of perfection, and have begun this plan with astonishing eagerness. But a little time and new objects have blunted their keenness, and divided their attention. They have then delegated the execution to a commander in chief, he to another of inferior rank, and thus a certain degree of relaxation having once taken place, soon pervades the whole system; but the perseverance of the King of Prussia is without example, and is perhaps the most remarkable part of his extraordinary character.

That degree of exertion which a man of a vigorous mind is capable of making on some very important occasion, the King of Prussia has made for thirty years at a stretch, without permitting pleasure, indolence, disgust or disappointment, to interrupt his plan for a single day.—And he has obliged every person through the various departments of his government to make, as far as their characters and strength could go, the same exertions.—I leave you to judge in what manner such a man must be served, and what he is capable of performing.

THE END OF NUMBER SECOND.

§

NUMBER THIRD—Price One Dollar. Of MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS, Will be published about three weeks from this Date.

At BELL's BOOK-STORE in Third-Street, February 24th, 1783.

§

§

§

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NUMBER THIRD—Price One Dollar.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, GERMANY, AND ITALY:

WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D.

During his Travels through those Countries, with his Grace, The present Duke of HAMILTON.

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CONTENTS OF THE THIRD NUMBER.

LETTER LXVI. Prussian troops remain in the some garrisons.—The effect of the discipline on the characters of the officers, and of the men.—Reflections. Dated at Berlin. 196

LETTER LXVII. Sentiments of a Prussian officer on discipline.—Story of an English sailor. at Berlin. 199

LETTER LXVIII. BERLIN. 202

LETTER LXIX. The Queen's court.—French manners prevail at Berlin.—Matrimonial felicity. at Berlin. 204

LETTER LXX. Freedom of discourse at Berlin.—Some touches of the King's character.—Licentious manners. at Berlin. 207

LETTER LXXI. The licence of the press. at Berlin. 208

LETTER LXXII. King of Prussia's oeconomy—Taxes.—The army.—Singular motives for a murder.—An execution. at Berlin. 212

LETTER LXXIII. Journey to Mecklenburg Strelitz.—The reigning Duke and his sister.— [Page]The Dutchy of Mecklenburg.—Preparations for entertainments at Sans-Souci. Dated at Berlin. 215

LETTER LXXIV. Theatrical entertainments.—The tragedy of Oedipus. at Potsdam. 218

LETTER LXXV. The King of Prussia—His conversation with the Duke of Hamilton. at Potsdam. 223

LETTER LXXVI. The King of Prussia. at Potsdam. 225

LETTER LXXVII. Lord Marechal.—The Hereditary Prince of Prussia. at Potsdam. 229

LETTER LXXVIII. Difficulty of deserting from Prussian garrisons.—The King's valet [...] chambre. at Potsdam. 23 [...]

LETTER LXXIX. Manufactory of porcelaine at Berlin.—Journey to Dresden.—Electoral court.—Museum.—Gallery of pictures. at Dresden. 233

LETTER LXXX. Sufferings of Dresden during last war.—Saxon troops. at Dresden. 235

LETTER LXXXI. Prague.—Piety of the inhabitants. St. Nepomuc, an Irish priest. A popular commotion. at Prague. 238

LETTER LXXXII. Vienna.—The court. at Vienna. 240

[Page] LETTER LXXXIII. The Countess Thune.—Her character.—The advantages which the English may enjoy at Vienna.—Prince Kaunitz. Dated at Vienna. 243

LETTER LXXXIV. A character.—Reflections on the English, French, and Germans. at Vienna. 245

LETTER LXXXV. An entertainment on the top of Mount Calenberg.—A convent of Monks.—Spiritual gallantry. at Vienna. 249

LETTER LXXXVI. Manners.—A lady's distress.—An indulgent husband. at Vienna. 251

LETTER. LXXXVII. Presburg.—A Hungarian villa. at Presburg. 253

LETTER LXXXVIII. The palace and gardens of Esterhasie—The Hungarians. at Vienna. 255

LETTER LXXXIX. Reflections on gaming.—Effect of great wealth on indolent minds.—English, German, French characters.—Utility of a taste for letters. at Vienna. 258

LETTER XC. Feast of St. Stephen.—Annual ceremony in commemoration of the defeat of the Turks by Sobieski.—Masquerade at Schonbrun. at Vienna. 262

LETTER XCI. The Emperor. at Vienna. 265

[Page] LETTER XCII. Prince Lichtenstein.—Hunting party. Dated at Vienna. 268

LETTER XCIII. Austrian army.—Peasants of Bohemia.—Reflections. at Vienna 271

LETTER XCIV. Sentiments of an Austrian lady on religion. at Vienna. 273

LETTER XCV. Idolatry of Roman Catholics. at Vienna. 276

LETTER XCVI. Sentiments of foreigners on the disputes between Great Britain and her colonies. English opinions respecting foreigners.—Hints to a young traveller. at Vienna. 278

Translation from the Italian of Ariosto's description of the Gardens in Alcina's inchanted Island.—See the original—Page 256.

In these fair fields unnumber'd flowers are found;

Here, purple roses cloath the happy ground;

Here, to the Sun expand the Lillies pale

Fann'd by the sweet breath of the western Gale.

Here, fearless Har [...]s thro' dark recesses stray.

And troops of Conies scour the woodland way;

Here stately Stags with branching horns appear

And rove at random, unassail'd by fear.

Unknown the snare, the Huntsman;s fatal art,

That wings the missile weapon to the heart,

In social bands they trace their sylvan reign,

Chew the rich cud or graze along the plain.

In these gay shades the nimble Deer delight;

Here herds of Goats ascend the rocky height.

Browse on the shrubs that shade the Vale below,

And crop the plants that there profusely grow.—

—FRENEAU.

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A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy.

LETTER LXVI. Prussian troops remain in the same garrisons.—The effect of the discipline on the characters of the officers, and of the men.—Reflections.

BERLIN.

NO condition in life can be more active, and at the same time have less variety in it, than that of a Prussian officer in the time of peace. He is continually employed in the same occupation, and continually occupied in the same place. There is no rotation of the troops as in the British service. The regiments which were placed in Berlin, Magdeburg▪ Schweidnitz, and the other garrisons at the conclusion of the war, remain there still. It is dreaded, that if they were occasionally moved from one garrison to another, the foreigners in the service, who are exceedingly prone to desertion, might then find opportunities, which according to the present plan they cannot: for however desirous a Prussian soldier may be to desert, the thing is almost impossible. The moment a man is missing, a certain number of cannons are fired, which announce the desertion to the whole country. The peasants have a considerable reward for seizing a deserter, and are liable to severe penalties if they harbour, or aid him in making his escape, and parties from the garrisons are sent after him in every direction.

As none of the soldiers are ever allowed to go without the walls of the town, it requires great address to get over this first [Page] difficulty; and when they have been so far fortunate, many chances remain against their escaping through the Prussian dominions: and even when they arrive safe in any of the neighbouring states,

Nunc eadem fortuna viros tot casibus actos Insequitur.

The same ill luck pursues those, who have already experienced such a variety of fortunes.

For there they will probably be obliged to inlist again as soldiers; so that on the whole, however unhappy they may be, it is absurd to attempt desertion in any other way than by killing themselves, which method, as I am told, begins to prevail.

In consequence of their remaining constantly in the same place, conversing always with the same people, and being employed uniformly in the same business, the Prussian officers acquire a staid, serious appearance, exceedingly different from the gay, dissipated, degageé air of British or French officers. Their only amusement, or relaxation from the duties of their profession, seems to be walking on the parade, and conversing with each other. The inferior officers, thus deprived of opportunities of mixing in general society, and not having time for study, can have no very extensive range of ideas. Their knowledge, it must be confessed, is pretty much confined to that branch of tactics in which they are so much employed; and many of them at length seem to think, that to stand firm and steady, to march erect, to wheel to the right and left, and to charge and discharge a firelock, if not the sole use of human creatures, is at least the chief end of their creation.

The King, as I have been informed, has no inclination that they should reason on a larger compass of thought, which might possibly lead them to despise their daily employment of drilling soldiers, counting the buttons of their coats, and examining the state of their spatterdashes and breeches. For as soon as men's minds become superior to their business, the business will not be so well performed. Some application to other studies, and opportunities of mixing with a more general society, might make them more agreeable men, but not better captains, lieutenants, and adjutants.

His majesty imagines he will always find a sufficient number of men of a more liberal turn of mind, and more extensive notions, for officers of great trust and separate commands, where the general must act according to emergencies, and the light of his own understanding. He believes also, that this general system will not deprive him of the advantage of particular exceptions, or prevent genius from being distinguished, [...] it exists in the humblest spheres of his service. As often, therefore, as he observes any dawnings of this kind; when any officer, or even soldier, discovers uncommon talents, or an extensive capacity, he is sure to be advanced, and placed in a situation where his [Page] abilities may have a full power of exertion; while those must stand still, or be moved by a very slow gradation, who have no other merit to depend on for promotion but assiduity alone, which, in the Prussian service, can never conduct to that rank in the army, where other qualifications are wanted.

As to the common men, the leading idea of the Prussian discipline is to reduce them, in many respects, to the nature of machines; that they may have no volition of their own, but be actuated solely by that of their officers; that they may have such a superlative dread of those officers as annihilates all fear of the enemy; and that they may move forwards when ordered, without deeper reasoning or more concern than the firelocks they carry along with them.

Considering the length to which this system is carried, it were to be wished that it could be carried still further, and that those unhappy men, while they retained the faculties of hearing and obeying orders, could be deprived of every other kind of feeling.

The common state of slavery in Asia, or that to which people of civil professions in the most despotic countries are subject, is freedom in comparison of this kind of military slavery. The former are not continually under the eyes of their tyrants, but for long intervals of time may enjoy life without restraint, and as their taste dictates; but all the foreign soldiers in this service, and those of the natives, who are suspected of any intention to desert, and consequently never allowed furloughs, are always under the eye of somebody, who has the power, and too often the inclination, to controul every action of their bodies, and every desire of their hearts.

Since such a number of men all over Europe are doomed to this state of constraint, it is much to be lamented that, from the nature of the service, the doom should fall on the useful, industrious peasantry, who, when uncontrolled by cruel and absurd policy, pass their days in cheerfulness, tasting every real pleasure without the nausea of satiety, or the stings of remorse, and perhaps, of all mankind, have the greatest enjoyment of life. The sum total of happiness, destroyed by removing men from this situation into a state of misery, must be infinitely greater than if many of the useless, wealthy, and luxurious could be translated into the same state. This would not be annihilating happiness, but only shifting the scene of the wretched. Such recruits would only be harassed by the caprices of others instead of their own;—plagued with the manual exercise, instead of being tortured by peevishness and disgust;—laid up in consequence of running the gauntlet, instead of being laid up with the gout;—and, finally, knocked down by a cannon-ball, instead of being killed by a fit of the apoplexy or a surfeit.

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LETTER LXVII. Sentiments of a Prussian officer on discipline.—Story of an English sailor.

BERLIN.

INSTEAD of troubling you with any more observations of my own, on the nature of the Prussian discipline, or the principles on which it is founded, I shall give you the substance of some conversations I have had on that subject with a Prussian officer of character.

Walking one morning in the park, we saw a poor fellow smartly caned, for no other reason, but because he did not return the ramrod into his piece with so much celerity as the rest of the platoon. I turned away with indignation from the fight, which the officer observing, said, You think the punishment too severe for the crime?—There was no crime, said I: the ram-rod slipt through his fingers by accident, and it is not possible to imagine, that the man had any intention to perform this important motion less rapidly than his comrades. Every thing must be considered as of importance by a soldier, replied my Prussian acquaintance, which his officer orders him to do. In all probabilty, the fault was involuntary; but it is not always possible to distinguish involuntary faults from those that happen through negligence. To prevent any man from hoping that his negligence will be forgiven as involuntary, all blunders are punished, from whatever cause they happen; the consequence of which is, that every man is more attentive and alert than he would otherwise be. I remember, added he, that it was very usual on field-days for the dragoons to have their hats blown off.

Nobody suspected that they had bribed the wind to play this trick; yet a general officer being put in bad humour by the frequency of the accident, gave orders to punish every man to whom it should happen; and since that order was put in force, the hats have been much seldomer blown off.

I then mentioned a fact which appeared to me still more extraordinary. A hussar, at the last review had fallen from his horse at full gallop, and was so much bruised, that it was found necessary to carry him to the hospital; and I had been assured, that as soon as the man should be perfectly recovered, he would certainly be punished for having fallen.

Now, continued I, though a man may be a little careless about his hat, it cannot be imagined, that this hussar was not seriously inclined to keep his seat; for by falling, he might have broke his neck, or have been trod to death: Or, even if you choose to suppose, that he did not ride with all the attention he ought, yet, as he received one severe punishment by the fall, it would be cruel to inflict another.

[Page] I have nothing to oppose to the solidity of your argument, replied the Prussian, but that General Seidlitz, who was the best officer of cavalry in the world, first introduced this piece of cruelty, since which i [...] is certain, that the men have not fallen so often. The King imagines, continued the Prussian, that discipline is the soul of an army; that men in the different nations of Europe are, in those qualities which are thought necessary for a soldier, nearly on a par▪ that in two armies of equal numbers, the degrees of discipline will determine how far one is superior to the other. His great object, therefore, is to keep his own army at the highest possible degree of perfection in this essential point. If that could be done by gentle means, undoubtedly he would prefer them.—He is not naturally of a cruel disposition.—His general conduct to officers of rank proves this.

Finding that the hopes of promotion, and a sense of honour, are sufficient motives to prompt them to their duty, he never has had recourse, except in cases of treachery, to any higher punishment than dismissing them. In some remarkable instances, he has displayed more mildness than is usual in any other service. Some of his generals have allowed towns of the greatest importance to be taken by surprise; others have lost intire armies; yet he never was influenced by popular clamour, or by the ruinous condition of his own affairs in consquence of those losses, to put any of the unfortunate generals to death.

And when any of them have been suspended for a certain time, or declared, by the decree of a court-martial, incapable of a military command under him, he has never aggravated the sentence by any opprobrious commentary, but has rather alleviated it by some clause or message, which spared the honour of the condemned general.

The common soldiers cannot be kept to their duty by mild treatment. Severe and immediate corporal punishment is found absolutely necessary.—Not to use it at all, or to use it in a degree incapable of producing the full effect, would be weakness. Soldiers are sometimes punished for slips, which perhaps all their attention cannot prevent; because, though it is impossible to ascertain [...] that any particular man could have avoided them, yet experience has taught, that, by punishing every blunder, sewer are committed on the whole. This sufficiently justifies the practice of what you call cruelty, but which is in reality salutary discipline: for an individual suf [...]ering unjustly is not so great an evil in an army, as the permitting negligence to pass unpunished. To allow ten guilty men to escape, rather than risk the punishment of one innocent person, may be a good maxim in morality, or in civil government, but the reverse will be found preferable in military discipline.

When the Prussian had finished his discourse, I said, You s [...]m to neglect all those incitements which are supposed to influence the minds of soldiers; the love of glory, the love of country, you [Page] count as nothing. You address yourself to no passion but one.—Fear is the only instrument by which you compel your common men to deeds of intrepidity.—Never mind the instrument, replied the Prussian, but look to the effect.

I am convinced, answered I, that British soldiers, with that degree of discipline which subsists in our army, which is not near so rigid as your, animated by their native courage, and the interest which even the common men take in all their country's quarrels, [...]re at least equal to any other troops.

I hope, said he, the experiment will not be made soon, for I esteem your nation, and should be sorry to see your troops opposed to ours in the field: but till they are, you cannot be sure of the justness of your assertion. The advantages you gained over the French in the late war rather makes for my argument, because the French army is more remiss in the article of discipline than yours.

I then returned to my old ground, the cruelty of harrassing and tormenting men without intermission; and asserted, that the advantages arising from such excessive severity, even though they should be as great as he represented, could not form a sufficient reason for rendering the lives of so many men miserable.

I do not know that they are miserable, replied he.—When men are but indifferently fed, forced to perform very hard duty, certain of being severely punished for the smallest faults, and sometimes even for their misfortunes, can you doubt, said I, that these men are miserable?—They do not seem miserable, replied he, they bear it very well.—And would you, added I, have the less remorse in tormenting men, because they have the strength of mind to bear it well?

I then told him a story I had heard of an English sailor, who was tried for a robbery he had committed on the highway. While his doom was pronouncing, he raised a piece of rolled tobacco to his mouth, and held it between his teeth till he heard the sentence of death passed on him. He then bit off a piece of the tobacco, and began to chew it with great unconcern.

Sirrah, said the judge, piqued at the man's indifference, do you know that you are to be hanged in a very short time?—So I hear, said the sailor, squirting a little tobacco juice from his mouth.—Do you know, rejoined the judge, where you shall go when you die!—I cannot tell indeed, a [...]'t please your honour, said the sailor—Why, then, cried the judge, with a tremendous voice, I will tell you: You will go to hell, you villain, and there be burnt to all eternity.—If I should, replied the sailor, with perfect tranquillity I hope, my Lord, I shall be able to bear it.

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LETTER LXVIII.

BERLIN.

BERLIN is certainly one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. The streets are built in a very regular manner, and of a commodious breadth. In the new town they are perfectly straight. Frederick street is reckoned two English miles and a half, or a French league, in length. Others which go off at right angles from that, are a mile, or a mile and a half long.

Some people assert, that Berlin covers as much ground as Paris. These are not Frenchmen, as you will readily believe; neither am I of that opinion, but it certainly approaches much nearer to Paris in size than in number of inhabitants; Berlin is undoubtedly more than half the size of Paris, yet I am convinced it does not contain above a fifth of the inhabitants.

There are a few very magnificent buildings in this town. The rest are neat houses, built of a fine white free-stone, generally one, or at most two stories high. Here, as at Potsdam, the finishing within does not correspond with the elegance of the outside, and the soldiers are quartered on the ground-floor in rooms looking to the street. The principal edifices are the King's palace, and that of Prince Henry. Both of these are very magnificent. The arsenal, which is a noble structure, is built in the form of a square. We were informed, that at present it contains arms for [...]00,000 men. I am convinced this is no exaggeration.

The new Roman Catholic church is by far the most elegant place of worship in the city. The King allows the free exercise of every religion over all his dominions. He thinks the smallest controul over men's consciences highly unjust. He even has the delicacy not to influence them by his example, and offends no religion, by giving a preference to any one in particular.

On the front of the opera house, which is a very beautiful structure, is this inscription:

FREDERICUS REX. APOLLINI ET MUSIS.

Frederick the King, to Apollo and the Muses.

After observing the inscriptions and ornaments of the palaces and other public buildings, the new method of decorating the churches, the number of Mercuries, Apollos, Minervas, and C [...] pids, that are to be met with in this country, a stranger might be led to suspect, that the Christian religion was exploded from the Prussian dominions, and old Jupiter and his family restored to their ancient honours.

There is an equestrian statue of William, the Great Elector, on the new bridge over the Spree. This is highly esteemed as a piece of fine workmanship.—In the corner of one of the squares, is a statue of Marshal Schwerin. He is represented holding the ensign with which he advanced at the famous battle of Prague.—perceiving [Page] his tr [...]oops on the point of giving way, [...]e seized this from the officer's hands whose duty it was to carry it, and marched towards the enemy, calling out, let all but cowards follow me. The troops, ashamed to abandon their general, charged once more, and turned the fortune of the day.—But the brave old Marshal was killed, in the eighty-fourth year of his age.—Do not you [...] think the trouble of living so long was amply repaid by such a death?

Instead of faints or crucifixes, the King intends, that the churches of Berlin shall be ornamented with the portraits of men who have been useful to the state. Those of the Marshals Schwerin, Keith, Winterfield, and some others, are already placed in the great Lutheran church.

The society into which strangers may be admitted in this capital, is not various or extensive. The Prussian officers of the higher ranks, whose time is not entirely engrossed, like that of their inferiors by the duties of their profession, live mostly with their own families, or with each other. Exclusive of other reasons which might determine them to this, it is understood, that the King does not approve of their forming intimacies with foreign ministers, or with strangers.

The Duke of Hamilton followed the King of Magdeburg to see the reviews there, and has since made a tour as far as L [...]psic, with two English gentlemen.

My connection with him, and the letter I brought from the Dutchess of Brunswick, have procured me invitations, which I should otherwise have had but a small chance of receiving. I passed a day lately at a very pleasant villa, about six miles from Berlin, belonging to the King's brother, Prince Ferdinand. He is married to a sister of the Princess of Hesse Cassel's. The Princess of Prussia was there at the same time, and Prince Frederick of Brunswick, with his Princess, who is remarkably pretty. I have the honour of supping sometimes with Prince Frederick, who lives constantly at Berlin.

To the spirit and vivacity common to all his family, he adds a taste for poetry, and has composed some dramatic pieces in the French language, which have been represented on a little theatre in his own house, and in private societies at Berlin.—There has been a continued round of feasting all the last week.

The Princess of Prussia gave a breakfast at a garden in the Park, to which a large company was invited. There was dancing, which continued all the forenoon. Upon all these occasions, I saw none of that state and ceremony of which the Germans are accused. Those of the highest rank behaved with the greatest ease and affability to every person present, and joined in the country-dances, without observing any form or etiquette.

The minister, Count Finkenstein, gave a great dinner and ball, on account of the marriage of one of his sons. The Count Reuse, and some others, have also given entertainments; but the chief and permanent society is to be found at the houses of the foreign [Page] ministers who reside here. I have been introduced to all of them by Mr. Harris, his Majesty's envoy extraordinary, who lives here in a style which does honour to his country and himself.

We have received very great civilities also from Baron Van Swieten, minister from the Court of Vienna, a man of wit and erudition. He is son to the celebrated physician, whose works are so highly esteemed all over Europe. There are two or three general officers who are pretty often at the houses of these ministers, and entertain strangers occasionally at home.—Besides those I have named, there are very few of the King of Prussia's servants who have any connection with the strangers that come to Berlin. I have had the happiness of forming an acquaintance here with two very agreeable French gentlemen, the Marquis de Laval, son of the Duke of that name, and the Comte de Clermont, grandson of that Mons. de Saint Hillaire, whose arm was carried off by the same bullet which killed Marshal Turenne.

You remember the sentiment which St. Hillaire expressed to his son, who lamented his wound.—A sentiment which proved, that his magnanimity was equal to that of the hero whom he so greatly preferred to himself.

Adieu.

LETTER LXIX. The Queen's court.—French manners prevail at Berlin.—Matrimonial felicity.

BERLIN.

WHEN we arrived here first, the Queen lived at Mont Bijou, a small palace just without the gates. Her Majesty had a public day twice a week while she remained there; but she has lately removed to Shoenhau [...]en, another palace, situated two Leagues from Berlin, where she passes the summer. Here she has a public day only once a week.

The Princess the nobility, the foreign ministers, and strangers, generally attend on these occasions at five in the evening. After her Majesty has walked round the circle, and spoke a few words to every one, she sits down to cards. There is a table for the Queen, and one for each of the Princesses, all of whom choose their own parties. The rest of the company present themselves for a few minutes at each of these card-tables, after which the duty of the day is over, and they walk in the garden, or form parties at cards in the other apartments, as they think proper, and return to Berlin when it begins to grow dark. On some particular nights, her Majesty invites a considerable number of the company to supper, who then remain till midnight.

The Queen's court resembles the other courts of Europe; whereas that at Sans-Souci is upon quite a new plan. No strangers are received there, nor any other persons, except such as have real [Page] business with the King. There his Majesty is employed in his affairs from morning till evening, and spends the hours he destines for relaxation in the company of two or three men of letters, and a few officers, who dine with him daily.—When he has business with any of his servants, or with the foreign ministers, which cannot be executed by letter, they attend him at Sans-Souci, and come away as soon as that business is transacted.

Those assemblies at Shoenhausen are the only established amusement for the ladies of quality at Berlin during the summer; but you have frequent opportunities of meeting with the court ladies at the houses of the foreign ministers.

The French manners and turn of thinking certainly prevail very little among the Prussian officers; but the ladies of the court of Berlin have more the air of French women, than those of any court I have seen. Mademoiselle de Hart [...]eld, first lady of honour to the Queen, with an infinite deal of wit, has all the ease and elegance which distinguish the ladies of the court of Versailles.

His Majesty very seldom appears at the Queen's court, or at any place where women form part of the assembly. When he inclines to unbend, his amusements are of a nature in which they can take no share.

I once said to a lady of this court, that it was a pity his Majesty did not love women.—Considering his time of life, said she, we could dispense with his love, but it is hard that he cannot endure us.

Notwithstanding this humour of the King's, the ladies here are by no means neglected by the men in general. Many of the married women particularly, have avowed admirers, who attend them on all occasions, are invited with them to all entertainments, sit next them at table, and whom the master or mistress of the feast takes care to place in the same party with them at cards. When a lady is not provided with an attendant of this kind, her husband, as well as herself, is generally a little out of countenance, and both seem rather in an aukward situation, till this necessary concomitant be found.

A misfortune of a very serious nature happened lately to a certain gentleman here: instead of expressing concern about him or his wife (for he was a married man,) every body sympathized, in the tenderest manner, with another lady, between whom and this unfortunate gentleman the most intimate connexion was thought to subsist: they said, she was one of the worthiest women in the world and of such delicate feelings, that her health might be injured by the impression the gentleman's misfortune would make upon her mind.

Being surprized that no mention was made of his wise all this time, I asked if she might not also be in some measure affected by her husband's disaster?—I was told, that she was otherwise occupied, and that any thing which could happen her husband was of little or no importance to her.

[Page] I then enquired if she and her husband lived on bad terms; I was informed, that, on the contrary, they were on the best footing in the world, for that he was much attached to another woman—(the very lady they so greatly lamented) and that his wife was entirely devoted to another man; so the account between them bring perfectly balanced, they lived free of all domestic debates, in a state of mutual neglect, and quite engrossed with separate passions.

In this country, when both parties are willing, and when there are no children, a divorce may be obtained with very little trouble or expence; we are frequently in companies, where a lady, her present, and former husband are at table, and all parties behave in the most polite and friendly manner to each other.

I have heard of one gentleman, who having lived in a state of domestic jarring with his wife, got her persuaded to concur with him in applying for a divorce.—This was soon obtained.—He then married another woman, with whom he was violently in love, and expected, as usual, eternal happiness. After marriage, however, this passion cooled rather sooner than common, and within a few months he became the professed admirer of his first wife. He now saw a thousand charms in her person and conversation, which had entirely escaped his notice, while the bands of we [...]ock subsisted. He also discovered that certain peculiarities in her manner, which he had formerly thought exceedingly a [...]kward, were in reality graceful. He expressed his remorse for his former blindness in the most pathetic terms: the lady was softened, and at length gave the most perfect marks of forgiveness; and it was universally thought, that he thus contrived to live in adultery with the very woman to whom he had been lawfully married.

Here jealousy is held in equal contempt and detestation, and scandal is very little known. People seem so fully occupied with their own private affairs, that they seldom trouble their heads about the business of their neighbours. If, in the course of conversation, an intimacy of a particular kind is hinted at between people of different sexes, it is mentioned accidentally as a fact of no importance, and without the smallest blame or ill-natured reflection on either of the parties. One reason of this may be, that there is scarce such a thing (I am assured) as an old maid in his Prussian Majesty's dominions.

The most fashionable walk in Berlin, is in the middle of one of the principal streets.—Before the houses on each side there is a causeway, and between these two causeways are fine gravel walks, planted with lime trees.—Tents are pitched under these, and ice, lemonade, and other refreshments sold. The bands of music belonging to the regiments practise here in the summer.—The Company generally are in the greatest number in the evening, and often walk till it is very late.

—Nunc et campus, et are [...],

Lenesque sub noctem susurri,

Composita repetantur hora.

Be swift to catch time as it flies,

And score it up as clearly won;

Nor let your Youth disdain to prove

The Joys of Dancing, and of Love.

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LETTER LXX. Freedom of discourse at Berlin.—Some touches of the King's character.—Licentious manners.

BERLIN.

NOTHING surprised me more, when I first came to Berlin, than the freedom with which many people spoke of the measures of government, and the conduct of the King. I have heard political topics, and others which I should have thought still more ticklish, discussed here with as little ceremony as at a London coffee-house. The same freedom appears in the bookseller's shops, where literary productions of all kinds are sold openly.

The pamphlet lately published on the division of Poland, wherein the King is very roughly treated, is to be had without difficulty, as well as other performances, which attack some of the most conspicuous characters with all the bitterness of satire.

A government, supported by an army of 180,000 men, may safely disregard the criticisms of a few speculative politicans, and the pen of the satirist. While his Majesty retains the power of disposing of the lives and properties of his subjects as his wisdom shall direct, he allows them the most perfect freedom to amuse themselves with as many remarks or jokes on his conduct as they please.

The mind of this monarch is infinitely superior to that gossiping disposition, by which the despicable race of whisperers and reta [...]ers of scandal thrive at some courts▪ Convinced that the same perfidy, which can betray a real conversation, may invent a false one, he listens to no little, ma [...]cious tales of what has passed in private companies, or during the hours of convivial mirth.

Any person who should attempt to repeat anecdotes of this kind to him, would be driven from his presence with disgrace. He treats with equal contempt all anonymous letters, and every kind of injurious information, when the informer declines appearing openly in support of his assertions.

This great Prince is so perfectly devoid of suspicion and personal fea [...], that he resides at Sans-Souci without any guard whatever. An orderly serjeant, or corporal only, attends there in the day-time to carry occasional orders to the garrison at Potsdam, whither he always returns in the evening. In this house, where the King sleeps every night, there are not above ten or a dozen persons, the servants included.

When you recollect that Sans-Souci is a solitary mansion, about half a league from Potsdam, where all the guards are shut up, and therefore could be of no manner of use, in case of any attempt on the King's person during the night; when you consider that he, who lies thus defenceless and exposed, is a despotic monarch, who governs by the dictates of his own will and understanding, without [Page] minding the ill-humour or discontent of any man, or any set of men, and who, no doubt, has many inveterate enemies, you must confess, that all these circumstances argue great magnanimity.

Berlin, though not a fortified, is certainly a very military town. When all the soldiers of the garrison are present, they amount to 30,000. In their general conduct they are quiet, and the police of the town is pretty well regulated. Yet there are some kinds of irregularities which prevail in the highest degree. Public courtezans are more numerous here than in any town in Europe, in proportion to the number of inhabitants. They appear openly at the windows in the day-time, beckon to passengers as they walk in the streets, and ply for employment in any way they please, without disturbance from the magistrate.

It seems to be a received opinion here, that the peace and happiness of the community are not interrupted by this species of licentiousness; or perhaps it is believed, that an attempt to restrain it would be attended with consequences worse than the thing itself. Therefore nobody is allowed to molest or abuse those who have chosen this for a trade, and as little attention is paid to customers, who frequent the chambers of those ladies, as if they slept into any other house or shop, to purchase any other commodity.

Another species of debauchery is said to prevail in this capital.—I imagine, however, that what is related on that nauseous subject is greatly exaggerated.

The better kind of citizens and manufacturers live entirely among these of their own rank, and without affecting the manners of the courtiers, or stooping to the mean debauchery of the commonalty, maintain the decency, plainness, and honesty of the German character.

His Prussian Majesty has applied his attention to no object with so much zeal, and so little success, as to the establishing of commerce in his dominions. All his efforts, in order to this, have been rendered abortive by injudicious taxes, by monopolies, and other restrictions. Commerce, like the wild commoners of the air and the forest, when confined or shackled, immediately droops and dwindles, or, being alarmed, like Love,

—at sight of human ties,

Spreads its light wings, and in a moment flies.

LETTER LXXI. The licence of the press.

BERLIN.

I THANK you, Sir, for the poem and pamphlets you sent me by—. I own I do not think the former a very capital performance; yet am not surprized at the great run it has had. [Page] For though it had contained still a smaller proportion of wit, it would have been a good deal relished on account of the malignity and personal abuse with which it abounds.

The English nation have always had a great appetite for political writings; but those who cater for them have of late served up such messes of mere politics, as seem at length to have turned their stomachs▪ A little wit or personal satire is now found necessary to make even a news-paper go down. The first is not always at the command of the caterer: he therefore uses the other in its place, which answers his purpose as well.

I never had any delight in contemplating or exposing the dark side of human nature; but there are some shades so obvious, that you cannot open your eyes without observing them. The satisfaction that many people enjoy in reading libels, wherein private characters are traduced, is of that number. If to be abused in pamphlets and news-papers is considered as adversity, the truth of Rochefoucault's maxim is uncontrovertible:—Dans l'adversité de nos melleurs amis, nous trouvo [...] toujours quelquechose qui ne nous déplait pas.—In the adversity of our dearest friends we always find something not disagreeable.

The common scribblers of the age have turned to their own account this malevolent disposition, which they perceive to be so prevalent among men.—Like the people who provide bulls and other animals to be [...]a [...]ted by dogs for the amusement of the spectators, these gentlemen turn out a few characters every week to be mangled and [...]orn in the most cruel manner in the public newspapers.

It is the savage taste of those who pay for these amusements, which keeps them in use. The writers of scurrilous books in London often bear no more malice to the individuals they abuse, than the people in Paris and Vienna, who provide the other horrid amusement, bear to the boars, bulls, and other animals, which they expose to the fury of dogs.

As for the scribblers, they seldom have any knowledge of the persons whose characters they attack. It is far from being impossible, that the author of the severe verses you sent me, has no more acquaintance of the lords and gentlemen against whom he writes with such bitterness, than the weaver who wove their pocket-handkerchiefs. The motive for the fabrication of the one as well as the other commodity most probably was daily bread, and this poetaster has [...] satire to panegyric, merely because he knew the first was most to the taste of his customers.

I remember once to have been in a certain bookseller's shop, when a letter was delivered to him, inclosing a paper, which, after he had thrown his eyes over it, he presented to me, telling me it was a character of Lord Sandwich, which he intended to insert in a certain work then publishing.—I fancy, added he, it will do pretty well; the author is a sharp blade, I assure you;—none of my boys carry such an edge, or cut so deep, as that little gladiator.

[Page] I found this a most bitter invective against the abovementioned nobleman, written with all the inveteracy of malice and personal enmity, branding him as a prodigy of sensuality, and accusing him of every villanous disposition and propensity that ever tainted the most corrupt heart.

This, said I, is a much more harmless production than is intended. The violence of this poison will prove its own antidote. The most voracious stomach for slander and defamation will not be able to bear such a dose, but must reject it with disgust. Every reader of common understanding will clearly perceive, that all this abuse has been dictated by malice and personal resentment.

Then, replied the bookseller, every reader of common understanding will clearly perceive what does not exist; for the writer of that paper, to my certain knowledge, never had the smallest intercourse or connection with Lord Sandwich; never bore him any i [...]l will, and has not the most distant wish to injure that noble Lord; as a proof of which, added he, taking another paper out of his drawer, here is a character of the same nobleman, written by the same author, which is to appear about a week after the publication of the former, by way of answer to it.

This second paper was a continued eulogium on Lord Sandwich from beginning to end, in which the candid author, having compared him to some of the greatest and most celebrated men, and having collected many of the brightest flowers, with which Plutarch has adorned his worthies, he forms them into one large wreath, which he very seriously binds round the English nobleman's brow, concluding with this observation, That as his Lordship resembled them in their virtues, so like them he had been distinguished by the most virulent attacks of envy and malice, which was a tax that had always been paid for superior talents.

How comes my Lord Sandwich, said I to the bookseller, to be selected from his brethren of the peerage, and distinguished so remarkably by the obloquy and the praise of your ingenious friend?

Because, replied he, that nobleman is at the head of an active department, and is one of those vigorous and decisive characters, which never fail to create a number of enemies and of friends. His enemies are delighted to see him abused, and it is expected, that his friends will be charmed to hear him praised; and, between the two, my friend's productions will find a brisk sale, and I hope to make a tolerable job of his Lordship; which, let me tell you, cannot be done with every man of rank.—Lord, Sir! there are some of them of such mawkish, water-gruel characters, as to interest no mortal. There is—, a man of such high rank and such a known name, that I thought something might have been made of him:—And so I employed my little Drawcansir, for and against him, and two very pretty pamphlets he produced;—but just as I was going to send them to the pres [...], I happened to shew them to a friend of mine, who is an admirable judge in these matters.

[Page] These pamphlets, says he, are very well wrote; but they will never pay the printing. The person who is the subject of them is of such a cold, tame, civil, cautious disposition, and has balanced so exactly through the whole of his life, that he has never obliged or disobliged any one. He has neither friend not foe in the world:—Every body says, he is a good enough sort of a man; but were he to break his neck to-night, no human creature would feel either sorrow or satisfaction at the event, and a satire or panegyric on his grand-mother would be as much read as those written on him. In faith, sir, concluded the Bookseller, I took the bint, and so the pamphlets never appeared.

Though I was a good deal entertained with my friend the Bookseller's reasoning, yet I could not help feeling indignation at the literary bravo, who lived in this infamous manner, by wounding and murdering, or at least attempting to murder, people's reputations. And those are not entirely free from blame, who detesting the writer, take pleasure in the writings.

He has very possibly the plea of necessitous circumstances to urge in alleviation of his wickedness:—but the pleasure they take see [...]s to proceed from a pure, disinterested fondness of seeing others abused. Many of those who cry shame on the licentiousness of the press, and exclaim against the injustice and cruelty of tearing private characters to pieces in public papers, have the most virulent of these productions served up every morning as regularly as their toast and butter. If they would forego the pleasure of reading the most malicious of those compositions, the evil they complain of would cease directly.

But it is ridiculous, and seems ungrateful, for people to affect an appearance of indignation against those who provide for them one of the greatest enjoyments of their lives. To chuckle over scandal all the forenoon with every mark of pleasure, and decry it in the evening with affected anger, is as preposterous as it would be in a judge, first to seduce a poor wench to fornication, and then punish her for the sin.

You may possibly retort upon me, by putting me in mind of the admiration I expressed of the style of certain celebrated letters, wherein some eminent characters are dissected, and tortured with the scientific skill of an anatomist, and the refined cruelty of an inquisitor. I answer, that I admired the wit and genius, but not the disposition displayed in those letters.

Malice, when introduced by genius and wit, is often tolerated on account of the respect due to the introducers; but when the wretch comes alone, or is accompanied by dulness, which often happens, she will be expelled with infamy from all good company.

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LETTER LXXII. King of Prussia's oeconomy.—Taxes.—The army.—Singular motives for a murder.—An execution.

BERLIN.

THE Prussian army at present, according to my information, consists of 180,000 men. If twenty, or even thirty thousand are deducted from this account, on the supposition that it is exaggerated, still the remainder will be very great, and the expence of such an establishment in time of peace, seems to many almost incompatible with the King of Prussia's resources. Although the revenues of this monarch are much greater than is generally imagined, yet the armies he has supported, and continues to support; the palace he has built, and other expensive undertakings which he has completed, are not such proofs o [...] the greatness of his revenue, as of the prudence with which it has been managed.

Many other Princes have greater revenues, which, like water spil [...] on uncultivated land, and assisting the growth of useless weeds, are dissipated without taste or magnificence on the trumpery of a court and their dependents. Perhaps it was never known what miracles, oeconomy, and assiduity through all the departments of government could perform, till this monarch made it apparent.

In the King of Prussia's dominions, there are none of those posts which enrich individuals at the expence of the public; places suited to the abilities and the luxury of the great, where the salary is large, because the application and talents requisite are small▪ If those who hold the most lucrative places in this court, can support a becoming dignity by the emoluments of their office, and lay up a very moderate provision for their families, it is the utmost they ever expect.

All commodities are highly taxed in the Prussian dominions. At Berlin, though money is a great deal scarcer than at London or Paris, a stranger will find very little difference in the ordinary expence of living. There are no means by which his revenue can be augmented which this King has not tried. He has taxed even the vanity of his subjects, and drawn considerable supplies since the beginning of his reign from that plentiful source. The rage which the Germans, above all men, have for titles, prompts many of the wealthy citizens to purchase that of some office about court; and although the King employs no person void of abilities, he never scruples to permit this kind of traffic. The title, however, is literally all that is sold, for with regard to the real business of the office, the purchaser has as little connection with it after the bargain as before. Though his Majesty scarcely ever consults with any body, he has more nominal privy counsellers than any King in Christendom.

[Page] The taxes in general are invariably fixed; but methods are found of drawing contributions from the proprietors of the very great estates, which do not affect the smaller landlords, or the rest of the subjects. The spirit of the government is not favourable to great and independent Lords. But both the great and the small landlords are prevented from squeezing or oppressing the peasants. As the soldiery are drawn from them, care is taken that they shall not be deprived of the chief source of health and vigour and there is no peasantry in Europe better fed than the Prussian.

The army is chiefly composed of provincial regiments. The whole Prussian dominions being divided into circles or cantons; in each of these, one or more regiments, in proportion to the size and populousness of the division, have been originally raised, and from it the recruits continue to be taken; and each particular regiment is always quartered, in the time of peace, near the canton from which its recruits are drawn.

Whatever number of sons a peasant may have, they are all liable to be taken into the service except one, who is left to assist in the management of the farm. The rest wear badges from their childhood, to mark that they are destined to be soldiers, and ready to serve when the state requires them. If a peasant has only one son, he is not forced into the service, except he has the misfortune to be uncommonly stout and well-made.

The King, however, endeavours to save his own peasantry, and draw as many recruits as he can from other countries:—For this purpose, there are Prussian officers employed at Hamburgh, Frankfort, and other free towns of Germany. I have seen them also at Neufchatel, and at places near French garrisons, attempting to inlist men, and pick up deserters. The recruits procured in this manner, remain continually with the regiments in which they are placed; but the native Prussians have every year eight or nine months of furlough, during which they return to their fathers or brothers houses, and work at the business of the farm, or gain their livelihood in any other way they please. Here is at once an immense saving in the expence of the army, and a great gain to the state from the labour of so many men.

From this it appears, that the Prussian army is neither more nor less than a standing militia, embodied for two or three months, every year, and then dispersed to their usual labours as farmers.

I think this decides our old dispute on the subject of [...]nding armies and militia. I expect therefore that you will, by [...] return of post, fairly and candidly acknowledge that I was [...] the right, and that all your arguments to prove, that a militia could not be depended on in the time of actual service, are built on false principles, and that my opinion was just and well-founded.

Before closing this letter, I will inform you of a very singular incident, the circumstances of which I relate, not so much with a design to illustrate the character or sentiments of the vulgar of this place in particular, as to furnish you with a curious fact in the [Page] history of human nature in general. I went a few days since with Mr. F—to see a man executed for the murder of a child.—His motives for this horrid deed were much more extraordinary than the action itself. He had accompanied some of his companions to the house of a fellow, who assumed the character of a fortuneteller, and having disobliged him, by expressing a contempt of his art, the fellow, out of revenge, prophesied, that this man should die on a scaffold.—This seemed to make little impression at the time, but afterwards recurred often to this unhapy creature's memory, and became every day more troublesome to his imagination. At length the idea haunted his mind so incessantly, that he was rendered perfectly miserable, and could no longer endure life.

He would have put himself to death with his own hands, had he not been deterred by the notion, that God Almighty never forgives suicide; though, upon repentance, he is very ready to pardon every other crime. He resolved, therefore, to commit murder, that he might be deprived of life by the hands of justice; and mingling a sentiment of benevolence with the cruelty of his in [...]ention, he reflected, that if he murdered a grown person, he might possibly send a soul to hell.

To avoid this, he determined to murder a child, who could not have committed any sin which deserved damnation, but dying in innocence, would go immediately to Heaven. In consequence of these ideas, he actually murdered an infant of his master's, for whom he had always shewn an uncommon degree of fondness. Such was the strange account which this infatuated creature gave on his trial;—and thus the random prophecy proved, as in many other cases, the cause of its own completion

He was executed about two miles from Berlin. As soon as be ascended the scaffold, he took off his coat and wa [...]coat;—his shirt was rolled down below his shoulders;—his night cap was [...] over his eyes;—he was placed on his knees, and the executioner with a single stroke of a broad sword severed his head from his body—It was the first time this executioner had performed;—there were two others of the same trade on the scaffold, who exhibited an instance of insensibility more shocking than the execution.—While the man's head rolled on the scaffold, and the arteries of the trunk poured out their blood, these men, with the gayest air you can imagine, shook their brother by the hand, wished him joy, and clapped him on the back, congratulating him on the dexterous and effectual manner in which he had performed his office.

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LETTER LXXIII. Journey to Mecklenburg Strelitz.—The reigning Duke and his sister.—The Dutchy of Mecklenburg—Preparations for entertainments at Sans-Souci.

BERLIN.

THE Duke of Hamilton having expressed an inclination to visit the court of Mecklenburg Strelitz, I accompanied him thither soon after his return from Magdeburg and Leipsic. The weather being sultry, his Grace thought that travelling in the night would be most agreeable. We did not set out therefore till about six or seven in the evening. The first post-house is four German miles from Berlin; but as great part of the road is through a large wood, and the night became very dark, the postillions lost their way. In a short time we were perfectly bewildered, and without the smallest notion which direction we should follow. After many ineffectual attempts to find out the path, we thought it would be most prudent to unyoke the horses, and allow them [...]o graze around, while we slept in the chaise till daybreak. This plan was literally followed: as soon as the servants, by the light of the rising sun, had discovered the path, we proceeded by Oranienburg and Seidneek to Reinsburg, which is a magnificent castle belonging to Prince Henry of Prussia

The gardens here are very extensive, and have been highly improved and ornamented by this Prince, who has a good taste, and a magnificent turn of mind.

When we arrived at the town of New Strelitz, we were informed that the court was at Brandenburg. The Ducal residence was formerly at Old Strelitz; but the palace there, with all the magnificent furniture and effects, was burnt to ashes about fifty years ago. The fire having broke out in the night time, the family themselves had a very narrow escape.

A new palace has been since built at the distance of two English miles from where the former stood, but in a much more agreeable situation, being placed on a gentle eminence near a fine lake; and the town of New Strelitz has gradually arisen in the neighbourhood.

After a short stay at Strelitz, we proceeded to New Brandenburg, which is some leagues farther north, and within a small distance of the Baltic▪ We arrived there in the morning of the third day after we had left Berlin. When the Chamberlain of the court was informed of the Duke of Hamilton's arrival, we received an invitation to dinner, and a coach and equipage were ordered to attend his Grace.

The reigning Duke of Mecklenburg Strelitz is unmarried, as well as the Princess, his sister, who lives constantly with him. They are both of a darker complexion than the Queen of Great-Britain, and neither of them so tall; nor have they much external resemblance of her majesty, except in the affability of their manner. [Page] The Duke is beloved by his subjects on account of the humanity and benevolence of his disposition, which seem to be characteristic of the whole family.—After dinner there was a concert of music, and card playing till supper.

The whole country of Mecklenburg was for many centuries under the government of one Prince. In the year 1592, on the death of the Sovereign, it was divided between his two sons. The eldest, retaining the Dutchy of Mecklenburg Schwerin, which is considerably the largest share; the younger obtained the Dutchy of Mecklenburg Strelitz. This last branch became extinct in the year 1695, and Duke Frederick William, of the eldest branch, laid claim to the inheritance of the Dutchy of Strelitz. But he was opposed by Adolphus Frederick, his father's younger brother, and the contest was settled by compromise between the parties in 1701. The right of primogeniture, and the lineal succession, were then established in both houses, and this final agreement was ratified by the Emperor.

The country here is not a sandy flat, as around Berlin; but the soil becomes gradually better as you move from that city, and around New Brandenburg it is remarkably fertile. Though the southern border of this Dutchy is flat, sandy and barren, yet all the nothern part is of a rich verdure, finely diversified with hills, meadows, woods, and several beautiful lakes from four to ten miles in length. The country yields plenty of corn, hemp, flax, excellent pasture for numerous stocks of sheep, and a good breed of horses.—New Brandenburg is a neat and thriving town, very agreeably situated. The inhabitants carry on a considerable trade in hops, which grew in great abundance all around.

This country, which seems to be happy in its prince and other particulars, cannot rank among its blessings the neighbourhood of so great and warlike a monarch as the King of Prussia. In the course of the late war, both the Mecklenburgs suffered very severely from this circumstance.

The Russians and Austrians, who pillaged the middle Mark of Brandenburg, did not ascertain with nicety where the King of Prussia's dominions ended, and the Duke of Strelitz's began; but as often as there was any thing valuable to carry away, plundered both without distinction. And when that Monarch himself was driven to extremity, and obliged to use every means of recruiting his army, the Mecklenburghers were cajoled and seduced by every art into the Prussian service; and when these methods failed they were, as it is said, taken by force.

Even at present, whenever the Prussian recruiting officers know of a strong well-looking peasant belonging to the Dutchy of Mecklenburg, they use every means they can devise to seduce him into their master's service.—Complaints are frequently made of these practices to his Prussian Majesty and redress will be given when it shall please the Lord.

The second day after our arrival, we spent the forenoon in viewing [Page] every thing worthy of notice in the town, and dined again at court, where there was a more numerous company than had been the first day. After dinner we accompanied his Highness and the Princess to an assembly in the town, and returned to sup at the court. During supper there was a concert of vocal and instrumental music.

Having received every mark of polite attention from this Prince, we took leave of him and the Princess, and left the town early next morning, and returned by Old Strelitz, which is not in such a flourishing condition, or situated in so fine a country, as New Brandenburg. While British subjects pass through this country, they will naturally reflect with gratitude and veneration o [...] the character of a Princess whose virtues are an ornament to the British throne, and whose amiable manners and prudent conduct have united the affections of a people divided by party, and irreconcilable in sentiment on almost every other subject.

On our return to Berlin, I found a letter from Lord Marechal, informing me, that the King was expected at Potsdam within a very few days; that great preparations were making for the reception of the Princess of Hesse and the Dutchess of Wurtemberg, who were then both at Berlin, and were to pay a visit to the King at Sans-Souci; that they would be accompanied by the Princess Amelia, the King's unmarried sister, and his two sisters-in-law, for all of whom apartments were preparing at the new palace, where his majesty also was to reside all the time that his illustrious guests should remain. My Lord added, that the celebrated Le Kain, and a company of French comedians, were already arrived, and also a company of Italian actors and singers for the opera; and that both companies were to perform at the theatre within the palace; that a great concourse of company was expected at Potsdam on the occasion; that most of the apartments in the town were already bespoke, and, as he imagined we would incline to be there, he had engaged lodgings for us.

The Duke was extremely pleased with this obliging behaviour of Lord Marechal. I afterwards spoke to Mr. Harris on this subject, and enquired if he intended to be at Potsdam on the occasion? He told me, that as the plays, operas, and other entertainments, were to be given in the palace, no body could attend them except those who had particular invitations; that neither he nor any of the foreign ministers had been, or, as he understood, were to be invited, nor did he hear that any strangers were expected;— [...] that he imagined it would be unbecoming the Duke of Hamilton to be at Potsdam at that time, except he could with propriety attend the entertainments at Sans-Souci.

His Grace, on hearing this account, determined to remain here; but some days after, I received a letter from Count Finkenstein, acquainting me, that he had orders to invite the Duke of Hamilton and me to attend the entertainments to be given at Sans-Souci. This afforded us great satisfaction, not so much on account of the public entertainments, as because it will give us opportunities, [Page] which we could not otherwise have, of seeing the King of Prussia, and probably in an easier way than at Berlin. As for the usual amusements and splendor of courts, his Grace displays more coolness about them than one would naturally imagine, considering the manner in which he is received, his time of life, and his personal appearance▪

—namque ipsa decoram

Caesariem nato genitrix, lumenque juventae

Purpureum, & laetos oculis afflarat honores.

For Venus herself had adorned her son with graceful locks, flushed him with the radiant bloom of youth, and breathed a sprightly lustre on his eyes.

Virgil by Davidson.

Since our return from Mecklenburg, we have passed our time almost constantly with Mr. Harris, who accompanied the Duke yesterday on his last visit to Shoenhausen; for we shall probably not return to this place from Potsdam. Mr. F—set out a few days ago for Frankfort on the Maine; his easy humour, and original turn of thought, make his absence felt with pain by all who have tasted the pleasure of his conversation.

Adieu.

LETTER LXXIV. Theatrical entertainments.—The tragedy of Oedipus.

POTSDAM.

WE have been here about a fortnight. His Majesty arrived at the new palace of Sans-Souci about the same time that we came to Potsdam. The Princess Amelia, who is mistress of the ceremonies, was there to receive him. The company I formerly mentioned are all lodged in the Palace. I will give you a short sketch of what has passed.

There has been a theatrical entertainment every second or third day. His Grace and I attend at Sans-Souci on these days only. We drive from Potsdam about five in the evening. The company assemble in one of the apartments of the palace about that time, and walk to the playhouse a little before six. The theatre is very well contrived for the accommodation of a small audience. There are neither boxes nor p [...]t; but semicircular benches in the front of the stage. The foremost bench is upon the floor; the others rise gradually behind, that all the spectators may see equally well.

A few minutes after the company are placed, the Royal Family arrive. The Princess Amelia is led in by Prince Frederick of Brunswick, and the Princess of Hesse by the King. The Dutchess of Wurtemberg, and the other Princesses, are led in after; they, and the ladies their attendants, sit in the first rows. The King generally seats himself in the third or fourth. The piece then begins, [Page] and is usually finished about nine, after which all the company return to the large apartment, where the King remains conversing in a familiar manner till supper is ready. He then retires, and goes to bed at ten.

Those whom the Princess Amelia orders to be invited, stay to supper; and there is generally a pretty numerous company.—We have been at this repast three or four times, and usually get to our lodgings at Potsdam about midnight.

Hitherto there have been no comedies acted, and I understand there are to be none, because Le Kain never acts in comedy; and for another reason, which is equivalent to a thousand,—his Majesty loves tragedy better.

Le Kain has already appeared in some of his principal characters.—You need not doubt of his exerting all his powers before such an audience—I might have said, such an auditor. The King seemed pleased with his acting, and of consequence the courtiers were in raptures, and vied with each other who should praise him most.

The tragedy of Oedipus is his Majesty's favourite piece. This has been represented twice, and he seemed to enjoy it very much on both occasions; particularly when the following speech against priests was pronounced:

Tandis que par vos soins vous pouvez tout apprendre,

Quel besoin que le Ciel ici se fasse entendre?

Ces Dieux, dont le pontife a promis le secours,

Dans leurs temples, Seigneur, n'habitent pas toujours;

On ne voit point leur bras si prodigue en miracles;

Ces antres, ces trépieds, qui rendent leurs oracles,

Ces organes d'airain que nos mains ont formés,

Toujours d'un souffle pur ne sont point animés.

Ne nous endormons point sur la foi de leurs preêtres;

Au pied du sanctuaire il est souvent des traitres,

Qui nous asservissant sous un pouvoir sacré

Font parler les destins, les font taire á leur gré

Voyez, examinez, avec un soin extréme.

Philoctète, Phorbas, & Jocaste elle-méme.

Ne nous fions qu'à nous, voyons tout par nos yeux.

Ce sont lá nos trépieds, nos oracles, nos Dieux.

Rely then on thyself; the gods whose aid

This priest hath promis'd, do not always dwell

Within their temples; tripods, caves, and cells,

The brazen mouths that pour forth oracles,

[Page] Which men had fram'd, by men may be inspir'd;

We must not rest our faith on priests alone;

Ev'n in the sanctuary traitors oft

May lurk unseen, exert their pious arts

T'enslave mankind, and bid the destinies

Speak or be silent just as they command them.

Search then, and find the truth, examine all;

Phorbas, and Philoctetes, and Jocasta.

Trust to yourself; let our own eyes determine;

Be they our tripods, oracles, and gods.

And afterwards, when [...] [...]urs forth another tirade of the same kind, which terminates with these lines:

Nos prétres ne sont point ce qu'un vain peuple pense;

Notre creèdulité fait tout leur science.

Jocasta's whole Speech in English.

Are then these holy instruments of heav'n

Infallible? Their ministry indeed

Binds them to th' altar, they approach the gods,

But they are mortals still; and think'st thou then

Truth is dependent on the flight of birds?

Think'st thou, expiring by the sacred knife,

The groaning heifer shall for them alone

Remove the veil of dark futurity?

Or the gay victims, crown'd with flow'ry garlands,

Within their entrails bear the fates of men?

O no! to search for truth by ways like these

Is to usurp the rights of pow'r supreme;

These priests are not what the vile rabble think them,

Their knowledge springs from our credulity.

I happened to sit next to the Abbè Bastiani, and, while the actress spoke this, the king started up, coughed, and laughed, with very significant gestures, to the ecclesiastic.

But though these passages, and some others, seem at first sight to be severe against priests, the tragedy of Oedipus, upon the whole, does them great honour. For all that is said against them, turns out to be unjust, and it appears that the oracle, which had been treated in such severe terms, was true, and that the high-priest [Page] had acted throughout like an honest and virtuous man. It surprises me, therefore, that Voltaire should have taken the plot of his play from the Greek tragedy on this subject, which has constrained him, like Balaam the son of Barak, to do honour to those whom he would have been better pleased to have cursed.—And the King on his part (if I may presume to say it) could not have pitched upon a tragedy less á-propos, to the purpose, if his intention was to turn the clergy into ridicule.

I have no objection to this piece, on account of the honour done to the clergy; because I cannot help forming an opinion of men from my own experience: And I have known so many good men of that profession, that I would respect it on their account, exclusive of other reasons.

But I own I have the misfortune not to follow this great monarch, and many other respectable critics, in their admiration of the tragedy of Oedipus.—The fable, in my poor opinion, is too horrible.—The circumstance of Oedipus being married to his mother, and having children by her, is highly disgusting; and the idea it gives of Providence and the conduct of the gods, cannot have a good effect on the mind.

Nothing could be more unjust, than that Heaven should send a plague among the inhabitants of Thebes, and pour such vengeance on poor Oedipus and Jocasta, for crimes of which it knew them to be innocent. We cannot help admitting the justice of Oedipus's reproaches against the gods, when he says,

Le voilà donc rempli cet oracle exécrable.

Dont ma crainte a presse l'effet inevitable;

Et je me vois enfin, par un melange affreux,

Inceste, & parricide, & pourtant vertueux.

Miserable vertu, nom sterile & funeste,

Toi par qui j'ai regle des jours que je deteste,

A mon noir ascendant tu n'as pû resister:

Je tombais dans le piege, en voulant l'eviter,

Un dieu plus fort que moi m'entraînait vers le crime;

Sous mes pas fugitifs il creusait un abime;

Et j'etais, malgre moi, dans mon aveuglement,

D'un pouvoir inconnu l'esclave & l'instrument.

Voilà tous mes forfaics, je n'en connais point d'autres.

Impitoyables dieux, mes crimes sont les votres,

Et vous m'en punissez—

At length the dire prediction is fulfill'd,

And Oedipus is now, tho' innocent,

[Page] A base incestuous parricide: O virtue!

Thou fatal empty name; thou who didst guide

My hapless days, thou hadst not pow'r to stop

The current of my fate: alas! I fell

Into the snare by trying to avoid it:

Heav'n led me on to guilt, and sunk a pi [...]

Beneath my sliding feet: I was the slave

Of some unknown, some unrelenting pow'r,

That us'd me for its instrument of vengeance:

These are my crimes, remorseless cruel gods!

Yours was the guilt, and ye have punish'd me.

We must suspect, however, that Jocasta was mistaken in the opinion she utters in the concluding lines of the tragedy.

Pretres, & vous Thebains, qui futes mes sujets,

Honorez mon bucher, & songez á jamais.

Qu'au milieu des [...]orreurs du destin qui m'opprime,

J'ai fait rougir les dieux, qui m'ont forcee au crime.

Priests, and you Thebans, who were once my subjects,

Honour my ashes, and remember ever,

That, midst the horrors which oppressed me still

I cou'd reproach the gods; for heaven alone

Was guilty of the crime, and not Jocasta.

For those, who could force innocent people to commit criminal actions, and then punish them on that account, were not capable of blushing for any thing. A French tragedy and Italian opera are represented at this theatre alternately; the King attends the latter as punctually as the former, and displays in his countenance that extreme sensibility to music, which forms part of his character. I imagine this Prince would succeed better in any thing than in simulation, if he should ever think it worth his while to attempt that part of hypocrisy,—his features are so expressive of his feelings, that the first would be constantly in danger of betraying the other. When there is no representation at the theatre, his Majesty has a private concert in his own apartment, where he himself performs on the German flute, in which instrument he has attained the highest degree of excellence.—To these concerts no stranger is admitted.

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LETTER LXXV. The King of Prussia.—His conversation with the Duke of Hamilton.

POTSDAM.

WHEN we first arrived here, there was nothing I was so eager to see as the Prussian troops at their exercise; but the reviews at Berlin have completely satiated my curiosity. And though the gardens of the palace are just opposite to the windows of our inn, I hardly ever go to look at the guards, who are paraded there every forenoon.—A few days ago, however, I happened to take a very early walk about a mile out of town, and seeing some soldiers under arms, in a field at a small distance from the road, I went towards them. An officer on horseback, whom I took to be the Major, for he gave the word of command, was uncommonly active, and often rode among the ranks to reprimand, or instruct the common men.

When I came nearer, I was much surprised to find that this was the King himself. He had his sword drawn, and continued to exercise the corps for an hour after. He made them wheel, march, form the square, and fire by divisions, and in platoons, observing all their motions with infinite attention; and, on account of some blunder, put two officers of the Prince of Prussia's regiment in arrest.—In short, he seemed to exert himself with all the spirit of a young officer, eager to attract the notice of his general by uncommon alertness.

I expressed my surprise to an officer present, that the King was not willing to take some repose, particularly from that kind of employment of which he had had so very much of late, and that he could take so much pains with a mere handful of men immediately after he had come from exercising whole armies.

This gentleman told me, that on this particular day, the King had been trying some new evolutions; but though this had not been the case, he might very possibly have been in the field:—for his maxim was, that his troops should display as much briskness on a common field-day as if they were to engage in battle; and therefore it was never known when he intended to be present, or when not;—that as for repose, he took it between ten at night and four in the morning, and his other hours were all devoted to action, either of body or mind, or both; and that the exercise he had just taken, was probably by way of relaxation after three hours previous labour in his cabinet.

The more I see and hear of this extraordinary man, the more am I astonished. He reconciles qualities which I used to think incompatible. I once was of opinion, that the mind, which stoops to very small objects, is incapable of embracing great ones;—I am now convinced, that he is an exception; for while few objects are too great for his genius, none seem too small for his attention.

[Page] I once thought that a man of much vivacity was not capable of entering into the detail of business:—I now see that he, who is certainly a man of wit, can continue methodically the necessary routine of business, with the patience and perseverance of the greatest dunce that ever drudged in a compting house.

Since my last, we have seen the Italians perform; but neither the plays nor the operas, nor any part of the entertainments, interest me half so much, or could draw me so assiduously to Sans-Souci, as the opportunity this attendance gives of seeing the King. Other monarchs acquire importance from their station; this Prince gives importance to his. The traveller in other countries has a wish to see the King, because he admires the kingdom: here the object of curiosity is reversed:—and let us suppose the palaces, and the towns, and the country, and the army of Prussia ever so fine, yet our chief interest in them will arise from their belonging to Frederick the Second;—the man, who, without an ally but Britain, repelled the united force of Austria, France, Russia, and Sweden.

Count Nesselrode, talking with me on this subject, had an expression equally lively and just: C'est dans l'adversité qu'il brille, lorsqu'il est bien comprime il a un ressort irresistible.—It is in adversity that he shines, when he is much pressed he has an irresistible spring.

The evening of the day on which I had seen the King in the field, I was at Sans-Souci; for I wish to neglect no opportunity of being present where this monarch is. I like to stand near him, to hear him speak and to observe his movements, attitudes, and most indifferent actions. He always behaves with particular affability to the Duke of Hamilton.

One evening, before the play began, his Grace and I were standing accidentally with Count Finkenstein, in a room adjoining to the great apartment where the company were. The King entered alone, when he was not expected, and immediately began a conversation with the Duke.

He asked several questions relating to the British constitution; particularly at what age a peer could take his feat in parliament?—When the Duke replied, at twenty one.—It is evident from that said the King, that the English Patricians acquire the necessary talents for legislation much sooner than those of ancient Rome, who were not admitted into the Senate till the age of forty. He then enquired about the state of Lord Chatham's health, and expressed high esteem for the character of that minister.—

He asked me, if I had received letters by the last post, and if they mentioned any thing of the affairs in America?—He said, there were accounts from Holland, that the English troops had been driven from Boston, and that the Americans were in possession of that place.—I told him, our letters informed us, that the army had left Boston to make an attack with more effect elsewhere.

He smiled, and said—If you will not allow the retreat to have been an affair of necessity, you will at least admit, that it was tout á fait á propos—quite convenient.

[Page] He said he heard that some British officers had gone into the American service, and mentioned Colonel Lee, whom he had seen at his court. He observed, that it was a difficult thing to govern men by force at such a distance;—that if the Americans should be beat (which appeared a little problematical,) still it would be next to impossible to continue to draw from them a revenue by taxation;—that if we intended conciliation with America, some of our measures were too rough; and if we intended its subjection, they were too gentle.

He concluded by saying, Enfin, Messieurs, je ne comprends pas ces choses lá; je n'ai point de colonie:—j'espere que vous vous tirere [...] bien d'affaire, mais elle me paroit un peu epineuse.—In short Gentlemen I do not understand these matters I have no colonies. I hope you will succeed in the business but it appears to me a little difficult.—Having said this, he walked into the Princess's apartment, to lead her to the playhouse, while we joined the company already assembled there.—The tragedy of Mahomet was performed, which, in my opinion, is the finest of all Voltaire's dramatic pieces, and that in which Le Kain appears to the greatest advantage.

LETTER LXXVI. The King of Prussia.

POTSDAM.

YOU express such an earnest desire to be made acquainted with every thing which regards the King of Prussia, that I am in danger of lengthening my descriptions with a tedious minuteness. Yet I will risk it, rather than give you reason to complain that I have not gratified your curiosity as fully as is in my power.

Do not imagine, however, that I presume to draw a complete portrait of this monarch. That must be the work of much abler painters, who have seen him in a more familiar manner, and whose colours can give an expression worthy of the original. I shall only attempt to give a faithful sketch of such features as I was able to seize during the transient views I myself had, or which I have learnt from those who have passed with him many of the hours which he dedicates to free conversation, and the pleasures of the table.

The King of Prussia is below the middle size, well made, and remarkably active for his time of life. He has become hardy by exercise and a laborious life; for his constitution originally seems to have been none of the strongest. His look announces spirit and penetration. He has fine blue eyes; and, in my opinion, his countenance upon the whole is agreeable.

Some who have seen him are of a different opinion. All who judge from his portraits only, must be so; for although I have seen many which have a little resemblance of him, and some which have a great deal, yet none of [...] do him justice. His features acqui [...] [Page] a wonderful degree of animation while he converses.—This is entirely lost upon canvas.

He stoops considerably, and inclines his head almost constantly to one side.

His tone of voice is the clearest and most agreeable in conversation I ever heard.

He speaks a great deal; yet those who hear him, regret that he does not speak a great deal more. His observations are always lively, very often just, and few men possess the talent of repartee in greater perfection.

He hardly ever varies his dress, which consists of a blue coat, lined and faced with red, and a yellow waistcoat and breeches. He always wears boots with hussar tops, which fall in wrinkles about his ancles, and are oftener of a dark brown than a black colour.

His hat would be thought extravagantly large in England, though it is of the size commonly used by the Prussian officers of cavalry. He generally wears one of the large side corners over his forehead and eyes, and the front cock at one side.

He wears his hair cued behind, and dressed with a single buckle on each side. From their being very carelessly put up and unequally powdered, we may naturally conclude, that the friseur has been greatly hurried in the execution of his office.

He uses a very large gold snuff-box, the lid ornamented with diamonds, and takes an immoderate quantity of Spanish snuff, the marks of which very often appear on his waistcoat and breeches. These are also [...]able to be spoiled by the paws of two or three Italian greyhounds, which he often caresses.

He dresses as soon as he gets up in the morning. This takes up but a few minutes, and serves for the whole day.—You have often heard that the King of Prussia's hours, from four or five in the morning, till ten at night, are all dedicated methodically to particular occupations, either of business or amusement. This is certainly true, and the arrangement has not sustained such an interruption for many years, as since the present company came to Potsdam.

Some who pretend to more than common penetration assert, that at present they can perceive marks of uneasiness in his countenance, and seem convinced, that there will not be such another company at Sans-Souci during this reign.

All business with the King is transacted by letters. Every petition or proposal must be made in this form, which is adhered to so invariably, as I have been assured, that if any of his generals wished to promote a cadet to the rank of an ensign, he would not venture to make his proposal in any other manner, even though he had daily opportunities of conversing with his Majesty.

The meanest of his subjects may apply to him in writing, and are sure of an answer. His first business every morning is the perusing the papers addressed to him. A single word wrote with his pencil in the margin, indicates the answer to be given, which is afterwards [Page] made out in form by his secretaries.—This method affords the King time to delberate on the justice and propriety of every demand, and prevents the possibility of his being surprised into a promise, which it might be inconvenient to perform.

He sits down to dinner precisely at noon. Of late he allows more time to this repast than formerly. It is generally after three before he leaves the company. Eight or nine of his officers are commonly invited to dine with him. Since our coming to Potsdam, Count Nesselrode, and the Abbé Bastiani, two men of letters, were the only company, besides the officers, who dined with the King, while he lived in his usual way at the Old Palace of Sans-Souci; and those two were then of his party almost every day. The Count has now left this court; the Abbè has an apartment in the Palace. He is an Italian by birth, a man of wit, and an excellent companion.

At table, the King likes that every person should appear to be on a footing, and that the conversation should be carried on with perfect freedom. The thing, by the way, is impossible. That confidential unrestrained flow of the heart, which takes place in a society of equals, is a pleasure which a despotic Prince can never taste. However, his Majesty desires that it may be so, and they make the best of it they can.

At one of these meetings, when the King was in a gay humour, he said to Bastiani,—When you shall obtain the tiara, which your exemplary piety must one day procure you, how will you receive me when I arrive at Rome to pay my duty to your Holiness?—I will immediately give orders, replied the Abbé, with great readiness, Qu'on fasse entrer l'aigle noir,—qu'il me couvre de ses ailes, mais—qu'il m'épargne son bec.—Let the black eagle enter,—let him cover me with his wings—but I will excuse his beak.

Nobody says more lively things in conversation than the King himself. Many of his bons mots are repeated here. I shall only mention one, which is at once an instance of his wit, and greatness of mind, in rendering justice to the merit of a man who has caused him more vexation than perhaps any other person alive.—When the King of Prussia had a personal meeting some years since with the Emperor; they always dined together, a certain number of their principal officers being with them. One day, General Laudohn was going to place himself at the foot of the table, when the King, who was at the head, called to him, Venez, je vous en prie, Monsieur Laudohn, placez vous ici. J'aime infiniment mieux vous avoir de mon coté que vis-à vis.—Come Monsieur Laudohn, I beg you sit here. I had rather have you by my side than opposite to me.

Though all the cordiality of friendship, and the full charms of unreserved society, cannot exist where the fortune of every other individual depends on the will of one of the company; yet the King endeavours to put every one as much at his ease as the nature of the case will admit, and I have heard of his bearing some very [Page] severe retorts with perfect good humour. He has too much wit himself, and is too fond of it in others, to repel its attacks with any other weapons than those which it furnishes. None but the most absurd of dunces could attempt to rally, without being able to allow of raillery; and only the meanest of souls would think of revenging the liberties taken with a companion by the power of a King.

A very striking instance of the freedom which may be used with him occurred a little before the late reviews, and what makes it more remarkable, it happened, not during the gaiety of the table, but on the very scene of military strictness.

Two regiments were in the field. That of General—was one of them. This officer is fond of company, and passes more of his time in the society of strangers, and with the foreign ministers, than most others in the Prussian service.—Something, it is probable, had chagrined the King that morning. While the regiment advanced in a line, he said to the General, who stood near him, Votre regiment n'est pas aligné, Monsieur—, et ce n'e [...]t pas [...]urprenant, vous jouez tant aux cartes.—Your regiment is not in a line Monsieur—, and it is not surprising, you play so much at cards.

The General called out instantly with a loud voice to the regiment. Alie! and they immediately stopt: then, turning to the King, he said, Il n'est pas question, Sire, de mes cartes—Mais, ayez la bonté de regarder si ce regiment n'est pas aligné,—My cards, Sir, are out of the question—But be so good as to look if this regiment is not in a line.

The regiment was in a very straight line, and the King moved away without speaking, and seemingly displeased, not with the General, but with himself—This manly officer never had reason afterwards to believe that the King had taken his freedom amiss.

I have already said, that it is absolutely impossible for any man to enjoy an office in the King of Prussia's service without performing the duty of it. He is himself active and assiduous, and he makes it a point that all his ministers and servants shall be so too. But to those who know their business, and perform it exactly, he is an easy and equitable master.

A gentleman, who has been many years about his person, and is now one of his aid de camps, assured me of this:—The King understands what ought to be done: and his servants are never exposed to the ridiculous or contradictory orders of ignorance, or the mortifications of caprice.

His favourites, of whatever kind, never were able to acquire influence over him in any thing regarding business. Nobody ever knew better how to discriminate the merits of those who serve him in the important departments of state, from theirs who contribute to his amusement. A man who performs the duty of his office with alertness and fidelity, has nothing to apprehend from the King's being fond of the company and conversation of his enemy.

[Page] Let the one be regaled at the King's table every day, while the other never receives a single invitation; yet the real merit of both is known;—and if his adversary should ever try to turn the King's favour to the purposes of private hatred or malice, the attempt will be repelled with disdain, and the evil he intended to another, will fall on himself.

LETTER LXXVII. Lord Marechal.—The Hereditary Prince of Prussia.

POTSDAM.

ON the days when there is no public court at Sans-Souci, we generally dine with Lord Marechal, who is always happy to see the Duke of Hamilton, and is of great service to all British subjects while they remain here or at Berlin. Exclusive of other reasons he may have for esteeming the Duke, his Lordship evidently displays a kind of partiality for his Grace, as the first man in point of rank belonging to his country. This appears in a thousand instances; for with very liberal sentiments, and a most benevolent heart, this venerable nobleman still retains a few Caledonian prejudices.

He asked one day of the Duke, if he reckoned himself a Scotchman? Most certainly I do, replied his Grace. By so doing you lie under a mistake, said my Lord; for I can assure you, and I am convinced the best lawyers in England will do the same, that you have a much juster claim to all the privileges belonging to your English title of Brandon, though some of them, I fear, are still disputed.

It is to be hop [...]d, said the Duke, that the House of Peers will not always refuse to do my family justice; on a thorough examination of the case, I still flatter myself they will grant me those privileges, which have been, for no valid reasons, refused my ancestors. But in the mean time, why will your Lordship, more cruel than the Peers, deny my birth-right as a Scotchman?

Because your birth gives you no such right, replied the Earl; for you in reality are but a North-Briton:—unless your Grace can prove that you were born before the Union. But continued he, with an air of triumph, I am a real Scotchman:—adding a little after, a sigh, and in a plaintive accent—and almost the only one in the world—All the Scots of my acquaintance are now dead.

The good old Earl is infinitely fond of talking of his country, and of the days of former years. When I make any enquiry about the King of Prussia, or concerning Spain or Italy, in which countries he resided so long, he answers with a kind of complaisant brevity, and immediately turns the discourse back to Scotland, to which his heart seems wonderfully attached.

[Page] In the time of dinner, one of his servants, a stout highlander, generally entertains the company by playing on the bagpipe. I have observed, that these North Britons (to abide by Lord Marechal's distinction) who are the most zealous for the interest and honour of their country, and who value themselves on being born north of the Tweed, are particularly, if not exclusively, fond of this instrument. You will, at least, allow that your gallant friend, Lord Eglinton, is no exception to this observation, and perhaps you will admit, that it requires a considerable degree of patriotism or amor Caledoniae,—love for Scotland to have a great relish for the melody of a bagpipe.

I called on Lord Marechal one afternoon, just as the King had left him; for the monarch, without any form or previous notice, sometimes walks through the garden, and pays a short visit to his old friend, to whom he has an unalterable attachment, both from personal regard, and on account of the high estimation in which he holds the memory of his brother Marechal Keith.

Another day I was with the Earl, when the Princesses of Prussia and H [...]sse, with Prince Frederick of Brunswic [...] all entered and demanded coffee, which my Lord immediately ordered, with the addition of a couple of melons; telling the Princesses, he knew they would not stay long enough with a man of eighty, to give time for preparing a better repast.—Thus favoured by the monarch and the Princes, you will not doubt that the old Earl's friendship is cultivated by the rest of the court.

The Hereditary Prince of Prussia lives in a small house in the town of Potsdam. His appointments do not admit of that degree of magnificence, which might be expected in the heir of the crown;—but he displays a spirit of hospitality far more obliging than magnificence; and doubly meritorious considering the very moderate revenue allowed him. We generally sup there two or three times a week.

This Prince is not often of the King's parties, nor is it imagined that he enjoys a great share of his uncle's favour. In what degree he possesses the talents of a general is not known, as he was too young to have any command during the late war. But he certainly has a very just understanding, which has been improved by study. He has taken some pains to acquire the English language, to which he was induced by an admiration of several English authors, whose works he had read in French and German. He is now able to read English prose with tolerable facility, and has been of late studying Shakespear, having actually read two or three of his plays.

I took the liberty to observe, that as Shakespear's genius had traced every labyrinth, and penetrated into every recess of the human heart, his sentiments could not fail to please his Royal Highness; but, as his language was uncommonly bold and figurative, and full of allusions to national customs, and the manners of our island two centuries ago, the English themselves who had not made a particular study of his works, did not always comprehend their full energy. I added, that to transfuse the soul of Shakespear into a translation, was impossible; and to taste all his beauties in the original, required[Page]such a knowledge of the English manners and language as few foreigners, even after a long residence in the capital, could attain.

The Prince said, he was aware of all this; [...]et he was determined to struggle hard for some acquaintance with an author so much admired by the English nation; that though he should never be able to taste all his excellencies, he was convinced he should understand enough to recompence him for his trouble; that he had already studied some detached parts, which he thought superior to any thing he had ever met with in the works of any other Poet.

His Royal Highness attends to military business with as much assiduity as most officers of the same rank in the army; for in the Prussian service, no degree of eminence in the article of birth can excuse a remission in the duties of that profession. He is much esteemed by the army, and considered as an exceeding good officer. To the frankness of a soldier he joins the integrity of a German, and is beloved by the public in general, on account of his good-nature, affability, and humane turn of mind.

LETTER LXXVIII. Difficulty of deserting from Prussian garrisons.—The King's valet de chambre.

POTSDAM.

I AM afraid you will think the anecdotes and conversation which I sometimes send you are rather tedious. Your curiosity about certain characters has led me into this practice; for I choose to give you opportunities of forming an opinion of your own, rather than to trouble you with mine.

My opinion might very probably be erroneous; the accounts I give of what I have seen or heard are always true. And, notwithstanding that the actions and conversations I relate, may be apparently of small importance, still as the persons in some measure describe themselves, an understanding like yours will be able from thence to draw juster ideas of character than I could have given.

In a former letter I mentioned the great difficulty of deserting from a Prussian garrison, and of what importance it is thought to prevent it. An incident which happened a few days since, will give you a stronger idea of this than any general account.

Two soldiers of the Prince of Prussia's regiment got over the walls in the night-time, with an intention to desert; but unluckily for them, this town stands on a peninsula formed by the river, and the neck of land is guarded in such a manner that it is almost impossible to pass that way without permission. These men could not swim, and they durst not present themselves [...] any of the ferries, because the boatmen are forbid, under the severest penalties, to connive at the escape of any deserters, and strictly ordered to assist in apprehending them. A reward is also offered as a greater inducement to this piece of service.

[Page] All these circumstances being known in the garrison, it was imagined that, as none of the peasants would in all probability venture to harbour them, they were still skulking in the fields among the standing corn. On this supposition, parties of men were employed for three days successively in traversing the fields, and bea [...]ing the bushes, as if they had been in chace of a hare. Great numbers of the officers of this regiment, some of the highest rank, rode about for three or four hours every day, all employed in the same manner. But not fi [...]ding the men, they were at last convinced that they had by some means or other got out of the peninsula, and all farther search was given up as unnecessary.

On the morning of the fourth day, these two unfortunate men came and surrendered to the guard at one of the gates. Finding it impracticable to effect their escape, and not daring to enter a house, they were at length compelled by hunger and fatigue to deliver themselves up.

Before I close this letter, I will give you an account of an adventure of an affecting nature, which happenned in the King's family, at the time when all these researches were made for the two deserters.

The King's principal valet de-chamb [...]e was a man considerably respected. Having constant opportunities of being about the King's person, and having enjoyed his approbation for several years, people of the first rank paid him some degree of attention. He was liked by his acquaintances, as I have been told, on account of his personal qualities, and had accumulated a little fortune by the perquisites of his office. He had built a house near that of my Lord Marechal, and kept a coach for the use of his mistress.

It was this man's misfortune to disoblige the King, probably by some neglect of duty; or it might possibly be something worse:—I never could hear exactly how this had happened:—But while the Princesses were at the New Palace, the King had blamed him in very sharp terms; and not being satisfied with the excuses the man made, he told him, that, as soon as the company was gone, he should be taken care of.

When the Princesses went to Berlin, his Majesty returned to his old palace at Sans-Souci; and the day after, he sent for an officer of his guards, and ordered him to conduct this man to Potsdam, and place him in the quality of a drummer in the first regiment of foot-guards.

The poor man endeavoured to pacify his master by prayers and entreaties, but without success.—He then said to the officer, that there were some things in his room which he wished to put in order before he went, and desired that he might be allowed a little time for that purpose. The officer readily assented, and as soon as this desperate man had entered his own apartment, he seized a pistol, which he had prepared from the time the King had threatened him, and immediately shot himself through the head. The report [Page] of the pistol alarmed the King and the officer.—They both went into the room, and found the poor creature expiring.

Though the King certainly had no idea that his valet would shoot himself; and though, it is most probable, he would not have allowed him to remain long in the situation to which, in a fit of resentment, he had condemned him;—yet there is something exceedingly harsh in dashing a man at once from a situation of ease and respect, into a sphere of life so very different.—Such an order was more becoming the fury of an intemperate despot, than the dignity of so great and so wise a monarch as the King of Prussia.

I conversed with a person who had been at Sans-Souci immediately after this melancholy event.—He said the King seemed to be very much affected.—If he felt it as he ought, he was an object of compassion; if he did not, he was still more so, for nothing can be a greater misfortune to a man than to want humanity.

LETTER LXXIX. Manufactory of porcelaine at Berlin.—Journey to Dresden.—Electoral court.—Museum.—Gallery of pictures.

DRESDEN.

I Believe I neglected to mention in any of my letters from Berlin, that when I visited the manufactory of porcelain, I was so much struck with the beauty of some of it, that I ordered a small box for you. But as I take it to be a matter of difference, whether you sip your tea out of the china you have already, or this, you may send it as a present to the female you love and esteem most. If by this direction it should not go straight from you to Miss—, pray let me know to whom you send it. The factor at Hamburgh will give you notice when he ships it off.

I did not imagine that this manufactory had arrived at such a degree of perfection as it has in several places in Germany, particularly at Brunswick and Berlin. The parcel I have ordered for you, is thought equal to the finest made at Dresden.

The day we left Potsdam we dined with good Lord Mare [...] who took leave of the Duke, with an emotion which at once ma [...] ed his regard for his Grace, and his fears that he should never [...] him again.

If I were strongly in a humour for description, our journey through the most beautiful and most fertile part of Germany, would afford me a fair opportunity. I not only could ring over the whole chimes of woods, meadows, rivers, and mountains, rich crops of grain, flax, tobacco, and hops; I might animate the land. scapes with a copious breed of horses, black cattle, sheep, wild boars, and venison, and vary the description with the marble, precious stones, and mines of lead, copper, iron, and silver, [Page] which Saxony contains within its bowels. I might expatiate on the fine china ware, and fine women, that abound in this country, formed of the finest clay in Germany, et très joliment travaillés;—and very handsomely worked up;—but I am long since tired of description, and therefore beg leave to convey you at once from Potsdam to Dresden.

Having been presented to the Elector and Electress by Mr. Osborn, the British minister here, we had the honour of dining with them the same day. The Electress is young, tall, well-made, and lively.—We were afterwards presented to the Electress Dowager, and to the Princess Elizabeth, the Elector's aunt, to the Princess, his sister, and to his three brothers, the eldest of whom has lost the use of his legs, and is moved about the room in a chair with wheels.

The court was numerous and splendid. In the evening there was card-playing for about two hours. The Duke of Hamilton was of the Electress's party, while I played two rubbers at whist with one of the Princesses, against the Electress Dowager and the Princess Elizabeth.—I have never seen deep gaming at any of the German courts.—What approaches nearest to it, has been at masquerades, or where the Sovereign was not present.

Dresden, though not one of the largest, is certainly one of the most agreeable cities in Germany, whether we consider its situation the magnificence of its palaces, or the beauty and conveniency of the houses and streets. This city is built on both sides of the Elbe, which is of a considerable breadth here. The magnificent and commodious manner in which the two opposite parts of the town are joined, adds greatly to its beauty.

There is an equestrian statue of King Augustus, in a kind of open place or square, between the old city and the new. The workmanship is but indifferent; however, I was desired by our Ciceroni to admire this very much, because—it was made by a common smith. I begged to be excused, telling him that I could not admire it, had it been made by Michael Angelo.

Few Princes in Europe are so magnificently lodged as the Elector of Saxony. The Palace and Museum have been often described.—The last was begun by the Elector Augustus, and still retains the name of the Green Room, though it now consists of several apartments, all painted green, in imitation of the first. I will not enumerate the prodigious number of curiosities, natural and artificial, to be seen there. Some of the last are curious, only because they are invisible to the human eye. Of this number, is a cherry stone, upon which, by the help of a microscope, above a hundred faces may be distinguished. Undoubtedly these little mechanical whims display the labour, perseverance, and minute attention of the workman; but I cannot think they are proofs of the wisdom of those who could employ artists to so little purpose. Let the astonishing minutiae of nature be admired through microscopes; but surely nothing is a proper work for the hands of man, which cannot be seen by the unaided human eye.

[Page] A work of the jeweller Dinglinger, which represents the celebration of the Mogul's birth-day, is much admired. The Mogul sitting on his throne, his grandees and guards, with a great many elephants, are all exhibited upon a table about an ell square. This work employed Dinglinger, and some assistants, above ten years. Do not you think this was leaving so ingenious an artist a little too long in the Mogul's service?

A simple list of every thing valuable and curious in this Museum, would exceed the bounds of one of my longest letters; I shall therefore pass them all over in silence, except the story of the prophet Jonah, which it would be impious to omit. The sh [...]p, the whale, the prophet, and the sea-shore, are all represented in pearl; but the sea and rocks are in a different kind of stone, though, in my opinion, there was no occasion to vary the materials; for surely there is as great difference between a prophet and a whale, as between a whale and a rock. So that if the first two could be represented with the same materials, I do not think it was worth while to change the composition for the third.

The gallery of pictures is highly esteemed. To enumerate the particular merits of each, would fill many volumes, and requires a far greater knowledge of painting than I can pretend to. The most valuable pieces are by Raphael, Correg [...]o, and Rubens. There are only a few by the two former, but a very considerable number by the last. The strength and expression of this great artist's pencil, the natural glow of his colouring, and the fertility of his fancy deserve the highest encomiums. Yet one cannot help regretting, that he had so violen [...] a passion for fat women. That kind of nature which he had seen early in life in his own country, had laid such hold of his imagination, that it could not be eradicated by all the elegant models he afterwards studied in Italy. Some of his female figures in this gallery are so much of the Dutch make, and so fat, that it is rather oppressive to look at them in this very hot weather.

In the Museum, within the Palace, there is a most complete collection of prints, from the commencement of the art of engraving till the present time.

LETTER LXXX. Sufferings [...]f Dresden during last war.—Saxon troops.

DRESDEN.

NOTHING seems clearer to me, than that a fortified town should have no palaces, within it, and no suburbs without. As the city of Dresden has both, it would have been good for the inhabitants, during the last war, that the town had been entirely without fortifications.

In the year 1756, when the King of Prussia thought it expedient to invade Saxony, he made himself master of this city, and kept [Page] peaceable possession of it till 1758, when Marechal Daun, after the battle of Hochkirchen, threatened to besiege it. The Prussian General Schmettau began his defence by burning part of the suburbs. The Saxons and Austrians exclaimed at this measure, and Daun threatened to make the governor answerable, in his own person, for such desperate proceedings.

Count Schmettau was totally regardless of their exclamation and threats, and seemed attentive only to the orders of the King his master. He gave Marechal Daun to understand, that the remaining suburbs would share the fate of those already destroyed, if he persisted in attacking the town. The King appearing soon after, the Austrians retreated into Bohemia.

The inhabitants of Dresden, and all Saxony, were now in a very dismal situation, and found their hardships increase in proportion to the success of their friends and allies; for whatever exactions were raised in the King of Prussia's dominions by the Austrians and Russians, the like were imposed by way of retaliation on the miserable Saxons. A people must be in a deplorable state indeed, when the success of their enemies is the most fortunate thing which can befal them.

In 1759, after the dreadful battle of Cunersdorf, near Frankfort on the Oder, the King of Prussia being necessitated to repair the slaughter of that day, called the Prussian garrison from Dresden, which then fell into the hands of the Imperialists. But the calamities of this city did not end here; for his Prussian Majesty, having deceived Marechal Daun by a very masterly feint, while he seemed to bend his course for Silesia, he wheeled suddenly about, and threatened Dresden, which Marechal Daun had abandoned, in the full conviction, that the King had marched to the relief of Schweidnitz. While the Austrians hurried on by forced marches into Silesia, the King attacked Dresden, which was resolutely defended by General Macquire, or perhaps Macquire.

Every possible effort was made to reduce this city before Count Daun should return to its relief;—and the wretched citizens were exposed to a continued cannonade and bombardment. This perhaps was justifiable by the laws of war, as long as there were hopes that the town might be brought to surrender by such means.—But the enemies of his Prussian Majesty assert, that the bombardment was continued, and churches, fine buildings, and whole streets laid in ashes, even after Marechal Daun's return; and when these vindictive proceedings could only tend to the ruin and destruction of private people, without contributing in the smallest degree to the reducing the town, or being of any use to the public cause. Many of these houses still lie in rubbish; but the inhabitants are gradually rebuilding, and probably all the ruined streets will be repaired before a new war breaks out in Germany.

While they rebuild the houses. I cannot help thinking it would be fortunate for the proprietors, that they were allowed to destroy the fortifications, which perhaps might be placed with more advantage around some towns on the frontiers.

[Page] The curious manufactory of porcelain suffered considerably by the Prussian bombardment. The Elector has a complete collection of the finest pieces, from the first attempts made here in this elegant work, to the latest improvements. This, independent of the beauty of many of the pieces, is a matter of real curiosity, as it marks the progress of ingenuity and invention.

Our morning walk is in the gardens of the late Count Bru [...]l, situated on the high banks of the Elbe. Nothing can be imagined more delightful than the view from a lofty terrace in these gardens. The Count's magnificent house is now stript of many of its greatest ornaments. The fine collection of paintings has been sold to the Empress of Russia for 150,000 rix-dollars.

The library, which is in the garden, it two hundred and twenty feet long. I am not certain, whether it was absolutely necessary to have so large a room for containing this nobleman's books; but it must have required one of that fi [...]e at least for his wardrobe, if the account that is given of it be just. They tell us, that the Count had at least three hundred different suits of clothes; each of these had a duplicate, as he always changed his clothes after dinner, and did not choose that his dress should appear different in the afternoon from what it had been in the morning.

A painting of each suit, with the particular cane and snuff-box belonging to it, was very accurately drawn in a large book, which was presented to his Excellency every morning by his Valet de Chambre, that he might fix upon the dress in which he wished to appear for the day. This minister was accused of having accumulated a great fortune. The reverse of this, however, is true. His house and gardens belong now to the Elector.

The Saxon troops make a very fine appearance. The men in general are handsome and well made. Neither they nor their officers are so very upright, and stiff in their manners, as the Prussians. Having been so long accustomed to these last, this difference struck me very strongly at first sight. The uniform of the guards is red and yellow; that of the marching regiments white. The soldiers, during the summer, wear only waistcoats, even when they mount guard; and always appear extremely neat and clean. The [...]erjeants, besides their other arms, have a large pistol. This is so commodiously fastened to the left side, that it gives no trouble. The band of music belonging to the Saxon guards is the most complete and the finest I ever saw.

I do not expect to receive any accounts from you till we arrive at Vienna; but I shall probably write again from Prague, for which place we intend to set out to-morrow.

[Page]

LETTER LXXXI. Prague.—Piety of the inhabitants.—St. Nepomuc, an Irish priest.—A popular commotion.

PRAGUE.

BOHEMIA, though by no means so fertile, or so fine a country as Saxony, does not deserve the bad character which some travellers have given it. I thought many places very beautiful, and varied with the most agreeable rural objects.

Pragus, the capital of Bohemia, stands in a hollow, surrounded on all sides with hills. Those nearest the town, and which command it, are comprehended within the fortifications. It is a very large town, retaining some marks of former splendor, but many more evident symptoms of present decay—Symptoms which naturally attend those places which once have been the residence of royalty, and are so no more.

All the houses, with any appearance of magnificence, are old, and it is not probable, that any new ones will be built in that style: for the Bohemian nobility, who are in circumstances to bear such an expence, live at Vienna, and the trade and manufactures of this town are not sufficient to enable any of the mercantile people to build fine houses.

In whatever degree this city may have dwindled in wealth and magnificence, the piety of the inhabitants certainly flourishes as much as ever. I do not recollect to have seen so many glaring marks of devotion in any place.—The corners of the streets, bridges, and public buildings, are all ornamented with crucifixes, images of the Virgin of all sizes and complexions, and statues of Saints of every country, condition, age, and sex.—People are to be seen on their knees before these statues in every part of this city, but particularly on the large bridge over the Moldaw, where there is the greatest concourse of passengers. This bridge is so profusely adorned with the statues of Saints, that crossing over it, you have a row of them on each side, like two ranks of musketeers.

Travellers, especially such as arrive directly from Berlin, must be astonished at the people's devotion in this city, in a particular manner at the vehemence with which it is expressed by those who exhibit before the Saints upon the bridge.

Not contented with Kneeling, I saw some prostrate themselves on their faces, kissing the earth; and others, who offered their petitions to these Saints with such earnestness and fervour, that, if their hearts had not been of stone, they must have paid more attention to the petitioners than they seemed to do.

There is one Saint who has more votaries than all the rest put together—Saint Nepomuc, I think they call him:—As my acquaintance with Saints is not extensive, I never heard of him till I came hither, but his reputation is very great in this town. This Saint, it seems, was ordered by some cruel tyrant, to be thrown over a bridge, and his neck was broke by the fall, and he is [Page] supposed to retain a particular affection for bridges ever since; an effect something different from what was to have been expected from the cause; however, the people here are persuaded, that so it happened to Saint Nepomuc; and to put the fact beyond controversy, he is at this moment the tutelar Saint of bridges;—almost all those in Bohemia are dedicated to him. He has also the reputation of excelling every Saint in Heaven in the cure of barrenness in women.—How his character for this was established I did not enquire.

It is a melancholy reflection, that the wealthy are more careless about religious duties than the indigent, and that poverty and piety are so often linked together. I often observed, when we stopped at any town or village, which had symptoms of great poverty, that the inhabitants seemed also unusually devout.

I would appear, that hope is a more powerful sentiment in the human breast than gratitude, since those who ought to feel the greatest thankfulness to Heaven display the least.

We found an acquaintance at Prague when we least expected it, for as the Duke of Hamilton and I stood talking in the streets, a priest, who belongs to a seminary of learning in this town, overheard us; upon which he stopped, and after looking at us very earnestly for some time, he at length came up, and addressed us in these words:—I do assure you now, I am an Irishman too. This easy kind of introduction soon produced a degree of intimacy; I asked how he knew so readily that we were Irish? Am I nor after hearing you speak English, my dear? replied the honest priest, for he really was a very honest obliging fellow, and the most useful and entertaining Ciceroni we could have had at Prague.

After having visited the royal apartments, they shewed us the window in the secretary of state's office, from whence three noblemen were thrown in the year 1618. This was rather a violent mode of turning out the people in power; but it is probable the party in opposition had tried gentler means in vain.

As one great use of history is to furnish lessons and examples, by which posterity in all ages may profit, I do not think it would be amiss to remind your friends in administration of this adventure, that they may move off quietly before their opponents take desperate measures. For it has been observed, that the enemies of tottering statesmen are much more active than their friends, who, when things come to the last push, are apt to stand aloof,

Like people viewing, at a distance,

Three men thrown out of a casement,

Who never stir to their assistance,

But just afford them their amazement.

In case however a similar outrage should be threatened in England, it is to be hoped that Apollo (as he was wont of old when any of [Page] his friends were in danger) will interpose with a cloud, and save the Minister; for, in the present scarcity of wit and goodhumour, it would be a thousand pities of lose a man so much distinguished for both, at one desperate throw. Viz. Lord North.

We walked over the heights from which the Prussians attempted to carry the town, immediately after the defeat of Prince Charles of Lorraine and Count Brown. The bombardment of this town was a more defensible measure than that of Dresden; for while the army within were under the dejection natural after the loss of a battle, and unprepared for a siege, it might be supposed, that the confusion and terror produced by the bombardment, joined to the vast consumption of provisions by such a numerous garrison, would induce the besieged to surrender.

But although the King's humanity has not been called in question for his conduct here, I have heard many military men censure him for want of prudence, particularly on account of his desperate attempt at Kolin, when leaving the half of his army to continue the blockade of Prague, he marched with little more than thirty thousand men, and attacked an army of double that number, strongly situated, and commanded by one of the ablest generals of the age.

After all, it is more than probable, that the King had very good reasons for his conduct. But as the attempt was unsuccessful, and as the sad reverse of the Prussian affairs may be dated from that epoch, the voice of censure has been very loud in blaming an action, which would have been exalted to the skies had it been crowned with success. If Hannibal had by any accident been defeated at Cannae, it is very possible, that historians would have found out many reasons why he should not have fought that battle, and would have endeavoured to prove, that his former victories had been gained by chance, and that he was a mere ignoramus in the art of war.

Adieu, my good friend; I wish you good luck in all your undertakings, that you may continue to be reckoned by the world, a man of prudence.

LETTER LXXXII. Vienna.—The court.

VIENNA.

ON arriving at Vienna, the postillions drive directly to the custom-house, where the baggage undergoes a very severe scrutiny, which neither fair words nor money can mitigate. As nothing contraband was found among our baggage, it was all carried directly to our lodgings, except our books, which were retained to be examined at leisure, and were not restored to us till some time after. The Empress has given strict orders, that no books of impiety, lewdness, or immorality, shall be allowed to [Page] enter her dominions, or be circulated among her subjects; and Mahomet himself dares as soon appear publicly at Vienna as any one of them.

Unfortunately for us, Sir Robert Keith is lately gone to England, and is not expected back for several months. We have reason to regret the absence of so agreeable and so worthy a man; but every advantage we could have received from him as a minister, has been supplied by his secretary, Mr. Ernest, who has introduced us to the Count Degenfeldt, ambassador from the States General. This gentleman furnished us with a list of the visits proper to be made, and had the politeness to attend the Duke of Hamilton on this grand tour.

The first day we waited on Prince Kaunitz, we were invited to dine, and found a very numerous company at his house, many of whom, as I afterwards understood, had been prepossessed in our favour, by the polite and obliging letters which the Baron de Swieten had written from Berlin.

Some of the principal families are at their seats in the country, which we should have more reason to regret, were it not for the politeness and hospitality of the Count and Countess Thune, at whose house, or that of their sister the Countess Walstein, there is an agreeable party every evening; among whom is the Viscount de Laval, brother to the Marquis, whom I had the honour of knowing at Berlin. The Viscount has been as far north as Petersburg, and intends to make the tour of Italy before he returns to France.

The city of Vienna, properly so called, is not of very great extent; nor can it be enlarged, being limited by a strong fortification. This town is very populous: It is thought to contain above seventy thousand inhabitants. The streets in general are narrow, and the houses built high. Some of the public buildings and palaces are magnificent; but they appear externally to no great advantage, on account of the narrowness of the streets. The chief are the Imperial Palace, the Library and Museum, the palaces of the Princes Lichtenstein, Eugene, and some others, which I know you will excuse me from enumerating or describing.

There is no great danger that Vienna will ever again be subjected to the inconveniencies of a siege. Yet, in case the thing should happen, a measure has been taken, which will prevent the necessity of destroying the suburbs; No houses without the walls are allowed to be built nearer to the glacis than six hundred yards; so that there is a circular field of six hundred paces broad [...] around the town, which, exclusive of the advantage above mentioned, has a very beautiful and salutary effect. Beyond the [...] the suburbs are built.—They form a very extensive and magnificent town of an irregularly circular form, containing within its bosom a spacious field, which has for its centre the original town of Vienna.

These magnificent suburbs, and the town together, are said to contain above three hundred thousand inhabitants; yet the former [Page] are not near so populous, in proportion to their size, as the town; because many houses of the suburbs have extensive gardens belonging to them, and many families, who live during the winter within the fortifications, pass the summer months in the suburbs.

Monsieur de Breteuil, the French ambassador, lives there at present The Duke and I dined at his house a few days ago. This gentleman was attached to the Duc de Choiseul, and had been appointed ambassador to this court, in which character he was about to set out from Paris, when that minister was dismissed by the late King of France; upon which M. de Breteuil, instead of Vienna, was sent to Naples. But since the new King's accession, he has been established at the court for which he was originally intended. He is a man of talents, and not calculated for a situation in which talents have little or no room for exertion.

About a week after our arrival at Vienna, we had the honour of being presented to the Emperor. The Count Degenfeldt accompanied us to the palace between nine and ten in the morning. After walking a few minutes in an adjoining room, we were conducted into that where the Emperor was alone. His manner is affable, easy, and gracefully plain.

The same forenoon we drove to Schonbrun, a palace about a league from Vienna, where the Empress resides at present. I had no small curiosity to see the celebrated Maria Theresa, whose fortunes have interested Europe for so many years. Her magnanimity a supporting the calamities to which the early part of her life was exposed, and the moderation with which she has borne prosperity, have secured to her universal approbation. She also was alone when we were presented. She conversed for some time with the Duke of Hamilton, in an easy and cheerful manner, and behaved to all with an affable dignity. She now possesses but small remains of that beauty for which she was distinguished in her youth; but her countenance indicates benevolence and good-humour. I had often heard of the scrupulous etiquette of the Imperial court, but have found every thing directly opposite to that account.

Prince Kaunitz having seen a young English gentleman scarcely [...] years of age, whom the Duke of Hamilton [...] has accompanied us on this tour, the Prince desired that he also might be presented to the Emperor and Empress, which was accordingly done, and they both received him in the most gracious manner. I mention this circumstance as a strong proof how far they are superior at this court to trifling punctilios, and how greatly they have relaxed in ceremony since the accession of the Lorrain family.

Two or three days after this, we were presented, at a full court, to the two unmarried Arch-dutchesses, their sister the Princess Albert of Saxony, and the Princess of Modena, who is married to the Emperor's brother. The last couple are lately arrived from Milan on a visit to the Empress.

[Page] The Imperial family are uncommonly well-looking, and have a very strong resemblance to each other. They are all of a fair complexion, with large blue eyes, and some of them, particularly the Arch-duke, are distinguished by the thick lip so long remarked in the Austrian family. The beautiful Queen of France is the handsomest of this family, only because she is the youngest; some people think that her sister the Princess Albert has still the advantage.

One of the unmarried Arch-dutchesses, who formerly was thought the most beautiful, has suffered considerably by the small-pox.—A lady of the court told me, that as soon as this princess understood what her disease was, she called for a looking glass, and with unaffected pleasantry took leave of those features she had often heard praised, and which she believed would be greatly changed before she should see them again. The diminution which the small pox has made in the beauty of this Princess, has not in the smallest degree impaired her good-humour, or the essential part of her character, which by every account is perfectly amiable.

When the King of Prussia saw his army defeated at C [...]nersdorf, after he had written to the Queen that he was sure of victory; or when any of those monarchs, of whom history gives examples, were dashed from their thrones to a state of dependence or captivity, unquestionably it required great strength of mind to bear such cruel reverses of fortune; but perhaps it requires more in a woman, whose beauty is admired by one half of the human race, and envied by the other, to support its loss with equanimity in all the pride of youth.

If those veteran beauties, who never had any thing but their faces to give them importance, whom we see still withering on the stalk, and repining that they cannot retain the bloom of May in the frost of December, had met with such an accident, it would probably have killed them at once, and saved them many years of despised existence.

LETTER LXXXIII. The Countess Thune.—Her character.—The advantages which the English may enjoy at Vienna.—Prince Kaunitz.

VIENNA.

I Never passed my time more agreeably than since I came to Vienna. There is not such a constant round of amusements as to fill up a man's time without any plan or occupation of his own; and yet there is enough to satisfy any mind not perfectly vacant, and dependent on external objects.—We dine abroad two or three times a week. We sometimes see a little play, but never any deep gaming.—At the Countess Thune's, where I generally [Page] pass the evening, there is no play of any kind. The society there literally form a conversazioni.

I dare say, you will be at a loss to imagine how a mixed company, sometimes pretty numerous, can pass several hours every evening, merely in conversing, especially when you are told that the conversation is not always split into parties and tête à têtes;—conversations between two persons; but is very often general. You will suspect there must be many melancholy pauses, which, after a certain length, are prolonged, from the reluctance of people to be the first breakers of a very solemn silence; or you may think that sometimes there will be so many tongues moving at once, that nothing can be heard distinctly; and you may possibly figure to yourself the lady of the house at other times endeavouring, by formal observations on the weather, or politics, to keep alive a conversation which is just expiring in all the yawnings of annihilation.

Nothing of this kind, however, happens. The Countess has the art of entertaining a company, and of making them entertain one another, more than any person I ever knew. With a great deal o [...] wit, and a perfect knowledge of the world, she possesses the most disinterested heart. She is the first to discover the good qualities of her friends, and the last who sees their foibles. One of her greatest pleasures is to remove prejudices from amongst her acquaintances, and to promote friendships.

She has an everlasting flow of spirits, which she manages with such address as to delight the gay, without displeasing the dejected. I never knew any body have such a number of friends, and so much generous friendship to bestow on each: She i [...] daily making new ones, without allowing her regard for the old to diminish. She has formed a little system of happiness at her own house, herself being the centre of attraction and union.—Nobody is under the least necessity of remaining a moment in this society after being tired.

They may retire when they please.—No more notice is taken of the entries or exits of any person who has been once received, than of a fly's coming in or going out of the room.—There is not the shadow of restraint.—If you go every night, you are always treated with equal kindness; and if you stay away for a month, you are received on your return with the same cheerfulness as if you had been there every evening.

The English who come to this place are in a particular manner obliged to this family, not only for the polite reception they generally meet with, but also for the opportunities this affords them of forming [...] acquaintance with the principal people at Vienna. And I imagine [...]ere is no city in Europe where a young gentleman, after his university education is finished, can pass a year with so great advantage because, if properly recommended, he may mix, on an easy footing, with people of rank, and have opportunities of improving by the the conversation of sensible men and accomplished women.—In no capital could he see fewer examples, or [Page] have fewer opportunities of deep gaming, open profligacy, or gross debauchery. He may learn to pass his time agreeably, independent of a continued round of amusements.—He may be gradually led to enjoy rational conversation, and at length acquire the blessed faculty of being satisfied with moderate pleasures.

To the politeness of the Countess Thune, and the recommendation of the Baron Swieten, I am indebted for the agreeable footing I am on with Prince Kaunitz, who at present lives at Laxenberg, a pleasant village about ten miles from Vienna, where there is a small palace and very extensive park, belonging to the Imperial family.

Prince Kaunitz has lately built a house there, and lives in a style equally hospitable and magnificent. He is not to be seen before dinner by any but people on business; but he always has a pretty large company at dinner, and still greater numbers from Vienna pass their evenings at Laxenberg; not unfrequently the Emperor himself makes one of the company. This minister has enjoyed the favour of the Empress for many years. He was her envoy at the treaty of Aix la Chapelle in 1748, and has been of her cabinet council ever since. At present he is minister for all foreign affairs, and is supposed to have greater influence with her than any other person.

He is certainly a man of knowledge, genius, and fidelity, and the affairs of this court have prospered greatly under his management. His friends are very much attached to him, and he shows great discernment in discovering, and employing men of talents. He is the friend and patron of Mons [...] de Swieten. It is supposed that he advised and negociated the French alliance, yet he has always had a strong partiality in favour of the British nation.—He has some singularities; but as they do not affect any essential part of his character, they need not be mentioned.

LETTER LXXXIV. A character.—Reflections on the English, French, and Germans.

VIENNA.

I Had the pleasure of yours by the last past, wherein you inform me that our acquaintance C—talks of setting out for Vienna very soon. As nothing is so tiresome as the company of one who is continually tired of himself, I should be alarmed at your information, were I not absolutely certain that his stay here will be very [...], come when he will.

C—called at my lodgings one morning the summer before I had left London.—I had remained in town merely because I had no particular business elsewhere;—but he assured me, that the town was a desert;—that it was shameful to be seen in the streets;—that all the world was at Brighth [...]lmstone.—So I allowed him to conduct me to that place, [Page]where we had remained only a few days, when he told me, that none of the people he cared for were there; and as I had nothing particular to detain me, he begged as a favour that I would accompany him to Tunbridge.—We went accordingly, and to my great satisfaction I there found Mr. N—'s family,

C—remained pretty quiet for about four days;—he yawned a good deal on the fifth;—and on the sixth, I thought he would have dislocated his jaws. As he perceived I was pleased with the place, and would take none of his hints about leaving it, heat last pretended that he had received a letter which made it absolutely necessary for him to set out for London: and away be went.

I staid three weeks at Tunbridge.—On my return to town, I understood that C—had taken a genteel furnished house for the summer, in Yorkshire, where he had already passed a week, having previously engaged a female friend to go along with him.—He left word in town, that he was not to be expected till the meeting of parliament. Though I never imagined that he would remain quite so long, yet I was a little surprised to see him enter my room two days after I had received this account.—

He told me, he was quite disgusted with his house, and more so with his companion:—and besides, he had taken a violent fancy to go to Paris, which you know, added he, is the the most delightful place in the world, especially in summer; for the company never think of rambling about the country like our giddy fools in England, but remain together in the capital as sensible people ought to do.

He then proposed that we should pack up a few things.—take post, pass over,—and spend a couple of months at Paris. Finding I did not relish the proposal, he wrote an apology to the lady in Yorkshire, with an inclosed bank-bill, and set out next day by himself. I heard no more of him for six weeks, but at the end of that time happening to [...]e at Bath, I saw my friend C—enter the pump-room.—'Egad, said he, you were wise to flay at home:—Paris is became the most insipid place on earth:—I could not support it above ten days.

But having heard a good deal of Holland, I even took a jaunt to Amsterdam, which between friends, I found very little more amusing than Paris; two days after my arrival, finding an English ship just ready to sail, I thought it would be a pity to let the opportunity slip.—So I ordered my trunk aboard.—We had a disagreeable passage: However, I arrived safe a few days ago at Harwich▪ After this sketch of poor C—'s turn of mind, you see, I have no reason to fear his remaining long with us, if he should come

Foreigners assert that the English have more of this restless disposition than any other people in Europe.

[...] faut quo votre ville de Londres soit un triste sêjour.—It must be very melancholy living in London.—I asked the person who made this remark to me, wherefore he thought so?—Parceque, answered he, tous [...] jeunes gens que je vois en France s'ennuyent á la mort.—Because all the young people I see in France who are from London appear wearied to death. But, said I, there are a great many of [Page] your countrymen in London.—Assurément, To be sure, answered he, with polite insolence, cela fait [...]ne différence,—that makes a difference.

Our climate is accused of producing this ennui—weariness. If I rightly remember, I formerly hinted some reasons against this opinion, and of late I begin to suspect that the excessive wealth of certain individuals, and the state of society in our capital, are the sole causes of our having a greater share of that malady among us than our neighbours. The common people of England know nothing of it:—neither do the industrious of any [...]ank, whether their object be wealth, knowledge, or fame. But in England there is a greater number than in any other country, of young men, who come to the possession of great fortunes before they have acquired any fixed and determined taste, which may serve as a resource and occupation through life.

When a youth has acquired a habit of application, a thirst of knowledge, or of same, the most ample fortune which can fall to him afterwards, cannot always destroy dispositions and passions already formed—Particularly if the passion be ambition, which generally gives such energy to the mind, and occasions such continued exertions as sufficiently ward off lassitude and tedium; for wealth cannot lull, or pleasure enervate, a mind strongly inspired by that active principle. Such therefore are out of the present question. But when a full and uncontrolled command of money comes first, and every object of pleasure is placed within the reach of the unambitious, all other pursuits are too frequently despised; and every taste or accomplishment which could inform or strengthen the mind, and fill up the tedious intervals of life is neglected.

A young man in this situation is prone to excess, he seldom waits the natural returns of appetite of any kind;—his sensibility is blunted by too frequent enjoyment;—what is desired to-day, is loathed to-morrow;—every thing at a distance, which bears the name of pleasure, is an object of desire;—when present, it becomes an object of indifference, if not of disgust.—The agitations of gaming are tried to prevent the horrid stagnation of indolence.—All amusements lose their relish, and serve to increase the languor they were meant to expel.

As age advances, caprice, peevishness, and tedium augment:—The scene is often changed; but the same fretful piece is constantly acted till the curtain is dropt, or is pulled down by the impatient actor himself before the natural end of the drama.

Does not all this happen in France and Germany?—Doubtless; but not so often as in England, for the reasons already mentioned. In France, a very small proportion of young men have the uncontrolled possession of great fortunes. They have not the means of gratifying every desire, and indulging every caprice.

Instead of spending their time in clubs or taverns, with people of their own age, the greater part of the young nobility pass their [Page] evenings with some private family, or in those societies of both sexes to which they have the entr [...],—reception. There the decorum due to such company restrains of course the vivacity and wantonness of their behaviour and conversation; and adventures occur which interest and amuse, without being followed by the nausea, languor, and remorse, which often succeed nights spent at the gaming table, or the licentiousness of tavern suppers.

Nothing has a better influence on the temper, dispositions, and manners of a young person, than living much in the company of those whom be respects. Exclusive of the improvement he may receive from their conversation, he is habituated to self denial, and must relinquish many indulgencies which lead to indolence and languor.

The young French nobility, even although they should have no great share of ambition, no love to study, no particular turn for any of those higher accomplishments which enable men to pass the hours of life independent of other amusements; yet they contrive to keep tedium at a distance by efforts of a different kind, by a species of activity peculiar to themselves; they perceive very early in life, the absolute necessity of pleasing. This sentiment pervades their general conduct, and goes a great way in the formation of their real character.

They are attentive and obliging to all, and particularly endeavour to acquire and retain the friendship of those who can assist their fortunes; and they have a relish for life, because it is not always in their power to anticipate enjoyment, nor can they cloy their appetites by satiety. Even the most dissipated among them are unacquainted with the unbounded freedom of a tavern life, where all the freaks of a whimsical mind, and a capricious taste, may be indulged without hesitation, and which, after long indulgence, renders every other kind of society insupportable.

With regard to the Germans, there are very few men of great independent fortunes among them. The little princes, by whom the riches of the country are engrossed, have, I suspect, their own difficulties to get through life with any tolerable degree of satisfaction. As for their younger brothers and the middling gentry, they go into the army, and are subjected to the rigorous and unremitting attentions of military discipline. This, of consequence, forms a character, in many respects different from that of the English or French gentleman.

But I have not yet mentioned the circumstance, which, of all others, perhaps contributes the most to render London the triste séjour,—the mansion of melancholy, which foreigners often find it; I mean the establishment of assemblies from which that part of the community are excluded who have the greatest power to soothe the cares, and enliven the pleasures of life.

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LETTER LXXXV. An entertainment on the top of Mount Calenberg.—A convent of Monks.—Spiritual gallantry.

VIENNA.

WE had an invitation lately from Mons. de Breteuil to dine on the top of Mount Calenberg, a very high mountain in the neighbourhood of this city. Common coaches or chariots cannot be dragged up; but having drove to the bottom, we found chais [...] of a particular construction, calculated for such expeditions. These had been ordered by the Ambassador for the accommodation of the company, and in them we were carried to the summit, where there is a conven [...] of Monks, from which two landscapes of very opposite natures appear.

The one consists of a series of wild mountains; the other, of the town, suburbs, and environs of Vienna, with the various branches of the Danube flowing through a rich champaign of boundless extent.

The table for dinner was covered in a field near the convent, under the shade of some trees. Every delicacy of the season was served up.—Madame de Matignon, a very beautiful and sprightly lady, daughter of M. de Breteuil, did the honours. Some of the finest women of Vienna, her companions, were of the company; and the whole entertainment was conducted with equal taste and gaiety.

During the dessert, some of the Fathers came and presented the company with baskets of fruit and sallad from their garde [...]—. The Ambassador invited them to sit, and the ladies pledged them in tokay. Mons. de Breteuil had previously obtained permission for the ladies to enter the convent;—which they accordingly did, as soon as they rose from table, attended by all the company.

You will readily believe, that the appearance of so many handsome women would be particularly interesting to a community which had never before beheld a female within their walls.—This indeed was sufficiently evident, in spite of the gravity and mortified looks of the Fathers.

One lady of a gay disposition laid hold of a little scourge which hung at one of the Father's belts, and desired he would make her a present of it, for she wished to use it when she returned home, having, as she said, been a great sinner.—The Father, with great gallantry, begged she would spare her own [...] skin, assuring her that he would give himself a hearty flogging on her account that very evening;—and to prove how much he was in earnest, fell directly on his knees before a little altar, and began to whip his own shoulders with great earnestness, declaring, that when the ladies should retire, he would lay it with the same violence on his [Page] naked body; for he was determined she should be as free from sin as she was on the day of her birth.

This melted the heart of the lady.—She begged the Father might take no more of her faults upon his shoulders.—She now assured him that her slips had been very venial, and that she was convinced what he had already done would clear her as completely as if he should whip himself to the bone.

There is something so ludicrous in all this, that you may [...]aturally suspect the representation I have given, proceeds from [...]nvention rather than memory. I assure you, however, in downright earnest, that the scene passed nearly as described; and to prevent farther mischief, I put the scourge, which the zealous Father had made use of, in my pocket.

On my return to Vienna, I called the same evening at the Countess Walstein's, and soon after the Emperor came there. Somebody had already mentioned to him the pious gallantry of the Father at the top of Mount Calenberg.—He asked for a sight of the whip, which he understood I had brought away:—I had it still in my pocket, and immediately showed it him—He laughed very heartily at the warmth of the Father's zeal, which he supposed had been augmented by the Ambassador's tokay.

You have often heard of the unceremonious and easy manner in which this great Prince lives with his subjects. Report cannot exaggerate on this head. The Countess Walstein had no expectations of his visiting her that evening.—When the servant named the Emperor before he entered, I started up, and was going to retire.—The Countess desired me to remain, for nothing was more disagreeable to him than that any company should be disturbed on his entering.

The ladies kept their seats, some of them knotting all the time he remained. The men continued standing while he stood, and when he was seated, most part of them sat down also.—The Emperor put Count Mahoni, the Spanish ambassador, in mind of his gout, and made him sit, while himself remained standing.

This monarch converses with all the ease and affability of a private gentleman, and gradually seduces others to talk with same ease to him. He is surely much happier in this noble condescension, and must acquire a more perfect knowledge of mankind, than if he kept himself aloof from his subjects, continually wrapt up in his own importance and the Imperial fur.

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LETTER LXXXVI. Manners.—A lady's distress.—An indulgent husband.

VIENNA.

THE manners of this court are considerably altered since Lady Mary Wortley Montague was here, [...]icularly since the accession of the present Empress, whose understanding and affability have abridged many of the irksome ceremonials formerly in use. Her son's philosophical turn of mind, and the amiable, and conciliating characters of her whole family, have no doubt tended to put society in general upon a more easy and agreeable footing.

People of different ranks now do business together with ease, and meet at public places without any of those ridiculous disputes [...] precedency, of which the ingenious English lady has given such lively descriptions.—Yet trifling punctilios are not so completely banished, as, I imagine, the Emperor could wish, he himself being the least punctilious person in his dominions:—for there is certainly still a greater separation than good sense would direct, between the various classes of the subjects.—The sentiments of a people change very gradually, and it takes a course of years before reason, or even the example of the Sovereign, can overcome old customs and prejudices.

The higher, or ancient families, keep themselves as distinct from the inferior, or newly created nobility, as these do from the citizens: So that it is very difficult for the inferior classes to be in society, or to have their families much connected with those of the superior ranks. And what is of more importance in a political sense, there are certain places of high trust in the government, which cannot be occupied by any but the higher order of nobility.

Would you not think it disadvantageous for a government to keep a law in force which enacts, that the offices in the state which require the greatest abilities, should be filled from that class of the community in which there is the least chance of finding them?—Perhaps the usage above mentioned is nearly equivalent to such a law. As for the peasants, who are entirely out of the question, they are, in many parts of the Emperor's dominions, in a state of perfect slavery, and almost totally dependent on the proprietors of the land.

The ideas relative to dress seem to have entirely changed since Lady Mary's time, and if the dress of the ladies be still as absurd, it is at least not so singular; for they, like the rest of Europe, have now adopted the Parisian modes.

The present race of Austrian ladies can differ in nothing more than they do in looks from their grand-mothers, who, if any of them are still alive, may be as beautiful at this day as they were when she wrote; for time itself could hardly improve that ugliness, which, according to her, was in full bloom sixty years ago. I have not as yet enquired what method the parents have devised to [Page] remedy this inconveniency; but nothing is more certain than that it is remedied very effectually, for at present there is no scarcity of female beauty at the court of Vienna.

This being the case, it is natural to imagine that gallantry must now be more prevalent than when her ladyship was here. But exclusive of any real difference, which may have happened in the sentiments of the ladies themselves, they are obliged to observe an uncommon degree of circumspection in that particular, as nothing is more heinous in the eyes of her Imperial Apostolic Majesty. She seems to think that the ladies of her court, like the wife of Caesar, should not only be free from guilt, but, what is still more difficult, free from suspicion, and strongly marks by her manner, that she is but too well informed when any piece of scandal circulates to the prejudice of any of them.

With regard to what Lady Mary calls sub-marriages, and of which she has given such a curious account, I do not imagine they are common at present, in all the latitude of her description. But it is not uncommon for married ladies here to avow the greatest degree of friendship and attachment to men who are not their husbands, and to live with them in great intimacy, without hurting their reputation, or being suspected, even by their own sex, of having deviated from the laws of modesty.

One evening at the Count Thune's, when there was a pretty numerous company, I observed one lady uncommonly sad, and enquired of her intimate friend who happened to be there also, if she knew the cause of this sadness?—I do replied she; Mr. de—, whom she loves very tenderly, ought to have been here a month ago; and last night she received a letter from him, informing her that he cannot be at Vienna for a month to come.

But pray, said I, does your friend's husband know of this violent passion she has for Mr. de—? Yes, yes, answered she, he knows it, and enters with the most tender sympathy into her affliction; he does all that can be expected from an affectionate husband to comfort and soothe his wife, assuring her that her love will wear away with time. But she always declares that she has no hopes of this, because she feels it augment every day.

Mais, au fond, continued the lady, cela lui fait bien de la pein [...], parceque malheureusement il aime sa femme à la folie. Et sa femme, qui est la meilleure créature du monde, plaint infiniment son pauvre mari; car elle a beaucoup d'amitiê et d'estime pour lui;—mais elle ne s [...]auroit se défaire de cette malheureuse passion pour Mons. de—.

But at the bottom it gives him pain, because unfortunately he loves his wife almost to folly And his wife who is the best creature alive, pities her poor husband infinitely; for she has a great deal of friendship and esteem for him, but she cannot get rid of this unfortunate passion for Mons. de—.

I was not in the least surprised that a disappointment of this nature should affect a woman a little; but I own it did astonish me that she should appear in public, on such an occasion, in all [Page] the ostentation of sorrow, like a young widow vain of her weeds. Here this passion was lamented by her friends as a misfortune: In England, if I rightly remember, such misfortunes are generally imputed to people as crimes.

LETTER LXXXVII. Presburg.—A Hungarian villa.

PRESBURG.

THE Viscount de Laval having proposed to me lately to make a short tour with him into Hungary, I very readily consented, and we arrived at this town yesterday morning.

Presburg, which is the capital of Lower Hungary, like Vienna, has suburbs more magnificent than itself. In this city the States of Hungary hold their assemblies, and in the cathedral church the Sovereign is crowned.

The present Empress took refuge here when the Elector of Bavaria was declared Emperor at Prague, when she was abandoned by her allies, and when France had planned her destruction. Her own magnanimity, the generous friendship of Great Britain, and the courage of her Hungarian subjects, at length restored her fortunes, and secured to her family the splendid situation they now hold in Europe.

What politician in 1741 could have thought that in the course of a few years the Empress would be in strict alliance with France, and one of her daughters seated on the throne of that Kingdom? Should a soothsayer of Boston prophesy, that John Hancock, or his son, will, sometime hence, demand in marriage a daughter of England,—pray, do not lay an uncommon odds, that the thing will not happen.

Mons. de Laval and I walked up this morning to the castle, which is a noble Gothic building, of a square form, with a tower at each corner. The regalia of Hungary, consisting of the crown and sceptre of St. Stephen, the first King, are deposited here. These are carefully secured by seven locks, the keys of which are kept by the same number of Hungarian noblemen.

No Prince is held by the populace as legally their Sovereign till he be crowned with the diadem of King Stephen; and they have a notion that the fate of their nation depends on this crown's remaining in their possession. It has therefore been always removed in times of danger to places of the greatest safety.

The [...]urks, aware of the influence of such a prejudice in the minds of the vulgar, have, it is said, made frequent attempts to seize this Palladium.—The fate of Hungary seems now to be pretty much decided; so that exclusive of the value they put upon the crown, as a relic of considerable antiquity, the Hungarians need not be solicitous whether it remains in this castle or in the Imperial palace at Vienna.

By the constitution of Hungary, the crown is still h [...]ld to be elective. This point is not disputed.—All that is insisted on is, that the heir of the House of Austria shall be elected as often as a vacancy happens.

[Page] The castle of Presburg is the usual residence of Prince Albert of Saxony, who married one of the Arch-dutchesses, a very beautiful and accomplished Princess. As M. de Laval and I entered one of the rooms, we observed them at a window. We immediately started back, and withdrew, being in riding frocks and boots. Mons. de Laval had seen their Highnesses a few days before at Schonbrun, and thought they had been there still.—The Princess sent a polite message after us by a servant, who had orders to conduct us through every apartment of the castle; she herself stept into another room, that we might see that which she left.

All the Princesses of the Austrian family are distinguished by an attentive and obliging politeness, which is the more remarkable, as those who live much at courts often acquire a species of politeness which is by no means obliging. The splendor and distinctions of a court frequently inspire an overweening vanity, and have a peculiar tendency to shake the steadiness of the female understanding. Court ladies in general, but particularly such as submit to be abject sycophants to Queens and Princesses, are apt to render themselves ridiculous by the arrogant airs they assume to the rest of the world, and while they usurp the importance of royalty, fill the breasts of all who know them with as much detestation as is consistent with contempt.

The view from this citadel is very extensive commanding the vast and fertile plains of Hungary.

Having dined at the inn, and regaled ourselves, at no great expence, with tokay, we went to visit a villa at the distance of four miles from Presburg, belonging to a Hungarian nobleman. This house is delightfully situated,—the gardens laid out a little too methodically; but the park, and fields around, where less art has been used, display a vast luxuriancy of natural beauties.—While wandering over these, we entered a little wood in a very retired place; as we advanced into this, we saw a venerable looking old man with a long beard, who stretching out his hand, seemed to invite us to an hermitage which we observed hard by.

The Viscount, impatient to cultivate the acquaintance of a person of such an hospitable appearance, ran before me toward him; when he got up to him, he stopped short, as if surprised, and then, to my utter astonishment, he raised his foot with every mark of indignation, and gave the poor old hermit a violent kick.

I do not remember that I was ever more shocked in my life; I was at the same time quite confounded at an action so unworthy in itself, and so incompatible with the character of Mons. de Laval.—I was soon reconciled, however, to the treatment the old fellow had recieved, when I discovered that this venerable personage was not the honest man we took him for, but a downright impostor, made of painted wood, and, dressed in the robes of a hermit to deceive passengers.

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Over the door was an inscription from Horace—

Odi profanum vulgus.

I hate the vulgar crowd.

On the inside of the door—

Fata volentes ducunt, nolentes trahunt.

Fate leads the willing, and compells the s [...]ow.

And in another part, within the hermitage—

Omnes e [...]dem cogimur: omnium

Versatur urna, serius ocius,

Sors exitura, et nos in [...]tern [...]m

Exilium impositura Cymb [...].

For all must tread the Paths of Fate,

That ever shakes the mortal Urn,

Whose Lot embarks us, soon or late,

On Charon's Boat, ah! never to return.

Horace by Francis.

There were also several inscriptions taken from Cicero, in favou [...] of the soul's immortality, which I am sorry I neglected to transcribe.—We [...]urned in the evening to this place, and are to set out tomorrow for Prince Estherhasie's.

LETTER LXXXVIII. The palace and gardens of Estherhasie.—The Hungarians.

VIENNA.

HAVING left Presburg, we travelled eight posts across a very fertile country to the palace of Estherhasie, the residence of the Prince of that name. He is the first in rank of the Hungarian nobility, and one of the most magnificent subjects in Europe. He has body-guards of his own, all genteel-looking men, richly dressed in the Hungarian manner.

The palace is a noble building, lately finished, and situated near a fine lake. The apartments are equally grand and commodious; the furniture more splendid than almost any thing I have seen in royal palaces. In the Prince's own apartment there are some curious musical clocks, and one in the shape of a bird, which whistles a tune every hour.

[Page] Just by the palace, there is a theatre for operas, and other dramatic entertainments, and in the gardens, a large room with commodious apartments for masquerades and balls.

At no great distance, there is another theatre expressly built for puppet-shows. This is much larger, and more commodious than most provincial play-houses, and I am bold to assert, is the most splendid that has as yet been reared in Europe for that species of actors. We regretted that we could not have the pleasure of seeing them perform; for they have the reputation of being the best comedians in Hungary.

We had the curiosity to peep behind the curtain, and saw Kings, Emperors, Turks, and Christians, all ranged very sociably together.—King Solomon was observed in a corner in a very suspicious tête-àtête,—private conversation with the Queen of Sheba.

Amongst other curiosities, there is in the garden a wooden house, built upon wheels. It contains a room with a table, chairs, a looking glass, chimney, and fire-place. There are also closets, with many necessary accomodations.—The Prince sometimes entertains twelve people in this vehicle, all of whom may easily sit round the table, and the whole company may thus take an airing together along the walks of the garden, and many parts of the park, which are as level as a bowling-green. The machine, when thus loaded, is easily drawn by six or eight horses.

Prince Estherhasie having heard of M. de Laval's being in the garden, sent us an invitation to the opera, which was to be performed that evening; but as we had brought with us no dress proper for such an occasion, we were forced to decline this obliging invitation.—The Prince afterwards sent a carriage, in which we drove round the garden and parks. These are of vast extent, and beautiful beyond description; arbours, fountains, walk [...], woods, hills, and valleys, being thrown together in a charming confusion.—If you will look over Ariosto's description of the gardens in Alcina's inchanted island, you will have an idea of the romantic fields of Estherhasie, which are also inhabited by the same kind of animals.

Tra le purpuree rose e i bianchi gigli,

Che tepid aura freschi ognora serba,

Sicuri si vedean lepri e conigli:

E cervi con la fronte alta e superba,

Senza temer che alcun li [...]cida o pigli,

Pascono, e stansi ruminando Perba:

E Saltan daini e capri snelli e destri,

Che sono in copia in quei loughi campestri.

[Page] M. de Laval was in raptures with the gardens of Estherhasie. In the height of his admiration, I asked him how they stood in his opinion compared with those of Versailles?

Ah, Parbleu! Monsieur, answered he, Versailles [...]toit fait exprès pour n'être comparé à rein.—Ah! Sir, Versailles was made on purpose to be compared to nothing.

He acknowledged, however, without difficulty, that, except France, no other country he had seen was so beautiful as this.

Having wandered here many hours, we returned to the inn, where a servant waited with Prince Estherhasie's compliments, and a basket containing two bottles of Tokay, and the same quantity of Champaign and of Old Hock. We lamented very sincerely, that we could not have the honour of waiting on this very magnificent Prince, and thanking him personally for so much politeness.

A company of Italian singers and actors were then at the inn, and preparing for the opera. Great preparations were making for the entertainment of the Empress and all the court, who are soon to make a visit of several days to Estherhasie. Though the Imperial family, and many of the nobility, are to lodge in the palace, yet every corner of this large and commodious inn is already bespoke for the company which are invited upon that occasion.

Hungary is a very cheap country, the land being infinitely fertile, and in some places producing the most esteemed grape in Europe. It is beautified with lakes, the windings of the Danube, and many streams which flow into that fine river. In the woods of Hungary are bred a race of horses, the most active, hardy, and spirited, for their size, in the world. These have been found very useful in war, and the hussars, or light dragoons of the Austrian army are mounted on them.

The men in Hungary are remarkably handsome, and wellshaped. Their appearance is improved by their dress, which you know is peculiar, and very becoming.

Lady M. W. Montague asserts, that the Hungarian women are f [...]r more beautiful than the Austrian. For my part, I think of women, as M. de Laval does of Versailles:—that they are not to be compared with any thing.—not even with one another. And therefore, without presuming to take a comparative view of their beauty, it may be remarked in general, that where the men are handsome and [...]ll made, it is natural to suppose, that the women will possess the same advantages; for parents generally bestow as much attention to the making of their daughters as of their sons. In confirmation of which doctrine, I can assure you, that I have seen as handsome women, as men, in Hungary, and one of the prettiest women, in my opinion, at present at the court of Vienna, is a Hungarian.

None of the Empress's subjects are taxed so gently, or enjoy so many privileges as the Hungarians. This is partly owing to the grateful remembrance she has of their loyalty and attachment in the days of her distress.

[Page] But although this sentiment were not so strong in her breast as it really is, there are political reasons for continuing to them the same exemptions, and privileges; for nothing can be more dangerous than disobliging the inhabitants of a frontier country, which borders on an inveterate enemy.—Nor could any thing please the Turks more, than to find the hearts of the Hungarians alienated from the house of Austria.

I found this country, and the company of M. de Laval, so very agreeable, that I should have been happy to have extended our excursion farther; but he is obliged to set out soon for Chamberry to pay his duty to the Comte d'Artois, who is expected there to wait on his future spouse, the Princess of Savoy. We therefore returned by the direct road from Estherhasie to Vienna.

LETTER LXXXIX. Reflections on gaming.—Effect of great wealth on indolent minds.—English, German, French characters.—Utility of a taste for letters.

VIENNA.

SO the fate of poor—is finally decided, and he now fin [...]s, that to be ruined is not a matter of so much indifference as he once imagined. I neither see the possibility of his extricating himself from his present difficulties, nor in what manner he will be able to support them. Accustomed to every luxurious indulgence, how can he bear the inconveniencies of poverty?—Dissipated and inattentive from his child-hood, how can he make any exertion for himself?—His good-humour, genteel figure, and pliant disposition, made him well received by all.—While he formed no expectations from their friendship, his company seemed particularly acceptable to some who are at present in power: Whether it will be equally so now, when he has nothing else to depend on, is to be tried. And I really think it is as well for him that it be tried now, as five or six years hence.

This calamity has been long foreseen.—There seemed to be almost a necessity that it should happen sooner or later; for he had neither caution, plan, nor object in his gaming.—He continued it from habit alone. Of all mankind, he was the least covetous of excessive wealth; and exclusive of gaming, he always lived within his income, not from a desire of saving money, but merely because he had no taste for great expence.—How often have we seen him lose immense sums to those who could never have paid the half, had he happened to win it; and to some of whom he had lent the money which enabled them to stake against him?

There are many careless young men of great fortunes, who game in the same style, and from no other motives than those of our unhappy friend.—What is the consequence? The money circulates [Page] for a while among them, but remains finally with persons of a very different character.—I shall not suppose that any of the very fortunate gamesters we have been acquainted with, have used those means to correct fortune which are generally reckoned fraudulent. I am fully persuaded, they are seldomer practised in the clubs in London than in any other gaming societies in the world.—Let all slight of hand, and every species of downright sharping, be put out of the question; but still we may suppose, that among a great number of careless inattentive people of fortune, a few wary, cool and shrewd men are mingled, who know how to conceal real caution and design under apparent inattention and gaiety of manner;—who have a perfect command of themselves, push their luck when fortune smiles, and refrain when she changes her disposition;—who have calculated the chances, and understand every game where judgment is required.

If there are such men, is not the probability of winning infinitely in their favour?—Does it not amount to almost as great a certainty, as if they had actually loaded the dice or packed the cards?—I know you live in the habit of intimacy with some who answer to the above description; and I have heard you say, that however fortunate they may have been, you were fully convinced that nothing can be fairer than their manner of playing. I accuse them of taking no other advantages than those above mentioned; but I appeal to your own experience,—pray recollect,—and I am greatly mistaken, if you will not find, that by far the greater part of those who have made fortunes by play, and have kept them when made, are men of cool, cautious, shrewd, and selfish characters.

If any of these very fortunate people were brought to a trial, and examined by what means they had accumulated such sums, while so many others had entirely lost, or greatly impaired their fortunes (if the word esprit be allowed to imply that artful superiority which belongs to their characters,) they might answer in the words of the wife of Concini Marechal d'Ancre, when she was asked what charm she had made use of to fascinate the mind of the Queen?—De l'ascendant, she replied, qu'un esprit superieur a toujours sur des esprits fotbles,—The ascendant, which a strong mind always has over a weak one.

Certainly there can be no greater weakness, than for a man of independent fortune to game in such a manner as to risk loosing it, for the chance of doubling or tripling his income:—because the additional happiness arising from any supposable addition of wealth can never be within a thousand degrees so great, as the misery which would be the consequence of his being stripped of his original fortune.

This consideration alone, one would imagine, might be sufficient to deter any reasonable man from a conduct so weak and absurd: yet there are other considerations which give much additional weight to the argument;—the dismal effects which the continued [Page] practice of gaming has sometimes been observed to produce in the dispositions of the mind, and the most essential parts of the character, destroying every idea of [...]economy, engrossing the whole time undermining the best principles, perverting the qualities of the heart, rendering men callous to the ruin of acquaintances, and partakers, with a savage insensibility, in the spoils of their unwary friends.

The peculiar instances with which you and I are acquainted, where the long continued habit of deep play has had no such effects, are proofs of the rooted honour and integrity of certain individuals, and may serve as exceptions to a general rule, but cannot be urged as arguments against the usual tendency of gaming. If men of fortune and character adopted the practice of gaming upon any principle of reasoning, there might be a greater probability of their being reasoned out of it: but most of them begin to game, not with any view or fixed plan of increasing their wealth, but merely as a fashionable amusement, or perhaps by way of showing the liberality of their spirit, and their contempt for money.

I would not be very positive, that some of them have not mistaken for admiration that surprise which is expressed when any person has lost an immense sum. And this mistake may have given them less repugnance to the idea of becoming the objects of admiration in the same day.

Afterwards endeavouring to win back what they had so idly lost, the habit has grown by degrees, and at length has become their sole resource from the weariness which those born to great fortunes, and who have not early in life acquired some faculty of amusing themselves, are more prone to fall into than others. Men born to no such expectations, whatever their natural dispositions may be, are continually roused from indolence by avocations which admit of no delay.

The pursuit of that independence, for which almost every human bosom sighs, and whose value is unknown only to those who have always possessed it, is thought a necessary, and is often found an agreeable, employment to the generality of mankind. This, with the other duties of life, is sufficient to engross their time and thoughts, and guard them from the pains and penalties of idleness.

As the pursuit of wealth is superfluous in men of rank and fortune, so it would be unbecoming their situation. Being deprived of this, which is so great an object and resource to the rest of mankind, they stand in more need of something to supply its place. I know of nothing which can so completely, and with so much propriety, have this effect, as a taste for letters and love of science. I therefore think these are more essentially necessary to the happiness of people of high rank and great fortune, than to those in confined circumstances.

If independence be desired with universal ardour by mankind, the road of science is neither the most certain, nor the shortest way to attain it. But those who are already in possession of this, have [Page] infinite need of the other to teach them to enjoy their independence with dignity and satisfaction, and to prevent the gifts of fortune from becoming sources of misery instead of happiness. If they are ambitious, the cultivation of letters, by adorning their minds, and enlarging their faculties, will facilitate their plans, and render them more fit for the high situations to which they aspire. If they are devoid of ambition, they have still more occasion for some of the pursuits of science, as resources against the languor of retired or inactive life—‘Qoud si non hic tantus fractus ostenderetur, et si ex his studiis delectatio sola peteretur; tamen, ut opinor, hanc animi remissionem, humanissimam ac liberalissimam judicaretis—But if such advantages do not arise from these studies and entertainment alone is the object; still you will confess that this is one of the most elegant and liberal enjoyments of the mind. CICERO.’

This love of letters considered merely as an amusement, and to fill up agreeably the vacant hours of life, I believe to be more essentially necessary to men of great fortune than to those who have none;—to men without ambition, than to those who are animated by that active passion; and to the generality of Englishmen more than to the natives of either Germany or France.—The Germans require very little variety. They can bear the languid uniformity of life always with patience, and often with satisfaction. They display an equanimity under disgust that is quite astonishing.—The French, though not so celebrated for patience, are of all mankind the least liable to despondence. Public affairs, so apt to disturb the repose of many worshipful citizens of London, never give a Frenchman uneasiness. If the arms of France are successful, he rejoices with all his heart;—if they are unfortunate, he laughs at the commanders with all his soul. If his mistress is kind, he celebrates her goodness and commends her taste;—if she is cruel, he derides her folly in the arms of another.

No people ever were so fond of amusement, and so easily amused. It seems to be the chief object of their lives, and they contrive to draw it from a thousand sources, in which no other people ever thought it could be found. I do not know where I met with the following lines; they are natural and easy, and seem expressive of the conduct and sentiments of the whole French nation.

M'amuser n'importe comment,

Fait toute ma philosophie.

Je crois ne perare aucun moment.

Hors le moment oú je m'ennuie;

Et je tiens ma tâche finie,

Pourvu qu'ainsi tout doucement;

Je me defasse de la vie.

[Page] All my philosophy consists in spending my time pleasantly, no matter by what means: I wish not to be insensible to any part of my present existence except those moments that are sad and melancholy; and I shall be well satisfied if I can pass through life in this cheerful and agreeable manner.

Our countrymen who have applied to letters, have prosecuted every branch of science as successfully as any of their neighbours. But those of them who study mere amusement, independent of literature of any kind, certainly have not been so happy in their researches as the French. Many things which entertain the latter, seem frivolous and insipid to the former.

The English view objects through a darker medium. Less touched than their neighbours with the gaieties, they are more affected by the vexations of life, under which they are too ready to despond. They feel their spirits flag with the repetition of scenes which at first were thought agreeable. This stagnation of animal spirits, from whatever cause it arises, becomes itself a cause of desperate resolutions, and debasing habits.

A man of fortune, therefore, who can acquire such a relish for science, as will make him rank its pursuits among his amusements, has thereby made an acquisition of more importance to his happiness, than if he had acquired another estate equal in value to his first. I am almost convinced, that a taste of this kind is the only thing which can render a man of fortune (especially if his fortune be very large) tolerably independent and easy through life. Whichsoever of the roads of science he loves to follow, his curiosity will continually be kept awake.

An inexhaustible variety of interesting objects will open to his view,—his mind will be replenished with ideas,—and even when the pursuits of ambition become insipid, he will still have antidotes against tedium, and (other things being supposed equal) the best chance of passing agreeably through life, that the uncertainty of human events allows to man.

LETTER XC. Feast of St. Stephen—Annual ceremony in commemoration of the defeat of the Turks by Sobieski.—Masquerade at Schonbrun.

VIENNA.

IN your last, you show such a passion for anecdote, and seem so desirous of my insisting on manners and characters, that I fear you will not be pleased with my last long epistle upon a subject entirely remote from what you demand. But you must remember, that you were warned from the beginning of this correspondence, [Page] that I would retain the privilege of digressing as often as I pleased, and that my letters should frequently treat of what I thought, as well as what I saw. However, this shall consist entirely of sights.

The first I shall mention was exhibited soon after our arrival at Vienna. This was the feast of St. Stephen, at which the Emperor dined in public with the knights.

He was at the head of the table; his brother and brother-in-law next him, and the other knights sat according to seniority. The Arch dutchesses, with some of the pricipal ladies of the court, were at a balcony within the hall to see this ceremony.—The Emperor and all the knights were dressed in the robes of the order. The Hungarian guards, with their sabres drawn, surrounded the table.

The honour of serving the Emperor at this solemnity belongs entirely to the Hungarians. When he called for drink, a Hungarian nobleman poured a little of the wine into a cup and tasted it; he afterwards filled another, which he presented with one knee touching the ground. The Emperor often smiled to this nobleman as he went through the ceremony, and seemed to indicate by the whole of his behaviour, that he considered such submissive bendings of one man to another, as greatly misplaced, and that he suffered this mummery merely in compliance with ancient custom.

There was great crowding to see this feast, and it was not without difficulty I got admission; though, after all, there was nothing to be seen but some well dressed men, who ate an exceeding good dinner with tolerable appetite.

Since the feast of St. Stephen, we have been witnesses to the annual ceremony in commemoration of the defeat of the Turkish army, and the raising the siege of Vienna by John Sobieski King of Poland.

The Imperial family and the principal nobility of both sexes walked in solemn procession, and heard mass at the church of St. Stephen on this occasion. In the middle of the street, leading from the palace to the church, a platform was raised, upon which the company, who formed the procession walked.—The streets were lined with the Imperial guards and the windows and tops of the houses were crowded with spectators.—The Duke of Hamilton and I found a very good situation at a window with the Venetian ambassador.

This ceremony would have been too fatiguing for the Empress: She therefore did not attend:—The Emperor, the Arch-dukes and Dutchesses, with all the nobility, did. A prodigious train of bishops, priests, and monks followed; and a numerous band of music played as they went along.

As this is a day of rejoicing, the richest and gayest dresses are thought the most expressive of the pious gratitude becoming such an occasion. The ladies displayed their devotion in the most [Page] brilliant manner. Their minds, however, were not so much exalted by heavenly contemplations, as to be above taking notice of their earthly acquaintances at the windows, whom they regaled with smiles and nods as they walked along.

Next day the Imperial family dined in public, and many people went to see them. I was not of the number, though nobody can more sincerely wish them the enjoyment of all the comforts of life. I know not on what principle the Royal Family in France, and other countries in Europe, have adopted the custom of eating in public. They cannot imagine, that the seeing them chew and swallow their victuals can create a vast deal of admiration in the beholders. It would certainly be taken for granted, that they could perform these necessary functions, although a cloud of witnesses were not admitted to confirm the fact. If these exhibitions are designed for the entertainment of the subjects, a thousand could be thought of more amusing to them; for however interesting the part of an actor at a feast may be, that of a spectator is surely one of the most insipid that can be imagined.

But the same evening there was a grand masquerade at Schonbrun, which was more generally amusing.—Four thousand tickets were distributed on this occasion.—A large party of dragoons were placed along the road from Vienna, to keep the coaches in a regular line, and to prevent confusion. The principal rooms of this magnificent palace were thrown open for the reception of the company.—In three large halls on the ground-floor, tables were covered with a cold collation of all kinds of fowls, ham, and confections, with pine-apples and every sort of fruit. These, with Old Hock, Champagne, and other kinds of wine, were served with readiness and profusion to all who asked for them.

At the end of the large dining-room, there was a raised seat for the Empress, and some ladies who attended her. Here a grand Ballet was danced by the Arch-duke, the Arch-dutchesses, the Princess of Modena, and some of the chief nobility, to the number of twenty-four. The dancers, both male and female, were dressed in white silk, flounced with pink-coloured ribands, and enriched with a vast profusion of diamonds.

This ballet was performed three times at proper intervals. Those who had seen it once, passed into the gallery, and other apartments, giving way to a new set of spectators. In the garden, on a rising ground opposite to the palace windows, a temporary fabric was erected in the form of a large and magnificent temple. This was illuminated by an incredible number of lamps, and gave the appearance of a very extraordinary piece of architecture, which continued flaming through the whole night, and had a very fine effect, viewed from Vienna, and other places at a greater distance.

The Emperor mixed with the company without ceremony or distincton, taking no part himself but as a spectator. He was conversing in the middle of the hall, in the most familiar manner, [Page] with an English gentleman, without observing, that the third ballet was going to be danced, when the master of the ceremonies whispered him in the ear.—The Emperor, seizing the Englishman by the arm, said, Allons, Monsieur, on nous chasse—il faut se retirer; Come Sir they pursue us we must retire; and immediately walked into another room, to give place to others who had not yet seen the dance.

This very splendid entertainment was given to the Arch-duke, and the Princess of Modena, whose usual residence is at Milan.—The Empress, thus surrounded by her offspring, appeared cheerful and happy.—She seemed to enjoy the vivacity, and sympathize with the gaiety, of the company.—She is greatly beloved by her own children, and by her subjects in general, whom she also considers as her children in a greater degree than [...] usual for sovereigns.

It is an error to imagine, that great devotion has a tendency to sour the temper: Though it must be acknowledged, that it has not always the power of sweetening the very austere trunks on which it is sometimes grafted; but in a character naturally benevolent, every good disposition will be strengthened and animated by real piety. Of this I have seen a thousand instances, and I believe her Imperial Majesty affords one.

LETTER XCI. The Emperor.

VIENNA.

THE Emperor is of a middle size, well-made, and of a fair complexion. He has a considerable resemblance to his sister, the Queen of France, which, in my opinion, is saying a great deal in favour of his looks.—Till I saw something of his usual behaviour, I did not think it possible for a person in such an elevated situation, to put every body with whom he converses upon so easy a footing.

His manner, as I have often mentioned, is affable, obliging, and perfectly free from the reserved and lofty deportment assumed by some on account of high birth. Whoever has the honour to be in company with him, so far from being checked by such despicable pride, has need to be on his guard, not to adopt such a degree of familiarity as, whatever the condescension of the one might permit, would be highly improper in the other to use.

He is regular in his way of life, moderate in his pleasures, steady in his plans, and diligent in his business. He is fond of his army, and inclines that the soldiers should have every comfort and necessary consistent with their situation. He is certainly an [...]economist, and lavishes very little money on useless pomp, mistresses, or favourites; and it is, I suppose, on no better foundation than this, that his enemies accuse him of avarice.

[Page] I cannot help regarding [...]economy as one of the most useful qualities in a Prince. Liberality, even when pushed to an imprudent length, may, in a private person, proceed from a kind of greatness of mind, because his fortune is in every sense his own, and he can injure nobody but himself by lavishing it away.—He knows that when it is gone, nobody will reimburse him for his extravagance.—He seems therefore to have taken the resolution to submit to the inconveniency of future poverty, rather than renounce the present happiness of acting with a magnificent liberality, and bestowing on others more than he can afford.

This is not the case with a Prince.—What he squanders is not his own, but the public money.—He knows that his pomp and splendour will be kept up, and that his subjects, not he, are to feel the inconveniencies of his prodigality. When I hear, therefore, that a King has given great sums of money to any particular person; from the sum given, the person who receives it, the motive for the gift, and other circumstances, I can judge whether it is well or ill disposed of; but in either case, it cannot be called generosity. The virtue of generosity consists in a man's depriving himself of something for the sake of another.

There can be no generosity in giving to John what James must replace the next moment. What is called generosity in Kings, very often consists in bestowing that money on the idle part of their subjects which they have squeezed from the industrious. I have heard a parcel of fiddlers and opera dancers praise a Prince for his noble and generous behaviour to them, while men near his person of useful talents, and real worth were distressed for bread.—The Emperor certainly has none of that kind of generosity.

His usual dress (the only one indeed in which I ever saw him, except at the feast of the Knights of St. Stephen) is a plain uniform of white faced with red.—When he goes to Laxenberg, Schonburn, and other places near Vienna, he generally drives two horses in an open chaise, with a servant behind, and no other attendant of any kind.

He very seldom allows the guard to turn out as he passes through the gate.—Nobody ever had a stronger disposition to judicious inquiry.—He is fond of conversing with ingenious people.—When he hears of any person, of whatever rank or country, being distinguished for any particular talent, he is eager to converse with him, and turns the conversation to the subject on which that person is thought to excel, drawing from him all the useful information he can. Of all the means of knowledge, this is perhaps the most powerful, and the most proper that can be used by one whose more necessary occupations do not leave him much time for study.

He seems to be of opinion, that the vanity and ignorance of many Princes are frequently owing to the forms in which they are intrenched, and to their being deprived of the advantages which the rest of mankind enjoy from a free comparison and exchange of sentiment. He is convinced, that unless a King can [Page] contrive to live in some societies on a footing of equality, and can weigh his own merit, without throwing his guards and pomp into the scale, it will be difficult for him to know either the world or himself.

One evening at the Countess Walstein's, the conversation leading that way, the Emperor enumerated some remarkable and ludicrous instances of the inconveniencies of étiquette, which had occurred at a certain court. One person present hinted at the effectual means his Majesty had used to banish every inconveniency of that kind from the Court of Vienna. To which he replied. It would be hard indeed, if, because I have the ill fortune to be an Emperor, I should be deprived of the pleasures of social life, which are so much to my taste. All the grimace and parade to which people in my situation are accustomed from their cradle, have not made me so vain, as to imagine that I am in any essential quality superior to other men; and if I had any tendency to such an opinion, the surest way to get rid of it, is the method I take, of mixing in society, where I have daily occasions of finding myself inferior in talents to those I meet with. Conscious of this, it would afford me no enjoyment to assume airs of a superiority which I feel does not exist. I endeavour therefore to please, and to be pleased; and, as much as the inconveniency of my situation will permit, to enjoy the blessings of society like other men, convinced that the man who is secluded from those, and raises himself above friendship, is also raised above happiness, and deprived of the means of acquiring knowledge.

This kind of language is not uncommon with poor philosophers: but I imagine it is rarely held by Princes, and the inferences to be drawn from it more rarely put in practice.

A few days after this, there was an exhibition of fire-works on the Prater. This is a large park, planted with wood, and surrounded by the Danube, [...]ver which there is a wooden bridge. No carriages, being allowed to pass, the company leave their coaches at one end, and walk. There is a narrow path railed off on one side of the bridge. Many people very injudiciously took this path, to which there is an easy entrance at one end, but the exit is difficult at the other; for only one person can go out at a time. The path therefore was very soon choaked up; the unfortunate passengers crept on at a snail's pace, and in the most straitened and disagreeable manner imaginable; whilst those who had kept the wide path in the middle of the bridge, like the fortunate and wealthy in their journey through life, moved along at their ease, totally regardless of the wretched circumstances of their fellow-passengers.

Some few of the prisoners in the narrow passage, who were of a small size, and uncommon address, crawled under the rail, and got into the broad walk in the middle; but all who were tall, and of a larger make, were obliged to remain and submit to their fate. An Englishman, who had been at the Countess Walstein's when [Page] the Emperor expressed himself as above mentioned, was of the last class. The Emperor, as he passed, seeing that those of a small size extricated themselves, while the Englishman remained fixed in a very aukward situation, called out,—Ah, Monsieur! Je vous ai bien annoncé combien il est incommode d'être trop grand.—A present vous dove [...] être bien de mon avis;—Mais comme je ne puis rien faire pour vous soulager, je vous recommende à Saint George.—Ah, Sir! I have already told you how inconvenient it was to be great.—At present you must be of my opinion. But as I can do nothing for your asistance, I recommend you to Saint George.

There are people who, having heard of the Emperor's uncommon affability, and of his total contempt of pomp and parade, of which the bulk of mankind are so much enamoured, have asserted, that the whole is affectation. But if the whole tenor of any person's words and actions is to be considered as affectation, I do not knew by what means we are to get at the bottom of his real character. Yet, people who have a violent taste for any particular thing, are extremely ready to believe, that those who have not the same taste are affected.

I do not remember that I ever told you, that our friend R—, who loves his bottle above all things, and who, I believe, esteems you above all men, let me into a part of your character of which I never had the smallest suspicion.

One day after dinner, when a couple of bottles had awakened his friendship, and laid open his heart, he took it into his head to enumerate your good qualities, and concluded the list, by saying, that you were no milk-sop.—I know what that expression imports in the mouth of R—. I therefore stared, and said, I had seldom seen you drink above three glasses at a time in my life—Nor I, said he; but take my word for it, he is too honest a fellow not to love good wine, and I am certain his sobriety is all affectation.

LETTER XCII. Prince Lichtenstein.—Hunting party.

VIENNA.

I Returned very lately from Prince Lichtenstein's house at Felberg in Austria, where I passed a few days very agreeably. The Lichtenstein family is one of the first in this country, whether considered in point of antiquity, wealth or dignity. This Prince, besides his lands in Austria, has considerable estates in Bohemia, Moravia, and that part of Silesia which belongs to the Empress. Like Prince Estherhasie, he has body guards in his own pay.—I believe no other subjects in Europe retain this distinction.

Felberg is a fine old mansion, about forty miles from Vienna. The apartments are large, convenient, and furnished in the magnificent style which prevails in the noblemen's houses of this country. The company consisted of the Prince and Princess, the Count Degenfeldt [Page] and his lady, a very accomplished woman; the Duke of Hamilton, Mr. M—, an English officer, another English gentleman, and myself. Our entertainment was in every respect splendid, particularly in the article of attendants. Some of the Austrian nobility carry this point of magnificence to a height, which could scarcely be supported by the best estates in England, where one footman is more expensive than four in this country. The day after our arrival, breakfast was served to the company separately in their own apartments, as is the custom here.

We afterwards set out for another villa belonging to this Prince, at six miles distance, where he intended to give the Duke the amusement of hunting. The Princess, the Countess Degenfeldt, the Duke, and Captain M—, were in one coach; the Prince, the Count, and I, in another; the two young Princes, with their governor and the young English gentlemen, in a third, with a great retinue on horseback.

As the day was well advanced when we arrived, I imagined the hunting would begin immediately:—But every thing is done with method and good order in this country, and it was judged proper to dine in the first place. This in due time being concluded, I thought the men would have proceeded directly to the scene of action, leaving the ladies till their return.—But here I found myself again mistaken:—The ladies were to assist in the whole of this expedition. But as there was a necessity to traverse a large wood, into which coaches could not enter, vehicles of a more commodious construction were prepared. I forget what name is given to these carriages. They are of the form of benches, with stuffed seats, upon which six or eight people may place themselves one behind the other. They are drawn by four horses, and slide over the ground like a sledge, passing along paths and trackless ways, over which no wheel-carriage could be drawn.

After being conveyed in this manner across the wood, and a considerable way beyond it, we came to a very large open field, in which there were several little circular inclosures of trees and underwood at wide intervals from each other. This hunting had hitherto been attended with very little fatigue; for we had been carried the whole way in coaches, or on the sledges, which are still easier than any coach. In short, we had been perfectly passive since breakfast, except during the time of dinner.

But when we arrived at this large plain, I was informed, that the hunting would commence within a very short time. I then expected we should have some violent exercise after so much inactivity, and began to fear that the ladies might be over-fatigued, when, lo! the Prince's servants began to arrange some portable chairs at a small distance from one of the thickets above mentioned. The Princess, Countess, and the rest of the company took their places; and when every body was seated, they assured me that the hunting was just going to begin.

[Page] I own, my curiosity was now excited in a very uncommon degree [...] and I was filled with impatience to see the issue of a hunting, which had been conducted in a style so different from any idea I had of that diversion While I sat lost in conjecture, I perceived, at a great distance, a long line of people moving towards the little wood, near which the company was seated. As they walked along, they gradually formed the segment of a circle, whose centre was this wood.

I understood that these were peasants, with their wives and children, who, walking forward in this manner, rouse the game, which naturally take shelter in the thicket of trees and bushes. As soon as this happened, the peasants rushed in at the side opposite to that where our company had taken post, beat out the game, and then the massacre began.

Each person was provided with a fuses, and many more were at hand loaded for immediate use. The servants were employed in charging as fast as the pieces were fired off: So that an uninterrupted shooting was kept up, as long as the game continued flying or running out of the wood.—The Prince hardly ever missed.—He himself killed above thirty patridges, a few pheasants, and three hares.

At the beginning of this scene, I was a good deal surprised to see a servant hand a fus [...]e to the Princess, who with great coolness, and without rising from her seat, took aim at a partridge, which immediately fell to the ground. With the same ease, she killed ten or twelve partridges a [...]d pheasants, at about double the number of shots.—The execution done by the rest of the company was by no means considerable.

Though I had not heard of it before, I now understood, that shooting is not an uncommon amusement with the German ladies: And it is probable, their attention to the delicacy of the fair sex, has induced the [...]aray Germans to render this diversion so little fatiguing.

The company afterwards walked to other little inclosures of planting, where some game was driven out and killed as before.—The following day, the Prince conducted us to another of his seats, where there is a very fine open wood, full of deer of every kind, some of them the largest I ever saw. There is also a great number of wild boars, one of which, by the Prince's permission, the Duke of Hamilton killed.

Nothing could surpass the politeness and magnifience with which the company were entertained during the whole of their stay. The Princess is a woman of an amiable character, and a good understanding; educates her children, and manages her affairs with the utmost prudence and propriety.

This family, and many of the nobility, who have hitherto been at their country seats, are now about to return to Vienna. The family of Monsieur and Madame de Pergen have been here for some time. This lady is an intimate friend of the Countess Thune; and nearly the same company, who form her society, now assemble twice a week at the house of Madame de Pergen who rivals the Countess in good sense and many accomplishments, and, without raising jealousy or ill-will, divides with her the esteem of the best company of this [Page]place. The agreeable footing on which society is established here, and the number of respectable people with whom we are acquainted, fills me with regret at the thoughts of leaving Vienna; but the Duke of Hamilton inclines to pass the winter in Italy. Indeed, if he did not, he would be obliged to delay the journey a whole year, or submit to the inconveniencies of travelling in the summer months, which, in so hot a climate, is rather to be avoided.

LETTER XCIII. Austrian army.—Peasants of Bohemia.—Reflections.

VIENNA.

I Have not said any thing of the Austrian army, having some suspicion that I rather over dosed you with military details from Berlin, where the subject of my letters was continually before my eyes. But the Emperor has very few of his troops in garrison at Vienna.

They make a fine appearance, and the army in general are more judiciously clothed, than any other I have seen. Instead of coats with long skirts, their uniform is a short jacket of white cloth with waistcoat and breeches of the same, and each soldier has a surtout of coarse gray cloth, which he wears in cold or rainy weather. This he rolls up in a very small bulk when the weather is good, and it is little or no incumbrance on a march. They have short boots for shoes; and, in place of hats, they wear caps of very stout leather, with a brass front, which usually stands up, but which may be let down upon occasion, to prevent their eyes from being incommoded by the sun.

Except a very few Hungarians who do duty within the palace, there are no troops in the Austrian service with increased pay, and exclusive privileges, under the denomination of body-guards; the marching regiments on the ordinary establishment, form the garrison of Vienna, and perform the duty of guards by rotation.

The insolence of the Praetorian bands at Rome, so often terrible to their masters; the frequent insurrections of the Janissaries at Constantinople, and the revolutions effected by the Russian guards at Petersburgh, sufficiently point out the danger of such an institution. These examples may have influenced the Austrian government to renounce a system which seems to render certain regiments less useful, and more dangerous, than the rest of the army.

The Austrian army is calculated at considerably above two hundred thousand; and, it is imagined, that there never was a greater number of excellent officers in the service than at present▪ so that in case of a war with Prussia, the two powers will be more equally marched than ever. It would be unfortunate for this court i [...] i [...] should break out at present, for there are some commotions among the peasants in Bohemia, which occasion a general disquiet, and by which some individuals have sustained great losses. [Page] One nobleman of the first rank has had his house, and all the furniture, burnt to the ground, together with some large out-houses near his castle.

These excesses, according to some, proceed from mere wantonness, and love of mischief, in the people. Others assert▪ that they are excited by the tyranny of the lords, which has driven those poor men to despair. Whichsoever of these accounts is true, it seems evident to me, that it would be much better for the lords, as well as the peasants, that the latter, instead of being bond men, were in a state of freedom.

At present, they pay their rent by working a certain number of days in the week for their masters, and maintain themselves and families by labouring the other days on their own account. You will readily believe, that more real business will be done in one day when they work for themselves, than in two days labour for their lords. This occasions ill-humour and blows on the part of the master, and hatred and revolt on that of the peasants.

If the estates in Bohemia were let to free-men at a reasonable rent, freedom and property would excite a spirit of industry among these indolent people. They would then work every day with cheerfulness and good will, and I am convinced the landlords revenues would increase daily. In consequence of this, the peasants would, in all probability, continue as much attached to the ground from choice, as they are at present from necessity.—Do we not see families in Great Britain remain for many generations on gentlemen's estates, though the master has the privilege of charging his tenant, and the tenant his master, at the end of every lease?

In almost every country in Europe, except England, the inhabitants are confined by some barrier or other, to the situation in which they are born. The total want of education necessarily obliges the greater part to gain their livelihood by bodily labour. National opinions prevent others from ever rising above the level of their birth, however sublime their genius, or however great their acquired knowledge. But in our island the door of science, and consequently the road to ambition, is open to almost every individual. Even in the most remote villages some degree of education is bestowed on the poorest inhabitants.

This may be of little or no importance to ninety-nine in a hundred; and of the small number who, by improving this pittance of knowledge, raise themselves above the state in which they were born, very few arrive at any degree of eminence; the reason of which is, that great genius is a quality very sparingly dealt out to mankind. Though it must be allowed that much the greater part of the inhabitants of the same country and climate are born with nearly the same natural abilities; and that the degrees of education, and other opportunities of improvement, gradually form all the difference which appears among them in future life; yet I cannot, with Helvetius, believe that genius is entirely the work of education.

[Page] I am fully convinced, that Nature is continually producing some individuals in every nation of a finer organization, with an infinitely greater aptitude for science of every kind, and whose minds are capable of a more sublime and extensive range of thought, than is attainable by the common run of mankind with any possible degree of culture. This natural superiority is what I call genius. Wherever a considerable share of this is lodged, a little cultivation will be sufficient, but some is absolutely requisite to make it appear.

When it does exist in the minds of peasants in Russia, Poland, and some parts of Germany, it remains dormant from neglect, or is smothered by oppression. But in Great Britain, the degree of education which is now universal, small as it is, will be sufficient to rouse, animate, and bring into action the fire of extraordinary genius, the seeds of which impartial Nature is as apt to place in the infant breast of a peasant as of a prince. The chance of great and distinguished men springing up in a country, is therefore not to be calculated by the number of inhabitants, but by the number whose minds receive that degree of cultivation necessary to call forth their latent powers.

On the supposition, that one kingdom contains eight millions of inhabitants, and another triple the number, many more men of original genius, and great eminence in every art and science, may, from the circumstances above mentioned, be expected to appear in the first than in the second. In Great Britain, for example [...] almost all the natives may be included in the calculation; but in the other countries which I have mentioned, the peasantry, who form the most numerous class, must be struck out.

LETTER XCIV. Sentiments of an Austrian lady on religion.

VIENNA.

WHETHER it is owing to the example of the Empress, or to what other cause, I shall not take upon me to decide; but there certainly appears a warmer and more general attachment to religion in Vienna, than in any other great town in Germany: There is also a greater appearance of satisfaction and happiness here than in many other cities, where religious impressions are more feeble and less prevalent: It is not improbable, that the latter may be a consequence of the former.

Irreligion and sceptic [...]sm, exclusive of the bad effects they may have on the morals or future destiny of men, impair even these temporal happiness, by obscuring those hopes, which, in [...] situations, are their only consolation. In whatever superior point of view those men may consider themselves, who deride the opinions which their fellow citizens hold sacred, this vanity is often [Page] overbalanced by the irksome doub [...]s which obtrude on their minds. Uncertainly with respect to the most interesting of all subjects, or a fixed persuasion of annihilation, are equally insupportable to the greater part of mankind, who sooner or later endeavour to put in a claim for that bright reversion, which religion has promised to believers.

If the idea of annihilation has been supported without pain by a few philosophers, it is the utmost that can be said; such a state of mind can never be a source of satisfaction or pleasure. People of great sensibility seldom endure it long; their fond desire of immortality overturns every fabric which scepticism had attempted to raise in their minds; they cannot abide by a doctrine which plucks from the heart a deeply-rooted hope, tears asunder all those ties of humanity, affection, friendship, and love, which it has been the business of their lives to bind, and which they expect will be eternal. Since sensibility renders the heart averse to [...]pricism, and inclinable to devotion, we may naturally expect to find women more devout than men; very few of that delicate sex have been able to look with stedfast eyes on a prospect, which terminates in a dismal blank; and those few, who have had that degree of philosophical fortitude, have not been the most amiable of the sex.

None of my female acquaintance at Vienna are in this uncomfortable state of mind, but many of them have embroidered some fanciful piece of superstition of their own upon the extensive ground which the Roman Catholic faith affords. In a lady's house a few days ago I happened to take up a book which lay upon the table,—a small picture of the Virgin Mary on vellum fell from between the leaves; under the figure of the Virgin there was an inscription, which I translate literally.

This is presented by—to her dearest friend—, in token of the sincerest regard and affection: begging that as often as she beholds this figure of the blessed Virgin, she may mix a sentiment of affection for her absent friend, with the emotions of gratitude and adoration she feels for the Mother of Jesus.

The lady informed me, that it was usual for intimate friends to send such presents to each other when they were about to separate, and when there was a probability of their being long asunder.

There seems to be something exceedingly tender and pathetic in blending friendship with religious sentiments, and thus by a kind of consecration endeavouring to preserve the former from the effects of time and absence.—The perusal of this inscription recalled to my memory certain connections I have at home, the impetuosity of which recollection affected me beyond expression.

I remarked in this lady's house another beautiful picture of the Virgin, ornamented with a rich frame, and a silk curtain to preserve it from dust; I observed that she never looked at it but with [Page] an air of veneration and love, nor passed it when uncovered by the curtain without a gentle bending of the knee.—She told me, that this picture had been long in the family, and had been always held in the highest esteem, for that both her mother and she owed some of the most fortunate events of their lives to the protection of the blessed Virgin, and she seemed not entirely free from a persuasion that the attention of the Virgin was in some degree retained by the good offices of this identical picture. She declared that the confidence she had in the Virgin's goodness and protection was one of the greatest comforts she had in life—that to her she could, without restraint, open her heart, and pour out her whole soul under every affliction, and she never failed to find herself comforted and relieved by such effusions.

I observed, that devout Protestants found the same consolation in addressing the Almighty.

She said—She could not comprehend how that could be—for that God the Father was so great and awful, that her veneration was mixed with such a degree of dread as confounded all her ideas when she attempted to approach him; but the blessed Mary was of so mild, so condescending, and compassionate a character, that she could address her with more confidence.

She said, she knew it was her duty to adore the Creator of the universe, and she fulfilled it to the best of her power, but she could not divest herself of a certain degree of restraint in her devotions to him, or even to her Saviour; but the blessed Mary being herself a woman, and acquainted with all the weakness and delicacies of the sex, she could to her open her heart with a degree of freedom which it was not possible for her to use to any of the persons of the Holy Trinity.—Regardez sa physionomie,—Look at her face, added she, pointing to the picture,—mon Dieu, qu'elle es [...] douce, qu'elle est gracieuse!—My God, how sweet it is, how benevolent!

These sentiments, however contrary to the Protestant tenets, and the maxims of philosophy, are not unnatural to the human heart.—Voltaire says, that man has always shewn an inclination to create God after his own image; this lady formed an idea of the blessed Virgin from the representation of the painter, as well as from the account given of her in the Evangelists; and her religion allowing the Mother of Christ to be an object of worship, she naturally turned the ardor of her devotion to her whose power she imagined was sufficient to protect her votaries here, and procure them paradise hereafter, and whose character she thought in some particulars sympathised with her own.

Some zealous Protestants may possibly be shocked at this lady's theological notions; however, as in others respects she is a woman of an excellent character, and observes the moral precepts of Christianity with as much attention as if her creed had been purified by Luther, and doubly refined by Calvin, it is hoped they will not think it too great an extension of charity to suppose that her speculative errors may be forgiven.

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LETTER XCV. Idolatry of Roman Catholics.

VIENNA.

THE preference which is given by individuals in Roman Catholic countries to particular Saints, proceeds sometimes from a supposed connection between the characters of the Saints and the votaries; men expect the greatest favour and indulgence from those who most resemble themselves, and naturally admire others for the qualities which they value most in their own character.

A French officer of dragoons, being at Rome, went to view the famous statue of Moses by Michael Angelo; the artist has conveyed into this master piece, in the opinion of some, all the dignity which a human form and human features are capable of receiving; he has endeavoured to give this statue a countenance worthy of the great legislator of the Jews, the favourite of Heaven, who had conversed face to face with the Deity.

The officer happened to be acquainted with the history of Moses, but he laid no great stress on any of these circumstances; he admired him much more on account of one adventure in which he imagined Moses had acquitted himself like a man of spirit, and as he himself would have done—

Voilà qui est terrible! voilà qui est sublime!—That is terrible! that is grand! cried he at sight of the statue—and after a little pause he added, on voit lá un drôle qui a donné des coups de b [...]ton en son tems, et qui a tue son homme,—you may see there one who has given some good blows in his life, and who has killed his man.

The crucifixes and statues, and pictures of Saints, with which Popish churches are filled, were no doubt intended to awaken devotion when it became drowsy, and to excite in the mind gratitude and veneration for the holy persons they represent; but it cannot be denied that the gross imaginations of the generality of mankind are exceedingly prone to forget the originals, and transfer their adoration to the senseless figures which they behold, and before which they kneel. So that whatever was the original design, and whatever effects those statues and pictures have on the minds of calm, sensible Roman Catholics, it is certain, that they often are the objects of as complete idolatry as ever was practised in Athens or Rome, before the statues of Jupiter or Apollo.

On what other principle do such multitudes flock from all the Roman Catholic countries in Europe to the shrine of our Lady at Loretto? Any statue of the Virgin would serve as effectually as that to recal her to the memory, and people may adore her as devoutly in their own parish churches, as in the chapel at Loretto.—The pilgrims therefore must be persuaded that there is some divine influence or intelligence in the statue which is kept there; that it has a consciousness of all the trouble they have taken, and the inconveniencies to which they have been exposed, by long journies for the sole purpose of kneeling before it in preference to all other images.

[Page] It was probably on account of this tendency of the human mind, that the Jews were forbid to make unto themselves any graven image. This indeed seems to have been the only method of securing that superstitious people from idolatry; and notwithstanding the peremptory tenor of the commandment, neither the zeal nor remonstrances of their judges and prophets could always prevent their making idols, nor hinder their worshipping them wherever they found them ready made.

Statues and pictures of Saints which have been long in particular families, are generally kept with great care and attention; the proprietors often have the same kind of attachment to them that the ancient heathens had to their Dii Penates,—Houshold Gods. They are considered as tutelary and domestic divinities, from whom the family expect protection. When a series of unfortunate events happens in a family, it sometimes creates a supicion that the family statues have lost their influence. This also is a very ancient sentiment; Suetonius informs us, that the fleet of Augustus having been dispersed by a storm, and many of the ships lost, the Emperor gave orders that the statue of Neptune should not be carried in procession with those of the other Gods, from an opinion that the God of the Sea was unwilling or unable to protect his navy, and in either case he deemed him not worthy of any public mark of distinction.

The genuine tenets of the Roman Catholic church certainly do not authorise any of the superstitions above mentioned, which are generally confined to the credulous and illiterate in the lower ranks of life.—Yet instances are sometimes to be met with in a higher sphere: a Frenchman in a creditable way of life had a smalle figure of our Saviour on the Cross, of very curious workmanship; he offered it for sale to an English gentleman of my acquaintance; after expatiating on the excellency of the workmanship, he told him that he had long kept this crucifix with the most pious care, that he had always addressed it in his private devotion, and that in return he had expected some degree of protection and favour; instead of which he had of late been remarkably unfortunate; that all the tickets he had in the lottery had proved blanks: and having had a great share in the cargo of a ship coming from the West-Indies, he had recommended it in the most fervent manner in his prayers to the crucifix, and that he might give no offence, by any appearance of want of faith, he had not insured the goods—notwithstanding all which the vessel had been ship wrecked, and the cargo totally lost, though the sailors, in whose preservation he had no concern, had been all saved—Ensin, Monsieur, At last, Sir, cried he, with an accent of indignation mingled with regret, and raising his shoulders above his ears,—Ensin, Monsieur, il m'a manque, et je vends mon Christ. At last, Sir, he has failed me and I am going to s [...]ll my Saviour.

Happy for Christians of every denomination, could they abide by the plain, rational, benevolent precepts of the Christian religion, rejecting all the conceits of superstition, which never fail to deform its original beauty, and to corrupt its [...] purity!

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LETTER XCVI. Sentiments of foreigners on the disputes between Great Britain and her Colonies.—English opinions respecting foreigners—Hints to a young traveller.

VIENNA.

OUR disputes with the colonies have been a prevailing topic of conversation wherever we have been since we left England. The warmth with which this subject is handled increases every day. At present inhabitants of the continent seem as impatient as those of Great Britain, for news from the other side of the Atlantic, but with this difference, that here they are all of one mind: all praying for success to the Americans, and rejoicing in every piece of bad fortune which hapens to our army.

That the French should be pleased with commotions which must disstress and weaken Great Britain, and may transfer to them an equal right to every advantage we gained by the last war, is not surprising; but why the inhabitants of every other country should take part against England, and become partizans of America, is not so apparent.

I should forgive them, and even join in sentiment with them, as far as my regard for the honour and happiness of my country would permit, if this proceeded from an attachment to liberty, and a generous partiality for men who repel oppression, and struggle for independency.—But this is not the case.—Those who can reap no possible advantage from the revolt of America; those who have not an idea of civil liberty, and would even be sorry to see it established in their own country; those who have no other knowledge of the dispute, than that it is ruining England; all join as allies to the Americans, not from love to them, but evidently from dislike to us.

When I first observed this hostile disposition, I thought it might proceed from their being offended at that preference which the English give to their own country and countrymen, above all others: but this conceit we have in common with every other nation on the globe, all of whom cherish the same favourable opinion of themselves. It assuredly prevails in France in an eminent degree.—There is hardly one sceptic or unbeliever in the whole nation.—It is the universal creed, that France is the finest country in the world; the French the most ingenious and most amiable people, excelling in all the arts of peace and war; and that Paris is the capital of politeness, and the center of learning, genius, and taste.

This satisfaction at the misfortunes of Great Britain cannot therefore arise from a cause which is applicable to every other country. It may, indeed, in some measure, proceed from envy of the riches, and jealously of the power of the English nation; but, I believe, still more from our taking no trouble to conciliate the affections of foreigners, and to diminish that envy and ill will which great prosperity often creates. The French, though perhaps the vainest people on earth of their own advantages, have some degree of consideration for the feelings and self- [...]ve of their neighbours.

[Page] A Frenchman endeavours to draw from them an acknowledgement of the superiority of his country, by making an elogium on whatever is excellent in theirs. But we are apt to build our panegyric of Old England, on the ruin and wretchedness of all other countries.

Italy is too hot, the inns miserable, and the whole country swarms with monks and other vermin.—In France, the people are slaves and coxcombs, the music execrable;—they boil their meat to rags, and there is no porter, and very little strong ale, in the country—In Germany, some of their Princes have little more to spend than an English gentleman:—They use stoves instead of grates: They eat sour-crout, and speak High Dutch.—The Danes and Swedes are reminded, that they are rather at too great a distance from the equator; and many sly hints are given concerning the inconveniences of a cold climate.—Of all things. I should think it most prudent to be silent on this last topic, as so many paltry states will take precedency of Old England, whenever it is the established etiquette that rank shall be determined by climate.

But this consideration has no effect on my honest friend John Bull. When he is in a choleric humour, he will not spare his best friends and nearest neighbours, even when he has most need of their assistance, and when those at a distance seem to have plotted his ruin.

If his own sister Peg should show a disposition to forget old squabbles, to live in friendship with her brother, and should declare that all who renounced his friendship were her enemies, and resolve to conquer by his side, or if that should fail, to die hard along with him.—No! d—n ye, says John, none of your coaxing:—You! be d—d! you are farther North than I:—Keep your distance.—And so he falls a pelting Peg with her own snow-balls; and then turning from her, he attacks Lewis Baboon, Lord Strut, Lord Peter, and dashes their soup maigre, olio's, and maccaroni, full in their teeth.

But to drop allegory; the universal satisfaction which appears all over Europe, at the idea of England's being stript of her colonies, certainly does not intirely originate from political sentiments; but in a great degree from that reserve which keeps Englishmen from cultivating the friendship of foreigners; that pride which hinders them from stooping to humour prejudices; that indifference which makes them disregard the approbation of others, and betray the contempt they are too ready to show for customs or sentiments different from their own.

These are things not easily forgiven, and for which no superiority of genius, magnanimity, or integrity, can compensate. The same causes which have made foreigners take part against us in the dispute with America, induce those of them who are rich, and can spend their revenues out of their own country, to prefer France [Page] to England for that purpose. The difference between London and Paris in point of climate is very small. The winter amusements of the former are more magnificent; and perhaps every conveniency, and most of the luxuries of life are to be found there in greater perfection.

During the summer months, by superior skill in agriculture and a better taste in gardening, England displays such scenes of cultivation, of verdure and fertility, as no country on earth can equal. To these are added the blessings of liberty; yet few or no foreigners reside in England, except those she maintains entirely at her own expence; all the wealthy, after a short visit to London, returning to spend their fortunes at Paris.

Exclusive of pecuniary advantages, it flatters the natural vanity of the French to find their society preferred to that of all other people, and particularly to that of their proud rivals.—Let them enjoy this advantage; let them draw to their capital the idle, the dissipated, and the effeminate of every country in Europe:—but for heaven's sake, do you and your friends in parliament fall on some measure to prevent them from engaging the affections of our industrious brethren of America.

Such an event would be attended with severe consequences to Great Britain, and probably to America. There are, however, so many repelling points in the American and French characters, that I cannot imagine the adhesion between them could be of long duration, should it take place.

You may naturally suppose, from some things in this letter, that the people here are in a particular manner inveterate against England, in her dispute with America. But in reality this is not the case: for although in general they favour America, I have not seen so much moderation on that question any where as at Vienna. The Emperor, when some person asked which side he favoured, replied very ingeniously,

Je suis par métier royaliste.—I am by trade a royalist.

I wish those of our countrymen, who by your account seem to be carrying their zeal for America too far, would remember,

Qu'ils sont par naisance Anglois.—That they are Englishmen by birth.

Just as I was concluding the above I received yours, informing me that your young friend was in a short time to set out on the usual tour through Europe. I shall take another opportunity of writing to him on the subject you desire, at present I must confine myself to the few following hints.

I hope he will always remember that virtue and good sense are not confined to any particular place, and that one end of travelling is to free the mind from vulgar prejudices—he ought therefore to form connections, and live on a social footing with the inhabitants of the different countries through which he passes; let him at least seem pleased while he remains among them; this is the most effectual method of making them pleased with him, and of his accomplishing every object he can have in visiting their country.

[Page] There are instances of Englishmen, who, while on their travels, shock foreigners by an ostentatious preference of England to all the rest of the world, and ridicule the manners, customs, and opinions of every other nation, yet on their return to their own country, immediately assume, foreign manners, and continue during the remainder of their lives to express the highest contempt for every thing that is English.—I hope he will entirely avoid such perverse and ridiculous affectation.

The taste for letters which he has acquired at the university, I dare say will not be diminished on classic ground, or his mind be diverted, by a frivolous enthusiasm for music, or any other passion, from the manly studies and pursuits which become an English gentleman.

As he regards the confidence of his friends, the perservation of his character, and the tranquillity of his mind let no example, however high, lead him into the practice of deep play. By avoiding gaming he will secure one kind of Independence, and at the same time keep possession of another, by continuing the habit of study, till the acquisition of knowledge has become one of his most pleasing amusements.—Unlike those wretched mortals, who to drag through the dreary hours of life, are continually obliged to have recourse to the assistance of others, this fortunate turn of mind will add to his own happiness, while it renders him more useful to, and less dependent on, society.

The preceding sermon if you think proper, you may deliver to the young traveller, with my best wishes.

Having delayed our journey several weeks longer than was intended, merely from a reluctance of leaving a place which we have found so very agreeable, we have at length determined to set out for Italy—and are to go by the Dutchies of Stiria and Carinthia, which is a shorter route than that by the Tirol.

As the time we are to remain at Vienna will be entirely employed in the necessary arrangements for the journey, and the painful ceremony of taking leave of friends, you will not hear again from me till we arrive at Venice.—Mean while, I am, &c.

THE END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. According to the London Edition; Being the completion of MOORE's Elegant TRAVELS Through France, Switzerland, and Germany.

§

NUMBER FIRST—Price One Dollar. Of MOORE's elegant Travels through ITALY, Will be published about three weeks from this Date. At BELL's BOOK-STORE in Third-Street, March 20th, 1783.

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In this work the very great vicissitudes of human life, and the miseries of civil war, are feelingly depicted; founded upon incidents which occurred at and near Philadelphia, in the Royal-Winter of 1777, when the British Gentry imagined they had taken an eternal lease of the great Congressional city.

N. B. At said BELL's Book-Store may also be had every curiosity that is come at-able in the American World of Books.

§

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[Page]

NUMBER FIRST—Price One Dollar

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY:

WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. During his Travels through those Countries, in the years 1777 and 1778, with his Grace, the present Duke of HAMILTON.

Hast thou through many Cities Stray'd,

Their Customs, Laws, and Manners Weigh'd.

GAY.

§

[Page]

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY: WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. During his Travels through those Countries, in the years 1777 and 1778, with his Grace, The present Duke of HAMILTON.

Hast thou through many Cities Stray'd,

Their Customs, Laws, and Manners Weigh'd.

GAY.

THE FIRST VOLUME.

PHILADELPHIA: PRINTED and SOLD by ROBERT BELL, in Third-Street▪

MDCCLXXXIII.

[Page]

CONTENTS OF THE FIRST NUMBER.

LETTER I. Journey from Vienna to Venice. Dated at Venice. 9

LETTER II. The arsenal.—The Bucentaur.—The Doge's Marriage. at Venice. 14

LETTER III. The island of Murano—Glass manufactory.—Mr. Montague. at Venice. 16

LETTER IV. Situation of Venice.—Lagune.—Canals.—Bridges. at Venice 20

LETTER V. Piazza di St. Marco—Patriarchal church—Ducal palace.—Broglio. at Venice. 22

LETTER VI. Reflections excited by the various objects around St. Mark's square—On painting.—A connoisseur. at Venice. 25

LETTER VII. Origin of Venice▪ at Venice. 29

LETTER VIII. Various changes in the form of government.—Tyrannical conduct of a Doge.— [Page] Savage behaviour of the people.—Commerce of Venice. Dated at Venice. Page 31

LETTER IX. New regulations.—Foundation of the aristocracy.—Origin of the ceremony of espousing the Sea. New forms of magistracy. at Venice. 34

LETTER X. Henry Dandolo. at Venice. 39

LETTER XI. New courts.—New magistrates.—Reformation of the Venetian code.—The form of electing the Doge. at Venice. 41

LETTER XII. Aristocracy established.—Conspiracies—Insurrections—Ecclesiastical Inquisition. The College, or Seigniory. at Venice. 46

LETTER XIII. Conspiracy against the State, by a Doge.—Singular instance of weakness and vanity in a noble Venetian.—New magistrates to prevent luxury.—Courtesans. at Venice. 50

LETTER XIV. Rigour of Venetian laws exemplified in the cases of Antonio Venier, Carlo Zeno, and young Foscari. at Venice. 54

LETTER XV. The council of Ten, and the State Inquisitors. Reflections on these institutions. at Venice. 58

LETTER XVI. League of Cambray.—War with the Turks—Antonio Bragadino.—Battle [Page]of Lepanto.—Disputes with the Pope. Dated at Venice. 63

LETTER XVII Marquis of Bedmar's conspiracy.—False accusations,—The siege of Candia. The impatience of a Turkish Emperor.—Conclusion of the review of the Venetian Government. at Venice. 67

LETTER XVIII. Venetian manners.—Opera.—Affectation.—A Duo. Dancers. at Venice. 71

LETTER XIX. No military establishment at Venice. What supplies its place. at Venice. 75

LETTER XX. Reflections on the nature of Venetian Government—Gondoleers—Citizens.—The Venetian subjects on the Terra Firma. at Venice. 76

LETTER XXI. Gallantry—Cassinos. at Venice. 79

LETTER XXII. Character of the Venetians.—Customs and usages.—Influence of fashion in matters of taste.—Prejudice.—The excellence of Italian comic actors. at Venice. 81

LETTER. XXIII. Departure from Venice.—Padua. St. Anthony, his tomb and miracles. at Padua. 85

LETTER XXIV. Church of St. Justina. The [Page]bodies of St. Matthew and St. Luke.—The university. Beggars. Dated at Padua. 88

LETTER XXV The antiquity of Padua. The Brenta. The Po. The Thames. at the Po. 89

LETTER XXVI. Ferrara. The family of Este. Ariosto, the Emperor, and his brothers, lodge at an inn, which oversets the understanding of the landlord an inscription. at Ferrara. 94

LETTER XXVII. Bologna. Its government, commerce, palaces. at Bologna. 97

LETTER XXVIII. The academy of arts and sciences. Church of St. Petronius. Dominican convent.—Palaces.—Raphael. Guido. at Bologna. 99

LETTER XXIX. Journey from Bologna to Ancona.—The Rubicon. Julius Caesar.—Pesaro. Fano. Claudius Nero. Asdrubal. Senegalia. at Ancona. 103

LETTER XXX. Ancona.—The influence of commerce on the characters of mankind.—The Mole.—The triumphal arch of the Emperor Trajan. at Ancona. 108

LETTER XXXI. Loretto.—History of the Casa Santa. at Loretto. 111

LETTER XXXII. Description of the sacred chapel. The treasury. at Loretto. 113

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A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER I. Journey from Vienna to Venice.

VENICE.

DEAR SIR,

HAVING left Vienna, we proceeded through the Duchies of [...], Carinthia, and Carniola, to Venice. Notwithstanding the mountainous nature of those countries, the roads are remarkably good. They were formed originally at a vast expence of labour to the inhabitants, but in such a durable manner, that it requires no great trouble to keep them in repair, to which all necessary attention seems to be paid. Some of the mountains are covered with wood, but more generally they are quite bare. Among them are many fields and vallies, fit for pasturage and the cultivation of grain; a few of these vallies are remarkably fertile, particularly in the Duchy of Carniola. The bowels of the earth abound in lead, copper, and iron. Stirian steel is reckoned excellent; and the little town of Idra, in Carniola, is famous for the quicksilver mines in its neighbourhood

It has been a matter of controversy among the learned (for the learned dispute about many things which the ignorant think of little importance,) by what road the original inhabitants came, who first peopled Italy? And it has been decided by some, that they must have entered by this very country of Carniola. These gentlemen lay it down as an axiom, that the first inhabitants of [Page] every country in the world, that is not an island, must have come by land, and not by sea, on account of the ignorance of the early inhabitants of the earth in the art of navigation; but Italy being a peninsula, the only way to enter it by land, is at some part of the isthmus, by which it is joined to the rest of Europe. The Alps form great part of that isthmus, and, in the early ages, would exclude strangers as effectually as the sea. The easiest, shortest, and only possible way of avoiding seas and mountains, in entering Italy, is by the Duchy of Car [...]iola and F [...]iuli. Ergo, they came that way Q. E. D.

In contradiction to the preceding demonstration, others assert, that the first inhabitants came in ships from Greece; and others have had the boldness to affirm, that Italy has as good a right as any other country to have inhabitants of its own original production, without being obliged to any vagrants whatever.

I thought it right to give you the opinion of the learned on this country, because it is not in my power to describe it from my own observation; for we passed through those Duchies with a rapidity which baffles all description.

The inns are as bad as the roads are good; for which reason we chose in sleep on the latter rather than in the former, and actually travelled five days and nights, without stopping any longer than was necessary to change horses.

This method of travelling, however agreeable and improving it may be in other respects, is by no means calculated to give one the must perfect and lasting idea of the face of a country, or of the manners and characters of the inhabitants; and therefore I hope you will not insist upon an exact account of either.

Among other curiosities which our uninterrupted and expeditious movement prevented us from observing with due attention, was the town of Gratz, the capital of Stiria, through which we unfortunately passed in the middle of the night.

I did not regret this on account of the regularity of the streets, the venerable aspect of the churches, the sublime site of the castle, and other things which we had heard extolled; but solely because we had not an opportunity of visiting the shrine of St. Allan, a native of England, who formerly was a Dominican Monk of a convent in this town, and in high favour with the Virgin Mary, of which she gave him some proofs as strong as they were extraordinary. Amongst other marks of her regard, she used to comfort him with milk from her breasts. This, to be sure, is a mark of affection seldom bestowed upon favouri [...]es above a year old, and will, I dare say, surprise you a good deal. There is no great danger, however, that an example of this kind should spread among virgins. Of the fact in the present instance there can be no doubt; for it is recorded in an inscription underneath a portrait of the Saint, which is carefully preserved in the Dominican convent of this city. We continued our journey, in [...]he full [...] solution of reaching Venice before we indulged in any other bed than the post chaise; but were obliged [Page] to stop short on a sudden for want of horses, at a small town called Wipach, bordering on the county of Goritia, in Carniola.

Before setting out from Vienna, we had been informed, that the Archduke and his Princess were about to return to Milan; for which reason we thought it adviseable to remain at Vienna eight days after their departure, to avoid the inconveniencies which might arise from a deficiency of post-horses on such an unfrequented road.

Having taken our measures with so much foresight, we little expected, when we actually did set out, to meet with any delay in our progress.

The Archduke and his Duchess, however, had thought proper to go out of the direct road as far as Trieste, to view the late improvements of that town, whose commerce is greatly encouraged and protected by the Emperor; and remaining there a few days, all the post-horses which had been assembled to carry them to Trieste, were kept in the post houses for their use; consequently we found none at Wipach. It began to grow dark when we arrived; the Post master was smoking his pipe at the door. As soon as the chaise stopped, we called to him to get ready the horses without loss of time; for, I added, with a tone of importance, that we could not possibly stay a moment.

To this he replied coolly, that since we were in so very great a hurry, he should not attempt to detain us, but that he had no horses to carry us on. I asked, how soon they could be got. He answered, when they returned from attending the Archduke: but whether that would be the next day, the following, or a day of two after, he could not tell.

It appeared a great hardship to be stopped short, so unexpectedly, at a little paltry inn, and we agreed that nothing could have happened more unfortunately. After a few hasty ejaculations, which regarded the posting establishment, and the Lords of Police of this country, we resolved to make a virtue of necessity, and bear our misfortunes with firmness and equanimity.

As we stepped out of the chaise, I ordered the Post-master, therefore, to get ready beds, a good supper, and some of his best wine. Instead of receiving these injunctions with marks of satisfaction, as I expected, he answered without emotion, that he had no wine but for his own drinking; that he never gave suppers to any but his own family; and that he had no bed, except that which he himself, his wife, and his child occupied, which could not easily hold any more than them three at a time.

I had not hitherto perceived that this man's house was not an inn: as soon as I was undeceived, I begged he would inform us where the inn was. He pointed with his pipe to a small house on the opposite side of the street.

There we were told, that all the victuals in the house were already devoured—three or four guests were in every spare room—the family going to bed—and they could not possibly receive any [Page] more company. We had nearly the same account at another little inn, and an absolute refusal at every house where we sued for admittance.

The town of Wipach is so near Go [...]itia, that no travellers, except those of the meanest kind, ever think of stopping at the former; and therefore the inhabitants have no idea of making preparations for other guests.

In this dil [...]mma I returned to our Post-master, who was still smoking his pipe before the door. I informed him of our bad success, and, in a more soothing tone of voice than that in which I had formerly addressed him, begged to know how we were to dispose of ourselves that night. He replied, with admirable composure, that was more than he could tell: but as the horses were expected in a few days, if I should send word where we were to be found, he would take care to let us know the moment they should be ready: in the mean time, as it began to rain, and the evening was exceedingly cold, he wished us a very good night. So saying, he went into the house, shutting and bolting the door very carefully after him.

No philosopher, ancient or modern, ever supported the distresses of others with more equanimity than this man.

We were now sully convinced, that to be under the necessity of remaining all night at an inn, when they incline to proceed on their journey, is not the most unfortunate thing that can befal travellers, and would have now been happy in that situation which we had considered with horror an hour or two before.

In this forlorn condition I turned to an Italian servant of the Duke of Hamilton's, a shrewd fellow, who seldom wanted a resource in times of difficulty. He seemed, however, a little nonplussed on the present emergency; he stood shrugging his shoulders with his eyes fixed on the ground. At length, starting as if he had that instant awaked, he muttered,—"Cent ore di maniconia non pangano un quattrino di debito,"—One hundred hours of vexation will not pay one farthing of debt, and then walked away with an air not to ally devoid of hope.

I attended him, without knowing upon what his expectations were founded. We came to a convent of Monks, and got admittance; the Italian called for the Superior, and told him, in a few words, our condition. The venerable old man heard him with an air of benevolence; he expressed sorrow at the treatment we had received, and, desiring me to accompany him, said he would endeavour to find us lodgings. He conducted us to a poor looking house, occupied by a widow and her children. As soon as the good Monk had mentioned our case, she said we should be most welcome to such entertainment as she could afford. We had an excellent supper of four krout, and sallad. I shall never forget it. I found her wine excellent, and her beds delightful; the good Monk seemed to enjoy the satisfaction we expressed, and positively refused to accept of any other recompense for his trouble.

[Page] Had we found the most elegant inn, and the most luxurious supper at our arrival, we might possibly have spent the evening in repining at being disappointed in post-horses; but the dread of so small a misfortune as passing the night supperless in the streets, reconciled us at once to the widow's hovel, and made us happy with her homely fare; so necessary is a certain portion of hardships or difficulties for giving a zest to enjoyment. Without them, the comforts of life are apt to become insipid; and we see that the people who, independent of any effort of their own, have every enjoyment at their command, are, perhaps, of all mankind, those who have the least enjoyment.

The widow, as we understood in the morning, had sat up all night with her family, that we might be accomodated with beds. She had no reason to repent her hospitality.—The poor woman's gratitude made her talk loudly of the Duke of Hamilton's generosity; which coming to the ears of the Post-master, induced him to make an effort to get the chaises dragged on to Goritia, without waiting the return of the post horses.

This was performed by three cart horses and two oxen, which were relieved in the most mountainous part of the road by buffalo [...]. There is a breed of these animals in this country; they are strong▪ hardy, and docile, and found preferable to either horses or oxen, for ploughing in a rough and hilly country.

When we arrived at Goritia, we found the inhabitants in their holiday dresses, at the windows, and in the streets, waiting with impatience for a sight of the Grand Duke and Duchess, Having applied at the Post-house for horses, we were informed that none could be granted, all being retained for the accomodation of his Highness. I could not help remarking to the Duke of Hamilton, that Dukes seemed to be in a very different predicament from prophets in their own countries.

Thing turned cut better than we had reason to expect. Their Highnesses arrived in the evening; and as they did not propose to leave Goritia till next morning, the Archduke had the politeness to give orde [...] that the Duke of Hamilton should have what horses he wanted from the post-houses.

We set out immediately, and arrived at the next stage between one and two in the morning. In that part of the world, raising the people at midnight, and harnessing the horses for two carriages, takes up, at least, as much time as driving two stages in some parts of England. Just as we were going out of the post-house court, the Archduke's butler and cook arrived; they were going forward, as usual, to prepare supper, &c. at the inn where their Hi [...]esses intended to lie. They knew that the horses were all [...] for their master, but had not heard of the particular order in favour of the Duke of Hamilton. Seeing ten horses going to set out, they exclaimed against the Post-master, and threatened him with the vengeance of the whole house of Austria through all its branches▪ if he should permit a single horse to leave the post house till the Archduke and his suite had passed.

[Page] The man, terrified with these threats, ordered the postilions to dismount, and put [...] the horses. This mandate was by no means agreeable to the Duke of Hamilton; and the Post master's fear of the indignation of the Imperial family, was that instant lost in a danger which was presented to his face, and more immediately threatened his person—he ordered the postilions to drive on.

The next post was at a small town in the Venetian State, where we found that orders had come from Venice to the same effect with those received at the different stages we had already past. The Duke of Hamilton's Italian servant thought it would save time to make us pass for part of the company to which these orders related— [...]e ordered horses in the name of the Grand Duke, and was instantly obeyed—but the bu [...]ler and cook arriving soon after, told a different tale. Couriers were dispatched, one of whom overtook us, and, in the name of the magistrates, ordered the postilions to drive back, for we were a gang of impostors, who had no connection with the Grand Duke. The same arguments, however, which had so good an effect on the German Post master, prevailed also on the courier to be silent and the postilions to proceed.

It was midnight before we arrived at Mestre, a small town on the banks of the Lagune, five miles from Venice, where we remained all night. Next morning we bired a boat, and in two hours were landed in the middle of this city.

We have taken very delightful apartments at an inn, on the side of the great canal.—They had been just quitted by his Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester, who is at present at Padua. Thus at length we are arrived in Italy.

Per varios casus, & tot discrimina rerun.

Thro' various hazards, and many cross events.

LETTER II. The arsenal.—The Bucentaur.—Doge's Marriage.

VENICE.

A FEW days after our arrival at Venice, we met the Archduke and Duchess, at the house of the Imperial Ambassador. They were highly entertained with the history of their cook and butler, which I gave them at full length.

The company consisted entirely of foreigners, the Venetian no [...] never visiting in the houses of foreign ministers.

Among other strangers was the son of the Duke of Berwick. This young gentleman has lately allied himself to the family from which he is descended, by marrying the sister of the Countess of Albany. I suppose you have heard that the Pretender, now at Florence, has assumed the title of Count Albany.

[Page] Next day the Duke of Hamilton accompanied the Archduke and Duchess to the arsenal. They were attended by a deputation from the senate.

Some Venetian ladies of the first distinction, in compliment to the Archduchess, were of the party.

The arsenal at Venice is a fortification of between two and three miles in compass. On the ramparts are many little watch-towers, where centinels are stationed. Like the arsenal at Toulon, it is at once a dock-yard, and repository for naval and military stores. Here the Venetians build their ships, cast their cannon, make their cables, fails, anchors, &c. The arms are arranged here as in other places of the same kind, in large rooms divided into narrow walks by long walls of muskets, pikes, and halberts. Every thing having been prepared before the Archduke and Duchess arrived, a cannon was cast in their presence.

After this the company were conducted on board the Bucentaur, or vessel in which the Doge is carried to espouse the Adriatic. Here they were regaled with wine and sweetmeats, the Venetian nobles doing the honours of the entertainment.

The Bucentaur is kept under cover, and never taken out but for the espousals. It is formed for containing a very numerous company, is finely gilt and ornamented within, and loaded on the outside with emblematical figures in sculpture. This vessel may possibly be admired by landsmen, but will not much charm a seaman's eye, being a heavy broad-bottomed machine, which draws little water, and consequently may be easily overset in a gale of wind. Of this, however, there is no great danger, as two precautions are taken to prevent such an accident; one of which seems calculated to quiet the minds of believers, and the other to give confidence to the most incredulous. The first is used by the Patriarch, who, as soon as the vessel is afloat, takes care to pour into the sea some holy water, which is believed to have the virtue of preventing or allaying storms. The second is entrusted to the Admiral, who has the discretionary power of postponing in marriage ceremony, when the bride seems in the smallest degree boisterous. One of the virtues of the holy water, that of allaying storms, is by this means rendered superfluous.

But when the weather is quite favourable, the ceremony is performed every Ascension Day. The solemnity is announced in the morning by the ringing of bells and firing of cannon. About midday the Doge, attended by a numerous party of the senate and clergy, goes on board the Bucentaur; the vessel is rowed a little way into the sea, accompanied by the splendid yachts of the foreign Ambassadors, the gondolas of the Venetian nobility, and an incredible number of barks and gallies of every kind. Hymns are sung, and a band of music performs, while the Bucentaur and her attendants slowly move towards St. Lido, a small island, two miles from Venice. Prayers are then said: after which the Doge drops a ring, of no great value, into the sea, pronouncing these [Page] words—Desponsamus te, Mare, in fignum veri perpetuique dominii. We betroth thee, O sea, in token of true and perpetual dominion. The sea, like a modest bride, assents by her silence, and the marriage is deemed valid and secure to all intents and purposes.

Certain it is, the time has been, when the Doge had entire possession of, and dominion over, his spouse; but, for a considerable time past, her favours have been shared by several other lovers; or, according to that violent metaphor of Otway's,

—now

Their Great Duke shrinks, trembling in his palace,

And sees his wife, the Adriatic, plough'd,

Like a lewd whore, by bolder prows than his.

After viewing every thing in the arsenal, the Archduke and Duchess, with all the company, were invited on board some boats which had been prepared for their reception. They were directly rowed to that part of the lake from whence there was the most advantageous view of Venice, and a band of music performing all the time; while the sailors, in two or three small boats, were employed in fishing oysters, which they opened and presented to the company.

The amusements of this day had all the advantage of novelty to render them agreeable to strangers, and every additional pleasure which the attentive and polite behaviour of the Venetian nobility could give,

LETTER III. The island of Murano—Glass manufactory.—Mr. Montague.

VENICE.

AS this is not the time of any of the public solemnities which draw strangers to Venice, it is fortunate that we happen to be here with the Archduke and Duchess. The great respect which this state is anxious of shewing the Imperial family, has brought many of the nobility to Venice, who would otherwise have been at their country seats on the continent, and has also given us opportunities of seeing some things to more advantage than we could otherwise have done.

I had the honour of attending their Highnesses when they went to visit the island of Murano. This is about a mile from Venice, was formerly a very flourishing place, and still boasts some palaces which bear the marks of former magnificence, though now in a state of decay. The island is said to contain 20,000 inhabitants. The great manufactories of looking glasses are the only inducements which strangers have to visit this place. I saw one very fine plate, for a mirror, made in the presence of the Archduke in a few minutes: though not so[Page]large as some I have seen of the Paris manufactory, yet it was much larger than I could have thought it in the power of human lungs to blow. Instead of being cast, as in France and England, the Murano mirrors are all blown in the manner of bottles. It is astonishing to see with what dexterity the workman weilds a long hollow cylinder of melted glass, at the end of an iron tube, which, when he has extended as much as possible by blowing, and every other means his art suggests, he slits with a sharp instrument, removing the two extremities from each other, and folding back the sides: the cylinder now appears a large sheet of glass, which being once more introduced into the furnace, is brought out a clear, finished plate.

This manufactory formerly served all Europe with looking glasses; the quantity made here is still considerable; for although France and England and some other countries make their own mirrors, yet, by the natural progress of luxury, those countries which still get their mirrors and other things from Murano, use a much greater quantity now than formerly; so that on the supposition that the Murano manufacturers have lost three fourths of their customers, they may still retain half as much trade as they ever had. It is surprising that, instead of blowing, they do not adopt the method of casting, which I should think a much easier process, and by which larger plates may be made. Besides mirrors, an infinite quantity of glass trinkets (margaritini, as they are called) of all shapes and colours are made here. Women of the inferior ranks wear them as ornaments, and as rosaries; they also mould this substance into many various whimsical forms, by way of ornamental furniture to houses and churches. In short, there are glass baubles enough made here to bribe into slavery half the inhabitants of the coast of Guinea.

Since the departure of the Archduke and Duchess, the Duke of Hamilton has passed his time mostly in the houses of the foreign Ambassadors, the best resource here, next to the theatres, for strangers.

We were lately at a conversazione at the Spanish Ambassador's; it might have passed for a pantomime entertainment. The Ambassador, his lady, and daughters, speak no language but Spanish; and unfortunately this was understood by none of the company but the Duke of Berwick's son. Hearing that Mr. Montague resided at Venice, the Duke of Hamilton has had the curiosity to wait on that extraordinary man. He met his Grace at the stair-head, and led us through some apartments, furnished in the Venetian manner, into an inner room in quite a different stole. There were no chairs, but he desired us to seat ourselves on a [...], whilst he placed himself on a cushion on the floor, with his legs crossed in the Turkish fashion. A young black slave sat by him, and a venerable old man, with a long beard, served us with coffee.

After this collation some aromatic gums were brought, and burnt in a little silver vessel. Mr. Montague held his nose over the steam for some minutes, and snuffed up the perfume with peculiar satisfaction; he afterwards endeavoured to collect the smoke with his hands, spreading [Page]and rubbing it carefully along his beard, which hung in hoary ringlets to his girdle. This manner of perfuming the beard seems more cleanly, and rather an improvement upon that used by the Jews in ancient times, as described in the psalms traslated by Sternhold and Hopkins.

'Tis like the precious ointment, that

Was pour'd on Aaron's head,

Which from the beard down to the skirts

Of his rich garments spread.

Or, as the Scotch translation has it:

Like precious ointment on the head

That down the beard did flow;

Even Aaron's beard, and to the skirts

Did of his garments go.

Which of these versions is preferable, I leave to the critics in Hebrew and English poesy to determine. I hope, for the sake of David's reputation as a poet, that neither have retained all the spirit of the original. We had a great deal of conversation with this venerable looking person, who is, to the last degree, acute, communicative, and entertaining, and in whose discourse and manners are blended the vivacity of a Frenchman with the gravity of a Turk. We found him, however, wonderfully prejudiced in favour of the Turkish characters and manners, which he thinks infinitely preferable to the European, or those of any other nation.

He describes the Turks in general as a people of great sense and integrity, the most hospitable, generous, and the happiest of mankind. He talks of returning, as soon as possible to Egypt, which he paints as a perfect paradise; and thinks that, had it not been otherwise ordered for wise purposes, of which it does not become us to judge, the children of Israel would certainly have chosen to remain where they were, and have endeavoured to drive the Egyptians to the land of Canaan.

Though Mr. Montague hardly ever stirs abroad, he returned the Duke's visit; and as we were not provided with cushions, he sat, while he staid, upon a [...]opha, with his legs under him, as he had done at his own house. This posture, by long habit, is now become the most agreeable to him, and he insists on its being by far the most natural and convenient: but, indeed, he seems to cherish the same opinion with regard to all the customs which prevail among the Turks. I could not help mentioning one, which I suspected would be thought both unnatural and inconvenient by at least one half of the human race; that of the men being allowed to engross as many women as they can maintain, and confiding them to the most insipid of all lives, within their harams.

[Page] "No doubt," replied he, the women are all enemies to polygamy and concubinage; and there is reason to imagine, that this aversion of theirs, joined to the great influence they have in all Christian countries, has prevented Mahome [...]anism from making any progress in Europe. The Turkish men, on the other hand, continued he, have an aversion to Christianity, equal to that which the Christian women have to the religion of Mahomet: auricular confession is perfectly horrible to their imagination. No Turk, of any delicacy, would ever allow his wife, particularly if he had but one, to hold private conference with a man, on any pretext whatever.

I took notice, that this aversion to auricular confession, could not be a reason for the Turk's dislike to the Protestant religion. That is true. said he, but you have other tene [...]s in common with the Catholics, which renders your religion as odious as theirs.—You forbid polygamy and concubinage, which, i [...] the eyes of the Turks, who obey the dictates of the religion they embrace, is considered as an intolerable hardship. Besides, the idea which your religion gives of heaven, is by no means to their taste. If they believed your account, they would think it the most tiresome and comfortless place in the universe, and not one Turk among a thousand would go to the Christian heaven if he had it in his choice. Lastly, the Christian religion considers women, as creatures upon a level with men, and equally entitled to every enjoyment, both here and hereafter. When the Turks are told this. added he, they are not surprised at being informed also, that women, in general, are better Christians than men; but they are perfectly astonished that an opinion, which they think so contrary to common sense, should subsist among the rational, that is to say, the male part of Christians. It is impossible, added Mr. Montague, to drive it out of the head of a Mussulman, that women are creatures of a subordinate species, created merely to comfort and amuse men during their journey through this vain world, but by no means worthy of accompanying believers to paradise, where females, of a nature far superior to women, wait with impatience to receive all pious Mussulmen into their embraces.

It is needless to relate to you any more of our conversation. A lady, to whom I was giving an account of it the day on which it happened, could with difficulty allow me to proceed thus far in my narrative; but, interrupting me with impatience, she said, she was surprised I could repeat all the nonsensical, detestable, improus maxims of those odious Mahometans; and she though Mr. Montague should be sent back to Egypt, with his long beard, and not be allowed to propagate opinions, the bare mention of which however reasonable they might appear to Turks, ought not to be tolerated in any Christian land.

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LETTER IV. Situation of Venice.—Lagune.—Canals.—Bridges.

VENICE.

THE view of Venice, at some little distance from the town is mentioned by many travellers in terms of the highest admiration. I had been so often forewarned of the amazement with which I should be struck at first sight of this city, that when I actually did see it. I felt little or no amazement at all. You will behold, said those anticipators, a magnificent town,—or more frequently, to make the deeper impression, they gave it in detail—You will be hold, said they, magnificent palaces, churches, towers and steeples, all standing in the middle of the sea. Well; this, unquestionably, is an uncommon scene; and there is no manner of doubt that a town, surrounded by water, is a very fine sight; but all the travellers that have existed since the days of Cain, will not convince me, that a town, surrounded by land, is not a much finer. Can there be any comparison, in point of beauty, between the dull monotony of a watery surface, and the delightful variety of gardens, meadows, hills, and woods?

If the situation of Venice renders it less agreeable than another city, to behold at a distance, it must render it, in a much stronger degree, less agreeable to inhabit. For you will please to recollect, that instead of walking or riding in the fields, and enjoying the fragrance of herbs, and the melody of birds when you wish to take the air here, you must submit to be paddled about, from morning to night, in a narrow boat, along dirty canals; or, if you don't like this, you have one resource more, which is, that of walking in St. Mark's Place.

These are the disadvantages which Venice labours under, with regard to situation; but it has other peculiarities, which, in the opinion of many, overbalance them, and render it, on the whole, an agreeable town.

Venice is said to be built in the sea; that is, it is built in the midst of shallows, which stretch some miles from the shore, at the bottom of the Adriaric Gulph. Though those shallows, being now all covered with water, have the appearance of one great lake, yet they are called Lagune, or lakes, because formerly, as it is imagined, there were several. On sailing on the Laguna, and looking to the bottom, many large hollows are to be seen, which, at some former period, have very possibly, been distinct lakes, though now, being all covered with a common surface of water, they form one large lake, of unequal depth. The intervals between those hollows, it is supposed, were little islands, and are now shallows, which, at ebb, are all within reach of a pole.

When you approach the city, you come along a liquid road, marked by rows of stakes on each side, which direct vessels of a certain burthen, to avoid the shallows, and keep in deeper water. These shallows are a better defence to the city than the strongest [Page] fortifications. On the approach of an enemy's fleet, the Venetians have only to pull up their stakes, and the enemy can advance no farther. They are equally beyond the insult of a land army, even in the midst of winter; for the flux and reflux of the sea, and the mildness of the climate, prevent such a strength of ice as could admit the approach of an army that way.

The lake in which Venice stands, is a kind of small inner gulph, separated from the large one by some islands, at a few miles distance. These islands, in a great measure, break the force of the Adriatic storms, before they reach the Laguna; yet, in very high winds, the navigation of the lake is dangerous to gondolas, and sometimes the gondoleers do not trust themselves, even on the canals within the city. This is not so great an inconveniency to the inhabitants as you may imagine; because most of the houses have one door opening upon a canal, and another communicating with the street; by means of which, and of the bridges, you can go to almost any part of the town by land, as well as by water.

The number of inhabitants are computed at about 150,000; the streets, in general, are narrow; so are the canals, except the grand canal; wich is very broad, and has a serpentine course through the middle of the city. They tell you, there are several hundred bridges in Venice. What pass under this name, however, are single arches thrown over the canals; most of them paltry enough.

The Rialto consists also of a single arch, but a very noble one, and of marble. It is built across the grand canal, near the middle, where it is narrowest. This celebrated arch is ninety feet wide on the level of the canal, and twenty-four feet high. Its beauty is impaired by two rows of booths or shops, which are erected upon it, and divide its upper surface into three narrow streets. The view from the Rialto is equally lively and magnificent; the objects under your eye are the great canal, covered with boats and gondolas, and flanked on each side with magnificent palaces, churches, and spires; but this fine prospect is almost the only one in Venice; for except the Grand Canal, and the Canal Regio, Royal Canal, all the others are narrow and mean; some of them have no keys; the water literally washes the walls of houses. When you sail along those wretched canals, you have no one agreeable object to cheer the sight; and the smell is overwhelmed with the slench which, at certain seasons, exhales from the water.

[Page]

LETTER V. Piazza di St. Marco.—Patriarchal church.—Ducal palace.—Broglio.

VENICE.

AS the only agreeable view in Venice is from the Grand Canal, so the only place where you can walk with ease and safety, is in the piazza di St. Marco. This is a kind of irrregular quadrangle, formed by a number of buildings, all singular in their kind, and very different from each other

The Ducal palace—the church of St. Mark—that of St. Geminiano—a noble range of buildings, called Procuratie, the new and the old, in which are the Museum, the public library, and nine large apartments belonging to the Procurators of St. Mark; all these buildings are of marble.

There is an opening from St. Mark's place to the sea, on which stand two lofty pillars of granite. Criminals condemned to suffer death publicly, are executed between these pillars; on the top of one of them is a lion, with wings;—and on the other, a saint—without wings;—there is, however, a large crocodile at his feet, which, I presume, belongs to him. At one corner of St. Mark's church, contiguous to the palace, are two statues of Adam and Eve; they have neither wings no [...] crocodile, nor any kind of attendant, not even their old acquaintance, the serpent.

At the corner of the new Procuratie a little distant from the church, stands the steeple of St. Mark. This is a quadrangular tower, about three hundred feet in height. I am told it is not uncommon in Italy for the church and steeple to be in this state of disunion; this shocked a clergyman, of my acquaintance, very much; he mentioned it to me, many years ago, amongst the errors and absurdities of the church of Rome. The gentleman was clearly of opinion, that church and steeple ought to be inseparable as man and wife, and that every church ought to consider its steeple as mortar of its mortar and stone of its stone. An old captain of a ship, who was present, declared himself of the same way of thinking, and swore that a church, divorced from its steeple appeared to him as ridiculous as a ship without a mast.

A few paces from the church are three tall poles, on which ensigns and flags are hung on days of public rejoicing. These standards are in memory of the three kingdoms, Cyprus, Candia, and Negropont, which once belonged to this republic; the three crowns are still kept in the Ducal palace. Since the kingdoms are gone, I should think the crowns and the poles hardly worth preserving; they are, however, of the same value to Venice, that the title of King of France is to his Britannic Majesty. At the bottom of the Tower of St. Mark, is a small neat building of marble, called the Logg [...]e [...]a, where some of the Procurators of St. Mark constantly attend to do business. Some people are of opinion that, [Page] particularly when the grand council, or the senate, are assembled, these Procurators are placed there, as state centinels, to give warning in case of any appearance of discontent or commotion among the populace, which must necessarily shew itself at this place, as there is no other in Venice where a mob could assemble.

The patriarchal church of St. Mark, though one of the richest and most extensive in the world, does not strike the eye very much at first; the architecture is of a mixed kind, mostly Gothic, yet many of the pillars are of the Grecian orders; the outside is incrusted with marble; the inside, ci [...]ling, and floor, are all of the finest marble; the numerous pillars which support the roof are of the same substance; the whole is crowned by five domes; but all this labour and expence have been directed by a very moderate share of taste.

The front, which looks to the palace, has five brass gates, with historical bas relieves; over the principal gate are placed the four famous bronze horses, said to be the workmanship of Lycippus; they were given to the emperor Nero, by Tiridates, king of Armenia; the fiery spirit of their countenances, and their animated attitudes, are perfectly agreeable to their original destination, of being harnessed to the chariot of the Sun.—Nero placed them on the triumphal arch consecrated to him, and they are to be seen on the reverse of some of his medals; they were removed from Rome to Constantinople, placed in the Hyppodrome by Constantine, and remained there till the taking of Constantinople by the French and Venetians in the beginning of the 13th century, when they were carried to Venice, and placed upon the gate of St. Mark's church.

The treasury of St. Mark is very rich in jewels and relics; and it was necessary to apply to one of the Procurators St Mark for leave to see it. I shall only mention a few of the most valuable effects kept here. Eight pillars from Solomon's Temple at Jerusalem; a piece of the Virgin Mary's veil, some of her hair, and a small portion of her milk; the knife used by our Saviour at his last supper; one of the nails of the cross, and a few drops of his blood. After these it would be impertinent to enumerate the bones, and other relics, of saints and martyrs, of which there is a plentiful show in this church, and still less need I take up your time with an inventory of the temporal jewels kept here; it would be unpardonable, however, to omit mentioning the picture of the Virgin, by St. Luke. From this, compared with his other works, it is plain, that St. Luke was a much better evangelist than painter: some professions seem to be almost incompatible with each other. I have known many very good painters who would have made bad saints, and here is an instance of an excellent saint who was but an indifferent painter.

The old Procuratie is built of a kind of black marble; the new is of the pietra dura of Istria.

The church of St. Geminiano is an elegant piece of architecture, by Sansovino.

[Page] The Ducal palace is an immense building, entirely of marble. Besides the apartments of the Doge, there are also halls and chambers for the senate, and all the different councils and tribunals. The principal entrance is by a spacious stair, called the Giants stair, on account of two Colossal statues of Mars and Neptune, placed at the top; they are of white marble, the work of Sansovino, and intended to represent the naval and military power of this state. The gigantic size might be proper enough formerly, but they would be juster emblems of the present force of this republic if their stature were more moderate.

Under the porticoes, to which you ascend by this stair, you may perceive the gaping mouths of lions, to receive anonymous letters, informations of treasonable practices, and accusations of magistrates for abuses in office.

From the palace there is a covered bridge of communication to a state prison, on the other side of the canal. Prisoners pass to and from the courts over this bridge, which is named Ponte Dei Sospi [...]i.

The apartments and halls of the Ducal palace are ornamented by the pencils of Titian, Paul Veronese,, Tintoret, Palma, the Bassans, and other painters. The rape of Europa, and the storming of Zara, both by Paul Veronese, are amongst the highest esteemed pieces of that master.

The foot of Europa is honoured with the particular admiration of the connoisseurs; the bull seems to be of their way thinking, for he licks it as he bears her along above the waves. Some people admire even this thought of the painter; I cannot say I am of the number: I think it is the only thing in the picture which is not admirable; it is making Jupiter enter a little too much into the character which he had assumed. There are a few pictures in this palace by Titian, but a great many by the other masters. The subjects are mostly taken from the history of Venice.

Within the palace there is a little arsenal, which communicates with the hall of the great council. Here a great number of muskets are kept, ready charged, with which the nobles may arm themselves on any sudden insurrection, or other emergency.

The lower gallery, or the piazza under the palace, is called the Broglio. In this the noble Venetians walk and converse: it is only here, and at council, where they have opportunities of meeting together; for they seldom visit openly, or in a family way, at each other's houses, and secret meetings would give umbrage to the state inquisitors; they chuse, therefore, to transact their business on this public walk. People of inferior rank seldom remain on the Broglio for any length of time when the nobility are there.

[Page]

LETTER VI. Reflections excited by the various objects around St. Mark's square.—On painting.—A connoisseur.

VENICE.

I Was led, in my last, into a very particular (and I wish you may not have also found it a very tedious) description of St. Mark's Place. There is no help for what is past, But, for your comfort, you have nothing of the same kind to fear while we remain here; for there is not another square, or place, as the French with more propriety call them, in all Venice. To compensate, however, for there being but one, there is a greater variety of objects to be seen at this one, than in any half dozen of the squares, or places, of London or Paris.

After our eyes had been dazzled with looking at pictures, and our legs cramped with sitting in a gondola, it is no small relief, and amusement, to saunter in the Place of St. Mark.

The number and diversity of objects which there present themselves to the eye, naturally create a very rapid succession of ideas. The sight of the churches awakens religious sentiments, and, by an easy transition, the mind [...] led to contemplate the influence of superstition. In the midst of this reverie, [...] four horses appear, and carry the fancy to Rome and Constantinople. While you are forcing your way, sword in hand, with the heroic Henry Dandolo, into the capital of Asia, Adam and Eve stop your progress, and lead you to the garden of Eden. You have not long enjoyed a state of innocence and happiness in that delightful paradise, till Eve

—her rash hand in evil hour

Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucks, she eats.

After that unfortunate repast, no more comfort being to be found there, you are glad to mount St. Mark's winged lion, and fly back to the Ducal palace, where you will naturally reflect on the rise and progress of the Venetian state, and the various springs of their government. While you admire the strength of a constitution which has stood firm for so many ages, you are appalled at the sight of the lion's mouth gaping for accusations; and turning with horror from a place where innocence seems exposed to the attacks of hidden malice, you are regaled with a prospect of the sea, which opens your return to a country of real freedom, where justice rejects the libel of the hidden accuser, and dares to try, condemn, and execute openly, the highest, as well as the lowest, delinquent.

I assure you I have, more than once, made all this tour, standing in the middle of St. Mark's square; whereas, in the French [Page] places, you have nothing before your eyes but monuments of the monarch's vanity, and the people's adulation; and in the greater part of the London squares, and streets, what idea can present itself to the imagination, beyond that of the snug neatness and conveniency of substantial brick houses?

I have been speaking hitherto of a morning saunter; for in the evening there generally is, on St. Mark's Place, such a mixed multitude of Jews, Turks, and Christians; lawyers, knaves, and pick pockets; mountebanks, old women, and physicians; women of quality, with masks; strumpets barefaced; and, in short, such a jumble of senators, citizens, gondolee [...]s, and people of every character and condition, that your ideas are broken, bruised, and dislocated in the crowd, in such a manner, that you can think, or reflect, on nothing; yet this being a state of mind which many people are fond of, the place never fails to be well attended, and, in fine weather, numbers pass a great part of the night there. When the piazza is illuminated, and the shops, in the adjacent streets, lighted up, the whole has a brilliant effect; and as it is the custom for the ladies, as well as the gentlemen, to frequent the cassinos and coffee-houses around, the Place of St. Mark answers all the purposes of either Vauxhall or Ranelagh.

It is not in St. Mark's Place that you are to look for the finest monuments of the art of Titian, or the genius of Palladio; for those you must visit the churches and palaces: but if you are inclined to make that tour, you must find another Cicerone, for I shall certainly not undertake the office. I do not pretend to be a competent judge of painting or architecture; I have no new remarks to make on those subjects, and I wish to avoid a hackneyed repetition of what has been said by others.

Some people seem affected by paintings to a degree which I never could feel, and can scarcely conceive. I admire the works of Guido and Raphael, but there are amateurs who fall downright in love with every man, woman, or angel, produced by those painters.

When the subject is pathetic, I am often struck with the genius and execution of the artist, and touched with the scene represented, but without feeling those violent emotions of grief which some others display. I have seen a man so affected with the grief of Venus, for the death of Adonis, that he has wiped his eyes as if he had been shedding tears; and have heard another express as much horror at the martyrdom of a saint, as he could have done had he been present at the real execution. Horace's observation is perfectly just, as he applies it,

Segnius irritant animos demissa per aurem,

Quàm qu [...] sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus—

[Page] —What we hear,

With slower passion to the heart proceeds,

Than when an audience views the very deeds.

FRANCIS.

He is treating of dramatic pieces;

Aut agitur res in scenis, aut acta refertur,

The business of the drama must appear in action or description.

FRANCIS.

is the preceding line. On the stage, what is actually represented, makes a stronger impression than what is only related; and in real life, no doubt, we should be more shocked by seeing a murder committed, than by hearing an account of it. But whether seeing a pathetic story expressed in painting, or hearing it related, has the most powerful effect, is a different question. I only say for myself, that, on contemplating a painted tragedy, I can never help recollecting that it is acted upon canvas. This never fails to dart such a ray of comfort into my heart, as cheers it up in spite of all the blood and carnage I see before my eyes▪ With a mind so vulgarly fabricated, you will not b [...] surprised when I acknowledge, that I have felt more compassion at the sight of a single highwayman going to Tyburn, than at the massacre of two thousand innocents, though executed by Nicholas Poussin himself. This convinces me that I am not endued with the organs of a connoisseur.

But if you are violently bent upon being thought a man of very refined taste, there are books in abundance to be had, which will put you in possession of all the terms of technical applause, or censure, and furnish you with suitable expressions for the whole climax of sensibility.

As for myself, I was long ago taught a lesson, which made a deep impression on my mind, and will effectually prevent me from every affectation of that kind. Very early in life I resided above a year at Paris, and happened one day to accompany five or six of our countrymen, to view the pictures in the Palais Royal. A gentleman who affected an enthusiastic passion for the fine arts, particularly that of painting, and who had the greatest desire to be thought a connoisseur, was of the party. He had read the lives of the painters, and had the Voyage Pittoresque de Paris by heart. From the moment we entered the rooms he began to display all the refinements of his taste; he instructed us what to admire, and drew us away with every sign of disgust when we stopped a moment at an uncelebrated picture. We were afraid of appearing pleased with any thing we saw, till he informed us whether or not it was worth looking at.

[Page] He shook his head at some, tossed up his nose at others; commended a few, and pronounced sentence on every piece, as he passed along, with the most imposing tone of sagacity.

Bad, that Caravaggio is too bad indeed, devoid of all grace;—but here is a Caracci that makes amends; how charming the grief of that Magdalen! The Virgin, you'll observe, gentlemen, is only fainting, but the Christ is quite dead. Look at the arm, did you ever see any thing so dead?—Aye, here's a Madona, which they tell you is an original, by Guido; but any body may see that it is only a tolerable copy.—Pray, gentlemen, observe this St. Sebastian, how delightfully he expires [...] Don't you all feel the arrow in your hearts? I'm sure I feel it in mine. Do let us move on; I should die with agony if I looked any longer.

We at length came to the St. John, by Raphael, and here this man of taste stopped short in an extasy of admiration.—One of the company had already past it, without minding it, and was looking at another picture; on which the connoisseur bawled out—"Good God, Sir! what are you about?" The honest gentleman started, and stared around to know what crime he had been guilty of.

"Have you eyes in your head, Sir?" continued the connoisseur: "Don't you know St. John when you see him?"

"St. John!" replied the other, in amazement. Aye, Sir, St. John the Baptist, in propria persona.

"I don't know what you mean, Sir," said the gentleman, peevishly.

"Don't you?" rejoined the connoisseur; then I'll endeavour to explain myself. I mean St. John in the wilderness, by the divine Raffaell [...] Sa [...]z [...]o da U bino, and there he stands by your side.—Pray my dear Sir, will you be so obliging as to bestow a little of your attention on that foot? Does it not start from the wall? is it not perfectly out of the frame? Did you ever see such colouring? They talk of Titian; can Titian's colouring excel that? What truth, what nature in the head! To the elegance of the antique, here is joined the simplicity of nature.

We stood listening in silent admiration, and began to imagine we perceived all the perfections he enumerated; when a person in the Duke of Orleans service came and informed us, that the original, which he presumed was the picture we wished too see, was in another room; the Duke having allowed a painter to copy it. That which we had been looking at was a very wretched daubing, done from the original by some obscure painter, and had been thrown, with other rubbish, into a corner; where the Swiss had accidentally discovered it, and had hung it up merely by way of covering the vacant space on the wall, till the other should be replaced.

How the connoisseur looked on this trying occasion, I cannot say. It would have been barbarous to have turned an eye upon [Page] him.—I stepped into the next room, fully determined to be cautious in deciding on the merit of painting; perceiving that it was not safe, in this science, to speak even from the book.

LETTER VII. Origin of Venice.

VENICE.

WE acquire an [...] early partiality for Rome, by reading the classics, and the history of the ancient republic. Other parts of Italy also interest us more on account of their having been the residence of the old Romans, than from the regard we pay to what has been transacted there during the last fourteen or fifteen centuries.

Venice claims no importance from ancient history, and boasts no connection with the Roman republic; i [...] sprung from the ruins of that empire; and whatever its annals offer worthy of the attention of mankind; is independent of the prejudice we feel in favour of the Roman name.

The independence of Venice was not built on usurpation, nor cemented with blood; it was founded on the first law of human nature, and the undoubted rights of man.

About the middle of the fifth century, when Europe formed one continued scene of violence and bloodshed; a hatred of tyranny, a love of liberty, and a dread of the cruelty of Barbarians, prompted the Veneti, a people inhabiting a small district of Italy, a few of the inhabitants of Padua, and some peasants who lived on the fertile banks of the Po, to seek an asylum from the fury of Attila, amongst the little islands and marshes at the bottom of the Adriatic Gulph.

Before this time some fishermen had built small houses, or huts, on one of these islands, called Rialto. The city of Padua, with a view to draw commercial advantages from this establishment, encouraged some of her inhabitants to settle there, and sent every year three or four citizens to act as magistrates. When Attila had taken and destroyed Aquileia, great numbers from all the neighbouring countries fled to Rialto; whose size being augmented by new houses, took the name of Venice, from the district from which the greater number of the earliest refugees had fled. On the death of Attila, many returned to their former habitations; but those who preferred freedom and security to all other advantages, remained at Venice. Such was the beginning of this celebrated republic. Some nice distinguishers pretend, that this was the beginning of their freedom, but not of their independency; for they assert, that the Venetians were dependent on Padua, as their mother city. It is certain that the Paduans claimed such a prerogative over this in [...]ant state, and attempted to subject her to some commercial restrictions: these were rejected by the Venetians, as [Page] arbitrary and vexatious. Disputes arose very dangerous to both; but they ended in Venice entirely throwing off the jurisdiction of Padua. It is curious, and not unworthy of serious attention in the present age, to see the parent now totally subjected to the child, whom she wished to retain in too rigorous a dependence.

The irruption of the Lombards into Italy, while it spread havock and destruction over the adjacent country, was the cause of a great accession of strength to Venice, by the numbers of new refugees who fled to it with all the wealth they could carry, and became subjects of this state.

The Lombards themselves, while they established their kingdom in the northern parts of Italy, and subdued all the ancient district of the Veneti, thought proper to leave this little state unmolested, imagining that an attempt against it would be attended with more trouble than profit; and while they carried on more important conquests, they found it convenient to be on a good footing with Venice, whose numerous squadrons of small vessels could render the most essential services to their armies. Accordingly leagues and treaties were formed occasionally between the two states; the Lombards in all probability imagining, that it would be in their power, at any time, to make themselves masters of this inconsiderable republic. But when that people had fully established their new kingdom, and were free from the expence of other wars, they then found Venice so much increased in strength, that, however much they might have wished to comprehend it within their dominions, it appeared no longer consistent with found policicy to make the attempt. They therefore chose rather to confirm their ancient alliance by fresh treaties.

When Charlemagne overturned the kingdom of the Lombards, and, after having sent their king Didier prisoner to France, was crowned emperor at Rome, by Leo the Third, the Venetian state cultivated the favour of that conqueror with so much address, that, instead of attempting any thing against their independence, he confirmed the treaty they had made with the Lombards; by which among other things, the limits, or boundaries, between the two states, were ascertained.

In the wars with the eastern empire, and in those of later date between France and the house of Austria, Venice always endeavoured to avoid the resentment of either of the contending parties; secretly, however, assisting that which was at the greatest distance from her own dominions, and, of consequence, the least formidable to her. Those great powers, on their parts, were so eager to humble, or destroy, each other, that the rising vigour of Venice was permitted to grow, for ages, almost unobserved. Like the fame of Marcellus, it might have been said of that republic,

Crescit occulto velut arbor aevo.

Like a youthful tree, of growth

Insensible, high shoots his spreading fame.

FRANCIS.

[Page] And when, at length, she began to excite the jealousy of the great states of Europe, she had acquired strength and revenues sufficient to resist not only one, but great combinations of those powers leagued for her destruction.

This republic, in its various periods of increase, of meridian splendor, and of declension, has already existed for a longer time than any other of which history makes mention. The Venetians themselves assert, that this duration is owing to the excellent materials of which their government has been composed, by which they imagine it has long since been brought to the highest degree of perfection.

As I have bestowed some time since we came hither in considering the Venetian history and government, I shall, in my next, take a general view of those boasted materials, that we may be able to judge whether or not this high eulogium is well founded.

LETTER VIII. Various changes in the form of government.—Tyrannical conduct of a Doge.—Savage behaviour of the people.—Commerce of Venice.

VENICE.

THE first form of government established at Venice, was purely democratical. Magistrates were chosen by a general assembly of the people: they were called tribunes; and as this small community inhabited several little islands, a tribune was appointed to judge causes, and distribute justice on each of those islands. His power was continued one year; at the expiration of which, be was accountable for his conduct to the general assembly of the people, who annually elected a new set of tribunes.

This simple form of government, while it marks a strict regard to that freedom so delightful to the mind of man was found sufficient, for the space of a hundred and fifty years, to maintain order in a small community, situated as this was. At length the bad administration of some of the tribunes, discord and animosity among others, and some suspicions that the Lombards promoted civil dissention, with a view to bring the republic under their dominion, awakened the fears of the people, and made them listen to the opinions of those who thought a change in the form of goverment necessary.

After various debates and proposals, it was finally determined, that a chief magistrate should be elected, as the centre of public authority, whose power might give such vigour and efficacy to the laws, as was absolutely necessary in times of danger, and whose duty should be, to direct the force of the resources of the state with promptitude; uncramped by that opposition, and consequent dilatoriness, which had been too apparent under the tribunes. This magistrate was not to be[Page]named King, but Duke, which has since been corrupted to Doge; the office was not to be hereditary, but e [...]ective; and the Doge was to enjoy it for life. It was agreed that he should have the nomination of all the inferior magistrates, and the power of making peace, and declaring war, without consulting any but such of the citizens as he should think proper.

When the election took place, all the suffrages f [...]ll upon Paul Luc Ana [...]e [...], who entered into this new office in the year 697.

The Venetians must certainly have felt great inconveniences from their former government, or have been under great dread from domestic or foreign enemies, before they could submit to such a fundamental change in the nature of their constitution. It is evident, that, on this occasion, they seem to have lest that jealous attention to liberty which they formerly possessed; for while they with-held from [...] chief magistrate the name, they lest him all the power, of a King. There is no period when real and enlightened patrio [...]s [...]ught to watch with more vigilance over the rights of the people, than in times of danger from foreign enemies; for the public in general are then so much engrossed by the dangers from without, that they overlook the encroachments which are more a [...]t, at those times than any other, to be made on their constitution from within: and it is of small importance that men defend their country from foreign foes unless they retain such a snare of internal freedom, as renders a country worth the defending.

It is highly probable, that the great degree of popularity which their first Doge had acquired before he arrived at that dignity, and the great confidence the people had in his public and private virtues, rendered them unwilling to limit the power of a person who, they were convinced, would make a good use of it. If the man had been immortal, and incorruptible, they would have been in the right: however, it must be confessed, that this Doge justified their good opinion more than favourites of the people generally do.

In the councils which he called on any matter of importance, he sent messages to those citizens, for whose judgment he had the greatest esteem, praying, that they would come and assist him with their advice. This method was observed afterwards by succeeding Doges, and the citizens to sent for were called Pregadi, The Doge's council are still c [...]led Pregadi, though they have long sat independent of his invitation.

The first, and second Doge, governed with moderation and ability; but the third gave the Venetians reason to repent that they had not confined the powers of their chief magistrate within narrower limits. After having served the state by his military talents, he endeavoured [...] enslave it; his projects were discovered; but as the improvident people, in the last arrangement of their constitution, had preserved no legal remedy for such an evil, they were obliged to use the only means now in their power. They assaulted the Doge in his palace, and put him to death without further ceremony.

[Page] The people had conceived so much hatred for him, that, after his death, they resolved to abolish the office. In the general assembly it was agreed, that the chief magistrate, for the future, should be elected every year; that he should have the same power as formerly, while he remained in office; but, as this was to be for a short time, they imagined he would behave with equity and moderation; and as they had an equal dislike to Doge and Tribune, he was called Master of the Militia.

The form of government, introduced by this revolution, was but of short duration. Factions arose, and became too violent for the transient authority of the Masters of the Militia to restrain. The office expired five years after its institution; and, by one of those strange and unaccountable changes of sentiment, to which the multitude are so subject, the authority of the Doge was restored in the person of the son of their last Doge, whom, in a fit of furious discontent, they had assassinated. This restoration happened about the year 730.

For a long time after this, the Venetian annals display many dreadful scenes of cruelty, revolt, and assassination; Doges abusing their power, endeavouring to established a permanent and hereditary despotism, by having their eldest sons associated in the office with themselves, and then oppressing the people with double violence. The people, on the other hand, after bearing, with the most abject patience, the capricious cruelty of their tyrants, rising at once and murdering them, or driving them, wi [...]h ignominy, out of their dominions. Unable to bear either limited or absolute government, the impatient and capricious multitude wish for things which have always been found incompatible: the secrecy, promptitude, and efficacy of a despotic government, with all the freedom and mildness of a legal and limited constitution.

It is remarkable, that when the Doge was, even in a small degree, popular, he seldom found any difficulty in getting his son elected his associate in the sovereign authority; and when that was not the case, there are many instances of the son being chosen directly on the death of his father.

Yet, about the middle of the tenth century, the son of the Doge, Peter Candiano, took arms, and rebelled against his father. Being soon after defeated, and brought in chains to Venice, he was condemned to banishment, and declared incapable of being ever elected Doge. It appears, however, that this worthless person was a great favourite of the people; for no sooner was his father dead, than he was chosen to succeed him, and conducted, in great pomp, from Ravenna, the place of his exile, to Venice.

The Venetians were severely punished for this instance of levity. Their new Doge shewed himself as tyrannical in the character of a sovereign, as he had been undutiful in that of a son. He became a monster of pride and cruelty. The people began to murmur, and he became susceptible of that terror which usually [Page] accompanies tyrants He established a body of life-guards to defend his person, and lodged them within the palace. This innovation filled the people with indignation, and awakened all their fury. They attack the palace, are repulsed by the guards, [...]nd set fire to the contiguous houses. The wretched Doge, in danger of being consumed by the flames, appears at the gate of the palace, with his infant son in his arms, imploring the compassion of the multitude: they, inexorable as demons, tear in pieces both father and child. At such an instance of savage fury, the human affections revolt from the oppressed people, and take part with their oppressor. We almost wish he had lived, that he might have swept from the earth a set of wretches more barbarous than himself.

Having spent their fury in the destruction of the tyrant, they leave the tyranny as before. No measures are taken to limit the power of the Doge.

For some time after this, a spirit of superstition seemed to lay hold of those who filled that office, as if they had intended to expiate the pride of the late tyrant by their own humility. His three immediate successors, after each of them had reigned a few years with applause, abandoned their dignity, shut themselves up in convents, and passed the latter years of their lives as Monks.

Whatever contempt those pious Doges displayed for worldly things, their example made little impression on their subjects, who, about this time, began to monopolize the trade and riches of Europe. And some years after, when all Christendom was seized with the religious phrenzy of recovering the Holy Land, the Venetians kept so perfectly free from the general infection, that they did not scruple to supply the Saracens with arms and ammunition, in spite of the edicts of their Doges, and the remonstrances of the Pope, and other pious princes.

Those commercial casuists declared, that religion is one thing, and trade another; that, as children of the church, they were willing to believe all that their mother required; but as merchants, they must carry their goods to the best market.

In my next, I shall proceed with my review of the Venetian government.

LETTER IX. New regulations—Foundation of the aristocracy.—Origin of the ceremony of espousing the Sea. New forms of magistracy.

VENICE.

THE minds of the Venetians were not so totally engrossed by commercial ideas, as to make them neglect other means of aggrandizing their state. All Istria submitted itself to their government: [Page] many of the free towns of Dalmatia, harassed by the Narentines, a nation of robbers and pirates on that coast, did the same. Those towns which refused, were reduced to obedience by Peter U [...]olo, the Doge of Venice, who had been sent with a fleet against them, in the year 1000. He carried his arms also into the country of the Narentines, and destroyed many of their towns.

On his return it was determined, in a general assembly of the people, that the conquered towns and provinces should be governed by magistrates sent from Venice. Those magistrates, called Podestas, were appointed by the Doge.

The inhabitants of those new acquired towns were not admitted to the privileges of citizens of Venice, nor allowed to vote at the general assembly: the same rule was observed with regard to the inhabitants of all the dominions afterwards acquired by the republic. It will readily occur, that this accession of dominions to the state greatly augmented the influence and power of the chief magistrate: this, and the practice of associating the son of the Doge with his father, raised jealousies among the people, and a law was made, abolishing such associations for the future.

In the year 1173, after the assassination of the Doge Michieli, a far more important alteration took place in the government. At this time there was no other tribunal at Venice than that of forty judges. This court had been established many years before: it took cognizance of all causes, civil as well as criminal, and was called the council of forty. This body of men, in the midst of the disorder and confusion which followed the murder of the Doge, formed a plan of new-modeling the government.

Hitherto the people had retained great privileges. They had votes in the assemblies; and, although the descendants of the ancient tribunes, and of the Doges, formed a kind of nobility, yet they had no legal privileges, or exclusive jurisdiction; nothing to distinguish them from their fellow-citizens, but what their riches, or the spontaneous respect paid to the antiquity of their families, gave them. Any citizen, as well as they, might be elected to a public office.

To acquire the honours of the state, it was absolutely necessary for the greatest and proudest Venetian, to cultivate the good-will of the multitude, whose voice alone could raise him to the rank of Doge, and whose rage had thrown so many from that envied situation. The inconveniencies, the discord, and confusion, of such a mixed multitude, had been long felt, but nobody had hitherto had the boldness to strike at this established right of the people.

The city was divided into six parts, called Sestiers. The council of forty procured it to be established, in the first place, that each of those Sestiers should annually name two electors; that those twelve electors should have the right of choosing, from the whole body of the people, four hundred and seventy counsellors, who should be called the Grand Council, and who should have the same power, in all respects, which the general assembly of the people formerly enjoyed.

[Page] It was pretended, that this regulation was contrived merely to prevent confusion, and to establish regularity in the great national assembly; that the people's right of election remained as before, and, by changing the counsellors yearly, those who were not elected one year might retain h [...]pes of being chosen the next. The people did not perceive that this law would be fatal to their importance: it proved, however, the foundation of the aristocracy, which was soon after established, and still subsists.

The forty judges next proposed another regulation, still more delicate and important. That, to prevent the [...]mults and disorders which were expected at the impending election of a Doge, they should (for that time only) name eleven commissioners, from those of the highest reputation for judgement and integrity in the state; that the choice of a Doge should be left to those commissioners, nine suffrages being indispensably requisite to make the election valid.

This evidently pointed at the exclusion of the people from any concern whatever in the creation of the chief magistrate, and certainly was the object in view; yet, as it was proposed only as a temporary expedient, to prevent disorders, when men's minds were irritated against each other, and factions ran high, the regulation was agreed to.

Having, with equal dexterity and success, fixed those restraints on the power of the people, the council of forty turned their attention, in the next place, towards limiting the authority of the Doge. This was considered as too exorbitant, even for good men: and, in the hands of wicked men, had always been perverted to the purposes of tyranny, and for which no remedy had hitherto been found, but what was almost as bad as the evils themselves; revolt on the part of the people, and all the horrors and excesses with which such an expedient is usually accompanied. The tribunal of forty therefore proposed, that the Grand Council should annually appoint six persons, one from each division of the city, who should form the privy council of the Doge, and, without their approbation, none of his orders should be valid; so that, instead of appointing his own privy-council, which had been the custom hitherto, the authority of the chief magistrate would, for the future, in a great measure, depend of six men, who, themselves, depended on the Grand Council.

To be constantly surrounded by such a set of counsellors, instead of creatures of his own, however reasonable it may seem in the eyes of the impartial, would have been considered by one in possession of the dignity of Doge, as a most intolerable innovation, and probably would have been opposed by all his influence; but there was no Doge existing when the proposal was made, and consequently it passed into a law with universal approbation.

Lastly, it was proposed to form a senate, consisting of sixty members, which were to be elected, annually, out of the Grand Council. This assembly was in the room of that which the Doge [Page] formerly had the power of convocating, on extraordinary occasions, by sending messages, praying certain [...] citizens to come, and assist him with their advice. The members of the new s [...]nate, more fixed and more independent than those of the old, are still called the Pregadi. This also was agreed to without opposition; and immediately after the funeral of the late Doge, all those regulations took place.

They began by choosing the Grand Council of four hundred and seventy, then the senate of sixty, then the six counsellors, and lastly, the eleven electors. These last were publicly sworn, that in the election now entrusted to them, rejecting every motive of private interest, they should give their voices for that person, whose elevation to the dignity of Doge they believed, in their consciences, would prove most for the advantage of the state.

After this, they retired to a chamber of the palace, and Orio Malipier, one of the eleven, had the votes of his ten colleagues; but he, with a modesty which seems to have been unaffected, declined the office, and used all his influence with the electors to make choice of Sebastian Ziani, a man distinguished in the republic on account of his talents, his wealth, and his virtues; assuring them that, in the present emergency, he, was a more proper person than himself for the office. Such was their opinion of Malipier's judgment, that his colleagues adopted his opinion, and Ziani was unanimously elected.

As this mode of election was quite new, and as there was reason to imagine that the bulk of the people, on reflection, would not greatly approve of it, and that the new Doge would not be received with the usual acclamations, Ziani took care that great quantities of money should be thrown among the multitude, when he was first presented to them. No Doge was ever received with louder acclamations.

During the reign of Ziani, the singular ceremony of espousing the sea was first instituted.

Pope Alexander the third, to avoid the resentment of the emperor Frederic Barbarossa, had taken refuge at Venice, and was protected by that state. The emperor sent a powerful fleet against it, under the command of his son Otho. Ziani met him with a fleet at Venice. A very obstinate engagement ensued, in which the Venetians were victorious. The Doge returned in triumph, with thirty of the enemy's vessels, in one of which was their commander Otho. All the inhabitants of Venice rushed to the sea-shore, to meet their victorious Doge: the Pope himself came, attended by the senate and clergy. After embracing Ziani, his Holiness presented him with a ring, saying, with a loud voice, Take this ring; use it as a chain to retain the sea, henceforth, in subjection to the Venetian empire: espouse the sea with this ring, and let the marriage be solemnized annually, by you and your successors, to the end of time, that the latest posterity may know that Venice has acquired the empire of the waves, and that the sea is subjected to you, as a [...] is to her husband.

[Page] As this speech came from the head of the church, people were not surprised to find it a little mysterious; and the multitude, without considering whether it contained much reason or common sense, received it with the greatest applause. The marriage has been regularly celebrated every year since that time.

After the death of Ziani, if the terms which had been agreed upon previous to the election, had been literally adhered to, the Grand Council of four hundred and seventy would have proceeded to choose a Doge, simply by the plurality of votes; but, for some reason which is not now known, that method was waved and the following adopted. Four persons were chosen by the Grand Council, each of whom had the power of naming ten; and the whole forty had the appointing of the Doge.

Their choice fell upon the same O [...]io Malipier, who had declined the dignity in favour of his friend Ziani.

Under the administration of Malipier, two new forms of magistracy were created; the first was that of the Avogadors. Their duty is to take care that the laws in being shall be punctually executed; and while it is the business of other magistrates to proceed against the transgressors of the laws, it is theirs to bring a process against those magistrates who neglect to put them in execution. They decide also on the nature of accusations, and determine before which of the courts every cause shall be brought, not leaving it in the power of either of the parties to carry a cause to a high court, which is competent to be tried by one less expensive; and no resolution of the Grand Council, or Senate, is valid, unless, at least, one of the three Avogadors be present during the deliberation. It is also the duty of the Avogadors to keep the originals of all the decisions and regulations of the Grand Council and Senate, and to order them, and all other laws, to be read over, whenever they think proper, by way of refreshing the memories of the senators. If the senators are obliged to attend during those lectures, this is a very formidable power indeed. I am acquainted with senators in another country, who would sooner give their judges the power of putting them to death at once, in a less lingering manner.

The second class of magistrates, created at this time, was that called Judges al Forestier [...] ▪ there are also three of them. It is their duty to decide, in all causes between citizens and strangers, and in all disputes which strangers have with each other. This institution was peculiarly expedient, at a time when the resort from all countries to Venice was very great, both on account of commerce, and of the Crusades.

In the year 1192, after a very able administration, Malipier, who was of a very philosophical turn of mind, abdicated the office of Doge, and Henry Dandolo was elected in his place.

I am a great deal too much fatigued with the preceding narrative, to accompany one of his active and enterprising genius at present; and I have good reason to suspect, that you also have been, for some time past, inclined to repose.

[Page]

LETTER X. Henry Dandolo.

VENICE.

HENRY Dandolo had, in his early years, passed, with general approbation, through many of the subordinate offices of government; and had, a few years before he was elected to the dignity of Doge, been Ambassador at the Court of Manuel, the Greek emperor at Constantinople. There, on account of his inflexible integrity, and his refusing to enter into the views of Manuel, which he thought contrary to the interest of his country, his eyes were almost entirely put out by order of that tyrant. Notwithstanding this impediment, and his great age, being above eighty, he was now elected to the office of Doge.

At this time, some of the most powerful princes and nobles of France and Flanders, instigated by the zeal of Innocent the Third, and still more by their own pious fervour, resolved, in a fourth crusade, to attempt the recovery of the Holy Land, and the sepulchre of Christ, from the hands of Infidels; and being, by the fate of others, taught the difficulties and dangers of transporting armies by land, they resolved to take their passage from Europe to Asia by sea. On this occasion they applied to the Venetian State, who not only agreed to furnish ships for the transportation of the army, but also to join, with an armed fleet, as principals in the expedition.

The French army arrived soon after in the Venetian State; but so ill had they calculated, that, when every thing was ready for the embarkation, part of the sum which they had agreed to pay for the transporting their troops, was deficient. This occasioned disputes between the French leaders and the State, which the Doge put an end to, by proposing, that they should pay in military services what they could not furnish in money. This was accepted, and the first exploits of the Crusade army were, the reduction of the town of Zara, and other places in Dalmatia, which had revolted from the Venetians. It had been previously agreed, that, after this service, the army should embark immediately for Egypt; but Dandolo, who had another project more at heart, represented that the season was too far advanced, and found means to persuade the French, army to winter in Dalmatia.

During this interval, Dandolo, availing himself of some favourable circumstances, had the dexterity to determine the French Crusaders, in spite of the interdiction of the Pope, to join with the Venetian forces, and to carry their arms against the emperor of Constantinople; an expedition which, Dandolo asserted, would facilitate their original plan against the Holy Land, and which, he was convinced, would be attended with for greater advantages to both parties.

The crown of Constantinople was never surrounded with greater dangers, nor has it ever known more sudden revolutions than at this period.

Manuel, who had treated Dandolo, while ambassador, with so much barbarity, had been precipitated from the throne. His immediate[Page]successor had, a short time after, experienced the same fate. Betrayed by his own brother, his eyes had been put out, and, in that deplorable condition, he was kept close prisoner by the usurper. The son of this unfortunate man had escaped from Constantinople, and had arrived at Venice, to implore the protection of that State: the compassion which his misfortune naturally excited, had considerable effect in promoting the Doge's favourite scheme of leading the French and Venetian forces against Constantinople. The indefatigable Dandolo went, in person, at the head of his countrymen▪ The united army beat the troops of the usurper in repeated battles, obliged him to fly from Constantinople, placed his brother on the throne, and restored to him his son Alexis, who had been obliged to take refuge at Venice from the cruelty of his uncle, and had accompanied Dandolo in this successful enterprise.

A misunderstanding soon after ensued between the united armies and Alexis, now associated with his father on the throne of Constantinople. The Greeks murmured at the favour which their emperor shewed to those foreigners, and thought his liberality to them inconsistent with his duty to his own subjects. The Crusaders, on the other hand, imagined, that all the wealth of his empire was hardly sufficient to repay the obligations he owed to them. The young prince, desirous to be just to the one, and grateful to the other, lost the confidence of both; and, while be strove to conciliate the minds of two sets of men, whose views and interests were opposite, he was betrayed by Murtsuphlo, a Greek, who had gained his confidence, and whom he had raised to the highest dignities of the empire. This traitor insinuated to the Greeks, that Alexis had agreed to deliver up Constantinople to be pillaged, that he might satisfy the avarice and rapacity of those strangers who had restored his family to the throne. The people fly to arms, the palace is invested, Alexis and his; father are put to death, and Murtsuphlo is declared emperor.

These transactions, though ascertained by the authenticity of history, seem as rapid as the revolutions of a theatrical representation.

The chiefs of the united army, struck with horror and indignation, assemble in council. Dandolo, always decisive in the moment of danger, gives it as his opinion, that they should immediately declare war against the usurper, and make themselves masters of the empire. This opinion prevails, and the conquest of the Greek empire is resolved upon.

After several bloody battles, and various assaults, the united armies of France and Venice enter victorious into Constantinople, and divide the spoils of that wealthy city.

The Doge, never so much blinded with success as to lose sight of the true interest of his country, did not think of procuring for the republic, large dominions on the continent. The Venetians had, for their share, the islands of the Ar [...]ip [...]l [...]go, several ports on the coast of the Hellespont, the Morea, and the entire island of Candia.

[Page] This was a judicious partition for Venice, the augmentation of whose strength depended on commerce, navigation, and the empire of the sea.

Though the star of Dandolo rose in obscurity, and shone with no extraordinary lustre at its meridian height, yet nothing ever surpassed the brilliancy of its setting rays.

This extraordinary man died at Constantinople, oppressed with age, but while the laurels, which adorned his hoary head, were in youthful verdure.

The annals of mankind present nothing more worthy of our admiration. A man, above the age of eighty, and almost entirely deprived of his sight, despising the repose necessary for age, and the secure honours which attended him at home; engaging in a hazardous enterprise, against a distant and powerful enemy; supporting the fatigues of a military life with the spirit of youth, and the perseverance of a veteran, in a superstitious age; and, whilst he led an army of religious enthusiasts, braving, at once, the indignation of the Pope, the prejudices of bigots, and all the dangers of war; displaying the ardour of a conqueror, the judgment of a statesman, and the disinterested spirit of a patriot; preparing distant events, improving accidental circumstances, managing the most impetuous characters; and, with admirable address, making all subservient to the vast plan he had conceived, for the aggrandizing his native country. Yet this man passed his youth, manhood, and great part of his old age, unknown. Had he died at seventy, his name would have been swept, with the common rubbish of courts and capitals, into the gulph of oblivion. So necessary are occasions and situations, for bringing into light the concealed vigour of the greatest characters; and so true it is, that while we see, at the head of kingdoms, men of the most vulgar abilities, the periods of whose existence serve only as dates to history, many whose talents and virtues would have swelled her brightest pages have died unnoted, from the obscurity of their situations, or the langour and stupidity of the ages in which they lived.

But the romantic story of Henry Dandolo has seduced me from my original purpose, which was, to give you an idea of the rise and progress of the Venetian aristocracy, and which I shall resume in my next.

LETTER XI. New courts.—New magistrates.—Reformation of the Venetian code.—The form of electing the Doge.

VENICE.

THE senate of Venice, ever jealous of their civil liberty, while they rejoiced at the vast acquisitions lately made by [Page] their fleet and army, perceived that those new conquests might tend to the ruin of the constitution, by augmenting the power and influence of the first magistrate.

In the year 1206, immediately after they were informed of the death of Dandolo, they created six new magistrates, called Correctors; and this institution has been renewed at every interregnum which has happened since.

The duty of those Correctors is, to examine into all abuses which may have taken place during the reign of the preceding Doge, and report them to the senate, that they may be remedied, and prevented for the future, by wholesome laws, before the election of another Doge. At the same time it was ordained, that the State should be indemnified out of the fortune of the deceased magistrate, from any detriment it had sustained by his mal-administration, of which the senate were to be the judges.

This law was certainly well calculated to make the Doge very circumspect in his conduct, and has been the origin of all the future restraints which have been laid on that very unenviable office.

Men accustomed to the calm and secure enjoyments of private life, are apt to imagine, that no mortal would be fond of any office on such conditions; but the senate of Venice, from more extensive views of human nature, knew that there always was a sufficient number of men, eager to grasp the sceptre of ambition, in defiance of all the thorns with which it could be surrounded.

It was not the intention of the Venetian senate to throw the smallest stain on the character of their late patriotic Doge; nevertheless they thought the interregnum after his death, the most favourable opportunity of passing this law; because, when the Inquisition had taken place after his glorious reign, no Doge could expect that it would ever afterwards be dispensed with. The Correctors having been chosen, and the Inquisition made, Peter Ziani was elected Doge.

In his reign a court for civil causes, denominated the Tribunal of Forty, was created. Its name sufficiently explains the intention of establishing this court, to which there is an appeal from the decisions of all inferior magistrates in civil causes tried within the city. It is to be distinguished from the court of Forty, formerly mentioned, whose jurisdiction was now confined to criminal causes: it afterwards got the name of old civil council of Forty, to distinguish it from a third court, consisting also of forty members, which was established at a subsequent period, to decide, by appeal, in all civil causes, from the judgments of the inferior courts without the city of Venice.

Towards the end of his life, about the year 1228, Ziani abdicated his office. At the election of his successor, the suffrages were equally divided, between Rainier Dandolo, and James Theipolo. This prolonged the interregnum for two months; as often as they were ballotted, during that time, each of them had twenty balls. [Page] The senate, at last, ordained them to draw lots, which decided in favour of Theipolo.

During his administration, the Venetian code was, in some degree, reformed and abridged. One of the greatest inconveniencies of freedom, is the number of laws necessary to protect the life and property of each citizen; the natural consequences of which are, a multitude of lawyers, with all the suits and vexations which they create; les peines, les despenses, les longueurs, les dangers mêmes de la justice, says Montesquieu, sont le prix que chaque citoyen donne pour sa liberté.—The pains, the expence, the delays, and even the dangers of justice are the price that each citizen pays for his liberty. The more freedom remains in a state, of the higher importance will the life and property of each citizen be considered. A despotic government counts the life of a citizen as of no importance at all.

The Doge Theipolo, who had himself been a lawyer, as many of the Venetian nobles at that time were, bestowed infinite labour in arranging and illuminating the vast chaos of laws and regulations in which the jurisprudence of a republic, so jealous of her liberty, had been involved. After a long reign, he abdicated the government; and, to prevent the inconveniency which had happened at his election, the number of electors, by a new decree of the senate, was augmented to forty one.

In the reign of his successor, Marino Marsini, two judges, called Criminal Judges of the Night, were appointed, Their function is to judge of what are called nocturnal crimes, under which denomination are reckoned robberies, wilful fire, rapes, and bigamy. We find also, that Jews lying with Christian women, is enumerated among nocturnal crimes; though, by an unjustifiable partiality, a Christian man lying with a Jewish woman, whether by night or day, is not mentioned as any crime at all.

A few years after, in the reign of the Doge Rainier Zeno, four more judges were added to this tribunal; and, during the interregnum which took place at his death, in the year 1268, a new form of electing the Doge was fixed, which, though somewhat complicated, has been observed ever since.

All the members of the grand council, who are past thirty years of age, being assembled in the hall of the palace, as many balls are put into an urn as there are members present; thirty of these balls are gilt, and the rest white. Each counsellor draws one; and those who get the gilt balls, go into another room, where there is an urn, containing thirty balls, nine of which are gilt. The thirty members draw again; and those who, by a s [...]cord piece of good fortune, get the gilt balls, are the first electors, and have a right to choose forty, among whom they comprehend themselves.

Those forty, by ballotting in the same manner as in the former instances, are reduced to twelve second electors, who choose twenty-five, the first of the twelve naming three, and the remaining eleven two, a piece. All those being assembled in a chamber apart, each [Page] of them draws a ball from an urn, containing twenty-five balls, among which are nine gilt. This reduces them to nine third electors, each of whom chooses five, making in all forty-five; who, as in the preceding instances, are reduced by ballot, to eleven fourth electors, and they have the nomination of forty one, who are the direct electors of the Doge. Being shut up by themselves, they begin by choosing three chiefs, and two secretaries; each elector, being then called, throws a little billet into an urn, which stands on a table before the chiefs. On this billet▪ is inscribed the person's name whom the elector wishes to be Doge.

The secretaries then, in the presence of the chiefs, and of the whole assembly, open the billets. Among all the forty-one there are, generally, but a very few different names, as the election, for the most part, balances between two or three candidates. Their names, whatever is the number, are put into another urn, and drawn out one after another. As soon as a name is extracted, the Secretary reads it, and, if the person to whom it belongs is present, he immediately retires. One of the chiefs then demands, with a loud voice, whether any crime can be laid to this person's charge, or any objection made to his being raised to the sovereign dignity? If any objection is made, the accused is called in, and heard in his own defence; after which the electors proceed to give their decision, by throwing a ball into one of two boxes, one of which is for the Ayes, the other for the Noes. The Secretaries then count the balls, and if there are twenty-five in the first, the election is finished; if not, another name is read, and the same inquisition made as before, till there are twenty-five approving balls.

This form, wherein judgment and chance are so perfectly blended, precludes every attempt to corrupt the electors, and all cabals for the Ducal dignity; for who could dream, by any labour or contrivance, of gaining an election, the mode of whose procedure equally baffles the address of a politician and a juggler?

Lawrence Theipolo was the first Doge chosen according to this mode. In his reign the office of Grand Chancellor was created.

Hitherto the public acts were signed by certain persons chosen by the Doge himself, and called Chancellors; but the Grand Council, which we find always solicitous to limit the power of the Doge, thought that method improper; and now proposed, that a Chancellor should be appointed by themselves, with rights and privileges entirely independent of the Doge. At the same time, as the people had shewn symptoms of discontent, on account of the great offices being all in the distinguished families, it was thought expedient to ordain, that the Chancellor should always be taken from among the Secretaries of the Senate, who were citizens. Afterwards, when the council of ten came to be established, it was ordained, that the Chancellor might be chosen either from the Secretaries of that court, or from those of the Senate.

[Page] The Grand Chancellor of Venice is an officer of great dignity and importance; he has the keeping of the great seal of the Commonwealth, and is privy to all the secrets of the State; he is considered as the head of the order of citizens, and his office is the most lucrative in the republic; yet, though he must be present at all the councils, he has no deliberative voice.

In perusing the annals of this republic, we continually meet with proofs of the restless jealousy of this government; even the private oeconomy of families sometimes created suspicion, however blameless the public conduct of the master might be. The present Doge had married a foreign lady; his two sons followed his example, one of their wives was a princess.

This gave umbrage to the senate; they thought that by such means, the nobles might acquire an interest, and connexions, in other countries, inconsistent with their duty as citizens of Venice: and therefore, in the interregnum which followed the death of Theipolo, a law was proposed by the Correctors, and immediately passed, by which all future Doges, and their sons, were interdicted from marriage with foreigners, under the pain of being excluded from the office of Doge.

Though the people had been gradually, as we have seen, deprived of their original right of electing the chief magistrate; yet, on the elections which succeeded the establishment of the new mode, the Doge had always been presented to the multitude assembled in St. Mark's Place, as if requesting their approbation; and the people, flattered with this small degree of attention, had never failed to announce their satisfaction by repeated shouts: but the senate seem to have been afraid of leaving them even this empty shadow of their ancient power; for they ordained, that, instead of presenting the Doge to the multitude, to receive their acclamations, as formerly, a Syndic, for the future, should, in the name of the people, congratulate the new Doge on his election.

On this occasion, the senate do not seem to have acted with their usual discernment. Show often affects the minds of men more than substance, as appeared in the present instance; for the Venetian populace displayed more resentment on being deprived of this noisy piece of form, than when the substantial right had been taken from them.

After the death of the Doge John Dandolo, before a new election could take place in the usual forms, a prodigious multitude assembled in St. Mark's Place, and, with loud acclamations, proclaimed James Theipolo; declaring, that this was more binding than any other mode of election, and that he was Doge to all intents and purposes.

While the senate remained in fearful suspense for the consequences of an event so alarming and unlooked for, they were informed, that Theipolo had withdrawn himself from the city, with a determination to remain concealed, till he heard how the senate and people would settle the dispute.

[Page] The people, having no person of weight to conduct or head them renounced, with their usual fickleness, a project which they had begun with their usual intrepidity.

The Grand Council, freed from alarm, proceeded to a regular election, and chose Peter Gradonico, a man of enterprise, firmness, and address, in whose reign we shall see the dying embers of democracy perfectly extinguished.

LETTER XII. Aristocracy established—Conspiracies—Insurrections.—Ecclesiastical Inquisition.—The College, or Seigniory.

VENICE.

GRADONICO, from the moment he was in possession of the office of Doge, formed a scheme of depriving the people of all their remaining power. An aversion to popular government, and resentment of some signs of personal dislike, which the populace had shewn at his election, seem to have been his only motives; for, while he completely annihilated the ancient rights of the, people, he shewed no inclination to augment the power of his own office.

Although the people had experienced many mortifying deviations from the old constitution, yet, as the Grand Council was chosen annually, by electors of their own nomination, they flattered themselves that they still retained an important share in the government. It was this last hold of their declining freedom which Gradonico meditated to remove, for ever, from their hands. Such a project was of a nature to have intimidated a man of less courage; but his natural intrepidity, animated by resentment, made him overlook all dangers and difficulties.

He began (as if by way of experiment) with some alterations respecting the manner of choosing the Grand Council; these, however, occasioned murmurs; and it was feared, that dangerous tumults would arise at the next election of that court.

But, superior to fear, Gradonico inspired others with courage; and, before the period of the election arrived, he struck the decisive blow.

A law was published in the year 1297, by which it was ordained, that those who actually belonged to the Grand Council, should continue members of it for life; and that the same right should descend to their posterity, without any form of election whatever. This was at once forming a body of hereditary legislative nobility, and establishing a complete aristocracy, upon the ruins of the ancient popular government.

This measure struck all the citizens, who were not then of the Grand Council, with concern and astonishment; but, in a particular manner, those of ancient and noble families; for although, as has been already observed, there was, strictly speaking, no nobility with exclusive privileges before this law, yet there were in Venice, as there must be in the most democratical republics, certain families considered as more honourable[Page]than others many of whom found themselves, by this law, thrown into a rank inferior to that of the least considerable person who happened, at this important period, to be a member of the Grand Council. To conciliate the minds of such dangerous malcontents, exceptions were made in their favour, and some of the most powerful were immediately received into the Grand Council; and to others it was promised that they should, at some future period, be admitted. By such hopes, artfully insinuated, and by the great influence of the members who actually composed the Grand Council, all immediate insurrections were prevented; and foreign wars, and objects of commerce, soon turned the people's attention from this mortifying change in the nature of the government.

A strong resentment of those innovations, however festered in the breasts of some individuals, who, a few years after, under the direction of one Marino Bocconi, formed a design to assassinate Gradonico, and massacre all the Grand Council, without distinction. This plot was discovered, and the chiefs, after confessing their crimes, were executed between the pillars.

The conspiracy of Bocconi was confined to malcontents of the rank of citizens; but one of a more dangerous nature, and which originated among the nobles themselves, was formed in the year 1309

This combination was made up of some of the most distinguished of those who were not of the Grand Council when the reform took place, and who had not been admitted afterwards, according to their expectations; and of some others of very ancient families, who could not bear to see so many citizens raised to a level with themselves, and who, besides, were piqued at what they called the Pride of Gradonico.

These men chose for their leader, the son of James Theipolo, who had been proclaimed Doge by the populace. Their object was, to dispossess Gra [...]onico, and restore the ancient constitution; they were soon joined by a great many of inferior rank, within the city, and they engaged considerable numbers of their friends and dependents from Padua, and the adjacent country, to come to Venice, and assist them, at the time appointed for the insurrection.

Considering the numbers that were privy to this undertaking, it is astonishing that it was not discovered till the night preceding that on which it was to have taken place. The uncommon concourse of strangers created the first suspicion, which was confirmed by the confession of some who were acquainted with the design. The Doge immediately summoned the council, and sent expresses to the governors of the neighbouring towns and forts, with orders for them to hasten with their forces to Venice. The conspirators were not disconcerted; they assembled, and attacked the Doge and his friends, who were collected in a body around the palace.

The Place of St. Mark was the scene of this tumultuous battle, which lasted many hours, but was attended with more noise and terror among the inhabitants, than bloodshed to the combatants. [Page] Some of the military governors arriving with troops, the contest ended in the rout of the conspirators. A few nobles had been killed in the engagement; a greater number were executed by order of the senate. Theipolo, who had fled, was declared infamous, and an enemy to his country; his goods and fortune were confiscated, and his house razed to the ground. After these executions, it was thought expedient to receive into the Grand Council, several of the most distinguished families of citizens.

Those two conspiracies having immediately followed one another, spread an universal diffidence and dread over the city, and gave rise to the court called the Council of Ten, which was erected about this time, merely as a temporary Tribunal, to examine into the causes, punish the accomplices, and destroy the seeds of the late conspiracy; but which, in the sequel, became permanent. I shall wave farther mention of this court, till we come to the period when the State Inquisitors were established; but it is proper to mention, that the Ecclesiastical Court of Inqu [...]ition was also erected at Venice in the reign of the Doge Gradonico.

The Popes had long endeavoured to introduce this court into every country in Europe; they succeeded too well in many; but though it was not entirely rejected by the State of Venice, yet it was accepted under such restrictions as have prevented the dismal cruelties which accompany it in other countries.

This republic seems, at all times, to have a strong impression of the ambitious and encroaching spirit of the court of Rome; and has, on all occasions, shewn the greatest unwillingness to entrust power in the hands of ecclesiastics. Of this, the Venetians gave an undoubted proof at present; for while they established a new civil Court of Inquisition, with the most unlimited powers, they would not receive the ecclesiastical inquisitions, except on conditions to which it had not been subjected in any other country.

The court of Rome never displayed more address than in its attempts to elude those limitations, and to prevail on the senate to admit the inquisition at Venice, on the same footing as it had been received elsewhere; but the senate was as firm as the Pope was artful, and the Court of Inquisition was at last established, under the following conditions

That three commissioners from the senate should attend the deliberations of that court, none of whose decrees could be executed without the approbation of the commissioners.

Those commissioners were to take no oath of fidelity, or engagement of any kind, to the Inquisition; but were bound by oath to conceal nothing from the senate which should pass in the Holy Office.

That heresy should be the only crime cognisable by the Inquisition; and, in case of the conviction and condemnation of any criminal, his goods and money should not belong to the court, but to his natural heirs.

[Page] That Jews and Greeks should be indulged in the exercise of their religion, without being disturbed by this court.

The commissioners were to prevent the registration of any statute made at Rome; or any where out of the Venetian State.

The Inquisitors were not permitted to condemn books as heretical, without the concurrence of the Senate; nor were they allowed to judge any to be so, but those already condemned by the edict of Clement VIII.

Such were the restrictions under which the Inquisition was established at Venice; and nothing can more clearly prove their efficacy, than a comparison of their numbers, who have suffered for heresy here, with those who have been condemned to death by that court in every other place where it was established.

An instance is recorded of a man, named Narino, being condemned to a public punishment, for having composed a book in defence of the opinions of John Huss▪ For this (the greatest of all crimes in the sight of Inquisitors) his sentence was, that he should be exposed publicly on a scaffold, dressed in a gown, with flames and devils painted on it. The moderation of the civil mogistrate appears in this sentence.

Without his into position, the flames which surrounded the prisoner would, in all probability, not have been painted. This, which is mentioned in the History of Venice as an instance of severity, happened at a time, when, in Spain and Portugal, many wretches were burnt, by order of the Inquisition, for smaller offences.

In 1354, during the interregnum after the death of Andrew Dandolo, it was proposed by the Correctors of Abuses, that, for the future, the three chiefs of the Criminal Council of Forty should be members of the College; and this passed into a law.

It may be necessary to mention, that the College, otherwise called the Seigniory, is the supreme cabinet council of the State. This court was originally composed of the Doge and six councellors only; but to these, at different periods, were added; first, six of the Grand Council, chosen by the Senate; they were called Savii, or Sages, from their supposed wisdom; and afterwards, five Savii, of the Terra Firma, whose more immediate duty is to superintend the business of the towns and provinces belonging to the republic on the continent of Europe, particularly what regards the troops. At one time there were also five Savii for maritime affairs, but they had little business after the Venetian navy became inconsiderable; and now, in the room of them, five young nobleman are chosen by the Senate every six months, who attend the meetings of the Seigniory, without having a vote, though they give their opinions when asked. This is by way of instructing, and rendering them fit for the affairs of State. They are called Sages of the Orders, and are chosen every six months.

[Page] To those were added, the three chiefs of the Criminal Court of Forty; the court then consisting, in all, of twenty-six members.

The College is, at once, the cabinet council, and the representative of the republic. This court gives audience, and delivers answer [...], in the name of the republic, to foreign Ambassadors, to the deputies of towns and provinces, and to the generals of the army; it also receives all requests and memorials on State affairs, summons the Senate at pleasure, and arranges the business to be discussed in that assembly.

In the Venetian government, great care is taken to balance the power of one court by that of another, and to make them reciprocal checks on each other. It was probably from a jealousy of the power of the College, that three chiefs of the Criminal Court of Forty were now added to it.

LETTER XIII. Conspiracy against the State, by a Doge.—Singular instance of weakness and vanity in a noble Venetian.—New magistrates to prevent luxury.—Courtesans.

VENICE.

THE history of no nation presents a greater variety of singular events than that of Venice. We have seen a conspiracy against this State, originating among the citizens, and carried on by people of that rank only. We saw another, soon after, which took its origin among the body of the nobles; but the year 1355 presents us with one of a still more extraordinary nature, begun, and carried on, by the Doge himself. If ambition, or the augmentation of his own power, had been the object, it would not have been so surprising; but his motive to the conspiracy was as small as the intention was dreadful.

Marino Falliero, Doge of Venice, was, at this time, eighty years of age; a time of life when the violence of the passions is generally pretty much abated. He had, even then, however, given a strong instance of the rashness of his disposition, by marrying a very young woman. This lady imagined she had been affronted by a young Venetian nobleman at a public ball, and she complained bitterly of the insult to her husband. The old Doge▪ who had all the desire imaginable to please his wife, determined, in this matter at least, to give her ample satisfaction.

The delinquent was brought before the Judges, and the crime was exaggerated with all the eloquence that money could purchase; but they viewed the affair with unprejudiced eyes, and pronounced a sentence no more than adequate to the crime. The Doge was filled with the most extravagant rage, and, finding that the body of [Page] the nobles took no share in his wrath, he entered into a conspiracy with the Admiral of the Arsenal, and some others, who were discontented with the government on other accounts, and projected a method of vindicating his wife's honour, which seems rather violent for the occasion. It was resolved by those desperadoes, to massacre the whole Grand Council. Such a scene of bloodshed, on account of one woman, has not been imagined since the Trojan war.

This plot was conducted with more secrecy than could have been expected, from a man who seems to have been deprived of reason, as well as humanity. Every thing was prepared; and the day, previous to that which was fixed for the execution, had arrived, without any person, but those concerned in the conspiracy, having the least knowledge of the horrid design.

It was discovered in the same manner in which that against the King and Parliament of England was brought to light in the time of James the First.

Bertrand Bergamese, one of the conspirators, being desirous to save Nicolas Lioni, a noble Venetian, from the general massacre, called on him, and earnestly admonished him, on no account, to go out of his house the following day; for, if he did, he would certainly lose his life. Lioni pressed him to give some reason for this extraordinary advice; which the other obstinately refusing; Lioni ordered him to be seized, and confined; and, sending for some of his friends of the Senate, by means of promises and threats, they at length prevailed on the prisoner to discover the whole of this horrid mystery.

They send for the Avogadors, the Council of Ten, and other high officers, by whom the prisoner was examined; after which, orders were given for seizing the principal conspirators in their houses, and for summoning those of the nobility and citizens, on whose fidelity the Council could rely. These measures could not be taken so secretly as not to alarm many, who found means to make their escape. A considerable number were arrested, among whom were two chiefs of the conspiracy under the Doge. They being put to the question, confessed the whole. It appeared that only a select body of the principal men had been privy to the real design; great numbers had been desired to be prepared with arms, at a particular hour, when they would be employed in attacking certain enemies of the State, which were not named; they were desired to keep those orders a perfect secret, and were told, that upon their fidelity and secrecy their future fortunes depended. Those men did not know of each other, and had no suspicion that it was not a lawful enterprise for which they were thus engaged; they were therefore set at liberty; but all the chiefs of the plot gave the fullest evidence against the Dogs. It was proved, that the whole scheme had been formed by his direction, and supported by his influence. After the principal conspirators were tried and executed, the Council of [...] [...]ext proceeded to the trial of the [Page] Doge himself: They desired that twenty senators, of the highest reputation▪ might assist upon this solemn occasion; and that two relations of the Falliero family, one of whom was a member of the Council of Ten, and the other an Avogador, might withdraw from the court.

The Doge, who hitherto had remained under a guard in his own apartments in the palace, was now brought before this Tribunal of his own subjects. He was dressed in the robes of his office.

It is thought he intended to have denied the charge, and attempted a defence; but when he perceived the number and nature of the proofs against him, overwhelmed by their force, he acknowledged his guilt, with many fruitless and abject intreaties for mercy.

That a man, of eighty years of age, should lose all firmness on such an occasion, is not marvellous; that he should have been incited, by a trifling offence, to such an inhuman, and such a deliberate plan of wickedness, is without example.

He was sentenced to lose his head. The sentence was executed in the place where the Doges are usually crowned.

In the Great Chamber of the palace, where the portraits of the Doges are placed, there is a vacant space between the portraits of Fallier's immediate predecessor and successor, with this inscription;

Locus Marini Fallieri decapitati.

The place intended for the portrait of Marinus Fallierus, who was beheaded.

The only other instance which history presents to our contemplation, of a sovereign tried according to the forms of law, and condemned to death by a Tribunal of his own subjects, is that of Charles the First, of Great Britain. But how differently are we affected by a review of the two cases!

In the one, the original errors of the misguided Prince are forgotten in the severity of his fate, and in the calm majestic firmness with which he bore it. Those who, from public spirit, had opposed the unconstitutional measures of his government, were no more; and the men now in power were actuated by far different principles. All the passions of humanity, therefore, take part with the royal [...]; nothing but the ungenerous spirit of party can seduce them to the side of his enemies. In his trial we behold, with a mixture of pity and indignation, the unhappy monarch delivered up to the malice of hypocrites, the rage of fanatics, and the insolence of a low-born law ruffian.

In the other, every sentiment of compassion is effaced by horror, at the enormity of the crime.

In the year 1361, after the death of the Doge John Delfino, when the last electors were confined in the Ducal Chamber to choose his successor, and while the election vibrated between three [Page] candidates, a report arrived at Venice, that Laurentius Celsus, who commanded the fleet, had obtained a complete victory over the Genoese, who were at that time at war with the Venetians. This intelligence was communicated to the electors who immediately dropped all the three candidates, and unanimously chose this commander. Soon after, it was found, that the rumour of the victory was entirely groundless. This could not affect the validity of the election; but it produced a decree to prevent, on future occasions of the same kind, all communication between the people without, and the conclave of electors.

This Doge's father displayed a singular instance of weakness and vanity, which some of the historians have thought worth transmitting to us. I do not know for what reason, unless it be to comfort posterity with the reflection, that human folly is much the same in all ages, and that their ancestors have not been a great deal wiser than themselves. This old gentleman thought it beneath the dignity of a father to pull of his cap to his own son; and that he might not seem to condescend so far, even when all the other nobles shewed this mark of respect to their sovereign, he went, from the moment of his son's election, upon all occasions, and in all weathers, with his head uncovered. The [...] bring solicitous for his father's health, and finding that no persuasion, nor explanation of the matter, that could be given, were sufficient to overcome this obstinacy, recollected that he was as devout as he was vain, which suggested an expedient that had the desired effect. He placed a cross on the front of his ducal coronet. The old man was as desirous to testify his respect to the cross, as he was averse to pay obeisance to his son; and unable to devise any way of pulling off a cap which he never wore, his piety, at length, got the better of his pride; he resumed his cap, as formerly that, as often as his son appeared, he might pull it off in honour of the cross.

During the reign of Laurentius Celsus, the celebrated poet Petrarch, who resided for some time at Venice, and was pleased with the manners of the people, and the wisdom of their government, made a present to the republic, of his collection of books; which, at that time, was reckoned very valuable. This was the foundation of the great library of St. Mark.

In perusing the annals of Venice, we continually meet with new institutions. No sooner is any inconveniency perceived, than measures are taken to remove it, or guard against its effects. About this time, three new magistrates were appointed, whose duty is to prevent all ostentatious luxuries in dress, equipage, and other expensive super flu [...]es, a [...]d to prosecute those who transgress the sumptuary laws, which comprehend such objects. Those magistrates are called—Sopra Proveditori alle Pompé; Inspectors into Luxury; they were allowed a discretionary power of levying fines, from people of certain professions, who deal entirely in articles of luxury. Of this number, that of public courtesans was reckoned. [Page] This profession, according to all accounts flourished at Venice, with a degree of splendour unknown in any other capital of Europe; and very considerable exactions were raised to the use of the State, at particular times, from the wealthiest of those dealers. This excise, it would appear, has been pushed beyond what the trade could bear; for it is at present in a state of wretchedness and decay; the best of the business, as is said, being now carried on, for mere pleasure, by people who do not avow themselves of the profession.

LETTER XIV. Rigour of Venetian laws exemplified in the cases of Antonio Venier, Carlo Zeno, and young Foscari.

VENICE.

NO government was ever more punctual, and impartial, than that of Venice, in the execution of the laws. This was thought essential to the well being, and very existence, of the State. For this, all respect for individuals, all private considerations whatever, and every compunctious feeling of the heart, is sacrificed. To execute law with all the rigour of justice, is considered as the chief virtue of a judge; and, as there are cases in which the sternest may relent, the Venetian government has taken care to appoint certain magistrates, whose sole business is to see that others perform their duty upon all occasions.

All this is very fine in the abstract, but we often find it detestable in the application.

In the year 1400, while Antonio Venier was Doge, his son having commited an offence which evidently sprung from mere youthful levity, and nothing worse, was condemned in a fine of one hundred ducats, and to be imprisoned for a certain time.

While the young man was in prison, he fell sick, and petitioned to be removed to a purer air. The Doge rejected the petition; declaring, that the sentence must be executed literally; and that his son must take the fortune of others in the same predicament. The youth was much beloved, and many applications were made, that the sentence might be softened, on account of the danger which threatened him. The father was inexorable, and the son died in prison. Of whatever [...]efined substance this man's heart may have been composed, I am better pleased that mine is made of the common materials.

Carlo Zeno was accused, by the council of Ten, of having received a sum of money from Francis Car [...]ro, son of the Seignier of Padua, contrary to an express law, which forbids all subjects of Venice, on any pretext whatever, accepting any salary, pension, or gratification, from a foreign Prince or State. This accusation was grounded [...]n a paper found among Carraro's accounts, when Padua was taken by the[Page]Venetians. In this paper was an article of four hundred ducats paid to Carlo Zeno, who declared, in his defence, that while he was, by the Senate's permission, governor of the Milanese, he had visited Carraro, then a prisoner in the castle of Asti: and finding him in want of common necessaries, he had advanced to him the sum in question; and that this Prince, having been liberated some short time after, had, on his return to Padua, repaid the money.

Zeno was a man of acknowledged candour, and of the highest reputation; he had commanded the fleets and armies of the State with the most brilliant success; yet neither this, nor any other considerations, prevailed on the Court to depart from their usual severity. They owned that, from Zeno's usual integrity, there was no reason to doubt the truth of his declaration; but the assertions of an accused person were not sufficient to efface the force of the presumptive circumstances which appeared against him.—His declaration might be convincing to those who knew him intimately, but was not legal evidence of his innocence; and they adhered to a distinguishing maxim of this Court, that it is of more importance to the State, to intimidate every one from even the appearance of such a crime, than to allow a person, against whom a presumption of guilt remained, to escape, however innocent he might be. This man, who had rendered the most essential services to the republic, and had gained many victories, was condemned to be removed from all his offices, and to be imprisoned for two years.

But the most affecting instance of the odious inflexibility of Venetian courts, appears in the case of Foscari, son to the Doge of that name.

This young man had, by some imprudences, given offence to the Senate, and was, by their orders, confined at Treviso, when Almor Donato, one of the Council of Ten, was assassinated, on the 5th of November 1750, as he entered his own house.

A reward, in ready money, with pardon for this, or any other crime, and a pension of two hundred ducats, revertible to children, was promised to any person who would discover the planner, or perpetrator, of this crime. No such discovery was made.

One of young Foscari's footmen, named Olivier, had been observed loitering near Donato's house on the evening of the murder;—he fled from Venice next morning. These, with other circumstances of less importance, created a strong suspicion that Foscari had engaged this man to commit the murder.

Olivier was taken, brought to Venice, put to the torture, and confessed nothing; yet the Council of Ten, being prepossessed with an opinion of their guilt, and imagining that the master would have less resolution, used him in the same cruel manner—The unhappy young man, in the midst of his agony, continued to assert, that he knew nothing of the assassination.

This convinced the court of his firmness, but not of his innocence; yet as there was no legal proof of his guilt, they could not sentence him to death. He was condemned to pass the rest of his life in banishment, at Cané [...], in the island of Candia.

[Page] This unfortunate youth bore his exile with more impatience than he had done the rack; he often wrote to his relations and friends, praying them to intercede in his behalf, that the term of his banishment might be abridged, and that he might be permitted to return to his family before he died—All his applications were fruitless, those to whom he addressed himself had never interfered in his favour, for fear of giving offence to the obdurate Council, or had interfered in vain.

After languishing five years in exile, having lost all hope of return, through the interposition of his own family, or countrymen, in a fit of despair he addressed the Duke of Milan, putting him in mind of services which the Doge, his father, had rendered him, and begging that he would use his powerful influence with the State of Venice, that his sentence might be recalled. He entrusted his letter to a merchant, going from Canèa to Venice, who promised to take the first opportunity of sending it from thence to the Duke; instead of which, this wretch, as soon as he arrived at Venice, delivered it to the chiefs of the Council of Ten.

This conduct of young Foscari appeared criminal in the eyes of those judges; for, by the laws of the republic, all its subjects are expressly forbid claiming the protection of foreign Princes, in any thing which relates to the government of Venice.

Foscari was therefore ordered to be brought from Candia, and shut up in the State prison. There the chiefs of the Council of Ten ordered him once more to be put to the torture, to draw from him the motives which determined him to apply to the Duke of Milan. Such an exertion of law is, indeed, the most flagrant injustice.

The miserable youth declared to the Council, that he had wrote the letter, in the full persuasion that the merchant, whose character he knew, would betray him, and deliver it to them; the consequence of which, he foresaw, would be, his being ordered back a prisoner to Venice, the only means he had in his power of seeing his parents and friends; a pleasure for which he had languished, with unsurmountable desire, for some time, and which he was willing to purchase at the expence of any danger or pain.

The Judges, little affected with this generous instance of filial piety, ordained, that the unhappy young man should be carried back to Candia, and there be imprisoned for a year, and remain [...] to that island for life; with this condition, that if he should make any more applications to foreign Powers, his imprisonment should be perpetual. At the same time they gave permimission, that the Doge, and his lady, might visit their unfortunate son.

The Doge was, at this time, very old; he had been in possession of the office above thirty years. Those wretched parents had an interview with their son in one of the apartments of the palace; they embraced him with all the tenderness which his misfortunes, and his [...] affection, deserved. The father exhorted him to bear [Page] his hard fate with firmness; the son protested, in the most moving terms, that this was not in his power; that however others could support the dismal loneliness of a prison, he could not; that his heart was formed for friendship, and the reciprocal endearments of social life; without which his soul sunk into dejection worse than death, from which alone he should look for relief, if he should again be confined to the horrors of a prison; and melting into tears, he sunk at his father's feet, imploring him to take compassion on a son who had ever loved him with the most dutiful affection, and who was perfectly innocent of the crime of which he was accused; he conjured him, by every bond of nature and religion, by the bowels of a father, and the mercy of a Redeemer, to use his influence with the Council to mitigate their sentence, that he might be saved from the most cruel of all deaths, that of expiring under the slow tortures of a broken heart, in a horrible banishment from every creature he loved.—"My son," replied the Doge, submit to the laws of your country, and do not ask of me what it is not in my power to obtain.

Having made this effort, he retired to another apartment; and, unable to support any longer the acuteness of his feelings, he sunk into a state of insensibility, in which condition he remained till some time after his son had sailed on his return to Candia.

Nobody has presumed to describe the anguish of the wretched mother; those who are endowed with the most exquisite sensibility, and who have experienced distresses in some degree similar, will have the justest idea of what i [...] was,

The accumulated misery of those unhappy parents touched the hearts of some of the most powerful senators, who applied with so much energy for a complete pardon for young Foscari, that they were on the point of obtaining it; when a vessel arrived from Candia, with tidings, that the miserable youth had expired in prison a short time after his return.

Some years after this, Nicholas Erizzo, a noble Venetian, being on his death bed, confessed that, bearing a violent resentment against the Senator Donato, he had committed the assassination for which the unhappy family of Foscari had suffered so much.

A [...] this time [...] of the Doge were at an end; he had existed only a few months after the death of his son. His life had been prolonged, till he beheld his son persecuted to death for an infamous crime; but not till he should see this foul stain washed from his family, and the innocence of his beloved son made manifest to the world.

The ways of heaven never appeared more dark and intricate, than in the incidents and catastrophe of this mournful story. To reconcile the permission of such events, to our ideas of infinite power and goodness, however difficult, is a natural attempt in the human mind, and has exercised the ingenuity of philosophers in all ages; while, in the eyes of Christians, those seeming perplexities afford an additional proof, that there will be a future state, in which the ways of God to man will be fully justified.

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LETTER XV. The Council of Ten, and the State Inquisitors. Reflections on these institutions.

VENICE.

I Deferred giving you any account of the Council of Ten, till I came to mention the State Inquisitors, as the last was ingrafted on the former, and was merely intended to strengthen the hands, and augment the power, of that court.

The Council of Ten consists in effect, of seventeen members; for, besides the ten noblemen chosen annually by the Grand Council, from whose number this court receives its name the Doge presides, and the six Counsellors of the Seigniory assist, when they think proper, at all deliberations.

This court was first instituted in the year 1310, immediately after Theipolo's conspiracy.

It is supreme in all State crimes. It is the duty of three chiefs, chosen every month from this court, by lot, to open all letters addressed to it; to report the contents, and assemble the members, when they think proper. They have the power of seizing accused persons, examining them in prison, and taking their answers in writing, with the evidence against them; which being laid before the court, those chiefs appear as prosecutors.

The prisoners, all this time, are kept in close confinement, deprived of the company of relations and friends, and not allowed to receive and advice by letters. They can have no counsel to assist them, unless one of the Judges chooses to assume that office; in which case he is permitted to manage their defence, and plead their cause; after which the Court decide, by a majority of votes, acquitting the prisoner, or condemning him to private or public execution, as they think proper; and if any persons murmur at the fate of their relations or friends, and talk of their innocence, and and the injustice they have met with, these malcontents are in great danger of meeting with the same fate.

I am convinced you will think, that such a court was sufficiently powerful to answer every good purpose of government. This, it would appear, was not the opinion of the Grand Council of Venice; who thought proper, in the year 1501, to create the Tribunal of State Inquisito [...], which is still more despotic and brief in its manner of proceeding.

This court consist, of three members, all taken from the Council of Ten; two literally from the Ten and the third from the Counsellors of the Seigniory, who also make a part of that Council.

These three persons have the power of deciding, without appeal, on the lives of every citizen belonging to the Venetian State; the highest of the nobility, even the Doge himself, not being excepted. They keep the keys of the boxes into which anonymous informations [Page] are thrown. The informers who expect a recompence, cut off a piece of their letter, which they afterwards shew to the Inquisitor when they claim a reward. To those three Inquisitors is given, the right of employing spies, considering secret intelligence, issuing orders to seize all persons whose words or actions they think reprehensible, and afterwards trying them when they think proper. If all the three are of one opinion, no farther ceremony is necessary; they may order the prisoner to be strangled in prison, drowned in the Canal Orfano, hanged privately in the night-time, between the pillars, or executed publicly, as they please; and whatever their decision be, no farther inquisition can be made on the subject; but if any one of the three differs in opinion from his brethren, the cause must be carried before the full assembly of the Council of Ten.

One would naturally imagine, that by those the prisoner would have a good chance of being acquitted; because the difference in opinion of the three Inquisitors shews, that the case is, at least, dubious; and in dubious cases one would expect the leaning would be to the favourable side; but this court is governed by different maxims from those you are acquainted with. It is a rule here to admit of smaller presumptions in all crimes which affect the Government, than in other cases; and the only difference they make between a crime fully proved, and one more doubtful, is, that, in the first case, the execution is in broad day-light; whereas, when there are doubts of the prisoner's guilt, he is only put to death privately. The State Inquisitors have keys to every apartment of the Ducal palace, and can, when they think proper, penetrate into the very bed-chamber of the Doge, open his cabinet, and examine his papers. Of course they may command access to the house of every individual in the State. They continue in office only one year, but are not responsible afterwards for their conduct while they were in authority.

Can you think you would be perfectly composed, and easy in your mind, if you lived in the same city with three persons, who had the power of shutting you up in a dungeon, [...]nd putting you to death when they pleased, and without being accountable for so doing;

If, from the characters of the Inquisitors of one year, a man had nothing to dread, still he might fear that a set, of a different character, might be in authority the next: and although he were persuaded, that the Inquisitors would be always chosen from among men of the most known integrity in the State, he might tremble at the malice of informers, and secret enemies: a combination of whom might impose on the understandings of upright Judges, especially where the accused is excluded from his friends, and denied counsel to assist him in his defence; for, [...]et him be never so conscious of innocence, he cannot be sure of remaining unsuspected, or unaccused; nor can he be certain, that he shall not be put to the rack, to supply a deficiency of evidence: and finally, although a man [Page] were naturally possessed of so much firmness of character as to feel no inquietude from any of those considerations on his own account, he might still be under apprehensions for his children, and other connexions, for whom some men feel more anxiety than for themselves.

Such reflections naturally arise in the minds of those who have been born, and accustomed to live, in a free country, where no such despotic Tribunal is established; yet we find peopl [...] apparently easy in the midst of all those dangers; nay, we know [...] mankind shew the same indifference in cities, where the Emperor, or the Bashaw, amuses himself, from time to time, in cutting off the heads of those he happens to meet with in his walks; and I make no doubt, that if it were usual for the earth to open, and swallow a proportion of its inhabitants every day, mankind would behold this with as much coolness as at present they read the bills of mortality. Such is the effect of habit on the human mind, and so wonderfully does it accommodate itself to those evils for which there is no remedy.

But these considerations do not account for the Venetian nobles suffering such Tribunals as those of the Council of Ten, or the State Inquisitors, to exist, because these are evils which it unquestionably is in their power to remedy; and attempts have been made at various times, by parties of the nobility, to remove them entirely, but without success; the majority of the Grand Council having upon trial, been found for preserving these institutions.

It is believed to be owing to the attention of these courts, that the Venetian republic has lasted longer than any other; but, in my opinion, the chief object of a government should be, to render the people happy; and if it fails in that, the longer it lasts, so much the worse. If they are rendered miserable by that which is supposed to preserve the State, they cannot be losers by removing it, be the consequence what it may; and I fancy most people would rather live in a convenient, comfortable house, which could stand only a few centuries, than in a gloomy gothic fabric, which would last to the day of judgment.

These despotic courts, the State Inquisitors, and Council of Ten, have had their admirers, not only among the Venetian Nobility, but among foreigners; even among such as have, on other occasions, professed principles very unfavourable to arbitrary power.

I find the following passage in a letter of Bishop Burne [...], relating to Venice:

But this leads me to say a little to you of that part of the constitution, which is so censured by strangers, but is really both the greatest glory, and the chief security, of this republic; which is, the unlimited power of the Inquisitors, that extends not only to the chief of the nobility, but to the Duke himself; who is so subject to them, that they may not only give him severe reprimands, but search his papers, make his process, and, in conclusion, put him to death, without being bound to give any account [Page] of their proceedings, except to the Council of Ten. This is the dread, not only of all the subjects, but of the whole nobility, and all that bear office in the republic, and makes the greatest among them tremble, and so obliges then to an exact conduct.

Now, for my part, I cannot help thinking, that a Tribunal which keeps the Doge, the nobility, and all the subjects in dread, and [...]es the greatest among them tremble, can be no great blessing in any State. To be in continual fear, is certainly a very unhappy situation; and if the Doge, the nobility, and all the subjects, are rendered unhappy. I should imagine, with all submission, that the glory and security of the rest of the republic must be of very small importance.

In the same letter which I have quoted above, his Lordship, speaking of the State Inquisitors, has these words: When they find any fault, they are so inexorable, and so quick as well as severe in their justice, that the very fear of this is so effectual a restraint, that, perhaps, the only preservation of Venice, and of its liberty, is owing to this single piece of their constitution.

How would you, my good friend, relish that kind of liberty in England, which could not be preserved without the assistance of a despotic court? Such an idea of liberty might have been announced from the throne, as one of the mysteries of government, by James the First, or the Second; but we are amazed to find it published by a counsellor, and admirer of William the Third. It may, indeed, be said, that the smallness of the Venetian State, and its republican form of government, render it liable to be overturned by sudden tumults, or popular insurrections: this renders it the more necessary to keep a watchful eye over the conduct of individuals, and guard against every thing that may be the source of public commotion or disorder.

The institution of state Inquisitors may be thought to admit of some apology in this view, like the extraordinary and irregular punishment of the Ostracism established at Athens, which had a similar foundation.

In a large State, or in a less popular form of government, the same dangers from civil commotions cannot be apprehended; similar precautions for preventing them are therefore superfluous; but, notwithstanding every apology that can be made, I am at a loss to account for the existence of this terrible Tribunal for so long a time in the Venetian republic, because all ranks seem to have an interest in its destruction; and I do not see on what principle any one man, or any set of men, should wish for its preservation. It cannot be the Doge, for the State Inquisitors keep him in absolute bondage; nor would one naturally imagine that the nobles would relish this court, for the nobles are more exposed to the jealousy of the State Inquisitors than the citizens, or inferior people; and least of all ought the citizens to support a Tribunal, to which none of them can ever be admitted.

[Page] As, however, the body of the nobility alone can remove this Tribunal from being part of the constitution, and yet, we find, they have always supported it; we must conclude, that a junto of that body which has sufficient influence to command a majority of their brethren, has always retained the power in their own hands, and found means of having the majority at least of the Council of Ten, chosen from their own members; so that this arbitrary court is, perhaps, always composed, by a kind of rotation, of the individuals of a junto.

But if the possibility of this is denied, because of the precaution used in the form of electing by ballot, the only other way I can account for a Tribunal of such a nature being permitted to exist, is, by supposing that a majority of the Venetian nobles have so great a relish for unlimited power, that to have a chance of enjoying it for a short period, they are willing to bear all the miseries of slavery for the rest of their lives.

The encouragement given by this Government to anonymous accusers, and secret informations, is attended with consequences which greatly outweigh any benefit that can arise from them. They must destroy mutual confidence, and promote suspicions and jealousies among neighbours; and, while they render all ranks of men fearful, they encourage them to be malicious. The laws ought to be able to protect every man who openly and boldly accuses another.

If any set of men, in a State, are so powerful, that it is dangerous for an individual to charge them with their crimes openly, there must be a weakness in that government which requires a speedy remedy; but let not that be a remedy worse than the disease.

It is no proof of the boasted wisdom of this Government, that, in the use of the torture, it imitates many European States, whose judicial regulations it has avoided where they seem far less censurable. The practice of forcing confession, and procuring evidence by this means, always appeared to me a complication of cruelty and absurdity. To make a man suffer more than the pains of death, that you may discover whether he deserves death, or not, is a manner of distributing justice which I cannot reconcile to my idea of equity.

If it is the intention of the Legislature, that every crime shall be expiated by the sufferings of somebody, and is regardless whether this expiation is made by the agonies of an innocent person, or a guilty, then there is no more to be said; but, if the intention be to discover the truth, this horrid device of the torture will very often fail; for nineteen people out of twenty will declare whatever they imagine will soonest put an end to their sufferings, whether it be truth of falsehood.

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LETTER XVI. League of Cambray.—War with the Turkss—Antonio Bragadino.—Battle of Lepanto.—Disputes with the Pope.

VENICE.

ALTHOUGH many important events have happened since the establishment of the State Inquisition, which have greatly affected the power, riches, and extent of dominion of this republic, yet the nature of the Government has remained much the same. In what I have to add, therefore, I shall be very short and general.

I have already observed, that it was the usual policy of this republic to maintain a neutrality, as long as possible, in all the wars which took place among her neighbours; and when obliged, contrary to her inclinations, to declare for either party, she generally joined with that State whose distant situation rendered its power and prosperity the least dangerous of the two to Venice.

This republic seems, however, to have too much neglected to form defensive alliances with other Sates, and by the continual jealousy she shewed of them, joined to her immense riches, at last became the object of the hatred and envy of all the Powers in Europe. This universal jealousy was roused, and brought into action, in the year 1508, by the intriguing genius of Pope Julius the Second. A confederacy was secretly entered into at Cambray, between Julius, the Emperor Maximilian, Lewis the Twelfth, and Ferdinand of Arragon, against the republic of Venice. A bare enumeration of the Powers which composed this league, gives [...] very high idea of the importance of the state against which it was formed.

The Duke of Savoy, the Duke of Ferrara, and the Duke of Mantua, acceded to this confederacy, and gave in claims to part of the dominions of Venice. It was not difficult to form pretensions to the best part of the dominions of a state, which originally possessed nothing but a few marshy islands at the bottom of the Adriatic Gulph. It was the general opinion of Europe, that the league of Cambray would reduce Venice to her original possessions.

The Venetians, finding themselves deprived of all hopes of foreign assistance, sought support from their own courage, and resolved to meet the danger which threatened them, with the spirit of a brave and independent people.

Their General, Count Alviano, led an army against Lewis, who, being prepared before the other confederates, had already entered Italy. However great the magnanimity of the Senate, and the skill of their General, the soldiery were by no means equal to the disciplined troops of [...]ance, led by a martial nobility, and headed by a gallant monarch. The army of Alviano was defeated; new enemies poured on the republic from all sides; and she lost, in one campaign, all the territories in Italy which she had been ages in acquiring.

[Page] Venice now found that she could no longer depend on her own strength and resources, and endeavoured to break, by policy, a combination which she had not force to resist. The Venetian Senate, knowing that Julius was the soul of the confederacy, offered to deliver up the towns he claimed, and made every other submission that could gratify the pride, and avert the anger, of that ambitious Pontiff; they also find means to separate Ferdinand from the alliance. Lewis and Maximilian being now their only themies, the Venetians are able to sustain the war, till Julius, bearing no longer any resentment against the republic, and seized with remorse at beholding his native country ravaged by French and German armies, unites with Venice to drive the invaders our of Italy; and this republic is saved, with the loss of a small part of his Italian dominions, from a ruin which all Europe had confidered as inevitable. The long and expensive wars between the different Powers of Europe, in which this State was obliged to take part, prove that her strength and resources were not exhausted.

In the year 1570, the Venetians were forced into a ruinous war with the Ottoman Empire, at a time when the Senate, sensible of the great need they stood in of repose, had, with much address and policy, kept clear of the quarrels which agitated the rest of Europe. But Solyman the Second, upon the most frivolous pretext, demanded from them the island of Cyprus.

It was evident to all the world, that he had no better foundation for this claim, than a strong desire, supported by a sufficient power, of conquering the island. This kind of right might not be thought complete in a court of equity; but, in the jurisprudence of monarchs, it has always been found preferable to every other

The Turks make a descent, with a great army, on Cyprus; they invest Famagousta, the capital; the garrison defends it with the most obstinate bravery; the Turks are repulsed in repeated assaults; many thousands of them are slain; but the ranks are constantly supplied by reinforcements. Antonio Bragadino, the commander, having displayed proofs of the highest military skill, and the most heroic courage, his garrrison being quite exhausted with fatigue, and greatly reduced in point of numbers, is obliged to capitulate.

The terms were, that the garrison should march out with their arms, baggage, and three pieces of cannon, and should be transported to Candia in Turkish vessels; that the citizens should not be pillaged, but allowed to retire with their effects.

Mustapha, the Turkish Bashaw, no sooner had possession of the place, than he delivered it up to be pillaged by the Janissaries; the garrison were put in chains, and made slaves on board the Turkish gallies. The principal officers were beheaded, and the gallant Bragadino was tied to a pil [...]ar, and, in the Bashaw's presence, flayed alive.

We meet with events in the annals of mankind, that make us doubt the truth of the most authentic history. We cannot believe that such actions have ever been committed by the inhabitants of this globe, and by creatures of the same species with ourselves. We are tempted to think we are perusing the records of hell, whose inhabitants, according [Page]to the most authentic accounts, derive a constant pleasure from the tortures of each other, as well as of all foreigners.

The conquest of the island of Cyprus is said to have cost the Turks fifty thousand lives. At this time, not Venice only, but all Christendom, had reason to dread the progress of the Turkish arms. The [...] of Venice solicited assistance from all the Catholic States; but France was, at that time, in alliance with the Turks; Maximilian dreaded their power; the Crown of Portugal was possessed by a child, and Poland was exhausted by her wars with Russia. The Venetians, on this pressing occasion, received assistance from Rome, whose power they had so often resisted, and from Spain, their late enemy.

Pope Pius the Fifth, and Philip the Second, joined their fleets with that of the republic. The confederate fleet assembled at Messina. The celebrated Don John of Austria, natural son to Charles the Fifth, was Generalissimo; Mark Antonio Colonna commanded the Pope's division, and Sebastian Veniero the Venetian. The Turkish fleet was greatly superior in the number of vessels.

The two fleets meet in the Gulph of Lepanto: it is said, that the Turkish gallies were entirely worked by Cristian slaves, and the gallies of the Christians by Turkish; a shocking proof of the barbarous manner in which prisoners of war were treated in that age; and, in this instance, as absurd as it was barbarous; for a cartel for an exchange of prisoners would have given freedom to the greater number of those unhappy men, without diminishing the strength of either navy. The fleets engage, and the Turks are entrely defeated. Historians assert, that twenty thousand Turks were killed in the engagement, and one half of their fleet destroyed. This is a prodigious number to be killed on one side, and in a sea fight; it ought to be remembered, that there is no Turkish writer on the subject.

Pius the Fifth died soon after the battle of Lepanto. Upon his death the war languished on the side of the Allies; Philip became tired of the expence, and the Venetians were obliged to purchase a peace, by yielding the island of Cyprus to the Turks, and agreeing to pay them, for three years, an annual tribute of one hundred thousand ducats. Those circumstances have no tendency to confirm the accounts which Christian writers have given of the immense loss which the Turks met with at the battle of Lepanto.

In the beginning of the seventeenth century, the republic had a dispute with the Pope, which, in that age, was thought a matter of importance, and engaged the attention of all Christendom.

Paul the Fifth shewed as eager a disposition as any of his predecessors, to extend the Papal authority▪ He had an inveterate prejudice against the Venetian republic▪ on account of her having, on every occasion, resisted all ecclesiastical encroachments.

He sought, with impatience, an opportunity of manifesting his hatred, and expected that he should be assisted by the pious Princes of Europe, in bringing this refractory child of the church to reason. He began by demanding a sum of money, for the purpose of carrying on the war against the Turks in Hungary; he complained of certain decrees of the Senate,[Page]to the internal government of the republic, particularly one▪ which forbad the building of any more new churches, without the permission of that assembly, and which, he said, smelt strongly of heresy; and above all, he exclaimed against the Council of Ten, for having imprisoned an Ecclesiastic, and prepared to bring him to a public trial. This reverend person, for whom his Holiness interested himself so warmly, was accused of having poisoned five people, one of whom was his own father. He was also accused of having caused another to be assassinated; and, to prevent a discovery, had afterwards poisoned the assassin.

The Senate refused the money, confirmed their decree against the building of churches, and applauded the conduct of the Council of Ten, in prosecuting the Ecclesiastic.

The authors of the age arranged themselves on the one side, or the other and this became a war of controversy; in which, though there was no blood shed, yet it appeared, by the writings of the partisans, that a considerable number of understandings were greatly injured. Those who supported the Pope's cause insisted, that the temporal power of Princes is subordinate to his; that he has a right to deprive them of their dominions and release their subjects from their oaths of fidelity, as often as this shall be for the glory of God, and for the good of the Church; of which nobody could be so good a judge as the Pope, since all the world knew he was infallible; that ecclesiastics were not subjected to the civil power; that an ecclesiastical court, or the Pope, only had authority over that body of men; and nothing could be more abominable, than to continue a prosecution against a prisoner, whatever his crimes might be, after the Father of the church, who had the undoubted power of absolving sinners, had interfered in his favour.

The Senate, in their answers, acknowledged, that the Pope was supreme head of the Church, and that, in all subjects of religious belief, his power was unbounded; for which reason they remained implicit and submissive believers; that they were far from disputing the infullibility of his Holiness in ecclesiastical matters, particularly within his own dominions; but, with regard to the government of their subjects, they would certainly take the whole trouble of that on themselves, and would administer as impartial justice to Ecclesiastics, as to those of other professions. They imagined also, that they were competent judges when, and for what purposes, they ought to levy money upon their own subjects, and whether it would be necessary to build any new churches in Venice, or no [...]. Finally, they flattered themselves, that the prosecuting a murderer was no way inconsistent with the glory of God.

The greater number of the Princes of Christendom seemed to think the Senate were in the right. The Pope was disappointed in his expectations; and finding himself unsupported, was glad to shelter his pride under the mediation of Henry the Fourth of France, who endeavoured to give his Holiness's defeat the appearance of victory.

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LETTER XVII. Marquis of Bedmar's conspiracy.—False accusations—The siege of Candia. The impatience of a Turkish Emperor.—Conclusion of the review of the Venetian Government.

VENICE.

THE year 1618 is distinguished in the annals of Venice, by a conspiracy of a more formidable nature than any hitherto mentioned. The design of other conspiracies was a change in the form of government, or, at most, the destruction of some particular class of men in power; but the present plot had for its object the the total annihilation of the Venetian republic. I speak of the conspiracy formed by the Marquis of Bedmar, ambassador from the Court of Spain, in conjunction, with the Duke of Ossuno, and the Spanish governor of the Milanese.

The interesting manner in which this dark design has been described by the Abbé St. Real, has made it more universally known than any other part of the Venetian story. This writer is accused of having ornamented his account with some fanciful circumstances, an objection often enviously urged against some of the most agreeable writers, by authors whom nature has guarded from the possibility of committing such an error; men whose truths are less interesting than fictions, and whose fictions are as dull as the most insipid truths.

Does any reader believe that the speeches of the Generals before a battle, as recorded by Livy, were actually pronounced in the terms of that author? Or, can any one wish they were expunged from his history? Abbè St. Real has also put speeches into the mouths of the conspirators, and has embellished, without materially altering, the real circumstances of the story. For my own part, I feel a degree of gratitude to every person who has entertained me; and while my passions are agreeably agitated with St. Real's lively history, I cannot bear that a phlegmatic fellow should interrupt my enjoyment; and, because of a few embellishments, declar [...], with an affected air of wisdom, that the whole is an idle romance.

The discovery of this plot, and the impressions of jealousy and terror which it left on the minds of the inhabitants of Venice, probably first suggested a plan of a more wicked nature than any of the conspiracies we have hitherto mentioned, and which was actually put in execution.

A set of villains combined together to accuse some of the nobility of treasonable practices, merely for the sake of the rewards bestowed upon informers. This horrid crime may be expected in all Governments where spies and informers are encouraged; it certainly occurs frequently at Venice; sometimes, no doubt, without being detected, and sometimes it is detected, without being publicly punished, for fear of discouraging the business [Page] of information; but on the discovery of the present combination, all Venice was struck with such horror, that the Senate thought proper to publish every circumstance.

A certain number of those miscreants acted the part of accusers; the others, being seized by the information of their accomplices, appeared as witnesses.

A noble Venetian, of a respectable character, and advanced in years, of the name of Foscarini, fell a victim to this horrid cabal; and Venice beheld with astonishment and sorrow, one of her most respectable citizens accused, condemned, and executed as a traitor.

At length, accusations followed each other so close, that they created suspicions in the minds of the judges. The informers themselves were seized, and examined separately, and the whole dreadful scheme became manifest. These wretches suffered the punishment due to such complicated villainy; the honour of Foscarini was re-instated, and every possible compensation made to his injured family. An instance like this, of the despotic precipitancy of the Inquisitors, more than counterbalances all the benefit which the state ever receives from them, o [...] the odious race of informers they encourage.

If the trial of the unfortunate Foscarini had been open, or public, and not in secret, according to the form of the Inquisitor's Court; and if he had been allowed to call exculpatory evidence, and assisted by those friends who knew all his actions, the fa [...]ehood and villa [...]y of these accusers would probably have been discovered, and his life saved.

In the year 1645, the Turks made an unexpected and sudden descent on the island of Candia. The Senate of Venice did not display their usual vigilance on this occasion. They had seen the immense warlike preparations going forward, and yet allowed themselves to be amused by the Grand Seignior's declaring war against Malta, and pretending that the armament was intended against that island. The troops landed without opposition, and the town of Canéa was taken after an obstinate defence.

This news being brought to Venice, excited an universal indignation against the Turks; and the Senate resolved to defend, to the utmost, this valuable part of the empire. Extraordinary ways and means of raising money were fallen upon: among others, it was proposed to fell the rank of nobility. Four citizens offered one hundred thousand ducats each for this honour; and, notwithstanding some opposition, this measure was at last carried. Eighty families were admitted into the Grand Council, and to the honour and privileges of the nobility. What an idea does this give of the wealth of the inhabitants of Venice?

The siege of Candia, the capital of the island of that name, is, in some respects, more memorable than that of any town, which history, o [...] even which poetry, has recorded. It lasted twenty-four years. The amazing efforts made by the republic of Venice astonished all Europe; their courage interested the gallant spirits of [Page] every nation: voluntiers from every country came to Candia, to exercise their valour, to acquire knowledge in the military art, and assist a brave people whom they admired. The Duke of Beaufort, so much the darling of the Parisian populace during the war of the Fronde, was killed here, with many more gallant French officers.

During this famous siege, the Venetians gained many important victories over the Turkish fleets. Sometimes they were driven from the walls of Candia, and the Turkish garrison of Canéa was even besieged by the Venetian fleets. The slaughter made of the Turkish armies is without example; but new armies were soon found to supply their place, by a Government which boasts such populous dominions, and which has despotic authority over its subjects.

Mahomet the Fourth, impatient at the length of this siege, came to Negropont, that he might have more frequen [...] opportunities of hearing from the Vizier, who carried on the siege. An officer sent with dispatches, was directed by the Vizier, to explain to Mahomet the manner in which he made his approaches, and to assure him that he would take all possible care to save the lives of the soldiers. The humane Emperor answered, That he had sent the Vizier to take the place, and not to spare the lives of soldiers; and he was on the point of ordering the head of the officer who brought this message, to be cut off, merely to quicken the Vizier in his operations, and to shew him how little he valued the lives of men.

In spite of the Vizier's boasted parsimony, this war is said to have cost the lives of two hundred thousand Turks. Candia capitulated in the year 1668: the conditions on this occasion were honourably fulfilled. Morsini, the Venetian General, after displaying prodigies of valour and capacity, marched out of the rubbish of this well disputed city, with the honours of war.

The expence of such a tedious war greatly exhausted the resources of Venice, which could not now repair them so quickly as formerly, when she enjoyed the rich monopoly of the Asiatic trade; the discovery of the Cape of Good Hope having long since opened that valuable commerce to the Portuguese and other nations.

This republic remained in a state of tranquility, endeavouring, by the arts of peace, and cultivation of that share of commerce which she still retained, to fill her empty exchequer, till she was drawn into a new war, in the year 1683, by the insolence of the Ottoman Court. The Venetians had for some time endeavoured, by negociation, and many conciliatory representations, to accommodate matters with the Turks; and though the haughty conduct of her enemies afforded small hopes of success, yet such was her [...]version to war on the present occasion, that she still balanced, whether to bear those insults, or repel them by arms; when she was brought to decision by an event which gave the greatest joy to Venice, and astonished all Europe. This was the great victory [Page] gained over the Turkish army before the walls of Vienna, by Sobi [...]ski, King of Poland.

In this new war, their late General Morsini again had the command of the fleets and armies of the republic, and sustained the great reputation he had acquired in Candia. He conquered the Morea, which was coded formally to Venice, with some other acquisition, at the peace of Carlowitz, in the last year of the last century.

During the war of the succession, the state of Venice observed a strict [...]utrality. They considered that dispute as unconnected with their interests, taking care, however, to keep on foot an army on their frontiers in Italy, of sufficient force to make them respected by the contending Powers. But, soon after the peace of Utrecht, the Venetians were again attacked by their old enemies the Turks; who, beholding the great European Powers exhausted by their late efforts, and unable to assist the republic, thought this the favourable moment for recovering the Morea, which had been so lately ravished from them.

The Turks obtained their object, and at the peace of Passarowitz, which terminated this unsuccessful war, the Venetian state yielded up the Morea; the Grand Seignior, on his part, restoring to them the small islands of Cerigo and Cerigotto, with some places which his troops had taken during the course of the war in Dalmatia.

Those, with the islands of Corfou, Santa Maura, Zante, and Cephalonia, the remains of their dominions in the Levant, they have since fortified, at a great expence, as their only barriers against the Turk.

Since this period no essential alteration has taken place in the Venetian government, nor has there been any essential increase, or diminution, in the extent of their dominions. They have little to fear at present from the Turks, whose attention is sufficiently occupied by a more formidable enemy than the republic and the House of Austria united. Besides, if the Turks were more disengaged, as they have now stripped the republic of Cyprus. Candia, and their possessions in Greece, what remains in the Levant is hardly worth their attention.

The declension of Venice did not, like that of Rome, proceed from the increase of luxury, or the revolt of their own armies in the distant Colonies, or from civil wars of any kind. Venice has dwindled in power and importance, from causes which could not be foreseen; or guarded against by human prudence, although they had been foreseen. How could this republic have prevented the discovery of a passage to Asia by the Cape of Good Hope? or hinder other nations from being inspired with a spirit of enterprise, industry, and commerce? In their present situation there is little probability of their attempting new conquests; happy if they are allowed to remain in the quiet possession of what they have. Venice has a most formidable neighbour in the Emperor, whose [Page] dominions border on those of this republic on all sides. The independency of the republic entirely depends on his moderation; or, in case he should lose that virtue, on the protection of some of the great Powers of Europe.

I have now finished the sketch I proposed, of the Venetian government, with which I could not help intermingling many of the principal historical events; indeed I enlarged on these, after you informed me, that you intended to give your young friend copies of my letters on this subject, before he begins his tour. I wish they were more perfect on his account; they will, at least, prevent his being in the situation of some travellers I have met with, who, after remaining here for many months, knew no more of the ancient or modern state of Venice, than that the inhabitants went about in boats, instead of coaches, and, generally speaking, wore masks.

LETTER XVIII. Venetian manners—Opera.—Affectation.—A Duo. Dancers.

VENICE.

HAVING travelled with you through the splendid aeras of the Venetian story, and presented their statesmen and heroes to your view, let us now return to the present race, in whose life and conversation, I forewarn you, there is nothing heroic. The truth is, that in every country, as well as Venice, we can only read of heroes; they are seldom to be seen: for this plain reason, that while they are to be seen we do not think them heroes. The historian dwells upon what is vast and extraordinary; what is common and trivial finds no place in his records.

When we hear the names of Epaminondas, Themistocles Cemillus, Scipio, and other great men of Greece and Rome, we think of their great actions, we know nothing else about them;—but when we see the worthies of our own times, we unfortunately recollect their whole history. The citizens of Athens and Rome, who lived in the days of the heroes above mentioned, very probably had not the same admiration of them that we have; and our posterity, some eight or ten centuries hence, will, it is to be hoped, have a higher veneration for the greatmen of the present age, than their intimate acquaintance are known to have, or than those can be supposed to form, who daily behold them lounging in gaming-houses.

All this, you perceive, is little more than a commentary on the old observation. That no man is a hero to his Valet de Chambre. The number of play houses in Venice is very extraordinary, considering the size of the town, which is not thought to contain above one hundred and fifty thousand inhabitants, yet there are eight or nine theatres here, including the opera houses. You pay [Page] a trifle at the door for admittance; this entitles you to go into the pit, where you may look about, and determine what part of the house you will sit in. There are rows of chairs placed in the front of the pit, next the orchestra; the seats of these chairs are folded to their backs, and fastened by a lock. Those who choose to take them, pay a little more money to the door-keeper, who immediately unlocks the feat. Very decent-looking people occupy these chairs; but the back part of the pit is filled with footmen and gondoleers, in their common working clothes. The nobility, and better sort of citizens, have boxes retained for the year; but there are always a sufficient number to be let to strangers: the price of those varies every night, according to the season of the year, and the piece acted.

A Venetian play-house has a dismal appearance in the eyes of people accustomed to the brilliancy of those of London. Many of the boxes are so dark, that the faces of the company in them can hardly be distinguished at a little distance, even when they do not wear masks. The stage, however, is well illuminated, so that the people in the boxes can see, perfectly well, every thing that is transacted there; and when they choose to be seen themselves, they order lights into their boxes. Between the acts you sometimes see ladies walking about, with their Cavalieri Serventés,—Gentlemen in waiting in the back-part of the pit, when it is not crowded. As they are masked, they do not scruple to reconnoitre the company, with their spying-glasses, from this place: when the play begins, they return to their boxes. This continual moving about from box to box, and between the boxes and the pit, must create some confusion, and, no doubt, is disagreeable to those who attend merely on account of the piece. There must, however, be found some doceur—secret pleasure in the midst of all this obscurity and confusion, which, in the opinion of the majority of the audience, overbalances these obvious inconveniences.

The music of the opera here is reckoned as fine as in any town in Italy; and, at any rate, is far superior to the praise of so very poor a judge as I am. The dramatic and poetical parts of those pieces are little regarded: the poet is allowed to indulge himself in as many anachronisms, and other inconsistencies, as he pleases. Provided the music receives the approbation of the critic's ear, his judgment is not offended with any absurdities in the other parts of the composition. The celebrated Metastasio has disdained to avail himself of this indulgence in his operas, which are fine dramatic compositions. He has preserved the alliance which ought always to subsist between sense and music.

But as for the Music of the serious operas, it is, in general, infinitely too fine for my ear; to my shame I must confess, that it requires a considerable effort for me to sit till the end.

It is surely happy for a man to have a real sensibility for fine music; because he has, by that means, one source of enjoyment more than those whose auditory nerves are less delicately strung. [Page] It is, however, equally absurd and filly to affect an excessive delight in things which nature has not framed us to enjoy; yet how many of our acquaintance, accused of this folly, have we seen doing painful penance at the Hay-market; and, in the midst of unsuppressable yawnings, calling out, Charming! exquisite! bravissimo, &c.

It is amazing what pains some people take to render themselves ridiculous; and it is a matter of real curiosity to observe, in what various shapes the little despicable spirit of affectation shews itself among mankind.

I remember a very honest gentleman, who, understood little or nothing of French; but having picked up a few phrases, he brought them forward on every occasion, and affected, among his neighbours in the country, the most perfect knowledge, and highest admiration, of that language. When any body in compliance with his taste, uttered a sentence in that tongue, though my good friend did not understand a syllable of it, yet he never failed to nod and smile to the speaker with the most knowing air imaginable. The parson of the parish, at a country dinner, once addressed him in these emphatic words: Monsieur, je trouve ce plumpudding extrémement bon!—Sir, I find this plumbpudding extremely good! which happening not to be in my friend's collection of phrases, he did not comprehend.

He nodded and smiled to the clergyman, however, in his usual intelligent manner, but a person who sat near him, being struck with the sagacious and important tone in which the observation had been delivered, begged of my friend to explain it in English:—on which, after some hesitation, he declared, that the turn of the expression was so genteel, and so exquisitely adapted to the French idiom, that it could not be rendered into English, without losing a great deal of the original beauty of the sentiment.

At the comic opera I have sometimes seen action alone excite the highest applause, independent of either the poetry or the music. I saw a Duo performed by an old man and a young woman, supposed to be his daughter, in such an humourous manner, as drew an universal encora—once more from the spectators. The merit of the musical part of the composition, I was told, was but very moderate, and as for the sentiment you shall judge.

The father informs his daughter, in a song, that he has found an excellent match for her; who, besides being rich, and very prudent, and not too young, was over and above a particular friend of his own, and in person and disposition, much such a man as himself; he concludes, by telling her, that the ceremony will be performed next day. She thanks him, in the gayest air possible, for his obliging intentions, adding, that she should have been glad to have shewn her implicit obedience to his commands, provided there had been any chance of the man's being to her taste; but as, from the account he had given, there could be none, she declares she will not marry him next day, and adds, with a very long quaver, that if she were to live to eternity she should continue [Page] in the same opinion. The father, in a violent rage, tells her, that instead of to-morrow, the marriage should take plac [...] that very day; to which she replies. Non:—no: he rejoins Si;—Yes; she, Non, non;—no, no; he Si, si;—Yes, yes; the daughter, Non, non, non;—No, no, no; the father, Si, si, si;—Yes, yes, yes; and so the singing continues for five or six minutes. You perceive there is nothing marvellously witty in this; and for a daughter to be of a different opinion from her father, in the choice of a husband, is not a very new dramatic incident. Well, I told you the Duo was encored—they immediately performed it a second time, and with more humour than the first. The whole house vociferated for it again; and it was sung a third time in a manner equally pleasant and yet perfectly different from any of the former two.

I thought the house would have been brought down about our ears, so extravagant were the testimonies of approbation.

The two actors were obliged to appear again, and sing this Duo a fourth time; which they executed in a stile so new, so natural, and so exquisitely droll, that the audience now thought there had been something deficient in all their former performances, and that they had hit on the true comic only this last time.

Some people began to call for it again; but the old man, now quite exhausted, begged for mercy; on which the point was given up. I never before had any idea that such strong comic powers could have been displayed in the singing of a song.

The dancing is an essential part of the entertainment at the opera here, as well as at London. There is certainly a much greater proportion of mankind deaf to the delights of music, than blind to the beauties of fine dancing. During the singing, and recitativo part of the performance, the singers are often allowed to warble for a considerable time, without any body's minding them; but the moment the ballet begins, private conversation, though pretty universal before, is immediately at an end, and the eyes of all the spectators are fixed on the stage. This, to be sure, has been always the case in London, and, in spite of the pains some people take to conceal it, we all know the reason; but I own I did not expect to find the same preference of dancing to music in Italy.

After seeing the dancing at the French opera, and coming so lately from Vienna, where we had seen some of Novere's charming ballets very well executed, we could have no high admiration of those performed here, though there are at present some dancers highly esteemed, who perform every night.

The Italians, I am informed, have a greater relish for agility and high jumping in their dancers, than for graceful movements.

It is extraordinary that they do not va [...]y the ballets oftner. They give the same every night during the run of the opera. There is a propriety in continuing the same opera for a considerable time; because music is often better relished after it becomes a little familiar to the ear, than at first; but a ballet might be changed, without much difficulty, every night.

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LETTER XIX. No military establishment at Venice.—What supplies its place.

VENICE.

MANY people are surprised, that, in a Government so very jealous of its power as that of Venice, there is no military establishment within the city of support the executive power, and repress any popular commotion. For my own part, I am strongly of opinion, that it proceeds from this very jealousy in government, that there is no military garrison here.

An arbitrary Prince is fond of a standing army, and [...] be always surrounded by guards; because he, being the permanent fountain of honours and promotion, the army will naturally be much attached to him, and become, on all occasions, the blind instruments of his pleasure; but at Venice, there is no visible permanent object, to which the army can attach itself. The Doge would not be allowed the command of the garrison, if there was one. The three State Inquisitors are continually changing; and before one set could gain the affections of the soldiers, another would be chosen; so that Government could not be supported, but much more probably would be overturned, by a numerous garrison being established in Venice; for it might perhaps not be difficult for a few of the rich and powerful nobles to corrupt the garrison, and gain over the commander to any ambitious plan of their own, for the destruction of the constitution.

But although there is no formal garrison in a military uniform, yet there is a real effective force sufficient to suppress any popular commotion, at the command of the Senate, and Council of Ten. This force, besides the Sbir [...]i, consists of a great number of stout fellows, who, without any distinguishing dress, are kept in the pay of Government, and are at the command of that Council. There is also the whole body of the gondoleers, the most hardy and daring of the common Venetians. This body of men are greatly attached to the nobility, from whom they have most of their employment, and with whom they acquire a certain degree of familiarity, by passing great part of their time, shut up in boats, in their company, and by being privy to many of their love intrigues. Great numbers of these gondoleers are in the service of particular nobles; and there is no doubt, that, in case of any popular insurrection, the whole would take the side of the nobility and Senate, against the people. In short, they may be considered as [...] kind of standing militia, ready to rise as soon as the Government requires their services.

Lastly, there is the Grand Council itself, which, in case of any violent commotion of the citizens and populace, could be armed directly, from the small arsenal within the Ducal palace, and would prove a very formidable force against an unarmed [Page] for the laws of Venice forbid, under pain of death, any citizen to carry fire-arms; a law which is very exactly executed by the State Inquisitors.

By those means the executive power of Government is as irresistible at Venice, as at Petersburg or Consta [...]inople, while there is a far less chance of the Government itself being overthrown here by the instruments of its own power; for, although a regular army, or garrison, might be corrupted by the address of an ambitious Doge, or by a combination of a few rich and popular nobles, in which case a revolution would take place at once; it is almost impossible to conceive, that all the different powers abovementioned could be engaged to act in favour of one man, or a small combination of men, without being detected by the vigilance of the Inquisitors, or the jealousy of those who were not in the conspiracy. And if we suppose a majority of the nobles inclinable to any change in the form of the Government, they have no occasion to carry on a secret plot; they may come to the Council Chamber, and dictate whatever alterations they think proper.

LETTER XX. Reflections on the nature of Venetian Government.—Gondoleers.—Citizens.—The Venetian subjects on the Terra Firma.

VENICE.

THERE is unquestionably much reflection, and great depth of thought, displayed in the formation of the political constitution of Venice; but I should admire it much more, if the Council of Ten, and State Inquisitors, had never formed any part of it. Their institution▪ in my opinion, destroys the effect of all the rest. Like those misers who actually starve themselves, by endeavouring to avoid the inconveniencies of poverty, the Venetians, in whatever manner it is brought about, actually support a despotic tribunal, under the pretext of keeping out despotism. In some respects this system is worse than the fixed and permanent tyranny of one person; for that person's character and maxims would be known, and, by endeavouring to conform themselves to his way of thinking, people might have some chance of living unmolested, but according to this plan, they have a free-thinker for their tyrant to-day, and a bigot to-morrow.

One year a set of Inquisitors, who consider certain parts of conduct as innocent, which, in the sight of their successors, may appear State crimes; men do not know what they have to depend upon. An universal jealousy must prevail, and precautions will be used to avoid the suspicions of Government, unknown in any other country.

[Page] Accordingly we find, that the noble Venetians are afraid of having any intercourse with foreign ambassadors, or with foreigners of any kind; they are even cautious of visiting at each other's houses, and hardly ever have meetings together, except at the courts, or on the Broglio. The boasted secrecy of their public councils proceeds, in all probability, from the same principle of fear.

If all conversation on public affairs were forbid, under pain of death, and if the members of the British Parliament were liable to be seized in the night time by general warrants, and hanged at Tyburn, or drowned in the Thames, at the pleasure of the Secretaries of State, I dare swear the world would know as little of what passes in either House of Parliament, as they do of what is transacted in the Senate of Venice.

It is not safe for a noble Venetian to acquire, in a high degree, the love and confidence of the common people. This excites the jealousy of the Inquisitors, and proves a pretty certain means of excluding him from any of the high offices. A Government which displays so much distrust and suspicion where there is little or no ground, will not fail to shew marks of the same disposition where, in the general opinion, there is some reason to be circumspect. Ecclesiastics, of every denomination, are excluded, by the constitution of Venice, from a place in the Senate, or holding any civil office whatever; nor is it permitted them, directly or indirectly, to intermeddle in State affairs. In many instances, they are deprived of that kind of influence which, even in Protestant countries is allowed to the clergy. The Patriarch of Venice has not the disposal of the offices belonging to St. Mark's church; all the Deans are named by the Doge and Senate.

Though it is forbid to the nobility, and to the clergy, to hold any conversation with strangers upon politics, or affairs of State; yet it is remarked, the gondoleers are exceeding ready to talk upon these, or any other subjects, with all who give them the smallest encouragement. Those who are not in the immediate service of any particular nobleman, are often retained by Government, like the Valets de-place at Paris, as spies upon strangers. It is said, that while those fellows row their gondolas, in seeming inattention to the conversation, they are taking notice of every thing which is said, that they may report it to their employers, when they imagine it any way concerns the Government. If this is true those are to be pitied who are obliged to listen to all the stuff that such politicians may be supposed to relate. As soon as a stranger arrives, the gondoleers who brought him to Venice immediately repair to a certain office, and give information where they took him up, to what house they conducted him, and of any other particulars they may have picked up.

All those precautions recalled to my memory the garrison of Darmstadt, of which I gave you an account in a letter from that place, where the strictest duty is kept up by day and night, in winter [Page] as well as summer, and every precaution used, as if an enemy were at the gates; though no mortal has the smallest de [...]gn against the place, and though it i [...] perfectly understood by all the inhabitants, that if an a [...]my was in reality to come with hostile intentions, the town could not hold out a week.

In the same manner, I cannot help thinking, that all this jealousy and distrust, those numerous engines set a going, and all this complicated system for the discovery of plots, and the defence of the constitution of this republic, serves only to harass their own subjects.

Their constitution is certainly in no such danger as to require such an apparatus of machines to defend it, unless, indeed, the Emperor were to form a plot against it; and, in that case, it is much to be feared, that the spies, gondoleers, lions mouths, and State Inquisitors, would hardly prevent its success.

Exclusive of this State Inquisition, my abhorrence to which, I perceive, leads me sometimes away from my purpose, all ranks of people here might be exceeding happy. The business of the various courts, and the great number of offices in the State, form a constant employment for the nobles, and furnish them with proper objects to excite industry and ambition. The citizens form a respectable body in the State; and, though they are excluded from the Senate, they may hold some very lucrative and important offices. By applying to the arts and sciences, which are encouraged at Venice, they have a fair chance of living agreeably, and laying up a competency for their families. Private property is no where better secured than at Venice; and notwitstanding she no longer enjoys the trade of Asia without competitors, yet her commerce is still considerable, and many individuals acquire great wealth by trade. The manufactories established here employ all the industrious poor, and prevent that squalid beggary, that pilfering and robbery, one or other, or all of which, prevail in most other countries of Europe.

Their subjects on the Terra Firma, I am informed, are not at all oppressed; the Senate has found that mild treatment, and good usage, are the best policy, and more effectual than armies, in preventing revolts. The Podestas, therefore, are not allowed to abuse their power, by treating the people with severity or injustice, Those Governors know, that any complaints produced against them, will be scrutinized by the Senate very carefully. This prevents many abuses of power on their part, and makes the neighbouring provinces which formerly belonged to this State, regret of chance of war which ravished them from the equitable government of their ancient ma [...]rs.

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LETTER XXI. Gallantry.—Cassinos.

VENICE.

THOUGH the Venetian Government is still under the influence of jealousy, that gloomy Daemon is now entirely banished from the bosoms of individuals. Instead of the confinement in which woman were formerly kept at Venice, they now enjoy a degree of freedom unknown even at Paris. Of the two extremes, the present, without doubt, is the preferable.

The husbands seem at last convinced, that the chastity of their wives is safest under their own guardianship▪ and that when a woman thinks her honour not worth her own regard, it is still more unworthy of his. This advantage, with many others, must arise from the present system; that when a husband believes that his wife has faithfully adhered to her conjugal engagement, he has the additional satisfaction of knowing, that she acts from a love to him, or some honourable motive; whereas, formerly, a Venetian husband could not be certain that he was not obliged, for his wife's chastity, to iron bars, bolts, and padlocks.

Could any man imagine, that a woman, whose chastity was preserved by such means only, was, in fact, more respectable than a common prostitute? The old plan of distrust and confinement, without even securing what was its object, must have had a strong tendency to debase the minds of both the husband and the wife; for what man, whose mind was not perfectly abject, could have pleasure in the society of a wife, who, to his own conviction, languished to be in the arms of another man? Of all the humble employments that ever the wretched sons of Adam submitted to, surely that of watching a wife from morning to night, and all night too, is the most perfectly humiliating. Such ungenerous distrust must also have had the worst effect on the minds of the women; made them view their gaolers with disgust and horror; and we ought not to be much surprised if some preferred the common gondoleers of the lakes, and the vagrants of the streets, to such husbands.

Along with jealousy, poison and the stiletto have been banished from Venetian gallantry, and the innocent mask is substituted in their places. According to the best information I have received, this same mask is a much more innocent matter than is generally imagined. In general it is not intended to conceal the person who wears it, but only used as an apology for his not being in full dress. With a mask stuck in the hat, and a kind of black mantle, trimmed with lace of the same colour, over the shoulders, a man is sufficiently dressed for any assembly at Venice.

Those who walk the streets, or go to the play-houses with masks actually covering their faces, are either engaged in some love intrigue, or would have the spectators think so; for this is a piece of affectation which prevails here, as well as elsewhere; and I have been assured, by those who have resided many years at Venice, that refined gentlemen, who are fond of the reputation, though they [Page]shrink from the catastrophe, of an intrigue, are no uncommon characters here; and I believe it the more readily, because I daily see many feeble gentlemen tottering about in masks, for whom a b [...]son of warm restorative soup seems more expedient than the most beautiful woman in Venice.

One evening at St. Mark's Place, when a gentleman of my acquaintance was giving an account of this curious piece of affectation, he desired me to take notice of a Venetian nobleman of his acquaintance, who, with an air of mystery, was conducting a female mask into his Cassino. My acquaintance knew him perfectly well, and assured me, he was the most innocent creature with women he had ever been acquainted with. When this gallant person perceived that we were looking at him, his mask fell to the ground [...] as if by accident: and after we had got a complete view of his countenance, he put it on with much hurry, and immediately rushed, with his partner, into the Cassino.

Fugit ad salices, sed se cupit ante videri.

—▪ to the woods the wanton hies,

And wishes to be seen before she flies.

DRYDEN.

You have heard, no doubt, of those little apartments, near St. Mark's Place, called Cassinos. They have the misfortune to labour under a very bad reputation; they are accused of being temples entirely consecrated to lawless love, and a thousand scandalous tales are told to strangers concerning them. Those tales are certainly not believed by the Venetians themselves, the proof of which is, that the Cassinos are allowed to exist; for I hold it perfectly absurd to imagine, that men would suffer their wives to enter such places, if they were not convinced that those stories were ill-founded; nor can I believe, after all we have heard of the profligacy of Venetian manners, that women, even of indifferent reputations, would attend Cassinos in the open manner they do, if it were understood that more liberties were taken with them there than elsewhere.

The opening before St. Mark's church is the only place in Venice where a great number of people can assemble. It is the fashion to walk here a great part of the evening, to enjoy the music, and other amusements; and although there are coffee-houses, and Venetian manners permit ladies, as well as gentlemen, to frequent them, yet it was natural for the noble and most wealthy to prefer little apartments of their own, where, without being exposed to intrusion, they may entertain a few friends in a more easy and unceremonious manner than they could do at their palaces. Instead of going home to a formal supper, and returning afterwards to this place of amusement, they order coffee, lemonade, fruit, and other refreshments, to the Cassino.

[Page] That those little, apartments may be occasionally used for the purpose [...] of intrigue, is not improbable; but that this is the ordinary and avowed purpose for which they are frequented is, of all things, the least credible.

Some writers who have described the manners of the [...]netians, as more profligate than those of other nations, assert at the same time, that the Government encourages this profligacy, to relax and dissipate the minds of the people, and prevent their planning, or attempting any thing against the constitution.

Were this the case, it could not be denied, that the Venetian legislators display their patriotism in a very extraordinary manner, and have fallen upon as extraordinary means of rendering their people good subjects. They first erect a despotic court to guard the public liberty, and next they corrupt the morals of the people, to keep them from plotting against the State. This last piece of refinement, however, is no more than a conjecture of some theoretical politicians, who are apt to take facts for granted, without sufficient proof, and afterwards display their ingenuity in accounting for them. That the Venetians are more given to sensual pleasures than the inhabitants of London, Paris, or Berlin. I imagine will be difficult to prove; but as the State Inquisitors do not think proper, and the ecclesiastical are not allowed, to interfere in affairs of gallantry; as a great number of strangers assemble twice or thrice a year at Venice, merely for the sake of amusement; and, above all, as it is the custom to go about in masks, an idea prevails, that the manners are more licentious here than elsewhere. I have had occasion to observe, that this custom of wearing a mask, by conveying the ideas of concealment and▪ intrigue, has contributed greatly to give some people an impression of Venetian profligacy. [...] for my own part, it is not a piece of white or black [...]aper, with distorted features, that I suspect, having often found the most complete worthlessness concealed under a smooth smiling piece of human skin.

LETTER XXII. Character of the Venetians.—Customs and usages.—Influence of fashion in matters of taste.—Prejudice.—The excellence of Italian comic actors.

VENICE

I AM very sensible, that it requires a longer residence at Venice, and better opportunities than I have had, to enable me to give a character of the Venetians. But were I to form an idea of them from what I have seen, I should paint them as a lively ingenious people, extravagantly fond of public amusements, with an uncommon relish for humour, and yet more attached to the real enjoyments of life, than to those which depend on ostentation, and proceed from vanity.

[Page] The common people of Venice display some qualities very rarely to be found in that sphere of life, being remarkably sober, obliging to strangers, and gentle in their intercourse with each other. The Venetians in general are tall and well made. Though equally robust, they are [...]ot so corpulent as the Germans. The latter also are of fair complexions, with light grey or blue eyes; whereas the Venetians are for the most part of a ruddy brown colour, with dark eyes. You meet in the streets of Venice many fine manly countenances, resembling those transmitted to us by the pencil [...] of Paul Veronese and Titian. The women are of a fine stile of countenance, with expressive features, and a skin of a rich carnation. They dress their hair in a fanciful manner, which becomes them very much. They are of an easy address, and have no aversion to cultivating an acquaintance with those strangers, who are presented to them by the [...] relations, or have been properly recommended.

Strangers are under less restraint here, in many particulars, than the native inhabitants. I have known some, who, after having tried most of the capitals of Europe, have preferred to live at Venice, on account of the variety of amusements, the gentle manners of the inhabitants, and the perfect freedom allowed in every thing, except in blaming the measures of Government.

I have already mentioned in what manner the Venetians are in danger of being treated who give themselves that liberty. When a stranger is so imprudent as to declaim against the form or the measures of Government, he will either receive a message to leave the territories of the State, or one of the Sbirri will be sent to accompany him to the Pope's or the Emperor's dominions.

The houses are thought inconvenient by many of the English; they are better calculated, however, for the climate of Italy than if they were built according to the London model, which I suppose, is the plan those critics approve. The floors are of a kind of red plaister, with a brilliant glossy surface, much more beautiful than wood, and far preferable in case of fire, whose progress they are calculated to check. The principal apartments are on the second floor.

The Venetians seldom inhabit the first, which is often entirely filled with lumber: perhaps, they prefer the second, because it is farthest removed from the moisture of the lakes; or perhaps they prefer it, because it is better lighted, and more cheerful; or they may have some better reason for this preference than I am acquainted with, or can imagine. Though the inhabitants of Great Britain make use of the first floors for their chief apartments, this does not form a complete demonstration that the Venetians are in the wrong for preferring the second.

When an acute sensible people universally follow one custom, in a mere matter of conveniency, however absurd that custom may appear in the eyes of a stranger at first sight, it will generally be found, that there is some real advantage in it, which compensates all the apparent inconveniencies. Of this travellers, who do not hurry with too much [Page]rapidity through the countries they visit, are very sensible; for, after having had time to weight every circumstance, they often see reason to approve what they had formerly condemned. I could illustrate this by many examples; but your own recollection must furnish you with so many, that any more would be superfluous. Custom and fashion have the greatest influence on our taste of beauty or excellence of every kind.

What, from a variety of causes, has become the standard in one country, is sometimes just the contrary in another. The same thing that makes a low brimmed hat appear genteel at one time, and ridiculous at another, has made a different species of versification be accounted the model of perfection in old Rome and modern Italy, at Paris, or at London, In matters of taste, particularly in dramatic poetry, the prejudices which each particular nation acquires in favour of its own is difficult to be removed. People seldom obtain such a perfect knowledge of a foreign language and foreign manners, as to understand all the niceties of the one and the allusions to the other: of consequence, many things are insipid to them, for which a native may have a high relish.

The dialogues in rhime of the French plays appear unnatural and absurd to Englishmen when they first attend the French theatre; yet those who have remained long in France, and acquired a more perfect knowlege of the language, assure us, that without rhime the dignity of the Tragic Muse cannot be supported; and that, even in Comedy, they produce an additional elegance, which overbalances every objection. The French language being more studied and better understood by the English than our language is by the French nation, we find many of our countrymen who relish the beauties, and pay the just tribute of admiration to the genius of Co [...]neille, while there is scarcely a single Fr [...]hman to be found who has any idea of the merit of Shakespeare.

Without being justly accused of partiality. I may assert that, in this instance, the English display a fairness and liberality of sentiment superior to the French. The irregularities of Shakespeare's drama are obvious to every eye, and would, in the present age, be avoided by a poet not possessed of a hundredth part of his genius. His peculiar beauties, on the other hand, are of an excellence which has not, perhaps, been attained by any poet of any age or country; yet the French critics, from Voltaire down to the poorest scribbler in the literary journals, all stop at the former, declaim on the barbarous taste of the English nation, insist on the grotesque absurdity of the poet's imagination, and illustrate both by partial extracts of the most exceptionable scenes of Shakespeare's plays.

When a whole people, with that degree of judgment which even the enemies of the British nation allow them to have, unite in the highest admiration of one man, and continue, for ages, to behold his pieces with uns [...]ted delight, it might occur to those Frenchmen, that there possibly was some excellence in the works of this poet, [Page] though they could not see it; and a very moderate share of candour might have taught them, that it would be more becoming to spare their ridicule, till they acquired a little more knowledge of the author against whom it is pointed.

An incident which occurred since my arrival at Venice, though [...]ounded on a prejudice much more excusable than the conduct of the critics above-mentioned, has brought home to my conviction the rashness of those who form opinions, without the knowledge requisite to direct their judgment.

I had got, I don't know how, the most contemptuous opinion of the Italian drama. I had been told, there was not a tolerable actor at present in Italy, and I had been long taught to consider their comedy as the most despicable stuff in the world, which could not amuse, or even draw a smile from any person of taste, being quite destitute of true humour, full of ribaldry, and only proper for the meanest of the vulgar. Impressed with these sentiments, and eager to give his Grace a full demonstration of their justness, [...] accompanied the Duke of Hamilton to the stage box of one of the play-houses the very day of our arrival at Venice.

The piece was a comedy, and the most entertaining character in it was that of a man who stuttered. In this defect, and in the singular grimaces with which the actor accompanied it, consisted a great part of the amusement.

Disgusted at such a pitiful substitution for wit and humour, I expressed a contempt for an audience which could be entertained by such buffoonery, and who could take pleasure in the exhibition of a natural infirmity.

While we inwardly indulged sentiments of self approbation, on account of the refinement and superiority of our taste, and supported th [...] dignity of those sentiments by a disdainful gravity of countenance, the Stutterer was giving a piece of information to Harlequin which greatly interested him, and to which he listened with every mark of eagerness. This unfortunate speaker had just arrived at the most important part of his narrative, which was, to acquaint the impatient listener where his mistress was concealed, when he unluckily stumbled on a word of six or seven syllables, which completely obstructed the progress of his narration. He attempted it again and again, but always without success. You may have observed that, though many other words would explain his meaning equally well, you may as soon make a Saint change his religion, as prevail on a Stutter [...] to accept of another word in place of that at which he has stumbled. He adheres to his first word to the last, and will sooner expire with it in his throat, that give it up for any other you may offer.

Harlequin, on the present occasion, presented his friend with a dozen; but he rejected them all with disdain, and persisted in his unsuccessful attempts on that which had first come in his way. At length, making a desperate effort, when all the spectators were gaping in expectation of his safe delivery, the cruel word came up [Page] with its broad side foremost, and stuck directly across the unhappy man's wind pipe. He gaped, and panted, and croaked; his face flushed, and his eyes seemed ready to start from his head. Harlequin unbuttoned the Stutterer's waistcoat, and the neck of his shirt; he fanned his face with his cap, and held a bottle of hartshorn to his nose. At length, fearing his patient would expire, before he could give the desired intelligence, in a fit of despair he pitched his head full in the dying man's stomach, and the word bolted out of his mouth to the most distant part of the house.

This was performed in a manner so perfectly droll, and the humorous absurdity of the expedient came so unexpectedly upon me, that I immediately burst into a most excessive fit of laughter, in which I was accompanied by the Duke, and by your young friend Jack, who was along with us; and our laughter continued in such loud, violent, and repeated fi [...]s, that the attention of the audience being turned from the stage to our box, occasioned a renewal of the mirth all over the play house with greater vociferation than at first.

When we returned to the inn, the Duke of Hamilton asked me. If I were as much convinced as ever, that a man must be perfectly devoid of taste, who could condescend to laugh at an Italian comedy?

LETTER XXIII. Departure from Venice.—Padua.—St. Anthony, his tomb and miracles.

PADUA.

WE were detained at Venice several days long [...] than we intended, by excessive falls of rain, which rendered the road to Verona impassable. Relinquishing, therefore, the thoughts of visiting that city for the present, the Duke determined to go to Ferrara by water. For this purpose I engaged two barks; in one of which the chaises, baggage, and some of the servants, proceeded directly to Ferrara, while we embarked in the other for Padua.

Having crossed the Lagune, we entered the Brenta, but could continue our route by that river no farther than the village of Doglio, where there is a bridge; but the waters were so much swelled by the late rains, that there was not room for our boat to pass below the arch. Quitting the boat, therefore, till our return, we hired two open chaises, and continued our journey along the banks of the Brenta to Padua.

Both sides of this river display gay, luxuriant scenes of magnificence and fertility, being ornamented by a great variety to beautiful villas, the works of Palladio and his disciples. The verdure of the meadows and gardens here is not surpassed by that of England.

[Page] The Venetian nobility, I am told, live with less restraint, and entertain their friends with greater freedom, at their villas, than at their palaces in town. It is natural to suppose, that a Venetian must feel peculiar satisfaction when his affairs permit him to enjoy the exhilarating view of green fields, and to breathe the free air of the country.

As one who long in populous city pent,

Where houses thick, and sewers, annoy the air,

Forth issuing on a summar's morn, to breathe

Among the pleasant villages and farms

Adjoin'd, from each thing met conceives delight.

The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine,

Or dairy; each rural sight, each rural sound.

I confess, for my own part, I never felt the beauty of those lines of Milton with greater sensibility, than when I passed through the charming country which is watered by the Brenta, after having been pent up in the terraqueous town of Venice. As one reason which induced his Grace of visit Padua at this time was, that he might pay his duty to his Royal Highness the Duke of Gloucester; we waited on that prince as soon as we had his permission. His Royal Highness has been here for some time with his Duchess. He was very ill at Venice, and has been advised to remove to this place for the benefit of the air. It is with much satisfaction I add, that he is now out of danger, a piece of intelligence with which you will have it in your power to give pleasure to many people in England.

No city in the world has less affinity with the country than Venice, and few can have more than Padua; for great part of the circuit within the walls is unbuilt, and the town in general so thinly inhabited, that grass is seen in many places in the interstices of the stones with which the streets are paved. The houses are built on porticoes, which, when the town was well inhabited, and in a flourishing condition, may have had a magnificent appearance; but, in its present state, they rather give it a greater air of melancholy and of gloom.

The Franciscan church, dedicated to St. Antonio, the great patron of this city, was the place we were first led to by the Cicerone of our inn. The body of this holy person is inclosed in a sarcophagus, under an altar in the middle of the chapel, and is said to emit a very agreeable and refreshing flavour. Pious Catholics b [...]ieve this to be the natural effluvia of the saint's body; while Heretics assert, that the perfume (for a perfume there certainly is) proceeds from certain balsams rubbed on the marble every morning, before the votaries come to pay their devotions. I never presume [Page] to give an opinion on contested points of this kind; but I may be allowed to say, that if this sweet odour really proceeds from the holy Franciscan, he emits a very different smell from any of the brethren of that order whom I ever had an opportunity of approaching.

The walls of this church are covered with votive offerings of ears, eyes, arms, legs, noses, and every part almost of the human body, in token of cures performed by this [...]aint; for whatever part has been the seat of the disease, a representation of it is hung up in silver or gold, according to the gratitude and wealth of the patient.

At a small distance from this church is a place called the School of St. Anton [...]o. Here many of the actions of the Saint are painted in fresco; some of them by Titian. Many miracles of a very extraordinary nature are here recorded. I observed one in particular, which, if often repeated might endanger the peace of families. The Saint thought proper to loosen the tongue of a new-born child, and endue it with the faculty of speech; on which the infant, with an imprudence natural to its age, declared, in an audible voice, before a large company, who was its real father. The miracles attributed to this celebrated Saint greatly exceed in number those recorded by the Evangelists of our Saviour; and although it is not asserted, that St. Antonio has as yet raised himself from the dead, yet his admirers here record things of him which are almost equivalent.

When an impious Turk had secretly placed fire-works under the chapel, with an intention to blow it up, they affirm, that St. Antonio hallooed three times from his marble coffin, which terrified the infidel, and discovered the plot. This miracle is the more miraculous, as the Saint's tongue was cut out, and is actually preserved in a crystal vessel, and shewn as a precious relic to all who have a curiosity to see it. I started this as a difficulty which seemed to bear a little against the authenticity of the miracle; and the ingenious person to whom the objection was made, seemed at first somewhat non-plu [...]ed; but, after recollecting himself, he observed that, this, which at first seemed an objection, was really a confirmation of the fact; for the Saint was not said to have spoken, but only to have hallooed, which a man can do without a tongue; but if his tongue had not been cut out, added he, there is no reason to doubt that the Saint would have revealed the Turkish plot in plain articulate language.

From the Tower of the Franciscan church we had a very distinct view of the beautiful country which surrounds Padua. All the objects, at a little distance, seemed delightful and flourishing; but every thing under our eyes indicated wretchedness and decay.

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LETTER XXIV. Church of St. Justina.—The bodies of St. Matthew and St. Luke.—The university—Beggars.

PADUA.

THE next church, in point of rank, but far superior in point of architecture, is tha [...] of St. Justina, built from a design of Palladio, and reckoned, by some people, one of the most elegant he ever gave. St. Justina is said to have suffered martyrdom where the church is buil [...], which was the reason of erecting it on that particular spot. It would have been fortunate for the pictures in this church if the Saint had suffered on a piece of drier ground, for they seem considerably injured by the damps which surround the place where it now stands. There is a wide area in front of the church, called the Prato della Valle, where booths and shops are erected for all kinds of merchandise during the fairs. Part of this, which is never allowed to be profaned by the buyers and sellers, is called Campo Santo, because there a great number of Christian martyrs are said to have been put to death.

St. Justina's church is adorned with many altars, embellished with sculpture. The pavement is remarkably rich, being a kind of Mosaic work, of marble of various colours. Many other precious materials are wrought as ornaments to this church, but there is one species of jewels in which it abounds, more than, perhaps, any church in Christendom; which is, the bones of martyrs. They have here a whole well full, belonging to those who were executed in the Prato della Valle; and what is of still greater value, the Benedictines, to whom this church belongs, assert, that they are also in possession of the bodies of the two evangelists St. Matthew and St. Luke.

The Franciscans belonging to a convent at Venice dispute the second of those two great prizes, and declare, that they are possessed of the true body of St. Luke, this in St. Justina's church being only an imposture. The matter was referred to the Pope, who gave a decision in favour of one of the bodies; but this does not prevent the proprietors of the other from still persisting in their original claim, so that there is no likelihood of the dispute being finally determined till the day of judgment.

The hall of the Town house of Padua is one of the largest I ever saw. From the best guess I could make, after stepping it, I should think it about three hundred English feet long, by one hundred in breadth: the emblematic and astrological paintings, by Grotto, are much decayed. This immense hall is on the second floor, and is ornamented with the busts and statues of some eminent persons.

The Cenotaph of Livy, the historian, who was a native of Padua, is erected here. The University, formerly so celebrated, is now, like every thing else in this city, on the decline; the Theatre [Page] for anatomy could contain five or six hundred students, but the voice of the Professor is like that that of him who crieth in the wilderness. The licentious spirit of the students, which formerly was carried such unwarrantable lengths, and made it dangerous to walk in the streets of this city at night, is now entirely extinct: it has gradually declined with the numbers of the students. Whether the ardour for literature, for which the students of this university were distinguished, has abated in the same proportion, I cannot determine; but I am informed, that by far the greater number of the young men who now attend the university, are designed for the priesthood, and apply to the study of divinity as a science, for comprehending and preaching the mysterious parts of which, a very small portion of learning has been observed to succeed better than a great deal.

There is a cloth manufactory in this city; and I was told, that the inhabitants of Venice, not excepting the nobles, wear no other cloth than what is made here. This particular manufactory, it may therefore be supposed, succeeds very well; but the excessive number of beggars with which this place swarms, is a strong proof that trade and manufactures in general are by no means in a flourishing condition. In the course of my life I never saw such a number of beggars at one time, as attacked us at the church of St. Antonio.

The Duke of Hamilton fell into a mistake, analogous to that of Sable in the Funeral, who complains, that the more money he gave his mourners to look sad, the merrier they looked. His Grace gave all he had in his pocket to the clamorous multitude which surrounded him, on condition that they would hold their tongues, and leave us; on which they became more numerous, and more vociferous than before. Strangers who visit Padua will do well, therefore, to observe the gospel injunction, and perform their charities in secret.

LETTER XXV. The antiquity of Padua.—The Brenta.—The Po.—The Thames.

The Po.

IN my letter from Padua I neglected to mention her high pretensions to antiquity: she claims Antenor, the Trojan, as her founder; and this claim is supported by classical authority. In the first book of the AEneid, Venus complains to Jupiter, that her son AEneas is still a vagabond on the seas, while Antenor has been permitted to establish himself, and build a city in Italy.

Hic tamen ille urbem Patavi sedesque locavit.

At length he founded Padua's happy seat.

DRYDEN.

[Page] Lucan also, in his Pharsali [...], describing the augur who read in the skies the events of that decisive day, alludes to the same story of Antenor;

Euganeo, si vera fides memoran [...]ibus augur

Coll [...] sedens, Aponus terris ubi fumifer exit,

Atque Antenorei dispergitur unda Timavi

V [...]nit summa dies, geritur res maxima dixit;

Impia concurrunt Pompeii et C [...]saris arma.

Where Aponus first springs in smoky stream,

And full Timavus rolls his nobler stream;

Upon a hill that day, if fame be true,

A learned Augur sat the skies to view:

'Tis come, the great event is come (he cry'd!)

Our impious chiefs their wicked war decide.

ROWE.

Some modern critics have asserted, that the two poets have been guilty of a geographical mistake, as the river Timavus empties itself into the Adriatic Gulph near Trieste, about a hundred miles from Padua; and that the Aponus is near Padua, and about the same distance from Timavus.

If, therefore, Antenor built a city where the river Timavus rushes into the sea, that city must have been situated at a great distance from where Padua now stands. The Paduan antiquarians, th [...] [...] accuse Virgil, without scruple, of this blunder, that they may retain the Trojan Prince as their ancestor. But those who have more regard for the character of Virgil than the antiquity of Padua, insist upon it, that the poet was in the right, and that the city which Antenor built, was upon the Banks of Timavus, and exactly a hundred miles from modern Padua. As for Lucan, he is left in the lurch by both sides, though, in my poor opinion, we may naturally suppose, that one of the streams which run into Timavus was, at the time he wrote, called Aponus, which vindicates the Poet, without weakening the relation between the Paduans and Antenor.

The inhabitants of Padua themselves seem to have been a little afraid of trusting their claim entirely to classical authority; for an old sarcophagus having been dug up in the year 1283, with a [...] unintelligible inscription upon it, this was declared to be the tomb of Antenor, and was placed in one of the streets, and surrounded with a balustrade; and, to put the matter out of doubt, a Latin inscription assures the reader, that it contains the body of the renowned Antenor, who, having escaped from Troy, had drove the Euganei out of the country, and built this identical city of Padua.

[Page] Though the Paduans find that there are people ill-natured enough to assert, that this sarcophagus does not contain the bones of the illustrious Trojan, yet they can defy the malice of those cavillers to prove, that they belong to any other person; upon which negative proof, joined to what has been mentioned above, they rest the merit of their pretensions.

After remaining a few days at Padua, we returned to the village of Doglio, where we had left our vessel. We slopped, and visited some of the villas on the banks of the Brenta. The apartments are gay and spacious, and must be delightful in summer; but none of the Italian houses seem calculated for the winter, which, nevertheless, I am informed is sometimes as severe in this country as in England.

Having embarked in our little vessel, we soon entered [...] canal, of about twenty-two Italian miles in length, which communicates with the Po, and we were drawn along, at a pretty good ra [...]e, by two horses. We passed last night in the vessel, as we shall this; for there is no probability of our reaching Ferrara till to-morrow. The banks of this famous river are beautifully fertile. Finding that we could keep up with the vessel, we amused ourselves the greatest part of the day in walking. The Pleasure we feel on this classical ground, and the interest we take in all the objects around, is not altogether derived from their own native beauties; a great part of it arises from the magic colouring of poetical description.

The accounts we have had lately of the King of Prussia's bad health, I suppose, are not true; or if they are, I have good hopes he will recover: I found them on the calm and serene aspect which Eridanus wears at present, which is not the case when the fate of any great person is depending. You remember, what a rage he was in, and what a tumult he raised, immediately before the death of Julius Caesar.

Proluit insano contorquens vortice sylvas

Fluviorum Rex Eridanus, camposque per omnes;

Cum stabulis armenta tulit.

Dryden translates these lines,

Then rising in his might, the King of Floods

Rush'd thro' the forests, tore the lofty woods;

And, rolling onward, with a sweepy sway,

Bore houses, herds, and labouring hinds away.

Rising in his might is happy, but the rest is not so simple as the original, and much les [...] expr [...]ssive; there wants the ins [...]no contorquens vortice sylvas,—Tearing up the woods with his mad [...]orrent

It is not surprising that th [...] [...] so much celebrated by the Roman poets, since, it is, unquestionably, the finest river [...] Italy.—

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Where every stream in heavenly numbers flows.

It seems to have been the favourite river of Virgil:

Gemina auratus taurino cornua vultu

Eridanus, quo non alius per pinguia culta

In mare purpureum violentior influit amnis.

Whence bull faced Po adorned with gilded horns,

Than whom no river, thro' such level meads,

Down to the sea with swifter torrents speeds.

WARTON.

And Mr. Addison, at the sight of this river, is inspired with a degree of enthusiasm, which does not always animate his poetry.

Fired with a thousand raptures, I survey,

Eridanus thro' flowery meadows stray;

The King of Floods! that, rolling o'er their plains,

The towering Alps of half their moisture drains,

And, proudly swoln with a whole winter's snows,

Distributes wealth and plenty where he flows

Notwithstanding all that the Latin poets, and, in imitation of them, those of other nations, have sung of the Po, I am convinced that no river in the world has been so well sung as the Thames.

Thou too great father of the British floods!

With joyful pride survey'st our lofty woods;

Where tow'ring oaks their growing honours rear,

And future navies on thy shores appear,

Not Neptune's self, from all her streams, receives

A wealthier tribute, than to thine he gives.

No seas so rich, so gay no banks appear,

No lake so gentle, and no spring so clear;

Nor Po so swells the fabling poets lays,

While led along the skies his current strays,

As thine, which visits Windsor's fam'd abodes.

If you are still refractory, and stand up for the panegyrists of the Po, I must call Denham in aid of my argument, and I hope you will have the taste and candour to acknowlege, that the following are, beyond comparison, the noblest lines that ever were written on a river.

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My eye descending from the hill, surveys

Where Thames among the wanton vallies strays.

Thames, the most lov'd of all the Ocean's sons,

By his old sire, to his embraces runs;

Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea,

Like mortal Life to meet Eternity.

Though with those streams he no resemblance hold,

Whose foam is amber, and their gravel gold;

His genuine and less guilty wealth t'explore,

Search not his bottom, but survey his shore

O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing,

And hatches plenty for th' ensuing spring;

Nor then destroys it with too fond a stay,

Like mothers which their children overlay.

Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave,

Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave.

No unexpected inundations spoil

The mower's hopes, nor mock the plowman's toil:

But, godlike, his unweary'd bounty flows:

First loves to do, then loves the good he does.

Nor are his blessings to his banks confined,

But free and common, as the sea or wind;

When he, to boast, or to disperse his stores,

Full of the tribute of his grateful shores,

Visits the world, and in his flying towers,

Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours;

Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants,

Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants.

So that, to us, no thing, no place is strange,

While his fair bosom i [...] the world's exchange.

O could I flow like thee, and make thy [...]eam,

My great example, as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;

Strong without rage, without o'er flowing full.

Heaven her Eridanus no more shall boast,

Whose fame in thine, like lesser current's lost.

[Page] You will suspect that I am hard pushed to make out a letter, when I send you such long quotations [...]rom the poets. This, however, is not my only reason. While we remain on the Po, rivers naturally b [...]come the subject of my letter. I asserted, that the Thames has been more sublimely sung than the favourite river of classical authors, and I wished to lay some of my strongest proofs before you at once, to save you the trouble of turning to the originals.

LETTER XXVI. Ferrara.—The family of Este.—Ariosto, the Emperor, and his brothers, lodge at an inn, which oversets the understanding of the landlord.—an inscription.

FERRARA.

WE arrived here early this morning. The magnificent streets and number of fine buildings shew that this has formerly been a rich and flourishing city. The present inhabitants, however, who are very few in proportion to the extent of the town, bear every mark of poverty.

The happiness of the subjects in a despotic government depends much more on the personal character of the sovereign, than in a free state; and the subjects of little Princes, who have but a small extent of territory, are more affected by the good and bad qualities of those Princes, than the inhabitants of great and extensive empires.▪ I had frequent opportunities of making this remark in Germany, where, without having seen the Prince, or heard his character, one may often discover his dispositions and turn of mind, from examining into the circumstances and general situation of the people. When the Prince is vain and luxurious, as he considers himself equal in rank, so he endeavours to vie in magnificence with more powerful sovereigns, and those attempts always terminate in the oppression and poverty of his subjects; but when the Prince, on the other hand, is judicious, active, and benevolent, as the narrow limits of his territories make it easy for him to be acquainted with the real situation and true interest of hi [...] subjects, his good qualities Operate more directly and effectually for their benefit, than if his dominions were more extensive, and he himself obliged to govern by the agency of ministers.

The Duchy of Ferrara was formerly governed by its own Dukes, many of whom happened to be of the character last mentioned, and the Ferrarese was, for several generations, one of the happiest and most flourishing spo [...]s in Italy. In the year 1597 it was annexed to the Ecclesiastical State, and has ever since been gradually falling into poverty and decay. It must be owing to some essential error in the government, when a town [...] like this, situated in a fertile [Page] soil, upon a navigable river near the Adriatic, remains in poverty. Except the change of i [...] Sovereign, all the other causes, which I have heard assigned for the poverty of Ferrara, existed in the days of its prosperity.

Though the citizens of Ferrara have not been able to preserve their trade and industry, yet they still retain an old privilege of wearing swords by their sides. This privilege extends to the lowest mechanics, who strut about with great dignity. Fencing is the only science in a flourishing condition in this town, which furnishes all the towns in Italy with skilful fencing masters. Ferrara was famous formerly for a manufactory of sword-blades. The Scotch Highlanders, who had a greater demand for swords, and were nicer in the choice of their blades than any other people, used to get them from a celebrated maker in this town, of the name of Andrea di Ferrara. The best kind of broad swords are called by the Highlanders, True Andrew Ferraras.

There are two brass statues opposite to one of the principal churches. One is of Nicholo Marquis of Este, and the other of Borso of Este, the first Duke of Ferrara, whose memory is still held in great veneration in this city. I had the curiosity to go to the Benedictine church, merely to see the place where A [...]iosto lies buried. The degree of importance in which men are held by their cotemporaries and by posterity, is very different. This fine fanciful old bard has done more honour to modern Italy, than fortynine in fifty of the Popes and princes to which she has given birth, and, while those, who where the gaze of the multitude during their live [...], are now entirely forgotten, his same increases with the progress of time. In his life time, perhaps his importance, in the eyes of his countrymen, arose from the protection of the family of Este; now he gives importance, in the eyes of all Europe, to the illustrious names of his patrons, and to the country where he was born.

The Emperor, and two of his brothers, lodged lately at the inn where we now are. Our landlord is so vain of this, that he cannot be prevailed on to speak on any other subject: he has entertained me wi [...]h a thousand particulars about his illustrious guests; it is impossible he should ever forget those anecdotes, for he has been constantly repeating them ever since the Royal Brothers left his house. I asked him what we could have for supper. He answered, That we should sup in the very same room in which his Imperial Majesty had dined. I repeated my question▪ and he replied, he did not believe there were three more affable Princes in the world.

I said, I hoped supper would be soon ready; and he told me, that the Archduke was fond of Fricassee, but the Emperor preferred a fowl plain roasted. I said, with an air of impatience, that I should be much obliged to him if he would send in supper. He bowed, and walked to the door; but, before he disappeared, he turned about and assured me, that although his Majesty are no more than ordinary man, yet he paid like an Emperor.

[Page] To perpetuate the memory of this great event, of the Emperor and his two Brothers having dined at this house, the landlord got an Ecclesiastic of his acquaintance to compose the following pompous inscription, which is now engraven upon a stone at the door of his inn.

QUOD TABERNA HAEC DIVERSORIA HOSPITES HABUERIT TRES FRATRES CONSILIIS, MORIBUS, ET IN DEUM PIETATE, PRAECLAROS, MARIAE THERES BOHEMIAE ET HUNG. REGINAE, &c. &c. ET TANTAE MATRIS VIRTUTI SIMILLIMOS MAXIMILIANUM AUSTRIAE ARCHIDUCEM, CENAE ET QUIETATIS CAUSA, TERTIO CALEND. JUNII M DCC.LXXV. DIE POSTERO PRANDIUM SUMPTUROS PETRUM LEOP. MAGN. HETRUSC. DUCEM, ET JOSEPHUM SECUND. ROM. IMPERATOREM, SECULI NOSTRI ORNAMENTUM ET DECUS, NE TEMPORIS LONGITUDO HUJUSCE LOCI FELICITATEM OBLITERET PERENNE HOC MONUMENTUM.

Three brothers, the sons of Maria Theresa, Queen of Bohemia and Hungary, all of them distinguished by their virtues, and worthy of so illustrious a mother, were entertained at this inn, viz. Maximilian Arch. Duke of Austria, who actually supped and passed the night here, on the 30th of May, 1775.

Peter Leopold Grand Duke of Tuscany, and the Emperor Joseph the Second, the ornament and glory of the age, who dined here the following day.

That such important events may not be lost in the flight of time, let this durable monument inform the latest posterity of the happiness which this inn enjoyed.

No three persons ever acquired immortality on easier terms; it has only cost them one night's lodging at an indifferent inn, when better quarters could not be had.

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LETTER XXVII. Bologna.—Its government, commerce, palaces.

BOLOGNA.

WHEN we le [...]t Ferrara, our landlord insisted on our taking six horses to each chaise, on account of the badness of the roads, the soil about the town being moist and heavy. I attempted to remonstrate that four would be sufficient, but he cut me short, by protesting, that the roads were so very deep, that he would not allow the best friend he had in the world, not even the Emperor himself, were he there in person, to take fewer than six. There was no more to be said after this; the same argument would have been irresistible, had he insisted on our taking twelve.

As you draw near to Bologna, the country gradually improves in cultivation; and, for some miles before you enter the town, seems one continued garden. The vineyards are not divided by hedges, but by rows of elms and mulberry trees; the vines hanging in a most beautiful picturesque manner, in festoons from one tree to another. This country is not only fertile in vines, but likewise in corn, olives, and pasturage, and has, not without foundation, acquired the name of Bologna la Grassa—Bolog [...] the fat.

This town is well built, and populous; the number of inhabitants amounting to seventy, or perhaps eighty thousand. The houses in general have lofty porticoes, which would have a better effect if the streets were not so narrow; but in this particular, magnificence is sacrificed to conveniency; for, in Italy, shade is considered as a luxury.

The Duchy of Bologna had conditions granted to it, upon submitting to the Papal dominion. Those conditions have been observed with a degree of punctuality and good faith, which many zealous Protestants would not expect in the Church of Rome.

Bologna retains the name of a republic, sends an Ambassador to the Pope's court, and the word Libertas is inscribed on the arms and coi [...] of the State, with the flattering capitals S. P. Q. B. The civil government and police of the town is allowed to remain in the hands of the magistrates, who are chosen by the Senate, which formerly consisted of forty members; but since this republic came under the protection, as it is called, of the Pope, he thought pr [...]per to add [...]ten more, but the whole fifty still retain the name of the Quaranta. Mankind, in general, are more alarmed by a change of name, in things which they have long regarded with veneration, than by a real change in the nature of the things themselves. The Pope may have had some good political reason for augmenting the number of the council to fifty; but he could have none for calling them the Council of Fifty, if the people chose rather to call fifty men assembled together the Council of Forty.

One of the Senators presides in the Senate, and it called the [Page] Gonfalonier; from his carrying the standard (Gonfalone) of the republic. He is chief magistrate, is attended by guards, and is constanly at the palace, or near it, to be ready on any emergency; but he remains only two months in office, and the Senators take [...]t by turns.

In the midst of all this appearance of independency, a Cardinal Legate from Rome governs this republic: he is appointed by the Pope, with a Vice Legaet, and other assistants. The orders which the Legate issues, are supposed to be with the approbation of the Senate; at least, they are never disputed by that prudent body of men. The office, which is of higher dignity than any other now in the gift of the Court of Rome, continues for three years: at the expiration of that time, his Holiness either appoints a new Legate, or confirms the old one in the office for three years longer.

This ecclesiastical Viceroy lives in great magnificence, and has a numerous suite of pages, equerries, and halberdiers, who attend him in the city. When he goes into the country, he is accompanied by guards on horseback.

The Gonfalonier and magistrates regulate all the usual matte [...] which regard the police, and decide, in common causes according to the laws and ancient forms of the republic; but there is no doubt that, in affairs of great importance, and, indeed, as often [...]s he chooses to interfere, the Cardinal Legate influences decisions. This must be mortifying to the Senators and noble families, but is less felt by the people in general, who have every appearance of living under a mild and beneficent Government.

The inhabitants of Bologna carry on a very considerable trade in silks and velvets, which are manufactured here in great perfection. The country produces immense quantities of oil, wine, flax, and hemp; and furnishes all Europe with fausages, Macaroni, liquers, and essences. The people seem to be industrious, and to be allowed to enjoy the fruits of their labour; the markets are most plentifully supplied with provisions; fruit is to be had in great variety, and all excellent in its kind; the common wine of the country is a light white wine of an agreeable taste, which strangers prefer to any of the French or German wines to be had here. Those who are not pleased with the entertainment they meet with at the inns in this city, it will be a difficult matter to please; they must be possessed of a degree of such nicety, both in their palates and tempers, as will render them exceedingly troublesome to themselves and others, not only in their travels through Italy, but in the whole course of their journey through life.

There are a great number of palaces in this city. What is called the Public Palace, is, by far, the most spacious, but not the most elegant. In this the Cardinal Legate is lodged. There are also apartments for the Gonfalonier; and halls, or chambers, for some of the courts of justice. This building, though of a gloomy and irregular form without, contains some very magnificent apartments, [Page] and a few good pictures: the most esteemed are, a large one, by Guido, of the Virgin, and the infant Jesus, seated on the rainbow: a Sampson, by Guido also, refreshing himself with the water which issues from the jaw-bone with which he has just defeated the Philistines; and a St. John the Baptist, by Raphael, a duplicate of that in the Palais Royal at Paris, but thought, by some connoisseurs, greatly inferior.

For my part, I think it is to be regretted, that this great painter did not employ the time he spent on one of them, at least, on some subject more worthy of his talents. A single figure, unemployed, can never please so much as a groupe, occupied in some interesting action. It is a pity that a painter, capable, even in a moderate degree, of exciting the passions, should confine his talents to solitary figures. How much more unworthy of him wh [...] possessed all the sublimity and pathos of the art!

On his arrival at this town, the first object which strikes the eye of a stranger, is a noble marble fountain, in the area before the Palazzo Publico. The principal figure is a statue of Neptune, eleven feet in height; one of his hands is stretched out before him in the other he holds the Trident. The body and limbs are finely proportioned, the anatomy perfect, the character of the countenance severe and majestic. This figure of Neptune, as well as all the others of boys, dolphins, and syrens, which surround it, are in bronze. The whole is the workmanship of Giovanni di Bologna, and is highly esteemed; yet there seems to be an impropriety in making water slow in streams from the breasts of the sea nymphs, or syrens.

Over the entrance of the Legate's palace, is a bronze statue of a Pope. The tiara, and other parts of the Papal uniform, are not so favourable to the sculptor's genius, as the naked simplicity in which Neptune appears. A female traveller, however, not extravagantly fond of the fine arts, would rather be observed admiring the sculptor's skill in imitating the folds of the Sacerdotal robes, than his anatomical accuracy in forming the majestic proportions of the Sea Divinity.

LETTER XXVIII. The academy of arts and sciences.—Church of St. Petronius.—Dominican convent.—Palaces.—Raphael.—Guido.

BOLOGNA.

THE university of Bologna is one of the most ancient and most celebrated seats of literature in Europe; and the academy for the arts and sciences, founded by the Count Marsigli at the beginning of the present century, is sufficient, of itself, to [Page] engage strangers to visit this city, if there was nothing else worthy of their curiosity. Over the gate of this magnificent edifice is the following liberal inscription:

BONONIENSE SCIENTIARUM ATQUE ARTIUM INSTITUTUM AD PUBLICUM TOTIUS ORBIS USUM.

The Bononian Academy of arts and sciences, for the general use of the whole world.

Here is a most valuable library, in three spacious rooms, where any person may study, and have the use of the books, four hours every day; also apartments for the students of sculpture, painting, architecture, chemistry, anatomy, astronomy, and every branch of natural philosophy. They are all ornamented with designs, m [...]dels, instruments, and every kind of apparatus requisite for illustrating those sciences. There are also professors, who regularly read lectures, and instruct the students in those various parts of knowledge. There is a hall, full of models in architecture and fortification, a valuable collection of medals, and another of natural curiosities, as animals, earths, ores, minerals, and a complete collection of specimens, to assist the study of the Materia Medica, and every part of Natural History.

A gallery of statues, consisting of a few originals, and very fine casts of the best statues in Italy. I went one evening to the academy of painting and sculpture; two men stood in different attitudes on a table, in the middle of the room; about fifty students fat in the amphitheatre around them, some drawing their figures in chalks, others modelling them in wax, or clay. As each student viewed the two men from different points, the variety of manner in the different students, together with the alteration in the Ch [...]aro Scuro under each point of view, gave every drawing the appearance of being done from a different figure. Nothing can be so advantageous to the young student as this kind of exercise, which is sometimes practised by day-light, and sometimes by the light of lamps, and must give a fuller idea of the effect of light and shade than any other method.

Honorary premiums are distributed every year among the artists, for the best designs in painting, sculpture, and architecture.

The Anatomical Theatre is adorned with statues of celebrated physicians; and in the Museum, which belongs to it, there are abundance of anatomical preparations; also a complete suite of anatomical figures in wax. A man and woman in the natural state; the same with the skin and cellular membrane removed, the external muscles of the whole body and limbs appearing. In the subsequent figures the more external muscles are gradually removed, till nothing but the simple skeleton remains.

[Page] These figures are very well rendered, preserving the natural appearance and situation of the muscles and blood-vessels, with as much exactness as could be expected in a work of this nature. There are also models in wax, of particular parts, and of several of the viscera of the human body separately; yet those waxen models could not stand in comparison with the preparations of the real parts in Dr. Hunter's museum. If brought to that test, the Bologna wax works though admirable in their kind, would appear as their best casts of the Vatican Apollo and Laocoon would, if placed beside the originals.

Indeed, the real preparations to be seen here, are far inferior to those of that great anatomist; who is now possessed of the most complete, and most accurate collection of anatomical preparations, that ever was made by human skill and industry. We have faithfully performed our duty in visiting all the churches and palaces of this city, which contain some of the highest specimens of art; yet, as the recital might be less amusing than the tour itself, I shall exercise your patience with great moderation on that subject.

The church of St. Petronius forms part of that large, irregular square, in which the fountain, formerly mentioned, stands; it is the largest in Bologna. In the pavement of this church, Cassini drew his meridian line: and within the walls of this same edifice the Emperor Charles the Fifth was crowned. Those circumstances may interest the Astronomer, and the historian; but the statue of a soldier, which stands in one of the chapels, engages the attention of the pious Catholic. This man, being at play, and in danger of losing all his money, offered up a very fervent prayer to the Virgin Mary, for a little better luck; to which she, who never shewed any favour to gamesters, turned a deaf ear. When he found that his bad fortune continued, this furious wretch drew his sword, and wounded both the Virgin, and the Infant in her arms. He instantly, as you may suppose, fell to the ground, deprived of motion; he was carried to prison, and condemned to an ignominious and painful death.

While he remained under confinement, he came to a proper sense of his wickedness; and the blessed Virgin was so much softened by his repentance, that she restored him to the use of his limbs; and the Judges, taking the hint, gave him a full pardon. As a satisfactory proof of this memorable event, they shew the identical sword with which the assault was made.

A Dominican convent, situated on the top of a hill, about three miles from this city, is in possession of a portrait of the Virgin, by St. Luke. It is not perfectly known how it came there; any enquiry of that nature [...]avours of heresy, and might give offence. The people in general are persuaded of its originality, and happy in the honour of such a neighbour. This portrait has wrought many miracles in favour of the inhabitants of Bologna. A curious gallery, open to the south, and closed by a wall to the north, is built all the way from this city to the convent. On the open side it is supported by a long row of pillars, and was erected by voluntary [Page] contribution, in honour of the Virgin, and for the conve [...]iency of Pilgrims. This long colonade is about twelve feet in breath, from the pillars to the wall, and of a convenient height; all the communities of the town walk once a year, in solemn procession, to the convent, and bring the holy picture to visit the city. It is carried through the principal streets, attended by every inhabitant who can afford to purchase a wax taper.

During this procession, the bells continue ringing, the cannon are fired, and the troops under arms observe the same ceremonies, when the picture passes, as if it were Commander in Chief of the forces. The common people imagine, the picture is extremely fond of this annual visit to the town of Bologna; they even are convinced, that, if it were not carried, it would descend from the frame, and walk the whole way on [...]ot; but they do not desire to see the experiment made, both because it might disoblige the Virgin, and because if the picture was once set a walking, there is no knowing where it would stop.

Though the nobility of Bologna are not now very rich, many of their palaces are furnished in a magnificent taste, and contain painting [...] of great value. The palaces were built, and ornamented, when the proprietors were richer, and when the finest works of architecture and painting could be procured on easier terms than at present. The galleries and apartments are spacious and magnificent; yet there are circumstances in the most splendid, that must burt the eye of those who are accustomed to that perfect exactness in finishing which prevails in English houses. The glass of the windows of some palaces is divided into little square panes, which are joined together by lead; and the floors of all are so very indifferently laid, that you often feel a loose brick shaking under your feet as you walk through the finest apartments.

The most precious ornaments of the palaces are the paintings, particularly those of the celebrated masters which this city had the honour of producing. Raphael is generally allowed to have excelled all painters in the sublimity of his ideas, the grouping of his figuers, the beauty of his heads, the elegance of his forms, and the correctness of his outlines; yet, in the opinion of some, he has oftener imitated those noble ideas of beauty, transmitted to us by the Greek sculptors, than what he saw, or could observe, in nature. Those who hold this oppinion assert, that the best masters of the Lombard School studied, with equal assiduity, the elegance of the antique statues, and the simplicity of nature; and from this combined attention to both, with geniuses less sublime, and not so universal, as that of the Roman painter, they have produced works equal, if not superior in some respects, to his. In all this, I beg you may keep in your remembrance, that I am not affecting to give any opinion of my own, but merely repeating the sentiments of others.

Next to Rome itself, there is, perhaps, no town in the world so [...] in paintings as Bologna. The churches and palaces, besides many[Page]admired pieces by other masters, are full of the works of the great masters who were natives of this city. I must not lead you among those master pieces; it is not for so poor a judge as I am to point out the peculiar excellencies of the Caraccis. Dominichino, Albano, or compare the energy of Guercino's pencil with the grace of Guido's. With regard to the last, I shall venture to say, that the graceful air of his young men, the elegant forms, and mild persuasive devotion, of his Madonas; the art with which, to all the inviting loveliness of female features, he joins all the gentleness and modesty which belong to the female character, are the peculiar excellencies of this charming painter.

It requires no knowledge in the art of painting, no connoisseurship, to discover those beauties in the works of Guido; all who have eyes, and a heart, must see and feel them. But the picture more admired than all the rest, and considered, by the judges, as his master piece, owes its eminence to a different kind of merit; it can claim none from any of the circumstances above enumerated. The piece I mean is in the Sampieri palace, and distinguished by a silk curtain, which hangs before it. The subject is, the Repentance of St. Peter, and consists, of two figures, that of the Saint who weeps, and a young apostle who endeavours of comfort him. The only picture at Bologna, which can dispute celebrity with this, is that of St. Cecilia in the church of St. Georgio in Mont [...].

This picture is greatly praised by Mr. Addison, and is reckoned one of Raphael's capital pieces. If I had nothing else to convince me that I had no judgment in painting, this would sufficient. I have examined it over and over with great attention, and a real desire of discovering its superlative merit; and I have the mortification to find, that I cannot perceive it.—After this confession, I presume you will not desire to hear any thing farther from me on the subject of painting.

LETTER XXIX. Journey from Bologna to Ancona.—The Rubicon.—Julius C [...]sar.—Pesaro.—Fano.—Claudius Nero.—Asdrubal.—Senegalia.

ANCONA.

IN our way from Bologna, to this place, we passed through Ravenna a disagreeable town though at one period the seat of empire; for, after Attila had left Italy, Valentinian chose Ravenna, in preference to Rome, for his residence, that he might always be ready to repel the Huns and other Barbarians, who poured from the banks of the Danube, and prevent their penetrating into Italy. The same reason afterwards induced Theodoric. King of the Ostrogoths, to keep his court at this city of Ravenna, after he had defeated and killed Odo [...]cer, and assumed the title of King of Rome.

[Page] The ruins of his palace and his tomb now form part of the antiquities of Ravenna; among which I shall not detain you a moment but proceed to the river of Pisat [...]llo, the famous Rubicon, which lies between this town and Rimini, and was the ancient boundary between Italy and Cisalpine Gaul. No Roman, returning to Rome, could pas [...] in arms beyond this, without being deemed an enemy to his country. The small town of Cesenate is situated near this brook, and the inhabitants value themselves not a little upon their vicinity to so celebrated a neighbour. But the people of Rimini have had the malice to endeavour to deprive them of this satisfaction; they affirm, that the rivulet Lusa, which is farther removed from Cesenate, and nearer to themselves, is the true Rubicon.

I have considered this controversy with all the attention it merits; and I am of opinion, that the pretensions of Pisatello, which is also called Rugone, are the best founded. That you may not suspect my being influenced in my judgment by any motives but those of justice, I beg leave to inform you, that it is a matter of no importance to me which of the rivers is the real Rubicon, for we had the honour of passing both in our way to Rimini.

What Suetonius mentions concerning Caesar's hesitation when he arrived at the banks of this river, does not agree with what the historian says a little before. Quidam putant captum Imper [...]i consuetudine, pensitatisque suis & inimicorum viribus, usum occasion [...] rap [...]end [...] dominationis, quam [...]tate prima concupisset.—Some are of opinion, that, captivated by the love of power, and having carefully weighed his own strength and that of his enemies, he had availed himself of this opportunity of seizing the supreme authority, which had been his passion from his early youth▪ And this, he adds, was the opinion of Cicero, who says, that Caesar had often in his mouth this verse:

Nam si violandum ist jus, regnandi gratia

Violandum est, aliis rebus pretatem col [...]s.

For if a violation of equity is ever excusable, it is when a crown is our object—On all other occasions we ought to cultivate justice.

It is most probable, that Caesar took his resolution to cross the Rubicon as soon as Antony and Curio arrived in his camp, and afforded him a plausible pretext, by informing him and the army of the violent manner in which they had been driven from Rome by the Consul Lentulus and the adherents of Pompey. As for the phantom, which Suetonius informs us determined the Dictator while he was yet in hesitation, we may either consider it entirely as a fiction, or as a scene previously arranged by himself to en [...]rage his army, who may be supposed to have had scruples in [Page] disobeying a decree of the Senate; which declared those persons sacrilegious and parricides, devoting them at the same time to the infernal gods, who should pass over this river in arms. Caesar was not of a character to be disturbed with religious scruples; he never delayed an enterprise, we are told, on account of unfavourable omens. Ne religione quidem ulla a quoquam incept [...] absterritus unquam vel retardatus est. Quum immolanti aufugiss [...] [...]stia, profectionem adversus Scipionem & Jubam non distulit, &c. [...]—He never was deterred from any undertaking by religious scrup [...]es.—When the animal, destined for sacrifice, fled from the altar, this bad omen did not prevent Caesar from marching against Scipio and Juba.

This hesitation, therefore, which is mentioned both by Suetonius and Plutarch, has no resemblance with the ambitious and decisive character of Julius Caesar; the picture which Lucan has drawn of him has much more spirit, and in all probability more likeness.

C [...]sar ut adversam superato gurgite ripam,

Attigit, Hesperiae vetitis & constitit arvis,

Hic, ait, hic pacem, temerataque jura relinquo;

Te, Fortuna, sequor; procul hinc jam foedera sunto.

Credidimus fatis, utendum est judice bello,

Sic fatus, noctis tenebris rapit agmina ductor

Impiger, & torto Ballaris verbere fundae

Ocyor, & missa Parthi post terga sagitta;

Vicinumque minax invadit Ariminum—

The leader now had passed the torrent o'er,

And reached fair Italy's forbidden shore:

Then rearing on the hostile bank his head,

Here, farewell peace and injured laws (he said!)

Since faith is broke, and leagues are set aside,

Henceforth thou, goddess Fortune, art my guide.

Let fate and war the great event decide.

He spoke; and, on the dreadful task intent,

Speedy to near Ariminum he bent;

To him the Belearic sling is slow,

And the shaft loiters from the Parthian bow

ROWE.

Though Rimini is in a state of great decay, there are some monuments of antiquity worthy the attention of the curious [Page] traveller. It is the ancient Ariminum, the first town of which Caesar took possession after passing the Rubicon. In the market-place there is a kind of stone pedestal, with an inscription, declaring, that on it Caesar had stood and harangued his army; but the authenticity of this is not ascertained to the satisfaction of antiquarians.

We next passed through Pesaro, a very agreeable town, better built and paved than the other towns we have seen on the Adriatic shore. In the market-place there is a handsome fountain, and a statue of Pope Urban the Eight, in a sitting posture. In the churches of this town there are some pictures by Baroccio, a painter, whose works some people esteem very highly, and who is thought to have imitated the manner of Raphael and the tints of Correggio, not without success. He lived about the middle of the sixteenth century, and his colours seem to have improved by time. I say, seem; for, in reality, all colours lose by time: but the operation of sun and air on pictures, bringing all the colours to a kind of unison, occasions what is called Harmony, and is thought an improvement on some pictures. This road, along the Adriatic coast, is extremely pleasant.

From Pesaro we proceeded to Fano, a little town, of nearly the same size, but more populous. It derives its name from a temple of Fortune [Fanum Fortunae,] which stood here in the time of the Romans. All the towns of Italy, however religious they may be, are proud of their connectio [...] with those celebrated heathens. An image of the Goddess Fortune is erected on the fountain in the market-place, and the inhabitants show some ruins, which they pre [...]end belong to the ancient Temple of Fortune; but what cannot be disputed, are the ruins of a triumphal arch in white marble, erected in honour of Augustus, and which was greatly damaged by the artillery of Pope Paul the Second, when he besieged this town in the year 1463. The churches of this town are adorned with some excellent pictures; there is one particularly in the cathedral church, by Guercino, which is much admired. The subject is the marriage of Joseph: it consists of three principal figures; the High Priest, Joseph, and the Virgin.

A few miles beyond Fano, we crossed the river Metro, where Claudius Nero, the Roman Consul, defeated Asdrubal, the brother of Ha [...]nibal. This was, perhaps, the most important victory that ever was gained by a Roman General; for, had Asdrubal been victorious, or been able to effect a junction with his brother, the troops he brought from Spain would have become of triple value as soon as they were under the direction of Hannibal; and it is not improbable that, with such a reinforcement, that most Consummate General would have put an end to the Roman State; the glory of Carthage would have begun where that of Rome ended; and the history of the world would have been quite different from what it is.

[Page] Horace seems sensible of the infinite importance of this victory, and proclaims with a fine poetic enthusiasm, the obligations which Rome owed to the family of the hero who obtained it, and the terror which, before that time, Hannibal had spread over all Italy.

Quid debeas, O Roma, Neronibus,

Testis Metaurum flumen, et Asdrubal

Devictus, ei pulcher fugatis

Ille dies Latio tenebris,

Qui primus alma risit adorea;

Dirus per urbes Afer ut Itala [...],

C [...]u flamma per tedas, vel Eurus

Per Siculas equitavit undas.

How much the grandeur of thy rising state,

Owes to the Ner [...]s, Rome imperial! say.

Witness Metaurus, and the dismal fate

Of vanquished Asdrubal, and that glad day

Which first, auspicious, as the darkness fled,

O'er Latium's face a tide of glory shed.

Through wide Hesperia's tow'ring cities, crush'd

With hideous fall and desolation dire,

Impetuous, wild the Carthaginian rush'd;

As through the pitchy pines destructive fire

Devours its course, or howling Eurus raves,

And posting sweeps the mad Sicilian waves.

FRANCIS.

We came next to Senegallia, another seaport town upon this coast. There is nothing remarkable in this town, except during the time of the fair, which is held there once a year, to which a great concourse of merchants resort, from Venice, and all the towns on both sides of the Adriatic; also from Sicily, an [...] [...] Archipelago. England carries on a very profitable trade with all the towns in Romagnia, from which our merchants purchase great quantities of raw silk, and afterwards sell it, when manufactured, to the inhabitants. They provide them also in English cotton and linen cloths, of every kind.

The distance between Senegallia and Ancona, is about fifteen miles. We travelled most of this road after it was dark, much against the inclination of the Italian servants, who assured us, that it is often infested with robbers. Those fellows, they told us, come [Page] sometimes from the coast of Dalmatia, attack travellers on this road, carry what booty can be got, on board their boats, which are never at a great distance, and then sail to the opposite shore, or to some other part of the coast. As we travelled slowly over the sandy road, some men, in sailors dresses, overtook us. Our Italians were convinced they belonged to the gang of pirates, or robbers, they had spoken of. Our company was too numerous to be attacked; but they attempted, secretly, to cut off the trunks from the chaises without succeeding.

LETTER XXX. Ancona.—The influence of commerce on the characters of mankind.—The Mole.—The triumphal arch of the Emperor Trajan.

ANCONA.

ANCONA is said to have been founded by Syracusans who had fled from the tyranny of Dionysius. The town originally was built upon a hill, but the houses have been gradually extended down the face of the eminence, towards the sea. The cathedral stands on the highest part; from whence there is a most advantageous view of the town, the country, and the sea. This church is supposed to be placed on the spot where a temple, dedicated to Venus, formerly stood; the same mentioned by Juvenal, when he speaks of a large turbot caught on this coast, and presented to the Emperor Domitian.

Indicit Adriaci spatium admirabile rhombi.

Ante domum Veneris, quam Dorica sustinet Ancon.

An Adriatic turbot, of a wonderful fize, was caught before the temple of venus, at Ancona, a city built by the Greeks.

The ascents and descents, and great inequality of the ground, will prevent this from being a beautiful town, but it has much the appearance of becoming a rich one, Some of the nobility have the firmness and good sense to despise an ancient prejudice, and avowedly prosecute commerce. New houses are daily building, and the streets are animated with the bustle of trade. I met with several English traders on the Change, which seemed crowded with sea-faring men, and merchants, from Dalmatia, Greece, and many parts of Europe.

There are great numbers of Jews established in this city. I know not whether this race of men contribute greatly to the prosperity of a country; but it is generally remarked, that those [Page] places are in a thriving condition to which they resort. They have a synagogue here, and although all religions are tolerated, theirs is the only foreign worship allowed to be publicly excercised. The commerce of Ancona has increased very rapidly of late years; and it is evident, that the Popes who first thought of making it a free port, of encouraging manufacturers, and of building a mole, to render the harbour more safe, have injured Venice in a more sensible manner, than those who thundered bulls against that republic; but it is much to be questioned, whether the former, by their encouragements to commerce, have augmented their own spiritual importance in the same proportion they have the temporal riches of their subjects.

Men who have received a liberal education, and have adopted liberal sentiments previous to their engaging in any particular profession, will carry these sentiments along with them through li [...]e: and, perhaps, there is no profession in which they can be exercised with more advantage and utility, than in that of a merchant. In this profession, a man of the character above described, while he is augmenting his own private fortune, will enjoy the agreeable reflection, that he is likewise increasing the riches and power of his country, and giving bread to thousands of his industrious countrymen.

Of all professions, his is in its nature the most independent: the merchant does not, like the soldier, receive wages from his sovereign; nor, like the lawyer and physician, from his fellow-subjects. His wealth often flows from foreign sources, and he is under no obligation to those from whom it is derived. The habit which he is i [...], of circulating millions, makes him lay less stress on a few guineas, than the proprietors of the largest estates; and we daily see, particularly in countries where this profession is not considered as degrading, the commercial part of the inhabitants giving the most exalted proofs of generosity and public spirit. But in countries where nobody, who has the smallest claim to the title of a gentleman, can engage in commerce without being thought to have demeaned himself, fewer examples of this nature will be found: and in every country, it must be acknowledged, that those who have not had the advantage of a liberal education; who have been bred from their infancy to trade; who have been taught to consider money as the most valuable of all things, and to value themselves, and others, in proportion to the quantity they possess; who are continually revolving in their minds, to the exclusion of all other ideas, the various means of increasing their stock; to such people, money becomes a more immediate and direct object of attention, than to any other class of [...]; it swells in their imagination, is rated beyond its real worth, and, at length, by an inversion of the Christian precept, it is considered as the one thing needful, to be sought with the most unremitting ardour, that all other things may be added there unto.

[Page] In commercial towns, where every body finds employment, and is agitated by the bustle of business, the minds of the inhabitants are apt to be so much engrossed with the affairs of this world, as almost to forget that there is another; and neither the true religion, nor false ones, have such hold of their minds, as in places where there is more poverty, and less worldly occupation. In the first, they consider the remonstrances of priests and confessors as interruptions to business; and, without daring to despise the ceremonies of religion, like the speculative Sceptic or Infidel, the hurried trader huddles them over as fast as possible, that he may return to occupations more congenial with the habit of his mind. The preachers may cry aloud, and spare not; they may lift up their voices like trumpets, proclaiming the nothingness of this world, and all which it contains; it is in vain. Men who have been trained to the pursuit of money from their childhood, who have bestowed infinite pains to acquire it, and who derive all their importance from it, must naturally have a partiality for this world, where riches procure so many flattering distinctions; and a prejudice against that in which they procure none: but in towns where there is little trade, and great numbers of poor people, where they have much spare time, and small comfort in this world, the clergy have an easier task, if they are tolerably assiduous, in turning the attention of the inhabitants to the other.

In Roman Catholic towns of this description, we see the people continually pacing up and down the streets, with wax tapers in their hands. They listen with fond attention, to all the priest relates concerning that invisible country, that Land of Promise where their hopes are placed; they ruminate, with complacency, on the happy period when they also shall have their good things; they bear their present rags with patience, in expectation of the white raiment and crowns of gold, which, they are told, await them; they languish for the happiness of being promoted to that lofty situation, from whence they may look down, with scorn, on those to whom they now look up with envy, and where they shall retaliate on their wealthy neighbours, whose riches, at present, they imagine, insult their own poverty.

This town being exposed, by the nature of its commerce with Turkey, to the contagious diseases which prevail in that country, Clement XII. as soon as he determined to make it a free port, erected a lazzaretto,—hospital. It advances a little way into the sea, is in the form of a pentagon, and is a very noble, as well as useful, edifice. He afterwards began a work, as necessary, and still more expensive; I mean the Mole built in the sea, to skreen the vessels in the harbour from the winds, which frequently blow from the opposite shore of the Adriatic with great violence. This was carried on with redoubled spirit by Benedict XIV. after his quarrel with Venice, has been continued by the succeeding Popes, and is now almost finished. This building was founded in the ruins of the ancient Mole, raised by the Emperor Trajan. The [Page] stone of Istria was used at first, till the e [...]portation of it was prohibited by the republic of Venice, who had no reason to wish well to this work.

But a quarry of excellent stone was afterwards found near Ancona as fit for the purpose; and a kind of sand, which, when mixed with lime, forms a composition as hard as any stone, is brought from the neighbourhood of Rome; and no other is used for this building which is above two thousand feet in length, one hundred in breadth, and about sixty in depth, from the surface of the sea. A stupendous work, more analogous to the power and revenues of ancient, than of modern, Rome.

Near to this stands the Triumphal Arch, as it is called, of Trajan. This is an honorary monument, erected in gratitude to that Emperor, for the improvements he made in this harbour at his own expence. Next to the Maison Quarrée—Square House, at Nî [...]es, it is the most beautiful and the most entire monument of Roman taste and magnificence I have yet seen.

The fluted Corinthian pillars on the two sides are of the finest proportions; and the Parian marble of which they are composed, instead of having acquired a black colour, like the Ducal palace of Venice, and other buildings of marble, is preserved, by the sea vapour, as white and shining as if it were fresh polished from the rock. I viewed this charming piece of antiquity with sentiments of pleasure and admiration, which sprang from a recollection of the elegant taste of the artist who planned this work, the humane amiable virtues of the great man to whose honour it was raised, and the grandeur and policy of the people who, by such rewards, prompted their Princes to wise and beneficent undertakings.

LETTER XXXI. Loretto.—History of the Casa Santa.

LORETTO.

THE road from Ancona to this place runs through a fine country, composea of a number of beautiful bills and intervening vallies. Loretto itself is a small town, situated on an eminence, about three miles from the sea I expected to have found it a more magnificent, at least a more commodious, town for the entertainment of strangers. The inn-keepers do not disturb the devotion of the pilgrims by the luxuries of either bed or board. I have not seen worse accommodations since I entered ltaly, than at the inn here This seems surprising, considering the great resort of strangers. If any town in England were as much frequented, every third or fourth house would be a neat inn.

The Holy Chapel of Loretto, all the world knows, was originally a small house in Nazareth, inhabited by the Virgin Mary, in which she was saluted by the Angel, and where she bred our Saviour. After their deaths, it was held in great veneration by all believers in[Page]Jesus, and at length consecrated into a chapel, and dedicated to the Virgin; upon which occasion St. Luke made that identical image, which is still preserved here, and dignified with the name of our Lady of Loretto, This sanctified edifice was allowed to sojourn in Galilee as long as that district was inhabited by christians; but when infidels got possession of the country, a hand of angels, to save it from pollution, took it in their arms, and conveyed it from Nazareth to a castle in Dalmatia. This fact might have been called in question by incredulous people, had it been performed in a secret manner [...] but, that it might be manifest to the most short-sighted spectator, and evident to all who were not perfectly deaf as well as blind, blind, a blaze of [...]lestial light, and a concert of divine music, accompanied it during the whole journey; besides, when the angels, to rest themselves, set it down in a little wood near the road, all the trees of the forest bowed their heads to the ground, and continued in that respectful posture as long as the Sacred Chapel remained among them. But, not having been entertained with suitable respect at the castle above-mentioned, the same indefatigable angels carried it over the sea, and placed it in a field belonging to a noble lady, called Lauretta, from whom the Chapel takes its name.

This field happened unfortunately to be frequented at that time by highwaymen and murderers: a circumstance with which the angels undoubtedly were not acquainted when they placed it there. After they were better informed, they removed it to the top of a hill belonging to two brothers, where they imagined it would be perfectly secure from the dangers of robbery or assassination; but the two brothers, the proprietors of the ground, being equally enamoured of their new visitor, became jealous of each other, quarelled, fought, and fell by mutual wounds. After this fatal catastrophe, the angels in waiting finally removed the Holy Chapel to the eminence where it now stands, and has stood these four hundred years, having lost all relish for travelling.

To silence the captious objections of cavillers, and give full satisfaction to the candid inquirer, a deputation of respectable persons was sent from Loretto to the city of Nazareth, who, previous to their setting out, took the dimensions of the Holy House with the most scrupulous exactness. On their arrival at Nazareth, they found the citizens scarcely recovered from their astonishment; for it may be easily supposed, that the sudden disappearance of a house from the middle of a town, would naturally occasion a considerable degree of surprise, even in the most philosophic minds.

The landlords had been alarmed in a particular manner, and had made enquiries, and offered rewards, all over Galilee, without having been able to get any satisfactory account of the [...]gitive. They felt their interest much affected by this incident; for, as houses had never before been considered as moveables, their value sell immediately. This indeed might be partly owing to certain evil mi [...]ded persons, who, taking advantage of the public [Page] alarm, for selfish purposes, circulated a report, that several other houses were on the wing, and would most probably disappear in a few days. This affair being so much the object of attention at Nazareth, and the builders of that city declaring, they would as soon build upon quick-sand, as on the vacant space which the Chapel had left at its departure, the deputies from Loretto had no difficulty in discovering the foundation of that edifice, which they carefully compared with the dimensions they had brought from Loretto, and found that they tallied exactly.

Of this they made oath at their return; and in the mind of every rational person, it remains no longer a question, whether this is the real house which the Virgin Mary inhabited, or not.—Many of those particulars are narrated with other circumstances in books which are sold here; but I have been informed of one circumstance, which has not hitherto been published in any book, and which▪ I dare swear, you will think ought to be made known for the benefit of future travellers.

This morning, immediately before we left the inn, to visit the Holy Chapel, an Italian servant, whom the Duke of Hamilton engaged at Venice, took me aside, and told me, in a very serious manner, that strangers were apt secretly to break off little pieces of the stone belonging to the Santa Casa, in the hopes that such precious relics might bring them good fortune; but he earnestly entreated me not to do any such thing: for he knew a man at Venice, who had broken off a small corner of one of the stones, and slipt it into his breeches pocket unperceived; but, so far from bringing him good fortune, it had burnt its way out, like aqua fortis, before he left the Chapel, and scorched his thighs in such a miserable manner, that he was not able to sit on horseback for a month. I thanked Giovanni for his obliging hint, and assured him I should not attempt any theft of that nature.

LETTER XXXII. Description of the sacred chapel.—The treasury.

LORETTO.

THE Sacred Chapel stands due east and west, at the farther end of a large church of the most durable stone of Istria, which has been built around it. This may be considered as the external covering, or as a kind of great coat to the Casa Santa, which has a smaller coat of more precious materials and workmanship nearer its body.

This inter [...]l covering, or case, is of the choicest marble, after [...] a plan of S [...]n Savino's and ornamented with basso relievos, the workmanship of the best sculptors which Italy could furnish in the reign of Leo the Tenth, The subject of those basso relievos are, the history of the Blessed Virgin, and other parts of the Bible. [Page] The whole case is about fifty feet long, thirty in breadth, and the same in heigth; but the real house itself is no more than thirty-two feet in length, fourteen in breadth, and at the sides, about eighteen feet in height; the centre of the roof is four or five feet higher.

The walls of this little Holy Chapel are composed of pieces of a reddish substance, of an oblong square shape, laid one upon another, in the manner of brick. At first fight, on a superficial view, these red-coloured oblong substances appear to be nothing else than common Italian bricks; and, which is still more extraordinary, on a second and third view, with all possible attention, they still have the same appearance.

There is not, however, as we were assured, a single particle of brick in their whole composition, being entirely of a stone, which, though it cannot now be found in Palestine, was formerly very common, particularly in the neighbourhood of Nazareth. There is a small interval between the walls of the ancient house, and the marble case. The workmen, at first, intended them to be in contact, from an opinion, founded either upon gross ignorance or infidelity, that the former stood in need of support from the latter; but the marble either start [...] back of itself, from such impious familiarity, being conscious of its unworthiness; or else was thrust back by the coyness of the Virgin brick, it is not said which. But it has certainly kept at a proper distance ever since. While we examined the basso relievos of the marble case, we were not a little incommoded by the numbers of pilgrims who were constantly crawling around it on their knees, kissing the ground, and saying their prayers with great fervour.

As they crept along, they discovered some degree of eagerness to be nearest the wall; not, I am persuaded, with a view of saving their own labour, by contracting the circumference of their circuit; but from an idea that the evolutions they were performing, would be the more beneficial to their souls, the nearer they were to the Sacred House. This exercise is continued in proportion to the zeal and strength of the patient.

Above the door there is an inscription; by which it appears, that any person who enters with arms is, ipso facto,—by that action, excommunicated.

INGREDIENTES CUM ARMIS SUNT EXCOMMUNICATI

Those who enter this place armed, are thereby excommunicated.

There are also the severest denunciations against th [...]se who carry away the smallest particle of the stone and mortar belonging to this Chapel. The adventure of the burnt breeches, and others of a [Page] similar nature, which are industriously circulated, have contributed as much as any denu [...]ciation, to prevent such attempts. Had it not been for the impressions they make, so great was the eagerness of the multitude to be possessed of any portion of this little edifice, that the whole was in danger of being carried away; not by angels but piece-meal in the pockets of the pilgrims.

The Holy House is divided within, into two unequal portions, by a kind of grate-work of silver. The division towards the west is about three-fourths of the whole; that to the east is called the Sanctuary. In the larger division, which may be considered as the main body of the house, the walls are left bare, to shew the true original fabric of Nazareth stone. These stones, which bear such a strong resemblance to bricks, are loose in may places. I took notice of this to a pilgrim, who entered with us: he smiled, saying, Che la non habbia paura, Padron mio, questi muri sono piu solidi degli Appenini.—Be not afraid, my good Sir, these walls are more firm than the Appennines. At the lower, or western wall, there is a window, the same through which the angel Gabriel entered at the Annunciation.

The architraves of this window are covered with silver. There are a great number of golden and silver lamps in this Chapel; I did not count them, but I was told there were above sixty; one of them is a present from the republic Venice: it is of gold, and weighs thirty-seven pon [...]s: some of the silver lamps weigh from one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty pounds. At the upper end of the largest room is an altar, but so low, that from it you may see the famous image which stands over the chimney, in the small room, or Sanctuary. Golden and silver angels, of considerable size, kneel around her, some offering hearts of gold, enriched with diamonds, and one an infant of pure gold. The wall of the Sanctuary is plated with silver, and adorned with crucifixes, precious stones, and votive gifts of various kinds. The figure of the Virgin herself by no means corresponds with the fine furniture of her house: she is a little woman, about four feet in height, with the features and complexion of a negroe. Of all the sculptors that ever existed, assuredly St. Luke, by whom this figure is said to have been made, is the least of a flatterer; and nothing can be a stronger proof of the blessed Virgin's contempt for external beauty, than her being satisfied with this representation of her; especially if, as I am inclined to believe, her face and person really resembled those beautiful ideas of her, conveyed by the pencils of Raphael, Corregio, and Guido. The figure of the infant Jesus, by St. Luke, is of a piece with that of the Virgin: he holds a large golden globe in one hand, and the other is extended in the act of blessing. Both figures have crowns on their heads, enriched with diamonds: these were presents from Ann of Austria, Queen of France, Both arms of the Virgin are inclosed within her [Page] robes, and no part but her face is to be seen; her dress is most magnificent, but in a wretched bad taste: this is not surprising, for me has no female attendant. She has particular clothes for the different feasts held in honour of her, and, which is not quite so decent, is always dressed and undressed by the priests belonging to the Chapel; her robes are ornamented with all kinds of precious stones, down to the hem of her garment. There is a small place behind the Sanctuary, into which we were also admitted. This is a favour seldom refused to strangers of a decent appearance. In this they shew the chimney, and some other furniture, which, they pretend, belonged to the Virgin when she lived at Nazareth; particularly a little earthen porringer, out of which the infant used to eat.

The pilgrims bring rosaries little crucifixes, and Agnus Dei's,—Lambs of Go [...], which the obliging priest shakes for half a minute in this dish: after which, it is believed, they acquire the virtue of curing various diseases, and prove an excellent preventative of all temptation of Satan. The gown which the image had on when the Chapel arrived from Nazareth, is of red camblet, and carefully kept in a glass shrine.

Above a hundred masses are daily said in this Chapel, and in the church in which it stands. The music we heard in the Chapel was remarkably fine. A certain number of the chaplains are eunuchs, who perform the double duty of singing the offices in the choir, and saying masses at the altar. The canonical law, which excludes persons in their situation from the priesthood, is eluded by a very extraordinary expedient, which I shall leave you to guess.

The jewels and riches to be seen at any one time in the Holy Chapel, are of small value in comparison of those in the treasury, which is a large room adjoining to the vestry of the great church. In the presses of this room are kept those presents which royal, noble, and rich bigots of all ranks have, by oppressing their subjects, and injuring their families sent to this place. To enumerate every particular, would fill volumes.

They consist of various utensils, and other things in silver and gold; as lamps, candlesticks, goblets, crowns, and crucifixes; lambs, eagles, saints, apostles, angels, virgins, and infants: then there are cameos, pearls, gems, and precious stones of all kinds, and in great numbers. What is valued above all the other jewels is, the miraculous pearl, wherein they assert, that Nature has given a faithful delineation of the Virgin, sitting on a cloud, with the infant Jesus in her arms. I freely acknowledge, that I did see something like a woman with a child in her arms; but whether Nature intended this as a portrait of the Virgin Mary, or not, I will not take upon me to say; yet I will candidly confess (though, perhaps, some of my friends in the north, may think it is saying too much in support of the Popish opinion) that the figure in this pearl bore as great a likeness to some pictures I have seen of the Virgin, as to any female of my acquaintance.

[Page] There was not room in the presses of the treasury, to hold all the silver pieces which have been presented to the Virgin. Several other presses in the vestry, they told us, were completely full, and they made offer to shew them; but our curiosity was already satiated.

It is said, that those pieces are occasionally melted down, by his Holiness, for the use of the State; and also, that the most precious of the jewels are picked out, and sold for the same purpose, false stones being substituted in their room. This is an affair entirely between the Virgin and the Pope: if she does not, I know no other person who has a right to complain.

THE END OF THE FIRST NUMBER.

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BELL's BOOK-Store 3d Street April 14th. 1783.

NUMBER SECOND—Price one Dollar, Of MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS through ITALY; will be published about two weeks from this Date.

Lately published at said BELL's Book-Store.

Neatly bound, Two Volumes Complete in One.

Price Three Dollars.

MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS, CONTAINING A VIEW of SOCIETY and MANNERS In France, Switzerland, and Germany, With anecdotes relating to some eminent characters, Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. during his travels through those countries, in the years 1776 and 1777, with his Grace the present Duke of Hamilton.

N. B. At said Bell's Book-Store may also be had a variety of NEW WORKS OF ENTERTAINMENT; With every curiosity that is come-at-able in the American world of Books.

NEW WORKS of Entertainment. Lately Published, and Now Selling at BELL's BOOK-STORE near St. Paul's Church in Third-street, Philadelphia.

[Page]1. MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS, containing A VIEW of SOCIETY and MANNERS, in France, Switzerland, and Germany, with Anecdotes relating to some Eminent Characters, written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. during his Travels through those countries, in the years 1776 and 1777, with his Grace the present Duke of Hamilton. Neatly bound, Two Volumes Complete in One—Price Three Dollars.

2. MOORE's ELEGANT TRAVELS, containing A VIEW of SOCIETY and MANNERS, in Italy, with Anecdotes relating to some Eminent Characters, written by JOHN MOORE, M. D. during his Travels through those countries, in the years 1777 and 1778, with his Grace the present Duke of Hamilton. Neatly bound, Two Volumes Complete in One—Price Three Dollars.

3. The MAN of the WORLD, exhibited in the History of Sir THOMAS SINDALL, Miss HARRIET ANNESLY, and many other eminent Personages, whose Adventures abound with Instruction and Entertainment. Complete in Three Volumes, at Half a Dollar each Volume.

4. The MAN of FEELING, exhibited in the History of Mr. HARLEY, Miss WALTON, and EDWARDS, the Voluntier Soldier. To which is added, the S [...]NTI. MENTAL SAILOR.—Price One Dollar.

5. Lord Lyttelton's Familiar Letters to his Friends, with his Poems on several occasions.—Price One Dollar.

6. The new, elegant, entertaining, and wonderful History o [...] EMMA CORBETT, exhibiting HENRY and EMMA, the faithful modern Lovers, as delineated by themselves, in their original letters. Complete in Three Volumes, at Half a Dollar each Volume.

In this work the very great vicissitudes of human life, and the miseries of civil war, are feelingly depicted; founded upon incidents which occurred at and near Philadelphia, in the Royal-Winter of 1777, when the British Gentry imagined they had taken an eternal lease of the great Congressional city.

N. B. At said BELL's Book-Store may also be had every curiosity that is come-at-able in the American World of Books.

§

§

§

[Page]

NUMBER SECOND—Price One Dollar.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY:

WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D.

During his Travels through that Country, in the years 1777 and 1778, with his Grace, the present Duke of HAMILTON.

Hast thou through many Cities Sray'd

Their Customs, Laws, and Manners Weigh'd.

GAY.

[Page]

CONTENTS OF THE SECOND NUMBER.

LETTER XXXIII. Pilgrimages to Loretto.—Manufactures.—Confessionals.—Basso relievos.—Zeal of Pilgrims.—Iron grates before the Chapels. Reflections. Dated at Loretto. 129

LETTER XXXIV. Tolentino.—The Appennines. A hermit.—Umbria.—Spoletto. at Spoletto 132

LETTER XXXV. Terni.—Narni.—Otricoli. Civita Castellana.—Campania of Rome. at Rome 136

LETTER XXXVI. Rome.—Conversationis.—Cardinal Bernis.—The distress of an Italian Lady. at Rome 138

LETTER XXXVII. Remarks on ancient and modern Rome.—The Church of St. Peter's. at Rome 141

LETTER XXXVIII. The ceremony of the Possesso. at Rome. 146

[Page] LETTER XXXIX. Pantheon.—Coliseum.—Gladiators. Dated at Rome. 149

LETTER XL. The Campidoglia.—Forum Romanum.—Jews. at Rome 156

LETTER XLI. Ruins.—Via Sacra.—Tarpeian Rock.—Campus Martius.—Various Forums.—Trajan's Column. at Rome 161

LETTER XLII. The beatification of a Saint. at Rome 165

LETTER XLIII. Character of modern Italians. Observations on human nature in general.—An English officer.—Cause of the frequency of the Crime of murder. at Rome 167

LETTER XLIV. Different kinds of punishment. Account of an execution.—Souls in purgatory. at Rome 171

LETTER XLV. The usual course with an antiquarian—An expeditious course, by a young Englishman.—The Villa Borghese. at Rome 176

LETTER XLVI. The morning study of an artist.—Conversation with him on that subject—An Italian lady and her confessor.—The Lady's religious scruples and precaution. at Rome 182

LETTER XLVII. Busts and statues of distinguished Romans.—Of Heathen Deities.—Passion [Page]of the Greeks and Romans for sculpture.—Farnesian Hercules critised by a Lady.—Remarks on that statue. On the Flora. Effect which the sight of the statues of Laocoon and his sons had on two spectators of opposite characters. Mr. Lock's Observations on the same group. The Antinous. The Apollo. Dated at Rome. Page 186

LETTER XLVIII. The present Pope. Ganganelli. A Scotch Presbyterian. at Rome 192

LETTER XLIX. Zeal of Pius VI. Institution of the Jubilee. Ceremony of building up the holy door of St. Peter's by the present Pope. The ceremony of high mass performed by the Pope on Christmas day. Character of the present Pope. He is admired by the Roman women. The Benediction pronounced in the grand area before the church of St. Peter's at Rome 196

LETTER L. Presented to the Pope. Reflections on the situation of Sovereigns in general. The Sovereign Pontiff in particular. at Rome 200

LETTER LI. Modern Romans. Roman women compared with those of England. Portrait painting in Italy, and elsewhere. at Rome 205

LETTER LII. Carnival at Rome. Masquerades and other amusements in the Corso. Horse-races. Serious Opera. Great sensibility in a young woman. Extravagant expression of a Roman Citizen[Page]at the Opera. A Serenade on Christmas morning. Female performers prohibited on the Theatres at Rome. Eunuchs substituted. The effect on the minds of spectators. Dated at Rome Page 210

LETTER LIII. Journey from Rome to Naples. Valetri. Otho. Sermonetta. Peevish Travellers. Monte Circello. Piperno. Fossa Nuova at Naples 214

LETTER LIV. Terracina. Via Appia. Fundi. Gaeta. Illustrious French Rebels. Bourbon. Minturnae. Marius. Hannibal. at Naples. 219

LETTER LV. Naples.—Fortress of St. Elmo.—Conversation with a Lady regarding the Carthusians.—Manufactures.—Number of inhabitants. at Naples 225

LETTER LVI. Manners. at Naples 228

LETTER LVII. Respect paid to Kings during their lives. Feedoms used with their characters after their deaths. The King of Naples. A game at billiards. Characters of the King and Queen. at Naples 230

LETTER LVIII. The Neapolitan Nobles.—The Peasants. at Naples. 233

LETTER LIX. Citizens.—Lawyers.—Physicians.—Clergy.—Convents.—Lazzaroni. at Naples. 236

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THE Public are respectfully informed, That Mr. DAWSON's famo [...]s POWDERS for Destroying RATS, MICE, and other VERMIN, may now be had, wholesale and retail, in packets price 1s. 6d. each, or six parcels for 8s. of Messrs. Goadby and Co. Sherborne, and their NEWS-MEN.

These Powders are composed of certain valuable ingredients, entirely vegetable, and contain such a fascinating power, that the animal, having once tasted them, is certain to return, and attract all others in the house, barn, or stable, by his smell. &c.—There are two parcels in each packet, one to allure, the other to destroy.

🝆 No dog or cat will touch these Powders.

☞ Rats have been often found lying dead by the Powders.

From The WESTERN FLYING POST OR SHERBORNE and YEOVIL MERCURY, and General Advertiser. PRINTED by R. GOADBY and Company, at the Printing-Office, in Long-street SHERBORNE.

May 22d, 1783.

[Page]

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER XXXIII. Pilgrimages to Loretto.—Manufactures.—Confessionals.—Basso Relievos. Zeal of Pilgrims.—Iron grates before the Chapels. Reflections.

LORETTO.

PILGRIMAGES to Loretto are not so frequent with foreigners, or with Italians of fortune and distinction, as formerly, nineteen out of twenty of those, who make this journey now, are poor people, who depend for their maintenance on the charity they receive on the road. To hose who are of such a rank in life as precludes them from availing themselves of the charitable institutions for the maintenance of pilgrims, such journies are attended with expence and inconveniency; and I am informed, that fathers and husbands, in moderate or confined circumstances, are frequently brought to disagreeable dilemmas, by the rash vows of going to Loretto, which their wives or daughters are apt to make on any supposed deliverance from danger. To refuse, is considered, by the whole neighbourhood, as cruel, and even impious; and to grant, is often highly distressing, particularly to such husbands as, from affection, or any other motive, do not choose that their wives should be long out of their sight. But the poor, who are maintained during their whole journey, and have nothing more than a bare maintenance to expect from their labour [Page] at home, to them a journey to Loretto is a party of pleasure, as well as devotion, and by much [...]he most agreeable road they can take to Heaven. This being a year of jubilee, there is a far greater concourse of pilgrims of all ranks here, at present, than is usual. We have seen a few in their carriages, a greater number on horseback, or on mules; or, what is still more common, on asses. Great numbers of females come in this manner, with a male friend walking by them, as their guide and protector; but the greatest number, of both sexes, are on foot. When we approached near Loretto, the road was crowded with them: they generally set out before sun-rise; and, having reposed themselves during the [...]eat of the day, continue their journey again in the evening. They sing their matins, and their evening hymns, aloud. As many have fine voices and delicate ears, those vocal concerts have a charming effect at a little distance. During the stillness of the morning and the evening, we were serenaded with this solemn religious music for a considerable part of the road. The pilgrims on foot, as soon as they enter the suburbs, begin a hymn in honour of the Virgin, which they continue till they reach the church. The poorer sort are received into an hospital, where they have bed and board for three days.

The only trade of Loretto consists of rosaries, crucifixes, little Madonnas, Agnus Dei's, and medals, which are manufactured here, and sold to pilgrims. There are great numbers of shops full of these commodities, some of them of a high price; but infinitely the greater part are adapted to the purses of the buyers, and sold for a mere trifle. The evident poverty of those manufacturers and traders, and of the inhabitants of this town in general, is a sufficient proof that the reputation of our Lady of Loretto is greatly on the decline.

In the great church, which contains the Holy Chapel, are confessionals, where the penitents from every country of Europe may be confessed in their own language, priests being always in waiting for that purpose: each of them has a long white rod in his hand, with which he touches the heads of those to whom he thinks it proper to give absolution. They place themselves on their knees, in groupes, around the confessional chair; and when the Holy Father has touched their heads with the expiatory rod, they retire, freed from the burden of their sins, and with renewed courage to begin a fresh account.

In the spacious area before this church, there is an elegant marble fountain, supplied with water from an adjoining hill, by an aqueduct. Few even of the most inconsiderable towns of Italy are without the useful ornament of a public fountain. The embellishments of sculpture and architecture are employed, with great propriety, on such works, which are continually in the people's view; the air is refreshed, and the eye delighted, by the streams of water they pour forth; a sight peculiarly agreeable in a warm climate. In this area there is also a statue of Sixtus V. in bronze. Over the portal of the church itself, is a statue of the Virgin; and [Page] above the middle gate, is a Latin inscription, importing, that within is the House of the Mother of God, in which the Word was made flesh.

The gates of the church are likewise of bronze, embellished with basso relievos, of admirable workmanship; the subjects taken partly from the Old, and partly from the New Testament, and divided into different compartments. As the gates of this church are shut at noon, the pilgrims who arrive after that time can get no nearer the Santa Casa than these gates, which are by this means, sometimes exposed to the first violence of that holy ardour which was designed for the Chapel itself. All the sculpture upon the gates, which is within reach of the mouths of those zealots is, in some degree, effaced by their kisses.

The murder of Abel, by his brother, is upon a level with the lips of a person of an ordinary size, when kneeling. Poor Abel has been always unfortunate; had he been placed a foot higher, or lower, on the gate, he might have remained there, in security, for ages; but in the unlucky place that the sculptor has put him, his whole body has been almost entirely kissed away by the pilgrims; whilst Cain stands, untouched, in his original altitude, frowning and fierce as ever.

I have said nothing of the paintings to be seen here, though some are highly esteemed, particularly two in the Treasury. The subject of one of these is, the Virgin's Nativity, by Annibale Carracci; and of the other, a Holy Family, by Raphael. There are some others of considerable merit, which ornament the altars of the great church.

These altars, or little chapels, of which this fabric contains a great number, are lined with marble, and embellished by sculpture; but nothing within this church interested me so much as the iron grates before those chapels, after I was informed that they were made o [...] the fetters and chains of the Christian slaves, who were freed from bondage by the glorious victory of Lepanto. From that moment these iron grates commanded my attention more than all the golden lamps and candlesticks, and angels and jewels, of the Holy Chapel.

The ideas that rush into one's mind on hearing a circumstance of this kind, are affecting beyond expression. To think of four thousand of our fellow-creatures, torn from the service of their country and the arms of friendship, chained to oars, subjected continually to the revilings of enemies, and every kind of ignominious treatment, at once, when their souls were sinking under the weight of such accumulated calamity, and brought to the very verge of despair; at once, in one blessed moment, freed from slavery, restored to the embraces of their friends, and enjoying, with them, all the rapture of victory. Good God, what a scene! what a number of scenes! for the imagination, after glancing at the whole, distinguishes and separates objects, and form a thousand groupes of the most pathetic kind; the fond recognition of old [Page] companions, brothers flying into each other's arms, and the extacy of fathers on the recovery of their lost sons. Many such pictures did my fancy form, while I stood contemplating those grates so truly ornamental of a Christian church, and so perfectly congenial with a religion which requires men to relieve the oppressed, and set the captive free.

Happy if the followers of that religion had always observed this divine admonition. I speak not of those men who assume the name of Christians for the purposes of interest or ambition, but of a more absurd class of mankind; those who, believing in Christianity, endeavour to reconcile it to a conduct, and doctrines, entirely repugnant to its nature▪ This absurdity has appeared in the human character from the earliest ages of Christianity. Men have displayed unaffected zeal, and endeavoured to support and propagate the most benevolent and rational of all religions, by actions worthy of demons, and arguments which shock common sense.

The same persons who praised and admired the heavenly benevolence of this sentiment, Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy; have thought it a duty to condemn their fellow-creatures to cruel deaths for speculative opinions. The same men who admired the founder of Christianity for going about, continually, doing good, have thought it a duty to spend their whole lives in cells, doing nothing.

And can any thing be more opposite to those dark and inexplicable doctrines, on the belief of which, according to the conviction of many, our salvation depends, than this plain rule, Whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do you even so to them? a rule so plain, as to be understood by the most simple and ignorant; and so just, complete, and comprehensive as to be admired by the wisest and most learned.

If this equitable maxim is the law and the prophets, and we learn from the highest authority that it is, what becomes of all those mysterious webs, of various texture, which, since the beginning of the Christian aera, Popes, Priests, and many of the leaders of sectaries, have wove around it?

LETTER XXXIV. Tolentino—The Apennines.—A hermit.—Umbria.—Spoletto.

SPOLETTO.

WE left Loretto after dinner, and proceeded through a beautiful country to Macerata, a small town, situated on a hill, as the towns in Italy generally a [...]e. We only stayed to change [...]orses, and continued our journey to Tolentino; where, not thinking it expedient to begin to ascend the Appennines in the dark, we took up our quarters at an inn, the best in the place, but, by many degrees, the poorest we had seen in Italy. However, [Page] as it was not for good eating or convenient bed-chambers we came to this country, that circumstance affected us very little. Indeed, the quantity of victuals presented us at supper, would have been as displeasing to a person of Sancho Pancho's way of thinking on the subject of eating, as the manner they were dressed would have been to a nicer sensualist in that refined science. The latter circumstance prevented our regretting the former; and although we had felt some uneasiness when we were told how little provisions there were in the house, the moment they appeared on the table, we were all convinced there was more than enough.

The poor people of this inn, however, shewed the utmost desire to please. They must have unfortunate tempers indeed, who, observing this, could have shocked them by fretfulness, or an air of dissatisfaction. Besides, if the entertainment had been still more homely, even those travellers who are accustomed to the greatest delicacies, might be induced to bear it with patience, for one night, from this consideration, That the people of the place, who have just as good a natural right to the luxuries of life as themselves, are obliged to bear it always.

Nothing is more apt to raise indignation, than to behold men repining and fretting, on account of little inconveniencies, in the hearing of those who are bearing much greater every day with cheerfulness. There is a want of sense, as well as a want of temper, in such behaviour. The only use of complaining of hardships to those who cannot relieve them, must be to obtain sympathy; but if those to whom they complain, are suffering the same hardships in a greater degree, what sympathy can those repiners expect? They certainly find none.

Next morning we encountered the Apennines. The fatigue of this day's journey was compensated by the beauty and variety of the views among those mountains. On the face of one of the highest, I remarked a small [...]ut, with a garden near it. I was told this was inhabited by an old infirm Hermit.

I could not understand how a person in that condition could scramble up aud down such a mountain to procure for himself the necessaries of life. I was informed, he had not quitted his hermitage for several years, the neighbouring peasants supplying him plentifully with all he requires. This man's reputation for sanctity is very great, and those who take the trouble of carrying him provisions, think themselves well repaid by his prayers.

I imagine I am acquainted with a country where provisions [...] in greater plenty than in the Appennines; and yet the great [...] [...] in the nation, who should take up his residence on [...] mountains, would be in great danger of starving, if he [...] for his sustenance upon the provisions that should be carried up to him in exchange for his prayers.

There are mountains and pre [...]ices among the Appennines, which do not appear contemptible in the eyes even of those who [Page] have travelled among the Alps; while on the other hand, those delightful plains, contained within the bosom of the former, are infinitely superior, in beauty and fertility, to the vallies among the latter. We now entered the rich province of Umbria, and soon after arrived at Fol [...]gno, a thriving town, in which there is more appearance of industry than in any [...]f the towns we have seen, since we left Ancona; there are considerable manufactures of paper, cloth and silk. In a convent of Nuns, is a famous picture by Rapha [...]l, generally visited by travellers, and much admired by connoisseurs.

The situation of this town is peculiarly happy. It stands in a charming valley, laid out in corn-fields and vine-yards, intersected by mulberry and almond-trees, and watered by the river Clitumnus; the view terminating on one side by hills crowned with cities, and on the other by the loftiest mountains of the Appennines. I never experienced such a sudden and agreeable change of climate, [...]s on descending from those mountains, in many places, at present, covered with snow, to this pleasant valley of Umbria.

Where western gales eternally reside,

And all the seasons lavish all their pride.

From Foligno to Vene, the road lies through this fine plain. A little before you come to the post-house at Vene, on the right hand, there is a little building; the front which looks to the valley, is adorned with six Corinthian pillars; the two in the middle enriched by a laurel foliage▪ on one side, is a crucifix in basso relievo, with vine branches curling around it. On this building, there are some inscriptions which mention the resurrection. Some, who think the architecture too fine for the first ages of Christianity, and the Temple too old to have been built since the revival of that art, have conjectured, that this little edifice is antique, and originally erected by the ancient inhabitants of Umbria, as a temple in honour of the river God Clitumnus; but, at some subsequent period, converted into a Christian chapel, and the crucifix and inscriptions added after its consecration. Other very respectable judges think, the style of architecture is by no means pure, but adulterated by meretricious ornament, and worthy enough of the first ages of Christianity.

Mr. Addison has given many quotations from the Latin poets, in honour of this river, all of which countenance the popular opinion with regard to the quality of the water. The breed of white cattle, which gave such reputation to the river, still remains in this country. We saw many of them as we passed, some milk white, but the greatest numbers of a whitish grey. The common people still retain the ancient opinion, with respect to the effect of the water. Spoletto, the capital of Umbria, is situated on a high r [...]ck, the ascent to which is very steep on all sides. This town retains little appearance of its ancient importance. Keys [...]er says, [Page] that, like other paltry towns in Italy, it exhibits bombastic inscriptions concerning its antiquity, and many trivial occurences which have happened there; the only inscription, however, which he quotes, and the only one which I saw, is that over the Porta di Fuga, from which the Carthaginian army is supposed to have been repulsed.

ANNIBAL CAESIS AD THRASYMENUM ROMANIS URBEM ROMAM INFENSO AGMINE PETENS, SPOLETO MAGNA SUORUM CLADE REPULSUS, INSIGNI FUGA PORTAE NOMEN FECIT.

Hannibal, having defeated the Romans at Thrasyment, and marching his army to Rome, was repulsed from Spoletto with great slaughter. The memorable flight of the Carthaginians gave name to this gate.

I cannot perceive any thing bombastic in this; Livy mentions the fact in his twenty-second book, in the following terms:

Annibal recto itinere per Umbriam usque ad Spoletum venit, inde quum perpopulato agro urb [...]m oppugnare adortus esset, cum magna c [...]de suorum repulsus, conjectans ex unius coloni [...] haud nimis prospere tentatae viribus quanta moles Romanae urbis esset.

Hannibal marched straight through Umbria to Spoletto, and after having laid the country waste when he began to attack the town, he was beat off, with great slaughter of his soldiers. Such a check from an inconsiderable colony, would naturally lead him to reflect on the difficulties he must encounter in subduing the Roman republic.

If the inhabitants of the greatest capital in the world had equal authority for their ancestors having repulsed such a general as Hannibal, would they not be inclined to receive it as truth, and to transmit it to the latest posterity?

This town is still supplied with water, by means of an antiqus aqueduct, one of the most entire, and the highest in Europe. In the centre, where the height is greatest, there is a double arcade; the other arches diminish in height, as they recede from it, towards the sloping sides of the two mountains which this magnificent work unites.

In the cathedral, there is a picture of the Virgin by St. Luke but we had already seen sufficient specimens of this saint's abilities, as a sculptor and a painter, and we had not the least curiosity to see any more.

[Page]

LETTER XXXV. Terni.—Narni—Otricoli.—Civita Castellana.—Campania of Rome.

ROME.

LEAVING Spoletto, we passed over the highest of the Apennines, and then descended through a forest of olive trees, to the fruitful valley in which Terni is situated, on the river Nera. It was formerly called Interamna, on account of its standing between two branches of that river. The valley which stretches from this town to Terni, is exuberantly fertile, being finely exposed to the south sun, and watered by the Nera, which by its beauteous windings, divides the plain into peninsulas of various shapes. The Emperor Tacitus, and his brother Florianus, were natives of Terni, but the greatest pride of that city is, its having given birt [...] to Tacitus the Historian.

I am almost ashamed to tell you that we did not go to see the famous cataract, near this town, which is usually visited by travellers, and which, by all accounts, is so worthy of their curiosity. Innumerable streams from the highest Apennines, meeting in one channel, form the river Velino, which flows placidly, for some time, through a plain almost horizontal, and afterwards, when the river becomes more rapid by the contracting and sloping of the channel, the plain terminates of a sudden in a precipice three hundred feet high, over which, the river rushing, dashes with such violence against the rocky bottom, that a vast cloud of watery smoke is raised all around. The river Velino does not long survive the fall, but broken, groaning and foaming, soon finishes his course in the Nera. Mr. Addison is of opinion, that Virgil had this gulph in his eye when he described the place in the middle of Italy, through which the Fury Alecto descended into Tartarus.

A very heavy rain which fell while we were at Terni, the fatigue and difficulty of climbing up the Monte di Marmore, from whence this fall appears to the greatest advantage, and our impatience to be at Rome, prevented us from seeing that celebrated cataract, which we regretted the less, as we had frequently seen one of the same kind in Scotland, about twelve miles above Hamilton, at a place called Corace, where the river Clyde, falling perpendicular from a vast height, produces the same effects, in every respect, unless, that he outlives the accident, and continues his course for near fifty miles before he joins the Atlantic ocean.

The distance from Terni to Narni is about seven miles; the road is uncommonly good, and the country on each side delightful. When we came near Narni, while the chaises proceeded to the town, I walked to take a view of the bridge of Augustus. This stately fabric is wholly of marble, and without cement, as many other antique buildings are. Only one of the arches remains intire, [Page] which is the first on the side of the river where I was; under it, there was no water▪ it is one hundred and fifty feet wide. The next arch, below which the river flows, is twenty feet wider, and has a considerable slope, being higher on the side next the first arch, than on that next the third. The remaining two arches are, in every respect, smaller than the two first.

What could be the reason of such ungraceful irregularity in a work, in other respects so magnificent, and upon which so much labour and expence must have been bestowed, I cannot imagine. It is doubtful, whether there were originally four arches, or only three; for that which is supposed by some to be the basis from which the two lesser articles sprung; is thought by others, to be the remains of a square pillar, raised some time after the bridge was built, to support the middle of the third arch; which, on the supposition that there were but three, must have been of a very extraordinary width.

This fabric is usually called Augustus's Bridge, and Mr. Addison thinks that without doubt Martial alludes to it, in the ninety-second Epigram of the seventh book; but some other very judicious travellers imagine, it is the remains of an aqueduct, because those arches joined two mountains, and are infinitely higher than was necessary for a bridge over the little river which flows under them. It has also been supposed, not without great appearance of probability, that this fabric was originally intended to serve the purposes of both.

As the rain still continued, my curiosity to see this fine ruin procured me a severe drenching: this I received with due resignation, as a punishment for having been intimidated by rain, from visiting the fine cascade at Terni. It was with great difficulty I got up the hill, by a path which I thought was shorter and easier than the high road; this unfortunately led to no gate. At last, however, I observed a broken part of the wall, over which I immediately clambered into the town. Martial takes notice of the difficulty of access to this town.

Narnia, sulphureo quam gurgite candidus amnis

Circuit, ancipiti vix adeunda Jugo.

Narnia, surrounded by a sulphureous stream and dangerous

cliffs, which render it almost inaccessible.

The town itself is very poor, and thinly inhabited. It boasts, however, of being the native city of the Emperor Nerva, and some other celebrated men.

The road from Narni to the post-house at Otricoli, is exceeding rough and mountainous. This is a very poor village, but advantageously situated on a rising ground. Between this and the Tiber, at some little distance from the road, there is a considerable tract [Page] of ground, covered with many loose antique fragments and vaults: these are generally considered as the ruins of the ancient Otriculum. We passed along this road early in the morning, and were entertained, great part of the way, with vocal music from the pilgrims, several hordes of whom we met near this place, on their return from Rome, where they had been on account of the jubilee.

The only place of note between Otricoli and Rome, is Civita Castellana. Terni is the last town of the province of Umbria, and Castellana the first of ancient La [...]ium, coming to Rome, by the Flaminian way. Castellana is considered, by many antiquarians, as the Fescennium of the ancients; a school-master of which, as we are informed by Livy, by an unexampled instance of wickedness, betrayed a number of the sons of the principal citizens into the power of the dictator Camillus, at that time besieging the place. The generous Roman, equally abhorring the treachery and the traitor, ordered this base man to be stripped, to have his hands tied behind, and to be delivered over to the boys, who, armed with rods, beat him back to Fescennium, and delivered him up to their parents, to be used as they should think he deserved.

Civita Castellana stands upon a high rock, and must formerly have been a place of great strength, but is now in no very flourishing condition. Many of the towns I have mentioned, lying on the road to Rome, by the Flaminian way, have suffered, at different periods, more than those of any other part of Italy; by the inroads of Visigoths and Huns, as well as by some incursions of a later date.

This, I am convinced, is the only country in the world, where the fields become more desolate as you approach the capi [...]al. After having traversed the cultivated and fertile vallies of Umbria, one is affected with double emotion at beholding the deplorable state of poor neglected Latium.

For several posts before you arrive at Rome, few villages, little cultivation, and scarcely any inhabitants are to be seen. In the Campania of Rome, formerly the best cultivated and best peopled spot in the world, no houses, no trees, no inclosures; nothing but the scattered ruins of temples and tombs, presenting the idea of a country depopulated by a pestilence. All is motionless, silent, and forlorn.

In the midst of these deserted fields the ancient Mistress of the World rears her head, in melancholy majesty.

LETTER XXXVI. Rome.—Conversationis.—Cardinal Bernis.—The distress of an Italian Lady.

ROME.

YOU will not be surprised at my silence for some weeks past. On arriving at a place where there are so many interesting objects as at Rome, we are generally selfish enough to indulge our [Page] own curiosity very amply, before we gratif [...]y that of our friends in any degree. My first care was to wait on the Prince Guistiniani, for whom we had letters from Count Mahoni, the Spanish ambass [...]dor at Vienna, to whose niece that Prince is married. Nothing can exceed the politeness and attention the Prince and Princess have shewn.

He waited immediately on the Duke of Hamilton, and insisted on taking us, in his own carriage, to every house of distinction. Two or three hours a day were spent in this ceremony. After being once presented, no farther introduction or invitation is necessary.

Our mornings are generally spent in visiting the antiquities, and the paintings in the palaces. On those occasions we are accompanied by Mr. Byres, a gentleman of probity, knowledge, and real taste. We generally pass two or three hours every evening at the conversazionis; I speak in the plural number, for we are sometimes at several in the same evening. It frequently happens, that three or four, or more, of the nobility, have these assemblies at the same time; and almost all the company of a certain rank in Rome make it a point, if they go to any, to go to all; so that although there is a great deal of bustle, and a continual change of place, there is scarcely any change of company, or any variation in the amusement, except what the change of place occasions: but this circumstance alone is often found an useful accomplice in the murder of a tedious evening; for when the company find no great amusement in one place, they fly to another, in hopes they may be better entertained.

These hopes are generally disappointed; but that does not prevent them from trying a third, and a fourth; and although to whatever length the experiment is pushed, it always terminates in new disappointments, yet at last, the evening is dispatched; and, without this locomotive resource, I have seen people in danger of dispatching themselves.

This bustle, and running about after objects which give no permanent satisfaction, and without fully knowing whence we came, or whither we are going, you'll say, is a mighty silly business. It is so;—and, after all the swelling importance that some people assume, Pray what is human life?

Having told you what five or six conversazionis, are, I shall endeavour to give you some idea what one is. These assemblies are always in the principal apartment of the palace, which is generally on the second, but sometimes on the third floor. It is not always perfectly easy to find this apartment, because it sometimes happens that the staircase is very ill lighted.

On entering the hall, where the footmen of the company are assembled, your name is pronounced aloud, by some servants of the family, and repeated by others, as you walk through several rooms. Those whose names are not known, are announced by the general denomination of i [...] Cavalie [...]i Foresti [...]ri, or Inglesi, as you pass [Page] through the different rooms, till you come to that in which the company are assembled, where you are received by the master or mistress of the house, who sits exactly within the door for that purpose. Having made a short compliment there, you mix with the company, which is sometimes so large, that none but the ladies can have the conveniency of sitting.

Notwithstanding the great size and number of the rooms in the Italian palaces, it frequently happens that the company are so pressed together, that you can with difficulty move from one room to another. There always is a greater number of men than women; no lady comes without a gentleman to hand her. This gentleman, who acts the part of Cavaliero Servente, may be her relation in any degree, or her lover, or both. It is allowed him to be connected with her in any way but one—he must not be her husband. Familiarities between man and wife are still connived at in this country however, provided they are carried on in private; but for a man to be seen hand in hand with his wife, in public, would not be tolerated.

At Cardinal Berni's assembly, which is usually more crowded than any in Rome, the company are served with coffee, lemonade, and iced confections of various kinds; but this custom is not universal. In short, at a conversazione, you have an opportunity of seeing a number of well-dressed people, you speak a few words to those you are acquainted with, you bow to the rest, and enjoy the happiness of being squeezed and pressed among the best company in Rome.

I do not know what more can be said of these assemblies; only it may be necessary, to prevent mistakes, to add, that a conversazione is a place where there is no conversation. They break up about nine o'clock, all but a small select company, who are invited to supper. But the present race of Romans are by no means so fond of convivial entertainments, as their predecessors. The magnificence of the Roman nobility displays itself now in other articles than the luxuries of the table: they generally dine at home, in a very private manner. Strangers are seldom invited to dinner, except by the foreign ambassadors. The hospitality of Cardinal Berni alone makes up for every deficiency of that nature. There is no ambassador from the Court of Great Britain at Rome, but the English feel no want of one.

If the French Cardinal had been instructed by his court to be peculiarly attentive to them, he could not be more so than he is. Nothing can exceed the elegant magnificence of his table, nor the splendid hospitality in which he lives. Years have not impaired the wit and vivacity for which he was distinguished in his youth; and no man could support the pretensions of the French nation to superior politeness, better than their ambassador at Rome.

There are no lamps lighted in the streets at night; and all Rome would be in utter darkness, were it not for the candles, which the devotion of individuals sometimes place before certain [Page] statues of the Virgin. Those appear faintly glimmering at vast intervals, like stars in a cloudy night. The l [...]ckeys carry dark lanthorns behind the carriages of people of the first distinction. The Cardinals, and other Ecclesiastics, do not choose to have their coaches seen before the door of every house they visit. In the midst of this darkness, you will naturally conclude, that amoro [...] assignations in the streets are not unfrequent among the inferior people.

When a carriage, with a lanthorn behind it, accidentally comes near a couple who do not wish to be known, one of them calls out, "Volti la lanterna,"—Turn the lantern, and is obeyed; the carriage passing without farther notice being taken. Venus, as you know, has always been particularly respected at Rome, on account of her amour with Anchises.

—Genus unde Latinum

Albanique patres, atque alta moenia Rom [...]

Hence the fam'd Latian line, and senates come▪

And the proud triumphs, and the tow'rs of Rome.

PITT.

The Italians, in general, have a remarkable, a [...] of gravity, which they preserve even when the subject of their conversation is gay. I observed something of this at Venice, but I think it is much stronger at Rome. The Roman ladies have a languor in their countenances, which promises as much sensibility as the brisk look of the French; and, without the volubility of the latter, or the frankness of the Venetian women, they seem no way averse to form connections with strangers. The Duke of Hamilton was presented to a beautiful young lady at one of the assemblies. In the course of conversation he happened to say, That he had heard she had been married very lately. She answered, with precipitation, "Signor si—ma mio marito é uno Vecchio."—Yes, my Lord—but my husband is an old man. She then added, shaking her head, and in a most affecting tone of voice, O [...]antiss [...]a Virgine quanto è Vecchio!—O holy Virgin, how exceeding old [...]e is!

LETTER XXXVII. Remarks on ancient and modern Rome.—The church of St. Peter's,

ROME.

AUTHORS differ very much in opinion with respect to the number of inhabitants which Rome contained at the period when it was most populous. Some accounts make them seven millions, and others a still greater number. These seem all to be incredible exaggerations. It is not probable, that what is properly [Page] called the city of Rome, ever extended beyond the wall built by Bel [...]sarius, after he had defeated the Goths. This wall has been frequently repaired since, and is still standing; it is about thirteen or fourteen miles in circuit, which is nearly the size that Rome was of, according to Pliny, in the days of Vespasian. Those who assert, that the number of inhabitants in ancient Rome when it was most populous, could not exceed a million, exclusive of slaves, are thought moderate in their calculation; but when we consider that the circumference of thirteen or fourteen miles is not equal to that of either Paris or London; that the Campus Martius, which is the best built part of modern Rome, was a field, without a house upon it, anciently; and that the rising ground, where St. Peter's church and the Vatican stand, was no part of old Rome; it will be difficult to conceive that ever Rome could boast a millión of inhabitants.

For my own part, if the wall of Belisarius is admitted as the boundary of the ancient city, I cannot imagine it to have, at any time, contained above five or six hundred thousand, without supposing the masters of the world to have been the worst lodged people in it.

But if, in the computations above mentioned, the suburbs are included; if those who lived without the walls are considered as inhabitants; in that case there will be room enough for any number, the limits of the suburbs not being ascertained.

The buildings immediately without the walls of Rome, which were connectedly continued so as to merit the name of suburbs, were certainly of vast extent; and with those of the town itself, must have contained a prodigious number of people. By a calculation made by Mr. Byres, the Circus Maximus was of sufficient size to accommodate three hundred and eighty thousand spectators; and we are told by the Latin poets, that it was usually full. Now if allowance is made for the superannuated, the sick, and infirm; also for children, and those employed in their private business, and for slaves, who were not permitted to remain in the Circus during the games; Mr. Byres imagines that such a number as three hundred and eighty thousand spectators could not be supplied by a city and suburbs, the number of whose inhabitants were much under three millions.

Whatever may have been the extent of the suburbs of Rome, it is probable they were only formed of ordinary houses, and inhabited by people of inferior rank. There are no remains of palaces, or magnificent buildings of any kind, to be now seen near the walls, or indeed over the whole Campania; yet it is asserted by some authors, that this wide surface was peopled, at one period, like a continued village; and we are told of strangers, who, viewing this immense plain covered with houses, imagined they had already entered Rome, when they were thirty miles from the walls of that city.

[Page] Some of the seven hills on which Rome was built, appear now but gentle swellings, owing to the intervals between them being greatly raised by the rubbish of r [...]ined houses. Some have hardly houses of any kind upon them, being entirely laid out in gardens and vineyards.

It is generally thought, that two-thirds of the surface within the walls are in this situation, or covered with ruins; and, by the information I have the greatest reliance on, the number of the inhabitants at present is about one hundred and seventy thousand, which, though greatly inferior to what Rome contained in the days of its ancient power, is more than it has been, for the most part, able to boast since the fall of the Empire.

There is good authority for believing that this city, at particular periods since that time, some of them not very remote, has been reduced to between thirty and forty thousand inhabitants. The numbers have gradually increased during the whole of this century. As it was much less expensive to purchase new ground for building upon, than to clear any ruins which, by time, had acquired the consistence of rock, great part of the modern city is built on what was the ancient Campus Martius.

Some of the principal streets are of considerable length, and perfectly straight. That called the Corso is the most frequented. It runs from the Porto del Popolo, along the side of the Campus Martius, next to the ancient city. Here the nobility display their equipages during the carnival, and take the air in the evenings in fine weather. It is indeed the great scene of Roman magnificence and amusement.

The shops on each side, are three or four [...]eet higher than the street; and there is a path for the conveniency of foot passengers, on a level with the shops. The palaces, of which there are several in this street, range in a line with the houses, having no court before them, as the hotels in Paris have; and not being shut up from the sight of the citizens by high gloomy walls, as Devonshire and Burlington houses in London are.

Such dismal barricades are more suitable to the unsocial character of a proud Baron in the days of aristocratic tyranny, than to the hospitable benevolent disposition of their present proprietor.

The Cors [...], I have said, commences at the fine area immediately within the Porto del Popolo. This is the gate by which we entered Rome; it is built in a noble style of elegant simplicity, from the design of Michael Angelo, executed by Bernini.

The Strada Felice, in the higher part of the city, is about a mile and a half in length from the Trinita del Monte, to the church of St. John Lateran, on the Pincean hill. This street runs in a straight line, but the view is interrupted by a fine church called St. Maria Maggiore. The Strada Felice is crossed by another straight street, called the Strada di Porta Pia, terminated at one end by that gate; and at the other by four colossal statues in white marble, of two horses led by two men; supposed by some, to be [Page] representations of Alexander taming Bucephalus▪ and according to others, of Castor and Pollux. They are placed before the Pope's palace, on the Quirinal Hill, and have a noble effect.

It would be more difficult to convey an idea of the smaller and less regular streets. I shall therefore only observe, in general, that Rome at present exhibits a strange mixture of magnificent and interesting, common and beggarly objects; the former consists of palaces, churches, fountains, and above all, the remains of antiquity. The latter comprehend all the rest of the city. The church of St Peter, in the opinion of many, surpasses, in size and magnificence, the finest monuments of ancient architecture. The Grecian and Roman temples were more distinguished for the elegance of their form, than their magnitude.

The Pantheon, which was erected to all the Gods, is the most entire antique temple in Rome. It is said, that Michael Angelo, to confirm the triumph of modern over ancient architecture, made the dome of St. Peter's of the same diametér with the Pantheon; raising the immense fabric upon four pilasters; whereas the whole circle of the rotunda rests upon the ground. This great artist, perhaps, was delighted with the idea of being thought as superior to the ancient architects, as he was conscious of being inferior to some of the sculptors of antiquity.

All who have seen St. Paul's in London may, by an enlargement of its dimensions, form some idea of the external appearance of St. Peter's. But the resemblance fails entirely on comparing them within; St. Peter's being lined, in many parts with the most precious and beautiful marble, adorned with valuable pictures, and all the powers of sculpture.

The approach to St. Peter's church excels that to St. Paul's in a still greater proportion, than the former surpasses the latter either in size, or in the richness and beauty of the internal ornaments. A magnificent portico advances on each side from the front, by which means a square court is formed immediately before the steps which lead into the church. The two porticoes form two sides of the square, the third is closed by the front of the church, and the fourth is open. A colonnade, four columns deep, commences at the extremities of the porticoes; and embracing, in an oval direction, a space far wider than the square, forms the most magnificent area that perhaps ever was seen before any building. This oval colonnade is crowned with a balustrade, ornamented by a great number of statues; and consists of above three hundred large pillars, forming three separate walks, which lead to the advanced portico, and from that into the church. In the middle of the immense area, stands an Egyptian obelisk of granite; and to the right and left of this, two very beautiful fountains refresh the atmosphere with streams of clear water.

The delighted eye glancing over these splendid objects, would rest with complete satisfaction on the stupendous fabric to which [Page] they serve as embellishments, if the facade of this celebrated church had been equal in beauty and elegance to the rest of the building. But this is by no means the case, and every impartial judge must acknowledge, that the front of St. Peter's is, in those particulars, inferior to that of our St. Paul's.

The length of St. Peter's, taken on the outside, is exactly seven hundred and thirty feet; the breadth five hundred and twenty; and the height, from the pavement to the top of the cross, which crowns the cupola, four hundred and fifty. The grand portico before the entrance, is two hundred and sixteen feet in length, and forty in breadth.

It is usual to desire strangers, on their first entering this church, to guess at the size of the objects, which, on account of the distance, always seem less than they are in reality. The statues of the Angels, in particular, which support the founts of holy water, when viewed from the door, seem no bigger than children; but when you approach nearer, you perceive they are six feet high. We make no such mistake on seeing a living man at the same, or a greater distance; because the knowledge we have of a man's real size precludes the possibility of our being mistaken, and we make allowance for the diminution which distance occasions; but Angels, and other figures in sculpture, having no determined standard, but being under the arbitrary will of the statuary, who gives them the bulk of giants or dwarfs as best suits his purpose, we do not know what allowance to make; and the eye, unused to such large masses, is confounded, and incapacitated from forming a right judgment of an object six feet high, or of any other dimensions, which it was not previously acquainted with.

It is not my design to attempt a description of the statues, basso relievos, columns, pictures, and various ornaments of this church; such an account, faithfully executed, would fill volumes. The finest of all the ornaments have a probability of being longer preserved than would once have been imagined, by the astonishing improvements which have of late been made in the art of copying pictures in Mosaic. Some of the artists here, have already made copies with a degree of accuracy, which no body could believe who had not seen the performances. By this means, the works of Raphael and other great painters, will be transmitted to a later posterity than they themselves expected; and although all the beauty of the originals cannot be retained in the copy, it would be gross affectation to deny that a great part of it is. How happy would it make the real lovers of the art in this age, to have such specimens of the genius of Zeuxis, Apelles, and other ancient painters!

It has been frequently remarked, that the proportions of this church are so fine, and the symmetry of its different parts so exquisite, that the whole seem [...] considerably smaller than it really is. It was, however, certainly intended to appear a great and sublime object, and to produce admiration by the vastness of its dimensions. [Page] I cannot, therefore be of opinion, that any thing which has a tendency to defeat this effect, can with propriety be called an excellence.

I should on the contrary imagine, that if the architect could have made the church appear larger than it is in reality, this would have been a more desirable effect; provided it could have been produced without diminishing our admiration in some more material point. If this could not be accomplished; if it is absolutely certain, that those proportions in architecture, which produce the most beautiful effect on the whole, always make a building seem smaller than it is; this ought rather to be mentioned as an unfortunate than as a fortunate circumstance.

The more I reflect on this, it appears to me the more certain that no system of proportions, which has the effect of making a large building appear small, is therefore excellent. If the property of reducing great things to little ones is inherent in all harmonious proportions; it is, in my opinion, an imperfection, and much to be lamented.

In small buildings, where we expect to derive our pleasure from grace and elegance, the evil may be borne; but in edifices of vast dimensions, capable of sublimity from their bulk, the vice of diminishing is is not to be compensated by harmony. The sublime has no equivalent.

LETTER XXXVIII. The ceremony of the Possesso.

ROME.

THE grand procession of the Possesso took place a few days ago. This is a ceremony performed by every Pope, as soon as conveniency will permit, after the conclave has declared in his favour. It is equivalent to the coronation in England, or the consecration at Rheims. On this occasion, the Pope goes to the Basilica of St. John Lateran, and, as the phrase is, takes possession of it. This church, they tell you, is the most ancient of all the churches in Rome, and the mother of all the churches in christendom. When he has got possession of this, therefore, he must be the real head of the Christian church, and Christ's vicegerent upon earth.

From St. John Lateran's, he proceeds to the Capitol, and receives the keys of that fortress; after which, it is equally clear, that as an earthly prince, he ought, like the ancient possessors of the Capitol, to have a supremacy over all kings.

The prince Guistiniani procured a place for us, at the Senator's house in the Capitol, from whence we might see the procession to the greatest advantage. On arriving, we were surprised to find the main body of the palace, as well as the Palazzo dé Conservatori, and the Museum, which form the two wings, all hung with crimson silk, laced with gold. The bases and capitals of the pillars [Page] and pilasters, where the silk could not be accurately applied, were gilt. Only imagine, what a figure the Farnesian Hercules would make, dressed in a silk suit, like a French petit-maitre. To cover the noble simplicity of Michael Angelo's architecture with such frippery by way of ornament, is, in my mind, a piece of refinement equally laudable.

Throwing an eye on the Pantheon, and comparing it with the Campidoglio in its present dress, the beauty and justness of the following lines seemed more striking than ever.

Mark, how the dread Pantheon stands,

Amid the domes of modern hands,

Amid the toys of idle state,

How simply, how severely great!

We were led to a balcony, where a number of ladies of the first distinction in Rome were assembled. There were no men excepting a very few strangers; most part of the Roman noblemen have some function in the procession. The instant of his Holiness's departure from the Vatican, was announced by a discharge of cannon from the castle of St. Angelo; on the top of which, the standard of the church had been flying ever since morning. We had a full view of the cavalcade, on its return from the church, as it ascended to the Capitol.

The officers of the Pope's horse guards were dressed in a style equally rich and becoming. It was something between the Hungarian and Spanish dress. I do not know whether the king of Prussia would approve of the great profusion of plumage they wore in their hats; but it is picturesque, and showy qualities are the most essential to the guards of his Holiness. The Swiss guards were, on this occasion, dressed with less propriety; their uniforms were real coats of mail, with iron helmets on their heads, as if they had been to take the Capitol by storm, and expected a vigorous resistance.

Their appearance was strongly contrasted with that of the Roman Barons, who were on horseback, without boots, and in full dress; each of them was preceded by four pages, their hair hanging in regular ringlets to the middle of their backs; they were followed by a number of servants in rich liveries. Bishops and other ecclesiastics succeeded the Barons; and then came the Cardinals on horseback, in their purple robes, which covered every part of the horses except the head.

You may be sure that the horses employed at such ceremonies are the gentlest that can be sound; for if they were at all unruly, they might not only injure the surrounding crowd, but throw their Eminencies, who are not celebrated for their skill in horsemanship. Last of all comes the Pope himself, mounted on a milk white mule, distributing blessings with an unsparing hand among the multitude, [Page] who follow him with acclamations of Viva il Santo Padre,—Long live the Holy Father! and prostrating themselves on the ground before his mule, Benedizione Santo Padre—Your blessing, Holy Father. The Holy Father took particular care to wave his hand in the form of the cross, that the blessings he pronounced at the same instant might have the greater efficacy.

As his Holiness is employed in this manner during the whole procession, he cannot be supposed to give the least attention to his mule, the bridle of which is held by two persons who walk by his side, with some others, to catch the infallible Father of the church, and to prevent his being thrown to the ground, in case the mule should stumble.

At the entrance of the Capitol he was met by the Senator of Rome, who, falling on his knees, delivered the keys into the hands of his Holiness, who pronounced a blessing over him, and restored him the keys. Proceeding from the Capitol, the Pope was met by a deputation of Jews, soon after he had passed through the Arch of Titus. They were headed by the chief Rabbi, who presented him with a long scroll of parchment, on which is written the whole law of Moses in Hebrew. His Holiness received the parchment in a very gracious manner, telling the Rabbi at the same time, that he accepted his present out of respect to the law itself, but entirely rejected his interpretation; for the ancient law, having been fulfilled by the coming of the Messiah, was no longer in force.

As this was not a convenient time or place for the Rabbi to enter into a controversy upon the subject, he bowed his head in silence, and retired with his countrymen, in the full conviction, that the falsehood of the Pope's assertion would be made manifest to the whole universe in due time. His Holiness, mean while, proceeded in triumph through the principal streets, to the Vatican.

This procession, I am told, is one of the most showy and magnificent which takes place, on any occasion, in this city; where there are certainly more solemn exhibitions of the same kind than in any other country; yet on the whole, I own it did not afford me much satisfaction; nor could all their pomp and finery prevent an uneasy recollection, not unmixed with sentiments of indignation from obtruding on my mind. To feel unmixed admiration in beholding the Pope and his Cardinals marching in triumph to the Capitol, one must forget those who walked in triumph formerly to the same place; forget entirely that such men as Camillus, Scipio, Paulus AEmilius, and Pompey, ever existed; they must forget Cato, whose campaign in Africa was so much admired by Lucan, that he declares, he would rather have had the glory of that single campaign than Pompey's three triumphs, and all the honour he obtained by finishing the Jug [...]rthan war.

Hunc [...]go per Syrtes, Libyoeque extrema triumphum

Ducere maluerim, quam ter Capitolia curru

[Page] Scandere Pompeii, quam frangere colla Jugurth [...].

This triumph, this, on Libya's utmost bound,

With death and desolation compassed round,

To all thy glories, Pompey, I prefer,

Thy trophies, and thy third triumphal car;

To Marius's mighty name, and great Jugurthine war.

ROWE.

We must forget Caius Cassius, Marcus Brutus, and all the great and virtuous men of ancient Rome, whom we have admired from our childhood, and of whose great qualities our admiration increases with our experience and knowledge of the present race of mankind. To be in the Capitol, and not think and speak of the worthies of the ancient Republic, is almost impossible.

Quis te magne Cato tacitum; aut te Cosse relinquat?

Quis Gracchi genus? aut geminos, duo fulmina belli,

Scipiadas, &c. &c.

What tongue, just Cato, can thy praise forbear!

Or each brave Scipio's noble deeds declare?

Afric's dread foes; two thunderbolts of war!

PITT.

LETTER XXXIX. Pantheon.—Coliseum.—Gladiators.

ROME.

HAVING said so much of St. Peter's, unquestionably the finest piece of modern architecture in Rome, allow me to mention some of the best specimens of the ancient. I shall begin with the Pantheon, which, though not the largest of the Roman temples, is the most perfect which now remains. The Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, and the Temple of Peace, if we may trust to the accounts we have of the first, and to the ruins of the second, in the Campo Vaccino, were both much larger than the Pantheon. In spite of the depredations which this last has sustained from Goths, Vandals, and Popes, it still remains a beauteous monument of Roman taste. The pavilion of the great altar, which stands under the c [...]pola in St. Peter's, and the four wreathed pillars of Corinthian brass which support it, were formed out of the spoils of the Pantheon, which, after all, and with the weight of eighteen hundred years upon its head, has still a probability of outliving its proud rapacious rival. From the round form of this temple, it has obtained [Page] the name of Rotunda. Its height is a hundred and fifty feet, and its diameter nearly the same.

Within, it is divided into eight parts; the gate at which you enter forming one: the other seven compartments, if they may be so called, are each of them distinguished by two fluted Corinthian pillars, and as many pilasters of Giallo Antico. The capitals and bases are of white marble; these support a circular entablature. The wall is perpendicular for half the height of the temple; it then slopes forward as it descends, the circumference gradually diminishing, till it terminates in an opening of about twenty-five feet diameter. There are no windows; the central opening in the vault admitting a sufficiency of light, has a much finer effect than windows could have had. No great inconveniency can happen from this opening. The conical form of the temple prevents the rain from falling near the walls where the altars now are, and where the statues of the Gods were formerly placed. The rain which falls in the middle immediately drills through holes which perforate a large piece of porphyry that forms the centre of the pavement, the whole of which consists of various pieces of marble, agate, and other materials, which have been picked up from the ruins, and now compose a singular kind of Mosaic work.

The portico was added by Marcus Agrippa, the son-in-law of Augustus. It is supported by sixteen pillars of granite, five feet in diameter, and of a single piece each. Upon the frieze, in the front, is the following inscription in large capitals:

M. AGRIPPA L. F. CONSUL TERTIUM FECIT.

Founded by Marcus Agrippa, the son of Lucius, during his third Consulship.

Some are of opinion, that the Pantheon is much more ancient than the Augustan age, and that the portico, which is the only part those antiquarians admit to be the work of Agrippa, though beautiful in itself, does not correspond with the simplicity of the temple.

As the Pantheon is the most entire, the Amphitheatre of Vespasian is the most stupendous, monument of antiquity in Rome. It was finished by his son Titus, and obtained the name of Colosseum, afterwards corrupted into Coliseum, from a colossal statue of Apollo which was placed before it. This vast structure was built of Tiburtine stone, which is remarkably durable. If the public buildings of the ancient Romans had met with no more inveterate enemy than Time, we might, at this day, contemplate the greater number in all their original perfection; they were formed for the admiration of much remoter ages than the present. This Amphitheatre in particular might have stood entire for two thousand years to come, For what are the slow corrosions of time, in comparison of the rapid destruction from the fury of Barbarians, the zeal of Bigots, and the avarice of Popes and Cardina [...]s? The first depredation [Page] made on this stupendous building, was by the inhabitants, of Rome themselves, at that time greater Goths than their conqueror.

We are told, they applied to Theodoric, whose court was then at Ravenna, for liberty to take the stones of this Amphitheatre for some public work they were carrying on. The marble cornices, the friezes, and other ornaments of this building, have been carried away, at various times, to adorn palaces; and the stones have been taken to build churches, and sometimes to repair the walls of Rome, the most useless work of all.

For of what importance are walls to a city, without a garrison, and whose most powerful artillery affects not the bodies, but only the minds of men? About one-half of the external circuit still remains, from which, and the ruins of the other parts, a pretty exact idea may be formed of the original structure. By a computation made by Mr. Byres, it could contain eighty-five thousand spectators, making a convenient allowance for each. Fourteen chapels are now erected within side, representing the stages of our Saviour's passion. This expedient of consecrating them into Christian chapels and churches, has saved some of the finest remains of Heathen magnificence from utter destruction.

Our admiration of the Romans is tempered with horror, when we reflect on the use formerly made of this immense building, and the dreadful scenes which were acted on the Arena; where not only criminals condemned to death, but also prisoners taken in war, were obliged to butcher each other, for the entertainment of an inhuman populace. The combats of Gladiators were at first used in Rome at funerals only, where prisoners were obliged to assume that profession, and fight before the tombs of deceased Generals or Magistrates, in imitation of the barbarous custom of the Greeks, of sacrificing captives at the tombs of their heroes.

This horrid piece of magnificence, which, at first, was exhibited only on the death of Consuls, and men of the highest distinction, came gradually to be claimed by every citizen who was sufficiently rich to defray the expence; and as the people's fondness for these combats increased every day, they were no longer confined to funeral solemnities, but became customary on days of public rejoicing, and were exhibited, at amazing expence, by some Generals after victories.

In the progress of riches, luxury, and vice, it became a profession in Rome to deal in gladiators. Men called Lanistae made it their business to purchase prisoners and slaves, to have them instructed in the use of the various weapons; and when any Roman chose to amuse the people with their favourite show, or to entertain a select company of his own friends, upon any particular occasion, he applied to the Lanis [...]ae; who for a fixed price, furnished him with as many pairs of those unhappy combatants as he required.

They had various names given to them, according to the different manner in which they were armed. Towards the end of the republic, [Page] some of the rich and powerful citizens had great numbers of gladiators of their own, who were daily exercised by the Lanistae, and always kept ready for fighting when ordered by their proprietor. Those who were often victorious, or had the good fortune to please their masters, had their liberty granted them, on which they generally quitted their profession; though it sometimes happened, that those who were remarkably skilful, continued it, either from vanity or poverty, even after they had obtained their freedom; and the applause bestowed on those gladiators, had the effect of inducing men born free, to choose this for a profession, which they exercised for money, till age impaired their strength and address. They then hung up their arms in the temple of Hercules, and appeared no more on the Arena.

—Veianius armis

Herculis ad postem fixis latet abditus agro,

Ne populum extrema toties exoret Arena.

Secure in his retreat Vejanius lies;

Hangs up his arms, nor courts the doubtful prize;

Wisely resolved to tempt his fate no more,

Or the light croud for his discharge implore.

FRANCIS.

There were many Amphitheatres at Rome, in other towns of Italy, and in many provinces of the empire; but this of Vespasian was the largest that ever was built. That at Verona is the next in size in Italy, and the remains of the Amphitheatre at Nimes, in the south of France, prove, that it was the most magnificent structure of this kind in any of the Roman provinces. The Romans were so excessively fond of these exhibitions, that wherever colonies were established, it was found requisite to give public shews of this kind, to induce the emigrants to remain in their new country: and in the provinces where it was thought necessary that a considerable body of [...] should remain constantly, structures of this kind were erected, at vast labour and expence, and were found the best means of inducing the young officers to submit cheerfully to a long absence from the capital, 2nd of preventing the common soldiers from desertion.

The profusion of human blood, which was shed in the Arena, by the cruel prodigality of the emperors, and the refinements which were invented to augment the barbarous pleasure of the spectators, are proofs of the dreadful degree of corruption and depravity to which human nature is capable of attaining, even among a learned and enlightened people, when unrestrained by the mild precepts of a benevolent religion. We are told, that the gladiators bred for the use of particular patrici [...], as well as those kept for hire by the [Page] Lanistae, were, for some weeks before they appeared in the Arena, fed upon such succulent diet, as would soonest fill their veins, that they might bleed freely at every wound. They were instructed by the Lanistae, not only in the art of fighting, but also in the most graceful manner of dying; and when those wretched men felt themselves mortally wounded, they assumed such attitudes as they knew pleased the beholders; and they seemed to receive pleasure themselves from the applause bestowed upon them in their last moments.

When a gladiator was thrown by his antagonist to the ground, and directly laid down his arms, it was a sign that he could resist no longer, and declared himself vanquished; but still his life depended on the spectators. If they were pleased with his performance, or, in a merciful disposition, they held up their hands, with the thumb folded down, and the life of the man was spared▪ but if they were in the humour to see him die, they held up the hand clinched, with the thumb only erect. As soon as the prostrate victim beheld that fatal signal, he knew all hopes of life were vain, and immediately presented his breast to the sword of his adversary, who, whatever his own inclinations might be, was obliged to put him to death instantly.

As these combats formed the supreme pleasure of the inhabitants of Rome, the most cruel of their Emperors were sometimes the most popular; merely because they gratified the people, without restraint in their favourite amusement. When Marcus Aurelius thought it necessary, for the public service, to recruit his army from the gladiators of Rome; it raised more discontent among the populace, than many of the wildest pranks of Caligula.

In the times of some of the Emperors, the lower class of Roman citizens were certainly as worthless a set of men as ever existed; stained with all the vices which arise from idleness and dependence; living upon the largesses of the great; passing their whole time in the Circus and Amphitheatres, where every sentiment of humanity was annihilated within their breasts, and where the agonies and torments of their fellow-creatures were their chief pastime. That no occasion might be lost of indulging this savage taste of the populace, criminals were condemned to fight with wild beasts in the Arena, or were exposed, unarmed, to be torn in pieces by them; at other times, they were blind folded, and in that condition obliged to cut and slaughter each other. So that, instead of victims solemnly sacrificed to public justice, they seemed to be brought in as buffoons to raise the mirth of the spectators.

The practice of domestic slavery had also a great influence in rendering the Romans of a cruel and haughty character. Masters could punish their slaves in what manner, and to what degree, they thought proper. It was as late as the Emperor Adrian's time, before any law was made, ordaining that a master who should put his slave to death without sufficient cause should be tried for his life. The usual porter at the gate of a great man's house in ancient [Page] Rome, was a chained slave. The noise of whips and lashes resounded from one house to another, at the time when it was customary for the masters of families to take an account of the conduct of their servants. This cruel disposition, as is the case wherever domestic slavery prevails, extended to the gentle sex, and hardened the mild tempers of the women. What a picture has Juvenal drawn of the toilet of a Roman lady!

Nam si constituit, solitoque decentius optat

Ornari—

Componit crinem laceratis ipsa capillis,

Nuda humeros P [...]ecas infelix, nudisque mamillis.

Altior hic quare cincinnus? Taurea punit.

Continuo flexi cr [...]en facinusque capilli.

But if she has made an assignation, and wishes to be drest with more nicety than usual—Poor Psecus (her female slave,) with her hair torn about her ears, and stripped to the waist, adjusts the locks of her mistress. Why is this curl so high! Presently the whip punishes the disorder of the least hair

It was customary for avaricious masters, to send their infirm and sick slaves, to an island in the Tiber, where there was a temple of AEsculapius; if the God pleased to recover them, the master took them back to his family; if they died, no farther inquiry was made about them. The Emperor Claudius put a check to this piece of inhumanity, by ordaining, that every sick slave, thus abandoned by his master, should be declared free when he recovered his health.

From these observations, are we to infer, that the ancient Romans were naturally of a more cruel turn of mind, than the present inhabitants of Europe? Or is there not reason to believe that, in the same circumstances, modern nations would act in the same manner? Do we not perceive, that the practice of domestic slavery has at this day a strong tendency to render men haughty, capricious, and cruel. [...] I am afraid, is the nature of man, that if he has power without c [...]troul, he will use it without justice; absolute power has a strong [...]ndency to make good men bad, and never fails to make bad men worse.

It was an observation of the late Mareschal Saxe, that in all the contests between the army waggoners and their horses, the waggoners were in the wrong; which he imputed to their having absolute authority over the horses. In the qualities of the head and heart, and in most other respects, he thought the men and horses on an equality. Caprice is a vice of the temper, which increases faster [Page] than any other by indulgence; it often spoils the best qualities of the heart, and, in particular situations, degenerates into the most unsufferable tyranny. The first appearance of it in young minds ought to be opposed with firmness, and prevented from farther progress, otherwise our future attempts to arrest it may be fruitless; for

Mobilitate viget, viresque acquirit [...]undo.

—every moment grows,

And gains new strength and vigour as it goes.

PITT.

The combats in the Amphitheatres were, as I have already said, introduced by degrees at Rome. The custom of making prisoners fight around the funeral piles of deceased heroes, was a refinement on a more barbarous practice; and the Romans, no doubt, valued themselves on their humanity, in not butchering their prisoners in cold blood, as was the custom in the earliest ages of Greece. The institution of obliging criminals to fight in the Arena, and thus giving them a chance for their lives would also appear to them a very merciful improvement on the common manner of execution. The grossest sophistry will pass on men's understandings, when it is used in support of measures to which they are already inclined. And when we consider the eagerness with which the populace of every country behold the accidental combats which occur in the streets, we need not be surprised to find, that when once the combats of gladiators were permitted among the Roman populace, on whatever pretext, the taste for them would daily increase, till it erased every idea of compunction from their breasts, and became their ruling passion.

The Patricians, enriched by the pillage of kingdoms, and knowing that their power at Rome, and consequently all over the world depended on the favour and suffrages of the people, naturally sought popularity by gratifying their favourite taste. Afterwards the Emperors might imagine, that such shows would keep the citizens from reflecting on their lost liberties, or the enormities of the new form of government; and, exclusive of every political reason, many of them, from the barbarous disposition of their own minds, would take as much pleasure in the scenes acted on the Arena, as the most savage of the vulgar.

While we express horror and indignation at the fondness which the Roman [...] displayed for the bloody combats of the Amphitheatre, let us reflect, whether this proceeded from any peculiar cruelty of disposition inhe [...]t in that people, or belongs to mankind in gen [...]ral; let us reflect, whether it is probable, that the people of any other nation would not be gradually led by the same degrees, [...]an equal passion for such horrid ente [...]tainments.

Let us consider whether there is reason to suspect that th [...]se who [Page] arm cocks with steel, and take pleasure in beholding the spirited little animals cut one another to death, would not take the same, or superior delight, in obliging men to slaughter each other if they had the power. And what restrains them? Is there no reason to believe, that the influence of a purer religion, and brighter example, than were known to the Heathen world, prevents mankind from those enormities now, which were permitted and countenanced formerly? As soon as the benevolent precepts of Christianity were received by the Romans as the laws of the Deity, the prisoners and the slaves were treated with humanity, and the bloody exhibitions in the Amphitheatres were abolished.

LETTER XL. The Campidoglia.—Forum Romanum.—Jews.

ROME.

YOU are surprised that I have hitherto said nothing of the Capitol, and the Forum Romanum, which is by far the most interesting scene of antiquities in Rome. The objects worthy of attention are so numerous, and appear so confused, that it was a considerable time before I could form a tolerable distinct idea of their situation with respect to each other, though I have paid many more visits to this than any other spot since I have been in this city.

Before we entered a church or palace, we ran thither with as much impatience as if the Capitol had been in danger of falling before our arrival. The approach to the modern Campidoglio is very noble, and worthy of the genius of Michael Angelo. The building itself is also the work of that great artist; it is raised on part of the ruins of the ancient Capitol, and fronts St. Peter's church, with its back to the Forum and old Rome. Ascending this celebrated hill, the heart beats quick, and the mind warms with a thousand interesting ideas.

You are carried back, at once, to the famous robber who first founded it. Without thinking of the waste of time which must have effaced what you are looking for, you cast about your eyes in search of the path by which the Gauls climbed up, and where they were opposed and overthrown by Manlius. You withdraw your eyes, with disdain, from every modern object, and are even displeased with the elegant structure you see before you, and contemplate, with more respect, the ruins on which it is founded; because they are more truly Roman.

The two Sphynxes of basalte, at the bottom of the ascent, though excellent specimens of Egyptian sculpture, engage little of your attention. Warm with the glory of Rome, you cannot bestow a thought on the hi [...]roglyphics of Egypt. At [...]ight of the [Page] trophies erected in honour of C. Marius, all those bloody scenes acted by the fury of party and demon of revenge during the most calamitous period of the republic, rush upon the memory; and you regret that time, who has spared the monuments of this fierce soldier, has destroyed the numerous trophies raised to the Fabii, the Scipio's, and other herøes, distinguished for the virtues of humanity, as well as the talents of Generals.

You are struck with the colossal statues of Castor and Pollux, and, in the heat of enthusiasm, confounding the fictions of poetry with historical truth, your heart applauds their fraternal affection, and thanks them for the timely assistance they afforded the Romans in a battle with the Volsci. You rejoice at their good fortune, which, on earth, has procured them a place in the Capitol, and, in heaven, a sent by Hercules. Horace informs us, that Augustus drinks his nectar, reclined between them and that demigod—

Quos inter Augustus recumbens

Purpureo bibit ore nectar.

Between whom Augustus reclining, quaffs nectar with purple lips.

From them you move forward, and your admiration is fixed by the animated equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, which [...]urally brings to your memory that happy period, when the Roman empire was governed by a Prince who, during a long reign, made the good of his subjects the chief object of his government. You proceed to the upper end of the area; your eye is caught by a majestic female figure, in a sitting attitude; you are told it is a Roma [...] Triumphans; you view her with all the warmth of fond enthusiasm, but you recollect that she is no longer Triumphans; you cast an indignant eye on St. Peter's church, to which she also seems to look with indignation. Is there such another instance of the vicissitude of human things; the proud Mistress of the World under the dominion of a priest? Horace was probably accused of vanity when he wrote these lines:

—Usque ego postera

Crescan [...] laude recens, dum Capitolium

Scandet cum tacita virgine Pontifex.

My fame—shall bloom,

And with unfading youth improve,

While to th' immortal fane of Jove

The vestal maids, in silent state

Ascending, on the Pontiff wait.

FRANCIS.

[Page] Yet the poet's works have already out lived this period fourteen hundred years; and Virgil has transmitted the memory of the friendship and fame of Nisus and Euryalus, the same space of time beyond the period which he himself, in the ardour of poetic hope, had fixed for its limits.

Fortunati ambo si quid mea carmina possunt,

Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet oevo:

Dum domus AEneoe Capitoli immobile saxum

Accolet, imperiumque Pater Romanus habebit.

Hail, happy pair! if fame our verse can give,

From age to age your memory shall live;

Long as th' imperial Capitol shall stand,

Or Rome's majestic Lord the conquer'd world command!

PITT.

In the two wings of the modern palace, called the Campidoglio, the Conservators of the city have apartments; their office is analogous to that of the ancient AEdiles. In the main body an Italian nobleman, appointed by the Pope, has his residence, with the title of Senator of Rome; the miserable representation of that Senate which gave laws to the world. The most defaced ruin, the most shapeless heap of antique rubbish in all Rome, cannot convey a feebler image of the building to which they belonged, than this deputy of the Pope does of that august assembly. The beautiful approach to this palace, and all the ornaments which decorate the area before it, cannot detain you long from the back view to which the ancient Capitol fronted.

Here you behold the Forum Romanum, now exhibiting a melancholy but interesting view of the devastation wrought by the united force of time, avarice, and bigotry. The first objects which meet your eye, on looking from this side of the hill, are three fine pillars, two-thirds of them buried in the ruins of the old Capitol. They are said to be the remains of the temple of Jupiter Tonans, built by Augustus, in gratitude for having narrowly escaped death from a stroke of lightning.

Near these are the remains of Jupiter Stator, consisting of three very elegant small Corinthian pillars, with their entablature; the Temple of Concord, where Cicero assembled the Senate, on the discovery of Catiline's conspiracy; the Temple of Romulus and Remus, and that of Antoninus and Faustina, just by it, both converted into modern churches; the ruins of the magnificent Temple of Peace, built immediately after the taking of Jerusalem, the Roman empire being then in profound peace.

This is said to have been the finest temple in old Rome; part of the materials of Ne [...]o's Golden House, which Vespasian pulled [Page] down, were used in erecting this grand edifice. The only entire pillar remaining of this temple, was placed by Paul V. before the church of Santa Maria Maggiore. It is a most beautiful fluted Corinthian column, and gives a very high idea of the temple to which it originally belonged. His Holiness has crowned it with an image of the Virgin Mary; and, in the inscription on the pedestal, he gives his reason for choosing a column belonging to the Temple of Peace, as an ornament to a church dedicated to the Virgin.

Ex cujus visceribus Princeps verae Pacis genitus est.

From whose bowels the Prince of Peace sprung.

Of many triumphal arches which stood formerly in Rome, there are only three now remaining, all of them near the Capitol, and forming entries to the Forum; those of Titus, Septimius Severus, and Constantine. The last is by much the finest of the three; but its chief beauties are not genuine, nor, properly speaking, its own▪ they consist of some admirable basso relievos, stolen from the Forum of Trajan, and representing that Emperor's victories over the Dacians. This theft might, perhaps, not have been so notorious to posterity, if the artists of Constantine's time had not added some figures, which make the fraud apparent, and, by their great inferiority, evince the degeneracy of the arts in the interval between the reigns of these two Emperors.

The relievos of the arch of Titus represent the table of shew-bread, the trumpets, the golden candlesticks with seven branches, and other utensils, brought from the Temple of Jerusalem. The quarter which is alotted for the Jews is [...] at a great distance from this arch. There are about nine thousand of that unfortunate nation at present in Rome; the lineal descendants of those brought captive, by Titus, from Jerusalem. I have been assured that they always cautiously avoid passing through this arch, though it lies directly in their way to the Campo Vaccino, choosing rather to make a circuit, and enter the Forum at another place, I was affected at hearing this instance of sensibility in a people who, whatever other faults they may have, are certainly not deficient in patriotism, and attachment to the religion and customs of their forefathers. The same delicacy of sentiment is displayed by a poet of their own country, in the 137th psalm, a [...] it is finely translated by Buchanan:

Dum procul a Patria moesti Babylonis in oris,

Fluminis ad liquidas forte sedemus aquus:

Illa animum subiit species miseranda Sionis,

Et nunquam Patrii tecta videnda soli.

[Page] O Solymoe, O adyta, et sacri penetralia templi

Ullane vos animo deleat hora meo? &c.

You may read the whole; you will perhaps find some poetical beauties which escaped your observation when you heard it sung in churches; but the poet's ardour seems to glow too violently towards the end of the psalm.

TRANSLATION of the 137th PSALM by TATE and BRADY.

WHEN we, our weary'd Limbs to rest,

Sat down by proud Euphrates Stream,

We wept, with doleful Thoughts opprest,

And Sion was our mournful Theme.

Our Harps, that when with Joy we sung,

Were wont their tuneful Parts to bear,

With silent strings neglected hung

On Willow-trees that wither'd there.

Mean while our Foes, who all conspir'd

To triumph in our slavish Wrongs,

Musick and Mirth of us requir'd:

" Come, sing us one of Sion's Songs.

How shall we tune our Voice to sing?

Or touch our Harps with skilful Hands?

Shall Hymns of Joy to God our King

Be sung by Slaves in foreign Lands?

O Salem, our once happy Seat,

When I of thee forgetful prove,

Let then my trembling Hand forget

The speaking Strings with Art to move!

If I to mention thee forbear,

Eternal Silence seize my tongue;

Or if I sing one chearful Air,

Till thy deliv'rance is my Song [...]

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Remember, Lord, how Edom's Race,

In thy own City's fatal Day,

Cry'd out,, "her stately Walls deface,

" And with the Ground quite level lay.

Proud Babel's Daughter, doom'd to be

Of Grief and Woe the Wretched Prey;

Blest is the Man who shall to thee

The wrongs thou lay'st on us, repay.

Thrice blest, who with Just Rage possest,

And deaf to all the Parents Moans,

Shall snatch the Infants from the Breast,

And dash their Heads against the Stones.

LETTER XLI. Ruins.—Via Sacra.—Tarpeian Rock—Campus Martius.—Various Forums.—Trajan's Column.

ROME.

THERE are many other interesting ruins in and about the Campo Vaccino, besides th [...]se I have mentioned; but of some structures which we know formerly stood here, no vestige is now to be seen. This is the case with the arch which was erected in honour of the Fabian family. There is the strongest reason to believe, that the ancient Forum was entirely surrounded with temples, basilicae, and public buildings of various kinds, and adorned with por [...]coes and colonades. In the time of the Republic, assemblies of the people were held there, l [...]ws were proposed, and justice administered. In it was the Rostrum, from whence the orators harangued the people. All who aspired at dignities came hither to canvass suffrages. The Bankers had their offices near the Forum, as well as those who received the revenues of the Commonwealth; and all kind of business was transacted in this place. In my visits to the Campo Vaccino, I arrange the ancient Forum in the best manner I can, and fix on the particular spot where each edifice stood. In this I am sometimes a little cramped in room; for the space between the Palatine Hill and the Capitol is so small, and I am so circumscribed by arches and temples, whose ruins still remain, that I find it impossible to make the Forum Romanum larger than Covent Garden. I looked about for the Via Sacra, where Horace met with his troublesome companion. Some people imagine, this was no other than the Forum itself; but I am clearly of opinion, that the Via Sacra was a street leading [Page] to the Forum, and lost in it, as a street in London terminates at a square. I have, at last, fixed on the exact point where it joins the Forum, which is very near the Meta Sudans. If we should ever meet here, I shall convince you by local arguments, that I am in the right; but I fear it would be very tedious, and not at all convincing, to transmit them to you in writing.

As Rome increased in size and number of inhabitants, one Forum was found too small and many others were erected in process of time; but when we speak of the Forum, without any distinguishing epithet, the ancient one is understood.

The Tarpeian Rock is a continuation of that on which the Capitol was built; I went to that part from which criminals condemned to death were thrown. Mr. Byres has measured the height; it is exactly fifty-eight feet perpendicular; and he thinks the ground at the bottom, from evident marks, is twenty feet higher than it was originally; so that, before this accumulation of rubbish, the precipice must have been about eighty-feet perpendicular. In reading the history of the Romans, the vast idea we form of that people, naturally extends to the city of Rome, the hills on which it was built, and every thing belonging to it.

We image to ourselves the Tarpeian rock as a tremendous precipice; and, if afterwards we ever have an opportunity of actually seeing it, the height falls so short of our expectations, that we are apt to think it a great deal less than it is in reality. A mistake of this kind, joined to a careless view of the place, which is not in itself very interesting, has led Bishop Burnet into the strange assertion, that the Tarpeian rock is so very low, that a man would think it no great matter to leap down it for his diversion. Criminals thrown from this precipice, were literary thrown out of the city of old Rome into the Campus Martius, which was a large plain, of a triangular shape; two sides of the triangle being formed by the Tiber, and the base by the Capitol, and buildings extending three miles nearly in a parallel line with it. The Campus Martius had its name from a small temple built in it, at a very early period, and dedicated to Mars; or it might have this name from the military exercises performed there. In this field, the great assemblies of the people, called Census or Lustrum, were held every fifth year; the Consuls, Censors, and Tribunes, were elected; the levies of troops were made; and there the Roman youth exercised themselves in riding, driving the chariot, shooting with the bow using the sling, darting the javelin, throwing he discus or quoit, in wrestling, running; and when covered with sweat and dust, in consequence of these exercises, they washed their bodies clean by swimming in the Tiber. Horace accuses Lydia of ruining a young man, by keeping him from those manly exercises in which he formerly excelled.

[Page]

—Cur apricum

Oderit campum, patiens pulveris atque solis:

Cur neque militaris

Inter equales equitet, Gallica nec lupatis

Temperet or a froenis?

Cu [...] timet flavum Tiberim tangere?

Why does he hate the sunny plain,

While he can sun or dust sustain?

Or why no more, with martial pride,

Amidst the youthful battle ride,

And the fierce Gallic steed command,

With bitted curb, and forming hand?

Why does he fear the yellow flood?

FRANCIS.

The dead bodies of the most illustrious citizens were also burnt in this field, which was adorned gradually by statues and trophies, erected to the memory of distinguished men. But every feature of its ancient appearance, is now hid by the streets and buildings of modern Rome.

The inhabitants of Rome may be excused for chusing this situation for their houses, though by so doing, they have deprived us of a view of the Campus Martius. But surely they, or their Governors, ought to show more solicitude for preserving the antiquities than they do; and they might, without inconveniency, find some place for a Cow Market of less importance than the ancient Forum. It is not in their power to restore it to its former splendor, but they might, at least, have prevented its falling back to the state in which AEneas found it, when he came to visit the poor Evander.

Talibus inter se dictis ad tecta subibant

Pauperis Evandri: passimque armenta videbant

Romanoque Foro et lautis mugire carinis.

Thus they convers'd on works of ancient fame,

Till to the monarch's humble courts they came;

There oxen stalk'd, where palaces are rais'd,

And bellowing herds in the proud Forum graz'd.

PITT.

I have already said, that besides this, there were several Forums in Rome, where Basilicae were built, justice administered, [Page] and business transacted. The Emperors were fond of having such public places named after them. The accounts we have of the Forums of Nerva, and that of Trajan, give the highest idea of their grandeur and elegance; three Corinthian pillars, with their entablature, are all that remain of the former; of the latter, the noble column placed in the middle, still preserves all its original beauty.

It consists of twenty-three circular pieces of white marble, horizontally placed one above the other; it is about twelve feet diameter at the bottom, and [...]en at the top. The plinth of the base is a piece of marble twenty-one feet square. A staircase, consisting of one hundred and eighty-three steps, and sufficiently wide to admit a man to ascend, is cut out of the solid marble, leaving a small pillar in the middle, round which the stair winds from the bottom to the top.

I observed a piece broken, as I went up which shewed that those large masses of marble have been exquisitely polished on the flat sides, where they are in contact with each other, that the adhesion and strength of the pillar might be the greater. The stairs are lighted by forty-one windows, exceedingly narrow on the outside, that they might not interrupt the connection of the basso relievos, but which gradually widen within, and by that means give sufficient light. The base of the column is ornamented with basso relievos, representing trophies of Dacian armour. The most memorable events of Trajan's expedition against the Dacians, are admirably wrought in a continued spiral line from the bottom of the column to the top.

The figures towards the top, are too far removed from the eye to be seen perfectly. To have rendered them equally visible with those below, it would have been necessary to have made them larger proportionably as they ascended. Viewed from any considerable distance, all the sculpture is lost, and a plain▪ fluted pillar, of the same proportions, would have had as fine an effect. But such a frugal plan would not have been so glorious to the Prince, whose victories are engraven, or so interesting to the legionary soldiers▪ many of whom, no doubt, are here personally represented. Besides, it would not now be near so valuable a monument, in the eyes of antiquarians, or so useful a study to sculptors and painter [...], who have occasion to represent the military dress of the Romans, or the costume of the East in that age.

Exclusive of the statue, this beautiful pillar is one hundred and twenty feet high. The ashes of Trajan were deposited in an urn at the bottom, and his statue at the top. Pope Six [...]s the Fifth, in the room of the Emperor's, has placed a statue of St. Peter upon this column. I observed to a gentleman, with whom I visited this pillar, that I thought there was not much propriety in placing the figure of St. Peter upon a monument, representing the victories, and erected in honour of the Emperor Trajan. "There is some propriety, however," replied he coldly, "in having made the statue of brass."

[Page]

LETTER XLII. The beatification of a Saint.

ROME.

I HAVE been witness to the beatification of a Saint; he was of the order of St. Francis, and a great many brethren of that order were present, and in very high spirits on the occasion. There are a greater number of ecclesiastics be [...]ified, and canonized, than any other order of men. In the first place, because, no doubt, they deserve it better; and also, because they are more solicitous to have Saints taken from among men of their own profession, and particular order, than people in other situations in life are. Every [...] imagines, it reflects personal honour on himself, when one of his order is canonized. Soldiers, lawyers, and physicians, would probably be happy to see some of their brethren distinguished in the same manner; that they have not had this gratification of late years, may be imputed to the difficulty of finding suitable characters among them. Ancient history, indeed, makes mention of some commanders of armies who were very great saints; but I have heard of no physician who acquired that title since the days of St. Luke; or of a single lawyer, of any age or country.

A picture of the present Expectant, a great deal larger than life, had been hung up on the front of St. Peter's church, several days before the beatification took place. This ceremony was also announced by printed papers, distributed by the happy brethren of St. Francis. On the day of the solemnity, his Holiness, a considerable number of Cardinals, many other ecclesiastics, all the Capucin Friars in Rome, and a great concourse of spectators attended. The ceremony was performed in St. Peter's church. An ecclesiastic of my acquaintance procured us a very convenient place for seeing the whole. The ceremony of beatification is a previous step to that of canonization. The Saint, after he is beatified, is entitled to more distinction in Heaven than before; but he has not the power of freeing souls from purgatory till he has been canonized; and therefore is not addressed in prayer till he has obtained the second honour. On the present occasion, a long discourse was pronounced by a Franciscan Friar, setting forth the holy life which this Expectant had led upon earth, his devotions, his voluntary penances, and his charitable actions; and a particular enumeration was made, of certain miracles he had performed when alive, and others which had been performed after his death by his bones. The most remarkable miracle, by himself in person, was, his replenishing a lady [...] cup-board with bread, after her housekeeper, at the Saint's instigation, had given all the bread of the family to the poor.

This business is carried on in the manner of a law-suit. The Devil is supposed to have an interest in preventing men from being made Sain [...]. That all justice may be done, and that Satan may [Page] have his due, an advocate is employed to plead against the pretensions of the Saint Expectant, and the person thus employed is denominated by the people, the Devil's Advocate. He calls in question the miracles said to have been wrought by the Saint and his bones, and raises as many objections to the proofs brought of the purity of his life and conversation as he can. It is the business of the Advocate on the other side, to obviate and refute these cavils. The controversy was carried on in Latin. It drew out to a great length, and was by no means amusing. Your friend Mr. R—y, who sat near me, losing patience, from the length of the ceremony, and some twitches of the gout, which he felt at that moment, whispered me, I wish, from my heart, the devil's advocate were with his client, and this everlasting Saint fairly in Heaven, that we might get away. The whole party of which I made one, were seized with frequent and long-continued yawnings, which I imagine was observed by some of the Cardinals, who sat opposite to us.

They caught the infection, and although they endeavoured to conceal their gaping under their purple robes, yet it seemed to spread and communicate itself gradually over the whole assembly, the Franciscan Friars excepted; they were too deeply interested in the issue of the dispute, to think it tedious. As often as the Devil's Advocate stated an objection, evident signs of impatience, contempt, surprise, indignation, and resentment appeared in the countenances of the venerable brotherhood, according to their different characters and tempers. One shock his head, and whispered his neighbour; another raised his chin, and pushed up his under lip with a disdainful smile; a third started, opened his eye-lids as wide as he could, and held up both his hands, with his fingers extended; a fourth raised his thumb to his mouth, bit the nail with a grin, and jerked the thumb from his teeth towards the adversary; a fifth stared, in a most expressive manner, at the Pope, and then fixed his eyes, frowning, on the Advocate.

All were in agitation, till the Saint's Counsel began to speak, when a profound silence took place, and the moment he had made his answer, their countenances brightened, a smile of satisfaction spread around, and they nodded and shook their beards at each other with mutual congratulations. In the mean time, the Cardinals, and the other auditors, who were not asleep, continued yawning; for my own part, I was kept awake only by the interlude of grimaces, played off by the Capuci [...]s between the arguments. Exclusive of these, the making a Saint of a Capucin, is the dullest business I ever was witness to.

I hope the man himself enjoys much felicity since the ceremony, in which case no good-natured person will grudge the tedium and fatigue which he suffered on the occasion. I ought to have told you that the Advocate's reasoning was all in vain; the Devil lost his cause, without the possibility of appeal. The Saint's claim being confirmed, he was admitted into all the privileges of beatification; the Convent defraying the expence of the process.

[Page] As we returned, Mr. R—y asked, if I recollected the Saint's name. I said, I did not. "We must inform ourselves [...]" said he; "for when I meet him abøve, I shall certainly claim some merit with him, from having done penance at his beatification*."

LETTER XLIII. Character of modern Italians.—Observations on human nature in general.—An English officer.—Cause of the frequency of the Crime of murder.

ROME.

TRAVELLERS are too apt to form hasty, and, for the most part, unfavourable opinions of national characters. Finding the customs and sentiments of the inhabitants of the foreign countries through which they pass, very different from their own, they are ready to consider them as erroneous, and conclude, that those who act and think in a manner so opposite to themselves, must be either knaves, fools, or both. In such hasty decisions they are often confirmed by the partial representations of a few of their own countrymen, or of other foreigners who are established in some profession in those countries, and who have an interest in giving bad impressions of the people among whom they reside.

That the Italians have an uncommon share of natural sagacity and acuteness, is pretty generally allowed; but they are accused of being deceitful, perfidious, and revengeful; and the frequent assassinations and murders which happen in the streets of the great towns in Italy, are brought as proofs of this charge. I have not remained a sufficient length of time in Italy, supposing I were, in all other respects, qualified to decide on the character of the inhabitants; but from the opportunities I have had, my idea of the Italians is, that they are an ingenious sober people, with quick feelings, and therefore irritable; but when unprovoked, of a mild and obliging disposition, and less subject to avarice, envy, or repining at the narrowness of their own circumstances, and the comparative wealth of others, than most other nations. The murders which occasionally happen, proceed from a deplorable want of police, and some very impolitic customs, which have, from various causes, crept among them, and would produce more frequent examples of the same kind, if they prevailed to the same degree, in some other countries. I beg you will keep in your mind, that the assassinations which disgrace Italy, whatever may have been the case formerly, are now entirely confined to the [Page] accidental squabbles which occur among the rabble. No such thing has been known for many years past among people of condition, or the middle rank of citizens; and with regard to the stabbings which happen among the vulgar, they almost always proceed from an immediate impulse of wrath, and are seldom the effect of previous malice, or a premeditated pla [...] of revenge. I do not know whether the stories we have of mercenary bravos, men who formerly are supposed to have made it their profession to assassinate, and live by the murders they committed, are founded in truth; but I am certain, that at present there is no such trade in this country.

That the horrid practice of drawing the knife and stabbing each other, still subsists among the Italian vulgar, I am persuaded, is owing to the scandalous impunity with which it is treated. The asylum which churches and convents offer to criminals, operates against the peace of society, and tends to the encouragement of this shocking custom in two different manners: First, it [...]ncreases the criminal's hopes of escaping; secondly, it diminishes, in vulgar minds, the idea of the atrocity of the crime. When the populace see a murderer lodged within the sacred walls of a church, protected and fed by men who are revered on account of their profession, and the supposed sanctity of their lives; must not this weaken the horror which mankind naturally have for such a crime, and which it ought to be the aim of every government to augment?

Those who are willing to admit that this last consideration may have the effect I have ascribed to it, on the minds of the vulgar, still contend, that the hopes of impunity can have little influence in keeping up the practice of stabbing; because, as has been already observed, these stabbings are always in consequence of accidental quarrels and sudden but is of passion, in which men have no consideration about their future safety. All I have to say in answer is, that if the observations I have been able to make on the human character are well founded, there are certain considerations which never entirely lose their influence on the minds of men, even when they are in the height of p [...]ssion. I do not mean that there are not instances of men being thrown into such paroxysms of fury, as totally deprive them of reflection, and make them act like madmen, without any regard to consequences; but extraordinary instances, which depend on peculiarities of constitution, and very singular circumstances, cannot destroy the force of an observation which, generally speaking, is sound just. We every day see men, who have the character of being of the most ungovernable tempers, who are apt to fly into violent [...] of passion upon the m [...]st trivial occasions, yet, in the midst of all their [...]ag [...], and when they seem to be entirely blinded by fury, are still capable of making distinctions; which plainly evince, that they are not so very much blinded by anger, as they would seem to be. When people are subject to violent fits of [...]oles, and to an unrestrained li [...]ence of words and actions, only in the company of those who, from their [Page] unfortunate situation in life, are obliged to bear such abuse, it is a plain proof that considerations which regard their own personal safety, have some influence on their minds in the midst of their fury, and instruct them to be mad certa ratione modoque.—in a rational manner. This is frequently unknown to those choleric people themselves, while it is fully evident to every person of observation around them.

What violent fits of passion do some men indulge themselves in against their slaves and servants, which they always impute to the ungovernable nature of their own tempers, of which, however, they display the most perfect command upon much greater provocations given by their superiors, equals, or by any set of people who are not obliged to bear their ill humour. How often do we see men who are agreeable, cheerful, polite, and good-tempered to the world in general, gloomy, peevish, and passionate, to their wives and children? When you happen to be a witness to any instance of unprovoked domestic rage, into which they have allowed themselves to be transported, they will very probably lament their misfortune, in having more ungovernable tempers than the rest of mankind. But if a man does not speak and act with the same degree of violence on an equal provocation, without considering whether it comes from superior, equal, or dependant, he plainly shews that he can govern his temper, and that his not doing it on particular occasions, proceeds from the basest and most despicable of all motives.

I remember, when I was on the continent with the English army, having seen an officer beat a soldier very unmercifully with his cane: I was then standing with some officers, all of whom seemed to be filled with indignation at this mean exercise of power. When the person who had performed the intrepid exploit came to join the circle, he plainly perceived marks of disapprobation in every countenance; for which reason he thought it necessary to apologize for what he had done. "Nothing," says he, provokes me so much as a fellow's looking saucily when I speak to him. I have told that man so fifty times; and yet, on my reprimanding him just now, for having one of the buttons of his waistcoat broken, he looked saucily full in my face; which threw me into such a passion, that I could not help threshing him.—However, I am sorry for it, because he has the character of being an honest man, and has always done his duty, as a soldier very well. How much, continued he, are those people to be envied, who have a full command of their tempers!

"No man can command it more perfectly than yourself," said a gentleman who was then in the foot-guards, and has since been a general officer.

"I often endeavour to do it," replied the choleric man, but always find it out of my power. I have not philosopy enough to check the violence of my temper when once I am provoked.

[Page] "You certainly do yourself injustice, Sir," said the officer; no person seems to have their passions under better discipline. With your brother officers, I never saw you, in a single instance, break through the rules of decorum, or allow your anger to overcome your politeness to them.

"They never provoked me," said the passionate man.

"Provoked you!" rejoined the other; yes, Sir, often, and in a much greater degree than the poor soldier. Do not I, at this moment give you ten thousand times more provocation than he, or any of the unfortunate men under your command, whom you are so apt to beat and abuse, ever did?—and yet you seem perfectly master of your temper.

There was no way left by which the choleric man could prove the contrary, except by knocking the other down; but that was a method of convincing his antagonist which he did not think proper to use. A more intrepid man, in the same predicament, would very probably have had recourse to that expedient; but in general mankind are able, even in the violence of passion, to estimate, in some measure, the risk they run; and the populace of every country are more readily kindled to that inferior degree of rage, which makes them lose their horror for the crime of murder, and disregard the life of a fellow-creature, than to that higher pitch, which deprives them of all consideration for their own personal safety.

In England, Germany, or France, a man knows, that if he commits a murder, every person around him will, from that instant, become his enemy, and use every means to seize him, and bring him to justice. He knows that he will be immediately carried to prison, and put to an ignominious death, amidst the execrations of his countrymen. Impressed with these sentiments, and with the natural horror for murder which such sentiments augment, the populace of those countries hardly ever have recourse to stabbing in their accidental quarrels, however they may be inflamed with anger and rage. The lowest blackguard in the streets of London will not draw a knife against an antagonist far superior to himself in strength. He will fight him fairly with his fists as long as he can, and bear the severest drubbing, rather than use a means of defence which is held in detestation by his countrymen, and which would bring himself to the gallows.

The murders committed in Germany, France, or England, are therefore comparatively few in number, and happen generally in consequence of a pre-concerted plan, in which the murderers have taken measures for their escape or concealment, without which they know that inevitable death awaits them.

In Italy the case is different; an Italian is not under the influence of so strong an impression, that certain execution must be the consequence of his committing a murder; he is at less pains to restrain the wrath which he feels kindling within his breast; he allows his rage full scope; and, if hard pressed by the superior strength [Page] of an enemy▪ he does not scruple to extricate himself by a thrust of his knife; he knows, that if some of the Sbirri are not present, no other person will seize him; for that office is held in such detestation by the Italian populace, that none of them will perform any part of its functions. The murderer is therefore pretty certain of gaining some church or convent, where he will be protected, till he can compound the matter with the relations of the deceased, or escape to some of the other Italian States; which is no very difficult matter, as the dominions of none are very extensive.

Besides, when any of these assassins has not had the good fortune to get within the portico of a church before he is seized by the Sbirri, and when he is actually carried to prison, it is not a very difficult matter for his friends or relations to prevail, by their entreaties and tears, on some of the Cardinals or Princes, to interfere in his favour, and endeavour to obtain his pardon. If this is the case, and I am assured from authority which fully convinces me, that it is, we need be no longer surprised that murder is more common among the Italian populace than among the common people of any other country. As soon as asylums for such criminals are abolished, and justice is allowed to take its natural course, that foul stain will be entirely effaced from the national character of the modern Italians. This is already verified in the Grand Duke of Tuscany's dominions. The same edict which declared that churches and convents should no longer be places of refuge for murderers, has totally put a stop to the use of the stiletto; and the Florentine populace now fight with the same blunt weapons that are used by the common people of other nations.

I am afraid you will think I have been a little prolix on this occasion; but I had two objects in view, and was solicitous about both. The first was to shew, that the treacherous and perfidious disposition imputed to the Italians is, like most other national reflections, ill founded; and that the facts brought in proof of the accusation, proceed from other causes: the second was, to demonstrate to certain choleric gentlemen▪ who pretend to have ungovernable tempers, as an excuse for rendering every creature dependent on them miserable, that in their furious fits, they not only behave ridiculously, but basely. In civil life, in England, they have the power of only making themselves contemptible; but in the army or navy, or in our islands, they often render themselves the objects of horror.

LETTER XLIV. Different kinds of punishment.—Account of an execution.—Souls in purgatory.

ROME.

THEFTS and crimes which are not capital are punished at Rome, and some other towns of Italy, by imprisonment, or [Page] by what is called the Cord. This last is performed in the street. The culprit's hands are bound behind by a cord, which runs on a pulley; he is then drawn up twenty or thirty feet from the ground, and, if lenity is intended, he is let down smoothly in the same manner he was drawn up. In this operation the whole weight of the criminal's body is sustained by his hands, and a strong man can bear the punishment inflicted in this manner, without future inconveniency; for the strength of the muscles of his arms enables him to keep his hands pressed on the middle of his back, and his body hangs in a kind of horizontal position. But when they intend to be severe, the criminal is allowed to fall from the greatest height to which he had been raised, and the fall is abruptly checked in the middle; by which means the hands and arms are immediately pulled above the head, both shoulders are dislocated, and the body swings, powerless, in a perpendicular line. It is a cruel and injudicious punishment, and left too much in the power of those who superintend the execution, to make it severe or not, as they are inclined.

Breaking on the wheel is never used in Rome for any crime; but they sometimes put in practice another mode of execution, which is much more shocking in appearance than cruel in reality. The criminal being seated on a scaffold, the executioner, who stands behind, strikes him on the head with a hammer of a particular construction, which deprives him, at once, of all sensation. When it is certain that he is completely dead, the executioner, with a large knife cuts his throat from ear to ear. This last part of the ceremony is thought to spake a stronger impression on the minds of the spectators, than the bloodless blow which deprives the criminal of life. Whether the advantages resulting from this are sufficient to compensate for shocking the eye with such abominable sights, I very much question.

Executions are not frequent at Rome, for the reasons already given: there has been only one since our arrival; and those who are of the most forgiving disposition will acknowledge, that this criminal was not put to death till the measure of his iniquity was sufficiently full; he was condemned to be hanged for his fifth murder. I shall give you some account of his execution, and the ceremonies which accompanied it, because they throw some light on the sentiments and character of the people.

First of all, there was a procession of priests, one of whom carried a crucifix on a pole hung with black; they were followed by a number of people in long gowns which covered them from head to foot, with holes immediately before the face, through which those in this disguise could see every thing perfectly, while they could not be recognized by the spectators. They are of the Company della Miscricordia, which is a society of persons who, from motives of piety, think it a duty to visit criminals under sentence of death, endeavour to bring them to a proper sense of their guilt, assist them in making the best use of the short time they have to live, [Page] and who never forsake them till the moment of their execution. People of the first rank are of this society, and devoutly perform the most laborious functions of it. All of them carried lighted torches, and a few shook tin boxes, into which the multitude put money to defray the expence of masses for the soul of the criminal. This is considered by many as the most meritorious kind of charity; and some, whose circumstances do not permit them to bestow much, confine all the expence they can afford in charity, to the single article of purchasing masses to be said in behalf of those who have died without leaving a farthing to save their souls.

The rich, say they, who have much superfluous wealth, may throw away part of it in acts of temporal charity; but it is, in a more particular manner, the duty of those who have little to give, to take care that this little shall be applied to the most beneficial purposes.

What is the relieving a few poor families from the frivolous distresses of cold and hunger, in comparison of freeing them from many years b [...]rning in fire and brimstone? People are reminded of this essential kind of charity, not only by the preachers, but also by inscriptions upon the walls of particular churches and convents; and sometimes the aid of the pencil is called in to awaken the compunction of the unfeeling and hard-hearted. On the external walls of some convents, immediately above the box into which you are directed to put your money, views of purgatory are painted in the most flaming colours, where people are seen in all the agonies of burning, raising their indignant eyes to those unmindful relations and acquaintances, who, rather than part with a little money, allow them to remain in those abodes of torment.

One can hardly conceive how any mortal can pass such a picture without emptying his purse into the box, if, by so doing, he believed he could redeem, I will not say a human creature, but even a poor incorrigible dog, or vicious horse, from such a dreadful situation. As the Italians in general seem to have more sensibility than any people I am acquainted with, and as I see some, who cannot be supposed totally in want of money, pass by those pictures every day without putting a farthing into the box, I must impute this stinginess to a lack of faith rather than of sensibility. Such unmindful passengers are probably of the number of those who begin to suspect that the money of the living can be of little use to the dead.

Being absolutely certain that it gives themselves much pain to part with it in this world, and doubtful whether it will have any [...]fficacy in abridging the pains of their friends in the other, they hesitate for some time between the two risks, that of losing their own money, and that of allowing their neighbour's soul to continue in torture; and it would appear that those sceptics generally decide the dispute in [...]avour of the money.

But in such a case as that which I have been describing, where a poor wretch is just going to be thrust by violence out of one world, [Page] and solicits a little money to secure him a tolerable reception in another, the passions of the spectators are too much agitated for [...]old reasoning, and the most niggardly sceptic throws his mite into the boxes of the Compagnia della Misericordia. Immediately after them came the male-factor himself, seated in a cart, with a Capucin Friar on each side of him. The hangman, with two assistants, dressed in scarlet jackets, walked by the cart. This procession having moved slowly round the gallows, which was erected in the Piazza del Popule, the culprit descended from the cart, and was led to a house in the neighbourhood, attended by the two Capucins.

He remained there about half an hour, was confessed and received absolution; after which he came out, exclaiming to the populace to join in prayers for his soul, and walked with a hurried pace to the gallows, the hangman and his assistants having hold of his arms, they supported him up the ladder, the unhappy man repeating prayers as fast as he could utter till he was turned off. He was not l [...]ft a moment to himself.

The executioner stepped from the ladder, and stood with a foot on each of his shoulders, supporting himself in that situation with his hands on the top of the gallows, the assistants at the same time pulling down the malefactor's legs, so that he must have died in an instant. The executioner, in a short time, slid to the ground along the dead body, as a sailor slides on a rope. They then removed the cloth which covered his face, and twirled the body round with great rapidity, as if their intention had been to divert the mob; who, however, did not shew any disposition to be amused in that manner.

The multitude beheld the scene with silent awe and compassion. During the time appointed by law for the body to hang, all the members of the procession, with the whole apparatus of torches, crucifixes, and Capucins, went into a neighbouring church, at the corner of the Strada del Babbuino, and remained there till a mass was said for the fool of the deceased; and when that was concluded, they returned in procession to the gallows, with a coffin covered with black cloth.

On their approach, the executioner, with his assistants, hastily retired among the crowd, and were no more allowed to come near the body. The condemned person having now paid the forfeit due to his crimes, was no longer considered as an object of hatred: his dead body was therefore rescued from the contaminating touch of those who are held by the populace in the greatest abhorrence. Two persons in masks, and with black gowns, mounted the ladder and [...]ut the rope, while others below, of the same society, received the body, and put it carefully into the coffin. An old woman then said with an exalted voice. Adesso spero che l'anima sua sia in paradiso; "Now I hope his soul is in heaven;" and the multitude around seemed all inclined to hope the same.

The serious and compassionate manner in which the Roman populace beheld this execution, forms a presumption of the gentleness [Page] of their dispositions. The crimes of which this man had been guilty must naturally have raised their indignation, and his profession had a tendency to increase and keep it up; for he was one of the Sbirri, all of whom are held in the most perfect detestation by the common people; yet the moment they saw this object of their hatred in the character of a poor condemned man, about to suffer for his crimes, all their animosity ceased; no rancour was displayed, nor the least insult offered, which could disturb him in his last moments. They viewed him with the eyes of pity and forgiveness, and joined, with earnestness, in prayers for his future welfare.

The manner in which this man was put to death, was no doubt, uncommonly mild, when compared with the atrocity of his guilt: yet I am convinced, that the solemn circumstances which accompanied his execution, made a greater impression on the minds of the populace, and would as effectually deter them from the crimes for which he was condemned, as if he had been broken alive on the wheel, and the excution performed in a less solemn manner.

Convinced as I am that all horrid and refined cruelty in the execution of criminals is, at best, unnecessary, I never heard of any thing of that nature without horror and indignation. Other methods, no way connected with the sufferings of the prisoner, equally deter from the crime, and, in all other respects, have a better influence on the minds of the multitude. The procession described above, I plainly perceived, made a very deep impression. I thought I saw more people affected by it than I have formerly observed among a much greater crowd, who were gathered to see a dozen or fourteen of their fellow-creatures dragged to the same death for house-breaking and highway robbery, mere venial offences, in comparison of what this Italian had perpetrated.

The attendance of the Capucins, the crucifixes, the Society of Misericordia, the ceremony of confession, all have a tendency to strike the mind with awe, and keep up the belief of a future state; and when the multitude behold so many people employed, and so much pains taken, to save the soul of one of the most worthless of mankind, they must think, that the saving of a soul is a matter of great importance, and therefore naturally infer, that the sooner they begin to take care of their own, the better. But when criminals are carried to execution with little or no solemnity, amidst the shouts of an unconcerned rabble, who applaud them in proportion to the degree of indifference and impenitence they display, and consider the whole scene as a source of amusement; how can such exhibitions make any useful impression, or terrify the thoughtless and desperate from any wicked propensity? If there is a country in which great numbers of young inconsiderate creatures are, six or eight times every year, carried to execution in this tumultuous, unaffecting manner, might not a stranger conclude, that the view of the legislature was to cut off guilty individuals in the least alarming way possible, that others might [...] be deferred from following their example?

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LETTER XLV. The usual course with an antiquarian.—An expeditious course, by a young Englishman.—The Villa Borghese.

ROME.

THOSE who have a real pleasure in contemplating the remains of antique, and the noblest specimens of modern architecture, who are struck with the inimitable delicacy and expression of Greek sculpture, and wish to compare it with the most successful efforts of the moderns, and who have an unwearied admiration of the charms of painting, may, provided they have not more important avocations elsewhere, employ a full year with satisfaction in this city.

What is called a regular course with an Antiquarian, generally takes up about six weeks; employing three hours a day, you may, in that time, visit all the churches, palaces, villas, and ruins, worth seeing, in or near Rome. But after having made this course, however distinctly every thing may have been explained by the Antiquarian, if you do not visit the most interesting again and again, and reflect on them at more leisure, your labour will be of little use; for the objects are so various, and those you see on one day, so apt to be effaced by, or confounded with, those you behold on another, that you must carry away a very faint and indistinct recollection of any. Many travellers have experienced the truth of this observation.

One young English gentleman, who happens not to be violently smitten with the charms of virt [...] and scorns to affect what he does not feel, thought that two or three hours a day, for a month or six weeks together, was rather too much time to bestow on a pursuit in which he felt no pleasure, and saw very little utility. The only advantage which, in his opinion, the greater part of us reaped from our six weeks tour, was, that we could say, we had seen a great many fine things which he had not seen. This was a superiority which he could not brook, and which he resolved we should not long enjoy. Being fully convinced, that the business might be, with a little exertion, dispatched in a very short space of time, he prevailed on a proper person to attend him; ordered a postchaise and four horses to be ready early in the morning, and driving through churches, palaces, villas, and ruins, with all possible expedition, he fairly saw, in two days, all that we had beheld during our crawling course of six weeks. I found afterwards, by the list he kept of what he had seen, that we had not the advantage of him in a single picture, or the most mutilated remnant of a statue.

I do not propose this young gentleman's plan, as the very best possible; but of this I am certain, that he can give as satisfactory an account of the curiosities of Rome, as some people of my acquaintance who viewed them with equal sensibility, and at a great deal more leisure.

[Page] Those travellers who cannot remain a considerable time at Rome, would do well to get a judicious list of the most interesting objects in architecture, sculpture, and painting, that are to be seen here; they ought to visit these frequently, and these only, by which means they will acquire a strong and distinct impression of what they see; instead of that transient and confused idea which a vast number of things, viewed superficially, and in a hurry, leave in the mind. After they have examined, with due attention, the most magnificent and best perserved remains of ancient architecture, very few have satisfaction in viewing a parcel of old bricks, which, they are told, formed the foundation of the baths of some of the Emperors. And there are not many who would regret their not having seen great numbers of statues and pictures of inferior merit, when they had beheld all that are universally esteemed the best. Would it not be highly judicious, therefore, in the greatest number of travellers, without abridging the usual time of the course, to make it much less comprehensive?

Besides churches, there are about thirty palaces in Rome, as full of pictures as the walls can bear. The Borghese Palace alone is said to contain above sixteen hundred, all original. There are also ten or twelve villas in the neighbourhood of this city, which are usually visited by strangers. You may judge from this, what a task they undertake, who resolve to go thro' the whole; and what kind of an idea they are likely to carry away, who perform this task durring a stay of a few months. Of the villas, the Pineiana, which belongs to the Borghese family, is the most remarkable. I shall confine myself to a few cursory remarks on some of the most esteemed curiosities it contains.

The Hermaphrodite, of which you have seen so many prints and models, is accounted by many, one of the finest pieces of sculpture in the world. The mattress, upon which this fine figure reclines, is the work of the Cavalier Bernini, and nothing can be more admirably executed. Some critics say he has performed his task too well, because the admiration of the spectator is divided between the statue and the mattress.

This, however, ought not to be imputed as a fault to that great artist; since he condescended to make it at all, it was his business to make it as perfect as possible. I have heard of an artist at Versailles in a different line, who attempted something of the same nature; he had exerted all his abilities in making a periwig for a celebrated preacher, who was to preach on a particular occasion before the court; and he imagined he had succeeded to a miracle. I'll be hanged, said he to one of his companions, if his Majesty, or any man of taste, will pay much attention to the sermon today.

Among the antiques, there is a Centaur in marble, with a Cupid mounted on his back. The latter has the cestus of Venus, and the ivy crown of Bacchus, in allusion to beauty and wine; he beat [...] the Centaur with his [...], and [...] to kick with violence to [Page] drive him along. The Centaur throws back his head and eyes with a look of remorse, as if he were unwilling, tho' forced, to proceed. The execution of this group, is admired by those who look upon it merely as a jeu d'esprit;—a witty conceit; but it acquires additional merit, when considered as allegorical of men who are hurried on by the violence of their passions, and lament their own weakness, while they find themselves unable to resist.

There is another figure which claims attention, more on account of the allegory than the sculpture. This is a small statue of Venus Cloacina, trampling on an impregnated uterus, and tearing the wings of Cupid. The allegory indicates, that prostitution is equally destructive of generation and love. Keysler mentioning this, calls it a statue of Venus, lamenting her rashness in clipping Cupid's wings.

The statue called Zingara, or the Fortune-teller, is antique, all but the head, which is Bernini's; the face has a strong expression of that fly shrewdness, which belongs to those whose trade it is to impose on the credulity of the vulgar; with a great look of some modern gypsies I have seen, who have imposed most egregiously on the self-love and credulity of the great.

Seneca dying in the Bath, in touchstone; round his middle is a girdle of yellow marble; he stands in a bason of blueish marble lined with porphyry; his knees seem to bend under him, from weakness; his features denote faintness, languor, and the approach of death; the eyes are enamelled, which gives the countenance a fierce and disagreeable look. Colouring the eyes always has a bad effect in sculpture; they form too violent a contrast with the other features, which remain of the natural colour of the marble. When the eyes are enamelled, it is requisite that all the face should be painted, to produce the agreeable harmony of life.

The Faun dandling an infant Bacchus, is one of the gayest figures that can be imagined.

In this Villa, there are also some highly esteemed pieces by Bernini. AEneas carrying his father; David slinging the stone at Golia [...]; and Apollo pursuing Daphne: the last is generally reckoned Bernini's masterpiece: for my part, I have so bad a taste as to prefer the second. The figure of David is nervous, with great anatomical justness, and a strong expression of keeness and exertion to hit his mark, and kill his enemy; but the countenance of David wants dignity.

An ancient artist, perhaps, could not have given more ardour, but he would have given more nobleness to the features of David. Some may say, that as he was but a shepherd, it was proper he should have the look of a clown; but it ought to be remembered, that David was a very extraordinary man; and if the artist who formed the Belvedere Apollo, or if Agasias the Ephesian, had treated the same subject, I imagine they would have rendered their work more interesting, by blending the noble air of an hero with the simple appearance of a shepherd. The figures of Apollo and [Page] Daphne err in a different manner. The face and figure of Apollo are deficient in simplicity; the noble simplicity of the best antique statues: he runs with affected graces, and his astonishment at the beginning transformation of his mistress is not, in my opinion, naturally expressed, but seems rather the exaggerated astonishment of an actor.

The form and shape of Daphne are delicately executed; but in her face, beauty is, in some degree, sacrificed to the expression of terror; her features are too much distorted by fear. An ancient artist would have made her less afraid, that she might have been more beautiful. In expressing terror, pain, and other impressions, there is a point where the beauty of the finest countenance ends, and deformity begins. I am indebted to Mr. Locke for this observation. In some conversations I had with him at Cologny, on the subject of sculpture, that gentleman remarked, that it was in the skilful and temperate exertion of her powers, in this noblest province of the art, expression, that ancient sculpture so much excelled the modern.

She knew its limits, and had ascertained them with precision. As far as expression would go hand in hand with grace and beauty, in subjects intended to excite sympathy, she indulged her chisel; but where agony threatened to induce distortion, and obliterate beauty, she wisely set bounds to imitation, remembering, that though it may be moral to pity ugliness in distress, it is more natural to pity beauty in the same situation; and that her business was not to give the strongest representation of nature, but the representation which would interest us most. That ingenious gentleman, I remember, observed at the same time, that the Greek artists have been accused of having sacrificed character too much to technical proportion. He continued to observe, that what is usually called character in a face, is probably excess in some of its parts, and particularly of those which are under the influence of the mind, the leading passion of which marks some feature for its own.

A perfectly symmetrical face bears no mark of the influence of either the passions or the understanding, and reminds you of Prometheus's clay without his fire. On the other hand, the moderns, by sacrificing too liberally those technical proportions, which, when religiously observed, produce beauty, to expression, have generally lost the very point which they contended for. They seemed to think, that when a passion was to be expressed, it could not be expressed too strongly; and that sympathy always followed in an exact proportion with the strength of the passion, and the force of its expression. But passions, in their extreme, instead of producing sympathy, generally excite feelings diametrically opposite.

A vehement and clamorous demand of pity is received with neglect, and sometimes with disgust; whilst a patient and silent acquiescence under the pressure of mental affliction, or severe bodily [Page] pain, finds every heart upon an unison with its sufferings. The ancients knew to what extent expression may be carried, with good effect. The author of the famous Laocoon, in the Vatican, knew where to stop, and if the figure had been alone, it would have been perfect, there is exquisite anguish in the countenance, but it is borne in silence, and without distortion of features. Puget thought he could go beyond the author of La [...]coon; he gave voice to his Milo; he made him roaring with pain, and lost the sympathy of the spectator. In confirmation of this doctrine, Mr. Locke desired, that when I should arrive at Rome, I would examine, with attention, the celebrated statue of Niobe, in the Villa de Medici.

I have done so again and again, and find his remarks most strikingly just. The author of the Niobe has had the judgment not to exhibit all the distress which he might have placed in her countenance. This consummate artist was afraid of disturbing her features too-much, knowing full well, that the point where he was to expect the most sympathy was there, where distress co-operated with beauty, and where our pity met our love. Had he sought it one step farther, in expression he had lost it. It is unjust you will say, that men should not sympathise with homely women in distress, in the same degree as they do with the beautiful. That is very true: but it is the business of the sculptor to apply his art to men as he finds them, not as they ought to be. Beside, this principle has full force, and is strictly true, only in sculpture and painting.

For in real life, a woman may engage a man's esteem and affections by a thousand fine qualities, and a thousand endearing ties, though she is entirely deficient in beauty.

This Villa is also enriched by one of the most animated statues in the world, and which, in the opinion of many men of taste, comes nearest, and in the judgment of some, equals the Apollo of the Vatican. I mean the statue of the fighting Gladiator. It is difficult, however, to compare two pieces whose merits are so different. The Apollo is full of grace, majesty, and conscious superiority; he has shot his arrow, and knows its success. There is, indeed, a strong expression of indignation, which opens his lips, distends his nostrils, and contracts his brows; but it is the indignation of a superior being, who punishes while he scorns the efforts of his enemy.

The Gladiator, on the contrary, full of fire and youthful courage, opposes an enemy that he does not fear; but whom, it is evident, he thinks worthy of his utmost exertion; every limb, nerve and sinew, is in action; his ardent features indicate the strongest desire, the highest expectation, but not a perfect security of victory. His shape is elegant as well as nervous, expressive of agility as well as strength, and equally distant from the brawny strength of the Farnesian Hercules, and the esseminate softness of the Belvedere Antinous.

[Page] The action is transitive (if the term may be so used,) and preparatory only to another disposition of body and limbs, which are to enable him to strike, and which he cannot do in his present position; for the moment his right arm crossed the perpendicular line of his right leg, the whole figure would be out of its centre. His action seems a combination of the defensive and offensive; defensive in the present moment, the left arm being advanced to secure the adversary's blow; and preparing for offence in the next, the left leg already taking its spring to advance in order to give the figure a centre which may enable it to strike, without risk of falling, if the blow should not take place. The action of the right arm, however, will always remain in some degree problematical, the ancient being lost; by whom the modern arm is restored, I never heard.

Though this fine figure generally goes by the name of the fighting Gladiator, some antiquarians cannot allow, that ever it was intended to represent a person of that prof [...]ssion, but a Victor at the Olympic games; and allege, that Agasias of Ephesus, the sculptor's name, being inscribed upon the pedestal, supports their opinion, because the Greeks never used gladiators. But I fear this argument has little weight; for the Greek slaves at Rome put their name to their work; and the free Greek artists, working in Greece, in public works, found difficulty in obtaining the same indulgence. Those who wish to rescue this statue from the ignoble condition of a common Gladiator, say further, that he looks up as if his adversary were on horseback, adding, that gladiators never fought on foot against horsemen on the Arena. Here again, I am afraid they are mistaken. He looks no higher than the eye of an enemy on foot; the head must have a much greater degree of elevation to look up to the eye of an horseman, which is the part of your adversary which you always fix.

Some learned gentlemen, not satisfied that this statue should be thrown indiscriminately among Gladiators and Victors of the Olympic games, have given it a particular and lasting character; they roundly assert, that it is the identical statue, made by order of the Athenian State, in honour of their countryman Chabrias; and that it is precisely in the attitude which, according to Cornelius, Nepos, that hero assumed, when he repulsed the army of Agesilaus. This idea is in the true spirit of an antiquary.

If upon turning to that author, you remain unconvinced, and are interested in the honour of the statue, I can furnish you with to presumptive proof of its original dignity, except, that the character of the face is noble and haughty, unlike that of a slave and mercenary Gladiator. And there is no rope around the neck, as the Gladiator Moriens has, whom that circumstance sufficiently indicates to have been in that unfortunate situation.

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LETTER XLVI. The morning study of an artist.—Conversation with him on that subject.—An Italian lady and her Confessor.—The Lady's religious scruples and precaution.

ROME.

A FEW days since I went to call on an artist of my acquaintance. I met, coming out of his door, an old woman, and a very handsome girl, remarkably well shaped. I rallied him a little on the subject of his visitors, and his good fortune in being attended in a morning by the prettiest girl I had seen since I came to Rome. "I think myself fortunate," said he, in having found a girl so perfectly well made, who allows me to study her charms without restraint, and at a reasonable price; but I assure you, I can boast of no other kind of good fortune with her. I am convinced, rejoined I, that you take great pleasure in your studies, and there can be no doubt that you have made a very desirable progress. "Of that you shall be the judge," replied he, leading me into another room, where I saw a full length painting of the girl, in the character of Venus, and in the usual dress of that goddess. "There," said he, is the only effect my studies have had hitherto, and I begin to suspect that they will never produce any thing more nearly connected with the original.

He then informed me, that the old woman I had seen was the girl's mother, who never failed to accompany her daughter, when she came as a model to him; that the father was a tradesman, with a numerous family, who thought this the most innocent use that his daughter's beauty could be put to, till she should get a husband; and to prevent its being put to any other, his wife always accompanied her. "I have drawn her as Venus," added he; but for any thing I know to the contrary, I should have approached nearer to her real character if I had painted her as Diana. She comes here merely in obedience to her parents, and gains her bread as innocently as if she were knitting purses in a convent from morning to night, without seeing the face of a man.

"However innocent all this may be," said I, there is something at which the mind revolts, in a mother's being present when her daughter acts a part which, if not criminal, is, at least, highly indelicate.

"To be sure," replied the painter, the woman has not quite so much delicacy as to starve, rather than let her daughter stand as a model; yet she seems to have attention to the girl's chastity, too.

[Page] "Chastity!" answered I, why this would shock an English woman more than any thing which could be proposed to her. Every other kind of liberty must have been previously taken with her. She must be a complete prostitute in every sense of the word, before she could be brought to submit to appear in this manner.

"Your observation is true," replied he; but it does not prove that those who submit to this, to prevent their becoming prostitutes, do not judge better than those who become prostitutes, and then submit to this. In different countries, continued he, people think very differently on subjects of this kind. The parents of this girl, to my knowledge, have refused considerable offers from men of fortune, to be allowed the privilege of visiting her.

They are so very careful of preventing every thing of that nature, that she actually lies in the same bed with them both, which is another piece of indelicacy not uncommon among the lower people in Italy. These parents have the more merit in refusing such offers, as their acting otherwise would by no means be thought extraordinary; nor would it raise the same degree of indignation here as in some other countries of Europe. Breach of chastity, in females of low rank, is not considered here in the same heinous light that it is in some parts of Germany and Great-Britain; where it is deemed a crime of such magnitude, as to require expiation, by a public rebuke from the parson in the middle of the church.

I have heard of a clergyman in the North, who had occasion to rebuke a young woman for having borne a child before marriage. The accomplice in her guilt had married her immediately after her recovery; but this did not abate the parson's indignation against the wickedness they had previously committed. Magdalen, said he, with an aweful tone of voice, to the woman, you stand before this congregation to be rebuked for the barbarous and unnatural crime of fornication.

The reverend clergyman, said I, in all probability intended to terrify his parishioners from such irregularities; and for this purpose imagined there would be no harm in putting them in the most odious point of view. This is attended, however▪ by one dreadful consequence. replied the artist, that these unhappy creatures, to conceal a fault of which such a horrible idea is given, and to prevent the shame of a public exposition in the church, are sometimes tempted to commit a crime which is in reality barbarous, and unnatural in the highest degree.

"There is nothing," continued he, which has a greater tendency to render any set of people worthless, than the idea that they are already considered as such. The women all over Great-Britain, who live in an open and avowed breach of chastity, are generally more daringly wicked, and deviod of principle, than the Italian women who take the same liberties.

[Page] "Would you then," said I, have women of that kind more respected in Great-Britain, in hopes that it might, in time, make them more respectable?

"I express no desire on the subject," replied he. I was only going to remark, that, in avoiding one inconveniency, mankind often fall into another; and that we are too apt to censure and ridicule customs and opinions different from those which prevail in our own country, without having sufficiently considered all their immediate and remote effects. I did not intend to decide, whether the indulgence with which women of a certain class are viewed in Italy, or the ignominy with which they are treated in Great-Britain, has, upon the whole, the best effect in society. But I have observed, that the public courtezans in England often become quite abandoned, and forget all sense of gratitude or affection, even to their parents. But in Italy, women who never put any value on the virtue of chastity, those who sell their favours for money▪ display a goodness of character in other respects, and continue their duty and attachment to their parents as long as they live. Foreigners who form a connection with a girl in this country, find themselves very often obliged to maintain the father, mother, and whole family to which she belongs. The lover generally considers this as a very troublesome circumstance, and endeavours to inspire his Italian mistress with that total neglect of her family which prevails among women of her stamp in other countries; but he very seldom succeeds. An Italian woman is unwilling to quit her native city and her family, even for a man she loves; and seldom does, till he makes some provision for her nearest relations.

You seem to have a very great affection for the Italian ladies; and, as far as I can perceive, said I, your passion is universal to the whole class in question; but you have said nothing to the essential article of religion. It is to be hoped, they do not allow the duties of their profession to make them neglect their souls.

"I see," replied the painter, you are disposed to laugh at all I have said in their favour; but in answer to your question, I will fairly own, that their religious, or, if you please, we shall rather call them their superstitious sentiments, seem to be no way influenced by their profession; nor are the duties of their profession in any degree affected by these sentiments. They attend mass, and the ceremonies of devotion, with as much punctuality as if their lives were regular in all other respects, and they pass their lives, in other respects, as if they had never heard of any religious system but that of Epicurus. In some countries of Europe, women of their stamp often despise every appearance of decency, assume the disgusting depravity of male deb [...]uchees, with all the airs of affected infidelity, and real profligacy; but [Page] here they always remember they are women; and, after they have lost the most valued and brightest ornament of their sex, still endeavour to retain some of the others.

"After all you have said in their favour," said I, their condition is certainly not to be envied. If, therefore, you have any regard for your young Venus, you will do well to leave her under the care of her mother, and never endeavour to introduce her into the community whose eulogium you have been making.

When I returned from the house of this artist, I found Mr.—waiting for me at our lodgings. He has of late paid his court very assiduously to a lady of high rank in this place: she is distinguished, even here, for a punctilious observance of all the ceremonies appointed by the church, and could not eat meat on a meagre day, or deviate from the canonical regulations in any point of equal importance, without remorse; but in matters of gallantry, she has the reputation of being infinitely more liberal, both in her sentiments and practice. She has been for some time provided with a very able and respectable lover, of her own country. This did not make her blind to the good qualities of Mr.—, with whom she formed a very intimate connection, soon after his arrival here; not that she prefers him to her other lover, but merely from a strong sense of the truth and beauty of this arithmetical axiom—that one and one make two.

The new arrangement with our countryman, however pleasing to the lady, gave offence to her Father Confessor. The scrupulous ecclesiastic was of opinion, that a connection of this nature with a heretic was more criminal than with a man of her own communion. Mr.—was just come from the lady to our lodgings; he had found her in worse humour than he had ever observed before, though her temper is not the mildest in the world. Mr.—entered as the Confessor went out; she shut the door after him with a violence which shook the whole house, muttering, as she returned to her seat, Che ti possino Cascar le braccia Vecchio Dondolone—The Devil go along with you for an old goose. Mr.—expressed his concern on seeing her so much agitated. No wonder, said she, that stubborn Animalaccio who is just gone out, has had the insolence to refuse me absolution. As I expected you this morning, I sent for him betimes, that the matter might have been expedited before you should come; but here I have been above an hour endeavouring to persuade him, but all to no purpose; nothing I could say was able to mollify the obstinate old greasy rascal.

Mr.—joined in abusing the Confessor's perverseness, hinting, at the some time, that she ought to despise it as a matter of little importance; that she was sure of receiving absolution sooner or later; and, whenever it happened, all the transactions of the interval would be comprehended within that act of grace. Upon the strength of this reasoning, Mr.—was proceeding to fulfil [Page] the purpose of his visit with as much alacrity as if the most complete discharge had been granted for all proceedings—"Pian Piano Idel mio," cried the lady, "bisogna rimetter [...]i alla voluntá di Dio."—Softly, softly, my love. We must submit to the will of Heaven.

She then told her lover, that although she despised the Confessor as much as he could do, yet she must take care of her own soul; that not having settled her accounts with heaven for a considerable time, she was determined not to begin a new score till the old should be cleared; adding, for her principal reason, Pa [...]o chiaro, amico caro—Short accounts make long friends.

THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, According to the LONDON EDITION.

LETTER XLVII. Busts and statues of distinguished Romans.—Of Heathen Deities—Passion of the Greeks and Romans for sculpture.—Farnesian Hercules criticised by a Lady.—Remarks on that statue.—On the Flora.—Effect which the [...]ight of the statues of Laocoon and his sons had on two spectators of opposite characters.—Mr. Lock's Observations on the same group.—The Antinous.—The Apollo.

ROME.

I BEG you may not suspect me of affectation, or that I wish to assume the character of a connoisseur, when I tell you, that I have very great pleasure in contemplating the antique statues and busts, of which there are such numbers in this city. It is a natural curiosity, and I have had it all my life in a strong degree, to see celebrated men, those whose talents and great qualities can alone render the present age an interesting object to posterity, and prevent its being lost, like the dark ages which succeeded the destruction of the Roman empire, in the oblivious vortex of time, leaving scarcely a wreck behind.

The durable monuments raised to fame by the inspiring genius of Pitt, and the invincible spirit of Frederick, will command the admiration of future ages, outlive the power of the empires which they aggrandized, and forbid the period in which they flourished, from ever passing away like the baseless fabric of a vision. The busts and statues of those memorable men will be viewed, by succeeding generations, with the same regard and attention which we now bestow on those of Cicero and Caesar. We expect to find [Page] something peculiarly noble and expressive in features which were animated, and which, we imagine, must have been in some degree modelled, by the sentiments of those to whom they belonged. It is not rank, it is character alone which interests posterity. We know that men may be seated on thrones, who would have been placed more suitably to their talents on the working-table of a taylor; we therefore give little attention to the busts or coins of the vulgar emperors.

In the countenance of Claudius, we expect nothing more noble than the phlegmatic tranquillity of an acquiescing cuckold; in Caligula or Nero, the unrelenting frown of a negro-driver, or the insolent air of any unprincipled ruffian in power. Even in the high-praised Augustus we look for nothing essentially great, nothing superior to what we see in those minions of fortune, who are exalted, by a concurrence of incidents, to a situation in life to which their talents would never have raised them, and which their characters never deserved.

In the face of Julius we expect to find the traces of deep reflection, magnanimity, and the anxiety natural to the man who had overturned the liberties of his native country, and who must have secretly dreaded the resentment of a spirited people; and in the face of Marcus Brutus we look for independence, conscious integrity, and a mind capable of the highest effort of virtue.

It is natural to regret, that, of the number of antique statues which have come to us tolerably entire, so great a proportion are representations of gods and goddesses. Had they been intended for real persons, we might have had a perfect knowledge of the face and figure of the greatest part of the most distinguished citizens of ancient Greece and Rome.

A man of unrelaxing wisdom would smile with contempt, and ask, if our having perfect representations of all the heroes, poets, and philosophers recorded in history, would make us either wiser or more learned? to which I answer, That there are a great many things, which neither can add to my small stock of learning nor wisdom, and yet give me more pleasure and satisfaction than those which do; and, unfortunately for mankind, the greatest part of them resemble me in this particular.

But though I would with pleasure have given up a great number of the Jupiters and Apollos and Venuses, whose statues we have, in exchange for an equal, or even a smaller, number of mere mortals whom I could name; I by no means consider the statues of those deities as uninteresting. Though they are imaginary beings, yet each of them has a distinct character of his own of classical authority, which has long been impressed on our memories; and we assume the right of deciding on the artist's skill, and applauding or blaming, as he has succeeded or failed in expressing the established character of the god intended.

From the ancient artists having exercised their genius in forming the images of an order of beings superior to mankind, another [Page] and a greater advantage is supposed to have followed; it prompted the artists to attempt the uniting in one form, the various beauties and excellencies which nature had dispersed in many. This was not so easy a task as may by some be imagined; for that which has a fine effect in one particular face or person, may appear a deformity when combined with a different complexion, different features or a different shape. It therefore required great judgment and taste to collect those various graces, and combine them with elegance and truth; and repeated efforts of this kind are imagined to have inspired some of the ancient sculptors with sublimer ideas of beauty than nature herself ever exhibited, as appears in some of their works which have reached our own times.

Though the works of no modern artist can stand a comparison with the great master-pieces now alluded to, yet nothing can be more absurd than the idea which some people entertain, that all antique statues are of more excellent workmanship than the modern. We see, every day, numberless specimens of every species of sculpture, from the largest statues and bassos-relievos, to the smallest cameos and intaglios, that are undoubtedly antique, and yet far inferior, not only to the works of the best artists of Leo the Tenth's time, but also to those of many artists now alive in various parts of Europe. The passion for sculpture, which the Romans caught from the Greeks, became almost universal.

Statues were not only the chief ornaments of their temples and palaces, but also of the houses of the middle, and even the lowest order of citizens. They were prompted to adorn them with the figures of a few favourite deities, by religion, as well as vanity▪ no man, but an atheist or a beggar, could be without them. This being the case, we may easily conceive what graceless divini [...] many of them must have been; for in this, no doubt, as in every other manufactory, there must occasionally have been bungling workmen employed, even in the most flourishing aera of the art, and goods finished in a very careless and hurried manner, to answer the constant demand, and suit the dimensions of every purse. We must have a very high idea of the number of statues of one kind or other, which were in old Rome, when we consider how many are still to be seen; how many have at different periods, been carried away, by the curious, to every country in Europe; how many were mutilated and destroyed by the gothic brutality of Barbarians, and the ill-directed zeal of the early Christians, who thought it a duty to exterminate every image, without distinction of age or sex, and without considering whether they were of God or man. This obliged the wretched heathens to hide the statues of their gods and of their ancestors in the bowels of the earth, where unquestionably great numbers of them still remain.

Had they not been thus barbarously hewed to pieces, and buried, I had almost said, alive, we might have had several equal to the great master-pieces in the Vatican; for it is natural to imagine, that the rage of the zealots would be chiefly directed against those [Page] statues which were in the highest estimation with the heathens; and we must likewise imagine, that these would be the pieces which they, on their part, would endeavour, by every possible means, to preserve from their power, and bury in the earth. Of those which have been dug up▪ I shall mention only a very few, beginning with the Farnesian Hercules, which has been long admired as an exquisite model of masculine strength; yet, admirable as it is, it does not please all the world.

I am told that the women in particular find something unsatisfactory, and even odious, in this figure; which, however majestic, is deficient in the charms most agreeable to them, and which might have been expected in the son of Jupiter and the beauteous Alcmena. A lady whom I accompanied to the Farnese palace, turned away from it in disgust.

I could not imagine what had shocked her. She told me, after recollection, that she could not bear the stern severity of his countenance, his large brawny limbs, and the club with which he was armed; which gave him more the appearance of one of those giants that, according to the old romances, carried away virgins and shut them up in gloomy castles, than the gallant Hercules, the lover of Omphale. Finally, the lady declared, she was convinced this statue could not be a just representation of Hercules; for it was not in the nature of things, that a man so formed could ever have been a reliever of distressed damsels.

Without such powerful support as that of the fair sex, I should not have exposed myself to the resentment of conn [...]urs, by any expression which they might construe an attack upon this favourite statue; but, with their support, I will venture to assert, that the Farnese Hercules is faulty both in his form and attitude: the former is too unwieldly for active exertion, and the latter exhibits vigour exhausted. A resting attitude is surely not the most proper in which the all-conquering god of strength could be represented. Rest implies fatigue, and fatigue strength exhausted. A reposing Hercules is almost a contradiction.

Invincible activity, and inexhaustible strength, are his characteristics. The ancient artist has erred, not only in giving him an attitude which supposes his strength wants recruiting, but in the nature of the strength itself, the character of which should not be passive, but active.

Near to Hercules, under the arcades of the same Palezzo Farnese, is a most beautiful statue of Flora. The great advantage which ancient artists had in attending the exercises of the gymnasia, has been repeatedly urged as the reason of their superiority over the moderns in sculpture.

We are told, that besides the usual exercises of the gymnasia, all those who proposed to contend at the Olympic games, were obliged, by the regulations, to prepare themselves▪ by exercising [Page] publicly for a year at Eli [...]; and the statuarie [...] and painters constantly attended on the Arena, where they had oportunities of beholding the most shaped, the most graceful, and most vigorous of the Grecian youth employed in those manly sports, in which the power of every muscle was exerted, and all their various actions called forth, and where the human form appeared in an infinite variety of different attitudes.

By a constant attendance at such a school, independent of any other circumstance, the artists are supposed to have acquired a more animated, true, and graceful style, than possibly can be caught from viewing the [...]ame, mercenary models, which are exhibited in our academies. On the other hand, I have heard it asserted, that the artist, who formed the Farnesian Flora, could not have improved his work, or derived any of its excellencies, from the circumstances above enumerated; because the figure is in a standing posture, and clothed.

In the light, easy flow of the drapery, and in the contour of the body being as distinctly pronounced through it, as if the figure were naked, the chief merit of this statue is thought to consist. But this reasoning does not seem just; for the daily opportunities the ancient artists had of seeing naked figures, in every variety of action and [...]titude, must have given them advantages over the moderns, in forming even drapery figures. At Spar [...]a, the women, upon particular occasions, danced naked. In their own families, they were seen every day clothed in light draperies; and so secondary was every consideration, even that of decency, to art, that the pret [...]st virgins of Ag [...]igentum, it is recorded, were called upon by [...]e legislature, without distinction, to shew themselves naked to a painter, to enable him to paint a Venus. Whilst the moderns, therefore, must acknowledge their inferiority to the ancients in the art of sculpture, they may be allowed merit, on account of the cause, to which it seems, in some measure at least, to be owing.

The finest specimens of antique sculpture are to be seen in the Vatican. In these the Greek artists display an unquestionable superiority over the most successful efforts of the moderns For me to attempt a description of these master-pieces, which have been described a thousand times, and imitated as often, without once having had justice done them, would be equally vain and superflu [...]s. I confine myself to a very few observations. The most insensible of mankind must be struck with horror at sight of the Laocoon. On one of my visits to the Vatican, I was accompanied by two persons, who had never been there before: one of them is accused of being perfectly callous to every thing which does not immediately touch his own person; the other is a worthy, good man: the first, after staring for some time with marks of terror at the groupe, at length recovered himself; exclaiming with a laugh, Egad, I was afraid these d—d serpents would have left the fellows they are devouring, and made a snap at me; but I am happy to recollect they are of marble.—I thank you, Sir, [Page] most heartily, said the other, for putting me in mind of that circumstance; till you mentioned it, I was in agony for those two youths.

Nothing can be conceived more admirably executed than this affecting groupe; in all probability, it never would have entered into my own head that it could have been in any respect improved. But when I first had the happiness of becoming acquainted with Mr. Locke, a period of my life which I shall always recollect with peculiar pleasure, I remember my conversing with him upon this subject; and that Gentleman, after mentioning the execution of this piece, in the highest terms of praise, observed that, had the figure of Laocoon been alone, it would have been perfect. As a man suffering the most excruciating bodily pain with becoming fortitude, it admits of no improvement; his proportions, his form his action, his expression, are exquisite. But when his sons appear▪ he is no longer an insulted, suffering individual, who, when he has met pain and death with dignity, has done all that could be expected from man; he commences father, and a much wider field i [...] opened to the artist. We expect the deepest pathos in the exhibition of the sublimest character that art can offer to the contemplation of the human mind▪ A father forgetting pain, and instant death, to save his children.

This Sublime and Pathetic the artist either did not see, or despaired of attaining. Laocoon's sufferings are merely corporal: he is dea [...] to the cries of his agonizing children, who are calling on him for assistance. But had he been throwing a look of anguish upon his sons, had he seemed to have forgotten his own sufferings in their, he would have commanded the sympathy of the spectator in a much higher degree. On the whole, Mr. Locke was of opinion, that the execution of this groupe is perfect, but that the conception i [...] not equal to the execution. I shall leave it to other▪ to decide whether Mr. Lo [...]k, in these observations, spoke like a man of taste: I am sure he spoke like a father. I have sensibility to feel the beauty and justness of the remark, though I had not the ingenuity to make it.

It is disputed whether this groupe was formed from Virgil's description of the death of Laocoon and his sons, o [...] the description made from the groupe; it is evident, from their minute resemblance, that one or other must have been the case. The Poet mentions a circumstance, which could not be represented by the sculptor; he says that, although every other person around [...]ought safety by flight, the father was attacked by the serpents, While he was advancing to the assistance of his sons—

—auxilio sub [...]tem as tel [...] ferentem.

The wretched father running to their aid,

With pious [...]aste, but vain, they next i [...] vad,

DRYDEN.

[Page] This deficiency in the sculptor's art would have been finely supplied by the improvement which Mr. Lo [...]k proposed.

Reflecting on the dreadful condition of three persons entangled in the horrid twinings of serpents, and after contemplating the varied anguish so strongly expressed in their countenances, it is a relief to turn the eye to the heavenly figure of the Apollo. To form an adequate idea of the beauty of this statue, it is absolutely necessary to see it. With all the advantages of colour and life, the human form never appeared so beautiful; and we never can sufficiently admire the artist, who has endowed marble with a finer expression of grace, dignity, and understanding, than ever were seen in living features. In the forming of this inimitable figure, the artist seems to have wrought after an ideal form of beauty, superior to any in nature, and which existed only in his own imagination.

The admired statue of Antinous is in the same Court. Nothing can be more light, elegant, and easy; the proportions are exact, and the execution perfect. It is an exquisite representation of the most beautiful youth that ever lived.

The statue of Apollo represents something superior, and the emotions it excites are all of the sublime cast.

LETTER XLVIII. The present Pope.—Ganganelli.—A Scotch Presbyterian.

ROME.

THE present Pope, who has assumed the name of Pius the Sixth, is a tall, well-made man, about sixty years of age, but retaining in his look all the freshness of a much earlier period of life. He lays a greater stress on the ceremonious part of religion than his predecessor Ganganelli, in whose reign a great relaxation of church-discipline is thought to have taken place. The late Pope was a man of moderation, good sense, and simplicity of manners; and could not go through all the ostentatious parade which his station required, without reluctance, and marks of disgust. He knew that the opinions of mankind had undergone a very great change since those ceremonies were established; and that some of the most respectable of the spectators considered as perfectly frivolous many things which formerly had been held as sacred. A man of good sense may seem to lay the greatest weight on ceremonies which he himself considers as ridiculous, provided he thinks the people, in whose sight he goes through them, are impressed with a conviction of their importance; but if he knows that some of the beholders are entirely of a different way of thinking, he will be strongly tempted to evince, by some means or other, that he despises the fooleries he performs, as much as any of them. This, in all probability, was the case with Ganganelli; who, besides, was an enemy to fraud and hypocrisy of every kind. But, however, [Page] remiss he may have been with regard to the etiquette of his spiritual functions, every body acknowledges his diligence and activity in promoting the temporal good of his subjects. He did all in his power to revive trade, and to encourage manufactures and industry of every kind▪ He built no churches, but he repaired the roads all over the ecclesiastical state; he restrained the malevolence of bigots, removed absurd prejudices, and promoted sentiments of charity and good-will to mankind in general, without excepting even heretics.

His enemies, the Jesuits, with an intention to make him odious in the eyes of his own subjects, gave him the name of the Protestant Pope. If they supposed that this calumny would be credited, on account of the conduct above mentioned, they at once paid the highest compliment to the Pope and the Protestant religion. The careless manner in which Ganganelli performed certain functions, and the general tenour of his life and sentiments, were lamented by politicians, as well as by bigots. However frivolous the former might think many ceremonies in themselves, they still considered them as of political importance, in such a government as that of Rome; and the Conclave held on the death of the late Pope, are thought to have been in some degree influenced by such considerations in chusing his successor.

The present Pope, before he was raised to that dignity, was considered as a firm believer in all the tenets of the Roman Church, and a strict and scrupulous observer of all its injunctions and ceremonials. As his pretensions, in point of family, fortune, and connexions, were smaller than those of most of his brother cardinals, it is the more probable that he owed his elevation to this part of his character, which rendered him a proper person to check the progress of abuses that had been entirely neglected by the late Pope; under whose administration free-thinking was said to have been countenanced, Protestantism in general regarded with diminished abhorrence, and the Calvinists in particular treated with a degree of indulgence, to which their inveterate enmity to the church of Rome gave them no title. Several instances of this are enumerated, and one in particular, which, I dare say, you will think a stronger proof of the late Pope's good sense and good humour, than of that negligence to which his enemies inputed it.

A Scotch presbyterian having heated his brain, by reading the Book of Martyrs, the cruelties of the Spanish Inquisition, and the Histories of all the persecutions that ever were raised by the Roman Catholics against the Protestants, was seized with a dread, that the same horrors were just about to be renewed. This terrible idea disturbed his imagination day and night; he thought of nothing but racks and scaffolds; and, on one occasion, he dreamt that there was a continued train of bonfires, with a tar-barrel and a Protestant in each, all the way from Smithfield to St. Andrew's.

He communicated the anxiety and distress of his mind to a worthy sensible clergyman who lived in the neighbourhood. This [Page] gentleman took great pains to quiet his fears, proving to him by strong and obvious arguments, that there was little or no danger of such an event as he dreaded.

These reasonings had a powerful effect while they were delivering, but the impression did not last, and was always effaced by a few pages of the Book of Martyrs. As soon as the clergyman remarked this, he advised the relations to remove that, and every book which treated of persecution and martyrdom, entirely out of the poor man's reach.

This was done accordingly, and books of a less gloomy complexion were substituted in their place; but as all of them formed a strong contrast with the colour of his mind, he could not bear their perusal, but betook himself to the study of the Bible, which was the only book of his ancient library which had been left; and so strong a hold had his former studies taken of his imagination, that he could relish no part of the Bible, except the Revelation of St. John, a great part of which, he thought, referred to the whore of Babylon, or in other words, the Pope of Rome. This part of the scripture he perused continually with unabating ardour and delight. His friend, the clergyman having observed this took occasion to say, that every part of the Holy Bible, was, without doubt, most sublime, and wonderfully instructive; yet he was surprised to see that he limited his studies entirely to the last book, and neglected all the rest.

To which the other replied, That he who was a divine, and a man of learning, might, with propriety, read all the sacred volume from beginning to end; but, for his own part, he thought proper to confine himself to what he could understand; and therefore, though he had a due respect for all the scripture, he acknowledged he gave a preference to the Revelation of St. John. This answer entirely satisfied the clergyman; he did not think it expedient to question him any farther; he took his leave, after having requested the people of the family with whom this person lived, to have a watchful eye on their relation.

In the mean time, this poor man's terrors, with regard to the revival of popery and persecution, daily augmented; and nature, in all probability, would have sunk under the weight of such accumulated anxiety, had not a thought occurred which relived his mind in an instant, by suggesting an infallible method of preventing all the evils which his imagination had been brooding over for so long a time. The happy idea which afforded him so much comfort, was no other, than that he should immediately go to Rome, and convert the Pope from the Roman Catholic to the Presbyterian religion.

The moment he hit on this fortunate expedient, he felt at once the strongest impulse to undertake the task, and the fullest conviction that his undertaking would be crowned with success; it is no wonder, therefore, that his countenance threw off its former gloom, and that all his features brightened with the heart-felt thrillings of [Page] happiness and self-applause. While his relations congratulated each other on this agreeable change, the exulting visionary, without communicating his design to any mortal, set out for London, took his passage to Leghorn, and, in a short time after, arrived in perfect health of body, and in exalted spirits, at Rome.

He directly applied to an ecclesiastic of his own country, of whose obliging temper he had previously heard, and whom he considered as a proper person to procure him an interview necessary for the accomplishment of his project. He informed that gentleman, that he earnestly wished to have a conference with the Pope, on a business of infinite importance, and which admitted of no delay. It was not difficult to perceive the state of this poor man's mind; the good-natured ecclesiastic endeavoured to sooth and amuse him, putting off the conference till a distant day; in hopes that means might be fallen on, during the interval, to prevail on him to return to his own country.

A few days after this, however, he happened to go to St. Peter's church, at the very time when his Holiness was performing some religious ceremony. At this sight our impatient missionary felt all his passions inflamed with irresistible ardour; he could no longer wait for the expected conference, but bursting out with zealous indignation, he exclaimed, O thou beast of nature, with seven heads and ten horns! thou mother of harlots, arrayed in purple and scarlet, and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls! throw away the golden cup of abominations, and the filthiness of thy fornication!

You may easily imagine the astonishment and hubbub that such an apostrophe, from such a person, in such a place, would occasion; he was immediately carried to prison by the Swiss halberdiers.

When it was known that he was a British subject, some who understood English were ordered to attend his examination. The first question acted of him was, "What had brought him to Rome?" He answered, To anoint the eyes of the scarlet whore with eye-salve, that she might see her wickedness. They asked, who he meant by the scarlet whore? He answered, Who else could he mean, but her who sitteth upon seven mountains who hath seduced the kings of the earth to commit fornication, and who hath gotten drunk with the blood of the saints, and the blood of the martyrs?

Many other questions were asked, and such provoking answers returned, that some suspected the man affected madness, that he might give vent to his rancour and petulance with impunity; and they were for condemning him to the gallies, that he might be taught more sense and better manners. But when they communicated their sentiments to Clement the Fourteenth, he said, with great good-humour, That he never had heard of any body whose understanding or politeness had been much improved at that school; that although the poor man's first address had been a [Page] little rough and abrupt, yet he could not help considering himself as obliged to him for his good intentions, and for his undertaking such a long journey with a view to do good. He afterwards gave orders to treat the man with gentleness while he remained in confinement, and to put him on board the first ship bound from Civita Vecchia to England, defraying the expence of his passage.

However humane and reasonable this conduct may be thought by many, there were people who condemned it as an injudicious piece of lenity, which might have a tendency to sink the dignity of the sacred office, and expose it to future insults. If such behaviour as this did not pass without blame, it may be easily supposed, that few of the late Pope's actions escaped uncensured; and many who loved the easy amiable dispositions of the man, were of opinion, that the spirit of the times required a different character on the Papal throne. This idea prevailed among the Cardinals at the late election, and the Conclave is supposed to have fixed on Cardinal Braschi to be Pope, from the same motive that the Roman senate sometimes chose a Dictator to restore and enforce the ancient discipline.

LETTER XLIX. Zeal of Pius VI.—Institution of the Jubilee.—Ceremony of building up the holy door of St. Peter's by the present Pope.—The ceremony of high mass performed by the Pope on Christmas-day—Character of the present Pope.—He is admired by the Roman women.—The Benediction pronounced in the grand area before the church of St. Peter's.

ROME.

PIUS the Sixth performs all the religious functions of his office in the most solemn manner; not only on public and extraordinary occasions, but also in the most common acts of devotion. I happened lately to be at St. Peter's church, when there was scarcely any other body there; while I lounged from chapel to chapel, looking at the sculpture and paintings, the Pope entered with a very few attendants; when he came to the statue of St. Peter. he was not satisfied with bowing, which is the usual mark of respect shewn to that image; or with kneeling, which is performed by more zealous persons; or with kissing the foot, which I formerly imagined concluded the climax of devotion; he bowed, he knelt, he kissed the foot, and then he rubbed his brow and his whole head with every mark of humility, fervour, and adoration, upon the the sacred stump.

[Page] It is no more, one half of the foot having been long since worn away by the lips of the pious; and if the example of his Holiness is universally imitated, nothing but a miracle can prevent the leg, thigh, and other parts from meeting with the some fate. This uncommon appearance of zeal in the Pope; is not imputed to hypocrisy or to policy, but is supposed to proceed entirely from a conviction of the efficacy of th [...]se holy frictions; an opinion which has given people a much higher idea of the strength of his faith, than of his understanding.

This being jubilee year, he may possibly think a greater appearance of devotion necessary now, than at any other time. The first jubilee was instituted by Boniface the Eigh [...], in the year 1300. Many ceremonies and instituations of the Roman Catholic church are founded on those of the old Heathens. This is evidently an imitation of the Roman secular games, which were exhibited every hundredth year in honour of the gods*; they lasted three days and three nights; they were attended with great pomp, and drew vast numbers of people to Rome, from all parts of Italy, and the most distant provinces.

Boniface, recollecting this, determined to institute something analogous, which would immortalize his own name, and promote the interest of the Roman Catholic religion in general, and that of the city of Rome in particular. He embraced the favourable opportunity which the beginning of a century presented; he invented a few extraordinary ceremonies, and declared the year 1300 the first jubilee year, during which he assured mankind, that heaven would be in a particular manner propitious, in granting indulgences, and remission of sins, to all who should come to Rome, and attend the functions there to be performed, at this fortunate period, which was not to occur again for one hundred years. This drew a great concourse of wealthy sinners to Rome; and the extraordinary circulation of money it occasioned, was strongly felt all over the Pope's dominions.

Clement the Sixth, regretting that these advantages should occur so seldom, abridged the period, and declared there would be a jubilee every fifty years; the second was accordingly celebrated in the year 1350.

Sixtus the Fifth, imagining that▪ the interval was still too long, once more retrenched the half; and ever since there has been a jubilee every twenty-fifth year§ It is not likely that any future Pope will think of shortening this period; if any alteration were again to take place, it most probably would be, to restore the ancient period of fifty or a hundred years; for, instead of the [Page] wealthy pilgrims who flocked to Rome from every quarter of Christendom, ninety-nine in a hundred of those who come now, are supported by alms during their journey, or are barely able to defray their own expences by the strictest oeconomy; and his Holiness is supposed at present to derive no other advantage from the uncommon fatigue he is obliged to go through on the jubilee year, except the satisfaction he feels, in reflecting on the benefit his labours confer on the souls of the beggars, and other travellers, who resort from all corners of Italy to Rome, on this blessed occasion.

The states which border on the Pope's dominions, suffer many temporal inconveniencies from the zeal of the peasants and manufacturers, the greater part of whom still make a point of visiting St. Peter's on the jubilee year; the loss sustained by the countries which such emigrants abandon, is not balanced by any advantage transferred to that to which they resort; the good arising on the whole, being entirely of a spiritual nature. By far the greater number of pilgrims come from the kingdom of Naples, whose inhabitants are said to be of a very devout and very amorous disposition. The first prompts them to go to Rome in search of that absolution which the second renders necessary; and on the year of jubilee, when indulgences are to be had at an easier rate than at any other time, those who can afford it generally carry away such a stock, as not only is sufficient to clear old scores, but will also serve as an indemnifying fund for future transgressions.

There is one door into the church of St. Peter's, which is called the Holy Door. This is always walled up, except on this distinguished year; and even then no person is permitted to enter by it, but in the humblest posture. The pilgrims, and many others, prefer crawling into the church upon their knees, by this door; to walking in; the usual way by any other. I was present at the shutting up of this Holy Door. The Pope being seated on a raised seat, or kind of throne, surrounded by Cardinals and other ecclesiastics, an anthem was sung, accompanied by all sorts of musical instruments.

During the performance, his Holiness descended from the throne, with a golden trowel in his hand, placed the first brick, and applied some mortar; he then returned to his seat, and the door was instantly built up by more expert, though less hallowed, workmen, and will remain as it is now, till the beginning of the nineteenth century, when it will be again opened, by the Pope then i [...] being, with the same solemnity that it has been now shut. Though his Holiness places but a single brick, yet it is very remarkable that this never fails to communicate its influence, in such a rapid and powerful manner, that, within about an hour, or at most an hour and a half, all the other bricks, which form the wall of the Holy Door, acquire an equal degree of sanctity with that placed by the Pope's own hands. The common people and pilgrims are well acquainted with this wonderful effect.

[Page] At the beginning of this Jubilee-year, when the late wall was thrown down, men, women, and children scrambled and fought for the fragments of the bricks and mortar, with the same eagerness which less enlightened mobs display, on days of public rejoicing, when handfuls of money are thrown among them. I have been often assured that those pieces of brick besides their sanctity, have also the virtue of curing many of the most obstinate diseases: and, if newspapers were permitted at Rome, there is not the least reason to doubt, that those cures would be attested publicly by the patients, in a manner as satisfactory and convincing as are the cures performed daily by the pills, powders, drops, and balsams advertised in the London newspapers. After the shutting of the Holy Door, mass was celebrated at midnight; and the ceremony was attended by vast multitudes of people. For my own part, I suspended my curiosity till next day, which was Christmas-day, when I returned again to St. Peter's church, and saw the Pope perform mass on that solemn occasion. His Holiness went through all the evolutions of the ceremony with an address and flexibility of body, which are rarely to be found in those who wear the tiara? who are, generally speaking, men bowing under the load of years and infirmities.

His present Holiness has hitherto suffered from neither. His features are regular, and he has a fine countenance; his person is straight, and his movements graceful. His leg and foot are remarkably well made, and always ornamented with silk stockings, and red slippers, of the most delicate construction. Notwithstanding that the papal uniforms are by no means calculated to set off the person to the greatest advantage, yet the peculiar neatness with which they are put on, and the nice adjustment of their most minute parts, sufficiently prove that his present Holiness is not insensible of the charms of his person, or un [...]olicitous about his external ornaments. Though verging towards the winter of life, his cheeks still glow with autumnal roses, which, at a little distance, appear as blooming as those of the spring. If he himself were less clear-sighted than he seems to be, to the beauties of his face and person, he could not also be deaf to the voices of the women, who break out into exclamations, in praise of both, as often as he appears in public. On a public occasion, lately, as he was carried through a particular street, a young woman at a window exclaimed, "Quanto e bello! O quanto e bello!"—How beautiful he is! O how beautiful he is! and was immediately answered by a zealous old lady at the window opposite, who, folding her hands in each other, and raising her eyes to heaven, cried out, with a mixture of love for his person, and veneration for his sacred office, Tant [...] e bello, quanto e santo! He is as beautiful as he is holy. When we know that such a quantity of incense is daily burnt under his sacred nostrils, we ought not to be astonished, though we should find his brain, on some occasions a little intoxicated.

[Page] Vanity is a very comfortable failing; and has such an universal power over mankind, that not only the gay blossoms of youth, but even the shrivelled bosom of age, and the contracted heart of bigotry, open, expand, and display strong marks of sensibility under its influence.

After mass, the Pope gave the benediction to the people assembled in the Grand Court, before the church of St. Peter's. It was a remarkably fine day; an immense multitude filled that spacious and magnificent area; the horse and foot guards were drawn up in their most showy uniform. The Pope, seated in an open, portable chair, in all the splendour which his wardrobe could give, with the tiara on his head, was carried out of a large window, which opens on a balcony in the front of St. Peter's. The silk hangings and gold trappings with which the chair was embellished, concealed the men who carried it; so that to those who viewed him from the area below, his Holiness seemed to sail forward, from the window self-balanced in the air, like a celestial being. The instant he appeared, the music struck up, the bells rung from every church, and the cannon thundered from the castle of St. Angelo in repeated peals. During the intervals, the church of St. Peter's the palace of the Vatican, and the banks of the Tiber, re-echoed the acclamations of the populace. At length his Holiness arose from his seat, and an immediate and awful silence ensued. The multitude fell upon their knees, with their hands and eyes raised towards his Holiness as to a benign Deity.

After a solemn pause, he pronounced the benediction, with great fervour; elevating his out stretched arms as high as he could; then closing them together, and bringing them back to his breast with a slow motion, as if he had got hold of the blessing, and was drawing it gently from heaven. Finally, he threw his arms open, waving them for some time, as if his intention had been to scatter the benediction with impartiality among the people.

No ceremony can be better calculated for striking the senses, and imposing on the understanding, than this of the Supreme Pontiff giving the blessing from the balcony of St. Peter's. For my own part, if I had not, in my early youth, received impressions highly unfavourable to the chief actor in this magnificent interlude I should have been in danger of paying him a degree of respect, very inconsistent with the religion in which I was educated.

LETTER L. Presented to the Pope.—Reflections on the situation of Sovereigns in general.—The Sovereign Pontiff in particular.

ROME.

IN my last, I informed you of my having been seduced almost into idolatry, by the influence of example, and the pomp which surrounded the idol. I must now confess that I have actually [Page] bowed the knee to Baal, from mere wantonness. We are told that to draw near to that Being, who ought to be the only object of worship, with our lips, while our hearts is far from him, is a mockery. Such daring and absurd hypocrisy I shall always avoid: but to have drawn near to him, who ought not to be an object of worship, with the lips only, while the heart continued at a distance I hope will be considered as no more than a venial transgression. In short, I trust, that it will not be looked on as a mortal sin in Protestants to have kissed the Pope's toe.

If it should, some of your friends are in a deplorable way, as you shall hear.—It is usual for strangers to be presented to his Holiness before they leave Rome. The Duke of Hamilton, Mr. K—, and myself, have all been at the Vatican together, upon that important business. Your young acquaintance Jack, who, having now got a commission in the army, considers himself no longer as a boy, desired to accompany us. We went under the auspices of a certain ecclesiastic, who usually attends the English on such occasions.

He very naturally concluded, that it would be most agreeable to us to have the circumstance of kissing the slipper dispensed with. Having had some conversation, therefore, with his Holiness, in his own apartment, while we remained in another room, previous to our introduction; he afterwards returned, and informed us, that the Pontiff, indulgent to the prejudices of the British nation, did not insist on that part of the ceremonial; and therefore a very low bow, on our being presented, was all that would be required of us.

A bow! cried the Duke of Hamilton; I should not have given myself any trouble about the matter, had I suspected that all was to end in a bow I look on kissing the toe as the only amusing circumstance of the whole; if that is to be omitted, I will not be introduced at all. For if the most ludicrous part is left out, who would wait for the rest of a [...]?

This was a thunderstroke to our negociator, who expected thanks at least for the honourable terms he had obtained; but who, on the contrary, found himself in the same disagreeable predicament with other negociators, who have met with abuse and reproach from their countrymen, on account of treaties for which they expected universal applause.

The Duke of Hamilton knew nothing of the treaty which our introducer had just concluded; otherwise he would certainly have prevented the negociation. As I perceived, however, that our ambassador was mortified with the thoughts that all his labour should prove abortive, I said, that, although he had prevailed with his Holiness to wave that part of the ceremonial, which his Grace thought so entertaining, yet it would unquestionably be still more agreeable to him that the whole should be performed to its utmost extent: this new arrangement, therefore, needed not be an obstruction to our being presented.

[Page] The countenance of our Conductor brightened up at this proposal. He immediately ushered us into the presence of the Supreme Pontiff. We all bowed to the ground; the supplest of the company had the happiness to touch the sacred slipper with their lips, and the least agile were within a few inches of that honour. As this was more than had been bargained for, his Holiness seemed agreeably surprised; raised the Duke with a smiling countenance, and conversed with him in an obliging manner, asking the common questions, How long he had been in Italy? Whether he found Rome agreeable? When he intended to set out for Naples?—He said something of the same kind to each of the company; and, after about a quarter of an hour or twenty minutes, we took our leave.

Next day, his Holiness sent his compliments to the Duke, with a present of two medals, one of gold, and the other of silver; on both of which the head of the Pontiff is very accurately engraved.

The manner in which the generality of sovereign princes pass their time, is as far from being amusing or agreeable, as one can possibly imagine. Slaves to the tiresome routine of etiquette; martyrs to the oppressive fatigue of pomp; constrained to walk every levee-day around the same dull circle, to gratify the vanity of fifty or a hundred people, by whispering a something or a nothing into the ears of each; obliged to wear a smiling countenance, even when the heart is oppressed with sadness; besieged by the craving faces of those, who are more displeased at what is with-held, than grateful for the favours they have received; surrounded, as he constantly i [...], by adepts in the art of simulation, all professing the highest possible regard; how shall the puzzled monarch distinguish real from assumed attachment? and what a risk does he run, of placing his confidence where he ought to have directed his indignation! And, to all these inconveniencies, when we add this, that he is precluded from those delightful sensations which spring from disinterested friendship, sweet equality, and the gay, careless enjoyments of social life, we must acknowledge, that all that is brilliant in the condition of a sovereign, is not sufficient to compensate for such restraints, such dangers, and such deprivations.

So far indeed are we from considering that envied condition as enviable, that great part of mankind are more apt to think it insupportable; and are surprised to find, that those unhappy men, whom fate has condemned to suffer the pains of royalty for life, are able to wait with patience for the natural period of their days. For, strange as it may appear, history does not furnish us with an instance, not even in Great Britain itself, of a king, who hanged, or drowned, or put himself to death in any other violent manner, from mere taedium, as other mortals, disgusted with life, are apt to do. I was at a loss to account for such an extraordinary fact, till I recollected that, however void of resources and activity the minds of monarchs may be, they are seldom allowed to rest in repose. The storms to which people in their lofty situation are [Page] exposed, occasion such agitations as prevent the stagnating slime of taedium from gathering on their minds. That kings do not commit suicide, therefore, affords only a very slender presumption of the happiness of their condition: although it is a strong proof, that all the hurricanes of life are not so insupportable to the human mind, as that insipid, fearless, hopeless calm, which envelopes men who are devoid of mental enjoyments, and whose senses are palled with satiety. If there is any truth in the above representation of the regal condition, would not you imagine that of all others it would be the most shunned? Would not you imagine that every human being would shrink from it, as from certain misery; and that at least every wise man would say, with the Poet,

I envy none their pageantry and show,

I envy none the gilding of their woe?

Not only every wise man, but every foolish man, will adopt the sentiment, and act accordingly; provided his rank in life removes him from the possibility of ever attaining the objects in question. For what is situated beyond the sphere of our hopes, very seldom excites our desires; but bring the powerful magnets a little nearer, and they attract the human passions with a force which reason and philosophy cannot controul. Placed within their reach, the wise and the foolish grasp with equal eagerness at crowns and sceptr [...]s, in spite of all the thorns with which they are surrounded. Their alluring magic seems to have the power of changing the very characters and natures of men. In pursuit of them, the indolent have been excited to the most active exertions, the voluptuous have renounced their darling pleasures; and even those who have long walked in the direct road of integrity, have deviated into all the crooked paths of villainy and fraud.

There are passions, whose indulgence is so exceedingly flattering to the natural vanity of men, that they will gratify them, though persuaded that the gratification will be attended by disappointment and misery. The love of power and sovereignty is of this class. It has been a general belief, ever since the kingly office was established among men, that cares and anxiety were the constant attendants of royalty. Yet this general conviction never made a single person decline an opportunity of embarking on this sea of troubles. Every new adventurer flatters himself that he shall be guided by some happy star undiscovered by former navigators; and those who, after trial, have relinquished the voyage—Charles, Christina, Amadeus, and others—when they had quitted the helm, and were safely arrived in po [...], are said to have languished, all the rest of their live, for that situation which their own experience taught them was fraught with misery.

Henry the Fourth of England did not arrive at the throne by the natural and direct road, Shakespeare puts the following Address to Sleep, into the mouth of this monarch:

[Page]

—O Sleep! O gentle Sleep!

Nature's loft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And sleep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, Sleep, lie [...]t thou in smoky cribs,

Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with busy night flies to thy slumber;

Than in the perfum'd chambers of the Great,

Under the canopies af costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull God! why ly'st thou with the vile

In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch?

A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?

Wilt thou, upon the high and giddy mast,

Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains

In cradle of the rude imperious surge;

And in the visitation of the winds,—

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them

With deaf'ning clamours in the slipp'ry shrouds,—

Canst thou, O partial Sleep! give thy repose

To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;

And, in the calmest and most stillest night,

With all appliances ánd means to boot,

Deny it to a King?

However eager and impatient this Prince may have formerly been to obtain the crown, you would conclude that he was quite cloyed by possession at the time he made this speech; and therefore, at first sight, you would not expect that he should afterward [...] display any excessive attachment to what gives him so much uneasiness. But Shakespeare, who knew the secret wishes, perverse desires, and strange inconsistencies of the human heart, better than man ever knew them, makes this very Henry so tenaciously fond of that which he himself considered as the cause of all his inquietude, that he cannot bear to have the crown one moment out of his sight, but orders it to be placed on his pillow when he lies on his death-bed.

Of all diadems, the Tiara, in my opinion, has the fewest charms; and nothing can afford a stronger proof of the strength and perseverance of man's passion for sovereign power, than our knowledge, that even this ecclesiastical crown is sought after with [Page] as much eagerness, perhaps with more than any crown in the world, although the candidates are generally in the decline of life, and all of a profession which avows the most perfect contempt of worldly grandeur. This appears the more wonderful when we reflect, that, over and above those sources of weariness and vexation, which the Pope has in common with other sovereigns, he has some which are peculiar to himself.—The tiresome religious functions which he must perform, the ungenial solitude of his meals, the exclusion of the company and conversation of women, restriction from the tenderest and most delightful connexions in life, from the endearments of a parent, and the open acknowledgment of his own children; his mind oppressed with the gloomy reflection, that the man for whom he has the least regard, perhaps his greatest enemy, may be his immediate successor; to which is added, the pain of seeing his influence, both spiritual and temporal, declining every day; and the mortification of knowing, that all his ancient lofty pretensions are laughed at by one half of the Roman Catholics, all the Protestants, and totally disregarded by the rest of mankind. I know of nothing which can be put in the other scale to balance all those peculiar disadvantages which his Holiness labours under, unless it is the singular felicity which he lawfully may, and no doubt does enjoy, in the contemplation of his own infallibility.

LETTER LI. Modern Romans.—Roman women compared with those of England.—Portrait painting in Italy, and elsewhere.

ROME.

IN their external deportment, the Italians have a grave solemnity of manner, which is sometimes thought to arise from a natural gloominess of disposition. The French, above all other nations, are apt to impute to melancholy, the sedate serious air which accompanies reflection.

Though in the pulpit, on the theatre, and even in common conversation, the Italians make use of a great deal of action; yet Italian vivacity is different from French; the former proceeds from sensibility, the latter from animal spirits.

The inhabitants of this country have not brisk look, and elastic trip, which is universal in France; they move rather with a slow composed pace: their spines never having been forced into a straight line▪ retain the natural bend; and the people of the most finished fashion, as well as the neglected vulgar, seem to prefer the unconstrained attitude of the A [...]ntinous, and other antique statues, to the artificial graces of a French dancing-master, or the erect strut of a German soldier. I imagine I perceive a great resemblance between many of the living countenances I see daily, and the features [Page] of the ancient busts and statues; which leads me to believe, that there are a greater number of the genuine descendants of the old Romans in Italy, than is generally imagined.

I am often struck with the fine character of countenance to be seen in the streets of Rome. I never saw features more expressive of reflection, sense, and genius: in the very lowest ranks there are countenances which announce minds fit for the highest and most important situations; and we cannot help regretting, that those to whom they belong, have not received an education adequate to the natural abilities we are convinced they possess, and placed where these abilities could be brought into action.

Of all the countries in Europe, Switzerland is that in which the beauties of nature appear in the greatest variety of forms, and on the most magnificent scale; in that country, therefore, the young landscape painter has the best chance of seizing the most sublime ideas: but Italy, is the best school for the history painter, not only on account of its being enriched with the works of the greatest masters, and the noblest models of antique sculpture; but also on account of the fine expressive style of the Italian countenance. Here you have few or none of those fair, fat, glistening, unmeaning faces, so common in the more northern parts of Europe.

I happened once to sit by a foreigner of my acquaintance at the Opera in the Hay-market, when a certain Nobleman, who at that time was a good deal talked of, entered. I whispered him.—"That is Lord—." "Not surely the famous Lord—," said he. Yes, said I, the very same. It must be acknowledged then, continued he, that the noble Earl does infinite honour to those who have had the care of his education. How so? rejoined I. "Because," replied the foreigner, a countenance so completely vacant strongly indicates a deficiency of natural abilities; the respectable figure he makes in the senate, I therefore presume must be entirely owing to instruction. Strangers, on their arrival at Rome, form no high idea of the beauty of the Roman women, from the specimens they see in the fashionable circles to which they are first introduced. There are some exceptions; but in general it must be acknowledged, that the present race of women of high rank, are more distinguished by their other ornaments, than by their beauty,

Among the citizens, however, and in the lower classes, you frequently meet with the most beautiful countenances. For a brilliant red and white, and all the charms of complexion, no women are equal to the English. If a hundred, or any greater number, of English women were taken at random, and compared with the same number of the wives and daughters of the citizens of Rome, I am convinced, that ninety of the English would be found handsomer than ninety of the Romans; but the probability is, that two or three in the hundred Italians, would have finer countenances than any of the English.

[Page] English beauty is more remarkable in the country, than in towns; the peasantry of no country in Europe can stand a comparison, in point of looks, with those of England. That race of people have the conveniencies of life in no other country in such perfection; they are no where so well fed, so well defended from the injuries of the seasons; and no where else do they keep themselves so perfectly clean, and free from all the vilifying effects of dirt. The English country girls, taken collectively, are, unquestionably, the handsomest in the world.

The female peasants of most other countries, indeed, are so hard worked, so ill fed, so much tanned by the sun, and so dirty, that it is difficult to know whether they have any beauty or not. Yet I have been informed, by some Amateurs, since I came here, that, in spite of all these disadvantages, they sometimes find, among the Italian peasantry, countenances highly interesting, and which they prefer to all the cherry cheeks of Lancashire.

Beauty, doubtless, is infinitely varied; and happily for mankind, their tastes and opinions, on the subject, are equally various. Notwithstanding this variety, however, a style of face, in some measure peculiar to its own inhabitants, has been found to prevail in each different nation of Europe. This peculiar countenance is again greatly varied, and marked with every degree of discrimination between the extremes of beauty and ugliness. I will give you a sketch of the general style of the most beautiful female heads in this country, from which you may judge whether they are to your taste or not.

A great profusion of dark hair, which seems to encroach upon the forehead, rendering it short and narrow; the nose generally either aquiline, or continued in a straight line from the lower part of the brow; a full and short upper lip; by the way, nothing has a worse effect on a countenance, than a large interval between the nose and mouth; the eyes are large, and of a sparkling black. The black eye certainly labours under one disadvantage, which is, that, from the it is and pupil being of the same colour, the contraction and dilatation of the latter is no [...] ▪ seen, by which the eye is abridged of half its powers.

Yet the Italian eye is wonderful expressive; some people think it says too much. The complexion, for the most part, is or a clear brown, sometimes fair, but very seldom florid, or of that bright fairness which is common in England and Saxony. It must be owned, that those features which have a fine expression of sentiment and meaning in youth, are more apt, than less expressive faces, to become soon strong and masculine. In England and Germany▪ the women, a little advanced in life, retain the appearance of youth longer than in Italy.

With countenances so favourable for the pencil, you will naturally imagine, that portrait painting is in the highest perfection here. The reverse, however, of this is true; that branch of the art is in the lowest estimation all over Italy. In palaces, the best [Page] furnished with pictures, you seldom see a portrait of the proprietor, or any of his family. A quarter length of the reigning Pope is sometimes the only portrait, of a living person, to be seen in the whole palace. Several of the Roman Princes affect to have a room of state, or audience chamber, in which is a raised seat like a throne, with a canopy over it.

In those rooms the effigies of the Pontiffs are hung; they are the work of very inferior artists, and seldom cost above three or four sequins. As soon as his Holiness departs this life, the portrait disappears, and the face of his successor is in due time hung up in its stead. This, you will say, is treating their old sovereign a little unkindly, and paying no very expensive compliment to the new; it is not so oeconomical, however, as what was practised by a certain person.

I shall not inform you whether he was a Frenchman or an Englishman, but he certainly was a courtier, and professed the highest possible regard for all living monarchs; but considered them as no better than any other piece of clay when dead. He had a full length picture of his own Sovereign in the principal room of his house; on his majesty's death, to save himself the expence of a fresh body, and a new suit of ermine, he employed a painter to brush out the face and periwig, and clap the new King's he [...]d on his grandfather's shoulders; which, he declared, were in the most perfect preservation, and fully able to wear out three or four such heads as painters usually give in these degenerate days.

The Italians, in general, very seldom take the trouble of sitting for their pictures. They consider a portrait as a piece of painting, which engages the admiration of nobody but the person it represents, or the painter who drew it. Those who are in circumstances to pay the best artists, generally employ them in some subject more universally interesting, than the representation of human countenances staring out of a piece of canvas.

Pompeio Batto [...]i is the best Italian painter now at Rome. His taste and genius led him to history painting, and his reputation was originally acquired in that line; but by far the greater part of his fortune, whatever that may be, has flowed through a different channel. His chief employment, for many years past, has been painting the portraits of the young English, and other strangers of fortune, who visit Rome. There are artists in England, superior in this, and every other branch of painting, to Batto [...]i. They, like him, are seduced from the free walks of geniu [...], and chained, by interest, to the servile drudgery of copying faces. Beauty is worthy of the most delicate pencil; but, gracious heaven [...] why should every periwig-pated fellow, without countenance or character, insist on seeing his chubby cheeks on canvas?

"Could y [...] not give a little expression to that countenance?" said a gentleman to an eminent English painter, who showed him a portrait which he had just finished. I made that attempt already, replied the painter; but what the picture gained in expression, [Page] is lost in likeness; and by the time there was a little common sense in the countenance, nobody knew for whom it was intended. I was obliged, therefore, to make an entire new picture, with the face perfectly like, and perfectly meaningless, as you see it.

Let the colours for ever remain, which record the last fainting efforts of Chatham; the expiring triumph of Wolfe; or the indecision of Garrick, equally allured by the two contending Muses! But let them perish and fly from the canvas, which blind selflove spreads for insipidity and ugliness! Why should posterity know, that the first genius of the age, and those whose pencils were formed to speak to the heart, and delineate beauteous Nature, were chiefly employed in copying faces? and many of them, faces that imitate humanity so abominably, that, to use Hamlet's expression, they seem not the genuine work of Nature, but of Nature's journeymen.

To this ridiculous self-love, equally prevalent among the great, vulgar and small, some of the best painters in France, Germany, and Great-Britain, are obliged for their subsistence. This creates a suspicion, that a taste for the real beauties of painting, is not quite so universal, as a sensibility to their own personal beauties, among the individuals of these countries. And nothing can be a stronger proof of the important light in which men appear in their own eyes, and their small importance in those of others, than the different treatment which the generality of portraits receive, during the life, and after the death, of their constituents.

During the first of these periods, they inhabit the finest apartments of the houses to which they belong; they are flattered by the guests, and always viewed with an eye of complacency by the landlord.

But, after the commencement of the second, they begin to be neglected; in a short time are ignominiously thrust up to the garret; and, to fill up the measure of their affliction, they finally are thrown out of doors, in the most barbarous manner, without distinction of rank, age, or sex. Those of former times are scattered, like Jews, with their long beards and brown complexions, all over the face of the earth; and, even of the present century, Barons of the most ancient families, armed cap-a-pee, are to be purchased for two or three ducats, in most of the towns of Germany. French Marquises in full suits of embroidered velvet, may be had at Paris still cheaper; and many worshipful citizens of London are to be seen dangling on the walls of an auction-room, when they are scarce cold in their graves.

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LETTER LII. Carnival at Rome—Masquerades and other amusements in the Corso.—Horseraces.—Serious Opera.—Great sensibility in a young woman.—Extravagant expression of a Roman Citizen at the Opera.—A Serenade on Christmas morning.—Female performers prohibited on the Theatres at Rome.—Eunuchs substituted.—The effect on the minds of spectators.

ROME.

THERE are no theatrical entertainments permitted in this city, except during the Carnival; but they are then attended with a degree of ardour unknown in capitals whose inhabitants are under no such restraint. Every kind of amusement, indeed, in this gay season, is followed with the greatest eagerness. The natural gravity of the Roman citizens is changed into a mirthful vivacity; and the serious, sombre city of Rome exceeds Paris itself in sprightliness and gaiety. This spirit seems gradually to augment, from its commencement; and is at its height in the last week of the six which comprehend the Carnival. The citizens then appear in the streets, masked, in the characters of Harlequins, Pantaloons, Punchinellos, and all the fantastic variety of a masquerade. This humour spreads to men, women, and children; descends to the lowest ranks, and becomes universal. Even those who put on no mask, and have no desire to remain unknown, reject their usual clothes, and assume some whimsical dress. The coachmen, who are placed in a more conspicuous point of view than others of the same rank in life, and who are perfectly known by the carriages they drive, generally affect some ridiculous disguise: Many of them chuse a woman's dress, and have their faces painted, and adorned with patches. However dull these fellows may be, when in breeches, they are, in petticoats, considered as the pleasantest men in the world; and excite much laughter in every street in which they appear. I observed to an Italian of my acquaintance, that, considering the staleness of the joke, I was surprised at the mirth it seemed to raise.

"When a whole city," answered he, are resolved to be merry for a week together, it is exceedingly convenient to have a few established jokes ready made; the young laugh at the novelty, and the old from prescription. This metamorphosis of the coachmen is certainly not the most refined kind of wit; however, it is more harmless than the burning of heretics, which formerly, was a great source of amusement to our populace.

The street, called the Corso, is the great scene of these masquerades. It is crowded every night with people of all conditions: [Page] Those of rank come in coaches, or in open carriages, made on purpose. A kind of civil war is carried on by the company, as they pass each other. The greatest mark of attention you can shew your friends and acquaintance, is, to throw a handfull of little white balls, resembling sugar-plumbs, full in their faces; and, if they are not deficient in politeness, they will instantly return you the compliment. All who wish to make a figure in the Corso, come well supplied with this kind of ammunition.

Sometimes two or three open carriages, on a side, with five or six persons of both sexes in each, draw up opposite to each other, and fight a pi [...]ched battle. On these occasions, the combatants are provided with whole bags full of the small shot above mentioned, which they throw at each other, with much apparent fury, till their ammunition is exhausted, and the field of battle is as white as snow.

The peculiar dresses of every nation of the globe, and of every profession, besides all the fantastic characters usual at masquerades, are to be seen on the Corso. Those of Harlequin and Pantaloon are in great vogue among the men. The citizens wives and daughters generally affect the pomp of women of quality; while their brothers, or other relations, appear as train-bearers and attendants.

In general, they seem to delight in characters the most remote from their own. Young people assume the long beard, tottering step, and other concomitants of old age; the aged chuse the bib and rattle of childhood; and the women of quality, and women of the town, appear in the characters of country maidens, nuns, and vestal virgins. All endeavour to support the assumed characters, to the best of their ability; but none, in my opinion, succeed so well as those who represent children.

Towards the dusk of the evening, the horse-race takes place. As soon as this is announced, the coaches, cabriolets, triumphal cars and carriages of every kind, are drawn up, and line the street; leaving a space in the middle for the racers to pass. These are five or six horses, trained on purpose for this diversion; they are drawn up a-breast in the Piazza del Popolo, exactly where the Corso begins. Certain balls, with little sharp spikes, are hung along their sides, which serve to spur them on.

As soon as they begin to run, those animals, by their impatience to be gone, shew that they understand what is required of them, and that they take as much pleasure as the spectators in the sport. A broad piece of canvas spread across the entrance of the street, prevents them from starting too soon: the dropping that canvas is the signal for the race to begin. The horses fly off together, and, without riders, exert themselves to the utmost; impelled by emulation, the shou [...]s of the populace, and the spurs above mentioned. They run the whole length of the Corso; and the proprietor of the victor is rewarded by a certain quantity of fine scarlet or purple cloth, which is always furnished by the Jews.

[Page] This diversion, such as it is, seems highly entertaining to the Roman populace; though it appears a mighty foolish business in the eyes of Englishmen. An acquaintance of mine, who had entirely ruined a fine fortune at Newmarket, told me, that Italian horse-races were the most absurd things in the world; that there were not a hundred guineas lost or won during a whole Carnival; and nothing could be a greater proof of the folly of the people, than their spending their time in such a silly manner.

Masking and horse-races are confined to the last eight days; but there are theatrical entertainments, of various kinds, during the whole six weeks of the Carnival. The Serious Opera is most frequented by people of fashion, who generally take boxes for the whole season. The opera, with which this theatre opened, was received with the highest applause, though the music only was new. The Italians do not think it always necessary to compose new words for what is called a new opera; they often satisfy themselves with new music to the affecting dramas of Metastasio. The audience here seem to lend a more profound and continued attention to the music, than at Venice. This is probably owing to the entertainment being a greater rarity in the one city than in the other; for I could perceive that the people of fashion, who came every night, began, after the opera had been repeated several nights, to abate in their attention, to receive visitors in their boxes, and to listen only when some favourite airs were singing: whereas the audience in the pit uniformly preserve the most perfect silence, which is only interrupted by gentle murmurs of pleasure from a fe [...] individuals, or an universal burst of applause from the whole assembly.

I never saw such genuine marks of satisfaction displayed by any assembly, on any occasion whatever. The sensibility of some of the audience gave me an idea of the power of sounds, which the dulness of my own auditory nerves could never have conveyed to my mind. At certain airs, silent enjoyment was expressed in every countenance; at others, the hands were clasped together, the eyes half shut, and the breath drawn in, with a prolonged sigh, as if the soul was expiring in a torrent of delight. One young woman, in the pit, called out, O Di [...], dove sono! [...]he piacer via cac [...]ia l'alma?—O God, where am I? what pleasure ravishes my soul!

On the first night of the opera, after one of these favourite airs, an universal shout of applause took place, intermingled with demands that the composer of the music should appear. Il Maestro! il Maestro! resounded from every corner of the house. He was present, and led the band of music; he was obliged to stand upon the bench, where he continued, bowing to the spectators, till they were tired of applauding him. One person, in the middle of the pit, whom I had remarked displaying great signs of satisfaction from the beginning of the performance, cried out, He deserves to be made chief musician to the Virgin, and to lead a chair of angels. [Page] This expression would be thought strong, in any country; but it has peculiar energy here where it is a popular opinion, that the Virgin Mary is very fond, and an excellent judge, of music. I received this information on Christmas morning, when I was looking at two poor Calabrian pipers doing their utmost to please her, and the Infant in her arms. They played for a full hour to one of her images which stands at the corner of a street. All the other statues of the Virgin, which are placed in the streets, are serenaded in the same manner every Christmas morning.

On my enquiring into the meaning of that ceremony, I was told the above-mentioned circumstance of her character, which, though you may have always thought highly probable, perhaps you never before knew for certain. My informer was a pilgrim, who stood listening with great devotion to the pipers. He told me, at the same time, that the Virgin's taste was too refined to have much satisfaction in the performance of those poor Calabrians, which was chiefly intended for the Infant; and he desired me to remark, that the tunes were plain, simple, and such as might naturally be supposed agreeable to the ea [...] of a child of his time of life.

Though the serious opera is in the highest estimation, and more regularly attended by people of the first fashion; yet the opera buffa [...], or burlettas, are not entirely neglected, even by them, and are crowded, every night, by the middle and lower classes. Some admired singers have performed there during the Cavnival, and the musical composers have rendered them highly pleasing to the general taste.

The serious and burlesque operas prevail infinitely over the other theatrical entertainments at Rome, in spite of the united efforts of Harlequin, Pantaloon▪ and Punchinello.

The prohibition of female performers renders the amusement of the Roman theatre very insipid, in the opinion of some unrefined Englishmen of your acquaintance who are here. In my own poor opinion, the natural sweetness of the female voice is ill supplied by the artificial trills of wretched castratos; and the aukward agility of robust sinewy fellows dressed in women's clothes is a most deplorable substitution for the graceful movements of elegant female dancers.

Is not the horrid practice which is encouraged by this manner of supplying the place of female singers, a greater outrage on religion and morality, than can be produced by the evils which their prohibition is intended to prevent? Is it possible to believe, that purity of sentiment will be perserved by producing eunuchs on the stage? I should fear it would have a different effect. At the funeral of Junia, the wife of Cassius, and sister of Brutus, the statues of all the great persons connected with her family by blood or alliance, were carried in procession, except those of her brother and husband. This deficiency struck the people more than any part of the procession, and brought the two illustrious Romans into their minds with more force than if their statues had been carried with the [Page] other.—Pr [...]fulgeb [...]nt Cassius atque Brutus, says Tacitus, [...]o ipso, quod effigies corum non visebantur.—The memory of Cassius and Brutus made a deeper impression on the minds of the spectators, on this very account, that their statues were not seen in the procession.

LETTER LIII. Journey from Rome to Naples.—Valetri—Otho.—Sermonetta.—Peevish Travellers—Monte Circello.—Piperno.—Fossa Nuova.

NAPLES.

I TAKE the first opportunity of informing you of our arrival in this city. Some of the principal objects which occurred on the road, with the sentiments they suggested to my mind, shall form the subject of this letter.

It is almost impossible to go out of the walls of Rome, without being impressed with melancholic ideas. Having left that city by St. John de Lateran's gate, we soon entered a spacious plain, and drove for several miles in sight of sepulchral monuments and the ruins of ancient aqueducts.

Sixtus the Fifth repaired one of them, to bring water into that part of Rome where Dioclesian's baths formerly stood: this water as now called aqua felice, from Felix, the name of that pontiff, while he was only a Cordelier. Having changed horses at the Torre de Mezzo Via, so called from an old tower near the posthouse, we proceeded through a silent, deserted, unwholesome country. We scarce met a passenger between Rome and Marino, a little town about twelve miles from the former, which has its name from Caius Marius, who had a villa there; it now belongs to the Colonna family.

While fresh horses were harnessing, we visited two churches, to see two pictures which we had heard commended; the subject of one is as disagreeable, as that of the other is difficult to execute. The connoisseur who directed us to these pieces, told me, that the first, the flaying of St. Bartholomew, by Guer [...]ino, is in a great style, finely coloured, and the muscles convulsed with pain in the sweetest manner imaginable; he could have gazed at it for ever. "As for the other," added he which represents the Trinity, it is natural, well grouped, and easily understood; and that is all that can be said for it.

From Marino, the road runs for several miles over craggy mountains. In ascending Mons albanus, we were charmed with a fine view of the country towards the sea; Ostia, Antium, the lake Albano, and the fields adjacent. The form and component parts of this mountain plainly shew, that it has formerly been a volcano. The lake of Nemi, which we left to the right, seems, like that of Albano, to have been formed in the cavity of a crater.

[Page] We came next to Valetri, an inconsiderable town, situated on a hill. There is one palace here, with spacious gardens, which, when kept in repair, may have been magnificent. The stair-case, they assured us, is still worthy of admiration. The inhabitants of Val [...]tri assert, that Augustus was born there. Suetonius says, he was born at Rome. It is certainly of no importance where he was born. Perhap [...] it would have been better for Rome, and for the world in general, that he never had been born at all. The Valetrians are so fond of emperors, that they claim a connection even with Tiberius and Caligula, who had villas in their neighbourhood. The ruins of Otho's palace are still to be seen about a mile from this city, at a place called Colle Ottone. Of those four emperors, the last-mentioned was by much the best worth the claiming as a countryman. As for Caligula, he was a mischievous madman.

Tiberius seems to have been born with wicked dispositions, which he improved by art. Augustus was naturally wicked, and artificially virtuous; and Otho seems to have been exactly the reverse. Though educated in the most vicious of courts, and the favourite and companion of Nero, he still preserved, in some degree, the original excellence of his character; and, at his death, displayed a magnanimity of sentiment, and nobleness of conduct, of which the highly flattered Augustus was never capable. Ali [...] diutius imper [...]um tenuerint. says Tacitus; nem [...] tam fortiter reliquerit.—Many have held the empire longer; none ever relinquished it from more generous motives. Convinced that, if he continued the Contest with Vitellius, all the horrors of a civil war would he prolonged, he determined to sacrifice his life to the quiet of his country, and to the safety of his friends.*

"To involve you in fresh calamities," said this generous prince to the officers who offered still to support his cause, is purchasing life at a price beyond what, in my opinion, is its value. Shall Roman armies be led against each other, and the Roman yo [...]th be excited to mutual slaughter, on my account? No! for your safety, and to prevent such evils, I die contented, Let me be no impediment to your treating with the enemy; nor do you any longer oppose my fixed resolution. I complain not of my fate, nor do I accuse any body. To arraign the conduct of gods or men, is natural to those only who wish to live.

Though they are not to be compared in other respects, yet the death of Otho may vie with that Cato; and is one of strongest [Page] instances to be found in history, that a life of effeminacy and voluptuousness does not always eradicate the seeds of virtue and benevolence.

In the middle of the square of Valetri, is a bronze statue of Urban the Eighth. I think they told us it is the workmanship of Bernini.

Descending from that town by a rough road, bordered by vineyards and fruit-trees, we traversed an unsalubrious plain to Sermonnetta; between which, and the post-house, called Casa Nuova, a little to the left of the highway, are some vaults and ruins, not greatly worthy of the notice of the mere antiquarian. Yet passengers of a singular cast of mind, who feel themselves as much interested in the transactions recorded in the New Testament, as men of taste are in paintings or heathen antiquities, stop a little here to contemplate the Tres Tabern [...]e, which are said to be the three Taverns mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, where the Christian brethren from Rome came to meet St. Paul, when he was on his journey to that city. I have seen, however, some christian travellers, who, without being connoisseurs, were of opinion, that old ruined houses derived little value from the circumstance above mentioned, and who preferred a good modern inn to all the antiquities, sacred or profane, that they met with on their grand tours. Without presuming to blame any set of men for their particular taste, I may venture to say, that a traveller, who loves always to see a well-peopled and well-cultivated country, who insists on good eating every day, and a neat comfortable bed every night. would judge very wisely in never travelling out of England—I am certain he ought not to travel between Rome and Naples; for on this road, especially the part which runs through the Ecclesiastical State, the traveller's chief entertainment must arise from a less substantial foundation; from the ideas formed in the mind, at sight of places celebrated by favourite authors; from a recollection of the important scenes which have been acted there; and even from the thought of treading the same ground, and viewing the same objects, with certain persons who lived there fifteen hundred or two thousand years ago. Strangers, therefore, who come under the first description, whose senses are far more powerful than their fancy, when they are so ill advised as to come so far from home, generally make this journey in very ill humour, fretting at Italian beds, fuming against Italian cooks, and execrating every poor little Italian flea that they meet with on the road. But he who can put up with indifferent fare cheerfully, whose serenity of temper remains unshaken by the assaults of a flea, and who can draw amusement from the stores of memory and imagination, will find the powers of both wonderfully excited during this journey. Sacred history unites with profane, truth conspires with fable, to afford him entertainment, and render every object interesting.

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Proxima Circeae raduntur littora terrae.

Now by rich Circe's coast they bend their way.

Driving along this road, you have [...] fine view of Monte Circello, and

—The AEaen bay,

Where Circe dwelt, the daughter of the Day;

Goddess and queen, to whom the powers belong

Of dreadful Magic and commanding song;

This abode of the enchantress Circe has been generally described as an island; whereas it is, in reality, a promontory, united to the continent by a neck of land. The adventures of Ulysses and his companions at this place, with all the extraordinary things which Homer has recorded of Circe, must serve to amuse you between Casa Nuova and Piperno; the road affords no other.

At Piperno, anciently Privernum, you quit Circe, for Virgil's Camilla, a lady of a very different character, whose native city this is.

Hos super advenit Volscâ de gente Camilla

Agmen agens equitum et florentes aere catervas,

Bellatrix: Non illa col [...] calathisve Minervae

Foemineas assueta manus; sed proelia virgo

Dura pati, curseque pedum praevertere vento [...].

AENEID. lib. vii.

Last with her martial troops all sheathed in brass,

Camilla came, a queen of Volscian race;

Nor were the web or loom the Virgin's care,

But arms and coursers, and the toils of war.

She led the rapid race, and left behind

The flagging floods, and pinions of the wind:

Lightly she flies along the level plain,

Nor hurts the tender grass, nor bends the golden grain.

PITT.

Near to Piperno, an abbey, called Fossa Nuova, is situated on the ruins of the little town of Forum Appii, the same of which mention is made in the Acts of the Apostles, and by Horace, in his account of his journey to Br [...]ndusium.

—Inde Forum Appii

Dissertum nautis, cauponihus atque malignis.

[Page] To Forum-Appii thence we steer, a place

Stuff'd with rank boatmen, and with vintners base.

FRANCIS.

The abbey of Fossa Nuova is said to have made a very valuable acquisition of late, no less than the head of St. Thomas Aquinas. We are told, in the memoirs of that Saint, that he was taken ill as he passed this way, and was carried to this convent, where he died. His body was afterward required by the king of France, and ordered to be carried to Thoulouse; but before the remains of this holy person were removed from the convent, one of the monks unwilling to allow the whole of such a precious deposite to be carried away, determined to retain the most valuable part and actually cut off the saint's head, substituting another in its stead, which was carried to Thoulouse, very nicely stitched to the body of the saint.

The monk, who was guilty of this pious fraud, hid the true head in the wall of the convent, and died without revealing the secret to any mortal. From that time the suppositious head remained unsuspected at Thoulouse; but as impostures are generally detected sooner or later, the venerable brethren of Fossa Nuova (this happened much about the time that the Cock-lane ghost made such a noise in London) were disturbed with strange knockings and scratchings at a particular part of the wall.—On this noise being frequently repeated, without any visible agent, and the people of the neighbourhood having been often assembled to hear it, the monks at length agreed to pull down part of the wall at the place where the scratching and knocking were always heard. This was no sooner done, than the true head of St. Thomas Aquinas was found as the day it was [...]ut off;—on the vessel in which it was contained was the following inscription:

Caput divi Thomae Aquinatis.

The head of St. Thomas Aquinas.

And near it a paper, containing a faithful narrative of the whole transaction, signed by the monk who did the deed.

Some people, not making a proper allowance for the difference between a saint's head and their own, say, this cannot possibly be the head of Thomas Aquinas, which must have put [...]ified some centuries ago; they say, the paper is written in a character by much too modern; they say, the monks contrived the whole affair, to give an importance to their convent; they say—but what signifies what they say? In this age of incredulity, some people will say any thing. We next came to Terracina, and here I must finish my letter; in my next I shall carry you to Naples.

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LETTER LIV. Terracina.—Via Appia.—Fundi.—Gaeta.—Illustrious French Rebels.—Bourbon.—Minturnae.—Marius.—Hannibal.

NAPLES.

TERRACINA, formerly called Anxur, was the capital of the warlike Volsci.* The principal church was originally a temple of Jupiter, who was supposed to have a partiality for this town, and the country around it. Virgil calls him Jupiter Anxurus. Enumerating, the troops who came to support the cause of Turnus, he mentions those who plough the Rutulian hills:

Circeumque jugum; queis Jupiter Anxurus arvis

Praesidet, et viridi ga [...]dens Feronia luco:

Qua saturae [...]acet aira palus, &c.

And the s [...]eep hills of Circe stretch around,

Where fair Feronia boasts her stately grove,

And Anxur glorious in her guardian Jove;

Where stands the Pontine lake—

PITT.

Near this place we fell in again with the Appian Way, and beheld, with astonishment, the depth of rock that has here been cut, to render it more convenient for passengers. This famous road is a paved causeway, begun in the year of Rome 441, by Appius Claudius Caecus the Censor, and carried all the way from Rome to Capua. It would be superfluous to insist on the substantial manner in which it has been originally made, since it still remains in many places.

Though travellers are now obliged to make a circuit by Casa Nuova and Piperno, the Via Appia was originally made in a straight line through the Palude Pontine, or Palus Pomptina, as that vast marsh was anciently called: it is the Ater Palus above mentioned, in the lines quoted from Virgil. That part of the Appian road is now quite impassable, from the augmentation of this noxious marsh, whose exhalations are disagreeable to passengers, and near which it is dangerous to sleep a single night.

Keysler and some others say, that Appius made this road at his own expence. I do not know on what authority they make this assertion; but, whatever their authority may be, the thing is incredible. [Page] Could a Roman citizen, at a period when the inhabitants of Rome were not rich, bear an expence which we are surprised that even the State itself could support? Though this famous road has received its name from Appius, I can hardly imagine it was completed by him. The distance from Rome to Capua is above one hundred and thirty miles: a prodigious length for such a road as this to have been made, during the short course of one Censorship; for a man could be Censor only once in his life. This was an office of very great dignity; no person could enjoy it till he had previously been Consul. It was originally held for five years; but, a hundred years before the time of Appius, the term was abridged to eighteen months.

He, however, who, as Livy tells us possessed all the pride and obstinacy of his family, refused to quit the Censorship at the end of that period; and, in spite of all the efforts of the Tribunes, continued three years and a half beyond the term to which the office had been restricted by the AEmilian Law. But even five years is a very short time for so great a work; yet this was not the only work he carried on during his Censorship. "Viam munivit," says the Historian, "et aquam in urbem duxit." The Appian road was carried on, afterwards, from Capua to Brundusium, and was probably completed so far, in the time of Horace; as appears by this verse, in one of his Epistles addressed to Lollius:

Brundusium Numici [...]elius via ducat, an Appi.

Whether is it best to go by the Numician or Appian way to Brundusium?

Terracina is the last town of the Ecclesiastical, and Fundi the first of the Neapolitan, dominions. This last town stands on a plain, sheltered by hills, which is seldom the case with Italian towns: it probably derives its name from its situation. There is nothing very attractive in this place, now, more than in Horace's time; so we left it as willingly as he did:

Fundos Aufidio Lus [...]o Praetore libenter Linquimus.

We willingly leave Fundi, where Aufidius Luscus is chief magistrate.

Continuing our route, partly on the Appian way, we came to Mola di Gaeta, a town built on the ruins of the ancient Formiae. Horace compliments AElius Lamia, on his being descended from the first founder of this city:

Auctore ab illo ducis originem,

Qui Formiarum moenia dicitur,

Princeps,

[Page] From whom the illustrious race arose,

Who first possest the Formian towers.

FRANCIS.

The same Poet puts the wine, made from the grapas of tho Formian hills, on a footing with the Falernian:

—mea nec Falern [...]e

Temperant vites, neque Formiani

Pocula colles.

My cups are neither enriched with the juice of the Falernian

grapes, nor that of those from the Formian hills.

Cicero had a villa near this place; and it was on this coast where that great orator was murdered in his litter, as he was endeavouring to make his escape to Greece. The fortress of Gaeta is built on a promontory, about three miles from Mola; but travellers, who have the curiosity to go to the former, generally cross the gulph between the two; and immediately, as the most remarkable thing in the place, they are shewn a great cleft in a rock, and informed that it was miraculously split in this manner at the death of our Saviour. To put this beyond doubt, they shew, at the same time, something like the impression of a man's hand on the rock, of which the following account is given—A certain person having been told on what occasion the rent took place, struck the palm of his hand on the marble, declaring he could no more believe their story, than that his hand would leave its stamp on the rock; on which, to the terror and confusion of this infidel, the stone yielded like wax, and the impression remains till this day.

Nothing is so injurious to the cause of truth, as attempts to support it by fiction. Many evidences of the justness of this observation occur in the course of a tour through Italy. That mountains were [...]ent at the death of our Saviour, we know from the New Testament; but, as none of them are there particularized, it is presumptuous in others to imagine they can point out what the Evang [...]l [...]sts have thought proper to conceal.

This rock, however, is much resorted to by pilgrims; and the Tartanes, and other vessels, often touch there, that the seamen may be provided with little pieces of marble, which they earnestly request may be taken as near the fissure as possible. These they wear constantly in their pockets, in case of shipwreck, from a persuasion, that they are a more certain preservative from drowning, than a cork jacket. Some of these poor people have the misfortune to be drowned, notwithstanding; but the sacred marble loses none of its reputation on that account. Such accidents are always imputed to the weight of the unfortunate person's sins, which have sunk him to the bottom, in spite of all the efforts of the marble to keep him above water; and it is allowed on all hands, that a man so oppressed with iniquity, as to be drowned with a piece of [Page] this marble in his pocket, would have sunk much sooner, if, instead of that, he had had nothing to keep him up but a cork jacket.

Strangers are next led to the Castle, and are shewn, with some other curiosities, the skeleton of the famous Bourbon, Constable of France, who was killed in the service of the emperor Charles the Fifth, as he scaled the walls of Rome.

It is remarkable that France, a nation which values itself so much on an affectionate attachment to its princes, and places loyalty at the head of the virtu [...], should have produced, in the course of the two last centuries, so many illustrious rebels: Bourbon, Coligni, Guise, Turenne, and the Condés; all of them were, at some period of their lives, in arms against their sovereign.

That it is the duty of subjects to preserve their allegiance, however unjustly and tyrannically their prince may conduct himself, is one of the most debasing and absurd doctrines that ever was obtruded on the understanding of mankind. When Francis forgot the services which the gallant Bourbon had rendered him at Marignan; when, by repeated acts of oppression, he forgot the duty of a king; Bourbon spurned at his allegiance, as a subject. The Spanish nobleman, who declared that he would pull down his house, if Bourbon should be allowed to lodge in it, either never had heard of the injurious treatment which that gallant soldier had received, or he betrayed the sentiments of a slave, and meant to insinuate his own implicit loyalty to the Emperor. Mankind in general have a partiality for princes.

The senses are imposed on by the splendor which surrounds them; and the respect due to the office of a king, is naturally converted into an affection for his person: there must therefore be something highly unpopular in the character of the monarch, and and highly oppressive in the measures of government, before people can be excited to rebellion.

Subjects seldom rise through a desire of attacking, but rather from an impatience of suffering. Where men are under the yoke of feudal lords, who can force them to fight in any cause, it may be otherwise; but when general discontent pervades a free people and when, in consequence of this, they take arms against their prince, they must have justice on their side. The highest compliment which subjects can pay, and the best service they can render, to a good prince, is, to behave in such a manner, as to convince him that they would rebel against a bad one.

From Mola we were conducted by the Appian way, over the fertile fields washed by the silent Liris:

—Rura quae Liria quieta

Mordet aqua taciturnis amnis.

[Page] —the rich fields that Liris laves,

Where silent roll his deepning [...]aves.

FRANCIS.

This river bounded Latium. On its banks are still seen some ruins of the ancient Minturnae. After Manlius Torquatus, in what some will call a phrenzy of virtue, had offered up his son as a sacrifice to military discipline; and his colleague Decius, immediately after, devoted himself in a battle against the Latins; the broken army of that people assembled at Minturnae, and were a second time defeated by Manlius, and their lands divided by the senate among the citizens of Rome.

The first battle was fought near Mount Vesuvius, and the second between Sinuessa and Minturnae. In the morasses of Minturnae, Caius Marius, in the seventieth year of his age, was taken, and brought a prisoner to that city, whose magistrates ordered an assassin to put him to death, whom the fierce veteran disarmed with a look. What mortal, says Juvenal, would have been thought more fortunate than Marius, had he breathed out his aspiring soul, surrounded by the captives he had made, his victorious troops, and all the pomp of war, as he descended from his Teutonic chariot, after his triumph over the Cimbri.

—Quid illo cive tulisset

Natura in terris, quid Roma beatius unquam?

Si circumducto captivorum agmine▪ et omni

Bellorum pompa, animam exhalasset opimam,

Cum de Teutonico vellet descendere curru.

What chief or hero could the world have shown

Or Rome, more happy than this darling son,

Had he, descending from his German car,

'Midst captive thousands and the pomp of war,

Been doom'd that moment to have breath'd his last,

Not future fortunes met that clouded all the past.

Several writers, in their remarks on Italy, observe, that it was on the banks of the Liris, that Pyrrhus gained his dear-bought victory over the Romans. They have fallen into this mistake, by confounding the Liris with the Siris, a river in Magna Graecia, near Heraclea; in the neighbourhood of which Pyrrhus defeated the Romans by the means of his elephants.

Leaving Garilagno, which is the modern name of the Liris, we pass the rising ground where the ancient Sinuess [...] was situated; the city where Horace met his friends Plotius, Varius, and Virgil.

[Page] The friendly glow with which this admirable painter has adorned their characters, conveys an amiable idea of his own.

—Animae, quales [...]eque candidiores

Terra tulit; neque queis me sic devinctior alter.

O, qui complex [...]s et gaudia quanta fuerunt!

Nil ego contulerim jucundo sanus amico.

Pure spirits these; the world no purer knows;

For none my heart with such affection glows.

How oft did we embrace! our joys how great!

Is there a blessing, in the power of fate,

To be compared, in sanity of mind,

To friends of such companionable kind?

FRANCIS.

Do you not share in the happiness of such a company? And are you not rejoiced that they happened to meet near the Ager Falernus, where they could have the best Massic and Falernian wines?

New Capua, through which the road from Rome to Naples lies, is a small town of no importance. The ancient city of that name was situated two miles distant from the new. The ruins of the amphitheatre, which are still to be seen, give some idea of the ancient grandeur of that city. Before the amphitheatre of Vespasian was built, there was none in Rome of equal size with this. Old Capua is said, at one period, to have vied in magnificence with Rome and Carthage.

Altera dicta olim Carthago, atque altera Roma,

Nunc prostrata jacet, proprioque sepulta sepulchro.

Formerly called another Carthage, or another Rome it now lies buried in its own ruins.

The army of Hannibal is said to have been conquered by the luxuries of this place; but the judicious Montesquieu observes, that the Carthaginian army, enriched by so many victories, would have found a Capua wherever they had gone. Whether Capua brought on the ruin of Hannibal or not, there can be no doubt that Hannibal occasioned the ruin of Capua.

Having broken their connection with Rome, and formed an alliance with her enemy, the Capuans were, in the course of the war, besieged by the Consuls Fulvius and Appius. Hannibal exerted all his vast abilities for the relief of his new friends; but was not able to bring the Roman army to a battle, or to raise the siege. When every other expedient had failed, he marched directly to Rome, in the hopes of drawing the Roman army after [Page] him to defend the capital. A number of alarming events conspired, at this time, to depress the spirit of the Roman Senate. The Proconsul Sempronius Gracchus, who commanded an army in Lucania, had fallen into an ambuscade, and was massacred. The two gallant brothers, the Scipio [...], who were their generals in Spain, had been defeated and killed; and Hannibal was at their gates. How did the Senate behave at this crisis? Did they spend their time in idle harangues and mutual accusations? Did they throw out reflections against those senators who were against entering into a treaty with the Carthaginians till their army should be withdrawn from Italy? Did they recall their army from Capua? Did they shew any mark of despondence? In this state of affairs, the Roman Senate sent orders to Appius to continue the siege of Capua; they ordered a reinforcement to their army in Spain; the troops for that service marching out at one gate of Rome, while Hannibal threatened to enter by storm at another. How could such a people fail to become the masters of the world!

The country between Capua and Naples displays a varied scene of lavish fertility, and with great propriety might be named Campani [...] Felix, if the richest and most generous soil, with the mildest and most agreeable climate, were sufficient to render the inhabitants of a country happy.

LETTER LV. Naples.—Fortress of St. Elmo.—Conversation with a Lady regarding the Carthusians.—Manufactures.—Number of inhabitants.

NAPLES.

THE day after our arrival at this place, we waited on Sir William Hamilton, his Majesty's minister at this court. He had gone early that morning on a hunting party with the King; but the Portugese ambassor, at Lady Hamilton's desire, undertook to accompany the Duke on the usual round of visits; Sir William was not expected to return for several days, and the laws of etiquette do not allow that important tour to be delayed so long. As we have been continually driving about ever since our arrival, I am already pretty well acquainted with this town, and the environs.

Naples was founded by the Greeks. The charming situation they have chosen, is one proof among thousands, of the [...] taste of that ingenious people.

The bay is about thirty miles in circumference, and twelve in diameter: it has been named Crater, from its supposed resemblance to a bowl. This bowl is ornamented with the most beautiful foliage, with vines; with olive, mulberry, and orange trees; with hills, dales, towns, villas, and villages.

[Page] At the bottom of the bay of Naples, the town is built in the form of a vast amphitheatre, sloping from the hills towards the sea.

If, from the town, you turn your eyes to the east, you see the rich plains leading to mount Vesuvius, and Portici. If you look to the west, you have the Grotto of Pa [...]s [...]ippo, the mountain on which Virgil's tomb is placed, and the fields leading to Puzzoli and the coast of Baia. On the north, are the fertile hills, gradually rising from the shore to the Campagna Felice. On the South, is the bay, confined by the two promontories of Misenum and Minerva, the view being terminated by the islands Procida, Ischia, and Caprea; and as you ascend to the castle of St. Elmo, you have all these objects under your eye at once, with the addition of a great part of the Campagna.

Independent of its happy situation, Naples is a very beautiful city. The style of architecture, it must be confessed, is inferior to what prevails at Rome; but though Naples cannot vie with that city in the number of palaces, or in the grandeur and magnificence of the churches, the private houses in general are better built, and are more uniformly convenient; the streets are broader and better paved. No street in Rome equals in beauty the Strada di Toledo at Naples; and still less can any of them be compared with those beautiful streets which are open to the bay. This is the native country of the Zephyrs; here the excessive heat of the Sun is often tempered with sea breezes, and with gales, wa [...]ting the perfumes of the Campagna Felice.

The houses, in general, are five or six stories in height, and flat at the top; on which are placed, numbers of flower vases or fruit trees, in boxes of earth, producing a very gay and agreeable effect.

The fortress of St. Elmo is built on a mountain of the same name. The garrison stationed here, have the entire command of the town, and could lay it in ashes at pleasure. A little lower, on the same mountain, is a convent of Carthusians. The situation of this convent is as advantageous and beautiful as can be imagined; and much expence has been lavished to render the building, the apartments, and the gardens, equal to the situation.

To bestow great sums of money in adorning the retreat of men who have abandoned the world for the express purpose of passing the remainder of their lives in self-denial and mortification, seems to be very ill judged, and might, on some occasions, counteract the design of their retreat. I expressed this sentiment to a Neapolita [...] lady at Sir William Hamilton's assembly, the evening after I had visited this convent. She said, that the elegant apartments, the gardens, and all the expensive ornaments I had particularised, could not much impede a system of self-denial; for they soon became insipid to those who had them constantly before their eyes, and proved no compensation for the want of other comforts. "In that case," said I the whole expence might [Page] have been saved, or bestowed in procuring comforts to others who have made no vows of mortification. "Tolga iddio!"—God forbid. cried the lady, forgetting her former argument, for none have so good a title to every comfortable and pleasant thing in this world, as those who have renounced it, and placed their affections entirely on the next; instead of depriving these sanctified Carthusians of what they already possess, it would be more meritorious to give them what have they not.

Give them then, said I, what will afford some satisfaction, instead of the luxuries of sculpture, and painting, and architecture, which, as you say, become so soon insipid; let them have enjoyments of a different kind. Why should their diet be confined to fish and vegetables? Let them enjoy the pleasures of the table without any limitation. And since they are so very meritorious, why is your sex deprived of the happiness of their conversation, and why are they denied the pleasure which the society of women might afford them?

"Cristo benedetto!"—Blessed Jesus! cried the lady, You do not understand this matter.—Though none deserve the pleasures of this world, but those who think only on the next; yet none can obtain the joys of the next, who indulge in the pleasures of this. That is unlucky, said I. Unlucky! to be sure it is the most unlucky thing that could have happened, ecco dove mi doleva,—It is that which vexes me, added the lady.

Though Naples is admirably situated for commerce, and no kingdom produces the necessaries and luxuries of life in greater profusion, yet trade is but in a languishing condition; the best silks come from Lyons, and the best woollen goods from England.

The chief articles manufactured here, at present, are, silk stockings, soap, snuff-boxes of tortoise shells; and of the lava of of Mount Vesuvius, tables, and ornamental furniture, of marble.

They are thought to embroider here better than even in France: and their macaroni is preferred to that made in any other part of Italy. The Neapolitans excel also in liqueurs and confections; particularly in one kind of confection, which is sold at a very high price, called Diabolonis. This drug, as you will guess from its name, is of a very hot and stimulating nature, and what I should think by no means requisite to Neapolitan constitutions.

The inhabitants of this town are computed at three hundred and fifty thousand. I make no doubt of their amounting to that number; for though Naples is not one third of the size of London, yet many of the streets here are more crowded than the Strand. In London and Paris the people who fill the streets are mere passengers hurrying from place to place on business; and when they choose to converse, or to amuse themselves, they resort to the pub [...] walks or gardens: at Naples, the citizens have fewer avocations of business to excite their activity; no public walks, or gardens to which they can resort; and are, therefore, more frequently seen s [...]ntering and conversing in the streets, where a great proportion of [Page] the poorest sort, for want of habitations, are obliged to spend the night as well as the day.

While you sit in your chamber at London, or at Paris, the usual noise you hear from the streets, is that of carriages; but at Naples, where they talk with uncommon vivacity, and where whole streets full of talkers are in continual employment, the noise of carriages is completely drowned in the aggregated clack of human voices. In the midst of all this idleness, fewer riots or outrages of any kind happen, than might be expected in a town where the police is far from being strict, and where such multitudes of poor unemployed people meet together every day.

This partly proceeds from the national character of the Italians; which, in my opinion, is quiet, submissive, and averse to riot or sedition: and partly to the common people being universally sober, and never inflamed with strong and spirituous liquors, as they are in the northern countries. Iced water and lemonade are among the luxuries of the lowest vulgar; they are carried about in little barrels, and sold in half penny's worth. The half naked lazzaroni is often tempted to spend the small pittance destined for the maintenance of his family, on this bewitching beverage, as the most dissolute of the low people in London spend their wages on gin and brandy; so that the same extravagance which cools the mob of the one city, tends to inflame that of the other to acts of excess and brutality.

There is not, perhaps, a city in the world, with the same number of inhabitants, in which so few contribute to the wealth of the community by useful, or by productive labour, as Naples; but the numbers of priests, monks, fiddlers, lawyers, nobility, footm [...]n, and lazzaronis, surpass all reasonable proportion; the last alone are computed a [...] thirty or forty thousand. If these poor fellows are idle, it is not their own fault; they are continually running about the streets, as we are told of the artificers of china; offering their service, and begging for employment; and are considered by many, as of more real utility than any of the classes above mentioned.

LETTER LVI. Manners.

NAPLES.

THERE is an assembly once a week at the house of the British minister; no assembly in Naples is more numerous, or more brilliant, than this. Exclusive of that gentleman's good qualities, and those accomplishments which procure esteem in any situation, he would meet with every mark of regard from the Neapolitan nobles, on account of the high favour in which he stands with their Sovereign. Sir William's house is open to strangers of every country who come to Naples properly recommended, [Page] as well as to the English; he has a private concert almost every evening. Lady Hamilton understands music perfectly, and performs in such a manner, as to command the admiration even of the Neapolitans. Sir William, who is the happiest tempered man in the world, and the easiest amused, performs also, and succeeds perfectly in amusing himself, which is a more valuable attainment than the other.

The Neapolitan nobility are excessively fond of splendour and show. This appears in the brilliancy of their equipages, the number of their attendants, the richness of their dress, and the grandeur of their titles.

I am assured, that the King of Naples counts a hundred persons with the title of Prince, and still a greater number with that of Duke, among his subjects. Six or seven of these have estates, which produce from ten to twelve or thirteen thousand pounds a year; a considerable number have fortunes of about half that value; and the annual revenue of many is not above one or two thousand pounds. With respect to the inferior orders of nobility, they are much poorer; many Counts and Marquisses have not above three or four hundred pounds a year of paternal estate, many still less, and not a few enjoy the title without any estate whatever.

When we consider the magnificence of their entertainments, the splendour of their equipages, and the number of their servants, we are surprised that the richest of them can support such expensive establishments. I dined, soon after our arrival, at the Prince of Franca Villa's; there were about forty people at table; it was meagre day; the dinner consisted entirely of fish and vegetables, and was the most magnificent entertainment I ever saw, comprehending an infinite variety of dishes, a vast profusion of fruit, and the wines of every country in Europe. I dined since at the Prince Iacci's. I shall mention two circumstances, from which you may form an idea of the grandeur of an Italian palace, and the number of domestics which some of the nobility retain. We passed through twelve or thirteen large rooms before we arrived at the dining room; there were thirty-six persons at table, none served but the Prince's domestics, and each guest had a footman behind his chair; other domestics belonging to the Prince remained in the adjacent rooms, and in the hall. We afterwards passed through a considerable number of other rooms in our way to one from which there is a very commanding view,

No estate in England could support such a number of servants, paid and fed as English servants are; but here the wages are very moderate indeed, and the greater number of men servants, belonging to the first families, give their attendance through the day only, and find beds and provisions for themselves. It must be remembered, also, that few of the nobles give entertainments, and those who do not, are said to live very sparingly: so that the whole of their revenue, whatever that may be, is exhausted on articles of show.

[Page] As there is no Opera at present, the people of fashion generally pass part of the evening at the Corso, on the sea-shore. This is the great scene of Neapolitan splendour and parade; and, on grand occasions, the magnificence displayed here will strike a stranger very much. The finest carriages are painted, gilt, varnished, and lined, in a richer and more beautiful manner, than has as yet become fashionable either in England or France; they are often drawn by six, and sometimes by eight horses. As the last is the number allotted to his Britannic Majesty when he goes to parliament, some of our countrymen are offended that any individuals whatsoever should presume to drive with the same number.

It is the mode here, to have two running footmen, very gaily dressed, before the carriage, and three or four servants in rich liveries behind; these attendants are generally the handsomest young men that can be procured. The ladies o [...] gentlemen within the coaches, glitter in all the brilliancy of lace, embroidery, and jewels. The Neapolitan carriages, for gala days, are made on purpose, with very large windows, that the spectators may enjoy a full view of the parties within. Nothing can be more showy than the harness of the horses; their heads and manes are ornamented with the rarest plumage, and their tails set off with riband and artificial flowers, in such a graceful manner that you are apt to think they have been adorned by the same hands that dressed the heads of the ladies, and not by common grooms.

After all, you will perhaps imagine the amusement cannot be very great. The carriages follow each other in two lines, moving in opposite directions. The company within smile, and bow, and wave the hand, as they pass and repass their acquaintance; and doubtless imagine that they are the most important figures in the procession. The horses, however, seem to be quite of a different way of thinking, and to consider themselves as the chief objects of admiration, looking on the livery servants, the volantis, the lords, and the ladies, as their natural suite on all such solemn occasions.

LETTER LVII. Respect paid to Kings during their lives.—Freedoms used with their characters after their deaths.—The King of Naples. A game at billiards.—Characters of the King and Queen.

NAPLES.

THE greatest part of kings, whatever may be thought o [...] them after their death, have the good fortune to be represented, at some period of their lives, generally at the beginning of their reigns, as the greatest and most virtuous of mankind. They [Page] are never compared to characters of less dignity than Solomon, Alexander, Caesar, or Titus; and the comparison usually concludes to the advantage of the living monarch. They differ in this, as in many other particulars, from those of the most distinguished genius and exalted merit among their subjects. That the fame of the latter, if any awaits them, seldom arrives at its meridian till many years after their death; whereas the glory of the former is at its fullest splendour during their lives; and most of them have the satisfaction of hearing all their praises with their own ears. Each particular monarch, taken separately, is, or has been, considered [...] a star of great lustre; yet any number of them, taken without selection, and placed in the historical galaxy, add little to [...] brightness, and are often contemplated with disgust. When we have occasion to mention kings in general, the expression certainly does not awaken a recollection of the most amiable or most deserving part of the human species; and tyranny in no country is pushed so far, as to constrain men to speak of them, when we speak in general terms, as if they were. It would revolt the feelings, and rouse the indignation, even of slaves. Full freedom is allowed therefore on this topic; and, under the most arbitrary government, if you choose to declaim on the imbecility, profligacy, or corruption of human nature, you may draw your illustrations from the kings of any country, provided you take them in groupes, and hint nothing to the detriment of the reigning monarch. But, when we talk of any one living sovereign, we should never allow it to escape from our memory, that he is wise, valiant, generous and good; and we ought always to have Solomon, Alexander, Caesar and Titus, at our elbow, to introduce them apropos when occasion offers.

We may have what opinion we please of the whole race of Bourbon; but it would be highly indecent to deny, that the reigning kings of Spain and Naples are very great princes. As I never had the happiness of seeing the father, I can only speak of the son. His Neapolitan Majesty seems to be about the age of six or seven-and-twenty. He is a prince of great activity of body, and a good constitution; he indulges in frequent relaxations from the cares of government and the fatigue of thinking, by hunting and other exercises; and (which ought to give a high idea of his natural talents) he never fails to acquire a very considerable degree of perfection in those things to which he applies.

He is very fond, like the King of Prussia of reviewing his troops, and is perfectly master of the whole mystery of the man [...]al exercise. I have had the honour, oftner than once, of seeing him exercise the different regiments which form the garrison here; he always gave the word of command with his own royal mouth, and with a precision which seemed to astonish the whole Court. This monarch is also a very excellent shot; his uncommon success at this diversion is thought to have roused the jealousy of his Most Catholic Majesty, who also values himself on his skill as a marksman. The correspondence between those two great personages often relates [Page] to their favourite amusement.—A gentleman, who came lately from Madrid, told me, that the King on some occasion, had read a letter which he had just received from his son at Naples, wherein he complained of his bad success on a shooting party, having killed no more than eighty birds in a day: and the Spanish monarch, turning to his courtiers, said, in a plaintive tone of voice, Mio filio piange di non aver' fatto piu di ottante b [...]acie in uno g [...]orno, quando mi crederei l'uomo il [...] felice del m [...]ndo se potesse fare quaranta.—My son laments, that he has not killed more than eighty birds in one day, whereas I should think myself the happiest man in the world, if I could kill forty.

All who take a becoming share in the afflictions of a royal bosom, will no doubt join with me, in wishing better success to this good monarch, for the future. Fortunate would it be for mankind, if the happiness of their princes could be purchased at so easy a rate! and thrice fortunate for the generous people of Spain, if the family connections of their monarch, often at variance with the real interest of that country, should never seduce him into a more ruinous war, than that which he now wages against the beasts of the field and the birds of the air.

His Neapolitan Majesty, as I am informed, possesses many other accomplishments; I particularise those only to which I have myself been a witness. No king in Europe is supposed to understand the game of billiards better. I had the pleasure of seeing him strike the most brilliant stroke that perhaps ever was struck by a crowned head. The ball of his antagonist was near one of the middle pockets, and his own in such a situation, that it was absolutely necessary to make it rebound from two different parts of the cushion, before it could pocket the other, A person of less enterprise would have been contented with placing himself in a safe situation, at a small loss, and never have risqued any offensive attempt against the enemy; but the difficulty and danger, instead of intimidating, seemed rather to animate the ambition of this prince. He summoned all his address; he estimated, with a mathematical eye, the angles at which the ball must fly off; and he struck it with an undaunted mind and a steady hand. It rebounded obliquely from the opposite side cushion, to that at the end; from which it moved in a direct line towards the middle pocket, which seemed to stand in gaping expectation to receive it

The hearts of the spectators beat thick as it rolled along; and they shewed, by the contortions of their faces and persons, how much they feared that it should move one hair-breadth in a wrong direction.—I must here interrupt this important narrative, to observe, that, when I talk of contortions, if you form your idea from any thing of that kind which you may have seen around an English billiard-table of bowling-green, you can ha [...] no just notion of those which were exhibited on this occasion [...]; your imagination must triple the force and energy of every English grimace, before it can do justice to the nervous twist of an Italian countenance. [Page] At length the royal ball reached that of the enemy, and with a single blow drove it off the plain. An universal shout of joy, triumph and applause burst from the beholders; but,

O thoughtless mortals ever blind to fate,

Too soon dejected, and too soon elate!

the victorious ball, pursuing the enemy too far, shared the same fate, and was buried in the same grave with the vanquished. This fatal and unforeseen event seemed to make a deep impression on the minds of all who were witnesses to it; and will no doubt be recorded in the annals of the present reign, and quoted by future poets and historians, as a striking instance of the instability of sublunary felicity.

It is imagined that the cabinet of this Court is entirely guided by that of Spain; which, on its part, is thought to be greatly under the influence of French counsels. The manners, as well as the politics, of France, are said to prevail at present at the Court of Madrid. I do not presume to say of what nature the politics of his Neapolitan Majesty are, or whether he is fond of French counsels or not; but no true-born Englishman existing can shew a more perfect contempt of their manners than he does. In domestic life this Prince is generally allowed to be an easy master, a good-natured husband, a dutiful son, and an indulgent father.

The Queen of Naples is a beautiful woman, and seems to possess the affability, good-humour, and benevolence, which distingush, in such an amiable manner, the Austrian family.

LETTER LVIII. The Neapolitan Nobles.—The Peasants.

NAPLES.

THE hereditary jurisdiction of the nobles over their vassals subsists, both in the kingdom of Naples and Sicily, in the full rigour of the feudal government. The peasants therefore are poor; and it depends entirely on the personal character of the masters, whether their poverty is not the least of their grievances. If the land was leased out to free farmers, whose property was perfectly secure, and the leases of a sufficient length to allow the tenant to reap the fruits of his own improvements, there is no manner of doubt that the estates of the nobility would produce much more. The landlord might have a higher rent paid in money, instead of being collected in kind, which subjects him to the salaries and impositions of a numerous train of stewards; and the tenants, on their parts, would be enabled to live much more comfortably and to lay up every year a small pittance for their families. But the love of domineering is so predominant in the breasts of men who have been [Page] accustomed to it from their infancy, that, if the alternative were in their choice, many of them would rather submit to be themselves slaves to the caprices of an absolute prince, than become perfectly independent, on the condition of giving independence to their vassals.

There is reason to believe that this ungenerous spirit prevails pretty universally among the nobility all over Europe. The German Barons are more shocked at the idea of their peasants becoming perfectly free, like the farmers of Great-Britain, than they are solicitous to limit the power of their princes: And, from the sentiments I have heard expressed by the French, I very much doubt, whether their high nobility would accept of the privileges of English peers, at the expence of that insolent superiority, and those licentious freedoms, with which they may, though no English peer can, treat with impunity the citizens and people of inferior rank. We need be the less surprised at this, when we consider that, in some parts of the British empire, where the equable and generous laws of England prevail, those who set the highest value on freedom, who submit to every hardship, and encounter every danger, to secure it to themselves, never have shewn a disposition of extending its blessings, or even alleviating the bondage of that part of the human species, which a sordid and unjustifiable barter has brought into their power.

The Court of Naples has not yet ventured, by one open act of authority, to abolish the immoderate power of the lords over their tenants. But it is believed that the Minister secretly wishes for its destruction; and in cases of flagrant oppression, when complaints are brought before the legal courts, or directly to the King himself, by the peasants against their lord, it is generally remarked that the Minister favours the complainant.

Notwithstanding this, the masters have so many opportunities of oppressing, and such various methods of teasing, their vassals, that they generally chuse to bear their wrongs in silence; and perceiving that those who hold their lands immediately from the Crown, are in a much easier situation than themselves, without raising their hopes to perfect freedom, the height of their wishes is to be sheltered, from the vexations of little tyrants, under the unlimited power of one common master.

The objects of royal attention, they fondly imagine, are too sublime, and the minds of kings too generous, to stoop to, or even to countenance, in their servants, the minute and unreasonable exactions, which are wrung at present from the hard hands of the exhausted labourer.

Though the Neapolitan nobility still retain the ancient feudal authority over the peasants, yet their personal importance depends, in a great measure, on the favour of the King; who, under pretext of any offence, can confine them to their own estates, or imprison them at pleasure; and who, without any alleged offence, and without going to such extremes, can inflict a punishment, [Page] highly sensible to them, by not inviting them to the amusements of the Court, or not receiving them with smiles when they attend on any ordinary occasion.

Unless this prince were so very impolitic as to disgust all the nobility at once, and so unite the whole body against him, he has little to fear from their resentment. Even in case of such an union, as the nobles have lost the affection and attachments of their peasants, what could they do in opposition to a standing army of thirty thousand men, entirely devoted to the Crown? The establishment of standing armies has universally given stability to the power of the prince, and ruined that of the great lords. No n [...]bility in Europe can now be said to inherit political importance, or to act independent of, or in opposition to, the influence of the crown; except the temporal peers of that part of Great-Britain called England.

As men of high birth are seldom, in this country, called to the management of public affairs, or placed in those situations where great political knowledge is required; and as his Majesty relies on his own talents and experience in war for the direction of the army; neither the civil nor military establishments open any very tempting field for the ambition of the nobles, whose education is usually adapted to the parts in life which they have a probability of acting. Their fortunes and titles descend to them, independent of any effort of their own.

All the literary distinctions are beneath their regard; it is therefore not thought expedient to cloud the playful innocence of their childhood, or the amiable gaiety of their youth, with severe study. In some other countries, where a very small portion of literary education is thought becoming for young men of rank, and where even this small portion has been neglected, they sometimes catch a little knowledge of history and mythology, and some useful moral sentiments, from the excellent dramatic pieces that are represented on their theatres. They also some-sometimés pick up some notion of the different governments in Europe, and a few political ideas, in the course of their travels. But the nobility of this country very seldom travel; and the only dramatic pieces, represented here, are operas; in which music, not sentiment, is the principal thing attended to. In the other theatrical entertainments▪ Punchinello is the shining character. To this disregard of literature among the nobles, it is owing, that in their body are to be found few tiresome, scholastic pedants, and none of those perturbed spirits, who ruffle the serenity of nations by political alarms, who clog the wheels of government by opposition, who pry into the conduct of ministers, or in any way disturb that total indifference with regard to the public, which prevails all over this kingdom.

We are told by a great modern Historian*, that force of mind, a sense of personal dignity, gallantry in enterprise, invincible perseverance in execution, contempt of danger and of [Page] death, are the characteristic virtues of uncivilised nations. But as the nobles of this country have long been sufficiently civilised, these qualities may in them be supposed to have given place to the arts which embellish a polished age; to gaming, gallantry, music, the parade of equipage, the elegancies of dress, and other nameless refinements.

LETTER LIX. Citizens.—Lawyers.—Physicians.—Clergy.—Convents.—Lazzaroni.

NAPLES.

THE citizens of Naples form a society of their own, perfectly distinct from the nobility; and although they are not the most industrious people in the world, yet, having some degree of occupation, and their time being divided between business and pleasure, they probably have more enjoyment than those, who, without internal resources, or opportunities of active exertion, pass their lives in sensual gratifications, and in waiting the returns of appetite around a gaming table. In the most respectable class of citizens, are comprehended the lawyers, of whom there are an incredible number in this town. The most eminent of this profession hold, indeed, a kind of intermediate rank between the nobility and citizens: the rest are on a level with the physicians, the principal merchants, and the artists; none of whom can make great fortunes, however industrious they may be; but a moderate income enables them to support their rank in society, and to enjoy all the conveniences, and many of the luxuries, of life.

England is perhaps the only nation in Europe where some individuals, of every profession, even of the lowest, find it possible to accumulate great fortunes; the effect of this very frequently is, that the son despises the profession of the father commences gentleman, and dissipates, in a few years, what cost a life to gather. In the principal cities of Germany and Italy, we find, that the ancestors of many of those citizens who are the most eminent in their particular business, have transmitted the art to them through several generations.

It is natural to imagine, that this will tend to the improvement of the art, or science, or profession, as well as the family fortune [...] and that the third generation will acquire knowledge from the experience, as well as wealth from the industry, of the former two; whereas, in the cases alluded to above, the wheel of fortune moves differently. A man, by assiduity in a particular business, and by genius, acquires a great fortune and a high reputation; the son throws away the fortune, and ruins his own character by extravagance; and the grandson is obliged to recommence the business, unaided by the wealth o [...] experience of his ancestors. This, however, is pointing out an evil which I should be sorry to [Page] see remedied; because it certainly originates in the riches and prosperity of the country in which it exists.

The number of priests, monks, and ecclesiastics of all the various orders that swarm in this city, is prodigious; and the provision appropriated for their use, is as ample. I am assured, that the clergy are in possession of considerably above one-third of the revenue of the whole kingdom, over and above what some particular orders among them acquire by begging for the use of their convents, and what is gotten in legacies by the address and assiduity of the whole. The unproductive wealth, which is lodged in the churches and convents of this city, amounts also to an amazing value. Not to be compared in point of architecture to the churches and convents of Rome, those of Naples surpass them in riches, in the value of their jewels, and in the quantity of silver and golden crucifixes, vessels, and implements of various kinds. I have often heard these estimated at a sum so enormous as to surpass all credibility; and which, as I have no opportunity of ascertaining with any degree of precision, I shall not mention.

This wealth, whatever it amounts to, is of as little use to the kingdom, as if it still remained in the mines of Peru; and the greater part of it, surely, affords as little comfort to the clergy and monks as to any other part of the community; for though it belongs to their church, or their convent, yet it can no more be converted to the use of the priests and monks of such churches and convents, than to the tradesmen who inhabit the adjacent [...]reets.

For this reason I am a good deal surprised, that no pretext, or subterfuge, has been found, no expedient fallen on, no treaty or convention made, for appropriating part of this at least, to the use of some set of people or other. If the clergy were to lay their hands on it, this might be found fault with by the King; if his Majesty dreamt of taking any part of it for the exigencies of the state, the clergy would undoubtedly raise a clamour; and if both united, the Pope would think he had a right to pronounce his veto: but if all these three powers could come to an understanding, and settle their proportions, I am apt to think a partition might be made as quietly as that of Poland.

Whatever scruples the Neapolitan clergy may have to such a project, they certainly have none to the full enjoyment of their revenues. No class of men can be less disposed to offend Providence by a peevish neglect of the good things which the bounty of heaven has bestowed. Self-denial is a virtue, which I will not say they possess in a smaller degree, but which, I am sure, they affect less than any other ecclesiastics I know; they live very much in society, both with the nobles and citizens. All of them, the monks not excepted, attend the theatre, seem to join most cordially in other diversions and amusements; the common people are no ways offended at this, or imagine that they ought to live in a more recluse manner. Some of the orders have had the address to make a [Page] concern for their temporal interest, and a desire of seeing them live full, and in something of a jolly manner, be regarded by the common people as a proof of zeal for religion.

I am informed, that a very considerable diminution in the number of monks has taken place in the kingdom of Naples since the suppression of the Jesuits, and since a liberty of quitting the cowl was granted by the late Pope; but still there is no reason to complain of a deficiency in this order of men. The richest and most commodious convents in Europe, both for male and female votaries, are in this city; the most fertile and beautiful hills of the environs are covered with them; a small part of their revenue is spent in feeding the poor, the monks distributing bread and soup to a certain number every day before the doors of the convents. Some of the friars study physic and surgery, and practise these arts with great applause. Each convent has an apothecary's shop belonging to it, where medicines are delivered gratis to the poor, and sold to those who can afford to pay. On all these accounts the monks in general are greater favourites with the common people than even the secular clergy; all the charity of the friars, however, would not be able to cover their sins, if the stories circulated by their enemies were true,—by which they are represented as the greatest profligates and debauchees in the world. Without giving credit to all that is reported on this subject, as the Neapolitan monks are very well fed, as this climate is not the most favourable to continency (a virtue which in this place is by no means estimated in proportion to its rarity,) it is most likely that the inhabitants of the convents, like the inhabitants in general, indulge in certain pleasures with less scruple or restraint than is usual in some other places. Be that as it may, it is certain that they are the most superstitious of mankind; a turn of mind which they communicate with equal zeal and success to a people remarkably ignorant, and remarkably amorous. The seeds of superstition thus zealously sown on such a warm and fertile, though uncultivated, soil, sometimes produce the most extraordinary crops of sensuality and devotion that ever were seen in any country.

The lazzaroni, or black-guards, as has been already observed, form a considerable part of the inhabitants of Naples; and have, on some well-known occasions, had the government for a short time in their own hands. They are computed at above thirty thousand; the greater part of them have no dwelling-houses, but sleep every night under porticos, piazzas, or any kind of shelter they can find. Those of them who have wives and children, live in the suburbs of Naples near Pausilippo, in huts, or in caverns or chambers dug out of that mountain. Some gain a livelihood by fishing, others by carrying burdens to and from the shipping; many walk about the streets ready to run on errands, or to perform any labour in their power for a very small recompence. As they do not meet with constant employment, their wages are not sufficient for their maintenance; the soup and bread distributed at [Page] the door of the convents supply the deficiency. The lazzaroni are generally represented as a lazy, licentious, and turbulent set of people; what I have observed gives me a very different idea of their character. Their idleness is evidently the effect of necessity not of choice; they are always ready to perform any work, however laborious, for a very reasonable gratification. It must proceed from the fault of government, when such a number of stout active citizens remain unemployed; and so far are they from being licentious and turbulent, that I cannot help thinking they are by much too tame and submissive.

Though the inhabitants of the Italian cities were the first who shook off the feudal yoke, and though in Naples they have long enjoyed the privilege of municipal jurisdiction, yet the external splendor of the nobles, and the authority they still exercise over the peasants, impose upon the minds of the lazzaroni; and however bold and resentful they may be of injuries offered by others, they bear the insolence of the nobility as passively as peasants fixed to the soil. A coxcomb of a volanti tricked out in his fantastical dress, or any of the liveried slaves of the great, make no ceremony of treating these poor fellows with all the insolence and insensibility natural to their masters; and for no visible reason, but because he is dressed in lace, and the others in [...]ags.

Instead of calling to them to make way, when the noise in the streets prevents the common people from hearing the approach of the carriage, a stroke across the shoulders with the cane of the running footman, is the usual warning they receive. Nothing animates this people to insurrection, but some very pressing and very universal cause; such as a scarcity of bread: every other grievance they bear as if it were their charter. When we consider thirty thousand human creatures without beds or habitations, wandering almost naked in search of food through the streets of a well built city; when we think of the opportunities they have of being together, of comparing their own destitute situation with the affluence of others, one cannot help being astonished at their patience.

Let the prince be distinguished by splendor and magnificence; let the great and the rich have their luxuries; but, in the name of humanity, let the poor, who are willing to labour, have food in abundance to satisfy the cravings of nature, and raiment to defend them from the inclemencies of the weather!

If their governors, whether from weakness or neglect, do not supply them with these, they certainly have a right to help themselves.—Every law of equity and common sense will justify them, in revolting against such governors, and in satisfying their own wants from the superfluities of lazy luxury.

THE END OF THE SECOND NUMBER.

§

NUMBER THIRD—Price One Dollar, of MOORE's Elegant Travels through Italy, will be published about the 6th of June.

Notes

*

I have been since informed, this new Saint is called St. Buonavantura; he was by birth a Neapolitan.

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*

The Carmen Seculare of Horace was composed on occasion of those celebrated by Augustus in the year of Rome 73 [...].

↵

§

To this last abridgment I am indebted for having seen the ceremonies and processions on the termination of this sacred year.

↵

*

Hunc animum, hanc virtutem vestram, ultra periculi [...] objicere, nimis grande vit [...]e me [...]e pretium puto. An ego tantum Roman [...]e pubi [...], tot [...]gregios exercitus, sterni rursus et republicâ eripi patiar? Este superstites nec diu moremur; ego incolumitatem vestram, vos constantiam meam. De nemine queror, nam incusare deas vel homines, ejus est, qui vivere velit.

↵

*

Anxur [...]uit quae nun [...] Terracin [...]e sunt; urbs prona in paludes. TIT. LIV. lib. iv.

↵

*

Vide Dr. Robertson's History of the Emperor Charles V. Sect. I.

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§

§

§

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NUMBER THIRD—Price One Dollar.

A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY:

WITH ANECDOTES relating to some EMINENT CHARACTERS.

Written by JOHN MOORE, M. D.

During his Travels through that Country, in the years 1777 and 1778, with his Grace, the present Duke of HAMILTON.

Hast thou through many Cities Stray'd,

Their Customs, Laws, and Manners Weigh'd.

GAY.

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CONTENTS OF THE THIRD NUMBER.

LETTER LX. Herculaneum.—Portici.—Pompeia. Dated at Naples. 249

LETTER LXI. Poetical Rehearsers in the streets of Naples.—Street Orators and Historians.—Improuvifatories.—Signora Corilla.—Sensibility of Italians.—English Gentlemen of the Ton.—A Neapolitan Mountebank. at Naples 255

LETTER LXII. A visit to Mount Vesuvius. at Naples 261

LETTER LXIII. Observations on the pulmonary Consumption. at Naples 265

LETTER LXIV. Neapolitan and English customs and characters criticised and compared, in a conversation between two English Gentlemen. at Naples 278

LETTER LXV. The liquefaction of St. Januarius's blood.—Procession, ceremonies, anxiety of the people.—Their preposterous abuse of the Saint. Observation of a Roman Catholic. Naples 283

LETTER LXVI. The Tomb of Virgil. Pausilippo. A Neapolitan Valet. Grotta del Cane. Campi Phlegrei, Solfaterra Monte Nuova, &c. Puzzoli. Baia. Cum [...]e. at Naples 288

[Page]LETTER LXVII. Palace of Casserta.—African slaves.—Gardens.—Fortifications. Dated at Naples 291

LETTER LXVIII. Character of the Archduchess. Attend the King and Queen on a visit to four nunneries.—Entertainments there. Effect of the climate on the constitution of Nuns and others. at Naples 294

LETTER LXIX. Tivoli. at Rome 297

LETTER LXX. Frescati and Albano.—Dialogue between an English and Scotch Gentleman. 302

LETTER LXXI. Florence.—The English Minister.—Grand Duke and Duchess.—Florentines.—Particular species of virtu. at Florence 309

LETTER LXXII. Gallery.—Dialogue between an Antiquarian and a young Man concerning the Arrotino.—The Tribuna.—The Gallery of Portraits. at Florence 312

LETTER LXXIII. State of the common people, particularly the peasants in Italy.—Of Roman Catholic Clergy.—Clergy in general. at Florence 316

LETTER LXXIV. Manners.—Count Albany. at Florence 322

LETTER LXXV. Cicisbeism. at Florence 324

[Page]LETTER LXXVI. The same subject continued. Dated at Florence 327

LETTER LXXVII. Commerce.—Jews.—Actors. The Chapel of St. Lorenzo.—The rich not envied by the poor.—The Palazzo Pitti.—Observations on the Madonna della Seggiola. at Florence 332

LETTER LXXVIII. A public discourse by a Professor at the Academy of Arts at Bologna.—Procession of Corpus Domini.—Modena.—Parma.—Different opinions respecting a famous picture of Correggio. at Milan 335

LETTER LXXIX. Milan.—The Cathedral. Museum.—Manners. at Milan 338

LETTER LXXX. St. Ambrose.—A Procession. Mount Cenis. Modane. Aiguebelle. Hannibal's passage into Italy. at Chamberry 341

LETTER LXXXI. Journey from Geneva to Besancon.—Observation of a French peasant.—Of an old woman.—Remarks of a French Friseur on the English nation. at Besancon. 345

LETTER LXXXII. The Marquis de F—. at Paris. 348

LETTER LXXXIII. Reflections on Foreign Travel. at Paris. 352

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A VIEW OF SOCIETY and MANNERS IN ITALY.

LETTER LX. Herculaneum.—Portici.—Pompeia.

NAPLES.

I HAVE made several visits to the museum at Portici, principally, as you may believe, to view the antiquities dug out of Herculaneum and Pompeia. The work publishing by Government, ornamented with engravings of the chief articles of this curious collection, will, in all probability, be continued for many years, as new articles worthy of the sculptor's art are daily discovered, and as a vast mine of curiosities is supposed to be concealed in the unopened streets of Pompeia. Among the ancient paintings, those which ornamented the theatre of Herculaneum are more elegant than any that have hitherto been found at Pom [...]a. All those paintings were executed upon the stucco which lined the walls; they have been sawed off with great labour and address, and are now preserved in glass cases; the colours, we are told, were much brighter before they were drawn out of their subterraneous abode, and exposed to the open air; they are, however, still wonderfully lively: the subjects are understood at the first glance by those who are unacquainted with the Grecian history and mythology. There is a Chiron teaching Achilles to play on the lyre, Ariadne deserted, the Judgment of Paris, some Bacchantes and Fauns; the largest piece represents Theseus's victory over the Minotaur. It [Page] consists of seven or eight figures very well grouped, but a Frieze, with a dancing woman, on a black ground, not above ten inches long, is thought the best.

We ought not, however, to judge of the progress which the ancients had made in the art of painting, by the degree of perfection which appears in those pictures. It is not probable that the best paintings of ancient Greece or Italy were at Herculaneum; and if it could be ascertained that some of the productions of the best masters were there, it would not follow that those which have been discovered are of that class. If a stranger were to enter at random a few houses in London, and see some tolerably good pictures there, he could not with propriety conclude that the best of them were the very best in London.

The paintings brought from Herculaneum are perfect proofs that the ancients had made that progress in the art, which those pictures indicate; but do not form even a presumption, that they had not made a much greater. It is almost demonstrable that these paintings are not of their best. The same school which formed the sculptor to correctness, would form the painter to equal correctness in his drawings, however deficient he might be in all the other parts of his art. Their best statues are correct in their proportions, and elegant in their forms: These paintings are not correct in their proportions, and are comparatively inelegant in their forms.

Among the statues, the drunken Faun and the Mercury are the best. There are some fine bronze busts; the intaglios and cameos, which hitherto have been found either in Herculaneum or Pompeia, are reckoned but indifferent.

The elegance of form, with the admirable workmanship, of the ornamental furniture and domestic utensils, in silver and other metals; the variety and beauty of the lamps, tripods, and vases; sufficiently testify, if there were no other proofs, the fertile imagination and exquisite execution of the ancient artists. And, had their own poets and historians been quite silent concerning the Roman refinements in the art of cookery, and the luxury of their tables; the prodigious variety of culinary instruments, the moulds for jellies, for confections, and pastry, which are collected in this museum, would afford astrong presumption that the great men of our own days have a nearer resemblance to those ancient conquerors of the world, than is generally imagined.

Many of the ancient manuscripts found at Herculaneum have been carried to Madrid; but a great number still remain at Portici. Great pains have bestowed, and much ingenuity displayed, in separating and unrolling the sheets, without destroying the writing. This has succeeded in a certain degree; though, in spite of all the skill and attention of those who are employed in this very delicate work, the copiers are obliged to leave many blanks where the letters are obliterated.

The manuscripts hitherto unrolled and copied, are in the Greek language, and not of a very important nature. As the unrolling [Page] those papers must take up a great deal of time, and requires infinite address, it is to be wished that his Neapolitan Majesty would send one at least to every university in Europe, that the abilities of the most ingenious men of every country might be exercised on a subject [...]o universally interesting. The method which should be found to succeed best, might be immediately made known, and applied to the unfolding of the remaining manuscripts. The probability of recovering those works, whose loss the learned have so long lamented, would by this means be greatly increased.

Herculaneum and Pompeia were destroyed by the same eruption of Mount Vesuvius, about seventeen hundred years ago. The former was a town of much more magnificence than the other; but it is infinitely more difficult to be cleared of the matter which covers it. Sir William Hamilton, in his accurate and judicious observations on Mount Vesuvius, asserts, that there are evident marks that the matter of six eruptions has taken its course over this devoted town, since the great explosion which involved it in the same fa [...]e with Pompeia.

These different eruptions have all happened at considerable distances of time from each other. This appears by the layers of good soil which are found between them. But the matter which immediately covers the town, and with which the theatre; and all the houses hitherto examined, were found filled, is not lava, but a sort of soft stone, composed of pumice and ashes, intermixed with earth. This has saved the pictures, manuscripts, busts, utensils, and other antiquities, which have been recovered out of Herculaneum, from utter destruction. For if any of the six succeeding eruptions had happened previous to this, and the red hot liquid lava, of which they consisted, had flowed into the open city, it would have filled every street, scorched up every combustible substance with intense heat, involving the houses, and all they contained, in one solid rock of lava, undistinguishable, and for ever inseparable from it. The eruption which buried the city in cinders, earth, and ashes, has in some measure preserved it from the more destructive effects of the fiery torrents which have overwhelmed it since.

When we consider that the intervals between those eruptions were sufficiently long to allow a soil to be formed upon the hardened lava of each; that a new city has been actually built on the lava of the last eruption; and that the ancient city is from seventy to one hundred feet below the present surface of the earth; we must acknowledge it more surprising that any, than that so few, of its ornaments have been recovered. At the beginning of the present century, any body would have imagined that the busts, statues and pictures of Herculaneum had not a much better chance, than the persons they represent, of appearing again, within a few years, upon the surface of this globe.

[Page] The case is different with regard to Pompeia. Though it was not discovered till about twenty-five years ago, which is forty years almost after the discovery of Herculaneum, yet the probability was greatly in favour of its being discovered sooner, for Pompeia has felt the effects of a single eruption only; it is not buried above twelve feet below the surface of the ground, and the earth, ashes, cinders, and pumice-stones, with which it is covered, are so light, and so little tenacious, that they might be removed with no great difficulty.

If the attention of his Neapolitan Majesty were not engrossed with more important concerns, he might have the whole town uncovered in a very short space of time; half the lazzaroni of Naples could complete the business in one year. Hitherto only one street and a few detached buildings are cleared; the street is well paved with the same kind of stone of which the ancient roads are made, narrow causeways are raised a foot and an half on each side for the conveniency of foot passengers. The street itself, to my recollection, is not so broad as the narrowest part of the Strand, and is supposed to have been inhabited by trades-people. The traces of wheels of carriages are to be seen on the pavement; the distance between the traces is less than that between the wheels of a modern post-chaise.

I remarked this the more as, on my first viewing the street, I doubted whether there was room for two modern coaches to pass each other. I plainly saw there was sufficient room for two of the ancient chariot [...], whose wheels were of no greater distance than between the traces on the pavement. The houses are small, and in a very different style from the modern Italian houses; for the former give an idea of neatness and conveniency. The stucco on the walls is as hard as marble, smooth and beautiful. Some of the rooms are ornamented with paintings, mostly single figures, representing some animal; they are tolerably well executed, and on a little water being thrown on them, the colours appear surprisingly fresh.

Most of the houses are built on the same plan, and have one small room from the passage, which is conjectured to have been the shop, with a window to the street, and a place which seems to have been contrived for shewing the goods to the greatest advantage. The nature of the traffic carried on at one particular house, is indicated by a figure in al [...]o relievo of a very expressive kind, immediately above the door.

It is to be wished they would cover one of the best houses with a roof, as nearly resembling that which originally belonged to it as they could imagine, with a complete assortment of the antique furniture of the kitchen and each particular room. Such a house fitted up with accuracy and judgment, with all its utensils and ornaments properly arranged, would be an object of universal curiosity, and would swell the heart of the antiquarian with veneration and delight.

[Page] Only imagine, my dear Sir, what those gentlemen must feel, when they see the venerable habitations of the ancients in their present mournful condition, neglected, despised, abandoned, to the peltings of rain and all the injuries of the weather! those precious walls, which, were it possible to transport them to the various countries of the world, would be bought with avidity, and placed in the gardens of Princes! How must the bosoms of all true virtuosos glow with indignation, when they behold the mansions of the ancient Romans stripped of their ornaments, dishonoured, and exposed, like a parcel of ragged galley slaves, in the most indecent manner, with hardly any covering to their nakedness; while a little paltry brick house, coming the Lord knows how, from a country which men of taste have always despised, has been received with hospitality, dressed in a fine coat of the richest marble, adorned with jewels and precious stones, and treated with every mark of honourable distinction!

In another part of the town of Pompeia, there is a rectangular building, with a colonnade, towards the court, something in the style of the Royal Exchange at London, but smaller. This has every appearance of a barrack and guard room; the pillars are of brick, covered with shining stucco, elegantly fluted; the scrawlings and drawings still visible on the walls, are such as we might naturally expect on the walls of a guard room, where soldiers are the designers, and swords the engraving tools. They consist of gladiators fighting, some with each other, some with wild beasts; the games of the circus, as chariot-races, wrestling, and the like; a few figures in caricatura, designed probably by some of the soldiers, in ridicule of their companions, or perhaps of their officers; and there are abundance of names inscribed on various parts of the wall, according to the universal custom of the humblest candidates for fame in all ages countries. It may be safely asserted, that none of those who have endeavoured to transmit their names to posterity in this manner, have succeeded so well as the soldiers of the garrison of Pompeia.

At a considerable distance from the barrack, is a building, known by the inscription upon it, for a temple of the goddess Isis; there is nothing very magnificent in its appearance: the pillars are of brick stuccoed like those of the guard-room. The best paintings, hitherto found at Pompeia, are those of this temple; they have been cut off the walls and removed to Portici. It was absolutely necessary to do this with the pictures at Herculaneum, because there they could not be seen without the help of torches; but here, where they could be seen by the light of the Sun, they wo [...]ld, in my humble opinion, have appeared to more advantage, and have had a better effect in the identical situation in which they were placed by the ancient artist. A few still remain, particularly one, which is considered by travellers as a great curiosity; it is a small view of a villa with the gardens belonging to it.

There is one house or villa without the walls, on a much larger [Page] scale than any of the others. In a large cellar, or vaulted gallery, belonging to this house, there are a number of amphorae, or earthen vessels, arranged along the walls; most of them filled with a kind of red substance, supposed to have been wine. This cellar is sunk about two-thirds below the surface of the ground, and is lighted by small narrow windows. I have called it gallery, because it is about twelve feet in width, and is the whole length of two adjoining sides of the square which the villa forms. It was used not only as a repository for wine, but also as a cool retreat for the family during excessive hot weather.

Some of this unfortunate family sought shelter in this place from the destructive shower which overwhelmed the town. Eight skeletons, four being those of children, were found here; where they must have met a more cruel and lingering death, than that which they shunned. In one room, the body of a man was found, with an ax in the hand; it is probable he had been endeavouring to cut a passage into the open air; he had broken and pierced the wall, but had expired before he could clear away the surrounding rubbish. Few skeletons were found in the streets, but a considerable number in the houses. Before the decisive shower f [...]ll, which smothered the inhabitants of this ill-fated city, perhaps such quantities of ashes and cinders were occasionally falling, as frightened, and obliged them to keep within doors.

It is impossible to view those skeletons, and reflect on this dreadful catastrophe, without horror and compassion. We cannot think of the inhabitants of a whole town being destroyed at once, without imagining that their fate has been uncommonly severe. But are not the inhabitants of all the towns then existing, of whom we think without any emotion of pity, as completely dead as those of Pompeia? And could we take them one by one, and, consider the nature of their deaths, and the circumstances attending that of each individual; some destroyed by painful bodily diseases, some by the torture of the executioner, some bowed to the grave by the weight of accumulated sorrow, and the slow anguish of a broken heart, after having suffered the pangs of dissolution, over and over again, in the death of those they loved, after having beheld the dying agonies of their children; could all this, I say, be appraised, calculated, and compared, the balance of suffering might not be found with the inhabitants of Pompeia, but rather with those of the contemporary cities, who, perhaps at that time, as we do now, lamented its severe fate.

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LETTER LXI. Poetical Rehearsers in the streets of Naples. Street Orators and Historians. Improuvisatories. Signora Corilla. Sensibility of Italians. English Gentlemen of the Ton. A Neapolitan Mountebank.

NAPLES.

AS I sauntered along the Strada Nuova lately, I perceived a groupe of people listening, with much attention, to a person who harangued them in a raised, solemn voice, and with great gesticulation. I immediately made one of the auditory, which increased every moment; men, women, and children bringing seats from the neighbouring houses, on which they placed themselves around the orator. He repeated stanzas from Ariosto, in a pompous recitativo cadence, peculiar to the natives of Italy; and he had a book in his hand, to assist his memory when it failed. He made occasional commentaries in prose, by way of bringing the Poet's expression nearer to the level of his hearers capacities. His cloak hung loose from one shoulder; his right arm was disengaged, for the purposes of oratory.

Sometimes he waved it with a slow, smooth motion, which accorded with the cadence of the verses; sometimes he pressed it to his breast, to give energy to the pathetic sentiments of the Poet. Now he gathered the hanging folds of the right side of his cloak, and held them gracefully up, in imitation of a Roman senator; and anon he swung them across his left shoulder, like a citizen of Naples. He humoured the stanza by his voice, which he could modulate to the key of any passion, from the boisterous bursts of rage, to the soft notes of pity or love. But, when he came to describe the exploits of Orlando. he trusted neither to the powers of his own voice, nor the Poets genius; but, throwing off his cloak, and grasping his cane, he assumed the warlike attitude and stern countenance of that hero; representing, by the most animated action, how he drove his spear through the bodies of six of his enemies at once; the point at the same time killing a seventh, who would also have remained transfixed with his companions, if the spear could have held more than six men of an ordinary size upon it at a time.

Il Cavalier d' Anglante ove pui spesse

Vide le g [...]nti e l'arme, abasso l'asta,

Ed uno in quella, e poscia un altro messe

E un altro, e un altro, che sembrar di pasta,

E [...]ino a sei ve n'insilzo, e li resse

Tutti una la [...]cia; e perch [...]' ella non basta

[Page] A piu Capir, lascio il settime fuore

Ferito si che di quel colpo m [...]ore.

The knight of Aglant now has couch'd his spear,

Where closely prest the men and arms appear:

First one, and then another, helpless dies;

Thro' six at once the lance impetuous flies,

And in the seventh inflicts so deep a wound,

That prone he tumbles lifeless to the ground.

HOOLE.

This stanza our declaimer had no occasion to comment upon, as Ariosto has thought fit to illustrate it in a manner which seemed highly to the taste of this audience. For in the verse immediately following, Orlando is compared to a man killing frogs in marshy ground, with a bow and arrow made for that purpose; an amusement very common in Italy, and still more so in France.

Non altrimente nell' estrema arena

Veggiam le rane de' canali e fosse

Dal canto arcier ne i fianchi, e nella schiena

L'una vicina all' altera esser percosse,

Ne dalla freccia, fin che tutta piena

Non sia da un capo all' altero esser rimosse.

Thus by some standing pool or marshy place,

We see an archer slay the croaking race

With pointed arrow, nor the slaughter leave,

Till the full weapon can no more receive

HOOLE.

I must however do this audience the justice to acknowledge, that they seemed to feel the pathetic and sublime, as well as the ludicrous, parts of the ancient Bard.

This practice of rehearsing the verses of Ariosto, Tasso, and other poets, in the street, I have not observed in any other town of Italy; and I am told it is less common here than it was formerly. I remember indeed, at Venice, to have frequently seen mounte [...]a [...]k [...], [...] gained their livelihood by amusing the populace at St. Mark's Place, with wonderful and romantic stories in prose.—"Listen, Gentlemen," said one of them; let me crave your attention, ye beautiful and virtuous ladies; I have something equally affecting a [...]d wonderful to tell you; a strange [Page] and stupendous adventure, which happened to a gallant knight.—Perceiving that this did not sufficiently interest the hearers, he exalted his voice, calling out that his Knight was uno Cavalliero Cristiano. The audience seemed still a little fluctuating. He raised his voice a note higher, telling them that this Christian Knight was one of their own victorious countrymen, "un' Eroe Veneziano." This fixed them; and he proceeded to relate how the Knight, going to join the Christian army, which was on its march to recover the sepulchre of Christ from the hands of the infidels, lost his way in a vast wood, and wandered at length to a castle, in which a lady of transcendent beauty was kept prisoner by a gigantic Saracen, who having failed in all his endeavours to gain the heart of this peerless damsel, resolved to gratify his passion by force; and had actually begun the horrid attempt, when the shrieks of this chaste maiden reached the ears of the Venetian hero; who, ever ready to relieve virgins in distress, rushed into the apartment from whence the cries issued. The brutal ravisher, alarmed at the noise, quits the struggling lady, at the very instant when her strength began to fail; draws his flaming sword; and a dreadful combat begins between him and the Christian Knight, who performs miracles of courage and address in resisting the blows of this mighty giant; till, his foot unfortunately slipping in the blood which flowed on the pavement, he fell at the feet of the Saracen; who, immediately seizing the advantage which chance gave him, raised his sword with all his might, and—Here the orator's hat flew to the ground, open to receive the contributions of the listeners; and he continued repeating, raised his sword over the head of the Christian Knight—raised his bloody, murderous brand, to destroy your noble, valiant countryman.

But he proceeded no farther in his narrative, till all who seemed interested in it had thrown something into the hat. He then pocketed the money with great gravity, and went on to inform them, that, at this critical moment, the Lady, seeing the danger which threatened her deliverer, redoubled her prayers to the Blessed Mary, who▪ a Virgin herself, is peculiarly attentive and propitious to the prayers of Virgins. Just as the Saracen's sword was descending on the head of the Venetian, a large bee flew, quick as thought, in at the window, stung the former very smartly on the le [...]t temple, diverted the blow, and gave the Christian Knight time to recover himself.

The fight then recommenced with fresh fury: but, after the Virgin Mary had taken such a decided part, you may believe it was no much. The Infidel soon fell dead at the feet of the Believer. But who do you think this beauteous maiden was, on whose account the combat had begun? Why no other than the sister of the Venetian Hero.—This young lady had been stolen from her father's house, while she was yet a child, by an Armenian merchant, who dealt in no other goods than women. He concealed [Page] the child till he found means to carry her to Egypt; where he kept her in bondage, with other young girls, till the age of fifteen, and then [...]old her to the Saracen. I do not exactly remember whether the recognition between the brother and sister was made out by means of a mole on the young lady's neck, or by a bracelet on her arm, which, with some other of her mother's jewels, happened to be in her pocket when she was stolen; but, in whatever manner this came about, there was the greatest joy on the happy occasion; and the lady joined the army with her brother, and one of the Christian commanders fell in love with her, and their nuptials were solemnized at Jerusalem; and they returned to Venice, and had a very numerous family of the finest children you ever beheld.

At Rome, those street-orators sometimes entertain their audience with interesting passages of real history. I remember having heard one, in particular, give a full and true account how the bloody heathen emperor Nero set fire to the city of Rome, and sat at a window of his golden palace, playing on a harp, while the town was in flames. After which the Historian proceeded to relate, how this unnatural emperor murdered his own mother; and he concluded by giving the audience the satisfaction of hearing a particular detail of all the ignominious circumstances attending the murderer's own death.

This business of street-oratory, while it amuses the populace, and keeps them from less innocent and more expensive pastimes, gives them at the same time some general ideas of history. Street-orators, therefore, are a more useful set of men than another class, of which there are numbers at Rome, who entertain companies with extemporaneous verses on any given subject. The last are called Improuvisatoris; and some people admire these performances greatly. For my own part, I am too poor a judge of the Italian language either to admire or condemn them; but from the nature of the thing, I should imagine they are but indifferent. It is said, that the Italian is peculiarly calculated for poetry, and that verses may be made with more facility in this than in any other language. It may be more [...]sy to find smooth lines, and make them terminate in rhime in [...]talian, than in any language; but to compose verses with all [...] qualities essential [...]o good poetry, I im [...]gine leisure and long [...]flection are requisite.

Indeed I understand, from those who are judges, that those extempore compositions of the Improuvisatori are in general but mean productions, consisting of a few fulsome compliments to the company, and some common-place observations, put into rhime, on the subject proposed.

There is, however, a lady of an amiable character, Signora Corilla, whose extempore productions, which she repeats in the most graceful manner, are admired by people of real taste. While we were at Rome, this lady made an appearance one evening, at the assembly of the Arcadi, which charmed a very numerous company; [Page] and of which our friend Mr. R—y has given me such an account, as makes me regret that I was not present. After much entreaty, a subject being given, she began, accompanied by two violins, and sung her unpremeditated strains with great variety of thought and elegance of language.

The whole of her performance lasted above an hour, with three or four pauses, of about five minutes each, which seemed necessary more that she might recover her strength and voice, than for recollection; for that gentleman said, that nothing could have more the air of inspiration, or what we are told of the Pythian Prophetess. At her first setting out, her manner was sedate, or rather cold; but gradually becoming animated, her voice rose, her eyes sparkled, and the rapidity and beauty of her expressions and ideas seemed supernatural. She at last called on another member of the society to sing alternately with her, which he complied with; but Mr. R—y thought, though they were Arcades ambo, they were by no means cantare pares,—Both Arcadians, but not equally skilled in singing.

Naples is celebrated for the finest opera in Europe. This however happens not to be the season of performing; but the common people enjoy their operas at all seasons. Little concerts of vocal and instrumental music are heard every evening in the Strada Nuova, the Chiaca, the Strada di Toledo, and other streets; and young men and women are seen dancing to the music of ambulatory performers all along this delightful bay.

To a mere spectator, the amusements of the common people afford more delight, than those of the great; because they seem to be more enjoyed by the one class, than by the other. This is the case every where, except in France; where the high appear as happy as those of middle rank, and the rich are very near as merry as the poor. But, in most other countries, the people of great rank and fortune, though they flock to every kind of entertainment, from no [...] knowing what to do with themselves, yet seem to enjoy them less than those of inferior rank and fortune.

The English particularly are said to be in this predicament. This may be true in some degree; though I imagine there is more appearance than reality in it; owing to an absurd affectation of indifference, or what the French call nonchalance, which has prevailed of late years. A few insipid characters in high life, whose internal vacancy leads them to seek amusement in public places, and whose insensibility prevents them from finding it, have probably brought this appearance of a want of all enjoyment into fashion. Those who wish to be thought of what is called the [...], imitate the mawkish insipidity of their superiors in rank, [...] imagine it distinguishes them from the vulgar, to suppress all the natural expressions of pity, joy, or admiration, and to seem upon all occasions, in a state of complete apathy. Those amiable creatures frequent public places, that it may be said of them, They are not as other men are. You will see them occasionally at the playhouse, [Page] placed in the boxes, like so many busts, with unchanging features: and, while the rest of the audience yield to the emotions excited by the poet and the actors, those men of the ton preserve the most dignified serenity of countenance; and, except that they from time to time pronounce the words Pshaw! and Stuff!—one would think them the express representatives of the Pagan gods, who have eyes but do not see, and ears but do not hear.

I know not what may be the case at the opera; but I can assure you there are none of those busts among the auditories which the street performers at Naples, gather around them. I saw very lately a large cluster of men, women, and children, entertained to the highest degree, and to all appearance made exceedingly happy, by a poor fellow with a mask on his face, and a guitar in his hands. He assembled his audience by the songs he sung to the music of his instrument, and by a thousand merry stories he told them with infinite drollery. This assembly was in an open place, facing the bay, and near the palace. The old women sat listening, with their distaffs, spinning a kind of coarse flax, and wetting the thread with their spittle; their grand-children sprawled at their feet, amused with the twirling of the spindle, the men and their wives, the youths and their mistresses, sat in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the musician, who kept them laughing for a great part of the evening with his stories, which he enlivened occasionally with tunes upon the guitar.

At length, when the company was most numerous, and at the highest pitch of good-humour, he suddenly pulled of his mask, laid down his guitar, and opened a little box which stood before him, and addressed the audience in the following words, as literally as I can translate them:—Ladies and gentlemen, there is a time for all things; we have had enough of jesting; innocent mirth is excellent for the health of the body, but other things are requisite for the health of the soul. I will now, with your permission, my honourable masters and mistresses, entertain you with something serious, and of infinitely greater importance; something for which all of you will have [...]eason to bless me as long as you live. Here he shook out of a bag a great number of little leaden crucifixes.—I am just come from the Holy House of Loretto, my fellow-christians, continued [...]e, on purpose to furnish you with those jewels, more precious than the gold of Peru, and all the pearls of the ocean. Now, my beloved brethren and sisters, you are afraid that I shall demand a price for those sacred crosses far above your abilities, and something correspondent with their value, by way of indemnification for the fatigue and expence of the long journey which I have made on your account, all the way from the habitation of the Blessed Virgin, to this thrice renowned city of Naples, the riches and liberality of whose inhabitants are celebrated all over the globe. No, my generous Neapolitans; I do not wish to take the advantage of your pious and liberal dispositions. I will not [Page] ask for those invaluable crucifixes (all of which, let me inform you, have touched the foot of the holy image of the Blessed Virgin, which was formed by the hands of St. Luke; and, moreover, each of them has been shaken in the Santissima Scodella, the sacred porringer in which the Virgin made the pap for the infant Jesus;) I will not, I say, ask an ounce of gold, no not even a crown of silver; my regard for you is such, that I shall let you have them for a penny a piece.

You must acknowledge, my friend, that this morsel of eloquence was a very great penny-worth; and when we recollect the sums that some of our acquaintance receive for their oratory, though they never could produce so pathetic a specimen, you will naturally conclude that eloquence is a much rarer commodity in England than in Italy.

LETTER LXII. A visit to Mount Vesuvius.

NAPLES.

I HAVE made two visits to Mount Vesuvius, the first in company with your acquaintance Mr. N—t. Leaving the carriage at Herculaneum, we mounted mules, and [...] attended by three men, whose business it is to accompany strangers up the mountain. Being arrived at a hermitage, called I [...] salvatore, we found the road so broken and rough, that we thought proper to leave the mules at that place, which is inhabited by a French hermit. The poor man must have a very bad opinion of mankind, to choose the mouth of Mount Vesuvius for his nearest neighbour, in preference to their society. From the hermitage we walked over various fields of lava, which have burst out at different periods. These seemed to be perfectly well known to our guides, who mentioned their different dates as we passed. The latest appeared, before we left Rome, about two months ago; it was, however, but inconsiderable in comparison of other eruptions, there having been no bursting of the crater, or of the side of the mountain, as in the eruption of 1767, so well described by Sir William Hamilton; but only a boiling over of lava from the mouth of the volcano, and that not in excessive quantity; for it had done no damage to the vineyards or cultivated parts of the mountain, having reached no farther than the old black lava on which soil had not as yet been formed.

I was surprised to see this lava of the last eruption still smoking, and in some places where a considerable quantity was confined in a kind of deep path like a dry ditch, and shaded from the light of the Sun, it appeared of a glowing red colour. In other places, notwithstanding its being perfectly black and solid, it still retained such a degree of heat, that we could not stand upon it any considerable time, but were obliged very frequently to step on the [Page] ground, or on older lava, to cool our feet. We had advanced a good way on a large piece of the latest lava, which was perfectly black and hard, and seemed cooler [...] the rest; while from this we looked at a stream of liquid lava, which flowed sluggishly along a hollow way at some distance. I accidentally threw my eyes below my feet, and perceived something, which mightily discomposed my contemplations. This was a small stream of the same matter, gliding to one side from beneath the black crust on which we stood. The idea of this crust giving way, and our sinking into the glowing liquid which it covered, made us shift our ground with great precipitation; which one of our guides observing, he called out, "Animo, animo, Signori;"—Courage, courage, Sirs; and immediately jumped on the incrustation which we had abandoned, and danced above it, to shew that it was sufficiently strong, and that we had no reason to be afraid.

We afterwards threw large stones of the heaviest kind we could find, into this rivulet, on whose surface they floated like Cork in water; and on thrusting a s [...]ick into the stream, it required a considerable exertion of strength to make it enter. About this time the day began to overcast; this destroyed our hopes of enjoying the view from the top of the mountain, and we were not tempted to ascend any farther.

Some time after, I went to the summit with another party;—but I think it fair to inform you, that I have nothing new to say on the subject of volcanos, nor any philosophical remarks to make upon lavas. I have no guess of what time may be necessary for the formation of soil, nor do I know whether it accumulates in a regular progression, or is accelerated or retarded by various accidents, which may lead us into infinite errors, when we calculate time by such a rule.

I have not the smallest wish to insinuate that the world is an hour older than Moses makes it; because I imagine those gentlemen whose calculations differ from his, are very nearly as liable to be mistaken as he was; because an attempt to prove it more ancient, can be no service to mankind; and, finally, because, unless it could at the same time be proved that the world has acquired wisdom in proportion to its years, such an attempt conveys an oblique reflection on its character; for many follies may be overlooked and forgiven to a world of only five or six thousand years of age, which would be quite unpardonable at a more advanced period of existence. Having forewarned you that I shall treat of none of those matters, but simply describe what I saw, and, mention perhaps a few incidents, none of which, I confess, are of great importance, I leave it in your choice to ascend the mountain with me, or not as you please.

Having proceeded on mules as far a [...] on the former occasion, we walked to that part of the mountain which is almost perpendicular. This appears of no great height, yet those who have never before attempted this ascent, fatigue themselves here much more than [Page] during all the rest of the journey, notwithstanding their being assisted by laying hold of the belts which the guides wear about their waists for that purpose. This part of the mountain appearing much shorter than it really is, people are tempted to make a violent effort in the expectation of surmounting the difficulty at once; but the cinders, ashes, and other drossy materials, giving way, the foot generally sinks back two-thirds of each step; so that besides the height being greater than it appears, you have all the fatigue of ascending a hill three time [...] as high as this is in reality.

Those, therefore, who set out too briskly at first, and do not husband their strength at the beginning, have reason to repent their imprudence, being obliged to throw many a longing look, and make many a fruitless vow, before they, with the wretched guide who lugs them along, can arrive, panting and breathless, at the top; like those young men who, having wasted their vigour in early excesses, and brought on premature old age, link themselves to some ill fated woman, who drags, them tormenting and tormented, to the grave.

Those who wish to view Mount Vesuvius to the greatest advantage, must begin their expedition in the evening; and the darker the succeeding night happens to be, so much the better. By the time our company had arrrived at the top of the mountain, there was hardly any other light than that which issued by interrupted flashes from the volcano.

Exclusive of those periods when there are actual eruptions, the appearance and quantity of what issues from the mountain are very various; sometimes, for a long space of time together, it seems in a state of almost perfect tranquillity; nothing but a small quantity of smoke ascending from the volcano, as if that vast magazine of fuel, which has kept i [...] alive for so many ages, was at last exhausted, and nothing remained but the dying embers; then, perhaps, when least expected, the cloud of smoke, thickens, and is intermixed with flame; at other times, quantities of pumice stone and ashes are thrown up with a kind of hissing noise. For near a week the mountain has been more turbulent than at any time since the small eruption, or rather boiling over of lava, which took place about two months ago; and while we remained at the top, the explosions were of sufficient importance to satisfy our curiosity to the utmost. They appeared much more considerable there than we had imagined while at a greater distance; each of them was preceded by a noise like thunder within the mountain; a column of thick black smoke then issued out with great rapidity, followed by a blaze of flame; and immediately after, a shower of cinders and ashes, or red hot stones, were thrown into the sky, This was succeeded by a calm of a few minutes, during which nothing issued but a moderate quantity of smoke and flame, which gradually increased, and terminated in thunder and explosion as before. These accesses and intervals continued with varied force while we remained.

[Page] When we first arrived, our guides placed us at a reasonable distance from the mouth of the volcano, and on the side from which the wind came, so that we were no way incommoded by the smoke. In this situation the wind also bore to the opposite side the cinders, ashes, and other fiery substances, which were thrown up; and we ran no danger of being hurt, except when the explosion was very violent, and when red hot stones, and such heavy substances, were thrown like sky-rockets, with a great noise and prodigious force, into the air; and even these make such a flaming appearance and take so much time in descending, that they are easily avoided.

Mr. Brydone, in his admirable account of Mount AEtna, tells us, he was informed, that, in an eruption of that mountain, large rocks of fire were discharged, with a noise much more terrible than that of thunder; that the person who informed him, reckoned from the time of their greatest elevation till they reached the ground, and found they took twenty-one seconds to descend; from whence he concludes their elevation had been seven thousand feet. This unquestionably required a power of projection far superior to what Vesuvius has been known to exert. He himself measured the height of the explosions of the latter by the same rule; and the stones thrown the highest, never took above nine seconds to descend; which, by the same method of calculating, shews they had risen to little more than twelve hundred feet.—A pretty tolerable height, and might have satisfied the ambition of Vesuvius, if the stones of AEtna had not been said to have mounted so much higher. But before such an excessive superiority is granted to the latter, those who are acquainted with Mr. Brydone will recollect, that they have his own authority for the one fact, and that of another person for the other.

After having remained some time at the place where they were posted by the guides, our company grew bolder, as they became more familiarised to the object. Some made the circuit of the volcano, and by that means increased the risque of being wounded by the stones thrown out. Your young friend Jack was a good deal hurt by a fall, as he ran to avoid a large portion of some fiery substance, which seemed to be falling directly on his head.

Considering the rash and frolicsome disposition of some who visit this mountain, it is very remarkable that so few fatal accidents happen. I have heard of young English gentlemen betting, who should venture farthest, or remain longest, near the mouth of the volcano. A very dreadful event had nearly taken place while our company remained.

The bank, if it may be so called, on which some of them had stood when they looked into the Volcano, actually fell in before we left the summit of the mountain. This made an impression on all present, and inclined them to abandon so treacherous a neighbourhood. The steep hill of dross and cinders, which we had found so difficult to ascend, we descended in a twinkling; but, as the night was uncommonly dark, we had much trouble in passing [Page] over the rough valley between that and the Hermitage, near which the [...]ules waited. I ought to be ashamed, however, to mention the fatigue of this expedition; for two ladies, natives of Geneva, formed part of the company. One of them, big with child, accompanied her husband as far as the Hermitage, and was then with difficulty persuaded to go back; the other actually went to the summit, and returned with the rest of the company.

Before we set out for Naples, we were refreshed at a little inn at the bottom of the mountain, with some glasses of a very generous and palatable wine, called Lachrima Christi;—The Tears of Christ, and experienced the truth of what an Italian Poet observed, that the [...]cts of this wine form a strong contrast with its name:

Chi fu, de Contadini il piú indiscreto,

Che á sbigottir la gente

Diede nome dolente,

Al vin, che sopra ogn' altro il c [...]r fá lieto?

Lachrima dunque appellarassi un' riso,

Parto di nobilissima vindemia.

What inconsiderate fellow, to terrify people, could first give the mournful name of tears to that wine which, above all others, renders the heart glad, and excites cheerfulness?

LETTER LXIII. Observations on the pulmonary Consumption.

NAPLES.

YOUR account of our Friend's state of health gives me much concern; the more, as I cannot approve the change he has made of a physician. You say, the doctor, under whose care he is at present, has employed his mind so entirely in medical researches, that he scarcely displays a grain of common sense, when the conversation turns on any other subject; and that, although he seems opinionative, vain, and ostentatious in his profession▪ and full of false and absurd ideas in the common affairs of life, yet he is a very able physician, and has performed many wonderful cures. Be assured, my dear Sir, that this is impossible; for medical skill is not like the Rod of an inchanter, which may be found accidentally, and which transfers its miraculous powers indiscriminately to a block-head or a man of sense. The number of weak, gossipping men, who have made fortunes by this profession, do not prove the contrary.

I do not say that men of that kind cannot make fortunes; I only assert they are not the most likely to cure diseases. An interest [Page] with apothecaries, nurses, and a few talkative old ladies, will enable them to do the first; but a clear understanding, and a considerable share of natural sagacity, are qualities essentially necessary for the second, and for every business which requires reflection. Without these, false inferences will be drawn from experience itself; and learning will tend to confirm a man in his errors, and to render him more completely a coxcomb.

The profession of physic is that, of all others, in which the generality of mankind have the fewest lights, by which they can discern the abilities of its professors; because the studies which lead to it are more out of the road of usual education, and the practice more enveloped in technical terms and hieroglyphical signs. But I imagine the safest criterion by which men, who have not been bred to that profession, can form a judgment of those who have, is, the degree of sagacity and penetration they discover on subjects equally open to mankind in general, and which ought to be understood by all who live in society. You do not mention particularly what has been prescribed by either; only that the former physician seemed to rely almost entirely on exercise and regimen, whereas the present flatters our friend with a speedy cure, by the help of the Pectoral and Balsamic medicines which he orders in such abundance, and which he declares are so efficacious in pulmonary consumptions.

Having lamented with you the mournful events which render the name of that disease peculiarly alarming to you, and knowing your friendly solicitude about Mr.—, I do not wonder at your earnest desire to know something of the nature of a distemper with which he is threatened, and which has proved fatal to so many of our friends. But I am surprised that you have not chosen a more enlightened instructor, when you have so many around you. Though conscious that I have no just claim to all the obliging expressions which your partiality to my opinions has prompted you to make use of, yet I am too much flattered by some of them, to refuse complying with your request.

My sentiments, such as they are, will at least have the merit of being clearly understood. I shall observe your prohibition, not to refer you to any medical book; and shall carefully avoid all technical terms, which you so much abominate. With regard to your shewing my Letter to any of the faculty; if you find yourself so inclined, I have not the smallest objection; for those who have the greatest knowledge in their profession, are best acquainted with its uncertainty, and most indulgent to the mistakes or errors of others.

Alas, my friend! how is it possible that physicians should avoid mistakes? If the ablest mechanic were to attempt to remedy the irregular movements of a watch, while he remained ignorant of the structure and manner of acting of some of the principal springs, would he not be in danger of doing harm instead of good? Physicians are in the situation of such a mechanic: for although it is evident that the nerves are the organs of motion and sensation, [Page] yet their structure is not known. Some anatomists assert they are impervious cords; others, that they are slender tubes, containing a fluid.

But what the nature of this fluid is; whether it serves only to nourish the nerves themselves, or is the medium by which they convey feeling and the power of motion to other parts, is not ascertained even by those who argue for its existence; far less is it explained in what manner ideas, formed within the brain, can, by the means of solid cords, or by a fluid contained in tubes communicate motions at pleasure to the legs and arms. We are ignorant why the will, which has no influence over the motion of an animal's heart, should find the feet obedient to her dictates; and we can no more explain how a man can move one leg over the other by volition, or the mere act of willing, than how he could, by the same means, move Ossa on the top of Olympus. The one happens every moment, the other would be considered as a miracle; but they are equally unaccountable. While parts so infinitely essential to life are not understood, instead of being surprised that so many diseases baffle the skill of the physician, we have more reason to be astonished that any can be alleviated or cured by his art.

The pen of the satirist, no doubt, may be fairly aimed against the presumption and ignorance of many individuals of this, as of every other profession; but cannot with justice be directed against the art itself: since, in spite of the obscurity which still involves some parts of the animal economy, many disorders are relieved, and some of the severest and most disagreeable to which the human body is liable, are cured with certainty by the art of medicine.

Unfortunately for mankind, and in a particular manner for the inhabitants of Great Britain, the pulmonary consumption is not of the number.

This disease may originate from various causes:

1st. An external bruise or wound.

2d. The disease called pleurisy, including in that term an inflammation of the lungs themselves, as well as the membrane which covers them.

3d. The bursting of some of the blood-vessels of the lungs, independent of external injury, and owing to a faulty conformation of the chest, and the slenderness of the vessels.

4th. Certain small tumours, called tubercles, in the lungs.

The first cause I have mentioned is an external bruise or wound.

An accident of that kind happening to the lungs, is more dangerous and difficult to cure than when the same takes place in most other parts of the body; because the lungs are vital organs, essentially necessary to life, and when their motion is impaired, other animal functions are thereby injured; because they are of an uncommonly delicate texture, in which a rupture having once taken place, will be apt to increase; because they are in constant motion [Page] and exposed to the access of external air both of which circumstances are unfavourable to the healing of wounds, and because the mass of blood distributed to the whole body passes previously thro' the lungs, and consequently the blood-vessels of this organ are more numerous, than those of any other part of the body.

When we consider these peculiarities, it is natural to conclude, that every wound of the lungs must necessarily prove mortal; but experience has taught the contrary. Many wounds of the lungs heal of themselves, by what is called, the first intention, The physician may prevent a fever, by ordering the patient to lose blood in proper quantities, and he may regulate the diet; but the cure must be left to nature, which she will perform with greater certainty, if she is not disturbed by any of those balsams which the wounded are sometimes directed to swallow on such occasions. But when the wound, either from injudicious treatment, or from its size, or from the bad habit of the patient, degenerates into an ulcer attended with hectic symptoms, the disease must be treated as if it had arisen from any of the other causes.

The pleurisy, or inflammation of the lungs, is a disease more frequent in cold countries than in mild; in the spring than in the other seasons; and more apt to seize people of a sanguine constitution than others.

Plentiful and repeated bleedings, fomentations, blisters near the affected part, and a cooling, diluting regimen, generally remove it, without its leaving any bad consequence. Sometimes, by the omission of bleeding in due quantity at the beginning, and sometimes in spite of all possible care, it terminates in an abscess, which on bursting may suffocate the patient; or, if the matter is coughed up, becomes an open ulcer, and produces the disease in question.

The third cause of the pulmonary consumption above mentioned is a spitting of blood, from the bursting of vessels of the lungs, independent of external wound or bruise. People of a fair complexion, delicate skin, slender make, long neck, and narrow chest, are more subject to this than others. Those who have a predisposition to this complaint, by their form, are most apt to be attacked after their full growth: women from fifteen to three-and-thirty; men two or three years later.

In Great Britain, a spitting of blood generally occurs to those predisposed to it, in the spring, or beginning of summer, when the weather suddenly changes from cold to excessive hot; and when the heat is supposed to rarify the blood, before the solids are proportionably relaxed from the contracted state they acquire during the cold of winter. When a spitting of blood happens to a person who has actually lost brothers or sisters, or other near relations, by the pulmonary consumption, as that circumstance gives reason to suspect a family [...]aint or predisposition, the case will, on that account, be more dangerous.

Violent exercise may occasion the rupture of blood vessels in the lungs, even in those who have no hereditary disposition to such an [Page] accident; it ought therefore to be carefully avoided by all who have. Violent exercise, in the spring, is more dangerous than in other seasons; and, when taken at the top of high mountains, by those who do not usually reside there, it has been considered as more dangerous than in vallies. The sudden diminution of the weight of the atmosphere, co-operating with the exercise, renders the vessels more apt to break. Of all things the most pernicious to people predisposed to a spitting of blood, is, playing upon wind-instruments.

Previous to the spitting of blood, some perceive an uneasiness in the chest, an oppression on the breath, and a saltish taste in the spittle; but these symptoms are not constant.

Nothing can be more insidious than the approaches of this disease sometimes are. The substance of the lungs, which is so full of blood-vessels, is not supplied so liberally with nerves; the lungs, therefore, may be materially affected, before danger is indicated by acute pain. And it sometimes happens, that people of the make above described are, in the bloom of life, and generally in the spring of the year, seized with a slight cough, which gradually increases, without pain, soreness in the breast, difficulty of respiration, or spitting of blood. A slow fever supervenes every night, which remits every morning, with sweats. These symptoms augment daily; and, in spite of early attention, and what is thought the best advice, the unsuspecting victims gradually sink into their graves.

Those who by their make, or by the disease having in former instances appeared in their family, are predisposed to this complaint, ought to be peculiarly attentive in the article of diet. A spare and cooling regimen is the best. They should avoid violent exercise, and every other exciting cause; and use the precaution of losing blood in the spring. If their circumstances permit, they ought to pass the cold months in a mild climate; but, if they are obliged to remain during the winter in Great Britain, let them wear flannel next to the skin, and use every other precaution against catching colds.

The fourth cause above enumerated is, tubercles in the lungs.

The moist, foggy, and changeable weather, which prevails in Great Britain, renders its inhabitants more liable, than those of milder and more uniform climates, to catarrhs, rheumatisms, pleurisies, and other diseases proceeding from obstructed perspiration. The same cause subjects the inhabitants of Great Britain to obstructions of the glands, scrophulous complaints, and tubercles in the substance of the lungs. The scrophulous disease is more frequent than is generally imagined. For one person in whom it appears by swellings in the glands below the chin, and other external marks, many have the internal glands affected by it. This is well known to those who are accustomed to open dead bodies. On examining the bodies of such as have died of the pulmonary consumption, besides the open ulcers in the lungs, [Page] many little hard tumours or tubercles are generally found; some, with matter; others, on being cut open, discover a little blueish spot, of the size of a small lead shot. Here the suppuration, or formation of matter, is just going to begin; and in some the tubercle is perfectly hard, and the colour whitish, throughout its whole substance.

Tubercles may remain for a considerable time in the lungs, in this indolent state, without much inconveniency; but, when excited to inflammation by frequent catarrhs, or other irritating causes, matter is formed, they break, and produce an ulcer. Care and attention may prevent tubercles from inflammation, or may prevent that from terminating in the formation of matter; but when matter is actually formed, and the tubercle has become an abscess, no remedy can stop its progress. It must go [...] on till it bursts. If this happens near any of the large air-vessels, immediate suffocation may ensue; but, for the most part, the matter is coughed up.

From the circumstances above enumerated of the delicate texture, constant motion, and numerous blood-vessels of the lungs, it is natural to imagine, that a breach of this nature in their substance will be still more difficult to heal than a wound from an external cause. So unquestionably it is; yet there are many instances of even this kind of breach being repaired; the matter expectorated diminishing in quantity every day, and the ulcer gradually healing; not, surely, by the power of medicine, but by the constant disposition and tendency which exists in nature, by inscrutable means of her own, to restore health to the human body.

It may be proper to observe, that those persons whose formation of body renders them most liable to a spitting of blood, have also a greater predisposition than others to tubercles in the lungs. The disease, called the spasmodic asthma, has been reckoned among the causes of the pulmonary consumption. It would require a much greater degree of confidence in a man▪s own judgment, than I have in mine, to assert, that this complaint has no tendency to produce tubercles in the lungs; but I may say, with truth, that I have often known the spasmodic asthma, [...] the most violent degree attended with the most alarming symptoms, continue to harass the patients for a long period of time, and at length suddenly disappear without ever returning; the persons who have been thus afflicted, enjoying perfect health for many years after. It is not probable that tubercles were formed in any of these cases; and it is certain they were not in some, whose bodies were opened after their deaths, which happened from other distempers, the asthma having disappeared several years before.

Certain eruptions of the skin, attended with fever, particularly the small-pox, and still oftner the measles, leave after them a foundation for the pulmonary consumption. From which ever of the causes above enumerated this disease takes its origin, when once an ulcer, attended with a hectic fever, is formed in the lungs, the [Page] [...], in the highest degree, dangerous. When it ends fatally, the symptoms are, a quick pulse, and a sensation of cold, while the patient's skin, to the feeling of every other person, is hot; irregular shiverings, a severe cough, expectoration of matter streaked with blood, morning sweats, a circumscribed spot of a crimson colour on the cheeks, heat of the palms of the hands, excessive emaciation, crooking of the nails, swelling of the legs, giddiness, delirium, soon followed by death.

These symptoms do not appear in every case. Although the emaciation is greater in this disease than in any other, yet the appetite frequently remains strong and unimpaired to the last; and although a delirium sometimes comes before death, yet in many cases the senses seem perfect and intire; except in one particular, that in spite of all the foregoing symptoms, the patient often entertains the fullest hopes of recovery to the last moment.

Would to heaven it were as easy to point out the cure, as to describe the symptoms of a disease of such a formidable nature, and against which the powers of medicine have been directed with such bad success, that there is reason to fear, its fatal termination has been oftner accelerated than retarded by the means employed to remove it! To particularize the drugs which have been long in use, and have been honoured with the highest encomiums for their great efficacy in healing inward bruises, ulcers of the lungs, and confirmed consumptions, would in many instances be pointing out, what ought to be shunned as pernicious, and in others what ought to be neglected as futile.

Salt water, and some of the mineral springs, which are unquestionably beneficial in scrophulous and other distempers, have been found hurtful, or at least inefficacious, in the consumption; there is no sufficient reason to depend on a course of these, or any medicine at present known, for preventing or dissolving tubercles in the lungs. Mercury, which has been found so powerful in disposing other ulcers to heal, has no good effect on ulcers of that organ;—though some physicians imagine it may be of service in the beginning to dissolve tubercles, before they begin to suppurate; but as there is no absolute evidence, during life, of indolent tubercles being formed, there can be none that mercury cures them.

Various kinds of gums, with the natural and artificial balsams, were long supposed to promote the healing of external wounds and ulcers, and on that account were made the basis of a vast variety of ointments and plaisters. It was afterwards imagined, that the same remedies, administered internally, would have the same effect on internal ulcers; and of course many of those gums and balsams were prescribed in various forms for the pulmonary consumption.

The reasoning on which this practice was established, however, seems a little shallow, and is far from being conclusive; for although it were granted, that these balsams contributed to the cure of [Page] wounds, when applied directly to the part, it does not follow that they could carry their healing powers, unimpaired, from the stomach to the lungs, through the whole process of digestion. But more accurate surgery having made it manifest, that the granulations which spring up to supply the loss of substance in external wounds, and the healing or skinning over of all kinds of sores, proceeds from no active virtue in the plaisters or ointments with which they are dressed, but is entirely the work of nature, and best performed when the mildest substances, or even dry lint only is applied; and that heating gums, resins, and balsams, rather retard than promote their cure; the internal use of such remedies ought to be rejected now, on the same principles they were adopted formerly.

No kind of reasoning ought to have weight, when opposed by fair experience. But physicians have formed contrary and opposite conclusions, with respect to the effect of the natural and artificial balsams, even when they have laid all theory and reasoning aside, and decided on their powers from practice and experiment only. This is sufficient to prove, at least, that their efficacy is very problematical. For my own part, after the fairest trials, and the most accurate observations I have been able to make, I cannot say that I ever knew them of service in any hectic complaint proceeding from an ulcer in the lungs; and I have generally found those physicians, on whose judgment I have more reliance than on my own, of the same opinion.

It is far from being uncommon to [...]e a cure retarded, not to say any thing stronger, by the means employed to hasten it; and physicians who found their practice on theoretical reasonings, are not the only persons to whom this misfortune may happen. Those who profess to take experience for their sole guide, if it is not directed by candour, and enlightened by natural sagacity, are liable to the same. A man may, for twenty years, order a medicine, which has in every instance done a little harm, though not always so much as to prevent nature from removing the complaint at last; and if the reputation of this medicine should ever be attacked, he may bring his twenty years experience in support of it. It ought to be remembered, that as often as the animal constitution is put out of order, by accident or distemper, nature endeavours to restore health. Happily she has many resources, and various methods of accomplishing her purpose; and very often she succeeds best without medical assistance.

But medical assistance being given, she frequently succeeds notwithstanding; and it sometimes happens, that both physician and patient are convinced, that the means which did not prevent have actually performed the cure. A peasant is seized with a shivering, followed by feverishness, and accompanied with a slight cough—he goes to bed, and excessive heat and thirst prompt him to drink plentifully of plain water; on the second or third day a [Page] copious sweat bursts from all his pores, and terminates the disorder. A person of fortune is seized with the same symptoms, arising from the same cause, and which would have been cured by the same means, in the same space of time; but the apothecary is called, who immediately sends pectoral linctuses, to remove the cough, and afterwards gives a vomit, to remove the nausea which the linctuses have occasioned: the heat and fever augment; the physician is called, he orders the patient to be blooded, to abate the violence of the fever, and gives a little physic on some other account. All this prevents the natural crisis by sweat; and the patient being farther teased by draughts or powders every two or three hours, nature cannot shake off the fever so soon by six or seven days, as she would have done had she been left to herself. She generally does her business at last, however; and then the physician and apothecary glory in the happy effects of their skill, and receive the grateful thanks of their patient for having cured him of a dangerous fever.

Every body of common penetration, at all conversant in medical matters, must have seen enough to convince them that the above description is not exaggerated; but it is not to be inferred from this, that the art of medicine is of no use to mankind. There are many diseases in which nature sinks, without medical assistance. It is the part of the penetrating and experienced physician to distinguish these from others, and leave it to the knavish and weak to assume the merit of cures in cases where they know, or ought to know, that medicine can do nothing.

Some physicians, who have abandoned the other resins and gums, as useless or hurtful in hectic complaints, still adhere to myrrh as a beneficial medicine; but from what I can learn, the cases in which this gum has been thought serviceable, are hectic complaints, from debility, in consequence of excessive evacuations of various kinds, and not proceeding from ulcerated lungs. After it is fully established that myrrh is of use in such instances, it will still be worthy of investigation, whether it is more or less than Jesuits bark.

I have repeatedly mentioned blood-letting, and a spare, diluting regimen, as the most powerful mean [...] of preventing and curing all affections of the lungs that depend on inflammation. In the case of external wounds, or bruises of the lungs, this method facilitates the immediate cure by the first intention. It is the chief thing to be depended [...] for the cure of pleurisies; and it is often owing to a neglect, or [...] sparing an use of this evacuation, that the compliant terminates in an abscess. In people predisposed by the form of their bodies, or the nature of their constitutions, to a spitting of blood, it may prevent the turgid vessels from bursting; and in those who have tubercles in the lungs, it is of the greatest utility, by preventing those tumours from inflaming, and becoming ulcers; but after the ulcers are actually formed, I have great doubts with regard to the propriety of attempting a cure by repeated bleedings [Page] even in small quantities. This method has been often tried; but I fear the success with which it has been attended, gives no encouragement to continue the practice. That symptoms may be such, in every period of this disease, as to require this evacuation, is not to be denied; but there is a great difference in the application of what is considered as an occasional palliative, and that from which we expect a radical cure. In the one case, it will only be used when some particular symptom strongly urges; in the other, it will be used at stated intervals, whether the symptoms press or not; and may tend to weaken the already debilitated patient, without our having the consolation of knowing, with certainty, that it has had any other effect.

Blisters do not weaken so much; they are of undoubted use in pleurisies; perhaps, by exciting external inflammation, they may contribute to draw off the inflammatory disposition within the breast: perhaps—But in whatever way they act, I imagine I have frequently seen blisters and setons, particularly the latter, of considerable service, even after the symptoms indicated the existence of an ulcer in the lungs.

As for the numerous forms of electuaries, lohochs, and linctuses, composed of oils, gums, and syrups, and by the courtesy of dispensatory writers, called pectoral; I am convinced they are of no manner of service in this complaint, and seldom have any other effect than that of loading the stomach, and impairing the digestion of salutary food. So far from being of any permanent service to the disease, they cannot be depended on for giving even a temporary relief to the cough; when that symptom becomes troublesome, gentle opiates will be found the best palliatives. Some practitioners object to these medicines, on a supposition that they check expectoration; but they only seem to have this effect, by lulling the irritation to cough; the same quantity will be expectorated in the morning, after the influence of the opiate is over. It is surely better that the matter should accumulate, and the patient spit it up at once, than allow him to be kept from rest, and teased with coughing and spitting through the whole night. These palliatives however, are to be managed with great caution; never exhibited while the patient enjoys a tolerable share of natural rest. Small doses should be given at first, and not increased without absolute necessity.

Exhibited in this manner, they cannot do harm; and those who reject the assistance of a class of medicines, which afford ease and tranquillity in the most deplorable state of this disease, ought to give better proofs than have hitherto appeared, that they are able to procure their patients more valuable and lasting comforts than those they deprive them of.

The known efficacy of the Peruvian bark, in many distempers, especially in intermittent fevers; the remission of the symptoms, which happens regularly every day at a particular stage of the pulmonary consumption, and in some degree gives it the appearance [Page] of an intermittent, joined to the failure of all other remedies, prompted physicians to make trial of that noble medicine in this disease. In consequence of these trials, the bark is now pretty generally acknowledged to be serviceable in hectical complaints, proceeding from debility, and other causes, exclusive of ulcerated lungs; but when the disease proceeds from this cause, the bark is supposed, by some very respectable physicians, always to do harm. I am most clearly of the first opinion, and perhaps it would not become me to dispute the second.

It may be permitted, however, to observe, that the most discerning practitioners may be led into a notion, that a very safe medicine does harm, when it is exhibited at the worst stage of a disease, in which hardly any medicine whatever has been found to do good. In every stage of this disease, elixir of vitriol may be used. It is a pleasant and safe medicine, but particularly efficacious when the patient is troubled with wasting sweats.

Having, in obedience to your request, delivered my sentiments freely, you will perceive, that, besides the objections already mentioned to the person under whose care our friend is at present, I cannot approve of his being directed to take so many drugs, or of his being detained in town, at a season when he may enjoy, in the country, what is preferable to all medicine; I mean air exercise, and let me even add diet.

Had I known of our friend's complaints earlier, I should have advised him to have met the advancing spring in the South of France; but at the season in which you will receive this letter, the moderate warmth, and refreshing verdure of England, are preferable to the sultry heats, and scorched fields of the South. From the view I have of his complaints, I can have no hesitation in advising you to endeavour to prevail on him to quit his drugs, and to leave London without delay. Since he bears [...]iding on horseback so well, let him enjoy that exercise in an atmosphere freed from the smoke of the town, and impregnated with the flavour of rising plants and green herbage; a flavour which may with more truth be called pectoral, than any of the heating resins, or loathsome oils, on which that term has been prostituted. Let him pass the summer in drinking the waters, and riding around the environs of Bristol.

It will be easy for him to find a house in the free air of the country, at some distance from that town; and it will be of use to have an additional reason for rising early, and riding every morning. It is of the greatest importance that he continue that exercise every day that the weather will permit; a little cloudiness of the sky should not fright him from it; there is no danger of catching cold during the continuation of that movement which assists digestion, promotes the determination of blood from the lungs to the surface of the body, and is more salutary in the morning than after dinner.

With respect to diet, he should carefully observe the important rule of taking food frequently, in small quantities, and never making [Page] a full meal; that the digestive organs may not be overpowered, or the vessels charged with too large a quantity of chyle at a time; which never fails to bring on oppressive breathings, and augments the fever and flushing, which in some degree succeeds every repast.

Since all kinds of milk are found to disagree with his constitution, that nourishment, which is in general so well adapted to similar complaints, must be omitted, and light broths, with vegetable food, particularly of the farinaceous kind, substituted in its place.

Acids, especially the native acid of vegetables, are remarkably agreeable and refreshing to all who labour under the heat, oppression, and langour, which accompany hectic complaints. It is surprising what a quantity of the juice of lemons the constitution will [...]ear, without any inconveniency, when it is accustomed to it by degrees; and in those cases where it does not occasion pains in the stomach and bowels, or other immediate inconveniencies, it has been thought to have a good effect in abating the force of the hectic fever.

I have met with two cases, since I have been last abroad, in both of which there seemed to be a quicker recovery than I ever saw, from the same symptoms. The first was that of a young lady, of about seventeen years of age, and apparently of a very healthy constitution. In bad weather, during the spring, she caught cold: this being neglected in the beginning, gradually grew worse. When physicians were at length consulted, their prescriptions seemed to have as bad an effect as her own neglect. By the middle of summer her cough was incessant, accompanied with hectic fever and flushings, irregular shiverings, morning sweats, emaciation, expectoration of purulent phlegm streaked with blood, and every indication of an open ulcer in the lungs. In this desperate state she was carried from the town to a finely situated village in Switzerland, where, for several months, she lived in the middle of a vineyard, on ripe grapes and bread. She had been directed to a milk and vegetable diet in general. Her own taste inclined her to the grapes, which she continued, on finding, that, with this diet only, she was less languid, and of a more natural coolness, and that the cough, fever, and all the other symptoms gradually abated. She seemed to be brought from the jaws of death by the change of air, and this regimen only; and she returned to her own home in high spirits, and with the look and vigour of health. The ensuing winter, after being heated with dancing at the house of a friend, she walked home in a cold night; the cough, spitting of blood, and other symptoms immediately returned, and she died three months after.

In the other case; there was not such a degree of fever, but there was an expectoration of matter, frequently streaked with blood, and evident signs of an ulcer in the lungs. The person who laboured under these symptoms, had tried the usual remedies of pectorals, pills, linctuses, &c. with the usual success. He grew daily worse. He had formerly found much relief from bleeding, [Page] but had left it off for many months, on a supposition that it had lost all effect, and he had allowed an issue to be healed, on the same supposition; though he still persevered in a milk regimen. I mentioned to him the case of the young lady, as it is above recited. He immediately took the resolution to confine himself to bread and grapes for almost his only food. I advised him at the same time to have the issue opened, and to continue that drain for some time; but this he did not comply with. He forsook, however, the town for the country, and passed as much of the morning on horseback, as he could bear without fatigue. He soon was able to bear more; and after about three weeks or a month, his cough had greatly abated.

When he had persisted in this regimen between two and three months, he had very little cough; and what he spit up was pure phlegm, unmixed with blood or matter. He has now been well above a year: and although I understand that he occasionally takes animal food, he has hitherto felt no inconveniency from it. He passed the second autumn, as he had done the first, at a house in the country, surrounded with vineyards. The greater part of his food consisted of ripe grapes and bread. With such a diet, he had not occasion for much drink of any kind; what he used was simple water, and he made an ample provision of grapes for the succeeding winter.

Though I have no idea that there is any specific virtue in grapes, for the cure of the pulmonary consumption, or that they are greatly preferable to some other cooling, sub-acid, mild fruit, equally agreeable to the taste, provided any such can be found; yet I thought it right to particularize what was used on those two occasions; leaving it to others to determine, what share of the happy consequences I have enumerated were owing to the change of air, how much may have flowed from the exercise, how much from the regimen, and whether there is reason to think, that the favourable turn in both cases depended on other circumstances, unobserved by me.

I have now, my dear Sir, complied with your request; and although I have endeavoured to avoid technical verbosity, and all unnecessary detail yet I find my letter has swelled to a greater size than I expected. I shall be exceedingly happy to hear that any hint I have given has been serviceable to our friend. If the cough should still continue, after he has passed two or three months at Bristol, I imagine the most effectual thing he can do will be, to take a voyage to this place; he will by that means escape the severity of a British winter. The voyage itself will be of service, and at the end of it he will have the benefit of the mild air of the Campagna Felice, be refreshed and nourished by the finest grapes, and, when tired of riding, he will have continual opportunities of failing in this charming bay.

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LETTER LXIV. Neapolitan and English customs and characters criticised and compared, in a conversation between two English Gentlemen.

NAPLES.

AS I was walking a few days since in the street with two of our countrymen, T—, and N—, we met some people carrying the corpse of a man on an open bier, and others following in a kind of procession. The deceased was a tradesman, whose widow had bestowed the utmost attention in dressing him to the greatest advantage on this solemn occasion; he had a perfectly new suit of clothes, a laced hat upon his head, ruffles, his hair finely powdered, and a large blooming nosegay in his left hand, while the right was very gracefully stuck in his side. It is the custom at Naples, to carry every body to church in full dress soon after their death, and the nearest relations display the magnitude of their grief by the magnificent manner in which they decorate the corpse. This poor woman, it seems was quite inconsolable, and had ornamented the body of her late husband with a profusion she could ill afford.

When the corpse arrives in church, the service is read over it. That ceremony being performed, and the body carried home, it is considered as having no farther occasion for fine clothes, but is generally stript to the shirt, and buried privately.

Can any thing be more ridiculous, says N—, than to trick a man out in his best clothes after his death? Nothing, replied T—; unless it be to order a fantastical dress at a greater expence on purpose, as if the dead would not be satisfied with the clothes they wore when alive, but delighted in long flowing robes in a particular stile of their own.

T—has long resided abroad, and now prefers many foreign customs to those of his own country, which frequently involves him in disputes which his countrymen.

The Princess of—drove past. "There she goes," says N—, with her cavalieros, her volantis, and all the splendour of a sovereign; yet the wife of a plain English gentleman is in a far more enviable situation. With all her titles and her high rank, she is a meer servant of the Queen's, a dependant on the caprice of another; a frown from her Majesty would annihilate her. Those who are nothing, exclusive of court favour, replied T—, ought not to be censured for devoting their time to court attendance, But did you never hear of any who are dazzled with the glitter of court shackles in the boasted land of liberty; people whom riches, rank, and the most flattering favours of fortune cannot make independent; whose minds seem the more abject, as their situation lays them under the less necessity of remaining in servitude; who, withered [Page] with age, and repining with envy, sacrifice every domestic duty, and stalk around the mansions of royalty, as ghosts are said to haunt those abodes in which they most delighted when they enjoyed life and vigour? Well, well, says N—let us say no more about them, since we are agreed, that of all the old tapestry of courts, those grotesque figures, who, without the confidence of those they serve, continue to the last exhibiting their antique countenances at birth-day balls, and [...] assemblies of youth and beauty, are the most ridiculous.

At that instant the Queen passed in her coach with the royal children, and N—made some comparative remarks in his usual style; to which T—replied, In this particular I acknowledge the happiness of Great Britain. I presume not to make comparisons; the great character you have mentioned defies censure, and is far superior to my praise. But I must observe, it appears singular that you, who affect to despise all other countries, and seem of opinion, that what is most valuable in nature is always the product of England, should bring your brightest illustration of that opinion from Germany.

T—, perceiving the advantage he had gained over his antagonist, proceeded vigorously to censure, what he called, the absurd partiality of the English in their own favour; and observed, that it would be fortunate for them, if the other nations of Europe would allow them but a few of the numerous good qualities which they so lavishly attribute to themselves. He severely attacked the common people, and denied them even the character of good-nature, which they have been thought to possess in an eminent degree. He declared them to be rough and insolent in their manners (for the truth of this he appealed to the opinion of all their neighbours,) cruel in their dispositions (as a proof of which he instanced some of their favourite diversions,) and absurb in their prejudices, which appears by their hatred and contempt of other nations; by all of whom, he asserted, they were in return most cordially abhorred.

How, indeed, can it be otherwise, continued he, considering the rough, boisterous nature of their weather? He then expatiated on the fertility of Italy, and the mild serenity of the climate; to which he partly attributed the fertile genius and mild character of the Italians, No doubt, he said, moral causes might contribute to the same effect; for more pains were taken to cultivate and encourage good and quiet dispositions in the common people here than in England.

They were accustomed to perform their religious duties more regularly; they had frequent opportunities of hearing the most excellent music in the churches; they were instructed in history by orators in the street, and were made acquainted with the beauties of their best poets in the same manner. All these causes united must necessarily enlarge their minds, and make them the most gentle, humane, and ingenious people in the word. [Page] N—shook his head, as if he laid little stress on the other's reasoning. For my own part, I remained silent, being desirous that the dispute should go on between the two who had begun it.

Continuing our walk a little without the town, we saw a crowd of people looking over a wall, which formed one side of a square, expressly built for the purpose of baiting cattle with bull dogs. It is imagined that this renders their flesh more tender and agreeable to the taste; and this is considered as a sufficient reason for torturing great numbers of bulls, oxen, and cows, before they are slaughtered for the markets; we found a multitude of spectators enjoying this amusement. "Pray," says Mr. N—, addressing himself to T—, do you imagine this humane practice, and the complacency which these refined spectators seem to take in beholding it, proceed from the mildness of the climate, the pains bestowed in teaching the people the duties of christianity, the enlargement of their minds by history and poetry, or from the gentle influence of music upon their dispositions? Then turning from Mr. T—to me, he continued, Not satisfied with knocking the poor animals on the head, those unfeeling epicures put them to an hour's additional torture, merely to gratify a caprice of their corrupted palates.

Of all subjects, replied T—, recovering himself from the confusion into which N—'s questions had thrown him, those who take upon them to be the panegyrists of the English nation, ought to avoid mentioning that species of epicurism which depends on eating, left they be put in mind of whipping pigs to death, their manner of collaring brawn, crimping fish, and other refinements peculiar to that humane good-natured people.

N—was just going to reply, when a large bull rendered outrageous by the stones which the populace were throwing at him, ran suddenly towards the gate at the instant the keepers were opening it on some other account; which threw them into such confusion, that they had not time to shut it before the bull burst out on the multitude. He now became an object of terror to those who the moment before had looked on him as an object of mirth. The mighty lords of the creation, who consider other animals as formed intirely for their pastime, their attire, their food, fled in crowds from one quadruped, and would gladly have fallen on their knees and worshipped him, like so many Egyptians adoring Apis, if by so doing they could have hoped to deprecate the just wrath of the incensed animal. They found safety at length, not in their own courage or address, but in the superior boldness and agility of other animals who were leagued with man against him.

He was surrounded by dogs, who attacked him on all sides—he killed some outright, tossed and wounded many more; but perceiving his own strength diminishing, and the number of his enemies increasing every moment, he threw himself into the sea, and there found a temporary protection from the fury of his persecutors. [Page] —But the dogs were instigated to follow; they at length drove him from this last asylum; and the poor, torn, bleeding, exhausted animal was forced ashore, three or four of the most furious of the dogs hanging at different parts of his head and neck. When they were removed, he raised his honest countenance, and threw an indignant look upon the rabble, as if [...]o upbraid them for such a return for his own labours, and all the essential services which his whole species render to mankind. Upon my soul I felt the reproach. We could not bear his looks, but sneaked away without feeling much pride on account of our near connection with those Lords of the creation, whom we had just beheld exerting their prerogative.

We walked along a considerable time without speaking. N—broke silence at last: "Well," said he, those amiable creatures whom we have quitted, are what they call human beings;—they are more they are Neapolitans, men who are moved with the concord of sweet sounds; from which I conclude (Shakespear may say what he pleases,) that such men are as fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils, as those who never heard softer melody than that of marrow-bones and cleavers.

This fondness for barbarous amusements, said I, cannot be stated exclusively to the account of Neapolitans, of English, or of any other particular people. I am afraid the charge lies against mankind in general; from whatever motive it arises; a large proportion of the individuals in all countries have displayed a decided taste for diversions which may be ranged in this class.

It ought to be remembered, however, says T—, that those fellows with their dogs, who have been tormenting the bull, are butchers, and the lowest of the vulgar of this country; whereas, among those who order fish to be crimped, and pigs to be whipped to death, as well as among those who formerly attended Broughton's amphitheatre, and still attend cockpits, will be found people of the first rank in England.

Pray, said N—, addressing himself to me, did you ever see a cocagna?

I acknowledged I never had.

Then, continued he, I beg leave to give you an idea of it. It is a Neapolitan entertainment, relished by people of the first rank in this polished country; where the very vagrants in the street are instructed in history, and the human mind is refined by poetry, softened by music, and elevated by religion. The cocagna—Pray mark me—the cocagna is an entertainment given to the people four succeeding Sundays during the carnival. Opposite to the palace a kind of wooden amphitheatre is erected. This being covered with branches of trees, bushes, and various plants, real and artificial, has the appearance of a green hill. On this hill are little buildings, ornamented with pillars of [Page] loaves of bread, with joints of meat, and dried fish, varnished, and curiously arranged by way of capitals. Among the trees and bushes are some oxen, a considerable number of calves, sheep, hogs, and lambs, all alive, and tied to posts. There are besides, a great number of living turkies, geese, hens, pigeons, and other fowls, nailed by the wings to the scaffolding. Certain Heathen Deities appear also occasionally upon this hill, but not with a design to protect it as you shall see immediately. The guards are drawn up in three ranks, to keep off the populace. The royal Family, with all the nobility of the Court, crowd the windows and balconies of the palace, to enjoy this magnificent sight.

When his Majesty waves his handkerchief, the guards open to the right and left; the rabble pour in from all quarters, and the entertainment commences. You may easily conceive what a delightful sight it must be, to see several thousand hungry, half-naked lazzaroni rush in like a torrent, destroy the whole fabric of loaves, fishes, and joints of meat; overturn the Heathen Deities, for the honour of Christianity; pluck the fowls, at the expence of their wings, from the posts to which they were nailed; and, in the fury of their struggling and fighting for their prey, often tearing the miserable animals to pieces, and sometimes stabbing each other.

You ought, in candour to add, interrupted Mr. T—, that, though formerly they were fixed to the posts alive, yet of late the larger cattle have been previously killed.—And pray, my good Sir, said N—, will you be so obliging as to inform me, what crime the poor lambs and fowls have committed, that they should be torn in pieces alive? This piece of humanity, continued he, recalls to my memory a similar instance, in a certain ingenious gentleman, who proposed, as the best and most effectual method of sweeping chimnies, to place a large goose at the top; and then, by a string tied around her feet, to pull the animal gently down to the hearth.

The sagacious projector asserted, that the goose, being extremely averse to this method of entering a house, would struggle against it with all her might; and, during this resistance, would move her wings with such force and rapidity, as could not fail to sweep the chimney completely. Good God, Sir, cried a lady, who was present when this new method was proposed, How cruel would that be to the poor goose! Why, Madam, replied the gentleman, if you think my method cruel to the goose, a couple of ducks will do.

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LETTER LXV. The liquefaction of St. Januarius's blood. Procession, ceremonies, anxiety of the people. Their preposterous abuse of the Saint. Observation of a Roman Catholic.

NAPLES.

ON the first Sunday of May, we had an opportunity of seeing the famous Neapolitan miracle, of the liquefaction of Saint Januarius's blood, performed. This Saint, you know, is the patron of Naples; which circumstance alone forms a strong presumption of his being a Saint of very considerable power and efficacy; for it is not to be imagined that the care of a city, like Naples, which is threatened every moment with destruction from Mount Vesuvius, would be entrusted to an under-strapper. Indeed there has, on some occasions, been reason to fear, that, great and powerful as this Saint is, the Daemon of the mountain would have got the better of him; however, as Saint Januarius has been able to protect them hitherto, and is supposed to be improved in the science of defence by long practice, the Neapolitans think it more prudent to abide by him than to choose another; who, though he may possibly be of higher rank, and older standing, cannot have equal experience in this particular kind of warfare.

Saint Januarius suffered martyrdom about the end of the third century. When he was beheaded, a pious lady of this city caught about an ounce of his blood, which has been carefully preserved in a bottle ever since, without having lost a single grain of its weight. This of itself, were it equally demonstrable, might be considered as a greater miracle than the circumstance on which the Neapolitans lay the whole stress, viz. that the blood which has congealed, and acquired a solid form by age, is no sooner brought near the head of the Saint, than, as a mark of veneration, it immediately liquefies. This experiment is made three different time, every year, and is considered by the Neapolitans as a miracle of the first magnitude.

As the divinity of no other religion whatever is any longer attempted to be proved by fresh miracles, but all are now trusted to their own internal evidence, and to those wrought at a former period, this miracle of Saint Januarius is probably the more admired on account of its being the only one, except transubstantiation, which remains still in use, out of the vast abundance said to have been performed at various periods in support of the Roman Catholic faith. The latter is unquestionably the greater miracle of the two; for to change a wafer into flesh and blood, is more extraordinary than to liquefy any substance whatever: Yet I once imagined the liquefaction had rather the advantage in this particular; that the change is more obvious to the senses. But I have [Page] lately been otherwise instructed, by an ingenious person, who was formerly a Jesuit. On somebody (not me, for I never do make objections in matters of faith) having observed, That it was unfortunate that the great change operated on the wafer in transubstantiation, was not visible, the person above alluded to pronounced the miracle to be much greater on that account. For pray, Sir, said he, addressing himself to the objector, suppose I should immediately turn that fowl, pointing to a turkey which was at that moment stalking past; suppose I should immediately turn that fowl into a woman, would you not think it very extraordinary? Certainly, replied the other. Well, Sir, but after the change is actually made, and the fowl has to all intents and purposes become a woman, if it still retained the appearance of a turkey, you must acknowledge that would be more extraordinary still.

In the same manner, continued he, in the celebration of mas [...], the conversion of the wafer into the real body and blood of Jesus Christ, is a great miracle, and highly to be venerated; but, after this wonderful change has actually taken place, that the real body of Christ should, even in the eyes of the sharpest-sighted spectators, still retain its original form of a wafer, is a great deal more amazing and stupendous.

But, however great a superiority the miracle of transubstantiation may have over that of St. Januarius, in the opinion of Roman Catholics in general, the Neapolitans imagine the latter is sufficient to convert infidels, and put heretics out of countenance. A zealous believer of this country, having described the miracle, breaks out into the following exclamations:

O illustre memoria! O verità irrefragabile! vengano gli Heretici, vengano, e Stupiscano, ed aprano gli occhi alla veritá Cattolica, et Evangelica; Bastarebbe questo sangue di S Gennaro sola á fare testimonia della Fede. E possibile, che a tanto, et si famoso miraculo non si converta tutta la Gentilità ed Infedeltà a [...]la veritá Cattolica della Romana chiesa?

O illustrious memorial! O irrefragable truth! Come hither, ye heretics! come hither, and be astonished, and open your eyes to catholic and evangelic truth. The blood of St. Januarius alone is a sufficient testimony of the truth. Is it possible, that such a great and famous miracle does not convert all heretics and infidels to the truths of the Roman Catholic church?

Though I am not such an enthusiastic admirer of the performance as this author, yet, on the other hand, I do not think that Protestants, however much they may be convinced it is a trick, have any right to call it a clumsy trick, without explaining in what it consists. This is a liberty which some travellers of great eminence have taken. Others have asserted, that the substance in the bottle, which is exhibited for the blood of the Saint, is something naturally solid, but which melts with a small degree of heat. When it is first brought out of the cold chapel, say those gentlemen, it is in its natural solid state; but when brought before the [Page] Saint by the priest, and rubbed between his warm hands, and breathed upon for some time, it melts; and this is the whole mystery. Though I find myself unable to explain on what principle the liquefaction depends, I am fully convinced that it must be something different from this; for I have it from the most satisfactory authority, from those who had opportunities of knowing, and who believe no more in the miracle than you do, that this congealed mass has sometimes been found in a liquid state in cold weather, before it was touched by the Priest, or brought near the head of the Saint; and that, on other occasions, it has remained solid when brought before him, notwithstanding all the efforts of the Priest to melt it.

When this happens, the superstitious, which, at a very moderate calculation, comprehends ninety-nine in a hundred of the inhabitants of this city, are thrown into the utmost consternation, and are sometimes wrought up by their fears into a state of mind which is highly dangerous both to their civil and ecclesiastical governors. It is true, that this happens but seldom; for, in general, the substance in the phial, whatever it may be, is in a solid form in the chapel, and becomes liquid when brought before the Saint; but as this is not always the case, it affords reason to believe, that, whatever may have been the case when this miracle or trick, call it which you please, was first exhibited, the principle on which it depends has somehow or other been lost, and is not now understood fully even by the Priests themselves; or else they are not now so expert, as formerly, in preparing the substance which represents the Saint's blood, so as to make it remain solid when it ought, and liquefy the instant it is required.

The head and blood of the Saint are kept in a kind of press, with folding doors of silver, in the chapel of St. Januarius, belonging to the cathedral church. The real head is probably not so fresh, and well preserved, as the blood; and on that account is not exposed to the eyes of the public, but inclosed in a large silver bust, gilt and enriched with jewels of high value. This being what appears to the people, their idea of the Saint's features and complexion are taken entirely from the bust.

The blood is kept in a small repository by itself.

About mid-day, the bust, inclosing the real head, was brought with great solemnity, and placed under a kind of portico, open on all sides, that the different communities, which come in procession, may be able to traverse it, and that the people may have the comfort of beholding the miracle. The processions of that solemn day were innumerable; all the streets of Naples were crowded with the various orders of ecclesiastics, dressed in their richest r [...]bes. The monks of each convent were mustered under their own particular banners.

A splendid cross was carried before each procession; and the images, in massy silver, of the Saints, peculiarly patronising, the convents, followed the cross. In this order they marched from the [...]vents to the pavilion, under which the head of St. Januarius [Page] was placed, and having done due obeisance to that great protector of this city, they marched back by a different route, in the same order, to their convent. But as there are a great many convents in Naples, and a great number of monks in each convent, though the processions began soon after mid-day, the evening was well advanced before the last of them had passed.

The grand procession of all began when the others had finished. It was composed of a numerous body of clergy, and an immense multitude of people of all ranks, headed by the arch-bishop of Naples himself, who carried the phial containing the blood of the Saint. The Duke of Hamilton and I accompanied Sir William Hamilton to a house directly opposite to the portico, where the sacred head was placed. We there found a large assembly of Neapolitan nobility. A magnificent robe of velvet, richly embroidered, was thrown over the shoulders of the bust; a mitre, refulgent with jewels, was placed on its head.

The arch-bishop, with a solemn pace, and a look full of awe and veneration, approached, holding forth the sacred phial which contained the precious lump of blood. He addressed the Saint in the humblest manner, fervently praying that he would graciously condescend to manifest his regard to his faithful votaries the people of Naples, by the usual token of ordering that lump of his sacred blood to assume its natural and original form. In those prayers he was joined by the multitude around, particularly by the women; of whom there seemed more than their proportion. My curiosity prompted me to leave the balcony, and mingle with the multitude. I got by degrees quite near the bust, Twenty minutes had already elapsed, since the arch-bishop had been praying with all possible earnestness, and turning the phial around and around without any effect.

An old monk stood near the archbishop, and was at the utmost pains to instruct him how to handle, chase, and rub the phial; he frequently took it into his own hands, but his manoeuvres were as ineffectual as those of the arch-bishop. By this time the people had become exceedingly noisy: the women were quite hoarse with praying; the monk continued his operations with increased zeal; and the arch-bishop was all over in a profuse sweat with vexation. In whatever light the failure of the miracle might appear to others, it was a very serious matter to him; because the people consider such an event as a proof of the Saint's displeasure, and a certain indication that some dreadful calamity will ensue. This was the first opportunity he had had of officiating since his nomination to the see. There was no knowing what fancy might have entered into the heads of a superstitious populace; they might have imagined, or his enemies might have insinuated, that the failure of the miracle proceeded from St Januarius's disapprobation of the person in whose hands it was to have taken place. I never saw more evident marks of vexation and alarm than appeared in the countenance of the right reverend personage.

[Page] This alone would have convinced me that they cannot command the liquefaction when they please. While things were in this state I observed a gentleman come hastily through the crowd, and speak to the old monk, who, in a pretty loud voice, and with an accent and a grimace very expressive of chagrin▪ replied, C [...]spett [...] di bacco é dura come una pietra.—'Sblood! it is still as hard as a stone. At the same time an acquaintance whispered me, That it would be prudent to retire, because the mob on similar occasions have been struck with a notion, that the operation of the miracle was disturbed by the presence of heretics; on which they are apt to insult them. I directly took his hint, and joined the company I had left. An universal gloom had overspread all their countenances, they talked to each other in whispers, and seemed oppressed with grief and contrition. One very beautiful young lady cried and sobbed as if her heart had been ready to break. The passions of some of the rabble without doors took a different turn; instead of sorrow, they were filled with rage and indignation at the Saint's obstinacy. They put him in mind of the zeal with which he was adored by people of all ranks in Naples; of the honours which had been conferred on him; that he was respected here more than in any other country on earth; and some went so far as to call him, an old ungrateful yellow-faced rascal, for his obduracy. It was now almost dark—and when least expected, the signal was given that the miracle was performed.—The populace filled the air with repeated shouts of joy; a band of music began to play; Te Deum was sung; couriers were dispatched to the royal family, then at Portici, with the glad tidings; the young lady dried up her tears; the countenances of our company brightened in an instant, and they sat down to cards without farther dread of eruptions, earthquakes, or pestilence.

I had remarked, during their suspence with respect to the success of the miracle, that some imputed the delay partly to the weather, which happened to be rainy, and colder than is usual at this season; and partly to the aukwardness of the Archbishop, who, never having performed before, was accused of not handling the phial in the same dexterous and efficacious manner that a person of experience would have done. While they imputed the failure to those causes, they seemed equally uneasy with the rest of the company about the consequences. It struck me that the first sentiment was perfectly inconsistent with the second.

I mentioned this to a French gentleman, who is here as travelling companion to the young Comte de G—. If, said I, the weather, or the unskilfulness of the archbishop, has prevented the substance in the phial from becoming liquid, this surely cannot be an indication that Heaven or the Saint is displeased; if, on the contrary, the blood continuing solid in the presence of the Saint, proceeds from Heaven or the Saint being offended, then no kind of weather, and no kind of expertness on the part of the archbishop, could have rendered it liquid.—Monsieur, [Page] said he, v [...]ilá ce qu'on appelle raisonner, ce que ces messieurs ne sont jamais. Sir that is what we call speaking reasonably, and it is what gentlemen seldom or never do.

The same evening, an acquaintance of mine, who is also a Roman Catholic, and who remained close by the archbishop till all was over, assured me, that the miracle had failed entirely; for the old monk seeing no symptom of the blood liquefying, had called out that the miracle had succeeded; on which the signal had been given, the people had shouted, the archbishop had held up the bottle, moving it with a rapid motion before the eyes of the spectators, and nobody chusing to contradict what every body wished, he had been allowed to cover up the phial, and carry it back to the Chapel, with the contents, in the same form they had come abroad. How far this account is exactly true, I will not take on me to assert; I was not near enough to see the transaction myself, and I have only the authority of this person, having heard no other body say they had observed the same.

LETTER LXVI. The Tomb of Virgil. Pausilippo. A Neapolitan Valet. Grotta del Cane. Campi Phlegrei, Solfaterra, Monte Nuova, &c. Puzzoli. Baia. Cum [...]e.

NAPLES.

THE tomb of Virgil is on the mountain of Pausilippo, a little above the grotto of that name, you ascend to it by a narrow path which runs through a vineyard; it is overgrown with ivy leaves and shaded with branches, shrubs, and bushes; an ancient bay-tree, with infinite propriety, overhangs it. Many a solitary walk have I taken to this place. The earth, which contains his ashes, we expect to find clothed in the brightest verdure. Viewed from the magic spot, the objects which adorn the bay become doubly interesting. The Poet's verses are here recollected with additional pleasure; the verses of Virgil are interwoven in our minds with a thousand interesting ideas, with the memory of our boyish years, or the sportive scenes of childhood, of our earliest friends and companions, many of whom are now dead; and those who still live, and for whom we retain the first impression of affection, are at such a distance as renders the hopes of seeing them again very uncertain.

No wonder, therefore, when in a contemplative mood, that our steps are often directed to a spot so well calculated to create and cherish sentiments congenial with the state of our mind▪ But then comes an antiquarian, who, with his odious doubts, disturbs the pleasing source of our enjoyment; and from the fair and delightful fields of fancy, conveys us in a moment to a dark, barren, and [Page] comfortless desert;—he doubts, whether this be the real place where the ashes of Virgil were deposited; and tells us an unsatisfactory story about the other side of the bay, and that he is rather inclined to believe that the Poet was buried somewhere there, without fixing on any particular spot. Would to heaven those doubters would keep their minds to themselves, and not ruffle the tranquillity of believers!

But, after all, why should not this be the real tomb of Virgil? Why should the enthusiasts, who delight in pilgrimages to this spot, be deprived of that pleasure? Why should the Poet's ghost be allowed to wander along the dreary banks of Styx, till the antiquarians erect a cenotaph to his honour? Even they acknowledge that he was buried on this bay, and near Naples; and tradition has fixed on this spot, which, exclusive of other presumptions, is a much stronger evidence in its favour than their vague conjectures against it.

In your way to the classic fields of Baia and Cumae, you pass through the grotto of Pausilippo, a subterraneous passage through the mountain, near a mile in length, about twenty feet in breadth, and thirty or forty in height, every where, except at the two extremities, where it is much higher. People of fashion generally drive through this passage with torches, but the country people and foot passengers find their way without much difficulty by the light which enters at the extremities, and at two holes pierced through the mountain near the middle of the grotto, which admit light from above.

Mr. Addison tells us, that the common people of Naples in his time believed that this passage through the mountain was the work of magic, and that Virgil was the magician. But this is the age of scepticism; and the common people, in imitation of people of fashion, begin to harbour doubts concerning all their old established opinions. A Neapolitan Valet de-place asked an English gentleman lately, Whether Signior Virgilio, of whom he had heard so much, had really, and bona fide, been a magician or not? "A magician," replied the Englishman; ay, that he was, and a very great magician too. And do you, resumed the Valet, believe it was he who pierced this rock? As for this particular rock, answered the Master, I will not swear to it from my own knowledge, because it was done before I was born; but I am ready to make oath, that I have known him pierce, and even melt, some very obdurate substances.

Two miles beyond the Grotta di Pausilippo, is a circular lake, about half a mile in diameter, called Lago d'Agnano; on whose margin is situated the famous Grotta del Cane, where so many dogs have been tortured and suffocated, to shew the effect of a vapour which rises about a foot above the bottom of this little cave, and is destructive of animal life. A dog having his head held in this vapour, is convulsed in a few minutes, and soon after falls to the earth motionless. This experiment is repeated for the amusement [Page] of every unfeeling person, who has half a crown in his pocket, and affects a turn for natural philosophy. The experiment is commonly made on dogs; because they, of all animals, show the greatest affection for man, and prefer his company to that of their own species, or of any other living creature. The fellows who attend at this cave have always some miserable dogs, with ropes about their necks, ready for this cruel purpose. If the poor animals were unconscious of what was to happen, it would be less affecting; but they struggle to get free, and shew every symptom of horror when they are dragged to this cave of torment. I should have been happy to have taken the effect of the vapour for granted, without a new trial; but some of the company were of a more philosophical turn of mind than I have any pretensions to. When the unhappy animal found all his efforts to escape were ineffectual, he seemed to plead for mercy by the dumb eloquence of looks, and the blandishments natural to his species. While he licked the hand of his keeper, the unrelenting wretch dashed him a blow, and thrust his head into the murderous vapour.

When the real utility of the knowledge acquired by cruel experiments on animals (a practice which has been carried to dreadful lengths of late) is fairly stated, and compared with the exquisiteness of their sufferings, the benefit resulting to mankind from thence will seem too dearly bought in the eyes of a person of humanity. Humanity! if language had belonged to other animals besides man, might not they have chosen that word to express—cruelty? if they had, thank God, they would have done injustice to many of the human race. I have left the poor dog too long in the vapour; much longer than he remained in reality. The Duke of Hamilton, shocked at the fellow's barbarity, wrested the dog from his hands, bore him to the open air, and gave him life and liberty; which he seemed to enjoy with all the bounding rapture of gladness and gratitude. If you should ever come this way, pray do not insist on seeing the experiment; it is not worth while; the thing is ascertained; it is beyond a doubt that this vapour convulses and kills every breathing animal.

You come next to the favourite fields of fancy and poetical fiction. The Campi Phlegrei, where Jupiter overcame the giants; the solfaterra still smoking, as if from the effects of his thunder; the Monte Nova, which was thrown suddenly from the bowels of the earth, as if the sons of Titan had intended to renew the war; the Monte Barbaro, formerly Mons Gaurus, the favourite of Bacchus; the grotto of the Cu [...]aean Sibyl; the noxious and gloomy lakes of Avernus and Acheron; and the green bowers of Elysium.

The town of Puzzoli, and its environs, present such a number of objects, worthy of the attention of the antiquarian, the natural philosopher, and the classic scholar, that to describe all with the minuteness they deserve, would fill volumes.

The Temple of Jupiter Serapis at Puzzoli, is accounted a very interesting monument of antiquity; being quite different from the [Page] Roman and Greek temples, and built in the manner of the Asiatics probably by the Egyptian and Asiatic merchants settled at Puzzoli, which was the great emporium of Italy, until the Romans built Ostia and Antium.

Sylla having abdicated the Dictatorship, retired, and passed the remainder of his life in this city.

The ruins of Cicero's villa, near this city, are of such extent, as to give a high idea of the wealth of this great orator. Had Fortune always bestowed her gifts with so much propriety, she never would have been accused of blindness. When the truly great are blessed with riches, it affords pleasure to every candid mind. Neither this villa near Puzzoli, that at Tusculum, nor any of his other country-seats, were the scenes of idleness or riot. They are distinguished by the names of the works he composed there; works which have always been the delight of the learned, and which, still more than the important services he rendered his country when in office, have contributed to immortalize his name.

The bay between Puzzoli and Baia is about a league in breadth. In crossing this in a boat, you see the ruins called Ponte di Caligula, from their being thought the remains of a bridge which Caligula attempted to build across. They are by others, with more probability, thought to be the ruins of a mole built with arches. Having passed over this gulph, a new field of curiosities presents itself. The baths and prisons of Nero, the tomb of Agrippina, the temples of Venus, of Diana, and of Mercury, and the ruins of the ancient city of Cumae; but no vestiges now remain of many of those magnificent villas which adorned this luxurious coast, nor even of the town of Baia.

The whole of this beauteous bay, formerly the seat of pleasure, and at one period, the most populous spot in Italy, is now very thinly inhabited; and the contrast is still stronger between the ancient opulence and present poverty, than between the numbers of its ancient and present inhabitants▪ It must be acknowledged that we can hardly look around us, in any part of this world, without perceiving objects which, [...] a contemplative mind, convey reflections on the instability of grandeur, and the sad vicissitudes and reverses to which human affairs are liable; but here those objects are so numerous, and so striking, that they must make an impression on the most careless passenger.

LETTER LXVII. Palace of Casserta. African slaves. Gardens. Fortifications.

NAPLES.

AS the Court are not at present at Casserta, we have not seen that place in all its splendour; we passed, however, one very agreeable day there, with Lady Hamilton and Sir H—F—n.

[Page] The palace at Casserta was begun in the year 1750, after a plan of Vanvitelli; the work is now carried on under the direction of his son. While the present king of Spain remained at Naples, there were generally about two thousand workmen employed; at present there are about five hundred. I will be finished in a few years, and will then, unquestionably, be one of the most spacious and magnificent palaces in Europe. It has been said, that London is too large a Capital for the island of Great Britain; and it has been compared to a turgid head placed on an emaciated body. The palace of Casserta also seems out of proportion with the revenues of this kingdom. It is not, properly speaking, a head too large for the body; but rather an ornament, by much too expensive and bulky for either head or body. This palace is situated about sixteen miles north from Naples, on the plain where ancient Capua stood.

It was thought prudent to found a building, on which such sums of money were to be lavished, at a considerable distance from Mount Vesuvius. It were to be wished, that the contents of the cabinet at Portici were removed from the same dangerous neighbourhood. That he might not be limited in ground for the gardens, may have been his Spanish Majesty's motive for choosing that his palace should be at a distance from Naples; and that it might not be exposed to insult from an enemy's fleet, was probably the reason that determined him to place it at a distance from the sea.

This immense building is of a rectangular form, seven hundred and fifty feet English, by five hundred and eighty; about one hundred and twelve feet high, comprehending five habitable stories which contain such a number of apartments as will accommodate the most numerous court, without any accessary buildings.

The rectangle is divided into four courts, each of about two hundred and fifty-two feet by one hundred and seventy. In each of the two principal front [...] ▪ are three corresponding gates, forming three openings, which pierce the whole building. The middle gate forms the entry to a magnific [...] portico [...] through which the coaches drive. In the middle of this, and in the centre of the edifice, there is a vestibule of an octagonal form, which opens into the [...]our grand courts at four sides of the octagon; two other sides open into the portico, one to the staircase; and, at the eighth side, there is a statue of Hercules, crowned by Victory, with this inscription▪

VIRTUS POST FORTIA FACTA CORONAT.

Virtue crowns him after many great achievements.

The grand staircase is adorned with the richest marble; the upper vestibule to which you ascend by this noble stair, is an octagon also, and surrounded by twenty-four pillars of yellow marble, each of which is of one piece of eighteen feet high, without including the pedestal or capital. From this upper vestibule there are entries [Page] into—But I have a notion you are tired of this description, which I assure you is likewise my case. I beg, therefore, you may take it for granted, that the apartments within, particularly their Majesties, and that destined for balls and theatrical entertainments, correspond with the magnificence of the external appearance.

Among the workmen employed in finishing this palace and the gardens, there are one hundred and fifty Africans; for as the king of Naples is constantly at war with the Barbary States, he always has a number of their sailors prisoners, all of whom are immediately employed as slaves in the gallies, or at some public work. There are at present at Casserta, about the same number of Christian slaves: all of these have been condemned to this servitude for some crime, some of them for the greatest of all crimes; they are, however, better clothed and fed than the Africans. This is done, no doubt, in honour of the Christian religion, and to demonstrate that Christians, even after they have been found guilty of the blackest crimes, are worthier men, and more deserving of lenity, than Mahometan prisoners, however innocent they may be in all other respects.

The gardens belonging to this palace the equally extensive and magnificent. A great number of fine statues, most of them copies of the best antique, are kept in a storehouse till the gardens are finished, when they will be placed in them. The largest and finest elephant I ever saw is here at present; he is kept by African slaves: they seem to know how to manage him perfectly; he is well thriven, and goes thro' a number of tricks and evolutions with much docility and judgment.

In the garden, there is an artificial water and island. This, if one may venture to say so, seems a little injudicious; it brings to our memory the bay of Naples, with its islands, a recollection by no means favourable to this royal contrivance. In this island there is a kind of a castle, regularly fortified, with a ditch around it, and ramparts, bastions, sally-ports, &c. &c. and a numerous train of artillery, some of them nine or ten ouncers. I no sooner entered this fort, than I wished that Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim had been of our party; it would have charmed the soul of the worthy veteran and his faithful servant.

I asked the man who attended us, What he imagined this fortification was intended for?—Sir H—F—said, The cannon were certainly designed against the frogs, who were continually attempting to scale the ramparts from the ditch.—I asked again, what was the real design of erecting this fort? The man answered, stretching out his arms, and making as wide a circle with them as he could, Tutto, tutto per il [...]ollazo del Re.—All, all for the King's amusement. Yes, said I, it is surely in the highest degree reasonable, that not only this fort, but the whole Kingdom, should be appropriated to the amusement of his Majesty.—Certo,—Surely, replied the man. I wished to see how far the fellow's liberality would go Not only this kingdom, continued I, [Page] but all Europe would be highly honoured in contributing to the amusement of his Majesty, "Certo, certo,"—Surely, surely, said the man.

LETTER LXVIII. Character of the Archduchess.—Attend the King and Queen on a visit to four nunneries—Entertainments there—Effect of the climate on the constitution of Nuns and others.

NAPLES.

THE King and Queen lately paid a visit to four of the principal nunneries in this town. Their motive was, to gratify the curiosity of the Archduchess, and her husband, Prince Albert of Saxony. I ought to have informed you, that this illustrious couple left Vienna some months after us, with an intention to make the tour of Italy. We had the honour of seeing them frequently while at Rome, where they conciliated the affections of the Italian nobles by their obliging manners, as much as they commanded respect by their high rank. The Archduchess is a very beautiful woman, and more distinguished by the propriety of her conduct, than by either birth or beauty. As white, by the link of contrast, is connected with the idea of black; so this amiable Duchess sometimes recalls those to people's memories, whose ideas of dignity are strongly contrasted with hers. Conscious, from her infancy, of the highest rank, and accustomed to honours, it never enters into her thoughts that any person will fail in paying her a due respect; while they, eternally jealous that enough of respect is not paid them, give themselves airs which would be intolerable in an Empress. A smile of benignity puts all who approach this Princess perfectly at their ease, and dignity sits as smoothly on her as a well-made garment; while, on them, it bristles out like the quills of a porcupine, or the feathers of an enraged turkey-cock.

As nobody is permitted to enter those convents, except on such extraordinary occasions as this, when they are visited by the Sovereigns, the British Minister seized this opportunity of procuring an order for admitting the Duke of Hamilton and me. We accordingly accompanied him, and a few others, who were in the King's suite. I have seen various nunneries in different parts of Europe, but none that could be compared even with the meanest of those four in this city, for neatness and conveniency. Each of them is provided with a beautiful garden; and the situation of one is the happiest that can be imagined, commanding a prospect nearly as extensive as that from the Carthusian convent near the castle of St. Elmo. Those four nunneries are for the reception of young ladies of good families; and, into one in particular, none but such as are of very high rank can be admitted, either as pensioners, [Page] or to take the veil. Each of the young ladies in this splendid convent, have both a summer and a winter apartment, and many other accomodations unknown in other retreats of this nature.

The royal visitors were received in all of them by the Lady Abbess, at the head of the oldest of the sister-hood; they were afterwards presented with nosegays, and served with fruit, sweetmeats, and a variety of cooling drinks, by the younger nuns. The Queen and her amiable sister received all very graciously; conversing familiarly with the Lady Abbesses, and asking a few obliging questions of each,

In one convent the company were surprised, on being led into a large parlour, to find a table covered, and every appearance of a most plentiful cold repast, consisting of several joints of meat, hams, fowl, fish, and various other dishes. It seemed rather ill-judged to have prepared a feast of such a solid nature immediately after dinner; for those royal visits were made in the afternoon. The Lady Abbess, however, earnestly pressed their Majesties to sit down with which they complied, and their example was followed by the Archduchess and some of the ladies; the nuns stood behind, to serve their Royal guests. The Queen chose a slice of cold turkey, which, on being cut up, turned out a large piece of lemon-ice, of the shape and appearance of a roasted turkey. All the other dishes were ices of various kinds, disguised under the forms of joints of meat, fish, and fowl, as above mentioned. The gaiety and good humour of the King, the affable and engaging behaviour of the Royal sisters, and the satisfaction which beamed from the plump countenance of the Lady Abbess, threw an air of cheerfulness on this scene; which was interrupted, however, by gleams of melancholy reflection, which failed not to dart across the mind, at sight of so many victims to the pride of family, to avarice and to superstition.

Many of those victims were in the full bloom of health a [...]d youth, and some of them were remarkably handsome. There is something in a nun's dress which renders the beauty of a young woman more interesting than is in the power of the gayest, richest, and most laboured ornaments. This certainly does not proceed from any thing remarkably becoming in black and white flannel. The Lady Abbess and the elderly nuns made [...]o more impression in their vestal robes, than those stale, forlorn dames, whom you may see displaying their family jewels and shrivelled countenances every night at Ranelagh or in the side boxes. The interest you take in a beautiful woman is heightened on seeing her in the dress of a nun, by the opposition which you imagine exists between the life to which her rash vows have condemned her, and that to which her own unbiassed inclination would have led her. You are moved with pity, which you know is a-kin, to love, on seeing a young blooming creature doomed to retirement and self-denial, who was formed by nature for society and enjoyment.

[Page] If we may credit the ancient poets, those young women who are confined to a cloister life on any part of this coast, are more to be pitied than they would be under the same restraint elsewhere. They tell us, the very air in this part of Italy is repugnant to that kind of constitution, and that turn of mind, of which it would be peculiarly happy for nuns to be possessed. Propertius intreats his Cynthia not to remain too long on a shore which he seems to think dangerous to the chastest maiden.

Tu modo quamprimum corruptas desere Baias.—

I intreat you to forsake, as soon as possible, the corrupt coast of Baia.

Littora qu [...]e fuerant castis inimica puellis.

A coast most unfriendly to modest maids.

Martial asserts, that a woman who came hither as chaste as Penelope, if she remained any time, would depart as licentious and depraved as Helen.

Penelope venit, abit Helene.

She came a Penelope, but went away a Helen.

I have certainly met with ladies, after they had resided some time at Naples, who, in point of character and constitution, were thought to have a much stronger resemblance to Helen than to Penelope; but as I have no great faith in the sudden operation of physical causes in matters of this kind, I never doubted of those ladies having carried the same disposition to Naples that they brought from it. Though there are not wanting those who affirm, that the influence of this seducing climate is evident now in as strong a degree as it is described to have been anciently; that it pervades people of all ranks, and conditions, and that in the convents themselves;

Even there where frozen chastity retires,

Love finds an altar for forbidden fires.

Others, who carry their researches still deeper, and pretend to have a distinct knowledge of the effect of aliment through all its changes on the human constitution, think, that the amorous disposition, imputed to Neapolitans, is only in part owing to their voluptuous climate, but in a far greater degree to the hot, sulphureous nature of their soil, which those profound naturalists declare communicates its fiery qualities to the juices of vegetables; thence they are conveyed to the animals who feed on them, and particularly [Page] to man, whose nourishment consisting both of animal and vegetable food, he must have in his veins a double dose of the stimulating particles in question. No wonder, therefore, say those nice investigators of cause and effect, that the inhabitants of this country are more given to amorous indulgencies, than those who are favoured with a chaster soil and a colder climate.

For my own part, I must acknowledge, that I have seen nothing, since I came to Naples, to justify the general imputations above mentioned, or to support this very ingenious theory. On the contrary, there are circumstances from which the opposers of this system draw very different conclusions; for every system of philosophy, like every Minister of Great Britain, has an opposition. The gentlemen in opposition to the voluptuous influence of this climate, and the fiery effects of this soil, undermine the foundation of their antagonist's theory, by asserting, that, so far from being of a warmer complexion than their neigbours, the Neapolitans are of colder constitutions, or more philosophic in the command of their passions, than any people in Europe. Do not the lower class of men, say they, strip themselves before the houses which front the bay, and bathe in the sea without the smallest ceremony? Are not numbers of those stout, athletic figures, during the heat of the day, seen walking and sporting on the shore perfectly naked; and with no more idea of shame, than Adam felt in his state of innocence; while the ladies from their coaches, and the servant-maids and young girls, who pass along, contemplate this singular spectacle with as little apparent emotion as the ladies in Hyde Park behold a review of the horse-guards?

As Sir William and Lady Hamilton are preparing to visit England, and the Duke feels no inclination to remain after they are gone, we intend to return to Rome in a few days.

LETTER LXIX. Tivoli.

ROME.

WE delayed visiting Tivoli, Frescati, and Albano, till our return from Naples.

The Campagna is an uninhabited plain, surrounding the city of Rome, bounded on one side by the sea, and on the other by an amphitheatre of hills, crowned with towns, villages, and villas, which form the finest landscapes that can be imagined. The ancient Romans were wont to seek shelter from the scorching heats of summer, among the woods and lakes of those hills; and the Cardinals and Roman Princes, at the same season, retire to their villas; while many of the wealthier sort of citizens take lodgings in the villages, during the season of gathering the vines.

On the road from Rome to Tivoli, about three miles from the latter, strangers are desired to visit a kind of lake called Solfatara, formerly Lakus Albulus, and there shown certain substances, [...] [Page] which they give the name of Floating Islands. They are nothing else than bunches of bullrushes, springing from a thin soil, formed by dust and sand blown from the adjacent ground, and glued together by the bitumen which swims on the surface of this lake, and the sulphur with which its waters are impregnated. Some of these islands are twelve or fifteen yards in length; the soil is sufficiently strong to bear five or six people, who, by the means of a pole, may move to different parts of the lake, as if they were in a boat.

This lake empties itself, by a whitish, muddy stream, into the Teverone, the ancient Anio; a vapour, of a sulphureous smell, arising from it as it flows. The ground near this rivulet, as also around the borders of the lake, resounds, as if it were hollow, when a horse gallops over it. The water of this lake has the singular quality of covering every substance which it touches with a hard, white, stoney matter. On throwing a bundle of small sticks or shrubs into it, they will, in a few days, be covered with a white crust; but, what seems still more extraordinary, this encrustating quality is not so strong in the lake itself, as in the canal, or little rivulet that runs from it; and the farther the water has flowed from the lake, till it is quite lost in the Anio, the stronger this quality is. Those small, round encrustations, which cover the sand and pebbles, resembling sugar-plums, are called Confetti di Tivoli.—Confections of Tivoli. Fishes are found in the Anio, both above and below Tivoli, till it receives the Albula; after which, during the rest of its course to the Tiber, there are none. The waters of this lake had a high medical reputation anciently, but they are in no esteem at present.

Near the bottom of the eminence on which Tivoli stands, are the ruins of the vast and magnificent villa built by the emperor Adrian. In this were comprehended an amphitheatre, several temples, a library, a circus, a naumachia. The emperor also gave to the buildings and gardens of this famous villa the names of the most celebrated places; as the Academia, the Lycaeum, the Prytaneum of Athens, the Tempe of Thessaly, and the Elysian fields and infernal regions of the poets.

There were also commodious apartments for a vast number of guests, all admirably distributed with baths, and every conveniency. Every quarter of the world contributed to ornament this famous villa, whose spoils have since formed the principal ornaments of the Campidoglio, the Vatican, and the palaces of the Roman Princes. It is said to have been three miles in length, and above a mile in breadth. Some antiquarians make it much larger; but the ruins, now remaining, do not mark a surface of a quarter of that extent.

At no great distance, they shew the place to which the Eastern Queen Zenobia was confined after she was brought in triumph to Rome by the emperor Aurelian.

The town of Tivoli is now wretchedly poor; it boasts however [Page] greater antiquity than Rome itself, being the ancient Tibur, which Horace informs us, was founded by a Grecian colony.

Tibur Arg [...]eo positum colono

Sit me [...]e sedes utinam senectoe.

May Tibur, to my latest hours,

Afford a kind and calm retreat;

Tibur, beneath whose lofty towers,

The Grecians fix'd their blissful seat.

FRANCIS.

Ovid gives it the same origin in the fourth book of the Fasti.

—Jam moenia Tiburis udi

Stabant; Argolicae quod posuere manus.

The walls of the moist Tibur then stood, which was founded by the Greeks.

This was a populous and flourishing town in remoter antiquity; but it appears to have been thinly inhabited in the reign of Augustus. Horace, in an Epistle to Maecenas, says,

Parvum parva decent. Mihi jam non Regia Roma,

Sed vacuum Tibur placet,—

For little folks become their little fate,

And at my age, not Rome's imperial seat,

But Tibur's solitude my taste can please.

Though the town itself was not populous, the beauty of the situation, and wholesomeness of the air, prompted great numbers of illustrious Romans, both before the final destruction of the Republic, and afterwards in Augustus's time, to build country-houses in the neighbourhood. Julius Caesar had a villa here, which he was under the necessity of selling to defray the expence of the public shews and games he exhibited to the people during his AEdileship. Plutarch says, that his liberality and magnificence, on this occasion, obscured the glory of all who had preceded him in the office, and gained the hearts of the people to such a degree, that they were ready to invent new offices and new honours for him. He then laid the foundation of that power and popularity, which enabled [Page] him, in the end, to overturn the constitution of his country. Caius Cassius had also a country house here; where Marcus Brutus and he are said to have had frequent meetings, and to have formed the plan terminated the ambition of Caesar, and again offered to Rome that freedom which she had not the virtue to accept. Here, also, was the villa of Augustus, whose success in life arose at the field of Philippi from which he fled, was confirmed by the death of the most virtuous citizens of Rome, and who, without the talents, reaped the fruits of the labours and vast projects of Julius. Lepidus the triumvir, Caecilius Metellus, Quintilius Varus, the poets Cat [...]llus and Propertius, and other distinguished Romans, had villas in this town or its environs; and you are shewn the spots on which they stood: but nothing renders Tibur so interesting, as the frequent mention which Horace makes of it in his writings. His great patron and friend Maecenas had a villa here, the ruins of which are to be seen on the south bank of the Anio; and it was pretty generally supposed, that the poet's own house and farm were very near it, and immediately without the walls of Tibur; but it has been of late asserted, with great probability, that Horace's farm was situated nine miles above that of Maecenas's, at the side of a stream called Licenza, formerly Digentia, near the hill Lucretilis, in the country of the ancient Sabines.

Those who hold this opinion say, that when Horace talks of Tibur, he alludes to the villa of Maecenas; but when he mentions Digentia, or Lucretilis, his own house and farm are to be understood; as in the eighteenth Epistle of the first book.

Me quoties reficit gelidus Digentia rivus,

Quem Mandela bibit, rugosus frigore pagus;

Quid sentire putas, quid credis, amice, precari?

When retired to the cool stream of Digentia, which supplies the cold village of Mandela with water; what, my friend, do you imagine, are my sentiments and wishes?

the seventeenth Ode of the first book,

Velox amaenum saepe Lucretilem

Mutat Lycaeo Faunus;

Pan from Arcadia's heights descends,

To visit oft my rural seat—

FRANCIS.

and in other passages. But whether the poet's house and farm were near the town of Tibur, or at a distance from it, his writings sufficiently show that he spent much of his time there; and it is probable that he composed great part of his works in that favourite [Page] retreat. This he himself in some measure declares, in that fine Ode addressed to Julius Antonius, son of Mark Antony, by Fulvia; the same whom Augustus first pardoned, and afterwards put privately to death, on account of an intrigue into which Antonius was seduced by the abandoned Julia, daughter of Augustus.

—.Ego, apis Matinae

More modoque,

Grata carpentis thyma per laborem

Plurimum, circa nemus uvidique

Tiburis ripas, operosa parvus

Carmina fingo.

But as a bee, which thro' the shady groves,

Feeble of wing, with idle murmurs roves,

Sits on the bloom, and, with unceasing toil,

From the sweet thyme extracts his flow'ry spoil,

So I, weak bard? round Tibur's lucid spring,

Of humble strain laborious verses sing.

FRANCIS.

If you ever come to Tivoli let it not be with a numerous party; come alone, or with a single friend, and be sure to put your Horace in your pocket. You will read him here with more enthusiasm than elsewhere; you will imagine you see the philosophic poet wandering among the groves, sometimes calmly meditating his moral precepts, and sometimes his eye in a fine frenzy rolling with all the fire of poetic enthusiasm. If Tivoli had nothing else to recommend it but its being so often sung by the most elegant of the poets, and its having been the residence of so many illustrious men, these circumstances alone would render it worthy the attention of travellers; but it will also be interesting to many on account of its cascade, the Sibyl's Temple, and the Villa Estense.

The river Anio, deriving its source from a part of the Appenines, fifty miles above Tivoli, glides through a plain till it comes near that town, when it is confined for a short space between two hills, covered with groves. These were supposed to have been the residence of the Sybil Albunea, to whom the temple was dedicated. The river, moving with augmented rapidity as its channel is confined, at length rushes headlong over a lofty precipice; the noise of its fall resounds through the hills and groves of Tivoli; a liquid cloud arises from the foaming water, which afterwards divides into numberless small cascades, waters several orchards, and, having gained the plain, flows quietly for the rest of its course, till it loses itself in the Tiber. It is not surprising that the following lines have been so often quoted by those who visit the Sibyl's [Page] Temple, because they delineate, in the most expressive manner, some of the principal features of the country around it.

Me nec tam patiens Lacedaemon,

Nec tam Lariss [...]e percussit campus opimae,

Quam d [...]mus Albuneae resonantis,

Et praeceps Anio, et Tiburni lucus, et u [...]

Mobilibus pomaria rivis.

But me not patient Lacedaemon charms,

Nor fair Larissa with such transport warms,

As pure Albuneus's rock resounding source,

And rapid Anio, headlong in his course,

Or Tibur, fenced by groves from solar beams,

And fruitful orchards bath'd by ductile streams.

FRANCIS.

The elegant and graceful form of the beautiful little temple I have so often mentioned, indicates its having been built when the arts were in the highest state of perfection at Rome. Its proportions are not more happy than its situation, on a point of the mountain fronting the great cascade.

Before they take their leave of Tivoli, strangers usually visit the Villa Estense, belonging to the Duke of Modena. It was built by Hippolitus of Este, Cardinal of Ferrara, and brother to the duke of that name; but more distinguished by being the person to whom Ariosto addressed his Poem of Orlando Furioso. The house itself is not in the finest style of architecture. There are many whimsical waterworks in the gardens. Those who do not approve of the taste of their construction, still owe them some degree of respect, on account of their being the first grand waterworks in Europe; much more ancient than those of Versailles. The situation is noble, the terraces lofty, the trees large and venerable; and though the ground is not laid out to the greatest advantage, yet the whole has a striking air of magnificence and grandeur.

LETTER LXX. Frescati and Albano. Dialogue between an English and Scotch Gentleman.

ROME.

FRESCATI is an agreeable village, on the declivity of a hill, about twelve miles from Rome. It derives its name from the coolness of the air, and fresh verdure of the fields around. It is a bishop's see, and always possessed by one of the six eldest [Page] Cardinals. At present it belongs to the Cardinal Duke of York, who, whether in the country or at Rome, passes the greatest part of his time in the duties and ceremonies of a religion, of whose truth he seems to have the fullest conviction; and who, living himself in great simplicity, and not in the usual style of Cardinals, spends a large proportion of his revenue in acts of charity and benevolence; the world forgetting, by the world forgot, except by those who enjoy the comforts of life through his bounty.

Tivoli was the favourite residence of the ancient Romans. The moderns give the preference to Frescati, in whose neighbourhood some of the most magnificent villas in Italy are situated.

The villa Aldobrandini, called also Belvedere, is the most remarkable, on account of its fine situation, extensive gardens, airy terraces, its grottos, cascades, and water-works. Over a saloon, near the grand cascade, is the following inscription:

HUC EGO MIGRAVI MUSIS COMITATUS APOLLO,

HIC DELPHI, HIC HELICON, HIC MIHI DELOS ERIT.

Hither I, Appollo, have come, accompanied by the Muses.

This shall henceforth be our Delphos, Delos, and Helicon.

The walls are adorned with a representation of Apollo and the Muses; and some of that God's adventures are painted in Fresco by Domenichino, particularly the manner in which he treated Marsyas This, in my humble opinion, had better been omitted; both because it is a disagreeable subject for a picture, and because it does no honour to Apollo. Marsyas unquestionably was an object of contempt, and ridicule, on account of his presumption; but the punishment said to have been inflicted on him exceeds all bounds, and renders the inflictor more detestable in our eyes than the insolent satyr himself.

This story is so very much out of character, and so unlike the elegant god of poetry and music, that I am inclined to suspect it is not true. There is a report, equally incredible, which has been propagated by malicious people concerning his sister Diana; I do not mean her rencounter with Acteon, for the Goddess of Chastity may, without inconsistency, be supposed cruel, but it is quite impossible to reconcile her general character with the stories of her nocturnal visits to Endymion.

The villa Ludovisi is remarkable for its gardens and water-works. The hills on which Frescati is situated, afford great abundance of water, a circumstance of which the owners of those villas have profited, all of them being ornamented with fountains, cascades, or water-works of some kind or other.

The villa Taverna, belonging to the Prince Borghese, is one of the finest and best furnished of any in the neighbourhood of Rome. From this you ascend through gardens to Monte Dracone, another [Page] palace on a more lofty situation, belonging also to that Prince, and deriving its name from the arms of his family. The ancient city of Tusculum is supposed to have stood on the spot, or very near it, where Frescati now is built; and at the distance of about a mile and a half, it is generally believed, was the Tusculan villa of Cicero, at a place now called Grotta Ferrata. Some Greek monks of the order of St. Basil, flying from the persecution of the Saracens in the eleventh century, were permitted to build a convent on the ruins of Cicero's famous house. They still perform the service in the Greek language.

Which-ever way you walk from Frescati, you have the most delightful scenes before you. I passed two very agreeable days, wandering thro' the gardens and from villa to villa. The pleasure of our party was not a little augmented by the observations of Mr. B—, a lively old gentleman from Scotland, a man of worth but no antiquarian, and indeed no admirer of any thing, ancient or modern, which has not some relation to his native country; but to balance that indifference, he feels the warmest regard for every thing which has. We extended our walks as far as the lake of Nemi, a bason of water lying in a very deep bottom, about four miles in circumference, whose surrounding hills are covered with tall and shady trees. Here

Black Melancholy sits, and round her throws

A death-like silence, and a dread repose;

Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene,

Shades every flower, and darkens every green.

I never saw a place more formed for co [...]templation and solemn ideas, In ancient times there was a temple here sacred to Diana The lake itself was called Speculum Dianae, and Lacus Triviae, and is the place mentioned in the seventh Book of the AEneid, where the Fury Alecto is described blowing the trumpet of war, at whose dreadful sound the woods and mountains shook, and mothers, trembling for their children, pressed them to their bosoms.

Contremuit nemus, et sylvae intonuere profundae,

Audiit et triviae longe lacus—*

Et trepidae matres pressere ad pectora natus.

The woods all thunder'd, and the mountains shook,

[Page]

The lake of Trivia heard the note profound.

Pale at the piercing call, the mothers prest

With shrieks their starting infants to the breast.

PITT.

We returned by Gensano, Marino, La Riccia, and Castel Gondolfo. All the villages and villas I have named communicate with each other by fine walks and avenues of lofty trees, whose intermingling branches form a continued shade for the traveller. Castle Gondolfo is a little village near the lake Albano, on one extremity of which is a castle, belonging to his Holiness, from which the village takes his name; there is nothing remarkably fine in this villa, except its situation, Near the village of Castel Gondolfo, is the villa Barbarini, within the gardens of which are the ruins of an immense palace, built by the Emperor Domitian. There is a charming walk, about a mile in length, along the side of the lake from Castel Gondolfo to the town of Albano. The lake of Albano is an oval piece of water of about seven or eight miles circumference, whose margin is finely adorned with groves and trees of various verdure, beautifully reflected from the transparent bosom of the lake; and which, with the surrounding hills, and the Castel Gondolfo which crowns one of them, has a fine picturesque effect.

The grand scale on which the beauties of nature appear in Switzerland and the Alps, has been considered by some, as too vast for the pencil; but among the sweet hills and vallies of Italy, her features are brought nearer the eye, are fully seen and understood, and appear in all the bloom of rural loveliness. Tivoli, Albano, and Frescati, therefore, are the favourite abodes of the landscape-painters who travel to this country for improvement; and in the opinion of some, those delightful villages furnish studies better suited to the powers of their art, than even Switzerland itself.

Nothing can surpass the admirable assemblage of hills, meadows, lakes, cascades, gardens, ruins, groves, and terraces, which charm the eye, as you wander among the shades of Frescati and Albano, which appear in new beauty as they are viewed from different points, and captivate the beholder with endless variety. One reflection obtrudes itself on the mind, and disturbs the satisfaction which such pleasing scenes would otherwise produce; it arises from beholding the poverty of infinitely the greater part of the inhabitants of those villages—Not that they seem miserable or discontented—a few roasted chesnuts, and some bunches of grapes, which they may have for a penny, will maintain them: but the easier they are satisfied, and the less repining they are, the more earnestly do we [Page] wish that they were better provided for. Good Heavens! why should so much be heaped on a few, whom profusion cannot satisfy; while a bare competency is withheld from multitudes, whom penury cannot render discontented?

The most commanding view is from the garden of a convent of Capucins, at no great distance from Albano. Directly before you is the lake, with the mountains and woods which surround it, and the castle of Gondolfo; on one hand is Frescati with all its villas; on the other, the towns of Albano, La Riccia, and Gensano; beyond these you have an uninterrupted view of the Campagna, with St. Peter's church and the city of Rome in the middle; the whole prospect being bounded by the hills of Tivoli, the Apennines, and the Mediterranean.

While we contemplated all these objects with pleasure and admiration, an English gentleman of the party said to Mr. B—, There is not a prospect equal to this in all France or Germany, and not many superior even in England. That I well believe, replied the Caledonian; but if I had you in Scotland, I could shew you several with which this is by no means to be compared. Indeed! Pray in what part of Scotland are they to be seen? I presume you never was at the castle of Edinburgh, Sir? Never. Or at Stirling? Never. Did you ever see Loch Lomond, Sir? I never did. I suppose I need not ask, whether you have ever been in Aberdeen-shire, or the Highlands, or—I must confess once for all, interrupted the Englishman, that I have the misfortune never to have seen any part of Scotland. Then I am not surprised, said the Scot, taking a large pinch of snuff, that you think this the finest view you ever saw. I presume you think those in Scotland a great deal finer? A very great deal indeed, Sir; why that lake, for example, is a pretty thing enough; I dare swear, many an English nobleman would give a good deal to have such another before his house; but Loch Lomond is thirty miles in length, Sir! there are above twenty islands in it, Sir! that is a lake for you.

As for their desert of a Campagna, as they call it, no man who has eyes in his head, Sir, will compare it to the fertile valley of Stirling, with the Forth, the most beautiful river in Europe, twining through it. Do you really in your conscience imagine, said the Englishman, that the Forth is a finer river than the Thames? The Thames! exclaimed the North Briton, Why, my dear Sir, the Thames at London is a mere gutter, in comparison of the Firth of Forth at Edinburgh. I suppose then, said the Englishman, recovering himself, you do not approve of the view from Windsor Castle? I ask your pardon, replied the other; I approve of it very much; it is an exceeding pretty kind of a prospect; the country appears from it as agreeable to the sight as any plain flat country, crowded with trees, and intersected by enclosures, can well do; [Page] but I own I am of opinion, that mere fertile fields, woods, rivers and meadows, can never, of themselves, perfectly satisfy the eye.

You imagine, no doubt, said the Englishman, that a few heath-covered mountains and rocks embellish a country very much? I am precisely of that opinion, said the Scot; and you will as soon convince me that a woman may be completely beautiful with fine eyes, good teeth, and a fair complexion, though she should not have a nose on her face, as that a landscape, or country, can be completely beautiful without a mountain. Well, but here are mountains enough, resumed the other; look around you. Mountains! cried the Caledonian, very pretty mountains truly! They call that Castel Gondolfo of theirs a castle too, and a palace, for sooth! but does that make it a residence fit for a Prince? Why, upon my word, I do not think it much amiss, said the other; it looks full as well as the palace of St. James's. The palace of St. James's, exclaimed the Scot, is a scandal to the nation; it is both a shame and a sin, that so great a monarch as the King of Scotland, England, and Ireland, with his Royal consort, and their large family of small children should live in a shabby old cloister, hardly good enough for monks. The palace of Holyrood-house, indeed, is a residence meet for a king. And the gardens; pray what sort of gardens have you belonging to that palace? said the Englishman; I have been told you do not excel in those.

But we excel in gardeners, replied the other, which are as much preferable as the creator is preferable to the created. I am surprised, however, rejoined the South Briton, that, in a country like yours, where there are so many creators, so very few fruit-gardens are created. Why, Sir, it is not to be expected, said Mr. B—, that any one country will excel in every thing. Some enjoy a climate more favourable for peaches, and vines, and nectarines; but, by G—, Sir, no country on earth produces better men and women than Scotland. I dare say none does, replied the other. So as France excels in wine, England in wool and oxen, Arabia in horses, and other countries in other animals, you imagine Scotland excels all others in the human species What I said, Sir, was, that the human species in no country excel those in Scotland; and that I assert again, and will maintain, Sir, to my last gasp. I do not intend to deny it, said the Englishman; but you will permit me to observe, that, men being its staple commodity, it must be owned that Scotland carries on a brisk trade; for I know no country that has a greater exportation; you will find Scotchmen in all the countries of the world. So much the better for all the countries of the world, said Mr. B—; for every body knows that the Scotch cultivate and improve the arts and sciences wherever they go.

[Page] They certainly improve their own fortunes wherever they go, rejoined the other:—like their gardeners, though they can create little or nothing at home, they often create very good fortunes in other countries; and this is one reason of our having the pleasure of so much of their company in London. Whether it affords you pleasure or not, Sir, nothing can be more certain, replied the Scot in the most serious tone, than that you may improve very much by their company and example. But there are various reasons, continued he, for so many of my countrymen sojourning in London. That city is now, in some measure, the capital of Scotland, as well as of England. The seat of government is there; the King of Scotland, as well as of England resides there; the Scotch nobility and gentry have as good a right to be near the person of their Sovereign as the English; and you must allow, that, if some Scotchmen make fortunes in England, many of our best estates are also spent there.

But you mean to say, that the Scotch, in general, are poor in comparison of the English. This we do not deny, and cannot possibly forget, your countrymen refresh our memories with it so often. We allow, therefore, that you have this advantage over us;—and the Persians had the same over the Macedonians at the battle of Arbela.

But, whether Scotland be poor or rich, those Scots who settle in England must carry industry, talents, or wealth with them, otherwise they will starve there as well as elsewhere; and when one country draws citizens of this description from another, I leave you to judge which has the most reason to complain. And let me tell you, Sir, upon the whole, the advantages which England derives from the Union, are manifest and manifold. I cannot say, replied the Englishman, that I have thought much on this subject; but I shall be obliged to you if you will enumerate a few of them. In the first place, resumed the Scot, Has she not greatly increased in wealth since that time? She has so, replied the other smiling, and I never knew the real cause before. In the next place, has she not acquired a million and a half of subjects, who otherwise would have been with her enemies? For this, and other reasons, they are equivalent to three millions.

In the third place, Has she not acquired security? without which riches are of no value. There is no door open now, Sir, by which the French can enter into your country. They dare as soon be d—as attempt to invade Scotland; so if you can defend your own coast, there is no fear of you; but without a perfect union with Scotland, England could not enjoy the principal benefit she derives from her insular situation. Not till Scotland should be subdued, said the Englishman.

Sub [...]d repeated the astonished Scot; let me tell you, Sir, tha [...] is a very strange hypothesis; the fruitless attempts of [Page] many centuries might have taught you that [...] thing is impossible; and, if you are conversant in history, you will find, that, after the decline of the Roman Empire, the course of conquest was from the North to the South. You mean, said the South Briton, that Scotland would have conquered England. Sir, replied the other, I think the English as brave a nation as ever existed, and therefore I will not say that the Scotch are braver; far less shall I assert, that they, consisting of only a fifth part of the numbers, could subdue the English; but I am sure, that rather than submit they would try; and you will admit that the trial would be no advantage to either country. Altho' I am [...]ully convinced, said the Englishman, how the experiment would end, I should be sorry to see it made, particularly at this time.

Yet Sir, rejoined the Scot, there are people of your country, as I am told, who, even at this time, endeavour to exasperate the minds of the inhabitants of one part of Great Britain against the natives of the other, and to create dissension between two countries, whose mutual safety depends on their good agreement; two countries whom Nature herself, by separating them from the rest of the world, and encircling them with her azure bond of union, seems to have intended for one. I do assure you, my good Sir, said the English Gentleman, I am not of the number of those who wish to raise such dissension. I love the Scotch; I always thought them a sensible and gallant people; and some of the most valued friends I have on earth, are of your country. You are a man of honour and discernment, said the Caledonian, seizing him eagerly by the hand; and I protest, without prejudice or partiality, that I never knew a man of that character who was not of your way of thinking.

LETTER LXXI. Florence.—The English Minister—Grand Duke and Duchess.—Florentines.—Particular species of virtú.

FLORENCE.

WE arrived in this city the third day after leaving Rome, though I have delayed writing till now. I wished to know something of the place, and to be a little acquainted with the people. The last is not difficult; because the Florentines are naturally affable, and the hospitality and politeness of the British Minister afford his countrymen frequent opportunities of forming an acquaintance with the best company in Florence. This gentleman has been here about thirty years, and is greatly esteemed by the Florentines. It is probably owing to this circumstance, and [...] [Page] the magnificent stile in which some English Noblemen live, who have long resided here, that the English, in general, are favourites with the inhabitants of this place, L—d C—r's conduct and disposition confirm them in the opinion they long have had of the good-nature and integrity of the nation to which he belongs. His Lady is of an amiable character, and affords them a very favourable specimen of English beauty.

We have had no opportunity of seeing the Grand duchess. She is of a domestic turn, and lives much in the country with her children, of which she has a comfortable number; but the Grand Duke having come to town for two days, we had the honour of being presented to him at the Palazzo Pitti. There is a striking resemblance of each other in all the branches of the Austrian family. Wherever I had met with the Grand Duke, I should immediately have known that he belonged to it. He, as well as his brother who resides at Milan, has, in a remarkable degree, the thick lip; which has long been a distinguishing feature in the Austrian family. He is a handsome man, is rapid in his words and motions, and has more vivacity in his manner than either the Emperor or Arch [...]ke; like them, he is good humoured, condescending and affable.

After the extinction of the Medici family, the Florentines grumbled on account of the disadvantage and inconveniency of having Sovereigns who did not reside among them. They exclaimed that their money was carried away to a distant country, and the most profitable offices at home filled by foreigners. They have now got a Sovereign who resides and spends his revenue among them, and has provided the state most plentifully in heirs; yet they still grumble. They complain of the taxes—But in what country of Europe is there not the same complaint?

Florence is unquestionably, a very beautiful city. Independent of the churches and palaces, some of which are very magnificent, the architecture of the houses in general is in a good taste, the streets are remarkably clean, and paved with large broad stones. chiseled so as to prevent the horses from sliding. This city is divided into two unequal parts by the river Arno, over which there are no less than four bridges in sight of each other. That called the Ponte della Trini [...]á, is uncommonly elegant. It is built entirely of white marble, and ornamented with four beautiful statues, representing the Four Seasons. The quays, the buildings on each side, and the bridges, render that part of Florence through which the river runs, by far the finest.

The [...]ame is the case at Paris; and it happens fortunately for those two cities, that those parts are almost constantly before the eye, on account of the necessity people are continually under of passing and repassing those bridges; whereas in London, whose rive [...] and bridges are far superior to any in France or Italy, people may live whole seasons, attend all the public amusements, and drive every day from one end of the town to the other, without [Page] ever seeing the Thames or the bridges, unless they go on purpose. For this reason, when a foreigner is asked which he thinks the finest city, Paris or London; the moment Paris is mentioned, the Louvre, and that striking part which is situated between the Pont Royal and Pont Neuf, presents itself to his imagination. He can recollect no part of London equal in magnificence to this; and ten to one, if he decides directly, it will be in favour of Paris: but if he takes a little more time, and compares the two capitals, street by street, square by square, and bridge with bridge, he will probably be of a different opinion. The number of inhabitants in Florence is calculated by some at eighty thousand.

The streets, squares, and fronts of the palaces are adorned with a great number of statues; some of them by the best modern masters, Michael Angelo, Bandinelli, Donatello, Giovanni di Bologna, Benvenuto, Cellini, and others. A taste for the arts must be kept alive, independent almost of any other encouragement, in a city where so many specimens are continually before the eyes of the inhabitants. There are towns in Europe, where statues, exposed night and day within the reach of the common people, would r [...]n a great risque of being disfigured and mutilated; here they a [...]e as safe as if they were shut up in the great Duke's gallery.

Florence has been equally distingished by a spirit for commerce and for the fine arts; two things which are not always united. Some of the Florentine merchants formerly were men of vast wealth, and lived in a most magnificent manner. One of them, about the middle of the fifteenth century, built that noble fabric, which, from the name of its founder, is still called the Pallazz [...] Patti.

The man was ruined by the prodigious expence of this building, which was immediatly purchased by the Medici family, and has continued, ever since, to be the residence of the Sovereigns. The gardens belonging to this palace are on the declivity of an eminence. On the summit there is a kind of [...]ort, called Belvedere. Form this, and from some of the higher walks, you have a complete view of the city of Florence, and the beauteous vale of Arno, in the middle of which it stands.

The prospect is bounded on every side by an amphitheatre of fertile hills, adorned with country houses and gardens. In no part of Italy, that I have seen, are there so many villas, belonging to private persons, as in the neighbourhood of this city; the habitations of the peasants, likewise, seem much more neat and commodious. The country all around is divided into small farms, with a neat farm-house on each. Tuscany produces a considerable quantity of corn, as well as excellent wine, and great quantities of silk.

The peasants have a look of health and contentment: the natural beauty of the Italian countenance not being disgraced by dirt, or deformed by misery, the women in this country seem handsomer, and are, in reality, more blooming, than in other parts of Italy. When at work, or when they bring their good, [Page] to market, their hair is confined by a silk net, which is also much worn at Naples; but on holidays they dress in a very picturesque manner. They do not wear gowns, but a kind of jacket without sleeves.

They have no other covering for the upper part of the arm but their shift sleeves, which are tied with ribband. Their petticoats are generally of a scarlet colour. They wear ear-rings and necklaces. Their hair is adjusted in a becoming manner, and adorned with flowers. Above one ear they fix a little straw hat; and on the whole have a more gay, smart, coquetish air, than any country-girls I ever saw.

Churches, palaces, and statues, are no doubt ornamental to a city; and the Princes are praise-worthy who have taken pains to rear and collect them; but the greatest of all ornaments are cheerful, happy, living countenances, The taste is not general; but, I thank God, I know some people who, to a perfect knowledge and unaffected love of the fine arts, join a passion for a collection of this kind, who cannot, without uneasiness, see one face in a different style, and whose lives and fortunes are employed in smoothing the corrosions of penury and misfortune, and restoring the original air of satisfaction and cheerfulness to the human countenance. Happy the people whose Sovereign is inspired with this species of virtu!

LETTER LXXII. Gallery—Dialogue between an Antiquarian and a young Man concerning the Arrotino.—The Tribuna.—The Gallery of Portraits.

FLORENCE.

I HAVE generally, since our arrival at Florence, passed two hours every forenoon in the famous gallery. Connoisseurs, and those who wish to be thought such, remain much longer. But I plainly feel this is enough for me; and I do not think it worth while to prolong my visit after I begin to be tired, merely to be thought what I am not. Do not imagine, however, that I am blind to the beauties of this celebrated collection; by far the most valuable now in the world. One of the most interesting parts of it, in the eyes of many, is the series of Roman Emperors, from Julius Caesar to Gallienus, with a considerable number of their Empresses, arranged opposite to them. This series is almost complete; but wherever the bust of a Emperor is wanting, the place is filled up by that of some other distinguished Roman.

Such an honour is bellowed with great propriety on Seneca, Cicero, or Agrippa, the son-in-law of Augustus. But, on perceiving a head of Antinous, the favourite of Adr [...]an, among them, a gentleman whispered me,—that minion, pointing to the [Page] head, would not have been admitted into such company any where but in Florence. It ought, however, to be remembered, that the Gallery is not an AEgptian court of judicature, where Princes are tried after death, for crimes committed during life. If the vices of originals had excluded their portraits, what would have become of the series of Roman Emperors, and particularly of the bust of the great Julius himself, who was husband to all the wives and The gallery is sacred to art, and every production which she avows, has a right to a place here▪

Amidst those noble specimens of ancient sculpture, some of the works of Michael Angelo are not thought undeserving a place. His Bacchus and Faunus, of which the well-known story is told, have been by some preferred to the two antique figures representing the same.

The beautiful head of Alexander is universally admired by all the virtuosi; though they differ in opinion with regard to the circumstance in which the sculptor has intended to represent that hero. Some imagine he is dying; Mr. Addison imagines he sighs for new worlds to conquer; others that he faints with pain and loss of blood from the wounds he received at Oxydrace. Others think the features express not bodily pain or langour, but sorrow and remorse, for having murdered his faithful friend Clitus. You see how very uncertain a business this of a virtuoso is. I can hardly believe that the artist intended simply to represent him dying; there was nothing very creditable in the manner he brought on his death.

Nor do I think he would choose to represent him moaning, or languishing with pain or sickness; there is nothing heroic in that; nor do we sympathise so readily with the pains of the body, as with those of the mind. As for the story of his weeping for new worlds, he will excite still less sympathy, if that is the cause of his affliction. The last conjecture, therefore, that the artist intended to represent him in a violent fit of remorse, is the most probable. The unfinished bust of Marcus Brutus, by Michael Angelo, admirably expresses the determined firmness of character which belonged to that virtuous Roman. The artist, while he wrought at this, seems to have had in his mind Horace's Ode.

Justum et tenacem propositi virum

Non civium ardor prava jubentium,

Non vultus instantis tyranni

Mente quatit solidâ, &c.

The man in conscious virtue bold,

Who dares his secret purpose hold,

[Page] Unshaken hears the crowd's tumultuous cries,

And the stern tyrant's brow—defies.

FRANCIS.

This would, in my opinion, be a more suitable inscription for the bust, than the concerto of Cardinal Bembo, which is at present under it*. Michael Angelo, in all probability was pleased with the expression he had already given the features, and chose to leave it as an unfinished sketch, rather than risk weakening it by an attempt to improve it.

The virtuosi differ in opinion respecting the Arrotino, or Whetter, as much as about the head of Alexander. A young gentleman said to an antiquarian, while he contemplated the Arrotino, I believe, Sir, it is imagined that this statue was intended for the slave, who, while he was whetting his knife, overheard Catiline's conspiracy,—That is the vulgar opinion, said the other; but the statue was, in reality, done for a peasant, who discovered the plot into which the two sons of Junius Brutus entered for the restoration of Tarquin. I ask pardon, Sir, said the young man; but although one may easily see that the figure listens with the most exquisite expression of attention, yet I should think it very difficult to delineate in the features, whether the listener heard a conspiracy, or any thing else which greatly interested him, and absolutely impossible to mark, by any expression of countenance, what particular conspiracy he is hearing. Your observation is just, young man, said the antiquarian, when applied to modern artists, but entirely the reverse when applied to the ancient. Now, for my own part, I plainly perceive in that man's countenance, and after you have studied those matters as profoundly as I have done you will see the same, that it is the conspiracy for the restoration of Tarquin, and no other plot whatever, which he listens to; as for Catiline's conspiracy, it is not possible he could know any thing about it; for, good God! people ought to reflect, that the man must have been dead four hundred years before Catiline was born.

As we are now in the famous octagonal room, called Tribuna, I ought, if I had any thing new to say, to descant a little on the distinguishing excellencies of the Dancing Faun, the Wrestlers, the Venus Urania, the Venus Victrix; and I would most willingly pay the poor tribute of my praise to that charming figure known by the name of Venus de Medicis. Yet, in the midst of all my [Page] admiration. I confess I do not think her equal to her brother Apollo in the Vatican. In that sublime figure, to the most perfect features and proportions, is joined an air which seems more than human. The Medicean Venus is unquestionably a perfect model of female beauty; but while Apollo appears more than a man, the Venus seems precisely a beautiful woman.

In the same room are many valuable curiosities, besides a collection of admirable pictures by the best masters. I do not know whether any are more excellent of their kind, but I am convinced none are more attentively considered than the two Venuses of Titian; one is said to be a portrait of his wife, the other of his mistress. The first is the finest portrait I ever saw, except the second; of this you have seen many copies; though none of them equals the beauty of the original, yet they will give a juster idea of it than any description of mine could. On the back ground, two women seem searching for something in a trunk. This episode is found much fault with; for my part, I see no great harm the two poor women do: none but those critics who search more eagerly after deformity than beauty, will take any notice of them.

Besides the Gallery and Tribuna, the hundredth part of whose treasures I have not particularised, there are other rooms, whose contents are indicated by the names they bear; as, the Cabinet of Arts, of Astronomy, of Natural History, of Medals, of Porcelain, of Antiquities, and the Saloon of the Hermaphrodite, so called from a statue which divides the admiration of the Amateurs with that in the Borghese village at Rome. The excellence of the execution is disgraced by the vileness of the subject. We are surprised how the Greeks and Romans could take pleasure in such unnatural figures; in this particular their taste seems to have been as depraved, as in general it was elegant and refined. In this room there is a collection of drawings by some of the greatest masters, Michael Angelo, Raphael, Andrea del Sarto, and others. There is, in particular, a sketch of the Last Judgment by the first-named of these painters, different, and, in the opinion of some, designed with more judgment, than his famous picture on the same subject in Sixtus the Fourth's chapel in the Vatican.

The large room, called the Gallery of Portraits, is not the least curious in this vast Musaeum. It contains the portraits, all executed by themselves, of the most eminent painters who have flourished in Europe during the three last centuries. They amount [...] above two hundred; those of Rubens, Vandyke, Rembrandt, and Guido, were formerly the most esteemed; two have been added lately, which vie with the finest in this collection—those of Meng's and Sir Joshua Reynolds.

The portrait of Raphael seems to have been done when he was young; it is not equal to any of the above. The Electress Dowager of Saxony has made a valuable addition to this collection, by sending her own portrait painted by herself; she is at full length, [Page] with the palette and pencils in her hands. Coreggio, after hearing the picture of St. Cecilia at Bologna cried up as a prodigy, and the ne plus ultra of art, went to see it; and conscious that there was nothing in it that required the exertion of greater powers than he felt within himself, he was overheard to say, Anch' io sono pittore,—I also am a painter. This illustrious princess was also conscious of her powers when she painted this portrait, which seems to pronounce to the spectators, Anch' io sono pittrice.—I also am a paintress.

LETTER LXXIII. State of the common people, particularly the peasants in Italy.—Of Roman Catholic Clergy.—Clergy in general.

FLORENCE.

HAVING now crossed from the Adriatic to the Mediterranean, and travelled through a considerable part of Italy, I acknowledge I have been agreeably disappointed in finding the state of the poorer part of the inhabitants less wretched than, from the accounts of some travellers, I imagined it was; and I may with equal truth add, that although I have not seen so much poverty as I was taught to expect, yet I have seen far more poverty than misery. Even the extremity of indigence is accompanied with less wretchedness here than in many other countries. This is partly owing to the mildness of the climate, and fertility, of the soil, and partly to the peaceable, religious, and contented disposition of the people. The miseries which the poorer part of mankind suffer from cold, are, perhaps, greater than those derived from any other source whatever. But in Italy, the gentleness of the climate protects them from this calamity nine months of the year. If they can gather as much wood as to keep a moderate fire during the remaining three, and procure a coarse cloke, they have little to fear from that quarter.

Those who cannot get employment, which is often the case in this country, and even those who no [...] choose to work, which is the case with numbers all the world over, receive a regular maintenance from some convent: with this, and what little they can pick up otherwise, in a country where provisions are plentiful and cheap, they pass through life, in their own opinion, with more satisfaction than if they had a greater number of conveniencie [...] procured by much bodily labour. Whereas in Great Britain, Germany, and other northern countries, the poor have no choice but to work; for if they remain idle, they are exposed to miseries more intolerable than the hardest labour can occasion to the laziest of mankind; they are invaded at once by the accumulated agonies of hunger and cold; and if they have ever had sufficient credit to contract a little debt, they are continually in danger of being thrown into a [Page] jail among pick pockets and felons. With respect to the lowest of the tradespeople and the day labourers in this country, their wages are certainly not high; nor are they willing, by great efforts of industry, to gain all they might; but what they do gain is never wasted in intemperance, but fairly spent in their families on the real necessaries and comforts of life.

The Italians are the greatest loungers in the world, and while walking in the fields, or stretched in the shade, seem to enjoy the serenity and genial warmth of their climate with a degree of luxurious indulgence peculiar to themselves. Without ever running into the daring excesses of the English, or displaying the frisky vivacity of the French, or the invincible phlegm of the Germans, the Italian populace discover a species of sedate sensibility to every source of enjoyment, from which, perhaps, they derive a greater degree of happiness than any of the other. The frequent processions and religious ceremonious, besides amusing and comforting them, serve to fill up their time, and prevent that enn [...]—vacuity, and those immoral practices which are apt to accompany poverty and idleness.

It is necessary, for the quiet and happiness of every community, that the populace be employed. Some politicians imagine, that their whole time should be spent in gainful industry. Others think, that though the riches of the state will not be augmented, yet the general happiness, which is a more important object, will be promoted by blending the occupations of industry with a considerable proportion of such superstitious ceremonies as awaken the future hopes, without [...]ulling the present benevolence, of the multitude; but nobody can doubt, that in countries where, from whatever cause, industry does not prevail, processions and other rites of the same nature will tend to restrain the populace from the vices, and of consequence prevent some of the miseries of idleness.

The peasantry of this country are unquestionably in a more comfortless state than a benevolent mind could wish them. But, England and Switzerland excepted, is not this the case all over Europe? In all the countries I have seen, or had an account of, the husbandmen, probably the most virtuous, but certainly the most useful part of the community, whose labour and industry maintain all the rest, and in whom the real strength of the state resides, are, by a most unjust dispensation, generally the poorest and most oppressed, But although the Italian peasantry are by no means in the affluent, independent situation of the peasantry of Switzerland, and the tenantry of England, yet they are not subjected to the same oppressions with those of Germany, nor are they so poor as those of France.

Great part of the lands in Italy belong to convents; and I have observed, and have been assured by those who have the best opportunities of knowing, that the tenants of these communities are happier, and live more at their ease, than those of great part of the nobility.

[Page] The revenues of convents are usually well managed, and never allowed to be squandered away by the folly or extravagance of any of its members; consequently the community is not driven, by craving and threatening creditors, as individuals frequently are, [...]o squeeze out of their vassals the means of supplying the waste occasioned by their own vanity and expence. A convent can have no incitement to severe and oppressive exactions from the peasants, except sheer avarice; a passion which never rises to such a height in a society where the revenue is in common, as in the breast of an individual, who is solely to reap the fruits of his own oppression. The stories which circulate in Protestant countries concerning the scandalous debauchery of monks, and the luxurious manner in which they live in their convents, whatever truth there may have been in them formerly, are certainly now in a great measure without foundation.

I remember when I was at the Grande Chartreuse, near Grenoble, which has a considerable district of land belonging to it, I was informed, and this information was confirmed by what I saw, that those monks were gentle and generous masters, and that their tenants were envied by all the peasantry around, on account of the treatment they received, and the comparatively easy terms on which they held their farms. From the enquiries I have made in France, Germany, and Italy, I am convinced that this is usually the case with those peasants who belong to convent lands; and very often, I have been informed, besides having easy rents, they also find affectionate friends and protectors in their masters, who visit them in sickness, comfort them in all distresses, and are of service to their families in various shapes.

I have been speaking hitherto of the peasantry belonging to convents; but I believe I might extend the remark to the tenants of ecclesiastics in general, though they are often represented as more proud and oppressive masters than any class of men whatever; an aspersion which may have gained credit the more easily on this account, that instances of cruelty and oppression in ecclesiastics strike more, and raise a greater indignation, than the same degree of wickedness in other men; they raise a greater indignation, because they are more unbecoming of clergymen, and they strike more when they do happen, because they happen seldomer. The ambition of Popes some centuries ago, when the Court of Rome was in [...] zenith, the unlimited influence and power which particular Churchmen acquired in England and France, had those effects upon their actions and characters, which ambition and power usually have on the characters of men; it rendered them insolent, [...], and persecuting. Yet, for every cruel and tyrannical Pope that history has recorded, it will be easy to name two or three Roman Emperors who have surpassed them in every species of wickedness; and England and France have had Prime Minister with all the vices, without the abilities, of Wolsey and [...]

[Page] Those who declaim against the wickedness of the clergy, seem to take it for granted that this body of men were the authors of the most horrid instances of persecution, massacre, and tyranny, over men's consciences that are recorded in the annals of mankind; yet Philip II. Charles IX. and Henry VIII. were n [...] Churchmen; and the capricious tyranny of Henry, the frantic fury of Charles, and the persevering cruelty of Philip, seem to have proceeded from the personal characters of these Monarchs, or to have been excited by what they considered as their political interest, rather than by the suggestions of their Clergy.

As the subjects of the Ecclesiastical State are perhaps the poorest in Italy, this has been imputed to the rapacious disposition which some assert is natural to Churchman. This poverty, however, may be otherwise accounted for. Bishop Burnet very judiciously observes, that the subjects of a government, which is at once despotic and elective, labour under peculiar disadvantages; for an hereditary Prince will naturally have considerations for his people which an elective one will not, unless he has a degree of generosity not common among men, and least of all among Italians, who have a passion for their families which is not known in other places, [Vide Bishop Burner's Travels.] An elective Prince, knowing that it is only during his reign that his family can receive any benefit from it, makes all the haste he can to enrich them. To this it may be added, [...] as Popes generally arrive at Sovereignty at an age when avarice predominates in the human breast, they may be supposed to have a stronger bias than other Princes to that sordid passion; and even when this does not take place, their needy relations are continually prompting them to [...] of oppression, and suggesting ways and means of squeezing the people.

Other causes might be assigned; but, that it does not originate from the imputation above mentioned, seems evident from this, that the peasants of particular ecclesiastics, and of the convents in the Pope's dominions, as well as in other countries, are generally less oppressed than those of the lay lords and princes. From what has been thrown out by some celebrated wits, and the commonplace invective of those who affect that character, one would be led to imagine that there is something in the nature of the clerical profession which has a tendency to render men proud and oppressive. Such indiscriminating censure carries no conviction to my mind, because it is contradicted by the experience I have had in life, and by the observations, such as they are, which I have been able to make on human nature. I do not mean, in imitation of the satirists above mentioned, to put the Clergy of all religions on the same footing.

My opportunities of knowledge are too slender to justify that; my acquaintance with this order of men having been in a great measure confined to those of the Protestant Church, men of learning and integrity, of quiet, speculative, and benevolent dispositions; [Page] it is usually, indeed, this turn of mind which has inclined them to the ecclesiastical profession. But though my acquaintance with the Roman Catholic Clergy is very limited, yet the few I do know could not be mentioned as exceptions to what I have just said of the Protestant; and, exclusive of all personal knowledge of the men, it is natural to think that the habitual performance of the ceremonies of the Christian religion, though intermingled with some superstitious rites, and the preaching the doctrines of benevolence and good-will towards men, must have some influence on the lives and characters of those who are thus employed. It is a common error, prevailing in Protestant countries, to imagine that the Roman Catholic Clergy laugh at the religion they inculcate, and regard their flocks as the dupes of an artful plan of imposition.

By far the greater part of Roman Catholic priests and monks are themselves most sincere believers, and teach the doctrines of Christianity, and all the miracles of the legend, with a perfect conviction of their divinity and truth. The few who were behind the curtain when falsehood was first embroidered upon truth, and those who have at different periods been the authors of all the masks and interludes which have enriched the grand drama of superstition, have always chosen to employ such men, being sensible that the inferior actors would perform their parts more perfectly, by acting from nature and real conviction. "Paulum interesse censes," says Davus to Mysis, ex animo omnia ut fert natura, facias an de industria [Andria Terentii.]—Do you imagine there is but little difference between acting from feeling, as nature dictates or from art?

The accounts we receive of their gluttony, are often as ill-founded as those of their infidelity. The real character of the majority of monks and inferior ecclesiastics, both in France and Italy, is that of a simple, superstitious, well meaning race of men, who for the most part live in a very abstemious and mortified manner, notwithstanding what we have heard of their gluttony, their luxury, and voluptuousness. Such accusations are frequently thrown out by those who are ill intitled to make them.

I remember being in company with an acquaintance of yours, who is distinguished for the delicacy of his table and the length of his repasts, from which he seldom retires without a bottle of Burgundy for his own share, not to mention two or three glasses of Champaign between the courses. We had dined a few mile [...] from the town in which we then lived, and were returning in his chariot; it was winter, and he was wrapped in fur to the nose. As we drove along, we met two friars walking through the snow; little threads of icicles hung from their beards; their legs and the upper part of their feet were bare, but their soles were defended from the snow by wooden sandals.

"There goes a couple of dainty rogues," cried your friend as we drew near them; only think of the folly of permitting such [Page] lazy, luxurious rascals to live in a State, and eat up the portion of the poor. I will engage that those two scoundrels, as lean and mortified as they look, will devour more victuals in a day, than would maintain two industrious families. He continued railing against the luxury of those two friars, and afterwards expatiated upon the epicurism of the clergy in general; who, he said, were all alike in every country, and of every religion. When we arrived in town, he told me he had ordered a little nice supper to be got ready at his house by the time of our return, and had lately got some excellent wine, inviting me at the same time to go home with him; for, continued he, as we have driven three miles in such weather, we stand in great need of some refreshment. That in all Roman Catholic countries, and particularly in Italy, the clergy are too numerous, have too much power, too great a proportion of the lands, and that some of them live in great pomp and luxury is undeniable.

That the common people would be in a better situation, if manufactures and the spirit of industry could be introduced among them, is equally true; but, even as things are, I cannot help thinking that the state of the Italian peasantry is preferable, in many respects, to that of the peasants of many other countries in Europe. They are not beaten by their ecclesiastical lords, as those of Germany are by their masters, on every real or imaginary offence, They have not their children torn from them, to be sacrificed to the pomp, avarice, or ambition of some military despot; nor are they themselves pressed into the service as soldiers for life.

In England and in France the people take an interest in all national disputes, and consider the cause of their country or their Prince as their own; they enter into the service voluntarily, and fight with ardour for the glory of the country or King they love. Those ideas enable them to submit to a thousand hardships without repining, and they feel the sensations of happiness in the midst of toil, want, and danger. But in Germany, where the passions are annihilated, and a man is modelled into a machine before he is thought a good soldier, where his blood is sold by the Prince to the highest bidder, where he has no quarrel with the enemy he murders, and no allegiance to the Monarch for whom he fights, the being liable to be forced into such a service, is one of the most dreadful of all calamities.

Yet a regiment of such compelled soldiers, dressed in gaudy uniform, and powdered for a review, with music sounding, and colours flying, makes a far more brilliant appearance than a cluster of peasants with their wives and children upon a holiday. But if we could examine the breasts of the individuals, we should find in those of the former nothing but the terror of punishment, hatred of their officers, distrust of each other, and life itself supported only by the hope of desertion; while the bosoms of the latter are filled with all the affections of humanity, undisturbed by fear or remorse.

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LETTER LXXIV. Manners. Count Albany.

FLORENCE.

SOCIETY seems to be on an easy and agreeable footing in this city. Besides the conversazionis which they have here, as in other towns of Italy, a number of the nobility meet every day at a house called the Casino. This society is pretty much on the same footing with the clubs in London. The members are elected by ballot. They meet at no particular hour, but go at any time that is convenient. They play at billiards, cards, and other games, or continue conversing the whole evening, as they think proper. They are served with tea, coffee, lemonade, ices, or what other refreshments they choose; and each person pays for what he calls for. There is one material difference between this and the English clubs, that women as well as men are members.

The company of both sexes behave with more frankness and familiarity to strangers, as well as to each other, than is customary in public assemblies in other parts of Italy.

The Opera at Florence is a place where the people of quality pay and receive visits, and converse as freely as at the Casino above mentioned. This occasions a continual passing and repassing to and from the boxes, except in those where there is a party of cards formed; it is then looked on as a piece of ill manners to disturb the players. I never was more surprised, than when it was proposed to me to make one of a whist party, in a box which seemed to have been made for the purpose, with a little table in the middle.

I hinted that it would be full as convenient to have the party somewhere else; but I was told, good music added greatly to the pleasure of a whist party; that it increased the joy of good fortune, and soothed the affliction of bad. As I thought the people of this country better acquainted than myself with the power of music, I contested the point no longer; but have generally played two or three rubbers at whist in the stage-box every opera night.

From this you may guess, that, in this city, as in some other towns of Italy, little attention is paid to the music by the company in the boxes, except at a new opera, or during some favourite air. But the dancers command a general attention: as soon as they begin, conversation ceases; even the card-players lay down their cards, and fix their eyes on the Ballette. Yet the excellence of Italian dancing seems to consist in feats of strength, and a kind of jerking agility, more than in graceful movement. There is a continual contest among the [...], who shall spring highest. You see here none of the sprightly▪ alluring gaiety of the French comic dancers, nor of the graceful attitudes, and smooth flowing motions of the performers in the serious opera at Paris. It is surprising, that a people of such taste and sensibility as the Italians, [Page] should prefer a parcel of athletic jumpers to elegant dancers.

On the evenings on which there is no opera, it is usual for the genteel company to drive to a public walk immediately without the city, where they remain till it begins to grow duskish. Soon after our arrival at Florence, in one of the avenues of this walk we observed two men and two ladies, followed by four servants in livery. One of the men wore the insignia of the garter. We were told this was the Count Albany, and that the lady next to him was the Countess.

We yielded the walk, and pulled off our hats. The gentleman along with them was the Envoy from the King of Prussia to the Court of Turin. He whispered the Count, who returning the salutation, looked very earnestly at the Duke of Hamilton. We have seen them almost every evening since, either at the opera or on the public walk. His Grace does not affect to shun the avenue in which they happen to be; and as often as we pass near them, the Count fixes his eyes in a most expressive manner upon the Duke, as if he meant to say—our ancestors were better acquainted. You know, I suppose, that the Count Albany is the unfortunate Charles Stuart, who left Rome some time since on the death of his father, because the Pope did not think proper to acknowledge him by the tittle which he claimed on that event. He now lives at Florence, on a small revenue allowed him by his brother. The Countess is a beautiful woman, much beloved by those who know her, who universally describe her as lively, intelligent, and agreeable.

Educated as I was in Revolution principles, and in a part of Scotland where the religion of the Stuart family, and the maxims by which they governed, are more reprobated than perhaps in any part of Great Britain, yet I could not behold this unfortunate person without the warmest emotion and sympathy. What must a man's feelings be, who finds himself excluded from the most brilliant situation, and noblest inheritance that this world affords, and reduced to an humiliating dependance on those, who, in the natural course of events, should have looked up to him for protection and support? What must his feelings be, when on a retrospective view he beholds a series of calamities attending his family, that is without example in the annals of the unfortunate; calamities, of which those they experienced after their accession to the throne of England, were only a continuation? Their misfortunes began with their royalty, adhered to them through ages, increased with the increase of their dominions, did not forsake them when dominion was no more; and, as he has reason to dread, from his own experience, are not yet terminated. It will afford [...] alleviation or comfort, to recollect that part of this black list of calamities arose from the imprudence of his ancestors; and that many gallant men, in England, Scotland, and Ireland, have at different periods been involved in their ruin.

Our sympathy for this unfortunate person is not checked by any [Page] blame which can be thrown on himself. He surely had no share in the errors of the first Charles, the profligacy of the second, or the impolitic and bigotted attempts of James ag [...]ist the laws and established religion of Great Britain and Ireland; therefore, whilst I contemplate with approbation and gratitude the conduct of those patriots who resisted and expelled that infatuated monarch, ascertained the rights of the subject, and settled the constitution of Great Britain on the firm basis of freedom on which it has stood ever since the Revolution, and on which I hope it will ever stand, yet I freely acknowledge, that I never could see the unfortunate Count Albany without sentiments of compassion, and the most lively sympathy.

I write with the more warmth, as I have heard of some of our countrymen, who, during their tours through Italy, made the humble state to which he is reduced a frequent theme of ridicule, and who, as often as they met him in public, affected to pass by with an air of sneering insult. The motive to this is as base and abject as the behaviour is unmanly; those who endeavour to make misfortune an object of ridicule, are themselves the objects of detestation. A British nobleman or gentleman has certainly no occasion to form an intimacy with the Count Albany; but while he appears under that name, and claims no other title, it is ungenerous, on every accidental meeting, not to behave to him with the respect due to a man of high rank, and the delicacy due to a man highly unfortunate.

One thing is certain; that the same disposition which makes men insolent to the weak, renders them slaves to the powerful; and those who are most apt to treat this unfortunate person with an ostentatious contempt at Florence, would have been his most abject flatterers at St. James's.

LETTER LXXV. Cicisbeism.

FLORENCE.

IN a country where men are permitted to speak and write without restraint on the measures of government; where almost every citizen may flatter himself with the hopes of becoming a part of the legislature; where eloquence, popular talents, and political intrigues, lead to honours, and open a broad road to wealth and power; men, after the first glow of youth is past, are more obedient to the loud voice of ambition than to the whispers of love. But in despotic states, and in monarchies which verge towards despotism, where the will of the Prince is law; o [...], which amounts nearly to the same thing, where the law yields to the will of the prince; where it is dangerous to speak or write on general polities, and death or imprisonment to censure the particular measures of government; love become a first instead of being a secondary [Page] object; for ambition in generally speaking, a more powerful passion than love; and on this account women are the objects of greater attention and respect in despotic than in free countries. That species of address to women which is now called gallantry, was, if I am not mistaken, unknown to the ancient Greeks and Romans; nothing like it appears in any of Terence's comedies, where one would naturally expect to find it, if any such thing had existed when they were written. It now prevails, in some degree, in every country of Europe, but appears in different forms according to the different characters, customs, and manners, of the various countries.

In the courts of Germany it is a formal piece of business; etiquette governs the arrows of Cupid, as well as the torch of Hymen. Mistresses are chosen from the number of quarters on their family coats of arms, as well as from the number of their personal charms; and those ladies who are well provided in the first, seldom are without lovers, however deficient they may be in the second. But though many avenues, which in England lead to to power and distinction, are shut up in Germany, and the whole power of government is vested in the sovereign, yet the young nobility cannot bestow a great deal of their time in gallantry. The military profession, which in the time of peace is perfect idleness in France and England, is a very serious, unremitting employment in Germany. Men who are continually drilling soldiers, and whose fortunes and reputations depend on the expertness of the troops under their command, cannot pay a great deal of attention to the ladies.

Every French gentleman must be a soldier; but fighting is the only part of the business they go through with spirit; they cannot submit to the German precision in discipline, their souls sink under the tediousness of a campaign, and they languish for a battle from the impetuosity of their disposition, and impatience to have the matter decided one way or the other. This, with many particular exceptions, is the general style of the French noblesse; they all serve an apprenticeship to war, but gallantry is the profession they follow for life.

In England, the spirit of play and of party draws the minds of the young men of fortune from love or gallantry; those who spend their evenings at a gaming house, or in parliament, seldom think of any kind of women but such as may be had without trouble; and, of course, women of character are less attended to than in some other countries. When I was last at Paris, the Marquis de F—found an English newspaper on my table; it contained a long and particular account of a debate which had happened in both houses of parliament; he read it with great attention while I finished a letter, and then throwing down the paper, he said to me, Mais, mon ami, pendant que vos [...] á [...]a [...]r commecela[Page]dans votre chambre des pairs et votre parlement, *, parbleu un [...]t [...]anger auroit beau jeu avec leurs femmes.—But, my friend, during the time that your gentlemen representatives, are thus prattling in the Houses of Parliament, a stranger might possibly employ himself very agreeably with their ladies.

Intrigues of gallantry, comparatively speaking, occur seldom in England; and when they do, they generally proceed from a violent passion, to which every consideration of fortune and reputation is sacrificed, and the business concludes in a flight to the continent, or a divorce.

They manage matters otherwise in France; you hardly ever hear of flights or divorces in that country; a hundred new arrangements are made, and as many old ones broken, in a week at Paris, without noise or scandal; all is conducted quietly et selon les régles;—and according to rule; the fair sex are the universal objects of respect and adoration, and yet there is no such thing as constancy in the nation. Wit, beauty, and every accomplishment united in one woman, could not fix the volatility of a Frenchman; the love of variety, and the vanity of new conquests, would make him abandon this phoenix for birds far less rare and estimable. The women in France, who are full of spirit and sensibility, could never endure such usage, if they were not as fickle and as fond of new conquests as their lovers.

In Italy, such levity is viewed with contempt, and constancy is by both sexes, still classed among the virtues.

That high veneration for the fair sex which prevailed in the ages of chivalry, continued long after in the form of a sentimental platonic kind of gallantry. Every man of ingenuity chose unto himself a mistress, and directly proclaimed her beauty and her cruelty in love ditties, madrigals, and elegies, without expecting any other recompence than the reputation of a constant lover and a good poet. By the mere force of imagination, and the eloquence of their own metaphysical sonnets, they became persuaded that their mistresses were possessed of every accomplishment of face and mind, and that themselves were dying for love.

As in those days women were constantly guarded by their fathers and brothers before marriage, and watched and confined by their husbands for the rest of their lives; the refined passions above described were not exposed to the same accidents which so frequently befall those of modern lovers; they could neither fall into a decay from a more perfect knowledge of the ladies character, nor were they liable to sudden death from enjoyment. But whilst the women were adored in song, they were miserable in reality; confinement and distrust made them detest their husbands, and they endeavoured to form connections with men more to their taste than [Page] either jealous husbands or metaphysical lovers. To treat a woman of character as if she were an unprincipled wanton, is the most likely way to make her one.

In those days of jealousy, a continual trial of skill seems to have subsisted between husband and wife, as if every lord, soon after marriage, had told his lady, Now, Madam, I know perfectly well what you would be at; but it is my business to prevent you: I'll guard you so well, and watch you so closely, that it shall never be in your power to gratify your inclinations. "You are perfectly in the right, my lord," replied the lady, with all meekness, pray guard and watch as your wisdom shall direct; I, also, shall be vigilant on my part, and we shall see how the business will end. The business generally did end as might have been expected; and the only consolation left the husband was, to endeavour to assassinate the happy lover.

But when French manners began to spread over Europe, and to insinuate themselves among nations the most opposite in character to the French, jealousy was first held up as the most detestable of all the passions The law had long declared against its dismal effects, and awful denunciations had been pronounced from the pulpit against those who were inflamed by its bloody spirit; but without effect, till ridicule joined in the argument, and exposed those husbands to the contempt and derision of every fashionable society, who harboured the gloomy daemon in their bosoms.

As in England, after the Restoration, people, to shew their aversion to the Puritans, turned every appearance of religion into ridicule, and from the extreme of hypocrisy flew at once to that of profligacy; so in Italy, from the custom of secluding the wife from all mankind but her husbband, it became the fashion that she should never be seen with her husband, and yet always have a man at her elbow.

I shall conclude what I have to say on this subject in my next.

LETTER LXXVI. The same subject continued

FLORENCE.

BEFORE the Italian husbands could adopt or reconcile their minds to a custom so opposite to their former practice, they took some measures to secure a point which they had always thought of the highest importance. Finding the confinement was a plan generally reprobated, and that any appearance of jealousy subjected the husband to ridicule, they agreed that their wives should go into company and attend public places, but always attended by a friend whom they could trust, and who, at the same time, should not be dissagreeable to the wife. This compromise could not fail of being acceptable to the women, who plainly perceived [Page] that they must be gainers by an alteration of the former system; and it soon became universal all over Italy, for the women to appear at public places leaning upon the arm of a man; who, from their frequently whispering together, was called her Cicisbeo. It was stipulated, at the same time, that the lady, while abroad under his care, should converse with no other man but in his presence, and with his approbation; he was to be her guardian, her friend, and gentleman-usher. The custom at present is, that this obsequious gentleman visits the lady every forenoon at the toilet, where the plan for passing the evening is agreed upon; he disappears before dinner, for it is usual all over Italy for the husband and wife to dine together tête-á-tête,—by themselves, except on great occasions, as when there is a public feast. After dinner the husband retires, and the Cicisbeo returns and conducts the lady to the public walk, the conversazioné, or the opera; he hands her about wherever she goes, presents her coffee, sorts her cards, and attends with the most pointed assiduity till the amusements of the evening are over; he accompanies her home, and delivers up his charge to the husband, who is then supposed to resume his functions.

From the nature of this connection, it could not be an easy matter to find a Cicisbeo who would be equally agreeable to the husband and wife. At the beginning of the institution, the husbands, as I have been informed, preferred the platonic swains, who professed only the metaphysics of love, and whose lectures, they imagined, might refine their wives ideas, and bring them to the same way of thinking; in many instances, no doubt, it would happen, that the platonic admirer acted with less seraphic ends; but these instances serve only as proofs that the husbands were mistaken in their men; for however absurd it may appear in the eyes of some people, to imagine that the husbands believe it is only a platonic connection which subsists between their wives and the Cicisbeos; it is still more absurd to believe, as some strangers who have passed through this country seem to have done, that this whole system of Cicisbeism was from the beginning, and is now, an universal system of adultery connived at by every Italian husband.

To get clear of one difficulty, those gentlemen fall into another much more inexplicable; by supposing that the men, who of all the inhabitants of Europe were the most scrupulous with regard to their wives chastity, should acquiesce in, and in a manner become subservient to, their prostitution. In support of this strange doctrine, they assert, that the husbands being the Cicisbeos of other women, cannot enjoy this privilege on any other terms; and are therefore contented to sacrifice their wives for the sake of their mistresses. That some individuals may be profligate enough to act in this manner, I make no doubt. Similar arrangements we hear instances of in every country; but that such a system is general, or any thing near it, in Italy, seems to me perfectly incredible, and is [Page] contrary to the best information I have received since I have been here. It is also urged, that most of the married me [...] of quality in Italy the character of Cicisbeo to some woman or other; and those who are not Platonic lovers, ought to suspect [...] same liberties are taken with their wives which they take with the spouses of their neighbours; and therefore their suffering a man to visit their wives in the character of a cavaliero servente,—gentleman in waiting, is in effect conniving at their own cukoldom.

But this does not follow as an absolute consequence; for men have a wonderful faculty of deceiving themselves on such occasions. So great is the infatuation of their vanity, that the same degree of complaisance, which they consider as the effect of a very natural and excusable weakness, when indulged by any woman for themselves, they would look on as a horrible enormity if admitted by their wives for another man; so that whatever degree of licentiousness may exist in consequence of this system, I am convinced the majority of husbands make exceptions in their own favour, and that their ladies find means to satisfy each individual that he is not involved in a calamity, which, after all is more general in other countries, as well as Italy, than it ought.

Even when there is the greatest harmony and love between the husband and wife, and although each would prefer the other's company to any other, still, such is the tyranny of fashion, they must separate every evening; he to play the cavaliero [...]ervente to another woman, and she to be led about by another man. Notwithstanding this inconveniency, the couples who are in this predicament are certainly happier than those whose affections are not centered at home. Some very loving couples lament the cruelty of this separation, yet the world in general seem to be of opinion, that a man and his wife who dine together every day, and sleep together every night, may, with a proper exertion of philosophy, be able to support being asunder a few hours in the evening.

The Cicisbeo, in many instances, is a poor relation or humble friend, who, not being in circumstances to support an equipage, is happy to be admitted into all the societies, and to be carried about to public diversions, as an appendage to the lady. I have known numbers of those gentlemen, whose appearance and bodily infirmities carried the clearest refutation, with respect to themselves personally, of the scandalous stories of an improper connection between cavaliero [...]erventes and their mistresses, I never in my life saw men more happily formed, both in body and mind, for saving the reputation of the females with whom they were on a footing of intimacy. The humble and timid air which many of them betray in the presence of the ladies, and the perseverance with which they continue their services, notwithstanding the contemptuous stile in which they are often treated, is equally unlike the haughtiness natural to favoured lovers, and the indifference of men satiated with enjoyment.

[Page] There are, it must be confessed, Cicisbeos of a very different stamp, whose figure and manners might be supposed more agreeable to the ladies they serve, than to their lords. I once expressed my surprise that a particular person permitted one of this description to attend his wife. I was told, by way of solution of my difficulty, that the husband was poor, and the Cicisbeo ri [...]n. It is not in Italy only where infamous compromises of this nature take place.

I have also known instances, since I have been in this country, where the characters of the ladies were so well established, as not to be shaken either in the opinion of their acquaintances or husbands, although their cavaliero serventes were in every respect agreeable and accomplished.

But whether the connection between them is supposed innocent or criminal, most Englishmen will be astonished how men can pass so much of their time with women. This, however, will appear less surprising, when they recollect that the Italian nobility dare not intermeddle in politics; can find no employment in the army or navy; and that there are no such amusements in the country as hunting or drinking.

In such a situation, if a man of fortune has no turn for gaming, what can he do? Even an Englishman, in those desperate circumstances, might be driven to the company and conversation of women, to lighten the burden of time. The Italians have persevered so long in this expedient, that, however extraordinary it may seem to those who have never tried it, there can be no doubt that they find it to succeed. They tell you, that nothing so effectually sooths the cares, and beguiles the tediousness of life, as the company of an agreeable woman; that though the intimacy should never exceed the limits of friendship, there is something more flattering and agreeable in it than in male friendships; that they find the female heart more sincere, less interested, and warmer in its attachments; that women in general have more delicacy, and—.

Well, well, and this may be true, you will say; but may not a man enjoy all these advantages, to as great perfection, by an intimacy and friendship with his own wife, as with his neighbour's? "Non, Monsieur, point du tout,"—No Sir, not at all, answered a Frenchman, to whom this question was once addressed. Et pourquoi donc? Parceque cela n'est pas permis.—And why then? Because it is not permitted. This you will not think a very satisfactory answer to so natural and so pertinent a question—It is not the fashion! This, however, was the only answer I received all over Italy.

This system is unknown to the middle and lower ranks; they pass their time in the exercise of their professions, and in the society of their wives and children, as in other countries; and in that sphere of life, jealousy, which formed so strong a feature of the Italian character, is still to be found as strong as ever. He [Page] who attempts to visit the wife or mistress of any of the trades-people without their permission, is in no small danger of a Coltellata,—Cutlass. I have often heard it asserted, that Italian women have remarkable powers of attac [...]ing their lovers.

Those powers, whatever they are, do not seem to depend entirely on personal charms, as many of them retain their ancient influence over their lovers after their beauty is much in the wane, and they themselves are considerably advanced in the vale of years. I know an Italian nobleman, of great fortune, who has been lately married to a very beautiful young woman, and yet he continues his assiduity to his former mistress, now an old woman, as punctually as ever. I know an Englishman who is said to be in the same situation, with this difference, that his lady is still more beautiful. In both these instances, it is natural to believe that the beautiful young wives will always take care to keep their husbands, in such a chaste and virtuous way of thinking, that, whatever time they may spend with their ancient mistresses, nothing criminal will ever pass between them.

Whatever satisfaction the Italians find in this kind of constancy, and in their friendly attachments to one woman, my friend the Marquis de F—told me, when I last saw him at Paris, that he had tried it while he remained at Rome, and found it quite intolerable. A certain obliging ecclesiastic had taken the trouble, at the earnest request of a lady of that city, to arrange matters between her and the Marquis, who was put into immediate possession of all the rights that were ever supposed to belong to a Cicisbeo.

The woman nauseated her husband, which had advanced matters mightily; and her passion for the Marquis was in proportion to her abhorrence of the other. In this state things had remained but a very short time, when the Marquis called one afternoon to drive the Abbé out a little into the country, but he happened to have just dined. The meals of this ecclesiastic were generally rather oppressive for two or three hours after they were finished; he therefore declined the invitation, saying, by way of apology. "Je suis dans les horreurs de la digestion."—I am now in the pains of digestion. He then enquired how the Marquis's amour went on with the lady. "Ah, pour l'amour, cela est á peu près passé," replied the Marquis, et nous sommes actuellement dans les horreurs de l'amitié.—As for love, the subject is nearly exhausted, and we are now in the disgust of pretended friendship.

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LETTER LXXVII. Commerce.—Jews.—Actors—The Chapel of St Lorenzo.—The rich not envied by the poor.—The Palazzo Pitti.—Observations on the Madonna della Seggiola.

FLORENCE.

THE Florentines imputed the decay of the republic to the circumstance of their Sovereign residing in another country; and they imagined, that wealth would accumulate all over Tuscany, and flow into Florence, from various quarters, as soon as they should have a residing Prince, and a Court established. It appears, that their hopes were too sanguine, or at least premature. Commerce is still in a languid condition, in spite of all the pains taken by the Great Duke to revive it.

The Jews are not held in that degree of odium, or subjected to the same humiliating distinctions here, as in most other cities of Europe. I am told, some of the richest merchants are of that religion. Another class of mankind, who are also reprobated in some countries, are in this looked on in the same light with other citizens. I mean the actors and singers at the different Theatres. Why Christians, in any country, should have the same prejudice against them as against Jews, many are at a loss to know; it cannot, certainly, be on the same account. Actors and actresses have never been accused of an obstinate, or superstitious adherence to the principles or ceremonies of any false religion whatever.

To attempt a description of the churches, palaces, and other public buildings, would lead, in my opinion to a very unentertaining detail. Few cities, of its size, in Europe, however, afford so fine a field of amusement to those who are fond of such subjects; though the lovers of architecture will be shocked to find several of the finest churches without fronts, which, according to some, is owing to a real deficiency of money; while others assert, they are left in this condition, as a pretext for levying contributions to finish them.

The chapel of St. Lorenzo is, perhaps, the finest and most expensive habitation that ever was reared for the dead; it is encrusted with precious stones, and adorned by the workmanship [...]f the best modern sculptors. Some complain that, after all, it has a gloomy appearance. There seems to be no impropriety in that, considering what the building was intended for; though, certainly, the same effect might have been produced at less expence. Mr. Addison remarked, that this chapel advanced so very slowly, that it is not impossible but the family of Medicis may be extinct before the burial-place is finished. This has actually taken place the Medici family is extinct, and the chapel remains still unfinished.

[Page] Of all the methods by which the vanity of the Great has distinguished them from the rest of mankind, this of erecting splendid receptacles for their bones, excites the least envy. The sight of the most superb edifice of this kind, never drew a repining sigh from the bosom of one poor person; nor do the unsuccessful complain, that the bodies of Fortune's favourites rot under Parian marble, while their own will, in all probability, be allowed to moulder beneath a plain turf.

I have already mentioned the number of statues which ornament the streets and squares of Florence, and how much they are respected by the common people. I am told, they amount in all to above one hundred and fifty, many of them of exquisite workmanship, and admired by those of the best taste. Such a number of statues, without any drapery, continually exposed to the public eye, with the far greater number of pictures, as well as statues, in the same state, to be seen in the palaces, have produced, in both sexes, the most perfect insensibility to nudities.

Ladies who have remained some time at Rome and Florence, particularly those who affect a taste for virtù, acquire an intrepidity and a cool minuteness, in examining and critising naked figures, which is unknown to those who have never passed the Alps. There is something in the figure of the God of Gardens, which is apt to alarm the modesty of a novice; but I have heard of female dilettantes who minded it no more than a straw.

The Palazzo Pitti, where the Great Duke resides, is on the opposite side of the Arno from the Gallery. It has been enlarged since it was purchased from the ruined family of Pitti. The furniture of this palace is rich and curious, particularly some tables of Florentine work, which are much admired. The most precious ornaments, however, are the paintings. The walls of what is called the Imperial Chamber, are painted in fresco, by various painters; the subjects are allegorical, and in honour of Lorenzo of Medicis, distinguished by the name of the Magnificent. There is more fancy than taste displayed in those paintings. The other principal rooms are distinguished by the names of Heathen Deities, as Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, Venus, and by paintings in fresco, mostly by Pietro da Cortona. In the last mentioned, the subjects are different from what is naturally expected from the name of the room, being representations of the triumphs of Virtue over Love, or some memorable instance of continency. As the Medici family have been more distinguished for the protection they afforded the arts, than for the virtues of continency or self-denial, it is probable, the subject, as well as the execution of these pieces, was left entirely to the painter.

I happened lately to be at this palace, with a person who is perfectly well acquainted with all the pictures of any merit in Florence. While he explained the peculiar excellencies of Pietro's manner, a gentleman in company, who, although he does not pretend to the smallest skill in pictures, would rather remain ignorant [Page] for ever, than listen to the lectures of a connoisseur, walked on, by himself, into the other apartments, while I endeavoured to profit by my instructor's knowledge.

When the other gentleman returned, he said, I know no more of painting than my pointer; but there is a picture in one of the other rooms, which I would rather have than all those you seem to admire so much; it is the portrait of a healthy, handsome, country woman, with her child in her arms. There is nothing interesting in the subject, to be sure, because none of us are personally acquainted with the woman. But I cannot help thinking the colours very natural. The young woman's countenance is agreeable, and expressive of fondness and the joy of a mother over a first-born. The child is a robust, chubby-cheeked fellow; such as the son of a peasant should be.

We followed him into the room, and the picture which pleased him so much, was the famous Madonna della Seggiola of Raphael. Our instructor immediately called out Viva! and pronounced him a man of genuine taste; because, without any previous knowledge or instruction, he had fixed his admiration on the finest picture in Florence.

But this gentleman, as soon as he understood what the picture was, disclaimed all title to praise; because, said he, although, when I consider that picture, simply as the representation of a blooming country wench hugging her child, I admired the art of the painter, a [...]d thought it one of the truest copies of nature I ever saw; yet, I confess, my admiration is much abated, now that you inform me his intention was to represent the Virgin Mary. "Why so?" replied the Cicerone; the Virgin Mary was not of higher rank. She was but a poor woman, living in a little village in Galilee. "No rank in life," said the other, could give additional dignity to the person who had been told by an Angel from heaven, that she had found favour with God; that her Son should be called the Son of the Highest; and who, herself, was conscious of all the miraculous circumstances attending his conception and birth. In the countenance of such a woman, besides comeliness, and the usual affection of a mother, I looked for the most lively expression of admiration, gratitude, virgin modesty, and divine love. And when I am told, the picture is by the greatest painter that ever lived, I am disappointed in perceiving no traces of that kind in it. What justice there is in this gentleman's remarks, I leave it to better judges than I pretend to be, to determine.

After our diurnal visit to the Gallery, we often pass the rest of the forenoon in the gardens belonging to this palace. The vale of Arno; the gay hills that surround it; and other natural beauties to be viewed from thence, form an agreeable variety, even to eyes which have been feasting on the most exquisite beauties of art. The pleasure arising from both, however, diminishes by repetition; but may be again excited by the admiration of a new spectator, of [Page] whose taste and sensibility you have a good opinion. I experienced this on the arrival of Mr. F—, a gentleman of sense, honour, and politeness, whose company gave fresh relish to our other enjoyments in this place. It is now some time since he left us; and I am not at all unhappy in the thoughts of proceeding, in a day or two, to Bologna, in our road to Milan.

LETTER LXXVIII. A public Discourse by a Protessor at the Academy of Arts at Bologna.—Procession of Corpus Domini.—Modena.—Parma.—Different opinions respecting a famous picture of Corregio.

MILAN.

FOR a post or two after leaving Florence, and about as much before you arrive at Bologna, the road is very agreeable; the rest of your journey between those two cities is over the sandy Apennines.

We had the good fortune to find at Bologna Sir William and Lady Hamilton, Mr. F—t, Mr. K—, Lord L—, and Sir H. F—n. Our original intention was to have proceeded without delay to Milan, but on such an agreeable meeting it was impossible not to remain a few days at Bologna.

I went to the academy on the day of distributing the prizes for the best specimens and designs in painting, sculpture, and architecture; a discourse in praise of the fine arts was pronounced by one of the professors, who took that opportunity of enumerating the fine qualities of the Cardinal Legate; none of the virtues, great or small, were omitted on the occasion; all were attributed in the superlative degree to this accomplished prince of the church.

The learned orator acknowledged, however, that this panegyric did not properly belong to his subject, but hoped that the audience, and particularly the Legate himself, who was present, would forgive him, in consideration that the eulogy had been wrung from him by the irresistable force of truth. The same force drew forth something similar in praise of the Gonfalonier and other magistrates who were present also; and what you may think very remarkable, the number and importance of the qualities attributed to those distinguished persons kept an exact proportion with their rank. Power in this happy city seems to have been weighed in the scales of justice, and distributed by the hand of wisdom. All the inferior magistrates, we were informed, are very worthy men, endowed with many excellent qualities; the Gonfalonier has many more, and the Legate possesses every virtue under the sun. If the Pope had entered the room, the too lavish professor would not have been able to help him to a single morsel of praise which had not been already served up.

[Page] This town is at present quite full of strangers, who came to assist at the procession of Corpus Domini. The Duke of Parma, several Cardinals, and other persons of high distinction, besides a prodigious crowd of citizens, attended this great festival. The streets through which the Host was carried under a magnificent canopy, were adorned with tapestry, paintings, looking-glasses, and all the various kinds of finery which the inhabitants could produce. Many of the paintings seemed unsuitable to the occasion; they were on profane, and some of them on wanton subjects; and it appeared extraordinary to see the figures of Venus, Minerva, Apollo, Jupiter, and others of that abdicated family, arranged along the walls in honour of a triumph of the Corpus Christi.

On our way to Milan we stopped a short time at Modena, the capital of the duchy of that name. The whole duchy is about fifty miles in length, and twenty-six in breadth; the town contains twenty thousand inhabitants; the streets are in general large, straight, and ornamented with porticoes. The city is surrounded by a fortification, and farther secured by a citadel; it was antiently rendered famous by the siege which Decimus Brutus sustained here against Marc Antony.

We proceeded next to Parma, a beautiful town, considerably larger than Modena, and defended, like it, by a citadel and regular fortification. The streets are well built, broad and regular. The town is divided unequally by the little river of Parma, which loses itself in the Po, ten or twelve miles from this city.

The theatre is the largest of any in Europe; and consequently a great deal larger than there is any occasion for. Every body has observed, that it is so favourable to the voice, that a whisper from the stage is heard all over this immense house; but nobody tells us on what circumstances in the construction this surprising effect depends.

The Modenese was the native country of Correggio, but he passed most of his life at Parma. Several of the churches are ornamented by the pencil of that great artist, particularly the cupola of the cathedral; the painting of which has been so greatly admired for the grandeur of the design and the boldness of the foreshortenings. It is now spoiled in such a manner, that its principal beauties are not easily distinguished.

Some of the best pictures in the Ducal Palace have been removed to Naples and elsewhere; but the famous picture of the Virgin, in which Mary Magdalen and St. Jerom are introduced, still remains. In this composition, Correggio has been thought to have united, in a supreme degree, beauties which are seldom found in the same piece; an excellence in any one of which has been sufficient to raise other artists to celebrity. The same connoisseurs assert, that this picture is equally worthy of admiration, on account of the freshness of the colouring, the inexpressible gracefulness of the design, and the exquisite tenderness of the expression. After I had heard all those fine things said over and over again, I thought I [Page] had nothing to do but admire; and I had prepared my mind accordingly.—Would to Heaven that the respectable body of connoisseurs were agreed in opinion, and I should most readily submit mine to theirs! But while the above eulogium still resounded in my cars, other connoisseurs have asserted, that this picture is full of affectation; that the shadowing is of a dirty brown, the attitude of the Magdalen constrained and unnatural; that she may strive to the end of time without ever being able to kiss the foot of the infant Jesus in her present position; that she has the look of an ideot; and that the Virgin herself is but a vulgar figure, and seems not a great deal wiser; that the angels have a ridiculous simper, and most abominable air of affectation; and finally, that St. Jerom has the appearance of a sturdy beggar, who intrudes his brawny figure where it has no right to be.

Distracted with such opposite sentiments, what can a plain man do, who has no great reliance on his own judgment, and wishes to give offence to neither party? I shall leave the picture as I found it, to answer for itself, with a single remark in favour of the angels. I cannot take upon me to say how the real angels of heaven look; but I certainly have seen some earthly angels, of my acquaintance, assume the simper and air of those in this picture, when they wished to appear quite celestial.

The duchies of Modena. Parma, and Placentia, are exceedingly fertile. The soil is naturally rich, and the climate being moister here than in many other parts of Italy, produces more plentiful pasturage for cattle. The road runs over a continued plain, among meadows and corn fields, divided by rows of trees, from whose branches the vines hang in beautiful festoons. We had the pleasure of thinking, as we drove along, that the peasants are not deprived of the blessings of the smiling fertility among which they live. They had in general a neat, contented, and cheerful appearance. The women are successfully attentive to the ornaments of dress, which is never the case amidst oppressive poverty. Notwithstanding the fertility of the country around it, the town of Placentia itself is but thinly inhabited, and seems to be in a state of decay.

What first strike a stranger on entering this city, are two equestrian statues, in bronze, by Giovanni di Bologna; they stand in the principal square, before the Town-house. The best of the two represents that consummate general Alexander Farnese, Duke of Parma and Placentia, who commanded the army of Philip II. in the Netherlands. The inscription on the pedestal mentions his having relieved the city of Paris, when called to the assistance of the League into France, where his great military skill, and cool intrepidity, enabled him to baffle all the ardent impetuosity of the gallant Henry. He was certainly worthy of a better master, and of serving in a better cause. We cannot, without regret, behold a Prince, of the Duke of Parma's talents and character, supporting the pride of an unrelenting tyrant, and the rancour of furious fanatic [...].

[Page] Except the Ducal Palace, and some pictures in the churches, which I dare swear you will cordially forgive me passing over undescribed, I believe there is not a great deal in this city worthy of attention; at the events I can say little about them, as we remained here only a few hours during the heat of the day, and set out the same evening for Milan.

LETTER LXXIX. Milan. The Cathedral. Museum. Manners.

MILAN.

MILAN, the ancient capital of Lombardy, is the largest city in Italy, except Rome; but though it is thought rather to exceed Naples in size, it does not contain above one-half the number of inhabitants.

The cathedral stands in the centre of the city, and, after St. Peter's, is the most considerable building in Italy. It ought by this time to be the largest in the world, if what they tell us be true, that it is near four hundred years since it was begun, and that there has been a considerable number of men daily employed in completing it ever since; but as the injuries which time does to the ancient parts of the fabric keep them in constant employment, without the possibility of their work being ever completed, Martial's epigram, on the barber Eutrapelus, has been applied to them with great propriety. That poor man, it seems, performed his operations so very slowly, that the beards of his patients required shaving again on the side where he had begun, by the time he had finished the other.

EUTRAPELUS TONSOR DUM CIRCUIT ORA LUPERCI, EXPUNGITQUE GENAS, ALTERA BARBA SUBIT.

Eutrapelus the Barber went over the face so slowly, that before he finished the second cheek, the hair on the first was ready for shaving again.

No church in Christendom is so much loaded, I had almost said disfigured, with ornaments. The number of statues, within-side and without, is prodigious; they are all of marble, and many of them finely wrought. The greater part cannot be distinctly seen from below, and therefore certainly have nothing to do above. Besides those which are of a size, and in a situation to be distinguished from the street, there are great numbers of smaller statues, like fairies peeping from every cornice, and hid among the grotesque ornaments, which are here in vast profusion. They must have cost much labour to the artists who formed them, and are still a source of toil to strangers, who, in compliment to the person [Page] who harangues on the beauties of this church, which he says is the eighth wonder of the world, are obliged to ascend to the roof to have a nearer view of them.

This vast fabric is not simply encrusted, which is not uncommon in Italy, but intirely built of solid white marble, and supported by fifty columns, said to be eighty-four feet high. The four pillars under the cupola, are twenty-eight feet in circumference. By much the finest statue belonging to it is that of St. Bartholomew. He appears flayed, with his skin flung around his middle like a sash, and in the easiest and most degagé manner imaginable. The muscles are well expressed; and the figure might be placed with great propriety in the hall of an anatomist; but, exposed as it is to the view of people of all professions, and of both sexes, it excites more disgust and horror than admiration. Like those beggars who uncover their sores in the street, the artist has destroyed the very effect he meant to produce. This would have sufficiently evinced that the statue was not the work of Praxiteles, without the inscription on the pedestal.

NON ME PRAXITELES, SED MARCUS FINXIT AGRATI,

I am the workmanship of Marcus Agratus, not of Praxiteles.

The inside of the choir is ornamented by some highly esteemed sculpture in wood. From the roof hangs a case of crystal, surrounded by rays of gilt metal, and inclosing a nail, said to be one of those by which our Saviour was nailed to the cross. The treasury belonging to this church is reckoned the richest in Italy, after that of Loretto. It is composed of jewels, relics, and curiosities of various kinds; but what is esteemed above all the rest, is a small portion of Aaron's rod, which is carefully preserved there.

The Ambrosian Library is said to be one of the most valuable collections of books and manuscripts in Europe. It is open a certain number of hours every day; and there are accommodations for those who come to read or make extracts.

In the Museum, adjoining to the Library, are a considerable number of pictures, and many natural curiosities. Among these they shew a human skeleton. This does not excite a great deal of attention, till you are informed that it consists of the bones of a Milanese Lady, of distinguished beauty, who, by her last will, ordained that her body should be dissected, and the skeleton placed in this Museum, for the contemplation of posterity. If this Lady only meant to give a proof of the transient nature of external charms, and that a beautiful woman is not more desirable after death than a homely one, she might have allowed her body to be consigned to dust in the usual way. In spite of all the cosmetics, and other auxiliaric, which vanity employs to varnish and support decayed beauty and flaccid charms, the world have been long satisfied that death is not necessary to put the fair and the homely [Page] on a level; a very few years, even during life, do the business.

There is no place in Italy, perhaps I might have said in Europe, where strangers are received in such an easy, hospitable manner, as at Milan. Formerly the Milanese Nobility displayed a degree of splendour and magnificence, not only in their entertainments, but in their usual style of living, unknown in any other country in Europe. They are under, a necessity at present of living at less expence, but they still shew the same obliging and hospitable disposition. This country having, not very long since, been possessed by the French, from whom it devolved to the Spaniards, and from them to the Germans, the troops of those nations have, at different periods, had their residence here, and, in the course of these vicissitudes, produced a style of manners, and stamped a character on the inhabitants of this duchy, different from what prevails in any other part of Italy; and nice observers imagine they perceive in Milanese manners the politeness, formality, and honesty imputed to those three nations, blended with the ingenuity natural to Italians. Whatever uneasiness the inhabitants of Milan may feel, from the idea of their being under German government, they seem universally pleased with the personal character of Count Fermian, who has resided here many years as Minister from Vienna, equally to the satisfaction of the Empress Queen, the inhabitants of Milan, and the strangers who occasionally travel this way.

The Great Theatre having been burnt to the ground last year, there are no dramatic entertainments, except at a small temporary playhouse, which is little frequented; but the company assemble every evening in their carriages on the ramparts, and drive about, in the same manner as at Naples, till it is pretty late. In Italy, the ladies have no notion of quitting their carriages at the public walks, and using their own legs, as in England and France. On seeing the number of servants, and the splendour of the equipages which appear every evening at the Corso on the ramparts, one would not suspect that degree of depopulation, and diminution of wealth, which we are assured has taken place within these few years all over the Milanese; and which, according to my information, proceeeds from the burthensome nature of some late taxes, and the insolent and oppressive manner in which they are gathered.

The natural productions of this fertile country must occasion a considerable commerce, by the exportation of grain, particularly rice; cattle, cheese, and by the various manufactures of silken and velvet stuffs, stockings, handkerchiefs, ribands, gold and silver laces and embroideries, woollen and linen cloths, as well as by some large manufactures of glass, and earthern ware in imitation of china, which are established here. But I am told monopolies are too much protected here, and that prejudices against the profession of a merchant still exist in the [...] of the only people who have money. These cannot fail to check industry, and depress the soul of commerce; and perhaps there is little probability [Page] that the inhabitants of Milan will overcome this unfortunate turn of mind while they remain under German dominion, and adopt German ideas. The peasants, though more at their ease than in many other places, yet are not so much so as might be expected in so very fertile a country. Why are the inhabitants of the rich plains of Lombardy, where Nature pours forth her gifts in such profusion, less opulent than those of the mountains of Switzerland? Because Freedom, whose influence is more benign than sunshine and zephyrs, who covers the rugged rock with soil, drains the sickly swamp, and clothes the brown heath in verdure; who dresses the labourer's face with smiles, and makes him behold his increasing family with delight and exultation; Freedom has abandoned the fertile fields of Lombardy, and dwells among the mountains of Switzerland.

LETTER LXXX. St. Ambrose. A Procession, Mount Cenis. Modane. Aiguebelle. Hannibal's passage into Italy.

CHAMBERRY.

WE made so short a stay at Turin that I did not think of writing from thence. I shall now give you a sketch of our progress since my last.

We left Milan at midnight, and arrived the next evening at Turin before the shutting of the gates. All the approaches to that city are magnificent. It is situated at the bottom of the Alps, in a fine plain watered by the Po. Most of the streets are well built, uniform, clean, straight, and terminating on some agreeable object. The Strada di Po, leading to the palace, the finest and largest in the city, is adorned with porticoes equally beautiful and convenient.

The four gates are also highly ornamental. There can be no more agreeable walk than that around the ramparts. The fortifications are regular and in good repair, and the citadel is reckoned one of the strongest in Europe. The royal palace and the gardens are admired by some. The apartments display neatness, rather than magnificence. The rooms are small, but numerous. The furniture is rich and elegant; even the floors attract attention, and most peculiarly strike strangers who come from Rome and Bologna; they are curiously inlaid with various kinds of wood, and kept always in a state of shining brightness. The pictures, statues, and antiquities in the palace are of great value; of the former there are some by the greatest masters, but those of the Flemish school predominate.

No royal family in Europe are more rigid observers of the laws of etiquette, than that of Sardinia; all their movements are uniform and invariable. The hour of rising, of going [...]o mass, of [Page] taking the air; every thing is regulated like clock work. Those illustrious persons must have a vast fund of natural good-humour, to enable them to persevere in such a wearisome routine, and support their spirits under such a continued weight of oppressive formality.

We had the satisfaction of seeing them all at mass; but as the Duke of Hamilton grows more impatient to get to England the nearer we approach it, he declined being presented at court, and we left Turin two days after our arrival.

We stopped a few hours, during the heat of the day, at a small village, called St. Ambrose, two or three posts from Turin. I never experienced more intense heat than during this day, while we were tantalized with a view of the snow on the top of the Alps, which seem to overhang this place, though in reality, they are some leagues distant. While we remained at St. Ambrose there was a grand procession.

All the men, women, and children, who were able to crawl, attended; several old women carried crucifixes, others pictures of the saint, or flags fixed to the ends of long poles; they seemed to have some difficulty in wielding them, yet the good old women tottered along as happy as so many young ensigns the first time they bend under the regimental colours. Four men, carrying a box upon their shoulders, walked before the rest. I asked what the box contained, and was informed by a sagacious looking old man, that it contained the bones of St. John. I enquired if all the Saint's bones were there; he assured me, that not even a joint of his little finger was wanting; "Because," continued I, I have seen a considerable number of bones in different parts of Italy, which are said to be the bones of St. John. He smiled at my simplicity, and said the world was full of imposition; but nothing could be more certain, than that those in the box were the true bones of the Saint; he had remembered them ever since he was a child—and his father, when on his death-bed, had told him, on the word of a dying man, That they belonged to St. John and no other body.

At Novallezza, a village at the bottom of Mount Cenis, our carriages were taken to pieces, and delivered to Muleteers to be carried to Lanebourg. I had bargained with the Vitturino, before we left Turin, for our passage over the mountain in the [...]airs commonly used on such occasions. The fellow had informed us there was no possibility of going in any other manner; but when we came to this place, I saw no difficulty in being carried up by mules, which we [...] preferred, to the great satisfaction of our knavish conductor, who thereby saved the expence of one half the chairmen, for whose labour he was already paid.

We rode up this mountain, which has been described in such formidable terms, with great ease. At the top there is a fine verdant plain of five or six miles in length, we halted at an Inn, called Santa Croce, where Piedmont ends and Savoy begins. [Page] Here we were regaled wtih fried trout, catched in a large lake within sight, from which the river Doria arises, which runs to Turin in conjunction with the Po. Though we ascend no higher than this plain, which is the summit of Mount Cenis, the mountains around are much higher; in passing the plain we felt the air so keen, that we were glad to have recourse to our great-coats; which, at the bottom of the hill, we had considered as a very superfluous part of our baggage. I had a great deal of conversation in passing the mountain with a poor boy, who accompanied us from Novallezza to take back the mules; he told me he could neither read nor write, and had never been farther than Suza on one side of the mountain, and Lanebourg on the other.

He spoke four languages, Piedmontese, which is his native language; this is a kind of Patois very different from Italian; the Patois of the peasants of Savoy, which is equally different from French; he also spoke Italian and French wonderfully well; the second he had learnt from the Savoyard chairmen, and the two last from Italian and French travellers whom he has accompanied over Mount Cenis, where he has passed his life hitherto, and which he seems to have no desire of leaving. If you chance to be consulted by any parent who inclines to send their sons abroad merely that they may be removed from London, and acquire modern languages in the most oeconomical manner, you now know what place to recommend. In none where opportunities for this branch of education are equal, is living cheaper than at Mount Cenis, and I know nothing in which it has any resemblance to London, except that it stands on much the same quantity of ground. I asked this boy, why he did not learn English.—He had all the inclination in the world.—"Why don't you learn it then as well as French?" On attrape le Francedil;ois, Monsieur, bon gré, mal gré, answered he, "mais Messieurs les Anglois parlent peu."—Any person Sir may catch the French language with good-will, or ill-will, but Englishmen talk very little.

When we arrived at the North side of the mountain we dismissed our mules, and had recourse to our Alpian chairs and chairmen. The chairs are constructed in the simplest manner, and perfectly answer the purpose for which they are intended. The chairmen are strong-made, nervous, little fellows. One of them was betrothed to a girl at Lanebourg, and was to be married that evening. I could not, in conscience, permit him to have any part in carrying me, but directly appointed him to Jack's chair. The young fellow presented us all with ribbons, which we wore in our hats in honour of the bride. "Are you very fond of your mistress, friend," said I? "Il faut que je l'aime beaucoup," answered he, puisque, pauvre garcedil;on comme me voila, je donne trente livres au prêtre pour nous marier.—I certainly do love her very much, for although I am a poor boy, I will give 30 livres to the Priest that marries us. To tax matrimony, and oblige the people who beget and maintain children to pay to those who maintain none, seems bad [Page] policy: and it is surprising that a prince who attends so minutely, as his Sardinian Majesty, to the welfare of his subjects, does not remedy so great an abuse.

As our carriers jogged zig-zag, according to the course of the road, down the mountain, they laughed and sung all the way. "How comes it," said I to the Duke, that chairmen are generally merrier than those they carry? To hear these fellows without seeing them, one would imagine that we had the laborious part, while they sat at their ease. "True," answered he; and the same person might conclude, on hearing the bridegroom sing so chearfully, that we were just going to be married and not he. We arrived in a short time at the Inn at Lanebourg, nothing having surprised me so much in the passage of this mountain, the difficulty and danger of which has been greatly exaggerated by travellers, as the facility with which we achieved it.

As soon as the scattered members of our carriages were joined together, we proceeded on our journey. The road is never level, but a continued ascent and descent along the side of high mountains. We sometimes saw villages situated at a vast height above us; at other times they were seen with difficulty in the vales, at an immense depth below us. The village of Modane stands in a hollow, surrounded by stupendous mountains. It began to grow dark when we descended from a great height into this hollow; we could only perceive the rugged summits, and sides of the mountains which encircle the village, but not the village itself, or any part of the plain at the bottom; we therefore seemed descending from the surface, by a dark abyss leading to the centre of the globe. We arrived safe at Modane, however, for the road is good in every respe [...]t, s [...]eepness excepted.

Next morning we continued our course, by a miserable place called La Chambre, to Aiguebelle, a village of much the same description. According to some authors, this was the road by which Hannibal led his army into Italy. They assert, that the plain a [...] the summit of Mount Cenis was the place where he rested his army for four days, and from which he showed his soldiers the fertile plains of Italy, and encouraged them to persevere: others assert that he led his army into Italy by Mount St. Bernard. This is a discussion into which I am not qualified to enter; but M— [...] G—I M—I, a gentleman of learning, probity, and great professional merit, in his way to Italy, where he now is, endeavoured to trace the route of the Carthaginian army with great attention; and imagines he has been successful in his researches. He ha [...] also ascertained the spots on which some of the most memorable battles were fought, by carefully comparing the description of Polyb [...]us, and other authors, with the fields of battle, and has detected many mistakes, which have prevailed on this curious subject; every where supporting his own hypothesis by arguments which none but one who has carefully perused the various authors, and [Page] examined the ground with a soldier's [...], could adduce. The same gentleman has likewise made some observations relating to the arms of the ancient Romans, and their tactics in general, which are equally new and ingenious, and which, it is hoped, he will in due time give to the public.

We arrived at the inn at Aiguebelle just in time to avoid an excessive storm of thunder and rain, which lasted with great violence through the whole night. Those who have never heard thunder in a very mountainous country, can form no idea of the loudness, repetition, and length of the peals we heard this night. Many of the inhabitants of those mountains have never seen better houses than their own huts, or any other country than the Alps. What a rugged, boisterous piece of work must they take this world to be!

I fancy you have by this time had enough of mountains and vallies, so if you please we shall skip over Montmelian to Chamberry, where we arrived the same day on which we left Aiguebelle. To-morrow we shall sleep at Geneva. I did not expect much sleep this night from the thoughts of it, and therefore have sat up almost till day-break writing this letter.

LETTER LXXXI. Journey from Geneva to Besancon.—Observation of a French peasant.—Of an old woman.—Remarks of a French Friseur on the English nation.

BESANCON.

THE Duke of Hamilton went some weeks ago to visit an acquaintance in one of the provinces of France. As I inclined rather to pass that time at Geneva. we agreed to meet at Paris, whither Jack and I are thus far on our way.

I must now fairly confess that I found myself so happy with my kind friends the Genevois, that I could not spare an hour from their company to write to you or any correspondent, unless on indispensable business I might also plead, that you yourself have been in some measure the cause of my being seduced from my pen. In your last letter, which I found waiting for me at the post-house at Geneva, you mention a late publication in terms that gave me a curiosity to see it; and an English gentleman, who had the only copy which has as yet reached that city, was so obliging as to lend it me. The hours which I usually allot to sleep, were all I had in my power to pass alone; and they were very considerably abridged by this admirable performance. The extensive reading there displayed, the perspicuity with which historical facts are related, the new light in which many of them are placed, the depth of the reflections, and the dignity and nervous force of the language, all announce the hand of a master. If the author lives [Page] to complete his arduous undertaking, he will do more to dissipate the historical darkness which overshadows the middle ages, give a clearer History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, and fill up, in a more satisfactory manner, the long interval between ancient and modern history, than all the writers who have preceded him. This accounts for my long silence. You see I resume my pen the very first opportunity, after the causes I have assigned for it are removed, which ought to give the more weight to my apology.

As I have frequently been at Lyons, I chose on this occasion, to return to Paris by Franche Comté and champagne. We accordingly set out very early yesterday morning, and were by no means in high spirits when we left Geneva, and passed along the side of the lake, through the Pais de Vaud. The beauties of that country, though they astonish at first sight, yet, like the characters of the inhabitants, they improve on intimacy. Every time I have looked at the lake of Geneva, and its delightful environs, I have discovered something new to admire. As I entered the Canton of Bern, I often turned about, and at last withdrew my eyes from those favourite objects, with an emotion similar to what you feel on taking leave of a friend, whom you have reason to think you shall never see again.

The first place we came to, on entering France, from the Canton of Bern, is a poor little town on an hill; I forget its name. While the postillion stopped to put something to rights about the harness, I stepped into a shop where they sold wooden shoes; and in the course of my conversation with a peasant, who had just purchased a pair for himself, and another for his wife, he said, les Bernois s [...]nt bien à leur aise, Monsieur, pendant que nous autres Francedil;ois vivons tres durement, et cependant les Bernois sont des hérétiques.—The Bernois live very happy Sir, when we poor Frenchmen live very hardly, and in the meantime they are heretics. Voilà,—That is, said an old woman, who sat in a corner reading her breviary; "voila,"—that is, said she, taking off her spectacles, and laying her beads on the book, ce que je trouve incomprébensible.—to me very incomprehensible.

This was, however, at the extremity of France, and in a province lately acquired; for it must be confessed, that it is not common for the French to imagine that any country whatever has the advantage of theirs in any one circumstance; and they certainly are not so apt to grumble as some of their neighbours, who have less reason. When I was last at Geneva, a French hair-dresser—Let me intreat you not to shew this to your friend—, who is so fond of people of quality, that he thinks there is no life out of their company. He would pshaw, and curse my poor peasants, and old women, and hair-dressers, and accuse me of being too fond of such low company.

As for the old woman, I am much mistaken if there are not at least as many to be found of both sexes in high life as in low; for [Page] the others, I declare I have no particular affection, but I am fond of strokes of nature and character, and must look for them where they are to be found. I introduce the present hair-dresser to your acquaintance, because, if I am not mistaken, he spoke the sentiments of his whole nation, high and low. You shall judge. This young fellow attended me every morning while I remained at Geneva; he had been a year or two at London, and while he dressed my hair, his tongue generally moved as quick as his fingers. He was full of his remarks upon London, and the fine people whose hair he pretended to have dressed. Do you not think, said I, that people may live very happily in that country? Mais—pour cela oui, Monsieur.—Yes Sir, they may be happy. Do you think, that, they are happy? Pour cela, non, Monsieur.—I think they are not Sir, Can you guess at the reason why they are not, though they have so much reason to be so? Oui, Monsieur, elle est toute simple. Yes Sir, that is very plain. Pray what is the reason they are not happy? Cest, qu'ils ne sont pas deflinès á l'etre.—It is because they are destined to be unhappy.

A very genteel young man, a Genevois, happened to call on me, for two minutes, while this friseur was with me. The young gentleman had passed some time at Paris, and was dressed exactly in the Parisian taste. He has much the air of one your countrymen, said I to the Frenchman, as soon as the other had left the room.

Mon Dieu! quelle différence,—My God! what difference, cried the friseur. For my part, I can see none, said I. Monsieur, resumed he, soyez persuade qu'aucum Genevois ne sera jamais pris pour un Francedil;eis.—Be persuaded that a citizen of Geneva will never be taken for a Frenchman. There are certainly some petit-maitres to be found in this town, said I. Pardonnez moi,—Excuse me, replied he, ils ne sont que petit-maîtres manquês.—They are only half petit-maitres.

Did you ever see an Englishman, said I, who might pass for a Frenchman? Jamais de la vie, Monsieur!—Never in all my life, Sir, replied he, with an accent of astonishment.

"Suppose him," said I, "a man of quality?" "N'importe." Even that is nothing.

"But," continued I, suppose he had lived several years at Paris, that he was naturally very handsome, and well made, that he had been educated by the best French dancing-master, his clothes made by the best French taylor, and his hair dressed by the most eminent friseur in Paris? C'est beaucoup, Monsieur, mais ce n'est pas assez.—That is much Sir, but it would not be sufficient.

"What!" exclaimed I, "would you still know him to be an Englishman?" "Assurément, Monsieur." Certainly Sir.

"What! before he spoke?" "Au premier coup d'oeil, Monsieur." At the first sight.

[Page] "The Devil you would; but how?" C'est que Messieurs les Anglois on [...] un air—une manière de se preésenter—un—que sais-je moi—vous m'entendez bien, Monsieur—un certain air si Gau—It is because Englishmen have a certain air, a peculiar manner, at their first appearance, and uncommon something, you understand me, Sir, a degree of aukwardness which marks their want to elegance.

"Quel air maraud?" Ensin un air qui est charmant, si vous voulez, Monsieur. said he rapidly, mais qu [...] le Diable m'emporte si c'est l'air Francois. What air, you scoundrel? I tell you an air which is charming, if you please Sir, but the Devil take me if it is any thing like the French air.

To-morrow I shall take a view of this town, and proceed immediately after breakfast to Paris: meanwhile I wish you very heartily good night.

LETTER LXXXII. The Marquis de F—

PARIS.

I Made a longer stay at Besancon than I intended, and am now about to inform you what detained me. The morning after the date of my last, as I returned to the inn from the parade, where I had been to see the troops, I met a servant of the Marquis de F—, who ran up to me, the moment he knew me, and, in a breath, told me, that his master was at Besancon; that he had been exceedingly ill, and thought, by the physicians, in great danger; but his complaint having terminated in an ague, they had now the strongest hopes of his recovery. I desired to be conducted immediately to him.

I found the Marquis alone; pale, languid, and greatly emaciated. He expressed, however, equal pleasure and surprise at this unexpected visit; said, he had been in danger of making a very long journey, and added, with a smile, that no man had ever set out with less inclination, for he hated travelling alone, and this was the only journey he could ever take, without wishing some of his friends to accompany him. He rejoiced, therefore, that he had been recalled in time to meet me before I should pass on to Paris. "But tell me," continued he, for I have ten thousand questions to ask—but let us take things in order; Eh bien, donnez nous done des nouvèlles du Pape? On nous a dit que vous aviez passe par la ceremonie de la Pantoufle. Ne pourroit on pas pendre au tragique une misere comme cela chez vous o [...] le Saint Pere passe pour une Babylonienne de mauvaise v [...]e? Very well, give us then some news of the Pope? It is reported you have gone thro' the ceremony of the slipper.—In your Country, could they not take as a tragical subject, that same sad story, where the Holy Father passes for the whore of Babylon? Before I could make any answer I chanced to turn my eyes upon a person whom I had not before [Page] observed, who sat very gravely upon a chair in a corner of the room, with a large periwig in full dress upon his head.

The Marquis, seeing my surprise at the sight of this unknown person, after a very hearty fit of laughter, begged pardon for not having introduced me sooner to that gentleman (who was no other than a large monkey,) and then told me, he had the honour of being attended by a physician, who had the reputation of possessing the greatest skill, and who certainly wore the largest periwigs of any doctor in the province. That one morning, while he was writing a prescription at his bed-side, this same monkey had catched hold of his periwig by one of the knots, and instantly made the best of his way out at the window to the roof of a neighbouring house, from which post he could not be dislodged, till the Doctor, having lost patience. had sent home for another wig, and never after could be prevailed on to accept of this, which had been so much disgraced. That, [...]n [...]in,—in short his valet, to whom the monkey belonged, had, ever since that adventure, obliged the culprit, by way of punishment, to sit quietly for an hour every morning, with the periwig on his head.—Et pendant ces moments de tranquilite je suis honore de la societe au venerable personage—And during those moments of tranquil [...]ity, I am honoured with the society of this venerable personage. Then addressing himself to the monkey, Adieu, pour aujourdhui—au plaisir de vous revoir;—Farewell friend, for to day untill I have the Pleasure of seeing you again; and the servant immediately carried Monsieur le Medecin—the Physician out of the room.

Afraid that the Marquis might be the worse for talking so much, I attempted to withdraw, promising to return in the evening; but this I could not get him to comply with. He assured me, that nothing did him so much harm as holding his tongue; and that the most excessive head-ach he had ever had in his life, was owing to his having been two hours without speaking, when he made his addresses to Madam de—; who could never forgive those who broke in upon the thread of her discourse, and whom he lost after all, by uttering a few sentences before she could recover her breath after a fit of sneezing. In most people's discourse, added [...]e, a sneeze passes for a full stop. Mais dans le Caquet eternel de cette femme ce n'est qu'un virgule.—But in the everlasting prattle of that woman it is no more than a comma.

I then enquired after my friends Dubois and Fanchon.—He told me, that his mother had settled them at her house in the country, where she herself chose, of late, to pass at least one half of the year; that Dubois was of great service to her, in the quality of a steward, and she had taken a strong affection for Fanchon, and that both husband and wife were loved and esteemed by the whole neighbourhood. "I once," continued the Marquis, proposed to Fanchon, en badinant,—in jest, to make a trip to Paris, for she must be tired of so much solitude.

Have I not my husband? said she, Your husband is not [Page] company, rejoined I; your husband, you know, is yourself. "What do you think was her answer?" Elle m'a repond [...],—She answered me, continued the Marquis, Ah, Monsieur le Marquis, plus on se loigne de soimême, plus on s'ecarte du bonheur.—Ah, Marquis, the more we fly from ourselves, the more we depart from our happiness.

In the progress of our conversation, I enquired about the lady to whom he was to have been married, when the match was so abruptly broken off by her father. He told me, the old gentleman's behaviour was explained a short time after our departure from Paris by his daughter's marriage to a man of great fortune; but whose taste, character, and turn of mind were essentially different from those of the young lady. "I suppose then," said I, she appeared indifferent about him from the beginning. Pardonnoz moi,—Pardon me, replied the Marquis, au commencement [...] joua la belle passion pour son mari, jusqu'à scandaliser le monde, peu a peu elle devint plus raisonable, et sur cet article les deux epoux jouerent bientot á fortune egale, á present ils s amusent à se chicaner de petites contradictions qui jettent plus a'amertume dans le commerce que de trots decides,—she behaved towards her husband with an elegant passion, even so far as to scandalize the world, by degrees she became more reasonable, and on that subject the married couple soon dallied together on an equal footing, at present they amuse themselves by retorting on each other in trifling contradictions, which go farther in imbittering conjugal intercourses than direct wrongs.

"Did you ever renew your acquaintance?"

Je ne pouvois faire a [...]trement, elle a marqué quelques petits regrets de m'avoir traité si cruellement.

I could do no otherwise, she has given some marks of regret for having treated me in so cruel a manner.

"And how did you like her," said I, on farther acquaintance?

"Je lui ai trouvé," answered he, tout ce qu'on peut souhaiter dans la femme d'un autre.

I have found in her every thing that we could wish to find in another man's wife.

The Marquis, feeling himself a little cold, and rising from the sopha to ring for some wood, had a view of the street. "O ho," cried he, looking earnestly through the window, regardez' regardez cet homme—behold, behold that man,—Quel homme?—What man? said I.

"Cet homme à gros ventre,"—That man with the big belly, said he; and while he spoke, his teeth began to chatter. Ah, Diable, viola mon chien d'acces—cet homme qui marche comme un Di—Di—Dindon, c'est l'aumonier du regiment.—Oh, the devil, now my horrible crisis will begin—that man who is strutting like a Turkey-cock, is the Chaplain of our regiment. I begged he would allow himself to be put to bed, for by this time he was all over shivering with the violence of the ague.

[Page] "Non, non, ce n'est rien," said he, il faut absolument queje vous conte cette histoire. Cet homme qui s'engraisse en nettoy—net [...]mdash;et—et—en nettoyant I'ame de mes soldats, faisoit les yeux doux á la femme d'un Ca—Ca—Caporal—Diantre je n'en peux plus. Adieu, mon ami, c'est la plus plaisante hist— [...]it—peste! demandez mes gens.

No, no that is nothing, it is abs;oulutely necessary that I relate to you this history. That man who fattens himself in cleansing the souls of my soldiers, paid his addresses to a Corporal's wife—the Devil I can go no further.—Farewell friend, it is the most pleasant history.—Sir, the plague! Ask my people.

He was put to bed directly. I found the court below full of soldiers, who had come to enquire after their Colonel. Before I had reached the street, the Marquis's Valet-de-Chambre overtook me, le ris sur la bouche, et les larmes aux yeux,—with a smile upon his countenance and a tear stealing down his cheek, with a message from his master.

The soldiers crowded about us, with anxiety on all their countenances. I assured them, there was no danger; that their Colonel would be well within a very few days. This was heard with every mark of joy, and they dispersed, to communicate the good news to their con [...]des.

Ah, Monsieur, said the Valet, addressing himself to me, il est, tant aimé de ces braves Garcons! et il merite fi bien de l'être!—he is much beloved by those brave fellows! and he is deserving of their esteem!

Next day he looked better, and was in his usual spirits; the day following, he was still better; and having taken a proper quantity of the bark during the interval, he had no return of the fever. As he has promised to continue the use of the bark, in sufficient doses, for some time, and as relapses are not frequent at this season of the year, I am persuaded the affair is over, and that he will gradually gain strength till he is perfectly recovered.

He received me with less gaiety than usual, the day on which I took my leave; and used many obliging expressions, which, however you may smile, I am entirely disposed to believe were sincere; for

Altho' the candy'd tongue lick absurd pomp,

And crook the pregnant hinges of the knee,

Where thrift may follow fawning:

—Why should the poor be flatter'd?

Just as I was returning, we heard the music of the troops marching off the Parade.—Apropos,—By the by, cried he, How do your affairs go on with your colonies? I said, I hoped every thing would be arranged and settled very soon.

"Ne croyez vous pa [...],"—Do not believe, said he, que ces [Page] Messieurs,—that those fellows, pointing to the troops which then passed below the window, pourroient entrer pour quelqu [...] chose dans l'arrangement?—could be persuaded on any account to enter into any conciliatory plan?

I said, I did not imagine the Americans were such fools as to break all connection with their friends, and then risk falling into the power of their enemies.

"Il me semble," answered he, que ces Messieurs font assez pe [...] de cas de votre amitié, et aussi, quand vous aurez prouvé qu'ils ont tort, il ne s'en suivra pas que vous ayiez toujours eu raison.—it appears to me, answered he, that those people make but little of your friendship, and thus, even when you shall have been able to prove that they are in the wrong, it will not follow from thence that you have always been in the right. "Allons," Come, continued he, seeing that I looked a little grave, point d'humeur; None of your whimsies; then seizing my hand, permettez moi, je vous prie, d'aimer les Anglois sans hair les Amèricains.—Give me leave, I pray you, to love the English, without bearing any hatred towards the Americans.

I soon after parted with his amiable Frenchman, whose gaiety, wit, and agreeable manners, if I may judge from my own experience, represent the character and disposition of great numbers of his countrymen.

After a very agreeable journey by Gray, Langress, and Troyes, we arrived at this capital a few days ago.

LETTER LXXXIII. Reflections on foreign travel.

PARIS.

ALTHOUGH it is a considerable time since my arrival, yet, as you made so long a stay at Paris while we were in Germany, I could not think of resuming my observations on the manners of this gay metropolis. It has been said, that those times are the most interesting to read of, which were the most disagreeable to live in. So I find the places in which it is most agreeable to reside, are precisely those from which we have the least inclination to write. There are so many resources at Paris, that it always requires a great effort to write letters, of any considerable length, from such a place. This is peculiarly my case at present, as I have the happiness of passing great part of my time with Mr. A—S—t, whom I found at this hotel on my arrival. The integrity, candour, and ability, of that gentleman's conduct, during a long residence, have procured him a great number of friends in this capital, and have established a character which calumny attempted in vain to overthrow. Now that I have resolution to take up my pen, I shall endeavour to clear the debt for which you dun me so unmercifully. I own, I am surprised, that you should require [Page] my opinion on the uses of foreign travel, after perusing, as you must have done, the Dialogues, lately published by an eminent divine, equally distinguished for his learning and taste. But as I know what makes you peculiarly solicitous on that subject at present, I shall give you my sentiments, such as they are, without farther hesitation. (HURD's Dialogues on Foreign Travel.)

I cannot help thinking, that a young man of fortune may spend a few years to advantage, in travelling through some of the principal countries of Europe, provided the tour be well-timed, and well conducted; and, without these, what part of education can be of use!

In a former letter, I gave my reasons for preferring the plan of education at the public schools of England, to any other now in use at home or abroad. After the young person has acquired the fundamental parts of learning, which are taught at schools, he will naturally be removed to some university. One of the most elegant and most ingenious writers of the present age has, in his Inquiry into the Causes of the Wealth of nations, (SMITH) pointed out many deficiencies in those seminaries. What that gentleman has said on this subject, may possibly have some effect in bringing about an improvement.

But, with all their deficiencies, it must be acknowledged, that no universities have produced a greater number of men distinguished for polite literature, and eminent for science, than those of England. If a young man has, previously, acquired the habit of application, and a taste for learning, he will certainly find the means of improvement there; and, without these, I know not where he will make any progress in literature. But whatever plan is adopted, whether the young man studies at the university, or at home with private teachers, while he is studying with diligence and alacrity, it would be doing him a most essential injury, to interrupt him by a premature expedition to the Continent, from an idea of his acquiring the graces, elegance of manner, or any of the accomplishments which travelling is supposed to give. Literature is preferable to all other accomplishments, and the men of rank who possess it, have a superiority over those who do not, let their graces be what they may, which the latter feel and envy, while they affect to despise.

According to this plan, a youth, properly educated, will seldom begin his foreign tour before the age of twenty; if it is a year or two later, there will be no harm.

This is the age, it may be said, when young men of fortune endeavour to get into Parliament: it is so; but if they should remain out of Parliament till they are a few years older, the affairs of the nation might possibly go on as well.

It may also be said, if the tour is deferred till the age of twenty, the youth will not, after that period of life, attain the modern languages in perfection. Nor will he acquire that easy manner, and fine address, which are only caught by an early acquaintance [Page] with courts, and the assemblies of the gay and elegant. This is true to a certain degree; but the answer is, that by remaining at home, and applying to the pursuits of literature, he will make more valuable attainments.

I am at a loss what to say about those same graces; it is certainly desirable to possess them, but they must come, as it were, spontaneously, or they will not come at all. They sometimes appear as voluntiers, but cannot be pressed into any service; and those who shew the greatest anxiety about them, are the least likely to attain them. I should be cautious, therefore, of advising a young man to study them either at home or abroad with much solicitude. Students of the graces are, generally, the most abominably [...] fellows in the world. I have seen one of them make a whole company squeamish.

Though the pert familiarity of French children would not become an English boy, yet it merits the earliest, and the utmost attention to prevent or conquer that aukward timidity which so often oppresses the latter when he comes into company. The timidity I speak of, is entirely different from modesty. I have seen the most impudent boys I ever knew, almost convulsed with constraint in the presence of strangers, or when they were required to pronounce a single sentence of civility. But it was only on such occasions they were bashful. Among their companions or inferiors, they were saucy, rude, and boisterous.

If boys of this description only were liable to bashfulness, it would be a pity to remove it. But although this quality is distinct from modesty, it is not incompatible with it. Boys of the most modest and most amiable disposition are often overwhelmed with it; from them it ought to be removed, if it can be done, without endangering that modesty which is so great an ornament to youth, and indeed to every period of life.

This, surely, may be done in England, as well as in any other country; but it is too much neglected: many consider it as a matter of no importance, o [...] that it will wear off by time. We see it, however, often annihilate, and always impair the effect of the greatest and most useful talents. After the care of forming the heart by the principles of benevolence and integrity, perhaps one of the most important parts of education is, to habituate a boy to behave with modesty, but without restraint, and to retain the full possession of all his faculties in any company.

To attain, betimes, that ease and elegance of manner, which travelling is supposed to bestow, and that the young gentleman may become perfectly master of the modern languages, some have thought of mixing the two plans; and, instead of allowing him to prosecute his studies at home, sending him abroad, immediately on his coming from school, on the supposition that, with the assistance of a tutor and foreign professors, he will proceed in the study of philosophy, and other branches of literature, during the three or four years which are employed in the usual tour.

[Page] It will not be denied, that a young man who has made good use of his time at school and at the university, who has acquired such a taste for science as to consider its pursuits as a pleasure, and not a task, may, even during his travels, mix the study of men with that of books, and continue to make progress in the latter, when the greater part of his time is dedicated to the former. But that such a taste will, for the first time, spring up in the breast of a boy of sixteen or seventeen, amidst the dissipation of theatres, reviews, processions, balls, and assemblies, is of all things the least probable.

Others, who think lightly of the importance of what is usually called science to a young man of rank and fortune, still contend, that a knowledge of history, which they admit may be of some use even to men of fortune, can certainly be acquired during the years of travelling. But what sort of a knowledge will it be which a boy, in such a situation, will acquire? Not that which Lord Bolingbroke calls philosophy, teaching by examples, a proper conduct in the various situations of public and private life, but merely a succession of reigns, of battles, and sieges, stored up in the memory without reflection or application. I remember a young gentleman, whom a strong and retentive memory of such events often set a prating very mal-á-propos; unseasonably; one of his companions expressed much surprise at his knowledge, and wondered how he had laid up such a store. "Why, truly," replied he, with frankness, it is all owing to my bungling blockhead of a valet, who takes up such an unconscionable time in dressing my hair, that I am glad to read to keep me from setting; and as there are no news-papers, or magazines, to be had in this country, I have been driven to history, which answers nearly as well.

But it sometimes happens, that young men who are far behind their contemporaries in every kind of literature, are wonderfully advanced in the knowledge of the town, so as to vie with the oldest professors in London, and endanger their own health by the ardour of their application. The sooner such premature youths are separated from the connections they have formed in the metropolis, the better; and as it will not be easy to persuade them to live in any other part of Great Britain, it will be necessary to send them abroad. But, instead of being carried to courts and capitals, the best plan for them will be, to fix them in some provincial town of France or Switzerland, where they may have a chance of improving, not so much by new attainments, as by unlearning or forgetting what they have already acquired.

After a young man has employed his time to advantage at a public school, and has continued his application to various branches of science till the age of twenty, you ask, what are the advantages he is likely to reap from a tour abroad?

He will see mankind more at large, and in numberless situations and points of view, in which they cannot appear in Great-Britain, [Page] or any one country. By comparing the various customs and usages, and hearing the received opinions of different countries, his mind will be enlarged. He will be enabled to correct the theoretical notions he may have formed of human nature, by the practical knowledge of men. By contemplating their various religions, laws, and government, in action, as it were, and observing the effects they produce on the minds and characters of the people, he will be able to form a juster estimate of their value than otherwise he could have done.

He will see the natives of other countries, not as he sees them in England, mere idle spectators, but busily employed in their various characters, as actors on their own proper stage. He will gradually improve in the knowledge of character, not of Englishmen only but of men in general; he will cease to be deceived either by the varnish with which men are apt to heighten their own actions, or the dark colours in which they, too often, paint those of others. He will learn to distinguish the real from the ostensible motive of men's words and behaviour.

Finally, by being received with hospitality, conversing familiarly, and living in the reciprocal exchange of good offices with those whom he considered as enemies, or in some unfavourable point of view, the sphere of his benevolence and good-will to his brethren of mankind will gradually enlarge. His friendships extending beyond the limits of his own country, will embrace characters congenial with his own in other nations. Seas, mountains, rivers, are geographical boundaries, but never limited the good-will or esteem of one liberal mind. As for his manner, though it will probably not be so janty as if he had been bred in France from his earliest youth, yet that also will in some degree be improved.

However persuaded he may be of the advantages enjoyed by the people of England, he will see the harshness and impropriety of insulting the natives of other countries with an ostentatious enumeration of those advantages; he will perceive now odious those travellers make themselves, who laugh at the religion, ridicule the customs, and insult the police of the countries through which they pass, and who never fail to insinuate to the inhabitants that they are all slaves and bigots. Such bold Britons we have sometimes met with, fighting their way through Europe, who, by their continual broils and disputes, would lead one to imagine that the angel of the Lord had pronounced on each of them the same denunciation which he did on Ishmael the son of Abraham, by his handmaid Hagar. And he will be a wild man, and his hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against him.

[Vide Genesis, chap. xvi. verse 12.]

If the same unsocial disposition should creep into our politics, it might arm all the powers in Europe against Great Britain, before she gets clear of her unhappy contest with America. A young man, whose mind has been formed as it ought, before he goes abroad, when he sees many individuals preserve personal dignity in [Page] spite of arbitrary government, an independent mind amidst poverty, liberal and philosophic sentiments amidst bigotry and superstition; must naturally have the highest esteem for such characters, and allow them more merit than those even of his own country, who think and act in the same manner in less unfavourable circumstances.

Besides these advantages, a young man of fortune, by spending a few years abroad, will gratify a natural and laudable curiosity, and pass a certain portion of his life in an agreeable manner. He will form an acquaintance with that boasted nation, whose superior taste and politeness are universally acknowledged; whose fashions and language are adopted by all Europe; and who, in science, power, and commerce, are the rivals of Great-Britain. He will have opportunities of observing the political constitution of the German empire; that complex body, formed by a confederacy of princes, ecclesiastics, and free cities, comprehending countries of vast extent, inhabited by a hardy race of men, distinguished for solid sense and integrity, who, without having equalled their sprightlier neighbours in works of taste or imagination, have shewn what prodigious efforts of application the human mind is capable of in the severest and least amusing studies, and whose armies exhibit at present the most perfect models of military discipline. In contemplating these, he will naturally consider, whether those armies tend most to the aggrandizement of the Monarch, or to defend or preserve any thing to the people who maintain them, and the soldiers who compose them, equivalent to the vast expence of money, and the still greater quantity of misery which they occasion.

Viewing the remains of Roman taste and magnificence, he will feel a thousand emotions of the most interesting nature, while those whose minds are not, like his, stored with classical knowledge, gaze with tasteless wonder, or phlegmatic indifference; and, exclusive of those monuments of antiquity, he will naturally desire to be acquainted with the present inhabitants of a country, which at different periods has produced men who, by one means or another, have distinguished themselves so eminently from their contemporaries of other nations. At one period, having subdued the world by the wisdom and firmness of their councils, and the disciplined vigour of their armies, Rome became at once the seat of empire, learning, and the arts.

After the Northern barbarians had destroyed the overgrown fabric of Roman power, a new empire, of a more singular nature, gradually arose from its r [...]ins, artfully extending its influence over the minds of men, till the Princes of Europe were at length as much controlled by the bulls of the Vatican, as their ancestors had been by the decrees of the Senate.

Commerce also, which rapine and slaughter had frightened from Europe, returned, and joined with Superstition in drawing the riches of all the neighbouring nations to Italy. And, at a subsequent [Page] period, Learning, bursting through the clouds of ignorance which overshadowed mankind, again shone forth in the same country, bringing in her train, Poetry, Painting, Sculpture, and Music, all of which have been cultivated with the greatest success; and the three last [...]rought, by the inhabitants of this country, to a degree of excellence unequalled by the natives of any other country of the world.

When to these considerations we add, that there is reason to believe that this country had arrived at a great degree of perfection in the arts before the beginning of the Roman republic, we are almost tempted to believe, that local and physical causes have a considerable influence in rendering the mind more acute in this country of Italy, than any where else; and that if the infinite political disadvantages under which it labours were removed, and the whole of this peninsula united into one State, it would again resume its superiority over other nations.

Lastly, by visiting other countries, a subject of Great-Britain will acquire a greater esteem than ever for the constitution of his own. Freed from vulgar prejudices, he will perceive, that the blessings and advantages which his countrymen enjoy, do not flow from their superiority in wisdom, courage, or virtue, over the other nations of the world, but, in some degree, from the peculiarity of their situation in an island; and, above all, from those just and equitable laws which secure property, that mild free government which abhors tyranny, protects the meanest subject, and leaves the mind of man to its own exertions, unrestrained by those arbitrary, capricious, and impolitic shackles, which confine and weaken its noblest endeavours in almost every other country of the world.

This animates industry, creates fertility, and scatters plenty over the boisterous island of Great-Britain, with a profusion unknown in the neighbouring nations, who behold with astonishment such numbers of British subjects, of both sexes, and of all ages, roaming discontented through the lands of despotism. in search of that happiness, which, if satiety and the wanton restlessness of wealth would permit, they have a much better prospect of enjoying in their own country.

Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt.

Strenua nos exercet inertia, navibus atque

Quadrigis petimus bene vivere. Quod petis, hic est.

If they, who through the venturous occean range,

Not their own passions, but the climate change;

Anxious thro' seas and land to search for rest,

Is but laborious idleness at best.

FRANCIS.

END OF THE SECOND, AND LAST VOLUME.

§

[Page]

A considerable variety of the latest and newest Publications, of History, Travels, Voyages, Novels, Arts, Sciences, and Entertainment—May be had at BELL's BOOK-STORE, near St. Paul's Church, in Third-Street, PHILADELPHIA.

Notes

*

The intervening words are cold, and not much connected with the fine line which concludes the quotation.

↵

*

Dum Bruti effigiem Michael de marmore fingit,

In mentem sceleris venit, et abstinuit.

While Michael was forming this statue, shocked with the recollection of Brutus's crime, he left his design unfinished.

↵

*

The French in general are apt to make the same mistake with the Marquis; they often speak of the House of Peers and the Parliament as two distinct assemblies.

↵

Information about this book

Title statement

A view of society and manners in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy: with anecdotes relating to some eminent characters. / Written by John Moore, M.D. during his travels through those countries, with His Grace, the present Duke of Hamilton. ; [Three lines of verse from Horace translated by Francis] ; The first volume.

Moore, John, 1729-1802.

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2008-09.

ID [DLPS]

N14243

ID [TCP]

N14243

ID [STC]

Evans 18036

ID [NOTIS]

APV5524

ID [IMAGE-SET]

18036

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99000908

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Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 18036.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N14243)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 18036)

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Source

— A view of society and manners in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy: with anecdotes relating to some eminent characters. / Written by John Moore, M.D. during his travels through those countries, with His Grace, the present Duke of Hamilton. ; [Three lines of verse from Horace translated by Francis] ; The first volume., Moore, John, 1729-1802., Freneau, Philip Morin, 1752-1832., Hamilton, Douglas Hamilton, Duke of, 1756-1799, dedicatee..

Extent

viii, [1], 10-281, [1] p. ; 21 cm. (8vo)

Printed and sold by Robert Bell, in Third-Street.,. Philadelphia: :: MDCCLXXXIII. [1783]. (Dedicated to Douglas, Duke of Hamilton.) (Issued in three numbers, the second and third with half-titles. With a note at the end of the third number: "The end of the second volume. According to the London edition; being the completion of Moore's elegant travels through France, Switzerland, and Germany. Number first--price one dollar, of Moore's elegant travels through Italy, will be published about three weeks from this date. ...") ("Translation from the Italian of Ariosto's Description of the Gardens in Alcina's Inchanted [sic] Island."--p. [195]. Translated by Philip Freneau; see BAL.) (The first and third numbers include bookseller's advertisements.)

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